I was working for one of the largest mining companies in the world for almost six months at a coal mine in New Mexico. Prior to that, I’d spent six years as the supply manager at a gold and silver mine in Montana. It was May 1996, and I was on a short vacation back in Montana when I got a call late Tuesday night from my wife. She told me my boss had just called, and it was very important I call him back right away. On vacation and it’s ten at night… and I’m supposed to call my boss? I don’t think so! She again repeated that it was very important, and he asked if I would please give him a call right away. I wrote his number down, said goodbye to her, and pondered what could be so very important at this time of night? So I dialed my boss, and was surprised to have him pick it up on the first ring.
“Ken, we have a platinum mine in Zimbabwe. The supply manager there had some hardship and left to go back to Australia. I need to know right now if you would be willing to be seconded there for four months?”
“Zimbabwe AFRICA??? “ I asked… “And what is seconding?”
“Yes, you’d be based out of Harare, the capital city of Zimbabwe, Africa. The mine is about 35 miles from there. Seconding is an Australian term for being on loan. It’s a senior level position, and you’d report directly to the president as the Supply Manager. You’d told me when we hired you that you’d like an opportunity to go work overseas if ever the chance came up, so I thought of you right away. Will you go?”
I can’t believe what I’m hearing! All my life I’ve dreamt of going to Africa, and now just six-months on a new job, and they’re already offering me a trial, senior level position in AFRICA?!?!
“Yes Randy, I’d be happy to go and help out. When would I need to leave?”
“Well, you get back here next Monday… you’ll have to leave that Thursday. There’s a lot you have to do before then, but HR will walk you through everything. Tomorrow morning I’ll let everyone here and in Zimbabwe know you’re willing to go and help out!”
The company I worked for had a presence in over 35 countries around the world. I could hardly believe I was being sent to Africa to Zimbabwe- a top place for great hunting in the Dark Continent- AND getting paid to go there! How would I ever be able to fall asleep tonight?
...
Chapter 1: Getting Things Ready
Though I was not going on a safari, being there for four months, surely the opportunity to do some hunting might come up? So the first thing I did the next morning was to call my friend Randy Brooks, owner of Barnes Bullets in Utah. I wanted his opinion on what rifle I should take and what loads he would recommend. He said simple is better, just get a .375 H&H, and take along 270 grain X-Bullets, and some 270 solids with the same load. With that combination, he told me I could harvest most anything I may get the
opportunity to hunt.
Again thinking about how long I’ll be there, and if there is so much big game, surely there must also be varmints in Africa. I told him I’d also be bringing a scoped .223 bolt actioned rifle and bring ammunition loaded with both varmint bullets and some of the new 53 grain X-Bullets too, just in case. He actually thought that might be a very good idea and agreed that surely varmints should be possible. Guys going for only a week or two focus solely on big game trophies, but my being there for four months may open other shooting opportunities where an accurate .223 might be really useful and fun. That afternoon, I headed to a gun store in Bozeman, and surprisingly they had a
in .375 H&H with sights. Inquiring further, there also was an inexpensive Winchester bolt action Ranger model in .223. It had a walnut-stained birch stock and adjustable sights just like the .375! Looking like a miniature version of the African H&H, I also bought that on the spot. When I told them that my company was sending me to Zimbabwe next week for four months, and that I HAD to buy these to take along, they said they felt real sorry for me. How could a company possibly do that to an employee?.
Arriving home that same Saturday, I immediately started to work up loads for both guns. Randy had been kind enough to send me 270 grain bullets for the H&H- both X-Bullets and solids. His suggestion of just using Hodgdon H4895 and loading two grains below max was tried. I got right at 2,650 fps and was shooting groups of less than an inch and a half at 100 yards using a Leupold 1-4 power scope. Good...
enough.
For the 53 grain .223s he also sent, I used the same powder and got less than one inch groups with it. The Speer 50 grain TNT varmint bullets using the same load also shot to the same point of aim. Both were chronographed right at 3,300 fps. While I knew what the .375 could do on big game, I was really excited to see what the .223 was capable of on small game with the X-Bullets. A Weaver 3-9 power scope topped the Ranger and would be great for up to 200 yard shots.
