mokoros at Marutsa

The sun is shining but winter is coming and evening temperatures are dropping into the teens (Celsius so that’s in the 50s Fahrenheit). Last week I suffered a bit from some stomach ick. Not sure if it was food poisoning or a bug but it didn’t last long and I was back to eating by the time our “tent” guests (as opposed to “house” guests) arrived on Thursday last week. I say “tent” guests because we don’t really have room in our house to accommodate guests so we set up a tent and pit latrine outside for visitors. It’s not luxurious but it works and Rick and Roberta, Paul’s friends visiting from Florida, seem to be managing OK (despite the cool nights).

Yesterday we spent the day out at Marutsa, a village of about 150 people or so where Paul helped establish a polers group for mokoro trips back in the 1990s. We were escorted by a man named “Worm” (not kidding, this is a literal translation from his Setswana name – not sure why you’d name your child “worm”). Paul hasn’t visited in almost a decade and many of the villagers were very happy to see him (including the woman whose Setswana name translated to “fearless”-- I like that one).

We visited to scout out the location as a potential place to come with the Furman group next year. We like to support community tourism if we can but our trip to Seronga (across the delta) was logistically difficult to orchestrate last year so we’re looking for other options. With only one engine on the people transport ferry, what should have been a one hour ride took us three (and it arrived about 2 hours late). Our return trip was no better when the ferry that transports vehicles was “broken” and we waited for three hours in a long line of traffic to cross the delta once it was functioning again.

In any case, we walked around the village, visited with the locals and saw the mokoro boats (which are made of actual wood as opposed to fiberglass – I’m not sure if that is better or worse if approached by a hippo?). The village seems quite removed from the development of “modern” Maun. There is no electricity and water is obtained from the river the runs near it. To walk from the village to the tarmac (paved) road would take a good hour and a half and from there the drive into town is another 40 minutes (assuming you can hitch a ride).

Like most places in the Northwest region of Botswana this season, there is water water everywhere. We made on treacherous “bridge” crossing. I say “bridge” (in quotes) because it was merely pieces of rock, cement, wood logs, that perhaps at some point in its life served as a bridge but currently is all submerged serving mainly as traction in the water crossing process. If the water comes much higher it will be completely impassible by vehicle. They have already moved the road to the village once adding another half hour onto the drive. They may have to move it again.

On the drive back we had a few additional passengers who needed a ride into Maun. What was reported as “two ladies” by Worm when he asked if we could give them a lift, turned into two women, three kids, and several large bundles of stuff (one of which contained a trash bag full of tswi, the bulbs of the water lily which they eat for food, which broke and spilled all over the back of the vehicle by the time we got to Maun). While waiting for her friend to gather up the tswi, the older of the two stood in the middle of the dirt road where we dropped them in Maun and belched three times very loudly while making direct eye contact with me. No apology. No embarrassment. I guess the ride shook her up a bit…

just another soggy Sunday

Soggy? You might ask, “but isn’t it the dry season?” Well yes it is and the water was not coming from above but rather below as it seeped in through the door of the vehicle as we listed to the left, stuck in the mud of rain water which had formed a river on the way to see a possible plot of land for sale.  Upon return to Maun last week we were informed by our landlords on the ostrich farm that they were planning to increase the rent (again) and that they weren’t too pleased about the safari vehicles parked on the property or the container we had erected (three years ago!) to store things safely (it is an 18 wheeler truck trailer – many people here use them to secure their belongings).

So with this news in mind, we decided it might be time to start looking for another place to live. Renting or buying is the next question so we decided to take a drive around on Sunday morning to look at possibilities. Little did we know that this would turn into a soggy, muddy, and quite expensive adventure.

On our way we saw our friend Mr. Mike walking toward our house and picked him up to go out and see a plot of land we heard rumors might be for sale. Since Mike knew where it was and we didn’t, he became our guide. You should know that the rain waters from the rainy season this year were remarkable and there is standing water in places that are normally dry. If you couple this with the fact that the flood from Angola (typically a good thing) has not even come down yet (usually comes in June), then you have a lot of talk and concern about water these days.

The first water crossing we made caused a little concern as we literally floated for a few moments losing traction in the process. But we “came right” (as they would say here) and successfully made it out the other side. When we came to the next major crossing, Mike proceeded to walk the route to ensure it was OK for passing as he had done on the previous crossing and indicated back to us that it was. Sadly it was not and we got about half way before we got stuck in the mud and the vehicle started to fill with water. I’ve never actually sat in a car and had my feet get submerged…it’s an odd sensation.

