I know I talk a lot about quiz night, so thought it might be fun to post a sample round from one of the quizzes Baseball and Apple Pie made. In addition to rounds titled Jew!, Shakespeare, Theme Songs, Disney Characters, On This Day, Sports Blunders and Trickery, Assassinated Leaders, Presidential/Executive Politics, and Formerly Known As, we ended our last quiz with the following "Famous Last Words" round.
1. Whose last words were “France, armée, Joséphine”? –
2. This famous witty Irish writer, known for such quips as “A dirty mind is a joy forever” died in 1900, leaving the world with the last words, “Either this wallpaper goes, or I do.” –
3. In 1953, this woman declared “We are the first victims of American facism!” before she was executed for treason. –
4. His tombstone reads: “ Fly / Quoth the Raven, / ‘Nevermore.’” –
5. In this book, Mr. Kurtz dies after exclaiming “The horror! The horror!” –
6. This fictional royal figure’s last words were “A horse! A horse! My kingdom for a horse.” –
7. In what classic movie did the villainess utter the last words “Who would have thought a good little girl like you could destroy my beautiful wickedness?” –
8. Many people think that “Give me liberty or give me death” were this man’s last words.
9. Perhaps this man really could predict the future, as his last words were “Tomorrow, I shall no longer be here.” -
10.Whose first last words were “Father, into thy hands I commend my spirit.”
Feel free to try them out and email me with any questions/answers. Also, if you would like to see/take any of the other rounds just let me know. Much much credit to anyone who beats Dad's 1 correct answer on the Disney round.
Wednesday, April 30, 2008
"You ride with us"
Now that I have returned to ordinary life, a staple part of my day is two, 20-40 minute, depending on traffic, shuttle rides between the Jinja Road Shell station (about a 20-25 minute walk from my house) and my office. There are 2 stops between mine and the office, and a core group of about 8 of us, 4 men and 4 women, that are always on it, with an additional fluctuating 2 or 3. Since we are all low men on the totem pole, I consider the rides the equivalent of the neighborhood pub or water cooler as the air is filled with office gossip and laughter. Bosses are blamed for making us late (not once have we actually left at the 7:45 a.m. or 5:15 p.m. departure time) and jokes are shared about the day's events. The sense of humor is not quite that of an American office, but the tone tends to be self-mocking. "Hey JR," the HR assistant (number 6 on a pay scale of 8, with the Country Director being number 1) said to the Office Accountant (number 7 and the office clown) one day, "You going to town?" "But of course," he responded. "I am going shopping at Garden City!" Large amounts of laughter. Garden City, you may remember, is the shopping mall where I do most of my grocery shopping as it sells expat staples, but is notorious for being overpriced. I am happy to pay the extra fees because of my issues with Ugandan food, but it would be downright upsurd for a Ugandan to buy his or her groceries there. Even more upsurd would be going clothing or supply shopping there, as anything bought at a shop there could be purchased for a fraction of the price at Owino Market. Luckily even though they all know I am in fact heading to Garden City, the crowd still accepts me as one of their own, attributing my silly decisions to buy brown rice, cereal, ground beef and pasteurized milk instead of the much cheaper Ugandan rice, matoake, questionable scraps of meat hanging from a "butcher" stand and fresh dairy to my mzungu nature. Still, I am not one of "THEM." All of my boda riding gives me a certain amount of street cred. Plus, "you ride with us," they tell me.
The comradery among us and Charles, our driver, has grown over the past 10 months, and the conversations have been especially fruitful this past week. Yesterday's discussion was about a topic very likely to be discussed in an Irish pub, but perhaps not at a water cooler in fear of talk of sexual harassment: breasts. About 2 minutes into the ride, the office auditor, a male, turned to the receptionist and sponsorship secretary, both females, and asked what it meant if a woman had very long breasts. Do they sag from breast-feeding, he wanted to know. Had they had this experience? Was it bad that he was just as attracted to long breasts as wide ones? Should he steer clear of women with long breasts? (All questions I am sure asked by the pub-growing crowd). What was amazing to me was the innocent nature of the questioning. He was visibly distraught about being attracted to women with "long breasts." Or perhaps I was just amused because he started a long conversation (as in, it encompassed 4 rides) about hips last week.
I, or rather Oprah, was the center of Monday's conversation. The procurement assistant was very distressed about the "Oprah Winfrey show" she had seen the night before which featured 4 guests who had recently had sex changes. "A man becoming a woman? That is not right," she said. A woman becoming a man? That just got a cringe, scowl and general look of disgust. Was this sort of thing normal in America? Normal, no, I responded. Does it happen- yes (although I must admit I was very close to saying that yes, 1 out of every 3 Americans gets a sex change. In fact, I was once was a man!) For a group that doesn't believe that homosexuals exist, this was a very shocking answer. I tried to explain why a sex change might be necessary, but was met with questions of right and wrong. A man is a man. A woman is a woman. Period. How would a person who had a sex change be able to be a parent? Love is the central quality necessary of any parent, I answered. The parent's sex doesn't matter. Again I was met with a cringe, scowl and general look of disgust. But God chooses the sex of a person and you can't mess with God. Actually the male chooses the sex of the baby and doesn't God want everyone to be happy? Eventually the conversation died down as it quickly became clear that we were never going to agree, and again I knew my views were attributed to my mzungu characteristics. I may be strange but at least I now have another reason not to like Oprah.
