that's the boy... that's the kid...

I'll start this post with a long overdue acknowledgment. Hello, good day and how are you to every single person that works behind the front doors of Jones Feed Mills. Yes Lori, I do check comments!

I apologize for not sending any individually addressed emails - but it's not my fault! You see, I realized soon after I started this trip that I had relied a little too heavily on the address book Dave has compitently compiled into Outlook - and thus never really took the time to learn all of them. I'm pretty confident that they are all as basic as name@jfm, but I didn't feel like taking the time to guess a hundred combinations and play the odds that most people were hit. I know you guys talk, and I know feelings would be hurt if names were missed. No tears shall be spilt on my account.

This said, I would like to reiterate again how much I enjoyed working with all of you - and for the life of me can not comprehend how that place operates in my absence. It was because of the wonderful time spent with all of you that I am able to fund my time abroad. For those of you who read this, please take a page out of Lori's book and drop a comment, along with your email and I will send you something more personal. Anyone can comment - even you.




Shout out aside, I had a epiphany last week - want to hear it? To set the scene, I should explain that I have developed a new haunt in Kisoro. A couple weeks back a new cafe opened just around the corner from the Golden Monkey hostel, right next to the craft shop run by the German lady, Val (I think I've mentioned her in a previous post). Unsuprisingly, the cafe is run by the same woman, and operates in an organized and exact way that is alien to these parts. Furthermore, the lady who operates as the waitress is an expat of Canada and pretty much awesome to talk with - amazingly friendly and cheery.

For all these reasons, and the fact that you can get food in less than two hours, this restaurant provides a little bubble of normalcy in the otherwise foreign and chaotic atmosphere of East Africa. It was while I was there last Thursday morning, drinking filtered coffee (instead of tinned!) and being stared at like a fish in a bowl by passerbys (really driving home the bubble feel) that I realized that I like it here. I like Africa.

This may not seem like much of an epiphany, so I will explain. Over my first month here, there has always been this itch in the back of my mind that something wasn't quite right - something I couldn't put my finger on. Although it didn't really impede my ability to function, it did provide me with some reservation and even hestiation that I would define as uncharacteristic. It left me feeling at odds with the continent.

Yet, for some reason, having this place that was almost a teleporter to a different world, allowed perspective. I realized that I like the organized chaos, the loosely based time schedule and the muzungu status that dogs a traveler like me through Africa. The only thing that I am unable to place is whether the creation of an escape gave me the chance to truly value what I had, or the allowance of a respite emboldened me to truly embrace the culture knowing that I had a temporary out close at hand to use.

Regardless of the answer, the shift in attitude could not have come at a better time. With the start of some true backpacking about to begin, a slightly cocky swagger to the ways of Africa is a blessing. It does, however, mean that I am about to throw away all the stability and routine that I have managed to build. I will honestly say that I am quite excited to become a little more transitory. Classic backpacking holds such a romantic notion with me, that I am elated to truly hit the dusty, broken roads of Africa for the first time.

Who is Pudge you ask? Pudge is my sister
She tends to be annoying, much like a blister
But I wouldn´t trade her for the world

Pudge is a bit chunky, thick at the thighs
¨Don´t call me Pudge!¨ she idly cries
But I wouldn´t trade her for the world

When she moves she jiggles
And if you poke her she giggles
But I wouldn´t trade her for the world

However, maybe for a robot.

Jessica looks excited too!

It conincides with these sentiments that I had recently just started - and finished - reading the book, The Beach. I'm not sure why I had never read it before, but I can reckon that it was probably because I remember seeing the movie back when and finding myself less than inspired. That, however, was a different time, and the nuances and romance of the life of the traveler was lost on me. This go through though, it struck chords. The narration is first person, and done in a simple yet elegant way that niether demands nor insults. Reading The Beach is more like thinking through your own thoughts than taking the words off the paper. It touches and bounces on so many thoughts and sentiments that I can relate to - allowing it to add itself neatly to the list of my favourite books. The only bad thing about it is that it has me mumbling the words "that's the boy, that's the kid..." quietly to myself. Although I don't feel like writing any more of a book review, it has got me thinking, and I can appreciate anything that does that.

Lastly in the news department is the wildlife. I had made a joke to Jess about half a month ago that the forest, and its animals, operated much like a video game. The premise of the game is that seeing animals beats levels; every animal is a boss. This joke was timed after a stint in the woods where we had seen so little fauna for it to be laughable. The driving comment I made was that as soon as we saw Gorillas, the last boss, we'd unlock all content.

