Tuesday, March 29, 2011
Africa 2006
In early 2006, I attended a travel expo in Las Vegas. Carol and I already had a trip to South Africa planned and when I heard that everybody who attended got a free round ticket to South Africa I got Carol hooked up so we got two tickets, Then at the conference, they gave us seven nights each in luxury safari camps. it was an incredible drop in the lap gift and made for a memorable trip. It's a tough life, I'm telling you.
Monkeys can open doors
Yes, that's right, but that will have to wait for a moment.
First, for those of you with whom we haven't talked in awhile, Carol and I are in Southern Africa for 5 weeks, a trip that will cover South Africa, Botswana, Zambia, Zimbabwe, and Namibia.
We got a "travel agent deal" that we couldn't pass up. Basically getting a $25,000 trip for $6,000. It's a longer story than can be told here, but we're staying at some very high-end safari lodges for a pittance, and we're living large with the big dogs, certainly a different method
of traveling than our usual jaunts.
We're in South Africa now and arrived on Thursday after a VERY long flight from Washington D.C. Upon departing the airport in our VW Chico, a car which resembles a VW beetle upon which an elephant has sat smashing it's hood flat. No guts, no glory, but it chugs along.
The speed limit here is 120 Kilometers an hour, or about 75 mph. That's the legal limit, but like home, nobody really pays attention to it. 140 km, or 87 mph is the going average, and don't get in the way of those who kick it to 160 km, or 100 mph even. That was fine on the four lane roads, but when it narrowed down to two lanes the limit stayed the same, as did the average speed of the driving. It got really dicey after dark with all the bobbing and weaving. Signs all along the way proclaimed: "Don'tbe fooled, speed really does kill." We got up close and personal with that when we passed a horrible multiple crash where maybe a dozen emergency vehicles were attending to as many casualties lying in the center divide. That managed to slow everybody down for about fiveminutes, and then it was business as normal.
We managed to arrive safely at our first night b&b safe and relieved, ready to start our grand adventure of big game viewing. Next day we drove to our first destination, Sabi Sabi game lodge.
You can check it out at : www.sabisabi.com
We're staying at the bush lodge.
Driving here we passed coffee plantations, banana plantations, lots of avocado orchards and various and sundry agricultural industries. All the way, passing the Kapok trees in full bloom dropping their pink blossoms at the base making a blanket of color like a wedding party tossing rose petals at the feet of the bride and groom. We stopped at a gas station and I asked the Afrikanner in the car behind me how I said "Thank you," to the Zulu attendant, and he said he didn't know. I asked how to say "good morning," and again he didn't know. Very depressing to me, but it's way to early in the journey to start making snap judgments about the situation. We have seen disturbing trends though, and I'll write more about that when I have a better handle on things.
We've been here at Sabi Sabi near Kruger National park for about 24 hours and have already had three game drives, bringing a whole host of different animals into viewing. Last night on our afternoon/evening drive, the highlight was when the tracker found a leopard which had killed an impala and was eating it. We were within 15 feet of the magnificent beast, but with a full belly, he had no interest in us, thankfully. I don't know how in the dark, off the track, and with little, to me anyway, indications of the fact, they were able to find it.
This morning we went back, and the leopard had killed another in the same spot, and this time was joined by a female leopard and a hyena, nature's scavenger, finishing off the leftovers. Got some great shots, photographic of course, and it was very exhilarating just to see the leopard at all, not to mention twice. It is usually the one animal that people miss seeing. We saw elephants, waterbucks, kudus, impalas, white rhinos, warthogs, hyenas, monkeys, baboons, and giraffes. All in the space of a three-hour drive last night, and a three-hour early this morning. We ride in safari land-rovers, four wheel-drive monsters with three viewing levels so that everybody has a good view. In our vehicle there are seven of us, along with the ranger, a tracker, and a very big gun with very big bullets. There's comfort in that, what with all the tales they tell when giving instructions about the do's and don'ts of the drive.
This morning the seven of us who are travel agents/family went to see one of the other Sabi lodges, and the highlight was a herd of ten elephants which came to the water hole to drink. There were two VERY little elephants in the herd, looking soooooo dwarfed by the adults. It
was a beautiful moment.
Well, before we get too far afield here, we've got to explain how we know that monkeys can open doors. After we got back from our plant walk this morning, we were advised to wash out our pants because of the ticks we could have picked up on the pant legs. We did so, went to
lunch, and when we came back there was a monkey party outside our room. We hadn't locked the back door to our suite, and they had come into our room, taken the dried apricots out of Carol's back pack, removed the goodie bags of dried fruits and nuts that they had provided for us, and a bag with two apples and bananas in Carol's suitcase. They were busily eating them in the tree outside our room. Monkey paw prints are evident around the room. So from now on we have to watch out for the thieves. Just like home, these are very cunning, inventive, and will take whatever they want. We've been told not to leave our shoes outside because the baboons will eat the leather. Yummy indeed!! Well, I've got to finish here, our second afternoon drive is coming up.
We tracked a lioness this morning, a single animal so they figured she had cubs stashed somewhere. We‚re going back to see if we can find her this afternoon, and also some hippos and crocodiles. Please excuse any typos, grammar mistakes and other writing pecadillios. I've been writing under the influence of the flask of sherry that they provide in the room. I keep trying to empty it, but every time I leave the room, they come in and fill it back up. Happily the monkeys didn't know the medicinal value of sherry. Who said they were smart. Our drive this afternoon will be enhanced by a stop at sunset where multiple gin and tonics, champagne or whatever your choice is, will be provided. This is such a tough life to live.
For now know that Jim and Carol are living large,
Love to all,
J and C
First, for those of you with whom we haven't talked in awhile, Carol and I are in Southern Africa for 5 weeks, a trip that will cover South Africa, Botswana, Zambia, Zimbabwe, and Namibia.
We got a "travel agent deal" that we couldn't pass up. Basically getting a $25,000 trip for $6,000. It's a longer story than can be told here, but we're staying at some very high-end safari lodges for a pittance, and we're living large with the big dogs, certainly a different method
of traveling than our usual jaunts.
We're in South Africa now and arrived on Thursday after a VERY long flight from Washington D.C. Upon departing the airport in our VW Chico, a car which resembles a VW beetle upon which an elephant has sat smashing it's hood flat. No guts, no glory, but it chugs along.
The speed limit here is 120 Kilometers an hour, or about 75 mph. That's the legal limit, but like home, nobody really pays attention to it. 140 km, or 87 mph is the going average, and don't get in the way of those who kick it to 160 km, or 100 mph even. That was fine on the four lane roads, but when it narrowed down to two lanes the limit stayed the same, as did the average speed of the driving. It got really dicey after dark with all the bobbing and weaving. Signs all along the way proclaimed: "Don'tbe fooled, speed really does kill." We got up close and personal with that when we passed a horrible multiple crash where maybe a dozen emergency vehicles were attending to as many casualties lying in the center divide. That managed to slow everybody down for about fiveminutes, and then it was business as normal.
We managed to arrive safely at our first night b&b safe and relieved, ready to start our grand adventure of big game viewing. Next day we drove to our first destination, Sabi Sabi game lodge.
You can check it out at : www.sabisabi.com
We're staying at the bush lodge.
Driving here we passed coffee plantations, banana plantations, lots of avocado orchards and various and sundry agricultural industries. All the way, passing the Kapok trees in full bloom dropping their pink blossoms at the base making a blanket of color like a wedding party tossing rose petals at the feet of the bride and groom. We stopped at a gas station and I asked the Afrikanner in the car behind me how I said "Thank you," to the Zulu attendant, and he said he didn't know. I asked how to say "good morning," and again he didn't know. Very depressing to me, but it's way to early in the journey to start making snap judgments about the situation. We have seen disturbing trends though, and I'll write more about that when I have a better handle on things.
We've been here at Sabi Sabi near Kruger National park for about 24 hours and have already had three game drives, bringing a whole host of different animals into viewing. Last night on our afternoon/evening drive, the highlight was when the tracker found a leopard which had killed an impala and was eating it. We were within 15 feet of the magnificent beast, but with a full belly, he had no interest in us, thankfully. I don't know how in the dark, off the track, and with little, to me anyway, indications of the fact, they were able to find it.
This morning we went back, and the leopard had killed another in the same spot, and this time was joined by a female leopard and a hyena, nature's scavenger, finishing off the leftovers. Got some great shots, photographic of course, and it was very exhilarating just to see the leopard at all, not to mention twice. It is usually the one animal that people miss seeing. We saw elephants, waterbucks, kudus, impalas, white rhinos, warthogs, hyenas, monkeys, baboons, and giraffes. All in the space of a three-hour drive last night, and a three-hour early this morning. We ride in safari land-rovers, four wheel-drive monsters with three viewing levels so that everybody has a good view. In our vehicle there are seven of us, along with the ranger, a tracker, and a very big gun with very big bullets. There's comfort in that, what with all the tales they tell when giving instructions about the do's and don'ts of the drive.
This morning the seven of us who are travel agents/family went to see one of the other Sabi lodges, and the highlight was a herd of ten elephants which came to the water hole to drink. There were two VERY little elephants in the herd, looking soooooo dwarfed by the adults. It
was a beautiful moment.
Well, before we get too far afield here, we've got to explain how we know that monkeys can open doors. After we got back from our plant walk this morning, we were advised to wash out our pants because of the ticks we could have picked up on the pant legs. We did so, went to
lunch, and when we came back there was a monkey party outside our room. We hadn't locked the back door to our suite, and they had come into our room, taken the dried apricots out of Carol's back pack, removed the goodie bags of dried fruits and nuts that they had provided for us, and a bag with two apples and bananas in Carol's suitcase. They were busily eating them in the tree outside our room. Monkey paw prints are evident around the room. So from now on we have to watch out for the thieves. Just like home, these are very cunning, inventive, and will take whatever they want. We've been told not to leave our shoes outside because the baboons will eat the leather. Yummy indeed!! Well, I've got to finish here, our second afternoon drive is coming up.
We tracked a lioness this morning, a single animal so they figured she had cubs stashed somewhere. We‚re going back to see if we can find her this afternoon, and also some hippos and crocodiles. Please excuse any typos, grammar mistakes and other writing pecadillios. I've been writing under the influence of the flask of sherry that they provide in the room. I keep trying to empty it, but every time I leave the room, they come in and fill it back up. Happily the monkeys didn't know the medicinal value of sherry. Who said they were smart. Our drive this afternoon will be enhanced by a stop at sunset where multiple gin and tonics, champagne or whatever your choice is, will be provided. This is such a tough life to live.
For now know that Jim and Carol are living large,
Love to all,
J and C
White rhinos aren't white
That's right folks, you heard it here first.
I kept trying to figure out why they looked the same as the black rhinos. Turns out that the name comes from the fact that their mouth is wide, not from the color (wit means wide in old Dutch). The term just got turned into white over the years. Other animal facts which I learned that I didn't know before are such things as:
Giraffes have the highest blood pressure of any animal to get the blood up the neck to the brain. They also have some extra valves in their neck for control of blood flow.
Leopards can carry more than their own weight in their jaws so that they can stash their kill in the trees away from the scavenging hyenas. Saw proof of this.
More people are killed by hippos in Africa than any other animal. They have big mouths and brutal teeth with a nasty disposition.
Baby zebras recognize their moms by the stripes not by smell. They all smell the same to me.
Elephants pee backwards. I can personally testify to this fact. Some people called it a water hose, looked more like a fire hose to me.
We have left Sabi Sabi but to wrap up that episode, here are some details of our days there. It boils down to game driving/walking, eating, and sleeping.
We got a wake up call at 5:30 a.m. for a 6:00 game drive with coffee/tea/juice and snacks before leaving. That took three hours, we were back for breakfast at 9:00, then at 10:30 we went for a game/plant walk, arriving back at camp at noon. A quick break brought us to lunch at 1:00, followed by high tea at 3:00, then a three hour afternoon/evening game drive with a gin and tonic/champagne and snacks break around 5:00. We returned to camp around 6:30 for a quick clean up and dinner in the boma ( a traditional safari campfire setting) at 7:30, then back to the room around 9:00 for some sleep and start the whole thing again at 5:30 the next morning.
Very little time for sitting around the lodge reading and relaxing. Very intense, but hey, that's what we came for.
On our last evening drive, we saw a lioness with two VERY little cubs. It could have been my old cat Frosty with one of her small litters; very loving mom, very frisky cubs, very adorable setting. The next morning we saw a leopard with two larger cubs, basking in the sunshine on a big rock. You can get very close, within 10-15 feet of them in the safari vehicle. They don't think of you as predators nor, thank goodness, prey, so you can get very close.
In all we saw all the "Big 5," lions, leopards, elephants, rhinos, and cape buffalo in multiple numbers, as well as a myriad of other animals that you have always associated with Africa: wildebeest, giraffes, impalas (nature's food plan for Africa since they are in such abundance and the most common kill.) and lots of others.
We all observed the rules stringently. Don't stand up in the vehicle (that makes a silhouette and makes you look like prey), don't take flash pictures after dark (it scares the animals, and a frightened elephant is not a happy thought) talk softly (screaming and loud noises bring unpleasant results, on the walks walk in a straight line behind the man with the big gun, stay close to him (good idea), and if an animal is encountered, don't run, even though every fiber in your body is screaming: "Get the hell out of here."
We left Sabi Sabi and drove to Swaziland and had a great two days there in this little kingdom which is one of the last absolute monarchies left in the world. It is simply a feudal fiefdom run for the pleasure of the king, who, the lack of economic progress in the country, notwithstanding, remains very popular.
Swaziland never got conquered by the Afrikaners or the Anglos, (it didn't have anything they wanted like gold, etc.) So they have remained independent, although totally surrounded by South Africa and Mozambique, which was controlled by the Portuguese. Hence a happy people who never suffered the apartheid system or the prejudice which saps the soul dry. It's not the most advanced industrial society, but the happiness and friendliness of the people are genuine and warm. It is 99% Shangaan and Zulu with only one percent European.
At breakfast in the little hotel we were staying, there was a little girl of 14 months who kept staring at us. Her father apologized by saying that she had never seen a .............., he stammered, we interjected "A white person?" yes, he said somewhat apologetically.
The Toyota vans which haul all the people around the country each have names like: Delta Force, Mother Trucker, Scorpion Heart, Cheese Boy, Sweet Choco, and my personal favorite, Oh S***t. No there's not an extra asterisk there, it does have three, which allows the mind to entertain many different options, several of which Carol and I entertained each other for many miles.
Hiv/Aids is a real problem here. We've heard for years about the epidemic in Africa, but when faced with it on a personal level, it is very overwhelming. For example, in Swaziland, over 33% of all adults are infected. Almost all families of whatever status, including the king's, have members who are HIV positive. Signs are everywhere stating such things as: "When you travel, stay faithful, help end Aids." At the border into South Africa from Swaziland there are multiple boxes of condoms free for taking. Packets of three are foiled lined and boxes of 144 sit there, take as many as you need, but take the right one. There is one box labeled, "Sugar Daddy special, small size, easy to wear," "Menthol taste, X Large for Sugar Mamas," and "Reuse for boyfriends, no time to change." Again, this makes for lots of conjecture as to the meaning, but you get the picture.
We have come to our next camp Mkuze Falls Safari camp, and I've lots of things to say about this fantastic place, but it's time for lunch followed by another game drive. Ho hum, just another boring day in paradise.
Check it out at:
mkuzefalls.com
Love to all I'll write again as I can.
j&c
I kept trying to figure out why they looked the same as the black rhinos. Turns out that the name comes from the fact that their mouth is wide, not from the color (wit means wide in old Dutch). The term just got turned into white over the years. Other animal facts which I learned that I didn't know before are such things as:
Giraffes have the highest blood pressure of any animal to get the blood up the neck to the brain. They also have some extra valves in their neck for control of blood flow.
Leopards can carry more than their own weight in their jaws so that they can stash their kill in the trees away from the scavenging hyenas. Saw proof of this.
More people are killed by hippos in Africa than any other animal. They have big mouths and brutal teeth with a nasty disposition.
Baby zebras recognize their moms by the stripes not by smell. They all smell the same to me.
Elephants pee backwards. I can personally testify to this fact. Some people called it a water hose, looked more like a fire hose to me.
We have left Sabi Sabi but to wrap up that episode, here are some details of our days there. It boils down to game driving/walking, eating, and sleeping.
We got a wake up call at 5:30 a.m. for a 6:00 game drive with coffee/tea/juice and snacks before leaving. That took three hours, we were back for breakfast at 9:00, then at 10:30 we went for a game/plant walk, arriving back at camp at noon. A quick break brought us to lunch at 1:00, followed by high tea at 3:00, then a three hour afternoon/evening game drive with a gin and tonic/champagne and snacks break around 5:00. We returned to camp around 6:30 for a quick clean up and dinner in the boma ( a traditional safari campfire setting) at 7:30, then back to the room around 9:00 for some sleep and start the whole thing again at 5:30 the next morning.
Very little time for sitting around the lodge reading and relaxing. Very intense, but hey, that's what we came for.
On our last evening drive, we saw a lioness with two VERY little cubs. It could have been my old cat Frosty with one of her small litters; very loving mom, very frisky cubs, very adorable setting. The next morning we saw a leopard with two larger cubs, basking in the sunshine on a big rock. You can get very close, within 10-15 feet of them in the safari vehicle. They don't think of you as predators nor, thank goodness, prey, so you can get very close.
