Permits 4 Africa

It was once again time to renew my work permit, so 10 of us trudged off to the Department of "Sit on your butt and wait Forever" and started serving our sentence.

I found myself bored after approximately 15 minutes and after another hour and a half I was photographing everything in my line of fire. I then started a game of chicken which basically involves sitting in a non-aircon room with 20 heavy breathing, hot irritated people and launching methane bombs, some stealth and others that murmered like far off thunder. I have noticed that if you pretend to be playing on your phone, keep a neutral expression and don't look up, the members of a now fully operational gas chamber have very little chance of finding the culprit.

Butt after an hour of "Spot the Bomber" I was in need of a new challenge and we were en route to the Police Station, a km walk in 32'C weather, I made friends with a lady and her friend who opened her umbrella to shield herself from the sun, I simply ducked my head under the umbrella and began chatting to her as she was a newly found relative, she was shy, but her friend found it amusing and after a brief chat we parted ways.

Next we met a Chinese welder who had just returned from Moscow.
From his broken English we managed to derive the following information;

• Russia was very cold
• The prostitutes were very expensive 
• Vodka was an essential partner in fighting off the cold
• The police were very militant and demanded to see your papers all the time.
• He had been locked up more than one
• Fucki Fucki was possible if you were not caught and bribed by the police and a lady was having a slow night

He spoke with a twinkle in his slits and a smile on his lips, he also laughed at all of us as we tried to communicate with him, a 41 year old man who still looked 30.

I was then afforded the pleasure of sharing my bench with an Indian lady, I enquired whether she sat next to me because I was handsome and irresistible to women, she giggled and blushed and looked away. My colleagues shook their heads as if they felt sorry for this poor woman.

I asked if I could have my photo taken with her and she politely declined, even when I tried to convince her that I was in fact an exotic dancer by trade and  "Glitter" was my stage name. She  would still not succumb to my request for a photograph. She worked with her husband for a company that manufactured all the Student Prince school shoes that were exported to South Africa, had 2 children a son 13 and a daughter 9, she declined my offer to hold my hand while we spoke.

As I was called into the Department of "Smile and Shut Up" I was sure she was checking out my swaying bottom, but I would not put money on it.

Photo taken, permit issued and just when I felt that I had survived this 6 hour lapse in reality, we had to climb into a local taxi for a short trip, the creaking suspension, lack of windows that opened and grinding of metal on metal where brake pads should be reminded me of what the majority of commuters had to endure on a daily basis.

Africa is indeed a continent filled with colourful characters, friendly individuals and an adventure if you wish to step out of your safety net.

Be brave and live.

Nite All

Day 2: Hell is a Hill

Hell presented itself to me today in the form of a never ending hill, no wait a mountain, possibly the highest in Southern Africa.

As I sweated and toiled I am convinced I could hear my FAT (Freshly Aching Tissue) collapse and fall to the ground screaming like a teenager who has been given her first credit card. I was unable to cry as this process requires tears and they come from your tear-ducts in your eyes in your head, my heart had no energy to pump blood against gravity and so my brain was dying. No brain equals no pain equals no tears, Einsteins Fictional Law of Cycles.

I was like a gazelle who gracefully fell off a cliff on the downhills and all I could hear was the flapping of my cheeks as the air filled my mouth, dodging imaginary racers and raising my buttocks to the skies in defiance. The road leveled out and rose and I was in my element, man and machine against nature. After 20m I stopped and tried to adjust the tiny screw that adjusted my gearing with my thumbnail, my nail broke and I was sure I heard the unmistakable laughter of Chuck Norris and Bear Grylls somewhere far far away. Sucking up my pride I set off again and found the local schools practicing their English with me as they overtook me on foot. 

You may be asking yourself what does a pro-athlete like myself think about when they are in the zone, how the heck should I know!!!! I was wondering if it were possible to vomit up a lung and if the body would bounce if I fainted due to the altitude, after all Lesotho is not called the Mountain Kingdom for nothing. And then I looked up and I saw before me Hell, and it was bad, and I said unto myself, "Oh Crap". 
I speak with with experience when I say that the road to hell is paved with tar, loose gravel and the sweat of overweight middle-aged men atoning for a lifetime of laughing in the face of exercise.

And then it was over, I crawled into a shower, lay on my bed and believe it or not planned my next ride.

Death By Exercise

I look at a recent photo of myself and realised that I was no longer the sleek willowy athletic man I used to be. 

