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Category Archives: Africa

Kampala – My Life Changing Experience in the Bwaise Slum

23 Tuesday Jun 2015

Posted by Anita in Africa, Uganda

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Tags

Charity, Cities, Culture, Opinion Pieces, Villages, Volunteering

IMG_0704After a couple of long days driving on the truck, I was beginning to feel better and had purchased an inhaler to help with my hacking cough that was now a month old. We made a nice stop in Nakuru at a lovely campsite that had a nice pool to lounge next to as well as an annoying and aggressive flock of geese.

I had no plans specifically when we arrived in Kampala, but I decided to do the “Slum Tour” as I was interested in seeing how many poor Ugandans living in the capital dwell.

This day took me completely by surprise and has become the absolute highlight of the entire trip.  Salim Semambo Mukasa was the director of the Slum Tour company and came to the campsite in the morning to collect myself and Emily to go visit Bwaise – the slum that he himself grew up in. I was immediately impressed by his English, his passion for creating this eye-opening experience for tourists and his selfless attitude that was demonstrated when he explained that every cent of the proceeds from the tour goes directly to the everyday needs of 25 orphans that live in an orphanage his volunteer organization established.

IMG_0714I was so disheartened that he’d been unable to come to the Red Chilli Hideaway backpackers the night before in order to explain this to our entire group – I’m sure more of them would have come if they’d known that $20 was going to directly feed kids and not to a “for profit” business.

In any case, we took public transport to Bwaise and the experience really began there. I asked Salim how he’d come to start giving these slum tours and how he helps tourists overcome their fear of it being a “human safari” experience. He explained that he knew all of the residents of the slum – it was the slum where he grew up – and that the people are always happy to see Mzungus coming to see where they live, experiencing it, and coming away with a fresh perspective. Salim’s father had died when he was young, and it was due to a neighbor’s generosity that Salim was able to get an education through “Primary 7” which I believe is until you’ve reached 12 years of age. The neighbor had started the volunteer organization “Volunteers for Sustainable Development” and when he died, Salim felt it was important to continue in the work that his benefactor had begun. He now runs these Slum Tours for people visiting Kampala together with several other volunteer friends he knows from living and working in Bwaise.

At the orphanage

At the orphanage

Salim was right about our welcome, and how the residents would perceive our visit. Everywhere we walked, people smiled and waved and were extremely welcoming. The children followed us in droves as if we were celebrities, unable to wipe the wide grins from their faces.

Of course, it was difficult to see the conditions that people have all but grown accustomed to contending with. Many of the residents’ dwellings were made from temporary or poorly constructed materials, trash floated on the waterways that ran through the slum, children ran in bare feet and tattered, dirty clothes, and some people sat in doorways looking visibly sick and hungry. It was tough to see, and yet, this is the daily reality for so many people – I felt a responsibility to see it for myself. This was the real side of Africa.  The one that hasn’t been artificially sterilized and designed only for tourists.

One of the highlights to the tour was learning how Salim also works with donations by providing micro loans to women in the community to start small businesses. With just $50 or $100, we met with several women who between them had started a sewing business to make school backpacks, and another who had built and was running a small food stall. It was heartening to see these women being industrious and taking pride in providing for themselves and their families. Salim explained that it is always the women who show such a spirit of enterprise as all too often, a loan given to a man will be squandered on selfish temporary pleasures such as alcohol or sex.

Salim with his friends, the orphans

Salim with his friends, the orphans

Salim also took us to the sex trade area of the slum which was a real eye-opener. A customer can buy sexual favors here for as little as 50c, and of course, HIV infection is a real problem. As we were walking through, a woman started talking to Salim in an agitated voice, and I learned later that she had been complaining about how he hadn’t come around in a while with fresh condoms for them. I was amazed at the amount of impact and assistance this one very industrious young man was able to provide.

(Salim, you are amazing!)

IMG_0705We visited the home of a woman who was sadly dying from AIDS. I learned something which up until this point I was very ignorant of. Despite the fact that the Ugandan government does supply its’ HIV+ people with free anti-retro viral drugs, these drugs are not always readily available for a person to continue their prescribed course without interruption. The drugs themselves are very hard on the body, and having balanced and quality nutrition in one’s diet is vital to their being effective in suppressing the virus and boosting the immune system. So, what ends up happening is that these drugs are being taken by people who can barely afford to stem their own hunger with maize and beans. The consumption of fresh greens and fruits just isn’t a possibility. Therefore, when a person goes to pick up their week or month’s supply of drugs and they’re perhaps out of stock and they are told to return in a few days time, this person’s body reacts violently and sometimes they can deteriorate very rapidly, even dying while waiting.

The Gadaffi Mosque

The Gadaffi Mosque

This lady whom we met had been infected by her cheating husband, who had since died himself leaving her with their three children. She was upset because she’d spent her last 3000 shillings (about $1) going to the medical clinic the day before to get her prescription of anti retro virals re-filled and was told they’d ran out and to come back on Monday. I held her hand and gave her 3000 shillings from my purse so that she could go back again, and I hoped that she would have the strength to do so.

Salim explained that her biggest fear is what would happen to her children if she were to die. I asked him what would happen, and he just shook his head and shrugged his shoulders as if to suggest children becoming orphaned because of HIV was just another reality of slum life that he had grown accustomed to, though not unaffected by.

We visited one of the slum schools and I was surprised to see that the kids were learning on a Saturday – out of choice, because they loved going to school.  I was quite impressed at what the children were studying – one of the 7/8 year old classrooms were learning about the process of cell division through meiosis and mitosis  (which I don’t think I studied until college!)  We sang some nursery songs with the kids in the kindergarten aged classrooms and thanked their energetic and lovely school teacher profusely for introducing us.

walking around Bwaise

walking around Bwaise

At the end of the tour, we were going to visit the orphanage, and both Emily and I wanted to first go to a store and buy some food supplies to give to the kids. We bought several kilos each of rice, beans and sugar and then hand delivered them. The children immediately swarmed around Salim as he sat down and tried to wrap his arms around as many of them as he could. While many of the kids were clearly smiling and happy to see him, you could also see in some of their faces the knowledge that they’d been abandoned and that they were unwanted. That is what broke my heart – not seeing them poorly fed or poorly clothed – but knowing that they were wanting of affection, hugs, and emotional security.

Salim explained that some of the kids were found abandoned in a toilet nearby, or perhaps the parent had just left them wandering the streets a few blocks from the orphanage. Without additional funding, he really can’t afford to accept any more children into the orphanage because it is already full…so the fate of additional orphans is hard to imagine.

Getting fitted for my visit of the Mosque

Getting fitted for my visit of the Mosque

At this point, I was very moved to help Salim and his orphanage. I was interested in learning more, so at the end of our tour, I invited him to lunch so that I could ask more questions about how he managed his organization. I also just wanted to buy him a really good meal because it looked like he could use it – if only to bring him some good cheer.

We ate chicken curry and I had some beer. Salim seemed to be enjoying himself so I asked if he’d be willing to show me around Kampala after lunch? It turns out he didn’t have plans, so we ended up spending the rest of the afternoon together.

After lunch we visited the main market in Kampala and it was just a see of craziness and activity. Just crossing the streets of this incredibly busy city was exciting and lucky for me, Salim was there to help me navigate the crowds. After having walked in chaotic surroundings for most of the day, I was relieved and happy to find myself in the tranquil buildings of the Gadaffi Mosque. I had to rent a ha jib head covering for the occasion but actually found the garment to be most comfortable to wear.

One of Salim’s friends was also a tour guide at the mosque and his name was Ashiraf. Ashiraf has a real character and regaled me with the history of the mosque and even sang some islamic songs for me in its blissfully empty and serene interior.

I was having the most wonderful time.

Being silly with Ashiraf

Being silly with Ashiraf

We climbed the tower for a lovely view over this city that is named Kampala because it was where the British would camp with the Impala. It was a fantastic vista and again, I found myself laughing hysterically at Ashiraf as he demonstrated how warriors would welcome Uganda’s king at the palace.

Feeling a little tired, but very content with my day with Salim, I asked him what he would do, if he could do anything. “Get some ice-cream?” – was his reply. I heartily agreed that this was a fantastic idea as I am always up for ice cream…and cake if that was also a possibility?!

We found a delightful coffee bar called Javas that also served the most amazing ice cream and cakes. I ordered a white forest gateau and he had praline and vanilla ice cream. We sat, eating in silence for some minutes- both with huge grins on our faces.

I really enjoyed meeting you, Salim. You have changed my perspective for a day – and for the rest of my life. I will always be appreciative to you for that.

PLEASE consider making a donation to Salim’s organization.  You can contact him on Facebook at Volunteers for Sustainable Development.

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The Gorilla Loop Part I – Lake Naivasha

21 Sunday Jun 2015

Posted by Anita in Africa, Kenya

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Tags

Animals, Camping, Tours

Me on Lake Naivasha

Me on Lake Naivasha

I was sad to leave South Africa. This country had really gotten under my skin and I wished I had a little more time there. The two days of high level activity had left me very drained and also very sick, so I literally took the Baz Bus to Johannesburg and had them drop me off directly at an airport hostel.  I ate dinner at a posher hotel across the street (I ordered Malva pudding and hot custard for dinner…come on, I was sick, yar?) and then promptly went to sleep coughing and sneezing up a storm.

