A Huntin' We Will Go

Two weekends ago I headed up to Jakalsfontein a wild game farm in Limpopo, South Africa with a whole band of folks from the US Embassy, some US Marines and a few South Africans. Our mission for the weekend: kill African Bambis.

Well, I suppose our goal for the weekend was more along the lines of have fun sitting around a fire and drinking whilst recounting the hunts from earlier in the day.

Now, I am not ordinarily a hunter in any capacity (especially considering that the topic of hunting will likely alienate many of my friends back home!). Call me an old school-Jack London-DIY kinda girl, but I don't think having only held a live gun and pulled the trigger once (with the exception of the time I held the machine gun in the Congo--can't seem to dig up those photos still!) makes me a qualified hunter. A true hunter appreciates what nature offers, takes responsibility for what she takes from nature, and above all, should be present for the whole process. In other words, don't just shoot animals willy nilly and run off for more slaughter while the farm staff load your animal on the truck, take it back to camp, and skin and clean the carcass. I'm clearly no where near the stage of helping clean the carcass or tracking an animal for hours, so I was merely a spectator for the weekend and spectated some disturbing behaviours. Most of our crew was alright, though, and genuinely hunted with the best intentions.

Amelia, Uncle James, Chris, and me after Chris shot a beautiful male impala and immediately retired from African hunting afterwards.

Randall, me, fully loaded and Mindy. Funny how I've gone from bikinis and flip-flops to fatigues and rifles on this trip!

I was surprised by my reaction to it all. Surprisingly I was only startled by the gunshots and not by the aftermath (again, with the exception of the few times I had the misfortune to be with ungrateful "gunslingers," as I like to call the bastards). There is something very beautiful in the process, even just to watch. To see someone have to deliberate about whether or not to take a life, whether they want to be responsible for that life, to see the exchange between those heartfelt hunters and nature, and to be present in the complete dismantling of the animals body is far less gruesome than one would think.

Amelia, Me, Mindy and Randall enjoying our lunch of sliced bread and mechanically processed hot dogs.

I have to say the farm characters were a treat as well. Uncle James was our connection to the farm, and he, a self-professed "legend," was the Afrikaaner hunter to the mark. He even came complete with khaki short-shorts, a big Santa Claus beard and buckets of stories of the hundreds of elephants he's had to kill. Between Uncle James, winks from the farm owner and Marine drinking games, the trip was overall very entertaining and educational!

Uncle Suki the farm manager, Uncle James our guide, and the winky farm owner.

The whole gang minus my Uncle Allan who took the photo.

Somewhere in the past few weeks I've also made the subconcious decision to stay in South Africa for an extended period of time until I can get back on my feet. I started taking a TEFL certification course so I can find a job teaching English here, and am doing odd house/dog-sitting jobs (not as bad as you think: weekend naked party for one, anyone?) for folks from the Embassy. I'll be sure to update on anything interesting!

Slloooooowwwwiinnnggg Dooowwwwnnnn....

Time seems to pass quickly for me whether I am traveling or doing absolutely nothing, which is my current M.O. I've been in Pretoria now for nearly three weeks and have really failed to accomplish anything, including finding a way to get a job so I can continue to travel.

For some reason I was under the impression that South Africa would be much like my other destinations so far: you could just walk into a place, ask for a job, they'd tell you to start that evening and POOF!, you're employed. Here you must arrange a work visa, and to do so, a company must go through far too many hoops to prove that you, the flaming American, are the only qualified person for the job over any other South African candidates. And with an unemployment rate around 50%, that makes sense! I wouldn't want to take a job from a South African anyways, especially since I have other options (including going home and/or begging relatives for some dough!).

So, I am currently exploring some other alternatives. I have the go-ahead to stay for as long as I want with my aunt, and am considering staying here to take a holistic healing course (think massage, shiatsu, reiki, acupressure, etc.) whilst trying to find some under-the-table work. There is also the possibility of some volunteer work in either Plettenburg Bay, South Africa or Mozambique.

