Savannah Grace's Blog - Posts Tagged "guinea"
Arrival in Guinea, West Africa!!!!!
Link to my blog. Read about my arrival in Conakry, Guinea: http://www.watkinstravel.blogspot.com/
Author Note: Kees is pronounced Case. Rhymes with bookcase and suitcase.
After all of the passport struggles of the week before, I started to doubt our Africa trip would pull through. In truth, I even started to lose interest in it. With all the setbacks and barricades in our path our plane was surely going to crash, right? I guess life isn’t always that easy to predict. If we did make it I feared going back to the area of the world which was the most testing of my entire life and the emotions I’d face. How would I feel? How would I react? Could I handle it? It’s been just over 4 years since I abandoned our family trip. Two years of which had been spent living day to day eating, sleeping and traveling with and like locals as we circumnavigated the entire African continent.
Lately I have been absorbing myself in our photos for the second book. It is hard to believe we really went through all those experiences, especially as a family. Sometimes it’s hard for me to even comprehend the extent of what we did and how we did it. Am I really capable of those things? So naturally, going back to one of the poorest countries in all of Africa, not on a safari, resort or something protected and shielded from the local lifestyle, intimidated me. After losing my passport, all the setbacks and trying to see how it could possibly be a sihpromatum, the only satisfying reason was that we were being prevented from a disaster, so the closer we came to getting on the plane the more scared I became.
We didn’t know until the last hours before our departure if we were actually going to make it. My temporary passport had miraculously processed in record time, and I had it in my hands the day before. At 3:30 a.m. Kieta and a friend drove us to Belgium so we could be on the doorsteps of the Guinean Embassy the moment it opened. Halfway to Brussels I realized I’d forgotten my visa photos for the application, making me even more certain some kind of “force” was preventing our departure. Expecting the embassy to open at 8a.m. we started to stress when 9a.m. rolled by and the embassy still hadn’t opened; our plane only 4 hours now from takeoff. Luckily at 9:15 the officials arrived with us following them in on their heels. Luck on our side, after playing stupid, I was simply told to bring visa photos next time and ten minutes later Kees, Keita and I were in the car driving to Brussels International Airport. Going through customs I got a few strange looks and hesitant glares as they observed my white “TEMPORARY PASSPORT” with only 8 pages. I’m completely disappointed that once I return from this trip I am not allowed to keep it as a souvenir!
8.5 hours later, including a 1.5 hour stopover in Banjul, The Gambia, we landed in the black night of Africa. Keita’s brother met us and took our luggage in his car while we caught a taxi to his sister’s house.
Though I’ve been to Guinea before, this was my first time in the capital city, Conakry, and the atmosphere here was no different than I’d experienced hundreds of times before.I was completely overwhelmed the instant I set foot outside. Wow. No number of words, metaphors or descriptions can express the emotions that flooded in. The so familiar, yet forgotten scents and flavors of African pollution, burning street fires and kerosene in the hot night air hit me. It was like finding a familiar yet lost piece of my childhood.
Driving in the pitch black without street lights, the honking horns, smoke and dodging other cars, I had to hold back the tears. Not because of fear, discomfort or anything of that sort, but coming back to a place that was so much a part of my life and my history. I was transported into the past but my world had changed so drastically not having my family by my side and the dirty backpacks in the trunk.
“But I’m your family too, sweet,” Kees said, his strong arm around me. Before arriving I thought I would never again experience that pure shock of a first timer. I did not have the shock that would normally come from such a drastic change in scenery and culture. These surroundings felt comfortable, like I had just discovered an old tree house I’d made as a child and I instantly adapted.
For me, Africa never truly felt like a holiday or vacation, it was simply a part of my growing up. I spent almost my entire teenage years living as a nomad exploring from place to place. I was transported back to a place and time that was both incredible and terrible, where I discovered the pains and joys of heartbreak and falling in love. I’d been challenged and rewarded with the ups and the downs of life. I don’t think any amount of words can bring these emotions to life for my readers, but I can tell you it was one of my most meditating, wowing moments that brought tears to my eyes.
It amazes me how much has changed in my life in the past 4 years and to see how it all worked out. Last time I was in Guinea, 5 years ago, I wouldn’t have been able to wish for a more perfect future. If I could only have told myself what lay ahead when I was struggling so much, I wonder how much of a difference it would have made or if I’d even have believed it.
I have a wonderful guy who surprises me and makes me laugh every day. I get to continue exploring the globe with my sweetheart who shares the same passion for travel as I do. He takes such good care of me and makes me feel like a real princess. After years together it’s still hard to look at him because his face gives me butterflies. The book I dreamed of for years truly exists and the support and success I feel with that is a dream come true. Life is full of potential and opportunities and I’m so excited to see what the future will bring.
Savannah
Author Note: Kees is pronounced Case. Rhymes with bookcase and suitcase.
After all of the passport struggles of the week before, I started to doubt our Africa trip would pull through. In truth, I even started to lose interest in it. With all the setbacks and barricades in our path our plane was surely going to crash, right? I guess life isn’t always that easy to predict. If we did make it I feared going back to the area of the world which was the most testing of my entire life and the emotions I’d face. How would I feel? How would I react? Could I handle it? It’s been just over 4 years since I abandoned our family trip. Two years of which had been spent living day to day eating, sleeping and traveling with and like locals as we circumnavigated the entire African continent.
Lately I have been absorbing myself in our photos for the second book. It is hard to believe we really went through all those experiences, especially as a family. Sometimes it’s hard for me to even comprehend the extent of what we did and how we did it. Am I really capable of those things? So naturally, going back to one of the poorest countries in all of Africa, not on a safari, resort or something protected and shielded from the local lifestyle, intimidated me. After losing my passport, all the setbacks and trying to see how it could possibly be a sihpromatum, the only satisfying reason was that we were being prevented from a disaster, so the closer we came to getting on the plane the more scared I became.
We didn’t know until the last hours before our departure if we were actually going to make it. My temporary passport had miraculously processed in record time, and I had it in my hands the day before. At 3:30 a.m. Kieta and a friend drove us to Belgium so we could be on the doorsteps of the Guinean Embassy the moment it opened. Halfway to Brussels I realized I’d forgotten my visa photos for the application, making me even more certain some kind of “force” was preventing our departure. Expecting the embassy to open at 8a.m. we started to stress when 9a.m. rolled by and the embassy still hadn’t opened; our plane only 4 hours now from takeoff. Luckily at 9:15 the officials arrived with us following them in on their heels. Luck on our side, after playing stupid, I was simply told to bring visa photos next time and ten minutes later Kees, Keita and I were in the car driving to Brussels International Airport. Going through customs I got a few strange looks and hesitant glares as they observed my white “TEMPORARY PASSPORT” with only 8 pages. I’m completely disappointed that once I return from this trip I am not allowed to keep it as a souvenir!
8.5 hours later, including a 1.5 hour stopover in Banjul, The Gambia, we landed in the black night of Africa. Keita’s brother met us and took our luggage in his car while we caught a taxi to his sister’s house.
Though I’ve been to Guinea before, this was my first time in the capital city, Conakry, and the atmosphere here was no different than I’d experienced hundreds of times before.I was completely overwhelmed the instant I set foot outside. Wow. No number of words, metaphors or descriptions can express the emotions that flooded in. The so familiar, yet forgotten scents and flavors of African pollution, burning street fires and kerosene in the hot night air hit me. It was like finding a familiar yet lost piece of my childhood.
Driving in the pitch black without street lights, the honking horns, smoke and dodging other cars, I had to hold back the tears. Not because of fear, discomfort or anything of that sort, but coming back to a place that was so much a part of my life and my history. I was transported into the past but my world had changed so drastically not having my family by my side and the dirty backpacks in the trunk.
“But I’m your family too, sweet,” Kees said, his strong arm around me. Before arriving I thought I would never again experience that pure shock of a first timer. I did not have the shock that would normally come from such a drastic change in scenery and culture. These surroundings felt comfortable, like I had just discovered an old tree house I’d made as a child and I instantly adapted.
For me, Africa never truly felt like a holiday or vacation, it was simply a part of my growing up. I spent almost my entire teenage years living as a nomad exploring from place to place. I was transported back to a place and time that was both incredible and terrible, where I discovered the pains and joys of heartbreak and falling in love. I’d been challenged and rewarded with the ups and the downs of life. I don’t think any amount of words can bring these emotions to life for my readers, but I can tell you it was one of my most meditating, wowing moments that brought tears to my eyes.
It amazes me how much has changed in my life in the past 4 years and to see how it all worked out. Last time I was in Guinea, 5 years ago, I wouldn’t have been able to wish for a more perfect future. If I could only have told myself what lay ahead when I was struggling so much, I wonder how much of a difference it would have made or if I’d even have believed it.
I have a wonderful guy who surprises me and makes me laugh every day. I get to continue exploring the globe with my sweetheart who shares the same passion for travel as I do. He takes such good care of me and makes me feel like a real princess. After years together it’s still hard to look at him because his face gives me butterflies. The book I dreamed of for years truly exists and the support and success I feel with that is a dream come true. Life is full of potential and opportunities and I’m so excited to see what the future will bring.
