JEFF McLEAN'S BLOG | MARTY POUWELSE'S BLOG
- 3/10/2002 - Bamako, MALI
- 7/10/2002 - Bamako, MALI (again)
- 10/10/2002 - Mopti, MALI
- 14/10/2002 - Tombouctou, MALI
- 22/10/2002 - Bobo-Dioulasso, BURKINA FASO
- 5/11/2002 - Tamale, GHANA
- 11/11/2002 - Cape Coast, GHANA
- 18/11/2002 - Kokrobite (no, it’s not pronounced like that you filthy bugger), GHANA
- 19/11/2002 - Kokrobite (the other side), GHANA
- 23/11/2002 - Kokrobite (the other side, literally), GHANA
- 23/11/2002 - Kokrobite (the original side), GHANA
- 27/11/2002 - SINGAPORE, and oh so close to home
- 9/12/2002 - Brisbane, AUSTRALIA, for better or worse
9/12/2002 - Brisbane, AUSTRALIA, for better or worse
I write now from the luxury of home.
I've been here over a week now. I could say the delay in this post is due to my traumatic re-adjustment to the western lifestyle: being terribly sick from the unusually bug-free, dirt-free, and relatively oil-free healthy food; trying to understand the strange Australian accent everyone here seems to use; being lost for days trying to walk from one end of this village of Brisbane to the other, completely overwhelmed by it's enormity.
Or I could say that I slipped back into the luxury and laziness of this lucky country way too easily and just didn't get around to it.
My flight from Singapore Changi airport left nearly two hours late. The plane apparently arrived late from Melbourne where it acquired a scratch from a roving vehicle, resulting in lengthy paperwork, but luckily no real physical damage. Then in Singapore, a bloke who was late boarding our aircraft was apparently making no effort to hide his swaying as he lolled drunkenly down the gangway. After displaying a lack of co-operation, the airline staff decided he should not travel, so the next half hour was spent looking for and retrieving his luggage which was now well and truly stowed.
My itinerary showed that the flight was to depart at 9:10pm, and it was after midnight before we left. But leave we did, and when we were finally in the air and it was a great feeling knowing this was the last leg. This plane was flying to Brisbane.
When I checked in my luggage, I asked for a window seat and the kind gentleman behind the counter gave me the window seat on the exit row. If you've sat on the exit row you'll know that you can spread your legs out in front of you as far as you like because the next row forward is at least a couple of metres away to provide room for an emergency exit. I was thrilled at this idea and thanked the man profusely. Unfortunately, when I boarded the aircraft I noticed the emergency door actually stuck out a good thirty centimetres into the area where my liberated legs were supposed to go. Also, my 'window' was actually a wall. The window on the emergency door was a good metre in front of me making it very difficult to look out of. Oh well. If I could deal with Africa, I could deal with a 'wall' seat.
I joked about the "strange Aussie accents" earlier, but sitting on this airplane was my first experience in two months of being surrounded by Aussie accents. I'm not sure whether they camp it up for tourists, but they sounded almost overdone. It was wonderful to be able to speak English in Ghana, but the locals still have a thick accent. If I don't speak slowly and/or imitate their accent they often don't understand me. Being able to speak at my normal pace now and be understood easily was a strange luxury.
I drifted in and out of sleep. Coincidently, my slumber was interspersed with bits of the film 'Insomnia' without the sound. The seven hour and 20 minute flight took way too long. Of the last three days, over one full one was spent in an economy class aeroplane seat, and I was getting tired of it, mentally and physically.
Morning finally arrived and so did Brisbane. The humidity was lovely and was the first familiar sign of home. Plenty of posters reminded me that I should pick up some duty free alcohol on the way out and I was soon at customs. The aisles and desks seemed absurdly clean. This place seemed way too quiet. Are Australians overly polite or just severely depressed?
I showed my passport to the relevant person and was asked to step aside to speak to another official. She was friendly and asked if my passport had recently been reported stolen. I confirmed that it had and expressed my surprise that after my emails to the Australian embassy in Nigeria my passport was still blacklisted. She was happy that the photo in the passport was, in fact, me and assured me that she would make the necessary arrangements to have my passport re-validated. She handed back my passport and let me go.
