Cycling down Africa

20th June - Team Dynamics

2008-07-08T00:30:00.000-07:00

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

2008-07-08T00:21:00.000-07:00

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

2008-07-08T00:19:00.000-07:00

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

2008-07-08T00:18:00.001-07:00

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

2008-07-08T00:17:00.000-07:00

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

2008-07-08T00:11:00.000-07:00

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

2008-06-12T04:02:00.001-07:00

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

2008-06-12T04:01:00.000-07:00

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

2008-06-12T04:00:00.002-07:00

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

2008-06-12T04:00:00.001-07:00

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

2008-06-12T03:59:00.000-07:00

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

2008-06-12T03:58:00.000-07:00

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

2008-06-12T03:57:00.000-07:00

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

2008-06-12T03:55:00.000-07:00

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

2008-06-12T03:54:00.000-07:00

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

2008-05-24T00:43:00.000-07:00

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!

2008-05-23T00:26:00.000-07:00

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

2008-05-23T00:24:00.000-07:00

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!

2008-05-23T00:12:00.000-07:00

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

2008-05-23T00:03:00.002-07:00

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

2008-05-23T00:00:00.000-07:00

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

2008-05-22T23:58:00.001-07:00

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

2008-05-22T23:56:00.000-07:00

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?

2008-05-22T23:52:00.000-07:00

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

2008-05-22T23:50:00.000-07:00

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

2008-05-04T03:33:00.000-07:00

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

2008-05-04T03:32:00.000-07:00

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.

2008-05-04T03:30:00.000-07:00

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

2008-05-04T03:29:00.000-07:00

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!

2008-05-04T03:27:00.000-07:00

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..

2008-04-22T01:49:00.001-07:00

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

2008-04-22T01:45:00.000-07:00

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!

2008-04-22T01:42:00.000-07:00

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.

2008-04-22T01:37:00.000-07:00

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!

2008-04-22T01:19:00.001-07:00

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?!

2008-04-22T01:14:00.000-07:00

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..

2008-04-22T01:08:00.000-07:00

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

2008-04-13T03:52:00.000-07:00

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

2008-04-13T03:46:00.000-07:00

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.

***********

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

2008-03-22T21:46:00.000-07:00

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

2008-03-22T21:44:00.001-07:00

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

2008-03-22T21:41:00.000-07:00

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.

5 March – Millennium Promise

2008-03-22T21:40:00.000-07:00

I have left the charity angle out of these entries because I was determined to keep work and play separate. However, this trip is so tied to Millennium Promise that I fail to accurately portray what life is like on the ground. Whenever we enter a larger town and can access internet, a good section of that day is spent writing mails and pitching for corporate donations. Team admin often comes before tourist entertainment or even a good relaxing evening. We are checking for mails from friends and family, but emailing sponsors and media contacts and updating the website… and given African internet connections, it is a painfully laborious process!

We do this because we, as a team, believe in Millennium Promise and their commitment to the 400 000 people currently within their program. I was sold when I read Jeffrey Sachs’ book titled The End of Poverty – read it! It is the first empirically based, practical and positive angle I have read on Africa’s problems and the solutions going forward. He is possibly the world’s most influential economist, has worked for the likes of Kofi Anan, and led the team who constructed the Millennium Development Goals… But most importantly for me, he is not cynical but pragmatic, optimistic but not naïve, and he does a brilliant job at making you feel likewise! He genuinely believes that we can end extreme poverty by 2025, and maybe I am young and idealistic, but I want to believe him.

Millennium Promise is one of the vehicles that he believes will enact change. The organisation is structured on clusters of villages of approximately 5000 people each. Countries are chosen based on political stability and in areas where there are good relations with local public officials. Villages are then supported on a five-year funding plan with a forty percent buy-in from government. It is an integrated plan that supports the eight areas of the Millennium Development goals concurrently such that the different areas support each other. Examples of support include road infrastructure, access to water, agricultural support, small business development, education, women’s empowerment, malaria and HIV prevention and general health…

The differentiating factor of this organisation is that after five years it withdraws funding on the basis that at this point the village is self-sustaining. In my opinion this is not a hand-out but an investment that leads to a grouping of people that are in a position to support themselves and their families.

We are raising money for the village of Mbola, Tanzania. It costs them $300 000 to support the village of 5000 for the year, and so this is our target. We have currently raised $140 000, which is awesome work, but has room for improvement! In effect, we will be part of a team that enables 5000 Tanzanians to end poverty. That is pretty mind-blowing for me. I am honoured to be a part of this team; and when I say “team” I refer to the many, many people that have contributed time and effort in getting behind this trip. This is not about 6 people cycling the length of Africa.

One of my favourite books is Tipping Point – Gladwell describes the how social epidemics are created. This might sound less concrete than the $300 000 we hope to raise, but for me personally, a large part of the value within this project is discovered in its knock-on effects - by the people who are inspired to join the campaign to end extreme poverty, by students who may feel a little more empowered to do something proactive, and by an older generation who may feel just a little less cynical about Africa’s future. I sound a little idealistic, but this project is given power by the people that it touches, and who might be inspired to do something or simply remember the name Millennium Promise for that day when he/she is given the opportunity to join the team.

I don’t mean this as a donations drive – this is simply to explain why I believe in this cause and why it is such an integral part of this trip.

4 March 2008 - Back in the game!

2008-03-22T21:39:00.000-07:00

I am back in the game! Yee haa!

It has been a tough couple of weeks for me, and I have lived in between bouts of sickness brought on no doubt by general fatigue. Since Khartoum, I have been worried that I was simply not strong enough. I had started to put it down to the fact that I was a girl, and that naturally I was weaker than the guys and so naturally I would struggle along behind them…

But not so! I am feeling good again, and have pretty much kicked the general weakness. It has been a tough couple of days cycling at altitude. Yesterday we finished just short of 90 km at 2400 meters. And they weren’t too conservative in dishing out the hills.

Ethiopia comes in folds, with seemingly innocent rises hiding the endless climbs behind them. The beauty of the climb is the exhilarating free-fall down the other side, whose enjoyment is marred only by the fact that in Ethiopia what goes down must come up… and up we go! We have been cycling at 2400 meters for the last week or so… this makes for tougher cycling.

We stayed in Debra Markos last night. It is not a particularly interesting spot, but a larger town which boasts mixed juices (avocado and mango juice – ah wow), macchiato (Ethiopia is renowned for its coffee and, when it doesn’t come with pork milk, this is the best caffeine kick they offer) and a few decent hotels – all we need for a solid night’s rest.

26 February – Lalibela

2008-03-22T21:38:00.000-07:00

Lalibela – a town created in the 12^th century by King Lalibela. He was a Christian ruler disenchanted by the dangerous pilgrimage to Jerusalem. So he decided to build a New Jerusalem for Africa. Lalibela comprises beautiful monolithic, rock-hewn churches that are wonderfully preserved and, most incredibly, still in use.

It was a sixteen hour journey in the back of a minibus with nonexistent shocks on a crazy road. It took us sixteen hours to drive only 600 km. What aggravated the situation was that it was a purported eight hour journey, we weren’t feeling superb, and one of my dear team mates had a bizarre stomach situation that left the rest of us in some levels of discomfort. This did however generate a degree of amusement as our two Amharic drivers erupted into girlish screams and resorted to sticking tissues up their nostrils... not so funny now, but pretty situational. Wow. We were bored.

But it was all considered well worth it in the end. It truly was a pretty mind-blowing experience. At Lalibela we joined Denis’ father, Dermot, and his mate Stanley, both of whom work in the tourism industry – they said it was like nothing they had ever seen. It is Ethiopia’s secret.

I am pushed to explain myself, but find its wonder difficult to describe. The churches are an archaeological feat – large churches carved down into the volcanic rock, with beautifully sculpted interiors hollowed out. Well-preserved decorations, frescos and sculptures, line the interiors. Most impressive for me is the fact that for the last 900 years these churches have been used, and are still used, as a place of worship. What stories those walls could tell.

Dermot and Stanley looked after us very well. Given that I didn’t know Denis before meeting him in Heathrow airport, it was great to meet Dermot and give Denis some context. It was also so enjoyable to simply relax and chat with people who are so involved in this project and yet removed enough from it. They were good fun and had many an amusing reflection on our team dynamics and uber-chilled traveller’s mentality. They did also make some constructive criticisms that have been invaluable in boosting some energy into the ranks.

There are so many people that have bought into this trip and who follow our progress. There are countless more that we consult in terms of logistics, bicycles, routes… and then there are the corporates who sponsor us. Having Dermot join us reminded me of that. It is very easy when on the road in the middle of Ethiopia to think of little else but being on the road in the middle of Ethiopia… and I become a little self-absorbed!

So I wanted to say a massive thank you for all the support… It really is an essential part of the success of this venture and I am so appreciative of your following our progress – It is so great to know that there are so many behind this trip and who support our cause. It is also news of people with continued interest in this that keeps me writing and recording what is turning out to be a truly fascinating experience.

22 February 2008 - Braids

2008-03-22T21:37:00.000-07:00

I have had the most wonderful day! Gonder is a city which buzzes with Ethiopian rhythm. I am greeted with vibrant chaos and unceasing music; helpful kids eager to earn a quick tip; and ancient buildings with vague histories.

