Glory Ho

I once heard a friend of mine relay a conversation he’d had with his wife:

Husband: Honey, what’s your greatest fear?
Wife: Well, I think it would be that if one of us died and little Sally had to grow up with just one parent.
Husband: Oh, I see.
Wife: What’s your greatest fear?
Husband: Bears.

But seriously, what’s YOUR greatest fear? And what kind of fear are we talking about? One that threatens your life, your perception of the world or your sanity? Now that I’m safely on American soil, devoid of any disease and free of bullet wounds, I can talk about this. In general, travel was FAR, FAR less dangerous than people imagine–largely, I believe, because people picture us dodging suicide bombers and hiding from Al Quaeda. And that didn’t happen. However, there were a few times when I began to wonder just what the hell we were doing. . . .and these were legit.

Location: Beirut, Lebanon
Inner Monologue: Oh my God. The Sunnis and the Shiites are about to begin killing each other and we are in the wrong place at the wrong time. Didn’t this happen on a subway in Adventures in Babysitting? This is the warzone the news is always talking about. We must get the hell out of here. Now. But how?
What Happened: We’d been dropped off a few blocks shy of our apartment on a street between ethnically divided neighborhoods and had lost our way. Recent days had brought violence and riots. It was rainy and windy. As we walked, we noticed armed soldiers—not the bored looking ones we see sitting atop tanks at intersections—but men hidden under overhangs and around corners. A lot of them. Looking alert and ready for action.
Physical Condition: sweaty, shaky
What I Say To Make Myself Feel Better: Be calm, Andrea. Your chances of getting hurt are still pretty slim. Really. You can duck into a million places. The soldiers are here to protect you. If you are hurt, we’re in the city. Lebanon has ambulances. They will come.
Conclusion: There’s nothing we could have done differently here. You can’t hole up at home and not live when times are tense. We almost always know our way–this is an anomaly. Like the Lebanese do, you must continue with life. At least it’s not personal. I am not their target.

Location: Uganda
Inner Monologue: This vehicle is going to crash and roll and burn. And I am on it. This could be it. This could really be it. The cops will call. My Mom will answer. Hopefully they’ll find the gifts in our bags. I am never going to see my nephew. I can’t believe it. Traveling is not worth this fear.
What Happened: A busdriver has found a paved road and is going so fast around curves that people are falling out of their seats. He is honking every couple minutes at the swarms of people on the shoulder or crossing the road who are carrying babies, herding cows, balancing bundles of bananas on their vintage bikes and toting baskets of vegetables on their heads. Our destination is still hours away.
Physical Condition: Tears
What I Say To Myself To Feel Better: If we are in a head-on crash, I will probably survive. I am high-up and in the back. If we roll, I do have a seatbelt on. Plus, in this country, it is widely known that crowds will form and attempt to lynch the culprit, which, even if you’re dying in the ditch at least provides a bit of justice.
Conclusion: What can we do? This is simply the state of transportation in Uganda. It’s the worst case so far, but its been bad before and it will be again tomorrow, too. Unless I want to walk or spend some serious money, I don’t have a choice.

Location: Nairobi, Kenya
Inner Monologue: Nairobi is called Nairobbery. At least we don’t have a LandRover to hijack. But still, I know that guy wants my bag and this is a very dicey neighborhood. I feel like we’re in the projects. The AFRICAN projects. At any moment, I could be attacked. Those people are watching us. This is personal.
What Happened: We’d been looking for a hostel and a bad neighborhood had seemed to engulf us very quickly.
What I Say To Make Myself Feel Better: Well, even if I’m mugged, the injuries will be minor. I’ll just fall down and lose all my stuff. Whatever. So why am I so scared?
Conclusion: Take precautions as in any city. Don’t go down dark alleys. Stay in crowded areas. Clutch your bag as you walk. I can’t tell you why I was so freaked out–maybe because its more personal or more targeted. But I was. And I didn’t like it one bit.

Ironically, I was never particularly all that scared in Northern Iraq.

At the market that morning, there was nothing special for sale. It was Goodwill in the shape of a shoe horn along the lake. Fourth-hand dresses and Old Navy sweatshirts and shiny department store shoes minus the box on blankets. Frowning vendors sold tough-skinned tomatoes. Very occasionally a car would roll by entirely too fast and send dust into everyone’s eyes and nostrils. At the waterside were uneven rows–dozens of faded blue, green and magenta dug out canoes atop Lake Bunyonyi. It was part of everyone’s commute. They sat parked, empty, humming to themselves between the reeds and up against the shore. The rafia once wound tightly around their owner’s goods had now fallen away creating an accidental crow’s nest in each cradled space.

Continue reading ‘Survival’

We started this trip with two cameras. We now have none.

Yes, the whole stolen thing really sucked. So did the day-long police report experience. There was disbelief, devastation and denial. But there was, eventually, a solemn belief in the idea that this didn’t mean the world was bad, just that two people were bad. We had to move on. To do that, we engaged in a little exercise.

