On the final evening in Zambia, we met up with the Bradshaws, Dave and Ginny. Also present were Jim McSorley and Doreen van Blerk. We met at Sandies Mint where Rozanne, Ginny and Doreen used to meet up for “Friday lunches.” Rozanne always looked forward to that end of week lunch, a release from the stress of working with me most likely.
On leaving the Zambezi Valley on the Zambian side, we set off on the journey to Kavinga Safari Camp on the opposite side. Kavinga as the crow flies is less than 50km from Mvuu Lodge but due to Covid 19, land border restrictions, we had to endure a trip of some 1,000 km. That is, drive back to Lusaka, catch a flight to Harare and then the 350 km drive back to Kavinga on the other side of the Zambezi Valley. Of course, any flight now is tedious. Zambia requires you to be at the airport three hours before departure due to medical document checks. Yes, we had to sacrifice another day to get back to Lusaka for the now customary yet compulsory PCR test.
Arriving at Harare International Airport was a nightmare. There are no direct regional flights between Harare and Lusaka. Each time we have flown between these cities, we have had to join an international flight that stops at both cities, this time we used Emirates. Each large international aircraft full of passengers is met, if you are lucky, by the maximum of three medical staff checking your temperature and reviewing the two travel forms you have to complete plus your latest PCR test. Two hours we waited to have this done before the queue for immigration. Every passport is checked and stamped, foreign or local. The officials were all surprisingly pleasant during the exercise the same could not be said of some of the passengers. It says something though if immigration cannot even keep up with the very slow medical checks leaving us with having further delays.
“For people who are happy to wait all day for a bus that never comes without complaint, what does imposing a couple of hours delay mean? I fear very little. ” - Peter McSporran
We now learn Zambia has brought in further document requirements including certification by national health organisations. No wonder there are so few foreign tourists. The only advantage I suppose we had was that the roads back to the Zambian border were quiet as only commercial trucks are allowed through the border. As I said the Zimbabwean authorities believe Covid19 cannot fly hence entry and exit only by air.
Once at Kavinga, it lived up to all of the hype we had heard. For once not an unfounded rumour. We were met by all the management staff and guides, who over the next three days, we became very familiar with. Arriving on a Saturday morning, meaning we would miss the rugby as no TV therefore we were happy to go out in the evening game drive. That very afternoon on our first game drive we saw both lion and leopard. In fact two leopards, with one drinking from the birdbath next to our tent. It is called a tent/bedroom which in fact has only canvas sides with an insulated permanent roof. Each tent is separate, standing on stilts overlooking a pan where the wildlife in the area visit. All the wildlife, other than the multitude of birds, visited the pan on a regular if not daily basis. The cats at night, hard to see hence the essential morning and evening drives. Dylan Browne took us out on the vehicles mostly while Luke McDonald took us walking and driving. Luke’s brother, Micheal happened to be our son Selby’s partner in their start-up robotic business in Edinburgh. The professional on-site guide is Mark Edwards who has tremendous knowledge of the bush, uniquely also of those small creepy crawling things.
Why go to both sides of the Zambezi you ask? Well, while Mvuu offers both fishing and wildlife, the terrain and bush are completely different to the Mana Pools area where Kavinga stands. Mvuu and the Lower Zambezi National Park are on the Zambezi River, while Kavinga is some 35km away from the river hence the attraction of the pan in the dry months. The pan is kept full by means of pumped underground water. It is situated just below the escarpment making the isolated water hole attractive to the game during the eight months of dry weather. It rained while we were there on the last night and amazingly the animals dispersed into the bush, making them hard to see. That is, except for a pride of lions which took to the dry Ruckomeche River bed to dry themselves off in the early morning sun.
I learned a few things during my stay both there and at Mvuu. Young eyes are much better than old. More importantly, after a few years of rising a bit later enjoying retirement, the 0430am early wake up were very easy to revert back into. The early morning was and still is my favourite time of the day. Being up before the sun surely does extend your day always brought in by the cacophony of bird song. That must say something about my farming days, as I enjoy rising early for both fishing and game drives/walks the latter two pleasures. I also found my farming a pleasure, unlike so many in this world who hate the early morning, as it means for them another day in a dull working environment. Only on reflection do I really appreciate what a good life I have had and still have in retirement. Of course, you are not driven by the goals and ambitions of being young.
On a couple of the game drives, I joined the Englands and Hinds also ex farmers, both families being old acquaintances from Wedza. As we get older we agreed it is harder to climb onto the back of a Landcruiser. Lara England said it is tough getting old. I reflected on this, Lara being a generation younger than me.
