Holland and East Africa

Thursday, August 14, 2008

Reflections

The last week has been busier than I expected. Packing is actually a ton of work. I have always had the idea that when you moved, your earthly belongings magically jumped into boxes, and then a big truck came and then you got on the plane.

How little I knew of how much work my poor mother did when she moved across the ocean eight times with two young children.

I have had very little time to actually reflect on the complexities of the trip-- what I learned, how I changed, where I will go from here. And thus, in this brief respite from packing, I will try to formulate a fair précis on the above topics.

The most important thing I learned about the world is how complex the world really is. When I was in my final year at McMaster, I took a course called "The Anthropology of Globalization". It delved into the deep human elements of the increasingly interconnected globe. For example, we examined the cultural implications of the expansion of McDonald's restaurants into Russia, and explored the social ramifications of global internet networking for Indonesian Chinese. When I went on this trip, I realized that there are literally thousands of ways in which cultures from opposite sides of the world interact.

One poignant example of this was in the Democratic Republic of the Congo. Eastern Congo, as I alluded to earlier, is one of the most unstable (read: underdeveloped) regions in Africa. However, on the streets of Goma, you will see people wearing nice jeans, expensive Nike shirts, and swanky sunglasses. I asked Mary Tennent, our UN friend, how these people could afford such things. She said that oftentimes, young people will skip meals to save money so that they can shop at the used clothing markets held regularly in the city. These used clothes come from-- you guessed it-- North America and Europe.

Why on earth would someone value a branded "Western" appearance more than food-- a basic, primal need? For that, one must simply look at the Coca-cola advertisements in East Africa, with their uber-cool, western-attired black subjects drinking in happiness underneath a guarantee of refreshment. Or one could look at the Westerners who visit the Congo. At the border, we met three American public health students entering the country, attempting to save the Congo with their Gucci sunglasses.

So the "West" obviously influences the "rest". But the inverse is also true.

In a fascinating display of irony, Westerners view people who attire themselves with East African jewelry or decorate their homes with East Congolese wood carvings as having refined taste. I'm sure more than one person has gone into credit card debt at Pier One or The Bombay Company in pursuit of such taste. I have half a mind to set up a "carvings for clothes" donation program.

People are incredibly complex beings, and their cultures are even more so. In spite of all that we experienced-- the bright colours and dancing of Maasai warriors, the drummers of Butare, the foods of Kenya-- there are so many cultural nuances that we missed. Things that outsiders may never fully understand, like how most women feel about their mothers-in-law, or exactly what most orphaned street children think about white tourists.

Which brings us to the second point-- how have I changed? I entered East Africa as a white "mzungu" tourist (or undoubtedly "chinois" in the opinion of several young Rwandans). How did East Africa change this mzungu?

First, I learned to mix friendliness and healthy cynicism in more appropriate proportions. I came as an overly trusting person, and got burned a couple of times by street touts. I left as a person who could hold his own at a negotiating table.

Second, I got tougher. I've never had a terribly strong constitution (my euphemism for wimpiness), but during this trip I had to man up. We could start with the 17-hour bus ride when I had food poisoning, add in some hypothermia-inducing cold showers, sprinkle in some incredibly itchy tsetse fly bites, and finish with horrible, horrible beds. I did complain at times, but for the most part, I just sucked it up and dealt with it.

Finally, my life was enriched by meeting some incredible African people. One person in particular stands out-- Ibra Mugembe, our world-class kayak instructor in Jinja, Uganda. He has an incredible story. When he was in his early teens, he was a fisherman on the Nile river. He decided to pursue an education and finished his O-levels (the Canadian equivalent of about Grade 10). During this time, he still worked in order to provide for himself, his widowed mother, and his younger brothers and sisters. Ibra then availed himself of the opportunity to become a safety kayaker with a rafting company in the area, learning to run the white water with technical skill and great finesse. He then became a kayak instructor for Kayak the Nile. Last year, at the age of 23, Ibra won the overall title at the Nile River Festival kayaking competition. The Nile River Festival is an international competition held in Jinja which, in 2007, included four of the world's best paddlers-- Karl Moser, Anton Imler, Steve Fisher and Sam Ward. Ibra in a kayak is inspiring to watch--and he is an inspirational human being at that. He hopes to attain a work visa to teach kayaking on the Ottawa River during the summer while his girlfriend completes a Master's of Public Health in the USA. If anyone knows of any kayaking schools needing instructors, please feel free to email me (jng4@hotmail.com).

