The Black Explorer Magazine - Sep 2020

VOLUME 1 - WE GO TOO

KAY KINGSMAN

CULTURALLY INSIGHTFUL TRAVEL GUIDES • HILLARIOUS TALES OF TRAVEL MISHAPS

THEAWKWARDTRAVELLER.COM @THEAWKWARDTRAVELLER • FB: /AWKTRAVELS NON-PROFIT: THE GLOBAL DREAMERS FOUNDATION

“I wish I had never gone travelling” — No One, Ever!

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CHIEF EDITOR

ILLUSTRATIONS

Ella Paradis

Rose Winter Dami Olaleye

CONTRIBUTORS Hannah Ajala

COMMERCIAL

Benedicte King

For advertising or partnerships please

Vanessa Adjahi

email editorial@theblackexplorer.com

Ashley Onadele Brittany Traylor

PLEASE NOTE

Amara Amaryah

Interviews included in this magazine have

Briona Lamback

been edited for clarity and length

Danielle Kouassi

PRINTED BY

Charlotte Haynes Shainah Andrews

PUSH, London

Jeremiah Pittmon DavidaWulff-Vanderpuije The Black Explorer Magazine is printed on FSC certified papers using vegetable based inks. Over 90% of solvents are recycled for further use and recycling initiatives are in place for all other waste associated with this production. The London based printer is FSC and ISO 14001 certified with procedures in place to safeguard the environment through all their processes. Š2020 BLEX MEDIA LTD.

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CONTENTS 7

Editor’s Letters

10

The Black Travel Movement

23

A Memoir & A Musing

26

Travelling West-Africa

32

Bear Girl

54

Patrick Aryee

62

‘It’s not just jollof ’

72

Solo travel in Jamaica

82

Black Travel History

97

Stranded in Paradise

102

Black travel family

104

Timeless 4

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EDITOR’S

LETTER 6

I’ve been working toward this on and off for almost three years— and for a moment earlier

For the next two weeks, all I could feel was that anger, the rage, the need to burn it all, to

this year, I gave up. Even now, as I’m sitting in my favourite yellow armchair on a quiet

hurt them as much as they were hurting me. I cried, I screamed, alone in my living room. I

Sunday afternoon, watching the sun slowly make its way across my sofa, I’m not sure

resented my white friends and family for being one of

how to recap the tumultuous seven months that have led me here.

anymore. I couldn’t see clearly, I couldn’t think clearly, there was only resentment. And

, because I couldn’t separate them

them

I allowed myself to feel it all; I let it drown me. For two weeks, I let the grief consume

At first, this was just a fun little side project. I am a magazine lover and collector, travel

me and take over every inch of my body, until one evening I laid physically exhausted

magazines especially. As a Black woman traveller, I didn’t see myself reflected in the

on my couch, having spent the last 10hours in the same position— face down, one arm

pages I turned to for inspiration, so I decided to create a magazine that reflects me and

and one leg dangling off the couch, starring into nothingness.

the other adventurers that look like me. There was not much at stake at the time; at least I didn’t feel like there was. I had put some of my money aside to fund a trial run but

As I laid there and my thoughts slowly started to come back to me, the same question

always knowing that I had a backup plan where it not to work out. I planned a photo

kept popping up.

shoot in January for the cover, a small launch party for March 30th — and then COVID

“What now?”

happened.

“You’ve felt the anger, you’ve screamed, you’ve shouted, you’ve hurled insults left and

The world came to a screeching halt. In the travel industry especially, mayhem ensued.

right, you’ve cried your eyes out, the world sucks, you can’t exist in it anymore,... but here

As a travel professional, it was harrowing to see the havoc COVID was wreaking across

you are, still alive... So what now?”

the board, and more specifically in the travel industry. Soon, I too lost my job, earnings I had worked hard to accumulate vanished into thin air and I was left, head against the

“You’re just one person; you feel powerless, you can’t save the world, you can’t change

wall, not knowing what to do next, where to move next. At that time, starting a new travel

the world. But what now?”

magazine didn’t seem like the best idea, so I gave up. I went into survival mode; I had to

“You’re still alive; you still have to live in it, you still have to exist in it, you still have to

find something else to do, another source of income to keep me alive, keep me afloat. Like

deal with all of it, So what now?”

everyone else, I was scrambling to figure out what to do next, what my next move would be. I tried to quiet the anguish of uncertainty in whatever way I could.

As I slowly peeled myself off the couch, I realised that I had a choice to make. Either continue down this path of debilitating anger and resentment that was ultimately

This was not the time to launch a travel magazine aimed to amplify Black traveller’s

poisoning me, or create something that would bring some positivity, at least to the world I

narratives. Who would give a f*ck when people are dying, losing their jobs. I’d lost my

lived in. And in my world, the thing I know best, the thing I am most passionate about

job; I couldn’t afford to invest in something so risky at a time when the entire industry this depends on, had come to a standstill. That’s just foolish!

is travel, and this is where I would start.

And then, on a random afternoon, while scrolling through twitter, a video appeared on

And so, with a newfound resolve and purpose, I went back to working on The Black Explorer Magazine, to amplify the Black narrative in travel. The events of the last

my feed, an agitated white woman was being filmed seemingly strangling her dog while

few months have highlighted the need for fair and accurate representation across ALL

shouting in terror at the person holding the camera. I unmuted the video right at the

industries. So here I am, doing my part.

moment that Amy Cooper picked up her phone to call 911 and lied about being attacked by an African American man in Central Park. My heart froze, as it always does at least

This is my protest, my act of rebellion, this is how I cope, this is personal, this is needed,

three times a week when those types of incidents make it across my feed, but I shrugged

this is how I choose to channel my anger and fear. I choose to fill pages with beautiful,

it off. I felt the anger, and I bottled it, in the same place I had been bottling all the other

adventurous, intelligent, passionate, daring, joyous Black People living their best lives in

incidents of the kind, and continued scrolling.

every corner of the planet. I choose to show that WE GO TOO and our voices deserve to be heard and accounted for — EVERYWHERE!

The next day, another video appeared on my feed. This time, a Black man restrained on the floor with a white policeman nonchalantly kneeling on his neck. I didn’t unmute

This is my love letter to MY PEOPLE, and this is only the beginning!

this one, but I also didn’t continue scrolling, I couldn’t look away. My frozen heart was cracking every second I kept watching the life being slowly drained out of George Floyd’s body. And when he finally stopped moving, when the video cut, there was no bottle that could hold the pain and anger that engulfed me. There was no space left to store it.

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READING

LIST 8

AFROPEAN

MY SISTER THE SERIAL KILLER

Johny Pitts

Oyinka Braithwaite

Afropean is an on-the-ground documentary of the

When Korede’s dinner is interrupted one night by a

places where Europeans of African descent live their

distress call from her sister, Ayoola, she knows what’s ex-

lives. Setting off from his hometown of Sheffield, Johny

pected of her: bleach, rubber gloves, nerves of steel and a

Pitts makes his way through Paris, Brussels, Amsterdam,

strong stomach. This’ll be the third of boyfriend Ayoola’s

Berlin, Stockholm, Moscow, Rome, Marseille and Lisbon,

dispatched in “self-defence” and the third mess that her

through council estates, politial spaces, train stations, tour

lethal little sibling has left Korede to clear away.

groups and underground art scenes.

Until Ayoola starts dating a doctor at the hospital where

Here is an alternative map of the continent, revealing

Korede works as a nurse. Korede’s long been in love with

plural identities and liminal landscapes from West African

him, and isn’t prepared to see him wind up with a knife

students at the university in Moscow to the notorious

in his back: but to save one would mean sacrificing the

Paris suburb of Clichy-sous-Bois. Their voices speak to

other...

African experiences that demand to be heard.

AN AFRICAN IN GREENLAND

STAY WITH ME

Tété-Michel Kpomassi

Ayobami Adebayo

Tété-Michel Kpomassi was a teenager in Togo when he

Yeyide is hoping for a miracle, for a child. It is all her

discovered a book about Greenland, and he knew he had

husband wants, all her mother-in-law wants, and she has

to go there. Working his way north over nearly a decade,

tried everything — arduous pelgrimages, medical con-

Kpomassie finally arrived in the country of his dreams.

sultations, appeals to God. But when her relatives insist upon a new wife, it is too much for Yeyide to bear. It will

This brilliantly observed and superbly entertaining record

lead to jealousy, betrayal and despair.

of his adventures among the Inuit is a testament both to the wonderful strangeness of the human species and to

Unravelling against the social and political turbulence of

the surprising sympathies that bind us all.

1980s Nigeria, Stay With Me sings the voices, colours, joys and fears of its surroundings.

Blurbs as provided by the respective publishers

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THE

BLACK TRAVEL MOV

20 Black travel creators, entrepreneurs, explorers, creatives, who inspire us and who we love to follow.

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@folashade

@bellaworldwide

@black_tonystark

@godricvstheworld

@ashleemajormoss

@travellingwithmelanin

@movewithdoyin

@philwaukee

@joshyoutrippin

VEMENT 11 @akosuashirley

@livelikethewind

@hey_ciara

Martinique Lewis — @marty_sandiego

Gloria Atanmo — @glographics

Diversity in travel advocate and consultant, creator of the ABC TRAVEL GREENBOOK; the Nr1 resource for Black travellers, connecting the African diaspora in every country in the world.

The Queen of Black travel bloggers, at least in our eyes, and forever serving her audience in the most genuine and compassionate way. She has the best excited laugh.

THE BLACK TRAVEL MOVEMENT

Eulanda & Omo — @dipyourtoesin

Clé Hunnigan — @alivelikethewind

Our favourite Black travel couple providing us with the most whimsical mix of food, travel and dope photography.

Cuteness level 1000!

Inspiring photographer and filmmaker.

Co-founder of The Wind Collective, organising stylish group trips and inspiring us to #livelikethewind

THE BLACK TRAVEL MOVEMENT

Cassy Isabella — @bellaworldwide

Ciara Johnson — @hey_ciara

Co-founder of The Roaming Republic, continuing the legacy of her now late co-founder Cedric Hutchinson II. A conscious and engaged traveller.

Solo female traveller, she quit her job to travel the world.

Adventurous, educative, her twitter threads are filled with tips on how to make the most of your travels.

THE BLACK TRAVEL MOVEMENT

Jo Franco — @jo_franco

Sharon Bossou — @dopydola

One half of Shut Up & Go, teaching us how to immerse ourselves in all destinations through the power of language learning. Polyglot explorer.

One of our fave instagrammers, showing us around Africa and her native Benin, which we don’t get to see much off beyond the Voodoo route. We stan!

THE BLACK TRAVEL MOVEMENT

Akosua Shirley— @akosuashirley

Farirai — @gophari

Backpacked solo through Ghana, her instagram feed provides an in-depth look at all the wonders that Ghana and other African countries have to offer.

African travel blogger and cerified South African travel specialist. She is travelling the African continent from the bottom up and taking us with her.

THE BLACK TRAVEL MOVEMENT

Joshua Walker — @joshyoutrippin

Thobeka Mthembu — @thobi_rose

Our fave Californian nature boy, giving us all the #BlackBoyJoy in natural parks, exotic destinations and beaches. Also he’s cute!

African storyteller and one of the leaders of the movement for a more honest representation of Africa in the travel scene.

Her feed is stylish, informative and inspiring.

THE BLACK TRAVEL MOVEMENT

Jessica Ufuoma— @theufuoma

Lee Litumbe — @spiritedpursuit

Jessica shows us that travelling solo doesn’t mean you can’t get the dopest shots. How? Connect with people and don’t be afraid to ask for help. You can join her on her group trips too.

Follow Lee for the most beautiful feed, showing us the most luxurious parts of the African continent. Her equally luxurious fro can’t be missed, and why would we want to?

THE BLACK TRAVEL MOVEMENT

Nneka Julia — @nnekaj

Fola Shade — @fola.shade

Not a travel blogger per se, but Nneka’s passingthrough podcast, secures her spot in this lineup. Go and listen to her soothing voice recounting lessons learned on the road.

A bright smile, vibrant colours, imposing crown and a curious disposition towards the world she explores. What is there not to love about Shade? Nothing, that’s what!

THE BLACK TRAVEL MOVEMENT

Jubril Agoro — @jubril8

Phil Calvert — @philwaukee

Digital marketing whizz and founder of Passportheavy, the best travel show on Youtube. Did we mention, Jubril is one of the original digital nomads of our generation? Yep!

Mr Positivity and the first Black man to have his own travel show, Phil Good Travel, on the Matador Network. On a mission to spread a positive image of Black men/people around the world.

THE BLACK TRAVEL MOVEMENT

Neo Mokuene — @black_tonystark

Travis Levius — @mrlevius

Multi-talented South-African filmmaker and traveller. The production value of his movies are *chef ’s kiss* and he is keen to teach you his skills too.

From teacher to luxury travel writer, Travis seems on a mission to sleep in all the most extravagantly grandiose hotels in the world, and we can only stan. Oh and he was in a Stan Lee movie.

THE BLACK TRAVEL MOVEMENT

@char_x.o www.memoirsmusings.com

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A MEMOIR & A MUSING Words & photography by Charlotte Haynes

W

hen I was asked to become a columnist for The

feel alive. The feeling of switching off for 8 plus hours or more in

Black Explorer Magazine, I wasn’t sure what to

search of somewhere far and new is going to feel different after this.

write at first. You would think as a ‘writer’, I have

By “this” I mean the pandemic-shaped elephant in the room.”

ideas pouring out of my fingertips [insert shock and horror here].

My usual content comes laced with a tinge of wit and sarcasm, but I knew I wanted it to be something different for a print magazine.

