Sitting in my office at The Big Issue and thinking about my upcoming trip, I really looked forward to going back to a third world country, or the real Africa as Capetonians call it.
Looking back, I think I over romanticized what it would be like, walking in the dusty streets, using toilets outside and bathing with cold water, just like the way I remembered it from when I was growing up. I liked to think of myself as a real ghetto girl who could handle any kind of lifestyle. I expected I would get to Zambia and just perfectly fit in and adjust. Me and Jorrit had even spoke about how we were going to stay at cheap crusty places to save money. But even before I reached Zambia I realised that maybe I had been living in Cape Town for too long.
The real Africa already started testing me when we boarded the bus from Windhoek to Livingstone. It was nothing like the comfortable air-conditioned sleepliner with lots of leg space and nicely reclining seats that we had boarded from Cape Town. The heat on this bus was unbearable and made me question whether I was actually up for this.
And it did not end there. Once we arrived in Livingstone, at the humble guest house where we planned to spend some days, heat-wise the worst was still to come. I had a fan in my room, but it did not help much at all. It was only blowing around hot air. It was so hot that I could hardly sleep at night. Walking outside during the day was almost impossible, as after some minutes I would feel sick like was going to faint.
I started getting so frustrated. I found myself constantly complaining about the heat, the fact that the water tasted funny and was just too hot to drink directly from the tap, not wanting to walk after 10 in the morning in fear of the sun burning me... For two days I was a sweaty moaner. Until.... I discovered Freezits :).
Freezits are small plastics containing frozen lemonade, sold by the road side in different chemical flavours for only 500 ZMK (Zambian Kwacha), less than a rand. My discovery of Freezits suddenly made the walks to town bearable, as long as the little girl who sold them at my corner was there, and had another one for the way back.
With the heat out of the way, I finally got a chance to enjoy Zambia. I thought I had settled in and had become real African after all, but when I arrived in the capital Lusaka I found myself obsessed with hygiene, wanting to wash each and everything I bought from a street vendor, even my Freezits and bottles.
On top of that I just couldn't handle the crusty toilets and bathrooms of the backpackers that we were staying at, which was not even a run down crusty place like we had imagined, but quite upmarket and above my budget. The toilets smelled and couldn't flush properly and had flies all over them, the doors to the shower could not close properly, let alone lock. They was nowhere to hang your towel while you showered and the walls and the floor looked like the kind you never want to ever get your skin to get in contact with. As if that was not bad enough, the floor was just always flooded with suspicious looking water.
I was so disappointed in myself, considering the fact that I thought I was so ghetto. And the fact that my all my Dutch friends seemed so cool and down with it, or rather pretended not to be bothered by all this.
Maybe the Cape had slowly but surely turned me into a coconut, unable to cope with the realities of the real rough Africa. Just when I thought it could not get any worse. I moved to Chawama compound, one of the poorer suburbs outside Lusaka, to live with a family in their small little home. No running water, no electricity, no bathroom and no proper toilet, just a small hole outside that is shared by whoever wants. Slowly but surely I adjusted to it and even started appreciating it more and more, to the point that I am now totally loving it. So...maybe I am still African after all. You can take the girl out of Africa, but you apparently can't take Africa out of a girl... ;)
Thursday, November 25, 2010
Borderline syndrome
The queue on the South African side was going so fast and smooth. Everyone who reached the front quickly had their passport scanned, got their stamp and they were done and gone. I was hoping I would not hold the queue, but as soon as I handed the lady my refugee passport she was not impressed by the fact that it could not be scanned and she requested for my refugee status which... I did not have with me.
My best friend Shingi, just a few minutes before I boarded the bus in Cape Town, told me to leave the original document behind, because it might just get lost and it would be safer this way. At the time I believed him... but when the angry looking lady insisted I provide it I felt like my nightmare was coming true.
After convincing her that my passport should be enough and showing her a photocopy of my refugee status, I was allowed to go through, after spending longer on the queue than anyone else.
