Of The Chicken Diaries

The Chicken Diaries

I am ready to go now.” you announce. Your bag is packed, to be honest there wasn’t much to pack anyway, you simply gathered your change of clothes and toiletries then stuffed them into your backpack satchel. You pride yourself in being an extremely light traveller.

Back Pack

Already? Dinner is almost ready you cant leave without eating, we even killed a chicken” Aunt insists that you stay and eat. Chickens are a prized currency and one needs a good excuse to have one for dinner especially the limited edition batch of chickens with the bald heads, those are only killed when you have special visitors; feeling guilty at the honour bestowed and not wanting to be the one who deny them their reason to dine on fine poultry cuisine, you acquiesce.

Don’t worry dinner will be served soon” aunty  reassures you after she notices you sneak a glance towards your watch. “Let me just go and check on the progress in the kitchen. Please sit. I’ll ask your cousin to bring you a soft drink while you wait.”

You can hear her speaking in hushed tones, telling her children to stop being lazy, that the cooking fire has not yet been lit, can someone gather sticks of firewood kindling.

 A wild chase

Meanwhile the chicken is busy trying to escape its fate, apparently they can sense these things, it does not wish for the honour of being an invited guest to the dinner table, being the main meal……

Eventually dinner is served. A scrumptious meal that more than makes up for the lateness of the time and also grateful for the darkness, in the candle light no one looks at the obscenely huge piece of chicken that was dished for you. You tried to get something smaller but you were out-voted besides you are the guest. They insist they eat chicken all the time, they might as well have feathers growing out. You know it’s a lie, no matter how many chickens you eat you wont grow chicken feathers and of course they don’t eat chicken as frequently as they claim but you are a considerate guest you let them convince you.

By the time dinner pleasantries are done its quite late and dark outside, any chances of travelling have set with the sun. You tried to argue that you really had to go, and they in turn brought out the big guns, telling you the horror stories that have befallen night travellers, from the mysterious ghostly flames that erupt for no reason without explanation, to the recent spat of muggings and robberies capped with the headless corpse that was discovered just a few weeks back…….

Better safe than sorry.” Aunty declares putting an end to any of the feeble resistance you were offering of why you must leave tonight “Its not like anyone is chasing you away, you can go tomorrow, I’ll wake you up at the crack of dawn, and you can catch the first bus back to the city.” And that settles everything.

KUKURIGORIGO that’s what it sounds like when a rooster does its morning crow.

kukurigorigo

kukurigorigo

The crack of dawn begins at 3.15 in the morning. That’s when the rooster first crows, every morning at 3.15 then at 4.15 and finally at 5.15 it’s like clockwork you don’t even need to set an alarm.

Once more, you are up again and ready to go right now, all you need is the green light. Bags already packed or rather you never unpacked,  perks of being a light traveller. Everyone else eventually wakes surprised to see that you are all set to leave. First thing first though you cant leave on an empty stomach, so you have to endure breakfast. Fortunately they don’t have to cook the chicken, simply reheating pieces left over from last night coupled with a portion of scrambled eggs and a flame boiled cup of tea with its unmissable smoky flavor.

hot kettle

Finally you say your goodbyes and stand up to leave.

“Wait” aunt stops you “We have present for you, since you loved the chicken so much we decided to give you a live one to take with you to the big city

You try to politely decline, she adamantly insists and her will is stronger; soon everyone is outside chasing the chicken that has the dubious honour of being my travel companion.

How will I even carry it seeing as it wont fit in my tiny backpack” You ask beginning to regret your light travelling policy which has just flown the coup.

Fortunately an old box is found and the chicken is placed in there, holes are poked along the sides so it can breathe, and the box is secured with tree bark thread and you handed a few grains of wheat and seed to feed the chicken, so it shan’t starve.

how to transport chicken

Quickly the bus is almost here” you are warned, as you are marched brisklyto the bus stop. You can hear the engine growling from just around the bend and barely manage to make it to the roadside bus stop just as the bus coasts by comes to stop, in a plume of diesel smoke and dust from the road shoulder gravel.

Eight people escorted you to the bus and only one person gets in, you. The bus conductor eyes you somewhat disappointedly, probably he was expecting way more passengers.  A few steps into the bus aisle the conductor yells at you that you are forgetting something and hands you the box with squawking chicken, you had hoped you could somehow leave it behind, now you are the guy with chicken on the bus, that’s why they call them chicken buses because sometimes fellow travelers are chickens.

Chicken bus

Chicken Bus

Fortunately the bus is on the empty side and you find a seat to yourself somewhere near the back, you are the person you would not want to sit next to, the one with squawking chicken in the box. Someone at the front cranes their neck to face your way and tell you tell your chicken to shut up.

