This is the last Africa blog entry for 2010 - posted from Romania... We just got the fantastic gorilla census results yesterday. Here's the breaking news story I prepared for this momentous event:
http://gorillafund.org/Page.aspx?pid=846
Wednesday, December 8, 2010
Sunday, November 28, 2010
THE Gorilla Transfer
When I signed my contract in May, it all turned into this terrible frenzy: I HAD to show up here very early in June, to deal with the impending gorilla transfer. Six months later, due to a million reasons in two countries, it still hasn't happened (so it seems I have to come back in January to hopefully see it go to fruition).
Well, THAT transfer didn't happen (Grauer's gorillas, from Rwanda to DRC, by UN helicopters). This past week, though, we finally carried out the OTHER transfer: Mountain gorillas, from Rwanda to DRC (completely different location), by road.
And only because I am too lazy on this Sunday night, and because I have the material ready, here's the news story I wrote on the occasion:
http://gorillafund.org/Page.aspx?pid=844
Well, THAT transfer didn't happen (Grauer's gorillas, from Rwanda to DRC, by UN helicopters). This past week, though, we finally carried out the OTHER transfer: Mountain gorillas, from Rwanda to DRC (completely different location), by road.
And only because I am too lazy on this Sunday night, and because I have the material ready, here's the news story I wrote on the occasion:
http://gorillafund.org/Page.aspx?pid=844
Thursday, November 18, 2010
Decadent Burundi
I've slacked on this blog lately - simply due to too many travels. I know, when I am in Musanze more than a few days in a row, I feel so provincial and I want to start moving. And then - well, I end up on these never-ending trips and complicated border crossings. My passport is almost overflowing with stamps, btw. So yes, I thought that before I run out of pages, I should have it stamped in Burundi as well :-)
It had actually been on my mind for weeks now - Bujumbura and especially Tanganyika were too much of drag-names for me to pass on seeing them. And finally last Friday afternoon, after another crazy week, I got together with my Kenyan friend Beth and a new house mate from England - Katy - and started on the long journey south. There we were going to meet a Romanian (clujean, even) guy who works in Congo, and who was going to cross into Buja was well, and this Libyan guy who was flying in from Kigali. I was so tired that all I wanted to do was get great weather, lie at the beach, and sip expensive cocktails.
As luck has it, the day we drove south through extremely lush, green countryside, we ended up in this tornado-look-alike storm, so the first impressions on the shores of Tanganyika were - well, sort of like flooded Musanze. I could not believe I was still wearing my rain gear, instead of some beautiful beach attire. In any event, the welcome was glorious: Stefan, the Romanian guy, was a gracious host (with whom I also bonded immediately - fascinating, actually, to be able to speak your own language and make the same kind of stupid jokes after sooo much time). Later in the night, Issam, the Libyan, also showed up, with a ...shisha. He carried the pipe on the plane (!) and here we were, smoking ourselves into oblivion at the beach - mostly to warm up, actually.
The next day, Buja yielded sun and beautiful waves - so here I was, taking a dip into the world's second deepest lake (for the first, I'll have to go all the way to Siberia...) I started the day with an $8 mojito at the beautiful beach lounge Bora-Bora, and then I joined the group at Club du Lac Tanganyika, for a glamorous day at the pool. Kir Royal never tasted better, actually, than when accompanied by mint shisha and hot weather. Truly bubbly I was :-) I had indeed been given what I had hoped for: lazy day, beautiful weather, exclusive drinks. So mzungu-style, of course; but well, now-and-then this must also be sought after... Who would have thought that I would have my most glamorous, decadent Africa moments in tiny, poor Burundi...
Unfortunately it all lasted too short. The trip back was quit uneventful (OK, apart from 1) the fact that I almost got arrested for taking a picture of Stefan in front of the market (!), and 2) an accident we were in, but when you see how they drive over there, I consider myself lucky to only have been involved in something without human victims...)) To make time pass faster on the bus - I helped Beth undo her hundreds of braids - and I was even GREAT at it! (Next step - to have the guts to have some braided on my own head...)
After coming back, of course, nothing settled down: the first morning I spent with the gorillas and the second I traveled to Congo (and I swam for the first time in Kivu Lake, on the Congolese side). I am now dead tired, with a million deadlines pounding on me. But when I look out of the window of our fantastic villa, right onto the lake, I am just HAPPY :-)
It had actually been on my mind for weeks now - Bujumbura and especially Tanganyika were too much of drag-names for me to pass on seeing them. And finally last Friday afternoon, after another crazy week, I got together with my Kenyan friend Beth and a new house mate from England - Katy - and started on the long journey south. There we were going to meet a Romanian (clujean, even) guy who works in Congo, and who was going to cross into Buja was well, and this Libyan guy who was flying in from Kigali. I was so tired that all I wanted to do was get great weather, lie at the beach, and sip expensive cocktails.
