Thoughts on Africa so far

Africa is beautiful, frustrating, overwhelming, fantastic and maddening. Here follow a few thoughts I’ve had about the place, some more fully-formed than others. I worry that most of them sound bitchy or condescending, and I suppose in some cases they are. Remember that I’ve spent most of the last few week sin Tanzania, though most of what’s below applies toa Africa in general. All I can say is that I’m trying to keep an open mind, but Africa is a real challenge. I’m in Malawi now, and am happy to report that it seems generally more prosperous, orderly and clean than what I encountered in Kenya and Tanzania.

A sadly prescient quote on the bulletin board in the truck.

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It fesls like there is garbage everywhere – sometimes it’s like to whole continent is one giant garbage dump. It’s scattered along the roadside, or blowing down city streets, or piled in heaps that slide down riverbanks towards the water. The charitable part of me wants to think that people are living in such poverty that they’re far more worried about simply getting food in their mouths and shelter over their heads than in keeping things tidy. The uncharitable part can’t help but feel that even a hand-to-mouth existence could be made more tolerable by pleasant surroundings, and it wouldn’t take much to clean things up, or at least to stop making it worse by continuing to throw things out whenever and wherever the mood strikes. Perhaps they simply don’t care, or that those who do care are vastly outnumbered and overmatched. Tanzania was awful for this, but as soon as we crossed into Malawi there was a marked difference, despite the fact that Malawi is generally poorer than Tanzania.

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Similarly, we pass a lot of unfinished buildings by the side of the road. In some cases it’s easy to see that they’re under construction. But most of the time it’s impossible to tell if the structure was halfway through being built, or halfway through being demolished. In some there are trees growing up through unroofed rooms and doorways with lintels that have sagged so badly they look like half-lidded eyes. I think a lot of the time people start building with a small amount of money and simply plan to continue whenever they have the funds to do so. It seems that most of the time, the funds just aren’t there. I asked about this in Uganda and was told that in some cases people will construct the bottom level of a building and rent it out, thus earning the money to continue building the next level. But this was in urban commercial areas, where there was obviously a lot more wealth than the places we were driving through.

Hand-made red mud bricks, the most common building material for small houses.

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The service industry in Africa is… well, let’s just say it’s not exactly up to a Wal-Mart level of speed and enthusiasm. As I suspected, my experience with Fed Ex in Uganda was not a one-off but a sign of things to come. This is most obvious in restaurants, where the service can be unbearably slow. I’ve started to think that I should order what I suspect my grandchildren will want to eat, since sometimes it feels like generations could rise and fall in the time it takes to get a plate of food. Laurie ordered a cheese and tomato sandwich from a Zanzibar restaurant and after waiting for about 45 minutes finally asked about the hold-up. She was told that it would take much much longer still, because they were going to have to bake the bread. However, she could have a hamburger, because they had hamburger buns. Clever Laurie elected to have her cheese and tomato ON a hamburger bun, which was a revolutionary solution that seemed not to have occurred to anyone in the kitchen. Nor did it occur to them to simply explain that they were out of bread when Laurie placed the order. It’s just weird.

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In general it feels like most things in Africa are broken but still in use. Buildings appear to be abandoned - leaning, tumbledown, and in danger of imminent failure - but in many cases they’re inhabited. On the way up to the north of Zanzibar we passed a long bus shelter with a corrugated metal roof. One end of the shelter was completely collapsed with its front corner resting on the ground, but people were sitting under the uncollapsed end, calmly waiting for their bus. It seems that the decay is so pervasive and overwhelming that they simply have no choice but to accept it, make the best of it, and carry on. The infrastructure in Africa is just a disaster. The main reason it takes us so long to get anywhere is that the roads are often in a bad state. We have a couple of big brains on the truck, and the consensus among them seems to be that the road beds may not have been properly prepared and compacted so that the heat of the sun, coupled with the weight of the heavy transport trucks, causes them to degrade quickly and develop big ruts. We’ve passed over some very nice sections of newly-laid asphalt, and we’ve passed areas where they’re fixing old roads or constructing new ones. But we also bounce over a lot of roads so dismal that I fear they will jar loose the fillings in my teeth.

