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Weekly Contest #356
SOUTHERN SUDAN, APRIL, 1973 I was traveling overland from Cairo to Tanzania, now heading down to Sudan, finally “black Africa.” I used every means of transport available, on a boat across Lake Nasser, often on trains that struggled to move, or on overloaded lorries, standing in the rear with thirty Africans. Or, sitting atop overloaded cargo, some possibly boxes of weapons, empty beer bottles or whatever people needed to move. It was over a year and a half since I’d left the US, and at times I had wondered whether I would ever get to Tanza...
Weekly Contest #293
LOSING SOMETHING IN ETHIOPIA April, 1973 Author’s Note: I’d been traveling for nearly two years, an odd sort of odyssey, eastward across North Africa, through the Middle East, and was now on the final leg of my journey, southward toward my destination, Tanzania. I’d hitchhiked, taken trains, and lorries, and even bought a VW van I drove through the Middle East and sold in Beirut. Just before this story begins, I spent six weeks in Sudan, and, rather than continue southward into Uganda, where Idi Amin, an unpredictable tyrant ruled, I b...
Weekly Contest #276
SOUTHERN SUDAN, APRIL, 1973 I was traveling overland from Cairo to Tanzania, now heading down to Sudan, finally “black Africa.” I used every means of transport available, on a boat across Lake Nasser, often on trains that died for hours each afternoon in the hot Saharan sun, or on overloaded lorries, standing in the rear with thirty Africans. Or, sitting atop overloaded cargo, some possibly boxes of weapons, empty beer bottles or whatever people needed to move. It was over a year and a half since I’d left the US, and at times I had wo...
Weekly Contest #230
NOTE: This story contains sensitive content re: abortion. Chris plopped down onto her bed, stared up at the ceiling, and tried to barricade the thoughts flooding her brain. Three weeks after she'd visited Lansing for John’s birthday, she realized she was pregnant. I can’t have this baby. I don’t even know who the father is. It might be Winston’s or it might be John’s. I can’t be a single mother. I can’t quit my studies. I’m too young. It would crush my parents. The reasons for an abortion flew at her, each one stronger than the las...
Weekly Contest #213
Meeting Kristin by Pamela Blair On Friday morning, Thea stepped out of the shower, grabbed a towel and ran her hand across the steamy mirror. In the narrow line of reflection she regarded her face: a somber old woman stared back at her, one eye clouded with a cataract. She didn’t know if she was looking forward to this day or dreading it. She wondered if Kristin would look like her or Lou. Thea hoped she wouldn’t ask about him—even the thought of him made her nauseous. She wondered if Kristin would be angry at her, or glad to final...
Weekly Contest #197
DESERT THERAPY Tunisia, 2005 In 2005, my partner and I spent two weeks in Tunisia. I’d traveled for a month in Tunisia over thirty years earlier, and felt confident we could figure out an interesting trip without guides and a planned itinerary. Mary Ann was wonderful with guide books, and I relied on “serendipity,” feeling that the best things came to us if we were open and aware; we didn’t have to plan them in advance. Combining our two methods, we were sure we’d be fine. Mary Ann had read of a desert oasis, or palmerie, in...
Weekly Contest #181
INCH BY INCH Standing at the edge of the snowfield, I stare down its precipitous incline, knowing I don’t have the courage to cross it, even though on the other side lies the path up to the pass. Midway across, I’ll panic. I’ll slide all the way to the bottom. I’ll die. I look up at the only other way to get out of the mess we’re in—a narrow, steep scramble enclosed by the snowfield and a rocky outcrop jutting out all the way up to the pass. Between the two lies a narrow channel of thick mud, scattered with small,...
A REALIZATION AT 15,000 FEET December, 1973 At 15,000 feet, the encampment around Kibo Hut resembled a miners’ camp: three A-frame and two rectangular aluminum shacks dotted a bare, rocky hillside. Stu and I, as usual the first of our group, found bunks for three in one of the shacks, for us and the other four people in our party. Before dark, I sat outside on a boulder, fashioning a face mask out of two black socks—the socks stretched across my face, creating slits for my eyes in the space between the two socks. I hoped it woul...
Weekly Contest #177
WOMAN IN SOUTHERN SUDAN In July, 1971, I began an open-ended journey, with only a fixed destination, Tanzania. After my flight from California to Europe, I was determined to travel overland, by whatever means available, which included some hitching but mainly boats, rickety trains, overcrowded buses, and exhaust-spewing lorries (trucks)—either in the cab or atop the overloaded goods the lorry was carrying. I wanted to experience Africans close-up, not viewing them from a distance or even separating myself from them with a first-class tick...
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