November 10 1998
We spent the night at Norma Jean's bed and breakfast. Norma Jean's was a very colonial, small hotel located at the Great Zimbabwe ruins near Masvingo, Zimbabwe. We were operating a motorcycle tour with 14 Americans and Germans clients. My partner/boss and my wife were with me. My job was mechanic/tour guide. My wife drove the SUV with spare parts, a spare motorcycle, and all the clients baggage. My boss didn't usually come on tours, but we had to many clients on this trip, for me to watch them all safely.
Having my boss along was a good thing as he was born and raised in Zimbabwe. Actually that isn't correct. He has lived in 4 countries and has had 4 different passports, but all with the same street address. Where he lived hadn't changed, just the name of the country has changed 3 times during his lifetime.
Today would see us ride about 200 miles to visit a Coffee plantation for lunch, then another 150 miles through some very remote mountainous areas with the plan of spending the night in a hotel in Mutare.
We left Norma Jean's early and had a pleasant ride to the Plantation. Most of the clients bought coffee beans at the plantation and the SUV that my wife was driving had the most wonderful coffee smell.
We left the Plantation after a typical extravagant colonial feast. My Boss took the lead with 5 of the most speedy motorcyclist, and I followed about 10 minutes later with the rest of them following me. My wife drove the SUV in the rear, and she would never drive past a client, so we “theoretically” knew where all the clients were. Every hour my boss would stop so we could all catch up and get together. He would then leave as soon as he could see my wife coming in the SUV.
The next 25 miles was a mountainous section with steep drops, and very bad roads. My group had seen very few people on this leg, except while passing through a small village named BiriWiri. About 10 miles past BiriWiri, I pulled my group up to where my Boss was parked with his group. He looked nervous, and cussed when he saw the SUV come up and stop. He was missing a rider. The missing man had been the last person in his group. We asked all the people in my group if they had seen anything that may have indicated an accident. What now...Three hours till dark...and 75 miles to Mutare and the Hotel.
Some of the clients were very experienced riders. I sent 3 guys back to a gas station we had seen in BiriWiri, and told them to look for any sign of the missing rider. Then they were to come straight back to us. One of the major concerns in an accident is having the clients try to help, and becoming part of the problem. Off they went.
The missing rider's friend wanted to call the cops, and an ambulance and get a helicopter on the way. We explained that there was not even electricity for 50 miles, and no cell phone, or telephones, and probably not even police for 50 miles.
We decided that the best was for all the riders to follow my wife in the SUV to Mutare and the hotel. She would then unload the spare motorcycle off the trailer, and come back and meet us at the BiriWiri gas station. As soon as they left, my boss and I started slowly riding back to BiriWiri looking for any sign of the rider. We soon met the three guys we had sent back. They said all they found no sign of the rider. They didn't want to go Mutare while their friend was missing, so we told them to stay with us, and always do what we said. We would be dealing with untamed rual Africa, and someone with western values and thinking can be a real detriment to negotiating with the locals. We all rode to BiriWiri.
At the gas station a guy in a Chevron uniform came out to great us. We told him to fill us up. He said he couldn't as there was no fuel. I asked him how long he had not had fuel. He answered about 10 years. I asked him what he was doing there if the was no fuel. He said it was his job, and he had worked there 15 years. I asked when he got paid last. He said 10 years ago. I asked him if there was a Police station, or a hospital near by. He said the only thing in BiriWiri was a bar, just out of town, and a small clinic.
As the nearest fuel was now probably 75 miles away in Mutare, we decided to save fuel and pair up. We left one guy at the gas station with 3 bikes, and my Boss and I took one of the others on our bikes, and started a real thorough search along the edge of the road. After about 20 minutes of slow searching the guy riding behind me started hitting me and yelling. He showed me some broken branches on a tree about 20 feet off the road on the edge of a cliff. The broken branches were almost level with the road surface. Very strange indeed.
