Mayhem at Mlilwane

(written 09/29/07)

I’m now happily in the tiny kingdom of Swaziland, staying at the equally tiny Mlilwane Game Reserve. Our accommodation is in traditional beehive huts, which were quite worrying from the outside but actually very large and comfortable on the inside.

(Remember, all images can be enlarged if you click on them.)

Mlilwane doesn’t have The Big 5 but it does have a lot of animals roaming around. It was my first time seeing the very odd looking Blesbuck, which are very numerous in Mlilwane. And there were scores of warthogs, particularly around our huts, and tame enough for us to get very close.


The Hippo
At Mlilwane, we saw things, we did things, etcetera, etcetera…but the big news of the visit was that I had an encounter with a hippo. It wasn’t as bad as my mountain lion encounter last summer on Vancouver Island. On the terror scale, it was more along the lines of being chased by a moose with Warren the summer before. (I appear to be on a one-terrifying-animal-encounter-per-summer cycle. Looks like I am in the clear for another year.)

Before I share exactly what happened, I must publicly acknowledge that I grew up in the city, where the only dangerous animals were of the two-legged variety. And, I know from experience that when I am out in nature I have to keep a tight reign on my imagination because if TV has taught me anything, it’s that all manner of viscous beasts, precipitous terrain and menacing weather awaits the merry nature-goer around every bend in the trail. And TV is never wrong, eh?

Okay, disclaimer now out of the way, here’s what happened. It was late afternoon, overcast but still plenty of daylight left. I had planned to do a short game walk, but hadn’t planned to walk alone. Arica, my roommate, and I were going to walk together, but she was not back from the craft market and daylight was quickly fading.

So, I ventured out on my own. If you are thinking “okay, first mistake”… not exactly. I checked with the information desk to make sure it was safe—this is a game park after all—and I was reassured that it would be fine, that the only dangerous animals were crocodiles, so as long as I didn’t stray close to the lake shorelines, I would be fine.

I only had about two hours of daylight left so they recommended a shorter trail and guided me to the starting point, just past the gate.

The walk started out ‘uncomfortable.’ The trail that they sent me on skirted the shoreline virtually the whole time. I was rarely further than 30 feet from the shoreline. I was baffled that the trail would take me so close to certain death by crocodile, but continued on, remembering my proclivity for paranoia and reassuring myself that the Mlilwane people surely knew something I didn’t.

I snapped these pictures (stitched together) at one point on the path where the shoreline was a good distance away, a point where I was actually relaxed and happy to be out walking.

After about 20 minutes of trying to get into the experience, trying to ignore that I was all alone and feeling very vulnerable, I reached one of the main lakes.

I spied another couple off in the distance and made my way over to the viewpoint where they stood watching the water. They weren’t terribly friendly, but I did manage to pull out of them that they had been hearing hippos all afternoon, but had yet to see them. They had walked all around the lake but to no avail. Within minutes of my arrival, they gave up their quest and headed back to the campground.

Alone again, I stood at the viewpoint overlooking the lake and wondering what to do next. I turned away from the lake to search for a trail heading away from the water, figuring that would be a little more in my comfort range.

I turned back to take one last look at the lake, and there he was. Staring at me, not very far from where I stood…a big, nostril flaring hippo. I was momentarily stunned and excited—“Wow, it finally came above the water. Wonder if I can catch that couple? Are they too far by now? Oh my gosh, a hippo.” It went like this: glee, glee, glee, wonder, awe, fascination, panic.

It was still moving toward me through the water. And still moving. And still moving. Okay, stop now.

It was just me and the hippo and I felt very little. I decided I was too close, so I calmly turned around and walked about 30 paces away from the shoreline. I then turned back to check my comfort level at the new distance, and noticed that the distance hadn’t changed. The hippo had continued in my direction.


I then began an irrational, irritated (but quiet) conversation with the hippo. “What? What do you want? I’m going. Don’t follow me.”

I walked horizontal to the shore on the far side of the trail, talking to the hippo, thinking that would help. The hippo followed me. Perhaps to stave off a desperate panic, I got mad. “If you are just being curious, knock it off. You are freaking me out.” Still following me. My distance-estimation skills are woefully bad, but I would guess that the hippo, at that point, was just 30 feet away from the shoreline, 50 feet away from me.

