As we go

"You gotta go there to come back" do sing Stereophonics. I guess we're gone. We're so far gone that we've made up our own gipsy song. So this is to all the travelers. Mh mh.

You' rather vanish into nothingness

than getting your invisible wings cut off.

Anywhere's your home

and the road's your address.

The whistle of the sparrow is your call,

your duty nothing at all

but the world you see.

You like to think you are free,

but your eyes are chained to the horizon.

You feel the rush, you go on.

Addict.

You unravel stories a thousand years old,

ruins hidden in the jungle,

Gede's secrets still untold.

-Or so they tell you.

(And yes, we did feel like Indiana Jones).

A thousand miles are swept off

from under your feet.

You find yourself on an island,

floating like a bubble far off from modernity.

A dhow drags you away

from noises an smells,

leaving you alone with yourself,

even in the company of others.

The drumming on plastic

bouncing though chest and heart

leads you right back to the start.

In the blackout night of donkey paradise

you finally meet the laic devil in disguise.

He calls himself Satan, sits in a dark corner

and doesn't believe in the gods of bloodshed.

He talks about the Bantu, politics, and Congo.

The night is warm as the words flow.

You feel like missing this place even before leaving.

And in the end you know,

it's not just about the photographs.

It's also about the things

you never got to capture,

although you really wanted to.

Now you see it through.

It's really not about getting everything,

traveling means missing.

That's what pushes you forwards

in the quest for the next horizon.

Traveling's a song you once heard on the radio

that you've never heard since.

It's a beautiful tree stuck on your mind,

it's the light of the sun making you blind

-but you don't mind.

It's a map of phrases without words,

a promise to yourself and to the world.

Comig up in our lives

The four travel companions hits expected troubles in their quest for a Tanzanian visa. Whith wallets considerably lighter they can finally rest their eyes on the majestic sight of the lowest 100 ft. of Mt. Kilimanjaro that is not covered in clouds. They arrive in tourist packed Arusha with one goal in their minds, to head for the endless plains of Serengeti with all it's got to offer. A quick pit-stop is all that's needed to refill empty wallets and send already high expectations trough the roof.

Not many miles are covered in their very own Toyota Land Rover before the landscape changes completely. Noisy city quickly turns to vast coffee been plantations followed by wide open plains dotted with the odd kettle heard or Maasai village. Their first stop will be the entangled masses of rainforest surrounding Lake Manyara, where baboons and elephants may be lurking around every baobab trunk.

Further along the bumpy gravel roads the travelers can't resist the urge of dropping by the biggest tourist trap in a 500 mile radius. At least they'll get some expensive and highly breakable jewelry out of it.

After killing some hours fiddling with iPods the first Thomson Gazelle pops up beside the road. Paul Simon barely has time to wrap it up before herd of wildbeest studies the tourists with lazy glances. They've seen them before. It's the first time for the intruders though.

Pitching up their tent in the middle of Africa's wilderness without as much as a fence does not scare the brave explorers. Hearing lion and hyena hunting calls in the distant darkness when wanting to sneak out for a pee does. Standing 5 meters from a 7 ton elephant marking its territory does. Being between a hippo and its waterpool when it suddenly desides to charge does. They've been told the chances for spotting the big five is slim at best. Expectations drop a tad, but hopeful glances are still directed firmly at the endless horizon.

As the sun sets over the barren land the travellers are left with a strange sadness, already missing the unreachable horizons enclosing the cradle of humanity. But as they turn their backs on the endless waves of grass, their eyes are alrady searching for a new haven.

The worlds second largest volcanic crater marks the end of their epic journey. To the sound of last minute index finger spasms on camera release buttons, Mike the safari guide quirks a smile in anticipation of his tip.

Previously in our life

Evarret, the deeply religious high school student living at Julius' clinic, dreamt of rescuing Maria on a white horse in an utmost biblical fashion. The doctor himself was going to town and promised his Norwegian visitors he'd be back by twelve. Unfortunately he didn't make it before 7pm, barely in time for the guests big farewell dinner. After the unavoidably sad affaire, but still with a few days left for departure, Julius desided to take the hole bunch on a trip down memory lane at his birth place.

Also in the figh for parental rights, Philip managed to kidnap the unsuspecting Norwegians. By holding them captive for a night in his semi-luxurious home while providing them with delicious meals and a hot shower, he hoped to lure them into becoming Kenyan citizens. Upon discovering that the visitors still planned for an imminent departure, the whole Boit family throwed them into a Philip-guided safari to the big tea plantations in Nandi.

Suspiciously sweet drawings from the Boit kids Alex, Olympia, Faith and Dæhlie reached out towards the visitors hearts, leaving deep traces of affection, but failing to alter their plans.

After several heartbreaking goodbyes the two Norwegians, accompanied by fellow travelers Odin and Ida, sat out on the next big adventure. In Philip's own matatu they could enjoy the company of Dr. Sang's younger brother Ezekiel, who would not leave them for any other reason than a boardercrossing. Upon arriving in Nairobi, the expectedly criminal and filthy capital of Kenya, they all paid a brief visit to Julius' wife Rosbella and their rebel daughter Gloria, currently held captive at an unfairly strict, all girl boarding high-school. After handing out a few last minute hugs the birds cast a final look over their shoulders before taking yet another step into the unknown.

The day gravity failed

"FedEx, Kesses Branch. Speed, reliability and more speed. The three cornerstones of any successful currier. For international deliveries try our canoe service." You've got to ask yourself though, what happens when he stops?

The kids are...

Yesterday we sat out in the sun and tried writing down a few words. Ink went by and some small, lurky faces started appearing here and there. By the time we got to the fourth line there was no way out, we were surrounded.

The hyperactive children in the kindergarten next door have a less discrete way of approaching us. They yell 'Mzungu!' and 'Howayou?' as loud as their throats can manage, dragging down fences and devouring you as a cupcake.

Not a day goes by without a smart kid's face popping up, looking right into our cameras and straight through us. Or just asking for playtime. We're eating and being eaten up. We're in the middle of the soul-food-chain.

Africa's painting our skin and throwing visions at our eyes. We're comfortably lost. We pick up pieces and try putting them together. Pieces of buildings, pieces of conversations. We're animals on display at the local zoo, for wafrica to look at.

We're friends, we're family. We're hands trying to move. But moving can be hard sometimes, especially on african time. Hakuna matata is an important lesson for the volcano spirits inside of us.

The kids are many. They're poor, laughing, everywhere, wild. They're shouting at us and they're hiding behind dusty clothes. They need all the chances this world can offer. They need to build a world of their own and to rely on themselves. They really need to be alright.

For us 'kids' coming from the soap bubble world, exposure is the best way to break down all walls. Our road is unraveling one piece at the time, and we still have a long way to go (so long, so far). We're building it on coincidences, dreams and maps. All maps welcome.