Michael's Blog
Tuesday, May 23, 2006
Mozambique: The Final Frontier
May 20, 2006, Naboomspruit, South Africa
Upon arriving in Witrivier we went to my friend Eugene's farm, where we planned on staying for the week. Eugene set up a series of meetings for us with local HIV/AIDS organizations, the local newspaper, and a news organization that distributes articles throughout southern Africa, Europe and the United States. We were hoping that by being in the local paper we could raise interest in our trip, possibly leading to funding. We were also hoping that the news syndicate would be interested in purchasing some of our articles, allowing us to fund the trip ourselves.
Obviously, since the trip is now over, neither option really worked out. We met with a reporter from the local Mpumalanga newspaper called the Lowvelder a couple of weeks ago. She seemed very interested in the trip and told us that her story about us would appear in the Friday edition of the paper. Eugene called me Friday morning and told me to come to his office and check the paper. When I arrived at his office, I picked up the Lowvelder hoping to see our picture on the front page. After all, we had to be the most interesting people to go through this small farming community (so we thought). I was shocked to see the headline "Flung From Car", a story about a kitten that was thrown from a moving truck and rescued by a good Samaritan. Needless to say we were a bit disappointed. (I did however find out today that the article appeared in yesterday's Lowvelder).
After this blow to our egos, I was a bit pessimistic about the idea that we would be able to earn enough money through our writing to continue with the trip. Our meeting with the news agency was on Monday, so we had at least one weekend left before the trip was finished. We decided that we would spend the weekend using our own money to do a couple of things in the area before the trip officially ended.
On Friday, we headed into Kruger National Park. This massive park is about the same size as Israel and is loaded with animals. We spent Friday evening and Saturday morning driving around the park, checking out lion cubs, elephants, rhinos, and loads of other wildlife.
On Saturday afternoon, we headed to Mozambique, the 19th country of the trip. I was a bit nervous about bringing our car into Mozambique because during my four previous trips to Mozambique, the police always did their best to find problems with the cars in which I was traveling. With the Stingray, they would not have much of a problem finding things that they could turn into fines. As we sat at the border waiting for our visas and car insurance, several policemen and immigration officials came by to check out the car. Instead of telling us it was not road worthy and that we would have to pay heavy fines, they instead informed us that they had seen our car on television. This comment was not new to us. We have often been mistaken for being involved with a television show in South Africa that involves three men traveling throughout the country in an old red car. The police and immigration officials were so excited that they were in the presence of "celebrities" that they did not bother trying to fine us.
Maputo, the capital of Mozambique proved to be a much better ending to our "African" experience than a small town in South Africa. Maputo has great energy. Set on the Indian Ocean, Maputo has welcoming people, beautiful architecture, a pumping night life and delicious seafood. I had been there several times before and was glad that Nate and Sean could experience a night there. Twenty-two hours later, we were leaving Maputo to go back to Witrivier and to sort out the remainder of the trip.
On Monday afternoon, Nate and I went to the office of the news agency to determine what our options for the future might be. The meeting was informative, but not very positive. The man that we spoke with seemed to like a lot of our articles; however the amount of money we would have been paid was not enough to propel the trip further. After this meeting we were certain that we would no longer be able to continue with the campaign.
With the AIDS Awareness Campaign officially over, it was now time to move on with our lives. Nate and I parted ways with Sean on Tuesday. Sean remained near the Mozambican border where he is hoping to sell the car. Nate and I are currently in Naboomspruit, our first stop when we arrived in South Africa. We plan to be here for another couple of weeks while we wrap up the remainder of the writing and editing for the trip, decompress and prepare for whatever lies ahead.
May 20, 2006, Naboomspruit, South Africa
Upon arriving in Witrivier we went to my friend Eugene's farm, where we planned on staying for the week. Eugene set up a series of meetings for us with local HIV/AIDS organizations, the local newspaper, and a news organization that distributes articles throughout southern Africa, Europe and the United States. We were hoping that by being in the local paper we could raise interest in our trip, possibly leading to funding. We were also hoping that the news syndicate would be interested in purchasing some of our articles, allowing us to fund the trip ourselves.
Obviously, since the trip is now over, neither option really worked out. We met with a reporter from the local Mpumalanga newspaper called the Lowvelder a couple of weeks ago. She seemed very interested in the trip and told us that her story about us would appear in the Friday edition of the paper. Eugene called me Friday morning and told me to come to his office and check the paper. When I arrived at his office, I picked up the Lowvelder hoping to see our picture on the front page. After all, we had to be the most interesting people to go through this small farming community (so we thought). I was shocked to see the headline "Flung From Car", a story about a kitten that was thrown from a moving truck and rescued by a good Samaritan. Needless to say we were a bit disappointed. (I did however find out today that the article appeared in yesterday's Lowvelder).
After this blow to our egos, I was a bit pessimistic about the idea that we would be able to earn enough money through our writing to continue with the trip. Our meeting with the news agency was on Monday, so we had at least one weekend left before the trip was finished. We decided that we would spend the weekend using our own money to do a couple of things in the area before the trip officially ended.
On Friday, we headed into Kruger National Park. This massive park is about the same size as Israel and is loaded with animals. We spent Friday evening and Saturday morning driving around the park, checking out lion cubs, elephants, rhinos, and loads of other wildlife.
On Saturday afternoon, we headed to Mozambique, the 19th country of the trip. I was a bit nervous about bringing our car into Mozambique because during my four previous trips to Mozambique, the police always did their best to find problems with the cars in which I was traveling. With the Stingray, they would not have much of a problem finding things that they could turn into fines. As we sat at the border waiting for our visas and car insurance, several policemen and immigration officials came by to check out the car. Instead of telling us it was not road worthy and that we would have to pay heavy fines, they instead informed us that they had seen our car on television. This comment was not new to us. We have often been mistaken for being involved with a television show in South Africa that involves three men traveling throughout the country in an old red car. The police and immigration officials were so excited that they were in the presence of "celebrities" that they did not bother trying to fine us.
Maputo, the capital of Mozambique proved to be a much better ending to our "African" experience than a small town in South Africa. Maputo has great energy. Set on the Indian Ocean, Maputo has welcoming people, beautiful architecture, a pumping night life and delicious seafood. I had been there several times before and was glad that Nate and Sean could experience a night there. Twenty-two hours later, we were leaving Maputo to go back to Witrivier and to sort out the remainder of the trip.
On Monday afternoon, Nate and I went to the office of the news agency to determine what our options for the future might be. The meeting was informative, but not very positive. The man that we spoke with seemed to like a lot of our articles; however the amount of money we would have been paid was not enough to propel the trip further. After this meeting we were certain that we would no longer be able to continue with the campaign.
With the AIDS Awareness Campaign officially over, it was now time to move on with our lives. Nate and I parted ways with Sean on Tuesday. Sean remained near the Mozambican border where he is hoping to sell the car. Nate and I are currently in Naboomspruit, our first stop when we arrived in South Africa. We plan to be here for another couple of weeks while we wrap up the remainder of the writing and editing for the trip, decompress and prepare for whatever lies ahead.
Tuesday, May 09, 2006
Back in Small Town South Africa
May 7, 2006, Witrivier, South Africa
During the past couple of weeks we have covered a lot of ground and been reunited with a couple of friends. After leaving Jeffrey's Bay, we continued east along the coast through an area known as "The Wild Coast". The drive was beautiful: mountains to the north, the Indian Ocean to the south, and charming beach towns all along the way. Of course, though, the tranquility of the drive could not be completely enjoyed since I was waiting for the car to fall apart.
At one point, we entered an area called the Trankskei. This area was actually an independent state until the early 90's. It consists of various villages set in the hills, mountains, and valleys. Cows, goats, and sheep litter the streets. Small farms that provide food for the families that live there are scattered throughout the hillsides. As we drove through this area, we got a real feeling that we were back in "Africa". Much of South Africa has a feel of suburban, urban, or small town America, however the Transkei was much different.
