Entry 32

This will be less of an adventure and more of a reflection but here goes...

I'm back on familiar ground and enjoying the vague sense of homecoming immensely. (I wonder if this is presient of my real home return soon to come.) Despite the filth, stench, decay, overcrowded and chaotic streets that are Mombasa, it's a city I know fairly well and enjoy spending time in. I spent an extra day there rather than returning straight to Diani Beach and thoroughly enjoyed the sights and sounds and smells (!) of this colourful island. Here one can watch fruit sellers hawking their mangos, pawpaws (papayas), coconuts and pineapples; elderly blind parents being led around by their seeing children seeking a few shillings from passersby; Muslim women covered from head to toe in their black bui buis--faces covered too but still sporting fashionable sunglasses; young men selling mobile phones, talk time, cheap watches and rubber stamps; shoeless, dusty street kids begging for food and/or money from tourists; Masai warriors in their red shukas and beaded belts from which their spears and knives and clubs dangle alongside their phones; and street vendors trying to make a sale of their clothes, stoves, pots and pans, flip flops or cheap plastic items. It's a hectic yet somehow attractive cacophony of sensorial experiences.

From Mombasa, I came back to Diani where my adventures started nearly 10 months ago. I returned to say goodbye to Colobus Trust and wish its various primates (of both the human and nonhuman variety) some fond farewells. I'm here to swim in the Indian Ocean for the last time. I'm here to watch the palm trees sway and smell the frangipani and other tropical flowers once more. I'm here to let the starry skies mesmorise once again. And I'm here to reflect on what I've learned, gained, and/or contributed. (Apparently I'm also here to watch some of the World Cup on large screen TV's too!)

I'll share with you some of my thoughts as I laid them down in my journal recently.

In his book Dark Star Safari--From Cairo to Capetown, Paul Theroux writes about revisiting Africa where he lived and taught in the 60's and hadn't been since, as well as the long road journey he makes from Egypt to South Africa. Reading his book while travelling along sections of the very same journey he writes about has been a delight; I've ridden some of the same buses, sat on some of the same matatus and slept on some of the same trains. Many critics have dismissed his writing for being too heavy and pessimistic. After having spent a bit of time on this continent and seeing a wee bit of what Africa is, I'm inclined to agree with many of his keen observations and carefully thought out evaluations of Africa and her struggles.

Theroux describes seeing many decrepit, run-down, virtually empty schools, with bare classrooms, unpaid staff, crumbling buildings and bookless libraries. This (among several other experiences) leads him to the epiphany that it is Africans themselves who must "fix" Africa. All the donor aid & volunteers, ngo's & charitable organizations, and the like have been working here for some 40 years or so to help change/stop the poverty, hunger, thirst, disease, illiteracy and other challenges that have plagued African countries for decades. Equipment gets sent over from well-intentioned people and breaks down and rusts by the sides of roads. This leaves villagers and townfolk now dependent on non-functioning technology. Skills are lost, training is stopped and unemployment rises. Another problem arises when projects get started, changing communities and ways of life, and then the funding dries up or the work has been deemed a success or the volunteers go home, so the project is ended, leaving communities and individuals often only slightly better off than before.

There have been several books written about how entire economies are based on aid money. They discuss how governments and many ngo's themselves (and the ubiquitous UN projects) actually benefit from keeping the poor, the hungry, and the sick dependent on donor systems.

As I traveled around Kenya, Tanzania, Malawi and Zambia, I saw first hand the benefits of water pumps brought into remote villages, community schools built for those too far/poor to attend regular schools, homes for orphans etc. Of course, these endeavors provide a better way of life, but how many people have I heard complain about how the money sent to staff those schools, maintain those water pumps and run those homes simply lines the pockets of corrupt officials and managers along the way? And for those organizations which manage to thwart corruption along the lines, how much money is lost to administrative, staffing and security costs?

