My series of updates on holiday travels will continue as expected tomorrow, but I also thought to share a brief excerpt I pulled from a Ugandan magazine recently (before I lose the scrap it is scribbled on!). The story concerned the former Ugandan internal security chief (domestic spy master, basically) and his laundry list of infractions and wild expenses. And I quote...
"It was reported that the former ISO chief has been living the life of a superstar characterised by high expenditure, booze, and yes, lots of chicken. Mukumbi has been feasting on a whole, long-legged cock from Teso per day. Thus the five years he has been head of ISO, the bespectacled ex-spy chief has eaten 1,865 cocks - a record that could earn him a slot in the Guinness Book of Records."
A true poultry fan. He also imported two young Rwandese women to work in the secure offices of ISO, and was apparently also keeping them as girlfriends. Classy guy, huh? Reading the article, I couldn't help but think of Dave Chappelle's hilarious stand-up bit about chicken and black people. Worth a view here.
Unfortunately, on a more serious note, this is decent example of how political power begets lack of accountability and abuse of office. I could easily imagine there being ten Mukumbis living freely (and lavishly) for every one busted in Uganda.
Wednesday, September 8, 2010
Phantom visas and the ass-end of the animal kingdom, Part 2.
Well, turns out we were fine. The would-be corrupt cop was past unceremoniously shortly after he passed us, caught relieving himself on the side of the road. And, our luck and the driver’s gas gauge hung until we pulled into the hostel very near the center of Victoria Falls, Zimbabwe.
Victoria Falls is clearly set up to accommodate the tourist crowd, and tourists there certainly are. Not just westerners either. For dinner our first night, however, we went down to a local bar and restaurant that served traditional African meals and Zimbabwean beer (best to stick with South African imports). Of course the proprietress thought us crazy, but we assured her Zimbabwean food could be no worse than Rwandan food. In fact, it was eerily similar, but saltier and with more greens.
Our hostel was reasonably comfortable and busy, and any given person you sat down with to share a beer or a meal almost certainly had a better story to tell about their travels. Evan and I later remarked to each other how cool, just cool, some travelers are. One guy, an older man from Holland, had been travelling through central Asia, the Middle East, east Africa, and, when we met him, southern Africa.
Clearly we had to see the Falls, which, true to form, were absolutely stunning. On our short walk down through town to the park, we were greeted by a herd of elephants (enormous!) casually munching on trees less than ten meters from the paved path. Now, for those unaware, elephants are seriously dangerous, and can trample easily. Quiet and slow movements were called for all-around. Following our elephant encounter, we continued on to the park. I will put some pictures up as soon as I get them from Evan (read: stop being lazy), but suffice to say, Victoria Falls is an awesome, powerful natural wonder. Something akin to the Grand Canyon for wow-factor. The mist from the falls wafts over you from hundreds of meters away, and much of the Falls itself is shrouded in a dense vaporous haze streaked with the occasional rainbow. Essentially you traipse around the rim of the Falls on well made paths, viewing it from various vantage (and soakage) points looking back towards the river flowing in immense sheets off the cliffs.
After taking the obligatory tourist pictures and checking out all the angles, Hewsan, John, Evan, and I went back out of the park and along the road leading to the border with Zambia. The border itself splits the Zambeze river and an enormous span bridge clinging to high, steep cliffs. We crossed through the border post, realizing all too late that only Hewsan had brought his passport. The only option was to carry on and hope we weren’t stopped or arrested trying to reenter. My three companions all decided to bungee off the bridge, but I had no inclination to do so. (Like Jinja, I just have no interest in bungee jumping; plus, it’s Zimbabwe…come on). In any case, things went off without a hitch, and Evan said it was much wilder than Jinja. Sure, whatever.
Getting back in to Zimbabwe proved to be easy, but only because Hewsan had brought his passport. Thankfully there wasn’t a cock-up on our part, but it surely could have been; crisis avoided. We cruised back up to the Fall entrance, then continued on past it down a paved then dirt road leading to what signs described as “The Big Tree.” Sounded promising since there are numerous great, big, bulbous, spiky baobab trees sprinkled throughout Victoria Fall’s surrounding areas. However, the further we trekked without seeing anything particularly remarkable save for warning signs not to feed dangerous wildlife or venture off marked roads and trails, the more foolish we thought. Perfect, I thought, classically stupid tourists get ravaged by wildebeest or consumed by ferocious Tiger…er…I mean…lion. I could see the headlines forming in my mind as my head swiveled to and fro scanning the bush for the first sign of danger. John was likewise disposed but Evan and Hewsan, perhaps as their own defense mechanism, twittered away. Fortunately, as we had thus far managed, nothing happened, although I can’t claim to have seen anything truly massive in the tree department. There were a fair number of specimens, plus the danger we had placed ourselves in, so that was fun.
That night Evan managed to arrange us a shoe-string driving safari for early the next morning and we thoroughly enjoyed (almost) our western fast food pizza and fried chicken (save Hewsan, who, having already decided to trade some of his t-shirts for a small wood carving, proceeded to eat an entire box of chicken and pizza, then overdose on Ciproflaxin).
