Thanks to Stephen and his family in Israel I was able to see Jerusalem and the Dead Sea in the few days I had in Israel before I returned home due to a family emergency. Jerusalem was interesting and I managed to see the tomb of Christ, the place where Muhammed is said to have made his ascent to Heaven, and the 'Wailing (or Western) Wall'. The old streets in the Muslim quarter were the most authentic, while the Jewish quarter was newer and more beautiful, but with less character. It was astounding to see the difference between the two areas, evidence of the oppression of the Arabs in Israel. Unfortunately I was unable to visit Bethlehem or the West Bank, an experience that I was looking forward to for the perspective I would have gained.
The Dead Sea was the other highlight in the few days I spent in Israel, and I again did this with Stephen and his Cousin Avi, an incredibly hospitable young man who taugt me a lot about Israeli life. The Dead Sea itself was an incredible feeling - that is when I finally allowed myself to 'sit down' in the water, at which point I was pushed up and found myself floating as if I was on a lounge chair. This feeling on water is amazing - and if Jesus really did walk on water, the Dead Sea would have made that an easy task.
I am now back in Newmarket with my family and have been so for since Saturday the 5th. I apologize for not writing earlier to those who have been following my adventures through this blog, but this is probablythe last you will hear from me on this sight for a while. God Bless.
Monday, April 14, 2008
Monday, March 31, 2008
Sinai
I write this a few days removed from my hike up Mt Sinai ("Jebel Musa" in Arabic - "Mt Moses"). I arrived in Sinai and found the bedouin camp I was looking for without any problems. There I met a German couple who were looking to hike up the mountain and sleep there. The following day we set out at midday and hiked the hard way - up, over, and through the valley and mountains rather than the steps set out from the monestary. It was a great walk on which we were alone - something I appreciated more the next day as we walked down the 'tourist' way and couldn't get away from people trying to sell us everything; anything. We were joined throughout the night by worshippers of Christ praying and singing about the power of God. There were Nigerians, Japanese, Russians, Koreans, French, Germans, and the list goes on. It was intersting - but to difficult to sleep to - to see and hear the parises of God from so many walks of life and languages. The sunset was beautiful, with the entire mountain range being lit up like fire. From our viewpoint the sun rose between two closely situated mountain peaks, creating the image of the sun as a growing piece of pie, slowly creeping and manifesting into a red disk that hovered harmoniously above the desert mountains (Attn Matt: I think this is where "the rosy fingers of dawn" is most applicable). I have never seen the sun rise in such a manner, and unfortuanetly the pictures do not do it justice. The red sun lit up the valley and its grey/red mountains in a fantastic manner that made me feel as if I was on Mars (from the pictures I have seen of Mars, Mt Sinai is the closest I have ever been to its likeness).
After the sunrise I headed to St Katherine's Monestary at the base of the mountain. This monestary is the oldest working monestary in the world - amazing considered it is situated in the middle of a Mulsim country, surrounded by other Muslim countries. This was, and is, possible because the Prophet Muhammed personally gave his protection of the sight in a written document that is on display in the museum located within the monestary grounds. There is also a decree signed by Napolean Bonaparte himself on display that grants similar protection to the grounds and the people worhsipping within them (I am a sucker for writing, and these two documents floored me; the signatures of Napolean and Muhammed? that is some cool shit). Since St Katherine's is protected by the two most destructive forces in the world (monotheistic religion and the West), I don't foresee any problems for it.
From St Katherine's I headed to Dahab, on the coast of the Red Sea. Getting there was an adventure that involved hitching a ride with a local bedouin man (for a small fee) who was stopped at the police check forty kilometers outside of Dahab, leaving me to hitch another ride with two local bedouins in the most rugged car I have been in on this trip. Don't be fooled - I was in more ghetto cars in West Africa (one in particular was started with a crank by the driver's helper, thus literally 'turning over the engine'), and the cars that took us out into the desert in Mali were certainly more capable, but they were not as rugged as the jeep I rode in with these two bedouins (one of which was deaf - it added a whole new element to not understanding what they were 'saying'). I won't go into the specifics of the car for the sake of my mother (an insurance agent who would have had nothing to do with this car - I could just think what Robert would have said if she tried to bring this one in), but the car and the bedouins were great. Unfortunately for me Dahab was not so great - a tourist place that was three times the price of the rest of Egypt and yet felt nothing at all like Egypt. It was too bad, but it gave me a few days to relax and read a few books. The drive from Dahab to the boarder (on a bus) was spectacular however, winding and twisting along the turquoise shore of the Gulf of Aqaba. I would go back to this strip of beach, just not Dahab.
My arrival in Israel was easy and I am currently staying with a few couchsurfers in Tel Aviv. My University friend from Montreal, Stephen, is in Israel for work/vacation and is staying with his cousin about twenty minutes outside of Tel Aviv (and thus too poorly located to stay with). We are planning a few day trips - he has a car at his disposal - and it will be good to hang out with him in Israel. My girlfriend, Julia, arrives on the 6th and then I will be heading to Jordan to see Petra and leaving Tel Aviv for longer than single days.
After the sunrise I headed to St Katherine's Monestary at the base of the mountain. This monestary is the oldest working monestary in the world - amazing considered it is situated in the middle of a Mulsim country, surrounded by other Muslim countries. This was, and is, possible because the Prophet Muhammed personally gave his protection of the sight in a written document that is on display in the museum located within the monestary grounds. There is also a decree signed by Napolean Bonaparte himself on display that grants similar protection to the grounds and the people worhsipping within them (I am a sucker for writing, and these two documents floored me; the signatures of Napolean and Muhammed? that is some cool shit). Since St Katherine's is protected by the two most destructive forces in the world (monotheistic religion and the West), I don't foresee any problems for it.
From St Katherine's I headed to Dahab, on the coast of the Red Sea. Getting there was an adventure that involved hitching a ride with a local bedouin man (for a small fee) who was stopped at the police check forty kilometers outside of Dahab, leaving me to hitch another ride with two local bedouins in the most rugged car I have been in on this trip. Don't be fooled - I was in more ghetto cars in West Africa (one in particular was started with a crank by the driver's helper, thus literally 'turning over the engine'), and the cars that took us out into the desert in Mali were certainly more capable, but they were not as rugged as the jeep I rode in with these two bedouins (one of which was deaf - it added a whole new element to not understanding what they were 'saying'). I won't go into the specifics of the car for the sake of my mother (an insurance agent who would have had nothing to do with this car - I could just think what Robert would have said if she tried to bring this one in), but the car and the bedouins were great. Unfortunately for me Dahab was not so great - a tourist place that was three times the price of the rest of Egypt and yet felt nothing at all like Egypt. It was too bad, but it gave me a few days to relax and read a few books. The drive from Dahab to the boarder (on a bus) was spectacular however, winding and twisting along the turquoise shore of the Gulf of Aqaba. I would go back to this strip of beach, just not Dahab.
My arrival in Israel was easy and I am currently staying with a few couchsurfers in Tel Aviv. My University friend from Montreal, Stephen, is in Israel for work/vacation and is staying with his cousin about twenty minutes outside of Tel Aviv (and thus too poorly located to stay with). We are planning a few day trips - he has a car at his disposal - and it will be good to hang out with him in Israel. My girlfriend, Julia, arrives on the 6th and then I will be heading to Jordan to see Petra and leaving Tel Aviv for longer than single days.
Thursday, March 20, 2008
Pyramids and Abu Simbel
I am not even sure where to begin with respect to the pyramids. I am blessed and grateful to have experienced something so magnificent with my brother and Heather, two people I have grown quite fond of over the last few months. We rode camels up to the pyramids where we were immediately told that the grounds were closed (apparently they close at 4pm, and it was 4:30), to which we replied with one Ghanaian cedi (one dollar CDN), and we were left on our own. Another bribe to the keeper of the middle pyramid that amounted to about $1.80 CDN and we were left on our own until the police found us climbing the big pyramid around 5:45 and we were escorted off the grounds in the back of the truck. No harm done. We got some of our best photos from the truck as the sun was setting at the perfect height to the pyramids and desert. Although the entire experience was magical, there was a moment when two falcons were hovering motionless at the very tip of the pyramid, with the moon directly above it that captured me and will forever be etched in my memory.
The next day Matt and Heather flew to Madrid, effectively ending our fellowship in Africa. The same day I walked around Islamic Cairo, a fascinating place that seems to be a step back in time, and then I left for Aswan on the second class night train. The second class train was nicer than the regular class on VIA trains in Canada.
From Aswan I setup a day trip to Abu Simbel to see the temple of Ramses II and the temple of Neferteri, and the Temple of Philae. The temple of Ramses II boasts the largest Pharoah statues in Egypt - a serious claim in a country full of incredible monuments to Pharoahs. This trip also offered me a view of Lake Nasser, the largest man-made lake in the world. It was formed in 1971 when the dam in Aswan was built to control the annual flood of the Nile. This is also the day my camera slipped out of my pocket into the Nile at the Temple of Philae. Luckily, I must have been at the shallowest point in the Nile, with the water only about 5m deep. As I stripped down into my boxers to retrieve it (incredibly, my camera is waterproof up to ten meters- too bad it doesn't float though), the police stopped me and told me I was not allowed to get it myself. Instead, a young boy was nominated to retrieve it, and after two tries he returned to the surface successul to a chorus of cheers and hand-clapping (this spectacle turned out to be the highlight of the Temple of Philae for many tourists). In return I gave him the snowboarding goggles I had brought along in case of sandstorms, and a week's wage in Egyptian pounds (about $10 CDN). He seemed most grateful for the goggles - evident by his wearing them proudly as our boat pulled away from the island. The camera is fine.
After Aswan I took a day train to Luxor, again second class. This train was not of the same standard of the first, but it did result in some nice experiences. As there were children all around - many straining necks to get a better look of me reading my book - I passed around my MP3 player for them to listen to. As it was passed around, and smiles were being shared amongst everyone, a lady passed my her baby girl to hold. It did not take long for the baby to start crying at my ghostly complexion and blue eyes - at which point I passed the baby back - but it gave the mother great pleasure to share with me her child for the moment. All of this took place with no verbal communication because my Arabic is extremely limited, and really consists of 'please', 'thank you', 'you're welcome', and 'Sorry, I don't understand'. Nonetheless, we all understood one another and felt better for our time together when I got off the train in Luxor.
It is from Luxor that I write this, having gone to visit the Valley of the Kings and the Valley of the Queens today, along with the Temple of Hatshepsut. The Valley of the Kings is where the Pharoahs of the New Kingdom moved all their tombs after grave robbers continued to harrass the pyramids of the Old Kingdom. It is an entire valley within a mountain - chosen because it is so hidden and the mountain tops are similar in shape to the pyramids - that houses 62 tombs. The ticket is only good for entrance into three tombs, but the art and detail in each tomb is painstaking. The Valley of the Queens has fewer tombs and is located in another valley within the same mountain. Less impressive and less exhausting are the two tombs I visited here. Even so, the hieroglyphics inside the tombs are amazing and my favourite part of the Ancient Egyptian sites.
