An African's Opinion

The post below is not my own.  It is from an article I read by Khaya Dlanga on Mail & Guardian online (for the original article visit: http://www.thoughtleader.co.za/khayadlanga/2009/10/19/“i’m-in-the-motherland”-we-laugh-silly-us/).  My thoughts are expressed at the end of the article.

Africa, the motherland

We must not ridicule nor confuse genuine emotional responses with ignorance when African Americans first land here. The ignorant ones are those amongst us who so readily dismiss this response without a moment’s pause to consider or understand the reason for the reaction. (For a while, I was in this number. I too used to laugh. I am no better than the ones who still do.) Simply calling African Americans who do that when they get here is proof of our own ignorance. We who laugh are the ignorant ones. I don’t think we understand the overwhelming emotions that African Americans go through when they come to Africa. I was at the stadium last night when American songstress Keri Hilson said, “it’s good to be in the motherland”. There was much giggling, some even said they knew she’d pull the motherland line. That is said from a place of ignorance and a failure to empathise.

Instead of ridiculing people when they express this, we ought to feel nothing but humility, that we were blessed. It is a blessing that our ancestors were not removed by force to be sold as slaves. A form of slavery where men and women did not give birth to families, but instead bred slaves, much like one would breed cattle, where one’s children were nothing but a commodity to be sold to the highest bidder. Families and people from the same villages were separated so they could not pass on stories about their native land to one another. Clearly we don’t understand. We may never have been slaves, but our lack of empathy and lack of understanding might as well be slavery — of our own making and choosing.

In the 80s, when the late great American comedian Richard Pryor decided to leave it all behind for a while and live in Africa, he went to Zimbabwe. I remember watching (it was DVD obviously) him do stand-up about his experience. He said, I may not be quoting him word for word but he said something like, “I went to Zimbabwe. I know how white people feel in America now,” he paused, “relaxed”. We have no idea what it’s like to be black in America.

Yes the kissing of the ground and saying I’m in the motherland may be old. It may be so for us. But it’s not old for the person who steps out of a plane and lands here for the first time. For them, that feeling, that overwhelming emotion is new and needs to be vocalised. Let us criticise ourselves before we criticise.

I have had several conversations with African Americans and when they find out how developed Africa is they say: “American television never shows positive images of Africa. All we see are children with flies, wars, nothing positive.” Granted, some have admitted to me and beat themselves over the fact that they didn’t find out more for themselves about the state of the continent and not just rely on the media.

As much as some of us blame them for having this image of Africa, some of us have one of two images of the African American: the ghetto-living, hoochie mama with her projects, gangster boyfriend. Then there is the image of the high-living rapper, basketball player or football player. We don’t stop to think that there may be those who live in suburbs. This too for us has been the image of the African American. Let’s look at ourselves before we judge them.

In other words, they make assumptions about us, we make assumptions about them too. So neither side has the right to feel superior. We are all wrong for not trying to find out more.

We can either chose to live in our ignorance or try to understand why they feel the way they do when they get here. In fact I would suggest that not just African Americans should feel that way about the motherland. Everyone should. After all, this is where humanity started, if you believe in evolution that is. Some of the world’s oldest human fossils are found right here in Jozi in fact. They are right, this is the motherland. Now leave them alone.

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My thoughts:

Although I didn't kiss the ground the first or the second time I arrived here, nor have I ever stated that I'm happy to be in the motherland, everyone has their own way of expressing how they feel when they arrive in Africa for the first time.  For most of us, this is where our ancestors originated.  I can't help but feel a hint of jealousy that Africans can definitively say that they know where they are from---they can trace their ancestry right back to the continent. I remember the curiosity that came over me when in 2006, I saw the PBS special African American Lives, where Henry Louis Gates traced the ancestry of well-known African-Americans like Oprah Winfrey, Chris Rock, Don Cheadle, Dr. Ben Carson, Dr. Mae Jamison, and others.  I wondered where in Africa might my ancestors originated from?  I wonder how my life might have turned out differently if my grandfather never fled Cuba and landed in Jamaica.

