For some reason I have always had this irresistible pull to the desert and the ocean. I thought this was a tension like magnetism between the North and South pole, but there is a resolution in Namibia. Towering red dunes spill out to the beach where they are met by crashing waves. You could walk for days and never see another person. I was in heaven.
The natural beauty in Namibia helped me to cope with the difficulty I have been having entering this developed Africa. The emptiness and landscape has helped nurture my desire for solitude as I deal with both this sense of reverse culture shock and the disbelief that my time in Africa has short by at a lightning speed and is coming to an end. I am longing for time to be kinder and slow down, and longing for the more traditional Africa. It all seems to be going by too fast.
But laying there, alone in the sea of red sand dunes, I was in the flow of life again. Peace in the desert is a different kind of peace that I have found anywhere else. It is a heavier, deeper kind of peace. Everything was muted out by endless bright red sand dunes and a stony grey sky.
I found that peace again in Sossosvlei. You drive to a certain point, then a4x4 truck takes you to the actual pan, a dead lake surrounded by red dunes. Despite everyone thinking i was crazy, I decided to hike the 10k through the desert. I took off my shoes and felt the grains of sand, silky soft, slip through my toes. The sun relentlessly baked my skin as I struggled over and through the dunes. Sand is not an easy substance to walk over, so it made the trek to Sossosvlei feel more like a pilgrimage of sorts.
The colors were stunning; a sailor blue sky, craggy mountains, red dunes with animal tracks winding their way through bright green shrubs. Red, pink and purple dunes rolled out as far as I could see. Everything felt pure and crisply alive.
Arriving at the sight itself was anticlimactic, listening to tourists hollering about putting on sunscreen. The highly photographed Dead Vlei, the cracked pan surrounded by dunes with dead trees speckled over it, was stunning to see but the real highlight for me was the walk through the desert, alone.
Monday, March 17, 2008
Driving on the Wrong Side of the Road (Namibia)
Namibia has to be one of the most remote countries I have ever been too. It's a fairly big country at 825,000 sq kilometers, but the population is only 1.83 million in the whole country. The country itself is like a painting. There are so many landscapes that driving through it I could have somehow entered a living art exhibit. The landscape ranges from dotted green shrubs to rocky mountains to termite hills the size of Volkswagens to breathless red sand dunes to a rocky coastline to plains of white sand to jagged purple and blue crags to bright pink sand and really anything else you could imagine in between.
For all it's natural beauty, Namibia remains impossible to get around with public transportation. IT is probably due to this, and the fact that the majority of people overseas couldn't locate it on a map, that has encapsulated the country in its pristine ruggedness and empty space. Because of this, i found myself driving on the other side of the road adn shifting with my left hand, scared shitless and unsure which way to make turns in a rental car.
Now, I am a nervous driver to begin with. I hate cars and worry more than the average person about accidents. Compound this with a rental car and the fact that I have been switching so rapidly through countries that I have no idea what side of the road to drive on and any traffic sense I had is completely scrambled up. I haven't driven in 7 months and it has been even longer since I drove a stick shift, so the whole ordeal was pretty high stress.
But, you sure couldn't beat the view. We drove first to the cookie-cutter German coastal town of Swakupond. It is a truly bizarre place, a schizophrenic mix of a barbie village and a German city. The streets were immaculate, the architecture inspired by doilies and gingerbread houses and the streets completely empty.
After a couple of nights there we headed to Sossusvlei, the red dunes and white pan in the desert that is Namibia's star attraction, despite how difficult it is to reach. The roads are all dirt and traffic sparse which is pretty scary when you are driving through the desert. Rains up tin the mountains cause streams to infiltrate the dirt roads, rendering them impassible more often than not, leaving cars to have to wait for the rains to pass.
I had visions of us stuck waiting for a river to recede or car trouble in the middle of the desert leaving us alone and stranded for days. Luckily, our timing was good and we had minimal trouble with water. The roads did put my driving to the test even in good conditions. Our only bad luck was a flat tire which turned out to be a good thing because as I was struggling to loosen the lug nuts, an SUV rounded the corner and crashed into a cliff.
I sprinted to the vehicle as it was smoking, both airbags had inflated. The young couple who had rented the car were shell shocked. They were OK other than the girls' arm which we were worried might be bleeding internally. I set up traffic warning cones around the blind curve and rolled the car out of the way (praying it wouldn't explode on me when I tried to start the engine). I tire to calm down the girl as much as possible and we called for help as soon as we got into cell-range. They were airlifted out to safety a few hours later. The incident reminded em that there are worse things than a flat tire and that helped keep some perspective when we arrived safely in Sossusvlei.
For all it's natural beauty, Namibia remains impossible to get around with public transportation. IT is probably due to this, and the fact that the majority of people overseas couldn't locate it on a map, that has encapsulated the country in its pristine ruggedness and empty space. Because of this, i found myself driving on the other side of the road adn shifting with my left hand, scared shitless and unsure which way to make turns in a rental car.
Now, I am a nervous driver to begin with. I hate cars and worry more than the average person about accidents. Compound this with a rental car and the fact that I have been switching so rapidly through countries that I have no idea what side of the road to drive on and any traffic sense I had is completely scrambled up. I haven't driven in 7 months and it has been even longer since I drove a stick shift, so the whole ordeal was pretty high stress.
