Postcards from Muzungu

Dakar to The Gambia to Casamance

2005-06-05T15:39:00.000-05:00

From where I left off…I think. We went to see a music festival down the road in Dakar. It was a fairly large lineup consisting off some famous Senegalese hip hop artists (I’ve recently learned that Senegal is famous for it’s hip hop and rap artists, although Cote D’Ivoire has just pulled out in front), as well as African singers from Congo and Cameroon. One dude named Caffe (?) was a massive crowd favorite. He’s from Congo (I think) but now lives in Paris. A dance troupe from Soweto, SA drove the crowd wild when they emerged. The most fascinating aspect of the festival was the crowd was completely sober. Not a lick of drink was available, other then pop, but that didn’t stop everyone from having ball. Dancing in the aisles, shouts of Wow to the stage (which, in Wolof, means ok). I left at around 3 am and the party was still going strong. Could you ever imagine that happening in Toronto?!

There’s an obsession for the human form in Senegal, mainly in maintaining the best you can have. This mostly applies to the men. All up and down the beaches in Dakar are workout stations, somewhat similar to Venus Beach in LA. People are always going for runs. It’s incredible. So there’s a fair amount of eye candy to be seen in Dakar; very lean, long, muscular young men. Who needs tv?

And I got the pleasure of receiving many a marriage proposal from such men, which I’m sure had everything to do with my sparkling personality rather than my Canadian passport. Right?

One gentleman treated the proposal as a type of business agreement. He thought I should continue my travels, and in the process learn to speak French fluently, as opposed to my ‘conversational’ French. All the while we would be in contact, learning more about one another. Without a doubt, he believed, we would find one another compatible enough for marriage. After I was done with my wanderlust I would the return to Senegal where we would marry and divide our time between Canada and Africa. Under no circumstances would he stay in Canada for the winter though.This was all discussed after knowing one another for about 2 hours. I politely refused to sign on the dotted line. I average on 3 proposals a week. My, so tempting.

Pap invited us to see La Lute one holiday Thursday. This is Senegal’s sport: Wrestling. We arrived at the same arena where we saw the music festival to find a very different form of crowd. There was still non alcohol or drugs to be seen but there definitely was a sense of aggression in the air, an overwhelming smell of testosterone. Pap herded us through the gate while a large group of young men spurred each other on, rushing at one another, shouting wildly. It was the first time I felt concerned for my safety. I quickly learned though that this was all part of the show. The group of guys at the gate were part of one wrestlers entourage. Their job being crowd rousers, basically cheerleaders. They rushed onto the grounds just after D, Pap and I found a spot right in front of the grounds, near the press and beside the sport doctor, pumping their fists in the air, taunting the crowd. On one side of the arena was a group of singers and a mess of drummers, pounding out beats, encouraging the cheerleaders and the crowd. On the other side was a slew of cops armed with frikin AK 47s. Doing laps around the grounds were the competitors, all wearing various types of Juju (good luck charms; voodoo), warming up with their coaches and trying to psyche out their opponents.

The first match finally started. The competitors were checked for weapons and sanded down. One dude was massive. He seemed to be a favorite and I was shocked when he went down, fairly quickly too. Immediately tears formed in his eyes and he slouched his way into the crowd, asking for money. Turns out La lute is Senegal’s answer to WWF! It was fantastic! A true comedic spectacle.

It wasn’t until I was in Africa the first time that I learned that Rasta came from Ethiopia. It wasn’t until I was in Dakar that I learned about Baye Fall. This is a sect of Rasta, but instead of Haille Selasie, the marabout Bamba is the ‘god’. A marabout is an Islamic holy man, well, witch doctor. Politicians will go visit top marabouts for ‘aid’ in winning and election. Basic superstition. So these Baye Fall wander about cloaked in pristine white robes, wearing massive pictures of marabouts as necklaces, dreadlocks piled neatly atop their heads. Fascinating. Now I’m even more in the dark about Rasta.

Throughout the world my name has proven difficult. Either people remember it or they don’t. Rarely do I not have to repeat it. Here, in West Africa, it seems Thia is a common name and everyone 1)Remembers it and 2)Can spell it! Even when I say it in French (dropping the ‘h’). There even a drink named ThiaKry, which is sweetened cold milk with couscous. Never tried it but hey, that’s cool.

Teresa, Christina and I came across a wedding one day in Dakar and stopped to admire the bride and the wedding party. The photographer caught sight of us and took pictures of us gathered outside the gate. Thought it was amusing for all involved.

We finally left Dakar for the Petit Cote, to a village called Joal-Fadiout. We were down to just D, myself and Christina as David and Teresa were headed down to Guinea. Fadiout is found out on a small island attached to Joal by a wooden bridge. It’s a great little community where Muslims and Christians live happily side by side, with a church standing beside a mosque, sharing land and even cemeteries. The island is composed entirely of shells that have accumulated over the centuries.

Funny thing happened one night. I was wandering to the shower and stopped to talk to the manager. All of a sudden a bat ran smack into my leg, then fell to the ground. It sat there for a minute, stunned, then flew off. How bizarre.

We went to The Gambia after Joal. This is the smallest country to be found on the continent, measuring 35 km across and being completely surrounded by Senegal except for 80 km of coastline. It’s famous for it’s beaches and friendly people, and we were happy to get a vacation from the French language. The official language is English.

The ride to the border was long and very hot, and comprised of multiple transport including one ferry, but we finally made it to Banjul, the capital, by around 9pm. We wanted to get to Bakau, a beach resort not far. We were excited by the information the Lonely Planet offered up about the Coast Resorts in The Gambia. Mainly that it was cheap. Senegal is not cheap and we were looking forward to spending less, making up for some expensive days. And we wanted to chill on a beach, drinking cheap beer. We took a taxi to Bakau and went to a hotel recommended by the LP only to find a massive price increase. This was discouraging. We went down the road in search of a cheaper alternative only to find the cheapest place comparable in price to Senegal. Sigh. It was late though and we had had a very long, very indescribably hot day sitting in sweat boxes so we stayed, thinking we could check out the other places in the LP the next morning. Turns out the LP needs a little updating. All the cheap places listed were much more expensive now, so we stayed put.

Our Gambia Experience consisted of beach boys trying hard to be our guides, cause obviously we couldn’t do anything on our own (we quickly learned most visitors tend to fly in from Europe and had no idea about anything in Africa, thus the need for ’guides’), fruit and vegetable vendors overcharging by a ridiculous amount and not coming down in price at all, and all dreams of affordability going straight down the drain. We were toubabs (west Africa’s mzungu, white person), and we would pay through the nose for it.

It wasn’t all bad though. We met a local football team on the beach one day and they invited us to join them for lunch. They were friendly guys and didn’t harass us in any way. One guy’s family was from Malawi and I got to teach an African his local language. We saw some excellent live music with The Gambia’s best kora player (a type of stringed instrument, commonly referred to as Africa’s first instrument) performing. I got to witness male prostitution first hand with young handsome locals whoring themselves out to fat, old European women (one chick had a mullet!). It was all very entertaining.

The constant bad prices got to us though and D and I decided to head back into Senegal and spend some time in the Casamance region. This is a stunning area of forests, palm groves, small islands and mangroves. This is also an area that’s been plagued with violence and rebellion. Goes back to the early 1900’s when the French installed local chiefs to control the areas. The local Casamance people, the Diola people don’t have a hierarchical society and don’t recognize leaders and so, a rebellion broke out. Long story short, peace deals and cease fires have come and gone but nothing has truly been resolved. One local explained to me how the rebels are now being seen as common thieves and bandits and the government have spread word that the rebels are the ones who sell pot, in the hopes this will discourage the use of marijuana. The rebels have stuck to their promise that they will not target tourists though.

We still wanted some beach so we headed right down to Cap Skiring, near the Guinea-Bissau border. This was touted as being one of the top beaches in West Africa and, I have to say, that may be true. It was beautiful and empty of tourists as the season had ended just one week earlier. The rains were on the way and Club Med had shut it’s doors till Oct. (This is true. There’s a gorgeous expensive club Med found right down the beach from where we stayed.)

Christina had left us to head for Mali so it was just the duo now. Upon arrival to Cap Skiring we were met by a number of touts, there to aide us in finding the right accommodations. Oh the fun we had playing them off one another. By this point, as well, I could understand a fair amount of French but neither of us let on I did. We took our time, with D pissing off the beach touts looking at a lodge in the ;middle of the village. I sat and waited while they told me in broken English how bad the place was and how their place was better, etc. Then they would converse in French, and I would giggle. They were so mad we were checking out our options. We weren’t in a hurry though, so it was nothing to us. Finally we agreed to head out to the beach and see one place. We went, we saw, we checked into the neighboring lodge. Those poor bastards. No commission or strong arming the owners.

We ended up getting quite a good deal there and managed to get in the beach life we had wanted in The Gambia. The beauty was the season was over so no one was around to pester us. It was very chill and very nice. And the night skies were filled with lightning but with no rain.
Funniest question I got from a possible husband: When told I was already taken (an innocent lie) he asked me if the significant other was Christian. He was a Muslim.

Senegal

2005-05-28T12:15:00.000-05:00

Right. This feels like a long time ago now, which it is. Over a month at the least.

Our troupe left Nouakchott with a French girl and her senegalese boyfriend (although he loudly claimed different when D asked) in a shared Peugeot taxi. The price was right and the duo seemed nice. In fact they always remained nice. It's just the price that got worse.

We got to Rosso, which was stiffling hot and the border town and that's when things started looking sketchy. First was the police checks. She just seemed really dodgy about it; shifty, like something was wrong. sure enough she had some papers missing from a car she sold or something like that. Hey, all I want to know is if any of the money I gave to the cops for this and that went to her bribe.

We got the ferry over to Senegal and the boy said he would go and get us transport to St Louis while we sorted out our visas. When we were done with the Douanes he took us through some back streets to a private car where we loaded our luggage on top the roof. The car then drove away, with all our gear tied on top and none of us in the car! Right....Boy said it was all good. It was a blackmarket (like I knew of this ever. Money yes, but taxis?!) taxi and we had to walk through the town to meet it so the cops didn't see. I don't like my gear going away from me.

It was all good though. Our gear was intact and we piled into the car. We started driving and then were told the price. It was huge and we weren't happy so we stopped, bargained and sizzled with anger in the backseat. We really were with no choice at this point. We were far enough away from the town and really didn't know the true cost of transport in Senegal, having been there for a mere 30 minutes. Basically, what I figure is we paid for the duos transport to Dakar; and I blame her. Damn french...

St Louis proved to be an excellent town. Cool, tranquil with old colonial buildings situated on an island. We didn't do much here. Just relaxed after our Mauritanian journeys, and wandered the streets. And we ate. Some of the best food comes from Senegal. They know how to cook here!

This is also where I received my first cadeau. Some art boy gave me some gris gris, which is juju, which is voodoo...although he swears there is no voodoo in Senegal. It was voodoo. It was for protection in my travels, and I'm still waiting to see if it worked!

We then headed to Dakar. The drive was amazing! We passed through forests of Baobab trees; felt like being in the middle of a Tim Burton fantasy. All the tropical trees were there: Palm, Mango, Paw Paw....heaven.

We were back in Africa now.

Women lined the streets with huge bowls filled with mangos (the season), or cashews, or peanuts, or bananas...rushing to your window to be the one to sell their stock. We bought about 3 kgs of mangos for less then a dollar and made a mess of the bus.

The dude who ran the auberge in St Louis told us about an auberge in Dakar that was reasonably priced. We had heard Dakar was quite danergous and very expensive. Basically that the city blew. And we heard that you should never ever walk with your packs, no matter the time of day. Too much theft.

So that's exactly what we did. We headed for La Medina, armed with just an address for this auberge. Rue sept et douze. All 5 of us stomped up the main street, sweating buckets and trying not to slow down. Then a drunken cop called us over, asking where we were from. He was very happy to hear I was from Canada cause he wanted to move there and become a fireman. How can he do this and can I help? Sure, no worries. After all, I should know having been born in the country. I told him I would find him later to try to aid him. Never happened. I think he was too drunk to remember me.

We finally found Rue 7 and wandered down; hit 12 and stopped. There was not one sign to be seen advertising an auberge. Nothing. All it looked like was a residential; kids playing soccer in the streets, tailors sewing on the sidewalks. Not even stores elling tourist crap. So we stood, confused and hot and tired. Christina, the one who can speak the most french, went and asked at a store. We suspected the auberge could be in one building that was nicely painted and just sorta stook out. The shopkeeper took her to this building and she disappeared behind the gate for what seemed an eternity. Meanwhile we became surrounded by kids who were very playful and curious. AND not one asked for money or bon bons or a pen or nothing. It was fantastic.

Christina finally emerged. It was the auberge, this is the prica and it's preet nice in there. Sold. Get this fucking monster off my bag and give me some cold water!

Auberge La Medina is not found in any guide books. It's only through word of mouth. And Pap, the owner, only wants a certain type of person staying there. Someone who wants to experience and understand life in Senegal, specifically in La Medina, a very special neighbourhood in Dakar. This place is an oasis in the midst of chaos. Pap and his wife and kids invite you into their home and treat you as family the whole time you're there. We were invited to eat lunch with them everyday, free of charge, because that's how it's done in Africa. And you can only imagine how good the food was, homemade and all. Lots of spice and veg and delicious fresh fish. Unbeleivable.

We had meant to rush through Dakar. Instead we fell in love with it and stayed.

By no means is Dakar dangerous. Yes, I'm sure there are pickpockets and possibly muggers there, but name one city where there aren't? La Medina was where the africans lived when the french took over Dakar. They even needed id to get into the city center. Now it's an old, lively neighbourhood with no or minimal tourism enabling the inhabitants to maintain a normal life. People quickly got to know you and would greet you in a friendly open manner. The Senegalese seemed much more open then the Mauritanians although still slightly reserved. Great for conversation and information; everyone seems very well educated.

We had the luck to be in town to see a music festival, which was at the stadium just down the road.
Gotta go...will update soon...

And you thought transport in the desert was just camels...

2005-05-04T13:15:00.000-05:00

Just to fill you in a bit, the Western Sahara is not actually Morocco. It used to be a Spanish colony, but in 1975 the Moroccans crossed the border in an attempt at obtaining the oil rich land for Morocco. The Spanish and Mauritanians withdrew in time but some were left that just wouldn’t go. This, of course, resulted in a war that lasted until 1991 when the UN got a cease fire going, with the understanding that the people of the Western Sahara would decide between independence and joining Morocco. Apparently this hasn’t happened yet. Attitude in Morocco is ‘It’s ours.’ Seems Dave, the Californian, saw a map of Maroc in Casa with a big black line drawn through the Western Sahara name with Morocco written overtop. You really want to root for the underdog, don’t you. Like living in the desert isn’t hard enough.

This would explain all the mine fields though.

As I had stated in my last blog, we found transport fairly easily. This was for 250 dirham (about 38 CAD) to get from Dakhla to Nouadhibou on the border of Mauritania (in Mauritania). The distance was a whopping 367 km but all through the desert and then along a dirt piste across the border that is heavily mined.

We were picked up at our hotel at 9am by a taxi, one of those sort of covered, can fit people sitting upright but still a small pickup truck kind of taxis, and taken back out to the police post just outside Dakhla. Lots of checkpoints in this area, to the point where you just don’t bother putting away your passport. It was here that we met up with our van. It looked decent enough, had windows, could see the desert. But then all the bags went in, including this mama’s huge crates of potatoes and enormous bags of potato chips (my guess was resell). All our packs were precariously perched atop these crates and we spent a bit, ok, most of the ride making sure they didn’t topple over atop us. We were then all crammed in along the floor of the van. I think there were 9 of us trying to fit in the back of the van that was mostly taken over by luggage. Now this looked so darn comfy that the policeman who checked our passports kicked up a fuss over it. We had no idea what was going on at first. He just seemed all pissed off and you could imagine the thoughts going through my head. He called us into his office, lit a smoke (cause that’s really where one smokes, in a cop shop), then started ‘interrogating’ (seemed to me) the Spanish girl, Christina. The rest of us were shuffled out into the hall where we strained to hear, and decipher what was going on. Luckily, everyone but me speaks Spanish. Basically he wanted to know if we were ok being crammed into the back of the van ‘like sardines, like animals’. Ok, two questions: are we paying too much for this transport and what else can we do? Turned out the price was very good, he was quite impressed with us getting that price, and well, we could just wait and see what else we got. Whatever. We rearranged a bit; got Theresa, Dave’s mom, into the front seat (2 in the front with the driver, but more comfy and you get to see outside) and the rest of us piled into the back again. This time though Dave got seated beside the Muslim mama and she was just not happy about that. Can’t sit beside a strange man. So she just kept pulling away into her corner, which was fine really because that created more room. She had been a real space hog before when I was beside her.

This was all good actually, crammed into the back with everyone. Until the portable gas stove got whipped out. No…they weren’t really going to light a stove in the back of a moving van that was chokers with people sitting atop a carpet, that was definitely flammable. But it was tea time and they were serious about getting some. Dave immediately squished in closer to me, trying his damndest to get as much space between him and this flame. We all moved as far away from that stove as we could. And then they lit it. Completely oblivious to the dangers of doing such a thing. Just really needed some tea. And they even poured it with the Moroccan flair; pouring 2 or 3 small glasses first before offering up a glass for consumption, twirling 2 glasses between the fingers while doing it. And it didn’t even taste that great. I mean, if I’m gonna blow up while drinking tea, I would like to at least enjoy it.

As we were ‘enjoying’ our glasses of tea, we heard a loud bang. That’s right, we had a flat. In the middle of frikin nowhere, we had a flat. Luckily we had a spare, unluckily we had no tools. Try to picture this, we are in the middle of the inhospitable windy no-shade Sahara, that is actually quite cold because of the wind. Yes, we had tea, but we stupidly had no food…although we did have the crisps…And you couldn’t wander off to far, for entertainment purposes or to pee, cause of land mines. Turned out to be rush hour along this road and a car came along which miraculously had tools. Got it all fixed in a jiffy, paid the driver of the car (can you believe they had to pay some bloke to use his tools in the middle of the desert? Not so giving, huh?) and off we went. All of this actually produced a bit of camaraderie amongst us and Dave’s guitar was pulled out and we had a bit of a sing along (Dave and I softly chortled various words out to various songs, and then this Moroccan dude serenaded Christina with some Spanish songs). My decks of cards came out and a rousing game of gin rummy, Moroccan rules occurred (only pick up the last discard, and you put your discard in front of the next player, which at first just looks like a mess but is a pretty cool idea). I find it amazing that all these card games make their way around the world.

By now Dave and I were dying for food, and loudly discussing the big bags of crisps when baguettes and cheese immerged and we ate like bulimics. Thank god for that bread too, cause we would have faded away to nothing without it. Love Moroccans.

Finally got the border of Morocco. Made some nice chit chat with the officer there, was offered some bread in fact, which is just not something you expect to happen when you’re at a border, let alone a border in the middle of the desert his and off we went into no mans land. You should have seen us. We had all been sleepy and groggy from driving so long. Certainly became bright eyed once we entered that mine field! We all stood, well, stooped, and tried to see as best we could outside the window. This is when you are happy to have a driver who really really knows the route. Of what route we saw! Honestly there were tracks going off in all directions; I mean, you know the ones that end at blown up vehicles is probably not the right way, but what if they flew through the air? And most of those cars belonged to germans, by the way. Don’t know why, but bad things tend to happen to german people.

We made it to the Mauritanian border without a hitch, or blam or boom, and were welcomed by touts offering accommodations in Ndibou (too tough to spell each time). There we were, blowing away in the wind, surrounded by mine fields, not even stamped into the country and the touts managed to smell us out. Amazing ability, sniffing us out like that. Oddly our van mates became quite protective of us and basically planned on sticking with us till we were safe and sound at our place of choice and would not let these touts annoy us any further.

What a boring place to work though. These border guards must have been plenty disappointed when they learned of their post. It’s not like you could even take a stroll when you got bored or annoyed with your workmates. Land mines!

Got stamped in and managed to avoid giving a cadeau to the officers, meaning bribe, which they like to do in these parts. Got away with it because the first person they asked was Theresa and she honestly didn’t know what or how much they wanted and wanted to ask our fellow passengers how much. At one point an officer overheard her complain of having a headache (probably dehydration) but he must have though it was the bribe that made her ill and he interrupted an officer just as he was about to ask D for one. Brilliant move on T’s side, deliberate or not.

While we were filling out our currency declaration forms, you know, to declare all the gold bullion you lug around with you, one gentleman officer who spoke some English was asking various questions. When asked where we were staying we answered Auberge Abba (chosen because of it’s name) he became very excited. “Tents”, he exclaimed and made a peaked shape with his fingers just above his forehead. “You stay in Mauritania house which is a tent! Tent!”

We arrived in Nbidou without any trouble, just nearing sunset. Have to say the highlight of entering that town was seeing a camel riding in the back of a very small pickup that was driving into a gas station.

Checked ourselves into Abba, got some money changed thanks to our local Moroccan friend (Tina’s serenading friend) and made our way into the very exciting town for some fairly expensive grub. Kinda crazy how pricey Mauritania is, but then there’s not a whole heck of a lot of farm land or anything.

Our plan was to leave the next day on the night ’bus’ for Noaukchott, to get D’s visa for Senegal (US and Canada are free) and basically mission it through Mauritania for Senegal.

Woke the next day and had a lovely breakfast thanks to the kitchen we could use (we’re dying for Theresa to make some tortillas though; she’s from New Mexico) and headed out to sightsee. Basically Ndibou consists of a port, one side of the town is a no go area filled with land mines, and then there’s the train station that’s actually just a small square building on one side of the land mines. The iron ore train that stops here is the longest in the world, approx. 2.3 km long, and we got the pleasure of seeing it. It seemed to go forever. Unfortunately we didn’t get to see the mad rush of the passengers that attempt to board.

We had unwittingly hired a taxi/guide. Had no intention of doing such a thing but it came about by us trying to explain to the driver that we wanted to see the shipwrecks on the beach just near the train depot. Basically I asked for hi to take us to ’the plage avec mort bateau’. No? Good, I thought, but then my French bites the big one. I quickly looked up the word for ship in my not so handy phrase book and repeated mort (insert French word for ship). David came up with an excellent pantomime, a la Houses are Tents, and placed his hands vertical against his face, and tilted his head to one side. “Mort bateau, oui?“ Finally he got it, but not until he took us way too far. Whatever. Now we had to find out if it was safe to walk along the beach to see the boats. This was actually quite easy. Just a simple fingers walking, Boom sufficed. It was ok, sorta. Off we went, along possibly the windiest, shell strewn beach ever. These little shell bits almost cut our skin in this breeze. But there was certainly a number of dead boats to see. Good, cause it was a highlight for Dave.

We got to the gare routiere around 4 to catch our bus, which was a rather large van set up with 2 long benches running the length of the van. We were told the bus would leave in 10 minutes and too hurry it up. The bus left at around 7. D and I managed to get seated close to the front, away for the square barred window that would definitely be cold throughout the night. Unfortunately Teresa and Christina were by that, with David across the aisle, sandwiched between 2 Mauritanians, who provided great warmth for him throughout the journey. There was about 20 people seated, with the front taken over by a family; mama seated on top 2 tires, with the young mom and her baby on the bench across us, and the youngest daughter and dad.
Passes the best billboard on our way out of town. It was a painting of a child walking towards a land mine. Then a painting of that small boy blowing up, followed by a picture of the child with one leg. Horrible, I know, but it was very amusing at the same time. You just had to see the painting.

