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Whose land is it anyway?
Whose land is it anyway?_
Arriving at Victoria Falls was like going back to another age: the tiny airport was a little hub of human activity. The building was bustling with people, carrying bags, talking, reading newspapers, waiting. The stifling heat was a stark contrast to the slick efficiency of Johannesburg's airport, which I'd left just two hours before.
Our little half planeload of sixty people seemed to have taken the local officials by surprise. We filled in our arrival forms and dutifully waited in line for the entry stamps to our passports. I had been warned of attempts to bribe me for a visa: this proved unfounded. The officials seemed overwhelmed and kept changing the queues. In the ensuing confusion I lost a bag of goodies I'd bought at the duty-free shops in Johannesburg. No matter - what counted was to get into the country undetected as a journalist, with the stash of hard foreign currency my hosts had asked me to bring. It was a huge relief to have made it through passport control and customs, no questions asked. A band of tribal dancers and singers greeted us outside the airport; a warm African welcome on a balmy summer's day in Zimbabwe.
I was met at the airport by my new friends and hosts for four days, Robert Fowler and his girlfriend Michelle Berens. In 2007 Rob launched the Ben Gula Project, which he runs with Michelle from the Ben Gula Lodge in one of the affluent suburbs of the town of Victoria Falls. The Lodge is a small, comfortable hotel made up of bungalows in a lush garden setting. The garden is dominated by a boma, a traditional thatched African outdoor entertainment area overlooking a barbeque area and pool.
Ben Gula is the westernised name given to Lobengula, the last ruling king of the Ndebele tribe in Zimbabwe, also known as the Matabele. Originaly of Zulu extraction, the Ndebele settled in Matabeleland in the 1830's, around 60 years before the territory was colonised by Europeans. Lobengula ascended to the Ndebele throne after the death of his father Mzilikazi in 1868. Lobengula had to fight for his title, and was only proclaimed king after courageously leading his men and crushing a rebellious impi uprising. A man of generous proportions and more than 20 wives, he ruled his people with strict discipline, but died in 1894 after losing to superior British firepower in the Matabele Wars. With Lobengula's death and the losses of war, Matabeleland was no more. The Ndebele people's sovereignty was gone and Rhodesia was born.
As its founder, it's no co-incidence that Robert Fowler is fiercely passionate about the Ben Gula Project. Robert is the great-great great grandson of David Hume, who in 1839 was the first white man to meet Mzilikazi, Lobengula's father. "I'm here to attempt to undo what my ancestors began," says Robert. "Despite its good intentions, colonisation led to the destruction of African culture and its inherent power. It is time for the Africans to be given the opportunity to return to their ancient traditions and culture, to preserve their customs and land from further erosion, whilst also participating as equals in a modern world. That's what the Ben Gula Project is all about - to help the Africans to achieve self sufficiency whilst preserving their spiritual culture." The Project's mission statement reflects this passion. “We are your channel into the culture of Zimbabwe. Together we can begin the healing of the world. The next leader of Zimbabwe will be a Spiritual Leader.”
I had come to Zimbabwe at Robert's invitation, curious to find out more about the Ben Gula Project.He had invited me to go on a mission with him, to visit tribal people in a remote northern territory.
After a comfortable night's sleep at the Lodge, we set off in an all terrain vehicle on our mission to Binga, near Lake Kariba. The 250km drive took us just four hours: Zimbabwean roads between major towns are still in reasonably good shape. We were met by plenty of police roadblocks along the way. When they noticed our vehicle was local, they generally waved us on after a brief chat. The police seemed to be the only civil servants who were still working in the country. After going unpaid for a few months, Robert informed me they had finally been paid in US Dollars for the first time in March this year. (The average policeman's salary is around USD 100. A loaf of bread costs USD 1). As we drove off through the suburbs of Victoria Falls, everywhere I looked were the signs of a society which has broken down. Power outages. Water outages. Food shortages. Petrol shortages. Cellphone network down. Internet down. No schools open, no hospitals working, no medicines available, no municipal services.
