Nomad's Pub

Around-About in Marsabit, Kenya

posted by Lada @ 10:50 AM 1 comments

Kenya at Last...

I've arrived!!! Just thought I'd let you know that! And here's something I wrote out a few days ago about the trip getting to Nairobi...
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28 March 2007
After a long, 12 hour turned 13 ½ hour bus ride from Kampala, Uganda; we arrived weary but happy in Nairobi, Kenya yesterday evening. So far we have not seen much of the city because it was quite dark by the time we pulled in…but what we have seen? Wow. This city appears to be significantly more built up than Bratislava and constantly references itself to London. Marble Arch? Windsor House?

Our stay here in Nairobi, apparently, was originally going to be a whole week; however, plans have been bumped up and so either this Thursday or Friday I and my three traveling companions will be flying north to Marsabit. We are told that to drive the distance would be too dangerous and take two days instead of the two hours by plane.

Now Nairobi lies at our disposal, a rather exciting thought. Our mornings are planned but afternoons are free. Touring, eating, and swimming are high on our list at this point…

As for the bus ride in getting here, now that was an experience, sure! But not at all what we expected. (Should that really surprise us, though?) At 6:00 yesterday morning, we were picked up by a perfect stranger at the guest house we live at in Kampala, who tossed our three bags into the back of the truck and told us to climb in. Off we drove through the dawn until we reached the bus service we would be taking to get to Nairobi—AKAMBA Bus Service. The man gave us our tickets, handed down our luggage to us, muttered something undecipherable, and drove off, leaving the four of us women standing at the wayside quite dazed. We had no idea what we ought to do next.

It was not quite half light out yet, and there we stood in front of a gate with our luggage, staring at his taillights. Was this a bus stop? Would we have to flag down the bus? Were the gates going to open and we supposed to go through them?

As it turned out, the door in the gates opened and other people standing there with us moved to pass through it, so we joined in. A guard stood just inside the door with a detector he scanned us all with as we walked through. Please note though, as we did with wry laughter, that he allowed you to pass whether you caused the detector to beep or not.

Once inside, and seeing as we already had our tickets in hand and needed not to purchase them, we walked straight over to the buses. There were three of them, all looking exactly alike to us at the time, and all, of course, AKAMBA. Which one was ours?

We went over and asked one of the men standing around which bus was going to Nairobi. He looked at us askance and exclaimed that all of them were, of course! As that did not help us very much, we were then redirected to another man who took our tickets, stared at them and deliberated with another man over them while we nervously waited, and then sent us to the middle one.

After we got our luggage sorted out (an ordeal in itself), we boarded the bus and found our seats. Here the numbers are on the back of the seat. We had 5,6,7, & 8, which was quite nice, and I had the window. And there I noticed something interesting… the windows were not made to open. Hmm… You see, it was coming on 7:00 and we had no breakfast and no lunch. We were arranged to have dinner upon our arrival in Nairobi at 19:00, but Becky and I already placed bets as to just how late after that time we would actually arrive.

Usually, people selling food will come up to the windows and you can buy bananas (ndizi), g-nuts, chapatti, roasted goat, and water or soda from them and thus satisfy your hunger, but obviously… there would be none of that on this bus. So we sat down thinking so much for eating today!

And sitting down we noticed something else… these were really nice seats. Hugely spacious in the actual seat and the leg room—better than economy class airplane seats! Our faces mirrored each other’s surprise as we looked at one another. Here we had expected a rickety, squishy bus to travel on and found ourselves on this luxury bus instead! It was a first class ride… And do you know? Before we even left the parking lot, they came around and served us each two hot samosas and a full cup of passion fruit juice. So we breakfasted after all.

The ride to the border itself was quite uneventful, and at the border we discovered that we were on AKAMBA Royal, which is why we had the extra service. As the man sitting in front of us commented, this was considered the premier bus service to be found.

Border crossing was also relatively uneventful. We had been told nothing of what to expect aside from paying a 50 USD visa entry fee at the Kenyan side, so were not completely unapprehensive about it. But having gone through the Uganda-Rwanda border, we figured it would not be much different. Sure enough! Relatively the same thing, though we almost walked across the border without getting checked at first because we went the wrong direction. (whoops!) Everything went fine… Jess even exchanged a few Ugandan shillings into Kenyan shillings and Becky and I found our bus again after a nice good walk… (you disembark from the bus and walk across the border…and then you walked a long ways before you found where your bus parked!)

