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.