Sunday, July 27, 2008
Why are we so scared?
Hitch hiking has slapped me int he face with the realities of muzungus in Africa. Only once has a car driven by whites or with white passengers even slowed just the slightest bit to make sure we were ok, and never once have we been offered a ride. It's hard for me to comprehend why. Is it fear? Or indifference? Or lack of commraderie? I think it must be a little bit of all of those. But why? Are two American girls walking down a road in extremely rural Uganda a threat? Why wouldn't you stop if you saw two foreign girls sitting on top of their backpacks more than 20km from the next Rwandan village? I think the reactions we've encountered--fellow tourists and expats zooming by in their armoured vehicles, barely even daring to glace in our direction--speaks to the culture of fear that we as Americans, as westerners have grown accustomed to living in. Propoganda domiates our media. Terrorism. Guns. Suicide bombers. Civil war. Hate crimes. Murder. Gangs. National Security. Don't leave America because it's dangerous out there, shouts the media. And unfortunately, that fear is all too evident here. The vast majority of tourists I've encountered have been shocked and baffled that I'm traveling throughout the region as an independent traveler. Most come on organized tours, never leaving the percieved security of their private cars, their fellow travelers, or the hotels catering almost exclusively to foreigners. I get the feeling that far too many peopel come to Africa, to far off, exotic, and dangerous sounding places to snap photos of dirty kids, of people in traditional dress, and of wildlife just to impress people at home. It infuriates me that people come to Africa only to experience it from an arms length, from behind bullet-proof glass, and from the comfort of an eco-lodge or 5 star resort. We're safer here than we are at home. The people here are curious about us and want to have conversations with us. The local food is safe and delicious. Local transportation while it might not be the most comfortable, you'll never feel more connected to a country or have a greater sense of commraderie than when you're piled into a minivan with 25 people and their goats. Step outside of your box, leave your security blanket at home, and you'll be amazed at the world out there.
Friday, July 25, 2008
Hitch Hiking into Rwanda
THE UNFOLDING OF TODAY"S EVENTS....
1. Woke up early and ate leftover's from yesterday's lunch, boiled potatoes and beans, from my handy dandy frizbee as I watched the sunrise over Lake Bunyonyi.
2. Checked out of the resort and walked 3km up a very steep hill waiting for a ride into town. Finally, once we reached the top of the hill we got picked up by a sweet potato truck, crammed ourselves into the back with about 35 other passengers and rode down a very dusty road into Kabale.
3. Waited at the Celtel (my cell phone service provider)store for over an hour trying to get my cell phone credit activated, but with no success. Oh well, Celtel doesn't work in Rwanda anyways!
4. Walked through Kable towards the border twon of Kituna for 30 minutes before getting picked up by an incredibly nice, new, and modern Mercedes Benz big rig which took us to the Uganda-Rwanda border. That was probably the most comfortable ride I've had yet in Africa.
5. After crossing the border into Rwanda, Kate and I sat on the side of the road and wiated for a ride. Within minutes we were speaking French, Swahili, and English with a girl walking up the road to collect water. Between the 3 of us and 3 languages we could almost understand each other!
6. After a little begging, the driver of a petrol truck straight from 1960 agreed to give us a lift. Hesitant of the police checks up the road, hakuna matata, we assured him and off we went. 9km and nearly an hour later (yes, this was the slowest transport I've ever taken) I was told to lay down and hide from the police. I made myself as flat as possible in about 3 feet of space and hoped for the best. Even when the police opened the drivers door to look inside the cab, somehow they missed me, the muzungu laying diagonally in the front seat. We continued up the road at literally a snail's pace, Kate and I passing glances at each other indicating, "This is ridiculous, we could be walking faster than this!" Eventually, I asked the driver to pull over so that we could walk. A little surprised that we wanted to get out of the truck in absolutely the middle of nowhere, he let us out, and we waved goodbye to the cigarette smoking petrol truck driver. And yes, we did walk faster than the truck until gravity pulled the truck down the other side of the hill.
7. Dropped in the middle of nowhere, Kate and I walked and walked and walked up the steep road that snaked through beautifully green hills. Kids appeared from the hills. One turned into five, and five into ten. They followed us in curious hesitation, never getting with 3 feet of either of us. Their smiles were shy and reserved. Their timid behavior leads me to believe that they don't see too many muzungus here.
