The Great Tembo Hunt

Anyway, Saturday my ankle was still real sore from twisting it, but it was time to harden up: today was the day I had planned to track some tuskers. Lake Chala, 40 minutes away by car has a resident population of elephant, possibly refugees from Tsavo National Park in Kenya. Apparently the elephant come towards the Lake early in the mornings to raid local mashamba (farms) for mahindi (maize). They then make their way in a winding circuit back towards the Kenyan border. But Saturday they would have a date with me first...

Met my driver, Oscar by the house 8:30am. I raced out the door after some pancakes, I was so excited to go, I didn’t really say goodbye to the pancake chef. Awkward. I think the driver was just as excited as me to be going off to try and get close to elephant. We both giggled like school kids in the car.

Got out to the Lake and grabbed a local guide with a friendly face by the name of Raymond. And off we went, into the wild.

(got a lot of ground to cover)
We certainly saw plenty of signs of elephant; lots of dung, tracks and broken, tusked and chewed trees. Saw a couple of trees that had been fully ripped out of the ground by elephant.

We wandered up and down hills, through thorns, across rivers and dry river beds and on and on. But nothing but insect and bird noise...no tembo yet. We had the occasional quiet moment when we felt something was out there, in the silence...but then the moment would pass and off we would go.

(An elephant trail)
Occasionally Raymond would shoot up a tree to scan the surrounds.

(guide up tree)
Oscar and Raymond assured me that we would find them. We ran into a herdsmen and his goats/cows...he told us we were heading the right way. We wandered all the way up to the rough line cut out of the scrub that marked the border with Kenya...I shot across it and had a photo taken.

(Hello from Kenya)
A nice vacation in Kenya.

We had been walking now for 3 hours. I was out of water and the afternoon African sun was beating down. My mouth felt dry and I wished I had put sunscreen on. I was glad of the guides, I was feeling a bit disorientated and spaced out/faint. My ankle was killing me and my pace had settled into a trudge. I wasn’t trying to avoid thorn cuts anymore, too tired, was just blundering into things. I reflected on the romantic ideal of animal tracking versus the reality. An extra hour later and I was ready to admit defeat. We started following some elephant footprints along a trail but I was starting not to care...

Then, Oscar and Raymond froze and motioned me to be quiet and stop. Just up ahead some hundred metres under a tree was a huddled mass of brown shapes. Yes!


A herd of elephant seeking some shade from the killer sun. We edged a bit closer...The wind was blowing towards us which was good, we could hear the breathing and chewing noises of some big animals. Raymond got a little worried as we saw a little one with the herd. Elephant are pretty protective of their young...we moved gingerly around trying to get some photos while not attracting the attention of the herd. They are pretty big things aye? It’s somewhat sobering when you actually see them up close and realise they would have no difficulty at all doing a lot of damage to an elephant obsessed guy from Petone.

I saw a large head and tusks at the right side of the tree looking this way and that. Its demeanour suggested it was the herd leader.

I edged a bit closer, to see how far I could push my luck. Then the elephant’s trunk came up in the sniffing gesture; it knew something was not right in its environment...so I backed off a bit.

(this is how tourists get into trouble..)
I stood there for a bit just watching the heaving, ear flapping brown-from dust bathing-mass by the tree. The gods of the forest.

(having a moment with the elephant)
Then, I guess Oscar was so excited, he had to call a mate on his cell phone to tell him that we were near elephant. Um...at the sound of his excited voice, the big leader here DEFINITELY knew something was up, it looked directly at us and starting moving away from the tree. As the herd started to move, the three of us quickly ducked low and ran away from the herd. Disgruntled, the herd turned the other way and moved off.

I was elated but exhausted as we headed back to the tented campsite and the car. I thanked Raymond profusely for persevering and getting this crazy mzungu his tembo fix. Oscar drove me home, so I could collapse severely dehydrated on the couch and demolish every soda and trace of water we had in the house.

Elephant. I love ‘em.

Arrgh

So last night I twisted my ankle pretty badly doing 'Kenyan Hills' style training ie running up and down a hill...hurt like hell, I fell to the ground screeching to the bemusement of passerbys. Its a bit swollen and discoloured now. I nursed it last night at the Sikh Club with red wine and painkiller cocktails. Groovy.

Trying to go easy on it...sob, Im supposed to be hiking in the bush tomorrow...Im still gonna go 2morrow and hobble after elephant, just don't tell my volunteer handler. Just heard a mother elephant and a baby were shot out that way...I will wear something brightly coloured so no one mistakes me for a pachyderm.

Tembo Fever

...no man has ever seen the elephants dance.
'Toomai of the Elephants', Rudyard Kipling

I dunno whether its because I'm tired or Im sad that the end of the assignment is getting closer or what. But I'm getting elephant cravings again. Some of the best times I have had here have been the contrasting silent, tense tread of the guide and the clumsy crashing of the eager mzungu stalking towards some rumbling, flapping shapes in the bush ahead...testing the wind to make sure the near-sighted beasts cannot detect you...only a stick for protection...its primal,its reckless and its magic. An encounter with a creature that is totally disinterested in you, except for when you annoy it. Wandering in places where elephant, not humans hold sway....I could go on. Yes, I am odd.