In all we saw all the "Big 5," lions, leopards, elephants, rhinos, and cape buffalo in multiple numbers, as well as a myriad of other animals that you have always associated with Africa: wildebeest, giraffes, impalas (nature's food plan for Africa since they are in such abundance and the most common kill.) and lots of others.
We all observed the rules stringently. Don't stand up in the vehicle (that makes a silhouette and makes you look like prey), don't take flash pictures after dark (it scares the animals, and a frightened elephant is not a happy thought) talk softly (screaming and loud noises bring unpleasant results, on the walks walk in a straight line behind the man with the big gun, stay close to him (good idea), and if an animal is encountered, don't run, even though every fiber in your body is screaming: "Get the hell out of here."
We left Sabi Sabi and drove to Swaziland and had a great two days there in this little kingdom which is one of the last absolute monarchies left in the world. It is simply a feudal fiefdom run for the pleasure of the king, who, the lack of economic progress in the country, notwithstanding, remains very popular.
Swaziland never got conquered by the Afrikaners or the Anglos, (it didn't have anything they wanted like gold, etc.) So they have remained independent, although totally surrounded by South Africa and Mozambique, which was controlled by the Portuguese. Hence a happy people who never suffered the apartheid system or the prejudice which saps the soul dry. It's not the most advanced industrial society, but the happiness and friendliness of the people are genuine and warm. It is 99% Shangaan and Zulu with only one percent European.
At breakfast in the little hotel we were staying, there was a little girl of 14 months who kept staring at us. Her father apologized by saying that she had never seen a .............., he stammered, we interjected "A white person?" yes, he said somewhat apologetically.
The Toyota vans which haul all the people around the country each have names like: Delta Force, Mother Trucker, Scorpion Heart, Cheese Boy, Sweet Choco, and my personal favorite, Oh S***t. No there's not an extra asterisk there, it does have three, which allows the mind to entertain many different options, several of which Carol and I entertained each other for many miles.
Hiv/Aids is a real problem here. We've heard for years about the epidemic in Africa, but when faced with it on a personal level, it is very overwhelming. For example, in Swaziland, over 33% of all adults are infected. Almost all families of whatever status, including the king's, have members who are HIV positive. Signs are everywhere stating such things as: "When you travel, stay faithful, help end Aids." At the border into South Africa from Swaziland there are multiple boxes of condoms free for taking. Packets of three are foiled lined and boxes of 144 sit there, take as many as you need, but take the right one. There is one box labeled, "Sugar Daddy special, small size, easy to wear," "Menthol taste, X Large for Sugar Mamas," and "Reuse for boyfriends, no time to change." Again, this makes for lots of conjecture as to the meaning, but you get the picture.
We have come to our next camp Mkuze Falls Safari camp, and I've lots of things to say about this fantastic place, but it's time for lunch followed by another game drive. Ho hum, just another boring day in paradise.
Check it out at:
mkuzefalls.com
Love to all I'll write again as I can.
j&c
A brighter face for South Africa
But first a final thought or two on Swaziland.
We were amazed by the lack of interest or knowledge shown by the South Africans we talked to about Swaziland on our way there. The basic theme seemed to be: "Why on earth would you want to go there? There's nothing there." Well, that's simply not true. It may be fact that there is little economic growth, no real standing in the world community, nor bountiful tourist sites, but what it does have is a happy, friendly people. There are more smiles here per person than any place this side of Thailand. The people are not well off by western standards, but they're not poor by Central American standards either.
I'll tell you one thing, the kids are tougher and have more moxie than I could ever have. They stand barefooted on freshly blacktopped highways with nary a "Ooh, ouch, ay, that hurts." And they ride stripped down go carts made simply of three pieces of two-inch wood strapped together into a sideways "H"with four wheels attached, and they go screaming down the shoulder of highways with cars whizzing along at 85 miles an hour just inches from them. Then they pull them back up the hill and go zooming down again. Even I wouldn't do that.
As always, if we travel and only see things and don't learn about the people, we feel that we've learned nothing. And we hit the jackpot in meeting Natasha and Edward. We only spent two days with them, but I truly felt that I began to see South Africa, and began to get a sense of the Apartheid system.
They are 27 years old, and were on their honeymoon. Edward is of similar complexion to a Barak Obama or a Tiger Woods, while Natasha could pass for Spanish or other southern European. They are both accountants, and when I asked Natasha what she liked about being an accountant, she said: "I like coming into an office full of white people who don't think this little colored girl‚ could have any ability to know anything or do anything."
Well, that just opened the floodgates of information about growing up "colored" in South Africa. They were so open and forthright about their lives and what they experienced. Their openness encouraged questions that I have been curious about. Since I've arrived, I've had some difficulty talking to people knowing that so many of them either openly supported the Apartheid system or allowed it to happen by their silence. Edward and Natasha taught me that it's far more complicated than that.
Officially designated as "colored," means that they are of mixed native African and European blood. It's different thing from how we use the term "colored" in the States.
Edward is obviously mixed, but Natasha, to me, doesn't look like that at all. Edward says that a South African would recognize her as mixed by subtle features as well as language. She said that she has siblings who could pass for white and often did to get to places that were off-limits to them as mixed. Even within an immediate family there will be tremendous differences of features, from very dark to very light.
Edward explained that even as a colored family there was a lot of complicity in the continuance of the system. His grandfather, mixed himself, is very prejudiced against the blacks. At their wedding, they had a real problem of whom to sit where. Can't put so-and-so next to Uncle Charlie. You know he'll make anti black comments. They have white, colored, and black friends. They have Christian, Jewish, and Muslim friends, as well as those who adhere to the ancient native beliefs.
Edward said that many of the colored people didn't support Mandela's cause because as long as the system continued, they, the coloreds, weren't on the bottom of the heap. There is a lot of guilt in the colored community about this, because many helped maintain the system rather than unite with the blacks to end it. They feared losing what limited rights they had and so sat on the sidelines and quietly supported the system.
We talked often and at length and each time it was like a very personal learning curve. I liked these two kids so much. To listen to them talk about their school days, their hopes and aspirations, I couldn't help but be truly moved by their stories.
Edward has a smooth and mellow disposition. He speaks very thoughtfully. I could see him moving easily in any environment. I can't imagine that anyone could dislike him. He is kind and has a very tender side to him that is very nice to see.
Natasha is very pretty and moves with a grace that shows her to be the dancer that she is. She is a very take-charge person, but does so with a smoothness and grace so that she gets her point across but does so without offending at any time. There is a softness and warmth to her that, again, I can't imagine how anyone could not be taken by her genuineness.
I really believe that with them as examples of what South Africa can be, I have a lot more confidence about their future than I did before meeting them.
We talked about how poor whites here in the south were complicit in continuing segregation, how it takes generations for things to take root, but just as the states still have major problems to overcome, it could never go back to the days of separate water fountains and bathrooms. It was truly a wonderful time with Ed and Natasha. When ever I think of Mkuze Falls, they will always come to mind. I am proud to say they are my friends, and I hope it isn't the last time I see them.
There's an old joke about what to do with a 5,000 pound elephant in your room, but we don't know what to do with the 5,000 pound elephant just outside your room. We came back to our room after dinner one night to hear the crash, boom, thump sounds coming from just off the path. Since it was dark, we couldn't see it, but it was so close that we could smell it. It obviously was an elephant moving just out of sight in the bush by the room. We decided it didn't make any sense to worry about locking the door, since it could just knock it down if he so chose. So we slept the semi sound sleep of someone who knows that things are not always in our control, but we had to trust the guiding spirits of our lives that we wouldn't wake up face to face with an angry elephant.
Game drives at Mkuze Falls were extremely gratifying. On one we found a pride of lions who were working their way through what was left of a wildebeest. The lioness sat to one side while one of the four males in attendance munched on spare ribs sans the barbecue sauce. At one point she came near the kill, only to be angrily chased away. So the rule is she makes the kill, and then eats what's left over after the males have their pick of the carcass. Seems natural to me, but then this is what got me in trouble in South America a number of years ago when we were told that the Ono people of Argentina had a system where the women rowed the boat while the men fished. I noted that it seemed like a sound basis to a good marriage. My wife, amongst other females of my acquaintance let me know that things had changed. Like I didn't know that.
We found a herd of 14 elephants with a one month old calf. Sipho, our Zulu ranger said that he had seen it born. The Matriarch of the herd eventually made it plain that she didn't like our presence and charged toward the safari truck. She never came in a full head long charge, but would come within 20 feet of the truck then stop. Naturally, Sipho had the truck in reverse and when she made her charge, he would back up. Not as quickly, I might add, as some of us would have liked, but he knows what he's doing. We'd back up a little more, then she would charge again. Eventually, she got close enough to put her trunk on the truck. Fascinating, but slightly unnerving. They are very protective of the young and let you know in no uncertain terms when you violate their comfort zone.
The place was warthog city. They were everywhere. Interesting little critters they are too. Giraffes were all over the air strip, they often have to buzz the place to move them off before landing. We didn't see rhinos nor leopards of the big five, but what we did see was in abundance.
But as with all trips, it was time to move on and begin new adventures. I left wishing I had asked them this or that, but maybe next time. Tomorrow we cross into Botswana, and head for the Okavango Delta and more game viewing. New things lie ahead, new adventures, new learning curves. I can hardly wait to see what life has in store for me. As always, it's a magical ride. This very ordinary man lives an extraordinarily rich life.
We hope this finds all of you well and happy. We send our love to each of you no matter how far flung you might be.
Until next time,We are,
Carol and Jim
We were amazed by the lack of interest or knowledge shown by the South Africans we talked to about Swaziland on our way there. The basic theme seemed to be: "Why on earth would you want to go there? There's nothing there." Well, that's simply not true. It may be fact that there is little economic growth, no real standing in the world community, nor bountiful tourist sites, but what it does have is a happy, friendly people. There are more smiles here per person than any place this side of Thailand. The people are not well off by western standards, but they're not poor by Central American standards either.
I'll tell you one thing, the kids are tougher and have more moxie than I could ever have. They stand barefooted on freshly blacktopped highways with nary a "Ooh, ouch, ay, that hurts." And they ride stripped down go carts made simply of three pieces of two-inch wood strapped together into a sideways "H"with four wheels attached, and they go screaming down the shoulder of highways with cars whizzing along at 85 miles an hour just inches from them. Then they pull them back up the hill and go zooming down again. Even I wouldn't do that.
As always, if we travel and only see things and don't learn about the people, we feel that we've learned nothing. And we hit the jackpot in meeting Natasha and Edward. We only spent two days with them, but I truly felt that I began to see South Africa, and began to get a sense of the Apartheid system.
They are 27 years old, and were on their honeymoon. Edward is of similar complexion to a Barak Obama or a Tiger Woods, while Natasha could pass for Spanish or other southern European. They are both accountants, and when I asked Natasha what she liked about being an accountant, she said: "I like coming into an office full of white people who don't think this little colored girl‚ could have any ability to know anything or do anything."
Well, that just opened the floodgates of information about growing up "colored" in South Africa. They were so open and forthright about their lives and what they experienced. Their openness encouraged questions that I have been curious about. Since I've arrived, I've had some difficulty talking to people knowing that so many of them either openly supported the Apartheid system or allowed it to happen by their silence. Edward and Natasha taught me that it's far more complicated than that.
Officially designated as "colored," means that they are of mixed native African and European blood. It's different thing from how we use the term "colored" in the States.
Edward is obviously mixed, but Natasha, to me, doesn't look like that at all. Edward says that a South African would recognize her as mixed by subtle features as well as language. She said that she has siblings who could pass for white and often did to get to places that were off-limits to them as mixed. Even within an immediate family there will be tremendous differences of features, from very dark to very light.
Edward explained that even as a colored family there was a lot of complicity in the continuance of the system. His grandfather, mixed himself, is very prejudiced against the blacks. At their wedding, they had a real problem of whom to sit where. Can't put so-and-so next to Uncle Charlie. You know he'll make anti black comments. They have white, colored, and black friends. They have Christian, Jewish, and Muslim friends, as well as those who adhere to the ancient native beliefs.
Edward said that many of the colored people didn't support Mandela's cause because as long as the system continued, they, the coloreds, weren't on the bottom of the heap. There is a lot of guilt in the colored community about this, because many helped maintain the system rather than unite with the blacks to end it. They feared losing what limited rights they had and so sat on the sidelines and quietly supported the system.
We talked often and at length and each time it was like a very personal learning curve. I liked these two kids so much. To listen to them talk about their school days, their hopes and aspirations, I couldn't help but be truly moved by their stories.
Edward has a smooth and mellow disposition. He speaks very thoughtfully. I could see him moving easily in any environment. I can't imagine that anyone could dislike him. He is kind and has a very tender side to him that is very nice to see.
Natasha is very pretty and moves with a grace that shows her to be the dancer that she is. She is a very take-charge person, but does so with a smoothness and grace so that she gets her point across but does so without offending at any time. There is a softness and warmth to her that, again, I can't imagine how anyone could not be taken by her genuineness.
I really believe that with them as examples of what South Africa can be, I have a lot more confidence about their future than I did before meeting them.
We talked about how poor whites here in the south were complicit in continuing segregation, how it takes generations for things to take root, but just as the states still have major problems to overcome, it could never go back to the days of separate water fountains and bathrooms. It was truly a wonderful time with Ed and Natasha. When ever I think of Mkuze Falls, they will always come to mind. I am proud to say they are my friends, and I hope it isn't the last time I see them.
There's an old joke about what to do with a 5,000 pound elephant in your room, but we don't know what to do with the 5,000 pound elephant just outside your room. We came back to our room after dinner one night to hear the crash, boom, thump sounds coming from just off the path. Since it was dark, we couldn't see it, but it was so close that we could smell it. It obviously was an elephant moving just out of sight in the bush by the room. We decided it didn't make any sense to worry about locking the door, since it could just knock it down if he so chose. So we slept the semi sound sleep of someone who knows that things are not always in our control, but we had to trust the guiding spirits of our lives that we wouldn't wake up face to face with an angry elephant.
Game drives at Mkuze Falls were extremely gratifying. On one we found a pride of lions who were working their way through what was left of a wildebeest. The lioness sat to one side while one of the four males in attendance munched on spare ribs sans the barbecue sauce. At one point she came near the kill, only to be angrily chased away. So the rule is she makes the kill, and then eats what's left over after the males have their pick of the carcass. Seems natural to me, but then this is what got me in trouble in South America a number of years ago when we were told that the Ono people of Argentina had a system where the women rowed the boat while the men fished. I noted that it seemed like a sound basis to a good marriage. My wife, amongst other females of my acquaintance let me know that things had changed. Like I didn't know that.
We found a herd of 14 elephants with a one month old calf. Sipho, our Zulu ranger said that he had seen it born. The Matriarch of the herd eventually made it plain that she didn't like our presence and charged toward the safari truck. She never came in a full head long charge, but would come within 20 feet of the truck then stop. Naturally, Sipho had the truck in reverse and when she made her charge, he would back up. Not as quickly, I might add, as some of us would have liked, but he knows what he's doing. We'd back up a little more, then she would charge again. Eventually, she got close enough to put her trunk on the truck. Fascinating, but slightly unnerving. They are very protective of the young and let you know in no uncertain terms when you violate their comfort zone.
The place was warthog city. They were everywhere. Interesting little critters they are too. Giraffes were all over the air strip, they often have to buzz the place to move them off before landing. We didn't see rhinos nor leopards of the big five, but what we did see was in abundance.
But as with all trips, it was time to move on and begin new adventures. I left wishing I had asked them this or that, but maybe next time. Tomorrow we cross into Botswana, and head for the Okavango Delta and more game viewing. New things lie ahead, new adventures, new learning curves. I can hardly wait to see what life has in store for me. As always, it's a magical ride. This very ordinary man lives an extraordinarily rich life.
We hope this finds all of you well and happy. We send our love to each of you no matter how far flung you might be.
Until next time,We are,
Carol and Jim
Jim has a bad hair day
Hello to all, once again.
I have a few minutes while I'm waiting for our host Cathy to head to the police department to fill out a form after a little meeting in the middle of the road between her car and another. It was two cars backing out of parking stalls, and crunch!! Nothing major, but bent nerves.
So while I'm waiting for her to return, I decide to have my hair cut. As many of you know, I love to get my hair cut in various parts of the world. It is always a fun and enlightening event. In this case, it was also a "Lightening" event as well. I went to a "Barbershop," which is essentially a tin roofed, plywood- sided structure about 5 feet square. The power comes from an automobile battery which is connected by alligator clips to a converter which is then connected to his clippers. I told him to just take a little bit off the sides and top. Now remember, English is the unifying language of Botswana and virtually everybody speaks it. But not everybody speaks it well. Soooooooooo, Carol is watching in the background and filming the whole thing It’s pretty drastic," she says part way through the "Trim." Now that is not designed to relax me. I hate hair cuts in the first place, hence Carol always cuts my hair.
When I saw myself in the mirror, the only thing I could say was: "I'm back in the army." It is literally a buzz cut. Nothing, and I mean nothing is long enough to comb, now matter how much goo I might put on it. I haven't had hair this short since 1966 when they took me kicking and screaming off to boot camp. Oh, well, I wanted a cultural experience.
I said: "Oh, my god," and he looked at me and said: "Is it too short?" Well, what are you going to do, put it back? Maybe, just maybe, by the time I get home, it will be long enough to comb. I think I should shave off my beard and make the whole thing complete.
We're in Maun, Botswana, off tomorrow for our ten days in a row of frou-frou camps in the Okavango Delta, Victoria Falls in Zimbabwe and two camps in Zambia. It will be a different Jim that they get from what they might otherwise have seen.
