Sunday, December 14, 2008
Getting ready for a trip to Africa requires a lot of focus. This year has proved difficult and my thoughts have been dominated by Zimbabwe.
I was there in February twice. The life had dropped off comparing to the first time I was there in 2002. The hustle and bustle had dropped off. Hope was in the air though brought by the promise of upcoming elections.
To know what is happening today is difficult. I wrote a friend in Livingstone, Zambia to ask how things were across the border. Here is her reply:
Hey!how soon?
Well you`ve got a reason to worry about our brothers & sisters in zim.You know that person is loosing all his senses that he does n`t know what to do any more.It will be of help to a few families who will sell stones to you that day.If you you had all the money in the world i would ask you to buy from every one just to help them. The situation is calm only hunger and no money.You can go there freely.Take care.
So, my hope will be that I can go freely.
Zimbabwe over years has been like the stock markets the last few months. It looks like it has bottomed out but in fact there is another drop, and then another. My people have been conditioned to expect that things are always going to get better. This is not the way life works.
But in Zimbabwe I always find hope. My friends, all the brothers and sisters, are looking for the day when their country will shine again.
I was there in February twice. The life had dropped off comparing to the first time I was there in 2002. The hustle and bustle had dropped off. Hope was in the air though brought by the promise of upcoming elections.
To know what is happening today is difficult. I wrote a friend in Livingstone, Zambia to ask how things were across the border. Here is her reply:
Hey!how soon?
Well you`ve got a reason to worry about our brothers & sisters in zim.You know that person is loosing all his senses that he does n`t know what to do any more.It will be of help to a few families who will sell stones to you that day.If you you had all the money in the world i would ask you to buy from every one just to help them. The situation is calm only hunger and no money.You can go there freely.Take care.
So, my hope will be that I can go freely.
Zimbabwe over years has been like the stock markets the last few months. It looks like it has bottomed out but in fact there is another drop, and then another. My people have been conditioned to expect that things are always going to get better. This is not the way life works.
But in Zimbabwe I always find hope. My friends, all the brothers and sisters, are looking for the day when their country will shine again.
Thursday, September 18, 2008
This was written in Kitwe, Zambia in February. Because of ensuing, continued hairiness it was not published until now.
Blindsided
Somedays you think that everything can be fine. But it can’t be everyday.
Even though things aren’t going particularly well my spirits are high. A week or two before the impending arrival at Kitwe we began to call. It’s not easy to figure out how to call exactly as all of the cell phone numbers in Zambia have changed. Some now had an extra 5, 6, 7, 8 or 9. Depending if it’s Celtel, MTN or CellZ the numeral added would be different. Occasionally upon dialing an old number a cryptic message would say carry on as normal but start with ‘099’ and carry on with the remaining seven digits. (A local will know exactly what to do if you show them the old number so you have to get to Zambia to try really.)
People rhyme off numbers here frequently and the new digits have yet to fit into the rhythm and cadence as they recite always having a hanging single digit left out in the air while the others are grouped in twos or threes.
So with a couple weeks to go we were trying. Of the two numbers I had, one was going to someone who insisted they weren’t, never were, and never knew the person I was looking for. The other number was working but speaking only Bemba. Mulishani!
So, with the help of my close friend, Field Hamalila we were able to determine that the lady who helped to organize our lives was at the markets or down the road or at the salon as we phoned every day.
With confidence we were told: “Come, come, she’s here!”
Now at arrival, we looked and didn’t find. It was at first said Congo and then it was Zimbabwe and then Tanzania. It was settled that she was actually in Zanzibar but was on the way back. Frantic phone calls were made as it became evident the best laid plans were not laid at all.
Always in every place it’s the same time that I come and there will be a lot of mentions of the fact that I’m going to be there soon and then it is that I appear. It’s not a clockwork rhythm because clocks use minutes and hours and I work fairly reliably on years. Three here now.
So it was that she would be here by Friday latest. All that stood her from being here was some thousands of kilometers, a ferry, a slow train and a few hundred kilometers extra by road burdened all the way by whatever bundles, bags, packages and other assorted weighty goods that would make the journey that much harder. But Friday, everyone agreed, she would be here.
In the meantime, on a Sunday, it’s not the best of news. So our coordinator was not around but we knew everyone and they were all keen to help as they could. As the work was there for us to do we might as well do it.
Now traveling with Field can always be pleasant because as hours go by hours of stories will come from his mouth. In the gaps I try to fill with stories of my own or we can work on creating more.
The themes revolve around great tales of Zambian corruption or the betrayal of lovers or of families who have torn themselves apart. It can keep your ears happily. Even if a song on the radio happens a translation of what the song is about can be forthcoming with a flourish. Especially those songs about faithfulness, unfaithfulness or in between. My favorite about the mechanic who is to be called when something on the car is broken. For example, which ever thing, like a carburetor, he will come over and fix that thing. Or if you can think of anything on the car that will be broken you should call this mechanic. I am your mechanic. I have spanners and other tools that can fix all of the problems in your car. Just call me. Wink.
So we travel. Starting at Livingstone, going north. There are stops along the way and since Lusaka is big place we stop for a couple days. I don’t remember what we did now but it was pretty fun. Cha Cha Cha for those who know.
So further north again you cross a beautiful big river and you would marvel at that river as it’s very big, full of water. You would probably stop and see if there could be a hippo. Or just to stop because it seems the place you should stop.
Before you know you will be at Ndola and that’s a good place to stop also, even for the night, your first night in this area. Kitwe is wild and frenetic. The culture is Zambian but with a mix of Congolese owing to the close proximity to the border.
There is a real Africa here. When you need an anything you go to the markets since they can have it and cheaper, if you know what cheaper is, than at the shops. If you don’t know it might be more expensive. Hose pipe, they have it. Impwa, a sort of eggplant tasting thing that doesn’t look like one is here. Units for your cell phone. Cassette tapes, especially Kenny Rogers and the beloved Don Williams.
If you can keep calm the market is a place to enjoy. You only have to look and you will see things. Sometimes I don’t envy the life of the marketeers you can see a weariness in the women as they sell their vegetables. At some point I thought that they grew them but this was naïve of me to even consider. Someone else grows them. The women come at five and buy from somebody. They put a small, small profit and sell the tomatoes and onions in piles. Little signs tell you how much for each certain size of pile. 1000 Kwacha, 1500, or the big one for two – five. The women are expert at making these piles.
The quality of the assorted foods is good and it makes you feel healthy to know that you can buy and eat these things that are so fresh. Especially the ground nuts. Ground nuts are simply put peanuts except they are much better. Peanuts are dry boring salty snacks that don’t make you excited at all. But ground nuts are still wet from being freshly taken out of the earth.
One pin can get you scoop but you might as well go for two pin and share with whoever’s around.
So with the excitement of the Congolese in the air you will be caught up in it and want to see more. Whether you are ready or not the urge to go will be there.
Field and I talked about how to do it. One of the things we did at Lusaka was to go to the Congolese embassy. The first thing they said was to go back and get long pants on.
So after putting on long pants for the first time in weeks we found a window closed but managed to get it opened to be told to apply at Ndola. No problem. Merci Monsieur, aurevoir.
So at Ndola Monday morning we got papers and went for passport photos and were told there would be no problems.
By 11, the appointed hour we joined the assembled 30 men and one late arriving woman. We sat as a mob descended picking up travel documents from the same man who told us about no problems.
After the crowd thinned he spotted me and declared “oh you!”.
“The Big Man says no, you can’t get a visa”
“Uh, why not, you said no problem”
At any rate, to go to Congo you must know someone. Never having been there I didn’t have the required connections. But Field and I wanted to make it.
I checked and found that with a letter from a Congolese hand you might be invited enough to receive a Visa.
Field is looking at me now. There’s a game he likes on the computer. A game which gave him hell, but not always. It a bit tricky, challenging. Freecell. He used to hammer it.
Through Kitwe we began to look for a Congolese who could take us. Nina was there for us. She had overstayed her days but there was a certain pastor who could go to the border and help her so that she could extend her days so that she wouldn’t be given hell and not allowed back upon leaving.
We made a complicated other arrangement and set off for Ndola again. Nina would join us the next day early to go with us to the Congo embassy and we could not be refused.
So we set off in good spirits. Now at Kitwe, it’s a mining town. There is a lot of copper around. Not just copper but also it’s famous for emeralds.
As you drive around Kitwe you’ll be confused about the traffic signals. It seems like the budget for green lights in the traffic signals (robots) is out since most are missing.
Now if you wanted to make a fake emerald you would need something green. I suspect someone thought of the green traffic light, perhaps while sitting behind a pile of vegetables and watching the rhythm of the day go buy. Red. Yellow. Green. Green! The lamps cut nicely and they can sell nicely also. One Anglo-American employee at Chingola took two nice big ones for $1600 USD.
Also recently another man took $25,000 of polished glass. All the craft sellers know about the big scores. A big score can translate into a nice house in Kitwe.
So, being that Kitwe was rough like that it’s better we push to Congo and worse.
But somedays you can get blindsided. And we were. A Mistubishi Pajero hammered us. There were no robots or stop signs on any side of the intersection that we entered first. The police later explained that vandals had stolen them all.
So when you get struck like that the first thing to do is to ask Field if he’s okay. He seems to be. And yourself? Yes, seemingly. Then Field will tell you not to move. Not to get out of the car. Sit there. Even if the glass is out of your window. It might not even be that your door can open since it is hammered. It also might be that you can taste the glass in your mouth. How does that happen? Is it sand? Is it glass?
