Harare, Zimbabwe
It has certainly been a very strange couple of days for sister and I! Thursday night was the "Semaine de la Francophonie" concert in Pretoria - I was the primary artist, with a local music group singing ensemble pieces and duets. There was a fantastic cocktail party preceeding the concert, with Thai Chicken and a Beefy roast. Most of the guests were Ambassadors and other Diplomats, and we had a really good time talking to all of the dignitaries. The concert was a fantastic success, and everyone was well pleased with the evening.
On Thursday morning, After the concert in Pretoria, sis and I packed (actually re-packed. WE had been packing and re-packing for days, trying to somehow make everything fit) our bags, and early the next morning we hugged little Kefira-dog goodbye (Sis' maid was staying in her house to dog-sit, and she arrived just as we were leaving. So much for a tearful dog-parting! The little mutt ran right to her and begged to be cuddled, ignoring us completely!) and headed out to the airport (we weren't even late this time!). We had over double the allowed weight, as sis had to bring all her work files (20kg) and I had agreed to transport a box of film reels to be screened in Harare (33kg). Also we had two bags of (really nice!) clothes and a huge bag of dollies to give away, and our own clothes, of course, and lots of shoes, and music and ballgowns...
When we arrived at the airport we were feling pretty good about this flight. For once we were early, we were at the correct terminal, and although we were not flying business class, we were allowed to use their line to check in. That is, we COULD have used their line had we only remembered our tickets. Not fair! We had brought my ticket to Lusaka and to Mozambique and the other ticket to Lusaka, and all we had forgotten was this, the first leg of our journey.
With the help of the kindly SAA (South African Airlines) employee, sis managed to contact the driver and send him back to her house, and she managed to describe the ticket to her maid, who found it and had it ready for the driver. I felt confident that we would get onto the flight - after all, isn't there always SOME emergency when we go the the airport? (for example: British Airways food strike, lost passport, pasport left in rubbish bin 4 hours away, stolen camera card, being stuck in downtown Manhattan in a show storm on the way to Newark, and then again on the way to JFK...) This was a minor emergency. We would make it.
While we waited for the driver to arrive with our tickets, we dealt with our luggage problem. First I put on all the clothes that I could fit - shirt over shirt, skirt over skirt, layers and layers, much to the amusement of the passing business class travellers. After standing aroud like that for awhile, we decided that customs (who is, like most of the Zimbabwe government, known to be corrupt) might question layers and layers of clothes. We repacked them all, and paid overage for the files and the movie (it might just have been easier to rent a DVD), checked our bags, and waited for the driver, who arrived just as the gate was closing.
We ran through security and were so relieved when we boarded the aeroplane. We barely complaned when sis' "low fat" meal consisted of a bun slathered with butter and filled with cheese, and when my "asian veg" meal consisted of rotting cucumber and one human hair. Yum yum!
As soon as we stepped off the aeroplane in Zimbabwe we could feel the change in the atmosphere. Yes, the sun felt hotter and the people look and spoke differently, but there was something almost sinister about the place...
Now, before we had left Pretoria I had inquired about the cost of purchasing a single-entry tourist visa to Zimbabwe, and had been told that I would have to pay $30.00 USD at the border. However, when I arrived and pulled out my $30.00, I was curtly informned that since Canada charged people from Zim $60.00 US to enter our country, the charge to enter their country had changed. Effective this week.
It all sounded very suspect, and when we said that we would like to phone the Canadian High Commission to verify that this was a vaid charge, the lady became very, very angry. In the end, we paid the amount and entered the bast and worst country we had ever seen. Nothing we experienced was ordinary. Things were either very wonderful or very terrible.
Although we had arrived in Zimbabwe safely, unfortunately our luggage (for whose transport we had paid over $400 Canadian) had not. The airplane had been too heavy. Our luggage would come eventually. Maybe. And we would have to come back to the airport to pick it up, and keep calling the airport to see if it arrived.
Waiting for us on the other side of customs was a local staff member of the Canadian embassy in Harare, and one of the drivers from the embassy. The driver, we were told, was ours to use for the duration of our visit. He was fantastic. He took us everywhere, and was very patient holding things we had bought in markets.
The local staff member was fantastic. She handed us an envelope with 21 millions dollars in it. Sure, it was worth just over $200 US, but who cares. I was a millionnaire! She took us to our hotel - the Meilkes hotel, which is the fanciest in Harare. Now, sister and I did not realize exactly how much things cost at first, and ate lunch in the cheaper hotel restaurant. Final cost for our lunch (which was not that good) was 1 200 000 Zim dollars. $12.00 USD.
