Whale Sharks! (…and my final entry)

Matt and I were finally able to get out of Joburg for a few days – we first drove East to Durban to visit a warmer part of South Africa and then North to Mozambique (correction, Matt drove, learning the intricacies of a rental car stick shift on the opposite side of the road!). We made it as far as Tofo, about midway up the coast and known for its diving and large marine life. We arrived in the evening and settled in to the sounds of waves crashing on the beach. Early the next morning, we hopped on the dive boat.

I am no diver. In fact, I’m terrified of the mere idea of breathing underwater. But I decided rather than lie on the beach for the morning, I would tag along for the ride. The captain told me to bring my snorkel gear in case we saw anything interesting. As soon as we got out to sea, he determined the water was much too rough for us to make it as far as the feeding station we had initially targeted. So instead we headed closer to shore to another, albeit less interesting, dive site. As soon as we turned the boat around, the captain screamed, “Whale sharks!  GET IN THE WATER!!!” and continued yelling until we had successfully put our snorkel gear on. I was so anxious that I had difficulty firmly attaching my flipper!  Suddenly, everyone was out of the boat and swimming towards these magnificent fish.

It was like a dream, swimming with whale sharks more than 3 times the size of us. We hovered above the first one we found as it lazily sunk down to a point beyond our vision. When I looked around for Matt and the 4 other swimmers, I couldn’t find them. I popped my head above water just in time to hear the captain scream from the boat for me to swim to another area where an even larger shark was. I quickly followed the rest of the group. But when I arrived to the spot where everyone was crowded, I still couldn’t find the whale shark. I kept plopping my head in the water but all I could see was the aqua blue ocean and some tiny fish. As I looked around above the water, trying to determine where everyone was looking, I noticed a dark shadow just below the surface, eerily close to me, and getting closer. When I shot my face back under the water, I was staring straight into the open mouth of the enormous, feeding whale shark. Luckily you can’t scream effectively underwater, so he wasn’t phased by my muffled noise as I turned and swam as fast as my flippers would carry me in the opposite direction.

I was still reeling from the experience as I climbed (or rather, was hoisted) back into the boat. But within minutes, the captain had spotted a giant manta ray and we were back in the water. This ray was the largest I’ve seen in my life. Its wingspan was more than twice mine and seemed to be flying through the water below us.

When we arrived at the dive spot, I began to lament the face that I had never learned to scuba dive as the group headed down to the reef. But as I was chatting with the skipper I noticed an odd spray of water behind him in the distance. The sea was quite rough at this point, but I didn’t take my eyes off of the spot where I saw it. Before long, a humpback whale breached in front of us, and then another. As soon as the group surfaced from the dive, I excitedly told them about it. But I needn’t have bothered. Before I could finish my story, two Humpbacks surfaced directly next to the boat.

An incredible way to end an incredible year.

And thus I conclude the “Afrique” blog (named for the French-speaking West African country I never actually went to. It should have been named: “ok pl”).

I have just begun a new position with CHAI with the malaria operational research team. I am not yet entirely sure of my base location, but hope to be located in Dar es Salaam, Tanzania for the next year or so. Before leaving, I’ll return home as planned to visit with my family and friends. Hard to believe that in less than one week, I will actually be standing on U.S. soil.

Thanks for reading, everyone!

This slideshow requires JavaScript.

Greetings from Jozi!

I wanted to post a quick update on my whereabouts as tomorrow marks the one-month countdown to my return to the U.S.!  In August, my entire immediate family will once again be together in the same country/state/town. And I’ll be returning from my time abroad after exactly one year to the day.

It has been a little over a month since I moved to Johannesburg to spend time with Matt before heading back to the U.S. It has been a bit colder than I’m accustomed to in June/July, and it’s hard for me to fathom that a heat wave has hit the East Coast as I sit here in my winter coat warming my hands by the fire. I’ve spent many an afternoon struggling to remember the idyllic Ugandan weather.

I’ve completed my work for CHAI at long last and I’m still looking into (slowly by slowly) options for next year. In the meantime, I’m continuing my part-time work with the Johns Hopkins Bioethics Institute, helping to edit manuscripts and develop a collaborative website for their African Training Program.

On the whole, I’ve had mixed feelings about Johannesburg, as the crime, lack of car, and limited public transportation options are enough to keep us home-bound more often than we might wish. But being in this city for the World Cup was nowhere near the nightmare I was expecting. If anything, it was a remarkable thing to experience and I’m glad to have been a part of it.

We were lucky enough to get tickets for one game – U.S. vs. Ghana – in Rustenburg, about a 2-hour drive from Joburg. Because the Rustenburg stadium is so small, for a moment the World Cup lost its larger-than-life allure and became merely a few men kicking a ball around on a field. I remembered the significance of the match only when Matt nearly went deaf after receiving a vuvuzela to the eardrum.

I hope to post additional photos of our upcoming travels (none of which have been planned of course). But for now, I’ve included a few of the game.

This slideshow requires JavaScript.

Cuckoo’s Last Stand

A few months ago, one of the men who guards our compound asked my housemate, Evan, if he could pay for his son’s school fees each semester. Without question, Evan kindly agreed, blindly hoping that the money was actually going to be spent on school fees.

