A few months prior to this, I had applied to International Citizen Service on a complete whim. I had deferred my uni offer and was determined to fill my year out with as much as I could- to avoid turning into a grumpy vegetable at home. On my application, India had been my top choice. There was something about the colours there that enticed me. However, India would have to wait, as I got a call a few weeks after the selection day which told me that I would be going to Zimbabwe with the charity Restless Development. I wasn't sure what to think. Initially I was elated to be living the African life, excited to live under a little african bush and dance with tribal men and friendly lions around a camp-fire. Unfortunately, and surprisingly for me, my friends and family did not have the same reaction. Robert Mugabe was mentioned at first, whose name has become synonymous with dictatorship and corruption, Then there was the safety. If I went to Zimbabwe then I would surely be either murdered, raped, kidnapped, or all three. Then there was the loneliness. The program that Restless ran meant that you would be on your own in a very rural, remote community with a national, Zimbabwean partner. There was about a 30 minute travel time between each placement, with the central hub being a small town called Plumtree which was about 100km away from Bulawayo.
Their uneasiness definitely got to me, but I wouldn't give in and was determined to carry out this momentous, ridiculous challenge I had set myself. So I completed my fundraising (which involved walking miles in a sumo suit, hula-hooping for over 3 hours, and shaking many buckets!), and started preparing for what I soon learnt was un-preparable...
15th September...
The drama started upon stepping off the plane. Immediately, we were rushed into passport patrol where a man with one shoulder pad dismissed our work permits so that we'd have to pay for new ones. A team member with an ASBO wasn't allowed into the country and was deported back to UK the next day (after a small $1000 to be let out of prison).
Our second introduction to life in Zimbabwe came in the form of a stuffy shed and scruffy kids. Their little bellies swelled as they ran around kicking footballs made out of plastic bags. We found out straight away that their dancing was utterly awesome. They seemed to have no bones in them and could flow freely like some human flubber.
17th-23rd September...
A few days later, and we were well in to our training week. This was the time we learnt about Restless' work in the districts around Plumtree, about the problems of HIV and drug abuse, and essentially how to teach a class of students. I was walking back from the shops with one of the national Zimbabwean volunteers- 20 year old 'Lucky' (named because when he was born his parents thought he was a still born- but luckily he wasn't!). He told me the two things he couldn't understand about white people (or 'khiwas' as they call us):
1) Why do we have pets
2) Why do we order food at a restaurant only for the taste and not just eat food for the reason of food (ie, to give energy)
Lucky's favourite animal is a fish because they are relaxing to watch. I didn't remind him of point 1.
There have been two massive bush-fires in the 3 short days we have been staying in Bulawayo. The Zimbabweans don't seem to be remotely concerned as the flames practically lick the buildings where we were training. Actually that's not quite true; There was one absolute legend strolling around the 10 ft flames and attempting to put them out with a watering can!This is a photo of another fire that was spreading along the sides of the road
25th September, the first few weeks of placement...
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| Sunset view from the back of our new home. I hadn't noticed the photogenic peeing donkey!! |
On the 27th we went to a bike race at the community 'Mqecula' (say it as if you are clucking) about an hours walk down the road. I provided the entertainment for one family whilst I was going for a nature wee. They all stopped and stared at the crazy peeing 'khiwa' and unfortunately it was a really long wee and I couldn't stop so they just kept on pointing and watching for a pretty long time. Also I killed a mouse today (later, the story escalated to me killing a gigantic rat the size of a donkey with only a wooden spoon), and I have photographic evidence. It was in our house and Wendy and I ran around with brushes and buckets and Wendy's slippers (Noreen stayed outside screaming) and with some pretty great teamwork SQUISH the mouse was squished.
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| Had to get photographic evidence... poor mouse |
Teaching was going well, and I was surprised about the freedom we were given. There was no assessment lessons, just complete trust that the 'makhiwas' (white people) knew exactly what they were doing (they had more trust in us than we did). Our very first session at the school was about teenage pregnancy, one of the greatest problems in the Mangwe district. In every one of our classes, even at primary level, there are girls that are pregnant. Once asked about the results of teenage pregnancy, one girl's hand immediately shot up as she answered 'suicide'.