After lunch our driver took us to a market, where we bargained for tapistries and wooden statues, and stone statues, and the cutest necklace made out of seeds (which cost about 30 cents!). My sister is a fantastic bargainer.
As I had a rehearsal for the concert later in the evening, we grabbed some second-rate bruschetta at a cute-looking restaurant, and went to the hall. We spent the evening after the rehearsal looking at all the great things we bought.
On Saturday we had a number of things that we wanted to do. We started the morning by going to two markets in the high-density area. (One of the strangest things about visiting Africa is the lingo. Basically, in South Africa, 'black slum' is called a township. In Zimbabwe, it is called a high-density area, because of the high density of people there.) The first market was mostly a clothes market, but it had a few 'curios' (i.e.: souveniers) Around this market a year before had been shacks and unofficial market stalls, and was known as the best place for shopping. However, last May the army 'cleaned up' the city by bulldozing all of the shacks, and confiscating all of the 'illegal' goods for sale. Poor people, how terrible to lose your hose and your only livelihood within hours. Also, the people who had been drived out were often families headed by 12-year olds, as the parents had did of AIDS, leaving children without an adult to care for them.
Our driver did not think it would be safe to park outside of the second market (car theft is a huge business in Zimbabwe), so we drove to the nearby police station and asked the guard if it would be possible to park there. This was not merely a police station. The area was a fencedin community of houses and gardens, for the families of the policemen to stay. The lush gardens and larger dwelling could be quite clearly from outside the compound, and most likely ensure that there will be no shortage of policemen in this area. The air smelled of rotting fruit and meat, and of something else vile. For a long while there had been no garbage pick-up in the high-density area, and there was a water shortage, which led to a sewage problem...
While our driver was talking to the policemen, sister and I visited the dank hole-in-the-ground toilet provided for the police force. Ugh! When we rejoined our drive, a lady officer sternly informed us that we would ba allowed to park the embassy vehicle and to browse in the market (which is, of course, a public market), but we were to take no pictures or video. (We later learned that there was a meeting of the official opposition party that day, and that very likely we were suspect - two white girls going to recruit people for the opposition (??)). We assured the officer that of COURSE we had no intention of making a photographic record of anything that we saw (ha HA - we had already snapped photos out the car windows!) and we were allowed to leave the compound and pick our way through the litter and glass and stones on the path to the market. (We actually behaved and didn't take any pictures, since it was very likely that we were being followed)
So much shopping! A stone statues was around 1$. Beaded flowers were less than that. Baskets were $1.50. There was not a large selection of different items (1200 stone elephants later, none of them look that appealing), but we certainly did get some good buys! When we looked at one thing word went around that we might be interested in a basket or in a wooden giraffe, and that was the first thing shown to us at the next booth... We bargained very admirably, but when I found the perfect beaded necklace to match the dress I was wearing, I was introduced to 'granny', the owner of the booth. Who can bargain with granny! She looked hurt when I offered her a lower price for her items, so I overpaid and bought a necklace of black and red seeds for almost full proce: 80 000. Granny was pleased, and so was I (it was around .40 in the end...). I had to keep reminding sis that the difference she was haggling about was usually from .02-.05 cents, and theat it was okay to pay a couple of pennies more if she really wanted whatever she was haggling about. Oh, the drama!
On the way back to the car, we stopped at a Mobil gas station to get cold drinks. The driver warned us that we may not find anything there. Well, he wasn't kidding! There were a few orange-colored drinks and some bread, a few magazines behind the counter. Otherwise the store was entirely empty! Supplies are not a priority when delivered to the high-density areas....
Sis and I had brought with us over 100 pieces of clothing, and around 60 dollies to give away. we had distributed a few of them in Pretoria, but had brought most of them to Zim with us. We decided that the best way to do this would be to leave town and visit a rural orphanage, which needed any support it could get.
I can't write how we got there or any details about that, but basically we left the official vehicle and figured out our own transportation. Apparently foreign vehicles cannot go further than 40kms out of Harare (there was a roadblock) without official permission from the Zim government. They would not want a Canadian diplomat seeing conditions outside of the city, so we had to get there unofficially.
We drove for 2.5 hours, past farms which only a few years before had been thriving but which had now, under their new ownership, had fallen into ruin (The president allowed 'veterens' to confiscate farms from white farmers. The new owners did not know how to run a farm, and the country has been in decline ever since. Hundreds of farms. There are paper shortages and oil and bread shortages, and soap shortages because when the new 'farmers' slaughtered the cows they had acquired, they did not save the fat for tallow). The orphanage was bordered by a leprosy colony. Yes, leprosy, oops-my-nose-just-fell-leprosy. I had thought that was CURED. Like smallpox...
