Guadeloupe to Antigua, a Sailing Adventure


Some trips are vacations, this was an adventure.


It turns out the toughest part of my adventure was getting from the airport in Atlanta to my room at a resort in Guadeloupe. First flight- Atlanta to Miami, very large jet, second- Miami to San Juan Puerto Rico, medium jet, third- San Juan to Guadeloupe, barely a jet. At least it was not a prop plane. I did worry when the stewards moved passengers around in order to balance the load. Total time 14 hours.

I arrived in Guadeloupe at 9:50 PM and took a taxi to the resort. This involved barreling down dark streets and highways with no seat belt and Reggae music blaring in French.

Lost in Paradise

Upon arrive at the Creole Beach the clerk, who spoke no English, gave me a map of the property and waved me off indifferently. I was pulling my suitcase and carried a heavy backpack laden with cameras. The resort consists of many separate buildings traversed by a rabbit warren of paths. When I saw the same sign for the fifth time I panicked. After 30-minutes I actually located the room. Relief, then anger, the key was not in the packet! Exhausted I left the suitcase, but not the cameras and headed back following “Reception” signs. Lost again, I began tearing small pieces of paper off a leaflet leaving a trail. Still lost, I circled back on my paper trail.

By now it was midnight and I was worn out. I pleaded with God for help and the word “Shout” came into my head. “But no one understands English,” I shot back. With no other options I shouted over and over, “Someone help me, I’m lost.” Out a nearby room door came the only other Americans, a couple. We recognized each other from the plane. The husband kindly took me back to reception.

A different, kinder clerk was now on duty and he could speak maybe six words of English. He gave me a key, and then went with me to find the room. “I get lost” he explained and we did. Suddenly I saw one of my ripped papers, “Hansel and Gretel, Germany,” I stated. He responded with a French name then used the English word stones. The next morning I found out that if you circle the outside of the complex along the seashore, navigation was easy.

It Gets Better

I slept until 10 AM, then explored the resort. I never saw the American couple again. All those staying and serving spoke only French. Guadeloupe is part of France and actually is a member of the EU, thus it was French and Euros.

Still it was a beautiful family resort (family is good, no topless). The French chatter of parents and children was like a musical accompaniment to my day. Grandfathers and fathers carried toddlers on their shoulders and playfully dunked older ones in the pool. Siblings teasing and parents cajoling their errant children resonate the same in any language. French words swirled around me to my delight.

French only was more problematic in other ways. Folks, you know I have never met a stranger, so it was hard for me with no one to speak to. When I was signing paperwork I wondered if I had sold my only grandson into slavery. Try and sign on using a French keyboard that is configured differently. Breakfast and a formal dinner were buffet, but lunch via a menu. I saw the words beef burger and ordered a very American hamburger and fries. That was cowardly. But the buffet breakfasts and dinner allowed me to pig out on delicacies French food, especially the deserts.

The food, the white sand beach and the turquoise sea did make up for linguistic barriers. No access to conversations encouraged people watching. And the ladies clothes, on my. Gossamer beach jackets in multitudes of colors covered bikinis. At the formal dinner the ladies were stunning and the little girls so sweet.

The taxi I used on my afternoon trip to the capitol had seat belt. Not so scary by day. Port au Pietre, has a kind of third world feel but the gelato was wonderful, and the market colorful. Got back in time for another swim

Time to Sail on the Tenacious

At 7 AM I take a taxi from the resort to my real destination, the Tenacious, a “tall ship” waiting at Port au Prince to take a voyage crew of intrepid sailors to sea. My taxi driver stoped at the edge of an expressway off-ramp and announced, “Got to pee pee.” and got out. I looked ahead, not back where he was. Two unteathered cows grazed next to the taxi so I focused on them. He returned and I said nothing, so did I.

The masts of the Tenacious can be seen from the city’s market as I arrive in Port au Prince, Guadeloupe. Her sails have not been raised yet, but she could pass for a pirate ship. “Sailors” arrive on board and are welcomed by the permanent crew. These licensed sailors will teach us the skills needed for the trip. This is a working voyage. We will raise and lower sail, helm the ship, serve as lookouts on the bridge, record weather, assist the cook, and even swab the deck.