The Lake Chala area (was there 2 weeks ago) intrigued me with its mix of scrub and thorns and wild and creatures comparatively so close to Moshi. So this weekend, I've quietly organised a driver, will get a local guide and want to do some hard slog tracking elephant in the bush. So colonial of me. You only live once though right? Im going without wifey (with her blessing) so I can exorcise my masochistic cravings for thorn cuts and angry hulking creatures alone.

Ah, maybe I wont even see anything. But I'll give it a crack, be good to do some hiking and thinking.

Gratuitous MO and Mountain shots

For no reason. Who needs a reason when you have a beautiful MO and an almost as beautiful mountain nearby. The soccer team enjoyed the MO support.

Run Fatboy Run

Last night, did the first 'official'run of the wife's 3 and 1/2 month marathon training program she has whipped up for me. The run was a sedate 25 minute uphill jog over a carpet of purple flowers being shed by the local jacarandas trees, past a vista of Kili partially shrouded in cloud.

Franatee assures me her program will work and will render me capable of inflicting 4-5 hours of running in African heat on myself. We will see. Oh well not like there's anything good on TV these days...

Pip pip, cheerio

I'm gonna make a change, for once in my life

So I needed some time out of Moshi. Some solo time. Jumped on a bus Friday late arvo (complete with the usual anti-fungus cream sellers and people having screaming and refusing to pay the full fare). Got into Arusha, hooked up with Nico, Bwana D and a nice girl they had met a few days ago.

We had good convos about things deep and silly. Us vollies seem a little tired (most of us started roughly at the same time). We have all hit our 'walls' at points along the way of this marathon existence in Africa, so its good to re-energise from simple pleasures like conversation, a nice meal and smoking (in my case coughing and spluttering) on a shisha/hookah in a Middle Eastern themed restaurant.

It is great that kiwis here have eachother's backs. We all have different roads to walk, different obstacles to try our souls. Some of the dark experiences that other vollies have to deal with...I don't I could handle. We all do what we can with our allotted tasks and God willing, you get through.

Anyway..
We talked up Colobus (the karaoke place we used to go from language school) to our new female friend so when we taxied out there, we were horrified to see it had reaaaaly gone down hill. Almost empty save for some seedy older guys and some hookers. I've had it with hookers. Truly awful karaoke going on...A guy was shrieking out 'What a wonderful World' by Louis Armstrong and it sounded like a cat was having its bones broken. How disappointing. My 'One Love' cover with Bwana D was little better but we belted out 'Man in the Mirror' well for a bit of laughter and applause. But it was a brief light in an oppressive dark of poor singing/poor song choice. We beat a retreat and had an early night. I suppose its good to actually to have a sedate night (for once) in Arusha.

Saturday morning I went for a jog with Bwana D. He wants to do the Kili Marathon with the wife and I. I have a lot of work to do. I'll blame the shisha smoking but I was rubbish. Panting, puffing sweating along the side of a busy road and across the 'river of dreams' AKA a trash filled local creek populated by locals washing their clothes and laughing at the jogging wazungu. But yeah, I have a lot of work to do...

We spent the rest of Saturday relaxing by a pool at the Arusha Coffee Lodge a beautiful resort set in a coffee plantation. It's a hard life. Got splashed by a mixed ethnicity group of kids doing bombs and playing 'baptism' games in the pool (a local Christian orphanage group perhaps?) I contemplated showing them what a bomb in the pool really was, but with my current MO I didn't want the caregivers to have me arrested as a deviant.

Took a late arvo bus home, nice and relaxed. Twas a great break from the Mosh. The wife was happy to see me a bit less edgy and a bit more chilled. Sunday, we met some friends and went to a local BBQ pit 20 minutes down the road. The wife had a vegie pizza. I devoured my own body weight in goat, chicken and other hapless creatures. Great times. I have a cool wife that lets me both go to Arusha on my own and be a carnivore when the cravings for prey get too much. Yay for my wife!

I wore the pink shirt to the BBQ that I bought for the 'pink' party in Arusha some time back. Hell, if you can't wear a pink shirt in Africa, where can you? I certainly can't wear it in Petone. No locals minded. But my combo of MO and pink shirt got some weird looks and laughter from a land rover full of wazungu that passed me walking home. Don't mind him, he's the local kiwi eccentric..Onto week 37 of 52.


(Would you let this man bomb your children in a pool?)

(as narrated by Christian Bale)

I just wanted a quiet weekend...but it's Friday arvo and I can see the signal coming from Arusha. I wonder what the trouble is this time. Wearily, I put the costume on under my Hawaiian shirt. I place the belt, grapple gun, cowl, throwing stars, gauntlets and smoke bombs in my backpack.

I have misplaced the 'mobile so I will have to bus to Arusha. The Tanzanian passengers in the bus won't realise what they are riding with beyond a reflex shiver and a flinch at the intensity burning out of the eyes of the silent muzungu sitting in the back holding a chicken for a fellow passenger.

Beware the cowardly and superstitious of Arusha, I'm hunting tonight.

Lake Chala-The Lost World

So Tuesday our human resources officer said we could pick anywhere to go for our end of year staff retreat. I said Somalia. ‘No’ he said soberly. ‘You would come back very quiet, in a box’. He did say I could pick anywhere, hmf.