I've lots more to talk about, but this just needed to be said and then forgotten about.
Stay safe everybody.
Love to all,
Jim
I have a few minutes while I'm waiting for our host Cathy to head to the police department to fill out a form after a little meeting in the middle of the road between her car and another. It was two cars backing out of parking stalls, and crunch!! Nothing major, but bent nerves.
So while I'm waiting for her to return, I decide to have my hair cut. As many of you know, I love to get my hair cut in various parts of the world. It is always a fun and enlightening event. In this case, it was also a "Lightening" event as well. I went to a "Barbershop," which is essentially a tin roofed, plywood- sided structure about 5 feet square. The power comes from an automobile battery which is connected by alligator clips to a converter which is then connected to his clippers. I told him to just take a little bit off the sides and top. Now remember, English is the unifying language of Botswana and virtually everybody speaks it. But not everybody speaks it well. Soooooooooo, Carol is watching in the background and filming the whole thing It’s pretty drastic," she says part way through the "Trim." Now that is not designed to relax me. I hate hair cuts in the first place, hence Carol always cuts my hair.
When I saw myself in the mirror, the only thing I could say was: "I'm back in the army." It is literally a buzz cut. Nothing, and I mean nothing is long enough to comb, now matter how much goo I might put on it. I haven't had hair this short since 1966 when they took me kicking and screaming off to boot camp. Oh, well, I wanted a cultural experience.
I said: "Oh, my god," and he looked at me and said: "Is it too short?" Well, what are you going to do, put it back? Maybe, just maybe, by the time I get home, it will be long enough to comb. I think I should shave off my beard and make the whole thing complete.
We're in Maun, Botswana, off tomorrow for our ten days in a row of frou-frou camps in the Okavango Delta, Victoria Falls in Zimbabwe and two camps in Zambia. It will be a different Jim that they get from what they might otherwise have seen.
I've lots more to talk about, but this just needed to be said and then forgotten about.
Stay safe everybody.
Love to all,
Jim
Catching up
Helo to all:
We're back in "Civilization" after our time in the bush. No tv. no email, no phone, no nuttin' just great times and wonderful experiences. I'll send more as time allows.
j
Leaving Mkuze Falls we began our four day road trip to Maun, Botswana where we were to meet our Servas hosts Joe and Cathy Wanzala. It was pretty much a straight run.
We were advised not to stop at the beginning of the trip since it was an area of car-jackings. Lots of various scams to tempt travelers. i.e. staged accidents with seemingly injured people along side the road. You stop, and bingo, you're in trouble. We had planned to stop at a city named Witbank, but it turned out to be nothing more than a polluted coal area, and we quickly got back in our car and wound up stopping at Bronkhorstsprait. We didn't see any hotel/motels, nor signs for guest houses, so I pulled into a pub (it served Guiness, so I knew it was a classy place.) Everybody spoke Afrikans, but one person behind the bar asked me what I wanted and I said that I was looking for a place to stay for the night. One woman said that she lived next door to a Guest House and she was going there, so we just followed her. We'd never have found it on our own.
We went to Sun City because we were told it was quite nice. Well it turned out to be nothing more than a cheesy imitation of Vegas, so we kept on going from there, but we did fin a jewel in Pilanesburg National Park. It is a self-drive game reserve, and it was very cool to drive at our own pace, stop when we wanted to stop, and generally be totally in charge of our lives. They've set up "hides" or blinds as we might call them, where you can just sit at a water hole and watch animals as they come to drink. Two rhinos came by and generally entertained us as they drank then wallowed, and finally played in the water for a half an hour.
As we walked into the hide through a protected walkway, we were accosted by an elephant who let us know that we weren't welcome. She charged right up to the fence and there we were eyeball to eyeball. Luckily they have an electric fence around the outside of the walkway, and the animals have obviously been "educated" and so didn't tear down the fence. I didn't know what I'd do if she stuck her trunk over to whap me on the head, or pick me up.
We stayed in the park in a little "chalet" their word for a detached room. A bungalow is a more descriptive word in our culture.
As we were driving out of the park, we turned a curve in the narrow road, and two elephants came swaggering down the road toward us, with their trunks swinging from side to side like two hip-hop generation teen males sauntering down a hallway with chains hanging from their necks swinging freely. We had been on enough game drives at this point, so we knew that the procedure is to slowly back up giving them the room they demand. Don't try to go around them, just keep giving ground until they have had enough and decide to go into the bush beside the road. Otherwise Chico will not only resemble a car upon which an elephant has sat, it might actually be one. The only problem was that there was a car behind us which didn't seem terribly concerned about the situation since it had our car between them and any problems. I almost bumped into them a couple of times trying to get distance between ourselves and the portly pachyderms. The driver was truly entranced with the situation as opposed to watching where I was in relation to him vis a vis the elephants. Eventually, he gave ground, and still later the elephants turned aside and we went by. Carol filmed while I backed up. It was a very cool scene even though it caused a mild concern.
Hitting the highway we followed a route prescribed by two South Africans we met at Mkuze. Harry said that the border crossing at this given point would be the easiest. It was true when we got to the border, there was only one car coming from either direction, hence the crossing was accomplished easily.
However, there's always a however, it seems, what he didn't tell us was that getting to the border was the real challenge. The pavement ended 65 miles from the border and for the next two hours we bumped, ground, and bounced our way down the road. There is such a fine line between speed and safety, and it's a line that I tend to cross on the side of speed, as my daughter will attest. I try not to stray too far over the line, but it's one that I know I do cross.
At points we could make 60 mph, then suddenly the road would deteriorate to massive potholes. My poor little VW Chico felt very abused as I forced it without warning into a hole the size of a bathtub. Bang! The car would bottom out. "Ouch," Chico would say. We'd have that for a few miles, then back to speed again, only to be rudely brought back to reality by a minefield of loose rocks the size of softballs to basketballs.
Eventually we did make it through and the border came upon us 14 miles closer than the signposts indicated. It was a welcome sight to see the Botswanan flag. Crossing the border on Saturday we headed south for an hour to Gaborone, the capital. However, it was Saturday, and everything closed at noon. You guessed it, it was 1:00 in the afternoon. No banks to change money, no tourist bureau for information, nada!
So we decided to start north to Joe and Cathy's. It was a ten-hour drive and so getting a couple of hours under our belts wasn't a total loss. But I needed Botswanan pulas, and all the banks were closed. I walked across the street to a petroport (gas station) to ask a man exactly where we were on the Lonely Planet guidebook map, and he asked what we wanted to do. I told him that what I really wanted to do was to change money. He asked what kind of money I wanted to change, and when I told him US dollars, he asked me how much. I told him $300, and he proceeded to whip out a wad, and I mean a wad of 100 pula notes ($20 U.S. each) and we made the deal right there on the street. Don't tell me I'm not blessed when I travel!
Chico was very happy because Botswanan roads are EXCELLENT. Far better than we might have expected. Same rules apply. Speed limit is 75, everybody goes 85 and upwards. Driving across the interior of Botswana was a real experience. We stayed the night in Mahalupye and the book said that eating at Kaytee's was the treat of the town. There's a big sign over the bar which says: "This is not a bar, but a licensed restaurant. Please treat it as such." However, since we were the only ones eating in the place at 7:00 p.m. and everybody else was drinking, the meaning was somewhat lost. The food was good, if not spectacular, and we left quite satisfied. We stopped for gas every time we saw a petroport since you never know in the bush what will be ahead, and we arrived at Joe and Cathy's about 4:00 in the afternoon.
They came to meet us at a local hotel after we called them, and were immediately greeted with two giant bear hugs as if we were long lost friends. They are an amazing couple. The Servas organization we belong to is one that promotes international peace and understanding. We've had people from all over the world stay with us, and we have enjoyed the hospitality of people in many of the places in which we've traveled.
Joe is from Uganda and Cathy is from Kenya. He is an accountant and she has an outlet for travel supplies and clothing. They raised five children in their odyssey from Uganda to get away from Idi Amin, and went from Uganda to Kenya to Malawi and have finally settled in Botswana. Their five children exemplify their ethic of hard work and educational success.
Winnie got her Ph.D from Michigan State and works in public health for the state of California and lives in Sacramento. We'd hooked up with here before leaving to bring some things to Cathy. Joe Jr. is a paralegal in San Francisco. They sent one to be educated in Switzerland, and there she met an Irishman and they live near Leeds, in England. Both she and her husband are university professors. Another daughter is in the "Hospitality" industry, not quite sure what aspect, but she arranges tours and such and lives in London. The only one still in Africa lives in Johannesburg and works for some big international fertilizer company out of Florence, Alabama. She flies all over Africa advising governments and local officials on how to improve agricultural production.
Another incredible coincidence is that Cathy is from the same tribe as Barak Obama's family, and in fact her family knew Barak's father and she knows his half brother. Small world it is indeed.
They are an amazing family and as warm-hearted people as you could ever hope to meet. We spent two nights with them and left Chico with them when we flew out this morning for our ten day camp-to-camp-to-camp journey. Cathy was crushed when we told her that on our return on the 18th we'd only be able to stay one more night.
So now we're in the Okavango Delta. This is what I came for and it has not disappointed. A beautiful low-level flight into the heart of the delta must be explained in a different e-mail or I'll overstay my welcome with your attention span.
So, until that time, we're living large as usual,
Love to most of you,
Jim and Carol
We're back in "Civilization" after our time in the bush. No tv. no email, no phone, no nuttin' just great times and wonderful experiences. I'll send more as time allows.
j
Leaving Mkuze Falls we began our four day road trip to Maun, Botswana where we were to meet our Servas hosts Joe and Cathy Wanzala. It was pretty much a straight run.
We were advised not to stop at the beginning of the trip since it was an area of car-jackings. Lots of various scams to tempt travelers. i.e. staged accidents with seemingly injured people along side the road. You stop, and bingo, you're in trouble. We had planned to stop at a city named Witbank, but it turned out to be nothing more than a polluted coal area, and we quickly got back in our car and wound up stopping at Bronkhorstsprait. We didn't see any hotel/motels, nor signs for guest houses, so I pulled into a pub (it served Guiness, so I knew it was a classy place.) Everybody spoke Afrikans, but one person behind the bar asked me what I wanted and I said that I was looking for a place to stay for the night. One woman said that she lived next door to a Guest House and she was going there, so we just followed her. We'd never have found it on our own.
We went to Sun City because we were told it was quite nice. Well it turned out to be nothing more than a cheesy imitation of Vegas, so we kept on going from there, but we did fin a jewel in Pilanesburg National Park. It is a self-drive game reserve, and it was very cool to drive at our own pace, stop when we wanted to stop, and generally be totally in charge of our lives. They've set up "hides" or blinds as we might call them, where you can just sit at a water hole and watch animals as they come to drink. Two rhinos came by and generally entertained us as they drank then wallowed, and finally played in the water for a half an hour.
As we walked into the hide through a protected walkway, we were accosted by an elephant who let us know that we weren't welcome. She charged right up to the fence and there we were eyeball to eyeball. Luckily they have an electric fence around the outside of the walkway, and the animals have obviously been "educated" and so didn't tear down the fence. I didn't know what I'd do if she stuck her trunk over to whap me on the head, or pick me up.
We stayed in the park in a little "chalet" their word for a detached room. A bungalow is a more descriptive word in our culture.
As we were driving out of the park, we turned a curve in the narrow road, and two elephants came swaggering down the road toward us, with their trunks swinging from side to side like two hip-hop generation teen males sauntering down a hallway with chains hanging from their necks swinging freely. We had been on enough game drives at this point, so we knew that the procedure is to slowly back up giving them the room they demand. Don't try to go around them, just keep giving ground until they have had enough and decide to go into the bush beside the road. Otherwise Chico will not only resemble a car upon which an elephant has sat, it might actually be one. The only problem was that there was a car behind us which didn't seem terribly concerned about the situation since it had our car between them and any problems. I almost bumped into them a couple of times trying to get distance between ourselves and the portly pachyderms. The driver was truly entranced with the situation as opposed to watching where I was in relation to him vis a vis the elephants. Eventually, he gave ground, and still later the elephants turned aside and we went by. Carol filmed while I backed up. It was a very cool scene even though it caused a mild concern.
Hitting the highway we followed a route prescribed by two South Africans we met at Mkuze. Harry said that the border crossing at this given point would be the easiest. It was true when we got to the border, there was only one car coming from either direction, hence the crossing was accomplished easily.
However, there's always a however, it seems, what he didn't tell us was that getting to the border was the real challenge. The pavement ended 65 miles from the border and for the next two hours we bumped, ground, and bounced our way down the road. There is such a fine line between speed and safety, and it's a line that I tend to cross on the side of speed, as my daughter will attest. I try not to stray too far over the line, but it's one that I know I do cross.
At points we could make 60 mph, then suddenly the road would deteriorate to massive potholes. My poor little VW Chico felt very abused as I forced it without warning into a hole the size of a bathtub. Bang! The car would bottom out. "Ouch," Chico would say. We'd have that for a few miles, then back to speed again, only to be rudely brought back to reality by a minefield of loose rocks the size of softballs to basketballs.
Eventually we did make it through and the border came upon us 14 miles closer than the signposts indicated. It was a welcome sight to see the Botswanan flag. Crossing the border on Saturday we headed south for an hour to Gaborone, the capital. However, it was Saturday, and everything closed at noon. You guessed it, it was 1:00 in the afternoon. No banks to change money, no tourist bureau for information, nada!
So we decided to start north to Joe and Cathy's. It was a ten-hour drive and so getting a couple of hours under our belts wasn't a total loss. But I needed Botswanan pulas, and all the banks were closed. I walked across the street to a petroport (gas station) to ask a man exactly where we were on the Lonely Planet guidebook map, and he asked what we wanted to do. I told him that what I really wanted to do was to change money. He asked what kind of money I wanted to change, and when I told him US dollars, he asked me how much. I told him $300, and he proceeded to whip out a wad, and I mean a wad of 100 pula notes ($20 U.S. each) and we made the deal right there on the street. Don't tell me I'm not blessed when I travel!
Chico was very happy because Botswanan roads are EXCELLENT. Far better than we might have expected. Same rules apply. Speed limit is 75, everybody goes 85 and upwards. Driving across the interior of Botswana was a real experience. We stayed the night in Mahalupye and the book said that eating at Kaytee's was the treat of the town. There's a big sign over the bar which says: "This is not a bar, but a licensed restaurant. Please treat it as such." However, since we were the only ones eating in the place at 7:00 p.m. and everybody else was drinking, the meaning was somewhat lost. The food was good, if not spectacular, and we left quite satisfied. We stopped for gas every time we saw a petroport since you never know in the bush what will be ahead, and we arrived at Joe and Cathy's about 4:00 in the afternoon.
They came to meet us at a local hotel after we called them, and were immediately greeted with two giant bear hugs as if we were long lost friends. They are an amazing couple. The Servas organization we belong to is one that promotes international peace and understanding. We've had people from all over the world stay with us, and we have enjoyed the hospitality of people in many of the places in which we've traveled.
Joe is from Uganda and Cathy is from Kenya. He is an accountant and she has an outlet for travel supplies and clothing. They raised five children in their odyssey from Uganda to get away from Idi Amin, and went from Uganda to Kenya to Malawi and have finally settled in Botswana. Their five children exemplify their ethic of hard work and educational success.
Winnie got her Ph.D from Michigan State and works in public health for the state of California and lives in Sacramento. We'd hooked up with here before leaving to bring some things to Cathy. Joe Jr. is a paralegal in San Francisco. They sent one to be educated in Switzerland, and there she met an Irishman and they live near Leeds, in England. Both she and her husband are university professors. Another daughter is in the "Hospitality" industry, not quite sure what aspect, but she arranges tours and such and lives in London. The only one still in Africa lives in Johannesburg and works for some big international fertilizer company out of Florence, Alabama. She flies all over Africa advising governments and local officials on how to improve agricultural production.
Another incredible coincidence is that Cathy is from the same tribe as Barak Obama's family, and in fact her family knew Barak's father and she knows his half brother. Small world it is indeed.
They are an amazing family and as warm-hearted people as you could ever hope to meet. We spent two nights with them and left Chico with them when we flew out this morning for our ten day camp-to-camp-to-camp journey. Cathy was crushed when we told her that on our return on the 18th we'd only be able to stay one more night.
So now we're in the Okavango Delta. This is what I came for and it has not disappointed. A beautiful low-level flight into the heart of the delta must be explained in a different e-mail or I'll overstay my welcome with your attention span.
So, until that time, we're living large as usual,
Love to most of you,
Jim and Carol
Cheerleader camp in the Okavango
We‚re here at Pom Pom camp in the Okavango Delta hence the title of this letter. But in actual fact, in Setswane pom pom means mosquito. I maintain, and I maintain very strongly, that for you marketing majors out there this is an example of how to turn a negative into a positive. Now really, would people be more liable to book a stay here thinking that it's a cheerleader camp or a mosquito camp?
Just think of it: "Come to Mosquito camp in the middle of one of the biggest swamps in the world. Don't forget you 100% deet nor your malaria pills. You're bound to have a wonderful time."
Actually, at this time of the year, the mosquitoes aren't that bad, and the place is really relaxing and peaceful. We went out on the "mokoro" boats this morning for our four-hour activity. They are the Botswanan canoe, but more stable. You are poled along by a guide through the waterways, with the only sounds made are the flat-bottomed boat sliding through the reeds. Sometimes we travel down "Hippo Highway" the four-foot wide paths made by the giant beasts as the work their way from area to area totally demolishing the plant life underfoot, surprise, surprise, so that it is a clear pathway through the reeds.
