Yemen-Day 2 & 3

Oct 11/12
I'm staying in a 'Tower House' in old Sanaa, a section of the city that is listed as an UNESCO world heritage site. If you could see it, you would understand why. I've never seen anything even closely resembling this. It has all the narrow windy streets of many old cities I've been in. But it's the look – the style of the buildings – that is completely unique to Yemen. The Tower Hoses are tall rectangle boxes, rising as high as 7+ stories (my hotel seems to be one of the tallest). They appear to be made of brick, but are decorated with white frosting-like details around the windows and doors. Many include colorful stained-glass windows. All the houses are the same color with the frosting décor, but each one is different. I've seen many with the Star of David as a decorative pained window, but don't know the history of the Jews here.


Inside the hotel is a tiny lobby/registration area and then the stone circular staircase that takes you up to your room. The steps are extremely tall making it more of a workout for my short legs. My room has an old carved wooden door that is short enough that even I have to duck to go in. My $35/night room includes a small sitting area, bathroom, and is a corner bedroom with many small windows with a fantastic view. There is a rooftop terrace overlooking that city and a ground level terrace overlooking a communal garden. A huge breakfast is included. I'm in love. The only downside is the electricity went out all over town so I wasn't able to shower.

Friday, the first day of Eid, was my first full day in Sanaa. It's a blessing and a curse to be here during Eid. This was like the Muslim version of Thanksgiving, I think. Families all get together to eat and give gifts, dressed in their finest. For the men, that meant the donning of their white robe that is about high ankle length, a dress jacket, and a beige shawl. At the waist they wear the traditional curved knife attached to an elaborately decorated wide belt. The knife (called a Jambia) is placed right in the middle of their waist. This is apparently important. Virtually every Yemeni male (and that includes children) wore this on Friday. The little girls dressed in colorful princess dresses. The women…black robe, black scarf, black face covering. How unfair.

The downside to Eid is that everything is closed. The old town in the afternoon felt like a ghost town. Only one street had a few shops open selling the Jambia. I chatted with the boys in one of the shops as they chewed their Qat, feeling fine. Qat is a leaf from a tree that produces a similar feeling to marijuana if chewed for an hour or so. They offered me some, so I thought I'd see what it tasted like. You are supposed to chew and only swallow the juice. The men start chewing around one in the afternoon. Often their cheeks bulge out like a deformity, accompanied by glassy red eyes. The scary part is when your taxi driver is chewing, the money-changer is chewing, the guys shooting of their guns, the soldiers…I'm wondering if the pilot on my local flight will be chewing. They are quite good-natured, but I don't think they should be operating heavy machinery while doing this, or holding a gun (that's another story). Anyway, the stuff tasted nasty and I lasted about 5 minutes before spitting it out. The children and men seem to have no problem with my photography. Everyone is extremely friendly. Even if they can't speak English, they seem to know how to say 'Where are you from,' 'What is your name,' and 'Have you tried Qat?'

Also on Friday, I made a trip to the Tourist Police with two French men who came with their families on holiday. The standard tourist procedure here is to hire a tour company to organize the permits, a car, and a driver/guide. As I am just one with no one to share the cost, I didn't want to do it. I also enjoy traveling the local way for a while as it is the best way to have personal contact with the locals. A female foreigner traveling alone, I was told by numerous people, was very unusual and not recommended and taking local transport was a real problem, etc, etc, etc. All wrong, in my opinion. The Tourist Police who did our permits was lovely and even let me give him 2 possible plans and call him to say which one I was taking. Easy, easy, easy. Took about 1 1/2 hours including the drive there.


October 13
Today was a great day. I set out on my first day of breaking all the established rules: a single female foreigner, traveling solo, via local transport. This day proved how you can have such rich experiences when you do it the local way.

