Pedro was young when they arrived, together with his siblings, he clung desperately to his parents clothing as they weaved their way through the sea of strange faces that flooded Jan Smuts international airport. It was 1984, the family had arrived in South Africa, it was a time of change and uprising. All they had was the clothes on their backs and the promise of new beginnings, a new life.

Being white this Portuguese family had no problems, they were accepted and life soon enveloped them and they carried on like normal. Pedro was too young to understand what was going on, too young to realise the scale and severity of what was going on in South Africa. His parents toiled hard to making sure there was food on the table and a roof over their heads, they had no choice but carry on in the hope that their children would grow up in a different world.

It did not take long for the family to assimilate and come to grips with the sheer diversity of this nation. South Africans had been suffering for many years, living under a constant state of fear.

Pedro was about 14 years old, when reality hit him, hard. His history lessons became more and more gruesome, more and more difficult to digest and understand. He could no longer hide behind his childish ignorance and when he turned 17 his world completely changed.

Clifford was a scrawny, pimpled faced teenager like the rest of them; the only difference between him and the other 900 kids was that he was black. Clifford was the first African to enrol at Queens High school, in Johannesburg. He walked with his eyes looking forward, his head held high amongst the hundreds of ignorant children. Pedro was born in Mozambique and many of his friends and family still lived there so to see and interact with the local people was normal, however ,many of the kids at Queens high  were not so lucky and many of them grew up with racist parents that would go on to infect their children with this sickness. Pedro could only marvel at how brave Clifford was, how he took the lunchtime punches and inter class insults with such grace and determination.

In an instant the last bits of the ignorant membrane fell away, and although Pedro and Clifford were not good friends, they respected each other, and both would swim against the current, but always with their eyes wide open.

Growing up in Johannesburg was a thrill, Pedro was totally enchanted by the bright lights, the music and the girls. “Jozi”, short for the painfully long Johannesburg, is the heart of the nation. The city pumps with life and culture, a melting pot for all the tribes of the world. Even though most of the gold that built this city now lies on shelves on swank shops, the vibrancy and intensity still lingers. The mass migrations back to the homelands only making space for the new arrivals. The New South Africa was emerging from the ashes of the past.

The early 90’s were electrifying, the prehistoric apartheid regime was crumbling and change was in the mouths and hearts of all the people. Finally South Africa was uniting and the poison of the past was oozing out of the system.

It was a usual blustery day in Cape Town. But that was all that was usual. There was an air of frenzyness , all around , thousands upon thousands of smiles spanned as far as the eye could see. Pedro was amongst them, not quite in the front and not quite at the back, in the meat of things, so to say, his smile too stretched from ear to ear. It was a momentous day for South Africa and indeed the world, today Nelson Mandela was officially a free man.

It was a time of spiritual awakening for Pedro, much had happened and much had changed in his life and in South Africa. He had swapped the shiny lights of Jozi for the darkness of Cape Town, the night time fist fights for daytime fit hikes. He was now his own master, he had slowly built his identity, he knew at heart he was an African, like most of his countrymen the world was moving along at break neck speeds.

A few grey hairs now poked out of his chin, his long thick black hair cascaded down his back and under the shade of his sweat stained leather hat, and Pedro sat in his canoe and watched the clouds drift past. Mandela was now old and Pedro was just becoming a man. He had now witnessed firsthand the splendour and magic of South  Africa he now felt its heart beat , that slow rhythmic beat. Over the years he had managed to scratch a hole through the surface and was able to crawl in. It was a totally different world. It was a world that was ruled by the earth and what the earth provided was what you got, for entertainment the people would be able to marvel at the natural beauty that is South Africa. Here the people were fiercely protective of their lands and all prepared to be martyrs for their families. It was a world that showed little mercy and only the fittest would survive. Everyone had their roles to play and when you could not carry on anymore you would simply go for a walk and in that special place you would curl up into the foetal position in the womb of the earth and sing songs of other times.

Rain thrashed the double glazed window of a Victorian terraced house in South London.  Pedro stirred and shifted on the couch, the lights were still on, CSI Miami was still on and his computer blinked in the corner. In one swift move Pedro heaved his heavy frame from the couch and plonked himself in front of the computer, took a sip of cold coffee and finished off his story, in a nutshell of course.

Rock and Roll

 

 

Rock and Roll will never die, Glastonbury 2009

Rain beat down like Tyson enraged. Mud slipped and slided away. Lightning struck, covering the surrounding country side in a warm white glow.

Warriors surged forward, laden and weary they trudged through. The Glastonbury hordes drew the battle lines.  The serene West Country, now pocked marked with regiments, fires burned all around as the weary warriors spoke with full mouths and the juice of the gods flowed relentlessly.

