Thanksgiving weekend, Antalya, Turkey

Today I am thinking about stark parallels: traveling in the lap of luxury with some of my best friends—a vacation of a lifetime—in contrast to the hundreds of people dead and injured in Ankara, a mere five hour’s drive away from here, killed while engaging in a peaceful demonstration. Today is Thanksgiving Sunday in Canada and I can’t help but feel overwhelmed by how lucky I am. There’s nothing to do but recognize that we are the fortunate ones in this scenario, and what exactly did we do to deserve this?

But let me back up a bit. Yesterday morning in Ankara there was a planned peaceful protest of a group, primarily students, protesting the conflict between the Turkish army and Kurdish armed groups. I’m not going to pretend to know the extent of this struggle in Turkey (and Iraq and Syria), which goes back decades, but I do want to point out that no one should have to fear for their lives when they are marching in peace. No one has taken credit for the blasts, but we do know that there were up to two suicide bombers. The picture of this tragedy is blurry, however, because the government has put a clampdown on extensive media coverage. I have been scanning the different international news websites and there have been very few updates since last night. We aren’t getting witness statements; we aren’t getting reactive accounts from the surviving demonstrators; we are barely even able to post on Facebook that this is happening because the government has censored the major social media websites.

Suffice it to say that I am more than fine: we are about to rent a car and travel west along the Mediterranean, visiting the beaches and heritage sites along the way to Kas. And I feel invincible, traveling with three dear friends, like this amazing trip will never end—but it is all rather fleeting, isn’t it? I’m sure that yesterday morning, those demonstrators, likely our age or younger, also felt safe and secure in the fact that they would see tomorrow.

Happy Thanksgiving to you and yours. We are more than privileged for all that we have.

xor

P.S. To my Canadian friends: Don’t forget to vote!

The big guy: Mt. Kilamanjaro 

What a day! And what a trip it’s been, even though I am barely a week in. How to describe Tanzania? People are so lovely here. So many smiles and waves. I’ve only had one guy mutter “muzungu” when I passed (if you recall from my Congo blog, that means “whitey”). For the most part, people are lovely and welcoming; in fact, the first thing anyone ever says is “you’re welcome”. Literally, “you are welcome here.” And I certainly do feel welcome. It is just magical here. I can tell I’m close to the Serengeti—the birds are amazing!

Today after work my colleague and I went to a fabric shop to pick out some patterns that would look nice for a dress (this is becoming my fieldwork tradition, by the way; getting a dress made in the local fabric). Then the shop owner closed up his shop to take us to where we could find the best tailor in town. Really. Can you imagine that happening anywhere else?! When we got to the tailor, he asked me what kind of dress I wanted and when I couldn’t tell him, I looked around at the women in the market. There was this stunning young woman in a green dress that hugged every curve and had puffy sleeves. “That one,” I told him. And it was done. He took my measurements and then I have him my mum’s. He was like “you’re basically the same size, you and your mama. I can picture her in this dress.” What a lovely man. I think our dresses will be fabulous. Don’t worry, they won’t be made of the same fabric; that would be a bit much.

Oh, I wish I could talk specifically about the work, because it is so inspiring and fascinating. But I’ll have to be vague and just say that I have been so struck by people’s eagerness to learn and to teach others. There’s a real “we’re in this together” attitude that I’ve never encountered in any of the other countries I’ve worked in. They are thinking about their children and the future and the earth and it nearly brings tears to my eyes. It just usually isn’t that way with artisanal miners. Of course, coming from Congo, most mining will look pretty swell! I know, I know, I’m such a softie. But in this line of work, you so rarely hear positive stories. This project is a real pleasure.

I’m not sure when I’ll be able to post this until next week when I’m back in internet land. But I wanted to get this down while it was fresh in my mind.

**************

11 February 2015

I am just wrapping up the Tanzania portion of my trip (Kenya is next!) and wanted to take the opportunity to reflect a bit. Tanzania is unlike anywhere I’ve ever been. The country is rich and mild…by which I mean, most of the the roads are tarmac, many people speak English, tourism is booming and the landscape is unreal. It’s really not that difficult to get around as a single white woman.

