Little Eyes

Tiny Eyes: Kenya and Uganda

I take yoga classes at a Hindu Temple around the corner from the house. It is an impressive temple, large, ornate. It is on a lovely, green compound and is a gathering spot for the Indian community (the Asians as the Kenyans call them). People come and walk the grounds, pray, meet, eat. At night, when it gets dark, the lights shine on the pagodas, flags fly, chants fill the air—it’s another world. 

My yoga instructor is an Indian woman. While I only get to class every so often, I love it. It’s simple, but really hard. Make sense? The simplicity is the practice, the room, the dress. The teacher is in sweat pants and a t-shirt, no fancy yoga clothes, no new-age garble, just the practice. On this evening there are 14 of us, half men, mostly Indian. We start with a chant then lead into the practice. No talking, just practice, breath, move. She is tough, really tough. I am focused, wondering if my head can implode from the blood that is rushing down, wondering how I can hold a position for 20 breaths, trying desperately to not topple over and crush the person next to me, recommitting, as I always do, to come to class more often. Ha!

I am next to a tiny Indian man who is in his tennis whites, he is adorable. We catch each others' eyes every so often with a look of ‘good lord this is tough.’ Another man is two mats over and you would think he is having knee surgery with the grunts and cries he is letting out. It makes me smile, chuckle, which is good because I feel the way he sounds. 

There is a door in front of me, with a window that leads into other parts of the temple. Partway through class I notice there are two kids peeping through the window. Their eyes are just above the window pane. They laugh and watch, I smile. 

Their eyes bring me instantly to northern Uganda, to another pair of eyes. Northern Uganda, home of Joseph Kony. Until a few weeks ago, most people had never head the name Kony, but a video on him went viral (that is a whole other fascinating story). I was Kony’s region, Kidepo Valley, meeting with local government officials last month. We were sitting in an office with the local commissioner. Outside hundreds of people gathered, the World Food Program (WFP) was distributing food. Long lines of women patiently waiting while kids ran around and men lingered. This region has been riddled with war for decades. Driving up here you quickly notice there are no huts, no huts, no huts....drive....nothing, then all of a sudden you come upon a cluster of hundreds of huts, all very close. Security. This was their way of protecting themselves. Now that peace is settling across the region, slowly people are moving out of the villages to begin cultivation, farming, but it will take time. Signs on the street warn of land mines. “Don’t touch foreign objects” the signs say.

Back in the office we are talking about programs we may work on in this area. The commissioner sits at his big wooden desk and we are lined up in front of him, on wooden chairs. There is a big open window behind us and we can hear the commotion of the food distribution. In the widow are dozens of eyes. Children peep above the window pane and listen. They stare at my skin, hair and they watch eyes wide open. Across the room is a door that is open (it is hot and the breeze feels nice.) Kids, poor kids wearing filthy t-shirts, dresses, shorts peep around the door way to stare, to listen. They catch my eye, giggle, back away, then creep towards the door again. The commissioner says nothing, he lets them listen. He is a politician, he likes the audience. 

Cameroon

We have traveled from the border of Chad and Cameroon (northeast corner of Cameroon), to the border of Guinea and Cameroon (southwest corner of Cameroon). Night and day. Savannah, dry lands to tropical rainforest. Incredible diversity. Incredible country.

We started our trip by landing in Yaounde. West Africa is so very different than East Africa in many ways. People, language, attitudes, development, cultures etc... Standards are different. Of course it is Francophone, and my years and years of studying French slowly emerged from the cob webs of my memory. God knows what I am saying to people. But I love it, love trying, listening and learning. All our meetings are in French and I thought I was doing pretty well, until one meeting. We were talking about community development projects, how to enable communities to generate income to alleviate pressure on natural resources. I thought for sure they were talking about crocodile farming (yes, that does actually exist). I wrote down in my notes crocodile farming as a means for income generation. My Belgian colleague sitting next to me glanced over at my notes, smirked, nodded his head, leaned over and said “micro-credit program, not crocodile farming.” Crocodile farming...micro-credit program, clearly my French needs serious improvement.

