One of the things I love about Africa is that an experience I would be talking about for months at home is just one more day here. Opportunities that would never come up at home happen all the time.
For example, two Thursdays ago I went with two other volunteers to Kabale Hospital where we helped out for the day in the operating room. Not everyone's cup of tea, but it was an amazing experience. None of us were qualified health care professionals, but we learned quickly. And we weren't entrusted with anything too arduous, just getting gauze and syringes and that sort of thing. The surgeons were very good, and arrogant and darkly sarcastic like surgeons all over the world I think. They often conversed with the patients during the surgeries, all but one of which were conducted under local anesthetic, and were very amusing. The one surgery that was done with general anesthetic (a man had fractured his leg and it had not been set so it was healed badly and was getting infected) he did not fall all the way asleep and we had to hold him down. I privately decided not to get any operations while I'm here. I have a really great picture of the three of us in our scrubs.
What we couldn't get over was how we would never have been able to do something like that at home. Not without extensive training. I'm sure it had a lot to do with us being white, but it still goes to show how easy incredible opportunities are to come by.
Another example: last week I helped teaching English in a grade 1 class. I was not planning on it, but the teacher pulled me in and told me to go ahead. Imagine 60 small black faces looking up at you expecting you to teach them something, when you don't have a clue what to do. We started talking about the weather and I drew some different pictures on the board and got them to repeat teh names of clouds, sun, etc. Then I got them to name various objects and actions, such as stirring a pot and asking them what I was doing ("you are cooking!"). Then they sang me a couple English songs they knew and I left.
This last week, we painted two of the classrooms at Kyabahinga Primary School where we conduct workshops two days a week. We did a couple layers of white, and then got the kids to put their handprints around the room in various colours. It was great fun. When we still had some time left before break, the children did a traditional dance for us, which we joined in on as we figured it out. They sang and clapped in time while a few danced. It was really special. None of those children have electricity in their homes, no radios or TVs, no CD players or iPods, but they are certainly not music deprived.
This week in swimming lessons, I helped teach a group of grade 6 girls the breast stroke. I'm getting the hang of teaching swimming and we had a really awesome lesson plan figured out. By the end, a bunch of them were really doing it.
It feels really good to see successes like that, and so much better when you know you had to figure it out on your own. At home, it would take a lot of training to be able to teach swimming, or design workshops for children or help manage a program for a non-profit organization. Here you are thrown in, and it can be daunting, but its amazing when you find out that you are up to the challenge. People believe you can do it here, so you do. At home, I think we are conditioned to assume we cannot do something until we are properly trained and ready, but I think we would all be surprised at how fast we can learn when we need to.
This week I am taking some time off and going to Tanzania, where some friends of mine are holding a conference. They asked me to do a workshop there, then I'll hang out in Tanzania for the week and head back to Uganda next weekend. When I get back, a bunch of the volunteers who I have gotten to know over the last few weeks will be gone and new ones will be here. I'm going to miss them. As I haven't mentioned them much, I would like to write a post introducing you to them. It'll be something for me to remember them by as well. And I think you'll like them. I have a pretty horrible busride ahead of me, so I'm going to go get some sleep.
I'll write again very soon.
Monday, June 9, 2008
Tuesday, June 3, 2008
Leaving Again - part three (of three)
I am on a roll! I know its only been a couple of days, but I have a holiday today, and I'm in town, and the internet and electricity are both functional, so I cannot pass up this opportunity.
So where was I? Leaving Mombasa. I think one of the most difficult thing about traveling is meeting new people and getting to know them and then having to leave. The great thing about traveling on your own is that you really get a chance to branch out and meet people adn have experiences you wouldn't have if you always stayed with the same group. The bad thing is that once you move on, you're alone again.
Bobo accompanied me to Nairobi, cause he had to visit his cousin who had been jailed for accidentally buying a stolen car, and to help look after the cousin's wife and children. I said a difficult goodbye to him before getting on the bus to Kampala, and gave him a bit of money to get a passport. There are no jobs in Mombasa and he doesn't make much, but he wants to go somewhere where there is work os he can help support his family, especially his mom who has lost her job and is living in th slums. I told him maybe he could come and visit Uganda if he gets his passport before I leave, and if he can get the $40 for a bus ticket.
The ride to Kampala was hair raising. Including Momasa to Nairobi, I was on the bus for 26 hours, during which the bus driver rarely stopped long enough for the bathroom let alone food, and twice left without me, once when I went to pee and once at the border where I was arguing about the abysmal exchange rate and ended up paying the official almost twice as much for my Visa as I should have. Luckily they stopped not too far away and I was able to catch up within 15 or 20 minutes both times. Very luckily as my bags were still n board.
The road was also not very good and we were often jolted around in our seats, or tipped alarmingly as we passed petroleum tankers on the shoulder. A few times, I was holding onto the seat waiting for the thing to tip right over. Luckily I couldn't see the driver, so I could tell myself that he knew what he was doing.
I got to Kampala at about 11pm, with no guidebook (I lost it the day I got mugged in Mombasa), no Ungandan money, and not knowing anyone there. I got off the bus last, and a little nervously. A taxi driver saw me and said "Ahhhh! Mzungu, where are you going? Backpacker's?" I said yes, and went to collect my bag. I had to stop at the bank machine to get some cash, and I am glad to say that the man did not drive away with my luggage in the back seat. I stayed the night in the backpackers and got a ride to the bus station the next morning so I could get to Kabale. The receptionist had heard of Edirisa and told me it was run by Slovenians and I'd better not become a communist down there. I also met some other travelers and studnets there and a couple of American soldiers who were on their way to the Congo. I had some interesting conversations.
After another 8 hours on a seriously crowded bus, I arrived at Edirisa in Kabale, a small but clean and well-equipped hostel. I met some of the staff there and was told I would have to wait until they could meet and figure out the whole missing LFA thing. I had some food and spent the night there. For 5000 shillings which is a little under $3 Canadian.
The next day I went to the lake where many of the international volunteers and local staff live. It is indeed a commune, though there are only two or three Slovenians. It is ridiculously gorgeous there.
I was actually quite taken aback by the climate in Uganda. After the hot, dry coast, the lush greenness, coolness and hilliness were quite surprising. Its amazing to see the forests of Papyrus and Banana trees and the rolling hills covered with crops and dotted with farm houses. It rains often and is cold enough to wear a fleece jacket, especially in the evening. Lake Bunonyi (which means Lake of small birds in the local language, Ruchiga) is very quiet and calm and the view from the commune is incredible.
I moved my stuff into a small terra cotta house near the lake thatched with Papyrus. There was not very many people about, but I explored the place. They have three of four traditional dugout canoes and a a floating dock, a make-shift pool in the lake for swimming lessons, a canteen and a kitchen with minimal electricity that comes from a solar panel, a bar (that's right, with beer and everything), and several more huts where people sleep.
