Cape to Kapp: Prejudices Everywhere (Kindness Too)

Teresie Hommersand's recently wrapped here Cape to Kapp, finishing her ride at the North Cape in Norway. Four years in the saddle, across 25,000 kilometers, through 26 countries. Distance and time are just two of the measures of a journey. Maybe the most memorable parts of any journey are the people you meet along the way and Teresie has made so many friends and have had to rely on the kindness of many many strangers to help her through it. So much welcoming and blessing. Yet she has also observed how often people have negative opinions of people in neighboring countries and cultures. (All photos copyright Teresie Homersand)


On this extended journey, I've gained experiences and developed perspectives that I'm sure I otherwise could not get. That's how unique traveling by bike is.

One of the recurring experiences is I've am often been warned by the locals in the country I am in about the country I am about to go to. 

"Oooooo, you have to be so careful. The people there are not good."
"Something bad can easily happen."
"Sudan!? Ai, ai ai!"
"Turkey? Oh my. You know what happened to this tourist when she was hitchhiking alone through Turkey? She was raped and killed!'


The last person I met before crossing the border to Albania, a Greek man who offered me water, told me nothing new: 'They'll steal all your stuff!'. 

"Crazy lady!!! There are a lot of seriously dangerous things in Afrique!"

As I've reached further and further north, the warnings and comments have been less about my safety, and more about that the people in the neighbouring country being not that nice. Not that friendly. 

"Good luck knocking on someone's door in Austria!"

"I doubt you'll find much warmth in Germany."




Needless to say, I have been welcomed and found warmth EVERYWHERE. 

In every country, in every culture, in every religion. 

By 90 year old Austrian grandmother's (treating me to their family wine and perfected apfelstrudel). 

By Muslim families (who during Ramadan gave me food although they were fasting and without me asking or fishing for it in any way). 

By Maasais in Kenya (that invited me to join them and the village in celebrating a boy and girl's graduation and circumcision). 

By Beduins in Egypt (sitting together, sharing a meal on a large straw mat under the stars in the desert). 

By families in Albania (where the kids were teaching me Albanian and the adults insisting on me sleeping inside instead of camping outside). 

By Ethiopian mothers (handing me freshly baked bread to take with me on the journey forward). 

By Sudanese men (thanking me for coming to Sudan to see want it's actually like). 

By a Bosnian hotel owner (offering me a hotel room without me insinuating anything, saying it's not nice to camp outside in the cold and rain). I've been met with care and love everywhere. How sad we think something different is the case.


Why do we think we are nice, but "other people" are not?


Prejudice means 'a preconceived opinion that is not based on reason or actual experience'. How often do we act based on this? Not that long ago when I was posting about my journey in a sailing group on Facebook as part of trying to find a lift with a sailboat over to Sweden someone commented 'Crazy lady!!! There are a lot of seriously dangerous things in Afrique!' This way of thinking and speaking is so common. It's engrained. I'm also guilty of this. Discriminating and creating distance between people. Hurting ourselves and others in doing so. LIMITING ourselves and others.


If anything, this journey has been the biggest reminder and final confirmation of what your neighbour is actually like!

Needless to say, I have been welcomed and found warmth EVERYWHERE. In every country, in every culture, in every religion.

Cape to Kapp: Rough roads and Lion Tracks in Tanzania

Teresie Hommersand grew up near Stavanger, a city known as the oil capital of Norway. She 
remembers eating supper every evening off plates with the logo of the national oil and gas company on them. Somehow she became the "green sheep" of the family. She has lived in Uganda, Oregon, and Australia. Learn more about her 13,700 km ride going from South Africa to Norway and her charity crowdfunding campaign on her Facebook page and Instagram.
(This is her fifth journal entry for us)

The route I end up taking across the continent on my Soma Saga is a result of the rough plan I made before I started cycling and information I gott along the way, often from random people I meet. Tanzania was meant to be one of two countries in Africa were I would just cycle through. There were no places that I wanted to explore that I had not been before. The plan was to take the shortest route to Nairobi. That would have been along one of the country's most heavily trafficked roads. There are no lack of fatal accidents here. Friends of mine have come across cyclists on this stretch that have been unlucky. I got word of another route, a route a bit further west. Apparently, the traffic was significantly less here and the scenery was stunning. BUT most of this stretch was not paved. After having done the first kilometer on this dirt road one late afternoon, I seriously wondered what in the world I had embarked on. Was it too late to turn around? That night, there was heavy thunder and lightning.

