Bulawayo

The United States government has labelled Zimbabwe as one of the world’s six outposts of tyranny and suggests not entering the country due to the current political and economic instability. Suggestion noted and ignored. I have no excuse for going into the heart of Zimbabwe, but that is the thing about going back to one’s roots, you don’t need an excuse.

It all started about a week ago. I haven’t been sleeping well due to the heat and increased insect activity at night. I kept having thoughts at night. I have come all of this way and am so close to where my family rebuilt their lives but haven’t gone to visit. I would be leaving in a few weeks and miss the opportunity to visit the place that my family called home for so long, Bulawayo.
I wasn’t sure if it was a good idea to go back. It is true that the current economic and political situation does not make it ideal for an American to be travelling through the country. There wasn’t even much for me to see; my uncles that are left there spend most of their time in Cape Town, the old house got converted to a market long ago, and I don’t even want to know what condition the old farm is in. I did have one thing left in Bulawayo that I had never visited on my previous trips and this is what kept me up at night, drawing me to go and see my grandfather’s grave.

I had never met my grandfather, as he passed away many years before I was born. I had never gone with my father to the cemetery to visit on any of the trips that we made to Bulawayo when I was a child. I was alone in Africa now and it was my time to go. The only problem was time was running out and I wasn’t sure how to get down there. The bus does go down, but it is an eight hour bus ride that I wasn’t too keen on taking. I was lucky enough to run into my friend Nicole on Wednesday evening though. When I mentioned the fact that I wanted to go down to Bulawayo she told me that she was driving down the next day to pick up her brother from school and take him back up to Livingstone for Christmas with the family. She offered me a ride and I quickly accepted.

The next day I met up with Nicole in the morning and we headed off for the border and what would turn into quite an adventure. What is usually a quick stop to get a stamp turned into an hour of paying new taxes that the Zimbabwe government instated for motor vehicles. I’m not sure if these were actually required, but being one of the most corrupt places on earth right now everyone was looking for extra money at Christmas time. After sorting through all of the paperwork, getting the required stamps, and dealing with every single immigration officer asking for a "Christmas present," we were through the border and off for Bulawayo. It is a lovely drive down to Bulawayo through the rolling hills of bushveld. The drive is only marred by the fact that the locals don’t lock up their livestock and you have to watch out for cattle, donkeys and goats that tend to graze on the side of the road. It is normal to stop every now and then for some cattle crossing the road; it is unusual to have seven police road stops on the five hour drive down. We were in a country where the police are as corrupt as the government and at each one of the stops the officers were looking to make sure all of the taxes were paid and documents were in order. We had all of the proper paperwork, but the police still asked for a Christmas present. We gave them all a small tip so we could be on our way. Unfortunately the car in front of us wasn’t as lucky because they had an outdated radio permit… yes, you need a permit for the radio in your car. Thank Mr Mugabe for some of the most ridiculous taxes you have ever come across in his attempt to relieve the economic strife.

We finally made it to Bulawayo and made a plan for Nicole to drop me at the cemetery, go pick her brother up from school which was forty kilometres outside of town, and then return in about an hour to pick me up at the cemetery. Looking back on it now it wasn’t the best of plans, neither one of us had a phone or getting a hold of the other if something went wrong. I didn’t think too much about it though because I was on a mission to find my grandfather’s grave.

Nicole dropped me on the side of the road by the cemetery with the advice, "please don’t get mugged." This left me with a warm and fuzzy feeling. I started my trek around the cemetery trying to find the Jewish section. I decided to head north towards the train tracks. No luck, as all I could see were crosses rising from the ground. I then walked around the top of the cemetery to the other side. There I found different religious burial grounds, Bahai, Muslim, Buddhist, back to Christian; where was the Jewish section? I made it back to the South end and started walking back towards the road that I was dropped off at. My only thoughts were that I was at the wrong cemetery. Just before reaching the road I saw a building with a Star of David on top. I had finally found the Jewish section. It had taken me fifteen minutes to walk around the entire place almost completely back to where I started. I was now left to walk row after row through the Jewish section looking for my grandfather. Almost forty minutes later I found his grave. It was a beautiful polished marble grave that was in good condition. I introduced myself to my grandfather Heinz Goldschmidt. According to Jewish tradition you are supposed to leave a stone on top of the grave, I left three, one from me, one from my father and one from my grandmother. I was even able to find the grave of my great grandmother and many more of my family that I remember visiting as a child. It was my opportunity to say goodbye.

I had accomplished what I had wanted and was glad that I went. I headed back out to the road to wait for Nicole and head back up to Zambia. The plan was to meet her there at four o’clock at the bus stop on the main road. Four soon went by and then five. It looked like we wouldn’t make it back across the border that day because it was a five hour drive back and the border closed at ten. Not to worry, I have some friends in Vic Falls that we can stay with. Now I was only worried about where Nicole was and if she would get me before it was dark. It was almost six o’clock and I decided to walk towards town so that if Nicole didn’t show up I could at least find a place to stay for the night. I walked back to the turn off for Victoria Falls and decided to wait there for fifteen more minutes to see if Nicole would show up. Fourteen minutes later I finally saw Nicole’s car heading down the road. I hopped in and she apologized profusely for being late. Her brother’s bus didn’t arrive until five and she got completely lost in Bulawayo trying to remember where the cemetery was. No need to worry, I was with her and we could be on our way, but first we needed to find diesel to get back.

Finding petrol in Zimbabwe is quite a task due to the numerous sanctions in place. If one is able to find petrol, expect to wait in a long line at the station. We drove around Bulawayo for half an hour trying to find a station that had fuel. At last we found one, but they didn’t have diesel. They were able to tell us where we needed to go to find diesel though. After a short drive down the road, we found the station with diesel and without much of a line. Next problem, we didn’t have any Zim dollars. Not to worry, US dollars go very far in Zimbabwe. We filled up with the twenty five dollars I had left and finally were on our way back.

It was my turn to drive on the way back to Vic Falls. It was seven thirty now and what was such a nice drive on the way down, was sheer hell on the way back. The darkness in the bush at night is overwhelming with even the high beams not illuminating nearly enough of the road. It was the animals that we had to watch out for though, not only the farm animals, but now the active wildlife. Luckily we made it back without a problem and only had one near run in with a donkey. It was the hardest five hours of driving I have ever done in my life though.

We made it to Vic Falls at just before midnight. Now we had to find my friend Fritz so we could crash at his place; again, no phone but I knew where he would be. We headed to the local bar and I asked where Fritz was. They hadn’t seen him all night… not good. Last resort, we headed to the house where the managers of the lion project stay. On our way there though there was a complete blackout in Vic Falls. I found the house, but now had to find my way through the house in the middle of the night with no power to try and wake someone to see if we could crash there. I was able to feel my way to Greg’s room, knock on the door and ask him if we could crash there for the night. After a quick explanation, he let us crash there. I felt my way to the couch, lay down and was soon asleep. What a day, what an adventure.