Getting around by Ugandan kayak

Last spring (northern hemisphere spring) when I was reading descriptions of Uganda, I decided to visit Lake Bunyonyi if I had a chance. So here I am in the far southwest corner of Uganda, staying in a cabin that overlooks a sparkling mountain lake and faces terraced hills that rise steeply from the banks of other islands. It’s just as Lonely Planet and my Bradt guide describe, even more interesting because in a strange way it reminds me of Alaska – the coolness, the rain, the luxuriant moss that hugs the brick sidewalk leading to the shower.

I’m staying on Itambira Island at a backpacker’s paradise called Byoona Amagara (which means “whole life” in the local Rukiga language). A boatman named Gad paddled me here in his dugout canoe made from a eucalyptus trunk. When I asked if he had a paddle for me, he swung us around in his low-tech, perfectly designed boat and went promptly back to the dock where another guy tossed us a second paddle. I hadn’t paddled in such glorious waters since kayaking with Marybeth in Prince William Sound last May. Little warmer here, though.

Kodiak Island is an hour’s flight from the Alaska mainland (or ten or more hours by ferry) so it feels kind of natural to be an hour’s paddle away from the mainland here. This island is tiny compared to Kodiak; you can walk all around Itambira and criss-cross it a time or two in a couple of leisurely hours. There are paths everywhere (after all, this is rural Africa where feet are the major form of transportation). So everyday I walk and find new paths. But best of all is being on the water and learning to guide one of these canoes – which feels like a kayak to me – in a steady line. I watch the local boatmen using a paddle on just one side of their boat and moving straight through the water. How much easier it would be for me if the paddle were double-ended! “There’s no secret to it,” Gad said. Then he told me he’s been paddling one of these boats since he was five or six years old. The other day I paddled the perimeter of Itambira by myself. The wind helped a lot by giving occasional resistance. But it’s a lot easier with two people.

I love water and boating like my sweetheart loves snow and skiing. He gets a huge rush of aliveness by skiing down a steep slope; I get a deep sense of peace paddling or swimming in an ocean or lake. Though people here say the water is cold, I find that Lake Bunyonyi is a perfect temperature for swimming, which is safe thanks to the absence of hippos and crocodiles and bilharzias. Cynthia, a French-Canadian girl who was here when I first arrived, was delighted to learn that I too am an avid swimmer. She immediately led me through a short stretch of jungly trail to a dock where we lowered ourselves from a ladder and dove in. Just us and some curious river otters in a deep, dark lake.

Ted emailed from Kampala to warn me of the steep escarpments and cold nights, and he’s quite right about both. The mornings and nights are mountain-air cool and the slopes are shrouded in fog every dawn (think Gorillas in the Mist). Then by mid-morning it is hot. Clouds build quickly and bring thunder and rain, and then just as instantly the sun pops out again. You know the saying claimed by everyone from Kansas to Ketchikan, that “if you don’t like the weather, just wait five minutes”? Well, here it’s the literal truth. I put on my warm Capetown sweater then strip down to a tank top. Back and forth, all day long.

Byoona Amagara has a canteen where people gather and eat meals, and I’ve met several Europeans and North Americans on short holiday who are volunteering elsewhere in Uganda. The most popular accommodations here are dorm-style beds, a camping area, and two geodomes, but I’m in a spacious, one-room cabin that sits a ways back from everything else. It’s called Amaizi (water) and the strange thing is that it’s made of logs (most homes around here are made of mud or bricks). Amaizi has a big deck, an outhouse in the back, and a shower in the side yard. It’s a thatched log cabin (how’s that for an architectural oxymoron) and not a drop of rain gets through the roof. As far as hybrid Alaskan-African cabins go, the thatch roof is more efficient than the log walls, which have crevices that let in the daylight and lizards. The luxuries of not needing insulation!

