20th June - Team Dynamics

Before I came on this trip, wise counsel told me "there are two things that are important here: yourself and your team. You are only as strong as your weakest link."

That first night in Cairo before an adventure into the unknown with five men I didn't know, the discussion was about the team and the importance of cycling as a team and having a leader on the road.

Now, six months later, I find myself laughing at my naivety. This trip is such an intense personal journey, such a challenge on a daily basis, a monumental mind game to get through seemingly endless hours, days, weeks and months on a bike. The "team" has had to take second place in so many respects. You learn waht you have to do to get through the day, whether that means cycling slower, getting away for a day or two, or bombing on ahead. But very seldom do we rely on the team for that mental support. It is just too tough out there, or they are just typical men! But the result is that we don't talk about frustrations, physical challenges, personal issues... we are individuals doing the same trip.

Suddenly, six months on, we are ending this adventure and there is a renewed concept of team. Although such an incredibly personal journey, it is a journey we have made together. It is a group of people that, despite their differences, now share one of the most incredible experiences; a patchwork of moments that stir up vivid memories in the eight of us. Feathers have been ruffled, we have had our fair share of rifts and flare ups, we have disputed, argued, and cried... but the team is intact. We have also laughed endlessly, analysed life and love, cycled along the Nile, got lost in the Nubian desert, got drunk in "dry" Sudan, chewed chat in Ethiopia, climbed mountains in Kenya, roughed it in Tanzanian mud, swum in Lake Malawi, rode motorbikes in Zambia, rafted on the Zambezi, dodged elephants in Botswana and partied it up in South Africa... We are going to cross that line together.

Thursday 19th June - Rosebank Mall

Shops. People. Beautiful clothes. Lavish fabrics. Stylish shoes. Decadent food shops. Friends from home. Comfort. People. Lots of people. Too many people. Overwhelmed.

One night in southern sudan I was forcefully separated from the team and told to sleep with the other woman in the female compound. Last night was the second night in six months that I didnt sleep under the same roof as one of the guys. They have become my world and my family, and Africa and her simplicities is what I am now comfortable with.

Then imagine me in Rosebank mall. I was so completely overwhelmed by all the choice, all the expense, the decadence, that I ended up spending 5 hours there mostly just walking around not daring to try anything on. I have become used to rotating the four items of clothes I have, was thrilled to find a Pep in Zambia, and had half forgotten how much enjoyment I get from beautful fabrics and fine textures.

The strange thing is, I am not sure that its a world I prefer.

15 June 2008

120km from Oryx Ranch to Mokapane (aka Potgietersrus).

It was a long hard slog.

Six hours in the saddle of cycling into a headwind.

Not exactly fun.

But I did get to have a six hour session of “Affairs of the heart with Gareth Brauteseth”.

Now that’s fun!

A monumental day! - 14 June 2008

This is a massive day for us. Ice has frozen to the tents and fingers ache with cold. Leg warmers, scarves, beanies and gloves – it is a chilly welcome into sunny South Africa!
The border post is utter chaos! After crossing the Limpopo and a little photoshoot with a local security guard, we join a ridiculous queue. The idea was to kill today’s 80 km quickly in order to make the Ireland rugby game at 11:30. That is unlikely now. This is the kind of chaos that has caused many disgruntled South Africans to mumble at the inefficiencies of …. Not me! No-one can wipe the smile off my face today! I feel closer to the large South African mama who is doing a little jig 100 meters down the road than the irritated woman standing in the queue with me.

I say it again: “I’m home.”

Vodacom Welcomes you to South Africa! – Friday 13th June 2008

I’m like a kid on Christmas eve. We are here. We are camped on the South African border not more than 200meters from the mighty Limpopo and South African soil. I got a text message that went “Vodacom welcomes you to South Africa” and I nearly burst into tears! I cant help but recall that first day in Cairo. Wow! We have come a ridiculously long way.

Without getting too sentimental and being likened to a tree-hugging hippy, I honestly believe that there are places in the world in which your life and the earth are in sync; places where your soul is at home. I can travel in the States and join the masses working in London, but once my feet hit South African soil I start dancing to a slightly different tune. I am coming home. I have said that a lot tonight. The guys understand my excitement, but as I say it the eighteenth time, I don’t think they fully appreciate how much this means to me! I am coming home. This is a dream actualized. Honey, I’m home!

Just a Day Job – 12 June 2008

165km from Francis Town to Selibi Phikwe – a massive thank you to the Byrons that hosted us like royalty in Francis Town.

At our campsite last night two women wanted to take a photograph of the team. We were awkward and embarrassed by their fascination with what has simply become our day job. We seem to have lost perspective out here. It is so easy to forget that what we are doing is a little extraordinary. We are restricted to the company of the team and the crazy people that we meet en route:

Andy – the bizarre Scot who cycled from home in Scotland to Durban in order to run the Comrades Marathon. He would train a couple of hours running every morning before cycling anywhere between 100 and 200km. Good luck Andy!

Eric – The Swede that cycled from Sweden, via the Middle East en route to Beijing to arrive in time for the Olympics. We met him and managed to distract him in Sudan. It seems he arrives in Cape Town, via Namibia, shortly before we do. Mad.

Random Aussie – Yesterday the team met an Australian who has been cycling since 2004. Seriously mad.

These men are testimony to the fact that no matter how strange your challenge, there is always someone doing something a little more intense, more physically challenging or more bizarre than you are. Nevertheless, this is the adventure of a lifetime. I have to keep reminding myself that I am close to the completion of a cycle across Africa!

Too close for comfort – 11 June 2008

It seems so easy to quit now. To simply throw in the towel and say we cycled from Cairo to Francis town! We are so close to home that it makes the distance uncomfortable as we tick off each new 100km. When in the remoteness of the Sudanese desert, or killing ourselves on the Ethiopian hills, it was never an option. Stopping was not something that we even considered. We were there. We were doing this thing. We were going to do this thing until we stopped doing this thing in Cape Town. What we do thereafter is up for discussion. There has been much banter around chucking our bicycles into the Atlantic for one. But now, so close to completion of this epic journey, it is that much more tempting to hop into a truck en route to Jo’burg. The next five weeks feel impossible. I could be on Clifton Beach right now. OK. It is probably ridiculously chilly there at the moment, and one probably wouldn’t want to sit on the sand in the rain, but you get my point.

Today’s 80km stretch into Francis town was a relatively mundane stretch of straight road that disappeared into the head wind. It is the first day of cycling that I have cycled the whole day with a warm top on… very cold, but a small taster for the South African winter ahead. The day involved cycling along the yellow tightrope between the verge and the traffic. No space for chat, and only one’s thoughts to entertain. And so I return to old thought processes like overworked conversations that reverberate in my mind and have done so for the past five months. Where to from now? What to do with my life? What to do for the next year? All the big questions that never really get answered but endlessly asked. In fact, one would think that all this time on the bike has given me a level of clarity in what direction I will follow. But it has done little more than open my eyes to a whole realm of opportunities and given me the understanding that once a route is chosen, the rest will follow. The hardest part is in the decision.

Super Seconders – 10 June 2008

Our super seconds, George and Elly, flew back to South Africa today. They were wonderful support, adding good banter and providing great conversations to a team that have been in each other’s pockets for the last six months and so have largely exhausted most topics of conversation… music and sports trivia excluded! No really, if anyone does read this, I know that they both will – Thank you. You chaps are awesome. Not many people would take precious time off work to come and drive a landdrover behind a troop of smelly cyclists…

We dropped them off at the Francis town airport which was an experience unto itself. It comprised of a shipping container-styled building that made the blue-printed VIP Lounge sign above one of the exterior doors look a little out of place. The departure lounge is a 5m squared room with two counters and low chairs lining the walls. A ridiculously tall man sprawled himself out across these chairs as he devoured his beans and pap. To someone who can claim a short stint of working within the aviation industry… it was absolutely bizarre. Retail space totals 3sqm – a counter that serves the pap and beans. Security comprises one scanner.

They’re back home now, thankfully. But it was a truly fascinating encounter with an African airport.

Waiting – 9 June 2008

90km short of Francis town, a woman stands on the side of the road, swinging her arms, waiting for a bus at a crooked stop sign. A crackled hardware store sign stands in front of seemingly empty mud huts. The only signs of life are this woman and some wandering goats. We lie on the dirt on the other side of this road, baking in the soft afternoon sun. I am listening to Phil Collins’ Just Another Day in Paradise, with a sad irony.