I think that is why it sort of brings a smile to my face when someone mistakes me for being from Zambia or Nairobi. It makes me feel as if I belong--a feeling of comfort that I oftentimes don't feel when I am in the U.S.  Even when I return to Jamaica, I'm easily spotted as an American until I "turn on" my Jamaican accent.  Every individual has his own profound idea of the "essence of Africa" and what it feels like to visit and have an "authentic African experience."  For some it may be visiting impoverished areas, for others it might be assisting in digging a waterwell and filtration system for a poor community, while for others, simply setting foot anywhere on the continent gives rise to the essence of Africa.  Whatever that journey might be, every African-American should take the opportunity to experience it and express it in their own way.  that is the only way we will come one step closer to learning about this great continent, while teaching them about ourselves and dispelling their skewed view of African-Americans.

We Are All African

Regardless of your shade of blackness, we are all African!  Most blacks who do not reside on the continent have never visited their homeland.  There is no other continent in the world where you can walk around and you are truly the majority.  Your shoulders lean back a bit further and your head his held higher as you stroll down the street.  As you glance around you take notice of those around you and realize that you share a resemblance with most of them--you are black--you are African!  I'm flattered when I walk by and someone greets me in one of the 11 native languages spoken in South Africa.  I realize that they see me as one of them---a sistah---an aousi---an African!

I've oftentimes wondered what life would have been like for blacks if we followed Marcus Garvey's back to Africa movement; or if we listened to Booker T. Washington and moved to Africa to be kings and queens.  Africa is now a different place than the one they talked about, but I wonder how different blacks would have been?  Would we have suffered the same indignations as we did during the 1960s?  Would apartheid ever have come to fruition?  Would there be the Nelson Mandela and Martin Luther Kings of the world?

We can't change the past but we have time to improve our future.  What will your contribution be to improve the image and the lives of the African diaspora?

Movies/Documentary

District 9

I don't watch t.v. or movies very often when I am in the States.  However, since I've been here I've seen a couple of movies by African filmmakers which I have greatly enjoyed.  We went to the theater to see District 9.  I was not keen in seeing the movie at first when Brie described it--it involved aliens invading Johannesburg.  In the end, I enjoyed the movie and recognized the symbolism behind it.  The aliens represented the history of the treatment of blacks throughout Africa.  The government's attempt to move the aliens to their own district (district 9) was similar to thousands of blacks who were relegated to townships throughout South Africa during the apartheid era.  They were treated as foreigners.  The movie also symbolized the government's treatment of blacks with HIV/AIDS living in Africa.  I am not certain if the movie is playing nationwide, but I strongly recommend watching it.  It's great once you get adjusted to the aliens.

This is My Africa

We also attended the Atlas Studios premiere of the documentary This is My Africa.  The movie is by Zina Siro-Wiwa.  I strongly recommend the documentary to anyone interested in learning about African culture, from the perspective of artists, musicians, actors, anthropologists, etc.  I learned authentic African phrases such as "the sea has drowned the fish" which is a phrase that people sometimes use to articulate when something has gone terribly wrong.  They discussed some of their favorite African dishes--one that stood out was called chakalaka (probably not spelling it right).  I can't remember all of the ingredients, but it included a mixture of beans and mayonnaise.  Many of their foods include the Jamaican staple--plantains.  Some of their favorite books were Things Fall Apart by Acehbe and Black Girl by Sembene (I've added Black Girl to my reading list). As far as music, it seems that every African appreciates the musician Fela Kuti (a nigerian musician and human rights activist who used his music to articulate his social and political views).

