Rules

The rules here are what always get me. For example, a red light in Kenya is simply a suggestion. Sometimes rules are enforced, sometimes not. That is the gamble. It can frustrate or free you. Use them when it works for you, bend it when it does not. That is what creates the chaos we have gotten so used to and participate in. I will be first to admit, after a long-day at work, if there is a jam, and the sidewalk has open space, I will gladly utilize that open lane.

It is 4.30 am in Kampala, Uganda. I am catching a plane to South Africa, the only one of the day. Traffic in Kampala is a nightmare. There is one road in and out of Kampala. No ring–roads and really no space to manuveur a-la Nairobi style—side walk driving, making one lane three lanes etc... If you get stuck in Kampala traffic, you are stuck! A friend of mine got stuck once and he jumped into a tuk-tuk—the three wheel rickshaws, and drove the 60 kms to the airport!

Anyhow, on this dark morning I leave early to avoid traffic. It’s a gamble, drive in the dark or get stuck in traffic. Kampala’s roads are ok and we make it fine to the airport. At the check-in counter the attendant says “I am sorry, but we cannot check you in....” “Umm, and why is that?” “Your yellow fever certificate has expired.” (Rules. Here is a rule that is sometimes enforced, sometimes not. In Congo they enforce it to get bribes, but I have never had an issue with my yellow fever certificate. OK, I will confess, I knew it was expired, but who has time to go to the doctor.) Now, another lesson I have learned here is you just talk them into things. For example, “Miss, your bag is too heavy for the plane.” “Oh, but that is OK.” – and there it is, she checks it in. So, here I go into talk – mode “Oh, but that is no problem, you see, once it is expires you have 30 days to renew it, and I have a Dr.’s appointment tomorrow.” (All of that completely untrue.) She does not buy it.

Crap, now I am concerned. Remaining completely calm I ask her what she thinks I should do. “Well, there is a clinic down the road, you can go get a shot there.” Ha! It is dark, I am an hour outside the capital, Uganda has an HIV problem, oh right, and they just had an Ebola outbreak, but I will just skip on down to the clinic. Fat chance. Rules. I ask for the supervisor, and long-story short, some sweet talking, and I get on the plane. I ‘adjust’ the documents on the plane. Arrive in South Africa. Distract the customs officer with trite conversation and I am in. Rules. Bend them. Use them. Abide by them....when you can.  

Whale Sharks

His name was Johnny Cash. He wore a tattered red t-shirt, ripped shorts and no shoes. He was selling bracelets on the beach in Mozambique. 30 cents for a bracelet. He was probably eight years old, wandering the beach with two friends, trying to sell bracelets. Bracelets, batiks, wooden carvings, they were selling them all, but here was Johnny Cash, a kid. We were walking the beach, no money on us. We said we’d see him tomorrow. He said, ‘OK, but remember, it’s Johnny Cash.’ How could we forget?

You wonder where he goes at night. Where does he sleep? Does he go to school? If he does not sell the bracelets, what does he have for dinner? As always, you wonder the story behind the person...and in this case, the kid. That’s the reality here. Buy the bracelets. But how many bracelets, wooden carvings, batiks, beads can one person buy. Will it change a life? If not, how can we create the change that is so desperately needed at scale? Transformational change.

What is our story? We are on holiday. Vacation. We are delighted to be on the beach, finally the beach. It’s a luxury. This beach is like nothing I have ever seen, miles, miles and miles of beach, long stretches of soft sand and gorgeous dunes without any development. We walk for three hours in the morning, and do not see another person. We see whales, but no people. The white sand sings as you kick it. I am instantly brought to Manchester, Massachusetts. Amazing how one can be around the world, and a song, a smell, or a sound can bring you to another place, so very different than where you are. I am brought to a fire, it is morning, and Uncle Lenny cooks eggs and bacon on Signing Beach. It is one of my fondest memories, and was such a treat for us to cook and eat breakfast on that special beach.  

Yet, here I am in Mozambique, far from the eastern shore of the United States with the warm Indian Ocean. Like many countries in Africa, Mozambique is a country with a history riddled with war. A country that struggles with poverty and wrestles with development.

We drove from Johannesburg. Nine hours to Maputo the capital. An easy drive, but hot in a small 4-door Gulf with no air conditioning. As a former Portuguese colony, I envisioned the coastal capital with white architectural buildings, seaside cafes. I had even suggested an extra night there. Good lord, thank god we nixed that idea. We got to the hotel late, a quaint, simple and cheap room in a colonial style house. Tired, hungry, we jumped into the car to go to a restaurant up the road. Within minutes we were pulled over by the police, and as I am slowing the car down, pulling towards the side walk I realize I do not have my Kenyan license, International license or passport (which you are supposed to carry everywhere—a crazy rule that I never follow.) My USA license is long-gone and I am yet to renew it.

