Livingstone Sunday

The beds were lovely. The wake-up call invilved the TV turning on and almost giving us a heart attack, and the weather was perfect. We were so excited to have more adventures!

We started out the day with the Best Buffet Ever. Now, in Europe and all over Africa, hotels include breakfasts. They can range from a piece of hard toast and slimy jam to a hot buffet. This, however, was the best buffet either of us had ever seen! There were sausages - beef and chicken, too! There was fruit and compote and cereal and 4 types of juices, and a fried egg station and an omlette station, and a crepe (they call them omlettes) station. Oh! And beef stif fry (which tasted surprisingly good at 7:30am), and stuffed tomatoes, and potatoes...

After breakfast, we rolled ourselves back to our room, where after some missing-bathing-suit-drama (it had fallen behind the curtain) we headed back to the boiling point hike.

We stopped at the market, because, as it turns out, I had packed a sweater we had meant to give away. We went around to all of the booths, bargaining with a black-red- and orange-striped woman's sweater. In the end sister applied it's assumed value towards a wooden bowl and salad tongs, and I ended up traiding the baby-blue butterfly-appliqued cap to the mand who had admired it the day before, in exchange for some tribally-decorated salad tongs.

This time there were less baboons, and we hiked all the way to the base of the lake. We were accross the river from the falls (which I think are technically in Zimbabwe), but the churning water was fierce, and we believed what we had read about 9 milion litres of water being tossed over the falls every second! Above us was a bridge, which was used for bungy jumping Watching was dramatic enough, we didn't feel at all sorry that our trip didn't leave time for that...

We dipped our toes in the angry lake, and looked up at the walls of the canyon, and when a bunch of other hikers scrambled over the rocks (I forgot to mention that the top of the trail consists of around 300 irregular stone steps, the middle part of a middy forest path, and the bottom section of giant boulders, peppered with signs warning to 'watch for falling rocks'. As if we could protect ourself if we saw any!) we headed back to the top.

We filled our water bottles at the hotel bar and jumped into the pool, and then took a cab into Livingstone, to the bus. I had wanted to look at the Livingstone market, but when the taxi drive asked us: "Do you really need more curios" I decided that he was probably correct. That comment is another example of how culturally the Zambians differ from other Africans we had met. Anothre example is how at the front desk of the hotel, I was admiring one of the receptionist's tribal costumes. Sis said that it would probably look good on me. The receptionist looked me u pand looked me down and announced loudly: "Well, this would never fit you!"

It was a good thing we arrived at the bus so early (12:50, for a 2:30 bus) because the crowds were already gathering to board the bus. While sister went in search of ice cream, I asked the employee if I could get on first to get seats for my sister and I. He said that I could, in exchange for a cigarette. So, I dumped our bags on our seats, and bought him a cigarette (costing 100 Kwachas, or 10 cents). I was feeling pretty good about my seat-snagging, when the man suddenly became a pest. I bought a newspsper, and he grabbed it, read it, and then gave it to his friend to read. I bought sister a banana, and he grabbed it as soon as I paid and we actually had to fight for it (I won) because he said that I should have bought it for him. Then I bought a wooden monkey and he grabbed it and started trotting it accross my bosoms. Sigh. They were good seats, so I thought I would just let it go. However, when we were sitting on the bus and I had the monkey in my lap and he came a grabbed it, making sure he copped a lap-feel, sister had enough and exploded at him. What a protective sister I have :) (I figured I would just leave things, as the bus was about to leave and he was not going to be on it, and it was not big deal, just an annoyance of travelling. I hadn't counted on my sister though!! Oh, and don't stress out, mum! They are just bosoms!)

The bus ride bas was supposed to be an express and take 4.5 hours. It took over 6, and involved the blaring of "The Last Boy Scout", a really horrible movie from 1996. We arrived at the Lusaka station in the dark, and this time it was I who saved my sis and I! I asked the nice Indian boys sitting in the seat accross from us if we could share a cab with them. Well, no only did they have a hote shuttle waiting, but their hotel shuttle drove us to our hotel door. How nice! There were certainly taxis we could had taken, but the drives were advertising their services by thrusting the sharp end of a key at our faces and yelling 'Taxi! taxi!'

We were very happy to be back at the hotel, and our bags, and even my roses (from the concert) were still intact. They upgraded our room, and we ordered really awful pizza and then went to bed.

It is Monday afternoon, and I have been spending most of the day typing posts, and then lunching with my sis. Tomorrow we go back to Pretoria, and tomorrow night I leave for Canada. I can't imagine being in St. Albert right now, on this sunny day in 3rd-world Lusaka. Sis and I still have some clothes and 2 dollies to give away, and after she is done work we are going to walk around until we see someone who needs them...

Victoria Falls - One Natural Wonder down...

We got off the bus and sister immediately got in a fight with the man in the return-ticket booth. We wanted to have our tickets for the return the bus the next day (ew!) so we would not be stand-by passengers. On the wall of the ticket hut the bus times were written, and it was stated that the last bus left at 14:00. We asked the man to confirm the time of the bus and he said 14:30. Sis asked him if he was certain of this, as the time on the hut was different. The man became very angry and yelled at us that he had TOLD us when the bus was leaving and why were we questioning him and of course he knows his job etc. etc. (Actually the bus left at 1:45 the next day. The LAST bus).

We were very happy to hop in a cab and drive to our hotel. On the way we passed shabby-looking lodges and guesthouses. In Livingstone there are 2 resorts - the 5-star Royal Livingston Resort, and the 3-star Zambizi Sun hotel (ugh, I was just hit by That Odor - in walks some workmen). As the Intercon in Lusaka was considered to be 4- or 5- star, we weren't so sure about the 3-star hotel. Also, on Expedia, the price had been listed as $550.00/night USD (!). However, as residents of Zambia we were entitled to the local rate (well, we had resided there for almost an entire week) and it only cost us $150.00 USD.

The hotel was wonderful. It was decorated so nicely, and all the staff wore Tribal-style African uniforms. Even the security guards has zebra-striped material on the pockets of their Jackets. Everyone was clean, and everyone was attractive. (In case I have not mentioned this yet, although making a racial generalization is a dangerous thing, Zambians are gorgeous. I have not seen one ugly Zambian. Not one. If I ever come to Africa to adopt a child, I am coming to Zambia, absolutely). The hotel was set in a national park, and there were game (maybe Impalas) wandering the grounds, and a bird hide, and a lake which had "beware of crocodile" signs set all around it (which are good igns to heed, as an American was eaten by a Croc on the Limpopo river in South Africa just last week). The pool was blue and clean. There was a pool-side bar and a lunch buffet was being set up, and the staff was so nice, and our room was well-decorated and so clean and everything was so lovely, especially after the bus ride! And we would get to stay here for 24 whole hours!
We ate lunch (which involved our order taking 45 minutes, and then being wrong, and cold, and then the manager being very concerned and giving us free cokes and, for the cost of our food, letting us eat from the huge - and more expensive - lunch buffet). We had sat down for lunch not in the greatest of moods, and got up full of healthy and yummy veg, and ready for adventure! We changed into adventure clothes, and walked out the hotel gate and into the Vic Falls national park (it usually costs 10$ US to enter the park, but as hotel guests everything was free! How sweet was that! So it was actually a bargain to stay at this hotel)

There were stalls selling curios, but since we had not brought any money, we only glanced at the masks and the bowls. One of the vendors saw the dusty blue visor (with a butterfly on it!) hanging from my camera strap and asked if I would trade it. Or anything else I had in my bag. Wait a minute... clothes...for goods?! We had gone to Zim and Moz and Lusaka market willing to trade clothes for goods, and here, where we had travelled with just backpacks, they wanted to trade...?!