As luck has it, the day we drove south through extremely lush, green countryside, we ended up in this tornado-look-alike storm, so the first impressions on the shores of Tanganyika were - well, sort of like flooded Musanze. I could not believe I was still wearing my rain gear, instead of some beautiful beach attire. In any event, the welcome was glorious: Stefan, the Romanian guy, was a gracious host (with whom I also bonded immediately - fascinating, actually, to be able to speak your own language and make the same kind of stupid jokes after sooo much time). Later in the night, Issam, the Libyan, also showed up, with a ...shisha. He carried the pipe on the plane (!) and here we were, smoking ourselves into oblivion at the beach - mostly to warm up, actually.
The next day, Buja yielded sun and beautiful waves - so here I was, taking a dip into the world's second deepest lake (for the first, I'll have to go all the way to Siberia...) I started the day with an $8 mojito at the beautiful beach lounge Bora-Bora, and then I joined the group at Club du Lac Tanganyika, for a glamorous day at the pool. Kir Royal never tasted better, actually, than when accompanied by mint shisha and hot weather. Truly bubbly I was :-) I had indeed been given what I had hoped for: lazy day, beautiful weather, exclusive drinks. So mzungu-style, of course; but well, now-and-then this must also be sought after... Who would have thought that I would have my most glamorous, decadent Africa moments in tiny, poor Burundi...
Unfortunately it all lasted too short. The trip back was quit uneventful (OK, apart from 1) the fact that I almost got arrested for taking a picture of Stefan in front of the market (!), and 2) an accident we were in, but when you see how they drive over there, I consider myself lucky to only have been involved in something without human victims...)) To make time pass faster on the bus - I helped Beth undo her hundreds of braids - and I was even GREAT at it! (Next step - to have the guts to have some braided on my own head...)
After coming back, of course, nothing settled down: the first morning I spent with the gorillas and the second I traveled to Congo (and I swam for the first time in Kivu Lake, on the Congolese side). I am now dead tired, with a million deadlines pounding on me. But when I look out of the window of our fantastic villa, right onto the lake, I am just HAPPY :-)
Saturday, November 6, 2010
Crazy Friday
I had finally relaxed about Rwanda - such a peaceful, orderly country, where nothing bad ever happens. People behave and police is out there everywhere, making sure that everyone keeps behaving. Even the large gatherings and massive outdoor parties are so controlled and, well, just safe.
It seems, though, that when something bad happens here it doesn't even come in twos, but in threes - and that it does not hold back. And Friday was exactly like this - the most bizarre, painful string of events, that threw everything in the air.
The day for me started at the office at 6.30 a.m. in Musanze. I was due to prepare a lot of materials and send them to Atlanta with our CEO, who was visiting Rwanda with some very rich tourists/potential donors. I worked like a maniac the whole morning, and then I realized I needed to go to Kigali to get some things done at our office there as well. My Guatemalan boss, Juan Carlos, who had also spent the night in Musanze, was going to give me a lift. All fine and happy until we actually got word that one of the lady-tourists, who had trekked gorillas in the morning, had been 'attacked' and that a gorilla "took her arm out."
Now, since coming to Africa, I did hear some horrific stories about wildlife attacks - mostly chimpanzee-related - but after spending a lot of time around gorillas and the people who have known them for years, I was pretty reassured - they are HUGE, but so nice. Of course, a silverback would sometime 'charge', frightfully, but stop just in front of you (and yes, you get petrified, even more so thinking that he would whack your camera out). And yes, blackbacks come often to slap you - and they are soooo powerful, and the slaps do hurt, but you get over them.
All things considered "a gorilla-attack" sounded terribly serious and unbelievable at the same time. Plans changed, of course, in a heart-beat: we would all drive in a convoy to Kigali, and immediately have the lady examined by this mythical Belgian doctor - who has a clinic within the Belgian Embassy, in the fanciest part of the capital. He was actually nice enough to wait for us at the Serena Hotel (the Burj-al-Arab of Rwanda), where everyone was going to spend the night. He offered to take us to the clinic in his car - but Juan Carlos preferred that I and him drive further in his car.
Now, panic everywhere to get the lady treated, I still had the instinct to collect my back pack from the back seat and take it with me - which I would have not normally done, considering we were in the best guarded part of Kigali. Juan Carlos did leave his stuff inside, though. The next thing we would never do in Rwanda - park on the street, even if the guards urged us to go inside. No, no, we are only here for a couple of minutes, to get the lady inside. JC would then drop me off at the office of Kenya Airways, to sort out a mess-up with my return ticket to Europe.
Sure enough, that's exactly when they broke into his car. He lost everything: laptop, brand new passport (he had just traveled to Guatemala to get this resolved), American green card, keys to house and office, etc, etc. Everything. In front of an embassy, in front of guards!
In the midst of all confusion, the lady turned out to be fine - apparently she had just gotten a serious gorilla slap, but her skin being very fragile broke everywhere into bloody patches. Our worries had moved in a second though - how do you deal with this car break-in on a Friday night (at the same time, I could not count my blessings that I had taken with me my bag with laptop, phone, documents, plus the external drive with our whole gorilla photo archive...)