It was a stunning night for a trek through the desert. First the red sunset. We had to stop during this for the passengers to get out and pray along the side of the desert. This was indescribably beautiful; the men’s blue robes flowing in the wind. Then, as we began the drive again, the full moon rose over the chilly expanse of the desert.
We had heard that a road had been built to Nouakchott, which was partially true. It ended quit often and we drove bumpily across sand pistes in the light of the moon often; again thankful for the knowledge of the driver.

The ride was as comfortable as you could imagine, seating on a bench squashed between people with no backrest, but during one stop the mama on the tires rearranged her arrangement and set out the 2 tires along the aisle, placing a blanket atop and thus creating her own bed, completely stealing our leg room. There was really no where to put my feet so I put on my ipod to save myself from certain insanity. I was actually inspired by David who had already put his on, and was sharing his tunes with the dude beside him. After awhile of personal music enjoyment I decided to do the same with the boy on my side. He really enjoyed drums and as we listened I would tell him where each artist was from. He, as everyone who’s heard him, really enjoyed K-Os out of TO. Then Talvin Singh came on and he exclaimed ’Singh! Ma musique!’ Thanks Kirk, for providing entertainment for people all over the world (he had sent me music for my journey the day I flew out of Toronto).

At around 2 am we arrived at the restaurant that we would be sleeping at for the night. This was actually a small wooden hut beside a huge tent (house?). It was absolutely freezing and we all headed into the tent and tried to stretch out while enjoying each others body heat. We were awoken 2 hours later and told we were leaving, but found the van wouldn’t start. So there was a lot of pushing the van up a slight slope and pushing it as quickly as possible for it to wake up. Finally it revved and off we went again, smooshed into the van one more time.

We finally reached Nouakchott at about 7:30am, with D winning the lotto. We had created an eta game for eta sleep and eta arrival time as well as eta for leaving sleep. Found our way to Auberge Sahara, which is an excellent little oasis of a lodge in Nchott, and D went to get his Senegal visa. Have to say I didn’t do much in Nchott. The place was so comfy and we had a kitchen once more so…

We stayed for a couple days. The place was crawling with French gypsy types and I was quit glad to leave the moochers (Do you have tea I can have? Any sugar? How bout garlic? How bout you go to the store across the street.) We left for the frontier of Senegal, Rosso with a Senegalese bloke and his French girlfriend. This is a whole other blog though and I’m tired so until then….

By the way, this was written on a laptop in the comfort of my auberge in Senegal thanks to Teresa and David. Love it. And it explains the sheer length, doesn’t it?

Love and misses,thi

Dakhla

2005-04-22T17:00:00.000-05:00

I really did lie about Laayoune it seems. The whole town was blowing up when I left the internet cafe last night. The main mosque was spewing out hoards of people, all dressed in their finest and any and every loud speaker was blaring the same tunes. It was incredible; to go from a ghost town to a party town. Fantastic.

The bus journey down to Dakhla was brilliant. Mostly rocky desert for as far as the eye can see, with the odd group of wild camels milling about by the road or just off in the distance. We turned past one large dune and a mini sand storm quickly developed, creating a soft white film over the horizon line, then it stopped as quickly as it started. Every once in a while the Atalntic would come into view, just a light blue colouring against the white sands. And, of course, police checks every 100 km or so, in the middle of nowhere. Really, officer, I'm a student. Merci bien.

The desert is truely a remarkable place.

D and I met a Californian mom(Teresa) and son(David) on the bus who are doing pretty much the same route as us, so we now had the power of 4 to aid us in finding transport to Mauritania. Then, upon arrival to our hotel, Hotel Sahara-how original- we met a lovely Spanish woman(Christina) doing the same. Ahhh, now the power of 5! Didn't take long actually. We've found a truck for a fairly good price (250 dirhams; 25 Euros, and the reception guy seems a little annoyed by it. Guess his commision was cut a bit). Had an excellent camel sandwich with fresh olives and now we're heading back to our hotel to watch the Simpsons, in English, on Dave's laptop.

Really looking forward to seeing what nothing looks like, which is the desciption Moroccans have given us of Mauritania. Pretty, they say, but there's no food and the people are poor. Guess i won't be eating any camel meat there, which, honestly, is very tasty.

Tomorrow, 9 am. Slowly I get back to Africa.

Marrakesh to the Western Sahara

2005-04-21T13:57:00.000-05:00

Here I sit, in Laayoune, fairly bored. It's the Prophet's Mohammed's birthday today and this desert town is deserted. There's not even tumbleweeds, just the odd sand drift across the lonely roads.

I lie. It's not that bad. There are people here in this internet cafe, chatting away on MSN webcam. All you can hear is them replying in that mix of moroccan french and arabic. And there are sounds of activity coming from outside. I'm guessing the family activity portion of this holiday is over, and the boys can go play soccer or sit in the cafes smoking, watching the world stroll by. The world being the girls, who walk so bloody slow and gossip so very much...or so it seems. This birthday has been likened to our Christmas, and from the descriptions I've gotten from some locals, it ain't so different. Anyway, Morocco never seems to wake up till evening so today isn't so different from any other day. That's what I like about Morocco. Well, one of the things.

Where am I, you ask? Laayoune, the deep south of Morocco, the Western Sahara. It's a 'big' town located about 20 kms from the ocean, smack dab in the desert. It really did feel lonely out there today, save for the huge amounts of UN trucks (convention maybe?) and all the lads who spoke to me in Spanish. This area used to be Spanish and still does that whole siesta thing, which is kinda annoying, but I don't have to live here.

D and I are on a mission to get in and out of Mauritania by the end of the month (inshallah) so we're booting it down to Dakhla to find some transport to Nouakchott, the capital of Mauritania. Mauritania is basically a country of desert , no roads, and no public transport (buses) so we have to get a bush taxi to take us through the desert. We figure one of two things could happen when we get to Dakhla: We arrive and love it in Dakhla, only to be offered a ride immediately. Or two: We wait for like two weeks; and who cares how cool it is in Dakhla?
However, D has come down with some bug that i caught a week or so ago, and our mission is stunted for the next day.

Since I last wrote I haven't made a huge amount of headway, but I'm really enjoying this country so...Mara was the last place, I believe. Fantastic city really. Especially good for arrival to this country (in case anyone is thinking of flying in: Mara better than Casa). It's not a massive city by any rights, but it's fun to wander through the medina checking out all the great architecture, and markets etc. The main square, Place Djemma el Fna is where alot of the action is. By day there's a bunch of snakecharmers, storytellers (storytelling is big in this country. I would love to tell you what some are about but my arabic is a little rusty), juicers, and acrobats. At night a huge mass of food stalls are added, selling anything from an egg, potato sandwich (they love their carbs here. Atkins diets be warned, and smarten up dammit. It's a dumb diet.) to goats head. Ummm mmm, delish. There's also a bunch of musicians, boxing matches - although I've never seen them actually start- and your basic chilling out, hanging out crowd. We spent a week in Mara, waiting for D's friend Emily to arrive with her boyfriend Simon from the UK; they were coming for a holiday.

Once they arrived we all headed out to Imlil, located in the High Atlas mountians to do some easy trekking. Honestly, I don't know what this country has done to me. I actually enjoy kicking it through these mountians. Sick I tell ya. This is berber country, as is most of Moroc really, which means you'll meet some of the nicest, kindest people in the area. Remember Cascade D'Ouzoud? Berber.
Stunningly beautiful, this area. Springtime so all the apple and cherry trees are in blossom. And these amazing berber villages cut into the mountains. We saw Sir Richard Branson's 'Kasbah'. Pretty wicked, but not a kasbah, just a very very fancy hotel. There was a kasbah you could stay at, perched high above Imlil. It was only 40 Euros to stay in a dorm bed. Fuck dat! We did visit it though and it was quite nice, but definately overpriced.

The hike was awesome. We started out at 10 am and didn't get back till 7. Hiked to the top of this mountain, then went down to see a berber village. The villagers wouldn't let us go through the village so we had to walk back via the river! Thank god for tevas! Then we had to hike back up the mountain and down the other side. Very tiring but oddly rewarding. Rewarding in all the crap you eat after! No really, it was cool trekking through these rocking mountains. Really amazed at how much is lived in in this country. Total rocky land that they converted into a farm. Crazy.

Went to Essaouira on the coast after Imlil. This is a beautiful little town/resort town on the coast. The houses are all white washed and blue shuttered, and the beach is long and clean. It's also really windy so a bit of a Kite and Wind surfers paradise. You hear all kinds of good things about Essaouira, rightly so, but I think the short term travellers really like it for the classy little restaurants smattered all over the place. Don't get me wrong; I too would enjoy all that if I was on vacation for a week or two. But I'm not.
I may be a little sore in my mouth about Essaouira because I got some stomach bug there and was all pukey and shit for a couple days there, and it was so windy and annoying and everything seemed so annoying. You know how it is when your sick. The staff at my hotel was sweet though, as Moroccans tend to be. They came in to check on me, brought me cumin to eat with water, which they swore by. Like I'm gonna scarf back a wacky amount of cumin when I haven't eaten a bloody thing and have been vomiting for hours. Yeah. Good idea.
So what I did with it; I had bought a packet of Hirira soup (moroccan soup) to make in my room (we have a cooker) but I didn't realize I was supposed to use a flavour cube with it, so it was all mushy chick peas and no flavour (obviously) so I plopped in some cumin, which was fine initially. Initially. Word of advice, don't do as I do.

On to Agadir from there, which is this bizarre all in inclusive resorts town on one 'side of the tracks' (really was a big hill), then a normalish town on the other. And it's chock o' block with germans. Really nice beach though. And we met some local dude that had a ground squirrel as a pet. Kinda like having a ferret I suppose, but cute none the less. The squirrel just loved him too; followed him everywhere.
There was also a little fast food francise called Le BBQ. They have a burger called the Cock Supreme. It's a bunch of little hotdogs. We thought it was funny.

Parted ways with Em and Simon at this point and D and I headed to more mountains. Tafraoute in the Anti-Atlas. In the 80s some loopy Belgium artist went and, with the help of the local fire department, painted a mess of massive rocks blue. When I first heard this, I thought, right, don't have to see that. But it looks amazing! Most of the paint has chipped away at this point but there's a few left, showing how powerful his canvas was. And he used other colours as well. Kinda like Christo and his drapes, except rocks. Really fantastic. Don't know if I have any of D's digitals but you can google the town name and I'm sure you'll come up with something.

We were heading back to Tiznit from Tafraoute when we met some Peace Corps (Tiznit-doesn't it sound like a diss? You're such a tiznit...) . We were all headed to the same direction, Sidi Ifni, so we managed to fill a whole vehicle ourselves (vite vite!). And we got to meet Kevin, the Peace Corp volunteer in Sidi Ifni! He had satelite tv! We watched a lot of tv! American tv! Was sooo good. We also maneged to get an apartment for the short while we were there. It was fantastic, kitchen and all. Fresh fish and grilled cheese sandwiches! Salads! Blender too, so lots of fresh fruit beverages.

Had dinner one night at Kevin's along with the other visiting PC. Man, they can cook. We had been hanging on the beach with them all day at a place called Gzira (has all kinds of natural bridges). Anywho, we decided to make a rice feast with camel meat. Man, it was tasty! Honestly, nice and tender. 'Manger on Jamel', to be sung in the tune of Jamming by Bob Marley.

Learned much in the south. Learned Peace Corp live under a very watchful eye here. The cops love to tattle on them. They only get 2 days off a month. There can't be more then 5 plus the host in one city (so only 6 at a time in Mara!). It's very strict here, especially compared to Uganda, where they seem to run amuck.
Also found that the people in the south click more with their tongue when they agree or whatever. And they eat 4 times a day, 10 pm being dinnertime. Ummm, goats like to climb Argane trees (similar to olive). The times are changing here and all the young lads I'm meeting want to only marry one woman, that one forever (multiple wives are allowed and encouraged here. Show of wealth). They also want to live in Morocco, no where else. I also heard a rumour that the King is actually gay(!). That is so not allowed here even though it's rampant. Lots of icky europeans come here and get a bunch of little boyfriends. Married local men have boyufriends here too. Lots and lots of gay guys.
But the king. He's a bit of a dude though. His wife is very liberal and they just recently passed a law that enables the wife in a partnership to half of the belongings. Moving forward and the youth love it.
Just a few days ago the big party was for the king's son getting snip snipped. People all over the country had their boys done the same day. I loved asking the locals to tell me what was going on. I mean, my french isn't that good! Think of the hand gestures...then the inevitable blushing and embarrased laughter.

Hung out one night on my front steps with a bunch of local dudes in Sidi Ifni. They really like to tell each other jokes, and they would attempt to tell me as well. Usually they were juvenile so not so funny; or lost in translation. They asked me if we like to tell jokes in Canada. For sure, I say. Now, because they speak english so well I don't think very clearly. I start to tell Mushroom walks into a bar. What's a mushroom. I forget my french immediately. Um err. Ok, we find that out not long after. But the problem is the punch line: I'm a fun guy. Really. Why oh why didn't I tell a simpler joke. So if anyone has any suggetions, please email me. I'm sure this situation will arise again.

Yet another thing I forgot to tell that happened in Cascades: Chilling watching the falls one day when we looked up and saw some sheep on the side of a cliff. Not out of the ordinary but the barbery apes clinging to the outsides of the cliffs was. These apes were sneaking up on the sheep and jumping out and scaring them. No lie! It was the funniest thing! The sheppard finally saw it happening and he just ran around in circles, screaming and throwing rocks at the apes.
African tv.

Donkey=Berber 4x4
Tea=Berber whiskey
Inshallah=God willing- to be used for virtually anything. Inshallah that bus will move in the next hour. That kinda thing.

Right, so now I'm here, in the desert. It's nighttime, so, dark, but I can see and walk on anything now cause I ate a camel. And I now have a Berber power neckless (the symbol; silver is really good here too) along with the hand of Fatima (the evil eye, to protect you from those who covet) so I'm save. That and I'm in a muslim country and the worst that'll happen is someone will try to practice their english with you. Horrible, isn't it?

Sorta sad I'm leaving Morocco. It really is amazing here. The country has everything a country could offer, stunning scenery, untouched beaches (there's one Plage Blanc that's 45km long with nothing on it), awesome food, remarkable people. You could spend forever exploring it. I however have to get into Africa. Enough of this easy stuff!
And I want some papaya.

love and misses,
thi
PS Spellcheck didn't work so don't hate me for errors.
PSS And I need beer too. The problem with muslim countries is the lack of alcohol, and then the high cost of it when you find it. Africa doens't want their people to be without beer.

My Link to Damien's Digital

2005-04-03T07:07:00.000-05:00

http://community.webshots.com/user/thiabateman

The things I forget...

2005-04-03T06:34:00.000-05:00

There are a couple of things I seemed to have forgotten to mention. Shocking really, when my last post was a small novel. But it's like a can of beans opened up, and some are still spilling out. I've been on sensory overload for a month and didn't even know it. Now I'm slowly remembering all the little things and need to put them in writing before I forget.

Kiff. How could I forget kiff? This is yet another thing that men smoke. Have been for centuries, and it wasn't until the french showed up that it became illegal. No one could understand why, and it still goes on fairly blatantly, but mostly amongst the older men. We're not sure exactly what kiff is. It looks like finely chopped herbs with a dash of tobacco. Some say it's not cannabis. Others say it's the male plant of cannabis, the female being the popular choice in the west. Or vice versa. It's smoked in these long thin pipes, but not really in the cafes. Usually while they work. And usually it's the folks who work in crafts, like woodworking etc.

Back in Cascades D'Ouzoud: One night Aziz, a guide, came and told us stories by the van. He told us how Rachid's family was amongst the first berbers in Morocco, and therefore quite powerful, with this old blood within their veins. He told how his mom took him as a baby to see Rachid's mom, so that he could suckle from her nipple. So he could drink from an oroiginal berber. Then a small patch of hair was shaven one his head and a mark was scrapped onto his scalp. This was all told in a mixture of spanish, french and a smattering of english. I'm not really sure if this is the story he meant to tell. I do know that Moroccans tend to be quite supersticious, even though they are muslim.

I learned something new last night. I read there's a belief amongst muslims that Allah will appear in the form of a stranger, a traveller. Meaning one should treat strangers as well as they would treat Allah. Explains alot.
It's interesting the difference between Allah and 'God'. Allah seems like s/he'd chill with you over a tea. God does not.

C'est ca. Finis.
Short one. I'll try to keep it like this.
love thi

London to Marakesh- the first of many

2005-04-02T06:09:00.000-06:00

Remember when you were a kid and you read all those fairy tales about flying carpets and magic lanterns that, if rubbed, a genie appeared? I always thought those stories were based on the Middle East. Turns out, it was Morocco.
And the carpets fly because there is so much hashish here, it's crazy.

My time spent in London was excellent; got to see many people I had met in Africa, spent some wonderful time with Phil, who I had spent most of my time in Africa with and who was kind enough to put me up and put up with me, and, sadly, played a whole lot of The Sims. Thank god I don't have a laptop or all I would be doing is playing that bloody game.

Then it was off to the races for Damien and I. D picked me up at Phil's at 3:45 am for our 7 am flight to Malaga, Spain. We assumed as well that the weather would be nice in Spain after freezing in London (Why, oh why can't they heat their homes there?). We arrived in Malaga and stepped out in a torrential rainstorm that actually managed to get worse! By the time we got to the ferry depot in Algeciras, we were soaked to the bone, shivering uncontrollably, and I had even managed to wipe out when my brand spankin' new pumas slipped on some marble steps. So my ass really hurt. But we remained in good spirits with the thought that we were going to make it to Morocco before nightfall. Tangier is known as Dangiers so we weren't keen on hauling our packs through the port late at night. Unfortunately the weather was so crap that the ferry was 5 hours late and we didn't reach the port until 10 :30 pm, beyond cold (keep in mind both D and I though we were going to warm/hot Africa so we obviously didn't pack for cold) and absolutely starving. The last time we ate had been just before our flight.
All the pedestrians lined up in front of the cars, waiting to disembark and trying to not inhale the fumes of the cars that had already started their engines. So now, we were kinda stoned on fumes, fantastic. No, really.

Anyway, we made it off without a hitch, got money from an atm, and walked to a cheapie hotel with only one person 'hassling' us. Dangiers?! Whatever. But we did end up getting possibly the best and biggest omelette of my life, which turned out to be just the beginning of the wickedly good food here in Morocco.

We spent a night in Tangiers, then hopped on a bus for the Riff Mountains and Chefchaouen (pronounced shef-sha-when; took me 2 weeks after being there to pronounce it). Chaouen is a stunning village high up in the mountains where all the houses are washed in shades of blue and it has a great vibe, very calm. Sadly it was still frikin freezing and constantly raining. We actually went to bed our first night at 7 :30 because it was too cold to stay up!

Because of the perpetual rain D and I ended up spending a fair amount of time in the local cafe, which was filled with men only, all swathed in Djellabas, a thick woolen hooded cloak that seemed very warm, and played movies on the small tv. This was our first experience with locals and we quickly learned that Moroccans are possibly the nicest, kindest, gentlest people we've ever met. So welcome and opening-we actually were sure it was regional until our travels took us further and further away and still, the people rocked.

It was in this cafe that we also discovered the popularity of hash in Morocco. Now, they don't smoke it in the sheeshas (elaborate water pipes) like many people think. Those are strictly for flavoured tobacco. Only Westerners put drugs in sheeshas. Moroccans roll joints. So we sat amongst these men, drinking our fabulous cafes or mint teas to stay warm, while they puffed away on splifs, occasionally offering us a drag. We would refuse ; had no idea what the law was like and had no intention of ended up in a Moroccan jail. One day, two cops wandered into the cafe, saw us there and gestured to the men to hide their joints. Not put them out . Hide them. We've also learned that we, as foreigners can pretty much get away with anything with the law. We are very very protected here. But more on that later.

We spent a few days in Chefchaoun. I went for a hammam, which is a turkish style steam bath where you get all scrubbed and massaged for next to nothing. I went to get warm. It really was that cold. And, of course there was no heating indoors. We would seek out the few places that had fires going and just stand in front of them, pretending to choose from a menu we couldn't afford.

We also ate really well. At first I thought the food and pastries were so good cause everyone was so baked, but turns out it's just Moroccan cuisine. And I'm not just talking couscous, which is actually meant to only be eaten on Fridays, the holy day. There's this dish called Tajine that D and I are madly in love with. It's name actually refers to the name of the dish and lid it's cooked in which is a conical earthenware that's placed atop coals and the dish is cooked slowly. Ususally we get chicken that's cooked with carrots, tomatoes, peas, olives and lemons. There's also crepes to choose from, kebabs, yogurts, and the list goes on. Have to say, Dr. Atkins would have fit here with all the carbs. They put rice and potatoes in sandwiches! And it's delish.
And the sweets: mille feulles abound! Cakes and coissants and pain au chocolate; all for pennies. Keep saying to myself 'Well, West Africa won't have these so'. Whatever.

D and I finally had enough of the cold and decided to continue on to Fes. We really liked Fes. We got very lost in the medina (means 'city'- the original arab part of any city. Ville nouvelle is the french addition) but managed to find our way out after a mere 7 and a half hours.

Went to our first bar in Fes. These are few and far between in this muslim country, but it certainly wasn't empty! Not cheap either but get this: they give you food with your beer! Plates of olives and bread, chicken, potatoes, all until you say no more. So here we thought we were gonna have to go without dinner and Poof! We eat! As you can imagine, there were no women in this bar but no one was creepy. Everyone treated me with respect. The waiters even opened a separate toilet for me and stood guard while I was inside. Very cool.
Spent about a week in Fes, just getting used to things, trying out my french. Moroccans have a keen ear for languages and thend to speak many. But they are very patient with me and my little amount of french. They keep it simple for me, and slow. So it makes me feel as though I can actually speak the damn language. The frustrating thing is I can sorta understand but I can't reply. Very hard when you're tryin to converse!

Made some nice friends in Fes as well. All the guys who ran the hotel were fabulous, and gave us lessons in french, as well as Moroccan Arabic. I had learned a little classic arabic in Egypt years ago and they retrained me in thier dialect. We also met a gentleman by the name of Ali. He told us about all kinds of lovely places to see in Moroc. One being Cascades D'Ouzoud. Best tip ever!

From Fes, we went to Rabat for a few days, then Casblanca to get our Mauritanian visa. Rabat is a very nice city on the coast, with a pretty enthusiastic surf culture. Very chill, especially for a capital city. Met a guy who had a sheep named Dolly (ha ha) for a pet. As you could imagine, the ladies loved it ! Good food there too...
Casa, well, it's not like the movies. There seemed to be a lot of crackheads there; really the first time we didn't feel safe in Moroc was in Casa. But then, we always are because we're constantly being watched.

I almost forgot our protection. Seems years ago (like years), the King announced that anyone who came to see Moroc had to be treated the same as royalty, or pay the price. This stands true today, except to nightmarish degrees. We're not sure who is allowed to speak to us and who are not, but apparently a local can go to jail for merely speaking to a foreigner.
One night in Fes, D and I were walking home from the medina. We were unsure of the way and were consulting our map, something we both hate doing in public. A young man stopped and asked us if he could help. He found we spoke english and was happy to try his out. We were just chatting about directions when 2 undercovers approached us. They chased away the boy then told us to get in a petit taxi to get home. It was dangerous. Total crap, so not dangerous, and we told them so. They slowly agreed to let(!) us walk back to the ville nouvelle, but only if we kept to certain streets. On route we came across this boy who apologized profusely while he walked ahead of us by 5 metres. We couldn't understand what the hell was going on. Then, again a cop came along, out of nowhere, and he had a bit of a discussion in aravic with him. Then, as the cop came up to our poor confused selves, he said to us quickly how sorry he was but he had to go or face prison time. Honestly, my radar is pretty good for bad people, especially at night. This dude was nothing more than a fashion teen who wanted to test his english. Especially with a canadian since almost everyone here has a relative in Quebec some way or another (studying, or marriage). However, we faced no problems hanging out with Ali. My only guess is Ali works in the tourist industy (he has a shop selling curios. Not once did he try to sell us anything either).

