Gipsy Lifetime - Letters (English) |
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Gipsy Lifetime 16 (01 December)
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Dear friends, The past two months of my trip have been filled with many different events. I often didn’t have time to keep up my note taking. Internet access was sometimes impossible, so now is the time to make up for all that. Generally I am in great shape, although I experienced a few health problems. At the moment I’m in Tanzania. Yesterday I was about 20 km south of Dar es Salaam. I wrote letters 16 and 17 of the Gypsy Life series, and made plans for my further, slightly amended, trek north all the way to Egypt. Sitting at a table, on a sandy, shining white beach, I sipped local tea with … pepper or chilli! A roof of palm leaves protected me from the hot sun, shining in an almost cloudless sky. Before me spread the vast Indian Ocean, a swirl of varying shades of blue and green. Roaring waves hit the shore. On the horizon I could see the sails of slow-moving fishing boats. A light breeze cooled me and made my hair and pieces of notepaper flutter. I was alone. I was filled with calmness and I felt happy. I smiled at my life, and at the lives of others, whom my thoughts and affection embrace. I kept thinking of Zambia, which I visited in the first half of October 2002. I’d crossed the border between Zimbabwe and Zambia by bus in the company of a young woman called Jessica, a mother of three. My meeting with her was the beginning of many meetings with the inhabitants of around a dozen villages in that country. In Lusaka, the nation’s capital, I had no trouble getting by in English, which is the second official language after Chichewa. Naturally, I learnt a few words and phrases in the local language – that always makes communication easier. With a feeling of relief, I began using my Visa card again, acquainting myself with yet another African currency – the Zambia Kwacha (ZK). Generally, my first impression of Zambia was the vast poverty and drought surrounding me. The people I met were very friendly and sincere; especially in the villages I visited over the coming days. During my first house visit I quickly converted to the natural local habit of eating with my fingers. Hands are washed before and after every meal. Water is served in a jug and poured on hands over a bowl. The main dish was nshima, dense corn gruel (maize). This is served with vegetables and, sometimes, with small pieces of meat, mostly chicken or fish, mostly dried, allowing for longer storage time. I noticed the small amount of fruit available. Mangoes were ripening on the trees but were still small and green. More than once I was surprised (in Zimbabwe too) by the names of many people, with an unusual, to me, influence from the English language. Many people had names that sound funny and even unbelievable to us, such as: Lovemore, Memory, Perfect, Fine, Blessing, Charity ... Other names in the Chichewa language also had meanings, mostly positive ones, like rain-maker, joy, speed … I think that, psychologically, this could have a positive influence on individual self-esteem and confidence. I wonder what my name could be? With Jessica I visited her adopted family, mother and father, living in Chongwe, about 50 km from Lusaka. In reality these were an uncle and aunt. They’d been caring for Jessica since the death of her parents. We reached her home village from the main road by walking in searing heat for over 10 km. I could smell the scent of the burnt and dried-out earth, waiting for rain for months. I passed parched schoolchildren, almost glued by the mouth to the public water fountain, sometimes located several kilometres from their houses. I stood pensive over dried-out wells, which were once the source of life here. Currently, all women (their role in the family and society) carry water in enormous, sometimes 30 litre, containers, which they balance on their heads. Traditional clay huts, mostly rectangular, were simple and clean from the outside and the inside. The walls of the huts were often painted from the outside with natural dyes, usually in shades of brown, white and black. Sometimes painted flowers or geometric shapes also decorated the huts. Roofs, resting against wooden structures of thick poles tied with bark, were very carefully made of grass. Sitting on a mat on the floor, eating family meals, I felt privileged to receive such warm hospitality. A smile and simple words made communication much easier for me and saying good-bye, I had the feeling that I am leaving yet another family behind that has brought so much into my life and I so much into their daily existence. There was also a great joy in the many photos taken that will remain a wonderful memory for everyone. I was taken aback when, saying good-bye to Jessica, I noticed tears and sadness in her eyes. And that surprise was to be repeated many times over the coming w! eeks and months, with other people. I came to realise of how large a meaning, not only to me but also to others, are my close, sometimes brief, contacts with people; my openness, sincerity, my smile and friendly handshake And I had a similar situation in the village of Chikonkoto, around 30 km from Lusaka, where I stayed for a few days with Florence, a 30-year-old mother of four, already widowed. I was given the contact details at a backpackers’ hostel, Chachacha Lodge, in Lusaka. Within a few hours, I noticed the influence of my presence. For the money she received from me (around USD 20), Florence immediately ran to buy a 25-kg bag of maize, which was enough to feed the entire family for two weeks. Her supplies had already run out. She also immediately bought charcoal, the sole source of fuel, dried fish and vegetables. I also brought fruit for the children, apples and oranges, and … balloons, which provided plenty of fun and joy in the evening. I also slept in the traditional hut but I was given room in the only bed. The next day I fried for breakfast (which is rare in this house) pancakes on oil from a pre-prepared flour blend with added bananas. I had brought all the ingredients in my b! ackpack. The joy from this was immense. With the pancakes, I served a colourful jelly with apples, which I had made the evening before. We ate this – with our fingers as well – accompanied, of course, by joyful lip-smacking and finger-licking. I also had the opportunity to acquaint myself with their culinary tastes. Aside from nshima (maize), we ate cooked, green vegetable-leaves, which, before cooking, looked like weeds. There were also fried and deliciously seasoned dried fish, about 2 – 4 cm long. A delicacy was finely-chopped cabbage, lightly fried with onion and tomatoes. Eggs, fried with spices, which are sold individually and are very expensive, were served as a side dish. Florence’s family hadn’t eaten most of these foods for many weeks. At another house, a woman my age fried small donut-type cakes to sell. To the joy of the children present, the adults and myself, we ate all the donuts (fritas) for my small payment. In that village, Chikonkoto, I also got to know another local custom. Each family member, including children, could belong to a different religion – church. I had a feeling that this depended on the person who ran the church, the types of activities they organised, e.g. women’s groups, choirs with African rhythms, financial support, etc. Attending mass at two churches, I was treated as the guest of honour and made to stand in front of the altar. Everyone, over 100 people altogether, felt obliged to warmly shake my hand. Nowhere in the world had I previously met with such diverse varieties of Christianity. After leaving Lusaka and its surrounds, I headed east to Katete, close to the border with Malawi. For a few days I was a guest at Elke’s place, an Australian of German origin, whom I’d met by chance in Lusaka. She was the managing director at Tikondane Community Centre, a grouping of 36 villages, founded on her initiative, which also greeted me warmly. From early morning till night I underwent unusually intense experiences and observations. Just after sunset, together with Elke and local tour guides, we walked for kilometres, passing through a dozen or so villages. The difference between local lifestyles was enormous. This usually depended on access to drinking water, which, in these parts, was a true-life tragedy. Women from several of the villages we visited collected water for their containers from dirty and murky puddles. Other villages had deep-water wells, from which water was drawn, in buckets hanging from several-metre-long ropes – conjoined strips of bark. Compared to this, my daily life seemed to me very prosaic indeed. These villages gave the impression of being the poorest I had seen up till now in Africa, other than Lesotho and Madagascar. Lack of drinking water, food, clothing, and any financial income whatsoever were daily dramas for the inhabitants of the Tikondane Community in Katete. These dramas have become the constant foundation of other problems – disease, death, orphanhood, etc. From my point of view, a large part of solving these problems is external help from developed countries, but not only. Strong local activity is also necessary and Tikondane Community Centre is a wonderful example of this. The management board of over 20 members works to try and solve both group and individual problems in 36 villages. It also creates sources of income. The Centre has created a guesthouse, opened a restaurant and makes and sells artistic works and handicrafts. It is also in the processes of organising tourist activities relating to local culture. Inspired by these activities and stories I proposed to publish for them in Australia, their local stories and legends, written by a management board member – Fridrick, a writer. These stories would be illustrated by Shadreck, a local artist and fellow management board member, and my photographic report would provide additional information. My offer was accepted with enthusiasm and I hope it will prove possible to car! ry out in the future. I am also grateful to Sandra from Canberra for her support and offer to help with computer-related work. To end my visit in Katete, I watched unusual evening dance spectacles. The first was a pre-initiation dance by girls. Only women were allowed to watch, but I was permitted to take photos. In the twilight, in a small hut, to the glow of candles and the loud thuds of drums, several 12 – 15-year-old semi-naked girls with grey and white patches painted on their skin, were introduced by older women to the secrets of traditional, ritual dance. The drums thundered. Shy, slim girls entered into a dancing trance. Faint rays of light fell on their delicate, firm bodies. The rhythmic sounds of drums and singing soon encouraged other, older women to dance, sometimes even with sleeping children on their backs. No surprise then, when … I joined them (to their general delight). But, of course, I lacked the confidence to strip down. All I did was tie a long, colourful sarong around my legs. That evening, under a vast mango tree, in the pitch darkness of the night, to only moonlight, I watched the second dance of young boys. They were wearing masks, which entirely covered their faces. Semi-naked, wearing short, grass skirts and decorations on their bare legs, they stomped rhythmically in the sandy earth, to the thundering drums and singing of a group of children. This dance symbolised a conversation with ghosts. The dance, which after a few minutes became a trance of movement and yelping sounds, lasted for many hours. Yet the time came again to say good-bye. Elke, my own age, had become like a sister to me, and the others, like relatives. But my fascination in discovering for myself and for others, a diverse Africa was constantly, after seven months, deep in my veins. So I had to move on. From Katete, travelling over terrible roads with potholes, in minibuses, taxis and on foot, I crossed the border with Zambia and entered Malawi. This was the last country in the part of South Africa accessible to tourists, and the final country in my, much-used, Lonely Planet guidebook. I will describe my stay in Malawi and Tanzania in Gipsy Life 17. Sending you a smile, much warmth and kisses, Basia |
| Gipsy Lifetime 17 - Malawi, Tanzania (01 Decemberl 2002) |
