We were driven to a tiny but well recommended lodge just upstream from the falls. ‘Clever’, was to serve as our guide during our stay. His expertise of the African fauna and flora, as well as his political astuteness, proved remarkable.
The tall, broad faced lodge manager enthusiastically greeted us and promised we would be cared for like royalty. He personally showed us our “chalet” which was tucked away in the trees and about 100 feet from the Zambezi River. To describe these accommodations as “luxurious” does not do them justice.
Our days were filled with the typical “African Safari” activities. In the mornings we would be taken on “game drives” where Clever skillfully sought out wildlife and exposed us to the drama and tranquility of the African bush. Evenings were spent cruising the Zambezi, drinking wine, eating hors d'oeuvres, photographing native water life, and watching breathtaking sunsets on the African horizon.
People might be starving in Zimbabwe – but we weren’t . Someone described the modern African Safari as “one long meal interrupted by game drives”. That's about right. We ate on the banks of the river with numerous servers catering to our every need, efficiently, politely, and, in a state of quiet desperation.
In the past, this beautiful lodge was usually fully booked. Now, due to cancellations, it was only half full and reservations were drying up. One could sense the foreboding behind the “professional cheerfulness” of the staff. In a country with 80% unemployment and inflation in the millions of percent, losing one’s employment is no casual concern.
Midway on game drives we would have drinks and snacks. On occasion, Clever would cautiously delve into politics shaking his head at the harm done by “the old man in Harare”. This big proud man would look away as he expressed his fears for the future of his lodge “family” and beloved country.
One morning we traveled to the predictably magnificent Victoria Falls. Nearby, thin people strolled the streets hawking all manner of African crafts. Concerned, I paid too much for a small soapstone carving that I didn’t really want. Suddenly, we were surrounded by groups of distressed people literally begging us to buy their wares.
A teen age boy walked a mile with us trying to convince us of the value of a small stone elephant. His clothes were clean but old and ill fitting. His eyes were dark, sunken and pleading. Fearful of being mobbed, we tried to ignore him. He began to beg for money “for food, so I can buy food”. I am haunted by this young man today. Five dollars would have been nothing to me but a windfall beyond belief for him. Giving into fear, I put my humanity on hold.
The morning of our departure, the lodge manager let his practiced facade slip. As we made our final good-byes he surrounded my hands with his big black ones and, smile gone, eyes pleading, said “pray for us, please, pray for us.” And we do.
Wednesday, July 9, 2008
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