Dawn was grumpy, dark clouds circled, menacing and taunting the sleepy eyed warriors. Slowly, slowly the advance began, regiment after regiment, marched forward, the battle paint still fresh.

Glorious sunshine

Suddenly an almighty roar rang out, the voices of thousands of people in unison screamed and shouted, the sound resounding off the surrounding hills.

Glastonbury was officially opened!

 Music flowed powerfully from the mountain of speakers, the sun came through the stormy clouds and the mud turned to clay. Like a mass orgy, an air of hysteria filled the rolling green Vale of Avalon.  Thousands of sweaty bodies writhed and squirmed under the masses of flags and glorious sunshine.

Since 1970, following the death of the immortal Jimi Hendrix, this Vale has heard the voices of hundreds of thousands of Glastonbury warriors.  The small towns surrounding the farms have been flooded with ragged long haired warriors.

Love, sex, drugs and rock and roll have filled this otherwise serene and quiet country side for 39 years. The legendary Michael Eavis could not have imagined that the festival would become so massive. Glasto has come a long way since the days that he stood at the gate collecting the £1 entrance fee which included half a litre of milk. Since those days a plethora of musical talent has entertained millions of people, acts like David Bowie, Neil Young, Bruce Springsteen, Status Quo, Crosby Stills and Nash amongst many more, still continue to please all the love warriors hungry for music.

British

Glastonbury is truly overwhelming, an all out assault of all the senses. Love, charity and awareness flows amongst the 180 000 people who despite the muddy and cramped conditions, are permanently on a high, natural or otherwise. The music is incredible and 2009 saw Neil Young performing for the first time and what a performance, the crowds roared in appreciation, bringing smile to his time worn face. The organisation is simply mind blowing and the variety of performances is out of this world. The muddy lanes all around the farm, full of weird and wonderful people, pump 24 hours a day.

Glastonbury is truly an unforgettable experience, a time of letting your hair down and indulging in four days of pure decadence, dance and pure Rock and Roll.  The mystical Vale of Avalon continues the entrance the masses.

In the words of Mr Neil Young, “Hey, hey, my, my, Rock and Roll will Never Die. It’s better to burn out then it is to rust…. hey, hey, my, my….” 

Death of a Wellington

My Mozambique

 When Vasco da Gamma got lost at sea, he somehow managed to round the tip of Africa. Not knowing where he was, he set foot on South Africa. His presence angered the local tribes and hostility grew, not having found a reliable water source, Da Gamma and his men were sent packing, with their tails between their iron legs…

Instead, he made landfall on the small East African country of Mozambique. Here the people were friendlier and the land fertile and more hospitable. So naturally he stayed, unbeknown to him India was a stone’s throw away from him. The Portuguese would keep this secret closely guarded for over one hundred years.

When the Dutch and English finally broke through the end of the earth, the Portuguese already had a vast monopoly of colonies. Unfortunately, most of their subjects lived in adverse conditions, permanently in an intense state of fear. The Portuguese slave traders would go on to ravage the interior of Mozambique, Zambia and Zimbabwe to mention a few, for centuries to come, sparing no one, showing no mercy.

The Portuguese fought like mad dogs to keep their colonies. In a rapidly advancing era, they were under constant attack as all the major European countries fought tooth and nail for more territory.

Portugal would go on to stay in Mozambique until the mid seventy’s, they would fight to the bitter end. For over 20 years the people of Mozambique suffered, all in the name of freedom.

In 1976, a mother lay on the beach having contractions, hours later and without too much fuss, a pink, slightly overweight boy, screamed, “Life!”  Pedro was born during a time of peace, a time when Mozambique was free from the shackles of the past, a time of unity and prosperity.  His life was idyllic; he grew used to the warm, abundant Indian Ocean, used to the big wide smiles of the people, used to the endless miles of coconut forests and cashew heavy trees.

 But in 1977 the bubble burst, the people of Mozambique were once more, forced to endure more killing and atrocities. It was not until 1992 that finally Frelimo and Renamo would lay down their arms. By this stage Pedro and his family were forced to evacuate, and now sat far away, watching the events on CNN.

Throughout his life, his father eulogized and dreamed of earlier days. He kept a detailed photo catalogue of the glory days, and would often send his son to bed with shark fishing stories and life in the bush as a soldier; these stories would remain carved in his mind for the rest of his life.

It has been seventeen years of peace. This ravaged country has managed to pick itself up, slowly, slowly gathering strength, united at last; the new generations reap the benefits of their fathers’ unrelenting desire to create a better world.  Despite their valiant efforts, most of the population is still suffering the consequences of bloody conflict, disease and devastating natural disasters. However, Mozambicans are a resilient people, they have not come this far to quit now and despite the hardships their smiles still beam bright and their will to survive still burns strong.