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Dear friends, I spent the following two weeks of October 2002 in Malawi, a smallish country area-wise, but with an enormous population. Directly from the border with Zambia, I reached Lilongwe, the small capital of Malawi. As in Zimbabwe and Zambia, there were still plenty of spring blossoms here, and blue jacarandas – my favourite type of tree. Following a brief visit in the city, an exchange of money into Malawi Kwacha (MK), and having gained some local information, I set off again. My destination was the island of Likoma, located in lake Nyasa, Malawi. The lake is enormous like an ocean – almost 600 km long, 100 km wide, and up to 700 m deep! The shores of this lake belong to three countries – Malawi, Mozambique and Tanzania. By minibus and open truck, together with a crowd of locals and their lives, I travelled for the next few hours to the village of Nkhota Kota. This road was significantly better than the one in Zambia. The houses and lifestyles also looked much better off. The cultivated fields were green. Hundreds of fish were being sold along the roadside – the wealth of the lake. The village of Nkhota Kota lay on the shore of the lake, among boab and mango trees. From here, the next day, I went by a ship called Ilala to the island of Likoma. At the beginning it turned out that access to the ship was not easy. Luckily, I met other travellers and we supported each other. At dawn, a large crowd with plenty of baggage (merchants) and many inhabitants of Mozambique tried to board the smallish boat, sometimes wading up to their waists in the water. A boat took consecutive groups to the ship, which was anchored in deeper water. What could one do? This was yet another difficult but successful adv! enture. We sailed all day, stopping at many ports along the way, mostly along the shore opposite to Mozambique. We didn’t reach Likoma till after dark. This island had no electricity. Life there was simple and traditional. I planned to stay and wait for the next ship, which wouldn’t arrive till the following week. Finding a hostel turned out to be another difficult experience. Together with two American travellers, we meandered around in the dark till midnight. Exhausted, with the help of locals, we finally found a hostel, which was charmingly concealed by a small bay on the beach. I spent most of my time here alone as the Americans took local boats to the next island. My little home of palm leaves had a view straight from the bed to the extensive blue mass of the water. Nearby, there was a boab tree forest. Green papaya trees were covered in fruit and enormous mangoes, also hung with fruit like Christmas trees, gave off many shades. At dawn I was woken up by roosters and the loud squawking of hundreds of birds. It was hot. I swam in the lake every day and, simultaneously, like for a! ll the local inhabitants, it was my bathroom. Luckily the toilet was more civilised! From the beginning luck was on my side. On the first day traditional Chioda dances took place in a nearby fishing village. Under a vast mango tree, several-hundred women from the islands of Likoma and neighbouring Chizumulu, danced and sang for hours into the night. A dozen or so drums, with changing shifts of players, thundered loudly, giving rhythm to the dancing and singing women. Sweat streaked down smiling, jolly faces. Colourful skirts, similar to sarongs, twirled in the blink of an eye. Some women danced with tiny children (sometimes asleep!), tied in large shawls to their backs. A crowd of men and women watched this spectacle. I took photos. I felt wonderful. It was easy for me to make contact with the people. No surprise then when, at the end of the day … I joined the dancing circle. With material draped around me, I stomped to the continuous rhythm of the drums, imitating the other women. At the end of the evening I began an unexpected conversation with Joseph, whom I’d met during my night-time meandering the previous day. He was a well-known member of the island’s management board. I told him about my meeting with the people in Katete, Zambia, and about my proposition of publishing a book. He was very interested. It turned out that the island-dwellers use the national language of Chichewa – the same language as that used in eastern Zambia. My proposition was to publish the book in a dual-language version. That’s why Joseph was not only keen to receive a copy in the future, but also enthusiastically offered that the inhabitants of the island have their own interesting tales and can write them down. An example may be the history of a large Catholic church established on the site where … witches were once burned at the stake! There are still a couple of people living on the island, who practise witchcraft – the art of wizards and ghosts. Of course I didn’t need much added enthusiasm. I was happy to offer help in publishing the book, just like at Tikondane Centre in Zambia. Sitting at a bar on the beach, under a mango tree, drinking the Malawi version of the Danish Carlsberg beer and listening to the roar of the waves, Joseph and I arranged our next meeting. During that week I walked the entire hilly island on my own. Twelve villages with a total of around 6,000 inhabitants were located on it. The towns lay mostly along the shores of the lake. The main activity was fishing. Walking the paths between the villages, I quickly made contact with the locals, especially with children. Simple greetings also brought forth smiles and openness. Sometimes this turned into a long conversation with the locals or a game with the children. I observed, photographed and absorbed the lifestyle surrounding me that was so different, with no electricity, practically no machinery, mixed with ancient cultures and traditions of cent! uries-old wandering tribes of Zimbabwe, Zambia, Mozambique and Tanzania. I also spent a lot of time just resting and swimming in the lake. I also managed, for the first time in eight months, to wash my large backpack. After a few weeks, however, it was just as dusty as before. My new book-publishing ideas inspired me to spend hours thinking, taking notes and, in effect, making a plan for the books. That’s how I decided to plan a series of books called African Tales, publishing the poems from Madagascar, stories from Zambia and Malawi and maybe even more, later. All of this would be in dual-language versions, so that the locals could understand them. There would always be an English-language version – the international version. I believe that I will gain help and support among friends and acquaintances to prepare everything on the computer. I’m grateful to Sandra from Canberra, who has already offered her assistance. I also believe in myself, but the brunt of the work will be on the writers. So only time will tell if I am able to realise t! hese projects. After a week, and a warm farewell from the locals, I left Likoma, once again on the ship Ilala. This time the journey took an entire night. I slept on the upper deck, on a bench, snuggled into my sleeping bag. It was hot. At dawn the large red ball that was the sun appeared above the surface of the water, surrounded by a multicoloured sky. We reached the port at the village of Nkhota Bay, where I was forced to spend the next few days. In the evening, after getting off the ship, I suddenly felt sick. I had the shivers and all of my joints hurt. I couldn’t eat anything and it turned out I had a high fever. The owner of the hostel, an Australian, said he suspected malaria. The next day he drove me to the local hospital where, after a blood test, it was confirmed that I have malaria. Luckily for me, thanks to the medication I am taking (Larium), the sickness is very weak. I was given three tablets as a once-off treatment, and spent the next few days sitting on the veranda, look! ing out at the lake, resting and playing the traditional local game of bao. Unfortunately, I had to give up beer, which had become a rather regular feature of my trip. I had to give my liver a rest. After three days, however, I felt better and decided to move on. I wanted to cross the border into Tanzania. For safety reasons, I travelled together with Melvin, a young English tourist. The day-long journey by minibus, on foot and by taxi allowed us to cross the border over a large bridge. I felt fine but the next day I felt weak again. In spite of this, we went on a short trip to Mbeya, a town in the west of Tanzania. Here, for the first time in many weeks, I had access to the Internet. I got to know yet another new currency – the Tanzanian Schilling (TSch). I also entered a new language, Swahili, which will accompany me all around Tanzania, Uganda and Kenya. After a few days’ rest, alone again, I set off. This time by train (sleeper), travelling for 25 hours, I reached Dar es Salaam, a port city on the Indian Ocean. The train had a beautiful route. First we passed high mountains and lush greenery, which I had come to miss dreadfully over the previous months. Then we pas! sed through Selous Game Park and, excited, I was lucky enough to see through the windows of the slow-moving train, herds of elephants, zebras, giraffes, antelopes, hippopotamuses, lions, monkeys and other animals. At last I reached Dar es Salaam (in Swahili – Peaceful Place), in a completely different ocean climate, with forests full of coconut palms, banana groves and other tropical plants and trees. The humour of the people I met was also completely different. For the first time I entered the unusual mix of the African, Arab, Hindu and European worlds. Walking the streets of the city centre every few minutes I had the feeling that I were walking through many different countries. Streets with mosques, crowds of Muslims wearing traditional hats and long, usually white, robes, and Muslim women covered with long, black capes with hoods over their heads. Next to these were streets from the Hindu world, filled with the smells of Asian cooking, women in colourful sarongs, just like in India. Other streets featured typically African faces, vendors of local wooden handicrafts, women with hair plaited into different types of braids, men with either shaved heads or very short hair. A fascinat! ing social mix living in peace and tolerance. I’d planned my stay in Dar es Salaam as a photographic stopover. I developed 47 films of negatives and 12 films of slides. Since the last two months of my trip had been full of meetings with different people, I had many photos to post. This was hard work. In addition I prepared two more albums, with comments, and posted everything to Poland. Part of the package, negatives and slides were collected by Poles I’d met. I also made a special present for the Tikondane Community Centre in Katete, Zambia. I chose several photos from their towns and made up 300 copies of calendars for 2003. I had promised them this and I was able to carry it out and meet other travellers, who took the package with them. This package should reach Katete any day now. This is a great joy for me and it’s a nice feeling to know that many people will remember my presence. During my stay in Dar es Salaam I visited the island of Zanzibar, which once again fascinated me with its history, its people, sultans’ palaces, gardens featuring almost all the spices of the world, sumptuous food and beautiful coastline. Walking with Anita, a young Australian, along the narrow and winding streets, among women wrapped in black cloaks or men wearing white, listening to the singing coming from the towers of the mosques, which sometimes mixed with the bells of church towers, I had the feeling that I’d been moved a century back in time. Not much had changed here. Luckily slave trade hasn’t existed here for a long time, but it has left many traces. Together with Ahmed, the owner of a fantastic, inexpensive and interestingly decorated hotel – Princess Inn – and Anita, I overcame my beer diet. I felt wonderful, all signs of malaria and weakness had gone and with delight I tried the Tanzanian beer Kilimanjaro. We had such a good time that, after a few days, Ahmed s! eriously invited me to join … his harem. He concluded that his wife, living in Oman, would definitely like me … We parted as friends. I didn’t take up his offer. I also spent a few days on a beautiful beach to the south of Dar es Salaam, where I started writing both Gipsy Life 16 and 17. I am still having problems with completing my notes. My days are full from morning till night. I have this strange feeling as if I’ve somehow become younger, because quite often very young and very handsome men tend to stare at me, even … twenty-year-olds! Their skin looks delicious! Oh dear, I have to keep myself together because I may lose my re-born chastity! It’s hot, humid and stifling in Dar es Salaam, so I can’t wait to head into the mountains. On 15 November I will be at the foot of Mount Kilimanjaro! I don’t plan to climb any peaks. I’ll just trek around the area and then head on to Arusha, then through Serengeti Park to the west, where I hope to reach Rwanda and see wild gorillas in the forests. From there I’m travelling to Uganda and Kenya and I plan to spend Christmas in Ethiopia. Yes, my plans have changed somewhat timewise. I’ve decide! d to stay in Africa for two months longer, till March – April 2003. I would like to remind you that my letters can be found on my web site: www.basia.meder.net My contact details for snail mail from December to mid-January 2003: Barbara Meder, Poste Restante, General Post Office, Addis Ababe, Ethiopia
