Totsiens. Hamba kahle. Sara mushe. Goodbye Africa...

 “Africa changes you forever, like nowhere on earth. Once you have been there, you will never be the same. But how do you begin to describe its magic to someone who has never felt it?" - Brian Jackman

As I sit here in on my last few hours in Johannesburg before I board my flight home, I am reflecting on my last 5 weeks. How fabulous they have been and I can’t help but smile about some of the things I have learned and discovered...

 

 
 

  

• Kids can be just as good of company as adults... and often more insightful.
• Just because people retire and set out to travel the world, doesn’t mean that they necessarily know where they’re going or even what is going on each day.
• Internet and wifi are just words and often, they mean nothing in remote areas. Never assume and never rely. Never.
• Tomatoes can be grated.
• No bug spray is strong enough to deter the killer moths.
• Check your mouth wash before using.
• Some African dishes are perfectly acceptable to eat with your hands. 
• Dishes can be washed perfectly well using accumulated rain water.
• Speed limit is merely a suggestion.
• Stop signs are merely a suggestion.
• Sand doesn’t go away no matter how much you sweep.
• Border patrol... be prepared for anything.
• Wild animals do not eat cantaloupe.
• It is NOT our responsibility to feed all cats and dogs we encounter - whether stray or domestic. Team David vs. Team Takako.
• Learn to walk confidently and have the ability to ignore those around you when you need to.
• Always carry American currency.
• Don’t trust all taxi drivers.
• Download Uber.
• Malaria pills suck.
• Power outages are a real, frequent thing.
• Don’t take a Japanese traveler out for sushi.
• Stopping for lunch usually means there is a mall in your future.
• Whatever you do and wherever you go, malls will be in your future.
• I won’t even get in to how knowledgable I am about hippos.
• Africa needs some serious progressive assistance in regards to composting, litter control, secured garbage cans and recycling. Come to think of it... so does Takako, who firmly believes that all garbage should just be burned... and is convinced that normally it all is.
• Bring new shoes. Not white. Not expensive.
• People turn in to shitty photographers when they’re capturing an image with you in it.
• People that don’t speak English as their first language refer to all gourds as pumpkins and nothing you say or do will talk them out of it.
• My ankles do not save long airline flights as a special occasion to swell up. Truck rides too!
• Stay away from ATV’s.
• Make time for the sunrises... and make sure the crew doesn’t forget you.
• Load up on wine... 
• Always be prepared with toilet paper when it comes to bushy bushy.

In saying all of this... I can confirm that more will be added as they come to mind.

Momentary Proud Announcement.

I did not get shot, raped, murdered, kidnapped, robbed.

I did not get rabies.
I did not get malaria.

... in saying this, I know that the day is still young.

I did manage to get scammed & harassed a few times trying to purchase trinkets... but I’ll chalk that up to experience and view it as my “contribution.”

I did survive 5 Southern Africa countries with only a minor concussion and some possibly cracked ribs.

South Africa. Namibia. Botswana. Zimbabwe. Zambia.

I recently read an article on the lesson you learn from camping.

1. Sometimes it is good to disconnect from the world.

Agreed... but sometimes it isn’t so incredibly handy when the world decides to disconnect from you. Five days rolling with no service or wifi can take its toll.

2. Camping makes you stronger.

No. 

Erecting and dismantling tents can make you more efficient and organized... maybe. Often it succeeds in making us more pissed off and we are left wondering why we settled on the cheaper option... as we made a feeble attempt each night to burrow in the sand.

3. Nature doesn’t have to be scary.

Unless you’ve been warned repetitively about the threat of bugs and scorpions. Waking up to the sound of animals digging around your tent... 

I beg to differ! 

Whaaaaaaaat????

4. Don’t bring too much. 

True... but as long as I live and breath, I will never learn this lesson. I feel I have clothed an entire family with the items I’ve left behind. The clothing kept in my pack are only there to wrap the frail gifts I purchased.