Mr. Mike went to get help and a neighbor arrived with a tow rope and proceeded to pull us out of the water while we pushed from behind (that’s right... waste deep in water, ankle deep in mud and... PUSH!). Unfortunately, even with 24 hours of drying out in the sun things still aren’t quite right and the vehicle stalls regularly. We will give her one more day in the sun and see if that helps. If not, she goes into the mechanic.

Besides that, things here are pretty typical here in Maun. We arrived Wednesday and Thursday was “Ascension Day” – a holiday here so no one was at work (I was under the impression that Jesus ascended on Easter but a quick Google search indicates there is some debate about this). This gave us a day to try to get our bearings before going into the chaos of work on Friday.

On Saturday, we took a quick drive up to Moremi game reserve (to remind us why we love Botswana). High waters prevented us from making it all the way into the park but we did manage to see elephants, giraffe, kudu, impala, warthogs, hippo and a variety of birds just on the drive up. Nice!

Just as it takes Paul a few days to adjust to the organization and timeliness of the States, it takes me a few to adjust to the chaos of Botswana.  We're trying to make sure we take time to appreciate which ever world we are in. On the drive in to the office today we stopped to see an odd (orange-ish) colored chameleon cross the road. Very cool!

the muddy hyena got stuck in the mud

Many apologies to the Muddy Hyena readers for my lack of posts over the last couple of months. As you'll read below, my laptop computer was stolen immediately upon arrival in Capetown and I was stuck with only limited e-mail access at internet cafes. I did occasionally find time to send a quick e-mail to my pen pal list and I've cut and pasted them in below with some photos from the trip so that you'll have some sense of what I've been up to over the last couple of months of travel. I'm back in the states until right after graduation in May and then it's back to Botswana for summer break. More stories to come soon.


Tuesday, February 23, 2010 – bummer

Sorry about the last empty e-mail. For reasons I'll explain below, I am at an internet cafe and trying to use Furman's horrible web interface to send an e-mail.

I wanted to let you know that we've had a bit of an unfortunate incident on the study away trip. After arriving in Capetown this morning we arrived at the St. Paul's guest house and in the process of settling into rooms, getting oriented and then having lunch, someone forgot to close the front gate. As such, during lunch, it seems that someone wandered into the guest house, up to the second floor, into my bedroom and took my laptop computer and a bunch of cash out of my back pack. Nothing else appears to have been stolen from the house or the other students. The police were called and a report was filed but the likelihood of recovering any of it is slim.

The cash and laptop are less of a big deal than the data lost on the laptop...photos from our trip to Mozambique, all my meticulous accounting of the budget stuff for the trip (every night I sit down and log all the money we've spent...that's every night for three weeks...gone!), the exam I made for next week, photos from this trip, etc, etc. Basically all the work I've done since mid-December. Ugh!

Good news is... no one was hurt, passports, IDs, credit cards are secure. I'm just feeling a little violated and wounded right now. And...I miss my tiny computer. I sent the students off to visit the slave lodge with the Center for Global Education Facilitator, cried in my room for a bit, but I'm back now. Just a bummer...that's all.
Thought I'd let you know...
Kristy

Friday, February 26, 2010 – ahhh thanks!

A quick note to express my heartfelt thanks for all the support I've received from all of you regarding the recent theft of my laptop and cash. I have to say, I felt "virtually" hugged. Very comforting! I really appreciated all your advice and sympathy.

Once I recovered from the shock, I've managed to regroup pretty quickly. The loss of two months of work (and photos) is pretty sad but in the greater scheme of things as one of you mentioned...anything that can be replaced with a check is not really that big of a loss. I agree. It could have been much worse.

Despite the crime, Capetown is still one of my favorite cities. Went out to Robben Island this morning -- always interesting to see where Nelson Mandela spent 27 years of his life in prison and to be reminded of his tremendous capacity to forgive. This afternoon it was up to the top of Table Mountain for one of the most stunning views of any city I've ever seen. Overlooking the ocean and city is breath-taking. As one of the most bio-diverse areas in the world in terms of flora the walk around the top is amazing (reported there are 1500 species of plants up there -- I wish I was a botanist).

Tonight we are off to dinner and the theater. Tomorrow to Cape Point where the Indian and Atlantic Oceans meet. We've have a lecture from a very inspiring Bishop and a picnic lunch with penguins. Who could ask for more?
Hope you all are well.
Cheers,
Kristy


Wednesday, March 3, 2010 – safe (but delayed) arrival in Namibia

We arrived safely in Windhoek, Namibia yesterday. Had a two hour delay on our 8 am flight (which made our 5:00 AM wake up unnecessary -ugh!) but otherwise everything is fine. We settled into our guest house, went out to Megameno orphanage to play with the kids (it is amazing to see how well they are doing with just a bit of financial support from Furman and a few others), had a lecturer give us an overview of the history, politics and economics of Namibia, ate some dinner and crashed.

