It was hard to pull myself away from the tantalizing beat of Kampala nightlife nestled with gentle days in the city, but I finally found myself ready to move on. It is amazing how easy it is to get stuck somewhere, an object at rest definitely stays at rest, especially dreading the stress of travel with a backpack on public transport!
I stood a the side of the road with my pack until a van stopped for me. It was a father and son on their way to work and they kindly offered me a life to the post office where I boarded the post but boudn for Kabale- South Western Uganda.
On the way out we passed a huge billboard that said, "You may WANT nice material things, but you don't NEED HIV, say no to sugar daddys."
We twisted our way out onto the unfolding landscapes of tropical Ugnada crossing over the line of the equator. I wateched men with their bicycles dripping with pineapples as they rolled by. Antoher man had a goat in a box tied to the back of his bike; it bleated with every pedal.
Next to me was a girl who just finished high school, Sharon. She absolutely insisted I come stay with her and her sister in Kabale. I wanted to buy her something to eat at a stop and turned to give her a mango only to find she had bought me a biscuit. Not wanting her to spend money on me, I bought roasted bananas and was countered with meat on a stick. That is where I had to admit defeat. I consider myself to be an adventurous eater. Trying new foods is one of my favorite things to do. Plus it would be rude to refuse, but it was liver and I hate liver. I tried it in Kenya and had to choke down every bite as each mouthful seemed to ooze toxins and blood. She smiled and handed me this liver on a stick, cold with a greenish tinge and I had to refuse. I just couldn't do it.
I arrived in Kabale, walked into the hostel and saw that starting the next day was a class for journalists. I asked the owner about it, wondering if I could sit in and the next day I found myself in front of 20 Ugandan journalists and international journalist hopefuls teaching an intro to journalism course! The amount of answers I made up to their questions makes me a little suspicious of all the teachers I have had (though of course none of the esteemed ones that might be reading this now), the words just sort of come out of the mouth. But in all fairness, I remembered quite a few nuggets of information gleaned in between surfing the internet and checking emails in class (not yours).
The response from the class was really great and I have to laugh at the random places I wind up when I travel.
Sharon, the girl from the bus who invited me to come to her come seemed disappointed I didn't come stay with her. I felt bad but I needed to be alone for a bit. The next day we met up and she took me to her house.
Her home was typical of what I have found in Africa: concrete, one room with half sectioned off behind a curtain for sleeping everyone in one bed. There are always old calendars hanging on the walls and pieces of newspaper cover the concrete. There are usually religious quotes and pictures as well as posters of babies and puppies (I can't explain it but it's true for almost every house I have been in). There were no posters in Sharon's house but there were the typical hard cahirs with covering of crushed velvet, hers were gold. Cloth doilies are always placed over the furniture. Of course there is no electricty or running water and the toilet is a hole outside.
There was nothing unusual about her house. It was clean and friendly and I have been in many like it, but I felt horribly guilty. I felt this distance between us, that I lead a life with opportunities she will never experience. I did nothing to deserve my life and it is likely she is a better person than me.
More disturbing was the sudden distance between us. It felt like a thick line that can never be crossed, despite all the preaching that we are all the same. I do believe we are all the same but that isn't enough. That gulf cannot be crossed. I wanted to give her something, anything- my fleece, money, I don't know, but I didn't know if it would offend her. The silence between our worlds became too loud so I made an excuse to go back to my hostel. I'm not proud of it, but that is what I did. I didn't know what else to do.
When I travel I encounter so many situations that I am unprepared for. From hitchiking to the black market, language barriers to a lovely young girl's house, there are so many situations, some dangerous and others heartbreakingly kind and generous, where I don't know what to do with myself. Rules don't seem to apply.
Thursday, February 21, 2008
Remembering Why I Travel (Uganda)
Sometimes all I need is a muddy market under the stars to find my way back to myself. I was overwhelmed after a rough week, questioning what I was doing as I transitioned back into the backpacking world. I felt completely alone and unsure until I stepped out fo the confines of my hostel and into the thick Kampala evening air.
I wandered down the street and found myself in some back marketplace on the outskirts of the city. I settled down into a plastic chair behind a plastic table cozied into the mud, a beer in one hand and a street-food delicacy of meat on a stick in the other. A few stars peaked tentatively through Kampala's pollution as darkness revealed the life throbbing in the market.
