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Blog 30 by Tan: Breadbasket to Basketcase

The crossing into Zimbabwe was relatively efficient and mostly painless. As per our usual method, we opted to use a lesser used border post to the avoid delays and bad attitudes that seem to fester at the principal border posts. Crossing at Kariba Dam gave us the added bonus of allowing us to see the lake and the dam wall which, by all accounts, is very much structurally unsound. A plethora of engineers are united in the opinion that without urgent repairs the dam will fail within three years, the fall out of which would be a level of destruction unseen outside a B-grade Hollywood disaster film. The World Bank reports that a catastrophic dam wall failure would cause billions of dollars worth of damage, the loss of 40% of southern Africa’s electricity capacity and put millions of lives at risk.

 

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The damned dam – We didn’t take this photo as photos are forbidden, we whipped it off the net instead. We have heard they have been even more strict with this as a way to stop photos of the cracks in the dam wall getting out into the public. The cracks from the view point were pretty spectacular.

 

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What’s going wrong – once again, not our diagram, this we shamelessly stole from the inter webs. Nerdy engineering types might find their plan of attack interesting. They will be blasting to expand the size of the plunge pool in order to dissipate more energy and turbulence from the spillway discharge.

 

You see the dam is at risk on two different fronts. The biggest problem is that water from the spillways has eroded 10 times past the original design specification (to 90m!) and is beginning to undercut the 128m high wall. And if that isn’t sufficiently terrifying, a slow chemical reaction is causing concrete swelling, affecting the operation of the spillway gates some of which are completely jammed and can’t be opened or closed. Fortunately the world is sufficiently informed as to the priorities of the Mugabe government and are therefore not waiting for him to do anything about it. The European Union, World Bank, African Development Bank and the ever-generous Swedish government have come to the rescue and repair efforts are underway. Thank goodness.

 

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A good start to our time in Zimbabwe. Who’s ever seen a full rainbow in a perfect sunny blue sky before?

 

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Us and Willem

 

Thankfully the visa, insurance and road tax in Zimbabwe were nowhere near as expensive as Zambia so things were already looking up. With the formalities complete we headed towards the town of Kiroi. Doug from Sable farms in Zambia had recommended that we catch up with his friend Willem who ran an artisanal gold processing plant. Being mining types we couldn’t pass up the opportunity to see what sounded like an interesting little operation. Willem had no problem accepting some total strangers into his house with little notice and put on a fantastic braai for us with his friends and family.

They were an interesting crowd for sure and we couldn’t get enough of their stories of Zimbabwe’s former glory days and the present trials and tribulations. Willem is 5th generation Zimbabwean originating from the first Afrikaaners that made the long trek north. They told us incredible stories of the life o’ plenty, fun and freedom growing up on commercial Zimbabwean farms. Farmers made money hand over fist; everyone had cars and boats and often planes and helicopters and houses and holidays and domestic staff like you would not believe. However things changed dramatically for them with the rise of Mugabe and they, like many others, lost their farms and their livelihoods in the process.

Mugabe’s land “reform” policies led to the economy imploding in the most swift and spectacular of fashions. The utter calamity of the land seizures demonstrates the perils of disregarding property rights and the rule of law. Kicking white farmers off land to which they had legal ownership led to the loss of investor trust, land equity, expertise and effectively kissed goodbye any chance of economic growth. In fact, growth became a distant memory as the country slipped rapidly into the economic oblivion. It is pretty simple; if you destroy the thing that is responsible for 60% of your GDP, as agriculture was to Zimbabwe, you are toast. Pretty soon after hyper-inflation caused the currency to become worthless, joblessness sky rocketed and life expectancy went from 57 years in 1994 to 34 years in 2007. Goodbye Zimbabwe.

 

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Tobacco leaves freshly harvested and ready for drying

 

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The final product – all dried and nicotine-rich, just looking for some lungs to riddle with disease

 

Fortunately Willem’s family saw the writing on the wall ahead of time and made some clever decisions, which included investing in houses and the gold processing operation that Willem now runs. They considered immigrating to England/Australia/New Zealand etc like many Zimbo’s did, but ever the optimists they wanted to stick it out because “it had to get better eventually”; Mugabe can’t live forever. I had so much respect for them admitting that the dramatic change in circumstances was probably good for them. Willem said that the family, like most commercial farmers, had had it too good, they lived like kings for so long, they were flying too high and they needed to be bought down to Earth. They said it had bought them closer to each other and to God and they were thankful… however they thought the lesson has been well and truly learned and it was high time things got better again.

It was clear they were dying to get back to living on the land. Their properties, like all of them, were confiscated and “redistributed” to army veterans and political cronies who lacked the farming and logistical skills to operate a large commercial farm. Riding down the highway you can see formerly productive land as far as the eye can see left to grasslands, not even pasture for cattle, just grass for…. grasshoppers I assume? But with the economy laying dead on its back with legs in the air, they now have the opportunity to lease back the land they once owned as their old highly successful farms are now completely derelict, and their new owners need some sort of income. Some of these guys are begging Willem’s family to come and work the land, saying they will take any deal they name – such is the desperation on their side.

 

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Tiaan showing us some of the good stuff

 

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Tobacco leaves sorted and awaiting packing

 

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Fellas doing the pressing

 

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Ladies doing the sorting

 

We visited Willem’s brother Tiaan’s tobacco farm where he was leasing some land back that the family used to own. When arriving on the farm we drove past a farmhouse which we assumed was abandoned until we saw a tiny maize crop off maybe 200m2 in the back garden, which was for years the sole agricultural output of a 400 hectare commercial farm, until Tiaan recently leased some land back. Sadly this story is exceedingly common country wide – hugely productive farms, which employed hundreds and even thousands of people are now reduced to a tiny subsistence plot of the new ‘army veteran’ owner, and a lot of grasshoppers.

 

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Due to the selectivity of harvesting and sorting by hand, the tobacco of Zimbabwe, like Zambia, is high quality and much sought after. The vast majority of tobacco farmed in Zimbabwe is exported and quickly finds its way into the long-suffering lungs of the Chinese tobacco consumer. It was great watching the sorting process where the leaves are graded one-by-one by a small army of women. All the leaves looked the same to me but apparently varied quite a lot in terms of colour and thickness and ummm other attributes I don’t recall. It looked like detailed, tedious, time-consuming work but the workers on the farm were grateful to have a job unlike 80% of their fellow countrymen.

 

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We then went and checked out Willem’s gold processing operation. Willem was getting frustrated by what he saw as the gambling nature of mining, and he longed for the familiarity and comparative predictability of farming. We were impressed by his operation and quite intrigued by its possibilities, and came up with a variety of suggestions which could help alleviate a couple issues he is experiencing. Sure it was a simple operation but it had enormous potential and indeed had been highly lucrative in the past. What Willem was struggling with now was decreasing grade predictability.