The quietness here is profound. As a seeker of silence, I find myself in a place where I fall asleep to the sound of crickets and wake up to birdsong. That’s about it. Oh, and the soft lapping of water as people paddle by the island. After four days here I was startled by something anomalous but kind of familiar then realized I was hearing a motorboat. If you’re in a hurry, that’s an option. But the dugout canoes far outnumber the boats with motors. And no generator noise around here! Byoona does use solar power, but the stars and moon provide most of the light after dusk (which I supplement with the little headlamp I bought in Johannesburg).

Most days the rains are gentle and brief but one storm this week rivaled Kodiak’s weather. The big windows on the windward side of my cabin have no panes, just canvas covers which I usually keep rolled up for maximum light and air. When this storm arose, I rolled down the canvas sheets and fastened them but the wind billowed them out like sails, and the sideways rain came in and pooled on the wood plank flooring.

So it goes during the wet season. It rains, it shines, it blows, then it’s utterly still and peaceful. I sleep like a baby during the dark hours then get up with the birds just before dawn.

It’s strange to come around to the other side of the world and find myself in a place that reminds me of home. Here’s something even stranger: I am in a beautiful, pure setting with time on my hands to rejuvenate, and what have I been experiencing? Loneliness, and restlessness. Afflictions that may be predictable for travelers but for a self-sustainer like me come as a surprise. For five months I’ve been so occupied and fused with purpose, especially in the midst of the Rakai and Manor House work, that loneliness hit me only on sudden, rare moments. In South Africa I had Carla’s constant companionship. The moment I got to this sweet cabin, I thought Oh, this is meant to be shared. I miss Don, I miss Carla, I miss my daughters. How wonderful it would be if just one friend dropped in.

But in fact I am not alone. Cynthia from Canada was great company for those days that our time here overlapped. Now she’s back in Kampala teaching French and English and writing to primary kids. It was nice to meet the teacher from Brooklyn who’s volunteering in Jinja, and Jen who is doing a one-month rotation in Bujagali before going back to P.A. school in Denver. The people who run this place – African, American, Czech – are fun to get to know and so welcoming to all of us who show up here. And I’m surrounded by birds of all kinds – from the little yellow weavers that flutter around my cabin to the pair of three-foot-tall crested cranes that grace the meadow every dawn. People, birds, otters, the whole spiritual nourishment of this corner of Uganda, and I’m feeling alone and antsy. Go figure!

So if anyone has an urge to write me, please do! And if you’ve emailed my GCI address and not gotten a response, try the same name at gmail.com because GCI won’t open up much of the time in this part of the world. I finally signed up with Google’s gmail so I don’t drop totally out of contact. The travails of travel…

p.s. three days later... I've had this post sitting in a Word file waiting patiently for an internet connection. Today's the day - hooray! (Or maybe it's crazy how much i enjoy getting online when I'm on a remote, solar- and starlight-powered island.) I have some photos to plop in but that's probably really pushing my luck. I feel settled here now...in time to savor another day or two, and address some of the questions on my mind (returning, "what's next" kinds of questions). I would still love to hear from any of you!

The Queen comes to Uganda

Yes! The long-awaited CHOGM (Commonwealth Heads of Government Meeting) will happen in the coming week right here in Uganda. In just a few days Queen Elizabeth herself will land in Entebbe, be escorted to Kampala to open the summit, and grace Ugandans and fifty heads of state with her presence. She was last here in 1954, so it’s about time for a repeat visit!

And I think…I hope…the country is ready. When the bunch of us from the states arrived at the end of June, we picked up our bags in a small terminal and walked out the door past workmen in bright jumpsuits engaged in rebuilding and enlarging the humble Entebbe airport. The going was slow when we left the airport because the road was being rebuilt. Construction was happening everywhere, in fact! New hotels were going up, old ones were getting facelifts, everything was being spiffed up. All for the impending CHOGM.

That was five months ago. The other day when I arrived from South Africa, I walked into an airport so transformed I hardly recognized it. Well, almost transformed. The signs reading “Toilets” at the end of the new, huge luggage carousel turned out to be harbingers of the facilities yet to come. Who knows, maybe bathrooms will be installed by Wednesday! But no doubt about it, Entebbe International is a new airport. And streets are lined with flowers and flags.

