Mudança de casa

Depois de 2 anos de bons serviços, o caipirau vai desaparecer. E porque a herança é pesada, em vez de 1 vão passar a co-existir 3 blogs com temáticas diferentes. Vamos ver se consigo arranjar tempo e assunto para os alimentar a todos. Serve este post para dizer que a partir de hoje a minha nova casa online é a velha casa que nunca deixou de existir

www.bernardo.ws 

Espero ver-vos aí com os vossos comentários sempre oportunos. Até breve.

E ao 18º dia, Nova Zelândia

Os 3 resistentes em Queenstown

E o 4º fiel companheiro de viagem, Kangurulo

Panorâmica de Queenstown ao atardecer

Ao 18º dia por terras meridionais eis que chegou o momento de tocar solo neozelandês. Com o grupo reduzido a 3 resistentes e um 4º adoptivo, saímos às 7 da manhã de Sydney para 3h depois aterrar em Auckland. Não houve tempo para cheirar a cidade já que fomos imediatamente para o terminal de voos domésticos apanhar o avião para Queenstown.

A aterragem em Queenstown foi dos momentos mais assustadores que já tive a bordo de um avião, e isso que adoro viajar de avião e já tive alguns sustos. Mas um Boeing 737 a aterrar entre duas paredes de 2000 metros, a balançar violentamente por causa dos ventos cruzados e a dar solavancos de vários metros por culpa dos poços de ar, confesso que é obra.

O que importa é que aterrámos e a partir daí esperavam-nos 2500km de road trip desde Queenstown na ilha sul até Auckland na ilha norte.

Destino Austrália - Dias 13 e 14 - Blue Mountains

Mirando as Blue Mountains

Alinhados para o grande rapel de 30 metros

Prontos para um salto de 7 metros?

Interrompemos a nossa estadia em Sydney para, durante dois dias, irmos até às Blue Mountains, a 4 horas da cidade, e explorar as gargantas dos rios daquele parque natural da melhor forma possível: cannyoning. Ou seja, corpinho na água e toda a navegar rio abaixo como for. E como foi! Saltos de 7 e 8 metros para buracos negros – confiança nos guias –, slaloms naturais que batem qualquer parque aquático, braçadas por meio de gargantas escuras com as teias de aranha ameaçadoras a passar ao nosso lado, e uma descida em rapel de uma cascata de 30 metros que foi a cereja em cima do bolo. Em dois dias exploramos 3 rios e não foram mais porque não houve mais tempo.

Destino Austrália - Dias 11, 12 e 15 a 17 - Sydney

Subindo ao arco da Harbour Bridge

Velejando por Sydney

Conhecendo a noite da cidade

Darling Harbour

Concerto na Opera House

Sydney é a capital de facto da Austrália, a maior cidade do país, cosmopolita e viva, com restaurantes de primeira água e uma noite vibrante. Como se fosse pouco, tem praia, e boa, e um porto lindíssimo e enorme que envolve a cidade.

Visitámos Sydney em duas rondas. A primeira foi para fazer o plano tipicamente turístico. Subimos ao grande arco da ponte mais emblemática da cidade para daí ver as vistas sobre o centro e a baía, passeámos pela linha de praias para ver as falésias e a arquitectura mediterrânica, vimos a Opera House e as várias docas.

Entre a primeira e a segunda ronda em Sydney fomos às Blue Mountains e na segunda visita escolhemos planos menos turístico. Fizemos o plano nocturno e conhecemos as melhores discotecas da cidade, óptimas por sinal, fomos ao bairro dos bordéis e das prostitutas, frequentámos a noite a fora de horas, as discotecas da moda e as manias da cidade – ténis tudo bem mas com camisa, algo com gola. Fizemos também o plano gastronómico, que incluiu um manjar de deuses no Rockpool, o restaurante de Neil Perry, um dos mais famosos chefs australianos, mas que também passou por pub food, churrasco e outros petiscos típicos australianos. Ainda fizemos o plano desportivo, que foi desde as caminhadas por Bondi Beach, às braçadas no mar e à vela pelo porto de Sydney. Não nos esquecemos do plano cultural, e fomos a um bom concerto de Beethoven e Bartok com a Sinfónica de Sydney na famosa Opera House.

Comop podem ver, Sydney é uma cidade muito completa. Mais uma a juntar às cidades onde poderia viver.

Destino Austrália - Dias 9-10 - Melbourne

Flinders Street Station

Vitrina em Fitzroy

E mais uma...