 

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Mick getting the lay of the land

 

Under his arrangement, local artisanal miners bring loads of gold ore for processing, usually in 5t units. The miners pay a fixed rate (actually slightly less then cost) to mill the ore; they keep whatever gold they can recover from a small gravity circuit and panning, and Willem keeps the tails (the waste rock after processing). As not all gold is recovered by gravity separation, Willem gets his payday when the tails are placed in a cyanide leaching circuit. Lately he has been getting a lot of coarse gold ore to process, which responds excellently to gravity separation (which is great for the miner) but leaves little gold to leach; so Willem is not only absorbing some of the processing costs, he is receiving little in terms of gold in tails. In addition to this, some miners are so desperate for a payday they will mine anything and get it milled in the hope that something comes out. This works for them as Willem, by processing for less than cost, is assuming more than his fair share of the economic risk. Mining, it is an interesting game.

 

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Ancient technology, but it works. These mills are 15 years old even though that look ten times that. A battery mill is the only suitable set up for batch processing on this small scale.

 

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The cams that drives the battering rams

 

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Regrinding some tailings before leaching

 

For us it seemed clear that he could benefit from a greater understanding of the different lithologies and mineralisation styles he was dealing with. In mining, it all comes down to understanding the rocks, and ensuring predictability is the most effective way to minimise risk and make money. In particular he needed to differentiate the fine gold ore that was more advantageous for him, and the coarse gold ore that are more advantageous to the miners, and of course the rocks which were barren and no good to anyone. With this information he could then incentivise the miners providing him with high-grade fine gold material, where he makes his money, by reducing their processing costs, and discourage those with low-grade and/or coarse gold material by increasing their processing costs.

 

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The assay machine in action

 

Willem was worried that if he increased the costs of some of his miners, who a generally very poor (and often owe him money), they will suffer and then go to one of his competitor’s processing plants and he’d lose the throughput. We argued that it is better to not process than process at a loss, or even break-even. And it would be all the better to stop subsidising low-grade and/or coarse gold miners and have them take their loss-making material to competitors’ mills. Ideally, once everyone was familiar with his strategy, miners would bring their good ore to him and receive favourable rates, and take their bad ore to competitors to avoid unfavourable rates.

 

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Mick with a 5t batch awaiting processing. Mick’s succinct thoughts on this particular pile? “Looks like shit”

 

We were rather disappointed we couldn’t spare the time to spend a couple of weeks there to characterise the rock and ore types… or even go mapping, and put in place some good strategies. It was an excellent little operation that’s potential could be maximized with some additional technical input. However Willem’s heart was obviously in farming and the high risk nature of mining has worn him out. Mining – she is indeed a fickle mistress but there is a science to learning her ways. We loved the visit and found it excellent brain food for us. We would have loved to have sunk our teeth into the place and had a lot of respect for the family’s business nous in acquiring and running the show. It had sustained them during the lowest points of the economic crisis and took guts to pull off. Impressive stuff.

 

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Willem’s cash cow, the leach ponds

 

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Mick assuming the classic mine manager stance and not even knowing it

 

That night we went for dinner at Willem’s parents house and had a great night eating, drinking and hearing some crazy stories about Zimbabwe. Seriously it was utterly fascinating, mind bending and overall better than TV. The experiences of the Zimbabweans during the economic apocalypse of the late 1990’s and 2000’s was nearly unimaginable to those from countries with an even mildly competent government. They told us that in 1980 when the Zim dollar floated it was 1 to 1 with the USD. In 2009 when it finally collapsed it was 1 to 1×10^57. That’s one billion trillion trillion trillion trillion, or numerically, 1000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000. So friends take solace in the fact that you have never stuffed up anything in your entire life as badly Mugube has stuffed up the running of his country.

They told us how once the currency was worthless and stopped circulating, and there was no work to do, the army and police let locals mine gold and diamonds illegally to avoid massive civil unrest, and that it was possible to buy diamonds for next to nothing. They said if you went to the diamond mining districts you could buy a bucket full (literally a 10 litre bucket full) of uncut diamonds for $US10,000. People in those areas were buying a coca-cola with a rough diamond. Willem and his friend Ben thought about selling a car for as much US currency as they could get, and just going and buying diamonds, but the country was so crazy at the time they didn’t go through with it. It was probably a wise move. Indeed bad things were going on in those diamond mining districts including mass murders by the military who were assuming the role of diamond magnates.

 

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Boozing it up in the impressive family bar

 

Willem’s brother Tiaan was trying to operate their family butchery in the last days of the money crisis and was doubling the price of everything twice a day. He ended up spending a night in prison for trading in USD, which was illegal at the time. They paid their workers in food as the money was worthless. So what the family had to do when any Zim dollars came in was to spend it IMMEDIATELY. The best things to buy were non-perishable goods. And that is how we found ourselves drinking all night from the very well stocked bar in Willem’s parents house. We were drinking booze that they had stockpiled during the final days of the Zim dollar 7 years previous.

 

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Expert storytelling and fun company

 

After a highly insightful and entertaining visit we said our goodbyes, serviced the bikes and hit the road on our way to Marondera where we had another contact to visit. We took the ring road around Harare and were pretty delighted to have avoided the chaos of yet another capital city. After an exciting ride along a rabbit warren of unmarked farming back roads following about 40km worth of directions including “at the hut turn left” and “go over the exposed bed rock and veer right” and “turn left at the fragrant flowering trees” we rolled into Helen’s place in the dark (rural types are generally very good at giving directions) and were greeted with friendly smiles and served a fantastic dinner in Helen’s huge colonial era farm house. We spent the night discussing life since the collapse of the economy and how that has affected those who made the decision to stay. It was another case of being endlessly impressed by the resilience of the Zimbabweans.

Helen’s farm was wonderfully productive farming land and we were surprised that she hadn’t been kicked off her land yet. She informed us that they had once been evicted but no one moved in so eventually they just moved back in again themselves. And that was that. Yet she very calmly acknowledged that at any point it could happen all over again. They were just taking it one day at a time.

Before we came to Zimbabwe we were not aware that farmers are still getting violently kicked off their farms. We rather naively assumed that the link between taking skilled commercial farmers off the farms and having them replaced with political cronies led to… well… no agricultural production and no economy. Zimbabwe, formerly Africa’s bread basket, was the second biggest economy on the continent exporting vast amounts of agricultural produce, yet now can’t even produce enough to feed itself. Maize, the continents staple, is imported in bulk from Zambia at huge cost.

That night we met some people who just a few months ago had been forcibly evicted from their farm and watched it be given to a 23 yr old political crony with no farming knowledge; he was the current leader of the youth chapter of Zanu PF, essentially the “Mugabe Youth”. To this day the farm seizures generally happen like this… a couple bus loads of disenfranchised local people are intimidated and whipped into a frenzy by a political cadre. They brandish and threaten with simple weapons like machetes and drums are beaten as a form of intimidation. In this particular case the farmer was home and told that he had a day to leave the farm. Fortunately for him, he had a truck so filled it with anything of value. He was told that he could return the next day to get the remainder of his farm equipment and belongings but sure enough when he returned the place had been stripped bare.