Are you bleeding? A bit, on two sore fingers but it’s really nothing. How is your head. What about this crowd. The crowd is there. Stay in the car, the door doesn’t work anyways.
The engine is making the wrong noises. Fluids are out the bottom. Is it oil? Gear oil? Power steering fluid. Ah the gear shift, it’s snapped in two.
The crowd is getting big and bigger. Stay in the car. Safeguard the stuff in the car.
If you look out the window you might not feel good at the angle of the tire. That tire is fucked down. Not a bit but a lot. The gear shift is snapped in two. Stay in the car. The police are coming.
Now the car is blocking. Mining trucks aren’t happy. The useful in the crowd gather around the back of the car and start lifting and pushing. At least now the car is spun parallel.
Cops are here. Okay, at least come out now. They are very indifferent and not interested in what is happening. There is a dark hole beside the car. A cop falls in and curses. The crowd is leaving. Nothing to see, no blood.
The other driver seems in fine spirits. Accidents happen. There’s no blood. Nothing to be upset about.
Field falls in the hole. So does the passenger in the car. A bit of blood is coming from his legs. It’s from the hole, not the accident. He’s gushing but not much. A Madala, the big boss of the other car arrives. He tells the passenger to stop whining. The blood is from the hole, not the accident. You shut up.
I get back in the car and start checking. It seems like the dashboard is bent. All things in the car seem to be right cacced. This car will not be moving soon. A tow truck driver is there. He’s revving the engine and backing into place.
A long while passes and the tow truck driver doesn’t accomplish the lift. Cops are impatient. Lets go, someone might want a night in the cell. Lets go, lets go.
Field, take the keys, watch the stuff, don’t leave the car.
The cops mention cells too much. I don’t need to see a cell and they know why. The cells are not for me. They are for people from here. People who know where and why they should stop where there are no stop signs. These roads are not familiar. Look at my car. I have other problems. Guys, no cells for me.
We’ll see what to do.
Statements. You outside. You can’t listen to his statement stand out there.
There’s a very drunk man also there. That one must see a cell. The lady who’s car was bumped is insisting that they need a breathylyzer for him. Look at him the man is so overdrunk.
The cops aren’t convinced. The damage is not much.
He wanders outside and urinates. I mention that might be an extra charge. It is too, public nuisance. Field later mentions that is a popular charge. The cops also like threatening the peace. They love that charge. They can slap it anytime. Even when there is no charge they can charge it. Ah, threatening peace. Even if someone just spits the cops can charge.
The breathylyzer is .12. The man mentions to the other end of the phone that he’ll be home in a few beers. No. Cells. He’ll be home in a few years.
But the cells are not for me.
The other guys were cruising.
So, no cells. For me. You have to have the attitude that it is never a possibility. And really, it can’t be.
So statements done then to wait for the tow truck. It’s taking long. The impatient cop hops back in his car to go back and find out the reason why.
Some minutes later the same tow truck comes attached to another tow truck. The original no longer having a functioning clutch plate. The strong one seemed to have a more sensible driver.
Now the issues of money come out. What to do here. Tow trucks, possible fines, insurance.
So it goes. But tonight, the next night. I can say that if you asked me at that time if the car could even move in 24 hours would I be satisfied I would just say yes. So since it is then I can say I’m satisfied.
There are problems. The car is now sekorokoro but it moved.
The 4 x 4 can not be disengaged. There is a new wishbone, ball joint and shock on the front right impact side. The car makes funny noises now. It has been up on bricks, pieces of wood, and jacks all day in front of the police station. It was pounded with a sledge hammer. They call it panel beating.
So it moves at least. Tomorrow will be more beating. The window is gone so hope it doesn’t rain. The door doesn’t open so climb across. This is no longer a Japanese car. It’s an African car now.
Two hours, our reliable tow truck driver / mechanic promises. I’ll book the whole day. The car is driving at least and 24 back I wouldn’t have thought so. It’s just sekorokoro car now, an African car.
Blindsided
Somedays you think that everything can be fine. But it can’t be everyday.
Even though things aren’t going particularly well my spirits are high. A week or two before the impending arrival at Kitwe we began to call. It’s not easy to figure out how to call exactly as all of the cell phone numbers in Zambia have changed. Some now had an extra 5, 6, 7, 8 or 9. Depending if it’s Celtel, MTN or CellZ the numeral added would be different. Occasionally upon dialing an old number a cryptic message would say carry on as normal but start with ‘099’ and carry on with the remaining seven digits. (A local will know exactly what to do if you show them the old number so you have to get to Zambia to try really.)
People rhyme off numbers here frequently and the new digits have yet to fit into the rhythm and cadence as they recite always having a hanging single digit left out in the air while the others are grouped in twos or threes.
So with a couple weeks to go we were trying. Of the two numbers I had, one was going to someone who insisted they weren’t, never were, and never knew the person I was looking for. The other number was working but speaking only Bemba. Mulishani!
So, with the help of my close friend, Field Hamalila we were able to determine that the lady who helped to organize our lives was at the markets or down the road or at the salon as we phoned every day.
With confidence we were told: “Come, come, she’s here!”
Now at arrival, we looked and didn’t find. It was at first said Congo and then it was Zimbabwe and then Tanzania. It was settled that she was actually in Zanzibar but was on the way back. Frantic phone calls were made as it became evident the best laid plans were not laid at all.
Always in every place it’s the same time that I come and there will be a lot of mentions of the fact that I’m going to be there soon and then it is that I appear. It’s not a clockwork rhythm because clocks use minutes and hours and I work fairly reliably on years. Three here now.
So it was that she would be here by Friday latest. All that stood her from being here was some thousands of kilometers, a ferry, a slow train and a few hundred kilometers extra by road burdened all the way by whatever bundles, bags, packages and other assorted weighty goods that would make the journey that much harder. But Friday, everyone agreed, she would be here.
In the meantime, on a Sunday, it’s not the best of news. So our coordinator was not around but we knew everyone and they were all keen to help as they could. As the work was there for us to do we might as well do it.
Now traveling with Field can always be pleasant because as hours go by hours of stories will come from his mouth. In the gaps I try to fill with stories of my own or we can work on creating more.
The themes revolve around great tales of Zambian corruption or the betrayal of lovers or of families who have torn themselves apart. It can keep your ears happily. Even if a song on the radio happens a translation of what the song is about can be forthcoming with a flourish. Especially those songs about faithfulness, unfaithfulness or in between. My favorite about the mechanic who is to be called when something on the car is broken. For example, which ever thing, like a carburetor, he will come over and fix that thing. Or if you can think of anything on the car that will be broken you should call this mechanic. I am your mechanic. I have spanners and other tools that can fix all of the problems in your car. Just call me. Wink.
So we travel. Starting at Livingstone, going north. There are stops along the way and since Lusaka is big place we stop for a couple days. I don’t remember what we did now but it was pretty fun. Cha Cha Cha for those who know.
So further north again you cross a beautiful big river and you would marvel at that river as it’s very big, full of water. You would probably stop and see if there could be a hippo. Or just to stop because it seems the place you should stop.
Before you know you will be at Ndola and that’s a good place to stop also, even for the night, your first night in this area. Kitwe is wild and frenetic. The culture is Zambian but with a mix of Congolese owing to the close proximity to the border.
There is a real Africa here. When you need an anything you go to the markets since they can have it and cheaper, if you know what cheaper is, than at the shops. If you don’t know it might be more expensive. Hose pipe, they have it. Impwa, a sort of eggplant tasting thing that doesn’t look like one is here. Units for your cell phone. Cassette tapes, especially Kenny Rogers and the beloved Don Williams.
If you can keep calm the market is a place to enjoy. You only have to look and you will see things. Sometimes I don’t envy the life of the marketeers you can see a weariness in the women as they sell their vegetables. At some point I thought that they grew them but this was naïve of me to even consider. Someone else grows them. The women come at five and buy from somebody. They put a small, small profit and sell the tomatoes and onions in piles. Little signs tell you how much for each certain size of pile. 1000 Kwacha, 1500, or the big one for two – five. The women are expert at making these piles.
The quality of the assorted foods is good and it makes you feel healthy to know that you can buy and eat these things that are so fresh. Especially the ground nuts. Ground nuts are simply put peanuts except they are much better. Peanuts are dry boring salty snacks that don’t make you excited at all. But ground nuts are still wet from being freshly taken out of the earth.
One pin can get you scoop but you might as well go for two pin and share with whoever’s around.
So with the excitement of the Congolese in the air you will be caught up in it and want to see more. Whether you are ready or not the urge to go will be there.
Field and I talked about how to do it. One of the things we did at Lusaka was to go to the Congolese embassy. The first thing they said was to go back and get long pants on.
So after putting on long pants for the first time in weeks we found a window closed but managed to get it opened to be told to apply at Ndola. No problem. Merci Monsieur, aurevoir.
So at Ndola Monday morning we got papers and went for passport photos and were told there would be no problems.
By 11, the appointed hour we joined the assembled 30 men and one late arriving woman. We sat as a mob descended picking up travel documents from the same man who told us about no problems.
After the crowd thinned he spotted me and declared “oh you!”.
“The Big Man says no, you can’t get a visa”
“Uh, why not, you said no problem”
At any rate, to go to Congo you must know someone. Never having been there I didn’t have the required connections. But Field and I wanted to make it.