Helped by our Rwandan colleagues, we managed to locate the police-chief - somewhere so dodgy that you would expect to be robbed in a second. While waiting to get the report done, we see this girl in the corner of the room, crying her eyes out. Of course we all wondered what had happened to her and imagined the worst - until, a couple of minutes later, a police woman and man approached her and started hitting her with two sticks so hard that we were aching. Completely dumbstruck and embarrassed at the same time, we forgot about our worries and just felt like crying out - but what do you do when two police adults beat the hell out of a girl at the station, in full view?! What we gathered is that the girl was actually turned in by her mom, for misbehaving at home. HORRIFIC, of course. Even more so when they took her to lock her up.
All the while, our report was lingering - nothing could be done until the next morning - Saturday. The investigation would only begin on Monday...
So there, then: wildlife attack, car break-in and police brutality, all within a few hours of each other! Happy weekend, everyone!
It seems, though, that when something bad happens here it doesn't even come in twos, but in threes - and that it does not hold back. And Friday was exactly like this - the most bizarre, painful string of events, that threw everything in the air.
The day for me started at the office at 6.30 a.m. in Musanze. I was due to prepare a lot of materials and send them to Atlanta with our CEO, who was visiting Rwanda with some very rich tourists/potential donors. I worked like a maniac the whole morning, and then I realized I needed to go to Kigali to get some things done at our office there as well. My Guatemalan boss, Juan Carlos, who had also spent the night in Musanze, was going to give me a lift. All fine and happy until we actually got word that one of the lady-tourists, who had trekked gorillas in the morning, had been 'attacked' and that a gorilla "took her arm out."
Now, since coming to Africa, I did hear some horrific stories about wildlife attacks - mostly chimpanzee-related - but after spending a lot of time around gorillas and the people who have known them for years, I was pretty reassured - they are HUGE, but so nice. Of course, a silverback would sometime 'charge', frightfully, but stop just in front of you (and yes, you get petrified, even more so thinking that he would whack your camera out). And yes, blackbacks come often to slap you - and they are soooo powerful, and the slaps do hurt, but you get over them.
All things considered "a gorilla-attack" sounded terribly serious and unbelievable at the same time. Plans changed, of course, in a heart-beat: we would all drive in a convoy to Kigali, and immediately have the lady examined by this mythical Belgian doctor - who has a clinic within the Belgian Embassy, in the fanciest part of the capital. He was actually nice enough to wait for us at the Serena Hotel (the Burj-al-Arab of Rwanda), where everyone was going to spend the night. He offered to take us to the clinic in his car - but Juan Carlos preferred that I and him drive further in his car.
Now, panic everywhere to get the lady treated, I still had the instinct to collect my back pack from the back seat and take it with me - which I would have not normally done, considering we were in the best guarded part of Kigali. Juan Carlos did leave his stuff inside, though. The next thing we would never do in Rwanda - park on the street, even if the guards urged us to go inside. No, no, we are only here for a couple of minutes, to get the lady inside. JC would then drop me off at the office of Kenya Airways, to sort out a mess-up with my return ticket to Europe.
Sure enough, that's exactly when they broke into his car. He lost everything: laptop, brand new passport (he had just traveled to Guatemala to get this resolved), American green card, keys to house and office, etc, etc. Everything. In front of an embassy, in front of guards!
In the midst of all confusion, the lady turned out to be fine - apparently she had just gotten a serious gorilla slap, but her skin being very fragile broke everywhere into bloody patches. Our worries had moved in a second though - how do you deal with this car break-in on a Friday night (at the same time, I could not count my blessings that I had taken with me my bag with laptop, phone, documents, plus the external drive with our whole gorilla photo archive...)
Helped by our Rwandan colleagues, we managed to locate the police-chief - somewhere so dodgy that you would expect to be robbed in a second. While waiting to get the report done, we see this girl in the corner of the room, crying her eyes out. Of course we all wondered what had happened to her and imagined the worst - until, a couple of minutes later, a police woman and man approached her and started hitting her with two sticks so hard that we were aching. Completely dumbstruck and embarrassed at the same time, we forgot about our worries and just felt like crying out - but what do you do when two police adults beat the hell out of a girl at the station, in full view?! What we gathered is that the girl was actually turned in by her mom, for misbehaving at home. HORRIFIC, of course. Even more so when they took her to lock her up.
All the while, our report was lingering - nothing could be done until the next morning - Saturday. The investigation would only begin on Monday...
So there, then: wildlife attack, car break-in and police brutality, all within a few hours of each other! Happy weekend, everyone!
Tuesday, November 2, 2010
When you go out for a beer and get served a cold genocide story
Everyone back ‘home’ has repeatedly asked me how Rwandans today deal with their cruel recent history in their daily lives. And, to be honest, five months after arriving here, I still have a very confusing view on this subject. Just once I witnessed two colleagues have an open discussion about this horrific topic – and that was more in conjunction with the presidential elections in August and Kagame’s politics following the genocide. Otherwise, very rarely – maybe 3 times in total – have some people alluded to personal loss – but nothing about grieving. Everyone is seemingly fine and happy and certainly not taking any time to over-analyze anything. After all, “the past is the past and we cannot change it,” is the phrase I hear always in conjunction with this would-be discussion. I guess that when you are poor and sick and famished, it makes sense that your daily worries would be placed elsewhere. But still, it is hard for me to believe that issues do not exist, deeply ingrained everywhere. I was actually thinking the other day that if all NYC shrinks came over, they would have their plates full for years to come. Reconciliation and forgiveness on a personal level are still tall orders in this country. Not to mention personal grieving…
On the other hand, it is remarkable indeed how Rwanda has regenerated, on all levels, to the extent that it’s given as an example of “at the fore-front of Africa” in so many ways. At the same time, a new generation has basically taken over – everywhere you go, hordes of kids and teenagers, who have obviously not carried the burden of tragic memories. And then, when you finally assume that this is all you are ever going to experience on this subject, one evening you feel like having a beer and it all explodes.
