aid

It was hot and humid as we stepped off the bus in Victoria Falls, but that didn’t stop the hawkers from approaching us. Waving thousands, millions, billions and trillions of dollars in our faces, these guys would stop at nothing to make us rich. Finally we relented and for 4 USD we became trillionaires…in a currency that isn’t legal anymore.

While the effects of hyper inflation will be felt in Zimbabwe for years to come, entrepreneurs around the country are cashing in on their worthless paper currency. Printed by the reserve bank in denominations up to 100 trillion Zimbabwe dollars, we as well as many other tourists, were happy to snap up a few bills as souvenirsBecoming a trillionaire was easier than playing the lotto, and every time we stepped out of our hostel we were besought by hawkers trying to make us rich. We were followed, tracked and stalked through town by men trying to make an actual USD or two.. Asking about coins, Danny arranged to meet a young man the next morning at 6am. Sure enough the teen “organized” some old Zimbabwe coins for Danny and stood outside waiting for us at 6 a.m.

Having secured our fortune, we made our way to the falls, which unfortunately were completely covered in their own mist. From what we could see they were beautiful, but unable to whitewater kayak the Zambezi we saw the falls and decided to move on. Waiting at the combi rank for the mini-bus to fill up for the return trip to Bulawayo, the driver yelled at us to get in quickly. As he sped away into the woods, away from the main road, alarms went off in my head. We’re getting away from the police he said, which didn’t exactly quell my fears. Crashing through the bush along what can only be described as a dirt bicycle path the combi popped out into a clearing in front of some small huts. “The police are bad, they just want money,” the driver said. “They want my license, my registration, my passenger list, my defense card,” he continued listing four or five other government forms before turning onto a real street. Breathing a sigh of relief, we made our way back to the combi rank and quickly filled with passengers. Everyone it seemed was interested in the foreigners on the combi, especially when they found out we were American. “Obama!” people said to us, a phrase which we hear almost every time we tell people where we are from. “American, you buy me an 18 wheel truck,” one overweight guy wearing a Durban Sharks jersey told us. “I will pay for two weeks in Victoria Falls if you give me a truck,” he offered with a hopeful smile and a belly full of laughter. “Sure,” we said. “When we win the lottery.” He laughed shook our hand and walked towards a crowd of women yelling “Bulwayo, Wange, Bulwayo.”

It’s always good rtravel karma to share food with people on the bus or combi, especially with the driver or his helper. Passing around a loaf of cinnamon bread, we chatted with the driver about his family, the hyper inflation and “life on the road.” Swearing under his breath, the driver pulled the combi over just as we sputtered to a stop. Watching the driver and the helper tinker with the engine, it was clear neither had much car repair experience. Although I didn’t understand what they said in their native language, the body language said it all. “Hmm…yea looks like the engine is stopped,” said one. “Yup, yup, definitely stopped,” said the other. “Maybe if I pull out this wire….” well you see how it went. From the back of the combi climbed a man in dress pants and a button down shirt who claimed to have mechanical experience. Offering up our swiss army knife, which is used more to open bottles than to repair anything, Danny supervised the car repairs from the drivers seat and before we knew it we were back on our way. At least for the moment.

A few kilometers outside Bulwayo we were stopped for probably our 5th or 6th police checkpoint. Immediately we knew we were in for problems. “No front plate,” he said. “Show me your wipers, show me your lights, show me your blinkers,” he barked at the driver. “How many passengers?” his interrogation continued. “No front plate. No front plate.” A lady in the back of the combi leaned out and yelled at him. What she said I don’t know, but she had that angry “you are messing with the wrong woman” sassiness about her. Head moving side to side and finger pointing, she continued to argue with the officer. “What did you say? You are obstructing police work. Out of the vehicle,” the cop said. Climbing out of the car in an angry rage, the woman continued to argue with the officer. “What is she saying?” I asked the person behind me. “She’s accusing him of looking for a bribe,” said someone from the back. Across Africa we’ve been warned of police officers looking for bribes at these “checkpoints”, so his answer didn’t surprise me in the least. Settling in to wait for the confrontation to be resolved I cracked open a peanut and passed the bag to Danny. Offering peanuts to the rest of the combi, Danny turned around with the bag. “I never say no to US-Aid,” shouted one guy, laughing as he reached for the nuts. The entire combi broke out in laughter, everyone chuckling as they cracked open their nuts. US-AID handed out, and justice handed down to the woman (in an unfortunate sentence of 20USD and 3 hours in a holding cell) we continued on to Bulawayo.