The following day saw me take a flight from Johannesburg back to Nairobi to begin the Gorilla Loop overland truck tour with the same company I did my 56 day Coast to Coast odyssey with, Oasis Overland.  I even had the same tour leader and driver as before. The day was arduous as my virus was now full blown and it ended up taking longer to drive to Karen Camp from Nairobi Kenyatta’s airport than the four hours flying time it took from Johannesburg. Apparently, torrential rains had caused some major flooding and road damage, so Smiley explained that the traffic had just been utterly horrendous. It was good to see Smiley again – he was the first person I met when I arrived here nearly 3 months ago and it was good to catch up. Since we were literally parked for much of the only 15 mile or so journey, we played good old rock ballads on the radio and I attempted to croak along in between coughing fits.

New crew on the bus including the wonderful Greg

New crew on the bus including the wonderful Greg

I briefly met my tour group before heading straight for the shower and after to find Pete and Tabby to get back in the truck and collect the things I’d had them drive back up to Nairobi with. I then re-organized my entire backpack for just what I’d need on this trip through Kenya, Uganda, and Rwanda and put the rest into storage at the camp.

Our first stop on this journey was Lake Naivasha and on arrival at our campsite we were welcomed by a rare sighting of the mighty black and white Colubus monkey playing in the grass looking out over the lake and its mighty hippos that were honking behind the security fence.

That afternoon’s activities seemed mellow enough that I decided to haul my sorry sick ass along to them. They consisted of an hour’s boat ride on the lake where we saw lots of lovely colorful birds and some crazy men who were fishing not twenty meters from where five or six hippos were cavorting in the shallow water. It was a lovely sunny afternoon and I was looking forward to the afternoon tea I was promised at the former home of the late Joy Adamson, author of the “Born Free” series of books about her life in Africa raising wild cats domestically that she then later tried to let back into the wild.

Well, it was a bit disappointing on both counts. First of all, the tea was not a high tea, it consisted of “get your own tea” and ginger cake and cookies. Which is all fine, I wasn’t that hungry as I was snivelling everywhere. After wandering around the house and it’s attached museum we were ushered into a viewing room where we watched the documentary on Joy Adamson’s life.

Crazy fishermen busy working not more than twenty meters from the hippos

Crazy fishermen busy working not more than twenty meters from the hippos

Well, I’ll have to do a little bit of my own research, but frankly, I was quite horrified by this woman. Firstly, she kept getting married and then falling in love with a second and subsequently third man, each time divorcing the poor bastard she’d married before “till I love someone else more than you.” Then, she got to live this charmed existence in Kenya, financially supported by whichever husband she happened to be with at the time, and spent her days painting flowers while World War II was raging back in Europe. Finally, after her husband shot a lion during a safari, they decided to bring the cubs home and raise them at their house as pets. This led to her lifelong passion for wild cats, studying them and learning how to rehabilitate them back in the wild, which she then, of course, monopolized on financially by writing books about it all.

Frankly, she was very lucky to be doing what she was doing at that time, because nowadays she’d be arrested for what she pulled. “Born Free?” Yeah – they were, until your husband shot their mother and then they had to live with you pawing at them and pulling their tails (which you can witness on the video multiple times) and becoming rich as a result. I found her to be a most disagreeable woman and found her legitimizing the domestication of these wild lions and leopards to be quite disgusting.

It is probably a reflection of how times have changed, and I’m sure her foundation has actually done a lot of good in terms of protecting the cats here in National Park. That being said, “ugh” – what a horrible woman.

Fish Eagle above Lake Naivasha

Fish Eagle above Lake Naivasha

The following day I was well and truly in need of some solid rest and so reluctantly turned down the opportunity to go to Hell’s Gate National Park and partake in the only biking safari in Africa, for the chance to try and get healthy again.
I was sad to miss out on that experience, especially since it sounded like a great workout too.

Instead, I had a lovely afternoon talking to Greg, one of the passengers on our truck, who at 75, was mightily impressive in all he had done in his life and all the vitality and energy he still showed for his continued adventures. I write this recollection with sadness, as Greg tragically died of a heart attack a few days later during our Gorilla trek in Bwinde Impenetrable National Forest.

Hippo strolling through camp

Hippo strolling through camp

He made quite a distinct impression on me, and in the short week or so our group knew him, he became well liked and a team favorite. He had the most amazing stories that would start off, giving just one example, like “Well, you know…I was working in Papua New Guinea when Saigon fell….” – and you’d just shake your head and marvel at him.
I was very saddened by his death, as we all were, and my heart goes out to his family.

Nothing else really exciting happened at Naivasha other than me feeling utterly sorry for myself, having a good cry and getting nicely drunk with two of the girls in the bar next door who kindly listened to my stories about how this trip was supposed to be mending my broken heart.

Which it wasn’t, but by now, has definitely started to.

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Reflections on Race – Conversations from South Africa

13 Saturday Jun 2015

Posted by Anita in Africa, South Africa

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Culture, Opinion Pieces, Travel

Apartheid-era bench

Apartheid-era bench

Whenever you travel somewhere, you tend to pick up on the social norms/mores of the people and the extent to which you do, of course, has to do with the amount of time you’ve spent there and the quantity and quality of the time you’ve spent with the local people.

South Africa is a confounding country, and I wanted to write this post merely as a way for me to catalogue the impressions that bore upon me of this land and its very complex treatment of race. The history of this land is multi-layered and contentious, you can sense that from any conversation with a South African that pertains to the stories of this land essentially made up entirely of migrants – the Dutch and English from Europe and the Bantu African tribes from the north. The only people indigenous to South Africa were the San and the Koi – and most of them were killed as the other settlers moved in ( I mentioned in a previous post that it was legal to shoot a Bushman until 1920 in South Africa).

So I make no judgment, no analysis of moral superiority or inferiority with these observations, as that is all they are. I am sure that if I could have stayed in South Africa longer than three weeks as I did, my impressions would change, adapt and deepen. However, I believe there is validity in anyone’s initial impressions of a country they are visiting and as such, I hope you will take what is written here as such.

Square in Cape Town with a monument to the slaves who built and helped populate South Africa

Square in Cape Town with a monument to the slaves who built and helped populate South Africa

The first thing I noticed when I arrived in South Africa was simply how open and willing people were to talk about race and racial issues. They don’t have reservations to express themselves and their opinions, even if those opinions might be interpreted as overtly racist. This fact was interesting to me, in and of itself. Without even asking, the topic just seems to pop up in conversation. This is probably also due to the fact that I do have an inquiring nature, and I do tend to ask people about their lives, their work, their personal experience of their home, so that could also account for some of it.

When asking what it had been like to be in South Africa since it’s first free elections in 1994, a colored female taxi driver told me “Well, back then I wasn’t white enough. Now, I’m not black enough.”

Menu at Robben Island prison for different races

Menu at Robben Island prison for different races

In an attempt to undo some of the harm inflicted by apartheid, the South African government has implemented some very rigid affirmative action laws that essentially dictate a quota for the number of blacks that must be hired by any given public or private organization, often resulting in an emminently more qualified and experienced white person being overlooked for a job in favor of a less educated, less experienced black person. A number of whites I talked with expressed extreme frustration with this situation and spoke of friends who’d already left the country because they couldn’t find work. Some even suggested that it was like a softer version of reversed apartheid.

“If you’re a disabled, black, woman…you could literally be handed any job, anywhere. Hands down without questions. That is the trifecta.”

The group that appears to have been left out in the cold both during the apartheid years and during the current newly attitude-reforming rainbow state is the colored person. The whole definition of a colored person in and of itself took some adjusting to as we simply don’t have this “third” distinction of race back in the United States. In South Africa, a formerly 11-race apartheid system has now broken down into a socially acceptable 4 race classification of “Black”, “White” “Colored” and “Asian”. Anyone, with a mix of white/black/asian in their blood is labeled “Colored”.

“It cracks me up that you Americans think you have a black president! Obama’s not black, mate, he’s colored!” – I heard this observation on more than one occasion when stating my place of abode.

“A Zulu would never mess with a colored person. He knows he would get messed up.”

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Monument to the tribes that lived and migrated to South Africa

Monument to the tribes that lived and migrated to South Africa

My colored Baz Bus driver helped fill in the picture for me of what it’s like to be a colored person living in South Africa. His above quote spoke to the toughness that all races in this country attribute to the colored people. His father was a South African born Indian man, and his mother was half white and half black. Here is something else he shared with me:

“I’ve been married twice before and both times my wives were white. My first daughter with my first wife turned out to be rather dark skinned like me – and she used to go around saying “No, daddy, I’m white! I’m white!” It was pretty hilarious – I’d just laugh at her, then set her straight…she won’t be popular in school talking like that. Now, I have two sons with my second wife – and they both turned out looking as white as you can get. It is so funny when I go out with my sons now and I’m in the supermarket and they’re running around giving all the white people a fright because they think they’ve lost their parents. The look on their faces when they realize that I am their father…oh man! It’s priceless.”