Chogm – not even an acronym anymore but more like a new word in the common language here – happens every two years. Uganda is honored and excited to host the 2007 meeting of commonwealth members. I’m an outsider when it comes to understanding the gut-level significance of membership in an international organization involving many countries that were once (and not that long ago) colonies. What I’m more aware of are the contemporary interests of the east African community for autonomy and economic development, the ANC turmoil in South Africa as that fledgling democracy cuts its teeth, and the dire situation in Zimbabwe. But there’s no denying the strange way that history – even one of empire – throws nations into a common arena and leaves them to sort things out as co-players. One thing the Commonwealth has done has been to take action toward countries that do not uphold democracy, like its suspension of Nigeria in the 90s and Zimbabwe more recently.

One boda driver asked me if the Queen were a friend of mine! I’m afraid I won’t even be here to stand along the road and greet her because I’m heading out for points southwest just as I’m getting back into the Kampala swing of things. Maybe it’s that swiftness thing again – the disorientation of leaving one country and emerging into the light of another day and another place. I decided to check into the Backpackers Hotel and take a day or two or three to collect my wits and make a plan for my remaining time. In my thought-gathering and belated scheduling, I managed to ground myself but I missed some of my beloved family. When I called Charlotte, she was catching a plane for Thailand for ten days of training. Ted was just returning from two weeks in Nigeria, and his work will soon take him to Paris. But Malko was in town so we had a lovely afternoon together yesterday, and I caught up on the news of all the Ugandan sons and daughters I claim as my family.

So when the sun rises tomorrow I plan to catch the Post bus to Kabale, probably stay there the night, then go on to Lake Bunyonyi for a week or so of sitting, writing, and walking. I will revisit Rakai on the return trip because the graduation of the students I worked with there has been rescheduled for early December. And there’s more! A couple of the Ugandan women I met in Kenya run programs in southwest Uganda, and I hope to visit them as well. And if I’m lucky maybe I’ll even procure a permit for Bwindi.

So as Kampala holds its breath that the power stays on and the traffic flows and the CHOGM meetings proceed smoothly, I will be savoring my last few weeks in southwestern Uganda’s hills and lakes and islands, whatever they bring.

Coast, Cape, and Jozi

We just returned from one last jaunt before I leave South Africa – a trip down the stretch of coast known as the Garden Route. We flew to Port Elizabeth on lowfare Kulula then rented a car and followed the curves of the Indian Ocean coastline, which winds past Jeffreys Bay, Knysna, Wilderness and one walkable beach after another. We spent many mornings and evenings walking along the surf and finding sea shells. No bellies to bury in the beach but our bare feet loved the silky sand!

We spent a couple nights in a cabin above a rocky beach at Tsitsikamma National Park, where we could sit with face to the ocean and back to a forest of indigenous trees. The trail we had planned to hike had been closed due to fire, but we figured out how to act like tourists and did little hikes and drives and explorations. One day we got harnessed up for a zipline experience, which was like hanging from high wires to zip back and forth across a river gorge.

Turns out Capetown is not the tip of Africa, as I thought when I was last here. The real southernmost point is Cape Agulhas, where a little road leads past a lighthouse to the monument marking the spot, and the waters of the Atlantic and Indian Oceans do their wild dance. On the afternoon that Carla and I reached this point, a wind was whipping up the sea and trying to blow us over. I'm sure it's a cousin of the winds that blast Kodiak Island.

In the lovely town of Hermanus, we stayed with Carla’s friends Micky and Daan (sounds like “Don”), who have a pasture for a horse called Welvaart and a huge vegetable garden covered with wire to keep the baboons out. Micky also grows old-fashioned roses of more varieties than I knew existed, and she makes incredibly fragrant potpourris. Each morning we drank rooibos tea and ate bread that Daan bakes in a woodstove. One day we took a long hike on the trails of Fernkloof, a beautiful area on the ridge above Hermanus where proteas grow profusely - whole hillsides of proteas.