Tomorrow I head back up to Cairo and then on to the Sinai peninsula where I hope to snorkel, scuba dive, and hike up Mt Sinai.
The next day Matt and Heather flew to Madrid, effectively ending our fellowship in Africa. The same day I walked around Islamic Cairo, a fascinating place that seems to be a step back in time, and then I left for Aswan on the second class night train. The second class train was nicer than the regular class on VIA trains in Canada.
From Aswan I setup a day trip to Abu Simbel to see the temple of Ramses II and the temple of Neferteri, and the Temple of Philae. The temple of Ramses II boasts the largest Pharoah statues in Egypt - a serious claim in a country full of incredible monuments to Pharoahs. This trip also offered me a view of Lake Nasser, the largest man-made lake in the world. It was formed in 1971 when the dam in Aswan was built to control the annual flood of the Nile. This is also the day my camera slipped out of my pocket into the Nile at the Temple of Philae. Luckily, I must have been at the shallowest point in the Nile, with the water only about 5m deep. As I stripped down into my boxers to retrieve it (incredibly, my camera is waterproof up to ten meters- too bad it doesn't float though), the police stopped me and told me I was not allowed to get it myself. Instead, a young boy was nominated to retrieve it, and after two tries he returned to the surface successul to a chorus of cheers and hand-clapping (this spectacle turned out to be the highlight of the Temple of Philae for many tourists). In return I gave him the snowboarding goggles I had brought along in case of sandstorms, and a week's wage in Egyptian pounds (about $10 CDN). He seemed most grateful for the goggles - evident by his wearing them proudly as our boat pulled away from the island. The camera is fine.
After Aswan I took a day train to Luxor, again second class. This train was not of the same standard of the first, but it did result in some nice experiences. As there were children all around - many straining necks to get a better look of me reading my book - I passed around my MP3 player for them to listen to. As it was passed around, and smiles were being shared amongst everyone, a lady passed my her baby girl to hold. It did not take long for the baby to start crying at my ghostly complexion and blue eyes - at which point I passed the baby back - but it gave the mother great pleasure to share with me her child for the moment. All of this took place with no verbal communication because my Arabic is extremely limited, and really consists of 'please', 'thank you', 'you're welcome', and 'Sorry, I don't understand'. Nonetheless, we all understood one another and felt better for our time together when I got off the train in Luxor.
It is from Luxor that I write this, having gone to visit the Valley of the Kings and the Valley of the Queens today, along with the Temple of Hatshepsut. The Valley of the Kings is where the Pharoahs of the New Kingdom moved all their tombs after grave robbers continued to harrass the pyramids of the Old Kingdom. It is an entire valley within a mountain - chosen because it is so hidden and the mountain tops are similar in shape to the pyramids - that houses 62 tombs. The ticket is only good for entrance into three tombs, but the art and detail in each tomb is painstaking. The Valley of the Queens has fewer tombs and is located in another valley within the same mountain. Less impressive and less exhausting are the two tombs I visited here. Even so, the hieroglyphics inside the tombs are amazing and my favourite part of the Ancient Egyptian sites.
Tomorrow I head back up to Cairo and then on to the Sinai peninsula where I hope to snorkel, scuba dive, and hike up Mt Sinai.
Friday, March 14, 2008
Cairo
Getting out of Ghana proved harder than expected, and two trips to the airport were necessary to get off the ground. I will never fly Roal Air Maroc again. On the positive, the extra day convinced Matt and Heather to come along to Egypt (it was cheaper for them to fly to Egypt and then Europe - but they've hung around in Cairo and we've all had a fantastic time). We are staying with two Americans who are studying at the American University in Cairo. They live in the best location possible, right by the Egyptian Museum, the Nile, and the main Metro station. We are in the heart of Cairo...
Thanks to our Couch Surfing hosts, Dave and Wes, we found out about a place in Cairo appropriately named "Garbage City". It is an area of Cairo consisting of 30 000 Christians who collect Cairo's garbage, sort it out, melt it down and sell it back to the city. We went there on our second day in Cairo and it was, for lack of a better word, a cool experience. The people were incredibly friendly and we were not allowed to pay for anything. We went with a guy named Kieran - a Canadian and a friend Dave and Wes - who had been to Garbage City in December and was remembered by a local man he had spent time with one his first trip. We were sat down for tea and sheisha by the man, Ahmed, after which he brought us up into his home to meet his family. Before I describe the house I must explain that the streets are dirty, but the smell is not as bad as you would think, and below all the houses is where the garbage is sorted and melted down. The houses have electricity and as we found out, some even have computers. The house of Ahmed was immaculate and one of the nicer houses we have entered on this trip, if not the nicest. Although the people make a living off garbage we realized that the community is an immensely proud one. Economically the people are middle class, but socially they are an underclass (their Christian faith does not help). After having fresh juice in the home of Ahmed, and meeting his gentle and hospitable family, we went up to the churches. The first one is said to be the largest in the Middle East, and it is an open air church with the altar and much of the seating carved out of the rock (the whole town is situated on a mountain over-looking Cairo). All around it is carving in the rock depicting anything from shepherds to Jesus to the Ten Commandments written in Arabic. There was also a second church that was completely carved out of the mountain that was more peaceful and enjoyable for me. It was amazing to see what the people of this town were able to do with the garbage of Cairo.
After Garbage City we walked to Al Hazar Park, a park that overlooks downtown Cairo. It is perfectly kept and incredibly lush, creating a stark contrast with the barren rock and sand that surrounds Cairo. It was swarming with people because it was Thursday evening (Friday is the holy day for Muslims, and lots of shops are closed, so Thursday night is the big night). From here we watched the sun escape into the desert, leaving Cairo lit up by the green lights that adorn many of the mosques around the city (green is the colour of Islam). At sundown the call to mosque begins, and as Cairo is known as "the city of a thousand minarets", the call was overwhelming from the park, with the chanting waving back and forth across the city for a several minutes. The call is intimidating to me for many reasons - the Arabic language, the holiness of the sound, and the fervor with which it is obeyed.
Late that night Heather, Matt and I took a felucca (basically a sailboat) out on the Nile so that we could look back on the city from the tranquility of the water. The ride was a beautiful way to spend time on a boat - far removed from the horrors of the pinasse in Mali. It was an incredible day that may only be surpassed by our trip to the pyramids, but we shall see.
Thanks to our Couch Surfing hosts, Dave and Wes, we found out about a place in Cairo appropriately named "Garbage City". It is an area of Cairo consisting of 30 000 Christians who collect Cairo's garbage, sort it out, melt it down and sell it back to the city. We went there on our second day in Cairo and it was, for lack of a better word, a cool experience. The people were incredibly friendly and we were not allowed to pay for anything. We went with a guy named Kieran - a Canadian and a friend Dave and Wes - who had been to Garbage City in December and was remembered by a local man he had spent time with one his first trip. We were sat down for tea and sheisha by the man, Ahmed, after which he brought us up into his home to meet his family. Before I describe the house I must explain that the streets are dirty, but the smell is not as bad as you would think, and below all the houses is where the garbage is sorted and melted down. The houses have electricity and as we found out, some even have computers. The house of Ahmed was immaculate and one of the nicer houses we have entered on this trip, if not the nicest. Although the people make a living off garbage we realized that the community is an immensely proud one. Economically the people are middle class, but socially they are an underclass (their Christian faith does not help). After having fresh juice in the home of Ahmed, and meeting his gentle and hospitable family, we went up to the churches. The first one is said to be the largest in the Middle East, and it is an open air church with the altar and much of the seating carved out of the rock (the whole town is situated on a mountain over-looking Cairo). All around it is carving in the rock depicting anything from shepherds to Jesus to the Ten Commandments written in Arabic. There was also a second church that was completely carved out of the mountain that was more peaceful and enjoyable for me. It was amazing to see what the people of this town were able to do with the garbage of Cairo.
After Garbage City we walked to Al Hazar Park, a park that overlooks downtown Cairo. It is perfectly kept and incredibly lush, creating a stark contrast with the barren rock and sand that surrounds Cairo. It was swarming with people because it was Thursday evening (Friday is the holy day for Muslims, and lots of shops are closed, so Thursday night is the big night). From here we watched the sun escape into the desert, leaving Cairo lit up by the green lights that adorn many of the mosques around the city (green is the colour of Islam). At sundown the call to mosque begins, and as Cairo is known as "the city of a thousand minarets", the call was overwhelming from the park, with the chanting waving back and forth across the city for a several minutes. The call is intimidating to me for many reasons - the Arabic language, the holiness of the sound, and the fervor with which it is obeyed.
Late that night Heather, Matt and I took a felucca (basically a sailboat) out on the Nile so that we could look back on the city from the tranquility of the water. The ride was a beautiful way to spend time on a boat - far removed from the horrors of the pinasse in Mali. It was an incredible day that may only be surpassed by our trip to the pyramids, but we shall see.
Monday, March 10, 2008
The Ocean and Its Sparkles
Green Turtle Lodge turned out to be the closest thing to paradise we have experienced in Africa. We spent a relaxing eight nights reading many great books, walking along the beach, eating good food and checking out the nearby fishing village. The place ran on solar power and was full of travellers and volunteers from all over the world, all looking to relax and hang out. It was a recipe for a good week...
Most nights the sky was alight with lightning and I would take these opportunities to sit on the beach and watch the water come in. I enjoyed looking out over the dark sea - a menacing black horizon - and watching the waves form and crest out of nothingness. It was neat to sea the white foam begin and then run a hundred or more meters in one direction instantly, and finish with a boom as the water crashed down on itself. It reminded me of a cartoon bomb fuse being lit and running the length of itself - leaving in its path grey ash - and inevitably ending with an explosion (often in favour of the RoadRunner). Watching the waves come at me after others had gone to sleep and the music could no longer be heard was relaxing and wonderous.
The only thing that could have made this experience better was if the sand sparkled - and it did. Allow me to explain: In the damp sand there were significant deposits of phosphorous (or so I was told), and when the sand was flicked or kicked, the phosphorous would momentarily light up as it was disturbed. It looked like tiny night stars were being created and destroyed in the blink of an eye by the flick of my wrist or foot. This was only visibly at night, but added another element to the visual I was already experiencing. It also gave me a feeling of omnipotence (a great word that I still remember my father teaching me when I was young) to create entire galaxies with my foot or finger. Although I know the moment was fleeting the image in my mind is permanent.