I am currently writing this piece from my hotel room on my first coronacation in Istanbul, Turkey. It has been approximately eight months since I stepped foot in an airport or got on a plane and

If you have been living under a rock all of 2020 - 1) I am very

whilst that may sound ‘abnormal’ for some, the lack of travel in my

envious 2) You would have missed out on a pandemic known as

life has given me a newfound appreciation for the planet. 2020 is a

Aunty Rona. Who would have thought we’d clinked champagne

reawakening of gratitude, a reminder to slow down, a reminder to

glasses for all this bullshit on December 31st 2019?

rest and a reminder that this world isn’t ours.

Now you are probably wondering how does this relate to travel,

We had to shut our doors to all the things we “love” - enjoyment,

well life as we know it has changed. For the better or the worse?

socialising, eating out and if that hasn’t changed you somewhat,

That all depends on how you look at it. Our *freedom* to roam

then maybe you need to do some self-reflection. Now those doors

as we please was taken away from us in March of this year. Soon

are slowly starting to open, albeit cautiously, things are going to

came the words: isolation, quarantine, and lockdown seeping into

look different for a while - no hugs but an embrace into a new

our everyday conversations. Family and friends were seen from a

reality.

screen, Zoom and FaceTime dates became what we now know as the ‘new normal’. Travel was put on hold, but now, some of us are slowly getting back on the road.

This pandemic is like the wind. Just because you can’t see it, it doesn’t mean it isn’t there. This is has changed the way we live, breathe (I’m aware of the wrong word choice) and communicate

“I am acknowledging my privilege day after day and realising that

for good. Whilst we may want the pre-Corona life back, we have to

whilst travel is not necessarily a necessity to my life, it makes me

adapt for the moment we’ll soon be back on the road.

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Lake Retba, Senegal Photo by aliunix on Unsplash 24

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TRAVELLING WEST AFRICA Words & photography by Hannah Ajala

F

rom what I can remember, it’s something I had been plan-

visit over six years ago, it’s been so exciting to witness the growth

ning for a short few months. But according to my friend,

and the initiatives put in place to welcome the diaspora and tour-

who I travelled to South Africa with exactly a year prior

ists from all over.

to my decision, I had been speaking about the idea since 2018.

It was an active start to my adventure, waiting for up to two hours

There have been so many contributing factors which lead to my

to receive meals at restaurants, the heavy traffic, and most places

decision to move to and travel around West Africa.

in the capital Accra overwhelmingly busy with returnees. The city

The most obvious factor is my job. I’m a journalist, and for the

didn’t sleep, and neither did I.

past couple of years, I have solely been working on African news.

Despite it all, I managed to sneak out of the capital to the buzzing

I’ve reported on Nigeria’s shockingly last minute postponed gen-

city of Kumasi, with clear starlit skies and it’s calmer more relaxed

eral elections earlier in 2019, covered the Sudan protests that

vibes. A place where I got to emerge myself into the history and

made thousands of social media users turn their display photos

rich culture of the Ashanti Kings & Queens.

blue, and closely followed the Ebola outbreak in the Democratic Republic of Congo.

A lot of people, both western and non-western, naturally associ-

I thank Ghana deeply for the wealth of experiences it provided me with at the start of my journey. But after almost a month spent there, it was time to move on.

ate several parts of the African continent (not a specific country, but the entire continent) with destruction, famine, war, violence, and pretty much everything wrong with the world. On the one hand, I can see why - it’s a vast continent. A lot of bad things do happen, as it does everywhere else in the world. On the other hand, I couldn’t help but wonder if it was really ALL that bad.

As a journalist, I’m well placed to know that the headlines do not accurately represent this continent as a whole. In fact, some of my colleagues have made me fall in love, with the sound of Somaliland, the beauty of the nature surrounding Liberia, the vibrancy of the locals in Cape Verde, and the lively nightlife in

“I cried a lot leading up to my departure – not because it was over – but because it actually happened.”

Ivory Coast.

There’s so much diversity and so much to experience on this enor-

A short two-hour flight westward, I found myself at my next

mous continent, that I’ve spent the past 8 months of my life fully

stop, Freetown, Sierra Leone.

emerging myself into it and barely covered a sliver of it.

Sweet Salone, as it’s dearly referred to by the locals, is an ab-

This life-changing experience took me where afrobeat music was

solute hidden gem on the West-African coast. The country has

born, where jollof rice wars are ever-growing, and where I fell in

gone through its fair share of misfortunes, recently dealing with

love with the locals and the culture over and over again - West

devastating mudslides and the Ebola virus outbreak, yet the

Africa.

population are ever joyous and welcoming.

I began my Pan African adventure in the land that marked the

I felt a warm hug from Freetown as soon as I landed. It’s such an

Year Of Return - Ghana.

easy place to understand. What you see is what you get. People

Ghana has always had a special place in my heart. Since my first

are genuine, friendly, hard-working, and hustlers!

>> 27

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And nowhere is this more apparent than at Sani Abacha Street

Next on my itinerary was the Gambia, a place that further

market in Freetown, where sellers hoping to make money will

confirmed my thoughts and feeling about this journey... it was

find any corner and spot possible to sell the most delicate lace,

a blessing.

shoes, toiletries, accessories; anything you can imagine! It reminded me of the vibrancy and craziness of Balogun market in Lagos and Makola market in Accra.

While there, I connected with so many people virtually, developing bonds that then blossomed into the best friendships. I explored so much and felt like an actual local at times! I blended

Unlike Accra, however, traffic was more laidback in Freetown.

in well and always felt so safe and in good hands. I fell absolutely

This made exploring the city’s glorious untouched beaches an

head over heels in love with the Gambia.

absolute breeze. I got to experience some of the most life-changing food I’d ever tasted.

A month spent there ended with my first ever 9-hour West African road trip to Senegal.

I say life-changing because it reminded me once more of the passion from this part of the continent that is often ((translated)) through the cooking and sharing of delicious meals.

So much happened in Senegal within a shorter space of time.

I had no choice but to actively practice my French and execute more of the Wolof I picked up in the Gambia. I also experienced

Rice is a large staple meal that can be made in several ways,

some of the more uncomfortable sides of being a solo traveller,

often accompanied by the richest and most scrumptious stews.

from strange AirBnB’s to creepy taxi drivers.

I was blessed to be fed by my host family, who’s live-in cooks

But the biggest turn of events to happen during my time in

would make the most glorious meals daily. We would always

Senegal, was when The World Health Organisation declared

have a giggle and laugh whilst we ate together on the compound

COVID-19 a global pandemic. While I could see the world

under the shade. I could only ever experience this in Africa.

panic across my social media feeds, my physical surroundings

*

remained calm. No panic buying, no sudden spikes and surges of infection numbers; and to this date, the continent of Africa >>

remains the least affected by the pandemic.

I believe that African countries experience at dealing with past outbreaks certainly played a role in their response to this pandemic.

Airports were shut down in good time, and measures were put in place far quicker than in most Western countries when the threat of a viral spread became evident. Though my heart sympathised with the world, I in no way considered that particular time to be the end of my journey.

Throughout this entire trip, I somehow managed to always be in the right place at the right time. Literally, 20 hours after leaving Senegal for Lagos, Nigeria, Dakar’s international airport would close and remain closed until further notice due to the pandemic.

* Nigeria was my fifth and final destination on this adventure. I had only planned the trip up until this point, where I would use the time to relax and work out the last leg of my journey. So here I was, locked down in Lagos, with no concrete plans in place. I was lucky to be able to whether the lockdown with a family member, where I was well looked after, well-fed and well-hydrated.

I used this time to continue doing my remote work, engage my communities online, lower my social media intake, and just let myself be!

As soon as lockdown restrictions began to ease and inter-state travel in Nigeria was allowed, I wasted no time in jumping for the chance to further explore, and boy did I! From a week in the beautiful city of Ibadan where my parents were born and raised, to a bumpy bus ride and time spent in the buzzing town of Abeokuta, to staycations in luxurious pool houses, and a stay at one of the most beautiful beach resorts I’d ever been to. Finishing the final chapter in my motherland honestly made me thankful beyond measure.

My heart was filled, as, despite the lockdown, I still got to do so much and surprised myself at how well I had adjusted to this life.

Preparing to leave this new reality and return to the UK triggered so many emotions. I cried a lot leading up to my departure – not because it was over – but because it actually happened.

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So many unbelievable experiences, conversations, sights, and opportunities have occurred throughout. I can only give myself the biggest pat on the back for taking the plunge. I don’t like to romanticise things, especially when deciding to move and live somewhere entirely different to the United Kingdom I grew up in.

I had to mentally prepare myself and realise that I’m travelling to places where it’s normal for women to be seen as inferior, where mosquitoes will bite you in every possible exposed piece of flesh, where power cuts will keep you up at night sweating profusely in bed, and where traffic will frustrate you beyond imagination.

And I did prepare myself for this, through the many mini-trips I took over the years, mostly to Ghana and Nigeria. And now I can say that I have lived in Africa, and I embraced it. I loved admiring the hustle and bustle of the locals, from as little as the age of five, helping their mama sell mangoes at the weekend market. I loved how fresh and nutritious everything I ate and drank was. I loved not spending a lot of money in comparison to how I would notoriously spend in the UK. I’ve learned so much about myself during this process. A lot of it has had to do with personal development and growth. I’m proud of myself for my resilience, for always looking on the bright side and truly embracing every part of the experience. Talking and spending time with locals is such a refreshing experience that I’ll truly miss. I’m glad to have just soaked it all up, lived in every moment, and to have fallen deeper in love with my continent.

Hannah Ajala is a freelance journalist, tv-presenter, blogger and explorer. She is the founder of We Are Black Journos (@weblackjournos), an event platform celebrating and connecting Black journalists and those aspiring to work in broadcasting.

Watch Hannah’s vlog recapping her journey here

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“BEAR GIRL” Words by Ella Paradis - Photography by Alexandra Keeling

Or how psychedelics opened Alexandra Keeling up to a whole new world of adventure, going with the flow, connecting with the divine in all of us and discovering the adventurous side of a family member she never suspected.

Were you always an outdoorsy person?

I’ve never been a super outdoorsy person no. I grew up in Michigan, and funnily enough, when I was a child, my parents bought what used to be a farm with 40 acres of land attached to it. We had horse stables, rows and rows of Christmas trees because part of the land was used to cultivate Christmas trees. So I grew up with a lot of open space, and tons of land to explore literally in my backyard, but I would never wander further than the pond and always stayed pretty close to home.

Then in high school, I met my best friend, and she ended up encouraging me to get out more. We would go up to the dunes in Michigan, she would take me skiing and gave me my first taste of that adventurous life. She ended up marrying pretty young, so I didn’t have a travel companion as such anymore, and without her, I didn’t really feel the urge to head out on my own.

So where did the adventure bug come from?

It came from quite an unexpected place, to be honest. Back in 2017, I went to a music festival with some of my white friends, and that’s where I ended up taking psychedelic drugs, and it completely blew my mind. This triggered an intense spiritual awakening and a complete shift in the way I viewed the world. Right then and there I decided that as soon as I got back home, I’d quit my job and start to live my life to the fullest. >> 33

I’m actually so happy to hear you say that, because I’ve experienced the transformative effects of psychedelics too and the calm and openness it has brought to my life. I have met very few other Black people who have ever experience with them though. Tell me more about yours.

Yeah, psychedelic drug use is not as prevalent in the young Black community as let’s say, in the white college-aged demographic. All my woke white friends for example, have used psychedelics and experienced that profound awakening, freeness and understanding of life as one connected entity.

Not that I was suffering before this, in fact, I had a pretty good life, I was doing good things, but I wouldn’t be where I am today if it wasn’t for the openness and ability to be open to change that was triggered by my psychedelic experience.

Majority of people live their lives, going through the motions and rarely stop to have moments of introspection, really look at their lives and question why they do the things they do and whether they are truly happy.

I grew up very sheltered, both my parents are physicians, and I wasn’t a huge risk-taker.

When I did gymnastics, I was always afraid of getting hurt because I know what a spine injury looks like and what being paralysed does to you. I didn’t want to do certain things, because I feared what the outcome would be if it didn’t go well. Taking acid, released me of my fears. It made me realise that I didn’t want to be on this premade path, my life at that moment felt so restrictive and a terrible idea to continue down that path.

Psychedelics also allowed me to unlock parts of my brain that have guided me through all the ups and downs life has thrown my way since then. So many things have happened that I would not have been able to deal with before, but now I have an understanding of life and an ability to tap into parts of myself that allow me to face any and all situations that come my way.

Another thing I realised was that in life, nothing good or bad actually happens to me personally. By that, I mean that the universe unfolds around us all and things just happen, how I decide to react to life as it unfolds is what defines what I end up feeling.

Yeah, I very much resonate with that. The fact that not everything is about me and most things, in fact, aren’t.

Exactly, take for instance getting stuck in a river, it’s an occurrence, and had someone else been in that place and time instead of me, the same thing probably would have happened to them. It’s not like the universe sought me out personally in this river to trap me and make my life difficult. Psychedelics made me more aware of the level of control I actually have over my life, my surroundings, my emotions. The way I navigate life completely changed when I became aware of the level of control that I actually have on the situations that occur in my life. This is not to say that spirituality is new to me, on the contrary. I grew up Lutheran, and 34

I already had a religious spirituality guiding my life, but the psychedelics made me connect my religion to nature and the world around me. Now I can also see the shared philosophies and message between all faiths because I can now recognise it experientially. I can feel the connectedness, and I feel more connected to my religion now than I did growing up. We’re all on the journey back to that one spiritual realm within us, it’s just that different religions take different paths to get there.