But, you sure couldn't beat the view. We drove first to the cookie-cutter German coastal town of Swakupond. It is a truly bizarre place, a schizophrenic mix of a barbie village and a German city. The streets were immaculate, the architecture inspired by doilies and gingerbread houses and the streets completely empty.
After a couple of nights there we headed to Sossusvlei, the red dunes and white pan in the desert that is Namibia's star attraction, despite how difficult it is to reach. The roads are all dirt and traffic sparse which is pretty scary when you are driving through the desert. Rains up tin the mountains cause streams to infiltrate the dirt roads, rendering them impassible more often than not, leaving cars to have to wait for the rains to pass.
I had visions of us stuck waiting for a river to recede or car trouble in the middle of the desert leaving us alone and stranded for days. Luckily, our timing was good and we had minimal trouble with water. The roads did put my driving to the test even in good conditions. Our only bad luck was a flat tire which turned out to be a good thing because as I was struggling to loosen the lug nuts, an SUV rounded the corner and crashed into a cliff.
I sprinted to the vehicle as it was smoking, both airbags had inflated. The young couple who had rented the car were shell shocked. They were OK other than the girls' arm which we were worried might be bleeding internally. I set up traffic warning cones around the blind curve and rolled the car out of the way (praying it wouldn't explode on me when I tried to start the engine). I tire to calm down the girl as much as possible and we called for help as soon as we got into cell-range. They were airlifted out to safety a few hours later. The incident reminded em that there are worse things than a flat tire and that helped keep some perspective when we arrived safely in Sossusvlei.
I Love Zambia
Nowhere is it more apparent than in traveling that an object at rest stays at rest. There are places in the world that are almost like black holes and seemingly impossible to leave even if you want too. I think about my narrow escapes from Vang Viene, Laos; Koh Phan Ngon, Thailand; Nairobi; Amapala, Honduras; and Fiji. Lake Malawi is notorious for that as well. I found that an object in motion quickly gains momentum as I blasted through into Zambia.
I caught a lift to the border with some guys who buy petrol in Malawi then sell it on the black market in Zambia. I fully intended on staying in the border town of Chipata so I wouldn't arrive In Lusaka late at night, but I had a crisis with Money. It was a Saturday and there was no where to change money on the border, every traveler's nightmare. It didn't help that there was one place to change money in the city but it closed early and because the border official insisted on going through my entire passport and having me explain where each visa came from, I missed it. Luckily I met a Zambian, Danny, who shared a taxi with me and took me to an underground exchange bureau in a fast-food restaurant that was in the early stages of being built. Danny said he was continuing to Lusaka and could help me get a taxi or I could stay with him, either way I would be sorted.
I thought, why not, and hopped on the bus to Lusaka with him.
I'm not going to say there weren't warning signs. We sat on the bus for 6 hours after it was supposed to depart. The guys did strange things selling us different tickets. The bus was left running the entire 6 hours we were in the parking lot.
I was lost in the beautiful Zambian countryside watching the circular huts flow by. I n the country side as darkness began to coat the air, people would light fires outside their huts. Danny explained that they have to keep them going all night to keep away wild animals. My attention was brought back to the inside of the bus when people began yelling. It turns out, not only did our bus have no headlights, but the alternator was broken too so when we stopped we wouldn't be able to start. The driver and conductor knew this. I guess Zoom, the bus company we were with is notorious for being really dangerous. Great. Half the bus was yelling to stop or else we would probably die, the other half said we would probably die if we stopped in the bush at night. The driver refused to stop. A fight broke out on the bus and people had to be restrained. Danny told me that we were coming up to a road that went along a cliff with a sheer drop off. I joined in on the prayers emanating from the bus.
People were praying out loud more and more urgently. Everything felt really intense. Lightning outside the bus popped quickly like flashbulbs in a way I have never seen.
Then we hit a road block. The police stopped us from going any farther and we pulled into the police station. The driver was arrested and the conductors ran away with all our money. We were absolutely stranded.
"How do you like Zambia?" A man came over and asked me. Along with Danny, 3 other men took me under their wing and they turned out to be pretty powerful people. One man worked for the president's office (the equivalent of the CIA) and he was on the phone yelling at the bus company. Another was the head customs officer for Zambia and he got us food and chairs and his police buddy friends joined us. The last man, Mr. Zuma, is one of the head of COMENSA (the African version of the EU) and works for the World Bank.
I couldn't imagine a better night than drinking soda and eating biscuits w, sitting in plastic chairs in the parking lot of a police station in Zambia with lightning exploding all around us with these kind of interesting and articulate people. We talked for hours about politics, culture, Zambia, Zimbabwe, Kenya, God, the future of Zambia and more. Mr. Zuma offered me a job as a part journalist, part PR representative at COMENSA. The customs officer said he could get me the proper paperwork in 15 minutes. We all agreed that we had been brought together this night for a reason. I could feel more momentum building as the men talked about how they were going to help their country in the future. It was incredibly inspiring.
One of them had an interesting though. WE were talking about God and I was explaining how people in Africa seem much more religious as a whole than those in the US. He said, "Maybe life in America is so easy people don't have to believe in God the same way we do."
Danny said that he thought the US has been so lucky economically because our money says, "In God We Trust" on it.