Xhosa boys I met who were fishing on the Wild Coast

Xhosa boys I met who were fishing on the Wild Coast

He explained to me that a colored person identified with the issues of the colored person. He couldn’t understand when I explained to him that an American who was born with any amount of black blood was considered black. It really left me wondering which environment was better (not that any society that affords different treatment based on skin color is ever good) for a person of color? To automatically be socialized and cultured as “black” because of a trace of black blood, or to be able to identify with an entirely separate third group that has its own unique sense of community and brotherhood that doesn’t ascribe to the ideals of either “white” or “black”?

What do you think?

This four race system and the automatic stereotyping that goes along with it is further complicated with the additional sub divisions of people based on their tribe or the language they speak. No matter what, people in South Africa willingly or unknowingly constantly ascribe reasons and motivations for people’s behavior based on their color and/or their tribe. For instance:

“A zulu was, is and always will be a violent person. They are warriors, it’s in their blood.”

“Blacks are just lazy, that’s all there is to it. All they (the Zulu in Kwazulu-natal) want is a free handout.”

“No white person will ever move back to the Transkei. They’ve all left. That is over. That is Xhosa land, its tribal land now.”

“Even when he (a Zulu musician who was performing) is being nice to you…he’s not really being nice. He’s playing you…for your money. That’s what they do.”

“Any racism that exists between whites and blacks cannot even begin to compare, in terms of hostility, to the violent racism that exists between different black tribes. They’ve been killing each other for generations.”

The most emphatic comments I heard, however, concerned the overwhelming hostility that can exist between white Afrikaans speaking South Africans and White English speaking South Africans.

“Yar. No-one can let go of the bloody past, Bru. That’s the problem. No-one can let go. They won’t ever forget the war with the English, and they think everyone should speak Afrikaans.”

Balcony where Mandela made his first speech after his release from prison, calling for forgiveness and unity among all races

Balcony where Mandela made his first speech after his release from prison, calling for forgiveness and unity among all races

“Nelson Mandela was a great president. He did a great job of bringing the people together. What people don’t seem to remember is that he killed people too. And of course, things have gone downhill since he died. The ANC will automatically win every election from here on out.”

“There isn’t a white person in this area who hasn’t had violence directed at them by a black. Many of my friends have left. I know people who’ve had their homes taken from them, or who have been shot at.”

This was said to me by a girl from Johannesburg at a bar in the Drakensburg. I asked her whether she shared the fear that had been expressed to me – that the situation would escalate into a mass land-grab like what happened in Zimbabwe?

Sign capturing historic facts concerning Apartheid in Cape Town

Sign capturing historic facts concerning Apartheid in Cape Town

“Oh – its already happening, man. Even these tribal land claims that are currently being processed by the courts…Many of them are fraudulent. And then the white farmers are given rock bottom dollar for their land and told to leave – and then once the blacks get it, they have no interest in continuing the practice of commercial farming – they don’t have the skills for it. If the government is going to turn over these white farms, who is going to ensure that the farms keep operating?”

Finally, one of the more recent racial phenemenom that is happening in South Africa concerns Xenophobia. This is a racial hatred that is being expressed with outbreaks of violence that is directed towards non-south african born blacks, who have been pouring into the economic promised land for years from Zimbabwe, Malawi, Mozambique and so on… Here are some of the comments are heard about this issue:

“I would always hire a black non-south African over a black South African. They will work harder, with less trouble, for less money. ”

“They’ve got to increase security at the borders. They have got to stop letting (the black non-south Africans) them into South Africa. They are taking our jobs. It’s hard enough for South Africans to find work, yar? Problem is too, they come here and set up businesses or shops, and then they arrange to have all their family and friends move down to be with them – and they’re allowed in!”

“What do I think of Xenophobia? I think we need more Xen and less phobia”.

"Apartheid Squirrel"

“Apartheid Squirrel”

Many of the conversations I had left me confused and saddened, most often with more questions for every answer I received. I can’t help also draw the conclusion that much of the division between races nowadays has less to do with skin color, and far more to do with socio-economic distinctions.  It is becoming a country of class rather than color. Predominantly, the wealth is still with the white population and impoverished areas and townships are invariably black.  It is beginning to change, but I can’t see how things are going to improve significantly until the wealth gap narrows – but the same can be said of the United States as of South Africa.

Education is the key.  No child is ever born racist.  It is a learned behavior and equality of all people can only be achieved through love, tolerance, and opportunity/education for all South Africans.

If there is one universal sentiment that I heard expressed from everyone I met- be they white, black, colored or Asian, it was a deep and abiding love of their country. Despite how shockingly deep racial tensions get, despite the outbreaks of violence, despite the threat of civil war that many believe is coming – people speak of their “Rainbow Nation” with great pride, passion, and attachment.

It’s Africa, the land is beautiful, it gets under your skin and seeps into your soul, forever staying with you.

I was there three short weeks, but surely felt the same pull.

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The Drakensburg Mountains: Visiting The Amphitheater and The Kingdom of Lesotho

10 Wednesday Jun 2015

Posted by Anita in Africa, Lesotho, South Africa

≈ 1 Comment

Tags

Archaeological Sites, Culture, Hikes, Mountains, Villages, Waterfalls

At the Amphitheater Escarpment

At the Amphitheater Escarpment

I was well and truly ready for a day of rest on the bus as my body was spent from two days of hill climbing and I was well and truly hacking up a storm. We headed back up in the shuttle to Mthata where we managed to scramble a quick lunch before piling on the Baz Bus for my penultimate stop in South Africa – The Amphitheater Lodge in the Northern Drakensburg mountains.

Drakensburg literally means “Mountains of Dragons” and they are one of the oldest mountain ranges in the world. As we arrived at The Amphitheater Lodge, we couldn’t help but be impressed by the stunning “Amphitheater” of mountains that formed the backdrop to one of the nicest looking lodges I’ve stayed at on this trip.

The Grain Silo Dorms of Amphitheater Lodge

The Grain Silo Dorms of Amphitheater Lodge

That’s not to say that the hotel stay itself was great – the staff were some of the rudest, strange people I’ve ever come across while traveling. For example – we bought a bottle of white wine on our arrival (the four Baz Bus peeps – Lea, Yarrick, and Amy were together again and I was glad of it because the place was kinda empty) and asked if we could keep it in the fridge behind the bar to keep it cold. Returning a half hour later to get a refill, one of the owners behind the bar bluntly told us “Yar, I don’t know where your wine is – you’ll have to go find the bartender” – despite the fact that she was behind the bar, we didn’t know where the bartender was, and she didn’t even make a single effort to look in any of the fridges! The food in the restaurant is a three course “set menu” and when we asked if we could please just buy some dessert we were told “No, you can’t.” ?!!! This is just a few examples of many I could share that would explain some of the Trip Advisor comments we’d read. So, if you go here, know this: the place is stunningly beautiful, but the service is horrendous.

The four of us enjoyed a relaxing afternoon and elected to make our own dinners that night before retiring in our converted-grain-silo dorm room. The following day, we had elected to go on the famed Amphitheater hike to the 2nd highest waterfall in the world – Tugela Falls.

Starting out on our hike to Amphitheater Escarpment

Starting out on our hike to Amphitheater Escarpment

As it turned out, the waterfall was most definitely not the main attraction of the trip. In fact the waterfall was running almost dry at this time of year, and even at full flow, the hike gets you to a vantage point at the top of the falls, so you can’t really appreciate seeing it cascading down the mountain as I’d been expecting to. In fact, I wasn’t paying attention at the moment when our guide, Adrian, was pointing out the top of the falls, so I didn’t even get a picture of it – the others pointed it out to me later during our descent when I asked “when are we gonna get to see this damn waterfall?”

Silly me.

Trying to be Superman

Trying to be Superman

The hike was really quite stunning and I can see how it is regarded as one of the best day hikes in the world. Despite it being an almost two hour drive from the lodge to the trailhead, you ascend quite a lot in terms of altitude, meaning that you start the hike in an alpine environment to start out at 2500 meters or 8,200 feet, ascending to 3100 meters or 10,000 feet at the top of the Drakensburg escarpment. The last section of the trail is a bit of a scramble up a steep grassy/rocky scree slope, but the view as you emerge is well worth the effort.

Overall it was extremely enjoyable all except for the wind which beat on us with such ferocity that it gave my lungs an additional beating alongside my cough that was already wreaking damage on me. On our return to the lodge, I was so happy that we’d elected to pay the somewhat extravagant price to get the 3 course meal – and since it included rump steak and malva pudding with ….wait for it!…HOT CUSTARD for dessert, I was well and truly in bliss.

At the top of the falls with my Baz Bus "Family"

At the top of the falls with my Baz Bus “Family”

Sadly my three friends all left me the following day, but I was luckily joined by two Germans on my day trip to the mountainous kingdom of Lesotho (pronounded Le-Su-Tu). Lesotho is its own independent country and always has been since it was granted independece from the British Crown in 1966. We wouldn’t, unfortunately, be venturing too far into the country – on a day trip from the lodge, the roads in Lesotho alone would prohibit any such journey since they are almost all unpaved in this mountainous small country that is hailed as having the highest “low point” of any country in the world.

