(Khulekani and myself- he’s happy because I just told him about Bitcoin ;) )
I had a feeling that Zimbabwe would be different, possibly a country least like any other I’d visited thus far and I was excited to go. I knew about the hyperinflation that first hit in the late 90s- this alone would be enough to cause social unrest, but couple that with the fact that this nation is under a dictatorship and I knew there must be a lot of unsaid opinions among the people there. I was curious to see what some of the locals would venture to say of Mugabe, if they would be honest with me, tell me to hush up or if they’d only speak highly of him like I presumed most would.
I lucked out with the Airbnb that I booked because the host was a well-traveled man who is educated in all sorts of trades. But even better, he had a radically dry sense of humor coupled with a warm and welcoming spirit. What’s more, he wanted to show my friend and I the real Zimbabwe, now that’s what I’m talking about. His name is Khulekani, Cool for short, and his adventurous hospitality is the reason I’ve got yet another story to tell.
It all started when he picked us up from the airport and asked us where we were going… “Um, Paula’s house.” “Ah yes, Paula’s place, very good. Let’s get going.”
Didn’t this guy know where we were going? He was the one holding a sign with my name on it.
Once we got into the car I asked him his thoughts on Paula, if she was nice etc…
he replied “Ah, I don’t know. Have you read the reviews from former guests?”
“No, I didn’t actually”
“Well, we shall see then.” He answered.
Turns out Cool is married to Paula.
This is the perfect example of his sense of humor, dry and clever. I knew I’d enjoy his company after that.
Since my flight landed at night my first impressions of Harare would have to be put on hold until the next morning. There's always an added strangeness when it's your first time to a new country and you can't really make out the landscape or any real details. My imagination was left to fill in the blanks of what I thought might be beyond the darkness.
Before I could help myself I asked him where that guy Mugabe lived. Right away he warned me not to ask any other people this question. Since he was my self-appointed “guide” and he probably figured that if I was going to be asking questions it’s better that they be directed to him and not all of the locals I’d meet on the street, he volunteered that the man in charge has a house in Harare and also another compound about 50km out of town.
That’s as specific as he’d get and I immediately realized that I definitely wasn’t in a free country, I wasn’t in the type of place where you could openly criticize the ruler let alone enquire of his whereabouts.
The next morning I saw streets lined with walls and barbed wire that bordered one of Mugabe’s meeting places, it was occupied by several armed guards and surveillance cameras covering multiple angles on the corners, and he wasn’t even in town. This was my first impression of Harare and I can't say it was a surprise. My curiosity was peaked and I wanted to know what life was like for the citizens here.
I'm assuming that the government officials are the most paid individuals in Harare, and are the ones accounting for most of the wealth found here, while the vast majority of the citizens live in what we would consider extreme poverty. It doesn't take much to connect the dots.
To say that I underestimated the state of the wealth divide there is in itself an understatement.
I walked through neighborhoods just outside of the city center where fences 7 feet tall with barbed wire weaved along the top guards multimillion dollar homes. Yet, just like any other major city, the real flavor is found in and around the city center. This is where I took a ride through one of the many slums, where hundreds of shacks are built out of materials ranging from bricks and sheet metal to sticks and straw. I saw so many men in that sweltering heat bartering for a sale, teenagers pushing carts filled with fruits to sell and women who I’m convinced have got to be the most enduring individuals in Africa, walking miles on the hot dusty roads with slim sandals, their young toddler swaddled around their back with anything from a 30lb sack to a large basket filled with fruit balanced perfectly on their heads.
As we made our way into the city, I noticed many police officers on the streets, some of whom had mobile spike strips just to be sure you stopped your vehicle for them. I just had to get a photo of that.
Side note, don’t attempt to photograph a police officer in Zimbabwe
You may be forced to pull over and threatened with an arrest. I consider myself extremely lucky. The officers couldn’t agree on what they should do with me. The whole scenario lasted 45 minutes and consisted of nervous sweats, desperate jokes and the giving of my information; of course I also had to prove that the photos had been deleted all for the sake of trying to smooth things out. Finally Cool and I got away with one hell of a warning. Lessons were learned to say the least. Now we both have another story to add to a long list of craziness.
Despite the harsh appearance of the city, the people within proved to be friendly and helpful. I was especially grateful for this when I got lost after taking a minibus around town and ended up walking 4 km in the wrong direction. I asked one person for directions and ended up with a group of 3 others working to figure out the best way to get back. This ended with me running into one man who graciously let me use his phone to call my host just to be sure.
Currently I’m in Lusaka Zambia, trying to find my way to Northern Tanzania or maybe even Malawi in the next couple days, by bus, which should take 20++ hours. I hear the roads are a lot of fun and the situation of the border is described as insane.