"This is Africa!!" says the logistic manager, almost shouting, to me. Meaning, him, that to wait for some hours before anything is done is ok.
Is it? I wonder. I ask around and always the same answer "Oh yeah, this is Africa!!"
And so what? I try to say... but then, I stop, I do not dare.
This is Africa, no doubt about it. Flying termites, wonderful sky, the Indian Ocean boiling when he comes to the shores, the same that saw hundreds of thousands of black slaves chained away by the Arab merchants of the north.
Is it? I wonder. I ask around and always the same answer "Oh yeah, this is Africa!!"
And so what? I try to say... but then, I stop, I do not dare.
This is Africa, no doubt about it. Flying termites, wonderful sky, the Indian Ocean boiling when he comes to the shores, the same that saw hundreds of thousands of black slaves chained away by the Arab merchants of the north.
We went up north, to Bagamoyo. The fortress on the beach is impressive. Abandoned and still infamous. The beach with its improvised fish market is worth a movie, one by Ms Champion perhaps. Colourful wooden dhows and colourful clothes.
The past and its memories piled deep away under broken shells and burnt choal.
A church, a big sycomore fig. And the torrential rain that covers everything in its sudden embrace.
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