On the "ladders" for the descent

On the “ladders” for the descent

Even so, I got a wonderful day-long glimpse into the rural culture of this magnificent place and its people. Adrian, our guide from the hike was in even rarer form on this tour and you could tell how much he loved sharing his passion for the community that we visited. In fact, what will probably stay with me the longest is the memory of his enthusiastic and loud greeting of every villager we met and his admirable attempts at the Sesotho which is the language spoken by the people of Lesotho, the Basotho. He even greeted the children with a ton of energy to which they responded, sometimes even dancing and shaking their little hips together with him and slapping his hands mid-air.

IMG_0594

Overlook into Lesotho

Overlook into Lesotho

The people in the village we visited just over the border from South Africa live a rural subsistence life and are very poor, in fact, most don’t even have cash and use foodstuffs, hay, livestock, and locally brewed beer in trade for most goods. They live in traditional round homes that were reminiscent of the ones I’d seen on the Wild Coast build by the Xhosa people.

Basotho wearing traditional dress

Basotho wearing traditional dress

IMG_0632The style of dress that the locals wear is extremely unique – characterized by hats worn barely atop of the head and a large blanket that is wrapped around the shoulders like a coat. Everyone we met was extremely friendly and seemed very happy that we were there to see their village. We were shown around the school (that Amphitheater Lodge helps support) and were given the chance to buy some jewellry with proceeds going towards school supplies. I bought a lovely wooden bracelet.

Adrian dancing with the local kids

Adrian dancing with the local kids

Adrian took us on a hike to view some ancient San rock art and we sat and ate lunch looking out over the stunning Lesotho mountains. A really nice custom they have in the village is that of erecting a white flag at one’s home if one has brewed beer available to sell. Not wanting to pass up on such a rich cultural experience, we visited with a family and tried the (rather putrid tasting) beer from a giant plastic bucket and took a bunch of photos. We also visited with a local shaman and learned a little about how this tiny and beautifully frail little woman was “chosen” to be a healer through a dream sent to her by her ancestors.

Drinking beer with the locals

Drinking beer with the locals

The whole experience will stay with me for some time to come and I was very moved, emotionally, by the warmth and hospitality we encountered from everyone we met. I also am very grateful to Adrian for his passion and enthusiasm for Basotho culture in this visit to the 3rd poorest country in the world.

IMG_0606And the cultural experiences didn’t end there. On our return to The Amphitheater, I was thrilled to learn that we were going to be getting some live music performed by a local Zulu musician that evening. I cannot even begin to describe the incredible rhythm this man displayed. Only a YouTube of his performance will do it justice, and I promise I will most definitely upload it to my site’s facebook page as soon as I have internet powerful enough to allow me. He literally played a guitar while simultaneously singing, using his feet as drums, and doing a traditional zulu dance which sometimes requried acrobatic feats of high leg kicks and backward rolls while continuing to play with the guitar wrapped upside down around his head.

I am not joking.

I had so enjoyed my time in South Africa and was sad to be leaving for the airport in Johanessburg the next day. This country is so complex with a lot of confounding racial issues – and that will be the topic of my next post, which I hope you will find enlightening and challenging, but not offensive.

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From Bulungula to Coffee Bay – Hiking South Africa’s Wild Coast

07 Sunday Jun 2015

Posted by Anita in Africa, South Africa

≈ 1 Comment

Tags

Beaches, Culture, Hikes, Trekking, Villages

The Wild Coast

The Wild Coast

It took most of the next day to get to my destination of Bulungula on the Wild Coast. Happily I wasn’t alone either – Jake was planning on spending a few night’s at the same community-ran, 100% solar powered traditional hostel as well.

Our Baz Bus driver that day proved to be an absolutel legend. As we entered the province of the “Transkei” (a formerly independent part of South Africa that white people mostly fled after apartheid ended, populated predominantly by the Xhosa people, and birthplace of Nelson Mandela), he gave us lots of historical background and information on the region. He said that here we would see the real South Africa. A land mainly untouched by commercial development, it’s community based farmland with people living under a tribal system.  For instance, village elders make the community decisions for the (hopefully) benefit of all. People live in traditional round-houses, many with equipped with a government subsidized solar panels for power. The land is very green and there are beautiful rolling green hills that give way to a very rugged and stunning coastline.

 

Nelson Mandela's home where he lived his final years

Nelson Mandela’s home where he lived his final years

On our long drive through the Transkei, Johnny, our driver, created a lovely social atmosphere and insisted that we stop at a local market and get some alcohol to have a little party as we drove. As I got out of the truck, I immediately noticed the absence of any other white face and felt like I was back in the ‘Africa’ that had preceded this country on my trip.

Feeling very merry, we happily took snaps when we arrived at Nelson Mandela’s birthplace and also the compound where he passed away – interestingly, it is an exact replica of the house he lived in after being released from Robben Island when he was imprisoned solely on house arrest.

Arriving at the Baz Bus stop of Mthata, my driver from Bulungula guest lodge was there ready to take Jake and I down the very bumpy, unpaved road for the two hours it would take to our destination. On arrival, I was glad I had Jake with me as the lodge was pretty empty save a lovely family from Finland who we dined with – having an incredible local Xhosa dish of minced beef with maize and vegetables. We were the only two in our dorm which consisted of a traditional rondela and basic furnishings. Though started by a Mizungu from Germany, this lodge has over the years been passed over to the local community to run for profit, and provides jobs to over 26 locals.

 

Local Xhosa woman carrying her baby

Local Xhosa woman carrying her baby

The location was pretty stunning and I told the staff of my plan to walk, by myself to Wild Lubanzi, and then on to Coffee Bay. Despite their protestations that it was “too far” or “very difficult” and “maybe you should take a guide” …I decided that it would be an adventure and I was up for it.
How hard could it be to hike up and down along a coastline till you found the next town?
Well, as it turned out…it was VERY hard! The path ended up not being very clearly marked and I kept having to guess whether I should walk along the beach or rocks (not also really knowing about tides) or whether I needed to go up and walk along the top of the hills before descending to the next valley. Overall, the trial and error approach took a lot of time and was utterly exhausting – even though I was carrying a very pared down version of my luggage (the hostel was kindly transporting the rest of my bags to Coffee Bay to meet me there in 2 days).

Setting off from Bulungula

Setting off from Bulungula

I was coming to the end of the first day’s trail and the map indicated that Wild Lubanzi, my hostel, should be easily approached via the west side of a lake and easily up on a hill directly in front of it. This turned out to be a lot more complicated than I had anticipated as there was no clear path after the lake. There were some sand dunes that I attempted to climb in 3 separate locations, each time coming to the edge of a forest that was so thick as to be impenetrable via walking.
Growing frustrated and very tired/hungry – I tried to go around the lake to see if there might be any sign of a trail behind it. There was a vague looking one which I started then to climb. I heard the sound of wood being chopped and I was overjoyed at the prospect of seeing another human being who might be able to direct me. Sure enough, the man smiled and gesticulated that I keep going up and up and then turn right when I hit the road.

Wild Lubanzi Hostel - so glad to finally arrive

Wild Lubanzi Hostel – so glad to finally arrive

It was a right at the road, but then also a left, another hill, and then another right. When I finally arrived at the hostel, I didn’t even have the strength to go in the front entrance and made my way in through the kitchen and made my presence known. The staff were welcoming in a way, though they immediately launched into a diatribe about how impossible it is to get lost, and how on earth I could have had difficulty navigating my way from the lake. This really pissed me off, but once I’d had a “rocket shower” (shower powered with liquid paraffin) and had a large beer in my hand, I was much happier.
Even better, I was reunited with Ashley who had driven up from Coffee Bay for the night and she was joined by a nice young Dutch guy who’d hiked in from Coffee Bay that morning. His tales of how arduous the trail was did not exacty fill me with positive feelings for my next day’s sojourn, but I was adamant to give it a go.

 

Small Xhosa kids in the villages I passed

Small Xhosa kids in the villages I passed

Unfortunately, my cough had also worsened and I was hacking like a smoking witch. In the morning, I even considered ditching my plan and driving to Coffee Bay, or even heading up to my next destination in the Drakensburg a day early and take some time to recover. But not being one to give up – ever – I decided to push on.

Inquiring about the trail itself, I was warned that low tide wasn’t until 4pm and that it would make the river virtually impassable earlier in the day. I would be forced to walk a ways up river till I find a place shallow enough to cross, and that could add another few miles to my journey that day.

Gulp.

As it turned out – I had quite a funny time crossing that damn river. I got to the water’s edge right by the famous “hole in the wall” rock formation that was really stunning to view. The waves were rolling in and it looked very deep indeed. However, there were some locals working on the beach on the other side of the river crossing who waved to me and pointed at a spot that seemed to indicate was the best place for me to try and cross.

IMG_0452Already tired and really not wanting to add more mileage to my day, I decided that I’d give it a go anyways…it couldn’t hurt getting a little wet, right?

Well. I got a lot wet. As I approached the middle of the 50 meter or so wide river…waves starting hiting me almost at neck level and I felt with dismay, my backpack getting heavier as it took on water together with its contents! My boots strung around my neck were also victim to the deep sea water that at some points lifted me entirely off my feet forcing me to swim. After what seemed like an eternity, I could feel the sand get closer to my feet and I struggled out of the river on the other side. The men were all laughing at me as I sat on the rocks and assessed the damage to my bag’s contents.
Luckily, the camera was fine as I’d stashed it in a plastic ziploc (thank god, I’d already destroyed one camera on this trip with water damage) and about one t-shirt was still slightly dry…everything else had to be wrung out and my boots simply squelched with salt water for the rest of the 16km hike.
I was, however, very fortunate with the weather and the shining sun helped to keep me warm despite my sopping clothes and bag. TWELVE times I counted having to ascend 4-800 vertical feet to navigate around a headland where the beach/coastline was impassable. Each hill I came to, I thought, Coffee Bay has GOT to be around the next corner…and each time my heart sunk.

