A Snapshot of My Boyhood

A week of nostalgia translated to words

My favorite band, Tegan and Sara, have a rich online presence. Through interactions with them over the last year, they inspired me to improve myself and expand my horizons. There is something about them that makes you try to be better and not give a shit about doing it. As one of my favorite fellow fans said, “You’re not alone Darius! Both Tegan and Sara have something about them that makes you want to be truly authentic and not give a shit!” I love that line and it’s so true. Thanks Rae.

Recently, Tegan wrote a short Substack note about their childhood and how fondly she remembers those times. As I read that, it made me think about my childhood and my family’s times in Africa. One of my favorite things was taking regional trips from the Serengeti, to coastal islands, to mountains. I loved it all. Something that makes me feel warm and comforted was the road trips to all these regional spots. The four of us bouncing along in our big blue Chevy Suburban (it was actually a piece next to the Land Rovers and Toyota FJs but meh, it’s what we had). As I sit here, reminiscing, being inspired by Tegan and Sara and listening to Boyhood by The Japanese House (I’m strange, I know), I remember three things distinctly.

Me, 10(?), with my enormous binoculars

First, we would always, and I mean always, stop at roadside vendors. They were usually school age children with a large cart of something flagging down anyone and everyone to buy their wares. One thing we would always get as a treat was fresh sugar cane. My dad would spot the overloaded cart with long sticks bending under their own weight. He would ask for two, which the kids would hack up into little pieces with their sharp machetes. These would always coincide with refueling our big blue Suburban. Some other items we would buy would be the handmade balsam wood toys. They would be so inventive and fun to play with. Some of them would even have wind up rubber band parts that would propel them on the ground or through the air.

Our old blue Chevy Suburban. That thing was a tank.

Second, it was always high adventure when we stopped to use the bathroom. We didn’t have rest areas out in the bush. We stopped and used a bush. My dad or mom would always climb on the hood of the vehicle to look around for wild animals. They would give the all clear and we’d use the bathroom. I would stand up there with my dad, usually, and use my massive binoculars he gave me. I was the semi-official lookout. I took it seriously, too. I would always scan back and forth around the bathroom area where my brother or my mom went, constantly looking closely for trouble.

Me looking for trouble in our friend’s VW Bus

Finally, while trying to follow a pride of lions, we happened across a Masai hunting party. We had no idea they were in the grass near us, until they stood up. They were beautiful humans to look at. Tall, lean, dark, and brightly dressed - strange for a hunting party. They were also following the pride but they were letting the lions lead them to game they could hunt for themselves. It was brilliant. When they made a kill, the offered peace to us. We sat around a fire with them and shared a cup of the animals blood. It was warm and salty. It made me gag but I held it down. The Masai were impressed that I didn’t vomit, or at least I thought they were.

My brother reminded me of the time I went fishing in a river on one of our adventures in the Serengeti. Neither he or I could remember if I caught something. My guess is that I didn’t. I would’ve remembered that, for sure. Come to think of it, I can’t remember ever eating fish while on safari. Ever.

I have no idea what I was doing there but…those shorts…