The Third World as seen from the saddle

This week’s blog is mostly all about riding bicycles, sort of, plus the four letter word stress, provided you spell badly. Where those two opposites collide, is the very hard to spell ailment of the bottom that I am currently suffering from. That I’ve had a relapse just four weeks out from the start of our 3200 km Lockdown Tour is rather stressful, especially given that I’ll spend all of those 3200 km seated on top of the aforementioned bottom ailment, apart from those bits where I have to get off my bike and walk, which given my current levels of fitness could be quite a lot and also quite stressful. And then more stress on top of all that stress when my doctor on Google told me that stress is a likely cause of the hard to spell bottom ailment in the first place. Alas, a viscous circle, a bummer and a pain in the arse all wrapped up in one.

And so, I thought better to get to the root causes of the stress. First up, my dentist, a charming man with delightful table manners and a fetching smile, in case he reads this. I like the guy and tell him so often, especially when I am trapped in his chair. But when I went to get a quote on a crown last week, he told me $52,000. After I came round, I told him I need a crown on just the one tooth, not the whole mouthful. Still $52,000. To give you the reader a benchmark here, I last saw my dentist two years ago, also for a crown, and that one cost me $300. I told him I needed to first consult with my Minister of Finance before committing. On my way home, I stopped to visit a pensioner. When I got there, my pensioner was stressing, trying to get his head around a $45 dollar loaf of bread. Stupidly, I told him about the dental quote. Hindsight, it was a cruel thing to do. He did the sums. On his $300 monthly pension, now the equivalent of US$ 3.75, he would have to save for 173 months to get the crown. Better to be toothless he told me. And if you suck on a loaf of bread, it might last longer.

I got a similar reaction from Jenny. But rather than toothless, she told me better I get a wooden tooth. If I found a tree with white wood, it would look fine, and if ever I fell overboard an ocean-going yacht, the wooden tooth would give me extra buoyancy. Plus, she told me, George Washington had wooden teeth and he went on to become President of America. But Melania aside, I don’t think I want that job, especially after George Floyd. Looking at his especially pained expression these last weeks, I’m guessing Donald could also have an ailment of the bottom.

But I digress, back to the root causes of my stress. Worryingly, I’ve been coming over dizzy these last few weeks when I wake up in the middle of the night for a wee, to the point where I bounce off the walls of the passageway like a pinball on my way to the loo. It is very disconcerting. So, I went back to the doctor on Google who reliably informed me I was suffering from hypotension, a.k.a. low blood pressure. It happens when you get older, he told me, and is best fixed by drinking more water and eating more salt. Which only resulted in more frequent waking up dizzy in the middle of the night. More stress. So, I went to see my real doctor about getting a bottom op.

Before we started at the bottom of my problems, he told me he wanted to check my blood pressure. It was 158 over 120, very high. I told him his machine must be broken because I know high blood pressure a.k.a. hypertension doesn’t cause dizziness, only low. He explained that maybe the Google doctor might have got it wrong. I said huh. He explained again. I said huh again. So he examined my ears and found them to be very blocked. Ah, the root cause of my dizziness. After syringing them, he said the dizziness would go away. But the high blood pressure was a problem that needed watching, most probably caused by you guessed it stress, which in turn could be caused by too much salt in your diet, lack of sleep, etc, etc. And as for my bottom, he said let’s try suppositories before resorting to the knife.

On my home with newly syringed ears, I enjoyed volume 10 music at for the first time in forever. What a pleasure.  Until later that night. Enter Chuck. Chuck is our one year old today Great Dane puppy. Unfortunately, I think we will be describing him as a puppy for years to come, although he did his cock his leg for the first time on yesterday’s walk. The only things bigger than Chuck in our house are Chuck’s appetite, his capacity to annoy, and his bark, especially his bark. Chuck has recently decided that he would take over watchdog duties from his mom, and deploys his bark every five minutes from the comfort of his boudoir , just outside my bedroom window, on the off chance there is a burglar within earshot, and earshot for Chuck’s bark we’re talking kilometres. But with blocked ears reinforced with silicone ear plugs plus sleeping tablets, I have been able to sleep through some of the noise. But without blocked ears, I can now hear pins dropping at twenty metres. And Chuck’s bark is to pins dropping, what Boris is to short back and sides. I haven’t slept a wink in a week and want to go back to the doctor to get my ears re-blocked, all very stressful.