Coffee Bay

Coffee Bay

When I finally arrived, hacking away, I was truly bedraggled and exhausted – but elated. I felt such a sense of accomplishment, especially since all the black people I ran into expressed shock that I was walking so far, and all the white people I ran into expressed shock that I was walking so far, and by myself. “You really should be careful, you know?” – they would say…and I would think “well, short of deciding NOT to hike this trail alone – how else do you expect me to be careful?”
I really hadn’t felt in the least bit threatened by any of the locals I came across – most of them smiled and waved or looked at me, aghast at my crazy decision to walk so far, alone. The greatest danger I found myself in was most definitely in the form of the six or so dogs that decided I was an intruder on their owner’s land and proceeded to run after me gnarling fiercely to the point where my heart almost stopped. None of them bit, thank god, and I made it to Coffee Bay in one piece…mostly.

I immediately enquired as to whether I might be able to procure a massage for my aching body – and was told to go ask after Carl at the other backpackers in town – Bomvu. I walked across the road to Bomvu and what I found in no way resembled a hostel. It was more like a movie set of the next slasher movie “Hostel Part 3 – South African ­­Bloodbath”. Half of the place had clearly been in a fire, the place was deserted and there was no sign of Carl or a massage therapy office (which I’d been told was separate to the hostel) It had major creepy factor. I felt sorry for any hapless tourist who’d been allowed to make a reservation here and turned up to this. Giving up, I came back to Coffee Shack for dinner and ran into Carl who was dining there. Happy to give me a massage at 10am the next day, I was thrilled until he told me I should meet him at Bomvu.

Yeah. Like hell I would!!

No, thanks. I’d like to live to see another day.

The Garden Route Part II: The Crags

04 Thursday Jun 2015

Posted by Anita in Africa, South Africa

≈ 1 Comment

Tags

Adventure Sports, Hikes, Kayaking, Tours

Heading out on the Salt River Hike

Heading out on the Salt River Hike

My next stop along the Garden Route was to be at a place called The Crags – close to Knysna, Storms River, and other small towns along The Garden Route and close to Tsitsikamma National Park. The hostel had been recommended to me because of its beautiful location – though I was warned that it was slightly “hippy” in atmosphere.

Sure enough, there were drumming circles, copious instructions on composting/recycling, dreadlocked folk strumming guitars, yoga/meditation classes, and lots of cats and dogs roaming freely amongst the chilled out backpackers who all regaled their story of coming to Wild Spirit for two nights – and staying for seven. I was planning on staying for two nights and stuck to my plan.

Not that I didn’t enjoy the place – on the contrary, I made a nice little circle of friends, and the home cooked food was otherworldly. The whole lodge is set against a backdrop of lush forest that peters out towards the ocean. The bar area was built literally around a giant tree that was covered with fairy lights creating a lovely atmosphere in the albeit very chilly evenings. In the main lounge, folks fought for a space on one of the giant sofas with the gigantic dogs who seemed to own the most coveted spots around the open fireplace. It was very cozy indeed.

A cute little Dassie in Storms River

A cute little Dassie in Storms River

Unfortunately, I had come down with a bad cough after my bike ride in Outsdhoorn so I wanted to take it a little easy on my first day. I had made a new friend in Ashley – a girl whom on first appearance I was sure I wouldn’t get along with and who subsequently surprised me with her genuine, fun spirit. She was a total self-professed hippie, with giant purple and turquoise dreads, lots of piercings and tattoos adorning large swaths of flesh. She also had an extremely interesting career producing fetish videos – which led to lots of very interesting conversations. On the first day, I was disappointed to discover that Untouched Adventures (a company offering a kayak and “lilo” experience up the channel in Storms River) was too far away to send a shuttle for me to participate in their tour. I was delighted therefore to meet up with a lovely English couple, who’d just gotten engaged(!) named John and XXXX who over breakfast, informed me of their plan to do the afternoon kayak tour and offered to take me with them in their rental car.

Glad to have a little rest to blog in the morning, I happily joined them – and since she’d gotten back from having completed the world’s highest bungee jump that am, Ashley came along too. On arrival at Tsitsikamma National Park, we found that Jake (from Outsdhoorn and the bus) had also signed up for the afternoon adventure…making us a happy little group of 5. Still not feeling great, I opted to rent a full wetsuit in case I worsened my symptoms paddling upstream on a lilo in frigid brackish water.

Storms River

Storms River

On our "Lilos" in Storms River Gorge

On our “Lilos” in Storms River Gorge

The landscape was really beautiful and verdant – and we walked along the coastline for about a half mile before coming to the mouth of the river where we were to put in our kayaks to paddle up the Storms River Gorge. The gorge itself was stunning and reminded me a little of both The Narrows in Zion National Park, and Wadi Mujib in Jordan…I love places where you can be in the water with towering rock walls jutting up alongside you enclosing you in the magic that lies between them. All told, the kayaking was very short indeed which was a little disappointing, though I was looking forward to the “lilo” section as I can honestly say I have never ever paddled myself upstream on a river laying on one. This was one of those “firsts” that get rarer with age and the amount of travel that I am lucky enough to do. This was when I was truly grateful to have rented the wetsuit as we laid belly down and swiftly used our hands to continue our way up the gorge. Again, we didn’t go very far, but we enjoyed the experience and the setting nonetheless. A few bold cliff jumps into the water completed the excursion before it was time to kayak back to our starting point.

After, our newly founded little group got wine and seafood at the café and heard the story of how John had proposed. It was a very memorable day made all the more special by the live music that awaited us at the hostel upon our return home.

The Wild Spirit Backpackers at The Crags

The Wild Spirit Backpackers at The Crags

The bus was going to be picking both me and Ashley up the next day in the evening to take us to Port Elizabeth where we would be forced to spend the night in order to catch the next vehicle heading to our next destination – the Wild Coast. I was super excited to have made an alteration to my planned itinerary upon learning that it was possible to do a 3 night/2 day hike along the coast (think up hills, down hills, along beaches, up and inland, across inland, rinse and repeat for a very long time) and had booked nights at Bulungula Inn for my first night, Wild Lubanzi for my second, and ending my trip in Coffee Bay (where I had originally intended on staying for two nights.)

Determined not to let a silly cold/cough hold me back, Ashley and a few others opted to do the famed Salt River hike that day which is supposed to give you a snapshot feel for all that the Garden Route is famous for – Fynbos, trees, rivers, beaches, and beautiful scenery. This trail would lead us to the ending point of the famed Otter Trail – a five day hike that gets booked years in advance. Though feeling a little rough, I managed to keep up with the girls as we set out on our intended loop – aiming to be back to the hostel in time to shower, change and hop on the bus to Port Elizabeth.

The map that our hostel owner had given us lent itself to extreme frustration as none of the markings were accurate or helped us orient ourselves. We eventually had to just rely on our sight and logic and made our way along the beach to the restaurant at the end of the Otter trail where we ordered a lovely lunch. Since I wasn’t feeling great, we opted to take the slightly shorter route back up to the starting point, where we got picked up.

Ashley and me

Ashley and me

Ashley and I had a lovely day and discovered that we actually have a lot in common and eerily similar backgrounds in terms of our religious childhoods. It was a lovely day, and we were glad to have some down time before having to re-join the bus (where Lea and Jake also joined us) as we headed to PE for the night.

The Garden Route Part I: Wine and Ostrich Country

31 Sunday May 2015

Posted by Anita in Africa, South Africa

≈ 2 Comments

Tags

Adventure Sports, Animals, Biking, Caves, Cycling

Heading out on our bike tour of Stellenbosch

Heading out on our bike tour of Stellenbosch

My lovely tent mate, Maud, and I headed out from Cape Town and met up in Stellenbosch for some girl time with wine. I had purchased a Baz Bus ticket that allowed me 14 days of unlimited hop on and off transport between Cape Town and Johannesburg. I had a rough itinerary already planned out ( I know, you’re shocked by that!) but was open and willing to make changes along the way should the mood strike or I received a significant personal recommendation.

I knew I wanted to have at least one day in Stellenbosch as a good starting point for my embarking on independent travel. And I was thrilled that Maud was up to meet me there, and go on a biking wine tour.

We were super lucky in that we were the only two people booked on the tour and it was a beautiful sunny day. We met with our guide and started the tour with a cycle around the main town of Stellenbosch and campus of the large university the town is also famous for. The town is framed by the most stunning countryside and mountains and I was thoroughly enjoying being out of the big city, breathing in the fresh air, and enjoying the exercise.

We visited two wineries, both of which were in stunning settings. The first had such an incredible backdrop of lake and mountains that the photos we shot during our tasting looked artificially superimposed. See for yourself!

Lake and mountain view at the vineyard

Lake and mountain view at the vineyard

Right?

