Newcomer's Living Room (Mtshabezi, Zimbabwe)
Late Morning
The Story of the 5 South African Orphans…
Bruce and Ingrid are Afrikaner. White South Africans who live their
entire lives in South Africa. They have six children and then they
raise six children. All of them to be successful, all now married.
They are committed to their faith and their country. They are farmers.
After their last child is married they adopt a black South African
orphan. And then they adopt 4 more. They adopt 5 orphans. They treat
them all like their children. The orphans know Ingrid as Mom, Bruce as
Dad.
It's really quite wonderful. After raising, not 1, or 2, but 6
children, they beautifully adopt 5 more. They have eleven kids,
virtually starting a brand new family. To watch them interact is to
watch shalom, all healing and peace and wonder. It takes courage, it
takes selflessness, and it coalesces into a profusion of love.
The Story of When Stephen Rode the Clutch…
Dad is the only one who knows how to drive the stick shift (or "gear
box" here in Zimbabwe). Andrew and I are clueless idiots when it comes
down to it. We have a five-speed jeep with us visiting Chris and Norma
in the Mtopos Hills. Dad has to get to his flight towards Harare in
Bulawayo, at least an hour and a half drive. It's 4 am, Dad is driving
over the rocks and gully's of Old Gwanda Road on the way to the
airport. We make it to the airport on time, we say goodbye to Dad, and
now Andrew and I are stuck.
I hop into the driver's seat. Here we go. We don't have a choice.
Even though I don't know how to drive this thing properly, we have to
get it back to Denis' office so that we can switch to a proper car,
one that works automatically! It is about a half hour drive.
Andrew and I are smart enough to know the basic functions of the
gears, and when to technically use them. However, we don't necessarily
know how to actually enact the gear switching.
So far, so good. The highway road is fine, keep it in 3 baby, keep it
in 3. We are cruising. The problems really arise when we get to the
city. There are "lights" (or "robots" as they are called here in
Zimbabwe), and they are quoted as "lights" because they are never
actually operational. The power is either out, or they are just busted
altogether and nobody fixes them or maintains them. But of course, for
some crazy reason, they are all working today. We are driving on good
ol' Robert Mugabe way (or as Andrew and I call him, Bobby Mugab's), we
head over to Fife Street, 14 blocks away from Denis' office on Fife.
We hit every single robot. This has never happened in Bulawayo before
to anyone, where all the robots are working and we catch every single
one.
The first robot. Andrew groans, "oh man." I slowly pull to a stop. It
turns green, I go into first gear…dead. The car dies. I start it up
again, try to go into first gear…dead. The car dies. I proceed to do
this again and again, trying to get this darn thing into first gear.
The light turns red. Andrew and I are just dying laughing. We proceed
to do this for the other 7 lights on the way to Denis' office. We get
held up at the light, it turns green, we try to get into first, and
then nothing. People are watching us, laughing, walking by pointing,
the cars behind us are honking and people are screaming as we just sit
in the intersection. Nobody is laughing harder then Andrew and I.
"I think you gotta take your foot off the clutch," Andrew says.
"I'm not gonna lie bro, I'm just riding this thing."
We are laughing. It was a great time, one of the funniest moments of
my life. I can just still see Andrew next to me, with his two hands
out, trying to persuade my feet to move at the appropriate time and
distance on the clutch and the gas pedal to get us into first gear.
After five tries we would eventually get it, hit the next robot, and
start the process all over again.
"You need to get from first to second, you call me, nobody goes from
first to second better then me," I say.
It was fun.
The Story of Diamond…
Chris and Norma Ferguson, white Zimbabweans, had to leave Zimbabwe.
They moved off to Malawi, and then Zambia at one time. However, they
wanted to keep their farm in the Mtopos Hills. They left the farm in
the hands of their faithful employee Diamond to watch over the estate,
Morning Star Farm.
The reason I find this to be so cool is that, well, to be honest,
there is still racism here in Zimbabwe. There is still real racism in
the United States of course. It's maybe not as overt, but these sad
subtleties lie down at night. But for Chris and Norma, Diamond is
apart of the family. He is family – skin color, cultural background,
be damned. I was struck by this story. The Ferguson's farm is also a
business, a corporation I believe, and they have made Diamond one of
their partners.
The Story of Richard Ndlovu's Detour…
"Border Runs" are a popular activity here in Zimbabwe. Essentially,
goods and necessities are unable to be purchased here, in country, or
they are just too expensive. So, what people do, is they spend a few
days each month, sometimes each week, to travel down to South Africa,
or Botswana, to go shopping. Depending on your perspective, this may
or may not sound like a big deal.
It's a pretty big deal. Crossing the border is a major inconvenience.
I always assumed the borders were like Mexico. (Not that I have done
this but) You drive up, they check your car, they check your passport,
maybe you pay something (I don't know?) and then you cross the border
to Tijuana or some place.
This is not the case here. You drive down to Beitbridge on the
Zimbabwe/South Africa border. You wait in a car queue for hours, you
pull up, park, you walk in and go through long lines of Immigration
and then Customs. You are eventually allowed access, you cross through
the No Man's Land area between the countries, and then you do the same
thing on the South African side. It's a major hassle. There are horror
stories. Two weeks ago Denis made a trip to the border and was held up
in the queue for over 24 hours. During the major gas shortage a few
years ago, Warren would make weekly trips to Botswana and often be
held up on the queue for over 24 hours. Weekly.
All this preamble to explain the story of what sometimes happens on
the way back from South Africa. Richard is driving in his truck, he
crosses the South African side, he crosses the Zimbabwean side and on
the road back towards home, just over the border, there is a detour.