Anyway, the next day was a public holiday time and I was champing at the bit to go off to see the crocodile infested Lake Chala on the Kenyan/Tanzanian border. I think my wife was keen for a relaxing sit by a lake...little did she know my evil schemes to have us tracking elephant and teasing crocodiles bwa haa haa

A minivan turned up at our house at 10am and wifey and I rolled in. We were an interesting mix. A Tanzanian driver, the trip organiser (a Kiwi ex volunteer) and her young son, Bibi Stones one of our fellow kiwi volunteers and her daughter (who is outdoors type, travelled and a lot of fun) and two Canadian physiotherapists in the back. Neither of them would massage my sore left quad muscle.

The drive to Lake Chala took about 40 minutes, over some really muddy/puddle dirt roads. Rainy season is here, most definitely. A lot of vegetation and crops taking advantage of the water. As we drove along, we could easily see into the vast plains of Kenya and our cellphones started welcoming us by text to the Kenyan network. I was geekily happy we could see the Kenyan Tsavo National Park in the distance. ‘Tsavo’ means ‘place of slaughter’ in Kikamba and contains the place where two notorious man-eaters killed many rail workers in 1898.

We got our first view of the Lake, quite picturesque sitting in a crater of green.

We stopped for a drink nearby at a tented lodge site-in-progress owned by a Zimbabwean friend of the trip organiser. She and her Kenyan husband are planning to develop the site into a conservation area. There are already lots of birds and small wildlife by the lake. Plus, elephant that have come across from Tsavo National Park and taken up residence. There is a lot of violent poaching in Tsavo National Park; I don’t blame the tembo for seeking a new place to live.

We headed off to track some elephant. We had nice views of grassland rolling away into Kenya as we walked alongside the top of the crater. We must have gotten pretty close to crossing inadvertently into Kenya at some points.

Our guide set a cracking pace, soon our group was spread out heading down and over a chocolate brown stream then up another rise and into ever increasing thorn bushes. I’ve seen my share of anti-browser plant protection systems. But this thorny scrub-dunno if it was a species of Acacia or not-was some of the worst I have ever encountered. Branches covered in barbs were catching everyone’s clothing and skin.

(Franatee is getting seriously sick of the thorns)

Progress slowed. We were all drenched in sweat, it was muggy, dirty, thorny work. Then we heard the bass rumble of a nearby elephant. I’ll never get tired of that noise. We all went quiet. Well most of us did. Thankfully the wind was blowing towards us. We could soon see a herd of dusty red-brown elephant about 500 metres away slowly moving away from us, ears flapping.

(come back, Jumbo)
Our progress was too slow and thorn impeded to make a real chase of the herd, so we let them go and headed back for a bite to eat. But, despite having run out of water, I wanted to keep exploring...
I really wanted to get down the crater to the Lake so leaving my wife (no doubt popping some anti-anxiety pills) I raced off alone to the crater again. I found what looked to be a path down and started gingerly moving downwards. The ‘path’ soon became a scramble down ever steeper, ever narrower causeways with a sheer drop to the left of me and increasing vegetation on the right. It was like something out of Jurassic Park.

(um..where's the path gone?)
I was swarmed by insects, cicadas deafened me, lizards peered at me curiously or got out of my way. I got half way down, close enough to get nice views of the lake and some fisher folk on it when I called it quits. Just didn’t want to risk slipping off a wrong way and wrecking the trip. I climbed back up and got back to the others in disgrace. A croc will have to wait a bit longer for a Manatee sized treat.

I brooded over a (well made) cheeseburger and wished I had Mo courage. But I soon got over it and chilled out enjoying the scenery. We didn’t see any of the troupes of large baboons that apparently turn up and overturn all the paving stones at the camp looking for things to eat.

We headed for home about 4pm. I wished the camp operator well as we departed. The area has such potential...it’s a bit off the main tourist routes, but so close to Moshi in terms of the views and creatures people can see. Be great if it becomes a conservation area.

I’m going to miss all this-thorn scratches, dehydration and all-when I go home to New Zealand. Back to work tomorrow.

but I REALLY want to swim!

There's a public holiday (Idd Al-Udha) tomorrow. Rocking. I've managed to grovel my way into a group of visitors heading to Lake Chala for a day trip. Lake Chala is a crater lake sitting on the border of Tanzania/Kenya. I'd heard it is a picturesque area and you can sometimes see tembo (elephant) there. I'd contemplated a solo mission there at one stage but got dispirited when co-workers said I needed to firstly dala dala to a village, then ride on the back of a motor bike with a local off road for a bit...didn't seem the safest to do it alone.

While I'm stoked I'm going to get to see the lake-as I love water-I really want to swim in a lake as well. It sucked I could not swim in the inviting waters of Lake Victoria on my recent trip to Mwanza due to the parasites in that water. Lake Chala has other issues...big monstrous 20 foot long crocodillian resident issues, as a poor tourist found out in 2002:

http://www.telegraph.co.uk/news/worldnews/africaandindianocean/kenya/1387432/Crocodile-girl-told-that-lake-was-safe-to-swim-in.html

But surely if I don't swim at night, I'll be okay? Huh? Someone has to stand up for primates who want to swim unmolested in tropical fresh water lakes. Will Lake Chala be yet another inviting lake taunting me with hidden death in its murky depths? Why can I never swim here without worrying about random parasites or gigantic prehistoric reptiles? What are the odds really of a monstrous pair of Nile Crocodile jaws with a bite force of 4000psi clamping on my tender rump?