We turned into the orphanage and dozens of children came running up the the car, singing and jumping. They were so excited to see us! It took a little longer to win over the nuns there, whom I think expected that we were two white girls who wanted to give out a doll or two and have a photo op with the little brown orphans. By the end of the visit we wree all good friends, though!
We went from one children's house to another and all of the children lined up by their beds, and I chose the dollie I thought they would like the most. The kids were so darling, stroking the fur of the dolls (all except the little boy who received a plastic lizard-monster. he kept running around making it bite the other kids). The nuns took us to the storeroom where they keep donated clothes. When the room is full they distribute it to their children, and to the surounding communities. They had a newly-opened bakery, where they baked bread to sell and for the children, and they had cows for milk and cheese.
The Canadian embassy in Harare had funded a dam project, and they took us to see the dam. The children all followed, clutching and waving their new dolls. If we let our hands swing freely they were grabbed by the little children, and we took turns carrying them and hugging them, and they kissed our arms and hands. They were just so starved for love! On the path to the dam we passed a simple little yard, filled with simple white crosses - graves for the orphan children.
Most of the children at that orphanage are AIDS orphans, who are themselves HIV-positive. Their mothers had died and their fathers had left them with the nuns, or often all of their families had died. One little girl was the baby of a former orphan, who had gone to university and had reappeared one day to leave her baby. Another little boy had been discovered in a hole full of human sewage. When he was pulled out of the muck he was so covered in mess and feces that they thought at first that he was a puppy. We saw a 7-year old who looked like a 2-year-old, and a tiny wrinkled baby whose mother had died at birth (and whose father left the hotel without leaving his name or address), leaving him with nowhere else to go.
The children were bright and intelligent, and just starved for affection. When we picked the smaller ones up they knew how to wrap their legs around our hips (whish were not big enough to hold the children) and they nuzzled us and touched our face and our clothes. When we walked and let our arms dangled we were clutched by a bevy of little hands. They kissed our hands and our arms, and played with our fingers. I wanted one. Or two! Or eight!
The dam was a wonderful initiative on behalf of the Canadian government. The water shortages would no longer affect the orphans, or the neighbouring villages, as the trapped water had formed a clean, new lake. There were even fish! What a great contry we have sometimes :)
We also toured the infirmary, which offers health services to the community and to the children living there. Sis and I had brought some packs of rehydration fluid we had been given in the hospital in Cape Town when we were sick and pukey, and the nurse happily added it to her cabinet.
We took pictures of the children with their new dolls (they loved to pose and then look at themselves on the back of the camera) and then drove back towards Harare. We stopped by the side of the road to buy Guavas (.30 for 10) and Tomatoes (.20 for 10) from the farmers. (Organic produce, as there was no money for chemicals)
We decided that since we were tired we would go for a swim and then splurge and eat at the hotel restaurant. We were hot and dusty after laying with children and riding so long in the car, and the rooftop pool was fantastic. Unfortunately, it was also shallower than we were told and I scraped my knee and my toes (ow!) We noticed a spa sign beside the pool. The prices were... wel, YIKES! Keep reading and you'll see...
After a short swim (it was an open rooftop pool and there was lightening above) we dressed up and headed to the restaurant.
There was a live Jazz trio and it was all very fancy. I sang a few songs with the band, just for fun, and then we sat down to our 3-course meal.
We ate: Garlic mushrooms in poppadems
A carafe and then another cup of wine
Peppercorn beef flambe (hurrah, fire!)
Potato croquettes
Vegetables
Crepes Suzettes with Ice Cream (hurrah, more fire!)
Now, guess how much the evening cost (not to brag)... for both of us...
For that delicious meal...
It cost....
$18.00 (!!!!)
We rolled ourselves upstairs and into bed... soo full of beef...
***
Sis woke up early the next morning and went for a swim. By the time I climbed to the rooftop, she had already gotten two beauty treatments! We had booked the two beauticians for the entire afternoon, so I didn't feel too left out, and after a quick beauty treatment (left vague to allow for feminine mysteriousness...) we descended to the breakfast room.
The next morning we wanted to go to (gues what) another market! Unfurtunately we were out of money. Now, in Zimbabwe there is the OFFICIAL rate (around 90 000:1 USD) and the UNOFFICIAL rate (210 000:1 USD). Now, I am not saying we did anything unofficial, because we did not do that, but for a traveller's information, exchanging money illegally, one needs to have a contact. That contact has to call someone they know who will exchange US dollars at the unofficial rate, and who might then pick up the contact at, say, a street corner. The contact will need something (like, say, a tilley hat) to hold the stacks of cash, and will climb into the car wearing the Tilley hat, (then the car will drive away mysteriously,) and who will climb out of the car holding the Tilley hat. Just for information's sake, of course...
