Monday, August 27, 2007
Sunday, August 19, 2007
Videos
I'm up in Whistler, BC with my family and the weather's been poor so I've had some time to upload a view videos. Photos coming shortly.
Elephants "Mock" Fighting
Okakuejo Watering Hole, Etosha National Park, Namibia
Elephant, Giraffe, Rhino Drinking at Okakuejo, Etosha National Park, Namibia
Daytime view of watering hole, Etosha NP
Bungee jump over Zambezi River--getting ready
The jump
The "swing" jump
Elephants "Mock" Fighting
Okakuejo Watering Hole, Etosha National Park, Namibia
Elephant, Giraffe, Rhino Drinking at Okakuejo, Etosha National Park, Namibia
Daytime view of watering hole, Etosha NP
Bungee jump over Zambezi River--getting ready
The jump
The "swing" jump
Thursday, August 9, 2007
Deep Thoughts, by Alex Robinson
I'm back at Heathrow now, site of my very first blog posting. Actually, I'm literally sitting at the same computer. Odd how depending on the circumstance it can either feel like a ton of time has passed, or no time at all, since I started this trip. Right now it feels like no time at all.
The afternoon in Nairobi yesterday turned out to be better than expected. I met two Kenyan attorneys who sort of took me under their wing and showed me the city. Had a nice lunch, a lazy afternoon coffee, and went for a bit of a walk. All of the while talking politics, mostly about what an asshole the former Dictator, er, President, of Kenya, Daniel arap Moi, was. How these people could blow off an afternoon of work I don't quite understand, but I really appreciated the hospitality. They wanted to know all kinds of things, like when I got my first car, how many cars I have in my family, and what kind of car I drive now. As I tried to explain both the nuances around my decision to drive a station wagon, and the fact that there are about as many cars as people in the U.S., I could see it going right over the top of their head.
My flight up from Nairobi was uneventful, and arrived early this morning so I had enough time to go into London for the day. I decided that it would be appropriate to go visit the African section of the British Museum since I've spent the last two months in the living museum of British colonial history that is Africa. I was disappointed by the collection, which came mostly from Nigeria and DRC and was dated from the 19th century onward. I did enjoy finally seeing the Elgin Marbles though, which I've read about Greece and Britain bickering over for quite some time. I had a really nice time at the museum until 500 Boy Scouts, here for the 21st World Scout Jamboree, descended upon the museum. I had heard about this jamboree because four Ugandan scouts had gone missing while here in London, which was front page news in Kampala for a few days. I didn't realize what an impact hundreds of scouts can have on a place though. I quickly ran for the door, and spent the rest of the day lazing in the sun in Russell Square in Camden.
The past 12 hours have been a study in contrast. From cramped bus seats to a comfortable airliner. From unscheduled departures and arrivals to arriving and departing exactly on time. From crowded, smelly, unsigned streets to the serenity of London early on a summer morning. All in about 12 hours time. It's been a real shock to the system and is messing with my head. It's nice being in London though. I love London. Especially now with so many good looking girls roaming about, dressed smartly in revealing summer outfits. I'm sure Seattle will be the same.
Now, with that preamble out of the way, I thought on my last day here I'd provide you with some miscellaneous thoughts/random observations/musings/wastes of space that have been floating around my head while in Africa. In no way are they deep thoughts, though I do reserve the right to write a perhaps more reflective post once I'm back and settled in Seattle. So here they are, in no particular order:
The afternoon in Nairobi yesterday turned out to be better than expected. I met two Kenyan attorneys who sort of took me under their wing and showed me the city. Had a nice lunch, a lazy afternoon coffee, and went for a bit of a walk. All of the while talking politics, mostly about what an asshole the former Dictator, er, President, of Kenya, Daniel arap Moi, was. How these people could blow off an afternoon of work I don't quite understand, but I really appreciated the hospitality. They wanted to know all kinds of things, like when I got my first car, how many cars I have in my family, and what kind of car I drive now. As I tried to explain both the nuances around my decision to drive a station wagon, and the fact that there are about as many cars as people in the U.S., I could see it going right over the top of their head.
My flight up from Nairobi was uneventful, and arrived early this morning so I had enough time to go into London for the day. I decided that it would be appropriate to go visit the African section of the British Museum since I've spent the last two months in the living museum of British colonial history that is Africa. I was disappointed by the collection, which came mostly from Nigeria and DRC and was dated from the 19th century onward. I did enjoy finally seeing the Elgin Marbles though, which I've read about Greece and Britain bickering over for quite some time. I had a really nice time at the museum until 500 Boy Scouts, here for the 21st World Scout Jamboree, descended upon the museum. I had heard about this jamboree because four Ugandan scouts had gone missing while here in London, which was front page news in Kampala for a few days. I didn't realize what an impact hundreds of scouts can have on a place though. I quickly ran for the door, and spent the rest of the day lazing in the sun in Russell Square in Camden.