Women with babies on their backs navigated the piles of garbage, mud and chocolate-milk water. Kids teneded to the family businesses- sitting on blankets with piles of startling red tomatoes, onions and shoes.
Men grilled meat, fried bananas and chapati as all the smells swirled through the air like juice through a twisty straw.
In one of the semi-permanent wood shops down the line a 10 inch TV showed a soccer game in scratchy black and white as men congregated around it in their plastic chairs. Along my table locals came to say hello and ask what a mzungu was doing there. We passed a bowl of fried grasshoppers around as a bar snack in lieu of peanuts. People came to thank me for coming to the area and to tell me that I am, "most welcome."
More beers watched the world go by with me as people brought me more food to taste.
There are few wheelchairs in Africa and even fewer wheel-chair accessible areas so people who can't walk will buy flip flops and put their hands in them, using them to drag themselves along through mud, garbage and crowds of people's feet. It always breaks my heart, imagine all day scuffling along without anyone to even look into your eyes as they step over you.
A man like this was dressed in a suit, the navy blue sleeves skimming through piles of garbage. He pulled himself up to the table I was at. I bought him and myself some steaming french fries (chips) wrapped, as usual, in someone's old math homework on notebook paper.
Tropical beats of Ugandan music began to drown out the socer fans as we sat without speaking. Maybe it is hard to travel the way I do, but I trael more to meet people than to see sights, and traveling alone I have opportunities I would never have if I always took solace in other travelers. If I was with someone else then the woman I met on the bus never would have invited me to come stay with her. I would never meet half the people I do along the way.
Yes, I spend more time lost than found, but when it comes down to it, don't we all? It is scary and lonely sometimes, well, a lot of the time. But in the end, I know traveling this way is the most powerful way to travel. It gets me under the skin of a culture- blisters and all.
I absent-mindedly scratched the goat that was sniffing at my shoe on the back and remembered why I travel the way I do.
I wandered down the street and found myself in some back marketplace on the outskirts of the city. I settled down into a plastic chair behind a plastic table cozied into the mud, a beer in one hand and a street-food delicacy of meat on a stick in the other. A few stars peaked tentatively through Kampala's pollution as darkness revealed the life throbbing in the market.
Women with babies on their backs navigated the piles of garbage, mud and chocolate-milk water. Kids teneded to the family businesses- sitting on blankets with piles of startling red tomatoes, onions and shoes.
Men grilled meat, fried bananas and chapati as all the smells swirled through the air like juice through a twisty straw.
In one of the semi-permanent wood shops down the line a 10 inch TV showed a soccer game in scratchy black and white as men congregated around it in their plastic chairs. Along my table locals came to say hello and ask what a mzungu was doing there. We passed a bowl of fried grasshoppers around as a bar snack in lieu of peanuts. People came to thank me for coming to the area and to tell me that I am, "most welcome."
More beers watched the world go by with me as people brought me more food to taste.
There are few wheelchairs in Africa and even fewer wheel-chair accessible areas so people who can't walk will buy flip flops and put their hands in them, using them to drag themselves along through mud, garbage and crowds of people's feet. It always breaks my heart, imagine all day scuffling along without anyone to even look into your eyes as they step over you.
A man like this was dressed in a suit, the navy blue sleeves skimming through piles of garbage. He pulled himself up to the table I was at. I bought him and myself some steaming french fries (chips) wrapped, as usual, in someone's old math homework on notebook paper.
Tropical beats of Ugandan music began to drown out the socer fans as we sat without speaking. Maybe it is hard to travel the way I do, but I trael more to meet people than to see sights, and traveling alone I have opportunities I would never have if I always took solace in other travelers. If I was with someone else then the woman I met on the bus never would have invited me to come stay with her. I would never meet half the people I do along the way.
Yes, I spend more time lost than found, but when it comes down to it, don't we all? It is scary and lonely sometimes, well, a lot of the time. But in the end, I know traveling this way is the most powerful way to travel. It gets me under the skin of a culture- blisters and all.
I absent-mindedly scratched the goat that was sniffing at my shoe on the back and remembered why I travel the way I do.
Thursday, February 7, 2008
Transitions
It really hit me how different the tourist route is in Africa to living there. It is like a completely different continent. I got my first taste of tourist Africa in Tanzania. It was a harder transition than you would imagine. It was difficult to leave behind Kenya. I feel very close to the situation and there was something wrong going on a safari when I was worried about pople i have met running away from machete-wielding gangsters. My phone was stolen on my last day in Nairobbery so nobody could reach me and I had no numbers. It makes it feel like a definitive ending to that stage of my life; definitive albeit abrupt.