Other than our night watchings we enjoyed the wtaer immensley - it was the first time we were actually able to venture into the sea since we began travelling beside it over a month ago: the undertow was safe and the water was clean. We all went in to check out the village as well (a ten minute walk). On one of the days I was invited by two other travellers to go with them for a lunch at a omen's house they had met the day before. When we arrived at the courtyard we were greeted by numerous children who were thrilled at the opportunity to see themselves via digital cameras and just talk and play with the "obrunies". After a few minutes we were introduced to the elder women of the compund, then aken aside by the lady who invited my friends the day earlier and served fufu with a bean and fish sauce. The food was great, but the serving was monstrous. We struggled to try and finish because it is slightly offensive not to eat all the food given to you, but wound up coming up short nonethelss (the meal was cooked for four people and we were only three). The lady let us eat alone, but returned upon our being stuffed and we discussed the life and times of village life in Africa. We also discussed God (people here are devotely religious), food, education, and marrying (the lady offered her nephew to the young lady in good humour). It was a great experience that was made better because the lady - named Mercy and thus dubbed "Mother Mercy" - wanted nothing from us in terms of money or goods. She just wanted to sit us down, feed us and show us hospitality. The same rang true for the whole place as we were not asked for anything from the time we stepped into the village until the time we left - except for the few times we were asked to dance, to which we happily obliged.
Coincidentally, our last night was also a concert/dance/bonfire on the beach at Green Turtle Lodge. Many of the locals showed up to provide the singing and music, and the children showed us how to dance the way Africans do. Not a person around wasn't smiling and enjoying themselves. It was a fitting end to a great week.
Tonight I head to Egypt and then the Middle East. Heather and Matt will be heading to Senegal in a day or two. I am sorry to those who have been following along for the sake of Matt and Heather, as I will not be seeing them for sometime now.
Most nights the sky was alight with lightning and I would take these opportunities to sit on the beach and watch the water come in. I enjoyed looking out over the dark sea - a menacing black horizon - and watching the waves form and crest out of nothingness. It was neat to sea the white foam begin and then run a hundred or more meters in one direction instantly, and finish with a boom as the water crashed down on itself. It reminded me of a cartoon bomb fuse being lit and running the length of itself - leaving in its path grey ash - and inevitably ending with an explosion (often in favour of the RoadRunner). Watching the waves come at me after others had gone to sleep and the music could no longer be heard was relaxing and wonderous.
The only thing that could have made this experience better was if the sand sparkled - and it did. Allow me to explain: In the damp sand there were significant deposits of phosphorous (or so I was told), and when the sand was flicked or kicked, the phosphorous would momentarily light up as it was disturbed. It looked like tiny night stars were being created and destroyed in the blink of an eye by the flick of my wrist or foot. This was only visibly at night, but added another element to the visual I was already experiencing. It also gave me a feeling of omnipotence (a great word that I still remember my father teaching me when I was young) to create entire galaxies with my foot or finger. Although I know the moment was fleeting the image in my mind is permanent.
Other than our night watchings we enjoyed the wtaer immensley - it was the first time we were actually able to venture into the sea since we began travelling beside it over a month ago: the undertow was safe and the water was clean. We all went in to check out the village as well (a ten minute walk). On one of the days I was invited by two other travellers to go with them for a lunch at a omen's house they had met the day before. When we arrived at the courtyard we were greeted by numerous children who were thrilled at the opportunity to see themselves via digital cameras and just talk and play with the "obrunies". After a few minutes we were introduced to the elder women of the compund, then aken aside by the lady who invited my friends the day earlier and served fufu with a bean and fish sauce. The food was great, but the serving was monstrous. We struggled to try and finish because it is slightly offensive not to eat all the food given to you, but wound up coming up short nonethelss (the meal was cooked for four people and we were only three). The lady let us eat alone, but returned upon our being stuffed and we discussed the life and times of village life in Africa. We also discussed God (people here are devotely religious), food, education, and marrying (the lady offered her nephew to the young lady in good humour). It was a great experience that was made better because the lady - named Mercy and thus dubbed "Mother Mercy" - wanted nothing from us in terms of money or goods. She just wanted to sit us down, feed us and show us hospitality. The same rang true for the whole place as we were not asked for anything from the time we stepped into the village until the time we left - except for the few times we were asked to dance, to which we happily obliged.
Coincidentally, our last night was also a concert/dance/bonfire on the beach at Green Turtle Lodge. Many of the locals showed up to provide the singing and music, and the children showed us how to dance the way Africans do. Not a person around wasn't smiling and enjoying themselves. It was a fitting end to a great week.
Tonight I head to Egypt and then the Middle East. Heather and Matt will be heading to Senegal in a day or two. I am sorry to those who have been following along for the sake of Matt and Heather, as I will not be seeing them for sometime now.
Tuesday, February 19, 2008
Gotta go to Ghana
After 7 weeks of 'understanding' French, we arrived in Ghana, our first English speaking country in West Africa. Amazingly, we now pretend to speak French when we're trying to avoid hawkers...
Accra was beautiful, but incredibly expensive. After two days of used-book shopping in the capital we took off for Cape Coast, home to one of Britain's most important coastal forts in Ghana. The fort in Cape Coast bears the same name as the town, and we visited it as the sun was setting, giving us a stunning view of the coast and the town itself. The castle is a large white-washed fortress that is located on the rocks along the shore, loaded with canons and look-out points that hint at the former territorial claims fought over by the British, Dutch and Portuguese. Despite the grandeur of the place our guide was out of place as he thought he was in drama class (overly-theatrical and flamboyant, when I thought he should have been giving the straight facts), and I did not take much away from the guided tour. These forts were initially designed for the storage and shipment of goods, but as plantations began in the Americas slaves became the main export from these forts. As we were taken through the old dungeons that housed the slaves until they were bought and shipped across the ocean, I had to shudder at the thought of what had taken place within those walls for centuries. I felt as though I should not have been walking through the place - as if I did not deserve to walk within the walls as freely as I did. Although we were only shown the rooms pertaining to slavery we were allowed to walk around the fort after the tour. The fort was its own community complete with primary school, church, post office and medical services. The church was built directly above the slave dungeons, creating a heaven above/hell below situation on Earth. The use of Christianity to legitimize slavery was the topic of an essay I wrote in third year, so I won't bother venting here. It is amazing how people can twist the teachings of their religion to feed their own agenda. It is too bad we never seem to learn from past mistakes.
The next day we took a ride to Elmina to see St George's Castle. To give an idea of the age, it was built by the Portuguese ten years before Columbus discovered the Americas. It was the largest of all Ghana's coastal forts, and the most important in terms of slavery. It is believed that 12 million slaves passed through the fort over 300 years, only 4 million of whom actually made it to the Americas. The other 8 million died from any of a numerous reasons: the squalid conditions; death at the hands of soldiers; and suicide (slaves would starve themselves to death or jump out of the smaller boats that were delivering them to the larger boats while still in chains). The death of created little worry among the Europeans because the slaves were all profit. The guide here was fantastic, and the tour took in the entire castle. It was a similar setup to the first one, with the church right next to the dungeons. I took away a startling amount from that tour and was extremely glad we decided to go.
After the castles we headed up into the country, stopping first at Kumasi and then Tamale. Kumasi is the center of the Ashanti culture (the most influential tribe in Ghana). There we visited a culture grounds that was a bustle of activity. Within the grounds there was an Ashanti museum; a reggae ceremony complete with music and prayer happening; a live performance in the open-air auditorium; plus it was generally a great place to hang out and soak up some culture. Kumasi is also the place where I fell in love with Ghanaian cuisine because I searched out a great food stall and had an excellent lunch with a few local boys of the same age. I have turned Heather and Matt on to the 'red-red' and jollof rice with guinea fowl or gizzard (not the greatest meat, but no meat here is great). We also met a couchsurfer from Kumasi named Bright who showed us around for a day and had us trying 'fufu' (cassava and yam) and 'banku' (fermented maize) - local dishes that are unlike anything we know in Canada. He was excellent and showed us a side to Kumasi we otherwise would not have seen.
Tamale served as the jump-off to Mole National Park, where we camped for two nights. The campgrounds were situated over-looking a watering hole that was occupied by elephants more often than not. We went on two walks with an arm ranger that allowed us to get within 20 or 30m of wild elephants, an unparalleled experience. As we watched them bathe we couldn't help but notice that they are much darker than we thought, nearing black. The grey colour we often see them appearing as is due to dust and mud they rub on themselves to stay cool. Really, they are nearly black - charcoal grey at the lightest. The young elephants were the most entertaining to watch, as they constantly tried to climb on one another while bathing. I could picture my brothers and I wrestling in a similar manner when we were younger (actually, not that long ago). After watching the elephants for an hour or so each morning we retired to the lodge pool, where we fended off baboons from stealing our pineapples (we had to chase one down at one point) and watched the elephants from a distance - all the while keeping cool; not an easy task in Ghana. On the first night I sat over-looking the savannah in the dark. I was treated with Hyena barks, low growls in the distance, sounds of a struggle in the watering-hole (I think the crocodile won), and an amazing feel of nature at work.
We are now headed back to Kumasi to spend a few nights with a local man we met on Couch Surfing before heading back to the coast to check out an eco-friendly lodge we have read about. It's called the Green Turtle Lodge and can be checked out at www.greenturtlelodge.com
Accra was beautiful, but incredibly expensive. After two days of used-book shopping in the capital we took off for Cape Coast, home to one of Britain's most important coastal forts in Ghana. The fort in Cape Coast bears the same name as the town, and we visited it as the sun was setting, giving us a stunning view of the coast and the town itself. The castle is a large white-washed fortress that is located on the rocks along the shore, loaded with canons and look-out points that hint at the former territorial claims fought over by the British, Dutch and Portuguese. Despite the grandeur of the place our guide was out of place as he thought he was in drama class (overly-theatrical and flamboyant, when I thought he should have been giving the straight facts), and I did not take much away from the guided tour. These forts were initially designed for the storage and shipment of goods, but as plantations began in the Americas slaves became the main export from these forts. As we were taken through the old dungeons that housed the slaves until they were bought and shipped across the ocean, I had to shudder at the thought of what had taken place within those walls for centuries. I felt as though I should not have been walking through the place - as if I did not deserve to walk within the walls as freely as I did. Although we were only shown the rooms pertaining to slavery we were allowed to walk around the fort after the tour. The fort was its own community complete with primary school, church, post office and medical services. The church was built directly above the slave dungeons, creating a heaven above/hell below situation on Earth. The use of Christianity to legitimize slavery was the topic of an essay I wrote in third year, so I won't bother venting here. It is amazing how people can twist the teachings of their religion to feed their own agenda. It is too bad we never seem to learn from past mistakes.