As we arrived in Gonder two young schoolboys tracked us down and basically became our self-appointed guides. Ababa and David distinguished themselves as better lads than the rest by refusing the first tip that came their way. A clever tactic – it seems that they must have been holding out for the big handout at the end. However, in fairness to David and Ababa, they were very sharp guys who had learnt every subtle trick in the books. They took it upon themselves to look after us entirely, from discussing tourist sites to arranging our laundry. They even “got attacked at knife-point” in protecting my laundry from a thief – I apologise for my cynicism if this did in fact happen.

One afternoon as we were walking down the street with our little entourage in tow I decided that now would be a good time to braid my hair. Ababa wasted no time in convincing me that this would indeed be a superb idea and that I would look like “Miss Ethiopia” when finished. How could I refuse that?!

Following Ababa, I landed in some small backstreet of Gonder, further removed from the chaos of motor traffic, but right in the thick of donkeyville. Corrugated houses lined the streets selling anything from cloth to cosmetics. Shimmying around a slight curtain, I entered such a shack that was to become my salon. It was a great little hairdresser – three young women divvied up to the nines; a large mirror in front of a chair; and another large mirror on the back wall of a room which was not much more than 3 meters long.

I was seated in the throne, whilst all four of us collapsed in hysterics to a very confused Ababa – it seems that girlish fun, much missed on my part, is pretty universally understood by females and universally exclusive to males! No really, this was pretty classic! Through a combination of gestures at one of the hairdresser’s braids, and some lousy charades on my part, I gave up and decided to leave them to their own devices.

After continued amusement and endless photographs from budding cameraman Ababa, I emerged with neatly woven corn rows across my head. I think my hairdressers got more amusement out of the whole process than I did. And I was pretty amused. The equivalent of R20 and 20 minutes later, and my whole head of hair was stuck to my head in a way that left me feeling bizarrely self-conscious.

I can feel the wind blowing on my scalp.

20 February 2008 - Chilga

2008-03-22T21:35:00.000-07:00

Chilga is a word that will forever be etched in my mind.

It all started fairly innocuously. We had a pretty difficult day of cycling yesterday. It was our first real introduction to Ethiopia – and our first real introduction to her hills. The morning comprised of gentle rises in amongst construction work on mediocre roads. The heat rose with the sun and we collapsed in some little town for an extended lunch break.

This lunch marked our first introduction to Ethiopian people. In Egypt we were always followed by a dozen eyes, in Sudan we were largely left to our own devices, and now, in Ethiopia, it appears that we will be swarmed by hundreds of children… always.

We stopped at a little restaurant on the side of the road for a lunch of enjera and chiru (Ethiopian local dish of pancake and sauce, which sounds a little more exciting than it tastes). Immediately we had an audience that comprised of 30-odd children edging closer and closer towards us. Two hours later saw me well-fed, a little more relaxed with the circumstances and with a hand on my shoulder and another playing with my hair.

After lunch the climbing started. We went up, then down, then up, up, up. No really, it was pretty demanding cycling aggravated by the dusty dirt road and trucks that suffered no qualms in pushing you off the road.

It was at this stage that Grant started feeling a little worse for wear and commenting that he needed us to stop fairly soon. He wasn’t that vocal though and so no-one took it too seriously until his lunch was revisited a few hours later. He was being a soldier, but we needed to stop. Fast. Food poisoning is something that never seems to leave us.

Camping isn’t an option in Ethiopia. There are always masses of people and we have been warned about wandering hands. We stopped at the next village which was a tiny place nestled into the foothills of a mountain. With only one “hotel” to choose from, we moved into the spot that beats all previous accommodation records.

This place was really pretty awful!

Words don’t do justice to the dirt. There was an amateur drainage system that ran right through the alleyway that was the entrance to the accommodation. This drain was overflowing, contained everything imaginable and posed a fair challenge to a cyclist and a bicycle who attempted to leapfrog his/her way over the stepping stones to our rooms.

We each had a little room that was big enough to fit a bed and a bicycle, at a push. It had no ventilation to speak of, and to make matters worse, the rooms were directly in front of a generator which was pumping diesel fumes into the room. This amounted to Gareth and me waiting for the generator to go off before we went to sleep – no easy feat when you are shattered from a long day of cycling and the damn thing is still going past eleven…! Every five minutes I would hear a “Didi, are you awake” from Gareth in the neighbouring room… the kind lad was making sure that I didn’t pass out from carbon monoxide poisoning…

The toilet – consisted of a room constructed from wooden logs with not much effort in making the walls solid. The result was a relatively public experience made worse by the stench, scattered toilet paper everywhere, and goatskins hanging from wooden beams…

The shower – consisted of a kind woman with a jug who poured water on us as we rinsed our arms, legs and faces.

Dinner – dinner was good being pasta with some form of sauce, a few cokes, and endless water.

All this time, Grant was confined to his quarters. We drew lots for who would truck it with him and Ollie drew the odd bottle cap.

But back to Chilga - All this is merely important in describing the state of our minds and bodies this morning. We weren’t exactly chipper; we had suffered a fairly dodgy night and were reeling from the effects of yesterday.

Chilga is a mountain that saw us climb from 600 meters to 2400 meters in the space of only 20 kilometers. Chilga is actually the ever-receding town on the top of this afore-mentioned mountain, and is a town accessed via a badly deteriorated rocky road. We started climbing at 8am and finished 28km later at 3pm. We had an average of 5.5km per hour. It was madness. It was like climbing Natal’s infamous Sani Pass into Lesotho… only it went on for longer.

It was also very hot. I was soaked through, and gratefully accepted a push from an enterprising young boy who earned a marginally faulty compass and a few pencils for his efforts! My legs were burning, and today was one of the few days where I did some solid stretches pushing my bike because I simply couldn’t cope with the sheer effort needed to get me, my bicycle and my kit up that awful hill.

Finally in Chilga I am now resting in a relatively decent hotel. But to be completely honest, I am nowhere. Today I broke through a new level in my physical capacity!

19 February - Ethiopian introduction

2008-03-22T21:34:00.000-07:00

Crossing the border into Ethiopia was a pretty miserable experience for me. I was suffering the repercussions of the Sudanese wedding in a severe way, it was miserably hot, and I was pushing a bicycle through the dust across a bridge, trying to keep up with Gareth and his endless good temper while fighting our way through customs and the like. Not a happy camper!

We had been recommended the Millennium Hotel by a random customs official and so after some negotiation, I collapsed on the bed to try and recover some sanity. At this juncture I should perhaps redefine “hotel” – which by this point has deteriorated to a place where we can sleep. This is basic, basic accommodation comprising a bed in a mud room with a metal door, a mud hut with a hole in the ground for a toilet, and a shower that usually entails a tap/hosepipe/bowl of water and never really a shower… But this – this was the Ritz! It had showers that spewed water. I was averaging three ice cold showers a day!

I should also go one step further… Ethiopian hotels are a different breed altogether. There are plenty of women around, dressed in fairly western clothes, albeit without showing anything above the knee or the shoulders. This was a fair shock to the eye given the traditional clothes on the part of both men and women over the past month. I was fairly relieved, thinking that I could eventually don a pair of shorts that I have stubbornly carried for the last two months! However, it soon became apparent that “hotel” is another word for “brothel” and that every woman who worked in that hotel, and apparently any other, was a prostitute.

Prostitution is apparently a massive problem in Ethiopia. Alcohol is a second major problem – and the two are invariably linked. We met a sociology student and a restaurant owner, John and Sammy, and proceeded to discuss everything from travels to Ethiopian troubles over a cup or five of beautiful Ethiopian coffee. In particular, they kept returning to the destructive influence that alcohol was having within their community. Coming from “dry” Sudan, it is a strong contrast of cultures that although welcomed by the team who were looking for a cold beer, has some very serious undertones.

Sammy’s restaurant deserves special mention as it was a roadside tarpaulin shack lined with low wooden benches and small wooden tables. The coffee beans were roasted in front of us, then ground and served in a miniature metal tea pot. Alongside the coffee came two or three tiny burning coals in an egg-cup sized container with a piece of bark that gave off a ginger scent. We watched the world go by down the main street of Metema; a world awash with vibrant colour and matching chaos. Donkeys pulled red carts that carried beautifully clothed women and a whip-lashing driver, overloaded buses that would make any health and safety agent balk, and elegant women with rainbow umbrellas… Every frame was another painting. This is Africa.

17 February - Sudanese weddings

2008-03-22T21:25:00.001-07:00

We arrived in Gedaref after nightfall and got directed to a hotel which clearly wasn’t going to make our budget. However, after a call to Sohaib, we gathered that we could stay with Sohaib’s friend Asaad and that he would be with us shortly. Soon enough we were settled in Asaad’s home eating dinner with his family. “Hospitality” has become a cliché in Sudan.

Asaad is a business man in Gedaref and is a man of stature. He commands respect with a simple air, large family and open house. Throughout our stay, men and women and children would visit to greet us and shake our hands.

