Masvingo Memories

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In 2001 President Robert Mugabe’s intensified programme of land redistribution arrived at our doorstep. Beauly Estate, our birth place, was no longer ours to call home. My parents were unceremoniously uprooted and relocated to Knysna. Although devastated, they set about getting on with life. Unconditional acceptance, an optimism based on the new found close proximity to at least part of their family, especially their grandchildren. A new life was made, friendships formed and for us a lesson in tolerance and just plain getting on with life’s knocks. No histrionics, just buck up.

I haven’t been back to Masvingo for 18 years. Mourning the loss of what I’d taken for granted, never anticipating it would no longer be part of our family, I was anxious to face reality. As Dr Zeus stated , “Oh, the thinks you can think”, especially as a solo traveler. On the road between Vic Falls and Bulawayo I decided it was time. Time to bag emotions that stand in the way of enjoyment and get on with returning to my roots and savouring all that I took for granted growing up. One call to Helen and the deal was done. Jephta our head cattle man, now employed by Helen and Ant, would be my negotiator, guide and hiking companion for the next few days.

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The Diptank was an integral part of life on a cattle ranch in Zimbabwe. The hub I guess. Farm workers would go out on foot early morning and round up the herd designated for dipping that day. Growing up we spent hours, waiting for the herd to arrive, counting, tending to wounds, branding , dehorning, dosing and just generally hanging out the dip. For some my photo choice may seem a bit odd, but each one holds a particular memory, an encounter, an experienced that is etched into my life.

The farms have been divided and are now home to numerous families. Some high fliers looking for the tranquility associated with country life. Others merely subsistence farmers trying their best to survive in an environment not particularly suited to small scale farming. An appointed Headman overseas the running of the community and answers to the Chief. Our negotiations began with the Headman. Jephta did the talking, it was a protracted affair. My request for permission to climb the gomo (hill) was met with genuine suspicion. What did I want to do that for? Was I looking to stake a mining claim? What did I wan?. Eventually the Headman of Beauly conceded and we were granted permission to hike Beza the next day.

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Beza mountain range runs the length of Beauly farm’s boundaries. Tall and proud it formed the backdrop to our farms identity. Blue in the distance but transforming into a patchwork of colour in the spring as the Miombo woodland put on its display. From the top 360 degree views, Beauly below, Popoteke Gorge at the one end and the spectacular Mutirkwi (Kyle) dam on the other side. We had to park Florence a good distance from the foothill as the road was overgrown and impassable. Although we set off at 6am within minutes I had worked up a sweat of note. We meandered up, reaching the saddle without too much fuss and then the games began.

My plan was to reach the beacon. Jephta remembered it being to the left of the saddle and I thought it was to the right. The compromise, we’ll find both. When we uncovered the first beacon, a boundary marker with the neighbouring game park, Jephta downed his entire water bottle. A few hours later we reached the summit beacon and Jephta celebrated with a hand rolled (newspaper) cigarette. He wasn’t entertaining any more of Miss Gail’s silly ideas and decided the only way down was to follow the fence line straight down. Tiger line it’s called. Hang on knees we’re going down.

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On the other-side of town Richmond farm, birthplace of my Mother, home to my Grandparents for their entire adult life. The iconic Mangwandi granite koppie stands as a landmark for all heading north to Harare and those returning home. Jam packed with memories. Searching for ancient artifacts and beads with my grandfather, swimming in the rock pools, watching the sunrise after celebratory parties, stolen kisses with teenage crushes and a perfect view across the valley of Beza.

Kisto, the head cattleman from Richmond was the only worker to receive land during the redistribution process. He has since died but his wife and their extended family live at the foot of Mangwandi. Together with a collection of high spirited teenagers and their dogs we started the climb . This time there was no mistake where the beacon was. Resurrection plants, beads, views, bonsai trees and storm clouds overhead. How did we take this for granted? Drink it in, soak it up, store the memories and just enjoy.

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Again we took the easier route up and then straight down with my hiking team clearly over the experience and photo taking. The only one still interested was one of the dogs who couldn’t resist photo bombing my carefully orchestrated shot at the beacon.

Gardens are clearly a wasted luxury. I never visited the Richmond homestead as it is occupied. Instead I viewed from a distance forming visual memories of the carefully tended bowling green. Mum’s bed of carnations. The market garden where we gorged on freshly picked strawberries. Drink in in, file the memories and enjoy.

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Helen, the original Masvingo Chick, partnered with Lance run an impressive chicken farm producing around 1200 chicks a hatch. It;s a scientific and precise operation. Parent birds have the freedom to scratch for food, run around, perch and choose their nesting box. One rooster to ten hens, it’s hard work being a good looking chick. Pretty rough on the roosters too. This farm is all about fertilized eggs, no slacking allowed. Day old chicks are transported all over the country, providing food and business opportunities to many Zimbabweans.

The photo below is the egg bank. Neatly labeled and stored in a cold room the wait their turn for a spot in the incubators. Electricity is need for cooling and heating (and a whole lot more) and in Zimbabwe it only happens periodically. Sometimes the electricity comes on between 22h00 and 05h00, sometimes not. Either way it’s not conducive to running a business. But a plan is made and life goes on. If you live in Zimbabwe you constantly need to be making a plan.

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At the one end of Beza the Popoteke river empties into Kyle via a beautiful gorge. As kids it was always a worthy trip. Uncle Mait told us of the endemic aloes, Mrs Potts stood up for the crocodiles, fishing was an option but best of all was the perfect echo. Imagine my surprise when we turned in and were greeted by transformation. The chief has decided the gorge is a perfect location for a wedding venue of a grand scale. The gardens are ready, that’s for weddings over 300 guests. The beer hall, toilets and spot for under 300 guests has been cut and built into the eastern cliff face. Unfortunately the process is in limbo as they await the environmental impact assessment report, and money. Bit late…………….

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Continuing the theme of graveyard visits i popped in at the Masvingo cemetery. Our family graves stood proud in the neglected surroundings. Little Deirdre’s (my sister) grave is getting a bit crowded. Mum, Mom and Dad have joined her. A bit further on my Grandfather, Buppa, rests with his Mother. Other relatives are scattered around. I went in search of Jo’s Dad, Mr White but sadly by childhood memory couldn’t locate the site.

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And so it was. A memory at every turn. Brett’s family’s house in Flametree avenue. Their business Standard Services. 16 Marula Street, Jo. 8 Flametree , Megan. The public pool, place of endless summers. High school, Junior School. Ace service station. The Methodist Church where Mom and Dad, Claire and Mickey and Brett and I were married. And so it will be forever in our memories. A truly privileged childhood. Thank you Masvagas. You were a treat.