We were eager to spend a couple of days in this area, but as we were driving, we blew two tires within a couple of hours. Blowing tires is actually one of the most minor problems we have with the car. Changing a tire is a ten minute process, the only struggle is provided by our archaic jacks. However, blowing two tires became a big deal because we were forced to use our last two spare tires. The area that we were in was very rural and the chances of finding any tires, especially the correct size for our car, were going to be slim.
Our only choice was to turn around and continue up the coast, hoping to find a larger town that would have spare tires. Before leaving the Transkei, we stopped in a small shop/restaurant to get lunch. There was no menu. We could not understand a word of what the girl behind the counter said when we asked what the food of the day was, but we ordered three. The staff spoke very basic English, causing us to use sign language to communicate our needs. When we asked for a bathroom to wash our hands, which were covered in dirt and grease from changing the tires, we were given a basin of water which immediately turned brown from our filth. It was great being back in Africa! As quickly as we entered this alternative world, though, we continued down the road and re-entered "America".
Within a few days we arrived in Greytown, a destination that we have been eager to see for the past couple of weeks. We first heard about Greytown when Sean and I were driving from Johannesburg to Cape Town. In a previous blog, I explained how we stopped in a town called Colesburg and met two men from Greytown who invited us to stay with them when we were in that area (this was the night when Sean and I didn’t have money to stay anywhere and initiated our new occasional practice of sleeping in the car).
Our purpose in going to Greytown was to see how HIV/AIDS was affecting rural South Africa, where some estimates list the rate of infection at 70%. We stayed with one of the men who we met, named Les, and his family. We arrived on a four day weekend, and could not meet with the HIV/AIDS organization until Tuesday. Over the weekend, Les and his family showed great hospitality, the same wonderful hospitality we've received all throughout South Africa.
On Tuesday we met with the head of an organization in Greytown that is involved with home based care (Sean will soon be posting an article) and she offered to let us tag along on Wednesday, as she visited various homes. The primary objective of the organization is to provide basic necessities for people who are terminally ill and hopefully help them to regain a satisfactory level of health. In addition, they aid the people in obtaining documents such as birth certificates and national identity cards that will allow them to benefit from government programs.
On Wednesday morning we set off through the mountains with a pick-up truck full of food, blankets, and clothing. After about 45 minutes of driving on winding paved roads, we pulled onto a rocky dirt road and then stopped at a collection of four small cement, mud, and rock houses. The care providers working for the organization gathered the goods from the back of the truck and approached a round cement house with a thatched roof. A couple of minutes later, one of the care givers emerged from the house and asked us to come in. As I entered the dark room, I first noticed the small, coal burning fire on the ground that caused a smoky smell to fill the house. As I looked past the stove, my eyes met the reason for our visit. She was wrapped in blankets on the cement floor. I could not determine her age, but she looked young. One of the workers told us that she was 19 years old.
We were told that this young woman had lived in Johannesburg, but like many others, when she got sick, she came back to her family. According to the care giver, the girl is not eligible for the free anti-retroviral drugs that are offered by the government because she does not have a national identity card. In order to get one, she would have to walk down the mountain, sit by the side of the road waiting for a taxi that might not come that day and that would cost money that her family did not have, and then sit in a government office filling out papers. She would then have to wait up to six months to get the identity card. This all from a girl that could hardly walk and might die at anytime.
We continued on to other families, hearing their various stories. At another house that we visited we met a man and his sister. His sister had been raped a couple of months earlier and was not yet sure of her HIV status. We were told that the woman, despite being in her thirties, has the mental age of a three year old. The man who raped her was caught and the trial is set for the middle of this month. As if the initial rape was not horrific enough, the family of the victim is now being harassed by members of the rapist's family. Apparently they feel that as a man, it was his right to have sex with the woman and she had no right reporting it. As we drove back to Greytown, I sat silently, trying not to generalize about "African" culture, and I wondered how people could be so ignorant.
The next day, we left Greytown and headed into Swaziland, the 18th country for the African AIDS Awareness Campaign. Swaziland has the highest national HIV/AIDS infection rate, over 40%. We planned to stay in Swaziland for a few days and meet with a couple of organizations. Within two hours of entering Swaziland, we entered the town of Manzini, looking for the backpackers lodges listed in our guide books. Unfortunately, neither of the books gave directions or addresses for the backpackers, so we decided to drive around and ask for directions. As we drove through the downtown area, receiving contradictory directions from people that were not even familiar with the word "backpacker", we were stopped by the police. The officer who stopped us, informed us that our car was not roadworthy and that we would have to pay a fine. We explained how far the car had come and that the officials at the border approved of the car, but he would not budge. He asked Sean to go with him into the police station. Twenty minutes and ten American dollars later, we were back on our quest to find the backpackers.
Night quickly fell and there was still no sign of the backpackers' lodge. We drove in and out of the town at least five times, following three different sets of directions. When we finally did find the backpackers we were exhausted and hungry. We booked in and then got directions to a supermarket. We arrived just as it was closing, quickly got some food and then sat on a bench outside of the supermarket and discussed our plans for the next few days. After eating, Nate went to the ATM machine to draw cash, because we barely had enough to pay for our accommodation for one night, nevermind putting gas in the car and staying for a few days. Nate returned and informed us that neither of the two cash machines was accepting his card; they represented the two most prevalent banks in the area and had never before constituted a problem. This, combined with the warm welcome of the police, convinced us that Swaziland did not want us there. The only other cash available to us was sixty American dollars that I had, which would pay for our night's accommodation and our departing tank of gas. If need be, we will return to Swaziland with a certificate of roadworthiness and a full pocketbook.
We spent the night at the backpackers and in the morning I changed money to pay for our bill and fill the car. We left Swaziland twenty-two hours after arriving and headed to my friend Eugene's farm in Witrivier, South Africa. We arrived at his farm two days ago with fifty cents in South African rand, the equivalent of eight American cents. Thankfully Sean and I have been reunited with our ATM and credit cards that were sent to Eugene from the States. During the next business week, a series of meetings will determine the future of our campaign. I'll keep you posted.
May 7, 2006, Witrivier, South Africa
During the past couple of weeks we have covered a lot of ground and been reunited with a couple of friends. After leaving Jeffrey's Bay, we continued east along the coast through an area known as "The Wild Coast". The drive was beautiful: mountains to the north, the Indian Ocean to the south, and charming beach towns all along the way. Of course, though, the tranquility of the drive could not be completely enjoyed since I was waiting for the car to fall apart.
At one point, we entered an area called the Trankskei. This area was actually an independent state until the early 90's. It consists of various villages set in the hills, mountains, and valleys. Cows, goats, and sheep litter the streets. Small farms that provide food for the families that live there are scattered throughout the hillsides. As we drove through this area, we got a real feeling that we were back in "Africa". Much of South Africa has a feel of suburban, urban, or small town America, however the Transkei was much different.
We were eager to spend a couple of days in this area, but as we were driving, we blew two tires within a couple of hours. Blowing tires is actually one of the most minor problems we have with the car. Changing a tire is a ten minute process, the only struggle is provided by our archaic jacks. However, blowing two tires became a big deal because we were forced to use our last two spare tires. The area that we were in was very rural and the chances of finding any tires, especially the correct size for our car, were going to be slim.
Our only choice was to turn around and continue up the coast, hoping to find a larger town that would have spare tires. Before leaving the Transkei, we stopped in a small shop/restaurant to get lunch. There was no menu. We could not understand a word of what the girl behind the counter said when we asked what the food of the day was, but we ordered three. The staff spoke very basic English, causing us to use sign language to communicate our needs. When we asked for a bathroom to wash our hands, which were covered in dirt and grease from changing the tires, we were given a basin of water which immediately turned brown from our filth. It was great being back in Africa! As quickly as we entered this alternative world, though, we continued down the road and re-entered "America".
Within a few days we arrived in Greytown, a destination that we have been eager to see for the past couple of weeks. We first heard about Greytown when Sean and I were driving from Johannesburg to Cape Town. In a previous blog, I explained how we stopped in a town called Colesburg and met two men from Greytown who invited us to stay with them when we were in that area (this was the night when Sean and I didn’t have money to stay anywhere and initiated our new occasional practice of sleeping in the car).
