I last left off looking for a bus to Cape Town.
Luckily, the next morning I overheard a Swedish girl frantically calling car rental companies saying she needed to go to Cape Town today, immediately, Qha. Qha is a Xhosa word pronounced with a click from the upper palate meaning done, finished, end of story. It´s one of those words like Scheisse 隨便 sui2bian4 or mañana that is always better than expressing the same thing in your own language, and once you hear it is instantly overused.
So I met Frida (the Swede) at 10 and we started off to Cape Town at 12 PM, and drove and drove until we arrived in Cape Town at 12 AM. Driving in South Africa is strange because the road rules are quite different. First of all so many people drive way faster than they should, overtake at ¨funny¨ times, like when there´s a semi in the other lane and in general exude a pompous demeanor, especially if their car is a Mercedes or something posch. The roads are predominantly 2 lane both ways with shoulders, so slower traffic pulls to the shoulder to allow faster cars to pass. Then, when you pass another car, you put on your hazards to signal thanks, to which the person passed may reply with a friendly flash of the lights.
All of this, including driving on the left hand side of the road was new to me, but after 12 hours driving, passing about 5 wrecks outside of our destination we finally arrived in Cape Town, the city I´d heard so much about. It failed to fail my expectations. The city sits at the confluence(?) of the Indian and Atlantic currents. It´s enclosed by table mountain to the East, a flat-topped, grey mountain with intermittent mist and clouds, the so-called tabletop, falling over its precipice and ocean to the West. The Cape region is home to a unique type of vegetation called fynbos, which only occurs in small pockets on the tip of southwest South Africa. The town is large by African standards, cosmopolitan, cheap but full of panache, and covered in beaches, hot people, vineyards and a beautiful climate. In short, I arrived to late and left too early.
Alas, there´s more to tell...
...But I can´t talk anymore about that, I´m currently in Argentina.
I left one great city for another, from Cape Town to Buenos Aires.
Buenos Aires is big, and European and Latin American. It´s full of Cafes, parks, dog shit, museums, pollution, hot people, clubs, salsa dancing and Young Urban Argentine Professionals, oh and a horde of tourists, and long-term ¨localists¨ living in trendy neighbourhoods looking to improve their Spanish and get a taste of authentic Argenitine culture by landing an Argentine lover.
I can´t say that I blame them.
Buenos Aires goes out and stays out later than basically any other city in the world. Cities in Spain may come close, but somehow fall short probably because their standard of living is triple BAs. People take naps here around 9 or 10 and then think about going out at 1 AM. You can be chatting with your friends, drinking wine til´ 3 AM and then decide, let´s go out and party. It´s unsurpassed.
I stayed for about 10 days, visiting sites, meeting people, but in general was stuck in a fit of indecision of wanting to do so much, see sites, go to museums, learn harmonica, practice tennis, dance salsa daily, buy books, learn Tango, learn Spanish, watch Nalbandian play, go to a soccer game, make Argentine friends, go to clubs, sleep. After being in ¨the bush¨ for so long, large cities with so much to offer are overwhelming.
About 5 days ago I was narrowing down options to secure a 2 month lease on an apartment in Buenos Aires, complete with kitchen and Spanish speaking roommates. I went to a Cafe with a British lady I´d met at my hostel. We talked of our plans, and I told her I was going to give Patagonia a miss. She said it´d be a shame and I agreed. Later that day we booked 2 bus tickets to Puerto Madryn in Western Argentina. I thought I was done with travel for a while, tired of long bus rides, daily uncertainty, constant vagrancy. I was wrong. I went south to see whales, penguins, ¨Swiss style ski towns¨ and more British (they´re everywhere).
Thursday, December 18, 2008
Friday, November 28, 2008
oh golly
So i left hogsback - it was beautiful, and I found this absolutely amazing unpasteurezed milk that still had the creme on the top of each litre of milk and I made spaghetti carbonara from scratch, which lacked salt but was good and unhealthy.
But I decided to go the wrong way, not towards cape town and south america but backwards, where i'd already been.
I backtracked because i wanted to go to this place bulungula. I heard loads about this backpakcers, it was supposed to be chill and beautiful and less developed and I got a ride with a very fit, very aryan, German girl and her friend.
She has a boyfriend.
I only learned this after I arrived at my destination.
Rash decisions.
Well, I got to Bulungula the day after,
Man it was nice.
But without internet
So i'm posting now.
So bulungula is co-owned by the villagers in the area. It's a group of Xhosa people that live in the area and is located on a smallll hill overlooking the sea. You can hear the waves from your bed and wake up to cows outside your room.
I was going to talk about the vibe etc. but don't know how to compose my thoughts, so I'll just jump to the fish.
On the 2nd day at Bulungula I went on a fishing trip with a local fisherman.
His name was Kesha,
what a nice man.
Well, Kesha had a fishing pole about 10 feet high (lenghts, amounts, distances always increase with fishing stories i've learned), and a hand-made metal trident.
And we walked to some rocks out on the ocean. He cast his rod out and then let me hold it.
I wanted to cast, but spoke no Xhosa except for water, fish when I remembered the word, thank you and sorry, so I gestured etc. but, he didn't want me to cast onto rocks. Fair enough.
So he cast and I waited and reeled in a number of times.
I wasn't sure If i was doing it right, and I could only point and gesture pulling up a fish or reeeling in, but he just told me (with his hands) to keep holding the line betwixt my 2 fingers 2 wait for the catch.
After about an hour I thought I'd let him fish so I could observe the finer parts of sea fishing and hopefully watch how to cast so I could get a chance to cast.
Well he stood well away from me to cast so I couldn't see what he was doing with his hands, he gave me the rod and I gave it back to him. Then, after about 1 minute the rod bows over, and he let's the line out and reels in back and forth.
I'm all smiles and laughs.
He fights and tugs, gives and pulls for 20 minutes (fishing times) and then I see this fat piece of fish flopping out of the sea onto the rocks. I start yelling high pitched and giddily out of Xcitement and he has me hand him the trident. The fish is fighting and tugging and then CRACK the dull scimitar goes right through the gills and face of the fish. we pull him up to the rocks and he's about 2 1/2 feet long.
Kesha takes out his rusty, dull knife and cuts a deep V shaped incision under it's jaws and leaves the fish to suffocate. The small pools of water on the rocks surrounding the fish turn a fake, acryllic red and the fish lays still. Then, every 30 seconds it tenses its muscles and contorts his body towards me in an upward curving u-shape and then lyss still. I look into the eyes of the fish, watching it's v-shaped opening gaping and the gills gasping for oxygen, the violent shutter of life squeezing out, one useless breath at a time and I think, should I be a vegetarian?
But it's exciting getting such a big catch (well watching anyhow), and if God didn't want us to eat animals, then why'd he make them out of meat (props George)?
The fish finally died, i tried to cary it by the v-shaped hole, but it soon became too slippery and heavy for 1 arm, (it weigh maybe 25-30 pounds and my miniscule muscles have been mollified to mush)
we broought deadfish back to bulungula, took soome pictures and then took it to the rocks to clean and scale.
We divided the fish into 2 with myself taking the back fillet portion (i'd also paid $4 for the fishing trip).
Then I cooked fish fillets for dinner.
The next day I made some pasta and used up some remaining ingredients to make one of my favorite dishes in a while:
Here goes:
4 cloves garlic
2 tbs butter butter
1/4 cup Walnuts crushed
1 apple diced
1/3 cup creeme
4 oz camembert cheese
pinch of nutmeg
2 tsp mixed italian herbs
1/2 tspcinnamon
salt/pepper.
Take white fish fillets and rub with salt, pepper, italian herbs and cinnamon. fry in 1tbs butter with 2 cloves of garlic until almost cooked through, then remove.
Heat remaining butter in saucepan and add diced garlic, after 30 seconds add walnuts and apples. cook for 2-3 minutes and add creme and cheese cook until cheese is melted and flavors mesh, add a pinch of nutmeg, return fish to pan and cook for 2-4 minutes longer. toss with freshly cooked pasta and serve.
MMM
Now I just took a bus to East London, I still had a half of the fish, but there was a problem getting on the bus and I was rushed, so a Swiss lady took my bags, but didn't realize the fish (and my precious butter) was in the cooler of the car, so I've lost and wasted 1/4 of a beautiful big fish. I feel bad for it.
I'm trying to find a flight or bus to Cape Town ASAP. I have a tenative seat on a plane to Buenos Aires on the 7th of December. If I can't get the seat (i.e. no one misses or cancels their flight) then I think I have to wait until the 26th. Merry christmaS!
Thursday, November 20, 2008
south africa
howdy y'all!
so i'm in south africa.
And I've been going to backpackers (hostels) as they're called here. Actually I don't necessarily go to see a certain sight or certain city; I travel to different places because they have nice hostels. So, in terms of getting to know a country, I see a relatively small amount - but it's nice. For example, right now I'm staying in a town called hogsback, which is in the mountains along the wild coast. This is apparently where J.R.R. Tolkien lived for some time and was inspired to write the hobbit. Much of the land in the area is pine plantations, but there's still some old indigenous forest that is quite mysterious and beautiful. The area has 5 waterfalls and a really big tree and a treehouse 40 feet in the air.
so i'm in south africa.
