July is the hump-month

Without going through the arduous task of actually counting days, around now marks around the half way point of my (anticipated) time in East Africa.  Soon, it will also mark the longest that I've been or lived away from home.  Miraculously, I continue to make amateur mistakes with troubling frequency.  

For example:

Letting my gas run low

I've been warned 'always have gas, because sometimes there isn't any'.  This is the type of advice that you can listen to but not internalize if you have never been to a gas station that was open, but not selling gas.  A few weeks ago, as I pulled into the station near my house a guy started frantically waving his arms in a gesture that clearly meant "there's nothing here".  Of course as I write this my gas tank is again almost empty, tempting fate to leave me to learn the hard way.

Assuming that if I don't get cash, I wont get charged 

False.  And alarming given the frequency with which I request money and the machine pauses, makes the money counting sound and then spits out only my bank card.  This also happened a few weeks ago and it took almost a week for the charge to make its way off my bank statement. I still haven't checked my account after it happened last Tuesday.  That said, since the turn around is about a week maybe I'm just in time....

If you climb a mountain and you turn around...

In an effort to escape the monotony of Dar, last Friday afternoon me and four girlfriends piled into a surprisingly roomy compact and headed for the hills.  Destination: Morogoro.  Set at the base of a mountain, it’s a town that manages to feel much smaller than its population of 300,000.  Armed with our guidebooks, we had our sights on Lupanga Peak, 2189m above sea level and a “challenging” 6 hour return trip.

Checking into the oddly (but maybe aptly?) named New Acropol Hotel, our less than warm reception was offset by the fresh cool(er) air of in-land Tanzania.  The oddly dilapidated nature of the grounds was fodder for a number of crime related jokes throughout out the weekend and made for some interesting pictures (click title).  In fact, that was one of the themes of the trip – we saw a lot of surprising things, many of which we captured through my lens.

Because mountain climbers need energy, after checking in we headed to a local pizza joint to ‘carb load’.  The highlight by far was the pure garlic sauce they served, of which we spread copious amounts of on everything we ordered.  Justifying it afterwards, we decided it would have the unanticipated positive effect of warding off insects the next day, which arrived after a turbulent sleep at our very weird guesthouse.

After an early breakfast and a negotiation about park permits, we set off for the peak at about 9 am.  This involved walking about half an hour to the base of the mountains.  At this point, we were already traveling at a pretty steep incline.  Incredibly, I found myself longing for the switchbacks of the Himalayas.  When we asked the guides how long it would take, we got mixed answers, some that suggested it would take 6 hours to the top, which we laughed off as a misunderstanding.  As it turns out, the misunderstanding was ours (and the Rough Guide’s).  About three hours into our ascent we asked again and were told that we were still about 4 hours from the peak.  FOUR HOURS.  Recognizing that it was unlikely we could make it up and back down by a reasonable hour, we decided on a compromise that would have us hike to a picnic site that was a more reasonable 2 hours away.  That was until half an hour later when the steep ascent started to become a vertical climb.  Scrambling up rock faces and the tangled roots of the rainforest, concerns about our descent began to creep in.  After a brief discussion, we agreed to head back down, but not before stopping to take in the spectacular view of the Uluguru Mountains and the town below.

Hours later, having reached the bottom and headed back to the hotel, I found myself idle, waiting for the electricity to come on and power our shower.  A sense of dissatisfaction began to blossom in the corner of my mind.  Should I come back and try again? Should I forget about it and worry about the next peak? For those of you who have been faithful readers, you’ll remember that this is not the first mountain I’ve failed to summit in the last year.  I wonder, what is so important about reaching the top of a mountain/hill/volcano?  In many ways, it’s an arbitrary marker: in terms of requisite skill, exertion, even vantage point.  Maybe it’s as simple as falling short of a goal: to make it to the top.  By this measure I am able to let myself off the hook.  My goals were to spend some time in the company of women I enjoy, experience the beauty of the country that I live in and climb to Lupanga Peak.  As the saying goes, 2 out of 3 ain’t bad.  But don’t be surprised if the peak makes another appearance in this blog before the year’s end!    

Zebras and warthogs and leopards – oh my!