Our purpose in going to Greytown was to see how HIV/AIDS was affecting rural South Africa, where some estimates list the rate of infection at 70%. We stayed with one of the men who we met, named Les, and his family. We arrived on a four day weekend, and could not meet with the HIV/AIDS organization until Tuesday. Over the weekend, Les and his family showed great hospitality, the same wonderful hospitality we've received all throughout South Africa.
On Tuesday we met with the head of an organization in Greytown that is involved with home based care (Sean will soon be posting an article) and she offered to let us tag along on Wednesday, as she visited various homes. The primary objective of the organization is to provide basic necessities for people who are terminally ill and hopefully help them to regain a satisfactory level of health. In addition, they aid the people in obtaining documents such as birth certificates and national identity cards that will allow them to benefit from government programs.
On Wednesday morning we set off through the mountains with a pick-up truck full of food, blankets, and clothing. After about 45 minutes of driving on winding paved roads, we pulled onto a rocky dirt road and then stopped at a collection of four small cement, mud, and rock houses. The care providers working for the organization gathered the goods from the back of the truck and approached a round cement house with a thatched roof. A couple of minutes later, one of the care givers emerged from the house and asked us to come in. As I entered the dark room, I first noticed the small, coal burning fire on the ground that caused a smoky smell to fill the house. As I looked past the stove, my eyes met the reason for our visit. She was wrapped in blankets on the cement floor. I could not determine her age, but she looked young. One of the workers told us that she was 19 years old.
We were told that this young woman had lived in Johannesburg, but like many others, when she got sick, she came back to her family. According to the care giver, the girl is not eligible for the free anti-retroviral drugs that are offered by the government because she does not have a national identity card. In order to get one, she would have to walk down the mountain, sit by the side of the road waiting for a taxi that might not come that day and that would cost money that her family did not have, and then sit in a government office filling out papers. She would then have to wait up to six months to get the identity card. This all from a girl that could hardly walk and might die at anytime.
We continued on to other families, hearing their various stories. At another house that we visited we met a man and his sister. His sister had been raped a couple of months earlier and was not yet sure of her HIV status. We were told that the woman, despite being in her thirties, has the mental age of a three year old. The man who raped her was caught and the trial is set for the middle of this month. As if the initial rape was not horrific enough, the family of the victim is now being harassed by members of the rapist's family. Apparently they feel that as a man, it was his right to have sex with the woman and she had no right reporting it. As we drove back to Greytown, I sat silently, trying not to generalize about "African" culture, and I wondered how people could be so ignorant.
The next day, we left Greytown and headed into Swaziland, the 18th country for the African AIDS Awareness Campaign. Swaziland has the highest national HIV/AIDS infection rate, over 40%. We planned to stay in Swaziland for a few days and meet with a couple of organizations. Within two hours of entering Swaziland, we entered the town of Manzini, looking for the backpackers lodges listed in our guide books. Unfortunately, neither of the books gave directions or addresses for the backpackers, so we decided to drive around and ask for directions. As we drove through the downtown area, receiving contradictory directions from people that were not even familiar with the word "backpacker", we were stopped by the police. The officer who stopped us, informed us that our car was not roadworthy and that we would have to pay a fine. We explained how far the car had come and that the officials at the border approved of the car, but he would not budge. He asked Sean to go with him into the police station. Twenty minutes and ten American dollars later, we were back on our quest to find the backpackers.
Night quickly fell and there was still no sign of the backpackers' lodge. We drove in and out of the town at least five times, following three different sets of directions. When we finally did find the backpackers we were exhausted and hungry. We booked in and then got directions to a supermarket. We arrived just as it was closing, quickly got some food and then sat on a bench outside of the supermarket and discussed our plans for the next few days. After eating, Nate went to the ATM machine to draw cash, because we barely had enough to pay for our accommodation for one night, nevermind putting gas in the car and staying for a few days. Nate returned and informed us that neither of the two cash machines was accepting his card; they represented the two most prevalent banks in the area and had never before constituted a problem. This, combined with the warm welcome of the police, convinced us that Swaziland did not want us there. The only other cash available to us was sixty American dollars that I had, which would pay for our night's accommodation and our departing tank of gas. If need be, we will return to Swaziland with a certificate of roadworthiness and a full pocketbook.
We spent the night at the backpackers and in the morning I changed money to pay for our bill and fill the car. We left Swaziland twenty-two hours after arriving and headed to my friend Eugene's farm in Witrivier, South Africa. We arrived at his farm two days ago with fifty cents in South African rand, the equivalent of eight American cents. Thankfully Sean and I have been reunited with our ATM and credit cards that were sent to Eugene from the States. During the next business week, a series of meetings will determine the future of our campaign. I'll keep you posted.
Saturday, April 22, 2006
No Waves At The Surfing Mecca Of South Africa
April 22, 2006, Jeffrey's Bay, South Africa
The past few days we spent in Plettenburg Bay, staying at a cottage owned by friends of Nate's parents. The cottage was situated ten kilometers outside of the town of Plettenburg Bay. It was a lot like staying in the Hamptons. The gated community in which we stayed had charming brick streets that led to beautiful vacation homes, which, despite being owned by wealthy people, were tastefully sized and designed. The houses were set on a river that was situated below the mountains and led into the bay. Each house had various watercrafts (motorboats, wave runners, kayaks, canoes etc.) tied up on the waterfront behind their property. I'm sure it was a shock to the neighborhood when three scruffy young Americans pulled up in our ghastly excuse for a car.
We spent the majority of our time writing and planning out the rest of our trip. In our down time, we decided to play a bit of Frisbee on the perfectly manicured lawn. Given our surroundings, I felt like I was on a photo shoot for a J Crew catalogue.
Frisbee went well, until the inevitable occurred: the Frisbee got stuck on roof. It's understandable that when we were children, Frisbees constantly ended up on the roof. However, one would think that three college-educated, adult men could throw a Frisbee on a huge lawn and avoid getting it stuck on the roof; nevertheless, Sean misfired and we had to abandon our sport. (Sean took responsibility and agonized over recovery strategies while he tried to fall asleep; he was up early the next morning with a towel tied to a rope, "fishing" for the stranded pink disk).
Yesterday afternoon we drove 150 kilometers further along the coast and arrived at Jeffrey's Bay, which is list by one guide book as the, "Mecca of South African surfing." This did not necessarily interest me, but Nate was pretty psyched about catching some waves. When we arrived Nate checked the wave situation and reported to us that the sea was flat, but would be great today. This information however was not accurate, and Nate is presently sitting next to me at his computer, 100 meters from the waveless ocean.
The place where we are staying is definitely the highlight of our visit to Jeffrey's Bay. We are camping at a backpacker's lodge that is situated on a sand dune directly on the beach. Falling asleep to the sound of the ocean is reminiscent of my days living near the beach in The Gambia.
We plan to stay here for a day or two more, at which point we will race up the coast and attempt to make it to Mozambique within the next couple of weeks. On the way we plan to spend a few days near Durban, in South Africa, with some guys who Sean and I met on the way to Cape Town. They explained that the area in which they live has one of the highest, if not the highest HIV rate in the world.
April 22, 2006, Jeffrey's Bay, South Africa
The past few days we spent in Plettenburg Bay, staying at a cottage owned by friends of Nate's parents. The cottage was situated ten kilometers outside of the town of Plettenburg Bay. It was a lot like staying in the Hamptons. The gated community in which we stayed had charming brick streets that led to beautiful vacation homes, which, despite being owned by wealthy people, were tastefully sized and designed. The houses were set on a river that was situated below the mountains and led into the bay. Each house had various watercrafts (motorboats, wave runners, kayaks, canoes etc.) tied up on the waterfront behind their property. I'm sure it was a shock to the neighborhood when three scruffy young Americans pulled up in our ghastly excuse for a car.
We spent the majority of our time writing and planning out the rest of our trip. In our down time, we decided to play a bit of Frisbee on the perfectly manicured lawn. Given our surroundings, I felt like I was on a photo shoot for a J Crew catalogue.