Now Kenya? That’s were the adventure really started. We have taken turns saying who is to blame for the misadventures we had (none terribly alarming), but all in good fun. We went through three police checks before 10 minutes had gone by, and after driving a while, dozed off. When we awoke next, we had arrived in some town and the conductor told everyone that we had 20 minutes. It was dinner time…

Out we stepped, to wander for the first time through a town in Kenya, free to test our Swahili (which we did) and get lost if we pleased (which we didn’t). We eventually saw an Italian Pizzeria place that made our eyes practically bulge out of our heads… and stepping inside I’m surprised with didn’t drown in for the sudden salivating that the smells brought upon us. Mmmm! So delicious! But with 15 minutes left, we definitely did not have time. So we bought to coke-a-colas and left without food. One pizza was more than all the shillings we had, anyways. Not expensive; we just hadn’t exchanged much.

Back on the bus, we snacked on lollipops and gum, and dozed off again on again for some time.

And then… then the bus began to have problems. It slowed down…and slowed down…and slowed down. And then it would shudder and give a tremendous jerk and then speed up again. This happened many times… and when we finally stopped around 16:30 for another rest stop, we waited an hour while they tried to find the problem and fix it. Which they thought they did, and so off we went again.

But after some time had gone and darkness had settled, we discovered that no… they had not fixed it, and we broke down on the side of the road. Apparently it had something to do with the plugs, as a man I asked explained. Some people eventually disembarked and we were wondering whether we would have to as well and however to make our way should it come to that. We had no contact numbers, no money at this point, little Swahili, and we did not even know where we were staying once we reached Nairobi. Words cannot suffice to explain how utterly helpless the four of us felt at that point in time.

After a good thirty minutes or so, they got the bus working… well, working enough so as to move, but we struggled to keep pace with a man walking along the roadside, and we definitely broke down a few more times after that.

However, we did eventually make it to Nairobi and only an hour and a half late at that. We reached the edge of the city at the time I had bet, and the bus stop 25 minutes before the time Becky bet. So we considered that a tie and congratulated each other.

Now here we are… the weather is quite cool feeling here so that we are quite chilled, and all of us terribly achy from the longest, bumpiest ride of our life. My foot was swollen like a balloon last night when I finally was able to look at it, so I have it wrapped today and on pain killers again and we shall see how it feels later. We have orientation later this morning, then lunch, and then who knows what. Exchanging money would probably be advisable.

posted by Lada @ 10:33 AM 2 comments

Thoughts...

So... this might be my last blog post in a long time; I don't know. I don't know if I'll get back to the internet before heading off to Kenya, and I don't know if I'll have internet available to me once I arrive in Kenya. So I leave you with some thoughts, whether they will have to last a long span of time or whether I will be back on here again soon. The following was written yesterday (Saturday)...

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In barely over a week from today, I will mark 10 years on my calendar since first leaving home. By home I do not mean my family, but rather the island of my birth; my childhood. I still find it almost bitterly hard to look back and remember; to relive the experience of tearing away from everything I ever knew and loved. Sitting here now, I wonder how it is possible to remember so acutely the smells or the particular patterns and rhythms made by the rain or the route I took to get to school. To remember the faces and names of friends who once made up my world, and most of whom I have never since seen again.

Now far from the Caribbean, I find myself in Africa—quite away from my family and enjoying yet new friends. Today I sit on my bed in Uganda; in four days I will have moved over to Kenya for a month of work. What will I do exactly? I don’t know.

Now is the first time in weeks that I have had the opportunity to sit down and think about things; to consider and puzzle out and wonder over. The last three weeks since arriving back here again from Rwanda are weeks I would never choose to live again. To sit, to eat, to learn how to sleep again, to read quietly, and to enjoy the sunrise once more—even going out dancing—these are the pleasures which I suddenly find myself able to partake of and enjoy again at last.

In many ways I feel as though the bottom of my world fell through these last few weeks. My summer? Kaput. My rest? What’s that? My foot injured, a recurring sinus infection, upset stomach…my fingers raw and bleeding from some strange reaction, my academic plans changed, my housing plans unknown, my monetary situation unstable, friends out of touch, unreasonable professors, getting lost, and… I could make the list go on forever it seems.

