211: How Zimbabweans are Coping

I just returned from another Stephen Lewis Foundation trip to Zimbabwe. Upon examining my American passport upon entry at the airport in Harare, the official stared at my hyphenated double-surname and croaked, “Are you German?” “No, my husband is,” I answered cautiously. The man broke into a broad smile. “Germans make very good husbands,” he asserted. “Go on through.”

Now, how the heck does HE know?

One thing that has always been true is that Zimbabweans love to play around with names. So on this trip I met a girl named Pardon, several men named Blessed, and a whole lot of Lovemores. But when I learned that my driver’s name was Cain and he had a twin brother named Abel, I knew I would be in for an unusual trip. Cain warned me the electricity averaged only two hours a day, that it had been raining for two weeks’ straight, and that there are potholes on virtually every road the size and depth of caves. I also had read that life expectancy had dropped to 33 in this country, that 3000 people a week were dying (mostly from HIV exacerbated by hunger), and that only one tenth of the people eligible for anti-retroviral treatments (the AIDS-drugs) were getting them.

Zimbabwe has, quite literally, the worst-performing economy in the world. Last year, the inflation rate hit 26,000% -- the world-record.

On the other hand, in Zimbabwe you can become a billionaire overnight. If you change money at the official rate of exchange, the rate is 30,000 Zim-dollars to one American dollar. But find someone who is willing to do it at the so-called Parallel rate that (also known as the informal or black market), and you could get 200 times that amount: 6 million Zim- dollars for one greenback. Unfortunately, the largest bill available (just printed) is “only” for 10 million Zim dollars – about US$1.65 and dropping fast – so you end up carrying bags full of cash wherever go you. I swear it looks like Monopoly money. Most of the bills are so worthless that you can see them lying around unprotected; the money is not even worth stealing any more.

To hedge oneself against inflation, bartering has become common. So has hoarding. Prices change every day. Those who can, spend their money on fuel-vouchers and then sell them when the cost of fuel increases: it's better than any bank around. But this contributes to the chronic fuel-shortage. One result is that Zimbabweans are fit: they don’t think twice about walking 9 or 10 miles in one direction and back again – to attend school, go to work, buy some eggs, or attend a meeting.

Many organizations these days try to pay their staff in US travelers’ checks. (If your business has a foreign exchange account, this is legal.) Then once a month every staff person must travel across the border -- Botswana is usually preferred because Zimbabweans don’t need a visa -- to buy up whatever they can there, and then cart it back home in bags or boxes. Whatever commodities you don’t use you can sell to friends and relatives, as most local store-shelves are virtually empty.

Every one asks, Why don’t Zimbabweans stand up and rebel? The answer is, because they are too resilient. They work harder than just about anybody else I know and each time another aspect of their society collapses, they simply take a deep breath and say, “Let’s make a new plan.” Also, Zimbabweans don’t look generally look to rich folks and say, “I wish I was like them,” but they look to people who are even worse off and say, “Shame: I’m glad I’m not as badly off as they are.” Remarkably, voluntarism continues to thrive: Neighbor continues to help neighbor, with the understanding that now it’s my turn but next time it may be yours.

There are a few contingencies. Many Zimbabweans have friends and relatives outside the country who send in remittances - even US$40 or $50 from overseas is more than most people earn in a month. Moreover, literally everyone in Zimbabwe has become an expert gardener. Every front lawn and back yard has been turned into a small farm-plot, where people typically grow sweet potatoes, cassava, maize, ground-nuts, tomatoes, peas, soy beans, and various green vegetables. It’s amazing! Across the street, if there is a half-empty church-yard, abandoned property, or a bit of soil in a median-strip, it’s the same thing: plant, plant, plant.

Because Western medicine has also become prohibitively expensive and difficult to find, many organizations have started teaching people how to use various herbs and medicinal trees for their health. By law, every government health clinic now has a model herb garden, with free lessons from a local herbalist.

How did things get this way? For many people, the main cause is Zimbabwe's land reform program. Most of the country's productive farmland remained in white hands after independence in 1980, and through the 1990s the government of President Robert Mugabe worked to shift ownership. But when these policies yielded little progress, the government unveiled plans to seize land without compensation. As hundreds of farms were taken over - sometimes by local people, more often by senior government officials - production and the export of grain and tobacco collapsed.