I eventually went over to the bus to sleep and woke up to Danny covering me with his blanket to keep the mosquitoes from eating my legs off. The next morning with no help in sight, Mr. Zuma bought me breakfast with some Zambian hospitality. We sat around talking with some women from Zimbabwe about the situation there.
Eventually they got the bus running, but I wouldn't have missed that night for anything. Zambia was quickly becoming my favorite country and all the people I met at the chaotic Lusaka bus station that helped me only reinforced that. Everyone was so friendly and helpful.
I decided to roll with the momentum and wait 7 hours for a night bus to Livingston from Lusaka. It was crammed into that bus with no room to even take a deep breath, the window stuck open with the wind assaulting my face but that's OK because the blaring Zambian music wouldn't have allowed for sleep anyways, that I realized how happy I am here. There is nowhere else i would rather be. I was by myself, but not alone, doing this in such a crazy way with only myself to depend on and the grace of the wonderful people that have helped along the way.
It is a great feeling to be completely happy and not due to anyone or anything but yourself. I think that reminds me that happiness is always within reach.
Coming to Livingston has actually been a big culture shock. There are so may tourists. It's the first almost-proper town I have seen my whole trip other than Nairobi. Many of the streets are even paved. Almost everything is available and I find it completely depressing and long to be one of the only tourists, for the bustle of the marketplace and smells of street food and life spilling out of the sidewalks. I'm ready to jump right off my sort of tourist route and go my own way again. It made me realize this transition to more developed Africa will be rough and that Africa is going to be much harder to leave than I could ever imagine before I came. I am in big trouble.
I caught a lift to the border with some guys who buy petrol in Malawi then sell it on the black market in Zambia. I fully intended on staying in the border town of Chipata so I wouldn't arrive In Lusaka late at night, but I had a crisis with Money. It was a Saturday and there was no where to change money on the border, every traveler's nightmare. It didn't help that there was one place to change money in the city but it closed early and because the border official insisted on going through my entire passport and having me explain where each visa came from, I missed it. Luckily I met a Zambian, Danny, who shared a taxi with me and took me to an underground exchange bureau in a fast-food restaurant that was in the early stages of being built. Danny said he was continuing to Lusaka and could help me get a taxi or I could stay with him, either way I would be sorted.
I thought, why not, and hopped on the bus to Lusaka with him.
I'm not going to say there weren't warning signs. We sat on the bus for 6 hours after it was supposed to depart. The guys did strange things selling us different tickets. The bus was left running the entire 6 hours we were in the parking lot.
I was lost in the beautiful Zambian countryside watching the circular huts flow by. I n the country side as darkness began to coat the air, people would light fires outside their huts. Danny explained that they have to keep them going all night to keep away wild animals. My attention was brought back to the inside of the bus when people began yelling. It turns out, not only did our bus have no headlights, but the alternator was broken too so when we stopped we wouldn't be able to start. The driver and conductor knew this. I guess Zoom, the bus company we were with is notorious for being really dangerous. Great. Half the bus was yelling to stop or else we would probably die, the other half said we would probably die if we stopped in the bush at night. The driver refused to stop. A fight broke out on the bus and people had to be restrained. Danny told me that we were coming up to a road that went along a cliff with a sheer drop off. I joined in on the prayers emanating from the bus.
People were praying out loud more and more urgently. Everything felt really intense. Lightning outside the bus popped quickly like flashbulbs in a way I have never seen.
Then we hit a road block. The police stopped us from going any farther and we pulled into the police station. The driver was arrested and the conductors ran away with all our money. We were absolutely stranded.
"How do you like Zambia?" A man came over and asked me. Along with Danny, 3 other men took me under their wing and they turned out to be pretty powerful people. One man worked for the president's office (the equivalent of the CIA) and he was on the phone yelling at the bus company. Another was the head customs officer for Zambia and he got us food and chairs and his police buddy friends joined us. The last man, Mr. Zuma, is one of the head of COMENSA (the African version of the EU) and works for the World Bank.
I couldn't imagine a better night than drinking soda and eating biscuits w, sitting in plastic chairs in the parking lot of a police station in Zambia with lightning exploding all around us with these kind of interesting and articulate people. We talked for hours about politics, culture, Zambia, Zimbabwe, Kenya, God, the future of Zambia and more. Mr. Zuma offered me a job as a part journalist, part PR representative at COMENSA. The customs officer said he could get me the proper paperwork in 15 minutes. We all agreed that we had been brought together this night for a reason. I could feel more momentum building as the men talked about how they were going to help their country in the future. It was incredibly inspiring.
One of them had an interesting though. WE were talking about God and I was explaining how people in Africa seem much more religious as a whole than those in the US. He said, "Maybe life in America is so easy people don't have to believe in God the same way we do."
Danny said that he thought the US has been so lucky economically because our money says, "In God We Trust" on it.
I eventually went over to the bus to sleep and woke up to Danny covering me with his blanket to keep the mosquitoes from eating my legs off. The next morning with no help in sight, Mr. Zuma bought me breakfast with some Zambian hospitality. We sat around talking with some women from Zimbabwe about the situation there.
Eventually they got the bus running, but I wouldn't have missed that night for anything. Zambia was quickly becoming my favorite country and all the people I met at the chaotic Lusaka bus station that helped me only reinforced that. Everyone was so friendly and helpful.
