What to say when there is so much to share? Shall I tell you about the shower rock in the bush near the house to which we come every evening one by one to wash off the heat of the day and anything else that wants to fall away? Or shall I tell you about the internet tree that attracts so many people from the village because for some reason under that particular mango tree the internet connection is better than in most other places in the region? So here we sit in the shade of that majestic being and read our emails, send out messages, watch videos, or organise travel plans.
A different world – the beginning
It’s a different world. And maybe I begin with Harare airport where I landed, coming from Johannesburg. On the airplane I had learned from my seat neighbour that there is a bus which takes people from the airport to town: “but it’s not safe” she said. “Then there are also taxis but I am not sure if it’s safe.” Welcome to Africa. Well, if neither one is safe, then I may as well take the bus. I worked my way through taxi drivers offering their services, then asked at a Europe Car rental for the way to the bus stop and walked out of Harare airport premises. A couple hundred meter down the road I stopped to re-organise my luggage. An airport staff walked past me and I figured that she is heading for the bus stop too. As quickly as I could I picked up my large backpack and followed her. As soon as we passed the barriers which separate the airport compound from the adjacent area a van appeared and the woman in front of me walked towards it. The conductor – someone who manages the coming and going passengers – asked me if I want to go to town. This must be the bus. The man looked friendly and I nodded towards him. He helped me get my luggage into the van and charged 50 cents for the trip. The taxi would have been 25-30 $US. It’s US Dollar since Zimbabwe no longer uses its own currency. This is how it all began – my adventures here in this other world.
Life at a Shona farm
Zimbabwe is not exactly one of the most travelled African countries but much authenticity can be found here. From Harare I took a bus straight to my first Workaway exchange: a rural farm somewhere between Masvingo and Chiredza, 3 hours south of Harare. The farm consists of one main house, several round huts for sleeping and kitchen, and many animal stables. Life is simple here and physically demanding. Every morning and evening I carry a big bucket on my head, full of guavas picked in the surrounding bush. Every 3 – 4 days we fetch water from the nearest well, about 1 km from the house of the family I am staying with. For that we carry about 15 empty buckets and some drums and jerry cans to the well, wash them one by one in the little creek, and then fill them to the brim with water. Just before the job is finished we hear the sound of a bell and know that the father of the household is arriving with two cows tied to the front of a trailer. We hear his shouts which prompt the cows to keep moving. He stops, we load all the water buckets and containers onto the trailer and then walk back home with the cows.
When we plow the field we first remove loads of high grass with a simple sickle under the scorching sun, then we tie the same two cattle that pull the water trailer – Cabo and Sister – in front of the plow and drive the animals across the field over and over, leaving deep trenches in the soil – colonial farming methods. It’s a collaboration between humans and their cattle which both sides know in and out. Very specific words and sounds are used to communicate in addition to a whip … yes beating the cows. I refused to use the whip, or hurt the cows in any way for the entire duration of my stay, much to the confusion of the Shona farmer I was working with. Priorities, values and histories were clashing. Communication was difficult.
One person was holding on to the plow, pushing it down into the soil. Every few meter the plow became congested with vegetation and needed to be lifted up and shaken. It is heavy work. The main crops here are maize, a type of bean, sweet potato ad peanuts, but there is also experimentation with smaller amounts of rapoko, a type of millet. Millet used to be grown abundantly in many African countries until it was replaced by maize for cash crops. It neither needs pesticides nor chemical fertilisers to grow since it is well adapted to these lands. Not so with the maize.
What I like though is that the family is growing the maize for their own use and for exchanges with surrounding the community. In between the maize plants grow lots of pumpkins of different types. There is also avocado, banana and mango trees, ginger, turmeric, tomato, but overall the food choices are rather small. The most common food is satsa which is made from ground maize. That too used to be made from rapoko.