I am happy to say that my stuff is still in that my stuff is still in that hut. I was allowed to stay even though I had no training. That weekend, I made up for it in part by going with a few other new volunteers on a canoe trek around the lake, visiting some of the islands and small villages nearby. That was really amazing and I thankfully got a lot of pictures from both my camera and the others'. I also got to know John, from Ireland, Jamie and Carson, also from Vancouver!, and Moses, the local who was our guide. It felt strange to be in the company of Westerners again. All of my time adapting to Kenyan culture made me feel like a bit of an outsider there with both the locals and the Mzungus. I am over that now, but I still feel the separation of my white friends and I from the local Mchiga culture. I don't think there is much to be done about that while I am saying with Edirisa. At least, I am getting to know some of the local staff.
For the last week and a half, I have been helping with the Smiles program doing creative workshops with primary school kids near the lake. Last week we taught hygene, this week art and next week will be games and sports. The kids are amazingly cute and excited to learn as long as we can keep their attention. They love the Mzungu teachers. We also teach swimming, which many of the kids can't do despite the fact that they cross the lake on canoes daily. I don't really know how to teach swimming, especially to children that don't necessarily speak English, but they are eager to learn and we do our best. It can be quite rewarding actually.
I've learned about the commune as I go, helping to cook, doing laundry and looking after the compound. When I have free time, I take the 45 minute ride into Kabale and run errants, use the internet, and go out for food and drinks with the other volunteers. It is relaxed and social and fun.
Well, that about sums up my adventures to date. I'm going to continue with workshops and swimming lessons until more volunteers arrive min-month, at which point I will probably more on to another program. More news on that as events warrant.
So where was I? Leaving Mombasa. I think one of the most difficult thing about traveling is meeting new people and getting to know them and then having to leave. The great thing about traveling on your own is that you really get a chance to branch out and meet people adn have experiences you wouldn't have if you always stayed with the same group. The bad thing is that once you move on, you're alone again.
Bobo accompanied me to Nairobi, cause he had to visit his cousin who had been jailed for accidentally buying a stolen car, and to help look after the cousin's wife and children. I said a difficult goodbye to him before getting on the bus to Kampala, and gave him a bit of money to get a passport. There are no jobs in Mombasa and he doesn't make much, but he wants to go somewhere where there is work os he can help support his family, especially his mom who has lost her job and is living in th slums. I told him maybe he could come and visit Uganda if he gets his passport before I leave, and if he can get the $40 for a bus ticket.
The ride to Kampala was hair raising. Including Momasa to Nairobi, I was on the bus for 26 hours, during which the bus driver rarely stopped long enough for the bathroom let alone food, and twice left without me, once when I went to pee and once at the border where I was arguing about the abysmal exchange rate and ended up paying the official almost twice as much for my Visa as I should have. Luckily they stopped not too far away and I was able to catch up within 15 or 20 minutes both times. Very luckily as my bags were still n board.
The road was also not very good and we were often jolted around in our seats, or tipped alarmingly as we passed petroleum tankers on the shoulder. A few times, I was holding onto the seat waiting for the thing to tip right over. Luckily I couldn't see the driver, so I could tell myself that he knew what he was doing.
I got to Kampala at about 11pm, with no guidebook (I lost it the day I got mugged in Mombasa), no Ungandan money, and not knowing anyone there. I got off the bus last, and a little nervously. A taxi driver saw me and said "Ahhhh! Mzungu, where are you going? Backpacker's?" I said yes, and went to collect my bag. I had to stop at the bank machine to get some cash, and I am glad to say that the man did not drive away with my luggage in the back seat. I stayed the night in the backpackers and got a ride to the bus station the next morning so I could get to Kabale. The receptionist had heard of Edirisa and told me it was run by Slovenians and I'd better not become a communist down there. I also met some other travelers and studnets there and a couple of American soldiers who were on their way to the Congo. I had some interesting conversations.
After another 8 hours on a seriously crowded bus, I arrived at Edirisa in Kabale, a small but clean and well-equipped hostel. I met some of the staff there and was told I would have to wait until they could meet and figure out the whole missing LFA thing. I had some food and spent the night there. For 5000 shillings which is a little under $3 Canadian.
The next day I went to the lake where many of the international volunteers and local staff live. It is indeed a commune, though there are only two or three Slovenians. It is ridiculously gorgeous there.
I was actually quite taken aback by the climate in Uganda. After the hot, dry coast, the lush greenness, coolness and hilliness were quite surprising. Its amazing to see the forests of Papyrus and Banana trees and the rolling hills covered with crops and dotted with farm houses. It rains often and is cold enough to wear a fleece jacket, especially in the evening. Lake Bunonyi (which means Lake of small birds in the local language, Ruchiga) is very quiet and calm and the view from the commune is incredible.
I moved my stuff into a small terra cotta house near the lake thatched with Papyrus. There was not very many people about, but I explored the place. They have three of four traditional dugout canoes and a a floating dock, a make-shift pool in the lake for swimming lessons, a canteen and a kitchen with minimal electricity that comes from a solar panel, a bar (that's right, with beer and everything), and several more huts where people sleep.
I am happy to say that my stuff is still in that my stuff is still in that hut. I was allowed to stay even though I had no training. That weekend, I made up for it in part by going with a few other new volunteers on a canoe trek around the lake, visiting some of the islands and small villages nearby. That was really amazing and I thankfully got a lot of pictures from both my camera and the others'. I also got to know John, from Ireland, Jamie and Carson, also from Vancouver!, and Moses, the local who was our guide. It felt strange to be in the company of Westerners again. All of my time adapting to Kenyan culture made me feel like a bit of an outsider there with both the locals and the Mzungus. I am over that now, but I still feel the separation of my white friends and I from the local Mchiga culture. I don't think there is much to be done about that while I am saying with Edirisa. At least, I am getting to know some of the local staff.
For the last week and a half, I have been helping with the Smiles program doing creative workshops with primary school kids near the lake. Last week we taught hygene, this week art and next week will be games and sports. The kids are amazingly cute and excited to learn as long as we can keep their attention. They love the Mzungu teachers. We also teach swimming, which many of the kids can't do despite the fact that they cross the lake on canoes daily. I don't really know how to teach swimming, especially to children that don't necessarily speak English, but they are eager to learn and we do our best. It can be quite rewarding actually.
I've learned about the commune as I go, helping to cook, doing laundry and looking after the compound. When I have free time, I take the 45 minute ride into Kabale and run errants, use the internet, and go out for food and drinks with the other volunteers. It is relaxed and social and fun.
Well, that about sums up my adventures to date. I'm going to continue with workshops and swimming lessons until more volunteers arrive min-month, at which point I will probably more on to another program. More news on that as events warrant.
Sunday, June 1, 2008
Leaving Again - part two
The internet is working today, so time for another entry.
I believe I left off with going to Katherine's village on my last week in Mombasa. I really want to tell you a bit about that. Pictures would be best of course but my luck with pictures in Mombasa was beyond abysmal. But first things first.
