Tuesday 11 March

Morning run

This was set to be a fairly relaxed day, given yesterday’s big excursion to Imire game reserve, and given that the tattoo session we thought Reece had booked for today was actually tomorrow. At 8am I headed out for a 5km run around the block with Reece, Gus and Dan. We took the same route as Reece and I had done on our first morning in Harare, along quiet roads through leafy suburbs.

We passed large houses with leafy walled gardens, clusters of ramshackle stalls selling fruit and textiles, children in smart school uniforms and a few randomly scattered maize fields.  Again I noticed how the elevation and temperature sapped our energy and left us puffing; as per the previous run, we returned to the house hot and more than a little relieved to stop.

Iz, Tilman and Ryan met us around the big table in the outdoor bar, looking annoyingly bright-eyed and bushy. We chatted over coffee and toast, jibed Reece for mixing up the dates (in good faith – he’d assumed the burden of planning the whole trip) and discussed logistics: the people carrier we’d borrowed from Kieran had gone into the garage for a brake fault Reece had discovered on Sunday and we needed to collect it, but not before we’d had an exclusive tour of the family chilli sauce factory (so exclusive that there are no photos).

Chilli sauce factory tour

We hopped into the Landcruiser and Reece drove us to an industrial block about 20 minutes away. We found Paul in the company office and, after a few family introductions/reintroductions (we’d lost track of who we’d met at Saturday night’s party), we shuffled over to a bustling warehouse, where – over the din – Paul talked us through the process of manufacturing chilli sauce. It was an efficient operation and a sensory overload: hot, noisy and busy, and the air had a spicy tang that made me want to sneeze. Tens of workers bustled and chatted around machinery, conveyor belts and vats, moving quickly and doing all sorts of semi-fathomable jobs. It was interesting to see the process, from dried chillis in huge sacks to neat bottles churning out of a labelling machine and stacks of laden, shop-ready crates, and to hear about the transition from generators to solar energy.

Driving in Harare

The tour concluded and we stepped outside into air that seemed newly cool and calm. We walked across the industrial compound to a garage, where we found Kieran’s car. It needed a driver and I’d already volunteered, in a moment of foolishness or bravery, to return it to the house while Reece drove the Landcruiser. Paul, bemused, handed me the keys, chuckled something about “wait till Kieran hears a chick drove his bus”, and offered to reverse it for me. I hoped that my dismissive eye roll hid my nerves about Harare’s treacherous roads.

To my relief I executed a perfect manoeuvre out of the compound and followed the Landcruiser onto the street. Ryan, Iz and Tilman proved a supportive crew as I navigated the city’s lawless traffic, sticking closer to Reece’s bumper than I’d usually dare – we couldn’t afford to lose them as none of us had phone signal for directions. I actually enjoyed the freedom of driving without British etiquette, and found that other drivers seemed to accept pushiness without any sign of irritation. It was hectic but surprisingly straightforward, and it helped that the automatic people-carrier felt just like my beloved old Mazda Bongo.

We returned to the house around 11:30, unscathed, and hung around the bar for a while, playing darts and watching Charlie the bitey parrot destroy an empty beer can. At 1pm the seven of us split between two Landcruisers and headed out for lunch with Shelley.

Lunch at Beach House

Beach House is a stylish, tropical-themed restaurant situated in the middle of Borrowdale racecourse. The sky threatened rain, so we crossed a footbridge over a moat to a thatch-roofed seating area and settled at a long table. As we talked and waited for our food, I watched colourful little birds – red bishops and yellow masked weavers – singing and darting around the bushes and grasses surrounding our island. The food was worth the wait: I had bread, chicken liver stew, chips, onion rings, a bao bun and some of the best sushi I’ve ever tasted, washed down with lavender gin. We left very full, very satisfied and a little chilled by a breeze that had blown in.

Chilled afternoon/evening

On the way back we stopped at a liquour store to stock up for our upcoming four-day boat trip on Lake Kariba, then returned to the house for darts and dix-mille. After a while I became a bit restless, so donned my swimming costume, goggles and hat (to everyone’s amusement) and did some laps of the pool. This agitated Roxy the terrier, who proceeded to chase me around the edge, and it turned into a game of race the dog – she beat me at lengths (just) but widths made her furious. Eventually I gave in, not wanting to damage Roxy, and we reconciled.

Shortly afterwards Paul emerged from the house with a black BB gun and we took turns shooting metal pellets at  empty beer cans stacked across the pool, with mixed success. Once we’d filled the garden with metal, we returned to the bar and the usual games resumed, lasting most of the evening. In between games Shelley produced a lovely selection of crackers, cheese and cold meats and we sat around enjoying each others’ company, feeling very at home.