It appears that as we travel south, communication will become less and less of a problem. Asaad’s eleven year old daughter Summa is a forthright girl and very eager to learn English. She took it as her duty and delight to wait on me, act as translator, take me on tours to visit her neighbours, and even take me to a Sudanese wedding. Her English was basic but her eagerness to learn and be my friend was engaging - if a tad tiresome at times!

We would walk together to her aunt’s house. I would greet her aunt with a Ma Salaam and a hand shake and be offered to take a seat on the bed. The houses were large circular rondawel huts, but completely different to the Southern African mud huts. These were large in diameter with a central overhead fan, three beds lining the walls, and perhaps a cupboard or two. Seated, I would get offered a sweet and a glass of water, and make some gestures and a few smiles while there was general amusement on the part of my host. After five or so minutes, Sumna would stand, and I would follow, and we would visit the next relative.

They have massive families.

Sudanese weddings! I was decked out in a lime green Sudanese sari – beautiful fabric, but ridiculously difficult to wear, let alone to wear gracefully. The fabric slips off surreptitiously, and short of taping it to my head, a mass of blond hair was often revealed! I would then try and recover some fabric whilst Summa tried to tuck things in – all to my embarrassment and a general hysteria on the part of her mother and aunts.

The wedding was in walking distance and so together we went off in direction of the music. Through a door in a mud wall, I was in an enclosed courtyard that held every hue known to man. The women were exquisite! Decked out in saris in vivid colours, and with distinct poise, they would move through the crowd with a sequence of handshakes and melodic talk. There was a bustle and freedom that I had not yet experienced in Sudanese women. When I concentrated on the noises I couldn’t help but recall Natal’s Indian mynahs… With no intention of insult, it really did sound like a cacophony of birds. The women sat in circles around a large circular tray that held dishes of meat and beans.

I was encouraged to eat as though I was a starving child. Struggling to break bread, dunk and swoop into my mouth with my right hand only, I caused a fair level of merriment. Sudanese eat only with their right hands and use no utensils to speak of – it is quite literally a matter of dunking and grabbing at the food… messy business. So there I sat, with an eleven year old as my host, dressed in lime green that would make my sister proud, trying to eat with one hand and simultaneously keep the sari covering my hair, and everything together with some element of grace.

I got back to Asaad’s house and shed the sari in a matter of seconds! I didn’t know that in a few hours I would go back together with the boys for the celebratory side of the wedding. And so, re-adorned in lime green, but in fits of laughter as the boys were dressed in white Arabic cloth and matching hats, we returned to the celebrations. And there was dancing!

It was an awesome experience marred only by a bad bout of food poisoning a couple of hours later! The experience was all too much for a stomach that has held its own well enough ‘til then. I was up until 4 am and was pretty ill so decided to truck the last day to the Ethiopian border. This was very disappointing, but was a welcome one as I passed the team on the road in the heat from the comforts of a particularly dusty Sudanese bus. I was in no state to be cycling!

Sudan has been a surreal and beautiful experience. It has been an honour to embed myself into a different world and try to understand how they live and how they think. I would struggle to live in their world, but I am better for understanding how they do. Sudan is a world far removed from that which I had gained from international media – it is a massive expanse, with the most genuinely hospitable and faith-filled people that place enormous emphasis on family and community. I have learnt life lessons from the Sudanese.

Sohaib

2008-03-22T21:21:00.000-07:00

I have failed to talk of Sohaib! – A completely unfair reflection of the impression this man made on me.

Whilst in Khartoum, we did a presentation for the local rotary club. It was an informal occasion and included good food and general chat about the trip. Grant got chatting to Sohaib who asked if there was anything that we needed. He eventually got it out of Grant that we had stayed with Joanna for some time now and perhaps it would be best for the team to start moving out of her space.

A couple of days later saw the team comfortably relocated to a friend of Sohaib’s in Omdurman (the northern city that adjoins Khartoum at the confluence of the Blue and White Niles). He then arranged for us to see the renowned dervish dance. I gathered shamefully little factually about the dervishes, but understand them to be Sufis – a branch of Islam. A big circular expanse is cleared in front of a famous tomb. This circle is lined with chanters dressed in red and green and building up the tempo as they repeat their mantra. They are calling on the one God, the God of Abraham and the God of Isaac, Allah. Inside the ring 40 men dance and whirl in trance-like states that give clarity to the expression “to dance like a dervish”! It occurred to me that this is not so foreign to some more charismatic churches at home.

As we left the dervishes, we walked through a graveyard on the way home. Sohaib identified the graves of his father and his son alongside each other. His son died in August. There was a moment of silence before we walked on.

It struck me that many graves were nothing more than nameless piles of earth. In the Muslim faith it is best to lay the body to rest as soon as possible. Two days later as we were standing with Sohaib waiting for a minibus, a procession of village men walked by bearing a sheet-covered body. The death had probably occurred within the previous two hours, and the silent party was on its way to lay him to rest. I respect their simplicity and acceptance of death - it is a testimony to their faith.

Over the course of a couple of days, Sohaib hosted us to two delicious Sudanese meals and we shared stories of travels, the rotary club’s work, business and politics in Sudan, and impending visits to Ireland and South Africa. He is an attentative and wonderful person who has taught me a lesson in genuine hospitality.

16 February - Counting telephone poles

2008-03-22T21:20:00.001-07:00

It was 250 kilometres from Medani to Gedaref – the last big outpost before the Ethiopian border. 125 kilometres each day on smooth roads is not a tall ask, but becomes arduous when we include the wind, heat and boredom factors!

The cross wind on the second morning was strong enough that I didn’t cycle with cleats in because the risk of being blown over was so great! With the heavily loaded bike and my backpack acting as a sail, gusts of wind would nearly topple me. However, Grant and Gareth were fast becoming two parallel leaning shapes in the early light, and so I learnt quickly to zigzag across the road using some of the wind and remain vertical!

The heat was oppressive. The thermometer regularly reported over 40 degrees. It dictated a disciplined cycling plan: Up early, cycle ‘til ten, break for 30 minutes, another two hours, and then make sure that you’re off the road for the next three hours... Seriously. We are off the road at the very least from 1pm to 3 pm, and this was often stretched at both ends. We rest at the truck stops that comprise a sheltered area with a Pepsi stall or basic cafeteria, dozens of meshed beds and countless flies.

Boredom. It was a long straight road heading east, an asphalt road that climbed very gradually, but relentlessly. Desert sand thankfully gave way to flat bush veld and thorn trees and the road is lined with shreds of truck tyres each telling a new story. We cycled in single file on the edge of the steep verge. The road was narrow and traffic flew along with no regard for the unscrupulous threesome. Regularly we were forced off the road. A large pink bus, passing at pace, clipped the side of my arm and left me in a state of near hyperventilation – caused by both sheer fright and my screaming obscenities at the driver. It is hairy cycling.

So with no-one to talk to and only flying buses to look out for, I started counting telephone poles. I calculated that there were 6 every kilometre and so, locking my eyes on the sixth pole on the horizon, I would let it pull me over the rises. When you start to count you know that you’re in trouble and Boredom is winning.

12 February ... aftershock reflections

2008-03-22T21:17:00.000-07:00

Morning eventually came and I was reunited with the boys.

I asked myself why I was so moved by the experience, but struggled to distinguish the different emotions on the brew. I have found myself in a man’s world. I have chosen this. I have chosen to be here without feminine comforts and support. This is something I can deal with. But sometimes I am thrown a step further into a foreign world, more male dominated than the contrived one of this trip. It takes it out of me, leaving me emotionally drained. Women giggle at me, men stare at me, and I cannot share these observations with anyone who can identify with me. I want to learn from these experiences. I want to sap them up and take them for what they are – cultural insights and not personal affronts. These are experiences unlikely to be matched in my lifetime.

The world I saw was one that had all appearances of being culturally true. Bar the occasional cellular phone, I felt that I had stumbled into almost biblical times where men and women existed in separate worlds. The women didn’t appear lesser, but almost sacred - Individuals to be hidden and covered and rear children. I am fairly ignorant of women’s liberation, and have been raised in an environment where I have never really felt less competent than a man. I find it difficult to comprehend the lives that these women leave and it left me with endless questions over whether their ways are better or worse than ours, whether these women need “liberation” or this is choice, and most disturbingly, why I felt no anger for their position.

We reached the town of Wad Medani 110 km later. It is a beautiful little town on the banks of the Blue Nile. From here our route leaves the safety of the Nile and heads east to Ethiopia.

I am extremely excited for Ethiopia – I look forward to leaving the Arabic North African world behind and entering a world one step closer to my own. I also look forward to throwing long pants away and donning a pair of shorts. Legs! You will tan!

11 February 2008 - Culture Shock!

2008-03-22T21:10:00.000-07:00

Now this is something worth writing home about. I am currently wearing what can only be described as a tablecloth!

I am not quite sure how to begin, finding myself uncharacteristically short of words. The Sudanese are inspirationally friendly and hospitable people.

We cycled out of Khartoum before half eight – a true record marred only by the necessary bike mechanics 7 kilometres later. Gareth’s back wheel was completely out of alignment and it saw us camped out at a petrol station for an hour and a half while he painstakingly adjusted his spokes to realign his wheel.