The comradery among us and Charles, our driver, has grown over the past 10 months, and the conversations have been especially fruitful this past week. Yesterday's discussion was about a topic very likely to be discussed in an Irish pub, but perhaps not at a water cooler in fear of talk of sexual harassment: breasts. About 2 minutes into the ride, the office auditor, a male, turned to the receptionist and sponsorship secretary, both females, and asked what it meant if a woman had very long breasts. Do they sag from breast-feeding, he wanted to know. Had they had this experience? Was it bad that he was just as attracted to long breasts as wide ones? Should he steer clear of women with long breasts? (All questions I am sure asked by the pub-growing crowd). What was amazing to me was the innocent nature of the questioning. He was visibly distraught about being attracted to women with "long breasts." Or perhaps I was just amused because he started a long conversation (as in, it encompassed 4 rides) about hips last week.
I, or rather Oprah, was the center of Monday's conversation. The procurement assistant was very distressed about the "Oprah Winfrey show" she had seen the night before which featured 4 guests who had recently had sex changes. "A man becoming a woman? That is not right," she said. A woman becoming a man? That just got a cringe, scowl and general look of disgust. Was this sort of thing normal in America? Normal, no, I responded. Does it happen- yes (although I must admit I was very close to saying that yes, 1 out of every 3 Americans gets a sex change. In fact, I was once was a man!) For a group that doesn't believe that homosexuals exist, this was a very shocking answer. I tried to explain why a sex change might be necessary, but was met with questions of right and wrong. A man is a man. A woman is a woman. Period. How would a person who had a sex change be able to be a parent? Love is the central quality necessary of any parent, I answered. The parent's sex doesn't matter. Again I was met with a cringe, scowl and general look of disgust. But God chooses the sex of a person and you can't mess with God. Actually the male chooses the sex of the baby and doesn't God want everyone to be happy? Eventually the conversation died down as it quickly became clear that we were never going to agree, and again I knew my views were attributed to my mzungu characteristics. I may be strange but at least I now have another reason not to like Oprah.
Friday, April 18, 2008
Yes, I am alive
It has been awhile. This I know and I apologize- my life has just kind of gotten the better of me these past couple of months. To briefly synthesize, January was work-filled as it was major reporting season (I was responsible for over 600 pages of reports) and the "Christmas hangover" experienced by staff meant long nights and weekends were spent at the office (sadly by me and not those actually responsible for writing the reports). February was travel-filled as I went back to Cape Town (my first African love) for the Princeton in Africa annual retreat, only to be met upon my return by Mom and Dad who were ready for our two-week adventure across Uganda and Rwanda. March was routine-filled as I struggled to re-adapt to daily life after my wonderful travels, and here we are at the end of April! I must admit I am still wondering how that is even possible, but so it goes, I suppose.
Since it is has been so long and parts of the story are more interesting than others, I am just going to deliver the "highlights" of 2008. I am going to do my best to keep it entertaining, but also have a sneaking suspicion it is still going to be rather long. In that spirit, I am going to pass by January because stories of me sitting in the office aren't very exciting (although I did learn a lot about bureaucracy, grant management and the power of positive thought- all very stimulating topics) and as soon as I finish this post I am going to write a more extensive post about my experience with the Kenyan refugees (definitely the "interest" story of the month), and jump right into February.
The beginning of the month wasn't all that different than January (although I did get staffed to write a case study about the state of primary education in Uganda, another thing that deserves a post in and of itself, and did manage to watch the Giants beat the Patriots at a British pub- woohoo!), but the last two weeks of the month were magical. A scheduling glitch allowed me to fly down to Cape Town two days before the retreat began, and I capitalized on every moment in the city. I was just as excited to step off of the plane in Johannesburg on February 19 as I had been to step off the plane in Newark on December 15, albeit for different reasons. Instead of being met by friends and family, I was met by a Magma Wrap from Kauai (a healthy South African fast food chain), vampire teeth (gummy, sugary delicious candies) and Chuckles (based on my experience the best chocolate covered raisins in the world, not to be confused with the gross, chewy fruity American version that Remy used to get at Wyo candyline). I seriously risked missing my 1 hour connection to Cape Town in favor of these treats, and the risk was well worth it. My tastebuds were in heaven!
A short 2 hour flight later, my tastebuds weren't the only thing in heaven. Cape Town was everything I remembered it to be and more. The sky was cloudless (a perk of going in February), the temperature a balmy 80 with a nice cross breeze (a perk of being on the ocean) and the drive from the airport to the hostel all too familiar. I have come to terms with Kampala's landlocked, congested, dusty nature but somehow as I smelled the salt water, watched the fashionable people walk on sidewalks, and drove past several tree-lined park areas, the terms of my agreement went out the window. Kampala may have its own charms, but Cape Town will always be the natural, jealous-inspiring beauty of the two.