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Maybe because of the bad roads, or maybe because of less-than-cautious driving techniques, but most likely because of a nasty combination of the two, we’ve passed an alarming number of overturned, smashed or otherwise incapacitated transport trucks. Sometimes they’re off to the side of the road, but as I mentioned before, in one case there was an overturned truck completely blocking traffic in both directions. I estimate we’ve seen about six catastrophic accidents in the time since we left Nairobi, and I that’s more than I’ve seen in a lifetime of highway driving in North America.

The first of many, this one was on the way to the Serengeti

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The luggage system on the Zanzibar ferry is a bit primitive. It works like this: anything too large to carry with you in the cabin is left dockside where a team of loaders passes it in a human chain up to the front deck of the boat. Once everything is loaded they tie a tarp over the pile and set off. At the other end the tarp is removed and another human chain passes each bag down off the boat to the dock where your only choice is to push your way through the crush of people to grab your things as they’re passed down.

Or at least that’s how things are supposed to work. In my case, on the way back from Zanzibar, it works like this:

The bag – in this case my trusty Aeronaut – is passed to a less-that-capable link in the chain who fails to grasp it properly and drops it into the Indian Ocean. Then the crowd gasps, and I look on in horror, and other members of the chain frantically fish it out and hand it over to me, apologizing profusely. I snarl “Thanks”, filling the word with such vitriol that it drips as much as my bag, and start pushing my way through the crowd to get out while seawater soaks into my shirt from the sodden straps of the bag. It’s at this moment that a taxi driver decides I’m a prime candidate for his service and asks, “Where do you want to go?” Without even looking back I bark, “I want to go somewhere they won’t drop my fucking bag in the ocean!!!” He wisely backs off, as does everyone else in my way. (Note to self: Appearing to be dangerously unstable and on the verge of violence is an efficient way to get through a crowd.)

Safely back with the rest of the group my hands literally shake with rage (and adrenalin, probably) as I try to open the locks on my bag to assess the damage. Remarkably, it’s not bad. The Aeronaut is supposed to be pretty much waterproof, though I suspect that claim doesn’t extend to dunking because there’s some water in each compartment. I think most of it got in through the small space between the zipper pulls, so the damage is minimal. Clothing and gear is a bit wet, but the only real concern is my external hard drive.

Later that night I hang clothing out to dry and spread out gadgets and knick-knacks and turn the Aeronaut inside-out. The next day it’s all fine, and I test the hard drive and it’s fine too. And I pack it all away and carry on.

And that’s how the luggage system on the Zanzibar ferry works.

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People really do carry things on the top of their heads. It seems mostly to be women, though I’ve seen men doing it too. Baskets of fruit, plastic jugs of water, laundry baskets, cases of soda, bags of potatoes, bunches of bananas – anything and everything. We even saw a woman walking down the street balancing a large rolling suitcase on her head. And I’m pretty sure I saw a guy with a small generator on his head in Zanzibar. And of course they don’t use their hands – the load is simply balanced on the head. It’s everywhere and yet, paradoxically, I have no photos.

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I was expecting the bugs in Africa to be bad. I mean, it’s AFRICA – the land of malaria and mosquito nets, right? Well I think I’ve had two mosquito bites the entire time I’ve been in Africa. Others in the group are getting bitten by mosquitoes and sandflies and things that leave angry welts the diameter of a coffee cup. Laurie left with enough small red splotches on her legs to make one wonder if she might be contagious. I, on the other hand, appear to be completely unappetizing to the insect life of Africa, despite not having applied repellent once. I get more mosquito bites in a hour in Winnipeg than I’ve had in 28 days in Africa. Nice.

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I’ve come to accept it, but it still grates. Everywhere we go, we pay mzungu prices (“mzungu” means “foreigner” or something like that, in Swahili). If the locals pay 500 shillings for a bottle of Krest Bitter Lemon, we pay 1,000. If we get stopped for speeding it’s likely because the petty official doing the stopping simply wants us to throw money at him to make him go away. (Kudos to our driver Dave for not taking this approach – he simply pulled out the recorder device attached to the truck’s tachometer and showed the guy he wasn’t speeding. Nevermind that it’s often impossible anyways, given the road conditions). Shopkeepers, roadside hawkers, cab drivers – everyone seems to be determined to swindle. This is especially odd because overland trucks go through these parts frequently, and it’s pretty easy for the group leaders to remember who screwed them around last time, and to pass the word among the fleet. It’s true that the difference in the prices might sometimes be insignificant to a wealthy western traveler, but it’s hard to develop a friendly and charitable attitude to the local population when you feel like they only see you as a wallet with legs.

