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.

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.

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.

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

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.

"Land of Contrasts"

Clichés rarely make good titles, except when they're completely true.

Our Lonely Planet guidebook stated that Nungwi, on Zanzibar's northern coast is a place where "old and new collide at full force". There is a narrow road in Nungwi that separates a 50-metre-wide band of coastline from the town. On the one side of this road are white sands, people to match, lots of beer, turquoise waters, and frequent offers for marijuana from enterprising locals. On the other side is an overcrowded muslim school where children learn in three shifts, their teachers teaching from sunrise till 8pm. There are also small stone houses with thatched roofs, little girls running through the streets wearing their hijabs, and small street "restaurants" selling delicious food at incredible prices. But the same striking blue sky can be seen from either side.

On Thursday we went snorkelling out on the Mnemba atoll. The choppy two-hour ride on a motorized dhow boat was nothing short of nauseating, but it was well worth it. When we got to the atoll, our captain told us we could jump out, set the anchor, and then fell asleep. The other people snorkelling with us were on an overland trip from Cape Town, South Africa, to Arusha, Tanzania. They were a rowdy bunch, but fun. They hailed from Brazil, Australia, the UK, Norway, and Canada. The reef was fantastic-- the fish were the most stunning shades of blue, red, yellow, and every other colour in between. I lost count after 34 species of fish.

In the evening, we brought our new friends into the town for some local cuisine, and then had a couple of beers while watching Spain solidly trounce Russia. I am not a vindictive person (or so I tell myself) but I did enjoy seeing Russia bite the dust. At half time, our entire group burst into a carefully orchestrated rendition of Queen's "Bohemian Rhapsody", but the very serious football crowd did not seem to appreciate our efforts to entertain them. Kyle and I noted that while everyone in the bar was white, there was standing room only at the bar's entrance-- the black locals who could not afford drinks were not allowed to enter, creating this very strange apartheid-era ambience. It felt very strange leaving the bar and then entering again past the crowd at the entrance

Friday was another beach day (although we spent a lot of time in the shade-- Wednesday was rough on the skin). And today, Kyle and I enjoyed our first foray into scuba diving.

But that story will have to wait, because I have exactly one minute and twelve seconds left of computer time.

The Sands of Paradise

After we visited Amboseli National Park, our driver took us to Namanga, a Kenyan town on the border with Tanzania. We got Tanzanian visas, and then took a shared taxi down to Arusha. Our driver Joseph had called his "friend" a Tanzanian safari tout, who unfortunately met us at the border and harassed us about booking Kilimanjaro treks all the way down to Arusha. Kyle and I have had many discussions about how much we loathe being pestered in every large city by about 30 men telling to come to their office to book treks and safaris. Kenya and Tanzania would do well to ban touting, as they harass tourists without providing any legitimate service.



In Arusha, we met Rimas, a Lithuanian-American engineering grad who has spent the last three months backpacking from Cape Town, South Africa. We split a room with him, and paid 5000 Tanzanian shillings each (about $4.50) per night. We had fantastic Indian food for dinner (there is a significant Indian cultural influence in Tanzania).



The next day, we met four more travellers. Tom Garth and Imogen Evans were two students from King's College London, and Marthe Kok and Jessica van den Toorn were from the University of Utrecht. They had all been in a bus crash earlier in the day, and had bonded amongst the shards of broken glass. Buses here are crazy, and the drivers think it's perfectly okay to pass petrol tankers blind on hills. We all went out for dinner in the evening, to a Chinese restaurant that Kyle and I suggested. We partially suggested it because we knew it had nice toilets that we could steal toilet paper from (it really sucks when you have to do a number two in the middle of the night, and the squat toilet doesn't have any paper).



On Monday morning, we took the 6am bus down to Dar Es Salaam. We passed through the striking Usambura Mountains on the way down, and removed layers of clothing as the air heated up due to the drop in altitude. We spent the night in Dar at the YMCA. Dar Es Salaam has the most amenities of the cities we've been to thus far, and it didn't take us long to find a nice bookstore, and an electronics shop where I could purchase a card reader. We did, however, almost get robbed. Kyle and I hopped over a two-foot-high fence. Fifty meters down the road, someone tapped me on the shoulder and told me he needed to talk to me. His friend presented an obviously fake police ID (complete with construction paper and a pasted-in passport photo). They told me and Kyle that we needed to follow them so they could press charges. Kyle and I backed away, and he scolded us for not showing respect. I said "Sorry, it won't happen again", and started speed-walking down the road to the YMCA (it was a stone's throw away from where we were). They thankfully didn't follow us, and we heard nothing further from them. This is apparently fairly common in this part of the world, where people pretending to be cops ask naive tourists to follow them, and then mug them in dark alleys.



The next morning, Kyle and I caught the ferry to Zanzibar. The ride was supplemented with dolphin sightings, turquoise waters, and numerous old dhow fishing boats. From Stone Town, a medieval city with narrow, incredibly random streets, we took a Daladala to Nungwi, a town on the northernmost tip of the island. A Daladala is basically a truck with a roof over the truck bed and a bench running along the sides. At one point, there were twenty-two people in the truck bed, and the driver was going at about 100 kph.



But it was all worth it. At first glance, Nungwi is just another poor Tanzanian town. But when you pass through the dilapidated town and reach the coast, you know why people come here. Fine white sands cover the coast, and the turquoise waters are just cool enough to be refreshing. And the sunsets--you simply have to witness them to believe their beauty.



We will be staying here for a while.