Notes on Africa
I’m writing this note months after leaving Africa and towards the end of our entire trip. Writing has proven difficult on the Asian leg of our travels for reasons I can’t quite keep my finger on.
I also don’t know how to summarise our near 6 months in Africa that would do justice to our experience. I think I’ll just write what comes to my mind and see if it is anything more cogent than a stream of drivel.
When we think back to travelling through East Africa, our memories are at once specific and general. General because at times it feels ***cliche klaxon*** like all a blur, a dream or almost as if it didn’t happen at all. Or even that someone else went, had a jolly time, came back and described it to us. And when our memories are vague and general like that it feels like we were there a lifetime ago rather than just a few months.
And then other times our memories are specific and so vivid we can not only picture being there but feel like we’re actually still there.
My specific memories are of weird things. I think a lot about the trees… bear with me. But trees seem to be an anchor on which we’ve attached other memories. Like at the end of our street in Uganda there was a jackfruit tree that grew the most unlikely of fruits. I don’t mean it was unlikely because instead of it growing jackfruits it was growing melons, but rather because out of this totally unspectacular tree these huge fruits the size of bowling balls and bigger would appear, as if it was nothing. And through remembering that tree I can picture our dirt road and in fact the whole of Bukoto (where we lived). And then we remember so clearly that all over Malawi the streets are lined with both rubbish but also the most beautiful trees, blooming bright purple, pink and red and they extend for mile after mile. Remembering these trees and rubbish lined roads helps me think of the long minibus journeys, AC-less, crushed like a sardine in a 25% extra free can. In Malawi there is also the boab tree which are almost as wide as they are tall and look like they’ve come straight from a Maurice Sendak book and I still can’t believe I never took a photo of one. In Tanzania I remember our hike through the forest of Lushoto because of the huge eucalyptus trees with their silver gray barks and distinctive smell that perfumed the air. Ok that is probably enough about trees. You’ll be pleased to see that I’m not only a backpacker but now a tree-hugging backpacker; if we’re not careful I’ll end up a vegan lecturing you on the dangers of antiperspirant.
The other thing we got really into - which we are convinced is a sign that we are now properly old - is birds (not that kind you degenerate). The birds in each country were amazing and too many to list (you’ll be glad to hear). For instance I can’t think of Kampala without thinking of the ugly, jowly storks that swoop everywhere. So big are they that from afar you would swear they were people. But as well as these ugly birds Uganda is home to the crested crane which is as big as the stork but about as beautiful a creature as you could see. Or on safari when we were surprised that we were almost as excited to see a wild ostrich as we were the big cats. And then there was the secretary bird with its distinctive black and white feathers walking proudly and which is now one of my favourite animals. And then there are the many other exotic specimens that we don’t know the name of but when we saw one we would, without fail, make high pitch “oo” noises and point at where it had just been and say “did you see THAT” to which the answer was invariably no. So birds; who knew.
However above the trees and the birds, our strongest memories are of the individual acts of kindness that occurred nearly everyday. Whether it be the people befriending us on buses in Malawi or ensuring we were paying the same price. The man who called his friend to drive us to a cave in Zanzibar when we got lost; and then his friend picking us up and taking us straight there. Or in Uganda where Ariel was escorted to work by an elderly woman who helped her negotiate the crazy traffic. In Ethiopia there was our guide in the Danakil who stayed with us to help Ariel up the volcano when she was near collapse. I also think about our guides who more than anyone else would give us insights into their countries. We didn’t have a bad guide our whole time and each was full of knowledge and willing to answer our endless questions. As Ariel just reminded me, our Ugandan guide would even humour such insights from her dad as (cue Glaswegian accent) “In my country, it’s white and black and in yours it’s black and white..it’s fantastic”. Priceless.
So much of our time in Africa was taken up with Kampala. I remember clearly first arriving after our long bus ride from the beautiful countryside and getting on a motorcycle taxi that drove through the centre where the traffic is insane and lawless and being very intimidated by it all. But we quickly got over our fears and came to see Kampala as home. It was strange to get to know it so well we could direct our moto-taxis on the best route through the city.
Kampala is also where we became engaged in the NGO scene, working for organisations trying to help refugees. The vast majority of expats we met fell into one of two professions: teacher at international school or NGO/international development bod. Meeting all these people who worked for various NGOs and hearing their views on a range of issues in the development sphere opened my mind to the complexity of development and the difficulties of doing it well and even made me question the value of doing it all. For instance were the people an initiative is for consulted? Did anyone think about the sustainability of whatever it is they’re doing? Do they even want whatever is being done? One specialist who I climbed with said that in her experience the answer to these questions is often “no.” She went from being convinced at the beginning of her PHD that her career lay in development to believing the whole sector is a farce and everyone should stop enabling it. Others I spoke with said her view was extreme and of course lots more good than bad is being done but, like anything things could be better.
And then Ariel went to one of the largest refugee camps in the world and saw that there wasn’t enough food for the people there. The people there would never had chosen to leave their countries if they didn’t have to. Yet when they arrive at a UN run camp there isn’t enough food for them. How is this possible in 2018??
Coming to Asia has also pulled into focus how poor some parts of Africa that we visited were. In some ways the places we went weren’t so different to home. There are cars and busses and trains and buildings and elevators and flat screen TVs and smartphones and fridges and stoves and (some) AC and businesses and uber. So not so different in some lights. But then you see Laos and Cambodia - which I think are two of the poorer countries in SE Asia - and things are just so different. For instance it is not just the main roads that are paved but side roads and even the little roads leading to little waterfalls. And there is reliable power and generally the infrastructure seemed more advanced. I doubt the comparison is helpful or fair as there will be a good reason for this stark difference but it was jarring to experience it.
Finishing this note by talking about the deficiencies in development is poor writing. Because like many conversations about African countries it focuses on the poor and depressing and does not reflect that almost our entire time there was spent having the most joyous time imaginable. It was not bleak or depressing in anyway. Thinking back to our time there we have nothing but good memories (except for Lilongwe and Ariel forgetting our antimalarials there….totally over it). We started our trip in the crystal waters of Lake Malawi and ended it with the sight of ancient churches in Ethiopia and each day between brought new experiences and pure happiness.