Hello to all,

It is our second day here in Zimbabwe and I must say it is not at all like I expected. Yesterday we arrived at sunrise and were met by a wonderful person who scooped us up, beginning our experience of being well looked after. He and his wife have offered us an apartment with two bedrooms (there are four of us here with Canadian Crossroads) for our use while here in Harare, until the end of the week. We had tea and went and registered at the Canadian High Commission. I decided to wait until the next day to visit the US embassy. We changed money to Zimbabwe dollars with the help of our host and walked around the city a bit. It was about 4 in the afternoon when we first heard of the WTC attack. Our apartment has a TV with two channels so we had the opportunity to hear and watch as things unfolded.

It is VERY weird to be here with all of this going on in the USA. People here are fearful of the broader implications for the world. We are removed, but then again not removed from it all. Last night I told TA that I wasn't sure if what I was feeling was culture shock, or just out and out shock.

So after taking in as much news as was available last night, we went to bed, waking to watch more TV. Our hostess picked us up to see more around the city. Our plans change frequently because things take longer than planned, or our hunger clocks go off at odd times, or our hosts have school and work lives so they aren't just at our beck and call. Anyway, just being here is a good adjustment to life in Zimbabwe. We hear from people here about things we have just read about, etc., etc. It is wonderful, overwhelming, frightening, exciting, fun and boring all at once. Just a typical first day of interacting in a new world. I can't believe I am in AFRICA!

I think tomorrow we are going to visit a lion and cheetah park. That will really make it seem like another continent!!

We are in Harare until sometime this weekend when TA and I will go to Mutare. I think by that time I will have had enough of such a huge city, and be ready for a slightly slower and less complex pace of life.

In the meantime, there is much to see and do and learn about here.

Love to all,

Liz

Greetings!

It is Friday in Zimbabwe, and we have had another wonderful day. Tonight we are making a traditional Canadian dinner for our hosts here. What to make at a time like this?? so we are having Chili, Deviled eggs, garlic bread and chocolate chip cookies. At least we could get most of the ingredients for these things!

Yesterday, TA and I went to the US embassy so I could register as a US citizen in Zimbabwe. We were deeply touched by the bouquets of flowers at the gate, with messages of condolences to the USA. The number of bouquets is ever increasing.

Also yesterday we continued our experiences trying the local foods. On Wednesday night, our host took us to a five star restaurant where we ate sadza. This is a thick corn meal mush, similar to polenta, and served with various meats, vegetables, etc. Needless to say at this hotel we did not feel like we had the full experience so yesterday we stopped at a little 'takeaway', kind of a diner with take out food. It had about 8 seats in it and like all local places, had a table in the middle for washing hands with a pitcher of water and basin to catch the wastewater. So we ordered sadza and chicken. After serving us, the woman asked if we wanted forks, we felt very adventurous and said no and began eating with our right hand, taking a bit of sadza and then grasping some of the meat. It was quite good, and fun. We got many stares from everyone, as the place isn't frequented by whites very often.

Then later in the afternoon, our host Mr. Hove and his wife Mimi, took us to the Lion and Cheetah park. It was incredible. The signs warned not to open your car windows and in we went. First we drove through a gate and were met by a family of lions laying in the road. Then we drove through and saw up to 8 or 10 other lions enjoying their afternoon nap. At one point, to get photos for everyone, I sat out the car window, pointing cameras in the appropriate direction. We drove through another section where we saw many types of ungulates, including zebras and impalas. It was very exciting for us all. As we came around one corner there was a boy riding an elephant and I instantly inquired if we could, too. So the boy had the elephant kneel down for us to climb on it's knee and then up on top. It was amazing. Then we started walking. Being the first to try it, I hadn't realized we were going to head off into the woods. It turned out to be a short walk, but incredibly cool.

In another part of the park we got out of the car and walked around, and the place reminded me very much of the Desert Museum in Tucson. It had all of the native animals of Zimbabwe in fenced areas that had a natural look. We just loved it.

Today we had an experience at the Mbara Market and I was breathless at the sights and sounds. There were vegetables, household goods, etc. all for sale in a noisy, exciting space. I ventured to take out my camera just briefly and committed the sights to memory mostly. It is amazing how inappropriate it feels to be taking photos in most places. so the stories will suffice.

So this was a 36 hour period of time here. Our two other Crossroaders leave tomorrow and TA and I go on Sunday to Mutare. Yesterday we saw some of the countryside and I'm eager to head that way for our placements.

How can I start to tell you all about the past week. It has been quite interesting and exciting. I think I have spent the week living in National Geographic. We arrived in Mutare last Sunday afternoon and were swept up by two wonderful people. Josephine is the local Canadian Crossroads coordinator and she spent a season in St.John’s in 1999. The other woman was Molly, who is a Methodist minister and is T.A.’s host for the next three months. We went to Molly and T.A.’s house where we had dinner and a bit of an orientation to Mutare. I ended up spending the night there, which was very nice for TA and I.

The next morning Josephine took us to Christian Care which is my work place. I met Mr. Melusi who is my supervisor and learned that I was leaving in the afternoon for four days in the bush at the rural camp of Christian Care. So we quickly went off to meet my host family where I unpacked and repacked, only guessing what I might need for the week. I had no idea what the accommodations might be, but chose a few items none the less. I bought some groceries and then said good bye to TA, not knowing when we might see one another. (We are lucky that both of our host families have telephones so there is some hope of connecting when I am not in the bush.)

It was about a two hour drive to get to Buhera which is a district in Southwest Zimbabwe. It is not in the highlands and the hot, dry climate was proof of that!! It got dark soon after we left Mutare, so I had not idea of what the environment looked like. Eventually we drove through a gate and the headlights pointed at a small wood frame structure and Mr. Melusi said that was his. As he turned the truck we pointed towards a different structure 20 meters away and he said that was mine. So I knew I wasn’t living in a hut! My home has a concrete floor and wood frame and corrugated fiberglass roof. There are two glass windows which open but have no screens. The door is a hand made wooden hinged door. Inside there is a metal camp-type cot and Mr. Melusi added a candle in a beer bottle which I placed on a cardboard box. Robert and Moses (the other two people who live at the camp full time) added some black plastic curtains and promised to fix the hole in the door soon, so that snakes couldn’t come in!!. We had seen one puff adder along the highway so I knew they weren’t kidding!!

It was now about 9 p.m. and Mr. Melusi wondered if I was hungry after having had no supper. He is a very kind man and very patient with the endless questions I throw at him. I would describe his philosophy as one of experiential education, so if I don’t ask about things, he doesn’t tell me much. Therefore, I ask about EVERYTHING. He also is accustomed to his bachelor’s-type existence when he is in Buhera. Not many formalities.

Mr. Melusi’s specialty is water and sanitation projects and during the week I saw and experienced some of the products of his work. He used to work for the government after independence but has been in the NGO sector since 1984. Right now, he is being thrust into a bit of relief work, in response to the drought, food shortages and poverty the people in Buhera district are experiencing. They are beginning a nine month feeding program, targeting underweight children 6-60 months old. I attended two workshops as the organization and training program for the feeding is beginning. This was incredibly eye-opening. Basically, these kids (about 30% of the kids that age) will receive a bowl of nutritional porridge every day for nine months. If they gain enough weight to reach normal weight, they are taken off the supplementary program. The kids moms will take them as much as a few kilometers each morning to receive the food at central feeding points. The porridge is the same dish as the national staple food, sadza, with a little soy thrown in for additional nutrients.

These workshops were completely conducted in the local Shona language, so it was occasionally challenging to sit for 4 hours listening to the details of the program. I escaped now and then to hang out with Patricia and Molly who were hired to cook for the workshops. This included slicing and buttering bread for breakfast and then making sadza with beef stew for lunch, serving 40 people one day and 100 the next. This was all cooked over fires, in about 35 degree centigrade heat. I could cut bread and vegetables without needing to understand Shona so it was good to feel a bit useful.