From Dar es Salaam, the City of Peace, I wish that you all find peaceful understanding in the current difficult situation we have in the world. With hugs and kisses, Basia Top
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| Gipsy Lifetime 18 - (17 December 2002) |
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Dear Friends, I’m catching up yet again with notes from my trip, so I am writing to you in short. On 14 November, with relief, I left the hot and steamy Dar es Salaam and headed for the north-eastern, mountainous part of Tanzania. The surroundings changed greatly. It was green all around. The road headed more and more into the mountains. Pineapple plantations spread for kilometres. My first stop was Moshi, a small town lying at the foot of Africa’s highest mountain, Kilimanjaro (5896 m). Simon showed me around the area and introduced me to his family and local customs, including the tasting of a local beer made of … bananas! My next stop was the city of Arusha. Together with Azizi and Henry, we wandered through the fascinating villages of Masai, lying on the slopes of the mountain Meru (4566 m). Most of the women and many men wore lots of decorations around their necks, on their arms and legs. The favourite colour of the Masai is red so it was easy to recognise people walking from a long way away. In Arusha I got very tired of being hassled by young people trying to make money from tourists. I decided on a quick change of plans and left Tanzania for Nairobi, the capital of Kenya. From here, the very next day, I joined a safari around the Masai Mara National Park. Once again I was faced with the fantastical world of African animals, elephants, lions, zebras, antelopes, gazelles, hundreds of wandering wildebeests – gnu, buffalo, hippos and many more. These were again moments of emotion and joy, especially as the landscape was unusually green, so different from the part of southern Africa I’d been travelling in over the recent months. Masai Mara National Park is also an area inhabited by the Masai people. So it was very interesting for me to visit one of their villages. I got to know their customs, dances, singing, I entered round clay huts and was fascinated by colourful, beaded decorations. Later, my safari reached Lake Nakuru, which was pink in places, due to the thousands of flamingos fluttering about incessantly. There were also hundreds of pelicans, swans, ducks and other birds. A true birds’ paradise. I managed to get quite close to them and was astounded to hear loud "bird conversations", sounding as if I were in an enormous bees’ nest. In Nakuru, Kenya, I left the safari and set off alone north to Kampala, the capital of Uganda. I began my circulation of the equator. I was surrounded the entire time by an ocean of greenery. I also passed the source of the Nile. In Kampala I decided to have more thorough tests done and consult a doctor. I was weak and unsure. Luckily all the tests showed that my malaria had disappeared completely and that I was free of bulharza and other tropical diseases. Following the advice of the doctor, I decided to spend a week resting and stayed in one place at a lovely hotel with a beautiful garden. I slept, read, slept and read again, and started taking extra doses of vitamins. Adding to this the good local beer, Nile Special, it wasn’t long before I started to get my strength back. After a week I threw my backpack on and set off for Rwanda. This is a country full of unrest, fresh wounds originating from contemporary history and reality, visible everywhere. Nowhere in Africa had I seen so many beggars and cripples. I could feel the anxiety of the people based on their subconscious fears. I was surprised at the constant sensational reaction of people at seeing a "muzungu" – white person. Despite this I felt calm and safe. I was intrigued by the observations and comparisons with the book of prince R. Kapuscinski, "Heban", which I had with me in its English language version. In Kigali, the capital of Rwanda, I arranged a permit for hiking in the volcanic mountains near Ruhengeri, bordering with Uganda and Congo, where around 500 of the world’s last surviving large gorillas reside. Walking along steep, slippery and muddy tracks with guides, armed soldiers and two Germans, through dense tropical jungle, in the mist and pouring rain, I felt excited. After several hours of difficult trekking, I couldn’t contain my shouts of joy at the discovery of a group of gorillas. Once again I felt as if I were watching a film. It stopped raining and the sun shed its rays over the densely overgrown fields, on which there was a herd of around 20 massive mountain gorillas – two males, leaders (silverbacks), females, children, "youth"… I was only 2 – 4 m away! In Rwanda I also visited the town of Gisney, on the shores of Lake Kivu, bordering with Congo. From here, through a seldom-used border crossing with Cyanika, I returned to Uganda. I reached the first village, Kisoro, through rough, almost country roads … on a motorcycle (as a passenger), with an enormous backpack on my back and a smaller one on the front. This was the only available mode of transport. Further travels through Uganda led me to Fort Portal, circling continuously by the mountainous border with Congo. Later I moved on to Masindi and Marchison Falls National Park. Here the Victoria Nile river formed, in a narrow, six-metre gorge, an unusual water "cauldron", a waterfall, falling thunderously around 70 m, giving the impression of a super water turbine. Returning to Kampala I saw the changing landscape of Uganda. This is a mountainous country, always green with a tropical climate and stable temperatures all year round. Most of the country is covered by enormous fields with plantations of 2 – 5 m banana trees. These are green bananas for cooking and taste similar to potatoes. This is a major ingredient for meals, known as matoke. Uganda also has kilometre-long tea and sugar cane plantations. In the regions I passed through, I noticed many women wearing traditional long dresses with wide belts and on their shoulders, something like sleeves resembling small wings. As usual in Africa, goods were carried on the head. In these regions I decided not to try one local delicacy – fried grasshoppers! They are caught in the evenings around strong reflectors. I developed another series of films in Kampali, posted lots of letters and packages of film. I met many interesting travellers here, exchanging a lot of information. Rick, a Belgian, gave me plenty of interesting information about Ethiopia. Garry, an Australian, made a good beer-drinking companion. Among the locals, Florence and her son Peter enabled me to acquaint myself with their lifestyle and observe the local cream of society. I was also fascinated by a young writer, Nakitto Peace, a friend of Rick’s. Maybe, then, another book will come about, featuring African stories? Time will show if they’re as enthusiastic as I am. Finally the time has come to say goodbye to the people and this part of Africa. At the hostel in Kampala I felt very much at home. On 17 December I board the bus to Ethiopia, passing through Kenya (Nairobi, Isiolo, Marsabit). I will cross the border in Moyale and in the south, in the region of Konso and the culturally-fascinating valley Omo, is where I will spend Christmas. This is a completely different part of Africa. My access to the Internet will be non-existent. Thank you all for sending me greetings and well wishes. I wish you all a peaceful, healthy and happy holiday season and the fulfillment of all your dreams in 2003. I hope that peace and happiness will be the main guest in our hearts, souls and homes. With hugs and kisses, Basia English language translation: Anna Wielopolska Top
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| Gipsy Lifetime 19 - (18 February 2003) |
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Greetings my Dear Friends, I have extended my trip around Africa … until the end of May. Right now, as of 12 February, I’m in Ghana, in Western Africa, and not in Europe, as I had previously planned to be by February. The past two months have meant very intense, often difficult travels and mostly in cold weather – I used all of my warm clothing, including my hat and gloves. There were many adventures, impressions and emotions. I couldn’t keep up with my note taking. Internet access was minimal. So I’m now making up for lost time before moving off on the final part of my journey in Africa and before again losing access to computers. I am healthy, happy and still full of tenacity, energy and enthusiasm for the next section of my journey in Western Africa, continuing my adventurous way of life. This last sector of my African journey was enormous, difficult and exhausting, yet fantastic. I used many modes of transport – buses, four-wheel drive vehicles, trucks, planes, boats and … my feet too. From Uganda I quickly reached Kenya from where, along a difficult northern road, I crossed the border with Ethiopia. I spent Christmas and New Year’s in the unusual and isolated valley of Omo, among people whose reality was sometimes went hundreds or even thousands of years back in time. I spent all of January wandering around northern Ethiopia. On 31 January, I reached Egypt by plane. With some regrets, I had to give up the opportunity to travel around Sudan, with the hope that I will go back there one day. My stay in Egypt was short – only 12 days – as I had difficulties with my connecting flight to Ghana. I believe, however, that I did see a lot of what other people would maybe take weeks to see. I just… didn’t spend much time sleeping at night or spent my nights on the train, bus or plane. This was both a fantastic and fascinating close to my journey through Africa, from Cape Town in South Africa, all the way to Alexandria in Egypt. This entire journey took almost a year to complete – 348 days. Through my experiences I got to know several thousand years of history, human life and the changes in nature on this fascinating continent. I understood how wrong my picture of Africa and the pictures of others had been. I visited 16 countries – South Africa, Madagascar, Lesotho, Swaziland, Mozambique, Namibia, Botswana, Zimbabwe, Zambia, Malawi, Tanzania, Kenya, Uganda, Rwanda, Ethiopia and Egypt. The magnitude of differences between regions, countries, cultures and customs was quite incredible. The richness of the continent with extraordinary contrasts between life and nature was difficult to believe. It was possible to meet people living almost as if back in the Stone Age and then be suddenly transported to the richness of millions of lights in large, modern cities. The African people range in skin colour from coal-black to white, in eye-colour from black to blue, and in hair-colour from black to blonde. The majority of them are warm and helpful. In some countries I felt the influence of colonisation, in others a greater independence and self-assurance, and in others still a type of constant dependence on help from developed countries. Naturally I also met many interesting tourists and made many friends, both among tourists and locals. Yes, my family just keeps growing. Despite the dozens of local dialects used in the 16 countries I visited, I mostly used English. This was sometimes easy and sometimes more difficult but with limited time, it always made my journey easier. Learning at least a few words of the local language always enriched my contacts with the locals. It is difficult not to mention where I slept. Mostly it was in small hotels, sometimes in shared rooms but mostly I had a room to myself. The quality of these hotels ranged from –5 stars to +3 stars – that was luxury. I also slept in small village huts, in "fields", tents and on desert sand (a hotel of "5 million stars in the sky" – simply wonderful!). Over the following days and months I woke up at dawn, together with nature, to soothing birdsong, the loud crowing of roosters, the roar of wild animals, the thunder of the oceans and the unusual silence of the desert. On other mornings the first sounds I heard were made by humans – rhythmical sweeping, with a broom made of branches or leaves, of the floor or yard. In many cities, sometimes as early as 3 am, loud, even worryingly so (often through megaphones) hymns would ring out from Muslim mosques or Orthodox churches. I greeted my final dawn in Alexandria, Egypt, with the sounds of car horns, which rang out non-stop all night long. I also came to know the diversity of life in kitchen customs. In the south and east of Africa, my meals mostly consisted of different types of corn, in the form of a type of mush, served with either meat or vegetables. In Ethiopia, something very different from this mush was the injira – a type of enormous pancake. Further on in the north, in Egypt, there is a variety of flat breads. Depending on the width and geographical location [of the country], there were different types of fruit, always my favourite part of the meal. In addition, I