And I've been going to backpackers (hostels) as they're called here. Actually I don't necessarily go to see a certain sight or certain city; I travel to different places because they have nice hostels. So, in terms of getting to know a country, I see a relatively small amount - but it's nice. For example, right now I'm staying in a town called hogsback, which is in the mountains along the wild coast. This is apparently where J.R.R. Tolkien lived for some time and was inspired to write the hobbit. Much of the land in the area is pine plantations, but there's still some old indigenous forest that is quite mysterious and beautiful. The area has 5 waterfalls and a really big tree and a treehouse 40 feet in the air.
Monday, October 20, 2008
hyperinflation and happiness
So long overdue. I know.
I don't write, and then I say to myself, but I'm missing all this stuff I've done if I write about right now, and then I don't write at all.
So I'll just write about right now.
Well, right now I'm in Harare, the capital of Zimbabwe. I was literally going crazy in Blantyre for so many reasons - the straw breaking the zebra's back being the food. I ate fried chicken and chips or fried chicken and rice so many times and I was over full and never satisfied. I would wake up and say, jesus, how am I going to pass the day today. I knew I wanted to come to Zimbabwe, but I was desperately missing vegetables and reasonable prices for anything except the most basic items and was seriously considering buying a plane ticket to Cape Town (south africa). After investigating all my transportation options Friday night (bus to Mozambique, bus to Johannesburg that was booked until Tuesday, or a daily bus to Zimbabwe). I decided on a rash decision on Saturday morning to get the bus to Zim.
Unfortunately I hadn't changed my currency into U.S. dollars and I only had a $20 bill and about $50 worth of Malawian Kwatcha. I heard, though that one could withdraw money from an ATM (my only source of money while traveling) at the border. Well, I found an ATM at the Malawi border and I changed about $360 into dollars and South African Rand. There was nowhere to change money at the Mozambican border and so I came into Harare with about $300 (after 2 $30 visas) in my pocket and as of yet haven't found a good way to get any more $$$$.
That's the background, now I'll talk about Zimbabwe, which is very, very interesting.
But first!
I just signed up on couch surfing and my first experience using it has been great. Couchsurfing lets travellers stay at others houses for free with the expectation that they will extend the same courtesy when they are at home. I messaged 4 of the 7 couchsurfers in Harare and got one reply from a white, Afrikaans Zimbabwean girl named Dilly (actually her nickname is Dilly, I forget what her real name is). She picked me up at a bus stop in Harare and let me stay at her guest room at her flat. Although I don't really care about my living conditions while traveling staying at her apartment is reallllllllly nice. It has a shower and bath living room, kitchen WITH AN OVEN! and fresh water and a maid who does laundry - everything. So the comfort is a nice departure from "real Africa".
Well she picked me up and I dropped off my stuff and took a long long long overdue shower, and then we went to a horse-racing track where there was an annual concert. This was my first taste of (white) Zimbabwean culture and it was thoroughly Western but uniquely Afrikaaner as well. The venue was straightforward enough - there was a large stage with about 1500 mostly white people and a ring of small bars around the crowd to buy alcohol. The first band was an Irish group of washed-up 40 year olds playing cheesy covers of American songs that I had heard but never really payed attention to.
The crowd was the most interesting part of the whole event. There were lots of young white Zimbabweans who at outward appearance look like a strange mix of cheesy British clubbers with popped collars, spiked gelled hair and large patent-leather shoes or pumas and very masculine, Abercrombie wearing, bro-looking guys who were too drunk to know or care about the word "personal space" and who loved to get physical. There was one particular "joker" who when intoxicated loved to tackle his best friends or complete strangers as he pleased. After tackling one friend with two beers in his hand I felt pretty sure a fight or an argument was going to break out, but everyone just laughed the guy off and he went off tackling other "friends" I'm average height, but I am skinny and I was unknowingly manhandled or bumped into or endearingly headlocked more times than I can remember since...since when? Maybe elementary gym class back in Texas? Or hanging out with "jocks" in high school. Either way the whole thing was one big throw back and I knew I'd come to the right place when they played, "Amarillo by Morning," a song that EVERYBODY knew the words to and I (being from Amarillo) only recognized the chorus. Such are the ironies of a globalized world.
Well this is turning out to be a long blog-post, but it's well-overdue, so stick with me, or go get some cheese or Thai food or something I can't really find here and ENJOY, it, be GRATEFUL.
Well, the 2nd band was a South African outfit from Cape Town that had a few of their own songs, so I thought, musically, things were starting to turn up; then, the lead singer commited the god-forsaken sin of ending their songs with cheeeeeeesy Bob Marley break-downs. He covered "get up, stand up", or "Ganja farmer" and everyone else sung-along and I just wanted to vomit. A little context - by this point in my travels I have heard the song Ganja farmer and one or more songs from the Bob Marley legend album at least 100 times, probably 150 or more in three months. Every single weed-coma'd rasta from Nairobi to Harare plays the same &$^%-ing 5 songs all day everyday for the rest of their lives. What an existence. Ja man! Rastafarai!
By that point I gave up courtesy dancing and took up Dilly's offer to go pass out in her car even though it was only midnight and we had arrived at 10. But it had been a loooooong day, starting at five when I woke up, not sure if I was going to Jo'burg, Mozambique, Zim or just remaining shipwrecked and lost in Blantyre. I then rode on the bus for about 13 hours total going through no less than 4 border crossings (2 for each border), one of which I spent 30 minutes arguing with the border guard because he wouldn't give me a transit visa, only a single entry visa, for a 6 hour trip through Mozambique all the while the bus conductor is threatening to leave me at the border. The other crossings were a breeze with a 100 person line queue at best or an irritated mob of people pushing, vying, cutting and bitching all trying to get a stupid stamp at worst.
I ran out of water half way through the trip and in desperation at made a stupid buy for a litre and a half of water for 10 rand or about 60 cents. Only after my first sip did I realize it was simply a refilled bottle of water after which I tried ran over to my "friend," wrestled with his hands holding my 10 rand note and once he ran 20 yards away I picked up a rock and began to run after him, from where he stood like he was going to "hold his ground" and then fled into the bush. I waited around for him for about 30 minutes waiting for the bus to depart and then a wise, calm-headed coca-cola salesman advised me to "forget it" because I was waiting for him in no-man's land between the Moz/Zim border and it wasn't really worth the risk or the effort. "If God wills it, then you will meet him again." he said. He was right, I have been developing quite a temper recently.....so needless to say by 12 PM that night, I felt like it was a loooong day.
But that night I slept in a comfortable bed in a nice apartment so I can't really complain.
Now I'd like to talk about Dilly's family. She's a 3rd or 4th generation Zimbabwean whose Afrikaaner parents moved to Zim and started farming. She lived on a dairy farm with her family that was nationalized in 2004 and then given over to a war veteran. From 20001-2005 or 06 this happened all over the country and led to a mass exodus of the white Zimbabweans. In all fairness the land was taken from the Zimbabwean people over 100 years ago by British and Afrikaaner settlers, but despite the great inequalities in wealth between whites and blacks here I'm still not sure that 2 wrongs make a right, and whatever the morality, the economy certainly suffered. Zimbabwe in the 80s was very first world with clean cities, good streets and a growing middle class. Now the economy is in shambles and everyone is just looking for stability.
Her family anticipated the move and in 2002 began selling much of their capital (tractors etc) in South Africa. At the time when they were forced to move off their land they were also forced to slaughter all their cattle, which was particularly bad timing because the calves were due in about a month, so there were many aborted dead cows left on the slaughterhouse floor.
Dilly said that at least half of her friends have left since around 2002, usually those with more money. Although she and her parents still live reltaively comfortably in Zimbabwe she said they didn't have enough money to emigrate and most countries don't want Zimbabwean "refugees". Either way both her and her parents were born here and they love really miss living on the land, but couldn't move to a big city. (I think they should come to Texas). Her parents now occupy their time renovating a house they bought just outside of the city center, trying to find the food/products they need to keep their standard of living and trying to save enough money to lead a comfortable life for the rest of their life. The healthcare system here is shot, so, like so many Americans they have no healthcare and hope nothing too bad happens - this is the plight of the relatively wealthy.
Okay, I'm going to end it here, I only have 3 more minutes and I've already been typing/revising for about 1:20 minutes. I'll post more soon, because there's so much to talk about in Zimbabwe!
See you all soon.
I don't write, and then I say to myself, but I'm missing all this stuff I've done if I write about right now, and then I don't write at all.
So I'll just write about right now.
Well, right now I'm in Harare, the capital of Zimbabwe. I was literally going crazy in Blantyre for so many reasons - the straw breaking the zebra's back being the food. I ate fried chicken and chips or fried chicken and rice so many times and I was over full and never satisfied. I would wake up and say, jesus, how am I going to pass the day today. I knew I wanted to come to Zimbabwe, but I was desperately missing vegetables and reasonable prices for anything except the most basic items and was seriously considering buying a plane ticket to Cape Town (south africa). After investigating all my transportation options Friday night (bus to Mozambique, bus to Johannesburg that was booked until Tuesday, or a daily bus to Zimbabwe). I decided on a rash decision on Saturday morning to get the bus to Zim.
Unfortunately I hadn't changed my currency into U.S. dollars and I only had a $20 bill and about $50 worth of Malawian Kwatcha. I heard, though that one could withdraw money from an ATM (my only source of money while traveling) at the border. Well, I found an ATM at the Malawi border and I changed about $360 into dollars and South African Rand. There was nowhere to change money at the Mozambican border and so I came into Harare with about $300 (after 2 $30 visas) in my pocket and as of yet haven't found a good way to get any more $$$$.
