A Childlike Pickup Line

I woke up to an invigorating Lake Malawai breeze and looked on the surroundings of Venice Beach where my hammock style tent had provided me with a relieving rest after my Mongochi experience. I packed my bags, ate a tasty omelet, and prepared to head off on the 2 km, 70 lb portage to the Illala Ferry. The walk was tiring enough to help me despise the fact that I was carrying around 20-25 lbs of gear that I wouldn’t get to use on Mt. Kilomanjaro. I got to the toll booth and was relieved to set my bag down as I paid for my boarding pass. The process went smoothly and I now had a ticket for two nights to Nkhata Bay. Procrastinating putting my leviathan gear bag on I hung out with the local craftsman and bought a few souvenirs. In about the middle of the bartering a young three year old boy came up to me called me by name and then grabbed on to my hand. I’ve had a soft spot for children ever since the mud huts in Mwandi Zambia that I built with my group so I thought it was pretty cute. But even after I had to play the twister style game of paying the street vendors the child would still not let go of my hand. At this point I was rather confused so I asked my friends what was happening. Apparently this youngling was supposed to accompany me to the ferry while his mother did some shopping. Heh, what the hell? Once again the strength of the youth of Africa surprised me as the little guy’s vice hold would not give. I gave in and headed for the boat. Along the way I had all sorts of interesting questions like, “Is that your son”? or, “How old is your child”? were asked of me. This is the part where you say is this guy dense? The answer is yes because I trudged on, boy in hand. I made it to the very old boat and said hi to few friends I met in Cape Maclear and tried to explain to them why I now had a very cute African child attached to me. A peace officer began to come around and check passports and as he came to me you can only imagination what my story would be to explain my new found companion. I guess you don’t have to be Angolina Jolie to procure an African child. The crew began to search for the mother and an audible sound that manifested itself was a lot like kidnap. Oh shit!!! As I was being escorted off the boat, and the child I learned was called Roland was crying on the deck behind me, we eventually ran into the mother who was oh so kind to tell the policeman what was going on. After I thankfully was allowed to return to the boat the mother explained to me that she was shopping and that a good way to meet men was to send her child. All is well, I am not a kidnapper and her pickup line failed miserably. Nothing left to do but soak in the sun for two days. Phew!