The next morning, in the chilly early morning dawn, we waited for our driver to pick us up. Par for the course, we waited, waited, and waited some more. Eventually he showed up, and it became clear the middle man we arranged through really shafted the guy. However, we refused to budge, and ultimately prevailed, although we felt terrible because our driver really got the short end of the stick. Perhaps karma, and less-than-stellar planning, caught up with us.
As we rolled down dirt tracks through yet another national park within a few minutes of Victoria Falls, the cold wind buffeting our faces and feet beneath musty blankets passed around by our guide, we hoped to see a wide range of game Zimbabwe is known for. To make a long story short, we basically saw the ass-end of the animal kingdom, and not much else. No lions or other cats, no elephants, no crocs, and a few giraffes only from the remotest of distances. We did, however, see lots of warthogs, guinea fowl, an extremely large stork, troops of baboons, and a fair number of deer or antelope types. Literally everything ran away at the first sign of our presence, leaving only their backsides for us to photograph mostly. In any case, it was a risk worth taking, because you just never know. Plus it was a hell of a lot cheaper than our rather boring makoro trip in Botswana.
With the Falls, bungee jump, Big Tree, and game drive wrapped up, we prepared to leave Victoria Falls. Our return trip to South Africa was planned via Bulewayo, first by overnight train and then overnight bus back to Pretoria. Another update coming tomorrow…hopefully.
Ramadan ends tomorrow with Eid ul-Fitr (often just Eid), and we have the day off. A fair number of our students are Muslim and they rightly deserve the day off (plus, fasting for weeks is tough, especially for young students who are already malnourished). As one of Islam’s holiest days approaches, take some time to think about the state of Islam, and religion in general, in the United States, just as I will do here in Rwanda.
Cheers
Zach
Victoria Falls is clearly set up to accommodate the tourist crowd, and tourists there certainly are. Not just westerners either. For dinner our first night, however, we went down to a local bar and restaurant that served traditional African meals and Zimbabwean beer (best to stick with South African imports). Of course the proprietress thought us crazy, but we assured her Zimbabwean food could be no worse than Rwandan food. In fact, it was eerily similar, but saltier and with more greens.
Our hostel was reasonably comfortable and busy, and any given person you sat down with to share a beer or a meal almost certainly had a better story to tell about their travels. Evan and I later remarked to each other how cool, just cool, some travelers are. One guy, an older man from Holland, had been travelling through central Asia, the Middle East, east Africa, and, when we met him, southern Africa.
Clearly we had to see the Falls, which, true to form, were absolutely stunning. On our short walk down through town to the park, we were greeted by a herd of elephants (enormous!) casually munching on trees less than ten meters from the paved path. Now, for those unaware, elephants are seriously dangerous, and can trample easily. Quiet and slow movements were called for all-around. Following our elephant encounter, we continued on to the park. I will put some pictures up as soon as I get them from Evan (read: stop being lazy), but suffice to say, Victoria Falls is an awesome, powerful natural wonder. Something akin to the Grand Canyon for wow-factor. The mist from the falls wafts over you from hundreds of meters away, and much of the Falls itself is shrouded in a dense vaporous haze streaked with the occasional rainbow. Essentially you traipse around the rim of the Falls on well made paths, viewing it from various vantage (and soakage) points looking back towards the river flowing in immense sheets off the cliffs.
After taking the obligatory tourist pictures and checking out all the angles, Hewsan, John, Evan, and I went back out of the park and along the road leading to the border with Zambia. The border itself splits the Zambeze river and an enormous span bridge clinging to high, steep cliffs. We crossed through the border post, realizing all too late that only Hewsan had brought his passport. The only option was to carry on and hope we weren’t stopped or arrested trying to reenter. My three companions all decided to bungee off the bridge, but I had no inclination to do so. (Like Jinja, I just have no interest in bungee jumping; plus, it’s Zimbabwe…come on). In any case, things went off without a hitch, and Evan said it was much wilder than Jinja. Sure, whatever.
Getting back in to Zimbabwe proved to be easy, but only because Hewsan had brought his passport. Thankfully there wasn’t a cock-up on our part, but it surely could have been; crisis avoided. We cruised back up to the Fall entrance, then continued on past it down a paved then dirt road leading to what signs described as “The Big Tree.” Sounded promising since there are numerous great, big, bulbous, spiky baobab trees sprinkled throughout Victoria Fall’s surrounding areas. However, the further we trekked without seeing anything particularly remarkable save for warning signs not to feed dangerous wildlife or venture off marked roads and trails, the more foolish we thought. Perfect, I thought, classically stupid tourists get ravaged by wildebeest or consumed by ferocious Tiger…er…I mean…lion. I could see the headlines forming in my mind as my head swiveled to and fro scanning the bush for the first sign of danger. John was likewise disposed but Evan and Hewsan, perhaps as their own defense mechanism, twittered away. Fortunately, as we had thus far managed, nothing happened, although I can’t claim to have seen anything truly massive in the tree department. There were a fair number of specimens, plus the danger we had placed ourselves in, so that was fun.
