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.
