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Ex-Zimbabwe farmer reflects on lost legacy
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For Rory Duncan, a former commercial farmer in Zimbabwe, memories of the Eastern Highlands are both vivid and painful - a haunting contrast between prosperity and the aftermath of a country's failed land reform programme.
Now living in Klein Karoo in South Africa's Western Cape, Duncan recounts his heyday managing a vast estate in the eastern part of Zimbabwe in the late 1980s. The farm, a sprawling agricultural hub, once bustled with activity and optimism, producing thousands of tonnes of fruit and vegetables, housing over 500 workers, and operating as a self-contained community.
"Some days, my mind wanders back to a farm I managed in the eastern highlands of Zimbabwe," Duncan reminisced. "It was something special."
His operation was a model of integrated rural development. It included large-scale production of apples, pears, peaches, kiwi fruit, broccoli, cauliflower, and seed potatoes. There was a Jersey dairy herd producing butter and cream, vast maize fields, a wildlife conservation section, adult literacy programs, and even a football team with professional uniforms.
Every worker, Duncan said, lived in a brick house with electricity and running water. There was a clinic staffed with a permanent nurse, a junior school with five classes, a store that sold everything from blankets to bicycles, and a fully equipped engineering division maintaining the estate's equipment.
"We cherished our people," Duncan said. "We had structured worker representation, regular updates, security services with canine units, and functioning health and transport services. We operated like a small town."
The farm's annual turnover reached into the millions, contributing significantly to national taxes and local economies.
But all of it was lost.
Like many white farmers during the chaotic land reform programme launched in the early 2000s, Duncan was displaced. The policy, aimed at redistributing land to black Zimbabweans, descended into violence, legal uncertainty, and economic ruin, crippling a once-thriving agricultural sector and sending shockwaves through the country's economy.
"Today, it is a village of subsistence-level agriculture," Duncan laments. "All of it is gone, with hardly a memory of what was once there. Why?"
The impact on his family has been equally traumatic. Scattered by political turmoil, his relatives now live across the globe—his mother in the United States, daughter in the United Kingdom, cousins in Australia, and sister in Zambia.
For Duncan, the memories of productivity, dignity, and unity remain, even as the landscape of his former life lies in ruins. His story offers a poignant snapshot of what Zimbabwe once was—and what it could have remained.
Now living in Klein Karoo in South Africa's Western Cape, Duncan recounts his heyday managing a vast estate in the eastern part of Zimbabwe in the late 1980s. The farm, a sprawling agricultural hub, once bustled with activity and optimism, producing thousands of tonnes of fruit and vegetables, housing over 500 workers, and operating as a self-contained community.
"Some days, my mind wanders back to a farm I managed in the eastern highlands of Zimbabwe," Duncan reminisced. "It was something special."
His operation was a model of integrated rural development. It included large-scale production of apples, pears, peaches, kiwi fruit, broccoli, cauliflower, and seed potatoes. There was a Jersey dairy herd producing butter and cream, vast maize fields, a wildlife conservation section, adult literacy programs, and even a football team with professional uniforms.
Every worker, Duncan said, lived in a brick house with electricity and running water. There was a clinic staffed with a permanent nurse, a junior school with five classes, a store that sold everything from blankets to bicycles, and a fully equipped engineering division maintaining the estate's equipment.
"We cherished our people," Duncan said. "We had structured worker representation, regular updates, security services with canine units, and functioning health and transport services. We operated like a small town."
But all of it was lost.
Like many white farmers during the chaotic land reform programme launched in the early 2000s, Duncan was displaced. The policy, aimed at redistributing land to black Zimbabweans, descended into violence, legal uncertainty, and economic ruin, crippling a once-thriving agricultural sector and sending shockwaves through the country's economy.
"Today, it is a village of subsistence-level agriculture," Duncan laments. "All of it is gone, with hardly a memory of what was once there. Why?"
The impact on his family has been equally traumatic. Scattered by political turmoil, his relatives now live across the globe—his mother in the United States, daughter in the United Kingdom, cousins in Australia, and sister in Zambia.
For Duncan, the memories of productivity, dignity, and unity remain, even as the landscape of his former life lies in ruins. His story offers a poignant snapshot of what Zimbabwe once was—and what it could have remained.
Source - online
