Beautiful Africa -- The End?

The Beautiful Africa Carnival has its latest, and maybe last, edition out. Check it out, enjoy yourself and then let the editors know how much you appreciate their hard work.



Let's keep Beautiful Africa alive. Let's all lend a hand.

Beautiful Africa 10th edition

Great news! Beautiful Africa 10th edition is now available for your viewing pleasure. As always there are some great pictures, music and stories.

Drop by the carnival, enjoy yourself, and leave a word of thanks to the editors who put it together. Better yet, don't just thank them, help them out by submitting something or pointing them to a good blog entry for the 11th edition of Beautiful Africa.

Unusual Hobby

When we lived in Gweru, Zimbabwe, my daughter, Malaika, had an unusual hobby. She hunted boomslangs.* She learned the sounds that birds made when a boomslang was raiding a nest. When she heard that sound, she would go out with her catapult, a walking stick and the dogs in search of the boomslang. When she located it in a tree, she would shoot at it with her catapult until she knocked it from the tree. Once it was on the ground, she would finish it off with her walking stick. The boomslangs were not overjoyed by her hobby. However, the birds considered her a great friend and saviour.

In the above picture Malaika is holding a boomslang she killed in a most unusual manner. One morning when the rest of the family was on our weekly trip to town to check the post, buy groceries and have a dough-nut at the Dutch Oven Restaurant, Malaika stayed home doing schoolwork. While working at the dining room table, she heard our cat making funny noises in the living room. When she went to investigate, she saw this boomslang trying to get into the house through the window. It was between the screen and the window which opened with a crank located inside the house. Malaika went outside to attack the snake, but found there was no angle to get to it since the window was only partially opened. She then returned to the living room and cranked the window closed on the snake until she heard the bones crack. She knew that it couldn't move quickly with a broken back so she opened the window allowing the snake to fall to the ground. Then she ran out and finished it off with her walking stick.

Good thing I wasn't there. I'd have panicked and broken every window in the living room trying to eradicate the intruder.

*Boomslang -- A long, slender back-fanged snake with a potent venom. The venom is slow-acting and fortunately the venom yield is usually small resulting in few deaths from boomslang bites. Ordinary polyvalent anti venom is not effective for these bites. The male is bright grass green and the female is generally uniform olive. The juvenile is grey-brown with large emerald green eyes.

Mr. Bean

[The late Saul Nyemba (in the suit) was a teacher at the Baptist Theological Seminary of Zimbabwe when I taught there. He taught me much about Shona culture and life in Zimbabwe when it was Rhodesia. This is one of my favorite stories. I miss him.]

One day Baba Nyemba went to town to get some meat. At the butcher shop he saw a nice piece of steak in the window that was just what he wanted. However, as a black citizen of Rhodesia, he could not go in and purchase the meat. He had to go to the back door where blacks were served. The nice meat wasn't available there. He could only purchase low grade cuts called "ration meat." That wasn't what he wanted, so he didn't buy any.

As Baba Nyemba was leaving, he saw a black man enter the front door of the store, give a note to the butcher and receive a nice cut of meat. This domestic worker had brought a note from his boss and was permitted to buy meat for him. Baba Nyemba thought to himself, "I can write. Nyemba means 'bean.' I'll write a note from Mr. Bean asking for the steak I want. That's my name, so it won't be a lie."

Baba Nyemba wrote his note and went into the butchery and presented it to the butcher. The butcher read the note, sold Baba Nyemba the meat and said, "Tell Boss Bean we have plenty of good meat whenever he wants it." Baba Nyemba left with his meat and his note.

Boss Bean ate well that night.

I'm glad I'm not . . .

I'm glad I'm not a chicken in Moçambique. As you drive down the road here, you regularly pass people waving something at you as you pass by. At first glance, it might appear to be a very thick tattered flag or cloth. A closer look reveals that it is a live chicken, held upside down by the legs that is being waved furiously.

That's not the only indignity chickens endure. It is a common sight to see someone with a dozen chickens tied together by the legs and slung over the handlebars of a bicycle. People are always walking around carrying a chicken by the legs or wings.