On the other side of the road, the woman sits down next to her canvas bag. Both of us are waiting for transport but we are going in different directions. I am trucking on to Francis town with the prospect of returning to this crusted sign tomorrow to complete the distance. I have no idea where she’s going… there is not much where we have come from.

Just as I am about to stroll over and sit down on the tarmac next to her, and am wondering about what it is I want to say, a wheelbarrow and its owner park next to her. The owner, an old woman with a royal blue dress and hardy footwear, sits in the wheelbarrow and joins the wait. It is a small thing, this waiting, that we share. But there is a simple beauty in sitting on the side of the road watching the world pass by and willing some being behind a windscreen to stop. Life is slow here. And its beautiful.

Into the wild, Part 2. – 8 June 2008

Today was really just more of the same. There was one fairly close encounter with a lone bull that was enough to get my adrenalin pumping and leave me with my heart pretty near to popping out of my throat… It was standing fairly innocently on the side of the road 100m ahead of us. Unperturbed, my father and Gareth cycle on towards it, leaving Matt to deal with a near hysterical yours truly! Si, completely unconcerned that his daughter was in a state of near panic and the distance between him and her rapidly widening, proceeded to have a battle of wills with this beautiful old lone bull. It turned out well, and dad still maintains that we were never in danger. It felt somewhat different at the time.

We are staying at Nata Lodge tonight and are being looked after by the manager James – what a hero! He basically gave us the accommodation for free on the basis that he wanted to. He also told us a small tale about a lone Canadian cyclist that was apparently a zoo keeper by profession that had spent a night in the bush and had had an encounter with lion. He spent the night running out of his tent, banging some pots and pans together to make a racket, and then diving into his tent again. Seems his campsite was within 50km of where we slept last night.

Hectic.

In Ethiopia, Tanzania, Sudan… in fact in any remote African town where we’d stop for dinner, one of the boys would put their arm around the host and ask if it would be possible to see the kitchen. Par for the course, whenever we get to any form of restaurant, we ask if we can take a quick look in the kitchen. This is a health necessity in most places and one can quickly guage what it is that should be ordered.

The same happened tonight at the very comfortable Nata Lodge and I am having premonitions of the guys doing the same in some swanky Johannesburg restaurant. We are in serious African travelling mentality and are going to have to do some serious acclimatizing! 953km to Joburg. That is the first time I have heard the distance to a South African city being quoted. Not long now.

Into the wild – 7 June 2008

Chobe to Nata – 320 km in two days. That was effectively 190 km and 130km. 190km – a new record and a solid day on the bike. But that is not what will get recorded in the memory banks.

Chobe to Nata is 320 km of African bush. It is apparently tribal territory, but we didn’t see any signs of life at all. At least no signs of human life. We saw everything from bush buck to baboons, lilac breasted rollers, vultures and elephants. Let us not forget the elephants. Cycling past elephants is not my favourite pastime! I was scared out of my little mind!

Yesterday, we approached a breeding herd, and it involved a cow with tail flying and ears flapping, breaking into something somewhat faster than she walks, herding her young away from the road. OK. Perhaps it wasn’t quite as dangerous as I was imagining, but basically, I was pretty close to a seriously agitated elephant and her calf. Not cool at the time, but pretty unbelievably awesome on reflection!

At 190km down, the sun beat us to the 200km mark and we gave in to the attractions of a bush camp. We have camped on the side of the road before, we have gone without water for cleaning for days on end, we have gone for days cycling across the remoteness of the Sudanese desert… but camping in the Botswanan bush was like nothing else.

It was only as we were crouched around the fire that a tale was relayed that caused some merriment. One of our trusty seconders had been firmly resolved against the idea of joining us for a stint on the bike. It seemed he wasn’t partial to the possibility of having an encounter with an elephant whilst on his bicycle. Fairplay to him, and if I had the choice, in all honesty I would probably have come to the same conclusion! But I digress… the sun was setting and as agreed our trusty seconders drove off to find a campsite. They noticed a small clearing, well-concealed from the road and Elly at the wheel asked George to go and suss out the spot. Not more than a minute later, George came hurtling out of the bush and onto the road. Elly recounts how it took two minutes to get out of George what had happened… apparently he been startled by a buck. Good thing he wasn’t there with the elephants.

I fell asleep to imaginary Hyena calls, clinking wine glasses, crackling embers and visions of an elephant charging through our tents… I woke up at 2am bitterly, bitterly cold and desperate to go to the toilet, but not that excited to break the caccoon of my sleeping bag to venture into the animal infested dark. Some form of cold front has come through… and we are being shocked out of our comfort zones of balmy weather.

A Taste of Botswana – 6 June 2008

Chobe Game Reserve is a spectacular spot and has been a treat of monumental proportions. Half the team has decided to cycle through Zimbabwe due to interest in the political situation. Unfortunately, the support vehicle makes passing through Zimbabwe more difficult, and so the other four of us decided to stick to the plan and go via Chobe and Nata. We will be reunited in Francis town in five days time.

It was a relatively easy 90km from Livingstone to Kasane and included a classic trip on the Kazungula ferry. Trucks line up for kilometres waiting for weeks to cross the border between Zambia and Botswana via ferry; a ferry that can only take one truck at a time. The back log is crazy, but preferable to going through Zim.

As we passed through immigration we met a man who insisted on knowing where we were to stay tonight. A bit confused, we explained that we were only going on 11km to Kasane. Our friend was relieved and the interrogation ended. “Not good for lions to cycle at night.”

Hectic.

We started there – 5 June 2008

Three. Two. One. Bunji!

While waiting to capture Gareth’s bunji on camera, and somewhat distracted by the sheer look of panic, referred to by the man himself as “Ice Man”, I started a conversation with an English woman on the bridge. After some stereotypically polite chat, she asked:

“Are you on an overlander trip?”

“No, we’re doing Cairo to Cape Town on bicycles.”

“Push bikes?”

“Um…. Yes.”

“Hmph! You’ll never reach Cairo!”

“No. we started there.”

It was awesome.

A Country on Her Knees – 1 June 2008

Victoria falls is one of the most spectacular places I have visited. Sheer volumes of water eat away at the gorge that runs like a crack between two countries. Drenched from head to toe, we breathed in the weight of the water, lingered on its thunder and became camera-snappy tourists searching for that elusive perfect shot.

In Zambia, life has a level of normality. Business is booming for the man on the street as they benefit from the economic collapse in Zimbabwe. Catching all tourism that come to the falls, sharp Zambian craftsmen line the roads offering their wares with all the tricks of the trade.

“One moment, I just want to ask one question.”

You stop because you don’t want be too rude.

“Where are you from?”

Ah! They have you…

“Goeie more!”

Now that’s a pretty good effort.

We crossed into Zimbabwe for lunch at the Victoria Falls Hotel which has a really impressive view of the border bridge. The hotel stands alone with a quiet sadness, looking across the gorge at the bridge between the two countries; the bridge that stands between Zimbabweans and their basic rights to freedom and opportunity. Like the last line of defense in the devastation of a country, waiters hang around in droves, cleaners traverse the empty halls and fresh towels sit in immaculate bathrooms.

But there are no guests, one can only pay in a foreign currency, and the bills run into the millions…

Tourist security guards escort us back to the border post in a sad tribute to a collapsed state which is making desperate efforts to protect the remnants of a once prosperous tourism industry. Craftsmen try to sell their goods and succeed not because of the quality of their product but because of the look in their eyes.

I found the whole experience devastating.

On the other side, people are poised, waiting for Mugabe’s mess to transform into the land of opportunity. Victoria Falls, a world heritage site, a renowned tourist destination, will suddenly need shops, restaurants, service industries… there is money to be made in the rebuilding of a country. The question everyone is asking is “when?”

The man on the street can’t wait that much longer.

Spoilt brats – 31 May 2008

The joys of a support vehicle: Porridge for breakfast, tea and coffee, energy bars, fresh oranges, camp fires at night, potjie braais… the list continues, topped with transport for our bags! We feel like we are flying! It has revolutionised this experience.

We are now soft. Spoilt brats.

With that has come George and Elly and my dad, and we couldn’t ask for a better support team if we tried. Cycling along debating the meaning of life and catching up with your best mate, or giving your father a seriously hard time… Awesome.

It’s a little surreal really – we are coming home.

The cycling has been three days of 130km, but the road is smooth and the terrain gentle. It has been a bit of a cake–walk. The first night saw us staying with the Ray and Sally on their farm in Mazibuko. They looked after us like royalty. It was wonderful to chill out on such a gorgeous farm, go for a run, ride a motorbike, swim, drink red wine, and veg out on the lawn with a good book.