We saw plenty of them from water level as we were sitting down in the mokoro. The guide was careful to get close enough but not too close since they are fast and very uncooperative when perturbed, and it doesn't take much to perturb a hippo.
This isn't a "game" camp as such, which is not to say we don't see game. Last night we saw a herd of 15 or so elephants walking through the water with several calves hanging onto mom's tail for guidance and assistance. Great scene!!
But the real charm of the place is in it's setting. Lots of water, tons of birds, another open bar and they even do your laundry for free. What's not to like? It's very peaceful, and makes a great combination with the other camps we have seen. This marks the halfway point in the camp experience. We've had seven days in them, and we have seven more. Tomorrow we fly to Zimbabwe and go to Victoria Falls for two days, then it's on to Zambia for four nights. There's been enough difference in the camps to provide a far more complete picture of the area and what's offered than if we just stayed at one or two. Everybody says that Africa is addicting, and it's easy to see exactly why.
I wondered if these ten days of continual camps, game drives, bush country would get a little old or "samish" after a while, whether it would all seem routine, and I would be looking forward to getting back on the road again.
Nothing could be further from the truth for each day is totally different from anything we've done before. Each day has surprises and first-time experiences never before encountered by us in our limited time here.
Every new day writes a new page in this Africa chapter of this book of life that I have lived. For example:
The dance:
We came upon a family of three giraffes last night, mom, dad, and baby giraffe. They fed separately for a while as we just watched from the vehicle. Then the baby came over to dad, and literally began to nuzzle him. He stroked his neck with his head affectionately and dad responded in kind, running his head down the back of the baby's neck as the young giraffe simply leaned his head back in obvious delight. Then mom came over and the three of them did the same to each other. It was a dance of family, only music by Tschykovsky was missing. It was "pas de trois" as beautiful as any ballet I have ever seen.
The poachers:
On one game drive we came upon a ridge where there was a man carrying a rifle. Our guide said: "Poachers." We all stiffened not knowing what was to happen. As the vehicle approached the ridge, we saw to our delight that the camp staff had set up a "Bush Breakfast" for us. Bacon, sausage, eggs, tomatoes, mushrooms, onions, potatoes and other goodies sizzled on the extensive grill they had erected. Add some great coffee, juice and some interesting conversation at a field table, and you had the makings of the best breakfast I think I have ever enjoyed.
The stalk:
Several times we have watched leopards stalking prey. Each time it is different, but each time it is fascinating to watch. On one drive, our spotter with the BIG light shined it directly on the leopard who was crouching in the grass, more or less announcing to the impalas: "Hey, over here guys, here's the guy with the big teeth and sharp claws." They scattered and that was the end of that as the leopard skulked away to find someplace where man did not interfere. This whole episode was either good news or bad news depending on whether you're the leopard or the impala.
Last night we found another similar scene, this time the leopard was in a ditch unseen by the impalas. The spotter shone the light over the head of the leopard so that we could see it in the diffused light, but not disturbing the scene. After a while our guide said that we should leave nature to itself and not interfere, and we were left with only our imaginations of the final scene.
The impala buffet:
Impalas are known as the giant salad bar of African game. They are plentiful in enormous numbers, and it's like choosing which is to your liking. There are signs of impala kills everywhere but seemingly no impact on total numbers. We watched them cross a stream today. Impalas would rather jump over it than wade through it, and we watched entranced as dozens of them leapt over it in their graceful arch. Nuryurev would be proud.
Footprints in the night:
One of the really interesting things has been to see what animals have wandered through camp during the night. We've had all forms of hoofed critters including impala, pukas, waterbucks, warthogs, and assorted others. But we've also seen evidence of elephants (we've actually seen these in camp) hyenas, baboons and monkeys, of course, rhinos, tons, literally and figuratively, of hippos, and leopards and this morning a lion sauntered through about 5:30, just as staff was preparing breakfast. I asked our guide later whether the staff took cover, and he said: "No, they just watched." Yeah, like I'm just going to continue to work my crossword puzzle or casually pick up my video camera and continue filming as the head gets bigger and bigger in the eyepiece until all I see is big, pointy teeth. He said that it's not a problem since camp is not their natural environment so we're not in any danger. I'm really going to have an easy time convincing my clients that in their hut which is entirely made of reeds and thatch with the back wall no more than 5 feet tall that they shouldn't worry about the lion looking over the top at them sleeping peacefully under the mosquito netting.
Sunrises and sunsets:
Simply stated, they are wonderful. The morning, awaking, I watch with hot coffee in my hands, and in the evening close of day with a gin and tonic, G&T as they call it here. The high is not fueled by alcohol, but I wouldn't say that it wasn't enhanced by it either. They are all different. Sometimes they are just brilliant colors stretching across the sky, sometimes clouds give texture. My favorite sunsets are the ones with clouds where the colors give a golden edge to them, giving them an extra dimension. Regardless, I film each and every one of them just for my own future enjoyment.
The general ambience:
Each camp is different, but each is set off by water. We've enjoyed camps by lagoons, rivers wide and narrow, lakes and water holes. Each provides a perfect setting to start our day, relax during one of the few moments when they're either not feeding you or you're not out looking for game, or ending your day before a fire with great conversation. But they've all been great and I wouldn't have changed these ten days around any differently from how we've experienced them.
Stay safe everybody,
jim and carol
Just think of it: "Come to Mosquito camp in the middle of one of the biggest swamps in the world. Don't forget you 100% deet nor your malaria pills. You're bound to have a wonderful time."
Actually, at this time of the year, the mosquitoes aren't that bad, and the place is really relaxing and peaceful. We went out on the "mokoro" boats this morning for our four-hour activity. They are the Botswanan canoe, but more stable. You are poled along by a guide through the waterways, with the only sounds made are the flat-bottomed boat sliding through the reeds. Sometimes we travel down "Hippo Highway" the four-foot wide paths made by the giant beasts as the work their way from area to area totally demolishing the plant life underfoot, surprise, surprise, so that it is a clear pathway through the reeds.
We saw plenty of them from water level as we were sitting down in the mokoro. The guide was careful to get close enough but not too close since they are fast and very uncooperative when perturbed, and it doesn't take much to perturb a hippo.
This isn't a "game" camp as such, which is not to say we don't see game. Last night we saw a herd of 15 or so elephants walking through the water with several calves hanging onto mom's tail for guidance and assistance. Great scene!!
But the real charm of the place is in it's setting. Lots of water, tons of birds, another open bar and they even do your laundry for free. What's not to like? It's very peaceful, and makes a great combination with the other camps we have seen. This marks the halfway point in the camp experience. We've had seven days in them, and we have seven more. Tomorrow we fly to Zimbabwe and go to Victoria Falls for two days, then it's on to Zambia for four nights. There's been enough difference in the camps to provide a far more complete picture of the area and what's offered than if we just stayed at one or two. Everybody says that Africa is addicting, and it's easy to see exactly why.
I wondered if these ten days of continual camps, game drives, bush country would get a little old or "samish" after a while, whether it would all seem routine, and I would be looking forward to getting back on the road again.
Nothing could be further from the truth for each day is totally different from anything we've done before. Each day has surprises and first-time experiences never before encountered by us in our limited time here.
Every new day writes a new page in this Africa chapter of this book of life that I have lived. For example:
The dance:
We came upon a family of three giraffes last night, mom, dad, and baby giraffe. They fed separately for a while as we just watched from the vehicle. Then the baby came over to dad, and literally began to nuzzle him. He stroked his neck with his head affectionately and dad responded in kind, running his head down the back of the baby's neck as the young giraffe simply leaned his head back in obvious delight. Then mom came over and the three of them did the same to each other. It was a dance of family, only music by Tschykovsky was missing. It was "pas de trois" as beautiful as any ballet I have ever seen.
The poachers:
On one game drive we came upon a ridge where there was a man carrying a rifle. Our guide said: "Poachers." We all stiffened not knowing what was to happen. As the vehicle approached the ridge, we saw to our delight that the camp staff had set up a "Bush Breakfast" for us. Bacon, sausage, eggs, tomatoes, mushrooms, onions, potatoes and other goodies sizzled on the extensive grill they had erected. Add some great coffee, juice and some interesting conversation at a field table, and you had the makings of the best breakfast I think I have ever enjoyed.
The stalk:
Several times we have watched leopards stalking prey. Each time it is different, but each time it is fascinating to watch. On one drive, our spotter with the BIG light shined it directly on the leopard who was crouching in the grass, more or less announcing to the impalas: "Hey, over here guys, here's the guy with the big teeth and sharp claws." They scattered and that was the end of that as the leopard skulked away to find someplace where man did not interfere. This whole episode was either good news or bad news depending on whether you're the leopard or the impala.
Last night we found another similar scene, this time the leopard was in a ditch unseen by the impalas. The spotter shone the light over the head of the leopard so that we could see it in the diffused light, but not disturbing the scene. After a while our guide said that we should leave nature to itself and not interfere, and we were left with only our imaginations of the final scene.
The impala buffet:
Impalas are known as the giant salad bar of African game. They are plentiful in enormous numbers, and it's like choosing which is to your liking. There are signs of impala kills everywhere but seemingly no impact on total numbers. We watched them cross a stream today. Impalas would rather jump over it than wade through it, and we watched entranced as dozens of them leapt over it in their graceful arch. Nuryurev would be proud.
Footprints in the night:
One of the really interesting things has been to see what animals have wandered through camp during the night. We've had all forms of hoofed critters including impala, pukas, waterbucks, warthogs, and assorted others. But we've also seen evidence of elephants (we've actually seen these in camp) hyenas, baboons and monkeys, of course, rhinos, tons, literally and figuratively, of hippos, and leopards and this morning a lion sauntered through about 5:30, just as staff was preparing breakfast. I asked our guide later whether the staff took cover, and he said: "No, they just watched." Yeah, like I'm just going to continue to work my crossword puzzle or casually pick up my video camera and continue filming as the head gets bigger and bigger in the eyepiece until all I see is big, pointy teeth. He said that it's not a problem since camp is not their natural environment so we're not in any danger. I'm really going to have an easy time convincing my clients that in their hut which is entirely made of reeds and thatch with the back wall no more than 5 feet tall that they shouldn't worry about the lion looking over the top at them sleeping peacefully under the mosquito netting.
Sunrises and sunsets:
Simply stated, they are wonderful. The morning, awaking, I watch with hot coffee in my hands, and in the evening close of day with a gin and tonic, G&T as they call it here. The high is not fueled by alcohol, but I wouldn't say that it wasn't enhanced by it either. They are all different. Sometimes they are just brilliant colors stretching across the sky, sometimes clouds give texture. My favorite sunsets are the ones with clouds where the colors give a golden edge to them, giving them an extra dimension. Regardless, I film each and every one of them just for my own future enjoyment.
The general ambience:
Each camp is different, but each is set off by water. We've enjoyed camps by lagoons, rivers wide and narrow, lakes and water holes. Each provides a perfect setting to start our day, relax during one of the few moments when they're either not feeding you or you're not out looking for game, or ending your day before a fire with great conversation. But they've all been great and I wouldn't have changed these ten days around any differently from how we've experienced them.
Stay safe everybody,
jim and carol
I'm finally in "Africa"
Even though we've been here for three weeks and this is technically our fourth country visited, it wasn't until we got here to Zambia that I really sensed that I was in the heart of Africa, seeing a part of the true Africa.
South Africa could be somewhere in Europe or in the U.S. with a large black population. Everything is so westernized: roads, restaurants, shopping centers, you name it, it's so similar to home. True, 90% of the people are indigenous but it never really felt "African." It just felt South African. When explaining this to one of the camp guides who is South African, he depicted South Africa as "Africa for Beginners." It described perfectly what I was feeling. Swaziland gave a glimmer of Africa, but we never got off the main roads, and traveling down a four lane road at 85 miles an hour doesn't lend time to soak it up. Botswana is almost totally indigenous peoples, but we really zoomed to get to Cathy and Joe's place then spent time in the camps which were frequented by westerners, either by citizenship or by culture (South Africans), and in Zimbabwe we only saw Victoria Falls, so that was hardly a natural setting.
But enter Zambia, and immediately upon getting off the plane in Mfuwe, a place I've never even heard of with a population of 800,000 and you are smack dab in Africa. To get to the camp we traveled an hour and a half. The road was a narrow two-lane, at best, pot-holed ribbon of tarmac which is traveled at a speed of around 20-30 MPH. Anything faster would be to court disaster.
Zambian society is mainly divided into two classes the withs and the withouts. In the countryside, it is entirely the withouts. We passed hundreds of what are called "villages," clusters of houses each cluster containing five or more rondovals, loosely considered shelters. Normally they are made of a circular formation of one inch diameter branches tied together with twine and then plastered with a baked mud concoction to form a solid wall. The roof is a pointed affair made up of a combination of larger limbs used as rafters with a reed thatch for the actual covering. These structures form 90 percent of the houses in the villages. Most villages are formed of members of one family, parents, children, grandparents, and extended cousins, aunts, and uncles.
This basic family structure is what helps any given family survive. What is made by one is shared by all, food, money, clothing, and general facilities. There is no running water and hence as you pass down the road, you pass hundreds of people at any given point in the road, carrying the equivalent of 5 gallon buckets on their heads hauling water back to the house for general use. Many of the larger villages may have a well, but these can be, and usually are, so contaminated, that they are really health hazards. The safest, but often not the closest source of water are the public water pumps where people literally hand pump the water for their daily use.
Sanitation in the villages is extremely basic at best. People dig slit trench toilets which they cover up as each section is used and work their way down the trench until it is all covered up, then dig another one. All too often, however, they just use the bush literally walking to a point behind the hut and taking care of business.
We saw a lot of burning brush around the villages, and it was explained to us that now that the grass is getting dry, the people need to burn it so that the snakes don't have the cover of vegetation in which to hide. Puff adders and cobras will slither into the rondovals at nighttime looking for food or shelter and a lot of children die of snake bites.
People wash their clothes in the river, but rivers are infested with crocodiles, and again, there is a great loss of life from people just taking care of basic necessities.
The road is a continual stream of individuals walking or riding bicycles. There are thousands of them, literally. If you have any money at all, you have a bike, because it facilitates movement so much. A bike would cost $30-50 so certainly not many people can afford them. The majority of people just walk, and they walk great distances.
Traveling today as we did to a new camp, we passed many bikes with huge baskets on them. All going one way had chickens, melons, or other saleable items in them, all those coming back the other direction had the bins filled with sugar, salt, kerosene, cooking oil, and a myriad of other household items. That all seemed pretty ordinary in general terms, until we were told the specifics. They have a 180 mile four-day round-trip journey to sell/buy their goods. They can sell their items in Mfuwe because prices are higher there. But to buy, they must travel another 60 miles to a town called Chipata because prices are lower on the Malawi border. So they practice the old adage of sell high, buy low, but the incredible work required to do this is mind boggling. When you have no real work and so very little cash, time is less important than price, hence the odyssey. It just staggered the mind. Hell, my skinny butt got sore just riding the five miles to school when I biked to to my teaching job.
Everybody, it seems, has a baby. There are children everywhere. Standing by the side of the road in groups, riding on the bicycles either as passengers or far-too-young riders in dangerous traffic. Infants are slung on backs wrapped up in shawls of seemingly every female no matter the age. Young girls too young to bear children of their own are put in care of younger ones. Then girls that to my western mind are too young to have borne children although physically capable of having done so, also carry babies on their backs.
Clothing is a mixture of traditional African dress and western tee shirts/blouses, with everybody having either flip-flop sandals or being barefooted, the norm.
And yet, in spite of all this obvious poverty there is a genial spirit to the people. As we pass by in our safari vehicle, we are not scorned or cursed. We aren't met with hostile looks or turned backs. Instead we are greeted by hordes of children emerging from the villages to wave and say hello. The same people we weave our way around on the roads almost always wave and smile. Everybody says that Zambia has two things going for it, the weather and the people. I couldn't argue with either.
It would be easy to feel guilty as a high-roller gringo coming into town splashing money around by staying at the several-hundred-a-day per person safari lodges, but as we have been told over and over, it is tourism that provides even a modicum of support to the drastic situation. The lodges hire up to a hundred individuals who would otherwise have no employment, and many of the lodges do have a sense of community by supporting schools in the area, and establishing health clinics for the people. Still the disparity of what we think we need, and what these people actually have is a gulf which is difficult to fathom. They are poor in material goods, but rich in spirit, and I can only admire them for that.
We visited a school and village on our last day at the camps. Tafika Lodge is one of those sponsoring schools and trying to help do what they can. It had an incredible impact upon us all, and I think that it should be part of the program that everybody who comes to the camps see what life is like in the villages.
The school was not in session on this afternoon, but there were still hundreds of kids around the grounds. When we drove up they all shouted: "Mzunga, mzunga," white people. Excitedly, they followed the truck into school and were all shouting and talking and posing for pictures. These rag-tag kids mostly barefooted, with dirty, torn clothes on their backs still had the biggest smiles on their faces. We showed them the digital photos that we took, and played back the videos on the little window and they were simply the most excited bunch of kids we had ever seen. They crowded and pushed to be in the pictures, often getting so close to the video camera that I had to keep backing up just to get more than one face in the picture. Little kids as young as two wanted to be in the pictures.
Then came the reality check. In spite of the excitement, the smiles, the laughter, one of the teachers apologized for not having school in session, but they had just returned from the funeral for one of the teachers' children, an eight month old girl who had died of diarrhea (sp). I asked Isaac, our guide what the infant mortality rate was and he said that if the kids got to be five years old, they had a pretty good chance of making it, but between one in three and one in four didn't. That just jolted me. 25-33% of the little kids I was looking at wouldn't ever see their 5th birthday.