As you might have inferred from my silence, I have recently been on the road for work.  Traveling for work, not only are my days long and access to internet sporadic, but there often isn’t too much to share.  In light of this, at the end of my trip to Kenya last week, I decided to take advantage of the proximity of our workshop to several national parks: Mt. Longonot and Hell’s Gate.  Come Thursday afternoon, part of me was wishing I’d opted for a comfortable bed and a flight back to Dar and when I checked into my banda at Fisherman’s Camp, all I could do was laugh at the 5 bunk beds, musty sheets and hole in the wall.

Resolving that I would enjoy the trip, even if I didn’t sleep, I went out in search of companions.  When you travel alone, it’s hard not to feel like a suspicious character: ‘Why is that girl sleeping in a room for five by herself?  Why is she checking into a camp wearing a suit?’ Combating this requires an unfailing smile and a willingness to intrude upon the plans of strangers.  Case in point – shortly after arriving I noticed two couples who seemed to be talking about a boat ride to Crater Lake.  That is exactly where I wanted to go and was unwilling to pay the price of a solo trip so I walked over and asked to join. Perfect.  I had no idea that the lake is surrounded by a peninsula that you walk through and that is filled with wild animals.  We literally walked among zebras, impalas, beasts (the guide’s term, not mine) and giraffes.  Really nothing can prepare you for walking in the savannah among animals that usually only appear in story books.  I’m not really that ‘into’ animals but the mix of fear and awe is intoxicating.

The fear and awe were intensified the next day during my visit to Hell’s Gate National Park.  The draw of this park is that you can walk or ride your bike through it owing to the absence of lions.  Because everything is relative, apparently the presence of leopards is consequently nothing to be worried about.  I had a lot of time to reflect on this as I rode my bike alone through the empty expanse of the park.  It was surreal to see random giraffes pass by and see families of warthogs graze without glancing in my direction.  I was overwhelmed by how small I am in this world.  Eight dusty kilometers later my guide at the actual gate of hell (a gorge in the Rift Valley that leads to the Masai Mara) told me ‘you’d be lucky to see a leopard in the day time, they are hard to spot’.  Where to start?  Unless I’m behind plexiglas, I’m not sure I’m ever going to find a leopard sighting lucky!  Fortunately my departure from the park corresponded with throngs of high school students entering for a school trip – allowing me to have enjoyed the solace of the park and creating a diversion in case of a ‘lucky’ sighting.

My final morning I laced up my hiking boots to ascent Mt. Longonot.  An inactive volcano 2798m above sea level, Mt. Longonot promised spectacular views of the Rift Valley.  One of the nice couple’s I met on Thursday dropped me off at the park gate and $17 later I set off to the top.  Over the last year I’ve noticed that whenever you are climbing something, inevitably the top is never where you think it is.  I climbed the first hill, overtaking a tour group and feeling pretty energetic, only to be dismayed by the larger, steeper hill looming in the distance.  Reaching the top of the crater, I was still feeling quite pleased (even though some military people running had overtaken me on the way up) until my guide was like ‘you have to go to the summit’.  I really shouldn’t have asked where that was, because it was very foggy and no less than 6 hills stood between me and the summit.  Of course, when I finally reached it, even more fog had rolled in – obscuring the view of absolutely everything! My picture could have been taken in a parking lot in Niagara Falls!

Back at the base of the mountain I had to hatch a plan for my return to Nairobi.  I took a motor bike to a main road, hitched a matatu (public mini bus), crammed myself in it, went to the neighbouring town, grabbed another matatu (this one playing Mariah Carey’s greatest hits – score!) and returned to my guest house.  Tired and dirty, I decided to inquire about a cab back to the city.  As luck would have it, the only other person in the lobby was on their way back to Nairobi after coming to for a morning bike ride with some friends!  A long lunch and skillful car ride later, I ended up hanging out with three friends, eating sausages and tea, talking about just about everything and eventually checking out Nairobi’s vibrant nightlife.  From wilderness to cocktails – a perfect antidote to weeks of work on the road!

wedding bells

Once I read about a couple that got married all over the world.  Ceremony after ceremony, in culture after culture.  Initially I thought this was romantic, largely because of my own dreams of travel, but increasingly I’m beginning to see it an endurance event.