For me, one of the most moving parts of the documentary was when the producer asked what they think of when they think of Africa.  One person said "1,000 frustrated geniuses"; "Africa needs to take ownership of our problems while realizing there are also great things about our continent", and another man made a point that resonated within me.  He said, "if Africa improves, then it will improve the image of black people all over the world."  I could not agree more.  It is a known fact that there is an overall negative image of black people around the world.  I could pontificate on all the reasons why this exists, but irrespective of the reasons, I strongly believe that when we strengthen our entire image of Africa, this will vastly improve how others view blacks in other countries.

The beauty of a place like Johannesburg, SA is that it has the infrastructure for black/African growth and improvement. Many, like Oprah, have come to put their stamp on the improvement of this continent.  I hope that this blog will become the catalyst for maybe one more pioneer.

White Wedding

I'm not only watching "deep" movies and documentaries.  The other day we watched a comedy called White Wedding.  It was hilarious!  White wedding is what Africans call a non-traditional wedding where the bride wears a white gown instead of the usual African garb and many of the traditional wedding practices are not performed.  The movie was hilarious, and the softie that I am, it brought me to tears at the end.  It's kind of a chick flick, but I still recommend it.
 

Things I Miss About The U.S.

1- fabric softner sheets

• I wash my clothes in the machine but hang them out to dry.  The sun makes them very stiff but I refuse to have the housekeeper, who comes once a week, iron my clothes.  Though I may not be reluctant the next time she comes because my clothes feel rough after they have dried.

2- antibacterial hand sanitizer

• I don't use it very often in the States, but soap and paper towels can be a rarity in some establishments, and for some reason antibacterial sanitizer is not very popular here.

3- meshes in windows

• helps to keep the bugs out.  I enjoy opening the windows to get fresh air, but the other day as I was blogging, a lizard came darting toward me.  I screamed at him to get out and thankfully he scurried back out the window.

4- (real) high speed  internet

• it's actually not that slow, but I'm used to the warp speed that I get back home.  Plus, with all the picture uploading I've been doing, it takes forever.

5- driving on the "right" side of the road

• I know one of these days, I'm going to make a right hand turn into on-coming traffic :(  I just keep reminding myself that the oncoming traffic should be to the right of me.

6-traffic signals that work

• Many of the traffic lights tend to be out.  So you have to use your best judgment and look in all directions before proceeding.  I'm starting to realize why so many of the traffic poles are bent over from cars ramming into them.

7- 2-ply (or more) tissue

• the tissue is still soft, but I end up using more than I usually do because it never seems to be thick enough.  

8- (American) football season

• Facebook helps in keeping me up to date, but with the time difference (and no cable) I can't keep up with how the teams are doing.

9- metro/subway

• I walk to many places, but boy wouldn't it be nice if I could hop on a train instead of one of those crazy  taxi/buses to get where I'm going.

I Am Proud to Be an American....Maybe

I was sitting in Mugg & Bean the other day next to two men and a woman who were having a discussion about how to expand their art business.  They drank tons of coffee while they hashed out their master plan, and somehow the conversation turned to America (I believe it was after one of them made the comment that Americans hate Muslims more than anyone).  Unbeknownst to them that I was American, (I'll get back to people thinking I'm "African"), they decided to state their opinion on Americans.  One gentleman said that Americans fall into two categories, the LA types (I guess that meant materialistic) and the Jerry Springer type (those who are "ghetto" I suppose).  Is Jerry Springer still on t.v.?  He went on to say that because Americans never travel, they don't allow others to form a better opinion of them.  The funny part is when I sat down near them, they greeted me and held a conversation for a few minutes. My accent is clearly not South African, but they never bothered to inquire where I was from.  I almost interjected to offer a correction to their generalization, but thought it was not worth my time (plus I had work to do).