I spent that first afternoon reacquainting myself with my old neighborhood and reveling in the cosmopolitan nature of the city. I had forgotten what it felt like to actually care about how I looked because I didn't feel absolutely covered in dirt three seconds after stepping outside of my door. I had also forgotten how seriously Cape Tonians take their fashion- and how perfect they look while doing so. South Africans definitely have that same European charm that Americans (and Ugandans) lack. My first night was spent at a braai, a traditional South African barbeque filled with sausages, fish, chicken, steak, various types of game, corn on the cob and a variety of salads, at my hostel, and then out at one of my favorite bars with some friends I had made at the braai. I was one happy camper, let me tell you. I spent the next day at Cape Town's greatest perk- the beach- burning myself to a nice crispy red before enjoying a delicious midday meal of salmon (which oddly sort of resembled my coloring) and ice cream. That evening was spent at an all-you-can-eat sushi bar and then at the hostel bar with some fellow Princeton people who arrived early, although I headed to bed early in anticipation of the next day's events: wine tasting in Stellenbosch, Paarl and Franschoek (the wine regions about 45 minutes away from the city). An 8:30-5:30 event, if it wasn't for the nap on the ride home I don't think I would have been prepared for my first actual "Princeton retreat" event! Nevertheless, I managed to recover (and write down my new favorite wine- Viognier) in time for the retreat kickoff dinner at an African restaurant on Long Street, the social hub of Cape Town.
The retreat was just as wonderful as my first, free days in the city. It was great to be reacquianted with my PiAf fellow friends, as well as get the opportunity to get to know some of the fellows I didn't know a little better. It also was encouraging to share experiences and to learn that others share my glories and frustrations. I became equipped with new strategies to overcome some of my frustrations, and learned that I was a "gold" (basically a synonym for "Type-A," I swear) personality. As a sidenote, everyone should take the color personality test. Not biased at all, three cheers for anyone who turns out red ("an uneducated person who hates details, is up-to-date on celebrity gossip and uses sports metaphors").
Two more sushi meals, one Mexican meal, a pizza, a platter of cheese, three Castle Lagers on tap, 1 bloody mary, about six bottles of good, South African wine and several yogurt/muesli/fresh fruit breakfasts later, I was back on a plane to Kampala (although not before pausing in the Joburg airport again for some Kauai- this time I went for the Thai Chicken sandwich, vampire teeth and Chuckles). A very uneventful journey, I was welcomed an hour and a half before my parents' re-entry to Africa by Patrick, my trusty airport taxi driver. When I got home, I unpacked all of my goodies (I imported wine, cheese, vampire teeth and Chuckles), rehashed the week with my housemate Sarah (who got her Master's degreein Cape Town so has a similar love for the place) and anxiously dreamt about the vacation to come.
While my parents spent their first day in Uganda exploring the Source of the Nile and Bujagali Falls (the first Class 5 rapid on the River), I was met by an unfortunate reality of being a working woman: vacation days. Yes, I can't really complain seeing as I get three, maybe even four, times as many as my friends in States, but still find myself longing for my days of unaccountability. Those days reappeared when M and D dropped by my office to meet some co-workers on their way back into town and I realized I would have spent 7 hours of a three week period at my desk. Disgraceful I know, but I think of it as retribution for my work-filled previous six weeks.
Our adventure began the next morning when we headed for Murchison Falls, a game park in the Northwest. I think all three of us would agree that more frightening than any of the game we saw was the car ride up there, as M and D were finally exposed to pothole-filled Gulu Road. Somehow my warnings of "this is the worst road ever" got lost in translation (kind of like how Mom didn't believe me when I said even though it was broadband, the internet connection would not be fast enough to upload photos. 45 minutes of just trying to get into her email later I think she finally took my word). I seriously thought Mom was going to cry at several points of our bouncing around; Dad, on the other hand, slept through the majority of the bumps. The bumps were broken up by very welcome trips to the Rhino sanctuary (all of the native White Rhinos disappeared during Idi Amin's reign and Uganda has only recently been gifted 2 pregnant females and 2 males from Kenya and... wait for it... Disney World) and the top of the Falls (absolutely incredible- not as wide as Victoria Falls, but definitely more powerful), but it did still take about 8 hours of them to reach the ferry to our hotel. It was at this moment that M and D were exposed to their first quitessentially "TIA" (this is Africa- if you haven't seen Blood Diamond, do so immediately!) moment. We had arrived just in time for the last ferry, however were told that not only would this be the last ferry for the day but also for the week as the engine was having trouble and needed to be taken to Kampala for repairs. No ferry meant that our Land Rover would not be able to cross the river- and we wouldn't have a game drive vehicle. Luckily one of the perks of luxury African travel is that TIA moments are someone else's responsibility so our guide was able to get us, our baggage and the promise of a 4 x 4 van onto the ferry. Crisis averted. Phew. (Although the same could not be said of several people left stranded along the river bank. Also troubling was despite the faulty engine, the ferry managed to bring three huge trucks, two vans and two SUVs across the river. But that is neither here nor there.) The highlight of the Murchison leg was a boat trip along the Nile because not only did we get to see the falls from the water, but also dozens of upclose and personal hippos and crocodiles. It was pretty amazing. The lodge was also quite nice, despite their decision to shut the power (and our fans, our only way to combat the stifling heat) off from midnight-5 am.