Katherine's parents live in a village about two hours' bus (matatu) ride from Mombasa. They have a clean house with a palm-frond roof, two bedrooms, a store room and a dining room. They cook on a gas stove outside and the shower room and toilet were in separate small buildings. Because they had a gas stove, we were able to heat up some water for showering, which was incredibly relaxing. I hadn't had a hot shower in...um... Anyway, we did a little tour of the village, and I got to meet everybody. A lot of them were related to Katherine, whose grandfather (now passed away) had had three wives. We got to visit a mother with a newly born baby and took turns holding it and exclaiming over its cuteness.
There were a lot of kids in the village who wore disheveled school uniforms or ripped, dirty pants and dresses. Some of the families had difficulty feeding their children and Katherine's mom would feed them tea and bread in the wornings. One family in particular consisted of a bunch of children whose parents had died of AIDS and their grandmother who looked after them. The oldest boy made money for the family taking other people's animals out to graze everyday. He was about 13.
The Fondos owned a Shamba outside the village, which is an area of land in the surrounding forest of coconut trees, that a family can cultivate. We spent most of the morning after our arrival in the Shamba eating sugar cane, drinking the liquid from unripe coconuts and walking around to visit the people who lived close by. They also grew mangoes, oranges, bananas and pinaples, which were not ready, and maize, rice and casava in small plots. we took some sugar cane and casava back with us. What I liked the most was the fresh palm wine (mnazi) that the village boys would climb up the trees to collect. It is sweet and fizzy, unlike the more bitter palm wine we drank in the city. The longer it sits, the more bitter it becomes. We brouht some back to Mombasa at the request of Bobo and Jay, my housemates.
We were delayed in coming home because the Matatu never came, and we ended up calling Katherine's brother for a ride. We got home very late, and went to Katherine's where we met Bobo and Jay. Katherine's housegirl had cooked us dinner which we ate and then sat outside near the chicken coops drinking the wine we had gotten. I got eaten alive by the mosquitos.
The two days in the village were work-free because my colleague at WOFAK had told me he didn't need me. It turned out that Kodonde, the regional director had been expecting me in tthe office the second day. That was the beginning of a stressful few days.
I phoned and apologized profusely to Kodonde, feeling unprofessional, and told him I would be in with my final report on Sunday. That gace me two days to write it, but I didn't want to tell him I'd send it later cause I was already feeling guilty for missing my meeting with him (and supposedly some other people who had come to say goodbye to me). I spent Friday and Saturday evenings compiling a 12-page report of my entire stay with WOFAK and missed the Saturday night festivities cooped inside typing on a borrowed laptop until after 1am.
Meanwhile, I e-mailed Edirisa in Uganda to find out where I had to be in Kampala on Monday. A woman named Angelica promtly replied telling me that I had gotten the date wrong and was supposed to be there a week ago. I had missed the training and was not at all sure I would still have a position there. So I got a little more stressed.
The only upside of the whole thing was I gave myself an extra day in Mombasa to get my report in and say goodbye. I booked a ticket to Kampala for Monday night. I finished my report early Sunday afternoon, and went with everyone to a local soccer match. They were drinking and I joined in. After all, this was the last afternoon I would probably spend with everyone. In fact, by this point, leaving was starting to sink in and I felt pretty sad. I had gotten to know all these people really well. They had accepted me into their lives for the last month, which was an experience I could never have imagined before it happened. Just thinking about leaving the place I had gotten to love in Chuda, Katherine and my conversations about everything, Mweni and Bonge's pub in Mtwapa, Jay's crazy, bubbly personality, Bobo's shy enthusiasm under his tough exterior, and all the Ruff Howz gang who I had had some great conversations with and who had gotten me out of more than one tight spot... I knew I would miss them all. Even though it was strange to be a Mzungu in that setting, I felt like I really belonged there.
After the game Bobo and I, his friend Pain and a couple of girls Pain was entertaining went to a bar. I had a beer there, which was officially a bad idea. At some point in the evening, I dropped my camera amd had to put the batteries back in. The next morning, my memory card was missing. It did nothing to make my leaving easier. All the photos from weeks of working and living there, being in Katherine's village, all the faces I wanted to remember... Now I had to leave and I didn't even have the pictures to remember them by. That sounds melodramatic, but I was really upset. Still am, actually.
I wanted to go back and retrace our steps the next day, but Bobo told me, quite reasonably, "This is Africa, Bana." It wasn't the first time he'd said that.
I think, all in all, that the powers that be did not want me to leave Mombasa and made it as difficult as possible. But even if I had wanted to stay, I didn't have the money and Edirisa was offering free accommodation and food for up to three months (assuming I could still work there). I told them I would try to come back and visit before heading home in August.
And so ends part two. A mong part, I think, but as Ian wisely advised me, writing about what happened in Mombasa will help make up for the lack of photo documentation. I did take a few photos on the last day, and I will do my best to get them up online soon.
Thanks for reading!
I believe I left off with going to Katherine's village on my last week in Mombasa. I really want to tell you a bit about that. Pictures would be best of course but my luck with pictures in Mombasa was beyond abysmal. But first things first.
Katherine's parents live in a village about two hours' bus (matatu) ride from Mombasa. They have a clean house with a palm-frond roof, two bedrooms, a store room and a dining room. They cook on a gas stove outside and the shower room and toilet were in separate small buildings. Because they had a gas stove, we were able to heat up some water for showering, which was incredibly relaxing. I hadn't had a hot shower in...um... Anyway, we did a little tour of the village, and I got to meet everybody. A lot of them were related to Katherine, whose grandfather (now passed away) had had three wives. We got to visit a mother with a newly born baby and took turns holding it and exclaiming over its cuteness.
There were a lot of kids in the village who wore disheveled school uniforms or ripped, dirty pants and dresses. Some of the families had difficulty feeding their children and Katherine's mom would feed them tea and bread in the wornings. One family in particular consisted of a bunch of children whose parents had died of AIDS and their grandmother who looked after them. The oldest boy made money for the family taking other people's animals out to graze everyday. He was about 13.
The Fondos owned a Shamba outside the village, which is an area of land in the surrounding forest of coconut trees, that a family can cultivate. We spent most of the morning after our arrival in the Shamba eating sugar cane, drinking the liquid from unripe coconuts and walking around to visit the people who lived close by. They also grew mangoes, oranges, bananas and pinaples, which were not ready, and maize, rice and casava in small plots. we took some sugar cane and casava back with us. What I liked the most was the fresh palm wine (mnazi) that the village boys would climb up the trees to collect. It is sweet and fizzy, unlike the more bitter palm wine we drank in the city. The longer it sits, the more bitter it becomes. We brouht some back to Mombasa at the request of Bobo and Jay, my housemates.
We were delayed in coming home because the Matatu never came, and we ended up calling Katherine's brother for a ride. We got home very late, and went to Katherine's where we met Bobo and Jay. Katherine's housegirl had cooked us dinner which we ate and then sat outside near the chicken coops drinking the wine we had gotten. I got eaten alive by the mosquitos.
The two days in the village were work-free because my colleague at WOFAK had told me he didn't need me. It turned out that Kodonde, the regional director had been expecting me in tthe office the second day. That was the beginning of a stressful few days.