That night Evan managed to arrange us a shoe-string driving safari for early the next morning and we thoroughly enjoyed (almost) our western fast food pizza and fried chicken (save Hewsan, who, having already decided to trade some of his t-shirts for a small wood carving, proceeded to eat an entire box of chicken and pizza, then overdose on Ciproflaxin).
The next morning, in the chilly early morning dawn, we waited for our driver to pick us up. Par for the course, we waited, waited, and waited some more. Eventually he showed up, and it became clear the middle man we arranged through really shafted the guy. However, we refused to budge, and ultimately prevailed, although we felt terrible because our driver really got the short end of the stick. Perhaps karma, and less-than-stellar planning, caught up with us.
As we rolled down dirt tracks through yet another national park within a few minutes of Victoria Falls, the cold wind buffeting our faces and feet beneath musty blankets passed around by our guide, we hoped to see a wide range of game Zimbabwe is known for. To make a long story short, we basically saw the ass-end of the animal kingdom, and not much else. No lions or other cats, no elephants, no crocs, and a few giraffes only from the remotest of distances. We did, however, see lots of warthogs, guinea fowl, an extremely large stork, troops of baboons, and a fair number of deer or antelope types. Literally everything ran away at the first sign of our presence, leaving only their backsides for us to photograph mostly. In any case, it was a risk worth taking, because you just never know. Plus it was a hell of a lot cheaper than our rather boring makoro trip in Botswana.
With the Falls, bungee jump, Big Tree, and game drive wrapped up, we prepared to leave Victoria Falls. Our return trip to South Africa was planned via Bulewayo, first by overnight train and then overnight bus back to Pretoria. Another update coming tomorrow…hopefully.
Ramadan ends tomorrow with Eid ul-Fitr (often just Eid), and we have the day off. A fair number of our students are Muslim and they rightly deserve the day off (plus, fasting for weeks is tough, especially for young students who are already malnourished). As one of Islam’s holiest days approaches, take some time to think about the state of Islam, and religion in general, in the United States, just as I will do here in Rwanda.
Cheers
Zach
Tuesday, September 7, 2010
Phantom visas and the ass-end of the animal kingdom, Part 1.
The world seems constantly bombarded with catastrophic news about Zimbabwe, especially its cynical and tyrannical leader Robert Mugabe, who has caused or instigated the implosion of the agricultural industry, the collapse of the currency and state services, rampant corruption, and vicious political violence. So, obviously, I was very interested to visit and see it!
We were immediately approached in the Zimbabwean border house by a few different men claiming to have the best taxi rate for the one hour trip to Victoria Falls. Before we negotiated for the taxi however, we needed to successfully get through customs and border control. I didn’t anticipate any serious problems, but you never know, especially in a place like Zimbabwe. The two fellows serving us were affable and helpful enough; one was a former high school English teacher who specialized in English literature (Shakespeare being his favorite). They were also jokers; they ribbed John fairly good (Mr. Stanlake being an English subject and all).
Evan, John, Hewsan, and I handed our passports over collectively to the border police while one of the officers filled out full-page, brightly colored adhesive visas to be placed in each passport. Somehow, inexplicably, the officer placing the visas in the passports managed to stick mine directly behind Hewsan’s in Hewsan’s passport! By the time they, and we, had realized their mistake, the visa was permanently adhered to Hewsan’s passport pages; removing it would void his passport and open him to federal prosecution (or at least a stern discussion at his next American port of entry, confiscation of his passport, and an unavoidable yet totally inappropriate feel-up from some underpaid rent-a-cop).
To make matters worse, the border police refused to issue me another visa, instead instructing me rather nonchalantly to continue travelling with Hewsan until departing Zimbabwe. Morons. In place of an actual visa, the literature know-it-all simply wrote a scribbled note referencing receipt numbers and Hewsan’s passport, which he assured me would be fine so long as Hewsan and I were congenitally attached at the hip. After clearing other matters up, including a “gate fee,” whatever the hell that is, we proceeded to the taxi rank.
The taxi rank was situated just beyond a shabby chain-link fence and peeling red-and-white striped pole gate manned by a bunch of random-looking dudes, and it was less than impressive. A short line of beat-up, rusted sub-compact junkers desperately in need of paint jobs, engine and transmission overhauls, and some Xzibit lovin (well, maybe not that last bit) waited. We were, of course, accosted immediately by several drivers, and we bargained hard. To our surprise, we actually got one older gentleman to drop from $40 to $10 for all four of us. We thought, hell, that’s a steal and hopped in with our bags. He was a kindly older guy with graying beard and his clothes faintly resembled the faded, busted, beat-up interior of his dilapidated hatchback. Another driver rushed up to the side window facing John and matter-of-factly explained that it just wouldn’t be fair to fork over only $10 – we agreed, shamed by our honed bargaining skills, settled on $20, and were off.
