Tag Archives: Cities

Togo Part I: To Go or not Togo, that is the question

24 Saturday Feb 2018

Posted by in Africa, Togo

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City square in Lome

We got lucky again with our cab drive to the Togolese border with Benin.  The driver was willing to negotiate a very reasonable rate for us to continue driving on to Lomé.  We had opted not to visit Togoville after getting a warning from some of the truck members who’d visited previously – plus it was easily one of the hottest, most humid days we’d experienced on the southern coast of West Africa – probably 38 degrees centigrade.

We got through the border without any degree of difficulty except for our clothes being soaked through and clinging to us as we sweated profusely.  Arriving in Lomé, we did our typical last-minute search for a reasonable hotel and opted for a cheap option after we had been living it up in Benin.  Our cab dropped us off and we entered the rather ran down facility only to discover that the rooms did not have functioning showers.  Luckily, the manager was kind enough to point out that there was another hotel, Le Galion, that was walking distance away that might offer a slight upgrade in terms of standards.

She was certainly correct – Le Galion was exactly what we were looking for and had a rather English looking pub/bar attached to it with a number of “randoms” sitting and drinking beer –  it had a nice welcoming ambiance.  Plus, it was only a few blocks away from the ocean-facing main road and city beach that stretches along the length of the city.

Main road through Lome

After getting organized and taking a much needed cold shower, we walked to the beach to take in the sights and sounds of Togo’s capital.  The first thing we noticed was that unlike Accra or Freetown, there was less garbage strewn on this city beach, however, there was one element of garbage that we hadn’t observed anywhere else on West Africa’s coastline – dead puffer fish.  I know, bizarre, right?  There were probably over a hundred dead puffer fish that I counted on our hour-long stroll that afternoon and more than a few remnants of what was clearly human excrement (we had heard that many Lomé residents, unfortunately, use the beach as a toilet first thing in the morning)

On the plus side, there was a lot of activity – from crowds of young men playing soccer, to beach front bars and cafes with tables and chairs spilling out and filled with folks enjoying their Thursday afternoon sunset.

Despite the fact that we would only be in Togo for two days – we opted to purchase sim cards and some credit because it was so cheap – and since we didn’t know how fast or reliable our internet would be back at the hotel.  It was at one of these mobile phone kiosks that we noticed that we had walked almost far enough west that we were staring at the actual border crossing into Ghana.  People were buying things along the street in CFA and Cedis alike.  We realized that when it came time to cross the border the day after next – we could opt to do it on foot which would be a novel way to experience a land border.

We ate dinner at our hotel and the food was exceptionally good!  I had a Nicoise salad which I regretted because Mike got a fish Brochette that was absolutely delicious – a fish called Lotte, I believe.  He got it served with Creamed Spinach, which he generously shared with me.

After dinner, we watched “Ex Machina” in our room and fell asleep half way through. The heat was so exhausting and draining.

Cocktails at February 2nd Hotel

On our full day in Lomé, I’m sorry to report that we spent the vast majority of the early part of the day making arrangements for Ethiopia.  We booked flights to Addis from Accra using Mike’s airmiles (which he so generously gave to me as well!) I found super cheap one-way tickets from Addis to London, so I could visit family and have a slower re-introduction to the West (much like I did two years ago when returning from Kilimanjaro) and then, even more surprisingly, a one-way direct ticket for only $300 on Norwegian Airlines from London to Seattle!  In all, it only cost about $130 more to buy new tickets that allowed me to go to the UK first, compared to what it was going to cost to re-book my United flight back to the US straight from Addis.  So that made much more sense to me.

I also received a lovely letter from a former boss of mine that morning who’d been reading this blog – and he had a wonderful idea that could well result in a wonderful employment opportunity upon my return to the States.  I cried with joy and felt so grateful that I told Mike we would have to celebrate later that evening.

Lome Beach

After agreeing on a rough itinerary in Ethiopia – Mike set out to spend what was left of the daylight hours checking out the Fetish market and downtown.  We hopped on Mototaxis that took the beach road to the market.  On arriving, we realized that it was a tiny affair that was way too expensive to go inside.  We weren’t going to pay 3000 CFA each just to see a few horsetails and feathers for sale.  We had out moto drivers take us to the center of the city from where we could walk past the majority of the city monuments and then proceed back to Le Galion on foot.

There really wasn’t too much that was impressive about the city of Lomé.  However, Mike pointed out a beautiful new hotel across the main city plaza that was named “The Second of February”.  I looked, and remarked, “Wait.  Isn’t today the 2nd of February?!”

As it turned out, the road we were walking along was also called the 2nd of February and I began stopping random Lomé citizens and enquiring, in my best French, what the significance of this date might be to have a hotel and a street named after it?  Not surprising, nobody knew the answer, so I dragged Mike over to the new hotel, believing that surely someone who worked there would know the answer, and weren’t going to say it was named after the street it was built on.

As it turned out, a security guard told us that February 2nd was a day that the Togo President returned to power after getting involved in an accident during some civil conflict that had occurred a few decades back.  I haven’t as yet verified this information with a thorough internet search since internet in Africa doesn’t afford one the kind of speed to spend time searching for this kind of Wikipedia information.  But since we found ourselves at sunset in the lobby of this nice hotel – I suggested that we go to the rooftop bar for cocktails to celebrate my good news from the morning – on my tab.  We did, thankful that our nasty flip flop and t-shirt attire didn’t bar our entry from the fancy establishment where we gleefully ordered mojitos, pina coladas and…wait for it…actual fresh sushi!!!

It was so good and well worth the cost.

We walked back to Le Galion, determined to both get the same fish dish as Mike had enjoyed the prior evening.  As an added bonus, the hotel was showcasing live music that evening that we thoroughly enjoyed with our delicious meal.

The next day we had a lazy morning and got to the border around 1pm – timed for the purpose of our flight’s time leaving Addis on that Monday – since Mike’s transit visa would only be valid for a maximum of 48 hours.  Since we walked, we were drenched with sweat when we arrived at immigration, and because we had been hassled non-stop to get a cab to the border by at least twenty drivers – we were each in foul moods and snapping at the other.  Ahhh…the joys of traveling with a friend, 24/7.

The lighthouse in Jamestown, Accra

The border and negotiating Mike’s transit visa was a total nightmare.  They moved at a glacially slow pace, which is the opposite to the ambient air temperature we had to sit/stand in while we waited.  They demanded a printed copy of our flight reservation to Addis – of course we had been unable to find someone to print this information, especially since we had mobiles that allowed for online boarding passes.  Eventually, I was able to get an officer to let me email him our flight information and get him to print it himself.  This took time and determination.  By the time we were stamped and allowed on our way, we were too irritated to stop and eat before heading to Accra.

Getting in a four person-cab, we did get out at a gas station and buy 2 “yogurt-with-wheat in a bottle” to tie us over before getting to the city.  The journey wasn’t that long or uncomfortable, bar the grotesque body odor that emanated from the disgusting man on my right side in the back of the car.  Each time he lifted him arm I thought I would pass out.  It was so bad, I almost told him to keep his arm firmly pressed to his side, choosing instead to bury my face in my hair bandana each time he shifted in his seat.

Our last big night in Accra with the truck folks turned out to be quite epic, and well worth our return to Ghana.  It was actually the first time Mike and I had partied on a Saturday night since we started this West African adventure.  We began with amazing burgers/cocktails at Burger and Relish and followed it with large and rather high-alcohol content beers in the reception area of Niagara Hotel.  Mike, the Dragoman driver, was in rare form and making us laugh hysterically. The alcohol continued to flow and we ended up going dancing at the Shisha bar next door, where I continued drinking and found myself quite drunk by 1 in the morning.  I danced with a group of locals until around 2 – when I got invited to go to the beach with them the next day at Krokrobite and enjoy all-I-could-eat lobster and fish that they’d ordered.  Since a number of us were up for going – I gladly accepted the offer, excited to hang out with some locals on my last day in Ghana.

That night was a bit rough and I spent much of it puking and trying to re-hydrate.  The following morning was a bad hangover, but I managed to get enough coffee and pastry into my face to dampen the headache and nausea enough that I was ready for my pick-up to Krokrobite.  Mike and the others were too hungover to join me, so I said my goodbyes to Sinead and Mike and headed out.  Hanging out at the beach with some cool Ghanaians was about all I had energy for during the day, and it was a lovely and relaxing time.