We marched off towards the falls, cursing our packing luck. There were booths hiring umbrellasand rain ponchos, but we scorned them as being 'for tourists' and marched down the path.

All of a sudden we heard a roaring and a woosh, and were hit by a wall of spray. The waterfalls were probably 400 metres away, and we were deep in the forest, but within seconds we were dripping wet. What fun! We wrapped the camera in a plastic bag (which *I* had cleverly brought along for that very purpose), stripped down to our bathing suit tops, and skipped along the dripping path.

It was not a long path. The forest soon opened to fantastic views of the waterfall (which we saw amid thick clouds of spray and the sunscreen dripping into our eyes). It was fantastic. We crossed over a bridge which was ringed with full circles of rainbows. On one side was a leafy, rainforest-y gully, and on the other the river and the fals. We were at the top of the gully, so we looked accross to the falls, not up or down at it. It was a fantastic view, and although the Zim side of Vic falls is more popular, I was quite happy that we were on that path.

Some Zambian children on the same path asked if we would pose in a photograph with them - they were so cute, dancing in the spray from the waterfall! I have never asked to pose because of - well, I suppose because of how Western we appeared. We posed in their photograph and then of course took one of our own. When we returned to the main path we noticed two other forks. One was the hike to Boiling Point, a river at the base of the falls (Remember, we were almost at the level of the top of the falls, and this is said to be the second highest waterfall in the world), and the other was the 'photographic route', with the best picture opportunities. Despite my sister's attitude that a hike down a mountain was more important than pretty pictures, I grabbed her arm and dragged her along the photo trail. It was not a long path, and offered views of the falls without the blinding (and drenching) mists. And we did get some lovely photographs!

Back at the fork in the trail, we saw two things:

1- A gorgeous Zambian track and field team (yes, the entire team! Well, I don't know if the entire team was present, but the entire team was gorgeous. They should have a tourism campaign with Zambia=Eye Candy as their logo) who was just heading down on the hike to Boiling Point

2- A bevy of Baboons. They ran accross the road outside the enclosed park, and vaulted over the fence. In Cape Town we had pased many signs warning that Baboons attack if they think they smell sugar, so we were a bit nervous. These were huge monkeys! They ignored us, though, and were mor interested in...making more monkeys! I actually know a bit about the baboon mating ritual from a book I read when I was 13... who knew it would come in handy! I explained to a group of horified Californians that the lady baboons get red and swelled when they go into heat, etc. etc. I was a baboon expert for about 5 seconds! Then a baboon ran near to them and they scattered.

Sis was very patient while I took photos of the apes, and soon we, too, started down the path to Boiling Point. The path was also a Baboon path, and there were plenty more picture opportunities. At one point a Baboon started to walk beside my sister, who didn't even notice at first... The babies were so cute, they looked almost like (ugly) humans....

The sun fell lower as we hiked, and soon the day was shadowy and we were surrounded by mosquitos. Victoria Falls is a Malarial Zone. We did not reach Boiling Point, but turned back. Sister was once again very patient while her companion (me!) puffed my way up the path. I did manage to speed up when the Zambian track team came jogging past, up the stone steps. Like a greyhound race with a rabbit, I guess....

Back at the hotel we went for a swim, and tried to order some poolside Ice Cream. We tried. At first we were told that they only had milkshakes and to bring us ice cream the waiter would have to get special permission. Then a few minutes later another waiter approached our deck chairs and asked if we wanted ice cream. We told him that we didn't think we were allowed to order ice cream, and he responded that of course we could, and that the other waiter probably just wanted to get off his shift early. Forty-five minutes passed (we could see the fridge where the ice cream was kept) and we didn't get any ice cream. Finally we flagged down another waiter (well, 'flagged down' is not entirely accurate. He came over to our chairs to flirt with us and we asked him about the ice cream) and he told our waiter and eventually our ice cream came.

Being two cute girls meant that he gave us double the ice cream we had ordered. Unfortunately, being cute did not make him come back with the bill, and we had to go to the bar, who told us that we could not pay for our ice cream because he had gotten it from the restaurant (this was not true, we could see it in the bar fridge) bla bla and it would have to be billed through the restaurant. Ice cream had already taken over an hour, so we told him to prepare a bill and that we would come back and sign it, and we did not care where it was printed. Everything is always such a pain! In the end they only charged us $2 (it was supposed to be $3). Maybe this story isn't so interesting, but it was sure frustrating, though the ice cream was yummy!

After Ice Cream we needed dinner, and we went to a steakhouse on the hotel property, and then to the hotel bar for a drink. They made us a Guava juice with crushed ice and a hippo stir-stick. Everything tastes better with a white hippo stirring it!

What a day that was, and we still had all of Sunday morning before we had to get on the horrible bus again!

Two Girls on a Bus

Our wake-up call came at 4:45 the next morning, and we checked out (which invilved calling the porter, explaining that we were in a big hurry, waiting almost 15 minutes, dragging our bags down to the hotel lobby ourselves, and then being met by the porter, who protested that he was just on his way up that moment) and asked the hotel to call us a cab. We had been warned (a warning which we had obviously chosen to disregard the day before) not to catch cabs on the street, and to only use vehicles that were 'official' taxis and which would be approved of and provided by our hotel.

The taxi which pulled up (we could hear it before we could see it) was in no form an official taxi. It creaked (the driver told us that it was the fan belt, which just had to warm up, but it never did stop creaking, so who knows). There were seat belts. It was filthy and the car was falling apart and the front seat did not stand upright and it did not say 'taxi' on it and it was not blue and it was in all ways dodgy. A couple of girls travelling alone have to be careful, at 5:00 in the morning...so we objected, and were told by the hotel staff that it was the night taxi. They refused to call another taxi, despite our arguments, and we told the drive that we would not pay the full fare for a nasty taxi. We did not like the situation, but we rode to the bus station in the dodgy taxi. The drive had obviously not understood that he would recieve 5000 Kwachas less, and he yelled and sputtered at us until we disappeared into the crowd.

At 5:10 am the bus station (there was not bustation really, it was just an enclosed batch of buses and huts) was like another world. There were bars and a casino, and over 200 people waiting for buses, or perhaps living or squatting there. People kept trying to push (actually PUSH) us onto THEIR buses to Lusaka. Never mind that we had tickets for the Luxury line (which cost us 60 000 Kwachas, or $20USD each). We had been promised a double-decker bus, where the posh seats were on the first level, but were instead guided onto a shabby Greyhound-type bus. Although the bus was not due to leave until 6:00am, and it was only 5:15, the bus was almost full. We managed to get seats together, and just as we were sitting down, a group of 7 Chinese tourists marched on the bus and demanded that they get seats together.