Not suprisingly then, in the last week and a bit since we trekked the jungle of Bwindi, some fun stuff has happened! Last week, first thing in the morning, Jess and I were making a usual walk to the monkeys, and were not at all suprised to see the regular signs of buffalo and elephants in the mud. We made our often ignored half joke / half pleas to follow the tracks, and again were not at all suprised to hear them rejected. Therefore, the suprise came not ten minutes later when we discovered that something had decided to stick around! We were close to entering the forest proper when we were stopped, and directed with pointing fingers to look to the other side of a dried up stream bed. Standing, large as life, just thirty feet away, was a full grown male forest elephant. It didn't stay too long, but I did manage a nice photo of it's butt. Joking aside, hell yes elephant!



Add on to that the fact I saw a bush buck today on the way to see the habituated golden monkey group, and you might think that the forest did in fact have some organized viewing sequence to it. I can just imagine the UWA walking ahead of me and kidnapping all the animals until I shelled out money for a Gorilla permit. What a sneaky and devious ploy.

The habituated group of golden monkeys was neat, but rather anti-climactic. It is hard to get really, really worked up to see something that I have been viewing for the past month and a half. It was neat to see them so close though, and more importantly frustrating that in the first ten minutes I had collected many more, and better photos than a month plus of efforts had produced.



Tonight is a goodbye party night, and will most likely be one big wreck. We all went to the marketed on Thursday and managed to assemble the ugliest ensembles we could find. The tour de force of my paticular number is a stunning black cardigan featuring Winnie the Pooh and Tigger holding hands. Best friends is neatly embroidered across the chest. I worry for the person who actually bought this from disney, but reckon it was perhaps that gift you might recieve from a strange and distant relative.

No other news to report, must go be ridiculous.

Thanks for reading,

Sean

Gorillas!

Since the turn of the century, modern technology has been steadily introduced into east Africa. Bank machines, cell phones, internet and even something as seemingly basic as electric power can all be listed among the advances still relatively new to certain regions of the continent. As an outsider visiting Africa for the first time, you may do as me and take all these conveniences for granted while visiting - but ask any kid or adult over the age of ten and more than likely they can tell you a tale of being without some or all of the things listed above.

Since the technology is relatively new, the assimilation of it into the every day life would be assumed slow. Furthermore the implications one draws from new technology built on an old, unreliable infrastructure is obviously apparent. You'd expect things not to work. They don't, not always, not well. Therefore the true surprise is how dependent they really have become on it. When power is out the people curse; parents would rather put money on their phones than eat and sit around listlessly when the network is down. But, in this travelers opinion, the most annoying, nay most frustrating thing about all the new technology is that nobody knows how to use it.

An example? Ask any of my traveling cohorts and they will be quick to back me up if I said lines at the bank were often long. At first we had many theories - the bank is out of money, the power is out, the machine is broken, the client base is too big - until we had to overshoot our destination of Bwindi two weeks ago, to drive another hour to Kabale and money.

Our trip to Bwindi on that faithful day, unfortunately, was not to see the Gorillas, but instead to visit a man named Edward who was researching them. Nice man, nice place, fun party. Anyways, there was a group of us and we needed a private car, which normally isn't an issue. However, during that particular week there had been a line in front of the Kisoro bank for hours every day, and we had been unable to withdraw money. The driver probably wasn't going to take us for free, regardless of how seductive Richard, Chris and I acted. Hatching a plan, the decision was made to overshoot our destination to Kabale, which has six banks, and in our minds no such problems.

As we rolled into Kabale, a dusty shanty town of a tourist hub, we were obviously fairly surprised to find that every bank had a line of at least ten people. However, the lines appeared to be moving (slowly), and we had no alternative options, so we waited semi-patiently. After about thirty minutes in line we finally got to the ATM. Thirty seconds later we were all left scratching our heads. Why had every other person taken five to ten minutes?! That is right, folks, they just don't know how to use the damn machines. Days of waiting and a two hour return trip to Kabale to find out that all our issues with money were because everyone wanted to use the technology and didn't know how - instead, putting in their cards and mashing buttons with wadded fists while a thin line of drool runs down their cheek until it spits out money.