One of my favourite places at Ivimila is somewhere I like to call 'Pride Rock' (it hasn't yet caught on), where I like to listen to Lion King and pretend I am being really spiritual and moody. Little goats dance around the rocks, skipping and kicking up dust in their ludicrous but enchanting play. They always avoid a deep brown stain where a brother or sister goat has been slaughtered weeks before. Watching them, I can't help but question their disregard for the sharp, protruding thorns at their feet that cause me such torment. Pain is all relative.
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| 'Pride Rock'... the Ivimila watching the sunset over Botswana |
Since we've arrived, the locals keep telling us that the rains are coming. When asked as to when they are coming the answer is always 'Ahh, to-morrow. I can feel it is coming to-morrow'. There have been alot of tomorrows since we arrived, but the 11th October was clearly the one that everyone was on about. Today, the sky opened up and revealed itself as a giant lung, breathing and beating its gelatinous grey tissue and veiny streaks of light and shadow. We imagined the lightning was playing a sky-wide keyboard, singing high-pitched to the right and low and deep to the left. The lightning was rhythmic and awesome, it tingled my senses.
22nd October, top-up training and Haloween...
'Top-up training' is a compulsory part of the ICS program, It supposedly involves a review of the placement so far, and gives a chance to outline any ongoing problems. For the first time in weeks, the whole group was back together. Everyone was very excited by this. The countdown on the group WhatsApp had people counting down our approaching reunion to the nearest minute and I couldn't help think it was all going to be a gigantic flop.
However, the few days we stayed at St Theresa (a hostel in Plumtree) provided a much needed break from placement and gave us the boost we all so desperately needed to keep us going. As well as reminding us why we were here, it also was very comforting to discover that our difficulties were collective. And, actually, there was nearly always a placement worse off than your own. The longest we had gone without water was 4 days, all other problems faded away into the background as we pondered once again how we would boil rice without water, brush our teeth, or even stay hydrated in this 40°C heat! We learnt that some placements had gone without water for over a week. So somehow, our difficulties became easier to cope with as we looked at them from a different perspective. Some placements still had not enough buckets (which, by the way, deserve FAR more credit than I ever realised!!), or are having arguments with their placement partners. In this respect, the Ivimila girls were doing pretty damn well!
Oooo and one proud moment for me during training was the beginning of 'Barber's barbers', as I like to call it. After some persuasion and a little tiny lie about some past hairdressing experience, Chris let me cut his hair and guess what it didn't look too bad afterwards. So BOOOM to all my friends who never let me live up to my name. (because it was so obviously meant to be)
After top-up, it was back to work with full force. We were determined now to boost these kids' prospects. These were the leaders of future Zimbabwe. Yes sir, this bunch of cheeky monkeys who would either play 'jovagajinga', roll their eyes or sleep through all of our lessons would be the politicians, the teachers, the doctors of the future. They would be the change that desperately needed to come.
The leaders of the future...
< Molly's Halloween costume!
Playing netball against the teachers at Embakwe >
The last few weeks of placement...
It was a seemingly normal November day at Ivimila. We had just got back from teaching sessions to find little Prince (the 3 year old we live with) running around the house completely naked before doing a massive poo on our front door. Standard morning.
But then we decided to go to our local community, Mqecula, for a community meeting (and mainly chips). We arrived at the meeting, and at the side of the group laying on a mound of sand, was a woman called Lillian. She was in a lot of pain and giving birth to twins. Now stop a second. Can you even imagine such a ridiculous situation, giving birth to twins under the full African sun on a pile of dirt. Maybe she was still expected to contribute to the meeting that she was presently attending? And it gets weirder. This woman wanted me and Noreen to deliver her twins. Our white skin apparently told her quite obviously that we were qualified in... just about anything. The woman was refusing to go to hospital to give birth. Clearly the dirt and makhiwas were good enough for her and her twins... but naturally (being a khiwa with no baby-delivering experience) I didn't quite agree. After alot of persuasion and bribing, we eventually got her into a pick-up truck and off to hospital (with a bag of mealie-meal and some firewood- she would have to cook for herself. Hospital-provided meals? Don't be ridiculous!) The meeting did not stop and our little birthing party in the corner was largely ignored.