In some ways I understand why they were frustrated. The deal with these buses is that if one buys one's ticket in advance, one is guaranteed good seating, with 'stand-by' passengers not being allowed on the bus until 5 minutes before it departed. The stand-by people - most of the bus - had just taken seats when they arrived, leaving very few seats on the bus, and almost none together. So, I understood the frustration, however it was so early in the morning, and we have already learned that in Africa yelling and complaining does little good. The group sat in the few seats which were left (I think 2 of them actually had to take another bus), and at 5:45 - 15 minutes early - the bus swung out of the little station.

If you have never been to Africa it is hard to understand the smell of the bus. From what I have understood, in many African cultures deodorant is scorned because it masks one's 'manly' scent. Or perhaps it is just unavailable. Being here, I have come to realize that in Canada we are a very odor-sensitive culture, but oh! The smell! It is thick and sweet and almost fuzzy and it is like being hit by a wall of odor. It permeates clothes and hair (and stuffed bunnies - poor bunny needs an airing) and we could not believe we would be surounded by this scent for 6.5 hours!

Highlights of the bus ride included:
-The 7 am stop at the fried-food restaurant, where the smell of cheap oil and fried potatoes masked our malodorous companions
-7:50 am, when we had to ask the driver to turn the blaring boy-band music down.
-The 9 am stop. The little boy in the back of the bus - one of the group of Chinese tourists - had perhaps eaten his fried potatoes too quickly? The little boy vomited all over himself, the seats, the floor, his mother, and a large wooden valise (not belonging to him or his group). The slution to that messy problem was a mop and a bucket, which were handed to the mother. We all watched as she scrubbed and mopped the mess. (and perhaps it was cruel just to watch, but there was no WAY sis or I were going to approach vomit on this nasty bus)
-9:45 am, when we had to ask the driver to turn the blaring gospel music down
-10:00 am, when the air conditioning was turned off, and when within seconds the odor of the people and the vomit settled heavily upon us.
-11:30, when we arrived! Hurrah, Livingstone!

Friday *or* Prelude to Two Gals on a Bus

It has been an interesting weekend here in Zambia for us sisters. It is Monday morning, and we much less picky about out Lusaka hotel after our weekend adventures...

On Friday, after sis finished working, we hired a taxi (which involved walking down the street until a car (which was not blue - the official taxi colour here - and had no taxi-markings) stopped and offered us his services. The driver looked nice (well, everyone in Zambia looks nice, but more about that later), so we bargained for his taxi services, and drove off to an Indian restaurant which had been recommended to us by staff at the high comission.

The restaurant was not easy to find, and the taxi driver would not listen to us, who kept calling his attention to the well-marked restaurant signes posted on the road. Finally we pulled into the parking lot of the restaurant, which had just opened for lunch. There were at least two dozen staff members milling about - chatting, ironing linen - and two customers. The restaurant seemed clean, and the food was not horrible, but living in the baseboard of the maroon-coloured wall beside our table was a colony of cockroaches, who kept climbing out of the baseboard and up the wall. Neither sis nor I will be craving Indian food for a the next while...

Our driver was 30 minutes late to pick us up after lunch, but when he finally arrived we stopped at a grocery store to buy snacks for the next day, and then headed to Norwood market. This market consisted of shacks tumbling against one another - there were barber shops, telephone shops, a pool hall, restaurants, and of course curio shops, which were often also tailor shops. The goods offered were far more expensive than in Zimbabwe, and the same wooden hippo that cost 3$ in Harare, was easily 30$ here. We did not buy any African crafts, however (I just killed a mosquito who was attacking me. My blood is all over the wall of the High Comission now, from the bug's stomach. Ew!) we did stop at a tailor's booth. After a bit of bargaining we settled on 8000 Kwachas for my pants to be pressed and hand-shortened (they had been sis' pants until that morning, and were extremely long on me). That is 2.50$, and they did a lovely job. The task would take about 15 minutes, we were told (actually, it took about 30), and I was given an African wrap to wear until the pants were shortened.


Now, there have been cultural differences in all of the places we have visited. In South Africa, in general, people are wary towayds foreigners. In Zimbabwe, our hotel was so fancy, that the people we spoke with were very formal to us. In Mozambique, the attitude was more Spanish - open, helpful and effusive. In Zambia, in casual conversations with strangers, we have sometimes found people to be very frank, verging on what in Canadian culture, would be considered rudeness. For example, when the woman was helping me into the wrap, she wound it around me a few times, poked at it a bit, and announced, LOUDLY: "You have a very big waist! Most people, I would just be able to tie this but your waist is just SO big!" Cry! First: My waist is NOT so big. Secondly: The shape of many local women involves a tiny waist and larger hips. Oh well, if a bit of humiliation is what it takes for the services of a cheap tailor, who am I to argue?

We looked at a Jewelry store and confirmed our Victoria Falls reservation, and then we decided to head back to the hotel for an evening in - it was a hot day and we were tired, we felt a bit nasty from the Indian restaurant experience, and the cab driver was flirting with me whenever sis turned her back. He wanted my email address. Was I married? Did I have a boyfriend? He wanted to email me, and then he told me that he can't actually write. He wanted to know about how single I was and then about my life in Canada. There was no way I was going to give him my email address. It was getting annoying! We went for a swim at the hotel and packed up our bags, and went to sleep really early, as we had to catch a bus before the dawn...

Yesterday *or* The longest Day Ever

My bag, with the four masks and shoes and clothes, was slightly overweight for a carry-on. Although the businessmen were allowed to carry laptops and overnight bags and suits, the woman at the counter forced me to check my bag. I objected to her that I had a concert in the evening and would need my dress and my shoes and the masks would be broken... In the end the bag was checked with a promise that someone would bring it to me in Johannesburg. I carried the masks.


In Jo'Burg no-one brought my my bags. By the time I finished getting my boarding pass from the South African Airways transfer desk everyone from Aero Linhas Mozambique had left. I had no choice but to go through immigration (which filled up another page in the passport - I have had it for a month now and already it is half full - not fair! It is supposed to last until 2011) and fech my bag in the carousel


picked up my bag, stuffed the masks back inside, and made a quick trip to the WC. Then I noticed that - oh, NO - the boarding pass was missing. By that time I had cleared customs. No-one would let me go back into the restricted area and look for it. No-one was helping me at all. I had a few hours, but I didn't want to buy another ticket, which was what I was being told I would have to do. So, I did what any brave girl does in a time of peril. A few sniffs, and I burst into dramatic and useful tears!


...And can you believe it? People became healpful. I know it isn't quite right to use years as a weapon, but all I have to do is think of buying another ticket instead of putting the money towards the student loan and I get a bit sniffly... Although I had to sit into the office with the shift superfisor, who had a cold and spent the whole time playing with a box of bullet casings which had been confiscated from a game hunter and talking about how her cold medicine made her feel like she was on pot, and isn't pot great (this is AIRPORT SECURITY), in the end someone turned in my boarding pass (which apparently never happens at this airport), and I sniffed once more and blew my nose dramatically and skipped out of the office and through security (leaving the poor UN delegate whose passport had been lost and whose plane was leaving in 10 minutes) behind.


