The Global Entity

Zoë Modiga at Luju Festival 2023

julia.sarantes.andersson — Fri, 09 Aug 2024 19:29:04 +0000

The Global Entity

Part 4 of 4: Interview with Zoë Modiga at Luju 2023

00:00 / 13:00

Did you know that in the middle of the Eswatini mountains there is a high couture fashion, exquisite food and music festival? Each year at the beginning of August, the Standard Bank Luju Food and Lifestyle Festival opens its gates for two days of cultural abundance. When I get to the festival area on Friday evening the sunlight is just about to disappear and I can feel the wind whisper promises of a cold, magical night.

Who is the magical performer Zoë Modiga?

As soon as Zoë Modiga enters Lujus main stage, the energy shifts in the audience. With her flowing gown and absolute presence she appears otherworldly, yes divine even. The audience holds its breath in reverence. With energy from above she greets us and the whole audience erupts in cheers. For this particular concert, Zoë could have given her chorus and band a night off since she was properly backed up by the singing audience.

It was a very special performance, one of the kind I never experienced before, where the audience’s attention was 100% on the artist and she in turn, held us all with her spirit. It created an energy of connection and co-creation that moves me to this day, one year later.

Zoë Modiga has loved singing since she was a child and pursued musical ambitions and higher education from an early age. She emerged nationally in 2016 when she participated in the talent show The Voice South Africa. In 2017 she debuted with her first album Yellow: the novel and has since then built an internationally renowned career. She is celebrated both as a singer and activist, and is often caught creating music that will move you with their depth.

It will not take long before scholars start mentioning the Modiga-sound when they teach music and expression, as she has the skill of making the music entirely her own. Her classical background makes itself known but she herself calls her style Afrofuturistic.

It was the first time I saw her live and I was completely floored. With all of her awards and acknowledgements, national as international, nobody can deny that this artist can sing. But what she did on stage was more than that. It almost gave me the feeling of being in church: where Zoë was the pastor and we, the crowd, her devoted, singing congregation. When we sit down together after the performance, she is radiating.

Interviewing Zoë Modiga

*The written interview may have some differences to the podcast as the text has been edited for readability.

First, that was an amazing performance! What an experience!

“It was so beautiful to be here in Eswatini. It’s not the first time I’m here and it does feel like a second home. It was so beautiful to come back and be a part of Luju festival for the first time, alongside an incredible line-up of beautiful musicians who have such beautiful messages to share. So to be able to be here and to be of one spirit with everyone was so incredible!”

Being one of South Africa’s present day youngest, most renowned, international artists known for creating an immortal cultural legacy, I must ask, what is it that drives you to create and impact the way you do?

“I think that just being able to know that I’m a part of something bigger. I’m not just an artist by myself but I take the baton from the greats like Thandiswa Mazwai, Hugh Masekela, Miriam Makeba, Salif Keita. There are so many incredible icons that I have been able to learn from and I’ve been able to take from that. I think it is a special thing that we are as a people. So I’m happy to have a little part of that, a little story in that, in the beauty that we are. That is what drives me.”

You are known for speaking up and creating around social issues, you don’t seem afraid to walk to the beat of your own drum. Is that something that has always been close to your heart?

“I think I really agree with the fact of artists being there to reflect the times. It is a saying I’ve heard so often and I think it is the case. We are here to reflect what is happening in society and to document that with our art forms and with our music. I know with my first album, it was a lot about self realization. Then the second album was really about celebrating black bodies and just human beings at large. There are so many things that make us separate but also that pull us together. Social issues, social victories are something that I like to share and be a part of.”

Today you have more awards than I can count on my hand, but it didn’t start out that way. What is the biggest difference for you, being where you are today as an artist, as a person, as a woman, and where you were when you started this journey?

“Oh my goodness, I think when I started the journey I was hopeful. I wanted to have something that is impactful to share. I wanted to evoke emotion through music, just merely because of the power that music has. Looking back, I am very surprised at where I am now. It is not without its challenges, it is not without its hardship but there is so much fulfilment that comes from being here! From meeting people like yourself, like minded people who I am able to just relate with, who I’m able to see – music is what brings us together. I’ve been able to really appreciate that journey and take one day at the time. Sometimes it makes absolutely no sense but I think, evenings like tonight, remind me of why I do what I do. That is beautiful, that is a gift I got from being here.”

You said you started out as hopeful, do you feel you have a different confidence today in the space that you take and the space that you create?

“Man I think that confidence is constantly being challenged but it’s also constantly growing at the same time. I can really be quiet humble to the experience of just being able to bring myself to the moment. To present myself in order to be used, cuz I do feel I’m a vessel of something that is bigger than myself. I just like to humble myself to the moment, take it one day at the time with everything that it comes with. It really is special, it’s very powerful.”

How is it being a woman in this male dominated space? Do you feel that affects you or how you are perceived?

“Oh man, I think being a woman is such an important part of my journey. There is this ability that we have to take in masculinity and to take in femininity and the way that we express ourselves. There is a nurturing spirit that comes with being a woman, a creating spirit. I do work with a lot of males in my work but I also do work with different communities: women, people that are part of the lgbtqai+ community. I love to really experience people but also step forward in my womanhood. There is something so charming, so warm, so seductive, so enchanting, so inspiring about being that. With all of the challenges that it comes with, I think it, it is who I am and I wear it like a badge.”

What is next for you?
“I have no idea what is next! I am open to the opportunity, I am open to the possibility. I just want to be a decent human being, first and foremost. I want to be able to play all the roles that I play outside of the music world. Whether that is being a friend, a sister, a daughter. You know, my sister and my mom are here tonight, so I’m wanting to love into those spaces. I think that then impacts the music and the way that people receive it. If you are a decent human being, there are some things that shine through. So that is what is next for me! I’m open for life to exceed my expectations. I don’t think I want to have expectations anymore, I’m open for those to be exceeded.”

To those who are just about to take that leap to follow their heart, what words of wisdom would you share?

“I would like to tell them to listen to that quiet voice. The voice that leads you into places that you fear. The voice that leads you into places that make you uncomfortable, because that is when life is able to open itself out to you. The thing about looking and listening to that voice is that it will always lead you to exactly where you need to be. That’s where authenticity comes from, that’s where honesty comes from. That’s where the doubts and the victories come from. It won’t always be comfortable but it will be beautiful.”

It won't always be comfortable but it will always be beautiful

Zoë Modiga

Reflections from one year later

I remember this interview like it was yesterday and yet I don’t. At the moment I was so starstruck, so in awe, that everything seems like a fog. I remember being so nervous about taking the space, the media tent was buzzing with activity and then suddenly she is in front of us in all her might. And yet so very human. When I started the interview the whole tent became still, the attention completely on her, almost like at the concert. Zoë Modiga has the capacity to steer the energy of a whole stadium and once my five minutes with her were over, I stumbled groggily away knowing that my life had changed.

At the time of the interview, almost exactly one year ago, I had no idea how her words were narrating what was to come for me, I just knew I was deeply moved. But turns out, just as Zoë said, you have to be right with yourself first, work from the inside out! And sometimes… most times actually, it is in the silence and stillness, through the uncomfortable and through the fear, that you reach just the place of where you are supposed to be.

Today I have just gotten back from yet another BEAUTIFUL Luju Festival. This time with a year of experience in my back, a team of my own and a proper winter jacket! But the journey from last year to present day has been far from a dance on roses. It’s been quiet. It’s been in the absolute in between of taking the jump and not know if, when or where I was going to land. That is why we start season 2 here, right where Zoë left me feeling more seen than ever. That is the message I want you to take with you today: living through the heart is certainly not always comfortable, but it definitely is worth it!

The dreamers and weavers of Luju festival

julia.sarantes.andersson — Thu, 01 Aug 2024 05:37:00 +0000

The Global Entity

Part 3 of 4: The Dreamers and Weavers of Luju Festival

00:00 / 17:30

The last day of Luju festival was very special. What made it so special were the conversations with the many women that I had the honor to meet. Knowledgeable and passionate women. Women that are inspired and unafraid. Women that are afraid and do it anyways. Women who pave the way for others. The interviews of today are precious. They are vulnerable conversations about dreams, the process of creating and the relationship to self.

Interview with Mrs. M

Neliswa, most popularly known as Mrs. M, is the creator of Decadent Pleasures, a dessert and pastry business. She calls herself an aspiring pastry chef but in fact creates the most beautiful cakes and baked goods that I have ever seen. This is not her first time participating at Luju festival, however, in the past solely in the role as a vendor. Her stall Decadent Pleasures is overflowing with delicious baked goods this year too but today, she has just done her very own master class on the Mastercard stage. When we sit down together she is absolutely beaming.

How did it go today? How are you feeling?
“First I was really nervous. I think because low-key I am a perfectionist. I wanted everything to be done to a T and I’ve been dreaming about this day for the past three-four weeks! The fact that it has happened is quite a relief but I really did enjoy myself. I got to express myself and engage with people.” I laugh as she says that she is a low-key perfectionist. The beautifully designed cupcakes in perfect alignment at her stall tells me it is more than low-key. She laughs as I tell her this and confesses “Yeah, I am all about aesthetic, detail and finesse. All needs to come together and make sense.”

Mrs. M is a self-taught chef with her own, popular brand Decadent Pleasures. Despite this, she often refers to herself as an aspiring pastry chef even though she has just taught a master class for a live audience at Luju festival. What is one of the biggest obstacles that you’ve had to overcome to get where you are?

“I struggle a lot with imposter syndrome. This week for example, I had a breakdown. I was just not okay. I remember texting a friend of mine at like 2 am and not being able to sleep. I am nervous, I have this overwhelming feeling of imposter syndrome. I don’t know where it comes from but from time to time I start not believing in myself. It does affect me but I think that the people that surround me are always encouraging me. They keep me going. I do think I am going to get over this feeling of not believing in myself, the feeling of not being good enough. For me, I think that has been my biggest hurdle. Sometimes I tuck myself in a corner where I tell myself I’m not gonna do that, I’m not going to put myself out there. There is always that overwhelming feeling that I struggle a lot with.”

What would you say to somebody who also wants to follow their heart but are yet to take that step?

“You have to jump! You won’t know whether you are going to fall, stumble, or whether you are going to fly but you just have to take that jump. I think that for me… I had to quit my daytime job and start pursuing the business on a full time basis. In that space I felt that this is my time to really look deep within my heart to what is in my heart. I don’t need to limit myself to just one thing. Explore, spread my wings, put myself out there. There are benefits, I can see the multiplying effect that it has, the opportunities that it is opening for me. I feel like things are starting to make sense now. Sometimes you are doing all of these things, you are making that content, you are just putting your heart out there. I had no idea that there is so much impact, that there are so many people that are actually watching what I am doing. So I end up inspiring myself! I think also that new business doesn’t necessarily bring in the coins immediately, you have to do it because you love it. You are funding your own dream and praying that it is going to take off. For me, this took me by surprise.” She gestures with her hand to indicate the festival. “I feel like I am being given my flowers. When I heard from the Luju curators I was like ‘Huh, are you sure? But I am not a pastry chef’ but they told me I was exactly the person that we are looking for.”

What is next for you?

“You know, I do think that at some point in my life I would like to go to culinary school or become a professional pastry chef. That is where I feel my niche is, at the sweet spot! But I am happy with what I’ve done so far. Being self-taught is all about exploring in the kitchen and trying to make sense of everything that surrounds it. I am looking forward to getting into the space of curating culinary experiences. I am also a recipe developer, so I want to translate that into a cookbook. I think there is that fear of being forgotten, fear of oblivion. I feel like in each and every space I am in I like to leave my mark and I like to give it my all. So I think I just keep pushing myself because I want to be remembered for having done something, for having an impact. I feel like I am looking forward to what the future holds and collaborations with brands that have contacted me. The future is looking bright! I’m just not sure I am ready for it hahaha.”

Well, I know for sure that I am definitely ready to see more women, more humans stepping into their lights! It is both inspiring and encouraging to me, doing what I do, having started this crazy journey of following my heart. The rest of the afternoon I spent amongst the beautiful fashion statements that everyone had turned themselves into. I do some more interviews during the day and I feel I am in flow. Sometimes, the world happens to you and you find yourself in the privileged position of being mirrored in every encounter you have. The words of others telling you the dwellings of your inner monologue. Today was such a day and I just want to share how grateful I am to have been able to mirror my existence in yours. It becomes evident that we are one. That we are different expressions of the same drive to realize ourselves. A person who has this effect is the body percussionist, singer and artist Lenna Bahule. I have had the great pleasure of seeing her perform live on several occasions in Mozambique and every time she stands on that stage everything feels possible. What will happen on stage, what will we hear, nobody knows, the opportunities are endless. But also within myself everything suddenly feels possible.

Interview with Lenna Bahule

The last of the daylight provides a colorful backdrop as Lenna makes her way onto the Mastercard stage. The instruments on stage I don’t recognize, their origin and names far beyond my knowledge. It is my first time that I see Lenna perform on her own. When she gets onto the stage, she takes a moment to just look at us in the audience, I can just see how she is taking this moment in. With a smile, holding the secrets of the music she is about to bless us with, she starts. When we later on in the evening get to sit down on the orange couch together, the heat from the sun is altogether gone.

How are you feeling?

“Right now, a bit overwhelmed. I mean, Luju is a very big festival. I feel there is a lot of expectations I had for my performance here so at this moment right now I am bursting in emotions and energy. But very grateful to be here and experience something so different. I’ve been around in the world but this is the most different experience I’ve had performing and also interacting. So I am very happy, and grateful.”

It is a composed and focused Lenna that greets me. Her energy is warm but her presence a bit distant. There had been issues with the sound not working during her performance, forcing her to improvise and adapt. For us in the audience it was still an out-of-the-world performance. I had people throughout the entire performance talking in my ear, wanting to praise her saying that they had never heard anyone like her. But right now, ten minutes after her performance, I can see how she is still on stage in her mind, running through it all. Since I don’t have a lot of experience doing this, I feel unsure of what the correct etiquette is here but I decide to ask her about it. Maybe we can connect.

You have such a stage presence when you are on stage and today you had some issues with the sound. Despite this, you are able to deliver a heartfelt performance and I must ask how? How are you able to continue performing, with your heart on your sleeve too, when everything changes?

“Well, that question is even going to help me heal the frustration. Because I was really frustrated now when we left. The thing is, I always get anxious when I have to perform alone, on an open stage. It is always a challenge. My solo performance is an experience, or generally, through all of my performances i try to bring this idea of an experience, a human experience. So I craft it up as much as I can in order to ensure that specific experience gets to the people. But also I’ve learnt to include the humanity of life, of things going up and down, into the performance. I think that one of my premises is that art is a human expression. So it’s about the art. Music can never stop, the experience can never stop, because it is about the art. It is frustrating. Like up there today I was really angry but I thought, the music is with you. It is not in the machine, it is not in the sound system, it is with you.”

How did you learn that?
“I’ve kind of studied that in a way. Through improvisation, through body music and body percussion, all of these practices have really helped me gain confidence to allow vulnerability and unpredictability to join me on stage. From my experience, it is how people connect more. I think that the odds of a performance, make people feel connected to the performer. Answering you this, is a way of pacing me down because I forget that. Especially when I have an attachment to an idea and have prepared.”

You said it on stage and you’ve repeated it again now, that music is with you and music never stops. As you are a body percussionist this is something I have witnessed myself when seeing you perform. Has rhythm always been within you?

“I think there is a before and after situation. A before I met body percussion and all of these body music crafts, and an after. Before I used to be more melodic and romantic kind of stuff. When I went to Brazil and started doing all of these rhythmic exercises, I really found a lot of love for the tiny bits, the little parts that go together, that go back and forth, that jump from one place to another, all of these beautiful cells. That became my pattern of composing, very rhythmically with small little pieces. Like telling a story and then having smaller pieces complimenting. So it is something that has popped up. When I was living in Brazil, I feel like I was just a small seed in a fertile ground of infinite possibilities. So, for me it was just blooming out. I didn’t even know it was here (points to body). But I think going to the body music thing opened up something that for me is so natural and intimate.”

Lenna’s music is something best described as transcendental. It goes from the earth into your soul, up into the ether only to come back and ground you again. It goes both in and and out. What is it that inspires and drives you to create the way you do?

“What inspires me is life, because I’m always inspired but what drives me… I think that is the key, especially with ADHD hahaha. The thing for me is that it is always there, sounds, ideas – it is always there. But for me to decide that this is the song, this is the format… that is why I actually don’t write so many songs… for me, making songs is easy but making songs that are meaningful to me…

I found that funny, what drives me… it is the feeling of small bits of freedom, when I find it. Because most of these songs, they came out in random situations like cooking, sweeping the floor, going to the bathroom. Like going to the bathroom to wash your hands and bam! there is a song. Completely out of the blue. If I sit down and say okay now I am going to make a song, it doesn’t come out. So I think what drives me is really that moment of self care, that moment of pleasure, that moment of aha-feeling, that moment of freedom, that moment of connection. I think that’s what drives me. The connection. That thing the makes the thing come out.”

How is it being a woman in a very male dominated industry?

“Yeah hey it is not easy. It is not easy, especially for me now. I am a mother and a single mother at that. I feel that becoming a single mother increased that feeling because I am the provider, I’m the planner, I’m the carer, I am everything. And I feel that has sort of suppressed my feminine because I’m always in charge. It has brought up a lot of strength, like I can still manage in a situation like what happened today because that is what I live of in my life, having to find solutions. It’s a familiar place for me, of always having to find a way to deal with stuff. Specifically because the whole stage is being managed by men, you know? And then you have the same system happening again so it’s tough. But it is everywhere so either deal with it or…”

What do you feel the music and culture industry needs to open up so that more women can take the space that you seem to do so effortlessly?

“More space for women to dive into their own crafts. Truly speaking, in the past three days “I’ve had a total of five hours to rehearse which for me is not ideal. And then with the few minutes I had, every time I was in the flow of a song I was like ‘You see?!’ This is what I need. I need the space and time to craft it up, to make it better and fluid and more spontaneous and more creative. Then I thought but why don’t I have that? Because I have too much to manage. I feel that society needs to understand that women need time to create. To have time to just put ideas out there, let it craft, let it build, let it deepen. Because we are too busy managing the demands of being a woman in a male dominated society. And the people with the resources to make that happen are mostly men… so it’s a tough math. But for me, that is the solution. Have more spaces where women can take some time off. Funding basically. Funding into women doing arts.”

Seeing how Luju’s artist manager is gesticulating that I am out of time, I hurry to ask Lenna one last question: What is next for you now?
“I want to sing for Africa! I really want to connect with more African people. I don’t think I have ever seen so many different African people together as here at Luju festival. I really want to go around Africa. My biggest dream is to have my songs be listened to in Africa and for my music to make sense to African people. And my album, I have finally found the creative energy for it. So if everything goes well, next year I am going to have my album.”

Lenna Bahule was my last interview and I am grateful for it! Honestly, I can’t see anybody topping the conversations I’ve had today. I feel inspired and warm. Inspired of the very spirit that these women have, the path they fearlessly are creating by walking it. Warm from the connection their genuine sharing of their story has created. I feel I have to pinch myself a little bit. To imagine, this is my life right now! Although I still feel the stress of having my travel plan completely crumble right before the festival started, meaning I don’t know what country I am going to be typing these blog posts from after Monday. The conversations with these amazing creators, these generous, inspiring, strong, vulnerable women, they have grounded me. I feel less alone in my lostness now. As I am learning, I can create value from almost anything. The value that this festival, that these women have shared with me during this weekend is going to keep me warm for the longest of times. Thank you Luju!

Fashion, food and resilience at Luju Festival

julia.sarantes.andersson — Wed, 31 Jul 2024 09:39:00 +0000

The Global Entity

Part 2 of 4: Fashion, food and resilience at Luju Festival

00:00 / 14:58

Fashion at Luju Festival

When I enter the Luju festival area on Saturday, it looks like a completely different festival. The sunlight has transformed everyone, yesterday’s winter jackets have been exchanged for the latest fashion of Southern Africa. Luju festival is built on three legs, food, fashion and music and today, fashion is definitely hitting me full force.Everyone, everywhere is dressed up like they are ready to walk up and down the runway at any time. I am amazed!

I walk past Tandlatami to buy a pair of NikNaks earrings. If you don’t know what NikNaks are, you have missed out. It is hands down the best cheese doodle snacks in the world and with these new, iconic earrings I felt fashionable enough to start day two at the Luju festival! The owner of Tandlatami, Tipunku Hlophe, tells me her brand means ‘my hands’. She is inspired by anything that comes across her everyday life and often combines recycled items with some beautiful beading. It makes for very fun and stylish pop cultural jewelry and accessories!

When I speak to the founder of Beads Emporium, Sonke, she tells me that although she started her business only a year ago, the skill of beading was passed on to her from her grandmother. When Sonke was still a kid she used to help her grandmother make traditional beaded headpieces, umcwasho, to sell. Today she makes modern, high couture bags out of pearls, a very telling example of how fashion and creativity can honor, re-imagine and still tell the story of heritage and identity.

The fashion café, the fashion marketplace at Luju festival, is filled with creatives and designers, all with a story of how they found their calling. Dineo Malinga from D-Tempt Creation makes her own leather bags and accessories. She tells me that she became aware of how leather was made when she was home one day for a ceremony. A cow was slaughtered and a few days later her father brought home the leather from the cow. He had sent it away to be prepared and brought it back to her.

When she was four-five years old she had seen her grandfather make a purse for her sister from a cow’s ear. She had seen him working with leather before but tells me that as a kid she did not understand that this was her calling. It wasn’t until her father bought her that leather and later passed away that she felt this was where she was supposed to be. When she started in 2013 she had to teach herself everything from the beginning, but in 2018 she was ready to leave her corporate job and follow her dream. Today she is working together with her daughter and passing on the craftsmanship to her. I smile as I walk on. Everyone is so passionate about what they do, eager to tell their story, sharing of their creativity.

I walk a little bit further and am suddenly surrounded by portuguese. The festival has turned the amphitheater into a ‘taste of Mozambique’ and just outside, AZGO has set up stalls showcasing Mozambican artists and designers. “I know you!” somebody exclaims. I turn around and see Iracema Mabota, the founder and creator of Ririi Crochet. We had met earlier when I was in Tofo Mozambique.

I wonder how common crocheting is in Mozambique, turns out it was her mother that taught her initially. It makes me think of my own grandmother who once upon a time taught me how to crochet and knit.

If she was still with us today she would have loved one of Irma’s adorable crochet handbags, she always had an eye for good craftsmanship. It is beautiful how Luju seems to be such a fertile soil for new ideas to emerge and still hold space for what has been.

Heritage is especially a theme that comes to light when Chef Mokgadi is on stage. She is an activist chef who spreads indigenous knowledge of food and farming when she cooks and speaks. She was invited to Luju this year to hold a master class in cooking with indigenous food, her specialty. Throughout the class, she was feeding the audience with not only her knowledge but her enthusiasm as well. When we sit down together afterwards, the very energy and life that emanated from her on stage is still radiating through her. After talking for a while I notice, this energy is Chef Mokgadis constant base line.

Interview with Chef Mokgadi Itsweng

It is Saturday afternoon and I am waiting nervously in the media tent. The sun is shining but not even half as bright as the smile of our next guest: Chef Mokgadi. We haven’t even sat down on the orange interview couch before the conversation is flowing. I have to ask her to hold her thoughts so that I can press play on the recorder. With a patient and warm smile she lets me get my things in order.

Chef Mokgadi started out as a food writer and editor before she released her first book Veggielicious in 2021. She comes from a family of cooks and farmers so ending up here was perhaps not surprising to her family. Not only is she inspiring people to eat more vegetarian food in the Country Of Meat (South Africa). But the way she does it; cooks, teaches and educates, is entirely her own. Chef Mokgadi is a food activist with a passion for uplifting women, life and food that is good for the soul!

What is the biggest difference between you today and who you were when you started out?

“People who know me, who have seen my work and where I come from, would say that the biggest difference now is my confidence. I’m not apologetic about what I do, I’m not explaining myself, I just do. Everything I do comes from an authentic self, it comes from a pure love of self and the love of black people, a love of humanity, a love of mother nature. So it all comes from love and the difference in me, then and now, is the confidence that this love has brought. Because I no longer apologize, I no longer explain, I just am. If you like it, take it or leave it. I have my message and I’m going to say it. I think that over the years I have grown, which is why I am so intentional around women. Because I, too, have had to fight some monsters along the way. And one monster was self confidence, not standing up for myself, being afraid to say no because you know ‘good girls don’t say no, good girls are people pleasers’… Now I’m like, No.”

"I stand on the broad shoulders of women." Chef Mokgadi

In what way are you intentional around women?
“My food and everything that holds my food is my granny’s food, my moms food, both my grandmothers. One of my grandmothers was an indigenous farmer and the other one was a chef. Both of them have influenced my food and the way I talk about food, how I cook, what I cook. It’s incredible that at this stage of my career, all I am meeting is women. My team is only women! My manager; my kitchen team when we take Gogo’s plate on the road; the farmers that I work with are women farmers; food producers are women producers; people I source from are mostly just women. For me, the voices of the women are what are going to heal us. We need to take care of the female energy on earth. Mother earth needs us. It is not papa earth or whatever. It is mother earth, the nurturer. We need to bring that back.”

She goes on to tell me how important it is to open up doors for other women. Through her current collaboration with Mugg & Bean she has been able to create opportunities for small, female farmers to sell their produce to one of South Africa’s biggest restaurant brands. A space that otherwise wouldn’t be easily opened to them.

Do you feel that you meet backlash in this industry?
“Yeah but I don’t care! Hahahah! I do what I feel is right but most importantly, I’m a food activist, my message needs to be heard and needs to come through from women.” Chef Mokgadi leans in a little, looks at me seriously and says.

“The food and restaurant business is very white in South Africa and also very male. So for me, this is intentional. My door was opened by a woman. My mentor, Dorah Sitole, literally kicked these doors open for me so that I can then open and hold the doors for others. I’m not gatekeeping any door – we have opened the doors now, can we all come in, you know? So that is where I am. I stand on the broad shoulders of women. That is who has inspired me, that is who has brought me here. And that’s who I work with!

What does it mean to you being a food activist?
“Waking up my community around their love for mother earth. Because what has happened is that humanity has separated from mother earth. We don’t grow our own food, everything comes in a plastic bag. We are so unconscious about where our food comes from and what we eat. So my message is always around consciousness, waking us up, we need mother nature and need to care for her. We might not see it because we are so boxed into our city life, being modern.

We are not grounded in reality, and for us to be able to help mother nature and help climate change, we need to be grounded in reality. Reality is that we can’t grow food properly, we don’t know how. We are not taking care of our rivers so how are we gonna be alive if our water sources are crying? The rivers, the oceans, they are all crying. And we don’t even see it! To us, the sea is here for us and we don’t understand that it doesn’t need us. Mother nature doesn’t need us, we need her. But a lot of us are still sleeping, we don’t realise we are not grounded.”

Today during your master class you talked about indigenous grains as a form of resistance to the industrial agricultural system, what does this mean?

“The industrial agriculture system is so toxic. I, like everyone in South Africa, grew up eating corn. I thought that was our staple. I didn’t understand that there was something before corn. Only through my grandmother, who was an indigenous farmer, did I learn. She used to grow sorghum amongst other indigenous grains. I got the green fingers from her but I also got the indigenous knowledge systems from her. Because of that, I understood that you can grow food that is delicious and healthy.

We all grew up eating corn but now the corn is GMO. The pesticide that they need to keep the GMO growing is hurting me. I can’t eat corn anymore, I get hives all over. My body is like NO. A lot of people will normalize being bloated and walk around with it thinking they are fine. But with hives, you can’t ignore them. The hives tell us to wake up! That was what happened to me all the way! I used to get bloated, runny tummies, etc. I should have said what’s wrong, let me investigate. But instead I covered it up and continued with my life. Only when I got hives on my face did I react.”

What do you feel is needed in this industry to actually make the change that you advocate?

“We need chefs that advocate. Chefs are the link between the people and the farmers. It is only when the chefs create those conversations that the change at home happens. You remember with quinoa, we all started eating quinoa because the chefs were telling us, it became a big thing – quinoa this and quinoa that! The chefs are the ones who carried the quinoa message to us, the home cooks, the moms, the health yogis and all that. That’s how I think the movement, the change, happens. Chefs need to be educated so that they can advocate for good food and for mother earth. Oh she is making risotto with sorghum, why? Only then, people will start making risotto with sorghum. People will understand that sorghum is better than rice because rice is not sustainable, it requires lots of water. Sorghum is healthier and our body knows it, our soul knows it.”

When we were finished with the interview and just chitchatting, Chef Mokgadi said something that really resonated with me. We were talking about following your path no matter other peoples opinions and reactions.
“Over the years I have learnt to really appreciate and understand who I am and love myself wholeheartedly and not care!” She laughs with her whole body.

“And also, I share it with others. And I find that it actually helps others to also break free from their own little box, their own little mould. Just be yourself, and the rest will fall into place. We have to be free and grounded. Grounded in authenticity, grounded in mother earth, so that you are able to make a change and be inspirational in your community.”

Her words put themselves like a warm blanket around me. So much wisdom had been shared in these short minutes on the orange couch. So much wisdom, warmth and laughter. Just like the women at the fashion café that I had spoken to earlier, Chef Mokgadi also uses her ancestral knowledge to create something new and completely enchanting. I feel inspired! What if this is what my life is supposed to be like now? I feel a thrill running through my entire body. I say thank you and bye to Chef Mokgadi with a little sting in my heart, I could have continued talking to her for hours! I make a note to myself to ensure I try her food the next time I am at Mugg & Bean.

First day of Luju Festival in Eswatini 2023

julia.sarantes.andersson — Tue, 30 Jul 2024 13:30:19 +0000

The Global Entity

Part 1 of 4: First day of Luju Festival in Eswatini 2023

00:00 / 16:57

A few weeks ago, I received the incredible news that I had been accepted as media at a fashion and music festival called Standard Bank Luju Festival in Eswatini! It is the blogs first accreditation and the start of something new and amazing. I envision; experience based festival stories, close ups of the artists and gems we find, logistics around the festival, tips and tricks of how to have the best camping experience and so much more. All of this to build a comprehensive festival map for us festival lovers! Tag along and see how it goes, I am beyond excited to take you guys with on this experience of uncovering the essence of yet another, likely very beautiful, festival in southern Africa.

Beginner tips on solo traveling and crossing borders from Mozambique

Despite my historically dramatic experience of crossing the Mozambican land border on my own , I had decided to take the local bus, called Xiapa/Kombi, to Eswatini. I arrived at Legends Backpackers, in Ezulwini Valley, after a journey of sixteen hours! The first eight hours were simply waiting at the bus stop for the bus to fill up. I had been told to be at the bus station in Baixa, downtown Maputo, at eight in the morning. At two o’clock the Xiapa was only half full and we still didn’t know when we would be departing. At that point I definitely started feeling stressed about the situation. I did not want to get stuck at the border at night, again…

I approach the driver for the fifth time. He looked at me with tired eyes and explained that nobody can honestly say what time a Xiapa will depart since they can’t know when the bus will be full enough to leave. And since the bus is dependent on its passengers to leave, they will tell you the time they think will make you happy so that you choose to travel with them.

I sigh with irritation. I get the dilemma, I do. But it is so inefficient and dishonest it makes me crawl with irritation. It wasn’t what I was told yesterday when I came to arrange my trip. My phone battery is already running low but there is no point in leaving the bus to charge it now, the bus could leave at any point. At any point meaning anywhere between the next five minutes to the next two hours. I sigh again. I think about my friend Inga who always used to smile at my impatience and say “In Mozambique we wait! It’s a daily activity here.”

With a much grumpier demeanour than her, I cross my arms and sit down in the bus for another two hours of nothing. When we get to the border, it is dark. As we park the bus I look to the driver, it is the same driver who left me here the last time we were here. I try to catch his eye now but he stubbornly avoids all contact. Maybe he remembers all the trouble from last time and wants to avoid any involvement. Or maybe he feels guilty about leaving me here with the all male police officers in the middle of the night. I know I would.

I don’t know what it is about my passport that makes all the officers huff and gruff when they receive it. After some back and forth I do get my passport back and am allowed to continue traveling. I am not used to this, having to argue with authority about what is right and wrong. It makes me nervous and uncomfortable as hell. I guess I should see it as free therapy for my people pleasing tendencies…

“Back so soon?” The Eswatini border police says with a smile as he stamps my passport. So smooth. No overly inflated egos or inappropriate questions. I smile in return and explain I am here for Luju Festival. The officer in turn wishes me the best of times and that was that. This is how it should be.

Pre Luju jitters

When I wake up Friday morning the festival excitement is quickly replaced by chaos. The guy who was supposed to be my videographer this festival has canceled. This was supposed to be my first festival with a team, a huge investment and step forward for the blog. Furthermore, he was also bringing all of my outfits for the festival as well as my winter jacket, a MUST-HAVE in Eswatini early August (the end of winter season). Not to talk about the emotional rollercoaster of getting ditched the day of your first big gig. What a shit show. Sort of like that reoccurring nightmare of showing up to a performance and only realizing on stage that you are naked. Or coming unprepared to a pitch.

I go into crisis fixing mode and rush to The Gables, a mall close by, to see what can be done about the wardrobe. It only hits me mid chaos induced shopping spree that I realize: I am about to participate in a fashion festival?! A festival that specifically has as purpose to enable and give space to local brands and crafts! I immediately put down whatever I’m holding and leave the mall. On my way back to the backpackers I start to laugh, stress can really be blinding!

I was in Eswatini about to experience a high-end food and fashion festival! Today was the day of dreams and adventure! What else really mattered? Sure, nothing was going as planned, but when has it ever really? I could feel the worry and stress from this morning washing off me and when the Media lady later on put the press band around my wrist, I vowed to always remember this moment. The moment of dream weaving and creation!!

As soon as I go through the main entrance of Luju Festival I am met by Simon, Luju’s Communications Officer. The festival is already in full swing as we pass through the different areas. Simon explains that Luju used to be a one day festival but has now merged into a two day festival due to popular demand. He makes a point of saying that even though the festival is growing bigger and bigger each year, it is not about getting the biggest names on stage. Rather it is about creating a stage for the artists and creatives that both align with and expand the values of the Luju food and lifestyle festival.

Simon takes me to a top-up station so that I can fill my festival band, as Luju is a cashless festival. When I am done I can’t help but feel a bit lost. My performance anxiety kicks in full force as Simon introduces me to the media people at the media tent. I feel like an imposter next to these professional radio and newspaper people. Everyone is in a team. “…don’t forget to have fun!” Simon squeezed my shoulder lightly, perhaps seeing how my face was turning paler and paler by the minute, before rushing off into the Luju night. I take a deep breath, show time!

