Former Glory

It’s a large room with walls in puce green. The ceiling is high, close to the angle of the roof and the skylights on the west side have been whitewashed over to reduce the heat of summer. Two lines of grime mark the waiting area; one for bored, unwashed heads and the other for elbows slouched over the back of benches no longer there.

Gun licences are a requirement in Zimbabwe and this is one sector of the government that works, at least in outward appearances. I am waiting to collect my licences for a pistol and a shotgun ancien (it’s over 100 years old). For obscure reasons both have to be kept at the office where they are pretty much useless but they are probably not easily sold. I have been waiting for some 15 minutes now whilst my request is “being attended to” and I’m as bored as the two young girls opposite who are starting a slapping contest. The bigger takes off her jersey to allow better freedom of movement but that’s as far as it gets. The policewoman, large and stern with glasses, reprimands them and the younger of the two hides behind her sister with a nervous giggle.

The walls are devoid of decoration save for an ILO poster and a few notices of “Cigarettes are permitted in this office but smoking is not”. Opposite me are two small but tacky photos of big game hunters with their kill. One, in sunglasses is holding a dead leopard in an obscene, almost loving embrace under the forelegs. Its hind legs are just touching the ground and its bloody muzzle is resting on his shoulder. Once a magnificent animal it is now relegated to the Firearms Registry wall where it certainly was three years ago when I last renewed my licences. The other is a grotesque photo of a hunter crouching next to a pickup truck sized hippo – I cannot see any evidence of blood and have no desire to look closer. How difficult is it to shoot a hippo? And he was proud of it?

Outside the winds of September are blowing. It’s going to be a warm day too (nights are still jumper-cool) but the heat of October is only a threat – it will come, never fear; soporific, stultifying heat. Cicadas trilling. Every step will be an effort, a sweaty move in the parturition of the rainy season, if it comes. This is an el Niῆo year when the ever fickle rainy season chooses to be more fickle than usual – though it is likely to be dry, very dry. That is then, but for now the winds blow and the dust swirls and even the sun is cowed in the resulting haze. The matriarchal policewoman finishes stacking files (no computers here) and wipes the patina of dust off the tables behind the counter with a well polished rag. The dust will be back.

Squads of recruits jog (never walk!) past outside, neat in navy blue uniforms. Across the road is a sign Forensic Laboratory; the door is open but it looks deserted. Do they solve crimes inside? Is CSI alive and well in the Harare CID? The wind blows and I wait.

I try playing the Sudoku on my cell phone but I am really not interested. I adjust the font size on the contact list to large and then back to standard. I wait some more. Eventually I am called to the counter. A signature, a date and I am legitimized. It seems that in the two months since I have applied for the licences nothing has happened until I handed over the receipt some 45 minutes earlier. No matter, the woman is pleasant and I have what I came for.

A kloppity mounted squad of recruits goes past as I walk out the gate to the car. The horses at least seem proud and well cared for. Outside the gate it is dust as usual.

I drive a few blocks down to the Delta Art Gallery to have a look at a new exhibition. Back alleys are laden with trash that the council has not even pretended to collect. They charge extortionist rates for no visible return. Trash lines the gutters and is piled on the edge of a dusty square of grass where security company recruits in a motley collection of clothes drill and stamp their feet totally out of turn. A fire has burnt part of the square and rubbish has been dumped on the burnt area. Or was it the other way around? There was a fire burning around a couple of skips at a private school on the way into town. A bit of “impromptu” refuse disposal perhaps?

September is not a pretty month in Harare. Trees are still bare after winter and the blooms of the jacaranda and other summer trees have not started. The Gallery Delta at least is cool and clean though the pieces by the well known local artist are optimistically priced.

Driving back out of town the recruits are still drilling aimlessly on the dusty square and a fire engine has moved in to put out the blaze at the school rubbish skips. Town gets a bit cleaner to the more affluent north where the residents are more inclined and able to pay private refuse collectors to remove their rubbish but Harare, once voted the cleanest capital city in the world (1980’s) is now just a dim shadow of its former trim self.

Shopping for spares

Quite often the best place to shop for vehicle spares in Harare is in the old Kopje area; specifically Kaguvi street. It’s mayhem down there – cars parked haphazardly, running repairs and touts hassling passing drivers “You want bearings? Spares?” which are either stolen or dodgy salvages. It’s advisable to maintain a sense of humour and not get ruffled. I once told a particularly persistent tout to F off only to be accused of being a racist. “Fine” I said, “lets’ go and chat to the police about it then”. He sulked off, continuing to mutter.