The market consisted of a lot of the same stalls of the first market we went to. Instead of being in a sketchy area, though, on Sunday morning all of the stalls move to the parking lot of a mini-mall. Sis was in top bargaining form. An example:
Stall Guy: So, would you like some lovely beaded roses?
W: How much?
SG: Only 800 000 Zim Dollars.
W: !! Ack! TOO much! You are trying to take advantage of me because I am a foreigner!
SG: No, no, I will give you a good price
W: Of course. Well, how about 300 000?
SG: !! Stall rentals are expensive, Miss! I have to make a living!
W: It is a slow day, you don't have any customers, and I am offering you a good sale. 300 000.
SG: How about 600 000?
W: I prefer 300 000.
SG: Please, lady. I work so hard...
Me: OOOH! Let's get two!
W: (giving me a dirty look) Okay, for two then. 300 000.
SG: !!!!
W: Well, now you are selling multiples, and you said would give us a deal...
**much bargaining later***
W: Okay. 800 000 for three roses, and a free beaded hot pepper keychain for my sister.
Me: (clutching the coveted hot pepper keychain) :) :) :)
SG: Please, miss, please. 860 000.
W: Okay, it's a deal. 800 000.
Me: *clutching pile of money hopefully*
SG: 860 000
W: 800 000
SG:... Okay. Okay. 800 000.
W: Thank you :)
Me: HURRAH!!
After the market, laden with the usual african goods and two semi-precious citrine stones (they are gorgeous!), we returned to the hotel. There were still a few hours before the concert, but it was time for the spa! Sis got a mani and a pedi (french tips, though they didn't not do a very good job), an hour massage, a cleansing and waxing. I got toes and fingernails polished and a cleanse (makes skin happy), much waxing and an hour massage. Grand total for ALL of that for BOTH of us:
...
...
$24.00 !!!
Considering that an hour massage in Canada costs around $80.00 without a tip, that was insanely cheap!
One of the beauticians was the boss, and after she finished with us sis and I asked the employee about life in Zim. Life in Zim is not easy. Salaries are around 1.3 million a month (We had spent 4 million on dinner the night before. 1 million is $4.60). Toilet paper costs 1.2 million for 12 rolls. School fees are 1 million a month for public school. (We gave some food to a group of boys who attend school in the mornings and then beg in the afternoon so that they can afford their school fees). Shoes are 1.2 million for a child, and he needs shoes to go to school. She was supporting her son and her sister in law and HER three children on her 1.3 million a month. No fathers in the picture, and she is lucky, as 60% of the population is unemployed.
We tipped her 5$ US, for 4 hours of treatment (no WONDER when we asked them if they could stay past closing time to give massages they readily agreed - everyone needs every cent!). That is what she normally earns in a month. We had a stack of clothes we didn't gove to the orphans, and we gave them to her, and wrote a note explaining to the hotel security that these were for her to take home. She was so happy she almost cried. Clothes are expensive there. Life is expensive there.
When he had helped us load the orphan-clothes into the car, one of the doormen had offered to take some of the clothes "because he knew someone who needed it." Clothes are an almost unattainable luxury in this country, apparently, and when we checked out of the hotel we gave the last few shirts away to another doorman, and he was happy to take them, and made no secret about how pleased he was. (I was afraid of offending, but I guess the need is that great)...
After the beauty-extravaganza, we were picked up by the driver and taken to Prince Edward Boys' School, the venue for the concert. After a short rehearsal we were ready to change into our formal wear, and suddenly...
...The lights went out! This happens all the time in Harare, apparently. Someone presses the wrong button or trips over a wire at the power building, and the city is plunged into darkness for sometimes hours. Sis and I did hair and makeup in the last smidgen of daylight, and as the audience stumbled into the theatre, the headmaster of the school set up both fancy candelabras and single taper candles thrust into cans of sand, all over the piano and the stage.
The first 20 minutes of the concert was sung in eerie darkness, a shadowy audience and a shadowy performer. when the lights suddenly came on, everyone cheered and the concert was a great success! There were over 200 people in the audience and at the cocktail party afterwards, there were prefects from the Prince Edward school, as well as diplomats, Francophone, Belgian and German expats, other schoolchildren, ambassadors...even the former conductor of the Zimbabwe orchestra (there is, not surprisingly, no longer an orchestra). I took photographs (one was for a German nun to send to her friend in Manitoba) and signed autographs - the schoolchildren were all so sweet in their uniforms, and they explained how they were all prefects competing to be head boy... what a unique, fun time in Zim we'd had!