So with a fairly slow start we did an easy 43km to a lunch stop of bread and coke. It was at this stop that we met Abdelramin, a lecturer from Khartoum who did his PhD in Food Science and Nutrition in Kuala Lumpur. He welcomed us back to his home for some tea.

Abdel’s family all have dual US and Sudanese citizenship, and there are five little children running around his large, simple home. He has been back in Sudan for six months and was quick to highlight the lifestyle differences between the States and Sudan. We had “English” tea from white china as opposed to traditional Sudanese shai from double shot glasses. His wife sat on the bed changing the diaper of the six month old.

Despite our best efforts, the conversation was stilted. He speaks excellent English, but we were so tired. It was an absolute scorcher of a day and Gareth, Grant and I soaked up the cool air from the fans in the airy white room, whilst secretly dreading the impending return to the asphalt. 2 o’clock ticked by and we started to move again. 45 degrees.

It is difficult to cycle in this heat. We started off at pace, and with the boys not realising their strength, aerobic exercise was suddenly a good cardio workout! My heart rate hit 180 and I called for a quick rest! The heat is madness.

And so, after a long and tiring 98km on the clock, Grant got a flat tyre and we needed to start looking for a spot to settle down for the night. Unfortunately, camping didn’t look like an option in the more populated area beside the Blue Nile. Rural farm buildings, countless goats, women collecting wood and boys riding donkeys – We have had no threat of theft, but for peace of mind we choose to camp in more secluded areas.

I suggested we go to the largest blue door on the largest house and ask where we can set up our tents. A young woman and her father greeted us and after a few gestures and some reasonable English, they understand we are looking for a place to sleep and offer “Welcome.” Gareth and Grant are to follow Mustafa and I am to follow the woman. “Men and women separate” I am told. She wasn’t kidding.

I was ushered inside into a courtyard enclosing a block of Sudanese-blue buildings. Inside the courtyard there were numerous women sitting by the far left wall. They didn’t really acknowledge me and I was directed to a back right room with three beds and matching side tables lining the walls. I was told to bring my luggage inside and rest. 10 minutes later, as I sat on the bed, questioning my next move, Julula returned with traditional Sudanese clothes and asked me if I would like to wash. I followed her to a detached mud cubicle that was the shower. Inside was a bucket and a chair and she handed me the end of the hosepipe, wedging the wooden door behind me with a rock.

It was at this point that I badly needed to workout how these clothes worked! In a couple of minutes, I needed to walk out past the twenty-odd women in the courtyard, dressed in Sudanese garb! Three items: a pink towelled skirt that could only be a petticoat; a floral cotton dress to the floor with neat buttons down the front; and a third piece of fabric – the head scarf. I have worn a fair few scarves in my time and have met many a disapproving look from an embarrassed brother as a silken lime green becomes my latest fashion accessory – but this! It was in a league of its own. In fact, there was nothing really remarkable about the scarf; it was the nature of wearing it such that it covered both hair and neck that left me flawed.

Dressed eventually (looking simply stunning dahl!) I realised how inappropriate my clothing has been to date. Immediately I was married again, but despite their insurmountable kindness, I still felt that they believed me to be morally reprehensible and in need of some help. To go one further, I am told that riding a bicycle is seen by some in some form of sexual light… and here I was, dressed in “toit pant” and leg warmers, riding a bicycle across Africa with 5 men… My view of them could hardly be more bizarre than theirs of me.

Julula returned asking if I would like some dinner. Within minutes dinner arrived: Baked brinjal, ful (bean dish), bread and some form of paste that I couldn’t recognise but tasted great. Cleaned, fed and clothed, I was now ready for guests. And guests there were. I am not sure exactly how many women lived in the female house, but during the course of the evening thirty odd women visited me.

Conversation was largely limited to “What is your name?” and “She is jameel” (Beautiful) as I met the children. A young girl of fifteen named Muna spoke better English than her English teacher sister Julula, and was deemed translator for the evening. This resulted in the women erupting into school girl hysteria every couple of minutes. I have no idea what they were laughing about, but don’t feel too self-absorbed in saying that I’m pretty sure it involved me!

We had a few moments of mutual amusement as I brought out the universal entertainer – my camera. Photographs of women and children, often asking for an individual photograph, and then lunging for the camera to see the result! I taught Muna how to take a photo and so managed to catch a snap of myself decked out in Sudanese garb!

A fan was ceremoniously carried into the room – it scared me that this was perhaps stolen from the grandmother’s bedside, but thought it impolite to decline given the maddening heat. I then realised that the bed I was sitting on was probably someone else’s and that the other two beds would no doubt be occupied too. I was even disturbed to wake at 2am to find Julula sitting on the bed opposite me, and for all appearances, watching over me as I slept.

I must sound so incredibly ungrateful for the incredible hospitality, but I find it the most draining experience trying to communicate with people when one has no common language, culture or beliefs. I could not return to the guy’s universal topic of football, and smiling becomes insincere too quickly.

8 February 2008 - Khartoum musings

2008-03-22T21:07:00.000-07:00

I am sitting in Joanna’s home having a cup of coffee and writing. I could be in a home anywhere and once again I have the bizarre feeling that I am back in the world as I know it. I feel as though I have woken at home, and that a housemate or family member will stroll in any second now. Then I hear the mosque prayers, the whistling from the football pitch and the sound of the water pump, and I remember that I am far away.

Gareth and I went to the fanciest restaurant in Khartoum last night – I had a fillet which cost the equivalent of R60 – not all that expensive really! We went in order to get the wireless connection, but in reality were in search of some small comforts. Walking down the dimly lit main road, with concrete construction slabs blocking pavements, and the Khartoum equivalent of Black kombis pulling up to offer us lifts, I saw a familiar sign. Steers. Debonairs. I have never before felt the urge to take a photograph of a fast food franchise.

I have just been told by the owner of this house that the whistling I referred to was not from the football pitch. It seems that Khartoum now has a rubbish lorry. Even more impressive is the young man that walks around 10 minutes before the lorry arrives, whistling a reminder that it is coming. That is organisation! I’m told that there is also a rattle for the shoe shiner! This is 3^rd world business at its most enterprising.

7 February - African turmoil

2008-02-07T05:07:00.000-08:00

There is endless discussion amongst the team about our route through Kenya and the political situation there. We have been in discussions about every possible route around Kenya, the safest routes through Kenya, and the options to fly over it… All are less than ideal and it will be a massive shame to miss such a beautiful country. What is also concerning is the alternatives are few and far between - this is an area of Africa that is in apparently endless turmoil.

I met a woman from the church yesterday afternoon. She is from Southern Sudan but has been based in Khartoum since 1985. She talked of being a refugee in Uganda, the Lords Resistance Army and their attacks on her family in Southern Sudan, about improving education for women in Khartoum, and the pending return of her husband and children to Southern Sudan. She talked of the upcoming referendum, in her opinion the unlikely unification of Northern and Southern Sudan, the influences of Chadian rebels and the crisis in Darfur. It is a fascinating, but terrible world that she speaks of. I am awed by the opportunities to have frank and honest discussions with individuals such as herself.

On a more superficial level, life in Khartoum is now dedicated to recuperating and social engagements. There is an Ireland France rugby match on Saturday eve… So we leave Sunday! We have had a lovely stay in Khartoum. We are staying with Joanna and she has been incredibly helpful. We have also had a reception at the South African embassy, had lunch with the Khartoum rotary club, and are off to a presentation at the international school this afternoon. It is awesome to be able to get involved with local communities and share ideas about our cause and how individuals can get behind projects like Millennium Promise.

4 February - Becoming a cyclist.. Khartoum!

2008-02-07T05:05:00.000-08:00

We cycled 145km yesterday which left 120 km to get through today. 500 km across the desert is a tall ask, but we are rising to the challenge and the whole team is putting in an incredible effort. Everyone is so excited to get to Khartoum and to take an extended break from cycling, raising money and all things bicycling. It has taken its toll on my body too. My knees are still straining and legs have not much juice in them. This trip has picked up tempo physically. A five day stint of extremely tough cycling in the Nubian desert, followed by four days of cracking the whip to get to Khartoum. We are certainly getting fitter and are a far cry from the team that started in Cairo a little under a month ago.

That first day was scary and the thought of an arrival in Cape Town was incomprehensible. Now, the thought is not so difficult to imagine. I am a cyclist now! It is what I do. I have forgotten that this is a sport and requires stretching and preparation and cooling down… This is a way of life. I wake somewhere between 6:30 and 7, pack up my tent, put on cycling kit, get on my bike, spend about six hours in the saddle and a couple of hours over lunch to escape from the midday sun, and then stop cycling, set up the tent, make dinner, sleep. Repeat cycle. Put this way, life doesn’t sound too enthralling, but this routine is interspersed with moments surveying the brilliant night sky, chatting to Sudanese men, watching long eye-lashed children, discussing futures with good mates, singing songs to myself at top volume... It is a beautifully simple life.

Upon starting this trip I wore my “wedding ring” religiously, and identified a husband whenever asked. I have relaxed somewhat, with my silver ring relocated to my right hand. The guys have relaxed to. In fact, they now insist on telling the Sudanese men that I am single!