Adjustments and New Challenges

The following day can be summarised in the following words; gravel, sand, rocks, washboard, and bump after bump. My bike and panniers have never been shaken or rattled as much and on a couple of occasions, involuntary words and sounds escaped my mouth in pure frustration and anger. Yes, it is possible to get angry at a road. There was nothing to do but adjust my mindset! No way I was gonna be able to do 100km in a day. Maximum 50. After accepting that the next 400km were going to take me twice as much time and require double the amount of work (at least), I felt better. Besides, that evening I got other things to think about when my random host for the night told me that up ahead was a stretch with lions. How much fun! What is a bumpy road in light of this? That night, I was served ugali (East Africa's "potato" - a stiff maize flour dough) and buffalo meat! The buffalo was killed with a spear, I was told! A few days later when I camped in the compound of a park ranger that was part of an anti-poaching squad, I learned that that buffalo was most likely illegally hunted. Everyone, regardless of nationality, must have a permit to kill game in Tanzania. It is very interesting given that traditionally, many ethnic groups in Tanzania have made a living by hunting game, and some still depend on doing it today to make things go around. That evening I was also served a cup of cow milk-- as fresh as it gets-- straight from the cow. It warmed my hands when I wrapped them around the plastic cup.

 Breakfast! Chapati and chai. This lady gave me some extra maandazi (similiar to a donut, just not as sweet) for the road.

Lion Country

Over the next couple of days of cycling I tried to find out more about the 'lion situation'. I received so much conflicting information! Some looked appalled when I told them I considered cycling through this area alone while others said hakuna matata! No problem! 

When there is so much uncertainty, how can one make the right choice? Should I get an escort? Or just cycle? Jump on a bus even though I really want to cycle the whole day...? At one stage I cried with the thought of encountering a lion. It's a terrible feeling, being afraid to die. To be eaten by a lion.

When I reached where lion territory presumably started I was still not sure what to do. The plan was to make some final inquires in the last village that bordered this area. I cycled past a few houses. Thought this can't be the village, so I continued. Soon, it was just me and the red coloured dirt road again. Trees on both sides and silence. No people. And there... in the middle of the road I suddenly discovered lion tracks. As if a button had been pushed, my heart started racing. The adrenaline pumped through my body like there was no day tomorrow. All my senses were heightened, alert and ready. I got off the bike. I've been told to NEVER run from a lion. You must look her or him in the eyes, make yourself big (have I not mentioned that I'm quite small?), make loud sounds. Make the lion believe that you are bigger and stronger - even though fear is seaping out of your every pore. I could see that the tracks were not super fresh, but it doesn't matter. You are still terrified. TERRIFIED. I had my back against the bike, scanned the terrain. Every bush, every stump. Every rock. 360 degrees, non-stop, searching for a lion. I had my pepperspray hanging around my neck. My knife easily accessible. The DIY flamethrower in my hands - a tip from another cyclist. Lions are afraid of fire.

Who knows how long I stood like this. I didn't see a living creature. No cars or motorcycles that  I could cycle along with. I could not stand like this forever. 

What should I do? Cycle back to the houses I had passed? Keep on going to the next village?

 I ended up turning around. It was three kilometers of backtracking vs 13km to the next civilization. I felt a huge sense of relief when I spotted the houses again. I felt even better when I found a guy who was willing to come with me through 'the lion stretch'. He escorted me with his machete on his hip, a torch and umbrella on the back of his bike and complained that I cycled too fast. No lions. Only monkeys. Who knows, maybe it would have been fine without an escort? Perhaps I could have saved that expense? At the end of the day, it was actually really nice with some company.  

