Westgate

Yesterday was the first time I returned to Westgate Mall since the terror attack. Westgate is a posh mall located in my old neighborhood, Westlands, in Nairobi. On 21 September 2013, ten days after the anniversary of September 11, the mall was taken over by Al-Shabaab terrorists. Sixty seven people were killed and more than 175 people injured in an event that lasted 48 hours. 

It was a typical Saturday in Nairobi. People were sipping fresh juice on the front patio of a cafe in the mall, kids were on the roof finger-painting. Women were shopping for make-up, teenagers eating pizza in the food court, friends eating sushi in the fancy sushi restaurant. I was in Rwanda, flying back that evening. Our office phone tree quickly kicked into gear. Our staff were safe. 

Westgate was my mall. It was around the corner from where we lived. It is where we had a video store, picked up coffee on a Saturday, shopped for groceries and met friends for a glass of wine after work. It was hard not to think 'what if?' What if I had not been in Rwanda? What if I did my usual thing on a Saturday--woke up, went for a run, ate something, showered and then went to Westgate for a coffee and to grocery shop?

Westgate was a double whammy for the terrorists. It is partially owned by an Israeli and in addition to the hoards of Kenyans that frequent the mall, a lot of westerners living in this part of Nairobi shop at Westgate.

The images of the attack were horrific and all too familiar. A women lay dead under the Dorman's Coffee counter, where we would treat ourselves to a cappuccino on the weekend. An Al-Shabaab masked man with an AK47 points a gun at customers in the cereal isle of our grocery store. People with their hands in the air descend the escalator we rode weekly to the second floor to Mr. Price to get sheets and other household goods. Children lay in pools of blood in the parking lot where we parked on weekends. 

Not surprisingly Kenyans rallied, they always do. On the Monday after the initial attack there were still hostages in the mall. Our staff showed up to work and when released raced to the local hospital to donate blood. Stories of heroism emerged about Kenyans who risked their lives to save others in the attack. Stories were posted on Facebook in remembrance.

The mall reopened in 2015 and the idea of returning to Westgate never enticed me. After the bloody incident shopping or dining in any mall was not that enticing to be honest. One needs to appreciate that in Kenya, shopping is clustered in malls. So while in the USA shopping in a mall is a bit foreign to me as I grew up and lived in towns with shops on the street, in Kenya many stores are clustered in the malls. I found myself avoiding meeting friends in malls and if I had to shop, I would be quick and efficient.

I had driven by the new Westgate before, but again, had never found the need or desire to go in. Sure, it was no longer my neighborhood, so I rarely found myself with the opportunity. On Friday however I was in Westlands for a number of meetings and was meeting a colleague who is based on that side of town, so we decided to meet at Art Cafe, in Westgate. I did not think too much about it except that at some point it would be good to go back, so why not now?

The outside of the mall looks the same, except now, like many places in Nairobi, your car is searched inside and out by private security company staff, you go through a metal scanner when entering the building and a German Shepherd with a metal wire muzzle is held at the front door by a police man in camouflage. The inside looks similar, shiny, new. Busy. Some stores changed but the core remained familiar. People went about their business, people of all ages and walks of life. 

I grabbed a table on the lovely, leafy porch and ordered a Chia Firecracker, a juice made of baobab powder, chia seeds, honey, banana, sweet melon, passion juice and red chili. Hip music played in the hidden speakers, a Chinese business man ate lunch next to me with a Kenyan, a blond European women drank an espresso and smoked a cigarette. As I watched people eating, drinking and laughing, I wondered if anyone was thinking about September 2013. I wondered how life just moves on. Life does move on, and life should move on, but somehow we always need to remember these events as they shape who we are, how we interact with others. They shape our history and our future, and we must always, remember.

Uninvited Visitor

I had a visitor last weekend in Amboseli National Park, a vervet monkey. Clever little buggers. Adorable little black faces. They can wreak havoc and after raiding a sugar bowl, watch out. You know when your child has sugar? Yes, same thing.

Hmm. The guest is in the room.

Perfect. The sugar is right by the coffee as always.

Man, this door is heavier than I remember.

Hey, you, are you going to help here?

Not in Africa

It is 6am. I tip-toe out of the apartment with a towel and a mug of coffee. As I walk down Kaiulani Avenue towards the beach I rub the sleep out of my eye, sip my coffee and watch the morning sun light emerge. Other surfers are walking in the same direction--locals. Tanned, flip flops and carrying a surf board under their arms. Morning surf session. What an amazing way to start the day, a pre-work surf. 

