I am beginning to get a better understanding of the difficult job his team face, it seems almost impossible to effectively penalise anyone who is caught as they commonly get a warning or a 150 rand (£12) fine from the local police, not a major deterrent. If they have enough evidence, which is difficult, to go to court it is such a protracted event they are kept away from their jobs for many days, when twenty men have to cover 350 thousand hectares you can understand why it quickly becomes counter productive. I have learnt a great many things already just talking with Wouter. He says that the poachers are highly organised and trained professionals and, within the top ranks at least, 90% white. The removal of the Rhino horn, which is now commonplace and serves to deter the poachers, often does not stop the animal being killed, and as no other part of the animal is used this pointless killing becomes an act of spite.
The weapons used to poach range from simple (but indiscriminately lethal) snares, crossbows, large calibre rifles and adapted tranquiliser dart guns which are particularly problematic as they are nearly silent. The majority of the firearms are traced back to the police and it is believed that this is the main source of illegal weapons trading, this cooperation between poachers and corrupt police explains the frequent ‘warnings’ and very low fines that arrested poachers face.
The price of buying a young rhino has also become lower and it is now financially viable to buy a rhino simply to harvest and sell its horn. This worrying new development serves only to bolster this highly destructive trade.
In a recent news story that looked at a group of poachers who were arrested they included a policeman a pilot and two veterinarian doctors, showing how this is not the activity of poor men but of respectable and wealthy men. The risk of actually tracking and shooting the animal is undertaken by the poor men, and as even a fraction of the profit can temp the very poor Wouter explained “as soon as one guy is caught, ten more are ready to take his place”. He went on to explain the importance of tackling the problem in the higher levels of the criminal organisation.
So I am writing now early in the morning with Wouters puppy enjoying the warmth of my lap resting his head in the crook of my arm as I type. Wouter has been called away to a nearby town where he is attending a meeting that will decide the outcome of a recent court case he is involved in. As I have now come to understand my arrival has come at a difficult time for him, the case involves a poacher who was caught and detained by Wouter and his team recently. This guy was known to Wouter as the son of the local chief, and as such Wouter released him in the interest of good relations. After three weeks this man has taken Wouter to court claiming he was badly beaten. A doctors examination that was dated 20 days after his capture says that blood splatters were found on his clothes, “a long time to go without changing your shirt” laughs Wouter, he denies this accusation quite clearly, remaining unperturbed about it all and says the likely outcome will either mean he will be moved to work in another location or he will loose his job, he thinks he will look overseas for work if the outcome is bad. “This is what happens if you do your job too well” he says smiling.
So I am feeling quite awkward now and declined his offer to go into town with him, a polite offer but I am sure he has enough on his mind without chauffeuring a visitor around.
As his house is in the middle of the park with no exterior gate he was eager to point out the dangers of leaving the house at night, I asked him this morning if I could walk around in the day, he smiled and pointed out of the kitchen window to bring my attention to a tree a few feet away from us, he told me how he once woke up to the sight of a large male lion sitting under this tree. “when you have lived here a long time it is tempting to go for a walk, but I like to remember that lion”
I am staying in until Wouter returns.
I don’t think I am going to be able to shoot much of a project here for the following reasons. The men are spread out and rarely see each other in person and communicate via radio, so I am really just here with Wouter. Wouter said the CEO of the park regularly turns down offers from journalists to come and do stories on the rhino because of the attention it might bring to the park. Wouter and his men have done a very good job here and the rhino numbers are high, he explained how the population density of the rhino is among the highest in South Africa and this is a fact they wish to keep quiet and stories about this park may attract unwanted attention.
The weather is grey and cold and the rain has almost been non stop meaning the Sands river that crosses the main route into the park is currently impassable, we checked the height yesterday evening and just made it across, this morning after a night of rainfall a border guard arrived to ask for some food for the day as he was trapped this side with on way across the now swollen river. This makes a portion of the park unavailable to us for the time being. Wouter and his team are reluctant to be identified themselves for security reasons, this reluctance undoubtedly has been worsened by the current court case, Also Wouter is only able to accommodate me for a three days as he is away on Wednesday making the kind of intimate images I would like to shoot difficult as we don’t have the time to build up the trust needed to make such work possible.
I am very glad to be here however and find the things I am learning fascinating. Hopefully, if the weather improves in time, I can get some images of the wildlife and environment that will inform and support a written story.
Wouter is being very open and helpful with information however and is providing me with maps and newspaper clipping that contain all the relevant info. I am positive I can put together a good story but getting images to go with them will be tough. I am keen to see some rhino for this reason and Wouter is confident this will be possible. It seems clear that what I pre visualised is not going to be possible but I will keep my eyes open maybe another story will present itself.
Sunday 5 December 2010
6
Wouter is the leader of an armed anti poaching unit consisting of twenty men whose charge encompasses the care of all the wild animals in a 350 square kilometre area. With these figures in mind it is possible to grasp the near impossible task they are undertaking.
He tells me that by far the most serious poaching problem is that of the Rhino. For many years a well established network of criminals have been sending rhino horn to China and Vietnam to be sold as a medical component. There is little information to be found on the real effectiveness of this substance which is all but identical to human finger nails. Common sense tells me that it must be simply effective only as a placebo.