The first workshop was held at a primary/secondary school and the second one at a medical clinic. So there were many interesting distractions as I checked out school children and the facilities. I could tell that I was also being a huge distraction for them. Not too many white people come into their lives and I didn’t exactly blend in.

The details of the every day lives of people in Buhera are all worth writing about. The sites and sounds are all so amazing. Yes, the women carry everything on their heads, except their babies which are miraculously carried on their backs. No matter how many times I watched them do it, I couldn’t see how that child got swaddled on the back with a towel without being dropped.

There is very little electricity, but many people are digging wells and building Blair Toilets near their huts. (These are fly proof Made-for-Zimbabwe latrines). The funds for these are provided by Christian Care and other development organizations. Traveling through the bush either on dirt roads or with four wheel drive vehicles on walking paths, you see huts groupings every 500 metres or so. Generally there are several huts per family, some for sleeping and then others for cooking. If there are two or more cooking huts, that means there is more than one wife involved. The huts might be made of hand made bricks, sticks, or concrete, and have thatched roofs. They are very beautiful to my eye. There are gardens, surrounded by stick fences, or maybe brush piles, rarely barbed wire. Much of the land is for grazing, as there are cattle and goats everywhere, wandering freely.

The boabab trees are absolutely wonderful. Just like saguaro cactus, each one has a personality. Perhaps this is a function of surviving in incredibly harsh climates. For the first time in my life I have felt compelled to draw, as the trees are spectacular. The base of the large ones would easily take 6 or 8 people to circle, but I suspect I am underestimating. It is the season for them to be in fruit so I got to try one. How strange.

Once you break into it by smashing it with a large rock, it tastes citrus-y, but is dry and powdery, and you could almost call it crunchy.

One of the major highlights as we were driving to the workshops was seeing a baboon sitting on a rock by the side of the road. I think this was the first time I’d seen any African wildlife that wasn’t in a cage. Mr. Melusi was startled at my excitement and later realized that we should stop for pictures at times like that. I didn’t suggest it at the time because we were a bit late getting to our workshop. Today, as I walked to work in the Mutare, I saw three monkeys playing on the sidewalk. As I approached, they scurried into the brush, but watched me intently from about 10 feet away as I passed. Ah Dorothy, this is not Kansas…

For those of you following my journey on a map, Buhera District is about 40 kilometres west of Birchenough Bridge and maybe 60-80 kilometres east of Masvingo.

Now that I am back in Mutare, I have met my host family. They are very kind and I have my own room in their home. Previously I thought I would be living with Mr. Melusi, but Josephine thought better of having me live and work with the same person. I appreciate her thoughtfulness about that, and so I am now with Norah and Abel Mutseyekwa. They have three children at home, all in secondary school and all very delightful. They live in the low density area, meaning a bit more comfortable and well to do. We have electricity, TV with one channel and a CD player, stove and fridge, bathtub and hot water during morning and evening. They are happy to speak English in my presence which makes me feel very much at home. It is about a 20-30 minute walk to work (I missed a turn as I walked it the first time this morning so it took 40 minutes, but I did get to see those monkeys!!) I am appreciative for the comforts, since there are very few during the week when I am in the bush.

Another week has gone by. It is surprising how fast and how slowly the time goes. There is such a thing as African time, but I haven’t figured it out. Some things are very prompt, and other things start two hours late. Today, Melusi even arrived a half hour early. Go figure.

This is Christian Care week in Zimbabwe. That has meant many special events carried on by our regional office here in Mutare. Each of our rural districts had a celebration and tomorrow things will happen here in Mutare. The celebrations were very interesting. Christian Care is operated by a consortium of local churches in the same way the United Campus Ministry in Athens, Ohio operated. Each church has a representative on the board of directors. At the celebrations, each church gave some sort of presentation. My first event was near Chipinge. It was my first time in that district and as we traveled there, I was shown areas that were devastated by the cyclone in the spring of 2000. Bridges, houses, roads, fields, livestock and people were all lost. We arrived at the community centre about two hours after the event was scheduled to begin (African Time!!) There were two rows of children in their school uniforms lining the path into the community center and as we entered, the children clapped and chanted "We love Christian Care!" They were taken out of school for the day to be part of these celebrations and to give appreciation to an organization that has improved their lives.

During the celebration groups of children sang songs about Christian Care, gave testimonials and generally said thank you for their lives being a little easier now. It was a wonderful exercise in public speaking and I was impressed by how the children projected their voices across the room. Adult groups from the churches played drums, danced, chanted and did little plays. It was very cute and I appreciated the sentiments even though it was about 120 degrees in the room crowded with over 400 people on benches (the men) and on the floor (the women). Children hung in the windows, straining to see and hear for the entire three hours. The presentation was in Shona but I understood many of the sentiments. Everyone wanted to perform, similar to cocoa house on parent’s visiting day at Indian Brook at Farm and Wilderness.

In one speech, the chairman of the Christian Care board talked about the effects of relying on ‘donor’ countries and the belittling effect of always being on the receiving end of aid. He stressed how important it is for the people in the community to view themselves as donors; powerful and deserving and able to take care of their own people. As a hat passed, many pennies, quarters and dollars dropped in.

I think this entire population can sing well. There is quite a bit of singing and drumming at any gathering. The accapella harmonies and drumbeats remind me of a combination of the music of Sweet Honey and the Rock and Graceland. I love it. As each church performed, I saw the blending of the traditional beliefs and the Christian churches I had read about. This is nothing like the church choir I sang with growing up! After the celebration, I went over to Buhera for a similar event the following day. At night, I heard lots of additional drumming as the neighboring village was holding a funeral, which is an all night affair.

The Buhera celebration included the serving of sadza and meat, this time goat meat. Melusi traveled around the township for quite a while that morning searching for goats and finally returned back to camp with five of them in the pick up. It was a challenge for me to be in the midst of the slaughter and preparation of the goats, but everyone else was delighted as we served several hundred people. Patricia, my cook friend from the previous week shared with me her favorite part of the goat. I knew not to ask what part that was until I had managed to ingest it. Good idea when she told me was the uterus. The women eat it boiled in water. The men eat it boiled in the goat’s blood. When I asked why the distinction, Patricia told me it was ‘their culture’. This is the explanation given for many things. Can’t argue with that!!

Tomorrow night I will attend the Mutare fundraiser which is a Dinner/Dance at the Holiday Inn. My preconceived ideas give me one picture of what this event will be like, but on the other hand, I have no way of knowing what a dinner dance is in this culture.

So for four of my days in the bush, I have been at events where I sat and listened to people speaking Shona for hours on end. Thursday I finally got to do a bit of actual work related to the food distribution project Christian Care is implementing on behalf of Christian Aid. This is not Christian Care’s usual line of work, so it is challenging everyone. It is eye opening for me and I plan to write some sort of article about my insights after I have seen more. For now, I am overcome by incidents such as the following. We are distributing this nutritional porridge for underweight kids. Each village has appointed a committee to oversee it all and this includes a chairperson, secretary, treasurer and food keeper. Veronica and I went to talk about the process with one committee nearby our camp, after they had been serving the porridge for about a week. The committee of women, aged about 16-60 sat on the ground, bare foot, the youngest nursing a small baby. It is important to them that I sit on the only chair in the village rather than on the ground. We sit in the midst of 4 thatched huts. A steer and some goats wander through periodically. Numerous other young children are around, with a four year old tenderly minding a one year old during our conversation. These people use a bush toilet, meaning squatting at any available bush, because they can’t afford the equivalent of thirty Canadian dollars to have their own Blair toilet constructed. With Veronica as interpreter, we talk about what has been going on. At times I can barely take in what I am seeing, much less try to listen and ask questions. I learn that the food keeper wonders who should distribute the food in the morning if she is away. I also learn that she has put the food at her brother’s house because she hasn’t been able to afford a key to lock her door and secure the food. These people are very poor monetarily. The land is dry and poor for farming. It has been tribal land for the past 100 years because it wasn’t of value to the white farmers who took over the land with rich soil.

