So as a million thoughts and emotions swirled around in our brains, we couldn’t decide what exactly we wanted. It was frustrating. Facing our friends back home also created confusion. We desperately wanted to see the people that mean so much to us, but how can we possibly answer “so, how was Africa?” We both kept a daily journal as well as writing these updates, and we both easily filled a page every day. Every day was an incredible adventure and fluctuation of emotions and feelings. How can we possibly describe what we have experienced? It was a task we didn’t want to face, yet we feel we have so much to tell.
We also dreaded returning to the complications of modern living. After witnessing so many people living with nothing, it will be challenging to return to our materialistic culture dominated by consumerism. We have seen people living peacefully and happily without a mobile phone, without a car, without a big house, without a big screen TV and without fancy designer clothes. The society in which you live is very powerful, and we face many challenges to balance what we have learnt from our time in Africa and living a comfortable life in a modern country.
We are sure it will take some time before what we have done really sinks in. Having now completed bicycle trips on every continent except North America, maybe that it is the end of our bike touring. But we think not. Looking at an atlas only provokes more wonder and intrigue, and comments such as “I wonder what it would be like to cycle there?” In many ways we have finished our African trip. But it is not the end, just the end of a chapter.
OK, well enough of my philosophising. We had a very interesting time in Zimbabwe, and finished our trip with a massive anti climax in South Africa. I’ve also added in some statistics, and some very important acknowledgements.
What a mess
Cycling through Zimbabwe was certainly an interesting experience. The actual cycling was fairly non-descript and typically African. We had a severe case of what we call in the outdoor education industry destination syndrome. It is the mental state when you near the end of a journey, and all of a sudden getting to the end dominates your thoughts and enjoying the journey aspect becomes a forgotten state of mind. We knew this would happen as it has on our previous bike tours, and as much as we tried to fight it, the inevitable happened and we basically had our heads down each day and just pedalled madly. Luckily the chaos that has swamped Zimbabwe kept our thoughts and interests occupied. Most people in Zimbabwe speak English quite well, so everywhere we went we interrogated the locals with questions trying to learn and understand the crisis they now find themselves in. As one man said to us, the country has hit “rock bottom”. This might explain why we literally saw only a handful of other tourists, and they were in tour groups just passing through the country. We didn’t see any other independent travellers except a South African man who was also cycling through (http://www.thelonelyroad.org/). He was very interesting and we camped on the side of the road with Thabang. We made the mistake of camping too close to the road though as during the night we were woken several times by passing motorists satisfying their curiosity by stopping their car or truck and directing their headlights on our tent. They were just curious, but nothing was stopping them from coming up with a weapon and robbing us of everything. Although desperate, we didn’t think the Zimbaweans would do such a thing, but the fright was enough for us to make sure we kept with our normal policy of hiding in the bush to camp like prisoners on the run.
Roadside fruit. Ridiculously cheap bananas.
Basically the country is in an economic crisis and is experiencing shortages in staple foods and other commodities. The president seems to have raped the country of what was once a relatively modern and stable nation that enjoyed swarms of tourists, a stable and strong economy and a comfortable standard of living. The problem is that Robert Mugabe has been in power for 25 years, and everyone is scared of him. The leader of the opposition party was recently beaten so badly he had to leave the country for treatment. The reason he was bashed was because he held a rally without permission. Zimbabwe made us appreciate the freedom of speech we have in Australia. I remember watching Wil Anderson go to town on John Howard and other political figures on one of my favourite shows The Glass House. If anyone criticised the government in any way in Zimbabwe, through the media, protests, strikes, speech, any way at all, they would be locked up, beaten or would disappear. People whispered to us and looked over their shoulder. They were scared. They just crossed their fingers and prayed, and accepted whatever was happening. This made us angry. We often said to people: “Why don’t you stand up and fight … do something about it”, but they said they were scared and didn’t want to face the brutal Zimbabwe police.