But first, I have a health issue to attend to. I wish I could say that traveling is always peaches n' cream; that there are no low points, no points of depression or worry. This is definitely not the case, and I'm sure most long-term travelers have at least one big scare on their trips. Mine just happens to be a little outpatient procedure that will cost me about $1000 (about a third of the money I have left!).

I've debated whether or not to post anything about my current affairs, but it's been so long since I've written anything, that I thought it would be important to tell why. Plus I want to share so that I don't have to bear the weight alone (quite selfish of me, I know!).

For over a year now I've had [fellas, you might want to stop now, unless you are man enough to sympathize with a problem only women worry about] abnormal PAP smears--what a gross phrase! In the past few months, things have gotten a little worse, and I have some abnormal cells that are at high risk of eventually developing into cervical cancer. BUT, they won't ever do so, because I found an awesome lady-doctor (what a nightmare, to have to worry about finding a competent lady-doctor abroad) who has assured me all this is nothing to panic about and she will take care of me for, really, about a fraction of what this would cost me in the states.

To be honest, when my lady-doctor first discussed this all with me, I was more worried that my remaining funds--barely enough to get back to the states--would be all dried up and my grand adventure would be over. My heart sunk to think that this was how it would end; in defeat rather than with a bang. My Aunt Linda is the best, though, and has reassured me over and over again not to worry, I always have a place to stay with her and between all the good family and folks back in the States, I should never worry about being stranded and broke. I think that she means she'll bail me out in case of emergency...

For now, I am still laying very low and behaving quite normal. We'll see how long that will last!

Back in Pretoria

Cape Town felt a lot like Seattle. And I felt fairly uncomfortable there.

It was sunny and cold most of the time, so other than for a quick look, there was little sense in heading to the beaches. The city is sort of nestled between the coast and mountains and very picturesque (no wonder it rivals Rio de Janeiro for the world's most beautiful city).

Most of my time was spent lounging about Backpackers on Castle, a hostel partially owned by some friends that is right off the trendy Long Street, or walking around the city aimlessly. Long Street is the Capital Hill (for you Seattleites) of Cape Town--every one is dressed like a hipster, there are tons of bars, clubs and hippy cafes and even used book shops and vintage clothing stores. I went a little mad in the bookshops and spent an entire day searching for some good reads to pass the time.

It was nice to be on my own again. There were no awkward, "what do you want to do now?" or "which way should we go?" It was only me. So when I got to a turn, there was no one to consult, I just went. I would walk for hours to get to some silly lighthouse way out on the tip of Cape Town only realize I didn't care at all about the lighthouse and just wanted a quiet place to read.

I wasn't a complete loner, though. There were only a few people staying at the backpackers, so it felt more like we were all living in a flat together than staying at a hostel. I would veg out on the couch with Elma or be cooking with Natsumi. One day, Stefanie, a traveling German worker, and her Zamiban boyfriend Thomas invited me to drive out to the Cape of Good Hope with them. We got a very late start as we had been out drinking the night before and had some Absinthe (uhmmmm...it is STRONG, and it makes you go crazy; no wonder it is illegal in the States!) so were hurting something fierce in the morning. I woke up still drunk, stumbled to KFC (yes, there are KFCs, McDonalds, and any other sort of greasy, nasty, heart clogging fast food joints you could want here in SA) and returned to pass out on the couch. Not so glamorous...

Needless to say, we left the hostel around 2:30 pm and proceeded to get lost for the next hour before finally getting back on track and heading to the Cape. It was already getting dark by the time we arrived at 5:30 and the park was closed. Oops. At least I can say I drove to the Cape and saw the park gates. That counts for something, right?

My last day in Cape Town it started to rain, a good sign it was time to leave. I arrived back into Joburg and was met by my Aunt Linda and Uncle Allan at the airport to return "home." Indeed, Pretoria does feel a lot like home--it is familiar and I can completely be a slob at my Aunt's house. Suddenly I don't have to worry about which hostel to stay at or how to cook dinner for one. I can sleep in late, stay in pajamas all day and watch t.v.