Whereas before I could have seen myself as separate, like you’re Christian Catholic, I’m Lutheran Christian, therefore, we don’t have the same ideologies, now I get that we’re all talking about the same thing but in different ways. I love how psychedelics have made me more tolerant of other religions, other people and their viewpoint. I can understand what other people are saying, even if they’re not necessarily getting the message across the right way because I connect with the source we all share.

I have a much better sense of understanding for other people, more than I did before and it’s been so lovely, and it makes travelling and interactions with others so much more interesting and fulfilling.

Wow, yes that’s so true. So going off of this, you decided to head out on your first solo camping trip. That must have been an adventure, right? How did it go? What happened?

Well, let’s put it this way, I was horribly underprepared.*laughs* So I was 21/22 or so at the time and had never been camping before in my life. But I decided to travel around, solo, for a month. I had friends who had moved to Denver, so I went to visit them and chose to start my trip by driving to the Rocky Mountains National Park for my first ever backpacking camping trip. I really did not come prepared.

When you get to the park, you have to obtain a permit to hike and camp, and with that they make you watch this orientation video first. That was my first time finding out that there were bears, mountain lions and other kinds of animals that are out to kill you while you’re busy roaming. I also found out that to avoid bears stealing and eating your food, you had to have these special bear canisters they can’t get into, to secure all your food. So then and there I had to buy this canister from the rangers shop to protect my food. But of course, I didn’t account for it, so I had to now lug this additional weight with me on my hikes. The whole thing freaked me out, especially knowing I was heading out alone in an area with wild animals that would be out to get me.

That first hike was really uncomfortable because keep in mind, I am now carrying extra weight I didn’t account for a.k.a. the bear canister. I also ended up hiking a mile uphill past my rest site and caught altitude sickness. In Michigan, the highest point was about 600ft, but I was now in Colorado, which is 5000ft above sea level.

When I finally made it to my rest site, I realised that I had packed the wrong type of propane >> 35

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for my stove so I couldn’t make myself any food. Luckily I had some trail mix and ate that for dinner instead.

That first night, I was so terrified I stayed up almost all night listening out for either people coming to attack me or bears and mountain lions coming to eat me. In my head I thought, my mum is right, I’m going to go home after this and never do this again, I was so scared out there on my own.

I must have dozed off eventually because at one point, I woke up and put my head out of my tent to check for the presence of mountain lions, and all I saw the most beautiful star-studded sky I had ever seen in my entire life. I had never seen this many stars in the sky, it was the most beautiful sight of my life so far, in the Rockies, next to a river and a world of wonders above my head. At that moment, I was so happy that I hadn’t given up when I was afraid.

The next day, I made it back to my car, only to find out that there had been a bear in my neck of the woods all along. My car was covered in marks I didn’t recognise. On the way to my second hike, I came across a ranger and showed him the markings on my car. He informed me that this was probably done by a young, around 2-year-old bear, trying to get into my car and forage for food. He then proceeded to show the markings and scratches to everyone else in the parking lot, and that’s how I got my trail name on my very first camping trip - “Bear Girl”.

The rest of the day, the story had made its rounds, and whenever I’d come across others, they’d ask if I was the “Bear Girl” and yeah, that was pretty cool. But overall, that first trip wasn’t easy at all, in fact, I was horribly terribly underprepared. I made some bad decisions, I got ill, I didn’t have food. In the end though, I did get everything I needed, and I made it.

I was proud of myself, proved to myself that I faced all the dangers. Yes, it could have gone wrong, but it didn’t, and I had made it.

What a first experience indeed. Those are the kind of experiences that you can only have when you allow yourself out of your comfort zone, and it’s inspiring to see you’ve gone and done it for yourself. So now, from this first adventure, you then transitioned over to living in an RV as a proper nomad. How did the transition happen? Was it a natural decision?

So, I did my first month of solo adventuring in the little KIA FORTE I had at the time.

It’s a nice car but terrible to camp with. While I was out there, I did come across many other travellers in all different styles of living on the road, RV’s, campers, mobile homes and everything in between. I was enjoying this newfound freedom and wanted to continue exploring in this way, so I started looking into a different mode of transportation.

I had gone through a couple of options, even buying one camper that I had to sell back to the previous owner because it was missing too many things. In the end, I found this 1989 Renault Itasca, and it was perfect. My favourite thing about it is that it had a big back window that >> 37

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let a lot of light in. It was big enough for me, my partner Winston who I travelled with for a while and my dog Rocko. The RV was big enough for both of us and Rocko to have our space. Another cool thing I loved about it is that for its size, it had an aeroplane-style collapsible shower where everything folded into the walls when not in use. You would need a much bigger camper to have a shower included, but the Itasca had one in a much more compact setup.

Winston and I bought the RV in October 2017, renovated it in November, and it was ready

by December. Our first journey was to Illinois, where my grandmother lived, about 5 hours away from where we were in Michigan. We ended up spending our first night in her driveway. My grandma was the only person I showed the RV to who was genuinely excited for me.

Everyone else in my family thought I was crazy and asked me not to go down this path. But my grandma was super pumped for me. She started telling me about trips she went on with my granddad that I didn’t know about. They had travelled so much together, and I didn’t know about any of it. Had it not been for me going on this journey, I may have never found out about that part of her life.

When she passed away this past December, may she rest in peace, I got boxes filled with pictures of her in all these different places, which is super cool. There are already two places she’s gone to that are on my list to check out as well. I ended up connecting with my grandma towards the end of her life in a way I never could have imagined.

Oh, that’s so wonderful, hearing about different generations of Black women bravely going out into the world and living their best lives. And so the adventure continued with you Winston and Rocko in the Itasca?

Yes, though we didn’t make it very far in the Itasca.

After we left my grandma’s place, we were all up for going with the flow. Just seeing where the wind blows us and that’s how we found ourselves in this strange little town in Illinois. Sadly our RV broke down, but luckily it did so very close to a repair shop. This really felt like one of those cases of the universe working in weird ways.

The owner of the repair shop saw us on his way to town, offered to help, gave us a ride into town and drove back to tow the RV to his garage. He connected us with a bed and breakfast in town where we paid to stay for a couple of nights while we waited for our RV to be fixed.

This turned into a week, and the owners of the BnB were so friendly and accommodating about it all. They didn’t charge us for the additional nights stay, as they could see we were stranded. Everyone in that weird little town was just so friendly, it was amazing.

Unfortunately, we couldn’t get the Itasca repaired, because the old Renault needed parts that could only be ordered from France. Getting the parts would have cost way more than what we paid to buy and restore the RV. We decided to cut our losses, rented a car, drove back to Michigan, where I picked my SUV to continue the adventure. In a couple of days, I had >> 39

built a platform for a bed and some drawers to fit in the back, and back on the road we went.

We lived out of that for about 3 months, before finding the custom-built teardrop camper that I have now, in Grand Junction, Colorado. It was definitely a bit snug with two adults and a dog, but we made it work for us.

I love how this story is just one big adventure unfolding. How did you fund your life on the road?

How did you keep yourself alive?

So Winston and I started a production and photography company. We did a lot of portrait work, and at that point, we had a few contracts that didn’t require us to be sedentary, so that made it easy to live on the road.

Before my first psychedelic experience, I had been working a regular adult job for several years. So I had savings and a 401K which I ended up cashing out to help fund my life on the road. I also picked up little jobs here and there while on the road to supplement my funds.

Has photography always been a passion of yours then? Or is it something you picked up along the road?

As a kid, I went to a Montessori school in elementary. These are schools that encourage free-thinking, creativity and independent learning. So I was always creative at that age. I had two friends who I used to write entire movies for and directed them to perform them. That’s what I wanted to do initially, write movies. I also loved taking pictures, capturing moments, but as I got older, I lost those passions somehow. I became more and more conscious of the fact that I would have responsibilities as an adult, and I thought that I would never be able to make money as a photographer. There are tonnes of directors and cinematographers in Hollywood, but looking at them, I thought I’d never be able to be one of them and thus would never make any money if I tried to pursue that path. Again, I was very risk-averse at that time. So I gave up those dreams for some time.

Then in college, I dabbled in photography again. I ended up taking some photography and cinematography courses which put me back in that creative environment. I was surrounded by people who were passionate about the same thing as I was, and they made me consider the fact that maybe just maybe there was a potential for me to do something with it too.

After college, I remained connected to the scene, even though I had a regular job as well.

Michigan had a grant for the film industries, and a lot of big Hollywood productions were filmed there. That’s how I ended up working as an extra on a Transformers movie and another weird little Ryan Gosling movie. I also worked on a couple of independent films as a production assistant and continuity director. From there, I remained connected to the creative industry and started getting the odd little assignments here, made enough connections until I was able to do this full-time.

How do your parents cope with the path you have chosen, the lifestyle you’ve opted for? How did they cope with the fact that you shunned the doctor, lawyer, accountant path to become this 40

free-spirited nomad that creates her own life on the go?

I think this has been hard on my mum most of all. Growing up, she and I were very close. In Black families in general, we tend to be pretty tight-knit units, so for her, it’s definitely hard that I’m not home anymore or close enough that she can see me whenever she wants.

Both my parents are physicians, and they’ve spent a good portion of their lives building up to be able to afford a particular lifestyle. To get the big house, nice cars, send their kids to good schools... and then to have me turn around and reject that a little bit, opting to live like a “dirtbag” in the desert instead, that was definitely hard on my mum.

I think what she expected was for me to be around, the same way she remained close to my grandma until she died. She would go and see her every week practically, so there was this same expectation from her to me that I’d always been within arms reach so to speak.

My decision to say “Mum, I love you, but I need to build my life my own way” has definitely been a struggle. One of acceptance on both parts, me understanding where her need for me to be close stems from and her understanding why I needed to do this and go down this path.

Ultimately my goal, like any child, is to retire my parents and make sure they are looked after, but the way for me to get there is different than what they would have imagined.

When I got my work featured in National Geographic, I showed her, and she was happy for me, but her main question remained, when are you coming back home?

Well, I’m sure that despite it all, her love remains and she must be proud of you even if she doesn’t say it out loud?

Oh yeah, I know she is. Whenever I make it home or speak to extended family members, they always tell me how my mum has been going around excitedly telling everyone all the things I’ve been up to. I just wish she would say those things to me more often. But it’s all good. I’m very excited to show her one day, the final results of all these amazing projects I’m working on, so she can see something I’ve built for and by myself.

You’ve quite been sedentary now for the past year. Why the sudden change in circumstances?

It’s because of another unfortunate event, that ultimately led to an excellent situation for me to be in, in the end.

So back at the beginning of 2018, Winston and I had been travelling around in my converted SUV for some time, working remotely. At one point we had to be in San Francisco to meet with a new brand we were looking to start working with. Sadly, California is not a very transient friendly state, and everywhere we went, we found it very difficult to find a place to park our makeshift camper. Parking garages wouldn’t allow us to park anywhere that would be safe and guarded, so we ended up having to park on the streets of San Francisco.

The worst happened and our car was broken into. They took all our equipment, camera’s, 41 >>

lenses, laptops, hard drives, all of it. Our livelihood was gone just like that.

We continued travelling around California, trying to figure out what to do next, work out a plan, and slowly started to make our way towards Utah while citing for places to stay and regroup.

That’s how we ended up here in Moab, my base for the past couple of years. This is where we were when we found the custom teardrop camper I now have, not far from here in Grand Junction, Colorado. We lived in the camper until the summer. I’ve only been living in a proper house for the past year or so. I haven’t stopped travelling though, I was still on the road on and off up to now.

And then COVID hit! How has it been living through the pandemic where you are?

Honestly, the effect of the virus has been the complete opposite here to what it’s been everywhere else.

I think we moved to Moab at the right time last year. This is a tiny community, we have a population of about 5000. We are at the entrance point for two national parks, one of which is Arches National Park. Because of this, there is quite a bit of traffic through the town in normal times, but when COVID hit, the town got shut to outsiders, so were the parks.

For us the inhabitants however, there was no order to shelter in place. We had very few cases, barely hit the double digits, so we were pretty closed off from it all. This meant that I had all this time, and this gorgeous place, devoid of crowds, and free for me to explore at will. And that’s exactly what I did.

Before COVID, I had been canyoneering maybe 5 or 6 times, but now I had the chance to go more often, and I’ve become much better at it. I can now set up my own anchors, lead repels and so on.

A lot of people here as well, would never have gotten paid vacation were it not for COVID. We had our town to ourselves and the time to explore it at will. We got a lot of sun, we remained active, went out and enjoyed our surroundings. I was in a better place than most people who were trapped in cities and getting sick because they couldn’t leave their homes or small apartments. I’ve been fortunate to be able to weather the storm in these surroundings.

What are some other challenges you’ve faced/encountered while living on the road?

After living a nomadic lifestyle, one of the places I disliked most was California, because it’s not a transient friendly state at all. That’s where I got robbed and got kicked out of most Walmart parking lots.

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In the US, Walmart is one of the only places where you can go and park safely 24/7 with an RV. That’s different in California, where they have a substantial homeless population and treat all who are transient as homeless. So that really sucked, but on the other hand, I love Joshua Tree, and I consider it one of the most magical places in California; so I’m not discounting the state as a whole.

Another issue is that dogs aren’t allowed in most national parks, or to be more precise, they’re only allowed on paved roads and not on any trails. This is understandable as they would interfere with the wildlife, but this was not handy as I was on the road with my foster dog Rocko. In the colder months, it was OK-ish to leave him in the car or the camper until we got back, but in the hotter months, especially in the desert, it’s not feasible. Winston and I would take turns hiking so that one of us could stay with Rocko and look after him. Since I’ve been in Moab, I’ve adopted a second dog, Bo. When I go on trips, I tend to leave them home with someone now, as it’s safer for them in the house, but I’d still like to be able to travel with them as much as possible.

