Bulawayo

Pumba on the tracks!

Bulawayo

From Victoria Falls we took a train to Bulawayo, a cool little city that somehow felt like a mid-90's American town, with wide avenues, run-down trucks, and strip malls.

Just outside of Bulawayo, we visited Matobo National Park, famous for cave paintings, huge boulders, great views, and Cecil Rhodes' grave.

Mother and Child. (That's the name of the rock formation. I've just got a gut.)

San bushmen painted on the walls of this cave 2,000 years ago.

Paintings of leopards

Walking up to World's View, the highest point in the park.

Cecil Rhodes, the founder of Rhodesia, asked to be buried on the top of World's View. Not a bad spot.

TK moves some rocks around.

Victoria Falls

We weren’t sure what to expect from Zimbabwe, but we found it fairly pleasant and peaceful. One thing that Mugabe did right was that he made Zimbabwe the most literate country in Africa. In our brief foray through Harare, Victoria Falls, and Bulawayo, people spoke with us in a distinctly different way than we were used to. No one pointed or shouted “murungu!” In perfect English, a bartender asked us about the political situation in Swaziland, articulated his moral stance against polygamy, and discussed the need for cultures to discard antiquated traditions as their culture evolves.

The topic of their own president, however, was taboo for everyone. In Vic Falls we chatted with a friendly rasta guy while he made me a pair of earrings using bottle caps and fabric that I cut out. He laughed about the inflation rate a few years ago (6.5 SEXTILLION percent!), before they switched their currency to the American dollar. When we asked about Mugabe, his composure snapped to serious. He looked around and whispered, “There’s cops around.” When we asked some hostel owners about it later, they just said, “Yeahh, you shouldn’t ask people about Mugabe.” We asked what could happen. “Well it depends what you say,” they laughed. “But you can get arrested.”

Since our trip through Africa was nearly over, we did some touristy things at Vic Falls. We passed by hippos on a sunset boat trip. We went white water rafting on the Zambezi, which was fun for TK and terrifying for me. And we went on a lion walk with two 18 month-old cubs, who would eventually be reintroduced to the wild. 

rawr

Lake Malawi

Nkhata Bay

Lake Malawi is lovely. It’s the most biologically diverse lake in the world, with hundreds of species of fish in crystal water, surrounded by villages of wonderful people. In Nkhata Bay we pitched our tent at a hostel called Mayoka and hardly left the premises for a week. We hung our hammock by the water, enjoyed meals on their deck, shared drinks with other travelers and the friendly staff at their bar. They offered free use of kayaks and snorkel gear. How could we leave? They even let us move from our tent to a private room for no extra cost, just because we were “nice guests”.

An American, a Canadian, an Australian, and a Japanese guy jumping into an African lake.

Mayoka took a bunch of us on a free boat trip to jump off cliffs, snorkel, see fish eagles, and play football with some locals.

Kande Beach

We eventually felt the need to move on with our trip, and pried ourselves away from Mayoka. We went south to Kande Beach, where the waves and white sand looked just like the ocean.

These two kids approached me on Kande Beach, asking something so quietly I couldn’t hear at first. I thought for sure they wanted money but they were just asking if I could take their picture, so they could see it on the camera screen.

On the southern tip of Lake Malawi we stayed at Cape Maclear. Cape Maclear is less popular than other spots; you might say not as nice, but we enjoyed being somewhere where locals outnumbered tourists.

Cape Maclear

The lake gets used for washing everything – clothes, dishes, hair, babies.

One of the perks of travelling in low season: getting this whole dorm room to ourselves for a week. Not bad for $4 a night.

A couple of fishermen took us out to a nearby island to fish and snorkel.

They showed us how to catch a fish with bare hands.

We were less successful.

Blunders in Northern Malawi

Malawi lived up to everything I heard about it: the people were friendly, the lake was beautiful, and most things were relatively cheap. When I say friendly, I mean almost everyone greeted us with a huge smile and seemed giddy to talk with us. In contrast to Tanzania, where it felt like every conversation was sparked with the purpose of squeezing money out of us, here people just wanted to chat and often refused money for things we really felt obliged to pay for.