I pondered running directly away from the shore, into the tall grass, but I didn’t know if that would make things worse. Would running into snake- and tick-infested grass be better? (There was a detailed snake warning back at the campground, which I read, in horror, from start to finish the night before.) And would running spark some chase response in the hippo? I figured probably not, since hippos aren’t carnivores. But they are the most dangerous animal in Africa. They kill more people than any other animal in Africa. Who? Why? People who walk along their shoreline and irritate them?

I had all these thoughts as I tried to walk calmly along the path with my hippo friend or foe (not sure which) keeping pace behind me.

I finally got to a fork in the path. To the left, the path continued along the lake, in water too shallow for hippos but just fine for crocodiles. To the right, the path veered into the tall grasses. Not a tough decision. I chose the right, and barely got 10 feet before I spotted a big bliesbuck or nyala or waterbuck—not sure which—a short distance away. It spotted me too, then lifted it’s head and let out a short loud hissing noise. Under normal circumstances, this wouldn’t be a big deal. The bliesbuck/nyala/waterbuck/whatever is a herbivore, and generally skittish. Not the type to attack. But I was already in a freaked out state, so I stopped in my tracks.

I was stuck. Behind me, hippo. In front of me, hissing buck-thing. I stood in that spot for 20 long minutes. The main gravel road through the park was just to my right, and I decided eventually a car would come along. Eventually I wouldn’t be alone.

And eventually a car did. A young couple pulled up in a VW Rabbit (called a “Chico” here). They drove by slowly, and I said “Want to see a hippo?” They stopped.

Now there were three fleshy little humans, not just one. That felt better. They got out of the car and I pointed out the hippo, still about 20 feet from the shoreline. There were now two other hippos in the water, just beyond my hippo.

Just then, my hippo surfaced more and yawned a really big, slow, dramatic yawn. The couple thought it was really cool. It wasn’t a yawn. It’s what hippos do to scare off other hippos or menacing predators or little fleshy humans that are bugging them. They open their mouths really slowly and wide in order to display their huge dagger teeth.

[I watched the yawn in amazement, and only thought to photograph it at the very end. So the shot is blurry and doesn’t capture the yawn well. But you forgive me, eh?]

It then clamped its teeth down, and the three of us backed up. At this point I was enjoying the encounter because (1) I was no longer alone, and (2) we had a Chico to jump into. We climbed into the car and drove to a safer viewpoint—the original viewpoint I was at when I first saw the hippo.

Three other hippos had joined the group, and the six of them made their way over to the viewpoint, but not close and not scary. Eventually they went underwater and we grew tired of waiting for them to resurface.

And so I walked back to my beehive hut, still in one piece.

---

(Note on the first photo above: As I walked away from the lake for the last time, I turned back to snap a photo of where it had all started. The hippo, now in a good mood I guess, was kind enough to move to where I initially spotted it—near the first viewpoint—so that I could take the first of the two photographs shown above.

Note on the second photo above: My hippo, “the stalker”, was by the island for most of the encounter. This photograph was taken after the yawn, after we had backed up and the stalker moved away from the shoreline and toward the other two hippos. So…it was closer than what is depicted in the second shot.)

I Heart Swaziland

This morning we entered the Kingdom of Swaziland, one of the smallest countries in Africa. What a fantastic surprise. Having just traveled for over a week amongst the guarded, still shell-shocked Mozambicans, the friendly, laid-back vibe of Swaziland was a welcome change. My guidebook Lonely Planet is right when it says “What [Swaziland] lacks in size it makes up for in its rich culture and heritage, and relaxed ambiance…[I]t’s a complete change of pace from its larger neighbors.”

The Tree
I knew my stay in Swaziland would be a good one when I saw all the beautiful purple Jacaranda trees:


They make me happy. They remind me of What Dreams May Come, one of Warren’s favorite movies. Since Warren’s death, it’s one of mine as well. The movie is about a woman whose husband dies, and she never gets over it. His heaven is her painting, the purple tree just one of many beautiful trees that makes up her painting and his heaven. It was comforting to see the trees. They make me happy.

AIDS
One of the highlights of our stay in Swaziland was a trip to a local village. Just a few miles from where we were staying, this small village runs an orphanage, and to support the orphanage, they invite visitors to their village to learn about Swazi culture, hear Swazi music, see Swazi dancing.