The next day we took a ride to Elmina to see St George's Castle. To give an idea of the age, it was built by the Portuguese ten years before Columbus discovered the Americas. It was the largest of all Ghana's coastal forts, and the most important in terms of slavery. It is believed that 12 million slaves passed through the fort over 300 years, only 4 million of whom actually made it to the Americas. The other 8 million died from any of a numerous reasons: the squalid conditions; death at the hands of soldiers; and suicide (slaves would starve themselves to death or jump out of the smaller boats that were delivering them to the larger boats while still in chains). The death of created little worry among the Europeans because the slaves were all profit. The guide here was fantastic, and the tour took in the entire castle. It was a similar setup to the first one, with the church right next to the dungeons. I took away a startling amount from that tour and was extremely glad we decided to go.
After the castles we headed up into the country, stopping first at Kumasi and then Tamale. Kumasi is the center of the Ashanti culture (the most influential tribe in Ghana). There we visited a culture grounds that was a bustle of activity. Within the grounds there was an Ashanti museum; a reggae ceremony complete with music and prayer happening; a live performance in the open-air auditorium; plus it was generally a great place to hang out and soak up some culture. Kumasi is also the place where I fell in love with Ghanaian cuisine because I searched out a great food stall and had an excellent lunch with a few local boys of the same age. I have turned Heather and Matt on to the 'red-red' and jollof rice with guinea fowl or gizzard (not the greatest meat, but no meat here is great). We also met a couchsurfer from Kumasi named Bright who showed us around for a day and had us trying 'fufu' (cassava and yam) and 'banku' (fermented maize) - local dishes that are unlike anything we know in Canada. He was excellent and showed us a side to Kumasi we otherwise would not have seen.
Tamale served as the jump-off to Mole National Park, where we camped for two nights. The campgrounds were situated over-looking a watering hole that was occupied by elephants more often than not. We went on two walks with an arm ranger that allowed us to get within 20 or 30m of wild elephants, an unparalleled experience. As we watched them bathe we couldn't help but notice that they are much darker than we thought, nearing black. The grey colour we often see them appearing as is due to dust and mud they rub on themselves to stay cool. Really, they are nearly black - charcoal grey at the lightest. The young elephants were the most entertaining to watch, as they constantly tried to climb on one another while bathing. I could picture my brothers and I wrestling in a similar manner when we were younger (actually, not that long ago). After watching the elephants for an hour or so each morning we retired to the lodge pool, where we fended off baboons from stealing our pineapples (we had to chase one down at one point) and watched the elephants from a distance - all the while keeping cool; not an easy task in Ghana. On the first night I sat over-looking the savannah in the dark. I was treated with Hyena barks, low growls in the distance, sounds of a struggle in the watering-hole (I think the crocodile won), and an amazing feel of nature at work.
We are now headed back to Kumasi to spend a few nights with a local man we met on Couch Surfing before heading back to the coast to check out an eco-friendly lodge we have read about. It's called the Green Turtle Lodge and can be checked out at www.greenturtlelodge.com
Saturday, February 16, 2008
Abomey and the Dahomey Kingdom
After Natitingou we headed to Abomey, the capital of the Dahomey Kingdom. The Dahomey Kingdom was the kingdom responsible for the slave-trade with the Europeans in this part of West Africa (these slaves were shipped out of Ouidah, where we were days earlier). The museum - a UNESCO World Heritage Site - left much to be desired, but the owner of our hotel (a local who grew up in Ouidah) gave us a tour of Abomey that was fantastic. He spoke English well, but with a foreign accent that gave him an air of authenticity in the African town. He told the stories of Dahomey's Kingdom with such enthusiasm and mysticism that we were forced to listen with the fascanation of a child listening to his bedtime story; wide-eyed and grinning ear-to-ear. The Godfather (as we dubbed him) began the tour with his friends and himself singing an ancient Dahomey song that people in Abomey still sing when they have laboruious work to do, and it ended with the same song. It was a great touch and had a beautiful melody.
During our tour of Abomey - which consisted of visiting the ruins of several palaces of former kings, as well as sacred Voodoo temples - we saw a funeral procession along the main road. The casket was a typical casket, complete with a crucifix affixed to it, but the procession that consumed it was all Voodoo. There was music and chanting, singing and praising. Passerbys and onlookers threw change onto the coffin, or else placed it on the wife's forehead, where it would then fall to the ground and to be picked up by other family members. The most startling part of the procession was when the two young men carrying the coffin - who we assumed to be sons - got to the centre of the roundabout and began running as fast as they could with the coffin, coming within inches of a sealed door (that I originally thought they were going to try to break through with the coffin), only to turn around and head back in the opposite direction with an equal amount of force and determination. They did this several times across the circle, so much so that twice we had to get out of the way of a casket running at us with the determination of death (sorry). They finally placed the casket on the circle and took some much needed rest as passerbys threw more money on the casket (as onlookers, we did indeed throw on some coins of our own). The experience was mesmerizing.
The same night we were taken to a small Voodoo ceremony with two guides. It was held in the courtyard of a small settlement (the equivalent of a 'court' by our street-standards), and attracted what seemed to be all the local families. The Voodoo priest (who is dressed in ornate style with threads and beads coming off him at every angle) began the ceremony with some dancing that was followed by some talking in African tongue. The rhetoric seemed light and in good humour, as laughs were regularly drown from those in attendance. Following that, several other ornately dressed people came out and danced for over an hour. Often the dances turned into 'face-offs', or were otherwise mirror interpretations between two people. As we were unable to ask questions (our guides only spoke French, and it wasn't appropriate for us to be asking questions during the ceremony), we are not sure of the significance of much. One interesting thing that happened to us was when we nearly had our sandals taken by one of the priests. Apparently it is impolite to wear sandals during the ceremony, but our guides were either dumb or ignorant of this rule, as they had their sandals taken, and bribed the priest so as not to take ours. After that, we took our sandals off for the remainder of the ceremony. Although this sounds really bad, there were many people wearing sandals, and the priest made a point of getting as many sandals as he could until everyone was in bare feet. It was a little scary at the time, but immediately following it provided a few shaky laughs (from us) and friendly smiles (from those around us). While dancing was obviously an integral part of the ceremony, so too was the music. The 'band' consisted of about 8 to 10 young men playing African drums and bells. The music was so constant and so intense at times that it was intoxicating and dizzy-ing. Music is without a doubt one of the most sacred and constant things in West Africa.
After the ceremony we returned to our hotel to get some much needed rest. Despite the best inetentions of the Godfather, his hotel is a dump: no running water; a hard and lumpy mattress, and; a tempermental power supply. Add to all this the biggest cockroach I have ever seen serving as a guard to the bathing quarters (he definitely kept people out), and Abomey goes down as an all-out African experience in less than 20 hours.
During our tour of Abomey - which consisted of visiting the ruins of several palaces of former kings, as well as sacred Voodoo temples - we saw a funeral procession along the main road. The casket was a typical casket, complete with a crucifix affixed to it, but the procession that consumed it was all Voodoo. There was music and chanting, singing and praising. Passerbys and onlookers threw change onto the coffin, or else placed it on the wife's forehead, where it would then fall to the ground and to be picked up by other family members. The most startling part of the procession was when the two young men carrying the coffin - who we assumed to be sons - got to the centre of the roundabout and began running as fast as they could with the coffin, coming within inches of a sealed door (that I originally thought they were going to try to break through with the coffin), only to turn around and head back in the opposite direction with an equal amount of force and determination. They did this several times across the circle, so much so that twice we had to get out of the way of a casket running at us with the determination of death (sorry). They finally placed the casket on the circle and took some much needed rest as passerbys threw more money on the casket (as onlookers, we did indeed throw on some coins of our own). The experience was mesmerizing.
The same night we were taken to a small Voodoo ceremony with two guides. It was held in the courtyard of a small settlement (the equivalent of a 'court' by our street-standards), and attracted what seemed to be all the local families. The Voodoo priest (who is dressed in ornate style with threads and beads coming off him at every angle) began the ceremony with some dancing that was followed by some talking in African tongue. The rhetoric seemed light and in good humour, as laughs were regularly drown from those in attendance. Following that, several other ornately dressed people came out and danced for over an hour. Often the dances turned into 'face-offs', or were otherwise mirror interpretations between two people. As we were unable to ask questions (our guides only spoke French, and it wasn't appropriate for us to be asking questions during the ceremony), we are not sure of the significance of much. One interesting thing that happened to us was when we nearly had our sandals taken by one of the priests. Apparently it is impolite to wear sandals during the ceremony, but our guides were either dumb or ignorant of this rule, as they had their sandals taken, and bribed the priest so as not to take ours. After that, we took our sandals off for the remainder of the ceremony. Although this sounds really bad, there were many people wearing sandals, and the priest made a point of getting as many sandals as he could until everyone was in bare feet. It was a little scary at the time, but immediately following it provided a few shaky laughs (from us) and friendly smiles (from those around us). While dancing was obviously an integral part of the ceremony, so too was the music. The 'band' consisted of about 8 to 10 young men playing African drums and bells. The music was so constant and so intense at times that it was intoxicating and dizzy-ing. Music is without a doubt one of the most sacred and constant things in West Africa.
After the ceremony we returned to our hotel to get some much needed rest. Despite the best inetentions of the Godfather, his hotel is a dump: no running water; a hard and lumpy mattress, and; a tempermental power supply. Add to all this the biggest cockroach I have ever seen serving as a guard to the bathing quarters (he definitely kept people out), and Abomey goes down as an all-out African experience in less than 20 hours.
Thursday, February 14, 2008
La Parc National Pendjari
When we planned our trip, Benin was never part of the intinerary. After our first day here I was ready to get on a bus and head for Ghana before our 48-hour Visa expired. After Ouidah and our 2 day African Safari to Pendjari National Park, I am glad we changed our itinerary - and that Heather's cool head kept us in Benin...
The jump off town for Pendjari Park is Natitingou, where we found our two guides (by far the best and most honest guides we have had so far), and from where we left at 530am to head to the park. Immediately aftering entering the park we spotted several antelope species, then a family of baboons. Definitely a good omen, and one that proved to be fruitful. During the course of the two days we saw: uncountable numbers of antelope and African deer; numerous families of baboons (which turned out to be my favourite animal on the Safari); jackals (that one's for you Graham); crocodiles (with their mouths open, waiting for birds to clean their teeth); warthogs (which are quite regal-looking animals: they trot in a princely manner, with their tails straight up in the air and their noses slightly turned up); hippos (and this time they were out of the water and moving around); beautiful birds of enormous dimensions and vibrant colours, and; elephants. Heather was most excited by the prospect of seeing elephants before we left for our adventure, and she was not disappointed as we were able to see 4 adults and 3 young drinking together from one of the watering holes. Our guides proved adept at spotting animals that were invisible to our untrained eyes, picking out baboons that looked like rocks from nearly 500m away. Thanks to the binoculars I received from Santa for Christmas (thanks mom), we were spoiled with up-close and personal viewings of the animals.
