Beverly Hills meets biltong

I've been in Johannesburg for the last week attending a workshop on how to decode USAID cooperative agreements, awards, and contracts. I now have a 4-inch thick binder/rosetta stone which looks like a post-it note porcupine. I don't know if I'm smarter or if I just killed off 10% of my brain mass. The workshop is being held in swanky, uber chic Sandton. Sandton is the equivalent of Beverly Hills with a clutch of global bank offices, high-end boutiques, pseudo Tuscan mansions behind high walls and barbed wire, and size 4 women with bleached hair and 3-inch stilettos sitting around cafes bitching about their cheating husbands (no joke, my morning coffee experience was eye opening, to say the least). The best find of the week, by far, was a beautiful biltong shop (read: mahogany wood, marble, and faux-impressionist paintings) which charged the equivalent of a car payment for what is essentially jerky with a variety of spices. Go figure. The one thing I will say about Sandton is that at least I've felt safe enough to walk around in the evening. A big no, no in most of this country.

On a more serious note, one of the most disturbing observations that I've had this week is the number of highly skilled and talented Zimbabweans that I've come into contact with both in the workshop and out and about in shops and restaurants, all of them united in their desire to go home. South Africa has greatly benefited from their talents while Zim has suffered their absence. Their stories are heart wrenching but all of them were extremely generous in offering me advice and contacts once they knew I worked in Zim. I'm beginning to understand why so many of my colleagues who have worked in the country have left a piece of their heart in Zim.