We found the complete lack of commercial activity really shocking. Like many from outside I guess we thought things would have improved since the difficult times of the late 1990’s and 2000’s. The failure of the land redistribution policy was blatantly obvious as we rode through the country. We saw countless commercial farms and other agricultural infrastructure like enormous silo’s and train loading systems completely derelict and overgrown. It was the weirdest thing to be traveling along old, yet still good quality roads that were constructed 40 years ago by the English, yet on either side it looked like what you would have expected to have seen 100 years ago. Prime, fertile, bountiful agricultural land completely given over to nature and entirely unutilised. It was surreal, like the scene from one of those post-apocalypse movies. In fact that was our most lasting impression of Zimbabwe; wasted opportunity.

Because of this you could not help but get involved in the politics of the place; the effect of it was everywhere to see, or “not see” in this case. Mugube and his kletpocracy have truly bled the place dry, like mutant, soulless, economic vampires. But fortunately what remains are a well-educated (the schooling system left by the British is regarded as the best on the continent), kind and resilient population patiently waiting for an opportunity to make something of the place again. Everyone has the sense to not even try until there is someone else in charge; its just a waiting game. All we could offer in sympathy was to tell people that ‘umm…he can’t live forever’. To which many emphatically replied, ‘but he IS, he IS living forever’. Mugabe is 91 and his grip on power is iron clad.

Anyways next blog will be last one so politically charged… promise…

The next day we were spoilt for choice of what to do with ourselves. On one side we could hang out with Helen on her beautiful farm or take another friend up on the opportunity to stay in their century old, hand built cottage in the Bvumba, an area of mountainous jungle on the border with Mozambique. We would have loved to have stayed longer in Marondera but couldn’t pass up the opportunity to stay in a century old cottage in the mountains.

 

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Views of the Bvumba

 

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We actually took these photos on the way out and managed to offload some luggage for the trip. But the view was the same on the way up…

 

On the way to the Bvumba we were stopped many times at police checkpoints. In fact the police stops had been extremely frequent since the moment we entered the country. We had heard many a story of outrageous corruption aimed at foreigners so each time we were stopped we put on smiles yet braced ourselves for make believe traffic infractions, yet they never came. This time however, after riding 25000km in Africa, we met our first cop who seemed to be trying to get some coin from us. We’d been stopped a dozen or so times in Zimbabwe and the police had always been kind, professional and more often than not they just wanted to talk about our bikes, where we were going, and the Cricket World Cup when they learned we were Australians.

 

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Nice mountain tracks

 

This fella was setting us up from a bribe from the moment he waved us off the road. We were carrying spare tyres on the bikes and he looked at them gravely, telling us a number of times it looked very unsafe and we couldn’t go on like this. We kept our cool and politely told him it was very secure and demonstrated the strength of the straps and waited for the “fine” to be issued. But it never came. It was odd. He laid all the groundwork but then never followed through, and soon enough there were other police around us and they got curious about the bikes and then Mick got them talking about the cricket so all thoughts of unsafe tyre carrying were abandoned. After 5 minutes of back and forth discussion about the straps and the load, and then a couple minutes of distracting chat about cricket, he waved us on. We were relieved but more confused to be honest. So that was the closest we’ve come to any corruption. 10000km on from this and that is still the case.

 

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Sundowners

 

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The plains in the distance are Mozambique

 

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I’ll drink to that

 

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Views of the Zimbabwe Mozambique border

 

We had some fabulous riding to arrive at the Doug and Tempe’s cottage in the Bvumba. The Bvumba/Vumba mountains lie on the Zimbabwe-Mozambique border and are known as the mountains of the mist. They are vast and spectacular and fantastic to explore on a motorbike. We were so impressed by Doug and Tempe’s family cottage that was about 100 years old. It was very rugged with no electricity and was slightly dilapidated in parts, which made it all the more attractive. The place had so much character and family history and I must say we were jealous not to have such a place ourselves. We had a braai and spent the evening sharing stories by the fireplace.

 

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The family cottage

 

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Doug manning the braai while some coals burn down

 

Now I thought we Aussies were tough but we have nothing on the Zimbos. Doug and Tempe told us jaw dropping tales of their annual canoe trip down the hippo and crocodile infested Zambezi River….. like it is a normal thing! Every year they do a week-long canoe safari and they have had some insanely hairy encounters. They have avoided large crocs (one of which they suspected ate a Canadian tourist out of her canoe), and had violent hippo strikes where two people were thrown up in the air, landing in the water but near enough to the bank to escape. After plugging the hole where the hippo tooth penetrated the canoe, they continued on their merry way. Another trip saw them being hounded by elephants for days who for some reason had it in for them. Bugger that!

 

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Clear skies

 

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Me knocking back Amarula like a crazy woman

 

It was time to leave the Bvumba, and we took Doug and Tempe upon their offer to return with them to Chinmanimani where they lived, a place known to be incredibly scenic. We were advised to go to Tony’s Coffee Shop on the way to try his famous chocolate whisky cake. It was a big decision to spend $11 USD (yeah, big decision…) on a single slice of cake but Tony’s Café is a bit of a local institution, so we went for it. My Lord, was that cake extraordinary. I am quite the accomplished connoisseur of cakely goods but I was completely bested by this one. Between us, Mick and I only got two-thirds of the way through it before going into some kind of sugar-cocao catatonic state. It was basically pure dark chocolate. When you spend a good portion of your daily food budget on a single piece of cake you don’t waste a crumb, which was probably our error. We pushed way past our comfort zone and I was shaking on the inside for the next 2 hours. But on the plus side it made us sufficiently energised for the following ride along the scenic, winding roads to the small town of Chimanimani in Zimbabwe’s famed Eastern Highlands.

 

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THE Chocolate whisky cake

 

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Bested by the thing

 

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Shortcuts… our favourite.

 

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Rolling green hills of the Eastern highlands as far as the eye could see. Very scenic and great riding.

Blog 29 by Mick: Farm Time for Dakaristas

The little village of Mwandi is only a couple kilometres off the main road between Livingstone and the Katima-Malilo Borderpost, however it is a long way off the tourist trail. A loooong way. It is sadly a very poor and undeveloped community, even by Zambian standards. We only knew of it because Mark, our mate we rode with in Botswana, worked at the orphanage and volunteer centre in town supervising overseas volunteers and building huts for local people. Even though he was out of the country at the time, he had suggested we go there and see the village for ourselves.

We got up quite late after our short sleep and long day getting into Zambia. We were both still tired and did consider resting up for another day, but figured we should push through the last 160kms to Livingstone and enjoy some creature comforts. We rode into Mwandi village looking for a shop to buy some water and a bit of food and got swamped by people intrigued by us and the bikes. It was a stark change in culture. In Namibia, people were very friendly if a little shy, and would come up and talk but respected your personal space. That concept didn’t exist here.

