Archive for June, 2009

Saturday May 30, Senga Bay (night)

Monday, June 22nd, 2009

Last night we met a fella from the UK, also staying at the Wheel House. He had been working for the British Government for years in Liberia, and Sudan. Naturally he and Katie found much to talk and reminisce about. I found him an interesting and good humored chap, filled with stories too specific and lengthy to be recounted here. The short of it is that he has been everywhere. We slept in late this morning, swam, and sunned ourselves alternately. Had the last of our tomatoes and yogurt for breakfast. So far I’ve been eating very well. No starving in Africa for me. We took a long stroll up the dirt road leads to the Wheel House to seek some provisions at the “supermarket”. We were joined by an entourage of giggling, smiling, and squealing children who did not leave our company for the duration of the walk. We sang songs, made up marches, played counting, clapping, and face making games. We stopped at a small (very small) market about 2k up the road and picked up some tomatoes and roasted ground nut (peanuts but chewier). We bought a big Squash (orange soda) for the kids to share, and stopped at another small store on the way back and purchased some bottles of water for us, and sweeties for 1 Kwacha each for the kids. We made them cue up single file and gave each kid one. Walking back I tossed around a guava fruit wrapped in string and plastic bags two of the older children. We parted ways at their village and continued on down the road home followed by a single tottering child who didn’t speak, and didn’t appear to understand English, but held Katie’s hand the rest of the walk back, waving goodbye when we parted ways. The rest of the hot day was given over to reading, napping, and cooling off with a dive into the lake. Tonight we played cards with a perfect half-moon as a backdrop and talked about the States, the future, and what to do with our lives. We enjoyed another good dinner, although the cook the night before was better, and as I am writing this, we are sitting on the porch with the crickets and the sound of gentle waves on the shore.

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Saturday May 30, Lake Malawi, Senga Bay (morning)

Sunday, June 21st, 2009

We strolled down the dirt road outside the Wheel House as the sun was sinking last evening. Children shouted and waved at us, so we danced at them, which made them cackle. They continued encouraging us, emulating our dances and repeated yelling “hello!” They would run away laughing if we tried to approach. We continued to stroll and passed a woman who said she was a teacher at a school nearby. Katie cautioned me on jumping straight into “how are you doing?” She told me that I have to start with, “hello” because the whole: “Hello.” “Hello.” “How are you?” “Fine. How are you?” exchange is memorized and deviations could be confusing. We took a path that led down to the shore and walked back along the beach past a small fishing village. Katie foud a gang of excited youngsters whose shrieks of excitement roused all the rest of the kids within earshot. They all came running out in one big herd, all of them wanting to shake Katie’s hands. She began to chase the kids around a chicken coop. We sang, and danced, and clapped with them. The village women looked on smiling, and offered us a big grasshopper, which we refused, on our way out. The men, at best looked on with amusement, and at worst derision. They propositioned us for money and cigarettes. Katie said, “So that’s what it’s like; the kids are great, men are a pain in the ass!” As soon as I got here I’d been latching onto the face of every child I’d seen. I now think it’s because they are immediately relatable. With a child, you make some goofy faces, dance around, and they love it. It doesn’t matter if you’re foreign, don’t speak their language, don’t share their culture. The adults all want the money they presume I have, and are therefore often difficult to relate to. Exchanges based on assumptions and ignorance can be obviously strained. Yesterday as I sat on the beach, finally relaxing, an “artist” named Mac approached me, laid out a towel directly beside me, and begin unpacking and laying out his merchandise. I told him that I had no money to give at the moment, but he was unfazed, saying that we could instead trade; my trousers perhaps, or my phone. I wanted to try and talk to this kid, if he did in fact do these painting and pieces of jewelery, then that was something interesting, and I feel I can talk about art or process with people, but there was none of that. I offered to trade art for art. I tore out a piece of notebook paper and tore it in half. I told him that I’d draw on one half and he could draw on the other, and that we’d trade the next day. He just laughed at me. Told me I was crazy and creative. At least it got him to leave me alone.

