#7 - Tanzania, Kenya & Uganda
"What, then, is a traveling mind-set?Receptivity might be said to be its chief characteristic. Receptive, we approach new places with humility. We carry with us no rigid ideas about what is or is not interesting. We irritate locals because we stand in traffic islands and narrow streets and admire what they take to be unremarkable small details. We risk getting run over because we are intrigued by the roof of a government building or an inscription on a wall. We find a supermarket or a hairdresser''s shop unusually fascinating. We dwell at length on the layout of a menu or the clothes of the presenters on the evening news. We are alive to the layers of history beneath the present and take notes and photographs. Home, by contrast, finds us more settled in our expectations. We feel assured that we have discovered everything interesting about our neighborhood, primarily by virtue of our having lived there a long time. It seems inconceivable that there could be anything new to find in a place where we have been living for a decade or more. We have become habituated and therefore blind to it." --Alain de Botton, The Art of Travel (2002)
“We leave for the summit at midnight” declared Bongo.
I nodded and told him I would be ready.
I felt a twinge of nervousness. Hours earlier I was suffering from a severe headache, nausea, exhaustion, and dizziness, all signs of Acute Mountain Sickness (AMS). I had chugged 1-½ liters of water to re-hydrate and took a 3-hour nap. It seemed to do the trick. I was feeling much stronger. Nevertheless, it was enough to question my own physical state to climb another 1700 meters skyward.
Ema and I were sitting in the yellow and gray Mountain Hardware expedition tent on a rocky ridge high up on Mt Kilimanjaro as the temperature hovered around freezing. Four days into the Machame route, we sat at
4600 meters above sea level at Barafu Camp. We had been blasted with 4 days of freezing rain, cloudy skies, muddy paths and few Kodak moments.
Mt Kilimanjaro, the highest point in Africa and the largest mountain in the world (base to summit) is one of Africa’s greatest treks. Organizing the trip on Wednesday from Moshi, we set off the following day, in a 4 wheel drive truck climbing up a narrow, bumpy dirt road dotted with banana groves to the park entrance gate. Stepping out of the Land Rover, the air was chilly and damp as the mist covered the roof of the rainforest. After registering with the national park’s office we set out on
the ‘Whiskey Route’. Slipping and stumbling through ankle deep mud, we hiked past lush vegetation drenched from heavy rainfalls as birds chirped and Black and White Colobus monkeys screeched in the tall moss, covered trees. Climbing to Machame Camp over a gradual incline of 18 km, we crashed for the night.
Waking up at 6:30 am on Friday, we were teased with a few short glimpses of Kili before the cloud coverage hid her completely. The terrain became steeper and path narrower as we climbed another 850m vertical up and out of the forest and into the Moorland zone. As we neared Shira
Camp, a group of 5 hikers were descending. Turned back by severe winds and AMS, they were visually frustrated from having been rejected by the mountain. Although 1000’s of people every year attempt to reach Uhruru Peak, it has not made the going any easier. Only roughly 60% make it to the summit. In the last year alone, 8 people died while summiting. To make it to the summit, you need more then good hiking experience.
First and foremost, you need to properly acclimatize to the elevation. At altitudes above 2500 m, the amount of oxygen in the atmosphere decreases leaving hikers with less oxygen in their muscles and brain as they climb. The higher you ascend, the harder your heart and lungs have to work. In order to minimize the effect of AMS, you must climb slowly, drink copious amounts of fluids and acclimatize by spending a few nights at slowly increased elevations before pushing to the summit. A determined mindset, a good guide and a bit of luck can’t be underestimated as
well.
I woke on the third morning, after a fitful night of sleep, and found myself stuck inside my tent. It took me a few minutes to unzip the zipper frozen shut from the previous nights freezing rain. The cold front had brought clear skies and we were rewarded with our first good view of the mountain, the Shira Plateau and Mt Meru, Kili’s shorter sister mountain, 100 km to the west. Packing and rolling, we set out from the ridge through a lunar-like landscape. It was only a little while
before the clouds returned, creating an eerie setting with volcanic rocks strewn about at random. After climbing to Lava Tower we dropped through an alpine meadow teeming with Giant Senecio bushes and Lobelia trees blooming with flowers. Like clockwork, as we arrived at Barranco Camp,
the heavens opened and unleashed another downpour that lasted through the night.
Waking on Sunday, we were granted picturesque sights as fresh powder covered the upper reaches of the mountain. Walking to the edge of the ridge you could look down at the puffy white clouds covering the rainforest 1000’s of meters below. Climbing up the Barranco wall as the morning’s clouds rolled in, we hiked through vast volcanic valleys barren except for large boulders, lichen and tiny plants. We pushed ourselves up the last steep incline before arriving at Barafu Camp in under 4 hours. An intense migraine, difficulty breathing and nausea weakened me as my body struggled to acclimatize. The altitude had taken its toll.
Waking up at 11pm, I lazily pulled myself out of my warm sleeping bag to prepare for the summit. I groggily put on a capilene shirt, thermal underwear, a go-light shirt, fleece, winter jacket, a pair of liner
socks, hiking socks, liner gloves, heavy gloves, leg gaiters, wool hat, neck gaiter and head lamp, I stepped out of the tent into the crisp mountain air. The outside temperature was a dry, frigid –5º C. I felt strong, my headache was gone and I was no longer nauseous. I looked up and noticed that the cloud coverage of the previous 4 days had disappeared and we were blessed with a clear, starry sky. Looking to the valley below, it was as if I was looking at a mirror image of the heavens above. Moshi glittered 3800 meters below. I stared at the beast of the mountain and took a deep breath.
Bongo was waiting patiently a few paces away.
I looked at my watch.
12:00 am
“Lets rock and roll!” My voice sounded more confident then I felt.