I’ve been fortunate enough to get to see a lot of the country: from Mwanza, the Rock City, see photo below; to Geita, the gold mining town, where everything costs twice as much as the rest of the country ; Moshi, a cute backpackers’ town at the base of Mt. Kilamanjaro and Arusha, the humanitarian capital of the nation. I’ve had long (and I mean long) car rides and short flights, many delays and lots and lots of hurry up and wait moments. People keep their own sort of time here and I’ve really had to slow down.

Mwanza 

It has been a bit of a surprise, what little I can accomplish in a day here. First, there is all the driving: everywhere we’ve had to go takes 1-2 hours by car, which is where, I reckon, I’ll have gotten the majority of my tan! Then we get there and often end up waiting for an hour before our meeting can start. Why is it like this? I’m not entirely certain; Congo was CERTAINLY not like this. Nynke and I were booked from 8am-6pm or later on most days and people showed up. Hm, it’s a bit ironic, as Congo supposed to be a failed state, no? Not to complain; the people who I’ve gotten to meet and speak to on this trip have been incredibly generous with their time and have given me insightful and helpful answers to my questions. I am really really excited about this project am actually looking forward to writing up my report.

There’s been so much time on my own on this trip, which was also an adjustment from my Congo trip, where Nynke and I carried out the mission together. Lots of time to think and daydream; listen to music and write. I don’t always enjoy this solitude, especially compared to my life at home that is packed full of loved ones. But it’s given me lots of time to reflect on how things are going at home. So, while this might be a bit of an overshare, I’m supremely grateful that I have this time  on my own, with no commitments or partner to keep me grounded. It’s not always easy to have to be this independent, but this lack of attachment has given me the opportunity to explore the world and widen my horizons, both personally and career-wise. I also have the most amazing group of friends all over North America and Europe who mean the world to me. I’m not sure I would manage that depth of friendship if I were tied down.

I guess I’m feeling a bit emotional today, being on the road and reading about that young woman from Arizona who died at the hands of ISIS. She was an explorer as well and she only wanted to be helpful in this world. It reminds me how vulnerable we all are and how precious this life is. Let’s be mindful of that, and look after each other.

Up next: giraffes, zebras, lions!!!

As I write this, I am sitting at the bar of my hotel in Kigali, having my last pint of Primus before I leave for the airport. There’s a lot to reflect on about my trip to Congo, so I am going to write down some vignettes of some of the memories I will take with me. While Katanga was an interesting duststorm, it was East Congo, particularly South Kivu, which really captured my heart.

Northern Katanga

I must admit that I was biased toward South Kivu before I even got there because I’d worked on a 3-year long project with WWF on artisanal mining in a protected area called the Itombwe Nature Reserve (see here: http://www.asm-pace.org/projects/asm-itombwe-nature-reserve-drc.html). For that project, I had to leave the fieldwork to my Congolese colleagues, so I was especially looking forward to seeing the place for myself. Bukavu did not disappoint me.

Picture a jam-packed city situated on the banks of Lake Kivu. The city is built along several arms of land which stretch out into the water, so no matter where you are, you have a stunning view of the water, the hills and the distant mountains. It puts Vancouver to shame! The bulk of the residential areas are spread out across the many hills, giving it the look of a Mediterranean city. It was built during the colonial period for around 300,000 people, but since the war(s) and the increase of mining in the area, nearly a million people are now crowded into this place. Traffic is a total disaster. The only time we tried to drive in town, we were in a minor accident!

Bukavu

One Sunday evening I had a bit of spare time and went for a long swim in the lake. I’d wanted to do this in Lake Tanganyika when we were in Katanga, but was warned off because of crocs. However, given its altitude and ecosystem, Lake Kivu is croc-free. I do believe I shocked quite a few people on shore, as I found out later that the locals believe there are Lake Monsters living in its depths. There were a couple children waving frantically at me, shrieking, “Muzungu, muzungu, venez-ici!” (Muzungu means whitey in Swahili. Apparently it’s not a derogatory term; just a nuisance once you’ve heard it called at you several hundred times). I can’t even tell you how lovely it was to swim on my back and stare at the sky as the sun was setting.

