Ruthless Angolan HOSPITALITY Bobby Nystrom U.S. Somewhere north of Tsumeb in northern Namibia, ending the German area of ??influence (Namibia - the former German colony, approx. Ed.). I was back in the real Africa, disorganized, dirty, full of life. After a few awkward attempts by the Angolan border guards extract a bribe from me, I crossed the border and was immediately attacked by a mob of young money changers. Inside the dirty SUV sat fat white man with a sour expression on his face. Place it is clearly not enough, and the wheel crashed into his soft belly. He said that he will take me into town Ksagongo and will treat it with beer. I liked the idea, although I do not really imagined where it is Ksagongo. Huge fields, overgrown with lush grass, light pink colors in the sunset, and the huge baobabs towered above the plain, like a petrified monster. On the road we met a few houses, but the fat man assured me that just around the bush, you can find hundreds of small clay houses. Angolans have learned to stay away from the road for those long 30 years that the country's civil war. Tank in the colors I came to Angola in the day when there celebrated the fifth anniversary of the cessation of hostilities. Five years ago, Jonas Savimbi, head of the group UNITA (rebel organization fighting for the Total Independence of Angola from 1975 to 2002., Ca. Perevi.), Has been found and destroyed, that was a signal to end the war. Now about that war is almost nothing like. The only thing that I saw an old rusty tank, lost in an ocean of dim haze. We turned off the dusty main road to a small bar, where I thanked the fat man for a ride cup amber beer "H-Gola." Chinese street trading actively repairing the road between Santa Clara and Ksagongo, but not yet put the final coat of asphalt. Apparently, so they wanted to make sure that the local corrupt government will pay them. I myself could not figure out whether I was surprised and extremely concerned about the speed at which the fat man was driving on the 150-kilometer stretch of dusty road covered with potholes, like pockmarks. The fat man worked on the construction of gravel roads in rural parts of the country south of Ksangongo, and I was allowed to put up a tent in a camp builders. The camp was about 15 road workers, representatives of the ethnic Ovambo and Kavango. With them is what I talked over the next two days. The fat man did return to Namibia to there with his family celebrate the Passover. Although Ksangongo and has a quiet charm of the village, but I wanted to move as far inland, so that, having spent two nights at the fire, I said goodbye to the workers. Chinese and their way after two hours of languid attempts to catch a ride to me, finally managed to stop the white pickup truck with the Angolan family. I do not understand a word of what he said to me the man behind the wheel, but somehow I managed to agree with him about the price. But before we went a long way on very bad roads in the city of Lubango, he stopped near his home, to miss a couple of glasses of whiskey with my friends. For myself I hated him for what he was drinking whiskey. Would be better if I drank, then got out would be more confusing. I would at least calm my nerves, because he took a much worse, much faster and much more foolhardy than fatso. I sat in the back seat, clutching at the door with all his might, and two hours later, as soon as we arrived in a small village, I first rushed to the bar where drank three beers. My driver, his name was Marcel, drank a total of four and a half cups, two of them were drunk he was sitting behind the wheel. However, he still managed to quarrel with his wife, drive around huge potholes and switching music on the rare paved areas, which have cut a player's voice. Played Cuban and Angolan music. Especially for me, put the "Backstreet Boys". When he included the song Lenny Kravitz 'I want to run away, I suddenly just run away and wanted. When we got to Lubango, I somehow let him know that I had nowhere to stay, and willingness to pay 50 dollars for a room in some shabby hole in me either. He, in turn, also hinted that he is in trouble I will not leave. Dreams of his own small factory I helped him unload the two-thirds of the cargo, which he brought his car to the house of his wife. There was a low-quality Chinese furniture, toys for his four children, cheap porcelain dogs (all with cleaved ears) vulgar plastic flowers and a lot of booze for him. One-third of the cargo remained in the car and my driver told me to climb inside. We went to the other end of town, in an empty apartment, where I helped him unload the remainder - the same range of products. It turned out that we arrived at the house of his mistress, Mercedes, from which he also had a child - year old son. Read more:
No comments:
Post a Comment