I set out in a private taxi to find a copy machine to make 20 copies of my tourist police permit to hand out at checkponts. This proved to be difficult with everything closed for Eid, but finally found a place, then went to the starting point for the local shared taxis (called a Bijou). I planned to go to a town about an hour away called Shiban (there are two, so I'll call this one Shiban 1). The bijous are decrepid station wagons that carry as many passengers as they can squeeze in. As a female and foreigner, I'm expected to buy the 2 front seats so I can sit alone. I wore my abaya and a head scarf, hopn gto attract less attention. It worked at the first checkpoint where the police didn't notice I was a foreigner until the taxi driver pointed me out. I handed over a copy of my permit. They asked me my nationality and my job and waved us on. Easy. A guy behind me asked a few questions about what I did and where I worked and interpretted for the rest. When we got to the second checkpoint, before the police could even ask, half the passengers in the taxi started telling the police all about me. I heard 'American' and 'Saudi Arabia.' Very sweet, like they were my friends now.

Shiba is a dusty, dirty old town with little charm, but it where you can begin a short 2.5 k hike up the mountain to an old village called Kawkaban. The main street of Shibam was crammed with vendors and men – all men. Where are the women in these towns??? It was a little intimidating walking through the crowd of men. Several were friendly and pointed the way to the path which was stone paved switchbacks with streetlights. It's clearly well-traveled. I brought what I would need for an overnight in my day pack, making it quite heavy, along with my 50 kilo camera bag (you think I jest?). About half-way up, the road croses the path and this is where I met 'the family,' a group of about 8 women, 5 men, and 10+ little children, all heading up the trail carrying food, pots, water, and other misc. items.

One of the women handed me a yellow contianer, or rather, shoved it into my hands. She didn't seem to have an extra hand to carry it, so I thought, why not help. The women all seemed to take this as a sign of comraderie and proceeded to chat with me in Arabic. These Yeminia women clearly needed a lesson on how to sign language. They spoke loudly and fast, all the while waving their hands. When I gave them my baffled look and my sign language for 'I have no idea what on earth you are saying,' they waved more and spoke faster. Eventually I remembered my handy-dandy Arabic phrase book that I bought 2 years ago and never opened. This helped a bit.

At a point a short way up the trail, the women & kids veered off (and veered me off) to the right where there was a long overhanging shaded area of rock and a great view. They insisted I hang with them and I thought they were just taking a short break. One of the men, Mohammed, spoke a little English and said they were fixing food and tea and it would only be 10 minutes (it was 30) and would I please stay and eat. Why not. I had nothing better to do. I took pictures of the kids which cause a near riot and tried to converse with the women, which was hopeless. When the food was laid out on a blanket on the ground, it turned out to be a delicious feast. I finally discovered that they were from Sanaa and simply came out for a family picnic. This resting spot was as far as they were going. I eventually pulled myself away and continuted hiking to Kawkaban.

Kawkaban is an old village with a collection of ruins and lived-in brick houses on a flat plateau above the valley. I found a 'hotel' – I will try to describe this. It was more like a family house with a few rooms set aside for guests. My room was in the traditional style with floor mattress seating around the edges of the room with carpets on them. These mattresses are also where you sleep. They provide blanket and pillow, but basically, you're laying on the same carpet that everyone else has slept on for God knows how long. I loved it. The bathroom was a long trek through the house or over the roof terrace. The owner, Yahir, could not have been more helpful and nice. The price of YR 2000 ($10) included dinner and breakfast. The dinner was astonishing. They seemed to never stop bringing food in. Far more than we could eat. Oh, 'we' included a lovely British couple who work in Dubai. We ate together.

Kawkaban itself isn't exactly beautiful, but sits in such a stunning location, that it is breathtaking from certain viewpoints. I was there at sunset with my camera and couldn't get enough of it. My favorite bit of the afternoon: the 4 teenage/child boys selling souvenirs out of wheelbarrows on the cliff edge. Mohammed, Mohammed, Mohammed, and Salim became my buddies by the time we said goodbye. Salim even walked me around town showing me interesting bits such as the Star of David on some buildings and an abandoned Imam house built into the cliff.

I love Yemen. I have a distinct feeling all the time that I'm in a special place.

Yemen- Day 1

Oct 11, 2007
I woke up this morning feeling a wave of dread wash over me. It's not what you might think. No, not fear of traveling to an Arab country notorious for kidnapping of foreigners (sorry, mom, did I forget to mention that?). It's dread of traveling alone. Again. Truly, I'd rather stay in boring, soul-stifling Saudi Arabia.