Lil swimming hole

I fell in love with the gorgeous and open faces—so many smiles. We managed to cram in a huge number of interviews with different stakeholders and I was struck with how articulate people are about their opinions. They seemed so much more self-reflective than most people I know. Is that a result of decades of conflict? Or are people so flexible and intelligent simply due to the fact that they never had a government they could rely on to provide any of the their basic needs? The people I met were so family oriented; very Catholic; very pro-marriage. One man talked our ear off about how a husband is obliged to love his wife unconditionally, regardless of her faults; and the wife, likewise, should submit to her husband, do all the housework and depend on him to provide for the (large) family. Although, according to this man, he was left with the brunt of cleaning house and taking care of their ten children because his wife was often “at Church, fighting her demons.”

When we left for Goma, the capital of North Kivu, I was sad to leave Bukavu behind. Goma is a conglomeration of torn up streets, back roads made entirely of dried lava, and massive promenades. After the lovely mess of Bukavu, I was in a bit of shock. Most of our days there were cloudy, but sometimes through the mist I could see the outline of Mount Nyiragongo, the huge volcano 20 km north of the city. Who in their right mind builds a major provincial capitol virtually at the base of an active volcano?? The last time it erupted was in 2002 and apparently the lava flowed down the main streets in a surreal horror-movie like event. Many people died and yet the city perseveres, despite the bumpy roads and ongoing reconstruction. On an aside, it’s just one example of how difficult it is to get things done in Congo that they are still rebuilding the houses and offices destroyed nearly twelve years ago by the volcano.

Goma

The people in North Kivu have harder faces. I felt the difference in mood the moment I arrived. There does not seem to be as much joy as in Bukavu; rather, business and commerce is the centre of all things. It’s understandable that there would be a bit more of a guarded and calculating vibe in Goma; it was, after all, not even two years ago that the M23 militia took over the city and was subsequently driven out by the Congolese Army. The province has been in a state of relative peace for less than a year, but there are still armed groups active in some of the more remote areas. You have to understand that these people have seen conflict very recently. And maybe that explains the fear in their faces. I never felt unsafe, but neither did I feel extremely comfortable either.

Another thing I noticed was the curiosity and entitlement of people, especially children. When we did one of our mine site visits about two hours outside of Goma, we passed a large expanse of tents with UNHCR tarps. Here is where many internally displaced people live, many of whom haven’t been able to return to their homes in a decade. Kids followed our car in droves, holding out their hands and calling out “MONUC, biscuit!”—they were probably told to call us that by their older brothers and sisters, a likely result of  associating all white people with the former UN peacekeepers, MONUC. It was a little disturbing, to be honest. If this is how the children feel—and, really, they don’t yet possess the social conventions to keep their mouths shut—what kind of dependence must their parents feel toward foreigners?

UNHCR tents

And again, once we arrived in the village and were waiting to meet the traditional authorities, more than fifty children surrounded us and just stared, completely rapt. Me putting on chap-stick was apparently the most interesting thing they’d seen. Nynke, my colleague, asked them why they were staring at us and one boy replied, “we are staring because you are invisible.” Our entourage followed us around for the better part of the morning, with one of the older boys pointing the camera of his phone and videotaping us. I guess we deserve a taste of our own medicine after centuries of white people coming to their country, taking hundreds of photos and treating them like foreign spectacles.

I don’t really know how to finish this post. Congo has been, hands down, the most amazing country I have visited (and I’m going on 30 countries!). I can’t put my finger on why it captures my heart so intensely, and yet it does, year after year. There is so much beauty and chaos and love, like nothing I have ever seen. I wish I could take you all for a swim in Lake Kivu and a hike to see the gorillas in Kahuzi-Biéga National Park. The place makes me want to laugh and cry at the same time–laugh because the way things happen are so absolutely absurd (like, for example, when our driver in North Katanga sideswiped an army truck loaded with timber, nearly losing his side mirror in the process. Then he couldn’t move because one of the pieces of timber had come through our open window! Ten soldiers lifted our SUV from behind, we gave them a pack of cigarettes and $5 and were on our way); and cry because things are so heart-wrenching here (like when my former colleague at WWF told me of how, when the M23 invaded Goma, he crossed the border from Rwanda on foot, carrying $20,000 in the pockets of his vest so that he could pay his staff before they went underground).  I am absolutely in awe with how this country gets by, just barely, by its bootstraps.

