My husband with his parents & sister in their farm garden in 1960's Rhodesia - the same farm we visited in 1995 which has been completely destroyed My entire family – except my parents – live in the UK. Everyone originally lived in Zimbabwe (then Rhodesia) and slowly one by one, they all left in the early ‘80’s.
My husband’s parents were successful tobacco farmers in Zimbabwe. They had their farms taken away from them in the early ‘80’s. My husband and his brothers had grown up believing that one day, the farms would be theirs – passed down through the generations. That was not the case. But that is Africa for you. No title deed or 100 th generation legacy or promises carved in stone ensure that you get to keep your land !
My husband and I met each other in South Africa and in 1995 – many years after his family had fled Zimbabwe – he took me back to show me the farm he’d grown up on. We drove from South Africa to Zimbabwe and stayed in the beautiful Inyanga mountains - it was a beautiful journey. I took him back to my home in Harare, to the old shopping centre where my Mum used to take my sister and I for the weekly grocery shop at “OK Bazaars” … which brought back memories of soapy tasting chocolate Fredo frogs as a special ‘treat’ … never mind the taste my Mum would tell us, it’s because of ‘sanctions’.
“Sanctions”, “The Bush War” and “The Terrs” (terrorists) were all part of our day-to-day life growing up in then Rhodesia.
So, my husband took me back to the farm. Of course his Mum had shown me the family photo albums before we left …. a beautiful home, landscaped garden, fertile farm fields. It is now – barren. The house has been destroyed, the gardens over grown, huts built where lush flower beds once were, starving children gathered around, chickens scratching in the dust. An eerie sound, as my husband’s name was called out by a stranger … recognition. 13 years absence, yet the old farm staff were still there. They remembered him … ohhh … the joy, the celebration as everyone gathered around, calling his name .. tears flowing.
You see, the farm had been taken from my husband’s family, and given to the farm laborers. But they had not been given the know-how or the resources to keep it running. No seed to plant the next crop, no fertilizer to nourish it, no diesel to put in the trucks to transport the crop to market, no spares or farm equipment. Years later, they were starving – literally starving to death – begging, begging us to please return. They said they would help us, support us, do everything they could to get the farm running again, work for no money, just to have us back there, helping them, working alongside them. But we couldn’t go back, even if we wanted to.
So, why do I write about this now ? Well, my mother-in-law arrives from England tonight, to spend 3 weeks with us. Back on the African soil which she loves so much. My mother-in-law, who tells me how amazing she finds it that I can live in such remoteness like I do & asks me how I can do it, when SHE was a farmer’s wife for so many years and had it MUCH harder than I. She lived through a war, for goodness sake ! With 5 young children to protect, landmines on the farm, blowing up 1 of their tractors on it’s way to the fields one day, terrorist attacks, no way out in an emergency unless you asked the army for a helicopter. My mother-in-law, who lived through it all & eventually lost her beautiful home, farm and life …. she asks me how I cope – bless her – and when I remind her of how she lived (never mind without any satellite TV or internet connection !) she waves me off and changes the subject !
Such a strong woman, I am very close to her and am so glad to have her here with us for 3 weeks …. the late night chats and gorging ourselves silly on chocolate whilst she tells me about life as a farmer’s wife all those years ago are just one of the things I’m looking forward to … I can’t wait for her to arrive, and to share part of our lives with her for the next 3 weeks. Although I must admit that our Africa is a lot wilder and less refined than the Africa she remembers. But knowing my mother-in-law, she’ll take it all in her stride, with a dash of humor along the way and a beaming smile – and I’ll hug her a million times, and beg her not to leave !
My husband’s parents were successful tobacco farmers in Zimbabwe. They had their farms taken away from them in the early ‘80’s. My husband and his brothers had grown up believing that one day, the farms would be theirs – passed down through the generations. That was not the case. But that is Africa for you. No title deed or 100 th generation legacy or promises carved in stone ensure that you get to keep your land !
My husband and I met each other in South Africa and in 1995 – many years after his family had fled Zimbabwe – he took me back to show me the farm he’d grown up on. We drove from South Africa to Zimbabwe and stayed in the beautiful Inyanga mountains - it was a beautiful journey. I took him back to my home in Harare, to the old shopping centre where my Mum used to take my sister and I for the weekly grocery shop at “OK Bazaars” … which brought back memories of soapy tasting chocolate Fredo frogs as a special ‘treat’ … never mind the taste my Mum would tell us, it’s because of ‘sanctions’.
“Sanctions”, “The Bush War” and “The Terrs” (terrorists) were all part of our day-to-day life growing up in then Rhodesia.
So, my husband took me back to the farm. Of course his Mum had shown me the family photo albums before we left …. a beautiful home, landscaped garden, fertile farm fields. It is now – barren. The house has been destroyed, the gardens over grown, huts built where lush flower beds once were, starving children gathered around, chickens scratching in the dust. An eerie sound, as my husband’s name was called out by a stranger … recognition. 13 years absence, yet the old farm staff were still there. They remembered him … ohhh … the joy, the celebration as everyone gathered around, calling his name .. tears flowing.
You see, the farm had been taken from my husband’s family, and given to the farm laborers. But they had not been given the know-how or the resources to keep it running. No seed to plant the next crop, no fertilizer to nourish it, no diesel to put in the trucks to transport the crop to market, no spares or farm equipment. Years later, they were starving – literally starving to death – begging, begging us to please return. They said they would help us, support us, do everything they could to get the farm running again, work for no money, just to have us back there, helping them, working alongside them. But we couldn’t go back, even if we wanted to.
So, why do I write about this now ? Well, my mother-in-law arrives from England tonight, to spend 3 weeks with us. Back on the African soil which she loves so much. My mother-in-law, who tells me how amazing she finds it that I can live in such remoteness like I do & asks me how I can do it, when SHE was a farmer’s wife for so many years and had it MUCH harder than I. She lived through a war, for goodness sake ! With 5 young children to protect, landmines on the farm, blowing up 1 of their tractors on it’s way to the fields one day, terrorist attacks, no way out in an emergency unless you asked the army for a helicopter. My mother-in-law, who lived through it all & eventually lost her beautiful home, farm and life …. she asks me how I cope – bless her – and when I remind her of how she lived (never mind without any satellite TV or internet connection !) she waves me off and changes the subject !
Such a strong woman, I am very close to her and am so glad to have her here with us for 3 weeks …. the late night chats and gorging ourselves silly on chocolate whilst she tells me about life as a farmer’s wife all those years ago are just one of the things I’m looking forward to … I can’t wait for her to arrive, and to share part of our lives with her for the next 3 weeks. Although I must admit that our Africa is a lot wilder and less refined than the Africa she remembers. But knowing my mother-in-law, she’ll take it all in her stride, with a dash of humor along the way and a beaming smile – and I’ll hug her a million times, and beg her not to leave !