I'm not a complete slug; I did hit the American Embassy 4th of July party. It didn't feel at all patriotic, but my old housemate from Seattle, John Clemo, was there. He's a Peace Corps volunteer somewhere up north and has been here for several months now. I haven't seem him since Seattle, so it was such a treat to get to talk to someone who knows me. No silly small chat to break the ice!

I now will take care of some serious matters here, though. Such as why my student loan forbearance application didn't go through, how to renew my travel insurance, why I have been sick for the past month, and hitting the spa with my auntie. It's strange to have to think about these "real world" items right now after having put them off for so long (using the excuse of poor internet connection and lack of access to a telephone).

The Big Break-Up with the TWBR Crew

So, since my last post the guys of the World by Road team and I have split. We met a guy at the hostel here in Windhoek who is starting an amazing organization called Promote Africa (http://www.promoteafrica.org) that promotes local African artists, musicians, writers, etc. as well as provided micro-finance loans and grants. We interviewed Ben and afterwards attended the series of free hip-hop concerts around Windhoek in celebration of World Music Day. The guys broke the news that they wanted to part ways early in the day, so I was determined to celebrate/rage that night, and some new found friends helped make it happen!

Windhoek is quite small, but still has a good nightlife for the most part. Ben, April, Laurie, Robby, Fu (all Americans), and I headed out to the last big free show with Namibian hip-hop star "The Dogg" and then hit El Cubano (most of us made it). It was a good night out, although there were definitely some snafus: Ben was mugged by a guy with a knife while April and I snuck into the club. Hmm...not quite the safest of nights, I guess. But we still had fun, and I made some new traveling friends.

The following day I started making plans with Robby, Laurie and Fu to rent a car and head to the 300m/1000ft sand dunes in the Namib National Park in southern Namibia. I had to rent the car, since I was the only one with a driver's license, but all the cars were manual transmission (which I have no clue how to drive!). So I had to slowly and awkwardly make it out of the parking lot and around the corner before Robby could take over for the 400km drive to the park through mountains and down dirt roads.

The drive was beautiful, and we only almost died once when Robby hit a soft patch of gravel and spun out. We arrived at the park just as it was closing and had to pay the park entrance fee of $80N/person. The card machine was down, so we didn't pay the $900N for camping and were told to return the next day.

We woke up at the crack of dawn and sped to Dune 45 for a sunrise photo and breakfast. Then we drove to the end of the park, hiked 5km to the base of Crazy dune, then started our ascent up the 1000ft dune in the heat of the day. Not the best of ideas since it was about 33C/90F degrees outside and dry!!! On the hike back in we had hoped one of the many trucks driving past would stop to pick us up, but we had to hike most of the way before an Afrikaans guy from Swapkupmund returned to pick us up. Thank God! We were all dehydrated and sore! We hit another unmarked dune for sunset then headed back to camp. It gets to be about 7C in the desert at night, and I broke out into hives it was so cold (yes, I am allergic to the cold!).

We managed to sneak into Sesrium canyon the next morning for a quick look-see and then leave the park without paying at all for the two nights camping or the second day's park pass. Oops! Guess we stuck it to the man?!

Just said bye to my new friends yesterday then grabbed a bus to Cape Town, where I am now. Am still bus-lagged from the 20+ hour bus ride, and will write more about CT as soon as I explore.

Angola to Namibia in Less than a Week?! Que rapido!

We blazed through Angola in only five days, and my head is still spinning. Angola is not what I expected. At all. It is absolutely beautiful in every possible way: gorgeous landscape, wonderful people and the promise of a up-and-coming tourist destination. As compared to Gabon and the Congos, Angola is much drier and cooler. It reminded me a lot of Eastern Washington at times, and the sparse dispertion of people across Angolan meant that often I'd forget I was halfway around the world in Africa still. Many towns are still dusty and have a ghost town feel to them, though. As if normal town life was suspended once buildings started getting shelled. And indeed, every town we went through had skeleton structures and building façades covered in bullet holes. One of the best was “Hotel Tourstico” in Quibala that basically consisted of the front of the hotel and a sign—the entire back of the building was bombed out.