The drive from Kasane to Victoria Falls runs through several natural parks and preserved areas in Zimbabwe’s extreme northwestern corner, including a hunting park and elephant preserve (I think, little fuzzy on those details). Anyway, the terrain is straight out of that sensational(ist) African epic (I’m joking) Ghost and the Darkness starring a gun-slinging, elephant gun-wielding Val Kilmer. It’s rough bush and one can only imagine what lurks out there, but it’s also beautiful. The wildness is both captivating and very intimidating; we would definitely place lower on the food chain out there.
We crested and descended hills pocked by taupe boulders warmly lit by the descending sun and swept around gentle bends through the hilly terrain all the while happily chatting away with our driver (Zimbabweans generally speak very comfortable, competent English – a colonial legacy). He informed us that he was a former police officer (sure, okay) but was retired and thus driving his taxi to make ends meet.
At one point, without warning, a man in another other rickety four door coffin whizzed past. Our driver ever so casually informed us he was an active police officer hell bent on contacting his active buddies to set up a roadblock to arrest our driver and possibly extort money or other valuables from us. We had chosen the older guy, apparently snubbing this guy who had showed up late but demanded to jump the queue given his job title. Shit, we momentarily looked to be in it less than one hour into Zim. To make matters even stickier, the guy’s gas gauge was slowly but surely ticking lower and lower. John and I exchanged half-worried glances in between jokes and stories shared with the driver. Geez I hope we make it!
Part two coming tomorrow!
We were immediately approached in the Zimbabwean border house by a few different men claiming to have the best taxi rate for the one hour trip to Victoria Falls. Before we negotiated for the taxi however, we needed to successfully get through customs and border control. I didn’t anticipate any serious problems, but you never know, especially in a place like Zimbabwe. The two fellows serving us were affable and helpful enough; one was a former high school English teacher who specialized in English literature (Shakespeare being his favorite). They were also jokers; they ribbed John fairly good (Mr. Stanlake being an English subject and all).
Evan, John, Hewsan, and I handed our passports over collectively to the border police while one of the officers filled out full-page, brightly colored adhesive visas to be placed in each passport. Somehow, inexplicably, the officer placing the visas in the passports managed to stick mine directly behind Hewsan’s in Hewsan’s passport! By the time they, and we, had realized their mistake, the visa was permanently adhered to Hewsan’s passport pages; removing it would void his passport and open him to federal prosecution (or at least a stern discussion at his next American port of entry, confiscation of his passport, and an unavoidable yet totally inappropriate feel-up from some underpaid rent-a-cop).
To make matters worse, the border police refused to issue me another visa, instead instructing me rather nonchalantly to continue travelling with Hewsan until departing Zimbabwe. Morons. In place of an actual visa, the literature know-it-all simply wrote a scribbled note referencing receipt numbers and Hewsan’s passport, which he assured me would be fine so long as Hewsan and I were congenitally attached at the hip. After clearing other matters up, including a “gate fee,” whatever the hell that is, we proceeded to the taxi rank.
The taxi rank was situated just beyond a shabby chain-link fence and peeling red-and-white striped pole gate manned by a bunch of random-looking dudes, and it was less than impressive. A short line of beat-up, rusted sub-compact junkers desperately in need of paint jobs, engine and transmission overhauls, and some Xzibit lovin (well, maybe not that last bit) waited. We were, of course, accosted immediately by several drivers, and we bargained hard. To our surprise, we actually got one older gentleman to drop from $40 to $10 for all four of us. We thought, hell, that’s a steal and hopped in with our bags. He was a kindly older guy with graying beard and his clothes faintly resembled the faded, busted, beat-up interior of his dilapidated hatchback. Another driver rushed up to the side window facing John and matter-of-factly explained that it just wouldn’t be fair to fork over only $10 – we agreed, shamed by our honed bargaining skills, settled on $20, and were off.
The drive from Kasane to Victoria Falls runs through several natural parks and preserved areas in Zimbabwe’s extreme northwestern corner, including a hunting park and elephant preserve (I think, little fuzzy on those details). Anyway, the terrain is straight out of that sensational(ist) African epic (I’m joking) Ghost and the Darkness starring a gun-slinging, elephant gun-wielding Val Kilmer. It’s rough bush and one can only imagine what lurks out there, but it’s also beautiful. The wildness is both captivating and very intimidating; we would definitely place lower on the food chain out there.
We crested and descended hills pocked by taupe boulders warmly lit by the descending sun and swept around gentle bends through the hilly terrain all the while happily chatting away with our driver (Zimbabweans generally speak very comfortable, competent English – a colonial legacy). He informed us that he was a former police officer (sure, okay) but was retired and thus driving his taxi to make ends meet.
At one point, without warning, a man in another other rickety four door coffin whizzed past. Our driver ever so casually informed us he was an active police officer hell bent on contacting his active buddies to set up a roadblock to arrest our driver and possibly extort money or other valuables from us. We had chosen the older guy, apparently snubbing this guy who had showed up late but demanded to jump the queue given his job title. Shit, we momentarily looked to be in it less than one hour into Zim. To make matters even stickier, the guy’s gas gauge was slowly but surely ticking lower and lower. John and I exchanged half-worried glances in between jokes and stories shared with the driver. Geez I hope we make it!