8. We finally made it to a tiny little town that had a few restaurants grilling bananas and goat brochettes (kababs) and serving beer. Having not eaten since breakfast, exhausted from kilometer after kilometer of uphill walking, and needing to pee, we collapsed at one of the 3 nearly identical restaurants lined up on the road. Manueuvering myself past the hanging goat carcass, around the BBQ, down a tiny alley into the back of the restaurant, I find the toilet--a mud hut sitting on the edge of a cliff over-looking the fertile valley below. It may have just been a hole in the ground, but the view from the squatting position was breath taking. Walking back to the restuarant, still distracted by the view and my rumbling stomach, I forgot about the goat carcass and ran into it. Yes, full on bumped into a fully skinned goat hanging upside down from the ceiling!
9. Not wanting to miss an opportunity to catch a ride the remaining 60km into Kigali, we ordered 2 giant Primus beers (720mL each!), a grilled banana and took our places on the side of the road. Again, one guy turned into five, which turned into ten. Within minutes, there is a semi-circle with a 3-foot buffer surrounding us. To keep things lively, I play a popular Nigerian song on my phone and soon enough we're dancing, laughing, and carving our names into the history of the town.
10. Vehicle after vehicle passed us, none willing to give us a lift. It was approaching dusk, so I gave us 20 more minutes to find a ride, otherwise we'd just pay the $2.50 fare and take a matatu (shared minibus taxi) into Kigali. But I was determined to make it all the way to Kigali for free. A Land Rover owned by the International Red Cross Society slowed as I flagged it down coming around a bend in the road. I pleaded our case and after momentary hesitation, he agreed. Yes, we're going to Kigali!
11. Turns out Rwanda is 1 hour behind the rest of East Africa, so when we arrived in Kigali it was just approaching 5pm, not 6. We got dropped in town and figuring we'd easily find a guest house in the sprawling capital city, we set off on foot to find a place to stay. Not once did we see a guest house, only a smattering of fully booked high-end hotels. Kigali's roads twist and turn over the hills that house the city and don't exactly offer the most inviting or navigable city grid. Lost, tired, and unsure of where to find accomodation, a woman finally suggests the One Love Hostel, puts us on motorbikes and off we go.
12. We arrive at the gates of the hostel, which is obviously set up for tourists, and cross our fingers that they have an available room. Turns out they did have a room available, but at $30 a night I had to push back the anxiety rising in my chest. The room is huge and grungy, easily another 10 people could fit in here with a few bunk beds. The water stained ceiling is flaking off and caving in in spots, and the dungeon-like feeling of the room is only bettered by 2 small windows. Famished, we head straight for the restaurant. We're told we have 2 to chose from, so we decide on the one closest to our room. Walking through a courtyard we're greeted by the squaks of caged parrots poking their heads through the tops of cages and by at least 12 cats. Dirty, mangy cats who have obviously been in their fair share of fights. The first restaurant is really just a bar, their food menu consisting of nothing more than local snacks--grilled bananas, meat brochettes, and a few other items that disguised themselves in the mystery of the French languauge. Hungrier for a little more than bananas, we walked through the hostel's compound, which by the way seems to be completely deserted, to find our second option. The outdoor restaurant is illuminated by a single light hanging from the branches of a tree. A group of young business men occupy one of the many otherwise vacant tables. The waitress speaks only French and the menu, written completely in French alludes even Kate who studied the language in school. After struggling through the menu's options, I order what I suspect is fish salad and Kate gets fried fish and chips. Surprisingly, this is exactly what is brought to us nearly 30 minutes later. The dim lighting makes actually seeing our food difficult, but as I bite into my salad, fresh rings of onion, shredded carrots, cabbage, and chunks of fried fish smothered in mayonaise, I'm happily surprised. Better than I had expected. Kate too digs into her fried fish, but after a few bites is completely repulsed by the awful odor coming from her plate. The middle of the fish literally smells like cat urine. Although my better judgement told me that the fish on my plate was likely once part of the the fish on Kate's plate, I found no funky odors coming form mine and continued to eat. The food tasted good and I was hungry. We both went to sleep, in the nearly abandoned, a little shady and bizarre hostel, fingers crossed that a good night's sleep wouldn't be interrupted by gastronomical urgencies.
