Sunday, August 31, 2008
Arrival in Zanzibar
Well, we've made it to Zanzibar! After a relaxing day in Dar and a night at home watching movies (Aquamarine!) and drinking wine, we boarded the ferry at 10am this morning and by 1pm had reached the fabled "Spice Islands." Conquered first by the Arabs in search of lucrative trading routes with the east, Zanzibar maintains its traditional Swahili, and hence, Muslim culture. The ancient Stonetown provides a glimpse into coastal East Africa's past, its jade-blue waters team with giant tortoises and dolphins, and its well developed tourism infrastructure has tourists flooding its high-end restaurants and boutique hotels. Cathy lived here for 5 years, working at one of Zanzibar's finest resorts, and today her connections granted us access to the island's largest pool and a delicious fresh fish lunch compliments of the general manager. I am really looking forward to spending the next few days exploring the island, its beaches, and especially excited about finally, finally, finally getting to do some shopping! I've spent the past 10 months deliberately not buying much of anything for lack of space and hassle in toting souvenirs around the world, but now that's no longer an excuse. I'm ready to blow the rest of my budget! :)
Thursday, August 28, 2008
A Long Day from Mozambique to Tanzania
Being in Dar Es Salaam and staying at Cathy's house is exactly what I needed. We arrived last night after 15 hours of hitchhiking our way from Mozambique. We spent most of yesterday in the back of a big rig, crawling at a walking pace along a pot-holed dirt road, covering just 200km over the course of 7 hours. The cramped seating, the sluggish heat, and piercing tang of African beats had pushed me to a near breaking point. I sat tucked up into a ball consciously taking deep breaths, calming my agitated thoughts, trying not to think about my rumbling stomach, or the 12 hours we still had ahead of us. And then the engine stopped. 50km from the nearest town, the sun descending quickly towards the horizon, Kate and I sat on the dirt embankment among the dry grasses and prickly bushes, as our 3 male driving team jerry-rigged a solution to the pestering engine problem. I was no longer annoyed, but a little scared. Scared that we'd be stranded with no village in walking distance, with no food or water, and with 3 men in rural Tanzania in the dark. Kate and I exchanged glances. The worry and concern displayed through a tense silence, the paralysis of movement, and prolonged stares off into the distance. Luckily, the scenarios running through our minds vanished when the truck's engine roared to life and the driver shouted, "Twende, twende!" We crawled back into the sleeping quarters of the cab and tucked into the most comfortable positions possible. Happy to just be moving forward, I noticed a difference in my thoughts. What was just an hour before a frustrated, agitated, and negative mindset, had completely flipped to one of appreciation and gratitude to at least be in a moving vehicle. The universe always gives you the experiences you need for the evolution of your consciousness, and this was a clear reminder that a situation is only what you make it, it is how you consciously choose to perceive it. There's no room for negativity, as your situation could always be worse.
Painstakingly we bumped and jolted along the once paved road, a road that's been forgotten and left to the brutalities of nature, watching as over the course of a few hours a handful of private vehicles zoomed past us. I was grateful for the ride we had, but with each passing vehicle, feelings of jealousy crept up as I calculated our chances of getting to Dar before midnight slowly dissolve. Just as the sun disappeared, we screeched to a stop to buy charcoal from a group of boys sitting on the side of the road. Rather than staying in the truck, I hopped out too, barefoot and determined. I stood just beyond the truck, on the side of the road and prayed. I payed to Jesus, to Allah, to Buddha, and to Lord Shiva. I prayed tot he universe to bring a vehicle for us. I stood there in hopeful concentration and pleaded to the universe for help. A few minutes later, the universe answered my prayers. The pickup truck was only going another 30km down the road, but seeing it as an answered prayer, Kate and I hastily threw our bags into the flat bed and waved goodbye to the excruciating hours of big rig travel. Thank you, thank you, thank you.
I kept an eye out the back window, hoping to catch a glance of headlights that maybe, just maybe would be heading for Dar. Just outside of town, we stopped at a police check, and while the driver was being questioned by the authorities, distant headlights raced towards us. As the high beams approached us, I hesitated, but didn't want to risk losing the opportunity to ask. I hopped out of the truck, and again barefoot, ran to the stopped vehicle, waited until the policemen finished their questioning and asked the million dollar question, Are you going to Dar Es Salaam? A wave of hopeful euphoria consumed me as he invited me to jump in. I think I let out a high-pitched scream, threw my hands in the air, spun around on my dancing feet, and waved to Kate to hurry up. I couldn't wipe my face of the smile, of the joy that radiated from my eyes, or of the laughter that bubbled from my soul. The workings of the universe are awesome!
We barreled down the road, flying past villages and towns, past kids bolting across the street and goats and chickens darting to avoid becoming road kill at an exhilaratingly terrifying 140km/hr. By 10pm we were dropped in front of Cathy'sghouse and greeted by her inspiring smile and excited embrace. We exhaustedly showered and devoured a brilliant display of grapes and fresh, hot pasta before collapsing into her massive bed and falling into a deep, deep sleep.
Painstakingly we bumped and jolted along the once paved road, a road that's been forgotten and left to the brutalities of nature, watching as over the course of a few hours a handful of private vehicles zoomed past us. I was grateful for the ride we had, but with each passing vehicle, feelings of jealousy crept up as I calculated our chances of getting to Dar before midnight slowly dissolve. Just as the sun disappeared, we screeched to a stop to buy charcoal from a group of boys sitting on the side of the road. Rather than staying in the truck, I hopped out too, barefoot and determined. I stood just beyond the truck, on the side of the road and prayed. I payed to Jesus, to Allah, to Buddha, and to Lord Shiva. I prayed tot he universe to bring a vehicle for us. I stood there in hopeful concentration and pleaded to the universe for help. A few minutes later, the universe answered my prayers. The pickup truck was only going another 30km down the road, but seeing it as an answered prayer, Kate and I hastily threw our bags into the flat bed and waved goodbye to the excruciating hours of big rig travel. Thank you, thank you, thank you.
I kept an eye out the back window, hoping to catch a glance of headlights that maybe, just maybe would be heading for Dar. Just outside of town, we stopped at a police check, and while the driver was being questioned by the authorities, distant headlights raced towards us. As the high beams approached us, I hesitated, but didn't want to risk losing the opportunity to ask. I hopped out of the truck, and again barefoot, ran to the stopped vehicle, waited until the policemen finished their questioning and asked the million dollar question, Are you going to Dar Es Salaam? A wave of hopeful euphoria consumed me as he invited me to jump in. I think I let out a high-pitched scream, threw my hands in the air, spun around on my dancing feet, and waved to Kate to hurry up. I couldn't wipe my face of the smile, of the joy that radiated from my eyes, or of the laughter that bubbled from my soul. The workings of the universe are awesome!
We barreled down the road, flying past villages and towns, past kids bolting across the street and goats and chickens darting to avoid becoming road kill at an exhilaratingly terrifying 140km/hr. By 10pm we were dropped in front of Cathy'sghouse and greeted by her inspiring smile and excited embrace. We exhaustedly showered and devoured a brilliant display of grapes and fresh, hot pasta before collapsing into her massive bed and falling into a deep, deep sleep.
In a Funk
I am in such a funk! Exhaustion and being ready to go home have combined to put me in a depressed, slightly overwhelmed mood. The feelings come and go, but for about the last week, I've just felt down. I find myself counting the days until I leave and am not realy all that excited about the things I have planned between now and then--shopping in Dar Es Salaam, Zanzibar, a safari in Tarangire National Park, visiting Zach and the girls, and finally, Mt. Kilimanjaro. All phenomenal things in their own right, but I've very much unenthusiastic about it all. I feel frumpy and out of shape, I'm sick of being dirty and grungy, my hands and feet are in a state of absolute disgust, and my clothes are hanging on their final thread. I am ready to be done being a backpacker, to be clean and to wear normal clothes, to go to the grocery store and to go running, to watch movies and laugh with my friends, to have a routine and my own space. I am sick of wearing a bandana on my head everyday, of having orange finger nails from henna that is long past its prime. 20 days and counting.
Wednesday, August 27, 2008
Unbelievable Generosity in Mozambique
Wow, its been a long time since I last wrote...I guess laying on the beach, swimming in the neon blue water, scuba diving, and drinking 2M's have consumed all of my time! Kate and I spent 4 1/2 days in Wimbe Beach and finally indulged in the sunny beach activities we'd been looking forward to for weeks. Mornings were spent with coffee and CNN, a brisk swim in the ocean before breakfast, and by 10am, we'd walk into town, plunk ourselves under the shade of an umbrella and laze away the day with good food, books, music, and the constant lure of the ocean lapping onto the beach. We managed to meet some wonderfully generous people who made out time at Wimbe even more enjoyable-- Michael from Rome treated us to drinks and lunch for the first few days, a handful of South Africans paid for our indulgences on our first evening, and then Grace and Mandy, 2 fresh law school grads from NYC treated us to a great lunch and wine, not to mention they were our accomplices in some fun, but embarrassing evenings at Russell's Place. Even on our way out of Wimbe as we headed north up the coast, we were picked up by a group of South African's who not only gave us a ride up to Mocimboa de Pria, but a comfortable place to stay, a fantastic fish and prawn dinner, and use of a company truck (yea, I got to drive for the first time in a year!). We were treated like family and never allowed to pay for anything.
