A Generic Blog Title, To Be Changed Later

Read the inside scoop from a DVC Member.

 

Southwestern Most Point of AfricaOriginally uploaded by Charles Gillis.

Please check out my photos of South Africa.  To the right you’ll see Cape Point, the southwestern most point of Africa.

A couple of weeks ago I was struck with a flu bug that seemed to come out of nowhere.  All day I felt fine then magically at the stroke of midnight while feeding the baby, I felt ill.   I’m fairly sure my wife thought I was trying to get out of a late night feeding.  As proof of my sincerity, a few hours later I was burning with fever.  I spent the next three days in bed.  My friend Al phoned to see if my condition was improving.

“Well, I’ve spent three days in hell, venturing out only far enough to the bathroom to get sick.  But on the plus side, I’ve managed to drop that five pounds I’ve been trying to lose.”

“Oh that’s easy,” Al said howling with laughter, “it just means another batch of eggs have hatched.”

I’ll explain that later.

A couple of years ago I took a two week trip through Europe and South Africa.  I returned and shortly afterwards I became quite ill.  Not to sound dramatic, but it was the type of sudden illness that caused members of my family to suggest that I check myself into a hospital.  Being stubborn I stayed at home wracked with fever.  I had shed more than ten pounds in a week while fighting off the nagging thought in the back my head that I might actually die.  A week later I gave in and went to the doctor. 

My wife helped foment fear at the onset of my illness by informing me of her theory, half in jest, that I must have contracted a disease in Africa.  She suggested that I was suffering from some exotic African malady, the type of remote foreign fever that is occasionally feigned by characters in American situation comedies.  My dear wife supported her theory by suggesting that I probably contracted my illness by eating food from street vendors in Africa.  The more she thought about it they more she was convinced that I had ingested some bizarre jungle parasite as a result of my inability to resist cheap local cuisine.  Ah, she knows me so well.  Regardless of the inconsequential fact that I had actually eaten from a street vendor, okay several street vendors, while in Africa I was reasonably sure that this illness was not related to the several pounds of dried meat called biltong that I may, or may or may not admit to have eaten.   

Eventually I recovered, although one thing did stay with me.  People here in the United States seemed a bit quick to assume that my illness was an African souvenir.   About a month after my illness I caught another little bug and missed a couple of days of work.  My mother called me and said she was certain that I picked up something in Africa.   I explained to her that I had felt fine for an entire month so this illness couldn’t be related to the previous one.

“Sure it is,” my mom said, “Whatever was in you must have laid eggs.  The first batch is probably hatching now.”

That still grosses me out.   

After Africa I spent a week in the Czech Republic and France.   Not one person asked me if I had eaten from a street vendor in Prague or Paris, even though I had done so, with gusto, many, many times, in both countries.  I ate foie gras like a school kid eats bologna and cheese.  I ate plate loads of meat in the Czech Republic, meat whose origin I could not identify.  Okay, the issue here is not my terrible eating habits, instead I must focus on the fact that most Americans don’t seem to be willing to give anyone in Africa the benefit of the doubt like I do.

Now I know that there are real differences between eating a lemon crepe from a stand at the end of the Champs Elysees and a spicy meat stick off the back of a truck in the parking lot of a flea market in Africa, but I have eaten hotdogs at American baseball games for years, without serious damage.  What stayed with me was not an intestinal parasite, but the fact that American’s fear of Africa is at times unreasonable and hasty.  American ignorance of Africa is even more concerning.

There are scary visions of Africa that occupy and corrupt the mental imagery of Africa residing in the American psyche.  Before my trip people warned me about the crime in Africa.  They warned me about illness.  They warned me about the instability of the governments.  In reality I wasn’t going on a trek across the wilds of Africa.  I was visiting Cape Town, a seemingly wealthy tourist destination.  I stayed in a neighborhood that felt much safer than my own.   My hosts were delightful and sophisticated. The accommodations were wonderful.  If there was a germ in South Africa, I failed to notice it.  Overall, it seemed a lot nicer than parts on my home town.

I hadn’t even left African air space when I felt the Western bias.  Shortly after take off the stewardesses on the flight made an announcement regarding some sanitary procedures, after which they walked up and down the isles spraying a cloud of fog from large cans of disinfectant.  I was blown away by this and asked a lady sitting near me if such a practice was commonplace.  She confirmed that is was and ended our conversation by saying this was a common welcome to travellers in Africa.  On the flight home I thought about the images of Africa that I knew before my trip.  Famine, war, corruption, AIDS.  I couldn’t remember any positive media stories at all. 
           
When I returned back home I snuck into my office late in the evening to get a jump start on my piles of papers that were stacked in my inbox, on my desk, and on my chair.  Eventually I got to my emails.  I received a lot spam and as I repeatedly hit the delete key I noticed a trend in the junk mail.  Much of it claimed to be from Africa.

For example:

Koffi & Chamber Solicitors in Benin wrote me to discuss a confidential matter which involved the transfer of funds from the trust of a secret agent who died in 2000 when his boat capsized.  Naturally he left no heirs and this kind hearted solicitor suggested that I could be presented as an heir and split the money.

And if that wasn’t good enough

Martin Mugabe of Zimbabwe was willing to share the deposit of an American diamond trader who left fifteen million in the bank before he passed away from cardiac arrest.  Mr. Mugabe could also arrange that I be presented as a next of kin to claim a portion of this deposit.

And then,

Dr. Odigie of Nigeria has access to twenty five million in the central bank that was deposited by the military regime and was now able to be transferred to me for investment in US stocks “100% safe and risk free.” 

Apparently there are a lot of Africans that make huge deposits in unlisted African banks who coincidently die shortly after completing the transaction.  Could any of these email opportunities be true?  Of course not.  My email inbox was loaded with a continuous reinforcement of a corrupted African image.   These email scams, known by many as the Advance Fee or 419 Scam, were all the same – all pretending to be from Africa and all with only one real purpose – to separate the naive from their fortunes.  Yet many Americans believe these emails to be true and lose a great deal of money pursing these fraudulent opportunities.  I suppose enough suckers were fleeced that an entire industry of copy-cat crooks across the globe tries to duplicate the scam.  The problem was so big that the US government has produced a 34 page pamphlet warning citizens about the danger. 

Which makes me think.  The average American will never see the beauty of Africa first hand.  The average American will receive dozens of bogus emails from crooks claiming to be in Africa, trying to rip off the state, a bank, or a large corporation.   The average American thinks of Africa in terms of famine, war, corruption, AIDS.  It makes me very sad.

When people ask me about South Africa I tell them two things.  I tell them about the drive and determination and boundless optimism of the South African people. The nation is beautiful, and these strong willed people will transcend the problems of Africa and continue to build on the legacy of the people who brought freedom to their nation.  And the second thing, I say to try the biltong – even if you have to buy it a flea market - it is so delicious.