The second night we camped on a football field on the side of the road in the middle of the thick bush. We paid some local footballers to collect water from a stream for an attempted bucket wash. We did the same for firewood, and within a few hours were very comfortable in our makeshift campsite. We sat around the campfire, stars overhead, butternut in tinfoil… again, I catch myself smiling at the luxury of it all. This is a far- cry from eating enjera and shiru in Ethiopia!

Last night we stayed with Rochelle and Marius a day’s cycling short of Livingstone. Again, the hospitality of near strangers is overwhelming. To have a team of twelve camping out on your front lawn, monopolising your bathrooms and creating havoc in every corner of your house – they were incredible hosts.

Today we’re off to Livingstone. White water rafting, bunji jumping, kayaking on the Zambezi – tough life! I couldn’t be happier.

23 May 2008 - Eyelash tinting in Lusaka

I got it into my little head that because I was in the thriving metropolis that is Lusaka, and because I have spent the last four months in the company of seven sports and music trivia driven males... a little bit of feminine R&R was in order. Unsure of whether a haircut or eyelash tint would be preferable, I enquired of cost and discovered that however unpractical it may be.. eyelashes were it. Perhaps the boys' economic judgement has rubbed off on me?

So there I was, lying in a beauty salon in Lusaka, thats the Lusaka in Zambia, awaiting an eyelash tint. The beautician approached armed with tweezers. It seems there was some confusion in the terminology... but when we had got around the fact that no, I did not want to pluck my eyebrows, or eyelashes for that matter, and that I wanted my eyelashes dyed... I was then posed with "what colour?"

At this point I was starting to think that perhaps this wasn't such a wise idea. Green?!

"I would like them to be dark." OK, not to worry, that would be fine. Could I please wait a moment?

Lying on the bed, awaiting her return, I started reflecting on this entry. I started imagining the dark stains under my eyes and the grief to be borne from the dudes...

She returned with a friend. Conversation reverted to some local language of which only the word "vaseline" was distinguishable. I then had my eyelashes closely examined by the pair, more discussion and then it began. After some soggy tissue, a little burning sensation, a sensation likened to the application of eyeliner when I was twelves, and a ten minute wait in which I further delved into the possible pictures of Twiggy-styled marks down my face... I was told to clean my face.

The result: nothing. And a whole lot of vaseline.

Apparently dye in Lusaka doesnt always work on light-coloured eyelashes! hmm...

The guys have rubbed off on me - I pointed out the fact that they were still blonde and that I shouldn't pay. She agreed. Thankfully! Classic experience though.. the joys of feminine wonders!

I went home and painted my nails.

19 May 2008 - Zambia is great!

157km to Nyimba. That sounds worse than it is - we had a tail wind and motored it. However, it is at least six hours in the saddle, and whichever way you look at it, time in the saddle counts for something. Not to worry though, it is only 100km to Luwanga bridge tomorrow and apparently there are hot springs there.

It is now 7:50 and I am in bed and about to turn the light off! Madness. I am in a room with bottle green satin duvets and some pretty dodgy wallpaper. It gives the picture of Whitney Houston that was on the wall of my room last night a run for its money on the steaminess scale!

Zambia is great. In fact, more specifically, Zambians are great! They speak perfect English (are you noticing a theme here?!) and the are all smiles and friendliness. It is awesome. As we cycle past, kids run screaming towards us, or jump on the spot as if they have lost all bodily control. But they are screaming "How are you?" as opposed to "Give me my money!" - small things that can change your perception of a country.

It is a country that seems like it has a future. At least to me on my bike. Sure, there are towns that we pass through on a Monday afternoon and every person in the town is drunk out of their minds. But I have to hope that there is more to the story than I am able to understand.

We are desperately trying to get to Lusaka on thursday night and hence the crazy distances. That effectively means cycling 750km in 6 days. Why thursday? Friday can then be a day of internet that we can catch people in the office and get some work done... plus it leaves Saturday free to watch the Sharks win... A large portion of our time is currently spent planning the South African events that we are hosting en route. In fact, it is the same old story for me, when my mind is on something it keeps ticking at strange times and I cant turn it off! Awesome for getting things done. But maddening when one wants to just relax, take in an awesome day on the bike and forget about the heap of mails to press, corporate and personal contacts that need to get sent. Soon. It feels like we actually have no rest days on the trip - all free time is spent planning events or emailing corporates for donations. I need a holiday. Classic!

I am so happy to be here though.

Oh yes, I had a crazy shower experience tonight. It was the most public shower I have taken. A bucket of warm water, in a prison-styled cubicle with no doors. As I walked in a woman was merrily showering in the first cubicle completely unconcerned. So I attempted to do likewise. Though I did take my glasses off so that I wasn't able to see who it was that walked in and out.

As they say: ignorance is bliss.

Great shower in fact.

So fed and clean and in bed. 'Nite.

19 May 2008 - hmmm

94km from Chipate to Katete.

I lie. 84km of cycling and 10km of walking.

I got a flat tyre and didnt have a pump or spare tube. Two gentleman that passed said it was only 2km into town.

Not quite.

17 May 2008 - 163km!

I haven't written in a while. We have done some things worth writing about, but not as much as today. 163km!

Lilongwe, Malawi to Chipata, Zambia.

This morning in Lilongwe, some dude was visiting our host and was incredibly relieved when our host explained why we were walking around in spandex. We forget what freaks we look like. This chap then proceeded to comment on how "brave" we were. "Brave?" - not quite the word I would use to describe this trip. "Mad", "ill-conceived", "suckers-for-punishment..." - now thats a little closer to the mark!

I am in my tent now. It has just gone 9pm on a Saturday night and we have just watched the Sharks secure a place in the Super14 semifinal. Every Natalian in Durbs is currently having the biggest bender ever... and I couldn't be happier. I am a loser, in a sleeping bag, with a tired body and heavy eyes. This is the longest day that I have cycled yet.

Good work, Didi!

13 May - Mwandama's success story

Mwandama!

Another place we have heard much of and read about. Mwandama is the Malawian cluster within the Millennium Promise program. It is a cluster of six villages that is south west of Lilongwe towards Blantyre. The trip out there meant another hair-raising experience in a locally hired hylux with a door that literally came off. What was most telling perhaps is the lack of impact that this door-less vehicle had on its passengers – hey, we’ve seen, and been in, worse!

Mwandama was incredibly impressive. It is a village that is three and a half years into the program and has already made significant inroads into the world of sustainable development. Like Mbola in Tanzania, Mwandama is a Millennium village which is supported by locals working with locals for locals. The village chief, Mwandama, who has contributed land and payment in kind into the community project, and to whom the project owes its name, welcomed us with the grace of a humble old leader. It was an honour.

There were numerous successes of the project that impacted me:

In the agricultural area the project has constructed a massive structure that will be used to store village maize. The villagers had highlighted that they were losing maize to poor storage and were being exploited by being forced to sell when the market was flooded at harvest time. Now they will be able to defer sale until they are content that the price is right.

We met a local farmer that had initiated a natural irrigation scheme that was able to dramatically improve his output. Millennium Promise had further networked him with local supermarkets and he was supplying his vegetables to a market that was previously far from attainable.

We were shown water tanks that were being used to harvest rain water – the villagers explained that although they had recently had good rains, they were now prepared for a season of poor rainfall.

We met a woman who had started a home enterprise of embroidery and knitting. Through the involvement of Millennium promise she was able to access a loan via the bank that visited the village on Thursday afternoon. She is on the first tier of the loan structure and when she has repayed the loan she will be able to access a larger amount. She sat in front of us with her bank card and a level of pride to match.

None of these successes are new as a concept. These are initiatives that are already used across the development world. What is new is the idea of focusing on all these areas concurrently. The village of Mwandama has a level of potential above anything I have witnessed in Malawi and I have faith in the project succeeding. Mwandama has a chance at beating poverty.

10 May 2008 - The price of education

Nkhata Bay to Ngala Beach was a very easy two days of 70km each. What a pleasure to be relaxed about the cycling again! And what a pleasure to be cycling along the lakeshore – it is gorgeous. You wake up to birdsong and the noise of the waves billowing up sand in a stubborn game of rock, paper, scissors between the elements.

This morning we only have another 70km before we hopefully get to a lodge that can show us the Super14 games – high priorities!