I phoned and apologized profusely to Kodonde, feeling unprofessional, and told him I would be in with my final report on Sunday. That gace me two days to write it, but I didn't want to tell him I'd send it later cause I was already feeling guilty for missing my meeting with him (and supposedly some other people who had come to say goodbye to me). I spent Friday and Saturday evenings compiling a 12-page report of my entire stay with WOFAK and missed the Saturday night festivities cooped inside typing on a borrowed laptop until after 1am.
Meanwhile, I e-mailed Edirisa in Uganda to find out where I had to be in Kampala on Monday. A woman named Angelica promtly replied telling me that I had gotten the date wrong and was supposed to be there a week ago. I had missed the training and was not at all sure I would still have a position there. So I got a little more stressed.
The only upside of the whole thing was I gave myself an extra day in Mombasa to get my report in and say goodbye. I booked a ticket to Kampala for Monday night. I finished my report early Sunday afternoon, and went with everyone to a local soccer match. They were drinking and I joined in. After all, this was the last afternoon I would probably spend with everyone. In fact, by this point, leaving was starting to sink in and I felt pretty sad. I had gotten to know all these people really well. They had accepted me into their lives for the last month, which was an experience I could never have imagined before it happened. Just thinking about leaving the place I had gotten to love in Chuda, Katherine and my conversations about everything, Mweni and Bonge's pub in Mtwapa, Jay's crazy, bubbly personality, Bobo's shy enthusiasm under his tough exterior, and all the Ruff Howz gang who I had had some great conversations with and who had gotten me out of more than one tight spot... I knew I would miss them all. Even though it was strange to be a Mzungu in that setting, I felt like I really belonged there.
After the game Bobo and I, his friend Pain and a couple of girls Pain was entertaining went to a bar. I had a beer there, which was officially a bad idea. At some point in the evening, I dropped my camera amd had to put the batteries back in. The next morning, my memory card was missing. It did nothing to make my leaving easier. All the photos from weeks of working and living there, being in Katherine's village, all the faces I wanted to remember... Now I had to leave and I didn't even have the pictures to remember them by. That sounds melodramatic, but I was really upset. Still am, actually.
I wanted to go back and retrace our steps the next day, but Bobo told me, quite reasonably, "This is Africa, Bana." It wasn't the first time he'd said that.
I think, all in all, that the powers that be did not want me to leave Mombasa and made it as difficult as possible. But even if I had wanted to stay, I didn't have the money and Edirisa was offering free accommodation and food for up to three months (assuming I could still work there). I told them I would try to come back and visit before heading home in August.
And so ends part two. A mong part, I think, but as Ian wisely advised me, writing about what happened in Mombasa will help make up for the lack of photo documentation. I did take a few photos on the last day, and I will do my best to get them up online soon.
Thanks for reading!
Wednesday, May 21, 2008
Leaving Again - part one
Hi folks. I want to say that I really appreciate when you e-mail me telling me to hurry up and write another installment. I must admit I wondered whether people actually read my blog, but since they do I will make a better effort from now on. I promise. And if I slack off, just keep on asking.
I have so much to say. The last two (three?) weeks have been crazy. And with my friends and my work at WOFAK it's been like two different lives, both of them jam packed. I'll start with When my last entry left off. I was going to Nairobi for a show with my friend Boboshanty. It was a reggae show with an artist called Turbulence (I'm sure some of you know him). It was really fun. I went with Bobo and his friend Jose who is a press photographer and a few of their other friends from Nairobi. Jose sent us a CD of pictures he took the day before the show, so I'll have to try and post those. The next day, we went with Jose and the two announcers from Metro FM, a big radio station in Kenya, to Turbulence's hotel to interview him and his band. The band was pretty special. They're called C Sharp, they have very heavy Jamaican accents and are very good at interviewing. They even sang a couple bits of songs for jingles on the radio. They even agreed to pay Jose for some of the photos of the show cause he's freelance and won't get paid any other way. Turbulence was not as friendly. He brushed Jose off several times, then finally came down from his room for a photo. When Jose offered him the DVD he had made of the show for $140, he got really angry and demanded that he should get one for free because it was his show. Jose explained that he had not been paid for the days of work since Turbulence had arrived in Nairobi, he wouldn't listen and went on about how he would go back to Jamaica and tell them that Kenya didn't love him. Then his people came in and he told them what had happened. They pushed Jose around and stole the DVD. The whole episode was pretty upsetting, and I felt badly for Jose, cause I knew he would not have asked for the money if he didn't need it.
I also lost my camera and phone that weekend. The camera Bobo had gotten back from the thugs at considerable personal risk early that week. He was holding on to both for me at the show cause we both assumed he was less likely to be robbed. No such luck. He said he's never been robbed before, so I figure it was because he was with me. He felt really awful about about it and appologized for several days after that even though I assured him I did not blame him.
The busride home on Sunday night was hair raising, cause the driver went really fast and all the bumps threw us into the air. I was very tired for work the next day.
I spent that week working in a clinic called Port Reitz Health Centre outside Mombasa about 45 minutes on teh way to Jomo Kinyatta Airport. It is the district hospital, so it was significantly better equipped than Likoni, where I spent my second week. Still not quite equipped enough however. I was not giving vaccinations here, but I still felt my lack of medical experience. WOFAK was responsible for the Antenatal Clinic and I helped out there taking information from new patients (mothers) who were being tested for HIV and counseled on preventing mother to child transmission. They also have a Comprehensive Care Clinic (CCC) where people who have HIV are taken, a file is opened for them and they are given appointments for checkups. I helped there weighing and recording and such things, nothing too involving. One of the major differences I noticed from Likoni was that Port Reitz has the capacity to give prescriptions for food and water to to mothers with undernourished babies. The food and water is supplied by USAID, and is pretty amazing, considering malnutrition is one of the most common problems in children with HIV positive mothers (mothers risk transmitting the virus if they breastfeed).
One of the most intense experiences at the hospital was actually the Palliative Ward, which is where they admit people who need serious medical attention, most often because they unknowingly have AIDS and have gotten an opportunistic infection. That is, they have progressed to the late stages of AIDS and have little or no immune system to speak of. Then, a disease like TB, pneumonia, etc, will attack their bodies and hey have no immune system left to fight it off. Before they can start ART (Antiretroviral Therapy) for the AIDS, they have to take treatment for the infection, which can wreak even more havoc on their bodies. The worst part is that the hospital does not have enough trained doctors and some patients can go for days without even being diagnosed. I met a woman there who had gotten TB and came in so emaciated that she couldn't even walk. Another woman was lying in bed trying to breathe with great difficulty. No one knew what was wrong with her. There was a man there who I never saw awake, but his friends would come and visit him and hold his hand. We (the other WOFAK employees and, as much as I could in Swahili, I) talked to them for a while one time about HIV and prevention and ART and they thanked us profusely. It was hard because I wanted to help these people more and I knew they needed it, but all I could do was give my condolences and leave. And when people thanked me, I felt so guilty, because they thought I was there to really do something, really help, when the truth was, I hardly know the first thing about medicine.
