We are all guilty of some bitter thoughts from time to time. In research, it seems that bitterness reconciles with the feeling of being a loser in the academic world of interpretation. I am no academic but I am inclined to disagree. I believe some people are somehow endowed with an inherent bitterness to the extent that those bearing the brunt of this bitterness are seen as losers as opposed to the perpetrator. The academics also say it is often caused by an adverse event in the person's past, a rejection of love, perhaps family or suitors, feeling of being inferior, regret or shame with an inability to never get over it. Many bitter people live in what I call the cozy zone of life. Have wealth, good health and enjoy all that should offer a comfortable happy life to no avail. Happiness in others only intensifies this bitterness which emerges as a destructive force not only harming the targeted person or people but also the instigator of the said attack. Rather destroy everything than see the other party happy. How many of us over the years have come across such destructive people. Often this long-held bitterness reflects in their facial features, lips and eyes. How toxic is it in the workplace?
“Even a relationship with a bitter person may lead to your ostracization by friends.” - Peter McSporran
Generally, they are sad lonely people. In a few, they appear happy in this isolated state shunned by friends and family alike, still happy to stick-the-knife whenever the opportunity arises.
In my life, I have come across this trait from time to time, sometimes in people very close to me. Why do I mention it this week? Because memories were rekindled while staying with Michele and Scott Von Memerty last week and seeing how a close but not blood-related member of their family has made it extremely hard for them to settle in Spain. They are extremely content in Spain, the challenges from the person in question forcing them to set out on their own, purchasing a derelict farmhouse and turning it into a welcoming home. The accompanying land now allows Scott to play his farming games, he even has a mini tractor and trailer the envy of his neighbours. Unlike Portugal where most farmers have a small tractor, in Spain they do not. At least where the Von Memertys live. In Portugal, the farmers must be making use of EU subsidies as their farming endeavours in most instances do not warrant or generate enough funds to purchase a tractor.
They, despite a bitter welcome rather than open arms to Spain, are very happy in their own place as opposed to accepting the status quo of a bitter existence. We spent every evening on their Finca reminiscing about the good old days and feeling so lucky to have made the move while the instigator of the bitterness sits alone at home with no one to share it. It should be said their Spanish neighbours have been very welcoming.
“Bitterness is like a cancerous growth, if not cut out of your life it will destroy you. Meanwhile, laughter and happiness enhance your life.” - Peter McSporran
Eating habits are strange in Spain or maybe it is just Zalamea la Real where Scott and Michele live. Add at least three if not four hours onto the time a meal is normally served. On their visits to us, they have been boasting about how good the food is in Spain. Our first lunch which was finally eaten at about 4 pm destroyed all their boasting. Service was so bad the staff served themselves before us. Further, it is the first time I have ever seen tuna fish cooked in plastic wrapping paper. As the designated driver, I can only presume the beer gave Scott the determination to continue beyond the third mouthful of plastic only accepting defeat when finally recognising the burnt plastic was not crispy tuna skin. His determination was admirable but worrying.
That night they redeemed themselves when we joined many others in the town square for an excellent Tapas meal. No point going before 10 pm, we were told as you will not be served. So great to see so many of these small rural town dwellers, young and old, out in the streets enjoying each other's company long into the night. From the farm, we could hear the young people partying till dawn to the accompaniment of dogs barking and cockerels crowing. So like Africa in sound.
The following day another late but excellent lunch in the hills. I now know what Iberian pig should taste like. Never had such deliciously tasty pork. Before leaving we went to a local processor to collect some ham for home.
From Zalamea la Real in Spain, we drove the short distance to Olhão in Portugal to meet John and Margaret Tidy to try our hand at Bluefin Tuna fishing. A very comfortable boat, plenty of huge tuna jumping, a couple of takes but no fish. Disappointment, yes, but it certainly whetted our appetite for more. The Bluefin Tuna season is only for three weeks as they pass by Portugal on their migration to the North Atlantic, out of the Mediterranean after spawning. No fish can be landed as it is all catch and release, although many must die on release. As usual, no law broken unless landed where you could face a €10,000 fine for each person on the boat along with having your boat and equipment confiscated. They still capture tuna near Olhão every year with a quota, all fattened in cages, especially for the Japanese market. Many large fish are released once the quota is met. It is said they can reach 2,000lbs. Our boat captain and mate have caught tuna up to 400kg. Fighting this giant fish can take five hours, perhaps it is lucky I did not catch one. Admittedly I was not in my best form that day due to an extended dinner the night before.
The boat was owned by a Frenchman called David, who is an aircraft engineer, now boat charter owner. Of interest, his mate, French-speaking, from Reunion had lived his whole life fishing. A long-time bachelor with grown-up children doing his life’s dream, travelling the world fishing. Now he is not a bitter man, although at times I am sure it is a tough life.