Having been thus changed and enriched by my experiences in Africa, I plan on returning there in due time. I would love to spend more time on the welcoming, sunny "dark continent". When I return there, I hope to have more than when I left in June-- healthy cynicism, a stronger constitution, friends to visit, and medical skills to use.

And the wisdom to pack lighter.

Friday, August 8, 2008

My sincere apologies. . .

Friday, July 25, 2008

The exclamation point

In any good story, there has to be a plot. You can't put the most amazing bit of the story at the very beginning, or readers will lose interest. So we decided to do something crazy to wrap up our last full week in East Africa.

The Nile River is the longest river in the world. It starts in Uganda at Jinja, and winds its way through southern Sudan and Egypt before entering the Mediterranean Sea. And when it starts at Jinja, it starts with a roar. The white water here includes some of the best rapids in the world for rafting and kayaking.

Our initial plan was to just do rafting. So, on Monday, after coming from Kampala (our stopover point on the way from Lake Bunyoni), we started on a 31-km trip down the Nile on a 16-foot raft with 6 new friends and an experienced guide. The rapids were terrifyingly powerful, and our raft flipped at the top of a rapid called Silverback. This rapid is essentially the largest Class Five rapid on the river. Class Five rapids are the most dangerous rapids that can "safely" be attempted in a raft or kayak. Thus, the minute I spent under the boat was a fairly long one, the sensation being much like spending time in a large washing machine.

We were hooked. By the end of the day, we were tired but exhilarated.

So the next morning, we decided to do a 145-foot bungee jump into the river, and then we set out for the local kayak school (http://www.kayakthenile.com/).

For the next two days, we learned the techniques of kayaking-- paddling, balancing, righting ourselves when flipped, the last being a monstrously difficult task for a beginner. Kyle had a leg up on Rimas and me since he at one time was an avid kayaker in Canada. We went down some fairly challenging Class Two rapids, and more than once had to get out of the kayak and swim upstream. Thank goodness for our teacher Ibra, a phenomenal kayaker and a member of the Ugandan National Kayaking Team. He pulled us out of the water upstream of some big rapids more than once.

By the third morning of kayaking, I was beat. My body could not physically take any more, so I decided to take the afternoon and the next morning off. Which brings us to today, my morning off before heading down to Super Hole, a Class Three wave typically used for surfing. Surfing in a kayak is nearly identical to surfing on a board, except for the fact that the wave stays in the same spot. This allows one to do tricks, but so far the best trick I can manage is trying not to flip.

On Sunday, we will head back to Kampala, and from there take a bus to Nairobi. We fly out of Nairobi on Thursday. I will miss East Africa terribly, but can't wait to see all of you again when I get back.

Wednesday, July 16, 2008

Monkeys, Trees, Languages, and Volcanoes

Wish you were here

Dear everyone,

I write the above comment with the utmost sincerity. I wish every one of you could experience the richness of Africa as we have done in the past weeks.

The history buffs among you would be thrilled by the life-sized replicas of traditional Rwandan dwellings that we saw at the National History Museum in Butare. Or entertained by the fact that ownership of a country's royal drum technically conveys ownership of a country-- and Burundi's royal drum is owned by the Rwandan National History Museum.

The linguists among you would be amazed by the complexity of the Rwandan language. The length of the vowels in a word give its meaning. Therefore the word "Bayisigiye" has 32 different meanings depending on which vowels are stressed. No wonder the Rwandans are so good at French-- it's easy compared to their native tongue.

The nature lovers among you would be absolutely blown away by the 80-meter-tall mahogany trees that populate Nyungwe Forest. Nyungwe forest is the largest mountain rainforest in Africa, and is located southwest of Butare. And if the trees weren't enough, the many species of primate in the forest provide endless entertainment.