Xadrez gigante na rua

E mais um cartaz de celebração

St. Kilda Beach

O trio quando começámos a prova de vinhos

E o mesmo trio no Longrain

Melbourne fica no sul da Austrália, a 4 horas de voo de Port Douglas. O objectivo era passar o fim de semana por Melbourne e, se as coisas corressem bem, tentar voltar no seguinte para ver a corrida de F1.

Daquilo que vi em Melbourne, o que mais me impressionou foi a importância que a cidade dá ao desporto: estádios sem conta, espaços para correr, faixas para bicicletas, programas de incentivo ao desporto. E os efeitos são visíveis na fauna local, a qual felizmente para nada reflecte os genes britânicos de onde supostamente vêm.

Na primeira noite em Melbourne fomos à engagement party de uns amigos locais, festa rija que acabou, como sempre, com o pessoal a cantar na rua e a comer porcaria às tantas da manhã.

Domingo começou com um brunch de combate à ressaca e passeio pelos bairros mais pitorescos de Melbourne - Fitzroy, Saint Kilda. A cidade tem personalidade e isso agrada-me.

Por volta das 18h resolvemos fazer uma pausa em frente à praia para tomar um copo de vinho antes dum último passeio pela praia e do jantar. Mas nem sempre as coisas correm conforme o planeado e o petisco que pedimos com o copo atrasou-se, pedimos entretanto um segundo copo para ajudar à espera e copo puxa copo acabámos num estado lastimável 3 horas depois.

O jantar no Longrain, um tailandês no centro da cidade, foi fantástico e a noite seria também se não estivemos já KO.

Destino Austrália - Dias 5-8 - Port Douglas

A piscina da Villa Empat Puluh Dua

Um simpático e sorridente crocodilo

O Marvin com a malta

Dois cangurus a fazer indecências

Port Douglas fica no topo nordeste da Austrália, região tropical com temperaturas amenas durante todo o ano. Quando aterrámos em Cairns pudemos comprovar a isso mesmo: humidade, calor e as gotas de suor a querer escorrer pela testa.

A casa que alugámos em Port Douglas foi um ícone da nossa viagem, unanimemente considerada a melhor casa em que qualquer um de nós alguma vez esteve. A Villa Empat Puluh Dua, situada numa encosta no meio de densa vegetação, tinha todas as divisões abertas para o mar, incluindo os 9 quartos, casas de banho e as várias salas de jantar e estar. A piscina, que mais parecia um lago natural, também ela mirava a baía de Port Douglas. Naturalmente que aproveitámos a casa para cozinhar uma churrascada e usar intensivamente a piscina, já que era época de moreias na costa de Port Douglas e os banhos estavam restringidos a uma pequena zona protegida por redes.

Mas Port Douglas é conhecido por uma razão: a grande barreira de coral. E para lá fomos no primeiro dia. 3 mergulhos deram para ver de tudo: coral de mil cores, Nemos com fartura, tubarões, e peixes extremamente amigáveis.

Em Port Douglas também aproveitámos para fazer uma visita à região mais remota de floresta tropical e observar de perto os tão famosos crocodilos australianos. Como dizia o nosso guia, devíamos ter menos medo dos tubarões e crocodilos, que em média são responsáveis por 2-3 acidentes por ano, quase sempre gente incauta. Por outro lado, há cerca de 5 mortes por ano por mordedura de cobras e cerca de 50 por picadas de aranha. Carai! Cuidado com as teias!

A estadia por este canto deu ainda para ver e alimentar cangurus, papagaios e koalas. Muito produtivo!

Destino Austrália - Dias 1-4 - Byron Bay

Depois de 26 horas de voo a chegada a Ballina, o aeroporto que serve de base a Byron Bay, foi um alívio. E mais se tivermos em conta que saí de Boston com neve na rua e temperaturas negativas para aterrar com sol e a 35 graus.

Byron Bay é um paraíso de surfistas e hippies entre Brisbane e Sydney. O melhor deste lugar é que ninguém parece importar-se com a aparência, raça ou discurso dos que o rodeiam. Cidade sem preconceitos onde cada um se mete na sua vida. Gosto disso.

Os dias passados em Byron Bay serviram para tirar a fome de praia e mar com ondas espectaculares e a água à temperatura ideal. Também deram para vermos cair uma tempestade tropical como há muito não via e aproveitamos as condições da casa que alugámos para fazer um churrasco na piscina e provar pela primeira vez salsichas de canguru. Nada de especial.

