Fried Grasshoppers and Turtle Pyramids

A few of the weirdest things we've experienced in Africa

When I first moved to Vancouver at age 18 to embark on my bohemian lifestyle (a career plan would come later) my dad cautioned “don’t talk to any weirdos out there.” I’ve always liked weirdos and seem to attract weirdness like the carnivorous Venus flytrap lures insects. I’ve also eaten insects on occasion, just like the flytrap. Fried grasshoppers are surprisingly addictive. In Entebbe (Uganda), I couldn’t wait to zoom down to the Tuesday night market on the back of a boda boda (motorcycle taxi) for a lukewarm Nile beer and handful of salty grasshoppers. I’d bring some home for Ruth, the affable housekeeper at the Jane Goodall Institute. She’d smile wide and instantly put them in the microwave for 30 seconds. There’s nothing quite like hot insects in the morning. I liked how the to-go version came carefully wrapped in some kid’s homework.

It’s certainly easy to zhuzh up our lives with travel and fried grasshoppers—-it’s the quickest remedy and all-natural defibrillator resuscitation from routine. Some of us look for a predictable experience cushioned with all-inclusiveness, Starbucks, aircon and wi-fi. There’s certainly nothing wrong with that familiarity and continuance of the comforts of home, abroad. However, I’ve always had a Velcro-cling to destinations (and menu items) that are the polar opposite to all of the above. Along the wobbly way I’ve seen and learned some peculiar things. Let’s do a little dip into a few favourites from Africa.

Kenny Rogers and Turtle Pyramids

Who knew that Egyptians and Kenyans had such a love affair with Kenny Rogers? In Egypt, if it isn’t the Quran bleeding out of a speaker, it’s “The Gambler.” At a hotel “gym” in Nairobi, they had Kenny on repeat. Running to “Lady” and “Islands in the Stream” for three days was a rather challenging but enjoyable shake-up to my usual iPod shuffle. Trickier yet was the sticky treadmill belt that stuck every fourth footfall and lurched me forward as though I’d been pushed from behind.

In Luxor, one man’s talent continues to outshine most everything Kim and I have ever witnessed, especially before 7 a.m. We were desperate for coffee and maybe some toast after a simmering sunrise hot air balloon ride over Luxor. The only game in town was a tiny hotel with an open gate and a few questionable tables in the garden area. We were eventually enthusiastically greeted by a lean, mustachioed man who appeared out of nowhere upon hearing our voices. He said he could find coffee for us and shuffled away before we could ask for anything else. A full half hour later we wondered if he was actually harvesting the coffee cherries and roasting the beans but he returned with a silver pot and sugar cubes, beaming.

A few sips in Kim and I couldn’t decide if we were drinking coffee or tea. Perhaps it was cofftea? It was a generic hot beige beverage but the show that followed made the plonky cuppa worthwhile. Mid-sip Kim said, “Oh my god, look.” Our server had returned but was approaching us as though he was dodging hidden Lego pieces in a shag carpet. As he tiptoed I noticed he was gingerly balancing three turtles between his hands! I was blown away by this surprise. Cofftea AND a turtle circus act! I abandoned my murky mug and took a dozen photos of this smiley man and his turtles. Content, I returned to our bistro table in the shade and realized Kim was laughing about something I had clearly missed.

“Did you not see his ERECTION?”

What? NO! Gross! At this time in the morning? It seemed too early for erections and I had been innocently (and wholly) engaged with the turtle trio, not our barista’s erection! So, there’s that.

Sand Saunas: No Sweat

Whenever I share a story from Egypt I wonder how dangerously close I am to sounding like chatty Michelle in American Pie. “And this one time at Band Camp…”

But here goes. This one time in Egypt, Kim and I asked our new friendly friend Mohammed about a sand sauna. I had read about the healing nature of the desert sands for rheumatism and other ailments. Technically, the treatment involves a commitment of several days to fully realize the benefits. We were okay with a one-off experience and Mohammed said he knew about them and could do it himself, no problem.

Mohammed, ever the entrepreneur, was quick to nab us off an overnight bus that dumped Kim and I into a very sleepy Siwa Oasis before dawn. (*Have you noticed that these strange experiences seem to happen in the wee hours?) He was eager to introduce us to everything from potent fig moonshine to the thermal lake (the entire lake was as hot as a hot tub!), salt fortresses, shisha and Cleopatra’s pool.

He awkwardly shouldered our backpacks and led us to Ali Baba, his beloved donkey. “Please, get in the back.” Mohammed’s cart was comfortably tricked out and the roof doubled as a kindling rack (to start a fire for the ubiquitous mint tea accompanied by the sweet plumes of the shisha post-sauna).

As Ali pulled us further and further from “town” and we walked further and further into the dunes behind Mohammed, we never considered “what if?” Like, here we were, blindly following this guy carrying a shovel into the deep desert. We didn’t even have water for crying out loud.

The sand sauna experience doesn’t really register on my weird scale—the fish pedicures in Bangkok were way more creepy-crawly to ease into. The sand sauna (once you wrap your head around not being forever entombed) is a slow, surreal suspension. At first, the sand bed you lie supine in is cool—-once you are fully covered and the sand is packed down (by Mohammed walking measured steps on top of you), a small natural oven kicks and the sweating process begins (just as the granular sands begin to whip across the desert expanse like micro bullets).

Feeling squeamish? What would you prefer? A mad fish frenzy or being buried in the dunes in Egypt? I failed to mention that travel in Africa (and Thailand) usually involves a dose of supersonic diarrhea at some point but in Uganda, you really don’t have to fret because there’s always a SQUARTER around (see below). If you’d prefer a SEATER, sometimes you’re in luck. However, if you’re in Colombia, you had better decide whether you need to “Miami” or “Chicago” because that’s how the toilets are differentiated and whether it’s a seater or a squarter is always a surprise. I can guarantee that a visit to Miami will cost you .500 pesos (about 40 cents Canadian) and a Chicago will set you back 1000 (80 cents). You do the math.

While I was volunteering in Uganda, my friend Pam randomly reached out asking if I might be interested in submitting a photo and story to Meeting in the Ladies Room: Reflections of Women in a Room of Their Own. Jann Arden and Rosie O’Donnell had already said yes so it would be foolish if I didn’t join in. Could I send a photo of a Ugandan toilet to add an international flourish to the flush?

I was in this squarter in the Kampala mall with beads of perspiration (you can actually see the beads!). I half-slipped on my way in, accelerating my heart rate and body temperature in tandem. As the flash went off a dozen times I could only imagine what those in queue were thinking. Pervert, no doubt. I was the weirdo now!

This is just a small slice of weird from Africa. From the Kenny Rogers soundtrack to turtle balancing acts to the squarters and sand saunas, it all make sense to me. While Kim and I have had muddy cofftea in a few countries around the world, we’ve only seen car cozies in Alexandria, Egypt. Why stop at your teapot? Why not put a cozy on your vehicle?

Have you been to Africa? Have you tried fried grasshoppers? What unexpected or peculiar thing have you seen around the world? I’d love to compare notes!