Sigh, I can see my wife glowering angrily at me (he is NOT swimming there-mke) so I'll leave it. For now.

Crikey, just wanna swim in a billabong, mate, without something having a go at me...



Anyway pics to come.

35 days or so to K-Day

Due to climb Kili in just over a month. We have so much cold weather gear to buy/hire/steal. Didn't really bring clothing for -26 degrees celecius temperatures at the Summit. Don't really have decent climbing boots. At the current level of gear I have, this is my mountaineering attire:

Going Rogue

The ‘short’ rains are certainly here. It bucketed down this morning meaning a trudge through the matope (mud) to work. Lots of the winged insects about that only seem to appear after heavy rain. Had a nice dinner last night with Bibi Stones (yes, pseudonym), the other kiwi volunteer living in Moshi and her visiting 2 adult children. They hadjuust got back from some safari time. One of them brought me more Nintendo games from New Zealand, yay! A perfect night...except..

I think her offspring think I’m a secret agent. Let me explain.

First of all there is my dodgy looking Hawaiian shirt and Movember moustache. I look like someone who should not be trusted.

I spoke of our volunteer co-ordinator in Arusha as our ‘handler’. Bibi Stones had picked up an envelope for Franatee and I on her way through Arusha with our latest instalment of our allowance. ‘Ah, that will be money, a Zambian passport and new orders’ I joked to the visitors. They looked at each other.

The three volunteers talked to Bibi Stones’ offspring about the ethos of our volunteer organisation and how it wanted us kiwis ‘embedded’ in the community. ‘Like sleeper agents’ I posited. ‘One day my Arusha handler will give me the hypnotic trigger word and like the Manchurian Candidate I will come to life and start ‘exchanging skills’ with a vengeance.’ The wageni (visitors) looked increasingly uncomfortable. Who was this guy in the Hawaiian shirt?

Finally, at the end of a nice meal we discussed another volunteer who was going back to New Zealand for Christmas. We noted that it could be hard to come back after a relaxing time back home. ‘Yeah’ I said ‘I’d be tempted to skip the flight back to Tanzania’ (pause) ‘I’d go rogue’

Agent Manatee going dark now.

Mwanza Part Three-Finale

Wherein our hero finds hoop dreams and hooker nightmares and two boxers meet again for the first time

Monday, our last full day in Mwanza and while Sparkles had to go to work, Dragline, Franatee and I got on some sporty gears and went to play basketball at a local court. We had a brief drama on the way when a cyclist did not see us turning off the road towards the court and whacked into us. He was shaken but unhurt, but a crowd of locals were soon swarming us. I got out of the car just in case in turned ugly. As it turned out the crowd were cool, totally on our side. So after double checking the cyclist was okay, we were off and soon at the court.

Man, I was soon sweating buckets and panting. I was good at racing around the court and stealing the ball off the Tanzanian guy who came to play with the 3 of us but I couldn’t shoot to save my life. Great fun though. Loved how we had a few locals bemusedly watching us racing around. My wife is amazing on defence.

(this shot is a recreation for educational purposes only)

As I thought it was going to be a big night, I relaxed for the rest of the day. Okay, except for the AIDs test. Let me explain. I lost a bit of blood during my attempted mugging in September, so for my own peace of mind I asked Sparkles if she could give me an AIDs test when she got home from work. The test was a relatively easy matter of taking blood and waiting for a line to form in the right place on a tab of chemicals. It was a little tense, especially with mke looking on but I got a clear result and there were hugs and high fives all round. Phew. I reflected that it must be hard for Sparkles when she has to give an HIV positive result to a person.

We played some couples darts, listened to Elvis’ ‘Viva Las Vegas’ then Dragline and I got our fancy duds on and headed out to the Mwanza Casino to begin what would be our final man night together for a long time. The walk from the parked car into the Casino was a bit tense as it is a street kid heavy area. I double checked the car was locked. A gang of kids glowered at the two white dandies entering the Casino.

I love visiting Casinos but I usually don’t gamble that much. Mwanza Casino was functional and sparsely populated as it was a Monday night, after all. The staff were friendly. It was nice to sit with a buddy at the Roulette table, quaffing the complimentary drinks and acting like high rollers. High rollers we were not, unlike the Indian family that were there putting down crazy amounts of chips. I did like the feeling of winnings being pushed towards me across the Roulette table. Gambling in Tanzanian shillings is certainly a lot more economical than back home.

I had a great time at the Casino. Maybe because as said it was sparsely populated and I could not see any of the sad types that sit for prolonged periods in some of the gambling establishments back home. I can now gamble effectively on Roulette.
The free drinks were staring to run out (I think they realised we were not rolling as high as we could) so we headed off to a local bar/nightclub to keep hanging out.

