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planted..

Long story short: In ’97 I pony’d up my money to buy a new camera rig and go to Southern Africa. About two weeks and 13 rolls of film I wandered aimlessly in the Zimbabwe bush . I was completely blown away of the solitude and beauty the country offered. Upon taking this in, I had a strange feeling about something.. I turn my head looking back along the path I just walked as I see a man locked into my eyes walking toward me. Trying not to make a big deal I continued to walk pondering the thought. I stop and pretend to check my shoe lace and have another look.. this time I see he is trotting toward me, I stand up getting ready to confront.. suddenly two other gorilla sized men appear out of the bushes. I find myself surrounded by these guys and before I know it I’m getting hit from all directions, fists, stones, and large sticks. I suppose it’s too late to tell them how much I love their country and how much I adore Thomas Mapfumo. I do my best to cover my vitals hoping they’d take what they need and go.. but still they are there continuing to wail on me chanting that they are going to kill me. Why? Suddenly they are gone (with everything including my hat and jacket). My arms and head stinging from blows, I get to my feet and begin running after them into the bush.. suddenly the pain and realization of what just happened kicks in “I’m alive” .. “I’m flipping alive and have no dam idea where I am”.

It was Christmas Eve and I make my way back to the self contained farm/ bunk house I was staying at. I return and relate my story to one of the residents “Gamba” who was working there as a security guard, we jump in his jeep and off we go in search of the guys who robbed me. We drive through a small village with tin-walled houses with tin-roofs, there’s kids in the heavily littered street wearing rags, scarred mothers with no shoes, patchy-haired dogs with 3 legs hobbling around , and a lot of eyes on us as we loped through town. “Forget it” and ask we turn around.. Gamba insists we go to the police station and report it. We arrive at the police station, the building is of mud and a tin roof with a small jail exposed to the waiting room. As humiliating as it was to report that I was beaten and stripped of my possessions as I stand next to a malnourished woman who has clearly been through worse. I realize that this is a well-meaning lesson from Gamba that I did not need to pay extra for.

Lesson 3: Gamba and I return to the house.. The guests are all gathered in the candle lit living room singing christmas songs. I gather up a few books and a notebook and head out side. I sit and just daydream staring off into the dusk horizon attempting to figure out how to start writing or gain inspiration to look into a guide book again, my body is throbbing and my head stings. Now the guests are singing a Beatles song. Weird. Unexpectedly I am handed an ice cold Lion Lager by a dread-headed Australian girl. I really felt like being alone, though the condensation-drenched beer bottle felt great on my head and better in my stomach. It was difficult to turn her away out of respect to her offering and therapeutic intentions. She began to tell me stories of her family and how she missed being with them over the holiday as she’s been traveling for the past 5 months. She then proceeds to tell me how everything happens for a reason, including my day’s adventure. What? This was clearly the last thing I really felt like hearing in my current constitution. We continue to babble through the night about what we know of each others country (including President Clinton and Kangaroos) and hearing out each-others pains..

Lesson 4: There is “a reason”, but I’ll get to that later.