The school has no electricity, or toilets, they get by on donations like Tafika's but it is a continual struggle. For example, when the government pays for the teacher education they send the teachers to these village schools upon completion of the program. The problem is that nobody wants to teach in these schools. It's like teachers in the U.S. where people don't want to teach in inner-city schools. So the teachers bail out as soon as they can and head for the big cities. Of the ten teachers in the school we visited, five came from the government, but Tafika trained four individuals to teach, although they aren't "certified" teachers, and they pay the salaries of those four teachers. They also have programs whereby they get supplies to the school. And supplies are desperately needed. We all left donations at Tafika to help with the supplies.
The curriculum is a mixture of practical and academic. The day starts with the line-up. All children must come to school with clean clothes and clean bodies. Those who can afford it have school uniforms, but those are few in number. When they can, the school provides lunch for the students. One of the mandatory classes is AIDS/HIV awareness and prevention. History, without books is a problem, but I never had any sense of personal agendas on the part of the staff as they talked about their schools. They're just doing the best they can with what they've got. Or as the song says: "Makin the best of a bad situation."
At the village we saw, it was much of the same. There were kids everywhere. There must have been 4-5 kids for every adult we saw. Granted we didn't see many men, many of them were away working in the town 60 kms away or at the camps. But the conditions were primitive at best. Men can have as many wives as they can support (a euphemistic term at best), and may have as many as 15 children with their several wives. There were many young girls with babies hanging from their backs or in their arms. Whether they were just helping mom or were caring for their own is not something I want to think about. This village was only one of the 32 which make up the one school we visited. When you consider that there are literally thousands of schools like this in Zambia alone, then do the math, it truly blows the mind when you expand the equation to all of Africa and then look at it on the global scale.
I asked Isaac how many of the kids would eventually make it out of the village and go on to something better, and he said one in a hundred. One percent, it boggles the mind. With Tafika's help, the number triples to three, but even that is a strikingly small number.
I'll never read a headline or see a story on TV again about African poverty and look at it the same way. I won't go off on my usual tirade on spending hundreds of billions of dollars on wars when we ignore the reality of how poverty contributes to the conditions that bring war about in the first place. But Zambia has certainly had an impact. I don't leave here blasé or unaffected.
To try to leave this letter on a lighter note I'll relate this story. We saw several cars with middle- eastern individuals in them. When asked what that was all about, we were told that they were Muslims who had come to convert the Zambians to Islam, the new missionaries, I guess. The Muslims gave a lot of presents to the men to sweeten the deal and this worked for a while, but then the men learned that to be true Muslims they would have to be circumcised. They returned the presents. Faith can only take you so far.
love to all,
j and c
South Africa could be somewhere in Europe or in the U.S. with a large black population. Everything is so westernized: roads, restaurants, shopping centers, you name it, it's so similar to home. True, 90% of the people are indigenous but it never really felt "African." It just felt South African. When explaining this to one of the camp guides who is South African, he depicted South Africa as "Africa for Beginners." It described perfectly what I was feeling. Swaziland gave a glimmer of Africa, but we never got off the main roads, and traveling down a four lane road at 85 miles an hour doesn't lend time to soak it up. Botswana is almost totally indigenous peoples, but we really zoomed to get to Cathy and Joe's place then spent time in the camps which were frequented by westerners, either by citizenship or by culture (South Africans), and in Zimbabwe we only saw Victoria Falls, so that was hardly a natural setting.
But enter Zambia, and immediately upon getting off the plane in Mfuwe, a place I've never even heard of with a population of 800,000 and you are smack dab in Africa. To get to the camp we traveled an hour and a half. The road was a narrow two-lane, at best, pot-holed ribbon of tarmac which is traveled at a speed of around 20-30 MPH. Anything faster would be to court disaster.
Zambian society is mainly divided into two classes the withs and the withouts. In the countryside, it is entirely the withouts. We passed hundreds of what are called "villages," clusters of houses each cluster containing five or more rondovals, loosely considered shelters. Normally they are made of a circular formation of one inch diameter branches tied together with twine and then plastered with a baked mud concoction to form a solid wall. The roof is a pointed affair made up of a combination of larger limbs used as rafters with a reed thatch for the actual covering. These structures form 90 percent of the houses in the villages. Most villages are formed of members of one family, parents, children, grandparents, and extended cousins, aunts, and uncles.
This basic family structure is what helps any given family survive. What is made by one is shared by all, food, money, clothing, and general facilities. There is no running water and hence as you pass down the road, you pass hundreds of people at any given point in the road, carrying the equivalent of 5 gallon buckets on their heads hauling water back to the house for general use. Many of the larger villages may have a well, but these can be, and usually are, so contaminated, that they are really health hazards. The safest, but often not the closest source of water are the public water pumps where people literally hand pump the water for their daily use.
Sanitation in the villages is extremely basic at best. People dig slit trench toilets which they cover up as each section is used and work their way down the trench until it is all covered up, then dig another one. All too often, however, they just use the bush literally walking to a point behind the hut and taking care of business.
We saw a lot of burning brush around the villages, and it was explained to us that now that the grass is getting dry, the people need to burn it so that the snakes don't have the cover of vegetation in which to hide. Puff adders and cobras will slither into the rondovals at nighttime looking for food or shelter and a lot of children die of snake bites.
People wash their clothes in the river, but rivers are infested with crocodiles, and again, there is a great loss of life from people just taking care of basic necessities.
The road is a continual stream of individuals walking or riding bicycles. There are thousands of them, literally. If you have any money at all, you have a bike, because it facilitates movement so much. A bike would cost $30-50 so certainly not many people can afford them. The majority of people just walk, and they walk great distances.
Traveling today as we did to a new camp, we passed many bikes with huge baskets on them. All going one way had chickens, melons, or other saleable items in them, all those coming back the other direction had the bins filled with sugar, salt, kerosene, cooking oil, and a myriad of other household items. That all seemed pretty ordinary in general terms, until we were told the specifics. They have a 180 mile four-day round-trip journey to sell/buy their goods. They can sell their items in Mfuwe because prices are higher there. But to buy, they must travel another 60 miles to a town called Chipata because prices are lower on the Malawi border. So they practice the old adage of sell high, buy low, but the incredible work required to do this is mind boggling. When you have no real work and so very little cash, time is less important than price, hence the odyssey. It just staggered the mind. Hell, my skinny butt got sore just riding the five miles to school when I biked to to my teaching job.
Everybody, it seems, has a baby. There are children everywhere. Standing by the side of the road in groups, riding on the bicycles either as passengers or far-too-young riders in dangerous traffic. Infants are slung on backs wrapped up in shawls of seemingly every female no matter the age. Young girls too young to bear children of their own are put in care of younger ones. Then girls that to my western mind are too young to have borne children although physically capable of having done so, also carry babies on their backs.
Clothing is a mixture of traditional African dress and western tee shirts/blouses, with everybody having either flip-flop sandals or being barefooted, the norm.
And yet, in spite of all this obvious poverty there is a genial spirit to the people. As we pass by in our safari vehicle, we are not scorned or cursed. We aren't met with hostile looks or turned backs. Instead we are greeted by hordes of children emerging from the villages to wave and say hello. The same people we weave our way around on the roads almost always wave and smile. Everybody says that Zambia has two things going for it, the weather and the people. I couldn't argue with either.
It would be easy to feel guilty as a high-roller gringo coming into town splashing money around by staying at the several-hundred-a-day per person safari lodges, but as we have been told over and over, it is tourism that provides even a modicum of support to the drastic situation. The lodges hire up to a hundred individuals who would otherwise have no employment, and many of the lodges do have a sense of community by supporting schools in the area, and establishing health clinics for the people. Still the disparity of what we think we need, and what these people actually have is a gulf which is difficult to fathom. They are poor in material goods, but rich in spirit, and I can only admire them for that.
We visited a school and village on our last day at the camps. Tafika Lodge is one of those sponsoring schools and trying to help do what they can. It had an incredible impact upon us all, and I think that it should be part of the program that everybody who comes to the camps see what life is like in the villages.
The school was not in session on this afternoon, but there were still hundreds of kids around the grounds. When we drove up they all shouted: "Mzunga, mzunga," white people. Excitedly, they followed the truck into school and were all shouting and talking and posing for pictures. These rag-tag kids mostly barefooted, with dirty, torn clothes on their backs still had the biggest smiles on their faces. We showed them the digital photos that we took, and played back the videos on the little window and they were simply the most excited bunch of kids we had ever seen. They crowded and pushed to be in the pictures, often getting so close to the video camera that I had to keep backing up just to get more than one face in the picture. Little kids as young as two wanted to be in the pictures.
Then came the reality check. In spite of the excitement, the smiles, the laughter, one of the teachers apologized for not having school in session, but they had just returned from the funeral for one of the teachers' children, an eight month old girl who had died of diarrhea (sp). I asked Isaac, our guide what the infant mortality rate was and he said that if the kids got to be five years old, they had a pretty good chance of making it, but between one in three and one in four didn't. That just jolted me. 25-33% of the little kids I was looking at wouldn't ever see their 5th birthday.
The school has no electricity, or toilets, they get by on donations like Tafika's but it is a continual struggle. For example, when the government pays for the teacher education they send the teachers to these village schools upon completion of the program. The problem is that nobody wants to teach in these schools. It's like teachers in the U.S. where people don't want to teach in inner-city schools. So the teachers bail out as soon as they can and head for the big cities. Of the ten teachers in the school we visited, five came from the government, but Tafika trained four individuals to teach, although they aren't "certified" teachers, and they pay the salaries of those four teachers. They also have programs whereby they get supplies to the school. And supplies are desperately needed. We all left donations at Tafika to help with the supplies.
The curriculum is a mixture of practical and academic. The day starts with the line-up. All children must come to school with clean clothes and clean bodies. Those who can afford it have school uniforms, but those are few in number. When they can, the school provides lunch for the students. One of the mandatory classes is AIDS/HIV awareness and prevention. History, without books is a problem, but I never had any sense of personal agendas on the part of the staff as they talked about their schools. They're just doing the best they can with what they've got. Or as the song says: "Makin the best of a bad situation."
At the village we saw, it was much of the same. There were kids everywhere. There must have been 4-5 kids for every adult we saw. Granted we didn't see many men, many of them were away working in the town 60 kms away or at the camps. But the conditions were primitive at best. Men can have as many wives as they can support (a euphemistic term at best), and may have as many as 15 children with their several wives. There were many young girls with babies hanging from their backs or in their arms. Whether they were just helping mom or were caring for their own is not something I want to think about. This village was only one of the 32 which make up the one school we visited. When you consider that there are literally thousands of schools like this in Zambia alone, then do the math, it truly blows the mind when you expand the equation to all of Africa and then look at it on the global scale.
I asked Isaac how many of the kids would eventually make it out of the village and go on to something better, and he said one in a hundred. One percent, it boggles the mind. With Tafika's help, the number triples to three, but even that is a strikingly small number.
I'll never read a headline or see a story on TV again about African poverty and look at it the same way. I won't go off on my usual tirade on spending hundreds of billions of dollars on wars when we ignore the reality of how poverty contributes to the conditions that bring war about in the first place. But Zambia has certainly had an impact. I don't leave here blasé or unaffected.
To try to leave this letter on a lighter note I'll relate this story. We saw several cars with middle- eastern individuals in them. When asked what that was all about, we were told that they were Muslims who had come to convert the Zambians to Islam, the new missionaries, I guess. The Muslims gave a lot of presents to the men to sweeten the deal and this worked for a while, but then the men learned that to be true Muslims they would have to be circumcised. They returned the presents. Faith can only take you so far.
love to all,
j and c
Do you know Uncle George
We got an early departure from Tafika and bumped and ground our way to the airport for our 9 a.m. flight. We didn't seem to be in the computers, and they had no confirmation that we were on the flight, had paid for our tickets, or any record that we had even flown to Mfuwe in the first place. But that was no problem, they issued us boarding passes and said that we would be all taken care of for the two flights to get back to Livingstone and our transfers back to Botswana.
The Zambian Airlines plane had an air circulation problem, and we literally sweated our way back to Lusaka on the plane which had one seat per side and held about 25 passengers. Upon landing in Lusaka, we were told that the plane was being grounded, but that our bags would go through, so not to worry. Everybody rolled their eyes at this. Apparently they all knew better, and sure enough, here comes all the bags which needed to be claimed then rechecked for the flight to Livingstone.
Again, they did not have us in the computers, even though we had just checked in an hour earlier, had boarding passes all the way through and bag tags. Again, no problem, here are some new ones, just get on the plane. I felt like one of those stories at the bottom of page 26 of section two in the daily newspapers when they need to fill space: "A Zambian Airlines plane is missing with 25 passengers in the deep bush of central Zambia. No word on the nationality of passengers, but spokespersons said that tourists were probably on board."
We arrived safely, obviously, without incident. A transfer of 40 miles brought us to the border of Zambia and Botswana, the meeting of the Chobe and Zambezi river systems above Victoria Falls. There were 50 or so semi-trucks all lined up trying to get all papers taken care of so that they could board the ferry, one truck at a time, and cross into Botswana. It takes days we are told. However, our "Speed Boat," a fishing boat with benches and a 16 hp outboard motor took us across in just a few minutes.
Upon reaching Botswana, our other transfer company was waiting for us and helped us clear Botswana immigration, a rather hectic scene of people trying to explain why their papers were not in order, why they had to spend the night at the border, or why they didn't have any money to get where they were going.
We were told to take all our shoes from our luggage. Since we had been in Zambia they needed to rub them down with the liquid which prevents hoof and mouth disease. That's great, but nobody bothered with the shoes we had on our feet which would have been just as contaminated as the ones in the bags. Oh well, what do I know?
We got to the airport and tried to get our rental car at Avis to get back to Joe and Cathy's in Maun. It is a six hour drive, and everybody said that we needed to drive only in daylight since the elephants walked the highways at night, and game could come darting across the road at any time. Not a pleasant thought at nighttime especially.
However, Avis closed the office for lunch and although they were supposed to open at 2:00 in the afternoon, it was 2:45 before anybody wandered back into the office. I won't go through all the haggles and hassles I had with Avis at that point, but suffice it to say, that Jim got pissed, and when it became obvious that we weren't going to make it in one day's drive, we finally opted to stay the night in Kasane and take the public bus the following morning for $14 a person rather than pay $400 just to have the pleasure of driving an Avis car.
Everybody told us that we needed to say at the Chobe Safari lodge at over $140 for the night. But the Lonely Planet book said that the Liya Guest House provides warm, friendly rooms for less than $75. We got a taxi to the guest house and they had rooms. A woman with a delightful smile named "Light", (Lesedi she later explained is the Setswane word, but she likes Light) showed me the rooms while Carol watched the luggage. I was shown a room for $66 which had a bathroom across the hall, and then a room for $68 which had the bathroom in the room. Tough decision, and I had to make it without her input, but thankfully, I made the right one and spent the extra two bucks.
They didn't take credit cards, so we had to get to town and get to an ATM machine. I talked to Light about making arrangements for the bus the following morning, and she said that she could take care of it. There are no reservations, but if you get there early enough, it's no problem. She would call "Uncle George" and make sure we got there in time. It was important to have somebody reliable to actually pick us up when they said they would. I teased her about keeping it in the family, and she said: "Oh, no, it's just what everybody calls him."
I showed her the book with the reference to her guest house, and she was absolutely delighted. Apparently nobody had mentioned it to her, and she kept it for a while as she had to show everybody the book. We laughed and teased about who was warm and friendly, and how they got the write-up in the book
She said that we could catch a taxi on the road close to the guest house and get to town for 60 cents. While we were waiting, a man, Eric he said as we introduced ourselves, came walking by whom we had seen earlier at the airport, and he said it was only a half a mile to town. We've learned that people really have no concept of how far things are when walking. You just get there when you arrive, but we needed the exercise anyway, so we joined him in the walk. A car came by and he did a modified "Hook-em-horns" sign with his little finger and his index finger, so we started making jokes about that and I showed him how to blow the mind of some Texans by doing it when he met new people. I asked him if he knew new Uncle George, and he said: "Oh, do you mean the taxi driver?" So apparently Light was steering us correctly.
Upon returning to the room after finding the ATM, we opened the drawer of the desk looking to find Gideon's Bible, but instead found salvation Botswana style: About 15 packs of condoms, and two diaphragms (women's condoms they're called)
Uncle George said that it was important to get to the bus "station" (a parking lot) at 5:30 because the bus would leave promptly at 6:00.
We got up at five the following morning, and true to his reputation, Uncle George was there at 5:30. He had told Light that because he had to get up so early, he was going to charge us double to get to the station, so it cost us all of $6 instead of the usual three.