Phew, what a day!
1. Woke up early and ate leftover's from yesterday's lunch, boiled potatoes and beans, from my handy dandy frizbee as I watched the sunrise over Lake Bunyonyi.
2. Checked out of the resort and walked 3km up a very steep hill waiting for a ride into town. Finally, once we reached the top of the hill we got picked up by a sweet potato truck, crammed ourselves into the back with about 35 other passengers and rode down a very dusty road into Kabale.
3. Waited at the Celtel (my cell phone service provider)store for over an hour trying to get my cell phone credit activated, but with no success. Oh well, Celtel doesn't work in Rwanda anyways!
4. Walked through Kable towards the border twon of Kituna for 30 minutes before getting picked up by an incredibly nice, new, and modern Mercedes Benz big rig which took us to the Uganda-Rwanda border. That was probably the most comfortable ride I've had yet in Africa.
5. After crossing the border into Rwanda, Kate and I sat on the side of the road and wiated for a ride. Within minutes we were speaking French, Swahili, and English with a girl walking up the road to collect water. Between the 3 of us and 3 languages we could almost understand each other!
6. After a little begging, the driver of a petrol truck straight from 1960 agreed to give us a lift. Hesitant of the police checks up the road, hakuna matata, we assured him and off we went. 9km and nearly an hour later (yes, this was the slowest transport I've ever taken) I was told to lay down and hide from the police. I made myself as flat as possible in about 3 feet of space and hoped for the best. Even when the police opened the drivers door to look inside the cab, somehow they missed me, the muzungu laying diagonally in the front seat. We continued up the road at literally a snail's pace, Kate and I passing glances at each other indicating, "This is ridiculous, we could be walking faster than this!" Eventually, I asked the driver to pull over so that we could walk. A little surprised that we wanted to get out of the truck in absolutely the middle of nowhere, he let us out, and we waved goodbye to the cigarette smoking petrol truck driver. And yes, we did walk faster than the truck until gravity pulled the truck down the other side of the hill.
7. Dropped in the middle of nowhere, Kate and I walked and walked and walked up the steep road that snaked through beautifully green hills. Kids appeared from the hills. One turned into five, and five into ten. They followed us in curious hesitation, never getting with 3 feet of either of us. Their smiles were shy and reserved. Their timid behavior leads me to believe that they don't see too many muzungus here.
8. We finally made it to a tiny little town that had a few restaurants grilling bananas and goat brochettes (kababs) and serving beer. Having not eaten since breakfast, exhausted from kilometer after kilometer of uphill walking, and needing to pee, we collapsed at one of the 3 nearly identical restaurants lined up on the road. Manueuvering myself past the hanging goat carcass, around the BBQ, down a tiny alley into the back of the restaurant, I find the toilet--a mud hut sitting on the edge of a cliff over-looking the fertile valley below. It may have just been a hole in the ground, but the view from the squatting position was breath taking. Walking back to the restuarant, still distracted by the view and my rumbling stomach, I forgot about the goat carcass and ran into it. Yes, full on bumped into a fully skinned goat hanging upside down from the ceiling!
9. Not wanting to miss an opportunity to catch a ride the remaining 60km into Kigali, we ordered 2 giant Primus beers (720mL each!), a grilled banana and took our places on the side of the road. Again, one guy turned into five, which turned into ten. Within minutes, there is a semi-circle with a 3-foot buffer surrounding us. To keep things lively, I play a popular Nigerian song on my phone and soon enough we're dancing, laughing, and carving our names into the history of the town.
10. Vehicle after vehicle passed us, none willing to give us a lift. It was approaching dusk, so I gave us 20 more minutes to find a ride, otherwise we'd just pay the $2.50 fare and take a matatu (shared minibus taxi) into Kigali. But I was determined to make it all the way to Kigali for free. A Land Rover owned by the International Red Cross Society slowed as I flagged it down coming around a bend in the road. I pleaded our case and after momentary hesitation, he agreed. Yes, we're going to Kigali!