Savannah
Conakry Life
For version of the story with photos please visit www.watkinstravel.blogspot.com
There is just WAY too much to say...
We arrived at Keita’s sister’s house the first night, to be welcomed by a boney fish and onion salad dinner. Keita is a drummer friend of Kees’ who is originally from Conakry and years ago was able to flee the country as a hidden stowaway in a boat headed for Europe. His life is a book in itself.
Everyone was excited to have Aboubacar Keita home again. Keita is actually his last name but he uses it in Holland as his first. As soon as we landed back in his homeland and mother tongue of Sousou his name was once again Aboubacar.
Running on only airplane food and one hour of sleep in 36 hours, we were all more than ready to crash. We were taken to Keita’s “petite’s” house where he was still rummaging and grabbing handfuls of his belongings to clear the room for us. In this culture, they have “grand” and “petite” (big and small), which describes your rank by age. With respect such a big part of the culture here, it is easy for them to get the “little guys” to do their “dirty work”.
Our room was great! From the broken, trash filled street we passed through a metal door which is placed between two of the tightly-crammed-together, one-story brick houses. The short, narrow walkway is open to the smoggy sky above and on either side there are sharp metal roofs which come down exactly to Kees’ neck. If he wasn’t careful I’d be bringing home his decapitated head.
This walkway opens into a small courtyard with a big, leafy tree in the centre of a concrete block decorated with mosaics and used as a seat.
This small courtyard centers a small community with several rusty old doors opening into people’s homes. As was everyone else’s, our new abode was literally a square room which looked and felt more like a prison cell. A drastic change from the 4 star resorts I’d been treated to in the past few years,since the family trip. After a few minutes I embraced the filth and the claustrophobic little home as my own. Using our t-shirts as pillow cases we covered the two lumpy, “goat teeth” pillows. All that separated our flesh from the sweaty, stained mattress was a thin, grey sheet. The first couple of nights we had only that, and in our sleep we ended up between the springy mattress and sheet. I did say we embraced it, didn’t I?
Outside our room around the corner, past more sharp, low roofs we found the toilet which was easier found by smell than by flashlight. In a small structure there were three doors down an extremely narrow shoulder-squeezing passage. Kees could barely get through without shimmying down sideways and collecting cobwebs. Past the first two dark shower rooms was the toilet which reeked of African sewage. It’s actually quite amazing how distinct the smell is and how it’s definitely different than, let’s say, Asian sewage. It took me quite a while but I think I finally pin-pointed what the smell derives from. Onions! They serve onions like crazy here and after a week, I started to smell the effects.
Normally these kinds of toilets are tolerable with a big gulp of air and a quick squat, but the problem here was they never showed us where to retrieve water to flush. This can create quite a dilemma. Luckily for me I have had lots of experience in controlling my body in that department and managed to avoid ever taking a dump at our lovely dwelling. The other small problem was that when you squat you should face outwards to align the two holes, if you know what I mean, but when just peeing it was so shallow that it would splash out onto my feet. The solution was to turn around and aim the stream directly into the hole, but this left my nose only two inches from the stained, sweaty wall.
I know many would call me crazy, but honestly the compound where we stayed was impressively clean. Every morning the women are out busy as bees preparing huge meals for their families, doing laundry and scrubbing the patio with hand brooms and soapy water. I’m inclined to say the clothing here is cleaner than what we get out of a regular washing machine and the whites are abnormally white, especially for the dirty, dusty conditions of their surroundings.
I loved filming and watching the local chores of the women in our compound, grinding the meals in carved out wooden bowls, cooking cassava in metal pots on small charcoal fires or scrubbing laundry on washboards in a soapy bucket which are then wrung out and hung in trees, on the roofs or laid out on straw mats on the broken sidewalks. The country has a large Muslim population, though you wouldn’t really know except for the “Allah Akbar” call to prayer drifting through our barred up window five times a day and the big Friday prayer in the streets. Women wear traditional colorful dresses and are comfortable letting their massive, long breasts hang out when they bathe or dress. In the heat, it’s nice to be able to wear what you want, though of course I would never, out of respect, go walking in short shorts or anything too revealing. The men do not give me a bad feeling and are respectful, they don’t even stare. I feel completely safe and happy in our neighbourhood. I think a huge part of what I love about Conakry is the lack of harassment. Nobody is clinging or grabbing me wherever they please(compared to other countries that I have been too). There are very few beggars and my pathetic, little butt surely can’t be of any interest with the massive, round one’s that are bouncing down the streets.
The families in our little community were extremely friendly and we were always greeted with big smiles and a happy “bonjour”. I’ve been craving to get back out and experience the world and other cultures, not just hide behind the comfortable, safe bubble of resorts and packaged tours. I was more than ready to go on an adventure. This was not in the same league as the backpacking I did with the family but it was exactly what I needed! It has been a trip with the perfect balance of cultural immersion, interaction with locals, getting dirty and back to basics but with the freedom to buy comforts such as sitting in a restaurant and eating freshly prepare food, instead of tinned sardines or spam on bread or paying for a private boat instead of piling in with 50 locals and waiting 3 hours to leave. Yes, part of me feels shame and mixed after all the time and effort we spent to save those fifty cents. But this is only a 2-week trip and Kees and I value time more than money this time.
Money changing has been done with the guys walking the streets with their backpacks full of money. A 50-euro note is quickly changed from the car window into a thick wad of decaying, pirate-like Guinea Francs. Taking pictures has been a conflict. Some people, like those in our compound, are excited and begging for us to take photos of and with them, but on the streets it can be complicated. On the first day exploring Conakry a guy started pointing and yelling at us about Kees’ camera. Not understanding what he was saying we were grateful for Keita who stepped in.
This turned into a huge, sweat flying battle which drew a big crowd. The guy, who turned out to be the captain of Interpol, secret police, promptly threatened to take us to the station. Keita was shaking with rage, screaming defensively like a cat cornered by dogs. Returning the favor, Keita threatened the captain and two uniformed police, to call his friend the colonel as he reached for his phone. Of course, this was a bluff but seemed to work. Luckily from experience I know these fights nearly always defuse as quickly as they escalate. At the end of this heated shouting match, the captain gave Keita his number, in case of an emergency to bail him out. Not even 24 hours on the continent and we’re already getting threatened to be thrown in jail. Having seen this episode more than my fair share before, it was really nice to confirm that it wasn’t always my crazy family causing scenes and “picking fights”. Witnessing another incident a couple days later of a big argument at the harbour was a good lesson for me. Perhaps those times when I felt we were being reckless in our travels wasn't so bad as yelling is not taken in the same way here as it would be at home. It is just the way things are done here, one second there’s a huge argument, the next the guys are trading numbers and shaking hands. The circumstances are just completely different.
We have been fortunate with Keita as our guide because he speaks the language, sorts all of our needs and drives us from place to place in Kees’ old jeep that couldn’t pass its yearly road test in Holland anymore. Keita bought the jeep from him and shipped it from Holland to Guinea. The European junker upgraded his value as it is a status symbol in Conakry.
Kids of all ages make teams for soccer in the streets, half deflated balls fly in front of traffic and players dash out in front of cars. Such sights as kids rolling tires across the road with a stick on the inner rim or dads crossing the street with his son’s hand in one hand, an upturned duck in the other are not uncommon.
The market in our neighbourhood is big and beautiful with all its colors though I think we only managed a couple of sneaky photos before everyone completely turned against us. We most often eat chicken or fish with french-fries and a mainly onion based salad BUT the wonderful thing is they are big on vinegar. The salad dressing one of the nights was so potent I don’t think anyone outside of my immediate family would have been physically capable of eating it. After being deprived of vinegar in Holland, where they eat mayo on fries, I doused everything with the vinegar bottle on the table until it was empty almost every time.
<
After a few days in Conakry, we decided to take a boat and stay 3-4 day days on our beautiful, laid-back island Kassa. Oh ya, I still have a lot to explain!!!
Savannah
There is just WAY too much to say...
We arrived at Keita’s sister’s house the first night, to be welcomed by a boney fish and onion salad dinner. Keita is a drummer friend of Kees’ who is originally from Conakry and years ago was able to flee the country as a hidden stowaway in a boat headed for Europe. His life is a book in itself.
Everyone was excited to have Aboubacar Keita home again. Keita is actually his last name but he uses it in Holland as his first. As soon as we landed back in his homeland and mother tongue of Sousou his name was once again Aboubacar.
Running on only airplane food and one hour of sleep in 36 hours, we were all more than ready to crash. We were taken to Keita’s “petite’s” house where he was still rummaging and grabbing handfuls of his belongings to clear the room for us. In this culture, they have “grand” and “petite” (big and small), which describes your rank by age. With respect such a big part of the culture here, it is easy for them to get the “little guys” to do their “dirty work”.