By Sunday afternoon, my African battery was scoped, sighted in, and ready to go. Besides a mix of one-hundred .375s using expanding and solid bullets, I’d also loaded up twenty .375s, with the long 350 grain, thick jacketed Barnes Originals because I already had them, and they looked real “African” just sitting on my bench. For the .223, I’d loaded fifty rounds with the 53 grain X-Bullet and around 300 with the Speer TNT, as I had no idea if Zimbabwean hunters even knew of the .223 and worried I might not be able to purchase ammo for it in Harare.
Chapter 2: More “Bad” News
The first thing Monday morning, my boss took me to see his senior manager, so they could go over some details about my trip. It seems like I work for a pretty good company. They consider being away from your home in another country as being a “hardship,” so I’d be getting an additional 15% hardship bonus the whole time in Zimbabwe. Being paid a bonus to be in Africa, how lucky am I? Oh, and one more thing. After six weeks, they will fly me back home, not to work, but just to spend two weeks with my family in New Mexico. And it won’t count as vacation, just family time.
I spoke up right away, saying I’d wanted to visit Africa my whole life. There was no way I wanted to leave it for two weeks to fly back home and sit around in New Mexico! So the manager said there was another option. For less cost than flying me business class round trip, he asked if I would be interested in them flying my wife and six-year old daughter to Zimbabwe to stay with me for five weeks? They would also rent a house for the three of us, and provide a housekeeper five and a half days a week, so all the cooking, cleaning, and laundry would be done for us… all at no charge! I immediately called my wife to see if that would be OK with her, and of course, she was delighted! Our daughter has been an animal lover since she was just a baby and already knows...
most all African animals by name.
At this time, I couldn’t see how things could possibly get any better. I spent Tuesday at the doctor's getting a physical, a whole bunch of shots, and several prescriptions for me to start taking right away and continuously while in Africa. Wednesday, I packed but decided that it might not look good to show up in Zimbabwe at the airport with a rifle case when a senior person from the company there to pick me up. So instead, I decided to have my wife bring it out with her in six weeks, but I’d take out all the ammo with me now to make things easier.
Thursday came, and I flew east to London, had a six hour or so layover there, then just after midnight, I got on the eight hour flight, due south to Harare. I arrived at around 9 a.m., local time, but for me, it felt like five in the afternoon, and I hardly slept at all the whole trip over. I was exhausted, but so very excited to finally be in Africa!
Chapter 3: 3rd World Country?
Like many Americans, I’d never been to a 3rd world country, and only had preconceived ideas about what it would be like. I imagined large areas of sub-standard housing, crowded conditions, meager food choices, trash strewn along the streets and sidewalks, and a general lack of modern conveniences. The roads would have few vehicles on them, and those on the road would be in very poor condition. Those are some of the things I thought, but I was surprised in many ways upon arrival. A senior manager picked me up at the Harare international airport. Outside there was almost no litter, no people looking for handouts, everything was tidy and relatively “normal” looking to me. I could have been in any medium-sized airport in the US for that matter. As we drove to the house I would be sharing with two other Australian ex-pats, there were grocery stores, department stores, music stores, auto dealers- even Mercedes and BMW. The cars on the roads along the way looked pretty much like I would see anywhere in the US, but with some brands and models I’d never seen or heard of. Yes, some of the cars or local delivery trucks had seen better days, full of dings and dents, but no rust. The most frequent thing I noticed was excessive exhaust smoke coming from most of the older vehicles.
The most significant thing I noticed right away was the volume of people walking everywhere as well as the number of bicycles loaded down with...
merchandise. Take any medium-sized American city, and triple or quadruple the number of people one would normally see on the roads and sidewalks. This was largely due to the fact that most of the native locals could not afford a car, or pay for public bus transportation, so most people relied on basic forms of transportation to get around- walking and bikes. Walkers easily outnumbered the bicycles ten to one, yet still, the number of bikes was significant in comparison to a typical American city.