Part two coming tomorrow!
Friday, August 27, 2010
Making it rain Pula in Botswana.
Damn. Botswana is not for the financially faint of heart. Ten or fifteen years ago Botswana was supposedly affordable, but it is certainly not that anymore. Still, Evan, Hewsan, John, and I were looking forward to one of the most renowned natural wonders in Africa (and the world), the Okavango delta. The delta is located in central Botswana where a river floods into a large desert pan. We heard and read incredible stories about wildlife and scenery, especially during the dry season when animals cluster together around dwindling water holes.
Outside of the delta, Botswana is a bit of an arid, but still beautiful, wasteland…if that makes sense. Everywhere there an intensely bright sun; the most beautiful sunrise I believe I have ever seen crept up from behind the endless stretches of low scrubby trees as we rolled north northwest towards Maun from Gabarone. In addition to the delta, Botswana is also famous for its enormous shimmering salt pans: vast flat mirage-filled stretches of desert once covered by water.
We arrived late in the afternoon in Maun and were again taken aback by how developed Botswana is. They had fast food outlets and all sorts of shops and stores catering to the tourist crowd. Okay, a little bizarre, I thought. We made it to our hostel situated literally right on top of a small finger of the delta about five kilometers outside of Maun. From there we managed to book a makoro day trip, a makoro being a long, shallow canoe traditionally hewn out of whole trees poled by the native Batswana who have lived in and around the delta for centuries.
Little did we know that a day trip is, more or less, flushing money down the proverbial toilet. Wildlife sightings, we learned, were most common very early in the morning when animals go in search of water in the cool temperatures. By the time we had poled (or been poled, I guess) for two hours, the sun was arcing high into the clear blue sky and temperatures had begun to spike. Shortly thereafter, when we did reach a wildlife viewing area, nearly everything had disappeared into the bush to sweat it out in the shade. Zebras were all we managed (see above). We were all quite disappointed since we forked over $100 for the day!
Much to my chagrin, I realized that our planning had failed us (or more that I was alternately too lazy and too busy to help Evan enough with holiday plans). Had we done a modicum of research on wildlife and makoro trips, we probably would have planned differently, but lesson learned! Still the delta is a beautiful and immeasurably peaceful place. It’s a bit different than I expected, and expensive, but a three day trip would in all certainty be worth the cost.
After our day trip through the Okavango we planned to continue northward along the Zimbabwean border to Kasane, the Botswana border town to the far northeast roughly an hour from Victoria Falls, Zimbabwe. We traveled on one bus a fairly comfortable three hundred kilometers back to a crossroads town and disembarked to find a ride to Kasane. In Botswana, public transportation is really sparse so backpacking can be tricky. You have to be prepared to hitch, and do so decisively so you’re not caught out late somewhere inhospitable.
We waited, waited, and waited some more at the de facto bus stop – a combination gas station, fast food joint, and Barclay’s bank. The public restrooms were immaculate and there was much fried chicken to be had, so we enjoyed ourselves, but as noon approached we began to ask around for rides to Kasane. We had to budget enough time to get to the border another three hundred kilometers to the north, get across the border, and negotiate any “problems,” if you catch my drift.
Eventually a small bus, hardly largely than a chappa mini bus taxis, pulled in stuffed to the gills with people. Somehow they managed to shove us in, Evan and I wedged into the very back seat with three friendly Batswana men (two of whom also appeared to very much enjoy fried chicken). My shoulder just might have suffered permanent, irreparable damage due to my horribly awkward position, but I’m holding out hope. In any case, we made it safely to the border.
Luckily for us, Batswana are incredibly nice and generous people. The bus driver and conductor went a few kilometers out of their way along a spur to the border just for us. Once extricated and properly limber we breezed through the completely empty Botswana border control post. Like all else in Botswana, it was efficient and indicative of the country’s successful development.
And then there was Zimbabwe.
Outside of the delta, Botswana is a bit of an arid, but still beautiful, wasteland…if that makes sense. Everywhere there an intensely bright sun; the most beautiful sunrise I believe I have ever seen crept up from behind the endless stretches of low scrubby trees as we rolled north northwest towards Maun from Gabarone. In addition to the delta, Botswana is also famous for its enormous shimmering salt pans: vast flat mirage-filled stretches of desert once covered by water.
We arrived late in the afternoon in Maun and were again taken aback by how developed Botswana is. They had fast food outlets and all sorts of shops and stores catering to the tourist crowd. Okay, a little bizarre, I thought. We made it to our hostel situated literally right on top of a small finger of the delta about five kilometers outside of Maun. From there we managed to book a makoro day trip, a makoro being a long, shallow canoe traditionally hewn out of whole trees poled by the native Batswana who have lived in and around the delta for centuries.
Little did we know that a day trip is, more or less, flushing money down the proverbial toilet. Wildlife sightings, we learned, were most common very early in the morning when animals go in search of water in the cool temperatures. By the time we had poled (or been poled, I guess) for two hours, the sun was arcing high into the clear blue sky and temperatures had begun to spike. Shortly thereafter, when we did reach a wildlife viewing area, nearly everything had disappeared into the bush to sweat it out in the shade. Zebras were all we managed (see above). We were all quite disappointed since we forked over $100 for the day!