5. The best conversations happen around a campfire.

Scratch ‘campfire’ and allow “after dinner debrief” take its place. Replace “conversation” with “poking fun at others due to their stupid and repetitive questions.” The ones that just could’ve grasp the itinerary or the timeline.

6. Cooking outside is awesome. 

It’s not.

Actually... I retract that statement. Cooking outside is awesome. Cleaning up after cooking outside is not. It’s messy and often there are only a few that are prepared to stand up and assist with the dishes and clean up. More often than not, people tend to remain seated and enjoy their beverage while the rest of us run around like minions.

7. Being a little (or a lot) uncomfortable is good for you.

Unless you’ve been rolled over by an ATV. 

If you have... uncomfortable sucks.

“If you choose to go your own way, there will be many more people like you waiting to People and things that once devoured my thoughts lose power over my life. I set out on journey with determinations to grown and challenge myself. With these entries, my world and my mind expand.” Madison Stringfellow

The group we started with on Christmas Eve... the ones that joined us in Windhoek... we all managed to co-exist peacefully and happily.

We survived 3 weeks void of sexual, racial, gender, age, religious and political discrimination. Together we all managed to overcome any stereotypical traits we had prior to the tour.

 Young. Old.

Black. White.
Asians. Spanish. South Africans. Canadian. Swiss. Germans.

...except Claudia of course.

She sucked.

But we all know that there is one in very crowd.

Every party has a pooper, that’s why we invited Claudia.

We all ate crap food. 
We all ate good food.

We all survived torrential downpour and blistering heat.

We all slept in crappy tents. 
We all rode in a stinky bus. 

No one was less or more.

We all had our moments of humiliation and none of us escaped ridicule from time to time.

We were all respectful and we all got along... even Claudia for the most part...

...not really... but I’m trying to be nice.

We all left our comfort zone and ventured in to the unknown. We all took a chance on an adventure with no guarantees. We all tested our strength, our endurance and our patience to a certain degree. We all challenged the limits of our financial perimeters. 

 The road was long... and far... and bumpy...

... but isn’t is said that the bumpiest roads lead to the most beautiful places?

...or is it that circuitous routes take time to live in the moment and enjoy the scenery

Both I think.

Definitely both.

My Adventurous Last Day

 After the thrills collected at the mall had subsided and the fun had run its course, David headed to meet his new Nomad tour crew and I called an Uber to take me to my new BnB... Doveton House.

Located in a very posh part of Johannesburg, as well.

I felt very elite.

It was exquisite. I had a gorgeous, spacious room on the 2nd floor with a balcony that overlooked the pool, very much in the style of Romeo & Juliet. If I had hair, I would have let it down and allowed someone to climb up, Rapunzel style. It was beautifully furnished en suite bedroom. Fashionable, yet upgraded slightly from where I call home, to consider itself a ‘home away from home.’ (Their words...) 

I have been so lucky with the bookings I have made in South Africa. Most of them really make me question if I even belong there. Most of the trip, I have been dirty and wearing sweat infested clothes. Sandy, dusty shoes. Big backpack. Canvas over the shoulder purse. Nothing about me screams money or style... or luxury.

 I had made a request to leave my bags in the office after check out, as today was my big “not so extreme sports” bike tour. I was being picked up at 9am to journey to Soweto to end my African “adventure” with a 4 hour bicycle trek/tour.

Soweto is an acronym derived from “South Western Township” and is considered the mother of all townships, with a population of 1,271,628. It was created in the 1930’s when the White government started seperating Blacks from Whites... 

Stood on the heartbreaking spot of the 1976 peaceful protest/youth uprising and even ventured as far as to see Nelson & Winnie Mandela’s house ❤️

 Although you are surrounded in some areas by such poverty and filth, the community co-exits in unison.

History. Shantytowns & Slum. Middle class. Extravagance & affluence. Equality. Community. Love. Happiness. 

They have a common goal to build a bright future... together.