In the span of 24 hours we became trillionaires, viewed Victoria Falls, evaded the police, got some decent use out of our swiss army knife, and handed out U.S. Food aid. Thats what I call a successful 24 hours on the road.

The end of traditional tourism is here, say good-bye to huge resources draining all-inclusive resorts. World-wide lodges, hostels and hotels are turning more eco-friendly, and some even go beyond not changing the used towels you hang up. Worldwide new trends in tourism are developing, from eco-tourism to poverty tourism to agro-tourism, but one of the most promising is perhaps the increasingly popularity of sustainable tourism. Sustainable tourism, developing the tourism industry in a way that it enhances the traditional culture and environment instead of tearing it down. We’ve been lucky enough to see true sustainable tourism twice on our trip- once in Nicaragua and once in Lesotho.

The Malealea Lodge in Malealea, Lesotho is written up in all the guidebooks as a must-do. Although they give a vague description on the lodge, its activities and the associated Malealea Development Trust, no guidebook can express the atmosphere of a place like the Malealea Lodge. Seven kilometers of dirt road through a pass known as the “gates of paradise” takes you a world away from the paved road you left. Immediately life looks more pastoral over the pass and it doesn’t take long to encounter a local on the road. Greetings take on an importance in Lesotho that they have lost in the West, and every single person we met on the road greeted us with a genuine smile and lumela (hello).

Like other parts of the world, tourism means money, and so generally the locals are happy to see you, and then again just as happy to see you go. Malealea Lodge and its Development Trust ensure that when you go, that core feeling you have that your life has changed is also the same feeling the surrounding community has. Through trial and error, the owners of Malealea have developed sustainable tourism programs to benefit the entire community. Through financial, professional and volunteer donations, the Lodge and Trust have made themselves they keystone of a thriving Basotho community where traditional customs are maintained and will continue to be preserved.

As we hiked through the surrounding countryside we saw small subtle hints of Malealea’s impact. Clean water taps to outlying villages, a reclaimed donga, a traditional handi-craft center giving local woman a fair income for their work, and even tables made from tin cans, the examples of the positive impact of tourists in the community are never too far. The hands of tourists have built the community a pre-school, a primary school, and set up a fund to subsidize school fees and uniforms. Short-term tourists turn into long-term visitors, teaching English, computer skills, moderating HIV/AIDS awareness projects, eventually passing these jobs on to locals. Tourism dollars support small business loans that help entrepreneurs build their first mill, buy their first shoe leather and set up a successful shop. The repayment of these loans helps goes back in the pool to be loaned to others. Perhaps the most positive impact of a place like Malealea is that it teaches both tourists and locals how to interact with each other in a way that isn’t disruptive but rather inter-dependent.

It’s easy to say I want to help those around me, especially in Africa where there are so many people living in sub-standard conditions, but like all aid, we struggle to balance a hand out with a hand up. The extra pocket change you give as a tip to your hiking guide or pony guide can translate to jealousy in a local community, and may not reach its intended purpose. Aid can sometimes be like a chess game, what impact does this small seemingly insignificant gesture or project have on the local community? That’s why projects like those at Malealea are so important. As a tourist we paid the same money, perhaps even less, than we would have at a traditional lodge, and not only got an authentic cultural experience, but also supported the community in such a way that in 20 years it will still remain intact.

Malealea had a very deep and profound impact on me, one that deepens every day. The owners set out just to have a small lodge, not a community supporting development project, but through their work and that of their clients they’ve positively impacted the lives of everyone in that valley. It’s leadership like theirs, which inspires us to have an impact and to think about our travel decisions which will help change the world, not just the little sign reminding us to hang up our used towels to be used again tomorrow.

Victoria Falls…sort of

A different kind of tourism

Recent Comments

Banking on the Road

Adventure Guides