We are here looking at new programs for the organization, savannah/Sahel ecosystems and tropical forests. We are submitting a bid for over 4 M Euro for a program in northern Cameroon with a European partner. I am traveling with three colleagues—a Belgian (who worked for us in Congo), a Dutch (who works for us in Burkina) and a Kenyan. We are joined by a German, another Belgian and Cameroonian.

I find cities like Yaoundé hard to describe. A bit run down, like many third world cities. Tall buildings, shacks, gritty streets, people, colours, music, fruit sold on the sidewalk—anything sold on the side walk. Traffic. Unlike Kenyans, Cameroonians are very forceful, loud, and boisterous. So life in the capital is dynamic. Men and women wear amazing colour print pants, dresses, and shirts. The Muslim wear colourful boo-boos, the long shirt, pants and caps. Our hotel is about $60 dollars a night. Air conditioning. It is filled. You have to bargain with the maid to get a towel—“c’est fini” she says, shrugs her shoulder and walks away. While the service is nothing to write home about, one of best things about West Africa is the French influence left behind fantastic baguettes and croissants. So you can stay at a bland hotel, but when you are served a warm croissant in the am you forget that your hotel room had no toilet seat.

We fly north to Garua, a bustling town. Air Cameroon. I was impressed with the new plane and efficient timing. However, we had the worst landing I have ever had in Africa—as if the pilot woke up while landing. It was basically a nose dive and the sound of the plane hitting the pavement would have woken a hibernating bear. So much for being impressed. We are picked by a Belgian man who operates a lodge in Boubba’ndjidda National Park, right on the border of Chad. “Bonjour, ca’va?” I ask. He tells me he is not so good, 27 elephants have been poached in the last three days. A massacre. South Sudanese, jinjaweed, 50 poachers, on horseback, with Kalashnikov riffles. The Park staff is 7. They are not armed. They do not have a chance. Over the next four days we stay in the Park 12 more are shot. Since we have returned over 150 more have been poached.

The Park Authorities and government leaders have little ability to respond. There is no communication in the field, access is difficult, weapons are few and vehicles minimal. Building their capacity is key to conservation and economic success. We are discussing this, Park viability and sustainability, coordination with Chad, an anti-poaching unit and program, and community development programs.

One day met the Chief of the region. Across Africa we work with various traditional leaders, but this was like none I had ever met. He is important and very influential, and rules over a vast area. He can pick the phone up and speak to the President. (Cameroon has had the same President for 30 years.) The Chief (called the Lamido) lives in a palace, surrounded by tall, sand-stone, Adobe walls, that surround the 5 hectare compound. As we enter, after being summoned, there are people on their knees, wearing long white boo-boos, in honour, praise of the Lamido. As he walks, everyone gets on their knees. He is a very sharp and an engaging man. We discuss the region, the issues, the problems and potential solutions. He is appreciative that we have come to see him and he gives us a goat. This is a first. Usually we bring elders and chiefs goats, but here, he gave us one. The poor goat was tied up in the back of our pick up for a three hour drive after we left. I am not sure what happened to the goat, and am pleased I did not have to eat him, but I am fully confident that he was put to some sort of use, nothing gets wasted in rural Africa.

One of the major issues in this region is the movement of people and livestock from the surrounding countries of Chad, Nigeria and Central African Republic. Hundreds of thousands of people move through these landscapes with livestock seeking better grazing lands, water and access to markets. This increases conflict with people and wildlife and is a difficult issue to tackle. There are “trans-humance corridors”--human corridors that are designed to help facilitate the movement of people across vast lands and to reduce conflict, but these are very difficult to enforce. Chad, Cameroon and Nigeria have a treaty that prohibits any country from limiting the movement of pastoralists. As the Sahara and Sahel continue to move south due to warming patterns and desertification, more and more people are moving, which creates more conflict. Combine population increase and conflicts within neighbouring countries, and the space becomes more confined thereby escalating the problem. People often do not see the direct and obvious correlation between a decrease in natural resources (water, grazing lands) with conflict, serious conflict.

On these trips we meet with local authorities, ministers, traditional authorities, community members, private investors (tourism and hunting concessions), donors (French, EU, on this trip), partnering NGOs...it’s always fascinating.