We were exchanging US$1 for ZIM$120,000, and there was a high demand for foreign currency. Zimbabwe dollars couldn’t be exchanged at the borders as it is worthless outside Zimbabwe, and given the food shortages the people were forced to cross the borders to purchase necessities. This was why they needed foreign currency. For us, the economic crash meant some serious bargains. Here are a few:
· We posted a 20kg package back to Australia for AU$17
· We went to the cinema for 40c each
· 7 bananas for 50c
· A 350ml bottle of coke for 25c
· A very nice meal for about $1.50
· International phone calls for 1c per minute
· Christine did a 1 hour aerobics class for 30c
· A load of laundry at the Laundromat for 80c
US$80 exchanged to over ZIM$9 million
No foreign media are allowed into Zimbabwe, so naturally I was wary taking photos. A white man with a camera was a suspicious sight, so we hardly took any photos in Zimbabwe. Elections are coming up early next year, so Mugabe has slashed all prices trying to win over voters, especially from the poor people. This has meant people going in and clearing out the shops. An image that remains strong is people queuing for hundreds of metres outside shops and bakeries waiting for bread. Before, they could just walk in and get as many loaves as they wanted, just like we do in Australia. Now they can only by two at a time, and they must line up for hours. We walked around Bulawayo, Zimbabwe’s second largest city, and watched people queue for bread, sugar and cooking oil, or at a store where the police had gone in and slashed all prices. To keep order, a group of 6 police armed with batons and wearing helmets and face shields stood at the doors. This wasn’t necessary though because Zimbabweans are remarkably peaceful and accepting. Maybe this is why nothing has changed? In one small town I laughed as I watched Christine ignore the 100 strong queue and head straight to the front. Sure enough, she rudely charmed her way in to the store and emerged 5 minutes later with a loaf of bread. Nobody seemed to mind, but we pedalled off in case they did. Sugar was like gold. A man told us that if you left your wallet and a bag of sugar lying around, then the sugar would be the first to be stolen. Meat is scarce, so poaching has increased. Zimbabwe enjoyed a huge abundance of wild African animals and when I said to one young man that if they are killed, the tourist industry will never recover, he said: “the people are desperate and only live for today”. Fuel is non-existent, so it must be purchased from over the border in Botswana or South Africa. I thought I had seen African full buses before, but with fuel scarce Zimbabweans took full to a new level. They crammed in like sardines, and the rickety old buses looked as though they would collapse under the strain. There was never an empty vehicle, and even the ambulances were full of passengers in the back. We wondered where a patient would fit if the need arose.
Power and water was unpredictable, and the shelves of huge supermarkets were empty. For many parts of rural Zimbabwe it didn’t make a huge impact. But in a city such as Bulawayo, the people were suffering. The city once flourished and life was comfortable. The country has gone backwards, and it didn’t look like it was improving. The people were very friendly, hospitable and accepting. A little too accepting we thought. We met some seriously pissed off white Zimbabweans. A few years ago Mugabe reclaimed white farms and handed them to black farmers, and the group of people we met had all lost their farms and received little or no compensation. Government officials made the most of this and would literally drive past beautiful houses and farms owned by whites and claim them to be his. They felt that Mugabe was trying to drive out the white Zimbabwean community, and it was working as many have already left. The country is plagued by so many complicated issues, and they all come from the government. Let me say now, I’m glad this update was posted after we left the country. Emails and telephone calls are monitored, and 2 white people with a camera asking lots of questions to everyone is certainly suspicious. The South African cyclist we met said that on a recent trip to the country he was interrogated and harassed as to why he had a video camera, and ordered to pay ZIM$2 million. We kept a low profile, but we weren’t exactly inconspicuous!