More remarkable is that half of the forty members of the voyage crew are individuals who have a disability ranging from requiring a wheelchair for mobility to vision and hearing limitations. Immediately groups are formed headed by watch leaders and each watch is assigned periods of responsibility. The result is that during the entire voyage the mixed ability crew is actually sailing the ship. Each person with a disability is also assigned an abled “buddy” who can provide assistance, but only when asked.

To facilitate full participation the ship has extensive adaptations that serve the needs of those with specific disabilities. There is a speaking compass and Braille signs for the blind, bright track radar for the partially sighted and alarms that vibrate for the hearing. Four lifts allow those in wheelchairs to navigate the different levels of the ship. Accommodations and heads are fitted for all disabilities.

Part of the orientation session involved learning how to climb the rigging in order to facilitate the raising or lowering of the sails. Able bodied sailors climb independently while those in wheelchairs are pulled aloft to heights unthought-of by those who require chairs. Using a system of ropes and pulleys a row of abled crew members on deck pull up their crew members. Accompanied by a staff members those with less confining disabilities participate in an “assisted climb”.

The crew is multi-national, but, I am the only American. Two retirees from Scotland hail from an island that requires a ferry passage to find. They love seafaring, and despite their age climb the rigging like monkeys. Mary Ann is a homemaker, mother to five boys and three grandsons. She and her husband, also aboard, travel the world from their home in Quebec, Canada. Two permanent crew members are from Ireland, the rest England. Ruth, my watch leader, is a physician in rural England. She has made many voyages and is active in the trust that runs the ship. Ruth proves to be a capable sailor and concerned that we experience every opportunity we want.

We motor out of the harbor into the open sea. Time to raise the sails. “Heave, pull, 26 heave” is the command repeated loudly by those on the pull ropes. “Come up” means drop the ropes immediately while “well shot” is a slower stop. There are new words to learn like Mizzentop (crow’s nest), clew lines, jibs, and forestays. Work gloves were on our list of what to bring, and for good reason. This is one of many times when they are a necessity.

Our course involves sailing in sight of Guadeloupe, encircling her for two days, then a route straight to Antigua. My “buddy” Alison and our watch are assigned helm duty. Steering such a large ship scares me. I remind myself that I helmed her through the QE2 Bridge four yours ago on a voyage in England. Besides, John, the crew member on the bridge, is a patent teacher. Instructions are given by the officer in charge in compass direction points. These are periodically reset.

Alison was so excited she might burst any minute. She confided, “I thought sailing was for the rich. I’ can’t believe I’m here.” I am so glad she is my buddy. Alison helms first and her smile reaches the sails. Our watch leader Ruth has me do the hourly report for the ship’s official log. Measurements vary from barometer and wind speed readings to measurements that require observations, such as wave size based on the Beufort Scale. Each of us helms for about an hour. For the rest of the watch (usually four hours) we sit on each side of the bridge and scan the seas for other vessels and floating debris. My favorite job is making the rounds of the ship to be sure all is well.

Guadeloupe is a volcanic island with massive lush verdant green mountains which are shrouded with clouds that often obscure the top. In the afternoon the sails are taken down. Shortly after we dropped the anchors. There are two wenches that move the anchors, but the process also required some of us to pull on ropes at the bow, and then line them up in tidy formations.

Dinner was served on the deck and after we hung out by the railings observing the sea. Earlier the experienced sailors predicted that it was too early to see whales. Yet off the starboard side two whales spout water into the air as they cavort together. They bid goodbye with a most spectacular and applauded tail flip.

We are just off of Pidgin Island, location of the Jacques Cousteau Marine Park, where Cousteau began his research. The sunset is magnificent (I’d say brilliant, but that is a much overused word on a British ship).

Challenges for All

Before bed Allison and I discussed tomorrow and our fears. Alison will do an assisted climb up to the platform high above the deck and I want to go snorkeling. Allison has weakness in one leg and her arms due to MS. I have little power in my arms and the climb down the hull on a rope ladder requires arm strength. I can picture myself falling like a whale into the zodiac.

The next morning after breakfast plans are laid. “Who’s going snorkeling?” “Me,” I respond timidly. While I collected snorkeling gear, Allison was outfitted with a climbing harness by her instructor. We both waved each other good luck.

