The T'Qozi Adventure Pt 1

Following our visit to Zanzibar, Benji and I got a flavour of adventure and excitement that left an exotic and prickly taste on the tongue. Anyway, we soon forgot her name, and decided a few days later that some sort of exploratory adventure was on the cards. Whilst Benji jetted off to Miami for a weekend of poker and milkshakes, I poured over old copies of National Geograhic, the diaries of Sir Ranulph (hero) Fiennes, and the celebrity pages of Top Hat to try and establish who was discovering where, at the moment.

After several days of gruelling study and four bottles of Tanqueray I realised that the legendary land of the T'Qozi's still lay undiscovered and unchartered. Whats more, no-one could with any certainty, pinpoint exactly within which continent it lay. Aha, a challenge at last!

To cut rather a long and tedious story short, Benji and I spent the next few weeks securing sponsors, equipment and international travel permits and by the following friday stood on the borders of T'Qozi wearing splendid Fuerte Coco surf shorts and Dude Dawg shades, wondering just what incredible fate awaited us.

Well after a few rather luxurious and very reasonable cocktails in a local goatherds bar, we ventured deep into the jungle, led only by our native guide Rubin, and a team of somewhat despondent cameramen who were supposedly filming a documentary on tribal yachtsmen.
After what seemed months (but was possibly several hours) of hardship crawling naked (ish) though swamps and jungle inhabited by venomous biting snakes and irritating hopping tickling toads, we arrived at a small and sunny clearing filled with old tree roots and a rusting Dutch bicycle. There, through the flickering sunlight and tricksey shadows we caught our first glimpse of the T'Qozi people.

Silent at first, and hardly moving, they endlessly counted twigs and ants, as if mesmerised by numbers and amounts. Anything that was stationary, or that moved for that matter, was accounted for by some sign or gesticulation. The T'Qozi did not speak in a language such as we do, they communicated by a series of clicks made primarily by sharp movements of the tongue. Hence the name T'Qozi is pronounced 'click-kozi'. We steadily gained their trust over a number of weeks. At first they seemed shy and easily spooked by our pencils and sunglasses. However once we had shared a few donuts and, a particular favourite as it turned out, Thunderbirds mouse mats, they seemed to trust us and began to share their twigs and ants with us.

By the following tuesday they summoned their dignitaries to meet us. This turned out to be a fellow of immense and respected heritage of a "royalty and voodoo" nature and he called himself Lambone T'Qozi of T'Qozi. Of equal if not greater importance was his (apparent) mother known simply as 'Mama' T'Qozi.

Upon meeting these most incredible people we instantly recognised that whilst they had zero knowledge of western culture, global affairs, or medium density fibreboard, they possesed an uncanny yet natural specialisation for accounting and administration. Within minutes we realised the potential of such talent within the Lazyway organisation and set about securing their transfer to civilisation. A particular bonus we reckoned, was Lambones ability to transform almost any object into a male mallard duck, using his inherently charming black voodoo boogie wherewithall. We sensed a profit.

In further installments we will chart the extraction of Lambone T'Qozi, and also Benji's insistence on following the T'Qozi river sysytem to its source. Benji being a dude who has a natural fear of all things wet, employed the services of respected international expedition canoe consultant Ms Rosemary Carmeltoe to gain the necessary skills required for such a harrowing physical exploit. Rosemary certainly showed him a trick or two and he has not paddled with such enthusiasm since!

Photographs and more to follow!

Cheers

Aston