FRANCE 24 EXCLUSIVE - ZIMBABWE

Undercover in Mugabe’s Zimbabwe

From Victoria Falls in Zimbabwe, to Mussina in South Africa. 3,000 kilometres in 12 days: a glimpse of the realities in a disaster area.

Since Zimbabwean President Robert Mugabe’s government has stopped issuing press visas in recent months, we have no choice. We’re going to try entering this beautiful but politically beleaguered southern African nation on a tourist visa.

The ploy however, is sometimes hard to pull off: the trickle of tourists entering Zimbabwe these days is growing thin… except at the Victoria Falls, a mandatory stop if you don’t want to seem suspicions.

We land at Victoria Falls in a plane full of Italian hunters… the fauna is one of the country’s main attractions. During the flight, a safari organizer warns us of perils to come: severe food and petrol shortages mean traveling is pretty much impossible and in any case, visitors should never wander outside the national parks.

We drive to a lodge bordering the savanna. Red flowers hang from bare branches and prickly ochre shrubs rustle under the setting sun. Time seems to have stopped. The sumptuous landscapes enchant the ignorant, happy tourists. But we are unable to enjoy the surrounding beauty.

A few hundred metres from the tourist enclave, the situation is very different: along the road, shops are empty and petrol stations closed. Inflation rates are devastating. Officially, the Zimbabwean government admits that inflation reaches 7,000% this year. But on the black market, it reaches 1,000,000%. A world record.

“We’ll make a plan”

The next day, we hit the road at the break of dawn. The few police roadblocks don’t deter us. The roads are empty. We buy some very expensive petrol on the black market. Who else can afford it? On the outskirts of towns, men, women and children, huddled round their luggage, waiting for buses -- which will never come. There is no diesel to run them anymore.

We have an appointment with Gary and Jane, two white farmers who wish to remain anonymous. They settled some 800 km from Victoria Falls. Today, a mere 300 white farmers risk expulsion. In 2002, 4,000 were expelled by order of President Robert Mugabe. Gary was lucky: he could stay, but the government claimed 90% of his 900 hectares farm.

Gary spends all his money on farming equipment. “We’ll make a plan” is his mantra. His do-it-yourself, hands-on attitude helps him tackle all sorts of daily problems, the power cuts, the petrol shortages, the closed shops, the difficulties finding milk, bread and meat.

Despite the collapse of Zimbabwe, a couple of whites still want to believe a future is possible. In the capital of Harare, the polo club -- where they still maintain colonial customs against all odds -- the atmosphere is heavy with that end-of-century feeling. Tonight, the Old Georgian Rugby Club is celebrating. The younger white generation is making plans for the future. Most of them have returned from studies abroad, in the UK, the US or in Australia, and came home to start their own business. They say the Old Continent may be clean and beautiful, but it’s so terribly boring. They are too young to remember the former colonial Rhodesia and are unashamed around their black fellow citizens. Nevertheless, for most of them, dating a black person is still out of the question.

Ordering ostrich and white wine – and nothing else

We choose a rather calm hotel in a residential district of Harare, somewhat less observed than the town’s grand hotels. The restaurant only offers one dish: a rather dismal plate of ostrich and a glass of white wine. But the bill holds some surprises: 7,800 US dollars, the official price set by the central bank. Luckily, we kept a couple of rolls of Zimbabwean dollars, bought on the black market, and the bill is divided by 100. While having a drink in the bar, three prostitutes offer, somewhat suspiciously, to guide us round the capital. We are wary, maybe even a little bit paranoid knowing that the country’s secret services, deemed very efficient, were trained by the East-German Stasi. A recent law allows the government to monitor all types of communication including fax, Internet and telephone conversations.

The next day, we try to send our video footage through the DHL services. Entering the bureau, a sign warns us that customs are allowed to check the contents or our packages. Immediately, an employee asks us if we are journalists. We leave on the spot.

Though all media channels -- press as well as television -- are under constant surveillance, young people send each other satirical pieces on the regime in Harare’s low-debit Internet cafes. In private, even in cars, people are more outspoken. At a red light, we are blocked to let an official delegation drive by. A fellow driver admits he’s disgusted to see these cars speed by while his country is dying of hunger.

A few apparatchiks have become experts at drawing profit from the system’s absurdities, playing on the differences between the official and black market currency rates. In Harare, an impressive number of 4x4 and sports cars show just how rich some of the regime’s select few are.

Interviewing people is extremely difficult; most are wary of journalists. For good reason. Talking to a foreigner is suspicious and many risk being imprisoned and interrogated.

We pick up a few hitch-hikers, sometimes, they dare speak of the political crisis, of the opposition. But we don’t push them. Or else they close up and become nervous.