Right, so Casa kinda sucked. Big city etc etc. By this time D and I were very ready to get to a small village and chill. My knee was all swollen from walking up and down the sometimes steep souk (marketplace) sloops, and I wanted to not sightsee for a while. That's when we remembered Ali telling us about Cascades D'Ouzoud and that he would be there around this time.

We left Casa as soon as we got our visa and made it to Azilal, the town closest to Cascades. Spent the night in this tiny town watching Speed 2 with some locals in the cafe below our room . Then we headed down for Cascades. It was a stunning drive, as was the drive from Casa, through sloops of Olive and Almond trees (didn't know they grew on trees, but they do!) to the small village. Met our first 'beach boys /guides/carvers' upon arrival. (For more info, see the previous trip blog entitled The Art Of Fishing). We did our best to not take their advice but ended up going right back to the first dude, Rachid, who turned out to be sorta the Godfather there. His family seems to own the entire land. We stayed at this aunties hotel for 2 weeks. We had only meant to be there for a bit but we met some Austians who absolutely rocked and lost all track of time.

To help you picture this place : Cascades D'Ouzoud is a series of waterfalls that originate just at the village, with various sizes of cataracts plunging water over the edges. It's also located in the Atlas mountains so quite high up, and there are spectacular walks all around, of varying degrees of difficulty. After we dumped our bags (each had our own room for like 5CAD) D and I went out to explore the tiny village. Instead we were met by Jalaal and Aziz, local guides who were heading up to the mexican village -so called because it looks mexican, and there once was a mexican who lived there- and asked if we wanted to come, for free, no charge. Coolio. Turned out to be this crazy hilly hike past mountain goats. It rocked! So stunning this scenery. Very happy to be out of the cities. And bloody Jalaal-this guy managed to walk over anything, just like a mountian goat, maybe more sure footed.

A few days later we met Barbara and Conrad, aka The Austrians. It was love at first sight. We quickly became friends and their van became our second home. The first night B made us austrian pancakes that so reminded me of my mom's cooking I didn't think I'd ever leave her. This became a bit of a ritual, cooking together and I think some of the guides got worried about us foreigners banding together. Hard to explain, all I know is it must be hard for these guys who befriend so many, those people inevitably leave with promises of returns, but rarely does that happen.

One dude, Mo Mo helped us get in a donkey trek. It was fun, as fun as having to direct a very stupid animal in arabic is (Irah to go-rolling the rrrrs; Shhh to stop. Seems easy enough.). And D's donkey seemed to be in heat, and the rest of us were on girl donkeys. B and I witnessed a very disturbing site not befit of a children's story.

We had been under the impression this was gratuis, since all the guys did stuff with us just for friendship. Jalaal constantly took us for treks for no money and would never accept gifts, unless they were smokes. And he had pretty much said for friends . But Mo Mo charged us. A lot. I was not happy and told him so. Later that night he found the Austrians and apologized by giving some special tea. A nice gesture. I decided to not hold a grudge, a stupid boring thing to do anyway, so the next night I offered him a smoke, a peace offering if you may. He didn't know what to do. That night he came to the van with a bottle of whiskey he had recieved in payment for a trek (very good since there are no bottle shops for hours). He shared this with us then bought us huge meals for dinner. It was the nicest thing. He apologized. That had been enough, but he went above and beyond. Alcohol is very hard to get in the Cascades, save for Berber Schnapps, made from figs, a fairly vile gasoline flavoured liquor that they get from the berbers in the mountains.
Just another example of the kindness of Moroccans.

We celebrated easter with the Austrians by painting eggs. Even blew 8 of them to hang on a tree, austrian style. And we painted them pretty with watercolours that B had. Then Conrad made chicken snitzel for din. Yumm! Then we manged to get not one but two bottles of wine, and a bottle of vodka, and then...berber shnapps courtesy of Rachid! It was quite the night...
I decided that a dance party should be held in either my room or the roof of the hotel that night. Now this is an old fashioned place. Permission must be asked for anything, and Auntie was not so happy when we showed up a little wobbly, ipod and speakers in hand, somewhat blaring music at 2 am. It wasn't even that though. It was the boys. No good. So a little chase occcured, to my amusement, with Auntie throwing rocks at Rachid and Jalaal, both close relatives, while they tried to hide. Then she shook her finger at me and marched up to my room. It was hysterical, but turns out I did manage to get the boys in some trouble. Me too, since I seemed to have been adopted by the mamas in town. Would take me 20 min to get to the van, a 2 min walk away. I loved it.
The next morning I hung my head in shame for auntie and I think managed to clear things up with her and the boys. Don't know. Don't speak berber. I do know she finally stopped smacking Jalaal in the head and hugged me. And he was allowed to help me pack. Seemed ok...

I loved it in the Cascades. The view from my window was of olive trees on the sides of mountains. I had baby goats in the stable next door, that at first gave me nightmares from their human-like cries. I could hear the roar of the falls. Could see the whole world from the roof. Conrad watched the slaughter of a goat while just metres away, a baby goat was born.

The feeling of being included with the people, the joy of being cared for by absolute strangers. It was so sad leaving. My adoptive mother told Rachid she had just been getting used to seeing her new daughter everyday. Then I leave. Makes you wonder if it's good at all getting so close. It was different there from the other places I have called temporary home. There seems to be an honesty about the people, an openess I've never experienced. I believe them when they say they care.

Not this this would happen, but I had a few marriage offers in this village (as I tend to, carrying a canuck passport). I honestly believe one would have a good life living there. I would have my olive trees (the trees and painted with certain small patterns to show ownership and this became a bit of a joke amongst our group: My olive tree etc), a good family, equality to my husband, and a beautiful home with a berber hammam. You'd be taken care of, just for being wed to a berber.
Not really in my cards though. However, I have Rachid's number and know a bunch of really cute guys if anyone is interested. But they want to stay here in Morocco...

Right, so this was long !

I'm currently in Marakesh, staying just off Djemma el Fna, the main square of the medina that, by day, is filled with snake charmers, juice stands and fortune tellers, as well as henna artists. By night it turns into a variety of numbered food stalls, with meals ranging from goats heads to bean soup.
I'll save Mara for the next one.
Latah,
Love thi

The party's over 16/16

2003-12-21T13:24:00.000-06:00

December 21, 2003

I can't believe how nervous I feel. And freezing! Man, Cape Town is cold. I thought it was summer here. I have to wear pants and a jumper all the time, and forget about nighttime. I think it's about 20C during the day.
I'm gonna actually die in Toronto.

Cape Town, lovely city. Actually kinda reminds me of Toronto, during our summer but. Especially the prices of things. Gone are the days of the crap Rand. It's pretty strong now. Which sucks. It's a very nice city though. I mean, I haven't spent much time here so I can't really give you a good/fair critique of the Mother City but I can tell you it's very, very Western. Did a couple of tourist things. Climbed Table Mountain which I actually enjoyed. I know I've said I will never climb anything again, but this was really worth it. Had a great group of people, much sweat, lots of laughs and a stunning view to make it all the better.
Absolutely breathtaking. We found we were above the clouds and at the end of the earth (The coke at the end of the Gods Must Be Crazy had to have been tossed from here). The mountains all tumble straight into the oceans. We even met some mountain goats on the way up. Very worthwhile. Not a lonely planet ploy :)

I arrived in Cape Town just 3 nights ago. Missioned it here from Mozambique. It was pretty impressive...and easy. Luxury buses here in SA. Movies, toilets, the works.

Going back in time by steps: Maputo. I don't care what anyone says, it's a cool city. European influence but still very African. Fairly safe, meaning I had no problems although it's not unheard of.

Ok, I'm having a very hard time here trying to tell this story. Basically my friend Richard and I left Zimbabwe on a drunken whim. My whim. I had gotten talking to this Danish couple about diving and decided to go back to Tofo for a bit more Manta Rays. We spent a few more days in Harare then went on our journey. It took 3 days of travel thanks to the shit roads and buses in Moz. But we made it. Got to apologize to Niki and John at Tofo Scuba for never emailing them about not taking the job there. And then went on 3 glorious dives. The dive down to Manta Reef was even better then my last one back in June. Snorkeled just above a giant Whale Shark...ok, held my breath just above a Whale Shark.

Oh my god...can you believe I just finished this entire email and fucking hotmail didn't save my fucking draft! Oh man...and it had finally gotten good. Shit.

Ok, anyway...Diving. Mantas, big huge mantas. And dolphins. At least 12 riding the waves just meters from the boat. It was so wicked. The following morning, when we were meant to leave for Maputo, which explains why I had to race to Cape Town, I went to Giant's castle, a drift dive. Negative descent, meaning no air in your BCD, just a head first plummet down 30 meters to the bottom of the ocean. Huge current. Had to swim into it to prevent being taken miles out into the ocean. More big ass mantas and 3 devil rays that followed us all the way, swimming/flying graceful circles around us. Unbelievable.

Finally left for Maputo, spent a few days, had a big night then went on our bus to Jo'burg early early.

Had a great time at the border. The guards search your bags entirely. Of course Richard and the other Rasta were the first to be searched. Golly why?

They did mange to catch some dude who was so obviously trying to sell dodgy dvds in SA. That was a nice delay.

The difference in landscaping between SA and Africa. So long to all the banana groves, papaya trees, villages. welcome neat plantations. It was so strange. I missed the look of Africa. And wow, so many white folk.

Made it to Jo’burg. Didn't see much, just the bus depot which was chockers with security. Said my final goodbye to Malawi when Richard left to go find his brother. Then hauled all my crap onto my last bus in Africa. Kinda different from the chicken buses I was used to taking. Movies and everything! And can you believe the movie they played? Out of Africa. Oh my god, how funny is that? And to make it even stranger, it had been almost a year to the day when I first saw that movie in Toronto.

It had been really fun travelling with an African. So nice to see things through the eyes of someone so new (? for lack of a better word). It was so refreshing experiencing things with someone who had never even dreamt of seeing such things. It was also pretty handy as far as buying stuff went. Basically I would go to the curio market, decide what I wanted, go back and tell R and he would go get them for me at non mzungu price. Excellent. And he would even carry the crap. All I can say is that bloody airline better let me bring it all:)

Arrived in Cape Town mid day and these lovely kiwis took it upon themselves to aid me with my burdens to the hostel. And as I write this they are annoying the shit out of me. Very hard to write while they banter in my ears. Shhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh.

What did I do in Cape Town....climbed table Mountain, went to some bars, saw Lord of the Rings which I thought could have been edited better but my attention span is now shot so it made it very difficult to sit still for so long. I did like it though. I basically acclimatized myself back to the western world. Now all I have to worry about is dealing with the cold in TO.

It always amazes me how small Africa is. I've run into a girl that had been working in Malawi when I was there. I had never talked to her there but we recognized one anther. Also ran into my friend Trinity whom I met in Malawi twice and Moz originally. Also ran into a Malawian from Nkhata Bay who knows everyone I know. It's so strange.

It's sorta a happy end to my year. I'm in the company of some really good people which is a common theme in Africa. I have met a lot of crazies as well but, hey, that makes it far more interesting. I really miss those that I travelled with. Jess, Tom, Phil...you all made my trip all the more special. I cannot tell you how much you mean to me. Thank you for putting up with me!

If you ever have the chance to come to this continent, do it. you will be amazed. It's safe and friendly and visually stunning. Very addicting.

And get this: South Africans don't consider themselves in Africa. They will actually say they are going to Africa if they head north. I guess it's just in the name.

I have no regrets from this trip. I don't feel bad for not seeing Namibia, Botswana and SA. My experiences in Malawi alone have made it all worthwhile.
Now I'm just getting cheesy. Also this email is not even close to being as good as the last version. So this is the end. I hope you all enjoyed my emails....Lord knows I enjoyed myself!
Love you all,
thi

Possibly the final story 15/16

2003-12-04T13:21:00.000-06:00

December 4, 2003

It was about a year ago that I remember watching a program on CNN. It was about Zimbabwe. I remember commenting to Mike, who was tending bar with me at the time (it was a very slow Sunday) that that was one African country that I would not be visiting. Too dangerous. Lord knows what would happen to a mzungu there.

I found out while I was here that it is actually very safe. Used to be the jewel of Africa as far as travellers went. The problem is they have a really shit government. Now I know that’s a common statement for Africa but really, Mugabe is a twat. He’s killing everyone. The inflation is so high that prices change daily…but wages stay the same. Now, if you’re traveling on the Yankee dollar, which I am, you’re laughing. It’s cheap as hell. Right now $1 = $5800 Zim on the black market (the safe-in-stores-not-the-streets-go-straight-to-jail-or-lose-it-all black-market). You can live like a queen for virtually nothing. Mind you, the bank rate is something like $800 Zim to the dollar but who’s stupid enough to trade on that.

Did something crazy and went to a place called Antelope Park. Had heard about it from a French girl I met in Zanzibar. She had worked/volunteered there raising lion cubs and of course, I was very intrigued by this. Obviously, I never made it there for employment because I was stuck in Malawi but I was still curious about the place. When I got to Harare, I met up with a Danish couple that was going. Thought why not. Am I glad I went…and never worked there. It’s basically an Overland truck amusement park. Lots of money for all kinds of ‘fun activities’. You know, riding elephants, walking with lions, playing with cubs, blah, blah, blah. But the reality of the place: first, they pay their staff pitiful amounts and no food or transport back to town. This means they have to walk 7 km to and from the park from the nearest transport. Oh, the mzungus who ‘volunteer’ get room and board, use of all the amenities (i.e. the pool and hot showers) and $30USD a month. The African staff gets $33, 800 Zim a month. A loaf of bread costs $2800Zim. A term of school for a child costs $45 000Zim not including uniforms or supplies. You do the math. Not so nice when the place pulled in $2000 USD in less than a hour with one elephant.

Oh, I can say even more. They tried to fuck us over with general costs. We kept asking for the price list and no one would give it to us. We had been told a double would cost $10US and it turned out to cost $24…a person! I didn’t pay. I paid $10. They were nice enough to admit they were wrong.

Anywho, I did get to play with some lion cubs, for free. It was fun, as you could imagine. But we spent no more money than we were forced to at this….place.

Ok, one last bad Zim story. There’s a man staying at the backpackers we’re at. He’s owned and run a safari camp called Hippo Pools for the past 20 odd years. He’s a white Zimbabwean. He was invaded a few weeks ago. They almost killed him, but stopped because an American tourist was with him. Now they have his place, have destroyed it; not that he can get in and the police won’t help (hmmmm, wonder why?). Now he’s trying to get his life back.

This is a very sad difficult country.

But oddly, the people are lovely. Very friendly, helpful, great English, clever. Amazing. And the tourists are staying away in droves. It’s very western here too. You can really see the British influence. You can even order pizza delivery in Harare. There’s even skyscrapers here! It’s crazy! Where am I?

Saw Victoria Falls. They were very impressive. Water, spilling over a cliff and only $20 USD to see them. I would say they were nicer than Niagara Falls though….

Get this: it seems I am remembered by my fellow travel companions for, of all things, my potty mouth. That’s right. That’s’ what people remember me for. Hmmmm, think I should maybe clean up my mofoho vocabulary?

Did manage to see some more of Malawi. Spent my bday in Nkhata Bay (thanks to all for the bday wishes!), then left for Senga Bay where my friend Richard is from. Chilled out on the beach for a few days, even met up with Jan, who I traveled with in Tanzania and her boyfriend Tom. We sadly parted ways for one last time and Richard I headed to Cape McClear to find out the difference between that and Nkhata Bay. Phil and I have found that you’re either an Nbay person or a Cape McClear person. I’m still an Nbay person.

And now I’m getting prepared to head back to Mozambique for some sun, sand and manta rays before racing to Cape Town for my flight home. It’s crazy. I can’t believe it’s been a year.
Some things I’ll miss:
◦Coke in a glass bottle. Man, it tastes so much better!
◦The laid back way of life here. I’m so not looking forward to being hectic again.
◦Friendly people.
◦The odd African habits that I can’t explain at all.
◦The heat. I finally have gotten used to it.
I keep meeting Africans who complain about the heat. I think we should switch places!

Oh, I can’t do this list right now…
It’s too hot to think :)

Hope all is well!
See ya soon,
love thi

Doing a 360 - Back to Kenya 14/16

2003-10-12T13:10:00.000-05:00

On the road again…but you know that.
October 12, 2003

As I’ve mentioned in previous emails, I’m back on the road. It started for Jan and me with a glorious night journey on a glorious bus from Mzuzu to Dar Es Salaam, a mere 22-hour travel time. It turned out to be a pretty cool bus ride: I had a nap on the sidewalk on the border of Malawi and Tanzania outside Immigration (quite refreshing); we had forgotten to buy food and lived on little sweets until we finally came across some boiled eggs and bananas at hour 20 (some guy bought us the bananas as a kind gesture – we looked that hungry); we drove through a National Park at dusk, one of the best times to see game, and man, did we. Tons of giraffes, elephants, boring impala, zebra…well worth the $17 ticket price for the bus.

Speaking of food Africa has this great little system on the road (as I’m sure many third world countries do). You never have to worry about packing food cause there will always be some available. Ok, maybe in some cases that theory doesn’t prove true (see above) but usually it’s reliable. What I’ve really gotten used to is boiled eggs. When a bus pulls over to the side of the road or whatever a group of people will rush over to the bus in frenzy. Women with babies strapped to their backs will have huge baskets of bananas on their heads, shoving them in your face screaming prices. Boys are the ones usually in charge of the eggs. Cartons of them with either cones made of newspaper filled with salt (the best way) or actual shakers. Eggs are so good to fill that hole and one of the few things one can eat that isn’t fried. What about bananas, you say? Well, since I average on 10 a day now, they tend to not be that craving I get. What am I going to do when I reach home and I can’t open my bus window to grab an egg off some boys’ head? How will I cope? It just won’t be the same carrying my own…

Jan and I had one cheeky little thing try to overcharge us (as usual when your baring your glowing white arms that are seemingly tattooed with dollar signs) for his oeufs on our mission journey (as we like to call the Mzuzu to Dar ride) so Jan had to confiscate his shaker until the deal was settled. The poor boy. He just didn’t know what to do. I settled it by taking a third egg. We were all happy: he got his salt back and we got food for a proper price. Yippee.

We made it to Dar and basically spent our time there online. And shopping. Online and shopping. It was nice to be out of the dark ages. Did you know that people walk around and talk on these tiny little phones that are apparently using satellites? For how long has this been going on?

We then went to a small town just north of Dar called Bagamoyo. This is possibly one of the best names I’ve ever heard in Africa. Bagamoyo. Maybe it’s because my friend Daz’s dog is named after the town. It means, sorta, rest your heart/lay down your heart. Essentially come, chill out, don’t let things get to you, blah. Nice, huh? Anyway, there was a music and art festival going on there that we had heard about from Rasta Argon (a Tanzanian acrobat that had been living at Mayoka for 2 months). It sounded cool. We saw a bit of work, all done by the local art college, ran into some Rastas that we had met in Malawi (realized how small Africa can be…and how you should try to remember everyone as to not hurt feelings), met some local artists who made us dinner and gave me jewelry…and then left. Good times.

The giving stuff to me thing, I should explain that. It’s called fishing. That’s what Africans call trying to pick up/pull/get. Fishing. And the ones who catch the fish(girls) are called Fishermen. How absolutely hilarious is that? The best is they don’t know I know. Richard, one of my friends in Nkhata Bay, told me about it months ago. As well, when a mzungu girl arrives in town news travels fast that an air/plane ticket has come. Now, these guys are fairly harmless. They would never force themselves on you. But anything you do will encourage them to stay nearby. Honestly. I’ve told guys that I have a boyfriend or husband and they wouldn’t leave me. Where is he? Oh not here…well, then your single. They don’t care if you are actually with someone. It will not stop them. Gay? Nope. They’ll convert you. Tell them to go fuck themselves? Nada. And the worse is they can’t even afford to buy you a drink! So you have to put up with all these guys bugging you for nothing! Oh, and usually its not one at a time. Often its 3 or 4.

Some guys are better then others though. I guess these are the fishermen. They just chat with you, just like a guy back home. You really think he just wants to be friends. But let’s face it: often the guy back home just has one thing on their mind. Why would it be different in Africa? Man, it can get annoying.

We then headed up to Mombasa, my full circle return. It was there that we were to meet up with Phil, my friend in Nkhata Bay, the one I was supposed to be traveling with but ended up staying at Mayoka. Mombasa was cool. I’m really glad I got to go back To Kenya. It seemed so scary when I first arrived to Africa. It’s so not. I mean, yes, there is crime. Name me one big city that has no crime? You can’t. Anywhere you go you should take care, not just in Africa.

I also had forgotten how cool the matatus were. These are the minivans that are used throughout Africa as public transit. Only they’re privately owned and the ones in Kenya, called matatus are brightly decorated and pumping tunes. The interior shines at night with purple fluorescent lighting and the exteriors, well, they’re usually done up with adverts (except they don’t really think they are advertising as they do it themselves): name brands and big names are the shit here. Craig Davids seems to reign supreme, as does Ecko brand. ‘Am real’ was another one I saw often. Various football/soccer teams as well. But my favorite was the Toronto Raptors. The whole matatu was tastefully advertising (they really don’t understand that is what they’re doing) my city’s basketball team. Go team go. Someone in Kenya believes in you!

We met up with Phil, as I mentioned, and spent a day or two tooling around Mombasa We then started up the coast of Kenya. We were ultimately heading to Lamu Island, a small less touristy version of Zanzibar. This was the place that got me before I had even left Toronto and I never went to see it when I was in Kenya, or even East Africa. I had always regretted it so…
We thought we’d cut the journey a bit and stop in Malindi, highly recommended to me by other backpackers. Having been there I now wonder why. Don’t get me wrong, it was pretty and all but it’s set up for package tourists…Italians to be precise. It was just wrong hearing the Masaai greeting you in Italian. Oh…and the extremely tacky women. Ick…I saw this horrible blond thing in a baby doll dress in the “Italian Supermercato” with her fat husband…and she was like 70! Ewww…
Anyway, all the Italians tourists made the town kinda creepy. Only cause it made you feel like you could be anywhere in the world. It certainly didn’t feel like Africa. We did manage to get a good price on a very nice hotel that is owned by a nice Kenyan, Jeff, who just returned from living in England for the past 10 years…and his whitey girlfriend from Holland…who he didn’t seem too into….

Needless to say, we did not spend much time there in Malindi. We left early after day 1 to get our asses to Lamu. Now, it’s widely known that Kenya is dangerous. Well, apparently the bus ride to Lamu is very dangerous: Shiftas. These are bandits who stop the buses, possibly shoot some people, and take stuff. So now the buses go in a convoy escorted by armed guards. Sounds scary, right? Couldn’t notice. And obviously nothing happened. Well, we did see some big ass baboons and the music was great. Really! Tanzanian pop is pretty cool! Ok…maybe I’ve been in Africa too long.
Did get to see one of the most spectacular sunsets to date. The whole bus was glued to it. I was reminded of how well Kenya does the whole beautiful landscape thing.

