Rome Adventures

Rome, the city with a lot of broken things, and then some really big
fancy stuff. Officially, it seems to be known as the eternal city, but
my goodness, a great deal of it is falling away, and fast!

Joking aside, I really need to do more reading about Western Culture
and our history. I should have done more reading about Roman history,
in particular, before coming to Rome. I keep finding myself asking
people questions that I probably should know the answer to or being
surprise by things that to most are probably common knowledge.

Case number one:

I was in the Sistine Chapel at the Vatican and looking up at the
ceiling where all the most famous Michelangelo paintings are. While
looking around I realized that I had no idea what the paintings were
about (mostly), but I noticed a Japanese man sitting next to me
reading a Japanese guidebook that I could see described all the famous
ones, so I leaned over and asked him about the big famous picture in
the middle. Who were those two and what were they doing? He laughed
and laughed and said, "That's god making Adam..." Yup, the most famous
Michelangelo and I had to ask...

Case number two:

I'm all excited. I am at the Colosseum. I'm standing outside and
thinking, wow, this is a place I have heard of before and know a tiny
bit about. I was so eager to get in. I bought my ticket and quickly
climbed the steps to see inside. But to my surprise, it's mostly
broken. It's ruins. Ya I know it's almost 2000 years old, but I
thought there was more still intact than that. No central floor left.
No stands. What was I thinking?

I thought, well, it is old and big so maybe that is to be expected,
just how did I miss that in history class? I guess I slept through a
lot in school.

But, being the eternal optimist, I had high hopes for the Circo
Massimo. It looks so big and restored on all the maps (drawings,
remember), and then of course there's my images from the movie Ben
Hur. I eagerly climbed the Palatine Hill to get a good look. Um, Circo
Massimo is now mostly a large parking lot looking space with very
little to remind you of its former glory....

Oops.

Then there is the big stuff, the fountains, the monuments, the
churches. Where did the money come from? Everything is huge, extremely
ornate (to the point of garishness sometimes), and made of substances
that are pretty hard to find these days. Again, their old, but still,
the Vatican, for example, must have cost more than the GDPs of all the
African countries combined! The upkeep alone these days must as well.
I guess it is an independent entity (not a country per say but
almost), but where does the money come from?

Ah Rome... So interesting, but I gotta do some more research before I
head out tomorrow!

Change in Plans

I've left Uganda. I'm in the plane about to land in Amsterdam where I
am to spend 8 or 9 hours wandering before catching an evening flight
to Rome where I will be for a few days. But in his welcome speech, the
pilot says, "Welcome to Amsterdam. It's minus 2 degrees and...."

Minus 2?! I haven't been in less than 20 degrees in more than 8
months. What was I thinking?

I couldn't do it. As soon as I got off the plane I immediately went to
the airline counter and asked when the next flight to Rome was. Two
hours. I paid the change fee and took it. At least Rome was a BIT
warmer at 7 degrees. YIKES!

But 7 was definitely colder than I could handle. I went walking
wearing almost everything I brought with me and still found myself
hopping into galleries, cafes or whatever looked warm every hour so I
could stop shivering.

Ya, Canadian, right?

It was also funny in the airport waiting for the flight to Italy. I
had brought some peanuts with me in my bag from Uganda (called g-nuts
in Uganda, because peanuts grow in the ground). I pulled them out and
started eating them, making quite the mess actually (partially because
they had burst in my bag and fell all over). These two guys from Ghana
looked over and saw me. They laughed, came over and asked, "You've
been in Africa, haven't you? No one here eats g-nuts, and definitely
not like that..."

We all laughed, and then spent the next two hours sharing my g-nuts
and pointing out the differences between African countries and the
west. We laughed, for example, that the airport itself was bigger,
newer, more modern than most African capital cities. How there were
over 100 gates here and in Entebbe, for example, there were two, and
seldom both are full.

Culture shock with new friends. Much more fun.