The next week, I was supposed to be working with the OVC (Orphans and Vulnerable Children) program, but because of a misunderstanding, I ended up having the week free. I went with my friend Katherine to the village where her parents are living for a couple of days. That was really incredible.
I'm still not even close to caught up, but I have to go. I still want to share with you all about Katherine's village, about my last weekend in Mombasa and my trip to Southern Uganda, where I am now. This will have to be part on, with part two to come in the next few days. I am living outside of town and can't always get to the internet. Plus if I wrote it tomorrow, you wouldn't have time to read this past first. I promise I will write it as soon as I can, though. Thanks again for your interest. You're all awesome!
Georgia
I have so much to say. The last two (three?) weeks have been crazy. And with my friends and my work at WOFAK it's been like two different lives, both of them jam packed. I'll start with When my last entry left off. I was going to Nairobi for a show with my friend Boboshanty. It was a reggae show with an artist called Turbulence (I'm sure some of you know him). It was really fun. I went with Bobo and his friend Jose who is a press photographer and a few of their other friends from Nairobi. Jose sent us a CD of pictures he took the day before the show, so I'll have to try and post those. The next day, we went with Jose and the two announcers from Metro FM, a big radio station in Kenya, to Turbulence's hotel to interview him and his band. The band was pretty special. They're called C Sharp, they have very heavy Jamaican accents and are very good at interviewing. They even sang a couple bits of songs for jingles on the radio. They even agreed to pay Jose for some of the photos of the show cause he's freelance and won't get paid any other way. Turbulence was not as friendly. He brushed Jose off several times, then finally came down from his room for a photo. When Jose offered him the DVD he had made of the show for $140, he got really angry and demanded that he should get one for free because it was his show. Jose explained that he had not been paid for the days of work since Turbulence had arrived in Nairobi, he wouldn't listen and went on about how he would go back to Jamaica and tell them that Kenya didn't love him. Then his people came in and he told them what had happened. They pushed Jose around and stole the DVD. The whole episode was pretty upsetting, and I felt badly for Jose, cause I knew he would not have asked for the money if he didn't need it.
I also lost my camera and phone that weekend. The camera Bobo had gotten back from the thugs at considerable personal risk early that week. He was holding on to both for me at the show cause we both assumed he was less likely to be robbed. No such luck. He said he's never been robbed before, so I figure it was because he was with me. He felt really awful about about it and appologized for several days after that even though I assured him I did not blame him.
The busride home on Sunday night was hair raising, cause the driver went really fast and all the bumps threw us into the air. I was very tired for work the next day.
I spent that week working in a clinic called Port Reitz Health Centre outside Mombasa about 45 minutes on teh way to Jomo Kinyatta Airport. It is the district hospital, so it was significantly better equipped than Likoni, where I spent my second week. Still not quite equipped enough however. I was not giving vaccinations here, but I still felt my lack of medical experience. WOFAK was responsible for the Antenatal Clinic and I helped out there taking information from new patients (mothers) who were being tested for HIV and counseled on preventing mother to child transmission. They also have a Comprehensive Care Clinic (CCC) where people who have HIV are taken, a file is opened for them and they are given appointments for checkups. I helped there weighing and recording and such things, nothing too involving. One of the major differences I noticed from Likoni was that Port Reitz has the capacity to give prescriptions for food and water to to mothers with undernourished babies. The food and water is supplied by USAID, and is pretty amazing, considering malnutrition is one of the most common problems in children with HIV positive mothers (mothers risk transmitting the virus if they breastfeed).
One of the most intense experiences at the hospital was actually the Palliative Ward, which is where they admit people who need serious medical attention, most often because they unknowingly have AIDS and have gotten an opportunistic infection. That is, they have progressed to the late stages of AIDS and have little or no immune system to speak of. Then, a disease like TB, pneumonia, etc, will attack their bodies and hey have no immune system left to fight it off. Before they can start ART (Antiretroviral Therapy) for the AIDS, they have to take treatment for the infection, which can wreak even more havoc on their bodies. The worst part is that the hospital does not have enough trained doctors and some patients can go for days without even being diagnosed. I met a woman there who had gotten TB and came in so emaciated that she couldn't even walk. Another woman was lying in bed trying to breathe with great difficulty. No one knew what was wrong with her. There was a man there who I never saw awake, but his friends would come and visit him and hold his hand. We (the other WOFAK employees and, as much as I could in Swahili, I) talked to them for a while one time about HIV and prevention and ART and they thanked us profusely. It was hard because I wanted to help these people more and I knew they needed it, but all I could do was give my condolences and leave. And when people thanked me, I felt so guilty, because they thought I was there to really do something, really help, when the truth was, I hardly know the first thing about medicine.
The next week, I was supposed to be working with the OVC (Orphans and Vulnerable Children) program, but because of a misunderstanding, I ended up having the week free. I went with my friend Katherine to the village where her parents are living for a couple of days. That was really incredible.
I'm still not even close to caught up, but I have to go. I still want to share with you all about Katherine's village, about my last weekend in Mombasa and my trip to Southern Uganda, where I am now. This will have to be part on, with part two to come in the next few days. I am living outside of town and can't always get to the internet. Plus if I wrote it tomorrow, you wouldn't have time to read this past first. I promise I will write it as soon as I can, though. Thanks again for your interest. You're all awesome!
Georgia
Friday, May 2, 2008
Hey everyone!
The internet seems to be working marginally well today, so I'm going to attempt a post. Sometimes, I write a whole big thing and then it doesn't send, so I hope it works out today.
I have a lot to report, cause I know it's been awhile, so I'll start with after my "run in" in Chuda. The next day, as I mentioned, I noticed that my camera had disappeared. Moses, who had brought me to a hotel when I was scared and lost the day before, had left me his phone number, I called him to see if he knew anything about the camera. I had deduced that I original thief had not had the time or wherewithall to stash my camera, so it must have been one of the soccer players that rescued my bag who had slipped the camera out inbetween. Hypocritical, but like Moses says sometimes, "People here in Africa, they do whatever they want."
He told me that he had heard a rumor that someone had it, and he would look into it. In the meantime, he took me back to Chuda, where I got to meet some of his friends. You might think I'm crazy for going back there, and I thought so too for a bit, but if you met him, you would know I was safe. He's a good guy. Anyway, his friends are a gang of 20-something guys that call themselves Ruff Houz. Because that's graffitied on the concrete wall at the place where they hang out all the time. They each have a nickname like rappers in the States, and crazy handshakes and slang sayings like What's up, but in Swahili. Hapo vipi? Hapo poa! Nicofresh lakini? Nicofresh. Moses is called Bobo Shanti, because of his dreads. His roommate is J, then there's Prince, Pudus (which means well dressed), Bonge (which means fatty), etc etc. A lot of them have girlfriends and wives who I've also gotten to know. They all go to the clubs on the weekends and try to teach me how to dance (imagine me dancing in a club full of Africans), and sometimes they go down to the water in the slums here in Chuda and drink palm wine. It's good stuff, but it will wreak havoc with your digestive system if you've never had it before. Just a heads up.