There are about 150 feeding points in the Buhera district. Next Friday a representative from Christian Aid in London arrives in Zimbabwe to be reassured that the program is running according to the rules they have laid out. Most of the rules are well intentioned, but absurd when implemented here. Today I asked Melusi if the purpose of the visit is to impress the representative or to inform him. Unfortunately the purpose is to impress, so I told Melusi I will do my best to behave. Before Friday, I think my job is to make sure that we have a number of stellar feeding points to show off.

This is a small sampling of my experiences here. My days are rich and full, boring and senseless all at the same time. I continually pinch myself to realize that I am actually in Africa.

Hello everyone,

The full moon rose over the African desert this week and the leaves are beginning to form on the Baobab trees. These are both signs that I have been here for a number of weeks. I also received my first postal letter, a definite indication that I have been here quite a while!! Thanks to my sister Carolyn for that treat. I love the speed of E-mail, but I have enjoyed having a written letter to carry around with me and read over and over again.

After a serious case of culture shock last weekend, I had a good week in Buhera. I am sporting a bit of an African look, as I now have 48 braids, compliments of the daughters in my host family. Much to the amusement of those around me, I carried a 10 pound bag of flour on my head until my friend decided that someone else could take it home for her. I also paid a visit to the home of a Buhera co-work. The kitchen hut is round, made of home-fired bricks and covered in sun-baked mud. The huts are lovely, often with concrete floors. The shelves for kitchen utensils are immaculate with the bowls and cups perfectly lined up. I was honoured to be there, and was offered five eggs to take home with me. Then we stopped by her sister-in-law’s place where I was given a bundle of vegetable. (Vegetable refers to a specific green leaf plant similar to kale, and here, called rape) Later, I learned that it would be customary for them to cook the eggs and vegetable for me, but they were completely uncertain as to how a white woman might like them fixed.

When Mr. Melusi and I went to Buhera, we carried the monthly salaries for the workers there. Since they would have no access to any banking services, we take it in cash. In the office we prepared an envelope for each person and counted out between $8,000 and 13,000 per person. This is the equivalent of $240 and $390 Canadian, or $160 and $260 US dollars. Much of this money will go home to families that live elsewhere in the country. Moses, for instance, lives 200 kilometers away from our camp, and can afford to go there once every two months due to the cost of bus fare. At home, his wife cares for 5 sons and 3 daughters with his salary.

On the topic of money, I have noticed that street vendors will charge me 50-100% more for an item than they would charge an African person. $25 for an avocado rather than $15 they charge one of my host sisters. This is a little irritating and I can get all worked up it for any number of reasons. My host mother says she gets charged more if a vendor sees her get out of a car rather than arriving on foot. But this week I had a light go off in my head about this practice. I realized that I basically believe in the concept of a sliding scale, and that it is appropriate for people to pay based upon their ability. So I have decided that I will pay $25 for an avocado, because, in fact, I do have a greater access to resources than others in my environment here.

For the mapaholics on my mailing list, I traveled along some back roads this week, through Marange, to deliver some well digging equipment to some people there. This is about 60 kilometres from my usual camp, but the terrain was subtly different. There were more dramatic granite outcrops and huge boulders. The placement of huts and villages at the base of these rocks reminded me of camping in Joshua Tree National Park.

Hello everyone,

It is Thanksgiving weekend in Canada, and I am well aware of the family gatherings taking place across the country. Here, the spring planting season will begin soon, as the rains are expected to being in a few weeks. This notion of planting season is different here, because in fact, they grow all of Newfoundland's summer crops in their winter time!! Fresh local food comes all year around.

The full moon rose over the African desert this week and the leaves are beginning to form on the Baobab trees. These are both signs that I have been here for a number of weeks. I also received my first postal letter, a definite indication that I have been here quite a while!! Thanks to my sister Carolyn for that treat. I love the speed of E-mail, but I have enjoyed having a written letter to carry around with me and read over and over again.

After a serious case of culture shock last weekend, I had a good week in Buhera. I am sporting a bit of an African look, as I now have 48 braids, compliments of the daughters in my host family. Much to the amusement of those around me, I carried a 10 pound bag of flour on my head from the market, and I got to try carrying a baby on my back, wrapped on with a beach towel. I wouldn't exactly say I'm starting to blend in, but I am trying as many of the local customs as I can. I also paid a visit to the home of a Buhera co-work. The kitchen hut is round, made of home-fired bricks and covered in sun-baked mud. The huts are lovely, often with concrete floors. The shelves for kitchen utensils are immaculate with the bowls and cups perfectly lined up. I was honoured to be there, and was offered five eggs to take home with me. Then we stopped by her sister-in-law’s place where I was given a bundle of vegetable. (Vegetable refers to a specific green leaf plant similar to kale, and here, called rape) Later, I learned that it would be customary for them to cook the eggs and vegetable for me, but they were completely uncertain as to how a white woman might like them fixed.

When Mr. Melusi and I went to Buhera, we carried the monthly salaries for the workers there. Since they would have no access to any banking services, we take it in cash. In the office we prepared an envelope for each person and counted out between $8,000 and 13,000 per person. This is the equivalent of $240 and $390 Canadian, or $160 and $260 US dollars. Much of this money will go home to families that live elsewhere in the country. Moses, for instance, lives 200 kilometers away from our camp, and can afford to go there once every two months due to the cost of bus fare. At home, his wife cares for 5 sons and 3 daughters with his salary.

On the topic of money, I have noticed that street vendors will charge me 50-100% more for an item than they would charge an African person. $25 for an avocado rather than $15 they charge one of my host sisters. This is a little irritating and I can get all worked up it for any number of reasons. My host mother says she gets charged more if a vendor sees her get out of a car rather than arriving on foot. But this week I had a light go off in my head about this practice. I realized that I basically believe in the concept of a sliding scale, and that it is appropriate for people to pay based upon their ability. So I have decided that I will pay $25 for an avocado, because, in fact, I do have a greater access to resources than others in my environment here.

I had an interesting conversation with a carpenter in Buhera. He was impressed to hear about the generosity of donors giving to Africans in the Supplemental Feeding Program. At first he said that you do not find such generosity amongst his people. (Not true, as evidenced by the eggs and vegetables I received). We got to talking about how it is easy to be generous with things you have plenty of. I pointed out the generosity I receive from his people in terms of friendship and warmth, things in abundance here. Maybe people don't readily share their incredibly scarce financial resources by they give willingly of their time and emotional support for friends in need, their physical labour, etc.

For the mapaholics on my mailing list, I traveled along some back roads this week, through Marange, to deliver some well digging equipment to some people there. This is about 60 kilometres from my usual camp, but the terrain was subtly different. There were more dramatic granite outcrops and huge boulders. The placement of huts and villages at the base of these rocks reminded me of camping in Joshua Tree National Park.

The final thing I will mention this week has to do with people's names. Here, the naming of a child is a way of creating a bit of oral history, and the child's name is a word in Shona that represents what was going on at the time of the birth. So names aren't different than other words, maybe like how Hope or Joy would be names used in English, and have other meanings in the language. So, in the past all of these names were in Shona, but recently, English words are used as well. So in the supplemental feeding program, we have children with names such as the following: Prosper, Privilege, Gift, happiness, More life, Marvelous, More Blessing, Confidence. With some of the names it is easy to guess the oral history, such as the children named No More, or Vigilance. It is quite entertaining, and I find it very similar to the names of towns in Newfoundland, such as Heart’s Delight and Come by Chance. It is nice to feel that connection to home, oral history is manifested in just a slightly different way.