Making peanut butter
One afternoon another workawayer at the farm and I decided to shell peanuts. There are lots of peanuts and other ground nuts growing on the fields here. Most are turned into delicious home-made nut butter which accompanies the maize porridge or bread in the morning. As we were shelling away we were first joined by a little cat and started giving her some of the more wrinkly nuts which wouldn’t be used for making the nut butter. Then came chicken and ducks and we shared with them in the same way. Then the kids came from school, sat down with us and began to shell too. Every once in a while nuts disappeared into our mouths. I will never forget how we all shared this food – animals and humans – while there was still plenty left for the nut butter. It was a very peaceful, inclusive and beautiful experience. Once the nuts are shelled, they are slowly roasted over a fire and then brought to a facility which turns them into nut butter.
Money – finally breaking down?
What I really like is the thriving non-monetary exchange of labour and foods in the region. The money system in Zimbabwe is messy since the local bond notes went through a massive inflation in 2008. There were several attempts to introduce a stable currency but the US $ is what is used to pay for goods and services. With that shift everything has become more expensive. Since people don’t have more money, and salaries are still paid in bond notes even though all expenses have to be covered in US Dollar, the financial situation has led to an increase in non-monetary forms of exchange in the countryside. Not so in the cities where financial success is regarded as a road to freedom, prestige and societal recognition.
The inflation has now picked up again and is escalating as I am writing. The value of bond notes is decreasing massively almost by the day. Simultaneously yet another currency is introduced called ZiG, or Zimbabwe Gold. Some say that this currency may finally entail more financial stability as it is backed by gold and foreign currency reserves. Yet the people of this country have long lost their trust in the financial system which has sent so many into despair and is continuing to do so. A member of the Zimbabwean junior parliament explained to me a few days ago that the current strong inflation of the bond notes is an attempt to drive the population into complete poverty so that the new currency has to be accepted as the only way out. Suicide rates are soaring. It is heart-breaking.
At the same time what many still don’t realise is the faster and faster crumbling of the financial system at a planetary scale. As more corruption surfaces and ever more coercion and loss of freedom become tied into the world of banking, the new currency is yet another attempt to distract and control the people of Zimbabwe. When and how will this end? When will we finally be ready to detach from the idea of money as a means to freedom and take an honest, serious, brave much deeper look at what is going on and how people can and need to come together to create what we want and need?
Black and white
“You would be surprised how many rich black people there are in Africa.”
Every day I see that people are not people. Instead they represent a colour – either black or white – the colour which is imbuing their skin. Since I am white, I am considered rich, better, privileged, desirable. This racial divide is not only one between black and white; it is also a racism of black people towards black people, ingrained in the mind after decades of polarisation. It is not real in the sense of who we are as human beings, or even in the sense that white people are indeed richer than black. Obviously the gap between poor and rich is more extreme here than let’s say in Germany. However, one of the first things I was told by a black acquaintance of mine in Harare shortly after my arrival in Zimbabwe is: “You would be surprised how many rich black people there are in Africa.
When I was waiting for 2 hours for the shared minibus to depart and take me to the rural farm for my Workaway exchange I decided to sit down next to the local people who had gathered behind their little stalls through which they sold bread and a lot of chunk food like chips and lemonade drinks in all colours. Even though I was by myself, shy and completely unfamiliar with this society I wanted to connect with the people. For 2 minutes no one talked to me. Then an older woman pointed at her belly and said: “I am hungry but I don’t have dollars to buy food.” We were sitting in front of a farm on which food was growing abundantly. I could see it from the street. We were also surrounded by more farms, and the woman was sitting behind a pile of loafs of bread. Obviously she was not hungry, but wanted money. Even though new to Zimbabwe I knew this situation well from the 1.5 years I lived in Tonga, a small island country in the South Pacific – the immediate association of white people with monetary wealth, the common belief that everyone in Europe is rich and everything is taken care of in these northern societies.