Would if I could, but I don’t speak chicken” you reply calmly but deep down you wish you could strangle the chicken and put it out of its misery. It quietens down somewhat after you toss a few seeds of grain for it to snack on and the rest of the journey is mostly such a non-event, you even manage to fall asleep.

When you finally get home, the box is unusually quiet, maybe the chicken is dead. As soon as you open the box, out pops the chicken and the chasing games begin. Do chickens get mad chicken disease you wonder cause this one seems to act rather unchickenly chasing you instead of the way around, could it bite you and begin the zombie chicken apocalypse?

You almost want to give it a name, but naming it makes it your responsibility, you have to care for it feed it, and clean it; naming it, makes it a pet, and you can’t eat a pet; and this one for all its drama will be joining me for supper as the main course of these fine days………….

~B

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Of Coffee With Lerato: Wandering Through Africa

 

Of coffee with Lerato: Wandering Through Africa On Faith

If you were having coffee with me I would tell you that I am honoured to have a well-travelled guest with quite the wanderlust; Lerato Mogoatlhe here with us.

Lerato M

~B: Hi Lerato we can call you Lerato right or you have an alias you best known as?

L: I’m so happy about our coffee. There is nothing I love more than conversations with like-minded people, you know, we who are passionate to the point of being obsessed with Africa. My friend Astou Fall nicknamed me Vagabond…and @MadamAfrika, which is my name on Twitter and Instagram. I love them both but MadamAfrika has our continent in there so call me Madam Afrika, please.

~B: Alrighty then. Hello Madam Afrika; first thing’s first because in my world, there’s only two kinds of people: Tea or Coffee?

L: Coffee, buna, kahawa. Sorry tea – I’m not a morning person and you are not known to up an upper!!!

Lipton tea bag

Walk to the grocery store instead of taking a car

~B: How many countries have you been to and where did you have your most memorable cuppa?

L: 21. This question is a trick. You are trying to pick a favourite child among many. None the less, Sudan, Khartoum. I stayed in Al Amarat while there. A short walk from my hotel was an old woman who with a simple coffee stall on the street. Very basic: a small table, a couple of kettles to boil her water, drinking glasses and jars with coffee, ginger, sugar  and cardamom. I’d sit quietly with her and we would communicate with our smiles. It was such a tender and loving way to start my mornings.

Al Amarat

Al Amarat

Coffee spot

Coffee Spot in Al Amarat

~B: I am in awe though, did you just wake up one day and decide “Right; I want to travel!” and upped and left just like. *finger snap*

L: Have you met me? I do not do snaps. It looks like it but trust me, my obsessive mind would never. let me. The moment is always a snap of the finger but the destiny was signed a long time ago. I was around 8 when we were taught about ancient Egypt at school. I still remember the awe, staring at a poster of the Sphinx. I still catch some of the teacher’s words: the great Pyramid, Seven wonders of the ancient world.

This made me realise that the world is far bigger than anything I can imagine, and that history goes waaaaay back to a time that I will only ever know through words and whatever is leftover from its time. I also told myself that I’m going to see the pyramids. I read Things Fall Apart at 13 going to 14 and my mind went to work again: these markets, the traditional wrestling, cowrie shells, palm wine…I wanted to see and taste them and that means going where they are. Around this age I also read a book that introduced me to Jollof rice – and drumroll, there goes my mind. I was blown away to discover that there are other ways to enjoy rice other than plain and boiled. In between there is more African literature and music and it all made me curious.

The backdrop of it is being raised on a steady diet of Black Pride and at some stage my uncle’s Pan Africanism. We are extremists, my uncle and I, so every idea and aspiration was measured against Africa, down to the littlest details and the conclusion I made by the time I hit my early twenties; that the world is great, but Africa is affirming. Listen, I wanted to learn French for the longest time and when I told my uncle he called me out. ”Only an inferiority complex makes you shed yourself” he said, and there is nothing lost than an African who buys into the propaganda of our inferiority…why learn French when I could not speak IsiXhosa, he argued. 

So my life has always Africa first, middle and last.

Then I worked as a journalist and became increasingly unhappy with Africa being written as doom and gloom. I am a doer, so I left to rewrite the narrative.  Africa is my destiny and fits into every component of my life and interests, if you get want I mean. Every time I question and explore my identity, the answer is always Africa.

Jebel Barkal

Now to get to leaving. I went to Accra on a media trip in 2006 for four days, that introduced me to blackness as I will never experience it in South Africa for as long as apartheid is not fully dismantled: pride, glory, power…man…do you know what it feels like to see yourself as a servant all your life when you do not consider yourself one?  So even being in a supermarket in Accra and seeing that everyone from owner and manager to the packer was black was affirming. I made the decision to quit my life in SA while in Accra. I kept it quiet (silence is golden) until November 2007 when I start telling friends that I’m leaving in 2008. The only thing “snap” was going with the 23rd of June. I may not know the moment when it will happen, but the destiny has been sealed.