On Thursday morning, After the concert in Pretoria, sis and I packed (actually re-packed. WE had been packing and re-packing for days, trying to somehow make everything fit) our bags, and early the next morning we hugged little Kefira-dog goodbye (Sis' maid was staying in her house to dog-sit, and she arrived just as we were leaving. So much for a tearful dog-parting! The little mutt ran right to her and begged to be cuddled, ignoring us completely!) and headed out to the airport (we weren't even late this time!). We had over double the allowed weight, as sis had to bring all her work files (20kg) and I had agreed to transport a box of film reels to be screened in Harare (33kg). Also we had two bags of (really nice!) clothes and a huge bag of dollies to give away, and our own clothes, of course, and lots of shoes, and music and ballgowns...
When we arrived at the airport we were feling pretty good about this flight. For once we were early, we were at the correct terminal, and although we were not flying business class, we were allowed to use their line to check in. That is, we COULD have used their line had we only remembered our tickets. Not fair! We had brought my ticket to Lusaka and to Mozambique and the other ticket to Lusaka, and all we had forgotten was this, the first leg of our journey.
With the help of the kindly SAA (South African Airlines) employee, sis managed to contact the driver and send him back to her house, and she managed to describe the ticket to her maid, who found it and had it ready for the driver. I felt confident that we would get onto the flight - after all, isn't there always SOME emergency when we go the the airport? (for example: British Airways food strike, lost passport, pasport left in rubbish bin 4 hours away, stolen camera card, being stuck in downtown Manhattan in a show storm on the way to Newark, and then again on the way to JFK...) This was a minor emergency. We would make it.
While we waited for the driver to arrive with our tickets, we dealt with our luggage problem. First I put on all the clothes that I could fit - shirt over shirt, skirt over skirt, layers and layers, much to the amusement of the passing business class travellers. After standing aroud like that for awhile, we decided that customs (who is, like most of the Zimbabwe government, known to be corrupt) might question layers and layers of clothes. We repacked them all, and paid overage for the files and the movie (it might just have been easier to rent a DVD), checked our bags, and waited for the driver, who arrived just as the gate was closing.
We ran through security and were so relieved when we boarded the aeroplane. We barely complaned when sis' "low fat" meal consisted of a bun slathered with butter and filled with cheese, and when my "asian veg" meal consisted of rotting cucumber and one human hair. Yum yum!
As soon as we stepped off the aeroplane in Zimbabwe we could feel the change in the atmosphere. Yes, the sun felt hotter and the people look and spoke differently, but there was something almost sinister about the place...
Now, before we had left Pretoria I had inquired about the cost of purchasing a single-entry tourist visa to Zimbabwe, and had been told that I would have to pay $30.00 USD at the border. However, when I arrived and pulled out my $30.00, I was curtly informned that since Canada charged people from Zim $60.00 US to enter our country, the charge to enter their country had changed. Effective this week.
It all sounded very suspect, and when we said that we would like to phone the Canadian High Commission to verify that this was a vaid charge, the lady became very, very angry. In the end, we paid the amount and entered the bast and worst country we had ever seen. Nothing we experienced was ordinary. Things were either very wonderful or very terrible.
Although we had arrived in Zimbabwe safely, unfortunately our luggage (for whose transport we had paid over $400 Canadian) had not. The airplane had been too heavy. Our luggage would come eventually. Maybe. And we would have to come back to the airport to pick it up, and keep calling the airport to see if it arrived.
Waiting for us on the other side of customs was a local staff member of the Canadian embassy in Harare, and one of the drivers from the embassy. The driver, we were told, was ours to use for the duration of our visit. He was fantastic. He took us everywhere, and was very patient holding things we had bought in markets.
The local staff member was fantastic. She handed us an envelope with 21 millions dollars in it. Sure, it was worth just over $200 US, but who cares. I was a millionnaire! She took us to our hotel - the Meilkes hotel, which is the fanciest in Harare. Now, sister and I did not realize exactly how much things cost at first, and ate lunch in the cheaper hotel restaurant. Final cost for our lunch (which was not that good) was 1 200 000 Zim dollars. $12.00 USD.
After lunch our driver took us to a market, where we bargained for tapistries and wooden statues, and stone statues, and the cutest necklace made out of seeds (which cost about 30 cents!). My sister is a fantastic bargainer.