As far as mountain climbing goes, with the exception for the summit push, Kilimanjaro is not a difficult climb. The fact that it can be summited without the need of technical climbing gear or ropes is testament to this fact. As mentioned earlier, what makes it challenging is the
altitude. It is recommended to climb only 300 meters vertical per day above altitudes of 2500 meters. In comparison, the hike to Everest Base Camp (lower then Uhruru Peak) takes between 10 to 14 days. Climbing Kili, we would be summiting on our 5th day on the mountain. Even though I had been lugging my 22 kg framepack around Africa for the past 2 ½ months and done a considerable amount of hiking en route, spending 8 days in Zanzibar and partying at sea level with Krest and Konyagi (Tanzania’s god-awful attempt at gin) is not a great way to prepare for high altitude climbing. Far from it…..
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I arrived on the island of Unguja (Zanzibar Island) after 2 ½ days of traveling nonstop in buses, minibuses, share taxis and a 4-hour ferry. ‘Big Island’ in Swahili, Unguja is the largest island in the Zanzibar Archipelago, which is also home to Pemba, Mafia, and many smaller islands. Technically a separate State, the archipelago today is part of the United Republic of Tanzania after the declaration of unity with mainland Tanzania in 1964. For all intensive purposes, asides from your passport being stamped on arrival, you are in Tanzania. Your eyes, ears, and nose tell you differently. As far as they are concerned, you have left Sub-Saharan Africa and entered a different world.
The Spice Island has a turbulent yet fascinating history. Blessed with an ideal tropical climate, fertile land, and a strategic location in the western Indian Ocean it has been a major sea port for centuries. As early as the 12th century, trade was flourishing between the archipelago and the Persian Gulf although it wasn’t until the 16th century with the arrival of the Portuguese, that it came under European control. As Zanzibar’s importance as a hub for sea trade increased so too did gaining control of the island. In time, the Omani Arabs began to slowly wrest control of the archipelago, finally succeeding 3 centuries later. During the Sultans’ control over the islands, Zanzibar became the world’s largest producer of cloves and largest slaving entrepôt on the Eastern African coast. Finally, in 1963, the Sultans lost control and the archipelago became part of Tanzania.
Just as goods passed through the island’s ports, so did the world’s major religions. Over time, Muslims, Hindus, and Christians would leave their lasting influence on the island. One can only imagine the
spectacular blend of African, Arabic, Indian and European architecture, culture and cuisine.
Culture radiates at every turn as you wander through narrow cobblestone streets. The alleyways wind labyrinth-like through old Stone Town and are adorned with elaborately carved enormous wooden doorways. Paint peals off of the limestone walls of homes that are more then 2 centuries old. While many of the buildings in the Shangani district, located in the heart of Stone Town, have become severely dilapidated from water erosion, it adds a particular allure to the city. Life continues as it has for centuries. In the early morning, women in bui bui (veils) walk past, fishermen hurry to their dhows and old men sit drinking cups of strong Zanzibarian coffee and laugh as you wander about camera in hand, eyes wide with childlike wonder.
"A foreigner tends to see paradise where a native sees purgatory, insofar as a foreigner is in a privileged position and has more appreciative eyes, undimmed by familiarity." --Pico Iyer
I had been transported back to the days of the Sultans.
Making wrong turns and becoming hopelessly lost countless times made walking around the web of streets an adventure in itself, one that kept me busy for 2 full days. I would set out through the maze confident that I would make it back to my hotel. Right when I thought that I had found the street, I would spot a painting that captured my eye. After 30 minutes of heated bargaining, walking out of the store in disgust for his high price and eventually striking a deal with the store owner, I would be on my way again. The streets twist and turn and within minutes I would be completely lost. You set out once again arriving at some back street with no one around. A half dozen more alleyways and you round a bend to pop out at a main but familiar street not any closer to home. There were moments when, coming to a dead end, staring at my map in disbelief, I felt I was back in Venice. (During the summer of ’97, a poor
college student determined not to live at home, I found a job teaching English to Italian school children. I had been on the road for 3 weeks when a friend and I arrived into the famous Italian city. With our jobs not starting for another 4 days we were short on cash. Stuck without a cheap place to crash (that didn’t double as a brothel) we stored our packs at the train station, bought 2 bottles of cheap Italian wine and set out to explore the city by foot. becoming hopelessly lost, (not at all a result of the wine) we fell into a deep sleep only to awake at dawn on an uncomfortable wooden bench in front of a small church.)
Although Stone Town has its fair share of souvenir shops and more tourists per square kilometer than anywhere else in Africa, it manages to keep a cool balance of local flair and tourism that few cities can get
right. While in the old city, I opted to take a spice tour and explore the colorful marine life and amazing coral formations during a full day of diving at Margo and Bawi Reef. Not expecting much from the spice tour and feeling obligated to go on one (its an island ‘prerequisite’), I
was pleasantly surprised. Arriving at a fruit plantation, the guide expertly described the wide array of the spices. We tasted bitter blimbi (baby star fruit) with its sour, lemon flavor, boiled cassava with a sprinkle of chili and salt for pizzazz and sticky jackfruit that tastes like the cross between a banana and pineapple. We saw what vanilla, coffee, coco, cinnamon, pepper, cademin, cloves and nutmeg look like in their natural state. The guide also introduced us and taught us the uses for anatu (red dye for lipstick and painting), hila (green dye for painting), chi chi (lemon grass for tea and prevent mosquito bites), crucoma (gives curry its bright orange color), lang lang (for soap and shampoo), kapoko (cotton-like fibers for pillows) and soap berry (for washing). After a delicious lunch with local food we visited the Persian baths built by Said Bin Sultan for his wife in the mid 19th century before jumping into the beautiful waters of Mangapwani beach.
