It has been an extremely stressful week for my wife Rozanne and her family. I was struck by how clear and crisp the day was as she walked in front of me this morning on her way to drop our rubbish in the village dustbin; you cannot see someone's inner pain from the outside. I knew for her, things were not as defined and crisp as her surroundings. Rozanne is a very controlled, logical person, unlike me. Rozanne keeps her inner turmoil well-hidden most of the time, uncharacteristically this week it has come to the surface.
Most families have one of them, either hidden away, invisible or visible to all. That is an addict. My father was dead against alcohol, and his father, my grandfather, was a very sober man. I have no idea if there were any addicts on my mother’s side. Indeed, my maternal side did not seem to, while my paternal side did. My uncle Peter was an alcoholic. I do not know if my Great Grandfather, also Peter, was one, although he was renowned for his partying in the “Good Ole Days.” Uncle Peter was a lovely man notwithstanding when sober, he often struggled to hold his teacup or light his cigarette. To those of us some distance away from him, he was a harmless, likeable man who could be amusing both in word and deed. I am told he only held his job at the distillery since he was very good at it. Of course, the family would have been embarrassed by his exploits, and no doubt life would not have been easy for his wife, Joanne.
My first wife, Diane, often accused me of being an alcoholic. I am sure I must have appeared to be one, although “I myself” have always denied this. Both alcohol, to a great extent, although not entirely, along with gambling, were my addictions which I have put behind me. Two years before becoming the President of the Commercial Farmers Union, I was voted “Piss Artist of the Year,” of the Red Lion Bar at Harare Sports Club. My picture hung at the entrance proclaiming this. I was actually proud of the title then. It may be that I got the Presidency at the CFU because of my alcohol intake? Honestly, closer to the truth is I was probably a functioning alcoholic unknown to myself or contemporaries, many of whom may well have had the same affliction. The other truth is, this may well be a carry-over from the war days, excess alcohol consumption was very much the norm in everyday Zimbabwean white culture. Some will say it still is. The supposed mitigating factor is put down to the stress of trying to continue to make a living there.
“The hardest part of dealing with an addiction is recognising that you have a problem. Even when inwardly aware, denial is common.”
I decided before posting this blog to bounce this introduction off my wife and daughters as my words could impact most on my loved ones, those I rely on. They immediately added “work” to my list of addictions. They said my work always came before my family. My eldest daughter Storm then reminded me of missing her graduation due to a car accident I had coming home in the early hours of the morning just prior to the event. My youngest daughter does not need to remind me, I also missed her graduation, I wonder what scurrilous excuse I had for that time. I cannot even remember. Janine has just prompted me, it was due to my passport about to expire within 6 months prohibiting my travel to South Africa. I had actually arrived at the airport ready to fly when I was denied travel. Unforgivable that it did not mean so much to me at the time, although it did have a lasting impact on both of them. I am lucky they still love me, let alone still speak to me.
The reason I bring up addiction now is that throughout my life I have seen families destroyed by loved ones who are addicts be it drugs, alcohol, gambling and yes, I must include work. My wife’s family has a parent, Shirley Cary, who has been an alcoholic for many years. She is now elderly, living on her own in Zimbabwe. A difficult scenario without any further contributing complications. When Rozanne’s Dad was alive the children pestered him to intervene but due to the ill will this generated he became an enabler rather than a solution to the problem. Bob was too kind a person to offer, “Tough Love.” Because of that, he himself became abused. Life in the same house as Shirley was just not worth living without her need of an accompaniment in the form of a spirit (or any alcohol) close at hand. He protected himself and his sanity by spending as much time away from home as possible.
My first mother-in-law, Isobel Belinsky also suffered from alcoholism. For many years it caused upheaval in the family. In her case, through having a strong will she, in later life, through her own endeavours was able to give up alcohol becoming a happier person attracting others to share in her life in a positive way. My children adored her greatly. The trouble is you can never get the lost years back. I must add both of my mother-in-law’s when sober, were talented, competent people.
