Chimanimani

I recently travelled with Fidelis and Steven on a Kufunda outreach trip to speak with communities about the upcoming Youth Program, and to also brief them about Kufunda's Pre-School and Solar Gogo programs. We headed east to Manicaland, starting in Rusape. The next night we slept in Mutare, and then headed further up into the mountains toward the Chimanimani district. Chimanimani means 'narrow place'; people have to squeeze into tight valleys. This is the view from Skyline Junction, down towards Chimanimani village.

Chimanimani village commuter bus rank.

Our ultimate destination was Chikukwa, an area of six villages under Chief Chikukwa that is tucked in a valley beyond Chimanimani, right by the Mozambique border. (Actually Chief Chikukwa's area extends over the border; people will come to him from the Mozambiquan side to settle disputes. There is no border post.) The drive took about an hour; I lost my heart to the area after about 10 minutes.

As we came out of Chimanimani's saddle valley the views opened up. This is looking east into Mozambique; the border is just into the mountains. The farm on the valley floor was owned by Roy Bennett, elected as an MDC (opposition party) MP in 2000. His farm was subsequently seized as part of the land redistribution program.

Driving through the Martin Forest. This is owned by Allied Timbers, itself owned by the Zim gov't. Martin Forest 1 was bought by the parks service in 1986 and added on to Chimanimani national park. Allied has been trying to evict squatters who have been occupying their lands and cutting the pines to create fields for maize. The gov't is now trying to close the Pandora's box of land redistribution; they also recently kicked 30-some squatters out of a wilderness conservation area, leaving them homeless by the side of the road.

In Chikukwa we stayed at Celuct, a permaculture centre that has also started doing conflict resolution work in the community. They teach local youth techniques to deal with political, domestic, and community conflict; the youths in turn have been out in the community sharing these techniques. The results have been good. The Chimanimani District is a political hotspot, with 13 MDC councillors and 11 Zanu councillors, but of the 24 areas in the district only Chikukwa experienced no political violence during the last year.

It's a breathtakingly lovely place, and I'm now dreaming of doing a Nhemamusasa South here, maybe in 2013.

 

Chikukwa is also right on the edge of Chimanimani National Park, so one afternon we hiked up a side valley into the park.

  Looking back at the Chikukwa valley and Martin Forest, with Mozambique in the background.

 Spent some time swimming in the pool at the base of these falls, where an Njuzu (mermaid) spirit is said to live.

Walking to the shops to catch a lift out on our final morning. There is a Danish (I think) woman living in Chikukwa who came 30 years ago and never left; I'm already planning my return...



Masimba/Machikichori sightings

For my friends in Masimba and Machikichori   : )

Signs

Mudhudhudhu

So I referenced my 'ghost motorcycle' before, and it's a fairly typical example of how things often go in Zim.... I arranged with my friend Allan, shortly after I arrived in Dec., to rent his Yamaha 250 mudhudhudhu (motorcycle; you say mudhudhudhu as if imitating the sound of a motorcycle - try it, it's fun.) It was in at his mechanic friend's (not the butternut mechanic, another one who repairs motorcycles and other small engines) place, had just been rebuilt and just needed $20 to finish fixing a leak and bring it home. I paid $100 in advance rental, quite pleased to have the freedom of my own transport, as there are no commuter lifts out to Kufunda. After a week I picked it up and brought it home, filling the tank with fuel on the way in anticipation of many adventures, but discovered the next morning that it was still leaking - and worse. We took it back in, I went away over the holidays, and with one thing and another it was early January before it was ready again. I went and picked it up, but the mechanics had siphoned off the fuel (they claimed they'd used it for 'road testing'), so I stopped for more fuel, then drove it home. The next day, leaking again. Drove it back to the shop, where it sat.... and sat. This time, an arguement over money - plus, because the mechanic was doing it for a reduced price, he was giving other paying jobs priority. Towards the end of January Allan brought it back.... but it was still leaking, and he took it back the next day. That's the last I saw of it... maybe it will turn up for my final days. Anyway, this is the only - and quite appropriate - shot I have of 'my bike'.

Vendors

Vendors are ubiquitous in Zimbabwe. Along streets, roads and footpaths, at bus stops and bus stations,standing in the middle of the road at intersections, they sell toys, airtime, newspapers, veggies, eggs, rope, ice cream, snacks, bags, fruit, clothing, belts, batteries, phones.... virtually anything you need. It's generally a low margin occupation, with long days spent breathing polluted city air and being harrassed by police and extorted by political factions, but with unemployment in Zimbabwe at somewhere north of 80% it's the only option for a great many people. An airtime vendor (selling $1 strips that will add airtime to a cell phone) pays 92 cents wholesale for each strip, and makes on average around $9 per day in Harare, although they can make more on a good day.

Municipal vendor stalls in Chinhoyi.

                               Selling mangos in Nyamhunga, Kariba.

Many people moonlight as vendors as well; during Zimbabwe's worst economic period around 2008, when teachers weren't paid for months at a time, one teacher told me she only managed to survive by travelling to South Africa and bringing back goods to sell. Below is a typical Zimbabwean story: my friend was getting his truck fixed by a mechanic friend; he couldn't pay him, but agreed to go and sell 2 tons of butternut squash, in 10 kg bags, that the mechanic received in payment from a farmer for repairs on a truck. My friend went around and set up by roadsides and in parking lots at the shops in various suburbs for days until the squash were gone; he and the mechanic split the profit.

                        Selling maize cobs (chibage) roasted on a home made braii.