I’m working on some projects though to help and solve both these issues for other transients like me, so yeah watch this space.

What are some things you can’t live without when on the road?

My camera, obviously because I’m a photographer, and I like to capture all the moments and memories. On difficult days, it’s great to look back at the pictures, see how far we’ve come, what we’ve achieved and reminisce. So yeah my camera for sure.

Next, I’d say water, bring water everywhere and have something that can either keep water cold in hot environments and hot in cold climates. Water is one thing you definitely don’t want to run out of anywhere. I invested in a properly insulated drinking bottle recently, and it has changed my life.

And lastly my dogs. In general, I think you should bring some kind of totem with you, something of value that brings you joy, gives you hope and inspiration on the road. For me, that’s my dogs, so I try and take them with me whenever I can.

Finally, what top 3 tips, lessons, advice do you have for others who are considering this kind of lifestyle?

I would say flexibility is crucial. As I said before, it’s essential to not look at situations unfolding as things happening to you personally. It’s easier said than done, I know, but this a mindset shift that can be cultivated over time. Make sure you have the mindset to handle setbacks because there will be plenty of those on the road for sure. If you decide to put your life in a motorised vehicle and head out, something is bound to go wrong, that’s just the way it is, it’s Murphy’s Law. So you need to be very aware of that, be OK with it and have >> 44

the capabilities of seeing beyond the setbacks to keep going, and see the blessings in every downturn.

Looking back at it, I think getting all my equipment stolen was one of the best things that happened to me. I could go around thinking it’s the worst thing in the world, but if it wasn’t for that happening, I would never have ended up in Moab, I wouldn’t have been here during the pandemic and had the most peaceful time where most people sadly went through a lot of hardships.

Another thing I would say is travel within your means. There’s definitely been a resurgence of the camper / RV lifestyle, and you see people splashing money to get these fancy all decked out RVs without even knowing if they’re suited for that lifestyle. So instead of spending $20k on the latest sprinter model, why not spend $2000 on an older van that you refurbish and see how you get on. Everyone is different off course, and your needs are going to be different from mine, but be honest about where you are financially before you start.

Finally, if you have animals, always check the weather and temperatures ahead of where you are going and plan accordingly. You may have to adapt your plans to suit them, but that’s just how it is if you care about them and their wellbeing.

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In my ADVENTURE bag Photo series by Danielle Kouassi

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PATRICK

ARYEE 54

Biologist, wildlife TV-presenter & filmmaker Patrick Aryee is an undeniable renaissance man of our generation. He’s worked as a crew member on a number of BBC documentaries including Frozen Planet and David Attenborough: 60 years in the wild. You can catch his latest show, Wild Animal Babies: First year on earth on Sky One in the UK and on PBS in the US. In this interview we touch on his path to wildlife tv, conservation efforts and the world after COVID. Interview by Ella Paradis

life TV presenter might be a better option. I could call upon my

Can you tell us a bit about your path from molecular biology graduate to wildlife TV presenter and filmmaker?

knowledge from the biology side of my studies, travel the world, see unique places, meet great people and come across some of

I love science, always have, always will. Growing up, I used to be

the most amazing animals in the world; things I wouldn’t be able

fascinated by shows like Tomorrow’s World, on the BBC, where they

to do were I to become a general science presenter.

would showcase technologies of the future, things we use in our day to day lives right now, but back then would be considered science

With this in mind, I started by being a runner in several small

fiction for the most part. That show was one of the first things that

production companies, to get myself out into the world of TV.

got me interested in the different fields of science.

When the opportunity came, I applied for an internship through a media charity in Bristol. That led me, out of a pool of 500

On the other hand, I also loved being centre stage. I took part in

applicants, to be selected alongside 5 others to be a part of a

theatre performances at school and always enjoyed being on stage,

placement program at the BBC. And the rest is history.

the lights, the nerves before a show, the standing ovation for a performance well executed.

What are some of the most memorable places wildlife TV presenting has taken you?

I ended up going to Bristol University, where I studied cellular and molecular biology, genetics and biochemistry. Though I enjoyed that, by the end of my degree, I realised that I didn’t like being in the

Wildlife TV has taken me all around the world, to pretty much

lab. I loved reading science, but the day to day practice turned out to

all the continents except for Antarctica, which has been great

be very repetitive, and for me, doing the same experiments over and

because this has given me a great experience and appreciation

over again got very repetitive and boring quite quickly.

for different cultures, people as well as the animals.

I was looking for a way to combine the scientist and the performer in

One location I am quite fond of is Montana in the north-west of

me, and that’s where the idea to become a “science presenter” came

the USA. It’s unlike any other part of the country, in that you’ve

to mind. After doing more research, I figured that becoming a wild-

got these magnificent sceneries and mountains that seem to dom>> 55

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Photographed by Aaron Price Make-up by Roisin Hazel Produced by Clara Grace Stewart & James McCallum Creative directors— James McCallum & Sereeta Venkanah

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inate the sky. Montana, more specifically South Western Montana,

very complex and not as clear cut as seeing poachers as these

is also close to the Yellowstone National Park. It’s a part of this

terrible people. There is an enormous amount of money involved

incredible land, also known as the Greater Yellowstone Ecosystem,

in poaching, in fact, illegal wildlife crime is one of the most prof-

that stretches across parts of three US states, Wyoming, Idaho and

itable sectors of crime. For the poacher, killing that rhino and

Montana. Getting to see Montana and film in Yellowstone was an

selling the polished horn could mean earning a year’s worth of

unbelievable experience. The area is a hotbed of volcanic activity,

earnings in one go. With medical bills to cover, loved ones to look

and you can see how that affects the wildlife in fascinating ways.

after and not many other options to make money, we need to ask

Take the bison, for example. Because the area they roam is so geothermally active, they’ve got a more considerable amount of green space to graze. Those areas remain available for most of the winter, even though it gets brutally cold. The only problem however, is that because of the high level of sulfur and gasses bubbling through the earth, and subsequently, through the grass they consume, the bison’s teeth decay pretty rapidly. They end up losing their teeth

ourselves what would we do if we were in that situation. Before judging, we should ask ourselves, how far would WE really go?

And when you look at poaching, you realise very quickly that the bulk of the money isn’t being made by the poacher, but by the client, usually in Asia (China, Vietnam,...) that sources the products to resell at higher values to people that want it for their entertainment and as a status symbol.

earlier in life, and they die sooner than bison in other parts of

Conservation is as much about human aid as it is about saving

the country. They have more food available, but they die earlier

the wildlife. You can’t just go in and say you want to save the

because their teeth get destroyed, and they can’t eat anymore. So

rhinos if you don’t take into account the reality of the local

yeah, that’s pretty interesting.

communities that intersect with them. To care for the animals,

Another of my favourite locations are deserts. Deserts are one of

we need to equally care about the people.

those landscapes that surprise me the most. They’re constantly

You’ll also hear a lot of people say they love orangutans and want

shifting and changing because of the power of the wind. The wind

them free in the wild and to be able to see them in their natural

carves these huge towers, dips and waves in the sand, and you’ve

habitat. Still, very few of us think of the fact that our households

got these magnificent colours, red, golden, darks, just vast array of

products are filled with palm oil, the farming of which is respon-

hues, like a living painting.

sible for the decimation of the rainforests that said orangutans

There’s so much wildlife in deserts as well, whether that’s insects,

live in.

invertebrates and all the unique flora. Deserts appear so desolate at

When Pancake Day comes around, are we going to think about

first, but if you look close enough, you’ll see that there’s a surprising

maybe not spreading ours with Nutella which is made with palm

amount of wildlife going about their day/night. I never tire of

oil and instead will we go look for a more sustainable alternative?

deserts, no.

A lot of your work is currently focused on conservation efforts. Tell us a bit more about that.

At the moment, I’m working with Ol Pejeta Conservatory

Conservation is not a simple save the animal deal, the entire ecosystem in which the animals exist and are endangered needs to be taken into account as well. Ol Pejeta is doing some fantastic work in that respect.

in Kenya and a charity called Helping Rhinos. I’ve had the

The main draw for tourists to visit the conservatory is to see those

chance to visit the conservatory and see the work they’re doing

two last white rhinos in the wild. What Ol Pejeta also does, is

to preserve the last two white rhinos on the planet. I’ve also

that they open up the conservatory to cattle farming, allowing

spent time with the Rangers looking after the rhinos, seeing

the cows to graze on wildland and manage them in a way that

how they get trained, like an army basically, to face the poach-

they don’t overgraze. So you have these cows grazing in the same

ers who in most cases are members of the local community.

areas as the rhinos, the zebras, elephants and so on. The land of

What people need to understand is that the issue of poaching is

the conservatory is used both for tourism and to help the local 58

community, who are able to produce a premium free-range meat

eating meat that has grazed freely in the Masai Mara.

bouts of recovery seen across the globe due to our forced lack of movement this past year. Do you think there’s a way our needs for exploration as human beings can coexist with our attempts to save the planet that is sustaining us?

Both the local community and Old Pejeta have an incentive to

The short answer is yes, I think it’s possible. The legacy of this

product which will bring more money into the local community.

It’s the highest level of free-range you can think of, basically like

keep those last two rhino alive because the revenues generated

lockdown period is that we’ve now all seen that we can make

from tourism are helping to fund the infrastructures that are much

an impact and affect change very quickly if we decide to do so.

needed in the community.

Our focus now should be to make better-informed decisions

Looking at the world of wildlife TV, I can imagine that you’re often of the few if not the only Black person in the room, on an expedition, in all these remote places where they don’t see many Black people, etc.… What kind of impact has this had on you and on your experiences thus far?

about how we move in the world. You shouldn’t stop travelling, but maybe instead of going to the same destination three times, go once and spend more time there. Travel deeper.

Look at offsetting your carbon footprint wherever you can.

Vote for the right people, the ones that care about preserving

For me, no matter where I am, I like to live my best life and bring

the planet.

my best self forward. I see myself as an ambassador for my people,

Read the labels of your products and find out where they come

and yes, we could go into a discussion about how I shouldn’t have

from, how they are made and choose the sustainable options.

to do this, but this is the real world. And in the real world, it just so happens that some people haven’t been exposed to other cultures.

COVID and these last few months have shown us that we have the power as people to change things very quickly and that

If anything, I get excited at the opportunity to be an ambassador.

things CAN change very quickly. The proof is there, the data

For me it’s about meeting people, putting a smile on their faces,

is there.

finding out about their story. As a bearded Black man rocking up to these remote locations, I try to put myself in the locals’ shoes,

Travel is great and awesome, it takes you to lots of wonderful

seeing this new unknown face. I’ll walk up to them and start a

places and experience lots of cool cultures. And when you do

conversation, ask them questions about themselves, their lives,

travel, I’d encourage you to interact more with the locals of

what they do, what’s going on in their world and so on. You’re

the place you’re visiting and step out of your comfort zone.

there as a visitor, you’re there to explore and find out about the

Break through the initial wall of fear, because on the other side

place you’re visiting. What better way to do this than to talk to the

is a fantastic world filled with amazing people.

people that live there?

Once you sit down and take the time to talk to people, then the barriers come down, and they see that you’re just a human being like them with stories to share. A lot of prejudice is based on fear, fear of the unknown. But I think that if you approach these encounters with a spirit of compassion and willingness to learn other people’s stories, you’ll get a long way towards demolishing the prejudices.

Finally, and even more so in the wake of COVID 19, we can’t deny the impact we have on the world as travellers, evidenced by the quick

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Chale Wote Street Art Festival - Accra Photo by Enoch Appiah Jr. via Unsplash

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“IT’S NOT JUST JOLLOF”

by Shainah M. Andrews — Illustrated by Rose Winter

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Y

ou know when Snapchat makes you remember every memory that you’ve ever stored on the app?

A no longer existing relationship, an issue that weighed heavy on your heart a year ago but is no longer a problem, friendships that have faded, way too many singing videos?

My Snapchat memories are full of all that as well, but flashbacks of food that I once cooked made me cringe the most — like when I made West African Jollof for the first time in 2016.

My first mistake — I used a general recipe instead of a Ghanaian one, outright dishonouring my ancestors before I even turned the stove on!

While the flavours were all there, so was an excessive amount of oil — probably enough to fry up some ripe plantains if I wished to. And let’s not even talk about how much time I spent slicing and dicing vegetables that I never even saw in most Jollof once I actually got to Ghana...

Studying abroad in Ghana in 2018 for four months was, without a shadow of a doubt, the best decision that I’ve ever made culture and travel-wise. Most of my most cherished moments were made over ice-cold water sachets in a hot dorm room with people I plan to keep around for eternity. The memories that I treasure most are missed by people who never get to see how a Ghanaian woman kissed by moonlight can so effortlessly carry a bucket full of contents on her head. Or those who look down at their phone while the young man at the coconut stand chops the large drupe for them, instead of watching him reenact Fruit Ninja in real life right before their eyes.

One of my few challenges very early on around Legon was learning where to get Jollof, Waakye, and fruit that I enjoyed the most. There were so many options and everybody thought that their stand was best!

I quickly learned the perfect time to be outside of my international dorm every weekday if I wanted fresh bofrot before Bofrot Lady sold out. I would wait patiently as the person in front of me ordered half a dozen or more Ghanaian doughnuts, causing me to internally panic. There was no way I woke up 30 minutes early only to hear “it’s finished.” Unlike at my favourite red-red stand (which is Ghanaian black-eyed peas stew), I thankfully never heard those two words from Bofrot Lady.