While I stayed with the bikes, Tan found some people who knew Mark and where he lived. When she returned with the water though it started to get a little out of control. Rural Zambia has significant problems with cheap alcohol and that was clearly evident even at 11am. Crude millet beer is brewed in the back of water trucks and sold very cheaply by the litre from the truck its brewed in, and cane spirits are commonly distilled. So amongst the half dozen or so polite onlookers, there was another half dozen who were more involved looking at the bikes and asking questions, and then there were a couple clearly drunk guys getting a little too close for comfort. One guy tried to steal a bottle of water straight out of Tanya’s hand just after she pulled it from the shopping bag, and another was right up in my face persistently begging for money. He was very drunk or maybe even high and looked very sick; red eyes, pale skin with many lesions and I’d guess by his huge mouth ulcers he was suffering from advanced AIDS. After that kind of welcoming party, we immediately left for Livingstone. Visiting Mark’s work will have to wait for another time, as will photographs of Mwandi. We got none this time around.

 

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Victoria Falls. Pretty massive and pretty special

 

We made it to Livingstone no problems and pitched a tent at Jolly Boys Backpackers and rested up with a beer. But it was only after another day of general chilling, reading, a bit of shopping and cooking etc, that we finally made it the tourist attraction for which the town is famous: Victoria Falls “The Smoke that Thunders”. And with an entry fee of USD20 per person for foreigners, the waterfall wasn’t the only thing that thundered. Ouch.

 

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The walkways get very close and the mist off the waterfall is drenching

 

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Some great views of the falls form the Zambian side

 

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1.7km wide and between 61m and 109m tall. MASSIVE!

 

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Vic Falls bridge, 158m wide and 128m high. Rhodes decreed he “should like to see the spray of the water over the carriages”. It was built in England and shipped down to Africa in pieces and put into place. When installed the two middle pieces overlapped by 30mm, however the next morning the overlapping girders had dropped into place after the steel had contracted over night. That’s precision right there! Sadly no points for guessing where the border between Zambia and Zimbabwe is!

 

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“Dr. Livingstone, I presume?” This is a hell of an impressive Scot right here…. Pioneer, missionary, explorer, leading slavery abolitionist, and owner of a cracking moustache. He permanently disabled his left arm fighting a lion, but he wasn’t inhibited when it came to prose. His were the first non-African eyes to see the falls, which he described as “the most wonderful sight I had witnessed in Africa. No one can imagine the beauty of the view from anything witnessed in England. It had never been seen by European eyes, but scenes so lovely must have been gazed upon by angels in their flight.” Well put Dave, well put.

 

From our friends Beth and Pete in South Africa we had a list of contacts for people to visit in Zambia and Zimbabwe. And with Tanya’s shoulder needing some recovery time, we figured we could just visit people and socialise (our other favourite thing to do) if we couldn’t do any off-road exploring. So from Livingstone we made our way a couple hundred kilometres up the highway to a farm near Mazabuka. We had planned to arrive in the late afternoon, but we suffered a few fortunate and unfortunate delays. We got chatting to a German couple who were very interested in our trip, then a local family who wanted some photos with the bikes, then a intense tropical storm severely slowed our progress, so it was about 20 minutes after sunset that we finally arrived at the farm gates.

 

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At peak flood times in February and March, when we were there, 500 million litres per minute go over the falls!

 

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This is how the Zambian bridge painters know where to stop painting.

 

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Last view of the falls. Time to go.

 

We spent a couple days on the farm managed by Andrew with his wife Cora and their 4 kids. It was an easy time for us with generous accommodation and good company, learning about farming in Zambia and trials and tribulations that come with it. Visa problems, currency and banking issues, service supply and market interference and other uniquely African problems, on top of the usual farm risks of draught, crop disease and product price fluctuations. It’s an intriguing place.

 

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Many people live on the farm, which has its own school and medical clinic among other facilities. Storm clouds are a brewin’ in the background.

 

The farm did a combination of soya, wheat and coffee. The man who built the farm was quite the visionary in terms of infrastructure development (the farm had one massive dam with a home-made 42m high dam wall that took 2 years to build working 24 hrs a day and when full could service the farm for 5 years with no rain) and also vertical integration (the farm owned roasting and grinding facilities and owned cafes for the coffee and a flour mill for the wheat). It was more of an agricultural enterprise rather than just a farm.

An interesting fact popped up regarding the farms massive workforce; from the testing they provide they estimate about 80% are HIV positive. Eighty percent! This was due to the coffee production which has a very high seasonal workforce of about 1500 on top of the 250 or so permanent staff who work the other crops and in the mill. Coffee workers come in during the harvest and then move on to other farms needing seasonal work, like fruit, vegetables or tobacco. We were perplexed as to how the hell this HIV infection rate could be true even with such a high itinerant workforce, but Andrew went on to explain.

 

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Andrew’s trusty old Tojo after the storm.

 

You see, Southern Africans can be…. ahhhh…. Free and easy? Open and accessible? Ahhhh I’ll cut to the chase – having multiple sexual partners here is pretty common. Some locals later suggested to us that there has been research done here which shows that the average Zambian adult, married or not, at any one time is in contact with approximately 7 people due to concurrent sexual partners (CSPs), ie overlapping sexual relationships create a network of about 7 interconnected people. Now a disclaimer, we haven’t found any research to support that number of 7, however there is plenty of research around suggesting that CSPs are common and that it is a significant factor in HIV transmission. So the issue is real, but take that number with a grain of salt.

This prevalence for “coveting thy neighbour’s wife” is actually pretty common throughout all of Southern Africa. Throw in the fact that condoms are not culturally accepted due to the stigma of disease and infedility and it becomes obvious just how easily it would be for a sexually transmitted disease to infect 80% of the workforce. Thankfully, recent research suggests that use of condoms is becoming more accepted as younger generations realise that unprotected sex is essentially Russian routlette, but with odds in some urban adult demographics’ more like having 2 rounds in the 6 shooter rather than just the traditional one.

 

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Some bush bashing around the farm. These old cruisers are fantastic.

 

I should note that the 80% figure is an estimate only applicable to Andrew’s coffee farm; the HIV rate for the general Zambian population is significantly lower. Every NGO has its own figure and accurate figures are disputed by everyone with a vested interest, however the World Health Organisation estimates it is upwards of 20%, as opposed to the official rate published by the government of 12.7%. Locals suggest it is probably more like 30% or maybe even more. The official rates for most of Sub-Saharan Africa (Botswana is generally excluded) are considered underestimated due to the stigma associated with the disease. People who die of AIDS commonly have their cause of death recorded on their death certificates as flu or pneumonia, or whatever ailment ultimately kicked the bucket and not the virus which devastated their immune system and made them defenseless in the first place. Some country’s simply put “cause unknown” to save face.

The WHO did a study on the misclassification of AIDS related deaths in South Africa, the most developed nation on the continent, and suggested that 94% of AIDS deaths were incorrectly reported as non-AIDS related and that 48% of all deaths were due to HIV/AIDS. That is the scale of denial we are talking of here. It is not just a little bit of “turning the other cheek” denial, it is wholesale “head in the sand, hands over ears screaming LALALALA!” whole ‘nother stratosphere level of denial. It’s a monumental issue that is ravaging the continent. It just rams home how hard it is for these countries to develop when their productive people die just a few years after they are educated? Zambia’s Ministry of Health estimate the life expectancy in Zambia is about 43 years (once again, every NGO has its own figure), up from as low as 33 in 2003 before HIV, TB, and Malaria treatment programmes were rolled out.