Today the students are out on an activity called "Katuratura quest" learning about one of the township areas and this afternoon we'll hear from a speaker from USAID and have some class sessions for student presentations.

In short, all is well in Namibia (except for the lack of hot water in my shower this morning but "this is Africa" so not too surprising).
Take care,
Kristy

Tuesday, March 9, 2010 – Greetings from Outjo!

A quick greeting from Outjo in Northern Namibia (which is basically in the middle of nowhere but has a very nice German bakery where we just ate lunch - remember Namiba was formerly a German colony).

I had a nice weekend with Paul while the students were on their urban home stays. He drove 8 hours from Maun (one way) to come see me and it was nice to catch up, eat some nice dinners, see a couple movies and be 20 students lighter for a few days.

We are now off to Khorixas where students will do their rural home stays for three nights. They will be living in clay/dung rondovels (round huts) with no running water or electricity. Their daily activities will include herding goats, milking cows, riding in donkey carts, etc. We've already had our first lesson on peeing without a toilet on the side of the road. All the girls line up to make a “human wall” for some privacy. All good stuff and nice prep for Botswana.

From here we head to Swakopmund on the coast.
The adventure continues.
Kristy


Monday, March 15, 2010 – goat slaughter, a horse name Fury and a falling down drunk

Well, we've had a nice time in Namibia. The students' home stays in the rural north were an overwhelming success. For many of them it is the first time they've ever lived in such rustic circumstances (no running water or electricity and a "pit latrine" at best but for many just a good bush to squat behind to do their business). The land is Khorixas is very dry and barren with lots of rock so not a lot of room for growing anything, except livestock. One group participated in the slaughtering of a goat while another learned that the phrase "running around like a chicken with your head cut off" is a rather literal expression. I told them that at least they knew the meat was fresh (although perhaps not by the third day with no refrigeration. I spent five hours one of the days visiting each of the homes to make sure all of my "learners" (that's what they call students here) were safe and happy (and well hydrated - it is pretty hot). The rest of the time I spent grading their exams (I would have rather been slaughtering a goat!).

The area we were in has a population that speaks a language with many clicks (in fact 4 different clicks). And as the only white person in the restaurant for lunch one day, I ate my Greek salad (which only had carrots and cucumbers in it...not even any lettuce. I'm not sure what made it Greek?), surrounded by the clicks and clucks of a foreign land. It was bizarre. I also had a conversation with a woman who told me how she was so worried about her young child because he was "clickless" up until he was three years old. She actually took him to the doctors. I'm trying to imagine that conversation taking place in the U.S. Ha!

We had a nice day off yesterday. Shopped at the market (my haggling skills are improving as most of what I bought was half the price they initially quoted), having some time to grade some papers and going for a sunset horseback ride with four other students. It was quite comical as they assigned horses...the most mild horse to the most scared and inexperienced student. Somehow the students had gotten it in their heads that I was an "experienced" rider. As such, the people at the horse farm were going to put me on the "most difficult" horse until I balked and explained that my horse riding experience took place longer ago than when the students I was with were born (hence, if they had EVER ridden a horse, they had more recent experience than me!). One of the students who rides regularly volunteered to take that horse but I'm not sure I ended up with a better deal.

I got the tallest horse which meant dismounting resulted with my launching myself off of this ginormous beast and finishing with my hands way above my head still on the saddle. Additionally, his name was "Fury" which is never a good sign and he certainly had a mind of his own. He didn't want to be number 3 so he made his way past number 2 in the line. He liked to smell and eat everything which meant he was constantly bending way down to get things causing me to have to lean way over to keep the reigns. And then, they failed to tell me that he likes to move rather quickly downhill so the first sand dune we went down was an adventure! Good news is that we made it back fine and the views of the dunes were stunning. We even saw a herd of 20 or so springbok while we were out there. (PS: I learned that I ride a horse left-handed, with the reigns in my left hand, I guess I have my left handed sister to thank for that one. Thanks Kelley!).

Last night I dragged my colleague Erin to The Tug, one of my favorite restaurants in Swakopmund. We had a wonderful time until a man who was "falling down drunk" (literally) almost landed on top of her but fortunately he was short and cleared her chair when he landed. We relocated and enjoy the rest of our meal.

Well today we head off for our final day of programming in Swakopmund (township tour, hospital visit - the one where Angelina Jolie had her baby, and lunch at an after school program). We make the long drive to Windhoek tomorrow with a stop at Rossing Uranium Mine on the way. Wednesday we are off to Botswana. The group is mixed in their enthusiasm for the final leg of the trip. Some are a bit a worried about spending two weeks in tents, others are thrilled!