Goats also have an "interesting" existence. You can hear them being pulled around town all the time. They often are uncooperative and resist going where their owner wishes. They make lots of noise in the process. Perhaps they know that they're to be the main course at dinner.

Some goats in Malawi, on the other hand, get first class treatment. We've seen goats riding bicycles in Malawi! I don't know how that they do it, but we've seen goats sitting on the bicycle seat with their front hooves on the handle bars as their owners push the bicycle to town. (I guess the goats haven't learned to pedal yet.)

[From the December 1999 edition of johnsons' journal.]

Parable of the Loerie

Once in Southern Africa there lived an old man with three sons. One day the household was running out of firewood and the man sent his oldest son to the forest to gather wood. After a short time the son returned home without any wood.

"Why are you home so soon, my son? Why don’t you have any firewood?" asked the old man.

"When I got to the forest someone called out to me, ‘Go away!’" replied the son. "So I’ve come back home with no wood."

The father was very upset. He didn’t understand what had happened and was disappointed in the actions of his son.

The next day the father sent his second son to the forest to gather firewood. The father and his other two sons waited the whole day for the return of the second son. Finally, after the sun had set, the second son arrived at home. He had no firewood.

"Why are you so late, my son? Why don’t you have any firewood?" asked the old man.

"Well father, when I arrived at the forest I, too, heard someone call out ‘Go away!’" said the son in a hoarse voice. "So I replied, ‘No! I won’t!’ Then the voice again said, ‘Go away!’ and I said, ‘No! You can’t make me!’ And we argued until it was almost dark and I decided to come home."

The father was more upset and puzzled about what was happening. The need for firewood was now desperate. The next day, early in the morning, he sent his youngest son to the forest to gather firewood. Just after noon the youngest son returned home with a huge load of firewood upon his head.

The father and his two older sons gathered around the youngest son as he lowered the firewood to the ground in front of their house. They began to question him excitedly.

"How did you gather so much firewood so quickly?"

"Didn’t you hear the voice?"

"How did you get permission to enter the forest?"

The younger son replied, "Yes, I heard a voice call out ‘Go away!’ when I reached the forest. I looked to see where the voice came from and saw a 'go ‘way bird'* in a tree. I told myself, ‘I’m not going to be ordered around by some dumb bird. I’m going to obey my father.’ And so I just went into the forest and found plenty of firewood and here it is."


*The Grey Loerie of Southern Africa is known as the "Go away bird" because of its call that sounds like "go-WAY." Hunters hate this bird because it alerts other game when a hunter approaches."

(photo from Ian Sinclair's Field Guide To The Birds Of Southern Africa)










[This is not a traditional African story. It was inspired by birds and experiences in Zimbabwe.]

Mwindaji* -- The Last Hunt

The young hunter soaked in the scenery with wide eyes and an open heart. He would be leaving Tanzania in a few weeks and this was probably his last hunt. He must use this opportunity to absorb visions and memories to take with him when he returned to the U.S.A. He didn't want to go.

The young hunter and his elder hunting companion had obtained permission to hunt in a controlled hunting area bordered by the Manyara Game Park and the Tarangire Game Reserve. This was wild country filled with more exotic game than the areas they usually hunted. Even though their licences allowed them to hunt only more common species, and they were primarily after meat, encounters with members of the BIG FIVE were likely and would be exciting. Along on the hunt as observers were members of a family visiting from the U.S.A. who wanted to experience the chase.

The hunt was proving to be everything they anticipated. Almost. They encountered a rhino family. Father, mother and baby burst from the underbrush and after pausing to stare at the Land Cruiser full of exotic two-legged animals, charged noiselessly through the heavy vegetation. They came across leopard spoor and smelled the strong smell of lion. But one thing was lacking. The young hunter had a bad case of "buck fever" and couldn't hit anything he aimed at. His goal was to get a reed buck and a warthog. He had several shots at reed buck but missed every time. A huge warthog broke into the open, a warthog so huge that everyone thought it was the baby rhino returned, but the young hunter missed his shot.

As the day passed, the hunters decided they had to get meat. The young hunter had an impala on his license, so when they came across a small herd, he crept up as close as possible through the high grass and took his shot. This time he was successful. It wasn't a trophy buck, but it would put meat on the table.