We stopped off to attempt some shopping before we left Victoria Falls - at a quaint store charmingly called Little Harrods, regarded as the town's best-stocked grocery shop. The previous day, Rob had jokingly given me a 20-billion Zimbabwe dollar note, but this was worthless in the shop. No-one any longer accepts local currency as payment in Zimbabwe. US Dollars and Euros are highly sought after, and all the prices in shops are marked in the US currency. It seemed ironic that Zimbabwe has resorted to using the currency of the very country its government claims to revile so much. Little Harrods had few goods on offer, all imports: canned and processed foods, neatly albeit sparsely arranged on bare shelves. Large fridges, intended for frozen meat products, rattled emptily in the echoing coolness.
We were soon on our way, driving through the gorgeous countryside that makes up large parts of the land: wild and verdant hills - Zimbabwe is blessed with summer rains. During a short stop Michelle found some discarded Zimbabwean banknotes in the bushes which been used for toilet paper; literally no good for any other use. We also met some children, a group of five boys, aged from 8 to 12, wandering aimlessly around. They came to speak to us in the hope of a handout. We questioned them and took pictures. They obligingly stood in a skinny little row for us, from tallest to smallest, their filthy clothes in tatters, answering our questions. Where are your parents, we asked. One by one, the tragedy of their young lives became apparent. Mother dead. Father dead. Mother and father dead. Auntie taking care of me. No one taking care of me. Four of the five had been orphaned by Aids, two by both parents. It was heartbreaking. Their eyes suddenly seemed to say so much more than their young faces showed. I was profoundly moved. The bleakness and utter desolation of their existence seemed unbearably sad and unfair.
Our onward journey took us deep into the heart of the Tonga people's territory, near Binga where the great Zambezi river has been tamed into the manmade Lake Kariba, on the border with Zambia and Botswana. We stopped first at Siyachaba general store, where we met up with fellow members of the Ben Gula Project – Alfred, a gifted musician, Godknows Zondo (a war-veteran amputee and previously a Zanu politico) and Peter Nyoni (founder MDC member and former MDC member of Parliament). After picking them up, we drove on to the village of the chief of the Tonga people. Coming to the end of a dirt road, we left our car armed with the gift of a frozen chicken - and plenty of water. We walked for three kilometers in searing heat, to Chief Siyachaba's ancestral home.
The village lies in a valley on the other side of a rocky hill and beyond a shallow flowing river with wide sandy banks; crocodile territory. It was close to 40 degrees and sticky. Although it felt as if we'd been walking for hours, it took us just 30 minutes. Set in a clearing surrounded by fields of sorghum wheat which Africans use to make beer, traditional Tonga homes are built raised on wooden stilts for ventilation, made of tree trunks, reeds and clay. There was no running water or electricity. All manner of domesticated animals meandered through the village whilst the women were busy pounding grains, washing laundry, gathering water from the nearby river or tending to the children. The men were out, tending cattle. An atmosphere of supreme calm and serenity reigned in the village. After entering it we were soon met by the Chief and shown to the coolth of a canopied tree, where we sat down on little traditional wooden stools which had been arranged in a circle for our meeting.
Chief Siyachaba, attired in a dark suit, white shirt and striped tie, with black shoes - in honour of our visit - warmly welcomed us, bestowing an unusual privilege: we were each given Tonga names. We took turns kneeling at the Chief's stool as he pronounced our names in a short ceremony. These name, he informed us, would be the names by which his people would always know us while we were guests in his territory. Robert's name is Tubone, which means "Let's see", and Michelle's Luzibo, meaning ''the one who knows”. My given Tonga name is Bukkale; which means "she who is wealthy, healthy and happy".
After the naming ceremony, the Chief listened attentively and patiently to us, informing us that his sangoma (African sha'man woman) had foretold him of our visit. When he heard of our proposal to build an eco-village on his lands, to generate wealth and help preserve his people's traditions and spiritual practices, he seemed genuinely pleased. Government subventions normally given to all chiefs to help them rule their tribal lands, which are required for running schools, clinics, municipal and other basic services, had completely dried up around six months earlier. After 45 years of ruling his people, Chief Siyachaba finds himself and his people at the mercy of God, at the edge of survival. He told us he would call a meeting of his surrounding village elders and asked us to return the following day, when these leaders would be present. He thanked us for the gifts of food – bags of corn meal and hard currency - which we had brought, accepting them with grace.
That night we slept at a lodge at the edge of Lake Kariba, owned by one of the wealthy white people from Harare who had built it. The lodge had water and electricity, absent from the Tonga people's village and homes. The fridge and electric fans were a noisy but welcome luxury. Exhausted, everyone turned in early, and we awoke early the following morning to make our way back to the Chief's village once more, before the heat of the day set in, to attend our meeting with the elders and leaders from the surrounding Tonga villages.