When I got more to the fringes of the main city, I was still amazed at the numbers of people walking along the side of the road headed into or out of town. Dozens to hundreds of people, spaced just a few feet apart, walking to get somewhere, all at the same time. At times it looked like a concert or sporting event had just let out, but there was no large venue in sight for miles..
Surprisingly, the red and white Coke-a-Cola signs were everywhere!
Whites were definitely in the minority, perhaps only 10% or less depending on the area. Significantly, the black population either wore clothing of very basic colors, such as dark green, brown, or black. While many others- especially the women- were in the extreme, wearing bright blues, greens, yellows, and reds. Many who may have done physical work wore light weight, one piece coveralls in earthy colors. All along the side of the roads, vendors sat with their wares for sale, such as vegetables, baskets, blankets, or stone carvings. Frequently, I would often see five of six lined up together, all selling the reddish Mopani firewood in small bundles for less than a dollar.
Surprisingly, the red and white Coke-a-Cola signs were everywhere! This popular drink was very well established in Zimbabwe as was Orange Crush and Sprite, but diet versions were fairly scarce. My jaw nearly dropped the first time I saw a large, red Coke beverage truck headed down the road. It looked exactly like ours, except none of the side sliding doors to cover and protect the product were present. There for the whole world to see were stacked cases of small, single serving glass bottles in wooden trays, with nothing at all to keep them secured during travel! I wondered when it was slowly traveling through the city, how often people might just grab a bottle when the truck came to a stop. I also imagined in the case of a small fender bender, let alone a...
full-out crash, cases and cases of the glass, Coke-filled bottles being thrown and smashed on the road, making the sticky soda and glass shards almost impossible to clean up.
Later during my stay, I actually did see a Coke truck overturned in a busy city area with thousands of shattered glass bottles scattered all over the road lying in a large pool of Coke! I also came to realize that one-liter bottles of Coke were a major commodity. Just like the small bottles, glass was used because it could be cleaned and refilled for use many times over and over. I guess as long as they’d hold product, the bottles were just washed and refilled again and again. Most were pretty beat up with scratches and
chips, physical evidence of having been repeatedly in the hands of many consumers, perhaps for several years.
Just like I’d seen when traveling in Europe, the city seems to go on and on as I headed out of it, and then suddenly it just stops, and all I could see are open fields with no houses at all. There is no “suburbia.” Surprisingly, though the next small town may be ten or twenty miles further out, I'd still see lines and lines of people, walking along the side of the road, headed who knows where? Along these two lane roads out of town, every fifteen or twenty minutes I'd see what are called “take-aways,” which closely resemble our convenience stores. The locals will be seen pouring in and out of them, carrying small bags. Most often there’s a fuel pump or two to dispense gas and diesel. It’s a very popular fuel in Zimbabwe due to its lower cost, and the fact that diesel vehicles get much better mileage. The only place I ever saw a gas station like we have in America was in the big city. I never saw one out in the middle of nowhere off on the side of a road, I only saw the occasional take-away.
Many of the whites were native born and raised, being the fifth or sixth generation… or more, from European immigrants. They most all had a distinctive British or Australian accent that is easy to understand and rather pleasant to the ear. The tribal Zimbabweans that I met and dealt with seemed to generally be quiet and reserved when I first met them. They would stand with their arms to their side, or hands crossed, not looking directly at anyone or smiling until someone extended a hand and spoke to them.
“Ah… good morning, Mr. Kempa! How good it is to see you today!” One would say as I extended my hand and...
greeted them at the start of each day. They would be smiling ear to ear with their bright white teeth almost blinding me in the sun. I found them to be friendly and polite with very good manners, and very freely talking after a conversation was initiated. At work on the mine site, their eagerness to learn anything new from the American “Baass,” as they would all call me, was so refreshing.