Of all the wonderfulness of Zanizbar, none brought greater joy then the food.
Oh was it delicious.
Chipati. Samosas. Fresh seafood. Mangos. Papayas.
Unreal.
Taste bud overload.
Most people come to Zanzibar to sightsee. I pretty much ate for a week.
Don’t get me wrong, the food on the trip has been good, but Chicken and Chips gets a bit monotonous after nearly 2 ½ months on the road. Since leaving home, there may be at most, a handful of meals that would make
Emeril Lagasse rave. I was craving a bit of spice, something with kick, something that made my mouth water with its aroma. Within hours of arriving, I found my salvation. Forodhani Market.
Forodhani is a large market packed each night with locals and travelers. Scouting out the market like a general plans for battle, I decided on my plan of attack. Each vendor’s long wooden table were loaded with mountains of prawns, tuna, swordfish, dolphin, lobster, steak, and chicken ready to be devoured. Veggie, beef and chicken triangle-shaped samosas and warm, pancake shaped chipati sat stacked 6 inches in the air. After having to make one of the most difficult decisions of the trip, I chose my vendor. There was a good number of locals around the table and the big belly on his short frame was the deciding factor I needed.
After watching the locals, I thought I had a good idea how the ‘system’ worked. I stood in front, waiting to have the stall’s owner nod in my direction for my order. After a good 10 minutes and failing to attract his attention a local noticed my frustration.
“You are new at this huh?”
My cockiness evaporated immediately.
“Just grab a skewer, dip it in the marinade and throw it on the grill!”
“One of the essential skills for a traveler, is the ability to make a rather extravagant fool of oneself” John Flinn
“Oh! Yeah…uh… ok! Asante Sana!!”
I dove in. Grabbing about ½ kilo of fresh seafood, I dipped it in the marinade, grabbed 2 samosas, a handful of chipatis and tossed them over the red-hot embers. Picking up an ice-cold Kiliminajo, I joined a bunch of other travelers and dug into my 2,500 shillings (US$ 2.50) feast. Over the next 4 nights, I went from a mzungo rookie to an experienced Forodhani regular while enjoying some of the best meals to date. Stone Town with its strong Arabic culture and food was a great appetizer for what I hope to be getting in the upcoming months.
Flying around curvy roads as the tropical forest flew by and 15-20 meter palm trees towered overhead, I arrived in Kendwa in the north of the island to enjoy 4 days of Zanizibar’s world class beaches. Learning to take my first steps as a baby on the sands of Charleston Beach, I have grown up with a love for beaches. I am always seeking to find the beach. One whose white sand is soft, water warm and crystal clear with good waves and has a unique charm from being unspoiled. Unfortunately, my high standards have turned me into a beach snob. It is not my intention to boast, but rather to put into perspective Kendwa’s competition. Ranking alongside my top 5 favorites in Brazil, Curacao, Mozambique, Greece and Barbados, it did more then hold its own.
“The azure Indian Ocean lapping against the white sand covered with seashells as the sun heats the light sea air. Soft, coral sand that feels like flour underneath your feet. Fishing boats and wooden canoes sit patiently, waiting for their owners. Coral in the water darkens the majestic water to different shades of blue. Tall, skinny mivinja trees sway in the light breeze. Palm trees poke through the green forest, towering 20m skyward. A slight breeze sway the palm leaves threatening to drop coconuts on an innocent passerby. Not a cloud in the pale blue sky. The smell of the sea is rich as birds chirp in the distance. …… ..mzungos snap pictures at the dying sun as they enjoy the serenity of paradise.” (October 18, Kendwa)
Suggested by a Dutch traveler, I headed to Malaika Lodge, owned and run by a soft spoken local named Hamis. Super friendly, Hamis might very well be the nicest man on the planet. For 9,000 shillings, I had an
entire bungalow to myself that sat 150 meters from turquoise waters. Every morning, I would awake and minutes after sitting on a bamboo chair on my porch, Hamis would be walking up the pathway carrying a tray. It was overflowing with orange papayas that fell apart in your mouth, mangos so juicy they dribbled down your chin, perfectly cooked eggs, warmly heated crepes and 2 thermoses, one filled with fresh Zanzibarian vanilla coffee and a second with cinnamon spiced tea. I would enjoy my breakfast and watch local children play in the ocean while reading on my
porch. The only guest in the 6 bungalows for the first 2 days, I was in heaven.
Meeting a great group of travelers from the UK, Australia, Finland, Norway and South Africa, we played beach volleyball, went snorkeling and diving, competed with local kids in panda (slingshot) competitions, went deep sea ‘fishing’ (not too successful of an undertaking) and partied at Kendwa Rocks
Nothing is perfect in life, Kendwa being no exception. The beach’s only blemish was the 150-room hotel currently under onstruction. It will only be a matter of time before the masses of weeklong holiday goers on their package vacations will spoil the beach’s charm. With its opening, the 5 small lodges run by locals will lose their allure as independent travelers will become disappointed with the beach’s accessibility and over-commercialization.
Presented with the offer of hitching a (free) lift in a dhow from to the fishing village of Pangani on my last night in Kendwa, I jumped at the offer. After the 3 hour boat ride to Pangani, located in a remote corner of northeastern Tanzania, it would be only be a (free) 5 hour ride to Moshi in one of the teacher’s Land Cruisers. My alternative was to head back to Stone Town along the pot holed dirt road (2 hours), hang around Stone Town (10 hours) before catching the overnight ferry (6 hours) back to the grimy, port city of Dar Es Salaam at 6am where I would jump on a bus (8 hours) to Moshi. Even though foreigners are not allowed to travel between the archipelago and the mainland by dhow, 8 hours with good company seemed a lot more appealing then 35 and running the risk of getting caught for overstaying my Zanzibarian ‘visa’.