I was not even surprised when I came outside and saw my bag among the ones that were to be searched. My previous experience when I travelled to Mozambique came to mind, when I had to unpack my entire bag. As I was starting out to do the same thing this time, the customs guy only asked where I had bought my backpack. and went on to say that he had no intentions of going through my underwear.
Now I got back on the bus to drive to the Namibian side of border feeling even more insecure. As soon as it was my turn and I handed over my passport, the guy went to the back to ask his superior whether they allowed people with my kind of passport.
At this point I was saying my silent prayer and I overheard the superior telling him that I had a prearranged visa, meaning it should be fine for me to enter. The only bad surprise was that I they gave me only three days to stay in the country and with no questions asked I quickly left the office.
While I waited outside for Jorrit to finish, two immigration officials started harassing me some more. I had already overheard them discussing my looks, and whether or not they were Rwandan, then when I came closer they started questioning me about things like my marital status. I could not help but think me and borders just don't mix, but I was already happy enough I got into the country.
Having just three days meant all our plans had to quickly change. We had booked a few nights at a backpackers in Windhoek and had originally planned to take our time travelling through Namibia to Zambia, getting to see some places along the way. But now we only had three days to leave the country and due to the fact that we were travelling by road that meant that we actually only had few hours to spend in Windhoek.
We dropped our big backpacks at the backpackers and as soon and went to see if the immigration office could make a plan for us, but to no avail. We just had to leave, there was nothing that could be done they told us. So with no time left we quickly went to the Intercape bus depot to organise for us to board the 6pm bus that same day.
We realised this bus would be the only way for us to get out of the country on the Zambian side in time. So we quickly called their office and we were told that there were still three seats available, but... we couldn't book on the phone so we quickly had to dash to the depot. We rushed through the heat, and when we arrived their, still panting, we were told there was just one more seat left. We pleaded with the consultant to please make a plan for us, but she said it was really not possible. What would we do now? Go back the same way as we came, to the South African border?
During that moment of dismay and total silence I just sat down on their chairs saying my silent prayers and just saying Lord I leave it up to you. And then, just seconds before we left their offices, the consultant lady called us back and said: oh wait... I think I have two seats for you. “I think I love you so much right now", were the only words I could say at that moment. She smiled and you could just see that being able to do such things was what gave her job satisfaction.
After such a dramatic morning we booked ourselves two seats on a city tour bus, just so that we would not leave Windhoek without even seeing it. As soon as we got to the bus I felt very silly for doing this, because as was to be expected I was the only black person on board. Passing through townships and seeing all the kids just stop to wave was so awkward for me, but yeah, I guess that's what you get for doing such touristy thing. I really do not see myself ever doing such again.
Before we left for Livingstone we went to have a nice lunch i took a shower, and I was somehow glad to be leaving the backpackers that just made me feel like I was in Europe with all the wazungus. At 6 pm we got on a bus waved goodbye to Namibia and left for Zambia.
The trip from Windhoek to Livingstone was not as pleasant as the trip from Cape Town. The seats were less comfy and but the worst part was the heat. Me and Jorrit were sitting in different seats but close to each other and just very close to our dream spot: the front row sits on top of the double decker bus. After we overheard that the two volunteer students who were occupying them were going to get off on the next stop, we got very eager and we spent the rest of the night just waiting and eyeing them, making sure we would not fall asleep and by the time we wake up they would be gone.
And yes, finally we did get the sits and we managed to have some nice naps after that, but the heat just got unbearable after we woke up. For the rest of the trip the heat got worse and we were just counting kilometers and hours to Rundu and then Katima Mulilo, the border town, which seemed to take forever, but at the border coming into Zambia thank God it was a totally great experience. No hassles at all and for the first time I felt quite normal, and I just knew that Zambia was going to be great :).