Unfortunately, this village orphanage is just one of many in Swaziland. This tiny country has more than 200,000 AIDS orphans and it will only get worse. By 2010 one in six people will be a child under 15 who has lost both parents. You see, Swaziland has the world’s highest HIV infection rate in the world.

Not depressing enough? More incomprehensible stats: 39% of all adults between 15 and 49 are HIV positive (compared to 3.9% in 1992). A quarter of the population is predicted to be dead from the disease by 2010. Life expectancy has fallen from 58 to 33 years. So horrifying.

The Village Visit

The kids and village leaders danced and sang, demonstrated how to weave mats and crush corn, taught us simple Swazi words, and laughed. Lots of giggling. It was a simple, intimate exchange—not one of those pre-packaged “culture shows” that always ends up feeling so icky.

I took a lot of pictures of the kids. They were adorable. The little guy on the far right is sure to be the next chief. He took the entire affair very seriously.

Afterward, I took pictures of some of the kids, then showed them the images on my camera’s digital screen. This is always a real treat so I try to do it as often as possible. Most of these children have probably rarely if ever seen a picture of themselves. They were thrilled, clambering to be the next one photographed.

At the end of our stay the women laid out handmade crafts for sale (to generate money for the orphanage). I don’t buy souvenirs, but I made an exception for the exceptionally good cause. I bought a keychain with a carved wooden mask. It looks like the one that Greg Brady stole from that sacred Hawaiian burial site. Maybe that explains what happened to me next in Swaziland…read on.

I hope this whole endeavor is a good money maker for the orphanage. I know that our group certainly gave. Touched by the plight of the children and the charm of the performance, we all gave additional donations.

Or another option...
For travelers for whom kids are not their philanthropic cup of tea, you can always sponsor a Swazi toilet in a bathroom just north of the South Africa border:


I saw this a few days ago. Lemme know if you’re interested. I’ll hook you up.

Maputo

(written 09/26)  We spent today exploring Maputo, the capital of Mozambique. We started along the coastline, where I caught this photo. (Nothing much to say about it in terms of commentary…other than ‘cool scene, eh?’)


Architecture: You can certainly see Maputo’s history written in its architecture:

• Remnants of the colonial period (when this area was called “Portuguese West Africa”)
• Decaying Art Deco splendor (including the hotel we stayed at--Costa do Sol--which I thought was fascinating but most everyone I am traveling with hated. It had a real Cuba vibe--a feeling of decaying splendor, of being somewhere that was once opulent and trendy but has since fallen out of fashion and into disrepair)
• Countless 1970s buildings, the last era of progress before Mozambique's devastating civil war. Mozambique is now emerging from the chaotic aftermath of the civil war, but its capital city is still in an architectural time warp. [I happen to really dig mid- century architecture.]

But when I wasn't looking up at the buildings, I found Maputo is anything but frozen. It is CHAOTIC--an overwhelming blur of activity and noise... and some parts I found to be downright intimidating.  I would definitely not travel here solo!

In the end we didn’t really spend enough time in Maputo. The pace of this tour is a bit too fast. But it’s the only way I can conceive of traveling in Mozambique. Formal public transportation isn’t of the Greyhound variety here. These pictures show the 'official' public transportation in Mozambique. I like experiencing the real, authentic way people travel in a country, but for short stints…not for long distances, and certainly not alone.

Our Group
At some point during our day in Maputo we did take a ‘wee break’ [in the super-frequently-uttered words of fellow traveler Garreth] at a nice café in an upscale area. Here’s Laura (Scotland), Kate (Australia), and Garreth (No Ireland) at the café:















We’ve got a great group on this trip, with a good mix of ages and nationalities. We have a mother and daughter from Australia. A family of four from Australia. A young couple from Ireland (he) and Scotland (she). Two twenty-something friends from London. Two thirty-something friends from Austria. A retired couple from Scotland. My roommate from Brooklyn. And me.

Everyone gets along swimmingly, and we have logged countless hours discussing all manner of topics over dinner.  And those new friendships are such a fun part of international travel!

Mozambique…Now I’m in Africa

(written 09/23)   This is the Africa of my imagination…red dirt, huts, heat, women in brightly-colored sarong skirts, people selling all manner of items on the streets and carrying all manner of items on their heads. And…crushing poverty. South Africa surely presents one face of Africa, but not the one I picture when I imagine the continent. This is more like it. Here are some random snapshots of life in Mozambique:


Devastation
Mozambique is poor, very very poor. The average annual income is just US$300. And the country is still struggling to emerge from a 17 year civil war that ended in 1992.