First night of Luju Festival 2023

I have a few hours before my first interview and I start by scoping out a place to eat. I have heard endlessly about how one of the three main pillars of Luju Festival is the food (the other two being fashion and music). I am more than excited when I walk around and smell the different aromas from the diverse cuisines. The Lounge has seated areas around fires and I end up enjoying some fresh spring rolls.

The taste of coriander, chilli, ginger and soy hits me full force and I smile. I can feel the heat from the fire warming my back and in front of me the Luju festival is coming to life as more and more people start dancing to Iamsiwas beats. As I start walking towards the main stage, the next act goes on. Before I know it, the cold night air is filled with the powerful voices of Emahlokohloko choir. The choir from Eswatini makes for a powerful start of the live music acts as its songs of worship and devotion, joy and gratitude invite people to dance and sing along. Praise is praise, and I could feel the energy of the music in my soul even though I didn’t understand one word.

Somewhere, half way through the performance, I sway away through the happy crowds towards the Fashion Café. Since my own planned wardrobe got stuck in South Africa, I was now eager to use this excuse to shop at Luju’s infamous fashion market. Every vendor and creator I spoke to either talked about their heritage, co-living with nature, or their spirituality in some sense. My first artist to interview at Luju Festival, singer Dato Seiko from Botswana, seemed to personify these attributes in every sense – from her lyrics to her humble, esoteric presence.

Interview with Dato Seiko

At eight o’clock on the first evening of Luju Festival 2023, the Botswanan singer Dato Seiko, takes the stage. Her small stature in spite, her presence feels larger than the open-air stage she stands on. She has the audience spellbound from the first note sung. Her music can be described as singer songwriter gone RnB style, combined with vulnerable, heartfelt lyrics. The chilly Eswatini air only made itself known after Dato Seiko let the last note die out. When I later ask her if she has always felt comfortable on stage, she giggles a little and shrugs.

“I think the stage has always loved me. It chose me, I don’t know how I even got here but music has always found a way to me. Even when I tried to ignore it, it kept calling me. I mean, you have to rehearse quite a lot for you to be comfortable on stage but the nerves never go away… I am still nervous every time!”

What is it that inspires you to go through that uncomfortable stage of nerves and do what you do?
“I alway say that we provide a healing service, we are service providers. People always need some type of healing, our music is affordable therapy! I think, seeing people resonate with the music that we write and the music that we make, or having somebody say that you told our story through your song and you don’t even know them! It shows how powerful music is as a tool to actually heal people.” It is not hard to feel she is right. Dato Seikos songs vibrate right into where it feels the most. Where you need it the most.

How is it being a woman navigating a male dominated business?

“I like to believe that when Grace is upon you, nothing can stop you. So even if it’s a male dominated industry, if you step in – your authority will be felt”.

Dato Seiko is not only known for her performances and music. She has over three hundred thousand followers on social media, to whom she generously shares her best singing coach tips. I ask her,
do you have any words of wisdom to somebody who is just starting out?

“Do what you have to do and believe in what you are doing. You are the best salesman for yourself so believe in what you do, thoroughly, and do it! I think there is always someone out there that resonates with you so don’t think too much about it, just do it and see it come to fruition.”

I look into her kind eyes as I thank her for her time, unable to express the peace her words had blessed me with. As I walk out into the cool Eswatini night, I can feel how the interview has grounded me. Is this what my life is like now? *mind blown*

Luju's line-up Friday night 2023

The rest of the evening is packed, Luju’s line-up is on fire! Straight after the interview I head towards the Taste of Mozambique area where the Hood Brodz have the whole Amphitheater boiling. It is almost impossible to get down to the dance floor but I was up for the challenge, properly motivated by the DJs. I get down to the dance floor and within five minutes I am sweating, something I did not think was possible in the Eswatini winter night.

After a good thirty minutes of dancing I start heading back to the media tent to prepare for the next interview. Halfway there I stop mid step, I can’t believe my ears. But clear as day, it’s country music! I don’t know about you, but Eswatini is the last place I’d expect to hear country music at. I walk towards the Mastercard stage and see, what I now know is the Eswatini Country duo Dusty & Stones, making the whole crowd dance. I stay as long as I can and watch young and old having fun together to the happy music.

Seeing the genius Zoë Modiga perform was a highlight out of this world! Having the honour to interview her is something I am still processing and will write extensively about soon. When I get back to the main stage, DJ Teedo Love has everyone dancing their feet off. It feels like the whole field is swaying in unison as she mixes modern hits with timeless classics.

After this I was honestly ready to get going home, my night felt complete. But I had promised a friend to not miss Big Zulu’s performance as she couldn’t be here herself. I wasn’t disappointed. His performance set the audience on fire to the extent it was sometimes hard to hear him over the chanting crowd. When I got back to the hostel it was three am and I could still hear the crowds in my ears.

Getting from Luju festival without a car

There hadn’t been any shuttles nor taxis available when the festivals last concert had ended, only endless cues of cars. Eventually, two girls waiting for their mother to pick them up took pity on me and offered me a ride. Without a proper jacket, I gratefully accepted their offer while messaging a picture of the car’s registration number to a friend. Just in case. I have been advised to always have my own car when traveling these regions simply because it is easier. Even public transport doesn’t run on a time schedule. But I believe it is important to be able to access events with public transport and taxis. For economic accessibility and such. Especially in countries where the larger portion of the population lives in poverty, accessible transportation options directly correlates to who can come and enjoy the events.

Health Emergency abroad: Solo Travel Strategies

julia.sarantes.andersson — Tue, 02 Apr 2024 15:35:38 +0000

The Global Entity

Health Emergency Abroad: Solo Travel Strategies

00:00 / 16:36

Eswatini healthcare for a tourist

I wake up in a sweat, my pulse is racing and initially I don’t know where I am. Immediately the brain is wide awake, something is wrong. I know that as soon as I start to move, I will hurl. In the dark I start reaching for my things, where did I put my shoes and jacket? Eswatini in June is midwinter and freezing cold in the mornings (around 10 degrees celsius). I throw something on in a hurry, skip the shoes, I can’t wait. I rush out the dorm room, through the bar area, out towards the toilets. It is just after four AM, the fog is so thick the light can’t push through yet. Nobody is awake to witness my sprint to the toilets. I make it, thank goodness.

After that, my deterioration goes quickly. I can feel how my capacity to think diminishes by the minute. By eight o’clock I show no signs of improving and I start to feel scared. What on earth is going on? Food poisoning? How much can a person actually puke? I have no money on my phone to call my insurance, I’m stranded. Not great, I know, but in my defence I thought I would be leaving Eswatini this very day. By nine o’clock I manage to send my friend Tanya, who lives close by, an ‘SOS’ sms. No explanations nor context, just simply ‘sos’. As I open my eyes half passed out on my bed an hour later, I see her standing in my door. The sun behind her, lights her up making her look like a saint. This day, she certainly was.

My friend arranged for me to call my insurance company and once they had directed us to a hospital nearby, she made sure I got a driver for the day. I don’t remember much from the drive there, there was so much fog in my mind that every thought was an effort. The hospital I get taken to feels like something from a movie in the 1930’s. Everything is analog and slow, even the staff stroll as they work. I sit on the wooden bench and wait for my turn, it feels like I’ve slipped into a time bubble. I look at the dust that swirls around, caught in a stream of sunlight coming from the window. Finally, it is my turn. The Swazi doctor is warm and present. It calms me down to talk to him. He takes a look at me and then my papers. “Sorry mam, we don’t cover this insurance.”

My heart drops. I put my head in my hands. It is already two o’clock in the afternoon and my visa in Eswatini expires tomorrow. The hospital my insurance is now recommending me to go to is in another city. I am cold, my stomach is only still for 10 minutes at the time and I can barely think. The last thing I want to do right now is to take a bus to a city I don’t know. The doctor looks at me with empathy and says that he will call the insurance and see if they can sort something out.

The nurses come in and put me to bed, they give me the winter blanket to fight the cold. When I was still shivering twenty minutes later, they put another thick blanket on top of me. The hours pass by and I manage to doze off a little. When I wake up, I feel a lot better. My stomach had quieted and I could feel my brain coming back to life. The doctor comes back into my room and tells me I have to go to the other hospital first thing tomorrow morning. I nod and thank him profusely for all the care they didn’t have to give me but gave anyway. I paid nothing. I knew that the next morning, I would be on a bus to Maputo, Mozambique. The hospital would have to wait.

Crossing borders when sick

Travel guide: how to cross into Mozambique smoothly

Do not yell at the border police.

End of guide.

Border crossing into Mozambique

Looking back, it wasn’t my smartest decision to ignore the doctors orders to go to the hospital in Eswatini, but at the time I felt I had little choice. I could not obtain a visa for South Africa and every time I tried to enter Mozambique they gave me trouble. Eswatini was the only country which granted me visa and welcomed me with open arms, I did not want to screw up that relationship. Especially now that I was sick.

In order to make the trip from Ezulwini to Maputo, I decided to not eat or drink anything until I had arrived in Maputo. I didn’t want to risk a public explosion of the insides of my stomach. When I got to the Mozambican border they told me I was missing papers. I pulled them up online but the officers wouldn’t have it. It had to be printed and of course, theirs was out of function. With a deep sigh of resignation I turned around and started pulling my bags back to the Eswatini side where there was a printer.

When I get back to the Mozambican border, the officers say I am still missing a paper. At this point I am fully convinced that this is the famous Mozambican corruption in action, something I have become all too familiar with. I have a full melt down, yelling at the migration police everything that comes to mind. It is not a graceful scenario. Somewhere between an indignant rant about right and wrong, in fluent Portoñol (a mix of Spanish and Portuguese), it dawns on me that it doesn’t matter. Whatever they say is what goes.

I turn around on the spot and drag my bags back to the Eswatini side. When I finally get back to the Mozambican border I am parched. The sun is so hot and I haven’t had a sip of water in over 24 hours. The officers ignore me for 30 minutes before they decide that I have been humbled enough. “Have you calmed down now?” The lady behind the counter says condescendingly. “Have you?” I retort, looking her straight in the eyes. For what felt like minutes, we stood completely still, measuring each other with our eyes. Eventually, without a word, she processed my passport and sent me on my way. Sometimes I just want to bite my tongue off.

I arrived in Maputo after dark. They drop us in Baixa, downtown Maputo, a place I don’t want to be in at night, alone, with all of my belongings. I quickly ordered a taxi through Yango, their version of Uber, and thanked my lucky stars that I had money on my Mozambican sim card since the last time I was there.

On our drive to the Base Backpacker, one of two backpackers in all of Mozambique currently, I ask the driver to stop by a shop so I can get some water and chips. I realise, I know this city now. Or, I know this place well enough to be ill here. I could feel how I start to relax, in some ways, I felt like I was home. The next day, I went straight to the Lenmed Maputo private hospital, where all the rich people and foreigners go.

Solo Traveler’s Emergency Kit: Border crossing
– Have enough cash with you, preferably in dual currencies.
– Get yourself a local sim card and ensure you always have money on it.
– Keep your phone charged but ICE contacts printed on paper.
– Note insurance-approved hospitals before you go.
– Keep your insurance info accessible at all times.

– Print everything! (booking papers, incurrence, passport, etc)

Maputo healthcare for a tourist

The hospital is huge and it is unclear where the main reception is. Each hospital department seems to have its own front desk and no matter my best effort I cannot understand the cuing system. Finally, a lady behind one of the desks directs me to the right doctor’s office. I walked through a side door and turned to some staircases that made me feel like I was on my way to sneak in at some club. But that wasn’t the case. The doctors office was cool from the AC and the receptionist chewed gum loudly.

Despite having been in constant contact with my insurance company throughout this whole ordeal, when I arrived at the doctors, my insurance papers have the wrong date. The process of international health insurance was hard and I will not bore you with how extremely sorry I felt for myself, sitting at the Lenmed parking lot, recording all my sorrows in my video diary.

No, instead I will share two observations about the Maputo healthcare. Firstly, the bureaucracy of even the most prestigious hospital is still going to be SLOW. It took me the whole day to see the doctor and do half the tests and get all the papers in order. Another week to finish the rest of the tests. Then it took me another two weeks to actually get the results, and a few more days to see the doctor and get the actual prescription. Lucky I had four weeks of visa…

The second thing I observed was that the concept of patient privacy is not commonly practiced in Mozambique, at least not at this particular hospital. As I had my consultation with the doctor, nurses and staff kept popping their heads in and asking questions about other patients. When I was getting my insides scanned, the nurses who seemed to be on lunch break, came in to gossip with the doc. The Swede in me was absolutely horrified! But I was too exhausted to do anything, too hungry to ask them to leave, or at least ask them to lower their voices. They all seemed so casual about it so I decided it wasn’t worth getting embarrassed about.

Maputo rescue and recovery

After the first doctor’s appointment in Maputo I felt relief. Then came the exhaustion. My plan had been to spend the month in Tofo, a Mozambican seaside town in Inhambane. But after the journey I had into Mozambique, on top of not having eaten properly for weeks (apparently I had carried the bacteria for over a month), I felt an intense need to stay put. I hadn’t gotten my diagnosis and medication yet. Just the thought of moving out from the hostel today, only to do it again a week later in Tofo, only to have to return to Maputo and ultimately Eswatini again within twenty days, gave me anxiety.

On my third night back in Maputo, a friend took me out to dinner. He looked at me for a long while, we hadn’t seen each other in two months, since Bushfire. “Are you alright?” he asked. I started to cry. For a moment I was totally embarrassed by my emotional reaction, we didn’t know each other like that. He put his head to the side and in a brotherly fashion said “Talk to me.”So we talked.

He helped me organise a search for a room in the city. The relief I felt as soon as I had taken the decision to stay my whole visa in Maputo, was immense. Within an hour, I had replies from seven different people that I had met out and about during my first months in Mozambique. Nobody had anything right now but they all knew somebody who might have something. They all wanted to help. Right before we paid the bill, I had a showing for a room booked the very next day.

A new home in Maputo

I came to the showing the next day with all my bags in hand. I had already decided, this would have to work. I had met the father of the house quickly the night before, he lived smack in the middle of the city, on top of one of the infamous, ancient apartment buildings in Maputo. I cursed my inability to pack light as I pulled my luggage all ten stories up. As most older apartment buildings in central Maputo, it had running water sometimes. If you wanted a hot shower you had to boil the water. All laundry was done by hand and the electricity wiring could also be considered an adrenaline inducing, contemporary art installations.

In this particular apartment there was no freezer and only one hot plate on the stove was working. Furthermore, there was no lock on the room and I had no fan. But the family felt kind and it was available immediately. When they showed me the rooftop, I felt that I had made the right choice. What a view! I have always been a sucker for roofs but this one took the price. To one side, the buildings and intricate life of Maputo spread out as far as I could see. To the other side, the horizon of the ocean framed Maputo’s skyline in a promise of pink light and foggy adventures. I could feel the beat of the city in what I could only describe as my hollow body. I needed rest.

The following weeks I practically lived on that rooftop. Some mornings I rose with the neighbouring mosque call to prayer. When it finished, I opened the gate to the rooftop and started moving. It wasn’t exercise-exercise, just small, silly movements. Not silly as in stupid but silly as in fun, as in making me actually smile and laugh. At this point, I knew three things 1) my body was super weak 2) I needed movement and 3) I needed joy in order to heal.

On that rooftop, with music pumping in my headphones I jumped and did cartwheels, danced and tried to learn to stand on my hands. Anything to get everything moving again. Slowly but surely I started to regain my appetite. It was a very still month for me. I reconnected with a few friends. I went to a beautiful event at Associação dos Músicos Moçambicanos . But mostly, I spent my time alternating between my bed, the kitchen and the rooftop. I could feel how not eating right had come to affect my whole nervous system. I was an emotional wreck.

The sustainable solo traveler

It seems to be a pretty common trait amongst long term, female travelers, to struggle with food. The traveling lifestyle doesn’t really allow for routine easily. Furthermore, changing contexts often, doesn’t give you a lot of known things to mirror yourself to. If change is the normal, how do you notice when some of the changes aren’t normal? It is so easy to be in adapt mode when you travel that you suddenly find yourself outside of yourself. I needed to take a serious look at what my needs as a person were. Movement; Joy; Time. And oatmeal. God knows I like my oats.

The whole getting sick thing shook me a little in my travel confidence. I had felt so bad! Been so vulnerable. Unable to think and process. My insurance was definitely not up to emergency standards, making me as a solo traveler, quite exposed. In that sense, slow traveling provides a bit of safety as it allows me to build a network of contacts to ask for help. But this time I only realised five-six weeks into being sick that I even was ill. If I would have traveled or lived with somebody, I think my diminishing appetite would have been noticed quicker.

Hence, going forward, I need context and community. How to get that as a solo traveler seems a bit contradictory but you never know. Either way, the thought of social sustainable traveling and tourism being sustainable for the traveler as well as for the place and people we are visiting, started to become more and more obvious. It became so obvious, I was embarrassed I had not made the connection before.

However, just because it was obvious, did not mean I knew what that meant in reality. How do I travel in a way so I am sustainable? When I returned to Eswatini a month later, I was still a bit shaky on my legs but my mission was clear: I had to find a different way to travel. A format adapted to me. I didn’t want to be limited to a maximum of 30 days, that was way too short for anything to grow! If the traveling lifestyle was going to be working for me, I needed to do some serious changes in how I travel. What are the biggest travel lessons you’ve learnt lately?

30 days in Eswatini: Reflections from a detour

julia.sarantes.andersson — Wed, 20 Mar 2024 18:04:22 +0000

The Global Entity

30 Days In Eswatini: Reflections From A Detour

00:00 / 10:23

MTN Bushfire: A catalyst for change in festival tourism

Going to MTN Bushfire Festival in Eswatini last year was one of the most amazing experiences to this day. It catapulted my life in a completely different direction and today I am going to share with you why. Firstly, despite my best effort to get a group together for the Bushfire festival, I ended up going alone. To simply go to a festival in a country you’ve never been in before, on a continent far from your own, felt like an achievement in itself.

What really made the difference was how beautifully the festival was organised. I felt so safe. There was such abundance for every sense to enjoy. It completely blew all my fears and prejudices away. Somewhere in between all the dancing, conversations with strangers, random poetry slam sessions and midnight adventures, I could feel how my brain started to tick. It was almost like I could feel somebody turning up the dimmer on the light bulb above my head.

As I walked through the tents, the sun was rising in the pink morning above Bushfire, other memories started filling my mind from similar scenarios. Similarly rosy mornings, tents with thousands and thousands of people from different corners of the world, the beat that never ends, and the endless connections. Only, these memories weren’t from here, no, they were memories from my early adulthood. Me and my friends used to travel Europe in search for the best festivals, it was what our whole year surmounted to. The Festivals! We would always come home feeling inspired and wiser, enamored with life and what lay ahead. How come I did not see the same traffic of travelers and tourists for festivals here in Africa? The literal definition of creative abundance.

Visa issues and redirection

The day after Bushfire Festival ended, I was in my friend’s car going from Eswatini to Pietermaritzburg, South Africa. It was a seven hour drive and I sat the entire ride thinking and processing what I had just experienced. Before coming on this journey I did a bachelor in Global Studies, which is basically learning to analyse why the world is crap, but my career is based in sales. As I sat looking out at the Eswatinian mountains passing by me, the different factors were spinning around in my head: international tourism, lack of information, fear and misconceptions, cultural appropriation, exploitative tourism, the longing to belong, Ubuntu and the knowing that we are all connected.

All of the thoughts surrounded the core question that has been circulating at the top of my mind ever since I started solo traveling in 2015: How can we travel in a just and kind way? Meaning, in a way that strengthens the locals in whatever way they define as valuable and that enables exploitation free structures for interaction between locals and tourists.

The concept that kept coming up, and that has followed me around ever since, was Social Sustainable Tourism. Despite having studied sustainability for almost three years straight, social sustainability always seemed to be the less conceptualized one. The definitions are many but the implementation of Social Sustainability in businesses and structures seems lacking. I started to see how festivals, with their international reach and huge local impact, both in terms of jobs, pr and representation for local artists and crew, could be a huge trendsetter for sustainability within two industries: the culture and arts industry as well as the tourism industry.

When we arrived at the border, I was denied visa into South Africa, saying I had to go back to my country of residency before entering again. I had counted on being able to spend the next three months in South Africa, surfing on the couches of my friends but this definitely threw out those plans. This also made me pause any and all thoughts of Social Sustainable Tourism and Festivals for a while.

You can read about my full MTN Bushfire experience here, here and here!

My safe haven: an unexpected turn to Eswatini

My failed attempt to enter South Africa led me right back to Eswatini, where they gave me another 30 days without hesitation. Thank goodness. Traveling solo without a concrete plan is a full time job in and of itself so I decided to book myself into the same hostel that I had stayed at during Bushfire: Legends Backpacker in Ezulwini. I hadn’t planned on spending time in Eswatini so having a base that was familiar felt good. I was meant to spend the three months in South Africa writing a second bachelor thesis in International Relations, but I was feeling utterly uninspired right now.

Contrary to common assumption, considering my lifestyle choices, I don’t do well with changes and uncertainty. Having my three months-in-South Africa plans disrupted deeply unsettled me and I could not for the life of me focus on writing a thesis. Instead I spent my 30 days in Eswatini in Tanya’s car as she drove us around mountain up and mountain down. I met Tanya in Mozambique as she was traveling but she actually works in Ezulwini with Swazi Trails. Eswatini is breathtaking. There is no other word for it. It is completely enveloped in mountains and everything is intensely green. Nature is so predominant, you hardly notice the buildings.

A month in Ezulwini, Eswatini

Tanya and I drive around for hours talking about life and what we want. We listen to music at full volume and laugh as people stare. She is certainly a sight to see, Tanya, as she sits behind the wheel of the huge jeep. She is the shortest lady I know and barely looks old enough to hold a driving license. Furthermore, she is a Swazi woman driving a jeep, not a common sight here. Let me just say jaws dropped and heads were turned when she pulled through!

Sitting there, letting the landscape pass us by, it started to feel pretty okay to be uncertain about the future. Gosh, I was even uncertain about the present! As Tanya took me to yet another beautiful sunset, at yet another beautiful Swazi peak, I started to accept that maybe I wasn’t supposed to be in South Africa right now. Maybe I wasn’t even supposed to be writing a thesis right now? The thought of letting the thesis go and sitting with complete uncertainty about what I should be doing with my time felt both crazy and just right. So naturally, that is what I did.

One afternoon as Tanya and I are out doing errands, she turns onto a very beaten up road. It takes us into a township. The dust from the road colours every house and tree in the area into a monochrome scale of brown. It makes the kids kicking a deflated football around look like bright Christmas lights in their colourful t-shirts. They all stop and stare as Tanya pulls up and parks. “This is where I grew up.” She explains and jumps out of the car. As soon as she is outside everybody comes to greet her, they want to know who her strange friend is. She takes me around, sharing different anecdotes about what her life used to be like here. We quickly get invited into her family home and soon I find myself in a couch with lots of people coming in and out wanting to say hello. I get something to drink and after a while everyone settles down.

Suddenly the father of the house turns to me and stares into my eyes. “What is your name?” I repeat to him that my name is Julia but he shakes his head vigorously and asks again “What is your name?” Tanya looks at my confused expression and intervenes “He means your Swazi name Julia. What is your Swazi name?” I explain that I don’t have one and he turns around and starts arguing with Tanya in siSwati. How can it be that your friend has been in Swazi this whole time without a name?! Tanya just laughs. Without further ado, he takes a swig of the beer, stands up and declares “You! You are Temave! Temave… Makhanya!” The family erupts cheers and laughuter. When the commotion subdues, Tanya leans over and starts explaining. “In siSwati, words can have multiple meanings depending on the context but Temave,” Tanya says. “Means the worldly person, or one that has traveled a lot. Makhanya, means the one who lights up or the light bringer.” I smile. What a gift! The traveling light bringer, I send out a prayer for there to be something prophetic about that.

When we drive home that evening, my heart is full. A whole month has passed in Eswatini, and as peaceful and uneventful as this place has been, time has gone by in the blink of an eye. I think I needed this month to let myself adjust. Letting go of South Africa and my plan to write a thesis felt scary but right. I was curious about what would take its place instead. When we got home it was time for me to start packing, Mozambique was waiting for me!

MTN Bushfire 2023, day three

julia.sarantes.andersson — Mon, 18 Mar 2024 10:21:11 +0000

The Global Entity

Part 3 of 3: MTN Bushfire 2023, Day Three

00:00 / 13:02

The grand finale of Bushfire festival

On Sunday morning I wake up FRESH and with an intense urge to dance! I get ready and catch a kombi (public transport in Eswatini) right outside the Gables, the huge mall close by. There’s supposed to be specific shuttles going back and forth to the festival area but I have no clue where or when they go. After a lot of looks from the local kombi users at my glittering face, and many stops and pauses, we arrive! We are ready for Bushfire day three.

In honor of it being the last day of the festival, the sun is paying us an unexpected but warmly welcomed visit. Everyone is dressed in their best festival outfits and the energy is running high. It’s not even eleven!? As I get to the Main Stage, Uncle Karly is blasting Beyonce’s Love on Top, full volume. I haven’t heard it in years and yet I know every word. It was the song that came to me as a divine affirmation when I took my first steps of self acceptance.

That was seven years ago, the rain was drizzling down over a grey and cold me, in a grey and cold Stockholm. I was dancing on the rooftop of my nine to five office job, singing and feeling every word of the love song as my grey and cold call center colleagues stared at me. In ancient Chinese medicine they say we live in cycles of seven years. Today, the song hits differently. I realise I relate to the song differently now because I am different. Its words aren’t the lifeboat it once was, now it’s part of my common decency. Towards myself. It feels symbolic to receive this song today. As I dance and sing, I am yet again reminded of the cathartic power of music.

Dancing, the medicine of my soul

In the afternoon I run into some friends from Eswatini who invite me over to have a drink at their campsite. After not just one, but two, distraction manoeuvres that should only be compared by the skills of Agent 007, I am successfully welcomed into the campsite. It offers a welcome respite for my feet to sit down for a while after days of intense dancing.

The parties are already going strong at the campsite. Apparently, there are people that come every year only to camp. They never enter the festival area! As the sun sets we start heading back towards the festival area but the view is so magnificent we have to pause. I walk away from my friends, I need a moment. I put my camera down and start to dance.

I move in a way I haven’t moved in years. The joy comes so suddenly that I miss a beat. I am dancing again! The rhythm is within me, the moment entirely my own. And my body is in movement! It’s not like I haven’t danced previously. I have. But not like this. Ever since I stopped dancing contemporary dance, over ten years ago, it has felt like dancing and the very essence of movement has left my body. It sounds dramatic, I know, but that is the best way I can describe it.

The pandemic didn’t make things easier, rather it left me with an inflammation and heaviness that further limited my ability and joy for movement. It brings tears of joy to my eyes to now feel the movement so forcefully present in my body again. When I return to my friends, I am ecstatic! “Who did you kiss?” a friend asks teasingly and giggles. We get back to the festival area just as darkness arrives, the tones of Ibeyi‘s magical songs luring me back onto the dance floor.

Navigating public spaces, night time and men

Eventually, the last DJ plays its last tones. It feels way too soon but I am dying of thirst and the only place where there is water is at the campsite. I say goodbye to Bolodoamor who has to go back to work and grab onto a 19 year old Brazilian who happened to stand next to me. He looks terrified when I ask him to get me into the campsite but is way too polite to question it. He needn’t have worried, everything went smoothly. I go straight to the camps ‘common area’ with the many fires.

I’m still sweaty but Eswatini nights are cold and I am bound to need the heat while I wait for my friends. We were supposed to reunite after the last concert but with my phone off and most of my friends running on African time, I realise it probably won’t happen. I’m torn between what I should do. Go home and sleep or stay an dance? I know there are plenty of taxis outside the festival area right now, but will there be any available later? Maybe, maybe not. On the other hand, public transport starts at dawn and I want to dance till then anyways.

I feel like my safety conundrum from yesterday makes itself known again. That as a solo traveling female, I navigate and create security, in relation to and at the mercy of the people around me. Au contrary to yesterday, tonight, I’m completely alone. Is it safe for me to stay? I hear my mothers stern warnings about festivals, traveling and being a woman. But then I also hear her encouraging words about standing your ground and taking up space. The words from my last thesis ring in my ears: the fear women have of men, inhibits them from moving freely in public spaces; less women in public spaces, make public spaces less safe for women. The safety conundrum of being female. Goddammit. I’m going to dance!

It’s around two AM and the campsite is packed! Happy people are everywhere, dancing, singing and talking. I make friends with a group that invites me to an after party. The guy who invited me wants to buy me a drink but all of the places have closed. I remember I’m actually still carrying a little bottle of alcohol from the night before and offer to share it.

When we arrive at the camp site party, we are welcomed like royalty. Mozambicans can host like nobody’s business! The music is loud and amazing. In a moment of weakness I succumb to the expectations of my surroundings and feel stuck to the guy that I came with. It is very evident that everyone expects me to be “somebody’s”. Tiresome gendered expectations… but I won’t let that chain me! The guy doesn’t seem to want to speak to me anyways so after trying to pull a whole conversation for five minutes I decide to mingle.

Everyone is super friendly and in a party mood. I only have time to speak to two people before the host calls me back to the guy I came with. When I get there I realize that he is trying to wingman the guy. Wingman him to me. Sigh. When the host leaves, the guy starts speaking to another man. And then another. Am I just expected to stand here? Am I rude if I walk away? How angry will he get when I reject him? But he has made no move on me, so how can I even reject him?

The situation is absurd. I’m not afraid of the guy, nor do I feel unsafe in my setting, but my thought process shows how extremely aware my whole being is of the risks that come with rejecting a guy. I pretend to see somebody I know at the party and excuse myself.

A new dawn: There is hope for masculinity yet

I fall right into the arms of a Mozambican poet who starts reciting love poems in my ear. As more of the creatives of Mozambique join us we start singing. I’m improvising and harmonising freely, text, melody and all. It is far from perfect but I can feel something has shifted within during this festival. It’s like I can access my creativity again! Gosh I love Mozambicans!

The guy who brought me to the party approaches us and interrupts us mid song. “Do you have more alcohol?” I look at him dumbfounded. Is he serious? After ignoring me all night and yet somehow making it clear that he is bothered when I’m socializing with others, now he wants alcohol? The premise of the whole situation is stupid. I feel indignant by his request and blankly refuse. I continue with my night and my new found creative powers.

When it’s an hour before dawn the guy I came with asks if we can talk. He wants to know what happened. Between us. Why did it get weird? The question shocks me. Not in any of my years on this earth has a man, out of his own free will, taken the emotional responsibility to initiate a conversation about what went wrong. Mind you, this is the guy I met three hours ago. My first instinct is to minimize my experience and brush it under the rug. It is a coping mechanism for safety I think, always looking at how to de-escalate topics that can hurt a man’s ego.

I don’t know what made me do it, but I answer him frankly. I don’t downplay nothing. I describe his behaviour and how I perceived it, as straight forward as I can. My words leave him in silence. I let him process what I’ve said, getting ready for his defense. Instead he surprises me and says “Jeesh, yeah. I can see that. I can see that now.”

From there, we dive deep into topics of gender norms, expectations, communication and toxic masculinity specifically. He does all the heavy lifting in the conversation and I am surprised by this man’s actual effort at four AM, post crazy festival, to understand himself and what happened. At the end of the talk he apologizes again for his behaviour, thanks me heartily for the conversation and bids me goodnight.

Imagine that! The conversation lingers with me as I start making my way through the tents towards the empty festival area. As I reach the site with all the fires, dawn surrounds me. It is my favorite time of day and yet I haven’t been awake to greet her in so long.

I see three men sitting on a bench, each huddled under a thin blanket. How much warmer wouldn’t they be if they just scooted together, sat on one blanket and used the other two on top of them? The conversation with the guy earlier left me the impression that he was starved for such meaningful and emotionally present conversations. Thinking about my own life, I have an abundance of them. It is at the core of my very existence. Just like the women in my life that constantly show up for me and those beautiful yet hard conversations. It must be lonely to be born a man. To not be granted the richness of non-sexual intimacy and the language of emotions. How funny it is to live the human experience.

Just a few hours ago I was painfully aware of my genders vulnerabilities. Now, I couldn’t imagine wanting to be anything else. Think what you will about The Guy, to me he will be remembered as the guy who took the emotional responsibility and held space for a hard conversation. This should probably be basic, bottom line. But he surprised me. Somewhere, some camp is playing Sjava’s Umcebo. The sky is a fierce color of pink and orange, the air wet and cold. In a few hours my friends are picking me up to go back home. What an experience Bushfire has been! What an experience it is to be alive!

MTN Bushfire 2023, day two

julia.sarantes.andersson — Fri, 15 Mar 2024 12:35:44 +0000

The Global Entity

Part 2 of 3: MTN Bushfire 2023, Day Two

00:00 / 9:04

Starting softly

Saturday morning arrives way too soon. It is day two of Bushfire and I am exhausted from too little sleep and also a bit hungover. Every friend I met yesterday wanted to buy me a beer or do a shot together. I am blaming the festive energy for getting carried away, I completely forgot I am not 21 years old anymore.

The rest of the festival people staying at the Legends Backpackers Lodge, felt the same. Nobody was rushing, thank goodness. We took a super chilled morning, stopping at the shopping center The Gables to eat some brunch. Mugg & Beans food delivers a level of marvelous heaviness; it sinks my whole energy. After six months of beans and rice and matapa, the fast food completely floors me (and not in a good way). It was truly delicious though!

The Bushfire festival area is already buzzing with happy, dancing festival participants when we get there. Feeling quite drowsy from the brunch still, we decided to start the day at the Amphitheatre stage. It is the only stage that has a roof and places to sit, perfect for my current energy level! The band that is about to perform has invited Namakau Star to front their performance. The energy in the audience is erratic and unfocused when she goes on stage but as soon as she starts singing, a silence lowers itself over the Amphitheatre. By the end of her performance, pretty much everyone there is dancing. The power of art and the influence of artists hits me full force. I think… I think I could also do that. I think I should… I’m supposed to write music and perform. Maybe that is what is next for me.

The highlight of Bushfire: Thobile Makhoyane

As I have said before, I did not come to Bushfire for the line-up. Honestly, I felt relieved that this was my attitude before coming here. Otherwise, the composition of Saturday’s line-up would have been disappointing. Being on a continent so vast and rich in music of every kind, a ´great international music festival´, doesn’t necessarily mean listening to European bands… I don’t know if it was the structure of the line-ups itself, or the selection, that made it hard for me to stay put at one stage. Instead I spend the day mingling between one stage to the next.