Beach in Jamestown

On the way back to the city, my friend Chris was kind enough to drop me off in Jamestown where I’d be meeting back up with Mike and taking a walking tour with our “Fixer” Isaac.  It was really cool to finally see this historic part of Accra and we walked during the sunset amongst the fishing village down by the water and then later up in the actual neighborhoods that were literally bursting with life, music so loud it would damage your hearing within a few hours, and people everywhere – socializing, watching soccer crowded around shared TV’s, talking and drinking in the street.  The only thing that was missing from Jamestown, especially if you were a resident, would be peace or privacy.

Isaac also took us to the famous Black Star Square and past Kwame Nkrumah’s mausoleum before finishing off our night at a bar perched precipitously on a cliff overlooking the beach and the old slave fort known as Osu.  The location was truly magnificent, the only reason we were in a hurry to leave was, again, the music being played was at such a volume as to make it not only impossible to have a normal conversation without screaming, it really hurt your eardrums.

Heading back to our accommodation, Isaac invited us to his place for a final smoke goodbye and we couldn’t refuse – especially given the fact that this was to be our last night in West Africa.

In the morning, we got up and did a final pack of our bags before heading to the airport in an Uber.  I was proud of the fact that I finally did some souvenir shopping – buying a skirt on the way back from picking up coffee in under five minutes flat.

I had very mixed feelings about leaving Ghana and flying to Ethiopia.  As is so often the case, I longed for a few more days to enjoy Accra a little more.  To get a deeper sense of what it might be like to live here – because of all the places we had visited in West Africa – this would be by and far the easiest place for a westerner to move to. I didn’t want to go.  Not just yet.

And so, it was with a heavy heart that I boarded our Ethiopian Airlines flight bound for Addis, connecting to Gonder the next morning.

Sierra Leone Part I – Freetown

06 Saturday Jan 2018

Posted by in Africa, Sierra Leone

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Slums of Freetown, Sierra Leone. Mass graves were dug here during the 2015 Ebola outbreak.

My flights went without incident and despite being very tired indeed – I landed in Freetown on a hot and humid Sunday night.  Having sat next to a very friendly native Sierra Leonean, I felt confident that I would have some help navigating immigration and transport on arrival despite being exhausted.  We exited the aircraft and that familiar blast of heat hit me full on and I breathed in the heady scents of Africa once more.  The airport was as expected – long lines and packed to the gills with people shouting for their bags.   The airport in Freetown is rather curious in that it was built on an island – a ferry or water taxi ride away from the mainland.  Having gotten my bags onto the shuttle that would take me to the water taxi, I was already full of joy and contentment to see that the waiting area was a bar looking out across the palm-fringed ocean and I immediately ordered a beer to “hurry up and wait”.

TIA.  This is Africa.

I started chatting with a Finnish Unicef worker who was visiting Sierra Leone to help set up a clinic in the rural north, and another American who was here visiting family.  The latter later claimed to be the niece of the president of the country – and I still have absolutely no idea if she was crazy or if this was really true.  She did, in fact, text me the next day on What’s App to meet up for dinner and drinks – but after showing up drunk and with her cousin who seemed very coked out – only stayed to chat for about ten minutes before excusing herself to tend to “family matters”.  Very bizarre.

The water taxi was a hot 30-minute ride which included a viewing of “Britain’s got Talent”.  On arrival at the terminal on the other side, I carefully followed the Dragoman directions to my guest house – the “Raza” and walked the 500 feet in the dark dragging my bags in what has now become the standard crazy, loud and insane oncoming traffic, sweating profusely.

Lumley Beach

I was so happy when I saw the sign for the hotel and having checked in, discovered a basic but acceptably clean room with air conditioning where I could finally unwind.

My jet lag was reasonably bad for the next few days.  The next morning, I was awoken by the sound of the Dragoman tour truck pulling up and the passengers arriving from the trip I was initially supposed to be on from Senegal.   I came out and greeted several of the sweaty, exhausted, dust-covered people and made introductions.  Meeting the guide, I was told that they would be arranging a trip to the Chimpanzee Sanctuary that afternoon and to meet in reception at 3pm.  I was happy to have a plan for my first full day in Sierra Leone – especially since the first few days in a foreign continent are always an adjustment.

Sierra Leone had a different plan in mind for me.  I went for a walk after eating my very late breakfast to get accustomed to the surroundings and hopefully to find Lumley beach – the characteristic stretch of white sand that is lined with bars and restaurants in this vibrant capital city.  I immediately “remembered” what Africa can and has since been like on this trip (I am writing this post from Guinea on Day 12 of the trip) – hot, dusty, noisy, with people everywhere greeting you, trying to sell things to you, traffic everywhere and people busily going about their days in close proximity to each other, carrying babies on their back and large buckets of grain and banana on their heads.

Crazy Freetown traffic

The beach had beautiful white sand and was lined with palm trees.  The potential for tourism in Sierra Leone could immediately be felt, but unfortunately, it is still not fully realized because there is trash everywhere (that and many anti-tourism policies such as no “visa on arrival”).  Cans, bottles, plastic bags, odd sandals, plastic and metallic discarded objects were strewn up and down the beach creating a safety as well as an aesthetic hazard.  It is truly one of the more lamentable facts about West Africans thus far – over and over again you see people just dropping trash on the ground and large piles of trash are seen on streets and intersections and in streams and rivers everywhere.   A total reversal of this behavior is necessary if the country is ever to rise up and develop its economy through tourism.

Then again, I mustn’t forget that it wasn’t that long ago that discarding trash was the status quo back in the States too.  It take education for such a national shift of mindset.

I got back to Raza by 10 to 3 and discovered that the group had left in a taxi 5 minutes earlier.  I felt a wave of disappointment and tried to communicate with the front desk to try and ascertain how much another taxi would cost me if I was to go on my own.

At that moment, another passenger called Kelly, from Australia, came out and asked if she might use the taxi that the front desk had called for me to haggle with over a price to drive me to the sanctuary.  She informed me that she was planning on going to Tacugama the next day and that she was on her way to the Guinean Embassy to pick up her emergency one-day visa.  I asked if I might join her and we hopped in and set off.

Free health clinic in Aberdeen

The traffic insanity that is cities in West Africa took on a new color from the vantage of a car.  Nobody paid attention to traffic signs/signals and Kelly kept trying to help our driver understand where she wanted to go and that since she’d already been to the Guinean Embassy three times in the last twenty-four hours, attempted to direct him in English.  The people of Freetown speak Krio – which is a form of pigeon English.  “Yu Nor Dey Pay No Money” translates to “You don’t have to pay any money” – just so you get the idea.

Finally getting to the “embassy” which actually is a non-descript ran-down white shack/building with an office that is bare except for a bench for sitting/waiting, a fan, and a desk with a computer on it and official looking papers – we ended up chatting in French with one of the “guards” while waiting for Kelly’s passport to be ready.   After about two hours in the heat, Kelly got her visa and we headed back to Aberdeen and Lumley beach in search of a cold beer to celebrate.

Me, Kelly and Charlie

We found a lovely air-conditioned bar called “Eddie’s” and ordered two local “Star” beers while listening to the Game of Thrones soundtrack being played alongside a screening of La La Land on a giant screen on the back wall.  So strange!  Outside, waiting to use the bathroom, I was greeted by a very friendly guy who introduced himself as Charlie.  I immediately noticed that he spoke English with an American accent and found that he had worked for the DOD in Houston and Iraq for several five-month long contracts and as such, he had spent enough time around other American soldiers and contract workers for his English to sound like he came from the States.  We chatted for a few minutes and since he was finishing up with work, I invited him to join Kelly and I for a drink.

Kelly, Charlie and I happily passed a solid hour in conversation and I was immediately transported back to the reasons why I love traveling solo so much – connecting with others is so easy, spontaneous, and organic.  Charlie talked to us about what life is like in Freetown, about the civil war and what it was like to live there two years ago during the Ebola outbreak.  He explained how scary it was, seeing the specially colored “vans” that would inevitably be transporting dead bodies to a safe burial location.  He told us about the strange social impact not touching anyone or anything while in public had on the people.  As always, hearing about such events from the perspective of a local was vastly more impactful than hearing about it through the media in the US.

