Phew!
Well while time seemed very short over the past ten days in Scotland my liver and waistline tell me that I had overstayed my welcome. On returning to Scotland on a visit no matter how long, there never seems to be enough days nor enough hours in the day to see everyone. Hospitality overlaps the nights into the mornings, meals and wheels take up the time in between social gatherings while friends organise a drinking relay, an ever-changing team, while you are on your own passing the baton to yourself each day.
“In Scotland, always call for that last dram early in the evening as it is never the last.” - Peter McSporran
People’s drinking in Scotland is only outdone by their eating. Full Scottish, as opposed to English, breakfasts are the norm while potato chips (fries) are the staple at all meals. Protein portions are small, potato chips, always copious. Curry has taken over from haggis as the favoured national dish for adults, pizza for children. I could not find a traditional mutton pie. Believe it or not, Iron Bru is still holding place of honour in Scotland against Coke and Pepsi.
“Potato chips are the equivalent of a Scottish salad. They must accompany all meals except breakfast where they disguise themselves in the form of a potato scone.” - Peter McSporran
It is not cheap to eat out or drink in Scotland. Scotland was the first country to impose a minimum charge on alcohol. To me, it does not look like a deterrent although everyone seems to obey the drink and drive laws. Both these rules seem to promote home social drinking to the detriment of the country pub. Do not be surprised to be charged £3 to £5 for a 25 ml tot of spirits. That is £90 for a bottle that costs £15 in the supermarket. When I was at college in 1970 a beer was 20p, now it is nearly £5. Thank goodness I left Scotland as I would have no savings and what I have is worth very little in drinking terms. I wonder why they have not reverted to home brewing as they do in Portugal. Their firewater, Medronho of about 55% proof is often served on request or given freely after a meal in country restaurants. No minimum price here, no charge at all for Medronho.
Our group of college housemates have been lucky in longevity although following our last get-together we lost one of our ‘associate’ members when Meg McGregor passed away from a sudden heart attack. Shockingly the youngest member of our group. So sad, although this year her husband Steve travelled up from Wales to be with us for the reunion. It was great to have him, his presence appreciated by all. One of our number could not attend due to ill health, Ken Muir. He will not recover as his illness is extremely debilitating but was kept in the loop about our antics. Ken was in charge, not by choice but due to his responsible nature, of all things domestic at our digs at Highfield Farm. As the years go by, more and more of my friends are passing. When a friend passes it feels that your life just loses that little bit of its value. To me, having friends is a mark of your well-being even if you are apart or not in recent contact.
“Every time you lose a friend you lose a little of yourself.” - Peter McSporran
Memories remain but the human presence is gone. This week an old friend Ian Hayes passed away. I first met Ian when he was a senior police officer although I spent more time with him when he was running the Zimbabwe Road Safety Council. Many a beer we had together before we invariably parted in good spirit from some show or other. One Gweru show comes to mind attended by Alistair Smith and myself. I think I was judging the Fatstock and Alistair, the Herefords. We stayed over two days having enjoyed the hospitality of the Heins at Dopton farm. As was often the case as the sun set on the final day of the show we found ourselves at the members' bar in the presence of Ian who always had a stand promoting road safety at the Zimbabwean agricultural shows. Late evening we were to set off on the three hundred kilometre drive home when he suggested perhaps I may have had too much to drink. That year on his stand not only had he a breathalyser but also a machine that tested your driving reflexes. Needless to say, I passed, getting the best score on the reflexes even against the sober members of our party and left the show grounds behind the wheel with his reluctant blessings. Ian, you were a great character popular with all you knew, always happy serving your fellow man. Goodbye Ian.
The Highland Show is still well worth a visit. Surprisingly I still bump into friends from my distant past, some fifty-odd years ago, while also making new acquaintances. The Scots are generally friendly and very hospitable despite their reputation of having long pockets and short arms. A day is a long time for my old legs but I would recommend two days if you are fit, so much to see. The livestock easily takes a day alone without the other interests including demonstrations from shearing sheep, shoeing horses to working ferrets. There are lots of farming toys on show.
Covid-19 appears to have had a huge impact on the towns and cities in Scotland with many shops closed or even boarded up. Will they ever open again? Everyone complains about staff shortages. Have people disappeared, do they just not want to travel to work anymore or even work? Maybe the latter is closest to the truth. The workers, as the shoppers, have left the high streets.