Feeling quite tipsy and thoroughly happy after our ride, Maud and I enjoyed a lovely coffee and Belgian waffle on a trendy café-lined street before both going to get haircuts. Unfortunately, my hairdresser decided to cut an extra inch off the right side of my head vs. the left side, and I only noticed upon our return to our hostel…which ended up being an adventure in and of it!

Thoroughly looking forward to a home-made tuna salad, we asked around as to where we might find a cab to drive us to our hostel. No-one seemed to know where we might be able to locate one and we started to grow slightly nervous. We walked to several in-city hostels and we were told that cabs stopped operating at 5pm! What?!!

Don't I look super-imposed onto a green screen in this picture??!

Don’t I look super-imposed onto a green screen in this picture??!

Eventually, a kind hotel shuttle driver offered to drop us off, and we were saved from our complacent “I’m used to being in Cape Town” attitudes.

We enjoyed a lovely evening’s company with our dorm mates who were Peace Corps volunteers from the States working in Zambia. They told us some fascinating stories about the challenging projects they’d been occupied with in the rural center of that country. One of the more memorable, was the locals’ preference for “dry sex”. What on earth is “dry sex”, I hear you ask.

Maud and I chatting with the Peace Corps Volunteers

Maud and I chatting with the Peace Corps Volunteers

Well, I was fascinated to learn as well. Dry sex is sex where there is no internal lubrication in the woman. In fact, along with ensuring (of course) that the woman is not aroused before intercourse, young women in some Zambian villages are literally taught how to dry out their vaginas using certain leaves/herbs in order to please their husbands – who’s preference is for the sex to be nice and rough…ergo “Dry”. The reason the volunteers even got involved in this discussion is because in their health care education efforts, it is important for locals not to engage in this practice as the resulting abrasions vastly increase the chances of spreading the HIV virus which is rampant in Zambia.

Asking them how their efforts at condom education fared – their response was equally disheartening. They told us that locals would say “Well, when I bake a nice juicy chicken, I don’t put it in a plastic bag before I enjoy eating it…!”

Yeah…it’s like that.

From Stellenbosch I said my farewell to Maud and boarded my Baz Bus to my first stop on the famed Garden Route – Outsdhoorn – world capital of the ostrich!

Ostriches in the Ostrich capital of the world

Ostriches in the Ostrich capital of the world

I stayed at Backpacker’s Paradise and it really was one of the nicest hostels I’ve ever stayed at. And it was a paradise for me when I found out on arrival that one of the manager’s was also a masseuse and was willing to give me a massage that evening. It was not only the best massage I’ve had on this trip so far, it was the best massage of my life!

Dinner that night was ostrich meat, roast potatoes and salad.   I ate with a highly immature group of five English girls who giggled hysterically in between their ceaseless chatter about boys they’d hooked up with at last year’s Glastonbury festival. Ahhhh….hostels! Yet again, I discover that I’ve been traveling and staying in hostels since I was 17 alongside the other 18-25 year olds. The only problem is – I’m now 39, but the other backpackers have stayed the same age! What is nice, however, is that with age comes the ability to fend off peer pressure and truly do what one feels is in one’s best interest. For me, it was having my dinner and heading straight to sleep.

Outsdhoorn proved to offer quite an adventurous, strenuous day trip which consisted of being driven to the top of Swartberg Pass (1568 M) and then dropped off with a mountain bike for a 56km (about half downhill) adventure. The weather at the top of the pass was drastically different due to the elevation, and I was glad that I had brought lots of warm layers and my wooly hat! The ride literally started off in the clouds, but it wasn’t too long before I descended below the cloud line and found myself whizzing past green pastures full of ostriches, and rolling hills. It was just lovely.

 

Biking down from Swartberg Pass

Biking down from Swartberg Pass

 

The other main attraction in the area is the Cango Caves. Having visited lots of caves during my trip in South America last summer, I wasn’t too enthused about going – but I decided to at least go check out the visitor center and decide if I wanted to do the full tour or not.

The pictures at the ticket booth were pretty impressive so I signed up for the 90 minutes “adventure” tour – touted as being as close to splunking minus equipment that a person can get.

The cave tour actually far surpassed my expectations – the main caverns were enormous and were beautifully lit to highlight the wonderful stalagmite and stalactite formations. As the guided group continued deeper into the cave, the passages got narrower and trickier to get through. Our guide, Theo (a Xhosa) was hilarious telling us stories of fat tourists who’d gotten themselves stuck in some of the passageways and had to get extricated using copious amounts of grease lubricant. Some of the passageways were rather panic-inducing, but I was proud of myself for getting through it.   Unlike many cave systems I’ve been in, this one has no oxygen supply save for the initial opening, so you could really feel the air getting thinner the further you progressed into the cave.

The wonderful stalagmite and stalactite formations

The wonderful stalagmite and stalactite formations

At the turnaround point, there was a section that you had to slide down, head first on your tummy in order to squeeze your way through. A few of the larger men in the group had to turn around and come back a different way. It was challenging, but I managed to squeeze through feeling like I was re-enacting my entry to this world through the birth canal. We were all reminded of this when someone commented that the tunnel “opening” looked like a woman giving birth, and as the last tourist slid on out, Theo announced “And it’s a boy!” – and we all had a good laugh.

The rest of the ride back to town was actually quite arduous and I was glad for all the water I’d brought. I was eager to get to the farmhouse that had been recommended to us as having wonderful cakes and tea as I was getting hungry – only to discover that they were closed! The last six kilometers back to the hostel were the longest I’d ever ridden and I walked back into the lobby absolutely famished.

I ordered a piece of carrot cake and a coffee and sat relishing both as I rested my weary muscles.

My "French" evening in Outsdhoorn

My “French” evening in Outsdhoorn

That evening turned out to be rather “French”. I had met a French-Canadian on the bus named Lea (who I continually re-met at various stops along the Baz Bus route as the trip continued) and an American named Jake who was rather fluent in French having just lived in La Reunion these past six months.   Then, two guys from Lyon showed up complete in their V-neck sweaters and matching scarves – and we all went out for a meal which turned out to be dominated with French conversation. Despite struggling a little to keep up and understand – I was decidedly happier with the conversation.

 

My Return to Cape Town – 14 years later

27 Wednesday May 2015

Posted by Anita in Africa, South Africa

≈ 3 Comments

Tags

Cities, Culture, Opinion Pieces

Gorgeous Cape Town's Skyline

Gorgeous Cape Town’s Skyline

I visited Cape Town in the December of 2001 with Semester at Sea.  It had made quite the impression on me then and I had counted it in the top three cities in the world, for me.  I was so looking forward to returning and doing the activities that I hadn’t had the time to on my visit fourteen years prior!

Entering the city on our rented bus, I was sorry to hear Pete (who’d come instead of Tabby because she can’t get a SA visa with a Kenyan passport) tell us to be really careful in Cape Town because it’s the most dangerous place the tour goes.  I was looking forward to walking around by myself, but I realized that I was still going to have to be cautious, especially in the evening, and take cabs/carry little etc.

On arrival at our hostel, The Ashanti Gardens, I was very happy to see beautiful Table Mountain right from the deck.  The air was cool and a welcome 15 degrees celcius.  That evening I enjoyed the best meal of the trip so far when I ordered “The Game Platter” which consisted of Ostrich, Springbok, Gemsbok, and Wilderbeest Ribs.  Damn.  So good.

Bench outside city magistrates court

Bench outside city magistrates court

On my first day in the big city – I ventured downtown to take the Free Walking Tour – these guides rely entirely on tips, so the quality of tour usually is reflected.  I wasn’t disappointed – it was a great introduction to the main commercial/political city centre; we even had the opportunity to observe a protest march passing right by the main town hall where Nelson Mandela made his first speech after being released from prison.

On a more sombre note, we visited the main city courtroom where people had to go during the Apartheid regime to get classified into a “race category”, of which there were five to start, eventually the government deciding on eleven categories, which, hysterically, included “honorary white” – to enable Japanese or Chinese dignataries/athletes/journalists etc. to be allowed to visit South Africa and be afforded the same privileges of movement as white people.  People would first have to pass what they called the “Pencil Test”.  If a pencil fell out of their hair, they were classified as white.  If it stayed, then they had to proceed to the court hearing to be classified.

Square with the slaves' memorial

Square with the slaves’ memorial

Our guide told us a few horror stories of families being physically separated after individuals who were related to one another were deemed to belong to different races because of having perhaps lighter or darker skin.  Couples, siblings, even parents and children could be separated and forced to live in different sections of the city.

Of the categories that were created, a few have survived and are used in everyday speech – White, Black, Colored, and Asian.  The use of the word “colored” has been the most interesting to me as it refers to people of mixed race, and has made me realize how strange it is that back home, we refer to those of mixed race, such as President Obama, as black.  Slightly black = black in the States.  This has been fascinating to ask locals about and I will dedicate an entire post to my thoughts on this topic later on.

V & A Waterfront

V & A Waterfront

Our guide also showed us where the slaves that were brought to the Cape were housed upon first arrival.  The Dutch settled the cape in the 1800’s but had to bring in slaves because they needed a workforce to build the city, and they were also in need of women to help populate the area.  Every Saturday, female slaves – from Madagascar, Malawi, Mozambique, Malaysia (to name a few countries) would be rounded up outside in the square for the men to take pleasure with.  He said that it is estimated, now, that every “white” South African can actually attribute at least 8% of their DNA to this initial slave gene pool.