Regresso a Boston

Depois de 24 dias passados na Oceânia, eis-me de regresso à chuvosa e fresca cidade de Boston. Longe vão os dias de sol e calor de Byron Bay e as noites de folia em Sydney.

Para abrir o apetite, aqui fica o itinerário desses dias e as fotos da viagem.

13-16.Mar – Byron Bay, Surfer’s Paradise, Goald Coast
17-20.Mar – Port Douglas, Grande Barreira de Coral, Rainforest
21-22.Mar – Melbourne
23-24.Mar – Sydney, Bridge Climb, Vela no Porto de Sydney
25-26.Mar – Cannyoning nas Blue Mountains
27-28.Mar – Regresso a Sydney, Bondi Beach
29.Mar – Partida para a Nova Zelândia, Aterragem assustadora em Queenstown
30.Mar – Início do road trip pela Nova Zelândia, Te Anau, Milford Sound
31.Mar – Glaciar Franz Joseph, Arthur’s Pass, Christchurch
1.Abr – Christchurch, Kaikoura e as baleias invisíveis, Blenheim
2.Abr – Passeio vinícola em Marlborough, Picton, Ferry para a ilha norte, Wellington
3.Abr – Rafting em Rotorua, spa nas águas volcânicas e mal cheirosas do Lago Rotorua
4.Abr – Descida às cavernas de Waitomo, rafting e slide subterrâneos, Auckland
5.Abr – Auckland, Bungy Jumping na Harbour Bridge

De volta a casa

E eis que por fim regresso a casa. Após 1 mês em África ficam as memórias e os textos, todos compilados aqui. Voltam as aulas, volta o frio, voltam os amigos e voltarão as novidades.

Huganda, reflection after Africa

‘There is a lot of stuff we don’t know. That does not make it nonexistent, it just makes us ignorant.’ My father used to tell me this, I guess rephrasing Socrates’ motto ‘all I know is that I know nothing’.

After four weeks in Uganda and Tanzania that is how I feel: there is a lot of stuff that I don’t know. That would not be a big concern if I were the only ignorant, but it is a massive problem when most of the Western world knows so little about Africa.

While I was in Mbarara, for two weeks I was flooded with the war on Gaza. For two weeks, CNN, Al Jazeera, and BBC would dedicate most of their airtime to the war. The war ended conveniently on time for Obama’s inauguration. The war’s toll, which is obviously horrible, was 1000+ victims. Meanwhile, 80 people were murdered by LRA in northern Uganda, a few hundreds were being killed by the rebels in Northeast Congo, and drought in Uganda and Sudan was causing an unknown number victims. However, CNN, Al Jazeera, or BBC publicized none of these casualties.

Other than the AIDS calamity, a rebellion here and there, or a large tragedy, Africa is invisible for us, the Western world, the first world. People die and suffer in silence, they do not call reporters, they do not expose their tragedy. And we pretend they do not exist.

Not everyone of course, there is foreign aid, people who throw copious amounts of money to finance aid programs in Africa. There are probably programs for every single aspect of life in Africa: education, healthcare, food, infrastructure, elections. Any excuse is a good excuse for an NGO to exist. Half of the foreign aid money will probably end up in the pocket of a corrupt government official but no one seems to care. Foreign aid reminds me the old Chinese proverb ‘Give a man a fish and you feed him for a day. Teach a man to fish and you feed him for a lifetime.’ Foreign aid in Africa gives the fish but it does not teach how to fish. I still don’t know if this happens because people are ignorant, which though sad is forgivable, or because NGOs have a vested interest in maintaining the status quo, which is inadmissible.

Subsidy dependence is something that a lot of people talk about in Portugal and I never fully understood until now. If you get everything for free without effort, why would you work? I can also point out similarities between this and spoiled kids. If you are used to get everything easily and if at some point the source dries up, you don’t know how to do things by yourself. And since you are used to get everything effortlessly, you will blame someone else for your problems and expect someone other than you to solve them.

I am not inventing a new theory or discovering new problems, I am just repeating what more than one African told me about the situation in his country. Foreign aid feeds first a lot of bureaucrats in the Western world, then a lot of corrupt government officials in the third world, thirdly another bunch of aid workers who do not prescind from brand new Land Cruisers, a herd of helpers and other luxuries that most Africans will never have access to, and finally, with the leftovers, they buy people food, books, clothes and medicines. Who decides where and how to invest? The first world. Locals are not involved.