11. Turns out Rwanda is 1 hour behind the rest of East Africa, so when we arrived in Kigali it was just approaching 5pm, not 6. We got dropped in town and figuring we'd easily find a guest house in the sprawling capital city, we set off on foot to find a place to stay. Not once did we see a guest house, only a smattering of fully booked high-end hotels. Kigali's roads twist and turn over the hills that house the city and don't exactly offer the most inviting or navigable city grid. Lost, tired, and unsure of where to find accomodation, a woman finally suggests the One Love Hostel, puts us on motorbikes and off we go.
12. We arrive at the gates of the hostel, which is obviously set up for tourists, and cross our fingers that they have an available room. Turns out they did have a room available, but at $30 a night I had to push back the anxiety rising in my chest. The room is huge and grungy, easily another 10 people could fit in here with a few bunk beds. The water stained ceiling is flaking off and caving in in spots, and the dungeon-like feeling of the room is only bettered by 2 small windows. Famished, we head straight for the restaurant. We're told we have 2 to chose from, so we decide on the one closest to our room. Walking through a courtyard we're greeted by the squaks of caged parrots poking their heads through the tops of cages and by at least 12 cats. Dirty, mangy cats who have obviously been in their fair share of fights. The first restaurant is really just a bar, their food menu consisting of nothing more than local snacks--grilled bananas, meat brochettes, and a few other items that disguised themselves in the mystery of the French languauge. Hungrier for a little more than bananas, we walked through the hostel's compound, which by the way seems to be completely deserted, to find our second option. The outdoor restaurant is illuminated by a single light hanging from the branches of a tree. A group of young business men occupy one of the many otherwise vacant tables. The waitress speaks only French and the menu, written completely in French alludes even Kate who studied the language in school. After struggling through the menu's options, I order what I suspect is fish salad and Kate gets fried fish and chips. Surprisingly, this is exactly what is brought to us nearly 30 minutes later. The dim lighting makes actually seeing our food difficult, but as I bite into my salad, fresh rings of onion, shredded carrots, cabbage, and chunks of fried fish smothered in mayonaise, I'm happily surprised. Better than I had expected. Kate too digs into her fried fish, but after a few bites is completely repulsed by the awful odor coming from her plate. The middle of the fish literally smells like cat urine. Although my better judgement told me that the fish on my plate was likely once part of the the fish on Kate's plate, I found no funky odors coming form mine and continued to eat. The food tasted good and I was hungry. We both went to sleep, in the nearly abandoned, a little shady and bizarre hostel, fingers crossed that a good night's sleep wouldn't be interrupted by gastronomical urgencies.
Phew, what a day!
Rwanda!
We're going to Rwanda today! Rwanda is one of those countries that has always held a certain level of mystery and excitement for me, a place that my mom regards as one of the most beautiful places on earth, and a country with a culture unique to its own. Mention Rwanda and images of a horrific genocide are conjured, but that was nearly 15 years ago. Nobody talks of the enormous strides the country has made in uniting its people, of healing shattered communities, and bringing justice to the perpatrators. Why is it that people are still scared to visit Rwanda? Why are we still hanging on to a history that we chose to ingore in a country's darkest hour, but now, well over a decade later, we can't seem to let go of? I hope that me being there opens the hearts and minds of people at home to the true realities of this tiny East African country.
Thursday, July 24, 2008
Relaxing in Uganda
What a peaceful and relaxing place this is. After weeks of constantly moving, river rafting, hitchhiking, hippo watching, more hitchhiking, walking, walking, and more walking, both Kate and I were exhausted. Not the kind of exhausted that can be remedied with a good night's sleep, but an exhasution that takes a few days of utter relaxastion to cure. I spent most of the day yesterday doing the things I love most--getting lost in the hills that surround Lake Bunyonyi, making friends with school kids, devouring a new book, and swimming in the lake. I guess I didn't really sit still too much, but indulging in such activities was just the recharging relaxation I needed. Swimming in a fresh water lake in Africa is a rare occurance, as nearly all fresh water bodies of water on the continent are infested with bilharzia, a tiny parasite that wriggles its way into your skin and eventually into you liver, where it lays eggs and causes all sorts of serious trouble. So, I couldn't pass up the opportunity to swim in one of Africa's only safe lakes and in Uganda's deepest lakes, despite the chilly weather. As the sunset, Kate and I sat around the campfire and talked about family and happiness, and I am so grateful to have the family I have. No matter how bad or dysfunctional your family may seem, it could always be worse. I am so blessed to have healthy and supportive parents (3 of them!) and a wonderful sister. There's no better feeling in the world than to know that I have strong and loving people surrounding me, who love me and who will do anything for me.