Big mistake.
As is evidence from my adventures through Shangani, there is no such thing as a shortcut on this continent. For all of those intending on traveling in Africa, I will give you a word of advice. A shortcut will inevitably take longer and/or be more painful/uncomfortable in the long run. However, on those rare occasions, a shortcut will result in unexpected adventures that lead to some of the most fascinating and rewarding discoveries of your travels.
"The profoundest satisfaction in travel is a sense of discovery, the private thrill of seeing something new or seeing it in a new way. This is unquestionably egotistical, but such discoveries do not come easy.”
--Paul Theroux, Fresh Air Fiend (2000)
The trouble began before we even set foot in the dhow. The lodge that the 3 teachers had been staying at had problems with an employee stealing from the management. One teacher was owed $100. After an hour and a
half, the problem was settled. We were on our way.
Forty-five minutes into the boat ride, the music teacher accidentally forgot to leave his daughter’s passport in Kendwa. After 15 minutes of debate, we turned back. Fortunately, within minutes we spotted dive
boat heading back to the beach and the problem was resolved. Thirty minutes later, halfway through the Channel, the combination of the ocean’s swells, hot African sun, 4 hours of sleep and one too many Konyagis and Krest, made me turn a tad bit green. Fortunately, I was able to cope and hold in the Konyagi.
The cards this day were just not in my favor.
As we were reaching Pangani, the fisherman pulled up to an oval shaped island that was no larger than a basketball court. Maziwe Island, which resembled a sandbar more then an island is famous for sea turtles that lay their eggs on its sandy surface. Diving into the water from the dhow’s wooden frame, we swam 10 meters and walked up the steeply rising sandy shore. Careful where we walked, we stretched our cramped legs and played for 20 minutes in the irregular crashing waves where the sea-bound and ocean-bound currents collided.
Things were looking up! I was feeling better and in less than an hour we would be on our way to Moshi, 315 kilometers away! How quickly things can change on the road.
I was standing on the roof of the Toyota in Pangani about to strap the teacher’s bikes to the roof with lash straps when the heavens opened up. I debated climbing down and seeking shelter. It wasn’t worth it. In less then 20 seconds my clothes were soaked and we still had to finish packing up the gear from the dhow. Twenty minutes later, the teachers and I climbed into the Land Cruiser and were off. Things once again began to improve. I dried off, put on warm clothes and snacked on some chipatis.
The good vibes lasted 2 kilometers.
Smoke and steam began to billow out from beneath the 1984 Land Cruiser’s hood.
The hope of making it to Moshi vaporized as quickly as the steam from the engine. With the SUV stuck in the middle of the narrow road, each truck that drove by gave us dirty looks. An hour later, the music teacher came back after tracking down a mechanic. He took one look beneath the hood and shook his head. You didn’t need to understand Swahili to know what that meant.
I kicked myself for not heading back to Stone Town with one of my friends.
The teachers, on their last day of vacation were desperate to get home. If they didn’t make it to Moshi by 7:30am the next day, they would lose their first 2 week’s salary. I on the other hand, was not that
desperate. I had 5 months to make it to Istanbul. Jumping on a red, orange, blue, and green painted bus that looked to be a contemporary of the JFK administration, we arrived in Tanga as darkness set in. The looks of Tanga, Tanzania’s 2nd largest port and 3rd largest city, made me change my mind. I was heading to Moshi with my travel mates. With no buses departing until the next morning, we were forced to catch a cab. Squeezing 5 people into the 1991 Honda Civic, we drove off in the torrential downpour only to arrive 5 hours later in Moshi. Exhausted, I fell asleep dreaming of reaching the summit of Mt Kilimanjaro.……
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“How you doing?” Bongo asked.
I took a deep breath and nodded. I took another breath and let it out. “Good.” I replied.
We had been climbing for a little more then 2 hours. As we climbed, the temperature had dropped to –10º C. Pitch black with no moon to guide us, I felt like we were climbing in a cave rather than a mountain. My headlamp, my only source of light, was slowly fading. The first 2 hours I had felt strong however, the altitude was beginning to take its
toll. I found myself gasping for air. My legs were burning from lactic acid.
2:35am.
Bongo in his lite English-Swahili accent indicated we were over ½ way up. In fear of hypothermia we stopped long enough to drink some water and look at the lights on the trail far below. They moved slowly. Ema and the other hikers were slowly inching up the vertiginous skree. Standing up on cramped and exhausted legs, I put on my light daypack and we pushed on. The mountain would show no mercy. Climbing up the countless switchbacks, it became routine to stop walking, take 2 or 3 deep breaths and push on.
3:10 am….
3:50 am ….
4:17 am.….
We could barely make out Stella Peak’s silhouette in the pitch-black October night sky 100 meters above us. We were at 5700 meters and my legs were burning. The amount of oxygen was half of what it is at sea level. Breathing twice as hard just to fill your exhausted body and oxygen-starved muscles with enough fuel to keep them functioning properly was an effort in itself. When we left Barrafo Camp, my placement of my hiking poles was precise. I noticed as my body weakened, the poles
would drag and clang against the rocks disrupting the early morning silence.
With little left in me, I counted on determination to get up the mountain. Repeating over and over again one of my swim coach’s sayings, I pushed on.
If you say you can’t, you won’t. If you say you can, you will.
If you say you can’t, you won’t. If you say you can, you will.
If you say you can’t, you won’t. If you say you can, you will……
And then, at 4:40 am, the ground leveled off.
Short of breath, exhausted, I asked where we were.
“Stella Point. Only another hour more.”
The worst was over. We were at the rim of the volcano. The enormous crater dropped steeply away into darkness. My headlamp’s 3 AAA batteries were dead. Fortunately, dawn was not far off. Walking, actually
shuffling like an 80 year old in a walker, we circled the rim. Finally, as we rounded a large pile of boulders, I could see it. The sign stood proudly in the distance.