 

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Inside the flour mill. Never been in one these before and it was pretty interesting.

 

Andrew explained that most of his workers wouldn’t admit to the disease, they would just get very thin and sick and then not turn up to work one day. A day or two later a colleague would explain that they had died. This was very common to work right to the end and then have death come very quickly. Thankfully anti-retro-virals are getting cheaper and more accessible in all of Africa and make an enormous difference. If a sufferer gets on the drugs early enough they can live an essentially normal life. It also virtually eliminates the transmission from pregnant mother to infant child. So the death sentence that was being born to a HIV positive mother is now thankfully no longer the case.

 

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Flour from the mill ready to go. They supply most of Zambia and their product is sort after as the product quality is consistent from their Swedish made mill, which includes a test bakery for QAQC. Andrew told us they had to sack a mill foreman after it was found he was running a massive bread racket out of the test bakery. Classic Africa story.

 

Another thing we learned was that the white Zambian community is very small and everyone knows everyone it seems. This was of great benefit to us in the end, as nearby neighbours of Cora and Andrew was David Reeve, a local farmer who also just happens to be the only Zambian person to complete the Dakar Rally. Cora offered to phone ahead and check if we could go over and say hello and we thought that was a bloody great idea.

We were all set to go and then it rained… a lot. Like 80mm in 30mins “a lot”. It hammered down like only a proper tropical thunderstorm can. It then continued to rain lightly throughout the day and even the following two mornings it rained. David lived at the end of a red clay road, which was now impassible for anything but 4wd tractors and tanks. Oh well, that will have to be for another time then.

 

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Saying goodbyes to Andrew and Cora and their family after some warm and welcoming Zambian hospitality.

 

We said our goodbyes to Cora and Andrew and rode onto our next contact, Doug and Donna, who live on a farm north of Lusaka. This meant we had to drive through the capital with all its apparent reckless driving and other craziness. We were warned of it and braced for it, but were pleasantly surprised in the end. While Lusaka was very busy with a lot of the bumper to bumper traffic and general lane pushing that comes with that, we didn’t find it too crazy.

 

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The ride into Sable Farms. Nice ride.

 

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Plenty of Impala and Kudu to see on the way in. We were off to a good start.

 

We were welcomed with Indian food and beers (always a good combination) and settled in for some hearty, if not a little rigorous, conversation. The farm was built from basically nothing by Doug’s father, Dave, and he proved to be a highly enthusiastic and well practiced orator in addition to a pioneering farmer.

 

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Tobacco. This is what it looks like when it’s not in a cigarette.

 

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And a reasonable quality tobacco leaf. Consistent yellow colour and maximum mass.

 

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Waterbuck. Lovely to look at but known to be not be very tasty. Sad, looked tasty.

 

The farm produced a combination of beef, soya, millet, wheat and tobacco, which was a very labour intensive yet valuable cash crop. Areas not being cultivated or used for pasture were left for game, and they had some Sable, and antelope which we hadn’t heard of before which he was very proud of. And understandably so, they were beautiful animals. Sadly we couldn’t get any good photos of them in the scrub through the game fence.

 

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The farm had iron age smelter workings which were interesting. This is some slag, and there was pieces of magnetite which had been brought down from the mountains.

 

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These are blowpipes used to get oxygen into the furnace.

 

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Checking out some impala on our drive around.

 

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Drying tobacco. If done right, the farmers can make some good money.

 

After a 2 day stay and general chill out getting to know Donna and Doug we figured we best move on again, and headed south. Donna put us in touch with her sister who lived in Lusaka whom we planned on dropping by for an evening while we sourced some supplies in the big smoke. We have realised on this trip that when introduced to friends or family of friends, in all likelihood we are going to get along well and we found that to again be the case here. Our quick re-supply stop quickly expanded to a couple days.

 

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Looking at the quality difference between the farm tobacco (yellow) and cigarette tobacco (brown). Zambian and Zimbabwean Tobacco is used to blend up other lesser tobaccos apparently.

 

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A kudu and 2 impala shot to give to a local police meeting and another government get together. Greasing the wheels is how Africa works…..

 

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Sunflowers grown for stock feed

 

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Saying goodbyes to Donna and Doug and their family. The have since added to the family, the baby bump is now a little girl called Darcie

 

We really enjoyed Lusaka it must be said. While it’s a chaotic and polluted African city, it is growing rapidly and has a definite buzz of opportunity about it. It was a good thing to see as there is a lot more to Africa than dancers leaping to tribal music, wild animals eating each other, Malaria, AIDS and corruption. It is also a place of growth, and in some ways decline…. But that’s the price of progress as they say. And now it is Zambia’s time in the sun.

 

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The drive down to Lusaka

 

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This is a local farm water supply dam. There are crocodiles in it!

 

There is construction and expansion going on, with large malls and business towers being built in town and informal settlements popping up on the outskirts. Informal business is everywhere, in markets and on footpaths and vendors splitting lanes selling everything from pre-paid phone credit to drinks and fruit to traffic cones, nail clippers and hair brushes. Don’t have a business shirt cleaned and ironed for work tomorrow? Don’t stress, pick one up while waiting at the traffic lights on the way to the office. Phone flat? No dramas, grab a charger, or a new battery, or even a whole new phone direct from Shenzhen via the mobile market place that is Cairo Road, the city’s main street.

 

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We went to an elephant orphanage which raised baby elephants orphaned by poachers. After killing the mothers and stealing the ivorry, the babies are left for dead. This little fella was still sporting an injured foot from his ordeal.

 

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The loved to play and cool off.

 

Big things are happening here, in comparison to sleepy Windhoek or Gaberone. You can see it is still only the beginning, but it is happening. It’s in the newspapers and on the lips of the locals and you can kind of smell it, the excitement of business being done and money being generated. But because its Africa with that smell comes dust and litter, smoke from charcoal fires, and soot and stinking fumes from ancient trucks running on bush diesel, a mix of stolen diesel from long-haul trucks diluted with whatever else can be stolen or, at the very least, bought cheap and will burn. Often its kerosene, but judging by the smell of some trucks sometimes it is definitely old oil.

 

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The handlers got very attached to the animals. They all wore those green jackets that were rarely washed so they smelt of elephant. The orphanage didn’t want the elephants to grow up thinking all humans were nice, only the ones who smelt of elephant should be trusted. Seemed clever.

 

With massive daily traffic jams it seemed obvious that the rapid growth was being constrained by the ad hock and outdated infrastructure, which in turn was putting significant pressure on a slow-acting and questionably competent government who didn’t see or even look to see any of this coming. Nevertheless, we really enjoyed the frenetic vibe of the place and could see ourselves living here and working in the mines of Zambia’s copper belt for a few years once this trip is all over.

 

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These two young elephants had some play fights.

