TheTraveler

 

Counting Crocodiles
Barbara Lockley

Watching crocodiles warm themselves on an island of rock, the gentle grunt of hippos being the only sounds in the heated stillness, I wondered - what is it about the bush that makes us forget the world and, for a time, just be? Surely, in the presence of some of the earth's most fearsome creatures, we should be afraid, not relaxed?

This is the mystery of Zimbabwe - that in a land steeped in apparently hostile elements, you can still find tranquility.

My reverie took place at Croc Rock, a small dam in the midst of wild and free country, undeveloped and unspoiled, in the heart of Zimbabwe's Lowveld. And this quiet, warm evening was near the end of my Zimbabwe visit, my first in fifteen years. I had returned to rediscover the land of my birth.

My host, Colin, and his wife, Charmaine, met me at Harare International Airport. They indulged me in an extended drive-by tour of the city before starting out on the four-hour journey by road to Triangle in the Lowveld, where I would be spending the major part of my stay.

Zimbabwe is a land of contradictions. In Harare, the capital, you find unkempt homes beside stately residences with immaculate gardens. Tall trees, with blue, mauve, red and yellow flowers, grace the avenues - while patches of maize grow on nearly every available piece of land. The people are warm and friendly - in a country struggling with political strife. Amid such contrasts, a meaningful description of Zimbabwe is elusive.

The road between Harare and Triangle winds through countryside that is overwhelmingly beautiful, with rocky outcrops, park-like meadows, green valleys and splendid trees, every one worthy of an artist's brush. Picturesque African huts are scattered along the roadside, each with its small patch of maize, a few cattle or goats, and a view. These huts belong to 'squatters', who have retained their ancient art of building eco-friendly dwellings together with an unerring sense of the perfect location.

The roads are in reasonable condition and relatively safe, although night driving is not recommended because of the danger of wandering livestock. Ancient buses belching black smoke as they wheeze up the hills are a potential cause of accidents for impatient drivers - but impatient people don't belong here. More often, the buses are having palpitations on the side of the road, surrounded by milling throngs of Africans. The Africans seem to be quite used to this and, considering the number of breakdowns that we passed, they should be.

As you drop down into the Lowveld, a low-lying area in the southeast of the country, the heat grows more intense and the landscape gradually changes. Tall grasses and butterfly-leaved Mopane trees (home to the apparently delectable Mopane worm) form a dense bush between gnarled baobabs and rocky outcrops, while characteristic rock formations, known fondly as 'balancing rocks', jut out like giant molars.

Triangle is a small town in the heart of the Lowveld and at first sight, it has little to recommend it. Words like 'quaint' and 'charming' do not immediately spring to mind. A dusty supermarket, dusty garage and a few dusty shops make up the town centre. However, the attraction lies not in the town itself, but in its proximity to an abundance of bird and wildlife.

Zimbabwe is Bird Country. Home to over 400 species of birds, it was inevitable that a large part of my visit was occupied with birds: I was woken on my first morning by an incredible tapestry of rich birdsong; Colin, who is the unofficial 'bird man', was raising an orphaned Egyptian Goose during my stay; and we spent some time at a bird sanctuary near Triangle.

Jiri, the bird sanctuary, covers a large bush area, with a dam as the central focus. Rustic cottages, painted dark green to blend with the environment, overlook the water. The one we stayed in was comfortable and fitted with all the basic necessities, including air-conditioning. Unfortunately, several long and unhappy power failures, mostly at night, rendered this feature useless and left us sweltering in the high December temperatures.

We were the only visitors at the time and, as Jiri is no commercialised holiday resort, there is nothing to do but relax and enjoy nature. Colin has a small boat, which he uses for fishing and bird watching. He took me on a personal tour of the dam, expertly navigating the dead trees that stand as ghostly guardians, silent reminders of the dam's origins as a river. The tour covered the whole dam, including two forks at the upper end, where dark trees overhang the narrow stretch of water, giving an eerie sense of deep jungle. Colin demonstrated his remarkable knowledge of the strange and exotic bird life - Knob-billed ducks, Egyptian geese, kingfishers and herons (Crowned, Grey and Goliath), as well as many whose names I cannot recall - birds with long tails, a variety of bills and brilliant feathers.