It was good to be out of francophone Africa as well, and to get to speak Portuguese again. Lubango, in the South of Angola, looked and felt a little like Brasil and even had a giant statue of Cristo Rei overlooking the city from the adjacent mountains, Rio de Janeiro style. We camped most of the way through Angola, though, as accomodation is still VERY expensive, and stayed one night in Catholic Mission in Dondo for free.

Angola seems like the kind of place in which a true traveler could get lost. Because it has slightly a bad rap from the long civil war that only ended in 2002, and since it is quite difficult and tedious to get a visa for the country, let alone get to the country from outside Africa, it is not teeming with travelers. Yet. But it is so beautiful, friendly and unique, that I could definitely see myself getting stuck here for a while. It’s a good thing we didn’t visit the costal town of Benguela, the “cultural capital” of Angola with plenty of beach capoeira, or I might have had the guys leave me there!

The five short days in Angola were quickly over, though, and we continued south into Namibia to the town of Tsumeb, just outside Etosha National Park. I was completely shell shocked to be suddenly in English-speaking Africa. We were on paved road with no surprise potholes or deviations, only the occasional cattle crossing. And there were modern gas stations with snacks, fast food restaurants and fast internet. Angola had some of these luxuries, but in Namibia it is the norm.

We’ve now stayed three nights at the Mousebird Hostel here in Namibia that is quite like every good hostel—clean beds, well stocked kitchen, bar—and feels like heaven after the bare accomodations we’ve gotten used to.

Yesterday we headed to Etosha national park to have our African safari experience. The park was teeming with giraffes, zebras, springbok, gemsbock, ostriches, wildebeest, elephants, warthogs and even a herd of kudo. No predatory animals though. Although we almost got taken out by an angry elephant. The guys are yahoos, and in order to get “good shots” hopped out of the car to take photos of animals or even tried to have someone ride on top of one of the trucks filming (which we got in trouble for). Mark drove right up to a herd of elephants crossing the road, and while I quietly pleaded with him to just stop the f*ing car and take a photo rather than continue to inch closer while hanging out the window, one of the elephants got upset. We were only about 20 feet away, and the elephant turned towards us, raised his trunk and huffed. It stayed in that position until the herd had all crossed into the bush and then continued to turn around every few feet as they retreated. I was not to happy. Sure it’s great to get so close to the animals, but not that close. It’s disrespectful to the park, other visitors and the animals to be so reckless, and the fact that the elephant felt threatened obviously means we were too close!!

The park was still great, though, and I was sad we only had half a day to explore. I know I’m going to have to try to see some of the parks in South Africa now (especially since we didn’t get to see any lions, cheetahs, hyenas, etc.). We’re headed to Windhoek later today and then will continue south to see some of the giant red sand dunes in the south of Namibia before finally hitting South Africa, the Garden Route and Cape Town. My time with the guys is starting to run short, though, as I have a flight back to Pretoria from Cape Town on July 3rd (so I can be back to celebrate Independence Day with my Aunt!), so we might be parting ways sooner than later. Perhaps a good thing for me; three months traveling with these guys is plenty!

Nous Sommes Libres!

We finally made it out of Congo-Brazzaville!


On Thursday we said goodbye to our lovely South African friends after Annalisa gave us all chakra cleansings and massages, which, strange as it sounds, made everything seem right and resolved. My chakras that were closed exactly matched all the confusing thoughts and insecurities that somehow crept into my travels these past two months. The treatment left me totally at ease and revitalised to resume our trip.

We also had to part ways with Olivier and Catherine, the owners of the Hippocampe restaurant and hotel. They were so kind and supportive of us that I actually felt sad leaving Brazzaville; it had almost started to feel homey after making so many new friends at the hotel and from the US Embassy.