Our room was great! From the broken, trash filled street we passed through a metal door which is placed between two of the tightly-crammed-together, one-story brick houses. The short, narrow walkway is open to the smoggy sky above and on either side there are sharp metal roofs which come down exactly to Kees’ neck. If he wasn’t careful I’d be bringing home his decapitated head.
This walkway opens into a small courtyard with a big, leafy tree in the centre of a concrete block decorated with mosaics and used as a seat.
This small courtyard centers a small community with several rusty old doors opening into people’s homes. As was everyone else’s, our new abode was literally a square room which looked and felt more like a prison cell. A drastic change from the 4 star resorts I’d been treated to in the past few years,since the family trip. After a few minutes I embraced the filth and the claustrophobic little home as my own. Using our t-shirts as pillow cases we covered the two lumpy, “goat teeth” pillows. All that separated our flesh from the sweaty, stained mattress was a thin, grey sheet. The first couple of nights we had only that, and in our sleep we ended up between the springy mattress and sheet. I did say we embraced it, didn’t I?
Outside our room around the corner, past more sharp, low roofs we found the toilet which was easier found by smell than by flashlight. In a small structure there were three doors down an extremely narrow shoulder-squeezing passage. Kees could barely get through without shimmying down sideways and collecting cobwebs. Past the first two dark shower rooms was the toilet which reeked of African sewage. It’s actually quite amazing how distinct the smell is and how it’s definitely different than, let’s say, Asian sewage. It took me quite a while but I think I finally pin-pointed what the smell derives from. Onions! They serve onions like crazy here and after a week, I started to smell the effects.
Normally these kinds of toilets are tolerable with a big gulp of air and a quick squat, but the problem here was they never showed us where to retrieve water to flush. This can create quite a dilemma. Luckily for me I have had lots of experience in controlling my body in that department and managed to avoid ever taking a dump at our lovely dwelling. The other small problem was that when you squat you should face outwards to align the two holes, if you know what I mean, but when just peeing it was so shallow that it would splash out onto my feet. The solution was to turn around and aim the stream directly into the hole, but this left my nose only two inches from the stained, sweaty wall.
I know many would call me crazy, but honestly the compound where we stayed was impressively clean. Every morning the women are out busy as bees preparing huge meals for their families, doing laundry and scrubbing the patio with hand brooms and soapy water. I’m inclined to say the clothing here is cleaner than what we get out of a regular washing machine and the whites are abnormally white, especially for the dirty, dusty conditions of their surroundings.
I loved filming and watching the local chores of the women in our compound, grinding the meals in carved out wooden bowls, cooking cassava in metal pots on small charcoal fires or scrubbing laundry on washboards in a soapy bucket which are then wrung out and hung in trees, on the roofs or laid out on straw mats on the broken sidewalks. The country has a large Muslim population, though you wouldn’t really know except for the “Allah Akbar” call to prayer drifting through our barred up window five times a day and the big Friday prayer in the streets. Women wear traditional colorful dresses and are comfortable letting their massive, long breasts hang out when they bathe or dress. In the heat, it’s nice to be able to wear what you want, though of course I would never, out of respect, go walking in short shorts or anything too revealing. The men do not give me a bad feeling and are respectful, they don’t even stare. I feel completely safe and happy in our neighbourhood. I think a huge part of what I love about Conakry is the lack of harassment. Nobody is clinging or grabbing me wherever they please(compared to other countries that I have been too). There are very few beggars and my pathetic, little butt surely can’t be of any interest with the massive, round one’s that are bouncing down the streets.
The families in our little community were extremely friendly and we were always greeted with big smiles and a happy “bonjour”. I’ve been craving to get back out and experience the world and other cultures, not just hide behind the comfortable, safe bubble of resorts and packaged tours. I was more than ready to go on an adventure. This was not in the same league as the backpacking I did with the family but it was exactly what I needed! It has been a trip with the perfect balance of cultural immersion, interaction with locals, getting dirty and back to basics but with the freedom to buy comforts such as sitting in a restaurant and eating freshly prepare food, instead of tinned sardines or spam on bread or paying for a private boat instead of piling in with 50 locals and waiting 3 hours to leave. Yes, part of me feels shame and mixed after all the time and effort we spent to save those fifty cents. But this is only a 2-week trip and Kees and I value time more than money this time.
Money changing has been done with the guys walking the streets with their backpacks full of money. A 50-euro note is quickly changed from the car window into a thick wad of decaying, pirate-like Guinea Francs. Taking pictures has been a conflict. Some people, like those in our compound, are excited and begging for us to take photos of and with them, but on the streets it can be complicated. On the first day exploring Conakry a guy started pointing and yelling at us about Kees’ camera. Not understanding what he was saying we were grateful for Keita who stepped in.
This turned into a huge, sweat flying battle which drew a big crowd. The guy, who turned out to be the captain of Interpol, secret police, promptly threatened to take us to the station. Keita was shaking with rage, screaming defensively like a cat cornered by dogs. Returning the favor, Keita threatened the captain and two uniformed police, to call his friend the colonel as he reached for his phone. Of course, this was a bluff but seemed to work. Luckily from experience I know these fights nearly always defuse as quickly as they escalate. At the end of this heated shouting match, the captain gave Keita his number, in case of an emergency to bail him out. Not even 24 hours on the continent and we’re already getting threatened to be thrown in jail. Having seen this episode more than my fair share before, it was really nice to confirm that it wasn’t always my crazy family causing scenes and “picking fights”. Witnessing another incident a couple days later of a big argument at the harbour was a good lesson for me. Perhaps those times when I felt we were being reckless in our travels wasn't so bad as yelling is not taken in the same way here as it would be at home. It is just the way things are done here, one second there’s a huge argument, the next the guys are trading numbers and shaking hands. The circumstances are just completely different.
We have been fortunate with Keita as our guide because he speaks the language, sorts all of our needs and drives us from place to place in Kees’ old jeep that couldn’t pass its yearly road test in Holland anymore. Keita bought the jeep from him and shipped it from Holland to Guinea. The European junker upgraded his value as it is a status symbol in Conakry.
Kids of all ages make teams for soccer in the streets, half deflated balls fly in front of traffic and players dash out in front of cars. Such sights as kids rolling tires across the road with a stick on the inner rim or dads crossing the street with his son’s hand in one hand, an upturned duck in the other are not uncommon.
The market in our neighbourhood is big and beautiful with all its colors though I think we only managed a couple of sneaky photos before everyone completely turned against us. We most often eat chicken or fish with french-fries and a mainly onion based salad BUT the wonderful thing is they are big on vinegar. The salad dressing one of the nights was so potent I don’t think anyone outside of my immediate family would have been physically capable of eating it. After being deprived of vinegar in Holland, where they eat mayo on fries, I doused everything with the vinegar bottle on the table until it was empty almost every time.
<
After a few days in Conakry, we decided to take a boat and stay 3-4 day days on our beautiful, laid-back island Kassa. Oh ya, I still have a lot to explain!!!
Savannah
Building Project Guinea
Latest blog post up about our building project on Kassa island off the coast of Conakry, Guinea in West Africa! Find teh story here with photos. http://www.watkinstravel.blogspot.nl/
Guinea Island Project: 25/02/2013 Author Note: Kees is pronounced Case. Rhymes with bookcase. Remember that little comment I made about Kees surprising me every day? Well one of those surprises was a few years ago when I first heard he’d bought a piece of land on Kassa, an island off the coast of Guinea. I admit I shook my head at him, especially when I found out it was only a 15-20 minute boat ride from the chaotic capital city. What kind of absurd idea is this!? It didn’t make much sense to me. I considered the work ethics, reliability and corruption in Africa but the bigger question was, who on earth GOES to Guinea, one of the poorest countries in the world?! I’d been on an island not far from there called Bolama just off the coast of Guinea Bissau which is the country north of Guinea. Although it was a nice experience and had its charm, it wasn’t what I would call a good investment or a “holiday excursion”.
This little project of Kees’ was only a couple thousand euro gamble so I figured, “let him have his fun”. Despite my reservations, when I heard he was going to fly there in February I was too scared to be left out of a good adventure, so I jumped aboard. Plus, I like to stay close to him. The last time Kees saw the island was nearly a decade ago when he first talked about buying land there with his Guinean friend Keita. Though we’ve technically owned the land for 3 years already, this was the first time either of us would actually see what he’d bought. Whenever I told someone the reason behind our trip to Guinea, I shrugged my shoulders, just as confused as them. Well, BOY WAS I WRONG! I seriously love our island! Yes, notice how I’ve snuck that our word in there.
From the narrow, concrete pier of Conakry’s bustling harbor, Keita helped to arrange a private boat to Kassa. With the honking, shouting and many indistinguishable smells fading behind us, I set eyes on the island ahead as it got bigger and bigger. I immediately felt excited as the palm trees and sands got closer. The sun was shining down warming my back, a wonderful change from the slushy, cold rains in Holland.
It was a super short trip, only 15-20 minutes from the capital city, yet it seemed a million miles from it. You could probably get there in 7 minutes with a good boat and motor, but they tend to go at a snail pace to save money on fuel. It’s surprising that despite being so close to civilization, the island feels very remote and untouched. With such easy access to this beautiful island, how come it hadn’t been claimed or built up sooner?