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Friday May 29, Wheel House, Lake Malawi, Senga Bay (afternoon)

Thursday, June 18th, 2009

Took a cab 2 hours to Senga Bay on Lake Malawi this morning. We hired a cabbie who was being undercut by a man who didn’t even have a car (but promised that it would be coming very soon). Katie didn’t seem to trust our driver much, even more so when he stopped and had his “brother” hop into the car with us, however, he got us here quick, shook hands, smiled, and took off, grumbling only slightly about the fare. The drive took us through beautiful countryside. Very rural, but there were people and small thatched villages the whole drive. Kids shout “hello” and “uzungu” and wave. Everyone else does their best to stay out of the way of the car. The goats, which are numerous here, aren’t as hep, and seem to be the greatest hazard on the road, besides the other cars. Lake Malawi truly is beautiful. It’s enormous and penetrating blue. Beautiful black, red, and gold sand that dances and twirls into impossible patterns with each wave. There are monkeys here, and birds, numerous blue tailed lizards, geckos, and burning sun. We had a lunch of tomatoes, purchased at the market in Lilongwe, rolls, yogurt, and museli. I am very happy to have nothing to do and nothing to think about for a couple of days.

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Friday May 29, Lilongwe, Mabuya Cap (morning)

Wednesday, June 17th, 2009

The night here is silent. There is no din of frogs or insects, just the occasional swelling of a chorus of howling dogs. At some point you wake up and the relentless roar and clanging of traffic is back like it was there all along. I slept very well actually. The mats we were provided to sleep on in our tent were substantial, and although the temperature did drop considerably, my new sleeping bag held most of the cold at bay. The sky is 100% clear and perfect blue this morning. Not a sight I’ve never seen, but one that is always welcome. Today we travel to Lake Malawi.

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Thursday May 28, Lilongwe Area 3, Mabuya Camp (night)

Tuesday, June 16th, 2009

I am writing this by the light of my headlamp at Mabuya Camp in Area 3 of Lilongwe, the capital of Malawi. Mabuya is a hostel, of sorts, constituted primarily of local hangabouts. This is Africa proper. Katie, a young man my age who works at the camp, a girl from Bristol, and myself strolled over to the market in the last few hours of light today. This whole experience was so completely outside my frame of reference that I have yet to even establish enough appropriate context to process it all. The images I am now turning over where nowhere present in my mind before seeing them today. I had imagined a sort of Middle-Eastern bazaar, another sight I have never seen, but at least have a filmic reference for. The market here was instead rows and rows of thatched brown cubicles, and vendors peddling fruits, vegetables, curios, crafts, and crap. Giant carrots and cabbage to wallet pouches, and bootlegged movies. Kenny Rodgers cassettes, and wallet puches, dried fish, dried beans, and warm soda. Everyone tries to force their products upon you, but they seem to relent easily enough with a “no thank you.” Probably used to that sort of thing. People are happy and smiling here. They shake hands long and often. I feel very much a foreigner and very much alone. My travel companion is in somewhat of a foul mood I’m afraid, and it puts me in the precarious situation of feeling happy about some independence, and feeling completely overwhelmed and somewhat helpless. I suffered an abrupt need for a toilet in the supermarket today. I asked where I may find such a thing and they told me, “the front.” I had to ask again at the front because there was nothing indicating “toilet” anywhere. They told me to go to the manager’s office. The manager told me to, “go straight,” which led to a door marked “staff only.” I asked sheepishly, “toilet?” feeling I had to be closing in on salvation, but the doorway only led to more confusion. “Toilet?” “Yes.” “Toilet?” “Talk to that man.” “Toilet?” “Upstairs.” “Great! Zikomo!” “But I have to search you first.” Fine! Toilet is the next step right? I bet if we really tried we could reduce the amount of steps in this process to two. But all of this is just amazing. I’m scared. I’m exhilarated. I’m happy. I’m disoriented. I’m worried. I’m hopeful. I’m in Africa.

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Thursday May 28, Plane to Lilongwe (afternoon)

Wednesday, June 10th, 2009

We survived Johannesburg, South Africa, city of vile repute, but just barely. This un-vactioanble dark place where whites are shot on arrival and again on their way to the hospital, and all their belongings stolen multiple times before the plane has even landed is behind us. In truth we stayed a beautiful night at a gorgeous guest house in Melville. I spoke with numerous South Africans about the foul perception of Johannesburg vs. its reality. It certainly couldn’t have bee nas bad as all the horror I’d heard. And it wasn’t. The constant checking of the door locks by the driver of our car reminded us that there was at least a concern for possible danger in the golden early evening. None of it found us however. Instead we had a lovely hot shower, and a soak in one of the largest bath tubs I had ever lost track of time in. We ate a gorgeous breakfast in the morning, and had a dinner of roasted vegetables, potatoes, lamb shank, and steak delivered to our gate last night, which we ate atop the house, atop the hill, atop Johannesburg. The people were either very friendly or totally aloof. I mentioned to Katie that I still don’t feel I’m in over my head in some other world. I am simply in some place new. I have hit a point in my life where travel in and of itself, is no longer an accomplishment; it is the stories and experiences that travel provides the opportunity for that are the reward. Our night at “A Room With a View” was precisely what was needed to recover from the long day(S) of travel to get here. I feel healthy, fed, rested, and alert. We chatted with some folks at breakfast this morning. This international travel business really goes to show just how much a hayseed I am. I speak no languages and have only ever traveled to the UK. Everyone starts somewhere I suppose, some just start young and hit the ground running. I don’t feel deficient or insecure, it just means I generally have less to talk about with the well traveled. Closing in on Lilongwe now. Adventure ratchets up a couple notches from here on. A good story from our first driver, and ex-jet-setter who grew up in Zimbabwe, said that he once had some Americans ask him if lions still roamed around the streets of Johannesburg. Negative points to America for that one.