Which means, if correct, that the very men who wrote Apartheid into the constitution, were part black themselves.  An idea, which meets with tremendous resistance among some nationals here (as attested to my bringing it up in some conversations over the last few weeks, as a data gathering experiment).

In the park, we were shown a fully albino squirrel and were told that he’d been nicknamed “Apartheid Squirrel” and has his very own twitter feed… Funny.

#ApartheidSquirrel

#ApartheidSquirrel

Later that evening I met up with my friend Martin Slabber.  Martin and I were on a tour together in Chile back in 2008 and it was delightful to catch up.  He and his wife and his new baby Max picked me up in their car (well, the baby had little to do with it) and drove me to their home in beautiful Hout Bay where they live.  It’s about a half hour drive from Cape Town and it has quite a stunning beach setting with dramatic hills that rise up out of the ocean in jagged spectacle.  We picked up pizza take out and shared life’s stories over a lovely bottle of red wine.

It was so good to spend an evening in a person’s home after so long on the road.  Thank you Martin!

My visit with "Ice Bru" and Bob Vela!!

My visit with “Ice Bru” and Bob Vela!!

I hadn’t gone to Robben Island back in 2001, and nowadays, the visit to the infamous prison is one of the top visitor attractions, and most tours sell out days in advance.  I got my ticket online and visited one afternoon.  Though the boat service/tour was poorly organized, I was really glad that I went to experience the place for myself.  I really got a sense of what it must have been like for prisoners like Mandela, to be taunted daily with such a beautiful view of Cape Town’s Table Mountain, always out of reach.  We visited the rock quarry where prisoners were made to perform hard labor, often which was pointless and therefore soul-destroying, such as moving large rocks from one area to another, only to be forced to move them back the next day.

On Robben Island, the quarry where prisoners' worked

On Robben Island, the quarry where prisoners’ worked

The most disturbing thing I learned at the prison is best summarized by the attached photo.  During apartheid, a person’s skin color could literally determine where they were “allowed” to live, whether they could move freely in a city, and whether they had to carry a pass, or face being beaten or thrown in jail.  Here on Robben Island, it was taken a step further and the food that the prisoners were fed was different for coloreds vs. Blacks (that they deprecatingly referred to as Bantu) Of course, at Robben Island, there was no meal plan for whites because a white prisoner would never be sent there.

Menu at the prison for different races

Menu at the prison for different races

My final day in Cape Town, I got to do something I’d been waiting 14 years to do.  Great White Shark cage diving.  I was supposed to go back in 2001 but the trip got canceled due to bad weather.  While the activity is somewhat controversial, our company did a decent job of sharing their efforts in Shark conservation and explaining that they don’t feed the animals, they only attract them to the vessel and use the opportunity to study their behavior at the same time.

Mandela's cell

Mandela’s cell

Unfortunately, as excited as I was, not even the seasickness medication I took ahead of time was adequate in preparing me for the rolling waves that we had to sit through for over three hours on the open water.  Spotting the first shark was thrilling, and I made my best efforts to try and capture the moments on my camera, but after 15 minutes or so I began to feel queasy.

Me trying to keep food down in the shark cage

Me trying to keep food down in the shark cage

I spent most of the rest of the trip laying down at the front of the boat just trying to keep my breakfast down – and failing to:-(  I did, however, go into the cage – as the marine biologists on board assured me that the nausea would be alleviated somewhat.

It didn’t really help, especially since the girl to my right was still puking right into the surf as we clung together to the metal bars of the cage.  There was definitely a few very memorable moments when the sharks swam straight towards our faces, but with the sea as rough as it was, it was very difficult to remain steady underwater while holding one’s breath at the same time.

I’m still glad that I did it, but it certainly wasn’t what I’d been expecting.

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Last Days of Overlanding – Onward to Cape Town

24 Sunday May 2015

Posted by Anita in Africa, Namibia

≈ 4 Comments

Tags

Archaeological Sites, Desert, Indigenous People, Tours

Spitzkoppe

Spitzkoppe

It was hard to believe but the 56 day coast to coast overland adventure I’d embarked on in Nairobi was coming to a close.  We had three more days on the road after Swakopmund before we’d arrive in Cape Town and I’d start my independent travel in South Africa.

I can’t say I was sad that the trip was coming to an end.  While there were numerous advantages to being on a truck with a planned route, and tour operators arranged for you  in each destination; it was very challenging for me to not have the freedom that independent travel affords.  I was so looking forward to being able to go where I wanted, when I wanted, to stay for as long as I wanted, and most importantly, to spend time with whom I wanted.

Despite my extroversion, I was really looking forward to some alone time as well.

Leaving Swakopmund, our first stop was a beautiful spot in the desert called Spitzkoppe – an area of stunning red rock formations that recalled to mind similar vistas in Arizona/Utah, Australia, and Jordan’s Wadi Rum.  Our group was greeted by two very cute running meerkats who continued to follow us as we embarked on our two hour guided hike through the area.

Meerkats following us!

Meerkats following us!

Our guide took us to see some cave paintings and told us a little bit about the history of the San people, whom it is believed created the art.  He also talked about the San language and how it related to his native Tamara – which only contains five clicks as opposed to the Bush people’s seven.

We then hiked to a watering hole, though none of us had our swimsuits, which was unfortunate since it was already swelteringly hot.  It was still a very beautiful place and I thought it one of the most scenic spots we’d stopped at on the trip so far.

The following day we visited a farm in the middle of nowhere – desert all around as far as the eye could see.  We were scheduled to have an afternoon/evening desert tour with a man known locally as “Boesmann” or “Bushman”.  He is a white 4th generation Namibian who bought this dilapidated farm, and renovated it in the hopes that he would be able to make a living offering tours of the desert to tourists passing through the area.

At the watering hole in the hot sun

At the watering hole in the hot sun

The tour itself was very informative and interesting (despite the fact that I found his extremely thick accent somewhat hard to concentrate to) and we learned lots of stuff about desert survival.  A few of the tips I remember:

  • If you’re lost in the desert, never go to a tree.  There might be wild animals there.
  • If you get lost in the desert, split up into small groups.  You have a higher chance of survival apparently
  • The San didn’t drink water.  They would suck on the eyeballs of any hunted Oryx and then wring out their stomachs for liquid that would be provided to the women and children. Sounds thirst quenching.
  • You can eat lizards to stay hydrated.
  • You can never kill a beetle by standing on it in the sand.  It will just go deeper into the sand.
  • Never ever help an oryx out of a fence if he’s stuck in it.  He will gore you to death.  Better call the farmer who’s land the Oryx is on so he can shoot and eat it.

Boesmann also gave us some additional interesting information on the Bushmen.  His grandfather, apparently, had one as a pet. Yes, you read that right – people in Namibia  used to have Bushmen that they kept as pets along with their chickens and dogs.   It was legal to hunt and kill bushmen until 1920.  Isn’t that shocking?

"Bushman" giving us his tour of the desert

“Bushman” giving us his tour of the desert

He talked a little about how nomadic they were and their incredible capacities for gorging themselves on meat if they were lucky enough to make a kill.  He said they could eat 20kg of meat in one go and then they would sleep in order to digest it properly.  He also talked about the realities of their nomadic existence and how if they had gone for some days without finding food, it might have been necessary to leave behind the youngest children who might slow the group down.  It was said that it was best to simply walk away and not look back at the abandoned child, left to die alone in the hot desert.  Since they believe that one should never speak of the dead, the mother would sit by the smoky fire that evening, so that if she cried, she could attribute her tears to the smoke.

Rather heartbreaking, isn’t it?

IMG_0018-001

Heading up Soussvlei

Heading up Soussvlei

The following day was a day of fun in the hot sand of Soussvlei, Deadvlei, and Dune 46 – the largest free standing sand dune in the world.  At Soussvlei, we arrived, much to our chagrin, at 12pm – the hottest part of the day when the sun was at its strongest point.  Doing our best to stay hydrated and not get fried to a crisp, we set out on what we thought was a guided tour of the dunes, but we were simply dropped off in a jeep and given no additional information.  Not really sure what we were expected to do – we hiked up the main ridge of the dune and then had a whale of a time running back down (this is by far the most enjoyable part of climbing sand dunes)  Upon our return, we found out that we weren’t actually supposed to climb the dune because we were climbing Dune 45.  What the hell?!

Personally, I was fine with climbing both and welcomed the exercise very much indeed.

That night we enjoyed a beautiful setting for our final bush camp experience.  The setting was lakefront and the only thing that spoilt the location was the amount of trash that had been left behind by previous groups.  Since we’d gotten in before sunset, I suggested that we play the game of charades that the group had so enjoyed together at Okavango Delta.  It was a fun evening until another fight broke out within the group.  Apparently someone thought it funny to put trash in someone else’s locker.  Group dynamics had been somewhat dramatic on this journey, though I suppose that can be expected when you spend this amount of time on a truck.

Quatchi likes the dunes too

Quatchi likes the dunes too

Our final day of the tour itself was initially not even going to happen when Pete discovered the following morning that the truck wouldn’t start.  Panic was soon subsided by the fact that our driver is a mechanical genius, and within an hour he’d replaced whatever vital part wasn’t functioning before and we were on our way.

