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
Sunday, November 28, 2010
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.
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