But I'm getting ahead of myself. Bobo (Moses) found the guys that had my camera, and tried to get it back, but they wouldn't give it to him (surprise!). He was going to go to the police, but I talked with his friends who told me that he would be in danger if he went to the police, because the thugs would know who tipped them off. And they would not be happy with getting arrested. I didn't want anyone getting killed over it, so I told Bobo not to go to the police. He didn't like it, cause he didn't want to protect them. I didn't like it either cause I didn't want them to get away with it. PLus that's my second camera! But lives are more important than cameras.
So, after a week of staying dowtown and getting to know the gang in Chuda, I recieved word from an organization called WOFAK (Women Fighting AIDS in Kenya) that they wanted me for a one-month internship. They are a really awesome organization, that does work all over the country for people with AIDS, orphans, pregnant mothers who are infected, etc. They do counselling and provide vocational training and funds for a lot of great things. I am super happy to be working with them. I only with I had more than a month, but I've committed to being in Uganda the end of May. I spent the first week of my internship here in Mombasa working at a clinic helping with their program of preventing Mother to Child Transmission (MTCT) of HIV. I was giving shots, filling out charts, helping give out test results, etc etc in teh AnteNatal Clinic. It was nerveracking to have so much responsability when I had no actual medical experience, but I learned quickly and I feel pretty good about that now. The trick is to take your own initiative. If you're worried about hygene cause you have no latex gloves, wash your hands with an alcohol swab, rather than sitting there fretting about it and wondering why someone doesn't tell you what to do. If you've never given a shot before, just think about how they do it on Grey's Anamoy. Or Scrubs. I like that show. But don't worry, there were other nurses there and they helped me out. They were pretty amazing actually. This week, I was helping out with a training seminar for people with HIV to learn how to counsel those who are going for or coming from testing. It's a good group to teach those skills to because they have teh added insight of having been there themselves. Plus it's a good way for them to find work. They were really great people. I'll send a picture if I can sometime.
After my first week of staying downtown, I moved in with J and Bobo. They offered, and it is much cheaper than renting somewhere and having to find furniture and everything. Or staying in a hotel. I've actually quite enjoyed living here so far. There's no running water, so I have to shower out of a bucket, and the toilet is outside. I do all my laundry by hand and cook on a one-burner kerosene stove, which by the way does not simmer. Its a great experience though. The real Mombasa, not what you get in the hotels and tourist hangouts. I stick out there because I'm white, but mostly its good attention. Plus most people know I'm friends with the Ruff Houz gang now so they don't bother me.
Tonight I'm going to Nairobi to spend the weekend. Next week, I start at a hospital in town similar to the one in Likoni I was at two weeks ago. Likoni is an area, like Kerisdale or the North Shore. So is Chuda. Chuda is like East Van.
I'll write again next week, cause I have a lot more I'd like to say about WOFAK and the amazing people I've met in the last two weeks, but there's only so much you can include in one post and this one's pretty packed already.
Talk to you all soon. Have a great start of summer!
Georgia
The internet seems to be working marginally well today, so I'm going to attempt a post. Sometimes, I write a whole big thing and then it doesn't send, so I hope it works out today.
I have a lot to report, cause I know it's been awhile, so I'll start with after my "run in" in Chuda. The next day, as I mentioned, I noticed that my camera had disappeared. Moses, who had brought me to a hotel when I was scared and lost the day before, had left me his phone number, I called him to see if he knew anything about the camera. I had deduced that I original thief had not had the time or wherewithall to stash my camera, so it must have been one of the soccer players that rescued my bag who had slipped the camera out inbetween. Hypocritical, but like Moses says sometimes, "People here in Africa, they do whatever they want."
He told me that he had heard a rumor that someone had it, and he would look into it. In the meantime, he took me back to Chuda, where I got to meet some of his friends. You might think I'm crazy for going back there, and I thought so too for a bit, but if you met him, you would know I was safe. He's a good guy. Anyway, his friends are a gang of 20-something guys that call themselves Ruff Houz. Because that's graffitied on the concrete wall at the place where they hang out all the time. They each have a nickname like rappers in the States, and crazy handshakes and slang sayings like What's up, but in Swahili. Hapo vipi? Hapo poa! Nicofresh lakini? Nicofresh. Moses is called Bobo Shanti, because of his dreads. His roommate is J, then there's Prince, Pudus (which means well dressed), Bonge (which means fatty), etc etc. A lot of them have girlfriends and wives who I've also gotten to know. They all go to the clubs on the weekends and try to teach me how to dance (imagine me dancing in a club full of Africans), and sometimes they go down to the water in the slums here in Chuda and drink palm wine. It's good stuff, but it will wreak havoc with your digestive system if you've never had it before. Just a heads up.
But I'm getting ahead of myself. Bobo (Moses) found the guys that had my camera, and tried to get it back, but they wouldn't give it to him (surprise!). He was going to go to the police, but I talked with his friends who told me that he would be in danger if he went to the police, because the thugs would know who tipped them off. And they would not be happy with getting arrested. I didn't want anyone getting killed over it, so I told Bobo not to go to the police. He didn't like it, cause he didn't want to protect them. I didn't like it either cause I didn't want them to get away with it. PLus that's my second camera! But lives are more important than cameras.
So, after a week of staying dowtown and getting to know the gang in Chuda, I recieved word from an organization called WOFAK (Women Fighting AIDS in Kenya) that they wanted me for a one-month internship. They are a really awesome organization, that does work all over the country for people with AIDS, orphans, pregnant mothers who are infected, etc. They do counselling and provide vocational training and funds for a lot of great things. I am super happy to be working with them. I only with I had more than a month, but I've committed to being in Uganda the end of May. I spent the first week of my internship here in Mombasa working at a clinic helping with their program of preventing Mother to Child Transmission (MTCT) of HIV. I was giving shots, filling out charts, helping give out test results, etc etc in teh AnteNatal Clinic. It was nerveracking to have so much responsability when I had no actual medical experience, but I learned quickly and I feel pretty good about that now. The trick is to take your own initiative. If you're worried about hygene cause you have no latex gloves, wash your hands with an alcohol swab, rather than sitting there fretting about it and wondering why someone doesn't tell you what to do. If you've never given a shot before, just think about how they do it on Grey's Anamoy. Or Scrubs. I like that show. But don't worry, there were other nurses there and they helped me out. They were pretty amazing actually. This week, I was helping out with a training seminar for people with HIV to learn how to counsel those who are going for or coming from testing. It's a good group to teach those skills to because they have teh added insight of having been there themselves. Plus it's a good way for them to find work. They were really great people. I'll send a picture if I can sometime.