The meeting was something of an eye-opener. About thirty men had gathered and were awaiting our arrival with the chief, seated on wooden benches and traditional stools in a large circle under the same shady tree we had used for our first meeting with the Chief the previous day. After a presentation by Peter to the men, with an interpreter explaining details, the discussion of our proposal for the building of an eco-village with the men ensued. Then the women were called in. I had assumed that their opinion was less important, but this turned out to be incorrect. The women's blessing for the project had to be sought by the men, and there was no question of going ahead without their consent. The men set out to explain the project to them at some length. The women in turn raised many questions, and an animated discussion between the men and women ensued. It struck me that despite being on the edge of survival, these people respected one another's differences of opinion, treating one another with gentleness and kindness. There were no raised voices, no shouting. It was a real lesson in effective communication which we, with all our western technology, so rarely seem to achieve. In the end all the issues seemed to have been resolved. The Chief called an end to the meeting and the whole group moved to another part of the village.
In the heat of the midday, we gathered under another tree with all the village elders and women, and led by the sangoma, we all began clapping hands in time to the rhythmic traditional Tongan songs of blessing and prayers for the success of our project. The look of delight and joy on Robert and Michelle's faces was priceless. Alfred, Peter and Godknows beamed. The main, biggest hurdle for the Ben Gula Project in Binga had been successfully overcome. Chief Siyachaba had agreed to allocate land for the project. to go ahead. We were elated. That evening we celebrated over dinner with the Chief, back at the Zambezi River lodge at Kariba.
On the way back in the car with Michelle to Victoria Falls early the following morning, she explained to me how the Ben Gula Project had travelled around the country with Robert to many farflung regions in Zimbabwe, in many meeting with tribal leaders such as the one we had just had with Chief Siyachaba. In every case the replies have been unanimous in favour of the proposals.
But what about the future of the country? In Zimbabwe, no one seems to know when Mugabe and his cohorts will finally go, if at all. On the plane to Victoria Falls, I had befriended a group of affluent international property developers who were travelling to Zimbabwe to negotiate rights to use government owned land to develop tourist resorts at Victoria Falls, in Hwange Game Reserve and in other areas of the country. These businessmen informed me they were travelling to Zimbabwe to lay the foundations for a return to normality, with a new regime expected to be in place within three years. But who were they negotiating with? And under what authority? They informed me that the currently 20,000 visitors per annum visiting Victoria Falls on the Zimbabwean side would be expanded to 500,000 per annum with planned new tourism infrastructure under development. Is there not the risk of Zimbabwe being colonised all over again, I wondered?
After arriving back in Victoria Falls, Michelle took me to see Dr Hwesa Dhlamini, a renowned local spiritual healer, visionary and sangoma who has given her blessing to the Ben Gula Project. I entered her consultation rooms which are covered from floor to ceiling with objects of ritual and spiritual practice: from white satin garments, spears and shields suspended from the ceiling, entire python and leopard skins on the walls, and the floor scattered with bones and boxes, snuff and trinkets of every description. A man was seated on the cool cement floor next to me, seemingly in a trance, playing an Mbira, a type of ukulele in a hollowed out calabash.
Hwesa is an attractive woman with charismatic stature and presence. After undergoing a sophisticated western education she felt the calling to be a sangoma by her ancestors - to practice the spiritual healing path – at the age of 14. “This is decided for you, it is not you who chooses this path,” stated Hwesa in a matter of fact manner when I asked her how she had come to practice her profession. Her outlook on the world and her knowledge of global affairs was impressive. She informed me that she had chosen to be in Victoria Falls as this place is the Heart Chakra of the world, a place from which great healing will emerge, which will prove to be a lesson of healing not just for Zimbabwe but for all the world. This seemed like a very brave message of hope in the face of her country's desperate situation.