Mid-week and here I am in Mutare. I’m in the office helping to breathe life into our Child Supplementary Feeding Program. In the past month the staff has realized that if they speak English in their meetings, I not only understand and learn more, I am able to offer assistance. In the past two days I have devised a training program so things can be implemented in a way that will satisfy the London donors.

To back up, the relief program is being offered for 8 months because these districts are still recovering their ability to grow food since last years cyclone Elene wiped out crops, livestock and food in storage. The donors monitor visited Buhera on Friday. He was not happy. And his temperamental personality meant that we were not that happy with him, either. The design of this program is basically experimental though they were hesitant to acknowledge that. The unique feature is targeting specific children under five years old for feeding, those who are underweight (malnourished) according to the Ministry of Health chart. (In the past, feeding programs were implemented through schools so that every child that went to school got a meal. This had a very positive effect of encouraging families to send their children to school.) With our program, the children aren’t in school yet so the villages are organizing ways of cooking and feeding those who are eligible. As I see it, it adds yet another responsibility to the women’s lives.

Anyway, families and villages have both kids that are eligible and those that aren’t. So in the worst case scenario, a mother has some that get nutritional porridge and some that don’t. (The culture doesn’t value family planning so families are big.) Since the mother cant leave any children at home she has to walk with all of them to the feeding point , and once there, some get food while the others watch. This is inconceivable in this culture. This is a place where someone can show up anywhere uninvited and expect to be fed. (A co-worker is expecting to have to feed 3000 people at her wedding in the rural area even though she’s only inviting friends and family. Everyone from miles around will show up because they know several beasts will be killed and food will be available.)

The monitor doesn’t want too many feeding points since that would make it difficult to regulate, so he thought it acceptable for mothers to walk 3-5 kilometres one way. I figure she and the children will expend far more calories getting to the feeding point than they will receive in the 100 grams of porridge a child is allotted daily. Just to make the monitors visit even less palatable, he accused mothers of not caring for their child’s welfare if she wasn’t willing to walk to the feeding point daily. It is the same kind of blame and guilt trip that mothers around the world experience.

I can really rant about this ill-conceived program, and have on more than one occasion. The people at Christian Care find it amazing that I am willing to openly question and criticize the hand that feeds. It is a very sad commentary on assistance programs that by placing these people in a category of beneficiaries, they are disempowered. The Africans have been required to keep quiet, do as they are told, and basically take it or leave it. The donor has done the best they can to design a program to help those in greatest need, but does not take into account the destructive divisions created within the villages and extended families by providing for only some of the children. These communities survive incredible hardships through cooperation and this program is breaking those bonds. And Christian Cares relationship to their constituents is very stressed by having to implement these rules. In addition, if a child gains weight, they stop receiving porridge. So there is incentive within families to underfeed this child at home. This means more food for the siblings and also keeps the child eligible to continue receiving porridge.

I have taught our area manager the concept of being set up. He has found it a helpful term, one that keeps him from blaming himself for the difficulties being encountered.

As I said, I am helping to set up training materials to kick start the program. Even though we all hate the program right now, Christian Cares reputation with donors will be seriously negatively impacted if the implementation of this program continues to be a disaster. And, there are a few hundred metric tons of food that will sit in a warehouse if everything isn’t fixed. We are putting out brush fires, as best we can. I have written a preliminary report defining the challenges of this program so our national office has some context in which to place the monitors criticisms. I’m making inventory forms that allow the women in the villages to define how many cups of porridge they have made, rather than the previous forms which dealt with hundreds of thousands of grams of porridge in the monthly supply.

I am privileged to work with very smart people, in the office and in the villages. Their intelligence is evident in everything they do. But arithmetic and writing skills (especially using English as a second language) are not as strong as we take for granted in North America. And most of the office staff have not gone to schools with computers in every classroom, etc. So being able to calculate and write and use a computer quickly is being helpful when we are in danger of having the plug pulled on this feeding program. Once the crisis is passed, I hope to teach additional computer skills to people here so they can carry on with a bit more ease after I am gone.

The family I live with, the Mutseyekwa family, doesn’t face food shortages and isn’t in danger of starvation, though some basic commodities have inflated 80 percent in the month I have been here. Yesterday the government started talking about instituting price controls for items like bread, flour, sugar, cooking oil, meat, chicken, mealie meal and soap. People don’t agree whether that is good or bad, but are pretty certain it is a political move before next years election.

Last Sunday I went with Adam (20) and Abby (12) to climb a hill near our home. It has a cross on top as a memorial to World War One soldiers. The hill is about 5 or 600 feet higher than the surrounding area. From the top, you can see all of the city and Vumba mountains, the forests of the nature preserve, and through valleys and across mountains to a town in Mozambique. The main trail to the top is not obvious in all places as it forks and frequently disappears. It is a beautiful place, with a dependable strong cool breeze. Adam is the only one in the family who had been on top before, and I only knew of it though a Lonely Planet guide book. The other interesting fact in the Lonely Planet guide was the recommendation that you stay on the trail as there are land mines remaining in the area from both the independence war and the Mozambique civil war. That was enough to keep me on the trail, I tell you!! My family calls them booby traps. Not much like the tin can booby traps we used to set for spy night at Farm and Wilderness!!

Another sobering slice of life conversation happened at dinner last week. Leonorah (18) was amazed to learn that I was 48 and older than her parents. Norah (46) made the comment that she is proud of her age. I agreed, that it is good to celebrate ones age. Then she replied that she is grateful to reach 46 when the life expectancy in Zimbabwe is around mid to late thirties. She is proud to be alive when so many have died young. AIDS has crippled this country, and though it isn’t discussed as much as rising bread prices, at least a third of the population is HIV positive. I nearly choked on my dinner.

Naiveté struck last night, too. We were watching the evening news. (FYI the situation in Afghanistan wasn’t even a headline, and was mentioned after 40 minutes of other news). There was a report about a Member of Parliament being helicoptered to Harare for medical care following food poisoning at a hotel in his home city. Abel (the father in the family) made some comment about food poisoning and I tried to explain how food poisoning happens through poor food handling techniques in a restaurant. He said No, Liz, people in government suffer from food poisoning when the opposing party is trying to kill them. Oh.

So as much as I am feeling at home here, recognizing the smells of the Jacaranda Trees, greeting people on the street, am warmly home from work each day, I am also reminded that I am not at home. People lives are filled with challenges that I never have imagined.

Thanks to all who have been in touch. It is wonderful to have news from my North American home.

October 11 Addition

Yesterday while working in the office the power went out. That meant work on the computers was impossible, and the area manager knew that it would be hours before it returned. So he suggested we go to the mountains so I could enjoy the scenery and he could show me some water projects that Christian Care has implemented. These are the Vumba Mountains, south of town. One sign I saw said 1900 metres of elevation, but that was not near the top. It was gorgeous. The mountains are steep, some rocky, so tillable soil, so there are lovely farmland terraces built. The area isn’t as dry as Buhera One water project harvested water from the roof of a church using gutters, and diverting the water into a 50 cubic metre tank made from cemented stones. This water lasts the congregation all year and has been a model for other communities to copy. The water is softer than the well water so people love rain water harvesting projects. The other project was in progress at a school. They are desperate for water in the meantime, and the 200 children must bring water from their wells at home for the residential teachers!!

As we drove we passed a commercial farm. This was one of the kind of farms that have made it to the news in North America, where white farmers have been driven out and their lands are occupied by Africans in a land reform effort by independence war veterans. These occupations have cause death and destruction in numerous locations around the country. At this farm, though, the area manager told me that the local communal farmers, the Africans, chased the war veterans away and wouldn’t allow the occupation. This white farmer has been an excellent neighbour to the communal farmers, providing food for funerals in the area, assisting to buy seeds for planting, helping pay school fees for children, employing locals and generally sharing his resources. It was a touching story to me, one of hope and human dignity.