We spent the night camped in our tents within the park, protected by fire and big clubs (we're not stupid - we knew the clubs wouldn't stop an attacking lion - I just figured I could beat Matt unconscious and feed him to whatever wanted to eat us). Luckily, it didn't come to that. The next morning we visited another watering hole where we witnessed the harmony of nature. Around the small watering hole there were several crocodiles, hippos, numerous birds, and antelope and deer. All the animals realized the need for each other to drink, and none of the animals disturbed one another during their morning ritual.
Around noon we left the park and headed to some beautiful waterfalls nearby. Tha falls were spectacular, with blue/green water falling from a height of about 35 meters into a calm pool below, where we were able to swim and wash off the dust and dirt from our Safari. Afterwards, we were scammed by the guide who walked us up (the town with the waterfalls has their own guides, of course). When our guides found out they were not impressed. Yelling and arguing with the man who oversees the guides ensued, and although we do not particulalry like alienating entire villages, it was nice to finally have a guide stand up for us, rather than scam us. Shortly thereafter we headed back to Natitingou (for the better), where we treated our guides to dinner at a Tata Somba house/restaurant. The Somba are a group of people who live in norther Benin and Northern Togo, but this was unfortunately our only experience with their culture. It was a great end to the trip, and a nice way to thank our guides.
All in all, Pendjari Park and Natitingou was one of the best all-around experiences I have had in Africa.
The jump off town for Pendjari Park is Natitingou, where we found our two guides (by far the best and most honest guides we have had so far), and from where we left at 530am to head to the park. Immediately aftering entering the park we spotted several antelope species, then a family of baboons. Definitely a good omen, and one that proved to be fruitful. During the course of the two days we saw: uncountable numbers of antelope and African deer; numerous families of baboons (which turned out to be my favourite animal on the Safari); jackals (that one's for you Graham); crocodiles (with their mouths open, waiting for birds to clean their teeth); warthogs (which are quite regal-looking animals: they trot in a princely manner, with their tails straight up in the air and their noses slightly turned up); hippos (and this time they were out of the water and moving around); beautiful birds of enormous dimensions and vibrant colours, and; elephants. Heather was most excited by the prospect of seeing elephants before we left for our adventure, and she was not disappointed as we were able to see 4 adults and 3 young drinking together from one of the watering holes. Our guides proved adept at spotting animals that were invisible to our untrained eyes, picking out baboons that looked like rocks from nearly 500m away. Thanks to the binoculars I received from Santa for Christmas (thanks mom), we were spoiled with up-close and personal viewings of the animals.
We spent the night camped in our tents within the park, protected by fire and big clubs (we're not stupid - we knew the clubs wouldn't stop an attacking lion - I just figured I could beat Matt unconscious and feed him to whatever wanted to eat us). Luckily, it didn't come to that. The next morning we visited another watering hole where we witnessed the harmony of nature. Around the small watering hole there were several crocodiles, hippos, numerous birds, and antelope and deer. All the animals realized the need for each other to drink, and none of the animals disturbed one another during their morning ritual.
Around noon we left the park and headed to some beautiful waterfalls nearby. Tha falls were spectacular, with blue/green water falling from a height of about 35 meters into a calm pool below, where we were able to swim and wash off the dust and dirt from our Safari. Afterwards, we were scammed by the guide who walked us up (the town with the waterfalls has their own guides, of course). When our guides found out they were not impressed. Yelling and arguing with the man who oversees the guides ensued, and although we do not particulalry like alienating entire villages, it was nice to finally have a guide stand up for us, rather than scam us. Shortly thereafter we headed back to Natitingou (for the better), where we treated our guides to dinner at a Tata Somba house/restaurant. The Somba are a group of people who live in norther Benin and Northern Togo, but this was unfortunately our only experience with their culture. It was a great end to the trip, and a nice way to thank our guides.
All in all, Pendjari Park and Natitingou was one of the best all-around experiences I have had in Africa.
Tuesday, February 12, 2008
Benin and Slavery
Our bus from Niamey to Benin was eventful. After receiving a Visa that was only good for 48 hours - instead of the 1 month Visa we were expecting - we were forced to head all the way to Cotonou, on the coast, in order to get a proper Visa. The bus wound up being 16.5 hours (instead of the 9 had our Visa allowed us to stop where we had planned). The buses in Africa sit 5 people across, do not have air-con, stop for prayer, and everbody seems to have three or four carry-ons (kind of like you, Mom, when you get on a plane). Obviously, this creates a disgusting amount of heat that cannot be escaped. All in all, it was probably the longest day of the trip. Even the pinasse trip offered bright spots during the course of each day. As a result, our plans changed and we took the few days we needed for our Visas to be ready to head for Ouidah, a town that was an important slave-trading port.
On the first day we visited the musuem in Ouidah (in what was once the Portuguese fort), where we were shown how the slave-trade was conducted from this now peaceful town. The next day we walked from the old Portuguese fort down "La Route des Esclaves" ('The route of the slaves') - a 4km walk that ends at the Atlantic Ocean. As we came through the bush to the shore, I was taken aback by the angry sound of the water. The waves crashed down on the shore with such a vengence that I believe it is aware of the past atrocities commited on it's shoreline. I then realised how daunting the scene would have been for the slaves - many of whom would have never before seen the Ocean - as they were led in chains onto a ship bigger than any they had seen before, as it rested on what must have appeared as the ends of the Earth. Add to this the inhumane treatment of the slaves and the seperation of their families, and you might be able to have a glimpse into the sense of despair upon these people as they were lead away from the only land they knew (but probably not). How any human-being could have rationalized this treatment of another is incomprehensible to me. May the souls of those involved - the slaves and those who exploited them - find peace in death.
I do not know what else to say about Ouidah and this experience, so I will take what a wise man (aka my Father) pointed out to me and elaborate with thoughts of my own: 20 years ago white people in South Africa hardly blinked before killing blacks and they were rarely, if ever, prosecuted for it. 45 years ago in the USA blacks were targeted with water hoses and dogs while fighting for their civil rights (the same 'God-given' rights outlined in the Declaration of Independence). Thankfully, South Africa is making strides towards improvement, and the United States has a man of African descent running for the Presidency... While the dream of Martin Luther King, Jr, is far from being realized (if it ever truly can be), change is possible, and we must hold onto - and fight for - our dreams.
On the first day we visited the musuem in Ouidah (in what was once the Portuguese fort), where we were shown how the slave-trade was conducted from this now peaceful town. The next day we walked from the old Portuguese fort down "La Route des Esclaves" ('The route of the slaves') - a 4km walk that ends at the Atlantic Ocean. As we came through the bush to the shore, I was taken aback by the angry sound of the water. The waves crashed down on the shore with such a vengence that I believe it is aware of the past atrocities commited on it's shoreline. I then realised how daunting the scene would have been for the slaves - many of whom would have never before seen the Ocean - as they were led in chains onto a ship bigger than any they had seen before, as it rested on what must have appeared as the ends of the Earth. Add to this the inhumane treatment of the slaves and the seperation of their families, and you might be able to have a glimpse into the sense of despair upon these people as they were lead away from the only land they knew (but probably not). How any human-being could have rationalized this treatment of another is incomprehensible to me. May the souls of those involved - the slaves and those who exploited them - find peace in death.
I do not know what else to say about Ouidah and this experience, so I will take what a wise man (aka my Father) pointed out to me and elaborate with thoughts of my own: 20 years ago white people in South Africa hardly blinked before killing blacks and they were rarely, if ever, prosecuted for it. 45 years ago in the USA blacks were targeted with water hoses and dogs while fighting for their civil rights (the same 'God-given' rights outlined in the Declaration of Independence). Thankfully, South Africa is making strides towards improvement, and the United States has a man of African descent running for the Presidency... While the dream of Martin Luther King, Jr, is far from being realized (if it ever truly can be), change is possible, and we must hold onto - and fight for - our dreams.
Tuesday, February 5, 2008
Hippos, Bats, and Giraffes
On our eighth day in Banfora our health had returned to us and we made an early morning trek to Tengrela Lake on our mopeds. We were quite the scene, Matt on the back and me drving (or should I say swerving) off into the sunrise. It was fun, but I don't think we were given the top quality mopeds by the locals (and by think I mean know). Tengrela Lake is a quiet lake that is home to about 60 hippos (or so we are told). Our mission there was to see hippos, and see hippos we did. Our guide rowed us in a hallowed out canoe to within about 20 or 30 feet from the hippos. Although we were unsure as to the safety of this, the guide promised us it was safe. The hippos watched us approach, but paid little attention to us after that. They are odd creatures, especially when you think of their size, and picture their bodies floating around under the water. They make a noise similar to that of a whale when they surface, exhaling air with such force we were startled the first few times. Unforunately, hippos only eat at sunset, so we did not see them out of the water... After Banfora we headed back to Ouagadougou for a night before heading to Niamey, Niger, where I am writing this.
A quick note: My down-time in Banfora forced me to change my frame on mind on this trip. When we were in Mali, everyday had a purpose, and no two days were the same. We were constantly moving, rarely relaxing for more than an hour or two. In Banfora, I was forced (and I say forced because there was no where to go, nothing to do) to accept that nothing was going to happen for today..., tomorrow..., etc. This allowed me to walk around Banfora, meet locals, and do nothing for a week. The end result is that I am less concerned with where I am going tomorrow, and more content with where I am. Banfora - although scary due to the illness that befell us - was a blessing in disguise.
Niamey has been wonderful. Each night at sunset we have ventured over to the terrace of the Grand Hotel, overlooking the Niger River. As the sun goes to rest behind the mountains west of Niamey, painting the sky in pastel blues, pinks, and oranges, bats begin to fill the sky. Thousands of bats in Niamey come out to play at dusk. They fly directly above the river, from north to south, appearing out of thin air (literally - the dust particles in the air do not allow you to see them until the are close). The bats, who dissappear into the abyss in the same manner in which they appear, continuously 'bat' their wings, creating a frantic image against the evening sky; an image compounded by the impending darkness.
Niger is also home to the only giraffes in West Africa, and this morning we headed out before sunrise to see these animals in nautre. Our guide did not disappoint, finding a herd of about 15 -20 giraffes shortly after entering the park. I was amazed how close we were able to get to these sentient creatures, coming within 10 or 15 feet at times. The younger giraffes (2 or 3 months old according to our guide), would peek at us from behind the safety of mother's legs, curiosity abounded upon their faces. An observation the three of us could not help but make was the complete lack of noice these elegant creatures produced. The tranquility surrounding them was deep, and the time we spent walking among them was therapy.