Anytime I spoke or gave directions, they all listened intently, absorbing every word I said. It was always “Yes Baass… or, no Baass… or, I’ll do that right away Baass!” Many were Christian and always went by their formal names. Robert… not Bob. Or Jacob… not Jake. It truly was a pleasure to work with such eager and willing people who obviously hungered for knowledge, and hung on every word I spoke as I explained an assigned task. I found that I could accomplish many things with so many people willing to do exactly what I asked of them. They were so eager to learn and always willing to please.
I was given a company car and gas card for my personal use while there. It was a new gold Toyota Camry in the deluxe luxury edition. It was very nice. One of the first things they told me though, was about NOT driving by the President of Zimbabwe’s state house on the open, public road between the hours of 6 p.m. and 6 a.m. There were military, dark green Land Rovers stationed around it during those hours, and if anyone accidently drove around the barriers they set up each night, the soldiers would open up with full-automatic gunfire, only stopping after the driver had crashed, and their magazines were empty. Really, I asked? Really. It happens several times a year, I was told. Hearing that, I immediately made someone show me that afternoon where exactly this was, so I made sure to never go that way in the evening after work!
Chapter 4: Amazing Workforce
The mining company from the start had assured the government that it would provide a lot of good, well-paying jobs for as many of the local Zimbabweans as it could. In the area before the mine began, the normal “going wage” for the locals was only $400 Zim a month, or about $40 US dollars. Yes, that’s how it is in many 3rd world countries around the world. Once at full production, the lowest starting wage for any position at the mine was $4,000 Zim, or ten times the normal rate.
Imagine if you could get a job making ten times what you...
were making, IF you were even working at all in the first place. I also came to find out that for over 30% of the new employees, this was the first full time job they’d ever had in their lives! At full production, twice a day, the company bussed in 1,700 hourly employees, or 3,400 locals per day. I wanted to share some incredible stories about how willing they were to work and amazingly eager to learn.
First thing on Monday when I got off the bus, I headed straight for the new building site to see the backhoes at work, digging the new foundation. As I stepped out of the warehouse, I saw about forty of our guys attacking the hard ground with pick axes! They were going to dig the foundation all around the building, a foot wide and two feet deep… using pick axes and shovels, and then haul all the dirt away using men pushing wheelbarrows. The mine was an almost one-billion dollar investment, and we were going to dig the new foundation with picks by hand! When I asked, they told me, “It will keep many men, working for many days… and that is a good thing.”
Chapter 5: The Warehouse is Our Home
At the main warehouse, which was around 40,000 square feet, we employed a dozen local men to work all making at least $4,000 Zim a month. That was probably twice what we needed to do the job, but that’s just how manpower was utilized everywhere on site. I’d been in supply for many years and always liked to keep my warehouses squeaky clean. It makes for a better work environment, and it really impresses auditors and government inspectors when they come through. Walking around, I’d...
been noticing little things like broken pallets in the aisles, and banding left on the ground when heavy parts were cut off and taken to the mine. There were some broken or crushed boxes here and there and small trash in general all over the aisles. Outside, the ground was littered with little things, nothing major, but it just gave the area an unkempt look. So early one morning, I went up to David, the warehouse supervisor, and asked if he could call the crew together so I could speak with them for just a bit. He waved his arm to the men, calling out something in Shona, the area's traditional language. The men did not come walking but came running, for the Baass had something to say. They assembled and all stood there listening like I was about to brief a Seal team on their next mission. I started out slowly with David translating.
“Gentlemen- We’ve all been to a friend’s home who may not have kept it very clean. There may be old food by chairs and on tables, dirty dishes, and old work clothes lying on the floor. It’s not so nice to be in a home like that. We spend more waking hours here in our warehouse than we do at home. So really, this warehouse is our home during the day. We should show that we are proud of it by keeping it clean, so we can show others that we care about having a nice home during the work day. When I look down the aisles, I see broken pallets, cut banding, crushed empty boxes, and small trash scattered on the floor.