From the dry north, we made our way through Yaoundé for more meetings, then hopped into a 25-year old yellow Toyota taxi to the coast of Cameroon, the town of Kribi—three hour drive. The roads are pretty good, paved. People sell bushmeat on the side of the road. The beach is lovely, water warm, fantastic fresh fish and a great place for relaxing as well as seeing turtles and other marine species. I am grateful for the couple hours of down time we have on the beach, it feels good to stop and decompress for a little. A deep sea port is being developed just south of Kribi, which will have a significant impact on the town. At night the off-short rigs are bright. Oil comes in from Chad; Exxon won the contract over a French company. Cameroon also has oil. The Chinese (surprise, surprise) are building the port and other infrastructure.

From Kribi we travelled south in a small 4x4 to Campo M’aan, a tropical forest, National Park located on the border with Guinea. Soldiers line the border. They kick back on chairs, some of them sucking on sachets. You know the juice pouches kids drink, the silver ones, with a straw? Well, picture that but filled with whiskey. They are cheap and easily purchased. These were banned in Kenya. Dangerous.

On the way to Campo town we pass pygmy people selling bark for medicine, vast forest on fire—slash and burn practices, and villages dotted across the landscape. The Park has gorillas and chimps and I can’t believe I am in such close proximity to these amazing mammals and will not be able to see them. The forest is so thick that you would not see an elephant 10 feet into the forest. Chimps and gorillas in an area like this with high bushmeat poaching are very skittish, and stay clear of humans. There is a habituation program underway for the gorillas in an effort to encourage tourism.

We visit park authorities, discuss development programs with partners. 200,000 people visit Kribi every year, but less than 150 come to the Park. There is enormous potential. On our way out of the Park its sounds like an explosion under the car. The shank holding the wheels together breaks. Always an adventure. Fortunately we are about 5km from the town. The car crawls into town. We pull up to a mechanic who has a welder. He confirms that he has welded this piece, on this exact car together before. No problem he says. 30 minutes. In Africa usually 30 minutes, means 3 hours, could be 3 days. Shockingly, the car gets fixed and we make our way back to Kribi for some dinner and sleep.

Back to Yaoundé. Our last night we have dinner with a Belgian who is managing a hunting concession. A character, full of stories and ideas. Cameroon has incredible diversity and potential. Mountains, forest, oceans, rivers, savannah. It will be interesting to see how their story unfolds and hopefully we will have a hand in its development.

Baby Lion in Masai Mara

Is there anything cuter than a baby lion... I took these in the Masai Mara, southern Kenya. The last photo is a baby leopard. There were three of them on top of this large boulder, rumbling and playing. Absolutely adorable. You can blow them up by clicking on the.

Ethiopia

We are a 10,000 feet high; I can feel the shortness of breath. We are in the Simien Mountains. A woman crouches by an open fire and cooks coffee beans in a skillet. She smashes them in a mortar and pestle and then brews a sweet smelling coffee. Despite being in the middle of nowhere, at a small, dirty community shelter, we are served divine tasting coffee in small, delicate china that could be served at an up-scale coffee shop in Europe.

This is Ethiopia.

We are visiting two Parks and community areas in Ethiopia to see about helping them expand infrastructure, improve capacity and increase income to the Parks and surrounding communities. When people think of Ethiopia they probably first think of famine. Perhaps the Live Aid concert and Bob Geldof. Maybe they think of the border war with Eretria or the Emperor Haile Selassie. Like most African countries, the history of Ethiopia is riddled with conflict—religious, political and territorial. They have incredibly rich cultures, and its landscapes and people are wildly diverse. Many people travel to Ethiopia because of its diverse 80 tribes, and deeply religious history.

The Church believes that Christianity reached northern Ethiopia at the time of the Apostles. They believe that the Ark is buried in the northern town of Aksum and many tourists come to see the ancient churches. Christian monks are dressed in maroon robes and walk the streets with their silver stakes. The driver of our vehicle does the sign of the cross when passing churches. The phone screen saver of one of the young men we travel with is Mary. Ethiopia, like the rest of the globe, is seeing a rise in the Muslim religion.

Our trip started in the booming capital of Addis Ababa. Addis hosts the African Union and other international bodies; therefore, security is tight. I am travelling with the President of our organization, so when we arrive we are taking to the Lounge for VIPs. Classic; shiny red carpet and huge leather couches. You see this across Africa.