The vibrant Capitol, Maputo is alive with culture and art; there is something for every palate. The smokers tooth yellow villa’s of a bygone era, now blend in with the colourful markets, filled with chit chat and over filling with fresh produce.  Maputo’s, easy, Afro- Latin vibe is addictive, the food is extraordinary and the people are genuine and real.

The pearly white beaches of the North are now home to lobster red tourists, sun seekers and water lovers. The warm Indian Ocean and the vast forests of coconut palms still lure people from all over the globe.  The vibrant community of Inhambane continues to thrive, the thatched hut communities filled with children and women who still depend on each other for survival. The cashew trees continue to bear fruit and the piles of mangoes and avocados neatly piled into small pyramids still fill the street vendor’s trolleys.

 In a crowed Dhow Pedro’s smile stretches from one ear to the next, he sits quietly, not quiet blending in, but it’s clear he knows what he is doing; it somehow looks like he belongs. As the Dhow creeps closer to Inhambane, Pedro’s eyes are fixed on the diving board he and his childhood friends spent many lazy balmy afternoons. As he left the Dhow and strolled casually towards his home, he kept looking around as if expecting someone, no one came. Like always, he slowly walked to the end of the promenade, past his old crèche and his grandma’s house finally stopping at his own childhood house.  It all looked and felt the same, it was all so familiar, as if it happened yesterday, the smiles still there, the sleepy balmy atmosphere still lingered and the familiar salty smell filled his nostrils.

15 years later, Pedro sat on the pavement under the tree; life had moved on, Granma was no longer there, he would not hear the sound of his mother’s motorbike coming around the corner, the cries of “Pedro, anda brincar!”, now silent.  Under that tree, he realised how lucky he had been and how proud he was to be a Mozambican.

My Nephew OB

The Air Malaysia plane roared unrepentantly West, full throttle all the way. We all sat , elbow to elbow. Some writhed and some twitched. Five, six hours and my eyes finally closed, I sat there huddled with the rest and replayed my own movie.

In the next scene, I find myself at Cape Town international, breathing in that familiar African air, more precisely that salty Cape air. The green of the jungles melted away, leaving a brown canvass behind; giant trees shrink and become dwarfs before my very eyes.

In the distance I see my parents, looking, searching, has the prodigal son indeed returned… Our embraces are so powerful and I can feel my heart pounding against my dad’s chest, I fight the tears and in broken sentences and hugs, kisses and touches we realise how much we have missed each other.

The days raced past, sights on the chequered flag. As to be expected, too much to take, not enough time. Slow boats on the driveway and lengthy conversations, made me feel as though I had never left, I was simply returning from one of my trips, it was all so normal.

But I, drunk on the affection and emotion, sponged it all up, not wanting to lose a drop. During this time, I could not stop thinking about Sue, I clung on to every word she spoke and reread all the words she wrote…

Nonetheless, the show must go on. All the Onyx Benjamin cuddles disappeared, the tastyfishdishes and lazybeachdays, Gone, all gone.

Enter Genie:

Genie is my little African flirt, a kind of love affair. I know her well and am drawn to her like a magnet to steel, I submit, give in, I am in her hands. Genie is a working girl, top end, Exec’s only. Luckily in the world of “who you know”, I get to have her for free. There was however a few strings attached. One condition would be that I would have to share her… a thirteensome to me more precise, I would also be responsible for her maintenance and protection, all in  all, a fair trade off.. Genie belonged to a German, who acquired her when she but a wee baby, I remember the day well, he drove around, showing off, cigar in mouth, proud daddy… he was indeed proud and Genie could not have found a better home, many like her are not so lucky.

So, with a wad of cash, tightly wrapped and counted and double counted, it asphyxiated under the strain of the elastic bands. The flip-folder heavy with writing, all packed, checklist ticks all over my pages, I head out into the salty darkness. I am brimming over with excitement, like a volcano ready to erupt I start her up and head off into the silent darkness. Crisp, salty air snaps me awake, I realise how overwhelming it all is, one day lounging on the golden sands of Borneo and the next in a truck, with the full responsibility of 13- 16 people on my shoulders. Go with the flow, is normally a good philosophy, and with this in mind I collected my clients and headed North… To Livingstone. It was hard to believe I was back in Africa and on the road, doing the job I loved so much.

It did not take long before I switched to “Trip mode”. My ears tuned into the surroundings, slowly, slowly it all came rushing back, and steadily I fell into the rhythm of the land. All that mattered was the land , the animals, the stars and so forth… The OB cuddles became sweet dreams, which I tried with all might to hold on to, all the while the tastyfishdishes and lazybeachdays edged me forward.