I decided to roll with the momentum and wait 7 hours for a night bus to Livingston from Lusaka. It was crammed into that bus with no room to even take a deep breath, the window stuck open with the wind assaulting my face but that's OK because the blaring Zambian music wouldn't have allowed for sleep anyways, that I realized how happy I am here. There is nowhere else i would rather be. I was by myself, but not alone, doing this in such a crazy way with only myself to depend on and the grace of the wonderful people that have helped along the way.
It is a great feeling to be completely happy and not due to anyone or anything but yourself. I think that reminds me that happiness is always within reach.
Coming to Livingston has actually been a big culture shock. There are so may tourists. It's the first almost-proper town I have seen my whole trip other than Nairobi. Many of the streets are even paved. Almost everything is available and I find it completely depressing and long to be one of the only tourists, for the bustle of the marketplace and smells of street food and life spilling out of the sidewalks. I'm ready to jump right off my sort of tourist route and go my own way again. It made me realize this transition to more developed Africa will be rough and that Africa is going to be much harder to leave than I could ever imagine before I came. I am in big trouble.
Tobacco Madness in Malawi
Malawi is commonly called, "Africa for Beginners." I must admit I could already feel the vibe changing from East Africa when I landed in the Malawi airport. Where I have been going has been really rough and tumble with few tourists so it was strange to go to a country where more people than not spoke English!
I headed to Nkatah Bay at Lake Malawi and spent a few days relaxing by the lake. All the locals were super friendly and I spent long days relaxing in the sun and playing bao, a Malawian game on the beach wit h the boys in the shade, mixed with nights at the bars chatting with the rasta guys.
I was getting ready to head back to Lilongwe when I met Carlo, a white Malawian. He offered me a ride back with him in a couple of days. Nkatah Bay is famous for being hard to leave, every day someone says thy will go and then comes back sheepishly wearing their packs 15 minutes later. I was that person for the day.
After meeting Carlo and his business associate, the pace of life picked up to a maddening intensity as life only can when going around with a Hunter S. Thompson type. Carlo works for a multi-national tobacco company. I went along with them on their work tours of tobacco farms. It was really interesting to see the whole process, visit remote villages and drop into local schools while he held meetings. Then he would pop open beers and we would cruise around bar-hopping through beaches and visiting Carlo's crazy friends. The days had that full-blown summer time feel; cruising around in the heat, the boys with their shirts off, drinking too early in the day and making spontaneous plans. It was a carefree summer in February, not what I expected on this trip.
We had a close call one night when we were driving back to the hostel. It isn't a good idea to drive in the dark in Malawi but we had no choice. We were driving through a dark rubber forest and a guy was laying in the middle of the road. Carlo started yelling at us to roll up our windows and lock our doors. At the same time I was yelling at him to stop and couldn't believe it when he drove on without stopping to see if the man was OK. Carlo said that it is a common ploy for someone to lay in the road and then when a car stops people jump out of the bushes and ambush you. Carlo's business associate said he thought he saw people in the woods.
The air seemed chillier after that. Just a half a mile down the road we passed a truck barrelling down the road in the direction we came from. The truck was going really fast and did not have its lights one. Ploy or no ploy, I would be doubtful the man in the road made it. We drove back in silence.
The next day on our way back to Lilongwe we visited more tobacco farms. Tobacco is the main cash crop in Malawi. what happens is smaller intermediary companies will subsidize farmers crop and then buy directly from them. Carlo works for a much bigger company so it is in their interest to encourage farmers to bring their crops to the auction floor where they have a huge amount of buying power instead of farmers selling directly to smaller companies. Technically the farmers will make more money that way too, so the name of the game was to (quite illegally) get people talking and spread rumors about the auction floor prices being high in order to usurp the direct buyers. To help cause a buzz and throw people off Carlo brought me along. I didn't understand what was being said since none of it was in English , but I went to two farms before I realized what was happening and refused to leave the car after that. I didn't want to be part of something like that when I don't really understand it.
Back in Lilongwe, Carlo insisted I stay with him and his flatmate. I realized I have been invited home with locals in every country I have been too except for in Tanzania doing touristy things with my mom, and the DRC.
Staying at Carlo's proved to be an interesting parade of the wealthy party crowd in Lilongwe. It was a little nerve-wracking when I arrived and Carlo left for a bit and one of the first things his flatmate said to me was, "I'll be right back, I must need to go sharpen this knife." Right. Granted it was too cook dinner for me, but that is still a little unsettling to hear your first night in a stranger's house!
It turned out to be quite the party house. There was an endless stream of class A's and the people coming to buy, snort, share and smoke them all through the night. It was definitely an experience most tourists wouldn't get! Not my scene but it was an interesting experience. So I felt like I got to see a wild side of Malawi.
I headed to Nkatah Bay at Lake Malawi and spent a few days relaxing by the lake. All the locals were super friendly and I spent long days relaxing in the sun and playing bao, a Malawian game on the beach wit h the boys in the shade, mixed with nights at the bars chatting with the rasta guys.
I was getting ready to head back to Lilongwe when I met Carlo, a white Malawian. He offered me a ride back with him in a couple of days. Nkatah Bay is famous for being hard to leave, every day someone says thy will go and then comes back sheepishly wearing their packs 15 minutes later. I was that person for the day.