That's the background, now I'll talk about Zimbabwe, which is very, very interesting.
But first!
I just signed up on couch surfing and my first experience using it has been great. Couchsurfing lets travellers stay at others houses for free with the expectation that they will extend the same courtesy when they are at home. I messaged 4 of the 7 couchsurfers in Harare and got one reply from a white, Afrikaans Zimbabwean girl named Dilly (actually her nickname is Dilly, I forget what her real name is). She picked me up at a bus stop in Harare and let me stay at her guest room at her flat. Although I don't really care about my living conditions while traveling staying at her apartment is reallllllllly nice. It has a shower and bath living room, kitchen WITH AN OVEN! and fresh water and a maid who does laundry - everything. So the comfort is a nice departure from "real Africa".
Well she picked me up and I dropped off my stuff and took a long long long overdue shower, and then we went to a horse-racing track where there was an annual concert. This was my first taste of (white) Zimbabwean culture and it was thoroughly Western but uniquely Afrikaaner as well. The venue was straightforward enough - there was a large stage with about 1500 mostly white people and a ring of small bars around the crowd to buy alcohol. The first band was an Irish group of washed-up 40 year olds playing cheesy covers of American songs that I had heard but never really payed attention to.
The crowd was the most interesting part of the whole event. There were lots of young white Zimbabweans who at outward appearance look like a strange mix of cheesy British clubbers with popped collars, spiked gelled hair and large patent-leather shoes or pumas and very masculine, Abercrombie wearing, bro-looking guys who were too drunk to know or care about the word "personal space" and who loved to get physical. There was one particular "joker" who when intoxicated loved to tackle his best friends or complete strangers as he pleased. After tackling one friend with two beers in his hand I felt pretty sure a fight or an argument was going to break out, but everyone just laughed the guy off and he went off tackling other "friends" I'm average height, but I am skinny and I was unknowingly manhandled or bumped into or endearingly headlocked more times than I can remember since...since when? Maybe elementary gym class back in Texas? Or hanging out with "jocks" in high school. Either way the whole thing was one big throw back and I knew I'd come to the right place when they played, "Amarillo by Morning," a song that EVERYBODY knew the words to and I (being from Amarillo) only recognized the chorus. Such are the ironies of a globalized world.
Well this is turning out to be a long blog-post, but it's well-overdue, so stick with me, or go get some cheese or Thai food or something I can't really find here and ENJOY, it, be GRATEFUL.
Well, the 2nd band was a South African outfit from Cape Town that had a few of their own songs, so I thought, musically, things were starting to turn up; then, the lead singer commited the god-forsaken sin of ending their songs with cheeeeeeesy Bob Marley break-downs. He covered "get up, stand up", or "Ganja farmer" and everyone else sung-along and I just wanted to vomit. A little context - by this point in my travels I have heard the song Ganja farmer and one or more songs from the Bob Marley legend album at least 100 times, probably 150 or more in three months. Every single weed-coma'd rasta from Nairobi to Harare plays the same &$^%-ing 5 songs all day everyday for the rest of their lives. What an existence. Ja man! Rastafarai!
By that point I gave up courtesy dancing and took up Dilly's offer to go pass out in her car even though it was only midnight and we had arrived at 10. But it had been a loooooong day, starting at five when I woke up, not sure if I was going to Jo'burg, Mozambique, Zim or just remaining shipwrecked and lost in Blantyre. I then rode on the bus for about 13 hours total going through no less than 4 border crossings (2 for each border), one of which I spent 30 minutes arguing with the border guard because he wouldn't give me a transit visa, only a single entry visa, for a 6 hour trip through Mozambique all the while the bus conductor is threatening to leave me at the border. The other crossings were a breeze with a 100 person line queue at best or an irritated mob of people pushing, vying, cutting and bitching all trying to get a stupid stamp at worst.
I ran out of water half way through the trip and in desperation at made a stupid buy for a litre and a half of water for 10 rand or about 60 cents. Only after my first sip did I realize it was simply a refilled bottle of water after which I tried ran over to my "friend," wrestled with his hands holding my 10 rand note and once he ran 20 yards away I picked up a rock and began to run after him, from where he stood like he was going to "hold his ground" and then fled into the bush. I waited around for him for about 30 minutes waiting for the bus to depart and then a wise, calm-headed coca-cola salesman advised me to "forget it" because I was waiting for him in no-man's land between the Moz/Zim border and it wasn't really worth the risk or the effort. "If God wills it, then you will meet him again." he said. He was right, I have been developing quite a temper recently.....so needless to say by 12 PM that night, I felt like it was a loooong day.
But that night I slept in a comfortable bed in a nice apartment so I can't really complain.
Now I'd like to talk about Dilly's family. She's a 3rd or 4th generation Zimbabwean whose Afrikaaner parents moved to Zim and started farming. She lived on a dairy farm with her family that was nationalized in 2004 and then given over to a war veteran. From 20001-2005 or 06 this happened all over the country and led to a mass exodus of the white Zimbabweans. In all fairness the land was taken from the Zimbabwean people over 100 years ago by British and Afrikaaner settlers, but despite the great inequalities in wealth between whites and blacks here I'm still not sure that 2 wrongs make a right, and whatever the morality, the economy certainly suffered. Zimbabwe in the 80s was very first world with clean cities, good streets and a growing middle class. Now the economy is in shambles and everyone is just looking for stability.
Her family anticipated the move and in 2002 began selling much of their capital (tractors etc) in South Africa. At the time when they were forced to move off their land they were also forced to slaughter all their cattle, which was particularly bad timing because the calves were due in about a month, so there were many aborted dead cows left on the slaughterhouse floor.
Dilly said that at least half of her friends have left since around 2002, usually those with more money. Although she and her parents still live reltaively comfortably in Zimbabwe she said they didn't have enough money to emigrate and most countries don't want Zimbabwean "refugees". Either way both her and her parents were born here and they love really miss living on the land, but couldn't move to a big city. (I think they should come to Texas). Her parents now occupy their time renovating a house they bought just outside of the city center, trying to find the food/products they need to keep their standard of living and trying to save enough money to lead a comfortable life for the rest of their life. The healthcare system here is shot, so, like so many Americans they have no healthcare and hope nothing too bad happens - this is the plight of the relatively wealthy.
Okay, I'm going to end it here, I only have 3 more minutes and I've already been typing/revising for about 1:20 minutes. I'll post more soon, because there's so much to talk about in Zimbabwe!
See you all soon.
hyperinflation and happiness
So long overdue. I know.
I don't write, and then I say to myself, but I'm missing all this stuff I've done if I write about right now, and then I don't write at all.
So I'll just write about right now.
Well, right now I'm in Harare, the capital of Zimbabwe. I was literally going crazy in Blantyre for so many reasons - the straw breaking the zebra's back being the food. I ate fried chicken and chips or fried chicken and rice so many times and I was over full and never satisfied. I would wake up and say, jesus, how am I going to pass the day today. I knew I wanted to come to Zimbabwe, but I was desperately missing vegetables and reasonable prices for anything except the most basic items and was seriously considering buying a plane ticket to Cape Town (south africa). After investigating all my transportation options Friday night (bus to Mozambique, bus to Johannesburg that was booked until Tuesday, or a daily bus to Zimbabwe). I decided on a rash decision on Saturday morning to get the bus to Zim.
Unfortunately I hadn't changed my currency into U.S. dollars and I only had a $20 bill and about $50 worth of Malawian Kwatcha. I heard, though that one could withdraw money from an ATM (my only source of money while traveling) at the border. Well, I found an ATM at the Malawi border and I changed about $360 into dollars and South African Rand. There was nowhere to change money at the Mozambican border and so I came into Harare with about $300 (after 2 $30 visas) in my pocket and as of yet haven't found a good way to get any more $$$$.
That's the background, now I'll talk about Zimbabwe, which is very, very interesting.
But first!
I just signed up on couch surfing and my first experience using it has been great. Couchsurfing lets travellers stay at others houses for free with the expectation that they will extend the same courtesy when they are at home. I messaged 4 of the 7 couchsurfers in Harare and got one reply from a white, Afrikaans Zimbabwean girl named Dilly (actually her nickname is Dilly, I forget what her real name is). She picked me up at a bus stop in Harare and let me stay at her guest room at her flat. Although I don't really care about my living conditions while traveling staying at her apartment is reallllllllly nice. It has a shower and bath living room, kitchen WITH AN OVEN! and fresh water and a maid who does laundry - everything. So the comfort is a nice departure from "real Africa".
Well she picked me up and I dropped off my stuff and took a long long long overdue shower, and then we went to a horse-racing track where there was an annual concert. This was my first taste of (white) Zimbabwean culture and it was thoroughly Western but uniquely Afrikaaner as well. The venue was straightforward enough - there was a large stage with about 1500 mostly white people and a ring of small bars around the crowd to buy alcohol. The first band was an Irish group of washed-up 40 year olds playing cheesy covers of American songs that I had heard but never really payed attention to.