Coming to a close

The rain is pouring down. The sky is filled with lightening. The sound
of thunder is booming all over the valley. I am sitting by candle
light in my grass-thatched hut writing in my journal in these last few
days of my stay in Uganda. I leave in 3 days.

I just came back from a run through the forest. The smell of
eucalyptus permeating the air. Ladies hurried home with loads of
produce on their heads, trying to reach a covered area before the
impending storm.

The thunder clouds were getting closer.

I can't help but feel a bit of sadness about leaving this. I am happy
to move on to the next adventure in my life, but I also know I will
think of my time here in Uganda, often. The people mostly. The ones
who let me get close and who took the time to get to know me, beyond
my white skin and strange, foreign behaviours. The ones who took me
below the surface and showed me the hidden areas of Ugandan life. The
ones who made me feel at home. The ones I looked forward to returning
to after trips away to other areas of the country.

I never thought Uganda would steal my heart like it has, but then
again I think most places do without me noticing it. They sneak up and
get under your skin. In this part of the world you have to be careful
though because it can literally get up under your skin (there are lots
of weird and wonderful parasites that burrow into you). Maybe that
comes from living locally in a place instead of travelling.

Interestingly, I have learned that I am not a good traveller. I like
to like to stay places, get to know people. Learn. Share. Be a part of
something. I don't want to sound arrogant and overprivileged either
though. I feel so lucky to be born into a life that permits me to
travel. I think, though, I will work harder to limit travel and
instead try and stay places longer.

I think it is because I like feeling an area, tasting it, breathing
it, rather than passing quickly. It's hard to get to know people if
you move that way, and I think the people are who I am coming to be
with, more so than the place. Their what I remember most.

So to all the wonderful people I have met and shared time with here in
Uganda and other parts of East Africa, thank you. You know who you are.

...and I look forward to coming back soon, if you'll permit me.

Little Godfrey is Back!

While I was working on my computer in my room, I heard some soft
coughing outside my door. It went on for quite some time until finally
one of my colleagues, Josephine, said, "did you see Godfrey is waiting
for you on the veranda."

The funny thing is I thought she was talking about my adult friend
Godfrey, but I thought, there is no way he would be sitting quietly
outside my room (he and Benny would be shouting and teasing the
staff). Who could it be?

It was little Godfrey, the abandoned child that we were taking care of
a few months ago. I was thrilled to see him.

I should let you in on a little secret. The reason I didn't post much
more about him is we ran into a few snags and things weren't looking
so good. It was seriously depressing actually. When Ayiko went with
Godfrey and a local council member back to Godfrey's village to get
permission to adopt him officially, the father refused to come to the
meeting and sign the papers. In fact, he would make sure he was absent
each time Ayiko came to the village. Our only option was to arrange
with his grandfather/uncle in the village for him to take care of him,
something we were all worried about doing since he ran away because he
was being neglected. But we couldn't just keep him. To date, there
have been numerous child thefts in the area. Sometimes the child is
stolen and used for labour, other times it is for ritual sacrifice for
black medicine (juju), which apparently is on the rise in Uganda. So
to keep Godfrey without official permission would set Ayiko up for
being charged with child theft. With the family being destitute, a
child theft charge would bring in much needed money and therefore such
a charge was a significant concern.

So, the situation was explained to Godfrey and he remained in the
village. No one was happy about it, but at least everyone understood
that Ayiko's hands were tied.

For the next few months, Ayiko sent a relative of his to visit Godfrey
from time to time. He seemed OK, so we stopped worrying.
Unfortunately, when Asina, Ayiko's wife, gave birth to a baby girl,
the visits to Godfrey accidentally stopped. No one could blame them as
they were pretty pre-occupied, not to mention extremely busy. Besides,
Godfrey was doing well so there was little worry.

A few weeks ago, however, Godfrey escaped again, this time saying he
was not only being starved, but also beaten. He couldn't take it any
longer. He ran back to town and found Ayiko. But again, Godfrey's
father refused to sign the papers.

In order to prevent a child theft charge, Godfrey now has to sleep
elsewhere, but he comes to the house to eat and play during the day.
It's not ideal, but at present, it seems the only option.