also often took multivitamin tablets. After a year, I have maintained my weight (plump), general dexterity (I am constantly getting marriage proposals), tenacity of my organism, and … my smile. I landed in Ghana on 12 February. It was finally warm. Straight from the airport in Accra, I left the city and headed for the ocean. I have a small room by the beach and am … on holiday from travelling. I’m resting, warming my bones, completing my notes and storing new energy for the next leg of my journey through Western Africa. Of course, my level of enthusiasm is always very high. So I have begun arranging further visas, reading guidebooks (obtained with difficulty) and planning. And so, at the moment, my plan for the next three months or more is as follows: from Ghana I will head to Togo, Benin, Burkina Faso, Mali, Senegal and Gambia, and I will finish off my trip around Africa in Morocco. From here, at the end of May, I plan to quickly get to Poland. I will spend the beginning of June, naturally, in the mountains – the Polish Tatras, with friends from Australia. In July I plan to be in England. I will be in Poland and Europe until October. In November I am planning a 2-3 month visit to Australia. Then I will return to … Poland, Europe … Africa??? Of course in the end, one day, I will return to Australia. This, to me, is decidedly the most beautiful place, where I dream of building a new, simple house in a village, where you will always be able to visit me … I keep on dreaming… At the end of my letter I promise to soon write more details of my journey around Egypt and Ethiopia. I also wish to sincerely thank everyone, who sent me letters to Addis Ababa in Ethiopia. These were beautiful gifts from friends, priceless during travel. Thank you. Simultaneously, I sympathise wholeheartedly with all close friends touched by the tragic fires in Canberra, Australia, in January. Ania and Andrzej S. and Ewa and Joanna K. lost their homes and all of their possessions. Gosia and Bogus S. fought the fire over the fence. Others lived "on their suitcases", ready for evacuation. I think it is a miracle that my belongings, mainly priceless "treasures from travels", stored in Ewa’s garage, directly next to the burnt-out house, survived the fire. I wish for everyone in Canberra to happily rebuild their houses and lives after these dramatic weeks. From now until October, my postal address will be in Poland, at my mother’s place: Ul. ZWIRKI I WIGURY 57 m 6 02-091 WARSZAWA, POLAND I wish for us all to survive the current stressful and tragic international situation. May there be peace in our hearts, our thoughts, and in the whole world. Kisses to you all, Basia
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| Gipsy Lifetime 20- Ethiopia I (11 March2003) |
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Reaching Ethiopia from Uganda was one of the most difficult parts of my African journey. The roads between Kampala in Uganda, and then in Kenya – Nairobi, Isiolo, Marsabit and Moyale, were terrible, rough and, at the end, impossible to drive on due to pouring rain. For the last two days I travelled with a convoy of enormous, packed trucks, sitting crowded in between or on top of their merchandise – sometimes up to several metres above the road. But, thanks to this, I had magnificent views of the sprawling savannah, the desert, the villages of the Samburo, Rendille and other tribes, and hundreds of camels and their nomad owners. I crossed Ethiopia’s border in Moyale (Kenya/Ethiopia) on 20 December, 30 minutes before it was closed for the night, running the final two kilometres. That is how my six-week journey across Ethiopia began. This is a country that is unusually different in many respects. Right away I found out it was 1995 and not 2002, that it was 12 not 6 o’clock and that my name could be written in "vermicular" writing – Amharic. The following weeks brought even more surprises. Ethiopia is officially a democratic country with a population of 80 million, one of Africa’s largest, and is divided into 80 ethnic groups. I had imagined this country as almost just desert with skeletal inhabitants. I saw a country of incredible contrasts, rich in nature, green, with beautiful and sometimes very high mountains, sprawling valleys, lakes and rivers in the south and the north. I also got to know the desert landscape a bit, sandy and rocky, rivers that dried up within days and others that flowed rapidly. I saw a certain amount of fields under cultivation and orchards, but I had a definite feeling that this country is not making good use of its natural resources. I observed healthy and robust citizens as well as the poor, skinny, barefoot ones clad in rags and begging. I had the feeling that, aside from the extensive and long-lasting help of other countries, the poor people of Ethiopia are becoming poorer and even more helpless and the rest richer … ever richer and stronger. Despite a high fatality rate, data shows that the natural increase is around two million. How can the world help these people without their participation? I spent the first two weeks walking through the Omo Valley in southern Ethiopia, which is isolated by the surrounding mountains. Immediately I was transported into a world of extensive contrasts. Contemporary times mixed with life from the Stone Age, and it looked natural, simple, even happy. I stopped in Moyale, Konso, Jinka, Dimeka and Arbe Minch. I also visited around a dozen other villages, most of these without electricity. I travelled in trucks and four-wheel drive vehicles, on rugged, narrow and steep roads. Sometimes my hair would stand on end – so would the cars! Following heavy rains the roads would immediately be cut off or the cars would change into amphibians. After these modes of transport, for the first time in Africa, I felt strong pains in my spine, in protest to this kind of treatment. It has a right, strained following a difficult operation 12 years ago but, after a few additional rest stops, I carried on with my journey. I immediately got to know and came to like the basic Ethiopian dish – injira. This is a flat cake with a diameter of about 50 cm – like a big pancake. It wis served on a large tray. On it you can put pieces of meat with sauce, beans, vegetables or scrambled eggs. Tearing of a piece of injira, you wrap it around something and eat. I always did this with great appetite. Water is always served before and after the meal for washing your hands. Seven trays of injira with seven different meat, sauce and vegetable dishes comprised my Christmas Eve dinner, spent with seven local inhabitants of Konso. This was a very friendly, warm and festive meeting, seasoned with many stories and washed down with local beer. Another interesting thing about Ethiopia was the delicious honey beer – I got to know the taste pretty quickly. Yes, this a honey country. Often, both in the north and in the south, I saw enormous beam-like structures hanging from trees. These were beehives. Not only emperors but also ordinary people have been enjoying this honey-based beverage for centuries. Ethiopia is also the principal source of … coffee. The first plants, shrubs, plantations of which have spread around the world, come from a distant southern region called Kefa. The coffee in Ethiopia is impeccable, the best I’ve tasted anywhere. It is served from a traditional, slim black jug, and poured into tiny cups, as part of a longer, centuries-old preparation and brewing ceremony. But the most fascinating and shocking of my experiences in the south were meetings with the Banna and Hamar tribes. I had the feeling that I was either dreaming or watching a film that recreated the long-ago past. My eyes grew wider and wider … It wasn’t easy for me to take photographs but the people’s behaviour was natural. Most of the beautiful, healthy and smiling women walked around with bare breasts, wearing only smallish goatskins decorated with metal and kouri shells. On their necks, single women wore strings of beads and married women, metal and leather collars. Hair was formed into thick, red husks after adding a mixture of butter and ochre. On their heads they sometimes wore … a helmet made from bottle gourds and decorated with drawings. The men, mostly beautifully and strongly built, also walked around half-naked. Around their waists they wore something like miniskirts usually made from a colourfully striped material. In addition, on their hips, they wore leather belts with several small pocket/containers. On their necks, arms, wrists and heads they often had a lot of multicoloured beaded jewellery. Their hair was usually plaited into tiny braids, flat against the skin of their heads. They always carried with them a beautiful, tiny wooden stool. I managed to buy one off one of the Hamars. In my description of the people I can’t leave out the children. In the villages I mostly saw joyful little nudes. Little girls usually wore a thin string of beads below their waists, or a plain string, from which hung a several-centimetre-long "curtain of privacy". Older girls wore the traditional goatskins, decorated with metal. I often saw unusual use of different sized nails, twisted, bent, which formed, together with beads and shells, part of the decoration. Thanks to my new friend, a teacher from Dimeka, Nebyate, I also visited children in several classes of a local primary school. The children, dressed in contemporary clothing, were keen to study, which was free, despite a lack of basic materials such as textbooks, exercise books and pens. For several hours we spoke in English, directly or with the help of Nebyate – our translator. Laughing a lot, asking and answering hundreds of questions, we enriched each other with our knowledge and experience. I think that a lot of students will remember that Canberra is the capital of Australia and Warsaw the capital of Poland. Dimeka was where I greeted the New Year of 2003. Sitting by candlelight with Nebyate and several men from the Hamar tribe, eating injira and washing it down with honey wine, we cheered on the farewell of the old year and the greeting of "my" New Year. The next morning, as always at dawn, the roosters crowed. I was lying back and thinking. Suddenly there was a loud bang at the door. There was no answer to my calls. Through a gap I saw … a huge cow, which was, accidentally (?!) trying to get into my room on 1 January! My smile quickly disappeared when I tried to open my door. It turned out that the New Year’s cow had blocked the lock to my room from the outside! Only my cries for help freed me and also reduced others and myself to tears of laughter. Other days I wandered, usually accompanied by small boys, around local villages. Simple huts made of branches and clay often offered coffee or buttermilk. Kitchen equipment was a collection of different sized bottle gourds or clay pots. Usually a small fire would burn in the hut, over which the cooking was done. Goat or cow skins spread on the clay floor served as beds. The men had spears with metal spikes used for hunting. Simple wooden tools served for the cultivation plants. I brought joy to the children by handing out, in the Christmas-New Year spirit, colourful balloons and lollypops. Sometimes I was able to take pictures but when I was asked to pay money in return, I usually turned down the offer. I was fascinated by the simple lifestyles of the Hamar people and I was impressed at their being happy with their lives. The signs of contemporary life and civilisation that they saw didn’t bother them. They had their values and traditions. Travelling through the south I also met several interesting tourists. I admired the talented photographer from France, Rene. Later I met Mike from the UK and George from France. Mike took me by surprise with his idea of adopting a 10-year-old girl from the traditional Hamar tribe. He planned to take her directly to … London. I wished him luck but felt a great reserve towards this undertaking. For a change George shocked me when he suddenly started speaking … Polish! He was born in Poland but had been living in France permanently for years. The final big event of the south was the loss of my backpack! It contained my personal belongings and a priceless bundle of films taken among the tribes people. I had left my backpack for a few hours in my locked hotel room and had gone out to wander through an interesting local market. When I got back, numb and in shock, I stared at the empty room. My backpack was gone. No one knew where it was. A truck was waiting to take me to Jinka. After taking quick action, a search and language help from my friend Durg, and the biggest supposition was that the backpack had been taken "by accident" with several backpacks belonging to other travellers. They had left over two hours ago, unfortunately in the opposite direction to the one I was planning to take – to Konso. Mike and George, who were standing next to me, were about to head in that direction. I accepted their offer