Live. Laugh. Travel.

Come...you meet my family Madame?

zozo — Thu, 15 May 2014 11:41:31 GMT

“Come…you meet my family Madame?”
Still peddling hard, Pradesh cranes his neck to look back at me inquisitively. Rich golden clouds of dust billow behind the rickshaw, kicking up into the gleaming evening sunset.

From the time I had arrived in the Pink City of Jaipur, Pradesh had become my friend. Not only had committing solely to his rickshaw service avoided me 3 months of bartering with swarms of drivers but it also allowed me to build a loyalty to Pradesh that was settling for both of us. So to meet his family before leaving the city would be an incredible privilege and an opportunity to further understand Pradesh and the people of Jaipur.

“I’d love to meet your family” I say and he smiles, turning down a bustling street where tilted two story houses line irregular footpaths and carts, overloaded with fresh, glorious coloured produce edge their way through the dense, chaotic traffic. I turn quickly, to capture my final glimpse of the golden sun burning on a horizon of thick dust, before we are engulfed by shadows.

Nearing Pradesh’s home, I see children giggling their way through a game of cricket. Two little girls in vivid yellow build dirt castles in the gutter. Wafts of cinnamon and clove from chai wallahs enliven my senses against the rank odours of buffalo urine and storm water.

Stepping from the rickshaw, I’m swarmed by the dirty faced, beaming children holding out their raw little hands to mine. The gleaming eyes of women are upon me, as they lead their buffalo, whilst carrying pots on their heads. Pradesh cautions me to duck under the low doorframe. There, in the one room house stand 4 smiling children and Pradesh’s wife – Ananya.

Following introductions, I watch as Ananya prepares chai. I watch her elegance and grace, as she bends over a small stove on a concrete floor – crouching in a puddle of seepage from the street. Ananya’s glowing beauty against the harsh, wet concrete and dank seepage reflects the disparity that is India itself. She is fantastic. Not only in her appearance but also in the way she holds herself with such humility and grace. And as our eyes meet, we smile at each other and now I think I understand. Ananya is just as much of a reflection of this culture, of these people, as any other, for her name is Ananya and it means “unique”.

Photos: African Delights

zozo — Sun, 21 Apr 2013 20:03:00 GMT

A sneak peak into an incredible month working on a Conservation Reserve boarding the Serengeti National Park. A country with an incredible history and potentially flourishing future, my time here shed light on the vital importance of strong, dedicated and determined anti-poaching force, to protect this continent from an ever growing, ever more powerful poaching movement and illegal animal trade that so devastatingly continues to take many of these magestic creatures right across the African continent. With that said, this country boasts a population of incredibly beautiful and inspiring people. Often one comes to Africa for the animals, but returns for the people and I definitely feel that I have been no exception to this rule.

A Local Encounter that Changed my Perspective - A Lost City of Strong Souls

zozo — Thu, 18 Apr 2013 22:34:19 GMT

To the inhabitants of the Sera Nevada along the coastal mountain range of Columbia, money has no value, nor do cars, companies or material objects. To the Sera Nevada people, value is instead placed on the land, which they consider to be their mother, whose womb gave birth to their ancestors 400 years ago. With utmost respect for the soil, weather and the geographical plan of such an incredible coastal mountain region, these native communities navigate like nomads, constantly relocating their crops and villages to allow for the regeneration of their ancient land. They refer to their nomadic wanderings as weavings, with the notion that over time their efforts will weave a protective cloak over the Earth.

Deep within the Columbian coastal jungle, which so valuably belongs to the Sera Nevada people, I climb the 1500 stone steps to the Lost City, Ciudad Perdida. After 3 days of trekking in the company of only two other travellers, our guide and our cook, I climb silently, breathing deeply as we gain elevation to this secret land.

As I walk, the jungle engulfs me from every direction; a thick, purifying entanglement of emerald green leaves. The vibrancy of colour makes me feel as though I could reach out and touch it, smudging each shade of green into the next as if it were wet paint.

I sense the cook’s presence close behind me, a native Arhuaco inhabitant of this region. He is wearing traditional dress, a Hessian sack on his back full of cooking implements and two rubber tyre cut outs strapped to his feet for cushioning.
This man has a rarity about him that intrigues me. He seems to mould within his surroundings so elegantly, just as a baby moulds within its mother’s arms.

As we reach the entrance to the lost city, he stops and crouches down closing his eyes.

“Is he ok?” I ask our guide who glances at the cook and then smiles back at me.

“Yes, he is fine Zoë. He is simply stopping to let his soul catch up”.

Sighing in acknowledgement of his divine actions, I scan the city, and admire his ancestor’s accomplishments. Feeling tired and lost, I suddenly become overwhelmed by an urge to crouch down and close my eyes, for I too must stop and let my soul catch up.