Remember That Town Where I Only Had Mangos and Wine

"I didn't mean to treat you so bad
You shouldn't take it so personal
I didn't mean to make you so sad
You just happened to be there, that's all
When I saw you say "goodbye" to your friends and smile
I thought that it was well understood
That you'd be comin' back in a little while
I didn't know that you were sayin' "goodbye" for good

But, sooner or later, one of us must know
You just did what you're supposed to do
Sooner or later, one of us must know
That I really did try to get close to you"

I picked that song for you, Elliot. You better get it.

In keeping with my "Hostile Hostel Owner" theme, in Nairobi, I found yet another backpacker joint with yet another totally psychotic ex-pat owner. He found out I would be in Kenya for another two and a half weeks, so he invited me to stay and work for him. He explained that the hostel needed "a woman's touch". I am not really sure what he meant by that and frankly not too sure if I want to find out. It crossed my mind to take him up on the offer, as I would get free accommodations and meals and a flight out to Lamu the next weekend. Then I heard him go on one of his many rants to one of his employees and I quickly changed my mind. I had actually heard about this guy from other travelers back in Rwanda and came knowing about his lunacy to some extent. I guess I've developed some sort of morbid curiosity toward crazed hostel owners.

I stayed in Nairobi for a few days. I found it to be a nicer, less threatening city than I had anticipated. Or perhaps people don't bother me because I might be walking around with a grrrr on my face. During my freshman year of college, I remember my History of Music professor telling the class about riding the Seattle Metro bus into work and noticing that the seat next to him was the only unoccupied seat. He brought this up because he is African American and he felt sure that this was the reason the seat next to him remained unoccupied. (I can tell you all from too many personal experiences on the Seattle Metro that having an empty seat next to you is actually very desirable, given the characters that may join you.)

I thought of this professor's story because the exact same thing happened to me one evening in Nairobi. I was being brave and decided to take the bus from downtown back to my hostel, even though it was the evening. I went to the main bus stop and boarded the appropriate bus. Being one of the first people on board, I waited quite a while until the bus was full. I was sitting near the front in a row of three seat and I had moved all the way over to the window to free up the other seats. After a while, I noticed that people were cramming two people into the rows on the other side of the bus, which only had two seats per row, rather than sitting next to me. I felt sure this was happening because I was the obvious foreigner; granted I also may not have showered for a while and I did spot a cockroach or two on the seat next to me. Eventually, when all other seats were full, two women sat down next to me. They didn't give me a second glance. Maybe I imagined the whole thing. Or maybe they thought if they didn't look at me I wouldn't notice them. I hear some parents tell naughty children that mzungus will come and take them away. Great, now not only am I pale, I'm also a boogy man.

All joking aside, this really didn't bother me at all. I just thought it was interesting. I suppose people are most comfortable with strangers that most resemble themselves. Theoretically, when I get on the bus, I would feel most comfortable sitting next to a Caucasian woman, or any woman for that matter. In actuality, I tend to skip that 7 second size up (check out my friend Elliot's blog on this) and end up sitting next to the homeless man who has drunk so much he has peed on his seat and the air around him is so full of alcohol, I'm drunk by the time I get off the bus too. But that's just me

Today, I went diving off the Kenyan coast. It was warm and beautiful. I spotted many turtles, a few eels, rays and even octopus. This evening I have been invited to a local politicians house to have dinner. He is currently out in search of fresh fish! Watamu is a beautiful little village, that happens to be an Italian resort location. Since the Italians bring good coffee and ice cream, I don't mind the crowds of them so much. Beside, it seems the locals are more inclined to invite me to dinner, perhaps because they are thinking, "at least she is not part of a huge group of Italians". I have a fabulous hotel room with a bed I could fit five of me in, a hot, private shower, my own porch and a pool. After dinner I plan to sit on the porch, eat a mango and drink some red wine. I have no corkscrew, but with Sharlee's help, I have become pretty good at pushing corks into wine bottles. The only problem with this technique is that I then must drink the entire bottle before moving to another hotel or village because I can't get the cork out of the bottle.

The White Nile

"missy aggravation
some sacred questions
you stroke my locks
. . .
you can gouge away
stay all day
if you want to"

I believe the last time I left off (ages ago, I know, I'm sorry) I was speeding through Tanzania, Rwanda, Uganda and Kenya. Or at least that was the plan anyway. I did make it through Rwanda fairly efficiently, spending enough time to get to know the country a bit and to see the mountain gorillas. Seeing the gorillas, for me as a biology student, was amazing, though expensive. In my opinion, the tourists are allowed too close to the gorilla families; however, if this allows the Rwandan government to successfully prevent poaching through the money made off the gorillas, then I suppose the tourists are the lesser of two evils. I found Rwanda to be fairly efficient and modern, with good roads and friendly people. It was hard for me to imagine the genocide happened only 13 years ago. I hope my positive impressions reflect what is really happening in the country; however, I heard later through some UN workers that there is still a strong undercurrent of tension and many believe another genocide is inevitable. Being surrounded by volatile countries such as Burundi and the DRC probably does not help Rwanda maintain peace.