The public transport lovers among you (I know, you're few and far between) would be thrilled by the ride along Lake Kivu from Cyangugu to Gisenyi. The scenery is beautiful, and is perfectly accompanied by the sounds of dozens of Rwandans breaking into beautiful 3-part harmony halfway through the 12-hour trip in order to pass the time. Singing about the love of Jesus in Kinyarwandan never felt so fitting. It helped to forget the 100-meter cliff drops that we kept narrowly avoiding.

But all of you would be simply stunned by Nyiragongo Volcano. The volcano is located in Goma, in the Democratic Republic of the Congo (DRC). The DRC is not a place you just visit-- it has been racked by civil war and violence since the Rwandan genocide, and it is always a risk to travel there. However, we met up with a UN friend (Mary Tennent) whom we originally met on safari in Kenya and we stayed at her house in Goma. We then spent one day scaling the volcano, and we reached the edge of the caldera at around 2pm. The volcano has the largest lava lake in the world, and the 200-meter drop into the crater does little to lessen the roaring sound the bubbling lava creates. We spent the night at the crater rim, and then descended back down to the base.

Mary picked us up and we spent the day at her house recovering from the climb. In the evening we went out for dinner and then sat in her living room discussing politics over Schmirnoff.

The next day (today) we crossed back into Gisenyi, Rwanda, and then made our way up into Uganda.

I wish you were all here to see how beautiful Lake Bunyoni-- the lake of "many little birds"--is for yourselves.

Tuesday, July 8, 2008

Pathos

Yesterday we visited the Kigali Memorial Center, which provides testimony of the 1994 genocide in Rwanda. Having read quite a bit about the genocide, I was quite interested in seeing the way it would be presented for Rwandans and for visitors from the world beyond. It was powerful-- the stories of pure evil and the stories of survival created a cauldron of emotional upheaval. On the one hand, the total depravity of man is proven beyond a doubt, but on the other hand, there are glimmerings of light that inspire hope. There is one room in the memorial where there are the battered skulls and femurs of victims displayed behind glass. The room is dark, but after a moment of adjustment, the faint images of murdered children projected onto the black walls become visible. I spent a moment in silent meditation contemplating how it was all possible.

I then realized that every person we meet on the streets that is over the age of 14 has endured some of the most unspeakable tragedy. It is a sobering and humbling thought.

Upstairs in the memorial are life-sized photographs of children, with placards displaying their favourite toys, favourite foods, and their best friends. I was particularly struck by the portrait of a young toddler whose best friend was his older sister.

The children memorialized as such were all killed during the genocide.

So many names, so many faces, so many husbands, mothers, sisters, brothers, cousins, friends. All dead. Or all perpetrators.

What has amazed me the most about the Rwandan genocide is how the people have recovered. How people are living normal lives, living amongst the people who killed their loved ones, or living with the guilt of murder or collaboration.

Rwanda is therefore a model for healed ethnic relations. One of the mechanisms set up to promote healing are "Gacaca courts", or traditional village courts, modified to hear the crimes of the guilty and provide closure for victims. This is one of the only modern genocides to have such a rapid and thorough implementation of justice.

But there are no trite lessons to be learned. No "moral of the story". The genocide is simply a reminder that monsters lurk inside every one of us, and that it is only by the grace of God that they remain shackled.

Monday, July 7, 2008

Quick update

So I don't have anything interesting-- just food poisoning. Such a banal diagnosis for all of the suffering I had to endure. But I'm feeling almost completely better now that I've popped a couple of cipro's.

Just thought I'd let you know.