The generosity that I have experienced over the course of the past 10 months has restored my faith in the inert goodness of human beings. Despite all of the evil and wrong-doings in this world, the vast majority of people are loving, compassionate members of a global community who do try to do good for others. Regardless of what their motives might be, and as selfish as those motives often are, people are genuinely good. It is our environment, exposure to poverty, and a lack of opportunities that corrupts us. Kate adamantly disagrees with me on this, but I am a firm believer in the good that lies in people's hearts, a believer that ultimately good always prevails over evil.
The generosity that I have experienced over the course of the past 10 months has restored my faith in the inert goodness of human beings. Despite all of the evil and wrong-doings in this world, the vast majority of people are loving, compassionate members of a global community who do try to do good for others. Regardless of what their motives might be, and as selfish as those motives often are, people are genuinely good. It is our environment, exposure to poverty, and a lack of opportunities that corrupts us. Kate adamantly disagrees with me on this, but I am a firm believer in the good that lies in people's hearts, a believer that ultimately good always prevails over evil.
Monday, August 25, 2008
Alive and well in Mozambique
Internet has been very expensive and hard to come by in Malawi and Mozambique so I apologize for the lack of updates over the past few weeks. But Kate and I are doing great and having a phenomenal time on the northern coast of Mozambique. I'll post updates once I am back in Tanzania in a week or so. Until then, I'm off to go scuba diving! Ciao!
Sunday, August 24, 2008
Tropical Paradise and Longing for Home
Wimbe Beach stnads up to all of the hype. Silky, white sand beaches glitter in the tropical sun, turquoise, emerald, and royal blue water flistens intothe horizon, and the offshore coral reefs provide an allure of small rolling waves, and the fascination of an underwater kingdom. It's the perfect place to indulge in books, naps, and leisurely swims. But despite all of this, I'm ready to go home. I'm tired of living out of my backpack, of wearing the same clothes everyday, of always having to eat at restaurants. I miss my mom's voice and my sister's laugh. I miss the comfort of being with my family and the day to day routine of life at home. I am really excited to be going home so soon!
Saturday, August 23, 2008
Wimbe Beach, Mozambique
After spending a day wandering the nearly deserted, old streets of Ilha de Mocambique's Stonetown, we had had enough of the strangely quiet, ghost town feel of the old Portugese capital. The gradeur architecture of the once bustling city has been left to deteriorate, falling victim to the satly air and a lack of enterprise. Enormous cathedrals and mansions, forts and statues of Portugese settlers make for beautiful phots, but the lack of things to do and the strange lifeless quality of the place sent us on our way just 24 hours after arriving. With a lack of the white sandy beaches we had been craving, Kate and I set off early yesterday morning for Pemba, a town 7 hours norht and infamous for it's glittering beaches, calm turquoise waters, and picture-perfect tropical allure.
We arrived in Pemba by late afternoon and upon befriending an Italian in town, caught a lift out to Russell's Place, a South African owned camp just across the street from the beach. Turns out we arrived just in time for the celbration of a few birthdays that we being honored with the hosting of a costume party. Huck Finn, a sheriff, a toilet seat, Jane Fonda, and a member of the Fallopian Swim Team, were just a few of the outrageous characters who made the evening memorable. We somehow managed to get all of our drinks bought for us last night, a huge feat considering a cocktail here cost nearly $5! The drunk, meathead of a DJ played terrible music, but for a bystander his music selection made for some gutteral laughing fits as we watcghed people attempt to find the rythym. Most of the party attendees were white South Africans who live here permanently, a tight community that live in a warped reality of Arifkaan's culture, money, and alcohol. All night I felt as though I'd been granted access into the real world of Afrikaaners, like I was watching something that few people actually ever get to see. It was wierd...that's all I can really say about it!
We arrived in Pemba by late afternoon and upon befriending an Italian in town, caught a lift out to Russell's Place, a South African owned camp just across the street from the beach. Turns out we arrived just in time for the celbration of a few birthdays that we being honored with the hosting of a costume party. Huck Finn, a sheriff, a toilet seat, Jane Fonda, and a member of the Fallopian Swim Team, were just a few of the outrageous characters who made the evening memorable. We somehow managed to get all of our drinks bought for us last night, a huge feat considering a cocktail here cost nearly $5! The drunk, meathead of a DJ played terrible music, but for a bystander his music selection made for some gutteral laughing fits as we watcghed people attempt to find the rythym. Most of the party attendees were white South Africans who live here permanently, a tight community that live in a warped reality of Arifkaan's culture, money, and alcohol. All night I felt as though I'd been granted access into the real world of Afrikaaners, like I was watching something that few people actually ever get to see. It was wierd...that's all I can really say about it!
Thursday, August 21, 2008
Arrival in Mozambique
After a series of memorable events--packing 25 adults, 14 children, a couple of chickens, and all of our luggage into the back of a small pickup truck, a vomiting mother, bag swiping boys on bicycles, and a misunderstanding about payments resulting in a kid putting a hex on me--we arrived in Cuamba, Mozambique. Not too much changed once we crossed the border, mud hut, thatched roof villages sprang up occasionally along the road, skinny, scabbed, knobby kneed children covered in dust run to out chase the lone passing vehicle, young women wander down the road with an infant wrapped in colorful fabric on her back, a toddler clenching her finger, and a few older children surrounding her. I can't help but think how desperately these women need access to birth control. I'd guess that 90% of women here, and throughout sub-Saharan Africa are burdened with far too many children. It's no wonder that with an average of 6 children, families cannot pull themselves out of poverty. Rising food and transport prices, poor access to education or health services, and an income completely relying upon ever changing weather patterns, its a hard life, but all it takes to change is empowering women, one village at a time.
Jeffery Sachs is heading the Millennium Development Project whereby he and his team work closely with individual villages in Africa and Asia to help them meet the Millennium Development Goals--access to quality health care, free education for all children, improved, sustainable farming techniques, and women as income generators and small business owners. The success of these villages is astounding, it's heart warming and inspiring to finally hear of an African development project with significant, lasting results. Meaningful success are far too hard to come by out here, especially with the billions of dollars being poured into the continent. But I think Mr. Sachs has taken the right approach. It may be an approach that is much more time consuming and labor intensive, bit it works and that's a lot more than most big NGO's can boast for out here.
Anyways, back to our journey. So the people and landscape changed little when we crossed the border, but what did change was the language. Mozambique is a former Portuguese colony, so unexpectedly Kate and I have found ourselves digging deep to uncover those few words of Spanish that we know. At least we can ask the price of things, and for the most part, understand the numerical responses. But, everyone does call me by name here. Dona in Portuguese means woman or lady, which is a little strange, but humorously amusing.
We arrived in Cuamba on Tuesday evening to the warm glows of a setting sun, wrapping the entire town in a blanket of golden shadows, smoothing the edges of an otherwise dusty small town. The train to Nampula originates in Cuamba and seeing that Kate and I have had more than enough hard, long bus rides in the past few weeks, the prospect of a 12 hour train ride was incentive enough to make it here by Tuesday night, just in time to catch the early morning train on Wednesday. Through limited Spanish, hand gestures, and afew drawings on napkins and in the dirt, we managed to find a hotel, buy tickets for the train, baguettes and snacks for the next day's ride, and even dinner at a local watering hole. The menu was impossibly difficult to decipher, but my first bit into an egg and cheese sandwich had me holding back tears of joy. It tasted just like a McDonald's Egg McMuffin, and its only downfall was that I had finished the thing in 4 bites and it left me craving more. It's funny how much of the past 10 months' memories are centered around food, and this little town will definitely be remembered for it's sande de ovo y queilo.
We woke up at 4am Wednesday morning to board the departing train and wound up in a compartment with 2 English boys, Stewart and Josh. The pair has been traversing the classic London to Cape Town route for the past 7 months, and despite their lack of cleanliness, provided good company for the journey. And best of all, we were able to swap books, so FINALLY we have some decent books to read!
The train stopped frequently in small villages along the way, and I got to indulge in one of my favorite Indian past-times--sampling all of the unknown foods being sold by local villagers. Fried dough, honey peanut brittle, and perfectly tart mandarins were the day's highlihgts. Topped by a bottle of Manica, one of Mozambique's favorite brews, at 10:30 in the morning, and I couldn't have asked for a more pleasurable ride.
