Another man’s meat, another man’s poison
Munyaradzi Makoni
A gay couple hugs and kisses in a terrestrial bar. A man drops his ‘wife’ reporting for duty at the Red Lights District. An animal ambulance shoots through a red robot rushing a dog with a sprained ankle to hospital. A youngish African man walks gaily arm-in-arm with an elderly white woman. Another man broods divorcing his wife to marry his mother-in-law over to o tequila.
There is nothing bizarre about it. Anything is possible within the
limits of the law. It’s only a question of how much freedom one can exercise and how much money can one spend on it. Thanks to the assimilation of Dutch courage, I can still reminisce, turn inside out the shocking and often amusing lifestyle in the Netherlands as compared to the laid back and somewhat conservative cultures in Zimbabwe.
Caught in between the choking fumes of a homemade cigar, in a run-down
pub of Amaveni, in the small mining town of Kwekwe better known for reckless illegal gold panners, I try to convince my two old-time school friends that, I saw what they would only need to see to believe. They think that I am lying, but they urge me on with desperate looks.
The Dutch are a proud nation. They have their own unique way of life.
One has to take it or leave it. They enjoy life with total abundance and joyful abandon. They take the issues of human rights to upright excesses.
Everything is managed to precision. Buses run on time. Trains run on
time. Taxis are as good as new. In fact Zimbabwean cabinet ministers prized Mercedes Benzes are their taxis. Trams, like planes run on time. Pardon my observation, a technical delay of 10-15 minutes does not count here because in Zimbabwe some buses never run, there is no fuel. Some trains never arrive on time because of intermittent electric power shortages. The planes are
usually diverted on their normal routes to ferry the President and his entourage on State business leaving passengers stranded. Never talk about trams they have become an occasional sing-song for the past 20 years. But, one can hear the Dutch complaining bitterly if their public transport delays by five minutes. Its not crocodile tears, for them time is a valuable asset that delivers a huge dent to their savings or profits.
And believe me, a bicycle is one of their most prized possessions.
They have beautiful cars but bicycles occupy special places in their hearts. It’s one of the fastest and smartest means to get to one place within a city. I’m not sure if the green movement started here, but environmentalists love it for being environmentally friendly. Professors ride them to college. Doctors ride them to their surgeries and old people have their specially designed three wheeled ones. Factory workers use them. Students know fully well bicyles adds to their happy-go lifestyles by being inexpensive. So it is an unwritten rule anybody and everyone are free to use a bike, but one has to buy a lock that is twice as expensive as their bike.
On of my friends points to a big, brown ringed empty plastic beer mug named the ’scud’ after Saddam Hussein’s scud missiles. An indication that they wanted it refilled to buy their ears and for my story to continue. Nevertheless, I ignore them.
Bicycles get stolen a lot in the Netherlands. You can replace your
stolen bike quickly, but that is also risky. Stealing and selling bikes is self-employment for junkies –good for nothing loafers, drug addicts whose preoccupation is to loose Euros to buy more drugs–at one time a priest campaigned that they should be given a variety of hard drugs they daily need to keep them sedated. He won his case.
It can not get worse. The current legislation states that anyone is free to grow only three plants of marijuana (mbanje). In the past people used grow as much as they wanted. In Zimbabwe to grow marijuana is inviting police arrest. The plant so called the ‘weed of wisdom’ by Rastafarians is illegal despite its widespread underground use.
Certified drug addicts in this country of 17 million people have the freedom to
get free hard and soft drugs to soothe their lives. It can be cocaine, heroine you name it.
Be warned, the so-called Coffee Shops don’t sell any tea or coffee. They are legal marijuana parlours. Smokers go there to buy the ‘gold leaf’ of any quantity and quality. They buy needle and smoking pipes of varying types and sizes, just to enjoy. One such place to go in Utrecht is Sarasami in the
Old Canal, Coffee shop operators makes sure customers get top quality stuff.
“This is a crazy country. One has to observe and leave the Dutch to
their lives,” says Annick Tange a Belgian student, almost choking from a mouthful of meat balls, fried cheese, boiled potatoes and a hodgepodge of greens. Who disagrees with her when the concept of Dutch lifestyle points to
this?
My two friends look at each other and nod in agreement. They cannot imagine such freedom. I bet they would also want to go to The Netherlands. “What else is there,” they ask?
The Red Lights District
For the uninitiated this is the most fascinating facet of Dutch culture. Semi nude women are housed in comfortable red-lit houses on both sides of the street. Everything is left to imagination. I don’t know why they did not term it street pornography. This practice continues to receive both criticism and praise. It has become one of the biggest tourist fascinations. Men and women come from far to shop-view live human sex bazaars. Call it the modern day live Soddom and Gomorrah!
“We realized that prostitution as one of the oldest professions cannot
be wished away. The Dutch believe that there is a need to accommodate girls who work in the sex trade. This resulted in creation of streets known as the Red Lights Districts, says a university lecturer. “Commercial sex workers have proper medical care and they have a regular income. The also have pensions which provides them with security.”
I once visited to one of the districts in the central town of Utrecht,
Hadeballen Street, loosely translated to mean hardballs and it revealed one of many alarming incidents that haunt the district everyday. I spotted an elderly man dropping his wife for work as a commercial sex worker and there was nothing strange about it, no hint of shame either, at least in the Netherlands.
“Don’t be late to pick up the kids at school Joe; the slender built
wife said giving him a parting light kiss on the cheek. Such is the thinking of the liberal minded Dutch, blowing a storm and ever-rising eyebrows.
My two friends were over the moon with the prospect of visiting the
Red Light District, but the aspect of having a wife who works there shook the wits out of him.