The past 12 hours have been a study in contrast. From cramped bus seats to a comfortable airliner. From unscheduled departures and arrivals to arriving and departing exactly on time. From crowded, smelly, unsigned streets to the serenity of London early on a summer morning. All in about 12 hours time. It's been a real shock to the system and is messing with my head. It's nice being in London though. I love London. Especially now with so many good looking girls roaming about, dressed smartly in revealing summer outfits. I'm sure Seattle will be the same.
Now, with that preamble out of the way, I thought on my last day here I'd provide you with some miscellaneous thoughts/random observations/musings/wastes of space that have been floating around my head while in Africa. In no way are they deep thoughts, though I do reserve the right to write a perhaps more reflective post once I'm back and settled in Seattle. So here they are, in no particular order:
- Toyota is taking over the world. Their cars are everywhere here in Africa, and any car that can survive longer than a year on African roads deserves signing praise in my humble opinion. Their vans get packed with 25 people and are known as matatus, their Hilux trucks (like a full size Tacoma) get flashy logos thrown on the side, painted white, and are driven around at high speeds in random directions by NGOs and gov't ministries, and their sedans (Corollas) form the taxi fleet. Toyota drives Africa.
- Whoever makes Crocs is also taking over the world. I thought these sandal-like shoes had reached the zenith of popularity in the States when REI started carrying them, but they are practically a national shoe amongst the car-camping South Africans. The Kiwis, Australians, Africans, and just about everyone else wears them too. If the guys at Toyota and the guys at Crocs were somehow to team up in a "buy one, get one free" deal, I think their respective quests for world domination would be complete.
- The Chinese are taking over Africa. The Chinese are swapping infrastructure and aid for rights to Africa's energy and natural resources, and by this point they've pretty much got the continent all locked up. After the Cold War ended, all of the corrupt, dictatorial regimes that we used to prop up were all of the sudden under pressure from us to reform and, gasp, hold real elections, else their aid might stop flowing. The Chinese make no such demands and show no such scruples. They'll do business with any regime, no matter how oppressive or corrupt. Example #1: the Chinese just recently inked a 460m Euro deal with the Sudanese to build a railway so they could get phosphate out to Mauritania's coast and on to China. Example #2: The Tazara rail line, which I took up through Tanzania, was built by the Chinese in the 70s as an independence 'gift' to President Nyere and his Tanzanian comrades (Nyere wasn't a communist, but he was damn close). Conveniently, they ran this railway right into the Copperbelt in Zambia so they could get the copper out to the coast at Dar es Salaam, but not far enough to actually get to the capitol of Zambia, which might have made it useful to someone other than the Chinese. Example #3: Chinese stonewalling at the U.N. Security Council over action on the genocide at Darfur to protect their oil interests in the Sudan. The list goes on and on.
- Cell phone companies are taking over African villages. The major carriers--MTN, CelTel, plus whatever state-run company exists in each country--have taken to providing free paint to any small business that is in need of it and is located on a thoroughfare in town. While some young marketing genius was probably given a promotion for this super-efficient way to generate awareness, it absolutely kills the character of a town. Buildings are bright yellow for MTN, bright red for CelTel, and bright blue for Uganda Telecom. All have their logos splashed all over the buildings, in a jumbled mess with whatever local business's logo also needs promoting. So every town is starting to look the same.
- Sleeping under mosquito nets is lame. While initially fun and in a claustrophobic way reminiscent of the sleeping forts I used to build as a kid out of couch cushions and blankets, eventually mosquito nets get old.
- Prices mean nothing here. Never, ever pay the initial price you are quoted for anything. Buses and restaurants are exceptions to this rule. But other than that, even if you pause for just a moment, the price will inevitably be cut in half, then likely cut in half again.
- Schedules also mean nothing here. I actually kind of like this concept. Rather than having scheduled transportation departures, they just wait until the bus fills up, and then you go. Similarly, it doesn't matter how many people are in the bus. If someone is on the side of the road, has money, and needs a ride into town, they will find a way to cram them and their luggage into the bus. It's very inclusive, which is cool, but it's also incredibly frustrating at times.
- Traveler's Cheques, along with credit cards, are useless. Don't even bother with the former--no one will cash them--but do bring the latter for the occasional big purchase.