By far the most worrying element of this situation is the high price associated with the horn. It has a value of as much as $150,000 USD per kilogram. The bulk of this cash is made in China where it becomes a legal substance. The poachers who are tracking and shooting the animals, only the first step of the ladder in this criminal network, see about 25,000 RND which equates to over £2000. When there are animals of this value sharing the countryside with a population living below the global poverty line of less that 50p a day, you begin to understand the motivation of the these men.
It is not exclusively the ground war it used to be, high prices, which will only increase as the numbers decline, attract more and more sophisticated and organised criminals who mount their illegal hunting trips from helicopters using tranquiliser rifles containing poison that will spell certain death to the animal. The area that wouter and his team have to protect has now increased to include the air and as we drive into the park itself Wouter’s CB Radio crackles with air traffic information that his team are exchanging.
The Sabi river and the Sands river almost converge in an area now called the Sabi Sands complex in the Lowveld area, Mpumalanga province, South Africa. A nature reserve that shares its eastern border with the Kruger national park. It contains various lodges, most notably the Ulusaba resort owned by Richard Branson. As we entered the complex Ulusaba rises on the horizon atop a mountain shaped hill that is reminiscent of Tolkien’s Lothlorien.
This whole area is dissected into privately owned farm land. A number of farm owners can arrange a cooperative venture to join their lands creating a park. At two million hectares, Kruger is by far the largest of this kind in the area. Its smaller satellite Sabi Sands is one of many that offer a more intimate and less touristy option.
He tells me that by far the most serious poaching problem is that of the Rhino. For many years a well established network of criminals have been sending rhino horn to China and Vietnam to be sold as a medical component. There is little information to be found on the real effectiveness of this substance which is all but identical to human finger nails. Common sense tells me that it must be simply effective only as a placebo.
By far the most worrying element of this situation is the high price associated with the horn. It has a value of as much as $150,000 USD per kilogram. The bulk of this cash is made in China where it becomes a legal substance. The poachers who are tracking and shooting the animals, only the first step of the ladder in this criminal network, see about 25,000 RND which equates to over £2000. When there are animals of this value sharing the countryside with a population living below the global poverty line of less that 50p a day, you begin to understand the motivation of the these men.
It is not exclusively the ground war it used to be, high prices, which will only increase as the numbers decline, attract more and more sophisticated and organised criminals who mount their illegal hunting trips from helicopters using tranquiliser rifles containing poison that will spell certain death to the animal. The area that wouter and his team have to protect has now increased to include the air and as we drive into the park itself Wouter’s CB Radio crackles with air traffic information that his team are exchanging.
The Sabi river and the Sands river almost converge in an area now called the Sabi Sands complex in the Lowveld area, Mpumalanga province, South Africa. A nature reserve that shares its eastern border with the Kruger national park. It contains various lodges, most notably the Ulusaba resort owned by Richard Branson. As we entered the complex Ulusaba rises on the horizon atop a mountain shaped hill that is reminiscent of Tolkien’s Lothlorien.
This whole area is dissected into privately owned farm land. A number of farm owners can arrange a cooperative venture to join their lands creating a park. At two million hectares, Kruger is by far the largest of this kind in the area. Its smaller satellite Sabi Sands is one of many that offer a more intimate and less touristy option.
5
I had a pleasant enough evening with Ruth and Hendry as it turned out. We sat on the balcony and chatted all night. The ever opinionated Ruth can talk for South Africa, and Hendry has periods when it gets to much for him, “Ruth-less” (His nickname for her, “cant you keep quiet just for one hour” he would joke, they had a relationship a little like a husband and wife although it was simply circumstances that had brought them together here. They were always looking for something to laugh about and they were good company. Hendry was ever vocal about his sex life and regaled me with stories of his numerous women problems, Ruth was full of enthusiasm about my work giving me advice on how and where and when which later became an instruction to buy a house down the road and let her manage a backpacker hostel there. Her ability to socialise was only eclipsed by her ability to cook and she would be a fine candidate for the job.
The morning text from Wouter said he would pick me up at 1pm. I took a morning walk with Ruth down to the bottom of the road and into a nature reserve. I had the small but exceptionally pleasant experience of seeing a wild tortoise, I don’t quite know why this made me so happy, I think it is rare to see an animal that exists exclusively as a pet, and then appears in the undergrowth as a wild animal, my enthusiasm was not reciprocated however, and he hid in his shell with surprising speed.
Wouter made good on his word and collected me at 1pm, I made a rushed exit from the Old Vic, not able to say goodbye to Ruth as she went out shopping with her sister.
Wouter was apologetic and I saw honesty in his face that reassured me. An average set healthy guy in his early forties with a handsome face with a brow and jaw that speak of leadership. His white land cruiser took us north towards white river and beyond and as we drove the terrain became flatter.
We chatted about his work and the challenges his team face, he was good company and he made me feel at ease from the start. His new and very excitable jack Russell puppy came along for the ride sitting on my lap and chewing my hands with his needle like teeth, like all puppies (Especially jack Russell ones) his behaviour would suggest he had recently consumed a gallon of redbull, always on the move and chewing anything near him that made the mistake of moving.