 

One massive environmental problem though is the charcoaling. As Zambia still has a large amount of forests and also an overwhelming number of its 14 million inhabitants don’t have access to power, charcoal is the fuel of choice for cooking. Hell, when you’ve got basically nothing it’s the only bloody choice. Its produced by setting alight a large pile of rough forest timber, say 3m by 3m by 2m tall, and once well lit, it is covered over and starved of oxygen until it burns its self out. The heat evaporates the excess moisture and oxidises all the smoke producing volatiles leaving charcoal, essentially just the carbon, behind.

 

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Tash’s kids had a little track which they rode a little electric bike around. It wasn’t quite finished yet so we added a bit to it. Digging was a good way to burn off some of those extra beers.

 

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The main berm we built linking one section of the track to another pretty much finished. It will need some chainsaw work to cut back some of the logs and more soil after it rains but the kids seemed to enjoy it.

 

Away from the cities you see these charcoaling stalls lining the highway every couple hundred metres in areas where there is easy access to the forests. Trees are cut down and brought to the roadside, reduced to charcoal, and then sold by the bag to passing traffic. Generally its long-haul trucks that no-matter how full, the drivers always find room for at least a few bags of charcoal to bring to the cities to sell for a profit. In areas where the charcoalers have been established for a while, the virgin forest can be as far as 3 to 5 kilometers from the roadside. And as the demand for fuel increases with population and the easily accessed timber is utilised, charcoalers are moving further and further north and west into wild country. Unchecked, the devastation will be massive.

 

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Taking rides round the back yard on the DR-osaurus.

 

We finally clawed ourselves away from Tash’s house, grabbed a few bike things including some oil for upcoming service, and headed south. The weather had been dry and sunny for the last few days and David Reeve’s access road had dried out. This was our chance, so we rode back towards Mazabuka and got to David’s Farm in the mid afternoon. He welcomed us complete and utter strangers with some tea and regaled us with stories of his past Dakar attempts and ultimate completion.

 

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Tash and her kids. We had a great time with these guys.

 

It was incredibly interesting discussing David’s training, his first 2 attempts that ended in broken bones, and his last successful attempt where he finished a very very solid 32nd. That’s bloody impressive considering he competed as a privateer and he entered his first Dakar as a rally novice. David comes from an enduro background, having been Zambia’s national enduro champ since Noah was a boy, and the Dakar was his first ever navigational rally.

 

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David Reeve, Zambia’s first ever Dakar competitor and finished 32nd this year. Bloody impressive…..

 

We got the inside goss on some of these years biggest controversies, like the Salar de Iyuni stage, which the competitors on the ground assumed only went ahead to placate the Bolivian politicians and to create some great tv footage and publicity. That the salt knocked out so many competitors was acceptable collateral damage. The KTM spare parts truck ran out of wiring looms that night, but thankfully because David was competing on a bike hire arrangement from KTM the factory mechanics built him a loom from scratch. The factory bikes all received frame-up rebuilds that night.

It also seems the performance of Toby Price completely blew away some of the KTM top brass. Word on the street was that he was told to back off just a whisker as Coma had to be the KTM rider who won the race; some Dakar rookie rally novice who was completely unheard of outside of Australia wasn’t allowed to spoil the party. Some people suggested that’s why he made a few little “nav errors” that knocked a few minutes onto some critical stage times. Dave is of the opinion that it really is just a matter of time until he wins the whole thing, he just has too much speed on the ground. The second last stage where he blitzed the field and rammed home is advantage over Quintenilla to cement 3rd place is potentially a sign of what’s to come when KTM let him off the leash. How he slots back in alongside the factory rally team guys at next year’s event will be interesting to see, but I can hardly see KTM will let that yellow Elite #3 plate adorn an unsponsored satellite bike like he was on this year.

 

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This is Dave’s 2013 bike, which is now his training bike. It was impressively light.

 

Anyway, back at Dave’s it was now late afternoon and Dave had some serious “only in Africa” type work to do. Dave runs game in addition to his crops, and constantly struggles with poachers. He has had people shoot at his house and was forced to fire back from his verandah; that is how much he struggles. Tonight was no exception. His workers received a tip off that poachers were coming, and he just received word from one of his workers that he had sent out scouting that the poachers had arrived. He grabbed his rifle and bid us farewell, but not before a few photos.

 

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Dave’s Nav tower.

 

With the sun not far off setting, we lobbed in unannounced on Andrew and Cora hoping for a place to stay after struggling to find a secure looking local guesthouse. They were super accommodating. We rolled out the next morning heading for the Zimbabwe. We had a date with a gold miner.

Blog 28 by Tan: Life is Boring Without a Bit of Spark

I’m not going to lie. The blog is likely to be a boring one, which I hope people will forgive considering I rather selflessly hit a donkey in the last post in order to keep the excitement level high. This update outlines the logistical shenanigans that surrounded getting Mick’s bike fixed and us out of the country. It is boring even for us, but we thought it was a great example of what awaits anyone considering a trip like this. The fun riding, the great people, awesome sights and touching human experiences all happen within an environment of mind-numbing chores, never-ending maintenance, and scheduling and logistical problem solving. For those who continue reading, you will get the bonus of learning more of the boundless generosity shown to us by our wonderful Namibian friends.   For those seeking more riveting viewing, I understand, and bid you Good Day.

With the visa extension sorted for another 2 weeks, time was now available to sit back and listen to just how sore my poor body was. I spent much of the next couple of days lying down, groaning and just generally reveling in some therapeutic self-pity. It was great and within two days I was feeling quite good again. However, it was apparent that I didn’t get off scot-free with the donkey debacle, as with the reduction of swelling and stiffness came the realisation I had done some significant damage to my right shoulder. I could only lift my right arm from a hanging position by my side about 20 degrees before intense pain and a severe lack of strength stopped everything. I’d torn my rotator-cuff; pain was relieved with anti-inflammatory meds, the odd paracetomol and regular massage. We were able to identify that a couple rotator cuff muscles/tendons were torn to some extent, however the one connecting the cuff to the shoulder blade was the worst.

With this new information we were able to piece together the accident more precisely. We knew from the enormous deep yellow bruise slowly emerging from my right elbow that when I hit the tarmac my right arm was instinctually in front of my core and chest. My elbow took the initial impact, which then violently dragged the arm downwards tearing the muscles and tendons at the back of the cuff, before flinging my arm around to my side and out in such a way that it tore the front of the rotator-cuff and bicep. My chest plate, neck brace and exposed abdomen were then introduced to the wonders of coarse chip bitumen.

It was clear that this was going to be a very slow, laborious fix. Although I must add I am typically a very fast healer. I should have known. Past experience has taught me that when it ‘feels like’ you’ve broken a bone it is most likely tendon or ligament damage. When I broke my legs many years back (not on a bike) I was surprised to learn they were broken as they didn’t hurt like you imagine they would. Tendons and ligaments on the other hand are much worse and, for me anyway, are much more like the levels of pain you would expect from a break. I’d take a broken leg any day over tendon or ligament damage. Bones heal all on their own, but with tendons/ligaments you have to work hard if you want to see improvement. Fortunately I had Mick, who’d torn his rotator cuff about 10 years ago, nagging me daily to do my exercises, so things progressed well.