- U.S. Dollar is still king. Despite the Arabs' attempt to get their oil repriced in Euros, the Dollar is still rules Africa. It's the virtual currency of every country I've visited. I remember reading some study a while ago that said something on the order of 70% of all U.S. currency was overseas, and here in Africa it shows.
- Everyone here thinks I'm in my 30s. Perhaps it's a function of my size (shockingly, I've been called "muscle man" quite a few times), or the low life expectancy here, or perhaps because I actually now look like I'm in my 30s. Let's all hope it's not the latter.
- Give your old clothes away, frequently, and while they are still in decent shape. They really do make it here to Africa.
- Nigerian television is undoubtedly, unquestionably, unequivocally the worst television ever made. And it's all that's available here.
That's all folks. Time to get on my last flight. I hope you've enjoyed reading this; I've certainly enjoyed writing it. Look for maybe one more post on my general impressions of Africa, and a note soon with a link to pictures & video. If you get a chance, please leave a comment. I'd love to know who's been reading.
Alex
Wednesday, August 8, 2007
The Last African Bus
I'm now in Nairobi, Kenya after a 13.5 hour bus ride yesterday, which was officially my LAST AFRICAN BUS! In the last 72 hours, I've spent six hours on a minibus packed full with 17 people, nine hours on a public bus packed full with about 100 people (we were sitting six across in a row on a regular bus), and13.5 hours on a 'luxury tourist bus' to get to Nairobi, for a grand total of 28.5 hours on a bus. Needless to say, I'm ready to get off.
I'm about at the halfway point in my journey home that started in Lake Bunyoni in Southwestern Uganda. My mom managed to get me booked on the direct flight home from London, so I'll be home sooner than expected--Thursday in the early evening. Thank you, Mom--you are a star.
The ride from Kabale to Kampala on the punishing, stinking, loud, fume-belching, chicken-squawking, body-odor exuding, frequent stop-making, tiny seat providing, no-ass-legroom public bus was brutal, so I decided to splash out for the 'royal' class offered by one of the tourist bus companies. Instead of the normal five seats to a row (which really means up to seven, plus a few small animals like chickens), there were only three seats that more resembled a business class seat on an airplane than a bus seat. But I wouldn't go so far as to say it was luxurious (pronounced frequently by the bus driver as lugs-yure-i-ous). The bus still broke down once and we had to transfer to another, the door didn't close so the inside of the bus was covered in thick red dust, and the seats--while seeming 'lugsyurious'--had springs poking through in all the wrong places. But my god was it more comfortable than the public bus.
The ride would actually have been somewhat pleasant were it not for the decrepit state of the road between Kampala and Nairobi. Now, if you're like me, even if you've been in Africa for over two months, you might be forgiven for thinking that the road between two major cities in the region would be paved and halfway decent. I mean, it's only about 300 miles--not much more than the distance from Seattle to Spokane. But if you thought that, you would be wrong. Very wrong. I'd say less than half of the road is paved, and the half that is paved is so riddled with potholes that the bus driver drove in the shoulder on the dirt anyway. We averaged under 25 mph for the trip, and that includes the last 100km or so into Nairobi which is paved and fast, so for much of it we were cruising along at about the same speed as a bicycle.
I really enjoyed the drive through western Kenya. We drove through these sprawling tea plantations that covered the rolling hills as far as the eye could see, punctuated by the occasional laborers picking the tea leaves and the collection of whitewashed, small houses built for them and their families. It was made more interesting because I'm reading a fantastic book right now, The Zanzibar Chest (thank you, Marge!), that chronicles one British family's colonial history in the East Africa region and a combat journalist's subsequent experiences here. So many of the other countries I've been to--Namibia, Malawi, even Tanzania to a certain extent--were largely ignored by the colonial powers. But Kenya was a big focus for the Brits, and with its lush farmland, I guess you can see why.
My last night in Kampala was an interesting one. I bumped into my British friend, Zoe, again, with whom I traveled from Namibia up to Zambia. We had dinner with a middle-aged Australian woman who finished every sentence with "and da-da-da-da-da-daladala-da". Rather than relying on mere vocabulary to communicate, she seemed to think this cryptic code more efficient. So it was painful to talk to her. It was made more painful later on when she and her newfound African male friend (again! this phenomenon is everywhere!), retired to her room, which was located just next to mine. This hostel was such a hole that they couldn't be bothered to provide walls up to the ceiling. So instead it was more like a bathroom stall, with walls that started at the ground and came up to just above head-level. They don't do a hell of a lot to prevent noise passing through, let me tell you. I tried not to listen to the activity going on next door, but, dying to know if she was going to climax with one roaring "da-da-da-da-da-daladala-da", it was hard to ignore. She didn't, but I would have rathered that than the painful pillow talk I had to endure later on.