Frisbee went well, until the inevitable occurred: the Frisbee got stuck on roof. It's understandable that when we were children, Frisbees constantly ended up on the roof. However, one would think that three college-educated, adult men could throw a Frisbee on a huge lawn and avoid getting it stuck on the roof; nevertheless, Sean misfired and we had to abandon our sport. (Sean took responsibility and agonized over recovery strategies while he tried to fall asleep; he was up early the next morning with a towel tied to a rope, "fishing" for the stranded pink disk).
Yesterday afternoon we drove 150 kilometers further along the coast and arrived at Jeffrey's Bay, which is list by one guide book as the, "Mecca of South African surfing." This did not necessarily interest me, but Nate was pretty psyched about catching some waves. When we arrived Nate checked the wave situation and reported to us that the sea was flat, but would be great today. This information however was not accurate, and Nate is presently sitting next to me at his computer, 100 meters from the waveless ocean.
The place where we are staying is definitely the highlight of our visit to Jeffrey's Bay. We are camping at a backpacker's lodge that is situated on a sand dune directly on the beach. Falling asleep to the sound of the ocean is reminiscent of my days living near the beach in The Gambia.
We plan to stay here for a day or two more, at which point we will race up the coast and attempt to make it to Mozambique within the next couple of weeks. On the way we plan to spend a few days near Durban, in South Africa, with some guys who Sean and I met on the way to Cape Town. They explained that the area in which they live has one of the highest, if not the highest HIV rate in the world.
Wednesday, April 19, 2006
The Hits Just Keep On Comin'
April 19, 2006, Plettenburg, South Africa
There are not many things that make the hair on my neck stand on end as quickly as the sound of a shock absorber snapping in half at 70 miles per hour.
Our time in Cape Town was enjoyable, yet uneventful. It is a beautiful city, situated on the southern most tip of Africa, with a breathtaking coastline, surrounded by mountains. We spent about a week, trouncing through various coastal towns; however writing any more about our time there would be about as interesting as writing about my last vacation at the Jersey shore.
On Monday morning we set off for our next destination, Mosselbay, which is about 400 kilometers from Cape Town. The drive was beautiful. We cruised over mountains and into valleys that contained small, quaint towns. I dozed in and out of consciousness in the backseat listening to the melodic tunes emanating from the stereo. Unfortunately, my slumber abruptly came to an end with the gut-wrenching sound of the car's shock absorber breaking at 70 miles an hour, followed by the smell of burning rubber and the sight of smoking pouring in from behind my head.
Sean pulled the car to the side of the road and we hopped out to inspect the damage. We jacked up the car, took the tire off and found that the brand new shock which we bought in Windhoek had snapped in half. We spent the next 45 minutes taking the shock off and then decided that Sean should go to the next town to find a new shock absorber. We spent the next hour trying to flag down cars, finding that most people were not willing to stop. Eventually, two men stopped. They informed us that there was a Midas car parts store about 60 kilometers away. Sean got in their car, while Nate and I wrote down the license plate number, hoping we'd see our friend again soon with a new shock.
Nate and I spent the next few hours watching the traffic pass and making small talk. The road that we were on was very busy, which wasn't comforting at all. For starters, we were terrified that someone would bash into us, due to that fact that everyone was driving at least 75 miles an hour while constantly trying to overtake one another. We were also concerned that we would be robbed, especially as night fell; South Africa has one of the worst reputations for car jackers and highway robberies. We discussed various scenarios involving groups of men stopping and stealing our clothes, computers, passports and the small bit of money that we had at gun point and/or knife point.
This fear began to take a legitimate form as a car stopped in front of us. As the driver exited his truck and approached our car, my imagination raced in a million different directions. I was slightly relieved when the faces of six children appeared in the back window. We got out and greeted the man, who asked if we needed help. I explained that we had broken a shock and that our friend had gone to town to get a new one, and the police. The last part was cowardly lies. The man wished us luck and left.
Nate and I continued to sit in the car, in the dark, wondering what happened to Sean and wondering what might happen to us. After some time, a truck drove by us slowly, turned around and pulled in front of us. The tailgate opened and several men jumped out. I grabbed the tire iron and Nate opened his knife and we slowly got out of the car. As we approached the men, we realized that Sean was with them and he had a new shock. I was pretty relieved that I did not have to attempt fight four men with a tire iron (I'm pretty sure we would have lost).
We put on the new shock and decided to head to the next town and sleep there for the night. We got into town around nine and found a backpackers lodge that wanted to charge us around twenty US dollars to camp. We didn't particularly like the price, the fact that there was no secure parking, nor the attitude of the man who worked there. But we did not think we'd find a better place so late at night. Nate and I decided to sleep in the car and guard it (and save money), while Sean slept in a tent, ensuring that we would be able to use the bathrooms and kitchen when necessary.
Sleeping in the car (for the second time in about a week) was not the most comfortable experience. The worst part about it was that I was in a sleeping bag and that my legs were pinned under the steering wheel. I felt like a worm that some snot-nosed kid had pinned down with a stick. I was forced to sleep in one, uncomfortable position for the entire night. But I sure showed that jerk at reception.
We have now driven a bit further down the coast and are staying in a beautiful coastal town called Plettenburg. Fortunately, Nate's family friend has a waterfront cottage that we can stay in for free. Unfortunately, Sean, who's working next to me, has just told me that he doesn't think we have enough money to make it much further. So, for those of you who are waiting for me to get back to the US, you might see me in a few weeks.
April 19, 2006, Plettenburg, South Africa
There are not many things that make the hair on my neck stand on end as quickly as the sound of a shock absorber snapping in half at 70 miles per hour.
Our time in Cape Town was enjoyable, yet uneventful. It is a beautiful city, situated on the southern most tip of Africa, with a breathtaking coastline, surrounded by mountains. We spent about a week, trouncing through various coastal towns; however writing any more about our time there would be about as interesting as writing about my last vacation at the Jersey shore.
On Monday morning we set off for our next destination, Mosselbay, which is about 400 kilometers from Cape Town. The drive was beautiful. We cruised over mountains and into valleys that contained small, quaint towns. I dozed in and out of consciousness in the backseat listening to the melodic tunes emanating from the stereo. Unfortunately, my slumber abruptly came to an end with the gut-wrenching sound of the car's shock absorber breaking at 70 miles an hour, followed by the smell of burning rubber and the sight of smoking pouring in from behind my head.
Sean pulled the car to the side of the road and we hopped out to inspect the damage. We jacked up the car, took the tire off and found that the brand new shock which we bought in Windhoek had snapped in half. We spent the next 45 minutes taking the shock off and then decided that Sean should go to the next town to find a new shock absorber. We spent the next hour trying to flag down cars, finding that most people were not willing to stop. Eventually, two men stopped. They informed us that there was a Midas car parts store about 60 kilometers away. Sean got in their car, while Nate and I wrote down the license plate number, hoping we'd see our friend again soon with a new shock.
Nate and I spent the next few hours watching the traffic pass and making small talk. The road that we were on was very busy, which wasn't comforting at all. For starters, we were terrified that someone would bash into us, due to that fact that everyone was driving at least 75 miles an hour while constantly trying to overtake one another. We were also concerned that we would be robbed, especially as night fell; South Africa has one of the worst reputations for car jackers and highway robberies. We discussed various scenarios involving groups of men stopping and stealing our clothes, computers, passports and the small bit of money that we had at gun point and/or knife point.
This fear began to take a legitimate form as a car stopped in front of us. As the driver exited his truck and approached our car, my imagination raced in a million different directions. I was slightly relieved when the faces of six children appeared in the back window. We got out and greeted the man, who asked if we needed help. I explained that we had broken a shock and that our friend had gone to town to get a new one, and the police. The last part was cowardly lies. The man wished us luck and left.
Nate and I continued to sit in the car, in the dark, wondering what happened to Sean and wondering what might happen to us. After some time, a truck drove by us slowly, turned around and pulled in front of us. The tailgate opened and several men jumped out. I grabbed the tire iron and Nate opened his knife and we slowly got out of the car. As we approached the men, we realized that Sean was with them and he had a new shock. I was pretty relieved that I did not have to attempt fight four men with a tire iron (I'm pretty sure we would have lost).