His name is Jean-Claude, and he is a sweet 23-year-old bar-tender at the hippest bar in town. We often talk, but never touching on anything personal. Until last night, that is, when out of nowhere he felt like telling me about his family: rich father, who lost everything because of reparations he had to pay after killing a woman and two children in a car-crash; mother who died of “illness” (caught apparently in the DRC in the late 90s). And then him and his siblings: they were 9, now they are just 5. It is simply a number – 4 – “who died in the war”. I asked whether he knew how. He didn’t, because when all hell broke loose, they all ran for their lives in different directions. He was one of the lucky ones, who made it to the other end.
This is likely the story of so many families here, told so plainly that it seems almost so normal! What struck me with Jean-Claude was his sweetness when talking about his brothers and sisters. He remembers their faces, and how they all spoiled him, since he was the youngest. And yes, how they would talk about going to visit relatives “in country Belgique and Autriche”. And how, to their memory, he would like to honor their dreams and make it out there some day.
And then a sigh. The first I ever heard here! More compelling than a thousand complaints and feeling-sorry-for-ourselves – that we do so often ‘back home’.
It was definitely the hardest beer to drink, ever. And the coldest one, by far, even if I had ordered it from outside the fridge. Unaware, this young man had just served me the chilliest, most real night in Rwanda.
On the other hand, it is remarkable indeed how Rwanda has regenerated, on all levels, to the extent that it’s given as an example of “at the fore-front of Africa” in so many ways. At the same time, a new generation has basically taken over – everywhere you go, hordes of kids and teenagers, who have obviously not carried the burden of tragic memories. And then, when you finally assume that this is all you are ever going to experience on this subject, one evening you feel like having a beer and it all explodes.
His name is Jean-Claude, and he is a sweet 23-year-old bar-tender at the hippest bar in town. We often talk, but never touching on anything personal. Until last night, that is, when out of nowhere he felt like telling me about his family: rich father, who lost everything because of reparations he had to pay after killing a woman and two children in a car-crash; mother who died of “illness” (caught apparently in the DRC in the late 90s). And then him and his siblings: they were 9, now they are just 5. It is simply a number – 4 – “who died in the war”. I asked whether he knew how. He didn’t, because when all hell broke loose, they all ran for their lives in different directions. He was one of the lucky ones, who made it to the other end.
This is likely the story of so many families here, told so plainly that it seems almost so normal! What struck me with Jean-Claude was his sweetness when talking about his brothers and sisters. He remembers their faces, and how they all spoiled him, since he was the youngest. And yes, how they would talk about going to visit relatives “in country Belgique and Autriche”. And how, to their memory, he would like to honor their dreams and make it out there some day.
And then a sigh. The first I ever heard here! More compelling than a thousand complaints and feeling-sorry-for-ourselves – that we do so often ‘back home’.
It was definitely the hardest beer to drink, ever. And the coldest one, by far, even if I had ordered it from outside the fridge. Unaware, this young man had just served me the chilliest, most real night in Rwanda.
Friday, October 29, 2010
Film Crews
I'm in the process of guiding the third film crew in five months, shooting documentaries on the mountain gorillas. This one is Travelscope, and it will air on PBS sometime next fall. It all sounds great and glamorous - but, actually, these people, just like the previous CNN-related people, HAVE NO CLUE!!! I would be ashamed to go in the field, half way across the world, not knowing the first thing about my subject. REALLY!
OK, maybe I am a bit over-demanding now - considering that I have grown so accustomed to my job lately, and that I finally feel I am on top of things (after months of figuring it out, especially the chaotic Congo-part). This morning, when I picked these people up, I was so confident and natural in saying "Welcome to Rwanda!". Just afterward I thought it might have seemed bizarre - especially as they were not expecting a white woman to greet them. HA!
Anyhow, it brings back the eternal dilemma: run around the globe, covering amazing stories for grand audiences (and being scolded like this in some random country, that you have no clue what the hell you talk about), or actually staying on this side of things: where you eventually become an expert (without formally being one), but your world will get so limited and self-centered (just like I wrote on FB lately, half of my daily conversations now revolve around the quality of gorilla fecal samples, that's how much I know about these guys already!) HA again!
OK, maybe I am a bit over-demanding now - considering that I have grown so accustomed to my job lately, and that I finally feel I am on top of things (after months of figuring it out, especially the chaotic Congo-part). This morning, when I picked these people up, I was so confident and natural in saying "Welcome to Rwanda!". Just afterward I thought it might have seemed bizarre - especially as they were not expecting a white woman to greet them. HA!