After Murchison came Rwanda and the Gorillas: the real highlight of the trip. After a very luxurious, relaxing night complete with cable TV, king-sized bed, bubble bath and air conditioning at the Kigali Serena, we headed off to the Parc Nationale des Volcans for the Virunga Lodge, an eco-lodge complete with... no running water or electricity. Now as an outsider this might sound like a sincere downgrade, but in fact it was quite the opposite. Situated on a hill above six volcanoes, Virunga has a view unlike anything I have ever seen. There are only 10 cabins in the whole place and meals are communal which creates a family-like atmosphere. The staff was the friendliest I have found in Africa (a very large compliment considering how high I hold the friendly nature of Ugandans) and we became fast friends with both them and our fellow trekkers (a mixture of Brits, Austrians, Argentinians and Americans). I was the only single person (there were 2 couples of honeymooners and 2 other married couples) and the youngest by 10 years, but this, or at least the latter, proved to my advantage the next day as we embarked on our quest to find the gorillas.
Having asked for a "medium, 4 hour long" hike, we were surprised to find that we were signed up to track the Sousa group: a group the Bradt Guide lists as "an 8 hour trek for serious hikers." Needless to say, we were a little worried. The fears grew as it took us almost 2 hours just to reach the park boundaries and again, Mom looked like she was going to cry. 2 hours later Dad looked like he was going to cry when we reached a vertical ravine and Everest, our guide, informed us that we would be crossing to the other side. This is a good time to bring up the porters. During our first chat about the day, our driver mentioned that we should each get a porter to carry our daypack and help "pull us up and push us down" the mountain. This initially provoked many many laughs, however he proved clairvoyant as that is exactly what happened: the porters pulled us up and down that ravine (which, it turned out, was the border of the Democratic Republic of Congo and was the real reason the "elephant hunters" in camo with guns accompanied us). Most impressive was their handling of Dad as not only was he twice as big as any of them, but somehow they got him to forget his massive fear of heights. A job very well done. After 4 more hours of steep climbing we finally reached the professional trackers, and about 5 minutes of scrambling later we all forgot about our treacherous journey as we were a meter away from 20 gorillas. I have been fortunate enough to see a lot of incredible things in my life, but nothing has taken my breath away like the gorillas. To be able to spend more than an hour with them in their natural habitat is simply extraordinary. We saw a mother with twins (the only set in the country), the silverback (the leader of the group) and several blackbacks (adult males), adult females (some with babies on their backs) and adolescents. We all made it down in one piece (again, credit to Everest for holding Mom's hand as we hiked in the dark without flashlights) and despite sore muscles and a very silent ride back to the lodge, I think we would all agree the pain was well worth it.
So well worth it that Dad and I decided to do it all over again at 5 the next morning (Mom's inability to walk caused her to sit this one out). This time we asked for an "easy stroll" and our pairing with an overweight Belgian man who, with the exception of his pristine hiking boots, looked like he was dressed for a day at the office in his collared shirt, khakis and navy sweater boded well. So did the fact that it only took us 10 minutes of walking and not 2 hours of climbing, to reach the park boundaries. What didn't bode well was the vertical climb Olivier, today's guide, started on once inside the park. 15 minutes later, looking at the red-face, panting Belgian who kept saying that his wife was never going to believe he was doing this, I innocently asked Olivier if the hike was going to even out at some point in the near future. He answered with a simple "no" and kept climbing. Yes, the hike ended up taking far less time than the day before (we had reached the gorillas after only 4 hours), but with the exception of the vertical ravine, no section of the first hike was as difficult as the entire second day's. I wish I had a video camera to show you how funny it was to watch the 3 of us scramble up the mountain- pulling each other over logs, Dad and I exchanging looks and a silent prayer while catching our breath that the Belgian, now down his undershirt and redder than any human being I have ever seen, didn't have a heart attack. Still, again, by the time we reached the gorillas, it was as if the climb hadn't happened.
This group of gorillas, the "Mukwano" (or friendship) group, was much smaller than the Sousas of the day before (we only saw 6), but also far more... friendly. The first one we saw was a blackback perched on a log enjoying the morning sun. The log was situated on a hill so Dad and I thought crouching below the log would be a great photo opportunity. We both stumbled our way over there, handed my camera to Olivier and squatted for the picture. I am sure those of you who have seen, spoken to or emailed Dad know what happened next as I am pretty sure it is his favorite story ever, but at the risk of repeating the tale the gorilla decided to make it an interactive picture and jumped on me. One of the porters was nice enough to shove Dad out of the way, but I was left to the discretion of the 400 pound beast. Initially I must admit I was a little frightened, after all it isn't everyday that a gorilla sticks it's hand down your pants and tries to pull you by your underwear, but the laughter of Dad and the guides- thanks for the concern, guys- and the fascination that a gorilla's hand feels exactly like that of a human, albeit a very hairy human, quickly calmed my fears and I began to revel in the moment. Even better was the fact that this was all caught on film (and no doubt will be prominently displayed in the animal print frame bought at a Ugandan market for the years to come).The trackers spoke to the gorilla (they are all equipped with 3 different calls and regularly communicate with the animals) and eventually he went on his merry way down the hill without me. So much for my fantasies about life as a gorilla's wife.
