The Checkered Flag

Well  the big day arrived. While it wasn’t really like kids on Xmas morning waiting to unwrap presents, I know that there was a very high level of nervous anticipation. We knew that there was going to be a good showing of politicians, and the newspaper had a terrific article on the donation of the trucks by Peter.  We were all dressed in our uniforms ( caps, Mudzimi t-shirts and jeans) and we had shaved, brushed our teeth and hair and cleaned our fingernails. Some had even washed faces. We gave the trucks a once over and man, they were shiny. Then it was off to the show.

The ceremony was to be held at the main firestation and to get there we had to go through the center of town. It was incredible and heartwarming to have people, total strangers, come up to us and thank us for the good thing that we had done.  I am not sure about the other guys, but I certainly hadn’t felt like such a Dudley Doright for a very long time. 

We got to the firesation and it was a hive of activity. All the broken trucks from the prior day had been moved into a straight line (don’t have a clue how) and the yard shone. A reviewing stand was under construction, and from the inside of the large hall that was built to house the working firetrucks, the dulcet tones of the local prison band practicing wafted through the air.





The excitement among the firefighters, both real and faux, was apparent, and they all wanted to take pictures with us and with the engines.  Some ladies had prepared a whole lot of boutonnieres, and they were pinned on to people according to rank. We scored some decent ones but the biggies went to the biggies. Right on time the mayor of Harare arrived with his wife. What we didn’t realize was that in the crowd of a couple of hundred people, was the entire city council plus the Russian ambassador.



 

People started moving indoors and taking their seats and a program was handed out. A few minutes later there was a hustle and bustle and the convoy carrying the vice-president arrived.  This was an interesting political move because while she is a member of ZANU-PF, Harare is an opposition city, and the entire council is MDC. However her late husband who was originally a very close ally of Mugabe’s, was rumored to be getting a little too close to the opposition, and so despite his history and her position,  she was foregoing the opening day of the ZANU national convention in Bulawayo to be at the ceremony. There were a lot of speeches, with the entire city council being recognized, a very nice blessing from the pastor, and a long one from the mayor who remembered Peter from when he was a kid.  

 All went smoothly until the vice-president started speaking and as she gave thanks for the gift, clearly a very recent raw wound was opened. This demure, steely, middle aged woman, who legend has it shot down at least two Rhodesian planes with hand held missiles, started speaking about what having the right equipment might mean to people who were in danger, and she broke down. She kept speaking with frequent pauses to collect herself, and then went outside on Peter’s arm to look at the trucks. 

This was the picture that was on the front page of the paper the next morning. It was certainly more touching than I think anyone had anticipated. After the ribbon cutting ceremony, the VIP’s went to the reviewing stand which was now decorated in bunting, and we watched a demonstration by the firemen of rescue techniques taken straight out of the sixties. I guess you can’t do much if you have only unbreakable, antiquated equipment. After that it was open season on more photographs, and a light lunch. Unfortunately Steve had to leave in the middle of the ceremony to get to the airport, so he missed the rest of the day with us. When we left it was with a sense of pride and fulfillment that something good had happened that day and we had in a small way contributed to it.

 

After a few hours rest we went out to Peter’s stud farm, Lobenvale, which is on the outskirts of Harare. In addition to being a champion stud farm, he has a new venture there,









He has built a couple of chicken coops ( maybe bigger than coops, they each hold about 5,000 chickens) and the chickens are specialized. They lay only brown eggs.  Because these are organic, free range chickens laying brown eggs, the eggs can be sold at a premium. And guess where they are sold – in the good old US of A. The economics of egg gathering and transport are so out of whack that we cant even make our own eggs
 here any more.

We had been told that we were going to a small private game farm for tea/drinks and so we weren’t totally surprised when we arrived there to find a couple of cheetahs right next to a fence in the driveway. As we walked in the gate a couple of the ladies we had met at dinner the previous night came out to greet us, and told us to hurry or we would miss feeding time. 







 They introduced us to Roxy, the owner of the farm. and her two sons and we walked over to an enclosure. Suddenly a lion and lioness came running over into a pen, with the lion really bumping his mate. Turns out that he is blind, and had been rescued when he was a cub. ( he is only about 14 months old now). He was raised in the house and shared the bedroom with Roxy and Craig until he got a little frisky. Then it was time for him to go outside but the living room furniture proudly displays the  evidence of having been used as a lions toys.

We walked a little further and another few lions came to meet the feeding committee.We were warned in more ways than one that these were not domesticated cats and we shouldn't try to pet them

 From the lions enclosures we walked on into a glade where we saw a couple of strange looking creatures that were wrestling on the ground.  Who knew that we would  be playing with pangolins a.k.a. Cape scaly anteaters.

  They can only be eaten by a chief because they are so rare, and these two belong to Mugabe (rumor has it that he is a deadbeat dad, and has not once been to visit them or pay any child support for them). Even more interesting is that they are the only pair in the recorded history of the world to have bred in captivity.

From there we adjourned to the verandah of the main house to have tea, and who should come up, but Sweetpea, a female kudu with a penchant for carrot cake.

After a nice cuppa we strolled down to an open paved area past a bull kudu who had apparently just shown up one day and never left( see what happens with no incentive to work for your living), past Bob the baboon who was rescued from a farm in Maputo,  and  suddenly there were the two cheetahs. The only problem now was that they were no longer behind the fence, but being taken for a little walk about by their handlers.Now who can resist a cuddle with a cheetah, so while trying to look brave we stroked them and scratched them and they purred for us and then tried biting Allen.

After getting our fill of playing with the nice pussy cats we meandered  down to some chairs and a table stocked with all kinds of good alcohol - wine, champagne, whiskey – okay you get the picture, and some food. Sweetpea came with us.

 We sat there and talked and ate and drank and drank and it turned surreal. There was a rumor of some cannabis, and as the sun went down and the night went on, we realized how strange this was. Kudu and impala and sable and giraffe were walking around just passing us by, while ten feet away there were a handful of lions ( not friendly ones)grunting and making strong sounds. Eventually tea ended at about midnight and we all wnt home to a well earned nights sleep.

  

I think I can safely say that I have never had a day like this and probably will never have another