I get to the beach, it is still dim light and the water is already peppered with surfers. The young man renting the boards is tanned, blond, he spends his days on the beach. For ten dollars he sets me up with a board. He tells me to get out there an kick some ass. I tell him, I can go out there and have fun, but I definitely won't be kicking any ass. 

I slip into the warm water and start to paddle. The water is so refreshing and the whole experience of being out, early morning, new place, ocean is delightful. Now, lets be clear. I am not a good surfer. In fact, I would not even call myself a surfer despite having done it a lot, and I mean a lot, so technically, I should be a surfer, but, well, heck, we all can't be good at everything. But I come from the ocean and there is nothing more healing and refreshing than warm salt water.

The waves are long and gentle. Quite a contrast to my first attempt at surfing in Costa Rica where I was literally thrashed for over an hour. Having swallowed gallons of cold salt water, broken the leash, and my friend breaking his board in half we resigned for the day. Here in the Hawaiian waters, the waves a strong enough for a good long ride, but not so strong they wreck you. I am smiling, paddling. Looking at the clear ocean, gazing at the volcanic hills to the mountains that frame the beach, watching the sun rise and embracing the morning. After a long paddle I straddle the board and enjoy the view while waiting for the waves. I watch tall, skinny, large, young and old Hawaiians catch waves leisurely. They do it with ease, like walking or sipping a cold drink, effortless and graceful. Dancing on the waves. After a few attempts I find my self in a wave, standing, riding. I am laughing, saying yahoo. By myself on a long ride, enjoying the morning, enjoying the moment, enjoying life.

 Surfer statue in Waikiki.

The Delta

I am in the Okavango Delta, Botswana. I am taking four days away from work, phones, computers. There is no network. I take a plane to Maun, Botswana, then a small plane into the Delta. I begin to get the anxiety one does when leaving network, wondering if it was really a good idea to sign out for four days with the enormous pile of 'to do's' on my desk. 

After landing on the sandy airstrip, checking into the spectacular, intimate lodge, swallowing a glass of ginger lemonade, I am in a vehicle with my guide Delta. As we watch a female leopard sitting in a tree, I think, yes, yes, this is a good idea. I am reminded of Karen Blixen who once said 'here I am, where I ought to be.'

As if seeing this magnificent female leopard is not enough, as the sun starts to lower, she begins to vocalize. She is calling consistently and gazing off into the distance. She spent the day hunting and stashed her two month old cub in the bush and is now calling her in. Leopard cubs stay in their hiding spot, safe from predators, until their mother fetches them. I have seen this with lions, but surely we would be too lucky to see this two month old leopard cub. This is partially a defense mechanism of mine as I do not like to get my hopes up. Within moments, a tiny, beautiful baby leopard darts out of the bush. She is thrilled to have been released from her hiding spot and barrels energetically into her mom. For the next thirty minutes we are the only ones watching the baby leopard snuggling, playing and rolling over mom. She bats at her mom with her tiny paw, wanting to play, gnawing at her tail and ears, as the mother sits regally. The cub wanders about six feet away from her mom and then sprints toward her as if she is prey, somersaulting and flipping herself over her mom. A spectacular and joyful sighting. 

(Click on photos to enlarge.)

That night the lions roared. It is an awesome, deep noise that signifies wildness. The next morning we are spending on a boat in the Delta, but on the way to the dock, we see two gorgeous male lions. They are resting after eating and one wanders to drink water in a small puddle. Over the next few days, we are lucky to see them at night and eating a kudu. There are three males and one female and each night they let their presence be known with magnificent roars. 

The following evening, we found six wild dogs resting in the tall grass. They looked lean and hungry. As the sun lowered, they got up, and stared towards a group of impala across the grassland. As soon as the impala saw them, they darted into the bush. The dogs then spotted a bushbuck and the chase was on. They sprinted towards the buck who lept into the water. All we could see in the marsh area was its spiral horns moving across the water. Once on the other side, the bushbuck shot out of the water and into the bush. The dogs were livid. They paced and watched as their meal got away from them. 

