It’s very sobering riding through once thriving farms that now lie in ruins. It’s almost as though I am a ghost riding through this area. I appear and observe the broken buildings and First World War barbed wire fence lines, the burnt-out landscape and mangled and rusted metal. It is sad.
I think of how so recently these farms were thriving places full of people and animals and crops …. and how everything was ordered, neat and productive, and how now they lie in ruination, often deserted. For many, the memories of the ghosts of the past are fading. A new generation has been born.
I was delighted however, at the beginning of my journey from Mount Carmel farm, to see a farm worker as we set off. “Hello boss,” she said, in absolute delight. “How is Joshua? How is Stephen? How is Anna?” It was over 15 years since the invaders burnt our houses down and she would have last seen my children then.
I do not doubt that justice will prevail in the future. We just need to continue to pursue it.
Farmhouse in ruins
(Left) Farm buildings in ruins; (Right) Broken fences and burnt-out landscape
Water is life. I need to water Tsedeq every day ̶ preferably twice, if I can. It’s always such a joy to find a well or a hand-pump borehole like this one below. I personally carry nearly 8 litres for myself. Out in the hot October sun all day one needs to be constantly rehydrating. The weight of my water is much the same as all my food, bedding, tarpaulin, toiletries, clothes, waterproofs, torch etc. put together. My saddle weighs a similar amount too.
Jesus said: “If anyone is thirsty come to me and drink.”
(Left) Tsedeq drinking from a hand-pump borehole; (Right) Tsedeq grazing after 1,600km;
Foreground: my shoes need repairing!
After over 1,600 km with these shoes they are starting to need some repairs. I did a bit of stitching, which should hopefully make them last a little longer. Feet are the most important thing of all to look after on a long trek. Tsedeq’s feet are looking good. He’s been barefoot the whole way.
(Left) Children along the way; (Right) Tsedeq drinking from a clear stream
We’ve found such good water along our route. This stream is clear and running - which is such a blessing in October after a drought year ̶ it’s more than six months since it last rained.
Iconic balancing rocks
My progress across eastern Zimbabwe from Mount Carmel farm to Mutare
Zimbabwe’s Eastern Districts comprise landscapes of rolling hills, granite outcrops, expansive valleys and deep gorges
This has been a hard little adventure. After I last posted, I had a good day heading eastwards through beautiful country. We found good grazing and good water.
In the afternoon I was approaching a river valley and saw a person.
“Can I cross?” I asked.
“Yes,” he said. “But there’s no road.”
I crossed a small stream and thought that on the other side it must be a politician’s jambanjad farm as the winter crops looked hopeless. [Jambanjas were intimidating and usually violent state-sponsored confrontations to force white farmers from their land during the chaotic farm invasions. The best farms were frequently taken over by the ruling ZANU PF party’s elite who had no farming experience. President Mugabe is reported to have amassed 21 farms during his presidency.]
I had to cross a reed bed. It had burnt and there were cattle tracks into it but I left Tsedeq on some couch grass while I wandered down to test it. It was brown and spongy with built up organic matter but it seemed okay.
I went back to get Tsedeq and lead him through. All was fine until, less than 10 metres from some acacia trees on the other side, Tsedeq suddenly went down behind me and started porpoising forward.
In a flash the reeds gave way underneath me also and we were both in deep water tangled in thick reeds.
I realised that I couldn’t swim because of the tangling effect of the reeds stopping my limbs from moving and I quickly discovered that the only way to stay above water was to leopard crawl on top of the reeds and “float” on top of them.
Tsedeq was unable to do this and his strength was beginning to fail him. I realised that he would quickly drown if I didn’t hold his muzzle above the water. He was breathing hard and his eyes were wide with fear.
Tsedeq sinking in a tangle of reeds
I then realised that his only hope was for me to somehow take his pack and saddle off. It had now become hugely heavy and waterlogged.
I dragged the bed roll off the top while holding my leg under his chin. I then lifted the forward saddle bags off. The back saddle bags were more difficult as the leather strop went underneath and was attached to the two girths.
Eventually, desperately, I undid the girths on the left side. They were tangled in the reeds though so I undid them on the right side too. I then had to cut the leather strap with my penknife taking care with Tsedeq’s struggles not to cut him or me. I could then get his saddle blankets off too and placed everything on the floating reeds to the left and right of our passageway.
All the while I was keeping his head above water.
I then leopard crawled to the front, holding his head up with the halter rope. I started to feel solid ground ahead and urged him on.
He would make a huge struggle with his legs coming right up out of the water while I dodged the flying hooves, then he would be exhausted and breathing hard.
After over half an hour of all this I was beginning to lose hope. It appeared to be a desperate situation. I could see the hope disappearing from Tsedeq’s eyes. I knew that when hope was gone, it would be the end.
I was talking to him constantly.
“Come on, Tsedeq. Good boy. You are such a good boy. You can do it my boy. I know you can do it.”
Then suddenly he made a last great lunge with what appeared to be his last strength. His front legs hit solid ground. He lay there again breathing hard. I let him rest.
“Come on, Tsedeq. You are there my boy. I stood up at the end of his lead rope three metres from him, lifting his head.