After my first week of staying downtown, I moved in with J and Bobo. They offered, and it is much cheaper than renting somewhere and having to find furniture and everything. Or staying in a hotel. I've actually quite enjoyed living here so far. There's no running water, so I have to shower out of a bucket, and the toilet is outside. I do all my laundry by hand and cook on a one-burner kerosene stove, which by the way does not simmer. Its a great experience though. The real Mombasa, not what you get in the hotels and tourist hangouts. I stick out there because I'm white, but mostly its good attention. Plus most people know I'm friends with the Ruff Houz gang now so they don't bother me.
Tonight I'm going to Nairobi to spend the weekend. Next week, I start at a hospital in town similar to the one in Likoni I was at two weeks ago. Likoni is an area, like Kerisdale or the North Shore. So is Chuda. Chuda is like East Van.
I'll write again next week, cause I have a lot more I'd like to say about WOFAK and the amazing people I've met in the last two weeks, but there's only so much you can include in one post and this one's pretty packed already.
Talk to you all soon. Have a great start of summer!
Georgia
Tuesday, April 22, 2008
Did it hurt your mind?
Hey guys.
I know its been awhile again, I've just had so much happen lately. I haven't even written it all in my journal yet. But, I have to start writing about everything now cause otherwise I will get too far ahead to effectively retroactively story tell.
Okay, I'm going to start with the day Steve left. It was April 9th, and Steve had to get back to the realm of peace (Dar es Salaam) for his flight to Australia. I saw him to the bus, then I went back to our hotel so I could pack. I had seen no other Mzungus (white tourists) in Mombasa, and so I decided to head into the town centre to find a different hotel. Like a backpackers hostel or something, where I could hopefully make some friends. Using the map in my Lonely Planet guide, I headed in the direction I thought was town with a great big pack on and a small shoulder bag underneath the shoulder straps. I went the wrong way and ended up in an area of town I now know as Chuda, on the bank of an inlet that extends around Mombasa kind of like the one in Vancouver. I asked for directions and a man pointed me in the direction I had been walking. I kept going and came across a path with a sign that said beach. I decided I would go have a look at the beach and stop for a drink cause I was hot and tired.
I'm realizing right now that I really don't want to talk about this, and I'm procrastinating with all the descriptions. I'm going to cut to the chase.
I got down the path to the brink of a leafy ravine that let down to the water, and I guy came up behind me. He introduced himself and showed me his identity card. Unusual, but whatever. He tried to "help" me with my bag, but I told him no, I was fine. He tried to get into my shoulder bag and I pulled it away glaring at him and telling him no, that was not okay and I want you to let go of my bag. He was blocking my way back, so I pulled away and walked along the edge of the bank and down into the ravine. Stupid, but I honestly wasn't scared until I started hearing him follow me through the bushes. He cut me off with a glass bottle in his hand and said in a harsh voice "I can kill you anytime!" He was right in front of me, and I couldn't do anything cause I had this huge bag on my back. I couldn't even give him my little bag cause it was tucked under the straps, and didn't want to take my attention away from him long enough to take it off. Acting on fear, I grabbed his arm with the bottle and tried to hit him with my other fist, but I had no strength with that stupid bag. We struggled, and he threated to hit me with the bottle. I couldn't think to do anything but protect myself, and I couldn't really even do that. He hit me with the bottle on theside of the head. Hard. I still can't open my mouth all the way two weeks later. I grabbed the bottle and tucked it under my arm and held it there. The man took my shoudl bag and ripped it off, then ran away up the ravine.
Angry and scared, well, mostly scared, I screamed at the top of my lungs. Several times. A confused minute later, a herd of guys who had been playing soccer on the beach came running up. They hardly saw me, but ran past to catch the thief. They caught him and beat him up and gave me back my bag. The last I saw of the thug, he was spitting blood, struggling against an angry circle of fit African soccer-players. Vigilante justice is common here.
One guy, Moses, took me back into town. I was a wreck, chaking with adrenalin and a bloody lump on the side of my head, and needed all the help I could get. He was awesome and comforting and has since become a good friend of mine. It wasn't until I checked into my hotel and opened my ruined shoulder bag that I realized my camera was missing. I think that is a story for the next post. Not a good one really, but I don't want to tell it now.
A couple of days ago, I was telling someone I had gotten mugged on my second day in Mombasa and he asked me if it had hurt my mind. It took a minute for me to realize that he meant had it hurt me emotionally. I was definately unnecessarily afraid of even leaving my hotel room for a couple of days, but I phoned to my boyfriend, Ian, who of course had the right thing to say, and forced myself to get out of the hotel for meals and stuff and pretty soon I was back to normal. I'm still more careful than I was before, which is not a bad thing, but I've also made some great local friends and I know that there are a lot of really great people here in Mombasa too. Far more great people in fact than bad ones.
Thanks for getting through all this if you did. If not, I'm glad I finally got it down, anyway. I don't like reliving bad things, but it helps to get them out of your system. Plus it was an important milestone on my trip and worth remembering however bad it was.
I'll try and write again in a few days. A lot more has happened since then.
I know its been awhile again, I've just had so much happen lately. I haven't even written it all in my journal yet. But, I have to start writing about everything now cause otherwise I will get too far ahead to effectively retroactively story tell.
Okay, I'm going to start with the day Steve left. It was April 9th, and Steve had to get back to the realm of peace (Dar es Salaam) for his flight to Australia. I saw him to the bus, then I went back to our hotel so I could pack. I had seen no other Mzungus (white tourists) in Mombasa, and so I decided to head into the town centre to find a different hotel. Like a backpackers hostel or something, where I could hopefully make some friends. Using the map in my Lonely Planet guide, I headed in the direction I thought was town with a great big pack on and a small shoulder bag underneath the shoulder straps. I went the wrong way and ended up in an area of town I now know as Chuda, on the bank of an inlet that extends around Mombasa kind of like the one in Vancouver. I asked for directions and a man pointed me in the direction I had been walking. I kept going and came across a path with a sign that said beach. I decided I would go have a look at the beach and stop for a drink cause I was hot and tired.
I'm realizing right now that I really don't want to talk about this, and I'm procrastinating with all the descriptions. I'm going to cut to the chase.
I got down the path to the brink of a leafy ravine that let down to the water, and I guy came up behind me. He introduced himself and showed me his identity card. Unusual, but whatever. He tried to "help" me with my bag, but I told him no, I was fine. He tried to get into my shoulder bag and I pulled it away glaring at him and telling him no, that was not okay and I want you to let go of my bag. He was blocking my way back, so I pulled away and walked along the edge of the bank and down into the ravine. Stupid, but I honestly wasn't scared until I started hearing him follow me through the bushes. He cut me off with a glass bottle in his hand and said in a harsh voice "I can kill you anytime!" He was right in front of me, and I couldn't do anything cause I had this huge bag on my back. I couldn't even give him my little bag cause it was tucked under the straps, and didn't want to take my attention away from him long enough to take it off. Acting on fear, I grabbed his arm with the bottle and tried to hit him with my other fist, but I had no strength with that stupid bag. We struggled, and he threated to hit me with the bottle. I couldn't think to do anything but protect myself, and I couldn't really even do that. He hit me with the bottle on theside of the head. Hard. I still can't open my mouth all the way two weeks later. I grabbed the bottle and tucked it under my arm and held it there. The man took my shoudl bag and ripped it off, then ran away up the ravine.