I have friends who have lost their house and businesses through gambling. One friend experienced the loss in a single night at the “Punto Banco,” a table in Victoria Falls on a sponsored gambling weekend. In this instance, alcohol also had a bravado influence, fueling foolish side bets.
The common denominator. The addict’s self-destruction is devastating to those that love them most, the one’s trying to support them by offering guidance or taking actual intervention. No one is really ever prepared for the manipulation and secretive alcohol abuse. They are skilled and akin to a really good MI6 character in a BBC Crime Drama. Both the addict and those around them will offer many excuses, even single events identified as the cause of the affliction or disease. Intervention by others is often long after the onset of the disease. Of course, intervention takes what I call “Tough Love.” Not many of us have the attributes or knowledge to make the necessary decisions for this sort of intervention if the addict has no wish to do so, or fails to accept they have a problem. More often than not, the case, addicts are selfish, liars and conniving with an ability to pull at their nearest and dearest heartstrings to sustain their habit. Tears and platitudes come easy for them. The end result in many instances is to keep the peace in the family, we often become enablers and placate adding to the problem rather than resolving it. If it is not addressed, it nearly always has a sad ending. Bankruptcy, poverty, broken families, loneliness, even hunger and disease to name but a few. In some cases, self-harm, suicide, and in extreme cases may bring about the death of self or others involving car accidents and house fires as examples.
I am of course no expert on this. I am sure many are disagreeing with my views. I would welcome your thoughts and perspective on this difficult subject. When I ran this week’s content by my wife and children, they were supportive, including in my choice of words. After all, it is my blog for expressing my own thoughts. We all know from recent interviews, there is a long way between “my truths” and the real truths. I can only imagine the distress Diane put up with when I did not return at a reasonable time from a tobacco or cattle sale. All too often knowing full well I was carousing in some bar. With hindsight, I can see it now while at the time I was oblivious to it. Instead of being the culprit, I blamed the nagging wife for my late homecomings. The truth of it is, even now when discussed with my daughters, it brought my eldest to tears. I cannot undo what I did, nor do I deserve any forgiveness.
Meanwhile, our present dilemma is now becoming an issue in danger of splitting the family apart unless an agreement on the way forward can be found. Shirley is now incapable of looking after herself, until now she refuses to move into care or stop drinking. The whole issue is compounded by her living in Zimbabwe while her children are spread over the world, all feeling helpless due to COVID-19 and expenses. We are lucky Lorraine, Rozanne’s sister has been able to travel out there this week. Shirley has recently been discharged from hospital after breaking a bone, after yet another fall during the night. This is the second broken bone caused by late-night drinking in recent years. I write this as alcoholism and addiction is often swept under the carpet with whole families in denial. Denial will only compound the problem.
I have so many friends and children of friends who are functioning addicts having sought help, sometimes forced, with self-control returning back to their lives. It is a really tough endeavour. I am so proud of them all, many I am aware of reading this blog. Of course, a lot of people say it does not matter if the person involved is old, let them pass their last days in happy oblivion. In oblivion there is no dignity, you become a burden to your family, both financially and mentally remaining a danger to oneself and those around you. Rozanne and her siblings regularly have sleepless nights as they lay awake worrying about their mother while she is selfishly blind to this.
As I write this, Shirley has now for the first time accepted she needs help. She will now need all our support to succeed. It is really up to her.
A Better Week
Nothing much to report this week. A much better week all around with much more time spent in the garden without a ropy spell. I’m finding my agricultural outlet in horticulture.
The garden this week, tidy but the spring flowers are past now waiting for summer blooms
Circumnavigating the Cape to Mombasa
At last, we set off for Africa’s dusty shores in September 1967 from a dusty, sunny Almeria, Spain rather than a cloudy wet, emerald green Britain. On both occasions, entering and leaving the Mediterranean, we missed seeing the Rock of Gibraltar as we passed in darkness. I was however stunned by the fact we could see lights both in Africa and Europe. I had never thought of the Straits being so narrow, approximately 13km. No wonder when some 60 plus U boats entered the Mediterranean during the war, they never returned to the Atlantic, all being sunk or scuttled within the confines of the Mediterranean. On the way to Almeria, we had a fairly calm spell with the Bay of Biscay treating us kindly. No such luck on later trips. After leaving the Straits, we only saw land again approaching Cape Town.