It's raining in Nairobi today, so not much I can do on my last day other than chill out and reflect on the trip. Nairobi is often known as Nai-robbery (and sister cities Dar es Salaam and Kampala are similarly known as Dar-Is-a-Slum and Kam-pothole, respectively), so I'm just going to take it easy and do my best to not lose my camera or any other valuables on my last day. Last night I went to dinner with my two Kiwi buddies, who are coincidentally also flying out today, at a great restaurant called Carnivore. It is boldly considered 'Africa's greatest eating experience', and it didn't disappoint. As the name would suggest, the focus here is on meat from all over the region, which they keep bringing to you until you put a white flag down on your table as a gesture of surrender. It was good fun, and a fitting last meal in Africa.
Hard to believe the trip is coming to an end, but I'm excited to get home and see everyone.
I'm about at the halfway point in my journey home that started in Lake Bunyoni in Southwestern Uganda. My mom managed to get me booked on the direct flight home from London, so I'll be home sooner than expected--Thursday in the early evening. Thank you, Mom--you are a star.
The ride from Kabale to Kampala on the punishing, stinking, loud, fume-belching, chicken-squawking, body-odor exuding, frequent stop-making, tiny seat providing, no-ass-legroom public bus was brutal, so I decided to splash out for the 'royal' class offered by one of the tourist bus companies. Instead of the normal five seats to a row (which really means up to seven, plus a few small animals like chickens), there were only three seats that more resembled a business class seat on an airplane than a bus seat. But I wouldn't go so far as to say it was luxurious (pronounced frequently by the bus driver as lugs-yure-i-ous). The bus still broke down once and we had to transfer to another, the door didn't close so the inside of the bus was covered in thick red dust, and the seats--while seeming 'lugsyurious'--had springs poking through in all the wrong places. But my god was it more comfortable than the public bus.
The ride would actually have been somewhat pleasant were it not for the decrepit state of the road between Kampala and Nairobi. Now, if you're like me, even if you've been in Africa for over two months, you might be forgiven for thinking that the road between two major cities in the region would be paved and halfway decent. I mean, it's only about 300 miles--not much more than the distance from Seattle to Spokane. But if you thought that, you would be wrong. Very wrong. I'd say less than half of the road is paved, and the half that is paved is so riddled with potholes that the bus driver drove in the shoulder on the dirt anyway. We averaged under 25 mph for the trip, and that includes the last 100km or so into Nairobi which is paved and fast, so for much of it we were cruising along at about the same speed as a bicycle.
I really enjoyed the drive through western Kenya. We drove through these sprawling tea plantations that covered the rolling hills as far as the eye could see, punctuated by the occasional laborers picking the tea leaves and the collection of whitewashed, small houses built for them and their families. It was made more interesting because I'm reading a fantastic book right now, The Zanzibar Chest (thank you, Marge!), that chronicles one British family's colonial history in the East Africa region and a combat journalist's subsequent experiences here. So many of the other countries I've been to--Namibia, Malawi, even Tanzania to a certain extent--were largely ignored by the colonial powers. But Kenya was a big focus for the Brits, and with its lush farmland, I guess you can see why.
My last night in Kampala was an interesting one. I bumped into my British friend, Zoe, again, with whom I traveled from Namibia up to Zambia. We had dinner with a middle-aged Australian woman who finished every sentence with "and da-da-da-da-da-daladala-da". Rather than relying on mere vocabulary to communicate, she seemed to think this cryptic code more efficient. So it was painful to talk to her. It was made more painful later on when she and her newfound African male friend (again! this phenomenon is everywhere!), retired to her room, which was located just next to mine. This hostel was such a hole that they couldn't be bothered to provide walls up to the ceiling. So instead it was more like a bathroom stall, with walls that started at the ground and came up to just above head-level. They don't do a hell of a lot to prevent noise passing through, let me tell you. I tried not to listen to the activity going on next door, but, dying to know if she was going to climax with one roaring "da-da-da-da-da-daladala-da", it was hard to ignore. She didn't, but I would have rathered that than the painful pillow talk I had to endure later on.
It's raining in Nairobi today, so not much I can do on my last day other than chill out and reflect on the trip. Nairobi is often known as Nai-robbery (and sister cities Dar es Salaam and Kampala are similarly known as Dar-Is-a-Slum and Kam-pothole, respectively), so I'm just going to take it easy and do my best to not lose my camera or any other valuables on my last day. Last night I went to dinner with my two Kiwi buddies, who are coincidentally also flying out today, at a great restaurant called Carnivore. It is boldly considered 'Africa's greatest eating experience', and it didn't disappoint. As the name would suggest, the focus here is on meat from all over the region, which they keep bringing to you until you put a white flag down on your table as a gesture of surrender. It was good fun, and a fitting last meal in Africa.