What to do. My life revolves as much as any possible outside the financial system. Neither am I rich in this monetary way, nor do I wish to be, nor do I have the money to fulfill this ladies wishes in this kind of way. Yet the tragic of the history of loss of culture, war, abuse and exploitation of black people through white invasion of many types make me hesitate. I want this relationship to heal yet the prejudice I am confronted with once more is something which needs to be clarified and which I cannot support. I find myself choosing a rough response. Pointing at the bread, I reply: “There is bread.” The man next to the lady is shocked about my response. Others are laughing. The lady who had asked me seemed confused, not knowing how to react. I added: “I don’t have food left in my luggage and also don’t have the money you are asking for.”
Internally I feel that this response was what I needed to say. At the same time my mind is telling me that I am the only white person here, don’t know any of these people, just arrived in this foreign country, and if these people turn against me, then I don’t have much to defend myself with. I left the group and sat down in the minibus to create some distance and to honestly express my discomfort and disapproval of the situation. 10 minutes later a young man arrived for his shift as conductor of the minibus. He immediately came to me:
“What’s your name?” I responded by telling him my name and asking for his’.
“Where are you from?” “Germany.”
“How old are you?” “42”. With a big smile he said: “We are the same age!”
“Are you married?” This is getting interesting. “We are the same, you see? You are my age. Come to my farm. I will cook cassava for you. Do you like cassava? I am your lover now.”
He was determined enough to keep trying, by that I mean seriously trying, for the next 1.5 hours until the minibus left and took me to the farm. Since I was stuck in the situation with the farm 24 km away and my luggage weighing 20 kg, I took the time to explain to him, laugh with him, and try to remove some stigma and prejudice in a playful way. Whether it worked, or did any good, I have no idea. Sometimes I was scared not knowing if this may all get dangerous as it was also getting dark. There was sadness and disappointment in his eyes when the minibus took off. I never saw him again.
This kind of scenario happens a lot when one travels as a white person in a black country and I can only imagine what the looks, questions and prejudice must be like for black people who come to Europe. Unfortunately we are a long way away from seeing each other simply as human beings who choose different paths and live different lives not based on their skin colour but rooted in their internal wisdom.
Am I privileged? Of course I am. My German passport makes for easy travel for example. I can go to almost any country. Very many people from Africa, incl. Zimbabwe, don’t get a chance to see Europe, or North America even when the necessary financial resources are available because the visa are so hard to obtain. This freedom to travel – a basic human right by the way which is anchored in international law – has given me so much life experience and understanding of how this world works – a path which is denied to many, and would have been denied to me if that wall in Germany had not come down. This is only one of many privileges which come with being born in Germany as a while woman. Education choices, lifestyle choices with regards to the type of partnership I wish to have, or not have are others. In Zimbabwe same-sex relationships are forbidden and lead to arrest and prison time. A man is allowed to marry several women but not vice versa. Not only that, the man of the household receives financial support from the government per woman. This money usually never reaches the women and children. Partnership without marriage is close to impossible, so is a woman’s life without male partner…
Communicating with animals
I am in Africa, so you would think I’d write about elephants, zebras, giraffes, hippos, lions, hyenas, right? I have not seen any of those. In Zimbabwe these wild mammals are extinct almost everywhere except within the borders of few national parks. Humans have unlearned to share their space with these incredible beings. Hence what is happening is that there are e.g. too many elephants within the protected areas, by that I mean more than the ecosystem can carry, and in most other regions there are none. Hundreds of years old baobab trees (the oldest one is 1700 years old) now need to be protected with fences as elephants will otherwise eat all the bark, causing the trees to die. Elephant re-settlement programs are not possible because of the immediate conflict between farming and wildlife that would ensue. In Greece this problem is addressed by an organisation called Arcturos which rewilds bears, lynx and wolves while simultaneously breeding indigenous Greek shepherd dogs. These dogs are trained to protect the farms in the region. This system seems to work. Similar, or alternative programs are needed here.