Landing, we walked across the width of the island directly to our piece of land in less than 5 minutes! Keita showed us the way and I was absolutely blown away when I set eyes on our home away from home. It is much bigger than I expected and already there are three of ten huts in the process of being built and we have our first well which Keita started on a previous trip, but this trip was about getting our hut built.
The entire property which is owned by Keita is 5,000m2, 10% of which we own. With this we already have big plans. I immediately went from thinking Kees was crazy to believing him when he said, “This place is going to be in the Lonely Planet”.
A beautiful rocky area covered by palm trees and banana plants will be the future bar/restaurant. We’ve got lots of beach front property which with some work will be great! We can build a pier and get a boat. Checking the perimeters, Kees pointed out the spot where he wanted his hut to be, just in front of the big baobab tree, with a stunning view of the ocean.
I immediately saw the great potential in this property and am so excited to see it all happen. I absolutely loved it and couldn’t stop thinking about mom and how much she would have absolutely loved this whole experience. After seeing the island, our property and choosing the spot, we took a boat back to Conakry to get to the drawing board. In about 15 minutes, Kees drew the sketch of our future house. You could say he got carried away just a little, as our little hut turned into a giant platform with two larger huts, including an entire storage floor underneath.
The next morning the architect came to our local compound to see Kees’ drawing. After Kees’d explained his sketch the guy left, and came back later that day with the real blueprints. Wow, a dream takes the first step! Next, we needed to meet with the builder. In the meantime Kees and I had moved over to stay on the island at a nice place which mainly attracts French military and serves as a getaway for charity workers, etc. in the country. Though there are few actual tourists/backpackers at this point, there are definitely more whiteys or as they call us, “footays”, than I’d expected. Crazy as it sounds, with tourism spreading down from Morocco to The Gambia, I can actually see Guinea becoming a tourist destination in the next ten years. We met with our builder, and showed him the blue prints and our chosen location. With a measuring tape and his crew, he jumped into the bushes to get his thing together. I couldn’t believe what I was witnessing as these topless “bushmen” immediately got to work, dealing with the most rural, basic conditions. I was immediately impressed by them! Being the only girl among at least a dozen guys, I watched as they made a small sample idea in sand with sticks and twigs. The builder drew up a list of the material we needed to arrange and bring to the island before he could start.
Keita, Kees and our builder (left photo: topless on the left), stepped to the side to discuss in private the conditions, price and schedule. When Kees came back and filled me in, my jaw fell off when he ended it with “and he promises he can get the house up and finished in two months!”. And so it begins!!! As Kees and I stayed and enjoyed a tropical holiday in one of two resort/hotels on the island, Keita fought the heat and stress of Conakry as he arranged wood, iron, wheelbarrows and cement to be transported by boat over the following days. A dream starts to take shape! We watched each and every step with excitement that week.
Two boats arrived the first day with what seemed an endless amount of supplies being loaded onto the worker’s heads. Load after load of 50k sacks of cement were put on the heads of shirtless guys with muscles that could put washboards out of business in Africa. In just flip-flops they balanced through the muddy shores and climbed the bank, making a chain like ants across the island to our tropical paradise.
While the material was being hauled, the builder was busy taking measurements, making notes, clearing the land of bush and trees. Each day we were greeted either with respectful handshakes from the workers, and/or Kees being called “patron” or “master” and me “Madame”. Each time we visited, the frame was becoming more and more of a reality as we watched them cut out entire boulders, pour cement and build wooden boxes for the pillars. Sweat poured off chocolate skin in the heat of the day. With shirts wrapped around their heads, muscles shined with the gleam of their sweat. Though at times it felt a bit weird being the “Madame”, for reasons I don’t think I need to explain, I know that realistically they are more than capable of this hard, physical labour and I had to think of the sherpas in Nepal. They must be thrilled to have secure employment for the next two months.
The boss builder was funny when we arrived, he’d yell at the guys taking a break in the shade of the palms, anxious for us to see them in action. I did feel bad if they had just sat down for a breather.
I kept thinking of Mom and how much she would have loved to join us on this trip. Last year when Kees tried to go to Guinea, he insisted it wouldn’t be worth it for her to come because it wasn’t a “holiday” trip. Next time she HAS to go because I know she will love it. In the shade of the palms down the slope from our small construction site, the temperature was purely perfect with a slight breeze coming in from the ocean, birds singing overhead and the workers picking fresh mangoes and coconuts for us from our own trees! Kees was right that it wasn’t a relaxing holiday, it was so much more. It was a trip that had all my senses screaming at me, fighting for the next note to be written. Though sometimes I was sunburnt, felt exhausted, and had to shower with cold bucket water after hours of dust sticking to my sweaty skin, I experienced something new and wouldn’t trade that for anything. What is more beautiful on this earth than watching a dream become a reality?
I even started to insist that I would stay on Kassa and watch the entire building process. Though, even if I was serious he would never let me because, “What would I tell your mom? I left you here in Africa? Ya, right!” And he’d made it quite clear I had no choice when I tested, “but I could stay if I REALLY wanted.” “No you couldn’t.” “Why not?!” “Because of these,” He said, flashing his bicep. “LOL. Okay, okay, you win.”
I feel privileged to have been part of this and to see the start of such a project. We could never have done any of this without the help of Keita who spent days running around arranging everything. It was so exciting to see the progress each day. I love the atmosphere of our “Little Holland”, which the locals have started referring it to as. What started as a fun little idea has turned into a big project that I think, with time, could be a hot spot for backpackers. We envision round huts, palm leaf walled toilets where you can gaze at the stars while you shower, suspension bridges crossing between trees, torch lit pathways to individual huts and a small but lively bar. A little getaway to the tropics with a special atmosphere. Whatever happens though, we know we at least have a house being built for us that we will definitely be able to enjoy. Never in my wildest imagination would I have thought I’d have a topical holiday home in Guinea let alone AFRICA. Life continues to surprise me. I know I have already and can NOT wait to see how Kees’ 15 minute drawing looks in REAL life, overlooking that big, sparkly ocean...
Take the step forward, follow that dream ! Savannah
Guinea Island Project: 25/02/2013 Author Note: Kees is pronounced Case. Rhymes with bookcase. Remember that little comment I made about Kees surprising me every day? Well one of those surprises was a few years ago when I first heard he’d bought a piece of land on Kassa, an island off the coast of Guinea. I admit I shook my head at him, especially when I found out it was only a 15-20 minute boat ride from the chaotic capital city. What kind of absurd idea is this!? It didn’t make much sense to me. I considered the work ethics, reliability and corruption in Africa but the bigger question was, who on earth GOES to Guinea, one of the poorest countries in the world?! I’d been on an island not far from there called Bolama just off the coast of Guinea Bissau which is the country north of Guinea. Although it was a nice experience and had its charm, it wasn’t what I would call a good investment or a “holiday excursion”.
This little project of Kees’ was only a couple thousand euro gamble so I figured, “let him have his fun”. Despite my reservations, when I heard he was going to fly there in February I was too scared to be left out of a good adventure, so I jumped aboard. Plus, I like to stay close to him. The last time Kees saw the island was nearly a decade ago when he first talked about buying land there with his Guinean friend Keita. Though we’ve technically owned the land for 3 years already, this was the first time either of us would actually see what he’d bought. Whenever I told someone the reason behind our trip to Guinea, I shrugged my shoulders, just as confused as them. Well, BOY WAS I WRONG! I seriously love our island! Yes, notice how I’ve snuck that our word in there.
From the narrow, concrete pier of Conakry’s bustling harbor, Keita helped to arrange a private boat to Kassa. With the honking, shouting and many indistinguishable smells fading behind us, I set eyes on the island ahead as it got bigger and bigger. I immediately felt excited as the palm trees and sands got closer. The sun was shining down warming my back, a wonderful change from the slushy, cold rains in Holland.
It was a super short trip, only 15-20 minutes from the capital city, yet it seemed a million miles from it. You could probably get there in 7 minutes with a good boat and motor, but they tend to go at a snail pace to save money on fuel. It’s surprising that despite being so close to civilization, the island feels very remote and untouched. With such easy access to this beautiful island, how come it hadn’t been claimed or built up sooner?
Landing, we walked across the width of the island directly to our piece of land in less than 5 minutes! Keita showed us the way and I was absolutely blown away when I set eyes on our home away from home. It is much bigger than I expected and already there are three of ten huts in the process of being built and we have our first well which Keita started on a previous trip, but this trip was about getting our hut built.
The entire property which is owned by Keita is 5,000m2, 10% of which we own. With this we already have big plans. I immediately went from thinking Kees was crazy to believing him when he said, “This place is going to be in the Lonely Planet”.
A beautiful rocky area covered by palm trees and banana plants will be the future bar/restaurant. We’ve got lots of beach front property which with some work will be great! We can build a pier and get a boat. Checking the perimeters, Kees pointed out the spot where he wanted his hut to be, just in front of the big baobab tree, with a stunning view of the ocean.