Government corruption and huge spending on the conflict in the Democratic Republic of Congo also drained the public purse. But as far as President Mugabe and his ministers are concerned, these factors have nothing to do with the country's economic travails. They blame sabotage by the West in general (especially the UK, the former colonial power), as well as the sanctions imposed upon the country -- although these are aimed at leaders rather than at the economy as a whole.

On March 29th, Zimbabweans will go to the polls once more. Most people I spoke with believe that the election will be stolen again, but two weeks ago a new opposition candidate emerged for President, and as one friend put it, “Hope springs eternal.” Whenever change finally comes, I’m convinced that Zimbabweans will rise up like a phoenix from the ashes and become one of the strongest nations on earth. The good thing is that most of them have not lost their sense of humor, their warm smiles, or their belief in finding a peaceful solution to their problems. Strange as it may sound, the rest of the world has a lot to learn from Zimbabwe.

210: With Love in Our Hearts

(1) Namibia's Worst Air Crash
A week ago, Namibia suffered its worst air crash in ten years, and it left our tiny Jewish community devastated by the aftermath.

On Friday afternoon, January 11th, five Israeli diamond-moguls chartered a small plane for a weekend visit to Namibia’s Etosha National Park in the north. The Israelis, all men,* were frequent visitors to Namibia where they teamed up with this country’s largest diamond-polishing factory to provide technical assistance and support. Usually, when they stayed over on weekends they attend synagogue services to help make up a minyan (i.e. ten men need for traditional prayers), but last weekend they decided to give themselves a break and view wildlife, instead.

Unfortunately, five minutes after take-off their little plane started spinning horribly out of control, and crash-landed into a suburban home – missing its occupants by inches. All five passengers and the pilot died instantly.

As the news leaked out, Windhoek’s police force contacted Namibia’s Jewish community for assistance. The local funeral home had to be coached on Jewish customs: simple coffins, no embalming, and a 24-hour-watch by members of the community. The Israeli ambassador flew up from neighboring South Africa to stave off any potential misunderstandings and ensure a proper investigation. Israeli Security needed to access the crash site, in order to counteract speculation that this had been a covert act of terrorism. And ZAKA, the volunteer-force of concerned Jews who comb the scene of every accident in Israel to make sure that all body-parts are correctly identified and interred with their rightful owner, wanted to perform their work for these citizens, as well. Would Namibia grant their cooperation?

Top government leaders in Namibia had to be contacted, and all agreed immediately: The five men who died had given their best to help this country, and their religious rites should be honored. Israeli TV reporters arrived within 24 hours, giving this tragedy top billing on their nightly news. Within two days, the investigators confirmed that the accident had been caused by mechanical failure (no malfeasance involved), and the ZAKA volunteers completed their work -- having also attended to the remains of the (Christian) pilot. Although still in shock, the home-owners where the plane had crashed offered their condolences to the victims’ families, and invited any of them to visit in the future, should they want to pay tribute to the site where their loved ones had died.

An outdoor memorial service was called for last Tuesday evening. The entire Jewish community attended, along with the Mayor of Windhoek, business leaders from the diamond industry, members of the Namibian police, the suburban home-owners, and the entire Israeli contingent that had flown into Namibia after the accident. Later that night, the Israelis left the country with five victims, boarding El Al’s first flight direct from Namibia to Israel. The presence of El Al on Namibian soil should have been cause for celebration, of course, but instead it was accompanied only by tears.

Bernd and I attended the memorial service: it was heartbreaking to see the five coffins lined up, unadorned except for an Israeli flag. One of the men who had died was a new father; another one’s wife was pregnant. Their loss would be felt for generations. Despite all the deaths that have become everyday parlance for this beleaguered country, these felt somehow worse -- so unexpected, premature, more tragic. “Bad things happen to good people, “we were reminded at the memorial service. There is no explanation: just comfort in the support we can offer each other. May the memory of these men and what they accomplished live on forever. Blessed be the Judge of Truth.

