Back to the future - the final stretch

Although subtle for the first few days, the reality of being back in South Africa is becoming stranger than fiction; futuristic roads, broad, smooth and flawless, with our car gliding along like a hovercraft from the future; glittering shops with endless goods in decadently coloured packaging, avant garde Christmas decorations adorning subtle wood-and-steel-shop-displays; shops dedicated to beautifying 'the home'.

Bizarre objects on sale like silicone spatulas specifically made for turning flapjacks; rows of eerily identical box houses called lifestyle complexes, shimmering against clipped, grassy green hills and outlined by stylishly built fences; white-skinned people wearing impractical clothes, sitting at pinterest restaurants, waiting for someone to take a photo.

As bizarre as travelling in Africa has been at times, coming back has to be twice as strange. At least, the upper class Northern suburbs of Durban where we are at the moment seems quite foreign to anything we've seen in 6 months.

Apart fom the 'neatness' and 'containedness' of everything (and so much else), we seem to be transitioning from a human-sized environment to a car-sized one (Bill Bryson talks about this in his book about growing up the 50s). Modern life is designed around motorvehicles, how they drive, where they can park, how fast they can move. Buildings and roads are scaled accordingly, and walking can feel like a clumsy and dangerous activity.

As Lindie and I were walking the short distance from the mall to the car wash yesterday my heart was buzzing like a bumble bee, with cars the size of monsters coming from all directions. The side walk stopped at one of the intersections, and we found ourselves frantically crossing the curb of a fast-food-drive-thru just to be barred by the garden hedge around the parking lot. We felt out of place on our feet. We felt 'naked' compared to the robot shuttles whirling around. And everyone else was in a rush, going faster than humanly possible.

Everywhere August and I traveled, with the exception of the major cities, pedestrians still dictated the environment's form and function, and the motorvehicle driver must adapt to the pace, and scale, of life on foot, frustrating as it may be. Now we enter a maze of robotesque machines, whizzing people from their home to the shops and back, with people never seeming to touch the earth, never walking on uneven terrain, getting muddy shoes or having to share the road with grazing animals or meandering plants. Modern people 'hover'.

Maybe that's why at home our clothes and shoes seem to last years but on the trip they deteriorated within months. We touched the world a bit more.

From Durban we plan to escape the malls and its madness, driving up to the beautiful Drakensberg area before cruising down slowly towards the Cape. It was super great to meet up with Michelle Duncan, a friend from Stb, and Chris and Lindie van der Burgh (our wedding photographers) in Salt Rock. And of course the modern world has its perks, we've had our first gloriously tumble-dried clothes and towels in months (aaah the softness), and we've been gorging ourselves on gourmet cheese, rusks, sushi and water (from the tap!). Greetings from the future, Y&A

Walvishaaie en donderstorms



Ek en August voel ongelooflik bevoorreg om die afgelope 6 maande die wêreld op 'n manier 'uncropped' te kon ervaar. Sonder filters en sonder dat al die vervelige en frustrerende dele uitgesny is agter 'n rekenaar. Ons neem fotos (soms met 'n instagram filter moet ek bieg), en deel dit met ons familie. Maar dit kan bedrieglik wees. Eintlik, dit IS bedrieglik. Die hoogtepunte is baie minder en baie meer as die fotos. Daar is baie meer dooie dele en uitdagings op so 'n toer as wat mens dink, maar die hoogtepunte oortref ook al die foto-en-tripadvisor-verwagtinge wat mens vooraf kweek. Wanneer kan jy sê jy ken Afrika? Ons kan nie.

Ons het gister een so ongelooflike ervaring gehad toe ons saam met walvishaaie kon snorkel. Daar was twee grotes wat rondom my en August gedraai het, albei naby genoeg dat mens jou hand kon uitsteek en aan hul raak. Dit was een van daardie oomblikke wat die wêreld jou in die maag tref. 'The world opened up before my consiousness'. Of so iets. Ek kan nie aan ander woorde dink om dit te beskryf nie. 