Rushing to Wait
And here we are again, in the same predicament we seem to find ourselves in just about everyday--rushing to wait. I woke up this morning to the shrill horns of buses and to music blasting from huge speakers just outside my hotel window. Good Morning Africa! But that's what you get for choosing a guest house just next to the bus stand. Aside from thumping music, I also had a strong feeling that we should get on the bus today for Kable, 8 hours south of here, rather than hanging around Fort Portal for an extra day. Leisurely I got dressed, washed, and packed up my things, as Kate lay in bed cursing the unwelcomed wake up call. I walked out to the buses waiting outside to inquire about a possible departure to Kable. "We're leaving momentarily, get on the bus, quick!" With Kate still back in the room I ran to hurry her along, grab my things, and hopefully find breakfast sometime before the impending departure. Kate was ready within minutes, and luckily the bus hadn't left. We grabbed breakfast from the hotel lobby and ran to the bus. Phew!, we made it. An hour later, we're still sitting on the bus waiting to leave. At least I was able to snag fried eggs and bread from the hotel!
Wednesday, July 23, 2008
Kabale and Lake Bunyonyi
The bus ride down to Kabale was a relatively uneventful 8 hours, except for the little girl who puked all over me just as we left town! We drove through Queen Elizabeth National Park and spotted storks, wildabeest, and plenty of bats. A Dutch woman died just last week after contracting a form of ebola from the bats down here, so I'm glad we just passed through! Sometime during the day, the ticket collector on the bus decided he wanted me to be his girlfriend and during one of the many stops along the way, presented me with a huge bunch of bananas. I declined his offer and enjoyed his gift of bananas, but his longing eyes were upon me the rest of the trip. Once we finally reached Kibale, the touts and motorcycles were aggressive and intimidating, not exactly the best way to start off after spending all day on a dusty bus. But once we grabbed our bags and escaped the onslaught of commotion, we were able to hitch a ride out to Lake Bunyonyi in the back of a pickup truck, a big rig, and then finally on the backs of motorcycles. Kabale and Lake Bunyonyi have been dubbed "The Switzerland of Africa," and although I've never been to Switzerland to compare, the terraced hills, pine forests, and high mountain lake could easily pursuade me to relax here for a few days. We're staying in a rustically charming tent-cabin overlooking the lake, and after a few beers around the campfire, I was lulled to sleep by the symphony of crickets and frogs. It's amazing what a world away you can travel in just a few hours.
Sunday, July 20, 2008
Seeing myself in my parents
There's a quality in both my mom and dad that I was so embarassed by growing up, but grew to admire as I got older. A quality that I never saw in myself and never really expected to see. I was always too shy or self-conscious, too concerned about what other people thought about me. But my parents have always had the amazing ability to just talk to anyone, befriend anyone, engage anyone in conversation. At the grocery store, in line at the post office, in traffic on the freeway. I'd always duck my head in embarassment, roll my eyes in my annoyed teenage way. But now, its a quality I absolutely love about them. Why not talk to your fellow shoppers, or to the person sitting next to you on the park bench? We are all just people, plain and simple, and why not enjoy eachother's company? And finally, I've seen this same quality in myself. Kate made a comment a few days ago about my ability to befriend anyone, and I had one of those out of body moments when I was able to step back, out of my body to really see myself and the person I've become. And I really am a product of my mom and dad. I see more and more of them in me everyday. It's like my bond with them is tightening and strengthening, my love for them, my admiration and gratitude to them has increased immensely in recent months. I so look forward to getting to know each of them on a human level, not just as my mom and dad, but as human beings who have great knowledge and wisdom, who have stories to tell and who I am proud to be a part of. So mom and papa, this one is for you, for the wonderful years we've had, to the life you've given me, and to the many many years ahead that we'll get to share together. I love you both.
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