Hard to believe the trip is coming to an end, but I'm excited to get home and see everyone.
Monday, August 6, 2007
Struts & Stuff
Pop Quiz: What do you get when you mix the following ingredients?
Answer: a 80km journey takes the better part of the day. This is what we were treated to the other day trying to get from Kisoro to Kabale in southwestern Uganda.
The yellow bus lost a strut (literally it looked like it blew apart) and the blue bus hastily tried to pass it, getting wedged between the yellow bus and the hillside, and blocking the whole road. I have to give these guys credit though: they were able to fully repair a broken strut on a treacherous hillside in under two hours.
Johan and new British friend Holly are also below, safely waiting out a heavy rainstorm in Kabale under cover.
In Kampala now, taking a 13+hour bus to Nairobi tomorrow. Almost done! I canät believe it...
- Bad, mountainous, and pothole-filled roads
- Old buses
- Aggressive drivers
Answer: a 80km journey takes the better part of the day. This is what we were treated to the other day trying to get from Kisoro to Kabale in southwestern Uganda.
The yellow bus lost a strut (literally it looked like it blew apart) and the blue bus hastily tried to pass it, getting wedged between the yellow bus and the hillside, and blocking the whole road. I have to give these guys credit though: they were able to fully repair a broken strut on a treacherous hillside in under two hours.
Johan and new British friend Holly are also below, safely waiting out a heavy rainstorm in Kabale under cover.
In Kampala now, taking a 13+hour bus to Nairobi tomorrow. Almost done! I canät believe it...
Saturday, August 4, 2007
Back From the Congo, and Wow
I'm now in a town called Kabale in southwestern Uganda, soaking wet after getting caught out in the street in a heavy rainstorm. We returned from the Congo late last night to a town without power or a cell phone network, so we decided to push on to the next biggest town. It was an 80km drive, but somehow took 4.5 hours.
The trip to see the gorillas yesterday was absolutely incredible. Our "program" started with a briefing the evening before with our Congolese contact, Daniel, who was as full of histrionics as he was of booze. He delivered a two-hour grandiloquent speech filled with approximately 10 minutes of content. One 15-minute soliloquy was on the subject of how a gorilla is different from a goat (hint: gorillas are not tied to a post in your backyard like a goat is). Another was on appropriate attire, but we couldn't seem to get Daniel to get any more specific than the general category of "bring clothes", which he pronounced "cloatches". Despite the briefing being light on details, or even any relevant information whatsoever, Daniel's excitement and enthusiasm were contagious, so we went to bed that night excited for the day ahead, and a bit apprehensive that Daniel was our man leading it.
After a rough 30-minute drive over what could only generously be called a road, we arrived at the Congolese/Ugandan border. Getting out of Uganda was easy enough, though the sign "You are now entering Zaire" did not inspire confidence that the DRC's proceedings would be equally painless ("Zaire" officially became the DRC in 1998, so the sign hadn't been changed in almost 10 years).
Now, my comfort level at borders is generally inversely related to the number of men standing around idly with guns over their shoulder, so the Congolese crossing was a particularly uncomfortable one. Why RPGs are a necessary tool of military border guards is beyond me, but the Russians must have at one point had a fire sale because AK-47s and RPGs are about as common at the Congolese border as entry cards at other borders (incidentally, no entry card is required for the DRC, just $30 in U.S. currency).
After waiting aimlessly and seemingly for no reason at all, we were eventually granted entry. I wasn't allowed to take any photos at the border (I did anyway, but the connection here is too slow to post any), but it basically looks like this: dirt road with a small pole laid across acting as a barrier; lots of men and young boys dressed in 2nd-hand western clothing, often from the U.S. (I saw a WSU Cougars sweatshirt); young men on this giant wooden scooter-like vehicles loaded up with bananas and other produce to sell in Uganda; a small collection of dilapidated buildings; a wooden desk and a chair under a sign labeled "immigration" and 10 men standing idly behind it in normal street clothes; a few trucks with goods; and lots of men with guns, including the occasional pickup that would drive through with men and RPGs and machine guns in the back, generally looking pretty intimidating.
On the drive up to the park entrance, again over roads only passable by 4x4, we passed a lot of local farms and small villages. Most of the people here live in mud huts supported by bamboo and covered by thatched roofs. The soil is good here, so they grow sorghum, potatoes, green beans, and other assorted produce like tomatoes to live on.