We arrived in Nampula, once again to the beauty of a setting sun and what seemed to be the entire town anxiously waiting to greet the arriving train, found a hotel that despite it's high price tag, afforded us the luxury of a hot shower, flush toilet, and CNN. And much to my surprise, this morning, a free breakfast buffet...with I might add, Cornflakes! Oh what a bowl of cereal will do for one's spirit!
Jeffery Sachs is heading the Millennium Development Project whereby he and his team work closely with individual villages in Africa and Asia to help them meet the Millennium Development Goals--access to quality health care, free education for all children, improved, sustainable farming techniques, and women as income generators and small business owners. The success of these villages is astounding, it's heart warming and inspiring to finally hear of an African development project with significant, lasting results. Meaningful success are far too hard to come by out here, especially with the billions of dollars being poured into the continent. But I think Mr. Sachs has taken the right approach. It may be an approach that is much more time consuming and labor intensive, bit it works and that's a lot more than most big NGO's can boast for out here.
Anyways, back to our journey. So the people and landscape changed little when we crossed the border, but what did change was the language. Mozambique is a former Portuguese colony, so unexpectedly Kate and I have found ourselves digging deep to uncover those few words of Spanish that we know. At least we can ask the price of things, and for the most part, understand the numerical responses. But, everyone does call me by name here. Dona in Portuguese means woman or lady, which is a little strange, but humorously amusing.
We arrived in Cuamba on Tuesday evening to the warm glows of a setting sun, wrapping the entire town in a blanket of golden shadows, smoothing the edges of an otherwise dusty small town. The train to Nampula originates in Cuamba and seeing that Kate and I have had more than enough hard, long bus rides in the past few weeks, the prospect of a 12 hour train ride was incentive enough to make it here by Tuesday night, just in time to catch the early morning train on Wednesday. Through limited Spanish, hand gestures, and afew drawings on napkins and in the dirt, we managed to find a hotel, buy tickets for the train, baguettes and snacks for the next day's ride, and even dinner at a local watering hole. The menu was impossibly difficult to decipher, but my first bit into an egg and cheese sandwich had me holding back tears of joy. It tasted just like a McDonald's Egg McMuffin, and its only downfall was that I had finished the thing in 4 bites and it left me craving more. It's funny how much of the past 10 months' memories are centered around food, and this little town will definitely be remembered for it's sande de ovo y queilo.
We woke up at 4am Wednesday morning to board the departing train and wound up in a compartment with 2 English boys, Stewart and Josh. The pair has been traversing the classic London to Cape Town route for the past 7 months, and despite their lack of cleanliness, provided good company for the journey. And best of all, we were able to swap books, so FINALLY we have some decent books to read!
The train stopped frequently in small villages along the way, and I got to indulge in one of my favorite Indian past-times--sampling all of the unknown foods being sold by local villagers. Fried dough, honey peanut brittle, and perfectly tart mandarins were the day's highlihgts. Topped by a bottle of Manica, one of Mozambique's favorite brews, at 10:30 in the morning, and I couldn't have asked for a more pleasurable ride.
We arrived in Nampula, once again to the beauty of a setting sun and what seemed to be the entire town anxiously waiting to greet the arriving train, found a hotel that despite it's high price tag, afforded us the luxury of a hot shower, flush toilet, and CNN. And much to my surprise, this morning, a free breakfast buffet...with I might add, Cornflakes! Oh what a bowl of cereal will do for one's spirit!
Tuesday, August 19, 2008
I Missed the True Malawi
It's a crisp cool morning, the sun just beginning its ascent into the big blue sky, the sounds of morning--the splashing of bucket showers, the hungry cries of children, the honking of horns announcing a buses departure-- are carried by the wind, rustling through the eucalyptus trees. Kate and I expect to cross into Mozambique this afternoon, traveling first to Mandimba and then on to Cuamba. Malawi has been a whirlwind experience, spending only 7 days in the country and primarily at backpacker places at that. I don't feel like I really got to know this country. I didn't eat local food, or learn any words in Chichewa Only once, last night, did we stay in a local guest house. We really skimmed over this country and its the first place that I don't feel like I got the full experience. What I did learn about this country is that its much easier than its neighbors, rightly living up to its label of "Africa for Beginners." Transportation is relatively easy, people for the most part speak English, there are plenty of muzungus to latch onto, and as I reluctantly found out, its well set up for travelers. It's a country I'd love to return to, but next time I want to discover the true Malawi.
Monday, August 18, 2008
Arrival in Lilogwe, Malawi
After 3 full days in Nkhata Bay doing nothing but soaking up the sun on a white sandy beach, diving off of cliffs, and swimming myself to exhaustion, we bid the lakeside paradise farewell to explore a bit more of this tiny landlocked country. A 7 hour bus ride south landed us in Lilongwe, Malawi's capital city. Although we arrived after dark, I was immediately struck by the sense of modernity exuded by the city's composition--neatly stocked grocery shelves, illuminated, well-maintained car dealerships, fast food restaurants, and even cross walks and stop lights that were observed. Based on recommendations from our hosts in Nkhata Bay, we found Kiboki Camp just outside of the city center. The large garden welcomed us to into one of its many tents complete with thick foam mattresses, and after a quick bite of tikka masala and rice, we cozied into our little urban campsite and drifted immediately off to sleep.
Thursday, August 14, 2008
Lake Malawi
I am ready to pack up my life and stay here. Ok, well I guess my life is pretty much packed up, confined to a tiny red backpack and as of late, a papyrus basket from the DRC. But, I honestly think I've found a place where I could be happy, content, and utterly at peace forever. I thought I was almost ready to come home, but now, I'm not sure. I've seen a lot of tropical paradises in the last few months, and none can come close to this. The waters of Lake Malawi are the clearest I've ever seen. Warm, fresh water, and loads of tropical fish darting through the turquoise backdrop, lightening bolts of bright blues, pinks and yellows. Diving down beneath the surface finds a vast world of rocks, caverns, and plant life. The lake's fresh water keeps the fish small, but plentiful and diving down to explore the network of caves is an exhilarating test of one's bravery.
Wednesday, August 13, 2008
From Vwanza Marsh to Nkhata Bay
Sometime well into the night we were awakened by loud rustling, trampling of dry leaves, and the breathy exhalation of elephant sighs. Kate popped out of bed, peered through the reed mat window covers and in a whispered exclamation said, "Dona, you've got to come see this!" A group of 17 elephants grazed across the filed less than 2 meters from our noses, their trunks reaching high into the trees to find the choicest leaves to munch on, the babies staying close tot heir mothers finding comfort in her protections. A high, bright moon illuminated the scene, its light reflecting off the lake and blanketing the mighty creatures in a blue glow. We stood, stooped over the low windows watching in awe as the elephants went about their business, completely unfazed by the two sets of eyes examining them. I eventually tucked myself back in bed and drifted off to sleep to the sounds of the elephants parading around our hut.
At first light, we went for a guided walk through the park, spotting baboons, hippos, impalas, bush backs, and a few more elephants. Our armed guides didn't seem concerned that we were walking less than 5 feet from the waters edge, water that was teaming with hundreds of hippos, Africa's most lethal animal. It made me just a little nervous, but we made it out alive, unscathed, and full of adrenaline. After a leisurely breakfast back at camp, we packed up and caught a ride back to the junction for Nyaka National Park with our Italian friends. We piled ourselves intot he back of a truck with 30 other passengers and all of their luggage, propped ourselves on top of bags of dried fish, tied scarves around our heads, and took off down the road towards the park. Bumping along the road, I struggled to find something secure to hold on to, my bum scooting closer and closer to the cab's edge. I was able to wedge my foot between a few pieces of luggage, providing me with a little more balance and a sense of security that was probably misconceived. The locals laughed, their brilliant smiles lighting up their faces, as they watched us, 2 muzungus riding with them, crammed in there with them, sitting on top of their prized possessions, barreling down a dirt road, past their family and friends, their villages and their reality. There was a definite sense of pride, a commonality, a camaraderie that was exuded.
Unfortunately, the front axle of the truck broke and after coming to a grinding halt, we sat on the side of the road for 2 hours patiently waiting for the new part to arrive from town. Baking out in the sun, hungry, and rising irritability helped us to make the decision to nix the park and head for the beach instead. We caught a ride back to Rumphi in a rare passing vehicle, and after a series of minibuses and a couple of hours, Kate and I found ourselves in Nkhata Bay.
While buying a box of wine at the grocery store, I made friends with Harold, a British carpenter who has been building schools and playgrounds in the area for the past few months. Having friends who run a guest house, he offered to take us out the Butterfly Space, a relaxed, low-key, hippy place right on the water. Perfect. and so, here we are, enjoying the relaxed perfection of a tropical paradise. I can't wait to see this place during the day time. I can only imagine how beautiful it must be.