Today is our last day in Niger, as we head to Benin tomorrow morning. There is a lot of slave-trading history in Benin, and I am interested to see how they present this to travellers.
I hear the Pats lost the Super Bowl... I guess it's true - Cheaters never win.
A quick note: My down-time in Banfora forced me to change my frame on mind on this trip. When we were in Mali, everyday had a purpose, and no two days were the same. We were constantly moving, rarely relaxing for more than an hour or two. In Banfora, I was forced (and I say forced because there was no where to go, nothing to do) to accept that nothing was going to happen for today..., tomorrow..., etc. This allowed me to walk around Banfora, meet locals, and do nothing for a week. The end result is that I am less concerned with where I am going tomorrow, and more content with where I am. Banfora - although scary due to the illness that befell us - was a blessing in disguise.
Niamey has been wonderful. Each night at sunset we have ventured over to the terrace of the Grand Hotel, overlooking the Niger River. As the sun goes to rest behind the mountains west of Niamey, painting the sky in pastel blues, pinks, and oranges, bats begin to fill the sky. Thousands of bats in Niamey come out to play at dusk. They fly directly above the river, from north to south, appearing out of thin air (literally - the dust particles in the air do not allow you to see them until the are close). The bats, who dissappear into the abyss in the same manner in which they appear, continuously 'bat' their wings, creating a frantic image against the evening sky; an image compounded by the impending darkness.
Niger is also home to the only giraffes in West Africa, and this morning we headed out before sunrise to see these animals in nautre. Our guide did not disappoint, finding a herd of about 15 -20 giraffes shortly after entering the park. I was amazed how close we were able to get to these sentient creatures, coming within 10 or 15 feet at times. The younger giraffes (2 or 3 months old according to our guide), would peek at us from behind the safety of mother's legs, curiosity abounded upon their faces. An observation the three of us could not help but make was the complete lack of noice these elegant creatures produced. The tranquility surrounding them was deep, and the time we spent walking among them was therapy.
Today is our last day in Niger, as we head to Benin tomorrow morning. There is a lot of slave-trading history in Benin, and I am interested to see how they present this to travellers.
I hear the Pats lost the Super Bowl... I guess it's true - Cheaters never win.
Tuesday, January 29, 2008
Distrust in Mali; Hope In Burkina
Due to an unfortunate illness within Team Wam (Walsh + Sim = Wam), we have been in Banfora, Burkina Faso, for five days now, and it looks like another few will be necessary for recovery (all seems to be well now). This little town does not offer many exciting activites for a traveller, save for a small waterfall and a hippo-filled lake. As a result, I have spent my days walking aorund this sleepy little place, hiding from the sun at midday, napping, and planning further on in the trip. I have also had time to reflect on some of our experiences so far and will write a few of those thoughts here (please note that these comments reflect Malian society, not Burkinabé society).
First, one of our constant problems in Mali was the people - men, women, and children - asking us for 'un cadeau' (French for 'a gift'). At first I was torn because of the sheer number of people who seemed to need our help. However, as food was often looked at with disgust by these people, who wanted money istead, I realized that these people were not in the dire situation I originally perceived them to be in. It had nothing to do with needing anything from us, but a belief that white people ought to give them something. Obviously, this belief stems from tourists before who have readily opened their pockets to children, offering gifts and money. Unfortunately for travellers (I will make a distinction here - a tourist is someone with lots of money and little time, a traveller is someone with a lot lof time but little money), the people here assume every foreigner is rich and willing to give hand outs. Such is not the case, and since all literature covering these countries asks travellers not to give hand outs to children, many people refuse to give anything at anytime (sharing food or water being an exception).
On one of our treks through Dogon Country (see previous post), Matt and Heather were followed by a group of children, who were harrassing them for their empty nalgene bottles, for nearly fifteen minutes. Afterwards Matt and I decided that this was racism (discriminatory or abusive behaviour towards members of another race). The harrasment we received due to our skin colour in Mali was persistent, aggressive, intrusive, and constant. We payed more than the locals for the same items, and we were harrased by hawkers (street sellers) and guides at all times. I do not expect people to understand, or even agree with me, especially if you have never visited Africa. It is not like other places that I initially thought were aggressive... When I was in Peru we were often approached by street sellers, many of whom were children. Rather than looking for a handout, everyone had something to sell, and a simple 'no gracias' from us was sufficient to send the seller on his or her way.
I purposely made a note differentiating Mali from Burkina because it is well deserved by the Burkinabé people. Since our arrival in Burkina we have been seen and treated as people, not sources of gifts and money. When illness struck our team, the hostel security guard walked to the hospital to ensure it was open, then returned and walked us back to it - all of this occurring between 2 and 3am. He then returned at 4 or 5am to make sure all was okay, and the hostel owner came and checked up on us at 7am upon arriving at the hostel and finding one of his patrons sick. None of these people asked for, nor expected anything, in return for their help and kindness; it was done out of genuine concern for a fellow human being. When I went into the market on Sunday, I observed what locals were paying for fruits and vegetables, in order to gauge what I should be able to bargain down to. Imagine my surprise when the first price I was told was the same as that paid by the locals (amazing!). Burkina has not been perfect - in Ouagadougou a coffee girl purposely withheld the price for two coffees from us until we had drank the coffees, then charged us three-and-a-half-times the going rate. Despite my wanting to argue, Matt said we should leave it and we walked away. Once again Matt's peacefulness triumphed, when only moments later an artisan approached us and asked us to look at his work. Matt said that he would not buy anything in the area because the coffee girl had overcharged him (his French is improving rapidly). The artisan, upset that we would not visit his shop, and sorry that we had been ripped off, returned moments later with over half of our payment. He did not ask us again to visit his shop. It was a moment that would never have happened in Mali, and gave me great hope for Burkina, and the rest of West Africa.
First, one of our constant problems in Mali was the people - men, women, and children - asking us for 'un cadeau' (French for 'a gift'). At first I was torn because of the sheer number of people who seemed to need our help. However, as food was often looked at with disgust by these people, who wanted money istead, I realized that these people were not in the dire situation I originally perceived them to be in. It had nothing to do with needing anything from us, but a belief that white people ought to give them something. Obviously, this belief stems from tourists before who have readily opened their pockets to children, offering gifts and money. Unfortunately for travellers (I will make a distinction here - a tourist is someone with lots of money and little time, a traveller is someone with a lot lof time but little money), the people here assume every foreigner is rich and willing to give hand outs. Such is not the case, and since all literature covering these countries asks travellers not to give hand outs to children, many people refuse to give anything at anytime (sharing food or water being an exception).
On one of our treks through Dogon Country (see previous post), Matt and Heather were followed by a group of children, who were harrassing them for their empty nalgene bottles, for nearly fifteen minutes. Afterwards Matt and I decided that this was racism (discriminatory or abusive behaviour towards members of another race). The harrasment we received due to our skin colour in Mali was persistent, aggressive, intrusive, and constant. We payed more than the locals for the same items, and we were harrased by hawkers (street sellers) and guides at all times. I do not expect people to understand, or even agree with me, especially if you have never visited Africa. It is not like other places that I initially thought were aggressive... When I was in Peru we were often approached by street sellers, many of whom were children. Rather than looking for a handout, everyone had something to sell, and a simple 'no gracias' from us was sufficient to send the seller on his or her way.
I purposely made a note differentiating Mali from Burkina because it is well deserved by the Burkinabé people. Since our arrival in Burkina we have been seen and treated as people, not sources of gifts and money. When illness struck our team, the hostel security guard walked to the hospital to ensure it was open, then returned and walked us back to it - all of this occurring between 2 and 3am. He then returned at 4 or 5am to make sure all was okay, and the hostel owner came and checked up on us at 7am upon arriving at the hostel and finding one of his patrons sick. None of these people asked for, nor expected anything, in return for their help and kindness; it was done out of genuine concern for a fellow human being. When I went into the market on Sunday, I observed what locals were paying for fruits and vegetables, in order to gauge what I should be able to bargain down to. Imagine my surprise when the first price I was told was the same as that paid by the locals (amazing!). Burkina has not been perfect - in Ouagadougou a coffee girl purposely withheld the price for two coffees from us until we had drank the coffees, then charged us three-and-a-half-times the going rate. Despite my wanting to argue, Matt said we should leave it and we walked away. Once again Matt's peacefulness triumphed, when only moments later an artisan approached us and asked us to look at his work. Matt said that he would not buy anything in the area because the coffee girl had overcharged him (his French is improving rapidly). The artisan, upset that we would not visit his shop, and sorry that we had been ripped off, returned moments later with over half of our payment. He did not ask us again to visit his shop. It was a moment that would never have happened in Mali, and gave me great hope for Burkina, and the rest of West Africa.
Tuesday, January 22, 2008
Dogon Country
My last 6 nights/7 days have been spent hiking through Dogon Country. In all we hiked about 100km, mostly in the early morning and late afternoon, so as to avoid the midday heat. It all occurred along, or on top of, an escaprment that runs for about 140km and is 300 to 400m in height. Along the rock face of this escarpment is where many of the Dogon and their ancestors lived, with houses right in the side of the escarpment. It is something that must be seen to be understood. The hikes were broken up, with 7 to 9km at each time. The food was plentiful and tasty, although the toilets and showers left somethings to be desired (like toilet bowls and running water). None of the encampements had electricity, although some had solar panels or kerosene powered lamps...
One of my most memorable moments from the trip occured the third day as we hiked along the top of the escarpment early in the morning. The escarpment is about 400m high, with a vertical cliff face that runs at nearly 90 degrees to the Earth. The bottom of this escarpment marks the beginning of the Sahara Desert. Here is what I wrote in my journal asI walked along the edge of the escarpment that morning:
As I look out over the beginning of the Sahara - a landscape dotted with trees and scarred by sand dunes - the vast, flat surroundings stretch as far as the eye can see. The morning sky has set ablaze the World with colours of fire. So flat and vast is scene before me that the sky and the horizon blend together in an orange, gold, and yellow melody, making a distinction between the two impossible. The landscape is so magnificent and uninhabited that it feels as though we are at the end of the Earth, a place where life dares not to roam, and that the Earth is indeed flat. The melting of Sand into Sun off into the distance looks so pure and natural that nothing should exist beyond it....
My nights were spent sleeping on the roof tops of the encampements. I have not noticed the full range of the Moon in a long time. When we were at the Festival-au-Desert a week before Dogon, it was a New Moon and the stars were spectacular at night. Over the course of our week in Dogon I saw the moon go from half to full. As I witnessed its ability to light up the escarpment around me, the villages below me, and the Sahara beyond me, I was taken aback with regret for never noticing this at home in the city. It made me realize how important the Moon was, and still is, to communities and civilizations without electricity...