It wasn’t a civil war, really, since the rebel group (Renamo) had no desire to govern. Its sole objective was to paralyze the country. Renamo was set up and backed by South Africa and Rhodesia (now Zimbabwe) with the sole intent of destabilizing Mozambique. You see, the black consciousness movement was growing in strength in Mozambique, and South Africa and Rhodesia didn’t want that spilling over into their countries. So, they backed a rebel force that completely destroyed the country for seventeen years. That was its sole mission. Disgusting.  (Of course, the US has done the same thing, messing with other countries for its own benefit, ie…Central America in the 80s, Cold War proxy wars, etc.)

So, for almost two decades, the rebel forces destroyed roads, bridges, railways, schools and clinics. Villagers were rounded up, anyone with skills was shot, and atrocities were committed on a massive and horrific scale.  What would even remain almost two decades of wholesale destruction? Some estimate the country had been set back half a century or more. It’s been over ten years since the civil war ended, but Mozambique still shows the scars. It’s sad.

So why would I bother going to Mozambique?  That’s easy:

1. Tourism brings in much needed money.

2. Because it’s there. Because if I don’t go, I will stare at Mozambique on the map for the rest of my life, wondering what it’s like.

3. Because traveling is when I feel most alive—especially when traveling in some far off corner of the world like Mozambique. I need that right now. I need to feel alive after a year of being numb. And I need to relearn to appreciate being alive.

4. International travel always keeps one promise: it reminds me of all that I have. It makes me feel very grateful. This trip is no different.

But, it’s also a bit confusing right now. I am depressed. I don’t want life without Warren. But I stare out the window at the passing landscape of poverty and hardship, and I simultaneously feel very lucky. The latter doesn’t ‘cure’ the former. I feel both emotions at once.

And so I just stare out the window, waiting for all of it to come together in some logical way, waiting for that big epiphany that makes life good again.

(…You know, the big epiphany that will never come if I am waiting for it. Oops, getting too Zen for a blog about Africa. Wrong continent.)

Wow...beaches!

I’m now in Mozambique, the country just northeast of South Africa. And so far we’ve spent all our time in Mozambique at beaches. Apparently, “Mozambique is all about the beaches.” At least that is what the guide keeps saying whenever I bemoan the lack of cultural interaction. (Friendly bemoaning, mind you.)

Beaches are nice. I like beaches. However, having lived a mile from the beach for roughly two-thirds of life, I’m not keen on traveling half way around the planet to visit one. I’d much prefer to see village life, culture, historic sites, nature… Beaches are a bit boring. Oh well, ‘it’s not the destination, it’s the journey’ and other cliché statements like that.  (I do acknowledge that a large percentage of my family/friends who are reading this are surely sitting at work right now and thinking ‘Oh blah, blah. Poor thing has to spend the day at the beach.’ I’m not exactly making friends with this entry.)

We have visited two beaches so far. Luckily for me, the third planned beach stop has been nixed due to time limitations. Mozambique’s roads are riddled with giant potholes which swallow up huge blocks of time. (For long stretches, we never hit 40mph.) Such is travel in a developing country. :)

Beach One
We first visited Praha Di’ Bilene, a small resort town situated on a large lagoon separated from the Indian Ocean by a sandy spit. Here’s my minimalist shot of the sandy spit:


It was a beautiful, relaxing setting. I took in the beauty, relaxed, then quickly got bored.


On the second day there, several of us hired a local boat to cruise us across the lagoon to see the ocean. It was my first time seeing the Indian Ocean. The sun was very intense, as were the ocean waves—too violent for my meager swimming skills.  It was nice to finally lay eyes on the Indian Ocean, but the boat ride was a bit of a bust.  On the route back, I took random pictures to pass the time.


Beach Two
Next, we had a FULL travel day north to go to a beach called Guinjata. The AC on the bus picked the hottest day to break down so we were all good and cranky by the time we got to the beach.  We spent hours on the hot bus until we got to the middle of nowhere...

 ...where we then piled onto our next mode of transport, an big old army truck...

...and drove through lots of rural villages on a loose sand road (loved this part, so fascinating!) 

