The Great Zambezi

Okay, so I did a great majority of the touristy things while at Victoria Falls. And I don’t knock it, I am comfortable with and embrace my tourist status, however, the fact that I was in the middle of a whole lot of suffering and poverty did not escape me either. While jumping off of bridges and walking through the towns I told myself that I was contributing to the national economy through tourism, and that sufficed me to be able to spend more money on a free fall than most Zimbabweans have seen in a long time. I don’t know if that is an okay justification, feel free to correct, but that’s how my inner dialogue went…

So, my absolute, hands down, favorite thing about my little holiday north was the people that I met and the conversations that I had. I hung with some really great folks that I bunked with in my hostel (if you’re ever in Livingsone, Zambia, Jollyboys gets my approval), randomly met a few others that I got to share convos and meals with, and made friends with a couple taxi drivers and park employees. There are too many good stories to tell, but one of my favorites happened while rafting down the fourth-longest river in Africa, the Zambezi. And it’s my favorite not because it is all kinds of awesome, but because it was all kinds of challenging.

Here is how my story goes: One of the days that I was in Zambia I decided to go rafting with some Californian friends that I had made…the trip was loads of fun, although it made me very aware of how out of shape I have become the past several weeks as I was utterly useless during the last leg of the journey. This was probably not so bad, though, because the guide had us stop paddling and get down when we hit most of the really heavy rapids, which was a bit of a bummer at first, because, come on, what kind of adventure is that when you duck and cover for every rapid? But, when we hit our first class V rapid and the wall of water was coming up over my head and I thought for sure we were going to flip, I didn’t mind the fact that I was no longer paddling but holding onto the rope for dear life. Having worked for a rafting company in CO for a season, I had the opportunity to be in many boats, but seeing as I also knew all of the guides, I likewise had the opportunity to choose who’s boat I was in. Thus, I have never once been white water rafting and had the raft flip or where I have fallen out. I’ve heard that all you have to do is go swimming once and then the idea of it is not so bad, I don’t know, but I haven’t done it, and the thought of flipping in the middle of a rapid makes me want to pee my pants a little.

Anyways, the Zambezi acts as kind of a natural barrier between parts of Zambia and Zimbabwe, which is pretty cool because you are floating between two countries. Part way through the run, we saw a guy on the Zim side of the river (side note: you’re in a really deep canyon, where he came from or how long it took him to get there I have no idea) with a rucksack on his back hollering at us. Our guide spoke to him, and apparently he was asking for a ride across the river to Zambia (which wasn’t far, but the current is really strong). The borders between the two countries are fairly tight and the border police are not always the most honest of fellows, you will end up paying a whole lot of money trying to cross back and forth between countries, so the man was looking for a way across where he could avoid this. The reason being is that there is very little food in Zimbabwe right now, and the man was trying to get over to Zambia to look for food for his family. I can’t imagine being in a situation where I have to try and cross into another country because there is no food left around me, or that what little food there is has been marked up so much that no one can afford it, because there is certainly barely any work to be found, either.

Simple realities like this are the day-to-day existence for many of the people who live in this region, and encountering situations such as these in my time in southern Africa has broken my heart. I had a conversation later with a man who works in the park in Zimbabwe who was telling me how just 6 months ago there was basically no food at all to be found in Zimbabwe. The situation is still so bad, and to imagine that it is miles better than it was just a few months ago is not really comprehensible to me. I mean, I remember the crisis and the humanitarian organizations begin thrown out and the political mess, but I guess the gravity of it didn’t really register to me from where I sat in my own apartment with a refrigerator full of food. I asked him how people got food during that time, and he said they crossed the border to other countries. I asked him about the people who didn’t live near the cities, and he simply said, “they starved”.

As a social worker, I have to be able to see the small opportunities for change in the middle of such despair, but there is a massively overwhelming nature of poverty and injustice that is so very much bigger than myself. Things have improved in Zimbabwe since Tsvangirai began sharing power, and I can only hope that it is a path to continued growth for the country and for the people.

I also met a UN worker in my hostel that was on holiday from the Congo. We drank coffee together most mornings, and had some long conversations about coltan (Rusesabagina lecture anyone?) and the intense conflict in the DRC. Given the fact that I will hopefully be working in the world of international development come May, and given the fact that I maybe have boundary issues, especially when it comes to working with children, I asked my new UN friend for some social working thoughts for an aspiring development worker. To sum it up, the advice that was offered to me was to simply focus on your little piece, and do what you can in the midst of all of the craziness…