Of course, the trip was not perfect and our guide wound up being a drunk, a problem that increased as the days added up, culmenating in a near showdown in Sangha on the last day. Our guide, who was wasted at 11am, was arguing about money that wasn't rightfully his. Thankfully, Matt and his peacefulness - the ying to my too prideful yang - allowed cooler heads to prevail and we got back to Mopti without a scratch. On our arrival the tour operator was so apologetic that he refunded some of our money and promised to blacklist the guide. Although I know he will be used again in Dogon by other tour companies (his name is Seg), if he loses one job a month, I will be happy...
On a lighter note, we head to Ougadougou tomorrow (pronounced 'WAH-gah-DOO-goo', and the second best name of the trip so far, behind Djigibuimbou, pronounced 'Jiggy-BOOM-boo', a city in Dogon Country). After one night there we will head to Niamey, Niger, to walk with the only giraffes left in West Africa. After that we head to Benin where we hope to stay with José (from the pinasse trip and the Festival), he is there working with the Peace Corps. Benin will bring us to the Ocean, where we will forget about our struggles in the desert and laze in hammocks, drinking cold beers and reading good books.
One of my most memorable moments from the trip occured the third day as we hiked along the top of the escarpment early in the morning. The escarpment is about 400m high, with a vertical cliff face that runs at nearly 90 degrees to the Earth. The bottom of this escarpment marks the beginning of the Sahara Desert. Here is what I wrote in my journal asI walked along the edge of the escarpment that morning:
As I look out over the beginning of the Sahara - a landscape dotted with trees and scarred by sand dunes - the vast, flat surroundings stretch as far as the eye can see. The morning sky has set ablaze the World with colours of fire. So flat and vast is scene before me that the sky and the horizon blend together in an orange, gold, and yellow melody, making a distinction between the two impossible. The landscape is so magnificent and uninhabited that it feels as though we are at the end of the Earth, a place where life dares not to roam, and that the Earth is indeed flat. The melting of Sand into Sun off into the distance looks so pure and natural that nothing should exist beyond it....
My nights were spent sleeping on the roof tops of the encampements. I have not noticed the full range of the Moon in a long time. When we were at the Festival-au-Desert a week before Dogon, it was a New Moon and the stars were spectacular at night. Over the course of our week in Dogon I saw the moon go from half to full. As I witnessed its ability to light up the escarpment around me, the villages below me, and the Sahara beyond me, I was taken aback with regret for never noticing this at home in the city. It made me realize how important the Moon was, and still is, to communities and civilizations without electricity...
Of course, the trip was not perfect and our guide wound up being a drunk, a problem that increased as the days added up, culmenating in a near showdown in Sangha on the last day. Our guide, who was wasted at 11am, was arguing about money that wasn't rightfully his. Thankfully, Matt and his peacefulness - the ying to my too prideful yang - allowed cooler heads to prevail and we got back to Mopti without a scratch. On our arrival the tour operator was so apologetic that he refunded some of our money and promised to blacklist the guide. Although I know he will be used again in Dogon by other tour companies (his name is Seg), if he loses one job a month, I will be happy...
On a lighter note, we head to Ougadougou tomorrow (pronounced 'WAH-gah-DOO-goo', and the second best name of the trip so far, behind Djigibuimbou, pronounced 'Jiggy-BOOM-boo', a city in Dogon Country). After one night there we will head to Niamey, Niger, to walk with the only giraffes left in West Africa. After that we head to Benin where we hope to stay with José (from the pinasse trip and the Festival), he is there working with the Peace Corps. Benin will bring us to the Ocean, where we will forget about our struggles in the desert and laze in hammocks, drinking cold beers and reading good books.
Monday, January 14, 2008
Pinasse fever and the Festival
So I hear that those of you who read the Globe know about the Festival that occured in the desert this past weekend. The festival was amazing, but getting there was interesting in itself....
We decided to take a public pinasse because it was cheap due to the fact it takes a lot of cargo along the river. However, the captain had over-packed the pinasse and therefore we could not move when the wind was bad. As a result, a two day tripped turned into four, and we were not even close to Timbuktu, so ten of us jumped ship when it docked and piled into the back of a pick-up for a two and a half hour ride into the desert. Of course that is not the best part - the food was rice covered in fish gravy, and if we were lucky, a fish head. It was not bad the first few times we ate it, but by the fourth day of eating it three times a day I was ready to throw up. Of course, the rice sacks we slept on for three nights also did not help the comfort level. Despite all that (and the cockroaches we shared the boat and our food with) I am glad we did it. First, we met several people that we wound up spending most of our time at the festival with: a special note goes out to Jose who is Mexican by birth, American by education and now works in the Peace Corps in Benin. We plan on staying with him when we go through Benin in one month's time. Second, we read aloud "The Little Prince" to one another on our first afternoon, something that stirred nostalgic emotions (I haven't read aloud since high school). Third, the sunsets along the Niger were amazing. Lastly, it was an authentic experience that is unrivalled up to this point.
The festival itself was also tricky to set-up, but well worth the hassles. Although we had our own tents we were going to be charged to have someone watch them (pay us our get robbed), so we wound up renting a tent from a Toureg encampment that was less than the security costs (about $5/night). The encampment was incredibly safe and the people were gentle, even offering to cook us food.
At night we danced to numerous types of music, from a GErman accordian player to the most popular West African reggae group. The most memorable moment occurred on Friday night when the tambourines we brought along created a dance circle of 25 Malians and 5 foreigners. Of course everyone within the circle was colourblind, concerned only with having a good time. We were later told that we 'brought the party', no small feat for two Canadian boys in Africa. It was extremely exhausting however, and the next night was anti-climatic as the music and dancing did not have the same heart.
Of course, there were problems with the festival. First is the amount of in-your-face selling that occurs. Some of the sellers came right into our tent trying to sell us music or jewellery, and they are not always easy to get rid of. They seem to use the Western politeness as a way to push sales, and eventually one must be rude (ignore them completely or get ignorant verbally) in order to get rid of the seller. After three days of this constant invasion of privacy I was ready to punch someone out. This constant harrassement continues in the tourist areas, such as Mopti, with children walking up to you with their hand out asking for "un cadeau" (a gift). All the literature you read tells you not to succumb to this begging as it wreaks havoc on the communities because children are becoming professional beggars and avoiding school since they see no value in it compared to what the white people give them. Despite the warnings, I invariably see older people handing out toys and candy to children. This only creates more begging and more aggressive children. This has been the one sore point on the trip so far, and I am excited to get to less touristic areas so that the children will greet us as they did in Bamako, with a smile and a handshake (while shouting "Chu-bob-boo").
Although many of the children approach like this, not all of them do. Yesterday as we were on the ferry crossing the Niger (after the pinasse adventure we sprung for a ride back in a 4x4), a little girl came up to me as I was writing in my journal and wrote her name, age and 'enchante' (nice to meet you). She then began reciting the alphabet in my journal and I was nearly moved to tears with the hope and love I felt at that moment. This little girl, Djiena Bou Maiga aged 6, was the first genuine interaction I had had with a child in Africa in nearly a week, and it restored my faith in children.
Although I did not take many pictures at the festival, there is one image I would like to recollect here. On the Friday evening there was a display of camel racing (there were camels everywhere at the festival, it is the favoured mode of transportation among the desert people) by many of the Touregs. One rider in particular caught my eye and ingrained his image in my brain. He was on a white camel with a torquoise robe on, and as he rode over the white sand with the sunset behind him - his robe being taken by the wind behind him, thus resembling a cape on a super hero in flight - he raised his whip up into the air, and from my vantage point it looked like he was yielding a sword and riding into battle. It was very majestical, medieval, and Arabian nights all rolled into one.
Well, I guess that is good for now, although I have many other thoughts I must get my rest. We get up at 6am tomorrow morning to head into Dogon Country (try wikipedia-ing that) for six nights.
I am sorry to hear about my Colts, but Favre is going back to the dance.
We decided to take a public pinasse because it was cheap due to the fact it takes a lot of cargo along the river. However, the captain had over-packed the pinasse and therefore we could not move when the wind was bad. As a result, a two day tripped turned into four, and we were not even close to Timbuktu, so ten of us jumped ship when it docked and piled into the back of a pick-up for a two and a half hour ride into the desert. Of course that is not the best part - the food was rice covered in fish gravy, and if we were lucky, a fish head. It was not bad the first few times we ate it, but by the fourth day of eating it three times a day I was ready to throw up. Of course, the rice sacks we slept on for three nights also did not help the comfort level. Despite all that (and the cockroaches we shared the boat and our food with) I am glad we did it. First, we met several people that we wound up spending most of our time at the festival with: a special note goes out to Jose who is Mexican by birth, American by education and now works in the Peace Corps in Benin. We plan on staying with him when we go through Benin in one month's time. Second, we read aloud "The Little Prince" to one another on our first afternoon, something that stirred nostalgic emotions (I haven't read aloud since high school). Third, the sunsets along the Niger were amazing. Lastly, it was an authentic experience that is unrivalled up to this point.
The festival itself was also tricky to set-up, but well worth the hassles. Although we had our own tents we were going to be charged to have someone watch them (pay us our get robbed), so we wound up renting a tent from a Toureg encampment that was less than the security costs (about $5/night). The encampment was incredibly safe and the people were gentle, even offering to cook us food.
At night we danced to numerous types of music, from a GErman accordian player to the most popular West African reggae group. The most memorable moment occurred on Friday night when the tambourines we brought along created a dance circle of 25 Malians and 5 foreigners. Of course everyone within the circle was colourblind, concerned only with having a good time. We were later told that we 'brought the party', no small feat for two Canadian boys in Africa. It was extremely exhausting however, and the next night was anti-climatic as the music and dancing did not have the same heart.
Of course, there were problems with the festival. First is the amount of in-your-face selling that occurs. Some of the sellers came right into our tent trying to sell us music or jewellery, and they are not always easy to get rid of. They seem to use the Western politeness as a way to push sales, and eventually one must be rude (ignore them completely or get ignorant verbally) in order to get rid of the seller. After three days of this constant invasion of privacy I was ready to punch someone out. This constant harrassement continues in the tourist areas, such as Mopti, with children walking up to you with their hand out asking for "un cadeau" (a gift). All the literature you read tells you not to succumb to this begging as it wreaks havoc on the communities because children are becoming professional beggars and avoiding school since they see no value in it compared to what the white people give them. Despite the warnings, I invariably see older people handing out toys and candy to children. This only creates more begging and more aggressive children. This has been the one sore point on the trip so far, and I am excited to get to less touristic areas so that the children will greet us as they did in Bamako, with a smile and a handshake (while shouting "Chu-bob-boo").