On my last afternoon I finally saw Victoria Falls, one of the world's official seven Natural Wonders. Called Mosi-oa-Tunya /(the Smoke that Thunders) /by the local people, my visit to the Falls was an indescribably beautiful and overwhelmingly impressive experience. The Falls can be heard and seen from up to 50 km away, and it is the largest sheet of falling water anywhere in the world, more than 1,8 km across and deeper than 100 m – twice the height of Niagra. So much water falls constantly over its precipice that the surrounding area has its own tropical rain forest and mini eco-system. You may be tempted to think, “you've seen one waterfall, you've seen them all,” but the sheer majesty and size of Victoria make other waterfalls seem like a trickle. Their beauty and might are simply awe inspiring. Suddenly Hwesa's ''heart Chakra” assertion seemed to make a lot of sense.
By the end of my visit, four days of dazzling experiences had left me feeling somewhat shellshocked. The multitude of enormous challenges and obstacles Zimbabwe faces seemed greater and more confounding than ever. For this is the quandary facing her people today: how to avoid the pitfalls of the past. Fear of colonisation is one of the cornerstones of Mugabe's staying power. He and his merry band of thieves have not left the building. Nor have they expressed any intention to do so in the foreseeable future...
I left Victoria Falls the following morning feeling wistful and overcome by emotion. At the airport, Michelle insisted I make an enquiry about my lost bag of dutyfree goodies. I'd happily written it off, of course, but obligingly humoured her. Sure enough, to my astonishment someone had handed it in and recorded it. It was duly handed back to me with a proud smile, contents intact. It seemed unbelievable that in the face of such rampant poverty and shortages, my bag of chocolate and other luxuries had not been taken. I felt truly, deeply humbled.
It's hard to sum Zimbabwe up. The country is so different to what I'd imagined, so complex and yet the charm of its simple truths and the reality of its beauty undeniable. That's Zimbabwe for you: the kindness, generosity and gentleness of her people is simply overwhelming. Quite aside from her extraordinary natural beauty and wealth, her people's kindness and spirit are her greatest assets.
Perhaps it's this very generosity and indomnitable spirit of kindness of her people which explain why the forces of tyranny, exploitation and greed still dominate power in Zimbabwe today. Robert Fowler summed it up: "Zimbabwe will die unless it returns to its roots. Our truth lies in our cultural and spiritual roots. No one will save us if we don't save ourselves.”
Ends – 3260 words
Arriving at Victoria Falls was like going back to another age: the tiny airport was a little hub of human activity. The building was bustling with people, carrying bags, talking, reading newspapers, waiting. The stifling heat was a stark contrast to the slick efficiency of Johannesburg's airport, which I'd left just two hours before.
Our little half planeload of sixty people seemed to have taken the local officials by surprise. We filled in our arrival forms and dutifully waited in line for the entry stamps to our passports. I had been warned of attempts to bribe me for a visa: this proved unfounded. The officials seemed overwhelmed and kept changing the queues. In the ensuing confusion I lost a bag of goodies I'd bought at the duty-free shops in Johannesburg. No matter - what counted was to get into the country undetected as a journalist, with the stash of hard foreign currency my hosts had asked me to bring. It was a huge relief to have made it through passport control and customs, no questions asked. A band of tribal dancers and singers greeted us outside the airport; a warm African welcome on a balmy summer's day in Zimbabwe.
I was met at the airport by my new friends and hosts for four days, Robert Fowler and his girlfriend Michelle Berens. In 2007 Rob launched the Ben Gula Project, which he runs with Michelle from the Ben Gula Lodge in one of the affluent suburbs of the town of Victoria Falls. The Lodge is a small, comfortable hotel made up of bungalows in a lush garden setting. The garden is dominated by a boma, a traditional thatched African outdoor entertainment area overlooking a barbeque area and pool.
Ben Gula is the westernised name given to Lobengula, the last ruling king of the Ndebele tribe in Zimbabwe, also known as the Matabele. Originaly of Zulu extraction, the Ndebele settled in Matabeleland in the 1830's, around 60 years before the territory was colonised by Europeans. Lobengula ascended to the Ndebele throne after the death of his father Mzilikazi in 1868. Lobengula had to fight for his title, and was only proclaimed king after courageously leading his men and crushing a rebellious impi uprising. A man of generous proportions and more than 20 wives, he ruled his people with strict discipline, but died in 1894 after losing to superior British firepower in the Matabele Wars. With Lobengula's death and the losses of war, Matabeleland was no more. The Ndebele people's sovereignty was gone and Rhodesia was born.