As I had a rehearsal for the concert later in the evening, we grabbed some second-rate bruschetta at a cute-looking restaurant, and went to the hall. We spent the evening after the rehearsal looking at all the great things we bought.
On Saturday we had a number of things that we wanted to do. We started the morning by going to two markets in the high-density area. (One of the strangest things about visiting Africa is the lingo. Basically, in South Africa, 'black slum' is called a township. In Zimbabwe, it is called a high-density area, because of the high density of people there.) The first market was mostly a clothes market, but it had a few 'curios' (i.e.: souveniers) Around this market a year before had been shacks and unofficial market stalls, and was known as the best place for shopping. However, last May the army 'cleaned up' the city by bulldozing all of the shacks, and confiscating all of the 'illegal' goods for sale. Poor people, how terrible to lose your hose and your only livelihood within hours. Also, the people who had been drived out were often families headed by 12-year olds, as the parents had did of AIDS, leaving children without an adult to care for them.
Our driver did not think it would be safe to park outside of the second market (car theft is a huge business in Zimbabwe), so we drove to the nearby police station and asked the guard if it would be possible to park there. This was not merely a police station. The area was a fencedin community of houses and gardens, for the families of the policemen to stay. The lush gardens and larger dwelling could be quite clearly from outside the compound, and most likely ensure that there will be no shortage of policemen in this area. The air smelled of rotting fruit and meat, and of something else vile. For a long while there had been no garbage pick-up in the high-density area, and there was a water shortage, which led to a sewage problem...
While our driver was talking to the policemen, sister and I visited the dank hole-in-the-ground toilet provided for the police force. Ugh! When we rejoined our drive, a lady officer sternly informed us that we would ba allowed to park the embassy vehicle and to browse in the market (which is, of course, a public market), but we were to take no pictures or video. (We later learned that there was a meeting of the official opposition party that day, and that very likely we were suspect - two white girls going to recruit people for the opposition (??)). We assured the officer that of COURSE we had no intention of making a photographic record of anything that we saw (ha HA - we had already snapped photos out the car windows!) and we were allowed to leave the compound and pick our way through the litter and glass and stones on the path to the market. (We actually behaved and didn't take any pictures, since it was very likely that we were being followed)
So much shopping! A stone statues was around 1$. Beaded flowers were less than that. Baskets were $1.50. There was not a large selection of different items (1200 stone elephants later, none of them look that appealing), but we certainly did get some good buys! When we looked at one thing word went around that we might be interested in a basket or in a wooden giraffe, and that was the first thing shown to us at the next booth... We bargained very admirably, but when I found the perfect beaded necklace to match the dress I was wearing, I was introduced to 'granny', the owner of the booth. Who can bargain with granny! She looked hurt when I offered her a lower price for her items, so I overpaid and bought a necklace of black and red seeds for almost full proce: 80 000. Granny was pleased, and so was I (it was around .40 in the end...). I had to keep reminding sis that the difference she was haggling about was usually from .02-.05 cents, and theat it was okay to pay a couple of pennies more if she really wanted whatever she was haggling about. Oh, the drama!
On the way back to the car, we stopped at a Mobil gas station to get cold drinks. The driver warned us that we may not find anything there. Well, he wasn't kidding! There were a few orange-colored drinks and some bread, a few magazines behind the counter. Otherwise the store was entirely empty! Supplies are not a priority when delivered to the high-density areas....
Sis and I had brought with us over 100 pieces of clothing, and around 60 dollies to give away. we had distributed a few of them in Pretoria, but had brought most of them to Zim with us. We decided that the best way to do this would be to leave town and visit a rural orphanage, which needed any support it could get.
I can't write how we got there or any details about that, but basically we left the official vehicle and figured out our own transportation. Apparently foreign vehicles cannot go further than 40kms out of Harare (there was a roadblock) without official permission from the Zim government. They would not want a Canadian diplomat seeing conditions outside of the city, so we had to get there unofficially.
We drove for 2.5 hours, past farms which only a few years before had been thriving but which had now, under their new ownership, had fallen into ruin (The president allowed 'veterens' to confiscate farms from white farmers. The new owners did not know how to run a farm, and the country has been in decline ever since. Hundreds of farms. There are paper shortages and oil and bread shortages, and soap shortages because when the new 'farmers' slaughtered the cows they had acquired, they did not save the fat for tallow). The orphanage was bordered by a leprosy colony. Yes, leprosy, oops-my-nose-just-fell-leprosy. I had thought that was CURED. Like smallpox...
We turned into the orphanage and dozens of children came running up the the car, singing and jumping. They were so excited to see us! It took a little longer to win over the nuns there, whom I think expected that we were two white girls who wanted to give out a doll or two and have a photo op with the little brown orphans. By the end of the visit we wree all good friends, though!