Anyhow, it brings back the eternal dilemma: run around the globe, covering amazing stories for grand audiences (and being scolded like this in some random country, that you have no clue what the hell you talk about), or actually staying on this side of things: where you eventually become an expert (without formally being one), but your world will get so limited and self-centered (just like I wrote on FB lately, half of my daily conversations now revolve around the quality of gorilla fecal samples, that's how much I know about these guys already!) HA again!
Tuesday, October 19, 2010
Congo Mozaique
I am resurfacing to the blog after a week in the Congolese middle-of-nowhere, with almost no internet access, a pretty bad food poisoning episode, and a plane to Goma canceled yesterday because of the fog.
Traveling between Butembo and Kasugho (or rather Katoyu, the small village where we care for the four orphaned gorillas) is always an adventure. Both ways, our mighty jeep narrowly and very luckily managed to by-pass a ton of trucks completely stuck (it’s been raining pretty badly) and also make its way through deep mud-ditches, ponds and rivers that appeared from nowhere. Quite impressive George, our driver, actually! After this trip, I do not want to hear any more discussions and complaints about bad roads in Europe or elsewhere outside Africa!
While in Katoyu, and before the food poisoning accident, I decided to spend a night out (we usually just cram into the kitchen and then retreat to our small, damp quarters and watch DVDs). Luckily we have a new vet now, Cyprian, from Kenya, who is very quiet during the day but who likes his upbeat evenings, so we left the house and traveled through the village to the pub. Now, Romanians, please imagine this: a mud-hut called Trianon (!), advertised by a poster of a gorilla wearing sun-glasses, where you meet a history teacher who would just not shut up about Mobutu and Ceausescu, and where your Ugandan beer companions are former Rwandan rebels-now-turned Congolese soldiers, who carry around rockets and rocket launchers. Deep breath, indeed! The whole thing really beat any possible surreal scenario!!! All the more so, considering that during the day I had interviewed tons of women who had given me their horrific stories about rape by rebels and soldiers. Enough crammed in a day to give you nightmares for a lifetime. Unfortunately, this is how Congo works: everything is RAW, and no-one has any time to over-analyze anything, because tomorrow you just have to find a way and move on with the roughest of the rough life imaginable, grind some manioc flour for your daily cassava bread, and just pray no flood or rebels or disease befall you. Again and again and again...
On the bright side: this week I saw for the first time how pineapple grows (and no, it’s not in a tree…) and I also for the first time used the machete in the field to cut myself some sugar cane – which, btw, has a SPLENDID, refreshing taste! I also took a field course in botany – so I now can identify most of the plants that grow around (including the kenkina (OK, have no idea how to spell that), from which they make the quinine to treat malaria (good to know there is a large stock of this plant in Congo).
Since I walked up and down the hills between villages until my knees were at break-point, I also managed to draw hordes of kids around. Well, most of them just come up and scream ‘mzungu’ from the top of their lungs, and when you turn to them they just burst into tears and start running away. Now I also know why: apparently, since the Belgian colonial times, parents would scare their children by telling them “if you are not nice the mzungu will come and take you away!” (Cum era bancul ala cu ‘ceasul 9 a sosit, omul negru a venit?’) Here I am, the ‘omul negru’ in Africa!!! Luckily there’s always “Carlos” – our 2-year-old-neighbor, who just drops everything when he sees us coming over and grabs our hand and just does not let go. He is beyond cute, and I would adopt him today! I am almost ashamed that I have such sturdy boots and he is bare-footed, and his little tiny feet are feeling all those rough stones, and yet he is running at my speed and smiling the whole time!!!
So yes, I am, at this point, beyond exhausted, and I feel like I could sleep for a week. Then again, when every single day is a God-given opportunity to get to know this fascinating country, who has any time to sleep?!?!
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Traveling between Butembo and Kasugho (or rather Katoyu, the small village where we care for the four orphaned gorillas) is always an adventure. Both ways, our mighty jeep narrowly and very luckily managed to by-pass a ton of trucks completely stuck (it’s been raining pretty badly) and also make its way through deep mud-ditches, ponds and rivers that appeared from nowhere. Quite impressive George, our driver, actually! After this trip, I do not want to hear any more discussions and complaints about bad roads in Europe or elsewhere outside Africa!
While in Katoyu, and before the food poisoning accident, I decided to spend a night out (we usually just cram into the kitchen and then retreat to our small, damp quarters and watch DVDs). Luckily we have a new vet now, Cyprian, from Kenya, who is very quiet during the day but who likes his upbeat evenings, so we left the house and traveled through the village to the pub. Now, Romanians, please imagine this: a mud-hut called Trianon (!), advertised by a poster of a gorilla wearing sun-glasses, where you meet a history teacher who would just not shut up about Mobutu and Ceausescu, and where your Ugandan beer companions are former Rwandan rebels-now-turned Congolese soldiers, who carry around rockets and rocket launchers. Deep breath, indeed! The whole thing really beat any possible surreal scenario!!! All the more so, considering that during the day I had interviewed tons of women who had given me their horrific stories about rape by rebels and soldiers. Enough crammed in a day to give you nightmares for a lifetime. Unfortunately, this is how Congo works: everything is RAW, and no-one has any time to over-analyze anything, because tomorrow you just have to find a way and move on with the roughest of the rough life imaginable, grind some manioc flour for your daily cassava bread, and just pray no flood or rebels or disease befall you. Again and again and again...