I’m asking all of you to help keep our home here as clean as we can. And outside, the only thing on the ground should be dirt and rocks. I’d like you all please, to work on keeping our home here as clean as you can. Any questions? Thanks for your time!” I thought a few would shuffle off and pick up some of the obvious things. I was wrong. All twelve of them turned and ran down the aisles grabbing brooms and shovels, dragging pallets out, picking up boxes, and sweeping the floors! Several ran outside; they ran outside, and got on their hands and knees leaving only dirt and rocks on the ground behind them. In less than 20 minutes, the entire area was immaculate! I was in awe at what they’d done and went around personally shaking everyone’s hand and thanking them for taking such good care of our home. From that day forward, the area was always as clean as the kitchen in a fine restaurant!
...
Chapter 6: Tidy Files
I was constantly amazed at the great pride the local workers took in so many of the tasks they performed. With many never even having had a full time job before and now making ten times what others in the local area earned, every task was viewed as important and significant. Mostly, I believe, because of the simple fact that it was their first real job, and they felt blessed to be doing anything- sweeping, taking out the trash, cleaning windows, it didn’t matter; they were proud to do it.
cleaning windows, it didn’t matter; they were proud to do it. The mine ran 24/7, having two twelve hour shifts each day. Late one afternoon, I went into the receiving office in the warehouse. I was trying to find the packing slip of an old order that did not seem correct. Patience, a young Zimbabwean girl, raised her arm and pointed to where the packing slips were all kept on a meter wide, two meter tall, six-shelf bookcase that went from the floor to almost the ceiling. On the six shelves sat manila folders, each filled with many packing slips. There had to be well over a thousand of them!
When I asked her how they were stored, she told me “They are by date, in the order we received them.” Initially, that seemed to make sense, but then… how could you ever retrieve one if you only had the purchase order number and didn’t know the date the parts were received? With most everything the mine was buying having to be imported from other countries, some items take months to get in and be received. I suggested that it would be better if they were in purchase order number sequence.Then we could always find any one very easily.
She simply replied, “Oh I see, that would make it easier to find any one we needed.” Patience was proud of all the filing she’d done, but it was her very first job, and she felt blessed to be even working at the mine.
“That’s OK Patience; we can figure this out tomorrow.” So I bid her farewell and headed out to catch the bus back to the city.
The next morning as I walked through the warehouse, Patience called to me. “Mr. Kempa, I have that...
packing slip for you.” So I followed her into the receiving office and could not believe what I saw.
Patience spoke up- ”All of the packing slips have been re-filed in numerical order by purchase order. And we re-labeled each manila folder to show the range of purchase orders it contains. Now it will be very easy to find the packing slip from any purchase order. This is much better! And here is the packing slip you wanted.”
I couldn’t believe that overnight over a thousand packing slips were removed from all the folders and then sorted sequentially by our purchase order number! They were then put back into re-labeled folders displaying the range of purchase orders they now contain!
“Patience, how did this get done so fast?”
“We started working on it yesterday afternoon, and then the second crew worked on it all night.”
I made it a point of thanking everyone on the day crew and then stayed late to also
thank the entire second crew. I also realized that with people so eager to please, I have to be careful about not only what I ask for, but things I might even just suggest. After all, having employees so willing to please could go to your head. As their manager, I had to make sure I didn’t take advantage of their incredible work ethics.
Chapter 7: Philemon the Painter
One of the remote warehouses close to the mine portal was a simple corrugated metal Quonset hut about 100 feet wide and 300 feet deep. There was no electricity to it, so it had no lighting. Every time I went in, it was very hard to clearly see parts, especially the farther you went towards the back. Every other Saturday, the mine manager expected all senior managers to come to the site and work on a task that would normally not get done.
Late one Friday, I had an idea and again went to David to get his help. I suggested to him that we paint the walls up about two meters high with white paint. That would brighten up the whole building. He thought it would be an excellent idea. So I asked him first if we had white paint; yes we did. And could he select one good man to paint with me Saturday morning? David was excited; he said it would look wonderful, and he would have a good man meet me at the warehouse early the next morning.