It was as if I had never been before, as if I had forgotten what it was like. After 8 years and still it takes my breath away. Although I was little rusty and had grown soft and fat on my holiday, the thrill to be out there was still burning strong. I must confess though, my clients did not always share my enthusiasm for nature, and often thought I had gone a little bush crazy, a condition otherwise known as “Bosbefock”. Regardless, I did what I wanted and they rarely had a say. That’s the beauty of being the boss… Most would not be disappointed. My love for Genie, burned stronger, even though  she had gone through many transformations, her spirit still burnt strong. She was dependable and never spoke back, and when she was in trouble I went out of my way to save her..

But, I knew this affair, was going to be short, so I was determined to absorb as much as humanly possible, for who knows when it will be the last.

Genie, knew she still had two more journey’s to finish, she knew the last two would be critical and she could not let me down now. She did not, on the return leg I was able to swing past my Moms place in Beira, Mozambique and surprise, and it would only be a 7 hour detour, perfect! I will never forget the look on her face, when I popped out of nowhere, legendary! It was so overwhelming for her, being a stutter, she could not get a word in edgeways, so resorted instead to landing  many affectionate blows on my shoulder…When she could finally talk, the first thing she said was “E PA! TU ES UN MALANDRO”!

You naughty boy, she repeated over and over… It was to be a really emotionally satisfying week, even though I only lived with my mom for a few years, I felt truly welcomed and like a belonged. I felt like an immense weight had been lifted off my shoulders and the relationship with my mother took on totally new boundaries. It grew strong and we both realised we would have to cherish these short moments.

I wrestled with the thought of more clients and one more trip, and soon I was building my goodbye shield. Pointless to fight time, and with my family a mere speck on my side mirror, I left and ,made my way South again. For the last time.

During this time I was forced to accept that I took many things for granted. Forced to accept that I was indeed a selfish person, and that my priorities were set in stone, and most importantly that I could not live with Sue. It often felt I was casting my family aside, in my desperate escapade, fooled and blinded by love.  It was such a blessing to hear them wish me well and no matter what they where there for me. Indeed I felt loves tender wings touching my soul; I felt the proud to have African blood pumping through my veins. Armed with my goodbye shield I turned my back on the people I loved and head East again, Sue filling all my dreams.

Actions speak a couple of words

It’s hard for me to believe that I have been in a relationship for 6 years. Me, a bushmonkey!

Even harder to believe is that most of that time, we have been on the move, nomadic in every sense. Travel, has become a way of life for us, and to this day we are still on the move, never sowing a seed, always looking for greener pastures.

I will tell you, it’s not easy travelling with the person you care so much about. Yeah, in the beginning it was tough, coming to grips with our individual personalities and generally been very polite and affectionate. In our case, it was a little harder: Sue and I could not be more different. Both in body and personality, I am a shorthairymidget, enough said, and she is a 6 foot German, blue eyes and blond to make sure you knew it. We also had very different views on things and it would be some time before we would come to grips with many of our unique personas. However, let’s not stray from the subject, Sue stands out like a sore thumb, both in Africa and Asia. I still joke with her, that I could see her from a mile away, even in the most crowded cities, I just had to look up…hehehe, I am obviously not a petit French delicacy, so I am sure she would counter these remarks with her own jokes, which she has many off…  

Jokes aside, I also had to accept the reality that I now had the responsibility of someone’s life. It’s something that becomes obvious and I knew I would defend Sue to the death. I know what you thinking, Aah what a gentleman! Not, ok never mind the bollocks. There were a few moments during our travels that I was prepared to do battle over Sue’s honour. Anyway, today’s modern women don’t need chivalry or manly protection any more; it’s all a question of independence…

One thing that is unquestionable is that when your loved one is away and finally you have some space, you find yourself worrying and generally feeling anxious.

Travelling is the ultimate freedom, but when you are bound at the hip to your girlfriend it can become a little constricting. Finding things to talk about, playing games, long silent walks, at some point it all becomes a little too much and then we start getting on each other’s nerves. Communication is so important and to this day Sue and I still have not stopped talking… I have truly become dependent on our conversations… I love them. Still, it’s sad how many people have suffered heartache over communication.

It’s very difficult to accept people for what they are; it’s always such a compromise, such a gamble. I often found myself vulnerable and exposed, stripped to the soul. I find myself questioning and contemplating who I really am. All the while it seemed that Sue could see straight through me. At the time it was difficult as Sue and I barely knew each other, so how could we make any judgments?

Today, we are still together, still trying to live the dream, together. We have accepted each other’s mutant halves and established solid trust. I wish all those people travelling with their partners all the luck… you are going to need it…