After that it was on to Lusaka! The armoured convoy was waiting for me at the airport. A young guy I had been talking to in the passport line was worried that I would not be okay getting to my hotel, but when he saw me flanked by security guards with machine guns I assume he felt a lot better about my capacity to care for myself.


Sis met me at the hotel, and we left for a final rehearsal with the pianist. It was as if the first rehearsal hadn't even happened! We spent almost 2 hours going over everything again and again, lwaving us just 20 minutes to prepare for the concert. We first had to put the pianist's music in order (the music society woman looked at us snootily when we arrived and informed us that the pianist did not have her music in the correct order. I replied that I had given her the order 3 days before ad that frankly was not my problem. And then she promptly disappeared. The pianist was a wreck at the end of the rehearsal, so while Sis gave me an up-do at the hotel, I arranged the music. Back at the venue I tried to cover up the face-bites (ew), and threw on my dress, and...


...Another wonderful concert! The news came and taped a segment of the concert, so I assume we will be on television tonight. There was a banner announcing the concert (which I am trying to get to bring home), and a beautiful, professionally designed program. This was a more cabaret-style evening, with dinner and a concert (yum, dinner), and by the end everyone was singing along. At the end of the concert the crowd demanded that we repeat 'On My Own" from Les Miserables, and "Padam Padam". What a fun, successful evening!


Today sis and I plan to go to a market. She will be finished work any minute, and it is a beautiful day. Tomorrow we are taking a bus to Victora Falls (usually people fly, but the bus costs a fraction of the price, and we will be able to see the counry a bit)

What a wonderful adventure!

Mapoto, Mozambique

Although flying to Maputo would have only taken an hour from Zimbabwe (flying east), Southern Africa is not often dictated by convenience, and I flew instead south to Johannesburg, sat in the airport for five hours, and then flew back north to Maputo. The five hours were spent checking my email in the smokers' lounge (although it was smoky, the internet was free, while in other parts of the airport it was a expensive as one would expect it to be in an airport). I also disovered a sinful hummus veg wrap (in sweet plum sauce - yum!) in the airport restaurant, and sat and watched the airplanes take off and land.

When I arrived in Maputo, there was a driver and a local staff member at the airport, and they drove me to my hotel. Now, Maputo might be a poor city in a very poor country, but it is ON THE SEA. I love the sea! Everything is so free and so open and everything is cheerier. The sea in this case was the Indian Ocean, and unlike South Africa, which had been a colony of Britain, Mozambique had been initialy conquered by the Portuguese, and the main language was, even now, Portuguese.

I was to stay at the hotel Polana, Maputo's most luxurious hotel (which costs about as much as a mid-range Holiday Inn in Canada). This hotel was in post Portuguese style, with fruity drinks and hot towels presented to me when I checked in. My room was darling, with stone floors and local art, and had a balcony and a sea view.

What a hotel!:

"The Polana’s perfect location gives guests a panoramic view of the Bay of Maputo from virtually anywhere in the lush, landscaped gardens, the ideal place for a gentle stroll or a game of chess under the deep shade of the great rubber tree. The magnificent swimming-pool is inviting after a game of tennis or a tour down-town, a shimmering expanse of cool blue water dreaming in the sun. The Polana has everything to pamper and perk up the weary traveler in the Polana Gym, with its steam room, gymnasium and aerobics classes on site. Some of the Hotel’s “millennium musts” include a superb gym, stylish international and piquant local cuisine, a state of the art conference centre and banqueting suite, a full range of sporting activities, a vibrant entertainment schedule, a lavish casino, an art gallery, a colourful selection of bars, exquisite rose gardens, lush tropical grounds and what must be one of the most panoramically luxuriant swimming pools in Africa."

The swimming pool WAS 'panoramically luxuriant!' Guests could swim there at any time, and after my concert the next day I had a cool moonlight swim...

On the afternoon that I arrived I had a rehearsal with Geoff, my accompanist. The rehearsal was fine, but his tales of near-death Malerial experiences were not. Mosquitos love me! They do! The second I arrived back at the hotel I decided to get some Malaria pills.

(ironically enough, earlier in the day I had wandered through the drugstore in the Johannesburg airport, and wondered if I should purchase some Malaria pills. I asked the pharmacist, who said that I would need a perscription to get them. A man waiting at the cashier's desk announced that he was a doctor, and started writing me a script for the pills. I still wasn't sure I wanted to spend 17$ on pills I would not need and would need to take for over a month. After all, I was only in Maputo for 2 days! I politely declined the doctor's offer)

The hotel staff advised me to visit a near-by all-night dispensary (it was night, and not the safest area), so I ventured out in to the hotel courtyard to consider my transportation options.. There were official taxis, and little open 'banana-taxies'. I hired a cute yellow banana-taxi, and we putt-putted to the pharmacy. Getting the medicine was a good thing. I received two bites on my legs, one bite on my arm, which has swelled and is burning, while I type, three bites on my cheeks (disfigured for the pictures), and one on my left eyelid. I HOPE the quinine does its job...

There were a few very interesting things about Maputo:

I can function with a few words in Portuguese and with a mix of French, Spanish and Italian I can understand what is being said. (well, that is maybe just an interesting thing about *me*... still, I am impressed)

The local crafts consist of jewellery and boxes made of 'ebon wood', sandelwood, malachite, and ivory (I bought some necklaces, braceletes, and tribal masks - the first happy tribal masks I had seen). Things cost more than Zim. Although, as I woalked back from the market to the hotel, I was followed by hawkers. When I screeched at them to leave me be the prices went down. When I went into a grocery store and hid behind the sceurity guard for awhile, they waited outside for me, and the prices went down. After I spent all of my Medicais (prenounced Medi-cash), they still followed me. It took the pitching of a good-sized fit to rid myself of the last one. By that time the hotel was in sight, anyway...

There is really only one nice hotel in Maputo, and it was wierd to see a goold amount of my airplane companions sitting on the verandah at the hotel. It is a very small city in that way...

The morning of the concert, the embassy driver took me to a craft hut, with handmade everything. I found the neatest brown necklace, with a funky pendant and dangling fish and banabas. They swore to the drive that it was made out of clay. I suspected plastic, but the light was dim and I did not want to be the ignorant foreigner. In the light it was obvious that I had been cheated, and the necklace was badly-painted plastic beads. Still, it is very glam and I adore it (and if anyone asks me I will swear that it is clay!)

The concert itself was a great success (again!) There was a local summit, with a visiting Canadian senator and a bunch of visiting MPs, and they were all guests at the concert. Also there were ambassadors and high comissioners from the different high comissions, and they all throughly enjoyed the music. (I enjoyed the concert, and also the adorable mousie who ran accross the stage right before the concert started)

Yesterday morning at 5:30 I caught the hotel shuttle, and arrived at the airport for a helish trip back to Lusaka (via Jo'Burg)

One Day in Lusaka - Babies and Cockroaches

Early the next morning sis and I met the driver, and flew on Air Zimbabwe (scary prop jet) to Lusaka, Zambia. Although we arrived, most of our bags did not. The bags which did make it were battered, and there was a big piece of cardboard sticking out from my duffel bag (Interesting how even after getting rid of the movie and all the dollies and clothes we still had bulging bags. Girls have to shop, after all...)


