Wed, 17 Mar 2004

Looking for Land

Land fever seems to be gripping Mozambique and more and more farmers are pouring over the Zimbabwean border to stake their piece of land. Pat and I both said vehemently we would never farm again but when I met Sylvia at the Petrol Station and she told me excitedly she was off to find a piece of land I felt my resolve weakening. To my absolute horror and amazement I heard myself saying" Sylvia may I come with you." 

At 6.30 am the next morning there I was at the rendezvous point. I was dressed for the occasion, long linen dress, scarf and leather sandals. I realized I was overdressed immediately as Sylvia and Sandy were attired in jeans and slacks with sensible footwear. In my enthusiasm I had left my sensible footwear behind. Sylvia raised an eyebrow at my linen frock and then stared in disbelief at my sandals but I shrugged my shoulders and we set off on our way. Our destination was Gondola about 20 kms out of Chimoio. We had to pick up Micky who was joining us and Milo (who was our translator). We drew up outside Micky's house in Chimoio which was like an oasis in the dusty location. I looked in wonder at Micky's smart furnishings and beautiful curtains, it could have been an apartment in New York. Who would have expected this in this run down village town with the smell of rotting vegetables wafting over from the vendors. Micky was dressed in white and I was pleased to note she had sandals on too. She looked at me in horror "Are you looking at farms in that dress?" she shook her head in amazement. Soon we were bundled in the car, Milo in the back clinging on for dear life and we set off for our meeting with the Agricultural Administrator. We drew up outside a shabby building and a light drizzle started. Our guide was Senhor Jesse he was dressed in a jumper with thick glasses even though we were all expiring from the heat he seemed unaffected. He was sitting on a bench and did not respond enthusiastically to our arrival. Eventually Milo coerced him into the front of the car while we all squeezed up in the back like sardines. It appeared from Milo's translations that Senhor Jesse had an aversion to drizzle. By the end of the day I think he had an aversion to mad Zimbabwean women. We soon discovered he was a man of few words and our directions were a series of rapid hand movements which Sylvia translated very well. 

Micky had her notebook and pen poised so she could take notes of each farm visited, this would also reveal what serious farmers we were and we hoped Senhor Jesse would be suitably impressed. The important criteria was of course river frontage, flat lands, soil types and how populated the area was. There seemed to be a lot of local farmers scattered all over the farms and the odd rusted Russian tank. You forget this poor country endured 20 years of civil war. Nobody dared to do a widdle in the bush, except me because of the stray landmines lurking. When I had to go I scanned the bush nervously, squatted down with my hands over my ears unless I detonated something. The others stood back in awe admiring my courage. 

We passed little villages with squawking chickens and gobbling turkeys. Little picannins screamed and waved at us. We asked Milo with some concern what would happen to them if we found a farm we liked. He shrugged his shoulders and said they would receive some compensation and have to move off and if they hadn't paid their land tax well they would be kicked off. Micky and I looked at one another and giggled, amazing we were being kicked off our land in Zimbabwe and then could come to Mozambique and kick the local farmers off their land. Well that's Africa for you it never makes sense. 

Senhor Jesse was now directing us down a narrow, slanting, dirt road which seemed saturated from the recent rain. He wanted to show us the river. We slid and skidded down the road and then came to an abrupt halt at a overgrown mealie patch. We climbed out and inspected the path to the river. The path seemed inaccessible so we consulted with Milo and decided that we had seen enough of this particular farm and would reverse and continue on our journey. We all jumped back in and Sylvia attempted to put the car into reverse but the tyres were not gripping and the wheels just spun helplessly. It was then we realized we had a problem. We all leapt out again including Senhor Jesse and frantically tried to push the car. It appeared we were firmly stuck. 

Looking at one another in horror we all started making wild suggestions at the same time. Micky paged through the car manual and we read up on something called diff lock. The instructions were read out carefully and Sylvia tried to put them in to motion but to no avail. We all clambered in again and assessed the situation. It looked pretty bleak, here were in wildest Mozambique, no cell phone coverage, not enough of us to push the car out by brute strength and miles from any accessible road. There was nobody else around but a few red collared widow birds and a gentle breeze. Then I heard a sound in the mealie patch, I called frantically and out popped two heads, a man and woman. We enthusiastically recruited the male as part of the pushing team while the wife looked on benevolently offering advice. Sandy suggested we collect sticks and place them under the wheels and continue pushing. The sun was reaching its zenith and the heat was becoming unbearable. The sticks were placed behind the wheel and we pushed frantically and moved about a centimetre. Micky who had leadership qualities was so exasperated by our slow progress, she reassessed the situation and realized we needed more traction. We gave way to her superior knowledge and the sticks were placed lengthways instead of horizontally,so instead of a centimetre we were now moving an inch. 

Then to our absolute joy down the road came two passersby. Micky just managed to restrain herself from embracing them, even I wanted to give them a hug and kiss. Instead we persuaded them to join us so we now had some real pushing power. While I was shoving frantically, eyes popping with the strain, unbeknown to me a small thornbush found its way up my long linen dress and managed to secure my knickers with its tiny lethal thorns. As I heaved away asthmatically, oblivious to it all, my panties were suddenly whipped off and found their way round my ankles. As I fell face down, I screamed hysterically, turning around kicking frantically with my legs expecting an assailant behind me, only to find the thornbush was now embedded in my ankle. I recovered quickly and whipped them back on. With dignity restored I carried on pushing hoping Senior Jesse hadn't noticed my wild antics on the ground. Sandy had though and was bent double trying to control her mirth. Senhor Jesse was pushing along beside me, rivulets of sweat were now running down his face and into his glasses this was obviously not in his job description. 

After what seemed an eternity we eventually found a dry bit of road and Sylvia managed to screw her neck around and reverse the car until we found a clearing to turn in. Her vision was impeded by the head high vegetation and I was instructed to run behind the car so she had some idea of where she was going. We all fell back into the car absolutely finished with all the exertion. We then discovered Micky was missing. We peered anxiously through the back window and there she was emerging at a run from the tall grass, waving frantically, with terror written all over her face in case she was going to be left behind. She was hauled back in the car panting with fatigue. It was only then I noticed with some concern our muddied legs and wild, unruly hairdos. We then unanimously decided we better have a beer to celebrate our narrow escape. The recruited pushers, who we had bonded with, were paid off and it was a tearful farewell. Our enthusiasm was of course temporarily subdued, we hadn't realized what an exhausting business farm hunting was. 

Senhor Jesse was another matter, his mornings strenuous activity seemed to have put him in a trance. He sat staring out of the window, eyes glazed with a pained expression on his face. I told Sylvia to give him a nudge to see if he was still alive. Micky tried to resuscitate him with a coke she found in her cooler box and after he downed it, we did see a flicker of life. We made our way back to Gondola at high speed to drop off poor Senhor Jesse. He made a frantic escape while we all went back to Micky's house to recuperate. We resuscitated ourselves with a huge shot of vodka and then congratulated each other on getting out of a very difficult situation unscathed. Isn't this what pioneering Africa is all about and indeed we all felt we had passed the test. 

Mandy Retzlaff
Bvumba
Zimbabwe