Right before the festival started, almost all of the people I was supposed to go with, canceled. I was afraid this was going to make the festival a lonely experience but today, floating around between different clicks, I just felt blessed. This way of existing suits my Aqua-babe personality perfectly! After losing my friends for the 11th time I decide to head back to the Amphitheatre stage. There is somebody about to perform that I simply can’t miss!

I arrive just in time as Thobile Makhoyane takes the stage. She is an artist from Eswatini with her base in Maputo, Mozambique. Her presence glows even stronger than her vibrant, red gown. I’m filled with excitement! With this artist, you never know what flavour she has in store. On the few occasions that I have had the pleasure of witnessing her live performances, they have never been the same. If the title ‘creative genius’ is applicable on anyone, it is Thobile Makhoyane.

What has been consistent in her live acts is how her performances always leave you moved. No matter what energy you came into the room with, you will be moved by her. By her voice, her energy and mere presence. Tonight is no different. After a whole day of wandering between stages, never really feeling settled anywhere; Thobiles voice grounds me. Something in her vibration makes me want to try to be as present as she is, not to miss a single thing.

Just like her voice made me run to the Main Stage yesterday as she opened Bushfire 2023, her voice calls to me tonight. In a matter of seconds, I have descended the stone laid stairs and find myself in the middle of the now dancing crowd. I emerge myself completely and thank my lucky stars that this is my life now.

Nightly Adventures at the Bushfire Camping

I ended my Saturday night in the festival camp area. Earlier that evening, as I discovered the delicious Global Village Food, I had run into one of the best people I know: Bolo-do-amor, Gil. It means Cake of Love in Portuguese and I could not think of a better nickname for this energetic entity!

Even though he was working all through-out Bushfire, we managed to get a few dances in together. Let me tell you, he is the best dance partner-in-crime that anyone could ever ask for. An energy that never ceases and with a light that increases the frequencies of everyone around him. Eventually, Bolodoamor had to go back to work and that’s how I end up at the festival campsite with a friend of Bolo. Let’s call him Mike. Mike is friendly and eager to show me around.

As the guards let us through the gates, a whole new world opens up before me. Fresh water access and well lit and clean bathrooms to name a few! Everywhere I look, people are huddled together by campfires and boom boxes outside green and grey tents. The smoke from the many fires linger like an intense incense in a closed room, far away I hear drums. I suddenly feel the energy that everyone has emitted when they have spoken about Bushfire. The mystery. The community. The creativity. It’s all there, in the all encompassing smoke. Next year, I am definitely camping!

In the middle of the camp site, there are several seating arrangements around different fires. There is a bar and a food place and some of the groups gathered are playing music on different loudspeakers. Instead of a roof, there are carnival lights hung up like a tivoli tent, making it a beacon of light and direction at the pretty dim campsite. I look around, I could probably find my way here on my own tomorrow night. I have heard that the campsite afterparties Sunday night, when the last performance has ended, are crazy and I don’t plan to miss out!

“So, that boyfriend of yours… is it serious?” Mikes’ question pulls me away from the schemes of tomorrow. I sigh. We have already talked about this. Twice. Do I have a boyfriend? Yes. No. The real answer is irrelevant. I have found that the easiest answer to this question, when out partying, is yes. That evidently doesn’t stop it from being a topic of interest though. This time, I answer by proclaiming my deepest love and gratitude to having female friends. I ask him, why is friendship not enough? It’s not like he knows me anyways, we met a few hours ago. Why is friendship not the ultimate goal?

The situation annoys me, why should I keep investing my energy into a conversation with somebody who apparently only sees the value in that if he gets to be physical with me. It touches on another subject close to my heart: security and female independence. I am here because the company of this man made it possible for me to safely explore a new area at night. The safety of my ‘protector’ is guaranteed through my friendship to another man. Ever since I started becoming independent, I am time and time again reminded that my safety and well-being exists at the mercy of the people I surround myself with. How limiting. And yet, when Mike puts me in a cab at four AM I am eternally grateful for his care.

If you want the experience in video format you should check out my tiktok!

MTN Bushfire Festival in Eswatini

julia.sarantes.andersson — Tue, 12 Mar 2024 09:45:32 +0000

The Global Entity

Part 1 of 3: MTN Bushfire Festival In Eswatini

00:00 / 15:13

Traveling to Eswatini: attempt one

Did you know that in a tiny country, called the Kingdom of Eswatini, lies one of Africas most popular music festivals? I attended the amazing MTN Bushfire festival in Eswatini and now I am ready to share the experience with you! I was introduced to Bushfire when I was in Cape Town, November 2022, lots of my friends wanted to go. They described it as a huge, international music festival with over 20 000 participants, for Africans, by Africans. Amazing, I thought. It will be the perfect opportunity to reunite with my friends from South Africa and experience my first, big, African music festival together!

Not feeling like I had the sufficient gear to camp in Eswatini during winter (May-September), I decided to stay at Legends Backpacker Lodge nearby the festival area. I’m very glad I did as winter here is surprisingly chilly at night. Plus my journey to Eswatini took an unexpected turn. My passport was confiscated by the border migration claiming that I didn’t have a proper visa. A whole eight hours I was held in dispense not knowing what was going to happen. Eventually, all the issues were resolved but by then the borders were closed and I had to spend the night in a house filled with male police officers. Not a situation I would wish on anyone, especially not a solo traveling woman.

Nothing bad happened. Or let me put it this way, nothing further traumatising happened that night. The officers were nice and respectful and tried to make me feel okay which was a stark contrast to how we, just a few hours earlier, had been deadlocked in an exhausting and, to me, terrifying power battle. Their efforts of kindness didn’t comfort much, my body and whole being reacted instinctively to the potentially violent situation. Nobody would have heard me scream. There was nobody there except for me and the police, that made me terrified. I see the irony of that statement but I’m sure most of you would have felt the same.

Exhausted from all the fear and stress accumulated during the day I eventually managed to fall asleep feeling anything but safe. When I woke up in the morning my hips were clenched together so tightly that I have to lie on my back for a few minutes, knees to my chest, just rocking side to side, in order for them to loosen up. I think I will have to type a what-not-to-do manual some day, retelling all of my many visa crises I’ve had these past months (read about it here).

Entering into Eswatini: attempt two

The kombi (a minibus, Eswatini’s public transport) that had taken me to the border, had left me there the night before when they confiscated my passport. In the morning, when I got all of my papers back, I managed to hitch a ride from the border to the nearest town. From there, it was only two hours till I reached my final destination, Ezulwini Valley. Eswatini’s voluptuous mountains and hills welcomed me as I sit in the back of a fully packed kombi.

A kind looking lady strikes up a conversation with me, in an instant I have latched on and dumped all of my past 18 traumatic hours over her. Her face shifts from disbelief to anger to a grimace of sympathy, relief and fear at the same time. Then, just as suddenly, her face lights up with joy, she takes my hand and proclaims “But you are good now.”

This summarises something that has been so poignant it has been written on my nose throughout this entire trip. To hear it yet again now, in the back of a warm kombi, next to a kind stranger, makes me laugh out loud. There is a, to me, very liberating ability amongst many who live here, to focus on their present blessings. It is true, I am good.

Nothing bad happened. I am safe, I am good… now. The kind lady and I laugh together as we make fun of toxic masculinity traits in security providing jobs. Laughing together does me good and I can feel the tension in my body moving a little. But the very real danger of the situation hits me once again and makes the laugh get stuck in my throat. I return to gazing out at the endless mountains eating the ever circling road. Today could have been a very different day for me. My stomach clenches as my thoughts trail off into what ifs’.

My next home: Legends Backpacker Lodge

The fog lies mysteriously around the dynamic landscape obscuring the rest of the greenery, creating an air of deep magic. The sun warms my stiff body through the tiny, dirty side windows and I can feel myself coming back to life. I have arrived! The Legends Backpacker Lodge lies amongst ancient trees in a valley opening up towards the mountainous Eswatini horizon.

Decorated with lots of quirky and creative decor, the backpacker has an outside and an inside common area with seating, wifi, a common kitchen and a bar – just how I like my backpackers! The dorms are fresh and roomy with thick blankets to keep the cool night air away. I see signs and info sheets about hiking trails and incredible nature experiences. I make a mental note that I have to come back here and experience it properly some day. The next 24 hours I spent mostly sleeping and eating trying to recover from the too dramatic journey here.

The day after I arrived, I greet and hug friends as they drop in from different locations on the continent. Phone calls and messages start coming in as friends get their local sim cards activated; the planning and organizing for tomorrows’ first festival day is in full rotation. As the sun lowers Ezulwini Valley into a purple haze I can feel the energy changing within – all of the surrounding collective is getting ready to receive 20 000 dancing souls. I’m ready. A bit shaken albeit, but ready nonetheless.

The first day of MTN Bushfire festival 2023

On Friday I wake up with all of the Gods and Divine energies on my side. I can feel it! I pack my party bag with all layers of clothing I might need through the day and night and spend a fair few minutes cursing my decision to not bring my neon eyelashes. Eventually I get going to the festival area, despite festival access passes not being released till four PM, I somehow get mine from a kind stranger who has also arrived three hours too early.

I sit down to wait in the shade next to a group who turns out to be a group of local dealers. They are excited as they expect business to be good this year. Real good. One of them curiously asks where I’m from and if this is my first time at Bushfire festival. When I say it is, he generously gives me the A-B-C of where the shortest toilet lines will be, how to catch a festival shuttle back and forth from the festival area, and what substances to avoid in Eswatini in general. I take the opportunity to ask the women in the group about the safety during the night. They answered that they always feel safe going everywhere at Bushfire alone, even the toilet at night, but that they wouldn’t accept a drink from just any stranger.

As one of the guys in the group lights up, about 50 Eswatini police officers walk by. The group start laughing as they see my frozen, shocked expression. Smoking is not legal in this country. “Chill man! THIS IS BUSHFIRE!” they yell as they continue laughing. One of them turns to me with a serious face and says “But only during Bush hey, otherwise you can get in trouble for smoking even a cigarette on the street.” People have started gathering outside the main entrance and the group decides it is time to split up and get to work.

With its first festival being held back in 2007, MTN Bushfire is today known as one of the best international music festivals in Africa and a mega hyped-must-experience. To say I am psyched to be here is an understatement. I decide to get some food before the stages open and find a delicious, authentic Ethiopian food place at the Bring Your Fire stage.

As I sit and shuffle the food into my system, friends from all over pop up. As we hug, catch up and decorate each other with glitter, I am overwhelmed with the community I feel. The people I was supposed to come here with had last minute changes resulting in me essentially traveling alone. But now, sitting here, surrounded by people that I met somewhere along my nine months on this continent, I feel held and part of. Everything is as it should.

As the sun sets and darkness wells over the festival arena, different lights, circus artists, drummers and fire artists start appearing everywhere. The festival area is gradually filling up with people and the energy is rising with anticipation. Right before the first music act is about to start, I end up losing my already way too drunk group of friends I was hanging out with. I stand under the star filled Eswatini sky and breathe, unsure of which stage I want to start at. A careful, soft voice behind me interrupts my thoughts.

“Sorry, excuse me…” she says, shifting her eyes between the ground and my face. “Sorry-I-just-always-wanted-to-ask-as-stranger-but-never-had-the…” Ask a stranger what, I wonder as the sound of her sentence trails off into the ground. Her face lights up as our conversation starts to flow naturally, starting from somewhere in the middle, not remembering to exchange even our names. She is a creative from Eswatini, a whole vibe, with the most intrinsic braiding I have ever seen.

A voice rings out over the whole festival area, a voice that vibrates from the ground up, penetrating the cores of everyone present. For a second that felt infinite, the whole festival paused and held its breath. I turn to my new found companion and exclaim in realisation “It’s Thobile! Thobile Makhoyane.”

With full comprehension, my new friend grabs our drinks in one hand and my hand in the other and together we rush towards the Main stage. We run through the crowds of beautiful, excited festival goers and get there just in time to see Thobile Makhoyane perform the first part of the opening act. I am yet to meet somebody that can command a crowd with merely her voice the way Thobile can. Her performance is divine and way too short. Luckily, she is performing again on Saturday in the Amphitheater so I will have a second chance to see her.

After Bushfire’s stages have all opened, my friend with the beautiful hair turns to me and asks if I want to meet the other creatives of Eswatini. I eagerly accept and we proceed to make our way to the Bring your Fire
stage as she explains how the stage is a interactive creative stage but also an advocacy space. Surrounding the stage, local and international NGOs and IGOs, activists and volunteers are gathered around tables telling the stories of their work.

Bushfire is and always has been driven by a desire to create social change and impact. Each year the festival supports different projects, this year it went to projects supporting children and empowering women. You can read more about that here. We arrive just as the performances have started rolling. The spoken word floors me. The ones I feel the most are the ones that mix english with what I assume is the local language seSwati.

I quietly notice how I am surrounded by the young queers of Eswatini. The conversations of who is performing, who wasn’t invited and the political implications of that are flowing. Who came with who is also a hot topic. I notice how I relax in a way I haven’t in months. Solidarity. Community. Siblingship. This is the first time I am in a queer context since I left Sweden in October 2022. I feel happy and safe, excited for being welcomed in. Shortly after the first performances are done I get a phone call from my South African friend Lerato. She and her friend have arrived and are ready to dance!

I must confess that I came to Bushfire more for the experience of it than for the specific artists and line-ups. If I’m going to be upfront I might as well also confess I have about zero knowledge about artists in general. Besides the idols I had as a ten year old, I don’t remember any names, titles or lyrics of the music I currently consume. So imagine my surprise when I, in the middle of the sea of people dancing in front of the Ballantine’s Firefly stage, get to hear my all time favorite song of 2022. I turn around and see the UK DJ Megatronic pumping the hit and my personal anthem all of last year: Doja.

My whole being explodes and I start dancing and singing. Maybe dancing and lyrically shouting out the last words of every sentence is a more accurate description… The rest of the crowd is not getting it, but I don’t care. I dance like there is no tomorrow, like every stomp will bring me closer to the beat of the earth and every jump has the potential to swing me up into a new, higher dimension. I always said this day would come. Through all the visa issues, isolation and general mishaps, I knew the day would come, where I would finally start dancing and never stop. I feel now, that day is here.

At around three AM I get a call from one of the friends who is also staying at the hostel. “Are you ready to go home?” We manage to negotiate an okay price with one of the many taxi drivers outside the festival area. In the taxi home I feel all of the impressions welling over me. How lucky am I?! I turn and look at my almost sleeping friend and happily exclaim “I can’t wait for tomorrow!” He almost opens his eyes to smirk at me “Me too hey. Me too.”

Navigating Gender Dynamics: Insights from a Solo Female Traveler in Southern Africa

julia.sarantes.andersson — Sat, 09 Mar 2024 06:08:17 +0000

The Global Entity

Navigating Gender Dynamics: Insights from a Solo Female Traveler in Southern Africa

00:00 / 12:48

Where are all the women within tourism?

Today’s blog post is long overdue, and yet, I ended up almost not writing it at all. It regards the theme of female security, a theme that has followed me regardless of whether I’m traveling or at home in Sweden. I hesitated for many months writing this, afraid to not get the many nuances across, to come off as a victim, or to perpetuate the already existing racist narratives and prejudices about the countries I travel. However, this is a defining part of my experience as a solo traveling female, not writing about it would also essentially be negating a central aspect of my life as a woman. For the longest time, I used to normalize a lot of what I now see are skewed power dynamics. Sharing my experience will perhaps help somebody else in their process.

Ever since I got into Mozambique at the beginning of last year I’ve been wondering, where are all the women? I was in a new country, wanting to meet people but whenever I went out, it felt like 99% of the people I met were men. Not only that it was mostly men who approached me, it felt like it was generally solely men out and about in Maputo’s night life. On the one hand, it is not uncommon that women are less present in public spaces at night. Security reasons, gender norms, economic limitations of who earns and spends the funds of the home… But in Mozambique, my impression was that the skewed gender division of space was applicable in most areas in society, not just the nightlife. The musicians and the guides, the space owners and the participants in different spaces were almost all male. Odd, considering that statistically there are more women in Mozambique than men. When I eventually got to Tofo it was no different, all men.

Experiencing the patriarchy as a solo traveling female

I have previously shared little bits and pieces about the security aspect of being a solo female traveler. Most recently I wrote a small piece about how the amount and type of male attention I got in Tofo was overwhelming. The underlying presence of alcohol and violence created an uncertainty which felt difficult to navigate as a solo traveler and as a woman.

Some hard, yet beautiful conversations were had with a few of the men and eventually we found our way of coexisting. What I did not see coming was how the mere fact that I, an unmarried woman traveling alone, would be perceived and received negatively simply because I was just that – a solo traveling female. In Tofo, it got to the extent that I actually ended up adapting my behavior and eventually changing my accommodation.

I was a solo traveling female, living on my own amongst a group of male musicians and tourism staff in Tofo. Living there, I always felt safe, respected and included. We went to dinners, cooked together, chilled during the days and partied during the nights. After my first week in Tofo, rumours about me being a whore got back to me. It hit me like a brick in the stomach to tell you the truth. Not solely because it is such a demeaning terminology used to put women ‘in their place’ but because the people telling these stories were people I saw every day.

Mostly though, it made me feel scared and small. Getting the reputation of a whore in a patriarchy, anywhere in the world, is definitely effective in making you feel small. I find it a scary place to be in when my reputation crashes and burns. It’s not just words, it translates into how people treat me, how safe I feel, how respected I get. I wish I could say something empowering on how to navigate these dynamics, but this is something I am still processing, strategies I’d prefer to be oblivious of.

In retrospect I am not too surprised at what transpired those weeks in Tofo. I’ve seen it and lived it time and time again growing up. When I lived in Nicaragua as a seven-year-old I was called into the principal’s office for playing football with the boys, it was not considered appropriate. I was 12 years old the first time I was called a whore, it was a male classmate in Sweden who wanted to put me in my place. When I was 15 years old, the girl in my class who rather hung out with the guys, quickly got turned into the main subject of everyone’s name calling and trash talking.

I’d love to say that it got better once we were older but that was never the case. It is the usual story; guys get crowned kings for how many girls they bed and girls learn how to balance the whore-Madonna complex where you both needed the men’s desire to be ‘valued’ but also need to watch out to not get the tramp stamp. Harsh, I know.

The duality of gendered dynamics when solo travelling

As a solo traveler, or as somebody doing life outside of their own country, dependency is what is the hardest – that you are so reliant on the people around you. I think our experiences are largely shaped by the people and norms that surround us and when I was in Mozambique, that experience largely consisted of men but not solely in the negative way described above. No. I can safely say that on a personal level it has been both eye opening and heartwarming.

Back home, my close friend group consists of 99% women but through the process of slow traveling Mozambique for eight months, my closest friends here consist of 99% men. Beautiful friendships with souls that I built relationships with probably simply and just because there were no other women in my proximity at the time. Reflecting on this makes me realise to what extent my own behavior is also saturated with gendered notions.

Without sounding too crass, another aspect of traveling as a solo female is that I use my perception of the gender dynamics to gain more access to places and times I otherwise wouldn’t feel safe or comfortable visiting. Through the inclusion and company of my male friends and acquaintances, I get access to spaces and social circles at times that I wouldn’t access on my own, like going out at night in a new place or walking into areas that aren’t tourist friendly.

On the other hand, it doesn’t come for free. The mere feeling alone of existing at the mercy of a stranger you met is a price. But what would happen if one of those male acquaintances who chaperone me around at night, what if he suddenly feels he doesn’t want to do it anymore? Or if he decides he wants something in exchange? Imagine getting ditched and stranded somewhere in the middle of the night in a strange city just because you don’t want to sleep with the guy. Nightmare.

These dynamics affect what and who I choose to write about on the blog. Slow traveling helps get a fuller picture of the people and enterprises. This is one of the reasons I often publish a post a few months after I’ve experienced something, both good as bad. I want this platform to be a safe space for all of us solo travelers, especially from a woman’s perspective.

It was a very cold shower to receive a message a few months ago from a perfect stranger, a woman I had never met before, warning me about one of the men I was making content for. My name had showed up in the credits of his video. At first, I didn’t want to believe it, he was not just a collaborator but a friend I relied on. As I started digging for more information online, more accusations came up. This guy was a scammer. A scammer specifically targeting young, tourist women. Disaster! In the end, he ended up scamming money from me as well. The finesse of a scammer is that I didn’t realise it till months afterwards.

How Women Impact my Travel Safety and Experience

The rumours that were spread about me in Tofo in some ways felt surreal, like something from a movie, but the consequences were very real. It changed how I perceived and navigated Tofo. The silver lining of that whole ordeal was that I got to move into a local woman’s house. We had met only a few weeks earlier when I was out and about partying in Tofo.

She was an entrepreneur, a single mom and a Mozambican. If I thought that I had to balance on a knife to navigate the Mozambican patriarchy, it was vastly different from the machete she had to walk on daily as a Mozambican woman. It opened my eyes to the double standards and differences between how foreign women are viewed and treated in comparison to the local women.

With her by my side I also started to see different ways to handle the patriarchy in action. She reminded me that I don’t owe anybody niceness. She asserted her space and her innate right to it like it was nobody’s business, letting the backtalk fuel her motivation to build a life according to her. She is one of the strongest women I know and a huge inspiration. As weird as it may sound, I am grateful to how everything played out in Tofo, even the nasty. It was hurtful, yes. But the experience somehow shook me out of the role I thought I had to play as a visitor from a rich, European country.

When I left Tofo, I went straight to Bilene, another sleepy seaside town in Mozambique, to meet my friend Inga. She is also a solo traveler from Sweden, sort of. At this point we had only known each other for three months tops but she had already become an integral part of my Mozambican experience. I poured my heart out to her, telling her all about the rumours, the beach boys and the scammer. We end up laughing at the whole situation, all my stumbles and the mess it all made.

It is nice to talk to somebody who doesn’t need me to explain the clashes that happens because I am foreign, that understands the culture and gender norms I grew up with. I feel seen and safe. It makes me wonder how the thing in Tofo would have played out if there were more women in the tourism sector. Not just as cleaners and cooks, but as guides, owners, bartenders, participants and party goers. How would it have transpired if more women were part of the public spaces and had a bigger voice?

What I do know is that for me, more women in public spaces makes me feel safe. That is usually how I judge when it is time for me to leave a party or a club when I’m out in new country. I leave when the local women start to leave.

When I’m back in Maputo there is a big concert in Mafalala, a neighbourhood on the outskirts of town. Inga and I want to dance but the crowd mostly consists of young teenagers pushing through the crowds from one corner to the other. Each time we start dancing a ring of male spectators form around us, it makes me uncomfortable and uneasy.

Halfway through the night, we find ourselves in the middle of the crowd again. We are surrounded by what appears to be the grannies of the neighbourhood, they have formed a circle and together we dance our butts off. The women laugh, cheer and sing when I dance in the middle, from the corner of my eye I see how one of the grannies grabs a young man by the ear and pushes him out of our circle when he tries to dance with us. There is zero tolerance from the grannies, this is their space, and they have no time for the boys and men surrounding us. They are here to dance and dance we did.

I catch Inga’s eye across the sea of hijabs and shaking arms surrounding us. The joy I see in her eyes I know must mirror my own. Liberty. The freedom that comes from feeling safe and doing what you love. The memory gives me goose bumps. Women! I live for you!

Why slow travel?

julia.sarantes.andersson — Sat, 20 Jan 2024 03:59:45 +0000

The Global Entity

Why Slow Travel?

00:00 / 9:16

Is slow traveling actually therapeutic?

Despite my disastrous first week in Tofo, I ended up staying in this sleepy seaside village for almost two months, apart from a short visa run to the border. What I love about slow traveling is that it gives you the chance to see beyond first impressions, a chance to deepen your connections and get an in-depth understanding of the context you are existing within.

The first two weeks in Tofo felt like summer camp for grown ups. I was sharing a room with three other girls and the giggles were endless. The place where we stayed was damp and only had hot water some mornings but the level of community I got from them was beautiful. Midnight walks on the beach, endless conversations about anything and everything that we were processing at the time, hours of silently creating side by side. The laughter when we were getting ready together to go out in the evenings and the cascade of gossip that erupted when we came home, exhausted from all the dancing. It made me think that perhaps my solo traveling doesn’t always need to mean that I do everything on my own. I truly enjoyed connecting over the shared experiences.

What happens to us when we slow down?

After three weeks in Tofo, my frown was finally turned upside down. All the good energies, people and food that surrounded me were rubbing off on me, including me into their abundance, beauty and joy. Today, a few months later, I have realised that it was my nervous system that started to relax. Not just from the hectic visa issues that I’d been struggling with just a few weeks earlier… No, the process runs a lot deeper than that. I believe that, for the first time in my adult life, with indefinite amounts of time ahead of me, I started to release some of the accumulated stress that comes with living in a hyper individualistic, capitalistic society. Powerful stuff!

In the beginning, as I started to feel the relaxation of my nervous system happening, I questioned why it was suddenly happening now. For years I have dwelled in different practices and learnt different techniques to relax and live consciously, why am I only starting to feel it now? Perhaps that is what slow traveling allows space for: space for the inner processes to process and for the body’s systems to catch up and return to the present moment. Perhaps it is not even slow traveling specifically but a slow lifestyle in general that allows for this. The stillness, at times turning into boredom, the ‘having’ of undefined amounts of time and no specific goals to achieve, perhaps made everything quiet enough for my systems to start going about things at their own pace. Quiet enough for the ‘I’ to actually listen.

Slow traveling and sustainable tourism

After my first week in Tofo I had a pretty good grip of where everything was. I had found the best spots to eat lunch, a hidden gem in the middle of the market. After two weeks I was a regular at certain vendors and in the third week the ladies making the meanest mojito in town knew my name.

A friend from Mozambique who is a regular in Tofo told me early on to spread out my grocery needs to different vendors, telling me that low season is especially hard for the market vendors of Tofo. By week two I had my avocado and banana lady, my tomato and potato lady and of course, my pao com badjias lady (mozambican breakfast dish: bread with fried bean balls, absolutely delicious!). When I came back to Tofo after my visa run to the border, the ladies at the market greeted me with warmth. It felt really nice, like being part of a community, not being so anonymous any more. That doesn’t normally happen in the big cities of Sweden where I’m from.

Early on in Tofo, I was told that I must take a tour with a dhow at sea while I am here. A dhow is a traditional sailing boat usually used by fishermen to work. A few years back, some local guys started taking tourists out on the dhows, using the fishermen as captains and themselves becoming the guides. One of these guys is 29 year old Ruben, founder of Boa Gente Tours. Boa gente means good people and seems to be the slogan for the Inhambane province.

The first time I went on one of Rubens tours, it was a game changer. Not only because the experience itself was intensely beautiful and I had what I can only call a spiritual experience when I snorkeled, but because it was the first time I got to encounter the essence of the Mozambican philosophy. Talking to Ruben, he made me open my eyes to how far the community mindset goes here and how different the view of money is. Even in business.

I’ve reflected upon it previously on my instagram, writing about the Mozambican expression of estamos juntos loosely translated we are together or we are in it together. When I’ve encountered the community mindset previously it’s been hard for me to see beyond the codependence such mentality also brings. How can anyone have any freedom at all if you always have to put everyone else first? And of course there is that. But through Ruben and other local entrepreneurs like Percia Perola, founder of Womi Massage in Tofo, I’ve also gotten to see what good it does, all the way from community level into their individual lives.

In academic terms, what they do intuitively is what I would call social sustainable entrepreneurship. It goes beyond making sure that money earned goes back into the community, it expands into knowledge sharing, space holding, emotional and spiritual support, building of schools, funding of solar power and so on.

Of course, in such tight knit societies, a lot of shit gets swept under the rug. If codependency is the premise of survival and security, it is natural to perhaps not call people out on their crap. I can see how those who want something else for themselves, outside of this mindset, suffer in the community context and expectations. They have to struggle with both internal and external guilt to conform and support the community. In many instances they still support their community parallel to also trying to do their own thing, all while constantly having to justify their life choices. Mozambique does not exist in a vacuum and many young people are torn between the different mentalities of urban and rural, community and individual, security and freedom.

However, all the shadows aside, it fascinates me how the concept of sustainability, something that Europe and the western world have taken years to conceptualise and work into laws and put forward as their solution to the problems of the world, still to this day, struggle immensely to implement and get people to understand. Meanwhile, here in Mozambique it is implemented on a day to day basis, to the extent it feels intuitive. It is part of their cultural fabric and social norms. The good as the bad that comes with it.

Four reasons to Slow Travel

Because it is like medicine for body mind and soul to slow down in a world that constantly wants us to be in movement.
Because you get a more in depth understanding of the context you are in.
Because you will have time to form friendships and attachments, becoming part of a context and community.
Because you get a chance to listen inwards, to your most inner needs, dreams and fears. Who knows, all that thinking and contemplation, you might get an epiphany and decide to take life into a whole different direction!

Fear and Freedom: Reflections on Solo Travel as a Woman

julia.sarantes.andersson — Sun, 17 Dec 2023 22:06:10 +0000

The Global Entity

Fear and Freedom: Reflections on Solo Travel as a Woman

00:00 / 16:58

The best of traveling on my own

Traveling solo as a woman is the absolute best decision I have made for myself. I did my first solo trip when I had just turned 21 years old, after returning home from an internship in South Africa. I believe, solo traveling has the capacity to make or break you. Personally, it has forced me to be comfortable in the unknown as well making me more confident and assertive in what I believe in and want. Solo traveling as a woman has disproved and busted so many of my fears, prejudices and internalised definitions about myself and the world that doesn’t actually serve me.

Traveling on my own has in many ways set me free in how I identify and relate to myself. But it has also shown me how very gendered the world is. Solo traveling as a woman can in many ways be exhausting. For example, I have become hyper vigilant whenever interacting with authority like the local police or migration when traveling alone.

Too many times, the fear of rape has crossed my mind when I get stoped in the middle of the night by an officer who first takes my passport and then asks for my number in the same sentence. The abuse of power in this situation is completely ignored by the officer who sees no problem in asking for a bribe, a date and accusing me of a crime while cheekily asking for a kiss and if I have a local boyfriend yet.

More solo travel dilemmas: woman edition

While traveling in Mozambique, my time in Tofo was probably where I experienced the most limiting gender dynamics. So much so that I almost called this blog post ‘Two months in paradise: a hostile experience’. Here it wasn’t the police harassing me but the local boys and young men. April is during Tofo’s low tourist season and perhaps that can help explain the intensity and amount of unsolicited, quiet aggressive pursuits of attention from what is locally known as “Beach boys”.

The amount of attention, the demand to give, respond, finance, never ended in Tofo. It got exhausting to go out in the evenings because of the amount of No’s I had to say. And how firm I had to be. It’s not just that it takes a lot of energy to navigate, or that I am always having to police my impulse to not be rude, even when I should. It is the fact that underneath the gendering roles we play in the mundane, is the power dynamic of possible violence.

The term Beach boys is, often derogatorily, used to describe the group of young, local men who work or associate themselves with tourists. They either meet the tourists’ as instructors, guides or bartenders. Or they hang around on the beach trying to get lucky. Common trait is that they use their personal relationships with tourists for economic gain. Some people call it prostitution. Others call it capitalism and life.

However you may define it, I hated it. It made me uncomfortable as there was nowhere I could exist there without being expected to fill that role. It also made me see how deeply socially exploitative the tourism mechanisms can be. Had Tofo not been turned into the tourist destination it is today, who knows how these men and boys would choose to navigate the world.

Story time: solo travel safety in Tofo

One night I got a call from another female traveler. We had met a few weeks earlier in Maputo and had decided to meet up when we were both in Tofo. “Julia I am so sorry to call you at this hour I just don’t know what to do!”

The panic in her voice was evident. She tells me how she had wanted to ensure another tourist woman got home safe. The woman was way too drunk to go home alone when suddenly, the drunk girl’s supposed boyfriend shows up and wants to take her with him. My friend tells him no. She only knows that they’ve gone out on a few dates before but she doesn’t really know how close they actually are. The drunk girl in question is practically passed out at this point and can’t argue her case. The supposed boyfriend gets angry.

My friend continues. “I couldn’t do it Julia. She is so drunk and he is scary. But he got so mad when I said I was taking her home. He said I should to watch myself here, that he knows eeeeveryone here…” The fear is present. I swear under my breath. Just a few hours earlier we had been dancing and drinking under the stars together and now she was filled with fear. She continued telling me how he had trailed behind them until the girlfriend’s hotel and how she now didn’t dare to walk back to her own hotel across town. There are no official taxis here and she just didn’t know what to do.

Even though it was late, I rushed to the owner of my hostel and explained the situation. She allowed me to borrow the hostel truck and one of the staff members to go look for my friend. After 15 minutes of driving out into the dark outskirts of Tofo, we find my friend carefully looking out from a gate. She is so grateful and relieved and cannot stop thanking me.

We ride back to her hotel on the backside of the truck looking up at the stars. I take her hand, squeezing it tightly as she continues to apologise profusely for interrupting my night. Sitting safe on the truck she starts feeling like she turned something silly out of nothing. “Always call.” I look her dead in the eyes and say it again. “Don’t feel stupid. You’d feel really stupid if you were dead. Always call.”

She nods, a bit baffled by my serious answer. But that is how I felt. After dropping her off at her hotel and waving goodnight it hits me, who would I call if I needed to? In South Africa I have a solid network of women who love me and who would drive out in the middle of nowhere if I needed it. Here, I am very much alone.

Looking over at the driver, I am reminded again that I, in many ways, exist at the mercy of others. Especially when I travel. Coming from a hyper individual society, this insight is therapeutic on many levels but as a woman, it is terrifying at worst and limiting at least.

My travel nightmare: Navigating Visa Issues Alone in Africa

julia.sarantes.andersson — Mon, 04 Dec 2023 13:21:53 +0000

The Global Entity

My travel nightmare: Navigating Visa Issues Alone in Africa

00:00 / 7:29

Rising from the Ashes: Navigating 10 Weeks of Visa Limbo

Traveling can easily become a nightmare, especially when visa issues arise and you are all alone in a new country. When I reached my sixth month of traveling I was ready to throw in the towel and go back home. Every kind of disaster imaginable had happened during these first months. Not counting how it all started, I had been so ill and physically weakened, I had lost my passport and visa in a country where I was completely unknown, spent ten weeks at a hostel not being able to do anything but worry and question all of my life decisions that had led me here. Furthermore, I had lost a ton of money and all of my confidence. What a f*cking mess.