As we had to wait for the driver, we hung around the baggage carrell until the next flight came in from Zim, and luckily our luggage was on it (some bags did not make that flight either and would arrive the next day). I was only staying in Lusaka (the main city in Zambia) until the next day, but sis was working there all week. We met the driver, who was, to our surprise, driving in a sort of convoy.


We were told that in December this driver had been attacked driving a diplomat and her family home from the airport, and although she and her child had managed to escape, the driver had been kidnapped and beaten, and left for dead. THIS driver, the man in our car! Wow. The way things work now is that there is a heavily-armed security vehicle on either side of the official car, and they accompany all of the drivers from the airport.


Sis and I weren't so sure what to think of all this - we had heard that Lusaka was relatively safe (especially compared to South Africa) and we were interested to see what we would find...


What we did find was an Interncontinental hotel that was less than adequete! What we found was a smoky room (when we had requested a non-smoky room) and when we decided to pay to be upgraded to a non-smoking room on a better floor, and opened the book of amenities, we found a cockroach, just LYING in wait for us. Not to be spoiled, but after Harare, this was a major shock. We decided to try to think positively, and sis went to work for a couple hours (we were very close to the High Comission) and I prepared for my rehearsal, which was to be heald that evening.


THE REHEARSAL


This event well deserves a section of its own. It makes me stressed even to write about it, but here goes:


I had been told that at 7pm a member of the local music society would meet me at the hotel with the pianist and a rehearsal venue. At 7:15 she had arrived, with the news that unfortunately the pianist was late and as her babysitter had cancelled she would be playing with her baby strapped to her back.


The baby was indeed strapped to her back - lashed on with a piece of cloth. The cranky baby, who needed breastfeeding twice and who ultimately ended the rehearsal because she wouldn't stop screaming. There was in fact a babysitter with her, who didn't do much to quite the baby, but who played the piano badly during the breastfeeding. The hotel refused to provied a room for the rehearsal. They wheeled the grand piano into the corridor, which was often filled by guests passing through to the parking lot. There was musak playing loudly through the speakers. Although we asked the manager to turn it down, we were informed that it was being piped all over the hotel and to turn it down would inconvenience the other hotel guests. (Poor other hotel guests - deprived of musak for an hour).


So we practised, or tried to. For two hours. The music society lady disappeared and te baby's screams bounced around the corridor, competing with the blaring muzak, and the voices of the other hotel guests and the 4 security guards who had gathered to listen. Also the pianist didn't speak English (she was from Japan), and apologised every time she hit a wrong note, which was about every three seconds. I was so patient. I need praise for not-pitching-a-fit!


After the wretched rehearsal (I don't think she understood a word I said about tempos or anything, and I forgot to mention that after breastfeeding the baby sat on the pianist's lap and banged the piano with her angry little fists...and I understand that it is extremely commendable to play ANYTING on the piano while juggling a fussy baby. HOWEVER.) we went for dinner, which was an undercooked pizza missing half of the toppings and hosting more than our gourmet-fest in Zim.


I didn't feel wonderful about leaving my sis at this horrible hotel, but the next morning I hopped the 6am shuttle back to the airport. I was going to Maputo, Mozambique!

Harare, Zimbabwe

It has certainly been a very strange couple of days for sister and I! Thursday night was the "Semaine de la Francophonie" concert in Pretoria - I was the primary artist, with a local music group singing ensemble pieces and duets. There was a fantastic cocktail party preceeding the concert, with Thai Chicken and a Beefy roast. Most of the guests were Ambassadors and other Diplomats, and we had a really good time talking to all of the dignitaries. The concert was a fantastic success, and everyone was well pleased with the evening.

On Thursday morning, After the concert in Pretoria, sis and I packed (actually re-packed. WE had been packing and re-packing for days, trying to somehow make everything fit) our bags, and early the next morning we hugged little Kefira-dog goodbye (Sis' maid was staying in her house to dog-sit, and she arrived just as we were leaving. So much for a tearful dog-parting! The little mutt ran right to her and begged to be cuddled, ignoring us completely!) and headed out to the airport (we weren't even late this time!). We had over double the allowed weight, as sis had to bring all her work files (20kg) and I had agreed to transport a box of film reels to be screened in Harare (33kg). Also we had two bags of (really nice!) clothes and a huge bag of dollies to give away, and our own clothes, of course, and lots of shoes, and music and ballgowns...

When we arrived at the airport we were feling pretty good about this flight. For once we were early, we were at the correct terminal, and although we were not flying business class, we were allowed to use their line to check in. That is, we COULD have used their line had we only remembered our tickets. Not fair! We had brought my ticket to Lusaka and to Mozambique and the other ticket to Lusaka, and all we had forgotten was this, the first leg of our journey.

With the help of the kindly SAA (South African Airlines) employee, sis managed to contact the driver and send him back to her house, and she managed to describe the ticket to her maid, who found it and had it ready for the driver. I felt confident that we would get onto the flight - after all, isn't there always SOME emergency when we go the the airport? (for example: British Airways food strike, lost passport, pasport left in rubbish bin 4 hours away, stolen camera card, being stuck in downtown Manhattan in a show storm on the way to Newark, and then again on the way to JFK...) This was a minor emergency. We would make it.

While we waited for the driver to arrive with our tickets, we dealt with our luggage problem. First I put on all the clothes that I could fit - shirt over shirt, skirt over skirt, layers and layers, much to the amusement of the passing business class travellers. After standing aroud like that for awhile, we decided that customs (who is, like most of the Zimbabwe government, known to be corrupt) might question layers and layers of clothes. We repacked them all, and paid overage for the files and the movie (it might just have been easier to rent a DVD), checked our bags, and waited for the driver, who arrived just as the gate was closing.

We ran through security and were so relieved when we boarded the aeroplane. We barely complaned when sis' "low fat" meal consisted of a bun slathered with butter and filled with cheese, and when my "asian veg" meal consisted of rotting cucumber and one human hair. Yum yum!

As soon as we stepped off the aeroplane in Zimbabwe we could feel the change in the atmosphere. Yes, the sun felt hotter and the people look and spoke differently, but there was something almost sinister about the place...

Now, before we had left Pretoria I had inquired about the cost of purchasing a single-entry tourist visa to Zimbabwe, and had been told that I would have to pay $30.00 USD at the border. However, when I arrived and pulled out my $30.00, I was curtly informned that since Canada charged people from Zim $60.00 US to enter our country, the charge to enter their country had changed. Effective this week.

It all sounded very suspect, and when we said that we would like to phone the Canadian High Commission to verify that this was a vaid charge, the lady became very, very angry. In the end, we paid the amount and entered the bast and worst country we had ever seen. Nothing we experienced was ordinary. Things were either very wonderful or very terrible.