One morning, I was fortunate enough to watch Bofrot Lady make her highly requested breakfast food.

She arrived late and moved faster than she usually did outside of my dorm, as opposed to the slower pace common to the country. Her husband was there to help, handing her what she needed before she even uttered a word. He quickly turned the doughnuts over in the oil when she had her back turned just a second too long for one batch.

Despite being a little bit behind schedule, Bofrot Lady so delicately dropped yellow-ish white heaps into a large pot of cooking oil. Every so often, she would turn the lumps around. And like a scientist with x-ray vision, she would use a large spoon with holes in it to lift the fermented dough out at just the right moment, placing the perfectly fried balls aside to further drain.

Some mornings, I would eat my bofrot in my first class. On Friday mornings when I didn’t have class, I would eat them downstairs or up in my room on the very top floor; those days always seemed to last longer — gave me more time to savour and take in.

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My time in Ghana encouraged me to keep making Jollof. Fast forward to 2019 and my Jollof was the perfect texture, but it looked like a baby threw up blush orange grains on a plate. And it had ZERO flavour, even after I spent way too much time on the stew as I tried to get rid of the pungent taste of plum tomato.

There have been so many moments along the way that made me feel defeated because I couldn’t make proper Ghanaian Jollof. Or laugh with Ghanaians who joked in Twi. Or make fufu that didn’t taste like a starchy disaster.

But when I could laugh with friends in Ghanaian English, or bargain for a tee-shirt in an art market like a local, or make batches of fried plantains that tasted just like my favourite in Accra, it hit me that it’s not just Jollof.

While the end goal is a bomb pot of rice, the in-between moments are what most make a person who they are. What makes ME. Do I give up at the first sign of difficulty, or do I power through? Do I see every unsuccessful batch of Jollof — or opportunity in life that I go after — as a step holding me back or one that propels me even closer to my purpose? The greatest reward is not what I get in the end, but what I gain along the way.

The Twi-speaking schoolgirls who I taught English in Ghanaian grasses would grumble in frustration when they could not comprehend a lesson that I created. But they would always pick their pencils right back up.

The children playing soccer would not stop kicking the ball, no matter the number of times that it would land in the street and not inside of their make-shift goal. I never stopped practising on my own head, giving myself box braids for the first time in October of 2019.

Africa and North America are separated by the Atlantic Ocean. Still, the lessons that I have carried back from the Motherland are closer than I could ever articulate.

After studying abroad in Ghana in 2018, I became alright with lectures not starting right on time, while my peers at my home university would sigh in frustration and leave the classroom if professors did not show up within 10 minutes. I left Ghana with the ability to not let a downpour damper my entire day. FORREAL — I was drenched mid-day one time while in Ghana. When it happened back on my home university’s campus, I literally laughed it off once I got to my dorm room and just changed into dry clothes. I learned which country’s plantains not to buy because I’m not a huge fan of frying green ones.

It is 2020, and I made a batch of Ghanaian Jollof in January. It’s no longer too greasy, too dry, or lacking flavour. I made the mistake of cooking with palm oil in January, but I did not judge myself like Gordon Ramsay would because I recognize that progress is progress — even if it’s slow. Baby steps are still steps.

And isn’t that partially what life is all about? Suppose you are “only” 50% done with your bachelor’s or master’s degree, can finally afford a passport but not a vacation right now, finished a book after one year of picking it up and putting it down because life happens, or anything else, you should stand on your truth and be proud! Clap for yourself. And do not downplay your milestones when others celebrate them with you.

An old church saying goes, “I’m not where I want to be, but thank God that I’m not where I used to be!” I stand by that wholeheartedly.

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I most recently made two more pots of Jollof; the one in May was PERFECT and the one in July... Well... It was delicious, but I forgot to rinse the rice beforehand and that ruined its texture! (Rice rookie move, I know.)

At any rate, though, even the most impeccable chef has messed up more than once. I am still working on being content with not knowing exactly what God has ahead for me a couple years down the line, let alone tomorrow. I can say — in peace and with faith — that seasons dedicated to resting and creating are just as important as those where the whole world gets a front-row seat to the exciting parts of my life. In fact, dare I say, more important. I am still growing, even when only me and a select few see the wings first forming on the inside of my body.

I am still learning, even now, when I decide that going back to school — at least in the foreseeable future — would be counterproductive to all of the progress that I have made so far.

I am still living — even from my bedroom in my parents’ home instead of on an African beach, giving a business pitch in Colombia, or eating rice and peas in Brixton, England.

Oil may burn your fingers and arms when you are still perfecting a recipe, but the scars that they may leave do not have to be where your story ends. And sometimes loving yourself means stepping entirely away from the pan before you’ve even perfected the recipe, realizing that what you are striving for hurts you more than the grease does.

Drawing back is sometimes necessary, even when you have a line of hungry costumers demanding more of you than you could ever offer.

Reaching this mindset has not been an overnight process. And some days, I feel previous seasons wanting to sabotage this current one and my future promises. But I strike those thoughts down with the resolve of a sharp machete making its way through a mature coconut, tasting the sweetness in forward. My purpose boils like a pot of beans threatening to spill over, a feast that I and many generations to come will bear the rewards of. There are layers of me that still need to be peeled back and stripped away, but there are also so many more parts of me just waiting to be uncovered and utilized.

There were a couple of times when I bit down into Bofrot Lady’s work of art and found the centre to be a bit too sour or thick for my personal liking. I am still learning in more ways than one how something (and someone) can be perfected but not perfect at the same time.

A Ghanaian genius — with a million Michelin stars in my mind — has made a few batches that fell short.

And yet, she still holds a community together with just her hands and transportable kitchen. So why can’t I also miss the mark every now and then?

I’ve learned that with the right people cheering you on from the bleachers of life, you can see yourself as unstoppable as they and God do.

I no longer look at my Snapchat flashbacks as memories to be ashamed of. After all, how could I ever despise the very flames that helped glaze me?

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A west coast girl who needed to fly but fight the fear of it first, childhood comfort kept her brown toes on solid ground never in skies or between clouds, she was afraid of being up high she would gaze at the airplanes from grandma’s house while her hair steamed in the kitchen from a fresh press, neighborhood walls would quiver and shake from flights in motion at March Air Force base, but her smile and interest continued to raise in hopes of one day she would fly, brave enough to sip coconut water on islands to spread her brown body across new grasses and hike in dry pastures, but she only knew the view from Freeport drive, until the roundtrip to Seattle Florida, Texas, even Atlanta fear released and space created, to live the dreams she had of a black girl, who travels

cocoa travel — Brittany Taylor

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I learned of a city

I learned of a city

Through you

In thick books

Every street told Me more - I wanted

Great people brave souls

When I trace

I could taste it

My steps

In the air

I find parts of you And yes If not a smile

I told stories of

A moment

Its magic

Eternalised

Its charm

On a corner But it seems I learned of a city

It was you

So long ago

You were always

Something lived

There

Is still and distant I think rosy of This place In the details Your face So casual

I learned of a city — Kyomi Wade

I forget to Separate it

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On the road

It is not something

You will open up

You do for

friendship

Pretty pictures

You will ask yourself

It is the conversations

What it is

That soothe your soul

You will know it is

That mean more

Not company

Than you could know

It is to be, without the

On the road

Loneliness aftertaste

You will treasure

It is not hollow

Those friends

Laughs, it is to glide

You will know

Outside of you

Them from their eyes

Catching the remnants

Keep them safe

Of life, from an other

After all

Looking deep

They are the stars

Within one another

Of our lives

Listening to details It is to care, with words

To the friends we meet on the road

It is to act with

— Kyomi Wade

A kindness that Comes from The heart

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There’s nothing in this world I’d rather be than a black woman we are the salt of the earth buoyant gracefully keeping everything afloat black men politics and white women who need checkin’ like the lac rose we are calming lagoons of reassurance ready to help when you’re down but the salty taste in your mouth that you need when its time to take action like the taj mahal people stare at us in awe and like the turquoise waters of the Indian ocean we camouflage changing colors adapting and adjusting with a grace unmatched they’ll plant hurdles on your path and then call you lazy steal your joy and call you angry exhaust us but never crush us we are the seeds of civilization with your kinky wool-like hair and brazened honey for skin there’s no skin I’d rather be in than this black woman’s brown liquor brown skin brown suga unrefined, not bleached pure the real thing like brown suga, sweet. and not just what’s between the thighs but for the resilience in our shoulders and the inner workings of our minds divine black girl, you make the moon jealous with the way your fro orbits your face as if you were the sun

As if you were the sun — Briona Lamback

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How do you pack for a journey that you wish was one way To a place your soul knows, 400 years deep But which your eyes have yet to meet?

Should I swim across these waters? Just to honor the

choices that my ancestors didn’t have Cus’ something just

don’t feel right about flying over this ocean With red wine in my hand & 30 inches of legroom A luxury I feel undeserving of

Perhaps I’ll wade my way through their bloodshed waters dripped across the Atlantic Until I reach the shores of the golden coast

How do I lay to rest, my ways of the west So that I can come empty Ready

to be filled up with the predestined pieces of myself The parts of me that only deep brown skin and eyes that sing of resilience can fill I’ve never loved a place or people I don’t know this infinitely I just hope they see the same in me But even if they don’t Even if my foreign tongue can’t bridge gaps Even if I come

bearing the wrong gifts I will die with joy etched in my heart

Because I’ll no longer crave to know the magic of my mother’s Mother’s Mother’s Mother’s Mother’s Mother’s-land.

Homebound — Briona Lamback

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“Jamaica was colourful in every sense, and I couldn’t believe I’d made it here alone or that it had taken me so long or even that I was ever afraid.”

by Amara Amaryah — Illustrated by Rose Winter

“J

amaica’s not going anywhere Amara, you could always rebook for another time.”

I was only half-listening to my mum as I opened the thirteenth tab to search through booking.com for an affordable hotel for my now solo trip to Jamaica.

“Jamaica’s not going anywhere, you hear me?” she said again.

I respond, knowing that after our hour-long conversation weighing up my options, my only response had to be “I hear you”. And I did, but as a fourth-generation Jamaican growing up in London and now travelling the world, I couldn’t go anywhere else before seeing home.

Jamaica was happening, irrelevant of the sudden change of plans.

I’d never been on a plane for longer than three and a half hours before, to Morocco, so travelling to the Caribbean was the longest and furthest trip of my life so far.

To clarify, when I booked this trip I had a boyfriend and what I thought was a safety-net. A brief timeline; we booked the trip in the spring, broke up in summer with the offer still on the table for me to join his family in Jamaica in the winter. 3 weeks before our departure and as predicted by both the final mercury retrograde of the year and my mother, I was going solo to Jamaica.

*

After 11 hours in the air, 8 moments of seeing and not speaking to my ex, 3 missed meals (I assumed they would provide the option of vegan meals because, as I said, I had never been

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on a long haul flight) and countless drops of lavender oil for the nerves, I arrive in Kingston.

Because we are both raised well, I exchange one short and almost useless conversation with my ex at baggage claim before slipping out into my transfer for my first taste of Kingston.

Outside of the airport is busy, a non-chaotic and rhythmic kind of busy that resembles the outside of a club when the rave has finished. Taxi men and drivers in neat uniform and dripping in evening sweat shout to each other. Luggage skirts it’s way through the crowd.

“Excuse” and “mek me pass tru” follow closely behind the path the luggage is making for its owners, while I, the quietest of everyone here, enjoy it all.

I see my driver holding my name on a card. He introduces himself to me as Thomas as he guides me through the crowd. In a matter of seconds, we drive off past the university with the tall girls with their long legs and long skirts, past the runners glistening in the dark and into a pitch-black night.

Thomas is the kind of man whose smile gradually increases with trust and time. After answering a few of my prodding questions about where on the island he was born, where he lived and the parts he enjoyed most, he shed the polite smile as I unlocked a broader one.

He asks me in English, not patois, what brings me to Jamaica. I tell him the lie I decided early on, “I’m visiting family in Kingston and then heading to Ocho Rios for a few days”.

A smile shines through his eyes while he indicates and turns into New Kingston.

“Which part of Kingston are your family from?”

“St. Andrews”, I replied, “My father’s mother is from there and had she not been in England for an operation, she (being my only grandparent still tied to the island) is who I would have stayed with.” He gave me a nod of approval, an itinerary of things to see in Kingston and a final wide smile that dimpled his face.

As we pull up to the Knutsford Court Hotel gates, I recite the itinerary back to him to show I was listening “Strawberry Hill, Emancipation Park, Bob Marley museum, Blue Mountains”. I thank and pay him and write down his recommendations for another time. Tomorrow morning I leave the capital city and head straight to St Ann’s Parish. Ocho Rios is where the adventure begins.

*

The journey from Kingston to Ocho Rios is nothing short of mystical. Maybe it is my >> 73

city-upbringing, but the sheer lushness of the land with the highways twisting around unkempt jungle and rainforest, as well as the untouched hillsides, keep me mesmerised for the entire 2-hour coach trip. On arriving at Ocho Rios, I have to depend on trust and prayer that I find a good driver who will take me to my resort.

I ask at the desk where I’m initially pointed towards Trevor.

Trevor, to my misfortune, was in the middle of a conversation he didn’t seem willing to interrupt. He instead directs me towards a dark skin man with light brown eyes and a smile that showed he must have been quite the cheeky young man. My new driver introduces himself as Mr Reed, indicating for me to get in the front seat the way my grandad used to, “Come Baby”.