Layer on top of this multiple incidents where the power has been out for the majority of the day, a week of no phone service, and an annoying man who asked me to set him up a website (with a picture) for his business and unquestionably we've had our struggles with the 'modern conveniences'.

I can hear you asking questions. I hear it. The question you keep asking me is "what the hell does this have to do with Gorillas? Get to the Gorillas." OK, I will get to them now - but you'll be grateful for this background.

I will indicate with a little denotation where we got lucky with technology.

You see, our expedition to the Gorillas started out rather serendipitous. As we were settling down for bed at the park on Thursday night, Jess and I were disturbed by a flurry of activity at the door. Darja and Wippollo were at our door, both with phones to their ears - one talking to Molly and one to Loy, who are employees at the Golden monkey hostel - and had news of Gorilla permits on the cheap! They also agreed to arrange for us Boda pickup very early from the park and a private car to take us to Bwindi, this time to see the Gorillas!
-> Lucky the phones were working

At five on the dot, the bodas roared up the hill to find us waiting eagerly. The ride down was relatively smooth, although we were caught in the catch-22 of night time boda driving. You see, the roads are terrible, and as a result, and especially at night, the drivers like to go slow and have lots of light. The problem of course is that the lights are directly connected to the throttle. This means you need to gun it to see and consequently hit the bumps, or go slow and careful in the pitch dark. I was oddly amused by this.
-> Good thing the Boda Boda drivers decided to be reliable

We arrived in Kisoro at ten to six and had the drivers drop as off at Stanbic bank. We were pleased to see that the lights were on, and the line non-existant. It is funny to observe us when we approach a bank in day light hours, because every local person gets in a mad rush to beat the Muzungu to the machine. They are right to do so. At just before six on a Friday morning, Jess and I managed to take just under two million shillings out of the bank. Although to us this is only several hundred dollars, it goes a lot further in Africa. I can only imagine the frustration Friday morning when people started lining up to try and use their bank cards only to find it pretty sparse on cash.
-> Power was on, bank had money, there was no line!

We arrived at the hostel just as the car was pulling in, and in no time at all were off and on our way to Bwindi and Gorillas! The ride itself took about two hours, and included a brief stop for us to actually pick up our permits. As I may not have explained, we had our names down on a list for cancellation permits. Basically a cancellation permit is a permit that is sold kind of second hand (and illegally) by a tour company when someone who has booked the Gorilla trekking through them calls off their visit. The benefits are that I only had to pay $300 for a regular $500 permit, and that money goes right into the pocket of the company. Win, win!

So at about 6:30, with the sun rising, we stopped at a crossroads in what can only be described as the middle of nowhere. After about a three minute wait, a boda pulled up beside our car and a man jumped off holding two permits. After a little negotiation and a million plus shilling transaction, Jess and I were left holding two permits made out for Americans: mine saying Alan and the other Ilona with a last name indecipherable.



Fast forward about thirty minutes to find us in line behind two french girls at the debriefing banda for Gorilla trekking, waiting to register. In one hand we had our permits with our American identities and in the other we had our passports with the names our parents chose; all we could do was stare at each other and then at our documents. When we finally reached the table, he looked at the documents briefly, comparing, then quickly glanced at us and kept on writing without saying a word. You did it Alan, you got to see your Gorillas after all!

Things really had worked out perfectly. All these tiny variables that could have gone wrong and had us up the night before in a pessimistic fret worked to a tee. We were at the park, with valid permits in hand, lined up to be the only two actually going out to see our selected group. Everything was perfect!

Que reality. To the rhythmic sound of shuffling feet, in entered the all German 70+ Bridge Club / mall walker society (I called them both interchangeably) in a whirl of beige and khaki. Button up shirts, trousers hiked to the chest and pant legs tucked neatly into the socks, arriving to set the pace for the whole trek. I must say that I am at least a little proud of them in the way they managed to turn a potentially compact five-hour trek into a nine hour mission.



Let me begin by saying that the park gets its name Bwindi Impenetrable Forest for a reason: this was not an easy hike. At it's easiest parts, you were walking through dense foliage on the edge of a pretty large drop. The angle of the path was severe and tested the strength of your ankles as it went over slippery rocks and slick grass. At first the continuous falling of the ladies was sadly humorous, but as the minutes turned to hours, it became much more frustrating.

