“People take different roads seeking fulfillment and happiness. Just because they’re not on your road doesn’t mean they’ve gotten lost.” ― Dalai Lama
I have found that when I have a purpose, life is much more pleasant. No purpose, no life. My most miserable was during my depression in about 2006. I was happily married to Rozanne, despite her and my family’s support, I had no vision for my future or, in my eyes, a reason to live. Of course, I have often reflected on this time, analysing the reasons for my depression which are now hard for me to fully understand. Tiredness, stress and guilt over not preempting what happened when we lost our farms and homes. I remember all the various catalysts and the symptoms. The major underlying denominator was my lack of vision for my future, my life goals. This dampened my enthusiasm for life more than anything.
“Anything that makes you look forward to each day is a worthwhile purpose. It gets you, not only out of bed, it activates you with a sense of purpose. This may even be as simple as a routine, hobby or broadening your education.” Peter McSporran
I have often, both critically and arrogantly, looked at others and thought to myself, “How boring is that job? How do you get motivated doing that every day of your life?” Of course, often the boring or repetitive job is not the purpose. The real purpose and motivator in the vast majority of cases are to put food on the table and house a family. What greater purpose in life is there?
My life's main purposes, which changed as my life progressed or new opportunities arose, on reflection were:
Finish school ASAP.
Seeking adventure by joining the merchant navy. A disappointment in many ways while broadening my outlook for the future. Identified long term goals.
Studying agriculture and becoming a farmer.
Farming in my own right. Moving to Rhodesia, taking up Rhodesian citizenship as fast as I could, working as a farm assistant, then manager, and serving in the army were all my motivation to achieve this.
Being a successful farmer.
Helping my fellow farmers.
Retire on the farm watching my cattle, beer in hand.
Then the shock of losing the farms at the age of 50, a huge game changer - what to do?
“The best laid plans of Mice and of Men, Gang aft agley.” Robert Burns
The options:
Stay in Zimbabwe.
Return to the UK.
Emigrate to Australia, already had a visa or some other country outside Africa which offered security in old age.
Look towards somewhere else in Africa to use my skills, saving towards a pension which would allow me to retire to my country of choice. I had realised by this stage most of Africa did not recognise us as white Africans despite many being descendants born in Africa for many generations.
Whatever option was to be taken it would mean a major change in my outlook and a total refocus on my new long term purpose, security for Rozanne and me in our old age.
I chose the final option which helped focus me for the next 20 years. I took many risks, travelled extensively, had many hardships, made some bad choices, the occasional good one. Not once in those twenty years, other than the time of my depression, did I think of any other goal. This gave me purpose through the toughest part of my life. Luckily I had a partner in Rozanne, who shared this goal. We also met lots of new friends, made a difference in some people’s lives and the fun outweighed the hard times in the end.
I retired from all the remaining boards I was on in December last year. 2020 at the age of 70.
By that time my focus was on survival due to serious health issues. Now it is getting fit enough to return to Africa to fish on the Zambezi and catch that elusive marlin in Mozambique. There is always something to achieve, to look forward to. Mind you, maybe the marlin is going to remain elusive, I do not plan to give up on my quest, maybe someone else will need to reel it in.
I do not consider addiction a purpose in life. I do not consider obtaining my next drink, drug or bet worthwhile as it only leaves emptiness and loneliness. Many resort to this way of life which in my view is life without purpose. The question is which comes first, the addiction or lack of purpose. When I approach those afflicted with these addictions they normally answer by blaming it on others or bad luck. They fail to satisfy my curiosity about the cause.
“Life may not be limited to one purpose. By having goals, individual or many, gives our life meaning. I do not adhere to the theory that a God placed us on earth for a reason. We are here like any other animal except we have evolved the ability to choose how we lead our lives. Better to make the best of it and enjoy.” Peter McSporran
Ticking Over Nicely
Over a week now since my arrhythmic heart was reset. A regular 58 to 62 beats as opposed to anything from 70 to 150 plus. I really do feel much better although if I do too much I still get short of breath and tire quickly. My heart is damaged but workable. I monitor oxygen levels, BP and pulse every day, I only record for the cardiologist twice a week now or inform him if there is an anomaly. My next face to face appointment is at the end of June. Meanwhile, next week I have my first review with the surgeon and the oncology team, about my cancer treatment. This is on Thursday the 13th. That obviously is of much interest to me.
Farewell to MV Chantala
On my final trip to East Africa on the MV Chantala in 1968, we adorned the arrogance of old hands happy to share our stories and adventures with anyone “greener” than us to impress. I may add there were very few in reality greener than us. We would confidently talk about previous coastal trips notwithstanding they were all within the past year or so.
On this trip, two events happened which were to whet my appetite for Africa, this dusty mystical continent. The poverty, disease, including the commonly visible Elephantiasis and other fevers like malaria and dengue fever, were not enough to put off my ambition to return. The first was an expedition to Tsavo National Park which allowed me my first sighting of African wildlife in the wild, including rhinoceros. Much excitement! Despite it being from a “Zebra Striped” Volkswagen minibus! What was also visible was the elephant damage inflicted to the trees, which were noticeable even to a ‘greenhorn’ in the bush as most were flattened. This was caused by the overpopulation of elephants, conservationists said it would right itself. This was not true and half of the 10,000 elephants of Tsavo were doomed to die, but not before destroying the very environment the conservationists wished to protect. What happened in Tsavo was a good life experience for someone concerned about African conservation. A well-managed huntsman bullet in controlled culling must be better than the destruction of the bush leading to the loss of habitat not just for the elephants but all life there.