After meeting Carlo and his business associate, the pace of life picked up to a maddening intensity as life only can when going around with a Hunter S. Thompson type. Carlo works for a multi-national tobacco company. I went along with them on their work tours of tobacco farms. It was really interesting to see the whole process, visit remote villages and drop into local schools while he held meetings. Then he would pop open beers and we would cruise around bar-hopping through beaches and visiting Carlo's crazy friends. The days had that full-blown summer time feel; cruising around in the heat, the boys with their shirts off, drinking too early in the day and making spontaneous plans. It was a carefree summer in February, not what I expected on this trip.
We had a close call one night when we were driving back to the hostel. It isn't a good idea to drive in the dark in Malawi but we had no choice. We were driving through a dark rubber forest and a guy was laying in the middle of the road. Carlo started yelling at us to roll up our windows and lock our doors. At the same time I was yelling at him to stop and couldn't believe it when he drove on without stopping to see if the man was OK. Carlo said that it is a common ploy for someone to lay in the road and then when a car stops people jump out of the bushes and ambush you. Carlo's business associate said he thought he saw people in the woods.
The air seemed chillier after that. Just a half a mile down the road we passed a truck barrelling down the road in the direction we came from. The truck was going really fast and did not have its lights one. Ploy or no ploy, I would be doubtful the man in the road made it. We drove back in silence.
The next day on our way back to Lilongwe we visited more tobacco farms. Tobacco is the main cash crop in Malawi. what happens is smaller intermediary companies will subsidize farmers crop and then buy directly from them. Carlo works for a much bigger company so it is in their interest to encourage farmers to bring their crops to the auction floor where they have a huge amount of buying power instead of farmers selling directly to smaller companies. Technically the farmers will make more money that way too, so the name of the game was to (quite illegally) get people talking and spread rumors about the auction floor prices being high in order to usurp the direct buyers. To help cause a buzz and throw people off Carlo brought me along. I didn't understand what was being said since none of it was in English , but I went to two farms before I realized what was happening and refused to leave the car after that. I didn't want to be part of something like that when I don't really understand it.
Back in Lilongwe, Carlo insisted I stay with him and his flatmate. I realized I have been invited home with locals in every country I have been too except for in Tanzania doing touristy things with my mom, and the DRC.
Staying at Carlo's proved to be an interesting parade of the wealthy party crowd in Lilongwe. It was a little nerve-wracking when I arrived and Carlo left for a bit and one of the first things his flatmate said to me was, "I'll be right back, I must need to go sharpen this knife." Right. Granted it was too cook dinner for me, but that is still a little unsettling to hear your first night in a stranger's house!
It turned out to be quite the party house. There was an endless stream of class A's and the people coming to buy, snort, share and smoke them all through the night. It was definitely an experience most tourists wouldn't get! Not my scene but it was an interesting experience. So I felt like I got to see a wild side of Malawi.
Tuesday, March 4, 2008
What is Unspoken (Rwanda)
Rwanda is the most beautiful place I have ever been. It has the friendliest people I have ever met. It is the nicest country in Africa that I have been too. The motorcycle taxis (boda bodas) wear helmets. I couldn't understand what was happening, traffic had this strange flow to it then I realized that the roads are paved and people obey traffic laws and lights. There are even crosswalks! This isn't the chaotic Africa I am used to!
The language barrier is difficult but people are so nice and helpful. Crossing the border even the money changers were polite and that never happens! "Madame, change money?" "No thank you." "OK, enjoy Rwanda!" Um. . . I didn't know how to react without hassle.
The border was a breeze and a big bus coming from Kampala to Kigali took me into the city too. The driver actually found me and asked me if I wanted to ride with them. Not many people spoke English but those who did really took care of me. From the bus I was surrounded by a group of men, but instead of grabbing me as usual or hassling me, they helped me put on my backpack and found an English speaker to help me. He put me on a boda boda, told him where to go and negotiated a price for me to get to my hotel.
The hotel worker was so nice, I couldn't afford a room so he watched my stuff then let me keep it at the hotel while I went to another city. He put me on a boda to the bus and the boda driver found me an English speaker who took me by the hand and led me to buy my ticket and show me the bus.
Walking around almost everyone would stop to say, "bonjour" and try to speak with me. I was walking in the small town of Gisenyi. I happened to be walking up a hill when school got out. The kids all ran up to me and followed right behind me. It was me leading maybe 60 or 70 children in their green uniforms. I felt like a deranged pied piper without music.
But there is a darker side to the country as well, obviously the genocide. There are many people with machete scars on their faces. Then I find myself wondering about the ones who don't have the scars- did they do the killings? Then I wonder if they see me wondering or wonder how I travel here. It is all very bizarre and confusing, especially in such a nice place on the surface.
Rwanda is incredibly lush and green. There are misty volcanoes and tropical forests. IT is very rural so on the buses you see people out in the fields hacking with their machetes to do farm work. I wonder if people on the bus see the flashing of the knives and it brings back memories. It is not spoken up it is all around, impossible to forget.
I just can't comprehend how everyone can be so friendly but capable of genocide. The genocide is everywhere and nowhere. How do people go on? I(t is more in what isn't said that holds the gravity.
At the genocide memorial there are photos of children. Plaques say what their favorite activities were, their best friend, their favorite food, name, how old they were and how they were killed (hit against a wall, macheted, shot in the head, bludgeoned, thrown in toilet or tortured to death).
