Drunken Miners and Milk for a Baby

Went for a motorcycle ride on Sunday, to look for avocados, peanut butter, and tomatoes at a shop in the opposite direction of town, an closer, and came to one made of cement blocks, sand out front, chickens pecking in the sand, beat up car with windows cracked. There was a shop on one side of the building, a bar on the other, reggae music blasting out from it, and men, drunk, stumbling around holding bottles of Castle Beer, dancing to the music, or sort of lumbering around about to fall on the floor. Others were shooting pool.

Went in there, the bar not much bigger than the pool table, the store clerk, a large woman, behind a screen, who, because the music was so loud, had to put her ear up close to the screen so that she could hear me when I shouted, "A bottle of Castle, please." I got the idea to buy a beer because in the shop next door a drunken man had asked me to put some money on his phone, 4 Zim bonds, maybe .30 cents. Did that. He was drinking a Castle beer.

Paid for the beer with eco-cash, use phone, and was heading for the door, planning to drink the beer another day, when a man called me back, telling me, when I put my ear to his mouth and could the make out what he was saying, that I had to pay a deposit for the bottle. It was 5 bond. The beer was 8, .50 cents. Did that. Waved to the men goodbye and left. A harmless bunch of men. Seemed like a scene from a documentary on Zim or South Africa, the concrete building, chickens pecking in the sand, drunken men dancing to reggae or playing pool. But nothing threatening, which would not have been the case in South Africa, from what I've heard. Zimbos are an orderly, patient people, waiting for hours for petrol, standing in queues at grocery store, telephone offices. Haven't yet seen any display of anger. There's a lot to be said about that, the misery these people face and not not rioting. And inflation is out of control and medicine and food shortages are possible.

A security guard later that day told me that the men at the bar were probably illegal gold miners, crawling into abandoned gold mines which are not supported by an trusses, and that, on weekends, they do what miners do, get drunk. Very dangerous way to make a living, crawling around in abandoned mines, no ventilation. No trusses. Saw a news story about this on YouTube made by Vice News about gold miners in South Africa doing the same thing, staying underground for days, in mines that are controlled by gangs who will rob them if they catch them coming out of a mine with any gold. That doesn't seem to be a problem here, gangs.

There were perhaps twenty or thirty women across the street from the shop/bar selling vegetables, so drove over there, hoping to get some avocados, but there were none for sale. The women, clustering around me, wanted to sell me bags of tomatoes, clumps of green onions, shelled green peas. Wish I had a place to cook. I'd have made some curry. The faces of these women were so strong and weathered. Wanted to take a photo, but didn't want to stick a camera in their face. But did get the photo I uploaded later.

Find food here in so-called restaurants to be fairly awful. Oily meats, few veggies, though they are plentiful in the markets, and chicken or beef, maybe some fatty sausage, and lots of potatoes.

Headed off down this country road filled with potholes, having no idea where it went, but I was happy to be on it because there were no cars on it to run me over from behind.

Along the way I was stopped by several people. One man, on learning that I was a lecturer at Africa University, wanted to know about receiving financial aid so that he could pursue his M.S. in international relations. I have no doubt he meant it, too. Very intelligent guy. Can't judge a person by where they live: a round brick hut with a thatched roof. Area around it was red dirt, but very clean. Shoes out front, Japanese style.

There was a couple with a baby, too (picture). The man asked me to buy some yogurt for the baby, named Tracy, and told me where a shop was, which was in a building that I later learned was for curing tobacco that I had passed, thinking it was a relic of Mugabe's land reform, an abandoned dairy, maybe, owned by a white family.

More drunken men there. No yogurt. Man next to me was drinking "African" beer, served in the same plastic bottles that soda comes in. Asked him for a taste. Poured myself a cap full and drank it. Awful. Sour. Like kerosene. Did buy a couple of bottles of milk for Tracy. Rode back and delivered it. Asked the couple if I could take a photo of them with their baby. They were happy that I'd asked. Took some photos. Showed them. Gave the father my phone number, so that I could send him photo of him and his wife and Tracy.

Drove back to the university. Another experience.