We stopped at a little shop this afternoon to get a cool drink and procrastinate before attacking the fairly boring road ahead. A fat man oozing charisma bustled out the single-roomed store with coke bottles and phone cards doing telephone impersonations for the video camera. He had the team in hysterics as everyone got involved, offering what ring tones they could! It was at this point that the guys indicated that I was for sale. There was more hysteria as I proceeded to enter a tug of war over my bike as the guys threw out the number of camels they would sell me for… very entertaining.

Gareth’s back tyre, suffering war wounds from the Northern stretch, had deteriorated significantly over the last 500km, and gave in entirely just outside Omdurman 20km short of Khartoum city centre. We were now on the side of the road, considering negotiating Africa’s traffic at its worst, in failing light and with little idea of where we were going.

Through a work colleague of mine, we had been in touch with Reverend Joanna Udal in Khartoum, and she had very kindly offered to host us. So with that as an end point, we loaded our lives and bikes onto an African kombi… and headed into the city.

I had no idea what Khartoum would be like. I had no concept of the sheer size of this city. Khartoum has approximately 8 million people, and sprawls over a massive area. In fact, Omdurman and Khartoum are actually two cities joined at the confluence of the Nile where White Nile meets Blue Nile. It is a city which also involves the meeting of Southern Sudan and Northern Sudan, the largely Christian world of the south and the Arabic world of the North. There is also a large international community comprising of the Chinese for the oil, and the UN which have a massive operation here made visible by the fleet of Landcruisers that roam the city.

It is an oasis to the team. It is a place where we can get western food and relax the aching bodies.

2 February - Worlds apart

2008-02-07T05:04:00.000-08:00

I wonder what my friends are doing this Saturday evening! I don’t think that many are in bed before 9. Let alone, in a tent in the middle of the Nubian desert alongside a highway… and incredibly comfortable. Sometimes I forget how bizarre my situation is.

This morning started slowly. I heard the movements in the camp, and did my best to pretend I hadn’t. It took a monumental effort to break that quiet zone and start the process of rolling thermarests, folding tents and packing my bicycle. With a general state of lethargy in the camp, we only set off at 9:30. To make matters worse, the first 60 km were directly into a headwind. We were working hard to maintain a speed above 16km/hr. Crazy. My legs are shattered from yesterday and they have declined into a general state of aches and pains. The road was long and flat and into the stark horizon, and it was a battle against the mind. “What on earth am I doing this for?!” But this is exactly why I am doing this. I am pushing my body past any physical limits, and when my body says no more, I am asking my mind to take it further.

We stopped for an extended tea break at Abu Dom – a small town shortly before you leave the Nile to embark on the 320km stretch of tarred road across the desert to Khartoum. Within half an hour we had 50 men standing a meter away from us, watching. To be honest, they were watching me. I had my leg warmers on despite the 30 degree heat, but still felt I was showing way too much skin! Den even had them give me a little round of applause. It is the closest I will ever come to celebrity status, and is not a feeling I wish to repeat. 50 sets of eyes were tracing my every movement. It was like that familiar nightmare of walking into a fancy dress party inappropriately over dressed! Gareth even got a little angry. I have started to ignore it mostly, but it is moments like these that shock me back into where I am and what a different world I come from.

You don’t see many women in Sudan. They float in shades of vibrant colours covered from head to toe, offering tea in quiet tones. There appears to be a line in the sand drawn between groups of men and women. It is difficult to discern what is imposed and what is due to cultural traditions, but the end result is the same with us seldom interacting with men and women simultaneously.

We did 103km today. We have 260km to Khartoum. 2 days of cycling. It will be tough and depends largely on the wind. My legs are pretty battered, but sleep is a wonderful medicine.

1 February - Straining legs

2008-02-07T05:03:00.000-08:00

It is another typical Sudanese day – clear blue skies eased only by a strong wind. We are cycling out of Dongola today, have 95km on the clock so far, and have a few more hours of cycling to get through. My legs don’t seem to have recovered from the earlier stretch in Sudan – a day off in Dongola, as welcome as it was, simply was not enough.

****

We ended up cycling 133 km today. My knees are taking some strain. I am hoping it is a temporary thing. We have 360 km to cover over the next 3 days and I am a little apprehensive to see how I handle it.

30 January - A welcome day of rest!

2008-02-07T05:01:00.000-08:00

We arrived in Dongola this evening. 70 kilometers. It has been a monumental effort to get through the last four days. We knew that it would be tough and we had prepared ourselves mentally for the challenge. But, having dwindled to a team of four with Twig and Ollie going on to meet us in Dongola, and having to cover significant distances in loose sand, it was far tougher than we had imagined. I am so happy to have that stretch behind me. I am both mentally and physically stronger. And a good deal dirtier too! Again I welcome a cold shower – it has been nearly two weeks since I have had access to warm water! Since then I have managed to crack two cold showers and a swim in the Nile. No sign of crocodiles yet.

Our accommodation in Dongola is incredibly comfortable by our standards. It has a door with a key, and an en suite bathroom. This town feels like a haven and I am taking full advantage of a rest day to recover, do some laundry, clean my bike, and get in touch with family and friends. Thanks to Chinese oil interests, we have 500 km of tarmac to Khartoum – the dust is largely over!

28 January - Desert experiences!

2008-02-07T04:59:00.000-08:00

It has been another crazy day. I am struggling to remember this morning. We started cycling a little later than planned – I was having issues with my cleats and there was a general fatigue within the camp. However, after a very relaxed 7 kilometers, Niall and I were cycling along with the Nile on our right, picking the easiest line of road as best we could. Niall was on Bob-duty – meaning that he was towing a 25 kg bike trailer behind his bike which already carries 40 kg of personal kit… As the token girl, I am gratefully left out of this rotation, but life is very challenging for the man who takes Bob. We had lost sight of Gareth and Den, and commented on what the best course of action would be if the group got split for some reason. The consensus was that we would cycle on to the next town.

It was at this point that one of the many Sudanese Landcruisers pulled up alongside us, and two Chinese men hopped out the car to take photographs of each other, posing with me! I was in hysterics as Niall tried to photograph the bizarre situation of Chinese taking pictures of me in the middle of the Sudanese desert. It was priceless. The Chinese are building massive roads the length of Sudan in order to access Sudanese oil. The little town of Sabu, which is too small to feature on our map, holds 85 Chinese gentlemen!

We stopped for a break shortly after and an old man named Farah arrived with a tray of tea and biscuits – Sudanese styled silver service. It was so welcome. However, more was to come. The next thing I knew, I was seated on a tarpaulin mat underneath the hot sun, digging in to a breakfast of pancakes, beans (ful), and date syrup. Next to me sat our Chinese friend, Farah, Farah’s son Mohammed, Gareth, Niall and Den and a few random villagers that had gathered around. I had a moment, sitting on the floor next to clay water pots when I believed that the problems of the world could be solved on that mat. East meets West meets Africa, in Sudan. I am truly humbled by the generosity of these people who have such simple means. My life gains clarity in these moments.

Eventually we left and continued on our way, but the long delay for breakfast and a few pannier issues en route, saw us stopping for lunch at only 30 km at 2:15. The last two kilometres before lunch comprised of pushing our bikes in foot deep sand, uphill – tough going!

At this stage I was starting to take a bit of strain. I have been fighting a cold for a couple of days now and my head was banging around with every corrugation in the road that my wheels hit. Lunch comprised of a stop in the dust next to a road that stretched out 2 km wide across the horizon.

We set off at 3pm. Gareth bombed off into the distance, and I followed suit behind him. After 20 minutes I stopped to look behind me and couldn’t see Den or Niall. I couldn’t see Gareth ahead either! I wasn’t even sure that I had taken the right line. We were cycling along a wide section of flat desert, the options of tracks being endless. I turned around and started retracing my footsteps, but quickly realised that to find such a random lunch spot in the middle of nowhere would be both difficult to find and somewhat pointless. Remembering our conversation from earlier regarding cycling onwards if we got lost, I continued onwards, stopping to look behind every 5 minutes.

I wondered whether the dudes would back me to find the next town – “Kerma” was becoming a mantra to me. I was now pushing on at pace. A sense of urgency was growing as the sun started sinking. I was aching to see a vehicle or some form of life – Nothing. I had a moment of sheer panic: It was now coming on for 2 hours since I had seen any form of life.; In every direction I looked I saw nothing but sand against the clear blue sky; I was pushing my bike because the sand was too thick; and I had no idea what direction I should be moving in! I was starting to work my mind around the idea that I might be spending the night in the desert on my own and I was doing careful calculations on how much food and water reserves I was carrying.

It was at this point that I started both praying and cycling towards the sunset. I had figured that the sun sets in the west, over the Nile, and if I found the Nile then I would find the next town. Head west, find the Nile. Follow the sun, find the Nile. The Nile is the life-source of this vast country. There is little or no form of life more than a kilometre from the river banks, but all along her banks, villages thrive.

I saw a truck pass across my path 500 meters South West of me. I headed towards what I could only guess must be a main road. A truck then started heading directly for me with a familiar orange in the passenger’s seat. I have never been happier to see Gareth – my knight in shining armour in a blinged-up white pickup truck!