The people also seemed to be better educated than other African countries. School was important. We loved cycling along at 7am and passing all the kids on their way to school from their remote villages. It was cold in the mornings, similar to early Spring in Melbourne, but the kids ran alongside us in bare feet on the cold tar and only clothed in tattered shorts and shirt. They were all running to school. Maybe they were late, maybe they couldn’t wait to get to school or maybe they were cold. We passed a crumbling school with dusty grounds, and in front of the Zimbabwe flag the entire school lined up, military style, and sang the national anthem. They valued school, but the system was also suffering from the economic collapse. It seemed that everyone had the same thought, and that was the country could only move forward when the president moved on. He won’t though, because a host of international courts are waiting to try him for all sorts of crimes against humanity. He is 83 now. The people remain hopeful and all their fingers are crossed. It was an interesting as well as a frustrating experience, but we were glad to leave Zimbabwe. We will follow their progress with interest and we hope for the people’s sake that the country moves forward. We find it astounding how western countries such as the US, UK and Australia select the countries in which they want to interfere with, and in a clear case of Robert Mugabe violating human rights and completely raping a country, the international community sits back and watches. Zimbabwe’s future rests in its next election early in 2008. If Mugabe goes, then the country can move forward, but who knows. In Africa corruption usually prevails, and Mugabe will be up to his old tricks to win voters either legitimately or illegitimately. Good luck Zimbabwe.
The 10,000km shot
The most painful experience in Africa
While staying in Bulawayo, I was experiencing horrible pain as one of my wisdom teeth was coming through. I couldn’t sleep at night, and the antibiotics and mouth wash Christine had prescribed wasn’t working. It was time to face my fears, and go to an African dentist. The thought made me weak at the knees, but I had no choice.
A young Zimbabwean man who was staying in our guest house showed us to a dentist where he had recently had his tooth removed. I entered the small house cum dentil surgery and immediately looked for some form of degree or certificate to indicate that the dentist was in fact a dentist and not someone with a few tools willing to give dental surgery a go. The first certificate on the wall read something about a dental conference in Kenya in the late 80’s … not the kind of certificate I was looking for. There were a couple of others, but none reassured me that I was in safe hands.
I gingerly walked in to the surgery and it looked OK. The female dentist had gloves on and a face mask. Good start. She poked and prodded around for a few seconds, and then the torture began. She needed to “make my mouth numb” and this involved about 4 needles jammed straight into my gum at the back of my mouth. I’ve had dental needles before and I like to think I can withstand a bit of pain, but her needles brought tears to my eyes and my body was stiff with fear. The friendly dentist was now the scariest woman in my life, and I was at her mercy. As the needles plunged into my gum, I was wondering if she had somehow confused her dental needles with veterinary needles. It hardly worked anyway, as my mouth was only semi numb as she started up her electric tools which sounded more like a whipper snipper than the quiet whisper of a modern dental tool. She informed me that my gum was infected and pussy, and that she was going to “clean it up”. It was excruciating, and all of a sudden all those tough days on the bike seemed to be easy in comparison. I’m sure the dentist must have thought I was a big wuss as I lay there as stiff as a board, flinching with each attack on my tooth and gums. The dental assistant made things worse as she used the suction hose like she was vacuuming the carpet. On more than one occasion my cheek or tongue got caught in the hose, and she was putting it so far down my throat I thought my insides were going to be sucked up. The whole process lasted about 10-15 minutes, but felt like a life time. I was as white as a ghost and felt like fainting as I hobbled out. The dentist was surprised that I was in more pain after the treatment than before I walked in. I wasn’t surprised at all. I was prescribed a cocktail of 14 tablets per day; a mixture of antibiotics and pain killers which I desperately needed. I now have a new found appreciation for Australian dentists.
We stopped at a farm/lodge owned by a white family. They had this pet baby giraffe. Their previous giraffe was an adult but was shot by police because it was apparently terrorising the local school. Closer to the truth was that the police wanted the meat.
Cycling past a giant baobab tree.
Our final country
As we crossed the border from Zimbabwe to South Africa, we entered the final country of our trip. We rolled into the first town and it was like stepping from 3rd world to 1st. The supermarkets were full, there were fancy cars, petrol stations actually had petrol and shops were well stocked and busy with customers. In many ways South Africa marked the end of our adventure. It was still Africa, but it was as close to home as any other country. We needed it though, as Zimbabwe was tiring. There was going to be no turning back this time in search of more adventure. We were well and truly on the home stretch.