I checked and found that with a letter from a Congolese hand you might be invited enough to receive a Visa.
Field is looking at me now. There’s a game he likes on the computer. A game which gave him hell, but not always. It a bit tricky, challenging. Freecell. He used to hammer it.
Through Kitwe we began to look for a Congolese who could take us. Nina was there for us. She had overstayed her days but there was a certain pastor who could go to the border and help her so that she could extend her days so that she wouldn’t be given hell and not allowed back upon leaving.
We made a complicated other arrangement and set off for Ndola again. Nina would join us the next day early to go with us to the Congo embassy and we could not be refused.
So we set off in good spirits. Now at Kitwe, it’s a mining town. There is a lot of copper around. Not just copper but also it’s famous for emeralds.
As you drive around Kitwe you’ll be confused about the traffic signals. It seems like the budget for green lights in the traffic signals (robots) is out since most are missing.
Now if you wanted to make a fake emerald you would need something green. I suspect someone thought of the green traffic light, perhaps while sitting behind a pile of vegetables and watching the rhythm of the day go buy. Red. Yellow. Green. Green! The lamps cut nicely and they can sell nicely also. One Anglo-American employee at Chingola took two nice big ones for $1600 USD.
Also recently another man took $25,000 of polished glass. All the craft sellers know about the big scores. A big score can translate into a nice house in Kitwe.
So, being that Kitwe was rough like that it’s better we push to Congo and worse.
But somedays you can get blindsided. And we were. A Mistubishi Pajero hammered us. There were no robots or stop signs on any side of the intersection that we entered first. The police later explained that vandals had stolen them all.
So when you get struck like that the first thing to do is to ask Field if he’s okay. He seems to be. And yourself? Yes, seemingly. Then Field will tell you not to move. Not to get out of the car. Sit there. Even if the glass is out of your window. It might not even be that your door can open since it is hammered. It also might be that you can taste the glass in your mouth. How does that happen? Is it sand? Is it glass?
Are you bleeding? A bit, on two sore fingers but it’s really nothing. How is your head. What about this crowd. The crowd is there. Stay in the car, the door doesn’t work anyways.
The engine is making the wrong noises. Fluids are out the bottom. Is it oil? Gear oil? Power steering fluid. Ah the gear shift, it’s snapped in two.
The crowd is getting big and bigger. Stay in the car. Safeguard the stuff in the car.
If you look out the window you might not feel good at the angle of the tire. That tire is fucked down. Not a bit but a lot. The gear shift is snapped in two. Stay in the car. The police are coming.
Now the car is blocking. Mining trucks aren’t happy. The useful in the crowd gather around the back of the car and start lifting and pushing. At least now the car is spun parallel.
Cops are here. Okay, at least come out now. They are very indifferent and not interested in what is happening. There is a dark hole beside the car. A cop falls in and curses. The crowd is leaving. Nothing to see, no blood.
The other driver seems in fine spirits. Accidents happen. There’s no blood. Nothing to be upset about.
Field falls in the hole. So does the passenger in the car. A bit of blood is coming from his legs. It’s from the hole, not the accident. He’s gushing but not much. A Madala, the big boss of the other car arrives. He tells the passenger to stop whining. The blood is from the hole, not the accident. You shut up.
I get back in the car and start checking. It seems like the dashboard is bent. All things in the car seem to be right cacced. This car will not be moving soon. A tow truck driver is there. He’s revving the engine and backing into place.
A long while passes and the tow truck driver doesn’t accomplish the lift. Cops are impatient. Lets go, someone might want a night in the cell. Lets go, lets go.
Field, take the keys, watch the stuff, don’t leave the car.
The cops mention cells too much. I don’t need to see a cell and they know why. The cells are not for me. They are for people from here. People who know where and why they should stop where there are no stop signs. These roads are not familiar. Look at my car. I have other problems. Guys, no cells for me.
We’ll see what to do.
Statements. You outside. You can’t listen to his statement stand out there.
There’s a very drunk man also there. That one must see a cell. The lady who’s car was bumped is insisting that they need a breathylyzer for him. Look at him the man is so overdrunk.
The cops aren’t convinced. The damage is not much.
He wanders outside and urinates. I mention that might be an extra charge. It is too, public nuisance. Field later mentions that is a popular charge. The cops also like threatening the peace. They love that charge. They can slap it anytime. Even when there is no charge they can charge it. Ah, threatening peace. Even if someone just spits the cops can charge.
The breathylyzer is .12. The man mentions to the other end of the phone that he’ll be home in a few beers. No. Cells. He’ll be home in a few years.
But the cells are not for me.
The other guys were cruising.
So, no cells. For me. You have to have the attitude that it is never a possibility. And really, it can’t be.
So statements done then to wait for the tow truck. It’s taking long. The impatient cop hops back in his car to go back and find out the reason why.
Some minutes later the same tow truck comes attached to another tow truck. The original no longer having a functioning clutch plate. The strong one seemed to have a more sensible driver.
Now the issues of money come out. What to do here. Tow trucks, possible fines, insurance.
So it goes. But tonight, the next night. I can say that if you asked me at that time if the car could even move in 24 hours would I be satisfied I would just say yes. So since it is then I can say I’m satisfied.
There are problems. The car is now sekorokoro but it moved.
The 4 x 4 can not be disengaged. There is a new wishbone, ball joint and shock on the front right impact side. The car makes funny noises now. It has been up on bricks, pieces of wood, and jacks all day in front of the police station. It was pounded with a sledge hammer. They call it panel beating.
So it moves at least. Tomorrow will be more beating. The window is gone so hope it doesn’t rain. The door doesn’t open so climb across. This is no longer a Japanese car. It’s an African car now.
Two hours, our reliable tow truck driver / mechanic promises. I’ll book the whole day. The car is driving at least and 24 back I wouldn’t have thought so. It’s just sekorokoro car now, an African car.
Sunday, January 27, 2008
Sir Seretse Khama Airport
After one week in Gaborone I was ready to go. My guest this trip was Katherine Topolniski, a photographer from Canada, my graphic designer and a friend.
Katt arrived as scheduled and walked out through customs only to have to run back to fill in missing information of where she’d be staying while in Botswana. Nomad is the description which is apt but instead I advised the Mogoditshane Service Apartments (no-frills, but clean P50 per night and up).
Her gate pass already in hand I thought another ten minutes and we would be on the road to Kgalagadi as scheduled. But, this is Africa. Katt’s bags were suspected to be in Johannesburg. Within a few minutes of leaving we were called to say they would be on the next flight.
We went back at the appropriate time and Katt was shuffled back to look at all the bags. She was not the only one in this predicament. Seemingly there was a problem with the conveyor belt at Johannesburg or that the hot air would not allow the planes to run heavy so bags were regularly left or that the storage on the plane was very small, all or none of which may be true.
After further fiddling on a computer it was determined that the bags were actually in Paris which isn’t bad since they were only off by one continent.
We decided to push the next morning without the bags as they may again end up elsewhere than we wanted them to be. Strangely all you really need for sure here is clean underwear, especially if you are the type who prefers clean underwear. My toiletries consist mainly of a toothbrush, toothpaste, deodorant, and a bar of soap. I have one suitcase filled with clean underwear and another with beads, earring hooks and other paraphernalia demanded by the sorts of artisans that I consort with.
Kgalagadi
The Kgalagadi district is one of my favorite places. Having lost a day we decided to act as a whirlwind or dust devil might and spin through. My favorite friend in the area Pedris had been following my delays as they developed by the hour and faithfully waited even though it might be possible he was neglecting his job as a generator operator. The generators are required to produce electricity to provide power to boreholes which supply water to the inhabitants on the settlements in Kgalagadi.
I phoned Pedris from in front of the bar and he informed me he was behind the bar. It’s always nice to reunite. From Hukuntsi we discussed the plans. We passed through Zutshwa and flagged people down to let them know that tomorrow we would be back at 11:00 to buy.
As we approached the last house of the village we saw a hectic pandemonium. Three children a man and a woman were running circles around the hut. They were yelling in !Xo. It was quickly translated for us to English: “Snake in the House!”
I noticed sticks in the hands of the children and they were poking and thrashing at a small mamba which soon wound up dead.
We pushed for Ngwatle. It’s a peaceful place miles away from the annoyances that are inherent in places with electricity. Of course, that’s not exactly the view of the people and they commandeered my vehicle to blast some traditional music from the tape deck. Of course they also left the fan running and a drained battery as a result.
But there’s no need to panic. The worst case is that you are stuck in a great place. At Ngwatle that day the forestry department had arrived to deliver trees in an effort to reforest the area. Each resident was entitled to three small trees.
The forestry department was happy enough to give me a boost and off we went.
The quality of the beadwork at Ngwatle is incomparable and I was happy to buy everything available.
The next stop was again Zutshwa and by 12:30 we were arrived at the Kgotla. Of course, we were the only ones. Someone had spread the rumour that we were to be there at 2. Despite that as we arrived people started walking from all corners of the village.
Zutshwa is not a village where people live close together so it took a couple of hours to have the late stragglers arrive. In the meantime I bought all available and made it back by the end of the night to Hukuntsi for a beer and some rest.
I am now in Namibia and desperately behind in my blogging and what not but ahead in other areas so it has been a worthy trade. I will do my level best to catch up.
