Quickly changing world

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My mom has informed me that my blog entries are overly negative (or always end on a bad note) so I've resolved that this one will be only good...which is easy because I can't think of anything bad that has happened in the last week.

In Kampala I stayed with a young Rwandan man who grew up in Uganda and had strangely worked on the film crew of Last King of Scotland and so had pictures with all the stars. He seemed to hang out mostly with ex-pats though so I got a very ex-paty view of Kampala, going to a horror movie night for halloween and eating veggie burgers (and bagels!). I also spent a good amount of time wandering aimlessly around the city as is my way. Kampala is probably the most terrifyingly congested city I'm ever been in but it also has a certain undeniable energy that a less crowded city could not possibly aspire to. You have to be constantly aware of your surroundings, not because of mugging or anything like that but because people seem to appear from the dust (I walked into a number of these strange dust beings), everyone seems to strangely know each other despite the vast numbers and everywhere people are yelling and hugging and stopping abruptly mid-walk to exclaim loudly. The most startling feature of Kampala are the Maribou Storks, perching about street lights, on the corners of buildings, or crowded into trees, these are some of the most fascinating animals I have ever seen. They are roughly 4 feet in height, comical, yet grotesque, they are like something I may have once seen in a dream, or perhaps an Edward Gorey strip. They are scavengers, hence their presence in the city, and can often be found in clumps atop large piles of trash (always prolific in Africa), adding significantly to their disturbing, monster-esque appearance. And yet...they are strangely appealing, their eyes hold a degree of intelligence rarely seen in a smaller bird, and their gaze is imbued with a sense of cunning that sends chills down your spine. People talk about them stealing food from your hands, personally I'd be more concerned about them stealing children (that is what storks do, right?).

From the hustle and bustle of the big city I made my way to Sipi falls in Eastern Uganda. Despite all the usual meaningless warnings (You might get lost!) I chose to hike without a guide, thrilled simply that the option was available. I found myself alone in the midst of dense tropical (yet theoretically cultivated) land. I threaded my way along tiny goat paths through palm trees and banana trees, up treacherously steep mud paths, vines clinging to my clothes, sweat pouring into my eyes, running only into occasional children carrying large loads of banana leaves or wood on their heads. A man asked me to pick coffee with him so I stopped and chatted over red shining coffee beans while goats bleated and bickered around us. The waterfalls (4 sets of them) transformed the hills and valleys with the constant thunder of falling water and lent an idyllic romance to the already charming site of the women laboring over the laundry in the river. I spent an extra night near the falls, relishing the watery soundtrack and the cool mountain air.

Early the next morning I headed out in search of the elusive Nyero Rock Paintings (I say elusive because no one seemed to have heard of them until I reached Nyero itself). I get lots of blank stares while requesting a bus to the town of Kumi, "Yes, there's a bus but shouldn't you be going the other way?" I get a ride in a pick up truck (a seat in the cab is chivalrously vacated for me) down to the junction and spend the better part of an hour having my usual conversation with Ugandan men, "Yes, it really is illegal to have multiple wives in the US." "No, we don't feel that is unusually restrictive." "No, we actually are allowed to have as many children as we like, many people just choose to have less." "No, I don't think HIV was created in the US," etc etc. The man in question (or of many questions) is a policeman dressed in sparkly white from tip to toe which I couldn't even begin to understand considering the usual state of my clothes.

The cave paintings, once found, were less than thrilling due to the lack (as usual) of any guides who actually knew anything about them. I was instead shown around by my boda boda driver and a random man who lived nearby and had a lot to say about all the American archaeologists who come to look at the caves. This of course made me even more antsy in my desire for a real guide, which I highly doubt exists at all in this case. Despite the lack of information the scenery was stunning. Heavy green African bush dotted with strange outcrops of giants rocks overgrown with tropical flora and crawling with monkeys and colorful lizards. After the caves I returned to the bus stop to find only empty buses which the bus conductor assured me were leaving right away. I gave him a very American, "yeah, right" and pointed to the nearest hovel, informing him I'd be eating. After eating a leisurely meal in the wood/scrap metal shack and while sipping on one of the most delicious cups of tea I've ever had the man ran in, "We go now!". I paid and stepped into the waiting bus (now full) which left immediately! What service!

I am now in Ethiopia, the first night was the usual disaster of arriving anywhere late at night without a place to stay, but today was far better. I still haven't spoken any Amharic which I spent all day yesterday learning because everyone in Addis seems to speak English but hopefully tomorrow will bring more opportunities. It was a great first day to explore the city because it was Sunday and the crowds were minimal. I experienced no hassling whatsoever and was thrilled to walk against the flow of men and women wrapped equally in fluttering semi-transparent white cloths, and lost myself in the city of beautiful tall ghosts for much of the morning. In the midst of a traffic jam I spotted a man chasing a curious breed of cow, which wound its way through the stalled cars. On a grassy median, another opportunistic fellow grazed his flock of sheep in the middle of the city. An old man appointed himself my personal tour guide and, despite all the stories of scam artists employing this tactic, he was unbelievably polite and helpful and (far from asking for money) actually bought me coffee. In need of an ATM (the one at the airport hadn't worked...only one of many problems the previous night) he took me on a winding shortcut through the city to the Sheraton Hotel. On the way we passed through some of the most charmingly medieval slums I've encountered in Africa, reminding me distinctly of some of the towns in Israel built on Roman ruins, in places the streets were actually lined with cobblestones.

It's February 30th, 2002 here in Ethiopia....disconcerting in so many days...leap year babies would enjoy living here though.
I leave tomorrow north to Bahir Dar.

Love to all my dear friends,
~Basselope

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Comments

[pen-in-hand]

Ethiopian date?
I'm confused; how could the date be so completely different from the rest of the world? What kind of calendar do they have? Or, do they keep two dates, as in Israel?