Took our dangerously overcrowded dhow/ferry to the island and immediately made our way to the nearest fresh juice bar. As always, a zillion (maybe 4) touts followed, praying to be the ones who takes us to our hotel of choice and gets the commission. Luckily neither Jan nor I had to deal with it because we now had Phil and the crazy man actually doesn’t mind doing the whole tout thing. And he does it well. Phil, master of languages and supermodel supreme (really, he used to model. But he’s really cool about it) got us a house! A gorgeous house! With a rooftop terrace, kitchen and, get this: a house boy! For the cost of approx. $3 a night each. Damn! Ok, the house boy/man made us a little uncomfortable. We only asked him to cook once and that was when we bought fresh crab and wanted some coconut rice with it. Oh, and he did our laundry. Ironed them too! He put creases in my Mod Robes!

Lamu is spectacular. There are no vehicles on the island; ok, a couple of mopeds, but it’s a donkey place. A donkey and dhow (sail boats) place. And the donkeys have this great little society going on. You see them mingling in the streets all the time, chatting, strolling aimlessly. It’s really cool. There’s even a donkey sanctuary for worn-out/beaten beasts of burden.
There’s a ton of cats too. We noticed that most of them have one or both of their ears clipped. Thought maybe it was because they were all inbred. Turns out it was the Humane Society (Kenya’s version) that was doing it. They would capture a stray cay, make it unable to make more babies, and then clip the ear to mark it. Two ears: they neutered the cat twice (?).

The little Rasta clique in Lamu is very, creepily similar to Nkhata Bay. And the fishing forms are fine there! I had not one but two crazy men trying to cast bait. And the little brat next door to our house would watch us all day and report to the really crazy one what I was up to. I almost killed her. I complained to Ingamin (our ‘boy’) and she ceased immediately. Which is lucky for her…her wee little life was going to be cut short. Anyway, sorry, no plane ticket here! I’m with Phil! (Blatantly not but he was there and could save me!)

Jan and I found the ‘Cultural Center’ one day in Lamu. This was actually just some local artists trying to hawk some wares but we took a gander at their paintings anyway. Two shone with brilliance: The first was a pretty bad painting of two Muslim women all swathed in black, just the eyes showing…in outer space. How awesome is that? Should have bought it….Muslims in space….The second was a stunning (sic) portrait of a Rasta with his arms wrapped around a naked fat blond white woman. We actually know of a blond Peace Corps girl in Nkhata Bay who’s marrying Brown Bread/Bright (local Rasta) in November. We thought it might make a good wedding present.

We spent a blissful week in Lamu, trolling around the maze of streets, enjoying the beach at Shela (the other side of the island), discoing it up one night, doing a dhow trip ( I learned that I find ‘tacking’ very dull and annoying), just chilling. Lamu’s awesome.

Sadly the time came when we had to leave…on the even more dangerously overcrowded ferry (even some Africans were complaining and they have very little sense of safety!) and back on the convoy.
Back to Mombasa…back to Dar. Went to Kipipeo beach (just south of Dar) for a day or 2 to get some skin cancer. Picked up a cold instead.

Tomorrow we head back to Malawi Malawi and Nkhata Bay. Looking forward to it. Not looking forward to spending the next 2 flu-ish days on the poultry express…nah…kidding! I really don’t mind the crazy buses here in Africa…as long as I’m mentally prepared for it!

So please don’t expect an email from me for a while…I’m going back to the Middle Ages. I plan to not be there for as long a period of time but…

Hope all is well and love you all!
Love thi

Nkhata Bay, and, How to Lose Time 13/16

2003-09-26T13:03:00.000-05:00

September 26, 2003

I did it. I finally did it. I left Nkhata Bay. It took just under three months (not including my first month long stint) but I did it. Well, sort of. I am going back after my ‘holiday’ but I swear for not as long.

I thought my journeys would not be complete unless I did a full 360. I’m heading back to Kenya. The decision came around a month ago. Phil had finished his time of employment at Mayoka Village (my home away from home) and was sick of the small town (read village) mentality of Nkhata Bay. I was still ‘contracted’ (more on that later) with Chimango Tours and I don’t like to break promises so he decided to do some travel in East Africa. When he mentioned going to Lamu realized I was jealous and decided to meet him in Mombasa at the end of September. And here I am, sitting in an Internet Café in Dar, happy to be in a big bustling city. Sigh. You can get anything here. They have taxis, phones that work, a variety of restaurants, and again, internet!

I went back to Nkhata Bay with the understanding that I would work at Mayoka for a month then Phil and I would continue traveling. Unfortunately I got back too late, Phil had taken my job (we thought we could both work there) and there was no work for me. Ok, scratch that. Some of the locals, Carvers as we call them, had been placed in charge of reopening a backpackers and they wanted me to bartend there. That was never going to happen; them opening the backpackers. They had already drunk away all the money. But then Marcus came along. He’s possibly the most eccentric person I’ve ever met, and under the age of 30. I couldn’t even imagine what he would be like in 20 years. He owned, along with a Malawian named Davie, a “tour’ company. Now this may make you picture some full on travel agency thingy. Forget that. Small room with compost toilet amongst the banana trees, 8 bicycles, some dugout canoes, and an Imac. Uhuh. That’s how I got to working with Marcus. He caught wind that I used to do graphic design and sort a knew the Mac. I agreed to a month of doing….god knows. Basically I set up the computer with a scanner and printer, installed more RAM, introduced it to the locals I was working with (and the dozens who popped their head in on a daily basis) and sat around listening to the gossip of the town, courtesy of Tamarla, the lovely local I worked with. Man, she knew it all. And told me it all. Who was rich but couldn’t touch their money cause a witch doctor had put a curse on it and if they touched it a family member would die (Chocolate Man, for those who have been there), who had who’s baby but the parents wouldn’t let them wed, who’s been in jail, oh, all the dirt. And what dirt! I am soooo glad I live in a city.

My life was good there. So many things you can used to. Like my walk home at night. Mars would always be shining bright over my house (so it seemed). Or the lake flies coming in clouds over the lake after a new moon. This would bring back the delicious (sic) lake fly cake. Umm umm good. Matilda, Mayoka’s kitten who fell in love with me. She would leave me half dead lizards on my porch some mornings. And sometimes I would get to watch her eat them. Being followed by the Mayoka dogs, Blackson and Mwana to work where they would sit all day (unless they saw another mzungu, then escort them before returning to me). Marcus hated them. See, all the dogs in Nkhata Bay are kinda mangy. And they all seem to have STDs. From licking each other. Shiver. Walking through town and hearing ‘Hello Thia’ from little children. Who are these children and why the hell do they know my name?

It was frustrating as well. Gotta tell you, I cracked a couple times. Especially after most of my mzungu friends went away. All I was left with was the odd traveler I would get to know (who would inevitably move on after a few days), a couple of managers from other lodges and some carvers. Now, the carvers on a whole are fucked. Most drink copious amounts of alcohol, especially Kadansana, a local spirit. It’s also known, amongst themselves, as Dark in the Day. Because you can be drinking it in the middle of the day and it has the power to turn off the sun. Right… There were some that were ok though. Gift, Kennedy, George Wea, Richard, Happy Shopper/Hellman/Herman (they get ‘L’ and ‘R’ mixed). The others, after a while, treated me ok, sometimes with respect but they were so schiso about it, I could never trust them. The good thing about that is, when I did crack I could yell at certain ones. Like Starter Motor aka Peter. I mean, with a name like that you deserve to be ridiculed.

I learned about how without hope Malawi is as well. Honestly. Most of the people I spoke with wish they had the old government back. They said they would take the tyranny in return for good clean hospitals and a good education system. I was appalled to learn that each school term costs 2000 Kwacha, with an extra cost for examinations. People just can’t afford that. I think the average Malawian makes 200 MK a day. Then there’s the hospitals. Richard became sick a couple months ago. I figured it was bronchitis but the doc said pneumonia and gave him cipro (usually used in treating diarrhea). Richard did the 2 weeks of meds, was off 2 days then became very ill with a fever, body aches and coughing up a bit of blood. This sent everyone into a tizzy. They came and got Phil and I at Mayoka and brought us to him. I figured the infection had spread and it was the body’s way of saying fix me. They (the carvers) thought he was dying and rushed him to the crappy UNESCO sponsored hospital nearby. The doc there also said he had pneumonia and he need a shot. What for, asked Phil. He needs one, is the answer. The nurse walks in with this uncapped syringe that she had toured around the hospital with, picking up god knows what. We demand for a new needle. It is new. Fine, but can we please just see you open one. I don’t have time for this she says as she makes for jabbing the needle into Richard’s butt. Meanwhile, all the guys are getting pissed at Phil and me for trying to ‘cause trouble’. ‘He needs an injection or he’ll die’ some say. But they don’t even know what’s in the syringe! We ended up dragging R out and taking him to the good hospital in Mzuzu the next day. This, of course is met with many protests. The most common being he’s going to dye overnight. The next morning R was fine, had eaten food even. Turned out he did have bronchitis and the infection had gotten bad. Took 2 cycles of Erythromycin and is fine now.

But the absolute ignorance of medicine and human life was horrifying. This was a UNESCO hospital too. We’ve also learned that the same hospital will not give HIV tests to anyone who doesn’t look sick. And they charge 100MK, even though they are free.

Makes me very angry. And no one cares. Why would they think they could change things? The government buys votes, which means voting is useless. The other doctors I’ve spoken to, at the good hospitals, just shrug. I mean, really. Malawi is very sad.

Enough of that though. The people are lovely, although backstabbing seems to be a part of the culture. Ok, honestly I feel I can never get the truth. I feel as though I’m Fox Mulder and I know the truth is out there but I don’t know how to get it. This is one of the things that make me go mad in Nkhata Bay.

You ask, why do I stay there? The obvious answer is its beautiful, enticing, feels good. But Marcus and I have another theory. You know how there are some places on the earth that have this spiritual feel about them? People are drawn to them. This is usually due to some magnetic pull in the earth. We think Nkhata Bay has that. I’m going with it.

The other downfall to Nkhata Bay is the shit phone lines. I’m telling you, Mom and Dad tried to call me on numerous occasions and could never get through. It was only when I managed to get Marcus’ mobile could we talk. I tried and tried to get the Imac online only to find that the phone exchange was too old to support internet. And the only way to get it there was if you were really nice to MTI. The plan now is to run it off Marcus’ mobile. It could be the only way to ever get it to work…in my lifetime that is.

This explains my 3 month disappearing act, huh. I just didn’t want to travel over an hour to do very expensive internet (20 cents a minute) in Mzuzu. I don’t even like Mzuzu. I equate it to banking. Yuck.

Happier things: I managed to get a $100 haircut from this Irish American hairdresser for $10 along the lakeside in the brilliant sunlight. That was nice. Two guys I met in Tofo arrived in Nkhata Bay, with their goat. They had bought a goat and were traveling with the little fellow. Goat took a shining to Mayoka and would just wander around. He wasn’t scared of people at all. One night I opened my door to find the little guy on my deck. He looked up at me, brayed and proceeded to enter my house. He took a look around, didn’t take long as it was a small room. Decided to eat my shampoo and I kicked him out. That was a first for me.

Now I’m in Dar with Jan, the manager of Big Blue Lodge. I thought she deserved a vacation as well so I convinced her to come along. Tomorrow morn we head off to Mombasa where we’ll meet up with Phil. So far it’s been really nice in Tanzania. Met a lot of cool people. Ran into some Rastas I had already met in N Bay. It’s a small community, Africa is.

Went to Bagamoyo for an arts festival. Very cool. Made some friends. Always good.

I have to say I’m still looking forward to being back in Nkhata Bay. And I really can’t figure out why.

For the record I have fixed my flight date home. Dec. 21 I fly out of Cape Town. I arrive back in TO on the 22nd. I expect a warm reception :)
I think this is long enough.
I love you all and hope you are all happy and healthy!
thi

Up to Ilha...12/16

2003-07-08T13:47:00.000-05:00

July 8, 2003

Here I sit in a beautiful internet café in Blantyre, Malawi. It may be chilly out but I’m warm inside with the thought I’m that much closer to Nkhata Bay and my rest stop for x amount of time. I have to admit, I’d rather suck ass than get on another bus but there seems to be some small chances I could get a lift with someone. I’m shamelessly begging all those with a vehicle at the hostel for a lift. I’ve reached the end of my ropes with public transit in Africa. I need a vacation.

My travels to Northern Mozambique were fairly eventful, disregarding that whole malaria thing. Tom and I left Beira with Lester and his 2 VSO friends very early for the bus to Caia. We saw the first wild animals on this bus journey; a family of monkeys playing by the side of the road. Everyone on the bus got very excited by the sight of them; almost all the animals had been killed during the war so sightings were rare. You’d see blown up bridges all along the route as well…the other sign of war.

We reached the Zambezi River which we had to cross in a powered canoe of sorts. The ‘ferry’ had sunk the previous week so no vehicles could cross. This meant if you were driving you had to go all the way to Malawi to get to Northern Moz. And this being Africa it meant the ferry would probably not be fixed for some time.

Finally we reached Quilemane; stage one in our trek to Ilha de Mocambique. The bonus to traveling with VSOs is you get to stay at their fellow VSO flats. And in Quilemane we stayed at a prince of Uganda’s house. Sound luxurious? No. Still no running water but a clean bed, which is all I ask. And for some reason this random city has amazing restaurants…we couldn’t figure out why. It’s not like the average Mozambican can afford to eat out.

Started stage two at, you guessed it, 3:30 am again. This time we were on a big bus, which was a bit more comfortable. The views were fantastic: pineapple fields (they look like fern trees), flowering mango trees, and a billion papaya trees. Oh, my mouth water at the sight of the big plump fruits. Love them….Tom and I became obsessive with them. One of my favorite memories of that bus ride is of Tom. He was sitting near the back of the bus, me near the front and he called my name. I turned and he said excitedly Look what I got! And he lifted this enormous, bigger than his head, papaya up over the seats. The look on his face was sheer ecstasy…we took to carrying spoons with us wherever we went.

Reminds me of another story I think I forget to tell. This happened when Jess and I first got into Mozambique and were on the killer bus ride from Tete to Vilanculos. I may or may not have mentioned that they buy goats along the way. They buy them then hoist them up on the roof of the bus, tying them up for the long journey. You know how Canadians sew flags onto their packs. I of course do as well. Just a small one-.not banner size or anything. Seems a goat was parked beside my pack on the roof and he got hungry. The goat ate my flag. I first thought someone had stolen it. No, it was a goat. Now I am flagless. Just some threads hanging off my pack, which I will leave to commemorate the maple leaf.

At last we made it to Nampula. Just one more bus ride and we were in Ilha!!!! Again, we stayed with a VSO. Again with no running water. I really couldn’t imagine living somewhere for so long (they usually have a contract for 2 years) without running water.

Stage three: the uneventful ride to Ilha…ok, the bus conductor did spend most of his time hanging onto the exterior of the bus as we drove at breakneck speed and he did encourage a death defying race with a rival bus but we got there….ok, had to ride precariously on the back of a pickup truck with 30 other people with luggage to get over the bridge to the island but we got there, finally, after 3 days. Whew. I hate buses.

The coolest? The first ever music festival was being held on Ilha. Now this island is tiny, like 5km by 3 km. You can see the other side of the island from…the other side. The bridge to the island is longer. It’s cool. The festival was being held in the old Portuguese fortress, San Sebastian. We managed to find room at Casa Lois, Lois and his wife’s house. They have a couple rooms to rent for too much and camping area. And a baby that didn’t stop crying once. I swear my womb shriveled up during my time there. Every woman who stayed there vowed to tie their tubes as soon as they reached a first world country. The brat didn’t even shed tears. It just wanted attention, which it got. Ohhhhh, I hate that baby.

Anywho, the festival was fun. The sound system was ok, good by African standards. I ran into a ton of people I had met in Moz. Specifically happy about running into Jane and Sven, an English couple who have been living and teaching in Uganda for years. We had all sorts of fun….

And, it turns out I was the only person at the entire festival (even the bus conductor saw this, we found out when we were leaving) who didn’t see Tom get on stage and play the sax. Nope. I was looking at carvings. Shit. I suck.

It was especially nice to Ilha after the festival. When all the people went home and the island went back to normal. I liked seeing the odd guy walking down a busy street holding a live crab, trying to sell it to anyone whose eye he caught.

But then we got malaria…you know that story.

Back in Nampula, after Tom and I were healthy I managed to befriend the owner of the Brasilia, the hotel we were staying at. He was so nice. After Tom left for Beira, he adopted me, introducing me to his wife and kids, who also adopted me. Taking me on an educational tour of Nampula, giving me food. He’s a good man; he even has goats for pets!

Mom, the best woman in the world, had given me a flight as a gift back to Blantyre and this man made sure it was secured for me. He even got a phone call set up to my home.

So, yes, I flew here to Blantyre. A tiny little Cessna. I got to sit in the front with the pilot. I befriended an English businessman who drove me into the city and here I am the next day. Had two hot showers so far and a good night’s sleep. Very happy to be home in Malawi.

So, I won’t be at email very often again. There is no connection in Mayoka and I don’t make the trek to Mzuzu often. So until then, everyone stay happy and healthy!
Love tons
thi

The Ultimate African Souvenir 11/16

2003-07-04T13:40:00.000-05:00

July 4, 2003

Oh, Mozambique the bastard. I thought I was home free. Even getting cocky, talking about going off my doxy in Malawi…
Instead Tom and I picked up the ultimate in African souvenirs. Something that would stay with us forever.

Malaria.

It all started Monday the 29th (?). Tom emerged from his tent feeling rather flu-ish. Lucy, a nurse, Damien (nurse’s boyfriend) and I chalked it up to just that, put him to bed, a comfortable bed, specifically my bed, then went out for our day of photos on Ilha which turned into a day of movies in the lobby of the fancy hotel. Well, did we feel bad when we returned home to find that Tom had been taken to the hospital And tested positive for malaria and was dosed up on Fansidar. Shit. Did that mean I got it too? We had been staying in all the same places…the same rooms.

Sure enough I started feeling really achy as the night progressed but I really wanted to believe it was a cold. We got back to the Casa to find Tom in a bad way. Fansidar had literally been kicking the shit out of him, the poor thing. All I knew was this was not what I wanted.

I went to bed (we had moved Tom previously) and woke in the middle of the night absolutely freezing and had to wrap myself in 3 sheets and my goose down sleeping bag to get warm. I spent all of the next day floating in and out of a low-grade fever and slept probably 23 hours, only eating some homemade soup the lady of the house had made. The following day I felt almost back to normal. It was strange. Tom was very weak for days on end and I was ok-ish after 1 day in bed. People didn’t believe I was sick, but common, women can put up with a lot of pain if they have to. We all know that.

Tom and I went to the hospital for my blood smear; I think the nurses thought I looked too healthy to have malaria, as did I, but they have to do a test. Sure enough, those evil little parasites were found in my blood. After all the precautions: the mozzie coils burnt at night, the mozzie nets whenever possible, the deet, the doxy…although I did learn that doxy will keep the malaria ‘down’, making it less dangerous….sorta. Well, it’s better to get it on a prophylactic, ok?!
We figure we got it in Beira where we were staying near a swamp and were overrun by mozzies.

I really wanted to take Artinate, highly recommended by all those I have met living in Africa, called the hot malarial med by one expat (teehee) so we left very early the next morn (funny how easy that is to do when you’ve slept for 2 days) for Nampula. Oh that was trying….I had felt ok, but I couldn’t carry the weight of my bag so Tom and I swapped. We had to ride in the back of a pickup and it was pretty chill. Poor Tom was bad off so I yelled at the dude running the back to get Tom in the cab of the truck, which worked and I set up our packs making a good seat, wrapped myself and this little girl in my kanga (I couldn’t use all the room for myself-they had like 40 people on the back of that truck-so I had to use the girl for heat and some of my space). Finally I cracked. I have never experienced this: All my organs hurt. I swear, I thought my kidneys were gonna freeze up and fall off and my liver….geez. Never do I want to feel them again.

Tom traded with me and I warmed up and napped in the comfort of the cab. Then we had to change vehicles twice more, more discomfort, and finally we made it to Nampula. By that time my body had sent so many drugs through me I was high as a kite. The body really is amazing. I mean, I knew I could put up with a lot but man, this…shit. My body is goooood. Tons o’drugs and tolerance. See, it pays to take your multi vitamins and exercise!

Ok, so we went to Lee’s, a VSO who let us stay with her, thank god. Went in search of my chosen poison and thanks to my pain in the ass persistence and pigheadedness…got it. It’s this Chinese herb, Artemisia Annua, know in China as Quinghoasu. They’ve used it for centuries. Kept it from others so during a war their own soldiers would be cured from malaria very quickly while the enemy would, well, not. Its supposed to work very quickly with no side effects and ironically you take a double dose of doxy with it. Hm. Went back to Lee’s after a nice lunch, my first meal in days, and took it. I had been feeling pretty good. Thought it was a nice conservative bout of malaria. I couldn’t understand, and didn’t want to ask, why I didn’t feel ill.

Then the meds kicked in. First it knocked me out. I mean, I was sitting in a chair thinking about emailing then I woke in the same chair in the same position and it was dark out. And I was freezing. So much colder than the previous day. But I couldn’t move, save for going to the toilet to be sick in so many different ways. And my silly little ‘like mother like daughter’ head wouldn’t let my dirty little body (hadn’t washed yet after the buses) get into my nice sleeping bag. So again find what you can. Anything to keep you warm…in the long run I lay under the sleeping bag thus keeping it clean. Hey…we all have our things. I’m just amazed mine existed with a probably over 40degree fever.

The night passed with me going through all the classic stages: the cold stage, the high fever, and man, it got high. I didn’t mind that part (as dangerous as it is). That’s when you hallucinate. Then the fighting of the fever. Very painful. My family’s seen it. It reminded me of when I was a kid and got really bad migraines. I’d smash my head against anything cold to try to take away the pain. This was actually more painful.

Then it was done. I took the meds at about 1 pm, it took hold around 3, it ‘brought back’ the malaria at about 4 or 5 and I was out of the pain by 10, 10:30. I even had a cold bucket shower (couldn’t go to bed messy) and didn’t wince once. I was told this stuff worked quickly but man.

So that was yesterday. I’m still weak today but fairly normal. Just have a bit of an upset tummy, but that’s part of the package. Continuing my meds for 3 more days. Sadly found out Tom still has his. He has a resistant strain. So it looks like we’re stuck here for a few more days. All I want is to get to Mayoka!!!! This time I’m gonna make him take the good stuff.

So now, I’m like African :)
Love thi

Mom, dad I know you’ll want to talk to me so here’s a number you can call today. As usual I don’t have all the proper codes but Mom is so good at that now! 06217531 I’ll be there 5:30 my time till 6? Hope you can call. If not email me when you can for tomorrow or something. Hopefully I’ll be leaving for Blantyre soon though.

Malawi Gold 10/16

2003-06-27T13:31:00.000-05:00

June 27, 2003

‘Malawi, Malawi.’ This is what you hear when you walk past carver’s row in Nkhata Bay. ‘Malawi, Malawi’, in a long drawl. This, of course, is referring to Malawi Gold, the most famous weed in all of Africa. Malawi is filled with Rastas, particularly in Nkhata Bay, although I’m pretty sure that most are not practicing Rastafarian…. well, maybe just the weed part.

So the story goes: Arrived in Mbeya with Jess and B (travel companions from Zanzibar; Jess being the girl I tried to kill on the vespa I crashed) from Dar on one of the loveliest trains ever. Overnight, comfortable beds and great views. Even went through Selous National Park. We didn’t see anything but it was still cool. Met some dude who took us on a hike to a Crater Lake near to the town. Still can’t believe I managed to do that after such a long journey (approx. 20 hours) but it was all right. Have to say hiking is not really my forte. I keep trying but…. I prefer swimming or something where you don’t huff and puff and sweat buckets.

