A moment in Angola

2004

About 10 years ago in Luanda, after two days of official meetings and depressing rides through muddy streets lined with bullet-ridden buildings and listless ragged people, three of us were taken across the bay to an island fronting the ocean. During lunch at the little bayside restaurant we heard that you could walk to the ocean side, so we headed inland, trudging along a sweltering winding path through scrub and sand, skirting shanty houses, chickens, dogs and staring, naked children.  I felt inappropriately well-fed and uncomfortably pale during that walk.  We finally broke through a hedge of brittle grass and stood, stunned, on a long, wide, gleaming white (and totally empty) beach.  The pure blue ocean stretched out across the whole horizon.  There was no garbage, there were no boats and no people.  A non-descript dog appeared out of nowhere and followed us as we walked slowly along the water.  We tried to throw him a stick but he was suspicious and didn’t go for it.  Still, he followed us, prancing around in circles, keeping us company.  It was surreal – after the oppressive horror of the city.  I was in that moment overwhelmed with disbelief that my life had taken me there, to that beach in Angola.  And it’s what keeps me out there, no matter how jaded I get.  The world is just too damned incredible to believe.