of help and a free seat in the car immediately. After almost three hours of driving we finally caught up with the truck, loaded with a broken-d My last stop in the south was in Arbe Minch. The adventurous spirit had returned and I rode a bike out to a beautiful lake surrounded by wooded mountains. It was lovely and quiet when I walked alone along a stone dam. Suddenly, about two metres ahead of me, I heard a splash and glimpsed the tail of a rather large crocodile. Once again I managed … Along an excellent asphalt road, dodging donkeys hitched to two-wheel carriages, herds of cows and goats, my bus reached the capital city of Addis Ababa. I stopped at the Baro Hotel, where there was the opportunity of meeting other travellers as well as accessing the Internet. It turned out that I had lost many emails because my account had been blocked. Over the Christmas period, long and heavy letters and photographs filled my account to its limit. Too bad, but that was the reason why I couldn’t answer many emails. On 6 December the ceremonies of the Orthodox Christmas began. At the St George’s church in Addis Ababa, in the late evening, I observed and listened to the singing of the priests and other men. The rhythm of thundering drums, the delicate sounds of the traditional sistrum – similar to a tambourine, accompanied hours long singing – chanting. Women were not allowed to enter but, through hand gestures, I was invited inside, to a bench, and could not just listen but also, in a way, be part of this tradition. The atmosphere of Christmas filled the city. Churches were full. The next day on the streets many people wore festive clothes. But in general Addis Ababa made a sad impression on me through the hundreds of street beggars and cripples. I was tired of the constant police controls at the post office and in banks or other official buildings. I found the contrast of great poverty and great wealth hard to take. But I was interested in getting to know the northern part of Ethiopia and soon moved on again. (End of part I) Warmest greetings to you all, Basia Top
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| Gipsy Lifetime 21- Ethiopia II (7 April 2003) |
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Ethiopia II I travelled through the north of Ethiopia with George, a Polish-born Frenchman I’d met earlier. We mostly spoke Polish! I visited Bahar Dar, Gondar, Lalibela and Debark. This time I travelled mainly by aeroplane. In Bahar Dar, I stayed by Lake Tana and had a good rest. I observed traditional papyrus boats and great herds of pelicans and other water birds. Coptic temples, mostly situated on the lake’s many islands, with their history, architecture and paint work, expressed the enormity of further new and interesting impressions and experiences. The sprawling, thundering waterfalls of the Blue Nile were yet another adventure with nature. Bahar Dar was also interesting as a centre of multicoloured fabrics – striped regional fabrics for clothing and household use. Of course I couldn’t resist doing some shopping, as I have always loved fabrics, especially such colourful ones. One of my greatest adventures in the north was a four-day hike in the Simien Mountains. George, myself and Jeshow, a forester armed with a rifle, and Kedry, a young barefoot boy who looked after the horse carrying our luggage, formed a small group. We left Debark by car and headed for Sankaber, from where we trekked on foot into the mountains to Imet Gogo (3,930 m). On the way back, we walked all the way to Debark. We travelled with hired camping equipment, food and minimal personal items. George had never hiked in the mountains and was a little apprehensive but for me it was yet another expedition of my dreams. We managed well. We walked along narrow trails, sometimes passing through villages. We passed by country people and loaded donkeys and horses. The flora changed gradually. Trees and bushes disappeared. The landscape became mainly rocky and open – you could only see oases of green in the valleys. In this terrain there were several cultivated fields. Corn was collected by scything with an archaic sickle. Horses were used for threshing – they stamped around over bundles of corn. Wooden ploughs were used. Once again I was moved centuries back in time. The villagers were very poor. The children, seeing us tourists, quickly put their hands out begging and shouting "money", "money". It was getting harder and harder for me to bear. I felt helpless but lost patience the more tired I got. It was very cold at our camping sites in the mountains. One night our tent got covered in ice – from the inside! But the days were warm and sunny. We had some fantastic encounters with hundreds of monkeys – the Gelada Baboon. They looked like crossbreeds between a monkey and … a lion! The most beautiful views were from Imet Gogo, situated at an altitude of almost 4,000 m. On the way there we passed hundreds of large, unique plants called Lobelia. It is similar to agave, it grows for a dozen or so years and then blooms only once in the form of a large pole up to 10 metres high, covered with thousands of small flowers. After such a large, life-long effort, it suddenly dies. This was a wonderful expedition – yet another, different and beautiful mountain range in Ethiopia, in the world. From Debark we travelled by bus over a very dusty road to Gondar. Here they were holding one of the largest festivals of the Orthodox Church – Timkat. It lasted three days. The festival was held in remembrance of the baptism of Christ. Each day the city streets were filled with a rippling, multicoloured crowd, dancing to the rhythm of thundering drums, loud trumpets and the chanting/singing of the people. At the end of the procession, in two rows, a small group of deacons – church dignitaries, stamped their feet. They were covered with snow-white robes and wore white turbans. Each one held a ceremonial staff in one hand and, in the other, a traditional instrument called a sistrum. Their beautiful voices rang out far in the choir. Behind them, under incredibly colourful umbrellas, walked a group of the highest priests of the church of Gondar. In front of them hey carried the "holy book", as well as enormous, fancy, mainly gold, processional crosses. Each day the procession was repeated, but on the last day I had a chance to watch from the first floor of a nearby hotel. Looking down, the impression of the energy pulsating though the crowd and their joy was even greater. Standing there I felt my legs starting to dance all by themselves and I couldn’t stop smiling. Gondar is known for its grand complex of royal castles originating from the 17th and 18th centuries when the city was Ethiopia’s capital. There are only ruins left now but particularly the partially restored castle of Emperor Fasilad, is a reminder of the long-ago greatness and wealth of Ethiopian rulers. From its four towers there is a magnificent view over an area surrounded by mountains. There are also many churches here and, standing out among them, is the Debre Berhan Selassie. Staring at the wall paintings with their few biblical scenes, and the fascinating ceiling containing 80 angels’ heads, I suddenly heard a conversation in Polish. It was a small Polish excursion. Thanks to this, I was able to gain some knowledge in Polish, aside from my guidebook. Flying to Lalibela I passed over the mountains northern region. The beaten tracks in this area were in extremely poor condition. Travelling over them took some people several days. Lalibela is situated high among rocky mountains, at an altitude of around 3,000 m. It is famous for its unique complex of 11 orthodox churches, which are hewn in the rock. Some of these churches are joined by tunnels. Inside they contain copies of the Holy Bible, some beautiful paintings, sculptures and pricelessly decorated Coptic procession crosses. Walking time and time again over the rocks, taking photographs and looking down on the churches, I often saw crowds of local believers clad in white covering. Both believers and dignitaries strolled around the courtyards, walkways and churches. Around some churchyards, in small niches in the walls, hermits huddled, praying. Once again I had the impression that history had stopped in this town I wandered alone through the alleyways, tunnels and churches, and was astonished. But it was enough to go outside, and another reality would quickly hit me. There were plenty of cripples and beggars in the entire district of Lalibela. They surrounded me immediately. Beggars’ hands stretched before me. Calls for money. Intrusive molestation. I felt horrible in this situation. At the same time I had the feeling that I held healing powers – on seeing me, cripples would run to keep up. I became deaf. I became blind. Within a few minutes of leaving the hotel, every time, I was covered by flies in the form of children, beggars… I felt sad and helpless. I learnt to look at streets and people differently. I foresaw their moves and reactions. Sometimes I ran away. I felt awful. Yes, Ethiopia has become to me a country of beggars, difficult to travel, especially in tourist areas. The rich, the poor and church representatives were all begging. I also got the impression that the government also does this by begging from other developed countries. It’s almost as if begging were history and tradition. In my opinion this country could be very rich. It is extremely wealthy in natural resources and people power. For years millions of subsidies have been disappearing. Fields stand neglected. People are literally sitting and waiting. And even so the poor continue getting poorer, and the rich, richer. Generally I noticed a lot of waste, dependence and expectations of help. The stretched-out-hand syndrome rules here. The first and most frequently heard word was "money" (give me). Naturally, every white tourist is a perfect target. Aside from coffee production, tourism is the main source of Ethiopia’s national income. This is undoubtedly a fascinating country both in nature and in history. But tourism here is very tiring, difficult and off-putting. It can also be extremely expensive. I was offered car hire for … USD200 per day! This is more than the average annual income here! Naturally, it is individuals who profit from this. And that is why organised and group tourism is blossoming here, as a safer alternative. Even so those without shoes remain barefoot, and those with nothing to eat, hungry. Their clothes are even more ragged. For years I was witness to Australians, often not too well off themselves, going to great compromise in their lives to help, among others, the poor people of Ethiopia. If they had known that they were often helping much wealthier people … before it was emperors "training" generations of their people in begging, maintaining a low standard of living, humili Today, the majority of Ethiopian society, in my opinion, has lost the feeling of dignity. They live in fear, as if paralysed, and don’t believe in their abilities and the resources of their country. Ethiopia was the only African country where I felt this so strongly. And I felt that this was constantly being deepened by the present authorities and the situation. These are people who, like everywhere else, deserve a dignified life. Will this change? I truly hope so. But that mainly depends on Ethiopians themselves. It depends on building their lives on the basis of their natural and human wealth and on moving forward, without waiting, step by step. To finish off, I have to add that in Ethiopia I also met sincere, selfless and interesting people. I was invited in for meals or coffee. I wasn’t allowed to pay because "I was a guest in their country". I also met people who worked hard and passionately at their jobs. Walking alone through village streets I was often asked inside, unselfishly, for a traditional coffee. So there were also ups on this trip. In Addis Ababa I was able to develop more films and slides. It was a job well done. I also sent many photos to people I met along the way, just as I had promised. Yet more packages of film and some mementoes were sent to Poland. I hope that all my packages reach their destinations. On 31 January I spent many hours waiting in Addis Ababa for my plane to Cairo, the capital of Egypt. The airport was enormous, new, covered in marble and … empty. Constant police surveillance and several x-ray machines gave the impression of an elegant military area. From the nearby parking the entrance was, unfortunately, only for passengers. For me this was yet another example of waste and the police government. At the last moment, in a shop at the airport, I bought an interesting book –"Lords of Poverty" by Graham Hancock, an excellent and well-known English author. I really recommend it, especially for those who want to understand the difficult situations of developing countries. Flying out of Ethiopia I wondered if I’ll be able to come back here, mainly to the south, to the lives of tribal peoples, which, although simple, were the most joyful. With warm hugs and kisses, Basia PS. My further travel plan for Western Africa was included in "Gipsy Life 19". PPS. Please do not include my letters in your replies to avoid my email account reaching its limit again. I will have restricted email access over the coming weeks. "The bounty of life is in its flow. Later it is too late". Tom Stoppard. Top