Like most people, you might be wondering why the police have not
charged the family with neglect and/or abuse? Great question. We keep
asking them the same thing, but they don't seem interested in laying
charges, for this or any number of other illegal acts brought to them.

Frustrating.

But for now, at least Godfrey is hanging out here again and getting
good food, if nothing else. The saga continues, and as it unfolds I
will write again.

At least I can say, "Welcome back Godfrey!" and run around playing
again.

Swimming and other Mishaps

The second I told Khalid that I'd be in Dar es Salaam in early
November he said, "GREAT! That means you can swim with our team on the
7th. Cool!" I laughed. He must be joking. First, Khalid swims on the
Tanzanian national team and swam in Beijing. He's an international
athlete that trains twice a day. I'm a recreational swimmer, dabbling
in multiple sports for fun. I'm not a bad swimmer, but even in my swim
club in Vancouver I'm somewhere on the lower middle of the team, and
that's when I am training regularly. Where I live in northern Uganda
there isn't any water, and I think I have maybe swam about a half a
dozen times in the past 3months.

When I arrived in Dar, Khalid was waiting at the bus stop, full of
smiles and reminding me of the competition. Gulp. I didn't really have
an excuse, apart from the fact I had only been in a pool a couple of
times over the past few months. That wasn't a good enough excuse
though for him.

A few days later, I headed off to Zanzibar with my friends, planning
on returning to Dar in a few days to compete. It was set, I would fly
in on Friday and swim the meet on Saturday. It kinda made me feel like
a professional athlete or something.

On Zanzibar, I found the local navy special forces swim team
practicing in the bay and I asked if I could train with them. They all
knew Khalid and were more than happy to have one of his swimming
buddies come and train with them. I tried to explain that I wasn't an
Olympic swimmer but somehow they kept looking at me like I was
suddenly going to turn into Michael Phelps.

On Thursday morning I went to their morning practice. The water was
warm and the sky was beautiful. We all lined up in the bay getting
ready for the warm up – a light swim across the bay between the boats
and back. As we pushed off I began to notice a stinging sensation,
kind of like bee stings. They became more intense, hitting me all over
my body. I kept swimming because everyone else was. When we stopped to
turn around I couldn't help but ask my neighbour if he felt the
stinging too. He laughed and said yes, but assured me it would be OK.
He was right. Even though I had been stung about a thousand times all
over my body (including some less than ideal places), the pain went
away when we left the jelly-fish area.

After the warm up we did some IM and then sprints. What's interesting
is that since this is all in the ocean, there is no resting time (you
are always treading water). I liked this. I felt like I was getting a
good work out.

Mid-way through the sprints I took a BIG gulp of the water. No
surprise I coughed a bunch and had to fight off a gag, nothing unusual
for a swimmer. I kept on with the practice.

During the day following, I started to notice a weird sensation coming
over me. I still can't put my finger on it. It felt like I was just
barely in my body. Nothing too serious though. I thought maybe it was
simply a reaction to the stings or the drinking the probably toxic
water (turns out a sewage outfall is near the bay).

When I went to the evening practice, I started to notice a few more
strange signs. I was feeling cold and getting chills. My ribs and side
started to ache. I noticed a bit of a headache. Hmm.

That night it hit me though. Fever, headache, vomiting, difficulty
breathing. You name it. Fortunately my friends were with me and made
me go to the hospital.

The first doctors thought maybe I "drowned," which I think must have
meant that they thought I aspirated water. The jury is still out. They
kept me in the hospital for a couple of days, pumped me with
antibiotics and let me rest. I didn't get better so my insurance
decided to evacuate me to Nairobi for more comprehensive treatment
using the Flying Doctors (that is a story in and of itself and I will
write all about the Flying Doctors in another post).

