CONFLICT AMONG THE NEIGHBOURS

CONFLICT AMONG THE NEIGHBOURS
WHEN A NEW BOY HITS THE WILDERNESS
And a trip to the wheelbarrow economy

The other day a chap calls me to book a bed in the lodge, always a welcome addition to the contents of the old oak chest, and he turned out to be the mysterious new owner of one of the farms along the Salad Corner road, who had been seen to be spending big treasure on a new road and a fancy name plate at his entrance.
I was naturally agog with anticipation to the extent that I invited him to have dinner with me.
Well he pitched up in a suitably fancy 4x4 with a dolly bird in tow and first impressions were favorable, he is a French Canadian and the French accent always enchants me and over and above that he seemed to be a complete lunatic, just my kind of fellow. Well we had our meal, and by the time he left I was in 2 minds as to whether he was the biggest bullshitter I had ever come across or not, being full of stories about millions of money, Lear jets, multi thousand square meter plans for his farm, all very confusing, just the way I like it and I was on the blower to my friends and relatives to inform them that we had a new feature to our life in the bundu that would I was sure be an asset and a delight what ever he actually turned out to be.
Well a couple of days later I got hold of him as I had promised to organize a cottage in the area for him to stay in while he was building and was informed that he was selling his place and that we could all go and fuck ourselves and that he intended to donate his farm to the heaving masses to boot!!
This was a big surprise and distressing, as fab new friends out here are not common. I naturally inquired as to the reason for this startling turn of events and after a lot of confusion and tears it turns out that a local blight in the area, namely Gold taps Alfic’s manager had cut off the locks to a gate bordering their mutual properties which had enraged John (for that is our new boys name) as he is fanatically private sort of prickly fellow, and when confronted by Gold tap’s man over the issue had been insulted by this abrasive and self important little man to the extent that he was ready to raise the flag (very French) and flee to pastures new.
I was enraged at the thought of losing a fellow maniac and decided that contrary to my normal policy of studied indifference to local matters I would take things in hand myself, there was NO WAY I was loosing such a delightful fellow, especially to the likes of Goldie’s idjit.
So the wires began to hum between Goldie’s idjit and I as I got all feudal and hoity toity, pointing out to this lowly peasant that he was but a paid skivy as opposed to John and I WHO ARE LAND OWNERS and that in the same spirit of keeping the wekkers in their place I was prepared to contact his boss and lay a complaint unless he undertook a bit of serious groveling before his betters. This I suspect came as a bit of a shock to this turd of a game keeper but he saw the light and smoothed the waters and the ‘For sale’ sign came down and peace was restored to the wilderness and I had a NBF (new best friend) to boot.
The next adventure came soon after as my particular chum One tooth Levieux the coffee and picture merchant needed to go to Zim to get some stock and required a pick-up for this task, of which I am a proud owner.
So being a man that cannot be distracted from his appointed task I packed everything in and went off into darkest Africa, and after crossing the Beit River I was amazed at just how dark it can get.
One tooth and I after a difficult time with the unwashed and raggedy Zim authorities at the boarder started down what had changed from an electrified fully agricultural and busy land into a place that was completely and disturbingly empty. The fences were all gone, one could see that they had been there some time ago as there were some sad and lonely droppers sagging in the ground but other than those the lack of any human endevour was startling.
We drove on through an endless emptiness like I really have never known before, there just seemed to be nothing at all for mile after mile, no people, no cattle, no wild game, few birds just a seemingly endless plain of wonderful trees and stone hills, awesome, quiet and incredibly lovely but so, so vacant as though all life is hidden and waiting in dark corners in breathless anticipation or some celestial event to occur so that life may continue.
My first scare came when Toothy who I thought was up to speed Zim wise, having been up and down a few times in the last little while and was acting as guide and the font of all knowledge about the form in Zim, mentioned as though this was a subject of but passing concern, that he doubted that there would be any food or refreshments available between where we were and his cousins estate, which was still some many hours drive away!