Mick tore his lifting a 20 litre oil drum after doing preliminary damage playing high school and uni rugby. It took about 4 months and doctors threats of a reconstruction to get back to full mobility, another 3 or 4 months to return to about 90% strength, and another year before it felt as strong as it did the day it was injured. It is a good thing we got our fill of off-road riding in Kaokoland because it was going to be off the agenda for some time now. We tentatively penciled in the Lake Turkana route from Kenya to Ethiopia in a couple months as the next likely opportunity to do some proper adventure riding. Mick was going to have to make do with bitumen roads for a while if we wanted to get the shoulder ‘Turkana ready’. It was going to be hard but we committed to no ‘unnecessary’ off-road until then.

While my pity party was in full swing, Mick was trying to diagnose the source of the ignition fault. Mick did the following things that have no meaning for me, but might do to those reading:

MICK: The bike was starting perfectly, and running fine up to about 4000-4200 rpm, where it would start to miss and protest. If the throttle was opened up it would rev out to 6500rpm and higher but would splutter and miss and occasionally backfire. I could see from the voltmeter that all through the rev range the stator was charging perfectly. I could also see that the ignition signal from the coil was being interrupted, as when the bike missed and backfired the tacho would drop out. These symptoms suggested that the initial theory of interference or breakdown of the ignition signal was still sound and the best place to start.

I isolated the stator, pulse coil, and ignition coil and then hooked up the battery to them one at a time trying to find where the leak was occurring. If there was some sort interaction, I would be able to read it on the other coils. While it did point out that the pulse coil seemed fine and there was something fishy going on with the pulse coil power supply, it was largely inconclusive. However, I did find that my stator had far worse winding insulation than Tanya’s with about 3 times the leakage. This was understandable as my stator had come out of a hire bike with a fritzed pulse coil and who knows how many kms. With the leakage idea not pointing to the problem, I started doing some more rudimentary diagnoses techniques by swapping CDI, ignition coil and reg/rec from Tanya’s bike. None of those was the issue. A good example of where having the same bike as your riding partner is the way to go. From there I did some resistance checks and everything was in spec apart from the pulse coil power supply, the black and white wires from the stator. They read massively over spec, like 800 ohms when it should have been 0.3 or something like that. I then pulled the stator out to check the resistance readings at the source and found the high resistance was in the windings itself and not in the loom, so stator f@cked is the diagnoses.

Hazaar! Mick was now certain the stator had died. As parts were no doubt going to be shipped from South Africa, given our tight timeframe we had to be confident we’d diagnosed the problem correctly. We wouldn’t have the time to ship one thing and then find out later it was something else and then ship that. Now that he was certain, Mick went to the local bike shop to order a new stator along with a couple other bits and pieces. We were sure they would have stator’s in stock in South Africa and that for the extra cost of air-freighting, we would receive it in time. Mick could then fit it in no time and we’d make our visa window.

 

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This old picture from Kaokoland shows the ¼ turn fairing fasteners we were using. Note the missing fastener, the constant vibration meant that they would drop out periodically. They were good to look at and convenient to use but not up to the task.

 

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And this is what we are running with now, 6mm bolts and body washers. Simple and effective. Oh, and ugly…..

 

With the problem on its way to resolution Mick did some further chores, which included getting my bashplate re-welded and our fairing mounts modified. Mick had used a fastening system for the fairings that made it quick and easy to attach and reattach. However the ¼ turn fastening clips had proved more aesthetically pleasing than robust, and despite carrying a couple spares we were now out. We needed to go more simple and utilitarian, more ‘Africa’, so we changed the assembly to 6mm bolts that were easily replaced and very strong, if a little ugly.

The Suzuki dealer then contacted us with the quote for the new stator. For the stator, freight and tax it was going to cost us nearly N$15,000, about US$1500 at the time. We couldn’t believe it and nor could he, telling us that he nearly fell off his chair when he read the quote. We figured it would be more expensive than aftermarket spares, but we weren’t expecting that sort of price. Heck, my complete bike cost less that $4000.

 

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Mick stumbled upon this Honda CBX1000 while at the bike shop and immediately lusted after it. The guy running the shop was given the bike as a farmyard wreck but soon had it running after a small amount of work and restored it fully with some spare parts from another cheap bike. Unlike in Australia, these highly collectable bikes can still be found here reasonably commonly and for very reasonable prices i.e. cheap. So cheap in fact that there is a burnout squad in South Africa that goes from bike rally to bike rally competing in the burnout competition with a team of CBX1000s. They then redline the bikes while off the saddle and spin them around producing smoke. Doing that to an air-cooled classic bike is a crime against humanity according to Mick

 

With that not even being close to an option, we jumped online to source a cheaper stator. There were countless secondhand stators available on ebay from Oz and the States for prices between $120-200. However, we figured the safest bet was going though Procycle in the US, which we had only ever experienced excellent reliability and service from and we hoped they would look out for us given their previous years’ profits must have had a lot to do with us in the lead up to our trip. Mass money went from us to them. Bulk gear went from them to us. Sure enough the Procycle guys quickly got us a quote for a new high output stator and express shipping to Namibia and agreed to ship it the moment the payment came through. We were also told about other shipping services which helps move our furnitures. If you wish, you can check out antique furniture movers here.

For a princely sum we paid to get the part from the US to Windhoek in under 7 days though UPS. From there, our friend Johan in Windhoek could pick up the parcel, pay duties in cash and get the part to a courier. We’d receive it in Grootfontien the next day and be able to leave the duty money with his brother Dirk. No credit card and complicated international bank transfers required. It was a great option with room to move, even at 7 days delivery we would be left with 5 full days to fit the part and leave the country.

We got the tracking number from Procycle the following day and were horrified to see that UPS had added another 5 days to the delivery date; it was now scheduled to arrive the day our visa expired! Checking the tracking every day (in fact every couple hours), we could see they left the package at their US facility for 3 days before it headed to Germany on its way to Namibia. We paid US$170 to get it in a week or less and then as soon as they have your money they say nearly 2 weeks! UPS and donkeys – my least favourite entities at this point.

 

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Lynn making vetkoeks ‘fat cakes’ which were deep fried dough later filled with curry. Unfortunately we very foolishly took no other photos of our Grootfontein guardian angels

 

A day or two later the scheduled delivery date came forward one day, however this still meant the parcel was set to arrive in Windhoek the day before our visas expired. All we could do was hope it arrived faster than expected. It was now just a waiting game. Dirk and Lynn were so amazing to us and offered their house until the bike was fixed. We were soon spoilt with wonderful home cooked meals, good wine and even better conversation.