Recently the guard stopped him and explained that he was going to his village for a few days and wanted to bring him back a gift for his kindness. At the time, he didn’t say exactly what this gift would be. A few days later, I walked in the door to our house to find an enormous rooster strutting about the kitchen… naturally.

Within moments, Evan decided that the rooster (which the guard had aptly named Cuckoo) would be much happier with a mate. So despite the fact that Evan conveniently spends most nights at his girlfriend’s clean, chicken-less house, he bought a chicken to keep Cuckoo company (it’s not an appropriate forum in which to describe what actually takes place between the rooster and the chicken). Now my housemate Vijay and I, and our new housemate Phil, are forced to listen to the damn rooster crowing at all hours of the day and night.

I suspected the novelty of the rooster and the chicken wouldn’t last long. But knowing that I would be leaving in less than a week, I opted out of the argument this time. Sadly, Cuckoo never stood a chance. Last night, someone left the screen door open to our house, tempting Cuckoo and Harriet to hop up the stairs, strut past Vijay (who was thoroughly absorbed in an episode of 24) directly into his bedroom, fly up onto his bed, and drop enormous, unsanitary gifts all over his sheets and mosquito net.

There are some things about living with a house full of boys, as much as I adore them, that I might not miss!

Imminent Departure

I’m now well into the phase of nostalgia that preempts my departure from Uganda on June 5^th, just over a week from today.

Living in Uganda, it’s somehow easy to forget that I live… in Uganda. I work in an office with young, expat staff, I live in a nice neighborhood where my housemates and I comprise the only non-Indian family, I eat at restaurants frequented by other expats and owned by Indians. Unless one lives with a Ugandan family, it’s difficult to bridge the gap between life as an expat and life absorbed in Ugandan culture. I’m thankful for my time in Soroti last year, which helped me to better understand the country in which I’m living.

Today I write from Iganga, a district I’m assessing for its potential to serve as our future study location. Driving out of Kampala this morning, watching the sunrise over the tea plantations, I thought of my first visits upcountry, and the complete fascination I had (and continue to have) with Uganda. But upon arriving in Iganga, one of the most run down and seemingly poorest places I’ve visited here, I was forcefully reminded of what a cushy life I’ve led in Kampala these last months.

I’ve been asked many times what my plans are moving forward. Well… I’m also curious about this. I don’t have a clue how to appropriately *use* this degree I worked to attain, and into which I’ve invested an absurd amount of money (thanks, U.S. higher education system). The hard part about this career choice is there is an impossible transition between working “on the ground” and working at an office cubicle, managing egos and high-level conferences, focused on backstopping but not running field projects. On the other hand, the downside of being “on the ground” is remaining so far from my family and friends, which can be incredibly difficult at times. Unfortunately, I can’t seem to find a job listing that doesn’t involve sacrificing one of these priorities.

For now, I’m planning to enjoy my summer. I will spend a couple of months in Johannesburg (dodging the world cup chaos if humanly possible), travel with Matt (hoping I can convince him to swim with whale sharks in Mozambique!), and work on a few remote writing assignments that will help to finance the aforementioned travel. And hopefully, come August, I’ll have an idea of what to do with my life after such a positive and fulfilling experience. Or maybe I won’t… in which case, aren’t I lucky my parents are kind enough to maintain a revolving door for a joyous return to farm life in Boxford, Massachusetts.

Ft. Portal

Last weekend, a few of us trekked to Ft. Portal – a town about 5 hours west of Kampala. Ft. Portal sits in the crater lakes region of Uganda, at the foothills of the Rwenzori Mountains.

As soon as we arrived, it started pouring rain. Unfortunately, there’s not much to do in Ft. Portal in the rain, so we spent the afternoon eating, drinking too many beers, and playing cards. On Sunday, since it was a bit dryer, our friend Phil had the genius idea that we should take “boda” lessons. I think I’ve commented before on my life’s dream to become a mzungu boda driver.

I cannot articulate the hilarity that was this day. When the villagers heard there were 4 crazy mzungus driving bodas in the playground, we found ourselves entertaining a fairly large audience.

This slideshow requires JavaScript.

How to Write about Africa

A friend sent me a fantastic satirical article authored by Binyavanga Wainaina, a Kenyan writer and journalist. The writer sardonically instructs non-Africans on the most appropriate ways in which to describe his continent.

I admit to complying with several of these “instructions” over the course of writing this blog.  And when I read other expat writing about Africa, I see an all too similar approach. We’ve all experienced our existential crisis. We reportedly can’t survive without our newly adopted African country, despite the fact that we’re leaving after only 3 months, 6 months, perhaps a year if we (or they) are lucky. The fact is, we’ve had our experience. Time to get back to reality.

Excerpts:

“In your text, treat Africa as if it were one country. It is hot and dusty with rolling grasslands and huge herds of animals and tall, thin people who are starving.”

“Throughout the book, adopt a sotto voice, in conspiracy with the reader, and a sad I-expected-so-much tone. Establish early on that your liberalism is impeccable, and mention near the beginning how much you love Africa, how you fell in love with the place and couldn’t live without her…Whichever angle you take, be sure to leave the strong impression that without your intervention and your important book, Africa is doomed.”