What stood out to me the most during my time at the farm is that animals are perceived as objects rather than sentient beings. This has a lot to do with christianisation and the values conveyed in the name of religion. It also has to do with colonial farming methods which have been introduced in the past and are now forming the basic structure for growing food plants and keeping livestock. This objectification of life is not limited to animals but expands towards women and children. The farmer I worked with told me that it is important to him to have many kids because children are labour. He also likes cats as they keep the mouse and rat populations down around the houses. Pigs are kept for meat, so are chicken and ducks. Dogs help herding the cows and protect the property at night. Getting the picture? The relationship with animals is not one rooted in love, it is based on practicality and exploitation of their skills whether the animals like it or not.
So, here I am diving into the culture of a people which used to treasure life in its own right until European colonialists and missionaries moved in and forcefully re-programmed the society in manifold ways. Now when most Shona people are living by these introduced values and distorted, one-side views of the world white people like me attempt to interfere once more – although this time invited and working for black farms – criticising, resisting and complaining, wanting it all to be different again – now back to the old values and ways. How bizarre, to say the least.
Being who I am I cannot silently accept the whipping of cows, the mistreatment of dogs, or the ripping open of the ground by deep plowing/tilling, and certainly cannot make myself a part of it. It hurts my heart as I feel the animals. Several times I got in front of the cows which were pulling the plow and lead them across the field with a rope that was connected to their harnesses. No whipping or beating was needed. Quietly and slowly we got the work done. I also expressed that I had never joined a farming project which involves plowing before because I cannot stand behind this way of working the ground. On the 2nd last day, when the father of the family wanted to take the cows to the field for work they suddenly turned and followed me instead of him. Rather than walking through the gate, they abruptly changed direction by 90 degree and were almost unstoppable. They looked into my eyes and it took quite some time to stop them and lead them back to the gate while I stayed back by the houses we lived in. I took it as a compliment and was deeply touched, never mentioned that to the farmer tough. He was visibly dismayed and has to come to his own conclusions whatever they may be.
As probably many of you know, the mistreatment of animals is neither limited to Zimbabwe, nor African countries. Processing experiences at the farm I talked to my friend, another Workawayer. She not only introduced me to Monty Roberts and his Join-Up non-violent animal communication technique, but also told me about a recent job she took in Switzerland with a show horse business. The show horses were trained with old-style fear and punishment-based whipping methods, heavy use of spurs etc. The foundation of this type of animal communication is the same as what I observed here in Zimbabwe. The workers of the show business had become numb and treated each other just as badly as the horses were treated. My friend quit after one week. Even though she needed the money, being trained in the Join-Up method by Monty himself made it absolutely impossible for her to work under such conditions. Not only did she quit but she also stood up for her rights as an employee and gave lots of feedback to the manager of the business before leaving despite being threatened and insulted.
Most animals are highly sensitive beings and it is time to recognise that, not only in Zimbabwe, or Switzerland, but across this beautiful planet. There is a variety of alternative animal communication methods which all boil down to the same main ingredient: mutual trust. The Animal Trust Technique taught in the UK is another example. No harmful means of communication are necessary whatsoever. As my experience with the cows shows who suddenly followed me instead of their ‘owner’, animals, perceive the difference quickly and tend to prefer interactions with us which are rooted in peace, love and a tuning into that connection that already exists between them and us. This open pathway of communication can either be ignored, or it can be used, leading to long-term relationships with animals which are enjoyable and meaningful much beyond getting work done on the field, or being successful in show business.
Animals – moments of doubt
Together with my friend I witnessed the birth of two goats for the first time in my life. All kinds of noises escaped our mouths: Wow! Gross! Oh my god! What the hell is this!? So cute! …
It was a great experience. We watched from a few meter distance as there was no reason to interfere. Unfortunately within a day the mom rejected both babies. What to do? Let the babies die? Feed them with the only available very unhealthy store-bought cow milk? The babies were screaming in distress, lacking food and closeness to their mother. The farmer we worked with did not have time for such matters which is understandable as he and his entire family were already working morning till evening, incl. the children.