Stray dogs in Freetown’s trash

We invited our new friend to dinner next door where the Dragoman group were congregated to have their “goodbye” dinner.  The food in Sierra Leone was surprisingly good and flavorful, even spicy.  I ordered grilled snapper with rice and salad.  Fish and chicken with rice or chips is the basic options we have chosen between most nights here, and while the fish is often full of bones – it has been a big contrast to the often bland foods of East Africa.

After dinner, Kelly took a cab home with the group but since I was on US time – Charlie and I opted to head down the road in search of ice cream and real espresso coffee.  It appeared to me that Freetown as a microcosm of Sierra Leonean society had the typical mix of a tiny minority of upper class social climbers with lots of disposable income and then the very poor who live in slums or very basic housing.  The bars and cafes of Lumley beach definitely catered to the former group because I found myself in a neighborhood that could increasingly be mistaken for a beach town in Marseille.

Signs from the Ebola crisis of 2015 – this one on a trash can

I told Charlie that Kelly and I were planning to visit the Chimp sanctuary the next day and he proposed that he join us.  I was happy to have made a local friend so quickly.

The next morning, we had our orientation meeting for the start of the official next leg of the Dragoman trip.  Most unusually, the entire group of 20 passengers and 2 crew were traveling solo and were single, aged between 35 and 75, and were very evenly mixed between genders – 10 female and 12 male.  It was immediately obvious that I wasn’t going to feel unusual or left out – this was a group of very well-traveled independent-minded “misfits” – and that has proven to be very true.  I have been very grateful for the eclectic and interesting mix of characters and culture that the group consists of and it is in the starkest of contrasts to my first overland trip of 2015.

We spent the rest of the morning sharing taxis to visit the famous city center “Cottonwood Tree” and the National Museum.  On the way we passed many many slum settlements simply jam packed with people and an equal presence of trash.  Everywhere, children ran around with dirty snot-ridden faces in tattered clothes, barefoot and being dragged by a parent.   People washed themselves and their clothes in filthy pools of water strewn with garbage.  As always, it was a wake-up call to the privilege we each have to live as we do in the West.

Quote on Female Circumcision – which affects 80% of women in Sierra Leone

The museum was good if a bit out of date, but the exhibits addressing the history of slavery and juxtaposing it to the many modern forms of slavery was very worthwhile.   There were also exhibits addressing the issue of Female Genital Mutilation in Sierra Leone – a very common practice that results in over 80% of women having no external genitalia whatsoever.  While it is a normal practice in their culture, I still can’t help but feel revulsion for the disgusting patriarchal madness that condones such a hideous crime against the body of a woman.  Moreover, the number of people in favor of continuing this violent crime against females is staggering and difficult for a foreigner to comprehend, let alone be tolerant of.

At 3pm, while four of us were haggling to arrange a taxi to go to the sanctuary – Charlie showed up in his Mercedes SUV and offered to drive us there and back himself!  It was a bit of a tight squeeze, but we were ever so grateful and ended up having the most raucous and laughter-filled afternoon and evening together.   A truly magical day that I will not soon forget.

On the way there, Charlie pointed out an area that suffered a horrendous landslide back in September and literally buried thousands of unsuspecting residents in their homes alive as an entire mountainside gave way after months of torrential rains.

Chimps at the Tacugama Sanctuary

The sanctuary itself helps to rehabilitate chimps who’ve been illegally taken as pets in the hopes that they can be re-released back into the wild.  It is set in a thankfully cool setting in the highlands surrounding Freetown and we had a lovely time observing the chimps – especially the sub adults who linked arms with their best friends while walking around their large enclosure.

Dinner on Lumley Beach (I’m using my steripen in case you’re wondering what that light is!)

We experienced horrendous rush hour traffic on the return and sat at a near standstill for over two hours.  Nauseous, hot and very hungry – we were super grateful to find a bbq stand directly on Lumley beach where we ordered chicken with fried rice and cold beer at the best table in the place – a wooden table and chairs literally only ten feet away from where the water was lapping away at the sand.

A thoroughly enjoyable day was had by all.

The following day we followed our bliss for three nights on the beaches of the Sierra Leonean Peninsula.

Rwanda – A Beautiful Country, Not a Genocide

16 Thursday Jul 2015

Posted by in Rwanda

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At the Genocide Memorial

At the Genocide Memorial

Our tour only included two and a half days in Rwanda, but it was enough time to convince me that it is my favorite country that I’ve visited in this continent.  Rwanda was surprising and refreshing in many different ways.  From how it’s people have miraculously healed from the horrific genocide they experienced in 1994 to become the happiest and friendliest of people I’d encountered on the trip, to the stunning mountainous scenery, to the biodiversity, to the top-notch, impressive infrastructure that the government has substantially invested in – all this created my impression of Rwanda as the jewel of Africa.

Of course, most tourists’ impressions of the country when they arrive are the same as mine were.  I feared what had happened here only 21 short years ago.  I had seen “Hotel Rwanda” and remembered hearing about the atrocities committed here on the news when I was 18 years old living in England.  That type of ethnic hatred couldn’t possibly have been removed from the national psyche to any measurable extent in such a short period of time?  Surely there would still be palpable tension between people? Surely people wouldn’t be that friendly?

Well, the people I met were incredibly genuine, kind, smiling and caring.  I felt nothing but love, hospitality and a warm welcome.

The capital, Kigali

The capital, Kigali

On arrival at the border, I will never forget seeing signs offering $5,000,000 for information that would lead to the capture and arrest of certain Rwandan citizens who are being sought for inciting the genocide and who have since fled the country and are believed to be residing in the Democratic Republic of the Congo.

Our first stop on our entering the capital, Kigali, was the Genocide Memorial Museum.  It was a sobering three hour visit – but I have to say that overall, it is one of the best museums I have ever visited.  The displays were vivid, clear, and easy to follow. The most impressive detail, however, was the second floor of the memorial where they had dedicated “rooms” to each of the mass genocides of human history – and compared each to what happened in Rwanda.  I found this to be one of the more fascinating and educational components to the museum.

Partial list of those laid to rest here in the mass graves

Partial list of those laid to rest here in the mass graves

I won’t go into the entire history of the genocide, nor will I recite too much of what I learned.  I will, however, tell you that I discovered I was sorely misinformed prior to my visit, and I had a lot of false assumptions about why the genocide happened in the first place.

What I didn’t realize, for example, was that the ethnic and physical distinctions between the Tutsi, Hutu and Twa people of Rwanda were largely created and propagandized by the Belgian Colonial powers.  They introduced an ID card in 1933 that differentiated people based on these “classifications” but in reality, a Tutsi simply meant a person who herded cattle, and a Hutu was a farmer.  These groups lived in harmony for hundreds of years before the Europeans arrived.

IMG_0964This quote is from Wikipedia and you can read more here:

“Belgian social scientists declared that the Tutsis, who wielded political control in Rwanda, must be descendants of the Hamites, who shared a purported closer blood line to Europeans. The Belgians concluded that the Tutsis and Hutus composed two fundamentally different ethno-racial groups. Thus, the Belgians viewed the Tutsis as more civilized, superior, but most importantly, more European than the Hutus. This perspective justified placing societal control in the hands of the Tutsis at the expense of the Hutus. Moreover, this Belgian affirmation of the Hamitic theory provided a conceptual foundation for Tutsis and Hutus to start identifying themselves as different ethnic groups. The Belgians established a comprehensive race theory that was to dictate Rwandan society until independence: Tutsi racial superiority and Hutu oppression. The institutionalization of Tutsi and Hutu ethnic divergence was accomplished through administrative, political economic, and educational means.”

Skulls

Skulls

Many years later, after colonial powers had left, a Hutu majority took control of the government in the country. This division that was created by the Belgians became a systematic belief system that was propagandized through radio and print – all Hutu people were systematically encouraged to oust, bully, ignore, not employ and generally terrorize Tutsi citizens until they felt compelled to leave the country.

Of course, this culminated in an all-out mass genocide of Tutsis and moderate Hutus on April 6 of 1994.  An estimated 2 million Rwandans were slaughtered.