The officer speaks no English, we speak no Portuguese. Now, lets’ be clear, this happens all the time in Africa, but I pride myself on not paying bribes. I have bribed once in Zimbabwe, and did not realize I was doing it, truly (that’s another story). In Kenya I tell them to drag me to the police station, court, whatever, and they usually get so bored or annoyed with me, realize they are not getting any ‘chai money’ and they let me go. Here is different. It is dark, we are tired, we are in the wrong and I really do not want to go to a Maputo police station. So, after much discussion, we agree on a price, tell them we will return to the hotel to get our various forms of identification, and head off. We bang a u-turn. As we head in the opposite direction, we see the cops who have pulled us over on the other side of the two-lane road, and cops now on this side of the same road pull us over! My husband is now driving, and before he pulls over I am hollering out the window, arms flailing around and yelling ‘this is ridiculous....we have just been pulled over....” Needless to say, my patience level has not increased in the five years of living in Africa. They let us go. The evening ends with us back on that same street for an amazing meal of fresh prawns, the first of many prawns, and huge crab. Well worth the hassle.

The next morning we have a lovely breakfast with Portuguese breads, danishes, croissants and good coffee. We woke early, did a drive through of the city, while the streets were quiet, its Sunday. We are anxious to head north, leave the city, the police and get to the beach.

Now we are on the beach, the most beautiful beach, with Johnny Cash. The humpback whales are in this part of Africa now and we see them every day, diving, jumping, splashing, it’s amazing. We are hunkered down, relaxing, reading, walking, and swimming. We are staying at a lovely eco-resort. Five modern cottages tucked into the dunes, heavenly.

 

We decide we must do at least one boat trip, so we sign up for an ‘ocean safari.’ We arrive at the resort that is running the trip and meet our fellow safari companions. There is a South African family with three kids, including a young boy who is probably 7 years old, all in short wet-suits. A young Japanese couple and French couple who are staying at our resort. The French and Japanese women are both in stylish bikinis. I am in my sweet REI surfer shorts (that are coated in wax from a surf board), and long-sleeve sun protection surf shirt—feeling real stylish.

Our guide is a South African man. A professional diver who knows the water well. He gives us a talk about the trip, what to expect and then runs through safety signs he will use when in the water. ‘One hand in the air means come see this, the OK sign under water is me checking in on you, waving above your head means you need help etc...’ Off we go, into a pontoon boat and we lurch off at high speed. The young boy is holding on for dear life, and as the pontoon goes airborne over a wave, he grits his teeth in a fierce grimace. We see whales, dolphins, but we are looking for whale sharks—the largest living non-mammalian vertebrate—ie. it’s huge! Just to put it in perspective, an elephant weights 3-5 tonnes, whale sharks weigh 22 tonnes.

I’ve heard of whale sharks but I am not really clued in today on the possibility of seeing them. Which is probably a good thing. Whenever looking for a specific species be it a leopard, wild dog or rhino, I get a little worked up (well, some may say even a bit crazed. Like the time I nearly knocked out a woman to grab her telescope since I could not see the wolves that she was seeing through her scope, not my best moment). So probably best for all that I was not on a mission. Like all safaris, land or ocean, you never know what you are going to see, so I am not getting my hopes up.

We continue to float above the ocean on our pontoon. The water is brilliant. Clear blue. The warm breeze refreshing. The guide spots a whale shark. Everything happens so quickly. The boat speeds up. Stops. The guide yells—‘everyone over.’ Masks. Flippers. It is mayhem on board. Geared up, I flip backwards into the water. Looking around, not sure for what, I scan the water. The South African father is next to me (we are both under water), he smacks me on the arm and points below us, and there it is, the whale shark! Right below us. Moving gracefully with speed right underneath me. It is huge. Beautiful. Its white spots on its grey skin are amazing. It moves smoothly below us and we follow it for a while until it goes too deep for us to see anymore. I am in awe.

(We did not have a camera in the pontoon, so the pics of the whale sharks are not mine, but the one with the swimmer is exactly how we were with the whale shark.)

 We all hurl ourselves ungracefully back on the boat, completely jazzed. We are supposed to return to shore, our two hour trip is up, but the guide asks if we want to go again. Yes! The 7-year old kid who was petrified boating out here is completely stoked, jumping up and down, grinning ear to ear. It’s great to see such enthusiasm over wildlife.