As its founder, it's no co-incidence that Robert Fowler is fiercely passionate about the Ben Gula Project. Robert is the great-great great grandson of David Hume, who in 1839 was the first white man to meet Mzilikazi, Lobengula's father. "I'm here to attempt to undo what my ancestors began," says Robert. "Despite its good intentions, colonisation led to the destruction of African culture and its inherent power. It is time for the Africans to be given the opportunity to return to their ancient traditions and culture, to preserve their customs and land from further erosion, whilst also participating as equals in a modern world. That's what the Ben Gula Project is all about - to help the Africans to achieve self sufficiency whilst preserving their spiritual culture." The Project's mission statement reflects this passion. “We are your channel into the culture of Zimbabwe. Together we can begin the healing of the world. The next leader of Zimbabwe will be a Spiritual Leader.”
I had come to Zimbabwe at Robert's invitation, curious to find out more about the Ben Gula Project.He had invited me to go on a mission with him, to visit tribal people in a remote northern territory.
After a comfortable night's sleep at the Lodge, we set off in an all terrain vehicle on our mission to Binga, near Lake Kariba. The 250km drive took us just four hours: Zimbabwean roads between major towns are still in reasonably good shape. We were met by plenty of police roadblocks along the way. When they noticed our vehicle was local, they generally waved us on after a brief chat. The police seemed to be the only civil servants who were still working in the country. After going unpaid for a few months, Robert informed me they had finally been paid in US Dollars for the first time in March this year. (The average policeman's salary is around USD 100. A loaf of bread costs USD 1). As we drove off through the suburbs of Victoria Falls, everywhere I looked were the signs of a society which has broken down. Power outages. Water outages. Food shortages. Petrol shortages. Cellphone network down. Internet down. No schools open, no hospitals working, no medicines available, no municipal services.
We stopped off to attempt some shopping before we left Victoria Falls - at a quaint store charmingly called Little Harrods, regarded as the town's best-stocked grocery shop. The previous day, Rob had jokingly given me a 20-billion Zimbabwe dollar note, but this was worthless in the shop. No-one any longer accepts local currency as payment in Zimbabwe. US Dollars and Euros are highly sought after, and all the prices in shops are marked in the US currency. It seemed ironic that Zimbabwe has resorted to using the currency of the very country its government claims to revile so much. Little Harrods had few goods on offer, all imports: canned and processed foods, neatly albeit sparsely arranged on bare shelves. Large fridges, intended for frozen meat products, rattled emptily in the echoing coolness.
We were soon on our way, driving through the gorgeous countryside that makes up large parts of the land: wild and verdant hills - Zimbabwe is blessed with summer rains. During a short stop Michelle found some discarded Zimbabwean banknotes in the bushes which been used for toilet paper; literally no good for any other use. We also met some children, a group of five boys, aged from 8 to 12, wandering aimlessly around. They came to speak to us in the hope of a handout. We questioned them and took pictures. They obligingly stood in a skinny little row for us, from tallest to smallest, their filthy clothes in tatters, answering our questions. Where are your parents, we asked. One by one, the tragedy of their young lives became apparent. Mother dead. Father dead. Mother and father dead. Auntie taking care of me. No one taking care of me. Four of the five had been orphaned by Aids, two by both parents. It was heartbreaking. Their eyes suddenly seemed to say so much more than their young faces showed. I was profoundly moved. The bleakness and utter desolation of their existence seemed unbearably sad and unfair.
Our onward journey took us deep into the heart of the Tonga people's territory, near Binga where the great Zambezi river has been tamed into the manmade Lake Kariba, on the border with Zambia and Botswana. We stopped first at Siyachaba general store, where we met up with fellow members of the Ben Gula Project – Alfred, a gifted musician, Godknows Zondo (a war-veteran amputee and previously a Zanu politico) and Peter Nyoni (founder MDC member and former MDC member of Parliament). After picking them up, we drove on to the village of the chief of the Tonga people. Coming to the end of a dirt road, we left our car armed with the gift of a frozen chicken - and plenty of water. We walked for three kilometers in searing heat, to Chief Siyachaba's ancestral home.