I immediately saw the great potential in this property and am so excited to see it all happen. I absolutely loved it and couldn’t stop thinking about mom and how much she would have absolutely loved this whole experience. After seeing the island, our property and choosing the spot, we took a boat back to Conakry to get to the drawing board. In about 15 minutes, Kees drew the sketch of our future house. You could say he got carried away just a little, as our little hut turned into a giant platform with two larger huts, including an entire storage floor underneath.
The next morning the architect came to our local compound to see Kees’ drawing. After Kees’d explained his sketch the guy left, and came back later that day with the real blueprints. Wow, a dream takes the first step! Next, we needed to meet with the builder. In the meantime Kees and I had moved over to stay on the island at a nice place which mainly attracts French military and serves as a getaway for charity workers, etc. in the country. Though there are few actual tourists/backpackers at this point, there are definitely more whiteys or as they call us, “footays”, than I’d expected. Crazy as it sounds, with tourism spreading down from Morocco to The Gambia, I can actually see Guinea becoming a tourist destination in the next ten years. We met with our builder, and showed him the blue prints and our chosen location. With a measuring tape and his crew, he jumped into the bushes to get his thing together. I couldn’t believe what I was witnessing as these topless “bushmen” immediately got to work, dealing with the most rural, basic conditions. I was immediately impressed by them! Being the only girl among at least a dozen guys, I watched as they made a small sample idea in sand with sticks and twigs. The builder drew up a list of the material we needed to arrange and bring to the island before he could start.
Keita, Kees and our builder (left photo: topless on the left), stepped to the side to discuss in private the conditions, price and schedule. When Kees came back and filled me in, my jaw fell off when he ended it with “and he promises he can get the house up and finished in two months!”. And so it begins!!! As Kees and I stayed and enjoyed a tropical holiday in one of two resort/hotels on the island, Keita fought the heat and stress of Conakry as he arranged wood, iron, wheelbarrows and cement to be transported by boat over the following days. A dream starts to take shape! We watched each and every step with excitement that week.
Two boats arrived the first day with what seemed an endless amount of supplies being loaded onto the worker’s heads. Load after load of 50k sacks of cement were put on the heads of shirtless guys with muscles that could put washboards out of business in Africa. In just flip-flops they balanced through the muddy shores and climbed the bank, making a chain like ants across the island to our tropical paradise.
While the material was being hauled, the builder was busy taking measurements, making notes, clearing the land of bush and trees. Each day we were greeted either with respectful handshakes from the workers, and/or Kees being called “patron” or “master” and me “Madame”. Each time we visited, the frame was becoming more and more of a reality as we watched them cut out entire boulders, pour cement and build wooden boxes for the pillars. Sweat poured off chocolate skin in the heat of the day. With shirts wrapped around their heads, muscles shined with the gleam of their sweat. Though at times it felt a bit weird being the “Madame”, for reasons I don’t think I need to explain, I know that realistically they are more than capable of this hard, physical labour and I had to think of the sherpas in Nepal. They must be thrilled to have secure employment for the next two months.
The boss builder was funny when we arrived, he’d yell at the guys taking a break in the shade of the palms, anxious for us to see them in action. I did feel bad if they had just sat down for a breather.
I kept thinking of Mom and how much she would have loved to join us on this trip. Last year when Kees tried to go to Guinea, he insisted it wouldn’t be worth it for her to come because it wasn’t a “holiday” trip. Next time she HAS to go because I know she will love it. In the shade of the palms down the slope from our small construction site, the temperature was purely perfect with a slight breeze coming in from the ocean, birds singing overhead and the workers picking fresh mangoes and coconuts for us from our own trees! Kees was right that it wasn’t a relaxing holiday, it was so much more. It was a trip that had all my senses screaming at me, fighting for the next note to be written. Though sometimes I was sunburnt, felt exhausted, and had to shower with cold bucket water after hours of dust sticking to my sweaty skin, I experienced something new and wouldn’t trade that for anything. What is more beautiful on this earth than watching a dream become a reality?
I even started to insist that I would stay on Kassa and watch the entire building process. Though, even if I was serious he would never let me because, “What would I tell your mom? I left you here in Africa? Ya, right!” And he’d made it quite clear I had no choice when I tested, “but I could stay if I REALLY wanted.” “No you couldn’t.” “Why not?!” “Because of these,” He said, flashing his bicep. “LOL. Okay, okay, you win.”
I feel privileged to have been part of this and to see the start of such a project. We could never have done any of this without the help of Keita who spent days running around arranging everything. It was so exciting to see the progress each day. I love the atmosphere of our “Little Holland”, which the locals have started referring it to as. What started as a fun little idea has turned into a big project that I think, with time, could be a hot spot for backpackers. We envision round huts, palm leaf walled toilets where you can gaze at the stars while you shower, suspension bridges crossing between trees, torch lit pathways to individual huts and a small but lively bar. A little getaway to the tropics with a special atmosphere. Whatever happens though, we know we at least have a house being built for us that we will definitely be able to enjoy. Never in my wildest imagination would I have thought I’d have a topical holiday home in Guinea let alone AFRICA. Life continues to surprise me. I know I have already and can NOT wait to see how Kees’ 15 minute drawing looks in REAL life, overlooking that big, sparkly ocean...
Take the step forward, follow that dream ! Savannah
GRAPHIC content, Cow Slaughter Africa
Do you want to see something completely gross, bloody and graphic?! Then click this link to share our Guinean/African slaughter experience. http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=pXg_BQ... READ about this on www.watkinstravel.blogspot.com
Warning: Graphic content. Viewer discretion is advised.
A simple morning stroll to find breakfast in our neighbourhood came with an exciting surprise. A beaten up taxi with a half-disintegrated couch tied to the roof racks above caught our attention, even before we realized what lay inside. A small, beige cow was flipped helplessly and awkwardly on its side, crammed in the back seat.
We asked permission to document the cow, always careful now when taking photos in the city after our previous encounter with the secret police.
“OUI, OUI!” they said, waving an open hand towards the scene.
When the men started to tear him out of the back seat by the horns, Kees suggested, “C’mon sweet, let’s go. We don’t want them to take him out of the car for our photo.”
When traveling, the locals tend to want to do everything to please you. They often go over the top to do things you didn’t even want to begin with, much like in India when venders pull their entire fabric shop apart to show you something you were only looking at.
Despite our insistence that we didn’t need the cow to come out, they continued to tug at his horns and legs. Dropping him on his back they began unraveling the ropes around his ankles. Once he was free from the vehicle, they whacked him until he righted himself and they shooed him through metal doors into a walled compound. Curiosity getting the better of us, we followed them into a dusty enclosure in the middle of the city. I immediately knew what we were about to witness and how I was going to react.
It was a big yard, where another cow of the same kind was tied up on the ground. I couldn’t help but wonder if this cow #1 had just come out of the same little taxi. I wouldn’t put it past them to stack two cows on top of each other. I couldn’t imagine the hours of suffering these poor cows had already been put through before they came to this inevitable end. I knew for sure cow #2, that had just stumbled into the compound, had been shoved and pulled into a tiny car upside down with the blood flowing into his brain, the pressure behind his eyeballs forcing them out of their sockets. Sheer terror showed in the bulging whites of his eyes as he desperately tried to see what was happening. After spending who knows how long upside down and overheating in the car, even his pink anus was bulging out from the strain. Perhaps the weight of cow #1 being on top of him would explain that! They were both in the worst position a cow could possibly find himself in. Not even a Hollywood film could invent a way to get them out of this one.
They stretched and twisted #1’s neck unnaturally to use his horns as an anchor to keep the skin tight. My stomach started to twist in the same fashion. Even with horns dug into the earth, he kept watching with those terrified eyes. Clouds of dirt formed around his nostrils as he exhaled his last laboured breaths. An African boy sharpened two small knives before repetitively slapping the tightly stretched neck. Two men braced the cow for the deep, lethal incision.
Kees was only a few feet away on his knees filming every move while I kept my distance and turned my head before the killing, only allowing a few glances.
I couldn’t watch as they made the first slice, opening the thick skin and persistently sawing back and forth. The cow let out a loud “MOO!” and continued to groan as the knife cut through the flesh. Even without watching, purposely directing my focus downwards to the trash strewn earth I could hear the blood gushing out in a strong, steady stream.
As much as I tried to overpower my mind and be in control, I had no chance. I felt both lightheaded and sick, the putrid smells around me, empty stomach and smouldering heat, weren’t on my side. I didn’t know if puking or fainting would come first.
While the first was still gurgling and dying, they turned their attention towards cow #2. After just witnessing what was about to happen to him, they pulled him by horn and tail, not hesitating a second before slitting his throat too.
I hoped that as soon as we left the scene I would instantly recover but the smells and sounds were still so fresh and the edges of my vision started to go, forcing me to admit, “Kees, I feel really dizzy,” and reach for his arm to gain support.
“Sweet, what’s happening? Is it the heat? Or the cow? Or both?”