Although we had arrived in Zimbabwe safely, unfortunately our luggage (for whose transport we had paid over $400 Canadian) had not. The airplane had been too heavy. Our luggage would come eventually. Maybe. And we would have to come back to the airport to pick it up, and keep calling the airport to see if it arrived.


Waiting for us on the other side of customs was a local staff member of the Canadian embassy in Harare, and one of the drivers from the embassy. The driver, we were told, was ours to use for the duration of our visit. He was fantastic. He took us everywhere, and was very patient holding things we had bought in markets.

The local staff member was fantastic. She handed us an envelope with 21 millions dollars in it. Sure, it was worth just over $200 US, but who cares. I was a millionnaire! She took us to our hotel - the Meilkes hotel, which is the fanciest in Harare. Now, sister and I did not realize exactly how much things cost at first, and ate lunch in the cheaper hotel restaurant. Final cost for our lunch (which was not that good) was 1 200 000 Zim dollars. $12.00 USD.
After lunch our driver took us to a market, where we bargained for tapistries and wooden statues, and stone statues, and the cutest necklace made out of seeds (which cost about 30 cents!). My sister is a fantastic bargainer.

As I had a rehearsal for the concert later in the evening, we grabbed some second-rate bruschetta at a cute-looking restaurant, and went to the hall. We spent the evening after the rehearsal looking at all the great things we bought.

On Saturday we had a number of things that we wanted to do. We started the morning by going to two markets in the high-density area. (One of the strangest things about visiting Africa is the lingo. Basically, in South Africa, 'black slum' is called a township. In Zimbabwe, it is called a high-density area, because of the high density of people there.) The first market was mostly a clothes market, but it had a few 'curios' (i.e.: souveniers) Around this market a year before had been shacks and unofficial market stalls, and was known as the best place for shopping. However, last May the army 'cleaned up' the city by bulldozing all of the shacks, and confiscating all of the 'illegal' goods for sale. Poor people, how terrible to lose your hose and your only livelihood within hours. Also, the people who had been drived out were often families headed by 12-year olds, as the parents had did of AIDS, leaving children without an adult to care for them.

Our driver did not think it would be safe to park outside of the second market (car theft is a huge business in Zimbabwe), so we drove to the nearby police station and asked the guard if it would be possible to park there. This was not merely a police station. The area was a fencedin community of houses and gardens, for the families of the policemen to stay. The lush gardens and larger dwelling could be quite clearly from outside the compound, and most likely ensure that there will be no shortage of policemen in this area. The air smelled of rotting fruit and meat, and of something else vile. For a long while there had been no garbage pick-up in the high-density area, and there was a water shortage, which led to a sewage problem...

While our driver was talking to the policemen, sister and I visited the dank hole-in-the-ground toilet provided for the police force. Ugh! When we rejoined our drive, a lady officer sternly informed us that we would ba allowed to park the embassy vehicle and to browse in the market (which is, of course, a public market), but we were to take no pictures or video. (We later learned that there was a meeting of the official opposition party that day, and that very likely we were suspect - two white girls going to recruit people for the opposition (??)). We assured the officer that of COURSE we had no intention of making a photographic record of anything that we saw (ha HA - we had already snapped photos out the car windows!) and we were allowed to leave the compound and pick our way through the litter and glass and stones on the path to the market. (We actually behaved and didn't take any pictures, since it was very likely that we were being followed)

So much shopping! A stone statues was around 1$. Beaded flowers were less than that. Baskets were $1.50. There was not a large selection of different items (1200 stone elephants later, none of them look that appealing), but we certainly did get some good buys! When we looked at one thing word went around that we might be interested in a basket or in a wooden giraffe, and that was the first thing shown to us at the next booth... We bargained very admirably, but when I found the perfect beaded necklace to match the dress I was wearing, I was introduced to 'granny', the owner of the booth. Who can bargain with granny! She looked hurt when I offered her a lower price for her items, so I overpaid and bought a necklace of black and red seeds for almost full proce: 80 000. Granny was pleased, and so was I (it was around .40 in the end...). I had to keep reminding sis that the difference she was haggling about was usually from .02-.05 cents, and theat it was okay to pay a couple of pennies more if she really wanted whatever she was haggling about. Oh, the drama!

On the way back to the car, we stopped at a Mobil gas station to get cold drinks. The driver warned us that we may not find anything there. Well, he wasn't kidding! There were a few orange-colored drinks and some bread, a few magazines behind the counter. Otherwise the store was entirely empty! Supplies are not a priority when delivered to the high-density areas....
Sis and I had brought with us over 100 pieces of clothing, and around 60 dollies to give away. we had distributed a few of them in Pretoria, but had brought most of them to Zim with us. We decided that the best way to do this would be to leave town and visit a rural orphanage, which needed any support it could get.

I can't write how we got there or any details about that, but basically we left the official vehicle and figured out our own transportation. Apparently foreign vehicles cannot go further than 40kms out of Harare (there was a roadblock) without official permission from the Zim government. They would not want a Canadian diplomat seeing conditions outside of the city, so we had to get there unofficially.

We drove for 2.5 hours, past farms which only a few years before had been thriving but which had now, under their new ownership, had fallen into ruin (The president allowed 'veterens' to confiscate farms from white farmers. The new owners did not know how to run a farm, and the country has been in decline ever since. Hundreds of farms. There are paper shortages and oil and bread shortages, and soap shortages because when the new 'farmers' slaughtered the cows they had acquired, they did not save the fat for tallow). The orphanage was bordered by a leprosy colony. Yes, leprosy, oops-my-nose-just-fell-leprosy. I had thought that was CURED. Like smallpox...
We turned into the orphanage and dozens of children came running up the the car, singing and jumping. They were so excited to see us! It took a little longer to win over the nuns there, whom I think expected that we were two white girls who wanted to give out a doll or two and have a photo op with the little brown orphans. By the end of the visit we wree all good friends, though!
We went from one children's house to another and all of the children lined up by their beds, and I chose the dollie I thought they would like the most. The kids were so darling, stroking the fur of the dolls (all except the little boy who received a plastic lizard-monster. he kept running around making it bite the other kids). The nuns took us to the storeroom where they keep donated clothes. When the room is full they distribute it to their children, and to the surounding communities. They had a newly-opened bakery, where they baked bread to sell and for the children, and they had cows for milk and cheese.


The Canadian embassy in Harare had funded a dam project, and they took us to see the dam. The children all followed, clutching and waving their new dolls. If we let our hands swing freely they were grabbed by the little children, and we took turns carrying them and hugging them, and they kissed our arms and hands. They were just so starved for love! On the path to the dam we passed a simple little yard, filled with simple white crosses - graves for the orphan children.
Most of the children at that orphanage are AIDS orphans, who are themselves HIV-positive. Their mothers had died and their fathers had left them with the nuns, or often all of their families had died. One little girl was the baby of a former orphan, who had gone to university and had reappeared one day to leave her baby. Another little boy had been discovered in a hole full of human sewage. When he was pulled out of the muck he was so covered in mess and feces that they thought at first that he was a puppy. We saw a 7-year old who looked like a 2-year-old, and a tiny wrinkled baby whose mother had died at birth (and whose father left the hotel without leaving his name or address), leaving him with nowhere else to go.