It is strange to travel on the tourist track where the only locals you meet are the ones there to serve you. At the same time I noticed how closed-off I have become. My mom was open and receptive to people and I was far more suspicious as a girl traveling alone in a part of the world where many people you encounter just want a visa to your country and seem to think you have some influence in getting one for them. Too many marriage proposals and inappropriate touching have left me wary and with a steely exterior (or so I would like to imagine) that I never thought someone as sentimental, nostalgic, naive and who falls in love as easily as I do would ever attain.
It was hard for me to relax inot this luxury that most people in Africa will never experience. But as hard as that was, it was also difficult to transition back to the dorms and nasty hotels that seem to give you crabs just by looking at the sheets once my mom left.
I had my first real breakdown when my mom came. I adapted so quickly as I always tend to do (coming home is always more difficult). Things that would make most westerners stop and stare quickly fade into a real of disinterested normality. But seeing some of it from my mom's eyes: the poverty, traffic, women with everything on their heads, Masai clothing, speers, guns, people peeing on the street, the filth, etc., brought a new dimension to what I am doing.
For the first time it really hit home how dangerous what I am doing really is. I am a girl alone in Africa traveling in such a cheap and haphazard way. I am lost more than not and bumble about by the grace of friendly locals who take pity on me. I have met locals and military personell who tell me I am crazy and they would never do what I am doing. That doesn't make me feel very warm and fuzzy inside.
So I ws stressed with the reality of what I'm doing which suprised me because up until the day my mom arrived I was feelign so confident and at home in my travels.
Then when my mom left I was devastated. Being alone is always much more difficult after being with someone you care about so much. Another thing I realized was that I was a little jealous of my mom going home, not because I want to go home yet but because she has a home to go back to. I realized I couldn't go back, even if I wanted too. I don't have a life in the U.S. anymore. I have no house, no job, and no job prospects.
So I am trying to get back into my confident traveler ways but it is shaky.
The airlines losing my luggage on my flight to Uganda did not help. I write this now and it still has not turned up 6 days later and I still have nothing but the clothes on my back (and 2 shirts and one pair of underwear I purchased). Why have I not bought more you ask? Maybe a comb, a pair of pants? Because I would rather go to the dentist or hang out in a sewer than go shopping at home. Then add in the bargaining, the pickpockets, the hassel, the confusion, the crowds and the craziness of shopping Africa and it is my idea of a living hell. But with shopping in Kampala I don't have to decide between going and hanging out in a sewer or shopping because one pretty much runs through the market. Ah, the airfreshner of Africa.
Now I have to face yet another transition- one from almost-resident and working to aimless traveler. I miss feeling like I am a part of this continent, not just floating by. Also, the backpacking community that I loved so much when I was younger now seems liek a shallower way to travel, people flocking to people who are similar to them, a diluted spritzer of Africa instead of a fresh gulp. But still, backpackers see much more than the typical tourist. I am also aware that when I find someone to travel with I can do so much more than I can on my own. I can't go to more risky places, out at night or take more chances by myself so it is good to meet up with poeple to get in trouble with.
So another transition, I am sure there will be many more to come.
It is strange to travel on the tourist track where the only locals you meet are the ones there to serve you. At the same time I noticed how closed-off I have become. My mom was open and receptive to people and I was far more suspicious as a girl traveling alone in a part of the world where many people you encounter just want a visa to your country and seem to think you have some influence in getting one for them. Too many marriage proposals and inappropriate touching have left me wary and with a steely exterior (or so I would like to imagine) that I never thought someone as sentimental, nostalgic, naive and who falls in love as easily as I do would ever attain.
It was hard for me to relax inot this luxury that most people in Africa will never experience. But as hard as that was, it was also difficult to transition back to the dorms and nasty hotels that seem to give you crabs just by looking at the sheets once my mom left.
I had my first real breakdown when my mom came. I adapted so quickly as I always tend to do (coming home is always more difficult). Things that would make most westerners stop and stare quickly fade into a real of disinterested normality. But seeing some of it from my mom's eyes: the poverty, traffic, women with everything on their heads, Masai clothing, speers, guns, people peeing on the street, the filth, etc., brought a new dimension to what I am doing.