On the bright side: this week I saw for the first time how pineapple grows (and no, it’s not in a tree…) and I also for the first time used the machete in the field to cut myself some sugar cane – which, btw, has a SPLENDID, refreshing taste! I also took a field course in botany – so I now can identify most of the plants that grow around (including the kenkina (OK, have no idea how to spell that), from which they make the quinine to treat malaria (good to know there is a large stock of this plant in Congo).
Since I walked up and down the hills between villages until my knees were at break-point, I also managed to draw hordes of kids around. Well, most of them just come up and scream ‘mzungu’ from the top of their lungs, and when you turn to them they just burst into tears and start running away. Now I also know why: apparently, since the Belgian colonial times, parents would scare their children by telling them “if you are not nice the mzungu will come and take you away!” (Cum era bancul ala cu ‘ceasul 9 a sosit, omul negru a venit?’) Here I am, the ‘omul negru’ in Africa!!! Luckily there’s always “Carlos” – our 2-year-old-neighbor, who just drops everything when he sees us coming over and grabs our hand and just does not let go. He is beyond cute, and I would adopt him today! I am almost ashamed that I have such sturdy boots and he is bare-footed, and his little tiny feet are feeling all those rough stones, and yet he is running at my speed and smiling the whole time!!!
So yes, I am, at this point, beyond exhausted, and I feel like I could sleep for a week. Then again, when every single day is a God-given opportunity to get to know this fascinating country, who has any time to sleep?!?!
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Wednesday, October 13, 2010
Business a la congolaise
I may have spoken too soon when I declared on my FB page that I know I've lived in Africa long enough since the weird Rwanda-DRC border crossing starts seeming casual. Well, in a way I was right: I now fill out those forms rather carelessly and do not startle anymore when I see the frontier guys armed to their teeth. Also, I have become quite used to the notion that on the DRC side of things you just have to bribe - for whatever reason. I've stayed clear of trouble myself so far, but every time someone in my entourage had to produce $$$: may it be for the lack of the yellow fever certificate (which they ask for randomly as it is), some stamp that is missing, or trying to get out of having your bags opened and examined.
This morning, however, I had another funny experience I wasn't quite prepared for. Sandy and I were going to board a plane at 8 a.m., so our Goma logistics guy, Jackson, showed up at our residence to give us a lift quite early. Of course we got stuck in some mad traffic jam, but he insisted we would catch the flight - because they would simply wait for us if we're late. Quite reassured (!) we made it to the crazy airport, had our bags weighed, and then realized we are also charged for two extra bags - which were not there when we left the house. Jackson then explained that we are supposed to carry some "special mushrooms" and give the packs to someone who is going to wait for us when we land. Honestly, I didn't quite dare take the conversation any further and decided I would just play dumb and carry whatever weird plants/substances deep into Congo and see what happens. Luckily nothing bad happened - other than several officials on both sides feeling the fluffy packs and letting us get through. When we arrived in Butembo, some guy showed up to give us a lift.
He claimed he didn't know anything about us bringing "special mushrooms" packed in Champions League plastic bags, but that he knew the guy whose name was scribbled there, so we just dropped them bags in his car and moved on.
We are now waiting to be served dinner (we ordered at 4 to make sure we are getting it ready by 7) and then off we go tomorrow deep into the forest. More bribes to pay along the way - especially at the PEAGE check points.
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This morning, however, I had another funny experience I wasn't quite prepared for. Sandy and I were going to board a plane at 8 a.m., so our Goma logistics guy, Jackson, showed up at our residence to give us a lift quite early. Of course we got stuck in some mad traffic jam, but he insisted we would catch the flight - because they would simply wait for us if we're late. Quite reassured (!) we made it to the crazy airport, had our bags weighed, and then realized we are also charged for two extra bags - which were not there when we left the house. Jackson then explained that we are supposed to carry some "special mushrooms" and give the packs to someone who is going to wait for us when we land. Honestly, I didn't quite dare take the conversation any further and decided I would just play dumb and carry whatever weird plants/substances deep into Congo and see what happens. Luckily nothing bad happened - other than several officials on both sides feeling the fluffy packs and letting us get through. When we arrived in Butembo, some guy showed up to give us a lift.
He claimed he didn't know anything about us bringing "special mushrooms" packed in Champions League plastic bags, but that he knew the guy whose name was scribbled there, so we just dropped them bags in his car and moved on.