In the evenings, the slight drop in temperature is welcome after the intense heat of the day. The sun sets like a fireball, casting red shadows over the water. The silence of the bush is only interrupted by the haunting call of the fish eagle. Thick steaks, butternut and potatoes roast over glowing coals. 'Sadza' (cooked maize meal) is the staple diet of the local African, but it is also served as a traditional accompaniment to any Zimbabwean barbecue. You eat it with your fingers, dipping big lumps into thick and spicy tomato relish.

After the interlude at Jiri, the remainder of my stay was spent in Triangle and occupied with sundowners at Croc Rock, a visit to the Country club, a few entertaining trips to the supermarket, and an elephant ride.

Triangle Country Club provides the focus for the social and sporting needs of the residents of all races. With a restaurant, a small cinema and about 20 self-catering cottages nestling amid green lawns and shady trees, and with facilities for tennis, golf and other sports, it is an oasis in the hot, dusty town.

Shopping requires patience, a sense of humour and very big pockets. Prices are never under four figures, so a quick trip to the supermarket requires adept mental arithmetic and several large bundles of notes. At the tills, the queues are long because of the time it takes to count all the money. And the prices go up every time new stock comes in.

In the rural areas turnover is slower but, when stock is replaced, the price difference is much greater. 'You, as a visitor, cannot believe the prices you are seeing', Charmaine, said. 'But we live here, and we can't believe them either'. It is hard to comprehend. I bought some chips and cold drinks and the total was $64000. The largest note available is $500 so I had to count out 128 individual notes. For a monthly shopping trip, you would need to take sacks of money - perhaps even a wheelbarrow?

I would not recommend Zimbabwe as a primary shopping destination. However, if you take advantage of the favourable exchange rate (on the parallel market), you can find artworks in the form of miniature to giant soapstone sculptures, intricate woodcarvings and beautiful handmade furniture, at incredibly low prices. With the shortage of foreign currency and rampant inflation, local people have resorted to art and craft to earn a living - and they do it well. Creativity thrives under adverse economic conditions - an indication of the resilience of the human spirit.

The elephant ride was almost as entertaining as the shopping trip - especially for those who were not on the elephant.

A local farmer, who trains elephants for the tourist trade, invited us on an informal ride. I was secretly dubious about the idea of riding partially trained elephants - and rightly so, as it did not go entirely without incident. Two of us mounted Coke, a young female elephant, behind the mahout (elephant trainer). A very short time later, to avoid being squashed between a determined elephant and a low-level obstacle, I found myself dismounting rapidly and inelegantly from the rear. Fortunately, I landed in the arms of a guardian angel bearing a remarkable resemblance to one of the African mahouts. It was a long way to the ground.

For my second, even more reluctant, attempt, I rode Shungu - a 23 year-old male, who had been in training a bit longer than Coke. Mounted on tarpaulin saddles behind the fearless mahouts, we clutched rope handles as the elephants strode with elephantine majesty along paths winding alongside green sugar cane fields. Elephants, with their gentle, rolling gait, are easier to ride (when they behave) than horses, but it is disconcerting when a trunk waves languidly in the air ahead, or rolls out to the side to pull leaves off a bush as you bush past.

Afterwards, the mahouts made them sit while we took turns posing on their knees for photographs. And Shungu, for whom I had developed a deep affection (probably due to the fact that I was still alive), showed off his football - and trunkball - skills.

The purpose of a visit to Zimbabwe is to experience a different world - a lifestyle that focuses on the wildlife and unique ecology of the region. The people who live there do so because this is where they belong. Political discussions are avoided as being futile. But Zimbabweans are tough and tolerant and they have an undying optimism for the future.

While political issues can be avoided, economic problems affect everyone - wealthy and poor alike.

'Deterioration happens slowly', Charmaine told me as she sipped her glass of wine, the last rays of the sun casting a golden glow over the rock and its immobile tenants. 'You reach a point where you think you can't take it any more - and then you get used to it. Sometimes you look around and notice how bad it has become - then you shrug and carry on.'

'Life here is hard', Colin said, lowering his binoculars. 'But it is good. The education system is still one of the best, our children have an excellent education, with no exposure to drugs, gangs and nightclubs, and they grow up deeply involved with nature. We have a rich natural heritage, which is free - every day. This is where I belong.

It is a great mystery that the people of this troubled land can find such deep contentment. I suspect it comes from too many evenings sitting around counting crocodiles as the sun sets over the ancient African bush.

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