After entering the park Wouter was eager to take me out for a patrol and collect the motion sensitive camera traps velcroed into trees. He was apologetic for the lack of animals, which he put down to the unusually cool weather. I objected and remarked on how this was indeed a successful trip in my eyes as in England you are unlikely to see hippos, dung beetles, emperor king fishers, black mamba snakes and impala on an average evening drive.
The morning text from Wouter said he would pick me up at 1pm. I took a morning walk with Ruth down to the bottom of the road and into a nature reserve. I had the small but exceptionally pleasant experience of seeing a wild tortoise, I don’t quite know why this made me so happy, I think it is rare to see an animal that exists exclusively as a pet, and then appears in the undergrowth as a wild animal, my enthusiasm was not reciprocated however, and he hid in his shell with surprising speed.
Wouter made good on his word and collected me at 1pm, I made a rushed exit from the Old Vic, not able to say goodbye to Ruth as she went out shopping with her sister.
Wouter was apologetic and I saw honesty in his face that reassured me. An average set healthy guy in his early forties with a handsome face with a brow and jaw that speak of leadership. His white land cruiser took us north towards white river and beyond and as we drove the terrain became flatter.
We chatted about his work and the challenges his team face, he was good company and he made me feel at ease from the start. His new and very excitable jack Russell puppy came along for the ride sitting on my lap and chewing my hands with his needle like teeth, like all puppies (Especially jack Russell ones) his behaviour would suggest he had recently consumed a gallon of redbull, always on the move and chewing anything near him that made the mistake of moving.
After entering the park Wouter was eager to take me out for a patrol and collect the motion sensitive camera traps velcroed into trees. He was apologetic for the lack of animals, which he put down to the unusually cool weather. I objected and remarked on how this was indeed a successful trip in my eyes as in England you are unlikely to see hippos, dung beetles, emperor king fishers, black mamba snakes and impala on an average evening drive.
4
When I returned to the Old Vic a group of South Africans were propping up the bar, already quite “pssd” as they say, flattening the vowel into obscurity.
It was a great night, listening to these guys chat, they included me almost straight away and a young guy called Dwayne was eager to talk about my photography business. South Africans are nearly always entrepreneurs, always seeking to learn new skills to find more work, Dwayne was no different, being trained in mining he was now a self employed graphic designer.
He was also typical in another male south African way I that he was very confident and had no problem listing his qualities and experience to any who would listen, this activity however is not as obnoxious as it sounds, South African men have a two spoonfuls of charm for every spoon of arrogance and I found his stories and company quite entertaining. Ruth sat at the end of the bar an overweight 40 something Jo’berger. She sank Smirnoff ice at a staggering pace and gave her loud and frank opinion on everything, again she had a openness and easy manner that turned what could have been a difficult character trait into an attractive attribute. I ordered a pizza and had a few slow beers with this crowd, I did not catch everyone’s name and there were a few Africana’s who had very little English.
I went off to bed felling like I had enjoyed an eventful day.
I woke early this morning for my swim and got another text from Wouter saying it would again be tomorrow before he could collect me, I am beginning to feel like I am being given the run around now and if it happens again I think I will head to Swaziland and look for another story.
I decided that I might visit Bettie’s again but after moving into the considerably cheaper dorm room I was accosted by Ruth who is living here full time.
We had a very long chat on the balcony and I found her frankness, uncharacteristic of south Africans, useful and she was able to answer many questions about South African culture where the Africana’s fit in and she explained how she was part of the ‘English South Africans’ a term that seemed to encompass all white south Africans who are not Africana’s. She spoke of Africana’s xenophobic attitude to all apart from themselves, I remarked on how polite and helpful I have found them to be on the very few occasions I had spoken with any, she agreed saying they were very well mannered folk but ultimately emotionally closed having such a strict Christian upbringing that they can become “wild” in later life.
I won’t transcribe all that was said but I got an earful about what was wrong with Africans and a detailed list of social atrocities committed by the blacks. It is always the same when I come here, being on the ground and listening always shows how clouded and confused the problems are here and finding your own standpoint and opinion becomes difficult to determine.
I did manage to escape to the pool for a while and I am beginning to feel the stress of the last few weeks ebb away (It always takes a few days) and I felt quite happy to achieve nothing today.
I returned to the shared social area I am now a part of, being a ‘dormer’, to enjoy the stuff I had bought from the local supermarket this morning. I met Ruth again who was by now very p’ssed sitting with her alcoholic friend ‘Hendry’, I have made some polite conversation and have now slipped away to find a quite corner to write this… I am trying to think of a polite excuse to reverse my offer to join them for a Braii (BBQ) later this evening. – get me out of here!!!
It was a great night, listening to these guys chat, they included me almost straight away and a young guy called Dwayne was eager to talk about my photography business. South Africans are nearly always entrepreneurs, always seeking to learn new skills to find more work, Dwayne was no different, being trained in mining he was now a self employed graphic designer.