We are now waiting to be served dinner (we ordered at 4 to make sure we are getting it ready by 7) and then off we go tomorrow deep into the forest. More bribes to pay along the way - especially at the PEAGE check points.
d="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5527560369701325506" />
Sunday, October 10, 2010
Congolese Reverie
I cannot give too many details on my flash visit to Goma this weekend, because I am still trying to process what happened to me there. But I can say that I finally discovered the Congolese rumba (http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Soukous) and that I AM IN LOVE! Dancing to those sensual beats, in the middle of a deserted, apocalyptic Goma-by-night, was really quite out of this world. At times, it felt like I was floating in some crater on the moon - this is how the city unveiled itself to me once the bustle of the working day was over. Everything pitch dark, ruins everywhere, black lava stones and gravel covering all 'roads' (Goma was destroyed in 2002 by the eruption of the neighboring Nyiragongo Volcano - which, incidentally, I intend to climb before leaving Africa, rebel-activity and lava-activity permitting.)
At times, lightnings would flash through and the roars of Kivu Lake would break the deadly, menacing silence. UN vehicles and prostitutes were the only other moving phantoms after midnight. It was the first time, actually, when I really stepped out of the car in that mad city, to walk a bit around. Bizarre and spectacular and dangerous and calm and definitely surreal - all at the same time. Movie stuff apparitions as I have never felt or experienced before anywhere else. All accompanying the douce lingala language of the wonderful rumba tunes, that I don't think I will ever release from my heart and mind.
At times, lightnings would flash through and the roars of Kivu Lake would break the deadly, menacing silence. UN vehicles and prostitutes were the only other moving phantoms after midnight. It was the first time, actually, when I really stepped out of the car in that mad city, to walk a bit around. Bizarre and spectacular and dangerous and calm and definitely surreal - all at the same time. Movie stuff apparitions as I have never felt or experienced before anywhere else. All accompanying the douce lingala language of the wonderful rumba tunes, that I don't think I will ever release from my heart and mind.
Thursday, October 7, 2010
My Utmost Rwanda Victory
Today I performed a sheer act of courage in the forest: I finally dared go see Pablo's group!
Why has this been such an incredible moment? Well, for one, Pablo's is the largest mountain gorilla group anywhere in the world, with 45 individuals. A LOOOOOT! (By comparison, so far the largest group I had been in had below 15 individuals). The other thing that had kept me away all this time - well, they range pretty much at the very top of the mountain, so all I had heard were stories of struggle and pain on the part of everyone who has even gone to see them.
Considering that the rainy season is upon us and the forest will soon turn into this mud-pot, I decided it would be now or never, so that I could still catch the paths in a decent shape. So now it was, two days after I had been feverish (therefore no strength and serious breathing problems). Then again, when has anything been "as it should be" in my life?!
Luckily, as the bamboo shoot season is also near, and all the 9 gorilla groups we monitor are coming down to feed there, Pablo's was also on the descent. OK, so I cheated a little by not going all the way to the top. But OMG, was the hike CRAZY in any event!!!
My colleague Veronica was there to commiserate, and between IPod music and conversations in Italian we finally reached the group, after almost 3 hours of up-and-down through giant lobelias and thick nettles. Yes, painful at times, for sure, but all SO worth it.
Being surrounded by that many animals is indeed mind-blowing. Wherever you turn, a gorilla will be right there, watching you, brushing by you. Wherever you want to go, another one will either lead or follow you. Veronica, the gorilla expert, would ID them immediately after the nose print and give me the heads-up: this one is gentle, the other one may charge, etc, etc. You certainly don't want to mess with these HUGE creatures (a silverback in his all might would weigh up to 250 kilograms and have the power of 7 grown men)...
Luckily, apart from an interaction between the dominant silverback Cantsbee and a lost baby buffalo, everything turned out to be completely peaceful. The only damage - my knees, which are about to explode from the steep, rushed descent we had to make, in order to avoid the mother of all storms approaching fast. Quite an INCREDIBLE adventure, for sure, and one that opened my appetite for Pablo visits on a regular basis from now on!!!
Why has this been such an incredible moment? Well, for one, Pablo's is the largest mountain gorilla group anywhere in the world, with 45 individuals. A LOOOOOT! (By comparison, so far the largest group I had been in had below 15 individuals). The other thing that had kept me away all this time - well, they range pretty much at the very top of the mountain, so all I had heard were stories of struggle and pain on the part of everyone who has even gone to see them.
Considering that the rainy season is upon us and the forest will soon turn into this mud-pot, I decided it would be now or never, so that I could still catch the paths in a decent shape. So now it was, two days after I had been feverish (therefore no strength and serious breathing problems). Then again, when has anything been "as it should be" in my life?!
Luckily, as the bamboo shoot season is also near, and all the 9 gorilla groups we monitor are coming down to feed there, Pablo's was also on the descent. OK, so I cheated a little by not going all the way to the top. But OMG, was the hike CRAZY in any event!!!
My colleague Veronica was there to commiserate, and between IPod music and conversations in Italian we finally reached the group, after almost 3 hours of up-and-down through giant lobelias and thick nettles. Yes, painful at times, for sure, but all SO worth it.
Being surrounded by that many animals is indeed mind-blowing. Wherever you turn, a gorilla will be right there, watching you, brushing by you. Wherever you want to go, another one will either lead or follow you. Veronica, the gorilla expert, would ID them immediately after the nose print and give me the heads-up: this one is gentle, the other one may charge, etc, etc. You certainly don't want to mess with these HUGE creatures (a silverback in his all might would weigh up to 250 kilograms and have the power of 7 grown men)...
