“It is tradition to cook a chicken for Neema’s dad when he comes to visit us tomorrow,” Baraka said to us. We were staying with Baraka and his wife Neema in their Dar es-Salaam home having dinner at the dining room table when this conversation came up. Neema had not seen her father in years and since he would be gracing their house with his presence the next morning, Baraka was explaining the importance of cooking a whole chicken. “We’ll be heading to the market tomorrow to get one,” Baraka stated.

“Where is the cheapest chicken?” I asked thinking it was going to be at one of the larger grocery stores. There was a moment of silence and then Baraka said with a slight smile, “We will be picking one out at the market and then we will bring it home and slaughter it.” WHAT? Did i hear that correctly?? That’s crazy! Then again, did I really think they bought frozen chickens in the grocery store when most people here don’t even have freezers? Of course they would slaughter their own chicken just before the big meal. Baraka could tell I was intrigued and invited us along for the experience.

The next morning, while Neema visited with her estranged father, Chris, Baraka, and I headed down the road to the market. When we arrived at the chicken coops, Baraka turned to me and said, “Choose the chicken we will eat. And make sure you grab a hen because they taste better.” I gave him a look of horror and bewilderment as I quickly turned my head to my prey. I actually had to grab the chicken out of the big cage? Baraka opened the door and I slowly put my hands in, trying to figure out which bird would put up the least fight. Sadly, I’ll admit that I was somewhat scared that one would turn and bite me and I would come down with an actual bird flu of some sort. Then, when I finally committed to grabbing one, I missed her. They are fast little suckers! Finally, the chicken coop owner became annoyed with my shenanigans, pushed me aside, and grabbed one of the hens by its wing, and shoved it towards me to hold on to.  I positioned both of its wings behind its back to be sure it wouldn’t escape, and I followed the guy behind the chicken coop to the slaughter house. Surprisingly, the chicken squawked but didn’t put up a fight. Thank you Miss Chicken for not making me look any dumber than I already looked.

I knew we were getting close to the slaughter house when the putrid smell of raw chicken, blood and guts roasting in the mid morning sun caught my nostrils. Whoa… it was nauseating! The shack that housed the men working was tiny. The roof consisted of rusted sheet metal and small, aged branches. There were two of four walls built holding the roof up. There was a sign above the shack with pricing on how much it cost to hire the guys to slaughter the chicken. Luckily it was cheap (~ $0.25 USD) so Baraka decided to hire them to do it quickly instead of us doing it at home. Baraka still wanted me to help after he realized that I had never slaughtered a chicken. I was up front and center when I handed the chicken off to the axe man. He took the chicken, threw it down on the ground and with one swift swing of the axe, the chicken was now two. Ugh, there was blood covering the walls and I quickly glanced down at my legs to make sure the blood hadn’t hit me as well. It was creepy seeing the body move without the head but that didn’t stop the guy from grabbing it’s neck and throwing it into a steaming pot of water. He stirred the whole bird (sans head) around with a large wooden spoon to loosen the feathers. After soaking the bird for 30 seconds, he pulled it out of the pot and threw it to another guy who began stripping it of its feathers. I was surprised at how quickly the feathers came out after soaking it. I had to give the guy credit, he de-feathered the chicken in 5 seconds time…no joke. The last guy was waiting for our prized hen, and when he got it in his hands, he showed that bird who was boss. He had the stomach and guts emptied from the chicken in no time and suddenly it was back in my hands once again; this time, in different form.

It was an experience. A true African experience. I am not currently a vegetarian, but after witnessing the kill, it made me want to reconsider.

Our small 2-wheel drive Yaris was driving down the back country Namibian dirt road when we came across a camping sign. All four of us (the two Swedes we were traveling with and us) were exhausted and looking for a place to stay anyway, so we cruised up the long residential, narrow, dusty road when we came upon a house nestled amongst several trees. There was a young Namibian in his mid 20′s who we first spoke with. He stood about 5’10″, had extremely pronounced cheek bones, and through his tattered clothing I could see his small set frame. We let him know we were looking for a place to rest and were wondering the price. He didn’t speak much English, but we were able to agree on the price for camping on their land. Upon our agreement, he set off on a quick jog toward a large area of bushes and trees 800m away. We couldn’t understand where he was going until 15 minutes later, when he back back with two women. It was then that I realized these people didn’t live in the house that we pulled up to. Their house must be hidden beyond the bushes.