Incidentally, I remember walking through the museum and kept wondering why 1994 seemed so significant to me.  And then it hit me.  I had just spent a month in South Africa and I realized that Nelson Mandela became the first freely elected president of South Africa on the 27th of April that same year.  It was difficult for me to wrap my head around something so positive occurring simultaneously as something so heinous on the same continent.

The reality of what happened here was extremely disturbing.  I have included a few photos here of some of the more alarming facts I read that truly put the international community to shame for standing by and doing nothing when they had had adequate warning this was going to happen.  A few things that stand out to me:

  • Most killings were vicious and carried out by machetes.  People were forced to rape and kill their own family members and neighbors.
  • The number of troops that were sent to Rwanda to remove foreign nationals to safety would have been adequate to prevent the genocide – had they been allowed to stay.
  • There was simply not enough capacity in the justice system for every crime committed to be prosecuted by a court system in the years following the genocide.  So, a community based “Truth and reconciliation” program was created that allowed neighbors, friends, strangers to face a local sentence if they were honest enough to admit to having killed someone.  Often that sentence was simply labor that would be offered to the offended party, such as a wife who’s husband was murdered by her neighbor.  The neighbor, upon admitting guilt, would be “sentenced” to help support the woman and her children for a number of years in order to be “forgiven”.
Two cyclists "hitching" a ride as we drive out of Kigali into the mountains

Two cyclists “hitching” a ride as we drive out of Kigali into the mountains

  • The number of dead is purely an estimate as no accurate record of who died in the years following the genocide nor how many died in refugee camps of bordering countries has been kept
  • There are startling similarities between the ethnic cleansing propaganda used by Hitler and those used by the Hutu army.

After a very sobering visit, it was refreshing to leave Kigali and head up into the hills towards a mountainous region of the country close to the border with the DRC.  We stayed at Fatima guest house in Ruhengeri, a small town near Lake Kivu.  The following day I joined two of the other passengers on what turned out to be a delightful and quite personal tour of Lake Kivu and the town of Gisenyi.

Me and our delightful guide, Didier

Me and our delightful guide, Didier

Our guide’s name was Didier and he was incredibly personable, funny, and professional.  His English was also outstanding and his enthusiasm for his country and all the region had to offer was infectious.  We headed out of Ruhengeri early in the morning and drove to Gisenyi where our first stop was a lookout over the city that sits on the shores of Lake Kivu.  We also visited the local and international border crossings with the DRC and got to observe the crazy foot traffic of local artisans trading everything from cabbages to dresses with their less-governed neighbor.

I was reminded of Lake Como in northern Italy – this place was stunning.  The beach on the lake was fringed with beautiful palm-like trees, the water was clean and turquoise and there was lots of infrastructure to suggest this was the premier vacation destination for wealthy Africans.  I could easily have stayed for several weeks.

Another shot of Lake Kivu

Another shot of Lake Kivu

We visited “Honeymoon Island” which is self-explanatory and very romantic, a gushing hot spring where a group of village children descended upon Didier who obliged them all (and us!) with chunks of natural sugar cane to suck on.  We had a delicious lunch and a locally brewed Rwandan beer and it was all so lovely that when Didier decided to tell us his experience of living through the genocide – we were all taken quite aback at his authenticity and apparent ease at relating such graphic details.

Didier told us that his father, a Tutsi, was murdered, his mother, a Hutu, and sister fled (and he presumed killed)  He said his life had been very much in extreme danger because he represented one of the most hated groups of persons during the genocide – a child of a mixed marriage.  Somehow, against the odds, at the age of seven, Didier lived a life on the street, scrounging for what food he could find and sleeping wherever he felt safe…for years.  Eventually, a kind family took him in and he went to school and ate one meal of beans once per day for many years.  He says that it was often really hard for him to concentrate on his studies because he was so hungry, but that he was determined to get a good job one day.

Eating Sugar cane

Eating Sugar cane

Ten years after the genocide, when he was 17, the UN performed a census of the refugee camps in the Congo and he found out that his mother and sister were alive!  They had an emotional reunion in Kigali and now see each other regularly.  There was not a dry eye at the table as he recited this happy conclusion to his story.

Didier assured us that the national identity, of being Rwandan, was very real now and that he was happy.  He loved his work in tourism, he was close with his mom and sister, but he also asked, with a great beaming smile, how he could possibly not be  happy when he knew each morning now that “I will eat breakfast, lunch, AND dinner???!!!”

On the beach of Lake Kivu

On the beach of Lake Kivu

There are no words for how it felt to be in the presence of someone telling you such a vivid and personal story.  This was no longer an exhibit at the museum.  This was a small child, who survived against the odds through unimaginable horrors.

After lunch, we decided to visit one of the nice hotels on the lake and go for a swim.  It was so beautiful and relaxing in the water, and after we all treated ourselves to a nice cocktail and shared more stories.

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Man off to sell cabbages loaded onto his bike on the DRC border

Man off to sell cabbages loaded onto his bike on the DRC border

Later that evening, Didier was kind enough to invite us out to hear some live local music.  None of my group wanted to go, but I was game – so I hopped onto a boda boda (motorcycle transport) and met up with him to grab some beers.  We had a memorable evening sharing more stories, and then ended up at a karaoke club where I ran into an American from Seattle!  Small world, eh?  Apparently the karaoke is what Didier had meant by “local music” – and despite having only half a voice because of my horrible cough – I roused the crowd by belting out some Bonnie Tyler and Beyonce.  It was a very fun evening and put the perfect happy ending onto my memorable few days here in Rwanda.

Kampala – My Life Changing Experience in the Bwaise Slum

23 Tuesday Jun 2015

Posted by in Africa, Uganda

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IMG_0704After a couple of long days driving on the truck, I was beginning to feel better and had purchased an inhaler to help with my hacking cough that was now a month old. We made a nice stop in Nakuru at a lovely campsite that had a nice pool to lounge next to as well as an annoying and aggressive flock of geese.

I had no plans specifically when we arrived in Kampala, but I decided to do the “Slum Tour” as I was interested in seeing how many poor Ugandans living in the capital dwell.

This day took me completely by surprise and has become the absolute highlight of the entire trip.  Salim Semambo Mukasa was the director of the Slum Tour company and came to the campsite in the morning to collect myself and Emily to go visit Bwaise – the slum that he himself grew up in. I was immediately impressed by his English, his passion for creating this eye-opening experience for tourists and his selfless attitude that was demonstrated when he explained that every cent of the proceeds from the tour goes directly to the everyday needs of 25 orphans that live in an orphanage his volunteer organization established.

IMG_0714I was so disheartened that he’d been unable to come to the Red Chilli Hideaway backpackers the night before in order to explain this to our entire group – I’m sure more of them would have come if they’d known that $20 was going to directly feed kids and not to a “for profit” business.

In any case, we took public transport to Bwaise and the experience really began there. I asked Salim how he’d come to start giving these slum tours and how he helps tourists overcome their fear of it being a “human safari” experience. He explained that he knew all of the residents of the slum – it was the slum where he grew up – and that the people are always happy to see Mzungus coming to see where they live, experiencing it, and coming away with a fresh perspective. Salim’s father had died when he was young, and it was due to a neighbor’s generosity that Salim was able to get an education through “Primary 7” which I believe is until you’ve reached 12 years of age. The neighbor had started the volunteer organization “Volunteers for Sustainable Development” and when he died, Salim felt it was important to continue in the work that his benefactor had begun. He now runs these Slum Tours for people visiting Kampala together with several other volunteer friends he knows from living and working in Bwaise.

At the orphanage

At the orphanage

Salim was right about our welcome, and how the residents would perceive our visit. Everywhere we walked, people smiled and waved and were extremely welcoming. The children followed us in droves as if we were celebrities, unable to wipe the wide grins from their faces.

Of course, it was difficult to see the conditions that people have all but grown accustomed to contending with. Many of the residents’ dwellings were made from temporary or poorly constructed materials, trash floated on the waterways that ran through the slum, children ran in bare feet and tattered, dirty clothes, and some people sat in doorways looking visibly sick and hungry. It was tough to see, and yet, this is the daily reality for so many people – I felt a responsibility to see it for myself. This was the real side of Africa.  The one that hasn’t been artificially sterilized and designed only for tourists.