The next day we headed off on our monster travel to Chitimba in Northern Malawi. Somehow, someway, this journey took forever! On the plus side we had every different type of poultry on our minibus, which is always entertaining, but we spent most of our time squashed into various tiny painful positions. I have discovered contortionism. My body can now twist into such small odd positions….I’m gonna hire myself out for bday parties (and some of you should get your minds out of the gutter…this is a rated G email).

I grew to miss the crazy matatus of Eastern Africa. Although these were also packed to the gills and fairly uncomfortable, they drove like maniacs and you reached your destination fairly quickly. They drive like the dead here in Malawi. I swear. My minibus the other day was so slow a lorry passed us…while we were going uphill!!!!

Finally we reached Chitimba, our first stop and view of Malawi. Bear in mind most of what you hear of Malawi is the lake, followed by Bilharzias and other strange diseases and dope. But it is also meant to be the highlight of any trip to Africa. Filled with beautiful landscapes, friendly people, and cheap cheap cheap. Rock on. Bilharzias, for the record, is a disease transmitted by minute worms which are passed on by freshwater snails. The worms enter through your skin and infect your intestines or bladder. This is found in freshwater lakes and rivers. Particularly Lake Malawi, Lake Victoria, and the Nile in Uganda. I have swum in all these bodies of water, for a very long time. See, you can prevent bilharzias by only swimming in the infected water for 10 minutes max and then dry off vigorously. Fuck that. If you saw how beautiful these places are then you wouldn’t give a rat’s ass either. Plus you can get it treated easily, like all the expats here do.

It was particularly funny though when we arrived at Chitimba beach and saw the bilharzias lagoon. I swear. You had to wade through this mass of still water to get to the lake. I mean, yes, it does take about 10 minutes for the little fellows to burrow into your skin but it was amusing.

From Chitimba we made the ‘walk’ to Livingstonia….you know ‘Dr. Livingstone, I presume?’. That missionary dude. Livingstonia itself was quite amazing. The very ‘civilized’, often referred to as Scottish influenced town, is eerie. So not African but with Africans being African in the town. Women walking past with trees on their heads (ok, maybe not trees, but it has been known to see the ladies ambling by with large branches perched upon their heads…the women can carry anything atop their noggins. Funny when you see just a bar of soap). Trucks so loaded up with a variety of items that you’re shocked that they can even move. But the buildings are all very British. Made of red brick even. Surreal.

The ‘walk’ up turned out to be a fairly strenuous hike. I held onto the back of young Brendan’s backpack for most of the vertical climb. That's when I had the self-revelation. I dislike climbing stuff. Really dislike it. I’ve tried and tried but nope, I don’t like it. A nice hike, over flat land where you can actually look around; that I like. A long swim: fun. Vertical ascent. Crap. I don’t give a toss how nice the view is either. It sucks.

Somehow I made it to the top (which isn’t so high) and we got to Livingstonia and Stone House where wee would stay the night. Very quiet English abode run by Africans. We had a very nice, very hot shower, ate a huge dinner and settled in for a night of reading in the lounge; trying to keep warm (it was freezing up there! We are in winter here). Little did we know the night watchman, G, was a major source of entertainment. He subtly informed us that the couple we thought were a couple was actually father daughter. Ewww. They really acted like a couple, too. I think they slept in the same bed! G was appalled. Fathers didn’t sleep in the same rooms as their daughters in Africa. Why are mzungus so strange?

We left Livingstonia the next day to get back to the Lake and some warmth. Transport in Malawi is the worst to date. Very slow and not very often. It’s odd when you reminisce about the frightening matatus of Eastern Africa. We waited by the side of the road for about 2 hours for a lift south of Chitimba. We wanted to get to Nkhata Bay.

Finally got to Mzuzu, the nearest town to Nkhata Bay, after too many police checks and too many screaming children. I don’t understand it: I was under the impression that African children didn’t cry but in Malawi it seems like their vocal cords are increased by 20. Makes a very crammed ride almost unbearable.

I was parting from Jess and B for the next while. They were headed for Zim to see their uncle; then B was off to work outside of Durban and Jess was to come back to meet me. I had this wicked bad flu that day and so not in the mood to carry my bag through the dark trying to find Mayoka, the backpackers which was recommended by many. But again, the lovely Africans came to my rescue. I was the only mzungu on the bus (as usual for me) and all seemed to be concerned about my well being. They discussed what was to be done upon my arrival and this nice boy offered to escort me to Mayoka. He even carried my bag, which was good cause it was faaaaar.

Walked into the bar, looking forward to sleep when this man ran up to me and planted a big kiss on my lips. It was my friend Daz, from Uganda (not him, where I met him). So much for sleep. Daz, who was working there at Kupenja Lodge, and his ‘boss’ Ariel, whisked me away on a quick tour of Nkhata Bay lodges/bars and finally Hot Spot, my now favorite local restaurant.

I ended up staying in Nkhata Bay for 3.5 weeks. I don’t know how the place does it but everyday went by at the speed of light. There was Golden Dawg, a bar/’cinema’ (a large concrete room with a very large TV and DVD player with over 200 movies) that this American bloke set up when he fell in love with Nkhata Bay. A movie costs about 10 cents. Then there were the carvers; a group of locals who were pseudo rastas (they drank and ate meat) who could carve almost anything, some good, some bad. Most woman didn’t like chilling with them cause they hit on them but I was safe. They thought I was with Ariel (we don’t know why), which was fine by me! I wasn’t going to tell them otherwise! Hanging out at Mayoka was a good one. So gorgeous was this place. I had this huge ‘cottage’ right on the Lake, with my own porch. I swam across the bay every day. IT was just a feel good place. Most people get stuck there for a very long time. Nkhata Bay is just a magical place.

Jess came and met me after about 2 weeks or so and we got stuck together. Met this very funny Irish bloke who quickly became a part of our little family and we all became stuck together. It’s funny. I’ve met so many people on this trip. Most I haven’t felt a special attachment to like I did with those I met in the Mid East. I think it’s because Africa is filled with gap year students and NGOs, who think they are making a difference (more on that later). But every once in a while special people come along.

Jess was sadly on a time frame (we both wanted to stay) and the 3 of us left, Phil for Tanzania and Jess and I for Blantyre then Mozambique. The bus was the worst yet. Waited for hours for it to fill (which was fine…we didn’t want to arrive in Blantyre in the early morn…very dangerous). Then it overfilled to a dangerous amount. Then it changed its destination, going to Lilongwe first. Then it was so slow, a fucking lorry passed it going uphill! Basically it took us 19 hours to get to Blantyre when it should have only taken 8. Jess and I suck for transport.

Blantyre was nice…small town named a big city. Malawi’s not one for big party towns. It’s pretty sleepy. We only stayed a few days as we both wanted to get to the coast of Mozambique but I’ll be back to explore it. I’ve made plans to meet Phil, the Irish bloke, back in Nkhata Bay at the end of June. We’re hoping for work…

And now I’m in Tofu, Mozambique. Started my dive course, which I love and can’t believe I’ve never done before…. but more on that in a different email.

One thing I forgot. I’ve added onto my list of gross things one can catch in Africa. I noticed the soles of my feet being really itchy in Livingstonia. So itchy I almost made them bleed from scratching (I used brick or stone). I put calamine lotion on them to stop the pain but thought it was mozzie bites. Imagine my surprise when, days later in Mayoka I noticed red lines running all over the soles of my feet. And you could feel them stick out. I immediately took my feet to the owners who have lived there for years and would know weird stuff and Gary congratulated me. You are the proud parent of not one but two hook worms. One for each foot, he said. Hookworms, if you don’t know, can be caught from walking barefoot in sand where animals may have defecated. The worms leave the animal and enter whatever part of your body they come in contact with. Once inside your body they eat and excrete your blood, leaving trails of where they’ve been. They want to get to your gut where they can live for years. Only meds can take care of them. I did that. But now one has come back. Wanker is his name and I can’t wait to kill him again! Don’t worry. I took pictures.

That’s all I feel like writing now. It’s not up to date info but Internet is pricey here in Southern Africa. Hope all is fine with everyone!
Love and misses,
thi

I am one with...the dolphins 9/16

2003-06-23T13:17:00.000-05:00

June 23, 2003

Life in Nkhata Bay was chill. You’d wake every day to a warm, blue sky, sit by the lake enjoying a breakfast of fresh papaya, which was picked from the tree just beside your bungalow that morning. Usually breakfast managed to last minimum 2 hours, with a minimum 4 mugs of tea; it was the first time I had seen a big mug in too long a time. Following that, I would contemplate a swim across the bay and back for a good share of an hour. Then I’d actually do that, so half hour. By that time it would already be well past noon and I would need to be down in the ‘town’ to pick up fruit and fresh, fresh tomatoes…beautiful tomatoes…some of the best I’d had. Oh, and fresh bread…spending far too much on groceries: possibly 40 cents. Then it would be a wander over to Kupenja Lodge where my friends Daz and Ariel lived and worked. That would lead to a long tea session while we sat on the deck watching the traffic go by on the lake. If we were lucky the ferry (usually the Ilala but she was being fixed) would come in. That was fair excitement.

Dug out canoes rolled by, with fresh fish for sale. Daz was looking for his own dug out at the time, he had lost 2 previous canoes to Mozambique when he failed to tie them up properly, so was more than happy to indulge these fishermen in a bit of banter. Maybe one would know of a boat Daz could buy.

The sun would start setting and I’d have to decide if I should have a delicious dinner at Hot Spot for a mere 65 cents or go back to Mayoka for almost gourmet food. This was the big decision of the day. Man, what a hard life.

This town/village/whatever had no internet, often no power at night, few phones, and was very far on a bumpy road to the nearest town and main bus station. It was a wonderful place. As I’ve said it was easy filling the day with nonsense. There’s a prison in the middle of town, right across from Golden Dawg, the movie house. And I swear the prisoners were never locked up. They were playing football across the way.

And the locals; the carver boys. Oh the nicknames….Easy Tiger, Georgy Porgy, Richard, Diamond Geezer…ah, common. Richard, really?
I loved the fact that I’d have to greet the witch doctor who’s ‘office’ was by the side of the road on the way to Daz’s.
All in all, I’m not too upset that I had agreed to meet my friend Phil back there in the next 2 weeks.

Remember that evil bus journey I mentioned in my last email? The one that took Jess and I 19 hours to get from Nkhata Bay to Blantyre? So slow a lorry past us while we were going uphill? Well, I don’t think I mentioned what the bus drivers did. Ok, first, there were drivers. Like 4 of them. And then they decided they were thirsty at 2:30 in the morning and stopped for a very long amount of time to go to the local disco for a beer or 2. They never actually told us anything but I figured it out. And it really pissed off this Tanzanian bloke. He went off about how you’d never hear 2 radios blaring at once, babies shrieking and the drivers leaving the bus on the side of the road packed to overflow with customers and luggage to enjoy a few beers in Tanzania. The dalla dallas there would get you to your destination in record speed. Gotta say, I agree.

Jess and I finally made it out of Malawi at the beginning of June-ish to get some sand and sun in Southern Mozambique. We left our hostel early in the day only to wait for our minibus to leave for hours. Finally it was full and off we went. Just 20 km away from the border it broke down. Lucky for us a pickup truck picked us up. It was owned by a lovely Namibian family who were in Malawi on holiday and they took us safely to the border. The most interesting billboards I’ve seen were between the two countries. It was an ad for condoms, the sign saying you have now left Chisango country (Malawi) and entered ‘X’ country (don’t know the name of the Moz condom…not as many billboards as Malawi). We got a little lecture from the Moz. Customs for not having bought visas in our home countries, mainly because he was a lazy git and didn’t feel like doing anything. We ended up having to pay him a little extra for doing such a nice job.

Managed a lift with a very nice South African who was working in Malawi but was on his way to Zim. Got to Tete in record time thanks to the South Africans need for speed behind the wheel and had our first look around Mozambique. It’s amazing how different it is to other African countries. Its Portuguese influence is so evident, giving it an almost European flair. Ok, not a huge European flair, but it is bizarre seeing Africans chatting away in Portuguese. And it ain’t cheap either. Not European in that respect either but at least twice more expensive then Malawi and it’s just as poor. I mean the poor country has had a horrible past 20 odd years, with constant war, and droughts and famines. But the people are still warm and friendly.

We left our pensau at 3:45 am to catch our bus to Vilanculo. We were told we should be making it there by late afternoon. Right. We got to Vilanculo at 10:30 at night. Mozambique buses could have won the prize as the slowest and most painful.

Vilanculo is a lovely little town in Southern Mozambique. Very tropical with coconut palms and long white sand beaches. The tide goes out pretty far here and it seems like you can walk across the Indian Ocean. It’s so beautiful at that time…the dhows (sailboats) all have black sails and it always looks like one got stuck in a sand dune.

Jess and I ended up meeting two wicked Swedes, Hans and Anna and a fellow Torontonian, Jeremy (who happens to live just blocks away from my folks) and decided to go on a dhow safari for 2 days and 2 nights to the Bazaruto Archipelago, 5 islands that are protected as a national park.

My mission: see some frikin dolphins! Everywhere I go people brag about seeing dolphins riding alongside the boat or riding the waves nearby. I want some of that. What is it about me that dolphins don’t want to know? And how do they all know that there’s a ban on me?

I got my wish. Oh yeah. We saw some dolphins. They were as beautiful as people have said. And now my curse is gone! I’m good again. I am one with the dolphins. And it doesn’t stop there. We even got to see the endangered dugong, which, for obvious reasons (that whole almost being extinct thing) is very rare to see.

We all then headed down to Tofo, a famous beach just down from Inhambane town, one of the oldest towns in Mozambique. Tofo’s known for not just the beach but also surfing and most importantly, diving. I’d heard about the diving in Tofo months before in Zanzibar. Apparently you could dive with Manta Rays and Whale sharks. Cool, the only problem being I don’t know how to dive. And you can’t snorkel with the Mantas. There’re 30 m down.

The stupid thing is I could have learnt to dive anywhere in Africa. Zanzibar was cheap and a pretty sweet environment. Lake Malawi even. Ten minute walk from where I stayed for 3.5 weeks. But no. I have to procrastinate and be cheap. You, all who know me, must have known what kind of internal struggle I was having, trying to decide if I should part with my hard earned coin to take the most expensive Open water course I had come across. I think I annoyed every person that I encountered trying to get them to decide for me. Lucky, my friend Emma who wanted to take the course with me, talked me into it. Now I can’t believe I haven’t done diving sooner.

I’m a water baby. I can stay in the water for days. Everyone said I would love diving, being able to breathe underwater and see the life under the water. They were so right. It’s amazing. I had been so worried about everything, my ears, the bends, and all kinds of bad stuff you hear you can do to yourself at great depths under the water. It’s just ridiculous though. It’s one of the most relaxing, serene experiences I’ve had. I love hanging upside down over the coral trying to find some crazy looking shrimp or eel or whatever. Or just floating above the ocean floor, watching schools of fish swim by.

We were heading back to land after my final dive (to complete the course) when we hit something with the rudder of the speedboat. We stopped the boat and turned to see the enormous fin of a whale shark submerging into the water. We didn’t hurt him but stunned him enough for him to realize he should swim a little deeper. We turned the boat to see if there were any more whale sharks and then noticed some fins in the distance. That was one of the really cool things about booting over the waves of the ocean. You would often see a couple of very large fins or a devil ray popping out with a wave. Anyway, we drove on and the fins rode in our direction and we saw they belonged to 2 dolphins. They seemed to like our boat and we went into the water with our snorkel gear on the very unlikely chance that the dolphins come closer. We began to swim as gently as possible (dolphins don’t like splashing) and they came closer. They came closer and closer until they were a mere meter away. It was unbelievable! They reminded me of those really tacky airbrushing of dolphins. These smiling creatures that just seem to float in the water.

My new name is EEEEEEEE (to be sung in the tone of a dolphin).

Time for my first deep dive, the whole reason for the dive course, 30 meters down to the Mantas. It was unbelievable. We had to descend head first to get down as fast as possible because the currents are so strong. That was cool. Then we started the dive. We went over top this one reef and entered an aquarium. It seemed like we were surrounded by thousands of fish. Looking down you’d see all the crazy things that live in the reef. Moray eels, although dangerous look like Muppets with their mouths constantly trying to snap up food. Barracuda, Tiger fish, stingrays, all you could imagine, surround you. Then you turn a bend and see your first Manta coming out of the mist. The best description I heard was they look like Star Trek ships coming in for a landing. And they are huge! 30 times bigger than me at least. Like a small car. They just coast along, gently gliding on a flap of their wings, pausing once in a while in mid wave to have a look at you, then floating upwards and away giving you a view of their white underbellies and the fish that live beneath them. So majestic and gentle.

A dive master then pointed to the distance and a school of devil rays, 15, some babies flew slowly by. It’s an astounding world at the bottom of the ocean. Now the humpback whales are moving through Tofo, migrating north where they’ll breed then head back through Tofo. The one downfall to this is they chase away the gentle giant whale sharks which I still have not managed to see, but there are a few around. But no worries, I have time…

I was offered one of the coolest jobs to date. The lovely people that own Tofo Scuba, Nikki and John asked me to do reception work for them in exchange for accommodations, base wage and the kicker: free dives! It’s like they knew it was my new obsession. And since Nikki was my instructor that wouldn’t be too far off. Needless to say, I will be taking this job, after I do a bit more travel. I’ll just hope it’s still there when I return in a month or 2, which Nikki guaranteed. Inshallah.

This had been my plan. Amazingly, yes, I had formed a somewhat plan. Jess was to leave me, sadly, from Maputo where we would enjoy her bday and buy final curios. Then I would spend a few days there before taking the long journey back to Malawi. Our time that was meant to be in Maputo was cut short because of my dive course and then we cancelled it all together to stay in Tofo for the Full Moon party on the beach. Then it was decided it was only fitting that Jess and I parted ways on a beach. After all we had met on the North beach in Zanzibar, 3 full moons ago. Too perfect. Beach to beach, full moon to full moon.

Then I was meant to leave Tofo with Anna, the Swedish girl we were travelling with. The day before we were meant to leave I was chatting with Tom, another member our travel tribe, who was thinking of heading up to the North. I knew I wanted to see it, go to Pemba and Mozambique Island, but travel was long and drawn-out and I wasn’t keen on doing it alone. Phil and I were meant to see it together after I had reunited with him in Nkhata Bay. As usual, plans are never set in stone with me and we decided to head north the next day as opposed to south, which would get me further and further away from Malawi.

We’re currently in Beira, central Mozambique. I, along with my travel partner for the moment, Tom, are staying with 2 English teachers, Camille and Lester, who have taken us in for the past few days. We met Lester in Tofo and ran into him on our way north. Not only was Lester heading up to Ilha de Mocambique, but we could stay with him along the way. Which takes about 3 days. You have to travel in stages. For some reason it’s against the law for buses to travel at night and the roads are shit so 40 km could take like 8 hours. That means, from Vilanculos in the south, it would take about 3 stopovers to get there. We’re in stop one now, trying to get our visas extended before heading north. Apparently each day you’re past your due date, you pay $100. I need to not find that out.

The beautiful thing is Lester and Camille knows a great group of expats and locals in Beira and has made our time here really nice. Many of them are professional musicians and they entertain us for hours with tunes. We were at dinner parties for the past 2 nights stuffing our greedy little faces. And I get to use Lester’s laptop which is how I’m managed to spew out all this rubbish…it’s free. And he’s managed to get us 3 free accommodations all the way up to Ilha. Rock on.

To brag I’m currently listening to Helio, Lester’s friend and popular musician playing the drums and singing outdoors, entertaining the children in the neighbourhood.

Tom and I have discovered a Brazilian culture here as well. Ok, Tom did. He plays Capoeira, the Brazilian Martial Art that resembles a dance. Throughout our journey north we’ve found kids and adults playing in various places, on the beach, in the square and in our current frontyard. It’s pretty amazing. I think it’s interesting that Africa on the whole is so into martial arts and that Mozambique is into the Brazilian form. In the rest of Eastern and Southern Africa you would see people play fighting using kung fu or kickboxing and the Africans love Kung Fu movies. But here in Mozambique you find their own culture’s martial art. Yet another difference. Cool bananas.

Now you’d think we’d be living in the lap of luxury here in Beira, and in some respects we are. As mentioned I have use of a laptop and internet during cheap hours, the use of a kitchen, a lady who did our laundry for free, a comfy bed but we have no running water. Really. Sometimes it comes on for a few odd hours, freezing cold and trickling out of the shower head (spout, really). We’ve taken to boiling a couple litres of water then bucket showering with it. To me luxury is a hot shower but now I realize running water in general is pretty luxurious to some. The things you take for granted, they’re living like this for 2 years. As I speak Lester is heating up his shower bag (a camping sac filled with water that has a shower head attached) by the heat of the sun. Lukewarm is better than freezing, as he said.

As for me and my health, I’m all good. Got some killer meds to get rid of Wanker 2nd today. The little bastard kept me up itching all night. So now he must die. I had warned him…if he was good he could come to Ilha and enjoy its first music festival but no, he wanted more blood and grew bigger. Now he’s an irritant so…. On the plus side, the horse pill I took should also take out some of the other worms that are probably living in me…from food. We all have them, I think you just get more in Africa.

I’ve decided to go off my anti-malarial when I return home to Mayoka. I’ve now been on Doxy, an antibiotic, for close to 6 months which is bad. I need my body to be able to fight bacteria and shit naturally. Also, there’s the possibility I am carrying malaria (long boring story that involves a medical advisor) but it’s being kept at bay by Doxy and I’d like it to come out so I can treat it proper. Plus I know the staff at Mayoka and I know they’d take care of me. We’ll see in a few weeks!

I’m still in love with Africa. Every country seems to look different…like they noticed a change in the landscape and drew a dividing line there. Obviously that’s not true but…

Hope everyone is happy and healthy! You are all in my thoughts and I honestly wish I could be sharing my time in Africa with all of you.
Love thi

On the road again...8/16

2003-04-24T13:11:00.000-05:00

April 24, 2003

Well, hello again everyone. This will be just a quick update of the past week. Seems I left out some funny situations in my last novel so…

Forgot to mention the cop who tried to bribe us immediately after the scooter crash. Basically we landed beside these big boulders, jumped up pretty quick (my big concern was my shades, which are oddly ok, even though I landed on them, slid across rubble with them. The lenses aren’t scratched and some dude here in Dar Es Salaam fixed one of the arms), brushed ourselves off, looked up and saw the whole village and then some surrounding us. Then the other scoot carrying B and Duncan pulled up and they seemed pretty confused, and concerned. These dudes from the BP station that just happened to be right there in the middle of no where cleaned us up and checked the bike and some random guy started going on about how he was a cop and we had broken the law and created a disturbance. Luckily all us mzungus look the same and he didn’t notice I was driving (no permit). But we, well, Jess and I was clueless at this point, B and D were a little freaked. Just then another Vespa pulled up and the driver was a journalist who was reporting on corruption in Tanzania and Zanzibar. He and the BP guys totally protected us and even escorted us back to Stone Town.

That was also trying. Jess and I rode on the back of the two bikes, obviously, and went into shock fairly quickly (as you do when you escape certain death). Night was falling and all we wanted was our beds and warm milky African tea. But no. We kept running out of petrol. First time, we siphoned it out of one bike (yes, please point out that we were at a BP and didn’t fill up. You would have been out of there pretty quick too if you were trying to escape a drunken corrupt cop in an African country too!), the second time our friendly neighbourhood journalist went ahead to get us a couple of liters. We hung around the edge of the road in pitch-blackness in kinda a forest when out of nowhere this kind man brought us a kerosene lantern. He asked in his broken English, and a bit Swahili, how we were and stood off to the side with some other villagers, watching over us. Man, so nice!
We did finally make it back, safe. But I feared facing the rental place. My past experience made me a bit worried and I was in no shape for anything! These guys were so concerned! They wanted to take us to the hospital, didn’t want to charge me for damages (I did insist and I only paid $15)…very kind people.