My ten week without a passport, pretty much ment isolation and passiveness, being stuck inside a hostel. While I was there, somebody spiritual reminded me that I chose to be here in this situation. The instant I heard it, I wanted to tell that person to take their philosophy and shove it up somewhere… I had not left my whole life behind only to lie down and do nothing, or had I? I could feel my two sides struggling within, the one who told me to rest and trust the process versus the one who got anxiety from the non-existent plan and all the very much existing problems.

Those ten weeks were the hardest. Sitting in the unknown. Not knowing when or if it would be resolved. Not being able to judge the severity of the situation I was in. No joke, that period almost crushed me. Any and every bad habit or toxic coping mechanism that I have ever embodied at some point in my life resurfaced all at once. I will spare you the desperation expressed on my diary pages, let’s just say that if I ever wanted to try some shadow work, the timing was God given.

When something finally did happen to resolve my situation it was me, I was the thing that happened. I woke up one day, powered by a wholly wrath that I’d never felt before, and told everyone that we are fixing this today. Within 12 hours I had my passport back in my hands and after 24 hours I was back in Mozambique waiting for the bus to take me to Tofo. I cried with relief.

It was empowering to know I was the one who saved me, but I also felt silly for letting it take me so long. Maybe that was the lesson of my 10 week isolation. That I am the power, the enabler, the destroyer, the creator of everything that exists in my reality, the good just as the bad. Now, in the publishing moment, that I have passed my 1 year mark traveling I can see how important those 10 weeks of being in the unknown were, but I did beg the Gods to be done with the hard lessons for a while.

Existential crisis in Paradise

Alas, the Gods did not listen, the hard lessons continued. I had been invited to Tofo, a sea side village in the middle of the Mozambican coast, to cover a retreat. A sponsor of the retreat had heard of my blog, seen my work and wanted me to “do something” there. Very diffuse but I was eager and willing. Payment, who needs that when there is an opportunity at hand! That should have been my warning signal to myself.

When I get to the retreat it turns out the organisers have not been informed and does not want me there. Oh my goodness. To say that I died a little bit on the inside is an understatement. The humiliation of it all! To have sat 12 hours in a sweaty minibus in order to go work for free in a context where I’m not even wanted. Yohh. I felt like the biggest failure on the planet.

I was proper pissed at the sponsor who had invited me but mostly I was angry with myself. Dreams are such a vulnerable space to be in and I had not done my due diligence to ensure the soft reception of them once I put them into the world. It was a horrible lesson to learn but I decided to see it as such, otherwise the missed opportunity would have crushed me. Always get the approval of the main organizer, always get everything on paper, don’t work for free.

Soulful lessons from learning to live through my heart

As awful as the experience was, it triggered a lot of things that I am now grateful for. It made me realise that I had something I wanted to offer the world. From having no clue of what I wanted to do in life, to feeling a genuine joy and curiosity to try my own ideas out. To take up space for real. To be seen and heard.

It also made me remember that I LOVE a good day party. And that shame dies when you dare to speak and address whatever it is to an empathetic listener. I decided then and there to give myself grace. What I mean by that is that I started to accept that I have no control over the lessons life has in store for me or how messy it is going to be… but I can make every effort to give myself grace, chose what brings me joy and bring out the beauty in the small, everyday steps.

It can sound silly and fluffy but I am telling you, it has made all of the difference. I started taking soft walks in the morning thinking that moving in the physical might eventually catalyze the energetic movement in my life that I was envisioning. After my third week in Tofo my body started running. I don’t know who was more surprised, me or the beach dogs that had kept me company every morning on my walks. They are called the Ambassadors of Tofo and are huge dogs that run around freely. Not all of them are kind so I would recommend you to be intuitive and attentive when you interact with them.

Creating Opportunities: A Collaborative Music Project in Mozambique with John Lino

julia.sarantes.andersson — Wed, 15 Nov 2023 06:48:13 +0000

The Global Entity

Creating Opportunities: A Collaborative Music Project in Mozambique with John Lino

00:00 / 11:38

Unfolding an exciting music project in Mozambique

Hey fam, I am still here! Those of you who follow me on social media know that there have been a lot of amazing and exhilarating things happening for me on the festival front lately. Today, however, I want to share a project that has been brewing silently in the background for a good while now. A super exciting music project in Mozambique!

When I first arrived in Maputo in January 2023, there was one thing that stood out to me in particular. Maputo has such an abundance of live music and performances! Never have I been in a capital where the culture is so available, not just economically but socially. Sure, there are entry fees at clubs and events that limit who enters. But from what I’ve seen, the majority of the events here somehow manage to include and cater to the majority. Never have I existed in a nightlife scene which is so non excluding like the one in Maputo. It is quite unique to find a social context where people not only meet but actually hang out and enjoy each other’s company across social categories like class and race. It makes for very interesting conversations when you are out and about in the vibrant night of Maputo… and for a very easy going, come-as-you-are kind of a vibe, which I adore!

Local Gem in Maputo: Nucleo de Arte

My favourite place so far is probably Nucleo De Arte, a multi-purpose space for creatives. Nucleo de Arte is an art association, dating all the way back to 1921. On Sunday’s it opens up its stage for local artists to come and fill it with live music (watch here), it always feels like everyone in Maputo is there. The best part of Nucleo de Arte is hands down its backyard where the artist workshop lies. Visitors are allowed to enter!

Paintings upon paintings are stacked upon each other against every wall that is also overflowing with art. If you start looking there are no limits to the gems you will find. If you are lucky, some of the artists will be hanging around, maybe even working on their next piece. The perfect opportunity to pick their brains or maybe even find your next creative teacher! Unfortunately, it lies in a residential area making every Sunday a noise battle with the neighbours. It is unclear if Nucleo will be able to continue having these Sunday live performances.

Meet John Lino: Mozambican multitalented singer song writer

Two months into my Maputo stay I was dealing with heartbreak. Long distance relationships are hard. I was distraught. On the third day of moping around the hostel, Lino, the part bartender and part receptionist, stole a guitar from somebody nearby and started playing the most beautiful song for me (watch here). It wasn’t till days later, when I wanted to find the song online, that I learnt that he had made it up on the spot. I was amazed!

A few nights later, we sat down for a jam session. In under an hour Lino improvised no less than eight different songs. All with their own lyrics, chords, and bridges. My mind was blown! “How come you are not doing this full time?” I ask him in awe. With such talent he should be blessing everyone with his music!

The reality for local artists in Maputo

He looks at me and smiles. “It’s very hard to make a living as an artist in Mozambique. Haven’t you noticed how many artists we have here and how almost nobody works with it full time?” His answer makes me reflect on the past conversations that I’ve had in this city with different artists. It is true, there are very few who don’t have a second or even a third job to support their dreams. And the ones who have managed to work as artists full time have often had the opportunity of working or studying abroad first, an opportunity which is highly sought after but given to very few.

He tells me “Being a musician in Mozambique is a dream for many young people here. They dream of big stages and of being recognised nationally as professional musicians. In many ways, being a musician here is no different from the rest of the world. On the other hand, trying to create a sustainable music career in Mozambique is very complicated. Firstly, we have a lot of gate keepers at the big tv and entertainment stations that only let in already established artists. Secondly, having access to a proper recording studio is an economic question and many of us artists, like myself, end up having to take a second job to support our music production.”

Lino continues “If you are a new musician on the scene, your visibility is directly correlated to what you can pay, it has very little to do with the music itself. Furthermore, most musicians in Mozambique come from very humble backgrounds and the basic salaries here do not exactly provide enough as it is. Therefore, creating music gets put in second place, there is no way to pay for that when you have to put food on the table.”

Behind the scenes in the music industry of Mozambique

A few weeks later, Lino gets invited to play two of his new tracks on morning television. I get invited to come with them! I know that five year old me was doing pirouettes of excitement at the prospect of going to a TV studio. As we enter, the production of the show is already in full swing. Another Mozambican artist is performing and we get asked to wait on the couch.

A man comes up to Lino and greets him. Under a few minutes he talks excitedly about Lino’s new single and the promotion they could do for the song. It all sounds very promising which is why I feel confused to not see any excitement on Lino’s face. “Why are you not happy?” I ask him as the man walks away. “Eix Julia, what that man forgot to mention is that it costs more than I make in a month to do that kind of promotion.”

The humble beginnings of John Lino

One morning, I find myself sitting at the bar of the hostel. It is humid and even though it’s earlier than eight o’clock it is hot as hell. “How come you started making music Lino?” I ask him as he makes my morning espresso.

“You know I am originally from Maputo/Matola. But from the age of two to fifteen I grew up in the province of Gaza. Gaza is a very poor province in Mozambique and we hardly ever had access to electricity. To entertain ourselves, the kids on the block used to sing and mess around. At that age I was only dancing and playing the drums. It was kids songs but still, music has always been a part of my life. When I was fifteen years old, my father died and I moved back to Maputo. Here it was rap and hiphop that was dominating the streets. One day I happened to tag along with a friend who was recording in a studio. For some reason, he wasn’t able to do it and someone said that I also know how to rap. I improvised some bars and before the day was over I had my first song produced. It wasn’t professional or anything but back in 2012 it felt huge!”

“Wait, wait, wait! You used to be a rapper??” Having heard his songs I hardly doubt his ability to rap, but it is miles from the style that he has today.

He laughs and answers “Yes! I even started a rap band in 2012. I realised after a while that I really liked singing and started trying out some RnB but I couldn’t really identify with the music. Eventually I started doing more Marabenta, a happy, up-beat Mozambican music. And now I am here, with you, about to release my EP and have my own launch!”

The Live Through Your Heart Project

A little over a year ago, I decided to leave my whole life behind in my home country in order to follow my heart. I was in love but more so, I wanted to give myself time and space to learn to live from my heart rather than living so strategically. As you know, it has been a tough journey but one I would not change for the world. I know now that following your heart is a luxury very few can afford. At the same time, I am fully convinced that if we all lived in alignment with our hearts, our purpose, we would be happier and less destructive as a society. Therefore, when Lino told me he was about to release his latest EP, through Youtube only, I asked if he wanted to do a collaboration and launch it with a bang!? First he didn’t believe I was serious and then the biggest smile I have ever seen appeared on his face. “Serio?” For real?

Said and done! On the 25th of November Lino is taking over the city of Matola to properly receive his new music. Through endless conversations and voice notes back and forth, the idea started growing… Now, we want to do a music project that will help other musicians be able to get the same opportunity. Lino explains “This EP release is part of a bigger dream. Yes, I am releasing my EP and I am very happy about that. But to be able to pull together young artists and offer them to share the stage with me, feels even bigger. I want to create opportunities for artists where we don’t have to wait to be recognized by the promoters of the industry. We can make our own spaces, create our own opportunities to meet the people and spread our music.”

To say it is going to be fantastic is an understatement. As we say in Moz, vai bater! If you want to be part of this project, creating a music stage for up and coming musicians in Mozambique, let me know in the comments! Or send a DM on my socials or an email to hello@theglobalentity.com. Whether you are a Mozambican sponsor or a private person far away, there are ways you can contribute. Let’s make it happen!

If you are curious to know what happened next, take a look at John Lino’s instagram! Support him by subscribing to his YouTube and other social medias.

A Solo Female Traveler’s Safety Contradiction: Negotiating Independence

julia.sarantes.andersson — Wed, 27 Sep 2023 12:40:47 +0000

The Global Entity

A Solo Female Traveler’s Safety Contradiction: Negotiating Independence

00:00 / 12:32

Traveling as a young woman

When I was 21 years old, I did my first solo trip ever. I was flying to South Africa to participate in my friends wedding. It was so exciting! I drew up plans of everything I wanted to do on my own, who I was going to visit and booked everything well in advance. Since then, I have changed How I travel a lot. Now days, I try to leave as much space open for life to happen to me instead of me deciding it beforehand. But some things, I feel never change.

When traveling alone, I have often found myself feeling dependent on the men in my surroundings. Specifically, I feel dependent on their presence when I want to go out at night or explore a non-touristy area. It’s not that I am afraid of being attacked by a stranger, rather it’s a way to protect myself from unwanted advances and conversations that I get as somebody that is visibly a foreigner. As nice as it can be to get genuine compliments and attention, this is not the type of interactions I am referring to now.

Being a white, young woman traveling on my own makes me an easy ‘target’, not just for harmless curious interactions but for people who see mee as a walking money bag or sexual object to attain. That attention can sometimes feel constant and limiting when I travel. Especially when I am out at night in party environments and people are a bit intoxicated, lines can easily get blurry. Unless I am perceived to, so called, belong to another man. Many times people assume that I am together with one of my male friends and I do not correct them since it enables me to be more free from attention.

What is Solo Travel Security?

When I write about Travel Security, what I really mean is freedom of movement regardless of your gender, race, religion, etc. In other words, that I am free to move around, feeling safe, regardless of who I am or how I look. But since it is specifically I, Julia, writing these texts from my experience – freedom of movement is mostly restricted because of my gender. Not by anybody actively telling me not to go somewhere, but rather as a culmination of my internalized security strategies, fears and gender roles in society.

Creating security as a solo traveling woman, in comparison to doing it at home, is no different. The only difference is that when I am traveling, I am often in a completely new context where I don’t know the social codes, cues and norms. This is of course a huge difference and one that makes all of the difference. I just wanted to underscore and underscore again, that this is not a geographically specific text. Even though my examples are from my experiences in Mozambique and South Africa, I would say you missed the point if you think these problems, structures and norms aren’t global.

Creating security is something that I more and more come to believe can only be created together with others. No matter how much the patriarchy tries to teach women that they are responsible for their own safety, my personal experience is that if somebody has ill intent – it will not matter who you texted that you were going where or what shoes you were wearing to be able to run, you will still be in a shit situation that forces you to think and act outside of the security strategies you had prepared.

Despite knowing this, that security is created with others and cannot be created alone, as I travel alone, I still find myself creating strategies to keep myself more safe. Or, maybe I should say, to create the illusion of feeling safer. And all of these strategies rely on me, not on the group or the context, so I understand how contradictory the following text might feel. But that is also quite spot on for how I feel the arguments of female security are; contradictory. Damned if you don’t and damned if you do. So perhaps the following text is less on the security creating act as much as trying to describe the dilemmas women like me face when we navigate spaces on our own.

Travel Security Dilemma

There is a kind of skewed security that comes with “belonging” to a man. I say skewed security for many reasons, one of them being often-problematic dynamic that can be created between me and the man I am relying on. What happens if he confuses his “protective role” with actual flirting? What happens if he expects something in return for his “protection”?

Furthermore, every culture is different. A simple example is time. In Mozambique, I never know when something will actually happen because the said time is seldom the time that is applied. A less easy example to generalize is flirting, boundaries and communication. In some contexts, what I say will be taken at face value. In others, there are hidden expectations in just being you, that are easily missed when you are in a previously unknown context. Which can complicate things when you are out and about solo traveling, often experiencing things solely because you dared to say yes to be included into a new experience.

I don’t like the feeling of dependency, and yet, at the same time, I have not figured out how to be an independent, traveling woman. Meaning, in certain contexts, like at night, I would rather stay in at home, than explore a new city. I am grateful every time I meet a man that can provide me with the freedom that I am yet to understand how to create for myself. I guess, in a sense, I am my own prisoner and liberator. If I could change my perception of risk, or the perception that I have power over it, I would maybe walk the streets at night on my own. But that day has not arrived yet and therefore I have, more than once, found myself dancing after somebody elses tune instead of doing what I want.

Solo Travel Story Time

Naturally, sometimes, the strategy of ‘belonging’ to a man, backfires. Like the night I was at a concert with friends. The local guy friend, who had driven me and another friend around all night, asked to come inside to use the bathroom before he continued driving home after the event had ended. Nemas problemas. We had had a wonderful evening, danced together and met all of Maputo!

When he comes out of the bathroom, he announces that he is too intoxicated to drive home and asks if he can sleep over, saying that the hostel owner always lets him stay the night. Sure, I say, but think it’s rather odd how he suddenly is too intoxicated after not drinking one drop the whole evening. But I am not about to tell a friend to hit the road when they say they are intoxicated. Nor will I tell him to sleep in the car when I have plenty of room and he has driven us around all night. My dorm is empty except for me and since he does this ‘all the time’ I feel it’s rude to say no.

When I show him the extra beds in my dorm room, he protests and tells me that he has no intention of sleeping alone. I want to explain to him that I am not interested in him and here is where it gets tricky. Up until now, this is a person that I’ve been hanging out with almost every other day, it is a key person in the group of friends I have here in Maputo. The only group of friends I have here. If he takes my rejection the wrong way, I risk ending up completely isolated from the group.

There is a saying from Nicaragua that says it is better to be alone than in bad company. But we should not underestimate how hard that actually is to do. Humans are wired to equal social inclusion with survival, it is so human it is instinctual. The fear of exclusion is a powerful mechanism and I remember carefully weighing the consequences of my rejection in my head before speaking that night. My breath slows down and I try to take him in, evaluate how my words will be received.

When I finally do speak, his first response is to say sorry. But then looks up at me and starts saying all the reasons we should. We end up in an absurd back and forth and I feel the knot in my stomach tying itself tighter every time I have to reiterate my no. It makes me uncomfortable trying to balance being clear and at the same time not hurting his ego. I don’t know if he is embarrassed by my rejection or what, but after some back and forth, he lies down on one of the beds, turns his back towards me and stops responding.

Five minutes later I feel a flash of anger as I look at him sleeping peacefully. He doesn’t realise or care about the uncomfortable predicament he has put me in. He is no longer a friend crashing over at a friends place. I feel like he first ensured that he could sleep over and then ambushed me with his real intentions. Honestly, it feels manipulative and it pisses me off. I toss and turn, my anger going to worry and back again.

Listening to my own thoughts makes me angry too. Why should I be the one awake, worrying? This is my room. If I am not comfortable with him in it I should just throw him out, right?! But I won’t. I know I’d feel too guilty about throwing a supposed friend out on the street in the middle of the night. On the other hand, making me feel this uncomfortable is not giving me friendly vibes… why do I feel like I owe him to not be rude, to be nice, when he does not return the consideration?

I decide to go wake the night receptionist up and ask for another room to sleep in. I start feeling stupid over how naïve I had been. I should have seen the intentions of the guy and protected myself from it. As soon as I catch myself in that train of thought I stop myself. The habit of policing my own behavior in any kind of situation when blame is to be assigned is probably the patriarchy’s most successful control mechanisms. One of them at least. One that I am actively unlearning, a little bit every day.

It bothers me how dependent I am of men I meet. It bothers me that he just fell asleep, and I was left doing a risk analysis of the social consequences the situation may have for me. Que merda. What a shit show. He probably doesn’t even give the situation a second thought beyond the fact that I turned him down.

What happened here is not something that is unique for Mozambique in any way. The many safety contradictions that women have to navigate is, in my experience, something very global. Even at home in Sweden, when I am in my own known arena, I experience these types of dilemmas. The difference is, when I travel solo, I am completely without context and community of my own, leaving me more vulnerable to these situations.

When we see each other in the morning, it’s slightly awkward as we both pretend that everything is fine. I suppose that he is embarrassed over getting rejected. Personally, I am just relieved that he doesn’t seem angry or too butt hurt. From now on I’ll be taking the cab home, always. This is not independence.

From Live Music to Midnight Markets: Indulging in Maputo

julia.sarantes.andersson — Sat, 09 Sep 2023 05:33:00 +0000

The Global Entity

From Live Music to Midnight Markets: Indulging in Maputo

00:00 / 9:00

A Nighttime Exploration of Maputo's night life

“Maputo is so quiet, honestly it seems a bit boring.” My face falls as I hear this statement. Lais, the girl in front of me, has just arrived in Maputo. She is originally from Brazil and has been traveling for a few weeks in Africa. For me, the past two weeks have been filled with visa issues and logistics of a possible internship in the north of Mozambique, so I have been keeping still. But this statement made me quite horrified. Maputo is not boring and I quickly promise Lais to show her just how vibrant the city is if she stays the weekend with me. She agrees!

It is Friday so Maputo is bound to be boiling with activity. I immediately start going through my contacts to find out where the party is tonight. With barely one month in this country I am impressed by the amount of numbers I have managed to collect, it says something about how very social the social climate is here. We are in luck! There is a live reggae concert tonight at Rua de Arte and at eight o’clock one of my friends came to pick us up. It is a new kind of luxury to have friends with cars. It was the first thing I noticed when I landed in South Africa all those months ago. My friends are living a different level of grown nowadays, the car-kids-and-career type of grown. I am not complaining, it is luxurious!

When we arrive at the event, the place is dead. I am starting to realise that despite what is written on an event poster, all Mozambican events start at least an hour late. We park the car in a dark alley, we are in downtown Maputo and the system of parking is unclear, to say the least. But to this day, no car has been stolen so something must be working. They are still testing the sound when we enter the venue and the echoes from the reverb rises towards the open sky. It is a simple venue, it looks more like a fenced in courtyard than anything else. I love that about the infrastructure in Maputo; life is everywhere! In any kind of corner or space, people have found a way to make it functional.

We are sipping on passion fruit caipirinhas as the venue fills up. I introduce Lais to everyone and everyone is equally welcoming to her as they were to me when I had just arrived. After an hour of mingling, I hear a hoarse voice starting to sing. It is the singer Ras Skunk, accompanied by a band, that has taken the stage. All of Maputo’s Rastas are here to take over the dance floor and we dance and jump to the beats until our feet are raw. After the concert, Lais and I get invited to some sort of initiation party, the details are unclear and despite our friends best efforts to convince us otherwise, we decide to start heading home.

In the car I realize I am starving! But where do you get food in the middle of the night in Maputo?! At Mercado Pulmão of course! The real name is the barracks of Pulmão de Malhangalene. When we get there at one AM, the market is popping! There are people partying and hanging outside of the liquor barracks, there is music is pumping from the different barracks and the noise is absolute. It is a happy energy and I can’t help but marvel at this city and all of its secrets! I follow the smell of fried chicken inside of the market and within minutes we are all seated on the cement floor devouring Maputo’s best fried chicken!

Experiencing the markets of Maputo

I woke up bright and early on Saturday morning as my friend Bolodoamor (Gil) had planned to take me and Lais to mercado Xipamanine, a huge market that has everything one could possibly need. The mission was to find a traditional healer for me as I’ve been feeling heavy in my energy for the longest time. When we get out of the xiapa (the minibus used as public transport) the mud greets us, long gone are the asphalted roads. The market of Xipamanine is built on mud roads making everything appear as if it’s floating.

The traditional medicine section is in the middle of the market and we have to pass by the cosmetics section as well as second hand clothes and shoes before we get there. If I ever need to rebuild the contents of my backpack all at once, this is the market I would choose. I wouldn’t want to walk here alone though… the amount of stolen items for sale makes this a place filled with lots of weird energies and intentions. Bolodoamor is walking a little in front of us talking to the different merchants and healers. He is collecting price offers to see which one has the best local price. He gives us a wave to follow him and another man as they disappear into the labyrinth of paths. He has found somebody.

When we arrive, the healer, a man in his fifties, tells me to sit down on a bench in front of him. He doesn’t even look at Bolodoamor or Lais even though it was Bolo that said he needed help. It was like the healer could sense that I was in need. He looks at me and asks me a few questions. Bolo helps me with the Portuguese when I can’t keep up. After the consultation where he says I need a proper cleanse but gives me a price that makes Bolodoamor pull me away. “No way you are paying that, that is three months salary.” This is one of the many blessings that come with having local friends, they will help you to not get scammed. I can highly recommend taking Bolodoamor with you, if you just like me, like to go on adventures but want to feel safe at the same time. He speaks both German and Portuguese!

I love hanging out at the markets of Maputo. There are so many of them but I do think my favourite one is Mercado do Povo, a normal food market right next to the cathedral. It was the first market I went to on my own, the first place where I started feeling like I knew the local prices and could negotiate for myself. Mercado do Povo means the people’s market and it truly is just that! It opens early in the morning so that the workers of Maputo can go and eat their breakfast, something that in Mozambique mostly consists of food. The breakfast people are quickly replaced by either the lunch crowd or the drunk crowd, or perhaps most accurately, a little bit of both. I love chilling here with a cold 2M (Mozambique’s most popular beer) and some good friends.

Another, similar market is mercado Janet which lies behind my hostel. Perfect for buying your morning fruits and veggies but not as nice to chill at in my opinion. On Sunday, I took Lais to one of the tourist markets: Mercado do Peixe! It is touristy due to the prices and the type of food served. There are also a lot of souvenir vendors who walk between mercado do Peixe and Mercado do Frango trying to sell their stuff. But if you want to go souvenir shopping for real, I would recommend going to FEIMA market. It is filled to the brim with crafts and art.

Police, Parties and Goodbye’s: A Tribute to the Friends You Find Traveling

julia.sarantes.andersson — Tue, 29 Aug 2023 17:12:52 +0000

The Global Entity

Police, Parties and Goodbye’s: A Tribute to the Friends You Find Traveling

00:00 / 15:46

A love letter to my friends

The past few days have been a whirlwind of emotions. Mostly good ones. I’ve been continuing to hang out with my two Brazilians and their amazing group of Mozambican friends. They have shown me how to drink beer like a true Brazilian, colder than ice! Mostly they have shown me incredible kindness. Some people in this world have a certain something within them, an energy that makes everyone around them glow. Brenda and Igor have that. In their company I can feel myself being more myself, doing things I’ve always dreamt of but seldom dared. Doing it with joy and curiosity instead of crippling nerves about the outcome or how it will be perceived.

I believe there is some of that essence in the Mozambican social culture and norms too. An acceptance to the many human errors, a natural inclusion as the bottom line of every social interaction. Overall, I feel that there is space for playfulness and imperfections here, which makes the social settings a lot less stiff and awkward than what I am used to in Sweden. Obviously, I’ve only been here a month so these things should be taken as observations and reflections of the context and experiences I’m having right now, rather than generalisations. But I’m not going to lie either, with very few exceptions, this has been my impression of Maputo ever since I started socialising with people again. Which was what, two weeks ago? It feels a lot longer, time is strange like that.

The goodbye party

Brenda and Igor’s time is running out here in Mozambique and last weekend everyone gathered for a huge goodbye party. We were supposed to leave Maputo in the morning to go together to a friend’s house in the neighbouring city Matola. At four thirty in the afternoon everyone started showing up… and nobody thought that was weird! I wasn’t stressed about it but that’s only because it wasn’t my event. This would absolutely have driven me mad otherwise, like the true Swede I am.

When we are finally on our way in two full mini buses, we only drive about ten minutes before we stop. We are apparently first making a quick stop at Kwetu, a bar hosting a daytime event. As we enjoy the drinks and the music, more of our friends arrive. After an hour or so we are all gathered and start driving again. The next stop is at the outskirts of Matola at a small house. The paint on the walls is peeling and inside the house there are more boxes of alcohol and beer than I have ever seen in such a tiny space. We buy what we need and get going again, the music is loud in the xiapa (minibus) and the energy is excited.

We arrive just as the sun starts setting. It is a beautiful space with a pool and even more people, the party has already started! We dance and drink and laugh. It’s a beautiful, hot night and DJ Jambalão is playing like his life depended on it. When the first Brazilian funk song starts playing, the dance floor becomes fire! We realize eventually that nobody has made a plan for food and at this point the beer is finishing as well. The host of the house gracefully takes it upon themselves to remedy the situation and leaves in a car.

But where do you find enough food, at a reasonable price, for fifty happy, drunk people, in the middle of the night in Matola? When the host does get back it is well after midnight and everyone is about ready to pack up and leave. He gets met with cheers as the delicious chicken and fries get unpacked on the tables. A few musicians entertain us with their improvisation and eventually we are all packed into the minibus to go home.

First encounter with the Maputo Police

The ride back to Maputo takes a lot longer than when we were going to the party. Due to the late hour, the driver is driving everyone home to their doors. In order to avoid police and road patrols, he goes out of his way to drive on smaller, safer roads. Not because we were doing something wrong but because the Mozambican police have a notorious reputation for its corruption and extortion. That, in combination with the fact that the majority of us were either western foreigners or Rastas, two of the police’s favorite groups to target, made us extra careful.

At the time, I was blissfully unaware of these aspects of Mozambican society. Instead, I was sitting in the back trying to not get annoyed that everything was taking so long. When we finally arrive in Maputo it is almost three AM. Another discussion about which way to choose erupts in the bus and causes another long wait. Somebody mentions that the hostel is only a few blocks away and before I know it, the group of us who are staying there are standing on the curb of the road. The wind is a bit chilly but after ninety minutes in that bus I am relieved to be out in the fresh air. We shout goodnight to the people left in the bus and start our walk. I am hungry again and start planning the massive breakfast I intend to eat in a few hours.

I don’t get far in my thoughts before a police truck turns its lights on and speeds up only to stop right next to us. Four police officers get off, everyone is armed and two of them have huge rifles across the chest (I’m no weapon expert, it might be called something else completely). They ask where we are coming from. They want to see our ID’s and of course I have forgotten mine at home. In Mozambique, as a foreigner, you must be able to show your passport and visa at all times when asked by the police.

I try to explain to one of them that I have it at home, just a few hundred meters away. The police immediately cuts me off, almost like I have offended him by trying to speak to him. The situation feels tense and I let my friends take the lead. The Portuguese spoken is way too fast for me to be able to understand and I keep on thanking my lucky stars I am not alone right now. Just as it feels like they are about to let us go, one of the older ones starts pointing at an empty cigarette package and yelling angrily. It is the same brand as one of my friends smokes.

That is all it takes. Inside the cigarette package is something they claim is a finished joint, very illegal in Mozambique, at least on paper. It’s not ours and my friends start arguing with them. I don’t understand much but when one of the police officers takes my arm to load me onto the truck I get ice cold inside. I figure that since I am the one without a passport, they are pinning it on me. Four armed men with the authority of the law, want to drive me away, alone, in the middle of the night in a country where I know neither the language nor my rights. To say that I am terrified is an understatement.

I try to ask them where they will take me, what station. Bad choice. My English is perceived as arrogance… or something else very insulting. Either way, I feel like I have committed a crime. Brenda, my wise, brave Brenda, intervenes on my behalf and with a honey sweet voice and submissive, apologetic body language explains that I am new in the country and don’t know any better. It seems to calm him down somewhat. The oldest one, the one who seems to be the boss over the group of armed men, decides that everyone is guilty by association and proceeds to load us onto the truck. Guilty of what is unclear at this point.

I quickly follow after Brenda onto the truck before anyone can tell me to sit on the other side with my back to her. I look at her to read her face, I feel so ashamed for the situation that I feel I have caused. Instead of fear or irritation, she looks at me with steady eyes, her whole being is transmitting calm and reassurance, yet, careful to not move even one muscle of her face. She didn’t want the police to see what she was communicating. Everything was going to be fine.

What proceeded next was a forty minute drive through the empty streets of a sleeping Maputo, stopping in small, dark alleys and being scolded by the oldest man. The two younger officers, with their arms across the chest, kept walking around to our side, wanting Brenda’s attention, trying to flirt. The disgusting power dynamic of this in itself, doesn’t need to be pointed out. I have no idea of how common that is here but men with license of violence, in a corrupt society, hitting on you while not allowing you to leave – is not only disgusting but scary.

At the same time, it also makes this whole thing seem more performative, the accusations, the car ride, the stern talks. Eventually, after a lot of scolding from their part and a lot of what I can only describe as butt licking, on our part, they let us go. Properly shaken up, we make our way back to the hostel. We hug each other before we finally get to sleep. Despite the exhaustion it takes me hours to fall asleep.

The next day, in the early afternoon, we are all awake and gathered in the outside living room area in the hostel. All exhausted from the events earlier that morning. Brenda and Igor share with me in detail their previous experiences with the Mozambican police. They make sure I know that I didn’t cause this but was rather a victim of systematic corruption and how it looks on the individual level. I still can’t let go of the guilt I feel. The energy is heavy as we sit there and discuss the events of the night.

Mozambique, somebody says and in resignation sighs deeply. There is a moment of silence and all of our eyes eventually land on a no-smoking sign. The irony, as there is always somebody smoking here, is too much. Truly nothing is straightforward in this country, everything is context based. We start laughing, the kind of laughter that comes from the stomach, the kind that releases stress and anxiety. It is what we needed to let go of the heavy energy we were all carrying from the night’s events.

The journey of becoming: connections and goodbyes

The last days before Igor and Brenda leave for Brazil, are spent together. We go to markets, hang by the beach and go out, making the most out of Maputo’s nightlife. I am sad to see them leave. Their last night in Mozambique we spend together at the beautiful Prahna restaurant. Brenda and Igor are leaving the very next day and the feelings of everything that comes with moving away from somewhere, are very present. They have spent a year here, built a life here. I am well familiar with the sensation and I feel for them. It is not an easy process to go through. For the first time since we started going out together, nobody is dancing. We sit and talk quietly about everything that has been and what is to come.

When we come back to the hostel nobody is ready to say goodnight. Luckily, Lino, the bartender/receptionist, is still awake and holds us company while we drink another beer and talk about life. The absolute siblingship I feel to these people is beautiful. I am so lucky! For most of my life I have walked around feeling like an alien, never really belonging anywhere or being part of any community. But for the past couple of years, through the love and interactions with beautiful souls like Igor and Brenda, something is changing within me. I don’t feel that way anymore. It is like I am relearning the way I relate to myself and the world around me, perhaps best described as relating and experiencing the world from a place of abundance. It is a truly beautiful and expansive process.

As we sit there around the table, a song comes to mind, a song I haven’t heard in years. It is the song Historia de un amor, sung by Cesaria Evora. For those of you who haven’t heard it yet, it is full of melancholy and love. It encapsulates all of the emotions that are present in this moment, on our last night together. I feel I want to give it to them, sing it for them.

For a moment I get super nervous, the perfectionist within saying I haven’t sung in over four years and my insecurities are telling me who am I to take up space?! I look at them and I realise that it is all love here. If there is any time that I should break my four year break, it is now, surrounded by all of this love. They won’t mind me taking up the space, they will receive it as the gift I intended it to be. I take a deep breath and ask them if I can sing a song for them. I am met by a resounding and enthusiastic “SIM!” (yes in Portuguese).

And so I sing and I do it from the safe space of abundance. It is a beautiful moment and I realize and accept, for the first time in my life, that my voice is a gift. The moment affirms something that I know to be true now. The people that love you, will always want to see you shine your light, in whatever shape or form it may come.