We are going to be visiting a local secondary school this morning which will should be interesting. It is a school for 200 students that is currently heavily undersubscribed because of the school fees of 1700mk for 3 months – that is the equivalent of R85 for a term. Scary thought. Surely there could be a way for these children to earn their fees? Potentially they could work for a lodge for a couple of hours a day and earn the fees. But then I forget that their families will be pretty desperate too, and another person in school is a cost to them.

Malawians seem to live on nothing. And more so than many places we have come through. I am not sure how these people survive and I am not sure there is that much hope around.

4 May 2008 - Mzuzu

Yesterday was rather happily ended – We arrived in Mzuzu in the dark and in the traffic and absolutely beaten by a seriously long day of cycling. A local man, James, escorted us to a place called Mozoozooo – a backpacker managed by an Englishman. We sat on couches, got served a great steak, had a warm shower and got into bed. Ah!

Today we do some admin in town and then cycle an easy 45 down to the lake to Nkhata Bay! Too excited. The three Irishmen and Twig are still playing catchup and so the whole team will be reunited in Nkhata Bay. I cannot wait. It has felt somewhat disjointed without the whole team around – I miss them!

Mzuzu - the first Bar one.. we are coming home!

3 May 2008 - Saddle sores

Today ranks right up there with one of my worst days yet. I will not go into detail, but I have saddle sores that make it almost unbearable to sit on the bike. Then ask me to cycle 145km. At 55km I was in agony.

The only thing that made it more bearable was chatting to my father midway through the day. The conversation went along the lines of

"Oh yes, I’ve had one before, its very common in the cycling world. How many have you got?"

"Eight."

"Phew!"

Anyone who knows my father knows that he doesn’t dish out sympathy. When we were kids we weren’t sick unless we had a proper temperature. More so, he has earned a reputation of being pretty tough and a bit of a camelman… (he’s going to love reading this!)… and so, to hear him say how bad he found it, how sore they are and give me some solid sympathy… suddenly turned me from feeling very sorry for myself to being just a little hard core! Classic. From then on, the pain was something to suck up and toughen me as opposed to wallow in and break me down.

Travelling with seven men means certain conversations are off limits – this being one of them. So I get no sympathy from them because I cannot explain what I am dealing with. It is amazing how a little bit of understanding can change things!

So, I know you don’t want to hear any more of this – but this was right up there with being lost in the desert, or climbing Chilga mountain in Ethiopia.

There are days on this trip where you have to remind yourself that it is voluntary, that you have chosen to do this, and that more so, you are paying to do this! I paid to put myself through that level of pain today. That is a pretty bizarre thought. Crazy fool.

2 May 2008 - A little hardened?

My dad and some friends join us in Lusaka on the 25th. They will be sharing the cycling and driving and escorting us back to the Burra with the trusty green Landrover – a vehicle that has earned a place in our family, a little higher in ranking than the kids. But just after the dogs. I am so excited for them to join us. They will be bringing many home comforts but also just the familiarity of people who know me beyond this trip. It will be awesome.

I must also admit that I am a little anxious though. This has become my world, a world that although tough has become comfortable and familiar. It is a world that has dramatically impacted the way I see my life and the places that we have passed through. I believe that I have become a little more pragmatic about the way the third world works and more comfortable with my place in it. That’s not to say that I have become pessimistic about everything, just more cynical and critical of certain areas of development and cultures. I’m rambling, but I believe this trip has significantly altered my impressions and my future. Now add people that mean the world to me into the equation and I suppose I am nervous that they don’t find it as incredible and therefore undermine its power on me. I shouldn’t be concerned – but their opinion is so important. I feel like I have just spent the last four months working on an oil painting and now it faces a critical appraisal – the view becomes almost personal!

But wow – with my dad and his landrover come a freezer, a gas stove, and a whole heap of comforts that seem pretty luxurious right now. To be able to get a cold coke! There is also much banter about whether or not the team will lose their panniers. What is amusing is that if one team member decides to keep their panniers on the bike… it is very likely that pride will not permit anyone else to surrender. Interesting. My bag is currently falling apart, is covered in masking tape and blue plastic packets in a poor attempt at waterproofing, and may not make Cape Town… its early departure may be welcomed, but there is something about cycling into Cape Town carrying the same kit that we left Cairo with 6 months previously.

I am sitting on the beach with the morning wind coming off the water. A woman walks up to me and says hello. She walks a little closer, and then sheepishly crouches down and in an almost embarrassed, low tone says, "Give me my money," to which I reply, "No."
She asks, "No?"
I confirm this and she wanders down the beach. I am white and therefore a wealthy benefactor that one needs to ask for money. Before coming on this trip I struggled to say no. I struggled to look someone in their eye, face their need, and still say no. I don’t think I feel any less, I like to think that I have chosen my battles and have accepted that there will be some that I cannot assist. Perhaps this is simply a way to justify my actions to my conscience, but when you live in the third world and are faced with need daily, you need a defence. This is mine.

But as she walks away, I acknowledge that I am a little hardened.

1 May 2008 - Malawian nights

Life doesn’t get much better than this! Listening to eighties music while cycling along Lake Malawi. It’s Ladies Night Oh What a Night, and Sweet Child of Mine ringing in my ears, dancing down a mountain road that winds its way along the water. This rivals any Garden Route or Great Ocean road.

I am now sitting on the "beach", with my tent 20m away, and Gareth, Rich and Matt chatting to a mute through pictures in the sand. He’s explaining his fishing skills by drawing fish and making actions for pulling the nets in. The Southern Cross points the way to Cape Town. I’m coming home.

Africa is an unfair place and the haves and have nots confronts me every day. But let no-one dispute that it is beautiful. Tanzania was gorgeous and Malawi is holding that bar high. Everyday I have moments I want to catch but know that I can’t record. They flit past me on my bike. I can’t catch them – I have to keep on cycling. Out to my right a hulk of mountain comes down to the water, a light flashes on the top, and a further light flashes on the water’s edge. The road we take follows one of the two: Pray heavens it’s the lower one.

It has been crazy cycling and solid kilometres that keep ticking away. My legs cannot keep this up for much longer. I am physically shattered, and emotionally never better. It is simply gorgeous and daily I am amazed at this phenomenal experience.

The mute, John, is now drawing a clock in the sand and proceeds to explain how the evening star tells the time of night.

The day’s highs: Waking to the sun on the water; listening to Gwen Stefani and pumping my legs to her quirky rhythm; lunch at Chilumba at the jetty restaurant; long shadowed afternoons of greeting locals whilst winding my way along the cliff face; washing my hair in the lake; coffee now. It is a tough life!

It is never too easy to remember the lows, but they are always there: Hearing the alarm go before sunrise; the last 20km before lunch feeling finished and wanting to throw my bike into the water (if it weren’t for Gareth’s back wheel I could well have!); getting approached in the restaurant by a con man with a kid giving us a heavy story that this was an orphan – the kid ended up being his younger brother and was visibly upset because of the distance from its mother.

Ah yes – high: At lunch we were sat down at the table with our newly arrived food and the thirteen year old daughter of the house says, "Don’t you want to pray?" At first we thought she was asking us to pay for the meal before eating it and we were about to throw our toys in tourist’s disbelief at the ridiculous proposition… until she knelt on the floor and led us in grace. They were wonderful people. And that restaurant held my first authentic African long drop experience – can’t beat that!

Let’s not underestimate the cycling though! It has now been 1450km in 13 days with only 3 rest days, 700 km of which was on a dirt road. That is no joke. Today was our sixth day of cycling without a rest – and we have two to go before we take an extended break at Nkhata Bay. It’s heavy going and we don’t seem to be giving our bodies the time to recuperate. Maybe that is in the mind though – perhaps with each new day of going through the motions we will get stronger and tougher. But for now, my thighs are tight and my back side is not too comfortable and I have strange pang in my back. My skin feels weathered and I feel like a seasoned traveller that badly needs some home comforts and a Laundromat. A fresh salad would be pretty unreal too.

Not complaining – but it would be pretty good!

28 April 2008 - Craziness continues

Tukuyu! I’m developing a bit of a routine here – too tired to write! 105 km today. The first 80 were up a hill. I should say “up a mountain”. We literally crossed a mountain range – frikkin ridiculous! It took us 6 hours to cycle 100km.

We have done 1200km in 14 days, 760 km of which have been on dirt roads. I am shattered and need endless sleep. Tomorrow Malawi – good times sleeping on the lake shore. Nite.

