Surviving Zimbabwe
ZIMBABWE | Wednesday, 19 December 2007 | Views [736]
Aaah...wonderful, smiling Zimbabwe. After days and days in Africa, in the Botswanan bush, I finally hear drums. Africa, where the first heart beat, the drum beats on, like the Zimbabweans keep on keeping on.
We
are still on safari. I am still on my first organized travel tour group
and I happen to be with four scientists. As an artist, it becomes
painful to hear science being used to take the fun out of everything. I
am tired of being scolded for anthropomorphizing and scoffed at for
daring to think that animals can have fun. Even the allure of bungee
jumping off the Victoria Falls Bridge is tainted by talk of maximum
velocity and trajectory.
I finally come to feel sorry for the scientists at the Boma
restaurant in Victoria Falls, a touristy spot featuring game meat and
dancing, drumming. This display of dancing, drumming,
community-building Zimbabwe-style inspires the scientists to talk
economics yet again. "Can they really make a living being dancers?" one
asks. Maybe that is the trick, that is their mistake: they can't see
the people. They only see poverty.
My mom orders a Diet Coke that costs $240,000 Zim dollars and dinner costs over $3,000,000 Zim
dollars. It seems ridiculous, almost funny, these prices, but speaks to
the economic strife of the country. Yes, there is reason for the
scientists to care so much for economics while they are here, but they
discuss, pity and complain in the same breath. They relate stories of
the current Zimbabwean president and his insanity that they saw on CNN
from the comfort of their Manhattan home. They shoot sad, condescending
faces at the waiters at the restaurant lamenting their situation.
"These poor, poor people," they say.
Then they complain, the
armchair liberals. They complain about aggressive street-vendors and
the amount of tourists in Vic Falls. After spending at least $10,000 USD
each to go on an American-organized safari, they complain about staying
at a foreign-owned hotel. "I feel bad most of my money is leaving the
country," says one. When told about the local library's need for
children's books, another one balks at the idea of spending $45 USD
to send a box of books over. I thought they wanted to help these poor,
poor people, but $45 seems like too much to spend to help them out.
They don't even talk to the people. They keep the CNN images seen from
sofas in their living rooms and feel guilty. These Americans feel
guilty about a situation they didn't even cause. Instead of interacting
with the place, its people, they only frown and cleanse their hands
with anti-bacterial gel.
The Zimbabwean people don't need pity.
They need clothes, shoes, pens, paper and they ask for it all, but in
trade. Zimbabweans have a reputation of being honest, hard workers.
They trade. They do not come with their hands out, they come with their
wares...and what beautiful wares!! Our days spent at the Vic Falls
market are by far the most memorable of the trip. After Botswana, a
country of only one native craft, basket weaving, I am blown away by
the myriad of Zimbabwean artistic expression. Yes, all this art is
aimed at tourists, but in a country in the midst of financial collapse,
tourism feeds the starving artists and their starving families.
Supposedly, it is illegal to use US dollars in Zimbabwe, but some one
looks the other way in regards to Vic Falls. I imagine Vic Falls is the
best to be if you are Zimbabwean thanks to tourism. Employment is
plentiful and constant. US dollars make acquiring goods possible over
the near-by borders of Zambia and Botswana. Tourism, I believe, is
saving this part of the country.
My mom and I go to the markets
with bags of clothes. We go to the ladies market first. Batiks, wood
carvings and stone sculptures all available for a couple pieces of
clothing and a few dollars. We talk to the ladies selling batiks first.
As I open my bag of clothes I am surrounded. These ladies get first
pick and like typical women, they are choosy going for the best
clothes. The whole negotiation process is filled with laughter, tough
bargaining and integrity. We then head to the men's market down the
street. Each stall has a name: "Discount Store", "Chicago Bulls",
"Walmart". Everyone tells us their name almost immediately and I start
to think it may be a custom like receiving gifts with two hands instead
of one. We hear names like Truth, Lucky, Gift, and Good Price. My mom
and I laugh and tell them we know their mothers didn't name them Good
Price. The men tell us their Ndebele names and everyone giggles as we
butcher the sounds. One guy looks at us and says, "See? Just call me
Good Price and I give you good price."
Despite the reports
coming out of this country, I don't feel any desperation from these
people. Yes, they are poor and looking at their outward appearance
their poverty is apparent, but the dignity of their character is
unavoidable.
Zimbabweans proudly declare that they are survivors. They are a proud, persevering group of people who seriously never cease to smile. One Zimbabwean even declares that Botswanan
people aren't as happy as Zimbabweans because they have more money.
"Money doesn't bring happiness," he says. These are people who are not
jaded, not by their situation, nor by the tourism that surrounds them.
When my mom and I return to the market the next day, a man starts
walking next to us, smiling as he follows us. It takes us a minute to
notice, but when we look at his hat, his smile grows wider. "Nice hat,"
my mom says realizing it was one we traded yesterday. The man just
starts laughing and gives my mom a one-armed hug saying, "Nice to see
you again."
I leave Zimbabwe missing the laughter, the smiles and the short lessons in the Ndebele language.
I leave Zimbabwe awed by their art, music and spirit.
I leave Zimbabwe believing in the people, believing that they are surviving and will continue to survive with unbroken spirits.
Tags: Markets
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