When we arrived there was already a group of people milling around and a lot of luggage lined up. Everybody looked at us as if to say: "Are you confused? What are you doing here?" Obviously, westerners don't take the local buses often. I finally realized that the line of bags was a queue for the order of when to get on the bus. I put our bags in the line and established our position. At 6:25 the bus showed up, and "promptly" at 6:35 we were on our way. I was impressed by the civility of the people getting on the bus. It wasn't Italy where it's everybody for themselves. Everybody stuck to their position. We were lucky to have gotten there so early, "Thanks Uncle George," because we were in the middle of the pack. The bus was similar to those airport shuttle buses holding about 25 people. Well, there were 40 or so of us, and not everybody made it. Carol and I wound up in the back row, five narrow seats which held four people. I had a seat ridge in my back for the entire three hour ride to Nata, while Carol had to hold her backpack on her lap. Many people had to stand and I had a guy's butt much closer to my face than I really wanted. A mom, grandma, and one year old girl were sitting in the row in front of Carol and the little girl just didn't know what to think about these two pale faces. She looked at us with an amazed look on her face, then would hide behind mom when we made eye contact. I reached out to touch her hand, and she recoiled as if a snake was attacking. Must have been the haircut; When she started acting up after an hour or so, mom would pick her up and move her toward us as if to say: "If you don't behave, I'm going to put you back there with them. Her behavior improved immediately. The three hour ride was better than we thought, and we made it just in time to catch another bus coming to Maun. Just enough time to use the bathroom, grab a coke and get on the bus. This one was a big bus and Carol and I had three seats for the two of us. Enough room to spread out our lunch and eat on the way. We got to Joe and Cathy's place around 1:30 p.m. and I just said a "Ha, gotcha Avis."
We spent another lovely evening with Joe and Cathy. and it was like coming home again. They are such great people and have made such a success of their lives and provided their children with the tools to do the same. The world is a better place for them being part of it.
We drove to Namibia and were reminded of all the little things about driving. Tons of animals on the road, cows, goats, donkeys, horses. Everybody speeds by at 75 miles an hour hardly slowing down. These animals are very road savvy. They look both ways before crossing and even my four old grand son doesn't do that. If they start across the road, then you know they'll continue to do so and can brake accordingly. If they cross and are beyond your car, you can be assured that they won't turn back into your pathway. I guess it's Darwinism in action. The stupid ones get killed and the smart ones pass on those learned skills to offspring. There are surprisingly few accidents. We didn't see any until the last day's drive. Most of those that do occur happen at night when vision is impaired.
We saw lots of ostriches along the way and Cathy had told us the story of one of the daughters of the first prime minister who got into a flap because she sold some diamonds. People accused her of ripping off the diamond industry through corruption, but it turned out that she had property with ostriches on it which are just big scavenging birds like chickens who pick up a lot of rocks which they store in their craw to grind up the food they eat. It seems that there were lots of diamonds on the surface of the ground which the ostriches ate and when they butchered the ostriches they found all these diamonds in the craw. Being the hardest of the rocks, they didn't get ground down and were in perfect condition. I never got specific details, but apparently there were sufficient numbers of them which led to a tidy sum of money for the woman. End of corruption story.
Because you have hundreds of miles of bush with seemingly nothing in between, people need to mark the "driveway" into their hut, so they get very creative about how to mark where they live. A pole stuck into the ground will have a variety of items attached to it for identification purposes. To list a few that we've seen: an old tire with an upside red quart oil can impaled on the top of the pole; a pale blue fender from an old car; a rusty 50 gallon drum painted red with the top/bottom yellow; a woman's pink skirt flying like a flag in the wind (don't even want to think about that one); an old enamel sink; a hubcap, a plastic bucket hanging by it's handle and a aluminum tea kettle at the top. Turn left at the tea kettle about 50 kms outside of Maun on route B1.
Botswana is such a paradox, being both a shining light as to the prospects of African nations, and representing the despair of social situations. Since discovering diamonds after independence in 1966, Botswana negotiated a contract with DeBeers, THE big diamond conglomerate in South Africa whereby they take 75% of the profits. Namibia, for example, has a contract which splits the profits 50-50. More about that in later letters.
Anyway, the benefit for the people is that there are a lot of social services provided for the them. Everybody upon turning 65 receives a pension no matter whether they've received wages or not. It's not a program whereby people have to pay into it, it's just a service. There is money and it is spent fairly wisely. None of the rulers of Botswana have retired as wealthy men with swill bank accounts. No $100 million private jets like the king of Swaziland.
On the other hand, aids is in epidemic proportions and takes a terrible toll on the people. Families are not one man, one woman with their children. There are signs all along the highway urging people to be sexually faithful to their partner when they are away from home. There has been a very flexible system of who sleeps with whom for centuries and it is difficult to turn that around. Cathy tells us that she never asks people about who their father is, because they often don't know. Young girls are encouraged by their mothers to have children when they are very young, regardless of marital status because the mothers want grandchildren. In many African societies, men would refuse to marry a woman unless she had borne a child to ensure that she was fertile. There are just SO many children!!
I'm not making judgments about tribal life or social mores, it's just that what may have worked for tribal societies for centuries is now causing some serious challenges in modern 20th-21st century life.
Stay safe,
J and c
The Zambian Airlines plane had an air circulation problem, and we literally sweated our way back to Lusaka on the plane which had one seat per side and held about 25 passengers. Upon landing in Lusaka, we were told that the plane was being grounded, but that our bags would go through, so not to worry. Everybody rolled their eyes at this. Apparently they all knew better, and sure enough, here comes all the bags which needed to be claimed then rechecked for the flight to Livingstone.
Again, they did not have us in the computers, even though we had just checked in an hour earlier, had boarding passes all the way through and bag tags. Again, no problem, here are some new ones, just get on the plane. I felt like one of those stories at the bottom of page 26 of section two in the daily newspapers when they need to fill space: "A Zambian Airlines plane is missing with 25 passengers in the deep bush of central Zambia. No word on the nationality of passengers, but spokespersons said that tourists were probably on board."
We arrived safely, obviously, without incident. A transfer of 40 miles brought us to the border of Zambia and Botswana, the meeting of the Chobe and Zambezi river systems above Victoria Falls. There were 50 or so semi-trucks all lined up trying to get all papers taken care of so that they could board the ferry, one truck at a time, and cross into Botswana. It takes days we are told. However, our "Speed Boat," a fishing boat with benches and a 16 hp outboard motor took us across in just a few minutes.
Upon reaching Botswana, our other transfer company was waiting for us and helped us clear Botswana immigration, a rather hectic scene of people trying to explain why their papers were not in order, why they had to spend the night at the border, or why they didn't have any money to get where they were going.
We were told to take all our shoes from our luggage. Since we had been in Zambia they needed to rub them down with the liquid which prevents hoof and mouth disease. That's great, but nobody bothered with the shoes we had on our feet which would have been just as contaminated as the ones in the bags. Oh well, what do I know?
We got to the airport and tried to get our rental car at Avis to get back to Joe and Cathy's in Maun. It is a six hour drive, and everybody said that we needed to drive only in daylight since the elephants walked the highways at night, and game could come darting across the road at any time. Not a pleasant thought at nighttime especially.
However, Avis closed the office for lunch and although they were supposed to open at 2:00 in the afternoon, it was 2:45 before anybody wandered back into the office. I won't go through all the haggles and hassles I had with Avis at that point, but suffice it to say, that Jim got pissed, and when it became obvious that we weren't going to make it in one day's drive, we finally opted to stay the night in Kasane and take the public bus the following morning for $14 a person rather than pay $400 just to have the pleasure of driving an Avis car.
Everybody told us that we needed to say at the Chobe Safari lodge at over $140 for the night. But the Lonely Planet book said that the Liya Guest House provides warm, friendly rooms for less than $75. We got a taxi to the guest house and they had rooms. A woman with a delightful smile named "Light", (Lesedi she later explained is the Setswane word, but she likes Light) showed me the rooms while Carol watched the luggage. I was shown a room for $66 which had a bathroom across the hall, and then a room for $68 which had the bathroom in the room. Tough decision, and I had to make it without her input, but thankfully, I made the right one and spent the extra two bucks.
They didn't take credit cards, so we had to get to town and get to an ATM machine. I talked to Light about making arrangements for the bus the following morning, and she said that she could take care of it. There are no reservations, but if you get there early enough, it's no problem. She would call "Uncle George" and make sure we got there in time. It was important to have somebody reliable to actually pick us up when they said they would. I teased her about keeping it in the family, and she said: "Oh, no, it's just what everybody calls him."
I showed her the book with the reference to her guest house, and she was absolutely delighted. Apparently nobody had mentioned it to her, and she kept it for a while as she had to show everybody the book. We laughed and teased about who was warm and friendly, and how they got the write-up in the book
She said that we could catch a taxi on the road close to the guest house and get to town for 60 cents. While we were waiting, a man, Eric he said as we introduced ourselves, came walking by whom we had seen earlier at the airport, and he said it was only a half a mile to town. We've learned that people really have no concept of how far things are when walking. You just get there when you arrive, but we needed the exercise anyway, so we joined him in the walk. A car came by and he did a modified "Hook-em-horns" sign with his little finger and his index finger, so we started making jokes about that and I showed him how to blow the mind of some Texans by doing it when he met new people. I asked him if he knew new Uncle George, and he said: "Oh, do you mean the taxi driver?" So apparently Light was steering us correctly.
Upon returning to the room after finding the ATM, we opened the drawer of the desk looking to find Gideon's Bible, but instead found salvation Botswana style: About 15 packs of condoms, and two diaphragms (women's condoms they're called)
Uncle George said that it was important to get to the bus "station" (a parking lot) at 5:30 because the bus would leave promptly at 6:00.
We got up at five the following morning, and true to his reputation, Uncle George was there at 5:30. He had told Light that because he had to get up so early, he was going to charge us double to get to the station, so it cost us all of $6 instead of the usual three.
When we arrived there was already a group of people milling around and a lot of luggage lined up. Everybody looked at us as if to say: "Are you confused? What are you doing here?" Obviously, westerners don't take the local buses often. I finally realized that the line of bags was a queue for the order of when to get on the bus. I put our bags in the line and established our position. At 6:25 the bus showed up, and "promptly" at 6:35 we were on our way. I was impressed by the civility of the people getting on the bus. It wasn't Italy where it's everybody for themselves. Everybody stuck to their position. We were lucky to have gotten there so early, "Thanks Uncle George," because we were in the middle of the pack. The bus was similar to those airport shuttle buses holding about 25 people. Well, there were 40 or so of us, and not everybody made it. Carol and I wound up in the back row, five narrow seats which held four people. I had a seat ridge in my back for the entire three hour ride to Nata, while Carol had to hold her backpack on her lap. Many people had to stand and I had a guy's butt much closer to my face than I really wanted. A mom, grandma, and one year old girl were sitting in the row in front of Carol and the little girl just didn't know what to think about these two pale faces. She looked at us with an amazed look on her face, then would hide behind mom when we made eye contact. I reached out to touch her hand, and she recoiled as if a snake was attacking. Must have been the haircut; When she started acting up after an hour or so, mom would pick her up and move her toward us as if to say: "If you don't behave, I'm going to put you back there with them. Her behavior improved immediately. The three hour ride was better than we thought, and we made it just in time to catch another bus coming to Maun. Just enough time to use the bathroom, grab a coke and get on the bus. This one was a big bus and Carol and I had three seats for the two of us. Enough room to spread out our lunch and eat on the way. We got to Joe and Cathy's place around 1:30 p.m. and I just said a "Ha, gotcha Avis."
We spent another lovely evening with Joe and Cathy. and it was like coming home again. They are such great people and have made such a success of their lives and provided their children with the tools to do the same. The world is a better place for them being part of it.
We drove to Namibia and were reminded of all the little things about driving. Tons of animals on the road, cows, goats, donkeys, horses. Everybody speeds by at 75 miles an hour hardly slowing down. These animals are very road savvy. They look both ways before crossing and even my four old grand son doesn't do that. If they start across the road, then you know they'll continue to do so and can brake accordingly. If they cross and are beyond your car, you can be assured that they won't turn back into your pathway. I guess it's Darwinism in action. The stupid ones get killed and the smart ones pass on those learned skills to offspring. There are surprisingly few accidents. We didn't see any until the last day's drive. Most of those that do occur happen at night when vision is impaired.
We saw lots of ostriches along the way and Cathy had told us the story of one of the daughters of the first prime minister who got into a flap because she sold some diamonds. People accused her of ripping off the diamond industry through corruption, but it turned out that she had property with ostriches on it which are just big scavenging birds like chickens who pick up a lot of rocks which they store in their craw to grind up the food they eat. It seems that there were lots of diamonds on the surface of the ground which the ostriches ate and when they butchered the ostriches they found all these diamonds in the craw. Being the hardest of the rocks, they didn't get ground down and were in perfect condition. I never got specific details, but apparently there were sufficient numbers of them which led to a tidy sum of money for the woman. End of corruption story.
Because you have hundreds of miles of bush with seemingly nothing in between, people need to mark the "driveway" into their hut, so they get very creative about how to mark where they live. A pole stuck into the ground will have a variety of items attached to it for identification purposes. To list a few that we've seen: an old tire with an upside red quart oil can impaled on the top of the pole; a pale blue fender from an old car; a rusty 50 gallon drum painted red with the top/bottom yellow; a woman's pink skirt flying like a flag in the wind (don't even want to think about that one); an old enamel sink; a hubcap, a plastic bucket hanging by it's handle and a aluminum tea kettle at the top. Turn left at the tea kettle about 50 kms outside of Maun on route B1.
Botswana is such a paradox, being both a shining light as to the prospects of African nations, and representing the despair of social situations. Since discovering diamonds after independence in 1966, Botswana negotiated a contract with DeBeers, THE big diamond conglomerate in South Africa whereby they take 75% of the profits. Namibia, for example, has a contract which splits the profits 50-50. More about that in later letters.
Anyway, the benefit for the people is that there are a lot of social services provided for the them. Everybody upon turning 65 receives a pension no matter whether they've received wages or not. It's not a program whereby people have to pay into it, it's just a service. There is money and it is spent fairly wisely. None of the rulers of Botswana have retired as wealthy men with swill bank accounts. No $100 million private jets like the king of Swaziland.
On the other hand, aids is in epidemic proportions and takes a terrible toll on the people. Families are not one man, one woman with their children. There are signs all along the highway urging people to be sexually faithful to their partner when they are away from home. There has been a very flexible system of who sleeps with whom for centuries and it is difficult to turn that around. Cathy tells us that she never asks people about who their father is, because they often don't know. Young girls are encouraged by their mothers to have children when they are very young, regardless of marital status because the mothers want grandchildren. In many African societies, men would refuse to marry a woman unless she had borne a child to ensure that she was fertile. There are just SO many children!!
I'm not making judgments about tribal life or social mores, it's just that what may have worked for tribal societies for centuries is now causing some serious challenges in modern 20th-21st century life.
Stay safe,
J and c
Two flats and one new tire later....
Well, as you can see from the deluge of e-mails you're getting, I finally got access. In fact, we're in a B and B outside Capetown which has wireless access and so I'm writing from the "comfort" of my room. I use quotation marks because I'm wrapped up in a feather comforter. These are all letters I've written but couldn't send, so that accounts for the flood at this time. Anyway, here goes:
This was going to be titled Political Science 101 based on the enlightening history lesson we received from our Servas hosts in Windhoek, but that will have to come later.
Other alternative titles to this letter were: "Ed and Natasha were right," "Carol gets up close and personal with the Namib desert," "Namib 2, Chico 0," however, I decided not to leave the punch line till later, but just cut to the chase.
First of all, you might remember that Ed and Tash were amazed that we were taking Chico to all the places on our list. We said that it was holding up admirably, and that this is what we had, so we just had to deal with it.
We left the port city of Swakopmund on the Namibian coast and headed south to the huge dunes. This meant over 200 miles of gravel road across the Namibian desert. I had talked with Chico and told him what was ahead. He checked his oil pressure, made sure he had enough water, and got himself geared up to go. We gave him a belly full of gas and off we went. At first things went very well. Chico said it wasn't nearly as bad as the bad road we faced getting into Botswana, and he was up to the task.
The first 50 miles we passed one car, met one other going the opposite direction, two road graders, one impala who obviously turned left when he should have turned right, and one truck fixing a tire. The latter proved prophetic for us when after 100 miles Chico came up lame with a flat tire. No big, we gave him the spare and off we went again. Then things went from bad to worse. We had just stopped at the sign which noted we were at the Tropic of Capricorn, when I noticed the tire was low. Carol said: "Jim, I can hear air coming out." Chico had come up lame again on the same leg, front right just 30 miles after the original problem. Now he had no spare and only three good legs.
I gave Carol the option of staying with the car or going with the tires and getting them fixed. She chose to stay with the car. There was a dot on the map which showed a gas pump on it just 30 miles further down the road. Going back in the direction we had come meant retracing our steps. But all the traffic came in the opposite direction and absolutely nothing headed in the direction we needed to go. We waited for about 40 minutes making jokes about sleeping in the desert, how long could we survive on the remaining beef jerky we had, and why didn't we buy more water when we had the chance.
Finally, dust in the distance was moving in the right direction, and we knew that at least we had something headed our way. Whether it was help or not, we didn't know, but it was encouraging just to know that something was moving towards us, as opposed to getting smaller in the distance.
It turned out to be two Brits from Manchester, and with a little rearranging of luggage both tires went into the "boot," with me in the back seat. They weren't in much better shape. They didn't buy more water, and were worried about where the next petrol pump was. I told them I had been reassured that there was gas at "Solitaire," so they felt better about that, so much so, that they even turned on the AC. They hadn't been using it to save gas. She had been told to ration her water, and when she found out that she was only a half an hour away from a beer, she drank her water with enthusiasm.
We pulled into the station, and there were the men fixing tires. I was not the first in line, and had to wait my turn. Finally, they got to me, and said that they could fix the one, but the other had to be replaced. Luckily they had the right size, and at $50 for a new tire, I decided to bite the bullet and get Chico back to full operational condition. This was one of Ed's and Tash's concerns, that the tires were so small and we were going to drive under some pretty rugged conditions. They proved to be very good forecasters, unfortunately.