I later had drinks with two colleagues and one of them said that I was one of the nicest Americans he had ever met.  Before getting defensive, I asked him to explain what his statement meant.  He had no qualms in explaining to me his disdain for Americans.  He is a white South African and sees America as the country whose actions constantly have a negative impact on his own country.  He also could not understand why America is insistent on building up a military that is already one of the strongest in the world.  I was taken aback by his comment and partly defensive that others would continue to view America as a big mean country after we voted Barack into power.  His opinion of Americans is that we are ignorant and have no respect for other countries or cultures and believe that our way is the best way.  I tried to explain to both men that their opinion of my country might be marred by the 8 years of George Bush's rein.  But they associated their opinions of the U.S. dating back since the Vietnam War and Reagan. I tried to explain to him that not all Americans adopt the views of the sitting government, but just like the current state of South Africa, sometimes some views are not enough to override who gets into power.  I didn't even bother to get into explaining to him about our electoral college and how someone could receive more of the popular vote but still lose because they did not win in the right states.  


It's tragic that others have such a deplorable view of Americans, then again, I do find that there is an arrogance that stems from ignorance when it comes to most Americans.  We grow up in a nation where we feel like we have the most power and our way is the normal way, while our dollar continues to weaken against the euro, more and more outsourcing of work is being done, and we are lagging behind in our educational system.  Yet, we come to certain developing countries and feel pity for them and expect that our only role is to help them out of their "hardships."


Although most black South Africans are seemingly friendly toward me, many think I'm from somewhere in Africa.  I constantly have to tell people that I only speak English.  A few people have told me that based on the way I look, I could be mistaken for being an African.  In my opinion, I am an African even though I don't speak a tribal language (aren't all black people African?).  It isn't until I say enough sentences in English, and ask the person who I am speaking with to repeat themselves a couple times, that people recognize that I am not African.  Still, most blacks embrace me when I tell them that I am American, then they usually have a funny quip as a retort.  However, I have had a few experiences where a person's demeanor changes once I tell them I am American.  Those are the times that I make an extra effort to warm myself up to that person in hopes that I could change their mind about the way that they judge at least one American.

Disconnecting and Embracing the Experience

The first day I arrived, my cell phone was not working.  I felt like a crack addict craving her next hit.  Not only was I concerned that my paranoid mother would go crazy if she was unable to get a hold of me, I was not used to not having immediate access to things.  Since I have been here for almost two weeks, I am slowly disconnecting from the crackberry and internet (except for work purposes) so that I can enjoy all that I can with the great opportunity I have been afforded.  I've gone for runs almost every day since I've been here in the Botanical Garden.  It is such a wonderful place and reminds me of Prospect Park in Brooklyn.  People oftentimes have weddings in the park, and it's also used as a venue for outdoor concerts.  The ducks pay you very little attention as you run by and the lake gives you  just the right amount of breeze to cool you down as you run through the trees.

The first time I embarked on a run through the park I thought I was going to have an asthma attack and I don't even have asthma.  Brie forgot to inform me that the drastic change in altitude would affect my breathing.  At one point, I felt like a football player having the practice sled rammed into their chest.  I could not get my breathing under control due to the dryness of the air.  On the first day, I walked more of the trail than I ran.  Every day, as my body adjusts, my running has improved and I now run the entire 5K trail without having to walk and catch my breath.

After a run one day, we headed to the farmer's market in Parktown, called Jozi's (short hand for Johannesburg) Farmer's Market.  There were not as many vendors as I usually find at Eastern Market in DC, but most vendors had samples for you to try.  I purchased a jar of orange and whisky marmalade, homemade chicken vegetable soup, and a bottle of homemade concentrated lemonade which tastes great with seltzer water. 

My food choices here are basically just the same as they would be in the States.  Since South Africa has such an array of people from different nationalities, you can find almost any type of food here (sans Mexican).  The food here is so much fresher than the processed foods I buy in the states.  I am not certain whether I have embraced different types of food here, or whether I've just adapted my pallet to what is available, causing me not to miss things that I can't get in the states.  Brie and I cooked the second night I arrived.  We had dinner with a great bottle of white wine.  One of the other pleasures of South Africa is that there are great vineyards.  Thus, one can get a fine bottle of wine for a very low cost (less than double the cost in the states). 