I was terrified climbing down the hull, but made it down fine. Once by the island we put on masks and fell into the water. One thing you can not do with a mask is wear glasses, so I left mine behind. As nearsighted as I am, no doubt I missed much. But I did find if I followed the iridescent tropical fish they stayed in my limited view longer. For an hour I swam atop coral reefs with the fish. Striped fish, some with three colors, big and little, cerulean blue, neon green and cadmium yellow. The climb back into the zodiac on a rope ladder was harder than I expected and I required a pull. Ploping in I bent my toe painfully but said nothing. Ruth told me she and another woman also required a pull.

Getting back up the ship was more fearsome than going down as for much of the climb you pull up with your arms. To my complete amazement I did fine. Maybe those three days a week gym workouts for the last year are paying off.

Allison too did well on her climb. Later she, Ruth, and I discussed the fact that everyone on board accepts and meets challenges. The first day Ruth helped raise sail by climbing the foreword Spanker sails. The wind was strong and she got really worried. This willingness to try the difficult makes for a very special crew and voyage.

Another way in which my shipmates are different from many social settings is the lack of concern for status and social position. Those who chose such a cruise care nothing for how they look (go to my facebook page and see a photo of my hedgehog hair). While many asked about family, few queried about occupations. Not once did I hear a conversation in which someone bragged about their career accomplishments or what they owned. This was an egalitarian crew, focused on the voyage and its possibilities. Allison makes the same observation and concludes, “Were all here to muck it up together.” This is typical of all Jubilee Trust voyages.

Back on bard we weighed anchor and pulled up sails, ready to circle the rest of the island. Allison and I were on the bridge again. I helmed first during which an announcement was made, “Everyone meet on deck at 1 PM for Happy Hours.” John, tells me that he and I will continue to helm. He asks me if I mind missing Happy Hour. I respond, “Not at all, I don’t drink.” After a hearty laugh he explains that at sea the term means wash the ship. This includes cleaning toilets, mopping, shinning the wooden and steel railings, and more, so I am happy to steer the ship.

Anchored by late afternoon off a small fishing village we have time to play. The men pull out a grill and do their “man thing” as BBQ chefs at sea. Flowered tropical shirts were worn and the meat is excellent. After another stunning sunset we had an additional treat. The lights of the ship are bright and kept on all night in order to avoid collisions. As a result the area of sea around the ship is illuminated. Flying fish jump out of the waves. Much larger pipe fish chase smaller fish twisting and gliding like snakes.

Rough Day at Sea

One the third and last day we pulled up anchor at 6 AM. The permanent crew wanted to make the 40 kilometer trip to Antigua by noon. Another group will soon arrive for a 9-day voyage and they need their 24-hour break before this group arrives. The Tenacious has very large and strong motors and actually does not require sail. Only a few sails are put up and the motor set to almost full throttle.

This in itself would not be a problem. The movement in a mild sea is stern to bow and bow to stern. Called pitch, this fore and aft rocking is pleasant. Normally the Tenacious heaves upwards, then crashes down into the wave, creating a rhythmic soothing cadence. What has changed is the wind, gusting to 25-30 knots. This results in a roll sideways or yaw.

This new motion makes me nauseated. Added to the yaw, is that it was my turn to assist the cook. I took motion sickness tablets and report to the galley. The kitchen was hot and Cookie suggested I take periodic fresh air breaks. For breakfast I ate only toast.

After breakfast, which is our first inside meal, I went out on deck. Everyone walks like drunken sailors, suddenly lurching like human missiles across the decks. TBy now my stomach had adjusted and the wave of nausea passed. We log a 6 on the Beaufort Scale (12 being a hurricane and 1 calm). Four years ago I sailed the Tenacious in a storm in the English Channel that scored a 9-10. That was much worse. But I’m an experienced sailor now and adjust (note the confidence).

The throttle is pulled back as we near Falmouth Harbour in Antigua. While the harbour in St. Johns can berth three massive cruise boats, only sailing vessels and yachts are allowed in Falmouth Harbour. Caption Barbara climbs atop the bridge and starts barking out orders via a megaphone. Experienced crew members lower the zodiac and speed ahead of us. On deck large orange ball fenders were set in place along the starboard side in preparation for docking.

Falmouth Harbour, Playground for the Rich

At first we sight hundreds of smaller sailboats, most of which are docked or anchored. When we near the Yacht Club, where we will dock, that I was amazed. Enormous sleek sailboats are birthed so tightly and so many, that the mass of tall masts boggles the mind. They were as large as the Tenacious, a few taller. But these were not the traditional four-masted vessels like the Tenacious. They are white fiberglass with gleaming rare wood railings and decking. There is no rigging to be seen. “How do they raise and lower sails?” I asked. “With a button,” Steve responded, “Its all hydraulic.” A few of the men discuss what such a boat costs and the paid crew required to sail them. Adjacent to the sailboats are the yachts, the size of the one Onassis and Jackie Kennedy partied on.