Shanty towns and slum dwellings suddenly become fancjy and grandiose homes, depending on where you are. There is everything from kids selling candy bags, eggs and cigarettes underneath an umbrella, beside a mud puddle. 

 Paved roads become cobblestone which suddenly morph in to dirt roads, eventually become litter infested streams of mud winding their way through shanties housing impoverished families. Roofs of asbestos still remain to cover some of the slums, regardless of the fact that there were supposed to be removed after Apartheid ended in 1994.

The government had made promises to build new housing for everyone in Soweto, but unfortunately they never got around to it. Building seemed to cease soon after Nelson Mandela’s presidency.

In one of the townships, the government received a large tenement building, meant to house 500 people. When it came time to move in, they asked the people if they would wait until the 2010 FIFA was over. All was fine. After FIFA was over and the people were ready to move in, the government slapped a charge on to all of them. This caused much uproar considering all other townships had received free upgraded housing prior to this. The building has now been empty for over 10 years now, as the community sticks together and everyone refuses to give in.

There were 4 of us on the tour.

• South African girl who seemed nice, but nervous about being on a bicycle. Sounds like me on a quad.

• A arrogant Ukrainian who decided that our tour would be a good place to start handing out his option on the politics that go on regarding Soweto. The guide was getting quite visibly upset, and the rest of us had to step in and remind him that “this is not the place.” 

That’s exactly what I look for in a bicycle tour... opionions on communism, socialism and fascism.

• And last but not least, a pretentious little American shit. 

I love how Americans will give you the exact location of where they are from.

“Los Angeles, California, United States of America.”

Someone asks me, I say Vancouver.

 From there, I let them determine on their own that I’m from Canada. If they’re confused as to where Vancouver is, I step in and help with location. If they express even more interest, I let them know that I’m actuallly from a smaller town outside the city.

It’s how I roll

He is currently doing a flight around the world... in 6 weeks

South Africa, Korea, Japan are his only stops... that’s it.

I asked him if he chose those countries because they’re on his bucket list.

He responded that he’s 24 and hardly needs a bucket list yet.

Pretentious. Prick.

“Bucket List” is a manner of speaking.

Winnie Mandela in the Background. Nelson
& Winnie’s house. He only stayed here
11 days after being released from jail though.
Too much paparazzi.

 Then he let us know that he’s staying in 4 star hotels and each tour he’s booked, he’s been the only one on the tour.

“You’re 24. Don’t you think you should be trying to make some friends and sharing experiences with others like you?”

No response. I suspect he has a difficult time making friends.
There were other incidents that he had to fact check us all by pulling out his phone and proving to us that what we said was wrong... which is always a good time in a casual conversation.

All in all, I think we probably did about 3-4kms on the bike, as we kept stopping to listen to what the guide had to say about the area.

There were a couple times that he gave us “8 minutes to look around” when we were in the middle of nowhere and there was really nothing to go see. We caught on real fast though when we realized that he was sneaking off for a cigarette!

 When the tour was over, we made our way back to Ledo’s backpackers and we all go to sit around and enjoy a sip of the fermented beer that they used to make way back in the day. It was not bad actually... but nothing that I would feel compelled to drink every day.

Back at Doveton House, I fell asleep by the pool for a bit. Then I rearranged my pack and called Uber to come pick me up for the airport.

It was 6pm... and my flight was scheduled to leave at 11:58PM.

As soon as I walked in to the terminal, I was overcome with such exhaustion that it was difficult to even try to keep my eyes open.

I was too early for check in, so I sat down to have some pizza and wait a bit. A bum sat beside me with he intention of stealing my purse, but was soon shoo’ed away by worker and management. I thought it was rather amusing... and watched him the entire time, waiting for what his strategic move would be.

PS- it’s an ugly, brown canvas purse with straps going around my neck.He would have had to have stolen me as well.

My final goodbye to the fabulous weather. 

Finally the hour came where it was acceptable for me to check in and I rid myself of that stupid, heavy bag. 

