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Hanging in and hanging on in Zimbabwe
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January 11, 2010
In my copy of The Last Resort, Douglas Rogers has written on the title page: "Great speaking to you. Glad you enjoyed a little story about some big-hearted people."
There are a lot of big-hearted and rather zany people in his book. But the stars are his parents, Lyn and Ros Rogers, who have a farm in Africa. Well, Zimbabwe, and they're not entirely sure they still own it, but they're still living there, hanging in and hanging on.
Rogers has done something extraordinary with this book. Yes, it's another story about Zimbabwe by an exile who grew up there, but it's not what you think. He doesn't wax lyrical about Rhodesia or growing up in the bush - in fact, he hated being on the farm and couldn't wait to leave. Nothing ever happened. It was beyond boring.
After school, he went to Rhodes University. Then, after a brief period as a journalist in Johannesburg, he headed to Britain and ultimately New York, where he lives with his American wife and their two young children. He has always felt more at home in the US than in Africa. "I am not an African," he says firmly during an interview at the V&A Waterfront. "But my parents, they feel at home nowhere else."
So this is not an ode to a lost African paradise - rather an ode to his parents and the way they have survived the past decade in Zimbabwe. They have done so by being tough, astonishingly adaptable, non-judgmental and, above all, by seeing the funny side. And there is a funny side.
His father had been a lawyer in Mutare in Zimbabwe's beautiful eastern highlands before his retirement. But the family had lived on a series of farms. Lyn often defended black people in the courts, but the family were fairly typical white Zimbabweans whose lives did not change much in the first couple of decades of the country's independence.
They bought a farm about 18km from Mutare, where the land wasn't good, and opened Drifters, a budget backpackers' lodge and pizza place.
Lyn also built a series of thatched cottages which he planned to sell or rent as holiday or retirement homes. To finance the building, he cashed in his pension, and then sold the house on Leisure Isle in Knysna he'd inherited. Drifters would keep them in their old age.
At first the backpackers came in their numbers from all over the world. And the locals came out from Mutare for beer and pizzas. But by March 2002, the backpackers were long gone, the residents of the cottages were planning to emigrate, neighbouring farmers had lost their land or been murdered, or both, and Lyn and Ros were surviving on what was left of the Knysna money. Rogers writes he had the feeling his parents were trying to hold back the tide.
During one visit, everything was looking a lot better. Chatting to a family retainer over a dagga zol, he asked where it had come from.
"Youfada," the man replied. Rogers reflected he had never heard of the place. "Where's Youfada, John?" he asked."Youfada!" John replied, exasperated. "Mr Rogers. He grow."
Later Rogers confronted the ex-lawyer, who sheepishly admitted he had a small plantation in what had been his wife's veggie garden. But he said he never smoked the stuff.
During the same visit, Rogers discovered Drifters was now being run by a black former farm manager who had lost his job when the farm had been invaded. He had turned it into a brothel, which the new rich of Mutare supported.
Rogers writes: "I felt like I had become the parent, that some strange generational inversion had taken place in which my parents had become the irresponsible children I had to keep checking on... running a brothel, experimenting with drugs. It suddenly occurred to me my dream life in New York City was rather pedestrian in comparison."
By this time a strange collection of people now occupied the cottages - former white farmers, including a relative of FW de Klerk's family, and young black go-getters.
It's not all funny. There are frightening characters, and bewildering moments, such as when they discover their title deeds to the land are worthless. And there are the terrifying moments, like the day the war vets turned up at Drifters, giving Ros and Lyn just minutes to evacuate.
But despite the chaos in Zimbabwe, Rogers has noticed a can-do atmosphere. Those who've survived have learnt a lot of tricks.
Rogers says he wrote his book for people who are not particularly interested in Africa, and know nothing about Zimbabwe. "I want people to be drawn into what I see as an adventure story and relate to the people there. I didn't want to weigh it down with statistics, history and politics. 'Don't depress us,' my parents said."
Of course, there are statistics and history, but they are lightly woven into the narrative.
Another important theme of Last Resort is the change in people like the Rogers and many other Zimbabweans.
"My parents feel more Zimbabwean than they did in 1999 before the land invasions. People of all races have been brought together by shared circumstances. And while they've been finding ways to survive, the racial barriers have fallen.
"My mother is in awe of the black guys who risk their lives to campaign for the MDC. She never knew this amazing courage and strength and humanity was there - in a sense you're not looking for it in times of peace, but in times of hardship you see your neighbours differently."
As to the future, Rogers doubts the country will change fundamentally until Mugabe goes. But the national identity is one of extreme resilience, he says. Its strength is in its people.
Nothing is certain in Zimbabwe today. But Ros, now 69, and Lyn, 73, are still on their land. Rogers, who was flying to Zim to visit his parents immediately after our interview, ends the book like this: "I would encourage anyone who reads this book to visit Zimbabwe and, if they can, visit Drifters. Pull up a stool, order a beer and tip handsomely."
You'll probably meet some big-hearted people.
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