I was talking to a Giant Land Tortoise that was born 20 years before the famine. He turns 190 this year. I fed him cabbage and stroked his head. He lives on Prison Island with about 100 friends of all ages. They were majassive, If you were to take off one of their shells and fill it with water, I reckon you could have a comfortable bath in it. We had to leave to get a tour about the stupid history of the island. Of course I already knew everything because the tortoise told me.
Zanzibar has a lot of Islamic culture and the locals wear all the veils and funny hats and stuff. As we were waiting for the ferry, I noticed these very intricate and detailed henna markings on an elderly lady’s hand. The floral patterns climbed up her fingers and were immaculately done. In mid-admiration she suddenly shoved one straight up her nose and began digging for a different type of culture. She showed no shame and produced a spectacular blobba snot. It took her a few attempts to flick it onto the ground. Erbody loves a bitta snothuntin’.
We arrived in Zanzibar in the early afternoon to be greeted by the promised white sands and turquoise waters. We lazed, sunbathed, played, swam, ate and drank. Great start. Then the next day happened. It was all downhill from there. The majority of us had various cases of food poisoning, stomach bugs and fevers. My digestive system went on strike and I had to retire to my bungalow for a 24 hour lie down. Our dorm room turned into a hospital ward hosting all of us invalids. I missed my turtle swim. Devastated. However, We are organizing our great white shark dive for a grand finale in Cape Town. I still haven’t fully recovered but I gotta reliable drug crutch (Thanks Mom).
Half the Tanzanian Army were on the ferry with us coming back from Zanzibar Island. They were incredibly disorderly and schooltrip-like. They were pushing and shoving and sweating and smelling. They had DVD players, LCDs, Blu-Rays and one even had a fridge. The only positive of having them there with us was that they played Commando inside. Arnold was wrecking up the gaff.
I slaughtered a pig yesterday all by myself wearing my big boy pants. I got up at 6 because it takes the whole day to spit roast her properly. I took the biggest knife from the truck and went just outside the front of the campsite. Our pigman was waiting there with a 3 month old piggy all tied up on the grass. There was no messing around as he just showed me whereabouts the heart was. I went through its rib cage and had a lil fiddle around. I’d had a few the night before and the squealing certainly made me more aware of that. She bled out for a while and after a few irratic spasms, she sadly passed away, we did everything we could (except not stab her in the heart). I helped skin and gut it and I had a look at the heart and I got right it in the meat. Gwan Hugh.
I’m currently in Lilongwe, the capital of Malawi, and I’m entering Zambia tomorrow. The highlights in the near future include two nights on houseboats on Lake Kariba and a walk with lions in Zimbabwe. There’s a free pool table and some patriotic Yanks up for a good night tonight so I’m off to miscue and talk shite about global politics.
Silar Erbody
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