Not sure when I can write again but I'll be thinking about you and I'll send an update when we get to internet access.
More soon.
Kristy

Wednesday, March 31, 2010 – in the air again

In the air again...just can't wait to be in the air again (just like Willy Nelson's "on the road again" song).

Well my nine weeks of travel with twenty Furman students is quickly drawing to an end. We've had our ups and downs with the theft of my laptop and some cash in Capetown and two purses snatched in Durban, a gastrointestinal bug that had half my group running to the toilet for 48 hours, some grumbling about not enough "free time" and lack of regular internet access but overall it has been a successful trip. I have handled my role as "Mama Maher" (what the students have come to call me) much better than last year and have tried to not let the 24 hour/day, 7 days/week reality of directing a study away program grate on my nerves. My life changes quite a bit with the addition of 20 "children" I am now responsible for. Very early on I taught them the mantra of "sunscreen, water, toilet paper and snacks" so there were far fewer annoying requests for things all good travelers should have on them. They have learned well.

We heard many engaging speakers, went to lots of revealing sight visits, saws some of the most well known monuments and museums of the area and traveled to some of the most beautiful locations of South Africa, Namibia and Botswana. Some of the highlights of the trip for me this time included learning about the plight of the Zimbabwean refugees at the Central Methodist Church in Johannesburg, hiking with 360 degree panoramic views of the Drakensburg Mountains in Giant's Castle, riding a horse through the dunes of the Namib Desert at sunset, watching the children laugh and play at Megameno orphanage in Namibia reaping the benefits of the donations raised by former Furman students who have spent time with the kids in the past. Our last night at Nxai Pan we even had a male lion walk across the pan as Paul and I watched him with the night vision goggles hoping none of the students would choose that time to unzip their tent and get out and pee!! None of them did and they all now have quite an exciting story to tell their friends and family.

Currently I'm giving the second exam for my Global Health Inequalities course. We have been reading a book called the Invisible Cure that examines the underlying cultural norms contributing to the high rates of HIV/AIDS in Southern Africa. The exam also covers several student presentations on TB and Malaria and a variety of funding organizations including The Global Fund to Fight AIDS, TB and Malaria, PEPFAR - the President's Emergency Plan for AIDS Relief and the Bill and Melinda Gates Foundation. They are all feverishly writing as I type.

Once the exam is done we will head off on a river cruise to Paul and my house on the ostrich farm for a pizza party and star show (should the weather cooperate). Tomorrow morning they will visit a cultural village, do their last bit of shopping for gifts, eat lunch at the French Connection and fly out of Maun at 2:30 PM (assuming everything is on time, "hold thumbs" as they say here, the Batswana version of cross your fingers). Our seventeen hour Johannesburg to Atlanta flight leaves around 8:30 PM arriving at 7 AM on Friday morning. We should be back in Greenville by 11 AM on Friday.

Our learning continues in April with three more weeks of classes and lots of opportunities to continue discussing the many challenging topics that have been raised during our travels. What are the social, economic and historical factors that contribute to poverty? What impact does inequality have on the community as a whole? What responsibility do those of us in "the West" have towards "the rest"? What will we do with all the information we have learned through this travel study? How will it inform career choices? Daily purchasing patterns? Types of volunteerism and activism? Voting habits?

So much to think about while we're "in the air" and my hope is that it impacts their lives for a very long time. If that happens, even for some, than all the time and effort that goes into planning and orchestrating a trip like this will be worth it!

On that note, I'm off. Looking forward to catching up with many of you when I return.
Cheers,
Kristy

Saturday, April 3, 2010 – back in town

Just wanted to let you know that I've made it back in one piece. Arrived yesterday around lunch time. I worried a bit that we might not get out of Botswana as it was pouring down with rain Thursday morning but cleared by the time we needed to fly in the afternoon. Unfortunately there was no electricity at the Maun airport (TIA - this is Africa!) so they couldn't check our bags all the way through so we had to clear customs in Johannesburg, re-entry South Africa via passport control and check in at the Delta counter for the international flight. It was not impossible but inconvenient.

By the time we did this and went through security we only had about 15 minutes until we boarded the plane. Unfortunately one of the students misunderstood the directions and thought we were boarding at 8:20 PM instead of leaving then. It was a bit of a panic when two students informed me that one student wasn't on the plane just as the airline was announcing her name. I rushed to the door and tried to explain that she was in my group and could I go look for her back in the terminal only to be told if I left the plane I would be forfeiting my ticket (~$2000 value!). Fortunately, she walked in shortly thereafter apologizing for her confusion. That was a close one.