Right or not, we decided to capture the mom, tie her up, and carefully lay her on her side. We then brought the babies to drink from her udder. She did not like it but the babies did. After they understood where the nipples are and how this nursing business works they drank for a long time. In the evening we did it again. The next day we did not need to capture the mom anymore. She allowed us to approach, and we did not need to lay her on her side either. We did need to hold her in place though when the baby approached her nipples as she did not seem to like touch of this area of her body. Before we left the farm we asked the family to please keep feeding the baby goats. We had done it for several days by then. One day later we received a message saying that it was no longer necessary to help with the nursing because the goat mom had re-adopted her babies and let them feed without problems. We were so happy. Our doubt had been substantial as neither one of us had experience with goats and we knew that the mom likely had a reason to abandon her babies. It could have been because they were male as most animals naturally keep a certain balance between genders and there were already several males around. It could also have been because there was a drought and perhaps the goats did not find as much food out on the meadows as they usually did. Who knows. We had to make a decision and it seems that in the end it worked out.
Incredible moments
There were several incredible and close moments with the animals – with almost all of them at some point. It’s when I deeply felt that other being: dog or cat, cow or goat that every fiber of my body seemed to smile. I felt so light, so understood and understanding without any words involved. We looked into each other’s eyes. There were no thoughts. These are moments which cannot be conveyed in their full meaning through words.
One of these moments was when we returned from the Deep Tank, driving the cows back home. The Deep Tank is a concrete structure filled with water which the cows need to jump into every Thursday morning. The water contains a pharmaceutical product which kills the ticks and prevents disease transmitted by these little bastards. There are loads of ticks here. In 2010 the Deep Tank was destroyed because it had been built by white people and there was an uprising against white farming and farmers in Zimbabwe. As a result the cattle did not get their bath and hundreds of them died. People realised that the tank and the pharmaceutical substance are the only way to keep the cows safe at this point (until we have figured out what ticks actually are and do something about the root of the problem).
We were driving the cows back home after their swim. With several people and dogs we made sure that all of the animals stay together in one group, rather than running off into the bush and getting lost. I was on one side of the herd, doing my job. There was a small dog close by who was also helping with the herding. One of the smaller cows ran off to the side, into some thick underbrush. I realised that the vegetation was too dense for me to follow her, thought: ‘shit’, then saw the dog and looked straight into his eyes. It took less than a second for him to sense what was needed. He turned towards the spot where the cow had disappeared and brought her back to the group. Small as he was he could easily follow her into the bush. I was stunned by the communication that had happened without words, the precision of our collaboration. It felt amazing. I was so thankful.
Dancing
At the farm, there were four young people, between 1.5 and 17 years old. None of them were the biological children of the couple I was staying with and which owned the farm. Two of them were orphans left behind by family members who passed through car accidents, or disease. The youngest one was born by a 15-year old woman (common here) who is currently studying elsewhere (not common to have that opportunity as a woman). One evening one of the kids spontaneously changed the TV channel away from a strange overly emotional Indian soap opera to … music. The 1.5 year old began to dance. I started dancing with her. Within a minute all of us were dancing in the small, packed living room. Our bodies were bouncing together in our flamboyant moves. We were laughing hard so many times. It was incredible and lasted for several songs. There was a connectedness between us which is hard to describe. A few minutes which brought us so much closer to one another.
On the bus
When my friend and I took the bus from the farm to Mutare two things happened one of which was delightful while the other was really not delightful. This is Africa by the way – a roller coaster of experiences, some incredible and reminiscent of the strong connectedness of some people with the Earth and their embodiment of the high frequencies pouring onto this planet, the others a reflection of trauma stored in the lands due to past happenings of abuse, killing, exploitation etc.
