I think that, out of all our assignments, Angola was the most challenging in terms of living. Matthew was very clever in the manner that he introduced me to Africa, though. He brought me first to South Africa, and later to Anglo. South Africa was a whole other Africa, and Matthew knew that. He knew that he would need to ease me into things gently.
I landed in South Africa on a Saturday morning in July. Matthew was there waiting for me, although I had to search for his face in the crowd and got a bit worried when I didn’t see him after what seemed like an eternity. I soon spotted him. He was there at the back of the crowd. It had been several months since we had bought the house and he had left for Angola, so it was really amazing to be reunited again. He had rented a car, so we packed all my luggage into the car and started off for the Drakensburg mountains, half-way between Johannesburg and the coast, where we were ultimately heading. It was a fairly long drive, and scary to be driving on the opposite side of the road, but we got there in good time, arriving around noon. It was really cold there! I could actually see my breath when I got out of the car. Not what I had been expecting in Africa, to say the least. The hotel had fires going in the main hall, which I was really happy to see, and I stayed there most of the day. I have to say that I was a bit worried at that point that I didn’t bring enough warm clothing and that I would be in trouble.
We spent the night there and left the next morning to drive to the coast. The place where we stayed for the week was a condo-like unit in a place called San Lameer, south of Durban on the east coast. It was a “gated community” and we were both a bit uncomfortable with the separation from the surrounding area and the whole division of labour that was blatantly going on; blacks doing all the manual labour and whites doing the rest. It was very weird, and very obvious. The condo belonged to the guy that Matt had been staying with in Luanda for a while; a South African working for the World Food Programme. He gave us a great deal, so no complaints. Anyway, the place was very nice and it was actually a perfect spot to catch up on much needed rest. We had both worked ourselves into a state exhaustion, trying to keep ourselves highly occupied in order to forget about the fact that we were so far from one another. We began taking naps every day and heading off to bed around 9:30 or 10:00 pm, and never rising before 9:00am! Very nice to relax like this. The temperature on the coast was pleasant; much warmer than the mountains, and the ocean was perfect temperature for swimming. We laid on the beach every day and went boogy-boarding. The last day we were there they called everyone out of the water (we were already out) because they had seen a shark. They closed the beach for the day. Neither of us had seen the shark, but took their word for it.
After a week of relaxing and reading (I actually ate through two novels), we went back to Johannesburg to prepare for the trip to Angola. We stayed at a very nice hotel for the night and went shopping for some needed items. Again, I believe this was Matthew's way of trying to make my first experience in Africa a positive one. He knew what was to come. We went out to a very weird place that was right beside the hotel for dinner; a mall-like building, designed to look like a small village inside. They had false sky hanging from the ceiling and every shop was actually a separate building inside the main building. Even the paths were made to look like old cobblestone streets. It was part of a casino, open 24 hours a day. At the front entrance they searched us for guns. The more ridiculous bit was that, if they found you had one, they would store it for you in a safe until you were done shopping. Hilarious! It brought the reality of the security situation in Johannesburg to light. I had not felt any sort of risk until that point.
The next morning we left early and made it safely to Luanda around 11:00am. There were another UNHCR couple on the plane, along with their daughter, and we all were picked up by the same driver. It was a challenge getting all the luggage into the minivan, but we made it work. The man’s name was Carlos and it turned out that Matt and I had met him when we were in Guatemala. He had been working for UNHCR when we were there with Project Accompaniment, and we met him as part of our orientation when we first arrived. Small world. I saw him on the airplane and knew that I recognized him from somewhere. His wife was from Guatemala and she was great; easy-going, and generally used to the life of a trailing spouse, I could tell. Her daughter was a bit shocked though. This showed when she remarked, "Carlos, is there a MacDonald's here?" We all laughed. We were dropped off at the house and the driver waited for us while we dropped our things and ran. He took us to the office of the World Food Programme where we were to pick up our car.
I was very excited about having a car. It was a small 4x4 called Jimny. I had not had a chance to drive in Kyrygyzstan because we were using a UNHCR vehicle. Only Matt could drive it. It had been several years since I had driven, and I was eager to have my independence back. On our way home we stopped to get some groceries. My first experience with shopping in Luanda. There was a lot of variety in the shops, but I quickly understood why Luanda was one of the most expensive places in the world to live at the time. Prices were about three times what you would have paid in Canada. I realized that it would be a challenge furnishing the house, needless to say. Matt was smart though, and he had worked it into our contract that we would buy furniture and then leave it when we left and deduct a percentage of the costs from the rent. It helped a bit, at least.