Luckily, apart from an interaction between the dominant silverback Cantsbee and a lost baby buffalo, everything turned out to be completely peaceful. The only damage - my knees, which are about to explode from the steep, rushed descent we had to make, in order to avoid the mother of all storms approaching fast. Quite an INCREDIBLE adventure, for sure, and one that opened my appetite for Pablo visits on a regular basis from now on!!!
Tuesday, October 5, 2010
Bed Time
I’ve been sick for a few days – yes, CURENT exists also in Africa, especially when you travel on local buses in 35+ degree heat. It got to me right after returning from my trip to Uganda – but now, being Africa-savvy, I didn’t mistake the first cold symptoms for malaria anymore. Funnily, though, people here are urging me to go see a doctor – “after all, it could be malaria”. Little do they know about my CURENT-related ailments, which so far have not failed to strike on all three continents I have lived on (still, by FAR, I prefer the old-fashion CURENT over the terrible A/C!).
Treating my sore throat by gargling with salt did miracles this time as well
(for those of you who didn’t see my FB status update a few days ago, here – OMG, the modern medicine performed this 'revolutionary' study!!!!
http://www.nytimes.com/2010/09/28/health/28real.html?src=me&ref=general). So I was on my way to recovery, when I was tempted by my colleague Veronica to a glamorous Sunday in Gysenyi, at the beach of the famed Serena hotel. Knowing I’d get worse, but not being able to resist it, I went and played pretty on the shores of Kivu Lake, to the delight of some 50 Indian business men gathered around for a conference (I know, my luck!). At least I somehow evened the tan on my arms, after the terrible, careless burns I had gotten a couple of weeks beforehand.
In the evening, of course, I got worse, and now, 36 hours later, I am blogging at 5 a.m., completely feverish (I broke all records here, waking up even before the LOUD birds started doing their morning rounds).
So yes, forget going to see gorillas today (I was on the schedule that is being drafted every Friday for the following week and implemented VERY strictly). Hopefully I’ll get better by Thursday (hmmm, doubtful), in order to join Veronica to Kuryama’s group (my favorite so far, with three amazing silverbacks and scores of infants and juveniles, playing around for hours, absolutely delightfully).
Until then, though – bedtime, with movies! I have NEVER watched so many random DVDs, one after the other, after the other. It’s actually kind of cool (I wonder how people did field work in remote sites beforehand?!) Breakfast will be pancakes (Fais is spoiling me) and chamomile tea, so it’s really not all that bad in bed...
Treating my sore throat by gargling with salt did miracles this time as well
(for those of you who didn’t see my FB status update a few days ago, here – OMG, the modern medicine performed this 'revolutionary' study!!!!
http://www.nytimes.com/2010/09/28/health/28real.html?src=me&ref=general). So I was on my way to recovery, when I was tempted by my colleague Veronica to a glamorous Sunday in Gysenyi, at the beach of the famed Serena hotel. Knowing I’d get worse, but not being able to resist it, I went and played pretty on the shores of Kivu Lake, to the delight of some 50 Indian business men gathered around for a conference (I know, my luck!). At least I somehow evened the tan on my arms, after the terrible, careless burns I had gotten a couple of weeks beforehand.
In the evening, of course, I got worse, and now, 36 hours later, I am blogging at 5 a.m., completely feverish (I broke all records here, waking up even before the LOUD birds started doing their morning rounds).
So yes, forget going to see gorillas today (I was on the schedule that is being drafted every Friday for the following week and implemented VERY strictly). Hopefully I’ll get better by Thursday (hmmm, doubtful), in order to join Veronica to Kuryama’s group (my favorite so far, with three amazing silverbacks and scores of infants and juveniles, playing around for hours, absolutely delightfully).
Until then, though – bedtime, with movies! I have NEVER watched so many random DVDs, one after the other, after the other. It’s actually kind of cool (I wonder how people did field work in remote sites beforehand?!) Breakfast will be pancakes (Fais is spoiling me) and chamomile tea, so it’s really not all that bad in bed...
Wednesday, September 29, 2010
Uganda Safari
It seems like Uganda has become a regular for long weekends during my time in Africa. Taking advantage of the fact that Katie, my boss, was leaving for the US, and that Meda had a few more days here, I just decided to take Friday and Monday off and embark on a real safari (yes, pretty much my first 'touristy'-like experience around here - costly, how else, but absolutely incredible).
These are some of the most memorable moments I managed to capture on camera in Queens Elisabeth National Park. Complemented by my other trip around Lake Mburu National Park last month, I can now safely say that I have a pretty good idea of what savanna is - and even more so what savanna FEELS, SMELLS and SOUNDS like. Quite addictive, actually - especially the very early mornings and late afternoons, when the plains are incredibly refreshing.
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These are some of the most memorable moments I managed to capture on camera in Queens Elisabeth National Park. Complemented by my other trip around Lake Mburu National Park last month, I can now safely say that I have a pretty good idea of what savanna is - and even more so what savanna FEELS, SMELLS and SOUNDS like. Quite addictive, actually - especially the very early mornings and late afternoons, when the plains are incredibly refreshing.
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