|
Articles
- - - - - - - - - -
- -
Armchair Travel
- - - - - - - - - - - -
From the Editors
- - - - - - - - - - - -
Directory
- - - - - - - - - - - -
Submissions
- - - - - - - - - - - -
About
- - - - - - - - - - - -
Contact
- - - - - - - - - - - -
|
Beside the Jade Sea
by Kathy Sharrad
As we drove through the vast and desolate plains of northern
Kenya, I wondered if there was anything but heat and dust. The
only sign of life for hours had been forlorn shrubs scattered over
the barren landscape. The only exception was one tall, slender
woman walking casually beside the dusty road with a heavy load
balanced on her head. She walked with the confidence of someone
who always walked alone through this desolate land, on her way to
somewhere only familiar to herself. She barely raised an eyebrow
as our cumbersome, noisy vehicle rumbled its way past her. Perhaps
there were more than a few strange westerners who liked to make
this trip.
As the early evening began to fall, and the truck I was travelling
on with ten or so others had churned its way through endless boggy
sand paths, I saw a sight I had been waiting for all day. A
glittering mass of turquoise appeared on the horizon, sparkling in
the late afternoon sun—the Jade Sea was finally in my sight. I
gazed at it in wonder, my eyes aching slightly as I beheld its
dazzling light.
The Jade Sea, commonly known as Lake Turkana, is a soda lake
boasting the biggest concentration of Nile crocodiles in Africa.
It covers 2,473 square miles (6,405 kilometres), stretching to the
Kenyan borders with Ethiopia and Sudan. The sight was truly
magnificent, and I suddenly forgot the stifling heat that had been
engulfing me all day as I gazed at the shimmering water surrounded
by lush green palms. I wondered if this was what a mirage looked
like to early European explorers of the African continent. What a
disappointment it must have been to find out it was just an
optical illusion. But this definitely wasn't. This was real as it
gets.
After a couple of stops due to our truck getting bogged, we made
our way towards Eliye Springs, a small village on the shores of
the lake. Along the way, we saw children playing a vigorous game
of soccer. They shouted and waved at us as we drove past, some of
them running after the truck with boundless enthusiasm and waving
arms, a greeting typical of what I had experienced in Africa so
far.
We kept driving and finally came to a stop in the middle of a
palm-tree forest beside the lake. This was Eliye Springs, once
some sort of Arabian-inspired resort, but now just a few
dilapidated buildings, mud and straw huts and a cement hole which
looked somewhat like a swimming pool. Crowds of children shouted
and screamed 'how are you? how are you?' at us as we wearily
disembarked from our truck journey of 14 hours or so. Their smiles
were electrifying; bright white teeth gleaming out of smiling,
excited faces. The adults were more cautious in their greetings,
and slowly made their way towards us behind the cover of their
screeching children. They smiled tentatively at us and showed us
where we could set up camp.
These were the Turkana people who lived in simple mud and straw
huts around the shores of the magnificent turquoise lake that
sparkled invitingly between the palms. They seemed gentle and
hospitable, yet slightly wary of our presence, obviously perplexed
as to why a group of white, dust-covered tourists would travel all
the way to set up camp by a lake in the middle of a scorching
desert – a lake that was too dangerous to swim in because of the
crocodiles. Because of this threat, the villagers had kindly
started filling the swimming pool for us to cool off in, but had
strangely given their children strict instructions not to swim
with us.
After we set up camp and had some dinner, we relaxed with a few
beers – a casual routine that had now become a habit come an
evening in Africa. Some of the Turkana children hadn’t moved
further than a few meters away from our campsite since we had
arrived, staring intently, studying our every move and smiling
shyly when one of us looked up at them. One little boy, who seemed
to have taken a particular interest in me, set himself up in the
best possible position to observe me as I ate my dinner. When I
suddenly looked up at him, he shot me a dazzling smile and laughed
softly into his hands, never taking his eyes off me. Some of the
observers changed shifts over the next few hours, but we were
constantly watched by at least ten or fifteen children.
The next day began with an enchanting sunrise over the choppy
waters of the lake. A slight breeze had begun before dawn and
cooled the temperature somewhat, also spreading generous amounts
of sand throughout our provisions. I watched the sun slowly appear
over the horizon, mystified, from my viewpoint on a sand-dune. The
early morning light bathed the sand, giving it the appearance of
soft gold, while the lake was a dreamy light blue, very different
from the stark turquoise it had been in full sunlight the day
before. This place was truly magical.
Later, I visited the 'market' some of the Turkana women had set up
for us near our campsite. Fifteen or so women sat behind their
handmade goods, hoping to sell us something. The women were
beautiful, with thin, exotic features and dark eyes. They were
wrapped in colourful robes and wore an array of necklaces,
bracelets, anklets and little beads in their hair. They smiled
warily at me as I wandered around looking at their crafts.