And strangely enough we also had to say goodbye to a wormy little puppy that our local friend, Destin, had impulsively bought off the street and thrown in my lap. He was in sore shape--worms in his belly, fleas, maggots coming out of his back leg and barely old enough to be away from his mom. But we were able to get a vet to come see him who agreed to take the dog, but not before I got a little attached.

So, with all of us in good moods, heavy hearts and nervous we approached the Brazzaville-Kinshasa crossing again. This time everything went smoothly with the help of DRC consular who called ahead to immigration officials and ensured us a safe passage. It only took two hours to clear immigration and customs was no big deal--they didn't even search the cars nor hassle us about "disinfectant spray" for the cars.

We gleefully headed into hectic Kinshasa with our new host, Bob, and English expat who's been in the Congo for about 15 years. He was quick to get us beers and potato chips (which were quite the luxury--it is wicked expensive for the nastiest stalest generic chips, and here he was offering us bbq potato chips and DORITOS!!) and offer to take us out to his favorite pizza place and bar. The restaurant, O Poeta, and bar, Greg's Place, were 99% white people. It was so weird to hear so many American, British, Belgian and French accents. Kinshasa has a hug diplomatic and UN presence. Something like 20,000 UN employed folks alone who, trust me, know how to revel in the delights of Kinshasa nightlife. We hit club Ibiza and afterwards VIP where I met folks from Boise, Idaho and Vancouver, B.C. I was so excited to talk about the good ol' Northwest, especially when the UN flight attendant from Vancouver said, "You're from Seattle?! I love Seattle! My favorite clubs are Neighbors and R Place. And have you ever been to Manray?"

Anyways, after a series of funny events that I won't mention to save a friend some embarrasment, we decided it was best to leave Kinshasa the next night and head to Chutes d' Zongo, one of the ONLY tourist attractions listed for the DRC, upon recommendation of Bob. The waterfalls ended up being beatiful and relaxing. You can hike around to the opposite side of the canyon and bathe in the mist of the powerful falls and there are plenty of scenic lookouts. We camped the night and met some other folks from the US embassy camping for the weekend as well as a group of Dutch folks taking a break from their jobs at Heineken. We ended up sharing some beers with the Dutchies(of course locally brewed, compliments of Heineken), after which they offered to let us stay at their guesthouse in Matadi.

Things couldn't be going better for us now. We are being put up graciously in the Heineken guesthouse, each with our own rooms, a cook and a refrigerator full of Primus an Mutzig beers and Coke. This morning we went to the Angolan consulate to apply for our visas and were told to return tomorrow morning first thing to get them, no problem. Plus Matadi is a beatiful city. It's all hills and winding roads with the Congo river passing right through. So, for the first time in two months, things are truly going our way!

Hopefully my next post will be from somewhere in Angola or, perhaps even better, Namibia or South Africa. My plan now is to be back in Pretoria by July 4th for the embassy Independence Day celebrations and to see my friend John Clemo, my former housemate and now a Peace Corps volunteer in South Africa, at the festivities. I'll post some good photos of my new friend Denis, the chief of police on the Brazzaville-Kinshasa ferry who for some reason let us take photos with him on board (major security no-no) and the falls as soon as I get a chance.

Kicked out of Kinshasa! We'll Never Escape the Congo!

After being told that the Angolan Consular had returned from a weekend trip to Luanda last Tuesday, the boys and I thought we could finally get a requisite letter saying it was possible to get our Angolan visas in Matadi, DRC. We need this letter, we were told, to prove to immigration officers in Kinshasa that we have a valid means of exiting the country.

Our luck continued to go awry, though, as we were told that Angolan consular services here in Brazzaville are closed. Indefinitely.

Feeling much too confident in our abilities to talk our way out of situations and our influential contacts we had on the beach in Kinshasa (including the chief of immigration police, an English businessman and a local guy), we decided to risk the crossing to Kinshasa last Thursday. Big Mistake. Big. Huge!