Nat en vol adrenalien, terug op die boot, bons ons deur die massiewe deinings soos deur die oerwaters in Genesis, en die boot stop onverwags by nog 'n groot walvishaai. Ons is ontsettend gelukkig om meer as een te sien. Ek is eerste in die water en swem al bo hom, 'n meter of drie ver, en bewonder sy skoonheid en sy majestie. Sewe kleiner haai-visse swem onder hom en daar is stuk of agt lang silwer visse wat aan hom klou. Die sand is helder onder ons. Stadig en stil swem hy, met anderwereldse kalmte onder die skuimende waters. Iets brand op my gesig soos 'n bloublasie en later my enkel, maar ek en die walvishaai is alleen en ek moet by hom bly. Na 'n ewigheid van saam met hom swem in die stadige waters begin hy dieper duik en ek verloor hom. August is meteens langs my. Ydi! Kom terug! Jellievisse! Ek draai om en sien die boot doer ver en dat ek die enigste persoon in die water is. Ons lag. Daar was' 'n reuse skool jellievisse en almal is gesteek en het teruggeklim op die boot. Ek was die engiste een met 'n duikpak.

Pure lewe. Ek reflekteer hoe anders die dag uitgespeel het as om dit op 'n video te sien met David Attenborough. Hoe vreemd is die virtuele metawêreld waarheen sommige ons wil neem? Hoe ge-redigeer en ge-saniteerd en ge-manikuur word ons lewens. Ek klou vas aan die koue sproei van die branders, die sout op jou lippe en die ure se soek voor ons iets op die verlate waters kon vind. Klou vas aan werklikheid soos silwervisse aan 'n walvishaai. George Macdonald of C.S. Lewis sou, dink ek, sê: so groot soos die verskil tussen die werklikheid en die foto, so groot (en baie meer) is die verskil tussen ons lewe op hierdie stukkie aarde en dit waarvoor ons gemaak is. Lees The Great Divorce, dan sal dit sin maak.

Ons toer begin nou tot 'n einde kom en ons het heelwat gemengde gevoelens. Vanaf Tofo beplan ons nog een of twee stoppe langs die kus, en dan SA rondom die einde van die maand. Ook: donderstorms in Mosambiek is iets om te beleef. Ons het die eerste reen-blits-donderdreunende-storm van die seisoen ervaar in Tete en toe ook in Tofo. Dis iets groots. Ook nie iets wat op 'n skerm kan ervaar word nie. Veral nie as die krag af is nie :)

Groete en jammer vir al die ramblings,

Y (en August - wat nogsteeds rooi is van al die jellievisse)

Two weeks in Malawi (continued)

The Gondwes inspired us so much with their passion and dedication - cliché words, yes, but a powerful force in a context where passivity, depending on Foreign Aid and exchanging Malawi for greener pastures are normal. Many households are left fatherless as young men go looking for jobs (often gardening or cleaning) in SA. Chancy and Miriam play a much bigger role than just running a school, they are mentoring a generation of kids that offer Malawians something to live for, with keen eyes to see the cultural and natural richess around them that need to be conserved and cultivated.

Along the way we met a guy from the UK living in Kenya, and we spent a rich evening talking about SA, African politics and why he isn't planning to go back to the West. Fascinating perspectives from those on the other side, making you reconsider what you have at home.

Our last week was spent hiking up Mount Mulanje, a large granite massif similar in formation to Ayers rock in Australia. We passed 4 nights in mountain huts, cooking on fires, bathing in the streams and pushing our bodies to their limits on the steep up- and downhills.

Exhausted but happy, we hope to cross into Mozambique this week, where we'll stay with South African friends in Tete (apparently the hottest place in Africa). From there we'll travel South, sharpening up on our Portugues (to placate traffic and border officials with) and to see and experience more of this exotic but troubled country.

Regards from Malawi
Ydi en August

Two weeks in Malawi

August and I spent about a week touring down Malawi, a long, narrow strip of land between Zimbabwe and Mozambique.

Lake Malawi apparently contains more species of fish than any other lake, so it was stunning to go diving there, swimming in the cool water, exploring small islands and rock outcroppings and watching the neon blue cichlids feeding on the rocky lake floor. 

A few days in we had our second flat tyre of the trip, and jacking up the car in the blazing heat with 50 school kids staring us down a slightly trying experience. 

Initially I felt a bit disconnected from the Malawian people - the lake people seemed lethargic, dusty, less self-confident than the Tanzanians and Ugandans, and many along the shore debilitated by smoking weed. But this impression changed as we traveled south, saw more urban people and people trying to make something of their country. 