He was also typical in another male south African way I that he was very confident and had no problem listing his qualities and experience to any who would listen, this activity however is not as obnoxious as it sounds, South African men have a two spoonfuls of charm for every spoon of arrogance and I found his stories and company quite entertaining. Ruth sat at the end of the bar an overweight 40 something Jo’berger. She sank Smirnoff ice at a staggering pace and gave her loud and frank opinion on everything, again she had a openness and easy manner that turned what could have been a difficult character trait into an attractive attribute. I ordered a pizza and had a few slow beers with this crowd, I did not catch everyone’s name and there were a few Africana’s who had very little English.
I went off to bed felling like I had enjoyed an eventful day.
I woke early this morning for my swim and got another text from Wouter saying it would again be tomorrow before he could collect me, I am beginning to feel like I am being given the run around now and if it happens again I think I will head to Swaziland and look for another story.
I decided that I might visit Bettie’s again but after moving into the considerably cheaper dorm room I was accosted by Ruth who is living here full time.
We had a very long chat on the balcony and I found her frankness, uncharacteristic of south Africans, useful and she was able to answer many questions about South African culture where the Africana’s fit in and she explained how she was part of the ‘English South Africans’ a term that seemed to encompass all white south Africans who are not Africana’s. She spoke of Africana’s xenophobic attitude to all apart from themselves, I remarked on how polite and helpful I have found them to be on the very few occasions I had spoken with any, she agreed saying they were very well mannered folk but ultimately emotionally closed having such a strict Christian upbringing that they can become “wild” in later life.
I won’t transcribe all that was said but I got an earful about what was wrong with Africans and a detailed list of social atrocities committed by the blacks. It is always the same when I come here, being on the ground and listening always shows how clouded and confused the problems are here and finding your own standpoint and opinion becomes difficult to determine.
I did manage to escape to the pool for a while and I am beginning to feel the stress of the last few weeks ebb away (It always takes a few days) and I felt quite happy to achieve nothing today.
I returned to the shared social area I am now a part of, being a ‘dormer’, to enjoy the stuff I had bought from the local supermarket this morning. I met Ruth again who was by now very p’ssed sitting with her alcoholic friend ‘Hendry’, I have made some polite conversation and have now slipped away to find a quite corner to write this… I am trying to think of a polite excuse to reverse my offer to join them for a Braii (BBQ) later this evening. – get me out of here!!!
3
Slept very agreeably in my well equipped room. Woke up and headed for the pool. It is one of life’s great pleasures to be able to dive into a pool before your eyes have properly opened, the pool itself is typical of this tropical environment – green rather than blue and a few lengths create a Moses like separation of the mass of dead bugs bobbing on the surface. I would not have it any other way.
I realised this morning, after trying to put my finger on it, how the staff here have managed to make me feel unwelcome even though they are always polite, they have a strange way of repeating any small request back to me with slightly accusational tone, ‘Can I have some toast and jam please’ to which I get the response “you want some toast and Jam?” with an intonation of slight surprise and weariness as if I have asked one too many ‘favours’ already today.
The location is splendid, in the morning light I can see it well. Tropical and lush green surrounds the garden with a large hill that dominates the horizon, I have heard talk of monkeys but have not seen any yet. All set to the backdrop of the constant humming and occasional squeaking of the million bugs.
The water is off so no coffee – ouch.
Wouter called to say he can’t make it, bad news… another wasted day. As this news came over the phone, the rain came down like I have rarely seen it before.. sheets of water rather than individual drops. I was determined not to be defeated and with ‘ ‘I’m English I can withstand rain of any kind’ running through my brain I tried to ignore it, eventually even the roof leaked over me and so I returned to my hot room with my soggy newspaper.
As per the norm the rain did not last, however I did notice a sign indoors that told of ‘Bettie’s Heaven’, Bettie being a local woman who has, for the past 25 years taken in and cared for orphans in Nelspruit. Not wishing to waste the day I decided to call a cab and pay a visit.
The every ready Edgar picked me up, a 15 min drive through the centre of town. He was keen to relay to me how ‘I must not walk here… too many ‘tsotsi’ (Gangsters) … they will rob you…”
Edgar had a worryingly accurate and detailed appreciation of exactly how these gangsters would take my bag, and then run away and other gangsters would hold me back so I was unable to give chase, or to paraphrase Edgar: “They will hold you so you cannot have power… you understand?” – I did understand and was grateful for the advice.
Bettie herself was not at home when I arrived, I was told by staff at the old vic (my accommodation) that she has recently had her phone stolen so I was unable to announce my arrival in advance.
So Edgar dropped me at the house and I arranged for him to collect me in 6 or so hours time.
As I entered the gate I saw children in the garden and sitting around the front door many different age ranges from 18 months to 16 or so, some of the older kids automatically understanding why I was there ran in to fetch their older ‘sister’. I was greeted by Sibongsile who was, I came to realise over the day, the person with the most noticeable qualities of leadership and as such was an unofficial number two to Bettie. She was very gracious and invited me straight in to the house, she was in the middle of something and left me with a young girl who’s age I could not determine as she obviously suffered some physical and mental handicap of some kind, she was however quite confident and took no time at all to arrange a tour of the house, introducing me to everyone on the way.