“Unfortunately we cannot cull people, the biggest threat not only to the wildlife but the very survival of the planet as we know it.” Peter McSporran
The second event I did not attend, this being the ship’s doctor, a retired Scottish GP who travelled up to Rhodesia. I really enjoyed his company and on his return, he talked about Rhodesia and its proud people. We were aware of Rhodesia and its politics, being hailed from time to time from naval ships who were running the blockade against that country during sanctions. I did not get the impression their heart was in the job. Anyway, the stories he regaled me, filled me with excitement. This in turn led me to read books such as “Hold My Hand I Am Dying” by John Gordon Davies and the recently published Wilbur Smith books including “When the Lion Feeds.” All sparked a romantic, if naive, view of Africa, especially Rhodesia.
Before leaving for home there was a comical further incident. While alongside the dock in Dar-es-Salaam, a Pakistani submarine tied up alongside us. This was not uncommon for small non-commercial vessels, their captains getting permission to use our ship for access to the dock. It intrigued us with the amount of stuff (ropes, cables, crates, wires, along with other ships gear stored under the deck's gridding.) It made us wonder if they moved all of this below decks every time they submerged. A massive task, certainly not something you would want to do if submerging in a hurry. Our curiosity got the best of us so we asked one of their officers. He informed us, “Do not be silly, we never submerge, this boat is no longer safe underwater.” That of course got us wondering how tough it must have been in a storm. Submarines are not made for surface travel, especially in rough seas. Imagine standing watch on a bridge that would be submerged with every wave.
Talking about waves, on the way home, the Bay of Biscay, renowned for large waves, was especially rough. The forecastle of the Chantala was burying itself deep into the oncoming waves making the senior officers concerned about the hold covers. This was before hydraulic steel hatches. Ours were timber struts covered in tarpaulins and battened down with still clamps which could come loose if not chocked properly. Even standing on the flying bridge, four decks above the main deck, the water was often green, not just spray. We also witnessed a naval vessel battling the seas. Exciting.
Unfortunately, on each outward and home trip, the three weeks of chugging along at 12 knots allowed much boredom and mischief to manifest themselves. Our senior cadet started his abusive ways again and this time on behalf of the abused, Ginger and I, decided to look further afield for help. The abused were too intimidated to act on their own behalf. One of them was a short Scotsman who was probably the most competent cadet amongst us. He was being bullied for his size and accent which was very broad. We were to learn a few things from this. On returning to Sunderland this time I had a few days leave and set off for Mull. I informed my father, much to his disgust, that I was thinking of leaving British India. A few days later a request arrived for me to travel to London to discuss the issues I raised. On arrival some senior staff members, I think not sailors, interviewed me about my reports. They already informed me they had met with Ginger. They said my complaints were unfounded as they had interviewed the so said victims and they denied they had been abused. Further, they said Ginger had been offered a Far East berth on the Japanese Hong Kong run which he had accepted. Would I be interested in the same and the complaints would be forgotten? Bribery. The Far East was hugely sought after by sailors at that time. Probably thinking about Geishas. I said no and informed them I planned to resign. That turned their platitudes into snarls and why had I come all the way to London wasting their time. It made my resignation all the easier. Remember, sometimes the victims, even when supported are so intimidated they are unable to speak for themselves. I found this true throughout my life experience.
Looking For Fresh Fields
In the late nineties, it became very obvious that we were likely to lose our farms despite many assurances from the politicos and holding Government, “Letters of No Interest.” I made the decision after looking at all the options presented at the beginning of this blog to look at continuing in African agriculture. That meant much expense travelling around visiting each potential country. I did not travel to West Africa and other than the DRC discounted all the francophone countries. My first country to visit was Mozambique with my good friend John Meikle as a guide and interpreter. The Mozambique Government had been making overtures to commercial farmers to move there when and if they lost their farms. Of course, we really enjoyed Mozambique for its coast and fishing but for farming, we were not so sure. It was emerging not only from a bloody civil war but also its own form of socialism. The banking system was poor, the legal system was confusing, land tenure was in the form of leases precluding borrowing against it. There was a total lack of service industries with all the Portuguese having been chased away at Independence, violently. The final nail in the coffin is not choosing Mozambique. I felt it was too warm for Virginia tobacco. To succeed in another country we would need a good export crop to ensure access to foreign currency.
I then set out looking further afield including Ethiopia, Kenya, Uganda, Malawi and Tanzania. In the meantime, I set up a consultancy with Ernst and Young, with my good friend, the senior partner John Knight. He was also my personal farm accountant, a wonderful man. Together we tendered for a few jobs in Malawi and the nearby region, unfortunately failing. I finally visited Zambia, the last place I thought we would succeed, it had such a poor reputation at home in Zimbabwe. To my surprise the banking system worked, the legal system was based on English Law and land was available under 99-year leases with the banks accepting this as a fully transferable title. I wasted the good part of 18 months looking elsewhere often visiting some countries, as many as three times chasing elusive opportunities. Importantly the Zambian Government was actually offering real support in making us welcome unlike many of the others including Tanzania, Uganda and Mozambique who just did not understand what was required to attract investment in agriculture at the time. Political doors were opened, I became friends of the vice President, Enoch Kavindele, the Minister Of Agriculture and his deputy, Chance Kabaghe, who were wonderful supporters in my endeavours. The next task for John and I was now to raise money to move other farmers to join us, we believed there had to be the numbers on the ground to attract the services and input providers. That is tractors, their maintenance, crop chemicals, fertilisers etc. A huge task which was to take us a further year knocking on many doors. That year I learned the true colours of many NGOs who talked the good talk about investing sustainably in African Agriculture. Few if any had a clue, most importantly had little interest. Commercial investments required accountability, a word used but not understood by all.
Disclaimer: Copyright Peter McSporran. The content in this blog represents my personal views and does not reflect corporate entities.
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