My escort thru lion country.

Welcome to Tanzania! Crossing the border.

Rhythm

Tanzania turned out very differently than planned. It was here I felt that I really got into the rhythm of bicycle touring, no doubt due to the route I ended up taking. The typical African dirt road. The colours. Thunder. Afternoon showers. The warmth and hospitality I was met with after a day's cycle. The best chai (tea). Chapati. Beans. All the rattling. The dust. The lions. The strive on the rough road. The tears. Perhaps all the hardships made the times were everything was flowing freely, the road was smooth (kind of) and fun to ride, the meetings with people were sincere and rewarding even better?

Nothing beats surfing on top of wet sand in the middle of the road, avoiding the streams of water on both sides right after a rain shower. The air and smells are so fresh! The sky so blue. Yellow butterflies fly infront of my wheel like dolphins swim and jump infront of moving boats. I'm smiling. Am happy. Free. Have a sence of achievement. Soon enough the heat will return and the tsetse flies will start biting again... so just enjoy;-)

Cape to Kapp: Notes from a Very Tired Cyclist

Teresie Hommersand grew up near Stavanger, a city known as the oil capital of Norway. She remembers eating supper every evening off plates with the logo of the national oil and gas company on them. Somehow she became the "green sheep" of the family. She has lived in Uganda, Oregon, and Australia. She currently resides in South Africa.  Learn more about her 13,700 km ride going from South Africa to Norway and her charity crowdfunding campaign on her Facebook page and Instagram.
(This is her third journal entry for us)

Powering through Zambia is rough. It's one hill after the other. Extremely hot. Often windy and always blowing from the front. I was doing 100km each day on my Soma Saga weighing in about 45kg with all my gear. Although physically challenging, it was the kids that got to me...

Typically, I would be coming up a hill, super tired and out of breath. Then the Mzungu (white person) alarm would go off. A kid would spot me and start screaming this word, "my favourite", over and over again from the top of his or her lungs - letting everyone in the whole village know who had just arrived. Kids would then come running from all sides, some sounding like they were having a fit when they saw me, joining the --by this point-- horde of kids screaming on repeat: 'HOW ARE YOU? HOW ARE YOU? HOW ARE YOU? HOW ARE YOU? HOW ARE YOU? HOW ARE YOU? HOW ARE YOU?' It doesn't matter if you say "Hi", wave or ignore them. They keep going, each one wanting your attention. Runnning after you, sometimes holding on to your bike. While this is all happening, you also have to mind the traffic. Trucks weighing tons shoot past you, expecting you to get off the road, threatening to flatten you if you do not. Under these circumstances, I found it very difficult to take my hand off the handlebar and wave and give someone a heartfelt smile. I felt like an object. An amusement. A circus animal. For the first time since I started cycling, I felt lonely.

"again have I been reminded of the importance of connecting with people in order to be happy"

Notes from a not so tired cyclist:

When you are as exhausted as above, everything looks different. In the moment, you don't have enough energy to remind yourself that this attention is not coming from a bad place. They are kids. They are curious. They see you as something positive. Funny how you end up cursing them and even wanting to shout 'shut the fuck up!'. Sometimes I did. Silently. I've heard of other cyclists' various methods for how to deal with this. My favourite is perhaps one guy that pretended to be retarded. I laughed until I cried when he demonstrated it for me, visualizing how the kids got a fright and ran in all possible directions to get away. It might not be politically correct, but if you are desperate...?

