Saturday, March 27, 2010

kenya, uganda, & kenya again

Kenya is a fascinating place. There is plentiful wildlife in the national parks, including Tsavo, home of the infamous man-eating lions in the 1890s (watch the movie The Ghost and The Darkness). There is Nairobi, a cosmopolitan city with first-world amenities but notorious for its crime. There are the Maasai, a tribe of people who have preserved their traditional lifestyle to the present day. And then there is of course The Lion King, which must be set in Kenya or Tanzania, using Swahili words like simba (lion), mufasa (king), and rafiki (friend) as names for the characters.

Anna and I first arrived in Nairobi, the capital city, late on February 10th, to visit her boyfriend Alvin. We’ve been traveling by land for nearly four months now and we’ve covered a lot of this continent, but I can tell you without a doubt that the bus ride from Moshi, Tanzania to Nairobi was the most terrifying bus ride of my life. (And that includes all the Chinatown buses I’ve taken back and forth between Boston and New York.) We only left an hour late, which is actually early by African standards, but the bus driver must have thought he needed to make up that time and then some. He clearly thought he was in the movie Speed, despite the fact that we were on bumpy dirt roads, the windows were open thus coating us all in clouds of dirt, and he was not Keanu Reeves. A fellow passenger kept shouting, “Slow down! We are not animals!” At the time, Anna and I were laughing, but now that I think about it, it was probably only to keep from crying. When we finally screeched into Nairobi, my knuckles were white from gripping the armrest for ten hours.

Some travelers love Nairobi. I’ll be blunt: I don’t like Nairobi. I like Alvin’s neighborhood on the outskirts of the city, but every time we go “into town,” as they say here, I absolutely hate it. Matatu (minibus) rides are fun; I admire the drivers who are even more aggressive than the Massholes I’m used to in Boston. Whereas in Tanzania drivers run through red lights without hesitation, in Nairobi there aren’t even signs or traffic lights or road rules of any kind. Going into town is like preparing for battle. You can’t take a purse because you’ll get it ripped from your shoulder in broad daylight. We prepare for town by stuffing money into our bras, taking off jewelry, summoning courage, and praying that we’ll make it back in one piece. Once in town, it’s utter chaos. Not only do you have to dodge careening cars and matatus where there seem to be absolutely no rules of the road, but you also have to dodge the throngs of pedestrians rushing to and from work. It’s not the fun, exciting kind of hustle and bustle of New York City. It’s frantic, stressful, and harried. I literally pushed an old man out of my way once as I crossed a street. It’s you against the world. A trip into town only results in anxiety, stress, headaches, and ultimately relief and appreciation when (if) you make it safely home.

I’ll tell a tale about Nairobi. One night, Alvin, Anna and I found ourselves outside a fast food place. I was uncharacteristically not hungry so I decided to wait outside while Alvin and Anna got food. Alvin claims he told me to wait inside, but he and I differ on our memory of that part. Within moments I felt a quick chop to the back of my neck and saw a man running away – with my necklace.

Now, this isn’t just any necklace. It’s a gold locket that my father gave me when I was seven years old. (Why any parent gives a seven-year-old a gold locket, I’ll never know, but I love it.) On the front are my initials and on the back is inscribed, “From Dad With Love 1994.” Call me an old sap, but I like to wear this locket when I’m far from home. It’s probably my most prized possession – not that I have many possessions. It’s not flashy but it’s real gold and since I wear it often, it never occurred to me that it would be a target in “Nairobbery,” as Nairobi is, I discovered, aptly nicknamed.

I always figured that if I ever got mugged or robbed or into a situation of this sort, I would be the kind of person who would sit back meekly in the take-everything-just-don’t-hurt-me mode. I always imagined that I would be too shocked to take any action whatsoever except to drop my jaw in surprise and perhaps open and close it silently like a fish out of water. In my mind, I no doubt would have let the necklace go and would have thanked my lucky stars that nothing worse had happened to me.