The road leading up to the port is bordered by dozens of folks with disabilities being carted up and down in three-wheeled hand bikes and on the backs of their friends and family. After paying 16,000 CFA (around $40US) just to get into the port, we had to convince an immigration officer to stamp us out of the country despite not having the letter from the Angolan Embassy. He reluctantly did so, warning us that tourists are turned back all the time and we were taking a big risk. After clearing customs and buying our tickets (25,000CFA per car, about $60US), we were ready.

Congo ferry crossings are hectic! People are just scurrying everywhere. Some were carrying sacks of flour up to 150kg/about 300lbs on their heads and shoulders (which is quite strange, to see skinny young black guys speckled white with flour and carrying twice my weight on their backs). Others peddled bottled yaourt (homemade yogurt), cheap sodas with neon labels, Congolese beer, peanuts and cigarettes. And a good portion of the passengers were the same folks on three-wheeled hand carts and piggy-backed that we saw on the drive into the port. Enter into this a handful of gruff port police who seem to enjoy whipping the passengers with braided rope for any reason, and you have the Brazzaville-Kinshasa ferry crossing. You’re forbidden to take any photos of government buildings, institutions, operations, and so I have no photos of the crazy crossing (although we were able to get one subpar photo by sweet-talking an officer with a cigarette).

At the beach, things looked like they would go well. Our immigration police contact met us on the ferry and took our paperwork to be processed. Mark went inside to talk to the immigration officers while Steve and I chatted with curious folks in the parking lot. Then things took a sudden turn for the worse. The immigration official talking to Mark left the room and then came back saying we must leave immediately. He chased Mark out to the parking lot as Mark tried to call our British contact to see if he could help us. But the immigration official quickly had the police on us and told us we could not make any calls. They pulled out their batons and lunged at us as they shouted “GO NOW! LEAVE!”

All the sudden we were back on the boats with voided DRC visas and our passports in the hands of the port police until we returned to Brazzaville. The crossing back to Brazzaville was even more intense than the first. There was twice the whippings, twice the shouting, twice the fights and even an arrest made (of course after the guy was slammed into the side of our car first). We arrived back in Brazzaville to the tsk tsk of the immigration officers and plenty of “what happened?”

Shaken up and dirty we decided to see if there was anything the US embassy could do for us. If nothing else, it was an opportunity to find a sympathetic ear. But we ended up meeting the US Consul who has been helping us using her contacts at the DRC embassy here in Brazzaville and in Kinshasa. Plus we tapped into a little community of US expats working at the embassy who showed us a great little oasis of a place to stay that even has wifi called the Hippocampe. They’ve also taken us out for a crazy night on town, which wasn’t really much different than in Pointe Noire—dark, seedy little overpriced joints that don’t charge white folks to enter and have plenty of “working” girls. It was fun, though, and quite a good change from the stress of being stuck.

We also met a South African couple traveling South to North through Africa that have been great company and provided us loads of contacts along the cape (http://www.rootsinafrica.co.za). Their LandRover has broken down twice already—first in Matadi and now again. They spent $2000 already for the towing from where it broke down (funny enough they broke down in the same spot that we spent the night in the ninja camp, although their experience was less than nice or entertaining) and repairs that was completely squandered by the mechanic, who also managed to escape with glasses, tools and who knows what else from their car. Now they have a new mechanic who again will charge them somewhere around $1000. Every dollar spent on rip-off mechanics is less travel time. Shame, but this is Central Africa and there are no alternatives other than to give up. And there is no way that will happen for the South Africans or us!

On this coming Thursday we will try the crossing again, this time with letters from the US embassy as well as the DRC consular from Brazzaville himself. Hopefully everything will work out better this time for us. We had to purchase a new DRC visa, new boat tickets as well as pay for our expenses here in Brazzaville, so I’m not sure I can afford another failed crossing!