Our last on-deck lunch was taken after we docked. I had booked a room at the adjacent Yacht Club Resort and Allison was traveling to St. Johns. We part, glad for the time we shared. My room was a short walk away. There is a lovely beach a 10-minute walk from my lodgings. Just after I arrived at the beach, other Tenacious crew members turn up. This is the last time I see any of them. While the temperatures have been in the 80s the entire trip, the water is cool. Oh well, I swim in the mountain stream fed Ocoee River and this is warmer than June in the Ocoee.

That evening I dined in an Italian restaurant where the staff only spoke Italian. Oh my goodness, another language barrier. Then there is the money disconnect. I picked up Pounds Sterling and Euros at the airport. Euros worked in Guadeloupe and Pounds on the ship. Since Antigua was a British Colony I assume Pounds will work here to. The porter taking my bag refuses the tip in Pounds asking in Creole for something else, but what? At a convenience store I am given Southern Caribbean bills for change, a currency I had never heard of. They also take Euros and American dollars, but not pounds. Who knew. Later when I exchange my currency in Miami they refuse the Caribbean currency.

After dinner the harbour and marina was illuminated by the many lights on the boats moored with such density. Lacking a tripod I took dozens of photos, leaning on railings, walls and wherever I can. The trip was a photographer’s playground. I was able to make some wonderful shots.

Good Bye

My check out time was noon so I had a morning left. Time enough to check out the market and take one more swim. The ride to the airport takes 45-minutes through rural villages comprised of small homes where the native Antiguans live. The number of churches surprises me. Some appear local, but many represent well known denominations; Church of Christ, Seventh Day Adventist, and a large center run by the Salvation Army. We pass two primary schools where children play outdoors in neat uniforms. Of course the local population is Black. Everywhere I have been all those serving were Black. As I board my plane there is an announcement that the temperature is 82 degrees . It is March and I am no doubt going to miss the warmth very soon. The journey back is two flights and 12-hours. I am not ready to leave, but glad I came, both for the islands and the voyage.


Climbing Mt. Leconte, a Bucket List Check Off



The Trillium trail to the top of Mt. LeConte is 6 1/2 miles long, and gains 3,400 feet in altitude. The difficulty rating is strenuous. LeConte is the third highest mountain in the Great Smokey Mountain National Park. LeConte Lodge, atop the mountain, is accessible only by hiking up one of five trails, none of them easy. Weekly supplies are packed up the mountain by Llamas. The spring opening after a winter hiatus is accomplished with a helicopter.

Having talked our 33-year-old son Matt into joining me I at least had company on the journey. At this point I was in denial about the challenges of taking on such a climb at age sixty-seven. This was an experience I had wanted for over four years. I had even tried twice before, but due to the popularity of the location Lodge reservations were so hard to get a lottery was required.

I thought I was prepared for the trek. After all I had been on several hikes of equal length and moderate altitude gain, worked out regularly, and had practiced in my new hiking shoes. What I did not count on is the difference between trails here and mountaineering up LeConte. Trails I had practiced on had few rocks, you just put one foot in front of another. On LeConte the trails are rock and root strewn, requiring concentration on foot placement, and leg ups using muscles I had not used before. The estimated climb time is 5-hours; ours was six and a half.

Poor Matt, walking with me was like having an anchor. The last mile he thought he would have to go to the Lodge and get a cart.

Arriving we were assigned a small bare bones cabin. The Lodge, where meals are served, has no electricity, one uses kerosene lamps. Toilets are luxury outhouses and the “shower” is a bucket of hot water hauled from the dining room. Despite my description it is a fantastic place to stay. Our little cabin was cozy with bunk beds, and heated by propane.

Your reward for the climb is the food. Made from scratch beef stew was served for supper with multiple hardy side dished. And then there was dessert, mmmm. Breakfast included; bacon, eggs, pancakes, grits, gravy, biscuits and more. Normally the view is another reward, but we were in the clouds during our stay.

