Monkey See, Monkey...

Colby the Colobus – Part One

I was walking from the base to my office when I noticed a bit of movement in the grass. A baby colobus monkey was tied to a tree behind the Medair Camion that had just come in from Isiro. Hassan, our camion driver, caught me looking at it and said it was not mean. Indeed it was not, when I moved closer, it jumped on my knee and clung to my t-shirt, hopped to Hassan and stole the paper from his hand.

Hassan said he bought the monkey on the road after its mother had been killed for bush meat. He thought it would make a good alarm at night. You see, driving from Isiro to Ango, takes about a week, with a good driver. The roads are difficult to maneuver, when it rains you can be stuck easily, there are rivers to cross, you cannot drive at night… the list goes on and on. So, a driver is camping out by the truck every night, and in LRA territory, having a monkey wake you up before anything else might, is a pretty darn good idea.

That night, the monkey did not stay in the truck, but in a basket in our base. I fed it and played with it all night. It was so young, still working on its coordination, but it clung to my arms and cuddled on my shoulder, then fell asleep. I was in love.

In the morning, I was up at 6am, skyping with Colby (his new name) to California. A great start to the day. I took some token photos and ate my breakfast.

On the way to the office, Hassan stopped me and asked if I wanted to keep Colby. I laughed, then I thought how flipping rad it would be to have a pet monkey. I consulted a half a dozen locals, a baby monkey care website and, of course, Wikipedia. By all accounts, the colobus monkey is docile, kind and a lot of people in these parts keep them as pets. I was torn, as I thought it was too young to survive without its mother, but with its mother dead it was either me or the drivers. I made the executive decision that my womanly instincts would serve little Colby better and we waved goodbye to the Medair Camion.

To be continued…

Yes, Just Like That

I was on video Skype with my mom in California and Léo, one of my guards, came by. I explained to him that he was talking to my mom in real time and that was her on the computer screen. It took a while, but he then understood...

Léo exclaimed "Oh, its like the photocopy machine!"
"Yes, just like that", I replied.

Please keep in mind, before Medair arrived, Ango had not even seen a mobile phone, nor had ever had electricity.

Words will come...

Watching local university students do a rather entertaining drama addressing the issues of health,
 family planning, poverty, using your resources well, dangers of drugs
and services available from the local organizations.

Distributing donated notebooks as a graduation present to the kids of this school who wear donated Hong Kong Rugby Sevens jerseys and H&M hats as their school uniforms. 

Waving hello to all the people in Hong Kong who helped make it easier to learn that year with clean clothes
and school supplies in their mud walled, dirt floored classroom. 

The teachers also use donated sports jerseys as their uniforms.
From my experience working in various communities in Africa, having the same clothes really represents a sense of unity and belonging.
Often, for special days you will see ladies with the same fabric used to make all their dresses.
This sense of unity that some simple shirts brought to these classrooms was palatable. 

A rural community gathered in a church to welcome their "visitor from Hong Kong".
The pastors danced in the grey suits we often ship and
I was impressed to see how sharp they looked in these rather drab suits. 

Gathered in front of a community center with many of the people who were watching the drama that day in the slums.

Seeing Fruit

Not often do we get to see the fruit of our labor, especially in aid work. You work hard to do good by the population you are working with, but often your time is never long enough to allow you too see with your own eyes the results and outcomes of the input.

This weekend I have been blessed. 

I am in Bujumbura with two organizations that shared a container I worked on funding and logistics for months in Hong Kong. I liked these organizations, thought the work they were doing was innovative and also liked their attitude of corporation and collaboration with us and between themselves. I even wrote about them in an update. The container was finally cleared from customs in January and they are still distributing items from it. Yesterday, I went with them to Buterere, a slum near the airport where they do much of their work. I always enjoy watching how NGOs that are started and run by local populations work, as it is generally different than their western equivalents. 

I watched as local university volunteers preformed a well received drama promoting health, forgiveness, family planning and the services they offer. We visited several homes in the area who will be receiving goods sent by Crossroads. I listened as people were encouraged to use the intelligence and creativity they have to change the world around them, even though they have limited resources. I was inspired. 

The next day we went out about 30km to a village that was badly affected by the war. I was greeted by a large group of singing, dancing, drumming, hugging people and ushered by them into a church where they had assembled. I was able to tell them about the people in Hong Kong who donated the goods, all the team in Hong Kong who worked on getting that shipment to them, I encouraged them that it is all of our work together that can change the world. 




We need to all do what we can and in amazing ways it can come together like this - like people who worked for many many hours to make this shipment happen on opposite sides of the world coming together under a humble mud church to meet together, talk about solutions to their poverty and struggle to survive. 