In the chaos he had gone back and forth cycling so hard that he had hit a sandbank at enough force to fling him over the front handlebars and buckle his front wheel. Thankfully he was fine and had the good fortune to have a truck en route to Kerma pass him at this point. He had found the others.

What an incredible relief it was to arrive at the basic lodgings in Kerma and relax over some beans and bread at dinner. It has been a very long time since I felt that helpless and scared.

28 January - Tough times continue

2008-02-07T04:58:00.000-08:00

There is dust everywhere. I can’t quite manage to get it out from underneath my fingernails. It lines my eyebrows and despite best efforts, my clothes are filthy. If only my mum could see me now! It is like brown talcum powder. Everywhere.

Cycling on it is something different. It swallows the tyre, and leaves a little wake as one ploughs through. With a good measure of mind power and visualisation, I can liken it to snowboarding as one floats through the soft earth. You cycle with momentum, hit it head on, pedal through it and do your best to ignore the slides… And when you fall – fall softly into a fluff of dirty powder. It is beautiful in a strangely twisted way.

Today was 65 kilometers in the saddle – a very tough day of cycling. I am extremely tired, I haven’t been feeling well, and am physically and emotionally shattered. This afternoon was a low; it is a continuous effort to keep physical and emotional strains separate.

27 January.. sand continues.. SuDAN...

2008-02-07T04:53:00.000-08:00

Yesterday we cycled from Akasha to Abri. 50 kilometers of sand. Again. Twig has been feeling ill for a couple of days now. He got hit with a stomach bug and has been struggling to eat, so he and I got in a bus and caught a 20km lift on to Abri – which we had been told was the next decent spot for the next 200km. I hadn’t quite expected a metropolis, but I had to chide myself for expecting more. This is Africa, the very heart of Africa.

We wandered around town – a dusty road lined with beaten out single story buildings caked with pastel colours and off-white shades. Men in white robes line the streets, sitting on store steps, smoking sheesha pipes, quietly prayerful, or offering “welcome” as we wander by.

We stopped at a general store which was stocked with the regular Sudanese goods: Tuna, pasta, beans, cheese triangles, coco-cola, sweets and biscuits. Grabbing a cold drink, we asked after transport for Twig into Dongola for the following day. It is going to be a very tough 250 kilometres ahead, and he needs to regain his health – it is definitely the most sensible option to catch a lift ahead and wait for us there. Within a couple of minutes we were escorted to a little doorway that we understood to be the transport office. We now had 20 odd men around us all offering us some advice in fluent Arabic and intermingled, stilted, English. Again – the helpfulness of the Sudanese astounds me.

I had an icy shower in a little cement room with a hole in the floor for a toilet. The shower literally entailed a tap a meter off the ground. I hadn’t had a shower in 6 days and my hair was starting to feel a little manky. I cannot begin to explain how much I enjoyed that ice cold water! - It was only afterwards that the boys pointed out that there was a very conveniently placed peep hole to the room – and that some young guys had probably had some x-rated entertainment!

25 January 2008 - Sand. Sand. Sand.

2008-02-07T04:42:00.000-08:00

We cycled the last 55 kilometers into Akasha today. It was the toughest 55 kilometers I have cycled yet. When I had envisioned Sudan and the Nubian desert, I had pictured sand, but large rolling dunes and oppressive heat. It was a very different picture to the choppy, rocky landscape we have dealt with today. There is little relief on this terrain. You have two choices: deep corrugated ditches that can only be likened to deep tissue massage in its endless attack of muscles and joints; and soft sand that is conquered by low gears, good forward momentum and “getting back on the bike” after every fall! And fall we did. It’s a soft landing – but it punished us.

24 January 2008 - Sudanese "roads"

2008-02-07T04:38:00.000-08:00

We started cycling out of Wadi Halfa at 3 pm yesterday afternoon. It was a ridiculous effort of cycling. We left at three, had a blow-out at 3:15, had broken gears at 4pm, and another puncture and spoke issue at 4:30. I am learning that this is the way it falls in cycling. The sun was now on its way out and we needed to set up our first camp. The road comprised of a loose gravel track in between sand dunes that big oil tankers fly along kicking up lingering dust clouds. Vast expanses, a long road into the horizon, and the simple silhouette of a man on his bike – this is our first truly remote experience of North Africa.

The temperature plummeted at night and I found myself wearing four layers, plus a thermal top, longs and my cycling leg warmers inside my sleeping bag – and still cold. I woke up several times during the night and had the unpleasant feeling of knowing that there was little that I could do. Here’s hoping it doesn’t get colder! It is now 7 am and it is still dark – we are looking for that sunrise with subconscious resentment – it means destroying the caccoons, fixing the bikes, making breakfast, and getting back onto the road. The desert awaits: Day 2 in Sudan.

****

We cycled 65 kilometers today and it felt tougher than the day we did 160km. We were cycling on a gravel road over the dunes. It is fairly thick sand a good proportion of the time. Loaded with food for 2 days and 9 liters of water each, the back tyre sinks into the sand and it is pretty difficult to keep upright. It is tough work and the concentration levels needed are pretty high.

We stopped at 4:30, having started at 10:30. 6 hours in the saddle. Only 65 kilometres. Camp is now set up, I cracked a little back massage, and now I lie in my quarters catching up on the day while the three Swedes help get our “kitchen” going. Trust our good fortune that they have decided to cycle with us for a while! Nino, Tim and Eric turned out to be expert bike and stove mechanics. Well, not experts, but they know a serious amount more than ourselves and have been a phenomenal help.

I have long been thinking of cycling in Sudan. It is the first thing that anyone asked in the build-up to this trip, and it has consumed plenty of my thoughts at night. I couldn’t help but be anxious of endless dust, no water, tough roads and the hostile situations within this country. From where I sit, in my tent at the end of day 2, this country appears expansive, remote, dry and dusty, but far removed from the throes of any political tensions. Life appears to be the epitome of peace – vast and quiet. The odd passing oil truck hoots, welcoming us to his world, but it shocks me how far removed I feel to global politics, big business, families and friends, let alone war-torn Darfur.

I am often quizzed about being the only girl on the team. My response has been vague, and often brushed over, because I simply don’t know how I feel. Sometimes I think it is great and I feel physically strong and an integral part of the team. At other times I feel a little helpless – just needing a little bit of TLC, a good bath, a dress, some frivolous fun and a party with the girls! It is nothing that a couple of hours on my own wouldn’t cure, but that is like white gold itself. I have stumbled into a man’s world.

A dinner of bully beef, pasta and green peppers awaits us. What was once merely tinned food that one wouldn’t touch with a ten-foot barge pole, is now classed as “tasty cuisine.”

23rd January - Wadi Halfa

2008-02-07T04:36:00.000-08:00

We arrived last night after a 5 kilometer roll into town in which we managed to get hopelessly lost in the setting sun. Den took a quick look at the accommodation, practising his newly acquired Arabic, and discovered that we would each pay 1$ for the night’s accommodation. All fair and well, and ridiculously cheap, but the actual place we were paying for amounted to little more that a tarpaulin-walled room with cement floors, and beds with a steel frame and woven plastic base. The bathrooms have reached a new level! – the shower being a cement room with a jug of water and the toilet, a hole in the floor, with another jug of water.

Sudan was playing Zambia in the Africa cup so we decided to catch the game. Wandering off in search of a restaurant, we are drawn to Sudan’s ultimate sports bar: No women, sheesha pipes everywhere, a bigscreen TV (at least in relative terms), no alcohol, and all outside under a starry Sudanese sky. The host would bustle around with a massive ladle of hot coals and some incredible scents would be blown into your face in a cloud of smoke. Despite our best efforts of “Sudan, Sudan, Sudan” to every tune and hymn we could remember … they lost. It was an awesome experience nontheless.

Ferrying into Sudan - 23rd January 2008

2008-02-07T04:28:00.000-08:00

The ferry from Aswan to Wadi Halfa was absolute chaos. It is uncanny to think that this is the main port of entry into Sudan. We are talking African public transport at its maddest! The level of overcrowding on that ferry was an adventure in its own stead and words simply cannot do justice to the mayhem on board. We were told that the ferry was to leave sometime after 12 – we left the harbour sometime after 8. And in those eight hours the contents of dozens and dozens of trucks were continuously loaded onto the ferry. People were sleeping everywhere – on bags, next to boxes, cuddled up to strangers.

The six of us spent the night on the top deck on the floor of a walkway behind a shield of bags. Six of us in a space less than four meters wide and not long enough to warrant straight legs without ankles being at serious risk from passing footsteps.

At two pm the following day we finally stopped – docked in Sudan. The sight greeting us was pretty daunting: desert.

We had met the Tour d’afrique cyclists on board the ferry and they turned out to be extremely helpful and friendly. From them we gathered that Wadi Halfa the town was a 5 kilometer cycle in from the port. Next to us on the ferry, cramped amidst the chaos, with identical therma rests and gas stoves, were three Swedes. During the course of the evening we got chatting, and found out that they were cycling from Sweden to Beijing, in attempts to make the Olympics by 8 August!

20 January 2008 – The end of phase 1!

2008-01-20T07:13:00.009-08:00

The Old Cataract Hotel, Aswan. Abdullah welcomes us to the Elephantine Café. We are seated at the top of a rocky outcrop overlooking a narrowing of the Nile at the Elephantine Island. Across from us, on the far bank of the Nile, lies the Nubian Desert – rolling hills of burnt sand bely the expansive desert that awaits us.