I talked to a lot of ambitious people with plans and dreams. However, most of the time those have two options: they have to do everything on their own because no one else is interested in working, or they flee their homeland and fulfill their dreams somewhere else. The fault? They say NGOs are feeding people, giving what they should farm and grow, and making sure that every basic need is covered. As someone told me in Uganda, ‘if you are used to have food, clothes and shelter by begging, why would you want to work?’

This economy leads to subsistence agriculture, no industry, and very few services, eliminating currency circulation, which means no revenue for the government, which means no money for public spending, which means more help from NGOs. The only currency that NGOs bring to the countries is what they spend in expensive hotels, fancy restaurants and new cars, but that is not enough to reactivate local economies and it just creates more subsidy dependence.

The little boys I spoke to have dreams, huge dreams for their age, but how many of those will survive the apparent curse? As one friend in Uganda told me, ‘If just you people left us alone we would then decide what to do with our country. If we want to make money we will farm our land and sell our crops in the market. If we want to study we will build schools and hire teachers. If we do not want any of this, we will just peel bananas and eat matooke everyday.’

Of course, problems in Africa can hardly be explained by pointing the finger to philanthropy. You have corruption, civil wars, tribalism, colonialism heritage, fight for natural resources, dictatorship, you name it. But it is obvious that foreign aid, as it has been happening until now, is not the solution. So why insist? Why do we keep on trying to make them happy the way we think they will be happy? Why insisting on sending money to feed corrupt ministers?

The most positive I take from my time in Uganda and Tanzania is the optimism of the people. Maybe it is a coincidence but I saw more optimistic and less whining people in Uganda, where NGOs presence is not as strong. Or maybe it is just cultural. But in general people are optimistic, ‘things are getting better’. Slowly, because no one is in a hurry and rushing is rude, despite the angry westerners who keep complaining of Africa’s slow pace. ‘Haraka haraka haina baraka’ is a Bantu proverb that means hurrying brings bad luck. And slowly Africa is moving forward, at least according to the optimistic Africans I had the opportunity to talk to.

Leaving Zanzibar

Fishing dhows on their way to the market

I cannot say Zanzibar was a waste of time. In six days here I managed to complete an open water diver certificate, watch European fat tourists in their natural habitat, get a few recipes of local dishes, and do some physical activity. I am now in Nairobi, waiting for my flight back to Entebbe, then Amsterdam, then Lisbon. I might just go to Nairobi for a walk, after all there is a long wait ahead of me.

Yesterday I took the final exam to become a certificated diver. Seating by the beach, the water calling me, there was not a lot of motivation for a test. I ordered a beer to get some inspiration and it worked: 90% when 75% was the minimum required. I cannot wait for my next dive, hopefully next month in Australia.

The problem with diving for the first time in Zanzibar is that now it is very hard to find better diving spots. I am not going to dive in Boston to see lobsters and crabs in freezing water.

Later in the afternoon I discovered the only good thing about Neptune resort. While Debbie was sending emails and trying to change her flight, Cat and I sat on the bar surrounded by speedos and bellies, and ordered a cocktail. That led to an intricate problem. We did not have orange bracelets like everyone else, the all-inclusive scheme. But since everyone is all-inclusive, they didn’t take cash. Solution? Free drinks for the non-guests. There is something positive about these resorts, as long as I am not the guest.

The last meal in Zanzibar was a barbeque on the beach, my feet on the sand, the murmur of the ocean behind me, the smell of grilled nduaro and maize, Futari telling the story of her life. Maybe I will miss Zanzibar after all. Futari tried to make me promise that I would come back soon but I cannot do it. Who knows?

Diving in Zanzibar

I arrive in Matemwe and ask for the diving school, they indicate a small hut with a sign ScubaLibre. It doesn’t look very legitimate but they have all the PADI certifications and, better than that, I can have an instructor for myself. Ted decides to join me and so we go, four days to take an open water diving course that, in theory, should allow us to dive by ourselves down to 18 meters. Sounds good.

The first day is theory and pool. Since there is no power here, we don’t have video capabilities so we have to read it all. That does not sound fun but what can we do? Reading on the beach is not exactly bad either. The pool exercises are fun. Emmanuel, the instructor, is a funny guy. His high-toned voice does not match his trimmed body but he’s got great communication skills.

Emmanuel, the diving instructor

But what I want is to go to the ocean and that happened today, after a few pool sessions. Mnemba Island is the place where everyone dives, with a coral reef around the island and extremely rich underwater life. Our boat looks crappy but sturdy, in the middle of all the other boats we look like the poor divers. Who cares? The water is astonishing, an irresistible diaphanous mantle.