They tortured babies and children. Babies and children. Known HIV+ men would rape women. I expected it to hurt more but I think it is just so inconceivable that my brain couldn't accept it as real.
There is a place for people to hang photos of their loved ones who were murdered. On the back of one photo that was turned around was written, "The baby is uhuru but the mother is alive." Uhuru is Kiswahili for free.
I set these apart because they were set apart for me.
So I don't know how to put together the way I found Rwanda now with what happened in the past. I had to get out. I wanted to see more memorials I think it is important for journalists, but the country was too expensive for me to stay compounded with the fact that I had such a sense of cognitive dissonance that I couldn't handle it.
My plan was to go overland to Burundi but I went to the embassy to find out how the security was there. The marine told me I am crazy to consider it and when they go they are escorted by more military and take 2 cars and that he would never go. Because there were so recently killings there as well I bought an overpriced ticket to Malawi.
So I am leaving. But I regret not going to Burundi. I regret not seeing more of the memories. I regret not finding a story. I regret turning my back. But I need to go, I just do.
The language barrier is difficult but people are so nice and helpful. Crossing the border even the money changers were polite and that never happens! "Madame, change money?" "No thank you." "OK, enjoy Rwanda!" Um. . . I didn't know how to react without hassle.
The border was a breeze and a big bus coming from Kampala to Kigali took me into the city too. The driver actually found me and asked me if I wanted to ride with them. Not many people spoke English but those who did really took care of me. From the bus I was surrounded by a group of men, but instead of grabbing me as usual or hassling me, they helped me put on my backpack and found an English speaker to help me. He put me on a boda boda, told him where to go and negotiated a price for me to get to my hotel.
The hotel worker was so nice, I couldn't afford a room so he watched my stuff then let me keep it at the hotel while I went to another city. He put me on a boda to the bus and the boda driver found me an English speaker who took me by the hand and led me to buy my ticket and show me the bus.
Walking around almost everyone would stop to say, "bonjour" and try to speak with me. I was walking in the small town of Gisenyi. I happened to be walking up a hill when school got out. The kids all ran up to me and followed right behind me. It was me leading maybe 60 or 70 children in their green uniforms. I felt like a deranged pied piper without music.
But there is a darker side to the country as well, obviously the genocide. There are many people with machete scars on their faces. Then I find myself wondering about the ones who don't have the scars- did they do the killings? Then I wonder if they see me wondering or wonder how I travel here. It is all very bizarre and confusing, especially in such a nice place on the surface.
Rwanda is incredibly lush and green. There are misty volcanoes and tropical forests. IT is very rural so on the buses you see people out in the fields hacking with their machetes to do farm work. I wonder if people on the bus see the flashing of the knives and it brings back memories. It is not spoken up it is all around, impossible to forget.
I just can't comprehend how everyone can be so friendly but capable of genocide. The genocide is everywhere and nowhere. How do people go on? I(t is more in what isn't said that holds the gravity.
At the genocide memorial there are photos of children. Plaques say what their favorite activities were, their best friend, their favorite food, name, how old they were and how they were killed (hit against a wall, macheted, shot in the head, bludgeoned, thrown in toilet or tortured to death).
They tortured babies and children. Babies and children. Known HIV+ men would rape women. I expected it to hurt more but I think it is just so inconceivable that my brain couldn't accept it as real.
There is a place for people to hang photos of their loved ones who were murdered. On the back of one photo that was turned around was written, "The baby is uhuru but the mother is alive." Uhuru is Kiswahili for free.
I set these apart because they were set apart for me.
So I don't know how to put together the way I found Rwanda now with what happened in the past. I had to get out. I wanted to see more memorials I think it is important for journalists, but the country was too expensive for me to stay compounded with the fact that I had such a sense of cognitive dissonance that I couldn't handle it.
My plan was to go overland to Burundi but I went to the embassy to find out how the security was there. The marine told me I am crazy to consider it and when they go they are escorted by more military and take 2 cars and that he would never go. Because there were so recently killings there as well I bought an overpriced ticket to Malawi.
So I am leaving. But I regret not going to Burundi. I regret not seeing more of the memories. I regret not finding a story. I regret turning my back. But I need to go, I just do.
DRC- Take 2
I wasn't too keen on going into the DRC myself, but I don't want to let fear stop me from ding anything. I have found my biggest regrets on this trip have been what I haven't done, not what I have done. I am still sad I didn't go to Jordan, plus I figured if I can survive the DRC by myself then I can do anything!
So I crossed the border from Rwanda into Goma.
The city was destroyed when the volcano erupted in 2002. Buildings were levied. The few ones that were standing were still charred. Between that and the garbage burning down side streets it gave the sense of a city that is perpetually on fire.
I felt like i had just missed a massive attack by hours. It was the most inflamed, violent and destroyed town I have ever seen, though I witnessed no actual violence or destruction. It just seemed to have a sadness and resonance of desperation and fire.
The whole feel of Goma was that of a war zone. It consists of bombed out and burnt buildings and smelled like fire. UN helicopters and airplanes flew in constantly. I have never seen so many guns in my life.
The UN peacekeeping presence was huge. I saw other foreigners but all of them were aid workers or peacekeepers and all were in cars driving with guns. I was definitely the only foreigner walking around and that was a little intimidating.