While not catching we were delighted to see so many of these magnificent creatures jumping, often clear out of the water.
Disillusionment
My first year farming was successful, selling more than double my quota of tobacco, to the chagrin of some of my neighbours. We had hand harvested the groundnuts deciding that if we were to continue with them in any scale, we should mechanically harvest them in future. To my equipment, I added a static peanut plucker, not unlike those old threshing mills used for threshing oats in the old days in Scotland. The Darwendale Dam, to everyone's surprise, had filled in its first year of existence and we now had access to water right at the edge of the farm. Time to put in a fixed electrical point rather than a portable diesel engine. Oh, how cheap things were in those days!
“One of the laws of farming is that selling prices never keep up with production costs.” - Peter McSporran
Things were going well on the farm despite my frequent absences. Neighbours looked out for neighbours in their absence. Orders and directions from neighbours were carried out by loyal staff as if from the boss.
The curing system had worked well and we planned to expand the tobacco production further including the renovation of four old fire-cured barns into conventional tobacco barns.
Our neighbourhood had not been directly affected by the war, however, even the aged farmers were being sent on police reserve duty to the hotter areas of the country either on farmstead security or convoy duty. Civilians travelling around the country went in convoys guarded by police reservists who manned mounted machine guns on pickup trucks.
By 1978 I think all of us were disillusioned by the war. In September that year, the first passenger plane was shot down. Thirty-eight died in the crash, ten survivors were shot at the site of the crash and eight escaped. The world said nothing. There had been a tacit agreement to majority rule, yet the war had intensified, all parties wanting to be seen as stronger for the time when power was finally to be handed over. Intensity was coupled with increased brutality.
“We thought our dead would look different to the many enemy we saw. It was a shock when they were not.” - Peter McSporran
Meanwhile, in the Rhodesia Regiment we at first got some regular volunteer black troops in our midst. No problem, while not to the standard of the Rhodesian African Regiment (RAR) they were good. At one point I had one as our MAG gunner who more than proved himself in tight spots. MAG gunners were the most important person in a stick when in contact being both strong enough to carry the gun and ammunition in the African sun and reliable enough to lay down fire immediately on contact. Please do not forget more than half our army was black with units such as the Rhodesian African Regiment, some of the best troops in the world. We had often worked together with black troops, nearly always hardened professionals.
The problem for us now was our depleting numbers were being made up by quickly trained recruits with no tradition of army life. Over the past five years, I had come to know and trust all those we served with, we were all old hands so to speak. Rarely was a stick made up of strangers. Now to boost numbers these raw recruits were being put in our midst, friends were being split up to accommodate this as it was felt integration would be the quickest and safest way to make them more effective soldiers. This with the continuous call-ups added further to people leaving the country, more pressure was on those remaining. The regulars were either on Fireforce duty or external operations. As the CTs were now widespread within the country, it was felt better to destroy them and their supply lines before they reached the country. Maybe this tactic should have been instigated earlier. Needless to say, despite the inclusion of black conscripts, call-ups became more frequent. Many young whites who opted to remain did their call-ups in the regular units including the RLI, SAS or Selous Scouts. Most of these regular units were now more than 50% National Service Men or Territorials.
For myself, now farming on my own along with nearing the age of thirty, I thought I was an old man, I felt I might be better off in PATU (Police Anti Terrorist Unit). PATU was a unit made up of white reservists and regular police members, mostly black. They operated in sticks and generally worked in the operational areas closer to and in the farming areas. Their call-up times, while much more frequent were shorter to allow better supervision of the farms. Unfortunately, as I was to learn they did not get the same operational support as army units. Being made up of mainly farmers, they had a good reputation for effectiveness having many good trackers and excellent shots. When they initiated contact, their success rate was high, even at distance. Most effective contacts were generally not more than 30 metres, except of course those involving fixed-wing aircraft and chopper K-Cars. The final straw for me in the army was when the powers that be started to call-up black university students. Like all students, they were mainly against the war while more importantly many were sympathetic if not outright supportive of the CTs. How can you reconcile going into combat with people like that at your side? At the very least they will have little will to fight at worst who knows?
Finally, early in 1979, I was transferred to PATU whereupon I would do my call-ups with people who were both neighbours and experienced bush people. People I felt I could trust. It did mean more irregular call-ups and a bigger commitment to local security than when serving in the army. Further, once deployed you decided what you did in an area with guidance only from headquarters.