The whole group of women was so beat up and tired, that after we made it to the apes, half of them just kind of wilted onto the vegetation and handed their camera limply to the trackers, not even bothering to take the time to view for themselves. I was fairly annoyed with them come that point, because I couldn't for the life of me figure out why they had come. Please know your limits, readers of this blog, the Gorilla trek in Bwindi is exactly that, a trek. It is not a catered safari in the back of a land cruiser - it is one hell of a walk. It is a lot of up and down hills, through very thick vegetation at an elevation of 2000 m above sea level (hence mountain Gorillas). I don't want to sound like a bigot, or an impatient ruffian but I couldn't help but feel like it was just very inconsiderate to us and the guides/porters who literally at times had to push and pull them up the hills. End Rant.

The gorillas themselves were amazing. It was simply astonishing how after the longest three hour hike of my life, how short the hour with the animals felt. We heard the animals before we could see them, and were greeted on arrival with the sounds of breaking branches and the trampling of foliage. After another minute of walking through grass, we came out into a semi-clearing where a baby gorilla was sitting alone, very cutely, eating the shoots of a plant. That was the start of the magic.

From that point on it was non-stop Gorilla action for the next hour. We saw everything! There were gorillas climbing trees, females punching the trackers and Jess even managed to get on camera a fight between the dominate silver back and a lesser one. While those two were fighting, the third silver back, who was only about 2 feet away from me was getting very agitated and making all sorts of aggressive calls and growls. "Stand still, keeping taking pictures, don't run, you're fine" was what the tracker kept repeating to us, as Jess and I (the old women had passed out somewhere further away) were encased by a triangle of three silver backs in the midst of a fight. While the males were fighting, the females and the baby were up in a tree eating fruit and then throwing them at us. So, so, so cool!








The walk back was very similar to the walk there, except without the excitement of Gorillas for motivation. Rest stops would usually include Jess and I tapping our feet for twenty minutes with the lead tracker as we waited for the rest to catch up. By this time in the day, I was pretty much dying. Since the planning had been done at 10:00 pm the night before, we had not been able to get any food, water or sleep. Therefore during the hike back I had yet to eat, had long run out of the little water I brought and was exhausted from the trekking - all the while having to wait for the ladies to catch up.

Eventually we managed to convince one tracker to take us back without the group, and I think it saved us about two hours. The hardest part of the trek is a big hill at the very end, and I'm glad I didn't have to be there for them climbing it. After finally dragging our half-dead selves to the top of the hill, and fighting off the many types of merchandise thrown at us (every t-shirt is the same gross green) we were finally back in the car and on our way to Kisoro.

After dinner and some much deserved beer we caught the pickup truck back to Mgahinga, where we promptly fell asleep and finished off one of the longest, if not coolest days ever. We walked back into Kisoro today, and after finding some liquids, basically threw ourselves into the first internet place we found. The power keeps flickering, and it's really warm, but I'm enjoying the rest.

Other than that, the only real news is that Jess and I have been teaching science at the local primary school. I've been teaching grade 6 and the classification of animals, while Jess does 5th grade and is teaching about poultry and keeping birds. I'm basically Bill Nye, you should call me that.

Thanks for reading,

Sean

Three Countries, One Man (all at the same time!)

So, by some stroke of crazy, we made the decision to climb another Volcano. Yesterday morning, bright and shiny, our group set out to tackle the second tallest of the three Virunga's in Uganda: Sabinyo. Although Sabinyo isn't technically as tall as Muhavura (3700m vs 4100m), what it lacks in size it makes up for in difficulty. That is right, Sabinyo is harder.



As you must understand, Sabinyo gets the name 'Old Man's Tooth' for an obvious reason: it's many peaks. As a result, to climb to the highest point on Sabinyo requires the taming of three individual, increasingly higher peaks. Each peak is seperated from the proceeding one by a small descent and an increasingly vertical climb - such that come the third, you are litterally climbing rickety ladders nailed into the cliff face. These ladders have clearly been hued out of the native trees on the mountain, because as is their nature, they are curvy and twisted as alpine vegetation tends to be. Not that I don't trust the craftmanship of UWA officials at high elevations, but some of the wrungs did have the tendency to pull away or snap come pressure and weight. Ah.