Going back down was easier, we cut a half-hour off our time. The forest in the top two to three miles gets so much rainfall that fallen trees, rocks, stumps, and entire banks are covered with an amazing array of mosses. You can stick you hand in the mass of moss and not find the rock. To qualify as a rainforest you need 69 inches of rain per year, upper LeConte gets 88. We saw a bear, but it was too far off to be scary.

Back home, the next day, every muscle in my body ached, some I didn’t know I had. While I am glad I went, it is not an expedition I intend to repeat. Thank you Matthew, I really enjoyed your company and conversation.



Hi friends,

I am now back from Africa in case you need to call or see me. Now, to bore you with my travel  journal. This is a short general version of the trip which covered 3 weeks.

  • After a 21 hours in an airplane (2-17-2) plus airports I arrived in Maputo, Mozambique where daughter Rebecca is on a 4-months assignment with the CDC. Preparation included shots for yellow fever, typhoid and more and malaria pills, a little scary (and costs almost $500).


  • Mozambique has dismal poverty (3/4 of the population lives in privation), a corrupt semi-Marxist government, and a few surprises in store for me. While Rebecca worked I went on tours of the city. My guides were Jane, a well connected British resident and a college student, Stelio. Mozambique’s language is Portuguese, which was a problem and I required translation. Besides Stelio is tall with big muscles and a very pleasant and knowledgeable person.
  • For two days I explored the city’s cultural community, which turned out to be quite vibrant, which was amazing given the other issues in this country. I toured the National Museum with its Director, met artists, both traditional and contemporary and toured architecture. The streets and markets were lined with vendors selling junk (carvings, look alike batiks etc.); there is a factory somewhere no doubt in China. But with a guide you discover an energetic contemporary arts community with galleries and museums. I bought some traditional carvings and a heavy ceramic sculpture from a wonderful woman whose studio was at the Natural History Museum. I carried it like a baby in my carry-on luggage through 7 flights and hauled it up in overhead compartments as well as through airports.
  • From Friday to Monday Rebecca, myself and two friends went to Swaziland, a small country next door with the only absolute monarchy in Africa, the highest AIDS rate and the best crafts shopping I have even experienced. There are a number of crafts cooperatives. The quality of the crafts (glass, baskets, hand spun and hand woven, jewelry and much more) are as good as NYC as well as the shop displays. Best of all you know the woman or man who made it got paid fairly and any profits funds well and school projects. Needless to say Rebecca and I filled a large suitcase which I also lugged back to the US.