We didn't pass another motor vehicle the entire time we were in the DRC, but we passed loads of people on the street who were for the most part very friendly and waved at us as we drove by. On arriving at the park entrance (which, by the way, is still signed "Albert National Park" from ages ago, even though it's now called Virunga NP), we were met by our contingent of armed guards--approximately 10 in total. We had another couple of guys with machetes to clear the trail, and a few trackers to locate the gorillas. We'd picked up a few more tourists, too. Two middle-aged Austrian women who were about as friendly as a block of ice, and a nice British medical student who was doing a neurosurgery rotation here in Uganda. With my Swedish friend Johan, that made five of us tourists in total.
The rangers carry AK-47s, partly to scare off elephants and buffalo should you encounter them (which we did, on the way home), but mostly to shoot poachers on sight should they be found. And they shoot to kill, though I'm pleased to report that there was none of that going on while we were there. These rangers work really, really hard, trekking up and down the mountains each day, covering 20-30 km round trip, and risking their lives to protect the gorillas.
We were after one family in particular called Mapuwa, which consisted of one silverback (26 years old), five females, two juveniles (4-6 years old), and four babies for 12 individuals in total. The species is mountain gorilla, or gorilla gorilla berengei after the guy (German, I think) who discovered them). The mountain gorilla is different and more rare than the lowland mountain gorilla. They only live in this part of the world, in a lush and mountainous region that spans Uganda, Rwanda, and the DRC. The lead ranger told us that at the last census, in 2003, they counted 432 gorillas across all three countries. There's another 150-250 in a nearby national park in Uganda, making for roughly 700 total in the world. So when the DRC loses 12 gorillas to poaching, which they have over the last two months, they are losing something like 10% of the total population that inhabits their end of the park. It's quite sad really, but the DRC gov't is infamous for pocketing all of the permit fees, and leaving the rangers and nearby farmers who are affected to fend for themselves (unlike Uganda and Rwanda, which do a good job of redistributing the economic gains).
Every day the rangers are up there with the habituated gorillas, which is only a small percentage of the total gorilla population in the park. Gorillas don't move very far from day to day, so it's not terribly hard to find them if you know where they were the day before, which the rangers did.
It's a hard slog through dense forest to get to them though. It took about three hours of trekking uphill to get to the family. First through incredibly dense, impenetrable forests in the lowlands. Then through huge bamboo forests that would groan in the wind like a ship against its lines. And finally through low shrubs which enabled a wonderful view of the volcanoes above and the green hills below, and would be lovely except they are full of nettles so strong they sting you through your pants. We walked with our trousers tucked into our socks because parts of the forest floor were covered with pesky fire ants that crawl right up your shoes and legs as you walk over them, and hurt like hell if you get bit.
We finally found the gorillas on a steep hillside full of dense vegetation, seeing first one of the babies then the silverback taking a nap with his arm covering his eyes, just like a human would. The next thing you immediately notice is the smell--a thick, sour, nasty smell that stays with you all the way back to Uganda. I can only imagine what Dian Fossey must have smelled like after weeks up there with them, especially since I frequently saw photos of the babies hanging off her arms and crawling all over her.
I was really surprised by how close the rangers let us get to the gorillas. I was sitting so close to the silverback that I could have reached out and touched him, which is what the babies were frequently doing to us. Each time they did so, the rangers would slap their arms away and utter grunts that are remarkably similar to how the gorillas sound. The rangers seem to have worked out an elaborate communications system with the silverback. When we first approached the family, from a distance the ranger called out a grunt that seemed to say, "Is it okay if we approach?" And the gorilla grunted back, "Rock on man." Then as we got closer and closer the ranger would continue to ask permission, and the silverback would continue to grant it. Right up to the point where we were sitting among them and couldn't possibly have got closer without laying down next to them.
We spent an hour with them, which is enough time to see how remarkably similar to humans they are, but hopefully not enough time to seriously disrupt their daily lives. The babies wrestle and roll around and climb strands of bamboo until they fall over and play tag, just like young kids do. The adults are much more chill, either casually eating or resting or grunting to each other. It's shocking, actually, how habituated and used to humans they are. You can see how the poachers have an easy time of it. I never felt threatened or scared in the slightest, even when the silverback (which is absolutely massive) was staring me right in the eyes. It was all very peaceful; these guys got a bad rap from King Kong.