The crowd was the most interesting part of the whole event. There were lots of young white Zimbabweans who at outward appearance look like a strange mix of cheesy British clubbers with popped collars, spiked gelled hair and large patent-leather shoes or pumas and very masculine, Abercrombie wearing, bro-looking guys who were too drunk to know or care about the word "personal space" and who loved to get physical. There was one particular "joker" who when intoxicated loved to tackle his best friends or complete strangers as he pleased. After tackling one friend with two beers in his hand I felt pretty sure a fight or an argument was going to break out, but everyone just laughed the guy off and he went off tackling other "friends" I'm average height, but I am skinny and I was unknowingly manhandled or bumped into or endearingly headlocked more times than I can remember since...since when? Maybe elementary gym class back in Texas? Or hanging out with "jocks" in high school. Either way the whole thing was one big throw back and I knew I'd come to the right place when they played, "Amarillo by Morning," a song that EVERYBODY knew the words to and I (being from Amarillo) only recognized the chorus. Such are the ironies of a globalized world.
Well this is turning out to be a long blog-post, but it's well-overdue, so stick with me, or go get some cheese or Thai food or something I can't really find here and ENJOY, it, be GRATEFUL.
Well, the 2nd band was a South African outfit from Cape Town that had a few of their own songs, so I thought, musically, things were starting to turn up; then, the lead singer commited the god-forsaken sin of ending their songs with cheeeeeeesy Bob Marley break-downs. He covered "get up, stand up", or "Ganja farmer" and everyone else sung-along and I just wanted to vomit. A little context - by this point in my travels I have heard the song Ganja farmer and one or more songs from the Bob Marley legend album at least 100 times, probably 150 or more in three months. Every single weed-coma'd rasta from Nairobi to Harare plays the same &$^%-ing 5 songs all day everyday for the rest of their lives. What an existence. Ja man! Rastafarai!
By that point I gave up courtesy dancing and took up Dilly's offer to go pass out in her car even though it was only midnight and we had arrived at 10. But it had been a loooooong day, starting at five when I woke up, not sure if I was going to Jo'burg, Mozambique, Zim or just remaining shipwrecked and lost in Blantyre. I then rode on the bus for about 13 hours total going through no less than 4 border crossings (2 for each border), one of which I spent 30 minutes arguing with the border guard because he wouldn't give me a transit visa, only a single entry visa, for a 6 hour trip through Mozambique all the while the bus conductor is threatening to leave me at the border. The other crossings were a breeze with a 100 person line queue at best or an irritated mob of people pushing, vying, cutting and bitching all trying to get a stupid stamp at worst.
I ran out of water half way through the trip and in desperation at made a stupid buy for a litre and a half of water for 10 rand or about 60 cents. Only after my first sip did I realize it was simply a refilled bottle of water after which I tried ran over to my "friend," wrestled with his hands holding my 10 rand note and once he ran 20 yards away I picked up a rock and began to run after him, from where he stood like he was going to "hold his ground" and then fled into the bush. I waited around for him for about 30 minutes waiting for the bus to depart and then a wise, calm-headed coca-cola salesman advised me to "forget it" because I was waiting for him in no-man's land between the Moz/Zim border and it wasn't really worth the risk or the effort. "If God wills it, then you will meet him again." he said. He was right, I have been developing quite a temper recently.....so needless to say by 12 PM that night, I felt like it was a loooong day.
But that night I slept in a comfortable bed in a nice apartment so I can't really complain.
Now I'd like to talk about Dilly's family. She's a 3rd or 4th generation Zimbabwean whose Afrikaaner parents moved to Zim and started farming. She lived on a dairy farm with her family that was nationalized in 2004 and then given over to a war veteran. From 20001-2005 or 06 this happened all over the country and led to a mass exodus of the white Zimbabweans. In all fairness the land was taken from the Zimbabwean people over 100 years ago by British and Afrikaaner settlers, but despite the great inequalities in wealth between whites and blacks here I'm still not sure that 2 wrongs make a right, and whatever the morality, the economy certainly suffered. Zimbabwe in the 80s was very first world with clean cities, good streets and a growing middle class. Now the economy is in shambles and everyone is just looking for stability.
Her family anticipated the move and in 2002 began selling much of their capital (tractors etc) in South Africa. At the time when they were forced to move off their land they were also forced to slaughter all their cattle, which was particularly bad timing because the calves were due in about a month, so there were many aborted dead cows left on the slaughterhouse floor.
Dilly said that at least half of her friends have left since around 2002, usually those with more money. Although she and her parents still live reltaively comfortably in Zimbabwe she said they didn't have enough money to emigrate and most countries don't want Zimbabwean "refugees". Either way both her and her parents were born here and they love really miss living on the land, but couldn't move to a big city. (I think they should come to Texas). Her parents now occupy their time renovating a house they bought just outside of the city center, trying to find the food/products they need to keep their standard of living and trying to save enough money to lead a comfortable life for the rest of their life. The healthcare system here is shot, so, like so many Americans they have no healthcare and hope nothing too bad happens - this is the plight of the relatively wealthy.
Okay, I'm going to end it here, I only have 3 more minutes and I've already been typing/revising for about 1:20 minutes. I'll post more soon, because there's so much to talk about in Zimbabwe!
See you all soon.
I don't write, and then I say to myself, but I'm missing all this stuff I've done if I write about right now, and then I don't write at all.
So I'll just write about right now.
Well, right now I'm in Harare, the capital of Zimbabwe. I was literally going crazy in Blantyre for so many reasons - the straw breaking the zebra's back being the food. I ate fried chicken and chips or fried chicken and rice so many times and I was over full and never satisfied. I would wake up and say, jesus, how am I going to pass the day today. I knew I wanted to come to Zimbabwe, but I was desperately missing vegetables and reasonable prices for anything except the most basic items and was seriously considering buying a plane ticket to Cape Town (south africa). After investigating all my transportation options Friday night (bus to Mozambique, bus to Johannesburg that was booked until Tuesday, or a daily bus to Zimbabwe). I decided on a rash decision on Saturday morning to get the bus to Zim.
Unfortunately I hadn't changed my currency into U.S. dollars and I only had a $20 bill and about $50 worth of Malawian Kwatcha. I heard, though that one could withdraw money from an ATM (my only source of money while traveling) at the border. Well, I found an ATM at the Malawi border and I changed about $360 into dollars and South African Rand. There was nowhere to change money at the Mozambican border and so I came into Harare with about $300 (after 2 $30 visas) in my pocket and as of yet haven't found a good way to get any more $$$$.
That's the background, now I'll talk about Zimbabwe, which is very, very interesting.
But first!
I just signed up on couch surfing and my first experience using it has been great. Couchsurfing lets travellers stay at others houses for free with the expectation that they will extend the same courtesy when they are at home. I messaged 4 of the 7 couchsurfers in Harare and got one reply from a white, Afrikaans Zimbabwean girl named Dilly (actually her nickname is Dilly, I forget what her real name is). She picked me up at a bus stop in Harare and let me stay at her guest room at her flat. Although I don't really care about my living conditions while traveling staying at her apartment is reallllllllly nice. It has a shower and bath living room, kitchen WITH AN OVEN! and fresh water and a maid who does laundry - everything. So the comfort is a nice departure from "real Africa".
Well she picked me up and I dropped off my stuff and took a long long long overdue shower, and then we went to a horse-racing track where there was an annual concert. This was my first taste of (white) Zimbabwean culture and it was thoroughly Western but uniquely Afrikaaner as well. The venue was straightforward enough - there was a large stage with about 1500 mostly white people and a ring of small bars around the crowd to buy alcohol. The first band was an Irish group of washed-up 40 year olds playing cheesy covers of American songs that I had heard but never really payed attention to.
The crowd was the most interesting part of the whole event. There were lots of young white Zimbabweans who at outward appearance look like a strange mix of cheesy British clubbers with popped collars, spiked gelled hair and large patent-leather shoes or pumas and very masculine, Abercrombie wearing, bro-looking guys who were too drunk to know or care about the word "personal space" and who loved to get physical. There was one particular "joker" who when intoxicated loved to tackle his best friends or complete strangers as he pleased. After tackling one friend with two beers in his hand I felt pretty sure a fight or an argument was going to break out, but everyone just laughed the guy off and he went off tackling other "friends" I'm average height, but I am skinny and I was unknowingly manhandled or bumped into or endearingly headlocked more times than I can remember since...since when? Maybe elementary gym class back in Texas? Or hanging out with "jocks" in high school. Either way the whole thing was one big throw back and I knew I'd come to the right place when they played, "Amarillo by Morning," a song that EVERYBODY knew the words to and I (being from Amarillo) only recognized the chorus. Such are the ironies of a globalized world.
Well this is turning out to be a long blog-post, but it's well-overdue, so stick with me, or go get some cheese or Thai food or something I can't really find here and ENJOY, it, be GRATEFUL.
Well, the 2nd band was a South African outfit from Cape Town that had a few of their own songs, so I thought, musically, things were starting to turn up; then, the lead singer commited the god-forsaken sin of ending their songs with cheeeeeeesy Bob Marley break-downs. He covered "get up, stand up", or "Ganja farmer" and everyone else sung-along and I just wanted to vomit. A little context - by this point in my travels I have heard the song Ganja farmer and one or more songs from the Bob Marley legend album at least 100 times, probably 150 or more in three months. Every single weed-coma'd rasta from Nairobi to Harare plays the same &$^%-ing 5 songs all day everyday for the rest of their lives. What an existence. Ja man! Rastafarai!