Finally we arrived at our beach.  Huh, kinda looks like the Laguna Beach cliffs (near where I grew up).

We went to Guinjata because the snorkeling is supposed to be among the best in the world. Unfortunately the weather was much too windy to go snorkeling so we missed out. Huge bummer. Instead of snorkeling, I passed a good portion of the day just sitting and talking with my tour mates. We have a really great group, but I’ll write about that later. I also sat on the porch of our house and read, wrote, stared at the breathtaking view.

My favorite activity at Guinjata was crab digging with a local family. On the second day there, I went for a walk along the beach before breakfast, and ran into a local family digging in the sand for crabs.

With little else to do, I saw no reason not to join the effort. It was great. And so was I…at first. I caught three or four within the first five minutes! Each time I would find one, I would let out a rather cowardly squeal and hand the squirming, tiny crab over to the little girl digging next to me. And each time, the group would let out a big laugh, imitate my squeal, and then smile big smiles at me. It was a fun, silly exchange. (Mozambique was colonized by Portugal, so Mozambicans speak Portuguese. And, of course, I don’t.)

Alas, after my dazzling start, my crab-per-minute average dropped off precipitously. I started to feel badly that I wasn’t pulling my weight. Ahh, the pressure. Eventually, I said goodbye and headed back to the resort. (Although, on the way back, I found a REALLY big crab and I literally chased it around the beach until I was able to thump it unconscious with my shoe. I then walked it back to the family and (kind of proudly) presented it to them. They smiled as they accepted it, but looking back I'm not sure if it was a “thank you” smile or a "what a weird white lady' smile. Oh well, at least I tried to help.

Before I sign off for the day, lemme leave you with this photo of the view from my bedroom window. The roar of the crashing waves was so loud it was hard to get to sleep. Ah, the troubles I must endure.

Back at Kruger National Park

(written 09/19/07)

Day One at Kruger:
I’m back to Kruger, this time with the tour. The first day was spent on the edge of Kruger National Park at a private game reserve. At Kruger, the ‘private reserves’ are where the truly luxurious safari lodges are situated. We are not at one of those. But, our accommodation is charming—in rustic but nicely appointed individual huts in the bush. It’s really great to be out in the bush, breathing in the fresh African air, hearing all the bird calls, taking in the amazing star-studded dark skies.

The first afternoon was spent on a relatively fruitless game drive. The evening, however, was spent on fruitful solitude. The entire group went on a night game drive, but I didn’t go since I had done a night game drive when I was at Kruger before, and my budget doesn’t allow for repeats. Instead I spent the evening alone in the stillness of the bush lodge, eating cashew nuts and drinking “Coke Light,” culling through photographs, writing in my journal, just relaxing. So calm, so beautiful. Four hours to re-charge in solitude. I photographed the breezy spot where I sat (below). Fantastic.

After dinner that evening we were treated to some traditional African dancing by campfire. This part of South Africa has a mix of tribes—Kwazi, Zulu and Shangan—and the dancers performed traditional tribal dances from all three cultures. Near the end of the performance, the leader asked for a volunteer from the audience to dance with the witch doctor. No one else wanted to, so I volunteered (what with all my vast experience with witch doctors). I’m currently operating under the “I don’t know anyone in Africa” philosophy so I don’t care if I make a fool of myself. [You should see how I am wearing my hair. Shameful. :)] While I’m certain I looked hilariously bad, it was fun! Some of the steps were just speedy renditions of “The Pony” so I was able to handle those. Who knew growing up during the 80s aerobics craze would pay off twenty years later in Africa.

Day Two at Kruger:
The next day we went on an all-day game drive in the national park—this one nowhere near as spectacular as the all-day drive I did with James and Elise a few weeks ago. However, we did have some great up-close encounters, including a spectacularly long and close visit with a curious spotted hyena. And, among other animals, we saw two lions far off in the distance—stretching, lounging, rolling around—and later in the day, we saw a black rhino grazing with some zebra and impala (my first in-the-wild rhino sighting).

Warren had coordinated all the animals for the drive with James and Elise, but for this drive, he must have been off doing something else. [he he :)] Of course, I shouldn’t blame it on Warren when it is probably more likely the fault of our ridiculous bus! The small 16-passenger touring bus we are using on this tour SUCKS, and we did the game drive in this bus. (This is a cheapy tour, so they didn’t splurge for the cool safari vehicles). The bus is tiny so there is no leg room and, even worse, there’s stinking bar right at eye level. Not so good for viewing game or checking out the landscape.