We went from one children's house to another and all of the children lined up by their beds, and I chose the dollie I thought they would like the most. The kids were so darling, stroking the fur of the dolls (all except the little boy who received a plastic lizard-monster. he kept running around making it bite the other kids). The nuns took us to the storeroom where they keep donated clothes. When the room is full they distribute it to their children, and to the surounding communities. They had a newly-opened bakery, where they baked bread to sell and for the children, and they had cows for milk and cheese.
The Canadian embassy in Harare had funded a dam project, and they took us to see the dam. The children all followed, clutching and waving their new dolls. If we let our hands swing freely they were grabbed by the little children, and we took turns carrying them and hugging them, and they kissed our arms and hands. They were just so starved for love! On the path to the dam we passed a simple little yard, filled with simple white crosses - graves for the orphan children.
Most of the children at that orphanage are AIDS orphans, who are themselves HIV-positive. Their mothers had died and their fathers had left them with the nuns, or often all of their families had died. One little girl was the baby of a former orphan, who had gone to university and had reappeared one day to leave her baby. Another little boy had been discovered in a hole full of human sewage. When he was pulled out of the muck he was so covered in mess and feces that they thought at first that he was a puppy. We saw a 7-year old who looked like a 2-year-old, and a tiny wrinkled baby whose mother had died at birth (and whose father left the hotel without leaving his name or address), leaving him with nowhere else to go.
The children were bright and intelligent, and just starved for affection. When we picked the smaller ones up they knew how to wrap their legs around our hips (whish were not big enough to hold the children) and they nuzzled us and touched our face and our clothes. When we walked and let our arms dangled we were clutched by a bevy of little hands. They kissed our hands and our arms, and played with our fingers. I wanted one. Or two! Or eight!
The dam was a wonderful initiative on behalf of the Canadian government. The water shortages would no longer affect the orphans, or the neighbouring villages, as the trapped water had formed a clean, new lake. There were even fish! What a great contry we have sometimes :)
We also toured the infirmary, which offers health services to the community and to the children living there. Sis and I had brought some packs of rehydration fluid we had been given in the hospital in Cape Town when we were sick and pukey, and the nurse happily added it to her cabinet.
We took pictures of the children with their new dolls (they loved to pose and then look at themselves on the back of the camera) and then drove back towards Harare. We stopped by the side of the road to buy Guavas (.30 for 10) and Tomatoes (.20 for 10) from the farmers. (Organic produce, as there was no money for chemicals)
We decided that since we were tired we would go for a swim and then splurge and eat at the hotel restaurant. We were hot and dusty after laying with children and riding so long in the car, and the rooftop pool was fantastic. Unfortunately, it was also shallower than we were told and I scraped my knee and my toes (ow!) We noticed a spa sign beside the pool. The prices were... wel, YIKES! Keep reading and you'll see...
After a short swim (it was an open rooftop pool and there was lightening above) we dressed up and headed to the restaurant.
There was a live Jazz trio and it was all very fancy. I sang a few songs with the band, just for fun, and then we sat down to our 3-course meal.
We ate: Garlic mushrooms in poppadems
A carafe and then another cup of wine
Peppercorn beef flambe (hurrah, fire!)
Potato croquettes
Vegetables
Crepes Suzettes with Ice Cream (hurrah, more fire!)
Now, guess how much the evening cost (not to brag)... for both of us...
For that delicious meal...
It cost....
$18.00 (!!!!)
We rolled ourselves upstairs and into bed... soo full of beef...
***
Sis woke up early the next morning and went for a swim. By the time I climbed to the rooftop, she had already gotten two beauty treatments! We had booked the two beauticians for the entire afternoon, so I didn't feel too left out, and after a quick beauty treatment (left vague to allow for feminine mysteriousness...) we descended to the breakfast room.
The next morning we wanted to go to (gues what) another market! Unfurtunately we were out of money. Now, in Zimbabwe there is the OFFICIAL rate (around 90 000:1 USD) and the UNOFFICIAL rate (210 000:1 USD). Now, I am not saying we did anything unofficial, because we did not do that, but for a traveller's information, exchanging money illegally, one needs to have a contact. That contact has to call someone they know who will exchange US dollars at the unofficial rate, and who might then pick up the contact at, say, a street corner. The contact will need something (like, say, a tilley hat) to hold the stacks of cash, and will climb into the car wearing the Tilley hat, (then the car will drive away mysteriously,) and who will climb out of the car holding the Tilley hat. Just for information's sake, of course...