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| Gipsy Lifetime 22- Egipt (8 April 2003) |
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Egypt was the last country I visited since starting my African adventure almost one year ago, travelling from south to north. I reached Cairo, the capital of Egypt, by plane directly from Ethiopia. The contrast was shocking. Travelling wasn’t easy. But in the short time of just 12 days I managed to see quite a bit. I realised right away that Egyptian men are "charmers". Women experiencing difficulties in believing in themselves, their beauty, charm and attractiveness, could come to Egypt for "psychological healing". I was constantly told how beautiful I am, how young and attractive, that my eyes, hair, etc. are just gorgeous. Luckily I usually had access to a mirror, which didn’t lie or work any charms. I began my trek through Egypt in the historical part of the country. The history of the pharaohs was mainly associated with the sprawling Nile Valley, inhabited by around 90% of Egyptians, both before and now. The Muslim world rules here mainly, through the slim towers of around 2,000 mosques. For several kilometres you could see thousands of houses being built, and some that were already inhabited. Modern roads, sometimes containing eight lanes, ran alongside narrower ones on which, next to the cars, donkeys calmly pulled their carts. Was this the African America? My first historical excursion was to Giza and the famous Khufu pyramids (Cheops – 146 m), Khafre (Chephren – 136 m) and Menkaure (Myceriuns – 62 m). Next, I reached southern Egypt – Aswan. Here I saw, among other attractions, the restored ruins of the Temple of Philae and sailed the extensive Nile in a traditional sailboat – felucca. In the city of Luxor my imagination flew back into the past as I strolled the ruins of the Temple of Hatshepst. I gazed at rich wall paintings in the deserted tombs of pharaohs in the Valley of the Kings and the Valley of the Queens. Lost in thought, I walked for hours through the temples of Luxor and Karnak. A visit to the museum in Cairo ended my historical journey. Seeing 100,000 exhibits during one day enabled me to only acquaint myself superficially with them. Blocks of stone covered in hieroglyphs, marble statues, alabaster goods and gold objects – the contents of the tombs were silent footsteps of the past and part of my experience. I observed them with astonishment – how many other secrets do they hide? How many more discoveries will be made in this country, where a centuries-long assimilation of Roman, Greek, Turkish, Lebanese, Arab and other contrasts took place? Aside from the history of Egypt, I also got to know beautiful nature spots. Most of the country is covered by the Sahara Desert. A total contrast is the green and mountainous Sinai Peninsula on the Red Sea. Unfortunately I did not reach it, but I managed to spend several days in the district of Bawiti in the Sahara and at the Bahriyya Oasis. These were unforgettable days. Salty lakes, rocky and sandy desert, luscious greenery and cultivated garden oases were part of this nature. The Black Desert, with hundreds of hills, gave the impression of factory dumps. I had a different impression of the Crystal Mountain. It transported me almost to a fairytale valley. Enormous, sometimes several-metre-high "rocky mouths" with thousands of millions of crystals, glittered in the sun’s rays. The White Desert contained hundreds of fossil-like white statues, figures, castles and obelisks. Sleeping alone next to such an obelisk in an isolated landscape, on the sand, next to a young Bedouin, wrapped in a warm sleeping bag (it was around 0 degrees), I could see millions of stars in the sky. I was powerless in the prevailing silence. I observed the sunrise and sunset alone. I felt very happy and privileged to have such an experience. The city of Alexandria, situated on the Mediterranean Sea, was literally my last stop in northern Africa. Gazing into the sun setting over the water, I said good-bye to this part of Africa. I caught a bus from Alexandria directly to the airport located near Cairo. From there I few to Ghana, were I began my journey in western Africa. With best wishes and the constant hope for peace on Earth, Basia English language translation by Anna Wielopolska Top
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| Gipsy Lifetime 23(8 April 2003) |
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Dear Friends, I have been forced to end my journey through Africa unexpectedly and immediately due to health reasons. As of 3 April I'm in Warsaw, Poland. Over the past few months I've been in Ghana, Togo, Burkina Faso and Mali. I will write more details in my upcoming letters. On 25 March in Mali, I had an accident. I was brutally attacked and robbed by two bandits during an eight-day treck in the Dogon Region. I am weak and in shock but under excellent medical care in Warsaw, and being looked after by Mummy and her delicacies. I believe in myself and that I will quickly regain my strength so that I may ... set off again with my backpack into another part of the world. Until Easter I need a lot of rest and peace so please forgive me if I don't write for a while. I plan to stay in Poland for several months. I will soon send you the details of my last two months in Africa. My postal address in Poland is: UL. ZWIRKI I WIGURY 57 M 6, 02 091 WARSZAWA, POLAND My mobile number: +48 692 258 373 With warmest regards, Basia Top
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| Gipsy Lifetime 24(1 May 2003) |
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Warsaw, Poland Greetings, My first few weeks in Warsaw, Poland, flew by despite the slower pace and peacefulness so different from my annual trip around Africa. Following my accident that took place in March, in Mali, I feel really well and the doctor's results have been a relief. There will be no long-term consequences from the attack, in fact, the opposite is true. Thanks to my family and friends, I've regained strength both physically and mentally. Spring nature, the awakening greenery and blossoming flowers give me joy and enthusiasm for life. I've cleaned and laundered my backpack and will soon be setting off again, but this time on a less adventurous route. At first, on 1 May, I plan to spend some time in the forest area close to Warsaw, where I will gain more strength and energy. That's when I plan to write letters describing the last section of my journey through West Africa, as well as catalogue my photos and slides. Afterwards, I will be in Warsaw between 12-22 May. From 23 May to 3 June I'm heading to the Tatras with Australian friends. I will be back in Warsaw from 4 June to 6 July. On 12 June I have a preliminary engagement to prepare a slide show in Warsaw (I will provide details later). From 7 July to 3 August I will be in London and its surrounds. I plan to spend August, September and October in Poland and head back to Australia in November. Thank you all for your warm and heartfelt letters, cards and phone calls. This has helped me very much in regaining my smile as well as creating and realising further dreams. With warmest regards, Basia Top
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| Gipsy Lifetime 25 (31 May 2003) |
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Since my arrival in Poland in April 2003 time has sped by. It’s almost the end of May. The intensity of spring is leading us into summer moods. Lilacs, chestnut trees and lilies are blooming. Recently I relaxed in a forest close to Warsaw and I’m looking forward to my trek in the Tatra Mountains. I’m quickly regaining my energy, my smile and enthusiasm. I’m organising and tidying my slides, photos and notes, and I’m preparing for my first public meetings. I look back more and more often on my memories of the twenty African countries I visited, undoubtedly a fantastic part of my great, life-enriching adventure. At the moment I would also like to complete my reports from the last four countries I visited in Western Africa. Therefore, I have three more emails to send. They will be the last group emails. If anyone is interested in receiving more group-directed reports of my “gipsy life” (which may last several years), please let me know. But wait for the last letter, summarising the entire African adventure. Recently, my enthusiasm for travel has undoubtedly been rekindled following a meeting with persistent Polish traveller, Ryszard Czajkowski. He’s truly inspired me to further roam the world. I know that subsequent meetings with other travellers will strengthen this feeling. But for now I’m returning to short reports from Western Africa. I had already written this letter in Burkina Faso but the computer crashed, the letter was lost and I didn’t have a chance to send it again. I hope to one day be able to further expand on these experiences. Ghana, Togo In February, after flying from Cairo to Accra, capital of Ghana, I immediately became a millionaire. Following my first exchange of money at a bank, I received a biggish plastic bag containing around 2 million cedi – the local currency, of a very low value (worth around USD 250). I straightaway took a taxi to the village of Kokrobite, around 30 km from Accra. I spent a week resting. I stayed by the beach and observed the daily life of fishing villages. I stuffed myself with fish and tropical fruit such as pineapple, oranges, mango and bananas. Often, I listened to the rhythmic playing of drums, guitars or other traditional instruments. I was surrounded by musicians and I felt wonderful. I visited Accra several times. The city gave the impression of an enormous anthill. Millions of people wearing bright, cotton clothing, scarves and shirts, glimmered on the hot streets. Many of them were either constantly buying or selling something. Thousands of goods were being offered by hundreds of stalls. There were also smiling street vendors, juggling and balancing their goods on their heads by roads and on the streets. They hung around cars and trotro buses. The loud beeping of horns mixed with the rhythmic music of Western Africa originating from the stalls. This was such a different country from other parts of Africa I’d become familiar with. A several-day-long trek in the north of Ghana, to Kumasi and local villages, was mostly associated with getting to know the culture of the Ashanti people. I saw the remainders of unique and differing Ashanti houses and temples, constantly fulfilling their social roles. They were built of clay but had diverse tall roofs made of palm tree leaves. A curiosity of this region was the traditional, colourful “Kente” fabrics and “Adinkra” materials decorated with the use of stamps in diverse, symbolically rich patterns. This region also had interesting clay and wooden articles. Particularly characteristic were traditional wooden stools, the shapes of which held and still hold significant symbolic and spiritual meaning in these parts. My visit to Kumasi brought about an accidental meeting, on the street … with the present king of the Ashanti tribe. Despite country borders being established in Western Africa at the time of colonisation, many kingdoms have been preserved. They are respected and their leaders are admired for their leadership and wealth. The present king of the Ashanti walked by me proudly but calmly. He was my age and presented me with a wide smile. He was wrapped in traditional cloth with royal patterns with one arm uncovered. Behind him, a group of accompanying men hurried to keep up. He was climbing into a big, black car. I joked to his bodyguards that he could give me a lift to his palace, as that was where I was headed. I didn’t succeed though. The passers-by that had gathered greeted their king with enthusiasm and with joy. After returning to Accra I posted subsequent packages of developed film to Poland. Unfortunately it turned out to be impossible to buy more slide films and negative films were also hard to get hold of. So I prepared myself for more reserved photo-taking in my upcoming travels. From English-language Ghana I reached Togo. I took a bus to Lome, the country’s seaside capital. It was hot. This was the first French-language country I’d been to in Western Africa. My knowledge of French was minimal so I kept to English. In the city I was again immediately immersed in the atmosphere of thousands of local street vendors and buyers. Luck was on my side, however. For the first time in many months I was able to make contact with Servas members. I