This was the first South African newspaper we bought. Not very encouraging!
The only camping in that first town was closed down, and all the other accommodation cost about 2 days of our daily budget. We visited about 8 places, and none were willing to give us a mighty discount or let us camp on their grass. This shocked us. Two poor cyclists could always squeeze a favourable deal in Africa, so what was wrong here? South Africa is different. Business was booming. There was no need to give a discount or go out of your way to let people camp. Carrying on and camping in the bush was not an option. South Africa has a reputation dominated by crime, and although we don’t listen too much to what people say, we hadn’t had a chance to get a feel for the country yet. So we sat at the internet café almost waiting for a solution to bite us on the bum. And it did. The man at the café called his brother who said we could camp in his front yard. Perfect. We pedalled around to Norman’s house and he and his wife were so lovely. They were very kind and let us use their toilet and shower also.
From there we had 2 days of fairly boring cycling. We did have one pleasant incident with the coke and biscuit man. As we were cycling along, a car coming from the other direction flagged us down. Out stepped a fat man in a suit with a huge smile from ear to ear. He said that he passed us in the morning and was disappointed he didn’t have anything to give us. So at the next shop he got us a cold coke and a packet of biscuits each. He then turned around to find us to give them to us. Amazing generosity. We chatted briefly, and before he left he said: “may God protect you from the evils for the rest of your trip”. With that he sped off and continued on his journey. We wondered if he was real. Had the constant long days in the saddle made us delirious? Anyway, the coke and biscuits went down a treat, and even though we aren’t religious, it felt good knowing that someone had prayed for us to be safe.
We were cycling on the N1 highway which was fast and noisy, and full of traffic. As we neared Polokwane, we started to get nervous. The traffic was thick and heavy, and South Africans drive like absolute lunatics. The police are lenient with fines up until 130km/hr, but this seemed to be the minimum. Even scarier was their use of our bike lane. Because cyclists are few and far between, South Africans keep the flow of traffic by moving into the emergency/bike lane to allow faster cars to pass. This happens constantly, with or without cyclists in the lane, and without warning. It wasn’t pleasant, and twice in one day we had close calls. From Polokwane we decided to take a less direct, but hopefully safer route. Those plans were halted when we arrived at Hilda’s house.
While in Namibia we met Hilda. She is a South African lady who was on holidays. We arrived at the same camping ground as her after a long and strenuous day, and within 5 minutes of meeting her she had given us her details and offered a bed at her house. White South Africans have easily been the most generous and hospitable people we have met in Africa, and possibly the world. I’m not pointing out skin colour with any racist undertones, but it is a simple fact and the difference has been significant. Hilda wouldn’t hear about us pitching the tent in her yard, and a bed inside was the beginning of her care and hospitality. She lived in a beautiful house by herself, and was incredibly welcoming for people she had only met for 5 minutes 3 weeks ago. Her kids had grown up, and her husband tragically passed away 5 years ago. Her house was amazing, and we were given a lovely room, double bed, clean towels and a basket full of chocolates and goodies. After being in our tent for so long we were blown away. It was nearly too much for us to handle! We enjoyed staying there and Hilda’s company and stories were fantastic. We told her of our plans to cycle to Pretoria, another 270km away. She said we are mad and suicidal and almost insisted that we go with her in the car. We had never thought of finishing early. It was always our dream to cycle in to the capital city. We cycled in to Copenhagen in Denmark, Santiago in Chile, Singapore in Asia, and Pretoria in South Africa was to be no different. Hilda had a point though. The traffic was dangerous, and only got worse closer to the capital. It was the end of the month and the weekend, the worst time for heavy traffic and drunk drivers. Drinking and driving is illegal in South Africa, but some smooth talking and a small donation is all you need to be let off the hook. Camping was also going to be hard to find, and we couldn’t afford beds. There were lots of lemons telling us not to continue cycling, but the thought of taking the easy option would have driven me crazy. I wouldn’t be able to sleep. But we had to think carefully about if it was taking the easy option, or if it was simply the most sensible option. We thought about it a great deal and tried to guess if we would regret it. There was certainly nothing to see, and the cycling was boring, but it was the fact of cycling into the capital city to finish the trip. The answer came when we asked a traffic policeman down the street. He said that it was illegal to cycle on the N1 for starters, and that the alternative route was full of drunks and speeding traffic trying to avoid the hefty tolls on the N1. As well as this there was no bike lane on the alternative route. He said that he would organise a lift for us, as this would be much better than him having to attend our accident site. This was enough to convince us, so our cycling stopped in Polokwane, 270km north east of Pretoria. The next day Hilda drove us to Pretoria as she was visiting her daughter. We said goodbye to her and thanked her for the wonderful care and hospitality she gave us. How can you thank such a kind person enough?