We put on the new shock and decided to head to the next town and sleep there for the night. We got into town around nine and found a backpackers lodge that wanted to charge us around twenty US dollars to camp. We didn't particularly like the price, the fact that there was no secure parking, nor the attitude of the man who worked there. But we did not think we'd find a better place so late at night. Nate and I decided to sleep in the car and guard it (and save money), while Sean slept in a tent, ensuring that we would be able to use the bathrooms and kitchen when necessary.
Sleeping in the car (for the second time in about a week) was not the most comfortable experience. The worst part about it was that I was in a sleeping bag and that my legs were pinned under the steering wheel. I felt like a worm that some snot-nosed kid had pinned down with a stick. I was forced to sleep in one, uncomfortable position for the entire night. But I sure showed that jerk at reception.
We have now driven a bit further down the coast and are staying in a beautiful coastal town called Plettenburg. Fortunately, Nate's family friend has a waterfront cottage that we can stay in for free. Unfortunately, Sean, who's working next to me, has just told me that he doesn't think we have enough money to make it much further. So, for those of you who are waiting for me to get back to the US, you might see me in a few weeks.
Tuesday, April 11, 2006
Fate vs. Stupidity: Being robbed at knife point in downtown Johannesburg (aka the crime capital of the world)
April 10, 2006, Cape Town, South Africa
After a long, tedious journey Sean and I have finally arrived in Cape Town. My last blog was set in Naboomspruit, where the car broke down, again. As I mentioned before, we were leaving Naboomspruit to go to Johannesburg, when the shock absorber started rubbing against the tire. This resulted in an awful sound, the smell of burning rubber, and the disintegration of the tire.
The next morning, Sean and I went back to the mechanic who had worked on the car earlier in the week. He directed us to a panelklopper (welder) who had a shop just around the corner from his. We went to his shop and he informed us that the problem was a bit more complicated than a bent shock. He drew our attention to the back of the car, which looked like it had bowed legs. He told us that he would have to bend a bunch of stuff and weld a bunch of stuff to fix it. This meant a few more days in Naboomspruit and a bunch more cash for car repairs.
The following day Tuuli left for Jo'burg to start a new job and we planned to meet her a couple of days later. The car was finished on Thursday and we headed to Jo'burg to spend the night with some great people who we met at the kudu dropping spitting contest. The next day we went to the house where Tuuli was staying to have lunch with her boss. We were originally told to be there at 12:30 sharp, so just to be safe we got there at 11:30. We waited for the next three hours and there was no sign of lunch being made and no sign of her boss. Around three we had lunch and then Tuuli told us that she wanted to show us around "town" where she had spent the previous afternoon.
"Town" ended up being central Jo'burg, one of the most dangerous areas in the world. We were a bit weary of central Jo'burg but Tuuli assured us that she had done it the day before and it was safe. We walked around for a couple of hours and then decided to stop off for a quick drink and a rest. We saw a bar advertised on a sign board and proceeded to enter. The bar was filled with about 70 men and a few women. I realized that we were the only white people in the bar; however this is not an uncommon thing for us given that we are in Africa. What took me by surprise though, was the man who immediately approached and asked if I was scared and that I should be because Jo'burg is a dangerous city. Being a bit overconfident and very naïve, we sat down and had a drink.
After about 45 minutes, we decided it would be best to go to the bus station and get a mini bus back to the house. As we left the bar, I realized that night was quickly approaching. Considering that the Lonely Planet guide book said that "you'd be crazy to walk around central Jo'burg at night" I was a bit nervous. However, the streets were still really crowded and the bus station was not far away. I'm not sure exactly what happened next, but there was suddenly a knife blade three inches away from my face. I wanted to look around and see what was happening to Tuuli and Sean, but could not take my focus off of the knife. Two men started going through my pockets and I attempted to hurry the process by reaching in my pocket to take out my money. I quickly stopped, however when the man with the knife told me that he also had a gun and he would shoot me in the face. The men emptied my pockets and then the man with the knife thanked me (yes he actually said "Thank you very much").
All of the men, about eight in total left us all at the same time. I looked around and saw that everyone on the street had been watching, but I understand why they didn't help. Luckily, the men left 40 Rand in my pocket, enough to get us back to Tuuli's house. The next few hours were spent canceling credit cards and being told "I told you so" by all of my South African friends.
The next day, Sean and I got back on the horse and headed to a hospital in Soweto, the main township of Jo'burg. We met with a few different organizations that are doing great work, which will be discussed in a future article.
On Saturday, we decided that we should head down to Cape Town and meet up with Nate. Before leaving, I went to the bank and exchanged money, hoping that it would be enough to get us to Cape Town, where Nate had more money. As if the concern about money wasn't enough, Sean's international driver's license expired last week and his California driver's license was stolen in Jo'burg, which meant that I would be driving the entire 1,000 miles.
Saturday's drive was pretty uneventful. Around six in the evening we pulled off in a small town and checked around for accommodation. We found a place that was reasonable, but were still concerned that we would run out of money. Sean told the man that we would be back later, but that we wanted to grab some food first. The man recommended an Irish pub around the corner.
The pub had great food, at great prices and a nice crowd of people. While we were eating we started talking to some other guys at the bar who had passed us on the road a few times that day. They were very impressed with the trip and with the car and invited us to stay with them in a couple of weeks when we will be further up the coast. We hung out with the guys for the next few hours. When we were ready to go to sleep we thought about going to the lodge where we inquired about rooms. We realized, however, that the price of accommodation would put a dent in our ability to buy fuel. Given that making it to Cape Town was more important than staying in a comfy bed for a night, we decided to sleep in the car, which was parked in the street outside of the Irish pub.
Five hours later, I awoke and realized that I would not be able to sleep another minute in the car due to the freezing temperatures (my teeth were chattering), Sean's snoring, and the uncomfortable position in which I was attempting to sleep. I woke Sean up and spent the next twelve hours driving to Cape Town, where we were happily reunited with Nate, completely broke, at the bottom of Africa.
April 10, 2006, Cape Town, South Africa
After a long, tedious journey Sean and I have finally arrived in Cape Town. My last blog was set in Naboomspruit, where the car broke down, again. As I mentioned before, we were leaving Naboomspruit to go to Johannesburg, when the shock absorber started rubbing against the tire. This resulted in an awful sound, the smell of burning rubber, and the disintegration of the tire.
The next morning, Sean and I went back to the mechanic who had worked on the car earlier in the week. He directed us to a panelklopper (welder) who had a shop just around the corner from his. We went to his shop and he informed us that the problem was a bit more complicated than a bent shock. He drew our attention to the back of the car, which looked like it had bowed legs. He told us that he would have to bend a bunch of stuff and weld a bunch of stuff to fix it. This meant a few more days in Naboomspruit and a bunch more cash for car repairs.
The following day Tuuli left for Jo'burg to start a new job and we planned to meet her a couple of days later. The car was finished on Thursday and we headed to Jo'burg to spend the night with some great people who we met at the kudu dropping spitting contest. The next day we went to the house where Tuuli was staying to have lunch with her boss. We were originally told to be there at 12:30 sharp, so just to be safe we got there at 11:30. We waited for the next three hours and there was no sign of lunch being made and no sign of her boss. Around three we had lunch and then Tuuli told us that she wanted to show us around "town" where she had spent the previous afternoon.
"Town" ended up being central Jo'burg, one of the most dangerous areas in the world. We were a bit weary of central Jo'burg but Tuuli assured us that she had done it the day before and it was safe. We walked around for a couple of hours and then decided to stop off for a quick drink and a rest. We saw a bar advertised on a sign board and proceeded to enter. The bar was filled with about 70 men and a few women. I realized that we were the only white people in the bar; however this is not an uncommon thing for us given that we are in Africa. What took me by surprise though, was the man who immediately approached and asked if I was scared and that I should be because Jo'burg is a dangerous city. Being a bit overconfident and very naïve, we sat down and had a drink.