Wine time...

I found one place in the entire airport that was licensed... and I ordered it. Perhaps there were more, but I was too tired to keep looking. I actually couldn’t even finish my glass and I drifted in and out of slumber on top of my iPad... head down in the airport lounge. Finally I just got up, left my wine and made my way directly to my boarding gate. Passed out on the chairs there until they started making announcements to board.

Everyone is warning me to stay away from home right now... and if I could financially make it work, I would continue my adventures.

I will be arriving in freezing temperatures, snow, wind... without shoes...

I dread the cold... but right now, I dread the 26 hour travel I have in front of me.
The plane food, my motion sickness, my restless legs, my attention deficit disorder, the cramped area in which you have to accept, the potentially strange people next to you...

“When you leave Africa, as the plane lifts, you feel that more than leaving a continent you’re leaving a state of mind. Whatever awaits you at the other end of your journey will be of a different order of existence.”
Francesca Marciano

Goodbye Africa....

Joanna-sburg & the Mall Maze

 Once I was safely out of customs yesterday, without a 7 month working visa to contend with... I carefully and confidently made my way towards the vultures. 

....Vultures?

The taxi drivers. The schemers. The crooks. The thieves. The beggars. The vendors. The strange men that just want to “get to know you.”

... they were all there waiting for me.

And when I walked out the door, not only did they start circling... they swooped. 

I was smart enough to keep a bit of charge on my phone, as I had been advised to call Uber as opposed to hailing a taxi from the airport.

Dangerous.

For a single female travelling alone... double dangerous.

Uber successfully called.

The trouble was that I was not familiar with the Johannesburg airport. I had no idea where the proper Uber meeting point was.  It just said Terminal B...  and exited the sliding glass doors to wait in Arrivals, Terminal B.

Bad idea.

 The harassment began with each taxi driver within my vicinity insisting they would ‘beat’ my Uber price... and it didn’t stop there. Some got angry that I had chosen Uber over taxi and started to yell at me that I wasn’t supporting the taxi community.

I had to take refuge back inside the airport in order to get away... and to also get back in to a free wifi free zone so that I could keep in contact with my potential driver.

So due to the animosity between taxis and Uber, Uber only is permitted to pick up in ARRIVAL, Terminal B.

Who’da thunk?

A sign stating this or an airport announcement  might have been handy for me, the less fortunate.

Even as I took in the proper location, the vultures were coming at me hot and heavy.

From every direction, I heard, “Hi, I’m your Uber driver.”

I would respond with “What’s your name?”

Not one of them responded with “Max George.”

Finally Max George appeared and whisked me away to my first bed & breakfast for the evening. Old World Charm in the City.

A quaint little garden home owned and operated by a lovely Indian woman. I can’t remember her name at the moment which is ignorant of me, considering she was so sweet. 

And man... she could talk...

 I heard all about how her husband didn’t want to be married anymore, her settlement in their divorce proceedings, her son’s asburgers, her son’s current job, her friend who got a boyfriend & stopped talking to her, the dates that she’s gone on, the man who wouldn’t commit to their relationship, her illnesses, her aches & pains, her renovation plans, her organizational skills, past students from when she ran a boarding room, her mom who taught her to make chutney, her brother in England, her sister of whom she doesn’t really ever heard from, her help, where her help lives, how she needs more help, how much she usually eats in a day, how much she ate today, her favourite foods, her likes, her dislikes, her comfort zones, where’s she’s travelled, where she plans to travel, pictures of her from 10 years ago, her cooking, her cooking pictures, her cooking classes...

I’m sure I’m missing something.

Finally I just asked her if she wanted to join me for dinner. I had asked her for a recommendation and after she directed me to her favourite restaurant, Doppio Zero, she let me know that she was going to just order in sushi.

She did join me.

...I think she’s a bit lonely.

Doppio Zero was fabulous. I loved their selection and the food was to die for.