There has been so much hurt and tears and fears; confusion, turmoil, helplessness…And no time to process or consider any of it. I don’t know and I don’t understand anything at all. My mind has had one recurring theme these last few weeks, playing over and again like a never ending refrain… let me run away, run far from here…I stop it only by wondering wherever would I run to?

And now it is done, over, finis. Last class, final exam, the end. No lectures again for the next five months; I can consider my school year completed. I have one year left in uni now. Praise God.

Now the time has come to pack once more. To choose which clothes to keep and which to leave; the suitcase does not have room for all; I must walk away with the same amount I came with. But I lived here, and living requires acquiring. And even if I can get my suitcase down to the same weight as when I first flew in; I myself will walk away—fly away—with so much more.

So very much more.

I have new sites and smells and patterns to remember; new noises to never forget. New faces and names to pull up some day and smile at from across the vast distances that will soon separate.

Looking out at the city below me now, I have only to close my eyes to know I will not forget.

When I close my eyes, suddenly I find myself down there in the city, wandering through its heart. I always know where I am going, but I seldom genuinely know how to get there. I set my way by marking buildings as landmarks and my position in relation to them. Street signs are relatively meaningless here.

The other day, walking through one of the city’s many markets. Here there is a market for everything, and every street is a high street it seems. I won’t forget—don’t want to forget—the markets. What it’s like to walk through their narrow, earthen pathways. You must always watch your feet for ruts or garbage; watch in front of you so not to walk into an overhang; watch beside you so not to be run down by man or motor; watch your back so not to be pick pocketed if you are a mzungo, and at the same time be pressed in on all sides by the masses of humanity down there with you, doing the same as you, and searching the shops and stands for what you may wish to buy.

Mzungo! You buy this—special price only 7000 shillings!

And you shake your head and move past, or if it captures your eye, perhaps you move over to barter him down. 7000? What! That is too much. Look, see how dirty? I will have to wash! I give you 2000. He looks at you askance. 2000? Do you see? Feel! Very nice feel! 2000—hah! I give it to you for 6000. Special for you since you have to wash. You look at him and examine the cloth, then shake your head and prepare to move away. No, 6000—still too much! You say. Make it for 5000 and I buy it. No more. You stare at each other and then you move to walk away again and he says Okay okay! 5000. And you move away victorious with your new purchase, delighting in your accomplishment.

You move through the shops, ducking under scarves and hanging clothes—the traditional styles and the skirts and shirts you might wear at night for clubbing. Chickens run at your feet and children wave shyly to you from behind their mothers’ skirts—their smiles lighting up their eyes and jumping to your own. In the tunnel of shops, the air feels cool and the smell of chapatti and the tempting displays of fried g-nuts make your stomach grumble and wonder at the time you lost track of long ago. Here, time is practically irrelevant; it is not minutes, but moments which define life.

Into the brilliant sunshine you suddenly emerge, blinking your eyes a little and standing in the middle of the taxi park—a lot filled to capacity and beyond with hundreds of vans that follow particular routes throughout the city. Everywhere you look—people and vans, people and vans, with the horizon of shops beyond, and the minaret of the mosque rising up beyond that. Children shouting, drivers calling out, engines starting—stopping. Vendors peering in the windows of the matatu’s, selling their wares stuck on cardboard boxes or inside hand woven baskets. You walk through the maze of moving traffic and parked vans—never entirely sure which are moving and which are not—and find the one you want; sit down and wait until it fills up then off you go. Hurry up and wait…

At night in the room, lying on your bed under the sheltering canopy of the mosquito net; you fall asleep to the rain falling pitter patter on the tin roof above, listening to the torrents of water washing past your door down the hill.

There are times I find myself wondering what it will be like, to go and rejoin the Western world; walk in Western cities once more. Will I miss the kissing noises made by the men in my direction, the constant measuring of how long that man’s stare lingered (10 second max rule!) and what it implied? Heeeeyyyy, my girlfriend, how are you? Or other times, Mzungo—where is your husband? Will I miss the smiles of the street vendors—the street vendors themselves, and how they come up to you and make you an offer and won’t always go away? Will I step out into a two or four lane street of moving traffic to make my way across in the middle of the road, forgetting that traffic lights are used and rules of the road rigidly applied and followed? Will I try to barter in the potraviny? Will I shove my money in my shoe, too?