We cruise around again, looking for the whale shark. There it is. Back in the water and we swim with this magnificent creature. It’s hard to gauge how long it is, but the largest confirmed whale shark is 41 feet long! The largest aggregation of whale sharks ever recorded was reported from the Yucatan coast of Mexico, where more than 400 animals were seen together!

I swim up along the side the whale shark to see his mouth. It’s incredible. An enormous mouth, which can be up to five feet long, cutting across the entire length of his face.

Despite its size, the whale shark is docile and does not pose a threat to people. The number of the species is unknown and it is listed as vulnerable.

In Kenya where there is a strong whale shark conservation program working to protect these amazing mammals, they call the whale shark "papa shillingi" which comes from the myth that God threw shillings (coins) on the shark that are now its spots. Here in Madagascar the name is "marokintana" meaning "many stars.”

 
After bidding farewell to our group, we walk back to our cottage on the beach. It is a two hour walk on a beautiful remote stretch of the beach. Wading in and out of the warm water, looking at the tide pools, I am still high from the whale shark. As the sun sets we approach our cottage in the dunes and watch the rest of the brilliant orange sun set in the ocean. Leaning back with my head against the sand, I think about the whale shark, wondering how many are left and if they will survive in the future. I think about Johnny Cash and whether he has had a good meal tonight, if he sold enough bracelets today.

Obligation

"When you see a thing, what then is your obligation?"

-Julia Alvarez, A Wedding in Haiti

Elephant Stories

Kruger National Park. South Africa. We are on safari. We cross one of Kruger’s massive rivers, and over the steep bank we notice two elephants. Females. We look closer and there is a tiny elephant, laying on her side between one of the female’s legs, her mother. She is not moving. You can see the fuzz on her tiny grey body. The mother is digging sand around her and kicking it onto her. I hold my breath; brows furrowed and pray she is not dead. The mother nudges her with her foot, getting her enormous toes underneath the baby’s body and tries to prod her up. Her limp body just moves with her mother’s foot, flimsy, not showing any sign of life. After much nudging, and spraying of sand, finally, the baby flaps her ears. A soft pink color on the inside of the ear is revealed. She is alive. I am elated. 

Over the next twenty minutes we watch as the mother helps the baby to her feet. Watching a young elephant discover how to walk and use her trunk is amazing. The trunk is like a slinky on the end of her face and she swings it in the air and swirls it around like a toy. You imagine she is thinking, hey, what is this thing, this is fun. The baby watches her mother use her trunk to rip off leaves to eat, and she energetically swings her trunk into the air and tries to do the same. She wobbles on her feet and runs around, delighted with her new feet, legs, trunk, life. 

Another sighting.

Over 60 elephants are gathered in the river bank. They are cooling themselves drinking the water and spraying themselves with cool sand. The group is all ages and it’s an amazing assortment of sizes. The matriarch, an enormous female starts walking down stream. The terrain is steep, rocky and variable. All of the elephants follow, single file. They navigate the rocks, steep slopes and stay in line. There is an area of sand that slopes down. The first elephant approaches the top, looks down, and then gets on her back knees and slides down, literally. These 3 ton animals are sand sledding. It was incredible to watch and one could almost imagine a “yee-haw” coming out of their mouths. The mouth of an elephant naturally slants up, so its easy to imagine a smile. We sat in awe watching these enormous elephants at the top of the hill, bending to get on their back knees and then letting it rip down the hill.Well, you can only 'rip' so fast being so large, but in the grand scheme of things, it was ripping.

One of the baby elephants followed suit, and rather than sledding down nicely like the others, the steepness forced her into somersaults. The baby elephant rolled down, spiraling like a tire going down a hill, and at the bottom landed on her back with her legs flailing up in the air. One of the elephants saw this, trumpeted, and immediately, over six elephants were running over to help her. Literally. They surrounded the baby, nudged her over and up on her feet and the baby wobbled off in-line with the others. An amazing glimpse into the complex familial systems of elephants.

May the Light Shine

Nicolas was our night askari (guard) in Kenya. Tall, lanky, crooked teeth, brilliant smile. His job, guard the house—from 5pm to 6am. He sat in a tiny little shack, tiny, large enough to fit one chair. No light in the shack, but he still devoured any reading material I gave him; newspapers, magazines, books. 