  • The Reed Dance: During the day we shopped but in the evening attended the two public events for the Reed Dance. I will say that the wikipedia description made me uncomfortable. Basically it says, begun in the 1950s and consisting of 20,000 + virgins dance for a king who sometimes chooses a wife at it (He currently has 14 wives, three of which have cheated on him.). This explanation it turns out is a distortion. He has chosen three wives at the Reed Dance but that is not the intent or history of the event. In fact I later researched the history which goes like this. Photos from 1895 show girls in identical outfits to today. At puberty girls wore a red tassel around their neck indicating leave me alone sexually. At a marriageable age the tassel was removed indicating “I am available for marriage.” Each year all the girls in a village that were eligible did this together but first visited the home of the Queen Mother for a few days. In the 1950s the custom was changed to having all the girls visit the Queen Mother for 7 days at the same time. They camp there and learn how to be a Swazi woman. On the 6th night they cut and carry tall reeds to her home where a fence is built. Then they go to the King’s stadium and dance for him in groups. The last night is a repeat minus the reeds. We attended these two nights. There were Anglos but not many and we were quite welcome. The girls come in dancing and chanting in groups 10 girls wide and it takes 1 ½ hours for them to all come in. Estimated this year 40,000 “Maidens.” Having taught teens for 26 years I loved the girl’s attitude (I am young, beautiful and will live forever) and joy. Swazi’s official language is English which helped when hearing announcements. The King comes in first with Boy Scouts and “warriors” running before him. Both nights were impressive and yes all but a few of the girls were bare breasted.
  • After we left Swaziland there was a democracy demonstration. Fifty were arrested and two foreigners “disappeared.” African contrasts are amazing. Here is a country that is progressing in income and utilizing crafts tourism. At the same time it has an autocratic dictator king and high HIV rates.
  • Upon returning Rebecca went back to work and I toured a slum, Mufalala with Stephan. The plan was the next day I would go to the Iris Arco Orphanage where I would spend several days giving art lessons and delivering two murals on canvas made by the God’s Paintbrush” group at my church. They consisted of a bright underwater scene and two African children snorkeling with the words on Portuguese “God’s Amazing Creatures.” Instead riotous protests broke out and Rebecca and all US employees were officially confined to home. Houses of the rich and foreign in poor countries are fortresses. The place where Rebecca was house sitting was huge with a 12-foot wall topped by electric barbed wire and with heavy grated on all windows and doors as well as “safe rooms” where another iron gate could impede intruders. And there was a guard 24/7 (three shifts.) It all seemed a bit much until the riots. Truly having been to Mufalala I sympathized with the protestors. The government was raising prices on bread, fuel, transport, water and electricity all at once (I told you the government was uncaring and corrupt.) So for two days we stayed in the house when I should have been at the orphanage (there was a huge protest that happened to be at their gate). We baked cookies and listened to DVD movies with the sound of bullets in the distance. In fact 12 died including 2 children in Mufalala. I keep thinking I took a lot of photos of kids there. Did I take those children’s photos?
  • By the third day protests had died down some and the road to the airport was open. But the stay in order continued from the US Embassy. Rebecca would jeopardize her career if she left but I could and we had non refundable reservations. After much crying we decided I should go on alone. The next morning we took a taxi to the airport and I left alone. In Nelspruit I was picked up at the airport and taken to Jatinga Lodge. When I arrived I got a call from Rebecca. One exception to the order was made, international flights. Her boss gave an OK. She arrived at the airport at 10:30 AM and I was waiting with a rental car. The drive to Krugar National Park was only an hour but Rebecca had not driven on the left side before. She was magnificent. Sound like we were out of danger. Not quite. South Africa was experiencing a country-wide strike that included all doctors and nurses. Emergency rooms were manned by the Army. The prospect of am accident or illness was real and scary.
  • At Kruger we parked the car and forgot the strikes. Daily game drives now involve cameras and not guns. And what game, elephants, lions up close as well as rhino, hippos, hyenas, warthogs, giraffes, monkeys, verities of antelopes, and more. Night drives utilized spotlights. After three days we left and by now the strike ended. Yeaaaaa!
  • Two more flights took us to Cape Town, South Africa. South Africa is a developed country with roads as good as the US and sometimes better. The city, where we spent a night, looks like Seattle with the ocean in front and mountains behind.
  • We drove down the Cape of Good Hope to the southern most point in Africa. The road snakes along a mountain range with steep drops to a rocky coast with huge waves crashing, punctuated by quant towns with wide sandy beaches. Think of the coast of Northern California. We saw ostrich, baboons and penguins (Yes, penguins. The Cape of Good Hope is close to Antarctica). The penguins were so cute. On the way out we came past two penguins mating. Being idiot tourists we took pictures. Human nature is weird.
  • Rebecca had won two free nights at a guest house at an embassy party so we headed Eastward down the coast. Hermanies is known as the winter home of Right Whales. The next day we took a whale watching boat out. Two mega bus loads of Italians were also on the boat. When we saw whales shouts of Fantastico! Mama Mia!, and Madonna and Bambino! filled the air. It was such fun we also went on the last ride of the day. This time there were only 9 passengers. Even better we saw a whale breach (lift out of the water) three times, something I never thought I would see.
  • After 16 days in Africa and three countries I was back at the airport dragging two huge carry on bags and getting on a 17-hour flight.

Would I recommend a trip to Africa? Sort of, I am glad I went. There are risks and the shots and flights make it taxing. Africa still is adventure traveling. But then I love an adventure


Mafalala, Maputo, Mozambique Africa

Place of Contrasts,

Place of Hope,

Place of Desperation.
The Colonial Portuguese forbad poor Blacks to have brick houses,

so they built with corrugated zinc, and painted them bright colors.

Some even built brick walls inside, away from sight.


Two ex-presidents grew up here,

there homes preserved,

a famous poet and soccer player also.

The government is working on sanitation in Mufalala,

and has built a market area,

and public toilets.

August 2010, the same government raised prices on fuel and bread,

their troops fired on and killed ten protesters,

two were children in Mufalala.

I toured the area the day before with three fresh faced teens as guides.

As we walked along the winding narrow, dirt alleyways

they were smiling and proud of the slum’s history.

I look at my photos and wonder,

are the two dead children in my depictions,

and where is justice?