Every time we drove to the seaside we saw whales. Southern right whales come to this coastline every spring to mate and calve in the protected waters down here. They feed in Antarctica during the other months. In Alaska I often have the pleasure of seeing orcas and humpbacks and belugas but usually not as close as these right whales, who lazily hang out just offshore with their babies (BIG babies), occasionally rolling or leaping or lobbing their tails.

We drove on to Capetown on a rainy afternoon, then next morning in sunshine we meandered between the coast and Table Mountain. The vistas are breathtaking, and I would love to return to do some serious hiking.

While in the Cape I reconnected with some of my South African German family – people I still love after all these years. I had corresponded with my mom Ruth for fifteen or twenty years after I lived with them in Johannesburg in 1973, but had lost contact in the last ten or fifteen years. I found Gunter, the oldest son, via a google search so I picked up the phone and found out that it was indeed the right family. So one afternoon in Paarl, just north of Capetown, Carla and I had tea with Ruth. Fun to find her looking so good and to converse about new things and old. She had moved to the Cape seven years ago after Hermann passed on. Gunter also settled in Paarl, Renate lives in Pretoria, and Harald is in Capetown.

That evening we had dinner with Gunter – a tall, handsome version of the 12-year-old boy I knew – and his wife and their two children. A big sign outside Gunter and Gisela’s home reads “Human Bean Sanctuary,” which Gisela reminded me comes from The BFG (Big Friendly Giant) – one of the many Roald Dahl books I read to Marie, Hanna, and Heather when they were small. So it was great to be human beans together around their table, and Carla did her best to occupy the two lively children while I caught up with Gunter and talked about African matters with Gisela.

From Capetown we took another Kulula flight. It felt kind of homey to get back to Jozi. Maybe I’m getting fond of this partly old, partly new city. I’m definitely becoming more adept at carrying home around inside me. And Carla has been a provocative, insightful, and protective guide to post-1994 South Africa. She has gotten to know this country more deeply than I did and has a connection that goes beyond mine. Sometimes we have feisty exchanges that alternately make me mad and challenge my thinking, like a microcosm of South African politics. Being present in this country, even for just a couple months, lets me know, again, that judging something from afar - whether positively or negatively - is easier than making sense of things close up.

It’s something of a marvel to reconnect with someone beloved from birth in a new and quite different situation. There are times when I wonder how in the heck Carla became this person I am getting to know afresh. There are other times when she seems a perfect reflection of her mom or dad, who I know so well. I have treasured this time together. We laugh so much and talk about everything, just as we did when we lived a few blocks apart on the same street where our parents still live. Carla knows how to laugh so well and it’s as contagious now as it was when we were ten.

Yesterday we went with Romeo and Tebatso to Maropeng, the Cradle of Humankind world heritage site, built into a grassy hill outside of Joburg. A wonderful place for all of us hominid descendents to visit! Tebatso tried to explain to us what maropeng means. "Home sweet home" is perhaps the closest English translation. Returning to one’s place of origin is another way to describe it. Tebatso said that walking through the displays at Maropeng made her ask questions, mostly about death. It made me ask questions too, mostly about life. And being there with Romeo was just plain fun. He picked up a drill that was part of one hands-on exhibit, probably inspired from watching Carla (earlier in the day) use the drill and other things from her bottomless toolbox to replace a broken lock at Tebatso's home in Soweto. So wonderful to have these 21st century bodies and brains. Now if we can just remember that none of us are passengers on spaceship earth (in the words of Marshall McLuhan many years ago) - We are all crew.












Just when I’m getting used to being a “we” – eating, sleeping, and laughing in the company of my new/old cousin friend – I’m soon to take off for Uganda. My youngers and elders are also in motion right now – Heather and Hanna driving from New York to San Francisco, Mom and Dad from Nebraska to Oregon. I will have one more stint in Uganda before flying to NYC where I will find one of my loving anchors (Marie!) and then by mid-December I will be back in Alaska with another loving anchor (Don!). How long I will stay put, only time will tell.