After speaking with the woman who spoke English best, we realized that they were caretakers of the land. They watched over the main house while the owner, an older German woman, was away. Chris and I wanted to understand their lifestyle better so we invited them for dinner. The head woman rejected since they had three children in addition to four adults, but we insisted they join us and finally they agreed. We would all meet in the owner’s lodge for dinner at 6:30pm.

We didn’t have much time to settle in, set up camp, and begin cooking before 6:30pm rolled around. The Namibian’s began to arrive around the lodge table. They were quiet but seemed eager to have the company. The women brought juice for the table while the main man of the household, Sydney, helped us light candles for the table (we had no electricity). We all decided to make pasta with meatballs because it was one of the heartiest meals we had in our food supply and we imagined they would enjoy eating meat (even if it was from a can). Upon sitting down, we all awkwardly crammed around this non-geometrically shaped small rock table. Eleven of us remained fairly quiet until after we began eating our food. We had small conversations throughout the first serving of dinner however we could tell that dinner is not a social activity with them. It is a way of life. By their second and third helping of dinner, the family began to open up about themselves and their Namibian traditions.

Sydney and his wife were the main man and woman of the household. They had two small children ages 3 and 1. Sydney’s sister Bianca and his cousin George also lived with them in their apparently tiny house with Bianca’s small 1 year old. We learned so many fascinating things about their lifestyle:

• They all survive off of Sydney’s income which he makes monthly from the German owner. Therefore, meat is rare in their diet and most of their meals consists of a traditional porridge.
• When speaking with each other, they used their native language, which is a Khoisan dialect of the African Bantu language. It involves using different clicks of the mouth to communicate. It is truly fascinating to hear!
• They do not own a vehicle of any kind therefore, when they make runs to the grocery store or post office, they plan it well in advance. The closest small town providing a post office and a market is 80km away so they only go to the market every 5-6 weeks. Usually, they can ask their neighbors for a ride or if they don’t have one lined up in advance, they can try to hitch a ride the day of. The only problem is that the road they live on in small and sparsely traveled, so often times they may wait all day for a ride into town and back.
• They would like their children to go to school however with the school also being 80km away, it seems impossible to have them attend. Therefore, Sydney may decide to home school them which is common for many families in their area.

Later that evening, the Swedish med students asked about vaccinations and diseases and how they deal with them. Surprisingly, they were uninformed on the mosquito diseases in the area, how they are contracted, and how the body deals with vaccinations. It shocked me! I wondered how they dealt with sickness if they were uncertain of what it was but then they explained their holistic medicine approach. Should they have an upset stomach, headache, aches or pains in the body, they grind up an ostrich egg shell, oryx liver, and aardvark droppings, and consume the powder. They swore that that they’d always feel better the next day.

It dawned on me over dinner that while we lived lifestyles that were worlds apart, but they were still some of the most down to Earth people I have met yet. All of them were grateful, hospitable, and humble for what they had in life. They welcomed us with open arms into their home, their culture, their family and their lifestyles. In return, they soaked up the information we shared with them regarding US lifestyles, medical practices, education, etc. The night turned out to be more than I could have ever asked for.

I love driving, and even more, I love driving fast! In fact, back in the states, the only things I hate about driving are traffic and that the high cost of a speeding prevents me from cruising at my desired speed.

After renting our Toyota Yaris in South Africa, it never occured to me that I might be able to cut loose on the open road. You see, all over Cape Town there are signs warning of speed cameras ahead. Although I never actually saw one of the alleged speed cameras, it was enough of a deterant to keep me driving just more than a few kph over the speed limit.

Then we crossed the border… I had read in the Namibia guidebook that speeding tickets cost only $1 per km over the limit, which meant at a absolute maximum (given the Yaris’ performance) we’d be looking at a fine of ~$70. Combining that with the roughly 0.1% chance of actually seeing speed checkpoint (based on conversations with people who had driven through Namibia), I felt comfortable going whatever speed I wanted.

The first few hours were on an open paved road quite far from wildlife, so I could literally floor the gas pedal and go as fast as the car allowed. What an incredible feeling! Driving without constantly monitoring the speedometer is how it should always be. In fact, not worrying about my speed or police down the road made me even more aware of the road conditions and my surroudings.