For several weeks, the distinct possibility loomed that I could not go to Yemen, as both my Iqama and multiple entry needed renewal. I secretly hoped I could use that excuse for staying home. I still have my pride, after all. God forbid that I choose something boring over an adventure, as if I'm afraid of anything. LuAnne is fearless. How ironic that I have no fear of kidnapping, but fear being alone, like the elephant afraid of the mouse.

In a moment of weakness before purchasing my ticket, I emailed Nick to confess my fears, knowing that he would tell it to me straight, which he did. "Get off your fat arse and go!" he scolded. Fine! However, honestly would rather have something traumatic happen (and survive in tact) than have a normal, touristy, sightseeing trip and come back with pretty pictures. If I must travel alone, then it must include an adventure. (Mom's comment: "Must an adventure mean it's dangerous?" Of course. That's how twisted I am.)

I have taken my freestyle mode of travel to new heights this time. I skimmed through a few sections of the Lonely Planet guide on Yemen back in April when Nick suggested we travel there together this Eid break. I also joined a LP web forum on females traveling alone in Yemen. And...that's it. Until last night. It occurred to me that maybe I should have a first night in Sanaa booked, considering it's not only a weekend, but also the beginning of Eid vacation. So, the extent of my preparation is an email sent (but no confirmation) to reserve a room, and material to read on my way there.

It will all work out. Worst case scenario, I spend the week in the ancient town of Sanaa. There's nothing dreadful about that.

Short commercial break....
The first two marvels of the trip happened at the Bahrain airport when I was asked out on a date by a total stranger...and accepted!

Back to Yemen...
OK, OK. So you want to know why I accepted a date and what I know about him? Dave, Aramco writer, tall, long gray hair pulled back into a pony-tail, dressed as grungy-backpacker, single and heterosexual. (Yes, I asked, "Are you single and heterosexual?" Really, I did...after he asked me out and before I knew his name.) What else? He told me I was pretty and he never is this bold (even came back to mention that point again), but if I was traveling to Yemen alone, then I was the kind of girl he wanted to know. Finally, a man who finds my supposed bravery attractive. The one negative I gathered from the two-minute conversation: he has lived in Saudi for 18 years. Clearly this is a serious flaw. The date, or dates...oh dear, I'm already confused...area Halloween costume ball (I think that was a general invite, not a date) and a Thanksgiving formal dance at the consulate. He's about double my height, so that should be interesting.

Now, back to Yemen...


I arrived in Sanaa, the capital of Yemen, about3 hours late due to plane problems in Bahrain. As the plane touched down, I witnessed something I have never seen before: half of the passengers - all men and most likely Yemeni - got up, retrieved their luggage from the overhead bins, and filled the isles...all before the plan even slowed down to a crawl. All the while, the announcement droned on in Arabic and English insisting that everyone stay seated until the plane came to a complete stop. I mention this only because it now seems a pre-curser to what I will experience here in Yemen - anarchy. On the roads. In the grocery store. And that was in just four hours.

The first bit of anarchy is the driving. Mind you, I grew up in the Philippines where insane driving is legendary but normal to me. Manila driving is the model of discipline compared to here. First, my taxi driver weaved through alleys in the old town that literally extended a few inches on either side of the car. The manager of the hotel (Muhammad) gave me a ride (twice) into the "new" section just outside the old town where the driving insanity caused me to burst into uncontrollable giggling and laughing, which put a big grin on Muhammad's face. The most astonishing moment came in a grid-lock where about 15 cars decided they would turn around in bumper to bumper traffic to head the opposite direction...and they did it!

The second bit of anarchy took place in the supermarket checkout "line" (and I use this word in the loosest sense). There was a tiny semblance of a line, but in the same manner as their driving, they pushed their carts into the tiniest crevices between carts, creating multiple lines sprouting off lines.

And now, the most remarkable bit of all: no one seemed bothered. No one shouted at anyone - not in the grocery line or on the road. (Although, I must add here that when Yemeni speak to each other, their voices take on a guttural quality and they sound like they are shouting.)

The most surprising difference between Yemen and other countries on the peninsula is its 3rd world quality. Without exception, all the other countries are modern and somewhat clean. Yemen is not, or at least Sanaa isn't. Think trash everywhere, chaos, old and decaying, new and decaying.