One of the highlights to the tour was learning how Salim also works with donations by providing micro loans to women in the community to start small businesses. With just $50 or $100, we met with several women who between them had started a sewing business to make school backpacks, and another who had built and was running a small food stall. It was heartening to see these women being industrious and taking pride in providing for themselves and their families. Salim explained that it is always the women who show such a spirit of enterprise as all too often, a loan given to a man will be squandered on selfish temporary pleasures such as alcohol or sex.

Salim with his friends, the orphans

Salim with his friends, the orphans

Salim also took us to the sex trade area of the slum which was a real eye-opener. A customer can buy sexual favors here for as little as 50c, and of course, HIV infection is a real problem. As we were walking through, a woman started talking to Salim in an agitated voice, and I learned later that she had been complaining about how he hadn’t come around in a while with fresh condoms for them. I was amazed at the amount of impact and assistance this one very industrious young man was able to provide.

(Salim, you are amazing!)

IMG_0705We visited the home of a woman who was sadly dying from AIDS. I learned something which up until this point I was very ignorant of. Despite the fact that the Ugandan government does supply its’ HIV+ people with free anti-retro viral drugs, these drugs are not always readily available for a person to continue their prescribed course without interruption. The drugs themselves are very hard on the body, and having balanced and quality nutrition in one’s diet is vital to their being effective in suppressing the virus and boosting the immune system. So, what ends up happening is that these drugs are being taken by people who can barely afford to stem their own hunger with maize and beans. The consumption of fresh greens and fruits just isn’t a possibility. Therefore, when a person goes to pick up their week or month’s supply of drugs and they’re perhaps out of stock and they are told to return in a few days time, this person’s body reacts violently and sometimes they can deteriorate very rapidly, even dying while waiting.

The Gadaffi Mosque

The Gadaffi Mosque

This lady whom we met had been infected by her cheating husband, who had since died himself leaving her with their three children. She was upset because she’d spent her last 3000 shillings (about $1) going to the medical clinic the day before to get her prescription of anti retro virals re-filled and was told they’d ran out and to come back on Monday. I held her hand and gave her 3000 shillings from my purse so that she could go back again, and I hoped that she would have the strength to do so.

Salim explained that her biggest fear is what would happen to her children if she were to die. I asked him what would happen, and he just shook his head and shrugged his shoulders as if to suggest children becoming orphaned because of HIV was just another reality of slum life that he had grown accustomed to, though not unaffected by.

We visited one of the slum schools and I was surprised to see that the kids were learning on a Saturday – out of choice, because they loved going to school.  I was quite impressed at what the children were studying – one of the 7/8 year old classrooms were learning about the process of cell division through meiosis and mitosis  (which I don’t think I studied until college!)  We sang some nursery songs with the kids in the kindergarten aged classrooms and thanked their energetic and lovely school teacher profusely for introducing us.

walking around Bwaise

walking around Bwaise

At the end of the tour, we were going to visit the orphanage, and both Emily and I wanted to first go to a store and buy some food supplies to give to the kids. We bought several kilos each of rice, beans and sugar and then hand delivered them. The children immediately swarmed around Salim as he sat down and tried to wrap his arms around as many of them as he could. While many of the kids were clearly smiling and happy to see him, you could also see in some of their faces the knowledge that they’d been abandoned and that they were unwanted. That is what broke my heart – not seeing them poorly fed or poorly clothed – but knowing that they were wanting of affection, hugs, and emotional security.

Salim explained that some of the kids were found abandoned in a toilet nearby, or perhaps the parent had just left them wandering the streets a few blocks from the orphanage. Without additional funding, he really can’t afford to accept any more children into the orphanage because it is already full…so the fate of additional orphans is hard to imagine.

Getting fitted for my visit of the Mosque

Getting fitted for my visit of the Mosque

At this point, I was very moved to help Salim and his orphanage. I was interested in learning more, so at the end of our tour, I invited him to lunch so that I could ask more questions about how he managed his organization. I also just wanted to buy him a really good meal because it looked like he could use it – if only to bring him some good cheer.

We ate chicken curry and I had some beer. Salim seemed to be enjoying himself so I asked if he’d be willing to show me around Kampala after lunch? It turns out he didn’t have plans, so we ended up spending the rest of the afternoon together.

After lunch we visited the main market in Kampala and it was just a see of craziness and activity. Just crossing the streets of this incredibly busy city was exciting and lucky for me, Salim was there to help me navigate the crowds. After having walked in chaotic surroundings for most of the day, I was relieved and happy to find myself in the tranquil buildings of the Gadaffi Mosque. I had to rent a ha jib head covering for the occasion but actually found the garment to be most comfortable to wear.

One of Salim’s friends was also a tour guide at the mosque and his name was Ashiraf. Ashiraf has a real character and regaled me with the history of the mosque and even sang some islamic songs for me in its blissfully empty and serene interior.

I was having the most wonderful time.

Being silly with Ashiraf

Being silly with Ashiraf

We climbed the tower for a lovely view over this city that is named Kampala because it was where the British would camp with the Impala. It was a fantastic vista and again, I found myself laughing hysterically at Ashiraf as he demonstrated how warriors would welcome Uganda’s king at the palace.

Feeling a little tired, but very content with my day with Salim, I asked him what he would do, if he could do anything. “Get some ice-cream?” – was his reply. I heartily agreed that this was a fantastic idea as I am always up for ice cream…and cake if that was also a possibility?!

We found a delightful coffee bar called Javas that also served the most amazing ice cream and cakes. I ordered a white forest gateau and he had praline and vanilla ice cream. We sat, eating in silence for some minutes- both with huge grins on our faces.

I really enjoyed meeting you, Salim. You have changed my perspective for a day – and for the rest of my life. I will always be appreciative to you for that.

PLEASE consider making a donation to Salim’s organization.  You can contact him on Facebook at Volunteers for Sustainable Development.

My Return to Cape Town – 14 years later

27 Wednesday May 2015

Posted by in Africa, South Africa

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Gorgeous Cape Town's Skyline

Gorgeous Cape Town’s Skyline

I visited Cape Town in the December of 2001 with Semester at Sea.  It had made quite the impression on me then and I had counted it in the top three cities in the world, for me.  I was so looking forward to returning and doing the activities that I hadn’t had the time to on my visit fourteen years prior!

Entering the city on our rented bus, I was sorry to hear Pete (who’d come instead of Tabby because she can’t get a SA visa with a Kenyan passport) tell us to be really careful in Cape Town because it’s the most dangerous place the tour goes.  I was looking forward to walking around by myself, but I realized that I was still going to have to be cautious, especially in the evening, and take cabs/carry little etc.

On arrival at our hostel, The Ashanti Gardens, I was very happy to see beautiful Table Mountain right from the deck.  The air was cool and a welcome 15 degrees celcius.  That evening I enjoyed the best meal of the trip so far when I ordered “The Game Platter” which consisted of Ostrich, Springbok, Gemsbok, and Wilderbeest Ribs.  Damn.  So good.

Bench outside city magistrates court

Bench outside city magistrates court

On my first day in the big city – I ventured downtown to take the Free Walking Tour – these guides rely entirely on tips, so the quality of tour usually is reflected.  I wasn’t disappointed – it was a great introduction to the main commercial/political city centre; we even had the opportunity to observe a protest march passing right by the main town hall where Nelson Mandela made his first speech after being released from prison.

On a more sombre note, we visited the main city courtroom where people had to go during the Apartheid regime to get classified into a “race category”, of which there were five to start, eventually the government deciding on eleven categories, which, hysterically, included “honorary white” – to enable Japanese or Chinese dignataries/athletes/journalists etc. to be allowed to visit South Africa and be afforded the same privileges of movement as white people.  People would first have to pass what they called the “Pencil Test”.  If a pencil fell out of their hair, they were classified as white.  If it stayed, then they had to proceed to the court hearing to be classified.

Square with the slaves' memorial

Square with the slaves’ memorial

Our guide told us a few horror stories of families being physically separated after individuals who were related to one another were deemed to belong to different races because of having perhaps lighter or darker skin.  Couples, siblings, even parents and children could be separated and forced to live in different sections of the city.

Of the categories that were created, a few have survived and are used in everyday speech – White, Black, Colored, and Asian.  The use of the word “colored” has been the most interesting to me as it refers to people of mixed race, and has made me realize how strange it is that back home, we refer to those of mixed race, such as President Obama, as black.  Slightly black = black in the States.  This has been fascinating to ask locals about and I will dedicate an entire post to my thoughts on this topic later on.