“It is tough getting old, it is even tougher being old.” - Peter McSporran
On the way back to Harare we stayed with old friends, Manoussos and Muffin Dilmitis and their daughter Angie in Chinhoyi. Sundowners at the dam, followed by a traditional braai. Lovely and thanks so much for their kind hospitality. Now we are in Harare staying with Dave and Lisa Clements, old friends in both Zimbabwe and Zambia although both Zimbabwean. On Thursday evening we had dinner at the Mitchell’s, Billy and Sandy. Both couples, the Mitchells and Clements visited us in Portug
al just before Covid-19. Billy is a large man, maybe that is an understatement, who can take his drink and peri-peri. The Portuguese Aguardiente and peri-peri gave him his first culinary defeat although h
e is still from time to time tackling the strong peri-peri we specially brought for him. Billy’s meats are the “go-to” butchery in Harare with the quality of the meat and his humour nationally renowned.
On Thursday evening Lee and Phil Vermaak asked us to supper and low and behold some of our old farming friends and neighbours were there. So many friends to catch up with, so little time. They included Choppy and Karen who I have introduced previously, Lyle and Roseanne Green and William and Bridget Kluckow. I reminded Bridget and Lee I had recently seen my old teak coffee table at Mvuu Lodge which they broke while dancing on it some 25 years ago during my “born again bachelor days.'' Although broken it is still in use. Once in Mozambique many years ago on holiday the word “Doot”, came up after a long session on the beach at BD (Bathomelw Diaz Point). The day was raised at the dinner table, such memories of fun. If anyone can spell the word “doot” correctly Roseanne would like to hear from you. She knows the meaning, or so she says, just not the spelling. I could not find it in Google or any dictionary.
So many old friends to see, so little time. Maybe our stay will be extended as our carrier for our trip home has just cancelled its flights to and from Southern Africa this morning.
The Missing Rifle
As training continued just prior to going on the combined army exercise, one night we went on a night-compass march. This was to lead to the only recurring nightmare I ever experience relating to my army days, including combat. On one leg of the night march, I had the compass in my possession leading the way and although dark, we would stop from time to time to refer to the map as these exercises always had “dog legs” to make them harder. Even in daytime, on compass marches, you only receive information on the next leg once reaching each stage. Often a grid reference is written on a piece of paper, on a tree or under a rock. Anyway, in the early hours, still pitch dark, I stopped to refer to my map then negligently got up and moved off leaving my rifle on the ground. The next morning, no rifle! My heart stopped! Would I be sent to DB (Detention Barracks) or at best be RTU’s? I was instructed to trace my steps, of course, this could only be done by going back to the previous evening’s starting point following the exact compass trail. Very hard. Low and behold we came directly onto that rifle after a couple of hours. I think this must have impressed the instructors, including Bruce, as I was not given any punishment at all.
Unfortunately, it has had a huge impact on my dreams with me often having semi-nightmares about going into contact, being on an army vehicle or patrol in the bush unable to find my rifle. Not something that worries me in the least when awake. I have not even told Rozanne about this. The dreams offer different scenarios but always the same theme. A lost or missing rifle. Needless to say, I never lost my weapon during the remainder of the conflict, we even took them home between call-ups for home security on the farm and for our local security patrols. The only other nightmare I had about my time in the army was one following a mortar attack. It occurred only once, closely after the incident when I stayed at Janice’s house, my girlfriend at the time. I often thought, what did her brother think as her parents ensured I shared a room with him, not Janice? I saw many things in the war that should have given me nightmares, but for me, only the missing rifle incident stuck.
Of course, we also had some fun in the army. On a night exercise, we had to cross the Gwenoro dam in a rubber duck on a foray on the other side of our camp. The instructors had their own rubber duck and on completing the task given to us we discovered their rubber duck sitting unguarded on the return trip. With a crazy rush of blood, we decided to let the air out of theirs and return to camp, leaving them stranded. We ignored their shouts and even the occasional thunderflash to bring their plight to our attention. Amusing until light when we suffered the consequences of our stupidity in the normal army way. Intense extended exercise.
“In the army frivolous pranks can have dire punishments.” - Peter McSporran
Funny as a youngster I used to read about soldiers in war stories being punished by peeling potatoes or painting stones. In the Rhodesian army, I never came across this, although from time to time we were tasked to pick up “stompies”*. Rather any misdemeanour meant CB (confined to barracks), extra guard duty or exercise while major crimes such as having an accidental discharge or sleeping on guard attracted DB.