Mnemba Island viewed from our boat

The boat crew

Our sturdy boat

The first open water dive is to get used to all the gear and to strengthen the skills we learned. We only dive in shallow water but even 5 meters underwater we can see an amazing amount of aquatic life. I cannot wait for the second dive, when we will go to 10-12 meters and actually dive around the reef. My expectations are high but the reality exceeds my best dreams, especially when we spot a giant turtle. Too bad I can’t ride it.

Just like Emmanuel said, after a while breathing through a regulator is like second nature, I don’t even think about it. I cannot wait for my next dive, this time to 18 meters.

Pwani Mchangani

That is the name of the village where I am staying in Zanzibar. Located on the northeast cost of the island, Pwani Mchangani is a very small village with no roads, just a sandy path, a small market where people trade the daily catch and some fruits and vegetables, and a school, from where I hear children singing or reciting every morning.

Pwani Mchangani, with the ocean in background

Like in most villages I have seen in East Africa, although people look poor they do not look unhappy. They have food and education, and here they even have tourists to sell crap they call artifacts. There is an IKEA Zanzibar, Prada Zanzibar and other popular names, maybe to make tourists feel at home.

I am staying in a private house far away from the big resorts. The first day here I was walking on the beach when I passed one of those resorts. Curious, I went in and what a hideous scene! Speedos and no shirt seems to be the rule to be accepted here. Fat Europeans walk their bellies around with colorful cocktails, or even worse, they bounce they bellies playing ping-pong. The building is totally neutral, I could be anywhere in the world. A well gardened grass bordering small beige houses, a kidney-shaped pool with a bar in the center and, obviously, a big golden fountain. The whole picture is obnoxious and imagining spending time here is probably one of my worst nightmares.

The problem I see in these resorts is that they isolate people from the reality around, and the reality is so much more interesting: the thousand blues ocean, the white powdery sand, the fishing dhows, the seaweed gardeners, the local sellers, the local food. All these are experiences those tourists ignore because they rather be around a pool eating $10 burgers and burritos and drinking pink margueritas. I hope that is not an aging issue and I never become like that.

Our house is cute, a four-bedroom villa right by the beach with straw roof and palm trees all over. The natural air conditioning, as they call it here, is the air coming from the ocean and crossing the house. Futari is in charge of the operation here, she takes care of everything and acts like a mother: you are not eating enough, you should not go to the water now, don’t forget sunscreen.

Our house, pictured from the low tide

The entrance from the beach

... and the beach where I swim everyday

But, however relaxing and gorgeous this can be, I am getting bored. These peaceful paradises are not for me; I need action, things to do other than long walks on the beach. Pwani Mchangani is too small to provide any interesting action other than rush hour in the market. The closest town is Matemwe, which is not a lot different from Pwani, and Stone Town is too far away. I decided to take a diving course to keep me busy and I am glad I decided to shorten my vacations here. Meanwhile I have been reading and writing, which is enriching and helps to fill my days. But, although I will be sorry for saying this when I arrive in Boston, I am getting tired of so much sun, white sand and clear ocean. I could not live in a place like this.

Zanzibar

A hot heavy wind greets me as I walk out of the plane in Zanzibar. The airport is tiny: three money exchangers and a locked customer care office are the only signs of human presence. There is no baggage claim, an employee brings the suitcases to the middle of the airport and starts an improvised auction.

Outside a few cab drivers fight for a ride to Stone Town.

- Jamba. Karibu. My friend, it’s 20 to Stone Town.
- 20 what? Dollars? Shillings?
- If it is too expensive you just tell me. This is not a fight, just a negotiation.

I take a ride to Stone Town for TSh15K (US$12) and the driver tries to sell me a ride for the next day. ‘For 50 I take you to Pawani.’ You never know if they are talking in dollars or shillings but that is the purpose. If you do not ask they will make a 30% profit.

- My friend, $40.
- We agreed TSh40,000. If it is $40 you just drop me here.
- Hakuna Matata, you pay 40K but you call me when you go back to airport
- Hakuna Matata

Stone Town, the heart of Zanzibar Town, is the archetype of an African city. The colonizers built and the locals watched passively to the gradual degradation of the buildings. The architecture is Arabic, 100 years ago I could probably feel I could be anywhere in northern Africa or Southern Europe, it recalled me the small villages of Alentejo in my homeland. Today, Stone Town looks like an abandoned city: filthy, smelly, and dark despite the white walls. There is litter in every corner, decomposing under 100 degrees temperature.