Now the bad news is that in my own way of guarenteeing good weather, I left my camera at the bottom. The good news is that the weather was fantastic, and everyone else brought theirs. When we reached the tallest of the peaks we could see clear out across the world. As I have alluded to, the highest point on Sabinyo also marks avery interesting boundary location. It is the exact spot where the Congo, Rwanda, and Uganda meet - such that while I was trying to spot the active crater at Goma, I was illegally crossing a lot of borders. It is funny to mention that the bounderies are so accurate, that upon reaching the top and stumbling breathlessly into what would be Rwanda, our British friend Richard's phone recieved a inviting text saying "Welcome to Rwanda".



What followed was a bunch of silly pictures of everyone trying to be everywhere at once. Although I did not have my camera up there, I will make an attempt to steal a few later for the purpose of your viewing pleasure. I have no pictures to account for the nice weather, but I did pick up a sunburn if you are skeptical and need proof. The walk down was nice, if uneventful, and left everyone in a fairly good mood. I do have to say though, post mountain, that Muhavura is harder. The amount of sheer will power needed to climb Muhavura to the top, made it one of the hardest things I've ever done. Good try Sabinyo, nice attempt.





It is funny the type of things you fixate on while climbing though. For this paticular mountain I had altered the words to a song called 'Mansion of Misery', by unceremoniously editing Mountain into the title. However, I think the quote that was most predominant in my head was a gem from the second Jurassic Park move (Jurassic Park quotes seem to be becoming a running theme in this trip, much to my pleasure):

"Remember that chap about twenty years ago? I forget his name. Climbed Everest without any oxygen, came down nearly dead. When they asked him, they said why did you go up there to die? He said I didn't, I went up there to live. "

I have said before that mountain climbing is an enigma. This quote gives the gist of it. Although I didn't climb anything near to Everest, the effect is the same. The day after you can't imagine having spent your time anywhere else.

Other than that, everything has been fairly tame on the Africa front. About a week ago we walked out to lake Mutunda and were able to go swimming. I don't know if it is the elevation, but I could have placed this lake anywhere in Canada (ignoring the view). The water was beautiful, and the weather perfect. Although we were told that the lake didn't have Bilharzia, I'll have to keep my head up for any symptoms.

I guess the final piece of news is that a group of vets from Spain have rolled into town about a week back. There mission has been to set up spots where the local people can bring their cows, sheep and goats from deworming, as well as their dogs for the snip-snip. All to willing to help, Jess and I showed up at a field near our site one morning to get our hands dirty. What we weren't expecting, however, was for the vets to be delayed indefintiely that day. As a result, needles and other devices were put in our hands and we were sent to work.



Being the trained vet I am, I was immediatley in my element. Drench in hand, Jess and I quickly set to work on the goats and sheep. I guess the best way to describe the situation was organized chaos. As we worked to shove the stuff down the animal's throats, the children would already be off and running to jump and leap on the next group to get treated. Our arrival to a specific herd was punctuated by the bleeting of child-crushed animals, as a government official tried to record names at our torrid pace.



Once we had eliminated the smaller animals, we loaded up our needles of ivermec and stalked the real game. I was previously unaware to how savage deworming could be, but it really boils down to a lot of stabbing with big needles. As five or six local men draped themselves over the cows, we would do the honours of plungeing the syringes into the neck. Although the little cows often fell to their fate, more than a few times the big bulls would't stand for it and ran across the field full gait, with locals in tow like some bizarre trophy.

Later that day as I was walking home from a market, I was hailed down, and asked where I (the vet from spain) would be working the next day. It felt nice to be recognized as something other than a white person, but the irony was that I had no idea where the vets would be. Luckily, some thinking on the feet allowed me to tell the guy to listen to the radio! Saved.

That. That was a good day.

I think I have you all caught up, and must now leave (the internet place is closing). Tomorrow we are heading up to Bwindi for a few days, and then when we get back it'll be time to do some teaching in the schools. I think we are being joined shortly by two more Swedish volunteers; it is always nice to have some new faces.

Hope all is well, be good.

Much Love,

Sean

Fun fact: Congo was always my favourite location on the risk board, and I would secure it at all costs. I liked the name. Congo!Con GO! connnn goooo.

Dark Continent, Light Mood (and a video!)

Monkey buisness aside, I have a confession to make. At the start of these blogs, and this trip, I ashamedly felt very much like going home. That is not the confession, the confession is that I am a person rarely satisfied with what I have. I hunger, I want; what I get is rarely ever the true means to my desire. As I sit at home, sheltered, I long for the chaotic, unruly nature that accompanies travel and adventure. Come opportunity, I embarrassingly slant my eyes home bound, drawn by the temptation of comfort, safety and stimulation; plugged into the world from my bed room, behind closed doors.