“I just feel dizzy,” I said, ashamed to admit I was really fainting over this. He held me securely, making sure I didn’t wander into traffic. I focussed in on a big, old tree in the centre of the sidewalk which had burst through the concrete years ago and made a break for it. I immediately turned, slid with my back against it and dropped to the ground.
So stupid! I’m so stupid, stupid, stupid.
I felt completely embarrassed that I wasn’t able to control this reaction but knew if I hadn’t stopped I would’ve passed out. I just cannot get over the fact that I was already prepared for it, yet it made absolutely no difference. It’s incredible that something visual and audible can make you react so physically.
Naturally this silly, little white girl dropping in the street drew a crowd. I could hear the alarm of the French voices anxious to help. My right ear was humming, making the voices sound distant. As Kees tried to explain everything was alright, they brought chairs and water for me but I insisted on staying put in the dirt with my back firm against the tree.
So stupid!
After a quick, cold Sprite, I gained some strength back and we made it to breakfast. I decided to eat French fries and salad that day and left out the chicken. It took a few hours before I felt perfectly okay again and a bit longer before I was inclined to eat meat. It doesn’t give me a good feeling that I consume it every day and yet can’t stomach the necessary act of slaughter. It made me question if I am even worthy of eating meat.
Savannah
P.S. Later in the day we passed by the yard again and saw that they had cut the cows down into a few buckets of meat and two wet, slimy skins.
To veiw the very graphic video of this story click here.
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=pXg_BQ...
Warning: Graphic content. Viewer discretion is advised.
A simple morning stroll to find breakfast in our neighbourhood came with an exciting surprise. A beaten up taxi with a half-disintegrated couch tied to the roof racks above caught our attention, even before we realized what lay inside. A small, beige cow was flipped helplessly and awkwardly on its side, crammed in the back seat.
We asked permission to document the cow, always careful now when taking photos in the city after our previous encounter with the secret police.
“OUI, OUI!” they said, waving an open hand towards the scene.
When the men started to tear him out of the back seat by the horns, Kees suggested, “C’mon sweet, let’s go. We don’t want them to take him out of the car for our photo.”
When traveling, the locals tend to want to do everything to please you. They often go over the top to do things you didn’t even want to begin with, much like in India when venders pull their entire fabric shop apart to show you something you were only looking at.
Despite our insistence that we didn’t need the cow to come out, they continued to tug at his horns and legs. Dropping him on his back they began unraveling the ropes around his ankles. Once he was free from the vehicle, they whacked him until he righted himself and they shooed him through metal doors into a walled compound. Curiosity getting the better of us, we followed them into a dusty enclosure in the middle of the city. I immediately knew what we were about to witness and how I was going to react.
It was a big yard, where another cow of the same kind was tied up on the ground. I couldn’t help but wonder if this cow #1 had just come out of the same little taxi. I wouldn’t put it past them to stack two cows on top of each other. I couldn’t imagine the hours of suffering these poor cows had already been put through before they came to this inevitable end. I knew for sure cow #2, that had just stumbled into the compound, had been shoved and pulled into a tiny car upside down with the blood flowing into his brain, the pressure behind his eyeballs forcing them out of their sockets. Sheer terror showed in the bulging whites of his eyes as he desperately tried to see what was happening. After spending who knows how long upside down and overheating in the car, even his pink anus was bulging out from the strain. Perhaps the weight of cow #1 being on top of him would explain that! They were both in the worst position a cow could possibly find himself in. Not even a Hollywood film could invent a way to get them out of this one.
They stretched and twisted #1’s neck unnaturally to use his horns as an anchor to keep the skin tight. My stomach started to twist in the same fashion. Even with horns dug into the earth, he kept watching with those terrified eyes. Clouds of dirt formed around his nostrils as he exhaled his last laboured breaths. An African boy sharpened two small knives before repetitively slapping the tightly stretched neck. Two men braced the cow for the deep, lethal incision.
Kees was only a few feet away on his knees filming every move while I kept my distance and turned my head before the killing, only allowing a few glances.
I couldn’t watch as they made the first slice, opening the thick skin and persistently sawing back and forth. The cow let out a loud “MOO!” and continued to groan as the knife cut through the flesh. Even without watching, purposely directing my focus downwards to the trash strewn earth I could hear the blood gushing out in a strong, steady stream.
As much as I tried to overpower my mind and be in control, I had no chance. I felt both lightheaded and sick, the putrid smells around me, empty stomach and smouldering heat, weren’t on my side. I didn’t know if puking or fainting would come first.
While the first was still gurgling and dying, they turned their attention towards cow #2. After just witnessing what was about to happen to him, they pulled him by horn and tail, not hesitating a second before slitting his throat too.
I hoped that as soon as we left the scene I would instantly recover but the smells and sounds were still so fresh and the edges of my vision started to go, forcing me to admit, “Kees, I feel really dizzy,” and reach for his arm to gain support.
“Sweet, what’s happening? Is it the heat? Or the cow? Or both?”
“I just feel dizzy,” I said, ashamed to admit I was really fainting over this. He held me securely, making sure I didn’t wander into traffic. I focussed in on a big, old tree in the centre of the sidewalk which had burst through the concrete years ago and made a break for it. I immediately turned, slid with my back against it and dropped to the ground.
So stupid! I’m so stupid, stupid, stupid.
I felt completely embarrassed that I wasn’t able to control this reaction but knew if I hadn’t stopped I would’ve passed out. I just cannot get over the fact that I was already prepared for it, yet it made absolutely no difference. It’s incredible that something visual and audible can make you react so physically.
Naturally this silly, little white girl dropping in the street drew a crowd. I could hear the alarm of the French voices anxious to help. My right ear was humming, making the voices sound distant. As Kees tried to explain everything was alright, they brought chairs and water for me but I insisted on staying put in the dirt with my back firm against the tree.
So stupid!
After a quick, cold Sprite, I gained some strength back and we made it to breakfast. I decided to eat French fries and salad that day and left out the chicken. It took a few hours before I felt perfectly okay again and a bit longer before I was inclined to eat meat. It doesn’t give me a good feeling that I consume it every day and yet can’t stomach the necessary act of slaughter. It made me question if I am even worthy of eating meat.
Savannah
P.S. Later in the day we passed by the yard again and saw that they had cut the cows down into a few buckets of meat and two wet, slimy skins.
To veiw the very graphic video of this story click here.
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=pXg_BQ...
Don't Lose Sight
You can find this story on http://www.watkinstravel.blogspot.nl/ to read with photos.
Don't Lose Sight:
Author Note: Kees is pronounced Case, rhymes with race.
It’s extremely important that awareness is brought towards the suffering of those less fortunate and to try in every way possible to help those in need. But it’s easy to confuse the main stream media coverage of hunger crisis with the average African population. There are 54 countries in Africa and I don’t feel it is one giant continent of fear, misery or suffering. Within the 37 African countries I’ve visited, the majority of people were friendly, hospitable and joked amongst each other.
Honestly, there are parts of their lives that I am jealous of, one of the main things being their huge families and respect for elders. Everyone has a hundred friends in the street, they know their neighbours and trust their community to protect them. Not once have I felt threatened or unsafe walking the streets in the day or at night. I feel less protected with my cellphone and “911” in Europe than I do with all the women and children outside running around, drinking tea, playing board games and sharing meals at night here. Kieta fled his African homeland with the preconceived notion that he was going to “the land of wealth and happiness” but instead found bitter cold; the hospitality and warm friendship he was used to was suddenly gone. Once our houses are built, I don’t doubt for a second that he will be moving back to Africa.
Traveling has taught me that we do not need all of those materialistic things we think are so important. As long as the essentials are provided, people are more than capable of finding happiness in simplicity. People’s opinions of themselves are often mirrored by what others say and think about them, which is why it’s hard not to compete in a materialistic world.
Competing with our families to be bigger and better should never happen. We should be helping each other up and standing together; we already have way more than we need. As far as I’m concerned, that is a fact. I know it’s unrealistic to expect people to suddenly downgrade their houses, flush their iPhones and sell their cars, but if there is just one message I can get across it’s to look at what you do have and at least be grateful. Don’t take for granted or lose touch with what is truly important in your life.
It’s impossible to be grateful 24/7 (unless you’re Mom, of course) and I constantly struggle with it, perhaps because I, of all people, should know better. I’m guilty of getting caught up in this circle again and losing sight of what's truly important. This life has been a gift for me and to forget that would be an insult. I strive to be better and try to remember how it is when living a simpler life, especially after a trip like this.
Savannah Grace
Don't Lose Sight:
Author Note: Kees is pronounced Case, rhymes with race.
It’s extremely important that awareness is brought towards the suffering of those less fortunate and to try in every way possible to help those in need. But it’s easy to confuse the main stream media coverage of hunger crisis with the average African population. There are 54 countries in Africa and I don’t feel it is one giant continent of fear, misery or suffering. Within the 37 African countries I’ve visited, the majority of people were friendly, hospitable and joked amongst each other.
