Killer Cars

One of the disappointments I encountered with site announcement was the sad truth that I will not being moving into another island. It also meant that it would be months before I would be allowed to leave and visit the other 8 islands of the Cape Verdean archipelago. This is because visiting other islands would require vacation days that I did not accrue yet, and that staying at site in my first months is a critical component.

So when I got the opportunity to go to the island of Fogo with my counterpart and youth from my community for an AIDS workshop camp the first week of site, I jumped on it. I knew I was going by boat, and I knew I would not be in Calheta to get to know the community in the first week. But I knew it would be a good time to know who I work with, get a fresh perspective on another island, and become a tourist all over again.

For those not familiar with the island of Fogo, it the island directly west of my island of Santiago and houses an active volcano. Pico de Fogo’s last eruption was in 1995 and people today still insist on living in the crater. You will soon find out that Fogo is the most “American” of the Cape Verde Islands and virtually everybody in Fogo has family in the states. Fogo is also known for its locally grown wine and coffee. Fogo currently has 5 Peace Corps volunteers.

I got the heads up from Peace Corps after some pleading, and packed my bags. I would go under the stipulation that I would bring my lifejacket and pay for my boat travel if it wasn’t already paid for. These were absolutely ok conditions and I was excited and relieved to know that I was approved to go. The night after I moved in, I hauled my hiking bag, life jacket and all to the youth center for 8pm. I was greeted by the youth and helped them hall tents and bags into a chartered hiace (large van for public transport). Because it was dark that night, I could not grasp any faces and decided till after to get everybody’s names. All 16 of us fit in the hiace with our bags for the ride from Calheta to Praia. We got to the port and then waited around for goods to be transporting from land to ship. We were going to board called the “Sotavento”.

We waited around for a couple of hours before boarding. By then it was around 11pm and since it was so full of goods and people, I felt lucky to have acquired a seat downstairs. People started setting up towels to sleep on the floor and some unlucky individuals slept on their luggage that was piled 3 high. Boat starts to disembark and I could feel the seasickness coming. I decide the best solution would be to drown myself in my iPod and rest my head to the side (it worked, just the sound of hearing water splashing was enough to get me dizzy). It was a very uncomfortable journey, the seats were little more than just wood, the small boat tried to handle the dangerous currents of the Atlantic ocean as it could, and there was always the sound of a baby crying or a local massively throwing up. It also would go from freezing cold, to unbearingly hot with the engine heat from above (just the smell of engine fumes starts to get me sick).

When dawn hits I am pleased to finally see land. It rained for an hour late into the night I was pleased to see that Fogo was just to the side. I was still tired and fell into another nap. But when I woke up, we weren’t docking, but instead going full speed in another direction.

A couple of hours later, we ended up in Brava. An island that is virtually unreachable by plane and definitely not on the itinerary. Because I came to expect the unexpected, I wasn’t too surprised to be here and happy to get off and grab breakfast. The boat docked and dropped off goods for about 4 hours. During that time I got a chance to walk around Brava and stretch my legs. There isn’t much to see and do, and people in Brava move the slowest. The coolest thing about docking at the port is that the island of Fogo is a huge silhouette that takes up almost all of the horizon. At first you don’t notice it until you notice the sky turns bluer at an obvious point.

We boarded again and finally reached the dock at Sao Filipe, Fogo around 4pm. one thing I notice of immediate shock is young Cape Verdeans girls running around with blonde hair. I heard they existed, but seeing them in person after having going months seeing only Santiago Cape Verdeans, was slightly shocking. But back to the trip, we packed an open ended truck with all our beds, bags, and then sat on top of them (or off to the side). We would chill in this position for our vertical ascent up to our campsite.

On the ride up to Monte Velha, I got to see a huge amount of rural Fogo. There are times when you won’t see nothing for miles, and then end up in the middle of a village where everybody stares as you pass by. When the ride starts to enter the crater of island, the big volcano just hits you in the face. Not that it’s in front of you, it’s just because it’s in clear view and you can see its damage in the land between you. All black volcanic rocks and sand in every direction. No traces of life anywhere for miles except for us and the cobblestone trail.

Towards the middle of the trail in the crater lies the village of Cha das Caldeiras. Here villagers have defied government orders to live so close to the volcano after being evacuated during its last eruption in 1995. My friend Cliff tells me the government built them safe houses to live in during this period. He also tells me that after the volcano stopped flowing, the villagers returned to the houses and used the safe houses for storage of their wine.