At first light, we went for a guided walk through the park, spotting baboons, hippos, impalas, bush backs, and a few more elephants. Our armed guides didn't seem concerned that we were walking less than 5 feet from the waters edge, water that was teaming with hundreds of hippos, Africa's most lethal animal. It made me just a little nervous, but we made it out alive, unscathed, and full of adrenaline. After a leisurely breakfast back at camp, we packed up and caught a ride back to the junction for Nyaka National Park with our Italian friends. We piled ourselves intot he back of a truck with 30 other passengers and all of their luggage, propped ourselves on top of bags of dried fish, tied scarves around our heads, and took off down the road towards the park. Bumping along the road, I struggled to find something secure to hold on to, my bum scooting closer and closer to the cab's edge. I was able to wedge my foot between a few pieces of luggage, providing me with a little more balance and a sense of security that was probably misconceived. The locals laughed, their brilliant smiles lighting up their faces, as they watched us, 2 muzungus riding with them, crammed in there with them, sitting on top of their prized possessions, barreling down a dirt road, past their family and friends, their villages and their reality. There was a definite sense of pride, a commonality, a camaraderie that was exuded.
Unfortunately, the front axle of the truck broke and after coming to a grinding halt, we sat on the side of the road for 2 hours patiently waiting for the new part to arrive from town. Baking out in the sun, hungry, and rising irritability helped us to make the decision to nix the park and head for the beach instead. We caught a ride back to Rumphi in a rare passing vehicle, and after a series of minibuses and a couple of hours, Kate and I found ourselves in Nkhata Bay.
While buying a box of wine at the grocery store, I made friends with Harold, a British carpenter who has been building schools and playgrounds in the area for the past few months. Having friends who run a guest house, he offered to take us out the Butterfly Space, a relaxed, low-key, hippy place right on the water. Perfect. and so, here we are, enjoying the relaxed perfection of a tropical paradise. I can't wait to see this place during the day time. I can only imagine how beautiful it must be.
Tuesday, August 12, 2008
Crossing into Malawi and Exploring the North
It's been 6 days since we arrived in Tanzania. 6 long, tiring days of rough bus rides, long waits on desolate, deserted roads, and more meals of beans than either Kate or I care to stomach. After yesterday's 18 hour, 450km bus ride along a sandy dirt track from Tabora to Mbeya, we hopped on yet another bus this morning at 7am on our way to the Tanzanian-Malawi border. We got thoroughly ripped off both on the price of our bus tickets and in the process of changing money, but once we got all of that behind us, we got our passports stamped, waved goodbye to tanzania, and crossed into Malawi, my 12th country in the past 10 months. The beauty of Malawi astonished me--dramatic green peaks, turquoise-jade water streched out towards the horizon. One-fifth of Malawi is covered by Lake Malawi, a tropical, warm, fresh water lake that not only provides the livlihood for millions of Malawians, but also attracts sun worshiping, beach loving tourists. Starting in the north of the country, we're making out way first to Vwanza Wildlife Reserve and Nyaka National Park. We made it as far as Rumphi today on public transportation, but entrace to either of the parks is another 50km from town. After valient, but unsucessful attempts of catching a ride with goods delivery trucks, Kate and I bought some Doritos and sat on the side of the main road and waited. The afternoon was pressing into evening and we'd just about given up hope of making it into the park today, when Roberta and Augernio slowed to my pleading hand gestures. The Italian couple agreed to take us into the park. Our plan had been to go to Nyaka Park, but when Augernio veered the car in the opposite direction, our plans instantly changed. It's interesting that everyday we wake up and have a general idea of what the day will hold, but everyday brings with it surprises and unexpected turn of events that by the time we go to sleep, a completely different day was enjoyed and experienced than what was expected. It's a nice way to live.
Roberta and Augernio were going to Vwanza Wildlife Reserve, and now, so were we. We had no idea what the accomodations would be like, not to mention any idea if there would be any availability, but we've never let that stop us before. An hour outside of town we happened upton the small, unassuming park gate, paid the $5 entry fee, and ventured off into the park to find a place to stay. The woman at the gate gave the simple instructions to "go straight," and that's what we did. A few hundred meters down the dirt road, a family of elephants gathered, grazing on shrubs and tugging leaves off of trees. What we thought was just 3 elephants turned into 7 or 8 as they meandered along the road and through the thick, dry vegetation. We waited patiently in the car, not wanting to get too close to the group which included a few females and their babies. Kate excitedly videotaped what she could from teh backseat, enthusiastically narrating what will likely be very boring footage. After about 20 minutes of wiating, the group cleared the road and we were able to contiue on our search for a small gathering of huts "just up the road." Dusk was giving way to the setting sun and Roberta began expressing her concern about driving around unguided, in the path of wild animals. Blocked by fallen trees and overgrown grasses, the road we were instructed to drive down abruptly ended. Confused, and now even more concerned, Augernio turned the rented sedan around and drove cautiously back towards the main gate. The road split off at various junctions, but with dilapidated, worn signs providng no true clarity, Augernio made the frazzled executive decision to ask one of the park rangers for directions rather than venturing further into unknown, wild territory in the midst of animals migrating to the watering hole for their nightly drink. Good decision Augernio!
It turns out we passed the small huts just after clearing the main gate. Three rustic, reed huts sat grouped together overlooking Vwanza March where hippos and elephants lounged by the water. The dropping crimson sun cast a magical hue across the golden grasses as we sat enchanted by the elephants playing in the water, enthralled by the powerful barks of hippos, and astonished by the vividness of the moment.
Roberta and Augernio were going to Vwanza Wildlife Reserve, and now, so were we. We had no idea what the accomodations would be like, not to mention any idea if there would be any availability, but we've never let that stop us before. An hour outside of town we happened upton the small, unassuming park gate, paid the $5 entry fee, and ventured off into the park to find a place to stay. The woman at the gate gave the simple instructions to "go straight," and that's what we did. A few hundred meters down the dirt road, a family of elephants gathered, grazing on shrubs and tugging leaves off of trees. What we thought was just 3 elephants turned into 7 or 8 as they meandered along the road and through the thick, dry vegetation. We waited patiently in the car, not wanting to get too close to the group which included a few females and their babies. Kate excitedly videotaped what she could from teh backseat, enthusiastically narrating what will likely be very boring footage. After about 20 minutes of wiating, the group cleared the road and we were able to contiue on our search for a small gathering of huts "just up the road." Dusk was giving way to the setting sun and Roberta began expressing her concern about driving around unguided, in the path of wild animals. Blocked by fallen trees and overgrown grasses, the road we were instructed to drive down abruptly ended. Confused, and now even more concerned, Augernio turned the rented sedan around and drove cautiously back towards the main gate. The road split off at various junctions, but with dilapidated, worn signs providng no true clarity, Augernio made the frazzled executive decision to ask one of the park rangers for directions rather than venturing further into unknown, wild territory in the midst of animals migrating to the watering hole for their nightly drink. Good decision Augernio!
It turns out we passed the small huts just after clearing the main gate. Three rustic, reed huts sat grouped together overlooking Vwanza March where hippos and elephants lounged by the water. The dropping crimson sun cast a magical hue across the golden grasses as we sat enchanted by the elephants playing in the water, enthralled by the powerful barks of hippos, and astonished by the vividness of the moment.
Sunday, August 10, 2008
Watch Zakia Run in the Olympics!
Ok, our very own Zakia Mrisho will be representing Tanzania as her country's only female athlete. She will be running in the 5000m race scheduled for Tuesday August 19. Check your local listings and make sure to watch one of the girls from Team 100 make us proud!
Saturday, August 9, 2008
Sitting and Waiting
Well it turns out the bus from Uvinza to Mpanda doesn't come until tomorrow, so Kate and I have spent the better part of the morning sitting on the side of a road, chasing the fleeting shade, hoping to find a ride south. The nearest town is a 45 minutes walk in the opposite direction, but luckily we stocked up on snacks, namely a tub of peanut butter, crackers, and BBQ Pringles before we left Kigoma yesterday. So at least we won't be hungry! It's only 11am but the sun's rays are heating up the dry, dusty earth, scorching our necks and the early morning shade has become a rare commodity--Kate and I sit huddled under the last remaining shade in sight. The distant rumble of approaching trucks provides hopeful entertainment as the trickle of villagers greet us with concerned curiosity.
Friday, August 8, 2008
Rantings for the Day
We got talking to a few of our fellow passengers on the bus this afternoon, and soon Kate was speaking French with the man sitting behind us. John and his family have been living in a Congolese refugee camp in Western Tanzania for the past 12 years. The language barrier made fully grasping his story difficult, but it was an interaction that really got me thinking. 12 years. 12 years of living in a temporary hut. 12 years of waiting, hoping, praying that you'll be able to go home. His children were born in the camp and know no other life. 12 years of waiting for food rations. 12 years ago he was a man of dignity, a man who was able to provide for his family, a man with a career and dreams for the future. But fleeing his county and being left no other option other than settling in a camp in the far reaches of Tanzania's most remote region, has stripped him of that pride and dignity. His eyes watered with grief and his body shook as he told his story. It made me feel inadequate and helpless. But as I sat there, gazing blankly at the passing scenery, I realized that I'm not helpless, that there is always something you can do to invoke change.