The fun didn't end there. In the next hour or so, a baby gorilla took a liking to us, stealing the Belgian's glove and hanging on my leg. The silverback didn't like this and let out a roar, causing the little one to hide behind me. Again, thanks for the concern, little buddy. I am sure I could have handled the wrath of a 500 pound beast. After our hour was done, it was time to head back down the mountain and suddenly we remembered how treacherous of a descent it was going to be. In my mind the only thing worse than going up a steep hill is going down in it sneakers with no traction. Olivier must not have sensed this because instead of going down the way we came we went down a longer, steeper "trail." I say "trail" because there was none- we were bushwacking and stepping on roots, logs, leaves and anything else that would hold us. This time the Belgian had no trouble; unfortunately, the same could not be said for me and Dad. I fell into 2 ditches (thank God they were ditches and not holes as I would be dead right now) and had to be lifted out by porters (again, the power of a porter!) and Dad slipped, swore he had torn his ACL and hopped his way across riverbeds. Oh, and once became bent in the shape of a pretzel. Let's just say it wasn't pretty. By the time we emerged, again speechless, from the park, we were covered in dirt, sweat and tears. We looked like we had been to war and back. So much so that a couple who had tracked another group and didn't have as much as an inch of dirt on their boots, let alone their pants, shirts and faces, turned to their guide and asked what exactly it was we had done. However by the time we returned to the Lodge and sat down with a ridiculously large cold beer (Rwanda's standard beer bottle is 750 ml), laughter replaced the tears and I think we both realized what a sensational father/daughter bonding experience it was. I will hold it up with our 1998 trip to Cooperstown and cribbage games as my hamster ran loose around my room as a favorite memory of time spent alone with Dad.
We headed back the Kigali and the Serena the next day for some sightseeing. First on our list was the Genocide Museum which is an absolute must see. Up there with the Holocaust Museum and District Six Museum, the visit was an incredibly thought provoking journey. Watching videos, hearing stories and reading excerpts about how over a million people could have been murdered for absolutely no reason just over a decade ago while the world watched is not an easy task. But, at the same time, it is an incredibly important one as it just goes to show that yes, genocides can still occur and it is our responsibility to ensure that they do not. Knowledge is power. To that extent, I strongly encourage everyone to read "We Wish To Inform You Tomorrow We Will Be Killed With Our Families" by Philip Gourevetich. I think I have already mentioned this book before as it does a sensational job of humanizing the events. Mom read it during our vacation and despite his initial ambivalence, by the end of the trip Dad was begging her to finish so he could begin it.
After Kigali, it was off to another game park- Akagera, located in the Eastern part of the country. This was the only disappointment of the trip. A large, empty motel-esque joint, we all felt like we were stars of a bad 1950s movie. We ate our meals in an otherwise unoccupied dining room for 100. At one point we were the only guests at the place; at another, we were 3 of 6. It rained for the majority of the time we were there so the good news was there was plenty of time for cribbage and reading; the bad news was that wine came out of a box. Still, it was only 2 days and then back to Kampala for more time at the Emin Pasha (the closest thing to heaven in Kampala) and for M and D to meet my friends over a delicious Indian meal. Our last day was spent in Entebbe, sight of Uganda's only international airport, at the Botannical Garden, zoo (downright depressing after you have been on safari) and at an island that serves as a Chimpanzee reserve because we hadn't seen enough primates. With the exception of the zoo, I thought the day was great and realized what a hidden gem and untapped resource Entebbe is. I now have a plan for those weekends when I just can't think of a DVD to watch or book to read.
After M and D left, life went back to normal- a term I am still struggling with as I really do find my life quite ordinary now and I am not really sure what to report about for the past 2 months. As I said, after I finish this marathon post, I will write both a post about the Kenyan Refugees and the Primary Education system in Uganda, the 2 work projects that I have been most interested and involved in. Other highlights included an Easter trip to Fort Portal, in the west of the country, with my housemates for some chimp tracking and relaxation at a lovely, lovely lodge, and the weekend-long celebration of my 23rd birthday (complete with really exciting party hats that my amazing friends agreed to done). My current focus is trying to figure out what exactly it is I am going to do next year- a task that has proven neither fun nor easy. More on that later, though, as hopefully there will be more developments in the near future.
In the meantime, thanks for reading this marathon post and again, promise to be better about offering weekly, and not tri-annual, updates.
Since it is has been so long and parts of the story are more interesting than others, I am just going to deliver the "highlights" of 2008. I am going to do my best to keep it entertaining, but also have a sneaking suspicion it is still going to be rather long. In that spirit, I am going to pass by January because stories of me sitting in the office aren't very exciting (although I did learn a lot about bureaucracy, grant management and the power of positive thought- all very stimulating topics) and as soon as I finish this post I am going to write a more extensive post about my experience with the Kenyan refugees (definitely the "interest" story of the month), and jump right into February.
The beginning of the month wasn't all that different than January (although I did get staffed to write a case study about the state of primary education in Uganda, another thing that deserves a post in and of itself, and did manage to watch the Giants beat the Patriots at a British pub- woohoo!), but the last two weeks of the month were magical. A scheduling glitch allowed me to fly down to Cape Town two days before the retreat began, and I capitalized on every moment in the city. I was just as excited to step off of the plane in Johannesburg on February 19 as I had been to step off the plane in Newark on December 15, albeit for different reasons. Instead of being met by friends and family, I was met by a Magma Wrap from Kauai (a healthy South African fast food chain), vampire teeth (gummy, sugary delicious candies) and Chuckles (based on my experience the best chocolate covered raisins in the world, not to be confused with the gross, chewy fruity American version that Remy used to get at Wyo candyline). I seriously risked missing my 1 hour connection to Cape Town in favor of these treats, and the risk was well worth it. My tastebuds were in heaven!