We landed in Atlanta and just as I was breathing a sigh of relief that I had gotten them all back safely on American soil we ran into a glitch due to some misinformation on the part of my travel agent. He had informed me that for those of the students who didn't want to return to Greenville but rather to go on to other flights home for Easter or meet their families in the airport they could simply walk out with their luggage after they cleared customs. NOT! In Atlanta you only have 2 options once you clear customs, put your bag back on the flight transfer conveyer belt (for those of us going to GSP) or on a belt to baggage claim for those terminating in Atlanta. Unfortunately, since our bags were ticketed to GSP those interested in leaving in Atlanta couldn't use the latter option. After trying to negotiate with an impossible (read EVIL) red jacketed attendant from Delta airlines who was less then helpful, I called my travel agent's cell, waking him up but he failed to make any headway with her either. According to Ms. Evil, our only option was to pay a $250 fine for not getting on the last leg of our trip. She explained that Delta would be "losing money" - which of course makes no sense, we had already paid for the full fare, who cares if we don't get on the plane but she was unrelenting.

One paid the $250, one sweet talked her way to making an exception because her flight home was a Delta flight. Another had been ticketed to her proper final destination in Johannesburg (not sure how that happened?). Two living in Atlanta put their bags on the transfer flight conveyer belt (one of which made it to GSP without him, who knows where the other one is?).Two more removed all the greater than 3 oz. liquids from their luggage into a box which flew to GSP without them (I picked it up) and squeezed their giant suitcases through the security check that is necessary to leave the international area (we had some very nice security checkers there who were very understanding). Ms. Evil was kind of a rude return to America...thanks so much for your help and understanding (NOT!). So glad to be home again...

...but actually I am. Shelby was very happy to see me (instantly forgiving me for my 3 1/2 month absence) and I had sushi for dinner and after sleeping from 9:30 PM until 8 AM this morning...honey nut cheerios for breakfast, ahhh it's good to be home. Now I'm enjoying listening to NPR on a Saturday morning and trying to unpack and sift through all this mail. Enjoying most opening Christmas cards on Easter weekend.

Would love to see or hear from you all when you get a chance.
Hope you have a peaceful Easter weekend.
Cheers,
Kristy

a call for a revolution for justice

The streets are noisy, loud and smelly as we pull up to the Central Methodist Church in downtown Johannesburg. We don’t spend much time in the “city center” (what we call “downtown”) and now I remember why. Perhaps it was once a nice area during the apartheid era but it is now a spot of urban blight. I try to rush my twenty students across the street without getting hit by oncoming traffic. Horns beep. Cars wiz by. I feel a rush of hot stale air.

The building we approach is a large run down concrete structure that in no way lines up with the image I have in my mind of a “church.” People are lined up against the wall waiting to get into the small clinic run by Doctors without Borders on the ground floor of the church. Staffed by one Cuban doctor it tries to deal with the variety of health issues faced by these desperately poor migrants.

Not sure where to go, we start asking of Bishop Verryn. People are friendly and helpful pointing to the dark hall that leads to an even darker stairwell. “Third floor” they say. When we hesitate, they wave us on.

We wind our way up the stairwell. It is hot and dark and smells of urine. We pass a few school kids on the way down the stairs still in uniforms. They look at us curiously. While Verryn is white, it is unlikely that a group this size of white people visits often. At one point we reach a landing on which sits a porcelain toilet up against the wall not attached to any plumbing and two large plastic buckets. The buckets will have to do for now and the stench suggests they have. Tucked in a corner of the stairwell is laid out blankets that must serve as a bed for someone.

On our journey up we pass an open door and catch glimpses of what must be the sanctuary for worship. Large, open, wooden benches arranged in stadium style seating.  The Zimbabwean refugees that Verryn has welcomed in must live on the rest of the floors, but we don’t visit these. The Bishop is in a phone conversation so we wait, crammed in the skinny hallway until we are finally ushered to a small sanctuary where he talks to us about his work.

Over 2500 refugees call this church home since the Bishop opened the door to them over 5 years ago. His work started with a small group of 50 Zimbabwean refugees fleeing the desperate conditions of their home country. He discussed the xenophobic violence of May 2008 where migrants were attacked and brutalized on the streets of Johannesburg in which 61 people were killed and countless others wounded. There are over 4 million refugees from Zimbabwe alone in South Africa.

In an effort to help the refugees get their feet on the ground, in addition to temporary shelter and a soup kitchen he has started a day care center, school and adult education center. The Bishop is quite blunt and outspoken and has faced a bit of controversy surrounding his ways (he was recently suspended by the Methodist Church for making media statements without permission from the church).

At the end of our session one of the students asks what we could do to help. One of his pieces of advice was to tell people what you thought/heard about this church. This was the inspiration for this entry.