Karibib
The new places are always more interesting since you can’t know what’s around the corner. Turning left at Otjiwarongo leads to Karibib. I might actually have been here if you can count passing on a train. There was a choice of staying at a campsite or a backpackers. The backpackers was empty and there were two guests at the campsites. One of the guys looked like a goat-killer and upon further looking I concluded he was owing to the goat carcass hanging from a tree behind him.
The backpackers represented the first bed in a while and it was welcomed. Plans to go out for a beer were scuttled on account of already being asleep.
UsakosNamibia is famous for mineral wealth. Past Usakos at the turn off to a gravel road leading north was a row of small stalls filled with women behind tables full of minerals. Mostly Aquamarine, tourmalines, garnets, quartzes and more.
At the time the women were selling there were men off in mountains with tools for digging looking for more stones to bring to the road. If asking where a stone was from, the owner would just point in the direction of one of three mountains in the distance.
Arriving before ten it took a few hours to go through everything. The sun was hammering by the end of the day. My calves, neck and forearms were all casualties.
Erongo
Sometimes you are in places where your mind couldn’t imagine such beauty. Even to think that life can happen in such places is difficult but clearly it’s there. Signs of life appear whether it’s tree, shrub or grass jutting out between rocks. After that there are occasional huts and fences indicating the local Damara people and their livestock. From there we were lucky to get very close to spy kudus, springboks and baboons.
Pushing forward we arrived at a place called Khorixas and ate local gemsbok. Pretty good.
Kunene
Pushing from Khorixas we were bound for Opuwo. Reading a map and driving a road are two different things. We’d been advised there might be some cool stuff along the rocky roads going through Uis, Palmswag and Sesfontein.
Sesfontein especially seemed big on the map and clearly indicated were that there were some handy gas pumps there.
Pushing through the dessert was marvelous. Most of the rocks for kilometers were remnants of a forest long petrified. Marvellous sandstone sculptures were along the road and long weathered mountains contained colours of oranges, reds, blues and yellows. Not much green though.
At Palsmwag were stopped by a sputtering gate attendant who promptly carved our names into a makalani palm seed. I guess you shouldn’t tell them your names to avoid buying another one but even if you don’t they’ll carve out your license plate number to guilt you out of twenty or thirty bucks.
Our attention was distracted by the cool drinks available at this spot and indulged. A quick calculation indicated we had enough gas to comfortably make the remaining jaunt.
As we pushed towards Sesfontein we noticed we could go straight or into the village and decided to pop in. This must have been a miscalculation. As we approached we found a crew working on the building the bridge which was now out. We were directed to take our 4 X 4 around on a track and one of the crew jumped into help direct us. I hadn’t know, never having been there, that Sesfontein is one of the sandiest places on earth.
Immediately after leaving the road we caromed over a rut and the sand splashed up over the car, through the partly opened windows, through the ventilation system, into our lungs and over everything else.
Knowing one thing about this terrain I pushed for about 3 kms. Thankfully, the car is strong, something the crewman repeated a few times as we pressed forward.
Arriving at Sesfontein we went to the shops for cool drinks and looked for directions for diesel. No diesel was repeated a few times. The map had let us down.
Looking at a sign I felt regret as the main attraction of Sesfontein was desert elephants. I have never seen desert elephants but wanted to as soon as I knew they existed and that they were only 24 kms away. Unfortunately 24 X 2 is 48 and deep sand is not the friend of efficient fuel consumption. So it was off from Sesfontein towards Opuwo
Looking at the gas gauge I was slightly apprehensive noticing that it had declined a fair bit from where it felt comfortable.
We spotted three figures at the hiking spot leading to Opuwo. I thought with our empty back seat we could manage them and I pitied people who can wait at such places for days and days.
Well, our three Herrero friends were not traveling lightly and it took a few minutes to pack everything into the car. I noticed right away the car felt heavier. It wasn’t three people only that would weigh it down like that but nearly a full household worth of stuff.
We pushed and with worries on my mind I didn’t stop for the people who were flagging us down to give them water. I was worried myself about our litres as well.
As we climbed up and down mountain roads I noticed the temperature gauge edging upwards as the diesel engine worked hard. On the down hills things went back to normal. I thought of what first we could jettison to lighten the load and a couple of large Herrero carry bags sat at the front of my mind.
As we crested a deadly steep peak another more ominous appeared in front. I tried to gain speed to make it up as far to the next as we could. I tried to maintain RPM’s at less than 3000 and the Hilux struggled with the wait and the angle. The heat gauge started to spike about a third up and I just wanted to eek to the top before we stopped. Just before it touched red we crested again and I shut her down.
The rad boiled over and I popped the hood to let air on it and to look at it as one does in such a situation.
I wanted to calculate a new strategy and decided to look to the elder among us, the Herrero patriarch. He was more parrot than anything as he’d repeat any word I said right back. I should have just muttered the solution to our crisis so he could repeat it back to me.
The question was whether to go ahead to the unknown or back to Palmswag where there might or might not be gas. Even Sesfontein seemed better and there were elephants not so far away from there.
Nothing was going to happen until the car cooled down and it was seeming to when another car, the first we’d seen on this road during our time on it, appeared moving towards us.
The car was bound to stop seeing our car with the universal hood up signal indicating that we are cacced in some way or other. I hoped that the inhabitants of the car were not pirates or robbers. As it pulled up I noticed the sticker on the window indicating that they didn’t have guns as representatives of the Namibian Red Cross. Red Cross people are typically well prepared for emergencies, even situations that hadn’t become emergencies yet, such as ours, can be helped by their organization.
So we negotiated a jerry can full of the sweetest red-cross diesel ever poured in a tank and solved one of our potential problems.
We asked about the road ahead and were reliably informed that it was much better than the road behind. This put some wind in our sails as we enjoyed watching the landscape transform as we entered Kunene. We even passed a few Baobabs trees and indications that the rains had been here in the days before us.
All this was part of the journey to Opuwo which is where I sit now.
After one week in Gaborone I was ready to go. My guest this trip was Katherine Topolniski, a photographer from Canada, my graphic designer and a friend.
Katt arrived as scheduled and walked out through customs only to have to run back to fill in missing information of where she’d be staying while in Botswana. Nomad is the description which is apt but instead I advised the Mogoditshane Service Apartments (no-frills, but clean P50 per night and up).
Her gate pass already in hand I thought another ten minutes and we would be on the road to Kgalagadi as scheduled. But, this is Africa. Katt’s bags were suspected to be in Johannesburg. Within a few minutes of leaving we were called to say they would be on the next flight.
We went back at the appropriate time and Katt was shuffled back to look at all the bags. She was not the only one in this predicament. Seemingly there was a problem with the conveyor belt at Johannesburg or that the hot air would not allow the planes to run heavy so bags were regularly left or that the storage on the plane was very small, all or none of which may be true.
After further fiddling on a computer it was determined that the bags were actually in Paris which isn’t bad since they were only off by one continent.
We decided to push the next morning without the bags as they may again end up elsewhere than we wanted them to be. Strangely all you really need for sure here is clean underwear, especially if you are the type who prefers clean underwear. My toiletries consist mainly of a toothbrush, toothpaste, deodorant, and a bar of soap. I have one suitcase filled with clean underwear and another with beads, earring hooks and other paraphernalia demanded by the sorts of artisans that I consort with.
Kgalagadi
The Kgalagadi district is one of my favorite places. Having lost a day we decided to act as a whirlwind or dust devil might and spin through. My favorite friend in the area Pedris had been following my delays as they developed by the hour and faithfully waited even though it might be possible he was neglecting his job as a generator operator. The generators are required to produce electricity to provide power to boreholes which supply water to the inhabitants on the settlements in Kgalagadi.
I phoned Pedris from in front of the bar and he informed me he was behind the bar. It’s always nice to reunite. From Hukuntsi we discussed the plans. We passed through Zutshwa and flagged people down to let them know that tomorrow we would be back at 11:00 to buy.
As we approached the last house of the village we saw a hectic pandemonium. Three children a man and a woman were running circles around the hut. They were yelling in !Xo. It was quickly translated for us to English: “Snake in the House!”
I noticed sticks in the hands of the children and they were poking and thrashing at a small mamba which soon wound up dead.
We pushed for Ngwatle. It’s a peaceful place miles away from the annoyances that are inherent in places with electricity. Of course, that’s not exactly the view of the people and they commandeered my vehicle to blast some traditional music from the tape deck. Of course they also left the fan running and a drained battery as a result.
But there’s no need to panic. The worst case is that you are stuck in a great place. At Ngwatle that day the forestry department had arrived to deliver trees in an effort to reforest the area. Each resident was entitled to three small trees.
The forestry department was happy enough to give me a boost and off we went.
The quality of the beadwork at Ngwatle is incomparable and I was happy to buy everything available.
The next stop was again Zutshwa and by 12:30 we were arrived at the Kgotla. Of course, we were the only ones. Someone had spread the rumour that we were to be there at 2. Despite that as we arrived people started walking from all corners of the village.
Zutshwa is not a village where people live close together so it took a couple of hours to have the late stragglers arrive. In the meantime I bought all available and made it back by the end of the night to Hukuntsi for a beer and some rest.
I am now in Namibia and desperately behind in my blogging and what not but ahead in other areas so it has been a worthy trade. I will do my level best to catch up.