27 April 2008 - Haggling and home comforts

Makambako for lunch. 87km on the clock. Awesome. The hills are consistently followed by long easy downs that make the slow tick of the climb more manageable. No matter what length of cycle, and no matter how early in the day we arrive at our destination, a solid meal is always welcomed. We have just had lunch at the “Durban Park Hotel”! Classic. The boys are out to try and barter down some cheap rooms. Im not too good at that – I just get frustrated and give in! If I were doing this trip on my own, I swear it would cost double the amount – the patience of these guys amazes me. Haggling in Africa is hard work. “Shilingapi?” (no idea how you spell that!) and then a series of hand gestures … and when the price is determined… “Hai! Mzungu price!” and then the bartering starts… Last night we stayed four in a room, and got dinner and breakfast included for 6000 each: less than R50. Ridiculous. Money doesn’t grow on trees on a trip like this, but I have a whole heap to learn from the guys. My role has quickly become kit watcher while they go and haggle – My presence almost seems to undermine their work. He he!

The days have been pretty normal recently, not a whole heap of exciting things have been going on – we have been racing for the Malawian border. 3 days and counting. I cant believe how far we’ve come.

We’re in the process of trying to organise our South African leg and all the welcome events at home. I am so looking forward to it, that I have to remind myself that now is pretty good too!

I found Pronutro in a petrol station shop! We are getting close! Cant explain how good it will be to replace some of the chapatti. Home comforts.

24 April 208 - The end of dirt. We hope.

I was too tired to write last night. But it was definitely worth recording. 137km. crazy. We started at 6:45. we finished at 7:40. PM. That’s 13 hours. Sorry to spell it out for you, but that was probably 10 hours in the saddle. Needless to say, my rear end was a little bruised today. And today? We thought it would be 70, and it was 100. I am shattered. The first 50 km were basically uphill. I lie: 15 flat, 30uphill, down 5… These things might seem like random pieces of information, but to the cyclist? – pertinent pieces of information that tell a story. So imagine our complete irritation when the map somehow lost 30km!!! We are used to asking locals distances and getting anywhere within 200km either way of the actual distance, or alternatively getting answered in hours. Our solution is to take the median of many suggestions and hope for the best. But always trust the map. Except in northern Tanzania that is. Sheer frustration.

Today was the last section of dirt road! Yee haa! We had a photographic moment of three mzungus kissing the tarmac. Again, not something that many people can appreciate unless you’ve spent extended time trying to nurse your body through the dirt. That is the last meter of stones and bumps and sand. At least that is what our maps say.

What goes through your head on a ridiculously long day like today? Amazingly little. 36km left. 35. 34… No really. Today was gorgeous. We were cycling through lush, overhanging bush winding our way up a mountain. I am so tired that im struggling to make sense, and have little energy left to be creative. I will shut up now. Looking forward to dinner and bed and then tomorrow we rest.

22 April 2008 - Life in Dodoma

I was wrong about the expat life in Dodoma! Gareth found it as he popped into the Anglican cathedral and introduced himself. In fact, quite a bit came of that visit: a visit to World Vision; a visit to a workshop for 70 local priests; a dinner with three Anglican missionaries… The McCanns are wonderful people. Maggie and Sandy and Martin were incredible hosts, are doing awesome work here, and are hoping to further boost our cause through their connections in the States. It is always refreshing for us to meet people who buy into this project and want to get involved.

We did just 30 km in the afternoon today – it feels a little like we got let out of school early! That said, we have two very tough days of cycling ahead: 127km and then 100km on dirt roads, where hills will be the norm. Somehow though, everyone is buzzing! Everyone is on such a high, team morale is right up there, dedication is there, we’re focusing on two things: cycling and raising money. Perhaps we can smell home!

We are currently cooking a little pasta on gas stoves. I am listening to Bach and watching kids count to five in English. I am having a moment! – things don’t get much better than this.

Oh ja! I had a mouse on my foot last night! I woke up to one in my bed. Turned on the light (although my writing belies my calm demeanour!). Made sure it was gone. Went back to sleep and then not more than half an hour later, I woke again to – it on my foot! Im quite serious. It then got caught in the mosquitoe net. I screamed and ran to find one of the guys. I am a gimp. But wow. This afternoon as I set off for the ride I noticed that it’d been drinking from my camelpak. Little gnaw marks on the mouthpiece served as a pretty reminder of my late night visitor.

20 April 2008 - Meeting the Prime Minister.. almost!

We arrived in Dodoma yesterday afternoon after another day of 97km on dirt roads. Heavy going. It has been six days of solid cycling and our reintroduction into the cycling regime has been a baptism of fire. The bikes and bodies are tired, but miraculously, both still fine. But we are now resting in Dodoma, managed to catch the Stormers game last night, and we are about to have a day of solid admin – Need to keep that cash flowing in!

As we arrived in yesterday we cycled straight into the Prime Minister’s office. We didn’t know where to stay, and Gareth figured that if anyone knew a good place to stay, the Prime Minister would. So we asked the guard if we could have an audience with the PM. The response was “Wait one moment, please.” Unfortunately, the Prime Minister is in Dar at the moment, but one of his economic advisors came out to meet us. Obey is currently doing his PhD in economics at the University of Cape Town. Within moments a couple of lecturers names were being bandied around. Good times. He’s pulling some strings with the PM’s personal assistant and seeing if we can meet the man on Monday. Craziness continues.

Dodoma is an interesting place. It is much like any African city and is about the size of Kokstad! Unlike most African cities, there appears to be a very small expat community here and, as a result, very few western comforts. We did find the new Dodoma hotel – way out of our budgetary range, but too bad an option to hang out, have some food and collapse into the lounge’s leather couches as I do now. I live for these moments on this trip - small moments when I can forget that I am in the thick of the chaos that is Africa, and that for a little glitch in time I am back in a world in which I am familiar, and most importantly, I am clean and comfortable. Perhaps it is cheating, perhaps I should be embracing the dirt more, but this is me, and I love a few small comforts every so often!

In the city there is the regular bustle of street vendors, doe-eyed children in pale blue saris and charismatic young men shouting a ‘Wassup’ in an attempt to be trendy… What always hits me hard though is that when one looks a little deeper beyond the life and colour, one can always find the devastating tales of the under layer: a man with debilitating leprosy; a woman sitting in the dirt breastfeeding a young child; a mangy kitten on its last legs… Again: this is Africa.

20 April - Four seasons in one day..

Rich said today that one thing that he cannot get over on this trip is that so much happens in one day that it becomes easy to forget what happened in the morning, and where we stayed last night… so true. A huge amount happened today: I lost my sleeping bag somewhere along the road (huge hit!); we got utterly drenched from head to toe; we had the most unreal little lunch on a table that we moved outside the restaurant not two meters from the road; we spent the afternoon with our bikes giving them the much needed TLC after an epic day of cycling in slush; I cooked a pasta dinner on coals in the back of a makeshift restaurant with a wonderful young woman who didnt speak a word of English (yes indeed, Didi is becoming more domestic!); I drank a cup of coffee at the local café… and all this before 9:30 so that I can get to bed early so that we can wake at six for more chapatti and chai…

Today was the first day that we have actually dealt with solid rain. And when I say rain, it was so bad that what once was soft sand littered with rocks, was now deep slush that did its best to jam into every nook of our derailleurs and cassettes. Each revolution ground as more grit wore against the chain. And all this amidst heavy concentration in keeping on the bike, choosing the best line and then gunning it into the mud. I was cold, wet right through and a beautiful sight. But it was awesome fun! It felt a little like duck-diving with bikes and it becomes all about confidence – you lose confidence in this terrain and you’re gone before you know it… hold a line, back yourself and peddle right through. Ignore the fact that the road is fast becoming a river and that a puddle of gigantic proportions and monstrous depths is hurtling towards you… great fun! Awesome day! 80km under the belt and we are told it is an easy 80 down hill into Dodoma. I translate that to 110km of flat with a few small hills. It seems that the locals don’t have a cyclist’s eye for the terrain.

We are staying in a lovely spot which has kerosene lamps and cement floors, but it is comfortable and has a great feel to it. I have had a wonderful day.

19 April - Kondoa

Today we did only 28km and it was awesome to get a little bit of a rest. That said, we did hike 18km this morning in order to see rock paintings in Kolo, and then it was a ridiculous 28 km on a sand road that made the concentration levels peak. It never seems to be that easy.

It was the most spectacular piece of cycling though – the road is lined with majestic baobabs that reign over the sunflowers set against the moody skies. Gorgeous.