I was warned that the place we were heading could be heavy with er 'women of the night'. Good to know my AIDS status before heading there then I guess. I didn’t write that. We arrived, grabbed some drinks and took in the scene. An empty strobe lit dance floor. Lots of locals at the bar. The music was terrible. Could we not get some Michael Jackson on? My spider sense powers could detect some hookers circling around the local men in the bar. One of them made an impression. Not like that. She seemed like she had a young, pensive face, sitting in the corner with her water bottle. She made me feel a bit sad. She should have been out with the girls having a good night in an alternate reality not getting pawed by obnoxiously drunk men.

I wondered if I should just give her some money so she could go home for the night. Talking to Dragline, we thought that could be weird so I decided to just buy her a beer at some point. But I didn’t really want to talk to her...I'm a bit shy? Anyway..

(Would YOU accept a drink from this man?)

A heavily drunk Tanzanian guy crashed our table and despite being rebuffed when he asked for money and despite being asked to leave us in peace he kept annoying us. Security turned up (whom we thanked profusely ) and the guy was shuffled out. One of the bouncers was friendly; this ebony mountain of a guy called Tyson who came to hang at our table. I noted the humour value of a ‘Tyson’ hanging out with ‘Buster’ Douglas AKA me AKA the underdog boxer that knocked Mike Tyson down in an upset victory in 1990.

(Tyson kinda looked like this)
Tyson wanted to know why I looked moochy and Dragline told him it was because they would not play Michael Jackson for me to dance to. Tyson got this weird determined look on his face and strode off to remonstrate with the DJ. Tyson and a fellow bouncer kept popping off to heatedly talk to the DJ at regular intervals as the night went on. I thanked Tyson a lot and kept him plied with drinks. It's good to have a bouncer friend. I went for a quick solo dance on the D-Floor to warm it up. I soon raced back to my seat.

Then ‘soccer guy’ came along. A drunk and happy local asked where I was from and on finding I was a Kiwi said:

‘We beated you. Your team. In a match before the World Cup. Your team came here and we beated you’
(He is correct. The Tanzanian All Stars beat the All Whites 2-1 in a friendly match in Dar Es Salaam in June 2010)
‘Ha ha yeah you got us, we were happy to be in the World Cup’
‘But we beated you. In a match before the World Cup.’
‘Ha...yeah...but we were IN the World Cup. Tanzania was not’
‘But we beated you. In a match before the World Cup.’

And on and on it went for 20 minutes. I started ignoring the guy but he got worried I was furious and came over to hug me and apologise and tell me again about how he ‘beated’ us. Loveable chap.

There was still no sign of Michael Jackson appearing in sound form and I was getting antsy. Tyson kept asking me to be patient and that Michael would be there. I could see the sad looking hooker in the corner of my eye and thought ‘what the hell’ and bought her a beer. I sheepishly said ‘this is for you’ or something and raced off back to my table. She looked happy with the beer. Maybe too happy. Soon I had every hooker in the place hovering and watching me like seagulls at the dump.

I decided to retreat and went for a solo dance to some Justin Timberlake and R and B mixes. Surprisingly, I felt no shame as I gyrated alone in strobing lights. I’m sure alcohol had nothing to do with it. I could see Tyson giving me the thumbs up. I found out later he was frantic to dance with me but Dragline was unmoved and made them stay put. Finally after much dancing it happened. The DJ put on ‘You Rock My World’ by Michael Jackson. I was soon moon walking all over the D-Floor. Tyson was beaming. By now more people were coming to the D-Floor and dancing around the crazy mzungu. One hooker started dancing and got a little...grabby so I shrieked and ran back to the table. I saw another drunk guy had smashed one of Dragline’s drinks and it was quite late so we decided to call it a night. Tyson was inconsolable as we left.

And just for the record, Mke did not mind me buying a hooker a beer. What she got annoyed about was how I was depressed the next day or so thinking about how I get to fly back to comfort and Nintendo games while the hooker will still be there night after night risking AIDS and what not. I got sisters, it made me sad, what can I say? Anyway...

Tuesday morning, my head pounding, Dragline drove us to the airport as we listened (and air guitared in the car) to ‘Bohemian Rhapsody’. We had a short, sad goodbye hug then we were off back to the Mosh. I dunno when we will see Dragline and Sparkles next but I’m hopeful we will see them again. Or at least, Tyson.

(flyin' home past the Lake)

Mwanza Part Two

Wherein our hero is crushed by the weights of injustice

I slept really well Friday night, twas exhausted from travelling and Konyagi bottle smashing dramas. It was really hot the next day. I mean Moshi is really hot, but the sun in Mwanza for some reason really beats down. We went to the Hotel Tilapia which has a nice swimming pool and views of the Lake. The locals who worked there watched on curiously as I performed underwater handstands, free diving demonstrations and the odd bomb onto Dragline.


(view from the Hotel)
The rest of the day we relaxed at home, played a Basketball game on the computer with Dragline and trash talked about the weights I was going to lift at the local gym the next day. Watched ‘Road to Perdition’ that night after a tasty dinner of Tilapia (a tasty local fish) burritos. Love fish. Love Sparkles' cooking. We also played couples cards that night. My couples-cards partner got incensed with my unorthodox style of play. What can I say? The best card player does not fear the second best, but the worst player. Because that person is unpredictable little me. Mke 'discussed' our strategy with me long into the night.

