Dumela Botswana!

So here I am. I have been in Botswana for a week, staying in a safari lodge about 2 hours away from any city, with no computers, tv, phone, just a 2 way radio. Parts of it are amazing: the wildlife (especially the birds), the friends that I have made, taking trips to the near by village. I have even come to enjoy strange parts about my existence here: checking under the toliet seat for scorpions, getting startled when a lizards runs across my tent, the compulsory drinking of gin & tonics (for preventing malaria, of course), being woken up in the middle of the night by an elephant walking right next to my tent, finally being able to finsh War and Peace... However, the work part is not really what I expected. As in, there is no work for me to do. Which makes it a little tedious and boring and lonely at times. Also the isolation can be a bit tough, and I have only been here a week!

However, I am definitely having an experience of a lifetime. I have not decided what I am going to do, if I am going to stay here for the next 3 months or travel on. I am kind of waiting to see how things pan out, and in the mean time making the most of it. I don't have access to internet (or anything at all really!) except for when I come into town, which is 2 hours away, and I only get to every week or so. I have taken tons of photos but don't have a way of uploading them. Hope all my friends back home are doing well, I miss everybody!

Cape Town and the West Coast

I am now situated in the quaint, quite beach town of Jacobsbaai, on the Western Cape of South Africa. I am here with my parents and family for about a week, centering around my cousin’s wedding. Every house here is built in the colonial cape Dutch style, which makes it very picturesque: white houses, brown thatch roofs, and a nice little coastline with spectacular sunsets.

Compare some photos of the houses here to those in Johannesburg, where you feel a bit like a prisoner in your own home, as every house is surrounded by tall, often electrified fences, and guard dogs.

Just for contrast lets show a picture of a more typical house in Johannesburg, in Soweto, where an estimated 1/3 of people in the Jo'burg area live:

I have also spent a few days touring Cape Town, which reminds me a lot of San Francisco: beautiful setting with mountains and oceans, adjacent wine region, and a sort of sophisticated yet more relaxed attitude than Jo-burg or Pretoria. I have been a total, unabashed tourist in the Cape, taking bus tours and seeing the sights, like Table Mountain

and Cape Agullus, the southernmost point of Africa and where the Indian and Atlantic Oceans meet:

It is interesting to me how the Cape area of South Africa has a more British legacy than the rest of white South Africa. I qualify South Africa that way (white) because that is what I am seeing. I have been to South African several times before and I have seen quite a bit of the country, but only the white parts. Traveling with white people, staying at predominantly white areas, etc. I definitely feel like I am stuck in a bubble that way. I would really like to experience a more real South Africa, which means a more colorful, and more dangerous country. One option, while I was staying outside of Jo’burg, was to take a guided bus tour of Soweto, a predominantly black and historically poor township. There were the same sort of tours available for Kibera in Kenya. I can’t believe people actually do this. It seems very problematic and weird to make a spectacle and a tourist attraction out of a slum. Especially when you can return to your safe home after “experiencing” real, poor Africa. My point is, it is hard for me traveling in South Africa to get away from the rich (white) areas without resorting to things like the Soweto tours. I really am doing my best not to engage in these culturally irresponsible activities.

Anyway, tomorrow I leave for Botswana, so wish me luck in a new country! I expect to have lots of time to read, write and reflect there, although internet connection will be sporadic.

Just a flea on the Queen's Blanket

Just a flea on the Queen’s Blanket

Today we went to the Kingdom of Lesotho—yes, that tiny little enclave in the middle of South Africa. Its border is very close to where we are in Froiesburg, so it was just a day trip, but we got to drive around most of the country. Our main goal was to see the Katse Dam, the second largest dam in Africa. As anyone who knows me knows, I hate dams. But my family doesn’t really care about that, and I wanted to see the country side, so off we went.