Though I left very inspired and sure that the work in Hong Kong is good and changing lives, the trip was not without its disappointments. I did, though, get a unique chance to talk with these local leaders about how they themselves can be creative when faced with difficulties in making rent, transporting goods and people, etc. 

I tried to take the opportunity to encourage, to try to get these community leaders to think outside of the tight box that constrains grassroots organizations who have all the heart and intelligence and drive to work in the most difficult parts of their nations, but lack resources. But everyone has something, we just need to figure out what to do with it. 

Nothing is ever easy. 

Ever.

More thoughts and photos to come.

Bujumbura

Burundi

I have had a pretty amazingly good for the soul couple of days here, though for some reason I have felt uneasy the entire time. Having Lars and Bethany in from San Diego has been amazing. I needed to hang out with familiar faces and speak English at my normal pace more than I realized. Conversations on social justice, spirituality, politics, culture, language, media, health care, civil rights, the human condition, food, lack of food, land, lack of land, development, lack of development, beer, love, friends, family, passions and the dispassionate was like cool water to my weary soul.

Last night we went out to "karaoke", as Lars well described it, a cover band that plays a lot of African music that everyone is stoked on and your occasional "La Bamba". There seemed to be little age barriers and it was refreshing to be in a place where everyone was just relaxed and having a good time. Didn't catch the name of the place, but was one of the two places to be for after wedding parties (I saw 7 weddings yesterday alone).

Today we will be avoiding the regular muzungu hangouts and finding a coffee shop somewhere to continue our debriefings on the past 6 months of our lives that can sometimes feel like years. Tomorrow I'll hop a bus back to Kigali, and providing I do not plummet off a cliff, will start moving back towards the DRC.

The work I have seen here is good work, the people good people and I like the Burundi vibe in general.

Kigali-Bujumbura

Burundi

Ten dollars gets you a 9 hour bus ride, which is good, seeing as I paid ninety flipping bucks for a Burundi visa at the embassy. Anther American on the bus got hers at the border for 40, so, who really knows. I just did not want to get all the way to the boarder only to find out I could not get one there, as they told me I could not at the embassy. Ah well, whatever. 

A handful of guys are at the border eager to ease your transition of countries with changing money, snacks and sim cards. Sim card is 1,000 Rwandan Francs (not 3,000 as some tried to sell to me) and airtime is about 1,000 for 12 minutes. They take Rwandan Francs at the border, but that is because they are worth twice as much as Burundian Francs and they still ask the same amount. I didn’t mind, as I didn’t need much.

Belvedere bus ride was clean and too fast; I thought we would plummet off the cliffs (already adorned with many many crosses) as our tires squealed turning downhill corners. I put my earphones in and concentrated on my breathing… for about 3 hours of the trip.

The scenery was beautiful, so different from Rwanda. Hilly and winding with pine tree forests that descended into banana plantations that descended into fields of vegetation too far down for me to distinguish. There is a stark difference in development levels the moment you cross the boarder. The roads are still quite nice all the way to Bujumbura, however, the housing, people, crops, and every other indicator speaks volumes to the socio-economic state of Burundi.

As a rule of thumb, I do not drink water when on road trips, however, there were pleasantly two bathroom stops and not too shabby at 100francs a pop.

Arriving at the station, I was met with a police who took my passport along with others on the bus and quickly went into a room, I could not follow him and it made me nervous. I was greeted by about 10 members of the organizations we partnered with while I was working in Hong Kong, they were all smiles and cameras and I felt very welcome. We all found the room my passport had piled into and got through customs, for the second time. I hopped into their car and we were off. Chatting on the way to Pacific Hotel, we talked about their work, how the container shipped from Hong Kong has helped their work and other things that I will not go into in this post. 

The hotel is nice, clean, quiet, has wireless a nice garden and about a 50% success rate with hot water showers. Service ranges from helpful to unsure if they noticed you talking to them and the food is decent. Lots of upper class African men talking down to the waiters, which I never like. So long as you specify you want your beer cold, you are in for a fine time!

Kigali

Rwanda

After a few days in Kigali, I am pretty sure I could settle down here... like every other one of the hundreds of American ex-pats, mostly those of exactly my demographic, it seems (buy the way, gentlemen, it seems aid work is brimming with awesome, usually good looking, independent, single women... just sayin').

I paid a visit to the Rwandan Genocide Memorial and Museum. I have seen the movies, studied the reasons, debated the solutions, read the books and thought of the larger implications on humanity. None prepared me for seeing the cracked skulls, the photos of each individual victim alive and well, notes from their surviving family members, the stories left in their wake...

I had a hard time holding it together.

I could not tell if I felt more focused or more scattered than usual, as I walked through the streets.