V & A Waterfront

V & A Waterfront

Our guide also showed us where the slaves that were brought to the Cape were housed upon first arrival.  The Dutch settled the cape in the 1800’s but had to bring in slaves because they needed a workforce to build the city, and they were also in need of women to help populate the area.  Every Saturday, female slaves – from Madagascar, Malawi, Mozambique, Malaysia (to name a few countries) would be rounded up outside in the square for the men to take pleasure with.  He said that it is estimated, now, that every “white” South African can actually attribute at least 8% of their DNA to this initial slave gene pool.

Which means, if correct, that the very men who wrote Apartheid into the constitution, were part black themselves.  An idea, which meets with tremendous resistance among some nationals here (as attested to my bringing it up in some conversations over the last few weeks, as a data gathering experiment).

In the park, we were shown a fully albino squirrel and were told that he’d been nicknamed “Apartheid Squirrel” and has his very own twitter feed… Funny.

#ApartheidSquirrel

#ApartheidSquirrel

Later that evening I met up with my friend Martin Slabber.  Martin and I were on a tour together in Chile back in 2008 and it was delightful to catch up.  He and his wife and his new baby Max picked me up in their car (well, the baby had little to do with it) and drove me to their home in beautiful Hout Bay where they live.  It’s about a half hour drive from Cape Town and it has quite a stunning beach setting with dramatic hills that rise up out of the ocean in jagged spectacle.  We picked up pizza take out and shared life’s stories over a lovely bottle of red wine.

It was so good to spend an evening in a person’s home after so long on the road.  Thank you Martin!

My visit with "Ice Bru" and Bob Vela!!

My visit with “Ice Bru” and Bob Vela!!

I hadn’t gone to Robben Island back in 2001, and nowadays, the visit to the infamous prison is one of the top visitor attractions, and most tours sell out days in advance.  I got my ticket online and visited one afternoon.  Though the boat service/tour was poorly organized, I was really glad that I went to experience the place for myself.  I really got a sense of what it must have been like for prisoners like Mandela, to be taunted daily with such a beautiful view of Cape Town’s Table Mountain, always out of reach.  We visited the rock quarry where prisoners were made to perform hard labor, often which was pointless and therefore soul-destroying, such as moving large rocks from one area to another, only to be forced to move them back the next day.

On Robben Island, the quarry where prisoners' worked

On Robben Island, the quarry where prisoners’ worked

The most disturbing thing I learned at the prison is best summarized by the attached photo.  During apartheid, a person’s skin color could literally determine where they were “allowed” to live, whether they could move freely in a city, and whether they had to carry a pass, or face being beaten or thrown in jail.  Here on Robben Island, it was taken a step further and the food that the prisoners were fed was different for coloreds vs. Blacks (that they deprecatingly referred to as Bantu) Of course, at Robben Island, there was no meal plan for whites because a white prisoner would never be sent there.

Menu at the prison for different races

Menu at the prison for different races

My final day in Cape Town, I got to do something I’d been waiting 14 years to do.  Great White Shark cage diving.  I was supposed to go back in 2001 but the trip got canceled due to bad weather.  While the activity is somewhat controversial, our company did a decent job of sharing their efforts in Shark conservation and explaining that they don’t feed the animals, they only attract them to the vessel and use the opportunity to study their behavior at the same time.

Mandela's cell

Mandela’s cell

Unfortunately, as excited as I was, not even the seasickness medication I took ahead of time was adequate in preparing me for the rolling waves that we had to sit through for over three hours on the open water.  Spotting the first shark was thrilling, and I made my best efforts to try and capture the moments on my camera, but after 15 minutes or so I began to feel queasy.

Me trying to keep food down in the shark cage

Me trying to keep food down in the shark cage

I spent most of the rest of the trip laying down at the front of the boat just trying to keep my breakfast down – and failing to:-(  I did, however, go into the cage – as the marine biologists on board assured me that the nausea would be alleviated somewhat.

It didn’t really help, especially since the girl to my right was still puking right into the surf as we clung together to the metal bars of the cage.  There was definitely a few very memorable moments when the sharks swam straight towards our faces, but with the sea as rough as it was, it was very difficult to remain steady underwater while holding one’s breath at the same time.

I’m still glad that I did it, but it certainly wasn’t what I’d been expecting.

Zanzibar – From Stone Town to Disappointment

20 Friday Mar 2015

Posted by in Africa, Tanzania

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Our group spent a total of 5 nights on this “beautiful” tropical island, an hour and a half ferry’s ride from Tanzania’s capital Dar Es Salaam. We stayed in Stone Town, full of remnant Omanian architecture and mosques, for two days, and then headed north to the beaches for the final three.

Unfortunately, my stay was quite tainted by the drama that unfolded on our second evening in Stone Town when I discovered that my room had been robbed, my iPhone 6 and it’s plug and adapter taken, while it had been locked and the key in the care of the front desk personnel.

I had left it charging while we went to dinner at the night market and was only gone for two hours. Ordinarily, I would not have left out such a valuable piece of equipment, but when I borrowed our driver Pete’s laptop earlier in the day, he had told me to just leave the laptop in the room when I was done with it if I couldn’t find him because “we’ve never had an issue here before and we’ve stayed more than ten times”, which gave me a false sense of security.

Buffalo skulls at the market

Buffalo skulls at the market

When I realized it was gone, I was incensed because it was obvious that whoever took it had access to the key – which meant it was most likely a member of staff in the hotel that had just helped themselves to our room and taken what they wanted. They had rifled through my roommate’s bag as well, but hadn’t taken anything. I spent the next few hours in tears while my tour group leader argued with the hotel management in Swahili, the only intelligible thing they could say was to go on and on about how their hotel was honorable and nothing like this had ever happened before – like that was of help to me.

After having lost my laptop to whatever bad luck was befalling me, I was pretty upset that I’d now lost the one piece of technology I had left to stay in touch with loved ones back home, to access skype, and stay in touch with job opportunities as they arose.

This was not good. At all.

I was somehow appeased a little the next day when Dan, our local tour leader in Zanzibar, learned of what happened and went completely ape shit on the hotel management. He pretty much accused them of stealing my property, and as I instructed, suggested that whomever just turned up with the phone would get a $200 finder’s fee from me. It became obvious that this wasn’t going to work when Tabitha explained that an iPhone 6 could carry a $2000 tag price in Africa as they are simply not available still.

Sigh.

Just like Elsa in Frozen, I had to Let it Go.

The event certainly blanketed my first day on the beaches in a dark mood, so at least I had enjoyed my time in Stone Town which consisted primarily of doing a Spice Tour and eating lots of yummy cheap street food in the evenings. We visited a farm run by the local government that grew a wide variety of spices that we got to sniff and taste and wash down with various teas. My favorites were the cardammon pods and the cinnamon bark. Lovely.

climbing a palm tree

climbing a palm tree

We also got a palm-tree climbing demonstration by one of the farm’s crazy workers – who had colorfully been entertaining us with his heated arguments with two of his colleagues over the Champion’s League teams of Arsenal and Barcelona and who had better players. I find it hard to fathom how and why Africans are so obsessed with football, especially English teams – they are almost as passionate as the boys I remember growing up with in Wellingborough.

After the tour, we enjoyed a lovely meal sitting on the floor of our guide Dan’s own home, eating stewed chicken curry, rice, vegetables and red snapper. We also enjoyed a giant platter of some of the best mango I’ve ever tasted to finish the meal.

Stone Town itself, as the rest of “local non-resort” Zanzibar is pretty dirty, full of people, traffic and trash. Having said that, the narrow streets and stone houses were reminiscent of Havana or Panama City. Again, however, as with other places in Tanzania, I didn’t feel safe walking around with my group, let alone by myself. Predominantly muslim, it was also challenging to walk around in the 105 degree heat in long sleeves and pants which the local custom demands for women.

Enjoying lunch at Dan's home after the Spice Tour

Enjoying lunch at Dan’s home after the Spice Tour

After a week in tents, having air conditioned rooms and a bed to sleep in was a treat – you know, if I didn’t think about how the hotel robbed me, also informing me that anything taken from the room is not the hotel’s responsibility. If that’s true – why bother even locking the doors?