For the first time it really hit home how dangerous what I am doing really is. I am a girl alone in Africa traveling in such a cheap and haphazard way. I am lost more than not and bumble about by the grace of friendly locals who take pity on me. I have met locals and military personell who tell me I am crazy and they would never do what I am doing. That doesn't make me feel very warm and fuzzy inside.
So I ws stressed with the reality of what I'm doing which suprised me because up until the day my mom arrived I was feelign so confident and at home in my travels.
Then when my mom left I was devastated. Being alone is always much more difficult after being with someone you care about so much. Another thing I realized was that I was a little jealous of my mom going home, not because I want to go home yet but because she has a home to go back to. I realized I couldn't go back, even if I wanted too. I don't have a life in the U.S. anymore. I have no house, no job, and no job prospects.
So I am trying to get back into my confident traveler ways but it is shaky.
The airlines losing my luggage on my flight to Uganda did not help. I write this now and it still has not turned up 6 days later and I still have nothing but the clothes on my back (and 2 shirts and one pair of underwear I purchased). Why have I not bought more you ask? Maybe a comb, a pair of pants? Because I would rather go to the dentist or hang out in a sewer than go shopping at home. Then add in the bargaining, the pickpockets, the hassel, the confusion, the crowds and the craziness of shopping Africa and it is my idea of a living hell. But with shopping in Kampala I don't have to decide between going and hanging out in a sewer or shopping because one pretty much runs through the market. Ah, the airfreshner of Africa.
Now I have to face yet another transition- one from almost-resident and working to aimless traveler. I miss feeling like I am a part of this continent, not just floating by. Also, the backpacking community that I loved so much when I was younger now seems liek a shallower way to travel, people flocking to people who are similar to them, a diluted spritzer of Africa instead of a fresh gulp. But still, backpackers see much more than the typical tourist. I am also aware that when I find someone to travel with I can do so much more than I can on my own. I can't go to more risky places, out at night or take more chances by myself so it is good to meet up with poeple to get in trouble with.
So another transition, I am sure there will be many more to come.
Safari (Tanzania)
Traveling with my mom was amazing. It was nice to not be alone and I saw a whole different world of travel, the way that most people travel! It was more luxury than I have ever experienced in my life.
We started out safari at Lake Manyara, Tanzania. We had a whole safari jeep to ourselves, cruising aroudn and looking at hippos, flamingos, zebras, elephants, giraffes, gazelles and impalas. We were able to stand up on the seats and look out over the open roof as the landscape flew by. My favorite were the families of baboons that we got up very close too.
We stayed in an incredible hotel with meals served to us in courses. This was quite different than my staple of avacado on bread for my 2 daily meals.
The next day it was off to Ngorongoro crater. We were greeted by the same animals from the day before but also by rhinos, buffallos, wildabeasts, heartbeasts, hyenas, jackals and ostritches. We saw a cheeta make a kill, though it was from so far away it just looked like a streak of dust. The whole time I was saying I wanted to see something kill something like you do on animal planet.
The next day we stopped at Oldavi Gorge where the Leakeys did their work. Then we headed to the famous Serengeti, driving through the wildabeast migration, wildabeasts speckling the grasses as far as I could see.
We stayed at a "Mobile Luxury Camp" which made me ecstatic because it was just like in the movies. I never wanted to leave.
We had campfires at night and were guarded by 2 Masai guys who became my friends and loved my attempts to talk with them in Kiswahili. I have a strange vocabulary which leads people to believe that it is bigger than it actually is which can get me into trouble. I did try to throw one of their speers and they are much heavier than you would think.
At the end of our trip one of the Masai guys (the one that would yell out my name and hello every time he passed our tent and we would yell back and forth in Kiswahili) asked for my number. I mention this only because of the mental picture I got when I tried to imagine how a conversation on the phone with him might go.
"So, what are you doing?"
"Oh you know, just hanging out on the Serengeti in my Masai robes protecting my gotes and cattle from lions with my speer. You know, the uz."
Our first night at the camp we were woken up by lions which, contrary to popular belief don't roar as much as they groan. Still, it was a new experience to be woken up by lions outside your tent.
As we ate our first-class meals, elephants, giraffes and zebras would casually wander by.