After about 45 minutes, we decided it would be best to go to the bus station and get a mini bus back to the house. As we left the bar, I realized that night was quickly approaching. Considering that the Lonely Planet guide book said that "you'd be crazy to walk around central Jo'burg at night" I was a bit nervous. However, the streets were still really crowded and the bus station was not far away. I'm not sure exactly what happened next, but there was suddenly a knife blade three inches away from my face. I wanted to look around and see what was happening to Tuuli and Sean, but could not take my focus off of the knife. Two men started going through my pockets and I attempted to hurry the process by reaching in my pocket to take out my money. I quickly stopped, however when the man with the knife told me that he also had a gun and he would shoot me in the face. The men emptied my pockets and then the man with the knife thanked me (yes he actually said "Thank you very much").
All of the men, about eight in total left us all at the same time. I looked around and saw that everyone on the street had been watching, but I understand why they didn't help. Luckily, the men left 40 Rand in my pocket, enough to get us back to Tuuli's house. The next few hours were spent canceling credit cards and being told "I told you so" by all of my South African friends.
The next day, Sean and I got back on the horse and headed to a hospital in Soweto, the main township of Jo'burg. We met with a few different organizations that are doing great work, which will be discussed in a future article.
On Saturday, we decided that we should head down to Cape Town and meet up with Nate. Before leaving, I went to the bank and exchanged money, hoping that it would be enough to get us to Cape Town, where Nate had more money. As if the concern about money wasn't enough, Sean's international driver's license expired last week and his California driver's license was stolen in Jo'burg, which meant that I would be driving the entire 1,000 miles.
Saturday's drive was pretty uneventful. Around six in the evening we pulled off in a small town and checked around for accommodation. We found a place that was reasonable, but were still concerned that we would run out of money. Sean told the man that we would be back later, but that we wanted to grab some food first. The man recommended an Irish pub around the corner.
The pub had great food, at great prices and a nice crowd of people. While we were eating we started talking to some other guys at the bar who had passed us on the road a few times that day. They were very impressed with the trip and with the car and invited us to stay with them in a couple of weeks when we will be further up the coast. We hung out with the guys for the next few hours. When we were ready to go to sleep we thought about going to the lodge where we inquired about rooms. We realized, however, that the price of accommodation would put a dent in our ability to buy fuel. Given that making it to Cape Town was more important than staying in a comfy bed for a night, we decided to sleep in the car, which was parked in the street outside of the Irish pub.
Five hours later, I awoke and realized that I would not be able to sleep another minute in the car due to the freezing temperatures (my teeth were chattering), Sean's snoring, and the uncomfortable position in which I was attempting to sleep. I woke Sean up and spent the next twelve hours driving to Cape Town, where we were happily reunited with Nate, completely broke, at the bottom of Africa.
Monday, April 03, 2006
It's Funny How Things Turn Out
March 25, 2006, Gaborone, Botswana
After our exciting bush camping experience, we set off for the capital of Botswana, Gaborone. We figured that with a full day of driving, we could probably do it in one push, but if not, another night of bush camping wouldn't kill us.
As we set off, I thought about how our original plan did not work out. I had been in Botswana for a month in November, visiting friends who worked at a diamond mine called Orapa. While there, I met several interesting people who were working in the HIV/AIDS field. One man, a doctor, had written a novel based on his struggles dealing with HIV/AIDS, bureaucracy, and government. Another man who I met was a Catholic priest who lived in a village and taught orphans affected by HIV/AIDS to create leather products such as wallets and hats and sell them to support the village. I felt that these two contacts would lead to very interesting articles and that it would be worth driving into the middle of Botswana to meet them.
Our original plan was to go from Namibia to Orapa and meet them. Unfortunately, diamond mines are not the kind of place that you can just pitch up and drive through the gate. Special permits must be issued, specifying the exact dates that you are permitted to be at the mine. About a month ago, I contacted a friend who works at Orapa and asked her to help the four of us get security passes. She said that it would be no problem, as long as I gave her the dates. If you read any of the blogs from Namibia, you can imagine that giving exact dates of our departure and arrival would not be easy. Namibia did not want to let us go and driving to Orapa involved driving through a lot of desert. I told my friend that I would get back to her when I was sure. To make a long story short, the next couple times that I attempted to make contact with her were unsuccessful. I even contacted a mutual friend in South Africa, who said that he was also having trouble making contact. No Orapa meant going directly to Gaborone.
As all of these thoughts were going through my head, we decided to stop for lunch in a village called Kang. We stopped at a place whose sign suggested that there would be food. As I got out of the car, I realized that the "restaurant" was actually a small cement building with blaring music and drunken 12 year old girls dancing around (we would soon discover that most of the people that we would meet in Botswana would be drunk) . After being in Windhoek, Namibia for a month which is not a far cry from an American city, it was nice to be back in Africa as I know it.
After lunch we continued driving, making good time, and looking like we would be in Gaborone before nightfall. This of course was not the case. As I was driving, day dreaming about our time in Windhoek, Nate drew my attention to the dashboard, which was lit up by every available indicator light. I pulled over and we opened the hood to discover that the alternator belt was shredded to pieces. This of course was no problem at all because we had a new alternator belt that Sean and Tuuli bought in Windhoek and we would easily change the belt within a half hour.
After taking off the fan belt (which was also not in good shape) and the old alternator belt, we loosened all of the proper nuts to put on the new belt. We quickly realized that it was way too small. Oops! Ok, no problem. We decided that we could change the fan belt and drive to the next town and hopefully get an alternator belt there. Oops, the new fan belt was too small too. We put on the old fan belt and started down the road. Within minutes, steam was pouring out from under the hood. We popped the hood to discover that the hose from the radiator had blown off and water was leaking from somewhere under the engine. Apparently, the fan does not go around unless the alternator belt is on. Fortunately, the next town was in sight. We put more water in the radiator and set off, slowly, very slowly.
We arrived at the town, Mabutsane, which was not really a town but a village and asked some guys on the side of the road if there was a mechanic in town. They pointed us in the direction of a man named Stephan. It turned out that Stephan is not a mechanic, but instead is the only white guy in the village. We explained our problem to Stephan and he sent me in a pickup truck with his brother to go around the village looking for a new belt. We checked with several groups of men who were sitting outside of various bars and huts, but no one seemed to have the belt that we needed. The whole process was not facilitated by the fact that EVERYONE in the village was drunk (in their defense, it was Friday night).
Eventually, as night fell, we found a few belts that were close to the correct size. Nate and I tried each of them and found one belt fit loosely, but seemed to work. At this point it was too late to think about leaving the village and Stephan told us that we could spend the night. The night turned into three, due to Stephan’s great hospitality.
While in Mabutsane, we met a Peace Corps volunteer who was very helpful while we in the village. She even shared Girl Scout cookies with us. When we were ready to head to Gabs, she contacted a volunteer in Gabs to let him know we were on our way and that we would really appreciate it if he could help us navigate our way through the city. When we got to Gabs we met him and explained that we were looking for a cheap place to stay in town. He did not know of any but was more than happy to let us crash at his place for the night, which actually turned out to be six nights. He was a great person to know in town, not only because he let us stay at his place so long, but because he was working with several HIV/AIDS organizations in town. In addition, it just so happened that we were in Gabs for the Ditshwanelo Human Rights Film Festival, which showed amazing African produced films.
Despite the fact that we didn’t get to go to Orapa as planned, things seemed to work out for the best!
Yet Another Place That Will Not Let Us Escape
April 2, 2006, Naboomspruit, South Africa
We left Gabs on Sunday afternoon and headed for a town in Botswana call Palapye. The plan was to stay there for the night with another Peace Corps volunteer and then move on to South Africa on Monday. The ride was going smoothly until about 40 kilometers outside of Palapye. At this point, the car started overheating again and all the caution lights came on. We determined that there was probably something wrong with the belt (which was too loose), but this would not be a problem because we bought a new belt from a shop on the way from Gabs. While in Gabs, I suggested to Nate that we put on the new belt, just to be sure that it was the right size. It seemed to me that putting on the new belt right outside the house where we would be staying was a better venue then the middle of the desert. However, Nate was confident that the belt was the right size because he watched the man at the shop measure it and it was a bigger size then our last belt. Of course it didn’t fit! We decided to drive slowly and crawled into Palapye at nightfall.