There are also some great boutiques throughout Joburg.  Unfortunately, the cost is just as high (and sometimes higher) as in the States.  The tailors her are really great, so I'm thinking of purchasing fabric and having something tailor-made.  I just have to come up with a design.


I have met some really fabulous people since I've been here.  And I have really learned he meaning of "it's a small world."  The six (or make it 3) degrees of separation is in full effect. There is a small group of black American attorneys who have formed a close-knit network here in Johannesburg.  They range in age and are very open to assisting me and getting me acquainted with SA. Some of them have been instrumental in exposing me to diverse legal work.  They cause me to believe that I could remain here permanently.

Arrival in Johannesburg

These posts are going to be out of sequential order because I couldn't save the previous blogs without posting them (bare with me, I'm still a newbie blogger).

I did not have anything to declare so I went through fairly easily after collecting my luggage. The TSA lock on one of my suitcases was missing (no surprise) but thankfully nothing important seemed to be missing.  On my way out the door I was stopped by a customs officer who wanted to check my passport.  He seemed to become friendlier when I pulled out my American passport.  He asked me how President Obama was doing and also asked me to send him his regards.  As I continued to push my luggage toward the exit another gentleman began to yell, “aousi (a-ooh-see) can I speak to you for a second miss!”  I smiled and kept walking by him since I had no idea who or what aousi was.  But he kept calling out and when I turned around I noticed that he was wearing a uniform that said police.  Being the conspiracy theorist that I am, I wondered why they seemed to stop only the black people.  Also the American in me caused me to assume it was the usual catcall that women often hear when they pass by certain men.  I stopped and waited for him to approach me.  He quickly scanned my passport and asked me where I was staying and the length of my stay.  He proceeded to ask me if he could take me out for coffee or tea sometime.  That must be the American equivalent of asking someone in the States to have a drink with you. I smiled and began to saunter to the exit with my cart—happy that I only told him the town in which I was staying and not my complete address. By the way, aousi is how one says sister in Sotho.

After changing money and, I found my driver Lucky, who picked me up from the airport when I was in South Africa the previous year.  I was disappointed that due to the time of year, at 5:30pm the sun had already set in Joburg, causing me not to take in all the improvements the city has made as it prepares for World Cup 2010. 

I purposely took these pictures because there are many people out there who really believe that this is the common mode of transportation throughout Africa.  Although, it is evident that South Africa (especially Johannesburg) is not a true representation of the entire continent (South Africa has the highest GDP per capita than any other country in Africa, making it the wealthiest).  People in South Africa (and other parts of the continent) drive in cars of various types, some nicer than the cars that many people drive in the States.  This gentleman has a cart and drives around to collect the leaves and weeds that are left behind after people garden their homes.  His name is David and his horse's name is Prince.  David is considered colored (sort of a black south African who speaks Afrikaan).  This picture was taken a few days after my arrival.  We saw David outside on my way to go for a run.  I asked him if I could mount his horse to take a picture, and he said we could take a ride down the street and back.  The moral of this story is, people in Africa have current modes of transportation along with paved streets, and fancy cars! (You may think I'm being obnoxious but one could only imagine the types of questions I was asked when I would tell some people that I was headed to Africa).  David allowed me to hold the reins and lead Prince up the street.  Prince responded to my commands as I tugged on the rope while he trotted along.  David works with his brother (his name escapes me) who is pictured with him below.  We paid them R5 for my trot up the street.

I arrived from the airport forty minutes later at my friend Brionne’s beautiful two-bedroom ranch home.  A description or pictures would not fully capture the beauty of the quaint ranch-style home that’s perched at the end of a cul-de-sac.  It welcomes you in with a waterfall at the entrance and Brie has decorated it with the warmth of Africa. During the days, I would walk to a cafe called Mugg & Bean where I would do work for most of the day.  On my walk to the Mugg & Bean, I took a few pictures to illustrate what a block and main road looks like.  I am staying in Melville, which is a town in Johannesburg within the province of Gauteng.