Ugh.

The logic of the Tanzanian people is really not intact. I was also informed today during our arduous return journey from the beaches (which we left at 5am this morning) that Dan had attempted to obtain a police report after he took a few officers with him to the hotel to try again to get the truth out of the hotel staff. The police had declined to write the report because “it would create a bad reputation for tourists coming to Zanzibar”. When is there ever a crime that doesn’t negatively depict its environment? Tabitha assures me we should be able to get a police report in Malawi.

We shall have to wait and see…

Beautiful Cartagena – Stepping back in time

02 Saturday Aug 2014

Posted by in Colombia, South America

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The city wall

The city wall

I made a good decision by flying to Cartagena. It’s only a 45 minute flight that cost me $70 as opposed to a 13 hour bus ride that ends at a station nearly an hour’s cab ride outside the historic center.  I didn’t make a good decision, however, when it came to where I chose to spend the night.

I had followed the advice of my hostel owner in Medellin and booked an air-conditioned dorm at Mamallena’s for Wednesday and Thursday nights.  I hadn’t known that 1 – It’s one of the biggest party hostels in town and 2 – that Wednesdays, for some bizarre inexplicable reason, is the hottest night out, with the entire block of hostels and bars on the street offering an all-night party, beat pumping, techno disco-drunk fest.  Too late in the day to change upon my arrival, combined with the whompf of HEAT that one feels the moment you land here in the north of Colombia (writing this in San Gil, I can’t tell you how grateful I am for having escaped that triple digit 100% humidity hell) I figured it couldn’t be that bad – I had brought ear plugs after all.

City streets lit up at night

City streets lit up at night

I couldn’t have been more wrong.  Not only did my room face the main street, my bed was the bed closest to the wall that faced the street also. I barely got any sleep that night, with my bed practically shaking with the beat of the music.

I was eager to go explore the historic center during my first evening foray for food.  I met up with two girls at the hostel who were on their way to a restaurant called “Crepes and Waffles” (sounded right up my alley) incidentally one of whom was from Rushden, a town just a few miles from where I grew up in England.

IMG_1149I was immediately captivated by the ambience of the old city in the balmy (read: sweaty) evening.  It reminded me a lot of Havana, if Cuba had the money to invest in the upkeep of their historic buildings, roads and infrastructure.  Every road was a little alley promising romance and intrigue.  The balconies overflowed with flowers.  Couples snuggled in cozy horse-drawn carriages through plazas whose history included being one of the epicenters of the African slave trade hundreds of years ago.  Churches dotted everywhere, combined with candlelit outdoor cafes and restaurants adding to the charm of the place.   Live music emanated from several locations, notably from Bolivar plaza where an Afro-Caribbean dance concert was in full swing.

Playa Blanca

Playa Blanca

The prices for food and drinks soon tempered my enthusiasm temporarily.  They easily compared to those in the US.  But I had the most incredible meal of crab-stuffed salmon pancakes with a side of salad.  It hit the spot.

My new acquaintances were two very impressive ladies, who at the tender ages of 23 had volunteered in some of the most impoverished child orphanages and slums in the world, helping to establish or facilitate education programs.  I was fascinated to listen to their experiences of teaching in the slums of Mumbai.  The kids who were proud to show them their homes made from rotting trash.  We had a great conversation about what it might take to fight that kind of poverty in the world.  I could understand by the end of our conversation just why these girls found their Cartagena assignment to be rather “tame” and South America to not really offer much in the way of challenging travel.

Afro-Caribbean woman selling exotic fruits

Afro-Caribbean woman selling exotic fruits

After four days of walking through Medellin, their idea of taking the day tomorrow to head to Playa Blanca for a day of relaxation on a pristine white beach sounded like a great idea.  However, once we got there the next day, I was quite disappointed when I realized that it was a hawker infested beach.  How can one relax if you’re asked if you’re interested in buying bracelets every 8 minutes?  And when you say no, they each would ask us where we were from thinking that creating a false sense of intimacy was going to sell bracelets.

Additionally, the personality of the Canadian girl was beginning to grate.  She did not possess an inside voice and I could hear the details of each of her conversations from several hundred feet away.  On the bus ride back, when most sun-burned individuals were desperately trying to grab a quick 45 minute nap in the comfort of the air conditioned mini-van, she was loudly discussing the details of the anal sex she enjoyed with her boyfriend.

Not appropriate and TMI (even for me.)

Men playing chess

Men playing chess

When we got back to the hostel, I promptly showered, changed and headed out for a sunset walk along Cartagena’s city wall – its historic defense system.  It was beautiful and I happily strolled for a few hours, though once again, the romance of the place was screaming for the experience to be shared, preferably with a romantic partner.  Couples sat making out in the little holes in the wall that had been created for cannons, and were now providing relative privacy for the lovers.

I was very wistful.

Another cute piazza

Another cute piazza

IMG_1187 IMG_1190I ended my walk in the Plaza San Diego where I’d been told the restaurant La Cevicheria served amazing ceviche.  I sat down and ordered a cold mojito and the mixed ceviche and for a glorious moment, I forgot about being alone and just ate.

Having not had much sleep the night before, I couldn’t bring myself to go out that night and collapsed in bed relatively early, only to discover that there was still a party raging outside until around 2am.

Thank God for Ambien.

Ceviche

Ceviche

I was excited for the following morning because I’d booked a private walking tour of downtown with this Australian guide who’d come very highly recommended.  However, she didn’t show!  I waited for ½ an hour and then decided to wander the streets a bit more until it was time for me to catch my bus to Santa Marta.  She later wrote and said she’d left her phone at a friends’ house.  How that changed our arrangement I wasn’t sure and I felt sorely let down.

On the plus side, I managed to find a cheap new bikini (mine had fallen apart) and managed to get my camera fixed.  Someone had taken a photo and the lens had failed to retract.  Therefore all my pics of Cartagena were taken with my iPhone.

I highly recommend Cartagena to any traveler.  But go with someone you love and share the romance, the atmosphere and the food.

Medellin – Drugs, Modern Life and…Hippos?

31 Thursday Jul 2014

Posted by in Colombia, South America

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Medellin – Modern and as colorful as it’s unfortunate past

I was pissed when I arrived in Medellin.  The bus journey here from Manizales was supposed to take five hours and it took six and a half because we were stuck behind a town’s Saturday night “procession”, the bus driver insisted on keeping his front two windows rolled down completely nullifying any cooling effect the air conditioning might have brought those suffering in the back, a really cute guy sitting in the front got out only an hour into the journey (obliterating my plan to ask for assistance on arrival and thereby become acquainted,) there was a deafening hip hop concert taking place at the bus station upon arrival, and to top it all off, once I’d found the taxi rank, after five or so sweat-inducing laps of the entire bus station with all my luggage, listening to the thwamp thwamp of the loudspeakers and some dude screaming at the crowd instead of singing, it took seven cab drivers before I found one who actually knew where The Black Sheep Hostel was located.  Well, he didn’t know where it was.  But his response was at least more than a shrug of a shoulder and silent dismissal; he was willing to wait and look at my guidebook map and hear me explain the actual address.

Joggers on Avenida Poblado

Joggers on Avenida Poblado

Cab drivers in Colombia, I have concluded, will do anything to ensure that you take a different cab.

Now I’d left the girls at the beautiful Hacienda Venezia because it was Saturday and I’d heard a lot about how legendary Saturday nights are in Medellin – the dancing, the music.  It’s supposed to be a really great night out with the locals.  By the time I arrived at the hostel it was 8:30 pm, and guess what?  They didn’t have my reservation and they were full. So I was sent to the Casa Blanca just down the road – which turned out to be a shitty hostel filled with very pale 18 year old English college students, wearing dirty clothes sitting around plastic tables gulping cheap vodka with Fanta and shrieking with laughter.  I enquired around, meekly, to see if anyone was up for heading out on the town, but not getting any response, I decided that I’d had a long day and got a private teeny tiny room and passed out.

Park in Poblado

Park in Poblado

I immediately regretted my decision the next day when I re-packed my stuff and checked back in to The Black sheep, only to hear and see everyone talking enthusiastically about what a great night out had been had by all.  Well, surely Colombians go out on Sundays too?