Some of the best moments during my trip to Zimbabwe was when we got the chance to sneak off to visit other placements around Mangwe. The standard way to do it was wait at the corner of the road until a taxi/combie/truck came along to give you a lift. (Or, to save a few dollar, why not try actually driving the taxi yourself? A car stuffed full with old women, children and perhaps the odd goat; I will never forget my temporary employment as a Zim taxi driver.) A couple of times we got to visit the Inguizi dam, which was about a 4 hour journey away. But the peaceful clear blue water stretching wider than my peripheral vision was well worth the dusty and bumpy journey. My eyes drank up the view that seemed so out of place in this large scrubby land. I could be in Greece. So, in a newly-discovered holiday spirit, we decided to hire a boat. Bobbing along in that tranquil cool water would be a luxury we had not felt in months. However, a slight confusion on our part was forgetting that we were actually in the middle of the Zimbabwean bush. Add in a few different species of poisonous snake, some fish 'herps' and a broken, sinking boat and thats more like it! In the middle of this vast expanse of water, the boat's engine died and water came rushing in. In true African fashion as we had grown accustomed, we didn't let it bother us (much). There were 8 of us on the boat, only 2 couldn't swim so the rest of us figured we would just tug it heroically back to shore. It took a LONG time. When we finally made it back on land, the Chibuku shake-shake suddenly seemed like a very good idea.
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| Some of MANGWE MASSIVE |
16th November, the end is getting closer and closer (but so is the end of my tether being stuck at Ivimila). For example, today we rode out on a donkey cart to the middle of nowhere to meat someone who wasn't there, so back we bounced through the scrub land. I felt so sorry for those poor donkeys, but also for my poor sadza butt.
On our last night at Ivimila, Wendy and Noreen and I went for a farewell meal at Gombani. We all ordered a very salty fish and chips, it was an emotional evening and the perfect way to end our life at Ivimila (by getting stranded in Plumtree afterwards surrounded by drunk 4J's men and getting a dodgy lift home in the back of a pick up). I feel extremely lucky and privileged to have met these girls, my sisters from Africa. Wendy the diva... Noreen the 'Asian Woman'... I will never forget you two crazy darlings.
After debrief training, we had some free time to go to Victoria Falls. So the last week was a whirlwind of drinking, driving, dancing, sweating, packing, unpacking, waiting and jovagajinga-ing. We all piled into a tiny little bus for hours and hours, getting far too drunk in order to cope with this crazy journey, the endless police road blocks and Louis' singing (joking). At Vic Falls, we stayed at the backpackers 'Shoestrings', and explored this empty, eerie ghost-town. It was a tourist town, and felt awkwardly out of place and fake; like Zimbabwe was putting on show- desperate for acceptance. Victoria Falls itself, despite being one of the 7 Wonders of the World, was not all that wonderful either. Don't get me wrong, it was impressive- especially peaking over the dizzying drop to the giant crevice below. I was just not filled with the same sense of wonder as, for example, I was when I watched three little children chase tyres around the dusty backstreets of Plumtree. Or when a little lilac butterfly landed on my hand, daydreaming up the branches of that old tree on Pride Rock.
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| Some of the team on the Zambezi!! |
Through this experience I have drank too much, laughed immeasurably, met life-long friends, and cried more than I ever have in my life. I have a new-found respect for a stable government who prioritise their people's healthcare and education over their own power and wallet. I have a new appreciation of road surfaces, goats and buckets. I now know that no-matter where you are, you can make it into a home with the right people, a little faith and some funkeh dance moves.
I wink back at the wonky, upside-down crescent moon.
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| With my favourite Chantelle Ching Chang (she claimed she was Chinese) |
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