Into Africa

The last 5 days have been a bit miserable. A lot has happened since my last blog and it will be difficult to catch you up. Let's begin with leaving South Africa.

I found it interesting that the locals, the white ones, refer to other African countries as "Africa," as if South Africa is not quite fully Africa. This is pretty accurate in that there is a very western infrastructure and a heavy non-african influence. But there is still plenty of Africa in South Africa. But I'm already off topic.

Nathan and I spent about 60 US dollars to take a first class bus to Harare, Zimbabwe. It would be night and day from the wealthy, beautiful city of Pretoria, and we were prepared for it, or so we thought. The Greyhound bus arrived a half hour late and was laready full to capacity. Our bags didn't fit into the basement compartment (although the driver tried violently to force them) and so Nathan was forced to carry his bag inside with him and lay it in the already full aisle. The bus driver read my ticket to me, "Seat 9C," as if that mattered. Nathan and I grabbed the only two seats available, and they were only available after moving dozens of bags full of produce, groceries, and consumer products, as well as spare tires out of the way. The exit row was barricaded by piles of baggage. Thsi bus had a much different feel than any other bus that we had taken yet.

Fastforward to the boarder. Nathan and I read in our travel guide that the black market currency rate was "a bit" more favorable than the bank rate but that using the black market was a risk, as it is illegal. So we arrived at the boarder with only our visa chack cards and about 40 US dollars combined. To our surprise, the entry visa for Americans costs 30 per person and there was no exceptions that could be made. Fortunately, Nathan had made friends with a friendly looking Pakistani (no, that is not an oxymoron) and he offered to lend us the extra 20 us dollars assuming we pay him back in Harare.

Sidenote: Also on the bus, I made friends with a man named Patrick. Patrick is the father of 7 and grandfather of many more. He has a farm in Zim and travels to South Africa frequently for work. We sit next to each other and soon enough we are talking theology and exchanging bible stories. I tell him that I am not exactly a christian but he doesn't seem to mind, he just enjoys exchanging our favorite stories from the bible and ideas on theology. He is a very smart man. He also has a voice and presence of James Earl Jones (sandlot, not Vader). Very fatherly and warm.

We arrive in Harare and Nathan runs to an atm and tries to pull out cash but his card is rejected. It wont work. The friendly pakistani doesn't look so rfiendly anymore. To add to the challenge, it is noon on Saturday and the banks and embassy's are closed.

Our only option is Patrick. We have no money on us, no way to get money and we are in a city that we are very unfamiliar with. People keep approaching us offering shady deals, eyeing our bags and noticing our discomfort. Before I can speak Patrick grabs me and introduces me to his wife and his family that has come to greet him at the bus stop. They are a lovely bunch, all seem to have his same warmth. But I cut the party short by telling him that we are in trouble. It was a very strange feeling. The people in Zimbabwe live very difficult lives. The government has driven the economy into the ground and people scrape by to feed their families. And here I have to ask this man for his help. With all of my advantages in life.

But Patrick doesn't even think twice. He will take me and Nathan to the embassy, surely they will help out. He has his son in law drive us and after 20 minutes, we learn that the marine on duty will, not only deny us entry onto the premise, but assures us that we are on our own until Monday. I hate marines. At least 99 percent of the ones I have met in my day.

Patricks son in law offers to take us to his home. He insists. But I tell him that we will find a way. It was just me being prideful and I regret it because I know that Patrick and his family would have loved to have taken us in for a weekend. But I tell him that we will call him when we get money and repay our debt asap. he smiles and reluctantly leaves us at the gate of the embassy.

We walk to a nearby church and ask a few nuns for help, explaining our situation. They probably laugh on the inside. Poor americans need some help. But one nun takes us to a nearby dorm type place (more on it later) and introduces us to Slyvester. Sly is about 26 (or maybe 36 I am a bad guesser) and he offers us a room for 5 us dollars a night on credit. We accept.

The next two days (sat and sun) are spent with nothing but a bit of nasty bread, a can of beans and a 2 litre of water, all given to us by Karein's parents before leaving. I never thought we would use them, but we were very glad that we had them!

Sunday night I told Nathan that our only hope was to write Sheila and see if she can somehow send US cash to us. reason being, if we use the atm or bank we will get 250 zims for every dollar. The black market rate is 75,000 zims for every dollar. A bottle of water cost about 200,000 zims. At the black market rate, it is less than 3 dollars. At the bank rate it is almost 900! That is not a joke, that is real. I told Nathan that if there is a way to get chas, Sheila will find out how. We spent our only money (about 50 cents) to send one email to Sheila.

When we woke up the next morning the embassy let us know that money was waiting for us at the embassy. I nearly vomited. I had not breathed in days I was so nervous that we were not going to get out of the jam without paying hundreds of dollars. It was Monday, the 11th of June, Nathan's 23rd birthday. We were too tired and sick of the coutntry to celebrate, so we just bought a bus ticket to Lusaka for 400,000 zims. 7 dollars by the black market rate.

While it was not a pleasant few days, I am still amazed at the kindness that we received from people that had no reason to trust us or help us. 20 US dollars is certainly a lot by Zim standards and even more so for a man that has a large family to take care of. Patrick must leave his wife and family for weeks at a time in order to provide for his family. And yet, somehow, he has enough love, enough faith, and enough good will to help out some punk Americans who didn't do their research before traveling to Zimbabwe. He had no way of finding us if we skipped town, no way of holding us accountable. But he didn't even hesitate. I told him that my favorite stories are the ones about Jesus coming to serve. The sheep and the goats and so forth. He laughs and tells me that this is his goal.

So long Patrick. I don't know why, you hellped me. Oh but I'm glad, so glad you did!!!!

Footnotes - or lesser serious notes on the same story: I am pretty sure that the "dorm" that we stayed in for two nights was actually a brothel. The first night, Slyvester asked us if we wanted girls, and then made a sexual gesture. We didn't laugh, we were just confused. Then we said, no thanks. Nathan then asked, "Did that nun just take us to a brothel?" But the question sounded to absurd and so we assumed that something was lost in translation when Sly said "girls."

On our final night, we told sly that we must walk to the bus station at 8 pm and he immediately said "I will escort you." I asked if it was dangerous and he said "Yes!" I said, yeah, but do you think we will get mugged? "Yes!" So he goes and gets a sling shot. I laugh but he is dead serious. I ask him what for and he says, "Theives." Then he shoots a rock across the lawn. I ask if he has used it before and he says "Yes!"

Then he tells me that life here is very rough. People are desperate and they do desperate things to provide for themselves. He tells me, "it is not that these girls (poiting to a girl that walks past and who has been staying in the room next to us) want to do prostitution, but they must. - Then the girl hands him a wad of money. I am pretty sure we stayed in a brothel.