The children were bright and intelligent, and just starved for affection. When we picked the smaller ones up they knew how to wrap their legs around our hips (whish were not big enough to hold the children) and they nuzzled us and touched our face and our clothes. When we walked and let our arms dangled we were clutched by a bevy of little hands. They kissed our hands and our arms, and played with our fingers. I wanted one. Or two! Or eight!
The dam was a wonderful initiative on behalf of the Canadian government. The water shortages would no longer affect the orphans, or the neighbouring villages, as the trapped water had formed a clean, new lake. There were even fish! What a great contry we have sometimes :)
We also toured the infirmary, which offers health services to the community and to the children living there. Sis and I had brought some packs of rehydration fluid we had been given in the hospital in Cape Town when we were sick and pukey, and the nurse happily added it to her cabinet.
We took pictures of the children with their new dolls (they loved to pose and then look at themselves on the back of the camera) and then drove back towards Harare. We stopped by the side of the road to buy Guavas (.30 for 10) and Tomatoes (.20 for 10) from the farmers. (Organic produce, as there was no money for chemicals)
We decided that since we were tired we would go for a swim and then splurge and eat at the hotel restaurant. We were hot and dusty after laying with children and riding so long in the car, and the rooftop pool was fantastic. Unfortunately, it was also shallower than we were told and I scraped my knee and my toes (ow!) We noticed a spa sign beside the pool. The prices were... wel, YIKES! Keep reading and you'll see...
After a short swim (it was an open rooftop pool and there was lightening above) we dressed up and headed to the restaurant.
There was a live Jazz trio and it was all very fancy. I sang a few songs with the band, just for fun, and then we sat down to our 3-course meal.
We ate: Garlic mushrooms in poppadems
A carafe and then another cup of wine
Peppercorn beef flambe (hurrah, fire!)
Potato croquettes
Vegetables
Crepes Suzettes with Ice Cream (hurrah, more fire!)
Now, guess how much the evening cost (not to brag)... for both of us...
For that delicious meal...
It cost....
$18.00 (!!!!)
We rolled ourselves upstairs and into bed... soo full of beef...
***
Sis woke up early the next morning and went for a swim. By the time I climbed to the rooftop, she had already gotten two beauty treatments! We had booked the two beauticians for the entire afternoon, so I didn't feel too left out, and after a quick beauty treatment (left vague to allow for feminine mysteriousness...) we descended to the breakfast room.
The next morning we wanted to go to (gues what) another market! Unfurtunately we were out of money. Now, in Zimbabwe there is the OFFICIAL rate (around 90 000:1 USD) and the UNOFFICIAL rate (210 000:1 USD). Now, I am not saying we did anything unofficial, because we did not do that, but for a traveller's information, exchanging money illegally, one needs to have a contact. That contact has to call someone they know who will exchange US dollars at the unofficial rate, and who might then pick up the contact at, say, a street corner. The contact will need something (like, say, a tilley hat) to hold the stacks of cash, and will climb into the car wearing the Tilley hat, (then the car will drive away mysteriously,) and who will climb out of the car holding the Tilley hat. Just for information's sake, of course...

The market consisted of a lot of the same stalls of the first market we went to. Instead of being in a sketchy area, though, on Sunday morning all of the stalls move to the parking lot of a mini-mall. Sis was in top bargaining form. An example:
Stall Guy: So, would you like some lovely beaded roses?
W: How much?
SG: Only 800 000 Zim Dollars.
W: !! Ack! TOO much! You are trying to take advantage of me because I am a foreigner!
SG: No, no, I will give you a good price
W: Of course. Well, how about 300 000?
SG: !! Stall rentals are expensive, Miss! I have to make a living!
W: It is a slow day, you don't have any customers, and I am offering you a good sale. 300 000.
SG: How about 600 000?
W: I prefer 300 000.
SG: Please, lady. I work so hard...
Me: OOOH! Let's get two!
W: (giving me a dirty look) Okay, for two then. 300 000.
SG: !!!!
W: Well, now you are selling multiples, and you said would give us a deal...
**much bargaining later***
W: Okay. 800 000 for three roses, and a free beaded hot pepper keychain for my sister.
Me: (clutching the coveted hot pepper keychain) :) :) :)
SG: Please, miss, please. 860 000.
W: Okay, it's a deal. 800 000.
Me: *clutching pile of money hopefully*
SG: 860 000
W: 800 000
SG:... Okay. Okay. 800 000.
W: Thank you :)
Me: HURRAH!!

After the market, laden with the usual african goods and two semi-precious citrine stones (they are gorgeous!), we returned to the hotel. There were still a few hours before the concert, but it was time for the spa! Sis got a mani and a pedi (french tips, though they didn't not do a very good job), an hour massage, a cleansing and waxing. I got toes and fingernails polished and a cleanse (makes skin happy), much waxing and an hour massage. Grand total for ALL of that for BOTH of us:
...
...
$24.00 !!!
Considering that an hour massage in Canada costs around $80.00 without a tip, that was insanely cheap!

One of the beauticians was the boss, and after she finished with us sis and I asked the employee about life in Zim. Life in Zim is not easy. Salaries are around 1.3 million a month (We had spent 4 million on dinner the night before. 1 million is $4.60). Toilet paper costs 1.2 million for 12 rolls. School fees are 1 million a month for public school. (We gave some food to a group of boys who attend school in the mornings and then beg in the afternoon so that they can afford their school fees). Shoes are 1.2 million for a child, and he needs shoes to go to school. She was supporting her son and her sister in law and HER three children on her 1.3 million a month. No fathers in the picture, and she is lucky, as 60% of the population is unemployed.
We tipped her 5$ US, for 4 hours of treatment (no WONDER when we asked them if they could stay past closing time to give massages they readily agreed - everyone needs every cent!). That is what she normally earns in a month. We had a stack of clothes we didn't gove to the orphans, and we gave them to her, and wrote a note explaining to the hotel security that these were for her to take home. She was so happy she almost cried. Clothes are expensive there. Life is expensive there.
When he had helped us load the orphan-clothes into the car, one of the doormen had offered to take some of the clothes "because he knew someone who needed it." Clothes are an almost unattainable luxury in this country, apparently, and when we checked out of the hotel we gave the last few shirts away to another doorman, and he was happy to take them, and made no secret about how pleased he was. (I was afraid of offending, but I guess the need is that great)...
After the beauty-extravaganza, we were picked up by the driver and taken to Prince Edward Boys' School, the venue for the concert. After a short rehearsal we were ready to change into our formal wear, and suddenly...
...The lights went out! This happens all the time in Harare, apparently. Someone presses the wrong button or trips over a wire at the power building, and the city is plunged into darkness for sometimes hours. Sis and I did hair and makeup in the last smidgen of daylight, and as the audience stumbled into the theatre, the headmaster of the school set up both fancy candelabras and single taper candles thrust into cans of sand, all over the piano and the stage.