As for Edinburgh, there are similar changes with tourists more prevalent than locals.
“Princess Street used to be renowned for its eclectic buildings and monuments dating back to Georgian times along with commerce. Now it is left with its eclectic buildings and monuments.” - Peter McSporrran
Our flight did fly, be it two and a half hours late. That seems very acceptable these days. Landing at Porto was a breeze. Clean, modern and efficient, so unlike Edinburgh. No wonder Porto has just been voted the best airport in Europe.
Of to see Scott and Michèle von Memerty in Spain today Friday.
Farming Solo
In winding my way through events in my life, the chronological order is sometimes misplaced. Please forgive this old fart? Last week I left out a tragic event that occurred when I was about to leave the Enterprise farming district for our new home in Darwendale. This was to remain my home until confiscated by Mugabe’s regime some twenty-five years later. In the February before leaving the Enterprise farming area one of the reported atrocities against missionaries occurred. It must be said that the western press seemed to ignore most atrocities carried out by the CTs against both the black and white civilian community. Villagers often bore the brunt of their most despicable acts of cruelty to ensure silence and obedience while white farmers bore the brunt of the white population's attacks. I was always amazed at the courage and resilience of those farmers who were living in the midst of war, always under threat of farmstead attack, ambush in the fields or roads and of course that constant danger, landmines. Remember, it was not individuals but families that faced those horrors.
In February 1977 less than 20 km from our house as the crow flies seven missionaries including four nuns were slaughtered for no apparent reason other than for the joy of killing. In fact, these missionaries were offering help to all, including the CTs in their time of need. If not sympathetic they were at least totally impartial in continuing their work with their respective communities. This missionary atrocity was surpassed later in the war when even children were slaughtered at Elim Mission. Many more died in the downing by rocket of two passenger airliners, those that survived being gunned down as they crawled from the wreckage. Still only attracted international silence.
As I said last week before leaving Enterprise, we started building our tobacco curing system. Money was short, we decided to make use of the old existing shed to pack the tobacco into slat packs and have it commercially graded. I also designed a batch crop drier which would use the same heat source as the tobacco barns with the introduction of extra ambient air. This was to accommodate irrigated groundnuts which were to be harvested late March-early April when the rains were still around. Land preparation for tobacco began, which required the clearing of anthills in those lands previously cropped for maize. This we did by hand. We also planted tobacco seedbeds in June which my new neighbours John Gordon and Clem Bruk-Jackson oversaw.
Our machinery consisted of an MF165 and an MF35 tractor. We bought a sprayer and a Tinto toolbar which we could configure as a tobacco ridger or groundnut planter. Although the mechanical fingers on the seeding plates turned half the seed into peanut butter, we made do with it until after independence when better technology for planting became available. A second-hand disc plough and harrow along with two water trailers and water tanks made up our start-up equipment. Our farm transport was an old Nissan 1500 pickup truck and a motorbike. The latter was used mostly as we were only allocated 20L of petrol per month due to fuel rationing.
I left the Edward’s in August 1977 immediately starting to ridge, fertilise and fumigate for my first tobacco crop to be planted in September of that year. I had cured and graded tobacco at Smith’s but never grown it before. Of course, much information was available from the RTA (Rhodesia Tobacco Association) and the tobacco research station at Kutsaga which provided step-by-step agronomy along with detailed work-study handbooks. There was not a single task in growing tobacco which was not covered in the greatest detail including materials required, labour hours required and benchmarks for the task. For the first month, I worked from my in-laws' house as my father-in-law was on call-up and my brother-in-law was doing his national service in the police. Further, at that stage, our house was not very habitual. The day started long before daylight and I would only leave the farm after dark. Despite army commitments life was so exciting, the hour of the day had little meaning in relation to the work needing to be done. No task too arduous. Those who have started farming will know exactly what I mean.
The Second Tanzania Scoping Mission
Before the formation of AgDevCo in 2009 Tanzania was one of the countries I visited in an earlier quick scoping mission to establish if there was a need for an organisation such as AgDevCo as yet unformed. This time we were to repeat the journey by car rather than air which was a round trip in excess of two thousand kilometres, at times off the beaten track but generally close to the main east-west highway through the Southern Highlands of Tanzania, encompassing many places of interest and great beauty. This was work! In 2010 AgDevCo was up and running focusing on Mozambique with Chris Isaac officially now our first founder employee, while Han and I were still ad hoc although now receiving recompense for our work.