Therefore, it is understandable that I truly cherish the moments of real satisfaction. Last Sunday, on a whim, Jess decided that a walk down the road was in order. Unfortunately, this spontaneous walk was decided upon about ten minutes prior to a storm, and we found ourselves a kilometer downhill and down road come monsoon. We got wet. We got so wet that the only plausible next step was to strip to my boxers on return and parade around the grass like a mad hatter in the frozen mountain downpour. Funny enough, that was the first time on the Dark Continent that I felt at home; a crazy Muzungu losing his mind in the rain. That was the exact moment that I decided not to waste another second here longing for the creature comforts of a world away. They'll be there when I get back, but I'm here now, and I'll no longer squander the beauty of this land with a bad mood.

Understandably then, this past week up on the hill and around has been fairly good. The rainy season is moving into our little nook of Uganda, while it apparently is getting drier everywhere else. We have been told several reasons for why it is rainy here, and the closest I can figure out is that the mountains play their part. One local was convinced that the weather was unpredictable due to the closeness of the Rwanda and Congo borders. Those darn other countries are always causing that annoying unpredictability.

The vast amount of spare time we have in the afternoon is finally paying off too. Although at first is was a curse, as we struggled to fill the unstimulated hours, it has now provided us with endless opportunities to explore the community.

For example, we managed to finally get into the craft shop shop run by a local woman near the park entrance. Although it was a fairly small operation, the carvings were all quite nice, and I believe Jess and I made her day by dropping $70,000 USH on the little shop. Now if you're curious at home, that is about $35 Canadian, but over a months salary for many of the people here. The woman was literally singing and dancing as we walked out. On a small tangent, in Kisoro there is a craft store that sells similar things - the irony however, is that the nicest traditional craft store in town, but is run by a portly, industrious German woman who is always fervently working her sewing machine.

On Wednesday Darja, Jess and I set off with our field guide, Jared, to visit one of the local caves. These caves are situated around the community, buried and obstructed by farmers fields, and used to be home to the Batwa pygmies.



Now I think we just assumed rather naively that we would have no problems reaching this cave and entering, just the four of us; so we grabbed three weak flashlights and headed off for some spelunking. My gosh, how we were so wrong. As is the way with any walk through the area, we managed to amass our large following of local children; the three Muzungu messiahs and their flock of followers. Such that we arrived at the pitch dark cave with roughly twenty five children eagerly scrambling after us into the blackness. If what you are imagining is comical, then the truth was even funnier.

The majority of my time in the cave was spent shepherding children safely along with the guidance of my ever-dimming torch. Meanwhile, Darja had decided to become a movie producer and was having Jared do several takes when he went to explain things of interest, all the while directing the minimal light and our voluntary all-kid cast to do and say certain things for effect. This was all happening inside a dark, wet cave, somewhere under the surface of Uganda.

The cave itself is rather neat. As it was explained to us, the cave was the home for a tribe of Batwa Pygmies, who used to use it as a location to launch raids on the local populace. The estimates we were told were that it could have housed upwards of 10,000 pygmies. Now you've got to understand, this cave wasn't that big! So how small were these pygmies? Or, how comfortable did they get. The floor of the cave was lined with mud and bat guano, and the ever dripping ceiling meant for constant puddles - not my ideal place to sleep. I'm sure the video that Darja made will surface eventually, and I must say the true quality of it comes out in the forced awkwardness. Jared ending all his takes with "OK?", the children's inability to not look at the camera and myself, constantly with face in palm.

On Thursday we decided for a change of pace, and spent it climbing a volcano. The largest of the three volcanoes, Muhavura, that big and often misty chunk of rock in the background of our daily life here. It didn't fail to be either; big or misty. Wake up was 5:30, boda boda ride 6, sunrise 6:30, and climbing through the hole in the buffalo wall to the isolated UWA rangers station at half seven.



Mountain climbing is an enigma. The whole way to the top is a constant struggle for motivation; "I'm paying for this?". I'm not sure if I just felt a little off, but the climb was one of the hardest things I've ever done. About half way up a cloud rolled in on the wings of a severely cold wind. I didn't have a thermometer, but I lost feeling in my fingers. This new coldness was rubbed in by our guide claiming that he was sure "we were more than halfway", although I assumed we were only seconds from the top. The much needed stops for the ever thinning air offered no respite, as they heralded the arrival of massive shivering - filling the space where motion, and some reasonable level of warmth used to be.

