Africa: Week One - Continued
That first week was spent leisurely, getting used to the heat. Lounging by the pool or in the "Shaka Shack" out the back hiding from the sun. Cousin Leigh would take us out for lunch or shopping- and there was never a shortage in the continuous stream of visitors that would pop in at any hour of the day.
A bell would toll, we'd pop our heads round the front door to peer through the gate and then once discerning that it was someone we knew we'd pop back to grab the remote to unlock the gates.
That's one thing that was frustrating to get back into, the strenuous security measures.
Every house you pass has a high wall around it - Either a solid concrete or brick wall or something with railings but every wall has a line of spikes running around the top - and if you don't have a wall you're one of the lucky ones, or you have nothing valuable other than your life. Aunty C's house was like living in a prison. There was a remote, a button and a key for everything. A button for the front walk through gate, a button for the remote driveway gate. A remote to turn off the laser sensors on the driveway, a key for the side gates on either end of the house. A key for the front door gate and the front door. Keys for the back doors as well as the inter-leading door into the "Shaka Shack" as well as a remote to turn off that motion censored alarm as well as a key for those doors. There were bars on EVERY window and every door. And everything was to stay locked and closed.
And even with all those bars and security you couldn't sit inside with the front doors or windows open lest that gave someone the idea that they were welcome to try break in. When you were walking out in public you never made contact or smiled at strangers and your had your bag slung across your body because just over your shoulder was too easy to grab. You never hung your bag over the back of your chair at a restaurant. You never left your things at the table - even with occupant at it. There are so many rules, and it's a wonder that people still live there so freely. I constantly felt in danger and on guard.
Speaking of - when it came to road rules - no one seemed to follow them. You don't wear seat belts because the likelihood of your car getting hijacked and you being killed because your seat belt it stuck and you can't get out of the car is higher than the likelihood of you being in a car accident. Which is saying something in a country where everyone drives 150 KM/hr - when the speed limit is 120.
I witnessed 10 seater Hi-Ace vans pull over without any indication and drop off 30 or so people who were squeezed in like sardines before pulling right back into the oncoming traffic again without indication.
I witnessed cars on the motorway (or freeway as they call it) pull a 180 over the grassy island and go back the other way. Or drive along the grassy edges when they couldn't be bothered waiting in the traffic.
I was in constant fear for my life - and theirs.
And then there were those Classic African sights - people selling or taking scrap wood off the back of a horse and cart. People riding around on bicycles selling ice cream from chilly bins. "Car Park Attendants" which is really just some 'innovative' human who found a hi-vis vest and popped that on and patrols car parks to 1). find you a park, 2). directs you in parking said car and 3). watches said car so that it doesn't get stolen while you're off doing your busy life things. And then they expect to get paid for just strolling around all day and "assisting" you in pulling out of the car park they allegedly helped you find. The 'window washers' at the traffic lights (or robots as they say in Africa) who zip dangerously between cars while you're waiting at the red light to clean your windows in 5 seconds flat for "jus a 5 ran mistah". Or the ones selling 'fresh' fruit or other hand made goods from their equally hand made body shelves or hangers at traffic lights just in case you couldn't find time to make it to the shopping mall after work - on the side of the road will do.
Everyone's hand is outstretched for cash - nothing comes for free in Africa.
A bell would toll, we'd pop our heads round the front door to peer through the gate and then once discerning that it was someone we knew we'd pop back to grab the remote to unlock the gates.
That's one thing that was frustrating to get back into, the strenuous security measures.
Every house you pass has a high wall around it - Either a solid concrete or brick wall or something with railings but every wall has a line of spikes running around the top - and if you don't have a wall you're one of the lucky ones, or you have nothing valuable other than your life. Aunty C's house was like living in a prison. There was a remote, a button and a key for everything. A button for the front walk through gate, a button for the remote driveway gate. A remote to turn off the laser sensors on the driveway, a key for the side gates on either end of the house. A key for the front door gate and the front door. Keys for the back doors as well as the inter-leading door into the "Shaka Shack" as well as a remote to turn off that motion censored alarm as well as a key for those doors. There were bars on EVERY window and every door. And everything was to stay locked and closed.
And even with all those bars and security you couldn't sit inside with the front doors or windows open lest that gave someone the idea that they were welcome to try break in. When you were walking out in public you never made contact or smiled at strangers and your had your bag slung across your body because just over your shoulder was too easy to grab. You never hung your bag over the back of your chair at a restaurant. You never left your things at the table - even with occupant at it. There are so many rules, and it's a wonder that people still live there so freely. I constantly felt in danger and on guard.
Speaking of - when it came to road rules - no one seemed to follow them. You don't wear seat belts because the likelihood of your car getting hijacked and you being killed because your seat belt it stuck and you can't get out of the car is higher than the likelihood of you being in a car accident. Which is saying something in a country where everyone drives 150 KM/hr - when the speed limit is 120.
I witnessed 10 seater Hi-Ace vans pull over without any indication and drop off 30 or so people who were squeezed in like sardines before pulling right back into the oncoming traffic again without indication.
I witnessed cars on the motorway (or freeway as they call it) pull a 180 over the grassy island and go back the other way. Or drive along the grassy edges when they couldn't be bothered waiting in the traffic.
I was in constant fear for my life - and theirs.
And then there were those Classic African sights - people selling or taking scrap wood off the back of a horse and cart. People riding around on bicycles selling ice cream from chilly bins. "Car Park Attendants" which is really just some 'innovative' human who found a hi-vis vest and popped that on and patrols car parks to 1). find you a park, 2). directs you in parking said car and 3). watches said car so that it doesn't get stolen while you're off doing your busy life things. And then they expect to get paid for just strolling around all day and "assisting" you in pulling out of the car park they allegedly helped you find. The 'window washers' at the traffic lights (or robots as they say in Africa) who zip dangerously between cars while you're waiting at the red light to clean your windows in 5 seconds flat for "jus a 5 ran mistah". Or the ones selling 'fresh' fruit or other hand made goods from their equally hand made body shelves or hangers at traffic lights just in case you couldn't find time to make it to the shopping mall after work - on the side of the road will do.
Everyone's hand is outstretched for cash - nothing comes for free in Africa.
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