CONGRATULATIONS!
YOU ARE NOW AT UHRURU PEAK, TANZANIA. 5896 M [19,336 FEET] ABOVE
SEA LEVEL, AFRICA’S HIGHEST POINT
THE WORLD’S HIGHEST FREE STANDING MOUNTAIN
ONE OF THE WORLD’S LARGEST VOLCANOES
WELCOME!
As Bongo scraped the snow off of the sign, I looked over my shoulder. At that exact moment, 5:29 am, the orange African sun cracked the blue-pink horizon. I smiled and bear-hugged Bongo.
“WE MADE IT!” I shouted in my adrenaline-fueled excitement as I lifted him in the air.
We were standing on the roof of Africa. I pulled out my camera that was tucked against my body to prevent from freezing in the –15º C air and began to unload a roll of 36. I cherished the moment as the sun rose lazily in the first minutes of daylight on the morning of October 27. Cheering on the other hikers crawling along the volcanoes rim, I began to see the massiveness of the inside of the crater that was filled with gigantic glaciers. Celebrating on the roof of Africa with the other climbers with an ice-cold beer and shouts of jubilation, we were ecstatic for reaching the summit after 5 days of climbing.
Six days later, I found myself arriving in sunny and warm Kampala after a 12-hour bus ride from Nairobi, Kenya. Squeezed between Tanzania and Rwanda in the south, Kenya in the east, Sudan in the north, and Congo (Zaire) in the west, the country called the ‘Pearl of Africa’ by Winston Churchill is located in the heart of the Great Lakes region. Following independence from England in 1962, Uganda’s road to democracy has been far from easy. In the 1970’s, over 300,000 people were horrifically tortured and killed by Idi Amin’s death squads and throughout the 1980’s the country was torn apart during the civil war between Obote and Okello. It has suffered internal tribal conflicts, widespread corruption and forced to deal with the regional issues such as the Rwandan refugee crisis in 1990’s. Despite such troubling issues, in the past 5-10 years Uganda has drastically changed for the better and is posed to be one of the few African success stories. Uganda is a safe, beautiful and wonderful country today.
For such a small, landlocked country, Uganda’s potential for tourism is enormous. However, before it can begin compete with its East African neighbors, it needs to improve transportation to its major attractions. For the independent traveler on a tight budget, transportation into and around the country’s national parks is a challenge. My life was made even more difficult by the route I established. Rather then choosing to use Kampala as my hub and return after each adventure, I decided to save time by traveling on rural roads. Three months in Africa and I has
still yet to learn my lesson. After brutal 12-15 hour travel days I saved about a day timewise although I was able to see a great deal of one of Africa’s most beautiful and unexplored countries.
After setting up my tent at Red Chili Hideaway, a 10 minute mini-bus ride outside of downtown Kampala I arranged a full day of white water on the wicked White Nile with Adrift
White Nile ranks among the top white water in the world. Putting in at the source of the Nile near Lake Victoria in the town of Jinja, we were in for a treat. The weather was perfect and the water raging. The
previous night’s rain had turned the river to a deep shade of blue. Unlike the Zambezi, which packs in 22 intense rapids over the course of 25 km, the White Nile has fewer rapids but boasts 4 monster class 5 rapids. The river is quite deceptive. From its banks and heading into a rapid,
it didn’t look too extreme. This changed when you were in the middle of the beasts. Once you dropped into them, they revealed their true form.
They were HUGE and MEAN.
Rolling mountains of white water and whirlpools made you feel like you were the fated fisherman in the Perfect Storm’s Andrea Gale. Its big 4 reminded me of Himalayas and Terminator on Chile’s Futalefu. Our boat tipped twice and I was tossed overboard a record 4 times. I shamefully took the title of ‘wettest rafter’ while riding Silverback’s massive
wave train. It was definitely a moment to remember. Overboard, I hung on with one hand clinging to the safety line and the other clutching my bathing suit around my ankles.
Next was Murchison Falls, Uganda’s largest national park. Leaving Kampala in a mail truck and arriving in Masindi 5 hours later, I was soon to find out that transport into Murchison was out of the question. Taking a gamble, I headed to the remote village of Bulisa on the banks of Lake Albert. The decrepit bus rumbled through the thick jungle before exploding out of the forest and down the Albertine Escarpment. As we careened down the windy road, the towering Blue Mountains of Congo (Zaire) became visible from across the enormous lake. Arriving in Bulisa late in the afternoon, I had no alternative but to experience the first of many hair-raising rides on a boda boda.
Climbing aboard the motorcycle taxi, my backpack hovering inches above the rear wheel, we shot off. As Daddy Cool cranked his baby up to 60 km/hr, a lump formed in my throat. We were at the geographical heart of Africa, hours away from civilization and a hospital. In his imitation Oakleys, he turned around, gave me a big smile displaying his pearly whites and proudly shouted over the roar of the motor: “Good bike! Fast Bike!”
I hope he hadn’t seen the ‘Fast and the Furious’.
“Just keep your eyes on the road buddy!” I thought to myself.
To make matters worse, the framepack was strapped to my back. I was extremely top heavy. With every sharp turn, I had to lean in the opposite direction to balance out the bike.
Even Evil Kineval would have been scared as we swerved around potholes and long-horn cattle, school kids hoped for a wave in return as they shouted ‘mzungo!’ and Daddy Cool greeted every teenage girl in Bulisa
with a wave. On this trip, I have swam with great white sharks, walked with lions, white water rafted two class 5 rivers and had my tent trampled by an elephant while sleeping. This ride took the cake as the most nerve-racking experience of the trip.