Sunday morning, Franatee, Dragline and I got up early to go to the local gym. The gym sits in a building occupied by the ruling party of Tanzania, so lots of nice posters of dignitaries on the walls to staunch out. Walked in past a local lifting weights in a karate outfit (?!) I got down to some bench pressing. At least I tried for 5 seconds. I shrieked out for help as the heavy bar I was pushing up to impress my gym mates starting crushing my rib cage.

Despite jogging fairly regularly, my upper body muscles have atrophied from months of no strength training. Dragline was pretty good about it, but it's shocking how much strength you can lose when you don’t gym. I stuck to the kiddy weights and pouted on the car ride home. Franatee got up a good sweat on the treadmill. At least one of us didn’t suck big time.

After that humiliation, the four of us went out to the Malaika Resort to chill by the lakeside. We were soon playing cards, drinking and generally chillin’. The water was so picturesque and inviting, it took all my willpower not to join the locals and dive on into it. I did wander half way onto a rickety jetty over the lake waters, but I really did not want to risk falling into a bacteria soup so soon scampered back.

('Hey, Muslim robed woman that jetty is RICKETY')

After a prolonged battle, we arrived at a couples cards stalemate and as heated accusations flew across the table (okay, so I messed up a move. Or two.), we decided it was time to move off. To help a healing atmosphere in the car I forgo to do my usual trick of winding down the window and sticking my arm out (Hawkes Bay Stylez) which enrages Dragline no end (due to the detriment of the open window on the air conditioning and the increased chances of lunging street kid attacks...which Dragline's gym strengthened arms would then have to save my puny hide from.)

Back at home, Dragline and I played more computer basketball, before having tasty spring rolls and watching some ‘The Office’ episodes. I had nightmares about gyms that night.

To be concluded...and we'll get to meet Tyson. He is not this lizard.

Mwanza Part the First

Wherein Manfred spills some alcohol, but is topped up with the joys of friendship
In August, some of our bestest buddies in Moshi, Dragline and his wife Sparkles moved to Mwanza, the southern port city of Lake Victoria (No, these are not fake names, why do you ask?) They did this for a change of scene but also to ‘rough it’ a little bit more. We’ve missed them (and their dog!) quite a bit. So we were happy to be able to find a long weekend that suited all of us for a flying visit to Mwanza.

Despite Mwanza being the second largest city in Tanzania, there are far less wazungu there. Mwanza feels a lot more ‘African’-if that makes sense- than Moshi. The dominant tribe there is the Sukoma (as opposed to the Chagga and Maasai in the Moshi/Arusha region).

On a practical level the above means a lot more staring and comments in Swahili from locals and a few more safety issues. You can’t just wander around Mwanza the way you might wander around Moshi. There is a lot of poverty in Mwanza. And gangs of street kids clustered in certain places. They will tap on your car windows to ask for money or perhaps do worse if you are wandering around on foot. If anyone has seen the depressing 2004 documentary “Darwin’s Nightmare”, well, some of that seemed accurate to us, if a little exaggerated. The town is a bit more gangsta. Anyway.

Another reason for wanting to go to Mwanza was the mystique of seeing the second largest fresh water lake in the world- and source of the White Nile- the ‘Eye of the Rhino’ AKA Lake Victoria. The Lake supports the biggest inland fishery in Africa (yes, I did look at Wikipedia). It’s teeming with fish, including the voracious introduced (but tasty) pest species, the Nile Perch.

The Lake Victoria Basin is one of the most densely populated rural areas in the world. Ergo, the Lake is quite heavily polluted. Not just with sewage and factory by-products, but also with bacteria and nasty parasites. So no swimming for my sensitive intestines in that water.

Friday morning, we took a shuttle to Kilimanjaro airport. I was carrying liquor in my backpack as I know Dragline and I like our sun downers. But when Kilimanjaro Airport security asked if I was carrying any liquids, I thought I’d play it cool and say ‘no’. I said to the wife as our bags went through the X Ray machine ‘the perfect crime’. Or so I thought, until a bottle of sugar cane derived alcohol smashed in my bag and I started spraying liquor all over the floor (‘Ummm, dude…DUDE!’ said mke) to the horror of my wife and the airport staff. As I picked broken glass out of a sodden bag that smelt like a heavily drunk wet cat, and as staff members gave me cold furious stares and going for mops, I reflected on what I was going to be reincarnated as in my next life for all my hijinks in this one. At least I was in a fairly relaxed African airport and not LAX for example.


One empty, alcohol reeking carry bag and fuming wife later and our plane was flying north towards Mwanza, a journey of an hour or so. As we landed we taxied past a line of MIG 21 fighter jets at the end of the runway...wonder if they still fly? No sign of the big Russian cargo planes that export the Nile Perch out to Europe (and bring weapons in, if you believe ‘Darwin’s Nightmare’). Perhaps they land their dodgy cargo at night. Mwanza airport is certainly...quaint. Basically a corridor, a baggage claim area and a toilet. Wandered through in 5 seconds and met Dragline outside. Cue much emotion and male re-bonding. We headed into town.