The whole group was in revolt over the bus until, after several days on the road, we realized that all small touring buses in Africa have windows like these—horizontally sliding windows on top, one solid window on the bottom, and a big black bar in the middle. Argh!

Nonetheless, it was another truly memorable visit. We leave Kruger tomorrow. Bummer. I’m glad I spent so much time here…it’s magical.

Segment Two---“The Tour”

(written 09/17/07)
Yesterday I began the second leg of my journey—the “Gap Adventures” tour from Johannesburg to Cape Town.

28 Day Internet Fast
I have spoken to the guide, and it’s not looking good as far as internet access during the tour. I will continue to write about my experiences every couple of days, since my writing serves as a journal for myself in addition to a blog for everyone else. Then, when I do have access, I will post a bunch of entries at once, and then send out an email notice.

Since my access will be so limited (and will cost), I will most likely not be able to respond to emails until I am in Cape Town in mid-October. However, once in Cape Town, I will have high-speed wireless during my entire stay (3.5 months) so I can correspond via email and Skype then.

Pretoria
The tour started in Pretoria, although I didn’t get to see much of the city as I was more in the mood to read than explore. (You gotta take breaks from exploring now and then when you are traveling for seven months.) However, I eventually pulled myself away from my book, and spent the late afternoon wandering around the (upscale) Arcadia neighborhood where we were staying. I walked over to the huge parliament building where Nelson Mandela was inaugurated, then joined the crowds on the streets as they enjoyed their Sunday afternoon. A soccer game had just gotten out at the nearby stadium, and the streets were full of fans cheering their team, “hooting” their horns (as the South Africans would say), laughing and waving at each other. Everyone was in such a cheery mood that it really picked up my spirits.

Pretty, laid-back Pretoria feels nothing like hectic, kind-of-frightening Jo’burg (at least what I saw of it). It moves at a slower pace and remains Afrikaans culturally. I felt very safe and relaxed as I strolled along the streets. I especially liked the city’s 1960s architectural vibe. It was like stepping back in time.

Over the entire afternoon, I saw only a handful of white South Africans. (Perhaps it was just the area I was in?) This was really shocking considering that just 13 years ago, all of Pretoria—the center of the apartheid state—was designated ‘white only.’ Blacks were not permitted to live in Pretoria, and were only allowed in the city during the day if they could demonstrate employment there. Human rights issues aside, I find the whole apartheid system incomprehensible. How could such a small minority so thoroughly dominate so many?

I know ‘the answers’ to that question are out there and are well known. And I know that this dynamic—the powerful few dominating the weak masses—has happened countless times in history. But to see it first hand—to see so many blacks and so few whites…it’s an outrageous ratio given what’s taken place here over the last century. Shocking.

The Highveld

We spent the first days exploring the edges of the Drakensberg Escarpment, where the cool, mountainous ‘highveld’ plunges down to the hot, flat ‘lowveld.’ The area is strongly Afrikaaner in culture and full of very charming little ‘get-away’ towns.

What Flagstaff and Prescott are to Phoenicians, the Drakensberg Escarpment towns are to Jo’burg and Pretoria residents.

Our first stops included:

(1) an overlook of the Blyde River Canyon [think: smaller Grand Canyon]

(2) a short hike out to the Bourke’s Luck Potholes [cylindrical holes carved into the rock by whirlpools near the confluence of two rivers]

And, uh, try as I might I couldn’t generate the requisite awe for these stops. With all the trips Warren and I made to spots on the spectacular Colorado Plateau, I had a hard time fighting off the dreaded ‘been there, done that’ feeling.

A number of other spots, however, were quite memorable, including Lisbon Falls and a hike through a lush rainforest--which reminded me of the hike Warren and I did on Vancouver Island. (Both are pictured below).

At some point we stopped at a grocery store and I decided it was time to break out of my comfort zone. So, my roommate (Arika from NYC) and I bought the following snacks for the road:

1. Apricoteen Red Cakes—These little cakes looked so much like ground beef that several others on the tour wondered what exactly Arika planned to do with cold beef. The verdict: Average, a plain cake with some coconut. The red was just a superficial dye. 
2. Traditional koeksisters—This is a popular Afrikaans dish with a very cool name. Certainly means something different in the US (koek pronounced coke). The verdict: Like donuts drenched in honey. Overly sweet, but it didn’t stop me from eating three. :)
3. Fruit Cubes—These just looked too much like dog food not to try them. The verdict: One part fruit, six parts sugar!