We are staying in Kondoa tonight and have settled into some great accommodation that costs us R18 each for a decent room. Dinner was rice and veggie soup with beans – basic, but heavenly.

There was a classic moment in the street this evening as we stood outside the local corner store, although this is a one road town, with not much at all and it appears that this is more like the equivalent of the Engen pie shop at 2am in Claremont, Cape Town… the only place worth visiting and the only place that has everything you need. I digress… Gareth stood there with ear phones on having a little dance to Tanzanian music much to the amusement of the owner of the earphones and to the horror of the four year old who clearly had never seen Mzungu, much less dancing Mzungu. Rich and Matt stood at the counter beyond the throngs of locals whilst they bartered down our price of tomorrow’s dinner down to R20 a head… on the front step a woman sat frying Kasava chips (a staple diet vegetable that tastes a little like a sweet potato) and her friend sat next to her frying small fish… in between them was a heap of newspaper to wrap the sales in. Fish and Chips Tanzanian style!

It’s off to bed now – we have 170km to go to Dodoma, two days of hardcore dirt roads and if the last few days are anything to go by, this is unlikely to be too much fun. But with a new resolve of I am a happy person and this is the most awesome time of my life to date… bring on tomorrow! And I will do my best to drop the cheese… good night.

19 April - All credit to the boys!

For the last couple of days we have had an American woman, Tracy, join us cycling – she has been working in Arusha on the Rwandan Genocide tribunal as a court reporter, and it was great to have an outsider join the team for a couple of days. She made the comment the other day, “you’re a brave girl” and I acknowledged her comment in my enduring male company for an extended period. One of the boys was a little put out because he had thought that my admitting that its tough being the only girl on the team is a poor reflection on their character…

I am not going to lie, it has been difficult having to live with guys only for the last couple of months, and to know that the next three months will be the same. It is three more months of football and crude jokes, being treated like a guy and dreaming of the days that I can have a glass of wine with the girls… but this is no reflection on the guys whatsoever. They are absolute heroes and a seriously quality bunch of A-class dudes who do their utmost to look out for the rest of the team, feel strongly about our cause, are positive about Africa, and look for the fun out of any situation - sometimes humour is needed more than anything else out here! They are wonderful. I have stepped into a man’s world, and I am trying to keep a positive, happy state of mind… I do miss the girls. But if anyone was going to buy a bike and cycle across Africa with a herd of buggers, I wouldn’t think they could pick such top class dudes.

And no, they do not read this blog!

16 April.. Half time is over. Kolo.

It has been three very hard days on the bike. We have basically just done three Argus’s (100km) in three days and two of them have been on seriously bad dirt roads. And who said that Tanzania was flat?! Hills on rocky roads are not fun: granny gear up the hills and loose arms, standing, weight backwards and flying on the down hills… your knees become top quality shock absorbers. I had a moment of being completely airborne this afternoon. I felt like I was in a BMX documentary. Sheer brilliance. Completely unintentional. I hit a rocky ledge at pace while flying down a hill… I was at the back. The boys were not in sight. And no vehicles had passed me within the last four hours… I couldn’t help thinking that if I came pipe, it would be me and my bike. Alone. Not fun. But pretty classic!

The day is done now and we are safe and sound. We are staying in a fairly dodgy guest house in a town that makes the map because it has some rock paintings… but for no other reason at all. Kolo. The shops stock tea, sugar, and cellular phone top-up. Priorities seem to be a little different here. There is a pool table. And the men and children lounge in the streets, seemingly doing nothing, seemingly living on a diet of chapatti and chapatti… (pancake like flour and oil). But they have cellphone credit. There doesn’t seem to be too much work and the comments of Africans being lazy flits through the conversation… but I don’t know if I would work if I had nowhere to go and nothing more to live for. These people seem to be content. But we honestly couldnt get any food for lunch. What do these people eat?!

Back to the guesthouse… or more importantly the bug life here. The toilet is your average pit loo, something that we have become accustomed to. What I am not familiar with is the velvet walls created by a zillion mosquitoes. It’s dangerous! No really, as you open the door they swarm out at you, in a sinister attempt to beat all the odds and give you malaria.

We paid R10 for the accommodation and R16 for the food… chicken and rice. Which is yet to grace us with its presence… although I did hear a chicken squawking in a horrific way not too long ago… Dinner is on its way and then bed and then… we get on the bikes again. We have decided to do only 27km tomorrow morning and then rest up a little, so I can manage. Just gotta get thru this, just gotta get thru this… Good night. Bring on that DeepHeat!

9 April - Mbola!

Mbola – a word that regularly frequents our discussions, a place much talked about and much anticipated, and a project with high hopes and solid expectations resting on its shoulders. We are raising funds for this Millennium Promise village cluster called Mbola. Mbola is 35 km outside Tabora, which is itself a good couple of hundred kilometres from anything else…That is to say that Mbola well and truly is in the middle of nowhere.
We have been speaking of this place to everyone for a long time now, but no amount of reading and preparation can really accurately inform one of what is going on the ground. We are cycling across Africa and investing large amounts of time and effort into funding this project and so it was with a fair level of trepidation that we drove into Mbola. What if we found a disappointment? I had prepared myself for any other community development project that I have seen, which may be doing awesome work, but whose effects are difficult to discern… I was deeply concerned that I would be disheartened by what we saw. But we drove out of there incredibly positive about what was going on. It is a project that has tangible results and is substantially improving the lives of many people.

We congregated at the Millennium Promise offices for a brief introduction – Gerson, the Mbola project leader, introduced the project and gave some background. The project had initially started as a deforestation project and they applied to Millennium Promise explaining why it would be a good area to support within the program. The project is now only halfway through its second year and supports a cluster of communities totalling 33 000 people. The Millennium Promise team is 40 strong with 10 fulltime and 10 part-time government employees, and currently one American doctor as an intern.

The first stop was a primary school. There were 80 students per class and they were mostly sitting on the floor. Millennium Promise is in the process of building more classrooms to support the ever increasing attendance. Attendance has rocketed due to the introduction of a school feeding program, which basically ensures the children get at least one meal a day. They were so excited to see us, screaming “Mzungu!” and clambering at the windows to wave at us. I keep wondering what they think when they see these random white people walking through their village and disrupting their school. Are we very wealthy? Are we famous? Are we strange or mad or … are we just white? Are we being screamed at simply because we look so different? On the whole, the school seemed to be doing very well.

The project is only a year and a half old and as the program takes a holistic approach and tries to deal with all the areas of the Millennium Development goals simultaneously, there are clear areas where they are ahead of targets and exceeding expectations, and there are areas where they are struggling. The two areas that I was most impressed with were the agricultural and small business development areas.

Mbola is an area that has suffered from severe deforestation, more inconsistent rainfalls and large crop failure. For a community whose entire population depends on farming, this was fast approaching a crisis. Millennium Promise has created a scheme which teaches the use of fertiliser, allows farmers to organise themselves into farming groups for access to market, has created a learning program so that farmers understand the need to diversify their crops etc. I am not much of a farmer, but when you see the crops of those farmers within the program alongside the crops of those not yet within it, its pretty easy to see the successes that the project has. These farmers are able to improve their lot through reinvestment and saving...

The small business development is a program that is allowing women within the community to be taught the skills of bottling and making jams. We chatted to one of the women from within Mbola who is leading the project, and she explained the level of travelling she had been doing in order to exhibit her produce and take the collective produce to market. It is a fascinating project that again is all about aiding individuals to take another step up the poverty ladder.

It was an impressive visit and writing about it here simply doesnt do it justice. It will be fascinating to go back in a couple of years and see the developments. Who knows, by that time, Millennium Promise jam and preserves could be in our supermarkets.

8 April 2008 - Private transport in Africa.. and we're paying for this?!

The village we are raising money for is Mbola. 35km outside of Tabora. Tabora is in the middle of nowhere. If we had known exactly how difficult it would be to visit Mbola, who knows, we may have chosen another Millennium Promise village!!!

Arusha to Tabora is 700km. It took us 25 hours by car. How is that possible?! 25 hours in a twenty year old avocado landdrover with fibreglass interiors and suspension bad enough for me to know the difference…

I have been in many crazy African vehicles and endured some fascinating trips… but nothing quite amounts to this. 25 hours, a dead donkey, 5 flat tyres, a couple of hours driving with no headlights on a road that was more pothole than tarmac, 10 people in a nine seater landdrover (you do the maths!) and a vehicle that didn’t know what suspension was, over a road that needed a serious makeover. Frikkin ridiculous.

