Well, bake my potatoes, it's been a while!I just got back from a South African safari, but before I pass out from being tired and dirty and having a cold and being tired, let's have a frank discussion about everyone's favorite continent. I've only been here four days, but my body is telling me that it's been more like a month. This is probably because I have been camping under the stars at some place called Kruger National Park, east of Johannesburg (which is allegedly the crime/awesomeness capital of the world).
The thing is that African national parks aren't really like American ones. For one thing, you get slapped with a big old fine if you even think about exiting your vehicle in 99.5 percent of the park's grounds. I guess this makes sense, considering that running rampant are elephants (which gore you), lions and leopards (which maul and eat you), baboons (which make fun of you and hurt your feelings) and hippos (which I guess sit on you or something). The campgrounds, as such, are surrounded by high fences with electrified barbed wire.
Nevertheless, certain animals know what's up and expect to get handouts. A particularly sizable female hyaena (yes, apparently that's how you spell it) was hanging out literally right next to our fence and waiting for some leftover meat, which was pretty cool. Hyaenas get such a bad rap because of "The Lion King" (which basically defines everybody's perceptions of sub-Saharan wildlife, even those of Africans), but they're kind of cool. Their mannerisms are a lot like those of dogs, but as it turns out they're more related to mongeese (mongooses?!) than canines. Actually, that's not really interesting. Let's move on.
African food isn't that bad. I'm not the biggest fan of squash and beans, but they've sort of grown on me. If you prepare squash the right way, it somehow sort of tastes like fish. But let's talk juice, as everyone ought to. What I have slowly realized is that things sweetened with sugar cane taste that much better than those sweetened with high fructose corn syrup. In the United States, ust about everything that can use a corn product in its creation does. I'm told that it has to do with government subsidies or overproduction. The result is "juice" that's not nearly as good for you as the real stuff they have here and in Brazil and probably in every other port I have yet to visit. Every sweetened liquid that has touched my lips since departing American soil (and I am counting the ship as American soil) has been a true flow of ambrosial nectar sent by the gods themselves. It's just so thick and cool and delicious, and I need to stop rambling about it.
The third thing that was remarkable about my all-too-brief stay in South Africa was my meeting with Jonathan Shapiro, a.k.a Zapiro, a world-renowned editorial cartoonist published in several newspapers. With his wit, jabs and jibes, Zapiro has kept South African politics and society down to earth for well over 25 years. Somehow, between speaking engagements, phone calls from the president and threats against himself and his family from madmen upset with his work, the man was able to meet with me. How we know each other is irrelevant at the moment. Actually, OK, it's not. I work for a group known as Cartoonists' Rights Network International. Basically, through diplomatic and nonviolent persuasive means, we strive to protect and help cartoonists in nations with "more flexible" interpretations of the right to free speech.
Anyhoo, after having a good conversation with Zapiro, I went off to buy one of his books, which happened to be sold in a nearby store. One that was published about 10 years ago has our man D. Tutu on the cover, clearly being made fun of. Turns out, in the preface which was written by the good Archbishop, he talks about how important it is to have satirists like Zapiro making fun of him to keep everyone down to earth. This gave me renewed optimism in my endeavor to score that interview with him, which hit something of a stop sign. Would you believe the people who run his schedule were afraid that I was a security risk to Father Tutu, and actually planning to pull pranks on him, as jokingly implied in my very first column? Funny, huh? Well, it means I have some air-clearing to do, but keep the faith. Things will sort themselves out, thanks to my good friend Mr. Truth. Keep your eye on this spot for future updates... on the interview, not on pranks.
Erik Silk's columns run whenever they wash up in a bottle. He can be reached at silk@cavalierdaily.com
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