Capela de Trindade and a Precluded Hitchhike.

I am sprinting downhill in a disgruntled, indignant fluster.

Ahhhhhhhh these guys are leaving me behind!!!


There is a thorny tree branch hanging out in the way. I pay attention to the pace at which I’m sprinting down the cobblestoned path. As I approach the thorny branch, I slow down and duck.

It is late evening. The sun has almost completely set, and visibility is impaired.

There is a truck revving at the bottom of the hill. I think it has begun to move.

Yes. Yes it has begun to move.

The two guys who are most likely seated in the leaving truck right now, agreed to give me a ride back to the city centre. They said they would call out to me once they intended to move.

I did not hear anyone call out. I just heard the revving of a painfully familiar truck.

I was at the top of the hill, trying to make sense of a Portuguese Creole signboard installed there.

My proficiency in the Creole language has most of its practice in everyday conversation. Making sense of custom signboards at arbitrary locations- in little light, takes a considerable amount of time.

I am at the base of the hill.

The truck is gone. The truck is very gone.

It’s just me.

Me, this very large and sturdy looking boabab tree with its amusingly smooth and stubby trunk, and then there’s this garden whose lushness is pleasantly unexpected given how relatively dry the island generally is.

Hitchhiking is definitely a lost cause now. I don’t know who else intends to head towards the city this night with a motor vehicle.

I spent the afternoon at the Trindade water processing plant. I wasn’t granted entry into the plant- apparently it’s not exactly a tourist attraction, but I got to speak with one of the workers there.

He provided me with some information about the factory. Told me the water being purified was extracted via a pipeline, from a river in a nearby town on the island. A place called Joao Varela. He seemed like a nice guy. I believe he worked security at the plant.

He actually invited me along for a ride back to the city in a vehicle he and a number of colleagues were being conveyed. Initially agreeing, I later changed my mind because I felt like there was still more to that general area which I had not yet seen.

Now I’m heading back on foot in the dark.

Hahaha. Truck guys abandoned me.

It’s not a completely dark night, and so I can navigate my way back via the one major road which winds through the rainfall-paucity engendered savanna of Santiago.

So far I haven’t encountered any animals in the wild. I also didn’t see any information on such online. It feels like the only thing to actually be worried about when walking through these open woodlands at night, is human beings and their capacity for malevolence. Other things being equal, inanimate objects aren’t interested in doing you harm.

Trees don’t really have the time to bother about you. Rocks are completely occupied by whatever it is that occupies rocks. If you trip on a jutting piece of rock, it was inadvertent. The rock probably did not mean to cause you disconcertion. The moon and the stars are doing their thing and minding their business. Human beings are the ones who can consciously decide to do you harm.

I keep heading towards Praia, laughing and thinking and talking and skipping along the winding road.

Image: A different island, Sal.

A New Island, and an Anxious Burglar.

I am on the island of Santiago, in the Cape Verdean archipelago.

I got here a few weeks ago. It wasn’t actually something I planned- a number of external influences saw me on a plane here from Sal, a neighboring island.

It has been an alright experience so far though. I’ve been taking my time to check Santiago out- see what the place is like. It’s pretty interesting. Not as multicultural as Sal because the economy here is not as reliant on tourism, but that also means Santiago is relatively free from the infuriating and frustrating economic hegemony that exists on the other island:

White people generally have more money on Sal because Euro and Europe, and so a lot of the darker skinned people there have learnt to perceive themselves as being worth less than their white counterparts. Europeans own most of the major hotels and restaurants, and Cape Verdean natives / black people in general work at these places- as bartenders and cleaners and some as sex workers. That’s just what it is.

I’m black, and so there are extremely annoying instances when I walk into a restaurant, and the Cape Verdean receptionist is like:

“Sorry we do not have any work available”.

“I’m sorry, what?”

“You do not have any what?”

That constantly got me annoyed on Sal. On Santiago so far, not at all. Not at all.

Living conditions are currently pretty alright. I’m occupying an entire floor of a multi-storey building in a pretty interesting district.

I think it’s an affluent district in Praia, the island’s capital. I was talking with this woman at Capela de Trindade. Her teenage son invited me in to show him how to get some stuff done on his new computer. He had a pretty interesting setup, interesting room.

I was in a conversation with his mother at some point. From the information I had gathered from a neighbour, plus my own deductions- she lived in this house with her son, and their upkeep plus building costs were taken care of both by her salary as a teacher in a neighboring school, as well as by her string of boyfriends.


She’s asking me some questions and grinning very suspiciously. I’m responding to her questions.

I think she’s sizing me up as a potential boyfriend. We keep talking. At some point she asks where I stay. I tell her. She gives a satisfied smile, like:

“Ah okay, that’s an affluent district. He has money. He’ll do.”


I haven’t been back at Capela de Trindade yet. That guy’s mother seemed like she was looking forward to another visit. I’m not quite sure what I think of the whole thing, I’ve been preoccupied with another concern:

The current living space is pretty cool. There’s a room, bathroom and kitchen amenities, the entire space of the whole storey, and an alright view which so far has proved significantly amenable to some interesting thoughts.

Recently I’ve been imagining what life would be like if I lived in a large house with multiple wives and a plethora of children running about. Just wondering. I don’t know why those thoughts have been coming into my head recently. I don’t know.

In addition I’ve been making songs. Sad, indignant songs about wrenching heartbreak. That has been interesting. I really need to upgrade my music production skills though, they’ve been pretty stagnant for a while now.


I am in front of a factory in Praia. I heard there’s a short term financial opportunity here.

I am currently engineering the transportation of a few thousand dollars to be unlocked from a now-rescinded financial agreement in San Francisco, but in the meantime I am without tangible funds. That has been frustrating.

So I am in front of this factory, along with a number of Cape Verdean natives.

A number of guys were staring at me as I arrived. They were staring at the Converse shoes that were recently given to me as a gift by someone on Sal. Maybe Converse All Stars are not very common here. Maybe. Probably.

The guys are chatting excitedly. One of them takes off his face cap, and to my surprise he ages about ten years instantly because of his balding head. With the cap on I would have placed him in the late twenties. With the cap off, late thirties. Possibly even forties.

Wow. This balding thing.

Another of the guys catches my attention. He has long dreadlocks. Medium height. Dark skin.

Long dreadlocks. Medium height. Dark skin.

Long dreadlocks. Medium height. Dark skin.

Why does all this feel familiar?

I recall the words of a young boy to me on Sal, in the agonizing days after my beachfront apartment was burgled.

“He has long dreadlocks. Medium height. Dark skin. His name is Kelton. He burgled your apartment, sold your valuables and immediately fled via boat to Santiago.”

I think the guy a few feet from me is Kelton. I think this was the guy who burgled my apartment.

Our eyes meet.

I recently had a haircut, and so I look different.

Does he recognize me?

Does he?

Immediately he becomes anxious. He begins to fret perceptibly.

Okay this is definitely Kelton. This is the repugnant being who burgled my apartment and caused me so much pain. This is the abhorrent miscreant. This is the severely detestable motherfu—

Something is happening. I think there is something happening at the factory gate.

Somewhere in the middle of all this, Kelton disappears.