Tanzania
You could hardly find a more mixed group than those of us that set out to carry out the scoping exercise for SAGCOT. An elderly American, an Irishman, a Dutchman, a New Zealander, myself seeing myself as a Zimbabwean from Scotland. Some god-fearing, some at best non-believers, some liberal, some right-wing, all wanting to see agriculture in that region of Tanzania rebound. In the times before the British on the plains between the Southern Highlands and Dar-es-Salaam, the Germans established huge sisal plantations. Even today those remaining plantations you drive through cannot fail to impress. Of course, like wool, sisal has been replaced by synthetic fibres produced from fossil fuels as is to an extent cotton, another crop the Germans produced. In the valleys of the mountain ranges themselves, they produced citrus, coffee, and planted rubber trees. On the plateaus, they farmed livestock, even sheep and of course potatoes. Cereal crops such as wheat and barley could be grown in the cool mountain air on the fertile volcanic soils with little fertiliser. Now, most of this is gone, much of the coffee plantations changed to tea for those British tea drinkers although forestry is expanding. Some hardy farmers have established themselves in livestock farming including dairy and beef.
I should mention here, I reunited with my best man and friend Alistair Smith. He was by now living in Australia and had come to Tanzania to try and rescue some investor money his erstwhile partner, Patrick Murray had convinced them to invest in mining. I have no doubt his task was greater than mine. Alistair had built a good network in Tanzania and introduced me to some of the local farmers, some operating in the Iringa District. A great help in my work there. Some friends just always pop up. Equally the smell of bad eggs, one of the first questions I was asked by the landlord of the lodge we stayed at was; did I know Patrick Murray as he owed him money.
“Never forget while Africa is a large diverse continent, amongst agriculturalists everyone knows or knows of the other”. - Peter McSporran
The Southern Highlands, like many places you visit in Africa, offers huge agricultural potential with a cool climate, excellent rains and very little frost. In my view of all the places I have visited in Africa this area has probably the best potential. The rivers from the plateau feed the sugar and rice plantations under the shadow of the mountains, the streams are crystal clear, some offering excellent tiger fishing as they start their journey into the ocean. Cereals can be grown with the rain, without the use of irrigation, with irrigation impressive yields can be achieved as we discovered later on our trip.
Our trip started in true African style. Confusion about vehicles, leaving times and each person's role. Something that can only be dealt with with the use of good humour. Sullen drivers make long journeys a chore rather than an adventure. The state of the vehicles made it obvious we were not being treated the same as rich tourists on Safari. They were of the sort; “It should get you there, if not we will send another.”
Setting off late, it took four hours just to get out of the confines of Dar-es-Salaam and get to our first stop, a sunflower processing press close to Morogoro. This was a smallholder-run business which indicated our guides viewed the definition of commercial agriculture somewhat different to us. Fortunately, with flexibility and local help we were able to blend the small with the large. That evening we finally got to Morogoro, a mere 180 km which was where this trip's groundwork was meant to start in earnest.
Unlike Zimbabwe and Zambia where oxen are the preferred means of tillage by smallholders, it appeared to us that India-designed two-wheeled tractors were the preferred tool in Tanzania, in evidence everywhere. I have only seen more in India and Portugal. On visiting a local distributor of these tractors in Morogoro we were to be told that hand cultivation had been the preferred means of growing crops. It appears the Tanzania Government, maybe due to its socialist background, never promoted the advantages or use of oxen in smallholder farming rather leaving the people with the agony of the hoe to prepare their soils. Of course, there is the added risk of disease with Rift Valley Fever found throughout the country spread by the migrating pastoral tribes such as the Masaai.
So why these small tractors all of a sudden? It seems the NGOs en masse decided that they would revolutionise production in Tanzania, which it could have if they had also offered the correct training on use, spare parts for the machinery and importantly access to maintenance and repair. All lacking, so tractors were more often than not used as taxis for getting people and goods around which was much more lucrative than farming. Simple answers are often the best in African agriculture but the answers and the results are not always what you expect. We also visited a fruit processing plant in Morogoro. Everywhere you look in the area, the roadside stalls are loaded with fruit. As we had seen in Zambia, local fruit visually abundant is not a model to build a processing plant on. I have seen state-of-the-art fruit and vegetable processing plants lying unused in all countries. I have visited many failed processors from juicing and canning plants in Ghana, tomato paste plants in Zambia, pineapple canning plants in Mozambique, mango plants in Malawi to juicing plants and canning in Tanzania. The model for outgrowers production schemes, especially those related to perishable fruit with a local market, needs a lot more work done on them. Funnily enough, some of the larger funders seem to think when they look at other countries the outcome will be different despite the lessons learned.
“Success can be achieved in African agriculture with local knowledge, perseverance, flexibility and innovation. NGOs and DFI’s are among the slowest learners.” - Peter McSporran
Disclaimer: Copyright Peter McSporran. The content in this blog represents my personal views and does not reflect corporate entities.
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