I intended to make a few brief stops in Uganda on my way to Kenya, one of which was to go rafting on the Nile. I decided the stop was imperative, as another dam will soon be constructed on the river, changing many of the rapids. Kampala has frequent power cuts, mostly in the evening. My understanding is that these are due to lack of adequate power for the population, which is currently exploding, especially in Kampala. Hence the second dam. I did notice the power seemed to be cut more frequently during my second time through the country in September. I have heard various conspiracy theories that the power is being cut more often now to increase support for the dam. Frankly, it seems likely. I wish I was going to be around in November for the Commonwealth Heads of Government Meeting (CHOGM) because my hunch is that for that week, power cuts will decrease substantially. Need to make a good impression for the Queen, you know? Uganda has put tons of time and money into preparing for this meeting of prior British colonies. In some ways, this has been beneficial -- the airport is being renovated and roads are being improved. Unfortunately, I've heard and seen downsides as well, including poorer people with unattractive houses and stores being forced off the main roads. It does seem to be a big dog and pony show to say "Look how well we are doing"; I think it would be most beneficial to give a completely truthful picture of Uganda. Uganda IS doing well and should be proud of many things without feeling that Ugandans need to hide aspects of their country that still need work.

In Kampala, I met several people from the UK who were in Uganda to kayak. They told me that there was a good kayak school on the Nile and, that being the slow season, setting up lessons should be easy. This is how I discovered kayaking and ended up stuck in Jinja, Uganda off and on for 3 weeks. By the time I finally made myself leave, I had become pretty good at my roll, even in rapids, learned to surf a bit and partied a bit too much. I am certain I will continue kayaking now wherever I end up and may even decide to become a raft guide in the near future. My biggest hesitation is that I'm not sure that I am up to the crazy atmosphere that seems to be bred on the river. Now I just need to find a way to integrate this river life with some sort of actual career -- I've enjoyed my free time over the last 7 months, but I am feeling up for a more structured academic or work-related challenge.

I'm not sure what exactly Mr. Bonderman and the University of Washington Honors Program expect me to discover on this trip. My hunch is that they actually don't really care. At least that is my hope. Over the last 8 months, I have thought a lot about my life and what I am doing, but I have also tried not to think about it too much (a difficult task for me). I have become even more interested in conservation biology. I have also learned more about human rights, public health and foreign aid. Though I feel even more strongly that conservation programs must work together with human populations, I have to admit that I feel somewhat jaded toward foreign aid, many NGOs and many governments.

I am now in Kenya and have already booked a plane ticket home. It feels so strange to know that I am leaving in just two weeks. My sense of time is so skewed at this point that two weeks seems like nothing compared to 8 months. Somehow, my leave date seems so close, I kind of wish it was now. I hate waiting for things, especial waiting for new phases in my life. I feel that the sooner I return home, the sooner I can figure out what I am doing next; however, I'm trying hard to enjoy my last two weeks and not think too much. I'll be headed to the Kenyan coast for some diving and relaxing, then back to Nairobi for my flight.

Adventures in Public Transportation

"Where does this mean world cast its cold eye
Who's left to suffer long about you
Does your soul cast about like an old paper bag
Past empty lots and early graves
Those like you who lost their way
Murdered on the interstate
While the red bells rang like thunder"

I realized recently that my current plan involves me being in 5 countries within the month of September. It is true that plans are only vague outlines of what might possibly happen when in Africa, but it is getting late in September and I am actually in the fourth of five countries. The plan might just happen. For once.

Obviously moving through five countries requires a lot of, well, moving, so I'm dedicating a whole post to my adventures in public transportation.

I have been more than lucky to have stayed safe on the road in the last 7 months and I hope that streak continues. There have certainly been some close calls, most notably side-swiping the cow in South Africa, but nothing too tragic. The drivers in most countries I have traveled in all drive within some degree of a completely and utterly terrifying manner. They regularly pass on blind corners with on-coming traffic and drive at speeds much too fast for the road conditions. Today, I bought a newspaper in Kabale, where I stopped upon crossing into Uganda. I wanted to read about the recent flooding to update myself on whether my travel plans needed to change. While sitting in the minibus, waiting for it to leave from Kabale to Mbarara, I read an article that stated 2 people had died and 7 had been injured yesterday when a minibus had rolled on the Kabale-Mbarara road. Not a good way to start my journey this afternoon.

Generally, I have become rather accustomed to public transport in East Africa. It is much the same throughout different countries. At first I was surprised by how many vans, rather than buses, I was riding in and how incredibly crowded they were. That taxi ride in Peru at 5 am where my friend Jo and I were joined by 3 men and 2 women who were moving and therefore brought all their earthly possessions would be nothing to me now! I think my current "transportation zone" could qualify as a new type of meditation; however, occasionally things have happened that even I still find noteworthy.

