Wankie Colliery

Author © Scott D. Zachary

        “J-a-a-ck.”

       Jack popped his head above the car fender, gauging the intensity of my facial expression paired with my ambivalent warning.

       “Never mind,” I reassured.

       Jack returned to his task with renewed urgency.

       I studied the swaying tops of the tall buffalo grass swept deceptively by the soft, warm breeze. “Hurry, Jack.”

       “You don’t need to tell me that, Scott.”

       I glanced over my right shoulder, then my left, detecting no telltale movement behind me.

       Jack grunted as the fender inched upward.

       It occurred to me that Jack likely wouldn’t have time to flee into the protective cover of our sedan upon my alert. I didn’t tell him, though. I continued scanning all around us, adrenaline tingling my spine.

       A boisterous cricket drew my attention, but only for an instant.

       I might not even have time to drop down from the doorframe into the passenger seat if one attacks from behind me.

       The grass swirled menacingly in our direction.

       “Jack!”

       Jack sprung to his feet.

       The breeze calmed.

       “It’s okay,” I assuaged.

       “Quit messing around, Scott!” Jack huffed as he proceeded to change the car’s tire, not squandering a second.

       “I’m not! The wind fluffed the grass straight at us.”

       The insistent cricket rendered my auditory sense useless, flaring my nerves.

       The lug nuts agonized under Jack’s harried strain.

       The fender dropped rapidly. “Clack, clack, clack.”

       Pivoting down from my scouting position where I stood on the running board, I plopped into the passenger seat.

       Jack threw the tire tools onto the rear seat as he scrambled into the car. He leaned back against the headrest and sighed, “Boy, it’s hot out there.”

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

       I watched for animals while Jack drove through the Hwange National Park, the largest national park in Zimbabwe. Between the herds of zebra, impala, and gemsbok, I reflected back over the previous weeks since Sterling and Jack had demoed Write Plan to Alfred, the Maintenance Manager from Wankie Colliery (coal mine).

       A competitor, CMMS, had also demoed their system to Alfred, who preferred our Maintenance Management System, but he favored CMMS’s Stores (spare parts inventory) module. He agreed to purchase both of our systems with the stipulation that we implement a seamless interface between Write Plan’s Maintenance Management module and CMMS’s Stores module.

       This decision of Alfred’s in the fall of 1993 initiated one of the most fun projects of my forty-year software development career. I worked closely with Gail Forsythe from CMMS. She was one of the most methodical, meticulous, and conscientious programmers with whom I’ve ever worked. Aided by the fact that both systems had been developed using the UniVerse development toolset, Gail and I intermingled our software packages faultlessly. Except for slight variations in the appearance of our user-interfaces, one could not tell that they had been separate software packages. Working with Gail on this project was like working with a female clone of myself. It was pure fun!

       When Gail and I completed our “hand-in-glove” software operation, Jack and I flew out of Johannesburg to Harare International Airport and then flew 300 miles west-southwest to Hwange in western Zimbabwe near the international borders of Botswana and Zambia. We rented a car in Hwange and drove a short distance to Wankie Colliery (now called Hwange Colliery).

       Alfred gave us a tour of the coal mine, also known as a surface mine or strip mine. I was bedazzled by the enormity of the crawler crane. It was so large that it had to be built on-site. The draglines (cables as thick as my calf) were used to drag a colossal bucket horizontally, scraping the overburden (dirt) from the surface to enable open-air access to the coal veins. The bucket’s teeth were as big as my car.

       “You’re looking at a ten-thousand-ton machine there, gentlemen,” Alfred underscored.

       Ensuring the timely maintenance of these multi-million-dollar cranes and haul trucks that could carry at least twenty of my car is why our software would be so valuable to Wankie Colliery.

       “Wankie Colliery has proven reserves estimated to last one thousand years at the current production levels,” touted Alfred. “Wankie Coal Field is one of the largest in the world. It was discovered in 1895 by one of you Yanks, the American Scout Frederick Russell Burnham.”

       I asked Alfred about a bright orange glowing crevice along our route. He told us that this particular coal seam had been burning for nearly fifty years. “The legacy of a tiny spark,” Alfred muttered.

       After our tour of the mine, Jack and I checked into the Baobab Hotel, named for the ancient baobab tree on the periphery of the hotel grounds overlooking the suburbs of the town of Hwange. A sign by the baobab tree reads: “Hello I am Mr. Baobab. I am at least 600 years old.”

       I stood in respectful awe, admiring its graceful antiquity.

       We worked in the administration offices the morning and early afternoon of our second day installing our software and demonstrating the interface that Gail and I had developed. Jack and I then drove the 100 kilometers (62 miles) to Victoria Falls. One cannot be that close and not go see them. (I’ll tell you all about these spectacular Falls in the story “Aunt Marvelene Goes to Africa.”)

       Making my software modifications consumed the morning of our third day. After lunch, Jack asked Alfred where we could get a drink. He told us about a hide in the Hwange National Park that borders Wankie Colliery. Jack and I had driven several miles into the park when we saw the sign that read: “BEWARE OF LIONS!” A moment afterward, our tire had popped. The adrenalin gushes as I consider what I would’ve done had a lion eaten my buddy Jack while he was changing the tire.

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

       “We’re here!” announced Jack.

       Jack parked the car, and we ascended the long, wooden stairs into the hide, a thatched-roof observation tower that overlooked the only watering hole for miles. I’d describe the tower more aptly as a practicing alcoholic’s utopian bar. The waitresses were almost as fast in serving us as they were cute.

       Throughout the evening into the night, we watched herds of elephants, water buffalo, warthogs, wildebeest, giraffes, impala, sable, wild dogs, hyena, and lions take their turns refreshing themselves while Jack and I satisfied our lust for alcohol, Bacardi and Coke for Jack, Heineken for me. We could see every little twitch of the skittish animals under the spotlights as they put their lives on a serving platter so they could drink the life-sustaining water.       

       I suppose we got back to the hotel okay because that’s where I woke up the next morning. Jack and I spent our fourth day in Zimbabwe training the maintenance clerks who would be using our software. Alfred invited us to a celebration party that evening at his home. Jack drove so I didn’t bother paying attention to directions or landmarks.

       We enjoyed a fabulous antelope barbeque in Alfred’s backyard. Many Wankie Colliery employees attended, including a ravishing, dark-haired gal who showed a fancy toward me, but I drank so many beers that I don’t remember how that turned out.

       I ended up dragging Jack to the car. As I drove back to the Baobab Hotel in my alcoholic haze, I encountered the eight-spoke traffic circle. I couldn’t remember which of the other seven roads led to our hotel.

       I shook Jack. “Wake up, Jack! Which road do I take to our hotel?!”

       Jack didn’t budge. He was out cold. I had to pick a road and drive out far enough to be sure that I would’ve passed our hotel before retracing my path and taking another spoke of the roundabout out into the countryside. All I wanted to do was pass out. At last, on my fourth attempt, I found the Baobab Hotel.

       I took little consolation the next morning in knowing that Jack’s hangover was worse than my brain-thumping torment. Agony accompanied every movement. Anguish hindered all attempts to think.

       Jack had several more software changes he wanted me to make before we returned to South Africa. Back in high school, my counselor had left my file on her desk while she went to the restroom; I peeked at my IQ score—152. Here and now, judging from the degree of my inability to function, I told Jack that my IQ must’ve plummeted to well under 100. The simplest of tasks daunted me. Nevertheless, I had already completed the most essential software change requests. Alfred was ecstatic about his new computer system that would streamline all of Wankie Colliery’s maintenance tasks.