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National Geographic : 1951 Mar
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The National Geographic Magazine half our new book, Yankee's Wander World. Robert was the disappointed one. He wanted a cyclone, and all he got was 25 con secutive school days. Robert loved school no more than Arthur. He demonstrated enthu siasm for shipboard crafts but dislike for fifth grade books. Reproached for this attitude, the boy explained what he called "the differ ence between learning and teaching." "If it is something you want to know," said he, "it's learning. But if you don't want it, it's teaching." Zanzibar's Strange Sights Bright moonlight flooded white Arab build ings as we arrived at our African destination one morning at 2 a. m. The island was Zan zibar, clove plantation, ivory emporium, and former slave market (page 344). The clove trees were suffering from a blight called "sudden death." Some elephant ivory was still coming in from the mainland; we saw curving tusks carried on naked black shoul ders. Trading in human flesh was no more, but old barred windows suggested the perils of slave times, and some houses were consid ered haunted because slaves had been sealed alive in their masonry. Our boys, exploring the town, wandered into alleys so narrow that they could touch build ings on either side (page 346). They quickly got lost among the curving streets. There did not seem to be a right angle in all Zanzibar. It was useless to ask directions; no resident could point out a straight line. By dint of wandering we eventually found the bazaar, where we bought fresh provisions for the ship. The fish market offered shark, sailfish, eel, barracuda, skate, and albacore. Dealers sharpened knives razor-sharp, flour ished them, and invited us to buy. Cats slunk around corners; stray goats pawed the pave ment. Porters with huge loads shouted for pas sageway through the shopping mob. Bearded Arabs, curved daggers at their waists, strode by in long white robes belted with silver. Tall Indians walked in Nehru-style tunics and trousers. Africans in rags and tatters loped past; others boasted full white nightshirts. Christmas Turkey from an Oriental Bazaar Swahili women wore reds, oranges, and blacks. Moslem ladies veiled themselves in baggy black until only their eyes, peeping out of cloth cages, were visible. Barber and customer sat cross-legged on the ground, one shaving the other. Tailors worked in cubicles just large enough for man and sewing machine. Among these Oriental surroundings, just about as far from America as it was possible to get, we bought our Christmas turkey. The second Christmas of our voyage was celebrated between Madagascar and the Afri can mainland. Pete Sutton led the singing of carols. The girls distributed presents to every one on board. Our Zanzibar turkey, a tender bird, turned up for dinner on Yankee's balanc ing table. We were rounding the Cape of Good Hope when a southwester of almost hurricane force tested the Yankee as neither she nor her pred ecessor, the schooner Yankee, had been tested on our four world voyages. We doused all but two tiny sails, but these heeled the brigantine over until her lee bul warks dipped into the sea. The wind's pres sure on the main staysail's solid-steel traveler bent that two-inch rod six inches out of true (pages 329, 366, 370). Loose lumber on deck was set awash. Be low, Steve Johnson was tossed out of his bunk. He picked himself off the cabin floor and went back to sleep. On awakening he had no memory of the tumble and refused to believe his shipmates until bruises confirmed their story. Robert, wide awake in his bunk at the height of the storm, asked, "What sails are set?" Upon learning, he whooped, "Hooray, only two!" Clad in oilskins, he spent the rest of the night on deck. He loved every bit of the storm, and not only because it meant no school. Yankee, grandly proving her seaworthiness, rode every mountainous sea. Most of the time her deck was dry, and it was never necessary to shut the two companionways. Our amateur crew, real sailors now, met every emergency, and they stowed away three meals a day. Cape Town Recognizes Us from Pictures It was raining when we put into Cape Town January 22, and that evening, as we danced in evening clothes, the patter of raindrops on windows mingled with the strains of soft music, a medley more comforting than the screech of wind through the rigging. Progressive South Africa seemed a lot like home.* The climate, when it was not rain ing, was Californian. Stores were full of American goods. The people were extremely hospitable. Every day Cape Towners came aboard invit ing us to sample home cooking or take tours. * See, in the NATIONAL GEOGRAPHIC MAGAZINE: "Cities That Gold and Diamonds Built," December, 1942; and "Busy Corner-the Cape of Good Hope," August, 1942, both by W. Robert Moore. 350
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