Why do we take travel photos anyway?

Answer One: To show others what adventurous, well-traveled individuals we are. To decorate our home with our excellent photography (so we can show others what adventurous, well-traveled individuals we are.) To color our blogs, (so we can show others what adventurous, well-traveled individuals we are.)

But this preoccupation with proof for others is no good. Who are you living for? You or your dinner party guests?

Answer Two: It’s about us! We want to be reminded later in life about all the exotic places we’ve been. Every action-packed moment. Each tri-textured vista.

I understand. But think about it.

Continue reading ‘Naked Eyes’

The soft spongey skin beneath my nails are rimmed with blue paint and there is a spot above my breast, too. It’s from today. We painted a pit latrine at a school for orphans as volunteers for SoftPower Education. It will not be the last bit of blue to stain my body. I felt brighter. Like I belonged a little more to this continent.

Ah, this continent. It’s probably like having a baby. When it happens to you, no matter how much you’ve read, it feels like its never happened quite like this to anyone else on the planet. These people embody the nostalgia of nursery rhymes as they head up the hill to fetch a pail of water. They move like a prayer, soft and slowly down the most natural lanes of life.

Do you have Coke in America? They ask.

What about cows? Stars?

And with these questions, my understanding of their edges gets a little deeper. The turtle dove is coo-cooing and the women are laboring and the men are idle. The babies are naked and the toddlers are snotty (literally) and the children’s faces are filled with bits of sugarcane. Their pleated skirts and pointy collars and school-issue sweaters try so hard to be proper, but it’s no use. Missing zippers, frayed at their edges. . .

Continue reading ‘Africa Just Is’

The Things We Carry: mosquito cream, malaria pills, sunblock, journal, head lamp, iodine-treated water bottle, Kleenex,
The Food We Eat: beans, bread, eggs, tea, samosas, avocados, cabbage, rice, Pringles,
The Stuff We Hate: being asked for money, overland trucks full of mzungu, horrendous bus rides, developED country prices with developING country service,
The Stuff We Love: bicycle taxis, helpful people, homemade cooking, lush green landscapes, African tea, zebras, giraffes, monkeys, when they manage to undercook the eggs.
What Would Be Nice: sheets on the bed, washing machine, hot water, our cameras back,
Souvenirs Which Intrigue Us: jewelry made of paper, coins from before independence
Souvenirs Which Make us Crazy: Wooden giraffe salad bowls which are also sold at CostPlus in Cherry Creek
Most Dangerous Thing We’ve Done to Date: Both riding on the back of a boda boda (motorbike taxi) across town in a the traffic-intense Kampala traffic.
Current Bodily Inflictions: blue and yellow bruise from rafting, tire-burn from a bike while crossing the street, dozens of flea bites
What We’re Reading: The Economist, Lonely Planet East Africa, Half of a Yellow Sun (historic fiction about Nigeria’s civil war), We Wish to Inform You That Tomorrow We Will be Killed With Our Families (journalists tale of the Rwandan genocides)
Cost of a Dorm Bed: $3-7
Worst Bathroom We’ve Seen: hotel staff bar where we watched Chelsea and Manchester United footie game during safari in Masai Mara National Park, Kenya

The water is angry and swirling from the splash of the sky, the shoebills are out for a bath, the monkeys are minding the forest and Africans are whooping and squawking along the ruddy, muddy shores while 50-50’s edge grows ever closer. I scoop the waves with futility. . paddle left, paddle right, hold on, hold on and get down, I can’t hear his orders above the thunder! What’s he saying now? Strands of hair sticking to my cheeks, the warm comfort of tears just about to break loose, glancing at Michael for reassurance and realizing I am on my own, fearing I wouldn’t hold on tight enough, considering the the distance of the drop. . how rock formations could create such rapids . .wondering just how long I’ll stay underwater this time. Silverback was at least half an hour ago now, but the waves had thrashed me in a spin cycle for what felt like at least two minutes, but was probablyl more like 15 seconds. I was so scared. Out. Of. Breath. I am still so scared. “Be loose” Michael always tells me. Let your body roll with the water, with the boat, against an oar. Alarmed by the word “loose”, I check to make sure my helmet is still there. . .that my life jacket is snapped. . .that the rescue kayaks are still with us. But I am out of time. The falls are here. I try desperately to keep the taste of drama in my mouth so the fear won’t fill it up. I whisper my trio of mantras. . .that people did this every day, that everything would be okay, that somewhere. . .I can see it, there, between the waving seaweed of my own shores, is the rush of fear which I actually enjoy but I just. .can’t. . .quite. . .reach it. Then the boat goes horizontal and all I can see are the handles and my hands and my eyelids.

White water rafting.
In a thunderstorm.
Atop a Class Five Rapid
At the source of the Nile
In Uganda.

As Lawrence would say: Fuckin’ A, man. Fuckin’ A.