Now I had two good tires, but I still had to get back to where Carol was hopefully waiting. The Brits and I made jokes about the situation. We knew Chico would be there because he was jacked up and missing a tire. Carol was another situation. What was I going to do if I showed up and the car was there, but no Carol?
Luckily, just as I was wheeling my tires out to the gas station area where I might catch someone going my direction, a car with two Germans stopped and needed help with their cell phones. They had borrowed them from friends living in Namibia, but didn't have the access codes necessary to make them work. Hey, I've got my Blackberry! I need help, you need help, it was made for a win-win situation. They would have helped me anyway, but it was good to be of some assistance instead of just being the receiver of people's good nature. We got in touch with the friends with the help of my Blackberry, (Thanks, mom) and I gave them my Namibian phone card which still had time left on it, so that when they reached Swakopmund, they could phone their friends, who by this point would have found the access codes they didn't have when we first made contact. So with still more rearranging of luggage, with the two spare tires and me in the back seat, off we went.
Forty minutes after leaving the station, after the three of us ragging on Bush the whole way, there was Chico right where I had left him. Now the only concern was whether Carol was still there. Happily, she was with a considerably relieved look on her face as we pulled to a stop in front of her. The whole process took just over two hours and cost us $50. We looked on the bright side. It could have happened when we were much further away from the station. The station might have been closed or not been able to repair the tires, and all the other things which could have gone wrong.
There are always glitches in travel, and thankfully, Carol is not one to panic nor rant, rave or blame me when things go wrong. Things always work out in the end, and this is just another example of that.
Till then, we remain, safe, in one piece, and with nerves calmed by a hot shower and a good meal. Who knows what tomorrow will bring.
Jim and Carol.
This was going to be titled Political Science 101 based on the enlightening history lesson we received from our Servas hosts in Windhoek, but that will have to come later.
Other alternative titles to this letter were: "Ed and Natasha were right," "Carol gets up close and personal with the Namib desert," "Namib 2, Chico 0," however, I decided not to leave the punch line till later, but just cut to the chase.
First of all, you might remember that Ed and Tash were amazed that we were taking Chico to all the places on our list. We said that it was holding up admirably, and that this is what we had, so we just had to deal with it.
We left the port city of Swakopmund on the Namibian coast and headed south to the huge dunes. This meant over 200 miles of gravel road across the Namibian desert. I had talked with Chico and told him what was ahead. He checked his oil pressure, made sure he had enough water, and got himself geared up to go. We gave him a belly full of gas and off we went. At first things went very well. Chico said it wasn't nearly as bad as the bad road we faced getting into Botswana, and he was up to the task.
The first 50 miles we passed one car, met one other going the opposite direction, two road graders, one impala who obviously turned left when he should have turned right, and one truck fixing a tire. The latter proved prophetic for us when after 100 miles Chico came up lame with a flat tire. No big, we gave him the spare and off we went again. Then things went from bad to worse. We had just stopped at the sign which noted we were at the Tropic of Capricorn, when I noticed the tire was low. Carol said: "Jim, I can hear air coming out." Chico had come up lame again on the same leg, front right just 30 miles after the original problem. Now he had no spare and only three good legs.
I gave Carol the option of staying with the car or going with the tires and getting them fixed. She chose to stay with the car. There was a dot on the map which showed a gas pump on it just 30 miles further down the road. Going back in the direction we had come meant retracing our steps. But all the traffic came in the opposite direction and absolutely nothing headed in the direction we needed to go. We waited for about 40 minutes making jokes about sleeping in the desert, how long could we survive on the remaining beef jerky we had, and why didn't we buy more water when we had the chance.
Finally, dust in the distance was moving in the right direction, and we knew that at least we had something headed our way. Whether it was help or not, we didn't know, but it was encouraging just to know that something was moving towards us, as opposed to getting smaller in the distance.
It turned out to be two Brits from Manchester, and with a little rearranging of luggage both tires went into the "boot," with me in the back seat. They weren't in much better shape. They didn't buy more water, and were worried about where the next petrol pump was. I told them I had been reassured that there was gas at "Solitaire," so they felt better about that, so much so, that they even turned on the AC. They hadn't been using it to save gas. She had been told to ration her water, and when she found out that she was only a half an hour away from a beer, she drank her water with enthusiasm.
We pulled into the station, and there were the men fixing tires. I was not the first in line, and had to wait my turn. Finally, they got to me, and said that they could fix the one, but the other had to be replaced. Luckily they had the right size, and at $50 for a new tire, I decided to bite the bullet and get Chico back to full operational condition. This was one of Ed's and Tash's concerns, that the tires were so small and we were going to drive under some pretty rugged conditions. They proved to be very good forecasters, unfortunately.
Now I had two good tires, but I still had to get back to where Carol was hopefully waiting. The Brits and I made jokes about the situation. We knew Chico would be there because he was jacked up and missing a tire. Carol was another situation. What was I going to do if I showed up and the car was there, but no Carol?
Luckily, just as I was wheeling my tires out to the gas station area where I might catch someone going my direction, a car with two Germans stopped and needed help with their cell phones. They had borrowed them from friends living in Namibia, but didn't have the access codes necessary to make them work. Hey, I've got my Blackberry! I need help, you need help, it was made for a win-win situation. They would have helped me anyway, but it was good to be of some assistance instead of just being the receiver of people's good nature. We got in touch with the friends with the help of my Blackberry, (Thanks, mom) and I gave them my Namibian phone card which still had time left on it, so that when they reached Swakopmund, they could phone their friends, who by this point would have found the access codes they didn't have when we first made contact. So with still more rearranging of luggage, with the two spare tires and me in the back seat, off we went.
Forty minutes after leaving the station, after the three of us ragging on Bush the whole way, there was Chico right where I had left him. Now the only concern was whether Carol was still there. Happily, she was with a considerably relieved look on her face as we pulled to a stop in front of her. The whole process took just over two hours and cost us $50. We looked on the bright side. It could have happened when we were much further away from the station. The station might have been closed or not been able to repair the tires, and all the other things which could have gone wrong.
There are always glitches in travel, and thankfully, Carol is not one to panic nor rant, rave or blame me when things go wrong. Things always work out in the end, and this is just another example of that.
Till then, we remain, safe, in one piece, and with nerves calmed by a hot shower and a good meal. Who knows what tomorrow will bring.
Jim and Carol.
A geezer by any other name
We're in the South African wine district in a little town named Stellenbosch and staying in a very nice B&B for the last two nights. I tried to take a shower but couldn't get any hot water, so I went down stairs and asked the woman at the desk what the story was. She was very apologetic and told me that she had forgotten to turn the geezer on. I told her not to worry, that was my wife's job, but she assured me that it wouldn't take more than a half an hour. I wanted to tell her it didn't usually take that long, but couldn't see any way that the conversation could go anywhere but downhill from there, so I just left it there and walked away. Turns out that the geezer is the hot water heater, and each room has an individual one.
We went to a nice restaurant for dinner and had a nice conversation with our waitress, Nandi, when another waiter who had heard our conversation came up and asked us where we were from. We said: "California," he responded: "Where?" we said: "Central Valley," he said: "Where? Be more specific." we said: "East of Lodi, Clements." which brought an: "Oh my god, I'm from Valley Springs," which is about 15 minutes from us. We got his mom's telephone number and promised to call and tell her that he's doing well.
But back to the chronological order of things. When last heard of, Chico was limping his way across the Namibian desert. The new tires held up well, and we stayed that night at a hotel which had a cross on the brochure. Not a good sign for Jim, but choices were limited. We actually had a nice stay, but it turned out to be a Christian retreat, which meant that there were two bibles in the room, but no condoms. Christians don't do that thing, I guess, or at least not while on retreat. Certainly different from the church camps I went to as a lad.
It's near winter here and we had been forewarned that an early season cold snap had arrived just before we left Windhoek. There was snow in the mountains, and it was very cold everywhere else. These people don't know how to adapt. The rooms are freezing, and there's no heater in the rooms. They all stand around wearing several layers with hands in their pockets to keep warm, or cupping their hands to their mouths blowing warm air on them. They keep saying things like: "It's not supposed to be this cold this early." Okay, so it's not supposed to be this way, but it is. ADAPT, dammit!
They leave the doors open in restaurants and the cold wind blows in and makes things colder. One guy in a place we stopped for coffee (the Christians only served instant. They didn't understand when I told them instant coffee was not coffee) told me as he served hot breakfast to another customer that was probably cold by the time it got to his table, "Nobody can move until 10 a.m." Well, they could if you closed the door and turned the heater on.
But back to Chico. The reason we were on these god-awful (can Christians use that term?) roads in the first place was that we were going to the number one attraction in all of Namibia, the sand dunes. Okay, if they're the number one attraction, wouldn't you think they'd make it easier for people to get there? But no, you've got to go 200 miles on gravel roads to get there, then 200 miles in any direction to get out of there. But they are fantastic. They are a band of sand 300 miles long and 100 miles wide. The tallest ones are over 1,000 feet tall. Check them out on the web. Google "Sossusvlei" and look at some photos. I climbed one called "Dune 45." It took me 36 huffing and puffing minutes to get up and only six to get down, and that included stops to film lots of cool bugs and lizards who scoot across the sand and bury themselves in it if you get too close. One thing that was very trippy was if you step on the crest of the sand, the leeward side of the sand, the side away from where the wind blows, just over the crest, becomes a "Sand slide." Just like a snow avalanche, it's really neat just to watch it "sandball" down the slope. Nobody came up the dune after me, and on my way down, I saw that my footprints had been totally covered over by blowing sand, as if I had never walked there.
We spent time exploring and checking out the scene, then hit the road since Chico was anxious to get it over with. When we had the tire problems, we stopped in at the garage where we bought the tire because the man wanted to check our tire pressure. He told us: "Well, the problem is that your tire pressure is too high and the tires can't give enough." He lowered the pressure, but told us to keep checking them because he was worried about one of the others. Next time we checked them, the guy told us: "Well, the problem is that your tire pressure is too low, and a rock can break the sidewall." AAARRRRGGHHH!!!
We told him that we had had problems with them too high, and nothing lately, so we were leaving them alone.
Chico did fine until a he pitched a coughing fit about 65 miles away from tarred road. He sputtered, coughed, choked and generally refused to run at normal speeds and RPM's. We'd go 60, then crawl at 10 mph as he wheezed his way down the road. I figured he had a clogged fuel line or air filter and I had to nurse him along. At one point while we were going slowly, a car went by and raised a cloud of dust at the only point where there was no wind to blow it away. It just hung there and we couldn't see anything. Since we were coming to a hill, and I couldn't see, I had to get back over to the left. I had just regained speed, and knew that if I slowed down, I'd play hell getting back up to speed. The road grader had just passed by and left a high barrier which Chico had to get over. I took it faster than I wanted to, and when I got over to the left the road narrowed suddenly and severely. I banged some rocks on both sides of the car and damaged the skirting beneath the doors on both sides. Hey, that's why I take out the insurance.
I nursed Chico into town and when he got a full tank of gas and no more dust, he cleaned up his act, so to speak, quickly. No more complaining. When we were pulling into our B&B that night, (the place was reputed to have the best breakfast in all of Namibia, and it was true) we heard a loud pop. We didn't know what it was, but everything seemed okay. That night when we returned to our cold room from the cold restaurant, Carol noticed a cable hanging on the ground. I didn't want to even think about it that night, but the next morning, I checked it out. Maybe it was the odometer cable, or the speedometer cable, or who knows what. The cable came from the right rear wheel housing, but everything seemed to work all right. We had the choice of letting it dangle behind us as we made our way to South Africa, but thought that was just too weird, even for us, so Carol came up with the idea of bringing it around in front of the tire and looping it up into the rear window, which we could close, more or less, and keep it in place. All well and good, but when we started up, there was a "Whirrrrrrrrrrr" as something from inside the cable housing was spinning. Well, we didn't have a lot of options since it was a national holiday in Namibia and all garages were closed, so we just went merrily down the road. Every time people passed us they gave us a very weird look, and when we stopped for gas, the attendants just looked at the cable, then looked at me, then looked at the cable again, but nary a word was ever said.
We made it back to South Africa, I wasn't sure they were going let me back in with that vehicle, the customs guy was very suspicious, but everything went okay. Chico did his thing, just kept on ticking. He never complained about losing yet another part. We had banged him around severely and he had taken his lumps, but he just did his job.
We turned him in today telling him he had performed admirably and that we were happy to have him along for the ride, but it was time to put him to rest. We had a 30-day rental agreement for the best price, and since we needed another vehicle for our last days here, the Avis gal said that we could keep Chico or we could have a different car, bigger, more bells and whistles and at a lower price. Gee, let me think about this.
Well, we loved Chico out of necessity, but given those options, we said a fond farewell to the lad. In fact they upgraded us to a Nissan that feels like heaven. It's cold here, but I'm running the air conditioning just because I have it. I‚'m using the power windows, mostly on Carol's side, just because I can. I've got arm rests, power steering, remote locking, power mirrors, tons more leg room. It's heaven-sent, I believe, because I never bad mouthed Chico. When the guy brought out the Nissan, we told him that we had put over 4000 miles on him, and he looked at me, tall, then at Chico, small, and said: "Weren't you uncomfortable?' Well, yes, but what's your point. He was cheap and he was the ever-ready battery. He just kept on going. Ed and Tasha told us what we were in for, but, hey, it was a trip, literally.
Love,
j and c
We went to a nice restaurant for dinner and had a nice conversation with our waitress, Nandi, when another waiter who had heard our conversation came up and asked us where we were from. We said: "California," he responded: "Where?" we said: "Central Valley," he said: "Where? Be more specific." we said: "East of Lodi, Clements." which brought an: "Oh my god, I'm from Valley Springs," which is about 15 minutes from us. We got his mom's telephone number and promised to call and tell her that he's doing well.
But back to the chronological order of things. When last heard of, Chico was limping his way across the Namibian desert. The new tires held up well, and we stayed that night at a hotel which had a cross on the brochure. Not a good sign for Jim, but choices were limited. We actually had a nice stay, but it turned out to be a Christian retreat, which meant that there were two bibles in the room, but no condoms. Christians don't do that thing, I guess, or at least not while on retreat. Certainly different from the church camps I went to as a lad.
It's near winter here and we had been forewarned that an early season cold snap had arrived just before we left Windhoek. There was snow in the mountains, and it was very cold everywhere else. These people don't know how to adapt. The rooms are freezing, and there's no heater in the rooms. They all stand around wearing several layers with hands in their pockets to keep warm, or cupping their hands to their mouths blowing warm air on them. They keep saying things like: "It's not supposed to be this cold this early." Okay, so it's not supposed to be this way, but it is. ADAPT, dammit!
They leave the doors open in restaurants and the cold wind blows in and makes things colder. One guy in a place we stopped for coffee (the Christians only served instant. They didn't understand when I told them instant coffee was not coffee) told me as he served hot breakfast to another customer that was probably cold by the time it got to his table, "Nobody can move until 10 a.m." Well, they could if you closed the door and turned the heater on.
But back to Chico. The reason we were on these god-awful (can Christians use that term?) roads in the first place was that we were going to the number one attraction in all of Namibia, the sand dunes. Okay, if they're the number one attraction, wouldn't you think they'd make it easier for people to get there? But no, you've got to go 200 miles on gravel roads to get there, then 200 miles in any direction to get out of there. But they are fantastic. They are a band of sand 300 miles long and 100 miles wide. The tallest ones are over 1,000 feet tall. Check them out on the web. Google "Sossusvlei" and look at some photos. I climbed one called "Dune 45." It took me 36 huffing and puffing minutes to get up and only six to get down, and that included stops to film lots of cool bugs and lizards who scoot across the sand and bury themselves in it if you get too close. One thing that was very trippy was if you step on the crest of the sand, the leeward side of the sand, the side away from where the wind blows, just over the crest, becomes a "Sand slide." Just like a snow avalanche, it's really neat just to watch it "sandball" down the slope. Nobody came up the dune after me, and on my way down, I saw that my footprints had been totally covered over by blowing sand, as if I had never walked there.
We spent time exploring and checking out the scene, then hit the road since Chico was anxious to get it over with. When we had the tire problems, we stopped in at the garage where we bought the tire because the man wanted to check our tire pressure. He told us: "Well, the problem is that your tire pressure is too high and the tires can't give enough." He lowered the pressure, but told us to keep checking them because he was worried about one of the others. Next time we checked them, the guy told us: "Well, the problem is that your tire pressure is too low, and a rock can break the sidewall." AAARRRRGGHHH!!!
We told him that we had had problems with them too high, and nothing lately, so we were leaving them alone.
Chico did fine until a he pitched a coughing fit about 65 miles away from tarred road. He sputtered, coughed, choked and generally refused to run at normal speeds and RPM's. We'd go 60, then crawl at 10 mph as he wheezed his way down the road. I figured he had a clogged fuel line or air filter and I had to nurse him along. At one point while we were going slowly, a car went by and raised a cloud of dust at the only point where there was no wind to blow it away. It just hung there and we couldn't see anything. Since we were coming to a hill, and I couldn't see, I had to get back over to the left. I had just regained speed, and knew that if I slowed down, I'd play hell getting back up to speed. The road grader had just passed by and left a high barrier which Chico had to get over. I took it faster than I wanted to, and when I got over to the left the road narrowed suddenly and severely. I banged some rocks on both sides of the car and damaged the skirting beneath the doors on both sides. Hey, that's why I take out the insurance.
