In Zim-bah-bweh during the late 1990s, inflation had spiralled out of control and the Zim-bah-bweh Dollar had fallen in value against the South African Rand to around 500 to 1. The cost of goods and services for local folk had multiplied to crazy levels. For tourists from across the world however, the price of a holiday to Victoria Falls or a houseboat excursion on Kah-ree-bah was unbelievably affordable.
The face value of bank notes had to be adjusted to accommodate the significant dilution of value, and so it wasn’t long before five hundred Zim-bah-bweh dollar (ZD500) notes were widely in circulation, one of which may just have bought you a loaf of bread or a litre of milk.
In those early years I was able to plan a number of fishing excursions on Lake Kah-ree-bah with the blessing of my good friend, Barry Woan, as well as to fishing camps on the Zam-bay-zee in which we were able to take highly valued clients on never-to-be-forgotten experiences. These soon became annual events. Over the years, we developed strong friendships, many of which survived the professional association long after retirement or, in some cases, long after emigration to start new lives in Australia and New Zealand.
Of course, the planning and execution was made possible by the fact that Barry had been born in Rhodesia and had served in the British South African Police Support Unit throughout the war. He was thus well known and completely at home in Zim-bah-bweh in general and Boo-lah-way-oh in particular.
It was in those very early years that Team Smelly Fingers had its origins. Team Smelly Fingers is still going strong today. Many new members have since been attracted to its madness as a result of their historical association with the few stalwart founding members, who remain very active participants and are the primary catalysts of its continued existence and success. You may understand a little of its substance if I mention that Team Smelly Fingers is best known as a drinking team with a fishing problem. On one such trip, a group of eight of us drove in a three-vehicle convoy from Johannesburg to a fishing camp at Deh-kah on the banks of the Zam-bay-zee. The team stopped over for the night in Boo-lah-way-oh, located in Mah-tah-bee-lee-land region close to the Mah-toh-bo National Park where Cecil John Rhodes is buried, beneath a commemorative marble slab among a landscape of granite boulders where a number of the last remaining black eagles can be found.
After the long drive, including navigating our way through the Bate-bridge customs and immigration posts of both countries, we arrived in Boo-lah-way-oh as the sun was setting. We freshened up and had a beer or three before Barry sat us all down in a semi-circle on the floor and proceeded to officiate (as he regularly is wont to do), over a ‘welcome to Zim-bah-bweh’ ceremony.
During the course of his address, he pulled out a large trunk and proceeded to hand each of us many bundles of ZD500 bills which, he suggested, we push into the pockets of our jackets, trousers and under our caps. We gathered that where we were about to go to for dinner would require most, if not all of these ‘tens of thousands’ of Zim dollars.
And so, with each of us heavily laden with bundles of ZD500 notes, we were off to a cozy Portuguese restaurant, reputedly famous for its Mozambican peri peri chicken.
Team Smelly Fingers arrived at what turned out to be a fabulous Portuguese restaurant, ready for a great night. The peri peri chicken was without doubt the finest I have ever eaten before or since, and the memory of that evening still reverberates with me to this day.
The camaraderie, tall stories, jibes, and jockeying have always been the very essence of Team Smelly Fingers throughout the many decades of its existence. This night was no different. But the quality of the meal together with the participation of the manager and staff of the restaurant, including the exceptional master chef, who introduced himself to us as Feliciano, really raised the bar.
Feliciano was a born and bred Mozambican and had headed to Zim-bah-bweh to seek his fortune a few years earlier. He turned out to be a peri peri master, as well as a very funny and jovial individual who made our night stand out.
After the meal, accompanied by an untold number of bottles of wine, we made a sterling effort to empty the restaurant’s shooter stocks before finally calling for the bill.
We dug deep into our pockets and started to count out the required amount of cash, bundle by bundle, onto the table.
It wasn’t long before the bundles of Zim dollars, each wrapped in an elastic band, were piled high on the table. With a generous tip for the staff, we made up the bill for approximately ZD280,000! Feliciano approached the table to collect the money.
Are you going to count this? we asked him, incredulously. It would have taken him the rest of the night!
Feliciano lifted the first bundle of notes off the pile and held it close to his ear. He then ran his thumb through the compact notes with a steady thruuuump! With a twinkle in his eye, he then mischievously declared: Spot on! whereupon the entire restaurant burst into laughter and resounding applause.