A small boy took my hand without a word, just a nervous smile and stayed within arms reach for the rest of the day. Sibongsile returned and offered to show me out side in the modest garden, they were growing as much food for the house as possible.
There were twenty five children staying at the house, from what the kids told me I gathered that they each have a bunk bed to themselves although they were many beds to a room. A few of the kids were mentally or physically disabled and I wondered if they had been abandoned because of this, I did not ask about anyone’s past as it would have been rude, they all referred to themselves as Bettie’s children in a very literal sense, and I suppose, as most of them have been there since being babies, they very much were.
I offered to help with the washing up or cut the grass, anything I could do, but Sibongsile would have none of it, I think the most important function for visitors was really to simply be company for the kids and I became centre of attention for the rest of the day.
They had a nice way with each other, the slightly older ones kept an eye on the very young, all under the watchful eye of Sibongsile. I sat with her for a long time talking about the history of the place, and trying to understand their challenges and difficulties. I asked in a rather blunt and what must have seemed a rather direct way What they needed?… I couldn’t think of a more diplomatic way to ask, and I suppose I wanted to get an honest answer “what a question” said Sibongsile because of the multitude of things that must have presumably gone through her mind. She mentioned Cleaning products, mops etc… toys and money for food. As she was talking she seemed unhappy with her own responses… the answer was obvious: they needed everything, having been moved into a brick house built by BP to take them out of the tents they were living in.
Food was a major issue, feeding 25 growing kids is no small task, when lunch was served an older lady ‘Auntie’ came out with a pack of 3 large bread rolls and broke them up for the kids to share, this was the only meal I saw them take and It cannot of filled them up at all, they all remained perfectly happy however and there were no complaints. The only source of income for the house were donations, Bettie was in the town for that purpose today.
Toys were sorely missing, most of the kids simply sat in the shade quietly, I got the feeling my presence was exciting enough a reason for them to become a group, but that If I were not there they would exclude the more disabled kids. One boy who was quite seriously physically and mentally unwell was all but excluded and the children seemed to ignore him, he kept himself busy with a stick and piece of rope, he was happy to sit with us when the group became large.
Sibongsile was a member of a female football team and took me across the street to watch a local professional team training, she explained to me how she wanted a house of her own and a car and her own business, simple things that I suppose we all want, I know that she had all the qualities needed for such a life, she was very intelligent and confident, and in another place she could have quite easily achieved such modest aims.
I left the orphanage with a strange sense of unease. Rather than feeling good for the virtuous deed I had done I felt like a sort of day tripping faker, these children needed a long term investment of time and friendship and my small offering of money which seemed to serve only to embarrass Sibongsile played on my mind.
It is heart breaking to see young children so devoid of friendship and love outside of such a small group, the lack of a mature male was something that was also clear as the younger boys there would bombard me with as many questions as hugs.
I took a few photos, aware that I should concentrate on their needs rather than mine. I relinquished my camera to the kids fairly quickly as the older ones sensed the importance of taking care with it and I was happy to let them enjoy using it for the day.
I realised this morning, after trying to put my finger on it, how the staff here have managed to make me feel unwelcome even though they are always polite, they have a strange way of repeating any small request back to me with slightly accusational tone, ‘Can I have some toast and jam please’ to which I get the response “you want some toast and Jam?” with an intonation of slight surprise and weariness as if I have asked one too many ‘favours’ already today.
The location is splendid, in the morning light I can see it well. Tropical and lush green surrounds the garden with a large hill that dominates the horizon, I have heard talk of monkeys but have not seen any yet. All set to the backdrop of the constant humming and occasional squeaking of the million bugs.
The water is off so no coffee – ouch.
Wouter called to say he can’t make it, bad news… another wasted day. As this news came over the phone, the rain came down like I have rarely seen it before.. sheets of water rather than individual drops. I was determined not to be defeated and with ‘ ‘I’m English I can withstand rain of any kind’ running through my brain I tried to ignore it, eventually even the roof leaked over me and so I returned to my hot room with my soggy newspaper.
As per the norm the rain did not last, however I did notice a sign indoors that told of ‘Bettie’s Heaven’, Bettie being a local woman who has, for the past 25 years taken in and cared for orphans in Nelspruit. Not wishing to waste the day I decided to call a cab and pay a visit.
The every ready Edgar picked me up, a 15 min drive through the centre of town. He was keen to relay to me how ‘I must not walk here… too many ‘tsotsi’ (Gangsters) … they will rob you…”
Edgar had a worryingly accurate and detailed appreciation of exactly how these gangsters would take my bag, and then run away and other gangsters would hold me back so I was unable to give chase, or to paraphrase Edgar: “They will hold you so you cannot have power… you understand?” – I did understand and was grateful for the advice.
Bettie herself was not at home when I arrived, I was told by staff at the old vic (my accommodation) that she has recently had her phone stolen so I was unable to announce my arrival in advance.
So Edgar dropped me at the house and I arranged for him to collect me in 6 or so hours time.