The UN presence is everywhere here, brand new, white SUV's with UN plastered boldly on the sides, zipping down roads, parked in 5 star resorts or beind the protection of secure gates. Signs dot the roads with UN logos, pointing out the upcoming refugee camps and various other projects they have here. The World Food Proggrame, UNICEF, etc. But what is really being done? Why are children growing up as refugees? Why are entire families permanently living a life of temporary subsistence? 12 years, that's inexcusable. And John's story is by no means uncommon. What is the UN truly doing for these people? Hosting conferences at 5-star resorts? Writing quality control reports from the comfort of their plush homes? Conducting site visits in their obscenely expensive vehicles? And for what? It is unacceptable that with the hundreds of millions of dollars being funneled into these countries each year that people fleeing their homes cannot be decently provided for. Having a job with the UN, or any other major NGO for that matter, is like being part of an exclusive club. It's who you know that gets you the job offer, then there's the private UN hospitals, the executive clubs, the homes outfitted with $120,000 worth of upgrades, the unconditional use of UN vehicles for work and pleasure, the tax incentives, and a lifestyle that is unattainable at home. Obviously there is work being done and objectives being accomplished, but what's the true motive and where are the absolute, tangible, significant results? I don't call thousands of people still living in camps after over a decade results. That's failure of a bureaucratic organization tangled up in its own red tape, its own agenda. An agenda that has a lot more to do with guilt from the past than anything else.
I wish I had a solution rather than just complaints, but what I do have is the optimism that my nationality can make a difference in the life of John and his family. I promised John that I would do my best to improve his situation, and even if that's just pushing his asylum seeking status through to higher ups within the UN, well then at least its a step in the right direction. All we can do is provide hope. Once people lose hope, they lose a lot more.
The UN presence is everywhere here, brand new, white SUV's with UN plastered boldly on the sides, zipping down roads, parked in 5 star resorts or beind the protection of secure gates. Signs dot the roads with UN logos, pointing out the upcoming refugee camps and various other projects they have here. The World Food Proggrame, UNICEF, etc. But what is really being done? Why are children growing up as refugees? Why are entire families permanently living a life of temporary subsistence? 12 years, that's inexcusable. And John's story is by no means uncommon. What is the UN truly doing for these people? Hosting conferences at 5-star resorts? Writing quality control reports from the comfort of their plush homes? Conducting site visits in their obscenely expensive vehicles? And for what? It is unacceptable that with the hundreds of millions of dollars being funneled into these countries each year that people fleeing their homes cannot be decently provided for. Having a job with the UN, or any other major NGO for that matter, is like being part of an exclusive club. It's who you know that gets you the job offer, then there's the private UN hospitals, the executive clubs, the homes outfitted with $120,000 worth of upgrades, the unconditional use of UN vehicles for work and pleasure, the tax incentives, and a lifestyle that is unattainable at home. Obviously there is work being done and objectives being accomplished, but what's the true motive and where are the absolute, tangible, significant results? I don't call thousands of people still living in camps after over a decade results. That's failure of a bureaucratic organization tangled up in its own red tape, its own agenda. An agenda that has a lot more to do with guilt from the past than anything else.
I wish I had a solution rather than just complaints, but what I do have is the optimism that my nationality can make a difference in the life of John and his family. I promised John that I would do my best to improve his situation, and even if that's just pushing his asylum seeking status through to higher ups within the UN, well then at least its a step in the right direction. All we can do is provide hope. Once people lose hope, they lose a lot more.
From Kigali to Kigoma
On Tuesday morning we said good riddance to the DRC and headed back to Kigali. After a night in Kigali, we headed east for the Tanzanian border and back into a country of cheap food, cheap accommodations, and a familiar language. Western Tanzania is vast, open, and remote. The roads are unpaved, dusty tracks cutting through endless landscape of dry grasses, rolling hills, and acacia trees. Small villages crop up along the roadside every now and then, providing a great contrast to Rwanda's hilly roads that are inundated with men on bicycles, women walking with massive loads on their heads and infants on their backs, and seemingly endless numbers of children spilling from the hills. By Wednesday evening, we had made it as far as Nyakanazi, a small, but typical rural Tanzania town consisting of a smattering of shops that all sell the same basic necessities, a few restaurants all offering nyama choma (grilled meat), ugali, and beans, with a guest house attached to the back. With no electricity or running water and tired from 2 full days on the road, we had called it a night by 8pm. Of course, as soon as we had laid down and gone through the nightly mosquito net ritual, the electricity came on bringing with it bright lights, blaring music, and screaming TV sets. I was able to drown out the obnoxious commotion and fell asleep relatively easily, but by the sleepy look of Kate the next morning, she didn't have such a good night.
After sitting on the side of the road for close to 2 hours, the bus for Kigoma finally arrived. Packed to the bursting point with people, market goods, and even a few chickens, Kate secured seats for us (although I think a few passengers lost their seats in the process) while I found room for our backpacks underneath the bus. According to my map, the road to Kigoma appeared to be paved, however the hopes of a smooth ride were quickly dashed as we took off down the red dirt road. Having the window seat and Kate in the aisle, her patience was tested and the invasion of personal space severely violated. People from the aisles practically sat in her lap, elbows rested on her head, and chickens squawked in her face. She's learning some good lessons in patience here, and after a few moments of irritated frustration, took it all in stride. I am really proud of how well she continues to adjust to the harshness of life here, and although we still have different preferences in terms of food and accommodation, we are traveling very well together. I think we bring good balance to each other and have both learned a lot about compromise.
The bus stopped for a 15-minute lunch break about 4 hours into the 10 hour journey, and seeing the fatigue in Kate's demeanor from the constant onslaught of people touching her and bumping into her, I offered to switch seats. She happily accepted. The remainder of the bus ride was much the same as the first half--a bumpy dirt road, red dirt coating everything exposed to its constant cloud, and the loud rattling of glass windows set into window grates that were just a little too big. Kate's face and chest slowly accumulated a thick layer of copper red dirt, and by the time we arrived in Kigoma she was unrecognizable. Her sunglasses created a raccoon effect around her eyes and her teeth suddenly seemed blindingly white. Noticing her appearance, the sly giggles of passengers spread and soon the entire bus was talking about her. Pointing, smiling, laughing. The laughter was contagious and soon both of us were keeled over in our seats, tears brimming our eyes, our sides cramping from lack of oxygen. It's been a while since I laughed that hard. Why she was so much dirtier than anyone else on the bus is beyond me, but it was probably one of the funniest things I've ever seen!
We got off the bus tot he onslaught if taxi drivers biding for our business. Kate desperately wanted to stay in a nice hotel where she could take a hot shower so directed our chosen taxi to the Lake Tangayika Beach Hotel. But after driving down a road clearly under construction, we were informed that the hotel had closed. Refering to Lonely Planet for another potential hotel, we asked the driver to take us to Hilltop Hotel. His beat up old Toyota Corolla chugged its way up the hill towards the hotel, but without enough gas, the engine kept cutting out. Park. Reverse. Neutral. Turn the key. Give it a little gas, and off we go. We made it up to the resort overlooking Lake Tangayika and the eastern most reaches of the DRC, only to nbe told that the hotel had no vacancies. I'm convinced our taxi driver was some 16 year old kid who borrowed his big brother's car for the afternoon to see if her could make a little money, because honestly he was completely incompetent. We drove around for the next 20 minutes searching for a place to stay. Yet despite signs pointing towards hotels and guest houses, stopping to ask for directions, and an engine that couldn't stay running for more than 2 minutes, we seemed to go in circles. And in a small town with only a handful of guest houses, it was pretty pathetic. Park. Reverse. Neutral. Turn the key. And off we go. We finally made it to Omega Guest House where luckily there was running water, otherwise Kate probably would have started crying. The place wasn't exactly the $140 a night place on the hill that Kate was hoping for, but it had warm water, a functional shower head, and a comfortable bed. What more could you possibly ask for?
After sitting on the side of the road for close to 2 hours, the bus for Kigoma finally arrived. Packed to the bursting point with people, market goods, and even a few chickens, Kate secured seats for us (although I think a few passengers lost their seats in the process) while I found room for our backpacks underneath the bus. According to my map, the road to Kigoma appeared to be paved, however the hopes of a smooth ride were quickly dashed as we took off down the red dirt road. Having the window seat and Kate in the aisle, her patience was tested and the invasion of personal space severely violated. People from the aisles practically sat in her lap, elbows rested on her head, and chickens squawked in her face. She's learning some good lessons in patience here, and after a few moments of irritated frustration, took it all in stride. I am really proud of how well she continues to adjust to the harshness of life here, and although we still have different preferences in terms of food and accommodation, we are traveling very well together. I think we bring good balance to each other and have both learned a lot about compromise.