When our hour was up, we headed straight down the mountain, cutting a path rather than following the circuitous route we took up. We were back at the park entrance by 4pm, and back at the border by sunset. It took so long to get our passports and papers in order that we had time to have a beer at the local watering hole. Congolese beer isn't so bad actually. What was bad was getting asked for money by young guys (army, I suppose?) with AKs over their shoulders. I'm used to getting asked for money by young ones, but adolescents with guns is a new one for me. Thankfully, I just casually ignored this guy and said hello to his friends, and that seemed to resolve the whole thing.
We got back to Uganda last night, just in time for another incredibly unimpressive meal at our guesthouse. The town we're in is so small that you've got to eat where you're staying, and order well in advance at that.
All in all, it was an incredible experience. The only complaint was that we got squeezed for more money than we were originally quoted. Things like "administration fees" of $20, and "extended transport fees" of $50. I guess that's to be expected, but gosh it would be nice if a quoted price actually meant anything around here.
This morning we left Kisoro for Lake Bunyoni, but got stuck on the road behind an accident and then in a rainstorm which made the progress slow on the muddy road. So we'll probably stay the night in Kabale tonight, Lake Bunyoni tomorrow night, then I'll begin my journey home on Monday morning, which won't end until I get to Seattle on Friday morning.
The trip to see the gorillas yesterday was absolutely incredible. Our "program" started with a briefing the evening before with our Congolese contact, Daniel, who was as full of histrionics as he was of booze. He delivered a two-hour grandiloquent speech filled with approximately 10 minutes of content. One 15-minute soliloquy was on the subject of how a gorilla is different from a goat (hint: gorillas are not tied to a post in your backyard like a goat is). Another was on appropriate attire, but we couldn't seem to get Daniel to get any more specific than the general category of "bring clothes", which he pronounced "cloatches". Despite the briefing being light on details, or even any relevant information whatsoever, Daniel's excitement and enthusiasm were contagious, so we went to bed that night excited for the day ahead, and a bit apprehensive that Daniel was our man leading it.
After a rough 30-minute drive over what could only generously be called a road, we arrived at the Congolese/Ugandan border. Getting out of Uganda was easy enough, though the sign "You are now entering Zaire" did not inspire confidence that the DRC's proceedings would be equally painless ("Zaire" officially became the DRC in 1998, so the sign hadn't been changed in almost 10 years).
Now, my comfort level at borders is generally inversely related to the number of men standing around idly with guns over their shoulder, so the Congolese crossing was a particularly uncomfortable one. Why RPGs are a necessary tool of military border guards is beyond me, but the Russians must have at one point had a fire sale because AK-47s and RPGs are about as common at the Congolese border as entry cards at other borders (incidentally, no entry card is required for the DRC, just $30 in U.S. currency).
After waiting aimlessly and seemingly for no reason at all, we were eventually granted entry. I wasn't allowed to take any photos at the border (I did anyway, but the connection here is too slow to post any), but it basically looks like this: dirt road with a small pole laid across acting as a barrier; lots of men and young boys dressed in 2nd-hand western clothing, often from the U.S. (I saw a WSU Cougars sweatshirt); young men on this giant wooden scooter-like vehicles loaded up with bananas and other produce to sell in Uganda; a small collection of dilapidated buildings; a wooden desk and a chair under a sign labeled "immigration" and 10 men standing idly behind it in normal street clothes; a few trucks with goods; and lots of men with guns, including the occasional pickup that would drive through with men and RPGs and machine guns in the back, generally looking pretty intimidating.
On the drive up to the park entrance, again over roads only passable by 4x4, we passed a lot of local farms and small villages. Most of the people here live in mud huts supported by bamboo and covered by thatched roofs. The soil is good here, so they grow sorghum, potatoes, green beans, and other assorted produce like tomatoes to live on.
We didn't pass another motor vehicle the entire time we were in the DRC, but we passed loads of people on the street who were for the most part very friendly and waved at us as we drove by. On arriving at the park entrance (which, by the way, is still signed "Albert National Park" from ages ago, even though it's now called Virunga NP), we were met by our contingent of armed guards--approximately 10 in total. We had another couple of guys with machetes to clear the trail, and a few trackers to locate the gorillas. We'd picked up a few more tourists, too. Two middle-aged Austrian women who were about as friendly as a block of ice, and a nice British medical student who was doing a neurosurgery rotation here in Uganda. With my Swedish friend Johan, that made five of us tourists in total.
The rangers carry AK-47s, partly to scare off elephants and buffalo should you encounter them (which we did, on the way home), but mostly to shoot poachers on sight should they be found. And they shoot to kill, though I'm pleased to report that there was none of that going on while we were there. These rangers work really, really hard, trekking up and down the mountains each day, covering 20-30 km round trip, and risking their lives to protect the gorillas.