The next few days were so much fun in Stone Town. Everyone greeted me with Poly Sana (so sorry) and wanted to talk to me about the accident. They thought it was so cool a mzungu experienced the same shit they do. We were set. All of Stone Town treated us like their own. It was wicked, home.

Easter Sunday we ran into Jesus, our Rasta friend from Kendwa who was in town to see friends. He joined us in our Easter Candy hunt in the Gardens near the water and we became even cooler since we were friends with a local. Ghey, I know but every little thing helps! We were supposed to leave that night for Dar but decided to rest a bit after the accident. Farted around the next day, chilled with some pals we’d made. I have actually made friends with this Masaai in Stone Town. He custom made a bunch of bracelets for me and we plan on making a bit of a business of it. He’s possibly the coolest Masaai…even the locals dig him.

Well, sorta lost track of time and had to run to meet him for my new anklet before heading on the night ferry to Dar. Jesus, being the messiah, knew where he lived and I got to go to his apartment. Then we ran back to Jesus’ to get my crap I had left there and lo and behold, doors locked and we can’t find his roommate. Ended up having to stay yet another night! But this time Jess, B and I (Duncan left) stayed at Jesus’ palace of a flat right in Stone Town. It was amazing. Huge, 20-foot high ceilings, textiles draped everywhere. Turned out Jesus’ brother’s mzungu wife decorated it. Turns out Rasta boy comes from a very good family too. Funny that.

Managed to get Residents price for the ferry the next afternoon (we’re good) and now we’re in Dar! Staying with a friend of Jess’. A very well to do Tanzanian family from Moshi. Named Moshi. Uh huh. Totally taken care of. Got a houseboy who did our laundry. Yup. Gonna learn how to make chapattis tonight. They want me to help run their newest restaurant when it’s done being built. Yup. And they own 4 hotels. Money. Crazy. And I just bought my first painting. A Tingatinga. Poa (cool).

Tomorrow we leave Dar for Malawi on the train. It goes through Selous National Park and will probably break down there. Oh, did I mention we had lunch with B’s uncle who protects Rhinos in Africa? Yeah, and 3 other National Park dudes. Just a little interesting! Man, my life is surreal!

All in all I gotta say I was hard on Tanzania when I first got here. I thought people had no sense of humour, but compared to Ugandans, who does? I now know that Tanzanians are just the loveliest, friendliest, warmest people. They really care. Zanzabarians are so polite…the roommates gave up their beds for us (clean sheets too and we caught one cleaning) because we needed the mozzie nets and gave us all fans. I wish it wasn’t so bloody expensive though, but I’m sure one day I’ll come back. Definitely Zanzibar….I recommend it totally!

And now I’m off. Gotta get to the restaurant and have a few brews with the Moshis before dinner. They would think it rude if I didn’t :)!

Probably won’t email for a bit from Malawi…apparently expensive there. But don’t worry! I’m still alive and well, and scar free, if you can believe it!
Love thi

Anyone wanna buy a Vespa? 7/16

2003-04-20T11:58:00.000-05:00

April 20, 2003

Man, alive…..I would really love to stop sweating. I’m currently in Stone Town, Zanzibar and it’s 34C in my room with the fan on high. Imagine the temperature in the sun! So needless to say, I constantly look like a bucket of water has been poured over my head. You try to protect your skin from this insane sun with sunscreen but it just slips right off your body. Not that I’m complaining…

Obviously my being in Zanzibar it means I’ve finally left Uganda. It was a bittersweet goodbye. Went to all the clubs and bars, specifically Al’s Bar and said bye to all the hookers. Even managed to run into some Ugandans I had met at a disco in Fort Portal about a month earlier. You know you’ve been in a country too long when. My final night a group of us went to see some live bands at Just Kicking (an expats bar). Turned out the band was led by this guy named May that I had hung out with at the full moon party in Jinja weeks earlier. Binange (lugandan for ‘my god’…loosely translated), I’m telling you, Uganda is a very small country. After the show Duncan (my young Scottish soon to be travel companion friend) and I headed off to a party we were invited to by some ngos (yeah, really, I was set there…I do have braggarts rights, I think) and managed to hook up a ride with a fellow named Mark, who worked for the UN. We had been told that you needed to bring a bottle for entry, similar to parties at home, so we stopped and got some Waragi (my love) and crisps. The party was held at a house that sat in the shadows of the Sheraton Hotel. I should say mansion , not house. Turned out that the mansion was owned by the EC Rep for Uganda and she just opened up her home to all the expats. I don’t think she was even there. Turned out there was a fully stocked bar, buffet table filled with food and a DJ (who I had met at Dr. Grant’s dinner party days earlier). Pretty cool exit from Uganda…

Managed to grab a couple hours (literally) sleep before finally leaving Red Chillis for the last time (? no one believes it anyway) and heading to the Uchumi Supermarket for a full stock of Waragi and some chow. Met up with Pete and Jan at the Scandinavian bus at I guess around 11am, can’t remember, but it was to be a 20 hour bus ride to Tanzania via Kenya. Did I already mention these guys? Basically I met them at an Irish pub, both of them are Americans living in Norway, thereby believing they are Norwegian not American and they informed me of their plan to go on safari in Tanzania. It inspired me to finally move so I joined them.

The bus was plush. We even got movies! Ok, some very strange African movies but it was TV, dammit! Did you know that there is a tradition in Africa that when a woman’s husband dies, she is inherited by his brother. Meaning he can sleep with her and she has no choice. Even if the brother in question is married. Fantastic…. Border crossing was fairly uneventful except for this one Kenyan guy who noticed my passport. He said “Are you Canadian?” “Yes.” “Oh, I don’t like anyone who is against the United States.” Hmm. Wasn’t expecting that!

We did, for some reason stop for 3 hours at the Tanzanian border. No idea why but I was very happy that I had left over valium from my illness, enabling me to sleep until we got to Arusha at 8 am, a few hours early. Got into a hostel and passed out for a few hours longer. We needed our strength. We were in search of a safari company!

Another interesting thing that happened was the altitude descent. You could totally feel it going down through Kenya from Uganda. Uganda is quite an elevated country. When we saw the gorillas we were at about 2400 meters. Oh, did you notice in the news the rebel action going on there right now? Nice…. The other interesting thing is the rains. The rains have started, slowly, and often, at dusk, you can see clouds shooting lightning for hours but not one drop of rain or one sound of thunder. Just amazing.

Imagine arriving in a town you have never been, tired and vaguely confused after a long journey. You exit your prison of 20 hours to the bright sunlight of the early morn and are greeted by dozens of men shouting for your attention. Where do you want to stay? Do you want safari? Good price, special price. Hey mzungu! You want batik? Holy shit. And everyone is grabbing at you and your bags. It’s enough to make the gentlest person blow. But somehow, I imagine it was the valium, I kept my cool and got to the hostel without having made one promise to one person. I was impressed with me.

It turned out though that some of these safari touts were quite helpful. They, of course, waited in the court yard the entire time we slept, which was at least 6 hours, hoping and praying we chose their safari company. Now, they don’t actually work for these companies. They’re homeless and get money from the companies when they bring them new clients. Keeps the town safe in a weird way, I suppose. They can be helpful though. They showed us to the ATM, drove us to the tourist bureau, drove us to any safari office we wanted. They even picked us up that night and drove us to the restaurant we were to dine in. Not that they had any ulterior motives.

Pete, Jan and I finally chose a company, Victoria Expeditions, based on other travellers’ reports. Our plan: 1 day Lake Manyara, Serengeti for sorta 2 (long drive), and the Ngororo Crater for a night and day. We were a little pissed because we had to stay in lodges. On the night of our company decision we fought with them to take us on a tented safari and they did cave but when we got back to our ‘hotel’ the sky opened up and sent buckets of water down for hours. The whole road turned to mud, very quickly, and we all looked at one another and decided maybe a lodge would be a good thing. And it as the same price. And I had gone on a tented safari in Kenya. And I plan on more safaris in Southern Africa, which is not in the long rains season, aka winter.

We joined our new team the next morning which consisted of 2 girls from Sweden, Anne and Kristen, who had been studying biology of some sort, it included the soil, and were treating themselves for their last 2 weeks; Ed, and English teen who had been working in a village on Pemba (near Zanzibar) for his gap year; and Bianca, a German girl who was at the end of her journeys having come up from SA. And then there was the driver/guide. I called him Bwana Freshi (Mr. Cool in Swahili). He was a dude. He immediately nicknamed Jan and I. We were the most trouble/fun. Lots of singalongs….etc. Had to keep Team Konyagi’s (the Tanzanian Waragi) spirit up! But sadly my nickname was Mama Kubwa. Big Mama. I’m telling you, it’s easy to get fat in Africa. All the girls complain of it. Jan was like Mr. Tall or something stupid.

Our first day was Lake Manyara. Pretty cool. Lots of baboons, flamingo, ugly marabou storks, all the type of deer like creatures, giraffe….basic cool stuff. But, see, I needed to see a Leopard….and a kill. But I would be completely satisfied with just a leopard, the hardest animal of all to see. So I wanted to move on, get to the Serengeti. The circle of Life. Home to Simba. Ok, the irony to that: Simba means Lion. You will certainly see a lion in the Serengeti. They tag them.

The Serengeti was awesome. Really. Just a sight to behold. I had been a little concerned that it would too similar to Masaai Mara, which it’s sorta attached to but it’s not. There are these wild rock formations and theses beautiful streams…really spectacular. We arrived just in time for the dusk drive. Got in, had a race with an overland truck, we won, Freshi became an even bigger dude due to good driving skills and then we heard the word we wanted to hear..Leopard. All of us agreed that we wanted the cats, the rare ones and maybe some rhinos and shit but the cats were priority number one. Off we raced with all of us perched atop the giant Land Cruiser we were in. We were driving down this road leading to the fabled leopard when we stopped to talk to another truck. This is common practice. Helps to stay in the know of things. Get this: I knew the passengers. They were 2 American doctors I had met at Dr. Grant’s the week before. So bizarre.

We raced down the road and sure enough, there was a leopard lounging up high in a tree. I couldn’t even see him for a few minutes. It was amazing! And to celebrate, we all did shots of waragi, including Freshi. This actually aided us. See, it was decided that we would take a shot with every big cat we saw. Well, that night we saw 2 leopards and a servile, a very shy nocturnal cat. So we had quite a bit. Enough to inspire Freshi to race back to the first leopard and off-road it to his tree, parking right under him. Big no no off roading in Serengeti. And this was around the time that we were to be getting back to the lodge. Mad dog. Super cool. Oh, and then he decided to chat with some rangers! And he was pretty pissed. Africans aren’t very good at holding their alcohol, but they do like to drink it. Man alive, it was a good night.

And then it got better. We drove to our lodge and it turned out to be this 5 star lodge smack dab in the middle of the Serengeti! And I got my own room! (Freshi made sure I got the best) The room was all wood with one wall made up entirely in glass (sliding door) looking out onto the Serengeti. It’s almost indescribable. And it was designed to be a part of the environment….and it was supposed to be $230US a night. We were paying $85 each for everything a day. And we got 5 star food. All you can eat. Oh, like we didn’t take advantage of that!

We spent most of the next day in the Serengeti before heading off to the Crater. It was a pretty quite day as far as animals were concerned, although we did spot 4 cheetahs looking for shade, but the drive to the Crater was a sight to behold. Giraffes racing through an open field with a Maasai village in the foreground. Rolling hills, maasai warriors out hunting, children dressed up all in black with painted faces for the ritual circumcision (at age 12!)…way too cool.

Our lodge in the Crater was even more amazing. The whole one side of the building was made of glass so you would always have a view of the Crater below and the animals. The Crater, by the way, is, I believe, a crater lake about 260 sq. km and packed full of animals. Every where you look there’s an animal. It’s so cool! We saw pretty much all the big 5 on that trip and most of it came from the crater. Really, if you ever come to Tanzania, the crater is a must!

We finally had come to an end to another beautiful safari and went back to Arusha. There I decided to join the girls in their journey to Zanzibar. We had one last good sendoff for Jan, Pete and Ed who were not able to join us, at a very good Ethiopian restaurant in Arusha and left the next day. But doesn’t that all sound too easy? I mean, really, if any of you have been reading my emails you would know it’s not possible for me to have easy travel or at the very least uneventful travel.

I had been meaning to catch the bus with Bianca early the next day on the cheap bus while the Swedes had already been booked for the good bus. We went, I was told it was full, the driver said he could get me on the same bus as Bianca for a slight fee, I told him to piss off, I was sick and tired of the touts in Arusha hassling you 24/7, and opted for the afternoon bus even though that would get me into Dar pretty late. Got on the 11am bus, stopped in Moshi (saw Kilimanjaro covered in clouds…same as everyone else) and low and behold, there were the Swedes! Their bus had broken down (not mine for once!) and they managed to get on mine and we had a very uneventful drive to Dar, save for bad movies which I watched anyway.

Stayed just a few hours in Dar….but it seemed cool. Got a on the ‘2.5’ hour ferry to Zanzibar which actually took 6 hours. Were met by a beach boy aka tout aka druggie sent by Bianca’s friend Katrina to take us to Kendwa, the north beach. Cool but first I had to get to a doctor. Seems I picked up some kind of weird rash. Well, it started as a rash, on my neck and my upper right arm as well as my right forearm, then they turned to big bubbling blisters. Luckily not my neck but my arm looked pretty gross. Went to a doctor in Stone Town. He looked at it, asked “Does it itch?” “No.” “Does it feel like it’s pulling at your skin?” “No.” “Huh. I don’t know what it is.” Then he looks through a book, turns to a page and asks me “Do you think it may be this?” Oh my god, can I have my money back? In the end he gave me cream which turned out to be a cream for third degree burns, which did work out when I got sunburnt but I think the salt water actually healed it. And I will never know what I had. Africa….but the whole doctor thing only cost me $4US.

We got to Kendwa finally at about 9pm after a really cool drive listening to Moby. Can I just mention that Zanzibar is wicked? So beautiful, so styling, and, yes, there are quite a few tourists even though there is a terrorist warning on the place. But let’s face it, the warning has been going on for over 4 months and I believe that there was not one warning on Bali…

Kendwa/Nungwa….the 2 north beaches with Nungwa being the big area/village about 3 km from Kendwa. We opted for Kendwa cause it’s just more chill, more beach. But sadly, with beach comes touts and in this case touts come in the form of Rastas. Yeah, sounds cool but there is something sad about locals trying to be western but also rats. Just doesn’t work. And, having spent a bit of time up there (shocking) I learnt that most of them are so lonely and confused. They seem to love tourists on one hand and then despise them one the other. I did manage to befriend one rasta who was legit. Nice, down to earth and not trying to get into my pants. And his name was Jesus! How wicked was that? Ok, he didn’t really see the humour in it but I chalk that up to his not understanding my english sometimes.

My first days in Kendwa were spent with the girls. Snorkeling, tanning, etc. Getting sunburnt so bad on my ass I couldn’t wear underwear for 3 days. 30 sunscreen my ass! Then we came back to Stone Town and went on a spice tour. It was so much fun! I had no idea spices were so weird. Anyone seen what nutmeg looks like? And did you know that it’s an aphrodisiac for women? And the food of Zanzibar! Oh! The coconut sauce, the pilau rice! Heaven.

Bizarro run in number_: One of the passengers on the spice tour was Dave, my white water rafting guide in Jinja, Uganda accompanied by his wife Sara, and some Dutch dude that I saw all the time in Uganda.

The girls left and I spent a few days chilling in Stone Town, getting lost in its maze and basically loving it. Then my friend Duncan arrived from Kampala and we went back up to Kendwa for the Full Moon (in 3 days) Party at Kendwa Rocks. Yup. Gotta be a fun time. Man, not such a good party but that’s ok. We’re in paradise!

The next day we woke to overcast skies. As it turned out I had experienced summer in Kendwa the week before and now we were in winter. ‘Kay. We were sitting in the open air restaurant thing when I noticed all the beach ladies freaking out. They were staring up at the sky and, in unison, running to the left , then the right. I rushed out from our covering to see what was up but saw nothing. Then one fisherman pointed up at the sky, showing my the tornado that just skimmed past us. It left in its wake an uprooted tree and it stole a tin roof.

Those days were spent entirely on the beach. Really did nothing except tan, swim, and workouts. No this is true. Duncan and I decided we were sick of being out of shape and I started doing exercise class for him and these 2 English people, Jess and Brendan. Every night. Jesus found it amusing. (See, it’s statements like that that make his name great!) But the beach was fun…I actually do have a tan now….well, I did….I’ll explain.

We left the beach finally, which was fine cause it seemed to be raining more and the attacks on tourists were increasing. I suppose I should mention that. We all noticed, the ones who stayed for a while the underlying tension in our paradise. It was almost violent. Then the attacks started increasing. They would occur in broad daylight, always in high tide when the mzungu would be wading through the water on the walk back to Kendwa from Nungwa. It was always 2 guys with machetes. And they always got money. From one woman they got $1500US. My question is, what will happen to the mzungu that has no money? These people don’t believe we have little or no money. And the locals, the rastas didn’t seem to give a shit. No one cared. We actually went to Nungwa one night for dinner in the village and I suppose we were quite lucky we were safe getting home, although I think the dudes would be on the piss in the pub. Busy day scaring mzungus….and I also think the locals know who’s doing it.

Ok, so we came back to Stone Town, Duncan, Jess, Brendan and I for some good Easter fun. Spent Friday night at this gorgeous restaurant called Monsoon eating delicious food and catching up with a Toronto girl, Melanie I met in Kampala. Yesterday we rented vespas. It was so much fun, booting around the island. What a way to see Zanzibar. Until I drove.

At first I was rocking. Old hat really. Like I was born on a vespa. Jess and I felt really safe with the steering column in my hands. Until we came to the junction where I lost control. I’m still kicking myself, which means we’re alive and well ( a given since I’m typing this!), but really can’t believe how badly I fucked up…but basically we headed into a turn and kept turning until we saw 2 large boulders and somehow I managed to dump the bike before smashing into them and used my face to stop. Somehow I didn’t break anything. Somehow Jess didn’t break anything (though she says she’s prone to breaking bones and now believes we had a guardian looking over us…maybe it was Jesus. He did recommend the company). I mean, I slide with my face over the ground and my nose didn’t break. I that’s the only thing I have…well, ripped pants and a slash on my leg and Jess’ arm is pretty scratched but no hospital and the scratches are superficial. I don’t think I’ll have any scars. And we use my face now for bargaining. And it works! Plus all the zanzibarians dig the fact we too have had a vespa accident. Now we are African.

I also forgot to mention the Jigger that I found in my foot. Yup. I got me my first parasite. Found it in its first day and a local up in Kendwa (that was wearing a Bramalae hockey shirt so guess what his name became) took it out of my foot with a piece of wood he ripped out of a thatched roof and tore down to toothpick size on the dinner table by the light of a candle and the full moon. It was all very romantic. And Jess and B gave a running commentary. I tried to keep the sucker but the wind blew it away after we cremated it.

We’re now keeping track of all the weird shit you catch on your journeys. The most makes you more African. I’m on top right now but Jess and B might pull through. Zanzibar has cerebral malaria and their prophylactic doesn’t protect from that. Ok, neither does mine…

Now that I’ve scared you all, I should actually tell you I am safe, healthy and happy and I’m with a great group of people who all take care of one another.

Today, Easter Sunday we plan on having an Easter egg hunt so now I, Scarface, will sign off.

Happy Easter and get jiggy with it!
Love thi

Life in Kampala 6/16

2003-03-28T11:41:00.000-06:00

March 28, 2003

I keep going through my head, trying to keep all the memories alive for when I get down to email. I know the logical thing would be for me to write them down, but then do you think I would bring the paper I put the info on? Puhleease.

I’m still in Kampala. I keep trying to leave but I’ve fallen into a lifestyle here. The thing is I’m here to travel, right? It’s just such a nice country. Even though the rains have started.

I think I left the last email at the full moon party in Jinja. Much fun was had. We actually had enough people to get our very own matatu. Seems that Peace Corp don’t really have to work here, as they made up the majority of the passenger list.

When we arrived at Bujagali Falls (right on the Nile), we immediately set up camp. Meaning we dumped our stuff in the dorms, then went about our duties for waragi punch. Now waragi is the local gin, known originally as wag gin. It’s made from matoke. Yum. Who would have thought I would actually like it when I hate gin? But it’s delicious, although mighty dangerous. So we made this wicked punch for all 15 of us, containing no less then 3 full pineapples and 3 bottles of waragi. Then had a hotdog bbq! It was so cool! Damn, the peace corp group is cool. And the most cynical. You should hear what they have to say about the war. But more on that later.

They party was held down at Speke Camp, around the corner from us and right on the falls. They had set up a spotlight at the top of the falls so some kayakers could show off and they had a dj going all night in the main bar. Funny how many people you run into at a party like that. You know you’ve been somewhere too long when. Also amazing is the amount of debauchery found here in Uganda. I guess it’s a given when you can pretty much buy anything over the counter at the pharmacy. Example: I can’t sleep, one says to the pharmacist. Well, I can give you valium, but only 10 since you have no prescription. For 50cents CAD!!!!! And I had heard a rumour that you could get prozac so a friend and I decided to give it a try. I said I was sad. The pharmacist chatted with me for a bit about it and then was going to give me some! He also had decided I had malaria (I haven’t been in peak form lately, but nothing to worry about), which is almost impossible on doxy, and wanted to get me on meds! No blood smear or anything. Nice. But still, I’m amazed at how much shit people do here. It’s like being in a western city, except not cause you’re on the Nile and there are monkeys and stuff.

I’ll stick with Pilsner beer. Headed back from Jinja with full intention of going to Tanz. Oh, but we had to have a going away party for Simon. So we went to the casino where I helped this American bloke, Walker, win just over 300000 shillings, almost $300CAD. Yeah, like I didn’t want a cut, which he offered but I didn’t feel like it was fair in the long run. I mean, all I did was sit beside him and chat. It would have felt very hooker like if I had taken some coin (also a large amount of those here in Kampala…one even tried to pick me up!).

Then I was leaving. But now my friend Liv, who’s an NGO working in a small village, needs help with a project. Seems a farmer at the village makes dried fruit but doesn’t know how to sell it. Can I help and maybe make a label? Sure. And then I proceed to take over the whole project. It would have been cool save for the fact that Liv disappeared leaving me no money or budget to go ahead with. I have now dropped the project. It would have been cool though. I first named it Peace of Fruit, as in you are saving the world by buying this product. Then, one night, a large group of us we were having drinks down at Bugaloobi market, making fun of Ugandan English (Ugenglish…and there were Ugandans with us spurring us on), when it hit me. See, for some reason, Ugandans say what a lot: Can you pass me the what? The salt. I think it comes from the teacher showing examples in English class. But it’s really weird. At first you try to answer them but soon realize that will make matters even worse so you just wait until they answer themselves. New product name: Can you pass me the what? The dried fruit. Then the story and village name written at the bottom. How funny would that be? The Ugandans loved it….

In the process of me basically living at the Red Chillis I managed to get close to a number of people, particularly Pete, who is trying to live a happy existence in Uganda as an NGO working in micro finance and a gay man; very taboo. I’ve also refriended (?) some of my south African celtel mates. They were very good to me the other week when I was feeling slightly ill. See, they live in a fancy place down the road and decided I just needed some good home cooked eats, TV, and sleep with a fan to get better and took me in for the weekend. Could they get any nicer?