After giving up on the bushbuck, the dogs kept moving in search of prey. Wild dogs can travel great distances and run up to 35 miles per hour. Soon they found two groups of impala. The dogs kept looking back and forth to decide which to go after, and suddenly shot after one of the groups. As they sprinted towards the impala across a wet, marshy area, we chased after them in the vehicle. The sun was setting. One gets an incredible adrenaline rush watching a predator chase prey. With one hand I held onto the vehicle and my other was in the air as if riding a bucking bronco as we tried to keep up with them. Such fun. Dozens of zebra darted out of the dogs' way, through the marsh kicking up water as they ran. Our vehicle could not keep up with the dogs. The sounds of zebra, antelope and dogs splashing through the water was electrifying. The impala got away and the dogs were back to their search. The sun was now set and so we bid farewell to the dogs and headed back to camp. 

Aerial shots of the Delta. 

Baby elephant learning how to use his trunk.

African Jacana's (a spectacular looking bird) eggs, also known as the lily trotter, because he walks on lilies, or the Jesus bird because it looks like he walks on water. Have you ever seen such splendid eggs?

Baboon sitting on a perch, excellent views.

Above. Red-billed spurfowl. 

Eagle owl. Africa's largest. He caught a frog; thus, is on the ground in the second shot snacking. 

Papyrus below. 

Camp above. Baboon catching a ride below. 

Water Lilies

There is a room at the Musée de l'Orangerie in Paris that I love to visit. It is an oval room filled with Monet's water lilies. There is a comfortable, soft bench in the middle of the room and people are not to speak, silence. The idea is to sit quietly and soak in the lilies. Monet starting painting the lilies around 1890 and gave them to France in 1918 as an offering of peace. There are over 200 in this series and they depict the beauty of lilies and river systems.

I think of Monet and the museum in Paris as I float through lilies in the Okavango Delta in Botswana, one of the largest inland deltas in Africa. I am in a mokoro, a traditional dug-out wooden canoe. We are low to the water and a guide pushes the boat forward with a pole. All one hears is sound of nature. I wonder what Monet would have produced if he were exposed to this exquisite place.  

(Click on the photos to enlarge)

Kwibuka

Kwibuka. To Remember.

Kwibuka is the Kinyarwanda word for 'remember.' It is the word used to describe the annual commemoration of the 1994 Genocide against the Tutsi in Rwanda.

I am in Kigali, the capital of Rwanda, and it is during the Kwibuka Remembrance. There are ceremonies, readings, vigils. Support to survivors. 100 events to represent the 100 days. 

In April 1994, the genocide started. For three months, 100 days, there was killing. Six deaths a minute. Approximately 800,000 people killed. 20% of the population killed. The primary weapon of choice, a machete--a large hatchet like knife. Everyone in Rwanda experienced it, lived it, lost someone, knows someone impacted. 

You see people with scars, you wonder, you do not ask. Your heart aches just thinking about it. 

My driver talks about politics today. The world is condemning the President who has changed the constitution to run for a third term. Have they asked the Rwandans their opinion? Is it is a slippery slope? My driver says he was 10 when the genocide happened. A sentence that stops your heart as you wait for what is next. He says they have peace today, they want to keep it. It is what matters to them and he thinks the current president can keep this peace. Why is the west meddling he asks?


I am here during the one week of mourning. Music is not allowed. No weddings. No celebration. A time to pay respect. A time to remember. 

Every day in the newspaper there are articles about the genocide. Survivors write testimonies on what happened to them. Articles document the details of the events. Commitments are made to ensure it does not happen again.

One article by a woman talks about paying the Hutu to allow them to kill themselves. It is a sentence you have to read, and then reread. Why? Why would you pay someone to allow suicide. It is better than death by machete. Better than death by a Hutu.

A painful, reflective week, but a positive one. Memories stirred, hearts opened and closed again. How can societies thrive, survive if they do not remember, If they do not recall and if they do not heal? How does one heal from such a scar? South Africa for example had their truth and reconciliation process, a process of confession and forgiveness. In China, author Jung Chang talks about her generation living under Mao. They are not allowed to talk about it, but they remember. Curriculum does not reflect the history. A generation bottling up experiences, atrocities and memories, when will it explode?

