Lake Bunyoni

After leaving Zanzibar on the night ferry, thank you mom for the extra thick sleeping pad, I made my way across Tanzania from Dar Es Salam to Kabale in South Western Uganda via a 40 hour bus extravaganza, thank you mom one more time for the extra thick sleeping pad. These photos are in revers order starting with the bus ride. Does anyone know how to format in Blogger? It just gets messy when I try. Anyways, whats an Arch Bishop doing leering at me through the wind shield? The pin striping on the front of our bus is to reinforce cracks in the glass rather than add flair although I am sure the flair is welcome. A peace corps grandam on the same bus put me up in her apartment in Kabale. The hot shower, big bed, and grilled cheese sandwiches were much appreciated. Kabale is cooler than most of Uganda at 1000 meters or so which means cheese will keep unrefrigerated. Taking advantage of this and the abundant local free range organic grass and trash fed cow milk a Belgian has settled in Kabale and makes loaves of fabulous cheese for the area. The next morning I headed to lake Bunyoni.

Bunyoni is a magical place with cool swimable water (no germs), scattered islands and winding shorelines that give the moderately sized lake a lot of depth. Terracing covers every bit of available land giving the space a fun geometrical aspect. The folks who call Bunyoni home manage well scratching the dirt to cultivate their crops. It is quite rural but by no means empty. Where ever I went I would find people.

I stayed at a backpacker's resort on one of the islands, Byoona Amagara, which means All of Life, at the recommendation of Shannon who patroned the place a year earlier. I though the name a little pretentious but still cute and nice. They have a fun symbol adapted from the popular yin yang with land, water, people and the sun and a flag of the Earth. I felt my Pagan tendencies vibing well with the place. Here I finished reading Atlas Shrugged by Ayn Rand, over a thousand pages of philosophical econ-adventure love making. I was very proud of myself for reading such a mammoth and slightly disturbed buy its contents. If you ever feel the urge to take on a solid hyper conservative challenge, read Ayn Rand. I heard she slept with Alan Greenspan when he was in college.

One day, I set out on adventure to cross the lake and climb the tallest hill (reference the photo with the boat) . I packed some food, water, and my camera and set out in one of the dugout canoes made locally from eucalyptus. These canoes are an engineering marvel. Their natural state is to spin in circles, an effect called the mzungu corkscrew. I have never encountered a raft with such abominable dynamics and I immediate wanted to instruct the ship builders on the wonders of tapered tails. Paddling strait takes considerable effort and attention but it was a fun challenge and I was able to take my time. I moored at a trading post on the far side of the lake and explained my bizarre goal to climb the hill simply to look around. I was issued a guide and set off after a few brief formalities.

I was feeling good. Picking a hill top in the distance and setting out to scale it is something I fantasise about on a regular basis but rarely get to take on. I enjoy having a straightforward goal to reach and always take pleasure in observing a place up close and personal. It is the hikers high but with a complicating twist; there is no set trail to follow. My guide led me part way up the hill to a nice new medical clinic with solar panels and a metal roof. From here I was on my own. Along the way we encountered the most startling sight I have seen in a long time, a disheveled man lying on the ground and babbling to himself with shackles on his legs. I asked my guide what was up and she swirled her finger around her ear to indicate that he was crazy. Unfortunately, I was too shy to take a picture. I desperately wish I had because it would have been quite compelling.

I really wanted to take pictures of people because they are often more interesting than even the stunning landscape but many people are shy or feel imposed upon, understandably. I soon figured out a couple techniques for getting people pictures. You can always take a picture from a safe distance but for a close up I would offer a snack, I had a lot of fruits and small cornbread rolls with me. If I didn't want to give up my food I would offer to send them the picture when I got home and I would write down their mailing address in my note book. Once I took one picture and showed whoever was there the image on the screen suddenly everyone wanted a picture. Digital cameras are cool. At the medical clinic I was offered a lunch of beans and potatoes but I refused, weary of the time and not being able to escape my host if I consented. A single potato half was forced into my hands as I went on my way up the steep hill.

After some wandering I found a quaint new church near the top and poked my head in to have a look. The minister was there with some painters preparing for the church's blessing by the region's bishop or something. The minister was friendly and offered me some tea. After having climbed a thousand feet or so some sugary caffeine sounded quite nice. I forgot, however that 'tea' means 'stuff the guest full of carbs until they cant move' in Ugandan. I required a brief visit before I was on my way but to no avail as potatoes, an array of sweet potatoes, beans, and tea were brought out for my host and myself to enjoy. It was actually quite good and I enjoyed the break, greedily drinking several cups of tea. Afterwards the minister took me on a mini tour of the hill top. We stopped by the primary school which had some impressive rain water harvesting. Before rain water harvesting the people on the top of the hill had to haul water up in plastic cans, an ominous task usually given to barefoot children. There were now many rain water harvesting tanks on the top of the hill, all recent additions. At the very peak of the hill the minster pointed out Rwnada in the distance.