Our second employee who took charge of the administration and every other job in London was a very young and resourceful Rosanne Whalley. The first time I was to meet Rosanne was in Tanzania when we commenced fieldwork for the formation of the Southern Agricultural Growth Corridor of Tanzania (SAGCOT) in September 2010. I remember thinking how young she was but I soon learned that she was a very focused, intelligent young lady happy to support her views with strong logic. Rosanne was later to become our country manager in Mozambique and is now CEO of AHL Venture Capital Company in Kenya. Rosanne and I were to enjoy many adventures while she was with AgDevCo, mostly in Mozambique.
Han and my task were to study the agricultural opportunities in a potential corridor stretching from Dar-es-Salaam on the Indian Ocean coast to Mbeya on the Zambian border to the West. That is a distance of some eight hundred-odd kilometres with many zig zags making it a busy trip to be completed in three weeks. By this time I was spending more time away from home than at home, I do not know how Rozanne put up with it. At the same time, our consultancy was still operating as was our settler scheme although the latter was now weaning the farmers to direct borrowing from the banks. This was an indicator of its success. In the meantime, our Zambian personnel could keep my business going there with Rozanne in charge and referral to me while on the road, so to speak.
For the Tanzania trip, we internally retained our third employee Andrew Tipping, a bright and bushy-tailed New Zealander whose enthusiasm tempered Han and my more cynical conservative views of the opportunities seen. Andrew had been sent from London to meet us arriving in Tanzania with no instruction and more importantly no money. Some of us already in our small organisation had a lot to learn about planning trips to Africa. Never, never travel without some cash. On finding him residing in less than salubrious lodgings we immediately got him into our hotel for a bath and some decent food. The following year Andrew left us and moved to Economic Consulting Associates (ECA) in London where he still acts as technical director.
Andrew is another friend fighting cancer. He had his first surgery in 2017 and is at present undergoing further treatment. He is very positive although I always feel sad to hear of young people with this disease. To help others he is happy to discuss his life’s journey as did the recently deceased Deborah James although she in a much more public forum on TV.
To strengthen the team with local knowledge we retained two Tanzanian-based consultants, both characters in their own right. Of the two, one was Irish in the form of William Creighton, who, like all Irish, was quick-witted, often teasing the ‘Africa Greenhorn’, Andrew. William is now based in Zambia. I should say that in the agricultural development sector in Africa, there is a hard core of expatriates that spend their whole working life in Africa reluctant to leave the continent they dedicated their life to. This takes resilience as it can be both dangerous and frustratedly disappointing. So often funding is limited to a set time rather than the project's economic cycle with the plug often pulled prematurely.
The final member of the team was another of these characters so unique to Africa known as ‘old hands’ arriving in Tanzania as a VSO volunteer in the 60s never to leave. He was Joel Strauss, probably still known by nearly everyone in Tanzania as Masharubu. Masharubu means moustache in Swahili and to gain this name, his was exceptional. Joel knew every character if not personally by reputation, therefore, being a fount of reliable information. In his earlier years, he enjoyed playing in a jazz band and had the largest collection of music I have ever seen owned by one singular person. He was retained by a number of organisations and although separated from his Tanzanian wife had two daughters whom he adored. Both studying at University.
Joel was to teach me many things about NGOs, the donor world and the credibility or lack of credibility of many assumptions that impact studies are based on. Often the results of impact surveys were built around questionnaires either prior, during or following some NGO or Government funded development program by disinterested third-party box tickers. It could also be for health, education, transport etc. From the farm, we knew that the African culture does not like to disappoint you, so it is very important how you ask the question to ensure an answer of integrity. As I said, in the army we would ask a local how far to a said place, to always be told not far. Only after a few hours walking did we realise he did not want to dishearten us and tell us how far it really was. Test it in Africa. If you chat to someone, ask if he is happy to be where he is and he will answer yes. Ask him if he would rather be at home. He will once again answer yes. Ask if he is sad he is not at home he will for a third time say yes. This is a generalisation but gives you the gist. What is he, sad or happy? It depends on what you asked. Often the answer given is that of others. If he has heard the target yield of a said crop is two tonnes he will tell you he has received two tonnes. To be honest, us European farmers in Africa were no different as bar yields were never actual sold yields.
Disclaimer: Copyright Peter McSporran. The content in this blog represents my personal views and does not reflect corporate entities.
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