A short 2 hour flight later, my tastebuds weren't the only thing in heaven. Cape Town was everything I remembered it to be and more. The sky was cloudless (a perk of going in February), the temperature a balmy 80 with a nice cross breeze (a perk of being on the ocean) and the drive from the airport to the hostel all too familiar. I have come to terms with Kampala's landlocked, congested, dusty nature but somehow as I smelled the salt water, watched the fashionable people walk on sidewalks, and drove past several tree-lined park areas, the terms of my agreement went out the window. Kampala may have its own charms, but Cape Town will always be the natural, jealous-inspiring beauty of the two.
I spent that first afternoon reacquainting myself with my old neighborhood and reveling in the cosmopolitan nature of the city. I had forgotten what it felt like to actually care about how I looked because I didn't feel absolutely covered in dirt three seconds after stepping outside of my door. I had also forgotten how seriously Cape Tonians take their fashion- and how perfect they look while doing so. South Africans definitely have that same European charm that Americans (and Ugandans) lack. My first night was spent at a braai, a traditional South African barbeque filled with sausages, fish, chicken, steak, various types of game, corn on the cob and a variety of salads, at my hostel, and then out at one of my favorite bars with some friends I had made at the braai. I was one happy camper, let me tell you. I spent the next day at Cape Town's greatest perk- the beach- burning myself to a nice crispy red before enjoying a delicious midday meal of salmon (which oddly sort of resembled my coloring) and ice cream. That evening was spent at an all-you-can-eat sushi bar and then at the hostel bar with some fellow Princeton people who arrived early, although I headed to bed early in anticipation of the next day's events: wine tasting in Stellenbosch, Paarl and Franschoek (the wine regions about 45 minutes away from the city). An 8:30-5:30 event, if it wasn't for the nap on the ride home I don't think I would have been prepared for my first actual "Princeton retreat" event! Nevertheless, I managed to recover (and write down my new favorite wine- Viognier) in time for the retreat kickoff dinner at an African restaurant on Long Street, the social hub of Cape Town.
The retreat was just as wonderful as my first, free days in the city. It was great to be reacquianted with my PiAf fellow friends, as well as get the opportunity to get to know some of the fellows I didn't know a little better. It also was encouraging to share experiences and to learn that others share my glories and frustrations. I became equipped with new strategies to overcome some of my frustrations, and learned that I was a "gold" (basically a synonym for "Type-A," I swear) personality. As a sidenote, everyone should take the color personality test. Not biased at all, three cheers for anyone who turns out red ("an uneducated person who hates details, is up-to-date on celebrity gossip and uses sports metaphors").
Two more sushi meals, one Mexican meal, a pizza, a platter of cheese, three Castle Lagers on tap, 1 bloody mary, about six bottles of good, South African wine and several yogurt/muesli/fresh fruit breakfasts later, I was back on a plane to Kampala (although not before pausing in the Joburg airport again for some Kauai- this time I went for the Thai Chicken sandwich, vampire teeth and Chuckles). A very uneventful journey, I was welcomed an hour and a half before my parents' re-entry to Africa by Patrick, my trusty airport taxi driver. When I got home, I unpacked all of my goodies (I imported wine, cheese, vampire teeth and Chuckles), rehashed the week with my housemate Sarah (who got her Master's degreein Cape Town so has a similar love for the place) and anxiously dreamt about the vacation to come.
While my parents spent their first day in Uganda exploring the Source of the Nile and Bujagali Falls (the first Class 5 rapid on the River), I was met by an unfortunate reality of being a working woman: vacation days. Yes, I can't really complain seeing as I get three, maybe even four, times as many as my friends in States, but still find myself longing for my days of unaccountability. Those days reappeared when M and D dropped by my office to meet some co-workers on their way back into town and I realized I would have spent 7 hours of a three week period at my desk. Disgraceful I know, but I think of it as retribution for my work-filled previous six weeks.
Our adventure began the next morning when we headed for Murchison Falls, a game park in the Northwest. I think all three of us would agree that more frightening than any of the game we saw was the car ride up there, as M and D were finally exposed to pothole-filled Gulu Road. Somehow my warnings of "this is the worst road ever" got lost in translation (kind of like how Mom didn't believe me when I said even though it was broadband, the internet connection would not be fast enough to upload photos. 45 minutes of just trying to get into her email later I think she finally took my word). I seriously thought Mom was going to cry at several points of our bouncing around; Dad, on the other hand, slept through the majority of the bumps. The bumps were broken up by very welcome trips to the Rhino sanctuary (all of the native White Rhinos disappeared during Idi Amin's reign and Uganda has only recently been gifted 2 pregnant females and 2 males from Kenya and... wait for it... Disney World) and the top of the Falls (absolutely incredible- not as wide as Victoria Falls, but definitely more powerful), but it did still take about 8 hours of them to reach the ferry to our hotel. It was at this moment that M and D were exposed to their first quitessentially "TIA" (this is Africa- if you haven't seen Blood Diamond, do so immediately!) moment. We had arrived just in time for the last ferry, however were told that not only would this be the last ferry for the day but also for the week as the engine was having trouble and needed to be taken to Kampala for repairs. No ferry meant that our Land Rover would not be able to cross the river- and we wouldn't have a game drive vehicle. Luckily one of the perks of luxury African travel is that TIA moments are someone else's responsibility so our guide was able to get us, our baggage and the promise of a 4 x 4 van onto the ferry. Crisis averted. Phew. (Although the same could not be said of several people left stranded along the river bank. Also troubling was despite the faulty engine, the ferry managed to bring three huge trucks, two vans and two SUVs across the river. But that is neither here nor there.) The highlight of the Murchison leg was a boat trip along the Nile because not only did we get to see the falls from the water, but also dozens of upclose and personal hippos and crocodiles. It was pretty amazing. The lodge was also quite nice, despite their decision to shut the power (and our fans, our only way to combat the stifling heat) off from midnight-5 am.