I don't want to give Zambia a bad rep. I am positive that if you take the time to get to know the people and not just power through, you will have amazing experiences! For me Zambia is one of two countries in Africa that I am choosing not to spend much time in, in an attempt to find the right balance between enjoying what is along the way and making decent distance on the saddle. I learned quite a lot about myself from this whole experience, and again have I been reminded of the importance of connecting with people in order to be happy. This time, it was learned the hard way;-)

Cape to Kapp: My Savior on the Salt Flats

Teresie Hommersand grew up near Stavanger, a city known as the oil capital of Norway. She remembers eating supper every evening off plates with the logo of the national oil and gas company on them. Somehow she became the "green sheep" of the family. She has lived in Uganda, Oregon, and Australia. She currently resides in South Africa. We did not sponsor her the Soma Saga DC she is riding, but will be donating to the charities she is trying to bring awareness to. Learn more about her 13,700 km ride going from South Africa to Norway and her charity crowdfunding campaign on her Facebook page and Instagram.

I am so sad!! I don't have any pictures or videos of Morekisi, my saviour from the Makgadikgadi Pans in Botswana - one of the world's largest salt pans [salt flats].

On day one of crossing the pans on my Soma Saga, I broke rule #1: Always carry enough water!! I thought I was in the clear. By my estimation, I would have enough from the last village to the first veterinary gate on the pan. Pierre 'The Pan Rat' and I had agreed that he would drop water for me there. However, when I got to the edge of the pans I had two mouthfuls of water left and no certainty with regards to how far it was to my next 'watering hole'. It was five in the afternoon. The sun would set in an hour. There were dozens of tracks leading onto the pan in all directions. Do I choose the one that seems to be the most travelled? I could be just 30 minutes away from water. But if I'm not, I might get stuck out on the pan with no water overnight. I assumed the likelihood of the next day encountering one of the about five vehicles that daily cross the pans is greater at the edge than out on the pans. If I didn't meet anyone, I could always cycle and push the 43 kg bicycle back across the sandy tracks to the village - although not very tempting. I decided to stay put. My life wasn't immediately threatened– it was just gonna be a very uncomfortable night and possibly following day, with no water and little food. My pasta doesn't cook in dry air.

Just as I was considering what the most strategic place for my tent would be with regards to attracting possible 'four wheeled' travellers passing by, I saw movement on the horizon. Is that a person? ..... ? ..... it looks like it..... ! 

"Hello!!!" I shouted, waved my arms above my head and rang my bicycle bell for the first time on the trip. 

Yes! I think he or she heard me! I started walking towards the silhouette that now seemed to have changed direction and was now heading towards me. We were getting closer to each other. Hi!! Hello! Am I happy to see you!! :-D

And there, I had met Morekisi, a 17 year old boy living alone out on his family's cattle post, looking after his parents farm while the rest of his family was living in town. This is not at all uncommon in Botswana. In this dry, salty, and seemingly inhospitable area he was taking care of cattle, goats, chickens, and now me. The first thing we did after we got to his compound, his clay and straw hut, was to walk to the borehole with a large empty bucket each. On way there, he showed me a snake he had killed the day before and hung up in a tree – a warning to other snakes! On the way back we had to take breaks carrying the heavy buckets of water, quietly admiring the setting sun. A huge, glowing red ball in-between the trees. I was so happy.

The water made me a little unwell. If you're not used to the salt levels in the water out here that can happen. It was anyway better than no water! And how could I not have a good time cooking on the bonfire, under the stars, talking with Morekisi and listening to local tunes that came from the solar powered radio in the neighbouring clay hut, all in the middle of nowhere. We really connected, Morekisi and I. We both just laughed and smiled around the fire the whole evening. He taught me Tswana. Metsi = Water. Mathata = Problem. We both agreed we liked dancing 'too much'. Both of us just kept on putting more wood on the fire, not wanting to go to bed.

The next day, he took me back to the edge of the pans, showed me the tracks to the veterinary gate, and we said our goodbyes. There, at the beginning of the salt pans, where the vastness that lays before you fills you with awe, respect and excitement. I'll never see him again, but I really hope he will always know how special our meeting was for me. Although I'm cycling alone, this trip is all about the people I meet. And now I'm all teary.