(2) Family Events and Fears

Elsita left for the USA en route to Central America this past week. After some weeks in Guatemala and Nicaragua, she’ll be volunteering for 9 months with a non-governmental organization (“Agrisal”) in El Salvador that is trying to teach environmentally- and economically- sustainable farming methods to women-headed households. Many thanks to those of you who provided support for Elsita’s efforts via the American Jewish World Service. She surpassed her fund-raising goal and will now be able to provide additional support where she identifies key needs during her travels.

Bernd is gearing up for another year’s teaching at the Polytechnic (classes start next week), and Lucy has been working on two projects: (1) a curriculum for health-care workers who provide counseling to HIV-positive children and their caregivers, and (2) a manual for older orphans on the practical matters of running a household and caring for younger siblings. She has stayed in touch with her Kenyan friends who mourn the rising tensions in that country. By contrast, we are grateful for the peaceful political transitions we enjoy in Namibia. Soon, Lucy will continue her HIV/AIDS work in Zimbabwe and then Mozambique, and she promises to keep everyone posted with what she observes.

Our final update concerns Sergio, who failed his vocational course last year in Sound Engineering in Cape Town and is determined not to continue studying – neither that subject nor any other. Unable to remain in South Africa except on a college-visa, he decided to separate temporarily from his girlfriend and sign up for the US military instead. Sergio has been talking about joining the military for years, but Omigod: We thought, couldn’t this wait until after troops start coming home from Iraq?**

No it can’t: Sergio is ready now. So last week we reached out to close friends in the States who generously offered to take Sergio into their home while he undergoes the induction process. (This can’t be done overseas, except on US military bases – of which there are none in Africa.) To that end, Sergio must now take an entrance exam, undergo a background check, and take a physical before he can be accepted for either the Army or the Marines (his current choices). Assuming all goes well, he should be in Boot Camp in two months time.

Omigod, once again: Just two months!

The bottom line, as you can imagine, is that – as his parents - we’re scared sh-tless. I’m already having nightmares (wouldn’t you have the same?) and expect that this will only get worse. The military recruiter with whom we spoke made it very clear to us that Sergio will have to serve in Afghanistan or Iraq or both, and -- presumably like yourselves -- we have opposed the military engagement in Iraq from the beginning. (We also disagree with the US government on how they are conducting the invasion of Afghanistan.***) But our own politics have no bearing on this any more; our only role now is to support Sergio as best we can and ask others to do the same.

Last night, when I finally did fall asleep, I dreamt of large yellow ribbons fluttering on cars and doorways, each with big blue lettering on them: "We support our troops." I guess I never thought I would be the kind of Mom who has to fly such a ribbon for her own son or a daughter. Of course, Bernd and I fear the worst – even more than death it’s those images of mentally destroyed amputees wallowing in VA hospitals that flash through our minds and make us want to scream. (I can’t even bear to think how others may die or be maimed by the actions our son may be forced to take...)

Ironically, when we applied to become adoptive parents 23 years ago, the social worker asked us to think about how we would react if our child became a Republican. It was the most “opposite” she could think of, at the time. We answered that we would deal with it with love in our hearts because that’s what parenthood is all about.

And so it has come to pass, but more-so. We shall try to think positively: In many ways, we are really very proud of Sergio, even as we think he is over-romanticizing the hardship and danger he’ll face. Yet, Sergio has always identified as an American first, and he is drawn to the military by their discipline, hands-on training, and ability to excel physically (where he has natural strengths). This analysis makes sense to us, and we appreciate the risks he is willing to take -- to act responsibility, defend the USA, and prove himself as an adult. For Sergio’s sake, we also hope his girlfriend will wait for him and vice versa. But above all, we hope that he is able to avoid the worst of war, and that he will comes back alive and in one piece.

We’re not generally the praying-types, but for those of you who are, we ask you to include our son. We’ll keep you informed.

_______________________

*Shlomo Zilberberg, Shmuel Zigdon, Amit Cohen, Ilan Hadadi, and Avichai Abarov -- of blessed memory

**We’ve even suggested the Israeli military as an alternative, but this doesn’t appeal to him because he has to study Hebrew first – which he doesn’t want to do.