~B: What was your plan did you have a travelling companions besides of course FAITH.

L: By myself. I roll solo. It is faster. It has focus. I consider myself quiet the Philosoblah, and have always believed that how we come into this life tells you have everything you need to know – even people who share a womb come out of it and into life alone. Company is great but some things can only be done alone. The biggest dream of my life had to be MY moment, not our moment. Gosh. I even broke up with a fling after the mention joining me in Accra – ALL THAT MIGHTY WEST AFRICAN ASS AND YOU WANT ME TO CARRY FOOD FOR THE ROAD. *Claps once*

~B: Where is the weirdest place you spent the night?

L: On a dune in the Sahara. You know how they say the desert is either very hot or very cold. Understatement. After a wild night of lots of vodka (also known as the devil’s juice) I became convinced that I am going to die from the cold so I stayed up to keep an eye on my soul so I could tell it not leave my body – true damn story. I ended up hanging out on a dune….so that I may catch my soul when the cold tricks it into leaving my body.

~B: Lerato has a book coming out in September. Tell us about your book (was it part of the plan too or it kinda just happened along the way)

vagabond by lerato Mogoathle

Vagabond Wandering through Africa on Faith

L: Vagabond was always going to happen. The difference now, I guess is that I am whiling the economic dynamics of being a full time writer than trying to balance it with a full time job that comes with nice cash and managing people.

~B: Briefly; tell us, which was the high point in your travels; what was the one thing you thought if I live through this I will never do; anything this crazy again?

L: High point: meeting and befriending Habib Koite. His album Afriki is how I pray and worship. This journey brought me to my knees many times.  I kept running out of money that wasn’t coming into my account fast enough even though I was earning. The way SA media treats freelancers is DISGUSTING AND DEHUMANIZING. So I wanted to give up and take a break.

 I went back to my place in Abidjan and started packing. I was listening to Afriki, to a song called Nteri, and in this moment I felt Allah saying to me that this bullshite will never end, but He has my back and indeed, for I never lacked even when I didn’t have money to move between Ghana and Ivory Coast, I still made it and it happened without a fuss. I literally showed up at Werewere Liking’s doorstep at Village Kiyi to say I need a place to stay and don’t have money. You know what her son Ben said,? Pity I arrived a day after a troupe they were hosting had left.  I did what needed to be done, the answer was start over. I decide to start over in Mali because Habib, my greatest artists of all time, was headlining the festival of the desert.

I meet him in the Sahara – how fantastical is Africa though? Only here do you get to say things like “we met in the Sahara”.

Mt Sinai

Mt Sinai

Starting over changed my life: I learnt French, I assimilated, I joined a family of vagabonds who had drifted to house number 227, Para Djikoroni in  Bamako. I lost my morbid obesity, among other things. I don’t have anything that I would not do.

LIONS

Hanging out with Lions; Victoria Falls

If it doesn’t kill you it makes a killer story. Crazy: I put a knife on a taxi driver’s neck and threatened to kill him if he didn’t stop driving like he had a death wish. This was in Eastern Ethiopia.

Harar

Feeding Hyenas Mouth to Mouth in Harar; Eastern Ethiopia

 

L:  I thought I had time all along but the reality of thinking I could have a 9 – 5 and still write sunk in. Now I am an author first, journalist and editorial expert second. This is the only way I can possibly write more books, which I want to. I burn a herb called imphepho. It’s an important part of our spirituality in South Africa . Our being black and ancestral. It calms me. I want to be a diva. Nadine Gordimer used to tell people do not bother her with meaningless social calls. It sounds bitchy but it is true, certainly for me, I work best under a rock, with zero distractions so all my energy and thoughts are focused on the task at hand.

~B: If you could pick any Fictional Characters from TV or literary creations to travel with you whom would you pick and why?

L: Tin Tin has been everywhere. He is a trust fund baby and they are very generous with mom and dad’s money. I want to travel with him and let me assure you, I would consider burning through his bank account the least I can do to get back at King Leopold. I take my justice wherever I can create it 🙂

~B: I don’t know how anyone can travel without music, I can’t live without it; what was the soundtrack of your sojourn.

L:  The sound track is the Best of Lucky Dube. This continent loves that man. He was a hero. He showed up amid wars and chaos. He was one with the people. It was such a revelation for me to hear people tell me about how his music saved them or keeps them together still.

~B: Are you done travelling or………

L: Never. When I have been to every country in Africa; I will start over because nothing stays the same anyway.

~B: Would you do it again?

