海角大神

Vilanculos, Mozambique

The horse鈥檚 name is Viper. Which is enough, really, to make an inexperienced rider a bit nervous.

Mandy Retzlaff laughs at the idea and hands over the reins. 鈥淥h, you鈥檒l be fine,鈥� she says, and gives a wink and a smile that can be either reassuring or devilish.

Viper snorts.

鈥淛ust let him know you鈥檙e taking charge,鈥� instructs Mandy.

Easy for her to say. This is a woman who, with her husband, ferried 100 horses hundreds of miles through Zimbabwe鈥檚 worst political turmoil. And that was after they鈥檇 saved the horses from violent land invaders by sneaking into the farms where the horses were stranded. In short, Mandy seems to have a particular knack for taking charge, bucking and kicking notwithstanding.

She and her husband, Pat Retzlaff, were farmers in Zimbabwe when, in 2000, President Robert Mugabe encouraged the violent takeover of white-owned property. They were evicted 鈥� from six different farms, actually 鈥� and their savings disappeared with their country鈥檚 skyrocketing inflation (now estimated at more than 11 million percent).

But after an epic effort to save the farm horses 鈥� and themselves 鈥� they鈥檙e turning the experience into a new livelihood in a new homeland. They saddle up the horses they saved for equestrian-minded tourists visiting this Indian Ocean beach town.

Mandy glares at Viper, who still seems displeased with his clumsy load. She hands a lead to Dhuvai Musekwa, another Zimbabwean who fled, and who recently found work with the Retzlaffs鈥� Mozambique Horse Safaris. He keeps Viper in line during the walk along Vilanculos鈥� palm-tree lined beach and saves money to send to his wife and child in Zimbabwe.

鈥淒on鈥檛 be afraid,鈥� he says to the rider. 鈥淵ou get used to horse quickly.鈥�

鈥⑩赌⑩赌�

It鈥檚 hard for Pat Retzlaff to find words to explain why he needed to take the horses.

For him it was obvious, something that stretches back to his great-grandfather鈥檚 work with Olympic horses in Germany, before Hitler鈥檚 rise to power forced the family to flee to East Africa and a life of farming and riding. (A photograph of his ancestors with their prize-winning horses is one of the Pat鈥檚 only remaining possessions from Zimbabwe 鈥� he found it in a field after their house had been looted.)

鈥淲e鈥檙e animal lovers,鈥� he says softly, and then glances at his wife鈥檚 challenging expression. 鈥淲ell, Mandy not so much,鈥� he adds, with a barely hidden smile. 鈥淚鈥檓 an animal lover. I鈥檝e ridden all my life; I have a degree in animal sciences. And once you鈥檝e owned a horse and have looked after it 鈥� well, it鈥檚 worse [to lose] than a pet, worse than a dog.鈥�

鈥淧at has dedicated his life to these horses,鈥� Mandy says. 鈥淭hey鈥檝e become such a part of the family. It鈥檚 unimaginable that they wouldn鈥檛 eat.鈥� She sighs. 鈥淲e must be absolutely mad.鈥�

When the land takeovers started in 2000, most white-owned Zimbabwean farms had at least three or four horses. As farmers fled threats of violence against them and their workers, many shot their horses, not wanting to leave them to starvation or abuse. Vets also traveled around the country, putting the animals down in a wave of mercy killings.
Although humane societies and horse rescue groups found homes in England and South Africa for many thoroughbred and racing horses, the farm animals seemed forgotten.

But when the Retzlaffs were given four hours to leave the farm that they鈥檇 lived on for decades, they decided to take their horses, as well their neighbor鈥檚, when they fled. They grazed the animals on other farms, in back yards, even a private school鈥檚 cricket grounds. Soon, other farmers were bringing them horses, or telling them where to find animals to rescue.

鈥淲hat Mandy and Pat have done is phenomenal,鈥� says Moyra Charters, another former Zimbabwean farmer. 鈥淭hey couldn鈥檛 just walk away.鈥�

Pat says he would go to farms that had been invaded and 鈥� sometimes stealthily at night, with the guidance of other former landowners 鈥� take the horses, which were often seen as useless by the new residents. (Most invaded farms went to Mugabe cronies rather than experienced black farm workers.) Almost all the horses he took had been corralled for days without food or water, he says. One that he saved had a spear in its side. Another had a hoof chopped off.

As the family tried to figure out what to do next, Pat spoke with an acquaintance who was developing property along the Mozambican coast and suggested Retzlaff bring the horses for riding safaris and beach walks. There was no existing horse culture in Mozambique, so there was a business niche to be filled. Moreover, the move would mean living on the breathtaking coast where they鈥檇 both vacationed as children.

鈥淎nd really,鈥� Pat says, 鈥淲e had nothing else to do.鈥�

鈥� 鈥� 鈥�

It took three years to move the horses into Mozambique. Every time they went to the border, if they had even a single bale of hay for the horses to eat, they鈥檇 be turned back for trying to bring agricultural produce out of the country. But eventually, they managed to cross into Mozambique with the remnants of their old life 鈥� a bag of clothes, an album of family photos collected from friends, and their animals: farm dogs and more than 100 horses.

But the developer who鈥檇 suggested the move wasn鈥檛 yet ready for the horses. So the Retzlaffs set up shop not far from the border in a Mozambican town called Chimoio, where dozens of Zimbabwean farmers were starting to grow paprika and tobacco. They started a riding school. But when the Chimoio agricultural schemes started to flop, and most of the Zimbabweans moved on, the Retzlaffs knew that they needed to move as well.

So the Retzlaffs moved again, into a hurricane-damaged house behind a patch of mangrove and palms near Vilanculos. 鈥淚 showed up here with 10 horses and not a penny in my pocket,鈥� Pat says.

鈥淎nd then we had the cyclone,鈥� he says of cyclone Favio that hit the coast of Mozambique in early 2007 and all but ended tourism for months. The Retzlaffs say their neighbors helped them survive. Then, three months later, they had their first horse safari customer.

鈥� 鈥� 鈥�

It is 6:30 a.m., and the sun is already strong across the Indian Ocean. The Retzlaffs, two volunteers from the United Kingdom, and a handful of Zimbabwean workers are getting the horses ready for a ride.It鈥檚 not simple: Horses need to be fed, groomed, and saddled before carrying tourists.

There鈥檚 nowhere to buy reins, bits, or saddle cinches in Mozambique, so Pat has fixed or made everything himself. In the evening, the Retzlaffs graze the horses and cut grass for them to eat. There鈥檚 no horse feed in Mozambique (and no cobbling or horse veterinary services).

After their slow start, they now have regular bookings. But it鈥檚 still hand-to-mouth.

鈥淚 used to have a wardrobe and shoes that I used to change into every day,鈥� Mandy says, adjusting a pile of stirrups hanging from a wall. 鈥淣ow I am bathing in a plastic bucket. But I guess you could have a much worse life. To wake up each morning and look at that bay,鈥� she says, keeps her going.

Sometimes they worry about the future: with three grown children working elsewhere, the Retzlaffs worry that there鈥檚 no one to take over in the future.

鈥淲e鈥檙e here all the time for them,鈥� Mandy says of the horses. 鈥淏ut you know, you get exceptionally fond of them. They鈥檙e family.