We spent a day visiting friends I met at the international fellowship (SIF) more than 6 years ago. The Gondwe's built up a local private school 

Sent from my iPhone

Coming to our senses - ‘n bietjie pret

Dit het my (Ydi) gister getref dat ek baie lanklaas die geluid van 'n stofsuier gehoor het. Daar is baie 'alledaagse' dinge wat stelselmatig en amper geruisloos uit ons lewens verdwyn het en meeste daarvan mis mens nie regtig nie. Soms verlang ons na sekere smake, soos liquorice, of reuke soos fynbos in die berg met vriende.

Dit het nou 'n speletjie geword om aan dinge te dink wat ons lanklaas gehoor, gesien of geproe het. Veral Noord van Zambië waar die kettingwinkels van SA nog nie hul verskyning gemaak het nie. Die lys groei nog maar hier is 'n paar:

Kan nie onthou wanneer laas ons die volgende geruik het nie:
-'n coffee shop
-sigaretrook
-parfuum (of lekkerruikgoed) - ons gebruik net Tabard

Lanklaas of glad nie gehoor
- stofsuier
-'n haardroeër
-klank van 'n mikrogolf
-ons het lanklaas sirenes gehoor
-'n skoolklok

Lanklaas geproe of glad nie
-ys
-brood wat sout is
-brie of camembert, sien uit na die eerste happie!
-vars kruie, veral basil
-kortbeenhoender (Aug: normal size chicken thighs)
-jellielekkers
-ribs, skaaptjoppies

Lanklaas gesien of glad nie
- ons sien nogals min mense wat bril dra
- ek het lanklaas 'n skaap gesien
- KFC of enige franchises, hetsy hardeware, kruideniers of kitskos. Elke winkel is uniek
- 'n Bloemiste winkel of bos geplukte blomme
- 'n brandweerman of brandweerwa
- 'n Avo wat meer as R3 kos
- beeste met kort horings
- 'n insleepdiens of insleepkar
- 'n klein sakkie meel (30kg iemand?)
- 'n motorfietsryer sonder bagasie (hetsy meubels, passasiers, diere, pluimvee, boumateriale, charcoal sakke, doodskiste, fietse, glasplate, speakers, meelsakke, kleipotte ens.)
- 'n babawaentjie
- groente en vrugte in plastiek verpakking
- vroue met langbroeke en mans met kortbroeke
- mzungus
- 'n vulliswa of wheely bin. Mens waardeer hulle skielik meer
- active wear (die uitsondering was toe ons Uganda se padfietsspan sien oefen het, verder geen lycra of spandex vir maande nie)
-'n wasmasjien of laundromat. Ons het meer wilde honde as wasmasjiene gesien op ons trip

lanklaas GEBRUIK
- vyfde rat

PS dit gaan goed met ons, ons is tans in Tanzanië en hopelik binnekort in Malawi. Ons is nou 160 dae op die pad en het sopas 'n ander Suid-Afrkaner ontmoet - sy ry met haar motorfiets van Kaap tot Nairobi en terug - dapper!

Uganda is beautiful

We've been on the road for 150 days and the cruiser turned 400000 this week. It's been 7 days since we crossed the border into Uganda.

Uganda is a much smaller country than Tanzania, landlocked between to DRC and Kenya with the Victoria Lake covering a large part of it. The main highways are tarmac and well maintained, much better than 7 years ago when we were here. Still, getting to the beautiful spots takes time. Everything in Uganda seems, according to google maps, 6 hours drive from Kampala. The first two hours consists of getting out of Kampala.

So far area arount Mount Elgon was a definite highlight. We camped at the beautiful Sisiyi falls (lesser known than Sipi falls) and as the guide book claims, it must be one of the most idyllic camp sites in the country. Serpentine tree roots clasping mossy boulders, ferns and flowers growing on mountainous terraces with the mist of the 100m waterfall floating towards the sky. And then a deafening tropical thunder storm making the trees shake around you as its massive rain drops begin cascading from the sky.

A young guy called Rony took us for a guided walk the next morning to two other 50m plus waterfalls, some accessible only by trudging through the banana and coffee planted hills where local people dry coffee beans on large sheets on the ground. Along the way we were introduced to the village headman and to Rony's teacher from school days. With the rippling sound of their language in our ears and the breathtaking beauty of the place in the eyes, we felt like guests, not tourists.