The market consisted of a lot of the same stalls of the first market we went to. Instead of being in a sketchy area, though, on Sunday morning all of the stalls move to the parking lot of a mini-mall. Sis was in top bargaining form. An example:
Stall Guy: So, would you like some lovely beaded roses?
W: How much?
SG: Only 800 000 Zim Dollars.
W: !! Ack! TOO much! You are trying to take advantage of me because I am a foreigner!
SG: No, no, I will give you a good price
W: Of course. Well, how about 300 000?
SG: !! Stall rentals are expensive, Miss! I have to make a living!
W: It is a slow day, you don't have any customers, and I am offering you a good sale. 300 000.
SG: How about 600 000?
W: I prefer 300 000.
SG: Please, lady. I work so hard...
Me: OOOH! Let's get two!
W: (giving me a dirty look) Okay, for two then. 300 000.
SG: !!!!
W: Well, now you are selling multiples, and you said would give us a deal...
**much bargaining later***
W: Okay. 800 000 for three roses, and a free beaded hot pepper keychain for my sister.
Me: (clutching the coveted hot pepper keychain) :) :) :)
SG: Please, miss, please. 860 000.
W: Okay, it's a deal. 800 000.
Me: *clutching pile of money hopefully*
SG: 860 000
W: 800 000
SG:... Okay. Okay. 800 000.
W: Thank you :)
Me: HURRAH!!
After the market, laden with the usual african goods and two semi-precious citrine stones (they are gorgeous!), we returned to the hotel. There were still a few hours before the concert, but it was time for the spa! Sis got a mani and a pedi (french tips, though they didn't not do a very good job), an hour massage, a cleansing and waxing. I got toes and fingernails polished and a cleanse (makes skin happy), much waxing and an hour massage. Grand total for ALL of that for BOTH of us:
...
...
$24.00 !!!
Considering that an hour massage in Canada costs around $80.00 without a tip, that was insanely cheap!
One of the beauticians was the boss, and after she finished with us sis and I asked the employee about life in Zim. Life in Zim is not easy. Salaries are around 1.3 million a month (We had spent 4 million on dinner the night before. 1 million is $4.60). Toilet paper costs 1.2 million for 12 rolls. School fees are 1 million a month for public school. (We gave some food to a group of boys who attend school in the mornings and then beg in the afternoon so that they can afford their school fees). Shoes are 1.2 million for a child, and he needs shoes to go to school. She was supporting her son and her sister in law and HER three children on her 1.3 million a month. No fathers in the picture, and she is lucky, as 60% of the population is unemployed.
We tipped her 5$ US, for 4 hours of treatment (no WONDER when we asked them if they could stay past closing time to give massages they readily agreed - everyone needs every cent!). That is what she normally earns in a month. We had a stack of clothes we didn't gove to the orphans, and we gave them to her, and wrote a note explaining to the hotel security that these were for her to take home. She was so happy she almost cried. Clothes are expensive there. Life is expensive there.
When he had helped us load the orphan-clothes into the car, one of the doormen had offered to take some of the clothes "because he knew someone who needed it." Clothes are an almost unattainable luxury in this country, apparently, and when we checked out of the hotel we gave the last few shirts away to another doorman, and he was happy to take them, and made no secret about how pleased he was. (I was afraid of offending, but I guess the need is that great)...
After the beauty-extravaganza, we were picked up by the driver and taken to Prince Edward Boys' School, the venue for the concert. After a short rehearsal we were ready to change into our formal wear, and suddenly...
...The lights went out! This happens all the time in Harare, apparently. Someone presses the wrong button or trips over a wire at the power building, and the city is plunged into darkness for sometimes hours. Sis and I did hair and makeup in the last smidgen of daylight, and as the audience stumbled into the theatre, the headmaster of the school set up both fancy candelabras and single taper candles thrust into cans of sand, all over the piano and the stage.
The first 20 minutes of the concert was sung in eerie darkness, a shadowy audience and a shadowy performer. when the lights suddenly came on, everyone cheered and the concert was a great success! There were over 200 people in the audience and at the cocktail party afterwards, there were prefects from the Prince Edward school, as well as diplomats, Francophone, Belgian and German expats, other schoolchildren, ambassadors...even the former conductor of the Zimbabwe orchestra (there is, not surprisingly, no longer an orchestra). I took photographs (one was for a German nun to send to her friend in Manitoba) and signed autographs - the schoolchildren were all so sweet in their uniforms, and they explained how they were all prefects competing to be head boy... what a unique, fun time in Zim we'd had!
posted by Melamondiale @ 10:05 PM
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