 

Last year, I recounted my trip to Jodhpur and my experience attending a Rajput wedding.  Five months into my time in Tanzania, I have finally been initiated into the world of weddings.  As a disclaimer, I freely admit that as with so many aspects of my life here, I am sure that a lot has been lost in translation.  Not that I think any of you are reading this for educational purposes!

Central to the Tanzanian wedding is the ‘contribution’.  Prior to a wedding reception or related party, potential participants are asked to make a financial contribution to the festivities.  I am still not sure whether the amount is supposed to constitute a gift or cover your costs (I defaulted to gift).  Once you hand over the cash, you are presented with an invitation, which you will need to remember to present on arrival.  Luckily, my assistant informed me of this in advance, although I’m sure getting rejected at the party would have made for as good a story as any I had with my fake-id (sorry).

Thankfully, all of my office mates were kind enough to recognize that without instruction, the muzungu (foreigner) was likely to make mistakes.  I was instructed to make my contribution for both the kitchen party and the send-off party (which I had never heard of) – and to write the amount of my contribution on the outside of the card – to ensure it got to the intended recipient ‘safely’! 

A kitchen party has some parallels with a bridal shower.  For instance, only women attend.  There are drinks and snacks.  The bride also makes off with some significant loot.  At the front of the open-air reception hall was a display of all the items that were given to the bride as gifts: a living room set, bedroom set, dining room hutch, stove, washing machine, dishes, pots, pans, utensils; essentially an entire household! Apparently, our office had been requested to purchase a fridge as a wedding gift – which had me choke on my soda water! A fridge! Talk about incentive to marry in Tanzania! (don’t worry, I’m not that greedy)  In the end, a fridge made a surprise appearance during the gift presentations.  I’ve since learned that my colleagues bought her a generator instead!

From my understanding, the roots of a kitchen party aren’t unlike those of the bridal shower – traditionally it is an opportunity for women close to the bride to share information and tips on how to be a good wife and please one’s husband.  Although I have little to contribute to such a discussion, I was looking forward to picking up some local strategies.  Unfortunately, perhaps because the party was so big, the only piece of advice offered came when the bride was shown her new bed and her mother told her it was for her and her husband only.  Constructive, if unoriginal.  However, the same cannot be said for the tastes of the attendees.  The bride picked two different blue-patterned fabrics from which each woman made a dress.  The result was a sea of blue and gold, undulating with traditional, strapless and off the shoulder numbers.  The process of tailoring our dresses involved me driving in the manic midday traffic of Dar es Salaam for the first time.  It also included me painfully explaining through my colleagues that I did not know how the dress fit since I couldn’t pull it over my hips! Skillful handiwork ensured that my dress was ready by the next day – although a proper fitting revealed it to be both short and tight – perfect wedding apparel for the foreigner! (Luckily, some other young Tanzanian women had the same idea)

Under the rainy season sky

Lake Bunyonyi, Uganda

I’ve been meaning to write a post about my first complete rainy season and after one of my colleagues told me that the rainy season is already finished elsewhere in Tanzania, I figured that was my cue.

Living through a rainy season held a certain appeal for me.  I pictured floods of water and lazy weekends spent indoors.  I was told that it would not rain all the time but that instead it would rain heavily, sometimes violently, and then just as suddenly the sun would return.  I was warned that transport via bajaj (auto rickshaw) would be less than comfortable and that gashes would open in the roads.  As compensation for our patience, the end of the rainy season promised a reprieve from the intense heat that has persisted since January.

As usual, it was the things that I wasn’t told about that left the greatest impression (with mixed results).

The good

The rainy season sky is spectacular.  I do not possess sufficient descriptive talent to describe this to you.  For once I am actually going to attach pictures to my post in order to compensate.  I honestly think that every picture I took was made more dramatic by the ever-changing backdrop provided by the sky.  I undoubtedly drew curious glances from fellow passengers as I took picture after picture from plane windows traveling across East Africa in March.  To me, the show put on by the clouds proved irresistible, especially with the threat of being caught in a torrential downpour removed!

Although it did not rain all day every day, sometimes it rained for long stretches.  As I predicted, there is something deeply satisfying about sitting quietly, listening to the rain beat down on the windows and resigning yourself to the fact that there is nowhere you can go – and if you’re generous enough with yourself – nothing you can do.