About 10 days later, we arrived in Etosha National Park, where at the main building they had the recently revised speeding fines posted. Evidently the $80 ticket from before the guidebook was written now cost over $500 plus a court visit. I guess I was quite lucky we hadn’t been pulled over yet. Despite that we never once saw a police vehicle for the rest of the trip, we kept ourselves to a more reasonable speed.

I’ll never forget how enjoyable driving is when you don’t have to worry about your speed. Looks like I’ll have to wait until I’m on the autobahn in Germany to enjoy it that much again!

I will remember Candy for the rest of my life. Not for what he looks like or what his occupation is, but for the we way he opened his heart and home to us along our journey through Namibia. We first met Candy across the road from his homestead under a large tree shadowing the village bottle shop. We introduced ourselves, chatted for a bit and then Candy pointed us in the direction of his homestead. We drove our little Yaris across the street and into the fenced in area which to my surprise housed five small mud huts. The huts used few branches to frame the outside of the mud packed walls. The mud had began crumbling in some areas creating holes in the walls large enough for a hyena to sneak through. Candy is 22 and attending 10th grade this year (we we’re introduced to him by his teacher Kerri, with whom we happened to be Couchsurfing the night before). His younger sister also attends a local school approximately 3km away from their land. Candy’s brother and grandmother are both unemployed so the only way they make money is when Candy’s Aunt sells milk from her cows and shares the proceeds. Candy was born and raised on this homestead and now lives there occupying one hut, while his sister, his brother, and his grandmother occupy the other three. The fifth hut has been empty since his uncle passed. There is a small, low grass-thatched hut situated between two of the mud huts where a fire was still smoldering.

Candy began to paint us the picture of his village life immediately. We first joined him to go and collect fresh water from the clinic 5km away. There were two fresh water spouts in his village for its entire population, neither one being extremely close to his homestead. Usually, he would walk there with two large empty containers, fill them up, and carry them back… 5km away!

Once we filled the water and returned it back to the homestead we set out on foot where Candy showed us around his village. He took us to one of the infamous cooka shops where the villagers produce a grainy, tart, traditional alcoholic beverage. Candy mentioned it’s a very popular place to hang out during the day for for the high percentage of people not working (it gives them something to do during the day). Candy then showed us the small convenience store that villagers visit whenever they have money, which is sporadic and infrequent. Until then, they try to survive with the little they have.

That night for dinner, Candy taught us how to make mahango porridge over the fire which he prepares and eats every day, three times a day. Usually, he will include a soup mix or a local relish from the bush to dip the porridge in. We all sat around the fire and enjoyed the small meal with him. Afterwards, we sat idly around the fire (still somewhat hungry) on disintegrating cinder blocks and old paint cans chatting about village life and answering Candy’s constant questions about the US. Chris began showing him pictures of the US, our families, etc and he was in complete awe. I could not tell if he was more impressed with the photos or the iPhone we used to show him.

The next morning, we all indulged in more porridge and said our goodbyes. Candy thanked us several times for sharing his meal with him and allowing him to share with us his village lifestyle. He was so proud to share his customs, his homestead and the village life. Upon driving away from his homestead, I remember looking back and being humbled by the experience. Those who say the village life is so simple overlooks several key factors. Their agendas may not be filled with breakfast meetings, running errands, soccer practice, and vacations, but they are focused on the hard work of day to day living. He appreciates the laid back lifestyle of showing his guests around, chatting with his friends, living off the land, and attending to the chores of his homestead. It surprised me with how long it took us to do basic stuff such as retrieving clean water. I’ve never in my life appreciated the things we take for granted (running water, electricity, and plentiful foods) so much. THANK YOU CANDY FOR THE AMAZING EXPERIENCE!

(Not sure why this was never published, but it was from back in South Africa)

People tend to think that if they decide to go camping as they travel, that they have to lug all of the equipment with them from the get go. On the contrary, I’ve realized that it’s much easier to buy your equipment at your destination of choice (pending you’re flying into a city). Asking locals for cheap places to find these items (whether they be dollar stores, used sporting goods stores, etc.) opened up a whole new (and much cheaper) purchasing experience for us. Below are the essentials that we’ve included on our camping list:

• Tent (used at a sporting goods store)
• Sleeping bags
• Ground pads
• Mosquito candle
• Silverware
• Plates, cups, bowls
• Small stove + 10kg gas tank
• Pots
• Soap
• Sponge
• Cooking utensils
• Aluminum foil
• Toilet paper
• Lighter
• Select food items

The best part is, when we are done camping, we can sell the items back to a used sporting goods store or we can barter them off for rides, goods, food, etc.

