Lies and Despair, Air Crashes and Car Accident.

Rain and Sahara dust returned this week. Suits my mood.

“By settling our arrears, we can tap into long-term capital.” - Minister Mthuli Ncube

It is Friday morning, and due to several recent press statements and ARAC (Agricultural Recovery and Compensation Committee) in response to the above, I have had to rewrite the first few paragraphs of this blog. When I read the complete statement above from the Minister, my first thought was it contains so many lies. As I said last week, I was glad that those who opted for the PROFCA negotiated or accepted deal offered by the government received part of the payment. At least it gives those desperate a slight financial breather. But what are the broader implications of this acceptance to the majority who rejected the deal? As expected, the Government has made full use of this minuscule payment, as seen in the Minister of Finance’s recent statement regarding compensation. Then, when I read this article below in the BBC news, my worst fears were proven.

"The southern African country has been locked out of the global financial system for more than two decades, leaving the struggling economy with a huge foreign debt. Analysts say the land payment marks an important step in repairing relations with Western nations and avoiding international judgements against Zimbabwe." - BBC

What a lie to say they are settling their arrears, especially that owed to farmers. The Minister even contradicts himself in the same statement by saying we have paid 1%. Interest or capital,  of the  $311 million owed. This is NOT even 1% of the agreed $3.5 billion in the debunked Global Compensation Deed (GCD) nor did they issue the promised bonds. Bonds are a form of debt, are they not?

“Do the promoters realise they may have sold our legal rights for full compensation for less than 0.1% down payment on what was owed under the defunk GCD before interest? I do so despair.” - Peter McSporran.

Paying a tiny fraction of due interest and issuing bonds to creditors does not address the arrears; it just changes the debt structure by kicking the debt down the field. That is from a promise of full payment upfront to a never-never situation as the value erodes due to unrealistic interest rates well below inflation. I was also surprised to see Andrew Pascoe still being happy to be misrepresented as the chairman of the Compensation Steering Committee.

"The conceit of some of those happy to misrepresent us has no bounds. Pascoe is the epitome of this."- Peter McSporran

Unfortunately, the Government has used the desperate among us to forge this deal. For its part, the PROFCA team has inadvertently or, at worst, advertently taken advantage of this in promoting the deal. The only real benefactor is the Government, which claims to have addressed the arrears at the expense of a few dollars upfront to those they have cruelly used. 

I also despair about the PROFCA team's illegal act of sealing this deal under the auspices of the broken GCD. Also, there is a lack of transparency in announcing the payment terms adequately—perhaps they do not know themselves. Sadly, they have been happy to participate in this charade of addressing the compensation issue in conjunction with the Government, mainly for its benefit.

“The Government and PROFCA have played on the goodwill of the majority in their sympathy for the desperate in formatting this deal. Our good intentions for others have been used against us.” - Peter McSporran

We need those representing us to refute the Minister's words and articulate the reasons for rejection. I try by posting my blog on several sites, but my voice most likely goes unheeded as I do not represent anyone, and the ruminations in the content are my own.

"ARAC, the CSC and even the CFU must shout louder and wider in refuting the minister's statement and the acceptability of the deal to the majority."-Peter McSporran

The Government is still touting the GCD, as the Minister's statement shows. We must challenge this loudly, not just to the TDHs but also to the world at large. Has anyone contacted the BBC to counter their report? It should be said that the report states the majority rejected the agreement, but the report is so vague in its content that the final two paragraphs give the impression that it may be acceptable to the international community. We need clarification on the legal implications and our proposed negotiation tactics. I am not actively involved, but I would like to know. Wynand Hart offered some good advice: to stay calm amid the confusion being instigated by the government, which wants to remain in power at any cost. I agree with Wynand, but staying calm does not mean staying silent. We must at least point out the wrongs.

"Staying calm does not nescessary mean remain silent."- Peter McSporran

Like many, I have concluded that any organisation that is happy to represent people farming in Zimbabwe, legal or illegal, cannot represent us, the displaced farmers, TDHs. This includes the CFU.

I write this next part of my blog with a heavy heart as our friend up the road, Daniel Erlenborn, whom I talked about last week, lost his battle with cancer on Sunday evening. He had been allowed home for the weekend, and as Rozanne and my colds had significantly subsided, we thought it would be safe to visit him on Sunday morning. Unfortunately, when we called, we learned he had become very ill overnight. Notwithstanding this, we received a call mid-afternoon that he would like to see us despite his condition. I should say that while friends, Dan and I were not bosom buddies but rather more friends who had mutual respect for each other's achievements and views despite sometimes being diametrically opposite. I do not doubt that, as we both suffered from cancer, this had also created a strange type of kinship. He recognised us on arrival, but to be honest, he was already barely conscious. When we left an hour later, leaving Andre, Dan’s husband, Liz Holt, a neighbour, and friends Susie and Jan, a long-time friend and work colleague who had come to be with him from America to continue with the vigil over what were to be his last hours. We were unsurprised to get a call later in the evening to say he had gone. Sad, of course, but also a mercy. Dan had suffered much from his cancer and its treatment. 

I mentioned in last week's blog that despite our friendship, Dan and I were ideologically miles apart. When I was writing last week's blog, I wondered how to describe his relationship with Andre. Was he husband or wife? I asked Dan, and I told him I had the same quandary with my sister-in-law Lorraine, who is married to Angela. I told Dan in my questioning that it was easier as Lorraine had worn a suit to the wedding while Angela wore a dress. He laughed and said that it would be difficult in his and Andre’s case as in his words, “We both wear the pants.” Humour to the end.