The village lies in a valley on the other side of a rocky hill and beyond a shallow flowing river with wide sandy banks; crocodile territory. It was close to 40 degrees and sticky. Although it felt as if we'd been walking for hours, it took us just 30 minutes. Set in a clearing surrounded by fields of sorghum wheat which Africans use to make beer, traditional Tonga homes are built raised on wooden stilts for ventilation, made of tree trunks, reeds and clay. There was no running water or electricity. All manner of domesticated animals meandered through the village whilst the women were busy pounding grains, washing laundry, gathering water from the nearby river or tending to the children. The men were out, tending cattle. An atmosphere of supreme calm and serenity reigned in the village. After entering it we were soon met by the Chief and shown to the coolth of a canopied tree, where we sat down on little traditional wooden stools which had been arranged in a circle for our meeting.
Chief Siyachaba, attired in a dark suit, white shirt and striped tie, with black shoes - in honour of our visit - warmly welcomed us, bestowing an unusual privilege: we were each given Tonga names. We took turns kneeling at the Chief's stool as he pronounced our names in a short ceremony. These name, he informed us, would be the names by which his people would always know us while we were guests in his territory. Robert's name is Tubone, which means "Let's see", and Michelle's Luzibo, meaning ''the one who knows”. My given Tonga name is Bukkale; which means "she who is wealthy, healthy and happy".
After the naming ceremony, the Chief listened attentively and patiently to us, informing us that his sangoma (African sha'man woman) had foretold him of our visit. When he heard of our proposal to build an eco-village on his lands, to generate wealth and help preserve his people's traditions and spiritual practices, he seemed genuinely pleased. Government subventions normally given to all chiefs to help them rule their tribal lands, which are required for running schools, clinics, municipal and other basic services, had completely dried up around six months earlier. After 45 years of ruling his people, Chief Siyachaba finds himself and his people at the mercy of God, at the edge of survival. He told us he would call a meeting of his surrounding village elders and asked us to return the following day, when these leaders would be present. He thanked us for the gifts of food – bags of corn meal and hard currency - which we had brought, accepting them with grace.
That night we slept at a lodge at the edge of Lake Kariba, owned by one of the wealthy white people from Harare who had built it. The lodge had water and electricity, absent from the Tonga people's village and homes. The fridge and electric fans were a noisy but welcome luxury. Exhausted, everyone turned in early, and we awoke early the following morning to make our way back to the Chief's village once more, before the heat of the day set in, to attend our meeting with the elders and leaders from the surrounding Tonga villages.
The meeting was something of an eye-opener. About thirty men had gathered and were awaiting our arrival with the chief, seated on wooden benches and traditional stools in a large circle under the same shady tree we had used for our first meeting with the Chief the previous day. After a presentation by Peter to the men, with an interpreter explaining details, the discussion of our proposal for the building of an eco-village with the men ensued. Then the women were called in. I had assumed that their opinion was less important, but this turned out to be incorrect. The women's blessing for the project had to be sought by the men, and there was no question of going ahead without their consent. The men set out to explain the project to them at some length. The women in turn raised many questions, and an animated discussion between the men and women ensued. It struck me that despite being on the edge of survival, these people respected one another's differences of opinion, treating one another with gentleness and kindness. There were no raised voices, no shouting. It was a real lesson in effective communication which we, with all our western technology, so rarely seem to achieve. In the end all the issues seemed to have been resolved. The Chief called an end to the meeting and the whole group moved to another part of the village.
In the heat of the midday, we gathered under another tree with all the village elders and women, and led by the sangoma, we all began clapping hands in time to the rhythmic traditional Tongan songs of blessing and prayers for the success of our project. The look of delight and joy on Robert and Michelle's faces was priceless. Alfred, Peter and Godknows beamed. The main, biggest hurdle for the Ben Gula Project in Binga had been successfully overcome. Chief Siyachaba had agreed to allocate land for the project. to go ahead. We were elated. That evening we celebrated over dinner with the Chief, back at the Zambezi River lodge at Kariba.
On the way back in the car with Michelle to Victoria Falls early the following morning, she explained to me how the Ben Gula Project had travelled around the country with Robert to many farflung regions in Zimbabwe, in many meeting with tribal leaders such as the one we had just had with Chief Siyachaba. In every case the replies have been unanimous in favour of the proposals.