missed the normal home environment and was happy to take advantage of the warm hospitality offered by Emmanuel, his wife, sisters and children. I became acquainted with their traditional, delicious food. For hours I observed the act of plaiting hundreds of braids on women’s heads. I observed their daily lives – work, school, home. Koffi, the president of Servas, also introduced me to another group of around a dozen members. I had an especially friendly meeting with Adam M., a young traveller from Poland, also a member of Servas. From the seaside city of Lome I travelled inland, to the north of Togo. First I stopped in the uninteresting town of Kara. I quickly left and headed for Kande, a biggish but calm village. Local villages, just by the border with Benin, had a fascinating culture. Tamberma tribes had lived here. Their unique houses, several-stories high, clay, “tata”, gave the impression of small fortified castles. I was able to see the interior of one of these houses and acquaint myself with its functions. High walls, smaller towers acting as granaries, small huts on the first floors for sleeping were part of the structure. Traditional creeds were visible on the walls – fetishes – bones, feathers, traces of blood and others. The houses stood in small clusters among fields. There were several enormous baobab trees in the vicinity. I spent the coming days among the Lobe people living in Kande. Most of my time was spent with the friendly 25-year-old Adji. He spoke English. His family – wife, child, siblings and grandmothers (two wives of his grandfather) lived close to my hotel. Their traditional clay hut was surrounded by baobab trees. I helped them prepare local beer in an enormous pot over the fire. On many occasions, with joy and laughter, we consumed that beer, which was very light, almost like lemonade. We wandered together among the traditional houses. Everyone greeted me with unselfish sincerity and smiles. Adji’s family accepted me as “one of them”. When, after a few days, I left for the border between Togo and Burkina Faso, I could see the whole family’s sadness at having to part with me. I was also parting with regret and the feeling that I would like to come back one day. In my next letter I’ll tell you about my trip to Burkina Faso and Mali. With warm greetings, Basia Top
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| Gipsy Lifetime 27 (31 May 2003) |
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Mali (II) The day after my return to Mopti from Timbuktu, the travel agency presented me with a young, 24-year-old guide – Youssoup. That same day we took off on another, eight-day hike along the Bandiagara Plateau, in the country of the culturally fascinating Dogon people. It was already dark by the time we reached the first village of Kani Kombole. By the light of an oil lamp, we climbed a ladder hacked out of a wooden beam, to the roof of a clay hut. That was where we spent the night. I felt the extraordinariness of the place. It was pitch dark. We could hear lots of loud sounds originating from the village, as if some big gathering were taking place. In the morning I understood that a specific echo occurred here, bouncing off the high and steep rock walls of the Plateau. The voices of a dozen or so people, amplified by the echo, gave the impression of being surrounded by hundreds of people. My hike was to be 80 km long. The trail led from south to north along the rocky plateau of the Bandiagara, stretching for about 150 km. Walking mostly along the foot of the plateau, I wanted to visit around a dozen villages. All of them were inhabited by the Dogon people, characterised by unusual artistic skills, especially developed in wooden sculpting. Their architecture was also unique. Clay houses and receptacles for grain were as if glued to the steep rocky walls. During the first few days I visited the villages of Kani Kombole, Teli, Ende, Yabatalu, Doudourou, Indero Begnimato, Guinimi, Yawa and Nombori. These were isolated villages, without electricity or roads. The guide and I slept in local houses designated for tourists. I was mostly the only visitor. I wandered around these villages, along winding streets, sometimes entering dark, smoke-filled huts. I absorbed the smells of villagers’ lives, which sometimes gave the impression of remaining unchanged for hundreds of years. When asked I administered first aid or handed out painkillers. I was greeted very warmly by the villagers. My smile was the language I used to communicate. I helped the women in their work, which made them very happy. I observed the wrinkled faces of elderly women making thread from small white swabs of natural cotton. Toothless oldies looked at me with interest and a begging in their eyes for medical help. Clambering up the rocky walls above the village, walking silently among the, mostly destroyed, grain receptacles that hung on the walls or deserted huts – like caves, I wondered about the secret past of these places. I tripped on broken bowls made of clay, wood or stone. Old wooden plank/ladders sometimes led to hidden spots where I found the remains of long ago human life. I found decorations, the remains of braided baskets, string made from baobab bark, decorations, feathers or other fetishes, such as, for example, goat skulls stuck into the rocky wall with clay. This was undoubtedly a special place – paradise for ethnographers and archaeologists. In this almost magical world I was taken back by maybe a thousand years... Unfortunately my worn out cameras refused to cooperate. So all I was left with was silent observance, reflections full of secrecy and notes taken later. I was also unlucky as far as my guide was concerned. Youssoup didn’t know much about the history of the region and did not help facilitate my contact with local inhabitants. He was mostly interested in leading me around small tourist-oriented souvenir shops. His knowledge of English was also very limited. He pretended to understand but he didn’t know much. Oh well, I was patient and kept on smiling. In the village of Ende I spent the night with Youssouop’s Muslim family. I met his father, the father’s two wives and a dozen or so siblings. When I wanted to take a photo of Youssoup and his mother I soon realised that he is very standoffish with women, even his own mother. I believed, however, that he would respect me as a white woman and someone paying for the entire trip. In his home I was surrounded by poverty, dirt and sadness. Both the father’s wives worked like slaves. Sitting for hours with his mother I was astonished at her calm smile, her acceptance of fate. During the whole trip we ate modestly, using our hands, usually from one bowl. It was usually rice with a bit of vegetable sauce. For daily washing we used a plastic, colourfully striped teapot full of water. The amount of water in the pot was enough for daily washing of one person or more. Hands were always washed before and after dinner. Each village had a weekly market. I managed to see a few. The market was a multicoloured crowd of women, often from far-off villages, carrying their goods in baskets on their heads. It was like a big social get-together. In the village of Doundouru my guide took me to sleep in a place where there were a dozen or so young men, a mixture of Muslim, Christian and local tradition. Loud music was playing. The men drank local beer; they danced with one another and talked ceaselessly for hours on end in loud voices. I felt just awful there. I left calmly and quickly and went to bed. I was unable to get to sleep for many hours though because of the terrible noise. The next day, walking among enormous baobab forests and mountain paths, I gathered new strength and tried to be optimistic. However, I could feel that my contact with my guide Youssoup was becoming increasingly difficult. He delayed a morning departure and during the day, in great heat, walking was much more difficult. He kept leading me to his young friends, who often made a suspicious impression on me. They usually lived on the edge of villages but came from other regions or even different countries of West Africa, especially those experiencing either war or local armed conflicts. Slowly, I was getting increasingly impatient feeling just how much he limited my possibilities for getting acquainted with passing villages and people. I felt as if I were in a trap and I was losing my feeling of safety. Finally, in the village of Bagnetowo, I felt that I must talk with Youssoup openly. I was calm at first but ready to even pull out of the contract. We still had four days ahead of us. To my surprise, Youssoup reacted in a very aggressive, scornful and arrogant manner. I could feel my helplessness in a way but continued to believe in myself. I decided to thank him for having done his job. I felt shaken and downcast. I had been unlucky. At the same time, I remembered that my Lonely Planet guidebook had suggested that it is safe to travel without a guide in this region. After thinking this over for several hours, I decided to keep going on my own, without much money, to the next village. Later, I planned to take local guides from village to village. And so, on 25 March, around 7 am, I set off alone from the village of Begnimato. I was walking north to the town of Guinimi about 5 km away. I hid my fear and low spirits under a smile. I walked quickly. I was gathering courage to reach my first goal as quickly as possible. I passed villagers. We greeted one another warmly but I continued to be scared. Women I passed showed me the way with big smiles on their faces. I was walking quickly when suddenly, on a path in a deserted area, after a half-hour trek, a tall man stood before me holding a large rake. He blocked my way. He’d suddenly descended from the mountains. It turned out he’d been sent from Begnimato, the village I’d left that morning. He asked for money to cover the drinks Youssoup had bought. Pretending to be calm, I refused, telling him that Youssoup had all my money. After a short struggle and pretending I was going to bite his hand, the man let me go. I kept repeating the name Youssoup and “police”. He suddenly stopped as if hypnotized. I backed off watching him. I was terrified but pretended to be calm. Once I was a few metres away, I turned and hurried, almost running, in the direction of the village of Guinimi. The man turned away. I was lucky and managed to reach the village safely. I stopped at a hut where a meal was prepared for me – rice with sauce and tea. In the shade, I lay down on a mat on the ground. I was shaken but pretended to be peaceful. I was joined by a young, 15-year-old student, Assou. He spoke excellent English. He helped me make myself understood. I sighed with relief. He agreed to be my guide for the remainder of the journey. After a few hours’ rest, feeling slightly better, Assou and I set off. Suddenly, two young men stood before us. They looked aggressive. They walked straight towards me. They spoke with Assou. His face changed immediately. In it, I could see terror and fear. He translated that they had loudly and aggressively commanded I follow them alone. He believed Youssoup had sent them. Pretending to be calm, I refused. I was among people and I felt surer of myself. In spite of this, they were very aggressive and obtrusive. I decided to ask for help from the village seniors. My pursuers wouldn’t leave my side. We even got into a struggle. I could see tears of terror in Assou’s eyes. He was threatened for trying to help me and was forced to walk away. Others were also scared. Helpless, I sheltered in one of the houses among the elder men. In the end, both pursuers left. I waited for a few more hours in the village, among the people in the marketplace. Then I set off again hoping to find a safe spot for the night or a guide at the next larger village, Nombori, about 5 km away. I didn’t feel safe in any of the homesteads we passed. I spent a bit more time in one, making friends with the inhabitants. There I met a young man, Mossou, who agreed to lead me safely to Nombori. We left in the late afternoon. We walked very quickly. The path often led through sandy dunes, leading to rocky walls. My legs were bending under me, but I could only see help ahead. Mossou told me that my pursuers are well-known bandits, and even murders, who’d long since been terrorising the local villages. My skin crawled. He was also very scared of them but was ready to help me. He also asked me to lead him away, get him out of this district. When we reached the tip of the enormous dunes and saw the huts of Nombori below, about 2 km away, we both felt relieved. I even let out a joyous shout, lifting my hands in the air. At the same time, turning around, we saw two figures on the path behind us. It was them. Mossou froze, as did I. I sat down helplessly in the sand, and that’s when my horror story began. Mossou was threatened by knife and forced to leave immediately. I was left alone. I screamed