Philemon was standing outside the hut as I pulled up Saturday morning looking like a kid ready to enter a candy shop. I shook his hand and...
thanked him for coming to help me. He said he was honored to learn from the Baass how to paint! When I asked him if he’d ever painted before, he said he had not. He was in his early thirties. I couldn’t imagine that! When I asked him why, he said he’d never had a home before, and this was the first full-time job he’d ever had. I was amazed at his reply.
“Well Philemon, I will teach you how to paint, and you will become a good painter!” He smiled and flashed his big white teeth at me as he picked up a pail, roller, and brush. I spoke with him that entire morning, explaining all of the things I took for granted about painting to clearly and simply teach my new, eager student. He listened like his life depended on it. An excellent worker, by noon we had completed the task. I then went in to how you need to clean up and can wash out brushes and rollers so they can be used again.
Monday morning came, and David walked up to me looking like he was going to burst. “Mr. Kempa, the warehouse looks wonderful, and you cannot believe the change in Philemon! All of his co-workers now call him PHILEMON THE PAINTER. Once the word got out that the Baass taught him how to paint this weekend, that’s now what everyone calls him… Philemon the Painter. You should see how he now beams with pride! Thank you so much for doing that for him!”
I had to excuse myself and walk away to keep the tears from showing. It humbled me to think a simple thing had such an impact on a young man’s life. I was the lucky one, not he.
Chapter 8: It is So Very HOT Today!
Once in a while, I would not ride the bus in, but take my company car. Every day that I did drive in, I would always salute the sergeant at the guard shack, and have light conversation with him. He always addressed me as Mr. Kempa, and I always called him Sergeant Mose; I don’t think many people coming and going ever recognized him as such. It was very warm as I headed out in my car for lunch to go down the road to the take-away to get some food. As usual, Sergeant Mose saluted me, and I saluted him back. Then as he wiped his forehead with his sleeve, he says to me, “Mr. Kempa, it is so very hot today!”
To which I replied, “Yes Sergeant Mose, it is very hot today. And how many of your men are working with you now?”
“Three today sir! We are expecting many shipments that will need escorting.”...
“Well, I’m just running down the road to get some food. See you back in just a little while.”
I drove out thinking how wonderful the locals are when you just give them a little sincere attention. Pulling into the take-away just down the road, I ordered up a hot dog, a bag of chips, and then grabbed an ice cold liter bottle of Coke out of the cooler. The dog, chips and Coke barely cost me two dollars. Then, I had a thought.
I grabbed four more icy cold, glass liter bottles, and asked for four hot dogs and chips to go. Turning on my car and firing up the air conditioning, I ate the dog and chips, and downed my icy cold Coke. As I got back to the front gate, there stood Sergeant Mose in the hot sun, saluting me before I even pulled up. I opened the window and saluted him back. Then turning to the passenger side floor, I grabbed the heavy bag and turned to hand it out to Sergeant Mose.
“It is very hot today! Inside there is one of each for you and your men. Have a good day!” I drove off, not waiting for his reaction. That afternoon, as I was leaving, Sergeant Mose was already standing outside, saluting the gold Toyota as it pulled up.
“Mr. Kempa, my men and I want to thank you very much, for the wonderful lunch, and the ice cold Cokes!”
“You are very welcome Sergeant Mose. I appreciate the good job, you and your men do!”
The very next day, as I headed out in my car to grab lunch, Sergeant Mose was again standing outside to greet me. As I rolled down my window, he stood there stoically and saluted me, and I saluted him back. He then slowly wiped his forehead with this arm, and says, “Oh Mr. Kempa, it is sooooo very hot today!”
I laughed and told him if he had an icy cold Coke every day, then it would soon not be so very special of a treat! He roared in laughter, and slapped his right thigh as I closed my window and drove off. It was truly wonderful to get work with so many of the locals in Zimbabwe during my short time there.
Chapter 9: 3rd World Economics, Goods and Services
In 1996 Zimbabwe was experiencing severe inflation, and devaluation of its dollar. At that time one US dollar would get you ten Zim, or Zimbabwean dollars. So turn in a US $100 bill, and you got back $1,000 Zim.