The dead donkey deserves some explanation: we are driving down a “tarred” highway that is long and flat and straight. Two hundred meters away a donkey is stationary in the middle of the road. We are travelling at somewhere approaching 120 km per hour. Like two objects in a state of inertia, the donkey remains where it is, and we remain on course until we collide. There was no veering to the left to miss it. There was no slowing down to ease the hit. There was no stopping after the hit. There was only a donkey with a broken back trying to move itself across the road, nine seriously appalled mzungus (white men) and two angered Masai – it takes a lot to anger these peaceful people. It was only a couple of kilometres down the road that we stopped and our driver got out to check on the state of the vehicle. More appalled mzungus.

Our driver, commonly referred to as Rhino, was an appropriately bulky man with a clumsy demeanour and a piece of his brain not quite right. This was scary stuff. We got there and home alright.. but wow, all jokes aside, we are incredibly lucky.

6 April 2008 - Another Tough Day in Africa..

It is a few days short of three months since we started this trip. It has been three months of epic highs and devastating lows. I have been spat out, spewed up and broken into tiny shards of shattered mirror… ok, not quite. But its been tough. I keep reminding myself of this while I stare out at an easy blue that makes a fibreglass pool look murky… calm waters, chalken sands, thatched bungalows and masai wandering down deserted beaches… Zanzibar!

It has been tough. I do deserve this. I do deserve this. And with a twinge of guilt, enough to make me go for a run in a tidy effort to chase away a slightly dulled head from the previous night’s antics, I sit pretty for six days. Six glorious days on a beach in Zanzibar! I had toyed with the idea of bringing my bike across from Dar… I am not afraid to admit a temporary lapse in sanity. We have a fairly twisted love-hate relationship, my bike and I, but I needed a break and I could never be happier than having an ocean between me and him. My word. So so happy. Rest, sleep, lie on a beach, drink Konyagi (very cheap booze), rest, swim, sleep… tough life.

Dar Es Salaam is a fascinating city. We stayed with Gill and Dave Legge and they looked after us in such a way that I felt like I was home. It is a special thing to reconnect with someone you last saw when you were not much more than four foot. They simply know things and people that mean the world to you – it was so great to stay with such wonderful, relaxed people and to cure a little bit of a latent desire to go home. It’s not that long now…

Back to Dar – a coastal city which has all the quirks of third world Africa – dilapidated buildings that ache to be bulldozed in order to uncover some opportunity for beautiful sea views; a cement factory on the distant horizon that inspired Roald Dahl’s Charlie and the Chocolate Factory; a world where Arab and African worlds seem to coexist; where 30 000 expats seem to live a life of hard work intermingled with evenings of Russian music at the embassies, pizza evenings at the yacht club and coffee in the Lebanese café… it appears to be a solid existence – working for something you believe in in an international settting. Expats seem to work crazy hours and lead stressful lives where unpredictability is predicted and the beauracratic logic of the socialist past lingers…

It would be a tough world, but the idea of working in this environment for a couple of years, of gathering some understanding of how business actually works in Africa, and of leading an independent and international life that one could in Dar… I am going to look into that for some time down the road. Of African cities I have visited so far, I am most impressed by what it has to offer… I think it’s the sea that I love so much. I feel somehow that I can cope with the heat and the dust and the dirt and the chaos if I can wash it away by just looking at that great expanse - I’m waffling. Go there.

18 March - Climate change in Marsabit

Marsabit National Park is pretty spectacular. We had been told on arrival in Marsabit that it was pretty dry and that there weren’t too many animals around – but now, sitting on a deck overlooking a “lake” I begin to understand just how dry. There is no water in sight. The pan is framed by thick, natural bush and it is absolutely gorgeous.

Our guide, Duba, took us up to Lake Paradise – a world-renowned lake that has been heavily documented since the 1940’s. Animals amass to drink at the beautiful crater lake. Not so. Duba has been working at Marsabit as a guide for the last 35 years and has never seen it dry before. It is a sad moment. The lake is a dry crust with no animal in sight. It is a deep concern for the future of the park and a town that is dependent on its tourism. 38 000 people live in Marsabit – a town circled by desert. There is a massive water shortage and Duba explained that the desert was growing inwards and farmers were struggling. Everyone in Marsabit relies on food stamps and NGO support – it is a devastating tale. The animals? Duba thinks that they move further afield, down south to where they can find water. The only animals we saw there were an elephant and a buffalo with their calves… They cannot go too far with their young.

Duba puts all this down to changing weather patterns, hotter weather and less rains. There was a poignant moment captured on camera where he asked the questions did scientists know why the weather was changing, and were they doing something? Looking over the physical effects of climate change was a sobering moment, and it struck me that the livelihoods of those who are the least to blame are the most at risk. These wonderful men who cannot understand why someone would need more than one TV in a house will suffer at the result of our lives of excess. No-one is teaching them water conservation techniques, or why this is happening. To explain our lives of excess to someone who has so little, and then to explain that this excess in my life was the reason for the devastation of theirs… it made the environmental crisis very real.

It was a magical experience to be in the thick bush again, to drive through the forest in an open-topped landcruiser and talk of love and religion… but I was deeply moved by Duba’s questions and gazing out at an empty lake. Something needs to change. And fast.

19 March

Duba’s son, Jamal, was on the case to organise us a truck to Mount Kenya. Niall and Grant decided to camp the night at Marsabit, but Ol and I were keen to get to Mount Kenya and attempt some of the climb… We gave Jamal our cash – against our better judgement – and woke this morning with no Jamal in sight. We had a few painful moments and a nervous breakfast, as we went through our conversations trying to work out the flaws in his story. Jamal eventually turned up. It turned out that the truck was leaving a little later and he wanted to give us an extra hour to sleep! This trip is making me more suspiscious of people. Jamal is truly and genuine and great guy, and I am sorry that I doubted that…

17 March - Kenyan Introductions

It has been a solid few days of cycling with three 110 kilometer-plus days in a row over the typically challenging Ethiopian terrain. Yesterday was particularly difficult because a 96 km suddenly turned into a 110 km, and also because it was a long straight road that ignored any hills in its path and went directly over them! To make matters worse, there were no towns to speak of. I found myself counting the fourth rise on the horizon and rationing my rests to get to each one. It was mind-numbingly frustrating.

I started off just after seven and spent most of the day cycling on my own and it was awesome to get a little bit of space and personal time. A day of cycling on my own, mulling over my life plans and chatting to random strangers that I met – was divine! In particular, I pulled up at 60 km for a little break in a tiny town. Immediately, three men sitting outside their local bar, beckoned me over for a chat. A half hour later saw a lone female Farangi chatting away to two local policemen, the bar owner and his mate, surrounded by twenty-odd children while they chatted over politics and agriculture over a few beers. Classic! Ok, so I didn’t join them in the beers, but they were great company and made every effort to make sure that I was comfortable, made sure that none of the children got too close to my precious bicycle, and were fascinated about South Africa. It was an awesome experience and I lapped it up for the completely bizarre nature of our interactions. This is Africa!

Yesterday afternoon at 100 kilometers down, a van passed me, pulled over, the door flung open and an English woman hopped out bearing gifts of water! Janet and Chris are a couple from England who are travelling to Cape Town via Scandinavia and the East and then returning to the UK via West Africa. We had a few beers with them last night at the hotel campsite. It was so refreshing to chat to Westerners again! Apart from the Swedes and a few Tour d’Afrique cyclists that we met in Sudan, they are the first overlanders that we have actually had a chat with. I had expected to meet up with so many more people travelling around Africa. This infamous Cape to Cairo highway has turned out to be a fairly untravelled route.

Now, at the border of Kenya, Moyale, we change our last Ethiopian birr for Kenyan Shillings, pass through immigration, and enter the country that I have dreamed of since I was a little girl.

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What a day and world’s apart from the peaceful start forecast by my morning’s musings! I am shattered. Again.

After a fairly tedious border control process we cycled across the border into Kenya. We were greeted with jovial officers with impeccable English and even better banter and flirting! – I even got offered a date. Nice.

In Moyale itself not too much actually happens despite the endless activity: The ATM’s wont spew out cash; You cannot get a cold drink in a café, in fact, you give them cash to go to the shop and buy them for you; and there are endless “guides” that swamp you and latch on and then never leave your side… they are trying to earn a tip for being generally helpful. As we entered the town we had a dozen of these guides on us in seconds, organizing, arranging and hassling. We needed to get a truck en route to Nairobi – we had made an executive decision at the time of the conflict in Kenya that we would err on the side of caution and truck through it. This is disappointing but sensible I think.