And then there is the whole ongoing coronavirus thing to stress about. After being stuck on 35 confirmed cases for weeks, suddenly Zimbabwe spiked up to over 200 cases, mostly on the back of returning residents. Last Wednesday, the police clamped down on all traffic into Harare’s CBD and we thought we were going back to harsh lockdown. But it was more a case of evil flourishing when good men do nothing, especially during lockdown. It turns out the harsh lockdown was just a smokescreen to allow the new government appointed head of the opposition, and no that is not a typo, to take control of the opposition party headquarters under police and army protection and without reaction from the 2.5 million party members loyal to Chamisa. Our new government appointed head of the opposition polled just 25,000 votes, all of them coming from family and or paid employees, but no friends, definitely no friends, because the lady doesn’t have any. Were she to burst into flames in front of me, I would be hard-pressed to urinate on her. And same day, same vacuum, they also tried Nelson Chamisa’s lawyer in court for allegedly falsifying an affidavit in January 2019, and also for pinching a client from another law firm. The state’s prosecutor opposed bail for the lawyer because the charges against him could attract prison time of up to 20 years, thus making him an obvious flight risk. As yet, the same police force that arrested the lawyer have yet to make headway in tracking down the men who abducted the 3 MDC women leaders from police cells, later beating them, torturing them and sodomizing and raping them with the barrel of a gun. And also, still no outcry from the’ Me Too’ movement, but I guess they still have their hands full with Harvey Weinstein.

No doubt the myriad of civil servants and secret policemen tasked with destroying the opposition will be heard laughing all the way to the bank for a job well, especially with my newly enhanced hearing, all very stressful. Although if they did their sums using their eighty times tables, currently the black-market rate for the US dollar, their laughter would be muted. Leaked payslips this week show that soldiers are earning just 46 US per month. In a dictatorship, soldiers are always the most highly paid. When they get paid a pittance, the end game can’t be far away.

A lack of exercise can also cause stress, especially if you are 4 weeks away from riding an epic Lockdown Tour around Zimbabwe, 3200 km plus 31000 meters of climb over 33 riding days. So as to avoid stress, I decided to get busy on my bike. I am very under done in terms of fitness levels. Last Saturday morning, Adam and I rode from our houses went to ride with the Herd. To get there on time, I have to start pedalling at 05.25 a.m. It is still dark and cold at 05.25 a.m. I met Adam on the road but because he punctured, we were running late. So Adam put the hammer down.  I struggled to keep up. I upped my pedalling cadence, first to 100, then to 120, then impossibly up towards 200, but still I wasn’t catching up. Bizarrely, I was slowing down, until eventually I coasted to a complete halt, still with legs and pedals spinning in a blur. Because I went to Allan Wilson, I instinctively knew something was wrong with my bike.  What’s the problem, Adam asked when eventually he turned around. I don’t know, I said, I’m pedalling but the bike doesn’t go forward. After Adam had finished laughing, we checked the chain, but that was all present and correct. Because Adam didn’t go Allan Wilson, he didn’t know what else to check. So, we phoned a friend. Oscar said it was most probably my freewheel hub. Up until then, I didn’t even know I had a freewheel hub. Another friend, Mark Wilson, suggested I cable tie my biggest gear to the spokes and limp home. Luckily, I have a job lot of cable ties in my Camelbak exactly for these sorts of eventualities. I supervised while Adam affected repairs and I was able to ride 3 meters in the direction of home, before the cable ties sheared. Too late I remembered Mark Wilson said I shouldn’t freewheel. Alas. With no more cable ties, I was stuck again with a bicycle that wouldn’t pedal. After he’d finished laughing again, Adam offered to would push me home. With Adam pushing from behind, we whizzed along at fair old speed, even overtaking another cyclist. I worry about Adam’s fitness though. He and I were riding at exactly the same speed, I was breathing normally, but Adam’s breathing was laboured and ragged. We were still 20 km from home, and I started stressing I’d miss lunch. Luckily a friend in a pick-up drove past, saw Adam clearly struggling and gave me and my broken bike a lift home.