Pete and I have also worked our way into the expat doctor crowd. This is due to Ingrid, a lovely woman from San Fran who lived at Red Chillis for her 5 weeks in Uganda. She was working at a clinic and knew most of the doctors (yankee ones) here and thought them quite dull so she organized a night out including Pete and I. The best part of this: Grant. He’s this cool surfy malaria doctor who’s been living here on and off for 3 years. And he’s a workaholic that never socializes. We went to a bar and he decided that since he makes so much money and never doe anything with it, he’ll pay for everything. This of course made Pete and I feel very guilty, as we had just met the dude 5 minutes earlier. We tried to buy a round and Grant almost killed us. Ok.

Now I have to say, other than all the doc talk and the looks of fear when I told them I rode the boda bodas and even some lecturing on eating street food, etc. I really enjoyed hanging out with them. Grant had a dinner party the other night and Pete and I were the only dumb people there and we still managed to have a wicked time. Mind you, we had red wine (!), cold (!) beer, waragi and 5 different types of juice, mp3s, a stunning house with a stunning view of Kampala with a ninja security guard, and so much food! Kebabs done on a bbq! Cheese and crackers! A house cat brought form the US! I think I must have eaten over a pound of cheese. Yeah….remember when a number of us at home were talking about how much weight I was going to lose in Africa? Yeah..not happening. Much weight gain.

What else…oh, Pete and I adopted a young Scottish boy and went to the Ssese Islands, specifically Hornbill campsite. Oh, the idea was wonderful. We were originally going to Banda Island that is relatively close to Kampala, with a short boat ride on Lake Vic near Entebbe. But then we couldn’t get through so opted for the further island. We got on a bus fairly late in the day for Msaka, praying that we would make the ferry. Sadly, we chose the wrong bus. We waited 2 hours for it to leave. We did manage to have fun though. We’ve developed a new sport called Bus Spotting. See, all the buses have something ‘clever’ written on their mud flaps. Sadly, I am having a mind fart right now and cannot remember one single one! Oh shit…I’ll have to get them off Pete…But it was along the lines of Beat the Devil or something to do with god. All very amusing. We also tried to sell our samosas to other people for an inflated price (helpful that Pete speaks Lugandan), which was treated with much amusement. Imagine this very white, very English looking man carting around a plastic bag of samosas to the windows of other buses, shoving the bag in peoples faces (as they do to us). Very very amusing.

We finally made it to Msaka and then finally made it to the backpackers with a lot of confusion from our taxi driver. Why do they say yes when they don’t understand? It’s amazing. We go to backpackers. Yes. Then starts driving to Kampala….5 hours away. You understand. Yes, you need to go to school. What?! Seriously bizarre.

Got to the backpackers and entertained myself with all the names I knew in the guest book. Great spot though. Very chilled out and secluded. Good grub too.

Got up early the next morning to get on the ferry to Buggala Island, only to find out it didn’t go until 1. The reality was 2. We finally made it around 4 for our 2 days of rest and relaxation (Pete and I had to be back the next day for the dinner party). I did some laundry that never dried then swam in Lake Victoria where I probably got bilharzias. Had the most amazing fish (tilapia) for din and then played cards all night while lightning storms went off all around us (rainy season). Got up early to get the matatu home, only to have to wait yet again for over 2 hours. We left at 11:30 and finally made it back to Red Chillis at 7, thanks to the fast boda bodas. But the islands were actually quite nice and it would have been fun to have spent more time.

Yesterday Pete had a car (his parents are here visiting) so we drove all around Kampala, sneaking photos and even visited Entebbe. It was fun being in a vehicle but man, gas is pricey! And you get treated really weird. Rich mzungu…

So the war. We’re not allowed to watch much of it at the hostel, don’t ask me why there’s a time restriction. But everywhere you go you hear these assholes “How’s Saddam” “how’s Bin Laden” How’s Bush” or “Saddam is a good man”. Crap like that. Now everyone is decidedly American, which is wasn’t like before. I try to ignore but often inform them that I am Canadian. My country is not involved whereas Museveni is backing the US, which usually takes them aback. They didn’t know.

Another thing I didn’t know: Uganda was going to be Israel. It was the first choice. And that’s about it. Not as exciting as the last email but I’m still having a great time. I am planning on moving on in the next 2 days. Have met some others who plan on safaring in Arusha so…well, we’ll see, won’t we.

Hope all is well at home and abroad!
Love and misses,
thi

Life's always an adventure...5/16

2003-03-17T11:19:00.000-06:00

March 17, 2003
Ahhh, how time flies in beautiful Uganda. So much has happened since I last wrote that I don’t even know where to begin. I suppose I can start with the...Great Primate Week of February Something.

Dana and I were in Kampala having a wicked time with some South Africans we had met at Red Chillis. They were great: they all work for Celtel, a mobile company and get an enormous per diem and therefore can afford to spend tons of money on me and everyone else. We all had a great time on the town, going to Just Kicking and Al’s Bar (for those who have been here). Kampala actually has an extraordinary nightlife. People really know how to have a good time in Uganda. Really. But the time finally came to move on. Well, I have to thank Dana for the motivation…as many of you know, I can get quite stuck in some places. Dana had already managed to get a move on the day before, so I finally boarded the Kalita Executive bus on the Saturday, late as usual. This is part one of Thia’s Adventures in Transport.

The ride started out fairly uneventful. I got a ride to the station from the safas, which made life pretty easy. I got a seat, in a two-seater aisle, which rocks. And the bus left relatively soon after I boarded. Usually they wait for hours to fill up, not as bad as the matatus but annoying, and hot. But off we went to Fort Portal and the Kibale National Forest.

The transportation system in Uganda rocks: you have so many choices and most of them are quite inexpensive, comparably. There are the buses, which are fast; the matatus, which are fast and dangerous and overwhelming; and the boda bodas/piki pikis, which are bikes/mopeds that take you around town quickly and efficiently, with the possibility of death but man, are they fun! I’ve actually tried to figure out if such a system as the mopeds would work in Toronto but I think you’d be sued faster than your 50 cc bike could move.

But one of my favorite things about taking the buses is the food. At home if you are going on a long journey you have to pack food. Here, you just wait for the people with meat on the stick. Basically the bus will stop for a moment and tons of people come running out of the woodwork, selling chicken on a stick, cow or goat on a stick, chapattis (a type of pancake/bread), cokes, water, boiled eggs, plantains, bananas…. all for cheap (if you don’t get the mzungu price) and you don’t even have to get out of your seat. You just buy it through the window. Rock on.

It was at such a place that my first travel mishap occurred. We were pulling into a gas station and all the food people were running for the bus to properly serve us when we hit something and the frikin tire blew! Great…changing a tire with African time, but at least we were already at the gas station. We moved on after about an hour, which I reckon is pretty fast. But by the time I got to Fort Portal, all the matatus into the forest were done (they finish at around 6:30) and I was forced to stay in town, missing out on an early trip to see the chimps or take a special hire taxi, a private taxi, which costs. I figured Dana was probably wondering where the hell I was since we were supposed to meet at the entrance to the National Park so I got a taxi. Problem was no one seemed to believe me that you could stay at the entrance. No, it must be one of the other camps. Understand, it was now getting dark and we had to drive into a tropical forest and search for a phantom camp. I was not being a very nice mzungu at this point. We finally got our shit together and it was decided that the driver and I would first visit one camp, CVK, and see if Dana was there…he really didn’t believe me when I told him bout the camp at the entrance to the chimp park. So he put a small amount of petrol into his car and off we went. Well, at least the forest was quite beautiful although kinda scary in the fading light. We drove for a while before reaching the camp, where I questioned the Ugandans if a blond American had been staying there. I received blank stares. Luckily, there were some English travelers chilling by a fire and I spoke to them about the phantom camp. They knew of it but my driver still did not believe it. And he said he needed more petrol and more money. Uh huh. Where the hell do get petrol in the middle of nowhere? Well, from your friendly neighbourhood wooden shed that sells milk. That’s right. You can buy jerry cans of gas with your milk, for just a slightly inflated price, which is probably due to the fact that your white skin glows in the dark.

We got the gas, and headed in the direction of phantom camp, driving really slow cause he wanted me to agree to a better price. All I kept telling him was only god would know if my wallet had more money and we will see on my safe arrival.

And we did make it to phantom camp, and Dana had been there (I learned again from travelers when I was greeted by blank stares from the locals). The only problem was there was no room for me, and here we were in the middle of a rain forest at 9:30 at night. What a great day! But the rangers finally gave me some sympathy. They couldn’t handle a mzungu looking so so pathetic. One option was to stay in the rangers’ quarters on a mattress on the ground. But I had to share it with the ranger and could tell no one as they could get in trouble. Dodgy! But my only option. Oh, and there was no room left for the morning walk to see the chimps, I had to go on the crappy afternoon see-no-chimps walk. Fine, just feed me.

Sat down and chatted with the Japanese couple and the Swiss dude who were staying there. Learned that the Swiss dude had an extra bed in his banda but had equipment on it. Common!!!!! This guy could sleep well at night knowing some Canadian chick is staying with dodgy rangers while his beloved photography equipment had a bed of its own?! It took Obi, the cook, to talk him into letting me stay. He quietly asked Thomas if he was afraid of women. I was allowed to stay.

We woke early on the off chance the Japanese and I could get on a walk. Sure enough, there just happened to be an extra guide. Off we went with Godfrey, who had been working as a chimp guide for 13 years. Cool, I wanted a good sighting. And, man, did we get one. We trekked through the forest for an hour or so when we heard this noise. We were in a small clearing, facing a wall of trees and chimp laughter rang through the air. It was huge and frightening sounding. Godfrey pushed through the wall and we were greeted by groups of chimps chilling all over the forest floor. They were huge! I had no idea they were like my height. There were a couple of other groups of tourists watching already but their time was soon up and the 4 of us were left alone with the chimps. That’s when the big show started. I don’t know who started it, but I was watching one fairly obscene male when they all started freaking out: racing up trees, tearing down huge branches, shrieking at the top of their lungs, showing just how manly the men were. Really quite scary; I stayed pretty close to Godfrey’s side till he told me that chimps were afraid of human eyes. See, chimps are quite mean (I think). They have no qualms in tearing a baby in half and beating their women. Interesting that they are human’s closest relatives. Anyway, in the eye of the storm was the alpha male, just chilling in the tree, having to prove nothing. The small and weak had, of course, disappeared to the sidelines, as did the women. These males got really aggressive…it’s almost indescribable. You had to watch where you were cause at any point a treetop could be ripped down over top of you or you may be charged by a chimp. I really can’t tell you how frightening the sound was. But I was lucky to have seen what I saw. Godfrey was astounded! He couldn’t believe our luck…most people see them high up in the trees, eating. Guess karma was making up for my previous bad day :)

Travel Adventure #2
The next day, the Japanese and I left the Forest for Fort Portal, where I was to finally meet up with Dana (if luck was on my side). Sunday: no public transport: no matatus. No worries, we’ll hitch, pay the driver. And it really was that easy. A pick up truck filled with maize drove by after just a few minutes of waiting and we jumped in the back. Much fun sitting atop piles of maize on a very bad road. I swear, he aimed for the potholes just to see if he could throw the mzungus overboard. It was a cool ride though. Baboons came down to the road to check out the commotion, colobus monkeys flew through the trees, trying to keep themselves safe from the evil chimps that eat them. Really picturesque too. Ah, but it can’t be that easy, can it? We began picking up various locals who needed to go to town and they really enjoyed the mzungus-specially me. The women had a great time chatting about me and pointing at various parts of me and pinching my skin, like it would be different from theirs. Then the sky turned black, but no rain came until after we lost and drove over the trucks battery. Yup, fully crushed it. Somehow, some way, they managed to fix it and we continued on. Then it down poured. I had a small lake in my underwear by the time we got to town and miraculously it stopped raining for our 10-meter walk to the Continental Hotel. Nice…but I guess we were in a rainforest.

I did find Dana, had a lovely meal and we went to bed early for our early rise the next day. We were told the bus to Kabale was at 6:30 am and we had full intention of being on it.

Life is Always an Adventure in Africa #3
We got to the bus at 6:02. It was already gone. Shit. That was the only bus, allegedly. Our only option was taking a matatu to the next town, Kasese, and possibly find our bus or get another matatu. The crap thing was this bus would have been direct. Now we had to catch a million different vehicles. We made it Kasese with fairly little incident other than claustiphobia and found a bus that would take us to Mbarara where we would find another bus to take us to Kibale. On one bus, Dana sadly got robbed when she tried to buy water. Not badly robbed but robbed nonetheless. Then, our bus to Kabale was so packed we had to stand and our bus hit a kid. Now, I don’t think it was the driver’s fault, but we were going really fast through a town and the kid stepped out in front of it. Astonishingly, he wasn’t hurt. We saw him just rubbing his arm and I didn’t even see tears, although I’m sure some were shed. But we finally made it to Kabale. Now all we had to do was make it down to Lake Bunyoni. An English woman who lived there thought she’d be helpful and walk us across town to find a vehicle that would be cheap for us. Thanks, but common! Lugging our packs after traveling for 5000 hours? Really. But, as luck would have it, we met an overland truck that gave us a lift to the camp…blessed souls.

Lake Bunyoni. Possibly one of the mot beautiful lakes in Africa. Having just gotten here, I can only tell you it really is nice. There’s even this lovely little island that has one tree where they used to put women to die, even if they were pregnant. It’s called Prisoner Island. Really nice.

Great place to chill though and we ran into a ton of people we knew from other places. Visited a school nearby, got bombarded by children, who are really cute until the Gimmes start. Gimme pen, gimme money, gimmee, gimmee, gimmee! Ahh, it’s the mzungus that do give that create these monsters. I’m telling you, if you want to give, give to the teachers who will make sure it’ll be used accordingly. We did get to see how the students perceived westerners: one thought we lived in tents, and were explorers.

Dana and I stayed for a few days there before heading to the highlight of my trip, the gorillas!!!!! We managed to get a special taxi with a Scottish doctor (Brian) for really cheap and set off for Kisoro and one of the most spectacular drives I’ve ever been on. This town is located in the extreme south west of Uganda, right beside Rwanda and the Congo. The view is of the Virunga Mountains and its chain of volcanoes. Wicked cool. This is also supposed to be a very dangerous place. Remember, back in ’99, the machetying of tourists in Bwindi. Now, we weren’t going to Bwindi, Mgahinga, but it was still scary! Ok, no it wasn’t at all. It was awesome. We stayed right at the gate of the park surrounded by the volcanoes, and very close to gorillas (and the Congo…I just have to keep pointing that out).

There was a real military presence there, and most of the soldiers worked under the old Amin reign but what can you do. You know corruption is alive and well but the Museveni government is significantly less corrupt. My problem with the whole gorilla trek is the dividing of money. At Mgahinga it costs $220 USD to spend one hour with the gorillas. You only get one hour cause gorillas are quite susceptible to human illness, and you don’t want to annoy them. I think the gorillas fully understand tourists will be visiting them every day for one hour. But I don’t like the fact that locals were kicked off their land to make room for the park. The pygmies were relocated…badly. And these people are supposed to get a cut of the entrance fee, which I don’t think happens. The rangers only get 1000 UGS/day, which is about $1 CAD so where does the money go?

My turn to go was the Sunday. Woke early and had a yummy chapatti and Spanish omlette. Grabbed some boiled eggs and headed to the gate. We were given a speech about what not to do ie. Cough without covering your mouth, shitting in the woods without burying it. Don’t touch the gorillas. Basic stuff. Then we headed off. We had, for the 6 of us, about 12 armed soldiers, one armed with a camera, with 2 trackers. We walked through the bamboo forest for about 1 hour 45, when they stopped us. Chilled for a bit, ate some cookies, took pictures of the scary (please) soldiers, they took pics of us, and then we moved on. They gorillas had been spotted. We crouched our way through the branches (like gorillas) and turned a bend where we were greeted by a juvenile. The most precious face….oh my god. The serene look in his eyes made you want to cry. Then I saw a silverback just behind him. I couldn’t believe how huge he was! His head was 10 times bigger than mine! The 2 moved on, disturbed by us and we had to wait a few minutes before chasing them. I was really geared up as our hour had started and I didn’t want to lose them. We pushed our way through the forest until we came to a slight clearing where a big old silverback was chilling. We got pretty close (a couple of meters) when he decided to walk right through us. I could have touched him if I had extended my finger. But it was Peter, an American fellow, he was after. He stopped right beside Peter, didn’t look at him but kicked him from the side. Not hard but a definite message. The soldiers pissed themselves laughing. Apparently that silverback was quite a character. It was awesome too how the soldiers really enjoyed the gorillas. Anyway, all of a sudden we heard a crashing sound and this juvenile came rolling through the trees until he landed smack down in front of us. Very comedic. Then 2 juveniles came out of the trees with a baby who kept trying to race up to us and touch us. One of the juvies was his keeper and just kept him on a short leash. So much was happening in so little time and so close! I couldn’t believe it! The juvies soon moved on after a couple of plays and we followed them to their nest, where a silverback was lolling about on the ground, a juvie was sleeping in a nest atop a small tree, and some other juvies were racing around that tree. Until the s.b. had had enough and put a stop to the horseplay. This started back up in a minute or 2. I swear, if you ever come to Africa, you must visit these gorillas! I honestly cannot describe how exhilarating the experience is. Especially since my hand is now cramping from typing.

The one downfall to this adventure was at the end. The whole gang of us were taking photos of each other, having a goof when the soldiers decided to get a photo of me. Shocking, the one single female. They had already come up with a nickname for me: the crested mzungu. Seems my chosen hairstyle of knot on top of the head resembles the crested crane. They placed me in a grassy area and all gathered round. Click. All good. Hmmm, what’s that biting me? Shit, I’m being attacked by safari ants! These little bastards clamp onto your skin so hard their heads stay on if you pull them off. And they try to get inside you via the genital region. We did manage to stave off the attack though. Luckily.

The American couple, Peter and Helen, gave me a ride back to Kampala the next day, with a night stopover in Kabale. It’s a long drive and a bad road and land rovers can get hot. Made it back in one piece, for once no adventures, and went for a lie down. Woke to feeling kinda hot in the head, but decided to drink it off with some of Brian’s scotch (the doctor who got to Kampala the previous day). Was sad cause I had lost Dana to her volunteer gig in Western Tanzania and had no one to mommy me. And I woke the next day to still having a fever, except now I was nausea and dizzy. Brian was gone, great doctor, and I was really worried I had malaria. All the signs pointed in that direction. Especially since I had just left a malarial region 2 weeks before, the incubation period. But I’m on doxy so it’s almost impossible (they use it as treatment) so I decided to sleep it off. I met a fellow sickie, a scot named Steve and we popped a couple of valium and crashed for the day. The next day I woke to feeling extremely better, just a little nausea left over and an invitation to visit Lake Nkuruba, where Steve is the manager. He figured if I was sick I would be well taken care of by the locals there. Well, I got healthier and remained at this beautiful crater lake (near Fort Portal and Kibale National Forest) for almost 2 weeks. How can you go wrong with a beautiful secluded Eden where you can lie on the grass alone but for the colobus monkeys jumping overhead. There wasn’t even electricity or a phone. Rock on.

#4
But the time finally came where I had to travel again. I boarded to bus to Kampala last Friday only to find it full, with standing room only. Great. 5 hours standing. Off we went, putting more and more people on the bus while we drove through Fort Portal. It was packed. I had found kinda a great spot to rest myself, lounging on the back of some seats. We were speeding along when I felt something. I lazily turned my head to the opposite window (it was hot) and saw a tire rolling along the road, away from us. Turned to look in the other direction and saw another tire flying through the air, away from the bus. We were probably doing 125km and somehow the driver managed to stop the bus with the back left half driving on the stemmy thing that holds the tires. No one got hurt. How the hell did we not fall over? I can’t believe we didn’t get hurt!

Needless to say, after much hanging around and enjoying myself with the locals, I hitched a ride back to Fort Portal. The funny part of the hitching is not one mzungu would stop to help me. They had to have seen me; I was wearing my white arms. The Ugandans thought this hysterical. They ended up getting me a lift. Although we were having so much fun together it would have been a nice ride…but I didn’t feel like getting into Kampala at midnight.

Made it to town, went to the Glue Pot Pub where I found Steve who seemed very surprised to see me. We decided that since I yet again escaped death, we should go on the piss in a big way. We went to all the fun pubs, went to Heartbeat, the local disco and danced the night away. In that time I met a cool yank who studies the Chimps (Kim) so I decided to hang out with her the next day and I finally made it back to Kampala Sunday, without incident. In fact, the conductors remembered me and made a show of checking the tires throughout the whole trip.

Steve actually thinks a rival company may have tampered with the tires.

Kim came and joined me and we’ve had a good week here. I’m now off to the Full Moon Party in Jinja for one last Ugandan blowout before heading to Tanzania and hopefully Dana.

And there ya go. Can you believe how long this is?
I’ll be amazed if any of you read this!
Love you all and miss you, but really loving Africa :)
thi

The Source of the Nile 4/16

2003-02-12T13:55:00.000-06:00

February 12, 2003

Not many know this but only in Uganda can you raft the source of the Nile, and the water is very big. There are, I believe, four grade 5 rapids, which is the highest you can do, making it one of the most spectacular white-water rafting destinations in the world. I thought it would be a trip to try and conquer the Nile, seeing as I spent much time riding atop it in Egypt, where you would have to be nuts to swim in it. Well, the outcome? I now fear nothing in this world.

Dana and I reached Jinja, in South Eastern Uganda with no worries. The border crossing had been quick and painless, and I think they even undercharged me for my visa. Our bus let us off down the road and we got to take a boda boda (bike taxi) to the hostel laden down with our bags. Amazing how strong these skinny little dudes are. Stayed in town at the Backpackers the first night, chilling out with (we found out later) some of the rafters watching The Sixth Sense. It was nice to be in a traveller’s environment for a change.

The next morning we got a lift to the Nile River Explorers campsite, situated beside the mighty river Nile and Bujagali Falls and possibly one of the most beautiful places I’ve yet seen. The bar is perched atop a hill that offers a great view of all the surroundings, and the showers! One side, the one blocking prying eyes, is open and looks out onto the river. Of course, if you were to be swimming in the cove just down below you could get an eye full. I actually found a great game while swimming (ok, how cool is that? Swimming in the Nile?). There’s a rock that has a perfect hold for your left hand…you then shove your body into the rapids on your right side and wait till you feel the strongest pull on you feet. Then you shove off, pushing yourself into the rapids and ride it to the other end of the cove. Very fun.

So, as you can imagine, this place was incredible. We saw people we had met in Kenya; we had some Nile Special beers, hung out and chilled, not worrying about a thing. But the time had come. We had been there 2 days and need to go rafting. The NRE make videos of the rafting and it’s a ritual every night to watch them. It seemed ok to me; but I’m from the TV generation and should have known that what I witness on a TV screen will not actually register in my brain. But, really, it did look like fun. Everybody said it was fun….

We left early in the morn for town to meet our guide. There were only 4 of 3 girls, a big burly Aussie, making for a light raft and us. This meant nothing to me. Dave, whom we had watched the movie with, was to be the man of the hour/day (it’s 30 km of rafting and takes most of the day). I was quite happy: this man had 13 years and 15 countries worth of experience and was a pro kayaker. I suppose I should also mention the kayakers. These people basically protect the rafters. They ride the rapids first and wait off to the side, ready for action if need be. And one of them is in the top 5 in the world. They are amazing to watch. One time we watched as this woman kayaker was heading down to the falls when she rolled and couldn’t really make it all around. Paolo (one of the best) was there in a second to help her (they were about 2 meters from the falls, tearing ass down the rapid), and when he realized at the top of the falls that she had lost her paddle, he calmly turned around and handed his off to her. Went down the falls with just his hand and a kayak. Then he managed to rescue her paddle far downstream. Absolutely amazing to watch.