Much to my chagrin, I realized that our planning had failed us (or more that I was alternately too lazy and too busy to help Evan enough with holiday plans). Had we done a modicum of research on wildlife and makoro trips, we probably would have planned differently, but lesson learned! Still the delta is a beautiful and immeasurably peaceful place. It’s a bit different than I expected, and expensive, but a three day trip would in all certainty be worth the cost.
After our day trip through the Okavango we planned to continue northward along the Zimbabwean border to Kasane, the Botswana border town to the far northeast roughly an hour from Victoria Falls, Zimbabwe. We traveled on one bus a fairly comfortable three hundred kilometers back to a crossroads town and disembarked to find a ride to Kasane. In Botswana, public transportation is really sparse so backpacking can be tricky. You have to be prepared to hitch, and do so decisively so you’re not caught out late somewhere inhospitable.
We waited, waited, and waited some more at the de facto bus stop – a combination gas station, fast food joint, and Barclay’s bank. The public restrooms were immaculate and there was much fried chicken to be had, so we enjoyed ourselves, but as noon approached we began to ask around for rides to Kasane. We had to budget enough time to get to the border another three hundred kilometers to the north, get across the border, and negotiate any “problems,” if you catch my drift.
Eventually a small bus, hardly largely than a chappa mini bus taxis, pulled in stuffed to the gills with people. Somehow they managed to shove us in, Evan and I wedged into the very back seat with three friendly Batswana men (two of whom also appeared to very much enjoy fried chicken). My shoulder just might have suffered permanent, irreparable damage due to my horribly awkward position, but I’m holding out hope. In any case, we made it safely to the border.
Luckily for us, Batswana are incredibly nice and generous people. The bus driver and conductor went a few kilometers out of their way along a spur to the border just for us. Once extricated and properly limber we breezed through the completely empty Botswana border control post. Like all else in Botswana, it was efficient and indicative of the country’s successful development.
And then there was Zimbabwe.
Sunday, August 22, 2010
Holiday beginnings… and a shameless plug for RwandAir.
Term 2 was a grueling slog of a term, so Evan and I were really grateful for a holiday. A chance to recharge our depleted batteries and see a bit more of the beautiful continent we call home. By sheer luck, Evan discovered that RwandAir was running a brilliant deal to Johannesburg during our holiday window: $500 round-trip direct! We had initially planned an overland bus, train, and boat trip that would take us through Burundi, perhaps Tanzania, Zambia, and then Botswana and Zimbabwe. The price of visas alone made the airfare a much better deal.
We departed Kigali with a friend and fellow volunteer, John, who hails from rural southwest England but now teaches in a small village just outside Butare in southwest Rwanda. Let me say this before I continue on: RwandAir’s Johannesburg route is the nicest, most comfortable, best served air journey I have taken…ever. If you ever want to make a trip between South Africa and Rwanda, maybe to see the gorillas, take RwandAir. You’ll thank me. Flight attendants were wonderful, food was decent, and they give away free booze (as much as you want, in fact, as Evan discovered feeding his red wine urges)!
We arrived at Johannesburg’s recently renovated OR Tambo International Airport, a gleaming, airy, very modern glass and steel structure situated some kilometers outside the city center. Cruising on Johannesburg and Pretoria’s smooth freeways past enormous industrial and commercial parks, there was a creeping feeling of disbelief and awe. South Africa truly is a strange place: one of immense disparities in wealth and opportunity, very much African in some ways and quite European (or American) in others. A country with alarmingly high unemployment, a shocking AIDS epidemic (an HIV infection rate of 33%, or higher, in some provinces), corrupt politicians, and a notorious reputation for violent crime (electrified anti-scaling fences are everywhere), and yet a single district, Gauteng (which comprises Johannesburg and Pretoria), constitutes roughly 10% of Africa’s entire GDP (or so our fellow volunteer Hewsan informed us; I’ve yet to fact-check that one but it seems entirely plausible).
Our hostel was located in the middle-class area of Pretoria called Hatfield just a few minutes walk from the towering campus of the University of Pretoria and a glut of retail and restaurant outlets serving the University’s community. Everywhere you looked, there were young people fashionably dressed cavorting with their friends, drinking beers in a large open courtyard, grabbing a bite to eat at the McDonald’s, running a quick errand to the copy shop, playing video games in the internet café, perusing books in the bookstore. Blacks, whites, Indians, Asians – South Africa is also a relatively multi-cultural African state (very much unlike Rwanda).
After sleeping like the dead in very warm and forgiving beds, John, Evan, Hewsan, and I aimlessly roamed the Hatfield area for a bit the following day before boarding an impressive coach bus for the trip to Gabarone, capital of Botswana. Check back in a day or two for my update about Botswana and Zimbabwe – the stories are too good not to check back. I promise!