On that note, I want to give a huge shout out to all of my friends back home and the friends I have been blessed to meet through my travels. It is a crazy mix of beautiful souls that have given and continue to give me so much. You are all a part of my process of becoming and I am eternally grateful to you, new as old. Your love heals.

Solo Travel Realities: Unwanted Advances and Uncomfortable Situations

julia.sarantes.andersson — Mon, 14 Aug 2023 20:51:18 +0000

The Global Entity

Solo Travel Realities: Unwanted Advances and Uncomfortable Situations

00:00 / 10:10

A sunny afternoon on a hot rooftop in Maputo

One afternoon I find myself on one of the rooftops at the hostel together with Brenda. The sun is intensely warm and everything feels sticky. It is the first time it is just us girls, up until this point we have mostly hung out in party settings in big groups. Our conversation starts a little tentatively but pretty soon I can feel how we connect.

With our words we travel through each others lives exchanging stories, questions and experiences of being a person but also a woman in this day and age. Mixed women, global, strong and often considered abnormal women. The siblingship I feel to this person is absolute. I decide to open up to her about what happened just before Igor and her included me into their sphere. Something that’s been weighing on my mind ever since.

A not-so-safe solo travel story

A week ago when I was out dancing I met a woman, she was super extroverted and we had loads to talk about. When the night was over she drove me and my friend home and we decided to meet up again soon. When the weekend arrived, she texted me asking if I wanted to come share a family day together with her kids and husband. Of course I accept! To be invited into a family setting did not only feel safe but like a privilege.

When the day arrives, the family come and pick me up at my hostel and we drive off to a neighbouring city of Maputo. The whole day is spent cooking dish after dish over the fire. Friends and family arrive throughout the day, I struggle with Portuguese the best way I can and manage to have a few conversations with the help of my Spanish. My host, however, seems to be busy and I don’t see much of her until the evening. She eventually approaches me and invites me up to the roof.

The house is still under construction and there is no light on the roof except for one dim streetlight in the far distance. As soon as we get there, she is all over me. Tongue down my throat, hands under my clothes type of thing. I am shook. Nowhere in our interactions had I understood that she was interested in me, or in women in general. I hear her husband laughing downstairs with their family and friends, just a few meters away from where we are. When my brain catches up with what is happening I take a step back.

She immediately starts talking about everything in her life. I look at her, not sure what to say except for sorry. When I don’t really respond to what she is actually saying, she changes her tone to a more seductive one, telling me how I am this and that. I feel fixated to the floor by her energy, a thousand thoughts running through my mind; where exactly am I? What is going on? Is she gay? What about her husband?? If I reject her now, will they still drive me home? Do the taxi apps I use in Maputo work here? Why do I feel so unsafe? Is it safe to be openly queer in Mozambique? How long would it take for the hostel to notice if I go missing? When she kisses me again I don’t resist, not sure how to best navigate the situation.

Luckily, her kids come rushing up to the roof and she pulls away. I take a few steps back and look at her, there is like a dark shadow right over her face making her look almost demonic. I look around, there is nothing around us that could possibly cast a shadow. I feel scared. What is going on? Under normal circumstances, husband and the awkward situation apart, I wouldn’t have denied a gorgeous woman a date but something feels really off.

I realise that the shadow over her face may be there just for me, to affirm the gut feeling I already have that something is wrong. I silently say a prayer, thanking my angels for warning me and asking them to get me out of this situation safely. The shadow disappears. I suggest we go downstairs to join the others again, reluctantly she says yes.

The evening continues and I try to play it light, socialising and talking to everyone except her. When we start packing up, she suggests where we should go next but I say that I have a date tonight and have to get home. Except for the music in the car, everyone is quiet. I sit in the back with the sleeping kids, constantly checking the map to make sure we are going in the right direction. When I get home I take a long shower trying to wrap my head around what I just lived through.

Scams, security and sisterhood

Talking about it now, in the warm sunlight, with Brenda by my side, I feel a little bit silly. Maybe I hadn’t been in any danger at all. Maybe I was just dealing with a deeply unhappy person who did not know how to read that I was uncomfortable… When I had told my mom about it the day after she immediately said she had a bad feeling from the start and that the thought of sex trafficking had come to mind. But she didn’t want to scare me. She reasoned that maybe it was just her own fear projecting.

Now, I come to find out that it is not all that uncommon that tourists get conned into having sex with someone they think want the same thing as them, only to find out in the morning that the person wants money because they are sex workers or have taken explicit pictures/videos for extortion. Yohh. I don’t really know what to make out of my encounter. I think that if she had been a man, I would have had an easier time reading it for what it was. I usually associate women with safety and sisterhood, and to think that she may have had ill intentions towards me is hard for me to accept.

It feels good to share this with someone who has been here longer, who speaks the language and knows the local context and norms. It feels really good to talk to Brenda specifically about it who has the sisterhood code down. She affirms what needs to be affirmed, questions my own internalised sexism and helps me put the blame where it should be.

I block the lady in question on all socials, just to be sure. I don’t want her seeing what I’m up to, where. Then I proceed to ask Brenda about what it’s been like living here as a foreign, young, beautiful woman. I don’t think we give these kind of conversations enough credit. A lot of the conversations women share between one another is judgingly called gossip. I don’t believe people understand that that’s how we women build security.

Safety Travel Tips for beginner Solo Travelers

Firstly, because of the theme of this weeks post, I want to restate how incredible solo traveling is! It is something that has grown me in more ways than one and as many sometimes unsafe situations I end up in cannot compare with all the life affirming encounters, divine, kind people and miracles that I have had the fortune to encounter on my solo journeys throughout the years.

Secondly, trust your gut AND trust that your gut feeling/intuition will grow and develop! But you need to give yourself time for that learning curve to exist. After I got home from this potentially dangerous situation, I could have been berating myself over ending up in it, guilting and shaming. Instead I held space for the fear to be felt and then I started going through the events of the day. I realised that my gut had been telling me to not go from early on, but I had not recognised it. At this realisation I tell my body thanks for warning me and I promise to listen better the next time it tries to tell me something.

Thirdly, be your own mom! What I mean by that is that my mom used to have a list of things that she needed to know when I was going somewhere without her, a very reasonable list I must add! It contained things like the address, how long we would be there, how we would get back and who the adults were. These are all things she needed to know to feel safe to let me go off on my own adventures, if I had kids I’m sure I will have a very similar list. So why would I not ensure that I the answers to those basic questions when I go off somewhere? The simple answer is I wanted to be a cool girl, the kind that just goes with the flow and isn’t such a control freak. But lesson learned (hopefully), ask the uncomfortable questions!!

Bed Bugs and Beyond: A Stumbling New Beginning in Mozambique

julia.sarantes.andersson — Mon, 24 Jul 2023 05:14:58 +0000

The Global Entity

Bed Bugs and Beyond: A Stumbling New Beginning in Mozambique

00:00 / 13:36

From Crisis to Comfort: a New Hostel in Maputo

Due to an unforeseen bed bug crisis at the hostel, I have now moved to another. The only other hostel/backpackers that exists in Maputo, to my knowledge. Do you remember the wrong hostel where the taxi dropped me off when I had just arrived in Maputo? When I was rude and projected all my stress on the staff? Yup! That’s the one! Apparently Fatima’s Backpackers is the only other hostel in all of Maputo so I had to go back, tail between my legs and ask for help.

Even though a part of me was relieved to be able to do so, go back and apologise, I was nervous. Almost like a child. When I arrived I did my best to apologise with the few Portuguese words I’ve picked up but mostly I spoke Spanish. The staff looked at me, first confused, then I could see how they placed who I was and started to laugh. Somebody grabbed my shoulder and said “Fica tranquila!” (Relax!) and waved it out of the world.

Next came my other mission, getting them to give me a bed despite the risk of bed bugs I may or may not carry with me. Senhor Agostinho, the manager, looked at me and my many suitcases and bags a long time before he sternly said okay. But I would have to stay alone in a room for a few nights and he demanded to disinfect the room for at least three days… With what exactly I have no clue, I was just relieved. Here was a guy with a plan! And a poison! In this specific context, I could not ask for more.

I don’t blame the first hostel for getting the bed bugs, it is a part of hostel life and I know for a fact the cleaning ladies there work tirelessly to keep it spotless and fresh. However, when this happened the owner was away and the present staff had no clue how to handle it. I did not want my things mixed up with the things of the bed bug room so I left before they had the chance to put them together.

Local Insights: A Day with Lino in Maputo

The hostel is colorful and quiet, only a few other guests besides me are staying there currently. I mostly hang out with the hostel cat, Batique, who now follows me around even to the toilet. I’m not complaining though, he is super cute!

My strength has returned and one day I can feel it, I am ready to meet Maputo! Not having done any research about the city, I am clueless of where to start. Lino, the receptionist/bartender at the hostel, offers to take me on a tour of the city the next day. I feel relieved! I can’t imagine a better way to discover a new place than alongside a local.

We start bright and early but Maputo is already running hot! We walk from Avenida Mao Tse Tung to Casa de Ferro, a three-story house built entirely out of iron. I can’t even imagine how hot it becomes inside during summer! It must be like being in an oven… most certainly a foreign idea from somebody without enough local knowledge of the climate here.

Next we make a stop at the Tunduru Botanical Gardens, Mozambique’s biggest botanical garden. It is beautiful albeit a little rundown. We walk around talking about life in Mozambique and the tourism industry post pandemic. Suddenly we are surrounded by something that are either moths or butterflies… I’m not entirely sure what they are but I feel like I’m in the middle of a Disney production, they are everywhere! And so is a sound that I can’t really place, it’s not birds but something similar.

As we continue our walk in the garden the sound grows louder and louder until it’s almost hard to talk. I look up and there they are: hundreds and hundreds of bats! Most of them are hanging from the trees but some are flying around. The constant movement of the bats hanging in the trees makes the trees look like something from a fantasy movie. I am both fascinated and horrified! Never have I been able to see so many of them. In broad daylight too. To finish the tour, Lino takes me to Mercado do Povo, meaning the peoples market. I love markets like this! It is filled with vendors, people and smoke from the grills. In the middle, under a huge tree, are all the food vendors. We eat some of the best frango assado, roasted chicken, that I have ever tasted.

After the tour I feel confident enough to find my way back to the hostel on my own. I say goodbye to my guide Lino, who has to commute back home and return again before his next night shift starts at the hostel. I don’t understand how he finds the energy but it seems to be the way most working Mozambicans live, with several jobs under their belt. I can warmly recommend taking a city tour with Lino! Easiest way to contact him is through his instagram or send us an email and we will help connect you.

Awkward backpacker relations

When I get back to the hostel I am exhausted. I decide to do what I’ve been doing ever since I arrived at this hostel: lie down on one of the rooftops and tan while listening to a book on BookBeat. Every day between four and five in the afternoon I’ve been doing the same thing, the sun is still warm but won’t burn you silly. I know tanning is bad for the health, but right now it feels very good to my soul. This day in particular, I decided to let my boobs see some light too. There is not a soul besides me at the hostel and the staff rarely comes up here so I feel safe to do it without breaking any cultural norms. Not that I know what the norms on toplessness is here in Mozambique, but I assume it is less liberal than in Sweden where I grew up.

An hour goes by and I am deeply lost in the narrative of the book I’m listening to. Suddenly I feel there is movement, I open my eyes and see a young man pass me by. We lock eyes just as he comes up the stairs, both equally startled by the other’s presence. Or perhaps I’m the one who is startled by his presence, he is more likely startled by my nakedness that I quickly try to cover up. We mumble something to each other and he goes to the other side of the rooftop with his back towards me. Ugh, how awkward! He seemed so uncomfortable, poor guy. I spent the next two days trying to avoid eye contact with him and his travel companion. They are both my age and seem to feel right at home at this hostel.

Every evening the older generation at the hostel gather around a table, in the outside bar area, where they talk and laugh in Portuguese, chain smoking cigarettes. The two young newcomers are welcomed like family and fit right into this group, socialising and laughing. It looks nice. I decide then and there to get over my embarrassment and make an effort to introduce myself. I catch the girl first, it feels easier… Her name is Brenda and she tells me that she and her friend Igor, the one I startled, have spent a year in Mozambique working for some Brazilian NGO.

When Igor and I finally do talk we both laugh at the naked incident. He tells me that he had tried to avoid me after so that I wouldn’t feel uncomfortable thinking he was creeping on me. Imagine that! A man understanding the many security dilemmas women go through and adapting to give space and freedom. Who would have known! This is where everything changes for me. My isolation and recovery time is over.

Maputo through the Brazilians eyes

What happens next can most accurately be described as Brenda and Igor taking me by the hand and opening up all of Maputo right in front of me. They introduce me to everyone and anyone that they’ve made friends with during their year here. It feels wonderful! Maputo is beautiful by day but absolutely vibrant by night. Everyone is gorgeous, kind and inclusive.

The first time we go out together, they take me to Prahna, a restaurant with walls completely in orange and yellow, next to Rua d’Arte. First there is just a few of us but eventually we are around twenty-five people. The Portuguese is flowing all around me and I sit back and enjoy the vibe. I have enough of a hard time understanding Portuguese when I’m sober. With one cup of wine in my body, in combination with the loud environment, it is absolutely impossible. It doesn’t matter though, I’m just happy to be here.

I notice how everyone who comes in to join the group says hi to everyone and make sure to introduce themselves to the newcomer, me. That never happens in Sweden when the group setting is so big. It takes me a while to realize that not everyone here knows each other very well, their way of interacting makes me think they are all best of friends. I try to remember their names as they introduce themselves but when the sixth person comes up with another, to me, never-heard-before, Portuguese name, I give up. I apologize when I realize I’ve asked the same person for their name three times, he just laughs and says “In time, you know us all!”, letting me know that I am welcome here, in this group.

The next few days I get to see what Maputo is really about. It is a whole lot bigger than the four walls of the hostels I’ve been hiding in! One day, Igor invites us to Mercado do Peixe, a huge fish and shellfish market with loads of restaurants. We take the xiapa there; equivalent to Durban’s taxi system, Maputo’s public transport is dependent on the hundreds and hundreds of worn down minibuses driving around like crazy.

It is my first time taking one here and I am very glad I’m not alone. Before I know it, the bus is so full I can’t even see out of the window. The cobrador, the guy who charges the bus fare and sees to who needs to come on and off, keeps pushing people onto the bus even though I think it will burst at any second. It must look ridiculous from the outside, loads of butts hanging out the window. When Igor lets me know it’s our time to get off, almost the entire bus needs to get off in order to let us out. I stumble onto the street and before I have collected myself, everyone is inside the bus again driving off in a hurried speed.

My group of people look at my shocked expression, laugh and say “Mozambique!” while shrugging their shoulders. Before we even enter the market, Igor is bartering the price with a lady who wants us to eat at a specific vendor that she gets commission from. As soon as we enter the market every vendor turns their attention towards us, yelling out their prices and offers. We are the only guests there, the energy is intense and once again I am so grateful to be here with people who know how it’s done and how the system works.

When we sit down at a table everything calms down, but the procedure starts up again every time a new guest enters the market. There are so many vendors. I keep thinking if the market is always this empty or if it is a consequence of the pandemic. The prices at Mercado do Peixe are tourist prices and the international and national tourism has not picked up yet to the extent it was before the pandemic. There is an air of desperation every time a new possible client walks into the market.

The food arrives after a good whole hour but it was well worth the wait. It’s a feast! Plate after plate comes out overflowing with fish, shrimps, rice, fries and the best thing of all: salad! After three months in South Africa, where you don’t really have the custom of eating salad, arriving here in Mozambique where salad comes with every meal feels like a luxury. The rest of the afternoon we spend at the beach.

Lost and Found: Soul Searching on the go in Maputo

julia.sarantes.andersson — Mon, 17 Jul 2023 06:51:24 +0000

The Global Entity

Lost and Found: Soul Searching on the go in Maputo

00:00 / 12:00

First quick impression of Maputo

I’ve been taking it super easy since I got to Maputo. Doctors orders. I’m filling my time with slow mornings, slow movements and slow activities. I even went out to buy groceries to cook the other day, something I haven’t done properly since I started traveling. It feels grounding to cook my own food, another slow process if I do it my way.

I’m in a weird state of mind where I don’t know where I am or what I am doing. When I go on my morning walks through the streets of Maputo I have a hard time orienting myself. Not back to the hostel but rather I have a hard time feeling that I am in Mozambique . Everywhere people are speaking Portuguese, which I don’t understand at all, but my brain keeps thinking it’s Spanish. The city itself reminds me so much of Havana, Cuba, that I catch myself thinking that I am there. The rundown apartment buildings, the city greenery, traces of communism in infrastructure, Maputo even has a beach promenade that is so similar, albeit shorter, to Havana’s Malecón.

I guess that’s not so weird, after all, I have no references of what Mozambique is like. My brain is probably just trying to make the most sense of what it is seeing and hearing. It feels almost like having a bug in google maps, but in my brain: intellectually I know I’m in Maputo, the capital of Mozambique, but the pin on the map keeps dragging me back to Havana saying I’m there. The heat is a lot more dry here than in Cuba, but at least it’s not freezing like in South Africa. I guess that my brain, just like my body right now, needs some time to adjust. And if there is something I have right now, it is time. I think it’s beautiful to have time for being lost, it’s the only way I know how to find.

Crash landing at a cute hostel in Maputo

I’m staying at a backpackers hostel called The Base, the only hostel I could find exist in Maputo according to google at the time. It’s a tiny hostel hosting a maximum of fourteen people in a total of three rooms. It has a beautiful veranda that overlooks Baixa, an area of central Maputo, and the ocean. It would be perfect had it not been for the mosquitos, they are vicious! I have to make an effort and buy some stronger repellent the next time I go out.

It’s a very tiny hostel for spending as much time in as I am. It is also currently packed, filled with happy, social tourists and travelers. They are super sweet and inclusive but I cannot deal. My social batteries are wiped out and their niceness makes me want to hide in the bathroom. Something I’ve actually done on a few occasions this week. I can feel the staff looking at me, I understand enough Portuguese to understand I am a topic of curiosity. They giggle as I stretch on the veranda, giggle as I sing in the kitchen or when I’m crying on the phone. There has been a lot of that since I got here. I think there is a combination of things: my health, leaving mom at the airport, leaving South Africa, all the impressions from the past months traveling.

I don’t think I realised it fully before, but following your heart does not equal it being easy. This is by far the most turbulent journey I’ve ever been on and I am just in the beginning. Yohh. The main feeling I am struggling with now is loneliness. I know it is ironic considering I have no energy to socialize but that doesn’t make me feel any less lonely.

Traveling and learning to live through my heart

I had a flight ticket back to Sweden that I could have been on had I not decided to go to Mozambique and continue this journey. Perhaps it was the realisation that I have made a definite choice to not go back home, that the flight had literally flown me by, that made me crumble. Or perhaps it was the warm hug from a stranger that made me realise just how lonely I actually felt. After a week and a half keeping to myself in Maputo, I allowed myself to talk to another traveler at the hostel. He had just been on a psychedelic spiritual journey in South America and was now going through Africa on a motorbike. He had daughters my age and I quickly found myself enjoying his company.

We were as different as two people can be. Me being in a super soft, vulnerable flow and him being much more assertive, almost aggressive in his need to search and find. Despite this, it was beautiful to connect. Perhaps because we were so different we allowed ourselves to have vulnerable conversations about spirituality, absent fathers and the search and need for purpose. It was refreshing, I felt seen. Before he left The Base to continue his journey he gave me a warm, heartfelt hug. The physical contact shocked my system. I realized I haven’t had any sort of physical contact in a long time. Yep, that was definitely what triggered what came next. Before I knew it, it felt like the walls of my lungs were closing in on me. I wanted to creep out of my own skin, that’s how uncomfortable it made me feel. But instead of running away from that feeling, instead of distracting myself with something-anything, I stayed present with myself and the emotions.

After a few hours of that, just sitting with my feelings, and with Wash over Me by TEEKS on repeat in my headphones, I reach the peak of it all. My heart feels like it’s cramping and just when I accept that this is escalating into a full on panic attack, I hear a little voice. It says to me that everything is okay now, I don’t need to hurt like this anymore, I have done the work, I’m allowed to let it go now. At first I feel skeptical, whose voice was that? Can it really be that easy? But then I think what if it is just that ‘easy’, show up for yourself so that you can let go. I take a few deep breaths and with every exhale I can feel the tightness over my chest releasing. The sadness and loneliness becomes less prominent. Within minutes I am sitting straight up again. I feel lighter than I have in weeks. Not even two seconds later I get a text inviting me to a dance social, talk about Divine timing!

I’m sharing this experience for several reasons. Firstly, I want to live in a world where we can talk about mental health in a non-stigmatized way. Secondly, it is so easy to glorify and romanticise the traveling lifestyle, when in reality, it has its ups and downs just like any life. Thirdly, THIS is the most exciting part of this journey! Don’t get me wrong, being this sad sucked. Almost having a panic attack, definitely not something I recommend. However, I can feel myself growing. I’m getting to know myself more, the good as well as my not so charming sides, and I can see how I show up for myself differently now. That, the inner journey, that is what’s exciting! Furthermore, I don’t think I am the only one who feels this way sometimes. Maybe you are also in the trenches trying to follow your heart, whatever that may entail. Maybe sharing this will make you feel less alone in the process of it all. When I get the text message inviting me to salsa social dance, I smile. It feels like I am being guided: you’ve done what you needed to do solo, now you need to raise your vibrations, you need others. You need to dance!

Social dancing in Maputo

The guy who texted me was Fumo Frias, a Mozambican dance teacher that I met while he was teaching a tangokiz workshops at the Mother City dance festival. I had reached out a few weeks earlier to ask about the dance scene in Maputo. He chose the perfect day to get back to me! At the time I was so grateful for the opportunity to go out and dance that I didn’t even have time to get nervous as I usually do. When I get to the restaurant Bella Madalena two hours later I am dressed up and ready to dance. I’ve asked Amanda, another Swedish girl from the hostel, to join me. As we enter I see we are representing the Swedish flag, me in a blue dress and her in a yellow. I’m glad to have a kind person by my side as I get ready to break my social isolation.

There is a mix of tourists and Mozambican people present and people are already dancing when we get there. Before I know it, I am up on the dance floor as well. It is such a relief! When I get back to the table after my first salsa, Amanda exclaims “Woah! You look completely different!” and she was right. The joy of salsa, the joy of community and connecting with another human being can truly be transformative. This is good for me, this is what I need. I talk to Frias who invites me to their dance school DanceSpot the following week. Apparently they teach everything from salsa and kizomba, to tango and swing. How exciting! This makes me happy! It doesn’t take long for the salsa teacher Amino to catch on that I can lead. He invites himself to a dance and gosh how I sucked! I haven’t led anyone in months. Amino however, is kind and encouraging, we laugh loads together and once again I am reminded that dancing is the answer. To everything. Always. Maybe a tad dramatically expressed but nonetheless true for me.

When we are on our way home I look out the car window at a sleeping Maputo swishing by. I am filled with gratitude for being able to be here. Even though some parts of this journey are really triggering and difficult, I do believe I would be dealing with these doubts and fears even if I was still living at home in Sweden. Perhaps just at a slower pace. There is something about traveling that accelerates internal processes. And I know, loneliness and all, I would much rather be lost and found in beautiful Maputo, doing this inner/outer journey, than at home feeling equally lost. Thank you God for this life!

Border Crossing: a solo travelers list of blunders from Durban to Maputo

julia.sarantes.andersson — Sun, 09 Jul 2023 03:50:39 +0000

The Global Entity

Border Crossing: a solo travelers list of blunders from Durban to Maputo

00:00 / 16:58

Solo traveling to Maputo from Durban by bus, attempt one

After I had dropped my mom off at the airport it was time to get my shit in order. My South African 90-day visa was about to expire and I needed to get out of the country. I had decided to go to Mozambique and had two days left to prepare to cross the border. I’m going to take the bus to Maputo from Durban. Since I have never crossed an African border by land before I decided to book the trip to Mozambique a few days before my visa expired and thank God I did! The day of, I get up at four AM to get to the bus station. When I get there I can’t find the bus anywhere. There are no signs even indicating that the bus company I bought the ticket from exists. After stressing around with all of my luggage, a vague memory of a hotel resurfaces in my mind. I’ve heard people being picked up there by big busses before. Unable to order an Uber from the bus station due to the tensions between the online taxi drivers and the ‘normal’ taxi drivers, I had to pay the much higher standard fee to drive the five minutes to the hotel.

When I get there I rush into the lobby. The hotel staff confirm that I am at the right place but say there is no bus today, only on Wednesdays and Saturdays. I show them my ticket and they shrug their shoulders. After waiting for the bus for two hours, I accept no bus is coming. After calling every bus office in all of South Africa without any response, I dial the number to the Maputo office and finally, a kind lady answers! She doesn’t speak English but I manage to understand enough of her Portuguese to understand that there is no bus today. But I bought my ticket for today, I say indignant. “Oh, that’s no problem. You can use the same ticket for the Saturday bus.” The lady responds and hangs up. I’m baffled by this reply. I definitely feel it’s a problem for me. However, there is nothing to do about it. I book myself two more nights at a hotel and spend my days in Durban botanic garden hugging trees.

Attempt 2 of entering Mozambique: a hail mary!

Saturday morning starts off better than the last attempt. I am at the right place, at the right time and the bus arrives! When the bus starts rolling down the streets of Durban I feel happy and excited and nervous, all at the same time. I am going to Mozambique! I am going to a completely new context and I have no idea what to expect. The excitement doesn’t last long though; thirty minutes outside of Durban the bus breaks down. Two hours later we are still waiting for a mechanic. Fantastic. I am starting to feel stressed about my whole situation. My South Africa visa expires today and the guy who is sitting next to me wont stop chewing gum as loudly as he can. If you want to ensure to not be my friend, this is a safe way to do it. Chew loudly. I cannot stand it.

Suddenly the guy turns to me, says there is another way to get to Maputo, the capital of Mozambique. He asks if I want to join and my first instinct is to enthusiastically say yes! At this point I am eternally grateful that my angry glares earlier had not scared him off. He orders an Uber to come pick us up right there at the highway. While we wait I start doubting my decision. It is not wise to get into a car with a stranger, a strange man that is… but, with my visa predicament I didn’t feel I could give up this opportunity. As I stand there, trying to calculate the risk, a Mozambican family comes up to us and asks if they can join our Uber to get to the taxi rank. I thanked my angels for this, it felt a lot easier making the choice with another woman and her family there. When we get to Durban’s taxi rank the waiting begins. Taxis are mini buses that function as the unscheduled public transport of South Africa. They play an essential part of locals’ everyday infrastructure and you cannot avoid noticing them when you are here.

Traveling like a local: Durban's internationl taxi system

I have definitely been warned about the Durban taxi rank, or taxi ranks in general in South Africa. The risk of getting mugged as a tourist is said to be bigger here than other areas. I’ve always felt the place to be extremely chaotic when I’ve been here before but now that I am sitting here just waiting, I am amazed by the order of everything. Even though I don’t understand how, everyone, absolutely everyone knows where to go. Vendors, taxis and people all coexist together in a very limited space and yet no accidents happen, no foot is run over and nobody is squished between the moving and still vehicles. Absolutely amazing!

We have to wait until every seat in the taxi is full before we can leave, that’s how this unscheduled system works. When we finally start rolling out of Durban, I’m exhausted. I don’t think we even have time to leave the city before I’m snoring. I am woken up a few hours later by the guy who helped me onto the bus. We have stopped for a bathroom break at a gas station and the guy explains that he is getting into another car. When I ask why he looks at me like I’m an idiot and says that the border closes at five. What the actual f*ck? He wishes me luck, promptly turns his gum chewing head around and walks away.

Once everyone, except for him, is back in the taxi and we start driving again, I start feeling real nervous. This was not a good idea. What if we don’t make it cross the border, what happens then? And even if we do manage to cross the border I have no local money, no local sim card, no way to contact with anyone. I don’t even know where this bus will be dropping us off. I just have the address of my hostel on a note in my phone. It’s at this point that I’m starting to feel dumb. Real dumb. This was a dumb, dumb choice. As the clock ticks closer to five, I am sweating. Nobody else seems to be bothered though. I try to ask the lady besides me but she doesn’t speak English.

Crossing then South African border into Mozambique

We are about forty minutes late when we finally arrive at the border. The migration staff wave the driver through, it’s almost like they were expecting him. I go through the South African border with a sense of relief, I made it! I should not have been so quick to celebrate though. The border is a very serious business and the lack of smiles makes me nervous. When I get to the Mozambican border, there are even less smiles. The migration officer in front of me does not speak a word to me, only grunts. He doesn’t look at me but rather down at me. He grunts for me to follow him into his office and I oblige. Here follows a ninety minute long procedure of checking my papers, not just my passport but my booking confirmation and any and every other detail of my journey.

It’s a huge problem that I don’t have my booking confirmation printed. An even bigger problem is that I don’t have the hostel’s phone number. I desperately try to google it but I am in Mozambique now and no longer have cell service. I look up at the officer who is sitting in front of a computer. He could definitely google that for me, but he just stares at something slightly above me. It feels like I’m suspected of a crime and have to justify my journey. I pretend to find the number to the hostel and just write some random numbers down. After an hour of back and forth, the taxi driver comes looking for me. The officer looks irritated to be cut off but I am grateful for the break in the interrogation. They exchange words in a language I don’t understand and I quickly turn around to the taxi driver and beg him not to leave me. It just hit me that that is a possibility but he ensures me that they will wait.

Thirty minutes later, the sour migration officer finally asks me for my border visa payment. I sigh in relief, payment equals visa. I am getting my visa. I count the money in front of the officer, scoop it up and hand it to him. He picks it up and starts counting it in front of me, two and two. The last three notes he also counts as two. He looks at me with his tiny eyes and says to me with perfect English “You are missing fifty rand.” I’m shook. Both by the fact that this man, who has refused to explain anything to me in English for the past ninety minutes, speaks perfect English. But also by the fact that both him and I can clearly see the money he is holding. I am about to say something, protest, ask to recount the money myself, just anything before I remember: he has all the power. I can’t go back to South Africa, I don’t have a visa there anymore. I have to get to Maputo. I swallow my pride and realise that fifty rand is a cheap price for me to just get through the situation. I could also be wrong about what I saw.

Arriving in Maputo, Mozambique

I am the only one in the bus who had trouble at the border and my fellow passengers are less than happy with me when I return. However, the mood in the bus changes as we pass herds of zebras, antelopes and even a few giraffes! It’s absolutely amazing! The border at Punta d’Ouro has a lot of game reserves nearby and apparently they all come out at dusk.

The feeling of awe quickly changes into tense, silent panic as we run into a flock of elephants. The whole bus gets real quiet and stops. I can almost feel the tension in the air as one of the younger male elephants start walking towards us with his ears up. I am both amazed and painfully aware of the fragile material the bus is made of. To be so close. This elephant would only have to lift its left front leg and it would crush us like a bug. Something happens within the herd and the elephants start moving to the left, off the road. The young male looks at us a little while longer before he sort of shrugs and joins the rest of them. We start creeping by, slowly, slowly.

As we get past the elephants people start talking again and laughing, exhilarated by the experience. Never before have I experienced something like this. This can’t be normal? The rest of the drive goes without any further hiccups. When we finally start rolling into Maputo, it’s already after ten at night. Maputo’s equivalent to a taxi rank is called Junta, looks like football field and lies outside of the city core. Even though it’s night Junta is filled with people. As I wait for my bag to be handed to me I try to look for the mother who I shared an Uber with earlier in Durban but she is nowhere to be found. I wanted to ask them to share a taxi with me as I had no idea where I was. Instead I get overwhelmed with taxi offers and people who want to carry my bags.

Not knowing the customs here, I hold tightly onto all my things and decide to go with one of them. I know he is ripping me off even though I manage to get the price down. But, I’m in a taxi rank at night in a country I don’t know. I have to just do the best out of a shitty situation and get to my hostel. Even though the taxi driver doesn’t understand a word of English and I can’t speak a word of Portuguese, he talks the whole ride through. He stops to ask the way and finally parks in front of a blue garage door. Fatimas Backpackers it says in big letters on the house. The driver steps out and asks the guards if this is The Base Hostel. The oldest of the guards stands up and confirms. I ask one more time just to be sure and they all nod. I pay the driver the last of my rands (South African currency), get my bags and start walking inside.

When I get inside, there is a huge, artsy bar and in the middle of it, a super cute receptionist. “Is this The Base Hostel?” I ask directly without even saying hello. The cute guy look at me “No, this is not the base…”

F*cking f*ck.

I instantly drop all my bags and run outside to catch the cab before he drives off with the last of my cash. He is on his way out, already rolling, when I burst out of the garage doors roaring from the bottom of my lungs. The guy looks terrified and in hindsight, I can absolutely understand that. I was a bit unhinged. But the stress of the past 18 hours and not having more cash on me made me desperate.

As he parks, I go back inside to get my bags. The old guard asks if he can help me carry my bags. “You have helped enough” I say unnecessarily and stomped off with all my luggage. The moment I sit down in the car the anger and fear evaporates and I realise I’ve been an ass. A real, royal, tourist jackass. I sink into my seat in shame. To my horror I see how the whole staff has gathered outside the garage door and look at me. With pity. Or is it worry? I wanted to sink through the ground.

I wish that was the end of it but no. After driving for ten minutes, I realise we are lost. The driver is irritated with me because I don’t have any internet. I’m just irritated. After getting directions from some homeless man we stop in an alley. The driver turns around in his seat, looks at me and says, “I want more payment.” I answer with an “excuse me”. “This is a longer trip, I want more payment.” This is such a stupidly dangerous situation to be in that I don’t argue with him. I’m not sure if he is intending to be threatening or not, but the very precarious situation I am in where I am 100% dependent on him to get to my destination makes me scared.

I answer that I will pay him on arrival. I don’t have any more cash but that’s irrelevant right now. The driver seems satisfied with my answer and starts driving again. Ten minutes later we arrive at The Base. Finally. Thank goodness. Thank God. Thank everything and everyone. I roam through my pockets and find ten rand and stuff it in his hand and pray he wont argue. What a day! What a crazy, fricking day. So many mistakes were made, so many risks. But I handled it. After checking in, I sit down on the veranda, too wired to be able to sleep straight away. The wind is chilly but the Maputo air is humid and warm. I have arrived.

Border Crossing: 2 Tips for Solo Travelers

Well, frankly I feel this text is pretty straight forward in what not to do when you are about to cross a border for the first time. However, we learnt a lot!

This post was a long one so I will jump straight to the two main lessons:

Print everything.
Don’t be a prick. Just because you are overwhelmed,
you chose to be here.

I think that pretty much sums it up.