L:  A million times. The five years of living on the road are the most important years of my life.

~B: Any people you would like to give a special mention to for their support in getting your book done and your nomadic life; wave at them like you are doing for TV

L: ***twerk, twerk, twerk, TWERK BOO!!!*** Let’s enjoy the most magnificent continent on earth, our Africa – the one that gives wings to our dreams.

Lerato Madam Afrika

~B: Thank you Lerato; it was a pleasure having you tell us some profound parting words.

L: Never believe news headline and the narrative of doom and gloom. That’s just a business decision because if it bleeds, it leads, as they say in journalism school. Take time to dig into Africa – books, music, food, culture, tech, art…everything, and you will truly see just how magnificent Africa is.

madam afrika

Bio: South African author  and journalist who considers herself a Pan African first and makes life choices from that precious and powerful space.

Insta and Twitter: @MadamAfrika

Facebook: Lerato Amandla Mogoatlhe

Of My Office The Road

There is a Shona proverb “chitsva chiri murutsoka” which translates to; “to experience something new, travel” So when the opportunity to accompany someone on a roadtrip presented itself; I said why not. I travelled. The last long journey I had was between Harare and Masvingo and I have travelled that route many times, going to my roots so at any point I know, where I will be and how far left to go……. Now for some reason the responsible Authority on roads doesn’t seem to see it necessary to fix/replace distance markers/signposts at fixed intervals. It’s unnerving to travel blind, when you don’t how far you have gone or how far you have to go. You will only know you have arrived when the signpost welcomes you. At least you can figure out how far you have gone based on your speed and if your vehicle has a working odometer. The return trip won’t be such a blind run. Also there was a time when all bridges on the highway had a sign post with the river name on it,

Lundi river

now most bridges don’t have labels and everytime I cross one I would be wondering what river or river tributery that was or if I should look it up on GPS, if it even appears on Google Maps. It’s hard to believe police officers used to mount roadblocks at what felt like every few kilometers and they would act as if every vehicle was somehow in violation of some traffic act and they just needed to find it. You could get fined a ticket for not having a spare wheel or fire extinguisher or even if they decide your ca’s too dirty.

Zrp traffic police

We once got fined $20 because the little light which illuminates the rear number plate had blown and nearly got car impounded On this current trip we traveled a total of 700+ kilometers and not once did a police road block stop us, if there’s been any benefit the new dispensation has brought, it’s stopping police officers from abusing their stations. Gosh and the number of haulage trucks on the road, make driving a nightmare. I am guessing it’s because our railway network got itself derailed and I don’t know if we still have an operational train service but the haulage business seems to be booming. Well good for them but bad for us, the roads getting worn out, potholed and badly patched you’ll spend a small fortune fixing your vehicle’s suspension system.

Overtaking truck

Overtaking those trucks requires some video game skills especially if there’s more than one in front of you, they like travelling in packs you see. If I was president or someone in a position of power I’d decree that haulage trucks be at least 500m apart so there’s space to overtake nicely. I wish they would hurry up and complete road dualisation of major highways since these projects have been going on for so many years But the progress only of a few clicks every year at this rate probably my grandchild will witness these new roads.

When you are on the road avoid fluids but if you must then bananas are your friends you won’t need to make frequent bathroom breaks. When the road is your office

Inyanga where you so high you can reach up on the tips of your toes and touch the sky kumakomoyo

And then the are the tollgates, I have always wondered what happens to the money collected here.

Because of the cash crisis these tollgates will delay your travel time as it takes longer for people to make swipe payments from their bank cards and sometimes the system can go offline for no reason at all and there’s nothing to do but wait and ask yourself why you didn’t pick up a hitchhiker or two maybe they might have paid cash………..

And people who throw trash out the window of moving vehicles in particular and litter bugs in general who hurt you and why do you wanna hurt the earth in return what did it do to you? Maybe I have an Obsessive Complex Disorder which I think should be spelt CDO with all the words in perfect alphabetical order 😂 I keep my litter until I find a bin if I don’t find one I’ll take my litter home with because home definitely has a bin and a formula on how to dispose of trash except for teabags you can read my teabag dilemma here.

I always chuckle when I see those farewell upon leaving an area, you know the kind, those that tell you are leaving this territory, thank you please call again.

And I think how do I call you there’s no phone number on the sign post 😂 😂 😂 and I laugh and laugh and can’t understand how you don’t see this as funny

Thank you for visiting this blog please call again

~B

PS what’s a roadtrip without music if you are going to take me anywhere tell me there will be music and I won’t care even if we are in handbasket on a one way trip to somewhere where one ought to abandon all hope not sing along to Vanessa Carlton’s thousand miles

Making my way downtown

Walking fast

Faces pass

And I’m home-bound