I had a hard time holding it together.

---

Exhibiting my expertise in logistical planning, I had done my shopping before being emotionally zapped:

So, the UTC area had everything I needed, which is strange, as that is true for the UTC area in San Diego.

• SD cards - A strip mall type structure between UTC and the petrol station has an electronics shop on the ground floor, right side. Nice Indian guy in there will give you good stuff for a good price. Such a good price that I was skeptical, however, not lost photos as of yet. 
• Shampoo, fabric, familiar food, etc. - UTC has most everything you will need to stock up on after too long in the bush. Fair warning, make your list before you go in, as upon entering you may be overwhelmed and either forget you needed anything or suddenly realize you need two of everything.
• Sandals, jewelry, crafty things in general - The Co-op something or other next to the Belvedere bus station is crammed with as much handicrafts as your eyes can take in, actually, more. Go see Alifi, the only Rastafarian Congolese in the place. He will offer slightly more unique things and good conversation on the state of African nations in French, English or both.  
• Cash - The Bank of Kigali is the only place I could find where you can withdrawal cash, takes a while and charges you 25 bucks, but at least you now have cash.
• Busses - Don't pay a moto taxi 400 francs to get you from the bank to the Belvedere bus station, it is on the same road and just across from the UTC. Ah well, live and learn.

I found lots of wonderful indulgent food here. Some off the top of my head:

• Flamingo - Great view, super friendly staff, excellent Chinese food, calming atmosphere
• Magda Cafe - Really good food, decent wireless, comfy couches and Al Jezeera

Savana Cider is basically Africa's answer to Blackthorn and it is very tasty, especially after only having Nile and Primus for months on end. When is that stuff going to make it to the DRC? 

Alright, need to finish my omelette, stop being distracted by very dramatic Mexican soap operas dubbed in even more dramatic English, pack up my stuff and make it to the bus station for a 9 hour winding ride to Bujumbura. 

Goma-Kigali

Rwanda

Often I try to avoid conversation on airplanes, but when turbulence is throwing every passenger  into a nervous collective laughter, talking to someone helps calm your nerves. Lucky for me, the man next to me not only worked for a Medair partner, but really nice and headed to Kigali the next day with an extra seat in the cab. I met their group at their hotel and we took their Heal Africa car to the boarder.

Congolese and Americans currently don’t need a visa to get into Rwanda, so the boarder crossing was pretty straightforward. They had a great taxi driver, Deo, waiting for us on the other side of the boarder. The drive is 100$, but not so bad when it is shared, and even better when their travel allowance is already covering it.

It is amazing, the moment you cross the boarder, the streets are paved, the people are smiling, Lake Kivu is shining… might have well just crossed a boarder into another world. Two police checks on the road stopped us, but waved us through with little hassle, though my adrenal glands still reacted as if I was at a Congolese checkpoint.

The 5 hour drive was windy and my abs got a workout trying not to lean too far into the men on either side of me. The land is non-stop hills, green, covered in crops of tea, bananas, carrots, gourds and countless other foods. I thought it was cheesy that the Rwandan government’s tag-line was “Land of a thousand hills and a million smiles”, however, the majority of people we passed on the road were talking and smiling amongst themselves. This was a stark contrast to the general scowl carried on the faces in the Congo that does, turn quickly to a smile when you greet with a smile… it is just different here.

I have wondered what is different, why. Rwanda was coupled with the term genocide (and still, often is) less than 15 years ago. The country is much smaller than the DRC, so easier to govern, but both countries are rich in resources, water, forests, and intelligent people. I can’t help but wonder at the vast differences and the whys that lie between them.

The houses made of earth glitter. No, seriously, they are sparkling like someone has blasted them with flecks of gold. Mud huts that shine in the sun. It must have something to do with the volcanic residue in the soil.

I arrive to Discover Rwanda Youth Hostel to an extraordinary number of American students. The place is really nice, the 6 bed shared dorms are 15$ a night, clean and safe. There is basically no staff, the bar is on a serve-yourself honor system that everyone seems to respect. The internet is painfully slow, not even worth it, there are a few hammocks in trees overlooking a beautiful valley. This is near all the embassies and also a 30 second walk to Magda Café, where I am currently indulging in a mocha, fruit and yoghurt, Al Jazeera and pretty speedy Internet. The staff here is also very friendly.

Today I have a list of errands to run that include Burundi visa, bus tickets, find a local sim card, sandals, buy a SD card, get cash, visit genocide memorial museum and I have no idea how to go about any of these. I will most likely hop a moto taxi (by law they are numbered, have fixed prices, wear helmets and carry one for their passenger – a stark contrast to bodabodas in Uganda), its an assumption that those guys will know how to get everything I need.
And P.S. Rwanda is a combination of every beautiful place I have ever been. This will not be my last time here. 