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I’ve complained a lot here, but I really can’t complain about the kids. They are almost always excited to see us pass and wave and shout “Jambo!” (“Hello!” in Swahili). And they seem genuinely pleased when we wave back. If we’re walking in a village they’ll come running out of houses to see us, and will often want to hold hands and walk along with us for a ways. They love having their picture taken and then looking at themselves on the camera display. Yes, some of them want money, and the older the kids get the more likely they are to say “No pictures” or to flash rude gestures from the side of the road. I suppose as they get older they start to understand and resent the immense gap between us. But when they’re little they just think we’re fun mzungus and it’s great. And I swear I’ve seen them playing the hoop-and-stick game that looks, to my North American eyes, like it belongs in an episode of “Leave it to Beaver”.

After out spice tour on Zanzibar we had lunch at a local house and the neighbourhood kids gathered to peek at us from the porch. After lunch we went out an played with them a bit, and gave them our souvenir origami frogs and hats and baskets made from leaves. This serious guy wanted me to take his picture, so I did.

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And now, as I said earlier, we are in Malawi. We’ve landed at Kande Beach, on the shores of Lake Malawi, and a small mutiny in the group means we’re staying three nights here instead of the two that were scheduled. (We’re skipping one out-of-the-way spot to add an extra night here and an extra night in Livingstone) Everyone simply decided that after two very very long days in the truck, we want to sit somewhere and do nothing for a while. Well, not nothing. There is sleeping in, and having laundry done, and catching up on the internet (when the power is on). Also, the campsite is full of big overland trucks from different companies, and tonight we’ve joined forces with another Dragoman truck to share in the cost and preparation of a roast pig for supper. It’s on the coals now, which means I am done here.

(Please note: I realized a little while ago that a big section at the beginning of my post on Nairobi did not get published. I've fixed that now, so go have a look here.

Nairobi: scams, giraffes and a very long run

I thought I was a pretty savvy traveler, but one day in Nairobi put paid to that idea. Luckily I’m now accompanied by my friend Laurie from home, who turns out to be much less trusting than I am. Here’s what happened:

We were walking in downtown Nairobi, on a bit of a mission. Somehow I managed to abandon some key pieces of gear in my Kampala hotel room as I was packing for the flight out. Among the missing: four blank 2GB memory cards for my camera (thank God they weren’t the full ones), the mobile broadband thingy from England (it was locked to a UK carrier anyways) and – the real show-stopper - the charger for my camera batteries. I have no idea how I managed to leave this stuff behind. I tend to be diligent to the point of OCD when packing, so it’s a mystery how this stuff managed to escape. The only thing I can think might have happened is that while I was rearranging things in one of my small gadget cases I took the stuff out and neglected to put it back in. Regardless, I really couldn’t carry on without being able to charge my camera, so we were off to find a replacement charger. I was also trying to get some service for my cell phone, which spontaneously stopped doing email and internet just before I left Uganda. I should have know it was too good to be true.

Anyways, we were strolling along the street in the city centre, and got sort of accosted by a drunk guy. He wasn’t hugely threatening or anything, just sort of annoying, and he was quickly warned off in Swahili by a friendly local man passing by. We struck up a conversation with the friendly man – a tall and skinny guy with a nice face named Hubert. He was a teacher, and interested in us, and we walked with him for a ways and enjoyed his company. And then he asked if we’d like to sit for a minute and talk a bit – he was a teacher after all, and interested in learning more about us, and Canada. And as we crossed the street to the café Laurie leaned over to me and muttered, “Are we being scammed?”. I figured not – the guy just seemed so pleasant and genuine and quite knowledgeable. (Yeah, yeah, I know. But you weren’t there, so shut up.)

