On Changing your Life

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also to keep this constructive, what special qualities do you think seperated you from other whites or tourists in africa? do you think anyone can go there and survive, or do you need some special qualities to make it?

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Smurf,

I'm not really sure. Some guides turned up that we were sure would fit in well, but only lasted a month at most. Others whom we were dubious of caught on immediately. I suppose the only way you can know for sure is to go there yourself. I will note though, that often it's the bigger guys who are 'tough' back in the first world who don't go well in these situations.


Mick came striding out of the shed and looked at the askari holding the gun. “What do you think you’re doing, you idiot?” he said to me. “We used all his bullets the other night.”

I sheepishly stood up. “Did you find out who did it?” I asked.

“Of course not. I said, ‘Was it Juma?’, and he said that it was indeed Juma. I then asked him if it was Charles, and he said that he was sure that Charles is guilty.”

“So what do we do now?” I asked.

Mick shrugged. “Fire the lot of them and start over.”

I was very reluctant to bring it up, but I decided that I had nothing to lose. Besides, he should have been arriving at any moment. “There is the witchdoctor,” I said with some caution.

Mick just stared at me. “The witchdoctor?” he finally said. “What the hell are you on about?”

I explained how his employees had pooled their money to get this dude over. We asked Paul how much they had paid, and the answer came to about $40. Impressive stuff, considering the average monthly wage was about $25. They assured us that this guy was the best witchdoctor money could buy. “What the hell,” Mick said. “Might as well give it a shot. Stranger crap has happened.”

Some time later, the matatu bearing the witchdoctor arrived. We kept the group back, apart from Paul, as we didn’t want anyone telling the witchdoctor who they thought had done it. At this point most of the staff had returned from wherever it was they had run to. Mick and I had no illusions about getting the stereo back, it was gone. We wanted to see if this guy was for real. We walked over to the matatu and met the witchdoctor.

He was a tiny little old man, dressed in a three piece brown suit, carrying an old-fashioned suitcase. He had a huge smile that was perpetually on his face. I liked him immediately. There was now a crowd of about thirty people gathered around and we selected a few to hold the others back. Word was apparently flying around the area that a famous witchdoctor had shown up to help the mazungu’s.

He asked us where the crime had been committed and we took him over to the banda hut. He instructed us to wait outside. The huts consisted of just one room with two front windows and a door. We peered into the gloom to see what he was doing. He set his suitcase down on the ground, unfastened a belt that was tied around the middle, and opened the lid. Out scrambled a live chicken. He immediately grabbed the chicken, and with one swift movement cut off its head with a knife. Holding the twitching body with one hand, he began spreading blood around the hut. Mick gave me a look that seemed to indicate, ‘this had better bloody work’.

The witchdoctor then began throwing all sorts of sh*t around the hut. Spices, leaves, bark, roots, berries, all were flung into far corners while he chanted in some weird dialect. There was a continual low murmur from the growing crowd. The witchdoctor then began to dance. He jerked around and around, the chicken still grasped in his wiry hand. Blood continued to fly as he flung himself around the room. His voice rose with every passing moment. The crowds voice began to rise in unison.

“Gonna have to wash those mattresses,” Mick whispered to me. I told him to shut the feck up. I was getting a little bit worried. What if this kindly old man pronounced that the mazungu’s were the bad dudes? I had no doubt that the crowd would tear us to pieces.

Then he stopped dead still. His hands hung in the air above his head. He was perched like a hawk about to strike. The dead chicken fell from his fingers and hit the ground. At once he flung himself down with his face on the ground studying the chicken. He moved his body in a complete circle around the chicken while holding one eye to the floor. We were hanging on his every action. And then he stood up, brushed down his suit, and asked if he could have a cup of tea. Mick sent one of the young boys flying down to the bar to get the great man some tea.

He motioned to Mick and I and we went into a huddle. “The one you seek,” he began in his high pitched, giggly voice. “He is young, maybe 15 years. Tall, very tall. But very slim. Maybe he should eat more. Perhaps he steals as he is hungry. He lives very close, in the village at the crossroads. He likes to wear the color blue.”

Mick and I looked at each other as we both said the same name. “Godfrey.”

We marched up the road together with the witchdoctor and the now sizeable crowd. The village was about a mile down the entrance road to Bujagali where it met the main dirt road. On the way we met the local police chief. He had heard what was going on and had rushed over to see. On seeing me he smiled and said, “Ah, the lunatic. And how is everything now?” We filled him in on the developments. He was deeply impressed at our wisdom at obtaining a qualified witchdoctor. Normally mazungu’s were not that smart.

We reached the village. They were waiting for us. It was obvious that we wouldn’t find Godfrey. We entered his home where he lived with his mother and his siblings. We asked which bed was Godfrey’s. Mick turned it over and a black cobra shot out from under the mattress. We all jumped back and the crowd went, oooooooohh. The cobra slithered outside where the crowd quickly beat it to death. Under Godfrey’s mattress we found an interesting history of petty thievery. There was a small treasure of mostly worthless items pilfered from guides and customers. We recognized Colin’s waist-bag that had gone missing some time earlier. We collected this booty while the police chief grilled Godfrey’s mother. Apparently the accused had cleared out only fifteen minutes before we arrived with the stereo under his arm.