I can only say that I wish I could have stayed longer for a few reasons:

1. To bathe in her enormous claw foot tub.

2. To try everything on her menu. Her creations looked devine.

3. She was sweet.

Old World Charm *Highly recommended*

 The only reason that I didn’t stay two nights here was because I originally booked the following night at another location. When I went to add on an additional night to that location, it was well out of my affordability.

When I tried to cancel, I risked losing half of the money I had already paid. So I looked around for another location and Old World Charm was what I found.

I left in the morning to meet David in the city. He had taken the bus down from Zimbabwe and was briefly in Joburg before beginning another tour. Someone recommended “Sandton” and I jumped at it. We spent the afternoon wandering around the South Africa's third largest and number one most annoying mall.

After failing to find an exit 7 times and getting ourselves completely turned around to the point of me wanting to just start running and screaming, I looked it up online.

Sandton City is Africa’s most iconic shopping centre. Defining the Sandton skyline, this prestigious setting is home to over 300 of the world’s most coveted retail brands and embodies all the glamour of world-class shopping, dining and leisure.

Now.... in my defence, when someone recommends something to me, I don’t automatically assume that they are sending me to a mall. Especially as an avid traveller.

I envisioned gardens, monuments, cobblestone pathways, cafes, breweries, crafts stalls ... everything hip and happening.

Not a mall. 

I think I’ve got “let’s go to the mall” tattoo’ed on my face. 

Please... someone tell me if I do.

I will never get these hours back... 

If I thought manoeuvring the mall was bad enough and even trying to pretend to shop in a location that was so far out of my budget, you should have seen how difficult it was to find a place to sit down and have lunch without breaking the bank.  

I feel like I won a continental mall tour. I really should have kept track of who had the best customer service... what was offered... lunch options... is there enough ladies clothing shops? liquor stores? grocery?

A Canadian Guide to the Southern African Malls. 

My day in Johannesburg destroyed by incompetent mall navigational skills.

Early Morning International

Up early this morning to do a hop, skip and a jump over to Zambia to fulfill my Kaza Visa requirements.

I figured it would be a quick “pop in to Zambia,” “snap a selfie,” & “back to Zimbabwe“ to finish up my hotel breakfast buffet...

It wasn’t.

I met Takako in the hotel dining room for departure at 7AM sharp. I had a flight a 1:25PM to Johannesburg, so didn’t want to mess around. Get me in the country and out of the country... pronto. She was going to spend the day in Livingstone, so I thought it was a good opportunity to accompany her to the border.

In hindsight, I should have just paid the additional $25 for Zimbabwe only considering the hassle, the stress and the taxi.

I was told the taxi would cost $1... the hotel that arranged the transportation said $6... and when the driver arrived, he wanted $10. I stood my ground and insisted on $6, which was still highway robbery considering the distance we intended to cover... 

$6 quickly turned in to a nonsensical negotiation of $12 for return fare... and then increased to $15, because he agreed to wait for me while I breezed through customs.

10 minutes tops?

Stamp... stamp... stamp... selfie... stamp... back at the taxi...

That is exactly how I envisioned it.

That is NOT really how it went...

When you exit a country in Africa, you have to have your passport scanned and stamped - which I can only assume is to ensure that you are not running from the law in your attempted departure.

There was that lineup. Then you have to show your passport again as you cross through the border gates. One of the men asked me why I was going to Zambia. 

I was dumbfounded.

I could have come up with anything... a lovely day exploring Livingstone, the views of the falls from the other side of the canyon, bungee jumping...

Anything would have sufficed.

Nope. 

I looked right at him and said, “I’m just going to get a selfie and come back.”  

My honest declaration provoked a round of laughter and they opened the gate to let me through. I would have loved to have taken photos of the border patrol area, but we were all strongly advised against it during the tour.

I inquired as to how long a walk it was to the Zambia side and the answer was “less than a kilometre.”

Well... that was the longest “less than a kilometre” I have ever travelled. 

1.6km to be exact... one way.