Addis is a busy city with sky scrapers, traffic, development and a rapid pulse. The blue Fiat taxis are remnants from the prior Italian presence. Addis is a blend of old and new, modern and ancient. One night we got to a hip restaurant that prides itself on healthy, local food. We drink delicious lime and mint juice and eat fresh fish, the next day we walk streets with ancient churches where the monks sit and anoint those who bow their heads at his feet. We stroll the streets lined with silver shops, Ethiopian silver is beautiful, and around the corner we see kids digging in garbage for food and shining shoes for pennies.

We travel via Ethiopian Airways, which has done exceptionally well, to south-western Ethiopia, Gambella, on the border of the Sudan. We land at a new airport and jump in the Landrover. We are unable to leave though until the plane takes off, there are government officials in the plane and for security reasons we have to wait until take off. I have stayed in Gambella before. The best hotel in town is $8 and you feel even that is a total rip off. This is pay-back time for all the amazing lodges I get to stay in. That said, no matter where you are in Ethiopia, you can always get amazing coffee. Our hosts are horrified by the amount of coffee we drink. A macchia-to is a blend between a late and capuccinno, and it is truly divine.

Gambella is low elevation, hot and humid. The chocolate colour Baro River, which used to be navigable all the way to the White Nile, cuts through the centre of town. It was once part of southern Sudan, and its people are a blend of Anuak and Nuer tribes, agriculturalist and pastoralists. The Sudanese are jet black, very tall and lean. Some of the men have seven stripes (scars) perfectly cut across their foreheads; this is done when a boy graduates into man-hood. Women have dots (scars) in amazing design across their face and body. One day we pick up a Park scout who is 2.2 metres tall (7.2 feet tall). My boss is a very tall, slender woman and standing next to him she looks short, so imagine me. Because of its proximity to Sudan, the region has been riddled with conflict. SPLA (the south Sudanese rebels) used to hide out in this area and regroup. Now however, it is peaceful and we hope for their sake it stays that way.

The Park is vast, with enormous wetlands, and it hosts the second largest migration in Africa with the white eared-kob; second to the Serengeti-Mara Wildebeest migration. It is amazing that this population has survived. Approximately 800,000 kob annually migrate between South Sudan (a newly independent country) and Ethiopia. Keeping this movement and their habitat intact and developing the Park’s limited infrastructure and non-existent tourism economy is the challenge we are assessing. We discuss tourism potential, access, land-use planning, infrastructure needs, aerial surveys to monitor wildlife movement etc...

We visit the surrounding communities. This place is truly remote and one daywe drive three hours to a village. After two hours bumping along the road I found myself repeating “for the love of god, please, just give me smooth pavement.” It is the rainy season and there is standing water throughout the village, perfect breeding habitat for mosquitoes. Kids play in the puddle. I always feel awkward in villages like this carrying my back pack that has more in it then they have in their entirety. People live in mud and thatch huts with beautiful decorations on the very top of their pointy thatch roof. Walking around, you wonder how it is they survive. We enter one of the huts for lunch, traditional Ethiopian food. Injera is the spongy cloth-like substance, usually the size of a huge pancake, you use, like Kenyan ugali or bread for us, to dip into or scoop meat, vegetables or whatever is served. We eat Ethiopian throughout the trip. While I enjoy the food, I certainly will not be craving injera for a while.

From Gambella, via Addis, we head north, to Simien Mountain. A drastic contrast from low elevation to high elevation. The rainy season is ending and the hillsides are literally covered in an amazing yellow flower, it is truly breath taking. The airport is in the town of Gonder, the former capital of Ethiopia (1636), which is known as ‘Africa’s Camelot.’ It is truly unique for Africa, as it hosts classical century old-castles and ruins, remnant from prior Emperors. We stroll along the castles, such an oddity to find in Africa.

From Gonder we drive four hours to the Simien Mountains. It is cold as we climb higher, and foggy. People are on horseback, traveling with donkeys, and everyone is wrapped in different colour cloth. Ethiopian cotton. We see some people being carried on a wood-thrown like structure, on men’s shoulders. These are not kings, nor are they throwns—this is the primitive ambulance/stretcher. These men are being carried to a clinic for medical attention.