We declined the offer of a boda-boda bicycle chase, tempting as it was. Paul shambled over nervously and told us that the witchdoctor performed other services as well. Really? Such as?

“If the mazungu’s would like, I can put a curse on the boy and he will suffer a horrible disease.”

We liked the sound of that one. “Any others?” asked Mick, as he guided the witchdoctor out of earshot of the thief’s mother.

“I can perform one where he will drop dead in three days,” said the witchdoctor.

“That’ll do,” said Mick. “We’ll have one death in three days, thanks.” Mick leaned over to me and explained that he didn’t believe in this crap, but the locals believed in it. He wanted them to know that if they stole from him, they were going to deal with a mazungu who played by their rules.

A couple of weeks later, we located the stolen stereo in a pawn-brokers. Godfrey was never seen again. I spoke to Mick about this situation a few months ago. He said that we had been incredibly foolish marching into the village like that. It could have quite easily turned nasty, and if it had, we wouldn’t have had a chance. At the time it had seemed like a good idea.

[adios]

This is similar to some things I went through when I finished my undergrad studies. I went out and saw the USA, going coast-to-coast using my thumb (hitching rides). I did this for about a year. I'd never do it again and I can't believe I did now. A little hint about life and changes, it always does and you always will.

[theBruiser500]

"It could have quite easily turned nasty, and if it had, we wouldn’t have had a chance. At the time it had seemed like a good idea. "

how so?

[adsman]

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"It could have quite easily turned nasty, and if it had, we wouldn’t have had a chance. At the time it had seemed like a good idea. "

how so?

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Dude, what right did we have to go into that womans home? We were being the fully aggressive, white colonialists. At any moment that crowd could have turned on us and beaten us to death, which happens by the way. I consider it to be the most dangerous thing that I've ever done.

[BigPoppa]

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"It could have quite easily turned nasty, and if it had, we wouldn’t have had a chance. At the time it had seemed like a good idea. "

how so?

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Dude, what right did we have to go into that womans home? We were being the fully aggressive, white colonialists. At any moment that crowd could have turned on us and beaten us to death, which happens by the way. I consider it to be the most dangerous thing that I've ever done.

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I think maybe that doing it under the "authority" of the witchdoctor gave you street cred you wouldn't otherwise have.

If the witchdoctor sends someone to your house, you don't tell them to feck off.

[ac10]

How many cobras were in the room you slept in? Seeing one under a random bed would likely scar me for life.

[darkcore]

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i am european and most people i know who visited middle and southern africa haven't seen much more than their hotels and some guided tours of the sourounding regions. what they told sounded more or less fake and made for tourists, so my question is: do you have any tips for an africa vacation aside of the default tourists spots? like must do's and places to visit where you can still get a small insight of the real deal?

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@adsman

i am european and most people i know who visited middle and southern africa haven't seen much more than their hotels and some guided tours of the sourounding regions. what they told sounded more or less fake and made for tourists, so my question is: do you have any tips for an africa vacation aside of the default tourists spots? like must do's and places to visit where you can still get a small insight of the real deal?

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I will assume that you are not talking about a family vacation. I can highly recommend Uganda, as the people are extremely welcoming to whites. You can stay in a 5 star hotel if you want - you can stay in backpackers, it really makes no difference. You just have to get out there and explore. Walk around. Go where you want. Uganda is so accessible due to the large variety of features in its small size. I recommend the South-West corner of the country. Be aware, don't take the silly 'romantic' view, where all Africans are intrinsically good people. They are just like us - some of them are dirtbags, some of them are extremely good, most fall somewhere in between. Travel light, carry a thick roll of $1 bills that you can hand over if you are robbed. I always carried my valuables in one of those elastic knee braces. Wear long clothes at night and sleep under a net. Malaria is not fun. Wear wrap-around sunglasses. Be prepared for the fact that African food is bloody awful. Haggle over everything. Don't put up with any crap. I recommend not hiring a car. If you have an accident and kill somebody you will be beaten to death on the spot. Stay away from the North of the country. I wouldn't go higher than Murchison Falls National Park.

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I started playing poker in high school. For some reason it always interested me. I was the one that organized the games. We played stud mostly, as I disliked draw. By the time I got to Uganda I was familiar with hold em. I discovered an expat game and introduced hold em to them. We played no limit. I practiced on the free money tables on planet poker during the day. The game was good and it kept me solvent, as Uganda’s tourism industry had been hit hard by the Biwindi massacre.