An interesting bit of colonial history: Lesotho became a country under the leader King Moshoehoe in 1822 as his followers settled in what they called Basutoland. Moshoehoe and his people fought agaist the Boers at times and the British at times, defeating both groups, to their embarrassment. Eventually, he appealed to Queen Victoria, asking that his people might be considered “fleas on the Queen’s blanket.” Swaziland and Botswana soon followed, and these three countries became British territories, (which are different from colonies, by the way). Baustoland became independent in the 1960s, when most African countries were achieving independence. Today Lesotho is a Kingdom, and has a constitutional monarchy much like Great Britain, where the monarch is mostly just a figurehead.

So we spent most of the day driving through the Maluti mountains, which are grander than the Drankensburg at around 6,000 feet, and totally gorgeous. The soil there is a rich dark color, and all around were rows and rows of meales (corn) and other crops. Most people subsistence farm with little use of modern technology—we saw only hand scythes and plows pulled by oxen and other draft animals. The houses are small, round brink huts with straw roofs. We also say lots of people herding sheep, goats and cows on the side of the road, and the people rode horses and donkeys. Though extremely poor, everything looked clean and tidy somehow. This is probably because people are just too poor to litter, as they keep every scrap, and it’s not like they have the means to buy disposable things (which brings to mind, how everything in American seems to be made to be disposable). Though the people did not have much, I didn’t see any glaring poverty, akin to the slums of South Africa and Kenya. Actually, set against the beautiful mountainous background, the whole countryside seemed so idealistic. With my own dreams of being a farmer one day, it was hard not to romanticize the whole country…but in reality, it has one of the highest HIV/AIDS rates in the world, and over 40% of the population live beneath the global poverty rate of $1.25 a day. As much as I would like to grow my own food, being a woman under 40, living in Lesotho I would have a 50% chance of having AIDs…and I would not want that.

This is what the Katze dam looks like:

The redeeming part about the dam is that it enables Lesotho to be almost completely independent in energy production. Actually the country’s main exports are the water and electricity created by the dam, which it sells to South Africa. Of course I don’t like dams and I know this one displaced lots of people and had some pretty terrible impacts on the local environment. But it is also hard to hold developing countries to the same standards as developed. And in a country that has basically skipped industrialization, it is important that it is not only independent in energy production, and has the means to be independent economically and not dependent on foreign aid.

South African beginnings

I am now in South Africa! I had to get a yellow fever shot at the airport before they let me though passport control (whoops!), but luckily it was no big deal. I got off the plane in Johannesburg and we drove straight for another four hours until we reached the town of Froiesburg, in the Drakensburg mountains. The province we are in is called the Free State, one of nine in the country. Before 1994, it was called the Orange Free State, and was a stronghold of Afrikaner people and culture. It actually used to be one of two Boer republics (the other being the Transvaal) before the unionization of South Africa. I can definitely sense the Afrikaner nationalism among the whites in this area, and it is frankly weird. I want to write about this later in great length, because it is an interesting history, and an interesting heritage for me. My mom is an Afrikaner, and in fact I lived in South Africa from 1990-1991, right at the end of the Apartheid (though I was only four years old at the time and of course had no idea what was going on). It is something I am kind of struggling to understand and deal with. But for now, just to inform those that are unaware, the Afrikaners are a separate white ethnic group in South Africa. They have been settling in the country since the 1600s and are mostly of Dutch lineage, and differentiate themselves from the British colonialists. They are also known as Boers, and speak Afrikaans as a first language, although almost everybody speaks English as well (though some refuse to as a matter of pride).

Basically in an extremely reduced nutshell, in the 1880s and 90s the Boer War was fought between the Boers and the British. It ended up with a British victory and annexation of the Boer republics into British colonies. In what seems like a little known fact outside of South Africa, the British held many Boers, mostly women and children, in concentration camps. This includes my great grandmother. An estimated 27,000 Boer civilians died, which at the time was 15% of the population. This caused, somewhat understandably, a great upsurge in Afrikaner nationalism and pride. However, it also let to an obsession with maintaining white control, and to the Apartheid.