As I entered the gate I saw children in the garden and sitting around the front door many different age ranges from 18 months to 16 or so, some of the older kids automatically understanding why I was there ran in to fetch their older ‘sister’. I was greeted by Sibongsile who was, I came to realise over the day, the person with the most noticeable qualities of leadership and as such was an unofficial number two to Bettie. She was very gracious and invited me straight in to the house, she was in the middle of something and left me with a young girl who’s age I could not determine as she obviously suffered some physical and mental handicap of some kind, she was however quite confident and took no time at all to arrange a tour of the house, introducing me to everyone on the way.
A small boy took my hand without a word, just a nervous smile and stayed within arms reach for the rest of the day. Sibongsile returned and offered to show me out side in the modest garden, they were growing as much food for the house as possible.
There were twenty five children staying at the house, from what the kids told me I gathered that they each have a bunk bed to themselves although they were many beds to a room. A few of the kids were mentally or physically disabled and I wondered if they had been abandoned because of this, I did not ask about anyone’s past as it would have been rude, they all referred to themselves as Bettie’s children in a very literal sense, and I suppose, as most of them have been there since being babies, they very much were.
I offered to help with the washing up or cut the grass, anything I could do, but Sibongsile would have none of it, I think the most important function for visitors was really to simply be company for the kids and I became centre of attention for the rest of the day.
They had a nice way with each other, the slightly older ones kept an eye on the very young, all under the watchful eye of Sibongsile. I sat with her for a long time talking about the history of the place, and trying to understand their challenges and difficulties. I asked in a rather blunt and what must have seemed a rather direct way What they needed?… I couldn’t think of a more diplomatic way to ask, and I suppose I wanted to get an honest answer “what a question” said Sibongsile because of the multitude of things that must have presumably gone through her mind. She mentioned Cleaning products, mops etc… toys and money for food. As she was talking she seemed unhappy with her own responses… the answer was obvious: they needed everything, having been moved into a brick house built by BP to take them out of the tents they were living in.
Food was a major issue, feeding 25 growing kids is no small task, when lunch was served an older lady ‘Auntie’ came out with a pack of 3 large bread rolls and broke them up for the kids to share, this was the only meal I saw them take and It cannot of filled them up at all, they all remained perfectly happy however and there were no complaints. The only source of income for the house were donations, Bettie was in the town for that purpose today.
Toys were sorely missing, most of the kids simply sat in the shade quietly, I got the feeling my presence was exciting enough a reason for them to become a group, but that If I were not there they would exclude the more disabled kids. One boy who was quite seriously physically and mentally unwell was all but excluded and the children seemed to ignore him, he kept himself busy with a stick and piece of rope, he was happy to sit with us when the group became large.
Sibongsile was a member of a female football team and took me across the street to watch a local professional team training, she explained to me how she wanted a house of her own and a car and her own business, simple things that I suppose we all want, I know that she had all the qualities needed for such a life, she was very intelligent and confident, and in another place she could have quite easily achieved such modest aims.
I left the orphanage with a strange sense of unease. Rather than feeling good for the virtuous deed I had done I felt like a sort of day tripping faker, these children needed a long term investment of time and friendship and my small offering of money which seemed to serve only to embarrass Sibongsile played on my mind.
It is heart breaking to see young children so devoid of friendship and love outside of such a small group, the lack of a mature male was something that was also clear as the younger boys there would bombard me with as many questions as hugs.
I took a few photos, aware that I should concentrate on their needs rather than mine. I relinquished my camera to the kids fairly quickly as the older ones sensed the importance of taking care with it and I was happy to let them enjoy using it for the day.
2
The hotel was one of those places where it was probably nice a few decades ago, and is now offering its rooms by the hour – I won’t spell it out for you, but in the space where you would normally find the Gideon’s contribution the world, I found condoms.
I did venture out, leaving camera locked in room. Very typically African, nothing to report other than when I returned to the hotel and said I could not find a bookshop anywhere, I was told by the desk worker that there was one but it is not advisable to walk that way.
Some Chicken Lickin’ and a bag of bananas later I was off to bed, good sleep except for the occasional gunshot and subsequent shouting fest.
Woke with a feeling of positivity that today would be the day when things started to happen, a few hours later stranded on a broken bus in the middle lane of a very busy Jo’berg highway, I felt I may have gotten it wrong.
The day did start well enough, I made it safely from the hotel to the bus station, belly full of weird fake coffee (not good) and coconut biscuit flavoured yoghurt (very good indeed) On the subject of breakfast, I followed what the other guests (Who were mostly prostitutes) were doing with a strange toasting contraption that made bread very warm but not hard in any way. Africa has a weird way of fooling you into a false sense of security regarding its ability to conjure food that look like what you are used to but tastes quite different, not always unpleasant, but always surprising making even the simplest of meals a roulette of emotions.
Made a dash to the bus station with the memory of the gunshots ringing in my ears, all went fairly well until the bus suddenly stopped in the middle of the highway. Everyone seemed in good spirits however and another bus was with us within the hour, a seemingly miraculous time in African public transport terms.
