Cape To Kapp: Peculiarities

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 fourth journal entry for us)

When traveling in a country different to one's own, certain things one come across might seem peculiar - to say the least. When cycling, because you meet people you most likely otherwise would not meet and travel on roads you otherwise would not find yourself on, one is likely to discover more things that make one scratch one's head, laugh out loud or get chills down the spine...

For instance, the other day a conversation topic turned to names. What do people call their kids in Malawi? I don't find strange names like Gift, Precious, Memory, Admire and the likes, but what I learned is that there's a new trend in what to name kids - namely after new technologies. 

Now, you have kids running around called Machine, Internet,  or Headset! My absolute favorite is Missed Call!! Although Call Me Back comes pretty close too!

Another thing that may to many seem weird or incomprehensible is the level of superstition that exists in some of these countries. I was reminded of it one late evening, sitting on a cement porch, 40km short of the border between Zambia and Malawi.

That afternoon I 'pulled in' at a Maize depot, asking if I could pitch my tent for the night. It was a first for the guys working there, but they said "Yes. Of course!" The security guard that was going to be there that night showed me where to erect my tent and invited me to join him for dinner. 

"No. Thank you." I said.  

He insisted, saying I should save my pasta and can of baked beans for the next day. Even though I really wanted my delicious carbs and protein (mmmm), there was something about this man that made me feel like I could not say no. So, when the sun had set and everything was covered by the dark, I found myself eating nshima and eggs (with a bit of a crunch) on his cement porch in the flickering candlelight. We talked about everything and anything. He told me I had just missed one of the biggest traditional celebrations in the country– a festival where people from all over– the president included– come to see... The Masked Men's Dance. 

"When they put on their masks," my host told me, "they take on a different persona. They become animals."

But this is not the only time these men wear masks he continued. They are part of a group, a group that recruits members in the rural villages. Boys between the age of 12 and 15. They are being taken away for months at a time, schooled in the rules of the group at a remote graveyard. Why? Because the kids that do not graduate end up six feet under. Here they are  introduced to black magic. Seeing men being cut 'bleed' honey and buzzing bees. Putting fellow aspiring graduates in a bag. Tying it and beating it with a stick until it's red. Opening the bag and seeing their friend jump out without a bruise. Certainly no blood. 

There are rules for which roads people are allowed to use. If they find someone on one of the roads that people are not suppose to be travelling on, they will take them  and make them part of the group - that is if you know you're not suppose to be travelling on this road. But what about if you don't know? Like me? When I'm cycling? My host said that these people are both good and bad. Good in the sense that they won't do anything to you, if you are not aware of being on the 'wrong' road. They will even help you along.

It's a secret group. No one is suppose to know who its members are. They do not address each other by name or refer to each other in a way that means that they know who the others are. And here I am sitting alone with this guy, whose telling me all this, only able to see the white in his eyes and his teeth in the weak light from the candle. Then he leans in,  looks me in the eyes  and says "I am one of them". I suspected it all along. There was something about him. 

'You're not suppose to tell meeee!' I jokingly exclaimed. 

Then he laughed and took it back, leaving a bit of uncertainty with regards to the truth... The next day, as I got back on my Soma Saga, he wished me a safe trip... Needless to say, I never saw him again, or any masked men...

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.

Cape to Kapp: Cycling from the Southernmost Part of Africa to the Northernmost Part of Europe

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. We will be posting some of her experiences here on the blog. She is already in Malawi at the time of this post.



I'm Teresie, a 31 year old Norwegian girl, and I'm cycling solo from South Africa to Norway! From the most southern point on the African continent to the most northern point in Europe!! All on my Soma Saga.

I love people's reactions when they see me. There's no limit to hooting, waving and thumbs up from passing cars and trucks. I've had people clap, blow me kisses, ask for my autograph and even say gravely that I'm going to die. While some propose, others become speechless. But above all, EVERYONE is so interested, excited and enthusiastic! Cycling becomes a dream with all of this support!

Your mode of transport really influences what you experience along the way, who you meet and how you interact. For instance, one late afternoon as the sun was about to set, I found myself on a dirt road in the Klein Karoo in South Africa. A dry farm country with hills and mountains and great distances between farms. I was getting a bit uneasy. I didn't feel like camping out in minus degrees. I had become an expert at being invited in to random people's homes after a whole day of cycling. However, there were no signs of human activity except for the corrugated and rocky road I was on. I raced the setting sun.

After climbing an uphill, I finally saw a farm gate! It looked decent. Well maintained. Let me try! I cycled down this road, looking for houses. Nothing. I was in the middle of nowhere. Then I saw something that looked like really big cows. I cycled a bit closer. They turned out to be buffalos! Luckily there was a fence between us. I cycled on. A house! Hurray! There were absolutely no one there. I started to mentally prepare myself for a cold night. Then I heard voices. It came from the farmworkers' quarters further ahead. Ok! At least I'll have company! As I cycled towards them I became aware of a group of trees. There was something amongst those threes. A building? Is that a road? Are those cars? I suddenly found myself in the farmer's driveway! A green oasis in the otherwise dry and dusty yet stunning landscape. There was even a braai (barbecue) area and a swimming pool! And there was the farmer, wondering who on earth had pulled up infront of his house on a heavily loaded bicycle. When I asked if I could pitch my tent in their garden, he said 'Are you mad? Come in!'.

As I was shown to my own room, I was informed that all the farmers in the area was also about to arrive for their monthly catch-up! Not only did I get to meet everyone in the whole area, but had I knocked on the door of any other farmer that evening, no one would have been home! I was so welcomed, so included and so full of the heartiest 'afrikaaner delights' that evening.

The Cape of Africa: Start of the journey

The next morning, as I was fastening my panniers to my bicycle, Wessel (the farmer) asked me 'Don't you wanna go for a private game drive on the farm?' I was already in cycling mode and had to take five minutes to reboot before saying YES! How often do I have this opportunity? We spent the whole day out together, in the best outdoor classroom, getting up close with and learning about the Impalas, Sable Antelopes, Rooi Hartebeests, Oryx, Ostriches, Elands, Water Buffalos and many more. Wessel knew all about the areas flora and fauna. It's geology. How the drought is affecting the area and the farmers. He and his son Izak even challenged me to a round of bokdrol. A poo spitting competition! Apparently, dry Impala dung is the poo of choice for this game. We only had Kudu poo. I lost.

I was made to feel so at home by the whole family that when they invited me to stay a third day, I almost did. For two months I cycled through South Africa. I only camped twice, and that was my own choice. The rest of the time I was invited into the homes of everyone I asked if I could pitch my tent in their garden. I am sure that a lot of this happened just because I rocked up on a bicycle❤️

Follow the journey on Instagram: teresiehommersand and Facebook: Cape to Kapp

When I asked if I could pitch my tent in their garden,
he said 'Are you mad? Come in!'.