Someday I would like to understand why Africa is like this. Every country I have been into is a bunch of patches built by colonizers that no one ever cared to maintain: the Portuguese built Cahora Bassa in Mozambique, the British built Makerere University in Uganda, the Chinese built railway between Dar es Salaam and Kapiri Mposhi. When you talk to Indians in Eastern Africa they say Africans are lazy, there is nothing to do about it; the ones who are not lazy flee to Europe or America. I resist to believe that argument. Everyone who ever tried to build something in Africa did not care about the Africans. Colonialism, Maoism, or the most recent wave, philanthropy, are good examples of this.

Going to Zanzibar

I am saying goodbye to Uganda. In a few hours I will be taking a cab to the airport to catch a flight to Zanzibar. Unfortunately, I could not find a way to go trekking in Mount Elgon. I will save that for the next visit.

The next week will be spent on the beach, diving turquoise waters, and relaxing. Well, and working out to lose the kilos I gained in Mbarara. No more matoke.

If the Internet gods help, I will post here my final thoughts about Uganda and maybe some pictures from Zanzibar.

Kampala

The Lonely Planet says about Kampala ‘like Rome, Kampala is built on seven hills, although that is where the comparisons begin and end.’ It seems to me obvious that the author of this has never been in Rome, otherwise he would find many other similarities.

Like Rome, traffic in Kampala is chaotic, one-way streets are a suggestion because if the street is wide enough for two then it’s a two-way street, people honk to release traffic stress, the air is heavy and polluted, and there are lots of pizzerias. I can’t find more similarities but I’ve only been in Kampala for a day and a half.

Chaos is probably the word that better defines Kampala, the capital of Uganda. With 1.2 million registered inhabitants, it’s likely that the true population is twice as much. The city and the roads to access the city were made for 400K people, which explains very well why you can spend 2h in traffic to cross 6-7 blocks. Walking is much faster but much riskier as well.
When I say risk I’m not talking about violence or mugging, just crazy traffic. The roads have a hierarchy, and the pedestrian is very low on that pyramid, which means that you are invisible to any hierarchical superior.

Nonetheless, Kampala is somehow charming. Maybe the seven hills give it a touch of romanticism that I recognize in many other hilly cities that I know: Rome, Lisbon, San Francisco, Rio de Janeiro. Maybe chaos is after all a fate of any capital and people eventually find their sweet spot in the middle the anarchy. Or maybe is just because it’s different, it’s an African capital, the safest capital I’ve been in Africa.

I like Kampala, it’s a city with personality. I think I could live here for a while.

Plans of a teenager

Elliot, the porter we hired at Buhoma to help us cross the impenetrable forest, has been quiet all day. He does not want any food or water. ‘Sure?’ He is sure.

We are seated in the forest waiting for something to happen; maybe a gorilla will show up, maybe a blue monkey, maybe nothing. I ask Elliot one more time, ‘are you sure you do not want water?’ He is fine.

- What do you do in life? I ask.
- I am porter.
- Do you go to school?
- I’m in high school. I want to go to the university in Kampala next year.
- What do you want to study?
- I want to be a veterinary and work here in the park. If veterinary is not possible, I want to study chemical engineering. That is important here in Buhoma to help in healthcare initiatives.

That sounds like a plan. Elliot, the porter, is 16, but he already has plans for life. Later we find another boy in the street who tries to sell us some carved wood gorillas. We decline but he explains his life,

- I am 14, my uncle taught me carving wood, my mother died from AIDS and my family is very poor.

As sad as it might sound, it sounds like a memorized selling pitch. But the boy does not give up,

- This is good wood.

I am definitely not interested in a wooden gorilla,

- What do you do besides being here at the store?
- I go to school, next year I will go to high school.
- That is impressive, how old are you? What do you want to do?
- I am 14. I want to be a lawyer because there are not a lot of lawyers in Uganda. And as the government pushes for democracy, more lawyers will be needed.
- That sounds very smart!
- But I do not want to be any lawyer. I want to be a criminal lawyer, because that is what people will want in a few years.

I am impressed. Here it is a 14-year-old boy explaining me why he wants to be a lawyer and not any kind of lawyer. I just replied, ‘I wish I had such a clear idea of what I want to do of my life.’

I had a very positive surprise with the level of education in Uganda and the importance people and newspapers give to education. What happened is that, while most African countries invested foreign aid money in college education, which is usually a privilege of wealthy people, Uganda invested in primary and secondary education. That allowed poor people to access education and, as a result, to reach national colleges. The rest, the maturity of these teenagers, is probably a result of the tough childhood and sad stories as the one I heard in Buhoma.