It leaves me to wonder about the nature of charities, donations and volunteering in the "third world." I'm glad I chose to volunteer with projects initiated by Kenyans, but I'm not really sure if it was my money or my time and energy that was of greater import. And it makes me think that maybe the adages, "the lord provides for those who provide for themselves" and "give a man a fish and he'll eat for a day; teach a man to fish and he'll eat for a lifetime" need to be retaught. Not that many of the ngo's aren't already in the business of teaching Africans how to fend for themselves, but maybe Africans have to take the full initiative themselves. There's surely a place for western aid, but not along many of the avenues where it currently resides.

To reiterate Theroux, maybe all the western doctors and teachers and engineers and so on should just up and leave, and then we'll all see what happens. If the local communities want to continue the work started by these generous souls, so be it. That or let them burn the clinics and schools to the ground and plant maize and beans instead and at least reclaim the land it as their own. Even cash crops aren't being supported by local governments, making it unviable for growers to be anything other than subsistance farmers.

It seems that Africa has been forced to figure out in a few short decades what the west had over a century to do. Maybe she has to learn by her own mistakes as did we in the "developed" world. It's like many African countries are in their teen years, and we all know/remember that teens have to make their own decisions and learn how to stand on their own 2 feet. We can only provide guidance and support and hope for the best.

When I see people throwing their plastic bottles and food wrappings outside the bus windows as we speed past villages, farmland, bush and even national parks, I cringe every time. But isn't concern for the environment the privelege of us in the west who aren't living from hand to mouth and can take care of our surroundings as well as our families? I guess it's a choice that Kenyans, Tanzanians, Zambians and Malawians need to make for themselves. Why so many don't seem to give a hoot is hard to my Canadian eyes, but some have, and it's not for me to judge.

Anyway, these are just a few of my thoughts. Forgive my wandering wonderings. And please disagree.

In the remaining couple weeks I have left here, I shall have the pleasure of attending a traditional Masai wedding, revisiting the giraffe centre and elephant orphanage in Nairobi, seeing a few friends and saying goodbye, and returning to Kakamega to see the kids at the orphanage there once more. (Not to mention catching a few more World Cup matches.) Farewell readers and soccer/football fans.

Entry 31

Let me describe 3 adrenaline filled moments that I've had in the last little while that couldn't have been more different.

Victoria Falls is much like Niagra Falls in that there's a wealth of activities around the torrent of water to keep even the most adventurous happy and the most sedate content. All these options, of course, cost money, lots of money, so one has to pick and choose carefully.

One choice I opted for was a walking safari in Mosi-oa-Tunya (the local name for the falls -- meaning "the smoke that thunders") Park. This is the small national park that borders the falls. Unfortunately, nearly all the game had been hunted or poached out of there, but in recent years, giraffes, wildebeast, and rhinos among others have all been reintroduced with varying degrees of success.

The walk was really pleasant. The morning started off in a deep, cold fog (yes, you read that right), but it burned off fairly quickly, allowing us to see small herds of zebras and gnus (wildebeast) and larger herds of impala. (An aside--Did you know that a male impala has the dubious pleasure of being the sole "keeper" of a harem of females in his territory which may number over a hundred? The male spends all his time keeping his girls safe and fed and free of any other male interference so much so that he himself doesn't eat and soon ends up so exhausted and weak that he can only last a short time before some young buck comes and challenges him for dominance. Doesn't sound like the most efficient of Mother Nature's reproductive angles, does it?)

We, however, had a mission. We were on the search for the park's 2 remaining resident rhinos. We had been walking for several hours following a lead on where they were last seen, but instead we were left spotting bird life, medicinal plants, tracks and dung. We walked on and on until we missed the pick up point and time. We were just about to give up when one of our 2 guides (we were 2 tourists, 2 guides and an armed guard) picked up a trail. We separated briefly, so he could follow the tracks and then rejoined him a few minutes later.