The next day we slowly headed to Naboomspruit, South Africa to spend time with some friends of mine and have some work done on the car. My friends Phil and Elrine, who I met while living in The Gambia, are South Africans and love traveling. They have driven all around southern Africa and could not believe that the car actually made it as far as it did. After they saw the car and heard about its problems, Phil arranged for a mechanic to look at the car the following day.
After or experiences with finding a mechanic in Windhoek, I was a bit worried that the mechanic would refuse to work on the car because it’s an import. Fortunately for us, Phil’s mechanic Willie Wood was a real bush mechanic. He spent three days searching scrap yards, hand making parts, changing the alternator belt, fixing the leak from below the engine, reattaching the rear brakes, fixing the shocks, and solving a few other smaller problems for us and best of all, he did it all for just over one hundred American dollars.
While the car was being fixed, my friend Johann, whose house we stayed at, arranged braais (barbeques) for us as well as a trip to a game farm. While at the game farm we participated in a kudu dropping spitting contest, in other words we were supposed to put antelope feces in our mouth and see how far we could spit it. It wasn’t quite a gross as I thought it would be, and actually turned out to be pretty tough.
After a few days of car repairs, catching up on writing, and great South African hospitality, we decided that we would move on down to Johannesburg. We left Naboomspruit around 3:30 and drove five kilometers out of town. At that point, an awful noise started coming from the tire on the rear passenger side. We got out and determined that weight of the fully packed car pushed the shock down and the shock was actually touching the tire. After jacking up the car twice with our medieval jack and taking the tire off, we realized that we had no idea how to fix it. We called Johann, who swiftly came to our rescue and he followed us as the car limped back to his house for yet another night.
March 25, 2006, Gaborone, Botswana
After our exciting bush camping experience, we set off for the capital of Botswana, Gaborone. We figured that with a full day of driving, we could probably do it in one push, but if not, another night of bush camping wouldn't kill us.
As we set off, I thought about how our original plan did not work out. I had been in Botswana for a month in November, visiting friends who worked at a diamond mine called Orapa. While there, I met several interesting people who were working in the HIV/AIDS field. One man, a doctor, had written a novel based on his struggles dealing with HIV/AIDS, bureaucracy, and government. Another man who I met was a Catholic priest who lived in a village and taught orphans affected by HIV/AIDS to create leather products such as wallets and hats and sell them to support the village. I felt that these two contacts would lead to very interesting articles and that it would be worth driving into the middle of Botswana to meet them.
Our original plan was to go from Namibia to Orapa and meet them. Unfortunately, diamond mines are not the kind of place that you can just pitch up and drive through the gate. Special permits must be issued, specifying the exact dates that you are permitted to be at the mine. About a month ago, I contacted a friend who works at Orapa and asked her to help the four of us get security passes. She said that it would be no problem, as long as I gave her the dates. If you read any of the blogs from Namibia, you can imagine that giving exact dates of our departure and arrival would not be easy. Namibia did not want to let us go and driving to Orapa involved driving through a lot of desert. I told my friend that I would get back to her when I was sure. To make a long story short, the next couple times that I attempted to make contact with her were unsuccessful. I even contacted a mutual friend in South Africa, who said that he was also having trouble making contact. No Orapa meant going directly to Gaborone.
As all of these thoughts were going through my head, we decided to stop for lunch in a village called Kang. We stopped at a place whose sign suggested that there would be food. As I got out of the car, I realized that the "restaurant" was actually a small cement building with blaring music and drunken 12 year old girls dancing around (we would soon discover that most of the people that we would meet in Botswana would be drunk) . After being in Windhoek, Namibia for a month which is not a far cry from an American city, it was nice to be back in Africa as I know it.
After lunch we continued driving, making good time, and looking like we would be in Gaborone before nightfall. This of course was not the case. As I was driving, day dreaming about our time in Windhoek, Nate drew my attention to the dashboard, which was lit up by every available indicator light. I pulled over and we opened the hood to discover that the alternator belt was shredded to pieces. This of course was no problem at all because we had a new alternator belt that Sean and Tuuli bought in Windhoek and we would easily change the belt within a half hour.
After taking off the fan belt (which was also not in good shape) and the old alternator belt, we loosened all of the proper nuts to put on the new belt. We quickly realized that it was way too small. Oops! Ok, no problem. We decided that we could change the fan belt and drive to the next town and hopefully get an alternator belt there. Oops, the new fan belt was too small too. We put on the old fan belt and started down the road. Within minutes, steam was pouring out from under the hood. We popped the hood to discover that the hose from the radiator had blown off and water was leaking from somewhere under the engine. Apparently, the fan does not go around unless the alternator belt is on. Fortunately, the next town was in sight. We put more water in the radiator and set off, slowly, very slowly.
We arrived at the town, Mabutsane, which was not really a town but a village and asked some guys on the side of the road if there was a mechanic in town. They pointed us in the direction of a man named Stephan. It turned out that Stephan is not a mechanic, but instead is the only white guy in the village. We explained our problem to Stephan and he sent me in a pickup truck with his brother to go around the village looking for a new belt. We checked with several groups of men who were sitting outside of various bars and huts, but no one seemed to have the belt that we needed. The whole process was not facilitated by the fact that EVERYONE in the village was drunk (in their defense, it was Friday night).
Eventually, as night fell, we found a few belts that were close to the correct size. Nate and I tried each of them and found one belt fit loosely, but seemed to work. At this point it was too late to think about leaving the village and Stephan told us that we could spend the night. The night turned into three, due to Stephan’s great hospitality.
While in Mabutsane, we met a Peace Corps volunteer who was very helpful while we in the village. She even shared Girl Scout cookies with us. When we were ready to head to Gabs, she contacted a volunteer in Gabs to let him know we were on our way and that we would really appreciate it if he could help us navigate our way through the city. When we got to Gabs we met him and explained that we were looking for a cheap place to stay in town. He did not know of any but was more than happy to let us crash at his place for the night, which actually turned out to be six nights. He was a great person to know in town, not only because he let us stay at his place so long, but because he was working with several HIV/AIDS organizations in town. In addition, it just so happened that we were in Gabs for the Ditshwanelo Human Rights Film Festival, which showed amazing African produced films.
Despite the fact that we didn’t get to go to Orapa as planned, things seemed to work out for the best!
Yet Another Place That Will Not Let Us Escape
April 2, 2006, Naboomspruit, South Africa
We left Gabs on Sunday afternoon and headed for a town in Botswana call Palapye. The plan was to stay there for the night with another Peace Corps volunteer and then move on to South Africa on Monday. The ride was going smoothly until about 40 kilometers outside of Palapye. At this point, the car started overheating again and all the caution lights came on. We determined that there was probably something wrong with the belt (which was too loose), but this would not be a problem because we bought a new belt from a shop on the way from Gabs. While in Gabs, I suggested to Nate that we put on the new belt, just to be sure that it was the right size. It seemed to me that putting on the new belt right outside the house where we would be staying was a better venue then the middle of the desert. However, Nate was confident that the belt was the right size because he watched the man at the shop measure it and it was a bigger size then our last belt. Of course it didn’t fit! We decided to drive slowly and crawled into Palapye at nightfall.
The next day we slowly headed to Naboomspruit, South Africa to spend time with some friends of mine and have some work done on the car. My friends Phil and Elrine, who I met while living in The Gambia, are South Africans and love traveling. They have driven all around southern Africa and could not believe that the car actually made it as far as it did. After they saw the car and heard about its problems, Phil arranged for a mechanic to look at the car the following day.
After or experiences with finding a mechanic in Windhoek, I was a bit worried that the mechanic would refuse to work on the car because it’s an import. Fortunately for us, Phil’s mechanic Willie Wood was a real bush mechanic. He spent three days searching scrap yards, hand making parts, changing the alternator belt, fixing the leak from below the engine, reattaching the rear brakes, fixing the shocks, and solving a few other smaller problems for us and best of all, he did it all for just over one hundred American dollars.