Seafood, Conversations, and Soul Connections: Mother-Daughter Vacation in Durban

julia.sarantes.andersson — Sun, 02 Jul 2023 08:03:29 +0000

The Global Entity

Seafood, Conversations, and Soul Connections: Mother-Daughter Vacation in Durban

00:00 / 13:28

Bus back to Durban

A week ago, I took the bus from Johannesburg back to Durban. Despite having experienced similar issues previously, I had forgotten about the difficulty of hailing a taxi app driver to get to certain locations in the city.. such as bus and train stations. I almost missed my bus to Durban since no Uber nor Bolt wanted to take me there. Luckily, the hostel‘s minibus was available to drive me last minute and I said a prayer as we swooshed between people and cars of Johannesburg. It was pretty early in the morning and the streets were busy with people recreating the steps of their morning routines. When we got to the bus station, the driver rushed in with my big bag in tow to stop the bus from leaving me behind. I thanked him profusely and got onto the bus. The rest of the nine and a half hour drive to Durban went smoothly.

As always, I get a feeling of worship and awe as I watch the mountains of KwaZulu-Natal (KZN) start appearing around us. The Soils Sedilaka is playing in my headphones and I smile as I see a message from my mom confirming she has landed, she is half a days journey here. The next day I’m standing at the very same airport that I arrived at just three months earlier. I felt super excited at the prospect of showing her around KwaZulu-Natal for the first time. She has always been the one showing me places, now it was my opportunity to do the same for her. We were going to start with a few days in Durban and then move up north in KwaZulu-Natal, to a hopefully cleaner shore and sea area (read my previous post the Durban sewage crisis here). It felt fun planning out the things to do in Durban with her in mind.

Ever since I decided to go on this indefinitely long journey, a lot of people have asked me “But what about mom? What does mom say/feel about that?” And it’s quite funny because I can honestly answer that she got exactly what she raised: a curious and travel hungry person. There is nobody that I have discovered more corners of the world together with than alongside her. She has shown, encouraged and guided me to become the person and traveler that I am. Frankly, at this point, with 28 years of traveling and vacationing with her, I am yet to find a better and more compatible travel buddy.

Exploring Durban's Vibrant Markets

With only a few days to spend in Durban, it was obvious where we had to start: the markets! As far back as I can remember, this is where she loves to be, in between all of the people, languages, bartering, things, food and smoke that you encounter at a market. We start our Saturday by going to Musgrave market, a flea market filled with clothes, oils and incense, live music, second hand articles and lots and lots of street food! After walking around the whole market and of course shopping a few things, I can’t help it when I’m with her, we both order what we want to eat. We sit down at the red plastic tables placed at the center of the market. I still don’t have much of an appetite but the freshly squeezed orange and ginger juice tasted amazing! Although our usual routine when traveling and eating is to give space for long conversations, we couldn’t stay too long. I wanted time to show mom another market!

In the central parts of Durban, in a pink, two floored building, you will find the Mekah of Zulu beadwork and crafts; the Victoria Street Market. Unfortunately, I took no pictures as I have been warned about being careful with your smartphones up in this area. Seeing all the different beaded jewelry made me remember the performances I had seen last time I was in Durban. Basically everyone, including the audience, were wearing something traditional that day. But it is not an uncommon sight to see Zulu culture here. Very opposite to how I express, or perhaps not express, my own Swedish culture, people here seem to have it more incorporated in their society. Incorporated not only in events and special holidays but in fashion, social codes and in their sense and expression of identity. It’s really quite inspiring.

Hidden Forrest in Glenwood, Durban

Besides the markets we walked Durban’s beautiful sea promenade and explored the Botanic Garden of Durban. One morning, our host took us to the Pigeon Valley Nature Reserve. I was so surprised because in the middle of Glenwood, the area where I’ve spent most of my time while in Durban, lay this huge plot of completely indigenous forest! Some parts were so thick we couldn’t walk through it but our host guided us through the nature reserve with spot on knowledge of the area. After spending two months in South Africa’s concrete cities, Cape Town and Johannesburg, it felt good to breathe some forest air. The walk takes longer than expected and when we come back to the parking lot I am hungry! I take the opportunity to introduce mom to the fantastic Glenwood café. Even though we are close by I ask if our host can drop us off with his car. I have walked here during the day before but there is something about walking around with my mom that makes me more cautious than normal.

Dance, Drama, and Delights: Durban's Cultural Scene

The evenings in Durban we fill with music, food and culture! The first night we went to KwaZulu Natal Society of Arts, a gallery that was hosting a concert with the band Abahambayo. We came a little bit earlier to look at the art but were quick to find a table once the music started playing. Eventually the garden concert had to be moved inside due to the rain coming down. Nobody complained though as everyone was eager to hear the second half of this energetic group of musicians!

Another night I had booked us into a dance performance at the Playhouse Company, an old theatre under modern direction. The actual performance was a guest performance specific for the holiday but I would recommend checking the theatre out when you are in town. They seem to have a variety of shows and styles of entertainment and the quality was absolutely beautiful! It is sort of another tradition of ours, to go see one dance performance this time of year.

With less success, I also brought mom to Jazz night at Alliance Française. The pizza was okay but I had not researched what group was going to play, neither mom nor I am a fan of this style of jazz. But as she said, it’s nice to have experienced. Her eagerness to see what I have only told her of in words and photos for so many years is really moving.

The food highlight of the week was discovered by mom and her expert researching skills: Joops Place. We came to a fully booked restaurant and were lucky to get a table at all. If you want to eat good meat, this is the place. The location is a little odd, over viewing the parking lot, but you easily forget that once you get to taste your food.

Umhlanga and Ballito: Balancing Expectations and Realities

After only a few days in Durban it was time for us to leave! I had planned so that we would visit two more places: Umhlanga Rocks and Ballito. Umhlanga Rocks is a popular vacation place for Durbanites and I’ve only ever heard good things about it. When we get there though, I can’t help but feel a little disappointed. Umhlanga rocks is a small town with huge highways and roads at the center of it. The buildings are tall and cold, the massive hotels surrounding the beach are generic and lifeless, everywhere you go you see cars and concrete. What a shame. I get the feeling that everything here is new, every building and every car. It looks like one of those all-inclusive places on Mallorca. I don’t like all-inclusive, nor do I like places where I can’t feel the history or connect to the culture. I think this is a perfect example of when definitions differ. My friends who have all recommended this place probably find it super relaxing. I find it dull and lacking personality.

Fortunately for us, we stayed at this super cute Bed&Breakfast called the Honeypot. Each room has its own veranda and the common area with the pool is gorgeous. The friendly staff greeted us each morning and were very accommodating. Despite not falling for Umhlanga Rocks or finding it that interesting, it was the perfect destination for us this time because I needed to rest. As it turns out, the low energy and poor health I’ve been experiencing lately were all symptoms that needed strong medication. It completely wiped me out and I was left with warnings of infection, movement, and strict instructions of recovery. Typical! Typical that I get ill just when mom has crossed two continents to come see me. I felt guilty about it, about it happening now but mom called it divine timing, saying she wanted nothing more than to be here when I was weak.

Those who know mom and I from my childhood would probably associate us with seeing mom ride her bike around with me sitting behind in a shockingly green children’s saddle. She took us everywhere on that bike, no matter the weather. We could have used that bike in Ballito, as it was a bit bigger distances and no taxis nor buses were available. Everyone in Ballito drives a car, has a big house, with a huge alarm and fake teeth. It was more green and nature was more present in the towns infrastructure which made it beautiful. The restaurants were fancy and we ate a lot of great seafood. I probably won’t come back here as I found no culture nor history nor markets but it definitely suited our needs for tranquility. I had tried to plan a trip so that mom and I could experience KwaZulu-Natal without a car but I realise now that next time, I want to be driving.

The best things about traveling with my mom

We spent the days on the coast walking slowly, indulging in seafood and in each others company. If there is something mom and I know, it is how to spend time talking endlessly about everything together. It is not like we constantly talk, but when we do I feel like we can traverse the universe together. I have often thought of the beauty and poetry in this, where mine and moms endless conversations about everything within, has taken place from every corner of the world. I believe these conversations are an essential part of why I love traveling today. They made the connection between the physical journey and the inner journey so unmistakably clear. How much you can learn about yourself and your world when you travel; how much you are forced to confront within; the people and cultures you get to mirror yourself in and be inspired by.

If I would say three things that are typical about mine and moms relationship I would firstly say, we are super close. Growing up it was her and I traveling the world and experiencing life together. Secondly, we love to sing and harmonise together and have spent countless hours on the road this way. Finally, I would say that we are both empaths. This has led to some interesting breakfast scenarios when we host our friends and both of us suddenly get moved to tears. And then we look at each other and laugh. It is so amazing to have a person to connect with in this way. I am lucky, lucky to have a soul sibling as my mom in the physical world.

Maboneng After Dark: Gentrification vs. Local Culture

julia.sarantes.andersson — Sat, 24 Jun 2023 09:17:52 +0000

The Global Entity

Maboneng After Dark: Gentrification Vs. Local Culture

00:00 / 12:42

The Evolution of Maboneng

While in Johannesburg, I’ve been staying in the artsy neighbourhood Maboneng. In the language seSotho, Maboneng means Place of Light and I can’t think of a name more fitting nor more beautiful. I came here the first time in 2015, when the conceptualisation of the up-and-coming art neighbourhood was just in its beginning. During the next five years I got to observe first hand how the neighbourhood grew and expanded into a modern, creative, hipster area. Young artists, creators, dreamers and entrepreneurs quickly flooded the former industrial spaces turned into cute apartments. Obscure bars, cozy cafés, concept restaurants, markets, galleries and murals are what you will find when you go to Maboneng.

My favourite thing to do here is people watching. There is no catwalk like Fox Street, the main road running through all of Maboneng. Everywhere you look there is either a photo shoot going, on or some other creative project. Even the locals who are just existing, living their normal everyday lives, dress to impress. I sit in awe as I watch the people of Maboneng walk around with their individuality creatively wrapped around them.

This year, however, it is a less vibrant Maboneng that welcomes me. Even though there is life, light and people, it seems less loud and more grey. As I walk around trying to spot my favourite places and see what is new, it hits me how much is missing. My hangover souvlaki place, the amazing jewellery designer I always buy rings from and my Sunday market is all gone, to name a few. Just like in Durban, the pandemic put its mark here too. Perhaps because the economic base line in Maboneng seems to presuppose the presence of tourism, Maboneng was hit hard during the pandemic.

Balancing Development and Community Values in Maboneng

As the night drew closer I notice another change in the area; the clubs! When I was here last time there was perhaps one club in all of Maboneng. Now, five years later, it feels like there are at least two per corner. Between nine PM and three AM, the music is pumping, shaking all of Maboneng and its inhabitants. Or perhaps, was it always like this? Am I just getting too old/boring for this neighbourhood? A local business owner says that the municipality used to regulate who and what kind of businesses got permission to move into Maboneng. But with the economy going anything but well the last few years, they have become more lenient to what kind of businesses they allow. Hence, the excessive amounts of clubs. I have no doubt that Maboneng will recover and start to blossom again but I do wonder at what cost?

It is apparent that the process that I’ve seen Maboneng go through these past couple of years is gentrification and commercialisation. Just like what is happening in Observatory, the previously affordable industrial apartments are now expensive due to the high demand of holiday homes and rising popularity of the area. On the one hand, Maboneng is a whole lot safer than it used to be. When I first got here in 2015, it was only Fox Street that was safe enough to walk on. Today, Mabonengs’ safe zones have expanded significantly which can be seen as a positive effect of the changes tourism and development of the area has led to. On the other hand, all of my friends who previously lived in this area, have now moved out. The main reasons being: raised rents, too much noise at night and the general sense that Maboneng doesn’t cater to the local individual. Which brings me back to the question; at what cost…

At what cost will Maboneng continue to develop? I’m afraid that the neighbourhood that I love so much will focus too much on the tourist market and forget to see to the locals’ needs. I’m afraid that if the development continues like this, it will ‘develop’ away the very essence of Maboneng: the people! What gives me hope is knowing how many enthusiastic people in the Maboneng community are working tirelessly to come up with better and more sustainable solutions. Long term solutions which are not just for foreigners. Wholesome solutions for the whole of Maboneng.

Where to go kizomba dancing in Johannesburg

Despite my low energy and poor health, I feel like I have some sort of balanced everyday life routine going on. A very lazy, slow routine of course. I don’t want to strain myself. When I’m not chilling in Maboneng, I’ve been attending all of Baila Afrikas dance events. On Mondays, there are kizomba socials and on Wednesday they host salsa evenings at the restaurant Carpe Diem in Sandton. One Sunday a month, Baila Africa also have a dance party but this time at the restaurant PedroPortia. It feels great to be dancing so much! I’m even starting to feel like I know a few souls in this dance community.

A night with Mabonengs finest: the Creatives

When I get back to the backpackers last Sunday after yet another sweaty and fun kizomba evening, the afterparty of Curiocitys’ jazz evening was running hot! Since I’ve been dancing salsa and kizomba every Sunday since I got to Johannesburg, I have unfortunately missed the open jazz rehearsals that Curiocity hosts every week. This time however, the party doesn’t seem to want to stop.

I have actually never seen the Hide Out Bar this packed. It seems like every 20-something year old in all of Maboneng is here tonight. They are spilling over everywhere, out onto the street, up on the bar, on the roof and up on the tables. I catch a friends eyes as she happily yells something at someone, she smiles when she sees me and waves for me to come over but the table is full and I feel a bit overwhelmed from all of the commotion. Trying to get away from some of the noise, I go out back into the courtyard of Curiocity. It is also packed but at least the volume is less here. I end up melting together with one of the groups outside. It’s a group consisting of mostly young, drunk men. They are happy and exhilarated from the performance that has just ended. After asking me a thousand questions, trying to get my number, they give up. Somebody starts to beatbox and pretty soon the whole group is swinging side to side, cheering the improviser on.

The quality of the impromptu rap battle varies… it is evident it was none of these guys up on stage earlier. But it doesn’t matter, we laugh loads and when somebody loses their thread somebody else is eager to jump in and take over. A girl, that I later learn is the singer Nomvuselelo, comes by and drops the smoothest, most magnificent bars that I have ever heard. She is cocky, her lyrics intelligent and her rhythm unmistakable. The whole group goes crazy when she is done and I feel a sense of pride that it was a girl that delivered the mic drop, especially in this context where men where taking majority of the space.

Suddenly, they are all turned looking at me. “Sweden! Sweden! Sweden!” They want me to rap. They. Want. Me. To. Rap. LOL! I die inside as I realise the socially awkward situation I am in. In that very moment, I cannot think of anything worse than making a fool out of myself in front of all these strangers. I cannot rap to save my life. On the other hand, I didn’t want to kill the vibe, that would also be embarrassing. I realise that if I don’t want to be a party pooper, and actually contribute to the amazing energy that has been created in this little group, I am going to have to get over myself and rap. I try to get out of it but I realise the only way out is through. I start saying random words in Swedish, nothing rhymes, not all words are proper words but it doesn’t matter. I’m hitting the beat and everyone is hyping me up.

When I finish rambling what is essentially a grocery list the group is ecstatic! Their enthusiasm and kindness (everyone was well aware of how terrible my rapping was) makes me warm and safe. I laugh as they ask me for one more. “Have I not damaged your ears enough?” When they insist I surrender. They change the beat and I draw breath. The lyric that comes out I haven’t listened to in years, it is my old teenage anthem, I din trappuppgång, by Stockholmssyndromet. I know it by heart. When I finish the group explodes! One runs inside, the other one to the left and back. In all the commotion, somebody starts another beat and somebody new starts rapping. The euphoria rushing through my body is overwhelming. I dared! And it was messy and imperfect and so much fun!

After an hour or so it starts to drizzle and the group becomes smaller as people go back inside. We all huddle close together under the stairs trying to protect each other from the rain. The rapping has stopped but the conversation is loud and messy. Somebody shouts something that I can’t really make out but silence spreads in the group and a sense of anticipation. They are all looking at this one woman with the longest nails I have ever seen. The silence is pregnant with anticipation. When she starts to sing I understand why. The woman is the artist Kallo Matlanyane, she has a voice that can be liked with Lauryn Hill, and a deliverance that could make even the hardest of statues soft. The rain increases but nobody wants to leave. Everyone is bewitched to the ground by this moment, enchanted by the presence her voice commands.

The amount of talent that is held by this neighborhood is just mind blowing. When the Hide Out bar closes, nobody wants the night to end. I have the same feeling but I’m leaving Jozi in less than 24 hours so the rational choice is to stay home and get some sleep. However, when they ask me to continue the party elsewhere I happily accept, why deny myself a proper Maboneng night? Outside it is raining cats and dogs. We who have gathered outside look at each other as we take each other’s hands and run out into the rain. It doesn’t take long before we are recreating an MTV music video from the early 2000s. As we dance and goof around I feel happy. I am probably going to get the flu after this rain dance but right now that is not important. I mean, how often do you get the chance to play and live your best life?

If you want to experience the night in video form you can click here!

Empowerment in Vulnerability: Finding Sisterhood on the Road

julia.sarantes.andersson — Fri, 26 May 2023 08:41:09 +0000

The Global Entity

Empowerment In Vulnerability: Finding Sisterhood On The Road

00:00 / 8:10

The most common side effect of traveling solo

The most common side effect of traveling is definitely the constant deep thoughts and never ending reflections. Goodness. Travelling solo can be a daunting task, especially when shit hits the fan. For me, nothing dramatic is up, I’ve just been in my feelings lately. Not necessarily the good ones. I wake up crying, the tiniest thing sets me off and I am exhausted all the time.

Parallel to that, I currently have zero bullshit tolerance. Or rather, I have this unyielding need to set boundaries in a way I’ve never felt before. I can’t let even the smallest thing slide. This side of my personality completely surprised me. I am used to letting my people pleasing needs get the better of my boundary setting abilities… but for the past two weeks I am setting boundaries left and right without any hesitation or censorship. It feels both incredibly thrilling, even empowering, can it really be this easy?? But it also feels super uncomfortable as I am sure not everybody likes this side of me. And who am I if I am not liked..? Free?

Free and human perhaps. In many ways I recognise this grumpier, more firm and secure self from my childhood. A core self that I somewhere along the way in life got used to hiding, feeling shame over, minimising. As empowering as it is to (re)discover aspects of yourself, I can’t get over how uncomfortable I feel. All of my feelings are right at the surface for everyone to see and endure. I feel powerless and naked, like my whole inner being is on display for everyone. Staying in a dorm with 10 other women, at a hostel which is constantly buzzing with people and energies from all over the world, is overwhelming right now. And yet, in a space where there is nowhere to hide, I can only surrender to reality. For the past two weeks, I am learning to navigate this new hyper emotional state I am in.

Sisterhood and hostel life

To my surprise, I have during these weeks been blessed by the uncompromising, unwavering sisterhood of women. Despite being my least charming self, women here at the hostel have gathered in something best described as a protective circle around me. It is the small things, the hand on my back, the looking into my eyes, the inclusion in the everyday routine that has started to take shape here at the backpackers. I started crying when Hadiyah one morning told me she was cooking breakfast for me. For her it was such a simple thing, for me, who’s been struggling with appetite for too long, for me – it was everything.

We are a handful of women who are staying at Curiocity for a month or more. Everyone from different parts of the world, with different journeys, reasons and ways of being. I don’t know if they sense my vulnerability or if they actively see the wreck I am and can’t help but reach out a hand… It doesn’t matter. I am absolutely amazed by the sisterhood and care I feel right now.

Last weekend was also spent in the company of strong women. I went to Pretoria yet again to reunite with my old Pietermaritzburg gang: Lerato and Sine. I feel such an overwhelming sense of joy and gratitude every time we meet or talk. That we are able to meet like this, years, lives and continents apart, and yet despite this – truly meet. Not just see each other but appreciate, celebrate and lift each other up, wherever we are in our lives. As I sit back and watch these women shining in their light, I conclude that it is a luxury and privilege to be a part of womens’ lives. There is nothing more enriching! The weekend in Pretoria was naturally filled with laughter, a lot of catching up, drinks and adventures. I am truly blessed! It would have been so easy to feel lonely on a journey like this, especially considering how everything started… but no, instead these women, known and strangers, show up and give me from their abundance. Yes, I am blessed. I feel held, by the universe and the very women present in my life.

Future: dreams, doubts and purpose

Once I got back from Pretoria to Johannesburg, it hit me. This could be my life. I mean, this is obviously my life right now but this, having access to these amazing people on a regular basis, that could actually be my reality. If I make it. Make what, I am not sure of at all. When I was in Pretoria, I took the opportunity to do a visit at the Swedish Embassy. A family friend is currently stationed there and she was happy to show me around. It felt surreal walking those corridors, saying hello to titles I once dreamed of becoming. Now, I am not so sure anymore. Ever since I saw the finish line of my university studies I have been feeling claustrophobic at the thought of a nine-to-five job. I wonder if that truly is the only way to achieve economic stability. Or are we entering a new era where we are allowed to exist outside of those hamster wheel norms?

Thousand upon thousand of thoughts are going through my head. A lot of doubt as well about the journey I’ve decided to embark on. But I’m also realising that my hyper sensitivity right now is affecting everything. In a weird way I feel like I am two people, one is the emotional mess and the other one is observing the emotional state I am in. The observer feels calm, I know at my core that everything is the way it is supposed to be.

Travel tip of the week

Let things take their time! Don’t stress if things don’t work out as you thought. It was hardly in my plans to go through this in a hostel environment. And yet, by allowing it to take space, facing it and giving myself time to care for it, I have been given just the right support i need. Yes, it is not what I imagined to be doing in this vibrant city, but I trust it is just what I need.

Soulful Sundays: Kizomba Adventures in Jozi

julia.sarantes.andersson — Thu, 18 May 2023 09:16:01 +0000

The Global Entity

Soulful Sundays: Kizomba Adventures In Jozi

00:00 / 7:29

Homeopathy and exploring Melville

My health is continuing to deteriorate without any signs of improving. After a month of coughing my lungs out, I felt it was time to seek some help. I decided to book an appointment at a local homeopath after listening to moms advice. It was homeopathy that helped me as a kid when I got tonsillitis six times in just a few months. Experiencing something similar but different now, going to a Homeopath felt like the right choice. Going to a conventional doctor would only get me penicillin at this point, something that would wipe out the little immune system I still have left. Dr. Jana Mostert greets me in the waiting room and as I sit in her office the smells bring me back to my childhood. Having been brought up with alternative medicine, the smells of herbs and incense gives me a sense of security.

Dr. Mostert is a soft spoken, present lady. Her questions traverse every aspect of my life, trying to get to the bottom of my imbalance. This is what I love about alternative medicine, knowing that they look at my entire being and life instead of just the symptoms of the disease. I leave with a bag full of homeopathic remedies, firm instructions and a sense of being seen. Everything will be alright. On my way out, I text a tourist that I met at the hostel to see if she is around to grab lunch. Melville, the area where the homeopaths office is, is a very cozy and bohemian area with lots of bars, restaurants and some random stores and thrift shops. It’s known for being flooded by students on any given party night. We end up going to Hell’s Kitchen for a glass of wine and some light lunch. At this point, I’m sure it can only help my recovery.

Kizomba Socials in Johannesburg

Sundays in Johannesburg should just be called Danceday instead, simple as that. Not having been in Jozi for several years, I was a bit unsure of where to go to get my dance fix. I reached out to my old kizomba teacher, Paciano, who hosts Kizomba Sundays every week at the Ethos Restaurant in Rosebank. Ethos is an elegant place, everyone is dressed up and I felt happy I put my only fancy dress on. The ladies look like something out of a fairytale as they gracefully dance through the magical room in their flowy, colourful fabrics.

I get to dance with Paciano and it feels so surreal to be here again. Paciano was one of my first kizomba teachers, he taught me when I was still stepping on people toes every other minute… it feels like a full circle moment as we now, years later, get to flow together. As the afternoon becomes early evening the dancers spill out onto the courtyard. It is a beautiful view and I would have loved to stay, but as I said earlier: Sunday is Kizomba day in Jozi. I have another spot to try out before this evening comes to an end. I catch a ride with a fellow salsero who is also on his way to the next place, thank goodness I did! I always forget how huge Johannesburg is until I get the taxi bill.

When we arrive at the new venue the party is already blowing up, people are dancing everywhere and the salsa songs that are being played are fire! Baila Afrika, a dance school in Johannesburg, host their monthly Sunday party at Pedro Portia and I felt lucky I was here for it! For some reason however, I am not feeling it, not yet anyways. If the previous event was best described as elegant, this one would best be described as alive! There is lots of people everywhere. I barely have time to take two steps into the restaurant before I get stepped on. Twice.

Feeling overwhelmed by the many impressions, people and noises, I get myself to the bar to order some food. The way I catch myself glaring at the happy, dancing people, was a clear indicator that I needed to refuel my system. The bartender recommended one of their wraps, but at that point, I would have eaten anything. The prawn wrap was amazing and works its magic on me instantly. As I sit and eat the last pieces of my meal I notice that I actually recognise some faces that are here. I danced with them at the Afro Latin dance festival in Cape Town just last month! It was the last thing I needed in order to shake off the sour mood and get up on the dance floor.

In the taxi home I feel the euphoria of having danced and shared energy with so many amazing beings. I feel warm in my feelings from the Baila Afrika event. Now, I have Johannesburgs dance calendar written down and I feel confident I’m going to utilize it to the fullest. The taxi ride goes quickly, partly because there is little to no traffic at this time, but mostly because we brush past every red light as if they were green. This is why I could never drive here. It is not about the left side traffic, although that for me is terrifying as well. It’s the fact that I would have zero to no clue about where it is safe to drive, at what times and where it is safer to drive through the red light. I would probably end up driving on the wrong side despite my best effort.

The city of gold sleeps but Curiocity is still awake. I am greeted by the normal Sunday buzz, a group is singing somewhere in the backyard and peoples faces look distorted as they laugh in the candle light. Load shedding. My favourite bartender sees me come in and invites me to join their conversation but I feel that the load shedding is all the signs I need. I’m off straight to bed!

Solo Travel Chronicles: Arriving in Johannesburg

julia.sarantes.andersson — Wed, 10 May 2023 14:21:37 +0000

The Global Entity

Solo Travel Chronicles: Arriving In Johannesburg

00:00 / 7:05

Solo traveling: night bus to Johannesburg

Initially, I was a bit insecure about booking a night bus from Cape Town to Johannesburg (Jozi). There had been some highway heists in recent months and I honestly wasn’t sure how safe it was to travel. However, the night bus is the only bus that allows you to arrive in Jozi bus station during daytime – something that for me is a safety non-negotiable. Flights were out of the question considering how heavy my luggage was. In the end, I talked to some of my local contacts. Soothed by their reassurance I went to the neighbourhood Checkers, a food store brand, and bought my ticket to Jozi. The bus trip of course took longer than expected, but overall, went well without any hiccups.

The travel safety risk of taking the night bus to Johannesburg did make me reflect about my upcoming trips. I have many times felt grateful that this journey started in South Africa, a country I have traveled a fair few times before. Soon, however, my three month visa is up and I am going to continue my journey onto unknown lands. Learn new norms and safety precautions. Understand new contexts and gender roles. The thought both excites and exhausts me. At the beginning of this adventure I did not suspect I was going to be traveling, rather I expected to be at a fixed point for an undefined time. I realise that this expectation lives on within me even if my reality now has shifted. I am going to have to do something about that if this traveling thing is going to work.

When I get to the Johannesburg bus station I manage to negotiate a better taxi price than their standard rate. At first I am surprised that they agree to it, that is, until I see the car they expect me to ride in. There is only one window and it looks like its floor might be touching the ground. I sigh as I sit down next to the only window that works. Remembering the many warnings I have gotten about window grabbing robberies in Jozi, I roll the only window up so that there is only a streak of air coming through and put my backpack between my legs. The ride is quick and smooth and I arrive at my hostel, Curiocity Backpackers, in under five minutes. It is a two floored brick building with a huge balcony framing the upper floor. It is early but the streets of Maboneng are already filled with life.

Curiocity Backpackers, the gem of Maboneng

I have spent many weeks at Curiocity Backpackers during the years but seldom have I taken the time to look at the building from the outside. I get out of the taxi and take a breath as I observe the building, letting all the memories of Jozi flow over me. It looks inviting, with its warm rusty style, fluffy green trees surrounding it and people from all over the world walking in and out of its bar entrance.

It is not its rustic, hip look that makes Curiocity my go to place whenever I’m in Jozi, it’s what is on the inside. As I enter the bar area on the bottom floor, a wave of sound hits me. The music is chilled and the conversations plentiful. It’s not even noon and Curiocity’s Hide Out Bar is already filled with artists, travellers, tourist guides and local students. This is why I love this place! The vibe is like no others. It is a natural meeting point, a cultural melting pot, creating space for connection, live music and culture.

Curiocity’s concept has a capacity of making tourism accessible. What I love most about their tours is that they do not hesitate to talk and explain the more difficult topics. Whether it is about the socio-economic reality of the large migrant communities that exist in Jozi, the gentrification of Maboneng, the many times destructive effects of tourism or the political contexts that propelled one of the many murals in the city, the guides of Curiocity will generously share their knowledge and thoughts.

Reunion in Pretoria

The very next day after my arrival, Matambo comes to pick me up. Matambo is one of the friends I’m still in contact with after living in Pietermaritzburg, South Africa, back in 2015. I haven’t seen him since before Covid and reuniting now feels surreal. “Let’s go see Sine!” He says and smiles at me. I beam as we hit the highway realising my friends are proper grownups now with cars and jobs. We can do whatever we want! Sine is another friend from the same PMB era. She stays in Pretoria nowadays, the capital of South Africa, approximately an hour away from Johannesburg.

Before this day I had never visited Pretoria before but I had been warned! Nobody parties the way they do in Pretoria. And to my surprise they were right! The reunion was sweet and intense. I met these beautiful souls when they were in the messy phase of becoming. We were at very different places in our lives then as they were doing their masters and PHDs and I had just finished high school. Despite this, I never felt anything but welcomed by them. Seeing them now, all grown and wholesome, embracing me in my messy phase of becoming, makes me all warm inside. I hope you know how precious you are to me!

Surfing the Waves of Fear: Conquering the Ocean in Cape Town

julia.sarantes.andersson — Fri, 05 May 2023 10:31:32 +0000

The Global Entity

Surfing the Waves of Fear: Surfing in Cape Town

00:00 / 9:40

Juxtapositions of History: Sipping Wine at Robben Island

There is something quite macabre about sipping a glass of white wine while watching the sun descend in a breathtaking color spectacle over Robben Island. For those who are not familiar with South Africa’s history, Robben Island is where Nelson Mandela, together with other political prisoners, were held during apartheid. It has been used as a prison since the 1700s but is most famous for its holding of political activists during the apartheid regime. It stopped being used as such in 1994 when the first democratic elections were held in South Africa. Since then it has been transformed into a museum preserving the stories of life, resilience and resistance lived there. I remember feeling very humbled when I was there my first time in 2015. I definitely recommend everyone who visits Cape Town to take the ferry from V & A Waterfront to Robben Island and its museum. The incredible view over Robben Island, where such horrible things happened, is a contrast that somehow describes South Africa in a nutshell. A country where the contrasts are so huge between past and present, poor and rich, human and less than, that the contrasts themselves are normalized to the degree that they can be almost ignored. Or perhaps that’s just human behavior in general, normalizing, selective seeing.

Blouberg Bliss: Finding Community and Serenity by the Sea

A week ago, I left the buzzling city center of Cape Town for Blouberg, a seaside community 20 minutes outside of the city. My first impression of Blouberg is that it is very beige, every house is in a nuance of beige or gray… the second thing that struck me about this place is the kite surfers. It might not help that the hostel I chose to stay at is a kite community hostel. Every night the dining room is buzzing with the latest coolest stories and stories captured with GoPros. I chose the hostel, Khaya Kite and Yoga Hostel, because it offered morning yoga. After weeks of flues and colds I figured some yoga and salt water would do me good.

I was pleasantly surprised, the hostel was more like a community of nerds than anything else. But that is Blouberg in general, the kites are everywhere! In the mornings, when the wind is but a mere breeze, they are nowhere to be found. But as soon as the wind picks up, the sky over to Blouberg strand is filled with the kites of the surfers. It looks beautiful. I can only imagine the adrenaline rush from traveling at the mercy of two elements, wind and water. For me, one element is more than enough. Despite having loved the water growing up to the extent that mom practically had to drag me up out of the water every time we went swimming… I almost drowned twice as a kid. A few years after those incidents, a fear of the ocean started growing within me. For many years I couldn’t explain it, I didn’t feel afraid I just did not want to go into the ocean.

From Panic to Power: How Surfing Helped Me Overcome My Ocean Fear

I was about twenty years old the first time I took a surf lesson. The first time I almost stood up on a board it took about three and a half seconds before I tumbled head first into the ocean. The currents were strong even though we were in pretty shallow waters. I could feel the board tugging at my foot, pulling it to the right. At the same time, I was being pushed down by another wave tumbling down on me. I feel the sandy ground brush up against my back. Simultaneously, the underwater current is pulling me out, deeper into the ocean. It takes less than a millisecond for my twenty year old self to convert back to the seven year old me being pulled into the Pacific Ocean. The panic is absolute. Just like when I was seven years old, a grown ups arm reaches down and pulls me up. Air. I find my footing again, I look around. The beach is there. My instructor is right next to me, he laughs and smiles at me. “You are awake now hey?!”

Ever since that first lesson, surfing has been a bridge for me to get back to the ocean. The ocean Goddess Yemaya, from the Afro-Cuban religion Santéria, blessed me a few years ago and now I am once again swimming freely in the ocean. Freely but afraid. This time was different though. After my first two lessons I felt strongly that it was time. I needed to get out there on my own. Be in the ocean and trust my own capabilities. I knew it was imperative. I canceled my third lesson and decided to rent a board from my surf school, Open Ocean, instead. I knew that if I ever wanted to start feeling safe in the ocean again, I had to start being out there on my own. My pulse was high initially but after a few minutes sitting on my board, waiting for the next wave, I started feeling alright. After some attempts to catch a wave I started laughing. It felt hopeless. Trying to catch a wave was like trying to hold water in my hands, it just disappears in front of you. Until suddenly I feel it happening, the wave is lifting me! I’m on it! I went from trying to catch it to actually having it! To say that it felt amazing is the understatement of the century. I felt invincible.