I was playing in a few bands around town, but the money wasn’t good and we were expected to give our share to the local musicians in the band. The locals couldn’t believe that a mazungu could be hard up. The owner came out a second time to see why we weren’t making more money. He was building a luxury house in New Zealand and needed every cent he could get. There was a local Indian businessman who ran the main photo shop in Kampala. They had a nice earner on the rafting photo’s, but they also stocked our T-shirts as well, which were big sellers. He was eager to increase his margin on the shirts, so he went to the owner with a business plan under the umbrella of marketing. He came up with a bunch of ridiculous ideas that he hoped would land him the position of marketing manager. The owner fell for his plan in a big way. He didn’t make him the marketing manager – he made him the general manager. Overnight we had a guy in charge who knew nothing about the business, and whose primary motive for being involved was to line his own pocket. The owner flew back to New Zealand.

This all happened at the end of 1999. The guides had decided to organize a two-day rafting trip for the millennium new year. The trip consisted of continuing on a mile or so after the normal take-out and spending the night on an island in the middle of the river. We organized with local villages to supply us with cooks and helpers, as well as local musicians. The two-day trip was usually run once every couple of months. We wanted this one to be special. A lot of the British Airways crews requested runs to Uganda after hanging out with us, and we had built up a few friendships with the pilots, as well as some more intimate friendships with the hosties. We contacted our favorite crews and told them to request the new year in Uganda so as to go on the two day trip. We also hand picked a few more punters, including three young American lads from Seattle who were making a documentary in Africa. They were stand-up guys, plus they had great liquid acid.

All up there were about 25 customers on the trip. We organized four rafts, with myself, Piley, Colin and Jeno guiding. Brums was to be the support. He was going to drive out from Kampala directly to the island with all the important supplies. We did the first day of the trip and arrived at the island a few hours before sunset. The camp was already set up and we divided up the tents and started drinking. Piley placed two cakes that he had prepared on the table; a dark and a white chocolate cake. What he didn’t tell us was that these were dope cakes, and the white one was extra potent. Piley smoked around 20 joints a day, so for him to call it potent meant that it was deadly. The first thing I knew about it was when a BA stewardess came rushing up to me and asked me to come and have a look at her friend.

I walked up the hill to their tent. This absolutely stunning blonde English girl was completely out of it. She had eaten a whole piece of cake. She kept moaning and saying that she had smoked dope before and it had never had an effect on her. Jeno made the wisecrack that you had to inhale to feel the effects. She was sure feeling the effects now.

I rushed down to the table and immediately confiscated the cakes. It was too late. About ten of our punters had already partaken. I called the group together and told them what was up. I said that if they had eaten any of these cakes, the best thing to do would be to stick their fingers down their throats immediately. As I was saying this, a big guy who must have weighed close to a hundred kilo’s gave me a funny look and fell over. His wife was furious, and rightly so. They were going to spend the millennium new year looking after their friends and loved ones.

Piley was relaxing by the fire having a beer. I was absolutely furious with him, but I couldn’t dress him down in front of the punters. I couldn’t dress him down anyway – he just didn’t give a sh*t. He had also brought his hooker-girlfriend on the trip, something which was strictly forbidden. She was a most unlikable person, and she was presently busy bullying all the hired help. I told her to shut the feck up and keep out of our way. She went to Piley and complained, and he confronted me, calling me a racist. I asked him what I had to do to prove I wasn’t a racist. Start sleeping with black hookers? Colin stepped in and calmed things down, but it wasn’t the start to the evening we had been hoping for.

We watched the sun set over The Nile, as we ate and enjoyed the show put on by the local musicians and dancers. Most of the guests had recovered from the effects of the cake, and I dropped some acid and partied away the night. The next day we all crawled out of the tents and tried to face the next thousand years. It was then that I realized that Brums and Joyce hadn’t turned up. They had dropped off the supplies and then gone off to make a quick run to get some extra beer. We were worried but there was nothing we could do. We rafted down through the second days rapids until we came to the take-out. Brums wasn’t there either. We got back to Kampala were we found Joyce and Brums safe. They told us what had happened.

They had had to hire a taxi, as the adrift car was being used for other purposes. Driving through a small town, a man had suddenly stepped directly into their passing car. Brums knew the score. You kill somebody with a car, even if they have decided to end their own life by throwing themselves under your wheels, you better get the hell out of there. The taxi driver went to put his foot down. Brums stopped him, jumped out of the car and dragged the badly injured man into their taxi. When a mob forms in Africa it happens fast. Everyone joins a mob. A top Ugandan judge was once found to have been in a mob that hacked a supposed thief to death in the center of Kampala outside the main post office.

The crowd surged around them. Brums was outside the car arguing. This was the only car in the village. If they wanted the man to be taken to hospital, they would have to let them go. A terrified Joyce and the taxi driver stayed locked inside the vehicle, while the injured man bled over the rear seats. Brums said that it was a very close thing. Finally, after about twenty minutes of heated argument, they were let go. They drove straight to the hospital in Kampala where they left the man. By that time it was too late to come back out, and they weren’t in the mood for it anyway. Piley wasn’t speaking to me anymore. It wasn’t a great start to the new year.

[Dale Dough]

Did you, or have you ever considered carrying a gun in case you are somehow the victim of an angry mob? I mean, if they are not the party directly wronged, do they still want to risk their lives to get somebody?