It’s lovely, truly.

PS. Happy birthday to my loveliest one!!!

World weary and enjoying a Katangan beer upon our arrival

I have to tell you about a rather unpredictable incident that happened to me this past week. The funny thing I’ve noticed about this place is that things only work out when you least expect them to. And when you expect something to be orderly and normal, it can be a bit of a rude awakening.

So, as we were leaving Kinshasa, we left for the airport extra early in case we ran into traffic. The trouble began as soon as we stepped out of the car. It was pure chaos. We walk in to the terminal and there’s a neatly lined up row of extra-large suitcases leading to the check-in counter, and all the people were sitting in the surrounding chairs. So, after paying our departure tax at the bank (which, by the way, was a nightmare in itself because we had to let some VIP fat cat in line ahead of us because, clearly, he is very important) we bring our suitcases to the back of the suitcase line and stand with them. But, after half an hour, two other lines start forming on either side of us, which was rather alarming. And then this big lady in colourful dress sidles up to us, pushes our suitcases out of the way and places hers where ours were. It felt rather a violation!

Eventually, we decide to join one of the human lines and leave the suitcase line behind. An airport employee sets up a barrier in front of our line and it looks like check-in is about to begin. Then, out of nowhere, a dozen people appear beyond the barrier and start their check-in. Why, do you ask? Well, we assumed that they were first class passengers, and decided to be patient. But the group of people ‘on the inside’ kept growing and growing and, despite the fact that we were at the front of the line, we were still outside. When the big lady in the colourful dress (who was 10 people behind us) suddenly appeared in the inside area as well, I started to lose my cool. But being a demanding and entitled white girl doesn’t really fly in Congo, so we waited another 20 minutes all the same. Apparently, if you’re unwilling to pay the airport staff a bribe, you have to wait. I couldn’t help thinking that if anyone on my Swiss side of the family or my uncle Harold had been there, we’d have had an aneurism on our hands!

Oh, but once we were on the inside is when the horror really began. Everyone, including our friend in the colourful dress, was stacked up en masse around one airport employee, who was proceeding to empty the contents of every single bag. I thought to myself, well, hm, we are pretty trusting of our x-ray machines in the West, why do they not suffice in Congo? Apparently that rather advanced technology is just not up to snuff.

So during another hour of waiting for our bags to be inspected, we made some friends. It was necessary, because people kept butting ahead of us in “line” so we started a human blockade. One of our friends was this really chilled out Brazilian pastor. Didn’t speak a word of French (and not much English either) but he was lovely and good-humoured. He seemed to be able to make the most out of any situation, including the one we’d found ourselves in. Our other friend was a Congolese gentleman in the diamond mining business. He was on his way back from visiting one of his artisanal diamond mines in the Kasaïs. Interesting guy, but I reckon he had some shady dealings under his belt.

When we finally got to the checkout counter, two ladies were pouring over one computer, trying to figure out our itinerary. Eventually a haughty South African Airlines employee barged in (we were already an hour and a half delayed, after all) and told them they were moving too slowly, so he took over. From there, it was pretty much smooth sailing until we got on the plane.

We sit down, take our sleeping pills and get ready for an eventless flight to Johannesburg. But then there’s a flight attendant at the row in front of us with smoke coming out of her ears at a woman who is unwilling to vacate an exit row seat because they require an English speaker to be there. It was none other than the line-butting lady in the brightly coloured dress! The South African flight attendant finally lost it on her and yelled “Madame, we will not leave Kinshasa until you MOVE!” And so she did.

Kinshasa, you are a beautiful, dynamic city, but I will avoid flying out of your airport at all costs from now on!

Sunset from my hotel

My first aerial impression of Kinshasa was of darkness. No, I’m not referring to the Heart of Darkness cliché; quite literally, the whole city was dark. Small glowing lights floated around like boats at sea, but they didn’t seem like they could illuminate a house or, indeed, a city centre. Apparently, there is not electricity to supply the whole grid, so the different neighbourhoods have to trade off nights when they’ll have power. Later, when I was in the taxi on the way to my hotel, I observed joy. It was 9pm but people were out on their stoops, chatting and laughing, in the dark.  It was a real party. There’s no such thing as crosswalks in Kinshasa. People just bob their way through four-lane highways at their own peril. But I noticed that the driver anticipated the seeming unpredictability of these kamikaze pedestrians. So it all seemed to flow quite well.