Dave took us to the source of the Nile where the water was gentle and gave us a couple of lessons in rafting. Things like, if the raft flips the hold onto to the rope at the side and don’t drop your paddle. Then get yourself in as fast as possible, which is a lot harder than you think and Dave ended up pulling me in. If a strong rapid gets a hold of you go into a Christ on the cross position, take a deep breath and try not to get pulled under. If you get tossed from the boat, the kayakers will try to get to you but watch out for rocks. Basic lessons that freaked the shit out of me. But I’m a strong swimmer. It’ll be fine.

Did I mention that there are spitting cobras in the Nile?

Off we went, to our first grade 2 rapid. Wheeeeee….fun! Got to the Falls (and the audience). Almost made it but the waters got us and we flipped (almost no one flips there). Ok, it was quick, painless, a little scary but ok. Then we got to The Ganges (I think that’s its name), a grade 5 and very long, with a spot in the middle called The G Spot. We started down as hard as we could, dropped into the boat and held on for dear life. All I saw was this enormous wall of water engulfing us with a flurry of jabs. All of us were tossed clear of the raft. I, in fact, went under for so long that everything became quite tranquil. I wasn’t worried about reaching the surface. I didn’t try to swim or even attempt to kick my feet. I was just enjoying the light playing with the water. When I finally reached the surface (I love life jackets) Dana happened to be beside me and later told me my eyes were the size of saucers. I didn’t get a chance to tell her I was ok as another wave broke over my head and carried me off to the right side. Paolo rode past me with a big grin on his face, asked if I was ok, then warned me about the rocks behind me. Ha. I 'Christed' it and avoided the rocks, then managed to take in the situation. All of us were on opposite sides of the river. Dave had made it back to the raft and was standing atop it and the kayakers were pulling people back. Paolo finally came back to me after he had checked on the others and I grabbed onto the front and he paddled away. We flipped the raft and carried on. I really had never felt so much fear in my life.

Many jokes followed regarding the name G Spot for such a frightening rapid and, well, you get the picture.

But we survived and moved onwards. Not like we had a choice. But Dave, who is obviously an adrenalin junkie and was having the time of his life with the flipping raft, actually guaranteed that there was no way we could flip on the next rapid. It was only a grade 3. Easy peasy. We almost flipped. Yup. Great.

But then came the long rest down a calm patch of water. We exchanged jokes, ate bananas and glucose cookies, talked about how pathetic we were for not being able to stay in the frikkin raft. But Dave, who by this point had become my hero and I’m in the process of making a shrine in his name along the banks of the Nile, told us the waters were bigger than usual that day and you never could tell what the river was going to do. Which is quite true: I watched it for about half an hour one day at the falls and it was constantly changing its pattern, never repeating. So we had a big pep talk about how we’re gonna make it over at least one rapid (there are 14 I think) and there were 3 left. The kayakers were telling us otherwise and having a good old laugh. They had no fear, but they had ridden those rapids everyday for 4 years. So pooh on them.

Our lunch on the raft was almost done when we heard the noise, the enormous roar that was coming from the far distance, but in the direction we were headed. All of our stomachs sank (not Dave’s). We paddled for about 20 more minutes before we reached the source of the noise. I thought I would throw up when Dave stared explaining (in a yell over the roar) how the rapid worked. But then the cheeky bastard told us it was a grade 6, which a raft is not allowed over, and we were portaging the raft over an island. Even that was hard. I cut the crap outta my foot, which is a scary thing to do in Africa where parasites like to live in wounds and lay eggs, but I’m on Doxy. The ultimate antibiotic. Ahhhh, a bonus to the burn.

We joined onto the rapid at the bottom of the grade 6 where it becomes a grade 5. Tried to overtake the Nile…and lost. Badly. I was on the right side in the middle and we got shoved 180 and all I can remember is feeling the boat turn and flip up, saw the water below me (I was holding onto the rope for dear life) and then the bitch Nile smashed us full on into the wave. I did manage to hole on but felt very dejected. We became even more determined to beat the Nile. I swear, I thought she was trying to claim me as her victim.

The next rapid approached and we paddled hard, harder than I thought I could ever do it, with my entire body pulling at the water. We hit hard, the front pulled up and…we made it!!!! It was extraordinary! We made a rapid!!!!!! And man, it was fun! Oh the joy and bliss!

But there was still one left: The Bad Place. An evil grade 5 that had a nasty hole into between 2 waves. At that point, I didn’t realize how nasty it was, but I’ve seen footage where the raft flips, and gets stuck in that hole for minutes, twisting and turning and basically getting beaten up. For this reason Dave told us if (when) the raft flips, we do not try to hold onto the rope. Just let the rapid take you or your arms could be ripped out of their sockets. Lovely. Now I was really looking forward to this one. We had to portage over some land again and stood over top of the river, getting our speech from Dave. It was all I could do to not turn around and walk away. The water was vicious. We were meant to sneak the raft into the side of a rapid, steering around some shallow water with sharp rocks, turn around a tree (which we could touch because it was home to thousands of spiders) and then try to make it over the Bad Place. What can you do? I had no choice and got in and was kinda happy when the inevitable happened. We did all the maneuvering ok but that hole sucked us in and spat us out hard. I was lucky and somehow managed to let go at the perfect time, barely going under and just riding down the rapids (which was fun) where I ran into Dave. He said he got sucked under for a while and had gotten a little shaky from it. I think he was trying to make me feel better. But Alan, the Aussie, really got it. She sucked him down for a very long time and wouldn’t let him up. Dana, who is a Dive master, felt him at her feet and she tried her damdest to pull him up. He was ok, but he certainly put away a lot of beer after the fact.

We survived. It was one of the most frightening things I have ever done and I have more respect for these guys who do it every day and keep people alive while keeping themselves alive. Ah, the shrine.

The video made us look better than we thought and proved to be great entertainment for all the other travellers and rafters. We really did have some big water. Needless to say, I bought one…just for the shot Ben (who followed filming in a kayak) took at the rapid we went 180 over. It shows me holding onto the topside of the boat before flipping. Cool – as I said, TV desensitization: doesn’t seem like it happened. They now use that clip in one of their commercials.:) We spent many of the following nights watching other rafting trips and ours was definitely one of the hairiest.

So now nothing scares me. I figure I lost 4 lives out there on the Nile and I plan on keeping my other 5 whilst I’m here in Africa.

Just this morning I took a pika pika (a moped taxi) into the center of Kampala with no fear. We weaved in and out of traffic, flew along dirt paths pushing people out of our way, almost side swiped a few cars. Nothing. I just hope my insurance covers such things J

Next on the list: the Mountain Gorillas. Feb.23. Oh yeah!
Love and misses,
Thi

PS We actually did a lot more stuff in Jinja, even visited some villages where we met a man who had been bitten by a black mambo and partook in some local food. It was such a great place, Jinja. Could have stayed forever but sadly had to move on. We actually hitched a ride with an overland truck into Kampala so it made it a bit easier.
And, tonight, we experience the nightlife of Kampala with some Peace Corps volunteers and some South Africans.

Look! There's a hippo! And it's behind that tree! 3/16

2003-02-11T13:50:00.000-06:00

February 11, 2003

So my hands look funny. Red, save for my fingers. Now I'm just trying to stay out of the sun. I was hoping my body would get used to the Doxycyclin but an overland operator told me otherwise. Apparently few experience the ultimate side effect: the bizarre tingling in your hands. I get them. Cool.

Other than that (which is more funny than anything else), things are excellent. I'm currently in Jinja, Uganda, right on Lake Victoria and the White Nile and enjoying the heat wave (10 am-30 degrees). Ad now I'm trying to remember where I left off.

Right, so, the Dutch and I left Nairobi for Lake Naivasha, a fresh water lake in the Rift Valley. Travel was very uneventful, until we reached Naivasha town. Having no choice, hopped in a matatu (a service taxi that drives at break neck speeds on the horrible roads of Kenya -you often have to drive in the ditch- that carries as many people as possible) and raced to our destination. It was my first matatu experience and it was hilarious. When I say carry as many people as possible, I don't mean safely. Now, picture your typical mini van; that's what they kinda look like. So then picture about 35 people crammed into it, with luggage and the odd live chicken. Asses sticking out the windows, people holding onto strangers for dear life. At least, if you get in an accident, which is often, you won't get hurt cause there is no where to go! You're too crammed in! I have to say; I did find it amusing.

We did make it to Fisherman's Camp without incident. The camp is lovely, right on the Lake with much wildlife running about. The birds were fantastic: big scary gangster Marabou stalking about, Ibis taken straight from a hieroglyphic, various owls and then there were the Colobus monkeys. So cute and shy with their toy faces and long flowing black and white hair. We spent an afternoon with a family. But the hippos. The camp had to install an electric fence around the site to prevent the hippos from going for a stroll. They tend to come out of the lake at night to graze on some grass. Not sure if you know, but hippos are killers. They can run very quickly and they have no qualms in biting your head off. Obviously the camp doesn't want to lose tourists this way...bad for business.

One night we were sitting in the bar when Eagle Eye Mark spotted a hippo. By this point we were quite used to seeing them munching away at the grass but it's always a thrill. Also, Dana had just arrived from Mount Kenya and she hadn't had the pleasure yet. This is exactly what Mark said:
Look! There's a hippo! (pause) And he's behind that tree!

Security went wild. All you could see was flashlight beams bouncing in the night, and heard shouts and loud grunts from the poor hippo. He was just about 15 feet from us and, silly Dana and I followed at a 'safe' distance. The security got him on the move but in the wrong direction. Amazed we watched as the big old hippo ran right through Dana's clean laundry and then turned in our direction. Lucky for us, an overland truck was near and we jumped in just as the hippo ran past. A tiny Jack Russell finally got involved and he managed to chase the hippo back to the lake. That's right, 10 men could not do what one tiny terrier could.
Apparently, someone forgot to put the gate up that night.

And the rest of our stay was just as exciting, but in a much less dangerous way. We rented mountain bikes and rode 16 km to Crater Lake, where I got to hang out with Hassan and Ali, the resident camels. The ride was wicked fun, going through trails and stuff (Marty, you must feel so proud right now). We went for a hike around the crater, checking out all the wildlife. But by the time we had to leave both Elma and I were in a bit too much pain to ride (it had been a long time since I had ridden a bike and certain areas of the body get sore) so we hitched back with a rose truck (many Dutch live and grow roses in this area) while Mark rode.

We also rode bikes through Hell's Gate National Park, which made seeing giraffes and zebras quite different. I was hoping to see a leopard but...
I also learned why the park is called Hell's Gate. There's absolutely no shade, except when you hike through the gorge. This is where I discovered the hand tingles.

We had high tea at Elsamere, home to the late great Joy Adamson of Born Free fame. It was great...we put so much food on our plates we made ourselves sick. But let me tell you, this home is something else. I wouldn't mind living there, with colobus monkeys running around the yard, taking care of big cats. Pretty cool.

Then we finally left. Elma and Mark left us for Uganda (they only had a little time left) and Dana and I were to go to Narok, a Maasai town. I was to meet Dana, who decided to climb yet another mountain (I'm satisfied to see them stand), at the junction to Narok. About 80 km away, maybe 100. It took over 5 hours. I had heard of African time but this was a good lesson. I took a matatu to Navaisha town and changed to the one going to Narok. It stayed put for 2 and a half hours. They kept telling me we were leaving in 10 minutes and to stay in the matatu. It was boiling hot and my shin was bubbling from the doxy. I had a very nice, although drunken man wedged in beside me who kept telling the same story over and over again between intervals of sleep on my shoulder. It was lovely.

Dana and I did managed to meet up and made it safe and sound to Narok.

We were the only mzungu (white person) to actually stay in the town. It’s basically a quick stop for supplies before heading to Maasai Mara kind of place. We had a ball. People treated us wonderfully. If one of us went out to get a bottle of water, we wouldn’t return for hours because we’d have to stop and chat with everyone. Little children would pull on their mothers’ arms shouting Mzungu at the top of their lungs, actually happy, but amazed to see a white person. Everyone starred. Outright. We met a woman and her niece who adopted us and fed us and entertained us for the entire stay. Very kind people. It was great fun staying somewhere not touristy.

From Narok, we moved onto Kisumu, on the western side of Kenya. It’s a nice town right on Lake Victoria, and our first big malaria area. I felt a bit better about my doxy side effects. Only stayed one night but we still got adopted by locals. Although this time it was an Indian family. Years ago, Indians immigrated during the trade route and now are very much a part of the culture. Well, they tend to own the businesses.
Some misconceptions about Africa:

Did you know they don’t need any more donated clothes? Guess what they do with the truckloads. Sold in huge crates to entrepreneurs who then either open a store or take them to the market where they sell them for slightly more. They get very rich doing this. You’d be amazed at some of the clothes I’ve seen. Billabong board shorts, Polo dress shirts, no Armani but I’m sure it’s there. And it’s all almost new.
And folks do wear jeans here. In fact, everyone looks the same as home, except no gangsta gear (ok, maybe the odd bloke)

A farmer in Kenya told me that the cows (who are very fat and healthy looking) are inspected by a vet before slaughtering. Hmmm, seems pricey to me.

And it’s not cheap here.

Now I suppose that’s more than long enough. I apologize but know this: I’m saving you from my next installment for a few days. White Water Rafting on the mighty Nile. Teehee!
Love and miss you all,
thi

You Can't Get Anything in Africa 2/16

2003-01-26T13:39:00.000-06:00

January 26, 2003

Ok, I know I just sent an enormous email but this always works as my own travel diary so please bear with me.
Someone pointed out that I forgot to mention London in my first email....this was not done intentionally. It's just so much happened in such a short amount of time....

London was a ball. I spent 4 days there, staying with my friend Damien, whom some may recall, I met in Damascus, Syria while looking at Spiderman watches. Good way to start off a friendship. I also got to see my friend Scott, who many spag Torontonians know, and love, as well as Steve, my mate in Budapest. It was really the first time I spent money in London with very little care. Picked up a SFA cd for nothing and a vespa t-shirt (blue) since all I had was black clothes and 'no one wears black in Africa' (load of crap #1). We consumed much ale and did much shopping, taking in very little, if any, sites. Had a big night with Steve starting with excellent Japanese food, where Scotty showed me up with his use of chopsticks, then moved to a pub or 2 until we ended up at The Shadow Lounge. We got a nice discount on a bottle of champagne since Steve used to work there and then soaked up the eye candy. Well, at least I did. Being a gay bar it was packed with absolutely beautiful men. Steve pointed out the best ones to me who just happened to be, like, Gucci models. Yummy. He even pointed out a royal; I think she was a duchess or something. Anyway, his boss saved us from certain despair by showing up and paying for all our drinks as well as a taxi back to Steve's place, which he shared with about 3000 Vietnamese women who all got up at 6 am. Joy, bliss. It was a very good time with much money spent and I even got an escort to Heathrow (thanks Steve!). Happy now, Marty? :)

So I'm still in Nairobi, which I have to admit is kinda growing on me. After I finished my email on friday I ran some errands and then grabbed a taxi to Upper Hill Campsite where I was to meet my dutch friends, Elma and Mark. They were waiting for me at the gate with another dutch couple, Manno and Alette to take in James Bond and some dinner. Ok. We went out to the Village Market in the rich area of Nairobi, near the United Nations. It was astounding the difference. First, so many white people. Second, wow, the houses. Shit they were huge.
Anyway, dinner. We went to Carnivores. Very well known because you can eat any type of meat here. Not recommended for vegetarians. So for about $30 CAD you get a soup followed by, geez, how to explain....ok, these guys walk around with spears of meat and slice them onto your plate. If you need them to slow down you place a flag that's on your table on its' side. If you've had enough you take the flag out of its holder. The various meats we had were: spareribs, pork, chicken, beef, zebra, eland, impala, and ostrich. Yup, I ate a zebra. It was a bit gamey. Now, the only animal you cannot eat is any from the cat family. But everything else is free game, so to speak. Oh, you also get a dessert and tea. Not to bad.....

Before I left Toronto, I, as usual, stocked up on way too many things. This was a problem because Africa called for a lot more medication than any other country but I was told you can't get it in Africa. What a load of hooey! I went to the supermarket and was amazed. Everything and then some. Shit, they even have my feminine hygiene products. Europe doesn't. So, just so you know, Africa is not some backwater, hick, 1959 hole. Well, at least Kenya, and from what I've been told, Tanzania, isn't. You can buy vitamins, a thousand kinds of toothpaste, black clothes, contact solution (not that I need that anymore, but eye drops then), get your film processed well, batteries, you frikin name it! And for a hell of a lot cheaper than home.

I think that's all....lord knows a million things happen that I want to remember and tell all of you but my memory sucks. I do know that, if you ever need to take an antimalarial, know that doxycyclin will screw up your skin at first....well, I hope it's just an at first! :)

Love thi
PS Thanks to all of you for your emails! I love to hear the gossip and what's going on in your lives.
PSS Does anyone remember the point system for Nada? We're getting bored of Yahtzee aka OmniScore.

Lovely Kenya 1/16

2003-01-24T14:21:00.000-06:00

January 24, 2003

Jambo! (Hello in Swahili)

Well, here I am, back in Nairobi after a 7 day safari. I arrived on the 16th (I think) to a message from my friend Dave inviting me on safari the following day. Perfect! I was good to leave Nairobbery asap. That afternoon I hooked up with another of my Thorn Tree (LP's web site) friends, Dana, and we tooled around. I don't really like this city. I'm reminded of how I felt when I first arrived in Cairo, but I learned that Cairo has a personality. Nairobi doesn't. Reasons I don't like it: I can't leave the hotel past 7 pm; you can't wear any jewelry, including a watch, even if it's busted and falling apart; you can't carry anything, a book, a pen, a piece of paper, anything! It sucks...you can never really find your way around because you can't carry a map. But people tell me that things are changing. They just voted in a new president and he's already done many good things. He's got rid of all the corrupted police and he's trying to fix the roads, which are horrifying (you have to drive in the ditch most of the time, on either side of the road). He's also introduced free education for all children. So the people believe that Nairobi will become safer soon; even they are scared of this city. And, of course everyone knows about the 'hidden' waist money belt. So I'm going to do as my friend Damo does: trick them by carrying a wallet.

Now the safari: It was amazing! Dana and I went together and we had only one other person, a Japanese guy named Kanji. He was awesome: ‘I like Hippos all’ the time in a thick Japanese accent. He had just come from Ethiopia and was on a year tour so really interesting. We started at Maasai Mara and managed to see Zebras (common; there are 2 types), lots of impala, and even a leopard crossing the road (this was a big concern since the animal could destroy crops and such so there was an immediate search for it). Now, you know the National Geographic pictures you see of Africa? Well, everything you see looks like that! We saw Maasai everywhere! Warriors walking down the 'road' in full gear. They really dress like that! All the time and not for tourists...of course you get the tourist tour of the maasai camp, which didn't thrill me too much...they wanted to keep us in a tight group and kept getting mad at me when I would wander off to talk to the women. Blah. And all the security at the camp was Maasai.

The camp gave you a false sense of security...you just could easily forget about the animals even though we were in tents. But they would tell horrible (yet funny) stories: 1) A few years ago, a British guy woke up early and left the camp for a stroll. He came across a pack of elephant and began taking photos. Well, the elephants didn't really like this so they pounded him to death. Both of these stories allegedly happened days before we arrived: 2) A leopard was chilling in a tree right beside the campsite when a giraffe came by for some breakie. The leopard ripped open the throat quickly and got himself a pretty good meal; as did the Maasai. 3) A leopard came into the camp and took their dog. The Maasai tried to stop it but they just carry sticks.

So every morning vervet monkeys would come into the camp to steal anything they could. They're very bold, thanks to the stupid tourists who think it's cute to feed them. Now they'll come right up on the table and steal food out of your mouth. Seriously! Ok, I did think it was cute at first.....

What can I say about the safari? It was absolutely amazing! I saw everything, at close range too. Lots of lions: one couple on a honeymoon with some cubs not too far off. One hungry little boy got up to beg mommy for some food, which she wasn't too happy about. She's hissed and hissed until he sat under the nearest tree with a pitiful look on his face. This happened about 5 feet from me :)
Baby cheetahs tearing around their mommy, climbing trees, wrestling. Elephants galore, which I think are becoming my favorite animals to watch. So much personality!

Our safari took us to Maasai Mara, one of the most popular parks in Kenya, then Lake Nakuru, which was created to save the Black and White Rhinos from extinction. See, the Chinese pay a lot of money for the horns, just the horns, so many Rhinos was killed until the government finally did something about it. The Rhino population has now risen 11% since '86, I think. The lake is also home to a billion flamingos. Now, here's a piece of info I didn't know about: they turn pink because of an algae they eat, same as salmon. I learned this when Nick, our driver and guide, kept calling me flamingo due to my pink skin (I'm on doxycyclin for anti-malaria and it makes you hyper sensitive to the sun...the top of my hand got a 2nd degree burn and became very swollen for a few days. I'm now even more careful with the sun). Then we headed north for Samburu NP, where there's a desert nearby so lots of camels! :)) I think Samburu NP was my favorite. It had such a diverse landscape. Some dry and little vegetation, other places lush with palms. And we got to see animals just be: Elephants fighting (bad boys) and being generally aggressive; bathing and drying off with dirt (also to keep bugs away); a secretary bird (which is huge) chase off mommy bird then eat all 7 babies in 5 seconds. Now I really wanted to see a kill so this was quite satisfying. I mean, we saw everything! Except for a leopard up close but I have Tanzania for that.

And our camp in Samburu was right in the park and you felt no security. It was great! One night, this Dutch couple (Elma and Mark) and I were playing Yahtzee when we heard a noise. We wrote it off until it happened again. Then we heard a grunt and snort and tore ass into our tents. It was wicked! I could go on for days about my first safari but I'm sure most of you have stopped reading by now :)

I really enjoy Kenya. The people are just lovely and of course, most speak english. Although my Swahili is coming along pretty well, I do slip into Arabic at times. I've already started my collections of souvenirs, thus ensuring my backpack will always be enormous. I got an old (so they say) Maasai witch doctors' mask, which was used to chase away animals when the witch doctor was heading to another village.

But my favorite souvenir has to be my ranger's pants. I was looking for good travel/army pants forever and I noticed how cool the rangers' pants were in Samburu. Nick spoke to one, who chuckled but showed up at our camp the next morning. They actually fit and now no one will fuck with me in Nairobi cause they'll think I'm army (yeah, right). But they are right on and I can pretty much guarantee no one else will have them :) Needless to say, I was a source of entertainment for Nick at all times. I even managed to teach the boys at Simba Camp in Mara to play backgammon...and they'll really good!

One final funny thing: it's an age old tradition to trade with the people for goods (and I stupidly didn't bring anything) so you'll often see Maasai in traditional gear wearing a digital watch or a NY baseball cap or Teva sandals. It's great! I've seen many 'I am Canadian' hats.

I'll sign off now as this email has become a novel. I hope everyone is good and happy and healthy...I am so far:) My plans now are to do laundry at my new lodgings at Upper Hill Campsite just out of Nairobi, where my new dutch friends are and where Dana will meet me after she's done with Mount Kenya. I'm thinking of heading out to Mombasa and the coast, then Amboseli NP which has a great view of Kilimanjaro. Then Dana and I head to a Maasai town, followed by Lake Naivasha and Hell's Gate, then onwards to Uganda and the gorillas! Oh, and the weather's beautiful....hot in the sun, perfect in the shade. Lovely!
love you all! thi
PS Could everyone please stop doing the forwards thing...my account won't be able to handle it. But I'd love to hear from all of you :)