His eyes were wild. He was looking to the right - or even at going back.
“No, my boy. We are there.” I said.
I had been pulling with all my strength on the lead rope but I wasn’t strong enough. I couldn’t leave him to try to get help. This battle had to be just him and me. It seemed like he had given up though.
Suddenly he gave another burst of energy and with my pulling at the same time he was out from the entangling reeds and deep water beneath them.
He was shaking all over and his mouth immediately went down to bite some grass so that he could calm down.
I saw my little bag of sugar and salt and baobab powder floating on the trail we had blazed through the water. I swam back out and opened it up and poured a mixture into my right hand for him to eat.
I then went back out to retrieve my things. I had lost most of my food and my knife and despite an hour of feeling for the girths with my feet I never retrieved them; but I had the essentials and I knew I could probably make a plan with the girths.
I set up a line and started to try to dry everything out; I realised I would have a wet and cold night.
Just before dark I saw two people in the barley crop about 50 metres away. I thought I ought to saddle up and push on, but Tsedeq was still shaky and I was exhausted. I decided to risk staying a bit longer as there was a warm, drying wind and at least my saddle blankets could dry off a bit more. Sleeping under wet blankets was not a happy thought.
Just after dark five torches went on not 20 metres from me. People had crept up and had formed a semi-circle pinning me back against the marsh.
“Good evening,” I said immediately walking towards where Tsedeq was tied under an acacia. I was thinking fast and trusting God for the right words. I knew I couldn’t fight my way out if their intentions were hostile.
“Thank you for coming to check up on me,” I said. “I am trying to get to Nyazura and I went down in the marsh. You nearly had a dead white man and a dead horse!”
I then related what had happened and told them I needed to dry my things.
They checked through all my kit that was spread out and asked questions. The leader had a ZANU T-shirt on.
“Come with us,” he said.
I knew I had to play for time. “I need to calm my horse down and let my things dry,” I said. “Can I stay here till morning?”
“What time?” he said.
“6 o’clock,” I said.
“We will see you in the morning,” he said.
They started to walk away. I felt relief. But I felt I had to do one more thing.
“Can I pray for you,” I called out as they were walking off back into the darkness from where they had come.
“Yes,” their leader called back continuing to walk on.
“Come back,” I said. “I want to pray for you now.”
They came back and I prayed for them. I thanked them once again for coming to see me and said they must now get back to their homes.
“See you in the morning,” they called out.
I knew I had to get moving. I lay by Tsedeq watching his ears. He was calming down and l knew I could always rely on him to tell me if there was anyone still left around. A horse’s senses are so much better than our own.
The mosquitoes were humming mercilessly and I decided I would use them as my reason for moving on if I were challenged.
After an hour or so I quietly started to saddle up. It was tricky in the darkness and particularly without the girths, but an American Western saddle has a different girth system to my Australian stock saddle, and I hatched a plan to fasten the saddle using the lanyards. I couldn’t get them particularly tight, but I wouldn’t be riding and hoped that this would get me far enough before the saddle slipped. I could devise a better system in the light.
The moon was obscured by cloud, but there was enough light, and after I felt satisfied I had found everything and packed it, we headed out, taking care not to go on any paths where we might easily be tracked.
I weaved around a bit to confuse any potential tracker but I knew that they wouldn’t be able to track us till morning anyway. I was thankful that Tsedeq is a remarkably quiet horse. Barefoot with no snorting he can move over ground without a sound. There was no metal work to clang together as I was not carrying a bit or bridle. The only metal was the stirrups.
We moved like ghosts through the darkness which swallowed up the land behind us.
Periodically I stopped and listened, then told Tsedeq in a whisper what a good boy he was. I knew after the first few hundred metres that we were probably safe.
It occurred to me what a terrible irony - not to mention the most awful tragedy - it would have been if I had lost Tsedeq in the mire. Justice and righteousness drowned and swallowed up on a jambanjad farm. It gave me such heart to know that it hadn’t, that with a continued drive for “Tsedeq” and with “Tsedeq”, justice and righteousness could prevail in the land in Zimbabwe. I knew that “Tsedeq” was worth standing for and fighting for and saving. The land without it was doomed to continually fail.
I walked through the barley crop. It was so poor that I knew it wasn’t even worth harvesting.
On the other side was a centre pivot (used for crop irrigation) through the trees, lit up. I stopped and heard guard dogs barking. I waited. The last thing I needed was dogs on my tracks. They went quiet. I circled round into the bush and found an obscure cattle path heading in the right direction. After four or five kilometres we got onto a track that crossed the next river.
When I knew we had gone far enough, my saddle slipped around underneath Tsedeq and he stopped. I could see some grazing land through the trees in the moonlight on the other side of a vlei. I took Tsedeq over and tied him to his long line between two acacia trees in full blossom and then went to fetch my saddle and pack, still heavy with water.
I lay down exhausted with the scent of mimosa. Thankfully it was not too cold. I put the wet woollen saddle blankets over me and slept. I would have five hours till dawn and would move on at first light.
Dishevelled after the ordeal
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