He started crawling down the cliff. I told him to do nothing to add to the current problem. Don't get hurt. I zoomed off to find my Boss. When we all got back to the broken branch, we called back the cliff climber. He said he found some plastic from a BMW turn signal. I sent one guy back to the Chevron station to get one get the other guy and two bikes back. We managed to find the wreckage about 50 feet down the cliff, and the rider was close to the bike, and in great pain. It looked like a broken leg, and collar bone. He was semi-conscious.
We had one of the returning guys come down to stay with the hurt guy. I had no ideas about getting him up the cliff. Up on the road again, we found quite a crowd of drunks from the bar had gathered around looking at the motorcycles. My boss said we needed to talk to the locals. He tried Matabelle, English, and Shona. Blank looks. I tried Portugeese, Setswana, and a bit of Zulu. Blank looks. I was thinking about going to the gas station and getting the guy there, when my Boss looked at me and said “I bet some of these drunks have worked the gold mines in South Africa”.
Fanagalo is a created language used by the mines in South Africa. Because people from all over Africa come to work on the gold mines, it became necessary to build a simple easy to learn language that could be taught to all workers. Fanagalo.
So my Boss yells “Hoza Lapa!” And to my surprise, about 4 drunks come forward. He starts talking to them. I then saw what looked like an Ambulance coming down the road. It was an Ambulance! What luck! I flag him down and tell him what has happened. He said if we can get the guy up the cliff, he will take him to the clinic. I opened the back doors and started to remove the stretcher. The driver tried to help, but he didn't seem to know how to work the stretcher. I asked his if he was a paramedic, and he laughed and said he is the mechanic, and had just changed the oil.
My boss gets out 50 US Dollars and tells the drunks they can have it if they get the guy onto the stretcher and into the Ambulance safely. 50 US Dollars was a huge amount of money to this crowd of bucolic drunks. They grabbed the stretcher and started down the cliff. My boss went with them to make sure they didn't hurt the guy any more than necessary. I guarded and kept the rest of the drunks away from the motorcycles. About 30 minutes later, by shear brute force and numbers, they got the guy up the cliff, and we put him in the Ambulance. My boss and the hurt guys friend went also in the Ambulance, and off they went to the clinic.
Now we had 2 people, and 2 bikes at the accident scene, and 3 bikes and one person at the petrol station, and 2 riders at the clinic. The client with me jumped on back of my bike, and we went back to BiriWiri. I hated leaving the one bike unattended at the petrol station. I gave the Chevron guy 10 US$ to stay with the bike until we came back for it. Back at the accident site, I sent two people back on one bike to get the other bike. Now we had 3 riders and 5 bikes at the accident scene.
I told the two clients with me to ride to the hotel in Mutare, and tell my wife what was happening. After giving them directions, they ride off. I am now all alone with 3 BMW motorcycles, and watched the crowd of drunks heading for the bar..Just then a Police Land Rover came by. The driver was a junior policeman that was on his way to Mutare.
I got an idea. I asked the policeman if he could take a motorcycle to Mutare on the top of his Land Rover. He looked at me like I was crazy, but nodded. I yelled “Hoza Lapa” at the top of my voice. And the crowd of drunks turned around and stumbled my way.
I took out another 50 US Dollars and held it up. I told the drunks they could have it all if they go down the cliff and bring up the crashed motorcycle. 30 minutes later they had the crumpled wreck up the cliff, and tied on top of the Land Rover. The police asked what to do with the wreck when he got to Mutare? I told him a lady in an SUV would meet him on the road, and he should help get the wreck onto the trailer she would be towing. I gave him a wad of US Dollars. Probably more than a months pay, and he drove off.
All the drunks were gone by now, and it was dark. I pushed the two bikes under a tree. I then jumped on my BMW and rode off to find the clinic in the dark. After many stops, getting very lost twice, and getting stuck in the sand twice, I finally found the clinic. The injured guy was out with painkillers, and all wrapped up. I told my boss the plan, and where I had hidden the bikes. He agreed to stay there at the clinic.