Today I was looking for tie rod ends (the bits that hold the steering to the wheels). When asked by a couple of touts if I wanted spares or bearings I replied that I did not buy my spares off the street; after all, who would want a tie rod separating at 120km/h? Lots of tears and dead bodies! They saw the joke and didn’t bother hassling me again. Curiously the shop I went into only had the inner tie rod ends. The outer ones were missing out of stock!

Rumours of Rain

Factmeter (FM) scale: 0 = nonsense, 1 = myth, 2 = dubious rumour, 3 = rumour, 4 = fact 2^nd hand, 5 = fact 1^st hand

It is August and the rains are not due until mid November. FM = 4

The veld is very dry and fires are everywhere. FM = 5

Richard Branson has been to Zimbabwe several times and has had meetings with Robert. FM = 5 (heard from 2 reliable sources).

Richard Branson is interested in investing in the Victoria Falls area, including the airport in exchange for a “feel good” project, likely fixing up the big Pariranyetwa Hospital in Harare. FM = 4.

The Russians are investing in a new double carriageway from the airport – they are being paid in cash and land for development en route. FM = 5 (I know one of the contractors and have seen the work going on). Why we need a double lane road from the airport is anyone’s guess.

The Russians are buying up a lot of the larger mines in the country. FM = 4

The Marange diamond fields will be returned to their rightful owners in the next 2 weeks. FM = 3 (reliable source but will have to see it happen.)

There is a gradual drift of people back to Zimbabwe in anticipation of a “turnaround”. FM = 3.

This year is an el Niño year which will cause erratic rains and drought. FM = 4 (it’s a weather forecast, how can it be fact?).

The (lack of) Information Industry

On Sunday afternoon I noticed that Jenni looked like she’d come out of a horror movie where the eyes change to red, at least her right eye looked like it. A closer inspection indicated blood in her cornea and although it was not bothering her I took her off to the only veterinary surgery that was open on a Sunday.

The duty vet gave her a rather cursory examination, an anti-inflammatory injection that made here yelp and eye drops containing a cortisone and antibiotic. He seemed to think that the damage had been caused by some sort of trauma to the eye.

The next day there was little sign of the injury except for a slight darkening of the iris and what appeared to be coagulated blood in the corner of her eye. I breathed a sigh of relief and carried on with life.

Tuesday morning she yelped when I put the eye drops in. At lunch time when I came home my heart sank. Instead of the usual boisterous welcome she cowered at the gate, whining and yelping, her right eye completely closed against the sunlight. I got her into the truck and we went straight off to the surgery that I’d been to on the Sunday. A different vet was on duty and he was not helpful. He said he could not comment on the state of her inflamed eye as he had not seen it on the Sunday and how could it have deteriorated so quickly? He told me to continue with the eye drops for five days and then come back. I was less than impressed.

At three o’clock I was at the surgery where I usually go with Jenni. The vet who eventually saw her listened to what I said, examined the cornea for ulceration and changed the eye drops to a straight prednisolone (cortisone). On Wednesday morning the eye was much better though she was a bit subdued. But when I came back in the early afternoon she was cringing and whining again with the eye screwed up and the lower conjunctiva covering most of the eye. By morning I had my usual Jenni back again, full of nonsense and affection. I took her with me to work in the afternoon and all was fine. She jumped into the car to come home and I could see she was relishing a good run from the farm gate. I thought it wise not to let her. She got out the car and I could see the problem starting all over again. In ten minutes the eye was inflamed again and she was cowering from the light. Despite the eye drops going straight in the eye continued to deteriorate throughout the evening.

I was now more than a little depressed at the lack of progress and feeling more than a little left out of the information loop. The latter was rectified by a call to a vet friend of a friend who explained that in such cases the cause is often not identifiable so the only choice is to treat the symptoms and it can take a while to get the anti-inflammatory dosage right. The bleeding may or may not result in a reduction in vision in the affected eye and if it does not stop the eye must be removed. Not great news but why was I not given this information to start with? Why do I have to go to these lengths to get it? I may not have a veterinary degree but that does not make me stupid. I have come across this lack of communication in the medical field too, most notably with a highly renowned orthopaedic surgeon whom I have seen occasionally for knee problems. On all occasions I have had to squeeze him for information.