Dirk and Lynn proved to be an amazing couple to meet. Lynn was the head nurse at the private hospital, and Dirk the minister at the local church. They were long time Grootfontein residents, and knew everyone it seemed.   When driving around in their spare car, we had many people wave at us excitedly only to look very confused when they saw who was in the front seat. Dirk told us many great stories about his time as a travelling minister in Bushmanland helping the San people around the turbulent times of independence. It became obvious to us, from his rapport with the community, his concern for his parishioners to the constant effort he put into his work, that he was one of these very rare humans who invested 100% of his energy into the improving the wellbeing of everyone around him – dirty Aussie bikers included.

 

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Views of the waterhole at Onguma lodge. We stayed in the campground at night and right here all day

 

In order to recuperate and get our minds off the troubles we decided to go camping for a few days at Onguma Lodge in Etosha National Park which was only a couple of hours away. Dirk and Lynn ascended the generosity stakes by loaning us their spare car to take on our camping trip. Not just that, they filled it with firewood and enough meat to feed an army and all their braai equipment. The next few days were spent lounging by the waterhole, reading, blogging, drinking fantastic South African wine, braaing and tracking the movements of one highly anticipated parcel around the planet.

 

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Last time we were treated with a large group of giraffe, this time zebra

 

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Mick getting his braai on. For those unaware a braai is essentially a bbq but no South African will approve of such a comparison. They are so passionate about their braais that if you ever wanted to wage war on the country all you’d need to do would be to take control of firewood and charcoal supplies and you’d bring the country to its knees

 

The next week was spent enjoying the company of Lynn and Dirk. Spending mealtimes with them became so normal and comfortable that it seemed like we had always lived there and started to joke with them about being their surrogate wayward Aussie biker children. Mick spent time doing various bits of bike maintenance and repairs, and we tried to get some spare ignition keys cut. Our bikes use round security keys which are not susceptible to being jammed open with a screw driver like normal motorcycle ignition barrels are. Turns out getting keys cut for them is also difficult, as the only machine in Namibia that could do it was broken. Oh well, we resolved we would have to careful from now on. And before we knew it we found ourselves in the painfully familiar situation of having a broken bike, a long way to go and a visa about to expire.

Finally on the Friday (5 days until the visa expired) some good news came our way. We received a phone call from Johan and Jume that the parcel had arrived in Windhoek and they were on their way to pick it up and pay the duties. Yahoos all round! It would then go in the overnight courier and even if we left the following morning we still had 3 days to cover 800km. Easy. Just as we start to celebrate and get ready to pack however, we hear the most unbelievable news. The customs computer system is down and the package cannot be cleared.

Despite the extensive efforts of Jume and Johan over the next two days there was no luck. The system was down and until it was repaired, nothing but emergency medicine was getting cleared.

We were racking our brains to come up with alternative plans of action. If there is one thing we have learned from this trip, it is that everything is fixable. There are always options, many options usually, that simply vary in terms of convenience, cost and risk. For us now it was just a matter of evaluating those pros and cons and determining which was the best course of action to take.

With the visas expiring on Tuesday, as of Saturday night we determined the best options were either to ride 2 up on my bike to the border of Botswana about 4 hours away and exit and re-enter Namibia. However, we worried that we might not get granted another tourist visa after 2 entries and 2 extensions on the last visa. We would then find ourselves separated from both the package and the bike. Another option Johan was pushing for was for us to leave with both bikes (Mick would ride with his stator unplugged, and then we would stop and charge from my bike) to the Botswana border then they would do the 600km round trip themselves and cross into Botswana and hand deliver the parcel to us. The generosity of these guys simply knows no bounds.

 

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An unexpected social occasion with Johan and his family

 

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Naturally there was meat

 

However, the option we went for in the end was to borrow Dirk and Lynn’s car again and drive the 450km to Windhoek on Sunday afternoon and pick up the parcel in person on Monday when we were feeling pretty confident the computer problems at customs would be sorted out. It was a gamble, but the system couldn’t stay down forever. We had to do this in person as we would not be able to get the parcel couriered to us in Grootfontein in time. So Sunday night we found ourselves socialising with Johan and his family in Windhoek yet again, which was excellent. First thing the next morning we were at the UPS office and discovered their system was up and running and they were in the process of getting the parcel. The Windhoek UPS guys really worked hard to get the parcel to us, with the manager of the depot going down personally to customs early that morning to ensure they cleared it straight up. A few hours later it was in our possession and it was high fives all round.

 

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And drinking. We had some more of the sour cherry shooters that Johan and Jume introduced us to when we first met

 

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Traditionally drunk with the cap on your nose – why? Why not!

 

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Johan’s new purchase since we were last in Windhoek, a low mileage XTZ660 Tenere with Leo Vince pipes. He did well, it was a good deal. We suspect our invitation into the household had something to do with getting Johan’s wife comfortable with the idea of the new bike and the possibility for Jume to join Johan for road trips as a passenger. Johan has already taken the bike on a road trip up in Damaraland!  

 

We said a very fond farewell to Johan and his family who had been beyond generous to us. It was a special and unexpected opportunity to make such firm friends with them and their extended family after the simple offer of an address to ship stuff to. Before we left town we dropped in on our friends Tony and Freidel again. We explained the events of the last few weeks and told Tony just how thankful we were for his recommendation of the neck braces. Before doing this trip we never imagined how it would come to involve so many people beyond the two of us. Really we expected our trip to be an insular type thing. We expected it to be just the two of us, all the time. Of course we hoped to meet people and make new friends but never did we imagine we would have the incredible fortune to meet as many great people as we have and to have built such strong friendships in the process. That has been the greatest gift of the trip.

 

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The long awaited arrival

 

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It’s so perfect in every way

 

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Thanks Procycle

 

After covering the 450km from Windhoek back to Grootfontein we arrived at 7pm on the eve of our visas’ expiry. We spent the night installing the new stator and packing and didn’t get to bed until 2am. After 4 hours sleep we were up and on our way, with both bikes running like clockwork. We made good time and were in good spirits despite our lack of sleep. We had the excitement of things being right down to the wire and felt comfortable that we would make it. We ended up travelling the necessary 800km and arrived at the border town of Katima at about 4.00pm.

 

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Installing the new stator by night

 

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An easy fix when once you’ve got the part

 

After an excellent 2 ½ months we were leaving Namibia and crossing into Zambia. The crossing involved a lot of paperwork and a long list of fees; visa, insurance, road tax, carbon tax and council tax. Frustratingly, the visa and road tax had to be paid in USD, where as the insurance, carbon tax and council tax had to be paid in Kwacha, the local currency. Anyone entering Zambia with a bike be warned, it is an expensive place to bring one. Due to the amount of VAT claiming paperwork in Namibia and the run around we got in Zambia, we were the last to make it through the border before it closed at 6pm. From there we travelled 50km to Mwandi where we found a campground for the night. We didn’t bother to eat before crashing out and claiming some much needed sleep. We had made it!

 

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Riding through the Caprivi Strip. We saw the tell tale signs of elephants all about but didn’t see any. With the Pirelli MT21s lasting longer than expected we were carrying the new tyres with us

 

Riding around the world – a fantastic and massively rewarding experience we recommend to all. However, on extremely rare occasions it can be just a little bit shit. But really only a little bit…

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