Uncertainty and Possibility in Cape Town

Sitting here now, eight years after my first encounter with this intense city and this immense country, I feel its funny how life works. How one encounter can change the trajectory of your entire life eight years later. If I, by encounter, refer to the country or the guy depends on what day you ask me… I’m definitely not referring to Cape Town, God knows I never liked this city. Until now. Now, with friends here and favorite salsa spots of my own, I can suddenly paint my whole life here. Everything from starting a hostel to digital nomad jobs to applying for fundings for art projects. I could see myself in a pair of hippy-dippy overalls in Woodstock, bringing Salsa to Observatory’s student bars, connecting with musicians, going to the beach on the weekends trying to learn to surf. I can see it.

Right before I left Cape Town for the Blouberg beach I stayed at a hostel in town. When eating breakfast one morning a woman approached me and struck up a conversation with me. We talked about our lives and dreams for the future, our doubts and prospects. She was a lady of the night and wished for a better life, in a different country, with somebody kind. About my own situation she simply said “It can be hard and impossible for everyone else, that is irrelevant. Cuz you have to try your luck. YOUR LUCK. You can’t base your decisions on other peoples failings, maybe it wasn’t meant for them.” Right then and there, it felt like it was a sign that I should make a go of South Africa after all. Try to stay, get a job, make it happen. But now, after a week of ocean and contemplation, I am realizing staying would be not trying my luck, not betting on me. I can always come back, at a later point when it’s time. For now, I feel something tugging at me to get a move on. There is a strong feeling within, that in order to stay I must go. Perhaps not to find but to rediscover, a confidence and self-knowledge I used to have as a kid and somehow lost along the way. I feel I need to show up, for what or who I don’t really know. I guess we will live to find out!

Crowdfunding project in Benin: the roots and origin of Salsa dance and rhythm

julia.sarantes.andersson — Sun, 23 Apr 2023 15:22:55 +0000

The Global Entity

Crowdfunding project in Benin: the roots and origin of Salsa dance and rhythm

00:00 / 10:00

Meeting Eldred

The last time I saw Eldred was probably at Sun-Kissed Salsa. A phenomenal outdoor salsa event where you dance by the sea as the sun lowers Cape Town into its golden light. I’m so grateful for getting to know Eldred at the festival a few weeks back. Not only did he give countless, joyful dances during the festival, he is also the organizer of Cuban salsa events. Just my type of Salsa! It’s funny, you never know who your next dance partner might be and what worlds may open up thanks to a simple dance connection. You can find the Sun-Kissed Salsa every second Sunday by Seapoint Promenade all summer long. As he runs in between dancing couples trying to capture their moment it is easy to see why some people refer to him as Bubbles. His sparkling eyes are always smiling at somebody and wherever he goes, his energy spreads like wildfire.

When he calls today, I’ve been down with the flu for over three weeks. I am climbing the walls out of boredom, but alas, I am a walking flem hazard so I am staying put. Simply imagine my joy when Eldred called! “I have an idea” is how he starts the conversation. Immediately I am alert, not one thought left of self pity that comes when one is sick, far away from home. “Tell me everything” I respond and the conversation took off from there.

The importance of media and marketing for a festival tto succeed.

Eldred wants to crowdfund a photo project. A project of gratitude. A project of reclaiming space. A project of awareness. Let me explain. 2023 is the tenth year of the Benin International Dance Festival (BIDAF). Benin is a West African country between Togo and Nigeria. BIDAF is an Afro-Latin dance festival that takes place the first week of May every year. Eldred tells me it is one of the greatest festivals, with one of the highest standards that he has ever visited.

Despite this, there is almost no digital footprint of its ten year history. Almost no digital promotion. Last year was Eldred’s first time participating in the festival and he asked himself, based on the information available online, would he have bought a ticket? Probably not. Luckily, Eldred had some good friends vouch for the festival, but not everyone has these connections. If the festival isn’t leaving a big enough digital footprint it will be hard to bring in new participants. This is something that Eldred wants to contribute to through photo and video, sound and production.

The Afro in Afro-Latin Dances is missing from the global narrative.

“But the project is bigger than that,” he tells me. Bigger than marketing, larger than the capturing beautiful moments. “Because when I dance in Europe, or elsewhere, and people dance with me, afterwards they immediately speak to me in Spanish. And if I look at them strangely they might switch to Portuguese. And if I still look at them strangely, they may eventually ask, where are you from? And I say I’m from Africa, and they go huh? What they forget is that this is Afro-Latino, Afro-Caribbean, Afro-Cuban. And I think the African side of the Latin dances has been lost in this. So for me, the personal connection about being an African and claiming our rightful place in the shared history of creating this universal expression of passion, life, freedom, sorrow and pain, that is what is essential.”

I laugh as he says this, remembering how I thought he was Cuban after our first dance together and how I really couldn’t understand that he, in fact, wasn’t a fellow latino. Not even a little bit. To dance the way he dances, with every rhythm, every emotion, every move loaded with historical meaning, and not be Latino..? I have seldom met anyone like it. And even though Eldred started his dance career as a five year old and has been dancing everything from ballet, contemporary, African contemporary, modern jazz, to ballroom and Latin ballroom, and his immense skills could be explained by that… I believe that mine and others’ immediate assumption of Eldred being Latin American, speaks volumes to what more and more people are starting to talk about today: the erasure of Africa’s contribution in the Latin dances.

Salsa's roots and history.

When it comes to Salsa and other Latin dances and music styles, the roots of the rhythms come from Africa. “Because that’s the other side of it, we forget that this history is not simply about a joyful expression. It’s about oppression, it’s about suppression, it’s about enslavement.” It is through our human history and interactions that the rhythms traveled to Latin America. “And Benin has a further story to tell about the dances because in fighting for its own independence, the Cubans and other folks from the Caribbean came and supported them in their fight. And the Benin musicians were incredible in terms of creating its own African blend of salsa music. So you have Gumbo, Salsa and elements of Son that comes into it. And people will dance to that with the same freedom and expression and gaiety as if you’re dancing anywhere in the Caribbean. And yet you know that the roots of these dances come from West Africa.”

“So there is this; the musical history and connection with where the dance has gone from West Africa to the Caribbean. There’s the Caribbean and the Cubans coming back and fighting in the local Revolution and bringing salsa home to its roots and giving it its current day structure. From the musical and folkloric expression to the more organized entity that we today call Salsa in all its iterations. And that is a story that hasn’t been captured and told. There is a history and a voice that is missing when we think of Salsa. But this is also about giving voice to Benin. Because the festival in Benin is not just a Dance Festival. It is a dance and destination festival because the cultural exchanges, the access to the folklore, to the social political understanding, and the linguistic experience, and the cultural experience of being introduced to the Orishas, to the Gods, the dances, the food, the textures, the the clothing, everything about it.”

BIDAF Festival and purpose of crowdfund project

“[At the BIDAF Festival] you get exposed to and you understand the connection between all of those elements and the dance. All of the stories of the people of Benin and West Africa. The story of the diaspora, the story of the slavery, the story of enslavement, the story of liberation and being free. Additionally it is about the freedom of shaking those shackles, especially in the Mind through the Body. And that we could feel ourselves to be alive when we danced. It’s the idea of the connection between Roots to Routes; a route as in where the roots come from, and the routes that it’s taken through the diaspora to spread across the world.”

To summarize, the ambition with the photo project is to crowdfund it this year, monetize the project in sales of photo books and postcards so that the production can fund itself the year after. The purpose of the project is threefold: create marketing opportunities to generate sales, capture the BIDAF legacy, and my personal favourite, reclaim and acknowledge African heritage in the Latin dances.

Do you want to contribute?

The crowdfund is open for one week and one week only! The goal is to gather 1,910 USD by the 30th of April, seven days from today. No contribution is too small, everything is appreciated and will be put to good use.

How?

The crowdfunding has been closed. Thanks for your contribution!

Embracing the Joy of Bachata: Dancing in Cape Town’s Latin Scene

julia.sarantes.andersson — Mon, 03 Apr 2023 07:33:41 +0000

The Global Entity

Embracing the Joy of Bachata: Dancing in Cape Town’s Latin Scene

00:00 / 9:06

Solo Travel Safety: Reflections from a Mixed Dormitory Experience

I have left Observatory for Cape Town city center! There were some salsa and bachata events there that I wanted to attend this weekend so I thought I might as well stay in town, walk around a little bit and save some money on Uber costs. I had booked a bed in a dormitory at the hostel 91Loop, it is one of the most central hostels in Cape Town.

Once I arrive I realize two things. Firstly, there is no kitchen. Is that even allowed? Are you allowed to call something a hostel if it does not have a communal kitchen?? A disgrace in my opinion. Secondly, this hostel only has mixed dorms and mine is filled with seven guys. F*cking fantastic. I blame my research skills but also their website which was not forthcoming and clear for being in this situation. It is not that I am afraid of all men, or think that all men want to rape and take advantage at first opportunity, not at all. However, as a female generally and as a female solo traveler specifically, I am always aware of men’s potential violence.

Living and breathing in a patriarchy has conditioned me that way, to always be aware of the ever changing power dynamics between men in groups as well as men in relation to me, and the consequences anything may entail. I immediately start with crisis aversion and relationship building. Within 30 minutes I know the names of all the seven guy’s moms, girlfriends, where they are from and what their plans are here. I guess my thinking is that if they feel like we know each other, it increases my safety.

I tried checking for somebody in reception to bond with but the hostel is so huge, their staff does not build relations with their guests (nor provide basic tourist information) so I gave that attempt of a safety strategy up pretty quickly.

The only natural hangout spot at 91Loop is a tiny yard surrounded by 12-floor buildings. Despite the pretty murals it feels claustrophobic and not chill so I surrender to the fact that this is also solo traveling. Being on your own. I have done what I can to anticipate risks, I am meeting friends throughout the weekend so people would eventually notice if I did go missing, and I am Ubering everywhere at night. That will have to do.

- The solo traveler's security dilemma -

Sometimes I wonder if all the things I do and think about regarding safety do more than make me scared. At the same time, these are the things we were taught to do growing up, guilted for not doing when something did happen. But sometimes I wonder how it would be to navigate and meet life beyond fear.

Exploring Cape Town's Social Dance Scene: A Night at The Ivy on Park

I decided to take Trècy to what has quickly become one of my favourite salsa spots in Cape Town, The Ivy on Park. We arrive as the sun is closing yet another beautiful week in Cape Town. It is my favourite dance from the Mother City Dance festival, the older man, that hosts the event. I now know that his name is Eldred and he is one of the fire souls championing and producing space for Cuban salsa in Cape Town. Salsa on 2 seems to be the most common salsa in Cape Town but if you go to Eldreds events you can be sure to hear and enjoy Cuban salsa!

Trecy and I are a bit early and I take full advantage to steal some dances from my favourite dance cavalier. It is such a joy, such a blessing, to dance with someone that dances with you. That may seem like an odd comment when talking about couples dancing, obviously you dance together. What I mean is, to have someone that is dancing with YOU, who is present with YOU and that dances to dance with you. Au contraire to somebody that dances to show off, by obligation or to steal your number.

Rediscovering Bachata

Trècy eventually leaves and when the clock is closing in on ten I feel ready to go as well, it is mostly bachata dancers left and I don’t really enjoy it. Or that’s a lie. I love bachata! Dominican bachata. Puerto Rican bachata. Bachata de verdad! My experience of the bachata scene is sadly enough a scene where only sensual bachata is danced since that is the norm in Sweden/Europe. It is sad, or I feel sad about it, firstly because it is presented as bachata instead of sensual bachata – it is presented as if it is the real bachata instead of the European sexualization of an already sensual dance.

I have thought a lot about why that is, why have we (as in Europeans) sexualised a dance that is already fire as it is? I believe, speaking from a Swedish perspective, that it has to do with the fact that we don’t really have a social culture that allows for flirting and gives space to our sensuality. So when we do get something sensual in front of us, we only recognise it as sexual. Even though I have never personally danced bachata in Nicaragua, my other home country, I feel very strongly about this topic as it has made me feel unwelcomed and uncomfortable in my own latin american culture whenever I try to enter that scene in Sweden. However, I am not in Sweden now. And I love bachata. So when a dancer next to me invites me to dance a bachata I only hesitate for a second before I say yes. And God am I glad that I did!

As soon as they took my hands I could tell they was a pro but that was not what made the dance. It was their joy! Their playfulness! Their musicality! This was hands down the best bachata experience I have had in over ten years. It reminded me that I actually do love bachata, for real. The way the music invites you to almost jump around and play within the rhythms is absolutely amazing. The way I get to express myself both in relation to my lead but also as a follow. I got to decide! Once we started to dance we didn’t stop. The joy of the dance has us hooked. When the event starts to close we aren’t ready to go home.

Turns out Luca Kelly-Patterson, their name, lives in Sweden since several years back and teaches bachata in Stockholm! Specifically at QueerSalsa Stockholm. And if you are interested in bachata, real bachata, you should also check out her dance team’s schools that teach Dominican bachata: Keloke Masterteam and Los Bonitillos. You’re welcome Stockholm. We start exchanging experiences of leading in South Africa as non cis-men and the conversation flows. I realise that the no’s I have gotten from women I have invited to dance here can both be because of homophobia but also from the very set gender roles that exist. The conversation doesn’t stop, we find ourselves on the sidewalk talking till dawn. I love solo travel encounters like this. A kindred spirit.

Discovering Cape Town’s Vibrant Culture and Nature

julia.sarantes.andersson — Sun, 26 Mar 2023 16:54:11 +0000

The Global Entity

Discovering Cape Town’s Vibrant Culture and Nature

00:00 / 8:40

Sharing Stories: A Night of Connection at MOCAA's First Thursday

I am still nursing my cold, it is not budging even a little bit. I am currently at the stage where I don’t have much voice. Despite this, I still managed to sobbingly explain the whole boy-debacle/moving fiasco to my old time friend Trècy. Trècy and I met during my internship in Pietermaritzburg eight years ago. When she saw that I was in Cape Town now she reached out and invited me to the First Thursday at MOCAA, the museum of contemporary art. First Thursdays is a concept that exists in both Cape Town and Johannesburg where the galleries and cultural centers of the city are open extra late. As the name describes it happens the first Thursday each month and it’s a vibrant event.

So here I am, in the middle of a hurdle of happy gallery goers and art consumers, crying. I am surprised by my own emotional reaction, I hadn’t cried before, why start now? As we wait for another friend to join us for the art tour, Trècy holds my hand and listens. It hits me that this is the first time in like a month that I am talking face to face with somebody that actually knows me. What a sanctuary. To get to tell everything that happened lately to somebody who genuinely cares for me.

It also hits me how amazing it is that Trècy and I, after eight years of separate lives, are able to reconnect so easily. I say a prayer of gratitude within, to all the girls and women who have ever been in my life and taught me all that sisterhood entails. Eventually my sobs turn into laughter, laughter at the absurdity of things, the irony of life… It’s one of those laughs that I can’t control. When I finally catch my breath I hear myself say “I just feel so much shame.” She looks me seriously in the eyes, takes a breath and says “Don’t Julia, you were brave. Don’t be ashamed of that.” I wipe my eyes and feel my shoulders drop.

Cape Town Delights: From Braais to Gardens

During my weeks in Cape Town, Trècy and her friends generously invited me to braai’s (meaning BBQ in South Africa), go dancing, adventuring in the wild, dinners and chill out times. Getting to be part of that, a vibrant group of friends, all with different ambitions and lives, made it easy to picture myself living here in this city. Everywhere I turn I get invited into different communities, groups and contexts. And sure, not everything is with a clean intention and those I promptly turn down, but that is almost insignificant in comparison to the flow I feel since I got here.

It is fascinating how a city that used to feel so cold and impregnable now feels accessible. I can almost taste the life I could have here if I decided to. It is not an easy process to get a work visa in this country but as someone said to me recently, we all have to try our own luck. On the other hand, if I feel like this two months into my trip – just imagine how I am going to feel about all the other places I am going to see. Is this where I am meant to be? Or is my destiny elsewhere? Or do we create our own destinies? How do I know what is right?

One of the places Trècy took me to was the Kirstenbosch National Botanical Garden. To call it a garden gives the wrong impression, it’s more like a nature reserve, a park of wilderness perfectly framed by the mountains of Western Cape. It is immensely beautiful! The past three weeks here in Cape Town have been incredibly packed with beautiful people, reconnecting with old friends and exciting encounters with new ones. Sitting here now, in this beautiful, quiet garden, I realize it is the first moment of peace I have had since I arrived in the city. I take the opportunity to journal a little bit, something I have completely neglected since I got here to Cape Town.

Journaling while solo traveling

Writing is such a powerful tool, especially when solo traveling as I do not necessarily have the people I need around to reflect with. Today’s writing session brings me back to something a healer told me right before I started this journey. He told me that I need to be more honest with who I am. Stop pretending to be small and willing when I’m actually anything but small and usually quite critical.

At that moment I had a hard time understanding what he meant but now, sitting here in what feels like the gardens of Eden, I have a moment of clarity. With all the turmoil that this trip has entailed, everything from broken dreams to getting ripped off by someone I thought was my friend (no it wasn’t much, yes I felt dumb), I am realizing I feel a crippling shame about articulating what I want and desire, what my expectations are. I have known for many years that I have trouble setting boundaries and saying no but today it hit me that I don’t even want to say straight out what I want. And it is not just because I don’t know what I want, which sometimes of course is the case. No, it is more that I don’t feel like I should say what I want.

The realization shocks me, I have to put my pen down. It is such a stark contrast to how I used to be as a child, a contrast to how I see myself. But I can now see the correlation between being boundaryless and not saying what I want. Somewhere along the way to becoming me, I have accepted the socializing norms that tell girls to be quiet and adaptable in order to be worthy and “good”. No mas. No more. This absurdity is something I will stop with right now. Or at least start unlearning right now.

Solo Travel Journal

I am stopping all pretentions.

No longer pretending to be unbothered when I’m actually boiling with disappointment or shrinking from the insecurities that your silence triggers.

I will no longer dress my intentions in appearances of pretend non-intent and jewellery of disinterest.

I will no longer negate to ask just because I am afraid of your answer. Or perhaps even more afraid of how naked I will feel spelling out my expectations and hopes.

I will stop giving space to the idea that I need to earn to want. Earn to yearn and desire…

No, I am stopping all pretentions.

Want it. Express it, pure and clean.

Don’t excuse or diminish it. It is what makes me human.

Exploring Observatory: Airbnb’s and Gentrification in Cape Town

julia.sarantes.andersson — Sat, 18 Mar 2023 18:55:46 +0000

The Global Entity

Exploring Observatory: Airbnbs and Gentrification in Cape Town

00:00 / 10:11

Obsessed with Observatory: Cape Town's Quirky Neighbourhood

After the dance festival finished it was time for me to move to a new area in Cape Town: Observatory (Obs). I love Obs! I have stayed here almost every time I’ve visited Cape Town because it is just so cozy. Not only are the houses and street art pieces all around Obs perfectly framed by Table Mountain in the horizon. No, Obs is a whole community in a fairly tiny space which makes it accessible. What I appreciate most about this neighbourhood is its bustling mini “city” center. In the middle of Obs, along the Lower Main Road, the cafés, restaurants, bars, thrift shops, local designer stores and antique stores are piled on top of each other. At night time there are even a fair few clubs that are open. I think it is safe to say that I could probably live in this neighbourhood for months at the time without feeling the need to go anywhere else.

Post festival bliss was quickly exchanged for post festival fever. As soon as I stepped foot into my new airbnb I could feel the inflammation taking over my body. I succumbed to three days of fever where my only resort was to sleep. To be sick while I am living in a stranger’s home was more than a little bit uncomfortable. Not because my host was anything but empathetic and helpful and generous. But because it wasn’t my space. And I felt disgusting and guilty for bringing germs into his home. Oh well, it is part of life.

At least my new host has absolutely adorable animals watching over me and giving me love! It is amazing how animals have the ability to make such a huge difference in one’s existence. How their mere presence and attention can lift my energy and make me feel cared for, seen even. I love animals.

The Airbnb Effect: Gentrification and Tourism in South Africa

In my fever haze I started reflecting about the correlation between gentrification and airbnbs’, furthermore, how this correlation takes effect in the specific context of South Africa. I remember distinctly that Obs is a student area, but looking at the rental prices today, I find it hard to see how a student could afford Obs prices. If we start from the first two components, gentrification and airbnb, it is easy to see how the possibility of earning a larger profit off short-term tourist rentals affects the prices but also the availability of long-term rentals for locals. In other words, the individual economic earnings that come with the airbnb business model, incentivise homeowners and landlords to turn their otherwise long-term rentals into short-term tourist rentals, with tourist prices of course. This gradually increases the prices of the local housing markets eventually making it impossible for locals to afford living in the area. So meanwhile the homeowners and landlords make individual profits; they do so on the behalf of the locals’ possibility of affording accommodation.

The other side of the airbnb effect is that an increase of easily accessible and affordable tourist accommodations in an area will most likely increase tourism in that area. This does push up the prices of the local housing market, as previously stated, but it also increases business potential and actualisation as there are new, external clients, the tourists, coming into the area with their purchasing power. However, who is it that profits? Who is it that profits from the tourist business revenues, from airbnb business models and affordable tourist rentals. Somehow I don’t feel it is the locals. This is where the third aspect becomes extra critical: the aspect of South Africa being the context.

Apartheid's connection to today's gentrification in Cape Town

As I have mentioned briefly in another post, between 1948-1994, South Africa suffered almost 50 years of apartheid governing. The governing through racial segregation. It is now 29 years since apartheid fell but the consequences and aftermath of it lives on in both individuals and structures. One of the structural consequences of apartheid (as well as the history of colonialism previous to the apartheid rule) concerns housing and land ownership.

During apartheid, people were divided into races: black, colored, indians and whites. This was not just a categorization stamped onto your ID, it was the basis for where you were allowed to work, live and be. The apartheid regime declared many areas all-white areas and forced everyone who was not categorized as white to forcibly move. Their previous homes were demolished to make space for the apartheid regime’s constructions and plans. Despite there being talks, since 1994, about restoring land and homes to those who were forcibly removed, not much has happened on that topic since. Today, the majority of those forcibly removed in Cape Town live in what is classified as a township like the Cape Flats, commonly known for its notorious gangsterism, poverty and lack of infrastructure.

Inequality Reinvented: The Intersection of Gentrification, Airbnb, and Apartheid Legacies in South Africa

During the apartheid regime, Observatory was known as a grey area, meaning it was a mixed race neighbourhood and not a one-race area. Our brief review of South Africa’s recent history of apartheid is essential to understanding the devastating consequences of the airbnb effect and gentrification going on in Obs.

Land and/or home ownership equals resources. Resources in the form of everyday stability as well economical opportunities such as Airbnb rentals. Home and land ownership not only enables but is a cornerstone for building generational wealth. Who, in South Africa, can actually afford to buy property? Who already has everything in place to start up an airbnb?

Due to South Africa’s current division of land being based on racist events and structures, the Airbnb effect can be seen to further increase socio economical injustices existing in the country. Structurally it is not easy for somebody stripped of their land and home to create wealth. I am not talking about the excessive kind of bougie wealth but rather the wealth of not living with economic stress. It is worth pointing out that the ones who are suffering due to the Airbnb effect like raise rents, are the same demographics of people who suffered oppression during the apartheid.

Outside of the South African context, you can also see this economic structure of how the rich become richer. Meantime, socio-economically vulnerable groups struggle, sometimes their whole lifetimes, without achieving a stable economy, buying a fair home, or starting a business like an airbnb. For a neighbourhood like Observatory, that is known for providing affordable and accessible student housing, these processes are detrimental for the locals.

What is a sustainable traveler?

So what does this mean for me? I now see how the benefits I get from renting an airbnb are contributing to a larger, structural problem. Even though I personally don’t own any stolen land, or any land at all for that matter, I am still contributing and enabling destructive, racist and economically biased structures. That is not what I want. Especially not now that this, travelling, is supposed to be my new normal. My life. I want to travel in a more sustainable way. In a way that does not exploit. Can we travel sustainably? Is tourism evil? Is tourism exploitative by nature or design? Should I have to stop traveling now?

I have already booked a few airbnb’s for the last two weeks of December but after that I am taking a break from Airbnb’s to look at some other, hopefully more sustainable, accommodation alternatives! This is a learning process and I am happy to share it with you. Let me know what major changes you’ve been implementing in your traveling or life lately?

Great spots in Observatory

Interview with Angus Prince: Organiser of The Mother City Dance Festival

julia.sarantes.andersson — Mon, 13 Mar 2023 19:58:11 +0000

The Global Entity

Interview with Angus Prince: Founder of The Mother City Dance Festival

00:00 / 9:02

After the Mother City Dance Festival I decided to contact Angus Prince, one of the main festival organizers, for an interview. The festival hosted around 500 people from 50 different countries, had a crazy amount of top-notch workshops and managed to create a community feeling in the short amount of time of the festival. I just had to know more! The picture above portrays Angus Prince and Ash Porter. Picture taken by ShutterMonkey Production.

Dance background of Angus Prince

Despite having two accomplished social dancers as parents, it wasn’t till Angus was a young adult that he decided to seriously dedicate time and space for dancing in his life. By coincidence he saw an ad in the local newspaper where a woman was looking for a temporary dance partner to compete with. Her partner had suffered an accident and needed time to recover. Together, she and Angus ended up training and competing in Latin ballroom for three and a half years. When Angus, originally from Port Elizabeth, later moved to Cape Town, he saw a sign advertising salsa lessons for 10 rand each (equivalent to ＄0.55). “I did a few beginners lessons, I did some advanced lessons and a few weeks later I came third in a local competition. About 6 months later I won that competition. That was 21 years ago.”

Even though Angus came from the Latin ballroom community, the music played in the Latin ballroom spaces at the time e did not feel like him, he tells me. It was when he first saw the movie Mambo Kings that he was first exposed to real latin music. To say that the music completely floored him is an understatement.

Today he runs Evolution Dance Company, his own dance school in Cape Town. If you spend a week in Cape Town you will definitely be able to attend at least one or two good salsa events or socials. This, however, wasn’t the case when Angus started his salsa journey. “You know we didn’t have access to higher level training material so we started finding DVDs. I bought the 2003 West coast salsa congress dvd – the LA salsa congress with Albert Torres. I saw people doing things that I couldn’t have imagined.”

Angus started researching every and any kind of salsa style and music style that there is. He founded his dance school and in 2013 he was able to bring a group of kids from Khayelitsha, a township in Cape Town, to perform at the LA salsa congress. “That’s when I first met Albert Torres. We developed a friendship over time and eventually came up with the concept Roots of Rhythm which was a red thread throughout the entire Mother City Dance Festival.”

What is Roots of Rhythm?

“All of the Latin rhythms come from Africa. This is where the rubber hits the road for me because people are dancing around the world but they actually don’t know the roots of what they are dancing to. That’s where the roots of rhythm come in, we are saying come and experience the real African roots of the music and dances. That’s why we opened the festival on Saturday night with the African dances. We can’t get away from the fact that those rhythms and those traditional movements are where it came from. It has evolved, developed, it has become super technical, super acrobatic, etc… the industry is such, we are creating products so that we can sell a product. But the Roots of Rhythm is not about the product, it’s about the feeling, it’s about the connection, it’s about the essence. That’s what it is for me.”

Angus participated in developing the concept Roots of Rhythm in 2016 together with Albert Torres. To start a festival in Cape Town was Alberts dream but unfortunately he passed away in 2017 before he was able to see it through. The festival idea lay dormant for a while but eventually a group of people who Albert had mentored came together to pick up the pieces and make Alberts last dream come true. In October 2019 the festival premiered with huge success! The second festival had to wait for the pandemic to pass but late October 2022 it was time to do it all over again. When I’m speaking to Angus now, the planning for the 2023 Mother City Dance Festival is ongoing.

What is the Mother City Dance Festival? What makes it special?

“Cape Town is South Africa’s mother city. It was the first city that was populated, it’s the place where the world connected. Before there was the Suez canal, people had to sail around Africa. So you have every country in the world represented in Cape Town. It is a hub of culture, a hub of trade, of interaction. For me, to be able to connect all of that with dancing, with people from around the globe, that is what it is all about. I would like it to become an event on the global dance calendar where people feel ‘you know what, we have to go to The Mother City Dance Festival’. Dancing on the beach, visiting the cheetah sanctuary, dancing in one of Cape Town’s many vineyards or in the shadow of Table Mountain – where else in the world can you experience this?”

What is the purpose of Mother City Dance Festival?

“So the idea of the festival is to showcase cape town and South Africa and to put the Mother City Dance Festival on the international festival map. Because we may not be big yet but we got really good quality in terms of workshop selection, performances, DJ’s and everything that goes around. The idea of an afro-latin dancer in Africa doesn’t really exist and if we don’t create a platform for professionals we are going to continue paying over price for European events and pro’s even though the talent exists locally.”

Can you give insight to why that’s a perception of African dancers?

“One of the big things, where there was a lot of pressure, was who I was bringing from Europe to teach kizomba. But why would I bring Europeans to teach kizomba to Africans? It is an ongoing battle because South Africans by their very nature, and unfortunately it’s historical, measure themselves against Europe. What I am finding very interesting about the non-African artists that I am engaging with is that they all want to go to Africa to reconnect with the rhythms.

As an African community we don’t really celebrate each other. I think it’s about a surviving mentality more than a thriving mentality. We are a very Eurocentric country but we need to generate some African pride. We had representation from about 50 countries in 2022 but the majority of them are Angolan, Mozambican and South African. We’ve got very strong ties to the dance communities of Mozambique and Angola, we support their events and travel between our countries quite often to do workshops and events. That is part of the Roots of Rhythm concept: we want to get people, including locals, to understand that traveling and dancing in Africa is an opportunity to develop and grow. It’s about creating value for the dance community. That’s what we are trying to do.”

If you want updates about this years festival you can follow the Mother City Dance Festival on Facebook and Instagram.

Art and Authenticity: A Tour of Woodstock’s Street Art Scene

julia.sarantes.andersson — Thu, 09 Mar 2023 12:37:36 +0000

The Global Entity

Art and Authenticity: A Tour of Woodstock’s Street Art Scene

00:00 / 6:10

Brief history of Woodstock

While in Cape Town I wanted to take time to discover areas I had never visited before. Cape Town is huge and taking a taxi everywhere for daily adventures can quickly become expensive. Therefore, I have decided to live in the area that I want to explore, to stay only in that area for that specific time, starting with Woodstock!
Woodstock is an industrial suburb about ten minutes outside the city center of Cape Town. It was one of the few areas that did not forcibly remove its non-white inhabitants during the apartheid regime. For those who don’t know, apartheid is the systematic racial segregation implemented and used as the governing strategy in South Africa by the all white National Party between 1948-1994. That Woodstock never was declared an only-white area during the apartheid regime has enabled it to continue being a natural melting-pot of cultures to this day. It used to be an area ravaged by crime but today it is mostly known for its street art and hipster coffee shops.

Touring through Cape Town's art and history

Woodstock is known for its street art and hippy-dippy, vibrant vibe but when I asked my accommodation host if it’s safe to walk around she only told me where not to go… this left me a tiny winy bit insecure. Can I not walk the streets here during the day? To me, that did not align with the research I had done about the area. To counteract my newfound fear and insecurity, I decided to book a street art tour with a local tour guide in order to get a sense of the area and where and how I can navigate it. After some quick research I decide to go with the local enterprise Juma Art Tours and an hour later I am face to face with my smiling and enthusiastic guide Shaheed.

We started the tour at the Woodstock Exchange, a multi-purpose space hosting everything from offices, coffee shops to artisanal enterprises. Many of the available rooms glare emptily back at us. Shaheed explains that this used to be a completely packed space pre-covid but that the effect of the economic reality hit small and artsy enterprises especially hard. “We will recover, we always do, but it’s going to take time.” As we proceed through the neighborhood it is evident that art is as central to the infrastructure of Woodstock as the cement holding the houses together. Art overlaps art, everywhere you look there are some new, or very very old, murals and paintings. Looking at it, taking it all in, I see the interaction between the dramatic landscape of Cape Town that encapsulates Woodstock and the art. It is all connected. The recurring themes of the murals tell the story of unity, community, human rights, social commentary and history. I would highly recommend taking the time to go on a street art tour here if you are interested in the history of not just Woodstock but of Cape Town and South Africa. The art ties and connects the local to the national, history to the present, and enables an understanding of the context you are existing within right now.

The tour ends in Shaheed’s kitchen. What was supposed to be one glass of water turns into a conversation of nearly two hours. We talk about what is important to us in life, exchange experiences of living in faith and how that has impacted the choices we make on a daily basis. What stands out about Shaheed is how he lives from his heart. Any and every decision seems to stem from his heart, fully secure that whatever will come from those heart decisions is a blessing or guidance from above. This has led Shaheed to have a huge family as many young people have sought and found refuge in his and his wife’s caring home. As I sit on a stool in the kitchen, the many people making up this expansive home come and go. Kids, teenagers and youngsters, some live there and some are just visiting, but everyone seems to feel right at home. And nobody is at all surprised that their father brought me home to sit at their kitchen table. The hospitality I feel is warm and encapsulating, I could stay here in this family forever. But eventually I have to leave, after all, I have a dance festival to get ready for! One of Shaheed’s sons recommended the restaurant The Fat Cactus and I gratefully accepted a ride there. Their food and vibe truly was amazing!

The Magic of Dance: Highlights from Mother City Dance Festival 2022

julia.sarantes.andersson — Sun, 05 Mar 2023 19:02:58 +0000

The Global Entity

The Magic Of Dance: Highlights From Mother City Dance Festival 2022

00:00 / 5:58

First night of Mother City Dance Festival

The Mother City Dance Festival in Cape Town was a whole experience, I tell you! The first night of the festival, the dress code was all-white. I love dressing up and I will openly admit that my entire suitcase has been packed in accordance to the dress codes of this festival. I figured, I can always sort out what else I might need at a later stage. Anyhow, the first night was anticlimactic. Not all of the festival participants had arrived yet and I was honestly too exhausted from the long bus ride that had dropped me in Cape Town that very morning. After a few dances I decided to call it a night and gather some strength for the rest of the festival.

I love dance festivals

It was the right decision because the next night it happened. The ‘it’ that is every dancers wet dream – connection. Pure, sensual, energetic, joyful, rhythmic, playful, fulfilling, uplifting connection. I was standing in the salsa room, it was a little bit past midnight and I knew that if I didn’t get a dance soon my feet would completely capitulate out of the heels I was wearing.

A man suddenly stumbles into me. His wrinkles and sparkling eyes are matched with a up-to-no-good smile. It somehow makes him look oddly boyish. After a quick exchange of pleasantries we immediatly start dancing and OH what a joy! In an instance I am transported back to Trinidad, Cuba, in Casa de la Trova where all the elders used to go to dance. The elders and I.