I should mention here, all the officers, deck and engineering personnel were caucasian, on our ship with one exception, our purser, of Indian descent. All the chefs and waiters were from India, of Goanese descent. We had the exceptional experience of traditional Goan style Indian cooking. I am afraid it spoilt me and any Indian food I experienced since then, I have considered substandard. Of course, the food we were served and what is now served in some British curry restaurants is somewhat different, no doubt altered to suit the more English customers’ perceived palate of Indian flavours.
Circumventing the Cape of Good Hope was a terrible event, the first time for me. A huge swell, towering above the bridge of our ship almost swallowed us whole. Although immense, they were far-reaching and gentle, almost sedate waves, perilous all the same. These swells, being diagonal to our course, unfortunately, caused the good old MV Chantala to corkscrew. My goodness did it not only increase my seasickness but made nearly every other crew member ill as well, except for a few of the old sea dogs. Having lived on an island off the West Coast of Scotland I thought I knew big seas. There was nothing between Mull and America. Little did I know. After rounding the Cape, the land was in view all the way up the East Coast to our first port of call Mombasa. We used to listen to radio Lourenço Marques (LM) for entertainment. Mombasa was where a large portion of our cargo was bound. Normally on each trip, we would visit Mombasa and Dar-es-Salaam at least twice while some of the smaller ports such as Tanga, Zanzibar, Mtwara and Nacala only once or very occasionally twice. I presume it depended on the cargoes secured by the shipping agents. Mombasa was a sunny friendly city, then with still a large number of white Kenyans and expatriates in evidence. Many, many Asians. After all, it was only three years after Independence. Peugeot 404’s were by far the most popular car except for chefs who had their normal Mercedes.
We were made welcome guests at the sport and gymkhana clubs, yacht clubs and cricket clubs, many of which were run by the Asian community. We were allowed ashore in our free time and often travelled to a number of well-known holiday resorts. Nyali beach already had a large hotel and as there was little traffic in those days a fairly short drive away. We visited as far north, on occasion Malindi, 115km, and south to Jardini, which were just a group of huts in those days. Dar-es-salaam also had no traffic to speak of back then, a far cry from the log jams I have encountered in recent years. It seemed that as young merchant naval officer cadets any mother with an eligible daughter would make an effort to put on a party or dinner for our entertainment. Of course, cash-wise we were as poor as church mice, maybe they were looking at future opportunities. No matter what, we lapped up the generous hospitality on offer. We were still in Mombasa in November that year when Wilson devalued the GBP with the famous words, “Your pound is still worth the same in your pocket.” Try telling that to a poor cadet striving to make his money stretch in a foreign country. Many may not know this, just as we had in Rhodesia and Zimbabwe, there was currency control in Britain in those days. You were allowed £50 in traveller’s checks and up to £15 in cash to go on your annual holidays abroad.
Of course, when we went ashore in our white uniforms we looked very smart, even our daytime uniforms with white shorts looked pretty good. They were lightweight linen while our northern hemisphere blues were heavy reefer jackets made from wool as were the trousers. We had “dickie bows and cummerbunds” for evening dress on special occasions.
During the day we supervised the unloading and loading of the ship, its fuel, water and stores. Security was a huge issue and there always had to be an officer on deck to try and mitigate theft. Intentionally poorly handled goods were a good way for some to access cheap cargo following insurance claims. So many new things to learn. Most days we could go off the ship in the evenings along with weekends for at least a whole day. When we were short of cash we would go to the Seamans Mission which offered excellent recreational facilities and cheap beer. Most main ports we visited had a Seamans Mission as did London.
Next week more African ports.
CFU Continued...