The bus stopped for a 15-minute lunch break about 4 hours into the 10 hour journey, and seeing the fatigue in Kate's demeanor from the constant onslaught of people touching her and bumping into her, I offered to switch seats. She happily accepted. The remainder of the bus ride was much the same as the first half--a bumpy dirt road, red dirt coating everything exposed to its constant cloud, and the loud rattling of glass windows set into window grates that were just a little too big. Kate's face and chest slowly accumulated a thick layer of copper red dirt, and by the time we arrived in Kigoma she was unrecognizable. Her sunglasses created a raccoon effect around her eyes and her teeth suddenly seemed blindingly white. Noticing her appearance, the sly giggles of passengers spread and soon the entire bus was talking about her. Pointing, smiling, laughing. The laughter was contagious and soon both of us were keeled over in our seats, tears brimming our eyes, our sides cramping from lack of oxygen. It's been a while since I laughed that hard. Why she was so much dirtier than anyone else on the bus is beyond me, but it was probably one of the funniest things I've ever seen!
We got off the bus tot he onslaught if taxi drivers biding for our business. Kate desperately wanted to stay in a nice hotel where she could take a hot shower so directed our chosen taxi to the Lake Tangayika Beach Hotel. But after driving down a road clearly under construction, we were informed that the hotel had closed. Refering to Lonely Planet for another potential hotel, we asked the driver to take us to Hilltop Hotel. His beat up old Toyota Corolla chugged its way up the hill towards the hotel, but without enough gas, the engine kept cutting out. Park. Reverse. Neutral. Turn the key. Give it a little gas, and off we go. We made it up to the resort overlooking Lake Tangayika and the eastern most reaches of the DRC, only to nbe told that the hotel had no vacancies. I'm convinced our taxi driver was some 16 year old kid who borrowed his big brother's car for the afternoon to see if her could make a little money, because honestly he was completely incompetent. We drove around for the next 20 minutes searching for a place to stay. Yet despite signs pointing towards hotels and guest houses, stopping to ask for directions, and an engine that couldn't stay running for more than 2 minutes, we seemed to go in circles. And in a small town with only a handful of guest houses, it was pretty pathetic. Park. Reverse. Neutral. Turn the key. And off we go. We finally made it to Omega Guest House where luckily there was running water, otherwise Kate probably would have started crying. The place wasn't exactly the $140 a night place on the hill that Kate was hoping for, but it had warm water, a functional shower head, and a comfortable bed. What more could you possibly ask for?
Wednesday, August 6, 2008
Troubles at the Border
Yesterday morning Kate befriended Mr. B (his real name has to remain unknown due to security issues) and James and foreign service officer and a pilot for the UN. Kate has been looking for connections with both organizations, so we chatted with them over breakfast, and on a whim decided to stay here another day. Having their own vehicle, they offered to show us around a bit, see some of the Rwandan countryside, tour the Primus brewery, and then meet up with a few of their friends for dinner. Perfect. We set off at 11am, and after securing our DRC exit stamps, walked across the border into Rwanda and waited for the driver to come through. Being diplomats we were waved through, our documents never checked, let alone stamped to indicate we had entered Rwanda. We hung around the border post for a good 20 minutes before the diplomatic vehicle cleared the border, but once it did, we jumped in and drove along the scenic lake shore road towards the Primus Brewery. Lonely Planet noted that the brewery offers frees tours, so we figured we'd show up and see what happens. The security guard denied us at the gate saying to come back on Wednesday. I think he was simply intimidated by the flashing of a diplomatic passport in his face, had it been just Kate and I, I think we could have gotten in no problem. Back in the car, looking at the map, and with no clue as to what to do next, we drove around the hills of eastern Rwanda. Neither Mr. B or James had yet been to Rwanda, so they enjoyed getting to see the endless terraced hills, lakeside villages, and of course, all of the people. Rwanda is such a densely populated country that something as basic as finding a place to pee on the side of a remote, dirt road can be a frustrating challenge. After a few hours of driving, I resorted to peeing on the side of a steep hill, wedged between two trees and the moderate protective anonymity of shrubs, to the sing-song chanting of "Muzungu! Muzungu!" provided compliments of a group of young kids. Hungry, and with no town within moderate driving distance, we headed back to Gisyeni where we stopped at the Stip Hotel for lunch. Prince and Jeanette were working and greeted us with shining smiles and warm embraces. A delicious lunch of grilled cheese and chips was paid for compliments of the daily stipend issued to UN employees, and after filing our stomachs with the nostalgia of classic American food, we drove back to the DRC-Rwanda border. Once again, we were waved through immigration, our passports never even glanced at. Sweet. That was too easy. I thought to myself. At the DRC immigration office however, all of that changed.
"Where are your Rwandan exit stamps?" the cheery border guard questioned. Mr. B explained to him that because of his diplomatic status, entry and exit stamps for Rwanda were never obtained, and that our documents were never even checked. Perplexed, but adamant that we have the appropriate stamps before we could enter the Congo, we were turned away and told to go back to Rwanda. Walking back through the 100m of "no man's land" between the two countries, a strip of land which belongs to neither country, but which typically requires you to have the appropriate stamps to enter or exit, I envisioned us getting stuck, unable to re-enter Rwanda or the DRC simply because of a misunderstanding and lack of proper border control. The embassy's would have to come get us out. Luckily that didn't happen. The immigration officer nearly lost his temper when he realized we had entered his country illegally a few hours before and then left his country without any formal record of our movement. He ranted about how we had broken the law, how we could easily be thrown into jail. I let Mr. B deal with it, tried to keep a low-profile, and stay out of the heated situation which seemed to be gearing up for a bull fight. But again, luckily that didn't happen. After a stern warning and glaring eyes, we filled out the appropriate entry and exit cards, our information was inputted into the computer, our passports were stamped, and we were on our way back to the DR Congo.
Happily the Congolese border guard ushered us through to the immigration officer without checking for the Rwandan stamps he so adamently insisted upon at our last crossing attempt. He smiled and waved, and welcomed us into his country. This is Africa, and I've learned to stop questioning the completely illogical. It's African logic, and mos of the time I don't get it.
The stern faced immigration officer sitting behind a barred window took our passports, immediately stamped Mr. B and Jame's documents, but fumbled through the two remaining passports disgruntled and agitated. The man, who must have had a long, tough day, peered up from his desk and pointed his finger at me, indicating that he needed to have a word with the two of us. Confidently we entered the immigration office, knowing full well that we had the appropriate, valid visas needed for re-entry. The man told us so himself that very morning. In broken English, he methodically explained the difference between a single and a multiple entry visa, and that our visas were 8-day single entry only. I tried my best in both English and Swahili, and with Kate chiming in in French, to remind him that not only did he tell me differently that morning, but that no where on either my receipt or in my passport did it indicate single entry. He refused to listen. Another woman butted in, picking up our passports, inspecting them, and then in sheer disgust slammed both passports onto the desk, "Impossible! No visa, no Congo!," the words flying from her mouth accompanied by sprays of spit. Between Kate and I, we didn't have the $70 to cover the unnecessary, but seemingly absolutely necessary visas. We stepped outside to discuss our options. I suggested we just walk the 200m to our hotel, stay the night, and upon exit in the morning, deal with it then. The immigration officers were too busy to notice us walk out of the room and didn't seem bothered by the face that we'd now begun walking down the road into Goma. I wanted to hedge our bets and hope that new immigration officials would be manning the office in the morning, and hopefully get around paying for an additional visa. Kate on the other hand thought we'd end up in a Congolese jail with my plan, and on the verge of tears and a panic attack, we went back into the immigration office to deal with the situation. Kate sat silently in the corner and let me do the talking. I embellished some story, showed him my shmorgeshboard collection of currencies, and told him that if he took all of it,. I wouldn't be able to eat dinner. Somehow he must have pitied me, took the $25 in US cash, and left me with a few hundred Congolese francs so that we wouldn't go hungry. Despite the fact that we got back into the country for $25 rather than $70, the officer slyly slipped the cash directly into his pocket. We so just gave him a $25 bonus. Corruption once again, and its so frustrating. I hate to be part of such a fundamentally debilitating system that has taken hold of so many African countries, but what choice are you given? I hope he at least feeds his family with that money, or pays his children's school fees rather than pissing it away on a few bottles of Tembo.