Honestly, there are parts of their lives that I am jealous of, one of the main things being their huge families and respect for elders. Everyone has a hundred friends in the street, they know their neighbours and trust their community to protect them. Not once have I felt threatened or unsafe walking the streets in the day or at night. I feel less protected with my cellphone and “911” in Europe than I do with all the women and children outside running around, drinking tea, playing board games and sharing meals at night here. Kieta fled his African homeland with the preconceived notion that he was going to “the land of wealth and happiness” but instead found bitter cold; the hospitality and warm friendship he was used to was suddenly gone. Once our houses are built, I don’t doubt for a second that he will be moving back to Africa.
Traveling has taught me that we do not need all of those materialistic things we think are so important. As long as the essentials are provided, people are more than capable of finding happiness in simplicity. People’s opinions of themselves are often mirrored by what others say and think about them, which is why it’s hard not to compete in a materialistic world.
Competing with our families to be bigger and better should never happen. We should be helping each other up and standing together; we already have way more than we need. As far as I’m concerned, that is a fact. I know it’s unrealistic to expect people to suddenly downgrade their houses, flush their iPhones and sell their cars, but if there is just one message I can get across it’s to look at what you do have and at least be grateful. Don’t take for granted or lose touch with what is truly important in your life.
It’s impossible to be grateful 24/7 (unless you’re Mom, of course) and I constantly struggle with it, perhaps because I, of all people, should know better. I’m guilty of getting caught up in this circle again and losing sight of what's truly important. This life has been a gift for me and to forget that would be an insult. I strive to be better and try to remember how it is when living a simpler life, especially after a trip like this.
Savannah Grace
Guinea, West Africa
To read this with PHOTOS please visit www.watkinstravel.blogspot.com
Author Note: Kees is pronounced Case.
I just want to start off by saying a few things. My travel memoir, “Sihpromatum – I Grew My Boobs in China” is now on sale for 99cent until April 15th on both Kobo and Amazon. http://www.amazon.com/Sihpromatum-Gre...
Dad had a minor stroke last week so life has been a bit hectic and I’ve been sensing some melancholy around here lately. Having said this, writing this piece brought me to a much happier place and was like taking in a refreshing gulp of air.
Carrying on from my latest posts; Conakry, our building project and seeing that cow get slaughtered…....
We decided after a few days in Conakry, that we would move over to Kassa, escape the bustling capital city and stay in one of two small “resort/hotels” available and enjoy the peacefulness of our West African island. Kassa immediately felt like home.
I was actually pleasantly surprised when I found out we had a bathroom in our own room instead of complaining that the water was cold, the electricity only came on at 7pm and the shower was clogged and flooding. All that was important was the possibility of having such luxuries available; we were thrilled to once again have running water, a flushing toilet and electricity! Finding happiness in the simplicity of things we do daily without notice at home is what makes it so wonderful.
We spent our days waking up to the sound of birds chirping and soft waves stirring the sand right outside our hut. We’d throw the door open, jump back in bed and just watch the glistening ocean. With the place to ourselves we felt comfortable lying beneath white sheets in each other’s arms, dreaming to the soothing sounds of nature
Love was in the air, even the perky weaver birds were flirting, busy impressing each other and making nests in the palm trees. Is there possibly a better way to wake up to the world?
Restfully woken, we’d saunter over to the open restaurant patio overlooking the ocean, again with the place all to ourselves. We ate stale bread with coffee for breakfast on the balcony, with the perfect amount of refreshing wind blowing in. Leaning over the Ipad we’d play a competitive game of Monopoly.
“Sweet your throats better, isn’t it,’ I said matter-of-fact one morning, inquiring about the sore throat he’d brought on the trip.
“Yes!” he said, sounding surprised. “How'd you know?!?”
“Cause I have it.”
“No! Really?!?”
“Ya, and I was so careful too!”
Thinking I was so clever I’d suggested using separate water bottles on the trip.
Kees suddenly laughed and said, “Sweet, you were so careful with your water but then promptly insisted I use your toothbrush. ‘Here sweet, just use mine!’” he impersonated.
“Oh my GOSH! What a retard.” I can’t even believe myself sometimes.
Aside from the sore throat Kees brought with him from Holland we really didn’t get sick. We stopped taking our malaria pills halfway through the trip because they made us feel yucky and there were absolutely no signs of mosquitoes or any bugs at that! Just leave it to Kees, Mr. Perfect, to find a tropical island with absolutely no bothersome insects! There were no ants crawling into our hut to eat our food, no flies landing on our plates and no cockroaches sitting on our toothbrushes, it was amazing.
Some days we’d go exploring down the main dirt road of the island to visit our new neighbours in the nearby villages. Another time we walked along the coast, up and over rocks from beach to beach, not a single soul in sight.
Unfortunately on the side of the beach that faces the capital city, there is a lot of trash that has floated over and landed on the shores of Kassa, fortunately our side is still seemingly untouched and beautiful. This was a really romantic escapade, with a single 2L bottle of water in our hands, forget not sharing! The climb over the passages of rock was difficult for me but the coarse red rocks, against green palms, white sands and blue sky made it all worth it.
While we stopped to take a break I came across a palm tree growing on an angle and decided it was the perfect opportunity to impress Kees and prove that I am indeed the same little Mowgli girl he picked up in Africa five years earlier. Stripping down and cracking my knuckles I was off and climbing. On all fours, gripping that tree like a gangly monkey, I realized about halfway up how unbelievably terrified I am of heights, (I must add that to the 1,000 other things I’m afraid of) and decided I desperately needed to bear hug this tree.
So now, stuck halfway up this tree I was screaming, “Oh my gosh, sweet! It’s falling. The tree is falling. I’m so scared. I can’t go any further. How am I going to get back down?!”
I know it sounds pathetic but in my mind the ground was starting to shift and spin, and I really don’t know whether or not the tree was about to fall, but in my mind it was already in mid-fall.
“Oh c’mon Savann, you can do it. You’re a little Mowgli girl. All Mowgli girls can climb palm trees.”
He was right! Of course I could climb this dang thing. I really did not want to and I was dizzy and shaky but I was so determined to impress that darn guy standing what felt a million miles below laughing at me. So, rather than descending I continued to inch my way up until I reached the top! And just for good measure, I made a few book advertisements.
“Sihpromatum – I Grew My Boobs in China”
On the way back down I realized just how sharp and rough palm tree bark is. Shimmying down backwards on bare legs, belly and arms is a painful experience but apparently proves to be good entertainment for whoever you’re with. *grumble*
On days that we weren’t on an adventure we’d sit either on the beach outside our hut or at the restaurant working on our computers, the owners black lab keeping us company. I think I love just sitting under a palm with the perfect wind and temperature in the shade working on my book. I truly love my “office on the move”.
Late nights consisted of crab hunting on the beach strewn with hundreds of crab holes. Arm in arm, stumbling in the sand, with only a small flashlight and moonlight to guide us, we attempted to catch them off guard.
It didn’t always work out because, despite trying to sneak past him, the owner’s black lab would always join us on our hunt and go crazy scattering all the crabs, ruining any chance of a surprise attack.
One moonlit night coming back from our own property, we saw all the bats coming out. It was so exciting when we first realized they weren’t birds. I love that moment. There were lots of them all swarming around one big tree. I absolutely love bats, they are such special animals. The way they land upside down and crawl on the branches is so freaking cool. I love flying rodents with that badass reputation. There really is no better accessory to a full moon.
Coming back to our room the first night we discovered we had a little gecko friend.
When I caught the first one Kees said, “I can’t believe you caught it! How did you do that? I’ve never seen someone catch a gecko before. You really impress me.” But then he quickly decided that it was not my awesome skills but the fact that he was shining a flashlight in its face, thus making it confused.
The next morning while Kees was in the bathroom, I saw a really tiny little baby gecko and thought, “Hmph! Flashlight my butt. This should impress him.”
Within a couple minutes I had him, ready in my hands.
Finally, sincerely impressed, Kees admitted it was not the flashlight. “You are a true
Mowgli gecko catcher!”
Soooo a couple days later when I saw another one in our room I told Kees, “Look another one. Go get it. You can catch it! Catch it, catch it!”
Feeling confident now, he ran after the gecko, pushing furniture out of his way and pounced.
“Ooh no!!! Sweet! Its tail’s off n it's still wiggling. You see that? Oh noo. I feel so bad. Oh sweet, what did I do!!? Oh, I feel so terrible. I'm a gecko slayer.”
“You just karate chopped it in half?!”
“See, this is the reason I never tried to catch one before! I can catch it if I really want to… but I’m going to squish it!” In between moans of horror at what he just did I had to laugh. He was so devastated and horrified by himself that I’m sure he won’t be happy that I shared this story with you.
Luckily after a few minutes, the body part of the tiny gecko started to move. I was relieved he wasn’t dead but Kees was still moaning and crying about it. It was quite amazing how long the tail kept on wiggling about on the floor!
“Catch it. Catch it, she says! That was NOT good!!! I'm never catching a gecko again.”
And so, it was decided that I was the designated gecko catcher, and he will never again attempt such an act.