So that was it. It left us feeling quite empty. It wasn’t the end we dreamt about. It was unfulfilling. But that was it. We camped in a seedy backpackers for a few nights and had to listen to other shallow travellers proceed to tell us about their stories despite the fact that we weren’t the slightest bit interested. Africa has always been full of surprises and has never been predictable, so I suppose our end was fitting for Africa.
Getting dropped off in Pretoria. Not the finishing photo we dreamt of.
We stayed with our friend Bridget and her partner Carlos in a small town called Howick, and also with Bridget’s parents in Johannesburg. Carlos and Bridget have both cycled a lot all over the world so it was nice to be in the company of other bikers. It was fitting that we were looked after and cared for in true South African hospitality. In not so brilliant hospitality, we nearly got mugged (and shot according to the muggers) on our last day in JoBurg, which wouldn’t have been an ideal way to finish, but we brushed past and continued to walk albeit a bit faster. We weren’t being brave, but rather couldn’t be bothered with some macho young men trying to take advantage of the rich white tourists. We left JoBurg airport to endure a nightmare trip home.
A long trip home
An Egyptian man in a suit is going mad at the lady behind the Kenya Airways service counter. He is shouting, waving his tickets and being rude and arrogant. The long queue in which he pushed in front of watch on with interest. The lady tries to keep calm. I sit watching from a distance in the waiting lounge at Nairobi airport. We have just completed leg one of our nightmare trip home, which will take three days, three flights and a loss of eight hours. Physically, I feel pretty crap, like most would after sitting in squished planes and smoky Kenyan waiting lounges. I remember sitting here 2 days after Christmas waiting for our connecting flight to Ethiopia. It feels like yesterday, yet so much has happened in between. That’s a given when you ride 10000km through Africa, but time goes quickly. I am afraid to go home. I know nothing will have changed. I am afraid I will be depressed. I sit here dreaming up new trips. Northern India? Back to South America? Russia? Mongolia? I make calculations in my head as to the funds we have left. Not enough. We need to get a job. But I don’t want to work. I want to continue exploring the world on my bike, and challenging myself in foreign lands. Life is too short to be working. I know re-adjusting is going to be difficult, and as time passes Africa will drift and become memories and photos. The tough times will be forgotten, and the people of Africa will carry on battling to survive while I escape to the comforts of a modern world. I feel guilty leaving them behind. Their struggle will continue. I feel so enriched by our experience, and to return to a cocoon in which Australians live will be difficult. We live a sheltered life in Australia. My thoughts and emotions strain my head. The Egyptian man has since left, but chaos continues. We have come to accept chaos. Order, system, process, organization … it doesn’t exist in Africa. But I think the people like it like that.
We eventually made it home and it was fantastic to see our family and our dog. As expected, nothing had changed. We slipped back in to the comforts of home and the luxury of a full fridge and pantry. We stared at all our stuff in boxes and remembered how much easier it was to have everything on your bike. It will be difficult to re-adjust and work out what to do next. Something we will be doing is creating a presentation full of pictures, stories, videos and music. Without being arrogant, we feel that our adventure will be of interest to different audiences. Hopefully it will be entertaining, as well as interesting and educational. If any schools, businesses or other groups are interested please contact us to make arrangements.