We were after one family in particular called Mapuwa, which consisted of one silverback (26 years old), five females, two juveniles (4-6 years old), and four babies for 12 individuals in total. The species is mountain gorilla, or gorilla gorilla berengei after the guy (German, I think) who discovered them). The mountain gorilla is different and more rare than the lowland mountain gorilla. They only live in this part of the world, in a lush and mountainous region that spans Uganda, Rwanda, and the DRC. The lead ranger told us that at the last census, in 2003, they counted 432 gorillas across all three countries. There's another 150-250 in a nearby national park in Uganda, making for roughly 700 total in the world. So when the DRC loses 12 gorillas to poaching, which they have over the last two months, they are losing something like 10% of the total population that inhabits their end of the park. It's quite sad really, but the DRC gov't is infamous for pocketing all of the permit fees, and leaving the rangers and nearby farmers who are affected to fend for themselves (unlike Uganda and Rwanda, which do a good job of redistributing the economic gains).
Every day the rangers are up there with the habituated gorillas, which is only a small percentage of the total gorilla population in the park. Gorillas don't move very far from day to day, so it's not terribly hard to find them if you know where they were the day before, which the rangers did.
It's a hard slog through dense forest to get to them though. It took about three hours of trekking uphill to get to the family. First through incredibly dense, impenetrable forests in the lowlands. Then through huge bamboo forests that would groan in the wind like a ship against its lines. And finally through low shrubs which enabled a wonderful view of the volcanoes above and the green hills below, and would be lovely except they are full of nettles so strong they sting you through your pants. We walked with our trousers tucked into our socks because parts of the forest floor were covered with pesky fire ants that crawl right up your shoes and legs as you walk over them, and hurt like hell if you get bit.
We finally found the gorillas on a steep hillside full of dense vegetation, seeing first one of the babies then the silverback taking a nap with his arm covering his eyes, just like a human would. The next thing you immediately notice is the smell--a thick, sour, nasty smell that stays with you all the way back to Uganda. I can only imagine what Dian Fossey must have smelled like after weeks up there with them, especially since I frequently saw photos of the babies hanging off her arms and crawling all over her.
I was really surprised by how close the rangers let us get to the gorillas. I was sitting so close to the silverback that I could have reached out and touched him, which is what the babies were frequently doing to us. Each time they did so, the rangers would slap their arms away and utter grunts that are remarkably similar to how the gorillas sound. The rangers seem to have worked out an elaborate communications system with the silverback. When we first approached the family, from a distance the ranger called out a grunt that seemed to say, "Is it okay if we approach?" And the gorilla grunted back, "Rock on man." Then as we got closer and closer the ranger would continue to ask permission, and the silverback would continue to grant it. Right up to the point where we were sitting among them and couldn't possibly have got closer without laying down next to them.
We spent an hour with them, which is enough time to see how remarkably similar to humans they are, but hopefully not enough time to seriously disrupt their daily lives. The babies wrestle and roll around and climb strands of bamboo until they fall over and play tag, just like young kids do. The adults are much more chill, either casually eating or resting or grunting to each other. It's shocking, actually, how habituated and used to humans they are. You can see how the poachers have an easy time of it. I never felt threatened or scared in the slightest, even when the silverback (which is absolutely massive) was staring me right in the eyes. It was all very peaceful; these guys got a bad rap from King Kong.
When our hour was up, we headed straight down the mountain, cutting a path rather than following the circuitous route we took up. We were back at the park entrance by 4pm, and back at the border by sunset. It took so long to get our passports and papers in order that we had time to have a beer at the local watering hole. Congolese beer isn't so bad actually. What was bad was getting asked for money by young guys (army, I suppose?) with AKs over their shoulders. I'm used to getting asked for money by young ones, but adolescents with guns is a new one for me. Thankfully, I just casually ignored this guy and said hello to his friends, and that seemed to resolve the whole thing.
We got back to Uganda last night, just in time for another incredibly unimpressive meal at our guesthouse. The town we're in is so small that you've got to eat where you're staying, and order well in advance at that.
All in all, it was an incredible experience. The only complaint was that we got squeezed for more money than we were originally quoted. Things like "administration fees" of $20, and "extended transport fees" of $50. I guess that's to be expected, but gosh it would be nice if a quoted price actually meant anything around here.
This morning we left Kisoro for Lake Bunyoni, but got stuck on the road behind an accident and then in a rainstorm which made the progress slow on the muddy road. So we'll probably stay the night in Kabale tonight, Lake Bunyoni tomorrow night, then I'll begin my journey home on Monday morning, which won't end until I get to Seattle on Friday morning.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)