But what about the future of the country? In Zimbabwe, no one seems to know when Mugabe and his cohorts will finally go, if at all. On the plane to Victoria Falls, I had befriended a group of affluent international property developers who were travelling to Zimbabwe to negotiate rights to use government owned land to develop tourist resorts at Victoria Falls, in Hwange Game Reserve and in other areas of the country. These businessmen informed me they were travelling to Zimbabwe to lay the foundations for a return to normality, with a new regime expected to be in place within three years. But who were they negotiating with? And under what authority? They informed me that the currently 20,000 visitors per annum visiting Victoria Falls on the Zimbabwean side would be expanded to 500,000 per annum with planned new tourism infrastructure under development. Is there not the risk of Zimbabwe being colonised all over again, I wondered?
After arriving back in Victoria Falls, Michelle took me to see Dr Hwesa Dhlamini, a renowned local spiritual healer, visionary and sangoma who has given her blessing to the Ben Gula Project. I entered her consultation rooms which are covered from floor to ceiling with objects of ritual and spiritual practice: from white satin garments, spears and shields suspended from the ceiling, entire python and leopard skins on the walls, and the floor scattered with bones and boxes, snuff and trinkets of every description. A man was seated on the cool cement floor next to me, seemingly in a trance, playing an Mbira, a type of ukulele in a hollowed out calabash.
Hwesa is an attractive woman with charismatic stature and presence. After undergoing a sophisticated western education she felt the calling to be a sangoma by her ancestors - to practice the spiritual healing path – at the age of 14. “This is decided for you, it is not you who chooses this path,” stated Hwesa in a matter of fact manner when I asked her how she had come to practice her profession. Her outlook on the world and her knowledge of global affairs was impressive. She informed me that she had chosen to be in Victoria Falls as this place is the Heart Chakra of the world, a place from which great healing will emerge, which will prove to be a lesson of healing not just for Zimbabwe but for all the world. This seemed like a very brave message of hope in the face of her country's desperate situation.
On my last afternoon I finally saw Victoria Falls, one of the world's official seven Natural Wonders. Called Mosi-oa-Tunya /(the Smoke that Thunders) /by the local people, my visit to the Falls was an indescribably beautiful and overwhelmingly impressive experience. The Falls can be heard and seen from up to 50 km away, and it is the largest sheet of falling water anywhere in the world, more than 1,8 km across and deeper than 100 m – twice the height of Niagra. So much water falls constantly over its precipice that the surrounding area has its own tropical rain forest and mini eco-system. You may be tempted to think, “you've seen one waterfall, you've seen them all,” but the sheer majesty and size of Victoria make other waterfalls seem like a trickle. Their beauty and might are simply awe inspiring. Suddenly Hwesa's ''heart Chakra” assertion seemed to make a lot of sense.
By the end of my visit, four days of dazzling experiences had left me feeling somewhat shellshocked. The multitude of enormous challenges and obstacles Zimbabwe faces seemed greater and more confounding than ever. For this is the quandary facing her people today: how to avoid the pitfalls of the past. Fear of colonisation is one of the cornerstones of Mugabe's staying power. He and his merry band of thieves have not left the building. Nor have they expressed any intention to do so in the foreseeable future...
I left Victoria Falls the following morning feeling wistful and overcome by emotion. At the airport, Michelle insisted I make an enquiry about my lost bag of dutyfree goodies. I'd happily written it off, of course, but obligingly humoured her. Sure enough, to my astonishment someone had handed it in and recorded it. It was duly handed back to me with a proud smile, contents intact. It seemed unbelievable that in the face of such rampant poverty and shortages, my bag of chocolate and other luxuries had not been taken. I felt truly, deeply humbled.
It's hard to sum Zimbabwe up. The country is so different to what I'd imagined, so complex and yet the charm of its simple truths and the reality of its beauty undeniable. That's Zimbabwe for you: the kindness, generosity and gentleness of her people is simply overwhelming. Quite aside from her extraordinary natural beauty and wealth, her people's kindness and spirit are her greatest assets.
Perhaps it's this very generosity and indomnitable spirit of kindness of her people which explain why the forces of tyranny, exploitation and greed still dominate power in Zimbabwe today. Robert Fowler summed it up: "Zimbabwe will die unless it returns to its roots. Our truth lies in our cultural and spiritual roots. No one will save us if we don't save ourselves.”
Ends – 3260 words
Comment
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Comment by Forsters Safaris-Tanzania-Arusha on April 19, 2009 at 11:39am -
Many thanks for your positive reporting about Zimbabwe,may you
please send me some more information about the Ben Gula Project,may be web site if any.
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