crucial

POV video from STS-124.  No film director or composer could make anything this epic. Even Stanley Kubrick would tone it down or try to resolve it to edits and angles. The adrenaline builds, and at 2 minutes your mind beings to blow. The ending is truly beautiful, don’t miss it.

A camera gets lost in Aruba on November 11, 2009. A turtle finds it on January 15, 2010, films this refreshing shoegazer video and becomes a YouTube celebrity. The camera washed ashore in Key West on May 16, 2010 covered in growth.

Google Trends “dubstep”

But soon the vuvuzela will be forgotten about, right ?

From Jozi and Cape Town, South Africa 2010

Lloyd is from Zimbabwe and lives and works in George, SA.  Every 3 months he goes home.  His wife works in the US embassy and might go to India next year.  He’s trying to build his house, brick by brick, so eventually when he moves back he’ll have some place to retire in.

We chatted a bunch during the night bus. Like most Zimbos, he warned me over and over again about South Africa.  At Jo’berg he guided me firmly and quickly to the main bus terminal and helped me find some place to change money.  After I while I told him I was fine, no need to worry about me.  He went off to do his things.

An hour or two later we meet again.  He got robbed.  At gunpoint. By two gangs at the same time.  They spoke Zulu or Xhosa to him, he had to answer in English.  Lost 100 Rand (€10).  I didn’t have much money at all but I figured somehow I would get money, so I gave him 100 Rand since he didn’t have any money left at all.  

He was realized that his future plan of buying building materials in Jo’berg wasn’t going to work.  He can’t carry cash there.

During the night they play the music pretty loud. I’d heard a bunch of South African gospel before but the bus driver played really good stuff.  9 part harmony, a taut sparse rhythm track of just claps or a foot/clap house beat.  The vocal basslines are amazing, 2 part harmony.  Many people including Lloyd were singing along softly harmonizing.  All around me somebody would be singing. 

So later I’m talking with Lloyd and he gets excited when I tell him I’m a musician and digs out this tape.  That’s him 3rd on the left above.

From Jozi and Cape Town, South Africa 2010

  On the bus the previous night the conductor gave a long speech (in Shona) which I guess was introducing the driver and mechanic and telling us about the journey.  Everybody listened intently even though most seemed like they took this ride all the time.  Then he led everybody in prayer for a safe journey, and it was quite heartfelt and plain spoken.  I can just imagine being on a bus in the US and having the conductor lead us in prayer — yeah, right.

Coming into SA was bizarre.  We were made to get out of the bus 4 times.  After all the small town police and sleepy border crossings I’d been through, SA really seemed like a big bad republic with one hell of a lot of authoritative power.  Everybody wants to get in there because of the comparatively European style welfare system.

The customs guy selected me to pick on. I was the only white guy.  He went through my bag, pulling out my packet of soup broth (“feel free to open that up if you wish” I said.  “DON’T TELL ME HOW TO DO MY JOB”)  He complained that the police report from Harare was missing an official stamp and therefore it was worthless.  The stamp was on there I pointed out.  He kept searching for something to catch me on.  The computer.  All of my stuff has been pulled out of the bag and is lying on the floor of the bus.  The computer must be claimed upon entering the country.  No other country would ask such a thing, there was no notification to me that I had to claim personal items.  I wouldn’t budge, nor would I stop being polite to him.  Very annoying.  He gave up and let me go on.

I must admit that while I walked across the bridge to Zimbabwe Bob Marley started playing in my head. Sunny, windy, I’m smiling to myself. But they wouldn’t let me in because the visa sticker is too big for the remaining space in my passport. I walked back to Zambia; they wouldn’t let me in unless Zim stamped a denial. Back to Zim. Self-important immigration guy is on break, lady wants to gossip with friends and not listen to confusing story from white guy. I convince somebody else to just put the visa on top of the info page. I’ll get it fixed in Harare.

The border isn’t a town really, its just a third world truck stop with a settlement of shacks the locals call Baghdad, a motel with great Chicken and Sadza for $7, whole quarts of Castle lager for $2 and some truck stop whores. This, of course, is how AIDS makes its way across Africa. I ponder this while glancing at them, watching the Baboons and the foot long lizards crawling around the motel garden.

Zim is wild. No fences from here on in. Hurungwe and Mana Pools National Parks are some of the best in Africa and this is right on the edge. Deep in there are serious safaris requiring preparation and large vehicles.

I’m looking for a little road that leads to Tiger Safari, a small fishing spot along the river. The words “third world” echoing around my head. People are not smiling like they did in Zambia. People are staring at me. Surely this is where I’m going to get robbed of my precious laptop, right ?

Finally somebody calls out to me to ask where I’m going and then gives me the most important advice of all: WATCH OUT FOR ELEPHANTS !!

Its about 2km to Tiger Safari and the dirt roads aren’t really marked. I realized I didn’t know the rules of engagement. In India you could pick up a stick and the monkeys scattered. I asked some guy about this. No, the baboons are not afraid of sticks. About Elephants I have no idea what to do. I don’t even know if there are Lions here, I have no idea.