Getting back to that dreadful year in many ways, 1997. Sorry, it's a rather grim blog this week. Not only, as far as I can ascertain, it was the year that heralded the future fate of Zimbabwe when a fearful President bent to the demands of the ‘war vets’ for more money than the country could afford. It was also a year of air tragedy. I had known the Sandemans for many years, becoming friends with Ian and Sally way back in the pre-independence war years. Sadly, in January 1995, Ian was killed in an aeroplane crash while flying back from Magaruque Island in Mozambique and others, including my future in-laws Bob and Shirley Cary, in another plane flown by Sally. Following Ian’s death, Sally and I became even closer friends, and through her, I became very good friends with her sister and her husband, Jane and David Crossman, whose family name is synonymous with Lindisfarne in Northumbria. Surprisingly enough, Jane and David were renting the farmhouse on Wild Duck Farm, the last house I lived in while working for the Smiths. By 1997, David Smith, Hamish’s youngest son, had taken ownership of that farm. 

In October of 1997, Sally and the Crossmans were invited to Hippo Camp on the Kafue River in Zambia by Sally’s friend Graham Younger. Those who have visited this camp will know it is a magical place teeming with game. Not long after they set off, we were shocked to learn that David, who only recently had passed his private pilot's licence, had lost his life in an air accident, with him crashing his plane in full view of his wife Jane and friends who were watching from across the river. Now, both the sisters had lost their husbands in air crashes, a dreadful coincidence—a shock to the whole Darwendale community. Jane and Sally were from Banket farming stock, their parents being the well-known Hamp-Adams. The elder brother, David, resides in the Algarve, Portugal, while the younger brother, Frank, was killed in a landmine incident in the Inyanga operational area. This is a correction, as I had previously recorded his death as taken place in Victoria Falls. I apologise to the family for my error. I have now corrected my error.

Six weeks after David’s death, friends were attending a memorial for David at Shirley Farm Darwendale, the Sandeman's home farm, where they learned there had been yet another air accident, this time involving Graham Younger, Sally’s friend from Zambia. We were told he had died just a few miles short of his destination in Trelawney, on his way from Zambia to attend the memorial service. It was dreadful. As 1997 ended, I thought, thank goodness for that; roll in 1998, it must surely be better. It was not to be.

Marc, Tinks, Rory and Henry in happier times in their pub on Marivale

On the morning of the 16th of January, 1998, a Friday if I recall correctly, my telephone rang, and on answering, I heard the very agitated voice of Marc Bezuidenhout on the end of the line, informing me his father, my good friend, Henry, had not returned home from Harare the previous evening. His and the family's efforts to find him had been in vain, and he requested my assistance. For me, it was immediately surprising, as no matter what, Henry would always come home late, sometimes yes, but never failed to come home. Of further concern to me was he had told me earlier in the week he was leaving for ‘The River’ on the Friday that being that very day. The River is the Zambezi. There are many rivers in Zimbabwe, but only one, ‘The River.’ I immediately got in my car and, along with Marc, started searching for him or at least his vehicle on all the routes he could have taken from Harare to his home. Unfortunately, there were multiple options, between and including the Lomagundi Road and the Bulawayo Road. Meanwhile, Henry’s wife, Tinks and Marc’s wife, Squidge, were calling the emergency departments of the Harare hospitals, private and public, and all the police stations on the various routes, enquiring about any admissions or reports of accidents involving someone fitting Henry’s description. In our enquiries, we learned from Keith Boshi, the owner of Tipperary's Restaurant and Bar, a favoured watering hole of Henry and mine, that he had left the said pub early, citing his fishing trip as the reason. Something had happened to Henry on his way home; we began fearing the worst. Our concerns grew as the morning wore on, coupled with all the negative responses to the sighting of either Henry or his vehicle. It was to be proven the police’s ignorance of Henry or any possible accident on the roads leading to his home in Darwendale would be a measure of how our police force had deteriorated. The Zimbabwe Republic Police (ZRP) was now a shadow of the British South African Police (BSAP), which they had taken over at independence. They were neither helpful in providing information nor showed any interest in helping us in our search. I was angry, but those who know Marc can probably imagine what level he was at by that time due to his frustration in our futile search and the total lack of interest from the authorities. Then, after thoroughly searching all the routes home, we decided that rather than calling, we would start visiting the hospitals physically. We thought, hopefully, that private clinics and trauma centres, including emergency rescue organisations, would provide reliable information and set out to visit state hospitals. On arrival at Harare Central Hospital in the industrial sites, traditionally an African Hospital, we found someone who thought a white man had been put in their mortuary during the night. With a sinking heart, I suggested to Marc he remain outside while I go in and search. He refused to do so. I do hope I am not opening up old wounds here, but I am sure Marc will have never forgotten what we found. On entering the mortuary, it was filled well beyond its capacity. So full that bodies were stacked on top of each other on the floors. Africa! Sadly, we found Henry on the floor. Marc wanted to physically remove him there, and then, of course, that was impossible—a horrible day with an even more dreadful ending. Later, we learned that a truck and trailer came out of one of the side roads on the Bulawayo road in front of Henry, causing the crash where he died. How could the police and hospitals not know of the accident? How could someone put him in a mortuary without proper records? If you live in Africa, it is sometimes better not to think of these things. Devastating for me as a very close friend and neighbour but life-shattering for his family. Henry, the ever-smiling prankster, the life and soul of any social gathering, my farming neighbour was gone.

Lisa with her dad

My fishing buddy and gambling mate no longer. While devastating for me, I cannot imagine how dreadful it was for his family. I am still very much in touch with his wonderful family, Tinks, Marc and Squidge, Rory and Simone and the apple of his eye, Lisa.

Disclaimer: Copyright Peter McSporran. The content in this blog represents my personal views and does not reflect corporate entities.