As mentioned in previous blogs the controlled marketing system, envied by many other countries’ farmers, was nearing an end as more and more political appointees or cadres
replaced trained senior and middle management within the crop marketing parastatals. It must be said, even those who were skilled for the job were often intimidated to make decisions they otherwise would not have taken.
At the same time, the large parastatals, especially the Grain Marketing Board (GMB) which handled staple food crops such as maize, found themselves incurring huge losses. The Government would give out directives such as pay good prices to the farmers for maize in return for votes, meanwhile, in addition instructing them to sell cheap to the millers to protect the consumer while buying their vote. An unsustainable business model even the dull-witted could see. The Government was running up huge budget deficits and could not sustain these subsidies. Therefore, at the CFU we started to look at alternatives, which would also require the repeal of the Acts pertaining to controlled agricultural markets. Within the transition from controlled marketing to free marketing, we found not only opposition from the Government but those who were benefitting from the system and the farmers who could not see the system was already broken.
Especially vulnerable were the smallholder farmers represented by the Zimbabwe Farmers Union (ZFU) led by Robinson Gapare followed by Silas Hungwe and the Zimbabwe National Farmers' Union (ZNFU) led by Gary Magadzire. The ZFU represented millions of smallholders, many just subsistence farmers while the ZNFU represented emerging commercial farmers generally, although it also had some large-scale members. The CFU represented the Commercial Farmers. Of course, the other unions did not want to see the demise of the marketing boards and their production methods precluded free marketing unless organised by central buying infrastructure as an alternative to the marketing boards. Needless to say, despite their worries the other unions were generally supportive of looking for alternates.
So, the CFU set me the task of setting up an alternate marketing system, a daunting mission. Obviously, I had the support of the elected members, directorate and staff of the CFU. In fact, Dave Hasluck, the director of the CFU will have the facts better than me, as I am doing this from memory. Dave, feel free to comment if you read this. To help in this task we brought in an expert from America and we retained the services of Stewart Cranswick to implement whatever we decided on. Stewart had worked on the JSE in South Africa and had a good idea of what we were looking for. Stewart and I went to Switzerland to meet some of the large international commodity traders and then to Chicago to see the workings of the Chicago Board of Trade. A fantastic experience, a real eye-opener. On this trip, Stewart and I attended the International Federation of Agricultural Producers (IFAP) meeting in Tunisia. He travelled on to the UK before arranging to meet me in Chicago. I was a designated delegate at a further IFAP meeting in Istanbul, Turkey. I had trouble getting into Turkey as Mugabe’s regime had given its vocal support to Saddam Hussein in the 1991 Kuwait war. I spent an uncomfortable few hours being questioned for little purpose by the Turkish authorities before being allowed entry. My problems did not end there as when I arrived in Chicago directly from Istanbul, more lengthy interrogation ensued. The fact that I had travelled from two Arab countries was of concern. Stewart had no such problems. We also received a lot of advice and support from the South African Agricultural Exchange (Safex) who were slightly ahead of us in establishing their exchange.
On our return, we set up the Zimbabwe Agricultural Commodity Exchange (ZIMACE). We established it with limited financial support from the union and by selling trading seats. It helped that we pressured each of the commodities to take up a seat; the rest were taken up by individual trading companies and some of the larger stakeholders. The large maize millers were not keen, they felt that they could always access cheap maize through the GMB which would continue to buy smallholder maize and sell it at subsidised prices. Nonetheless, after a slow start selling everything from zebras to ostriches, ZIMACE got off the ground and under the able management of Ian Goggin flourished. After 2002 Ian went on to establish Agricultural Commodity Exchange (ACE) in Malawi, also assisting me to set up an exchange in Zambia, ZAMACE. USAID were the main sponsors in Zambia.
There are many stories from these travels, I am reserving them for my life story later on as not relevant to investing in Africa. Next week land ownership becomes a concern.
Disclaimer: Copyright Peter McSporran. The content in this blog represents my personal views and does not reflect corporate entities.
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