***We are of the opinion that for every dollar being spent on military maneuvers, an equal amount should be spent on schools, clinics, and other forms of foreign aid in order to help raise a more tolerant, pro-American generation of Afghanis… and that the same approach should be copied elsewhere.

Introduction

In late 1993, my husband Bernd and I (then age 47 and 41, respectvely) took stock of our lives.

We had good jobs, two great children, great friends, and a comfortable suburban life (house, cars, dog -- the works). But something felt hollow. We asked ourselves, as so many people do, "Is that all there is in life?"

We were feeling frustrated by America's me-me consumer-culture, by a lack of new challenges at work, by a deep inner drive for adventure and meaning. We wanted to make a difference in the lives of others, and to feel closer as a family. Bernd and I met each other on a camping trip in Iceland in 1978, so it was obvious that we shared a love of open, windswept, out-of-the-way places. But neither of us had ever lived in the developing world and our friends couldn't understand why we would voluntarily leave the "good life" in favor of relative hardship, risk and the unknown.

Of course, that is precisely what attracted us. Nevertheless, we thought we would start small, so we began in 1994 with a three-month sabbatical in Zimbabwe (in that country's good-old-days). Our children Sergio and Elsita -- then 6 and 8 years old respectively -- attended a local school while Bernd and I volunteered at a local Non-Governmental Organization (NGO), with which we had made contact through the American Jewish World Service (Volunteer Corps). On weekends we crisscrossed the country in search of elephants, exotic scenery, and African culture.

One Sunday, upon returning to the small cold-water apartment in which we lived in Harare, we noticed that our door was open and several people were bustling around inside. Omigod, I thought: it is a robbery and we are done-for. How wrong I was: It turns out that our kitchen tap had burst while we were away and our neighbors had tricked the lock so that they could shut the water off and clean up the mess before we got home. In most cases, we didn't even know our neighbors' names, but that hadn't dissuaded them. Welcome to African values.



Looking back, this experience changed us forever. After returning to the U.S., Bernd and I felt we had left our hearts in Southern Africa. Rather than solving our mid-life crisis, our Zimbabwe experience deepened it. Finally, we could stand it no longer. We examined our savings and decided we could live without earning money for a year.

We had no obligations in the United States or Europe anymore and our parents -- tragically -- had already passed on. So why not?

In 1996, it became my task to look for an opportunity that would allow us to live abroad for a year: We need a letter of invitation, a chance to do meaningful work (though not necessarily for pay), and someone to meet us at the airport. So I contacted everyone I knew and asked them to contact everyone else they knew.

Eventually one thing led to another and one day a fax arrived: We could come to Namibia, at that time Africa's newest independent country, where a volunteer social work position would await me with a new NGO.

Immediately, Bernd went on the internet and wrote to every address he could find on the web that ended with the letters ".na" He shared his credentials and asked
if anybody wanted his skills. Two weeks later he received a query about a computerized personnel-system he knew something about, and one week after that he was offered a job as an IT specialist at Namibia's Ministry of Basic Education, Sport and Cutlure. Oh wow! We had a strong feeling of "beshert" -- that this was meant to be.

It still took some months to quit our jobs, sell our house, put our things in storage, and arrange for the trip. Finally we arrived in Namibia on our daughter's 11th birthday (our son had just turned 9). We planned to stay for one year, but one became two which became three which is now more than eleven. Many MANY adventures have taken place -- in our work, with our children, and in our interaction with this continent's people and nature.


Through it all, we have kept up with friends and family through occasional visits and periodic e-mail diaries. Some of our friends have circulated these diaries to others who have sent them to even more people, and from that process we have received requests by many people we have never even heard of, to get onto our list of diary-recipients. Our list currently contains almost a thousand names. Many times, people have asked us when we would compile our stories into a book. More recently, it was suggested that we should go global via our own blog. Both seem like good ideas to us. Although many of the stories have taken us beyond Namibia, that is where we have laid our roots: Thus, welcome to our NAMIBIA DIARIES.