Some time ago I made similar comments to an anaesthetist who is married to a school friend of my sister’s and he said he’d experienced the same thing with his dentist. To be fair not all medical/veterinary professionals are as reticent with information as this but if any actually read this I would say:

1. I am paying and I am concerned – I deserve to have a FULL explanation.
2. If I cannot understand I will ask you to re-explain.
3. If you think I will not understand then explain it in terms that I can understand (without talking down).
4. It is not my problem that I might not understand what you are talking about; it is your communication skills that need brushing up.

Jenni is still not right as I write this so this afternoon she must go back to the vet. Hopefully I will get some more satisfactory information.

Getting old

“… and I have brought and old dog that I’d like put to sleep” said the man, late thirties with two young boys, one of whom was holding a Jack Russell type puppy. Everybody oohed and aahed over the puppy which was cute in the way that all puppies are. I wondered if the old dog was being replaced, put out to pasture if you will. Certainly the man did not look at all perturbed as he smiled at the children showing off their new companion. I have had to “put dogs to sleep” that were infirm or in pain and it was not a pleasant business; they were my friends and I was doing what I reasoned to be the best thing for them. I had certainly did not wanted to wait around and pass the time of day waiting for the vet. Maybe the old dog was infirm, who was I to judge?

Once the vet had seen to Jenni’s eye and actually taken note of what I said unlike the previous one, who tried to tell me that her eye could not possibly have deteriorated since the previous day, I took her out to the truck. There was another pickup parked next to mine, dark blue with a fibreglass canopy on the back. One window of the canopy had been left open for the occupant. A large, wonderfully whiskery old face peered out alert and anxious at the open surgery door, waiting no doubt for the family to reappear. Who am I to judge?

The waste of it all

I was at a different sort of waste tip this morning. We’d just got another nice order of tobacco seedlings so I went out to the Tobacco Research Board to buy some of their excess seedling trays. This time I did not bother going through the marginally cheaper used ones but went straight for the new trays. I’d seen where they were dumped before but that was only a small part of it. The pile we accessed was vast; conservatively estimated at 100,000 trays. Now the maths on that is interesting. That amounts to 24.4 million seedlings (244 cells per tray) or about 1,600ha of tobacco at 15,000 plants per ha. And all the trays were donated by UNEP! I’m sure it’s not a lot of money for UNEP but I do wonder if they are aware of how few of the trays have been used.

Coincidentally

The rubbish tip down the road from my house has been alight for the past week, again. This is the third year in succession that it has burnt. Chatting to Mike, husband of Helen who supplies my weekly milk and provides a garbage collection and disposal service to the same site, I discovered that the bulldozers that the council used to spread the waste have not functioned for the past three years. There’s a link here.

Peace (be upon you)

“President Mugabe last week proclaimed yesterday, today and tomorrow as peace days — during which Zimbabweans from different political persuasions are expected to encourage and promote national healing and reconciliation.” (see the rest of the hypocrisy here).

The lore of the lights (or a quick guide to surviving Zimbabwe’s traffic lights)

Surviving Harare’s traffic lights (and by extension this applies to the rest of the country) is not to be taken lightly. Here are a few scenarios and how to deal with them.

1. The traffic pattern implies that all the lights are working. Assume nothing; traffic lights are merely suggestions and red lights are a challenge. Proceed with caution, preferably not as the first vehicle into the intersection. Let someone else be the bait.

2. The lights that you can see are working but you cannot see any others working, they probably are not. Proceed with caution, preferably not as the first vehicle into the intersection. Let someone else be the bait.

3. You cannot see ANY lights working but that does not mean that ALL lights are not working. Proceed with caution, preferably not as the first vehicle into the intersection. Let someone else be the bait.

4. You have come through at least 3 sets of lights that are not working (there was no power at home either) and it looks like this lot is out too. This IS actually the safest scenario as no-one believes they have right of way but don’t take anything for granted. Good luck and may the bravest survive. (This does not apply in South Africa where an intersection with non-functioning traffic lights must be treated like a 4-way stop street).

5. All the lights are actually flashing orange indicating a malfunction. Wow, you ARE privileged! Not many people actually see this fail-safe working so take a photo to prove it to your friends (time it for the flash!)

There are of course other combinations of the above but these are the basics. The best survival technique is to skulk in the shadow of something big enough that no-one else will “dis” it. 7 tonners are good, 30 tonners are the best.

Announcement

Would all readers please note that as from February this year (2009) that all references to “dollars” in this blog refer to the United States currency of the same name. Zimbabwe dollars no longer exist. Officially they have been withdrawn due to “speculation pressure” which begs the question of how they will ever be re-introduced without the same thing happening all over again.

February has been chosen as the “cutoff” date as that is when the revenue authority is opening its books on the real money.