White Zimbabwe…it’s a small, small world, and I haven’t even arrived yet!
The next day I didn’t do much but hang around Mike’s house and watch television. He had satellite TV, and it was kind of fun to just flip around the stations a bit during the day, especially since I haven’t had a TV at my disposal for a while. Mike had another guy staying at his house as well (another guy from Zimbabwe), so we flipped around the TV together, having interesting conversation. Mike also had a maid, which was unexpected. She cleaned up everything after me (before I could get around to it); to be honest, it made me feel a bit strange. “Well, with all the unemployment you see outside…” Mike offered as a reason. Alright, I can see that.
We met Mike for lunch at a spot on the beach, and then I headed back to read at Mike’s house. Later that night, we went to someone’s house for a nice dinner party, where I met more Zimbabweans (note, these are all white Zimbabweans…most of them used to be farmers in Zim until Mugabe took their farms away from them, in an effort to give the land back to the black population. Many people stayed, but it seems like most left. Mozambique has opened their doors, as well as Nigeria; it seems to be a trend now in Africa, to open their doors to white ex-farmers from Zimbabwe in order to better utilize the land. Even Mugabe now, I guess, is asking for them to come back.) The food was great, and I thank them a million for inviting me to join them.
On Sunday, a few days later, Mike and Ron took me to one of their favorite Sunday relaxation spots – Rio Savahnne. That’s probably spelled completely wrong. Anyway, we took a drive along the coast until we could go no further, then we got out and took a boat across the river. On the other side was a nice camp & restaurant, where we ordered lunch for later and headed out to the beach. There were probably 30 people maximum on the beach, and Ron said it was crowded. The beach stretched on to the north forever and was gorgeous. We stayed a little while and had a great lunch (fresh calamari for me); after lunch we headed back to Beira and had yet another night on the town (well, suburbs, kind of) with some more guests he had visiting including a 40-some-year-old guy who was so drunk he fell into the pool in Mike’s apartment complex.
Finally it was Monday and I was off to Chimoio. I was nine days in Beira, and there’s really not that much there. I might hold a record for the longest amount of time any tourist has spent in Beira ever. It was only a few hours until we arrived in Chimoio. Mike dropped me off at the hostel in town (The Pink Papaya) and we said our goodbyes. I was the only one at the place, which was kind of nice – I really needed a good night’s sleep (the guys had me drinking every night in Beira, but it was alright because they payed for everything.)
While walking around town, I ran into Mike again, who was about to go to lunch with some friend in town, so he invited me. I met more ex-Zimbabweans and told them about my trip, what I was doing, and how my next stop would be Zimbabwe to visit an old friend in Harare. “What’s his name?” Will Simons. “Oh! Will Simons! I know Will Simons!” Jeez, not this again! This time it was two of them who knew him. “How is it that nearly everyone I meet from Zimbabwe knows this man?” Well, it turns out that Zimbabwe is a very small place. This is, of course, if you consider only the white population, especially the white population that still lives there. Nearly everyone knows everyone else. “Look, here’s my number in Zimbabwe, and here’s another number of so-and-so,” said one lady. “If you have any problems in Zimbabwe or with Will, just give one of us a call.” Uh, sure, thanks.
Mike dropped me back in town and we said our final goodbyes for real this time. I ran a few errands, and while walking around town, I had my first public altercation I’ve probably had this whole trip. Luckily it was no big deal. While I was walking, I felt someone pull the headscarf I was wearing (I bought this in Mozambique, and it’s called a lenço). It felt like I knew the person, like they were trying to get my attention or something, but no. It was some woman who wanted my lenço. I pulled back on it, telling her I was not going to give it to her, that it was mine. Someone else joined in – a young guy – working on my behalf, pushing the woman away from me. It really wasn’t a big deal, though…she left me alone after that. I guess I must have bought a nice one because she really wanted it!
Later on, back at the hostel, I met Helen, the owner of The Pink Papaya. Lovely British woman who’s decided to settle in Mozambique and open a hostel, which is exactly what she’s done. I was going to concede to the day when she invited me to come out for “just an hour”, so I went. We actually ended up at the same place I went for lunch earlier that day. Lo and behold, I met more ex-farmers from Zimbabwe (mind you, the majority of these guys are single middle-aged men and pay for everything for me). Again, while talking, I mention my plans to go to Harare to meet an old friend. “What’s his name?” Will Simons. “Oh yeah, I know Will Simons.” Yeah, yeah, of course you do. Some at the table didn’t know him. “You know, the guy we were with at the Microlight Club that one time.” (A microlight is a very small plane.) “Oh yeah! Wild Will! He’s the one who lands his plane on one wheel while waving to the crowd.” “Yeah! That’s him!” Wild Will? I laugh to myself…this should be interesting…
At this point, though, I am barely surprised to learn this guy knows Will, but that brings the total up to 5 people who know him. To me, it’s like being in Canada and saying you know someone in the States (or maybe even Chicago, to be exact), and having the person actually know them! I even laugh when people ask me if I know so-and-so from Northwestern, but I’m game to play along; sometimes you actually know the person.
Tags: Beira, Chimoio, Mozambique, Mozambique, Tag Index
Tania
October 29th, 2006 at 12:09 am
Tania,
I love this story. I know Will too. . . he and i used to farm navy beans down by the south shore pier. Tell him that I say hi.
Luv yo broth’a