The Week of Waving

I’m finding it staggeringly difficult to start exploring Zimbabwean culture. I mean, I’m learning a lot about certain aspects of the culture, primarily from the lenses of the white, upper-class farmers. But what about the “african” Zimbabweans? The black people? They make up the vast majority of the population on this farm, yet I have no idea how to ingratiate myself in their society.
Nor do I think I’m “supposed” to. There seems to be a fairly wide girth between the blacks and the whites on the farm. The whites are the managers, the educated business-people, and the blacks are the workers, farmers, helpers, drivers, maids, and cooks. From my “superior moral” standpoint, this heirarchical structure doesn’t seem like a good enough reason not to make friends with some black people. Yet, the structure is created because, even though I’m very different from the white Africans here, I’m even MORE different from the black ones. Even Salathiel, the driver who took me to town and who is now the black person with whom I feel most comfortable, there is a distance. And sadly, it is based on education and language. I don’t quite know how to get beyond that, short of learning how to speak fluent Shona (which may be too much to ask, considering that as part of my job, I’m expected to learn German!).
So I’ve satisfied myself, for the moment, with waving to the black people as I drive by in my truck. This probably sounds even more horribly “superior”, and it does kind of feel that way. But it’s better than NOT waving. And I didn’t start it, anyway. I quickly saw that waving to people as you pass them on the road is farm etiquette. But for most people, the waves are reserved for other drivers, people opening gates, and anyone they know.
I have taken “the wave” to the next level, however. I wave at EVEYONE – kids, women washing clothes, men working in the fields, families walking along the dirt roads. I guess I feel like it’s the most friendly thing I can do, so I do it wholeheartedly. During my week of waving, I have noticed and learned a few things:
1) The kids love waving back. Their waves are huge and their smiles even bigger. These are the people I enjoy waving to most.
2) Men tend to wave back. Women do not. They just stare at me blankly. I wonder why they don’t wave, and it hurts my feelings a bit (I mean, waving at someone and not getting waved back to hurts, right?) – we are both women after all! As the week has progressed, I have started to choose my waves carefully.
3) Hand placement is key when waving here in Zimbabwe. This valuable lesson I learned from my neighbor, Lance, for whom a separate blog entry will be due: If someone waves at me with their hand in a fist, that is a political statement of support for Mugabe’s ruling party. I should be wary of them, as they don’t tend to like white people (apparently). On the other hand, if someone waves at me with palm out and fingers spread, that is a political statement in support of the opposition party. Now, most waves naturally resemble the second hand gesture, so immediately upon hearing this, I wondered whether perhaps I had unconsciously made a political statement! Maybe that’s why some people didn’t return my wave!!! Since hearing that, I have been very careful to wave to people with my fingers very clearly stuck together. Unfortunately, though, now my wave looks a little bit too much like a royal wave, which makes me feel even more uncomfortable sitting up in that huge truck leaving nothing but dust in the faces of the waving people I pass.