Mr Reed is an Ochi man, born and raised by the water and very proud of it. As we drive through Ocho Rios town, he points to the houses nestled in the lush green forest overlooking the busy town centre, this is where he lives. Mr Reed occasionally stops his driving tour to ask me questions, this time he asks, “You like to party?”

To which I reply a simple “Yep” out of ease rather than honesty.

“Well then you must go to Margharita - good dance, loads of tourists and Jamaicans - but you have to go on a Sunday evening. On Mondays, there is a better place to go, you have to turn down this road and —” The car swerves and I’m not listening anymore, just nodding. I’m looking at the school kids outside Juici Patties and the men on the corner, some bagging fruit and others shouting at each other over the dancehall on the sound systems. Jamaica was colourful in every sense, and I couldn’t believe I’d made it here alone or that it had taken me so long or even that I was ever afraid.

“Here we are” announces Mr Reed as we pull up outside a quiet white and blue resort.

The kind, I would later learn, where Jamaicans from across the island come to spend the weekend, rather than the kind solo travelling tourists end up.

One of my personal musts when solo travelling is to make friends with the hotel staff. Bobby, the receptionist, became my favourite person to chat to. On arrival, she greeted me with a head nod and a purpled lipped smile before turning to Mr Reed and accusing him in fast patois of not coming to visit the hotel often enough. I immediately liked her.

While they gisted, I signed in and paid for my stay. After Mr Reed left, Bobby and I leaned on the counter in the hotel lobby and spoke about Jamaica and England and island men and

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the ocean.

“You should go snorkelling!” she says, flicking through the dusty excursion pamphlets that Jamaican guests don’t usually need.

“I would, but I can’t swim” I admit shyly, knowing that I would be at least waist-deep in the ocean the next day. Her almond-shaped eyes narrow as she laughs with her hands, informing me that she can’t swim either and is actually scared of the ocean. That, however, didn’t her stop her from snorkelling anyway. When I ask her how she overcame the fear, she told me that she loves the ocean more than she fears it and so she just trusted the instructor. I make no promises about the snorkelling, but I keep her bravery in mind.

*

The next morning, Mr Reed picks me up and takes me to Bamboo beach, which Bobby recommended. He walks me in lets the bar staff know to look after me and informs me that he will return at 5pm as I requested. Bamboo beach is much smaller than I imagined but an undeniable paradise. As I walk onto the hot sand, an elder woman dressed entirely in white stops me and asks for my name. Upon realising that I’m not who she thinks, we compliment each other’s hair and wish each other a good day. I remember Bobbie’s words and make my way into the ocean. Made brave by her snorkelling stories, I let myself get chest-deep, feet firm on the ground but more immersed than I had ever been before.

I realise that there isn’t a feeling like it, feeling at home not because you assimilate or speak the language or get mistaken for a young Jamaican by an elder, but just because your body eases into the land.

I spend most of the day either in the ocean or sitting on the expensive lounge chair that I rented, reading poetry and thinking about being back among the waves. On about my eighth trip back in, I walked around idly, dug my feet into the sand, listened to the waves and filmed myself in my new happy place. My friend watched my Instagram story and responded with a yellow heart emoji and added ‘you look like you walked out of the sea just like this!’.

Shortly after, I notice a woman with her teenaged son swimming in my direction. I thought about how lucky they were to be raised here and for this to be a regular part of their weekend routine. I notice how comfortable she was letting her afro get wet in the water, the droplets in her hair glistening the same colour as her turquoise swimsuit. When she catches me smiling, she smiles back and says “You look like a mermaid,” floating across my path, she continues “like a beautiful little >>

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mermaid”.

I thank her and think about what Bobbie had said about loving the ocean so much that she trusted herself to snorkel in it. I wasn’t brave enough to swim, let alone snorkel, but I definitely felt something I had never before felt, like I was supposed to be here, reacquainting with the ocean.

*

Some hours later, I got changed and sat down to watch the sky quietly dissolve into the ocean with my red stripe beer in hand. The only other scene capturing my attention is that of a young Jamaican messing up the photoshoot of the couple beside me. There was something familiar about his jokester behaviour that reminded me of my younger cousins, constantly being addressed as ‘ginals’ until older. I laugh, mainly because it made me feel at home.

My laughter is sharply interrupted, “Who yuh ah laugh after?” comes from a coarse voice out of a smiling mouth which makes me laugh even more. We introduce ourselves, and I learn that the voice belongs to Charles, a Jamaican who served in the military but now only lives with the remnants of such a disciplined past with his family by the coast.

In short, Charles is that uncle at the family function who holds one drink all night, questions all the young people about their career plans and switches seamlessly between English and patois depending on his company. Inevitably he asks me what I was doing here, alone. I tell him that I am in Ocho Rios for a break and that my family lives in Kingston where I’ll be returning in a few days. Charles pressed me about where in Kingston, to which I reply St Andrews proudly, because I had prepared for this. To my surprise, he continues to ask whereabouts in St Andrews and just before I can answer something vague he offers ‘Stony Hill?’ to which I reply casually ‘yes, near that end’. I was thankful that he stopped there because I knew nothing about the island’s geography beyond basic parishes.

“Your dad let you come to Ocho Rios … alone?” I nodded between sips of beer, even though it is really myself and two colleagues who felt that going solo was a brilliant idea. I ask him if he would let his daughter come to the beach if she wanted to, to which he responds without a beat “no, anything goes in Jamaica”.

From what I knew of Jamaica, I quickly concluded that there wasn’t really any sensible response to this, so I added something about my family finally trusting me to see beyond St Andrews. When he doesn’t interrupt me, I go on to explain how I wanted to see the whole picture and see the country in full, not just St Andrews. After a few seconds of contemplation, he nods, maybe making sense of my pretend situation a little better.

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“How are you getting around?” I tell him about Mr Reed. Without a breath, he responds “Does your family know him, the driver, Mr Reed?”

“Of course they do”, I replied and watch as Charles unravels, satisfied with my interview performance.

What I like about Charles is his ability to help me confirm that Jamaicans are the best storytellers. Even if only, and directly because they are known to be the most observant of people.

For instance, when Charles asked me why I was walking up and down in the water to just ‘wet my foot’ instead of actually swimming in it, I felt the high eyebrow, double-blink expression overtaking my face. And then I, sagely, stopped it in time and decided to laugh with him rather than tell him that I was actually reconnecting with my soul by way of my inner mermaid. We weave in and out of witty interactions like this one until I remember that Mr Reed should have arrived 35 minutes ago. When Charles asks if I was going to church tomorrow, I say no, predicting the consequences of telling a Jamaican elder this. He asks why, ready to lecture me, to which I inform him that I keep the Sabbath instead. Despite my planning, I didn’t end up avoiding the lecture as I (forgetting myself while on holiday), was drinking beer. I was, in fact, breaking the Sabbath.

“You must make it up tomorrow”, says my regimental ex-military new friend. I nodded awkwardly, not knowing what to do with the rest of my beer.

After learning more about me and my previous solo travels, Charles decides quickly that I was a ‘real gangster’ and calls over an unwilling staff member to confirm this. Maybe to quieten the noise (almost entirely Charles’), the bar staff play Lila Ike’s ‘Second Chance’ for the 5th time that day as I sit to watch the last of the pastel sunset, safe and grateful for my first day of solo travel in Jamaica.

*

Mr Reed arrives shortly after and enjoys a can of coke and some conversation with the bar staff, before nodding to signal that we were ready to go. Very aware that I had mentioned to Charles that Mr Reed knew my father and was a trusted driver in our family, I tried to quietly make it back to the car without Charles noticing. I fail, of course, because quiet is not the way of Jamaican uncles. To heighten my anxiety, Charles slow-jogs over to the car to greet Mr Reed himself.

“Driver!” Mr Reed turned to half-smile at Charles who was smiling with all of his teeth and gums.

>>

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“I just wanted to meet you and mek sure seh yuh drive nicely, me feel like yuh drive fast”.

Mr Reed laughed politely, and I laughed maybe too loudly with him, relieved because Mr Reed seemed to know everyone here except Charles, a small miracle, considering. Charles shared some final advice, some of it serious, some of it only employed to instigate laughter before we went our separate ways. I nod in the direction of the car, and Mr Reed translates my cue. We drive off into the shade of palm trees and the sound of Mr Reed’s radio playing the reggae anthems I grew up hearing.

“Tomorrow at 10am baby? That’s the best time if we’re taking a long drive up the hills to Nine Mile”.

I wave goodbye as Mr Reed drops me off at the resort and promises to be on time to experience the famous hills of St Ann’s parish.

The drive up the hills was something I will never forget. We drove up on a Sunday, which in Jamaican culture is a day dedicated from morning to evening to church activity. The 90-minute journey became gradually wetter as we drove deeper into the hills, it became slower as the roads were less smooth. The accents became thicker and harder to understand as we moved away from the town and into rural grounds. Still, there was never a lack of church people, never a lack of loud, hymnal song from some baptist or evangelical or pentecostal church for the entire journey.

Having grown up for part of my life spending Sundays and summers in South London’s Brixton, this was all very familiar, to the extent that if I closed my eyes, I could have been listening to a random scene from my childhood. Sitting in Mr Reed’s car, with his playlist going through a mixture of roots reggae and classic Bob Marley tunes on repeat in the background, hearing the snippets of patois out of my window. Even the echo of sermons and worship or the scent of early Sunday dinner being prepared, all felt like normal parts of my upbringing. What felt overwhelmingly out of place for me was the lack of concrete, the abundance of greenery in the hills and the untamed wildness of it all. It was a surreal experience, at times uncomfortable and then suddenly exciting once again.

“Yuh see those houses up there, inna the hills?”

Mr Reed, merging full patois and English to talk to me now, interrupted my conflicting emotional soliloquy.

“Owned by Englishman”, he pouted his lips until it turned into a smirk in a way that doesn’t need to be translated into English or patois. The rest of the journey Mr Reed points out all the unfinished houses being built up in the hills, and I wonder how many of them belong to Jamaicans.

*

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It goes without saying that Bob Marley is the most famous Jamaican to have walked the Earth. Being able to see the room that he slept in, the view he would see every morning, and even the kitchen that his mother would’ve cooked family meals in, was an interesting experience.

I always knew that my mum was partly inspired by Bob Marley’s grandfather’s name Omariah - when naming me. Seeing his photograph hanging on the walls of the preserved living room was a pleasant surprise that I didn’t expect to move me so much. Our tour guide leaned into the easy-going and extravagant Jamaican personality. This meant that we moved through the tour with an abundance of stories, riddles, music, encouragement to buy and smoke with ‘no problem’ followed by the recital of psalms and wise words.

On our drive away from the museum, I noticed a building painted in red, green and yellow with faces of prominent Jamaican freedom fighters.

“It’s a school, I think the Marley brothers help to build it up”.

Mr Reed, used to me by now, unlocked the car door so I could get some pictures. I wanted to WhatsApp them to my grandad. This school with paintings in honour of Bob Marley, Marcus Garvey, Nanny of the Maroons, Norman Manley and more would make him smile.

It took me back to my thoughts about how familiar and yet alien I felt.

Here I was, taking a picture of a school, completely in awe of something so ‘everyday’.

A part of me couldn’t imagine the idea of walking into school with all of these powerful national heroes in my face, reminding me of my blackness and my history. I knew these faces to belong in the Black history books, placed only in the Black book shops that exclusively existed in the Black neighbourhoods.

What I now know to be a small and struggling primary school called ‘Rhoden Hall Basic School’, represented at that moment, the first of many moments of longing for the one part of Jamaica that could never exist in England. After I had enough photos, I got back in the car for our 90-minute journey from the earthy quiet of Nine Mile to the bustling Ocho Rios town centre.

[to be continued]

Read part 2 of Amara’s journey in the next volume of The Black Explorer Magazine. Coming Dec 2020 79

Dunn’s River Falls & Park, Ocho Rios Photo by Lakeisha Bennett via Unsplash

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81

BLACK TRAVEL HISTORY

1931—2019

BARBARA HILLARY 82

POLAR EXPLORERS

“At every phase in your life, look at your options. Please, do not select the boring ones.”

T

he first Black Woman and one of the oldest people to

Barbara Hillary dedicated her travel to the North Pole to her

ever reach both the North and South Poles, Barbara

mother, Viola Jones Hillary, who moved from the “Low country”

Hillary was a force to be reckoned with.

of Hilton Head Island, South Carolina to New York City in the 1930s to give Barbara and her sister, Dorothy Hillary Aranda, a

Born in 1931 in New York City, Hillary was raised in Harlem. As

chance for a better education. 1

a child, she loved reading adventure survival stories like Robinson Crusoë. Hillary trained as a nurse, mainly looking after and car-

If you thought that was the end, well you haven’t been paying

ing for the elderly. She was both a breast cancer survivor in her

attention. In January 2011, in her thermals she was again, this

20’s and a lung cancer survivor in her 60’s, the latter needing an

time trekking over Antarctica to reach the South Pole, just a few

operation that saw her lung capacity reduced by 25%.

months shy of her 80th birthday.

Upon her retirement, and at the age of 71 no less, and with all

For the last few decades of her life, Barbara Hillary was an un-

the time in the world, she found herself in a position to be able

stoppable adventurer defying all expectations the world had of

to scratch her adventurous itch and swiftly booked herself on a

her as an older Black Woman. Though her adventures started as

dog-sledging trip to Canada to photograph polar bears. It was on

a fun challenge for herself, she quickly experienced and realised

that trip that she became fascinated by the idea of the arctic and

the impact of global warming on the planet. She became an

the Poles. Finding out that no Black woman had ever set foot on

activist giving talks and raising awareness of the damages caused

either, she set herself the challenge to be the first.

by climate change.