Today Rwanda is a radically different country. Developed and prosperous. One of the few African countries not reliant on donor aid. A clean, safe and orderly country. By remembering can they stave off any future conflict? When neighbor turns against neighbor, can you forgive?  

http://lgbexpress.ecolint.ch/humanint/therwandangenocidewhydopeoplenotwanttotalkaboutit (Photo Below)

Mara

       I had meetings in the Maasai Mara this week, so I decided to spend weekend in a conservancy adjacent to the reserve. The taxi picked me up at 6 am for my flight and we were instantly in a traffic jam. Yes, 6 am in Karen. After crawling along the road for 45 minutes, the driver said 'do you think you are going to make it?' That really calmed my nerves. We made it. Whisked into the airport, got my ticket and boarded. Always hectic in Nairobi.

       We landed on a grass strip in Siana Conservancy, a community owned conservation area east of the reserve. Stepping off the plane I could instantly breath. The stress of traffic, city, smog, moving all rolled off me. Coffee and muffins by the plane, it felt great to be back in the bush. I stayed in a lovely camp set in a valley surrounded by hills. It's been raining hard so it is very lush and green. This is an odd time of the year for intense rains, but weather patterns have been thrown by El Nino and climate change.

       Friday afternoon we went for a bush walk, which is one of my favorite things to do. Seeing wildlife on foot is an entirely different experience and it is a luxury to get out of the vehicle and walk in the landscape. I was cognizant of the buffalo tracks everywhere. Abraham, a Maasai dressed in a red Shuka (blanket) led us. He pointed out different trees and plants as we walked and explained how the Maasai use different leaves, bark and twigs for medicines and tools.

       When he asked us if we knew what to do when a buffalo attacks, some of the people in the group got a bit nervous. 'You should lay down,' he said, 'do not run.' Me, I knew I'd be right behind Abraham and his spear. During the walk we all kept glancing at the sky as it turned from a cloudy grey to a dark black. Some of the guests kept nervously looking up and saying 'perhaps we should head back?' I knew that the guides know the weather, they know the patterns of the sky. Just as the first drop fell, a vehicle emerged from the lodge and we were all inside when the skies opened. The rain was intense and as we sat bundled in Maasai blankets in the mess tent, it was lovely to watch.

       Saturday morning I awoke at 5 am to a dark, yet clear sky. Coffee mug in hand, driving across the plains with an orange sky as the sun rose--there is nothing better. Whenever I am in the Mara, 'god's country' always comes to mind. It is a place like no other. Even without the wildlife, the vast open landscapes, rolling hills, tall grass, an endless plain is awe inspiring. Breathless beauty.

       We saw a pride of six lions lounging on a beautiful rock outcrop, drying in the sun. There were two small cubs whose faces melt you, still spotty in color. Their tan fur was damp from the rains and they laid on the rocks soaking in their warmth and peering down at us with their heads resting on their enormous paws. Gorgeous. The mother, a striking female, sat properly on the rocks gazing over her pride. 

       Later we saw a spectacular male leopard hanging in a tree, a classic scene that is often shown in books, but rare to see. His belly was absolutely full and hung to one side, while his legs straddled the branch. An elephant walked in the distance and the leopard followed his movements. We had a lovely picnic in the plains and I chuckled as our Maasai guide, Issac, an amazing guide, whipped out his selfie stick for a photo. This was the first time I have ever been subject to a selfie stick and it was classic that it was a Maasai's. 

       Another walk on Sunday. It was myself and a Maasai guide. I enjoyed talking with him as we strolled through the acacia woodlands, to hear about his thoughts on the conservancy, Maasai culture, the struggle to make ends meet, to decrease herd sizes as the grasslands are over grazed, to incentivize conservation and to commercialize meet production. We saw Giraffe, eland, zebra, impala and elephant. We ended the walk with sun-downers on a rock called Simba rock overlooking the plains.

       Later I was driven to another camp where I had meetings the following day. We drove along the east side of the Mara Reserve, in a remote area. On the way we got stuck in the mud, really stuck in the mud. As we emerged from the vehicle Maasai started coming to the vehicle to see the problem. Soon they were gathering sticks, digging, pushing, jacking up the car to put branches under neath. Of course, I stick out like a sore thumb, not only a mazungu (white) but a female by herself in the bush, so the kids had a ball watching, touching and laughing with me. It was so very striking that these communities live next to Kenya's most famous reserve, a cash cow, yet, the children speak no Kiswahili, only Maa, a sign that they either have bad schools or do not even go, despite primary education being free. One girl, probably eight, carrying a baby on her back, her sister, spoke Kiswahili and a few words of English. Obviously, something is not working and if we are going to make conservation work long-term we need to figure out how to address these basic problems.