with all my might. For over half an hour I fought for my life. The bandits pulled me along the ground by hands and legs with my head down. They choked me and placed a knife at my throat. In the end they found money in my backpack. I didn’t have much but it seemed to calm them down a bit. I suddenly started calling to God (in English) to save my life. Bewildered, I looked at the change in their faces. From wild animal, devils’ faces, they changed to almost docile. As if the word God made them react like devils covered in holy water. Looking around to make sure no one was coming, they quickly walked away. They let me live. The sun had already set. Gathering my remaining strength, in pain and in shock, I managed to drag myself to Nombori at dusk. Tears were streaming down my face. In the dark, with the help of small boys, I found shelter for the night. I was soon taken care of. Sylvia, a young Frenchwoman and the only tourist there, helped me make myself understood. Looking at the starry sky I felt paralysed and numb. I fell into a dreamless sleep. I understood that this was a tragic end to my fantastic trip around Africa. I felt that I must leave Mali and Africa immediately. I decided to reach civilisation and Poland as soon as possible. At dawn the next day I was given an escort over the mountains. I had to walk to the summit of the plateau on foot. It was difficult but I had no choice. There, a boy was waiting for me with a motorbike. After several hours of sitting on the back over bumpy roads, we reached the town of Bandiagara. There we finally got a car and reached the police station in Mopti by late afternoon. I was completely exhausted and in pain. The interviews with the police lasted several hours. An added difficulty was the English language, which they didn’t know. My French was non-existent. In the end, late at night, they drove me to a calm and safe hotel. The director of the travel agency took care of me. Over the next few days the highest local authorities carried out more interviews with me. They apologised on behalf of themselves and the entire nation for what had happened. I felt a little better. I was in shock but isolation and pe After a few days, thanks to all the information I’d supplied and the immediate reaction of the local military police, both bandits were caught and arrested. They are awaiting trial. For attacking with a weapon they are in for a big penalty. This was of some relief to me but I was mostly aware that thanks to this, hundreds or even thousands of local villagers would be freed from their aggression and crimes. These bandits, it turned out, had been prowling the area for a long time and terrifying the scared but silent inhabitants. After a few days, I caught the first available plane from Mopti to Bamako, the capital of Mali. I hid myself at the Catholic mission. By chance I happened to meet a young Polish missionary, Gosia F. She gave me much-needed support and courage for the road ahead. The day I left, just before boarding the plane to Poland, local authorities discovered where I’d been staying. Suddenly, to my surprise and that of the priests, ministers came to apologise in person for the whole incident in the mountains. They did this in their names and in the name of the president, alerted of this fact, and in the name of the entire nation. I was still in shock. I could barely move but I accepted their apologies with relief. I was also let into a comfortable waiting area at the airport from which I was taken directly to the plane. Thinking about it, I realise that the 388 days I spent in Africa were an enormously enriching experience. Day 389 turned out to be tragic and unlucky. My Guardian Angel seemed to let down his guard. I was extremely lucky however – my life was spared! It had been hanging on a thread. Local authorities were astonished at how I managed to get out of such a situation. I don’t think a young woman would have been so lucky. From the moment I started out on my journey around Africa I was aware of this risk associated with my passion for travel. I tried to minimise risks, take care and not provoke, but I didn’t manage to avoid a drama. However, I am aware that this type of attack could take place anywhere in the world. I had met thousands of people in Africa, often poor materially but so rich and wonderful in their nature. And these are the Africans I will remember. I think that, one day, I will return to Africa. Time will Finishing this letter in Warsaw, Poland, I am not only happy that my life was spared. Tears of joy ran down my face after getting the results of medical tests. They showed that my ribs hadn’t been broken, nor had any other bones, and that no lasting injuries had been done. After several weeks the effects of my concussion subsided gradually. My battered spine straightened out and managed well on the trek through the Tatra Mountains. My cameras survived the attack without too many problems and have now been fixed and, except for one, they’re once again ready to register my future experiences. Now, I’m stuffing myself with kilos (!) of delicious, fresh and scented Polish strawberries and cherries. I take walks through beautifully smelling flowers – peonies, peas and roses. I feel how happy I am although I haven’t yet regained all my former strength. I’m trying to live for the beauty and fullness of each day. I try not to put the joy and richness of my experiences off “till tomorrow”. If I can, I try to enrich “today” and every other day. And I wish this also to my friends and readers. To end this letter I would like to very warmly thank several friends, who helped me so much during these difficult two months in Poland. First of all, I wish to thank my patient 83-year-old Mummy and my brother Wiesio. Both of them, from the heart, tried to feed me to death sometimes with thousands of delicacies. Thank you to Jacek K., my cousin, who met me at the airport. Thank you to Basia Z., my doctor, who accompanied me to medical examinations and supported me both as a doctor and friend. Thank you also to Grazyna and Teresa P. (mother and daughter) for providing me so often with transport, moral support, patience and all the times we spent together in the beautiful birch forests near Warsaw. I’m really grateful to Danusia W., my cousin, who selflessly let me use her newly renovated spare apartment. This has provided me with much-needed peace, personal space and privacy. I would also like to thank Ania W. (Junior) for moral support, the loan of a computer and readiness in preparing all Polish-English translations. I also thank those of you who sent me cards and letters, or who phoned. I want you all to know how invaluable your support has been to me. I know that you were thinking of me and I will always think of you too. Friendship is the most wonderful sentiment. This is the last letter from my African journey. The next letter will be the final one, summarising my whole African adventure. Simultaneously, I hope to soon be able to post some photos on the Internet. I’m still waiting for my packages of film sent from Uganda and Ethiopia. In Warsaw, on 12 and 13 June, I had two public meetings with slides from the first part of my journey. The next ones will take place in September. For me these were reminders of the fantastic first part of my Gipsy Life – the journey around Africa. Basia Top
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| Gipsy Lifetime 28 (23 July 2003) |
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Backpacking solo through Africa 13 months, 20 countries Dear Friends, I began my solo backpacking journey through Africa on 2 March 2002 and ended it on 3 April 2003. For centuries this continent has fascinated, thrilled and stimulated the imaginations of people from all around the world. At the same time, it has aroused fear. For many years I too had similar feelings. After gaining experience during my 13-month journey, I became fully aware of the fact that my general knowledge of Africa was very limited or guided by different publications. My experiences were so different to what I had read. I visited twenty countries, travelling from the South to the North of Africa – South Africa, Madagascar, Lesotho, Swaziland, Mozambique, Namibia, Botswana, Zimbabwe, Zambia, Malawi, Tanzania, Kenya, Uganda, Rwanda, Ethiopia, Egypt, Ghana, Togo, Burkina Faso and Mali. Africa is enormous, it has over fifty countries and thousands of groups of people, diverse in language, culture and religion, inhabit this continent. The landscape is also very diverse. There are huge tropical forests, which I was able to trek through and spy on mountain gorillas (Rwanda) or timid lemurs (Madagascar). A large part of Africa is covered by desert. I walked the desert of Namib (Namibia) taking great steps over steep, sometimes over 300-metre high dunes. I watched the sandy landscape and the lives of the inhabitants of the Sahara Desert from a camel’s back. In contrast, I trekked through high, sometimes snow-covered, mountain peaks (South Africa, Lesotho, Kenya, Ethiopia). When I was near life-giving and large rivers such as the Nile (Egypt) and the Niger River (Mali), I swam across in traditional boats. Sitting on the sandy shores of the island of Likoma (Malawi), on the lake of Malawi, which is 700 km long, I had the feeling that I was surrounded by an ocean. Yes, Africa has the world’s largest and deepest lakes. Full of almost childish emotion and joy, I was excited about visits to different national parks with large numbers of African animals (Namibia, Zimbabwe, Kenya, Rwanda, Uganda). Africa has the largest number of animals in the whole world, including some very unique species such as gorillas, chimpanzees, lemurs. This enormous wealth of nature also includes diamonds, gold, many semi-precious stones and valuable natural raw materials such as iron, oil, g This is undeniably an extremely rich continent surrounded by much mystery, history and nature. It’s like a large treasure-chest guarded by those who have been reaping enormous benefits from it for the longest time. Add to this modern history, especially that after the 1960s, when most African countries gained independence from European influence. Later, the wealth of African countries was additionally exploited by individual representatives of African countries or small groups mainly concentrated in large cities. Generally the lifestyles of people inhabiting remote villages have remained the same for hundreds of years. These people don’t have access to valuable raw materials or the unusual wealth of nature. I could write about many more of my reflections, observations and comments after such an unusually enriching 13-month adventure. I learnt a lot but am still aware that this is mostly superficial knowledge and I don’t want to generalise. My letters, the “Gipsy Life” series (www.basia.meder.net – Africa) contain only my personal opinions and observations. This is how I have summarised the biggest values of my adventure. They were meetings with people. Travelling by simple, local modes of transport I was very close to the inhabitants of twenty African nations. I was a guest at many homes, city apartments or traditional, village houses. I ate varied, local dishes, often from one bowl, with my hands. I felt as if I were visiting family, relatives, and friends. Children often called me “Grandma”; young people treated me like a mother. I felt that I was a privileged acceptance of many families or villages. We didn’t have time for conventional, polite but time-consuming contact. As a photographer fascinated by spontaneous observations, I made instant contact. I was included in family life. I played with children. I cooked with the women. I danced with them. I joined in the men’s farm work. I drank local beer from many types of receptacles, often made from bottle gourd. I tried to be sensitive to local customs. I also maintained a respect for the inhabitants and their traditions. In addition I had the opportunity to take part in great traditional, local celebrations such as the Reed Dance in Swaziland or Herero Day in Namibia. I believe that my photo collection gives a broad expression of these experiences. On many occasions I was able to capture the traditional rhythm of daily life on film, often of inhabitants of remote, simple villages living centuries-old traditions and customs, without electricity, comforts that are indispensable to us and a minimal influence from the outside world, particularly that of Europe or the USA. Our contacts were simple, natural and that’s how these people appear in my photographs – natural, smiling, joyful even, engaging in their simplicity. Taking these photos I also wished to document the pride and dignity of the African people. So often before and after my journey through Africa I heard outright offensive and unrealistic descriptions of African people. I hope that my letters, observations and, maybe one day, a book written by me, will bring people from other continents |