My arrival here in Congo pretty much took place in a fog; after nearly 48 hours in transit, it was hard for me to figure out which planet I was on. But this morning, when I felt more like a person again, I got to see the city in daylight in all its glory. Kinshasa has apparently come a long way in the past four years, thanks in part to a massive infrastructure project funded by the Chinese—in exchange, I believe, for nearly exclusive rights to lucrative mining and oil concessions, but don’t quote me on that. There are magnificent monuments and buildings, some of which are left over from the colonial era, and some which are more recent Chinese additions. I got to see a statue of Patrice Lumumba, the first Prime Minister and national hero. It was a real treat.

Things I have learned about Kinshasa so far:

• Pretty much anyone who is not Congolese here is carrying around massive amounts of cash, and yet robberies are very rare. Surprising, in one of the poorest countries in the world
• People here are drop-dead gorgeous and they really know how to dress
• Everyone I’ve met has been incredibly friendly, dynamic and helpful
• Congolese French is nothing like any French I’m used to. People speak so fast and with such a dramatic flair; there are so many figures of speech and metaphors. It’s almost as if the Congolese are actors and they crafted their lines beforehand in order to lend as much weight and profundity to their words as possible. I hope I can keep up
• I feel very looked after. It’s as if people seem to know how terribly their country is portrayed in the media, so they go to extra lengths to show another side to visitors.

That’s all for now! I’ll write again next week when we get to Katanga—another area of the country with a rich history. Revolution, secession, Patrice Lumumba’s assassination, and some of the largest concentration of copper mining in the world. I will be in awe!

xor

Hi,

So this is my first blog post ever. Just giving you that caveat. For the next couple of weeks I am going to write a bit about my travels to the Democratic Republic of Congo (DRC). I imagine it’s going to be an eye-opening and adventuresome time. I can tell because I haven’t even left North America and already I’ve had an odyssey of losing my oral vaccines, a bout of fake typhoid, and two Congolese visa applications being shepherded between Washington DC and rural Nova Scotia (only one of them was successful. and now Fedex is bullying us into paying $600 to deliver it the next day. Um, isn’t it their job to deliver things quickly and (relatively) affordably?!). And I haven’t even picked up my $8000 in cash, which I will have to hide on my person for several weeks–ANY SUGGESTIONS?!

But, pre-trip shenanigans aside, I am getting extremely excited about this, my first time to the DRC. If any of my readers know me, you’ll remember my ongoing obsession with this country. I am in love with the place and we haven’t even yet met properly. Can you imagine living in a country that has not seen peace in over twenty years (and prior to that, a state of “peace” is very much debatable)? The strength and resilience you must have and which must have been passed down to you from previous generations? One of my favourite authors on the Congo, Trefon Théodore, puts it this way: ” the people of Kinshasa … are reinventing order. The concept refers to the dynamic new forms of social organization that are constantly taking shape to compensate for the overwhelming failures of the post-colonial nation-state. It is a rapidly shifting process that enables people simply to carry on with life and get things done” (Trefon, Reinventing Order in the Congo, 2004). People just se débrouille–an expression coined in Kinshasa, which refers to making do, just getting by. I can’t wait to see this dynamism in action. Kinshasa is going to be an absolute trip.

And the mountains! I am going to be in the Albertine Rift, Africa’s largest area of uninterrupted forest….which, I might add, might not be around for much longer. I may even see some monkeys from my car window, though, unfortunately, I won’t make it to the lowland gorillas on this trip. This will be an unforgettable experience. I’ll take lots of pictures. Also from the window of my car (!)

So this is my medium to stay in touch with you all, dear readers. I’m not sure how reliable my internet will be, but when I can, I will write you some of my reflections on what I witness. I know I am travelling to one of the most troubled places in the world. I’m keeping my heart open to all the sadness and trauma that I will likely encounter in the people I meet. But I know I’ll be safe and protected. I think the things I will see will be unbelievable and beautiful and inspiring. It’s the trip of a lifetime.

Until next time,

r

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