Anyway, getting back to my story. We picked up the car and went shopping. Then we headed for home. On the way home, we were stopped by the police. They asked for our papers and, when we showed them to the guy he told us that they had expired. It turned out that we were driving with what we thought were the right registration papers, but only with a photocopy. We didn’t have the original. This seemed to be a problem, so he took the papers and told us that we was going to impound the car. Panic. We phoned the UN and they sent a driver to help us out. To make a long story short, it was not the best introduction to Angola. We ended up talking the guy down from his demands of $50USD in bribe to only $20USD. When we got back to the UN building, we managed to have a debriefing session with the security officer and he was mad that we had paid a bribe. Honestly, what else could we have done? He told us to let them take the car next time, and that he would get it back no problem, as he knew the head of the police. That still wouldn't take away from the fact that we would be stranded in the middle of Luanda, at night, without a car. Not exactly the safest scenario. Anyway, a lesson well learned.
I spent the next few days getting things organized around the house, buying food and getting a few needed items. I was happy with my cup of Starbucks coffee beside me and an internet connection. I also got a mobile phone right away, so that I could feel safe walking and driving around. We managed to get the much-needed original copy of that car document, so I was able to do some exploring around the city.
As far as driving is concerned, Angola is still at the top of my list for worst places to drive in the world. The drivers are some of the most aggressive I have ever seen, and you have to either join in or be pushed aside. What did I do? I joined in, and I actually started to enjoy it after a while. The tricky part came when it rained. There is history to this liquid problem. When the Portuguese pulled out of Angola, they were so mad that they decided to pour concrete into all the sewers in Luanda. When we were there, in 2003, the sewers were still out of operation. So, when it rained, the whole city flooded. The potholes in the streets were so deep though, that when it rained, you really had to know where the holes were or you could end up with half of you car in a pothole and no way to get out. I have a good memory, luckily, so this never happened to our little Jimny.
After a week in Luanda, I met up with a couple of Canadians who were volunteering with a sports programme through CIDA. The organization still exists today, known as "Right to Play". They were running a sports camp for kids in Luanda and in the outlying areas, working primarily with refugees and diplaced populations. They invited me to join them to play basketball, which I quickly accepted to do, and it was fun. Later that week, they took me to see one of the shanty-towns outside of Luanda. It was shocking to see what Luanda was really like outside of our apartment and its walls and locks.
Night life was pretty exciting around town, and it was fun to see the combination of Brasilian and African moves on the dance floor. My most stark memory of night life, however, is of rats. The sewer issue mentioned earlier had other problems, one of them being rats. There weren't enough places for rats to hide underground, so they lived above ground, in broad daylight. My first glimpse of a rat was at night, heading home from dinner near the centre of town. We pulled out of the parking lot and had to slam on the brakes. Matt thought he saw a cat. Upon closer examination, we realized that it was not at all a cat, but it was a rat! It was the largest rat that I had ever seen, and I let out a piercing scream. It was the first rat that I had seen in my life, but it was certainly not the last. I treaded very, very carefully at night after that, and paranoid about being bit by a rabid rat. Yes, highly unlikely, but I was still scared. Everyone I met had a story about a rat, which didn't make things any easier. One teacher even told us about a rat that popped its head out of his toilet in his first apartment in Luanda. They had to tape the toilet seat down in order to sleep in peace.
There were positive things about Luanda as well. Every weekend we went down to a beach with teachers from the school and learned to surf. We ate freshly caught fish and played beach soccer, enjoying the sunshine and the sand. I celebrated my 30th birthday on that beach. It was amazing. There were accidents and very scary moments involving sharks, but none of us were ever that badly injured. It was exciting and adventurous, and we were all young, carefree and without kids. There were also great parties on the beach for Carnival. Again, an experience that I will never forget... half-naked people dancing on the beach until all hours of the night, drinking far too much and making a lot of noise. It is a party in a class of its own, that's for sure.
So, if it sounds so exciting, what made it difficult? I know that I have already mentioned the various events that took place in my first month in Luanda which introduced me to the nature of the violence there. There are details to be shared, though, about these events. Details which have cut deep into my heart. I don't believe that I will ever be able to forget any of the events that I witnessed in that short period of time. The most terrifying was of the young man who, in an attempt to eek out even the poorest of existences, was washing a window of a car at the stoplight outside our apartment. I watched as the driver got out and told him to stop. My eyes remained glued as a crowd of people gathered around to watch the argument ensue. I quickly ran upstairs to get out of harm's way, but peered out of our apartment window in time to see the metal crowbars smashing down on his head in anger. I was weeping by the time the crowd had dissipated. There was a pool of blood around him and no one had done anything to help; myself included.
I am reminded of the fear that one feels living overseas as I write these words. It has taken me some time to finish this post, because we have once again been reminded of the danger that surrounds us here in Colombia. I am still recovering from the shock of Matthew and Zachary (and a group of about 20 people) being attacked by armed robbers just outside Bogota a few weeks ago. It has made me stop and appreciate the little things in life. It has helped me to gain some much-needed perspective on my world, and it is forcing me to find balance. Everything happens for a reason. No doubt in my mind. I pray that our last 100 days in Colombia are filled with laughter and peace. May God be ever with us.
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