‘Born Poor, Die Poor’

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Abel, center, laughs with Ashley as Audrey rows the boat in a trajectory to hit the fountain at Zoo Lake in Johannesburg in 2017.Credit Peter Roybal

The last time you may have read about Abel Moyo, he was a gangly 17-year-old orphan, and the head of a household of five, living in rural Zimbabwe. Back then, in 2010, Abel walked 9 miles to high school, which teachers let him attend even though he could not afford the school fees. When he came home, he cooked mush for the younger kids (ranging in age from 8 to 11), dispensing comfort and discipline as the surrogate father, and did his homework by firelight. The family was effectively two families that came to live together after their parents had died of AIDS and other causes — a not uncommon story in Zimbabwe.

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Abel, left, with his family in 2010.Credit Nicholas Kristof

Nick Kristof, who wrote about him, had been impressed by Abel’s determination and smarts — he was top of his class — and noted that Abel longed for a bicycle so he could get home faster. After the column ran, World Bicycle Relief provided 200 of them to Abel and other students in his area.

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Abel with his new bike in 2010.Credit Photo courtesy World Bicycle Relief.

When I visited Zimbabwe this spring for vacation, I wanted to try to meet up with Abel, since I was going to be passing by the small town where he lived, Dinde, a couple hours from Victoria Falls. But as it turned out, Abel no longer lived there — or even in Zimbabwe.

With the help of World Bicycle Relief, I was able to make contact with Abel, who moved to South Africa in 2012, and now lives in a shantytown in Lanseria, northwest of Johannesburg. His 15-year-old nephew, Ashley, lives with him. Half an hour away on foot in a different shantytown is Ashley’s twin, Audrey, who lives with her mom, Abel’s older sister.

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Abel, right, shares this room with Ashley in Lanseria, South Africa. There is no electricity, so they use candlelight.Credit Liriel Higa

There are some clear advantages to life in South Africa — Audrey, who is the head girl in her class, says that school is free, and she prefers it to Zimbabwe. Wandering elephants aren’t an issue in the city, either — when I mentioned that a park ranger had been killed recently in Krueger National Park, elsewhere in South Africa, Abel told me that growing up, one of his friends had been trampled to death by an elephant while walking to school in Dinde.

But life in South Africa is still tough. Abel struggles to pay rent — 250 rand a month, or about $20. He works when he can — mostly day labor — but nationwide unemployment hovers at about 25 percent, and most days he does not find work. When he does, he might earn $12 a day.

When I first asked if he liked it in South Africa, Abel said, “Yeah, it is very good.”

But a little bit later, he clarified. “Actually, there is no difference. It was tough in Zimbabwe… Everyone, they say ‘Ah, South Africa, looks nice.’ But… born poor, die poor,” he said, without bitterness.

Although he uses WhatsApp on his ancient phone — which he pays 5 rand to charge since his room lacks electricity — Abel doesn’t really use the internet; he’s not on Facebook, and only recently got an email address. Living in the slum, he doesn’t even have a mailing address. We met at the local Lanseria airport, and walked 15 minutes to his home.

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Walking from Lanseria Airport to Abel’s shantytown.Credit Peter Roybal

I brought print outs of Nick’s columns about him, which he had never seen, and when I later messaged him to ask if he’d read them, he wrote back: “It was emotion and repeated reading… even now I was reading using a candlelight.”

It is about 800 miles from Lanseria to Victoria Falls, the last place he lived in Zimbabwe. Back in 2010, Nick wrote that that the main reason for Zimbabwe’s poverty was likely bad governance: “The tyrannical, incompetent and corrupt rule of Zimbabwe’s president, Robert Mugabe, has turned one of Africa’s most advanced countries into a shambles.”

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The fourth time in one day that we were stopped by police in Zimbabwe.Credit Liriel Higa

Mugabe is still president at age 93, and the country still seems burdened by corruption. In Zimbabwe, I took two taxis — from the border of Botswana to Victoria Falls, and another to Hwange National Park a couple hours away — and we were stopped four times by police, each time expecting a bribe of some sort, sometimes in the guise that we were driving outside the taxi’s zone, and other times an even more blatant shake down.

On my way to Hwange National Park in Zimbabwe, I visited Abel’s village, including the local elementary school that Nick had visited seven years ago, which Abel and his family had attended. The school day was over, but the principal was still there, as was the vice principal.

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One of the classrooms at Dinde Primary School had no chairs or tables for the students.Credit Liriel Higa

Not much has changed since Abel, Ashley and Audrey attended school there. The early childhood class meets under a large tree, while the fourth graders meet under another tree. Inside the classrooms, I saw evidence of workbooks, but no textbooks, and one of the classrooms was devoid of desks and chairs. When Abel attended, he says there were 9 teachers for about 700 students.

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The early childhood education class meets under this tree at Dinde Primary School in Zimbabwe.Credit Liriel Higa

Poverty remains endemic. Driving along the road to the school, I saw adults and children selling local fruit. Two boys gave directions to the taxi driver, so I gave them each $1 for fruit, and the first one dumped his entire basket in a bag for me. When I tried to give some back, the taxi driver waved me off, saying that it would be better if he could return home with an empty basket.

I also didn’t see many bicycles on the road. I asked Abel what happened to them after he and his classmates received them. He said that his bike had been transformative for the family, that it was in storage in Dinde, and that his brother Simba used it when he visited. But repairing the bikes and finding spare parts was not easy, and Abel was one of just a handful who were trained in repairing them. He wasn’t able to bring his bicycle to South Africa — and at $90, it’s too expensive for him to buy another.

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Abel gives his family members — Audrey, Jane, Diego and Ashley — a ride on his new bike. World Bicycle Relief estimates that each bike they give away impacts five people, and they encourage sharing. Credit Photo courtesy World Bicycle Relief.

The distribution of bikes to Abel and his classmates was World Bicycle Relief‘s first foray into that area; they have now distributed 78,000 bikes in Zimbabwe, according to Matt Pierce, creative director for the organization. Instead of relying solely on field mechanics like Abel, there is now a dedicated mechanic at each school that undergoes more rigorous training, and the school also purchases spare parts. “We’re leaps and bounds of where we were in 2010. It’s also what keeps our founder up at night to make sure people have that access,” Matt said.

When I messaged Abel recently on WhatsApp, he said he would like to return to Zimbabwe. “I see myself working in Lukosi Secondary School fixing bicycles because life is now difficult here in South Africa. Sometimes we sleep without eating anything.”

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Abel peers down at Johannesburg from the top of the tallest building in Africa.Credit Peter Roybal

Back when Nick met Abel, he aspired to be a policeman. (His older brother Simba, who still lives in Zimbabwe, is a security guard in Gweru.) When I asked Abel at our first meeting what he would do if he could choose anything, he told me he wanted to own a business and sell clothing. When I saw him a couple weeks later, at the end of my trip, he said that he loved cooking and would like to be a chef, but didn’t have the money to pay for training.

Even though Abel’s prospects for further formal education seem limited, he devours any newspapers or free reading materials that he can get his hands on, and he joked that Ashley would take care of him once he graduated.

“Not everyone can be a doctor,” Abel told me. “But who knows? Life can change” — he snapped his fingers — “like that.”

Liriel Higa (@iDiplomacy) is an Opinion staff editor.