Angry and scared, well, mostly scared, I screamed at the top of my lungs. Several times. A confused minute later, a herd of guys who had been playing soccer on the beach came running up. They hardly saw me, but ran past to catch the thief. They caught him and beat him up and gave me back my bag. The last I saw of the thug, he was spitting blood, struggling against an angry circle of fit African soccer-players. Vigilante justice is common here.
One guy, Moses, took me back into town. I was a wreck, chaking with adrenalin and a bloody lump on the side of my head, and needed all the help I could get. He was awesome and comforting and has since become a good friend of mine. It wasn't until I checked into my hotel and opened my ruined shoulder bag that I realized my camera was missing. I think that is a story for the next post. Not a good one really, but I don't want to tell it now.
A couple of days ago, I was telling someone I had gotten mugged on my second day in Mombasa and he asked me if it had hurt my mind. It took a minute for me to realize that he meant had it hurt me emotionally. I was definately unnecessarily afraid of even leaving my hotel room for a couple of days, but I phoned to my boyfriend, Ian, who of course had the right thing to say, and forced myself to get out of the hotel for meals and stuff and pretty soon I was back to normal. I'm still more careful than I was before, which is not a bad thing, but I've also made some great local friends and I know that there are a lot of really great people here in Mombasa too. Far more great people in fact than bad ones.
Thanks for getting through all this if you did. If not, I'm glad I finally got it down, anyway. I don't like reliving bad things, but it helps to get them out of your system. Plus it was an important milestone on my trip and worth remembering however bad it was.
I'll try and write again in a few days. A lot more has happened since then.
Tuesday, April 8, 2008
Hello!
I suppose I better stop the suspense, but before I do, see if you can guess where Steve and I are now:
A week ago, we spent a few days in a absolutely beautiful canyon, with bright green grass and hundred foot high walls of stone, sprawling yellow fever trees and rolling hills. The antelope and zebras grazed in the vast fields, and buffalo eyed us from the trees. giraffes stopped their leaf-munching to stare at us and ran away gracefully as we got close. In the early morning, a baboon visited our tent to see about sharing some food. The second day, we explored a volcanic gorge, which we had to navigate carefully as it had flooded recently, and we had to watch out for poisonous green Mamba snakes. We found a great spot and spent a couple of hours bouldering.
A few days after that adventure, we took a 7-hour bus ride to the East Coast where we spent a few days on a small mostly Muslim island where there are no cars, only donkeys for transportation. The white stone buildings are carved in intricate archways and wide open terraces and the streets are gravel and cobblestone. We took a Dhow (a fishing sailboat seen often along the African coast) to a remote beach where we camped over night, cooking over a fire, swimminng and lying on the beach trying to fend off the sand flies. At night, a guard on patrol came and chatted with us. He was a Somali man, and had grown up in the bush. He commented on our freeze-dried camping food, saying only soldiers ate that kind of thing. We took the Dhow boat back the next day and spent the evening wandering the island, and drinking tea on the dock. Early this morning, we ferried back to the mainland and bussed down the coast to a city in the South East from which Steve will shortly be leaving.
Any guesses?
I'm in Kenya. The park is called Hell's Gate National Park, the Island is Lamu, and we are currently in Mombasa. Good job if you got it!
I was nervous to let the truth out, because I didn't want anyone to worry unneccesarily. The truth of the matter is, though that the violence is over, and especially in the places we\ve been staying. In fact, other tourists have been laughing at me when I've expressed worry about coming here.
We decided to go because Steve had about 10 days between the end of his internship at AMREF in Dar es Salaam and his flight home, and it was the only country we could get to cheaply and quickly in order to have enough time to see some of the sights before he had to be back for his flight. He'll be leaving in just a couple of days and I am sorry to see him go. I'll have to find some new travelling companions.
Actually, I am currently looking for short term volunteer opportunities. I'm enjoying travelling, but I want to give back as well. And it's been six weeks already. I have a few leads, but I'll say more when things are solidified. I might be doing some pretty neat stuff.
As for pictures, I have some good ones. I got a camera from home in the mail to replace the one I lost hurray(. It'll have to be later that I post them, though, cause the internet is just too slow! I've already spent an hour just on this. Hopefully I'll have time in the next few days.
Talk to you all soon!
Georiga
I suppose I better stop the suspense, but before I do, see if you can guess where Steve and I are now:
A week ago, we spent a few days in a absolutely beautiful canyon, with bright green grass and hundred foot high walls of stone, sprawling yellow fever trees and rolling hills. The antelope and zebras grazed in the vast fields, and buffalo eyed us from the trees. giraffes stopped their leaf-munching to stare at us and ran away gracefully as we got close. In the early morning, a baboon visited our tent to see about sharing some food. The second day, we explored a volcanic gorge, which we had to navigate carefully as it had flooded recently, and we had to watch out for poisonous green Mamba snakes. We found a great spot and spent a couple of hours bouldering.
A few days after that adventure, we took a 7-hour bus ride to the East Coast where we spent a few days on a small mostly Muslim island where there are no cars, only donkeys for transportation. The white stone buildings are carved in intricate archways and wide open terraces and the streets are gravel and cobblestone. We took a Dhow (a fishing sailboat seen often along the African coast) to a remote beach where we camped over night, cooking over a fire, swimminng and lying on the beach trying to fend off the sand flies. At night, a guard on patrol came and chatted with us. He was a Somali man, and had grown up in the bush. He commented on our freeze-dried camping food, saying only soldiers ate that kind of thing. We took the Dhow boat back the next day and spent the evening wandering the island, and drinking tea on the dock. Early this morning, we ferried back to the mainland and bussed down the coast to a city in the South East from which Steve will shortly be leaving.
Any guesses?
I'm in Kenya. The park is called Hell's Gate National Park, the Island is Lamu, and we are currently in Mombasa. Good job if you got it!
I was nervous to let the truth out, because I didn't want anyone to worry unneccesarily. The truth of the matter is, though that the violence is over, and especially in the places we\ve been staying. In fact, other tourists have been laughing at me when I've expressed worry about coming here.
We decided to go because Steve had about 10 days between the end of his internship at AMREF in Dar es Salaam and his flight home, and it was the only country we could get to cheaply and quickly in order to have enough time to see some of the sights before he had to be back for his flight. He'll be leaving in just a couple of days and I am sorry to see him go. I'll have to find some new travelling companions.
Actually, I am currently looking for short term volunteer opportunities. I'm enjoying travelling, but I want to give back as well. And it's been six weeks already. I have a few leads, but I'll say more when things are solidified. I might be doing some pretty neat stuff.
As for pictures, I have some good ones. I got a camera from home in the mail to replace the one I lost hurray(. It'll have to be later that I post them, though, cause the internet is just too slow! I've already spent an hour just on this. Hopefully I'll have time in the next few days.
Talk to you all soon!
Georiga
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