After consistently saying “Oh, just ONE more night,” our initial plan to stay 3-4 nights on Kassa gradually stretched into a full week!
Savannah
Ps. Don’t forget to get your copy of Sihpromatum for only 99CENTS on Amazon or Kobo! Limited time offer ends Monday April 15th.
http://www.amazon.com/Sihpromatum-Gre...
http://www.kobobooks.com/ebook/Sihpro...
Author Note: Kees is pronounced Case.
I just want to start off by saying a few things. My travel memoir, “Sihpromatum – I Grew My Boobs in China” is now on sale for 99cent until April 15th on both Kobo and Amazon. http://www.amazon.com/Sihpromatum-Gre...
Dad had a minor stroke last week so life has been a bit hectic and I’ve been sensing some melancholy around here lately. Having said this, writing this piece brought me to a much happier place and was like taking in a refreshing gulp of air.
Carrying on from my latest posts; Conakry, our building project and seeing that cow get slaughtered…....
We decided after a few days in Conakry, that we would move over to Kassa, escape the bustling capital city and stay in one of two small “resort/hotels” available and enjoy the peacefulness of our West African island. Kassa immediately felt like home.
I was actually pleasantly surprised when I found out we had a bathroom in our own room instead of complaining that the water was cold, the electricity only came on at 7pm and the shower was clogged and flooding. All that was important was the possibility of having such luxuries available; we were thrilled to once again have running water, a flushing toilet and electricity! Finding happiness in the simplicity of things we do daily without notice at home is what makes it so wonderful.
We spent our days waking up to the sound of birds chirping and soft waves stirring the sand right outside our hut. We’d throw the door open, jump back in bed and just watch the glistening ocean. With the place to ourselves we felt comfortable lying beneath white sheets in each other’s arms, dreaming to the soothing sounds of nature
Love was in the air, even the perky weaver birds were flirting, busy impressing each other and making nests in the palm trees. Is there possibly a better way to wake up to the world?
Restfully woken, we’d saunter over to the open restaurant patio overlooking the ocean, again with the place all to ourselves. We ate stale bread with coffee for breakfast on the balcony, with the perfect amount of refreshing wind blowing in. Leaning over the Ipad we’d play a competitive game of Monopoly.
“Sweet your throats better, isn’t it,’ I said matter-of-fact one morning, inquiring about the sore throat he’d brought on the trip.
“Yes!” he said, sounding surprised. “How'd you know?!?”
“Cause I have it.”
“No! Really?!?”
“Ya, and I was so careful too!”
Thinking I was so clever I’d suggested using separate water bottles on the trip.
Kees suddenly laughed and said, “Sweet, you were so careful with your water but then promptly insisted I use your toothbrush. ‘Here sweet, just use mine!’” he impersonated.
“Oh my GOSH! What a retard.” I can’t even believe myself sometimes.
Aside from the sore throat Kees brought with him from Holland we really didn’t get sick. We stopped taking our malaria pills halfway through the trip because they made us feel yucky and there were absolutely no signs of mosquitoes or any bugs at that! Just leave it to Kees, Mr. Perfect, to find a tropical island with absolutely no bothersome insects! There were no ants crawling into our hut to eat our food, no flies landing on our plates and no cockroaches sitting on our toothbrushes, it was amazing.
Some days we’d go exploring down the main dirt road of the island to visit our new neighbours in the nearby villages. Another time we walked along the coast, up and over rocks from beach to beach, not a single soul in sight.
Unfortunately on the side of the beach that faces the capital city, there is a lot of trash that has floated over and landed on the shores of Kassa, fortunately our side is still seemingly untouched and beautiful. This was a really romantic escapade, with a single 2L bottle of water in our hands, forget not sharing! The climb over the passages of rock was difficult for me but the coarse red rocks, against green palms, white sands and blue sky made it all worth it.
While we stopped to take a break I came across a palm tree growing on an angle and decided it was the perfect opportunity to impress Kees and prove that I am indeed the same little Mowgli girl he picked up in Africa five years earlier. Stripping down and cracking my knuckles I was off and climbing. On all fours, gripping that tree like a gangly monkey, I realized about halfway up how unbelievably terrified I am of heights, (I must add that to the 1,000 other things I’m afraid of) and decided I desperately needed to bear hug this tree.
So now, stuck halfway up this tree I was screaming, “Oh my gosh, sweet! It’s falling. The tree is falling. I’m so scared. I can’t go any further. How am I going to get back down?!”
I know it sounds pathetic but in my mind the ground was starting to shift and spin, and I really don’t know whether or not the tree was about to fall, but in my mind it was already in mid-fall.
“Oh c’mon Savann, you can do it. You’re a little Mowgli girl. All Mowgli girls can climb palm trees.”
He was right! Of course I could climb this dang thing. I really did not want to and I was dizzy and shaky but I was so determined to impress that darn guy standing what felt a million miles below laughing at me. So, rather than descending I continued to inch my way up until I reached the top! And just for good measure, I made a few book advertisements.
“Sihpromatum – I Grew My Boobs in China”
On the way back down I realized just how sharp and rough palm tree bark is. Shimmying down backwards on bare legs, belly and arms is a painful experience but apparently proves to be good entertainment for whoever you’re with. *grumble*
On days that we weren’t on an adventure we’d sit either on the beach outside our hut or at the restaurant working on our computers, the owners black lab keeping us company. I think I love just sitting under a palm with the perfect wind and temperature in the shade working on my book. I truly love my “office on the move”.
Late nights consisted of crab hunting on the beach strewn with hundreds of crab holes. Arm in arm, stumbling in the sand, with only a small flashlight and moonlight to guide us, we attempted to catch them off guard.
It didn’t always work out because, despite trying to sneak past him, the owner’s black lab would always join us on our hunt and go crazy scattering all the crabs, ruining any chance of a surprise attack.
One moonlit night coming back from our own property, we saw all the bats coming out. It was so exciting when we first realized they weren’t birds. I love that moment. There were lots of them all swarming around one big tree. I absolutely love bats, they are such special animals. The way they land upside down and crawl on the branches is so freaking cool. I love flying rodents with that badass reputation. There really is no better accessory to a full moon.
Coming back to our room the first night we discovered we had a little gecko friend.
When I caught the first one Kees said, “I can’t believe you caught it! How did you do that? I’ve never seen someone catch a gecko before. You really impress me.” But then he quickly decided that it was not my awesome skills but the fact that he was shining a flashlight in its face, thus making it confused.
The next morning while Kees was in the bathroom, I saw a really tiny little baby gecko and thought, “Hmph! Flashlight my butt. This should impress him.”
Within a couple minutes I had him, ready in my hands.
Finally, sincerely impressed, Kees admitted it was not the flashlight. “You are a true
Mowgli gecko catcher!”
Soooo a couple days later when I saw another one in our room I told Kees, “Look another one. Go get it. You can catch it! Catch it, catch it!”
Feeling confident now, he ran after the gecko, pushing furniture out of his way and pounced.
“Ooh no!!! Sweet! Its tail’s off n it's still wiggling. You see that? Oh noo. I feel so bad. Oh sweet, what did I do!!? Oh, I feel so terrible. I'm a gecko slayer.”
“You just karate chopped it in half?!”
“See, this is the reason I never tried to catch one before! I can catch it if I really want to… but I’m going to squish it!” In between moans of horror at what he just did I had to laugh. He was so devastated and horrified by himself that I’m sure he won’t be happy that I shared this story with you.
Luckily after a few minutes, the body part of the tiny gecko started to move. I was relieved he wasn’t dead but Kees was still moaning and crying about it. It was quite amazing how long the tail kept on wiggling about on the floor!
“Catch it. Catch it, she says! That was NOT good!!! I'm never catching a gecko again.”
And so, it was decided that I was the designated gecko catcher, and he will never again attempt such an act.
After consistently saying “Oh, just ONE more night,” our initial plan to stay 3-4 nights on Kassa gradually stretched into a full week!
Savannah
Ps. Don’t forget to get your copy of Sihpromatum for only 99CENTS on Amazon or Kobo! Limited time offer ends Monday April 15th.
http://www.amazon.com/Sihpromatum-Gre...
http://www.kobobooks.com/ebook/Sihpro...
A Personal Story of Africa and Death
It’s been about a year since we purchased property in Guinea, Africa and started a gorgeous project there. Unfortunately, we recently received the terrible news that our builder, the one in charge of the entire project, died of sudden illness. He was such a friendly, healthy and extremely strong man in his early forties. It’s hard to believe that when we go back to our wonderful, village friendly Guinean island, he won’t be there to wave and greet us in the morning as we walk down the dirt path through the palm trees. At this point, we have no idea what we will do with the project because we already paid for the work that he will never be able to complete. In tribute to our builder, I’m going to re-post the blogs I wrote of our trip to his beautiful country, Guinea and our short time together. Life can be unpredictable and this just reinforces my belief that you have to live each day to the fullest. Don’t WAIT to follow your dreams or do the things you love because who knows what tomorrow will bring. May he rest in peace. --> full story at www.sihpromatum.com