Now here, at this dance festival in Cape Town, is this stranger with gray eyes that dances like a Cuban pro and I can’t help but wonder where he is from. When we find each other on the kizomba floor the embrace is tender, safe and filled with absolute presence. I realize then and there that this is the reason I came here, specifically to this festival. We dance for what felt like an eternity, song after song go by and when we are done I feel I have finally landed. Dancing has that ability, grounding me into my soul, into that exact present moment. I had not realized how much my body still lived in the stress that has been present since my last dance festival, about three years ago, pre-pandemic. Now, thanks to this stranger gracing me with the space to be present, something shifted in me. I could feel the energy flowing differently, aligning in the here and now.

The funny thing to me about connection is that once I have had it, once I’ve had one connected dance with someone, it becomes that much easier to create it with others. Almost like when I get connected to my own flow, become present in my own body and soul, others want to be in that light and also create that. Perhaps a non-verbal way of communicating, through energy, could explain this phenomenon. The rest of the dance festival was an abundance of flowy, connected and fun dances and shared laughters. Saturday and Sunday where filled with workshops on every level. I was astounded that for once since I got here, everything was more or less on time! On the last night of the festival, I was energised up until I wasn’t. One minute I was dancing, the next I knew this was my last dance. All energy was gone and I hurried to order an Uber home, the bed was calling. As I walked down the stairs a man grabs my hand. Without a word he slips a bracelet on and squeezes my hand. I want to say something but can’t get anything out. With a smile I leave and don’t look back.

For somebody who’s been stuck in Sweden for the past three years, to get to dance with some of South Africa’s, Mozambique’s and Angola’s best leads and followers was absolutely mind blowing! I must admit that I had no idea. I have been dancing in South Africa on and off since 2015 and yet, the level of quality in the festival, the vastness of the established dance community and the variety and knowledge of styles, completely took me by surprise! How could I have missed this?

Unpacking Dance Community Dynamics: A Personal Reflection

julia.sarantes.andersson — Thu, 02 Mar 2023 11:55:41 +0000

The Global Entity

Unpacking Dance Community Dynamics: A Personal Reflection

00:00 / 8:00

My Dance Background

Tonight is the first party of the salsa, bachata, kizomba festival and as excited as I am, I’m also a bit nervous. I’ve been dancing my whole life. Up until I was 17 years old it was mainly ballet and contemporary dance with small elements of salsa and musicals. Dancing has always been my most natural way of expressing and processing emotions, even the ones that feel too big for my body to hold. As I grew older and stopped with my classical training, salsa, bachata and eventually kizomba became my new safe space. Except the dance communities weren’t safe. And more often than not did I feel there was no space for someone like me.

The toxic expressions of dance communities

As a mixed person with one parent from Latin America, it felt really weird to have to “fight” for inclusion in a community which represented and made money off my culture. And as sad as that is, it was often the case. Rooms filled with people fighting for attention and inclusion into some sort of status hierarchy. Side glances, cold shoulders, there are many ways to make a person feel small, the worst one being not getting to dance. Just sitting and waiting and waiting, hoping for somebody to have either the mercy, compassion or just common sense to invite the new girl to dance.

The older I got the more I noticed who got excluded and who got included. It all depends on the context of course. On Cuba, the ones who get to dance and be most included are the white, female tourists. If there are tourists around, the local women usually have to take the back seat. The crude explanation of this is that tourists give other opportunities, financial ones and opportunities of getting out of the country. More often than not you see amazing, mind blowing Cuban dancers dragging along a two-left-feet lady, night after night.

In Sweden, the norms are different. To give you the context, the ratio between men and women in Swedish dance communities are greatly skewed. For every man you might have 8-20 ladies waiting to dance. This leads to a dynamic where the men get to pick and choose, while the women fight for the mens’ attention on the premisses decided by the men (not necessarily consciously). My deduction is that in order to dance the most you should be slim, tall and white. But also agreeable, laughing, smiling and quiet. Needless to say, I don’t quite fit into any of those categories.

Why I Dance: My Safe Haven

One might question why then, with all of these destructive dynamics in the dance world, why do I dance? Why do I choose to continue spending time and energy in these spaces? The simple answer is that I love dancing. Dancing has been part of my way of living always and it is what I always return to when I feel lost. No matter the physical and social spaces, dancing, in itself, is my safe space. Despite the dance community norms triggering everything from eating disorders, body dysmorphia, identity crisis and the feeling of not belonging – dancing has healed me more times than I can remember.

It is not like the people in dance communities are rotten either, most of them are good, normal people and there’s even some conscious dancers too. Finding them, sharing that dance, experiencing that connection, can be otherworldly. It makes me feel alive. However, something happens when we come together. It’s like we are unable to create outside of the capitalistic limiting, competitive framework and it shows in how we treat each other. In our culture. I do believe that dance communities can also be just that: a community. Somewhere people gather, interact, belong, grow and coexist. That’s at least what I always come back to, what I long for.

So there you have it, my complex relationship to dance communities. Now I am both curious and nervous to find out what the Cape Town vibe is like. Wish me luck!

How do we build Social Sustainable Dance Communities?

I think a lot about what it is I feel is missing in the dance communities, why they more often than not show severe social dysfunction to the degree I would liken it with the dynamic between high schoolers.

One explanation could be that dancing is a tool for healing, and many of us are drawn to it to heal something we are unaware of. But instead of being a secure platform for transformation and healing, the dance scene often tears people down.

So how can we build dance communities that enable people to grow? Where you feel welcome no matter your background, level or looks. We need changes on so many levels, I’m thinking themes of:

Inclusion: dancing is something that constantly evolves. It is vital to continuously honor the dances by educating about their roots and include representatives at festivals. For a dynamic and healthy dance scene, there needs to be equal inclusion of the new and innovative dance styles and dancers as well. That is how dance stays relevant, it evolves with us.

Representation and equality: MATTERS! I cannot express what it did for me to see another curvy, plus size lady teaching ballet unapologetically. Another aspect of the same theme is who gets hired, who gets featured, who gets paid and who is expected to be ‘grateful for the opportunity’. Can we also stop glorifying European artists in African contexts?

Economic sustainability: I don’t have statistics on this okay but it is my distinct perception is that all my professional dance friends have other jobs to support their dance careers, more often than not they are expected to work for ‘exposure’. In other words for free.

Participants perspective: this is what needs to be in focus and drive the dance communities forward. Without the participant’s there is no dance community, just a bunch of stars without an audience.

Gender roles: Perhaps is this what ruins it all. For some reason, at least in Sweden, I feel the salsa bachata and kizomba communities are ten times worse when it comes to sexism and gendered power dynamics. It is such a tiered structure that limits us as people and as dancers. I’m over it.

Safety vs. Convenience: A Traveler’s Dilemma in Cape Town’s Taxi Landscape

julia.sarantes.andersson — Mon, 27 Feb 2023 17:41:37 +0000

The Global Entity

Safety Vs. Convenience: A Traveler’s Dilemma In Cape Town’s Taxi Landscape

00:00 / 5:18

Uber Trouble in Cape Town

The bus ride from Durban to Cape Town took 26 hours instead of the promised 23,5 hours. The last two hours were excruciating! My mind was so set on arriving at a specific time so when I realised we were delayed, every minute felt like an hour. When I finally arrived at the bus station in Cape Town no Uber nor Bolt (online taxi apps) would to take my request. It surprised me at first since Cape Town is a huge city with many, many people working for these companies. Then I recalled how it was the last time I was in South Africa back in 2017-2018. There were huge tensions between the online taxi app drivers and the metered taxi drivers. The metered taxistas felt overrun by the online apps and their low prices, a common feeling in many countries where online taxi services completely changed the market by being more accessible as well as cheaper. Back then it led to such violent encounters resulting in beatings, torching and even murder. The violence was closely intertwined and fueled by Xenophobia, the fear, hatred and prejudice against foreigners, a huge problem in South Africa.

Today, the tension between the two parties has calmed down but it has left its traces. After a few attempts of trying to hail an online taxi, I surrender and grab a metered taxi. We argue about the price and eventually, being exhausted after such a long journey, I accept the standard price even though my destination was less than five minutes away. Personally, I feel safer using the online taxi apps since I can share my location with my friends, but also because I know there is an online record of my journey. If I, God forbid, was to get kidnaped, robbed or otherwise damaged, I know that my ride, the car and driver are registered. It might not help me in that specific moment but at least it creates a feeling of security.

This is not a security strategy I developed while traveling, rather it is something I felt normal to do as a precaution in Sweden, my home country. I tried asking my grumpy but kind taxi driver about the current situation between metered and online taxistas. He says that it is better now as everyone has agreed upon their ‘territory’. The bus and train stations, for example, belong to the metered taxis while home pickups are better suited for online taxis. He makes it seem like it’s all harmonious now, I wonder if it’s true.

My new home in Cape Town

When I arrive I am greeted by a super happy Victoria, my Airbnb host in Woodstock. Apparently I am their first guest! I usually don’t book an airbnb without reviews, as a safety precaution. However, the location was perfect in relation to the festival and I would get my own apartment with a terrace. Additionally, I was to arrive during the day so if there were any shenanigans it would at least not be at night. I didn’t have much choice anyhow since it was a last minute booking.

I didn’t want to stay in a hostel this time since I will be out dancing at night and coming and going at all hours. I did not have to worry, Victoria and I hit it off right away and I felt safe. The rest of the day I spent on self care, trying to erase the traces of the long bus ride off my face. I meant to take a nap in the afternoon but instead I got stuck admiring the stunning view from my terrace. Cape Town really is something else!

My new home in Cape Town

Solo Traveling to Cape Town by Bus

julia.sarantes.andersson — Thu, 23 Feb 2023 15:18:08 +0000

The Global Entity

Solo Traveling To Cape Town By Bus

00:00 / 7:16

The Cape Town Dream

I’m sitting on one of Intercape’s Sleepliner buses, it’s early morning, the sun has just risen and I’ve got a 24 hour bus ride in front of me. I have a one way ticket to Cape Town and I am almost bouncing with excitement! It’s funny, I never really liked Cape Town. I’ve spent three different vacations there and even though it’s breathtakingly beautiful, like drop-dead-tear-shedding beautiful with its mountains and sea landscape, I never felt comfortable there. I never made any long lasting connections and never really found a spot to feel at home there.

So why on earth would I be going back you might ask. At the beginning of the pandemic I started dreaming about Cape Town. The dreams weren’t remarkable at all but they were vivid! It was me, walking around in Cape Town with different friends, both old ones and unknown ones. No dream was ever in the same part of Cape Town and sometimes I even walked through areas and places that I’ve never visited in real life. Always with a sense of disbelief, surprise and comfort.

I might add, I rarely remember my dreams, maybe once in a blue moon I wake up knowing what I’ve dreamt but they disappear on me as soon as I’ve gotten out of bed. But the dreams of walking around in Cape Town stayed with me. Now I am so curious to explore this connection! Had it not been for the dance festival I might not have prioritized going to Cape Town but now, with all my previous dreams going to shit and the only marketed dance event in all of South Africa being in Cape Town, it feels like the only reasonable option.

The Mother City Dance Festival has only been done once before, right before the pandemic started, so I have no idea what to expect. From the information on the web page it is a dance festival of salsa, kizomba and bachata. I also saw a few tango workshops and one called Bomba, I have no clue what that is but I am excited! I booked the bus so that I will arrive on the very day the festival’s first party starts. It is a bit risky but I am counting on being able to sleep on the bus.

Traveling without a car in South Africa is fairly uncomplicated, there are plenty of bus companies traveling through South Africa and even to other countries. For shorter trips one can always take a taxi which is a minibus and the foundation of South Africa’s unofficial public transport. Of course, one can always fly, but I would prefer not to… the environment pollution being one reason. Another reason I prefer going by bus is because I get to see the landscape, towns and cities that I travel through. But perhaps the biggest reason is that I enjoy slow traveling.

I was once told that it takes longer for the soul to arrive than the body when you travel and that, to me, makes a lot of sense. I always feel it takes me a couple of weeks to really land in a new place after flying, and just as I feel that I have arrived, fully, it is time to fly back home again. Therefore, and because I have the time, I prefer the bus.

Learning to listen to the Heart

There is a part of me that feels like I failed by leaving Durban, that I did not follow through on my objective of staying and building a place for myself there. I guess that is my ambitious, goal oriented Capricorn ascendent making itself known. On the other hand, I feel proud of daring to change my plans. I mean, for what would I stay? My main objective with this phase of my life is, after all, to find my purpose in life. Knowing myself, I know how easy it is to lose yourself in somebody else’s life and dreams, specifically if you are in love. It’s an even greater risk to do so when your are traveling since you are automatically outside of your comfort zone by being in a different country and hence crave and look for security – often thought to be found in romantic relationships. So, considering my desire to find my own path in life and wanting to learn to live from the heart, I think listening to my intuition is the only way to go. My intuition is telling me to go find the dance, stay open and to write about it, so that’s what I’m going to do.

Top 5 Safety Hacks for Bus Travel in South Africa

1. Choose Wisely: Research reputable bus companies preferred by locals for reliability and punctuality.

2. Travel Smart: Driving during the day is safer in South Africa since the risk of road accidents and criminality increasing during the night. However, as a solo traveler, I feel it is a bigger risk arriving at the bus station at night. Hence, always opt for morning arrivals when you are traveling far by bus.

3. Socialize: Engage with fellow travelers for added security, ensuring someone notices your absence on the bus after a bathroom break.

4. Speak Up: Trust your instincts and vocalize any discomfort, especially concerning unwanted attention, knowing that assistance is readily available from fellow female passengers and bus staff. There is a lot of prejudice about the gender roles in this part of the world but my experience is that people are more prone to react and help you here. Don’t be ashamed to ask for help!

5. Plan Ahead: Contact your accommodation beforehand for the safest transportation options from the bus station, often they offer their own pick up service.

Jazz in Durban and Divine guidance

julia.sarantes.andersson — Mon, 20 Feb 2023 10:56:30 +0000

The Global Entity

Jazz in Durban and Divine guidance

00:00 / 6:58

Durban night life post pandemic

In many ways, Durban feels like a bubble that is holding its breath. Perhaps it is a projection of my own feelings but Durban seems quieter than it was pre-pandemic. A lot of businesses like restaurants and clubs were forced to close during the pandemic and could never re-open. Davenport used to be the place to be for all young people and students. It was a vibrant street filled with restaurants, bars, spoken word events and even one or two places to dance. Now there is only a few open places at the top of the street, the rest of the street is dark. It fills me with melancholy seeing the stark contrast to how it used to be. It’s hard to imagine how the consequences of the pandemic has devastated thousands upon thousands of lives and their opportunity to a stable livelihood.

One place that is still up and kicking is the reggae bar Cool Runnings in central Durban. Here people could smoke in peace even before it was decriminalized. I have had some amazing dance nights here in the past but now that I am here again I am not feeling it, my energy no longer matches with its vibration. Funny how things change with time. The drumming session every Thursday still brings me all the feels and I would highly recommend visiting the place for that specific event. Central Durban is not a place to walk around in at night so make sure you take a taxi there and that you have a safe way to get home after. Personally, I have gotten myself a South African sim card so that I can use the transport and food delivery apps as well as Whatsapp, which seems to be the most popular communication app.

Scraping on Durban's Jazz Scene

Since most of my old favorite spots are either closed or no longer feel like a place for me, I have been searching for new good spots. The past two weeks I’ve been exploring some jazz events that I found through a Facebook group. South Africa is not known for using Facebook to market their events, especially not in Durban, so this find really surprised me. My favorite, this far, is Jazz Mondays’ at the Alliance Française. The place is set up like an outside living room which allows for very intimate concerts. The pizzas are good and the beer is cold. Jazz nights in Durban are definitely a breath of fresh air.

Soon it is time for me to leave Durban. I know doing this, leaving Durban, will cement the new path of this journey. I won’t be stationary in one place as I thought, rather I am now looking into how I can travel southern Africa by bus. It is a whole world out there and I am yet to get to know it. Exciting, yes! But also nerve wracking. There is a saying that says “rejection is God’s protection and redirection” and as true as I think that is, it is scary as f*ck to not know what I am getting into. My goal is to find my life’s purpose. I want to know why I chose to come to this earth, at this specific time, in this specific body.

Divine guidance

Sometimes, when I need guidance in life, I draw angel cards. For this trip, I brought my deck of arch angel cards gifted to me by my mom a few years back. I decided to draw three cards to help me understand my past, present and how to navigate the future that lies before me. The first card I received told me to cleanse around me. It made me laugh since I have done nothing but cleanse for the past months: first my whole apartment back in Sweden, then the relationships that fell through, the letting go of my ideas and dreams of what this trip would be and mean. And now, my backpacks – the only material things I have left. No matter, it won’t do me any good to carry around 60kg of baggage just for the sake of it. I want to travel light. After a few hard decisions I managed to repack so I have one big bag instead of three. Yolande has generously agreed to store the rest of my luggage at her house indefinitely.

The third card read Divine order, everything is just as it should be. The relief I feel as I read these words makes me realize that I am still carrying around some shame. Shame over doing such a drastic thing – moving across the globe – for a guy. But perhaps that was the motivation I needed in order to get my ass moving. The intense disappointments could also be seen as course correcting… like it’s telling me “Yes dear, you are where you are supposed to be – just remember to keep the focus on you and not some guy”. Maybe I am supposed to do this alone, learn this, whatever it is, alone. The second card I drew told me that I have a special connection crystal and indigo children. Maybe this is a clue to what my life purpose is… or perhaps it is showing me who my soul community consist of. I must confess, I’m not very knowledgeable about these concepts, I only know that these types of people were born to help the earth and humanity raise its vibration. They bring change through love, revolution and empathy. What do you think it means?

Solo Traveling in Durban

julia.sarantes.andersson — Mon, 13 Feb 2023 06:30:00 +0000

The Global Entity

Solo Traveling In Durban

00:00 / 8:24

Great spots in Durban

Now that I’ve made a new, vague plan, after accepting that nothing turned out as I thought it would, it feels a lot easier to move around in Durban. I have barely got a week left in Durbs before the SBKA dance festival in Cape Town starts but I have actually managed to find a routine here. Some mornings I walk along the sea promenade connecting Durban’s North and South beach.

Other mornings I go to my favorite café, Glenwood Bakery, and try to get some writing done. They bake and cook everything themselves, there are always fresh juices available, the staff is really friendly and the WiFi is excellent. I started coming here in 2015 but back then it was huge Sunday brunch gatherings with all of my friends. Now it’s a party for one. I allow for slow mornings and slow movements. There are so many things happening within me I feel the almost physical need for stillness.

Sewage crisis in Durban, detrimental for tourism

Unfortunately I haven’t been swimming. The Durban beaches are closed due to sewage leaking into the ocean. In April and May 2022, Durban was hit hard by floods causing walls, roads, infrastructure and whole houses to be damaged and even washed away. The sewage leakage has, to this day, not been cleaned up properly and continues to pollute the ocean affecting the marine flora and fauna. On the local news there are daily reports on the E.coli levels at the different beaches and predictions on which beaches will be safe enough to open in time for the December tourist season.

To say that many Durbanites (people living in Durban) are nervous about how the sewage crisis will affect their tourist driven business, is to understate it. Christmas is the biggest tourist season for Durban, it is the time where the city beaches and its surrounding beach towns are filled with thousands upon thousands of happy beach going tourists, both national as international. That almost all of Durban’s beaches are closed at the end of October is worrisome for both the ecosystems and the tourism industry. Many thousands of businesses are completely dependent on the revenues they are expected to make during Christmas.

Sewage crisis in Durban, detrimental for tourism

Navigating Durban at night

When I feel lonely I go out to eat in the evenings. Just near by me there is this restaurant called the Vapor Cafe with the most amazing prawn dishes and milkshakes. Don’t question this combo, I find it brilliant! Since the first time I stepped inside, the owner has made it a point to make me feel welcome and seen. Each time I go there, this elder, white haired man has taken the time to sit with me and talk about life, exchanging experiences and thoughts with each other. Needless to say, I’m a regular now. Tonight however, I wanted to try another place that apparently has the best noodles in all of KwaZulu-Natal.

When I go out in the evenings I use either Uber or Bolt (taxi apps) as it’s not really safe to be walking around after dark. To not have access to free movement outdoors is very foreign for a Swede. Today I hadn’t been out all day and was itching for some movement. Furthermore, the restaurant I had my eyes on seemed to be close by and it wasn’t dark yet so I decide to walk. It is such a feeling of freedom being able walk! When I get there though, the place is no longer operating. Maybe another loss caused by the pandemic. It is getting darker and there are no other restaurants on this street. I start heading back towards my airbnb but halfway there all lights go out in the whole area. Load shedding. Fuck.

Load shedding is when the municipalities shut down the power of a whole neighbourhood. South Africa has a huge electricity grid problem which has led them to shut down the electricity for certain areas at the time in order to enable other areas to have electricity. These are usually scheduled and systematically performed but sometimes they catch you off guard – like now. So here I am, standing on a street in Durban at night in complete darkness. Not the safest place to be, not as a woman nor as a tourist, even Durbanites tend to stay inside during load shedding. I start cursing myself for not grabbing a taxi this close to nightfall. Do I request a taxi and wait for it here or do I run the last 10 minutes home? I think I could manage a 10 minute run… As I stand there trying to decide on what to do I hear somebody behind me say “Julia..?”.

I turn around and recognize Gan, a guy I’d spoken to briefly the other day as we were both waiting for our food to be prepared. Thank goodness! Apparently he works right here, in one of Durbans newest phenomenons: weed dispenceries. Marijuana is decriminalized in South Africa, some people say it’s legalized but it’s not like one can smoke it on the street without getting into trouble with the law… so I don’t know. Over the last years, decriminalization has led to lots of weed shops opening up all over Durban where they sell edibles, weed, pre-rolled joints and every and all kind of trinkets that come along.

He invites me to wait out the load shedding in the shop and I gratefully accept. Once inside the shop I realize that this perhaps wasn’t the smartest choice either, entering a completely dark space with a, to me, strange man. But I didn’t need to worry, Gan was awesome and during the two hour black out we became friends. When the power finally came back I stayed and watched a World cup game that was just starting. When it was time to close the shop Gan gave me a ride home on his motorcycle.

Once I’m back at my AirBnB I sigh in relief and thank my angels for their protection. Everything went well, thank goodness. I immediately download the load shedding app to get direct notifications when the load shedding schedule changes. Everything went well this time, but I can’t count on being so lucky next time. I must prepare better.

5 Safety Tips for Solo Explorers

1. Use Trusted Transportation: Choose reliable taxi apps like Uber or Bolt for safe rides at night.

2. Use your head: Stay on well-lit streets and avoid dimly lit or secluded areas, don’t go wandering close to nightfall…

3. Stay Informed: Keep up-to-date on local conditions, like scheduled power outages, or toxic oceans, to stay safe.

4. Trust Your Instincts: If you feel unsafe, trust your gut and take action to remove yourself from the situation.

5. Build a Support Network: Connect with locals or fellow travelers for emergency assistance and good vibes.

The art of solo travel: grounding & direction

julia.sarantes.andersson — Wed, 08 Feb 2023 16:34:57 +0000

The Global Entity

The art of solo travel: grounding & direction

00:00 / 5:48

Friendship cross borders

Yolande came to spend a few days with me at the Airbnb in Durban, to help me pull me out of my rut. I met Yolande the first time I came to South Africa, back in 2015. I had been accepted to do a 6 month internship at an NGO in a small town called Pietermaritzburg, almost an hour away from Durban. Yolande was one of the many young, impressive adults carrying the organization, she took me into her heart from day one.

Today, she empowers women (and men) to break gender norms through her DIY YouTube channel. Her slogan “Power tools have no gender” inspires people daily to create everything from their own furniture to whole home renovations. If you want a teacher you should definitely check out her Youtube channel.

When we first met, in October 2015, Yolande took one look at me as I stepped out of the taxi and said “You and I, we’re gonna be friends.” And so it was. When she looked at me now, seven years later, she just shook her head and said “Hayi sis” and gave me the biggest hug she could muster. To spend three days with someone who truly knows me felt like a blessing. We worked and gossiped during the days and spoiled ourselves by going to Florida road for dinner in the evenings. Florida road is a very cozy restaurant & bar street in Durban. Some places are a bit more expensive but it has a really nice vibe, it is a good environment for heart to hearts.

Bachata in Durban

One of our evenings together, I managed to get in contact with a small, local dance school that was holding beginner salsa and bachata classes. I’m no beginner but I longed to dance so bad! Yolande, who has never taken a dance class in her life, to my surprise said she would love to go! I shouldn’t have been surprised as she, to this day, has never said anything but yes to my ideas. I love that about her. I think we laughed more than I have in weeks during those three hours on the dance floor. What a feeling!

The dance school is called Pa mi Corazon and is led by the bachata dancer Faheem. If you are in Durban and want to enter a loving and open dance family I would warmly recommend messaging them on instagram to see when they have their classes. Faheem asked me if I was going to the Mother City Dance Festival in Cape Town later this month. “I certainly am now that you told me!” It felt like an answer to my prayers. A dance festival, an opportunity to just emerge into body and music for a whole week. Thank you lord!

How to travel authentically?

When Yolande left I realized she had anchored me. Being mirrored by somebody that loves you can have that effect. But now I need to be my own anchor. The dance festival in Cape Town has given me a new direction but it is not the same thing as being grounded. What do I need to anchor myself? When I started this journey I thought it was going to be a shared experience. Since that plan fell apart I am left with the desire to, in some way, share this experience. The idea of writing a blog started right here.

I feel it is ironic that I am once again a tourist in this country, when I promised myself last time I was here, pre-pandemic, to never be a tourist in this country again. Not because I don’t want to be here in South Africa, but because it is unbearably lonely to be on the outside of a context that you once used to be a part of. I long for community and context – as a tourist, my feeling is that you are always on the outside of the real life of the country.

How can I travel without getting stuck in the tourist bubble? Are there ways to travel that allows for genuine connections and contexts? An old dream of traveling Africa by bus has started resurfacing but I am unsure how I can align that with my desire to be a part of… something.

Crafting a new journey

julia.sarantes.andersson — Sun, 05 Feb 2023 17:52:18 +0000

The Global Entity

Crafting A New Journey

00:00 / 6:02

The unraveling

As those who know me have learnt, historically I don’t do rejection, period. It’s not solely that I handle rejection objectively bad, it’s also that I avoid it to an almost comical degree. Despite this, I left my whole life, heart in hand and moved to a different continent. That I, security chasing – avoidant queen numero uno, would take this non-strategic leap of faith is deeply surprising to me. Yes, I am exaggerating my not so charming sides for effect, I might not be the queen of avoidance but I am definitely in that category.

The point I’m trying to make is this: that I took this jump – is huge! If my life was a tv-serie this would be one of those aha-moments symbolizing the character development that has transpired through time. I am apparently a person who can be vulnerable. Vulnerable and honest about what I want. Vulnerable and courageous enough to go after it. Vulnerable and present. Imagine that!

This did not stop me from going on a few random dates in an attempt to escape the terrible shame and acute loneliness I was feeling, the next date more awful than the previous. I realized that this wouldn’t do. Sure, there are worse ways that I could have reacted but I could see the unraveling happening from within and reactions of escapism. That’s not how I want to handle this. A dear friend of mine asked me, how can you handle this with grace towards yourself? It was asked with such abundance of love, the answer came immediately: dance.

Solo travel tip of the week

Traveling can be super exciting and more often than not we have our itineraries packed with activities from start to finish. When we later get home from the vacation our phones are full of photos and memories but how do we feel on the inside? What did we actually experience on the trip? Did I even have time to process it?

My best travel tip so far is to throw away ALL planning. Try it! At least for a few days, allow yourself to just be, see where the flow takes you. Not only is it a way to let life surprise you. I truly believe that norms and expectations can be so integrated in us that we don’t even realize that we are doing things that we don’t like. Even on vacations! By breaking old habits of how you vacation, you can really be present and start to feel what you really like.

What comes next?

Dance is and always has been a space for me to process and express my emotions. A space where I could dare to be everything I wished, feel the emotions that felt too big for my own body. As a child I danced a lot of ballet and contemporary but as I got older I got more and more into salsa and eventually also kizomba. Dancing has healed me more times than I can remember and no matter how long it goes in between the sessions of dancing, I always end back here. If I am to give myself a chance to ground myself and help myself navigate this situation I am in, dance is the way.

I quickly start looking for dance schools and socials (sort of like an after-work, but instead of drinking you dance) but Durban is dead. Dead-dead. No dance in sight. It is clear that the pandemic affected a lot of the cultural life here because this is not how I remember the dancing scene of Durban. So if there is no dancing here, maybe I need to go to where the dancing is? I’m not sure this is what I want, to leave Durban… I mean I had intended to stay here indefinitely?! But the reality is also this, my airbnb rental is going to be up and I don’t have anywhere to live. The plan was to move in with my ex and that is definitely not happening now. So where do I go? What do I do? I did not budget for traveling and, looking at my overfull suitcases, I did not pack for it either. So many questions… but one thing is clear: when the unraveling is near, I need to dance.

What comes next?

Solo travel tip of the week

Post boy-debacle: the solo journey I did not expect

julia.sarantes.andersson — Thu, 02 Feb 2023 08:08:30 +0000

The Global Entity

Post boy-debacle: the solo journey I did not expect

00:00 / 5:26

Dumped in a foreign country

It’s no fun being dumped in general, being dumped in a foreign country is not better I tell you. The boy-debacle was followed by a three-day-long pity party. It consisted of insane amounts of sleep, bad rom-coms and long contemplation sessions with Gabrielle’s Out Of Reach playing on repeat. If you are not yet familiar with this emotional masterpiece of a song, you’re welcome. Save it for your next heart break. Do you think I sound bitter? Maybe a little…

Eventually I came to realize that being cooped up inside, surviving on Mr. D (Mr. Delivery, food app) is not how I want to spend my time here, dumped or not. So, I picked myself up to go buy some warmer clothes as Durban has been surprisingly cold and rainy this October. I don’t mind though – it matches my current mood perfectly.

Shopping in Durban

I had envisioned spending the day shopping at the Pavilion, this grotesquely huge mall complex encompassing everything one might need to shop away one’s feelings. But sometimes you get what you need and not what you envisioned, seems to be a theme this trip. Anyway, I end up at Musgrave Mall, a much smaller complex with just the most necessary stores. Upon entering the first store, I am greeted by this super cool lady who just seems to be the whole vibe. After talking for 30 minutes while trying out sneakers, we decide to exchange numbers and go out dancing sometime soon.

For this reason and this reason alone I love this country. The people.

As I sit in the Uber I notice a tiny piece of red paper on the back of my phone. It’s a quote from a chai tea bag that I read once two years ago. Usually, I feel that these quotes are shallow one-liners meant to bring you some temporary joy. However, this one quote resonated deeply with me so I decided to keep it even if I, at the time, did not comprehend it. The quote reads “Empty yourself and let the universe fill you”. Well, lol. I am certainly doing the emptying part pretty thoroughly considering the life I just left behind in Sweden and every dream that fell apart when I was dumped in a foreign country. When is it time to start filling up?

Shopping in Durban

For this reason and this reason alone I love this country. The people.

5 Tips for navigating Heartache on the Go

1. Comfort: Call a friend, cousin or whoever that is close to you. To be supported and seen by somebody that knows you can be invaluable when you are solo traveling far away from home. Thank goodness we live in a digital era!

2. Embrace solitude: Also, allow yourself time alone to reflect and heal. As much as other people help, you are your biggest support system. Lean into who you are and what you need when things are hard.

3. Connect with locals: Look around and see who wants to connect! Sure, this was not how you imagined your trip to go but is that a reason to let it go to waste? Plus: it is a lot easier to get new friends when you are not attached to people you already know.

4. Practice gratitude: This one I admit is hard to swallow at times when things are shit but I have honestly found it makes all the difference. I chose to be here! Focusing on what I can learn, and gratitude for everything I have, makes me feel better.

5. Indulge: Prioritize activities that bring you joy. For me, that is dancing! Going out for a social dance or dancing it out on my own in the kitchen, it doesn’t matter where as long as I’m dancing.

Traveling solo: initial setbacks and disappointments

julia.sarantes.andersson — Sun, 29 Jan 2023 11:03:20 +0000

The Global Entity

Traveling solo: initial setbacks and disappointments

00:00 / 5:04

Moving to South Africa

Just a little while back it became apparent to me that I wanted to make a drastic change in my life. Propelled by the feeling that I wasn’t living life from my heart and by the longing to live an authentic life, however that may look like, I decided that moving to South Africa indefinitely was the right choice to make. I had lived there briefly as a 20-year-old and I was now longing to go back. Let’s just say, it didn’t motivate me any less that I had recently reconnected with an ex of mine that lived in KwaZulu-Natal, an Eastern province of South Africa.

Said and done, I quit my job, terminated my contract for my apartment and soon found myself with both feet on Durban soil. How surreal?! The plan was to move to South Africa, live in the countryside of KwaZulu-Natal, write a second bachelor thesis, learn how to farm, love and be loved deeply. Not an overly complicated plan if you ask me, but oh what joy! The months leading up to my departure I was practically dancing through the mundane everyday life, just dreaming about my upcoming adventure. But plans seldom go accordingly, and neither did mine. Three days into my great journey, I get rejected.

Needless to say is that any and every picture of what I imagined this trip would be, was effectively washed down the drain. So, now what? I am brokenhearted, a whole world away from home, the disappointment and shame ravaging my mind.

In a way it changes everything and yet nothing. I am still here. I still have undefined amounts of time to do whatever I want with… how often does it even happen that as a grown up, we have total freedom over our time?

No. I need to sit with this for a while now. Process, accept and release. Hopefully the universe has other plans for me. But for now I am just going to sit with all of the feelings.

Drastic Life Changes: 4 Solo Travel Tips

1. Embrace Uncertainty: Accept that not everything will go as planned. Embrace the unknown and see it as an opportunity for joy and adventure to come into your life.

2. Trust your gut: also, when you feel an instant YES in your whole being, follow it. Intuition and gut feeling is not only to warn us but to guide us.

3. Learn from Setbacks: Instead of dwelling on setbacks, decide to learn something. Use it as fuel to grow, align and thrive in your new reality. We can make meaning out of everything.

4. Define your why: Before and during your solo traveling, try to define your why – your reason for wanting to do this journey. If all your travel plans suddenly go up in flames, you have your purpose to ground you. Finding purpose and meaning in your journey will keep you motivated and resilient.