Guatemala

My sisters, Yvonne & Carolyn, are leaving for Guatemala tonight. We started talking about taking a trip together last summer before we found out Yvonne’s cancer was back. Then we thought she would die by this summer. She got better with chemo, and now the cancer is back and growing rapidly. I purchased the tickets before we knew that she needed to go back on chemo. The doctor said it’s OK for her to go on this trip, but can’t start the chemo until she gets back as it will kill her immune system and make her extremely sun-sensitive. I tried to talk her into canceling the trip as I care far more about her life than about the money, but she said no. I do think she’s worried, though. The pain in her left shoulder is acting up again and the big, hard lumps of cancer are back.

Apparently Yvonne & Carolyn had a discussion about the trip and decided they needed to make it clear to me that this time, they didn’t want to sleep on any floors or the ground. When I responded, “Of course not! Are you crazy?” they reminded me that they had, in fact, done these things with me on other trips. They were swapping stories of how I made Yvonne sleep in the corridors of an overnight ferry and then sneak into a vacated room in the morning to shower after the ship had docked in Santorini, Greece. And Carolyn said she could top that story. I made her sleep on the cold, hard ground, with no sleeping bag between the borders of Malawi and Mozambique. The next day we got a lift in a truck with the convoy traveling the “gun run,” the corridor through war-torn Mozambique that was escorted by the army in the hopes of avoiding a guerrilla attack or land-mines. I’ve toned my traveling down a bit since then. This trip will be tame.

Home

“Home” is where my family is. It’s also where I live. If you could hear how many places I call “home,” you’d be confused. Saudi is “home.” Newberg is “home.” Anywhere I’m staying is “home” such as my hotel room or a friend’s house. I don’t know if that’s normal or just a product of moving around so much.

So…it’s great to be home with my family and my dog, Phoebe. There’s nothing like being around people who love you and you love. It’s the best thing in the world to see my sister Yvonne who we all thought would die this year. She’s still alive although looking older now. Her hair is short as she lost it all and it’s now grown back thicker, curlier and greyer than before. She often seems tired. Other than that, you wouldn’t know there is something trying to kill her inside.

Phoebe ran laps around the living room and whimpered from excitement when she first saw me. Such satisfaction to know she still loves me. She was, however, a bit confused as to where her loyalty should lie when Yvonne & I were together that first day. I desperately want to bring her back with me. She effortlessly raises my happy level to unusual highs.

Marriage Proposal

I’ve been visiting with Nick’s parents in a small town in the Yorkshire area called Brighouse. It is one of those English towns on the canal system where long narrow boats (mostly vacation boats now) can navigate over 2000 miles around England going through various old locks. There’s a path next to it that Nick suggested as a good place to run.

On my first run down the canal, a long boat was navigating through a lock. I helped push one of the gates back into place on one side and was invited for a ride down the canal. Unfortunately I couldn’t take it. They did let me onto the boat for a look while they waited for the water level to rise.

Today I went for my second run. It rained quite hard last night and the path along the canal at one point was flooded about 10 inches deep. There was a stone wall along the left side, curved at the top, that looked like it might be possible to walk across to avoid getting wet. Since I’m clumsy and have a hard time balancing, I wasn’t sure this was a good idea. As I stood there contemplating whether to turn back, wade through, or try walking on the top of the wall, a guy came from the other side with 2 dogs, jumped up on the wall and practically sprinted across. When he got to my side, he started chatting with me, asking where I was from and other such things. Then he suddenly said, “Alright then. Jump up on my back and I’ll carry you across.” I was a bit surprised and protested once, then decided…what the heck. As he carried me across on his back, I said, “I can’t believe you’re doing this! Will you marry me?” He didn’t say yes, but didn’t say no either. When we got to the other side, he introduced himself (Barry, with such a strong accent I could barely understand what he was saying).

Maybe I could marry a Brit after all.

London

June 17, 2007
London. It feel like I’ve been here so many times that it’s more like a stop over in a place I used to live. In fact, I don’t know if I’ve really hung out in London since 1998 when I worked in Bosnia and passed through here on my way home for Christmas. I’ve realized something. In the last two years since I’ve been living overseas, many of these excursions to other countries don’t feel like tourist-type vacations, especially England. I came here this time with only the address of a place to stay in London and a train booking to Yorkshire where Nick’s parents live. Nothing more. I just feel my way like I’m in my home country and been here a hundred times. It’s a completely different feel.