After Murchison came Rwanda and the Gorillas: the real highlight of the trip. After a very luxurious, relaxing night complete with cable TV, king-sized bed, bubble bath and air conditioning at the Kigali Serena, we headed off to the Parc Nationale des Volcans for the Virunga Lodge, an eco-lodge complete with... no running water or electricity. Now as an outsider this might sound like a sincere downgrade, but in fact it was quite the opposite. Situated on a hill above six volcanoes, Virunga has a view unlike anything I have ever seen. There are only 10 cabins in the whole place and meals are communal which creates a family-like atmosphere. The staff was the friendliest I have found in Africa (a very large compliment considering how high I hold the friendly nature of Ugandans) and we became fast friends with both them and our fellow trekkers (a mixture of Brits, Austrians, Argentinians and Americans). I was the only single person (there were 2 couples of honeymooners and 2 other married couples) and the youngest by 10 years, but this, or at least the latter, proved to my advantage the next day as we embarked on our quest to find the gorillas.
Having asked for a "medium, 4 hour long" hike, we were surprised to find that we were signed up to track the Sousa group: a group the Bradt Guide lists as "an 8 hour trek for serious hikers." Needless to say, we were a little worried. The fears grew as it took us almost 2 hours just to reach the park boundaries and again, Mom looked like she was going to cry. 2 hours later Dad looked like he was going to cry when we reached a vertical ravine and Everest, our guide, informed us that we would be crossing to the other side. This is a good time to bring up the porters. During our first chat about the day, our driver mentioned that we should each get a porter to carry our daypack and help "pull us up and push us down" the mountain. This initially provoked many many laughs, however he proved clairvoyant as that is exactly what happened: the porters pulled us up and down that ravine (which, it turned out, was the border of the Democratic Republic of Congo and was the real reason the "elephant hunters" in camo with guns accompanied us). Most impressive was their handling of Dad as not only was he twice as big as any of them, but somehow they got him to forget his massive fear of heights. A job very well done. After 4 more hours of steep climbing we finally reached the professional trackers, and about 5 minutes of scrambling later we all forgot about our treacherous journey as we were a meter away from 20 gorillas. I have been fortunate enough to see a lot of incredible things in my life, but nothing has taken my breath away like the gorillas. To be able to spend more than an hour with them in their natural habitat is simply extraordinary. We saw a mother with twins (the only set in the country), the silverback (the leader of the group) and several blackbacks (adult males), adult females (some with babies on their backs) and adolescents. We all made it down in one piece (again, credit to Everest for holding Mom's hand as we hiked in the dark without flashlights) and despite sore muscles and a very silent ride back to the lodge, I think we would all agree the pain was well worth it.
So well worth it that Dad and I decided to do it all over again at 5 the next morning (Mom's inability to walk caused her to sit this one out). This time we asked for an "easy stroll" and our pairing with an overweight Belgian man who, with the exception of his pristine hiking boots, looked like he was dressed for a day at the office in his collared shirt, khakis and navy sweater boded well. So did the fact that it only took us 10 minutes of walking and not 2 hours of climbing, to reach the park boundaries. What didn't bode well was the vertical climb Olivier, today's guide, started on once inside the park. 15 minutes later, looking at the red-face, panting Belgian who kept saying that his wife was never going to believe he was doing this, I innocently asked Olivier if the hike was going to even out at some point in the near future. He answered with a simple "no" and kept climbing. Yes, the hike ended up taking far less time than the day before (we had reached the gorillas after only 4 hours), but with the exception of the vertical ravine, no section of the first hike was as difficult as the entire second day's. I wish I had a video camera to show you how funny it was to watch the 3 of us scramble up the mountain- pulling each other over logs, Dad and I exchanging looks and a silent prayer while catching our breath that the Belgian, now down his undershirt and redder than any human being I have ever seen, didn't have a heart attack. Still, again, by the time we reached the gorillas, it was as if the climb hadn't happened.