I love the ownership I feel over this city now; not as someone who possess property; but as someone who has become intimately familiar with its streets and the people who walk them every day. To get where I want from any direction even when I have never gone that way before; to know the insides of houses in the city, or where to find the best deals and cheapest ice cream. I love knowing what makes a good price and how to get it if I want; love playing piano at the cathedral overlooking the city; love grabbing a drink at the canteen on campus; even being able to say that I am a Makerere University student. There is something about a feeling of belonging which increases the love in me.

And this belongingness; it is not limited to me alone, to me extending ownership. It is in being owned in return. Any time you face strangers and strange places, you can stand in confidence because you know that somewhere, someone loves you. Claims you. That you are not entirely adrift in the world regardless of all appearances. When people can tease you, take you out dancing with them to their favourite club, play tricks on you, pray for you, and pick you up and carry you around in celebration with you for things… these are the signs of belonging. These are the ties which bind you; which endear a place and people to you.

And these are the things which I find myself enjoying now, and wouldn’t trade for anything, and which I have only to think about leaving and already find myself missing.

posted by Lada @ 5:01 AM 1 comments

Look out Kenya!!

I'll be there this coming Tuesday to start work!!!

posted by Lada @ 5:49 AM 1 comments

Hey--the Internet is letting me upload fotos!!!

Here is a picture post at last!!

Rwanda: such a beautiful baby girl!

Rwanda: I did something that 10,000 people never got to do. I crouched down and took this picture, then walked away. They fell here in this grass and they never walked out.



















Rwanda: climbing Bat Island in Lake Kivu--between Rwanda and the Democratic Republic of the Congo.



















Rwanda: Me playing ball with some boys outside of a memorial site where a church was buldozed...




















Uganda: Me last weekend in Jinja--the Source of the Nile

posted by Lada @ 4:35 AM 1 comments

Ski Lift, Anyone?

Since returning from Rwanda, life has had all of us running frantically to keep up pace. We have too much we must do to balance with all that we want to do. That being the case, I had not managed to venture back into the city since getting back here. My time has been divided between the Makerere University campus, the office, and my room. Very thrilling…

So Monday I decided enough was enough, and rallying my fellow student Stef, went out to the city. Our destination: Café Pap. This, if I may say, is a chic little internet café with delicious food and, well, the internet. Here you can actually buy such novelties as a BLT or Club sandwich, chocolate cake and ice-cream, and even a coffee, chocolate, or fresh fruit shake! All that to say… very nice place.

Well, it being the beginning of February since I last went, I was not 100% sure just how to get there. I knew were it was, but… As it happened, we took two wrong turns and so did a bit of exploring some of the rougher parts of the city before discovering where we were in relation to where we were going. It added, oh, about an half hour extra to our trek. Oh yes… and of course, along the way perhaps the most memorable incident was a man crying out “Babe—your prince charming is here!” and gesturing fondly to himself as he smiled oh so broadly at us.

I suppose such a wandering adventure should be adventure enough for a day, but what can I say? (“Maybe it’s the music…” “Maybe it isn’t only the music…”)

Walking back, it was easy to find our way. Sight the mosque and use it as the north star. No problems there.

But if I may say, the streets of Kampala are less then pristine, and more than being less than pristine, they are less then even. And sidewalks? Who ever heard of such a thing! Occasionally there is a strip of incredibly rutted dirt running next to the road on which you may walk; and occasionally there is an actual sidewalk of concrete with spaces not covered by the many vendors and racks of clothing. Moreover, there are hoards of people everywhere all pushing and shoving and maneuvering through each other.

When we got to this one particular part beside the Old Taxi Park (which is in itself a whole story!), it happened.

I fell.

I really have no clue how I fell or what happened at all. I just remember picking myself up and finding my hands bruised and filthy, my trousers quite red with the dirt, and my right foot hurting like mad. I sat down before getting all the way up to inspect my foot and make sure it was not broken. Everyone around was calling out “Sorry, sorry, sorry!” to me, and one man even offered to clean me up (which was kindly turned down).

We began to walk again, and Stef suggested maybe we should take a matatu or call a private hire, but… I didn’t want to spend the money, and more than that—people walk around Kampala all the time; people with injuries or obviously hungry and otherwise hurting. And what would I be saying if, having taken a tumble in public, promptly called a car to pick me up and take me off? The mzungu falls so she calls a car. Huh. No, some things I just cannot justify to myself, and that belonged among them.