Am now sitting writing this at the bar of the ‘Old Vic travellers inn’ – not a place to break with tradition, it is another mixed bag of very good and very bad. The price is low and it is a very handsome place, but the staff are a bit shitty and you have to pay extra for everything, I’m sure the receptionist was considering charging me for the knife and fork I asked to use. I have been swimming in my pants and am now eating a pizza with banana on it – two firsts I think? Hope tomorrow brings more of the same, Wouter (voter) is picking me up tomorrow to start my photo project, fingers crossed.
I did venture out, leaving camera locked in room. Very typically African, nothing to report other than when I returned to the hotel and said I could not find a bookshop anywhere, I was told by the desk worker that there was one but it is not advisable to walk that way.
Some Chicken Lickin’ and a bag of bananas later I was off to bed, good sleep except for the occasional gunshot and subsequent shouting fest.
Woke with a feeling of positivity that today would be the day when things started to happen, a few hours later stranded on a broken bus in the middle lane of a very busy Jo’berg highway, I felt I may have gotten it wrong.
The day did start well enough, I made it safely from the hotel to the bus station, belly full of weird fake coffee (not good) and coconut biscuit flavoured yoghurt (very good indeed) On the subject of breakfast, I followed what the other guests (Who were mostly prostitutes) were doing with a strange toasting contraption that made bread very warm but not hard in any way. Africa has a weird way of fooling you into a false sense of security regarding its ability to conjure food that look like what you are used to but tastes quite different, not always unpleasant, but always surprising making even the simplest of meals a roulette of emotions.
Made a dash to the bus station with the memory of the gunshots ringing in my ears, all went fairly well until the bus suddenly stopped in the middle of the highway. Everyone seemed in good spirits however and another bus was with us within the hour, a seemingly miraculous time in African public transport terms.
Am now sitting writing this at the bar of the ‘Old Vic travellers inn’ – not a place to break with tradition, it is another mixed bag of very good and very bad. The price is low and it is a very handsome place, but the staff are a bit shitty and you have to pay extra for everything, I’m sure the receptionist was considering charging me for the knife and fork I asked to use. I have been swimming in my pants and am now eating a pizza with banana on it – two firsts I think? Hope tomorrow brings more of the same, Wouter (voter) is picking me up tomorrow to start my photo project, fingers crossed.
1
It is always tempting (especially when travelling alone) to write down every thought and minor occurrence in a blog of some sort, I read them and usually feel sick- so a word of permission, you can stop reading now I won’t mind.
I started by heading out of the snow in Cambridge insanely early after a memory of missing a flight from Heathrow last time. The inevitable tube strike made my underground journey of an estimated 35 mins into a 2.5 hour shit sandwich, but I still got to Heathrow early and killed time lusting after the booze I could not carry and so could not buy, feigning interest in £600 Hermes man handbags and pretending to choose my favourite Prada watch.
I took off on Ethiopian airways, which in typical African style is a mixed bag. Very very sweet attentive and pretty hostesses, the best airplane food I have ever had, seriously. However, the service while good was s l o w ……… and the tiny tv’s were one in every thirty feet of plane, making your seat number a lottery of ‘with or without tv’ an important distraction for a 6ft 4 man who finds it very hard to sleep aboard planes. I had an unfortunate seat, directly below a tv so I could strain my neck and get an inverted Technicolor version or I could peer longingly at the tiny screen thirty feet away, I chose the latter because I could hear the film very well in my headphones and because I had seen the film before (Cyrus – very funny) I hoped my memory would fill the gaps left by my tired eyes.
I have never ever ever seen so many babies on a plane before… I had (honestly) One directly behind me, another an arms reach to my right and another three or four seats in front. Credit where it is due, they worked seamlessly as a team to ensure that a moments silence was never experienced, on a rare occasion they would serenade me all together at once – a rare treat at 5am.
We landed as scheduled in Addis Ababa, which from the air looked, between its mixed architecture, unstereotypically green and lush.. After some confusion as to which was my connecting plane I boarded for Jo’berg. I settled into my seat and ate a surprisingly unappealing looking sandwich (a hot dog roll in cling film containing spam and red peppers) which turned out to be quite delicious.. not sure why as I was not hungry, something about the meat was very tasty, top marks for food again. I watched a tourist programme on the mercifully larger/closer TV and learnt a thing or two about Ethiopia, most memorably that they (Apparently) invented coffee drinking? – I asked for a coffee that I had been so far refusing and to be fair it was exceptionally good.
I feel asleep and woke to a bump of landing, ‘great’ I thought ‘Jo’berg… that was quick’ – then the pilot said words I will never forget “Welcome to Mombasa. “
Panic flooded my stomach, did I get on the wrong plane?? Impossible right? – well yes it turns out, we were just pulling in to swap some passengers – now normally in a taxi or bus situation I wouldn’t mind it but on a plane?!?! This was very unusual. So the new comers got on and we sat on the runway not allowed to leave the plane while it was ‘repaired’ – the fault was never fully explained, so the hot passengers started to complain, and long story short, had an argument that kept us grounded for another couple of hours..
Take off eventually happened and we landed in Jo’berg at 6pm, 5 hours late. Immigration process was short but did involve some blagging on my part as I did not bring my yellow fever certificate.