I bought him once a solar lantern. It charged from the sun, and then when the power ran out, you can crank up the power with a handle. A few days later I noted that it was gone. When I asked him he explained that his home has no power, so he brought it there. Makes sense. 

Another time I gave him an LL Bean blue zip bag with a little handle, the kind you put toiletries in when you travel. When I presented the bag, he was delighted, said it was perfect for carrying his bible. And so he did. I would see him walking off in the morning, after a long night in the shack, carrying his little satchel, containing his bible.

Every evening I would bring him tea in a thermos. We’d check in. How’s the day? How’s the weather? When I asked how he was he would say ‘today, I have seen nothing bad.’ Translation: I am well. It was such a great response that always stopped me in my tracks. There it is. My day is fine. I have not seen anything bad. I struggle for food, water, I work the night shift. But today, I have seen nothing bad.

When I moved houses he was on leave; at home in Western Kenya. I did not get to say farewell, which was probably for the best, I am not certain what Nicolas would have done if he saw me crying.  I wrote him a message though telling him I was leaving. He wrote back:

"Hi,may light shines wherever ur.I still in house I never go home.your moving is my stress i'll now lost my friends.Pliz do not forget me,Sodger Nicholas."

Flying with a Maasai

We have chartered a small plane. We are with a member of Parliament, and elected officials looking at a vast area of land, in a remote location. We land for lunch. We eat in a small school, 150 students. The kids are in their green uniforms and excited about these guest that have landed from the air.  Once they get the courage up they yell “How are you?” “How are you?” “I am fine.” I hear it all the time and each time I find it adorable. I yell back “I am fine, how are you?!”

We meet and talk with landowners, and then we are to return south. A local Maasai who serves as a community liaison officer for conservation and community initiatives joins us in the plane. He is to be our guide as he knows the land better than the back of his hand. As we start taking off, I say to him “Please, just interrupt us anytime to point things out.” As I speak I notice he is bracing the chair. He is visibly shaking. We learn that he has never been in a plane before, let alone a small plane (10 seater.) He is absolutely terrified.

The woman next to me keeps saying to him “Poa,” which is slang for “Its all good.” This is in the language sheng, which is basically taking over Kenya, a slang that many adults cannot understand—strategic on behalf of the youth, but a concern of teachers. But back to the poor Maasai. Every time the plane dips or rises he lets out a little “ay.” He is breathing in and out like he is having a baby. Given that we are looking at particular parcels of land, we are banking steep turns, turning around and resurveying the area. Every time we dip left or right the “ay” gets louder, breathing faster. When the Maasai sing and talk they have a series of yelps, cries and short phrases such as “ay.” This poor man is using all of these expressions.

Long story short, we made it to the landing strip. He safely put his feet on the ground, and insisted that is it not normal to defy gravity and he will surely take the road next time.

Kafue National Park

We are in Zambia, Lusaka to be exact, the capital. We flew in from Zimbabwe after meetings in Harare. We are here to look at Kafue National Park, an enormous Park with little infrastructure and visitation. There is a lot of attention on this Park, interest by international donors (US Government, Norwegians) and we are providing advice on where and how the investment should be directed and how we can assist. As always, the questions revolve around making the Park self sustainable, generating income for the country and the surrounding communities and protecting the wildlife and ecosystem.

Zambia is one of the poorest countries in Africa. Although it seems many countries within which I travel says “one of the poorest.” The plight of Africa. The poorest, the most corrupt....however, there are so many stories of enormous success and growth in Africa, but that is not here, today in Zambia.

In the capital we meet with various donors, government officials and partners. There is a new President in Zambia, Sata, just elected, and so everyone is waiting to see what change will take place, if any. A transition time is always a fascinating time to be in a country. Early promises, statements. The old President is under investigation for corruption, his family detained at the border, his son is supposedly hiding out in Kenya...the usual stuff.

Most donors are waiting to see just how serious Sata (the new President) is about natural resource protection and conservation. Zambia’s economy is dependent upon: mining, agriculture and tourism. A smart approach would be proper planning that will enable the development of all three. You know, don’t put all your eggs in one basket. If tourism fails, you have agriculture, if you run out of minerals, you have tourism. If the new allocation of ministries is any indication, there is serious concern. For example, wildlife is within the Ministry of Broadcasting, Health and Wildlife. Makes really good sense, right? Seeing how Government’s divvy up their ministries is always a fascinating game of chess to watch. I will give you health, if you give me mining. Etc...  This is a major issue for a lot of countries. In Kenya for example, when a peace agreement was brokered, the number of Ministries doubled, each party wanted ample control over Ministries. So Kenya has 42 Ministries, which means 42 Ministries each with big, fat packages. This also means public health was separated from medicine. Environment was separated from forests, which was separated from wildlife. So, you can imagine how efficient things work. In Zambia, it was the same story.