By that point I gave up courtesy dancing and took up Dilly's offer to go pass out in her car even though it was only midnight and we had arrived at 10. But it had been a loooooong day, starting at five when I woke up, not sure if I was going to Jo'burg, Mozambique, Zim or just remaining shipwrecked and lost in Blantyre. I then rode on the bus for about 13 hours total going through no less than 4 border crossings (2 for each border), one of which I spent 30 minutes arguing with the border guard because he wouldn't give me a transit visa, only a single entry visa, for a 6 hour trip through Mozambique all the while the bus conductor is threatening to leave me at the border. The other crossings were a breeze with a 100 person line queue at best or an irritated mob of people pushing, vying, cutting and bitching all trying to get a stupid stamp at worst.
I ran out of water half way through the trip and in desperation at made a stupid buy for a litre and a half of water for 10 rand or about 60 cents. Only after my first sip did I realize it was simply a refilled bottle of water after which I tried ran over to my "friend," wrestled with his hands holding my 10 rand note and once he ran 20 yards away I picked up a rock and began to run after him, from where he stood like he was going to "hold his ground" and then fled into the bush. I waited around for him for about 30 minutes waiting for the bus to depart and then a wise, calm-headed coca-cola salesman advised me to "forget it" because I was waiting for him in no-man's land between the Moz/Zim border and it wasn't really worth the risk or the effort. "If God wills it, then you will meet him again." he said. He was right, I have been developing quite a temper recently.....so needless to say by 12 PM that night, I felt like it was a loooong day.
But that night I slept in a comfortable bed in a nice apartment so I can't really complain.
Now I'd like to talk about Dilly's family. She's a 3rd or 4th generation Zimbabwean whose Afrikaaner parents moved to Zim and started farming. She lived on a dairy farm with her family that was nationalized in 2004 and then given over to a war veteran. From 20001-2005 or 06 this happened all over the country and led to a mass exodus of the white Zimbabweans. In all fairness the land was taken from the Zimbabwean people over 100 years ago by British and Afrikaaner settlers, but despite the great inequalities in wealth between whites and blacks here I'm still not sure that 2 wrongs make a right, and whatever the morality, the economy certainly suffered. Zimbabwe in the 80s was very first world with clean cities, good streets and a growing middle class. Now the economy is in shambles and everyone is just looking for stability.
Her family anticipated the move and in 2002 began selling much of their capital (tractors etc) in South Africa. At the time when they were forced to move off their land they were also forced to slaughter all their cattle, which was particularly bad timing because the calves were due in about a month, so there were many aborted dead cows left on the slaughterhouse floor.
Dilly said that at least half of her friends have left since around 2002, usually those with more money. Although she and her parents still live reltaively comfortably in Zimbabwe she said they didn't have enough money to emigrate and most countries don't want Zimbabwean "refugees". Either way both her and her parents were born here and they love really miss living on the land, but couldn't move to a big city. (I think they should come to Texas). Her parents now occupy their time renovating a house they bought just outside of the city center, trying to find the food/products they need to keep their standard of living and trying to save enough money to lead a comfortable life for the rest of their life. The healthcare system here is shot, so, like so many Americans they have no healthcare and hope nothing too bad happens - this is the plight of the relatively wealthy.
Okay, I'm going to end it here, I only have 3 more minutes and I've already been typing/revising for about 1:20 minutes. I'll post more soon, because there's so much to talk about in Zimbabwe!
See you all soon.
Friday, September 19, 2008
Alright Bros and Bro-ettes, here's a new post for y'all to read.
That last one was wrought (present tense wyrkn) with detail and toooooo long.
So i'll just get to it.
I'm in Kigoma now.
I have been in Kigoma now, for a loooong time. Kigoma is a port city on the northern edge of Lake Tanganyika. I planned to take a boat from the northern to the southern edge of lake Tanganykia. And so I shall - today - i hope. Lord willing (if there be a Lord) ((John i hope you're reading)). I shall depart on my way to Kasanga.
I'm a little wired today.
I call it Kigoma-cabin-fever.
See, I arrived last Sunday after a 2 day train ride from Dar es Salaam. I traversed the whole East to West of Tanzania. Along the way we stopped at all these little towns, each one with it's little spiel. There was the town that produced weavings, so you could get hats and mats and baskets oh my! Then there's the wooden spoon town - all sizes - from coffee pot up to boat-oar size for when the EXTENDED family shows up. Then you keep on trekking and there's all these wooden cylinders hanging in the trees. Three to a tree sometimes scattered throughout. Guess what, this is honey town and those are bee-hives. Everyone is running back and forth yelling asaliasaliasaliasali (honey)and selling it in old konyagi bottles (cheap cheap alcohol) it starts to sound like jibberish - like when you say spoonspoonspoonspoonspoonspoonspoonspoon.
So then I get to Kigoma. You know, I probably should have checked my travel book to see when the boat was leaving. I just thought; I'll get here and find out - you don't really know things until you get there in Tanzania. So I get here and find out, well, it leaves on Wednesday. I arrived on Sunday midday. So, I have 3 days to kill. I take a look around - eat at the few upscale restaurants (fish with rice beans, spinach and fruit for $2.20) and then I've seen the town.
On Monday I go to the port to get a ticket and I meet someone else who is going to Malawi - so SCORE!! My 1st travel partner. I say, let's go together. His name is Sean from Atlanta we walk along the beach and eat, go to sleep at 7 or 8 PM. We meet 2 other americans, we chat, drink some beers talk about where's good, where's cheap ETC. Then we wake up on Tuesday and find out SUPRISE the boat isn't leaving til' Thursday. More time in Kigoma!!! I try to hatch a plan to go by bus and train to Malawi, but change my mind 30 minutes before departure) because it would be more dificult and not as scenic - so I resign myself to more time in kigoma. I can't wait. I've already eaten at the 3 restaurants nearby. I've gon to Sun Snacks at least 5 times, but the fish is fresh; i can't complain.
The next day Sean and I agree to get a boat out for a while. We find someone and i bargain HARD for $2.60 for 2 hours. Yes, that sounds like a pittance, but the boat only cost 120-140 to make, so if they could sell 50 trips, they would make back their capital in 100 hours. Not to mention, boats go out at night here to get fish, so they're useless during the day. The boat was fine, except that it would go left and right but never forward and it leaked lots of water; we had to toss it out ourselves.
So, it was a good workout, and it was nice to be out on the lake.
Now it's Sean (the guy from Atlanta) and this other guy Steve (also American, hasn't been back in 8 years) and myself and we pass the time drinking and eating and playing cards. I read some Salman Rushdie (Midnights Children) and go jogging in the morning and try to write in my journal but never quite succeeed. So, slowly Thursday rolls around around. And we get there at 4 with all our bags, and I buy some fruit and vegetables because everything here is deep fried or white carbs and I need something to stay regular. And we wait and wait, and trucks are exiting with cargo (even though the boat arrived yesterday) and then trucks pull up when another is trying to leave and that blocks the driver in, so one of them (usually the smaller truck) has to back up and wait and then he's angry because he has to wait so long and starts honking) And we wait and eat and drink and wait and then, finally, someone tells us, oh - i'm sorry if you didn't hear, but the boat isn't leaving until tomorrow. There's a problem with the crane. I don't know when the announcement came, but lots of the people come from far away so they just sort of camp out at the port, so there was no mass exodus. So, we found another way to pass a day - waiting expectantly for a boat!
Well, now is Friday, and all we do is hope - and we bet - we have a pool for the actual time the boat will leave. They say it's at 12, My slot is 1:30 the others' are 1:00 and 2:00. We'll see who wins.
That last one was wrought (present tense wyrkn) with detail and toooooo long.
So i'll just get to it.
I'm in Kigoma now.
I have been in Kigoma now, for a loooong time. Kigoma is a port city on the northern edge of Lake Tanganyika. I planned to take a boat from the northern to the southern edge of lake Tanganykia. And so I shall - today - i hope. Lord willing (if there be a Lord) ((John i hope you're reading)). I shall depart on my way to Kasanga.
I'm a little wired today.
I call it Kigoma-cabin-fever.
See, I arrived last Sunday after a 2 day train ride from Dar es Salaam. I traversed the whole East to West of Tanzania. Along the way we stopped at all these little towns, each one with it's little spiel. There was the town that produced weavings, so you could get hats and mats and baskets oh my! Then there's the wooden spoon town - all sizes - from coffee pot up to boat-oar size for when the EXTENDED family shows up. Then you keep on trekking and there's all these wooden cylinders hanging in the trees. Three to a tree sometimes scattered throughout. Guess what, this is honey town and those are bee-hives. Everyone is running back and forth yelling asaliasaliasaliasali (honey)and selling it in old konyagi bottles (cheap cheap alcohol) it starts to sound like jibberish - like when you say spoonspoonspoonspoonspoonspoonspoonspoon.
So then I get to Kigoma. You know, I probably should have checked my travel book to see when the boat was leaving. I just thought; I'll get here and find out - you don't really know things until you get there in Tanzania. So I get here and find out, well, it leaves on Wednesday. I arrived on Sunday midday. So, I have 3 days to kill. I take a look around - eat at the few upscale restaurants (fish with rice beans, spinach and fruit for $2.20) and then I've seen the town.