But all’s well that ends well. I sent the bike into the doctor. Apparently the freewheel hub has taken a hammering on the corrugated roads I’ve been training on and 3 of the 6 pawls have fallen out. (In writing this sentence, I am amazed that spell check has heard of pawls. Clearly the guy at Spell Check is an Allan Wilson old boy.) Mark Wilson has since been able to piece the freewheel hub back together again, albeit with half the pawls missing and I am able to resume training, but only on decent roads, until I can import a spare hub in from SA.

In more good news, I badly want to end this blog on an upbeat note, I am relieved that our government has weighed in with a principled stance on George Floyd and the whole Back Lives Matter saga, albeit a bit late for the likes of Sylvia Matambo, Gavin Charles Dean, Ishmail Kumire, Jealous Chakandira, Challenge Tauro, all gunned down in cold blood on the streets of Harare after the last elections lest we forget, or Itai Dzamara, Patrick Nabanyama, and Paul Chizure, all disappeared now presumed dead, lest we forget.  According to the Presidential spokesperson, George Floyd’s recent death in Minnesota posed such an unusual grave threat to Zimbabwe’s strategic interest globally, apparently he suggested that the SADC Standby Force is supremely ready to deploy at all maximum means and capabilities needed, should the USA fail to follow the Responsibility to Protect Principle. Prepare to tremble, Donald. And then when they’ve finished protecting Black Lives that matter in the US, maybe they can come home and start protecting them in Zimbabwe.

And whilst on the subject of the US, I wonder if they will be called upon to bail us out with urgent humanitarian relief when our famine really starts to bite in the weeks and months ahead. I drove past a commercial crop of maize being combined in Glendale last week, one of very few commercial crops around this season, and watched thousands of men, women and children following behind the combines like cattle egrets, gleaning the left over maize, pip by pip. Zimbabwe has been food insecure for years, but I’ve never seen scenes like that before, so I’m guessing the big hungry is now now.

Having just typed all of the above, small wonder my bottom is sore from stress. I cannot wait for the 5th of July when we get back into our bubbles and ride around Zimbabwe on our mountain bikes for 37 days, including 4 rest days. Because the Old Legs Team we had lined up for this year’s Tour has been hugely affected by border closures, we have had to draft in new members. This week I’d like to introduce to 2 new pairs of Old Legs. The first is a member of Round Table 23, who do so much to help Zimbabwe’s pensioners. During lockdown for instance and with help from One Stop Solar, Round Table 23 have installed solar systems at 5 Old Age homes across Zimbabwe, with a further 6 homes lined up for after lockdown. To help us reach our 2020 fundraising target of $150,000 US,  Round Table 23 asked if they could embed one of their Table members in the Old Legs Team for the Lockdown Tour. Looking for company at the back of the peloton, I said no problem, but please could we have one of their older models, possibly slightly overweight, and definitely less fit than me. After a thorough stocktake of their membership, they said the closest they could find to fat and not fit was Mark Wilson, born in 1987 in Gwanda, schooled in Bulawayo. The two passions in Mark’s life are bicycles, he runs his own bike shop in Harare, and being charitable and helping others. Apart from the age of his legs, Mark will fit in just fine in the Old Legs peloton. I fully expect him to reach Mt Nyangani before me.

And also joining the Old Legs Support Team, in charge of humour and foraging is Stuart Chapman a.k.a. Chappie. Formerly a member of a Prince Edward Under 13 E rugby side that almost beat the Allan Wilson Under 13 C team but didn’t, but we won’t hold that against him. Chappie went on to become an ex-tobacco farmer, courtesy of politics, and currently holds the agency for Eva-last composite decking and flooring in Zimbabwe. He is married to Tracy, not the singer, and has two sons, Gareth, a.k.a. Chappie G and Brendon a.k.a. Chappie B. Stu is easily one of the best foragers I have ever met and with his input, I expect I’ll put on weight on Tour, ditto hopefully Mark Wilson.

In closing and as promised the bit of the blog about the bike. Suppositories work better than ointment, and black jelly babies are best, but red ones, yellow ones, green ones and orange ones are also good, but not brown jelly babies.

Until next week, breathe, survive and try enjoy

Eric Chicken Legs de Jong

Photos below - Mark Wilson, Stu Chapman, and Jenny’s new ride.