This group of gorillas, the "Mukwano" (or friendship) group, was much smaller than the Sousas of the day before (we only saw 6), but also far more... friendly. The first one we saw was a blackback perched on a log enjoying the morning sun. The log was situated on a hill so Dad and I thought crouching below the log would be a great photo opportunity. We both stumbled our way over there, handed my camera to Olivier and squatted for the picture. I am sure those of you who have seen, spoken to or emailed Dad know what happened next as I am pretty sure it is his favorite story ever, but at the risk of repeating the tale the gorilla decided to make it an interactive picture and jumped on me. One of the porters was nice enough to shove Dad out of the way, but I was left to the discretion of the 400 pound beast. Initially I must admit I was a little frightened, after all it isn't everyday that a gorilla sticks it's hand down your pants and tries to pull you by your underwear, but the laughter of Dad and the guides- thanks for the concern, guys- and the fascination that a gorilla's hand feels exactly like that of a human, albeit a very hairy human, quickly calmed my fears and I began to revel in the moment. Even better was the fact that this was all caught on film (and no doubt will be prominently displayed in the animal print frame bought at a Ugandan market for the years to come).The trackers spoke to the gorilla (they are all equipped with 3 different calls and regularly communicate with the animals) and eventually he went on his merry way down the hill without me. So much for my fantasies about life as a gorilla's wife.
The fun didn't end there. In the next hour or so, a baby gorilla took a liking to us, stealing the Belgian's glove and hanging on my leg. The silverback didn't like this and let out a roar, causing the little one to hide behind me. Again, thanks for the concern, little buddy. I am sure I could have handled the wrath of a 500 pound beast. After our hour was done, it was time to head back down the mountain and suddenly we remembered how treacherous of a descent it was going to be. In my mind the only thing worse than going up a steep hill is going down in it sneakers with no traction. Olivier must not have sensed this because instead of going down the way we came we went down a longer, steeper "trail." I say "trail" because there was none- we were bushwacking and stepping on roots, logs, leaves and anything else that would hold us. This time the Belgian had no trouble; unfortunately, the same could not be said for me and Dad. I fell into 2 ditches (thank God they were ditches and not holes as I would be dead right now) and had to be lifted out by porters (again, the power of a porter!) and Dad slipped, swore he had torn his ACL and hopped his way across riverbeds. Oh, and once became bent in the shape of a pretzel. Let's just say it wasn't pretty. By the time we emerged, again speechless, from the park, we were covered in dirt, sweat and tears. We looked like we had been to war and back. So much so that a couple who had tracked another group and didn't have as much as an inch of dirt on their boots, let alone their pants, shirts and faces, turned to their guide and asked what exactly it was we had done. However by the time we returned to the Lodge and sat down with a ridiculously large cold beer (Rwanda's standard beer bottle is 750 ml), laughter replaced the tears and I think we both realized what a sensational father/daughter bonding experience it was. I will hold it up with our 1998 trip to Cooperstown and cribbage games as my hamster ran loose around my room as a favorite memory of time spent alone with Dad.
We headed back the Kigali and the Serena the next day for some sightseeing. First on our list was the Genocide Museum which is an absolute must see. Up there with the Holocaust Museum and District Six Museum, the visit was an incredibly thought provoking journey. Watching videos, hearing stories and reading excerpts about how over a million people could have been murdered for absolutely no reason just over a decade ago while the world watched is not an easy task. But, at the same time, it is an incredibly important one as it just goes to show that yes, genocides can still occur and it is our responsibility to ensure that they do not. Knowledge is power. To that extent, I strongly encourage everyone to read "We Wish To Inform You Tomorrow We Will Be Killed With Our Families" by Philip Gourevetich. I think I have already mentioned this book before as it does a sensational job of humanizing the events. Mom read it during our vacation and despite his initial ambivalence, by the end of the trip Dad was begging her to finish so he could begin it.
After Kigali, it was off to another game park- Akagera, located in the Eastern part of the country. This was the only disappointment of the trip. A large, empty motel-esque joint, we all felt like we were stars of a bad 1950s movie. We ate our meals in an otherwise unoccupied dining room for 100. At one point we were the only guests at the place; at another, we were 3 of 6. It rained for the majority of the time we were there so the good news was there was plenty of time for cribbage and reading; the bad news was that wine came out of a box. Still, it was only 2 days and then back to Kampala for more time at the Emin Pasha (the closest thing to heaven in Kampala) and for M and D to meet my friends over a delicious Indian meal. Our last day was spent in Entebbe, sight of Uganda's only international airport, at the Botannical Garden, zoo (downright depressing after you have been on safari) and at an island that serves as a Chimpanzee reserve because we hadn't seen enough primates. With the exception of the zoo, I thought the day was great and realized what a hidden gem and untapped resource Entebbe is. I now have a plan for those weekends when I just can't think of a DVD to watch or book to read.
After M and D left, life went back to normal- a term I am still struggling with as I really do find my life quite ordinary now and I am not really sure what to report about for the past 2 months. As I said, after I finish this marathon post, I will write both a post about the Kenyan Refugees and the Primary Education system in Uganda, the 2 work projects that I have been most interested and involved in. Other highlights included an Easter trip to Fort Portal, in the west of the country, with my housemates for some chimp tracking and relaxation at a lovely, lovely lodge, and the weekend-long celebration of my 23rd birthday (complete with really exciting party hats that my amazing friends agreed to done). My current focus is trying to figure out what exactly it is I am going to do next year- a task that has proven neither fun nor easy. More on that later, though, as hopefully there will be more developments in the near future.
In the meantime, thanks for reading this marathon post and again, promise to be better about offering weekly, and not tri-annual, updates.
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