Before I describe the advertised ass freezing let me offer a heartfelt apology for having used the phrase "hippo infested" in two consecutive posts. I have no reasonable excuse.
Before coming here I knew it was "winter" in the southern hemisphere and I knew that deserts can become cold at night regardless. Yes, I knew these things. Lorraine even suggested we bring light gloves. I guffawed. Gloves? Come on, winter, desert, whatever - it's Africa! Freaking Africa, the hottest continent!
It was 3c this morning. Lorraine's being good about it...
What do the locals do about the cold? We toured a village yesterday and saw that they sleep four or six to a bed and we did also see a brisk trade in firewood, enormous bundles of which are seen carried on women's heads everywhere. And people, especially the elderly, go to the shebeen. In this village it was the only business - a tiny tin shack that sold a grisly grey homebrew sorghum beer and some kind of clear(ish) firewater in a range of repurposed bottles. People were decked out in their Sunday finest, including one gentleman sporting caving shoes and a cracked pink bicycle helmet. And these old people were absolutely ripped. Singing, staggering, swaying. Comprehensively hammered on a sunny Sunday afternoon. The guide said that village social constraints were so strong though that this never led to violence. We were greeted by joyous ululations because the guide bought them all a round (50 cents a bottle for the stronger hooch). To me he said, "sniff only, definitely no taste".
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