Guided Tour of Soweto Township

(written 09/15/07)
Most people have heard of Soweto: the SOuth WEst TOwnship just outside Johannesburg. For several decades, Soweto was the epicenter of the struggle against apartheid—home to Nelson Mandela and Desmond Tutu, home to many of the liberation protests, and home to much of the violence leading up to the end of the apartheid regime. Before even landing on the continent, I had already researched day tours to Soweto. I knew this was something I must do while here.

So…that’s what I did today. I was accompanied by a fellow traveler—Marco, a medical student from Switzerland. I met him at the hostel, told him about the tour, and he decided to come along as well. Turns out, it was just the two of us.

The Mysterious Car Caper
The transportation for the tour was amusingly odd. We were picked up at the hostel by man in a formal suit driving a shiny new Mercedes sedan. Marco and I exchanged bewildered glances. This was not what we were expecting. (After all, the tour cost just over $50 for an entire day).

We chitchatted with the driver, Johannes, as we drove through Johannesburg and over to Soweto (stopping at the entrance of the township to snap this photograph). We then rounded the corner to find a different man, David, waiting for us in a spiffy new Mercedes mini-van. At that point, we changed cars and continued on the tour.

Later that afternoon, as Marco and I emerged from the Apartheid Museum, we were greeted by yet another vehicle for the next leg of our tour, this one a very large 16 passenger van. And we were back with Johannes. Very odd.

I was disappointed that we didn’t have at least one more stop on the tour because based on the vehicular direction we were headed, the next ride would’ve been a big rig.

Anyway, we saw a lot. Here’s just a few of the stops:

Nelson Mandela’s family home
This was the house he lived in before he was sent to Robben Island. It was fire-bombed twice by the secret police. Very small, and had no indoor plumbing when he lived there.

Soweto Neighborhoods
We spent quite a bit of time just exploring the range of Soweto’s neighborhoods—from the one small middle class neighborhood(with homes on par with the average mid-sized Phoenix home) to the sprawling poor neighborhoods (comprising the majority of Soweto) and then to the shockingly destitute neighborhoods.



































Here are some images from one of the poorest sections:


Hector Pieterson memorial
We also stopped at a monument commemorating Hector Pieterson, a 13 year old student who was killed when police opened fire on a peaceful student protest in 1976. The whole scene was captured on film and shown throughout the world. Killing an unarmed 13 year old boy doesn’t do much for a country’s image, and this clip sparked a huge international outcry against the apartheid regime, eventually leading to widespread international sanctions against South Africa. Hector’s killing was also a last straw for many black South Africans, and protest activities became much more intense after his death.

Our guide, David, was a student at the school where the shooting took place, and he was there at the protest that day. It was fantastic to hear about these events from an actual eyewitness to history.

Orlando Power Station
Carla, I included this one for you, since I kept seeing “The Orlando Power Station—featured on The Amazing Race”. Did you see that episode?
During apartheid, this coal power plant produced power solely for white areas, leaving only a thick, black cloud of pollution for Soweto. Soon after becoming president, Nelson Mandela (who had lived in Soweto) shut down the plant.

Apartheid Museum
After visiting Soweto, Marco and I passed several hours trying to better understand what we’d just seen in Soweto through the exhibits at the Apartheid Museum. layout and style reminded me very much of the Holocaust Museum in LA, starting with the separate entrances for "whites" and "non-whites".

The museum reviewed the foundations of apartheid and daily life under the system.

All facets of apartheid were reviewed, from the homelands to the pass laws to the protests to the international sanctions to Mandela’s release to the transition to democracy… It was an overwhelming amount of information, as dizzying as the previous sentence. I was mentally drained and emotionally numb afterward. I still don’t feel like I have a good handle on what actually happened here over the last century. Maybe in time.

So…This is where, structure wise, I am supposed to give some concluding paragraph about the day, wrap it all up for the reader. But I’m not sure what to say about all this. It’s shocking, confusing, sad.

I can’t form conclusions yet, not even concluding paragraphs.