Anyway, just keep this background in mind, because I already have much to write about that relates to this. I don’t think you can understand politics and what is going on in South Africa today without knowing about the Afrikaner legacy. But for right now, I am relaxing in the beautiful Drakensburg mountains. “Draken” in the Afrikaans word for Dragon, as the mountains look sort of like a Dragon’s spine. This is the area where my mom (partially) grew up in. It really is beautiful, and there are lots of song birds that I wish I could identify. The only one I recognize is the hoopoe, which I distinctive memories of seeing in my childhood living in Pretoria.

Karibo Kenya

Kenya was awesome! I am sorry the visit has been so short, but I am already thinking about changing my plans and coming back, this time for much longer. If I extended my stop-over in Nairobi on my way back from Botswana (this wouldn't be until May). This will cost $150, but if I extend it for a month or so, it would be so worth it. I would like to go to the coast, to Mombasa, and also venture into Tanzania. The bus system in Eastern Africa is pretty good, and I think I would feel comfortable doing this even if I was on my own.

The reason I had such a good time in Kenya was all due to my friend Stellah. I didn't know her before I arrived, in fact I was hooked up with her through a girl I barely know in Blacksburg. But she was an incredibly gracious host, met me at the airport and everything. I would never have gotten to see as much of the city as I did with her.

We took the buseverywhere, which was confusing for me but she definitely knows her way around. We even rode on Matatus--small mini buses that completely ignore traffic rules and general safety concerns. Most of the time you have to get on and off while the bus is moving. Pretty scary! The way people drive in Nairobi is the worst I have ever seen--and I have been to a fair amount of foreign cities. Nobody observes traffic rules, people frequently drive up on the sidewalk or on the wrong side of the road. Walking around we often had to cross busy roads with four or six lanes of traffic. Eventually I got the hang of it, but it was probably my least favorite part about Nairobi.

Most of the time Stellah and I traveled around by bus, I was the only white person around. It was only when we were in the area of Nairobi where there are lots of hotels, that I saw one other white woman get on the bus. It was hard to not be self conscious about this fact. There are certainly a fair amount of white Europeans and Americans living in or visiting Nairobi at any given time. But most of the time Stellah and I were not visiting any touristy places. The bus system in the city seemed pretty complicated, and without a guide, I don't know if I would have been able to figure it out. But it was one of my favorite things to do, as I got to see all parts of the city through the window, including many parts I probably wouldn't have gone if it were not for Stellah.

I stayed at a hostel a kilometer away from the city central, and despite my fears that I would just end up hanging out with other foreign travelers, I met some cool people. I met a Swiss couple who had traveled by bus and car to Nairobi from South Africa, and they were fun to talk to, as well as get advice about traveling by bus. I also met Heron, an Ethiopian who was working in Nairobi for a few months for a promotion company. He was really cool and great to hang out with because he had made lots of Kenyan friends. I also was totally impressed by the work he was doing--helping out artists and musicians by making them websites, and other promotional stuff. Especially I think it is great because he is African, and Africans helping other Africans is the way to go--not some foreign company. One large feat he was planning was to build a musical sound system and dance hall in Kibera. Kibera is the largest slum in Nairobi, and the second largest in Africa (Soweto in South Africa is the largest I think). Anyway, the dance hall is supposed to open on Christmas day, so I wish Heron and everyone good luck with that!

One night, Heron and I, as well as our Dutch friend Howard, and a Kenyan girl Rose, went out to a nightclub. It was great going to a real Kenyan club and not some tourist attraction. Howard and I were the only white people, but this didn't pose any problems. One or two Kenyan men asked me to dance, but nobody was pushy or anything. We drank Tusker, a Kenyan lager, which I enjoyed especially because the label has a cute picture of an elephant on it (although the name probably comes from the ivory trade, gross). Anyway, we had a great time. Everyone I saw was an amazing dancer, and we all agreed, Kenyans know how to dance!