Although many of the children approach like this, not all of them do. Yesterday as we were on the ferry crossing the Niger (after the pinasse adventure we sprung for a ride back in a 4x4), a little girl came up to me as I was writing in my journal and wrote her name, age and 'enchante' (nice to meet you). She then began reciting the alphabet in my journal and I was nearly moved to tears with the hope and love I felt at that moment. This little girl, Djiena Bou Maiga aged 6, was the first genuine interaction I had had with a child in Africa in nearly a week, and it restored my faith in children.
Although I did not take many pictures at the festival, there is one image I would like to recollect here. On the Friday evening there was a display of camel racing (there were camels everywhere at the festival, it is the favoured mode of transportation among the desert people) by many of the Touregs. One rider in particular caught my eye and ingrained his image in my brain. He was on a white camel with a torquoise robe on, and as he rode over the white sand with the sunset behind him - his robe being taken by the wind behind him, thus resembling a cape on a super hero in flight - he raised his whip up into the air, and from my vantage point it looked like he was yielding a sword and riding into battle. It was very majestical, medieval, and Arabian nights all rolled into one.
Well, I guess that is good for now, although I have many other thoughts I must get my rest. We get up at 6am tomorrow morning to head into Dogon Country (try wikipedia-ing that) for six nights.
I am sorry to hear about my Colts, but Favre is going back to the dance.
Saturday, January 5, 2008
A Few Days In
Our host in Mopti, a Danish man named Willem, was incredible. He has a house in a small village 15km outside Mopti, where his adopted son and his son's family live. Willem helps villages create sustainable gardening projects so that they may become self-sufficient. On Friday and Saturday nights he has children and their parents form all around the village and as far as Mopti (no small feat considering the lack of personal automobiles here) for movies that he shows via a projector and a wall on his house that he has painted white. We experienced this last night after our trip to Djené and it was truly amazing and inspiring to see what his man was doing for the people around his village.
While staying at Willem's place we slept in our tents on his roof. The one thing I am missing from home right now is a mattress, as I did not bring a thermarest air mattress (big mistake), and we will be tenting for the next two weeks or so as we head up to Timbuktu on a boat for three days (both ways), and then spend four or five nights in the desert.
The distance between Willem's house and Mopti made for an interesting trip one morning, as we rode in on a young boy's donkey cart for part of the way, and then we jumped in the back of a dumptruck with a bunch of teenaged boys heading to school. Although a worthy experience, it took a long time, so we rented bikes to get into town after that.
The aforementioned trip to Djené was said to be two hours, but with ten people packed into a 1970's station wagon designed for seven it did not move at top speed. Add in the fact it broke down, and the 4 hour trip felt more like 6. However, the town of Djené is like something out of a Star Wars movie, with everything constructed out of a mud mixture that is baked by the sun into rock-solid two-storey houses. In the center of the town is a mud mosque that is the pinnacle of mud-engineering.
On the ride back from Djené we were packed into a cargo van that showed us a harsh reality of African life. In the van was a young man (16 or 17), along with his father, who was in tremendous abdominal pain. Unfortunately the nearest real hospital was in Mopti, so this cargo van that, that at times was carrying over 22 people, also doubled as an ambulance - only without a single amenity that we would attribute to an ambulance. I do not believe anybody cries wolf in Africa, as the ride was miserable for me and I had water and music. I cannot imagine how the trip was for the boy and his father.
Tonight we sleeep on the roof of a hostel along the Niger, and then tomorrow we head to Timbuktu. on a pinasse, or local boat that will be packed for three days and two nights. Should be an experience.
We also met a teenaged boy, Osoan, who helped us immensely one day in Mopti. He helped us find camping gas, baragained on our behalf for ammenities and food, and gave us tips for travelling to Djené. We tipped him 5000CFI (about ten bucks), for which he was truly grateful. We say him in town again today and he joked and played with us briefly, telling us he is going to Timbuktu on the same boat as us to see his mother, whom he wants us to meet. Travelling always seems to work out like that, with pieces falling into place right when they should.
Go Habs.
While staying at Willem's place we slept in our tents on his roof. The one thing I am missing from home right now is a mattress, as I did not bring a thermarest air mattress (big mistake), and we will be tenting for the next two weeks or so as we head up to Timbuktu on a boat for three days (both ways), and then spend four or five nights in the desert.
The distance between Willem's house and Mopti made for an interesting trip one morning, as we rode in on a young boy's donkey cart for part of the way, and then we jumped in the back of a dumptruck with a bunch of teenaged boys heading to school. Although a worthy experience, it took a long time, so we rented bikes to get into town after that.
The aforementioned trip to Djené was said to be two hours, but with ten people packed into a 1970's station wagon designed for seven it did not move at top speed. Add in the fact it broke down, and the 4 hour trip felt more like 6. However, the town of Djené is like something out of a Star Wars movie, with everything constructed out of a mud mixture that is baked by the sun into rock-solid two-storey houses. In the center of the town is a mud mosque that is the pinnacle of mud-engineering.
On the ride back from Djené we were packed into a cargo van that showed us a harsh reality of African life. In the van was a young man (16 or 17), along with his father, who was in tremendous abdominal pain. Unfortunately the nearest real hospital was in Mopti, so this cargo van that, that at times was carrying over 22 people, also doubled as an ambulance - only without a single amenity that we would attribute to an ambulance. I do not believe anybody cries wolf in Africa, as the ride was miserable for me and I had water and music. I cannot imagine how the trip was for the boy and his father.
Tonight we sleeep on the roof of a hostel along the Niger, and then tomorrow we head to Timbuktu. on a pinasse, or local boat that will be packed for three days and two nights. Should be an experience.
We also met a teenaged boy, Osoan, who helped us immensely one day in Mopti. He helped us find camping gas, baragained on our behalf for ammenities and food, and gave us tips for travelling to Djené. We tipped him 5000CFI (about ten bucks), for which he was truly grateful. We say him in town again today and he joked and played with us briefly, telling us he is going to Timbuktu on the same boat as us to see his mother, whom he wants us to meet. Travelling always seems to work out like that, with pieces falling into place right when they should.
Go Habs.
Tuesday, January 1, 2008
First Impressions of Africa
Bon Annee, or Happy New Years to everyone
Our arrival in Casablanca on the 29th was easy, but as we (my brother Matt and his girlfriend Heather) went to get on the train to take us into Casablanca I realized how far from home I was. The station was poorly lit and everyone was in the traditional Muslim dress. I could not help but notice that every set of eyes were focused our way, and this was a little unsettling at first. I did not feel comfortable until we got to the next train station, where there were kids running around, laughing and playing, and genuinely excited to see us. Immediately I felt at ease as we not only smiled with the children, but also with their parents. The ability for children to make one feel at ease is a remarkable power that seems to be constant throughout the world...
Our destination in Casablanca was the Hassan II Mosque (www.mosquehassan2.com). This religious building is stunning and the meticulous detail found throughout it is awe-inspiring. It provided a final realization that I was no where near home as I was again surrounded by the Muslim world. Despite what CNN and the Bush Admistration would have us believe, people of the Muslim faith are incredibly welcoming and always willing to help...
While walking around the outside of the Mosque I found myself looking out at the Atlantic Ocean from the shores of Africa, where I realized that no matter where in the World we may find ourselves, the warm feel of the sun on our necks, the refreshing blow of the wind at our backs, and the way waves break and crash into land are Universal, just as humans are the same through and through...
After only a few hours in Casablanca we made our way back to the airport to catch our connecting flight to Bamako, Mali. As we arrived in Bamako at 3am on the 30th we were swarmed by taxi drivers before we even got to our bags. Despite the aggressiveness, the man who helped us, Ismail, was genuinely friendly and honest. When I awoke the next afternoon I was met with 30 degrees of heat and red dirt that I feel will become a symbol of Africa for me long after I leave. Along with an Irish guy named Keith, who is staying at the same house as us, I went to the Grande Marche. In order to get there we jumped in on the public bus, a surprisingly effecient and effective mode of transportation. The market itself cannot be explained by words, so I will try to post pictures soon...
Last night was our New Years celebration. Matt, Heather, Keith; and I went to a local club called Le Hogon, where we had dinner and watched several live acts of traditional African music while bringing in the New Year. It was a New Years I will not soon forget...
Tomorrow the four of us (Keith is headed for the Festival au Desert as well) head for Mopti where we will sleep on the roof of a Danish man's house who we met on www.couchsurfers.com before floating up the Niger to Timbuktu for the three day festival www.festival-au-desert.org...
Enjoy the snow.
Our arrival in Casablanca on the 29th was easy, but as we (my brother Matt and his girlfriend Heather) went to get on the train to take us into Casablanca I realized how far from home I was. The station was poorly lit and everyone was in the traditional Muslim dress. I could not help but notice that every set of eyes were focused our way, and this was a little unsettling at first. I did not feel comfortable until we got to the next train station, where there were kids running around, laughing and playing, and genuinely excited to see us. Immediately I felt at ease as we not only smiled with the children, but also with their parents. The ability for children to make one feel at ease is a remarkable power that seems to be constant throughout the world...
Our destination in Casablanca was the Hassan II Mosque (www.mosquehassan2.com). This religious building is stunning and the meticulous detail found throughout it is awe-inspiring. It provided a final realization that I was no where near home as I was again surrounded by the Muslim world. Despite what CNN and the Bush Admistration would have us believe, people of the Muslim faith are incredibly welcoming and always willing to help...
While walking around the outside of the Mosque I found myself looking out at the Atlantic Ocean from the shores of Africa, where I realized that no matter where in the World we may find ourselves, the warm feel of the sun on our necks, the refreshing blow of the wind at our backs, and the way waves break and crash into land are Universal, just as humans are the same through and through...
After only a few hours in Casablanca we made our way back to the airport to catch our connecting flight to Bamako, Mali. As we arrived in Bamako at 3am on the 30th we were swarmed by taxi drivers before we even got to our bags. Despite the aggressiveness, the man who helped us, Ismail, was genuinely friendly and honest. When I awoke the next afternoon I was met with 30 degrees of heat and red dirt that I feel will become a symbol of Africa for me long after I leave. Along with an Irish guy named Keith, who is staying at the same house as us, I went to the Grande Marche. In order to get there we jumped in on the public bus, a surprisingly effecient and effective mode of transportation. The market itself cannot be explained by words, so I will try to post pictures soon...
Last night was our New Years celebration. Matt, Heather, Keith; and I went to a local club called Le Hogon, where we had dinner and watched several live acts of traditional African music while bringing in the New Year. It was a New Years I will not soon forget...
Tomorrow the four of us (Keith is headed for the Festival au Desert as well) head for Mopti where we will sleep on the roof of a Danish man's house who we met on www.couchsurfers.com before floating up the Niger to Timbuktu for the three day festival www.festival-au-desert.org...
Enjoy the snow.
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