Fund Raising
We are proud to announce our fund raising tally $9,196. We were amazed by the generosity of people, and it far out weighed our expectations. The account is now closed and the money is being transferred to the charities. Instead of me writing where it will go, this is what the charity organizations had to say.
From BEN Namibia
To Ross, Christine and all of your supporters,
Thank-you so much for everything you have done to support BEN Namibia. I know you got a lot out of travelling through Africa, but it's not everyone who gives something meaningful in return. Your contribution to BEN Namibia will help support our work on many fronts. The next twelve months will be huge for us, as we plan to deliver over 3,000 bicycles, establish 8 bicycle shops in regional areas to benefit disadvantaged communities, build and distribute 100 bicycle ambulances and facilitate the design of a cycle path network for the capital, Windhoek.
As a small non-profit organisation, all of this work is dependent on the support of committed people like yourselves. We receive no funding from large donor agencies or government, so what you have done for us really has an impact, and will help us to provide hope and empowerment to many Namibians.
It was great to meet you in Windhoek, and really nice to have some Aussie accents around for a couple of days, Gippsland twang and all. Best of all, I'm glad you got to make a connection between your efforts and our work here. If you should ever pass through again you'll be most welcome at BEN Namibia.
Best wishes,
Michael Linke.
From Global Alliance for Africa
We are so thrilled about your fundraising efforts! And it really could not have come at a better time. After two years of a pilot program, we are looking to really expand the bicycle program at Tumaini. While things are going quite well, and the bicyle program has been able to create a viable source of revenue for Tumaini Vocational Training Center (enough to support over 200 students now!), we are going to be focusing this year and expanding and strengthening the vocational aspect of the program. So, we will be reorienting the program to focus on several “Tracks” of training. These will include; Business Management (Tumaini Cycles Bike Shop will serve as a hands-on, real practicum, and will be a student managed and operated business), Metal Design and Welding (Students will be receive intensive training in welding and design, particularly in appropriate technology and sustainable design techniques), Tourism and Guiding (we will be launching Tumaini Tours with several bicycle safaris a year in which our student mechanics participate in providing technical support to trips, as well as begin to train in guiding and safari coordination), Art (to follow up with the design and welding, our students will also be exploring bicycle inspired art in regard to both pure free form art, as well as functional art like tables, chairs, etc.), and we will also be developing more integrated community based programs centered around bicycles. These community programs will include a school based program where tumaini students will teach an “Earn-A-Bike” course at several of the nearby government schools. We will also be hosting an “Earn-A-Bike” program at Tumaini that will be open to the public, and we will be coordinating monthly group rides to promote safe cycling and cycling awareness in and around Arusha.
The $4500 will go towards helping us to expand this program. Primary costs will be in the hiring of some additional staff, particularly in business management, and potentially an individual for the welding and design component. We are also hoping to diversify our supply of bicycles at Tumaini. As you saw during your visit to Tumaini, we primarily sell used Western style Mountain bikes. These bikes come from our partner here in Chicago – the Working Bikes Cooperative. They have been, and continue to be incredibly supportive, and we will continue to work with them. However, we are also looking into supplying new mountain bikes, and other load carrying bikes from India and China, in order to diversify Tumaini’s supply dependence and to expose our students to supply and inventory management issues. Hopefully this will increase the center’s income, and decrease our dependency on our single supplier. We are also hoping to admit an additional 20 students this year. All of this will require some upfront funding and capital. The money you have raised will go a very long way in helping us to make Tumaini even more sustainable and successful, and will enable us to reach more children, who most likely would otherwise not be able to access any sort of secondary education.
Thank you so very much for all of your efforts and for the support! Please stop in and see us if you are ever in Tanzania again!
Thanks again!