I nursed Chico into town and when he got a full tank of gas and no more dust, he cleaned up his act, so to speak, quickly. No more complaining. When we were pulling into our B&B that night, (the place was reputed to have the best breakfast in all of Namibia, and it was true) we heard a loud pop. We didn't know what it was, but everything seemed okay. That night when we returned to our cold room from the cold restaurant, Carol noticed a cable hanging on the ground. I didn't want to even think about it that night, but the next morning, I checked it out. Maybe it was the odometer cable, or the speedometer cable, or who knows what. The cable came from the right rear wheel housing, but everything seemed to work all right. We had the choice of letting it dangle behind us as we made our way to South Africa, but thought that was just too weird, even for us, so Carol came up with the idea of bringing it around in front of the tire and looping it up into the rear window, which we could close, more or less, and keep it in place. All well and good, but when we started up, there was a "Whirrrrrrrrrrr" as something from inside the cable housing was spinning. Well, we didn't have a lot of options since it was a national holiday in Namibia and all garages were closed, so we just went merrily down the road. Every time people passed us they gave us a very weird look, and when we stopped for gas, the attendants just looked at the cable, then looked at me, then looked at the cable again, but nary a word was ever said.
We made it back to South Africa, I wasn't sure they were going let me back in with that vehicle, the customs guy was very suspicious, but everything went okay. Chico did his thing, just kept on ticking. He never complained about losing yet another part. We had banged him around severely and he had taken his lumps, but he just did his job.
We turned him in today telling him he had performed admirably and that we were happy to have him along for the ride, but it was time to put him to rest. We had a 30-day rental agreement for the best price, and since we needed another vehicle for our last days here, the Avis gal said that we could keep Chico or we could have a different car, bigger, more bells and whistles and at a lower price. Gee, let me think about this.
Well, we loved Chico out of necessity, but given those options, we said a fond farewell to the lad. In fact they upgraded us to a Nissan that feels like heaven. It's cold here, but I'm running the air conditioning just because I have it. I‚'m using the power windows, mostly on Carol's side, just because I can. I've got arm rests, power steering, remote locking, power mirrors, tons more leg room. It's heaven-sent, I believe, because I never bad mouthed Chico. When the guy brought out the Nissan, we told him that we had put over 4000 miles on him, and he looked at me, tall, then at Chico, small, and said: "Weren't you uncomfortable?' Well, yes, but what's your point. He was cheap and he was the ever-ready battery. He just kept on going. Ed and Tasha told us what we were in for, but, hey, it was a trip, literally.
Love,
j and c
24 bathrooms later
24 bathrooms, 15 plane rides, something like 4,500 miles in road miles and five weeks later, we're home. Absolutely fabulous trip!!!
There is just so much to talk about it would take hours and days to cover it all, and even then, things would come back later, things triggered by something trivial which would kick in the memory banks and remind me of an occurrence temporarily buried by the routine of our daily lives.I mention the bathrooms because Carol asked me this morning, "Exactly how many bathrooms did we have to learn." Maybe it's old age, a small bladder, or that extra beer at the boma just before bedtime, but navigating to the bathroom in the middle of the night while out in the bush where it is really dark it behooves one to know the route when there are no lights. All obstacles must be cleared as well. Many places placed wooden pallets on the floor, and I almost broke a toe from kicking one by the loo one night. The learning curve was activated immediately for future situations.
But to the point. Africa is absolutely addictive!
I would advise anybody who ever has the opportunity to go on whatever type of trip floats your personal boat to do so. Luxury camps, adventure trip, self drive vacations, small B&B's, the type of travel is unimportant. You can see everything Africa has to offer no matter what style of travel you want to do. It can be expensive, but it doesn't have to be inordinately so. It is a long way away, 16- hour flight from the east coast, but again that is just something which makes it more meaningful. Simply because the difficulty of getting there puts a lot of people off the people who do go make your trip that much more special. I can honestly say that in the five weeks, there were only five people of whom I did not have really positive thoughts.
One was an American kid (23 or so) who was there visiting his girlfriend who was doing a Fullbright scholarship on the refugee situation in Zambia. When I asked him what he did, he replied: "My parents are rich, I don't have to do anything." Okay, cross you off my list of people I'd invite to dinner.
Two were snobby Brits, the very stereotypical pseudo intellectuals who give higher education a bad name. One was a Namibian shop owner who refused to admit that Namibia was no longer a province of South Africa, and the worst of all, was a South African Woman who was unwilling to acknowledge the apartheid situation, maintaining that it was simply: "A concoction of the western media for publicity purposes." According to her there was never any level of prejudice, let alone inhumanity.
So, with my curmudgeon personality, five people in five weeks speaks very highly, not of me, but the people who do make the venture, and the people who are there living it on a daily basis.
I learned so much!!! People were enormously generous of spirit, teaching me to understand and appreciate Africa. Ed and Tasha set the stage for us early in the trip, and gave us the primer we needed to put later conversations into perspective. Our Servas hosts in Namibia were also instructive. Brian was a prime mover and shaker in developing the peace process for Namibia's independence. He and his wife moved from South Africa to Namibia because they couldn't deal with the apartheid system and the dehumanizing of the spirit. As a university professor he was able to form with ten other friends a group that became known as NPP435, Namibia peach process 435 with the number referring to the UN resolution 435 which was the foundation for independence.
His group served as a liaison between the South African government, SWAPO (South West African People's Organization) and influential whites in Namibia. He has written a book on the process and he gave us a signed copy. It was really educational learning his hopes and fears for this country he helped bring into existence. He has been honored by the UN for his efforts.
All this was not without cost. They received numerous death threats over their involvement. Their son was arrested by the security forces who could arrest anybody at any time if any member of the security force "thought" that a person "might now or in the future" be a threat to the "security" of the territory. He said to me that one of the happiness moments in his life was when he found out that his son was in prison. By being in prison, his son had rights, they were in the system. But for 10 days they were only in "detention," which meant that he could have stayed there for as long as authorities decided to keep him there. By being in detention, he had Zero rights. You could not ask anyone his status, they would not acknowledge or deny that he was in detention, he didn't have to be charged with anything. For all intents and purposes, he was a non person. So when Brian found out that his son had been placed in prison, he was ecstatic. From that point, he could work with individuals in authority with whom he had developed trust and some level of camaraderie, and he was able to obtain his release. But this was the closest we came to being personally involved in the horrors, and it was spine-chilling at that
Lest we feel too superior on moral grounds, it is not unlike the situation today with the political prisoners we keep in Guantanamo who also have no rights and who have languished there for five years.
From Isaac we learned about the realities of village life, which has been chronicled before.
From Cathy and Joe we learned about African on African prejudice. This was confirmed over and over again, but it was the first time we had come across the fact that there is far more prejudice and problems between the various black tribes and nationalities than there is black-against-white animosity. These problems and mistrust go back centuries, and it's equivalent to the situation in the break up of the old Yugoslavia i.e. Serbs/Croatians/Albanians/Kosovo, etc.
From Neil who runs a tire business in Zambia we were given a lesson on how business is done in that part of the world, and the difficulty of doing business in an ethical way. For example: a representative of a company will come into his shop looking for tires for the company vehicle. He gets a price on the top line of tires, then a price on the bottom line. He tells Neil to put the low end tires on the vehicle, invoice the company for the top end, and they will split the difference. He can't refuse to do it or the customer will simply go to any number of other tire supply houses that will be more than happy to comply. I asked him what he does in these situations, and he says that he just turns it over to his sales people, and they "make the deal." Neil's company sells the tires, but he personally is not involved. He admits that he is in effect turning a blind eye to corruption, but "This is how it's done. You take part in it, or you perish. You can't fight it."
From Brian we learned about white attitudes in the "new" South Africa, and how the anticipated problems for the most part never occurred. This is in great measure due to Nelson Mandela who preached from the beginning that there was not going to be any blood bath to redress past wrongs. Mandela remains the only black independence/liberation leader who voluntarily stepped down after one term in office instead of trying to perpetuate his authority ala Robert Mugabe in Zimbabwe.
From Dele we learned about the system of fear and intimidation in Zimbabwe under the regime of Robert Mugabe. People are so afraid of the secret police. E-mails are checked, telephone calls monitored, and neighbors turn against neighbors to protect themselves.
A hero to the Zimbabwan people in their struggle to get out from under white rule, he carried the charisma of revolutionary leader to political head of a country, but he was incompetent turning the bread basket of southern Africa which exported food to its neighbors to a country which can't feed its own population. So to deflect criticism away from his rule, he displaced the white farmers who controlled the food production and gave it to poor people with no background in farming.
The economy collapsed and food shortages developed, so when he had run all the whites out of the country, next he had to find a new target and that became the opposition parties and their leaders. The beatings and brutal crackdown on dissidents are well chronicled in the western newspapers. But nothing is mentioned in "Zim" for fear that you will be next. The level of intimidation is palpable. As westerners, people were willing to talk to us, because they knew we were not associated with the status quo.
And so, these and many other situations taught us so much about the culture and people of the area. I would never claim to understand it all, but rather feel that I passed "Africa 101." I'm definitely ready for the next course. It is both fascinating and disheartening to see how many problems there are to be solved, starting with the basic problem of keeping children alive to become adults only to have them die of AIDS.
We know that we want to go back, it is not a place where you say: "Been there, done that." We could spend the rest of our lives learning about Africa, and still not truly understand, but what a wonderful ride in learning about it.
This marks the last letter I will write on the trip. Many of you have commented on your personal favorite incidents: Many people commented on Carol being left alone in the Namibian desert for the two hours. The haircut drew a lot of comments as did backing up in front of the elephants. Many people were very interested in Ed and Natasha and wanted to know more about them. Chico, the car, got a lot of interest. These and many other things that people have said to us make us glad that we wrote these letters. We do it for ourselves, like our own personal chronicle, but we're glad that others enjoy them. For example: The most meaningful statement that was made to me was by a young Canadian friend of mine that I met through the travel business who said that she was so taken by my description of the Zambian children that she sponsored one. Thank you Nina, I couldn't ask for a nicer outcome for these letters.
I'll send photos in the coming days to give you a visual sense to go along with the written word.
Until then, stay safe and live large,
Carol and Jim
There is just so much to talk about it would take hours and days to cover it all, and even then, things would come back later, things triggered by something trivial which would kick in the memory banks and remind me of an occurrence temporarily buried by the routine of our daily lives.I mention the bathrooms because Carol asked me this morning, "Exactly how many bathrooms did we have to learn." Maybe it's old age, a small bladder, or that extra beer at the boma just before bedtime, but navigating to the bathroom in the middle of the night while out in the bush where it is really dark it behooves one to know the route when there are no lights. All obstacles must be cleared as well. Many places placed wooden pallets on the floor, and I almost broke a toe from kicking one by the loo one night. The learning curve was activated immediately for future situations.
But to the point. Africa is absolutely addictive!
I would advise anybody who ever has the opportunity to go on whatever type of trip floats your personal boat to do so. Luxury camps, adventure trip, self drive vacations, small B&B's, the type of travel is unimportant. You can see everything Africa has to offer no matter what style of travel you want to do. It can be expensive, but it doesn't have to be inordinately so. It is a long way away, 16- hour flight from the east coast, but again that is just something which makes it more meaningful. Simply because the difficulty of getting there puts a lot of people off the people who do go make your trip that much more special. I can honestly say that in the five weeks, there were only five people of whom I did not have really positive thoughts.
One was an American kid (23 or so) who was there visiting his girlfriend who was doing a Fullbright scholarship on the refugee situation in Zambia. When I asked him what he did, he replied: "My parents are rich, I don't have to do anything." Okay, cross you off my list of people I'd invite to dinner.
Two were snobby Brits, the very stereotypical pseudo intellectuals who give higher education a bad name. One was a Namibian shop owner who refused to admit that Namibia was no longer a province of South Africa, and the worst of all, was a South African Woman who was unwilling to acknowledge the apartheid situation, maintaining that it was simply: "A concoction of the western media for publicity purposes." According to her there was never any level of prejudice, let alone inhumanity.
So, with my curmudgeon personality, five people in five weeks speaks very highly, not of me, but the people who do make the venture, and the people who are there living it on a daily basis.
I learned so much!!! People were enormously generous of spirit, teaching me to understand and appreciate Africa. Ed and Tasha set the stage for us early in the trip, and gave us the primer we needed to put later conversations into perspective. Our Servas hosts in Namibia were also instructive. Brian was a prime mover and shaker in developing the peace process for Namibia's independence. He and his wife moved from South Africa to Namibia because they couldn't deal with the apartheid system and the dehumanizing of the spirit. As a university professor he was able to form with ten other friends a group that became known as NPP435, Namibia peach process 435 with the number referring to the UN resolution 435 which was the foundation for independence.
His group served as a liaison between the South African government, SWAPO (South West African People's Organization) and influential whites in Namibia. He has written a book on the process and he gave us a signed copy. It was really educational learning his hopes and fears for this country he helped bring into existence. He has been honored by the UN for his efforts.
All this was not without cost. They received numerous death threats over their involvement. Their son was arrested by the security forces who could arrest anybody at any time if any member of the security force "thought" that a person "might now or in the future" be a threat to the "security" of the territory. He said to me that one of the happiness moments in his life was when he found out that his son was in prison. By being in prison, his son had rights, they were in the system. But for 10 days they were only in "detention," which meant that he could have stayed there for as long as authorities decided to keep him there. By being in detention, he had Zero rights. You could not ask anyone his status, they would not acknowledge or deny that he was in detention, he didn't have to be charged with anything. For all intents and purposes, he was a non person. So when Brian found out that his son had been placed in prison, he was ecstatic. From that point, he could work with individuals in authority with whom he had developed trust and some level of camaraderie, and he was able to obtain his release. But this was the closest we came to being personally involved in the horrors, and it was spine-chilling at that
Lest we feel too superior on moral grounds, it is not unlike the situation today with the political prisoners we keep in Guantanamo who also have no rights and who have languished there for five years.
From Isaac we learned about the realities of village life, which has been chronicled before.
From Cathy and Joe we learned about African on African prejudice. This was confirmed over and over again, but it was the first time we had come across the fact that there is far more prejudice and problems between the various black tribes and nationalities than there is black-against-white animosity. These problems and mistrust go back centuries, and it's equivalent to the situation in the break up of the old Yugoslavia i.e. Serbs/Croatians/Albanians/Kosovo, etc.
From Neil who runs a tire business in Zambia we were given a lesson on how business is done in that part of the world, and the difficulty of doing business in an ethical way. For example: a representative of a company will come into his shop looking for tires for the company vehicle. He gets a price on the top line of tires, then a price on the bottom line. He tells Neil to put the low end tires on the vehicle, invoice the company for the top end, and they will split the difference. He can't refuse to do it or the customer will simply go to any number of other tire supply houses that will be more than happy to comply. I asked him what he does in these situations, and he says that he just turns it over to his sales people, and they "make the deal." Neil's company sells the tires, but he personally is not involved. He admits that he is in effect turning a blind eye to corruption, but "This is how it's done. You take part in it, or you perish. You can't fight it."
From Brian we learned about white attitudes in the "new" South Africa, and how the anticipated problems for the most part never occurred. This is in great measure due to Nelson Mandela who preached from the beginning that there was not going to be any blood bath to redress past wrongs. Mandela remains the only black independence/liberation leader who voluntarily stepped down after one term in office instead of trying to perpetuate his authority ala Robert Mugabe in Zimbabwe.
From Dele we learned about the system of fear and intimidation in Zimbabwe under the regime of Robert Mugabe. People are so afraid of the secret police. E-mails are checked, telephone calls monitored, and neighbors turn against neighbors to protect themselves.
A hero to the Zimbabwan people in their struggle to get out from under white rule, he carried the charisma of revolutionary leader to political head of a country, but he was incompetent turning the bread basket of southern Africa which exported food to its neighbors to a country which can't feed its own population. So to deflect criticism away from his rule, he displaced the white farmers who controlled the food production and gave it to poor people with no background in farming.
The economy collapsed and food shortages developed, so when he had run all the whites out of the country, next he had to find a new target and that became the opposition parties and their leaders. The beatings and brutal crackdown on dissidents are well chronicled in the western newspapers. But nothing is mentioned in "Zim" for fear that you will be next. The level of intimidation is palpable. As westerners, people were willing to talk to us, because they knew we were not associated with the status quo.
And so, these and many other situations taught us so much about the culture and people of the area. I would never claim to understand it all, but rather feel that I passed "Africa 101." I'm definitely ready for the next course. It is both fascinating and disheartening to see how many problems there are to be solved, starting with the basic problem of keeping children alive to become adults only to have them die of AIDS.
We know that we want to go back, it is not a place where you say: "Been there, done that." We could spend the rest of our lives learning about Africa, and still not truly understand, but what a wonderful ride in learning about it.
This marks the last letter I will write on the trip. Many of you have commented on your personal favorite incidents: Many people commented on Carol being left alone in the Namibian desert for the two hours. The haircut drew a lot of comments as did backing up in front of the elephants. Many people were very interested in Ed and Natasha and wanted to know more about them. Chico, the car, got a lot of interest. These and many other things that people have said to us make us glad that we wrote these letters. We do it for ourselves, like our own personal chronicle, but we're glad that others enjoy them. For example: The most meaningful statement that was made to me was by a young Canadian friend of mine that I met through the travel business who said that she was so taken by my description of the Zambian children that she sponsored one. Thank you Nina, I couldn't ask for a nicer outcome for these letters.
I'll send photos in the coming days to give you a visual sense to go along with the written word.
Until then, stay safe and live large,
Carol and Jim
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