Zimbabwe

Dusty roads, big smiles and men with names like Obey, Active and Never are what come to mind when I think about my trip to Zimbabwe. I had the pleasure of traveling there for work last month to a small town called Beitbridge on the South African border.  The long drive through South African savannahs dotted with the mangled trunks of Baobab trees, passing through towns where funeral parlours were the fanciest buildings made it all too clear that I definitely was not home.

Photo courtesty LaertesCTB

And my home was even harder to explain at the border.

Immigration officer: "Tree-nee-dad end Toobogo. My sistah, where is thees place?"

a story with a face, a face with a name

Robert *, a young accountant, moves his family from Zimbabwe to escape a declining economic and political climate. he cannot find a job in his field so he works installing security alarms...

David*, a psychology major, teaches himself to sew because there are no jobs for psychologists in Kinshasa. he is kidnapped and marked for execution because of a political comment he made on the radio. he narrowly escapes execution and travels all the way to johannesburg to start over...

these are the people i get to meet each day as part of my job. i suppose they are whom we'd call "the poor", but i have a hard time using this descriptor. meeting them, they are anything but. and there's something about hearing their stories and their determination to "make it despite a bad situation…" that always puts me to shame.

jo'burg

i am here. i am excited. i am ready!

after TWO days of flying/airport trotting/cramped legs from coach plane seats/air sickness i am finally in johannesburg.

it is cold.

for those of you who snoozed during your geography lessons: because of where south africa is, the winter months are from may to july, while summer starts at the end of the year.

the houses aren't insulated. i don't know why. did i mention that i'm cold?