I had been recommended Marsabit National park as a must-see and so we decided to break the trip with a visit there. The truck ride was a ridiculous experience on an awful road through a desert. We suffered many casualties: the antiquated landdrover left half its undercarriage splayed across the desert; Grant’s bicycle nearly lost its back wheel and a few cogs in the process; I lost my front brakes and a speedometer; and we all lost a couple of years of our lives flying along in a state-owned vehicle, sitting next to two well-armed officers, considering the ramifications that would result from braking a fraction more suddenly or swerving a split-second later. The driver was clearly in a mad rush. It was a dust-filled five hour experience that was a solid introduction to Kenya.

A good night’s sleep, hearty meal and warm shower out of a bucket, is exactly what the doctor ordered.

16 March 2008 - Ethiopian reflections

We cycled from Yebelo to Mega today – a relatively tough 105km.

It is a beautiful, but stark environment that we have encountered in the last few days. A straight tar road that disappears into the horizon, serves to cut through the red earth littered with acacias and ant hills. Birds are everywhere, and I find myself cursing my ignorance as I see each new vivid species. I understand that this is nomadic country and this is visible by the numerous herds of cattle, caravan camels and women wearing gorgeous arrays of coloured scarves and necklaces. The people and landscape is visibly changing as we inch closer to the Kenyan border. The people are also more rural and less civilised by western standards. The women are suddenly camera-shy, children clearly are not attending any forms of schooling, they appear more surprised by us than Ethiopians further north were, and our forms of communication have rapidly deteriorated with Amharic no longer being the language of use.

We are now staying in the town of Mega, 100 km short of the Kenyan border! There was a discussion last night over the team’s feelings going into Kenya. It seems unanimous that we are all very excited to leave Ethiopia. I am not sure whether it is because we have had some bad experiences with the people here and are looking for some relief from the endless begging, or whether we are excited simply for the change. We have had some incredible times in this country. Aesthetically it is exquisite and vast. The people have been less of an attraction simply because there seems to be a culture for begging so deeply entrenched in society, and because everywhere we go we are wary of petty theft and being ripped off with “farangi” (white man) prices. Quite simply, it is tiring, and has been a real test of patience for all of us.

I have witnessed pretty much everyone in the team, myself included (!), crack at some point. The shame is that generally we crack over relatively small things; so frustrated with being had for the fifth time that day, one guy gets the brunt of the frustration. In some respects, the environment has brought out worse versions of ourselves.

Today as I arrived in town, Grant was waiting with a gentleman that was providing advice over restaurant and hotels. We had a delicious meat and bread dish that was served in a hot cauldron brought to us over the coals. It was incredible. And made more so by the good prices and lovely big man that ran the restaurant. His surprise at receiving a tip for his efforts was refreshingly awesome.

On the other hand, our “friend” that was helping us out suddenly turned around asking for 10 birr for his efforts. No act of kindness in Ethiopia comes without a “Give me money” afterwards. Reading this may make me sound a little like a stingy cow, but it is so frustrating.

Daily we try to control our frustration. Daily I try and work out the reasons behind the ingrained begging culture. Daily I come up with little solutions and find myself despairing for a country that seems to have been torn at the seams and in my mind, negative as I may sound, doesn’t seem to have much hope. I am not sure who is to blame, and I know that the NGOS that try and support these people are doing incredible work. Talking from small experiences from the back of a bicycle, the social fabric appears broken and I don’t know what will restore it.

Perhaps it is unfair for us to comment as we are seeing a very specific aspect of Ethiopia as we pass through. However, the team came to the consensus that the best way to tackle the situations here would be to invest in infrastructure and education, and make absolutely sure that there are no hand-outs. Giving things to people is breeding a sense of entitlement.

We have met some wonderful, educated people that throw dirt in the face of this argument. Ethiopia needs more people like that, and I hope that they will prove me wrong.

12 March 2008 - Take it on the chin

It’s been another mad day in Ethiopia!

Today started badly as my phone played up and I slept through our proposed 7 o’clock meeting time. So feeling a little sorry for myself I wound my way through Addis’ traffic and the chaos that surrounded the construction site of Africa’s "first spaghetti junction." This irritated me a little, partly due to the complete mayhem that very seriously amounted to technical mountain biking in amongst the rubble, and partly because every time we drove between Pietermaritzburg and Durban as a little girl, I’d get very excited by the massive spaghetti junction!

However, I am fast learning that South Africa is not really Africa.I love being from Africa, but we know nothing! We live strangely hybrid lives with all the trappings of all things Western amongst the colourful chaos of Africa.

I digress…

At 45 km in I was cycling along waving at people and calling out to children as we cycled through a town… when an arm in a yellow jersey swung across my path landing squarely on my jaw!

I managed to stay on the bike, but that was little reflection of the force with which this man hit me. A combination of cycling at 20km per hour and a well-placed swing – Wow it hurt!

Three seconds later the bikes were on the floor, I was in hysterics and Grant was chasing after some crazy man… No really, it transpired that the man actually was crazy and that he didn’t necessarily mean to harm me. I think I was mainly in shock because I was hit at all.

I am now in bed in a little room listening to Twig repairing a spoke amidst cries of “I love you” from the local children. My right arm has a solid bruise and my neck and jaw are aching a tad, but I’m luckily fine… Just a little annoyed that I’m suffering because of some mad man and not some glamorous cycling story!

4 March 2008 - The Blue Nile Gorge

The Blue Nile Gorge! – Much talked about, much anticipated. 20 km down one side and 20 km up the other. Only photographs can do justice to the mountain we climbed. What is most surprising though is the relative ease with which the team faced the challenge. We have been cycling at altitude for some time now, and through steady cycling and a fair level of mental preparation, we ate that climb up… one revolution at a time!

In fairness though, the incredibly beauty and expansive views across the gorge served to fuel our legs – who could not complete that climb when they had those views to nurse them up it!

I am now showered and rested, and having just finished my fourth macchiato for the day, I am like the cat that got the cream. Only I am not a cat, and am in Ethiopia where they have just started a 55 day fast meaning no dairy products or meat for a fairly long time… Respect. But mad.

On that note, I am a little sick of enjera (bitter pancakes) with shiru (pot of dunking sauce) and spaghetti with tomato sauce. Lunch and dinner and breakfast is either bread, enjera or pasta. Carboloading has reached new levels. What I would give for a big mixed salad, plate of vegetables and fruit for dessert. Not so much! In fact, I think I might just go for a stroll now and see what I can pick up…

Stroll successful! Picked up Ollie and Denis and a few toots with the locals! Ethiopian towns are one street wonders and entail everything from makeshift bars and restaurants (identified by competing Pepsi and Cocacola signs) to very general stores, DVD stands and trucker’s motels… And everywhere you look there are people of different colours and ages.

We had a long debate at dinner tonight over the Ethiopians. On separate occasions we met a German and Swiss group of cyclists that lamented the Ethiopian people and in particular, the children. I remember the hackles on my neck rising as our German friend talked of the children and their stone-throwing, demanding behaviour. My response to him – Go home! Although, I wasn’t quite as vocal.

But the children really can be ridiculously trying. Niall and Gareth were witness to me absolutely losing my temper with a twelve year old. Wherever we go we are thronged with children who shout “You! You!” and “Give me money!” My initial response was one of pity, but often these shouts are accompanied by flying stones and a tough climb. And one child can walk with you for no less than 300 meters as you pant up a hill whilst he shouts “You! Give me money!” with a sense of entitlement that quite frankly would tire some very patient people.

There are some endearing, big eyed, waving children. But the rubbishes who grab at your tent as you cycle by, undermine their presence. I have tried to work out the best response – silence, no, shouting… I have caught a child who hit me with a stone and tried to explain to the adults that this wasn’t ideal behaviour. But it is not my place to discipline them.

The most important question is why they do it. I don’t believe it is necessarily cultural – it is specifically targeted at us Farangis (white people). Ethiopia is not big on tourism and there are very few westerners around. Their interactions and understanding of western life is limited to the media/TV and NGO support. It is a tenuous link, but I wonder whether westerners serve to aggravate the problem by giving things to random children as they pass through. I have to believe that at some stages “Give me money” results in them getting money. I am not sure if this is the case, but I am resolved to be firmer on not giving handouts. I don’t wish to be callous and hard hearted with people who have comparatively nothing, but it seems to be breeding a sense of entitlement in this Ethiopian generation. I hope they grow out of it.