Africa

Leaving Sainte Marie

Sheer disbelief washed over me as I stood on the small airstrip for the tiny island of Sainte Marie, Madagascar. A plane called to pick up a dying man had just turned back and his now lifeless body lay inside a small van covered by a dirty white sheet. As the medical attendants climbed out of the van, the crowd, circling to watch the spectacle, dispersed. And, as the final radio call went out, car lights shining brightly on the runway went off one by one. Only one tiny light remained shining dimly from inside the van illuminating the frail, limp body held inside.

Two months prior, I had joined a small group of underwater archaeologists in search of a shipwreck once captained by an infamous 17th century pirate. We ran our dive operations from Ambodifotatra, the capital of Sainte Marie, and on our last day a call came in unlike any we expected. A local clinic needed medical supplies desperately for a seriously ill archaeologist who was also on the island searching for shipwrecks. He had been struck down by an unknown illness thought to be malaria and he could not get the help he needed on Sainte Marie.

Cairo, Egypt

Standing in the alley we could smell the stench coming from the piles of garbage lying all around. As my wife and I stood frozen, we could not imagine how we had gotten into the situation we now found ourselves. We were becoming more concerned by the minute and had no idea how to get back to Cairo or our hotel. Ten men were heading our way talking and laughing loudly. As we watched, our cab driver walked over to the largest of the bunch and began talking and pointing back at us. We were horror stricken when the large man motioned to one of the others with a smile and a nod. Our concern grew when we witnessed our driver and our new “friend” Mohammad accepting money and then jumping into the cab and leaving.

Nothing I had read before leaving for Egypt could have prepared me for the events to come. This was our first trip out of the country and we had no idea what to expect or what to avoid. We were in Egypt and alone.

Chefchaouen, Morocco

Heading southeast along the Moroccan coast just past Tétouan, you will find a beaten down, half visible sign pointing the way to the small village of Chefchaouen or more traditionally, “Chaouen.” This picturesque community is given only modest attention in most guidebooks. The few images published reveal a scene straight out of Morocco’s distant past. As you approach through the ech-Chaoua peaks in the Rif Mountains, you will note heavy lines of clouds that move up and over these summits. They appear like waves rushing to flood the valley below. Here the air is crisp and the temperature drops as you enter this hidden retreat.

Isolated until the early 20th century, Chefchaouen has preserved a way of life that flourished in Moorish Spain until the 16th century. Its architecture, customs, and traditional lifestyle continue unabated. But recently many of these customs have been challenged by the flood of merchants deeply descending on this quiet community. The more traditional jbala men and women, who represent some of the oldest indigenous people of the region, continue their customary lifestyle. Many jbala men still wear their “burnoose” cloaks; while the jbala women wear striped and brightly colored skirts. The women’s heads are even covered with straw hats decorated with dyed balls of yarn hanging along each side which bob back and forth as they move past. Their way of life is still very much intact although the outside influences are having a dire effect on the younger generations.