Here’s what I did instead: I ran after the guy. I know. Stupid. I believe as I was running – which in my mind was as swift and graceful as an Olympic athlete, but in reality probably more closely resembled Phoebe on Friends – I was quietly moaning “nooo…” to myself multiple times, quite possibly accompanied by “not the locket…!”

I’m not sure how far we ran. It seemed far. It was probably only two blocks. The next thing I knew, I was standing over the thief as he was sprawled out on the ground. I’m pretty sure that this position was not a result of my momentarily gaining superpowers, catching up to him, and knocking him to the ground, but rather an overly nice bystander sticking out a foot and tripping him. But I’ll never know for sure. What I do know is that after a few quick but solid kicks to his gut and to other more sensitive areas of his anatomy, he handed over the locket. Though it was only the locket and not also the chain that it hung on, I decided that was good enough and, after one more kick to his ribs for good measure, left him there to deal with the growing crowd of bloodthirsty onlookers who continued to beat him up – whether in my honor or for their own amusement, I’m not sure.

This was my first experience with the idea of East African “mob justice.” I had heard of the system of thieves getting caught and stripped down to their underwear by bystanders (they don’t call the police because the thief could just bribe the police to let him go), but I never thought I would see something like a crowd beating up a thief firsthand. It was a shock to my First World sensibilities. If I hadn’t been a victim of a mugging, I probably would have been shocked at the idea and would have started espousing the ideals of the American legal system, but the honest truth is that there are a lot of inconsistencies and prejudices in courtrooms in the U.S., and seeing my thief so swiftly punished was gratifying.

After that delightful experience, I didn’t feel like exploring Nairobi too much. But one cool thing in Kenya is the tuk-tuk. An import from India, it’s a fun albeit slow way to get around. It’s a three-wheeled metal shoebox-like contraption that fits three passengers. I like to think of it as a cross between a car and a motorcycle. We stayed with Alvin for about two weeks and went to Uganda on February 25th. It was nice to leave most of our stuff in Nairobi and only take small bags with us. My hairbrush didn’t make the cut of the things I needed for Uganda, earning me the nickname Hagrid while I was there.

me in a tuk-tuk

Uganda is my favorite country that we’ve visited so far! It’s hard to explain why. Despite the rain, the potholes, the dustiness that caused me to ditch my contacts and wear my glasses that I hate, the fact that I got scabies, and the fact that I had to wear the same three shirts for three weeks, I adored Uganda! It is an incredibly beautiful country with the friendliest people. We first went to Kampala, the capital, where we stayed with Bethany, an American friend we had met in Dar es Salaam. (She is friends with our friend Kyle.) Bethany is awesome to be around – her energy and laughter are infectious.

We had an eventful five days in Kampala. One day we realized that it was the last day of the Olympics – I didn’t even know the Olympics were going on. We traipsed all over Kampala trying to find a bar that was showing the U.S. vs. Canada gold medal hockey game, but to no avail. We consoled ourselves by going to a casino where we not only had a blast but also walked away from the blackjack table with a lot more cash than we started with! It was tempting to fund my travels this way, but fortunately I resisted.

There is a bill up for voting in Uganda called the Anti-Homosexuality Bill. If passed, homosexuals would be subject to life in prison or even the death penalty. In addition, if you know someone is gay and don’t report that person, you can go to jail for three years. Bethany’s roommate John was helping organize a press conference to voice the opposition to the bill (which caused some initial confusion – wait, John, you’re for the Anti-Homosexuality Bill? No, no, you’re Anti-Anti-Homosexuality Bill). It was nice to attend the press conference and hear the “Kill the Bill, not the Gays” opinion, even if it is a minority in the country. It’s crazy coming from a country where I think it’s ridiculous that there’s even a debate about whether or not gay people should be allowed to marry to a country where there’s a debate about whether or not they should live.