We have now been traveling through Southern Africa for almost a month and there are few animals we have not seen: a leopard, a cheetah, an African bufalo, and a hippo. We were in Botswana and heard that we MUST take a guided mokoro (small boat carved out of a tree trunk) trip through the Okovango Delta so we lined up a three day expedition in which we take a small boat, find a place to camp and take “bush walks” (safari’s on foot) during the day. It sounded like a great experience, so we signed our lives away, paid for our trip in full, and the next morning we loaded onto a large safari truck which would shuttle us from Maun, Botswana into an outlet of the delta. Upon arrival, we met our guides, aka polers, who have lived as bushmen their entire lives. We were settled into our small boat in no time. The small boats hold two people, the poler (standing in the back), and a few small bags between the two people. The boat has only one or two inches of clearance above the water, which leaves little room for error. The poler had strategically placed us and our belongings in the boat for weight distribution, me being in the front narrow end.

The poler pushed off and we were floating down the water in no time. The sun had just begun warming the earth. The sky was nice and clear. The water so calm that there was a perfect reflection of us, our boat, and the sky above. I laid back soaking up the sun enjoying the relaxing ride to camp. Our poler pointed out several small colorful frogs perched on the weeds, and explained how his village prepares waterlilly root for mealtime during the dry season. He also stopped the mokoro in front of some hippos who were snorting loudly about 110 meters away. As he explained where they live in the water and how dangerous they were, we strained our eyes to get a better look at their heads popping in and out of the water. Chris asked to get closer, but our Poler refused because getting closer than 100 meters can be extremely dangerous. I was glad we were not going to move in for a closer look because statistics show that hippos claim more human lives than any other animal in Africa (except for mosquitos).

After several minutes, we were slithering through tall watergrass and clear waterholes on our way to camp. We were enjoying the scenery and warding off bugs when suddenly there was a gigantic splash 6 meters in front of me. I looked up startled, only to see that the splash was made by a huge hippo that was charging straight towards us. The hippo was so quiet under water that the poler didn’t see him until we were almost on top of him. It was charging us full speed, me being his closest prey. Time slowed down that instant. I stared for a milisecond in complete horror as I watched the hippo’s mouth open, it’s teeth showing the pain they could induce. The water droplets rolling off the hippos face… Chris turned to the poler asking what we should do. The driver froze doing and saying nothing. I remember repeating Chris’s question along with a slew of other words. I stopped breathing as my heart pounded in my throat. I looked at the hippo gaining ground, then back to the poler, then again at the hippo. Hoping Chris was with me on my idea, I stuck one leg in the water ready to jump out and run. I remember my life flashing before my eyes as I said aloud: “I’m going to die today.” At that point, the hippo was upon us. I was completely helpless. I could do nothing more than pray. It was the shortest and hardest praying I’d ever done in my life. As I opened my eyes a second later, the poler had begun pushing us a way from the hippo and was yelling at it. The beasty animal took one more leap at us  and with one meter left between her and I, the hippo suddenly veered off up into the grass. Had she taken one more leap towards us, we would have been gone. Done. Finished off.

Photo taken from Blue Heron Pictures (leblanc0444 on flickr)

We continued backing away from the wild hippo as I sat there shaking in the tiny little boat which could have been destroyed with one snap of her teeth. I was far beyond crying. I was horrified, fearful, and shocked.  Trying to make sense of everything that had just happened, I closed my eyes and tried to breathe. What are the odds that this would happen to me? How unlucky was I? No… how was I so lucky? That could have ended horribly but we all survived. There was not a scratch on us. There was only an up close viewing of a hippo that will be seared into my memory forever.

**For those interested, the rest of the trip was great! During our bush walks we saw giraffes, zebras, wildebeests, warthogs, impala, baboons, and elephants. In fact, the elephants not only ran us out of camp on the last day but they blocked our hiking route back to the mokoro so we had to take off our shoes, roll up our pants, and trudge through the mucky hippo and crocodile infested water to get to the small boats. It was an experience of a lifetime…