Found the place. Its cheap, I have a whole chalet to myself with a kitchen, swimming pool and electrified fence. The other chalets have people with 4 wheelers who probably come here often to fish. I walk back to the road to shop for food, but my way is blocked by baboons and they clearly don’t give a fuck. I try just shuffling along and they clear a path, but then I make eye contact and 4 very large very fast adults chase me screaming down the road. They are screaming, I am screaming. I try the other road but the pack moved over there and are waiting for me.

I meet Biggie, one of the boat drivers and he offers to take me out walking. He’s from down south on the Mozambique border and with him I’m no longer scared walking out in the bush. We find fresh elephant shit and then finally we find the elephants. African elephants ain’t shit to fuck with, they kill. We stand on a hill and he tells me which way to run if the elephant decides to run up the hill. We find some bones of one who did kill somebody up by the store. The humans tracked him down and shot him. Humans ain’t shit to fuck with.

Biggie and his brother Talent invite me to go out for a beer later. His wife tut tuts us and asks me if I’m not afraid of the animals. The hippos come out at nights, so this is actually the point. Just one beer.

Five beers or so later, we’ve visited Baghdad and hit the local club which is called Offroad. Baghdad is shacks and some basic government facilities. Probably refugees who tried to get out of Zimbabwe during the financial collapse. People give some friendly hellos and somebody says something like “Wow, there’s a Murungu (white guy) in Baghdad”

In Offroad there is sweet Zimbabwe guitar music playing then some Kwaito/House. Bayern is on the TV. Manchester United are GODS in Africa. People play pool, watch the football, dance or come over to ask the white guy what New York is like.

I would imagine that a Zimbo doesn’t get the same friendly attention if he drops by a quiet pub in southern Germany.

But then the other reason Zimbos are so happy to chat is that their tourist industry got destroyed and they really are proud of their country and want people to get the word out and start coming back again. They know what people’s perception of the country is, and they treat their guests with genuine warmth. Its the touristed countries like South Africa and India that are annoying and dangerous.

One other thing about traveling in Africa is that you start to pick up on ethnicities (language, body type, characteristic features, social styles) and not just what country somebody is from. One thing about Biggie and his brother Talent is that they aren’t that big. 50kg or so, 5’ tall. 5 beers is quite a few, eh ?

Five of us walk back to the camp in the dark (9pm). He had already warned me not to wear white. Elephants are blocking the road. There’s a young one too. Everybody is concerned—I couldn’t be more pleased. I am not going to try a flash photo though. We trek through the back trails, get everybody home and since my luck is so perfect we also catch a hippo lumbering down the street like a world war one tank. Hippos are more dangerous actually. The flash didn’t go off, I missed the shot. Mission accomplished, off to Harare. I leave the rest of the rice and some money for Biggie for taking me out to find the Elephants though he never asked for any money. He’s got 3 kids (2 from his brother who died).

Following tips and rumors I’ve ended up at a pleasant riverside guesthouse. They do canoe trips to go see the Hippos, Elephants, Crocodiles and so on.

Saturday was clubbing in Lusaka, Zambia. My new found friends (Frank, Stanley, Elias, Benson) decided I should DJ someplace besides just my iPod sitting in the bar so we hit some clubs. Eating ribs, drinking Mosi. “Mashed PotatO I want to make you my wife O” gets played 6 or 7 times in our car and the two clubs we hit: Zenon and Alpha. Zambian tracks are often Reggaeton type beats with auto-tune bashment type singing. Some are wicked. Also lots of club NRG techno, Jay-Z’s New York sounded SO GOOD (the girl I’m dancing with singing along and smiling at me—I’m from NY, right?), Skepta’s Too Many Men, and some UK funky. Too tricky to hook the laptop in, or I would’ve hit it. Must switch to CDJ.

But now I want my Safari.  Mana Pools is close but that’s serious stuff, you need either lots of money or a proper 4WD and all food ready.  Lions and elephants walk through your camp site all the time. 

Canoeing along the river will do.  There is internet here. And lots of South African families watching Rugby.  But the head of staff (owner? I’m guessing not. sadly its always South Africans or Europeans that own the places. and no zambian food on the menu. and the menus are overpriced.  where’s my African chicken ??)

Those picky immigration people say I have to leave Zambia, so pay $50 to go to Zimbabwe and $50 to get back in.  So today’s decision tree resolves to:  stay here another day or so, go canoe, cross over to Zimbabwe (which means withdrawing another million kwacha, buying US dollars on the street and then buying some Zim $ on the other side.  dumb, eh ?).  Take the bus to Harare, hopefully meet up again with Kovert (Praxis/Peace-Off) who I just met in Lusaka, and then take the overnighter to South Africa, bus or fly to Cape Town.

From Zambia

I met a little film crew on the streets in Lusaka.