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Published: February 19th 2012
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Gogo
From the home visit so she is sober. Much to the surprise of my fellow students, I had a moment this week where I almost had a little too much Africa. I then dragged them with me later in the week on an adventure which probably gave them a little too much Africa.
The first experience occurred on Wednesday. This was the second of two days in which I went on some home visits with workers for the local NGO. Both days consisted of walking from home to home through the bush from about 9-2. It was hot, tiring, and everything I could have hoped for it to be. I love working in the hospital and serving patients and treating diseases (I do want to be a doctor after all). However, I equally enjoy leaving the walls and getting out into the community to interact with the people and culture. Since the visits were conducted in Zulu, I understood about 5% of what was going on. Regardless, a lot can be learned from observation. Seeing the homes, seeing the people, sitting under trees, hiking through the bush. So many subtle lessons. The beauty and biggest obstacle of being in the bush is that you are in the bush.
The roads are scarce and are basically sandy paths through the grass. The people are scarce and the one's that live there don't have any other mode of transport other than the soles of their feet. Having walked all day, the NGO worker (Princess) and I were not too keen on walking back to the highway. So we decided to wait for a car to drive by that would pick us up. Any car would do, but we spent the next 2.5 hours under a tree without anyone driving past. With my Zulu consisting of about 15 words and Princess' English not much better, we were not entertained by engaging conversation. We just waited and waited and waited. Eventually my patience began to run out and I began playing out the worst case scenarios in my head. I figured that we might have to spend the night in the bush and try to hitch a ride in the morning. Not the worst thing in the world, but certainly interesting. I didn't want to be too chicken little, so I asked Princess if she'd even be stranded overnight hoping that she'd tell me to stop being ridiculous. She nonchalantly replied that
she had been stranded multiple times and had to ask volunteers to let her sleep in their home. Brilliant. My next thought was that waiting under the tree was getting us nowhere so we might as well start walking. It was a bit cooler at this point and maybe we could meet up with a busier "road." Luckily, Princess came to the same conclusion on her own and off we went. After a few minutes we came across a succession of cars. Unfortunately they were all going the wrong direction and we were let down. Then, just when I didn't think I could handle it anymore, we heard the rumble of a car engine coming from behind us. An empty pick-up appeared over the ridge. We stopped him and he happened to be heading to Manguzi and the hospital. Princess climbed in the cab and I hopped in the back. Turns out that the only thing stranger than a white man walking through the bush is a white man riding alone in the back of a pick-up. I was content and wondering at that point why I ever began to freak out in the first place. In the end it
all worked out nicely.
The second tale comes from the Amarula Festival. Commercially, Amarula is a fine tasting creamy liquor made from the marula fruit (similar to Baileys). Locally, Amarula beer is made straight from shelling the marula fruit into some water and adding a little sugar. The locals love it and love to get drunk on it. The festival is a bit of a ploy by the local tribe to bring some tourism to the area, and it included a stage, speeches, dancing, music, tents, food…all good festival elements. However, after spending a couple hours taking all that in, we had yet to find any Amarula beer. We’d seen a few drunk locals with 2L bottles full of a milky white drink which we assumed to be our desired beverage. So we exited the main stage area and took off down a path which passed through the brush by some local venders selling the common things (chips, fried treats, beer, etc…). We were made to feel like celebrities as everyone stared at us and most greeted us and we returned the greeting in our limited Zulu. I was in my element, but we hadn’t found any
Amarula yet. Eventually, we ended back on the main road into the area and decided to turn in the direction of the chief’s house. As we went down the road the people became even more and more friendly and we noticed more and more bottles (including 5 and 10L bottles) full of milky white liquid. I’m sure you can see where this is going. Pretty soon everyone around us (including “Gogos” aka grandmas) was drunk. I spotted a gap in a wooden fence which I assumed to be the gateway to Amarula. I was not disappointed. We passed through the gate into a courtyard full of drunk locals with a long queue snaking from a giant water container. As we approached the tank we were escorted to the front of the queue with our 250mL water bottles which were quickly filled with milky white liquid…Amarula!!! Needless to say, the drink itself was one of the top three worst things I have ever tasted (up there with goat intestines and goat brain). I was in cultural heaven, though. Perhaps a little blissfully naïve. I was quickly brought down to reality by a few of my colleagues who stated that they weren’t quite as comfortable being in an enclosed venue with hundreds of drunk African men. In hindsight they may have had a decent reason to be nervous. We went ahead and exited and headed back to Manguzi. Nobody freaked out and everyone had a good time. I hope they didn’t have a little too much Africa.
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