We departed Kigali with a friend and fellow volunteer, John, who hails from rural southwest England but now teaches in a small village just outside Butare in southwest Rwanda. Let me say this before I continue on: RwandAir’s Johannesburg route is the nicest, most comfortable, best served air journey I have taken…ever. If you ever want to make a trip between South Africa and Rwanda, maybe to see the gorillas, take RwandAir. You’ll thank me. Flight attendants were wonderful, food was decent, and they give away free booze (as much as you want, in fact, as Evan discovered feeding his red wine urges)!
We arrived at Johannesburg’s recently renovated OR Tambo International Airport, a gleaming, airy, very modern glass and steel structure situated some kilometers outside the city center. Cruising on Johannesburg and Pretoria’s smooth freeways past enormous industrial and commercial parks, there was a creeping feeling of disbelief and awe. South Africa truly is a strange place: one of immense disparities in wealth and opportunity, very much African in some ways and quite European (or American) in others. A country with alarmingly high unemployment, a shocking AIDS epidemic (an HIV infection rate of 33%, or higher, in some provinces), corrupt politicians, and a notorious reputation for violent crime (electrified anti-scaling fences are everywhere), and yet a single district, Gauteng (which comprises Johannesburg and Pretoria), constitutes roughly 10% of Africa’s entire GDP (or so our fellow volunteer Hewsan informed us; I’ve yet to fact-check that one but it seems entirely plausible).
Our hostel was located in the middle-class area of Pretoria called Hatfield just a few minutes walk from the towering campus of the University of Pretoria and a glut of retail and restaurant outlets serving the University’s community. Everywhere you looked, there were young people fashionably dressed cavorting with their friends, drinking beers in a large open courtyard, grabbing a bite to eat at the McDonald’s, running a quick errand to the copy shop, playing video games in the internet café, perusing books in the bookstore. Blacks, whites, Indians, Asians – South Africa is also a relatively multi-cultural African state (very much unlike Rwanda).
After sleeping like the dead in very warm and forgiving beds, John, Evan, Hewsan, and I aimlessly roamed the Hatfield area for a bit the following day before boarding an impressive coach bus for the trip to Gabarone, capital of Botswana. Check back in a day or two for my update about Botswana and Zimbabwe – the stories are too good not to check back. I promise!
Friday, July 16, 2010
Goal-line saves and school girl squeals.
I know, I know. I promised a hiatus from blogging during exams but this tantalizing tidbit couldn’t wait. As if exams weren’t exhausting enough between dodging teachers, whiny students, a see-sawing Dean of Studies, and a earthen heat wave, Evan and I returned home earlier this week to find a visitor in our house. A most unwelcome visitor.
You see, our house has some vulnerable points where all sorts of unsavory guests can sneak into, or invade, our living spaces. Prime among them are the doors, which leave at least a good half inch space between their bottom-most edges and the smooth concrete floors. We’ve had mild ant invasions and massive, more troubling spider invasions. Birds and bats swoop dangerously close to open doors (Sawa's had birds in her house before), flies are constantly buzzing through the living room, and wasps occasionally make an appearance from the porch or courtyard. We also have geckos from time to time, which are always welcome since they eat the bugs with uncanny ability.
Yesterday marked a new low in the long list of uninvited creatures. I arrived home a few moments before Evan and proceeded to drop my bag in my room as I waited for a call from mom and dad. Just as I rested my exam-laden bag on the concrete floor at the very edge of my bed, a small, dark object skittered from under my headboard, zoomed across the room, and vanished out of my bedroom door. I stood stock still, unsure of whether to chase or scream. My mind instantly began cranking; I knew exactly what I had seen. A hairy, dark gray, jumping rat. A rat!
Evan and I do our best to keep the house clean despite the constant water shortages we deal with. With that said, sometimes dishes have to wait a day or two to get cleaned properly. We never leave food on the floor and usually do a good job of removing garbage. I shudder to think what that rat got into during the day or what it might have done had we gone to bed with it still in the house.
After a quick appraisal, we deduced the rodent had absconded to Evan’s room. A once over and a poke here and there revealed the interlocutor under Evan’s bed. We managed to clear him out once, twice, three times but he just scurried back under the bed after leaping into Evan’s empty closet. Finally, we managed to herd him out of the room wielding a broom and an oversize squeegee. As the rat made a break for Evan’s bedroom door, I bolted to avoid his frantic escape and prevent him reentering my room. I hopped the step up to my room, spun on my heel, squeegee in hand, only to find the rat still bearing down on me. The squeegee head met rat torso in midair about twelve inches off the ground. The rat crumpled on impact, hit the floor, floundered momentarily, regained it’s footing and bolted the opposite direction into the living room. After more herding we managed to get him out the back door and away from the house.
For anyone who has never faced removing a five inch rat from their home, it is an oddly terrifying but hilarious experience. I’m sure Evan and I gave some silly shouts at key moments when the rat was on the move, but the rest of the time we just cursed our luck and laughed really hard. Thank goodness it was only one, because that is not a task I want again. But wait!