At least on the first logging truck it was just us in the cab

Don't Mess With Texas <3

Our first destination was Nyika National Park. In the future we won’t hitch to a park that is inaccessible by public transport. The only way to get to Nyika is bumping along a rocky dirt road for 7 hours. We weren’t about to fork over $200 for a hired car, and we were told it’s easy to catch a ride with the logging trucks that go back and forth from the park every day. (Never mind how disconcerting it is that multiple truckloads of timber come out of the National Park every single day.) We spent the night in a small town called Rhumpi to catch the morning truck, supposedly leaving at 6 am. 

With half a day to kill in Rhumpi, we were at a loss for things to do. Eating, drinking, and playing cards can only occupy so many hours, so we searched for an internet connection, even though it was a Sunday afternoon in a tiny poor African town. We asked a bike taxi guy if he knew a place and he eagerly walked us to three internet spots that were all closed. He spoke only a few words of English but smiled incessantly and urged us to follow him. We told him no, it’s really ok, we’ll just use the internet tomorrow, but he was set on helping us. He eventually brought us to a friend’s tiny tin-roofed shack crammed with one desk and an ancient computer. His friend closed the computer game he was playing, scrambled to buy airtime for his cell phone, and dongled his phone to the computer so we could get online with that. A small crowd gazed at us while we waited five minutes for gmail to load. They seemed so darn happy and giggly that I started to wonder if everyone in Malawi is just stoned all the time. Whatever it is, they were cheerful, and although the internet was too slow to do anything productive, we appreciated their efforts.

Nyika National Park

The next morning we were on the road at 6 am, as advised, but the truck didn’t leave until noon, putting us into the park at dusk. The beautiful three day hike we planned on taking to a town called Livingstonia was more expensive than we expected and there was no ATM within 100 kilometers. So we were screwed. The last thing we wanted to do was repeat the uncomfortable ride on the logging truck, but there was no other way out. All we could afford with the cash we had was a bike ride, two meals, and two nights at the youth hostel. 

You can't see them at all, but those are zebras behind TK

Waiting, waiting...

And back to minibuses

This time we asked several different people what time the logging truck leaves. Everyone said to be ready at the general store at 6 am, so we were, and we waited until 2 pm. I squeezed in the cab up front with seven locals, and TK sat in the back with a stack of freshly cut 2x4s. By the time we got to Rhumpi, at 9 pm, a thick layer of red dirt coated TK’s face, hair, clothes, and backpack. A free ride is a free ride, but days like these are getting old.

Kids

I usually refrain from photographing strangers, but sometimes I can't resist.

Kids here play on the beach differently than my brother and I played on the beach. I see no boogey boards, plastic pails, inflatable tubes, or goggles – the toys that were so integral to my daily life in Hawaii. The children on Lake Malawi mostly imitate their parents: they concoct soups of rocks and sand in old tin pots, they bathe the younger ones, scrubbing with plastic bags, and the boys throw out fish line with whatever bait they can procure, tugging for hours with no reward. I have yet to see a single sand castle or sibling buried to his neck in sand.

Babies taking care of babies

And then of course there are the scores of unsupervised children who are in fact taking care of other children, and not simply playing house. Maybe AIDS is to blame, maybe poor education, or lack of access to family planning... What is undeniable is that there are a whole lot of babies.

I’m just glad to see that where life is harsh, kids are still giggling in the waves.

And when the sky is blue,

big brother, it’s blue for you.

Kenya

Paloma's dad, Daniel. We're probably talking about walking at night.

We expected Nairobi to be just as scary as Dar es Salaam, but we were pleasantly surprised with it. The city is very modern; there’s a downtown full of well-dressed businessmen bustling between skyscrapers, lush suburbs with nice homes, manicured parks and stately universities. Also lots of malls just as nice as malls in the states. Then of course there’s Kibera, Africa’s largest slum, but we didn’t go there. We felt safe exploring during the day, but every single person we talked to warned us not to walk anywhere at night. It got to be almost comical how people would turn suddenly serious on the topic. “Oh yeah, great city, I’ve never had any trouble,” an expat would say. Then in a hushed tone, “You know not to walk at night though, right? We heeded the advice and never wandered at night to see whatever it is that stalks Nairobi’s streets when the sun goes down.