Karibib
The new places are always more interesting since you can’t know what’s around the corner. Turning left at Otjiwarongo leads to Karibib. I might actually have been here if you can count passing on a train. There was a choice of staying at a campsite or a backpackers. The backpackers was empty and there were two guests at the campsites. One of the guys looked like a goat-killer and upon further looking I concluded he was owing to the goat carcass hanging from a tree behind him.
The backpackers represented the first bed in a while and it was welcomed. Plans to go out for a beer were scuttled on account of already being asleep.
UsakosNamibia is famous for mineral wealth. Past Usakos at the turn off to a gravel road leading north was a row of small stalls filled with women behind tables full of minerals. Mostly Aquamarine, tourmalines, garnets, quartzes and more.
At the time the women were selling there were men off in mountains with tools for digging looking for more stones to bring to the road. If asking where a stone was from, the owner would just point in the direction of one of three mountains in the distance.
Arriving before ten it took a few hours to go through everything. The sun was hammering by the end of the day. My calves, neck and forearms were all casualties.
Erongo
Sometimes you are in places where your mind couldn’t imagine such beauty. Even to think that life can happen in such places is difficult but clearly it’s there. Signs of life appear whether it’s tree, shrub or grass jutting out between rocks. After that there are occasional huts and fences indicating the local Damara people and their livestock. From there we were lucky to get very close to spy kudus, springboks and baboons.
Pushing forward we arrived at a place called Khorixas and ate local gemsbok. Pretty good.
Kunene
Pushing from Khorixas we were bound for Opuwo. Reading a map and driving a road are two different things. We’d been advised there might be some cool stuff along the rocky roads going through Uis, Palmswag and Sesfontein.
Sesfontein especially seemed big on the map and clearly indicated were that there were some handy gas pumps there.
Pushing through the dessert was marvelous. Most of the rocks for kilometers were remnants of a forest long petrified. Marvellous sandstone sculptures were along the road and long weathered mountains contained colours of oranges, reds, blues and yellows. Not much green though.
At Palsmwag were stopped by a sputtering gate attendant who promptly carved our names into a makalani palm seed. I guess you shouldn’t tell them your names to avoid buying another one but even if you don’t they’ll carve out your license plate number to guilt you out of twenty or thirty bucks.
Our attention was distracted by the cool drinks available at this spot and indulged. A quick calculation indicated we had enough gas to comfortably make the remaining jaunt.
As we pushed towards Sesfontein we noticed we could go straight or into the village and decided to pop in. This must have been a miscalculation. As we approached we found a crew working on the building the bridge which was now out. We were directed to take our 4 X 4 around on a track and one of the crew jumped into help direct us. I hadn’t know, never having been there, that Sesfontein is one of the sandiest places on earth.
Immediately after leaving the road we caromed over a rut and the sand splashed up over the car, through the partly opened windows, through the ventilation system, into our lungs and over everything else.
Knowing one thing about this terrain I pushed for about 3 kms. Thankfully, the car is strong, something the crewman repeated a few times as we pressed forward.
Arriving at Sesfontein we went to the shops for cool drinks and looked for directions for diesel. No diesel was repeated a few times. The map had let us down.
Looking at a sign I felt regret as the main attraction of Sesfontein was desert elephants. I have never seen desert elephants but wanted to as soon as I knew they existed and that they were only 24 kms away. Unfortunately 24 X 2 is 48 and deep sand is not the friend of efficient fuel consumption. So it was off from Sesfontein towards Opuwo
Looking at the gas gauge I was slightly apprehensive noticing that it had declined a fair bit from where it felt comfortable.
We spotted three figures at the hiking spot leading to Opuwo. I thought with our empty back seat we could manage them and I pitied people who can wait at such places for days and days.
Well, our three Herrero friends were not traveling lightly and it took a few minutes to pack everything into the car. I noticed right away the car felt heavier. It wasn’t three people only that would weigh it down like that but nearly a full household worth of stuff.
We pushed and with worries on my mind I didn’t stop for the people who were flagging us down to give them water. I was worried myself about our litres as well.
As we climbed up and down mountain roads I noticed the temperature gauge edging upwards as the diesel engine worked hard. On the down hills things went back to normal. I thought of what first we could jettison to lighten the load and a couple of large Herrero carry bags sat at the front of my mind.
As we crested a deadly steep peak another more ominous appeared in front. I tried to gain speed to make it up as far to the next as we could. I tried to maintain RPM’s at less than 3000 and the Hilux struggled with the wait and the angle. The heat gauge started to spike about a third up and I just wanted to eek to the top before we stopped. Just before it touched red we crested again and I shut her down.
The rad boiled over and I popped the hood to let air on it and to look at it as one does in such a situation.
I wanted to calculate a new strategy and decided to look to the elder among us, the Herrero patriarch. He was more parrot than anything as he’d repeat any word I said right back. I should have just muttered the solution to our crisis so he could repeat it back to me.
The question was whether to go ahead to the unknown or back to Palmswag where there might or might not be gas. Even Sesfontein seemed better and there were elephants not so far away from there.
Nothing was going to happen until the car cooled down and it was seeming to when another car, the first we’d seen on this road during our time on it, appeared moving towards us.
The car was bound to stop seeing our car with the universal hood up signal indicating that we are cacced in some way or other. I hoped that the inhabitants of the car were not pirates or robbers. As it pulled up I noticed the sticker on the window indicating that they didn’t have guns as representatives of the Namibian Red Cross. Red Cross people are typically well prepared for emergencies, even situations that hadn’t become emergencies yet, such as ours, can be helped by their organization.
So we negotiated a jerry can full of the sweetest red-cross diesel ever poured in a tank and solved one of our potential problems.
We asked about the road ahead and were reliably informed that it was much better than the road behind. This put some wind in our sails as we enjoyed watching the landscape transform as we entered Kunene. We even passed a few Baobabs trees and indications that the rains had been here in the days before us.
All this was part of the journey to Opuwo which is where I sit now.
Saturday, January 05, 2008
Flying over Johannesburg you notice a beauty in the corrugated aluminum roofs as it catches the bright African sun. Some of these buildings will be painted in vibrant colours or with slogans. It is too high up to see the people. Even the cars are ant-like and much fewer than those below on departure from Toronto.
Now it is 8:05 pm at home but unfortunately 3:05 am in Johannesburg. My internal clock is yet to catch up to my surroundings and I’m six hours away from another flight to Gaborone, the capital of Botswana. In Washington, the middle leg of my journey I’d sat immobile with my nose in the book until my name was finally paged to get onto my flight. I’d been sitting at the gate but had my back facing to the area where everyone queued and pushed onto the plane. Even with a couple reprimands from the ground staff I noticed that I was not the last to arrive for the New Years Eve flight. Better than last years early New Years day flight where I had to watch all the poor woozy saps sticking there head in the toilet (or the sink) at Pearson International Airport.
The pilot came over the loudspeaker and told us that we’d just passed into 2008 and let us know that there was extra champagne on board. My portion was a meager half of a plastic glass. A few people clapped at the announcement. It was the same noise halfheartedly splattered through a few rows as the plane touched down safely in Africa.
We all had our own reason for being on this flight. Mine was that my travel agent had told me that this was the last ticket available any time around the dates I wanted to leave. I doubted it somehow on account of the many empty seats left to us by revelers who chose to remain on the ground.
In the next three months I’ll be able to do as I’ve done the past years. Traveling through Southern Africa and buying arts from artisans throughout the region. I’ve planned out a week off in Gaborone, Botswana. Time enough to catch up with old friends and then on the 9th the plan is to collect a friend at the airport and proceed straight to the bush.
The challenges of this voyage are minimized by the fact I’ve been here before. With that in mind I hope to strike of in a few new directions to bring the adventure up a notch. Being somewhere you’ve been before feels warm but it doesn’t bring the same buzz in the pit of the stomach as even the thought of unknown.
(Written January 2, 2008 at Oliver Tambo International Airport, Johannesburg, South Africa.)
Today, it's January 5th. In a few short days I was able to get a car, replace the tires and generally organize everything that I need for the coming jump to the bush on Tuesday. More to come once something interesting happens.
Now it is 8:05 pm at home but unfortunately 3:05 am in Johannesburg. My internal clock is yet to catch up to my surroundings and I’m six hours away from another flight to Gaborone, the capital of Botswana. In Washington, the middle leg of my journey I’d sat immobile with my nose in the book until my name was finally paged to get onto my flight. I’d been sitting at the gate but had my back facing to the area where everyone queued and pushed onto the plane. Even with a couple reprimands from the ground staff I noticed that I was not the last to arrive for the New Years Eve flight. Better than last years early New Years day flight where I had to watch all the poor woozy saps sticking there head in the toilet (or the sink) at Pearson International Airport.
The pilot came over the loudspeaker and told us that we’d just passed into 2008 and let us know that there was extra champagne on board. My portion was a meager half of a plastic glass. A few people clapped at the announcement. It was the same noise halfheartedly splattered through a few rows as the plane touched down safely in Africa.
We all had our own reason for being on this flight. Mine was that my travel agent had told me that this was the last ticket available any time around the dates I wanted to leave. I doubted it somehow on account of the many empty seats left to us by revelers who chose to remain on the ground.
In the next three months I’ll be able to do as I’ve done the past years. Traveling through Southern Africa and buying arts from artisans throughout the region. I’ve planned out a week off in Gaborone, Botswana. Time enough to catch up with old friends and then on the 9th the plan is to collect a friend at the airport and proceed straight to the bush.