Apparently the detour has been in the process of being fixed for
something like 10 years. Typical. Well, this detour is not a paved
road and it goes for about 6 miles. So, to avoid the bumps and erosion
to the road you have to usually drive about 30 mph.
Richard likes to drive at night. Less road blocks, less people on the
road. He is traveling back one evening; and he is on the dirt detour
road. Suddenly, from the heavy bush to his right and left, men jump
out at the moving car. What they do is they grab onto the rope that
ties all of the goods down on the back of the pick up. They grab on to
the moving car and whoever catches on jumps on the truck and starts to
toss out the items. There is a man in the back of Richard's truck just
reaching down and tossing things out as fast as he can. The other men
stand behind on the road and pick up the debris. Before Richard knows
it half of his goods that he purchased on the trip are gone. He
notices the man behind him on the pick and he starts to swerve to try
and get him off. If he stops his car, he surely will be violently
attacked. He eventually succeeds, but has lost most of his goods.
This isn't an isolated event. Bruce told us the story of a similar
trip. Bruce was traveling with a huge 30-ton tractor-trailer flat bed
truck. He didn't believe the stories of the detour road. He packed the
trailer tight, and then on top of the trailer he tied down bags of
mealie meal. He didn't believe the stories of the detour road that he
had heard, but for caution purposes, he sent one of his guys up on top
of the 30 ton truck with a bar and bright light as protection. He
starts to drive on the dirt detour road. Before he knows it, in his
rear view mirror he is watching men climb up the ropes to the top of
the truck. But thanks to the precaution the bright light in the eye of
the intruder, the men started to fall off.
The Story of the Newcomer's…
Other then the fact that they put us up and fed us and fed us with
Chris Newcomer's awesome cooking, the Newcomer's are two wonderful
people. We were struck by how welcoming and accepting they were of
everyone. They really are integrated into their black rural village
community at Mtshabezi. One afternoon, after a day of homestead visits
to AIDS patients that Andrew and I made, we were sitting on the
evening porch reading. A local African woman approached the front
door. I was outside so I said the normal greetings and if we could
help. She wanted to speak to Mrs. Newcomer. I said, you can come
inside if you would like and wait. She said, no, I never go inside
unless I am invited, (an anecdote). Eventually Chris came outside and
the first thing she said was, "hello, how can I help you?" But she
didn't say it in a customary social familiarity type of way, she said
it with each word meaning the genuine. She wanted to know how can I
now help you. Andrew and I were struck by this. Later, after over an
hour of conversation with the stranger on the porch, the local African
woman sang a song to Chris of thanks. Chris was going to help the
woman, and the only way the woman could thank Chris – unable to do so
monetarily – was to sing a song. Kind of poetic. Kind of nice. We saw
a bit of this with the Newcomer's. It was refreshing.
The Story of Filming Warren At the Border…
Our second day of filming was an early day. We arose at 4am, hit the
road at 4:30 and drove for an hour towards the Botswana border. We had
to accomplish a few different shots, but the main goal was to film
Warren crossing the border. It is an essential part of a Zimbabwean
life, these "border runs", and we sought out to capture this. Warren
felt it best if we go into the border and be totally forthright with
the guards and superiors. After about an hour of trying to convince
them, going up through the chain of command, waiting while they talked
to the heads in Harare. The ultimate decision was a "no way." We were
warned, you will be arrested and then prosecuted if caught filming
anything. We tried to bribe them, we tried to plead with the, but
nothing. There was a great deal of fear in their voices. Now that we
were in the no man's land portion, we had to some how get out without
having to declare anything or go through the normative customs,
immigration process. This took us a while, but eventually we were let
out. We drove about 2 k's down the road and pulled over to the side.
What are we going to do? We need to get a shot, we need to get
something here, otherwise this point of the story is useless. We
devised a tent on the back of Warren's pick and stuck Pat under it
with camera. Andrew and I held it down and we drove back to the border
with one take. We didn't get all the way in, but we got some good
footage and then quickly drove away as the guards started to realize
what was going on. We drove away fast.
The Story of When We Battled the Cows…
Andrew and I were sitting in the Newcomer's living room when we heard
a call from Chris, "Guys, come out quick." We ran outside expecting
the worst. What we got instead was the comical. The local cow heard
had infiltrated the property gates and were already making their way
for the crop. It was a lot of fun trying to get this cattle herd
outside. A quick story, but a fun memory. We walk inside and Andrew
says, "I didn't even use shoes…I felt like an African."
The Story of When I Prayed Into the Falls…
Andrew and I had to go up to Victoria Falls to pick up Patrick. He
was flying into Livingstone, Zambia, only 10 k's away from the falls.
So we thought to go up a day early to see the falls in all their
glory. It was noted that the water tumbling over the falls was the
greatest it has been since 1956 (or something like that. We also heard
the greatest ever, but we were skeptical on that front, we'll take
1956) because it was immense. Walking through the park Andrew and I
couldn't even see the falls. All we saw was white mist. And I have
only been to Niagara Falls where they give you a blue poncho and stuff
and they protect you. We didn't know what to expect so we just went in
with our clothes and shoes. It was wet. It was more then wet. It was
the most drenched I have ever been. I don't know if you can be extra
drenched, but I somehow accomplished this. After a while we just gave
up and accepted it. It ended up being really awesome. Standing on the
edge of the rocks – seriously, the edge, there are absolutely no
protection from the roaring nature, staring out into the absolute
white, getting soaked by cold then hot water from the ground pushing
up, just an awesome experience. I stood out on the edge and just
accepted it and felt life, awesome life in my body, and I was
thankful.
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