I bid the minister farewell and began the trek back down the hill on the other side, taking my time. The baby in the picture saw me coming towards it down the path and turned running to its mother screaming and crying. I felt like a monster but was able to make amends by offering a banana and performing a juggling act with some passion fruit. I made more friends and took more pictures on my way down and finally made it back to the trading post late in the afternoon. If I was to get back before dark I needed to head back right away. I was blessed with the local spirit made from bananas, waragi, by the local drunks and found my boat with the paddle missing. I had no money and wasn't getting any help so I grabbed another paddle thinking it would be replaced by the one I came with eventually. Awkwardly, I chanced to grabbed a legless man's paddle who was now screaming at me and rushing my boat. I hesitated to push off because this guy looked like he meant business and would probably be able to catch me on the water. Just then a bystander spotted some children coming back in a canoe with my paddle. I happily returned the legless man's property and he angrily threw it back into his boat with a loud thud. The children looked a little embarrassed but no worse for wear. I regained my oversized ladle and headed out.

I was eager to get back before dark as dinner often took three hours to be served after an order and I was disappointed to find the wind heading strait at me. I tried to be clever and hide from it as much as I could by hugging the shore but it was not much help if any at all. The return paddle was a long and difficult one fighting the wind, cramping arms, and the torments of children along the shore line asking me for money and my name. I began to speak nonsense to them just to keep myself in good spirits. Eventually, I made it back in one peace and surprisingly full of energy. Settling down to a couple beers and a fine meal I reveled in my adventure. It was a good day.

Silly Thngs

Bada bing bada boom. I am presently settled down in the lovely city of Kampal, Uganda's undisputed metropolis. This city has a real intimacy about it. The smells, tastes, and textures like the warm armpit fully coddling my knee in the taxi-van dont permit me to maintain much personal space. Muddy streets soil my shoes after the frequent tropical rains. Municipal power and diesel generators tag team to keep the city lit at night. I had four articles of clothes and my super expensive hand made by white people leather sandals repaired for the price of a beer. I wanted to cry when I was asked for so little to pay for a service that would have been dozens of times more expensive and taken days back home. Playing football is the highlight of my day. It is often muddy and slippery but the competition is good. I haven't played this much in years and I am probably over doing it. My hips have locked up in a way that only hours of patient yoga can remedy.

After some jostling I managed to score a dorm room, unfurnished, for $30 for the two weeks I will be staying. If I were three or four years younger it might be the sort of thing that interests me but now it is more of a place to rest my head than be social. Tasteless hip hop plays loudly on repeat down the hall. The same dated M&M song over and over and over again. Other than poor musical taste the dorm has everything you need; door to door laundry service, a convenience store with bagged vodka and boxed juice, a pool table, 24/7 football TV, and a restaurant with 'food' as an item on the menu. I made the mistake of ordering 'food' with my beans (I was making a burrito) and I was surprised with a heaping plate of three types of tasteless starches - rice, corn flower, and matoke (non sweet banana like starchy stuff in mashed form). "Do you want food?" I was asked. "Yes, I want beans," I ignorantly replied. Uganda has a lot of things going for it but flavorless starch as a staple diet is not one of them.

When I feel like being social I can call upon a harem of young university boys to escort me to football games on the TV, hand in hand (quite literally) or hit the night clubs with a crew of Rasta MCs I met the other night. There are some pretty first class clubs here if you are into Hip Hop. The real treat for an evening out is the ride on the motorcycle taxi. The underpowered two wheelers never go very fast but no one gets a helmet so the rained on asphalt rolling beneath you keeps your heart racing. I have heard there is a lot of good fun to have in Kampala if you know where to look but in my two weeks here I'm not going to fuss and instead try to focus on the international car of the future project. Maybe I will look for an expat bar or two.

I have connected with a very legitimate engineering student, Paul, who is teaching me all about CAN networks (all the computerized stuff in cars). He single handedly developed the network for a prototype vehicle built in Turin this last summer, a feat which defines him as a very capable person in my mind. I am very lucky to have met him and that the Makerere team has been working on the computer control and networking for the project because, for my next stop in Belgium, I have been tasked to work on the same aspect for an electric vehicle being built to showcase a new motor some students at the University of Leuven developed. Hopefully I will get access to the computer lab soon so I can do some research. Dont tell the Belgians but right now my learning curve is very steep. Otherwise, I am very excited about the prospect of doing some hard core vehicle development and using my brain powers. To be honest, I am also looking forward to blending in.

First Big Idea

First, the background.