On returning back home to NY, she started training. Lifting

Hillary maintained her adventurous spirit until the very end,

weights, learning to ski and raising funds for her expedition,

planning to explore remote parts of Russia when she died at

first to the North Pole. By 2007, she had raised $25K to get her

the age of 88 after several months of ill health. In her 2017

going. When she made it to the North Pole 23 April 2007 at the

commencement address at the New School, her alma mater, she

age of 75, she was not only the first Black woman to do so but

famously shared the following advice with her audience:

also one of the oldest people to ever do it. She recounts, “I have

“At every phase in your life, look at your options. Please, do not

never experienced such sheer joy and excitement, I was scream-

select the boring ones.”

ing, jumping up and down, for the first few minutes.” In all her excitement, Hillary forgot about the cold, took her gloves off to celebrate and ended up with frostbitten fingers.

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BLACK TRAVEL HISTORY

1866—1955

MATTHEW HENSON 84

POLAR EXPLORERS

W

which the journey to the Pole was successfully completed.

ho was the first man at the magnetic North Pole?

He could not merely drive a dog-team or skin a musk-ox

Two men, James Cook and Robert Peary, have feuded

with the skill of a native, but he was something of a naviga-

over the honour back in the 19th century with the

tor as well. In this way, Mr Henson made himself not only

latter’s claim being the widely accepted one in the end. This might

the most trusted but also the most useful member of the

well be because of Peary’s manoeuvring and sabotage of Cook’s

expedition.”

evidence to confirm his claim, but this is neither here nor there.

Peary, on the other hand, was a man of his time and considered

If we go by the accepted version that Peary was, in fact, the first man

any non-white individual inferior to him. Though both he and

to reach the North Pole, then it is only fair to highlight the highly

Henson fathered children with Inuit women over the years, Peary

likely fact that he wasn’t actually the first first to touch the pole. And

didn’t bother learning anything about the people they relied on to

there is evidence to this that even Peary couldn’t sabotage or cover.

help bring about their expeditions. This made him more reliant on Henson and all the formidable skills he managed to amass over the

Enters Matthew Henson. Born in 1866 Maryland and orphaned

years, of which not least the ability to speak the Inuit language.

by age 7, Henson knew from a very young age that he wanted

Henson would go on and save Peary’s life numerous times over the

to live a life that was different to what was expected of a young

years.

African-American man at the time. Aged only 12, he made his way to Baltimore, headed for the port and managed to finesse a job as a

Peary’s plan to abandon his company when they got close enough

cabin boy on a ship headed for China. Henson loved life at sea and

to the Pole so as not to share the honour with 3 Inuits and a

spent the next decade sailing all around the world, amassing many

Black man, was thwarted when the expedition moved quicker

skills and virtues along the way.

than even he had anticipated. Henson and the Inuits arrived first at the location they all believed to be the magnetic North Pole

In 1888 Robert Peary and Matthew Henson’s path crossed, with

and proclaimed upon seeing that Peary had finally caught up,

Peary being duly impressed by Henson’s intelligence and skills as

“I think I’m the first man to sit on top of the world”.

a sailor. Peary asked Henson to join him, first on an expedition to Argentina, and next on his quest to reach the North Pole. Henson

This, as you can imagine, angered Peary beyond belief, so much

accepted and thus would start a partnership that would span over 2

so that he gave Henson the silent treatment all the way until their

decades and 7 polar expeditions.

return back to the US and effectively never spoke to him again.

This is the treatment he reserved for a man who had been by his

Fast forward to 1909, Henson and Peary are on their 7th attempt

side for over 20 years, across 7 expeditions and who saved his life

to reach the North Pole. Over the 20 years since they met, the pair

numerous times.

attempted this feat no less than 6 times, spending months on end among the Inuits of Greenland. In this time, Henson became some-

On their return to the USA, off course Peary got all the honours

what of an arctic renaissance man.

and recognition and effectively silenced the man who was the de

Booker T. Washington, a Henson admirer, summed it up best:

facto leader of the expedition, Matthew Henson. Henson was

“During the twenty-three years in which he was Peary’s

as a clerk in a federal customs house in New York. But in 1944

largely ignored and spent most of the next thirty years working

companion, he not only had time and opportunity to perfect

Congress awarded him a duplicate of the silver medal given to

himself in his knowledge of the books, but he acquired a good

Peary. Presidents Truman and Eisenhower both honoured him

practical knowledge of everything that was a necessary part

before he died in 1955.1

of the daily life in the ice-bound wilderness of polar explora-

To this day, because of the respect he showed them and them to

tion. He was at times a blacksmith, a carpenter, and a cook.

him in return, the Inuits of Greenland still tell stories and sing of

He was thoroughly acquainted with the life, customs, and the

Mahripaluq, “Matt, the kind one”.

language of the Eskimos. He himself built the sledges with 85

BLACK TRAVEL HISTORY

1941 —

TETE-MICHEL KPOMASSI 86

POLAR EXPLORERS

B

orn in Togo in 1941, Tété-Michel Kpomassi fateful encounter with a python in a coconut tree, would send him on the quest of a lifetime, that would take 8 years to complete.

At the age of 16, while he was collecting coconuts high up in a tree, Kpomassi came face to face with a python. Startled, he knocked the snake out of the tree and went about his task.

Unfortunately for him, the reptile didn’t take too well to being pushed out of its nook and started slithering his way back up the trunk of the tree, quickly making his way back to the young boy that was still dangling high up. Not knowing how to react and fearing for his life, Kpomassi let go of the branch he was holding onto and tumbled several feet to the ground.

What ensured was a fever likely induced by a concussion due to the shock of his landing.

To cure him, his father took him to a priestess of the python cult deep in the jungle, who in return for healing him required that the young Kpomassi would be initiated into the cult and devote the rest of his life as a servant of the cult, living amongst the pythons. Though his father agreed, Kpomassi was off course not keen on this, but being a good child and not knowing any other way, he kept his reservations to himself.

It was during his recovery while waiting to be taken into the jungle, that he found his way to a local missionary library. There he came across a children’s book titled, “Eskimos from Greenland to Alaska” and fell in love with the idea of Greenland. A country where not only was it too cold for snakes to inhabit, but there were also no trees that they could hide. And so he set out to find this cold paradise, though at the time he could not have conceptualised the notions of cold described in the book.

As soon as he got the opportunity, he ran away from home with the sole purpose to reach Greenland one way or another. For the next few years, he embarked on a journey that over 8 years would take him from Togo to Ghana, Sénégal, Mauritania, France, Germany and finally Greenland.

Once there, and despite being thought of by the locals as the devil himself, as most of them had never seen a Black man in their life, Kpomassi slowly assimilated to local life.

First befriending the children and learning the language from them, before making his way further up north to immerse himself in the true Inuit lifestyle.

What further unfolds is an, at times grim, uncomfortable but nonetheless riveting, encounter with a population that was dealing with the first effect of post-colonisation rules imposed on them by the Danish government.

In his book, “An African in Greenland”, Kpomassi recounts his experience living with the Inuits, adapting to their culture, learning their language and draws parallels between Togo’s and Greenland’s status as recent former colonies of France and Denmark respectively, trying to figure out a new way of life while still very much controlled by the coloniser.

Kpomassi now lives in France, regularly travelling back between Togo and Greenland.

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BLACK TRAVEL HISTORY

1984—

DWAYNE FIELDS 88

POLAR EXPLORERS

W

hen Jamaica-born Dwayne Fields, moved to Hackney at the age of 6, the first thing that hit him was the lack of trees, nature and wildlife. Growing up, Dwayne was used to running outside, swimming in the ocean, picking fruits

from trees when he was hungry. Moving to East-London changed all that, and he felt very overwhelmed by the unfamiliar surroundings.

The young Dwayne was passionate by nature and the outdoors and tried to share his excitement for it with his new peers, who met him with weirded eyes. To survive in this new concrete jungle he now called home, Dwayne had to tone down his nature-loving side to try and fit in with his peers.

As the years went by, Fields would come into contact with gang violence, though he was never a part of a gang, nor did he ever carry a knife or a gun. He survived being stabbed and shot at two separate occasions. Realising he needed to do something not to end up another unfortunate statistic, Dwayne decided to reconnect with his younger self and find refuge in nature.

At first, he ran several marathons, which brought some joy and feelgood back into his life.

Wanting more, he answered a call by Ben Fogle and James Cracknell who had just returned from crossing the Atlantic in a rowboat and were looking for a third companion to join them at the South Pole. Dwayne’s application came in too late for this expedition, but he was instead offered the chance to join a North Pole trek. Excited, he jumped on the offer, trained in the nights to prepare for his adventure, and used up his student loan to fund the expedition.

And so in 2010, Dwayne became the first Briton to walk 400miles to the magnetic North Pole. On his return he was invited to Buckingham Palace, joining other polar explorers and adventurers and at a reception to mark the centenary of Scott’s expedition to the South Pole.

Dwayne is now focused mainly on encouraging young people growing up in inner cities to get out and experience nature and a life with which they have not previously been engaged.

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Lost in the wilderness...

Photo by Aliunix via Unsplash 90

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CRUISING INTO NEW ADVENTURES Words & photography by Davida Wulff-Vanderpuije

I

wasn’t sure how to pronounce fjord when I initially came across the word. So, when I set sail on my first cruise - to Norway’s spectacular fjords - three years later, it seemed like a gasp-worthy full-circle moment.

Some might say the Norwegian fjords are, quite simply, the ultimate destination. The first time I encountered them, I stood spellbound on deck - puffer jacket on and a glass of champagne in one hand - as the ship, Balmoral, sailed past the mist-topped peaks, plunging waterfalls and mysterious rock formations of Lysefjord.

In the ensuing months, I would hit the water two more times. First, to explore some of the cities and villages along the enchanting Rhine on a 7-night river cruise with AmaWaterways. Easily navigating through narrow waterways, the luxurious AmaKristina transported us from Basel through the Rhine Valley and up to the canals of Amsterdam, calling into Riquewihr, Strasbourg, Rüdesheim and Cologne along the way. The next cruise was an 11-night solo ocean itinerary that took me to Gibraltar, Casablanca, Cádiz, Lisbon and Porto. Yes, solo cruising! Each cruise was a “first” in its own way, and a tangible experience of the adage, “oceans take you to countries, rivers take you through them.”

Three cruises in, the frisson of excitement at the thought of boarding a ship and sailing to lands near and far hasn’t waned.

I’ll be honest with you: the world of cruising was not particularly top of mind. However, as someone with a healthy curiosity toward novel travel experiences, it was one I was open to when the opportunity came. Cruising is arguably at the forefront of affordable and 92

ambitious holidays. How else can you see multiple countries in one trip with everything taken care of ? How else can you visit remote destinations that aren’t easily accessible by air? Let’s not forget the allure of unpacking once and not having to switch accommodations or arrange transfers for the pleasure of new horizons each day. Take all these into account and you can see why travellers are increasingly developing appetites for cruising into new adventures.

While each cruise gave me moments to cherish, solo cruising was a standout travel “first”. Onboard the ship, I enjoyed the freedom to create the pace I wanted. Days at sea were spent relaxing, socialising and content planning for Wonders of Wanders, my creative travel, food and culture platform. However, it was ashore that I had my most memorable experiences. In Cádiz, there was Fernando, the elderly gaditano in a tavern who regaled me with stories from his past travels before squeezing his card into my hand, warmly promising to host me on a return visit. In Casablanca, it was defying fears I held in the pit of my stomach about Morocco in order to explore the sprawling city with Rachid, a grand taxi driver and tour guide.

In Porto, it was serendipitously bumping into - and then having an affirming conversation over lunch with - a fellow solo traveller.

Solo cruising presented new learning experiences and opportunities to challenge notions about the world. Now that I have tackled travel by land, air and water, I know that no matter how you get there, it is always worth digging a little deeper to expand your worldview. This is the gift of travel if you remain open to it.

The world looks different these days. As we reckon with travel in the wake of the Covid-19 pandemic, size definitely matters. Would I cruise again? Yes. Ocean or river? It depends. Having experienced both, I feel more drawn to the intimate cruising experience that rivers provide. I daresay the trend toward small-group gatherings, as necessitated by the pandemic, is something the river cruise industry has been perfecting for some time now. I remain, as always, open to possibilities. Let’s see what 2021 brings, shall we?

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THE OBVIOUS AMERICAN

by Jeremiah Pittmon

W

e all can stand out in a crowd. We may feel unremarkable, ordinary or average, and therefore not think of ourselves as standing out in a crowd. The thing is, it all depends on the setting you find yourself in as I found out on my first trip to Rome.

During our trip, my wife and I would encounter guys on the streets selling souvenirs and trinkets. They were obviously drawn to tourists in their effort to make a quick and easy sale. Most of them were African. They immediately noticed my wife who is from Ghana and seemed able to identify her immediately as a fellow African.

As for me, they identified me as well. How? I’m still not sure. It’s probably something exceedingly obvious that I’m overlooking, but haven’t picked up on it yet. And it happened every time. And this is how things would unfold. We’d be walking down the street, one of the vendors would spot us and walk up to us. Immediately they would enquire with my wife about where she’s from. They would guess (often correctly) or ask and note that she’s their sister. After a brief conversation with her, they would turn to me and say “and you’re American, right?” At first, I was a little taken aback. Was it that obvious? It didn’t bother me and I definitely wasn’t trying to hide it, but it was curious. It happened twice on our first day. How in the world did they know that I was American just from looking at me?

What was it?

Later that night, I played back the interactions in my mind. I realised that I might have spoken just a word or two when they approached.