Um, first impressions as we drove. Well, while Mwanza’s population dwarfs little Moshi, it definitely seemed less developed. A lot less evidence of urban planning shall we say? Very green compared to the browns of Moshi/Arusha. And rocky with lots of outcroppings and boulders (hence its nickname ‘the Rock City’). Plus there is the Lake. It’s a monster stretching out to the horizon and beyond. It is staggering to think it is all fresh water. I don’t think I could run around it (Mke says 'Really, you were pretty confident that you could when you were bragging to Dragline and Sparkles').

We grabbed a bite to eat at a local place then took in the lakeside views assisted by Konyagi & Fanta.

Our friends have been doing well and are nicely settled in. Weird to see so much water without the smell of sea air. We went and picked up Sparkles and drove home past areas where barricades and rioting had been due to election related violence. Mwanza had had a rough time of it but it was all settled down when we were there.

Dragline and Sparkle’s house had some altitude and thus a nice view of the surrounds. The view actually looked like some weird tropical alternate reality view from the Botanical Gardens looking towards Wellington harbour back home.

Franatee was ecstatic to hang out with the dog we used to dog-sit again. The dog enjoyed her company but shunned me as a person who does not declare liquids at the airport. We watched the sun go down over the lake then I took in some 'Savannah Dry' cider (‘girls drink’ Dragline sneered at me...I grew up on Hawkes Bay scrumpy, yo) at a bar that seemed to have all of Mwanza’s wazungu population in one place, then after some Indian food we rolled home for a whole lotta sleep. Holiday officially underway!


To be continued...

You just don't turn it off!

Trautman: This mission is over, Rambo. Do you understand me? This mission is over!

Rambo: Nothing is over! Nothing! You just don't turn it off! It wasn't my war! You asked me, I didn't ask you! And I did what I had to do to win! But somebody wouldn't let us win!
First Blood

Dear wife, you were right to say the epic 50 slide human rights presentation I created was too elitist, convoluted, legally complex and otherwise 'Death by Powerpoint'. But dammit that hurt. I loved that presentation like my own child...I nurtured it from 1 little slide to the gargantuan monster of the law that it became. You can't tell me (rightly) that it is academic waffle and then not expect me to unleash a torrent of Rambo-like emotive screeching about how 'human rights protections/limitations/balancing is just really complex' and 'I came here to win a war and somebody won't let me win'...but in any event you were right, it has to be useful to the audience or else it is useless...sorry to unleash my inner ex-Green Beret

yours sincerely

Rambo, John J

Sigh, back to the drawing board

Don't fear the reaper (I mean Movember)

Movember (the month formerly known as November where New Zealand men grow moustaches to raise awareness and funds for prostate cancer research/treatment and depression) is upon us.

I hate having a moustache. Last year when I grew a moustache for Movember, I looked like the depraved murderer in 'The Lovely Bones' movie. As the towns people of Petone threw stones at me and drove my moustached visage out of their community,I swore an oath that I was done with Movember forever.

However, somehow my Human Rights policy team back home is doing Movember as a team and conscripted me in. Okay...so then FOMO (fear of missing out) kicked in so I'm officially back on board with growing a moustache. But this is the last time I will ever inflict this on people, especially my wife. Can't wait to see the reactions of my Tanzanian colleagues and neighbours, gulp.

If you want to donate to a worthy cause, click this link:

http://nz.movember.com/donate/your-details/member_id/861026/


(4 days along...this photo is cooler if you look at it intently while listening to Blue Oyster Cult)

C'mon Baby
Don't fear Movember
Baby take my hand
Don't fear Movember
We'll be able to fly
Don't fear Movember
Baby, I'm your man

Brooding

Went round to our new American friends' house for couples cards night (TM). They have recently come from a year of HIV work in Swaziland; now they are here for a year.

As I lost round after round of cards and quaffed my 'Tusker' beer the conversation turned to cultural differences between Swaziland and Tanzania, particularly with regards to HIV issues. Mke and I have briefly been in Swaziland in 2008, our recollection is of beautiful rolling hills and friendly people.

Tanzania has a 7% HIV prevalence rate; Swaziland has a nightmarish 20%. That rate is the highest in the world. AIDS has devastated Swaziland. Orphans and vulnerable children account for an estimated 15 percent of the total population. Life expectancy has dropped to just 32 years - the lowest in the world.

The long-term survival of Swaziland as a country is seriously threatened by HIV. Its possible the population may halve in a few years. That's apocalyptic stuff by any measure. What I struggle at times to understand is how people in a country can fail to mobilise to face a threat to a country's very survival. It's their family and friends that are dying.

We talked about the impacts of poverty, lack of emphasis on critical thinking, survival (ie egocentric) mentalities, cultural practices, donor dependence and such like. All happy subjects.

From my own experience in Tanzania it can be extremely demanding just to encourage people to engage with new ways of seeing old issues-especially if you are a white outsider.

I do get it, you know. I get how deprivation and culture can alter a person's responsiveness to long term abstract health issues. But I still struggle at some core level with people's lack of humanity to each other. Even if you are poor or badly educated, why do you have to threaten your wife with a beating or expulsion if she will not have unprotected sex with you? Why do you shrug apathetically as a doctor tells you how you can save your unborn child from being infected?