Many of the homes have electric barbed wire fencing around it due to the high crime rate.  Some homes even have armed guards in front of it as a deterrent.  ADT gets a lot of business here.

a normal block in Melville

someone's home

I like the architecture of this home and I admire it every time I pass by.

green house

Most days I sit at the Mugg & Bean to get work done.  It reminds me of Busboys and Poets--a restaurant/cafe that I frequent in Washington.  The walk to Mugg & Bean is about 10 minutes.

view on the way to M&B

the yellow and green Mugg & Bean sign to the right in the background

I Am Beautiful 5K Run

After coming home pretty late from partying at Moloko the night before, I ran a 5K in Johannesburg today.  After I completed the race, I regretted chickening out and not running the 10K. There were thousands of people out there of all races, ages, and sizes.  Looking out at the sea of people who covered the road like thousands of little ants, it made me feel like I could fall in love in Africa.  I definitely saw some of the future of African distance running.  There were kids as small as eight and nine running their little hearts out with bare feet.  The race was called "I Am Beautiful" and I was given a breast cancer awareness ribbon.  There was not much information behind the purpose of the walk but it appeared to be geared toward promoting women.  Some of the men in the race were dressed in drag as they competed.  The outfits ranged from fishnet tights, to wigs, dresses, and skirts.  Unfortunately the idea of running with my camera was not appealing, though I regret not being able to have pictures to capture the moments.

runners headed home after the race

Because there were thousands of people in the race, the organizers did not have a solid method for tracking your time as you crossed the finish line--they simply took our bib numbers and shuffled us along. We also weren't given a chip, so you were on your honor to run the entire course.  There were also real runners who started before the rest of the rest of us, and I assume they were running for prize money.  Every competitor received a goody bag with an array of items ranging from vitamins, to hand sanitizer (which is hard to come by in this country), to trail mix.  After only a week of training in much higher altitude and hilly terrain, I was pleased with my performance.

They closed down only half of the main road during the race, thus traffic was extremely backed up.  With the usual amount of traffic in Joburg on a regular day, I am glad I did not have to sit in the traffic on race day.

                                                                                                
If more people in the States became more active in events like this, we would lose our number one ranking as having the most obese people in the world.  Brie, Charlotte, and I met up at the end of the race and celebrated our completion. There will  be a half and a full marathon in Soweto in November that I hope to be prepared to run.

holding on to Charlotte after the race

Brie and I proud of ourselves after the race

Saturday Night At Moloko

Even though I have had the longest week running around to different places meeting new people and attending events in the evening, we begrudgingly went to Moloko on Saturday night to celebrate their fourth year in business.  Moloko is a very trendy nightclub that one might find in DC or New York--over-priced drinks and all.  The crowd tends to be mix, but they play American hip hop music.  Brie and I arrived early because we could not stay out late in preparation for our road race the following day.  When we arrived, there were complimentary cosmos and of course Brie and I helped ourselves to two.

complimentary cosmopolitans

There were also these ladies dressed up as mermaids.  I never quite figured   out what their purpose was, but they wore body paint as tops, and later through sparkles on patrons as they entered.  Now if one knows anything about black women and their hair, the last thing that they would want is for sparkles to be sprinkled into their hair.  I'm not sure who came up with that idea, but it was bad.  They were later joined by other ladies dressed in scantily clad clothing, as well as a fire thrower and men dressed in what seemed to be angel costumes.  Needless to say we were not impressed with the costumes.

        scantily clad ladies posing for a picture                              fire juggler

male angel

Shortly after we arrived Gugu ( we became friends at karaoke) and her friend arrived. We shared a few laughs about the ladies and their provocative outfits.  They also explained to me that there are many "working" ladies who frequent Moloko.  This is isn't working in the sense of having a legal 9-5 job in the U.S.--these ladies are in essence prostitutes.  They blend in with the rest of the crowd, and sometimes arrive with their dates, so it is difficult to identify them.    In Washington, it's almost always easy to spot a working lady in a club.  She tends to be dress a bit over the top and is oftentimes accompanying a man twice her age.  That night, the working girls in Moloko did not fit that bill.