We’ve done a lot in the two weeks I’ve been traveling with the Furman study away group but this encounter really stuck with me so I thought I’d share it with you. In the end Bishop Verryn called for a “revolution without blood, a revolution for justice.” I think he’s started it. I hope he wins!

For those of you on Facebook there is a page about the Church and the Bishop’s work:

http://www.facebook.com/pages/Central-Methodist-Church-and-Bishop-Paul-Verryn/16161293029

loathing the "Big Five" and back to work

I’ve always wanted to see Kruger Park. It is one of those national parks that everyone has heard of. My general conclusion is that... going to Kruger to see wildlife is like reading the cliff notes version of a great novel. Perhaps I’ve been spoiled by Botswana where the wildlife is “wild” and the camping areas are unfenced.

Kruger is a well manicured park with tarmac (paved) roads throughout and luxurious lodges. The “off road” loops are perfectly even gravel and dirt roads (the road we take to drive home every day is more challenging). It seems odd to drive on lovely paved roads and see animals. The wildlife is abundant and we see elephants and Cape buffalo…two of the “Big Five” (which I hate, by the way). All over Southern Africa you see tourist marketed kitsch with the “Big Five” – elephant, buffalo, leopard, lion and rhino. Shot glasses, coffee mugs, t-shirts. I loathe the “Big Five.” Who decided on these 5? Why not cheetahs? Giraffe? And as someone marginally involved with tourism, I cringe when clients come with their check off list aiming to see all of the “Big Five.” Ugh! Africa cannot be summarized into a check list, one should enjoy what they see and be thankful for it.

We spend the night in one of the lodges and start heading for Botswana on Tuesday morning. We drive through beautiful lush green mountainous areas of South Africa. We have one flat tire (#9) prior to crossing the border at Martin’s Drift and spend a bit more time at one of these ramshackle tire repair places on the side of the road.

We spend our final night camping at Kwa No Keng (as we drive in we get flat tire #10). It is a bit of a coincidence that we end up here in that it has been almost three years to the day that Paul asked me if he could have “ten minutes” to talk to me alone at the end of our Botswana leg of the 2007 Furman trip. It was a ten minute conversation that changed the course of the rest of our lives and it’s hard to believe it’s only been three years. It seems like we’ve done so much together in what is a relatively short amount of time. It’s hard to imagine my life without Paul in it.

It rains like mad the last night of the trip. The first rain of any note that we’ve had over the entire trip. Thunder. Lightening. A real downpour. Keeps me up most of the night but, fortunately, Paul sleeps through most of it. Tuesday we make the eight hour drive back to Maun. We are greeted by the familiar sights of Botswana – animals (donkeys, goats and cows) that roam freely in the roads, veterinary control fences futilely attempting to stop the spread of disease, a hippo in the decorative watering hole at the fuel station (what?). We get flat # 11 about 5 miles from home. Ugh!

Back to reality. Back to work. Off to Johannesburg in less than a week to meet my group of twenty students from Furman who I will travel with for the next two months. Feeling very fortunate we had a chance to get away, at least for a bit.

Is this safe? Fording the Limpopo

We leave Vilankulos on Sunday morning and decide to take a different route back to the Parfui border crossing between Mozambique and South Africa (in the northern part of Kruger Park). We quickly leave the tarmac (paved roads) and don’t see it for two days. While we have a GPS, there are no maps of these roads and we use it primarily to make sure we are basically headed in the right direction (we are aiming for a corner that sticks out in the map between the two countries).

This leg of the trip is a little hard to explain. We face many forks in the dirt road and simply “guess” which one it might be. We try to confirm that we’re on the right path at several small villages but without Portuguese language skills we don’t get far.

We usually ask the name of the town on the map we think we might be near often with the response of a very confused look and then revert to saying, “Parfui?” which is the name of the border crossing which most people seem to know. Several gesture in the direction we’re going in and say, “Eee, straighty” which of course doesn’t really which option to take at the next fork in the road (where the choices are left or right).

We go through areas with radically different feels to them. In some places people look very suspicious at us. We wave and get dirty looks in reply. In other areas, the people we see wave first and are all smiles. It is not until two days later, when we get closer to the border that small children come running up to the vehicle with their hands out begging. When we don’t stop to give them something, they give us dirty looks.

Driving these back roads is no part-time job. Two hands on the wheel at all time and picking the best spot to avoid the biggest holes or bumps. We go through one area where cement dips have been made (for water drainage?) with cement cylinders on all four corners of it. They present quite a hazard and seem almost invisible until you are up on them. If you hit them going too fast, you get launched. My job is to keep an eye out for them and yell, “Dip!” if I see it coming.