While heading north in Malawi, back to Tanzania just to cross the entire country and get into Rwanda, I was riding in the typical minibus in the first bench behind the driver. The minibus stopped for some mechanical problem that I was not too concerned about. Even if this particular minibus couldn't continue, we could easily flag down another on the busy road. I was mildly surprised to see the driver fold the front passenger seats forward to expose part of the engine, but I was not concerned. Then, without warning, hot water began spraying from something he was working on -- presumably the radiator. For a second I was still not concerned, as the water was not burning hot and the seat folded backward, partially shielding us from the spray. Despite all this, the woman sitting next to me decided that quick evacuation was necessary. Unbelievably, considering her age and size, she sprang from the bench next to me and jumped behind me, out the door, kicking me in the back of the head on the way out. Seeing as no one else was sitting to my right, threatening to climb over me and considering the offending radiator cap had already been removed, I still stayed where I was, my meditative state only slightly perturbed. One man, upon reentering the minibus, said to me, "Be careful mzungu, this is Malawi." My head hurt far more than my slightly damp arms for the rest of the ride.

Once I entered Tanzania, I was in a hurry to make it across the country to Rwanda, as I was traveling on a transit visa. The immigration officer had asked how long I needed. I told him 4 days. He asked where I was going. I told him Rwanda. He told his co-worker to give me 10 days. She gave me 14. It was then that I figured out Lonely Planet might not be exaggerating when the author highly advised against traveling by road in the northwest of Tanzania.

The next day, I left the boarder town of Mbeya for the capital, Dodoma, in a large bus. The first 4 hours of the trip were fine and I judged by the map that we were about half way there. Four hours later, we enter a large-ish town that was not Dodoma. It was then that I realized, by consulting my guide book, that we had taken a road northeast rather than straight north and were almost all the way back to Dar Es Salaam! Another 3 or 4 hours later, after turning straight west, we made it to Dodoma. I was irritated that we didn't take the direct route, but figured that since the bus was full of locals the whole way from Mbeya, there must have been a reason for the road choice.

I figured out the reason the next day. Lonely Planet states that the roads north and south of Dodoma are appalling. We skipped the south road the day before, but were stuck taking the north road to my next overnight stop, Mwanza. Within 5 minutes of leaving the bus station on a bus that left 3 hours late (still "on time" by East African standards) the man sitting behind me attempted to slide his window back to shut it. He only succeeded in causing the window to shatter all over me. I spent the next 11 hours sitting in broken glass on the roughest road I have ever ridden on in my whole life. It was worse than the dirt road down to the salt flats in Bolivia. What made it especially bad was that our driver insisted on driving at no less than 80 km/h. When we hit a pot hole in the dirt (which happened roughly ever 30 seconds) we all flew from our seats. I had to put my hands up to avoid hitting the ceiling of the bus. Then I would come crashing down into my seat, which was embedded with glass. Further, I was wearing my sandals, so the glass on the floor would inevitably be thrown inside my sandals. We eventually had to stop in a town south of Mwanza because we were not allowed to travel past 10. I had to be back at the station at 4 am the next morning. Mercifully, we reached pavement for the rest of the ride that morning.

Once I reached the Mwanza bus station, I immediately inquired about another bus to the boarder. I was prepared to get on another bus that morning if it hadn't left yet. Unfortunately, I was informed that there was no bus that day, nor was there a bus for the next day. I got stuck in Mwanza for two days, but luckily it was a decent town to be stuck in. I was beginning to figure out why the immigration officer kind of chuckled at me when I told him I was going to get to Rwanda in 4 days.

In a lucky turn of fortune, my last bus actually took less time to reach its destination than I had been led to believe. Even managing to catch the bus was a bit of a miracle, for several reasons. First, there are multiple bus stations in Mwanza and I had to be sure I knew which one my bus would leave from. Turned out, the correct bus station was 12km out of town, so I also had to arrange a taxi to pick me up from my hotel and take me to the bus station at 3:45 in the morning. Also, many Tanzanians operate on a Swahili clock, which I believe begins with 1 am when the sun rises, so 7 am on my clock; however, I get easily confused by this because I never know which clock a particular person is using. All these problems were confounded by the fact that almost no one in Mwanza speaks English, so clarification is nearly impossible. One characteristic the East Africans have that is both endearing and maddening is their tendency to answer any and all questions with "yes". Does the bus leave at 4:30am western time?" "Yes." "Or does it leave at 4:30am Swahili time?" "Yes." It is very difficult to actually get anything figured out in this type of conversation.

Rwanda proved to be much easier to travel in, as it is a very small country. Even bad roads can't take too long when the distance is short. Uganda is not too bad either. I am trying to go to a national park tomorrow -- Lonely Planet says it should take 8 hours, but the hotel staff said it should take 1 hour. As I write this, I realize it will sound ridiculous to you to not be able to to determine, between a map, a guide book and local advice, whether a drive will take 8 hours or 1 hour, but somehow it makes complete sense to me. I'll let you know when I get there.