TManTrek.Com: Terry Lynch's Trip Around the World

Livingstone, Zambia is known for its picturesque views of Victoria Falls, and a safe alternative to its rival city of Victoria Falls, Zimbabwe - only a few miles away. We decided to splurge and seek refuge in a local hostel, except beds were still too luxurious for our money (we could spend more on beer) so we slept in the parking lot. Regardless, after being in the bush for so long all we wanted was to see Vic Falls and frequent night clubs with obnoxious music.

Remember when I wrote of the club in Thailand when Hutch and I entered? The music stopped and everyone stared at the two "whiteys" at the doorway. Well the same thing happened, but everyone was as black as Wesley Snipes. We decided to entertain ourselves at some "local" joints, which meant white man didn’t set foot until we showed up. This typically brings attention, wanted and unwanted. My colleagues began to taunt me about dancing with some locals, so I grabbed two local women and we hit the dance floor. Maybe its was my skin color, or perhaps the fact that I shocked onlookers as I broke into the "Ice Fishing Dance". Regardless, one of the local girls, no more than 16 years old, took a liking to me and literally latched on - and wouldn’t let go. The Brits got a kick out of it, the Yank with a 16 year old African girls smiling contently as she was cutting off the circulation of my arm with her mighty grip. I decided to end this quickly as I addressed my biggest fan.

"Look, you are very pretty but I need to go home now."
This was met with a blank stare.
"Listen, I am not a dirty German tourist, I must say goodbye."
This sparked a reply. "I’m big! I’m big girl!"
"You may be a big girl but I am not a sketchy German."
"I big. I’m big. I’M BIGGGG!!!!!!!!!"

I preyed away her grip and we went across the street to another "club" playing more traditional music. Perhaps the "big" girl found the German she was looking for. Zimbabwe The entry form indicated "Purpose of visit?". The truth was my purpose for going to Zimbabwe was to exploit their country’s rebid inflation in order to send parcels overseas, and hopefully cross back into Zambia in a few hours without losing my money and the clothes on my back. The space reserved for my answer was not adequate enough for my true response, so I simply put "Tourism". I was about to go against my father’s last minute advice of "and whatever you do, don’t go to Zimbabwe!" and venture across the border for three hours.

In Livingstone, I found myself holding two monstrous, gorgeos, teak-wood masks (weighing 25lbs) after a rare impromptu purchase. The problem was the size and weight of these things meant it would cost me 10 times the price I paid in order to ship them home. After my first quote at the post office ($100), I was approached by an African on the street. He indicated that sending parcels from Zimbabwe (5 miles away) would be a fraction of the price. The reason for this is because of the collapsing economy, the government artificially mandates the exchange rate. The government exchange rate is $58 Zim to $1 USD, when in fact the more accurate black market rate could fetch up to $1500 Zim for $1USD. The idea was to go across the border, get a quote for shipping the packages, and then exchange money on the street. Sounds easy right? My street advisor had some advice, "Watch your back, they rob you blind". Because Mugabe’s animosity towards the United States and Britain, visas are a steep $80. The good news is my Irish passport required no visa fees upon entry, the bad news meant I would be going at this alone.

Allow me to paint a brief picture of the history of Zimbabwe. Twenty years ago, Zimbabwe was one of the strongest economies in Africa. Agriculture (white farmers) and a lucrative tourism industry created a strong infrastructure and paved a positive future to what typically doesn’t happen to a post-colonialism/civil war. Enter Robert Mugabe, who came into power in 1981 after independence was declared. Around five years ago, massive corruption and huge national debt began to surface. Mugabe decided to play the racial card and blame white farmers since had claim to the most fertile land under the Queen’s rule. So the squatters began to arrive on the farms and eventually drove the farmers out, mostly at gunpoint. And now the nation is on the brink of starvation because the squatters now operate the farms, but the land lies fallow because they don’t know how to tend the crops.

The border was interesting, especially since I showed up carrying sealed boxes only. Once man stopped me and inquired what was in the boxes.

"Wooden curios."
"Why don’t you have anything else?"
"I am shipping them from Vic Falls."
"Why not Zambia?"
"Its cheaper in Zimbabwe."
"Enjoy your stay in Zimbabwe."

The bridge that separates Zambia and Zimbabwe crosses right in front of Victoria Falls. A beautiful sight to watch the falls cascade over the edge as Westerns use the bridge as a launching pad for bungee jumps. However, as soon as you cross the bridge to Zimbabwe, things begin to change.