On our way back to town we stopped to see a highly contrasting area, Leopard Rock resort. Golfers amongst you can eat your hearts out, as this is a world class facility recognized by the European PGA. As with golf courses everywhere, it is beautiful, and cool at these elevations. There were lakes and other water hazards which could have provided for all the children at the school down the road with no problem!! Part of the resort is a casino which provides a strange contrast to everything else I have seen.

We took great advantage of our afternoon of enforced playing hooky!

Maskati,

Hi everyone. Days are getting longer here in Africa and the rains will begin soon. There is a sense of anticipation in the rural areas as husbands and fathers return from town with seeds to plant and one can see cattle or donkeys harnessed to the plows in the fields of those lucky enough to have livestock. People live close to the edge here, so there is excitement and a sense of hope at the prospect of a good growing season.

Even though mothers felt pressure to be preparing the fields, many came to our workshops about the feeding program. When moms questioned that they would have to walk up to 5 kilometres to the feeding point based upon the new rules, I found an unexpected answer coming out of my mouth. I said that each village must have only two official feeding points with two sets of records and two food storage areas. I also said they were smart people and could figure out a sensible way to insure that the children were fed closer to home while satisfying the rule of two official feeding points. After the interpreter told them my response, they instantly grinned, with a full understanding of what it meant to follow the rules on paper.

During my visit to Buhera, I embarked upon the ultimate rural cultural experience. The locals call it runny tummy and that is rather descriptive of my entire GI system last weekend. By Monday I was at the doctor to receive the official diagnosis of dysentery. It gives an experiential understanding of Christian Cares work to provide better sanitation in Buhera!! A few antibiotics and I am good as new, though recovering in Mutare, rather than going to Buhera this week.

Last week I was walking from town with Abby, the 12 year old in my family here. I saw a 10 cent coin on the ground and picked it up. Given the devaluation of local currency, I thought 10 cents would work in the North American tradition of find a penny pick it up, all the day you’ll have good luck. Abby was obviously surprised but kept quiet. After we got home, she told her family I had picked up the coin and a great discussion ensued. Coins on the ground are assumed to have been placed there by a witch doctor and to pick them up is to invite undesirable events to occur. Everyone was quite nervous that Id disturbed the coin and Abby asked if she could dispose of it. I quickly handed it over and she put it in the garbage bin. Yesterday I passed another coin on the ground and even though no one was looking, I left it undisturbed!

The business of goblins and witchcraft are taken very seriously here and the topic comes up fairly frequently. I received some Halloween decorations in a letter from St. Johns last week, (thank you, Leslie!) and I described jack-o-lanterns, trick-or-treat and dressing up like ghosts and goblins. My family was fascinated to learn that we, too, have witchcraft, as evidenced by Halloween. I pointed out the distinction that we basically know that Halloween goblins are make-believe and are for fun. But here, people KNOW that goblins exist and are very serious. The spirit world is alive and functioning in many forms. If a woman doesn’t grieve openly at a funeral, people might think she caused the death. If children go to their father for love, rather than the mother, the mans parents will think the wife bewitched the children. Like in many cultures, it seems like African women’s powers are envied and misinterpreted and twisted to be used against themselves.

So for everyone looking ahead to Halloween, have fun, be safe, and don’t make any spirits angry!!

Hello everyone,

October is called suicide month here in Zimbabwe. It is the hottest month of the year, so I am not sorry to see it come to an end. Soon the rains will come, though I’m not sure if it will be an improvement to decrease the temperature a few degrees in exchange for higher humidity. Yesterday I had my first experience of feeling cool here. I was in the highlands of Penhalonga with a local bird watching club. I was comfortable in 50 degree F. temperatures with a tee-shirt and sandals, as the other birders shivered in their overcoats. My blood hasn’t thinned much yet, and it is a fun turn of events for me to be the warmest one in a crowd!

I discovered the monthly birding expedition on a bulletin board at the Mutare Museum. Four of us ventured out to a gorgeous mountainous region about 30 minutes outside the city. This excursion was my first encounter with the minority white population since I arrived. As we turned on to a 3 kilometre long driveway, the driver told me we were entering a commercial farm, one that has been invaded by war veterans. I had vowed to stay away from such places because of the North American media attention to such plantations, but I was assured we would be safe and we ventured on. In fact, at that point, I would have been in more danger waiting by the side of the public road, waiting for them to return 3 hours later.

This was the plantation of John Meickle, one of the wealthiest people in the province, if not the country. The land was given to his family by Cecil Rhodes himself as part of the early colonization of the area. The plantation includes a dairy farm, timber stand, bauxite mine, gold deposit, and flower orchard on the property. Three years ago he built a huge dam to create a mile long lake.

Not surprising that this property looks valuable to the war veterans. But apparently, this was another situation where the Africans that work there prevented major damage to the property and negotiated for John to keep most of the farm because of the jobs he provides. From what I have heard from locals in this province, most people want jobs, not a piece of land to farm on their own. Negotiations continue and some war veterans live on and use part of the plantation. The situation is peaceful.

The major purpose of our visit was birding, and though it was cold and rainy, (a typical Rain Drizzle Fog day in Newfoundland), we did see a couple dozen species. Since they were all new to me, I was plenty satisfied. An African Paradise Flycatcher was the most exotic looking, but the brown hooded kingfisher, spectacled weaver, and emerald cuckoo were wonderful as well. Long flowing tails and brightly coloured plumage are not unusual here. For others, the day was a birding bust, and after tea at the mountain homestead, we headed back to Mutare.

On Saturday, I was invited to a kitchen tea party. This, I was told, is comparable to a Wedding Shower in North America. So I was prepared for silly games, opening presents, and some tasty sweets. When will I learn that very little here is comparable to anything I’ve previously experienced? There were rows of benches set up outside, under a shade tarp. There was a head table, referred to as the VIP section, with a huge floral arrangement. We were handed programs, but the schedule was already an hour behind.

For the next three hours, we had prayers, hymns, a sermon, and some words of advice for the bride to be. Because of the religious nature of the event, there was no alcohol, but more than one person could be seen nipping from a bottle in their purse. Most of the speeches, (interpreted into English for me) were about providing a good home, being a good wife, communicating openly with your spouse, etc. In the last speech, given by the wife of a minister, the speaker said that she planned to talk about what is really important, success in the bedroom. Amidst the laughter and embarrassment, I know not everything was interpreted for me, but apparently pre-menstruating girls are taught to practice things that will ensure their husband’s satisfaction once they get married. As I asked for more information, of course I was told, "It’s our culture!" Aunties are the ones that are supposed to teach these things to their nieces, so by these standards, I have failed Shanna, Sarah, and Lucy. Molly is still pretty young, but I wouldn’t want her to have an advantage over her sisters!!

One other weekend activity was the great chicken harvest at our house. The Mutseyekwa’s grow chickens in their backyard and sell them as a way to supplement their income. I quite successfully managed to be busy with other activities during the actual slaughter, but did help with a delivery of 50 chickens to the kitchen at the boarding school of Mutare Boys High School. The family kept the gizzards and livers since those parts weren’t expected by the buyer, but carefully tucked inside the carcass were the chicken feet with toenails clipped. Not to provide the feet with the chicken would be considered a very poor business practice.

There was no health department interference in this operation. No interference with by the Internal Revenue Service, and no attention to any regulations . Though such regulations exist, this type of informal market is crucial to most people’s survival. The Mutseyekwa’s have several other small businesses. They own a large dump truck and deliver gravel or haul equipment on occasion, and they have a tractor and plough which people will call for once the rains begin. There is a family farm about an hour out of town which I have not yet visited. Two workers operate that, and occasionally Abel or Adam will go up there to make sure all is in order. There used to be an apple orchard at the farm until a neighbour’s fire got out of control and burned down all the trees. Burning is the primary method used to clear the land for ploughing, but it definitely has problems in a dry climate.