After days of meetings in Lusaka we are ready to head west out of the city to Kafue National Park, but we are given a meeting with the new Minister of Tourism, at 2 pm. It is 4pm by the time we hit the road and make our way out of the city. Lusaka is a gritty, chaotic city. The usual blend of sky scrapers, tin shacks, houses, traffic, people, bikes. The road east is paved and we drive four hours the edge of the Park, stopping for petrol halfway, our last petrol stop for days. This main road cuts the Park into two parts. We spend the night at a lovely lodge off the main road that sits on the Kafue River. It is dark when we arrive, but you can hear the river and hippos. The warm breeze is welcoming, as is the noise of the bush.

We are heading to northern Kafue National Park, the Busanga Plains. The manager of the lodge says “Oh, it’s easy to get there, you just head north and you basically spill into the camp.” We should have known better. We do know better, but that morning, we were anxious to get there. We turn off the main road instantly, enter a “gate”—a stick resting on two barrels and head north. Now, a main road to someone who lives in the bush is quite different to someone who is visiting a place for the first time. The road is sandy and there are various spurs off the “main road”—we soon find ourselves saying, is this a T junction? Is this considered a turn? Our map is out of scale, and we are completely out of phone range—no network. The map shoes a rock outcrop, this looks like one? Yes? Should we turn around? 7 hours they told us. Well, we are heading north right? So we should spill into it...

It is hot. Very hot. The Tsetse flies are biting and it is an all out war in the Land Rover. The three of us smack each other hard with newspapers, everyone, anywhere is fair game if a Tsetse is on them. Never does it occur to us to roll up the windows and turn on the AC. Smack. Blood smears the windows and the newspapers.

Three gorgeous lionesses lay on the side of the road. They are laying in the shade, cooling off. We watch them for a while as they breathe in the warm air. They eventually, slowly get up and cross the road, and it is only then that we realize there are two males behind us.

We eventually reach the plains, what we guess are the Busanga Plains. Vast. Open. Awesome. Similar to the Serengeti in that they stretch as far as the eye can see. Given that there are no other vehicles (although we would have welcomed one to ask for directions), no cell reception, I feel far more remote than the Serengeti. We travel along the western edge of the plains, the tree line, hoping for some sign of the camp. Eventually, we run into a vehicle, mechanics for the camp, and we follow them along a curvy, windy route through the plains, which we frankly would have never found.

We eventually ‘spill’ into camp, and we are relieved after a solid 8 hours in the vehicle. The camp is run by Wilderness Safari, and it is a lovely camp. Four luxury tents in total. We are greeted with cold mint-ice tea, cool wash cloths and collapse in the safari couches overlooking the awesome plains.

We spend the next two days in the plains. They are unique, remote and magical. They flood half of the year. We drive at night and during the day. We see porcupines, cheetah, civets, cervals—the wildlife viewing is amazing. The bird life exceptional. We talk to camp owners, lodge managers and discuss where investment should be directed, poaching issues, how to increase revenue, how the wildlife authorities work with private investors etc...

At night the horizon is one fire, bush fires are a severe problem and it appears that the world is on fire. They are set mainly by poachers. One night at dinner, under the skies and with lanterns all around we see the flames. The wind is blowing. The camp manager (who looks like he is 18 years old) walks me back to my tent—you can’t walk alone at night because of wildlife, not sure what this 18 year old would do with a lion, but hey, these are the rules. I see the flames and ask if we should be concerned. He says no. As I go to sleep that night I try to comfort myself, thinking this kid, (yes, I am more than twice his age) certainly knows how the fire is moving and I have nothing to worry about. Ha. I am exhausted from the day, the sun, the heat, and the big, comfortable, soft bed quickly lulls me to sleep.

The next few days were drive out of the flats, though southern Kafue and to Livingstone to our office to meet with the team there and check on projects. Meanwhile the President of Zambia fired the board of the Wildlife Authority, saying they cared more about nature than people. Well, caring for wildlife is their job. A typical populist statement, but followed by the pardoning of 750 poachers from jail. The 90 Million USD that was going to Kafue was yanked and other donors have pulled back. We’ll see how the story continues to unfold, but not a good sign for Zambia’s protected area system and tourists in general. Rumour has it that the President years ago was detained for ivory. Who knows the real motivation for his current actions but hopefully his actions will change.