There was one good thing about the 45-minute ride. I got the abdominal workout of a lifetime.
Want a six-pack?
‘8 Minute Abs’ not doing the trick?
Try riding a boda boda with a 22 kg backpack pulling you backwards for 15km up a gradual incline. You will be chiseled like Michelangelo’s David in no time.
Swearing off boda bodas, I hitched a lift the next morning in the back of a pickup to the falls.. As we drove down a single lane dirt road with overgrown grass towering 1 meter on either side, I felt like I was
heading to a rural, non-descript village, not to the most powerful surge of water on the planet. Once described as the most spectacular thing to happen to the Nile in its 6700 km length, the falls were definitely worth the difficulties and pain of 2 days of travel. With the entire
Nile funneling through a gorge that is no wider then 6 meters, the surge of water exploding and thundering down the 100m drop is jaw dropping. There was nothing more then a rope preventing you from getting too
close to the falls. If you really had a death wish, you could stick your foot in the river as it passed. Asides from the 3 scientists in the pickup who hadn’t even planned to take a detour to the falls, we were the only visitors. So remote and undeveloped for tourism it felt that we had been the only ones at the falls for weeks.
From Masindi to Fort Portal, I headed south on a road that even made the locals cringe. It would rank among the top 3 worst roads of the trip. Although on the mini-bus’ door it was written in blue paint “Licensed to carry 14 passengers”, the driver blatantly paid a blind eye to the law. They managed to cram 21 people inside. The narrow reddish-brown dirt road wound through the thick jungle like a snake. The old minibus’ suspension had seen better days as did the cushion underneath my behind. Hugging curbs and speeding around corners like a rally driver, the vehicle shook like Coney Island’s Cyclone, the famous ancient wooden roller coaster.
Ugandan roads, and African roads in general, are narrow and often require one of the drivers to pull into the shoulder rather then slow down. The Masindi-Fort Portal road was no exception. I was deep in Jonathan Franzen’s ‘The Corrections’ (yes, an odd choice as I flew through the jungles of Uganda with subsistence farmers squeezed in next to me) when all of a sudden I heard a shatter and glass flew in the window. The mini bus coming in the opposite direct had taken off our side mirror! I dove back into the book to keep my eyes off of the road.
After 4 ½ hours, the dark-gray clouds began to let out a light sprinkle that minutes later became a heavy downpour that lasted no more then 10 minutes. Nevertheless, that was all that was needed to transform the road into a muddy, clay-like surface. As we rounded a sharp bend at the beginning of a steep incline, I looked up to see a large truck stuck a ¼ of the way up the hill. Slamming on the brakes and rearing sharply to the left, the driver lost control of the vehicle sending it into a ditch on the side of the road. Climbing out the side window in the middle of the road, I slipped easily in the slick road. With an inch of mud attached to the treads of my boots, I gave a helping hand to push the vehicle out of the ditch. As mud spewed out from the spinning tires and a chorus of ‘Mzungo! Mzungo!’ rang in the background, we were eventually able to get back on the road, arriving in Fort Portal the next morning, 12 hours late. From Fort Portal, it was only another 2 hours to Kibale National Park where I would get to see our closest relatives.
Kibale (pronounced ‘Chee-bah-lee’) is home to 236 species of birds, 200 types of butterflies, over 250 types of trees and has Uganda’s third largest population of elephants. What makes this park so famous however, are the 13 species of primates in the park. The park contains the highest density and diversity of primates in the world. During a 3-hour private walk with a park ranger, we spotted 8 of the park’s 13 species of primates including baboons, gray cheeked, mangabey, red-tailed, l’hoest, red colobus, and black and white colobus monkeys.
Within minutes after setting out from the ranger station, we entered a thick mid-tropical rainforest. The sights and sounds of the jungle are as I had learned as a kid at the Boston Science Museum. Closing my
eyes, I felt like I was in one of those booths that have little buttons labeled ‘Rain Forest,’ ‘Ocean’, ‘Savannah’. Upon pressing a button, sounds of the respective zone would play through speakers. The high pitch call of red-tailed monkeys would screech in the distance, cricket-like insects buzzed in the distance, leaves rustled as animals jumped from branch to branch, birds chirped, water dripped down with a pitter-patter from the trees above.
Tapped on my shoulder by my guide, I was brought back to reality.
I opened my eyes.
The ranger smiling pointed upward. “Monkey pissing on you.”
I looked up and laughed.
We had been walking for a good hour and had stopped to check out a pair of gray-cheeked monkeys when we heard a low grunt to the east. The ranger’s head snapped to the right, listening intently for a moment before bolting through the forest. Not needing any explanation, I know what that meant.
Chimpanzees.
With over 1400 chimpanzees in the park, people travel from all parts of the globe to get a chance to view our cousins. While the park is one of best places in the world to see them, there is still only an 80% chance of spotting them on a particular day. With my only shot at spotting them, we bolted through the forest, twice tripping on the low hanging branches and vines that covered the thick forest’s floor. I was afraid that we would scare them off as we trampled through the forest. Trying to be as quiet as possibly I was failing miserably. I must have sounded like a Sherman Tank crashing through the branches, ferns and puddles.
Fortunately, the chimps are used to human contact and went on eating high up in the trees as we approached. For the next hour we watched 3 mothers and their babies and 2 juvenile females. Their mannerisms,
particularly while eating and grooming was so human-like it was mind blowing. While watching them, the guide explained that chimpanzees live in communities of up to 80 that are ruled by a dominant male (known as the Alpha male). They eat particular foods for medicinal purposes taught to them in childhood by their mothers and there are numerous documented cases where the animals use tools (for example, blades of grass to lure termites out of nests). Chimps groom each other as a sign of friendship, which can pay off in times of conflict. Mothers develop friendships with other mothers and like humans their offspring play together,
developing life-long friendships. Unfortunately, due to the wet ground from
rain earlier in the day, the chimps stayed up in the trees so we could not see them up close. Kibale and the chimps were a warm up for what lay ahead. Sunday, November 9th would rank as one of the highlights of
the trip and one of the most unbelievable experiences of my life.