The people have built walls out of the volcanic rocks. On all but the main street there is no road or pavement, just volcanic rock; layer upon layer. There is no way a vehicle could drive on most of the streets.
People are rebuilding so there are a few big nice houses, brightly painted to contrast with the black lava that surrounds the rest. Aside from those few houses, poking up out of the lava rock there is a temporary feel to Goma. People live in shanty homes made of tin, tarp and corrugated metal. Even stores seem quickly put up with a few boards and metal along with tarps. It is like nobody wants to admit they actually live there by making something permanent, that or the people are so used to losing everything they don't want anything that can be taken away.
I have never seen anything like it. The only word that comes to mind to encompass Goma is dark.
The people for their part were mostly nice. I was stared at a lot but I am used to that. Some went out of their way to say, "bonjour" or show me around. Others fixed me with steely looks. Two women threw rocks at me. I felt vulnerable and out of place by myself, but I was OK.
There was a stark contrast between the refugee camps I saw in Rwanda where everyone was playing soccer and here where there was more of a quiet desperation of people just sitting and staring, shell-shocked.
I went to find out about climbing the active volcano, my goal for the trip. I found that nobody would go up it because rebels have taken over the area. Another plan foiled.
I was tempted to press on with my adventure, but there was such a darkness to this place I knew that could be a death wish. I would have loved to have been there as part of the UN or feeling like I was doing something to help, but alone all I really felt was lawlessness, darkness and fire.
Hopefully I will be able to come back, like I wish for much of Africa, as a journalist or a diplomat. I keep dreaming and praying. Who knows what the future holds but I do know that I am spellbound by this continent.
So I crossed the border from Rwanda into Goma.
The city was destroyed when the volcano erupted in 2002. Buildings were levied. The few ones that were standing were still charred. Between that and the garbage burning down side streets it gave the sense of a city that is perpetually on fire.
I felt like i had just missed a massive attack by hours. It was the most inflamed, violent and destroyed town I have ever seen, though I witnessed no actual violence or destruction. It just seemed to have a sadness and resonance of desperation and fire.
The whole feel of Goma was that of a war zone. It consists of bombed out and burnt buildings and smelled like fire. UN helicopters and airplanes flew in constantly. I have never seen so many guns in my life.
The UN peacekeeping presence was huge. I saw other foreigners but all of them were aid workers or peacekeepers and all were in cars driving with guns. I was definitely the only foreigner walking around and that was a little intimidating.
The people have built walls out of the volcanic rocks. On all but the main street there is no road or pavement, just volcanic rock; layer upon layer. There is no way a vehicle could drive on most of the streets.
People are rebuilding so there are a few big nice houses, brightly painted to contrast with the black lava that surrounds the rest. Aside from those few houses, poking up out of the lava rock there is a temporary feel to Goma. People live in shanty homes made of tin, tarp and corrugated metal. Even stores seem quickly put up with a few boards and metal along with tarps. It is like nobody wants to admit they actually live there by making something permanent, that or the people are so used to losing everything they don't want anything that can be taken away.
I have never seen anything like it. The only word that comes to mind to encompass Goma is dark.
The people for their part were mostly nice. I was stared at a lot but I am used to that. Some went out of their way to say, "bonjour" or show me around. Others fixed me with steely looks. Two women threw rocks at me. I felt vulnerable and out of place by myself, but I was OK.
There was a stark contrast between the refugee camps I saw in Rwanda where everyone was playing soccer and here where there was more of a quiet desperation of people just sitting and staring, shell-shocked.
I went to find out about climbing the active volcano, my goal for the trip. I found that nobody would go up it because rebels have taken over the area. Another plan foiled.
I was tempted to press on with my adventure, but there was such a darkness to this place I knew that could be a death wish. I would have loved to have been there as part of the UN or feeling like I was doing something to help, but alone all I really felt was lawlessness, darkness and fire.
Hopefully I will be able to come back, like I wish for much of Africa, as a journalist or a diplomat. I keep dreaming and praying. Who knows what the future holds but I do know that I am spellbound by this continent.
Democratic Republic of Congo- Take 1
I have always dreamed of going to the DRC for some inexplicable reason it is a Mecca of sorts for me. Now, I know this is not normal and I know it is one of the most dangerous places in the world, but for some reason, I have always wanted to go.
I finally had my chance. I recruited a friend of mine to come join me. Our plan was to climb the active volcano and track gorillas in the Virunga mountains. My friend Ryan met me in Kabale, southwestern Uganda. I had met him in Kampala and he seemed game for an adventure.
We made arrangements to track the gorillas. When we asked what kind of security we would have, "A jeep full of soldiers" was the reply. We exchanged glances and burst out laughing. Welcome to the big leagues.
That night I got into bed and felt the coldest I have ever been. It was bone-shattering cold. I thought I would never be warm again and that my teeth were going to chatter off.
Ryan gave me his sleeping bag. An hour later I was shaking so hard and nothing he could do could warm me up. I was sleeping on the top bunk and he was on the bottom and my shaking was moving the whole bed.
A few days earlier I had gone on a really long hike and somehow my trusty running shoes gave me massive blisters. We figured they went septic (maybe the fact that they were so swollen and pussy and red and I could hardly walk and had shooting pains up my legs had tipped us off, we are almost doctors). So poor Ryan, on his first night with me had to carry me to the "hospital" in the middle of the night. It was closed but he woke up someone in the adjoining house.