The inauguration viewed by an European

For the first time in my life, as probably many other people, I watched the US presidential inauguration. Although I am in Uganda, I watched the inauguration among Americans. But in Uganda this day is huge, there are Obama pictures everywhere. In Buhoma, near the gorillas, you could only find gorilla shirts and obama shirts. Crazy!

Lots of people screaming, is this the Champions League Final? No? What football match is this?

Oh! Presidential inauguration, what exactly is that? Why does the president need to swear? Do you think he spent two years campaigning to drop in the last minute?

A woman comes and starts talking about being patriotic. Touching. Pause, some sort of pastor comes to speech. WTF? A pastor! Why the hell a pastor has the right to speak in front of a few million people? Why is he talking about god? Where is the State Church separation? This is horrible!

Biden comes to swear. The speech is ridiculous. What is that book the other is holding? The Constitution? No, the Bible! Why is the bible there? Isn’t he swearing to obey the constitution? What if the guy was not catholic?

It’s noon in the US and everyone starts cheering. Wait, why is that? Well, the swearing thing is just a joke. The guy is president anyway after noon. I knew it! This ceremony is ridiculous.

Road to Buhoma

I have the impression that I went to the end of the world and came back. It is a part of the world that you do not see in magazines or television. Nonetheless, people live here and they are happy. Yes, people are happy in this part of the world. They do not care about cable television, internet and other luxuries that we consider basic. They have maize fields, cows and goats, and a very decent education system.

Buhoma

I understood here why people are so reluctant to pose for a picture. Until now I just respected their will and I would only take a picture if they allowed me to. What happens is that any picture taken by a white guy might end up making a cover of a magazine with headlines such as ‘poor Africa’ as if they didn’t have the right to be happy the way they want.

The road to Bwindi is full of tiny villages with very basic conditions but still with plenty of food, animals and people smiling. Kids build their own toys, teenagers build their own bikes with wood and wire. In Buhoma, the last stop before you enter the impenetrable forest, the only bar in town is showing a ManU match. Football is huge here and the premiership is passionately followed. The atmosphere at this bar is as lively as in any pub in London and people squeeze to cheer for their favorite.

In order to get to Buhoma, on the border with Rwanda and Congo, we had to drive for 4 hours through bumpy roads. Noah, our driver, explained the route, ‘we take the road to Kabale, then head west, and then into Bwindi. The last part is a little bumpy.’ I’m guessing that bumpy is very relative since the very first miles of road are a sequence of potholes. But as soon as we leave Mbarara the landscape becomes spectacular, with long valleys, vast coffee and tea plantations, clean and organized towns. This is by far the most beautiful part of Uganda.

Road to Buhoma

On the way back, we take a different road, not less bumpy but neither less spectacular. As we drive along Ishasha, monkeys and baboons cross the road in front of us, some antelopes as well. At some point, a few baboons more used to human contact, occupy the road and make cars stop. As we stop, they come to our window to beg for bananas. We give them one banana and they quickly peel it and devour it. Uganda is such a great place to watch wildlife.

A baboon and her baby begging for bananas

Tracking gorillas in the Impenetrable Forest

The Impenetrable Forest

We had been walking for 3 hours when I asked Maddy, our guide,

- Did the trackers find the gorillas yet?
- Not yet, no luck. It is going to be a long day.

It was a long day, 7 hours tracking gorillas in the rainforest. Maddy warned us beforehand,

- This is not a safari. For safari you go to Queen Elizabeth [the game park] and seat in a car to point animals. Here you have to walk and find them, look for signs, track their path. Sometimes it takes half an hour, sometimes 3 hours, and sometimes you can’t find them.

My only concern was the last part of the statement, we had to find those gorillas. So I just obeyed Maddy’s rather rational advice: ‘the trackers follow the gorillas, and we follow the trackers.’

Every day 3 teams leave Buhoma to track gorillas, one team per family. Only 8 visitors are allowed in each team to which you add a guide, one ranger, and 2-3 trackers who walk 1h ahead of the main group to track the gorillas and try to maximize the probably of success. In addition, you can hire porters. Porters are clearly useless in a day trekking but that is a way of helping the local community and that way ensure the sustainability of the park.

We left Buhoma at 8am at Maddy’s voicing ‘let’s penetrate the impenetrable forest!’ And so we did. Looking from our starting point all I could see was a green mass drawn by opulent tree crowns fighting for light on an overcrowded ground. That was the Bwindi Impenetrable Forest, the place that 340 gorillas call home. We were about to track 9 of them, one of the 3 families allowed to receive visitors: one silverback male, two females, 4 teenagers, and 2 babies.

