In 1917, parts of Katanga were unrecorded, unmapped. And so, for 40 year give and take, my grandparents in Africa were drawing the maps beyond the map ‘s borders. Recording the unknown. And their wonder shows in the photos they took. These are the memories they chose to keep. A mixed feeling seeps through…
There is no time to remember, and even less need for it. What to record? Suzanne shapes, moulds, trims. The world the Old Photos showed? Private memories. If that. Moments to grow out of: we create new memories, arrayed in the living room, staged in the kitchen. Much better ones…
Starboard cabin of the SS Baron Dhanis. She puts the suitcase and the hatbox on the ground. And with that, they are off.
Oh, sure, Africa has tried to tie them down: the broken tipoye, the tropical rain, the missing trails and delayed supplies. That had been the “pleasant hike…
Albertville. A flow of humanity, trucks and animals all running to or from the water in a cloud of diesel smokes and dust. She starts retreating towards the hotel. The humidity is cloying. Rising from the Lake, it mixes with laterite dust to pulverise into an airborne mist, and dissolves…
Last day. He shuts down the notebook, satisfied. She dutifully nods and give an appreciative grunt to the effort. Most of these villages are only recorded in this notebook, she has no idea where they are. But Albertville? Hell yes, that one means the boat back to France. He looks…
The bolt slides silkily forward and locks with a muffled rasp. Pull it back and the spent cartridge joyfully springs out. Clack-click. Click-clack. Tingles or shudders.
Its heart is a bewildering 3-dimensional puzzle metal parts, each groove and ridge machined to deliver a perfect motion each time.
Mechanical excellence, with…
Once, the path to the office had been nothing more than a trail in the grass, a vague outline snaking towards the woods, the hills and the streams to explore. Now, weeks later, it was a grove dug by shuffling feet, brushing shoulders, careless spades and freshly sharpened machetes, sanded…
80 kms South of Fizi, on the border Kivu/Katanga, Camp Katenga, 19 February to 22 May 1930. Life is Fun. You live it, you do not make it or have it. The way she sees it, the way she was taught, entertainment was a duty, a tool. It was only…
Just, turning the bend, the successful hunting party makes its triumphant way through the village, a nonchalant peloton strolling in. The trackers lead, spotters and beaters follow, as always. By chance, François finds himself at the head of the little troop, Mauser slinged. Total coincidence, naturally, he is not one…
And so they walk for a month, setting up the tent and folding it every other night. Further and further in. Every day, new trails, new marks and samples. Always on, further on! Guide in front, machete in hand, a flintlock on a strap. Beaters upfront each side of the…
On the main square, François sits in the shade with the Chief under the squat hut awning. He is on a smaller seat, as protocol and manners dictate, leaning forward intently, scrutinising a line of local candidates standing at rest in the sun. The griot/féticheur/ healer stands behind the Chief…
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My Heritage | Travel Trunks and Suitcases
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