I collected my luggage and proceeded to have it scanned and had to declare a couple of small shells I'd picked up in Kokrobite (coincidently, very near where my bag was stolen). After a description of their size, I was waved through without even having to produce them.
Then around the corner there she was. I'd waited weeks in Africa and long hours on aeroplanes for this moment, and Lee and I finally shared a great and long hug. Most of my original clothes were either dirty or torn so I was dressed in the most colourful African garb, and with two months of growth added to my dreads, Lee said I looked quite different.
Everything I knew - our car, our street, our house - looked familiar, but had a strange remoteness to them. Everything looked as expected on the ride home, but not seeing the red dirt and black people and brown ramshackle 'houses' and blue sewerage and all the other amazing colours and noises of Africa, felt a bit weird and almost uncomfortable. Already I was missing it. I was sure our house looked different, but Lee assured me she'd done nothing to it.
After some talking and showing stuff I'd bought and collected I just sat on the couch and thought "wow". How can Africa and this place be so incredibly different? How can I be there one moment, and here the next? All I could do was sit in this environment and slowly adjust.
It actually didn't take that long, and soon I was playing CDs, shopping at the supermarket, and wiping my butt with toilet paper like I'd done it all my life.
However, as quickly as western civilisation was making itself at home in my consciousness, West Africa was slipping away. Only a day or so after arriving home and already my trip was starting to feel so far away. I was quite shocked at how quickly the feeling and the images were leaving me, and it made me sad. It almost felt as though in a week I wouldn't even remember that I'd be away at all.
But of course, there's the footage. Watching parts of it now takes on a whole new dimension. During the trip, the job of going though each day's material sometimes felt like a chore and often we'd get days behind, leaving ourselves many hours to sit through. Now it's a real pleasure as it really brings the feeling I had there, back. It's wonderful to watch Africa through a new set of re-adjusted eyes.
I've attached a few pics from the limited number we've retreived from our footage so far. We recorded about 48 hours, which is 4,320,000 frames to choose from - a tough choice!
Click the thumbnails for a larger view.
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A child smiles as I pass with the camera in Bamako, capital of MALI. His mother sits in a common wheelchair. The wheels are attached to pedals which are turned by hand. |
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A relaxed gendarmerie let us film them riding the trike. Normally, a big no-no. |
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An abandoned VW in Bamako, MALI. |
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A young kid takes a closer look at the camera in Koundougou, BURKINA FASO. |
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The shower at the 'Mission Lebonese' where we stayed in Bamako, MALI. |
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... and the squat toilet, where you wash not wipe. |
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Very typical mud huts in Koundougou, BURKINA FASO. Found in almost all regional villages. |
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Small vivid red flowers growing at our hotel in Bobo-Dioulasso, BURKINA FASO. |
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I get beautifully saturated from a water pump after cycling in 38ºC in MALI. |
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Jeff shakes the hand of a small child in another tiny village after getting help finding pump water. |
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Three women watch as we cycle past. |
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Kids run with us as we cycle out of a village. |
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Farewell - one of the many crowds that surround us when we stop on the road. |
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Kids run with us as we cycle out of a village. |
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One of the many handshakes that Africans seem to love giving. As your hands part, he squeezes your middle finger between his middle finger and thumb and clicks his fingers, with your finger still sandwiched inside. Also, general handshakes are much gentler than the aussie method. |
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Rice fields in MALI. |
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Jeff tastes yet another new food in a small market in BURKINA FASO. |
I dare say this will be my last post on Africa unless I send some more pics. Thanks to those who sent well wishes during our trip. It's been absolutely incredible and one which I'll never forget.
Thank you most importantly to Jeff. Thanks for your love and support and for this unspeakably amazing and wonderful opportunity. You have truly given me something money can't buy and a once in a lifetime experience.
Bye for now!
Love,
Marty.