Zimbabwe 1986

House aptly named 'Chaos' 

Steven's 24 yr old second cousin

Me with one of their dogs who I loved and wanted to take home.

Day 1

Having now found a girlfriend that had done a bit of travelling (he wasn’t to know that girlfriend in question although indeed had travelled, had during her travels, lurched from one near death experience to another) Steven decided now the time was right to visit his second cousins in Zimbabwe.  His travel experiences to this point had been stag holidays to Amsterdam and two fairly dreadful skiing holidays with his girlfriend (me) when he discovered he a) couldn’t ski and b) not to trust his girlfriend if skiing. 

We set of on Christmas eve for a nine hour flight on Zimbabwe airlines and I soon realised this particular airline was on a par with a previous exotic airline flown with, namely Korean airways from a previous world (ish) tour.  The first thing I pointed out was that this was an ex Lufthansa plane so all instructions were in German.  It probably wasn’t the best idea to mention to Steven that this plane had been sold to Zimbabwe because it was probably too old and past it for the strict German standards.  Steven began to drink anything that was offered and was further disconcerted by the constant praying of the 99% Zimbabwe passengers, also now mostly drunk.

As luck would have it we landed in Harare at 9am on Christmas morning being picked up by Steven’s 24yrs old cousin once removed.  And removed he certainly was.  A large young man with a beard that could have supported 3 blue tit families. It was an interesting drive where it was pointed out to us what we could and couldn’t do in this capital city.  “Don’t leave the compound of the house”, “don’t speak to anyone outside”, “always check where you are walking in case of snakes”  bla bla. I wasn’t really listening because after all I had been to agricultural college, loved snakes and wasn’t scared of any animals.  Famous last words? Oh dear me yes….

This was my first meeting and experience of ‘ex pats’ as we pulled into a large house in Harare.  I was looking forward to meeting the family because the ex Governor of the Falklands was Rex Hunt and his wife Mavis was sister and mother to Steven’s cousins.  Out waddled Betty to greet us, still in her flowery nylon dressing gown with a few food stains down the centre happily holding a pink gin in one hand and a cigarette in the other.  “Welcome, welcome” Betty announces in a ‘frightfully frightfully’ accent.  We were immediately lead across the stoop and into a dark wood room with a large bar and offered drinks.  I declined as it happened to be 11am in the morning and I had the strangest feeling I would need my wits about me while staying here.  Steven didn’t feel the same, as he was still quite drunk from the flight and felt more drink was a good plan. 

As if it was yesterday I remember sitting at the bar while I was introduced to all the other members of the family, I sat there listening and while doing so my eyes rested on an interesting candle holder on the bar.  “How unusual” I said “a candle inside a pretend scull”,  “where did you get that?”  “ That isn’t a pretend scull” said Bishop “It’s a blick that died in the Rhodesian wars”  “ Many of the heads were turned in candle holders or ashtrays”….

I sat there in horror and unable to do anything but gap at him.  “I’m sorry?”  “Did you actually say this is a real scull?”….”from a blick – black person?”  Now, I will never know if this story was true….I persisted on an off for 3 weeks to try and find out but they all stuck to the same story, it could have been a monkey for all I knew but whenever I went into that bar I could never take my eyes of the scull…

It was a strange Christmas that year with a father that insisted his son’s were weak and pathetic for not drinking despite one suffering from Hepatitis B and it is where I first tasted pink gin and I believe the last time it ever crossed my lips.  I just couldn’t keep up with this completely mad family with their gung ho spirit and imperial beliefs.  Mother never did get dressed until late into the evening when Christmas dinner was served by small black servants scuttling around…we had Kudu which I had no idea what it was until it was explained to me that it was a deer of some kind. 

That night with a splitting headache, overwhelmed by the bigotry of conversation and the fact that Steven hadn’t been sober for 24 hours I sat up in bed and stared at him.  He smiled gently back in a drunken mist of “Isn’t life here just fab”.  One sentence came out of my mouth..

”GET ME OUT OF THIS FUCKING MAD HOUSE, I WANT THE FIRST PLANE OUT IN THE MORNING”    

He sobered up extremely quickly telling me I couldn’t leave…we were here for 3 weeks, please don’t be upset..it will get better, honestly it would.  They are nice people, we would travel alone soon, and it is an amazing country. 

“Nice people, nice people?? I have just walked into 1889”…. the servants live in a mud hut at the end of this garden and live of scraps and sudza!”  Their dogs eat better (two Bouviers and a Lurcher type).  But the thought of seeing this country called Zimbabwe made me stay and I learnt and important lesson, that I didn’t have to say yes to everything just to be polite…I didn’t have to drink pink gins if I didn’t want to.