The week in Buhera was short, since Mr. Melusi needed to come back to town for the Caesarian delivery of his wife’s baby. While away, I assisted as he sited a borehole for a Secondary School. For this he used a Terrameter with battery powered electrical current. He pounded some metal stakes in the ground in contact with a wire connected with the Terrameter. He gradually moved the stakes further from ground zero, by a few metres at a time. As he measured the Ohms, he could tell how dense the ground was, if it was solid rock, or looser gravel. With this information he determines the likelihood of finding water. Very interesting. He talked a lot about needing to know the geology of the area in order to interpret the results. In this particular survey, he determined that the first water would be found at 12 metres, the greatest water supply between 25 and 35 metres and bedrock at 55 metres. This was all good news for the high school which desperately needs water. Now they will get estimates from a driller and some group in Denmark will fund the drilling. What an amazing process, just to get water. It is hard to comprehend when water is so plentiful in Newfoundland. No wonder the world wants to buy our water!!

Tomorrow I am off to Osbourne Dam on an outing with Abby’s Girl Guide group. I will take them the Canadian Girl Guide mementos I was given by St. John’s guiding friends.

Hello everyone,

Betty was the first to see it, the long neck silhouetted against the African sunset at sunset. Very quietly and calmly she said "There it is." I nearly jumped off my seat with excitement when my eye caught the graceful being. Of all the animals that bring me delight, the giraffe is the one that I have longed for since childhood. We crept closer in our truck, and slowly another and another and another appeared, until five had crossed the road and slipped into the trees. One stopped and stared at us for some time and I’m quite certain our gazes met. To my delight, as we traveled on, our paths crossed again and, this time one was behind us as well as the four in front. The photographing opportunities weren’t the best, but camera shutters clicked endlessly since this was our first siting of these magnificent creatures.

We were in the ‘vehicles only’ section of the Cecil Kop Game Preserve that is only a 30 minute walk from my house. For two months I have tried to get a four wheel drive so I could get in there, as walking is not allowed. The guide book said there are giraffes, and I’ve heard that others have seen them there. But the terrain of densely wooded hillside just didn’t match the flat savanna images of National Geographic TV programs. So, even though I have gazed longingly at the hillside every day as I walk to and from work, I couldn’t really believe there were giraffes there.

As I lay in bed last night, with my mind wandering through the events of the day, I couldn’t stop thinking about those giraffes. Knowing they walk so close to me every day was hypnotic. It reminded me of the first time I saw whales in the ocean. That vast expanse of water has never been the same with the knowledge that the gentle giants swim there, and now I feel the same kind of magic exists on the African landscape!!

Accompanying me at Cecil Kop was the rest of the Canadian Crossroads crew, T.A., one who came from Harare, and two bussed in from Bulawayo. We had a delightful weekend comparing notes about the similarities and differences in our experiences, and trucking to the cool air of the Vumba Mountains. TA’s host had arranged a ride for us, with the son of a church member who had a truck. Molly mentioned that his sister might come along with us, and then she left the house with other commitments. After two hours, our lone driver finally arrived. We distributed ourselves between the front cab and open air truck bed. We had one stop to make at his house and off we would go. At the house, we all unloaded and entered the home for the customary handshaking and introductions with every family member. It had long since become clear that it was a ‘go with the flow’ kind of a day so we were only slightly surprised when ten siblings and extended family members (ages about 3-20) joined us in the truck, making a total of fifteen sunburned and windblown souls.

The truck had enough power to make it up the mountains and, I’m pleased to report, had adequate braking power to safely descend again!! Over the course of the day we visited the Leopard Rock Golf Course and Casino, the Vumba Botanical Gardens, and a wonderful native craft shop called the Gateway to the Vumba. Our entourage made an entire concert with the thumb pianos and the rattles made of gourds for hands and ankles. Better yet, we laughed and giggled as we became friends. At the end of the day, we made each one an honorary Canadian with a maple leaf flag pen, shared addresses and promises to send back photos.

As an update on our feeding program, I think I have compiled the necessary data in an acceptable form for the London Donors to approve our resumption of the feeding. With luck, we will finally be able to get the stockpiled porridge into the undernourished children’s bodies. In the category of unexpected challenges, the majority political party is preparing for next year’s elections by removing the Village Community Workers who belong to the opposition party. These are the community-based government workers we have trained to implement our program, so we may be starting Re-training, Take Three. This information was shared in staff meeting, quite casually, under the topic of preparations and cautions with the upcoming presidential elections. All of these discussions are sobering, and make me ever grateful for the relative peace and calm with which both Canada and the US conduct their elections. A little mud-slinging maybe, but that is much preferable to grenade slinging!!

My upcoming week is yet to be planned, but wherever I am on Wednesday, I’ll turn 49 years old. I’ll imagine a combined chorus of Happy Birthday making its way across the Atlantic!

The morning cloud cover should have been a clue, but people have promised rains for several weeks without a drop appearing. So it seemed very sudden when the sky darkened and the winds picked up. Everyone’s pace quickened, knowing what was coming. Within 15 minutes it was raining hard, and thunder and lightning filled the sky. It is official, the rainy season has begun. The implications of this unfolded over the next 24 hours. The power in Marange went out immediately, and though my new base camp location is on the grid, I was left with less ability to make dinner than when in Buhera without electricity. The next day, travelling to Buhera, we bumped along 80 kilometres of dust road where the seasonal erosion had begun. I can’t imagine what these passages will look like after 6 months of downpour. I shouldn’t worry about that too much because the rivers will flood the bridges making it necessary to use an alternate, mostly paved route.

The previously barren fields were alive with excitement. Pairs of cattle were yoked to ploughs which turned the damp soil. For the moment, it looked rich and filled with promise, though I know the crop yields usually indicate seriously deficient earth. Sometimes men directed the plough and frequently it was women who also carried babies on their backs. Often there was a second person with a switch to encourage the cattle. It was remarkable how similar the scene was in every field. For the next six months, these farmers will toil endlessly as they stagger their planting and weed by hand. I learned that the job would be easier if they used (or could afford) herbicides, but harvesting the edible weeds is critical to people’s survival before the harvesting of the maize or groundnuts. Food scarcity and food panic has waned. As we traveled, it was apparent where the edge of the cloud had been, as the ground was once again dry, the people still waiting.

Last evening, I witnessed a scene I could never have imagined. I noticed the flying insects in the headlights, but thought nothing of them. But when Mr. Melusi returned from his nightly visit at the bottle store with the boys, a flurry of activity began. Before I had even gotten outside, he had positioned a bucket under each of the headlights and a damp burlap blanket on the ground. Thousands of bugs fluttered in the light. Everyone in the base camp rushed to the scene, each with their own bucket. The large winged ants, attracted to the headlights, naively landed on the burlap. Immobilized when their wings touched the wet cloth, they were scooped into the buckets with eager hands. The buckets were half full with water so when the ants were swirled in the water, their wings were saturated. Their efforts to escape were hopeless. When the burlap had more ants than hands could capture, Mr. Melusi and Miss Mutunsi picked it up and dumped the ants into the buckets. All of this occurred so quickly that I could barely get an explanation from anyone. The squeals of delight and racing to fill additional buckets was remarkable. I explained the North American expression "like a deer in headlights" but I think it applied to me more than to the ants flying around. The ants are actually termites which live in enormous mounds during the dry season. With the rains, their homes are flooded and they emerge to continue their life cycle. Many, like the poor souls caught in the headlights, are roasted and eaten, providing a much needed affordable protein source. In fact posters of the four food groups, Zimbabwe style, include these termites in the protein section. I have yet to try the roasted version, but Mr. Melusi promised to bring me some next week.