The question can be posed simply enough. With so much inequity in the world, as a person of privilege, what can you do to help those with less? Charity comes to mind. Food aid, medical services, money for schools, these are all worthy causes we can donate money to but it often comes with an uneasiness of how the money is being spent. We can only hope that the majority of it gets to the people it is intended for and is not skimmed by some local dictator warlord wanabe hip hop star for his own private Escalade. Whats more, we should also be weary of the dependency factor. Any real long term solution should probably come from within the society seeking it. Gifts of aid may alleviate short term suffering but at the same time teach those who receive it to look for handouts rather than work for what they need and lead to a greater need for subsidies in the future.

What I think we should ultimately do, and I dont take credit for this idea, is to empower people to better their own lives. If giving aid is the opposite of empowering then perhaps we can share our expertise. An example might be to hold a workshop on developing a business plan or teaching local children to build better stoves for cooking so they can share the knowledge with their community (thats what i did). Often, however, the shared expertise is not internalized and crumbles when the expert leaves as I have observed with many of the stoves built with the help of ambitious German experts before I came to Uganda. There must be a motivational trigger that leads to the ownership of the shared expertise so that it will be valued and carried on into the future as a tool for improving ones life. Ownership I believe is the key. For someone to take care of something, an idea even, they should be personally invested in it. Finally, for an idea to really spread it should make everyone money, including you.

So here is my idea - third world anarchist computer labs/internet cafes. As a person with privilege one could front the capital to buy a set of decent computers and a nice facility. Quality but not too fancy. Hold low cost, very affordable but not free, tutorials or classes ranging from how to turn the computer on to calculating dividends in Excel and organizing political revolutions through Facebook. The tutorials are not your money maker but they will create a market for your computer lab. Once you have infused the local population with computer skills the more industrious ones will be able to use the worlds resources to improve their lives and that of their community all by themselves all the while spending their change for the use of your capitol.

What excites me about the potential of computer/internet skills is the social aspect. People previously controlled by ignorance would now be able to inform and organize themselves perhaps even better than their oppressors. With one clean stroke of the wireless internet antenna, under privileged people the world over will be given the tools to access unlimited resources. It is a dramatic leveling of the playing field with minimal investment.

Third world internet cafes are happening already thank to the recent explosion of cell phone coverage. I believe some day internet literacy will be the norm for all but the most remote outposts but it would be nice to speed it along, to make it happen faster and better. So, if you are looking to make a difference, have a leaning towards populous or decentralized power, and need a job, apply for a grant to open up a third world anarchist computer lab/internet cafe and make it happen. You could even do it in West Fresno if you don't want to move to Uganda.

I Got My Shoes Back!

When I was staying on the north of Zanzibar, in Nungwi, I went to a full moon party on the beach where a bunch of resorts are. Curiously, it was three nights after the actual full moon but the idea was mainly for a bunch of tourists and beach boys (locals who work the snorkeling tours, sell silly paintings of Massai, etc.) to get drunk together and party all night long under reassuring light of the full moon. At one point in the evening I took of my nice new soccer shoes to dance in the soft sand with others to the dj's hip tunes. An hour or so later I returned to find my shoes and socks missing along with the key to my hotel room I was hiding inside. "Crap!" I thought. I had bought those shoes, new shoes are a big investment for me, specifically for this trip so I would have something comfortable and nice to wear other than sandals that I could also play soccer in. I resigned to my fate that they were gone forever and I would have to buy another pair somewhere. In the back of my head I secretly hoped to find them being sold on the streets of Zanzibar and reclaim them triumphantly. But that was just an absurd fantasy.

One and a half weeks later, in Stone Town, I saw the Massai in the photo above walking down the street past me and wearing my shoes! Isnt he cute. Look closely and you will see his shirt buttons misaligned. It was totally unreal. I stopped him and attempted to explain the situation, half expecting to not get my shoes back but happy at the irony of actually having found them again. He didn't speak any English or didn't care to but was entertaining my conversation, maybe it was the powers of my Massai bracelet, so we got the help of a passerby to translate. I managed to convince all that these were indeed my shoes and was able to buy them back for 10,000 shillings. What a triumph. I was surprised at the young man's willingness to cooperate but I suspect that he felt a certain powerful guilt that overcame his greed and he feared the consequences of bad karma if he didn't return the shoes to its rightful owner for a fair price. I am feeling very lucky indeed.

Ramadan has ended and with it four days of festivities have begun. Tonight is my last night in Zanzibar. It has been a fabulous stay. Tomorrow I will set off to cross Tanzania by train and by boat to the southwestern border of Uganda where I will continue to relax for a few more days on the high altitude Lake Bunyoni. Coincidentally, I met the managers of the backpacker resort there on the night my shoes walked away from me. After Lake Bunyoni I will be back to Nkokonjero to follow up on my previous work and then Kampala to see about the future car work being done at Makerere University before leaving for Europe on November 4th.