At that time, my Zimbabwean friend Stephan was paying $3,000 Zim a month rent, on a fairly nice 3 bedroom, single family...
house. That was equal to only $300 US dollars a month- quite a bargain I thought. Note that at this time, a local Zimbabwean could be hired as a 6 day a week housekeeper, to do cleaning, cooking and laundry, for only $400 Zim a month; that’s only $40 US dollars!
At that time, my Zimbabwean friends who lived there, complained constantly about the high prices. Buying things there myself, I found on an exchange basis, local Zimbabwean goods to be a real bargain, but anything imported, seemed very expensive to me, let alone what the locals thought about the high prices for them. My friends told me how something last week which cost $300 Zim (or $30 US dollars), this week, now cost $400 Zim (or $40 US dollars). This reminded me of the early 1980s, when inflation was double digit in the US. But they were seeing double-digit inflation, sometimes week to week.
Let’s fast forward now to 2001, when I returned for a hunting only trip, at the invite of Stephan. For the same house, his rent went from $3,000 Zim a month, to $15,000- five times what he had been paying. I guarantee you, that his income did not increase, five-fold during that time. At the 1996 exchange rate, that was a change of $300 US to $500 US- a fairly steep increase. But the Zimbabwean dollar had devalued so much, that in 2001, for one US dollar, you were given $300 Zim- not only ten! In US dollars, his new $15,000 Zim rent, could be paid for with only $50 US dollars! That is how much inflation had devalued the economy.
On this second trip, after all my hunting was over, I offered to take Stephan and his wife Riki up towards Lake Kariba, for a three day fishing trip for all of us. He said it would be very expensive, but I said “no problem” I’ll cover it all as my treat..
Just before we left, I told him I needed some additional Zim dollars for the trip. We drove to a questionable place in the city, to a building with its all windows boarded up. I gave him two US hundred dollar bills, and he told me to wait in the car for him. I stayed put, but felt like a “bad deal” was about to go down. Minutes later, he comes out with a brown lunch bag, completely filled with $100 Zim bills- SIX-HUNDRED OF THEM, or a total of sixty-thousand Zimbabwean dollars! That was four months’ rent for him!
So we made a 6 hour drive up north to the Zambezi River, using diesel fuel stored in a 55 gallon barrel, which he’d fortunately been saving up over the past...
six months. Fuel was in extreme shortage at the time, due to the weak Zim dollar. The country had not been able to import enough for the past year, as nobody outside the country wanted payment in Zim. In fact, several times while I was visiting with him, we’d rush out of the house to go buy fuel, after getting a phone call from a friend, who’d let him know a certain station in town, had just got in a small amount of diesel.
For our fishing trip, we stayed right on the Zambezi River for three days in two chalets,
and had the use of a guide and motor boat, with all tackle provided, catching a load of Tigerfish every day. As we left, I paid the bill, which came to $22,000 Zim. This was equal to six weeks rent on his house. But on the exchange rate I got (300 to 1), it only cost me just over $73 US dollars for the three day fishing vacation for the three of us! This brutally illustrated, both the impact of high inflation, and the devaluation of the local currency’s purchasing power, on the frustrated people of this beautiful country.
Things finally got so bad with the economy, that by the end of 2001, Stephan left his homeland forever. Taking his wife and three young children, and only what they could carry in 5 suitcases, they relocated to a more promising life, in the wonderful country of New Zealand. In Zimbabwe, he saw no good life at all for him and his wife, but more importantly, he didn’t want his children to grow up having a bleak future in his homeland. I greatly admired him for the courage it took, to leave a country he loved. For Zimbabwe was to him a treasure, where he’d was born and grew up, passionately hunting African plains and dangerous game his entire life. He left for a better life, a promising future for his family.
All of the preceding, only serves to explain many of the differences I encountered, when transported to a country so very different than my own. It also opened up incredible hunting opportunities, thanks mostly due to the planning and efforts Stephan exerted, to get “local rates” for me when I returned that second time, taking almost three dozen head of African game. Many more stories will be required to tell of this, which I hope you will enjoy immensely.