"Where are your Rwandan exit stamps?" the cheery border guard questioned. Mr. B explained to him that because of his diplomatic status, entry and exit stamps for Rwanda were never obtained, and that our documents were never even checked. Perplexed, but adamant that we have the appropriate stamps before we could enter the Congo, we were turned away and told to go back to Rwanda. Walking back through the 100m of "no man's land" between the two countries, a strip of land which belongs to neither country, but which typically requires you to have the appropriate stamps to enter or exit, I envisioned us getting stuck, unable to re-enter Rwanda or the DRC simply because of a misunderstanding and lack of proper border control. The embassy's would have to come get us out. Luckily that didn't happen. The immigration officer nearly lost his temper when he realized we had entered his country illegally a few hours before and then left his country without any formal record of our movement. He ranted about how we had broken the law, how we could easily be thrown into jail. I let Mr. B deal with it, tried to keep a low-profile, and stay out of the heated situation which seemed to be gearing up for a bull fight. But again, luckily that didn't happen. After a stern warning and glaring eyes, we filled out the appropriate entry and exit cards, our information was inputted into the computer, our passports were stamped, and we were on our way back to the DR Congo.
Happily the Congolese border guard ushered us through to the immigration officer without checking for the Rwandan stamps he so adamently insisted upon at our last crossing attempt. He smiled and waved, and welcomed us into his country. This is Africa, and I've learned to stop questioning the completely illogical. It's African logic, and mos of the time I don't get it.
The stern faced immigration officer sitting behind a barred window took our passports, immediately stamped Mr. B and Jame's documents, but fumbled through the two remaining passports disgruntled and agitated. The man, who must have had a long, tough day, peered up from his desk and pointed his finger at me, indicating that he needed to have a word with the two of us. Confidently we entered the immigration office, knowing full well that we had the appropriate, valid visas needed for re-entry. The man told us so himself that very morning. In broken English, he methodically explained the difference between a single and a multiple entry visa, and that our visas were 8-day single entry only. I tried my best in both English and Swahili, and with Kate chiming in in French, to remind him that not only did he tell me differently that morning, but that no where on either my receipt or in my passport did it indicate single entry. He refused to listen. Another woman butted in, picking up our passports, inspecting them, and then in sheer disgust slammed both passports onto the desk, "Impossible! No visa, no Congo!," the words flying from her mouth accompanied by sprays of spit. Between Kate and I, we didn't have the $70 to cover the unnecessary, but seemingly absolutely necessary visas. We stepped outside to discuss our options. I suggested we just walk the 200m to our hotel, stay the night, and upon exit in the morning, deal with it then. The immigration officers were too busy to notice us walk out of the room and didn't seem bothered by the face that we'd now begun walking down the road into Goma. I wanted to hedge our bets and hope that new immigration officials would be manning the office in the morning, and hopefully get around paying for an additional visa. Kate on the other hand thought we'd end up in a Congolese jail with my plan, and on the verge of tears and a panic attack, we went back into the immigration office to deal with the situation. Kate sat silently in the corner and let me do the talking. I embellished some story, showed him my shmorgeshboard collection of currencies, and told him that if he took all of it,. I wouldn't be able to eat dinner. Somehow he must have pitied me, took the $25 in US cash, and left me with a few hundred Congolese francs so that we wouldn't go hungry. Despite the fact that we got back into the country for $25 rather than $70, the officer slyly slipped the cash directly into his pocket. We so just gave him a $25 bonus. Corruption once again, and its so frustrating. I hate to be part of such a fundamentally debilitating system that has taken hold of so many African countries, but what choice are you given? I hope he at least feeds his family with that money, or pays his children's school fees rather than pissing it away on a few bottles of Tembo.
Sunday, August 3, 2008
Coffee and Rambling Thoughts
What a gorgeous morning! The rising sun is casting its warm glow over the lake as I sit here drinking REAL coffee, eating tropical fruit salad, and listening to the lake's water lap the shore. Kate unfortunately is sick in bed with horrible stomach cramping and a bad case of diarrhea. We had planned to return to Kigali today, but in her current condition, we may very well spend another day here in Goma. Last night I finally got all of my photos uploaded...what a relief! I've struggled to find decent a internet connection in most of the East African region, and its funny that it's here in the DR Congo, that I've not only found a decent connection, but it's free!
It's an interesting phenomenon being a tourist here, as other than Kate and me, they simply don't exist. Goma is held by the government and UN Peacekeeping forces to ensure that the rebels stay out, providing relative security for the hundreds of foreigners who work for NGO's and the UN here. The outskirts of Goma and beyond are controlled by various rebel groups. Check-points and rebel patrols make travel in the eastern part of this country incredibly difficult and dangerous, however it's good to know that the NGO's haven't pulled out. Save the Children, UNHCR, World Vision, USAID, and countless others continue to operate out of Goma as much of the region continues to be controlled by rebels who attack villages, rape women, and force children into becoming child soldiers. IN January, a peace deal was signed between the government and rebels and to date, seems to be holding. However, local papers report that some of the rebel factions are beginning to arm themselves again in preparation for more fighting. My understanding of the conflict is limited, but what I can say is that it all goes back to injustice and power.
Poverty for some breeds hopelessness and envy of the more fortunate, creating a sense of imbalance and injustice. With nothing to lose and the potential for huge gains, men all too often resort to violence to gain control and ultimately power over others, over a situation, or over a region. This phenomenon has repeated itself thousands of times throughout history and around the world, and despite our claims to learn from our mistakes, to never again let history repeat itself, the issues of injustice, of greed, and of the accumulation of power are much too complex to simply say we will never let it happen again. Genocide, civil war, ethnic cleansing, and gang violence are still very real threats and still very much a reality for millions across the globe. There is immediate or simple solution, or for that matter, even a complex international accord that will create lasting long-term results. I think we as a species, as human beings, have reached a point in our history where its only through widespread evolution of our consciousness that sustained change will come.
The gap betwe4en the have's and the have not's is widening at an alarming pace. Technology is creating exceptional advances in medicine, in communication, and in education. But all of these advances are only available to a small percentage of the world. Why is it that in the west, we've been able to successfully transplant organs and limbs, save people from cancer, and help others to live relatively healthy, normal lives with AIDS, but in Africa, 1 million children still die every year from malaria? We've eradicated malaria from the US, from many Asian countries, from Australia, why can't we eradicate it in any African country? The technology and know-how are there, but its the lack of will, the perceived importance that is lacking. Humans are greedy, but I also believe greed is a concept of the physical self. Each of us are on a path towards enlightenment, a path that takes our souls many rebirths to attain. The harshness and complexity of life seems to have made realizing and acknowledging that inner-soul much more difficult. As a species,. we have moved away from seeking to understand to desperately seeking to gain. Rather than focusing on our eternal souls, the sameness that each of us share, and choosing to love others, we have an overwhelming tendency to focus on our physical selves, our egos. By doing so, our primary focus is on the betterment of individuals, the accumulation of material things, and the attainment of power and control. We obsess with labeling ourselves as Christians, as white or black, as a Ugandan, or as a Hutu. As a runner, or a mother, as a leader or a follower. By doing so, we lose sense of who we are as eternal beings, of our true nature at the level of our souls, and out of fear of losing control, we hang on to those labels in desperation. It's these labels and the notion of right versus wrong that they carry, that we divide ourselves and can begin to justify horrible actions and thoughts. As human beings, we need to evolve away from our obsession with labeling each other into the framed reference of self-realization. We need to stop looking to the future for change, for peace, and for happiness. All of those things are already here, right now in the present. We're simply too blinded by our egos to see it, too focused on the external to make the necessary shift. As granola as it sounds, it all comes down to love. Absolute love and acceptance for yourself and for those around you, despite the physical differences we may have, or the different beliefs that we hold. Once you can love and accept yourself, all the perceived problems that you have will dissolve and disappear as the universe aligns itself with you. The power of the universe--some call it karma, others call it God, whatever it is, once you are in full alignment with it, anything is possible. That's what I think its going to take to change the world.
It's an interesting phenomenon being a tourist here, as other than Kate and me, they simply don't exist. Goma is held by the government and UN Peacekeeping forces to ensure that the rebels stay out, providing relative security for the hundreds of foreigners who work for NGO's and the UN here. The outskirts of Goma and beyond are controlled by various rebel groups. Check-points and rebel patrols make travel in the eastern part of this country incredibly difficult and dangerous, however it's good to know that the NGO's haven't pulled out. Save the Children, UNHCR, World Vision, USAID, and countless others continue to operate out of Goma as much of the region continues to be controlled by rebels who attack villages, rape women, and force children into becoming child soldiers. IN January, a peace deal was signed between the government and rebels and to date, seems to be holding. However, local papers report that some of the rebel factions are beginning to arm themselves again in preparation for more fighting. My understanding of the conflict is limited, but what I can say is that it all goes back to injustice and power.
