Remembering Rhodesia

One of the things I remember most about Rhodesia is her women. No, not because they were attractive, though many surely were--but because of the firearms they carried. At the hotel in Bulawayo there was a coat-check room. Next to the old brass plaque announcing the room’s purpose was a much newer sign that read, "Check Your Guns Here." The first night I was in Rhodesia I watched a striking blonde woman check a beautiful fur coat--and a Schmeisser submachinegun. Anne Whittall, wife of my outfitter, Roger, always carried a slightly oversize handbag, just big enough to hold her Uzi. At the end of the hunt we went to Barrie Duckworth’s parents’ home south of Bulawayo. His mother was a perfect stereotype of an English country matron, gray hair, rosy cheeks, a proper lady with a beautiful accent. The only thing that didn’t match was the Sten gun she slung over her shoulder while serving tea in bone china cups.

I remember the vehicles, too. This was Land Rover country many years after the Toyota takeover, and a vintage "Landy" wasn’t just chic…it was all there was. In 1965, rather than submit to Great Britain’s concept of how their land should be governed, the Rhodesians declared Unilateral Declaration of Independence--"UDI"--and formed a government under Prime Minister Ian Smith, a controversial figure in international politics but, in Africa, one of the most respected leaders the continent has known. UDI started a slowly escalating bush war that would last 15 years, and also an ever-tightening noose of international sanctions. Few new vehicles came into Rhodesia after 1965.

Come to think of it, in many ways time stood still while, at peak, a quarter million Rhodesians (backed by a much larger number of native Africans who believed in the status quo) tried their best to hold back the tide. Fashion for men and women stopped. I was not aware of this until Rhodesia became Zimbabwe, and for the first time since 1965 her citizens were allowed to travel. Many of them came to the hunting conventions in 1981, and it was as if they had emerged from a time warp, but that lay in the future.

When I was there in the late 70s khaki and green were fashion enough--but I noticed the vehicles and the way they were driven. Keeping in mind that an airplane is, after all, a vehicle, it started when we flew Air Rhodesia to Bulawayo in a vintage prop job. No problem. By then I’d logged a lot of hours in a C-130, and this wasn’t much different. Except for the way it was flown. This was shortly after the infamous shooting down of two Air Rhodesia Viscount passenger planes, and butchering of survivors. Our pilot flew high, and when it was time to come into Bulawayo he came straight down.