While the car was being fixed, my friend Johann, whose house we stayed at, arranged braais (barbeques) for us as well as a trip to a game farm. While at the game farm we participated in a kudu dropping spitting contest, in other words we were supposed to put antelope feces in our mouth and see how far we could spit it. It wasn’t quite a gross as I thought it would be, and actually turned out to be pretty tough.
After a few days of car repairs, catching up on writing, and great South African hospitality, we decided that we would move on down to Johannesburg. We left Naboomspruit around 3:30 and drove five kilometers out of town. At that point, an awful noise started coming from the tire on the rear passenger side. We got out and determined that weight of the fully packed car pushed the shock down and the shock was actually touching the tire. After jacking up the car twice with our medieval jack and taking the tire off, we realized that we had no idea how to fix it. We called Johann, who swiftly came to our rescue and he followed us as the car limped back to his house for yet another night.
Tuesday, March 21, 2006
Bush Camping With Carnivores
March 18, 2006, Mabutsane, Botswana
We left Windhoek on Thursday, planning to spend a night or two in the bush before reaching Gabarone, Botswana. We entered Botswana around mid day and spent the next couple hours driving and looking for a suitable place to set up camp. We were looking for a dirt road that we could travel down and park beside in order to keep the car hidden from the traffic of the main road. As nightfall approached, we found such a road and pulled off. From that road, we then sought a sufficient clearing where we could set up camp. The clearing that we found was surrounded by thorns, but there was enough space to set up camp, so we parked the car and unloaded or supplies for the night.
In November, I went on various camping trips in Botswana and learned one thing: it's loaded with animals. The interesting thing about Botswana is that, unlike many other African countries, the animals are free roaming, meaning that there are not fences around the game parks. This fact did not make me at all nervous in November because I was with a man who had over 50 years of experience in bush camping and his handmade tents, which were fitted to the top of his truck, kept us safe from the lions that roared while we slept. However, my present company was three city kids, who had a collective bush experience amounting to zero and a flimsy American made tent, meant for camping in places like Yellowstone Park, or your backyard.
As darkness cloaked our camp, I tried to explain the few tips that I had been given about camping in the Botswana bush. Number one, always have a camp fire to sit around at night, it will keep the animals away. We had no wood, so our cooking gas bottle had to serve to do that job. Number two, always have powerful flash lights that you can use to scan the perimeter of the camp and check for the reflection of the eyes of approaching animals whose intention it is to eat you. We had two miniature mag lights with a range of about ten feet. Number three, always clear the brush from inside the perimeter of your camp so that you have a clear view of anything that may be approaching (especially poisonous snakes). Our dull, rusty machete was not up to the task of clearing the thorn bushes that filled our camp. The final, and to me the most important, rule is that if you have to get out of your tent at night, check the surrounding area for eyes. The last thing that you want to do is to get out of your tent and start relieving yourself and realize that you are standing next to a lion.
With these rules in mind we set up camp and cooked dinner. After eating, I was eager to get into the tent, which hopefully would offer protection from the large hungry carnivores that roamed the bush. I nervously entered Nate's tent and attempted to fall asleep, wondering what animals would visit our camp during the night. As my brain formed various horrific scenarios involving lions mauling our tent, I heard jackals howling in the distance. This did not make me uneasy at all because jackals look like small dogs with rabbit ears. As I drifted off to sleep, however, I was awoken by a scream that I could not identify and that made the hair on my neck stand up and my heart beat uncontrollably. In the silence that now filled the night, I turned to Nate, who was asleep and wondered if I was dreaming, which would have been a huge relief. The second scream assured me that I was wide awake and that something was outside of my tent. The silence was again broken by Sean who asked if we were fooling around, or if there really was some horrible creature lurking about. I told him that I didn’t make the sound and that whatever made the sound was close. Not knowing what to do, I figured my best plan of action would be to stay in the tent and try to go to sleep, which I did.
At some point I must have drifted off to sleep, but I was again abruptly awakened, this time by rain drops. I rolled over and woke up Nate who confirmed that we should put the cover on the tent. Half awake, I grabbed the cover and got out of the tent to begin putting it on. It took about two seconds for rule number four to jolt into my mind. I looked around but could see nothing due to the cloud cover. I hoped and prayed that whatever may have been outside of the tent would have run away when it saw me jump out of the tent. The rain quickly picked up, so I threw the cover on, hoping it was not upside down and jumped back into the tent as quick as possible. From the inside, Nate and I shifted the cover into place and drifted back to sleep.
We awoke the next morning a bit soggy, but at least none of us had been eaten.
March 18, 2006, Mabutsane, Botswana
We left Windhoek on Thursday, planning to spend a night or two in the bush before reaching Gabarone, Botswana. We entered Botswana around mid day and spent the next couple hours driving and looking for a suitable place to set up camp. We were looking for a dirt road that we could travel down and park beside in order to keep the car hidden from the traffic of the main road. As nightfall approached, we found such a road and pulled off. From that road, we then sought a sufficient clearing where we could set up camp. The clearing that we found was surrounded by thorns, but there was enough space to set up camp, so we parked the car and unloaded or supplies for the night.
In November, I went on various camping trips in Botswana and learned one thing: it's loaded with animals. The interesting thing about Botswana is that, unlike many other African countries, the animals are free roaming, meaning that there are not fences around the game parks. This fact did not make me at all nervous in November because I was with a man who had over 50 years of experience in bush camping and his handmade tents, which were fitted to the top of his truck, kept us safe from the lions that roared while we slept. However, my present company was three city kids, who had a collective bush experience amounting to zero and a flimsy American made tent, meant for camping in places like Yellowstone Park, or your backyard.
As darkness cloaked our camp, I tried to explain the few tips that I had been given about camping in the Botswana bush. Number one, always have a camp fire to sit around at night, it will keep the animals away. We had no wood, so our cooking gas bottle had to serve to do that job. Number two, always have powerful flash lights that you can use to scan the perimeter of the camp and check for the reflection of the eyes of approaching animals whose intention it is to eat you. We had two miniature mag lights with a range of about ten feet. Number three, always clear the brush from inside the perimeter of your camp so that you have a clear view of anything that may be approaching (especially poisonous snakes). Our dull, rusty machete was not up to the task of clearing the thorn bushes that filled our camp. The final, and to me the most important, rule is that if you have to get out of your tent at night, check the surrounding area for eyes. The last thing that you want to do is to get out of your tent and start relieving yourself and realize that you are standing next to a lion.
With these rules in mind we set up camp and cooked dinner. After eating, I was eager to get into the tent, which hopefully would offer protection from the large hungry carnivores that roamed the bush. I nervously entered Nate's tent and attempted to fall asleep, wondering what animals would visit our camp during the night. As my brain formed various horrific scenarios involving lions mauling our tent, I heard jackals howling in the distance. This did not make me uneasy at all because jackals look like small dogs with rabbit ears. As I drifted off to sleep, however, I was awoken by a scream that I could not identify and that made the hair on my neck stand up and my heart beat uncontrollably. In the silence that now filled the night, I turned to Nate, who was asleep and wondered if I was dreaming, which would have been a huge relief. The second scream assured me that I was wide awake and that something was outside of my tent. The silence was again broken by Sean who asked if we were fooling around, or if there really was some horrible creature lurking about. I told him that I didn’t make the sound and that whatever made the sound was close. Not knowing what to do, I figured my best plan of action would be to stay in the tent and try to go to sleep, which I did.
At some point I must have drifted off to sleep, but I was again abruptly awakened, this time by rain drops. I rolled over and woke up Nate who confirmed that we should put the cover on the tent. Half awake, I grabbed the cover and got out of the tent to begin putting it on. It took about two seconds for rule number four to jolt into my mind. I looked around but could see nothing due to the cloud cover. I hoped and prayed that whatever may have been outside of the tent would have run away when it saw me jump out of the tent. The rain quickly picked up, so I threw the cover on, hoping it was not upside down and jumped back into the tent as quick as possible. From the inside, Nate and I shifted the cover into place and drifted back to sleep.
We awoke the next morning a bit soggy, but at least none of us had been eaten.
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