Debark is the closest town to Simien Mountains and while remote and poor, there are new buildings going up left and right. An increase in tourism in the National Park has resulted in an increase in capital in the town. We get a flat tire and as we wait a young boy dressed like all the others, in hand-me down, worn and dirty cloths shows us his Michael Jackson moves. The lodge in the Park sometimes brings him up and he performs. The cash he uses to buy school notebooks or food, these small infusions of cash make a tremendous difference. I meet another man who has the only ‘internet cafe’ in town. The US Peace Corp helped him set it up and 50% is owned by three orphans, aged 12-18. I ask him how business is going; he says ok, “we don’t make too much money.” But for those orphans, it’s a life changer. They can afford school, books, notebooks, food—their lives will never be the same.

We stay at the only lodge in the Park, a nice boutique hotel built by a British man who worked in Ethiopia decades ago, and wanted to return and do something good for the country. His lodge is demonstrating the ability to increase revenue, employ people and it has introduced a high quality into the Park, which is truly valuable as this Park, while small, has the ability to be a premium Park. That evening we sit with a group of American travel agents from New York and Los Angeles, they market Africa and have been really impressed with Ethiopia. Another American woman from Alexandria, Virginia whose husband is doing work in Gonder says “I knew Ethiopia would be ok for me to travel to when a group of women from my little town organized a trip here. If they can do it, I surely can.” A lovely looking woman in a powder blue Patagonia pile jacket, she reminds me of my Aunt Janet. I smile thinking how delighted I would be to share such places with her.

It is cold and the fire in the dining room is lovely. Not as lovely as the hot water bottles they slipped in our beds. Devine. At night I feel my head throbbing, a sign of the high elevation.

In the morning we travel with a group of American girls (Princeton students) who are studying the Gelado Baboons. These baboons are actually not baboons. They are a monkey that is referred to as the bleeding heart baboon, because of a brilliant red patch on their chest. They have long hair and can be found in large groups. On this morning we spend about an hour with them, they are incredible to watch. Unlike the true baboons, they are not aggressive and they have an amazing repertoire of vocalizations. When we arrive in the morning the gelados are all huddled together to stay warm. As the sun warms them the young begin to play, others preen each other while others start eating—grazing. That’s the oddest aspect, they are grazers. So they sit around all day, literally picking grass. A spectacular species that is endemic to Ethiopia.

The rest of the day we spend traveling the Park, enjoying the magnificent mountain views. Simien Mountains is one of the most dramatic landscapes I have ever seen. Sharp peeks, sheer cliffs, lobelia and other Dr. Seuss like plants, and other endemic species such as the Ethiopian Wolf and the Walia Ibex. The dramatic variation in elevation is staggering. Sharp drops, valleys filled with mountains, it’s a breathtaking landscape. The driver, who spoke no English (Amharic is the language most speak), I am sure is delighted to see us go, given that we stopped a zillion times to take pictures.

While we did not find the elusive Ethiopian wolf, we did see the Walia Ibex, an enormous antelope with huge curved horns. While a premium destination, the park needs support for infrastructure and development. The surrounding highland communities are 65% illiterate and face major nutritional challenges. There is a lot of work that could be done in this area.

We are back in Addis. We’ve had lunch, come out of the restaurant and our Landrover can’t get out of the parking lot because of the number of cars, it is just too tight. The driver gets out, calls a few other guys. They approach the blue Fiat taxi parked next to the Landrover. I watch without a clue for what they are doing. Before I know it, the five guys are bending down and they literally pick the taxi up, and move it over. Our driver wipes his hands together with satisfaction, calls us into the Landrover and we drive away. If Ethiopians can address their challenges with that teamwork and creativity, they will go far.

In the airport on the way back to Nairobi there are over 150 young women in the cue. They speak little English, are all in long skirts with head wraps and huddle together, wide-eyed. We go through the visa line with them and as they approach the escalators they get on timidly and nearly flip over backwards. We hold some of their arms to help them get on. They have never been on an escalator before. These women are on their way to Dubai for jobs, house work, organized by an agency, and I shudder to think of their journey.