Once we were in the café, we sat and had glasses of mango juice, and chatted some more. Then Hubert pulled out a piece of paper that purported to be some kind of Tanzanian immigration application document. He was fleeing his native Zimbabwe as a refugee from political violence. His family had been the subject of terrible violence at the hands of government forces – some killed, some survived, all fled. The remaining family members were being taken care of by a local church, but the church was failing them, and they needed food. He didn’t want money, just food. Some rice, something. I was weakening. It’s not like he was asking for money, so how could it be a scam? Then the pitch changed. We have so much, even just a dollar from each of us… Laurie and I exchanged a glance. And Laurie was firm. “”No, sorry, we can’t do that. We’ll pay for the juice, but we can’t help you.” She turned to me, “Are you ready to go?”. And we got out of there quickly, though I still really didn’t get it until Laurie said, “That was a scam. He and the drunk guy were working together.” “Really?” I said. “Oh yes.” So there you go. The anatomy of a scam, and thank you Laurie.

Me, standing in front of a "No guns" sign. Really, how comfortable can you be in a city where it's necessary to put up signs like this?

I was not a big fan of Nairobi. On top of Mr. Hubert Scammy Scammerson, the streets were packs with touts pushing different safari tours. After a while I felt like I needed a t-shirt that said “NO THANK YOU, I’M ALREADY BOOKED ON A SAFARI.” Add to this the fact that we were chasing around trying to find the stupid battery charger (successfully, eventually), and trying to get my cell phone fixed (unsuccessfully, frustratingly), and it was a bit of a wearing day. We did manage to find zippers to fix my pants (again…), which felt like a major achievement.

The next day, though, was really excellent. We splurged and hired a taxi for half the day so we could run a few errands, but mostly so we could go to the Giraffe Centre, run by the African Fund for Endangered Wildlife. It was most perfectly excellent. Started in 1979 by the Kenyan grandson of a Scottish Earl, the Giraffe Centre rescues giraffes and breeds them. Apparently in the east of the country where the habitat is shrinking, farmers will often kill giraffes because they can end up eating crops. The Giraffe Centre steps in when they can to rescue these animals.

Hee hee!

It turns out that giraffes look exactly like they are supposed to, and are beautiful and totally improbable at the same time. There are currently nine giraffes at the centre, and the best part about it is that they have a tall gazebo-like viewing stand set up and they encourage the giraffes to come right over and poke their heads in. You end up eyeball to eyeball with them, mostly because they also give out handfuls of Giraffe Chow, hence they like to hang around very very much.

Laura the giraffe, approaching the platform.

I took approximately 9,528 photos of giraffes, because they really are fantastic. You should go over the Flickr and check out the set labeled “Nairobi” because it’s mostly giraffes. You can even get the giraffes to “kiss” you by holding a large bit of giraffe chow between your lips. The giraffes then use their extremely long and agile tongues to pluck the bit of food from your mouth. When I did this it was quite a tidy operation, but whenever Laurie tried it she ended up with a big slobbery kiss.

Laurie gets a big wet one from Daisy the giraffe.

We spent a lot of time a the Giraffe centre (but I still managed to leave without taking a video, which is really too bad. I’ll try to be more on the ball in future.) I even bought a souvenir at the gift shop – a small carved wooden spoon with a giraffe on the end. Laurie is a bad influence in these matters because she’s Christmas shopping, and she’s going home in a couple of weeks with a nice big bag. I’ve been pretty restrained on the trip so far, but I think that once I get to Zambia I’ll be sending a large parcel home. My camping gear will have to go somewhere, and I think I can pare down the clothing. And if a seven foot tall carved wooden giraffe makes it into the shipment, well, what’s the harm in that?

Too bad Laura will not fit in a parcel home.

So the giraffes were really excellent, and the day wasn’t over yet. We had a bit more shopping to do, and a nice lunch, and I managed to squeeze in a run with the Sunday Afternoon Nairobi Hash House Harriers (SANH3). This meant that I had to miss most of the group meeting for my big overland trip, but it was the only chance I had to chalk up another international hash (#15!), so Laurie agreed to take notes, and I got a cab to the start point, despite the disapproval of Group Leader Dave (who actually turns out to be quite

nice and easygoing).