On Monday I go to the port to get a ticket and I meet someone else who is going to Malawi - so SCORE!! My 1st travel partner. I say, let's go together. His name is Sean from Atlanta we walk along the beach and eat, go to sleep at 7 or 8 PM. We meet 2 other americans, we chat, drink some beers talk about where's good, where's cheap ETC. Then we wake up on Tuesday and find out SUPRISE the boat isn't leaving til' Thursday. More time in Kigoma!!! I try to hatch a plan to go by bus and train to Malawi, but change my mind 30 minutes before departure) because it would be more dificult and not as scenic - so I resign myself to more time in kigoma. I can't wait. I've already eaten at the 3 restaurants nearby. I've gon to Sun Snacks at least 5 times, but the fish is fresh; i can't complain.
The next day Sean and I agree to get a boat out for a while. We find someone and i bargain HARD for $2.60 for 2 hours. Yes, that sounds like a pittance, but the boat only cost 120-140 to make, so if they could sell 50 trips, they would make back their capital in 100 hours. Not to mention, boats go out at night here to get fish, so they're useless during the day. The boat was fine, except that it would go left and right but never forward and it leaked lots of water; we had to toss it out ourselves.
So, it was a good workout, and it was nice to be out on the lake.
Now it's Sean (the guy from Atlanta) and this other guy Steve (also American, hasn't been back in 8 years) and myself and we pass the time drinking and eating and playing cards. I read some Salman Rushdie (Midnights Children) and go jogging in the morning and try to write in my journal but never quite succeeed. So, slowly Thursday rolls around around. And we get there at 4 with all our bags, and I buy some fruit and vegetables because everything here is deep fried or white carbs and I need something to stay regular. And we wait and wait, and trucks are exiting with cargo (even though the boat arrived yesterday) and then trucks pull up when another is trying to leave and that blocks the driver in, so one of them (usually the smaller truck) has to back up and wait and then he's angry because he has to wait so long and starts honking) And we wait and eat and drink and wait and then, finally, someone tells us, oh - i'm sorry if you didn't hear, but the boat isn't leaving until tomorrow. There's a problem with the crane. I don't know when the announcement came, but lots of the people come from far away so they just sort of camp out at the port, so there was no mass exodus. So, we found another way to pass a day - waiting expectantly for a boat!
Well, now is Friday, and all we do is hope - and we bet - we have a pool for the actual time the boat will leave. They say it's at 12, My slot is 1:30 the others' are 1:00 and 2:00. We'll see who wins.
Tuesday, September 2, 2008
Life in the Kijij (village)
Hey y'all.
We left off in Arusha
I'm just back from Zanzibar, which was beautiful and so cultural. But that'll have to wait...
Where to start?
Happy Ramadan!
I love asking muslims here if they're hungry - they get a kick out of it.
Anyways, I went to the village last Monday. I arrived and checked up on old projects and old friends. I stayed in a different house than I did last year. Outreach (the NGO I worked with last year) finished some teachers houses next to the Secondary School they're sponsoring with electricity and running water; so I lived there with a lady named Naomi.
Being in the village is different. You're afforded more of a rock-star status than in the cities here. In a village where everyone is some shade of brown being white makes you a spectacle no matter what. This means you get treated differently. Of course you still get the various people who ask you for things, but then you also get people who want to buy you a coke, or have you sit at the "seat of honor" or simply say hello. I know this is asking too much, but I feel like i've identified the root of much of my origianl frustration. It sounds cliche, but I just want to be treated like one of them. The greatest hope of every liberal, open-minded Anglo-Saxon is to "live like they do". To be able to experience an authentically different and simpler pace of life - while still being able to return to the excesses of modern living. This is one of the reasons I enjoy studying language. Although you're probably never going to achieve "being one of them" you're hopeless without being able to speak their native language.
Anyways, let me just describe a few experiences that stand out from my time spent in the village. First bad, then good.
On the 3rd day in the village. A lady who works for Outreach, Naomi, asked me if I wanted to go with her to Kinampuntu - one of the 5 villages in the county. I thought this would be a good way to save on gas, as she has to drive the "port - a -doc" (mobile pharmacy). Well I get in and then another man, Raymond, has to drive, so that makes 3 and then Naomi's 2 daughters get in as well. I'm asking myself, Why do we need 5 people to go out to give vaccinations in the Kinampuntu? Then we arrive in Singa (another village) and we pick up 2 more nurses. Now there's 7 of us sitting in the front and back of an ambulance truck made for 2. The radio is blaring Congo music and I'm asking myself, "what is Outreach paying for?" It's paying for gas and an expensive car, so 6 Tanzanians can joyride and listen to music!? Well, if you know me, you'll know that i'm not the best at saying what's on my mind; although I'm not good at hiding when I'm upset either...so people obviously see I'm upset, but they don't know why, and I don't bother to tell them.
When we arrive in Kinampuntu Raymond and I go to visit a boy we bought a wheel chair for last year while Naomi and her 4 helpers inject babies and distribute medecine. We get to the house and he's not there, but someone goes to find him. We see him coming, and as soon as he comes up to the house where we are sitting the chair tips tips on its right side and he falls out. When we first bought him the wheel chair he was a little unsteady while using it. I think he wanted to impress me with his improvement, but got a little carried away. So I'm feeling sorry for him, while Ray is helping him back into the chair. Then I ask him and his Dad if anything's wrong with the chair? They say there's been no major problems, which is a huge relief, because I didn't have high hopes for the longjevity of the chair in a village where the roads are made of rock and dirt and it rains everyday for 3 months. Then the Dad starts to ask me for shoes for the kid. I say, I'm only here to visit and our group doesn't have anymore money. Then he says the oil for the chain is running out. I say, can you get it in the village? To which he replies, yes. So, I say, you all shouldn't have a problem getting it then.
By this point I'm getting fed up. I'm saying to myself. We spent $230 to buy this kid a wheel chair, and if he can't find the $1.50 to buy some new chain grease; then what was the point in the first place? Sure I could give it to him, but is it just going to be futile? Was the whole thing futile? In one of my finer moments I say, Isn't that a piece of capital? Can't he use it to take some produce from the farm, take it into the village and sell it?
So Ray and I head back to where Naomi is pin-pricking babies, and then a man greets me. He says he's a bicycle repair-man. I tell him we just visited the boy who rides the bicycle wheel-chair. To which he replies, "Oh yes, that boy needs a spare tire, can you give it to him?" I say, you know, if I have to buy everything for him, then how is he ever going to rely on himself? By this point I'm angry, but I didn't know the word for angry in Swahili. So I say, you know, when I walk around in Tanzania, every day, every hour, every minute someone asks me for something. When they do that it makes me want to hit people (my translation for angry). Ray and the Repair man both laugh, which just makes me more angry, because it seems like they don't believe me. So, I say, FUCK ALL of THIS!
I'm sick of being a foreigner. I'm sick of talking to my "friends" who ask me for for things. I'm sick of wasting gas and joyriding in the car when I could have just taken a bus or a bicycle or walked. I'm getting out of here. So, I tell Ray, I'm going to walk to Iambi - about 4 miles away, "where nobody knows your na-ame". He says I shouldn't go, he says it's dangerous, why don't I just ride in the port-a-doc. I keep on walking. He gets Naomi and they plead together for me to get in the car, I keep on walking. I tell them, "Quit wasting your gas and your time on me. I'm going to walk." Finally they leave me alone and I'm out on my own - or so I think.
Then the bicycle repair man comes up to me and says, "I'm sorry if I disturbed you, I didn't mean to. The village leader was nagry with me, he said, what id you say to our foreign friend?" SO by now I'm thinking, great, I'm going to get this guy in trouble just for trying to "take the road less traveled". WEll, I write a note absolving him of any responsibility for my bad mood ( I am a moooody person). ANd tehn I keep on walking.
This guy, bless his well-intentioned bones, keeps following me on his bicycle. I sit down for a bit under the few shaded tress around and he takes out his bucket (he's about 100 m away) and shows me some water he just fetched because I was thirsty. I keep on walking, but this time I run to a mango tree and jump on its branches and wait. I wait until people give up and i can be ON my Own again. I wait after 30 minutes or an hour or so and pass the time by destroying a termite colony that was overtaking the mango tree. Hmm, i'lve lost steam again, and I'm sure - You - Dear REader, has already fallen asleep.
Where to end?
I'll maybe post some other time about the good
theres good i swear
i'm not a miser i swear
We left off in Arusha
I'm just back from Zanzibar, which was beautiful and so cultural. But that'll have to wait...
Where to start?
Happy Ramadan!
I love asking muslims here if they're hungry - they get a kick out of it.
Anyways, I went to the village last Monday. I arrived and checked up on old projects and old friends. I stayed in a different house than I did last year. Outreach (the NGO I worked with last year) finished some teachers houses next to the Secondary School they're sponsoring with electricity and running water; so I lived there with a lady named Naomi.
Being in the village is different. You're afforded more of a rock-star status than in the cities here. In a village where everyone is some shade of brown being white makes you a spectacle no matter what. This means you get treated differently. Of course you still get the various people who ask you for things, but then you also get people who want to buy you a coke, or have you sit at the "seat of honor" or simply say hello. I know this is asking too much, but I feel like i've identified the root of much of my origianl frustration. It sounds cliche, but I just want to be treated like one of them. The greatest hope of every liberal, open-minded Anglo-Saxon is to "live like they do". To be able to experience an authentically different and simpler pace of life - while still being able to return to the excesses of modern living. This is one of the reasons I enjoy studying language. Although you're probably never going to achieve "being one of them" you're hopeless without being able to speak their native language.