Njambi was shy at first but sure warmed up to TK

Anyway, the first thing we did in Nairobi was meet up with the lovely Paloma and her Pops. Paloma was my classmate at Hopkins and she has spent a lot of time working in aid/development in Kenya. The best part of seeing her in Nairobi was getting to meet the seven orphans she sponsors. Back in Baltimore, I had heard Paloma speaking Swahili on her phone, regularly checking up on the seven kids she loves like they’re her own. She first met them when she was studying abroad in college, when they were saved from the streets and put in a new boarding program that quickly deteriorated under irresponsible management. She couldn’t bear to see them return to the streets so she and her parents decided to personally send them to a good boarding school. They have thrived there and Paloma visits as often as she can. TK and I joined her and her Dad to visit on the first day of the new school year, and I could see why these kids strike a chord in Paloma’s heart. They were delightful – a few were charismatic and funny, others shy and sweet, and they all clearly loved Paloma. She acted so naturally in the role of their mother. She handed them new backpacks with school supplies and snacks. She encouraged them to be polite to us visitors and asked them to set goals for the school year. She frowned to see that some of their uniforms didn’t fit properly. When it was time to go, she hugged them all good-bye and lingered to leave, watching them return to their classrooms with tears in her eyes. It was touching to see and I’m so glad our travel schedules coincided so that we could meet her wonderful kids.

John, on the other hand, doesn't have a
shy bone in his body. He was hilarious.

When Paloma and her Dad flew back to the states, Anjali arrived from Boston. Anyone who knows me probably knows who Anjali is; she’s practically my sister. Her graduate thesis, focusing on war-time rape, brought her to Nairobi for research, and she came a week early to travel. 

Boat ride to the island

We experienced a different side of
Kenya, relaxing on the beach in Malindi with three of Anjali’s acquaintances. On one of our days there, some very gregarious hosts brought us all to an island off the coast. 

While a seafood feast was prepared, we strolled to the water. This stroll took about 30 minutes longer than it would later in the day, because the tide is insanely wide on the Indian Ocean. It was the same in Zanzibar and back in Mozambique: the shoreline at noon lies a kilometer further out than the shoreline at 3pm. When we finally got there, the water was hot. We didn’t swim very long before heading back for our feast. 

The temporary shore

They served platters of curried shrimp, followed by fresh crabs, and finally fish. This was unfortunate for Anj, who made do with salad and rice, but it was delicious for the rest of us. And the icing on the cake: the two guides who brought us to this beach feast refused any payment, so the whole day was free.

Then Anjali went on a safari in Masai Mara, and TK and I took the train back to Nairobi. We thought this would be a nice alternative to the bus. We had taken the bus from Nairobi to the coast, and it had blasted loud crappy hip-hop throughout the entire ride, even though it was an overnight bus. Who can sleep while 50 Cent is shouting, “I'll take you to the candy shop...”? Buses are also notorious for driving dangerously fast on that stretch. Before we left, the conductor walked down the aisle to videotape every passenger’s face; we asked why, and he nonchalantly replied that it was to help identify bodies in case of an accident. Scary! So we opted for the train on the way back.

Mombasa train station, 1950. I mean 2013.

We waited several hours in a nearly deserted train station that looked like it hadn’t been used in fifty years. It felt a little eerie, but a thousand times better than any crowded bus station. The train itself had also passed its prime long ago; all fans were broken, paint faded, but otherwise in working order. They served dinner in a small dining car, and we had our own little compartment where we could watch a movie on the laptop, before drifting to sleep to the sound of cranking metal and screeching brakes.

Train beats bus any day.

Back in Nairobi we came down with something and laid around the hostel for a few days, leaving only to go to see movies in those modern malls. Sometimes all we want to do is pretend we’re back home, where we can eat comfort food and go to the movies and not worry about where to stay the night or when to catch the bus.

And how could I forget this – an elephant orphanage just outside of Nairobi, where baby elephants, orphaned usually by poaching, receive 24-hour care for several years before being introduced to the herds in Tsavo National Park. 

A six-month old. Can I please work here? I wish they had this in Oregon...

When they're a bit older - these guys are 3 years - they can hold their own bottles. How precious!