However, I should have read up on a few things so if you’re planning a trip to London, take note. I took the Heathrow Express into London and then needed to switch to the Underground. I did the logical thing of going to the ticket machines to purchase a single ticket, one zone, to Piccadilly Circus. The price came up as 4 pounds ($8)!! I must have looked rather shocked and bewildered, as a sympathetic Underground worker came up and explained that, yes, that was in fact the price. However, there was another option that would cost me only 1.50 pound per ride. (Will someone PLEASE tell me where to find the “pound” sign on my keyboard!) It’s called the “Oyster” card and it’s a bit complicated and something that I probably would never have figured out on my own from reading the sketchy signs. 1) Buy a card for 5 pd. 2) 3 pd of this is just a deposit that you get back if you turn in the card when you’re completely finished with it. 3) The extra 2 pd goes toward a ride that costs 1.50. 4) You can add money to the card indefinitely. 5) (and here’s the real catch) If you don’t scan it when you go into the underground AND out of it, they fine you 4 pd. Quite the deal compared to a 4 pound single ride. They say they’re trying to get everyone to stop buying paper tickets and move completely to the Oyster card, so they keep jacking up the price of the paper tickets. Certainly worked for me.

Free

June 16, 2007

Free, free, free. I’m leaving Saudi Arabia. It shocks even me how intense the feeling is, like that image of the prisoner dramatically walking out the gates of the prison, squinting in the sunlight and awed by the new-found freedom. (I’m writing this from the Bahrain airport and I already feel this way.) When I try to tell other expats who live in Saudi how I feel, I often get the attitude that I’m being negative. But the short-term life in Saudi of single (non-Aramco) females should testify to the fact that it’s not a good place for us. It’s simply not the same experience for single men or married men & women.

Nick has been my salvation this past year. I don’t know how I would have survived without him on so many levels – as a friend to talk to, shop with, eat with, climb with, laugh with, bitch with. It has probably moved my life half-way between the single status and what it might be like if I was married here. It’s not so bad with a man around, especially this generous man: rides offered whether I needed it or not. Someone to do things with that I either couldn’t or wouldn’t do on my own. But that has died out quite a bit in the last few months and I’ve felt that “prisoner” feeling again stronger than ever. It’s hard to describe this to anyone who isn’t like me: I need freedom and independence. I need it like oxygen. I feel like I’m being suffocated sometimes. I live for spontaneity. I want to go where I please, when I please. I want to explore. I want to do something as simple as get up on a Thursday morning (my Saturday) and say, “I think I’ll go down to Starbucks for a coffee and read a book,” but then remember that this little excursion means calling for a taxi and paying an extra $10 for that cup of coffee. All because I’m a lowly female and not allowed to drive here.

Consider this common problem. Because I can’t drive, the most common activity of shopping becomes an exercise in frustration. I’m not a shopper and I’m cheap, so I don’t like having to spend an extra $10-20 to go to one shop to buy something. I make lists of things I need from various stores and then make the trip out in the taxi. The problem is that it means separate taxi rides between each store with the cost running up. I’d like to walk between some of the stores, even if it is up to 12 blocks, but can’t do it with an arm load of purchases that keep piling up between each store and have to be carried into the next store on the list. The only solution is to hire a taxi for several hours to stay with you the whole time. No matter how you look at it, that little shopping trip ends up costing a lot of extra money. To top it all off, I'm required to wear a polyester black robe in 110 degree heat. I just lose steam.

I’ve started to become a bit defiant about the abaya. My friend Kimm Leeman said she got like this at the end of her 2nd year too. I still wear it but I get out of the car or bus or taxi without it on and then slowly put it on like a cheap strip tease in reverse. I glare defiantly at the men who watch and think, “go ahead…just try to say something to me about it.” I rarely button it all the way anymore. I wear shorts under it and don’t care if the wind blows it open and my legs show. One of my blond Australian students told me that she has been stopped by Mutawa (the religious police) and she has said to them, “you can’t arrest me because I’m a woman, and you can’t make me wear a scarf because I’m a foreigner.” And according to her, they just walk away because they know it’s true. I haven’t tried that yet, but I haven’t been stopped yet either.