After five days in Kampala, we caught a matatu to Jinja, a small town at the source of the Nile River. There we met up with Mary, one of the Australians we traveled with in Zanzibar. Our campsite was about 9 kms outside of Jinja, a beautiful spot right on the river. It was very cool to swim in the Nile! Mary is volunteering in Jinja for a few weeks so I went with her and spent two days painting a school. I was browsing through one of their history textbooks and found that it completely skipped over the entire Idi Amin period – it went straight from colonial times to Uganda today. I understand that it was a very painful period that people are still recovering from, but I think it’s a terrible mistake for Ugandan youth not to learn about it.


painting a school in Jinja

Anna, Mary, and me at our campsite overlooking the Nile

One of my favorite things about Uganda is the transportation. There are the usual matatus but also, my favorite, are the boda-bodas. Bodas are motorcycle taxis! They’re tons of fun and the easiest way to get around, especially in Kampala traffic. It’s hilarious to see them pack as much stuff as they can onto a motorcycle, such as three people and their living room furniture. (I’m not kidding.)

After five days in Jinja, we went back to Kampala for a quick stop before going on to our next spot. It happened to be International Women’s Day (March 8th), so we had a huge barbecue with Bethany’s group of friends and had the men all cook while the women did nothing. It was great.

We quickly took off again for Kabale, a town about 30 minutes from the Rwandan border, from where we went to Lake Bunyonyi, one of my favorite places on this trip so far. I can’t even begin to describe how beautiful Lake Bunyonyi is. The rolling, terraced hills made me think of Switzerland or Austria, except with volcanoes rather than plain old mountains. There are lots of islands and hidden bays as well. We camped right on the lakeshore and spent our days jumping in from high treetop platforms (the lake is super deep, over 6500 feet), swimming, and manning a traditional dugout canoe – harder than a regular canoe! We were proud to avoid going around and around in circles, known locally as the “mzungu corkscrew.”
beautiful Lake Bunyonyi

One day we went to a nearby school for orphans and had a great time playing with the kids. We sat in on the incredibly over-packed classes – one class had over 80 kids between the ages of 3 and 6 squished onto a few benches with only one teacher, an absolute saint. I had a mild heart attack when each teacher asked me to come to the front and teach, but it went well – good practice for the Peace Corps!
teaching!
playing with the kids

After five or six days on Lake Bunyonyi, we went back to Kampala for a few last days in Uganda. Kyle had just gotten back from India so we got to see him again and hear all about his trip. We were sad to leave Uganda but on March 17th we caught a bus back to Nairobi for a quick two days before heading to the Kenyan coast.

We first went to Lamu, a kind of miniature Zanzibar. We explored the winding streets of the old Arab-Swahili outpost and enjoyed seeing donkeys rather than cars.

Lamu

We spent most of our time in Malindi, a beach town that we discovered is very popular with Italian tourists. While I enjoyed the availability of gelato for a few days, the presence of the Italian tourists was very disheartening. All too often we saw old – I mean OLD – Italian men with young Kenyan girls. I’m all for interracial relationships but these were not exactly made from true love. We became fast friends with three women and quickly discovered that going after the rich tourists was a way of life for many young women in Malindi. They all had kids who lived with their parents, often in other towns, while the women continued to party and try to catch more rich men. It made me very sad. One of my first thoughts, upon meeting one friend’s six year old daughter, was: how soon will it be before she starts prostituting herself for the Italian tourists? Ten years? Less? All this happening in a town where the sign for the hospital reads “Malindi District Hospital/Funeral Home.” Must be a great hospital.

Now we’re back in Nairobi, having swum in the Indian Ocean for the last time. I can’t say I was too unhappy about leaving the speedos, the “Ciao bellas!,” and the prostitution behind. Tomorrow we fly down to Namibia for a few weeks before going back to South Africa. I can’t wrap my head around the fact that our northern-bound trek is over and in a mere six hours on a plane we’ll be back where we started four months ago.

a common bus companion: chickens under our seats

2 comments:

  1. hey, thanks for the follow :)
    this is my first visit to your blog, and the quote at the top was immediately my favourite part.

    ReplyDelete
  2. Uganda was/still is my favourite country too. Although Kenya has a special place in my heart. FAIR PLAY on getting your locket back...no east feat!! How cool are boda bodas.

    Great post!

    ReplyDelete