We were sitting on the bus, my friend on one side with a free seat next to her and me on the other side, on a two-seater that I too had to myself. As we were driving along, a drunk man started shouting at my friend from behind us: “Who are you? Are you married? Where are you from?” She did not react. The young man got up from his seat and sat down next to me but leaning towards my friend, talking at her again. She made clear that she is not comfortable talking to him because he was drunk and his questions invasive. He kept going. For a few minutes I listened to the back and forth between the two while looking out the window. Again and again she made clear that she does not want to talk to him. He did not care. Enough. Leaning right into his back I said: “Would you please leave her alone. That would be very nice.” The words just happened. Afterwards I thought it sounded strange: that would be nice… Why did I say that. A few seconds later he stopped, turned towards me for a second or two – I stared into his eyes. He left. From behind he accused me of being racist. Here we go. If a white man would have behaved in the same way I would have interfered much earlier and more aggressively. But I am racist…
We reached a bus stop where we had to change buses. A different young man came right towards us, asking where we want to go. After the situation we just got out of I was still angry and fired at him with words, saying in an unfriendly way that we don’t need help. He looked into my eyes, very warmly, introduced himself as a conductor who helps people with finding the right bus at the large bus stop which was also a thriving market for fresh fruit, vegetables, cows etc. I calmed down. We went to a few benches in the shade where other people were waiting, all local. During the 1.5 hours we were sitting there this young man turned out to be one of the funniest comedians and coolest dancers I have met in a while. We were joking back and forth. He made everyone laugh over and over. The time passed so quickly, it felt like 10 minutes. Then he brought us to exactly the right bus and waited till it departed. An artist of life, of dance and of philanthropy.
The absolute highlight – Great Zimbabwe ruins
The absolute highlight so far was Great Zimbabwe – an ancient place of incredible frequencies, a gateway to another time. On the hilltop monumental rocks are stacked on top of each other in the most unusual ways. The hill is surrounded by the ruins of buildings and other structures of which we do not know what they were (yes, they say we know but we don’t). Great Zimbabwe is believed to have been the trade centre of a previous civilisation which has disappeared. It is situated between two rivers: the Zambezi and the Limpopo. Massive gold and copper reservoirs are underground. Among the most impressive art work found here is a soapstone sculpture – half human, half bird. I could not stop looking at it and was standing in front of it for probably 10 minutes, staring at it. There was also a jade tea-pot with four feet which is believed to have walked at some point and to have magic properties which are connected to drinking from it.
I spent several hours here, with my friends – two other Workawayers from the farm. It was pouring down rain for most of the time. Walking barefoot, we enjoyed the mystery of this place in the mist. It was breath-taking. I felt strongly connected to the ruins and rocks for two days after our visit. Great Zimbabwe was only a day’s walk from the farm but due to the rough roads it took us 3 hours to get there. Three hours in a shared taxi with 13 people that is: four in the backseat, four people sharing the driver and passenger seats in the front, five people squeezed into the trunk. Yes, there were two people in the driver seat. Travelling Zimbabwe…
More coming…
I could have written so much more. New insights and experiences are flooding in more quickly than I can write, or you can read. I hope you enjoyed this little window to Zimbabwe, a country so rich in so many ways. I am now in Mutare right by the border to Mozambique, working at a hostel and involved with a project which supports artists and musicians, and another project which is a combination of kindergarten, primary school and women empowerment In a poor suburb of the city. The insights into Shona culture and interactions with the local people are very different here which is why I chose this place after staying at a remote farm. Soon I will share more…
A poem for you
This poem was written in the Vumba, Eastern Highlands of Zimbabwe, on May 12, 2024.
Connecting sky and Earth
4 thoughts on “Under the sky of Zimbabwe”
I laughed. I learned. I enjoyed immensely reading about your journey, Carina. I love and appreciate the contrast of cultures, being witness to that which is falling away as the light of you dances with the African peoples, land and its Ancestors that spiral into a new way of living and being, each and every day. Anticipating your next instalment. 🙏😃
Thank you so much Leanda!
Thank you for writing so extensively, and touching on so many experiences and the wider themes connected to them. It is really the kind of information we need and should get from the media, but don’t. So instead this blog becomes part of what truly “in-forms”: reshaping the mind, including feelings.
Thank you so much Christian! It’s a joy to share about my experiences but the true meaning of it comes from the appreciation of those who read it, respond in some way and put it into context. It’s much appreciated and a lovely form of exchange. Thank you!