Poverty for some breeds hopelessness and envy of the more fortunate, creating a sense of imbalance and injustice. With nothing to lose and the potential for huge gains, men all too often resort to violence to gain control and ultimately power over others, over a situation, or over a region. This phenomenon has repeated itself thousands of times throughout history and around the world, and despite our claims to learn from our mistakes, to never again let history repeat itself, the issues of injustice, of greed, and of the accumulation of power are much too complex to simply say we will never let it happen again. Genocide, civil war, ethnic cleansing, and gang violence are still very real threats and still very much a reality for millions across the globe. There is immediate or simple solution, or for that matter, even a complex international accord that will create lasting long-term results. I think we as a species, as human beings, have reached a point in our history where its only through widespread evolution of our consciousness that sustained change will come.
The gap betwe4en the have's and the have not's is widening at an alarming pace. Technology is creating exceptional advances in medicine, in communication, and in education. But all of these advances are only available to a small percentage of the world. Why is it that in the west, we've been able to successfully transplant organs and limbs, save people from cancer, and help others to live relatively healthy, normal lives with AIDS, but in Africa, 1 million children still die every year from malaria? We've eradicated malaria from the US, from many Asian countries, from Australia, why can't we eradicate it in any African country? The technology and know-how are there, but its the lack of will, the perceived importance that is lacking. Humans are greedy, but I also believe greed is a concept of the physical self. Each of us are on a path towards enlightenment, a path that takes our souls many rebirths to attain. The harshness and complexity of life seems to have made realizing and acknowledging that inner-soul much more difficult. As a species,. we have moved away from seeking to understand to desperately seeking to gain. Rather than focusing on our eternal souls, the sameness that each of us share, and choosing to love others, we have an overwhelming tendency to focus on our physical selves, our egos. By doing so, our primary focus is on the betterment of individuals, the accumulation of material things, and the attainment of power and control. We obsess with labeling ourselves as Christians, as white or black, as a Ugandan, or as a Hutu. As a runner, or a mother, as a leader or a follower. By doing so, we lose sense of who we are as eternal beings, of our true nature at the level of our souls, and out of fear of losing control, we hang on to those labels in desperation. It's these labels and the notion of right versus wrong that they carry, that we divide ourselves and can begin to justify horrible actions and thoughts. As human beings, we need to evolve away from our obsession with labeling each other into the framed reference of self-realization. We need to stop looking to the future for change, for peace, and for happiness. All of those things are already here, right now in the present. We're simply too blinded by our egos to see it, too focused on the external to make the necessary shift. As granola as it sounds, it all comes down to love. Absolute love and acceptance for yourself and for those around you, despite the physical differences we may have, or the different beliefs that we hold. Once you can love and accept yourself, all the perceived problems that you have will dissolve and disappear as the universe aligns itself with you. The power of the universe--some call it karma, others call it God, whatever it is, once you are in full alignment with it, anything is possible. That's what I think its going to take to change the world.
Saturday, August 2, 2008
Pictures, Pictures, Pictures!
I am absolutely ELATED to announce that finally, after days and days of effort, I have uploaded most of my photos from the past few weeks. Unfortunately, I lost about 2 weeks worth of photos due to a technical issue at one of the internet cafes, so that means no photos of the girls running at regionals, or my visit to their rural villages in Singida, or the pineapple hairdo in Dar Es Salaam. I'm just happy that it was only two weeks worth and not more. I've organized the photos by country, so click on the link below and then take your time to browse through Kenya, Tanzania, Uganda, Rwanda, and the DR Congo. Enjoy!
http://picasaweb.google.com/dona.j.francis
*I haven't had a chance to add captions to many of the photos, but at least you'll get the general idea.
http://picasaweb.google.com/dona.j.francis
*I haven't had a chance to add captions to many of the photos, but at least you'll get the general idea.
Friday, August 1, 2008
Arrival in Goma
It took close to 2 hours to complete the border crossing procdeures--long queues, distracted immigration officials, and checking, double checking, and triple checking documentation--but by 11am we had reached the DRC. From the Rwandan side of Lake Kivu you can see an enormous, beautiful, and lavish resort build out over the lake on the congolese side. Kate, willing to splurge on another night of luxury inquired to the cost and availability of a room at the Ihusi Hotel. Running low on cash and unable to exchange foreign currency in Goma, we're biding our time with only $4 to our names until Kate's family can Western Union some money to her tomorrow. Luckily, we don't have to pay for the hotel until we check out! The DRC runs on a complete cash economy, no visa or mastercards accepted here, and the only ATM in the country is locaed in Kinshasa, a 3 day drive from Goma. So let's keep our fingers crossed that the Western Union transfer goes through tomorrow. Otherwise, who know's what will happen!
After spending a few hours wandering the dusty, dilapidated streets of Goma, we took motorcycles out to a rural village suburb to have lunch with Prince and his family. The family of 4 live in a tiny 2 room wooden house in a compound of identical homes where Prince's extended family also live. Prince's wife, Princess, prepared a typical and delivious Congolese feast for us--cassave flour ugali, boiled bananas, greens, fish, and beans. I absolutely loved it, and lucky for me, Kate didn't take too well to the food, so I got to enjoy her leftovers as well. We didn't stay more than 90 minutes, as Prince was worried about us getting back to our hotel before dark. But in the short time we visited, I learned a lot about politics and daily life here in Goma. The economy has been devestated by years of civil unrest and rebel fighting, there are no jobs, and a strong commitment to God allows people to be optomistic about the future. LIfe is hard here, but people persevere and don't let the harsh reality of their lives dictate their happiness. The Congolese, at least the few I've met, are a strong people, a happy people, and an incredibly friendly people. I guess its the same with many of the world's people whose lives are riddled with war, conflict, and chaos. Human beings have an astounding ability to overcome, to forgive, and to flourish. If humans didn't have the capacity to forgive, I think we would have annialated ourselves centuries ago. Despite the horrors that we continue to inflict on eachother, its amazing that we don't lose hope that the tomorrow is another day and that tomorrow offers the opportunity to start anew.
After spending a few hours wandering the dusty, dilapidated streets of Goma, we took motorcycles out to a rural village suburb to have lunch with Prince and his family. The family of 4 live in a tiny 2 room wooden house in a compound of identical homes where Prince's extended family also live. Prince's wife, Princess, prepared a typical and delivious Congolese feast for us--cassave flour ugali, boiled bananas, greens, fish, and beans. I absolutely loved it, and lucky for me, Kate didn't take too well to the food, so I got to enjoy her leftovers as well. We didn't stay more than 90 minutes, as Prince was worried about us getting back to our hotel before dark. But in the short time we visited, I learned a lot about politics and daily life here in Goma. The economy has been devestated by years of civil unrest and rebel fighting, there are no jobs, and a strong commitment to God allows people to be optomistic about the future. LIfe is hard here, but people persevere and don't let the harsh reality of their lives dictate their happiness. The Congolese, at least the few I've met, are a strong people, a happy people, and an incredibly friendly people. I guess its the same with many of the world's people whose lives are riddled with war, conflict, and chaos. Human beings have an astounding ability to overcome, to forgive, and to flourish. If humans didn't have the capacity to forgive, I think we would have annialated ourselves centuries ago. Despite the horrors that we continue to inflict on eachother, its amazing that we don't lose hope that the tomorrow is another day and that tomorrow offers the opportunity to start anew.
A Night of Luxury in Gisyeni
After such a tough day trekking up a volcano and week after week of staying in local guest houses, Kate had reached her limit and wanted to splurg on a day of luxury at a high-end hotel. We checked-in to the Stip Hotel, a $95 a night resort on the shores of Lake Kivu, complete with a pool, sauna, steam bath, and a gym. Unfortunately we never did take full advantage of the ameneties here, choosing instead to lounge by the pool and drink glasses of red wine. But the day was perfect and just what we needed. Wine, great food, and phenomenal accomodations all compliments of Kate. I promise to get you back one day Kate! I quickly made friends with Price, Jeanette, and Emanuel, the 3 bartenders at the poolside bar. I had inquired about buying the entire box of red wine rather than paying by the glass, and Jeanette offered to send her friend across the border into the DRC to buy a box at the local price. Within an hour, we had an entire hox of South African red wine delivered to our room direct from the Congo!
After a great pasta dinner, we hung out at the bar with my 3 new friends and Dennis, the incredibly cute manager of the hotel. Emanuel and Price, both Congolese and with a day off from work approaching, offered to show us their home villages just on the outskirts of Goma, the border town. Why not? So today we're crossing into the DRC to spend a day or two in Goma. How cool is that?
After a great pasta dinner, we hung out at the bar with my 3 new friends and Dennis, the incredibly cute manager of the hotel. Emanuel and Price, both Congolese and with a day off from work approaching, offered to show us their home villages just on the outskirts of Goma, the border town. Why not? So today we're crossing into the DRC to spend a day or two in Goma. How cool is that?
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