No, apparently. They do not.

Colorful bars in the Zona Rosa - which I didn't go out in:-(

Colorful bars in the Zona Rosa – which I didn’t go out in:-(

After finding some breakfast, I asked the sardonic Kiwi at reception for ideas on what I might do on a Sunday in this city.  He suggested a walk around The Poblado (the modern side of town where the hostel was located) and a visit to the botanical gardens for a quiet nice afternoon.  Since there wouldn’t be much open today, that seemed like a good plan and I quietly also devised a plan to go watch a movie that evening and treat myself to some nice air conditioning, popcorn and diet coke (bliss – a fast cure for the little bit of home sickness I felt for modern life)

Kiddie play area at the mall

Kiddie play area at the mall

I was thoroughly impressed right away by the city.  It was clean, modern, bright and had well landscaped public spaces and parks.  On this Sunday, the main ‘Avenida’ in Poblado had been closed to traffic and I joined the throngs of joggers, cyclists and families taking a Sunday stroll, visiting a lovely market along the way and relishing a Maracuya juice.

Piranhas at the Aquarium

Piranhas at the Aquarium

The other impressive feature in Medellin is the Metro.  On the walking tour (which I would take the following day) our guide explained that it was the building of the metro that gave this city the glimmer of hope it needed to pull itself out of it’s horrific history of drug violence and murder of the 80’s and 90’s, and give it’s citizens something to be very proud of.  And they are – on the metro today you will see no sign of graffiti or trash anywhere.  It’s extremely efficient, and what I loved most of all – it connects all neighborhoods with the economic core centers of the city for the same price.  This means that someone living in the poorest neighborhood, which is typically far away from downtown, is not forced to pay more money for a longer commute, thereby excluding them from lots of job opportunities.

Why couldn’t they instigate this same concept in, say, London?  Or New York?

Me on the free walking tour - great concept! If you enjoy the tour - you give a great tip!

Me on the free walking tour – great concept! If you enjoy the tour – you give a great tip!

In any case, I rode the metro each of the four days I was in Medellin and though it still involved a lot of walking to and from each station, it was a highly efficient, though jam-packed nut-to-butt experience.  I rode to the Botanical Gardens only to discover that there was some sort of massive music festival going on, together with the typically deafening music and pulsing beat that Colombians seem so attracted to.  It was so packed full of people, but I persevered looking for the orchid complex, only to be told that they had been removed for the festival!

Administrative center sculpture, which is also a memorial for it's artist - his ashes are laid to rest here too

Administrative center sculpture, which is also a memorial for it’s artist – his ashes are laid to rest here too

Statue by the beloved Colombian artist Botero in front of City Hall

Statue by the beloved Colombian artist Botero in front of City Hall

So I opted instead to visit the aquarium which also surprisingly was a Science Center, not unlike the one in Seattle or Portland.  My cost of admission also included a short movie about the inner world, and entrance to the many exhibits on the science of the human body, reptiles, football and so on.

The aquarium itself was very impressive, focusing mostly on freshwater fish, they had very large tanks full of fish that you might find in the Amazon River, including piranha.

At the movies that night, I got the last seat to the Greg Kinnear flick called “Heaven is for Real”.  It was so strange to be transported back to the US and Nebraska culture with a Colombian catholic audience.  They seemed to really enjoy the movie, and my aching feet were very grateful for the respite as well.

Catedral Metropolitana

Catedral Metropolitana

Upon returning to my hostel (to which I walked from the mall in the dark, feeling surprisingly safe as I did so completely alone) I found the hostel cat, Rufus, asleep on my bed.  It was lucky for Rufus that I like cats and we snuggled up all night, waking throughout when Rufus needed more attention and stroking which he indicated with a jabbing paw to my neck.

Once again, I didn’t really connect with anyone in particular in Medellin.  I spent most of my days alone or in tour groups, which was fine.  I did a walking tour with Real City Tours, which I highly recommend.  Their owner, Pablo, has lived and studied in France, the UK and Hungary and at only 26, shows a thriving entrepreneurial spirit that is extremely refreshing compared to the service-absent mentality of almost everyone else here involved in the booming tourism industry.

At 26, Pablo, as well as Paola, the guide I had on my Pablo Escobar tour the day before, each remember very well a Medellin that during their childhood, was the murder capital of the world.  Shootings and bombings were daily events.  People didn’t go out at night. Everyone lived in fear.  Those in powerful positions in the cartels, at that time, were literally untouchable.  Anyone that stood in their way, a politician who spoke out for change, a police officer, any man, woman or child that happened to be in the general vicinity of someone they saw as a threat to their flow of substantial drug cash was killed without regard for any consequences.  They were above the law.  Paola, in particular spoke with an extreme amount of passion about seeing people shot to death on the street, her two uncles among the victims.  She is obviously still extremely bitter, and was much less optimistic about her country’s ability to fight corruption still inherent in the system.

House where Pablo Escobar was shot

House where Pablo Escobar was shot

Pablo, on the other hand, believes that things are really improving and that there is a future now for the youth of Medellin, a chance to get educated and improve their lives free of that kind of fear.  Much of the drug violence has moved up the chain to the distribution phase, the majority of which now occurs in Mexico.  Most of the coca plants are now being grown in Bolivia and Peru because it’s cheaper to do so.  The city has invested a lot of money into it’s infrastructure and now builds libraries and community centers in neighborhoods that used to be too dangerous to walk through in the daylight.

Of course, Pablo helped to dispel the myth that is still so pervasive in the world, that Colombia is such a “dangerous” country.  It’s not dangerous anymore.  Sure, there are areas deep in the jungle one would still want to avoid, but here is the issue.  Drugs and their production have resulted in the kind of bloodshed that could be likened to a civil war – countless hundreds of thousands have died.  However, until the demand lessens or ceases, there will still be a fight to supply.  In other words, it could be argued that those that bought and still buy the cocaine (which incidentally is only about 2-3% pure by the time it reaches, say, the States) are the ones with blood on their hands.  That’s where the money came from to buy the bombs, the guns, and created the wealth enjoyed the most notorious drug lord of all – Pablo Escobar.

My group on the walking tour

My group on the walking tour

The tour I took about him was very enlightening.  Not only did I learn about the Drug trade from this perspective, but out guide also talked about the rich plentiful resources that are still available here in this country.  Colombia is number five in the world for country’s with the most freshwater.  There are minerals to mine, incredible flora and fauna not found anywhere else in the world.  Including incidentally, Hippos.

What? – you may ask.

Well, along with seeing many of Pablo’s organizations’ buildings, the house where he was finally caught and shot dead, his mansions, and his final resting place (the most visited grave site in South America after Eva Peron) we also learned about his hacienda out in the countryside, which among it’s lavish, opulent staples was a zoo which Pablo insisted should also contain hippos which he had flown in from Africa.

After he was caught, the police seized his compound and rounded up most of the animals and found homes for them all in zoos across the continent.  But the hippos were too big to move.  They figured that if they just left them, they’d wander off and die from hunger somewhere.

But they didn’t.  They survived.  And reproduced.

Me, trying to Salsa with Fabrizio

Me, trying to Salsa with Fabrizio

There are now approximately 40 hippos roaming the countryside of north east Colombia and if they continue to do so, will start wreaking havoc on the local animal and human populations.

My time in Medellin wasn’t all learning about history.  I also took a private Salsa lesson and hit the dance floor with Lillian and Fabrizio at Eslabon Prendido on Tuesday night.  Despite the fact that the place was packed, I was pretty proud that I managed the steps without too much fumbling or looking stupid.  I will have to find another place in Bogota later in the trip where there is more room to spread out.  I had the typical Paisa dish of “heart attack on a plate” better known as Bandeja Paisa with a couple of boys after the walking tour.

I also learned that the poor service in restaurants doesn’t just stop at the food trying to make it’s way to your table.  Every morning, after my Rufus cuddles, I’d plod on down the street to this little coffee shop for breakfast.  One day, I just upped and left and forgot to pay!  I didn’t realize until that afternoon, at which point I returned to buy a brownie and settle my bill.

They had no idea that I hadn’t paid. They didn’t even care.  It was all very strange.

I enjoyed my four days there. I would have to say, that of all the cities I’ve visited in South America – this is the first one that I could see myself living in.