I am not sure how far we got with the language barrier but they seemed to get the point once they saw my feet and recoiled in horror. They gave me antibiotics. They got across that I had a really high ever and needed to get into a cold shower to bring it down. This was a slight problem because Kabale suffers from intermittent water availability and that night there was no water.
By this time Ryan was really worried but something shifted in me and I thought everything was hilarious. I was trying to tell him I am not always like this because I thought he might be worried about what he had gotten himself into, but I was laughing too hard at everything.
With an extra body and a sleeping bag as well as a sleeping pill i managed to sleep it off. In the morning I felt like I had been hit by a train. Every muscle in my body was aching. Ryan was great, forcing me to the pharmacy which I wouldn't have done alone, helping me get bandages and beds.
There was no way I was going to miss this DRC trip so we loaded up on pain killers and headed to Kisoro, the border town.
The next day were off to track the mountain gorillas. This is where the problems got big. Had it just been one thing I would have pressed on but with two big things I thought this was a sign from the universe that it wasn't meant to be and I should probably listen to any hunch I might have because going into the DRC is not to be taken lightly.
First of all, my feet still wouldn't fit into my shoes. It was all I could do not to cry as I tried to force them on. Then, we got to the border which is controlled by Tutsi rebels. They decided to up the bribe 100$ to get into the DRC. The money was just too much and we decided to call it off.
Instead, we went on a hike to look for snakes in the Virunga forest- Pythons, Cobras and Green Mambas. It was great to hike through all the Congolese and Ugandan villages. We drank beer and ate food with the villagers. We climbed up and down mountains and got to see a side of their life that was really beautiful and remote. Children ran up to us to hold our hands. Yes, my feet were killing me but I had pain killers and tried to concentrate on the mud homes and corn drying in the sun, women carrying baskets on their heads.
It was only later when were were hiking through the lush forest, ripe with banana leaves shutting out the light and vines carpeting the ground looking for these poisonous snakes and seeing holes they lived in as I tromped through in my flip flops that I realized maybe in the end gorilla trekking would have been safer!
I finally had my chance. I recruited a friend of mine to come join me. Our plan was to climb the active volcano and track gorillas in the Virunga mountains. My friend Ryan met me in Kabale, southwestern Uganda. I had met him in Kampala and he seemed game for an adventure.
We made arrangements to track the gorillas. When we asked what kind of security we would have, "A jeep full of soldiers" was the reply. We exchanged glances and burst out laughing. Welcome to the big leagues.
That night I got into bed and felt the coldest I have ever been. It was bone-shattering cold. I thought I would never be warm again and that my teeth were going to chatter off.
Ryan gave me his sleeping bag. An hour later I was shaking so hard and nothing he could do could warm me up. I was sleeping on the top bunk and he was on the bottom and my shaking was moving the whole bed.
A few days earlier I had gone on a really long hike and somehow my trusty running shoes gave me massive blisters. We figured they went septic (maybe the fact that they were so swollen and pussy and red and I could hardly walk and had shooting pains up my legs had tipped us off, we are almost doctors). So poor Ryan, on his first night with me had to carry me to the "hospital" in the middle of the night. It was closed but he woke up someone in the adjoining house.
I am not sure how far we got with the language barrier but they seemed to get the point once they saw my feet and recoiled in horror. They gave me antibiotics. They got across that I had a really high ever and needed to get into a cold shower to bring it down. This was a slight problem because Kabale suffers from intermittent water availability and that night there was no water.
By this time Ryan was really worried but something shifted in me and I thought everything was hilarious. I was trying to tell him I am not always like this because I thought he might be worried about what he had gotten himself into, but I was laughing too hard at everything.
With an extra body and a sleeping bag as well as a sleeping pill i managed to sleep it off. In the morning I felt like I had been hit by a train. Every muscle in my body was aching. Ryan was great, forcing me to the pharmacy which I wouldn't have done alone, helping me get bandages and beds.
There was no way I was going to miss this DRC trip so we loaded up on pain killers and headed to Kisoro, the border town.
The next day were off to track the mountain gorillas. This is where the problems got big. Had it just been one thing I would have pressed on but with two big things I thought this was a sign from the universe that it wasn't meant to be and I should probably listen to any hunch I might have because going into the DRC is not to be taken lightly.
First of all, my feet still wouldn't fit into my shoes. It was all I could do not to cry as I tried to force them on. Then, we got to the border which is controlled by Tutsi rebels. They decided to up the bribe 100$ to get into the DRC. The money was just too much and we decided to call it off.
Instead, we went on a hike to look for snakes in the Virunga forest- Pythons, Cobras and Green Mambas. It was great to hike through all the Congolese and Ugandan villages. We drank beer and ate food with the villagers. We climbed up and down mountains and got to see a side of their life that was really beautiful and remote. Children ran up to us to hold our hands. Yes, my feet were killing me but I had pain killers and tried to concentrate on the mud homes and corn drying in the sun, women carrying baskets on their heads.
It was only later when were were hiking through the lush forest, ripe with banana leaves shutting out the light and vines carpeting the ground looking for these poisonous snakes and seeing holes they lived in as I tromped through in my flip flops that I realized maybe in the end gorilla trekking would have been safer!
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