We got really close to all the animals we saw in the Serengeti. We saw lots of lions including one with her cubs. We saw a cheeta and her tiny flufball babies as they were eating a fresh kill. Saying goodbye to the Serengeti was hard, but then we were off to Zanzibar.
I picked the 2 places with the most exotic names I could think of- Zanzibar and the Serengeti. The names are loaded and leave the tongue heavy with spice and anticipation as the worlds leave your mouth and a sense of mystery at the same time as recognition clash in the air.
Walking around Stonetown, Zanzibar, I could imagine the early pure Swahili beginnings. I was enchanted with the tiny passage ways, eleborate doors and smell of insence.
We stayed at Matemway Beach in the North. The sand was so white that when it was cloudy everything seemed muted, like we were in a snowglobe of sand.
We lounged pool-side and at the beach. We had the most incredible suite full of beachy and whimsical decorative touches as well as airy curves and an open-air second story complete with swinging sky-beds and a view of the beach. We spent our evenings with a glass of white wine on the white beach, sandwiched in a pastel-painting sunset with a carpet of pure-white sand.
Our last day was chaotic in Arusha as I tried to find out if I could go back to Kenya or not and was followed by a really sad goodbye, but oh, what a trip!
We started out safari at Lake Manyara, Tanzania. We had a whole safari jeep to ourselves, cruising aroudn and looking at hippos, flamingos, zebras, elephants, giraffes, gazelles and impalas. We were able to stand up on the seats and look out over the open roof as the landscape flew by. My favorite were the families of baboons that we got up very close too.
We stayed in an incredible hotel with meals served to us in courses. This was quite different than my staple of avacado on bread for my 2 daily meals.
The next day it was off to Ngorongoro crater. We were greeted by the same animals from the day before but also by rhinos, buffallos, wildabeasts, heartbeasts, hyenas, jackals and ostritches. We saw a cheeta make a kill, though it was from so far away it just looked like a streak of dust. The whole time I was saying I wanted to see something kill something like you do on animal planet.
The next day we stopped at Oldavi Gorge where the Leakeys did their work. Then we headed to the famous Serengeti, driving through the wildabeast migration, wildabeasts speckling the grasses as far as I could see.
We stayed at a "Mobile Luxury Camp" which made me ecstatic because it was just like in the movies. I never wanted to leave.
We had campfires at night and were guarded by 2 Masai guys who became my friends and loved my attempts to talk with them in Kiswahili. I have a strange vocabulary which leads people to believe that it is bigger than it actually is which can get me into trouble. I did try to throw one of their speers and they are much heavier than you would think.
At the end of our trip one of the Masai guys (the one that would yell out my name and hello every time he passed our tent and we would yell back and forth in Kiswahili) asked for my number. I mention this only because of the mental picture I got when I tried to imagine how a conversation on the phone with him might go.
"So, what are you doing?"
"Oh you know, just hanging out on the Serengeti in my Masai robes protecting my gotes and cattle from lions with my speer. You know, the uz."
Our first night at the camp we were woken up by lions which, contrary to popular belief don't roar as much as they groan. Still, it was a new experience to be woken up by lions outside your tent.
As we ate our first-class meals, elephants, giraffes and zebras would casually wander by.
We got really close to all the animals we saw in the Serengeti. We saw lots of lions including one with her cubs. We saw a cheeta and her tiny flufball babies as they were eating a fresh kill. Saying goodbye to the Serengeti was hard, but then we were off to Zanzibar.
I picked the 2 places with the most exotic names I could think of- Zanzibar and the Serengeti. The names are loaded and leave the tongue heavy with spice and anticipation as the worlds leave your mouth and a sense of mystery at the same time as recognition clash in the air.
Walking around Stonetown, Zanzibar, I could imagine the early pure Swahili beginnings. I was enchanted with the tiny passage ways, eleborate doors and smell of insence.
We stayed at Matemway Beach in the North. The sand was so white that when it was cloudy everything seemed muted, like we were in a snowglobe of sand.
We lounged pool-side and at the beach. We had the most incredible suite full of beachy and whimsical decorative touches as well as airy curves and an open-air second story complete with swinging sky-beds and a view of the beach. We spent our evenings with a glass of white wine on the white beach, sandwiched in a pastel-painting sunset with a carpet of pure-white sand.
Our last day was chaotic in Arusha as I tried to find out if I could go back to Kenya or not and was followed by a really sad goodbye, but oh, what a trip!
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