Our only stop this day was the second largest canyon in the world – Fish River Canyon in the very south of Namibia.  We only had two hours there but it was enough to get a good long walk in to the various lookouts over the edge of the canyon.  I had read about the five day trek that one can do through the canyon, skirting the river along the canyon floor, but the only way to do it non-independently was with a tour operator that was charging well over a $1000 for it.  I would have loved to climb down and see how the views changed based on where you were inside its vertical walls.

Crossing the Tropic of Capricorn

Crossing the Tropic of Capricorn

Our last night was at a lovely campsite ran by the same coach company – Felix Unite –  that was going to be transporting us in the very early morning to Cape Town.  I had cooking duties this last night, and we made Spanish omelettes, Potato wedges and guacamole.  It was delicious, and I’m finally unafraid of making omelettes!

I re-packed all of my bags, as Tabitha and Pete were kind enough to take a bag from me and transport it back with them to Nairobi where I would be re-joining them in a few weeks.  At first I wasn’t sure if I was going to do the Gorilla Loop tour that lasts 18 days, but since it was going to cost me $375 just to change my international plane tickets, and I did have the time at the moment (if not the funds) I had decided that I was going to go to Uganda and Rwanda after my nearly 3 weeks in South Africa.

At Fish River Canyon

At Fish River Canyon

This trip has really challenged me in many ways that I was not expecting.  At first, it was all too much and I very much regretted coming, and yearned to go home where things were known to me and predictable.  I missed my friends.  I missed having someone to talk to.  And I still do – travel can be a very lonely experience if you haven’t anyone to share it with.  However, I have fallen for the spirit of Africa and made a decision to stick with my original plans and take each day as it comes.  This is what will make me a stronger person – I hope.

I was so looking forward to returning to South Africa, almost 14 years after I had first visited on Semester at Sea.

-21.824722 15.194167

Swakopmund – Bizarre German city in the desert

21 Thursday May 2015

Posted by Anita in Africa, Namibia

≈ 1 Comment

Tags

Culture, Tours, Townships

IMG_0013Swakopmund just looks funny.  It isn’t congruent with any sort of mental image one has of a city in Africa.  Granted, that initial image is often quite misdirected to start with, given the shamefully limited amount of exposure we Americans get to African news/culture/history.   It’s German influence was clearly visible; from its architecture and the manicured design of its streets to its cold meats at breakfast.  The language of the predominantly white city population, however, was Afrikaans and the people were fiercely Namibian (which they made very clear if and when it came up in conversation).

The restaurants were overpriced compared to other stops we’d made, the meals costing roughly what they would back home.  It was nice, however, to order some really well prepared fruit smoothies, western wraps, and grilled steak.  There was a distinctly European feel to everything in that city and one could easily forget they were on the African continent.

That is, until you ventured even a few blocks outside the city.  Like major metropolitan areas in South Africa (and South Africa governed Namibia until it gained independence in 1964) – Swakopmund is surrounded by sprawling townships, the raw materials utilized in the their construction getting progressively more temporary and non-robust the further out of the city you went, like the outer layers of an onion.  Swakopmund’s main industry is mining – and people come from all over the country with the promise of better wages in the urban areas.  However depressing, 90% of Swakopmund’s population live in the townships – and they are all people of color, known in Namibia as Black and colored (anyone with mixed blood/race), yet they earn/retain only 10% of its wealth.  That is the reality here.  Ethnically, Namibia’s gene pool is about as diverse as you can find here – with the main tribes living here being San, Tamara (who like the Xhosa in South Africa, have a language based around 5 clicks) Otambo, and Herero – though the Herero’s numbers are vastly diminished due to their almost being exterminated by the Germans after colonization in a massive genocide that I’d never even heard of.

The other side of Swakopmund

The other side of Swakopmund

Of course most of the group were busy doing the adrenaline activities Swakopmund is touristically famous for: Skydiving, quad biking, sand boarding and the like.  I didn’t begrudge anyone enjoying these activities, of course, I just decided that I wanted to have a recuperative break here, and try to get to know the local communities a little better.  So, together with the Frenchies Sandrine and Benoit, I elected to go on a Township tour that could be done on bicycle.

It was a wonderful experience.

Getting out on our bike township tour

Getting out on our bike township tour

First of all, it was just great getting out on a bike for the first time and getting some needed exercise.  Our guide, Costa, was wonderful, generous, and enthusiastic about showing us the township which was also his home.  We made several stops enroute – to try biltong being sold by women on the side of the road (this is a type of dried meat like jerky but way better tasting) and next to a Herrero woman’s home.  She talked about what life was like here in the townships when the whites basically ousted all colored/black people to the outskirts of town – telling them that they would be provided better housing even though the purpose of the move was to establish segregation.  She said her family were given a much better concrete house compared to the converted rail carriage that they had been living in, so they were happy.

Township water pump

Township water pump

I learned that Herreros are essentially descendants of the Himba people.  The Himba were employed as servants and in general labor when the Germans first arrived here.  However, the German wives were none too pleased that their husbands were in the constant company of women who walked about without shame of their nakedness.  When these women started having babies that were far more light skinned than their husband’s genes would naturally procure, the wives insisted that the Himba employees clothe themselves modestly.  The Herrero chose very distinct clothing to ensure that their heritage would remain very distinctive, with giant headdresses that appeared like the bulls of a horn and would make the people look taller than they were.  Women of the Herrero were expected to marry young, and their husband would be chosen for them by their father’s brother.  Of course, as in many African cultures, men could have multiple wives, but it was interesting to hear this woman talk about how it was the first wife’s job to choose wife number two and three, making sure that they weren’t as pretty as wife number one.  For the lady whom we met, she thankfully said she’d raised seven children while being her husband’s only wife.  Enquiries as to why he hadn’t married more women were politely smiled at but not answered.

Cycling further into the outskirts of the townships we were able to observe the concrete permanent structures changing to tin, corrugated metals and makeshift cardboard and the dwellings went on as far as the eye could see.  Water is a precious resource in this township and it was interesting to see the line of people at the single pump for hundreds of residences, awaiting to pay money into a coin slot in order to fill up their jerry cans.  When you ran out of cash, you also ran out of water…

Me and a local Herrero woman

Me and a local Herrero woman

Our guide explained how you could qualify for help with certain types of housing with the Namibian government.  However, he also said that it wasn’t enough for you to have low wages; they had to be low enough to qualify, but high enough to afford the high interest rates on the mortgage.  He said he didn’t earn anywhere near enough to qualify, and was stuck sharing a small two bedroom unit with about 6 of his friends.

Closer look at the houses of the township

Closer look at the houses of the township

As the sun was setting we also visited a herbalist who was Tamara and kindly also gave us a great demonstration of the five clicks of her language while talking us through the various herbs and remedies that provided her livelihood.  It was so crazy to me that these people all lived together, all with such different backgrounds, cultures, each speaking their own native tongue but communicating with the majority either in English or Afrikaans.  We finished our tour with some streetside bbq which was delicious and then retired to a local bar where we were serenaded by an incredible 8 member a capella group who astonished me with their beautiful faces and harmonies.

This was definitely one of the highlights of Swakopmund for me.  The other came quite strangely, again, from my computer dilemnas.  Attempting to find a cheap replacement laptop as well as a way to fix my camera, I met a woman called Marshall who worked at Royal Computers about 15 minutes walk from our hostel.  After talking to her several times about the various models she had for sale, and discovering that she could very kindly restore the over 2000 photos that had been accidentally formatted from my SD card at a dumb internet café, she offered to drive me around the city in search of a good laptop.  I couldn’t believe how kind she was, and after four or five stops, I found a decent Lenovo for just over $500 that would serve me well for the remainder of my trip, if not in life after.

Me and Marshall

Me and Marshall

She introduced me to her husband and son, and her co-worker Chri-Lei, and the small group of us hang out after the shop closed on a Saturday, chatting merrily about life and what my travels had been like thus far.  I invited everyone out to lunch, but unfortunately the family had an appointment to go to.  I sang Marshall a song after she requested one and choosing a Janis Joplin number, she welled up with tears as she reached to hug me goodbye when I finished. I was very moved.

Walking towards the beach in search of a deserved beer, Chris-Lei joined me and he and I ended up having several rounds of drinks over fish and chips at a great little beachside restaurant for the rest of the day.  We talked about philosophy, religion, race, life in America, life for him in Namibia; there wasn’t a topic that was off the table, and it was so completely refreshing to feel such a great connection to another person.  To feel that I mattered again, to someone if only for a few hours.

Me and Chris-Lei

Me and Chris-Lei

Returning to my hostel first to take care of some errands, we arranged to meet up later and catch a movie at the local cinema.  Despite being a horrendous American Avengers movie, the cultural experience of going to a film here in Namibia made it well worthwhile.  Popcorn was served only  half-full – the people applying all manner of different flavored toppings before handing it back and having it filled completely.  The movie theatre was packed small with people of every shade of color, all talking in multiple languages and often during the movie that had terrible sound quality.  I still enjoyed myself thoroughly, especially in my new found friendship with Chris-Lei who later walked me back to my hostel.

It had been a lovely and refreshing change of pace to stay here a while.  But it was time to head back out now into the southern desert.

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