If you degrade another, you are degrading yourself and your community. I blame a Catholic upbringing and an unhealthy interest in human rights for beating that idea into me. Maybe I am a colonial elitist, maybe it is the 'Nationalism' History course I took at varsity, but I have a dim view of 'culture' being used as an excuse/justification for practices that enslave the vulnerable and suck the life out of a nation.

Culture can unify and uplift the spirit. But it can also degrade and destroy. Note, I am referring to any culture, including my own. I don't like it when the people calling out for 'culture' to be respected are the ones that are being unjustly enriched by it. It is not women or children demanding for 'culture' to be respected. They are asking for their basic rights as human beings. They want freedom and a fair go.

However, the above are just my views. I can't force them on others. As a white outsider, there will (rightly) be only so much I can influence here. Africa must find its own solutions. Whiteys can only assist communities to get what they want...we cannot tell them how they should live, despite how upsetting it can be to see the people ground down by 'the system'.

You can't externally demand people to change long ingrained negative norms. All you can do is slowly persuade one person at a time to have a think about what works for them. Even better if it is a local champion doing the persuading. Communities must generate and own their own solutions. I just keep trying to give a little help. For every person that sniggers at my gender ideas, or sees me wash dishes (and calls it 'womans work') I hope there is just one person who reflects a little outside the box on possibilities.

Up a mountain and down a waterfall

Well, it’s Monday morning and Tanzania hasn’t devolved into an apocalypse of post-election chaos. Voting occurred on the whole peacefully, bar some expected ‘irregularities’ here and there e.g voter’s names missing from registers, a register being mysteriously lost/stolen in Arusha etc. Very pleasing to see a indication of a high voter turnout. Early reports are showing that the challenging party is making gains across the nation. Final results should be known Wednesday. Guess people are keen for a change. I couldn’t possibly comment.

Didn't realise former NZ Attorney General Paul East is the head of a Commonwealth observer mission for the conduct of the election.

Anyway, had a kiwi friend come from Arusha stay with us Friday night. It is hot as anything at the mo, so wife and I ducked out of work a bit early and met him at the YMCA pool for some lazing in the pool. After pool time, we grabbed some curry /beers at the ‘Sikh Club’. It was packed with a host of tanned, young and excitable wazungu there to celebrate something...it’s an odd sensation seeing numerous white people at one time now.

Our mate is keen to do the Kili marathon with us so Saturday morning we decided to get in our first official training run. Yes curry and beer was probably not the best thing to have the night before. We decided to run part of the uphill circuit of the marathon and see how close we could get to the official turn around point for the event at Mweka College. We kept going on and on uphill while my knees screamed in protest but still the ‘turn around’ point was nowhere in sight. Nice views though of coffee fields, the Mountain in the background,people carrying produce downhill to the Saturday markets and Police training with machine guns at the Police College.

We were joined by a gaggle of kids and a reeking-of-alcohol drunk local. Both the children and the drunk guy outpaced me. We fobbed off the obligatory requests for money from our running mates and kept going. We ran an hour and half in total uphill and back, not bad for a first serious effort. I still felt pretty good after it and am starting to (faintly) think I could possibly run a long distance event.

After a pancake breakfast, we said goodbye to our Kiwi running mate and chilled the rest of the day. Went out to a Chinese restaurant for dinner with an older Moshi volunteer, to find that on Friday she had had her handbag taken. It was torn off her-bruising her arm- by a motorcycle as she walked along. As a sorta victim myself of an attempted robbery here, it made me angry. I don’t care how poor you are or how rich you think we are. If you steal-particularly if you leave a physical mark-you just make the victim feel violated and degrade your own dignity as a person. Anyway...as they say it coulda been worse.

Sunday, wifey and I were keen to get away from town and any election craziness, so we joined a couple of new American friends for a hike in Marungu (the area near Kilimanjaro about 40 minutes out of town with lots of waterfalls). We headed out from Moshi in their car and soon were staggering our way down treacherous, dusty steps at Marungu towards rivers, negotiating waterfall entry ‘fees’ with locals etc, all the fun stuff.

(the right way to cross a river)

(the wrong way to cross a river)

We found a couple of nice waterfalls where the locals let us be and we could swim and frolic in peace. (I’m pretty sure there was no bilharzi parasites in that water, gulp) I managed to clamber up a little way up one of the waterfalls to a grotto behind the torrent. That water does pound on one’s head though.


When we had finally had enough, we drove off stopping at a swish resort for a coffee and to talk American politics. From there a nice drive back in the sunshine to Moshi with the Pare Mountains and Maasai Plateau in the distance. As I stared out of the window, I reflected that despite the frustrations and weariness of the work, I was going to miss the rhythms of this country a lot. It may be harder than I think to readjust to wandering the streets of Wellington in a suit from cavorting on the plains of Africa.

Grabbed some chicken and chips at the outdoor Glacier Inn, fended off some wandering geese and then went home. Not a bad bit of activity this weekend. Didn’t sleep that well with neighbourhood TVs blaring election coverage till all hours of the morning.

Off to Mwanza, near Lake Victoria, at the end of this week to visit some friends.

UPDATE
Hmm our Volunteer Co-ordinator has just warned us there is tension in Arusha, violence in Dar Es Salaam and Mwanza due to frustration at final results being delayed. I've seen two utes full of suited up Riot Police, maybe heading to Arusha? I'm sure it'll all settle down.