Samantha Dwyer
Cheers
This trip wouldn’t have been possible without the help and support of so many people. Without being specific for the fear of leaving someone out, we would just like to say a huge thanks to everyone who has supported us in so many different ways. It has meant a lot to us, and we can’t explain what it was like to receive some kind words of encouragement through an email while we were battling tough times in a lonely, cruel and harsh land. Some days, it was the only thing that made us smile. We were blown away by the generosity and kind hearts of the people who donated money to our selected charities. We have received support from so many different angles and from people in many countries. A list would be pages long. To everyone, we sincerely thank you for your support, and if you know us you will understand our deep appreciation. I will make one special thankyou though and that is to our parents. Their support has been amazing, and we know there must have been some worrying times. Even though we use our brains, our thirst for challenge and adventure must have surely given them a few more grey hairs. Also my dad for the fantastic work he did with the blog. Just so you know, I would email him a word document and a stack of pictures, and within no time he turned it into what you see now. Thanks dad.
Statistics
Total distance: 10586km
Longest day (distance): 190km
Longest day (time): 9 hrs 37mins
Scariest moment (Christine): Crossing the border from Ethiopia to Kenya and getting lost in the dark where there were no roads and some unfriendly locals.
Most water consumed in one day (Christine): 8 ½ ltrs
Most punctures in one day (Ross): 8 on the trailer
The amount of times our hair has been washed: Ross – 0, Christine – 7
The amount of people we told we rode our bikes from Australia: lost count
The amount of nights we slept in a brothel: about 5
The amount of nights we slept in a brothel where the walls separating the rooms didn’t join the roof and the room next to us had a trucker and brothel employee using the room for business keeping us awake: 1
Number of times it rained while we were riding: 2
Highlights
Uganda. Beautiful scenery, lovely people, plenty of fresh fruit and excellent for bike touring.
The wildlife. Africa has the most amazing wildlife in the world.
The traditional people of south-west Ethiopia and the Himba people in north-west Namibia.
The simplicity of travelling by bicycle.
The rare occasions where we received amazing generosity and hospitality.
Lowlights
Seeing the cruelty to donkeys, dogs, cattle and goats every single day.
Being constantly viewed as a rich white person who should give, rather than a visitor to a country.
Seeing extreme poverty and feeling guilty when you eat.
Seeing countries with seemingly no hope and a grim future.
Accepting and being immersed in the cruel, annoying and frustrating aspects of African life.
A quote from Alastair Humphreys http://www.alastairhumphreys.com/ who has literally ridden around the world. He is a beautiful and truly inspirational writer, and when I read his book about Africa it was as though he was telling our story. He has written two books about is journey, and I wish I could write like him.
Days are long on the road. Pack up and pedal into the dawn. Ride until sunset. It's
easy to kill time but you can kill distance only by riding. Roads roll on forever,
linking and connecting and reaching so far ahead that to think about the end is to
think of something that feels impossible. So settle for today, for earning the small
distance that the day's long hours will allow you. Roads drenched with rain,
stinging hail, pulsing heat, slick ice, buffeted by winds on loose gravel, deep sand,
tangled rocks, thick snow. Roads of smooth tarmac down mountainsides on sunny
days with warm tailwinds and scenes of impossible beauty. Roads furious with
traffic through grim slums, bland scrub, concrete jungles, polluted industrial
wastelands. Monotony in motion. Roads too hard and too long that break you,
expose you, scorn you and would laugh at you if they cared. Roads too hard and
too long that you pick yourself up from, have a word with yourself, and make it to
an end you once doubted. Roads you have never ridden to places you have never
seen and people you have never met. Days end. A different sunset, a different
resting point, a different perspective. A little less road waits for you tomorrow. A
little more road lies behind you.
Choose your road. Ride it well.
2 comments:
hey, the end of your trip.
You've done well guys. pat yourselves on the back!!
dave (the english cyclist)
Thanks for your kind comment! Great blog,
Alastair Humphreys
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