Anyways, let me just describe a few experiences that stand out from my time spent in the village. First bad, then good.
On the 3rd day in the village. A lady who works for Outreach, Naomi, asked me if I wanted to go with her to Kinampuntu - one of the 5 villages in the county. I thought this would be a good way to save on gas, as she has to drive the "port - a -doc" (mobile pharmacy). Well I get in and then another man, Raymond, has to drive, so that makes 3 and then Naomi's 2 daughters get in as well. I'm asking myself, Why do we need 5 people to go out to give vaccinations in the Kinampuntu? Then we arrive in Singa (another village) and we pick up 2 more nurses. Now there's 7 of us sitting in the front and back of an ambulance truck made for 2. The radio is blaring Congo music and I'm asking myself, "what is Outreach paying for?" It's paying for gas and an expensive car, so 6 Tanzanians can joyride and listen to music!? Well, if you know me, you'll know that i'm not the best at saying what's on my mind; although I'm not good at hiding when I'm upset either...so people obviously see I'm upset, but they don't know why, and I don't bother to tell them.
When we arrive in Kinampuntu Raymond and I go to visit a boy we bought a wheel chair for last year while Naomi and her 4 helpers inject babies and distribute medecine. We get to the house and he's not there, but someone goes to find him. We see him coming, and as soon as he comes up to the house where we are sitting the chair tips tips on its right side and he falls out. When we first bought him the wheel chair he was a little unsteady while using it. I think he wanted to impress me with his improvement, but got a little carried away. So I'm feeling sorry for him, while Ray is helping him back into the chair. Then I ask him and his Dad if anything's wrong with the chair? They say there's been no major problems, which is a huge relief, because I didn't have high hopes for the longjevity of the chair in a village where the roads are made of rock and dirt and it rains everyday for 3 months. Then the Dad starts to ask me for shoes for the kid. I say, I'm only here to visit and our group doesn't have anymore money. Then he says the oil for the chain is running out. I say, can you get it in the village? To which he replies, yes. So, I say, you all shouldn't have a problem getting it then.
By this point I'm getting fed up. I'm saying to myself. We spent $230 to buy this kid a wheel chair, and if he can't find the $1.50 to buy some new chain grease; then what was the point in the first place? Sure I could give it to him, but is it just going to be futile? Was the whole thing futile? In one of my finer moments I say, Isn't that a piece of capital? Can't he use it to take some produce from the farm, take it into the village and sell it?
So Ray and I head back to where Naomi is pin-pricking babies, and then a man greets me. He says he's a bicycle repair-man. I tell him we just visited the boy who rides the bicycle wheel-chair. To which he replies, "Oh yes, that boy needs a spare tire, can you give it to him?" I say, you know, if I have to buy everything for him, then how is he ever going to rely on himself? By this point I'm angry, but I didn't know the word for angry in Swahili. So I say, you know, when I walk around in Tanzania, every day, every hour, every minute someone asks me for something. When they do that it makes me want to hit people (my translation for angry). Ray and the Repair man both laugh, which just makes me more angry, because it seems like they don't believe me. So, I say, FUCK ALL of THIS!
I'm sick of being a foreigner. I'm sick of talking to my "friends" who ask me for for things. I'm sick of wasting gas and joyriding in the car when I could have just taken a bus or a bicycle or walked. I'm getting out of here. So, I tell Ray, I'm going to walk to Iambi - about 4 miles away, "where nobody knows your na-ame". He says I shouldn't go, he says it's dangerous, why don't I just ride in the port-a-doc. I keep on walking. He gets Naomi and they plead together for me to get in the car, I keep on walking. I tell them, "Quit wasting your gas and your time on me. I'm going to walk." Finally they leave me alone and I'm out on my own - or so I think.
Then the bicycle repair man comes up to me and says, "I'm sorry if I disturbed you, I didn't mean to. The village leader was nagry with me, he said, what id you say to our foreign friend?" SO by now I'm thinking, great, I'm going to get this guy in trouble just for trying to "take the road less traveled". WEll, I write a note absolving him of any responsibility for my bad mood ( I am a moooody person). ANd tehn I keep on walking.
This guy, bless his well-intentioned bones, keeps following me on his bicycle. I sit down for a bit under the few shaded tress around and he takes out his bucket (he's about 100 m away) and shows me some water he just fetched because I was thirsty. I keep on walking, but this time I run to a mango tree and jump on its branches and wait. I wait until people give up and i can be ON my Own again. I wait after 30 minutes or an hour or so and pass the time by destroying a termite colony that was overtaking the mango tree. Hmm, i'lve lost steam again, and I'm sure - You - Dear REader, has already fallen asleep.
Where to end?
I'll maybe post some other time about the good
theres good i swear
i'm not a miser i swear
Saturday, August 23, 2008
A New Day
Hey whoever's reading.
Well, I'm in Tanzania now. After my last post I went to Mombasa to try to get a bus to Arusha (Tanzania), but the bus had already left and I couldn't get another one until the morning after. I just felt like i had to leave Kenya, though, so I got on a van headed to Tanga (a coastal town in Tanzania). The driver was waiting until the van filled to leave. This meant that 2 ladies had been waiting for 3 hours already to get to Tanga. I waited about 1 1/2 hours in all, some of which I spent sleeping. When I woke up I noticed a full bus and some guys that looked urban/rasta climbing onto our van. I then come to learn that the guy with the dreadlocks is Juma Nature - a well known Bongo Flavor hip hop artist from Dar Es Saalam. So we rode together and talked a bit. We got preferential treatment at borders and he got some free food; so, overall, it was enjoyable.
Umm, i was going to write more, but I don't feel like I have a strong message right now, so I'm just going to say, to fam and all I'm here safe in Arusha, I'm going to go to Nkungi (the village where I worked last summer) on Monday and I might push my ticket back by a month or so and travel more in Africa. I have found it much easier to meet people in Arusha and I've met some cool foreigners and locals (I got to drive one of my Tanzanian friend's car last night as we went hunting for vittles sate our alcohol fueled appetites). I ate some fries cooked with eggs and some grilled meat that was being cooked on the side of the road. I rarely eat vegetables here. I can't wait to go to the village where I can cook my own food! I just got a Salman Rushdie book from a backpacker, which is nice 'cause I already finished both novels I brought with me.
I'm a little hungover from last night.
"Feel like my head a toxic waste" - Chingy
Tim
Well, I'm in Tanzania now. After my last post I went to Mombasa to try to get a bus to Arusha (Tanzania), but the bus had already left and I couldn't get another one until the morning after. I just felt like i had to leave Kenya, though, so I got on a van headed to Tanga (a coastal town in Tanzania). The driver was waiting until the van filled to leave. This meant that 2 ladies had been waiting for 3 hours already to get to Tanga. I waited about 1 1/2 hours in all, some of which I spent sleeping. When I woke up I noticed a full bus and some guys that looked urban/rasta climbing onto our van. I then come to learn that the guy with the dreadlocks is Juma Nature - a well known Bongo Flavor hip hop artist from Dar Es Saalam. So we rode together and talked a bit. We got preferential treatment at borders and he got some free food; so, overall, it was enjoyable.
Umm, i was going to write more, but I don't feel like I have a strong message right now, so I'm just going to say, to fam and all I'm here safe in Arusha, I'm going to go to Nkungi (the village where I worked last summer) on Monday and I might push my ticket back by a month or so and travel more in Africa. I have found it much easier to meet people in Arusha and I've met some cool foreigners and locals (I got to drive one of my Tanzanian friend's car last night as we went hunting for vittles sate our alcohol fueled appetites). I ate some fries cooked with eggs and some grilled meat that was being cooked on the side of the road. I rarely eat vegetables here. I can't wait to go to the village where I can cook my own food! I just got a Salman Rushdie book from a backpacker, which is nice 'cause I already finished both novels I brought with me.
I'm a little hungover from last night.
"Feel like my head a toxic waste" - Chingy
Tim
Saturday, August 16, 2008
Okay,
The first post.
Long overdue. I apologize (mom).
Oh boy, how to wrap it up? Put it all into a few quick sentences?
Okay, how about this: expensive
Here's another: underdeveloped
How can the two co-exist do you ask? Probably rampant, flagrant corruption. All I know is it's certainly not a backpacker's panacea. In fact I think I may have seen only 2 backpackers in my week and a half here, and I'm not certain that they weren't some kids on a mission trip taking a weekend trip.
Well, being the only backpacker around is mighty fine for authenticity and everything - I want to be in the REAL Kenya without all those WHITE tourists - but that's not what it is. No no. The white people are here, but only for a week or two and almost entirely to be carted from place to place in a private van and taken to their hotel and then to watch some wild animals defecate while they snap pictures and then maybe over to some curio shops so they can say to their friends, "I got this in Africa!". The tourist market in East Africa is simply for those looking to burn $6,000 in a week or two.
Have I met interesting foreigners? One, and she placed in my mind the question that has been nagging me since I arrived. (More to come)
Can I do things on the fly? Maybe a bus ride but that's about it.
Can I do things on the cheap? For food and lodging it's possible, but not for many activities.