The top of the volcano is adorned with a crater lake. The true testament to how thick the cloud cover was, is that when we reached the top, not three meters from the water, we couldn't see the pool's edge. On a good day you are supposed to be able to see all the way to Goma in the Congo, and it's a real shame we missed out. On the positive side, the crater lake is said to be lucky for those who drink from it, and so I obliged. Yes, I drank mystery water from the top of an African mountain. It is funny how, in stark contrast, the majority of the time going down was spent singing and chatting. The walk down went very smoothly, even if it felt longer than the ascent, and we reached the bottom proud, albeit a little mush in the legs. Although I had regretted paying for the torture earlier, I didn't for a second after touch down.

Today was a lazy day. Late rise, late breakfast and I talked to a crazy guy about speaking with Canada about price equality (I'll just get Canada on the phone!). Our rest stop in Kisoro has been quite good, if maybe not so restful, and I think pork is on the bill tonight followed by a visit to the lake tomorrow!

So I suppose in conclusion, things have been progressing along nicely. I am enjoying myself, and the opportunities for fun and adventure are rolling in as a result. It is truly funny that the thing that bothered me most of all at the beginning, endless amounts of free time, is now one of things I'm beginning to cherish most about this trip. One of my absolute favourite things, is sitting out on the balcony in the afternoon and waiting for the birds to come in. Sitting, reading and waiting with my camera nearby, the birds come in force for endless photo opportunities.






Thanks for reading!

Much love,

Sean

Africa is Where the 80's Came to Die

Although Jessica may have been the one who said it, I don't disagree with the statement.

Thursday was another day spent in town, and since we weren't supposed to go back into the field until Friday, we had the chance to hang around for the much acclaimed Kisoro market day. Market day is a biweekly event where merchants stream across the border from Congo in multitudes to try and sell all their crap for higher prices in Uganda.

The market itself is located on the far edge of town, and when in full swing, becomes a maze of people selling all sorts of crap like you couldn't believe. You know all those good will donations that you are making back in North America? Well, they're selling them here to anyone with a pulse and a roaming eye for irrelevance. I eluded to the local dress code in a previous post, and in particular to the prevalence of neon windbreakers. Well it appears that as we have started cleaning the 80's clothing out of our deepest, darkest storage areas, impoverished Africans are selling them to slightly less impoverished Africans to keep the decade alive - a mere 30 years later.



Tacky bowling shirts, tees from Superbowl twenty through thirty five and fine dress apparel are handily available - one traveler even managed to get his hands on an oversize 'Mountain Search and Rescue jacket" right from the heart of the United States. When I first got here and walked through the less transitory markets, I wondered how some of this stuff got here, but this market took it to a whole other level.

Meanwhile, back in the forest... Even though Wednesday was Darja's day to go into the woods, she was sick, and as a result unable to make it. We hadn't planned to be up there as we figured she would go, and went into Kisoro Tuesday night, resulting in none of us entering the woods with the standard tracker, ranger, and field assistant. It is no surprise then that they saw no less than 39 monkeys, 10 water buffalo, a viper, a rare three horned chameleon and a full grown silver back gorilla that had come up from the Congo. Conversely, Friday morning we saw about eight monkeys in 4 hours. Ha, ha, ha.



Thursday night was a lively affair, featuring us going to a local 'restaurant' where we got some of the best pork ever. Pig around here is pretty rare and as a result there isn't a lot of game in town. There is one place however that cooks a pig a day (if they can get it), and by god they do it right. We went at about three, on our way to market, and reserved five kilos to be shared among the six of us (2 Brits, our Slovenian coworker, and a Swede along with Jess and myself). At eight, we came back for the feast. They spend the majority of the afternoon smoking the pig, and then when it is time to eat, they quickly boil then fry it. The end result is some of the best pork I've ever tasted.

Served on a large metal tray, the food is brought out among a greasy array of potatoes and cabbage and requires you dig into the plate with your hands as if it were some kind of medieval feast. When we combined this with the altitude and strong Ugandan beer, it was the precursor to a great, but messy, night. After food we headed to one of the local div-, er, clubs and rounded out our night with more beer and dancing. Unfortunately we paid for this the next morning. As we needed to get back up to the park for 7:30, our punishment was bodha bodhas at dawn.