“That is obscene, it can only happen over my dead body,” one of my
friends was infuriated. “Even as a corpse I will come back and torment that woman,” the other friend added.
I understood ordinary conservative and deeply religious Zimbabweans and many other Africans would not take it. But, the Dutch guided by their moral conscience and tolerance believe there is nothing absolutely wrong about this.
“Those girls have a service to give. What’s wrong with giving them a
good environment to provide it? Those people who don’t like it should simply not go there,” a university lecturer raised her voice when I casually introduced the subject at a pub one day,” The words were distinct, cutting and forceful.
I told my friends what makes the respect for peoples rights more confounding is the location of the Amsterdam Red Lights District. At the heart of the Red Light District are a church and it is flanked by a school.
The issue of morality and freedom of choice is debatable one can make their own conclusions. Commercial sex work is illegal in Zimbabwe though many people engage in it with unbearable consequences such as non payment for services rendered and huge health bills in case of ill health.
Finally, I had to buy two beer scuds, my friends were really ‘thirsty’
and still wanted to hear more stories of life beyond the seas where they could only go in dreams, day or night. So naturally I had to pay back for their listening endurance, their enthusiasm tinged with disapproval.
Do you pray? In the Netherlands you are either a Catholic or a Protestant or you don’t believe in anything at all. Sometimes talking about religion is really like barking up the wrong tree. People will look at you like a moron. Questions like, why go to church are common. Many people believe in luck or in managing their lives to the best of their ability. Others a self proclaimed atheists. During a preaching service, a Salvation Army priest, Major Arie van Dick noted that the respect for God was going down in Europe because of materialistic tendencies.
“People believe they can make it without God. Some people believe
taking the route of prayer hinders them engaging in their preferred sexual orientation. Some think praying to God restricts their freedom of desire,” he said.
My two friends clapped their hands, took sips and two gulps apiece all in disbelief in disbelief and I just had to go on. True, some aspects like euthanasia, sex change and homosexuality are taboo in Zimbabwe but they are welcomed with open hands in the Netherlands. In 2005 a law was passed to allow gays to adopt children from foreign countries. There are some bars where gays and lesbians mix and mingle freely and nobody gives a hoot. They can even hug and kiss in public and nobody raises an eyebrow, not even a murmur of worse than dog and pigs is heard.
There are instances where men actually divorce their wives and marry
their mother’s in law! I don’t know how many mother in laws would have such courage to accept the daughter’s husband as their own and still walk down the streets with dignity.
And some people actually take a bold step further. Men go for sex
change and women too have the liberty to do the opposite.
“Did you see one yourself or you are just making these things up,” they really wanted to find out. “I was actually shown one beautiful newscaster, on one of the television stations once married as a man with two young children and I was told he had a sex-change. “What did his children call him then, mother or father?” This was bizarre for them.
The striking human façades of human relations from the Netherlands never stop. Talk of interracial marriages. Black and white marry without problems. Racist overtones are superficial. It’s hard to find an outright racist but once in while you meet one person who lives in dark ages.
Many people from Africa, Asia and the Middle East, desperate to enjoy a stable economy, a flurry of liberal ideas and romantic architecture are marrying the Dutch.
But some people are engaging in marriages of convenience, marrying women as old as their mother’s or men old enough to be their grand parents just to get residence permits. But, thanks to Rita Verdonk, the former powerful integration and immigration minister, rules were made stricter; before one legally adopts Dutch citizenship they have to know the language and the country as well.
“The Netherlands is indeed another world!” I declared to awe struck
friends of mine. Eating offals, casing and tripe (matumbu and guru) is considered unhealthy, as I had to learn this the other day when I went to a small abattoir looking for some cheap
meat.
“No you can’t take that. Do you want my operating license to be
cancelled? That is considered unhealthy,” the abattoir owner said. My desire to eat one of the most popular delicacies back home ended there.
“What is the best beer in the Netherlands,” one of my buddies ventured
to ask spitting dregs from the scud, obviously indicating that I should probably buy two more?” It depends whom you ask I told them. If you were to ask the barman at Het Hart, a liberal bar that is mostly frequented by people of African origin in the town of Utrecht, the answer would be, there are more than 15 brands of beer. It can be Amsteel, Grolsch or any other name difficult to pronounce. But, you can also buy our own Southern African Zambezi or Lion at the Ostrich Restaurant.
“We can adequately take care of your African tastes,” Lucy Gewisten, the owner of the restaurant once told me. My Ghanaian friends at that time smiled long and wild, they could not imagine eating their own fufu anywhere in Europe.
While in Zimbabwe, I narrated, people struggle to get ambulances, at times going to hospital in a wheelbarrow or a scotch-cart in Europe they have ambulances for all their pet animals- cats and dogs. People might consider it crazy, but it is a fact of life and an absolute necessity. Some even bequeath all their wealth to these animals when they die.
But, generally, I convinced my friends, the Dutch are a hospitable people
who are proud of their language. They are outgoing, sociable and very helpful. They are well known for their culture of tolerance. One cannot help feeling relaxed in their midst. Given an opportunity, going Dutch is not a bad idea at all.
“So how can we go to this country that you say at one a stage it was all buried under water,” one of my colleagues posed the question in a hushed tone as if it’s a conspiracy. I laughed and said you have been there already, how many times do you want to go there?
” What do mean?” “Can’t you see you have been there already, through my tales?” They laughed and shook their heads. “You crook, buy us some more beer.”
Munyaradzi Makoni is writer and journalist from Zimbabwe, based in Cape Town, South Africa.