Well I did my nut, I am a man who when traveling enjoys most of all the food and drink available in far off exotic places and I had been looking forward to something more refreshing than coffee from a flask for some time already, I was to put it mildly hungry, and felt I thought with some justification that if he knew we were entering a zone of limited or non existent creature comforts that he would have suggested that these be obtained before we disappeared into the wilderness with nary a tin of sparkling water to sustain the to too mortal flesh hmm?
Well my deprecating remarks prompted his addled brain into some action and he remembered that there was a famous watering hole from the days of Smithy just up the drag that he was sure would still be able and willing to succor the parched and wandering souls on this bleak and endless road and sure enough there appeared the ‘Tusk and Elephant Motel’ like a shimmering oasis in the sands and we pulled in to its completely empty car park, nary a soul did stir, all was very quiet indeed.
We entered their shady colonial portals and startled the staff into action, they were not expecting guests but were non the less enchanted to see us and we were presented with an old style menu from the days of old, limited but familiar with those old favorites like prawn cocktail, steak, chicken and ice-cream and little else, we plumbed for the chicken which turned out I suspect, by its texture, colour and flavor to be one of the last in the country and had led a correspondingly difficult and fraught life. It was small grey and as tough as an old boot. We loved it and paid some astronomical amount for it, which turned out to be about 30 SA Rand, welcome to Mugrabyland indeed.
So on we plunged through the most wonderful landscape on a road that was virtually our own private way with only the most occasional vehicle being passed along the way, but the path alongside the road was a trail well traveled by people that seemed to have come from nowhere and were as far as one could see going nowhere, a lot of them with wheel barrows, seems that is the principle form of transport of this blighted paradise.
And all the people seemed so sad, flashing past the window of our supa deluxe, leather seated and air conditioned padded 3 liter diesel Turbo compartment, they are all sort of slumped which started to get me down a bit, hard to be cheerful when all about are in mourning, sort of a dampener on a boys spirit, but hey ho I do persevere at my remorseless cheerfulness, what is one to do?
It was a long tedious drive to arrive arsestiff at the high fence of our destination, with the mad hounds of Baskerville slathering at the gate in front of the old retainer left to deal with our creature comforts by the absent host, business having taken him away.
Well a pleasant night was had in this last vestige of white enterprise in mugabyland, it does make me feel a bit bitter and twisted to see what they are doing to that poor blighted minority, can you imagine the up roar if they confiscated the property of black people in England in the same way, wellll I mean?
After loading the coffee we went our tranquil way through the unique minim rain forest of that region and down to the local village where we swapped 200 Rand for $8,000,000 Zim money, from a chum of the manager who was leading a fraught and dangerous existence on the fringes of life buying and selling the detritus of the sad lost lives of the ex Rhodesians, he had a broken old Massey Ferguson tractor for a pinch at a mere 2.5 Billion Zim dollars I kid you not, I can send you a picture!
I got quite excited at all this loot that he gave us, great wads of the stuff and for a brief moment I felt rich and was dishing it out with gay abandon but sadly the truth be told it got us a quarter tank of gas, 3 packets of crisps and a couple of cool drinks, I particularly noticed that dish wallah was going for $400,000 for a small bottle, it gets very confusing working with such huge figures.
Our next stop was at Great Zimbabwe, or as we all know them the Zimbabwe ruins, the only but only stone structures pre the colonial days in the whole of sub Saharan Africa, the mind boggles, one thing for sure that I know is that these awesome structures were not built by skin covered Shona savages as the guide insisted, they are very very atmospheric and mysterious, definitely built one suspects to drive off the lurking hordes of spear chuckers.
I had a million dollar meal which was not nearly as nice as the price would indicate and in fact was just a nasty piece of cow, overcooked, an egg and a sausage with a bit of tired tomato it is all just so sad so we left the poor people of Zimbabwe to push their wheelbarrows and returned with a sigh of relief to the joys of a first world economy or home Gawd bless her ……South Africa.