Now my first bodha bodha ride was less than savory, and featured me getting both slapped by a local and falling off (not related incidents) - but at least that time it was downhill, I wasn't slightly hungover or awake at an ungodly hour. True to form, about ten minutes into the cold morning ride my bodha's tire got a puncture. Right? RIGHT? Unfortunately for Jessica, it meant I had to share hers and I think it may have been the worst ride of her life. She was already a wreck and I think this ride was the finisher - by the time we hit the woods she was a zombie.

After the field, and an afternoon of sorta sleeping, we actually decided to head back into town. Although this meant another ride on those hellish motorcycle taxis, it went a lot smoother. Since it was mostly down hill, and I seemed to have lucked into getting a big one, the ride was smooth and uneventful. Furthermore, I picked up this horrid pseudo-backpack that has the footy player Ronaldo on it - making the carrying of my stuff on the bike a dream.

Friday was another sloppy evening, as it was a party to say goodbye to one of the long time volunteers here. I mentioned briefly before that there was a Swede. Sam, who had been volunteering here for seven months, was helping to set up a micro loan program for local start up projects. Seven months is a long time, very impressive.

Jess and I tried to get up for the boda bodas again, but as 6:30 came and went, the idea of riding up the hill to spend 5 hours in the forest became less and less appealing. As a result I was sent out to essentially tell the taxis to bugger off (with a little cash incentive to make parting easier). I do believe that we will try again tonight to make the trip up, although I do find it rather hard to ever get enthused for bumpy, uncomfortable motor cycle torture. It is a special kind of rape, because once they're done assaulting you, they have the gall to ask for money.

Thanks for reading,

Much Love,

Sean

Pictures?

I realize that my blog yesterday ended with a bit of a negative tone to it. I think that my homesickness is really just the manifestation of my frustration. The 'research' that we applied for was set up to attract biologists, and required the corresponding degree and experience in the field to be considered.

Therefore, when you show up to a place and realize that you're doing the work that anyone with a notebook can manage, it is inevitably frustrating. Partly because I feel like I have been duped and partly because I could be better spending my time seeing this country or it's many neighbours. Our Solution? We've had several talks with Darja over the past day and we've decided that our concerns should be expressed. Either this program needs to evolve to offer what it promises at a distance, or it should be targeted to everyone until such a time as they wish to make it more specialized.

I may have still come if there was simply a volunteer position to 'habituate and observe primates for two weeks', but don't offer me cake and give me crumbs. It's only been a week and I will give it more time, it is just really sad that such a valuable opportunity to do something real and novel is being squandered. Those are my qualms, maybe when voiced some changes will be made - as I have eluded to before, we are pretty much in on the ground floor, and I think our suggestions and even outward cynicism will be necessary to help this project advance to its full potential. This trip, and volunteer position, has been in my mind since I got accepted back in the summer - so I hope that it is understandable that I am a little disappointed.

Let me tell you the positives. Even the job of habituating these monkeys for tourism is important for tourism and adding money to the community. Win. Uganda is truly a beautiful country, and with the odd exception of course, the people are very friendly. Win. The staff and members of the other branches of the MCDO umbrella organization are all very friendly and helpful, and a pleasure to be around and talk to. Win. I already feel better after a couple days in Kisoro, and am in a much more positive mood.

Now as promised, pictures:


The golden monkey guest house is the headquarters for MCDO in Kisoro and is a great place to stay with very friendly staff. I believe the man in front identified himself as Saturday. I am not sure and even had to ask twice.

An example of the sort of hodge-podge nature of the clothing exhibited. These kids and their flashy suits just happened to pose in a way that looked like a Christian rock album cover.

The gate house to Mgahinga National Park. There are gorillas in there we're told, but we're trying to count on stumbling across them - instead of paying the $500 cover to anyone else.

Mt. Muhabura, the tallest of the three Virungas, stands as the constant backdrop of daily life in the park. Aptly named 'the guide' it can be seen for miles.


The pictures beneath are kind of an overview of the forest, and the pictures really don't do its magnificence justice. The first is a picture of the very high forest canopy, and the second of the thick bamboo that makes for the thickest parts of the woods. After that is an obligatory picture of the monkeys so that you know I'm really looking at them - and last but not least is a picture of our ranger, Ben, resting in a clearing. The low resolution of the photo doesn't really do it justice, but it is my favourite picture from here to date.