Turbulence, again! The lurching, roller coaster ride of flying over Central Africa! I haven’t had a single journey over this region without fearfully looking out of the plane with my heart in my throat, and fingers tightly holding my armrests. God. Let me get there safely! Descending towards Lusaka airport and the approaching familiar sights eased the tension. The cattle looking up at me winked and whispered – welcome home you Greek Eskimo!

Getting into the truck at the airport I was given the news that the end of the mukanda ceremony was taking place in Kamandonga village 3 days hence. Man, this was going to be tight. Setting up the warehouse, getting my internal clock up to par, readying the supplies, and dealing with finding a new truck (the other had broken down) made for a hectic two days.

Riding out on Kafua road towards the west, I finally breathed a sigh of relief. Tight schedules! Rush, Rush!– What a foreign concept out here in the middle of nowhere! All was done. This is what I had been waiting for. Two years of work, negotiations, donations, haggling and building trust had come to fruition. I was going to experience the end of the initiation process and the return of the young boy-men to the village.

Kamandonga Village

We bumped and made our way through the dirt tracks that led to the outskirts of the village. Throngs of people were everywhere. It was abuzz with electrifying excitement. I had made it. When I saw the masked makishi characters roaming through the village, dancing and being carried on people’s shoulders I knew this was the eve of the return of the initiates. Utenu, Chisaluke, Chikunza and other masked characters, were there to announce the end of the mukanda. The village was celebrating and preparing for the return of the initiates from their 6-month seclusion. This was a night of revelry and excited anticipation for the scores of mothers awaiting the grand entrance of their boys.

Homemade katsasu (millet) beer was flowing freely. Drums were beating into the night as we partied, drinking and dancing into the wee hours of the morning. Bleary eyed and lightheaded I joined the throng of men and elders making their way to the mukanda enclosure. The animals and birds started their early morning chorus signaling that the dawning of a great day was near.

The boys dressed in grass kilt skirts, hats and adorned with geometric symbols on their bodies, were led out of the enclosure in single file. They were taken to an area close by were they grouped with the elders and reminded of their oaths not to divulge the secrets the initiation process. Then the mukanda camp was set ablaze. Fire, fire burning bright! - Roaring flames leaping into the dark morning sky – while I gazed transfixed into the writhing throng of testosterone and beer fuelled men rushing and dancing with the mythical fiery beast.

I followed the throngs as we made our way back to the village at daybreak. The boys were led in and were presented with cooked food. After the feast, the drums started beating in an infectious rhythm and the boys got up and started dancing. This was the dance they were taught day in and day out. A gyrating, hip swishing, ancestral jive!  We all watched in awe, pride and amazement. 

It seemed so surreal, so parallel universe, so time warp. Never did it ever cross my mind growing up in the olive groves of Southern Greece that one day I would be standing in the middle of the African bush rubbing shoulders with masked ancestral spirits celebrating this right of passage.

Kaoma

Riding northwest towards Kaoma and the borders of Angola I was looking forward to stopping in at the Chesire Community Care center and catching up on news and events at the orphanage. Entering this little miracle in the bush, I was swarmed by young children, excited to see us back. I was sorry to hear that I would miss Sister Mary as she was away at another center. The head of the orphanage, Rita Tambula, welcomed me with open arms. I presented her with all the clothing, schoolbooks, shoes, and other donations so kindly given by our customers and friends. I was told that some had even communicated directly with the orphanage and sent much needed donations. 

I spent a great part of the day, playing, reading and chatting with the children and their guardians. Sitting there in the shade of the tree surrounded by these wonderful children proudly parading in their new clothes, smiling ear to ear brought tears to my eyes. Here I was experiencing first hand the result of our efforts. Thanks to all our friends and donors we have helped ever so slightly put a dent into the ravages of aids in this small community. Read the full story of the Orphanage here.

Lubumbashi

The ride to the border was long and tiring. The truck barely made it - rattling, shaking and falling apart piece by piece. Lots of wire, rope, ingenuity and ceaseless prayers finally brought us to the frontier. I left our driver with the truck at the border to repair the truck. I crossed on foot, walking 2 kms across checkpoints, paying for "permits" and unheard of "inoculations". Waiting for a friend to pick me up and take me to Lubumbashi, looking around me, I knew I was in the land of the unexpected. Zambia seemed to be the epitome of stability when confronted with the maddening chaos of the DRC.

I was welcomed by the the Greek Orthodox Mission and stayed with the three priests and the community of 120 orphan children they help. It is always refreshing and inspiring to meet such humble, wise and inspiring people. I was hoping to make my way up to Goma in the eastern Dem. Rep. of Congo. The locals strongly advised I should not attempt the trip as the situation with the Mai Mai fighters and other factions was unstable and the looming elections of this year was putting some strain in the region. I heeded their advice and did not go, but traveled the south central parts instead. It was a very exciting and fruitful trip, full of interesting people and wonderful treasures.

Lusaka

Back again to this vibrant, "sane" and home away from home. The last days are always a mix of emotions. Frustration and anxiety with getting a 20ft container ready and on the road to Durban, South Africa. Sadness at leaving this beautiful land and it's people. Dread at the thought of winter, snow and ice. Elation and joy at the knowledge of coming home to my beautiful wife and children. Comfort knowing that I will be back.

Yiannis

February, 2006