Jinja was another highlight. Usually a backpackers and tourist confabulation of music, parties and beer, Jinja was nearly deserted when we came - an introvert's dream. Camping on a stretch of grass, we could sit and read on the deck overlooking the 200m wide Nile river, watch local fishermen with make-shift plastic paddles lowering their bait on hand held line. Or scan the banks for kingfishers, hamerkop, egrets and monkeys.

We got acquainted with three other foreigners, a kayak-and-adventure-junky-duo from the UK now working in Fort Portal, and a spunky UK-Aussy accountant working in Kampala but taking a weekend break at the river. Their hilarious and riveting stories about working and traveling in Africa (notably DRC, Gabon and Rwanda) made for great late night conversation.

Somehow David, the 40-something kayak expert and unofficial veteran of the local kayak scene, convinced me to run the rapids for a half day of 'beginners' white water. August had his own boat while David and I paddled a sit-on-top together (a hard plastic boat like a surf ski). Nothing prepares one for the size and the power of the Nile's water. Even the flat water is alive. In the waves, whirlpools and boils of the rapids (I dont know all the correct terms), one feels more or less like a paper plane in a gale, completely powerless but for adhering to the forces at work beneath you.

Other fun memories include the assortment of Ugandan passengers the cruiser has taken on board. Usually without warning. When a park ranger with an automatic rifle climbs in behind you, you tend to get a little bit nervous. And embarrassed, uhm, because of the underpants and other pieces of drying laundry scattered around his seat. Yesterday we had to do a 2h drive back on our own tracks (we misread the sign about the broken bridge). To help us find the correct route we took a Uganda Police Force officer on board as well as his friend with two live chickens in hand (claw). All our passengers has been super friendly, courteous and helpful. Even the chickens. They were all 'just back from church' so nothing to worry about. August compared our friendly ranger's gun control to 'a Western movie from the 70s'.

Below some pics from this week:

Change of plans, no Kenya

Ever since covid-19 we've been mindful that we might get stuck at a border post or have to change our plans on the fly. So this week, when Kenya turned us away, we weren't overly surprised. This was not because of covid, though, but because we didn't have a carnet de passage customs document and our form C32 wasn't accepted.

When traveling in Africa it helps to have an open itinerary, and an open schedule too. Things take time. A lot of time. Pole-pole. Our parents experienced this well during their visit. When we were trying to get a permit for Serengeti it took many hours standing behind many well worn wooden desks with many weary officials behind them. When we went to pick up the cruiser after its windscreen repair it took more than an hour to get the car. While August was sorting out the admin, going to the bank, waiting for the invoice, etc, my parents and I waited in the small waiting room, warm, tired and travel-weary. But we passed the time by having a really good conversation about the 1980s in South Africa and how going overseas with their dubious SA passport opened their eyes to how the rest of the world viewed us then. It was a more turbulent time than we can ever imagine.

Anyway. Everything from buying a sim card to entering a national park takes heaps of time and patience. It's a great (and humbling) antidote to the instant culture back home, where we have anything we want at our fingertips, and people to serve us when we please. Do we ever consider what a sim card actually entails, the IT back-end, the satellite and network infrustructure needed, the micro chip and plastic manufacturing plant where it came from? No. Maybe we'll go crazy if we had to always mind the procress and life cycle of everything we consume. People here, I think, are better at it. And they're not crazy, they're just realistic.

Anyway. Instead of circumventing Victoria Lake like we initially planned, we drove back inland about 1000km and entered Ug from below. The border corssing between Tanzania and Uganda was surprisingly stress free and quick, and we exited the building just in time for a mighty thunder storm and cloud burst to chase us back into the cruiser.  

Both of us have been in Uganda before, but doing it 'self drive' entails different challenges, charms and perspectives. We plan to spend the next two or three weeks retracing some of our 2013 steps as well as embarking on some new adventures.

It promises to be a challenging leg of the trip, with high humidity, more rain and muddy terrain, more road blocks and more mosquitoes. We're hoping that a good dose of travel stamina (and prayers) will sustain us, and that the feeling of being-alive-and-learning-so-much will make up for whatever comes next. One of our favourite travel quotes and personal maxims for overlanding is this one by GK Chesterton: "The traveler sees what he sees, the tourist sees what he has come to see". 

So onwards we go!