The first 20 minutes of the concert was sung in eerie darkness, a shadowy audience and a shadowy performer. when the lights suddenly came on, everyone cheered and the concert was a great success! There were over 200 people in the audience and at the cocktail party afterwards, there were prefects from the Prince Edward school, as well as diplomats, Francophone, Belgian and German expats, other schoolchildren, ambassadors...even the former conductor of the Zimbabwe orchestra (there is, not surprisingly, no longer an orchestra). I took photographs (one was for a German nun to send to her friend in Manitoba) and signed autographs - the schoolchildren were all so sweet in their uniforms, and they explained how they were all prefects competing to be head boy... what a unique, fun time in Zim we'd had!

En route a Maputo

I am in the Johannesburg airport, waiting for my flight connection. There have been so many adventures over the past few days, and I wrte them all down, but now this silly computer isn't reading my floppy disk. Not FAIR!!

More later :)

Horses and Cookery

This weekend - my last in Pretoria - was by far the best.

On Saturday morning sis and I decided to go to the farmer's market. Although it starts at 3am, we woke up at the more reasonable hour of 6:30am, and drove around, trying to remember (sis had been there once before) where it was. We did not find the market (though it turned out that we were actually only a couple of blocks away), and at around 7:30 we found a couple of police officers and asked them where we could find the market. They looked puzzled and scratched their heads, and finally assured us that the market was in the depths of Pretoria West (the 'hood of Pretoria). We drove all the way there, and although there was an old man begging (we gave him a muffin) there was no market. Cry. We pulled onto the highway back in the direction of Pretoria East, and found ourselves behing a veg truck, with two workers in the back. We decided that maybe this was a SIGN and if we followed it, we would find the market.

At first we stalked the truck unnoticed, but after many lane changes the guys in the back noticed we were following them. They started brlowing us kisses and holding up different veg, as if to ask if that was what we wanted. Of course the truck was not going to the farmers' market, but it let us to the block beside the market. What luck! The market!

By then it was 8:30, and people were beginning to close up their stalls. We bought a bouquet of sunflowers (10ZAR - 1.80$), Chutney (7 Zar), Prickley Pear Jam (5 ZAR - .90$), Ketchup (6 ZAR), and hot sauce (10ZAR). For 15 ZAR I bought a stack of opera books, and sis bought some mushrooms. Laden with our farmer's market-y goodness, we staggered towards the car, and decided to go to... another market! The twice-monthey Irene (pronounced Irini) market. It was less farmer-y and more crafty, and it was so much fun!

Sis bought a hanging herb garden, some necklaces for a friend, a jacket, two hats, a third vintage hat, and a bead necklac.e I bought a purple and gold pashmina. Hurrah shopping!

We went home and decided that instead of eating boring dinner we would each take around an hour and make 2 appetizers and a dessert. That was so much fun! I made stir-fry carrot noodles with an orange garnish, potato skins with fruit chutney, and muffine with kiwi, yoghurt, chocolate and blueberry filling. Sister made couscous-stuffed tomatoes, party sandwiches with tofu filling, and a parfait for dessert. Aren't we domestic!

Yesterday we drove into the cradle of humankind (where scientists believe humans evolved from chimps) and we took a tour into the Sterkfontein caves, where Mrs. Ples, a cave-lady, was found. I adore caves! There was even an underground lake.

After that we went horseback riding. I don't know how people do it, UP and then DOWN with the horse. Sis can do it. I just go bumpity-bump-bump, and poor horse and poor me! Still, I do like horseback riding, even if it doesn't like ME.

Tonight we are going to a mafia evening - it is a Purim party, with a casino night, and costume prizes... should be interesting!

Underneath the Veneer

Most of the time, Africa functions relatively well. Unless the telephone breaks. Or the hot tub catches on fire. Or if one has to get a visa to visit Mozambique. It took 2 hours to HAND IN my documents, as the visa officer did not bother to show up for work. I hope it will actually be ready by tomorrow, as I still have to get a vasa for Zim and Zam and those will take a bit longer.
The neat thing about handing in mypassport and documents was that the secretary noticed that the passport was issued in Pretoria. *I* think a Canadian passport from Pretoria is very glamorous and unusual, and she did too.

I had a rehearsal for the Francophonie concert this morning, and after I finish at the computer lab I have to grab a bit for sis, and then go to Builders' Worls to build fencing, as little Kefira-dog has figured out how to escape.

There will be more excitement soon, as coming up are concerts and trips!

Some Pictures from Cape Town

The pictures are:
-Wendy looking at purses the Cape Town African Market (definitely the best African Market we have seen thus far - things came from countries all over Africa!)

-The angry gerbil-like creature (clled something like a Dussie? I forget...) who is actually related to a kangaroo. He was so cute. And Angry! Since I wasn't in North America where one is not supposed to do naughty things like feeding animals, I gave him a juicy green plum and he was very happy (still angry-loking though)

-The SCRATCH PATCH!! I picked the cutest jewels, and it was so much fun (though I think sis got little bored...)

-A very interesting list of rules at the government park in Cape Town. Now REALLY, whobrings an AXE to a city park??

-I don't know if anyone had any plans to finish this road - we almost turned onto it once on our way out of town, it is not very safe (or well-blockaded)

-Bart Art? I don't even know what to write about it... (th colourfully-uniformed men match it quite well, however...)

-The Bris in the Cafe. I wish I had gotten a more...er...descriptive picture, but I didn't dare to go closer in case someone noticed that 1. I didn't belong there, and 2. I had a camera aimed at their naked child (I was not the only one who did, though!)

-The amazing clouds of Cape Town - they come out of nowhere, and descend suddenly, covering everything. Very fun to be in one of the clouds.

-Blatent copyright infringement at the Sub Shop. (Maybe it is allowed in Africa?)

The Happy House-sister

It is still strange to think that I am in Africa. In many ways, Africa is a lot like home. the flowers are a bit wierd and spiky, and some of the signs are in Afrikanaas, but it is not how I pictured Africa at all. Until one has to deal with a repairman (or women, but I have yet to see a repairwoman here).

While we were in Cape Town the phone had broken. Again. Yesterday, just as I was settling down to some music learning for the upcoming concerts, the bell rang and it was the telephone repairman. He came in and I asked him if he wanted a drink while he worked. Such as juice, or water, or squash (like Kool-aid). Yes, he answered, he would like a drink. How about a cup of tea, no milk please.

The gardener had been the same! I DO have more meningful things to do besides carefully brewing tea for the help (hee hee, I didn't think I would ever complain about 'the help'). The phone is working again, but it took 3 hours of him chatting to make it work. Grr. Today the maid is there, so I escaped - it is impossible to work or to make any mess when there is someone there who is working to make the mess disappear. Ooh, there I go, complaining about the help again.

Yesterday, while sister processed refugee claims, I droppoed the dog off at the vet for her spaying. She had recently learned to escape from the yard, and as Silver Lakes is full of roaming, love-hungry he-dogs, the day we saw her escape was the last day she could be fertile. We stopped at Woolworth's after work to buy salads, and spent the evening repairing the dollies we are taking to Zimbabwe to give away.

Not the most exciting day, I hope this weekend is better...