And there's where the real icing on the cake comes. Maybe some things are cheap here - but you have to fight for it every step of the way. It helps that I can speak some Swahili, but if a Kenyan sees a white face they think it's completely acceptable to try to charge you double or triple or more. In the places of interest (National Museums, old ruins, old fortresses) this practice is institutionalized - you pay 800 to 1000% more for a ticket if you're a foreigner). People say, well, it's money that's going to the government and it's a large source of income - and it is, but let's talk about accountability? How is it spent? How many government agents got weekend trips or bar tabs or more? When I first arrived I was friendly, replying to everyone's Jambo. Coming over when beckoned etc. At the first hostel I stayed at I helped a guard who said his wife was sick with typhoid and malaria. I bought the necessary medication and gave it to him (it cost about $16).
But now, I've experienced that 1 times out of 20 maybe 50 a person is friendly because they want something from you.
Here's a fun anecdote:
I went to this beach town called Diani south of Mombassa for a day or 2. The place I visited was from a recommendation from a group of Irish missionaries working in Nairobi. I get there, and, of course, there's no one around. There's 4 local guys who work there, but that's about it. 40, 60 rooms - no one. So I go to the beach and I meet some guys who are friendly. They say, "Buy something", I say, "I don't really want any of it." Then they say, "but we are hungry, there's no tourists here because of the violence". So, I feel sorry for them. I feel like helping them out. I take them to a local stand where we eat beans, ugali and chapati. I buy their meals - in total about $10. Then they take me back to their village, they show me different plants and their uses, I buy us some coconut alcohol to drink, they talk about how the government takes village land and then sells it to foreigners to develop. Land that they used to farm and land that they used to live on. They talk about how the Big Fish always eats the Little Fish.
So, by now I'm thinking these guys are pretty cool; they cut me a coconut, we talk about different swahili music artists. I'm trying to think of some way to help these guys out; I ask them about charcoal made from corn cobs - maybe I could do some sort of a start-up here? Maybe I could do a village restaurant - for some tourist - created authenticity - anyways, after about 3 hours they take me to their village tree where they have meetings and tell me that they do these "tours" all the time and foreigners usually give them some money. I'm suprised, but i ask them to tally it up.
They want 3,500 Ksh - that's about $53 for a 3 hour "tour" I thought was me making friends. As we walk back I'm weighing my options. I'm a little paranoid from the "local flavors" they offered me and i'm thinking maybe they'll try to take the money if I don't give it to them. So I go back to the hotel and ask some people what to do; I finally give them 100 Ksh ($1.40) in total. They shame me and say they can't believe it, but I walk away. Then, over the course of the next few days I think to myself - was i being selfish? Did I cheat them? But all I can say is - no, those guys were assholes - they never told me what was involved - that was extortion.
And that's how it's gone.
I met a girl in Mombasa etc. etc. Are we friends? Even if I buy your meals? How do I know?
Money always muddies the waters of friendship.
So, I met this lady last night who has backpacked extensively - although she's only here for a spa-tour, and I asked her, "Why do the Kenyans think it's alright to overcharge me? Why does any "friend" always want something from me? In other places I've dealt with that, but never on this scale." And she had a simple answer - Racism. If they treat you different based on the color of your skin, that's racism. So, what am I to believe. Are they all racists? Is it fair to say that from a positionof privelige?
Here's what I can say, the country is poor, and i think so much of it has to do with their attitude. It's "get as much as I can right now". The government takes land from people so they can get some quick money for a new car or a trip abroad. The people use pity to leverage money out of foreigners pockets. I'm sure people do it to each other as well I just don't know how yet. Here they talk about Umoja - unity and Undugu - Brotherhood, but they act on self-interest, not in the capitalist way where people's diverse activities are co-ordinated by markets to produce surplus for society, no, they work piecemeal, un-coordinated, trying to get what little they can, when they can - bribes, pity, extortion or overcharging - and that's what keeps them poor.
There's the dark, hateful thoughts that have been tumbling around in my brain
When I go out drinking, I like toasting to something very un-P.C. like "Kill all the whales" - it's good for a cheap laugh.
Here goes another:
Here's to disillusionment and racism in Kenya.
The first post.
Long overdue. I apologize (mom).
Mmboy, i'm sure in a bit of a bad mood right now.
So i'll be a little more brutal than is probably accurate.
Oh boy, how to wrap it up? Put it all into a few quick sentences?
Okay, how about this: expensive
Here's another: underdeveloped
How can the two co-exist do you ask? Probably rampant, flagrant corruption. All I know is it's certainly not a backpacker's panacea. In fact I think I may have seen only 2 backpackers in my week and a half here, and I'm not certain that they weren't some kids on a mission trip taking a weekend trip.
Well, being the only backpacker around is mighty fine for authenticity and everything - I want to be in the REAL Kenya without all those WHITE tourists - but that's not what it is. No no. The white people are here, but only for a week or two and almost entirely to be carted from place to place in a private van and taken to their hotel and then to watch some wild animals defecate while they snap pictures and then maybe over to some curio shops so they can say to their friends, "I got this in Africa!". The tourist market in East Africa is simply for those looking to burn $6,000 in a week or two.
Have I met interesting foreigners? One, and she placed in my mind the question that has been nagging me since I arrived. (More to come)
Can I do things on the fly? Maybe a bus ride but that's about it.
Can I do things on the cheap? For food and lodging it's possible, but not for many activities.
And there's where the real icing on the cake comes. Maybe some things are cheap here - but you have to fight for it every step of the way. It helps that I can speak some Swahili, but if a Kenyan sees a white face they think it's completely acceptable to try to charge you double or triple or more. In the places of interest (National Museums, old ruins, old fortresses) this practice is institutionalized - you pay 800 to 1000% more for a ticket if you're a foreigner). People say, well, it's money that's going to the government and it's a large source of income - and it is, but let's talk about accountability? How is it spent? How many government agents got weekend trips or bar tabs or more? When I first arrived I was friendly, replying to everyone's Jambo. Coming over when beckoned etc. At the first hostel I stayed at I helped a guard who said his wife was sick with typhoid and malaria. I bought the necessary medication and gave it to him (it cost about $16).
But now, I've experienced that 1 times out of 20 maybe 50 a person is friendly because they want something from you.
Here's a fun anecdote:
I went to this beach town called Diani south of Mombassa for a day or 2. The place I visited was from a recommendation from a group of Irish missionaries working in Nairobi. I get there, and, of course, there's no one around. There's 4 local guys who work there, but that's about it. 40, 60 rooms - no one. So I go to the beach and I meet some guys who are friendly. They say, "Buy something", I say, "I don't really want any of it." Then they say, "but we are hungry, there's no tourists here because of the violence". So, I feel sorry for them. I feel like helping them out. I take them to a local stand where we eat beans, ugali and chapati. I buy their meals - in total about $10. Then they take me back to their village, they show me different plants and their uses, I buy us some coconut alcohol to drink, they talk about how the government takes village land and then sells it to foreigners to develop. Land that they used to farm and land that they used to live on. They talk about how the Big Fish always eats the Little Fish.
So, by now I'm thinking these guys are pretty cool; they cut me a coconut, we talk about different swahili music artists. I'm trying to think of some way to help these guys out; I ask them about charcoal made from corn cobs - maybe I could do some sort of a start-up here? Maybe I could do a village restaurant - for some tourist - created authenticity - anyways, after about 3 hours they take me to their village tree where they have meetings and tell me that they do these "tours" all the time and foreigners usually give them some money. I'm suprised, but i ask them to tally it up.
They want 3,500 Ksh - that's about $53 for a 3 hour "tour" I thought was me making friends. As we walk back I'm weighing my options. I'm a little paranoid from the "local flavors" they offered me and i'm thinking maybe they'll try to take the money if I don't give it to them. So I go back to the hotel and ask some people what to do; I finally give them 100 Ksh ($1.40) in total. They shame me and say they can't believe it, but I walk away. Then, over the course of the next few days I think to myself - was i being selfish? Did I cheat them? But all I can say is - no, those guys were assholes - they never told me what was involved - that was extortion.
And that's how it's gone.
I met a girl in Mombasa etc. etc. Are we friends? Even if I buy your meals? How do I know?
Money always muddies the waters of friendship.
So, I met this lady last night who has backpacked extensively - although she's only here for a spa-tour, and I asked her, "Why do the Kenyans think it's alright to overcharge me? Why does any "friend" always want something from me? In other places I've dealt with that, but never on this scale." And she had a simple answer - Racism. If they treat you different based on the color of your skin, that's racism. So, what am I to believe. Are they all racists? Is it fair to say that from a positionof privelige?
Here's what I can say, the country is poor, and i think so much of it has to do with their attitude. It's "get as much as I can right now". The government takes land from people so they can get some quick money for a new car or a trip abroad. The people use pity to leverage money out of foreigners pockets. I'm sure people do it to each other as well I just don't know how yet. Here they talk about Umoja - unity and Undugu - Brotherhood, but they act on self-interest, not in the capitalist way where people's diverse activities are co-ordinated by markets to produce surplus for society, no, they work piecemeal, un-coordinated, trying to get what little they can, when they can - bribes, pity, extortion or overcharging - and that's what keeps them poor.
There's the dark, hateful thoughts that have been tumbling around in my brain
When I go out drinking, I like toasting to something very un-P.C. like "Kill all the whales" - it's good for a cheap laugh.
Here goes another:
Here's to disillusionment and racism in Kenya.
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