My last night I spent with Stellah and her roomate, Harriet, in their dorm room outside of the city. Getting there was probably the biggest adventure I had: It involved walking with Stellah, being the only white person I could see, through River Road, which is notorious for its crime and prostitutes, and “not a place to go at night”. I didn’t realize that's where we were until after. All I know is that it was very crowded, I stuck out like a sore thumb with my backpack. I saw groups of men huddling around small tables on the street, all gambling. Then we got on a bus, I sat with my backpack on my lap, which meant I basically couldn’t move. The bus took us to another bus stop, sort of outside the city. We walked through an outside market that was selling, by the looks of it, used shoes and clothing. I think it might have been donations from Goodwill—the clothes and goods that even poor Americans don’t want and so they get shipped to poor places in Africa. Then we stood at a very crowded bus stop for a while, trying once again to get on a matatu. It was hard to maneuver, with my backpack and the crowds. I was of course worried that someone might try and steal something from my bag. I tried to angle it so that Stellah could watch it, but this wasn’t always possible. Finally we got on a matatu that took us to her apartment. A little later Stellah realized the strap of her purse had been slashed. Luckily nothing had been stolen, but she explained to me that thieves often slash purses with razor blades. If they do it just right, they make the slash where the inner pocket of the purse is and can steal the cellphone that is usually kept there without anyone noticing. I seriously wonder why the thief attempted to steal from Stellah and not me, as I was probably the easier target, and judging by the size of my pack and the color of my skin, probably had more valuables for the taking.

I spent the night with Stellah and her roommate Harriet. We listed to the radio, and visited some of their friends, including this very friendly guy named Alex. It was only on my last night in Kenya that I learned Stellah's real name is Kagendo. "Stellah" is only her name for westerners (Harriett's real name is Gakii) I felt so ashamed that I didn't even know this before, or think twice about her having such a western name! Stupid mzungu.

Anyway, I am resolved to come back to Kenya for longer, and also learn some more Swahili. The language is just so poetic and fun sounding. I cannot thank Kagendo enough, and I hope one day I will be able to host her in America. However, I know this is very unlikely, as it is so hard for most Africans to get an American visa. Maybe one day when Marekani (America) relaxes its borders (this is sarcasm)!

London

London was alright. I’ve been there before for about a month, so I didn’t feel the need to go out and see anything. I did a bunch of wandering around, trying to randomly stray upon cool places. Found a couple, but mostly it was cold and rainy, I had this heavy backpack on, and I felt very self conscious of being an obvious tourist. Stayed on a stranger’s couch, through Couch-Surfing. Good idea in practice; in experience, slightly less so. One day I will write about it, but I don't feel like having explaining that complicated and mostly negative experience on only my second post.

Anyway, I made my flight to Nairobi, another red eye. Met a bunch of English blokes, mostly in their mid twenties, all white, who were going to climb Mount Kilimanjaro to benefit a charity of their choice. The guy I was sitting next to chose an organization that trains guide dogs. I tried to ask him how it worked, exactly, and I still don’t understand. How does flying to another country and spending 9 days climbing a mountain, with guides and gear and, no doubt, staying at some fairly nice hotels before hand and after, raise any money at all? I suppose you get sponsored by asking friends and family. Then the remaining money, after expenses, goes to the charity. It seems like a round-about way of doing things. And more about that “feel good” feeling than contributing to any real cause. Also it is worth mentioning that none of these charities in anyway benefitted Kenya, or the people living around Nairobi, or the people these Brits were taking advantage of for their grand, pre-planned, exotic African adventure. Even “Race for the Cure” seems better to me than this.

Later on I asked my friend Stellah if she had even climbed Mt. Kilimanjaro, even though I was pretty sure I knew the answer: “No, Kenyans don’t do that.” A.k.a., only rich white people do.

Embarkments

Today I left my parent’s home in Falls Church, planning on traveling for 8 months, with just one backpack and a purse. The backpack weighs about 30 pounds, half of which is books. I am almost as excited about my reading list as I am about my travels. Also in tow, a small little laptop, which I plan to use to finish applying to grad school, and work on this blog! With the travel gods shining down on me, I made my stand-by flight (big sigh of relief) and horray it was even business class! Champagne, fresh roasted nuts, a three course meal and numerous hot towels later, I realized that I have never been so doted upon in my life. It almost makes me want to be rich.