In some ways it was a difficult week. I think of it as a week that it was hard to be a white person. Learning the implications of being a visible minority is an ongoing process with many layers to uncover. This week, it became clear that in the rural area, the pre-conceived notion is that I am a donor. As I traveled through a new area, many many people asked what did I bring them. A Canadian Flag pin, or a loving heart or a joyful spirit were not what they wanted. The people have so many needs and in many ways, the international community is visible. I saw a Canadian truck from a forestry NGO and a USAid truck working on family planning issues. So it is no wonder that they think I am bringing something. White people don't come to these areas as tourists and not often as volunteers or workers. But I got the lesson that many experience every day of their lives, that visible appearances can seem to build enormous barriers to connecting with others. It is not a new lesson for people of colour in North America or people with disabilities the world over. But from my privileged world, these are tough new lessons, the very lessons I hoped to learn by coming here. Many thanks to all who helped me celebrate my birthday with messages, letters, cards, presents. It was great to have such an event in a far off land, especially when it is so easy to be in touch with friends and family from home.

Hello everyone,

I never before knew I could be an agricultural expert, but last week had the opportunity to expand my expertise in a new area. This is from the person who never even wanted to own a houseplant!! I accompanied Estella Mutunzi and visited communal gardens, wood lots and tree nurseries in communities and at schools. It was all new to me, but not only did we visit, I was a judge in a competition for the best tree nursery.

This environment and conservation area of Christian Care’s work is very exciting. Estella was an excellent teacher about the conservation efforts, and I contributed by assessing the degree to which the schools had incorporated gardening and work projects into their curriculum. It could have been Farm and Wilderness.

In the rural areas, people cut trees to cook over fires. They cut trees to make fence posts. They cut trees to make rafters for the thatched huts. All of this cutting takes place in a desert environment where there aren’t that many trees, anyway. During the rainy season, the huge downpours have major implications in places without ground cover. As a result of de-forestation, there is a serious problem with erosion and huge gullies form wherever there is any slope. The gullies carry away the little bits of existing top soil and the problem gets worse and worse if not stopped. I saw one place where houses had to be relocated because the gullies were encroaching.

To help out, Christian Care has numerous strategies to ensure the long term health of the environment. Many schools have created tree nurseries where seedlings of indigenous and exotic trees are grown and then sold or given to the community. Students learn about the importance of wood and how to create more of it in a sustainable fashion. They beautify their school grounds by planting trees and shrubs which stabilize the soil. They have developed wood lots where fast growing exotic species can be cultivated and then harvested for the needs of the community. The way the children are involved in the gardening and work projects, it reminds me of summer camp, and gives them an education that is totally relevant to their future lives.

It is truly inspiring to watch the educators in these schools. The headmasters beam with excitement and pride at the accomplishments of their students. Their initiative at involving the broader community in the school activities would be the envy of any North American school principal.

As an added feature of my school visits, I took the opportunity to distribute the school supplies that have been so generously donated by Catherine Carr and John and Norma Smith. I had the humbling privilege of meeting with high school girls who are the heads of their households as their families have been orphaned by the AIDS pandemic. Their situations seem so incredibly desperate to me, as I can’t imagine being 15 years old and responsible for feeding, cleaning, and clothing a house full of younger siblings. These girls have no relatives that have taken them in, so they manage all aspects of running their families. Giving them pencils and pens seemed absurdly inadequate, but their grateful response clearly indicated their appreciation. Somehow the developed world must figure out how to provide more extensive AIDS education, prevention supplies and medication.

Shifting gears rather abruptly, I must tell you about mangoes. I have been watching the lemon-sized fruits ripen on the trees in the hot rural areas for weeks, and finally they are ready in abundance. I had many lessons to learn about mango consumption. First, you eat them like apples, though it is personal choice whether you consume the skin or spit it out. Second, you never eat just one, but perhaps five or seven at once. Third, having little mango strings caught between your teeth is socially acceptable! Estella and Tsorai found the floss I used to remove those strings to be absolutely hysterical. But I think I had the most fun as they figured out how to wrap the floss around their fingers and then put one inside and one outside their mouths. Just imagine describing and demonstrating dental floss to people who have never heard of such a thing. It didn’t take long for Estella and Tsorai to abandon my floss and resort to their favorite toothpicks made from matchsticks

Hello everyone,

Last night I said good-bye to my host father Abel. He is off to Harare and I’ll leave Zimbabwe while he is away. The farewell was a poignant reminder that my remaining days here are few. One impact of my presence in his household for the past three months was evident in his parting comment, "Be sure to e-mail me!" Many related words have entered his vocabulary since September.

For two weeks Abel will be surrounded by his fellow woodwork teacher colleagues from around the country and thousands of odd little wooden constructions. If the students are lucky, all of these masterpieces look very much alike, as they are the products of the national ‘O’ level practical exams in woodwork.

All ‘O’ level students, those finishing high school, take these exams in an excruciating six week marathon to determine their proficiency in many subjects including Shona language, Bible knowledge, Science, English, Math, etc. This year, the Math exam was leaked in advance to someone, who made a tidy sum of money selling it to anxious students, so a new exam had to be written and was re-scheduled later, extending the whole process. I’ve seen the anguish students feel at this time because both Leonorah and Adam have struggled through day after day, knowing their futures are on the line.

For his work as a teacher, Abel makes the equivalent of $320 a month and Norah, also a teacher, makes the same. In a country with a 100% inflation rate, this does not go very far. Next year, they will have four children of university age and that is why I have been trying urgently to find scholarship help for one of the daughters.

I can always tell when some horrific news about Zimbabwe has been picked up by UPI. I start receiving concerned messages from friends all over North America. This began in the past week and on last night’s news it became clear why. The US congress just passed the sanctions legislation, aimed at the Mugabe government policies. I’m sure many of you have read about terrible things going on here to justify the sanctions. The ZBC news reporter interviewed numerous citizens, both white and black, who all said not very nice things about the USA and about the impact of this legislation if Bush signs it into law.

My Zimbabwe family’s discussion is what struck me, and I think this family is representative of a large number of black and white people here whose views don’t get expressed on the state sponsored television. Abel said it is about time the international community takes actions to stop Mugabe. Norah, who wept tears of joy at the pictures of Afghan women removing their veils after the US intervention, hopes these sanctions allow Zimbabweans to experience the same sense of freedom from tyranny. If the US can free Afghanistan, then certainly they can handle Mugabe. The situation here is quite desperate, and unlike other developing countries that perhaps never had widespread security, until just a few years ago Zimbabwe was stable, the jewel of Africa, moving forward.

Mugabe’s case is very sad. He truly was a war hero in the revolution for independence in 1980. His new government made significant changes and improvements for the rural people, building schools and medical clinics throughout the country. He doesn’t realize that his legacy is in what he has already accomplished. His current efforts are destroying the very country he liberated.

The next 6 months are critical to the future of this country. The run up to the elections are predicted to be violent and ugly. Members of the opposition party live with constant threats to their lives. If the Movement for Democratic Change wins the election, there is fear of civil war since Mugabe’s ZANU-PF party won’t go without a struggle. For my family here, the US sanctions give them hope that some of the violence and bloodshed can be avoided.

More personally, when I went to bed last night, I thought the noise in my ears every time I rolled over might wake me up. Or if I slept without rolling, it seemed like the little beads pressing in one place would be like an all-night reflexology treatment. I never thought it possible to sleep through acupuncture!! Ah, but the price of beauty and fashion. After 4 ½ hours at the beauty salon, I have fulfilled one of my wishes for my time in Africa. I now have about 150 tiny little braids streaming from my head. Each one has a small elastic band holding on a plastic bead, about ¼ inch in diameter. Some are bronze, some are black, just so you can try to visualize the full effect.