Just like we were told, the rainforest is not an easy place to walk through. Multitude of vegetation fights for light, water and ground, forming a living mesh that seems to grab our feet as we walk. The higher vegetation does not allow us to see more than 4-5 meters ahead but we have Maddy, our guide, who moves through the impenetrable forest as if it is his home.

I am behind Maddy when he shouts ‘They found them!’, meaning the trackers had found the gorillas. More than euphoria I sensed relief among the group. Right until then, Maddy’s face did not inspire optimism and everyone was feeling we could be one of the 10% that are not able to see the gorillas. We walk as fast as we can until we find the trackers. They are lying in the ground, drinking porridge, and waiting for us, ‘they are 2-3 minutes away.’ Maddy drives us a few more meters and all of the sudden he stops, ‘the first one is here, try to be silent from now on and turn off the flashes.’ The moment that everyone expected arrived.

The first one we see is Wagaba, a male teenager. He’s seating in the middle of a bush avidly eating pieces of tender bush. We surround him but he’s immutable, like if we were not there. After a while he starts moving and we follow him. He takes us to his family and that is the entire show. The father Ruhondeza, a large silverback, is eating an entire bush. At his right, one of the babies is hanging from a tree eating berries. After a while, Marayika, another teenager, comes and starts playing next to the father. Ruhondeza just wants to sleep. Kashongo, one of the females, joins the crowd and, wow!, she brings one of the babies attached to her chest. We are literally among them. We are so among them that Kanyone, a girl teenager, grabs Sarah’s arm when she is trying to get a close-up, but in a such gentle way that she seems she’s trying to take a look at the picture.

The shy Kanyone playing with a stick 

The little one eating berries

Ruhondeza, the silverback

Kanyone grabbing Sarah's arm

I cannot believe I can be so close to them, being touched by these gentle giants, watching them playing, eating or sleeping, just like any other family on a weekend. The little one comes to the middle and wants to play but none of his siblings seem very excited with the idea.

The family reunion

Maddy starts counting ’15 more minutes’. We can only be with them for 1h in order to minimize the chance of passing any diseases to the gorillas. When we have to go I take another look at that family, they look so much like us.

The way back to the camp is made in silent; everyone is digesting emotions, strong emotions from an unbelievable experience.

Out for the weekend

I am going to track some mountain gorillas. On Monday, I hope to have pictures at least as good as this one.

The importance of a shinning shoe

Have you ever thought that your reputation could depend on how well you polish your shoes? In fact, not only how well you polish them but how well you keep them shinning.

You might think that reputation would be easy to build but not in Uganda. In a country where most of the roads are not paved, where dust invades every inch of your life and lungs, where people dress formally and wear leather shoes, reputation was never harder to keep.

Believe it or not, I have never seen so many shinning shoes as here. Peter, the receptionist at the University Inn, is an extreme example of a proud Ugandan: impeccable ironed slacks, white shirt, blazer… and immaculate shinning shoes. I asked Peter how is it possible to keep those shoes shinning all the time. ‘You have to walk carefully, over the dust.’ Over the dust? I can only walk through the dust.

Ever since we talked I try to watch him walking around. Maybe I am dreaming but whenever I see Peter walking I can swear he is moving a few inches above the ground. Over the dust, like he says. No wonder he keeps his shoes shinning.

Wood Ants

The tunnel. The legs you see belong to the nightstand, so you have an idea of scale

The little bugs rebuilding part of the destroyed tunnel

My room is under attack of wood ants, or at least that is what I think they are. Last weekend a brown tunnel started to grow under the nightstand, coming from the closet towards the wall. These little bugs are fast and I can imagine they will quickly deplete the closet. Since I will be out of here next week my only concern is to investigate their work.

Every once in a while the cleaning lady comes and destroys the tunnel. That does not deter these ants and, like nothing happened, they resume their work and rebuild the tunnel. I don’t exactly know what is the goal of building a tunnel towards the wall, since the wall is not made of wood. They made a detour towards the bed and I think that is too much for them. Why don’t they stick to the closet and eat it all? Why eating the bed? Isn’t that too much of a challenge for them?

I think it is. I keep telling them that it is a strategic mistake to set such an ambitious goal. They don’t listen to me so I gave up. Whatever they think it’s best for them, I am ok with that. It’s their life.