My best friend Shingi, just a few minutes before I boarded the bus in Cape Town, told me to leave the original document behind, because it might just get lost and it would be safer this way. At the time I believed him... but when the angry looking lady insisted I provide it I felt like my nightmare was coming true.
After convincing her that my passport should be enough and showing her a photocopy of my refugee status, I was allowed to go through, after spending longer on the queue than anyone else.
I was not even surprised when I came outside and saw my bag among the ones that were to be searched. My previous experience when I travelled to Mozambique came to mind, when I had to unpack my entire bag. As I was starting out to do the same thing this time, the customs guy only asked where I had bought my backpack. and went on to say that he had no intentions of going through my underwear.
Now I got back on the bus to drive to the Namibian side of border feeling even more insecure. As soon as it was my turn and I handed over my passport, the guy went to the back to ask his superior whether they allowed people with my kind of passport.
At this point I was saying my silent prayer and I overheard the superior telling him that I had a prearranged visa, meaning it should be fine for me to enter. The only bad surprise was that I they gave me only three days to stay in the country and with no questions asked I quickly left the office.
While I waited outside for Jorrit to finish, two immigration officials started harassing me some more. I had already overheard them discussing my looks, and whether or not they were Rwandan, then when I came closer they started questioning me about things like my marital status. I could not help but think me and borders just don't mix, but I was already happy enough I got into the country.
Having just three days meant all our plans had to quickly change. We had booked a few nights at a backpackers in Windhoek and had originally planned to take our time travelling through Namibia to Zambia, getting to see some places along the way. But now we only had three days to leave the country and due to the fact that we were travelling by road that meant that we actually only had few hours to spend in Windhoek.
We dropped our big backpacks at the backpackers and as soon and went to see if the immigration office could make a plan for us, but to no avail. We just had to leave, there was nothing that could be done they told us. So with no time left we quickly went to the Intercape bus depot to organise for us to board the 6pm bus that same day.
We realised this bus would be the only way for us to get out of the country on the Zambian side in time. So we quickly called their office and we were told that there were still three seats available, but... we couldn't book on the phone so we quickly had to dash to the depot. We rushed through the heat, and when we arrived their, still panting, we were told there was just one more seat left. We pleaded with the consultant to please make a plan for us, but she said it was really not possible. What would we do now? Go back the same way as we came, to the South African border?
During that moment of dismay and total silence I just sat down on their chairs saying my silent prayers and just saying Lord I leave it up to you. And then, just seconds before we left their offices, the consultant lady called us back and said: oh wait... I think I have two seats for you. “I think I love you so much right now", were the only words I could say at that moment. She smiled and you could just see that being able to do such things was what gave her job satisfaction.
After such a dramatic morning we booked ourselves two seats on a city tour bus, just so that we would not leave Windhoek without even seeing it. As soon as we got to the bus I felt very silly for doing this, because as was to be expected I was the only black person on board. Passing through townships and seeing all the kids just stop to wave was so awkward for me, but yeah, I guess that's what you get for doing such touristy thing. I really do not see myself ever doing such again.
Before we left for Livingstone we went to have a nice lunch i took a shower, and I was somehow glad to be leaving the backpackers that just made me feel like I was in Europe with all the wazungus. At 6 pm we got on a bus waved goodbye to Namibia and left for Zambia.
The trip from Windhoek to Livingstone was not as pleasant as the trip from Cape Town. The seats were less comfy and but the worst part was the heat. Me and Jorrit were sitting in different seats but close to each other and just very close to our dream spot: the front row sits on top of the double decker bus. After we overheard that the two volunteer students who were occupying them were going to get off on the next stop, we got very eager and we spent the rest of the night just waiting and eyeing them, making sure we would not fall asleep and by the time we wake up they would be gone.
And yes, finally we did get the sits and we managed to have some nice naps after that, but the heat just got unbearable after we woke up. For the rest of the trip the heat got worse and we were just counting kilometers and hours to Rundu and then Katima Mulilo, the border town, which seemed to take forever, but at the border coming into Zambia thank God it was a totally great experience. No hassles at all and for the first time I felt quite normal, and I just knew that Zambia was going to be great :).