A strict diet of beer flavored drinks and lack of vegetable based organic shakes had allowed my muscles to reach a stage of relaxation frowned upon by 99% of medical practitioners. The other 1% who performed my mammogram examination suggested the use of a sports bra. Muscle tone seemed to be less recognizable and even brief flexing in front of mirrors and at shopping centres left me feeling a little light headed. Carbon loading didn't help and neither did the intake of hops tainted energy drinks.

Sadly drastic measures needed to be taken.

Hence the migration to a mountain bike, it was found on special at a well known supermarket and looked shiny and new, wheels turned and brakes worked, surely that was all that was required? Off we went, three of us, unfit and in shorts and t-shirts, Team Disaster. Downhill was very manageable and the need for pedaling minor, I was familiarizing myself with the gearing system and determining which was front and which rear breaks. After a long and dreary 600 seconds we headed back and suddenly hit a wall of wind, severe pedaling was required and my legs were like the pistons on a formula one car, well for 2 minutes at least.

Suddenly the air thinned and I felt as if I was breathing in butane that ignited in my lungs and turned them into a crematorium at full operation, my legs began to wobble and I seemed to loose control over the amount of methane exiting my body.
It was at this point that I had to dismount occasionally and push my bike, this seemed to indicate to the locals that I wished to converse with them, the greetings and questions that were shouted at me were often followed with giggles, as I was unable to speak I nodded and attempted to ride again. With approximately 250m to go I realised that I had all my gear ratios in reverse and that was why I was pedaling like a spinning pro when gentle cycling was required.

It took an hour of lying on my bed gasping for air and not moving before I was able to remove my shoes and socks, 20 minutes of cycling had hurt me more than a Blue Bulls supporter and his teams management choice of pink camouflage rugby jerseys.

"I have been hiding from exercise, I was in the Fitness Protection Program" 

African Month

Life in Lesotho can best be described as trading in the Johannesburg highways with its aggressive drivers and slowing it all down to slow motion, similar to the now infamous Pamela Anderson Baywatch jogging scene in her airbrushed bikini.

It is relaxed. People chat to you and because my skin is of a paler complexion, I am no longer referred to as "Chinese"but am now American". I am only partially convinced that this nothing to do with me being twice the size of the average Chinese, however bulk is seen as an asset here.
We have started our vegetable garden and our gardener speaks next to no English, hence we both smile a lot at each other and I have no idea what he has planted where. My sign language is a combination of hand signals with some body movement, basically I look like a chubby version of Michael Jackson doing a moonwalk without moving my feet.

Work is currently 90% admin and 10% site work, I sometimes feel like a school teacher who never gets the apple. Our accommodation is compact but clean and serviced daily, food is good although I never though I would say, but the amount of red meat we consume is enough to make the mildest of vegetarians refer to us as cannibalistic murderers. This I am led to believe is not a compliment.

When we feel the walls of our rooms getting a little close and the sudden urge to hug our male colleagues, we head off to Maseru and grab a meal and a movie. The owner of the local Spur never leaves us alone and all the waiters apologise if someone is sitting in our table, and what do we order? CHICKEN!

So in short, it is a beautiful country with the most brilliant stars at night, friendly people and a pace of life which explains why the donkey is the transport vehicle of choice.


Nite All

The African Adventure Begins

Imagine a land of gumboots, umbrellas, donkeys, upside down wheelbarrows, blanket people and medium sized rocks on your house roof. A place where all Europeans are referred to as Chinese in the rural areas and English is often greeted with a look of confusion, similar to the look my boerboel Lucy used to give me if I didn't bring here a McDonald's cheeseburger back from town.

It is a smog free country with night skies so clear you can see stars that haven't even made their debut in the cities yet, a truly magnificent African display of constellations.

Also present are a collection of tired, semi disabled vehicles, some resting and adorning a greenery where the engine used to be and others waiting for a transplant in an donor less environment.

The folk are friendly and patient and more importantly content with a simple lifestyle. there is a younger generation bursting through with the enthusiasm of puppy attacking a toilet roll and they are keen to get out and get to Johannesburg. They want the things they see on television and the rock and roll lifestyle. I am hoping this remains the dream of the kids in the city and that the rural folk remain pure, holistic and culturally rich.

Winter has not yet graced us with her presence, I am told she is bitter, wicked and has an ice cold heart. It will definitely snow and for us South Africans who think that a temperature of 21'C is a little cool, I expect to hear the clinking of frozen balls as I walk.

It is time to leave for now and until we meet again, let me grace you with this word of wisdom, "Close the fridge door I'm freezing"

Nite All