We bush camp on Sunday night and at 3 AM I hear something scratching around our tent with no idea what it is. I wake Paul (who sleeps through everything) and he dismisses my concern stating it is a bug (a bug the size of a raccoon maybe…). It doesn’t help that I’ve been reading The Road by Cormac McCarthy a post disaster odyssey of a father and son forging where they are constantly on the lookout for “bad guys” who might steal their limited possessions, rape and/or eat them -- makes my imagination run wild when we’re in the middle of nowhere in the bush. Fortunately, since Paul drives, I can sleep in the car the next day. In the morning we are harassed by bees. It is super dry and hot and our coffee and dish water (and perhaps arm pit sweat) are the only liquid they’ve seen in a while. We don’t hang around long.

Back on the move, we quickly come up to the water crossing we know we were going to face. We’ve been told by people back in Maun that the Limpopo is “crossable,” but when we get there, on first glance it seems impossible. It is no small river to cross…probably 200 yards long.

We watch as a truck full of travelers prepares to be pulled across by four oxen. They strip to their underwear (so as not to get their clothes wet) and prepare to push as the oxen pull. Paul decides he needs to walk the route to see how deep it is and if our vehicle will make it. We have a snorkel on the vehicle (a way to keep the water from coming into the engine air intake) but the current is swift and if the water goes up over the bonnet (hood) we could lose traction and it could sweep the vehicle downstream (in the crocodile filled Limpopo).

We watch the vehicle in front of us make it. Ask around and confirm that there is no other option (unless we drive all the way down to Maputo which would put us way off course by a couple days of driving) and decide we’ve got to do it. I foolishly ask, “Is this safe?” (I have a tendency to do this sometimes, even though I don’t really want to know the answer). I videotaped the whole thing (Paul is bragging about his Land Cruiser in this one).

We make it through and continue on to the border crossing which takes another few hours. Beyond the border crossing we are in Kruger National Park in South Africa. We decide to spend the night here.

now…this feels like vacation

We spend the rest of Thursday swimming in the Indian Ocean which is as warm as bathwater and as peaceful. On Friday we decided to hire a boat to take us out snorkeling around Bazaruta one of the five islands off the coast of Vilankulos.



I try to suspend any fear I might have about being in a tiny rubber power boat out in the sea and enjoy the amazing beauty around us. The power boat is at least the better of the options.

Our other choice is a “dhow” – small sail boat whose travel time to the islands can vary from 25 minutes to two days depending on the wind! No thanks.


We see dolphins playing and twice Paul jumps in the water to be with them but they swim off. We climb a huge sand dune and have great views of most of the other islands (but not Paradise Island where the latest episode of Survivor was filmed, it is too far away). We spend the afternoon snorkeling and Paul goes for a dive (I haven’t been scuba diving in 25 years so I didn’t feel confident doing it without a refresher course).

The snorkeling is amazing. The best I’ve ever seen and I feel like I’m in my friend Doug’s aquarium. We hold hands and swim through this amazing paradise. The coral reef is stunning with brain coral and green finger like coral and patches of purple. We see clown fish, a giant grouper, angel fish, electric blue damsels, zebra fish, box fish, trumpet fish, sea cucumbers, purple and green star fish, and many fish I can’t even identify.

My favorite is the parrot fish. He is quite large (~18 inches long) and the most amazing combination of purple and green. If you stop breathing as he approaches the coral you can hear his pink lip-sticked beak like mouth take a crunch out of a piece of coral. Very cool!

While Paul is diving, our guide Paulino and I have an interesting conversation about HIV/AIDS and common beliefs about it in Mozambique.

He asks where the disease came from and explains that he heard it was the result of sailors being on boats for a long time and having sex with female dogs (what?). If not that, he is fairly convinced it came from God. He tells a story of an aid truck delivering condoms that were “contaminated” and how everyone who used these condoms got AIDS so now people are resistant to using condoms at all (because they believe condoms can actually give you AIDS). Sadly, this is a common “urban myth” I’ve heard before. I’m not sure how one dispels it but I’m sure it is a huge problem in terms of getting people to practice safe sex.

In any case, it was quite a fascinating conversation. When Paul finished his dive we went back in snorkeling for a second time. Unfortunately, given my fair skin, even SPF 45 couldn’t protect me on the water all day and I got totally fried on all the parts facing up while swimming and exposed to the sun (ouch!).

We spend Saturday relaxing and reading and generally staying out of the sun. We leave only to go out and eat prawns for lunch (and dinner!) and to visit the local market where we pathetically try to negotiate (in Portuguese) for a few things.

While we could stay and eat prawns (large shrimp) forever, we decide we’d better start heading back on Sunday.