A treacherous road in the blazing heat, over the canyon bridge... along side people pushing bicycles weighed down with packed bags much like one would envision hanging off a donkey... women carrying wrapped product on their heads... entrepreneurs attempting to sell their local crafts, pop, water, hard boiled eggs, etc... people trying to convince me to sign up for an activity or purchase old Zimbabwe money... baboons appearing out of nowhere, eyeing up my belongings... taxis trying to persuade me to jump in.... children sleeping on the side of the road... border patrol officers walking back & forth, with their rifles slung over their shoulders... 

All the while, everyone is yelling out a variety of “Hello’s” and “Good Morning” and “Hey lady” and “Where you from?” 

It took perseverance and confidence to manoeuvre your way down the long road without being distracted. I tried to walk as fast as I could, keeping in mind that I had a taxi waiting for me on the Zimbabwe side.

 Half way across the Victoria Falls bridge, one of the young boys brought it to our attention that we were crossing the line that divided Zimbabwe and Zambia. Above us was a sign that said ”You are now entering Zambia.”

Photo opportunity.... even better with the Falls in the background.

Gorgeous view, I might add.

I strongly believe that this photo that I asked Takako to take sums her up to a tee.

I took the first photo. Here it is. 

It shows her with one foot in each country and although the sun is shining a bit too brightly, you can still see the Zambia sign.

Had it not been so bright, so early...it would have been a great photo.

Then she took one of me. My turn for a photo.

Need I say more?

... there are no words...

Thanks, Takako.

A bad picture which looks like I’m losing my balance standing beside a pole... by a steel railing. No sign. No border. No dividing line visible...

Thanks again, Takako...

I made it to the Zambia border, got all of the appropriate stamps, said my final goodbyes to Takako and turned around to make the trek back to Zimbabwe. I tried to convince Takako to take a taxi the rest of the way in to Livingstone considering she was alone... very naive... and very afraid of the baboons. She trekked on though... like a trooper.

Kaza Visa- complete.

My taxi was waiting for me when I got back and I felt obliged to up the fee from $12 to $15... he was nice enough to wait.

Honestly, I could have walked my fat, lazy ass back to the hotel... but he was there. I had visions of him thinking I had done a runner.

Headline...

Canadian tourist promises $6 to taxi... but runs off in to the Zambian horizon claiming selfie aspirations... never to return. Taxi left with nothing.

I was back at the hotel by 8:30AM and quite chuffed for being so independently international, so early in the morning.

Real rise & shine country hopper.

My airport shuttle was scheduled for 11AM and my flight was 1:25PM. Actually I have no idea what time my flight was. My itinerary said 1:25. The airport televisions said 1:25. My boarding pass said 1:05.

We left at 1:05.

I had arrived at the airport with Yu, who had a 2PM flight- and found Chloe and Ray having a drink in the lobby bar. Their flight had been scheduled for 11:30AM... and still had yet to arrive.

The flight was nothing exciting... perhaps a little unnerving turbulence but that is about it. Within an hour & a half, I was back in Johannesburg, South Africa.

We all disembarked the plane and had to board an airport shuttle to take us to the International arrivals port.

 There are stressful moments when flying. I have mentioned them before.

Liquids in your carry on.Where’s my passport?Losing luggage.

OR...

Having the customs officer drill you about what happened to the visa they originally issued me...

I stood there... stunned.

What? 

What is she talking about?

The customers officer flipped through every page in my passport... twice... then three times. Each time getting more and more frustrated with me.

“Where is the Visa we issued you?” 

“What Visa?” 

“The Visa you received when you entered the country?” 

“I thought that as a Canadian, I didn’t require a Visa for South Africa. I just got a stamp?” 

“In my system, it says that our government issued you a 7 month working visa.”

Nope. Don’t have that.

Nor do I need that.

It wasn’t as much hassle as I originally envisioned, but it still had to be cleared from the system and corrected.

I should have brought some resumes.

Never a dull moment...