I am free as of today. For 2 months. Time to celebrate.

Back in Saudi

When I arrived at the Dammam airport, as usual (it is beginning to seem), they took my passport, told me to get my luggage and come back to wait. What’s wrong? Is something wrong with my visa? Just wait, five minutes. I wait. And wait. I refuse to sit down out of defiance. He said five minutes. This seriously annoys me. It’s because I’m a woman traveling alone. Another officer finally arrives and looks through my passport. Husband? No husband. Who you work for? I’m a teacher with ISG. Where you going? Home. Al-Khobar. Company here pick you up? Yeah, sure. (I’ve learned to say yes. Last time when I said no, that I was taking a taxi, it took twice as long with more officers coming and being told I can’t take a taxi alone.) OK, OK. They let me go. This only took 20 minutes. In August it was 45. Another white, single woman is being treated to the same.

The taxi sped along the freeway at 120 kph, then suddenly the driver hit his brakes and started to quickly cross over 3 lanes of traffic to the shoulder. There was no road block, so I had no idea what was happening. He got to the shoulder and nearly turning his car toward the desert, he started laying on the horn and shouting. There on the side of the road, a herd of camels sauntered along only a few feet from the road. The Saudi taxi driver honked and shouted and moved to the next closest camel, trying to scare them away from the freeway. As we sped away, he got on his cell phone and called the police.

He made several other phone calls on the way home. With one hand holding the phone to his ear, his other hand was needed for two purposes: holding the steering wheel or gesturing to the person on the phone. Often it was the latter.

I’m back in Saudi.

Nairobi - a good animal day

January 3, 2007

I’m back at the Dubai Airport with a 16 hour layover before going back to Saudi Arabia. I’ve decided to stay here and grade the 30+ papers and 70 Unit tests that I must have finished when school starts again in two days. I’ll try to see Dubai another time.

It’s two in the morning and the place is hopping. The shops are all open and packed with long lines at the cashiers. And instead of sleeping, I’m writing in my blog. It just feels like I should be awake. Everyone else is.

I spent a lovely day with Josh, Audra and their kids in Nairobi on New Years Day. I like Nairobi. It is so different from Kampala, there is almost no comparison. The roads, although not perfect, are a thousand times better. There are beautiful trees, greenery, and parks everywhere. The downtown is surprisingly clean with a nice colonial feel to parts of it. There are big, modern shopping centers, a wide variety of restaurants, markets with crafts, and a feeling that you can get all the comforts of home if you’re willing to pay for it. But you’re still in an African city.


The first stop on the Nairobi tour was City Park, a somewhat rundown park, but with monkeys everywhere and fairly tame. They jumped on our shoulders, eating peanuts from our hands. I could have watched them for hours.


We then shopped at a crafts market and a rug store. Josh asked a shop owner in the market to teach him how to play the shell game (I don't know the Kenyan name for it - we had a similar one in the Philippines). I didn’t buy much. Ate lunch at an excellent Ethiopian restaurant, then went to the suburb of Karen (named after Karen Blixen of “Out of Africa” fame). This is an upper-class area with huge estates. Sitting right in the middle of these homes is a giraffe sanctuary for the Rothchild giraffes which are endangered. On one side of the road is a building with a balcony where the giraffes come to eat pellets from the hands of visitors. Their heads are at our face level. Their long tongues stretch out and curl around the pellets as we place them on their tongues. It’s lovely to be so close. The opposite side of the road is a large area of bush where two full grown giraffes live. Visitors can walk around this area in search of the giraffes or just for the fun of it. We hiked around for a while and came across one of the giraffes.

A good day is a day seeing animals.

We went out to dinner in the evening and watched a movie on the computer until late. A good day. Raeleigh was even fun with very little whining.

(Saw a beautiful male and female bird I'd never seen before. The pictures are out-of-focus, but they are worth showing here. The name (thanks to Audra who looked it up for me!) Red-cheeked Cordon-bleu.

Goodbyes

December 31, 2006
I’m sitting at Uganda’s Entebbe Airport waiting to board a flight to Kenya to see Josh & Audra for two days. They left this morning to drive back to Nairobi –13 hour driving to Uganda, but apparently, they did it back to Nairobi in 11 ½ hours this time. They will pick me up at the airport tonight. I don’t think we’ll be doing any wild New Years parties tonight.