After dinner with some friends and lecturers at the local polytechnic university, Evan and I settled down to some popcorn and a movie. About an hour into the movie, my eye caught movement on the floor to my left, along the wall where our desk sits and next to the back doors. The f-ing rat was back! We managed to trap him into the kitchen, block his path to the rest of the house with an extra mattress, and then force the rude intruder out the courtyard door. During his second escape, the rat nearly managed to jump over the mattress into Evan’s chest before flopping awkwardly backwards and fleeing through the open door.
Good riddance. Doors are all now specially barricaded to prevent another intrusion.
You see, our house has some vulnerable points where all sorts of unsavory guests can sneak into, or invade, our living spaces. Prime among them are the doors, which leave at least a good half inch space between their bottom-most edges and the smooth concrete floors. We’ve had mild ant invasions and massive, more troubling spider invasions. Birds and bats swoop dangerously close to open doors (Sawa's had birds in her house before), flies are constantly buzzing through the living room, and wasps occasionally make an appearance from the porch or courtyard. We also have geckos from time to time, which are always welcome since they eat the bugs with uncanny ability.
Yesterday marked a new low in the long list of uninvited creatures. I arrived home a few moments before Evan and proceeded to drop my bag in my room as I waited for a call from mom and dad. Just as I rested my exam-laden bag on the concrete floor at the very edge of my bed, a small, dark object skittered from under my headboard, zoomed across the room, and vanished out of my bedroom door. I stood stock still, unsure of whether to chase or scream. My mind instantly began cranking; I knew exactly what I had seen. A hairy, dark gray, jumping rat. A rat!
Evan and I do our best to keep the house clean despite the constant water shortages we deal with. With that said, sometimes dishes have to wait a day or two to get cleaned properly. We never leave food on the floor and usually do a good job of removing garbage. I shudder to think what that rat got into during the day or what it might have done had we gone to bed with it still in the house.
After a quick appraisal, we deduced the rodent had absconded to Evan’s room. A once over and a poke here and there revealed the interlocutor under Evan’s bed. We managed to clear him out once, twice, three times but he just scurried back under the bed after leaping into Evan’s empty closet. Finally, we managed to herd him out of the room wielding a broom and an oversize squeegee. As the rat made a break for Evan’s bedroom door, I bolted to avoid his frantic escape and prevent him reentering my room. I hopped the step up to my room, spun on my heel, squeegee in hand, only to find the rat still bearing down on me. The squeegee head met rat torso in midair about twelve inches off the ground. The rat crumpled on impact, hit the floor, floundered momentarily, regained it’s footing and bolted the opposite direction into the living room. After more herding we managed to get him out the back door and away from the house.
For anyone who has never faced removing a five inch rat from their home, it is an oddly terrifying but hilarious experience. I’m sure Evan and I gave some silly shouts at key moments when the rat was on the move, but the rest of the time we just cursed our luck and laughed really hard. Thank goodness it was only one, because that is not a task I want again. But wait!
After dinner with some friends and lecturers at the local polytechnic university, Evan and I settled down to some popcorn and a movie. About an hour into the movie, my eye caught movement on the floor to my left, along the wall where our desk sits and next to the back doors. The f-ing rat was back! We managed to trap him into the kitchen, block his path to the rest of the house with an extra mattress, and then force the rude intruder out the courtyard door. During his second escape, the rat nearly managed to jump over the mattress into Evan’s chest before flopping awkwardly backwards and fleeing through the open door.
Good riddance. Doors are all now specially barricaded to prevent another intrusion.
Monday, July 12, 2010
Flexible schedules, phantom deadlines...and other examinable topics.
Exams are underway at Nyagatare Secondary School. While we got off to a decent start this past Friday, thanks almost exclusively to the extremely diligent but highly surreptitious work of Sawa, things began to break down this morning. We started fifty-five minutes late, which is both the good news and bad news...we started late but managed to start before the hour mark!
Exams tend to be very stressful at N.S.S. because there is a so much disorganization and so little planning. Sadly, the volunteers tend to spearhead much of the work (unfortunately initiative is not something our colleagues exhibit with great frequency). As such, I will return to blogging in about a week with what I'm sure will be an entertaining recount of the week's frivolities. I'll also give a brief rundown of the upcoming holidays planned for Southern Africa.
Until then.
Zach
ps. What a sorry end to the World Cup. The two most deserving teams play a marvelous consolation match filled with exciting attacks and admirable professional behavior. Two petulant and disturbingly violent teams combine for a lackluster, tepid finale. Too bad for SA and the rest of Africa.
Exams tend to be very stressful at N.S.S. because there is a so much disorganization and so little planning. Sadly, the volunteers tend to spearhead much of the work (unfortunately initiative is not something our colleagues exhibit with great frequency). As such, I will return to blogging in about a week with what I'm sure will be an entertaining recount of the week's frivolities. I'll also give a brief rundown of the upcoming holidays planned for Southern Africa.
Until then.
Zach
ps. What a sorry end to the World Cup. The two most deserving teams play a marvelous consolation match filled with exciting attacks and admirable professional behavior. Two petulant and disturbingly violent teams combine for a lackluster, tepid finale. Too bad for SA and the rest of Africa.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)