The SANH3 is a small hash – split off from the big Monday evening run that I’d have to miss because I’d be on the bumpy road to Arusha. It was the first time I’ve run with a group that was made up entirely of locals – normally there’s a healthy portion of ex-pats , usually British and American. So I was the only pale face on the hash that day*. I met Wilson, the hare, and got my first taste of running with Kenyans when he told me that the “short” run that day would be about 7kms. The long run was supposed to be about 14kms. Clearly, these are people who are serious about their running. Right away I figured I should do the short trail, but somehow I found myself latched on to Wilson on the long trail. And it’s not like I could risk being left behind, because the run went through one or two areas that were, shall we say, off the tourist trail. It was a long slog – hot, hilly and dusty. It was also the only has

h I’ve ever run with no checks or holds or stops of any kind. Just 14km of struggling to keep up and trying to see the infrequent trail marks (Wilson claimed there were lots of marks, but I think they must have been some kind of secret ones visible only to Kenyans. Which then made me speculate that this may be why the Kenyans do so well in long distance running – it’s not that they’re so much faster than others, it’s just that they’re the only ones who actually know where the race

route is. The other runners in a marathon probably end up doing 45 or 50kms just trying to find their way…)

There was a short circle after the run, and then I had a bit of an adventure trying to get back to the hotel to catch the end of the group meeting. I thought I had matters well sorted, since I had the number for the taxi we’d used earlier in the day, and failing that there were a lot of hashers who would be driving. Then my cabbie jammed out (“I am very far. Very far. No.” Well thanks, buddy.) And the hashers were settling in for a long-ish night, and there was a lot of confusion about the location of the hotel. (In my defense, I would normally have noted the address of the hotel, but this hotel apparently doesn’t have an address. I’m not kidding.) However, the hashers came through in the end and summoned me another cab who

could be trusted because Nairobi is not the kind of town where you want to get into just any cab, especially after dark. So off I went in this supposedly safe cab, and had a short but nerve-racking ride back to the hotel, which was interrupted for a short gas stop that I had to pay for. I admit I was feeling a bit nervous about the whole business, but I did end up getting back safely.

However, when we finally pulled out the next morning I can safely say that I shed no tears seeing Nairobi fade into the distance.

* I’ve never really been a visible minority before, but boy, in Africa I stick out all the time. I couldn’t help but snort when I read this bit in the LP under the “Dangers and Annoyances” section: “Daypacks instantly mark you as a tourist.” Yup, that’s the first thing people notice about me for sure. “Hey, there’s something different about that woman… what is it? I can’t quite put my finger on it… Wait a minute! She’s got a DAY PACK!”

Volun-tourism, Part Two

Ok, how does this sound for a cool way to spend two weeks of your life?: Volunteering on a Dolphin Research project in Kenya!

Volunteers will conduct dolphin research from a surface vessel and have the opportunity to snorkel to observe turtles. Full training is provided by GVI's full time research staff allowing volunteers a hands on and invaluable contribution to the preservation of these majestic animals. Volunteers will live and work in the beautiful Shimoni Archipelago, off the coast of the Indian Ocean on the border with Tanzania, a world class location for dolphins as well as other wildlife. Many exciting opportunities exist for weekend side trips as well as joining other GVI projects in the nearby area.

GVI stands for Global Vision International, a non-religious, non-political organization that "promotes sustainable development worldwide through responsible volunteering programs." They claim to offer volunteers "the chance to participate in projects and expeditions around the world, make a genuine in-country difference, and contribute to work in the field."

GVI has a whole website of really interesting looking projects, like the Turtle Conservation Program in Greece, which is unfortunately not on my radar screen because of scheduling - apparently the turtles only need to be conserved between June and September. There's also a very interesting Wildlife Conservation Program in South Africa where you learn how to track and monitor wildlife like lions, leopards and hyenas. The website is set up really well, and lets you search for programs according to duration, cost, region or "focus" - that's whether you want to do marine conservation or teach English, or build schools, or do community work or whatever.