]

                                            At 4th St. kombi rank, Harare.

 These guys had staked out a spot at a police roadblock on the the main road from Harare to Mutare. Plenty of captive customers in the kombis and buses lined up along the side of the road, waiting while the drivers had their papers and vehicles inspected.

       

Tomato vendors along the Harare-Mutare Rd. - vendors selling similar items seem to group together; you'll pass 6 or 8 in a row selling mushrooms, or honey, or mangos.

                                            The 'shoe section' in Rusape.
'

Monument vendors relaxing by their wares... if you need it, chances are you can find it on a street near you.



Ants

 Back at Kufunda, played some mbira for Fidelis, and Ticha and Mai Ti invited me over for sadza and mushrooms, since the power was out and I had no wood to cook with. Went to bed about 10 listening to rain on the thatch.... and dreampt of some folks, lying on some rocks, and one of them had ants slowly covering him. I half woke, still in the dream but aware that I was scratching, thinking I was just paranoid from the dream, but then actually squished 2-3 little somethings, so flicked on my headlamp and.... the bed was a mass of little ants. The sheet, the pillow, under the pillow, under the mattress, on me... I brushed them off, but they were all mixed up in the bedding and all over the bed. Was going to go sleep on the other bed (where I store my stuff) but it had ants wandering around it as well... and the floor was teeming. So, naked and headlamped, dodging mosquitoes, I started sweeping the bed, shaking out the sheets and blanket. Twice knocked my pillow down into the thickest area of ants on the floor, where it was instantly covered. Shaking them off the blanket meant they were landing on my travel-sticky body (no power = no pump = no water), getting caught in the mosquito netting... every time i stood still they would start crawling up my legs... (this has happened a few times meditating in the dining hut; I'd be 15 minutes or so in and feel my legs itching, think it was just my mind trying to avoid focussing, but eventually I'd open my eyes and see my calves swarming wth ants). Found some containers to put the bed legs in, put water in two of them and waited for the remaining ants to leave down the other two, with the ecouragement of the broom. Then watered the other 2 containers and dived into the (hopefully) ant-free haven of my bed to read for an hour, on high ant alert... only a couple stragglers showed up, so I felt my paranoia subside enough to sleep. In the morning they were all across the floor, in the peanut butter ,jam, honey, dishes... I swept them out 3-4 times, bu they just kept coming until I felt driven from my home. Claudia says they get bad like this in the rainy season, when they're looking for dry shelter. They've become my personal little demons... they don't really bite, they just saturate your existence until you feel like screamng.
(In other infestation news, there are bats in the office but you rarely see them - they just leave droppings everywhere.)

Mhondoro

Last week I ran into Mark Hoskins, whom I meet every year at Zimfest; he was about to head out to Mhondoro to visit Cosmas Magaya - a noted mbira player and teacher who's visited us a number of times - so I tagged along. Mhondoro is an area of communal lands south of Harare, named for a big lion spirit. We met Cosmas' son Muda, a very good mbira player in his own right, and he took us down to Mbare Musika, where the big bus terminal is. We found a kombi heading our way... then waited 3 hours for it to fill up. In the interim we were solicited by an endless stream of vendors selling hats, knives, cosmetics, rope, candy, eggs, cigarettes, pop, sausages, combs, bread, popcorn, maize cobs... from one of the more engaging women, carrying a veritable tuck shop on her head, I bought a toothbrush I don't really need. I did need a rope, so bought ten metres, plus some rubber straps cut from inner tubes, to lash things to my ghost motorcycle, should it ever fully materialize. And I did need a knife to help peel my cucumber...

                                                  Hat and scarf vendor.

   Passed the usual police roadblocks - they tend to pull over kombis a lot, as there's usually something amiss that can turn into a fine - or bribe.

                      We arrived in Mhondoro at sunset, and walked a short
           distance down to Cosmas' grandfather's compound, here he now stays.

In the morning we went off for a tour of Nhimbe For Progress, the NGO that Cosmas co-leads.... but first he had to stop by his kraal to get a report on his cattle from the herdmen. Forty-five, mostly Hard MaShona Type, with a Brahmin bull. As in much of Africa, cattle are a Zimbabwean's bank account.

At the Nhimbe centre - the staff and children. Nhimbe runs a pre-school program, a health post and medicinal herb garden, a library, and a music program, and pays school fees for many local children who would otherwise be unable to attend school.

        The women at Nhimbe also sew to help raise money. All the staff  are
    currently working on a volunteer basis; there is a general shortage of funds.

    We finished with a performance by the Nhimbe youth marimba project,
                         with  the centre staff joining in the singing.

As we were leaving, two members from the CIO (Police Intelligence) unit of Mubaira Police Detachment, 27 km away, showed up - they had heard that two white people had arrived the previous day, and wanted to question us "about our mission in Zimabwe." I stifled a perverse desire to embark on a shaggy dog story about our CIA backers; they were just doing their job, and it was all fairly casual - they had had to take lifts down to see us, as their detachment probably didn't have a car, and they had no uniforms... in fact they were probably bored to tears most of the time. It does appear as though things are tensing up in anticipation of an election, though. In the end we played marimba and mbira for them, and they left with smiles.

We went home and spent the afternoon unwinding with some mbira. Cosmas, Mark, and Muda.



                                           Fetching water from the well....

                                                  Inside the kitchen.

                                                          The granary.

Playing a last song in the kitchen before departing. This kitchen has seen many famous mbira players pass through, and been the scene of many ceremonies (biras). Cosmas and his son Muda.