Although they couldn't speak English, the women chattered to me in
their language, pushing beads and shawls and bags into my hands,
nodding their heads enthusiastically. As I meandered through the
stalls, I noticed small children following me, walking close
enough that I could feel their small arms brushing against me.
When I stopped to look at something, they would casually bump into
me, laughing softly and grinning cheekily up at me. One little boy
slipped his palm into mine, pausing slightly to see if I would
reject it. When I didn’t, he beamed and held on more tightly. This
action must have given others confidence, and slowly I began to
feel little fingers grasping at my skirt or reaching for my hand.
I was overwhelmed by the attention, amazed and heartened by the
gentle nature of these children.
One old woman had a collection of necklaces that attracted my
attention. I stopped and looked more closely at them, and pointed
to one, looking at her questioningly. She nodded, and I took this
to mean it was okay to try it on. She tied it gently around my
neck and smiled. I noticed most of her teeth were chipped and
rotten, but she had a truly beautiful face when she smiled. Her
eyes shone with eagerness. Other women gathered around and stared
at me. They smiled and nodded their heads approvingly. Obviously
they thought it suited me. I wasn't so sure, so I moved to take it
off. Suddenly the woman looked annoyed and started talking angrily
to the women around her, pointing at me and shaking her head. I
started to worry - maybe this meant I shouldn't take the necklace
off. I tried again to untie the knot, when I noticed she was
wielding a huge, rusty knife in front of my face. She looked even
angrier and was talking even more loudly. I noticed my little
companions had left my side and were cowering by a large palm
tree, watching with scared eyes. Their reaction frightened me even
more.
All I could see was the knife, and all I could think about was
what she was going to do with it. I made a quick decision to keep
the necklace and pay the woman some money for it. I pulled away
quickly and started smiling and saying 'okay, okay'. Some of the
younger women knew what this meant and must have conveyed this
message to the angry woman. Once I took my money out and showed it
to her she calmed down as quickly as she had become angry, and
smiled at me as if nothing untoward had just taken place. I smiled
gingerly, thanked her and retreated back to camp.
I have never been sure what the woman would have done with that
knife - most likely it would be have been as innocent as her
cutting the beads from around my neck. But I will never forget how
quickly she became aggressive. Her eyes were filled with anger as
she screeched at me in a language I hadn’t a hope of
understanding. I blamed myself for not reading the situation
better. Even though I didn’t understand what I had done wrong, I
knew I had offended the woman in some way – and this bothered me.
Never before had I experienced such a language barrier and I
reminded myself then that I had only been in Africa for a week; I
still had a lot to learn.
I travelled for six weeks throughout Kenya, Tanzania, Malawi,
Zambia, Zimbabwe, Botswana and South Africa, sometimes with
others, sometimes alone. This was the only incident in the entire
six weeks when I felt threatened or unsafe. As a general rule, the
Africans I came in contact with were extremely friendly, courteous
and gentle. I was constantly amazed and warmed by the peaceful
feeling I received in the company of African people. After
arriving back in Europe – and later back home in Australia – I
found myself struggling to describe how I felt when I was in
Africa. The best explanation I have come up with is simple, and
possibly meaningless to some listeners, but it is the most honest
I can think of in words.
Everyone knows that peculiar, slightly unsettling, yet strangely
exciting feeling one gets when a summer storm is about to break.
The air is warm and buzzing, pulsing with electricity and energy,
while huge black clouds descend on the earth with determined
ferocity, waiting to explode. No matter where you are in the
world, I imagine the feeling is quite similar. I love summer
storms, and this is how I felt when I was in Africa. I was in a
constant state of waiting, in anticipation for the next amazing
experience. I was never disappointed. I was always left marvelling
at the new sights, sounds, smells and sensations I received as I
travelled over land through the southern regions of this
wonderfully diverse and colourful continent. The relatively short
time I spent in Africa was, and remains, a highlight of all my
overseas travel and has left me with countless memories, anecdotes
and friends that I hope will stay with me forever.
© Kathy Sharrad, 2004
|
|
|
 |
|
|
|
About the Author
Kathy Sharrad is a 25 year-old Australian, currently
living and working in the United Kingdom. She studied
African and Middle Eastern politics and history,
international politics and media studies at
university, and recently completed her masters degree
writing about mainstream media coverage of recent
political events such as the war in Iraq, anti-war
demonstrations around the world, the War on Terror,
political events on the continent of Africa and
general political coverage in the US, Britain and
Australia. She is currently working for an
environmental charity near London. Kathy is a keen
mountain-biker, rock-climber, writer and traveler. She
has traveled extensively in Australia, New Zealand,
the Fiji Islands, the United States, the United
Kingdom, Ireland, western Europe, southeast Asia and
east and southern Africa. She is planning a trip to
the Islamic Republic of Iran this month, and Morocco
and Turkey later this year. |
|
|
|
|
|
Read More
Articles From Around the World
|
|
|
|