Another stupid incident we carried out while training was on returning from the Gwelo nightlife, which consisted only of drinking at the Midlands Hotel as ladies seemed to be few and far between in that town. Sorry Anne, I had met Clive your husband on the rugby field but was yet to meet you. We decided to roof-rattle the various course officers' quarters, that is, throw stones onto their corrugated tin roofs, being on the way back to our barracks. The next day they seemed to know exactly who the guilty parties were, no doubt from the logbook at the camp gate. It was taken in good spirit, although of course punishment had to be meted out. More running and assault courses.
“In the army, punishment is easy to receive while praise is very elusive, in fact, a rarity.” - Peter McSporran
I cannot remember all those that were in the School of Infantry rugby team with me, although I do remember our colonel, Tom Davidson, fancied himself as a centre, the weakest link in our team. Paul Hopcroft was a maniac tackler, he was later to run a very good farm security company in our district, along with Bruce Snelgar, our course officer, also Johnny Dawson, our number 10. In Rhodesia, men wore short-shorts with long socks. The socks were not just for your feet but also a place to keep your comb. Johnny, as our standoff, took his grooming seriously as he believed women would be attracted to him if he kept his hair in place. After every play, he would take time to comb his hair. He saw himself as a great ladies man.
Farm Loans and Title Deeds
Too often I hear of farmers having to offer up their title deeds as security for their annual cropping loans or short term capital loans for improvements or equipment rather than just their moveables and crop proceeds. In Rhodesia and then Zimbabwe, annual cropping loans were often granted on your cropping plan with the support of collateral in the form of equipment or livestock. In fact, often these were not requested, bankers had personal relationships with their clients frequently visiting our farms. Free lunches and beers were not considered bribes back then and they were never assumed to be. Straight business was the key, social interaction just made the business relationship more pleasing. Anyway, a trip to the farm would be a day or even a day and night event with the only accommodation available being in the farmer’s own home.
It seems nowadays, while the banks pour over your cash flows, ponder on your historical track records and study your business plan, there is always the question before any loans are considered, “what is your collateral on the land, livestock and moveables?” This is followed by the statement “we want to secure our loans against it, all including the land.” This is even if the movables and livestock are worth four times more than the actual loan. As for the proposed crops, little value is given to them. For myself, the only time I had to offer title deeds as collateral was when I bought an additional farm with the help of the bank. In fact for the cropping loans I never had to sign any security, it was always on the back of my cash flow. They were always happy to release this security once the loan on the land, normally up to five years, was paid off. I never had to offer my livestock or equipment as security. For me, to run your business, your livestock and equipment should be in your control. Plans change, cattle prices go up and down. I always considered my cattle a walking bank, although not used as security, I never borrowed more than they were worth for my cropping program.
Of course, in Rhodesia and in Zimbabwe up until 2020, we could receive excellent lines of credit from suppliers, livestock auction houses, and off-takers with both customer and client deeming their relation of paramount importance for the ongoing success of both businesses. No chance of getting a loan from another source if someone defaults with one, unless under very unique circumstances. In a way, this may have been our downfall, as most of us held our title deeds as our bankers and lenders knew. As soon as they were taken away from us, the whole relationship with the bankers and our suppliers changed. So even without offering them as security, the title was so very important even if it was unsecured.
In many African states title is unavailable although, in some countries, leases with their improvements can be sold in the market. Zambia is one such country, with a successful commercial agricultural sector. Most others do not. You even find in some countries where you have improvements on leasehold, you can sell them as your own or use them as security but not the land. “What is the use of improvements without land?” In Mozambique, this is a clear example. In others, even the leasehold title is not released but held by that country's investment centre or some other Government agency if you are a foreign investor. None of these Governments seems to understand the importance of a freely transferable title. As I said last week the worst impacted by lack of title are the subsistence farmers on traditional tribal or communal lands. There is just no chance for them to get on the wealth ladder. Their poverty is sustainable, unlike their agricultural production.
“As a farmer when you give your land as security it normally includes your home, unlike other businesses. I would think city businessmen would be loath to do this, even if so ensuring their home was in another name if personal security was required.” - Peter McSporran
* DB - Army prison, under a very harsh regime.
* Stompies - Slang for cigarette butts.
Disclaimer: Copyright Peter McSporran. The content in this blog represents my personal views and does not reflect corporate entities.
Well written!