The challenges of this voyage are minimized by the fact I’ve been here before. With that in mind I hope to strike of in a few new directions to bring the adventure up a notch. Being somewhere you’ve been before feels warm but it doesn’t bring the same buzz in the pit of the stomach as even the thought of unknown.
(Written January 2, 2008 at Oliver Tambo International Airport, Johannesburg, South Africa.)
Today, it's January 5th. In a few short days I was able to get a car, replace the tires and generally organize everything that I need for the coming jump to the bush on Tuesday. More to come once something interesting happens.
Sunday, May 13, 2007
This blog has not been managed very well. I got locked out as Blogger migrated to Google. Yawn. Sorry to those who thought I was in trouble.
There was a lot of blog and news that was missed. But the best upcoming news is that Besa Abuse (a-boo-say) a Ju/'hoansi San from Namibia will be in Canada for a month starting June 17th. Check our events page to see what's happening.
This week there were two articles about communities that I know very well in Botswana's Daily News, the Government newspaper.
Alcohol abuse rampant at Qangwa, Dobe
10 May, 2007
MAUN - It has been confirmed that residents of Xaxa, Qangwa and Dobe in the Okavango Sub-district are abuse alcohol.
There was a lot of blog and news that was missed. But the best upcoming news is that Besa Abuse (a-boo-say) a Ju/'hoansi San from Namibia will be in Canada for a month starting June 17th. Check our events page to see what's happening.
This week there were two articles about communities that I know very well in Botswana's Daily News, the Government newspaper.
| | |
| Zutshwa: The capital that never was 09 May, 2007 | |
HUKUNSTI - About 60km west of Hukuntsi is a settlement which at one point had the potential to become the capital of Kgalagadi. This was so because of the seemingly lucrative Zutshwa salt project that supplied Livestock Advisory Centres (LAC) in most parts of the country. But that was just an illusion, probably influenced by unrealistic hopes. Most of Bakgalagadi and Basarwa who populate Zutshwa settlement are unemployed and poverty stricken. A large proportion of them are dependent on government handouts. However, they are hopeful that the situation will change for the better one day. In contrast to urban life, life in this settlement is so relaxed and laid back. It is rural in the true sense of the word. The intense summer heat keeps people inside their houses. Most residents hunt game and gather wild fruits for survival while a few work in the farms around the district. After several futile attempts to locate elders of the settlement, our team was directed to the Village Development Committee chairman who led us to Mr Taolo Gabohumisiwe, secretary of the Qhaa Qhing Conservation Trust. Qhaa Qhing has apparently since taken over the salt project following the dissolution of Maiteko Tshwaragano Trust Fund in June 2004. Without any hesitation, Mr. Gabohumisiwe said the project used to be a money-spinner. It is now a white elephant due to mismanagement by the committee that took over the running of the trust when the Germans who established it left in 2003. Inside the warehouse, are big heaps of salt, some members are accused of doing business behind the backs of others by selling salt, something that irks the secretary. Mr. Gabohumisiwe said residents used to earn a living from the project, and that most people in the village had some jobs unlike today when they do not have any reason to wake up, except to deal with poverty everyday. The project was started in the early 1990s through the assistance of some Germans of the Lutheran Church as a way of trying to help residents of Zutshwa have a source of income and it was initially a success. He said the windmills pumped water from underground into a small dam they constructed next to the salt pan. The water was, however, too salty for human consumption. A desalination project was as a result put up. He said the place was abundant with salt to an extent that they started supplying the Livestock Advisory Centres (LAC) in most parts of the country. He said around 2003, the Germans, who had solicited funds from external donors, felt that residents of Zutshwa were now competent and could run the project on their own. Little did they know that trouble was about to begin. Firstly, there was a leadership crisis with residents divided over who should coordinate the project. The disagreement was basically along tribal lines, but eventually a compromise was reached. Even after a compromise was reached, the working relationship was not good and the project declined until it collapsed and no money came from the salt project. we lost our jobs and poverty came, he said. He said as the project did not yield any income it was dissolved and incorporated into the Qhaa Qhing Trust, which dealt with a campsite and a craft shop. But that also did not solve the problem as the newly elected committee, of which he is the secretary also did not have good working relations and experience which led to the Vice chairman resigning from the board. He said there was lack of transparency in the committee and even when the new one was to be elected nothing will change unless there is an experienced and qualified coordinator who can help redeem the project. For his part, the former Kgalagadi MP, Mr. Lesedi Mothibamele who saw the project take off and helped by convincing government to buy the salt for LACs, is disappointed that the lucrative project had collapsed. I believe the project collapsed mainly due to poor coordination and management and poor working relations among the community when the project was handed to them. He said in the era of the salt project, Zutshwa was no longer just a geographical site, but a village where people worked and developments were made and they were self-reliant. The Kgalagadi North Technical Advisory Council Coordinator, Ms Masego Gabatshwane said they were aware of the problems that Qhaa Qhing Trust was experiencing. She said the trust had written to the government to be supported to revive the salt mining project. Hopefully, a positive response will bring life back to the settlement. BOPA |
Alcohol abuse rampant at Qangwa, Dobe
10 May, 2007
MAUN - It has been confirmed that residents of Xaxa, Qangwa and Dobe in the Okavango Sub-district are abuse alcohol.
The three villages, inhabited mainly by Basarwa, Baherero and Bambukushu lie about 200 km South west of Gumare towards the Namibian border.
According to a report from the Okavango sub district addressed to the districts sub management, on April 4 and 5, some Bye law and commercial affairs officers visited Qangwa, Xaxa and Dobe on an observation mission.
The report says it was observed with retrospect that indeed consumption of intoxicating liquor was consumed uncontrollably and as a result people no longer wake up in the morning sober and spend long hours of the day and night drinking alcohol.
The three-page report further reads; People no longer take care of the livestock granted by the RADP project, drought relief projects and they come to work drunk...
People come to kgotla meetings drunk, homes and children are abandoned, children are underfed and food issued to orphans and destitute is exchanged for liquor.
The report further states that efforts made by the council and the government to improve livelihood of the residents at these villages are frustrated by the abuse of alcohol.
Bye-law officers in collaboration with local police officers launched a week long raid on illegal traditional brew at the three villages and large amount of intoxicating liquor was seized from defaulters as exhibits.
Efforts to reach the sub districts assistant council secretary proved futile as he was said to be in a meeting. BOPA
Saturday, February 10, 2007
The Bushmen are famous for being short but when you meet them you'll hardly think of it. Even me when I imagine and remember my friends I don't think of them as small at all. Their large personalities make up for their stature so that they take a large place in the vision of my mind.
Only when I look at photos of me with somebody do I notice that the people are diminutive. Or sometimes, they'll remind you.
Hon. Royal Jonah Kxao /Ui/o/oo is one of those short San with a large personality. He's having the title Honorable in conjunction with his position as Member of Parliament. He is proud to say that the is the only San Member of Parliament in the SADC (Southern African Development Community). I suspect he must be the only in the world as well but since there are few San outside of SADC it goes without saying.
I've noted that all the other MPs I've met thus far are much bigger people from bigger tribes. With such a stature Royal has gotten used to fighting for respect. On his car is a VIP decal attached to the front windscreen. I take pleasure in driving with Royal and bypassing the queues at the roadblocks or parking just anywhere thanks to the sticker.
It's been noted in a number of communities that many of the successful San are those who are especially talkative. Royal is a good case in point. He is not shy to speak out and recognizes that is his job in Parliament to stand up and fight for the rights of the San.
Since I was last to Tsumkwe there were no tar roads, now there is a stretch of 500 metres of black in the village. Everyone agrees that it keeps the dust down in that area. The construction was not quick I was told by /ui Charlie that the men would work one day and then take off two for leisure.
The next question is whether it makes sense to tar the whole 300 or so kilometres from the main highway up to Tsumkwe. The cost would be high but life would be simplified. Even in the past month another car overturned on the slippery gravel. The road is not always bad but in the rainy season it is worse.
The advantage would be safer transport and increased access. Cars regularly overturn on the road. The downside would be HIV/Aids. Every decision has a tradeoff.
Even those road workers what were they doing on their days off. Were they condomizing?
HIV is there in Tsumkwe and also in Mangetti Dunes, 90 kms before Tsumkwe. Royal and I had made it to Mangetti to collect his daughter. From telephone reports we feared that she was having malaria. We drove straight on Friday and on saw she was bad but not worse.
That Saturday night I went for a short waling tour of Mangetti including the hospital. Outside there was a queue of four people waiting to see the nurse. Inside there was a slight baby with sunken eyes making horrible noises. I suspected I was seeing a baby who would soon die.
The mother lay slumped in a chair in front without the energy to reach out and comfort the child. It could have been one of those photo moments which tells the whole story but I couldn't have the heart to do that.
Even the small place of Mangetti was having an orphanage. Two women were charged with 17 children. As I entered a smell hit me and as I stepped I jumped to avoid a foul mess one of the children had left after not finding the toilet in time.
The lady was outside getting a mop, her shoulders sunken downwards. A small girl of nine or so, completely naked for some reason, came back with toilet papers and tried to help.
The other children sat watching a video. Some turned to wave and smile at me.
At Mangetti I noticed and at Tsumkwe noticed more that the pay had come recently. The drinking was too much.
Normally I'll have a beer or two or so. But watching what I was watching I stuck to water.
With money in hand it was duly invested in Tafel Lager, Old Brown Sherry, Tambo and other things which when added together would lead to a mix of passing out and fighting.
