The Journey

We traveled without expectations, absorbing our surroundings with interest and wonder. Sometimes there was no road and we had to negotiate treacherous routes along the sides of steep mountains and rocky terrain arriving at a village where we’d introduce ourselves to the chief or headman.

It was always the “stuff of dreams” when people ran out of their huts carrying beautiful artefacts, laughing and jostling with each other at the prospect of making money. There were times when we’d find nothing – but our spirits were never broken. There were always the warm jam doughnuts at the local baker to look forward to!

Sometimes, negotiations took hours and were for men only, so I would take photographs, talk to the local women or catch up with my journals.
The dusty roads were potholed and unbearably bumpy, causing much grief to our bodies and our vehicle.
Busy, busy roads where thousands of bicycles carrying everything from heavy bags of grain, to grandpa and granny, jostle for space along the eroded highway.

Women in brightly coloured fabrics carrying babies on their backs walk alongside the bicycles chewing on sticks of sugarcane chatting and laughing. The hugely over laden cotton trucks, their chassis twisted under the strain of the load, crab-crawl towards the mill.

Every woman is seen carrying something - be it wood, or pots of water or a child. I relieved a very old lady of her bundle of thatching grass and walked nearly kilometer to the next village, my neck straining under the cumbersome burden. Before I could reach her dwelling I threw it down exhausted and defeated. For those who can afford it, a scotch cart is the answer to transport problems - manned only by men and boys!

It was nearly a week before we witnessed the energetic display of the Nyau Brotherhoods’ Gule dancers.

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