And there they were. I was thinking--Wow! How cool to be only about 40 metres away from 2 such enormous, potentially dangerous creatures--and snapped a few shots. Then the rhinos apparently decided that the grass was indeed greener on the other side so came trotting along to within 5 metres of us! All that separated us was a log lying across the front of the 5 of us at waist level. It was incredible. I could hear them munching and breathing. I could look at their little, poorly sighted eyes and practically see my reflection! I was tempted to reach over and pat them. They are well-habituated to human presence (obviously) as they're constantly being monitored by rangers (an anti-poaching measure as much as a way to make sure the tourists get their money's worth). I've never been so close to a wild animal so huge and so mythical. It was a beautiful and thrilling moment.

My second (somewhat expensive) rush of adrenaline that week came when I boarded a microlight plane and spent 15 incredible minutes soaring in the air with nothing more than a seat belt keeping me from freefalling to the ground and my death some 300 metres below. Flying over the falls like that really gave me a sense of the geologic history that the falls have created and the force that they continue to be, and I could clearly see where the next set of falls will rush down from in the next millenium (or 2 or 3). The feeling of sitting behind a pilot using only a bar to steer, while in the open air under a small set of wings, flying above rainbows, mist, hippos, impala and one elephant which seemed to be mired in the muck was truly amazing. I want to fly!

The 3rd heart stopping moment was of a totally different kind. I was mugged--sort of. I was walking down Cairo Road in downtown Lusaka at midday with a Welsh/French woman I'd befriended at the hostel. She'd told me earlier that morning that a friend of hers had been mugged on that street the day before, and I replied that I'd walked down that road a dozen times and felt pretty safe. Then, there we were when 3 or 4 men swarmed me. One guy cut in front of me, blocking my way as if he was trying to get past me onto the street. Meanwhile, a crony or two started grabbing my bag while another started going through my pockets and running his hands over me to see where my hidden money was. I screamed at them, "Hey! What are you doing? Cut it out! Stop it! What do you think you're doing?" A large circle of people formed. They all just stopped and stared. I guess my yelling and my fuss was the right reaction because the guys just took off and unbelievably, they got nothing! My pocket had a small wallet in it with a fair bit of cash in it, but they didn't get it. Whew.

Needless to say, I was trembling and rather freaked out. I had to lean against a nearby building as I thought my shaking legs might give way. The woman I was with was in as much shock as I was and kept apologizing for not coming to my rescue. She was worried they might have a knife: a very valid concern. The thought never even crossed my mind. I just got angry. A kind man invited me into a nearby business to calm down and stayed and talked with us for awhile. Another man also approached to make sure I was ok. I was.

I heard from several people afterwards that the stretch of road we were on was notorious for pickpockets and muggers. Also that this gang is well-known to police and locals alike, but they just keep targeting tourists and are pretty unstoppable as their crimes are considered too petty (and too much of a bother and probable expense) to pursue in courts. And, of course, even if they were charged and jailed, they'd be back on the streets in very little time. It was scary, but I must say I was surprised and impressed/pleased by my own reaction (you never know how you'll react in such a situation until it happens). Perhaps it may have been a bit foolhardy, but clearly it worked to my advantage. I now walk as I did when I first landed in Nairobi, clutching my bag tightly and always being aware of everyone around me.

The day after the attempted mugging, I boarded a train back to Tanzania. I'm now in the hilly southern region known for its tea and rice and good trekking/hiking. I'll be here a few days before making my way back across the country to Kenya. It'll be exactly a month from today that I'll be travelling back to Vancouver. I find that I'm already looking at things here with a bit of a lamentful, nostalgic feeling.

Yes, I'm tired of being on the road and living out of a backpack. And yes, what I wouldn't give for a big glass of chocolate soy milk, some real cheese on a fresh baguette and a huge salad with lots of veggies, sunflower seeds, olives, feta and dressing. And yes, how I'll never take a washing machine for granted again. And yes, how riding a long distance bus with a matching number of seats and people will be a delight. And yes, how much I'll appreciate living somewhere where there are vehicle emission controls. And yes, the pleasure will be great to know that a set time means just that...But oh, my life of freedom, learning, adventure, eye-opening and mind- boggling experiences will soon end, and I'll return to routine and responsibiltiies with a mixture of feelings. But all good things must come to an end, so they say. That and Visa may soon ask for my first born child as payment.

A la prochaine.