Cactuses, lizards & salt.

So we have morphed from traveling cruisers into sedentary liveaboards and our place of residence is the mooring stretch which lines the boulevard of Kralendijk city, Bonaire.

Our excursions into the Northern “kunuku” -or the bonairian outback- feels at times like just another episode of Breaking Bad: cactuses, lizards and broken down muscle cars in dilapidated desert back yards. We half expected to see people crawling on their elbows and knees every time we turned a corner. Cacti fences discourage the unlawful entry of premises, sometimes enforced with an unmistakable sign. Wild goats and donkeys dart across the dirt roads into the bush and orange colored troupials perch on top of huge cacti . The sweltering heat is tangible and the stark blue sky is often clouded with red Sahara sand, which every other day we have to scoop up from our deck.

Our neighbors on the water are Americans, Canadians, Australians, Dutch, Swiss and another lost Belgian guy and we all meet in the open air pubs to discuss our fate and to count our blessings that we are anchored down in Bonaire: friendly locals, no Covid so far, good restaurants, minimal crime, a water paradise at our feet, an amazing underwater world to explore and all in all a pleasant vibe. The flamingoes are extremely pink and the Cargill salt pyramids are extremely white.

One of our goals is to get ASAP on a conversational level in Papiamento and the girl at the bar is giving us encouraging personal assistance. She explained to us that the word “makamba “ is not simply the word for a white person as we presumed- not unlike “muzungu” in Swahili- but that it is in fact a derogatory term meaning “ DESPICABLE  white DUTCH person” . Adding, that although I certainly looked very Dutch I was clearly not a despicable specimen, which was quite a relief. She also reassured me that my Papiamento will come along just fine, giving it some time and effort. “Segur, segur”, she said. 

Speaking of despicable white Dutch persons, the remnants of slavery times are all around us and we keep wondering about the ancient old resilience of our African brethren. It sure is a good thing nobody is thinking about revenge, because there is plenty to get worked up about. All of the Caribbean has been drenched in blood, sweat and tears. And every western nation has its statues that need to come tumbling down to be stored away in historical museums.

Acknowledging the above is the only way forward. Segur, segur.