Zambezi Kiwi

If there’s one thing I love about Africa, it’s the adventure of living here. That goes from the everyday little delights, like whether or not there will be power, to the great mysteries, like who, exactly, built the ancient ruins scattered across Zimbabwe’s gold seam.

The every day-type adventures keep you on your toes. They mean that, no matter what, one day WILL NOT look like the next. Were there raisins at the supermarket last year? YES! Are there any now? No. Is the USD legal tender? YES! Will it be outlawed in the middle of major building contracts agreed to in USD? YES!

Some days, you laugh.

Some days, you cry.

But the big mysteries are so much more fun in Africa because rules or regulations are, let’s be honest, more theoretical than practical. In New Zealand an historic site would be carefully managed, with fenced paths along which you could walk and signs telling you not to touch anything. Now, this is wonderful, because it means the site is preserved beautifully and available for future study.

In Zimbabwe there’s a guy sleeping somewhere out back whom you wake up so you can pay your entry fee, then you go bush bash through the site, clambering over the walls, making ghost noises in all the tunnels (while mum tells you to be careful of snakes), and running your hands over the rocks that make you wonder about the hands that put them there in the first place.

It’s wonderful in an entirely different way; the site isn’t being preserved as it deserves to be, but there is a freedom to explore and interact with history that makes anything else feel sterile and boring in comparison. No one else is around, and you are generally miles and miles off the beaten path, feeling exactly like an explorer pushing aside a branch and seeing the ancient stones stacked one upon the other for the very first time.

There’s also, and you’ll have to forgive me here, a freedom to postulate and observe that makes the whole thing feel like a real, genuine adventure of discovery. That freedom isn’t really available to you in the West anymore. There are accepted versions of history that we all sort of have to stick to, or else be ostracized. You can’t get through a site without a guide to tell it to you, and signs to reinforce the currently accepted version of events.

Even when there are very real questions that aren’t answered by those theories. It’s a shame, because we should always be able to ask questions. How else can we discover more about the past?

But you can escape the guide and discuss your thoughts or observations freely here, and the results can be beautiful. I’ll give you an example.

The very best person in the world to explore an ancient ruin with was Oupa. He had spent a lifetime visiting the sites, and at 90 still had enough excitement about them to propel him to the top of the kopje they were invariable built upon, so that he could observe very carefully the genus and species of all plant life visible, the type of rock and manner of construction of each site, the lay of the land and resources nearby (like rivers).

His style, as we went along, was to point out what he was observing, and raise questions about it. Have you noticed the very ancient lemon trees scattered about the ruins in the Mazoe valley? They are the same genus as those from Israel, and not a native plant, how did they get here? Do you observe the rock used in the construction of this ruin is different to the rock found in the area? Who brought it here? From where? How? And what could make such a massive undertaking worthwhile?

Most importantly, he would ask, do you see how each of the ruins is built on top of a carefully selected and shaped Kopje, within signaling sight of at least one other ruin, if not more, and that this chain runs unbroken across the country ‘s 1400 known ruins?

With each question the mystery would build, and past seemed to unravel itself before your very eyes. Before you knew it you were swept into ancient history and it seemed as if there was nowhere more interesting to be.

Certainly, Oupa’s theories were not accepted history. But then again, accepted history refused to answer so many of his questions, except, perhaps, to call them chance, so it’s no wonder he gave up on it.

We were in the middle of one such adventure with Oupa at Khami Ruins, when we made our most exciting discovery. Kepler was clambering over ancient walls on top of the main ruin with us, Will and I were trying to count the number of ruins that would be within signaling distance of Khami (the answer is 14), and Oupa was looking at the famous cross carved into the ground right on the edge of the hill.

“But I’ve been thinking,” he said, “no one would cut a cross into stone flat on the ground like this. You know? A cross is a sign that goes on a wall, it stands up. So I’ve got an idea. Does anyone have a compass?”

We duly got out our phones and opened the compass apps.

“Now,” instructed Oupa, “hold them over the cross.”

We gasped as we realized that the cross was three degrees off the points of the compass- not bad considering that it was a cement repair to the original carved in actual stone beneath it. Official history says its just a cross carved into the ground.

“There, you see?” said Oupa, quite victorious. “So from this platform you can clearly send a signal to the main hill over there. You can let them know accurate location data with something as simple as the reflection from a shining surface.”

As we walked around the site with our compasses out, we discovered the walls were all built along the points of the compass, too, or just off. It was an incredible moment, born of being able to meander around rubble and muse.

We later discovered that the same holds for the ruins at Jabulani, where there are walls built facing each of the cardinal points, as there are at Great Zimbabwe Ruins. We hadn’t thought about compass directions when we visited the other three sites we’ve seen.

But that’s why I love adventuring in Africa. You never know what you’ll discover, or whether the ruin will even still be there when you set out with no map and only a vague description of how to find it. You also don’t know if you’ll break down and have to decide whether to wait possibly months for a rescue, or make your way through snake and lion-infested bush with no weapons and dwindling supplies in order to get out.

It all makes Indiana Jones utterly boring.

But, as my amazing hubby likes to quote, “life is either a daring adventure, or nothing.”