Ango-Bunia-Goma

Democratic Republic of the Congo

Reading the news while flying my plane... awesome.

So, from Ango to Bunia, you need to be an aid worker to fly with Avions Sans Frontiers, so, yeah, not much you can do there. But if you ever make it, I run the best (and only) guesthouse in town! From Bunia to Goma I took CAA, a super sketchy Congolese airline. Rough turbulence, an open cockpit, lots of people puking and a solid 1-second drop (that is a long time when your plane is freefalling) which I can only assume happens when you cross the equator. Sat next to a nice guy who works with one of our partner orgs, so that was cool.

I found the Bungwe Guest House in an online list and their phone number was the first that worked, so, I made a reservation. The hotel manager was great and very flexible picking me up from my 2 hour late flight. He called when he saw that CAA had landed and asked me what I was wearing. I told him I was the only white person on the flight, so that might be the easiest way to spot me, but I was also wearing a red shirt. He took me to the hotel for free, which is rare, and we drove from the volcanic rocky deep red dusty roads into a compound that was clean and so white I was actually comforted to see that it was in the middle of being painted. My room, fittingly enough, was named “Washington”.

My White House

The room was not a room at all; it was basically a suite/bungalow that was clean and insect free (consequently smelling of a cocktail of disinfectant and insecticide). Decent wireless Internet reached from the lobby to my front room with a couch and dining area that looked out onto my balcony. The bed was most likely made out of cardboard, but I have grown tired from sinking into my memory-free-foam mattress in Ango. The hot water got to lukewarm, at best and did not yield anymore pressure than my bucket showers, so that was disappointing.

The food, well, lets just say I ordered the vegetarian pizza and hour later it came with peas, chicken and some sort of thick beef based sauce where the tomato sauce should have been. But breakfast is included. The downstairs TV was blaring upstairs and fighting with the upstairs TV volume, which was tough to sit between.


That said, the service was great, the manager and front desk guy were happy to speak English when I couldn't find the French word. The garden was nice, the staff more than happy to accommodate and it was quiet and clean. Honestly, if you are the not-so-needy type, it is a pretty great place.

Why Not Now?

So, with these every 8 week R&Rs I find myself frequently traveling places that are not exactly easy access areas and are tricky to find a good place to stay, or travel through. 

As I am nearly always traveling by myself and I have ample time on my hands (especially when the internet is slow and I did something wrong when transferring the Security Plan files that I was hoping to work on during my holiday), I might as well write about the places I stay and how I manage to get there. 

Hey, I live and travel in places Lonely Planet strongly discourages visiting, so I might as well inform others who are in my boat, right?  

If you want any further details on hotels, taxi drivers, etc. just let me know and I can give them to you.

I just didn't feel comfortable posting it online, as many of them are personal numbers. 

Of Compassion and Chickens

Mom teaching PipSqueak how to make ginger tarts
for Grammie and Boboo's anniversary, via video Skype.

Last week, 12 eggs in my chicken coop turned into little puffballs on toothpicks that peeped, three turned into messes of cracked eggs and underdeveloped chicks, and one turned into a sweet corn yellow chick with only one working leg - Pip Squeak.

Pip Squeak died yesterday, at the request that our guards kill him quickly before any of us got too attached. For nearly a week we hand fed him, changed the hot water in his bottle every four hours through the night, cuddled him in our hands and it became more and more clear he would never be able to walk and that we could not keep caring for him at that pace.

At one point, holding his little body in my hand, I realized that I felt more for this little chick than I have been lately for the people around me who are, arguably, suffering much more.

Why is that? Is it good? Is it bad? Is it necessary? Is it the beginning of the end? is it a shift in perspective of life and death? Is it all of these things? I do not know. Maybe. I do not know.

A professor of mine used to talk of Compassion Fatigue, a state of being numb in the world a a result of the excess of information available to us at our finger tips. We do not know our neighbors, we dislike it when the news is always bringing us bad news, we eat dinner while watching documentaries on famine... blah blah blah

One human only has so much capacity for compassion. It works out alright when we have about 150 people in our lives (got that number form an NPR report recently), but after that, feeling for people just goes beyond what we've got in us.

What does this mean when when you live with some of the most vulnerable people in one of the most isolated places on the planet?

                             I don't know.

Perhaps, though, one form it can take is that I can come to near tears over a crippled chick when I know we have to kill it because I have to focus on the humans around me, pulling them up, working for them and if the tears do not come as often, perhaps that is for the better, I can do more work and I can let it all out the next time a chick dies, pull myself together and press forward.

Just turning it over and over in my mind and heart, because I really just do not know.