High tea arrives on a three-tiered silver platter with oriental glasses and a royal blue teapot. Without our noticing, the shadows lengthened and a soft lull of conversations develops from the tables alongside us. The sunset has an audience. It is another day of beautiful photos and many hours spent in the company of a true friend. A miniature dandelion fairy catches the lip of my cup and as I blow it into the wind I experience another moment of exhilarating happiness – what a memorable way to end my journey in Egypt.

Looking back over the past two weeks I recall overly enthusiastic children running out of houses to scream to us as we cycle by, moments of near hysteria listening to Irish banter, walking down a street feeling liberated and independent, taking photographs of shoddy bathrooms in budget hotels, music played through speakers with a crackled delay, and sheesh kebabs.

19 January 2008 – Tasting the tarmac!

2008-01-20T07:13:00.008-08:00

Edfu to Aswan – 117 kilometers. At about 80 kilometers the road turned into a 5 kilometre stretch of black, wet tar. My front wheel slipped to the right, I overcorrected sliding to the left, and in no time, had taken a neat duckdive into the tar! It gave new meaning to “stopping traffic!” The police car behind me erupted with a Black-taxi load-full of policemen, who rushed to my assistance with concern for my well-being! The right side of my body was quite literally painted with a tar brush!

My first fall of the trip! I have a nice little roastie on the right side of my body but I couldn’t have asked for an easier way to fall. The wet tar aided a slide that ensured that my legs didn’t get too cut up. So all is good and I have a new set of battle scars to replace my faded camel-bruised left leg!

17 January 2008 – Master hagglers!

2008-01-20T07:13:00.007-08:00

We cycled 117 kilometers from Luxor to Edfu today. It was a long haul made longer by the three days of rest preceding it. We moved through the first 60 kilometers relatively comfortably, and after a few stops to buy a lunch of bread rolls and fruit, and a later stop to eat the said lunch, we found ourselves at 2:30 pm with 30 kilometers to go till our destination. It was then that I was greeted with my first taste of mind games. That was the longest 30 kilometers that we have done to date. As the road moved away from the lush security of the Nile, we entered a desolate patch that sets the tone for what lies ahead. It is a long road to Cape Town. We have done approximately 800 km of a 12500km journey.

The Lonely planet refers to Edfu as being a one-hotel town. We were escorted by our policemen to the hotel and told that this was that. Gareth and I took a quick look inside to see the rooms and get into a little bartering with the hotel owner. Edfu apparently knows little of cleanliness! My standard of accommodation has reached a fairly low level, and at this stage in my life, a bedroom with a door that closes and that has running water is more than acceptable. That is about the most that one could say about the room that we were shown. It was very basic, and therefore required a comparable price. We managed to get the owner down to 6 Egyptian pounds each for the night. That equates to 6p or R8! Craziness.

It turned out that Edfu is no longer a one hotel town and that the Hotel Medina, as recommended by the Lonely Planet, is actually 100 meters around the corner. So, armed with price number one, we headed off in search of a second offer. A man named Atti ushered us in and Ollie and I took a little scout of the rooms which appeared to be on a par with the former hotel. In fact the same pastel shades even lined the walls and floors, and the bathroom/shower rooms were of the same ilk. Nice. However, hotel number two boasts a solid breakfast – a sure win for a team of cyclists. He started at 25 each, we got it to 100 for the six of us. We have become master hagglers. It scares me that we are fighting over R10 each. But it’s the principle -apparently!

We took a little tour of Edfu and walked to the Temple Horus – a renowned temple in Egypt. We were told to pay 40 Egyptian pounds to enter the area simply so that we could buy a packet of crisps for 15 – retail for 3 in town. It is crazily apparent that these are tourist prices. A young waiter named Musharef decided to take it on board and agrees with us that the goods are overpriced and goes further to explain that for an Egyptian it costs 2 to visit the temple. We decide to move off in search for some dinner back in town.

I am not sure quite how it happened, but next thing I knew, I was sitting in Musharef’s living room with the rest of the team enjoying his mother’s cooking! The hospitability of Egyptians has been truly overwhelming. We were hosted to a meal of beans, soya, egg and bread and an incredibly interesting conversation with Musharef and his doctor sister. She spoke great English and proceeded to educate us in a very open manner about her faith of Islam. I have been in this country a little under two weeks and it strikes me that she is my first solid experience of a local woman. She had poise and spoke in a way that was both open and accepting. It strikes me that there are less differences about our cultures and beliefs than I had imagined, and in her words, “We are all human first.”

16 January 2008 – Captain!

2008-01-20T07:13:00.006-08:00

Last night was one of the finest nights of my life – and certainly my most authentic experience of Egypt to date.

”Captain” screeched for us to board Mary – an old wooden Faluka named after some American tourist that he had befriended some while back. I walked the gang plank and within moments, was wallowing in the sound of the sails interrupted only by the regular clicking of my camera capturing another square of time. I have started looking at the world in thumbnail view, storing memories to be revisited later.

The Faluka took us across the Nile to Banana Island – which is in essence nothing more than an enterprising Egyptian way of turning a simple banana plantation into a tourist destination. We ate bananas and drank mint tea all the time “speaking Japanese” with our “Click, Click” as Captain so aptly phrased it. The sun was slipping and as Twig caught another palm-treed silhouette, Captain squatted directly behind us. In silence, he had lifted his robe and unphased by our presence, was “making water!” Classic!

It was a spectacular evening. We gave him a “baksheesh” and were on our way home when he invited us in for a meal at his home. It was a simple home with a main living room lined with hard beds. The walls were peeling moulded turquoise, but we were welcomed in like royalty. After introductions to Captain’s wife and his children, we were hosted to a meal of falafel, bread, tomatoes and endless laughter. It was beautiful.

Another tough day in Africa.

16 January 2008 – Room 416!

2008-01-20T07:13:00.005-08:00

The Winter Palace in Luxor is the quintessential colonial spot for gold-pocketed tourists visiting the famous archaeological sites of Luxor. Expensively clean blue swimming pools, crisp white linen, American, French and English accents, and Egyptian waiters talking of their favourite football teams.

Gareth and I wandered through the lobby into the restaurant and pool area and set our office up with the wireless connection at the pool. An orange juice turned into a much-missed Western steak roll, a few hours of idle chat and a great lounge by the pool soaking in some afternoon sun. Throughout the afternoon they would ask for our room number to which the standard response was, “No worries, we will pay cash.” It was only later when asked very directly by a more official-looking gentleman that Gareth threw out, “Room 416” without even flinching! - We had sat next to 415 at lunch.

It was about an hour later that we were very politely asked to leave as this was “for guests only”… !

15 January - Cultural Sensitivities

2008-01-20T07:13:00.004-08:00

Cultural sensitivities - Buzz words for Team Egypt. There are many times that jokes which are considered seriously funny to us are considered seriously unfunny to the locals. There are many times that we believe that we are engaging in good banter and it quickly degenerates into an uncomfortable air. There are countless times a day when I consider what I am wearing – not from an appearance perspective, but in order to understand whether I am offending anyone. Very shortly we became “culturally sensitive”. We were a little slower to make a crack at some silly situation. And I covered up out of choice. However, as we cycled into Luxor, we saw endless tourists and a massive Mc Donalds advertisement, and promptly kissed “cultural sensitivities” goodbye! What a relief.

OK. Not entirely, but I felt liberated and relaxed for the first time this trip. It is amazing how the flip-side of this generates endless touts who hassle you at every turn, giving you a “gift” and then asking for payment. We found a budget hotel which cost us 20 Egyptian Pounds (R25) a night for bed and breakfast and “Bath and A/C” as advertised! It is no penthouse, but it is comfortable and affordable.

We were ushered inside and offered tea and a seat by the woman of the house. Welcoming the weight off the legs, we took a seat and enjoyed a few moments of casual chat with her in which she tried to work out the team dynamics of exactly who we were and where I fitted in. This was only confused by Niall’s explanation that Twig and I had met whilst surfing in Cape Town! She was incredibly chatty and funny, telling us of “exotic” belly dancers where one puts money in the cleavage and can get to dance. The dudes, to their credit, weren’t very interested by this. They were more interested in where the young tourist females would hang out for a little bit of a razzle!

With perfect hindsight, we discovered that she was stalling. She was making intermittent phone calls to her man and in retrospect, he must have been telling her to keep us there. The man of the house arrives! And proceeds to tell us that he has no room, but is shuffling someone around and is making a plan for the remaining three to stay at the next door hotel for the evening and then transfer over the following evening – typical Egyptian mentality! This was after we had taken a look at a three bedroom room that he was suggesting all six of us sleep in and had politely declined with sheer incredulity at the logistics of physically doing that.

Then came the smooth sell. We paid 300 Egyptian pounds for a day’s guided tour of the Valley of the Kings and the Valley of the Queens. It was impressive stuff, but the guide turned out to be little more than a babysitter as she wasn’t allowed into the tombs to explain anything. We were also seriously embarrassed by how much we had overpaid and endlessly frustrated by every Tom, Dick and Abdul trying to sell us some cheap tourist garb.