So we walked. It was a long walk; uphill; under the burning, early afternoon sun—about 40ish minutes, maybe? I don’t know. But it was painful.

When I got back to my room, I collapsed on my bed, then finally moved and peeled off my shoe. Oh oh. I think the shoe’s structure was the only thing that enabled me to walk that whole way, because as soon as I tried to stand barefooted, I discovered I couldn’t put the slightest bit of weight on my foot. And I tried! Moved around my room and did some things before admitting that this was more than my usual foot pains.

I got some of the girls down the hall from me, and they took one look at my foot and said I needed to go to the doctor. No no no!

But I did.

They came and got me… carried me downstairs and out to the vehicle. I don’t know what it is—a land rover, maybe? Drove me to The Surgery (a clinic) and carried me into the emergency room. No one was too happy about my having walked that whole way back…

Well, it’s not broken and it’s not amputated. But it’s not very usable right now. The doctor didn’t have much to say, just something about the arch, a joint, and a ligament—and no marathon running for a while! He gave me some painkillers and would have sent me off just like that except his nurse (holding gauze and hooks) said, “We no wrapping it Sir?” to which he replied, “Ah, yes, brilliant idea!” and so she wrapped it to my relief.

Carried back out, driven back home, carried back to bed… missed classes all day yesterday and finally was able to put a bit of weight on it today but not much. It will be a while before I’m walking very far at this point. But it improves.

Walking back that day, before falling down at the taxi park, I had just been saying it would be so nice to have a zip line attached from the hill we live on to the centre of the city. Or maybe a ski lift or so… But now; now I am convinced of the virtue of that idea…

posted by Lada @ 12:47 PM 2 comments

Countdowns, Tear Gas, & Theatres...

It is hard to believe that I have been back in Kampala for practically a full week tomorrow. Just a week ago I was in Rwanda. Now I have only just over two weeks left in Uganda. Although counting down the days here is not an intention, it is inevitable.

1 week left until my Economics research paper (25 pages!) is due.

2 weeks left until the final exam and the end of both this class and my literature class.

Then I have a few days break and then ship off to Kenya.

In fact, that break may be itself spent in Kenya if my companions and I can figure a way to the Indian Ocean for a few days... Wouldn't that be lovely? We shall see...

After Kenya, we will only be back here for around three days before heading off to our respective homes; I back to Europe, and the others back to the USA and other countries in Africa.

So as I said, the countdown is inevitable.

And how do I feel about all of this? I couldn't say...

Right now in Kampala, it is a time of "unrest." We were advised to avoid certain parts of the city for fear of rioting after permission to protest was denied... and indeed, there has been a lot of tear gas floating around the city these days.

Last night I went to the National Theatre. For those of you who don't know, yesterday was International Women's Day--a celebrated holiday here in Uganda. The performance last night revolved around just such a theme ("that unique human species called woman"). We laughed a lot. At one point, a stand up comedian said,

"Women are very emotional creatures. When they are sad, they cry. When they are
happy, they cry. They seem to have this emotional thing inside them
always--it must be tear gas!"

And of course, we all roared with appreciation; partly because women are indeed more emotional creatures than not, but partly also because of the abundance of actual tear gas in the city these days. TIA, as they say. This is Africa.

And I know that I will, inevitably, miss it, and that I have learned very much from it and the people here whom I have come to know and with whom I have interacted.

posted by Lada @ 4:28 AM 1 comments

On Genocide...

Here is a video I made on the Rwandan genocide for my group's 2 hour presentation.

posted by Lada @ 6:14 AM 1 comments

Back Again...

Well, we have arrived back in Uganda and it is good to be back. Quite a homecoming... And the bus ride? Well, we left our house in Kigali, Rwanda, at 5:00... left Kigali by public bus at 6:00, and arrived in Kampala, Uganda at 15:00 (16:00 Uganda time). That was one LONG trip. And to think the bus ride to Nairobi is going to be 12 hours!!! Aiyaiyai...

Here is an excerpt from you from the bulletin at the church I attended today...

The Lighter Side of Church Life

May our joy grow as Kampala's pot holes,
Our worries dissapear like UMEME,
And God's blessing flow to us like Bwaise floods.
But may our luck be as frequent as tear gas in the city.

Yes, I definitely chuckled at that... Hope you do, too.

posted by Lada @ 9:39 AM 0 comments