-Josh

Sunday, July 6, 2008

A picture is worth a thousand words

This text may be brief-- for several reasons:

1. I am using a French keyboard in Kigale, Rwanda so all of the letters are in the wrong spots.

2. I think I have giardiasis, so I might have to run.

3. This is a fast internet connection; so I can finally upload some pictures

So, since the last post, a lot has happened. We left Nungwi and headed down to Stone Town. Stone Town is the hub of Zanzibar-- where all of the trade in slaves, ivory, and spices occurred back in the 19th and early 20th centuries. We spent some time exploring the town before digging into a hostel for the night. Our hostel had a fan, air conditioning, mosquito nets without holes, and a TV. We were definitely spoiled that night, and thus we chose to eschew futher exploration in the historic city in favour of watching a horrible Hallmark movie and two episodes of Mythbusters on the Discovery Channel. While that may seem criminal to some, bear in mind that we have been living in comparative squalour for the past weeks, with showers so cold they would horrify hardened infantrymen, rather sketchy neighbourhoods, and Goldilocks-style extremes in mattress firmness.

The next day, we went on a spice tour. A huge part of Zanzibar's economy was, and to some extent remains, based on the production and export of spices. We visited farms where ginger, cardimon, nutmeg, cloves, and many other spices were grown, and then we were treated to a lunch of coconut-based, well-spiced curry with basmati rice, prepared freshly by local women. In the evening, we went to a restaurant called Mercury's, named after Freddy Mercury (the lead singer of the group Queen) who was born in Stone Town. Fairly inconsequential trivia, but now you know.

We then took the overnight ferry back to Dar Es Salaam (it was half price-- and this way we didn't need to get a room for the night). In Dar, we booked bus tickets to Shinyanga, a city on the other side of Tanzania. We then took a bus to the mall. Yes, Dar Es Salaam has a modern mall, and yes, we're horrible people for spending our time in it. We watched a movie on "the biggest screen in East Africa", and then took a tuk-tuk back to the YMCA, where we spent the night. We were supposed to wake up at 4:30, to be at the bus station for 5:30, but we definitely slept in until 5:30.We stuffed our belongings haphazardly into our bags, ran downstairs, and caught a taxi. Dar Es Salaam has a huge problem with traffic jams, but thankfully at 5:30 in the morning, the roads were fairly clear. There was ridiculous congestion right outside the bus station, so we decided to get out of the cab and make a run for it. As we were unloading our luggage, a man came up to Kyle and tried to sell him bus tickets. Kyle felt the guy go for his wallet, and started the chase when the theif was a mere 6 feet away. He was joined by several other bystanders, and the pickpocket knew his gig was up. He threw the wallet back at Kyle and continued running. Of course, I was in the taxi paying the driver, unaware of everything, so when I got out of the taxi, I was mildly ticked off that Kyle had just up and left all of our stuff on the street. But he came back, we ran for our bus, and managed to make it on.

In East Africa, when they say a bus takes 12 hours, it will really take 18. And thus it did. That, combined with my aforementioned gastric difficulties (beginning to blossom at this stage), provided for an enjoyable ride.

From Shinyanga, we took another 8 hour bus (the next day) to the Rwandan border, and then took a 3 hour shared taxi ride into Kigale. In the taxi, we met a Katelyn Maher, a native of Buffalo, New York, doing a Master's degree in public policy at Georgetown University in Washington, DC. A fluent francophone, she was entering Rwanda in order to administer a poverty survey in and around the Kigale area. I like to think my French is decent, but I am definitely not able to negotiate exchange rates with Katelyn's flair. It definitely did the trick-- we got a solid 545 Rwandan Francs for each of our US dollars.

Rwanda, le Pays de Milles Collines, the land of a thousand hills, is stunning. Kigale is the most pleasant large city we have been in yet (apparently due to post-genocide foreign investment), the people are friendly and helpful, and they don't expect anything in return. One Rwandan student who we met, Gaston, walked with us for half an hour to the Canadian embassy, and wouldn't even take a few hundred francs for a taxi back to his house. He said he needed the exercise.

The next day, I went to the hospital. The night had not been fun-- I had spent nearly as much time with the porcelain as with the cotton. Some tests were performed (the results still pending at the time of writing), but hopefully by tonight I will have some answers as well as some solutions. We did not attend church this morning (I felt far too uncomfortable, and Kyle would have had a fun time with the French and/or Kinyarwandan sermon). But we will definitely do some bible study tonight, eat a light dinner, and hope that tonight's sleep is a little more sound.