13 January – The Emperor's Clothes!

2008-01-20T07:13:00.002-08:00

When preparing for this adventure, I had imagined that we would have endless time to ourselves. I had believed that there would be at least a couple of hours everyday that we’d need to kill with our own writing or other amusements. Not so. Yesterday, on day 4, we cycled 160km! It was a crazy day! We were relatively strong too. At 150km Gareth had a blowout on his front tyre taking him to the floor pretty quickly. It sobered some of the bravado we were beginning to feel. These roads are extremely busy - you continuously have the feeling that you are about to witness a head-on collision. The vehicles always seem to miss each other, but its hairy cycling.

We lost our police escort somewhere between Sohag and Nag Hammadi – This was a welcome change on my part! The police had insisted on driving right on my left shoulder shouting “Go Deeannna!” in between cat whistles and laughter.

As a woman in this country, it is easy to become paranoid. A policeman told me never to wear shorts (I have to wear leg warmers over cycling shorts, all day, every day) and when in town, I normally have a bandana, always long pants and long sleeves. Esmeralda, a Dutch woman we met at the Sudanese embassy in Cairo, had warned me of this too. In particular, she suggested I actually identify a husband, always wear my “wedding ring” and that the men would need to be fairly strong in their defence of me. I took these comments with a pinch of salt – I believe I am a well-travelled woman and can hold my own! Five days into the cycle, I have been asked for telephone numbers and email addresses, been subjected to paparazzi style camera phones, been groped during a photo by a policeman with an AK47 slung over his shoulder, had an old man lunge at me, and a seriously old man wink at me with his hand on his crotch. Nothing has been hostile, but I feel like I am cycling in the emperor’s clothes!

Anyway, at some point yesterday the police disappeared and for the first time we were left fending for ourselves. However, a local man who drove a bling blue motorbike with the words “love machine” on the back, escorted us on their behalf! Now, we have got pretty good at cycling in a pelaton and when acting as a team, we can make steady progress. But this man decided to join the actual pelaton and cycle behind me with less than a meter between his motorbike wheel and my back pannier. The whole time he was gesturing and laughing. Ollie actually had to get a little feisty with him just so that he would back off a bit!

We stopped at a little town called Nag Hammadi and had a lunch of cheese, tuna and bully beef on pita. In a short while we had gathered thirty odd men and boys that had come to witness this unfamiliar sight. They would stand less than two meters away and stare at us. Their eyes penetrate. I know it is simple curiosity and is something that we will need to get used to, but it is a little awkward!

After lunch we set off again complete with a convoy of motorbikes and beaten out bicycles. Half of them were children who really just wanted to chat, throwing out the standard lines: “What is your name? Welcome to Egypt!” and “I love you!” as you cycled on. There was mayhem. My stress levels rose. The group was being separated, Denis was cycling along trying to get sugar cane out of a passing truck (!), and a kid with a flat tyre insisted on cycling into my panniers! I nearly lost my cool entirely.

My solution was to cycle onwards, catch one of the team up ahead, and proceed to solve the problems of life and love. Such is life on the road!

We arrived in Qena at 6 o’clock, went out in town for the best sheesh kebabs I have tasted yet, and were in bed by 9pm. A great night’s sleep, ended in the morning by the prayers and car horns. What lies ahead?

10 January – A matter of Faith

2008-01-20T07:13:00.001-08:00

Asyut is a small town where Jesus apparently spent some time as a child. As a result, there is a strong Christian base in the town and it has made headlines for being a hotspot for religious fighting. There was some story involving a tourist being killed in Asyut a while back, and I had heard reports that this was a place that one was considered wise to avoid, particularly if one was female. It was, therefore, with a fair level of apprehension that I approached the small Egyptian town.
However, it goes without saying that my concerns were miniscule in comparison to that of the tourism police. Since we started this trip, the Egyptian police have been a constant presence. We would cycle for an hour or two with one set of policemen, cross a jurisdiction border, spend a couple of minutes trying to communicate in seriously limited Arabic, and then cycle on with the next set of policemen in convoy. They dictate where we sleep and what level of interaction we have with the locals. In fact, it is not unusual for a herd of children to be scared off by an intimidating movement from one of the heavily armed policemen.

But Asyut has pleasantly surprised me. We are staying in a simple, but clean, very budget hotel. We are eating well on dinners of sheesh kebabs and boiled eggs for breakfast. In fact, we decided to spend a rest day here today to let our legs and backsides recover and to catch up on some communications time. Asyut is a town of no tourists and friendly individuals whose first question is “Are you Christian?” Religion is an essential part of life for the Egyptians we have encountered. And the more I meet and the more we talk openly, the more I realise that the fundamentals of the faiths are so similar and the hearts of all are essentially in the same place. I continue to learn from these people.

8 January 2008 – Today!

2008-01-20T07:13:00.000-08:00

Go Alice Go..

2008-01-16T07:32:00.001-08:00

I am in a room which has a semblance of order, two sleeping men, and three fully laden bicycles. Today three years of dreams will find their reality and we start cycling to Cape Town. 12 500 km. That is longer than I can imagine and holds endless possibility for the spectacularly good and spectacularly awful.

I fell off a camel yesterday. All was well and despite the ridiculously bad camel breath, and a saddle less comfortable than that of my bicycle, I was relatively happy with my young Egyptian groom and his camel. With the words “lean back” and a sudden movement likened only to that of a mechanical bull, I was on top of the two meter plus beast, and loping down the streets of Giza.

We paid 50 Egyptian pounds to our guide and found ourselves within a cordoned off area designating the beginning of the desert – complete with sand dunes and pyramids. Phenomenal! It was only when we were given the reigns to our camels and told to race them, that my Alice the camel who has two humps… decided to “go Alice go!” I neatly started into a gentle trot, even practising my early equestrian upbringing. But I was flawed when Alice suddenly changed gait into what felt like a canter but was probably nothing more than a sidestep from Niall’s camel that was charging up behind. I simply couldn’t take it any longer and did a neat sideways roll to the floor. Camels are pretty high. And there’s a certain wooden peg on the saddle that makes life fairly inconvenient when one is in the process of falling.

My pride bruised more than my leg – which was to shortly turn all shades of purple – I righted myself and realigned my clothes just in time to watch Niall suffer a worse fate as he took a forward roll into the sand. He got up a little dazed and confused and seriously lucky to have escaped a certain neck injury. My pride recovered.

We are closer in years to the birth of Christ than the pyramids are. I stood in front of these monumental structures and was unable to comprehend their age. Some of the team went inside the tombs and one of the smaller pyramids, I was content to simply sit at the foot of this giant tomb and try to understand the magnitude of what I was looking at. In addition, it allowed me to recover from the fall which was starting to make itself a more tangible memory!

Hazy dawn

2008-01-16T07:19:00.000-08:00

I wake early, hoping to catch the morning prayers echoing over Cairo – I wish to deliver my humble request for the appearance of a certain red wallet left in Heathrow security yesterday morning. The rectangular masses seem to float suspended in the early haze. Satellite dishes aloft every roof and clinging to the sides of every building, face the sun, offering prayers carried on the sound of car horns.

On driving into Cairo we gained perspective of the size of the city – endless. Now, as I sit on a balcony overlooking the northern capital, I understand the phrase “concrete jungle” with a definitive level of appreciation. This is something far beyond anything I have seen. If Africa has a heartbeat, this is a major artery. The city is noisy and chaotic with no rules to speak of, but it heaves with life.

God please send me my wallet :)

Bicycles..

2008-01-04T06:32:00.000-08:00

Bicycles. Everywhere. And if it’s not some form of bike part, tool or accessory, it’s spandex. Nice.

We joked that it would have been great to enter “professional cyclist” on our landing cards – it sounds a fair deal more exciting than “finance”, and ironically not all that far from the truth. But the welcome could not have been more enthusiastic. The Irish side of our contingent have played out of their cycling boots – and organised superb contact with the Irish ambassador in Cairo. His team wasted no efforts in looking after us from meeting us at the airport, walking us through customs, taking us to our hotel that they had organised, providing us with the heroic services of a driver Mahadi – who has had the equivalent task of looking after what must seem like six noisy toddlers, and then hosting us in style at the ambassador’s home last night.

Sudanese visas are shrouded in mystery. We had discovered that Cairo is the only place to collect a Sudanese visa without it passing through Khartoum. We have landed on blogs that amount to plaintiff calls from Addis saying that they have been camping at the Sudanese embassy for months and have had no luck as yet. My suggestion? – Come to Cairo! We walked in at 11, armed with letters from the Department of Foreign Affairs, letters from Millennium Promise, letters from contacts in Khartoum, a detailed itinerary and a good dose of irish charm. It appears that will do just about anything. And so after high chaos levels and a never-ending barrage of handshakes and “shukran”s – three o’clock saw a photo opportunity with our new-found Sudanese mate and the team displaying our Sudanese trophies! Yeehaa!

With one less barrier to starting a certain level of nerves have established themselves. Today is Monday. We start Tuesday. We have a day of pyramids and camel rides – not to mention press releases, final contacts, and packing the bike – a monumental task in itself.