The older hunter knew he would have other opportunities to hunt and chose to give his younger friend the best shots. As he drove slowly through the long grass, the Land Cruiser dropped into a hole. It took quite a bit of digging and moving planks around to get out.

As the day drew to a close, the hunting party began to work their way back to the road to Arusha. Suddenly, the vehicle began to go in circles no matter how the steering wheel was turned. A stump hidden by the tall grass had broken the steering rod. It was dusk and they were stranded in the bush.

The older hunter took a panga* and hiked out to the road. The young hunter stayed with the Land Cruiser and the young American family. He tried to keep the visitors from being afraid. This was more adventure than they had planned on and the wife was quite nervous.

The young hunter built a fire with the only dry wood available, some rotting palm tree sections. It wasn't the best burning wood, but it did make things seem somewhat more comfortable. He resisted the temptation to tell the Americans the old hunters' tale about how a fire will keep every animal away except the rhino which has an unexplainable urge to stomp out fires. That might not be too reassuring to them after seeing a rhino family nearby earlier in the day.

As the night passed and the unwilling campers had finished off their picnic basket from earlier in the day, the night sounds of Africa became louder. The chirping of bugs dominated the sounds. It was as if there was a bug singing for each bright star in the clear African sky. Then came the sound of monkey's screaming in the distance. That's not so common at night. The monkey sounds seemed to come closer.

Then the young hunter heard a muffled cough. He remembered the fresh leopard spoor seen earlier in the day. Leopard were in the area. Leopards liked to eat monkeys. Monkeys screamed when attacked by leopards. How could he sneak a rifle out of the Land Cruiser without explaining his uneasiness to the young family? Now he had to reassure not only the visitors that things were safe, but himself also.

He heard more muffled coughs. They were very close. They sounded like they were on the other side of the Land Cruiser. Then the mother opened the door to the Land Cruiser and the coughs got louder. She reached into the vehicle and brought out her son who was coughing. The young hunter relaxed, glad he had not said anything about his interpretation of what he'd heard.

Shortly after midnight a light appeared coming from the direction of the road. The older hunter had succeeded in finding a ride to Arusha and had borrowed a Land Rover to come to the rescue of the stranded hunting party. He loaded up the American family and the game shot that day and took them back to Arusha. The young hunter stayed with the Land Cruiser. The older hunter would bring a mechanic to fix it the next day.

Morning came and the young hunter thought he should use his time well while he waited for the mechanic by, what else? Hunting. He knew reed buck were in the area and he had another opportunity to get one. So, he began to work around the stranded Land Cruiser, looking for reed buck.

After some time, he caught the glimpse of an antelope darting behind some bushes. He didn't get good enough look to identify the antelope, so he began to stalk it to find out if it was something he wanted. Slowly but slowly he walked through the knee deep to waist high grass, his eyes locked on the bush behind which the antelope had vanished. Quietly, quietly he walked.

And then, suddenly just as he was about to put down his right foot, the grass under it parted and a yellow feline head with black spots streaked from under his foot to his right. The movement frightened the antelope and he sawa female impala leap and sprint to his left.

After the young hunter stopped shaking, he retreated to the Land Cruiser where he waited for the mechanic. He had almost stepped on a cheetah that was stalking the same antelope he had been stalking.

This was truly a hunt to be remembered.

*mwindaji -- Swahili for hunter

*panga -- Swahili for machete

Karibu kwa Afrika

The slightly inebriated, raggedy dressed old man squinted at the sight of a young American in his bright blue pants and canary yellow shirt. This neighbourhood of Arusha was not the normal haunt of one with such a pale complexion.

"Jambo!" he shouted.

"Sijambo!" replied the slightly disconcerted young man.

The old man suddenly leaped at the youth and yelled, "Habari?"

"Nzuri," croaked the young man taking a step backward. Having reached the limit of his Swahili vocabulary, he shoved a tract at the old man, which invited him to a concert to be held in the neighbourhood.

The old man took the colourful piece of paper and staggered on his way. The men standing on the porch of a nearby bar burst into laughter.

"Karibu kwa Afrika!" "Welcome to Africa!"