The main issue for fights seemed to be jealousy. Men for there women and vice versa. Royal was business minded and moved about consulting with Chief Bobo and others about upcoming business of the Parliament and a meeting for San leaders with the Deputy Prime Minister.
Myself, I walked about with Charlie collecting some of the crafts that I love so much.
I found one old lady, Chu!ko. She had a photo of me and her with her in her bag. I was stunned to think she'd carried it for one whole year on her person but there it was.
/i!ae was luckily in town. He and his brothers are carvers who make tortoises and other creatures out of wood. They're brilliant and this time they had a nice lizard. Often you'll see African carvings that are distorted in one way or another but everything from the brothers Komtsa, /i!ae and =Oma is too true to life.
A small crowd followed me as I was owing change to them and made for the bar to get a coke and break a 100 dollar bill.
I paid and Royal came by in the midst of his circuit. I jumped in and we made it to his house to wrap up the last few things. On the way back I drove.
Royal immediately became upset when I parked in front of the bar. I hadn't seen what was happening as he had but I pushed further ahead behind a hedge at his urging.
I got out as normal and didn't notice anything was askew until I looked at one of the ladies who'd followed me to the bar. I was not her customers but she'd been speaking English and talking with me though she was quite drunk she'd not been too annoying.
Under her eye was a gash and blood was splattered down her front.
I understood what Royal was on about now and understood his distress for the car, at any moment a rock could fly.
Royal was blaming a group of outsiders who were there. I'd noticed them but ignored as they asked me why I was giving money to the San artisans. Instead they suggested I just take the things from them. I told them that I would never go to their office if they had one and tell them how to do their business if they had any. They didn't get me and said come again. I told them I would be not to see them and left it.
I don't know why Tsumkwe would be seen as a nice place to visit but outsiders came often to do their own business, whatever it was.
Apartheid is over meaning that anyone can go anywhere in Namibia. So the choice is whether to pave the road for them.
Royal has a list of objectives that he is fighting for to achieve equality for the San. The most important issue is to minimize the existence of local shebeens with the assistance and traditional leaders and the Liquor Act 16 of 1998.
Sunday the day of rest was spent driving the 800 or so kilometres back to Windhoek. The night before, late, a friend from Tsumkwe had arrived at Mangetti with a gash behind his ear from a beer bottle. San on San violence I found out, jealousy.
We visited the hospital. The man, a good friend, had his hair partly shaved and a bandage placed over the wound. He'd passed out after the blow. The other man was in the jail. Oddly, through most of the day the police had apparently watched drunk themselves. Waiting for a most serious injury to make a move I suppose.
Half way home a call came on my cell. The baby of that sad woman at the hospital was now late. HIV is here.
Only when I look at photos of me with somebody do I notice that the people are diminutive. Or sometimes, they'll remind you.
Hon. Royal Jonah Kxao /Ui/o/oo is one of those short San with a large personality. He's having the title Honorable in conjunction with his position as Member of Parliament. He is proud to say that the is the only San Member of Parliament in the SADC (Southern African Development Community). I suspect he must be the only in the world as well but since there are few San outside of SADC it goes without saying.
I've noted that all the other MPs I've met thus far are much bigger people from bigger tribes. With such a stature Royal has gotten used to fighting for respect. On his car is a VIP decal attached to the front windscreen. I take pleasure in driving with Royal and bypassing the queues at the roadblocks or parking just anywhere thanks to the sticker.
It's been noted in a number of communities that many of the successful San are those who are especially talkative. Royal is a good case in point. He is not shy to speak out and recognizes that is his job in Parliament to stand up and fight for the rights of the San.
Since I was last to Tsumkwe there were no tar roads, now there is a stretch of 500 metres of black in the village. Everyone agrees that it keeps the dust down in that area. The construction was not quick I was told by /ui Charlie that the men would work one day and then take off two for leisure.
The next question is whether it makes sense to tar the whole 300 or so kilometres from the main highway up to Tsumkwe. The cost would be high but life would be simplified. Even in the past month another car overturned on the slippery gravel. The road is not always bad but in the rainy season it is worse.
The advantage would be safer transport and increased access. Cars regularly overturn on the road. The downside would be HIV/Aids. Every decision has a tradeoff.
Even those road workers what were they doing on their days off. Were they condomizing?
HIV is there in Tsumkwe and also in Mangetti Dunes, 90 kms before Tsumkwe. Royal and I had made it to Mangetti to collect his daughter. From telephone reports we feared that she was having malaria. We drove straight on Friday and on saw she was bad but not worse.
That Saturday night I went for a short waling tour of Mangetti including the hospital. Outside there was a queue of four people waiting to see the nurse. Inside there was a slight baby with sunken eyes making horrible noises. I suspected I was seeing a baby who would soon die.
The mother lay slumped in a chair in front without the energy to reach out and comfort the child. It could have been one of those photo moments which tells the whole story but I couldn't have the heart to do that.
Even the small place of Mangetti was having an orphanage. Two women were charged with 17 children. As I entered a smell hit me and as I stepped I jumped to avoid a foul mess one of the children had left after not finding the toilet in time.
The lady was outside getting a mop, her shoulders sunken downwards. A small girl of nine or so, completely naked for some reason, came back with toilet papers and tried to help.
The other children sat watching a video. Some turned to wave and smile at me.
At Mangetti I noticed and at Tsumkwe noticed more that the pay had come recently. The drinking was too much.
Normally I'll have a beer or two or so. But watching what I was watching I stuck to water.
With money in hand it was duly invested in Tafel Lager, Old Brown Sherry, Tambo and other things which when added together would lead to a mix of passing out and fighting.
The main issue for fights seemed to be jealousy. Men for there women and vice versa. Royal was business minded and moved about consulting with Chief Bobo and others about upcoming business of the Parliament and a meeting for San leaders with the Deputy Prime Minister.
Myself, I walked about with Charlie collecting some of the crafts that I love so much.
I found one old lady, Chu!ko. She had a photo of me and her with her in her bag. I was stunned to think she'd carried it for one whole year on her person but there it was.
/i!ae was luckily in town. He and his brothers are carvers who make tortoises and other creatures out of wood. They're brilliant and this time they had a nice lizard. Often you'll see African carvings that are distorted in one way or another but everything from the brothers Komtsa, /i!ae and =Oma is too true to life.
A small crowd followed me as I was owing change to them and made for the bar to get a coke and break a 100 dollar bill.
I paid and Royal came by in the midst of his circuit. I jumped in and we made it to his house to wrap up the last few things. On the way back I drove.
Royal immediately became upset when I parked in front of the bar. I hadn't seen what was happening as he had but I pushed further ahead behind a hedge at his urging.
I got out as normal and didn't notice anything was askew until I looked at one of the ladies who'd followed me to the bar. I was not her customers but she'd been speaking English and talking with me though she was quite drunk she'd not been too annoying.
Under her eye was a gash and blood was splattered down her front.
I understood what Royal was on about now and understood his distress for the car, at any moment a rock could fly.
Royal was blaming a group of outsiders who were there. I'd noticed them but ignored as they asked me why I was giving money to the San artisans. Instead they suggested I just take the things from them. I told them that I would never go to their office if they had one and tell them how to do their business if they had any. They didn't get me and said come again. I told them I would be not to see them and left it.
I don't know why Tsumkwe would be seen as a nice place to visit but outsiders came often to do their own business, whatever it was.
Apartheid is over meaning that anyone can go anywhere in Namibia. So the choice is whether to pave the road for them.
Royal has a list of objectives that he is fighting for to achieve equality for the San. The most important issue is to minimize the existence of local shebeens with the assistance and traditional leaders and the Liquor Act 16 of 1998.
Sunday the day of rest was spent driving the 800 or so kilometres back to Windhoek. The night before, late, a friend from Tsumkwe had arrived at Mangetti with a gash behind his ear from a beer bottle. San on San violence I found out, jealousy.
We visited the hospital. The man, a good friend, had his hair partly shaved and a bandage placed over the wound. He'd passed out after the blow. The other man was in the jail. Oddly, through most of the day the police had apparently watched drunk themselves. Waiting for a most serious injury to make a move I suppose.
Half way home a call came on my cell. The baby of that sad woman at the hospital was now late. HIV is here.
Namibia
Gobabis
The Trans-Kalahari Highway goes through the Omaheke region of Namibia. The capital for the area is Gobabis, a nice enough place. I've hiked from Windhoek through to Botswana before but never really stopped here for very long.
On the urging of a Canadian anthropologist, Renee Sylvain, from University of Guelph I wanted to take a closer look at the area. I knew there was a small craft shop a bit back from the road and checked there the frist night but it was a bit late and it looked a bit dead.
The next morning I returned. I found a bit more action. The coordinator of the Omaheke San Trust is Mary, a Kenyan lady. The number two was a Nama lady named Jacobsen and one San man called Nicky who runs a guest house at the back of office. Nicky expressed concern that he would not be long at OST as his contract was expiring this year.
Renee had given me three names to look for in Gobabis and one to avoid who shall not be mentioned.
Willem Abuse (a-boo-say, not a-buse) was contacted by phone and came to the office. He was wearing a green labourers outfit as labourers for the muicipality do. We sat and introduced ourselves and I gave him the update. Mr. Abuse was very fluent in English and very clever. I enjoy knowing him. His cell phone seemed reliable as he'd already been called on it so I took the number.