Leaving the crater, we start the climb up to Monte Velha, a campsite way up in the clouds. The ride gave us spectacular views off to the side that noted that we were already way above the clouds. We set up camp, had dinner, took bucket baths and throw extra pairs of clothes to get comfy. Another PCV from Moisteros, Cliff, shows up and it’s good for me to finally talk to somebody in English. We hang out, watch the youth dance the night away and we run to sleep before all the beds are taken. Somehow I found sleep considering it was darn cold and without a pillow.

The next morning, I take a day trip to the crater with Cliff as a guide. The day was brighter than the day before and I get a better view of the volcano. He shows me around the village and we settle in this family’s extra house for the night. We took a long nap before heading out to sample wine and have an expensive dinner at a small hotel owned by a Frenchman. During this time, I was amazed at the number of locals in Fogo who know and understand English, and that the locals in the village of the crater are the nicest Cape Verdeans I have met yet.

The next morning, we slept in a little and skipped our little hike to the top of the volcano. I was very tired from the voyage on the boat, and still tired in general from PST. We headed back to the campsite and on the way stopped in the volcano tourist information desk. When we reached the campsite, we got ready to leave again. The youth were going to head to Mosteiros anyway, so we took a headstart. We got into the village of Igreja at about 6pm. Total hiking for this day reached around 4 or 5 hours. My legs were in aching pain afterwards.

We met up with Mike, and Jende, new PCVs recently arrived in Mosteiros. I get shown around town and we all call it an early night again. The next morning we just chilled out before heading to the beach in the afternoon after a crash course in Portuguese computing. The youth arrived in town very loudly, all screaming of joy in the back of another open ended truck. We found them later as we left the beach and they were just starting to jump in.

That night there was a festa at the youth center of Mosteiros. Youth from that town joined my town’s youth for a night of dancing and dinner. I dance, for virtually all of a half hour and the youth forget that I still don’t understand what most of them are saying. The police break up the festa when it hits afterhours and I crash later.

The next morning I pack, relax a little on the shore before heading off to return back to Praia. My counterpart finds out that the boat isn’t going to leave until 8pm again, so we’re stuck in Sao Filipe with nothing to do until then. We somehow get into the youth center of that town and well, just chill for hours. We walk around in blistering heat, admire the cleanliness and quietness of the city and just sit and talk.

The night we boarded to go back to Praia, the ship’s captain was really strict on controlling flow in and out of the ship. It only caused for more pushing and shoving to get on, and at many points you would think a fight would break out or crowds getting stampeded. Somehow this goes against my outlook of Cape Verdean patience.

The ride back was not as bad as the ride there. I have to keep thinking that this hellhole of a ship is a reality for people who have commute between islands to visit family and do business. At 3250 escudo (around $30 US), you get what you pay for. These ships are mainly for hauling cargo, and passengers are just extra cash for what they can squeeze in. However I mentioned the name of the boat, “the sotavento” to my neighbour and even he cringed at the thought of travelling on that ship.

The last funny thing I encounter during this trip happens when we arrive in Praia the next morning. As I’m sitting in the hiace ready to go back to Calheta, my bags safely secured on top of the hiace, the dock starts to overflow with water from the sea. Everybody scrambles to pick up everything from the ground. Babies are grabbed, luggage is tossed on heads, and animals start to sceam. I sit watching this mess, and then get a sigh of relief, knowing that at least my trip wasn’t that bad.

I got back home, and remind myself that I have spent more time in Fogo than I have at my new house. I immediately shower all my sweat from the boat ride and nap virtually all day. At night the power goes out and stays out for about 3 days. Just the time I needed to reflect on this little trip, and reflect on my renewed outlook of Cape Verde.

You hear that each island each has its own feel and its people are of different backgrounds. I’m starting to realize more and more that Cape Verde isn’t just Santiago and its Africanness. It can be very green, very red, and in case of Fogo, very black. Skin color ranges from African, to Mediterranean. The locals of Fogo happily embrace American clothes that were sent to them from family in the states, while locals from my island wear typical African garments. Even the concept of time changes between islands.

I have yet to see the northern islands, but those, I’m sure will be the ones that the most different and “European”. Again, I will go through more culture shock as I still ponder what it means to be “Cape Verdean”, in this complex and ever changing archipelago. Till the next time comes, I wonder where I will head off to next.

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