I should have been happy, thrilled actually that I would be getting
better treatment, but there is still a disturbing image I can't get
out of my head. Just before getting in the ambulance to take me to the
airport, I stopped by the doctor's room to ask him a question. His
door was closed so I began to walk away without knocking, but before I
could get far, a nurse pushed open the door and called the doctor
over. The doctor handed the breathing apparatus he was using to
resuscitate an almost dead young man over to another person and came
over to wish me well. My heart sank. I was only mildly injured and not
only was the doctor coming over to say goodbye to me, but I was the
one getting into the ambulance and being flown to Nairobi, when this
poor guy was probably going to die on that table. The inequality was
sickening. I've seldom felt so privileged in my life, and this
privilege was not comforting.

To make this long story a tiny bit shorter, I missed the swim meet. I
did get some of the best hospital care I have ever received in my life
however (Nairobi Hospital is far nicer than any hospital I have ever
been too in Canada), and I am recovering, from what, the doctors still
aren't totally sure (maybe a lung infection brought on by the
aspiration, but no one is clear as the signs pointed to multiple
issues). The problem is I still keep thinking about that boy on the
table.

The team won everything, and Khalid won best overall male swimmer with
5 golds. I couldn't help but joke with him that maybe he was lucky I
didn't swim and that this illness was a blessing in disguise. He just
laughed and told me I just have to come back and swim with him in All-
African Finals.

Gulp.

Tale of Two Cities

First impressions are influential. I always thought that was simply a cliché used in too many dandruff control or deodorant commercials, but when it comes to Africa and capital cities, I think it might be true.

 

My first images of Africa are of a chaotic, loud, smelly, smog-filled, jam-packed city, full of friendly people who mostly just left you alone to do your own thing (except taxi drivers looking for business, but they are the same everywhere in the world).

 

Welcome to Kampala.

 

Lots of run down buildings, copious corrugated-tin roofed shelters, dusty side roads, construction everywhere (but never seeming to be completed), fences around the few grassy/green patches (making them inaccessible), and of course the gigantic, rather vulture looking maribu storks perched above you in every large tree.

 

But then I took a night bus to Nairobi. I admit I expected Nairobi to be a bigger Kampala, but a hundred times more "dangerous" (Nairobi has the unfortunate reputation of being the most dangerous city in East Africa).

 

Nairobi couldn't be more different than Kampala.

 

Nairobi, and Kenya in general, obviously has a lot more money. Thirty-story buildings, intriguing architecture, tree lined boulevards, huge parks, flower gardens, divided streets, continuous (unbroken) sidewalks, huge department stores, and even a couple of neon billboards. The convention centre looks like something from Star Wars and has an intriguing central room that resembles the UN's main hall in NYC (I think that's because this hall might be used for African Union meetings or other meetings with heads of states). Nairobi looks more like Singapore or Kuala Lumpur (Malaysia); it is after all a major international city. It's where many UN agencies have their head offices, where corporations hold their shareholder meetings, and where tourists come on their way to the famous national parks like the Maasai Mara, or the Serengeti or Ngorogoro in Tanzania.

 

As for the question of safety, I can't say I felt any more unsafe in Nairobi than I do in Kampala. That being said I never was out walking at night in Nairobi, the time when you are most likely to get into trouble. On the other hand, I do walk at night in Kampala (and I probably shouldn't their either), but I try and avoid large groups of idle men or dark allies.

 

The long and the short of this rambling monologue is that I love how being here has forced me to throw my African stereotypes and generalizations out the window. Every time I think I see a pattern I realize I couldn't be more wrong. It's also made me wonder just how skewed most North American's view of "Africa" probably is if mine led me to strange conclusions and I would call myself fairly well travelled and open-minded. I'm not sure how anyone could generalize Africa - Africa, the continent with its something like 40 different countries, thousands of tribes and cultures, and of course equally as many languages (or dialects), traditions and ways of life.

 

What an amazing part of the world.

Absence

Ooops. Time flies when your working, travelling, studying, playing... Sorry. I will update the blog shortly with a number of posts I have written in my journal as I moved about without (consistent) internet.

The long and the short of things, I'm fine, but more on that in the coming posts.