The second name on Renee's list was Rashida Tuaire. I found her at the Epako location just outside of town. Rashida is living with her two children in a hut made of corrugated iron with a couple flowers painted on the outside. There was one small tree in the yard for shade and a small garden.
Rashida is a craft expert, having worked for the OST craft centre for some years and being an ostrich eggshell artist herself we chatted about a trip to Canada among other things. I made a short video of Rashida introducing herself and talking about a decorated eggshell that she had a the house. She spoke first in Ju/'hoansi and then in English, both well.
Rashida expressed confidence about her ability to travel abroad and was interested to know if she could wear skins while she was working which seemed fine to me. I asked how confident she was in her ability to talk about culture, very. How much interest she had in going overseas, much. Also, who would look after the kids, sister.
Things seemed in order so I left her to go to the bush.
Corridor
From the guest house at the OST Maco (Ma-koo) was a tagalong for the free trip back home. About 240 kms away from Gobabis was Corridor Post Thirteen. Thirteen was in the middle between 1 and 22, all the posts. The numbers seemed to moved in sequence the way houses on a street normally do, odds on one side and evens on the other.
Thirteen was the one with the filling station, the shops and the disco so it was nice it was in the middle. Different tribes seemed to stay at different posts and San people were at Thirteen, Fifteen, Seventeen and Eighteen at least and probably more.
From Thirteen to Fifteen we picked up Maco's friend, Deacon. The girls were pretty good at jibber-jabber and entertained themselves by talking a lot and dancing if a hint of music appeared or not.
Maco liked to dance a certain way by swinging her arms and gyrating a bit.She only danced that way but since she was good at doing so it was fine.
Deacon preferred clapping her hands and making noises like "zooph". Sometimes she would go down to the ground with her arms out in front for balance.
The girls figured we'd like to make it to stay at the Saa Tago Campsite since it was built for people like us. Danny the hiker was happy to see the toilet and solar heated water for the showers. But with cloudy weather the solar wasn't heating. For me the problem was heat more than cold so I gladly stuck my head under the stream.
At Fifteen we'd found no crafts people but Seventeen and Eighteen there were many. Mainly there were some cool bow and arrow sets that I enjoy shooting, ostrich eggshell beadwork, some springbok horn containers and some really neat decorated steenbok skulls.
Omaheke is different than Tsumkwe the area I've done most of my work in Namibia in that the San here are not hunting an gathering. The land at Omaheke was at some point way back all belonging to the San. At a later point land was ceded to farmers and the San were finding the lands fenced.
Today, the San are labourers and craftspeople. Some are having cattles. Maco's family has 23. In general though the San are very poor. The San are recognized as the most marginalized community in the country owing mainly to the fact that they are landless.
As I went from place to place I noticed that the boys had been hunting small birds and ground squirrels for meat to fill the pot. I didn't get a chance to taste.
I'd been asked to do a bit of running around to do pickups from Thirteen, a drop off at Fifteen and more.
As I set off, the pickups were dropped off from a hike and fifteen.
The rain came a bit heavy that night so I overnighted in a hut at Eighteen and Danni in the Saa Tago campsite office.
The morning was spent listening to the community and talking about the future since it was my first time coming. I really liked the way the people were making the bracelets.
The community had a few complaints about the way that things were going and I vowed to come back to them with more of a plan even if it takes a little while.
The way to be in contact was to phone a certain number associated with a phone at Seventeen. Even though it wasn't working assurances has been given by Namtel that a technician would be coming in the next week to fix the phone. If I phoned that number, whoever picked up would be able to run and find someone who is speaking English. We'll see how that works.
Gobabis
The Trans-Kalahari Highway goes through the Omaheke region of Namibia. The capital for the area is Gobabis, a nice enough place. I've hiked from Windhoek through to Botswana before but never really stopped here for very long.
On the urging of a Canadian anthropologist, Renee Sylvain, from University of Guelph I wanted to take a closer look at the area. I knew there was a small craft shop a bit back from the road and checked there the frist night but it was a bit late and it looked a bit dead.
The next morning I returned. I found a bit more action. The coordinator of the Omaheke San Trust is Mary, a Kenyan lady. The number two was a Nama lady named Jacobsen and one San man called Nicky who runs a guest house at the back of office. Nicky expressed concern that he would not be long at OST as his contract was expiring this year.
Renee had given me three names to look for in Gobabis and one to avoid who shall not be mentioned.
Willem Abuse (a-boo-say, not a-buse) was contacted by phone and came to the office. He was wearing a green labourers outfit as labourers for the muicipality do. We sat and introduced ourselves and I gave him the update. Mr. Abuse was very fluent in English and very clever. I enjoy knowing him. His cell phone seemed reliable as he'd already been called on it so I took the number.
The second name on Renee's list was Rashida Tuaire. I found her at the Epako location just outside of town. Rashida is living with her two children in a hut made of corrugated iron with a couple flowers painted on the outside. There was one small tree in the yard for shade and a small garden.
Rashida is a craft expert, having worked for the OST craft centre for some years and being an ostrich eggshell artist herself we chatted about a trip to Canada among other things. I made a short video of Rashida introducing herself and talking about a decorated eggshell that she had a the house. She spoke first in Ju/'hoansi and then in English, both well.
Rashida expressed confidence about her ability to travel abroad and was interested to know if she could wear skins while she was working which seemed fine to me. I asked how confident she was in her ability to talk about culture, very. How much interest she had in going overseas, much. Also, who would look after the kids, sister.
Things seemed in order so I left her to go to the bush.
Corridor
From the guest house at the OST Maco (Ma-koo) was a tagalong for the free trip back home. About 240 kms away from Gobabis was Corridor Post Thirteen. Thirteen was in the middle between 1 and 22, all the posts. The numbers seemed to moved in sequence the way houses on a street normally do, odds on one side and evens on the other.
Thirteen was the one with the filling station, the shops and the disco so it was nice it was in the middle. Different tribes seemed to stay at different posts and San people were at Thirteen, Fifteen, Seventeen and Eighteen at least and probably more.
From Thirteen to Fifteen we picked up Maco's friend, Deacon. The girls were pretty good at jibber-jabber and entertained themselves by talking a lot and dancing if a hint of music appeared or not.
Maco liked to dance a certain way by swinging her arms and gyrating a bit.She only danced that way but since she was good at doing so it was fine.
Deacon preferred clapping her hands and making noises like "zooph". Sometimes she would go down to the ground with her arms out in front for balance.
The girls figured we'd like to make it to stay at the Saa Tago Campsite since it was built for people like us. Danny the hiker was happy to see the toilet and solar heated water for the showers. But with cloudy weather the solar wasn't heating. For me the problem was heat more than cold so I gladly stuck my head under the stream.
At Fifteen we'd found no crafts people but Seventeen and Eighteen there were many. Mainly there were some cool bow and arrow sets that I enjoy shooting, ostrich eggshell beadwork, some springbok horn containers and some really neat decorated steenbok skulls.
Omaheke is different than Tsumkwe the area I've done most of my work in Namibia in that the San here are not hunting an gathering. The land at Omaheke was at some point way back all belonging to the San. At a later point land was ceded to farmers and the San were finding the lands fenced.
Today, the San are labourers and craftspeople. Some are having cattles. Maco's family has 23. In general though the San are very poor. The San are recognized as the most marginalized community in the country owing mainly to the fact that they are landless.
As I went from place to place I noticed that the boys had been hunting small birds and ground squirrels for meat to fill the pot. I didn't get a chance to taste.
I'd been asked to do a bit of running around to do pickups from Thirteen, a drop off at Fifteen and more.
As I set off, the pickups were dropped off from a hike and fifteen.
The rain came a bit heavy that night so I overnighted in a hut at Eighteen and Danni in the Saa Tago campsite office.
The morning was spent listening to the community and talking about the future since it was my first time coming. I really liked the way the people were making the bracelets.
The community had a few complaints about the way that things were going and I vowed to come back to them with more of a plan even if it takes a little while.
The way to be in contact was to phone a certain number associated with a phone at Seventeen. Even though it wasn't working assurances has been given by Namtel that a technician would be coming in the next week to fix the phone. If I phoned that number, whoever picked up would be able to run and find someone who is speaking English. We'll see how that works.
Monday, January 29, 2007
Things are well in Namibia. More blogging tomorrow but for those who like long distance my Namibian number is +264 81 333 1883.
I'm staying with Hon. Royal J.K. /Ui/o/oo. Right now I'm in his office at Parliament relieved to find a reliable computer. Tomorrow we've booked a meeting with the Deputy Minister of Trade to discuss how Nharo can work more closely with the Namibian Government.
So far everything has been done directly with the communities but the general feeling is that since we have proven success that we should look for support to build on our successes. The rest of the week continues with meetings (boring) which will be instrumental as we move forward.
More to follow about Omaheke. It's very great there and I was able to get a lot of springbok horns.
People here love meat.
Paul
I'm staying with Hon. Royal J.K. /Ui/o/oo. Right now I'm in his office at Parliament relieved to find a reliable computer. Tomorrow we've booked a meeting with the Deputy Minister of Trade to discuss how Nharo can work more closely with the Namibian Government.
So far everything has been done directly with the communities but the general feeling is that since we have proven success that we should look for support to build on our successes. The rest of the week continues with meetings (boring) which will be instrumental as we move forward.
More to follow about Omaheke. It's very great there and I was able to get a lot of springbok horns.
People here love meat.
Paul