I grabbed the remaining client and told him to come with me. He jumped on the back of my motorcycle and off we went riding in the thick sand, in the dark. I finally found the other bikes under the tree. I told him we were going to ride quickly to Mutare. He wasn't very happy about that. The roads were bad with many potholes, and there were lots of wild animals.
I explained to him our method of riding fast in the dark. Our lead tour motorcycles both had headlights from the US on them. All the rest of the bikes had the European headlights. Because the Americans drive on the opposite side of the road, their headlight point more to the right. European headlights point more to the left. The clients job was to give me light by riding close to me, and a little behind me on my left. He would make sure his headlights never shown in my mirror, but still close enough not be blinded my my tail light. This would light up both sides of the road where most animals would appear. I explained that he should let me do the looking out for road hazards and wild animals. He would concentrate on holding his position.
After 30 minutes we went screaming past the Land Rover with the wreck on top. About 10 minutes later a car coming toward us, started flashing it's lights. It was my wife. She had recognized the two close together lights with the one headlight focusing more to the right. We stopped with her and waited for the Police Land Rover to come along. We pushed the wreck off onto the trailer with a bit more enthusiasm than needed, and it almost went off the other side of the trailer. I gave the policeman another 20 US dollars, and he drove off. The client continued on to the hotel, and after filling up my motorcycle from a Jerry can, my wife had thoughtfully brought along, she followed me to the BiriWiri clinic. We arrived there just after 11:00 that night.
The BiriWiri Clinic is run by a Swedish married couple. He was a Doctor and she was a Nurse. They had started the clinic about 10 years ago, and were the only medical staff that had ever been there. They were financed by a small group of “true” humanitarians. Not like most of the world "pseudo" humanitarians.
They had our client stabilized and he was sleeping. His right femur and his collar bone were broken. They said his helmet was almost destroyed in the accident. They say his good BMW body armor had probably saved his life. They were concerned about neck injuries. They did X-rays, but wanted to get him to Mutare Hospital as soon as he could be moved. Probably in 3 to 4 days. We made sure they had plenty of money, and headed for our other clients in Mutare.
The three of us arrived at the hotel in time for breakfast. We got the tour ready to head for Harare. We flipped a coin to see who would go back to BiriWiri and check on the client. Who ever did would end up doing a fast 200 kilometers to try to catch up to the group. We were all very tired, but we both wanted to do that. I lost the coin flip, and my boss rode off to BiriWiri.
He caught up as we were having lunch in Harare. He said the client was talking, but sleeping lots. We continued on to Kariba where we would spend 2 nights and 3 days.
The next day the clients were going on local supervised tours, so my boss and I jumped in the SUV and headed back to BiriWiri. We arrived there about 6 hours later. The client was better, and could be moved the next day. We went to Mutare and got him signed into the hospital, sorted his American Medical Aid and insurance. We also arranged an ambulance to fetch him the next day. We spent the night in Mutare.
Early the next day we went to BiriWiri. A few hours later the Ambulance from Mutare arrived and took the client away. We talked to the Swedish Doctor, and asked for the bill for the 3 nights in the clinic, X-rays, and medicine. He figured it all out and the total was 32 US$. We were shocked. Just the ambulance from the hospital in Mutare was almost five hundred dollars.
My partner checked the invoice for a long time, then reached into his bag, and gave the Doctor a thousand US$. He told him to keep the change.
We jumped into the SUV and zoomed to Kariba. The tour continued as normal, except that on day 12 of the 14 day tour my wife drove to Mutare and brought the client back so he could finish the tour riding in the back seat of the SUV. We told all the clients about the total charges from BiriWiri Clinic. They all pitched in another thousand dollars before they left Zimbabwe.
Two days after the tour was done, and all clients away. We all jumped on bikes and had a staff ride to the BiriWiri clinic.
Those days, were the best of days.
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