I headed to Mgahinga National Park, one of the few remaining habitats in the world to see the highly endangered Mountain Gorillas. With only 600 gorillas left in the world, and few places to see them (Rwanda, Uganda and Congo (Zaire)) it can be difficult to get a booking. Mgahinga
with 6 available openings per day and Bwindi with 12, are 2 of only 4 parks worldwide where you can see these amazing creatures.
The journey to the village of Kisoro in the extreme southwest corner of the country was magical in itself. After taking a shortcut along a dirt road that hugged the cliffs on the sides of Lake Bunyonyi, the car climbed over a mountain before dropping into a valley tucked between three 4000-meter volcanoes. Breaking my promise, I was forced to jump on the back of a boda boda to arrive at the entrance gates of Mgahinga.
Climbing aboard, with the pack hanging off the back of the motorcycle we set off from town and climbed up the dirt road past tiny villages with no electricity. It was November 8, and a full moon illuminated the
night sky. Around the world, an eclipse could be seen. I never saw the eclipse but got to see something equally as amazing. As I rode on the back of the motorcyle, the stars twinkled above and the moon shone
brightly illuminating the surrounding rolling farmland. The silhouettes
of Gahinga with her flat top, blown off millions of years ago, old Sabinyo with its rough peak, and the perfectly conical peak of monstrous Muhavura towered in the background. Setting up my tent with the peaks looming in the distance I could barely sleep filled with anticipation for the next day’s trek.
Waking up the next morning with the sun as the clouds covered the uppermost point of Muhavura, I could not help but think of Dian Fossey in ‘Gorillas in the Mist’. I did not have a reserved spot although I was soon to find out there were two spots available for three people. Relying on my debating skills I succeeded in obtaining the last available
spot for the day.
After a 30-minute briefing, we set out with a guide, tracker and 3 heavily armed soldiers with AK-47s. (The park lies on the border of politically unstable Rwanda and Congo. Following the tragic attack in March 1999 on tourists by rebels from Congo, the Ugandan Wildlife Authority has greatly beefed up security). Setting off from the ranger station, we entered the thick forest. Following the path cut by the machete of the lead tracker it took us only 2 ½ hours to catch their trail. As we
neared, we heard a loud grunt and the guide replied with a grunt of his own indicating the animals of our presence. Our guide stopped and quickly reminded us that we could not eat or drink, use flash photography, had to move slowly and in a group, speak in soft voices, to turn away
and cover our mouth and nose if we needed to cough or sneeze and our time was strictly limited to one hour.
When the tracker gave us the thumbs up, we walked around a large tree. Following the guide’s gaze up the tree sat Mafia, 4 meters away. Mafia was loudly chewing bamboo branches. Unfortunately, he sat facing away from us and we could not get a good glimpse of him. The tracker was about to cut a path around the tree when all of a sudden there was a loud crash. Mafia slipped and with a loud crashing noise fell 3 meters through thick bushes and bamboo stalks onto his butt with a loud “THUD!”
We burst into a fit of contained laughter.
The 6-½ year old male looked around, as if in embarrassment and turned to us.
“No one who looks into a gorilla’s eyes – intelligent, gentle, vulnerable – can remain unchanged, for the gap between ape and human vanishes, we know that the gorilla still lives within us.” - George Schaller
There is not an adjective in the English language that can explain the feeling of looking into the eyes of a mountain gorilla for the first time.
Unreal. Awe-inspiring. Fascinating. Breathtaking.
The density of emotions while staring at these beautiful, gentle, intelligent creatures is one that needs to be experienced first hand.
As we cut through the foliage, we met the other members of the Mgahinga family. Kaboko, an older female whose hand was sadly and horrifically chopped off by a poacher. Mjambere, a 7 ½ year old male who was Mafia’s partner in crime. There were also a couple of juveniles not yet named. Then there were the 2 enormous Silverbacks.
Bingingo, 45, the former head of the household had recently lost the coveted role as Alpha male to the 28-year-old Mac. Mac was king. He had the strength of 9 Mike Tysons and weighed 250 kilograms. The two were nervous, constantly moving and trying to court one of the younger females in heat. The two silverbacks had been fighting recently. It was evident that Mac had won her heart by the numerous scratches and wounds on the back of the older male yet Bingingo was still restless. Fortunately, their aggression was not directed at us as long as we kept a distance from the family. For the next 60 minutes, I snapped off 3 rolls of 36 capturing the cuddly creatures eat, play and wrestle.
The highlight came at the end of the hour. There was a clearing on the edge of a slight hill. In the middle of the clearing there was a large bush. Mafia and Majambere had been wrestling. Majambere got away and Mafia started chasing Majambere up the hill and around the bush. As Majambere burst out from bush at the top of the hill, the momentum would trip up his short legs and he would tumble head-over-heels to the bottom. He would shake his head and get up on all fours. Just as he was standing, Mafia would tumble down the hill head-over-heels. Reaching out to continue wrestle with playmate, Majembere would deftly elude his friend and scamper up the hill again. This went on for a good five minutes and the Homo sapiens could not help but look on in astonishment and laugh with joy. Were we watching two 6 year olds playing tag or two 150-kilogram mountain gorillas?
During my last day in Mgahinga, I climbed the brutally steep 4,127-meter Muhavura, which provided spectacular views into Rwanda, Congo and the Rwenzori mountains. Afterwards, I was off to relax at Lake Bonyoni before heading back to Kenya. The lake was a secret treasure discovered
on the shortcut up to Kisoro. The road that curls around the lake had been the most spectacular road that I had been on in Africa.