OK, this isn't funny any more

Writing today from the porch of our A-frame “hut” overlooking the Indian Ocean in beautiful Vilankulos, Mozambique. We have finally arrived at our “final destination” six days into our journey (so much for the two-day trip we were told it would be – although some of our delays were intentional, others were not). We lost half a day in Masvingo trying to get the two spare tires repaired (again) and refueling with armed security circling around with a massive Rottweiler on a chain (in case his gun wasn’t threatening enough??). Petrol stations are a high crime area because it is a cash only business and lots of men approach your car (not sure exactly why, money exchange seems to be a big business) and are persistent until chased away by the threatening dog (I stayed in the locked car).

We spend all day driving. We busy ourselves with my reading from travel books on the history and culture of the country we are in (or going to) and information on things to see at the places we’ll be stopping. I also bought Paul a little scratch off trivial pursuit game. Between the two of us, we are pretty good at most categories (except for “Sports and Entertainment” when I’m our best bet and that is pretty sad).

We cross the border into Mozambique at Mutare (with some difficulty finding it, although we found a lovely inn where we asked for directions but somehow Paul lost one of his sandals along the way…I’ve always seen an occasional shoe in the road and wondered “how does someone loose one shoe?” Now Paul has done it and I still wonder.)

We drive and drive and as evening approaches we have not seen a place to camp and there does not seem to be any towns coming up anytime soon. At some point during the day we have flat tire number five but we don’t recall much about it after the fact (they’re starting to become mundane). There are lots of people walking on the road…carrying water containers on their heads or large sacks of coal on the back of a bicycle. At this point it is getting dark and we start looking for a clearing that allows us to get off the main road (where there are many 18 wheelers traveling at high rates of speed) and camp but not in someone’s field or homestead.

There are almost no roads off the main road only foot paths for walking. Finally we spot one and end up camping right near a watering hole that becomes active at 5 AM. I worry a bit about landmines from the war that ended in 1992 and we don’t stray too far from the vehicle or the tent. We are woken by the sound of people talking as they pass our tent and most likely wonder what the heck we are doing there. Things would go more smoothly if we knew Portuguese but my Spanish is the closest thing we have.

Sadly, less than 15 miles out from our makeshift camp site we have our 6^th flat and are perched on a steep angle causing the jack to slip and clip Paul in the arm and the vehicle to list over so far, I fear we are going to roll over. Despite the blood and angle he manages to change the tire again and we are on our way.

You have to understand that changing a tire on this safari vehicle is no easy task. We’ve decided that due to my lack of strength I really couldn’t do it even if I had to (scary thought). The jack is positioned up over the driver’s side window and it is too heavy for me to get down. One spare is on top of the vehicle (which requires a climb up the back of the vehicle and throwing the tire off (hoping it doesn’t roll away) because it is too heavy for me to lower down). The other spare is secured under the vehicle by a chain that has to be cranked to be lowered but usually gets stuck which means Paul gets on his back under the vehicle to try to pull it loose. Add to this the fact that when a tire blows it is usually super hot and so it is difficult to touch and get back up to the roof or under the vehicle.

In any case, we get flats 5 and 6 repaired in some place that starts with Mux (I don’t recall the name). Again, this is Africa so the repairs are done in makeshift tire repair places by what looks like teenage boys (part of the reason why they keep blowing). While we wait for the tire repair we buy some cashews from a young boy and refuel. While refueling we watch a whole string of bicycles tied together come careering off the top of a bus almost taking out the people walking on the street below.

I find it interesting how when you travel through areas in Africa, each has a couple of things for sale. In this town it is cashews and pineapples (yum). Up the road a bit it was mangos and tomatoes. Another sacks of coal and firewood. They all have an abundance of a couple of things but not a variety of things. Not great for the people living there who cannot travel the long distances between these locations to get what they need.

Finally, arriving in Vilankulos we eat lunch at a place called Varanda on an outside porch overlooking the most beautiful sea I have ever seen. It is hot but there is a nice breeze and we enjoy a crab salad appetizer and prawn dish for the main course. After lunch we….wait for it…have our 7^th flat and Paul gets clocked in the head with the spare tire as he tries to hoist it up to the roof. It falls back and cracks him square in the forehead, blood streaming down his face and a large bruise forming instantly. Fortunately, I’ve got Bandaids and Neosporin. I fix him up quickly and we try to find a place to get the tire repaired.

We roll into one of these ramshackle huts with tires outside it just as the 8^th tire is going flat (OK, this isn’t funny anymore). I perch myself under a tree on a stump in the shade and start reading my book to pass the time until I literally get ants in my pants and some small boys walk by me and say, “White.” Actually more like “pink,” I think, given the sun I’ve gotten but who cares. We settle in our A-frame hut and decide not to go anywhere for a couple of days just so we can have a break from tire changing.