“Always end your book with Nelson Mandela saying something about rainbows or renaissances. Because you care.”

Sophie’s choice: gorillas vs. elephants

Trip stories to come but I’ve uploaded some photos from the weekend. They are mostly of the animals we saw – I’m going to collect the people photos from Megan and Nicole, the visiting photographers (who, collectively, took >3,000 photos!!!). Overall, the trip was truly amazing. I never thought that one day I would be standing less than two meters from a real mountain gorilla. And it was so wonderful to have a piece of America in Uganda for a few days. Thanks so much to Megan, Nicole and Doug for making the trip to visit me in Uganda!

This slideshow requires JavaScript.

Photos

Testing a new WordPress feature with some old and new photos from 2010. More to come after my gorilla trek and safari in Western Uganda!

This slideshow requires JavaScript.

Silent ways he says “I love you”

One of our weekend rituals when I’m in Kampala is to go to breakfast at “Javas,” a restaurant situated within a gas station that boasts a delicious huevos rancheros. Javas recently improved ten-fold when a soft serve ice cream vendor set up shop next to the restaurant every day at noon (around the time we eat breakfast). So after breakfast, we contentedly stand in the middle of a crowd of Ugandan children – 4-6 adults lovingly licking their ice cream cones.

Part of this weekend ritual involves reading funny stories from the Daily Monitor (the non-government owned Ugandan newspaper). My favorite article from today was in the relationship section, as it usually is: http://www.monitor.co.ug/Magazines/Full%20Woman/-/689842/895910/-/kjxpr8z/-/index.html. The article discusses how you know your man loves you, even if he doesn’t say it:

“Spaghetti, canned beef, ice cream, name it, he may not like them that much. They are mainly loved by women and if your boyfriend doesn’t enjoy them that much yet you find them stocked in his kitchen, then the man loves you.”

So ladies – if your man stocks cans of beef in his kitchen, he loves you.

The other hysterically disturbing story was in a relationship advice column.

Advice to men: Take your woman out to dinner or to a fancy island (?), even if it’s not her birthday or Valentine’s Day.

Advice to women: Accept “external” children – children from your man’s extramarital affairs – as your own to please him. Buy them as many gifts as you buy your real children, because external children sometimes end up being really great adults.

Africanized?

I apologize to my faithful readers (Viet, my mom, and my grandmother) for my neglect, which Viet kindly reminded me of. Part of the reason I have been absent is that I feel I’m at least partially “Africanized,” so my previous stories of hilarity and embarrassment are so commonplace that I no longer consider them to be entertaining.

But in just a few days, three of my pals are coming to visit me all the way from the Big Apple. Therefore, it seems like an appropriate time to offer a definition of what it means to be Africanized.

My Merriam Webster-worthy (and apparently now Scrabble-worthy) definition of…

Africanized -

1. You consider any temperature below 75 degrees to be “freezing.”
2. Each day, you get into at least one near-accident in which a boda driver tries, and fails, to run you over.
3. Any time it rains, you call it rainy season.
4. You begin to alter your English in an attempt to avoid daily miscommunications. In Uganda, this involves expressions such as “now now” (now), “addound” (around), “pick me” (pick me up), “nice time” (have fun), “ok please” (sounds good), “jam” (traffic), and wangi (Luganda for hello). You repeat these expressions often, as though you are practicing a new language. Example: “Wangi [name]. Can you pick me from the airport now now? I’m sorry there’s a jam. Ok pl, nice time.”
5. You always, always know where the nearest bathroom is.
6. You take zero offense when people call and hang up on you. You understand this is code for “out of airtime, please call me.”
7. You never give out your cell phone number to people in rural villages who find you interesting, but likely don’t have phone credit. You have made this mistake only once.
8. If you are a man, you fear the possibility that you are or will one day be a night dancer [Night dancers: men possessed by spirits who run around in their birthday suits and eat dead bodies].
9. You have watched every DVD collection that anyone in your greater circle of friends owns…at least 3 times. You mistake events happening to characters on shows (such as Friday Night Lights) for events that are happening in your real life.
10. A typical vacation for you should involve crossing at least 3 countries, or an ocean. The only acceptable alternative is traveling by car to stare at enormous animals as they eat, drink, and stand around.
11. If you have large shilling bills, you know that no one…in the entire country…will have change to break them.
12. You constantly argue over prices. Even if someone tells you the price is 50 cents, you argue your little heart out. You tell the person that it will kill you, literally kill you, to spend so many shillings, you have a family to think of, never in your life have you paid so much for something. When you have finally gotten the person down to a price you think is reasonable, you look in your wallet and realize that you only have large bills. You pay 15 times the price you’ve struggled to arrive at, but feel good anyway.
13. You laughingly look down at expats you don’t know as not being Africanized enough. You feel like you’re finally beginning to blend in (fortunately you can’t see yourself in a crowd of Africans).
14. The concept of time has lost all meaning for you.
15. You begin to see chickens for what they really are: good travel buddies.