Jon & Cher took me out today to see the source of the Nile where it comes out of Lake Victoria. We didn’t have much time, so just looked at an area of several rapids and small waterfalls. I wanted to do a white-water river rafting trip earlier this week, but it didn’t work out where Jon or Josh could go with me, so I decided not to go. I don’t like traveling alone, and even doing things like that alone lose some of their potential enjoyment for me now. I’ve done enough by myself. I don’t want to anymore. Anyway, I didn’t feel like I needed to be doing things on this trip, no matter how much I talked about wanting an adventure. I didn’t want to make an adventure happen.

I’ve said goodbye to family so many times in my life. Sometimes it’s easy. In some ways it is getting harder now. We are getting older. We aren’t invincible. Anything could happen. I was fine until I said goodbye to Jon who came inside with me and said those words: “I don’t know when I’ll see you again.” Then it hit. Maybe years. Maybe never. My siblings & their spouses are my best friends. My mom is my best friend. I have best friends who aren’t blood too. If goodbyes are so painful, why do I continue to put myself in a place where I’m always saying goodbye and always feeling alone? Often I just shut down when it’s too painful. Walk away before they do. That’s much better.

In the big picture of life, what is more important? A job? Family? Friends? Living overseas has been a dream, even an obsession of mine. Take that away from me and you’ve taken away part of my soul. If I had my own family it would be different. Saying goodbye would still be hard, but I’d have part of my family with me. If only. I feel so sad right now.

Signs

December 29, 2006
Always when you travel, there are funny signs worth taking note of. One amusing theme in Uganda is the Christian one. Small shops will choose names such as “Jesus is Alpha and Omega Retail/Wholesale Store” or “Trust in God Electronics.” This store needs to trust in God with the look of that electric pole leaning on the roof.





My favorite, however, is at a fast food place called “Christian Take-away.” Would you like your Christian crispy, original, or spicy?




Another odd sign that is up for the holiday is meant to discourage drinking and driving. In bold, large letters, one underneath the other, the sign says “Think, Drink, Drive.” In small letters in between each of these words, it says “before you,” but it’s hard to see the small letters when you’re driving by.



More signs:
The Miracle House of Electronics:



The El-ELion Hardware and Glory Church:



And... Mother Mary of the Most Holy Rosary Katwe Central Catholic Sub Parish:

Hey look! Whites!

December 28, 2006
Jon says that I don’t make my stories dramatic enough. He asked if I told about nearly getting carried away by man-eating mosquitoes. Well, sort of. I need to learn the art of exaggeration.

Today Jon, Josh, Audra and I tried once more to find the marsh on Lake Victoria that we couldn’t find two days ago. We had better directions this time, but it was still a bit vague. It involved driving for an hour on a bone jarring, whip-lash dirt road for about an hour. I seriously had a sore neck and back by the time we got there and back home. The area is called Mabamba and it claims to be a bird sanctuary with some rare birds. It’s anything but a tourist area. We were actually surprised to see other whites as we came near the place. Josh shouted out “Hey look! Whites!” just like the Africans are always saying “Hey, Mazungu!” There were only 3 other groups. We rented two canoes and were paddled out into the marsh from about 7:00 A.M. to noon for about $25 per boat. We floated through narrow channels looking for birds. Saw quite a few and it was just a lovely relaxed day in an area that most tourists and even locals know nothing about.

I leave here in 3 days to fly to Kenya. It’s gone by way too fast.

Boats & Birds

December 26, 2006

We decided to go to Lake Victoria today to bird watch. After trying to find a place a friend told Jon about and failing, we went down to the ferry landing and hired a local boat to just take us out on the lake to the marshy areas to look at birds. One of the boats was called “Titanic.” We chose another one.

Gabe, again, was just too cute. Paul, the boat driver, let Gabe take the motor. He was so happy with a big smile on his face. He is not afraid of anything, it seems. He let a boat driver pick him up and he just threw his arms around the guy like they were friends.