Hidden in southern Uganda, it is hands down the most beautiful lake I have been to in the world. The landscape is something out of ‘The Hobbit’. The irregular shaped lake is filled with dozens of tiny islands
and deep green hills roll up from dark blue lake. Perfectly terraced farmlands dotted with mud huts hang to the sides of the hills. Farmers rowed dugout canoes to bring their crops to the market in the tiny village of Muko. Hanging out with Stefan and Heike, two German travelers who had driven their land cruiser up from Cape Town, we swam in the lake, played pool and gave our best shot at the dugout canoes. While we couldn’t keep the canoe in a straight line for more then a minute we did score a perfect 10 on demonstrating the ‘mzungo corkscrew’ (spinning in circles).
From Uganda, I returned to Kenya where I would spend 2 nights. One may wonder why I have written so little about one of Africa’s top travel destinations. The majority of my time in Kenya was spent relaxing with family friends while enjoying a cozy bed, free laundry and home cooked meals. Nevertheless, as I look back on Kenya, it will forever bring bitter memories.
When we travel, it is often the case that a single event will mold our view and impression of a country. A traveler will do anything to protect 3 things: his passport, his journal and his film. On November 14, the UPS truck carrying a package with 22 rolls of my film was hijacked at gunpoint in Nairobi en route to the airport. For 3 months, I had carried my most coveted possession with me 24/7. The first time I has parted with the film was when I walked out of the UPS office at the Sarit Center. I was in Addis Ababa, Ethiopia, 1500 km north when I heard the devastating news. Soon after, the truck was found empty and abandoned. Three months of images and memories captured on film were lost forever.
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On the road north from Nairobi, I realized that I was leaving East Africa and entering Ethiopia. To my ‘receptive’ traveling mindset, I noted tremendous cultural changes taking places before my eyes. I would say that this area, the land that lies between Kenya and Ethiopia would have to be one of the great ‘cultural boundaries’ of Africa. Languages, cultures, religions, lifestyle and customs vary greater between Kenya and Ethiopia then South Africa and Botswana, for example. One of my goals for this trip was to experience first hand the changes that occur as one travels from the southern tip of the continent north to the Middle East.
Looking back on the previous 4 months through South Africa, Mozambique,Zimbabwe, Botswana, Zambia, Malawi, Tanzania, Kenya and Uganda I was witness to fascinating and diverse cultures. I do not profess to be an
expert on Africa after a mere 4 months exploring 9 of the 53 countries on this enormous continent. But given the fact that a large number of people will never taste ugali in Tanzania, get their haircut in Kampala, or listen on a crackly radio to a football match in a smoke-filled caretaker’s hut on Mt Mulanje, I would like to take this opportunity to dispel a few misconceptions commonly held by Westerners about Southern and East Africa. Again, these are gross generalizations but I think that if you were to ask other travelers, they would tend to agree with my observations.
· It is extremely diverse - geographically, culturally, religiously,
economically, politically and socially.
· Overall and generally speaking (except for large cities at night, particularly Johannesburg and Nairobi), it
is extremely safe for both men AND women to travel. (With the exception of the 2 thugs who stole my film, of the 100’s if not 1000’s of African’s I met on the road, I had one guy miserably attempt to con me and
one unsuccessfully attempt to steal my wallet).
· I smiled after hearing my guide at Great Zimbabwe declare that the Chevron pattern on the top of the Great Enclosure represented the ‘strength of the African woman,’ thinking it would be great material for a Women’s Studies course. After seeing the African women and the work they do, I am in awe of them. They run the household, often are the breadwinners in the family and carry bundles of produce on their head that would make me snap in half. Whenever I had a problem or needed a kind, helping hand, the African mammas were there to take me under their wing.
· Africans are overly friendly and proud that you have chosen to come to their country to travel. They are also fascinated to speak with you to learn about your home, family, country, marital status, etc.
· Africans are not lazy. I know an awful lot of Americans who sit on their couch and watch TV. African’s just can’t afford a TV so they sit in the shade underneath a tree. High unemployment is a major problem
· AIDS IS DEVASTATING AFRICA. Education and prevention programs are
underway but the heart of the problem is that old tribal beliefs die-hard and people still just don’t understand that Abstinence, Education and Safe Sex are the solutions.
· Every time I had those unbelievably exciting conversations in which I was able to delve deep and strike at some ntellectual issues with a local, I would ask what they see as the solution to their country’s problems. Their answers varied from country to country, but for the most part, their answer was ‘Education’. They have a far way to go, but at least they know the starting point on the map.
I am currently in Addis Ababa, after 3 weeks of exploring the most culturally fascinating country of the trip. Unfortunately, unable to obtain a Sudanese visa I will not be able to travel from Cape Town to Istanbul overland. Nevertheless, the adventure will undoubtedly continue. From here I am off to Cairo on December 9 where I will be meeting up with one of my best friends from college to explore the land of the pharaohs.
Stay tuned for Wanderlust #8 – Ethiopia, where my Australian companion, Geoff and I explore the island monasteries in Lake Tana, feast on Injera, Doro Wat, and Kitfo, and explore the fascinating rock-hewn churches
of Lalibela.
I wish you all an excellent holiday season and a happy New Year! Stay in touch!
Kind Regards,
Dave
davidmlawrence@yahoo.com
“Travelers without some goal, some small quest, a bit of business to accomplish are tourists. It’s not a bad way to go, but I find, as a tourist, that I tend to fall into easy patterns: the hotel, the fellow
tourists from my own country, the hotel dinner, the guided tour. You see much, but suffer some restrictions. You seldom, for instance, meet local people not involved in the tourist trade” - Tim Cahill, Road Fever
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