But back to the dolphins! The project is intended to support the Kenyan government's efforts at marine conservation, the ultimate aim is "the self-financing of conservation through regulated ecotourism and resource use." Participants help in collecting population data on a number of marine mammals, but the main focus is on examining the population ecology of the dolphin species inhabiting the Shimoni area and the Kisite-Mpunguti marine protected area, near the Kenya-Tanzania border. There's no special training required, except that you have to take a swimming test when you first arrive (an unaided 200m surface swim, followed by a ten minute float in the open sea environment). Accommodations are provided in a shared housing arrangement, though other parts of the website mention camping so I'm not sure exactly what the conditions are, except that they're rustic. There's limited electricity provided by solar panels (no blogging!), and washing is either by bucket-showers, or in the ocean. Meals are provided "on a rotational basis" (which I assume means people take turns cooking, not that you only get fed every other day...)


Volunteers come for a two week stay and the cost for that two weeks, including all the solar electricity, bucket showers, and rotational meals, is $1590.00 USD. Not cheap, but on par with Habitat for Humanity, which has far fewer dolphins.

And speaking of Habitat for Humanity - I finally got a response from them about my question of how their "faith-based" nature plays out in day to day life on a project. In fact, the reply I got was from the Global Village Program Director and was a long, thoughtful and considered response to my question. Here's an excerpt:

While Habitat is a “Faith Based” organization its mission is to work with people of all faiths and beliefs in pursuit of its mission to provide simple, decent, affordable housing… for everyone... worldwide. Part of working with people of all faiths and beliefs is being respectful and accepting of everyone, not just the folks who are like you and so Habitat for Humanity is welcoming of all people, in the family selection process for homeowners, in its hiring practices for its staff and in the recruitment of its volunteers. In fact, I would say that the majority of volunteers and team leaders on our Global Village trips, would not associate themselves with a particular religion or faith.

That sounds o.k. to me, so H4H is still on the table, which means so far we've got Houses vs. Dolphins. Stay tuned for Buddhists and Farmers. Perhaps I'll see if I can figure out how to create a poll and y'all can cast a non-binding vote on what you think I should do.

This time next year - January 1

Happy New Year!

The farther into the future these TTNY posts project, the more theoretical it all becomes. And as I become more committed to this trip, I'm actually getting less concerned about having a set schedule, so don't be surprised if the "This Time Next Year" schedule starts getting kind of... loose. Having said all that, let's forge ahead with today's TTNY destination: KENYA!


Lions... elephants... giraffes... now we're really getting into Mutual of Omaha's Wild Kingdom territory. Kenya has some of the world's best game reserves, and I certainly plan to seek out some kind of safari experience, probably as part of one of those package tours I've mentioned before. I can't imagine going to East Africa without getting out there with a pith helmet and multi-pocketed vest to see the Big Five (lion, elephant, water buffalo, leopard and rhinoceros) and whatever else there is to see. And what a cool way to ring in the New Year - toasting the first sunrise of 2010 over the Rift Valley, where some scientists believe the human species originated.

Throughout 2008 Kenya was in the news due to political turmoil about the disputed presidential election held in December of 2007, but Wikitravel reports "Things have now quieted down and the country is considered safe for travelers, but the situation remains somewhat on edge, so follow local news carefully". In addition, like many African nations, the HIV/AIDS infection rate in Kenya is high - about 6% of adults are infected. And of course there's the ever-present danger of malaria, yellow fever and dengue fever from infected mosquitoes. Not surprisingly, Wikitravel also notes that "It is advisable to have traveler's and accident insurance." No kidding.

However, rather than focusing on that, let's talk about Kenya's history of producing magnificent world-class runners, including (among many many others) the four-time women's Boston Marathon winner and two-time world champion Catherine Ndereba, four-time men's Boston Marathon winner Robert Cheruiyot, former marathon world record-holder Paul Tergat, and most recently the first ever winner of the Olympic marathon for Kenya, 21-year-old Sammy Wanjiru, who set a new Olympic record in Beijing this summer. In fact, Kenyans have dominated long-distance running so much that it's a bit of a cliche.

Kenya is also enticingly close to Zanzibar (the Spice Islands!) which looks like a great place for a relaxing getaway from dusty safari life, tents, and shaking out your boots in the morning to get out the scorpions.