The girls dropped Jon, Josh & I off at a little forest bird area on the way home. We had seen some Black and White Horn-bills and Great Blue Turacos there earlier and wanted a better look. The birds were amazing, but the enormous mosquitoes ate us alive, even after spraying ourselves with repellent. All of us had big welts all over our legs. (This picture is of a King Fisher from the lake.)

Some musicians from Jon & Cher’s church came over tonight to sing and play music…just for fun. It’s nice to be around music again.

Christmas 2006

December 25, 2006
Christmas was a gift orgy for Josh & Audra’s kids, Raeleigh & Gabe. I really don’t know how healthy it is for a kid to get as many as 20 to 30 gifts to open on Christmas, not to mention the week leading up to Christmas.

Everything about two-year-old Gabe is utterly delightful. He is a happy child. He has a limited vocabulary of yes & no and a few other words, but understands exactly what you say. So we ask him, “Do you want more cereal? Do you want to get down?” and when you hit on the right question, his face lights up and he shouts out “YEAH!” It makes me laugh every time. He has gone on the bird walks and other long ordeals and is perfectly content.

Five-year-old Raeleigh is another story. She can be utterly sweet and charming and is way too smart for her age, but she is horribly self-absorbed and whines more than she’s happy. She thinks she is the center of the universe. Way too often she throws screaming tantrums over nothing, or rather when she doesn't get exactly what she wants. Jon & Cher (her grandparents) say they are working on a long-term plan of influence on her and she adores them, so maybe it will work. Let’s hope so. For me, when she cries over anything, I just look at her and feel not a stitch of sympathy, even if it’s a supposed injury. Raeleigh went out on the porch tonight and immediately started screaming/crying like she was hurt. Cher & someone else jumped up and went running to see what had happened. Audra (her mom) who was sitting closest to the door got up and strolled the opposite direction to the kitchen where I was. We just looked at each other I started laughing. She knows it’s just Raeleigh over-reacting and so doesn’t care. She gets fed up with Raeleigh quite often and just says “I’m finished” and Josh or someone else has to take over. Jon & Cher like to tell me that I was just like her. Please God, no.

We literally pigged out on.. PIG! (Ham, to be exact.) I ate two big slices and then felt ill. Too much, probably, after not eating pork in ages. Wine & pork…two things outlawed in Saudi which I’ve been indulging in here.

Josh & Audra had my name for Christmas and gave me a lovely green wool rug from Kenya. Jon & Cher gave me a cool Congo mask to add to my collection of African masks. It has a happy face on it rather than the more common scary ones.

Christmas Eve

December 24, 2006
Last night we made a Mexican Fajita dinner and did the traditional watching of “Scrooge,” the musical version starring Albert Finney. For those of you who have an aversion to musicals, you might not appreciate this movie, but it is truly very good. I don’t know how old it is, but our family has been watching it almost every Christmas since it came out (sometime in the 1980s, I think). We all sing along. It’s corny and fun. I miss singing.

The church Jon & Cher go to is made up mostly of local Ugandans. The singing is fantastic. Cher sang a solo.


After church we drove down to Lake Victoria for lunch at a local “resort” (so says the sign), which is actually quite a dive, but they serve fresh Perch from the lake with French Fries – the only thing on the menu. Quite good to eat but quite ugly to look at.

Afterwards we drove through the market where they dry out and burn the left over skins and bones of the fish to send to Congo. The smell defies description. Saw some regal Fish Eagles and colorful King Fisher birds – my favorite.

Bird Walk

December 23, 2006
Jon, Josh & I went on a bird walk in the hills around their house. These two are passionate about animals & birds and can name just about every bird in Zimbabwe and they are learning the Kenya/Uganda birds now as well.

They can see a bird flit across the sky, backlit, and say, “Oh! Look at that Crimson Breasted Yellow Tail Plantain Eater Bush Warbler!” This is only a slight exaggeration. The normal conversation is more like this: “It’s a Shrike! It looks like a Fiery-breasted Bush-shrike.” “No, I think it’s a Uluguru Bush-shrike.” “Could be, but I think I just saw the black ring around it’s neck, so that would make it a Four-coloured Bush-shrike.” Then out comes the book as they flip though to find the page with pictures of Shrikes. It’s quite amusing and impressive. I just like looking at the birds. They are amazing.