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Wednesday May 27, Plane to Johannesburg (1:30am)

Tuesday, June 9th, 2009

Deliriously tired… although I’m sure the bottom is still a long way down if I care to try and find it. 8 hours left. My brain feels like it may float out the top of my skull. Eyes might crack. I would love to sleep. I am upset at the sun for attempting to rise at 3 in the morning. The upside is that I will see the sun shining for the first time on the African continent. Far to the West. Dakar, Senegal.

(2:46pm Interzone Time)————–>

I am awake if that’s what we’re choosing to call it. I never slept, just opted out of consciousness. My eyes burn and my stomach has turned on itself for nutrients. However my nose is no longer running, and only an hour and a half remains before the rest of the month. The landscape below me is certainly alien. Particularly Senegal. Dakar is a city of shoe-boxes, cut and stood up next to each other in dense and seemingly vacant clusters. Now; long parallel swaths of lighter colored land, evenly staggered as far as I can see from our South American Air’s Eye View. The roads look like white string laid on a mat of aged leather in sturdy but haphazard patterns. Africa is, of course, how we all become better writers. Africa makes better white men of us all…

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Wednesday May 27, Plane to Johannesburg (12:50am)

Monday, June 8th, 2009

Awake after not having slept a wink. 40 minutes from Dakar and my first time touching down on African soil. An hour to sit and think about what I’ve done, and then another 8 hours till Johannesburg. It still doesn’t feel that crazy to be on this plane to this place, and at this point I don’t know if it’s going to. What I’m doing seems so possible, so rational. I’ve given it a day and a half of my life to than do whatever, but I ask nothing in return. Adventure right? Why do people put in the effort to travel if it’s not what they really want? It’s a very expensive form for boredom to take. I wasn’t even close to boredom, I’ve never been busier or happier in my life before this departure. It feels like an interruption. But it’s what came up. This is as much a part of my life as any of the shows I played last week, any of the things I’ve written, or the e-mails I’ve sent. Africa, to me, will become as real to me as anything I’ve ever done. Part of my history it’s becoming.

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Tuesday May 26th, Dulles International (12:00pm)

Sunday, June 7th, 2009

Sitting and waiting for 18 hours to begin in Washington DC (6:00pm) We stop over for an hour in Dakar, Senegal. The child behind me is playing out an epic scene with his dinosaur toys (“my guys”, “my friends”) and a volcano filled with “hot lama”. Flipping through the in-flight magazine here on the ground, I was stricken with the lengths they’ve gone to make Africa look like Tallahassee. Black are not pictured unless they are entertainers (minstrels) or servers (slaves). You’d think Africa was just a bunch of white folks having a good ole’ time. These black entertainers are kept around, of course, as representations of the “real culture”, but the rest is given over to Shakespeare, piano recitals, ballet, jogging, oh and lions. There are lions in Africa..

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Tuesday May 26, 2009 9:00am

Wednesday, June 3rd, 2009

:::FROM MY TRAVEL JOURNAL:::

And so we began, on a familiar air conditioned bus rolling South to Boston at 8:30 one morning. The Importance of Being Earnest is being ignored by myself. My travel companion, however, appears to be enjoying it. I have really no idea at all where this will take me or what effect it may have on the rest of my life. I know I will be on a plane for a very long time, but beyond that it is just fits and starts of images, artificial and imagined. In spite of it all I feel myself. The day does not seem particularly significant or strange. I know everyone is expecting this to be an out of body experience, beyond the extremes of excitement, but I fell in step with the present. I am ready (as much as I’ll ever be) for whatever is to transpire. I am not changing my life, I am siply living it. It is not possible for me to live it as someone else. The future will last precisely as long as it does, and I will be there with it the whole way. Here’s to safe travels.

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