It has taken me weeks of failed efforts to finally get these braids. Everyone who considered doing it politely found a way of backing out, intimidated by the length and texture of my hair. But I bugged Catherine, at the She and He Boutique until she finally consented. Now, Norah says, I am truly African. By that, I am flattered.

This week I had a real treat. With the dollars tucked into envelopes sent this way from several of you, I purchased school uniforms for the dependents of three for my women friends in Buhera. Ronica was the village co-worker with me on the Child Supplementary Feeding Program, until the funding agency determined that the US$15 a day she was being paid for full time work wasn’t affordable. She has three children. Patricia sells tomatoes under a tree, in the township. For US twenty cents, you can buy about 8 plum tomatoes. She pays half that to get them from the supplier. I have sat with her for an hour at a time when she has made one sale. She has three children. Molly is 19 years old, an AIDS orphan. She cares for her two younger siblings. With US$30, I bought all eight school uniforms, but these prices are out of reach for these women. Now when their kids start school in the new year, they will have crisp, new uniforms. Ronica, Patricia and Molly are extremely grateful to all who contributed.

TA and I will leave Zimbabwe sometime between December 17 and 20th. We will be in Cape Town, South Africa by the 27th, at the latest, for the orientation meeting of our overland trip. After guiding so many trips in the past 10 years, I am very excited about being guided!! I am enclosing the itinerary of our 50 day adventure, so you can print it and follow along. My dad already has gotten a map to keep track of us, since the names of all the places have changed since he was here 45 years ago. We will be in towns and cities along the way, so be assured that I’ll make it to the local internet café whenever possible. It will be different to be composing my weekly stories on line, rather than on disk using the Christian Care computer, but you’ll at least know that we are progressing in our 10,000 kilometre journey.

I cant believe this is my last message from Mutare. And for previously explained reasons, I am actually writing this letter before even sending the last one. In due time, this will all work out.

The past week has had two outstanding events. Last Saturday, my Christian Care friend, Estella Mutunzi, got married, at the church in her rural home on Nyanyadzi, 100 kilometres from Mutare. For a month I have heard about the wedding plans, details, etc., so I was quite excited for the actual day. When the pre-arranged transportation fell through at the last minute, in my determination, I ventured across town to the depot and boarded a chicken bus. This felt like a major accomplishment and was a big confidence booster, as three months ago we were considered too naive to ride the chicken busses.

Dont confuse chicken bus with a cute name like Greyhound or the famous Green Tortoise busses in the USA. Chicken busses were probably in their prime in about 1963, and seem to stay on the road due to the power of group prayer!! Anyone and everyone will ride the busses, often carrying all their worldly possessions, even chickens. If the possessions don’t fit in a shopping bag, they go on the roof of the bus, and this includes bags of produce to sell at market, rocking chairs, bicycles, lounge chairs, you get the picture. The gangly shadow of the bus, as you careen down the road at 120 kilometres an hour, resembles the Beverly Hillbillies truck headed for swimming pools and movie stars. Usually the horn is blaring to warn the goats, donkeys and cattle to get out of the road and run for their lives. The livestock eventually comply, but not without striking fear in my heart as the bus driver knows no brakes.

I arrived in Nyanyadzi and proceeded to the Mutunzi household where I was welcomed with sadza and liver and six pieces of buttered bread for breakfast. It was clearly a day of celebration! The wedding was due to start at 9, and at about 9:15 we went to the church so Estella could begin getting dressed. It was a scene like any other brides preparations, as three or four friends worked on hair, makeup, zipping the dress, etc. And then there was a uniquely Zimbabwean aspect, where 4-6 designated, or perhaps self selected friends continually danced, gyrated and ululated, somewhat in the role of cheerleaders. Ululating is a skill practiced by girls from a young age, and is reminiscent of an Indian War Cry. Sends chills down my spine when I’m not expecting it, but is done with differing amounts of fervor, depending upon the emotion o the occasion, wedding, funeral, town meeting, etc. At the wedding, it was accompanied by a kind of dance step which involved wiggling an extended f**** in the direction of the action.

This wedding was no somber or formal occasion in the North American sense. The six junior bridesmaids and their escorts went down the aisle first, using a line dance step with bows and Zimbabwe curtsies, two steps forward, one step back, step to the side, back to the centre. The six bridesmaids and grooms men followed with a similar step. Once they were seated in the front, the groom and best man entered, walking down the aisle hand in hand, fingers interlocked. And finally the bride and her father. Now protecting the train of a white dress during the muddy, rainy season is a trick, so the cheerleaders used two pieces of fabric about six feet long, moving one in front of the other for Estella to walk along as she left the car and entered the church.

The wedding included the usual things, such as prayers, vows, rings, etc. And there was some extra stuff, like signing the wedding license, testimonials and cutting the cake. Of course in Zimbabwe you cant eat without the ritual handwashing, so Estella and Panganai poured water for one another before eating the cake. I suspect this is the last time that Panganai will pour water for Estella, as that is not a mans role. Then Estella kneeled at the feet of her new in-laws pouring water for them. This is just the beginning of these activities for Estella, because in this culture, when a woman marries, she becomes part of her husbands family and is obligated to cook, clean and serve them however requested. These days, some newly wed families are choosing to live farther from the husbands family to spare the wife these requirements. But even in that case, whenever visiting, the woman is enslaved by the in-laws for the duration of the visit.

I had two roles during the wedding, one planned, the other quite unexpected. Estella asked me to take photos, as she has really liked many of the pictures that I've taken and distributed here. So I was able to wander around the church at will, snapping the camera. Being the photographer felt like a huge responsibility, but I was reassured that there was another woman who volunteered to take pictures, too, and there was a videographer throughout. More than once I wished I had taken that photography course in St. Johns along with TA where she went on more than one wedding photo shoot, but I relied on any information I had gathered from her by osmosis. Unfortunately, I didn’t recall it covering issues like churches with just one bare light bulb, extreme contrasts like white dress on black skin, and how you take pictures of specific family groupings when EVERYONE wants to be in EVERY photo. Overall, I liked the freedom of movement that being the photographer allowed me. This movement was important because Estella issued 1000 invitations with the full knowledge that as many as 3000 people would just show up to get free food. The church was packed and people were hanging in every window and doorway.

The one unexpected role came when the Panganai was waving to me and the MC grabbed my hand to escort me to the front. Within a second, a microphone was in my hand and I was instructed to give a testimonial, the MC would interpret. For the first time in the whole ceremony, you could hear a pin drop in the church, as the only white person in the crowd started to speak. Fortunately, the Quaker spirit moved quickly and I figured out something to say that moved, amused, and appeared not to offend anyone. I was deeply honoured for this opportunity, and probably did a better job not having any advance notice.

So I mentioned that the week had two outstanding events. The second was not nearly as pleasant as the first, as I continued my exploration of the Mutare medical system. I got a high fever, headaches, weakness, enlarged groin lymph node and a disgusting looking sore on the back of my knee. Taking after my mothers tradition, I got the worst symptoms on the weekend, when medical help is hard to come by. After a couple days, an enlarged red streak appeared between the lymph node and the gross sore. That freaked me out pretty good and I was off to the doctor. Normally I would have called upon medical resources amongst family and friends, but as it turns out, this one would have been difficult to diagnose. The doctor immediately recognized a poisonous tick bite, from the rural area. He outlined my symptoms exactly. This was not a matter of a tick as a carrier of disease, but rather a tick with its own poisonous bite. Without treatment, I would be sick for 6-8 months, but fortunately, I’m now into my third day of doxycyclene treatment and am feeling much more human.

This is not how I would have planned or imagined my last week in Mutare, but the tick didn’t ask my opinion before chowing down. TA and I are still negotiating our actual departure day but I expect Ill be leaving Zimbabwe either Monday or Tuesday coming. I leave here pleased with the work I have done, delighted by the friends I have made, touched by the warmth and generosity of many, and now, eager for the adventures which lie ahead.