Tuesday, November 9, 2010
Delays, tears and sheep(s)
After months of preparations I was finally ready to leave. But Cape Town was not ready to let me go just yet.
First my visa was delayed, then my Dutch friend whom I was to travel with unexpectedly needed an emergency passport which took another week to be issued. When that was finally done, we had to wait two more days for the next available bus.
So I found myself having more time remaining in Cape Town than I had originally planned, but somehow I lost track of time. The more time in Cape Town I had, the more things piled up on my to-do list and when the day of my departure came, I just couldn't believe I had ever planned to leave even earlier.
Between doing a freelance story and meeting with some friends I still had to say bye to, I suddenly realised I had not even finished packing. Now I only had a few hours left in CPT (how time had flown) I was not so sure if I was ready to leave just yet, but the next morning at 10:00 I was on a Intercape bus, waving goodbye to my dearest best friend Shingi. With tears in my eyes I was departing.
But soon the tears were replaced by excitement, joy and much laughter. After so much drama, stress and postponing, I couldn't believe I was on that bus :).
The trip to Windhoek from CPT felt short and sweet, every scene made me more curious about what was to come next. The weather was lovely, not very hot or very cold, it was just perfect.
The scenery soon got a bit boring, with the same landscape for hours and hours and hours, but I had a book by Ellen G White that kept me busy in between the nice deep cool chats I was having with Jorrit (coolest traveling buddy :)) about our hopes and dreams, who and what we would miss the most back home, and about real and imaginary sheep(s).
All of a sudden we were in Springbok, getting close to the border. As the sun started setting, and the dusty hills were covered in a golden glow, I spent my last South African airtime on my last goodbye-messages.
No matter how beautiful and calming the surreal landscape was, as the border came closer, I got more and more nervous. My childhood border-experiences came back in my mind. Would I finally be able to cross a border smoothly, in a legal manner? With the pre-arranged visa stamp already in my passport, I thought nothing could go wrong anymore, but how wrong I was...
First my visa was delayed, then my Dutch friend whom I was to travel with unexpectedly needed an emergency passport which took another week to be issued. When that was finally done, we had to wait two more days for the next available bus.
So I found myself having more time remaining in Cape Town than I had originally planned, but somehow I lost track of time. The more time in Cape Town I had, the more things piled up on my to-do list and when the day of my departure came, I just couldn't believe I had ever planned to leave even earlier.
Between doing a freelance story and meeting with some friends I still had to say bye to, I suddenly realised I had not even finished packing. Now I only had a few hours left in CPT (how time had flown) I was not so sure if I was ready to leave just yet, but the next morning at 10:00 I was on a Intercape bus, waving goodbye to my dearest best friend Shingi. With tears in my eyes I was departing.
But soon the tears were replaced by excitement, joy and much laughter. After so much drama, stress and postponing, I couldn't believe I was on that bus :).
The trip to Windhoek from CPT felt short and sweet, every scene made me more curious about what was to come next. The weather was lovely, not very hot or very cold, it was just perfect.
The scenery soon got a bit boring, with the same landscape for hours and hours and hours, but I had a book by Ellen G White that kept me busy in between the nice deep cool chats I was having with Jorrit (coolest traveling buddy :)) about our hopes and dreams, who and what we would miss the most back home, and about real and imaginary sheep(s).
All of a sudden we were in Springbok, getting close to the border. As the sun started setting, and the dusty hills were covered in a golden glow, I spent my last South African airtime on my last goodbye-messages.
No matter how beautiful and calming the surreal landscape was, as the border came closer, I got more and more nervous. My childhood border-experiences came back in my mind. Would I finally be able to cross a border smoothly, in a legal manner? With the pre-arranged visa stamp already in my passport, I thought nothing could go wrong anymore, but how wrong I was...
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