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.