Maybe I said “hello”, and they picked up on my American “accent”. Even now it’s funny to think that I have an accent. In your mind, it’s always other people that have accents and not yourself. But that’s another beautiful thing about travel. I thought to myself that had to be it. They heard my voice for however brief, but my accent stood out even in that short time just as a British, Italian or Ghanaian accent would catch my ears. But was that really it? I didn’t remember saying something every time before they made their prediction.

The more I thought about it, the more I started to consider that it might have been the shoes. In my reading before our trip, I came across the fact that white sneakers are a distinctly American fashion choice. And indeed I was rocking my beloved white shell toe Adidas with red stripes. So it very well could have been that. I also noticed a lot of men wearing their pants rolled up at the cuff. That was interesting and kinda cool. My pants weren’t like that. So it could have been that as well. Still, I remained super curious, just what was it that identified me as an American? I could’ve been French, from the Caribbean Islands, from some African nation or even Canadian.

But no, I was identified as American.

I had to figure this out. So I had made a plan. The next day I would be sure not to say anything at all when approached. I rolled the bottom of my pants up just as I saw many of the Italian men do and I pulled out my brown loafers and left my Adidas in our apartment.

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I was certain that my beloved Adidas had betrayed me, and it was time to find out.

I’m going to figure this out.

The second day came and out we went to explore the magnificent city that is Rome. And sure enough, we saw the vendors, they saw us, and they were quick to greet us. Just like the previous day, they happily approached my wife first and with a hearty “SISSSSSTAHHH”, a brief conversation about where she was from and then turned to me. I had consciously remained silent the entire time, waiting for the moment. And then turning his attention to me, ”...and you’re American, eh”.

Wait! What!?

How did he know? How could he possibly know? What was it? He didn’t hear my voice; I wasn’t wearing my American identifiable white sneakers. I even had the bottoms of my pants rolled up. Despite it all, he still identified me! He wasn’t the only one. The same scenario repeated itself about five times that day. Every time it was like a script in a play. Every time we had the same exact roles and the same exact script. The only character that changed was the vendor. And every single time, I would be identified as an American.

It wasn’t just the African vendors; there were several Italians that identified me as an American as well. So whatever gave me away was a pretty universal signifier. But each time, I had really lovely interactions and even some cool conversations with the people we met.

So what was it, you ask? I still don’t know. Your guess is as good as mine. Actually, your guess is probably better than mine. My only regret was not asking any of the men how they knew that I was an American.

The obvious American It made me realise that the phrase “stop acting like a tourist” is pretty unproductive. There is always going to be something that identifies you as a person who’s not from there. Now you don’t want to be rude and offensive or put yourself or others in any danger, but being overly worried about trying to fit in or dress like the locals shouldn’t take away from your experience. No matter what you do, you’re going to be different. But that’s one of the inspiring things about travel. Being the “other” person in a foreign city or country and interacting with local people. Seeing what it’s like to be the foreigner with the accent. I can say that I was intrigued by the experience and appreciated the different perspective.

One day though, I’m sure that I’ll crack the mystery. But until then, I’ll just keep travelling to places where I stick out as the obvious American, and I think that I’ll even keep on wearing my Adidas.

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STRANDED IN PARADISE Words & photography by Bénédicte King

“T

en complete strangers are stranded somewhere in

into a panic by the end of March. Street hawkers began to wear

Latin America due to a global pandemic. They

masks, restaurants exclusively offered takeaway service, and the

have to live under lockdown together in a house,

only alcohol-based substance that was legally allowed to be sold

uncertain of when they will be able to go home and be with their families again.” This would make a good reality TV show concept, don’t you think? Well, this is not brought to you by the creators of ‘Big Brother’ but is based on a true story… my story.

after 6pm was hydroalcoholic gel.

Mexico was coming to a halt, but life carried on as usual in the bubble of Puerto Escondido. I still swam in the ocean twice a day at sunrise and sunset. Despite following the progression

In February 2020, I set out to experience Mexico and its diverse

of the pandemic, my environment played the role of a shield

landscapes during a 4 month trip around the country. A solo trav-

which protected me from over-thinking and worrying excessively

eller and adrenaline-seeker, I had planned a route that would take

about the virus. As a matter of fact, I felt safer in a small town

me to some of the most daring adventures around the country.

by the ocean than I would have had I been in a city like Paris,

After exploring the capital and its mountainous surroundings dur-

my crowded hometown. When the French government urged

ing my first month, I was excited to move to the beach! On March

citizens travelling abroad to return home, my parents called me

15th, I landed in Puerto Escondido, a beautiful beach town situ-

every day begging me to get on the first flight back to France. I

ated on the coast of Oaxaca in southern Mexico. I checked into

was suddenly faced with a dilemma: should I go home and be

a hotel called Casa Losodeli and then braced myself for weeks of

with my family during these uncertain times or should I stay here

surfing and diving into the waters of the Pacific.

in paradise?

While I geared up for my ocean adventures, the rest of the world

Spoiler alert: I stayed. Attempting to go home in the middle of a

was facing a tsunami which few saw coming: Covid-19. Although

pandemic would prove to be an uphill battle impossible to win.

the virus was rapidly spreading in Europe and Asia, it arrived

Every day, Europe-bound flights were being cancelled and de-

much later in Mexico. False claims that corona could not “survive

layed for hours/days, to only then be cancelled again. Purchasing

in tropical weather” and that tequila consumption could easily

a plane ticket was just as much of a challenge; they were either

“kill” it, led many to ignore how severe the pandemic was. The

sold out or priced at the ridiculous sums of 4,000 to 5,000 euros.

virus eventually crept into Mexico, bringing the whole country

The most frustrating part in trying to make sense of this situa>>

97

tion was the lack of information. Airlines, embassies, consulates,

of the hotel, where we gathered every evening to watch the sun

municipalities; they were all as clueless and overwhelmed as I was

set in the sea. It was a beautiful bubble in which coronavirus and

it seemed.

the realities of the outside world did not exist.

One morning, I was headed to the hotel’s reception and was sur-

Was there any drama you ask? Of course, I told you it would

prised to find a dozen other guests there too. Liz, the hotel owner,

make a good reality show! Romances soared and fell, opposing

cleared her voice to make an announcement: “Puerto Escondido

personalities clashed and emotions sometimes got the best of us.

is officially under lockdown starting today so we will be closing

My favourite thing about being under lockdown with strangers is

the hotel. Foreign tourists who are already in the hotel are advised

that getting to know each other and exploring the different group

to quarantine here, as hotels and Airbnb’s are not allowed to

dynamics was a daily distraction for me. It was an emotional

accept new guests. This means unless you manage to get a flight

rollercoaster. On most days, I was thrilled with my decision to

back to your country, you are advised to quarantine here until the

stay in Puerto Escondido and on other days, I wished to be with

lockdown is lifted”.

my family. However, even during these moments, I received an

I was officially stranded in Mexico and would have to stay in Puerto Escondido. After hearing the news, I chatted with the other guests for a while. Each of us had individually decided to

incredible amount of support from the Quaranteam. Sweet little notes, chocolates and hugs which made all the difference on the roughest days.

spend the lockdown in Puerto Escondido with a group of com-

The hardest part about this adventure was accepting its end.

plete strangers. We were such a diverse bunch, covering almost

After 5 weeks of lockdown, flights resumed and restrictions were

all continents; Austria, Congo, Germany, India, Mexico, Spain,

easy; it was time to go home. The goodbyes were heart-wrench-

Taiwan, U.S, Venezuela. Despite hailing from different back-

ing; everyone was crying, hugging and holding on to each other.

grounds, we all had one thing in common: the will to turn this

We had grown so attached to this group but eventually came

unusual situation into a memorable time.

the time to burst it. Knowing that what we had experienced was

One of us immediately created a group chat on WhatsApp which he cheekily named ‘Quaranteam’. This group chat became the centre of our interactions and is still active until today. On the first evening of lockdown, we agreed to all meet up and watch the sunset together on the rooftop of the hotel. This would turn out to be one of the many traditions we created during the lockdown.

unique made it even harder; fate had brought us together in a way that could never be replicated again. On the day that I left, I sent a message to the group chat which read “Thank you for the adventure of a lifetime”.

If you ask me what has been my biggest adventure in Mexico, I will not mention the incredible Mayan pyramids or the famous

Over the following five weeks, each one of us would volunteer

world-class waves of Oaxaca. Instead, I will reminisce on those

their individual skills and resources to the benefits of the group.

5 weeks stranded with 10 complete strangers, the bond we cre-

In the morning, myself alongside another guy would lead yoga

ated and how much this experience has taught me. Ultimately,

practice and fitness classes. Later there would be Spanish lessons

travelling is not solely about discovering epic spots to show on

offered by a girl from Venezuela. During the day everyone went

Instagram or even learn how to free dives with sharks. It’s also

about their own business unless it was a special day like Easter

about learning how to deal with the unexpected, thriving in the

when we organized an egg hunt or a birthday then we would

unknown and figuring out how to turn darkness into light.

throw a pool party. Every evening there would be a themed diner, followed by movies, card games or karaoke. There was never a dull day; it was our own version of Club Med. Although the beaches were closed, we could still see the ocean from the rooftop

98

Watching the sunset on my last evening before I left, reflecting of the crazy but amazing 5 weeks where I was locked down with strangers that are now my friends 99

100

Top left: Day 15 of the lockdown, we gathered around our diner table to celebrate 2 weeks together!

Top right: Puerto Escondido is a small and tranquil surf town ideal for those looking to escape the bustle of the big city Bottom Left: The last supper before we all parted ways after almost 5 weeks spent together Bottom right: An abandoned attraction park in the middle of Puerto Escondido became our favorite playground 101

BLACK TRAVEL FAMILY Words & image by Ashley Onadele

Ashley is the founder of Flyy Family, a Luxury Retreat and Vacations company specializing in whole family vacations. Designed with Black families and families of color in mind, her goal is to continue to build on the community of supportive and representative Black family travel. Based in the San Francisco Bay Area and with retreats to Mexico, Jamaica and Egypt scheduled for 2021, Flyy Family is ready to help Black families navigate the new travel landscape post COVID with cautious but excited optimism.

I

remember stories my parents would tell about their travels to

We will enter a time we’ll describe as post-COVID soon and for

visit family throughout the Midwest and Florida when they

Black family travelers, especially, it might look like finally visiting

were children. Notably missing from their recollections is any

those dream destinations that we are banned from now. If you’re

mention of how certain events during their childhood shaped

like my family, post-COVID travel may mean an extended trip

their perception about seeing the world. I never heard them tell

and making that long awaited move abroad a reality. We are

my brothers and me about their fears or trepidations around

confronted with the question, “If you could not leave the place

passing through certain states or their own parents’ worries for

you are right now ever again, would that be enough?” For many,

their family’s safety. It was not until I told them about my plans for

the answer is no. But not everyone can pick up and move, and not

my own family that my parents’ optimism waned.

everyone wants to. As an avid traveler, I can share a few tips and

“You two [my husband and I] can go wherever you want. Leave

advice for your next vacation.

my grandbabies here,” is my dad’s favorite line. My mother is

Research your desired destination for testing requirements,

more reserved; allowing her signature pursed lips and head shake

whether masks are required, and any rise in cases. I also highly

to illustrate her disapproval. And I wonder what I missed. What

recommend travel insurance to protect you in the event that

fear gene skipped me? I am my ancestors’ wildest dreams - that is

borders close before your trip or if you’re already abroad. Before

what we keep saying about ourselves. But maybe we don’t need to

you leave home, be sure to pack hand sanitizer and disinfectant

go back generations in order to see the differences in travel norms.

wipes for the plane, rental car, hotel room and any other space

Because although there are many Black families who proudly pro-

you may find yourselves in. When planning your itinerary, ask any

claim that they have always been explorers, there are just as many

tour companies how many people will be included in any group

who are too afraid to even imagine that possibility.

tours (the smaller the group, the lower your risk of exposure). And

Social media has opened our eyes to so many traveling families that look like us. This community serves as a resource to answer common questions we all have: how many Black people did you see in X city? Did you feel safe taking your kids to X country? A sentiment that is shared by many of my friends is that we want to show our children this beautiful world and we don’t want how some people see them to influence how they see themselves. And

lastly, consider destinations that are closer to home and within driving distance. A road trip might just be the safest way to travel because you can have better control of your surroundings and minimize your interactions with people outside of your family bubble. Preparing and planning for anything will not only keep your family safe, it will allow you to enjoy your vacation knowing that you’ve done everything right.

as much as our children deserve to be exposed to the diaspora, so

I can’t say with certainty what the future of travel will look like but

do we as adults.

I do know that we will travel again and I think even sooner than

And then COVID happened, and the world stopped spinning.

Anti-Asian racism sprung back up like a jack-in-the-box that you thought was broken. As Black people, we were reminded how fragile peace, respect, and human decency actually are. Add to that the civil rights movement taking place and it would be so easy to hide, stay quiet, wait for the moment to pass and for it to be “safe” again. But we know that safety is relative, often random and sometimes feels like a figment of our imaginations. Coronavirus is devastating us in more ways than our physical health, but it is

we think. I know that borders will re-open and we will be able to visit our friends and family and resume crossing places off of our bucket lists soon. We should decide now what we want to tell our children about 2020. We can either tell them how terrified and truly horrific this year was for all of us or we can be like my parents. Instead of passing down the fears that we are experiencing right now, we can choose to look ahead and be excited about what comes next, telling them how the world changed but didn’t end and how we were grounded but not forever.

crucial that we continue to look forward. As our parents did with their travel stories, we have to hold on to the positive things in our lives more than ever.

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by Vanessa Adjahi

TIME—

Lombok, Indonesia

—LESS 104

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to be continued...

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