So by this time it was too late to catch bus to Nelspruit, I made use of the only bit of forward planning I had bothered with and called ‘Brown Sugar’ a backpackers I have used before in Jo’berg – they dutifully picked me up and took me to their castle like fortress in central Jo’berg. All was good here, apart from the world cup legacy which has left the prices inflated beyond reason, a few cold cans of castle and time to get sorted. Met Chris a 50 something scouser with some great stories and a ukulele.
Got a cab down to the bus station the next morning and found out I had missed the bus and would need to get the 10pm one, arriving at 3am – not an option as I didn’t fancy wandering the streets with my camera gear in a town I had never visited, and that I had not even so much as a map for, in the middle of the night. I decided to avoid the cost of a return journey to the hostel and try to find something close by. This is when I found myself in a situation I vowed never to be in, laden with expensive stuff wandering around in central Jo’berg looking very lost. No tourist info booth but a sweet old lady at another desk offered to take me to the ‘springbok hotel’ nearby. I gratefully accepted but within a few blocks of the bus station I was beginning to feel venerable again as I realised I was at the mercy of this stranger leading me into a notoriously dangerous city with not Idea how far we were going to go.
I started by heading out of the snow in Cambridge insanely early after a memory of missing a flight from Heathrow last time. The inevitable tube strike made my underground journey of an estimated 35 mins into a 2.5 hour shit sandwich, but I still got to Heathrow early and killed time lusting after the booze I could not carry and so could not buy, feigning interest in £600 Hermes man handbags and pretending to choose my favourite Prada watch.
I took off on Ethiopian airways, which in typical African style is a mixed bag. Very very sweet attentive and pretty hostesses, the best airplane food I have ever had, seriously. However, the service while good was s l o w ……… and the tiny tv’s were one in every thirty feet of plane, making your seat number a lottery of ‘with or without tv’ an important distraction for a 6ft 4 man who finds it very hard to sleep aboard planes. I had an unfortunate seat, directly below a tv so I could strain my neck and get an inverted Technicolor version or I could peer longingly at the tiny screen thirty feet away, I chose the latter because I could hear the film very well in my headphones and because I had seen the film before (Cyrus – very funny) I hoped my memory would fill the gaps left by my tired eyes.
I have never ever ever seen so many babies on a plane before… I had (honestly) One directly behind me, another an arms reach to my right and another three or four seats in front. Credit where it is due, they worked seamlessly as a team to ensure that a moments silence was never experienced, on a rare occasion they would serenade me all together at once – a rare treat at 5am.
We landed as scheduled in Addis Ababa, which from the air looked, between its mixed architecture, unstereotypically green and lush.. After some confusion as to which was my connecting plane I boarded for Jo’berg. I settled into my seat and ate a surprisingly unappealing looking sandwich (a hot dog roll in cling film containing spam and red peppers) which turned out to be quite delicious.. not sure why as I was not hungry, something about the meat was very tasty, top marks for food again. I watched a tourist programme on the mercifully larger/closer TV and learnt a thing or two about Ethiopia, most memorably that they (Apparently) invented coffee drinking? – I asked for a coffee that I had been so far refusing and to be fair it was exceptionally good.
I feel asleep and woke to a bump of landing, ‘great’ I thought ‘Jo’berg… that was quick’ – then the pilot said words I will never forget “Welcome to Mombasa. “
Panic flooded my stomach, did I get on the wrong plane?? Impossible right? – well yes it turns out, we were just pulling in to swap some passengers – now normally in a taxi or bus situation I wouldn’t mind it but on a plane?!?! This was very unusual. So the new comers got on and we sat on the runway not allowed to leave the plane while it was ‘repaired’ – the fault was never fully explained, so the hot passengers started to complain, and long story short, had an argument that kept us grounded for another couple of hours..
Take off eventually happened and we landed in Jo’berg at 6pm, 5 hours late. Immigration process was short but did involve some blagging on my part as I did not bring my yellow fever certificate.
So by this time it was too late to catch bus to Nelspruit, I made use of the only bit of forward planning I had bothered with and called ‘Brown Sugar’ a backpackers I have used before in Jo’berg – they dutifully picked me up and took me to their castle like fortress in central Jo’berg. All was good here, apart from the world cup legacy which has left the prices inflated beyond reason, a few cold cans of castle and time to get sorted. Met Chris a 50 something scouser with some great stories and a ukulele.
Got a cab down to the bus station the next morning and found out I had missed the bus and would need to get the 10pm one, arriving at 3am – not an option as I didn’t fancy wandering the streets with my camera gear in a town I had never visited, and that I had not even so much as a map for, in the middle of the night. I decided to avoid the cost of a return journey to the hostel and try to find something close by. This is when I found myself in a situation I vowed never to be in, laden with expensive stuff wandering around in central Jo’berg looking very lost. No tourist info booth but a sweet old lady at another desk offered to take me to the ‘springbok hotel’ nearby. I gratefully accepted but within a few blocks of the bus station I was beginning to feel venerable again as I realised I was at the mercy of this stranger leading me into a notoriously dangerous city with not Idea how far we were going to go.
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