First thing to notice is the military presence, it felt like a backlash to Beijing. Once past the initial checkpoint dozens of hawkers violently run at you aggressively selling trinkets and their services. Since the "land reform" has been exposed, many tourists viewed Zimbabwe as dangerous and tourism has suffered. I was one of a handful of tourist in the city, and they knew it. I pushed through the frenzy, then about ten adolescents surrounded me.

"Where you from?"
"America"
"Oh American! Where, California?"
"Yea, I lived in San Francisco"
They’re reaction was un universal "California! Yeah West Side!"
"Yea West side Dog, word up"
They all started to high-five each other after hearing this.
"How many girlfriends you have?"
"Ten girlfriends."
"Ten, is that all?"

I’ve had these conversations before, and after a few minutes and an exchange of gang signs, I continued towards town. I learned that most Africans learn about American through West Coast Rap videos, they view California as a place where everyone has 100 girlfriends and passes time pouring malt liquor on women wearing bikinis, county money and showing off their bling bling. My California Driver’s license actually got me through some hairy situations. Police roadblocks are sometimes established for fund-raising (bribes). As soon as the police saw the Sunshine State License, stern faces opened to pearly smiles followed by a barrage of high fives. It was like having a passport from Never Never Land - Word.

When I first ventured into Vic Falls it seemed to be a lovely place. To the right of the main road sits the majestic Vic Falls Hotel, which up until a few years ago was one of the finest hotels in all of Africa. I walked by it in a sea of hawkers noticing how empty the parking lot was.

At the post office I calculated the total cost to $15,000 Zim, which translates to $260 USD, or $10 USD if I could change it on the street. I left my bags at the post office met a contact on the corner. Prior to entering the post office, I spoke to some dodgy characters about changing money. We agreed at an exchange rate of 1500/1, now the tricky part is not getting robbed. I told them I needed $15,000 Zim, and we walked behind a building to conduct the transaction in a less conspicuous setting. There were two of them, one look-out and one money counter. He counted out the money, in $100 denomination, as I watched him intensely. As I watched the money accumulate, I heard some noises behind me. I quickly glance and notice 6-8 more guys joined in on our business, or I was about to get my ass kicked. Rule No. 2 traveling, avoid any bad situations at all cost. I was angry at myself for getting into this predicament, and the next 30 seconds happened so quickly I had no chance to think.

The "counter" finished with 15K, then another guy distracted my attention by pointing to building indicating we should go behind there to exchange the money. When I turned back the "counter’s" loose wad of cash magically appeared into a nicely rolled stack of bills secured by a rubber band. I realized that the roll, which actually looked real, was just a few bills on top to disguise newspaper. I could hear the guys behind me get close in. I pointed to the roll and told him to count it again.

"You don’t trust me?"
"No I don’t trust you!"
"Because I’m black?!"
"No, because you’re a thief!"

He didn’t take kindly to this, so he shoved me. My instinct was to shove back, sending him onto the ground, and just then I realize I was greatly outnumbered and out of public sight. I turned, broke through the human barrier behind me, and sprinted towards the post office.

The teller at the post office recognized me, and looked at me curiously cause I was sweating profusely. I told him I almost got robbed trying to change money, and offered him $20 USD to ship the parcels, and keep the rest for himself. He accepted, and actually gave me some $Zim in change. He then said "Please do not have what happened reflect your entire opinion of my country."

Free of my posting responsibilities, I decided not to let the street Bureau de Change situation distort me from seeing some more of the town. As I ventured forward I was approached by two men. After the standard formalities of "Where you from?", and "What your name?", they agreed to show me some sights. Mainly the lines that have developed from fuel and bread shortages.

First thing you realize in Vic Falls not the lack of cars, but lack of cars actually moving under their own power - with the exception of the huge Land Cruisers owned by government officials. Mugabe use to obtain fuel for food, and his main supplier was Kadafe from Lybia. When the food ran low, Mugabe offered white farmer’s property in exchange for fuel. When that ran out, he began to double sell the white man’s property. Libyans would approach a farm to take it by gunpoint, to find out it was already seized by the government. When this began to happen, the fuel supply from Libya began to trickle it. Fuel still remains cheap in Zimbabwe, but there is no supply. Lines of cars 4 miles long park in Que in front of a petrol station. Since the border was downhill from town, I gave some local my remaining $Zim to coast me in his car to the border. He indicated they haven’t had fuel for two weeks, with no relief in sight.

At the border I saw the man who inquired about my packages.

"How was your trip?" He asked.
"Educational. Very educational."

Africa, Part III
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