Inside the venue, some of the costumed ladies danced on a stage in the middle of the dance floor.  They were not very good dancers and it left me thinking who thought that having them dance would be a good idea (we later asked one of the owners--Stephan).  Maybe the men found it entertaining, but their dance moves left much to be desired.

                                                    french maid, nurse and angel dancing

We asked one of the owners, Stephan why he had those women taking up space in the middle of the dance floor.  In his flirtatious French accent, he explained that the men found it very entertaining and requested that the women dance.  I would have liked to see who these men were.

                                                                                                     Stefan and I

Despite the dancing women, the drinks were tasty and the music was on point (they started off playing Jay-z--basically, they had me at hello).  With good music, good company, and eye candy (South Africa has some of the finest men) it was a fun night.

Save Now

Safe Arrival

My internet availability has been spotty so I have not had a chance to update the blog. My entries will slowly trickle in until I am completely up to date. I'm glad that I learned how to blog before arriving because I probably would have given up by now.

So my last post was my temporary goodbye to the U.S. as I boarded the plane headed to my home for the next three months. The flight to South Africa did not seem as long as one would expect (we also arrived an hour earlier than scheduled). After finding my seat, I walked down the aisles and asked a lady to take a picture of me (thinking about pictures for this blog) so that I could capture the beginning of my sojourn to Africa.

Aboard the Plane

Before the flight departed, I began to get very excited believing that I would have a both the aisle and window seat to myself. I had my Lonely Planet book in tow and was prepared to spend the next seventeen hours immersing myself in all that I could learn about the southern region of Africa.  Five minutes before the door closed a gentleman entered the plan and sat down beside me. Though my plans for stretching out were thwarted, I thought he might not be too bad when he sat down and offered me a stick of Orbitz gum. Although I politely declined, I ended up spending the next five hours talking to the gentleman, Aly, who later became my new friend.

Aly, my traveling neighbor, is from Mauritania, an island north west of South Africa and slightly north of Senegal. He is a businessman who owns a company that digs holes for water wells and mining. He was on his way back to Mauritania but was departing when we stopped for fuel in Darkar. For the next five hours of his seven hour trip to Dakar, we talked about almost everything--from having kids and settling down to how he became a very successful businessman.  We also talked about race relations in both of our countries, as well as how best to invest my money.  He shared the New York Times he was reading and I shared my New Yorker.  As we chatted, we drank about 6 little bottles of Amarula.

Amarula

Five hours into the trip and after having dinner, I decided to take a nap.  One hour into my nap, I awoke feeling very nauseous.  I stumbled to the bathroom and before I could completely get the door shut, I kneeled down over the toilet and threw up all that I had consumed for the day.  I’ll spare the gruesome details, but I can’t recall the last time I threw up that badly.  Once it ended, I felt ten times better.  I went back to my seat to grab my toothbrush and after brushing my teeth and getting water, I sat down and hoped that my tummy was adjusted to the natural South African bacteria and that would be the last time I would lose my meal while there.

After saying goodbye to Aly in Dakar, where he disembarked the plane, I geared up for the other half of the flight to Johannesburg.  Although I enjoyed my conversation with Aly, I can’t deny that I was happy to be able to stretch out in both seats.  Before the end of the flight, I also made friends with the lady seated behind me who was traveling from Toronto.  Her name was Heather and she was coming for six weeks on business and visiting South Africa for the first time.  We also exchanged information and plan to meet up while we are here.

Seven and a half hours later, I looked out the window as we descended into OR Tambo International Airport.

Inside the clouds

View from plane

View from plane