Acts of assertion
At airports: Bole International, Addis Ababa
One would think it a gold-plated oil pipe if it was found anywhere else but on the passenger’s wrist. Even then the dimensions were adequate to traffic a newborn. Definitely more of what it was made of in little pellets or pewter format inside. The stuff usually dug out by officers wearing surgical gloves.
The passenger began to yodel protests when the customs official, a swell lassie – if she wore aviators, it would be a living Ray-Ban ad – motioned for the bangle to be removed for scanning. She didn’t even raise her voice, just a serene tilt of her head towards the machine. The bangle-wearer looked around probably at a co-pax who just looked the other way.
No messing with this Charlie’s Angel in uniform.
Africa youth – A continental potential
Hosea Kutako International, Windhoek
“You have to open your bag.” The young officer – they are all young, these days – told an irate passenger, irked at having to remove his belt which he claimed was made of fabric only to get an amused smile which I read as ‘please go on, tell us more about our job’.
“Now what?” The passenger asked.
“There is a device inside your bag which you should have put on the tray.” He said it with all the nonchalant mirth of one saying, ‘a horse walks into a bar.’
“I have already put my laptop in the tray. Over there.”
“Open the bag, please.” The courtesy belied the calmness which betrayed the command. Bag is opened to reveal a tab.
“It’s only a tab.”
“Go put that on the tray and scan again.”
This time the command was more, command.
OR Tambo Airport, Johannesburg
Lillian, my ‘Kuchalo’ friend
The gate was crowded, the flight was about to be called. I sat reading a book and watching people – my favorite gate past times, when flights are about to be called. A little away from me sat a smug couple occupying two of the three row chairs, with their backpack on the third, ostensibly to dissuade anyone from sitting close by. I wondered if they were also buying the neighbour’s seat on the flight– a provision offered by an increasing number of airlines these days.
People milled around but the baggage sat there with all the solemnity of a bored human. I had a big mind to get up, go over, and defenestrate the bag-human but desisted as we were already throwing at each other ick looks.
Soon I heard a velvety voice with the right note of bass asking the couple to remove the bag so ‘people could sit.’ I nearly sprang out of my chair to kiss this great legionary of civic sense – a creature so curvy it became easy imagining all those Marvel movies to be real. She was gone too, just like that, after a few minutes of taking me around Earth-616.
***
Somewhere my bottle was confiscated.
“It’s only water,” I lied.
“But it’s more than the permitted 100 ml.”
“Hmhmhm…” Fake sobbing sound.
“You can drink it now if you want.” Kindness, or understanding, flowed.
“I don’t drink so early in the day.” Honest answer. It was left over from the party last night.
“Okay, no problem. Just empty it there, in that bin.”
“Hmhmhm.”
In the aircraft
Muriu sees herself as part of the growing New Africa movement. “It’s everywhere – in our music, how we dress, how we’re exploring our arts and culture. I’m part of a generation that now accepts we’re part of a global hybrid culture. We’re on TikTok and Twitter but we still long for belonging and roots. That’s creating a new vibe on the whole continent. There’s a newfound confidence in this New Africa. You can see it beginning to build.”
(‘Magic Eye’, article on photographer Thandiwe Muriu, in ‘Selamta’ the inflight magazine of Ethiopian Airlines.)
The Hereros – More than a colorful culture
Somewhere in the article, illustrated with some of the Kenyan artist’s striking work, she also says, ‘Everybody knows now it’s my set, my rules.’ There couldn’t have been a better sensitization to what I would be going through the coming few days. I was on my way to a youth conference in Windhoek, Namibia. My company was announcing a program for students which would help them make some money on the side and eventually capacity-build them to become agents or consultants in the travel and tourism space. There was long-term potential with immediate promise, the name was pretty straightforward – ‘Learn & Earn.’
Our stand was swamped. Partially in charge, in and out of seminars and meetings, I was bowled over by the energy, and the enthusiasm for entrepreneurship at such an early age. They came in all courses, sizes, and ages.
And tribes.
A New Africa
Amazing Beauty
Africa is a continent of 54 countries, over 1.5 billion people, 2,000 languages, and more than 3,000 tribes. I have already pardoned myself for looking at people and thinking of them as just Africans during earlier visits. On successive stays over the past years, I have begun to notice some of the evident differences, culturally, and subtler nuances of features and a bit of speech. If I were to undertake a proper understanding of these, I’d have to spend the rest of my life here which I doubt I’d mind that much. The continent is a living son et lumiere, illuminating and intriguing in good measure.
Among the students I befriended, there were the Hereros and Himbas from Namibia, Bemba, Lozi and Tonga from Zambia, Zulu and Xhosa from South Africa. I met a travel guide – straight out of college – from the Maasai tribe. He took travellers on an ‘up and close’ experience among his tribespeople; jumping classes included.
Many came in their tribal finery on some days making them easier to recognize. The next, in sneaker-jeans; my bewilderment a cause of merriment. Most sported braids and dreadlocks, gaited with the grace of a gazelle, laughed like the rain through thunder; my attempts at segregation tribe-wise wasn’t going anywhere. Probably I shouldn’t sweat over it much: Many of the past – and ongoing – conflicts in Africa can be traced to the cartographical convenience employed in cleaving of the land by the colonisers. Uganda and Sudan came out of the cutting up of a single people. Apparently around 200 ethnic communities in Africa have been split up this way by simplistically straight lines drawn in the name of borders. ‘Divide and rule’ at its simplest and finest.
My Himba genie
I met many of the attendees during talk breaks and partook in a one-to-one mentoring session. It was, in their tongue, all bussin’. Trend or not, bed rotting wasn’t their thing. These ones were out there, swimming in ideas, preparing plans, and scouting guidance for business proposals. Lillian, who came by road from Zambia, reminded me of a hamerkop – with all her effusiveness and energy cloaked with a quiet dignity. ‘Zambia kuchalo’ she taught me, ‘Zambia to the world.’ Together we met Rencha Murere, a tall stunner from Namibia. Later at a cocktail party where Rencha was belting out singles in her ‘close-your-eyes-and-its-Whitney’ way Lillian went ‘Kuchalo’ all along. I need to now understand the subtleties.
Rimunikavi was a Himba from Namibia; with his wide frame and ringing laugh, he’d give the genie a run for his money. He manned our stall for a while, his nonstop laughter just brightening up the wintry morning. Rimunikavi introduced me to Beauty, also a Himba, who came in Himba-gear, which is not much. Beauty, a naiad and cowgirl rolled together, was one of the most accomplished participants I met at the program – the clutch of certificates she had earned just blew me. Reminder: Write an exclusive article on her, with contact details.
Like watering holes in the jungle, girl dinner at conferences – life congregates here. The Herero women were neither students nor actively employed. There were there, a culture thing. But there was more than culture at play here: Rich traditions, brutal history, enriching reconciliation. A meaningful moving on. Towards new horizons, new hopes.
They were here to tell us that things were kosher in New Africa.
On the way – A New Africa
