A Travellerspoint blog

Johannesburg

We weren’t prepared for what we found...

sunny 73 °F

Carol had arranged a Safari in Botswana through the Africa Adventure Company. They had prepared a fantastic itinerary for us that began with Victoria Falls. It turns out that the only way we could fly into Victoria falls from Accra, was to fly through Johannesburg. We didn’t want to miss out on the city, so we stayed 2 nights to get sense for what Joburg (as the locals call it) was all about. We had heard what a tough and dangerous city it is. We had heard about muggings, car-jackings, a generally high crime rate, and we had even heard of cars armed with flame throwing undercarriages to thwart would be car-jackers. We weren’t prepared for what we found. Johannesburg is a modern and beautiful city that rivals any of the big cities to which we had traveled; Fantastic residential areas, a real downtown, modern shopping malls, wonderful weather, great people, beautiful scenery, first-rate golf courses, and an actual bargain compared with the US dollar. It is true that there are areas in Joburg that you want to steer clear of, just like any big city in the US, but overall, we thought the city was awesome and we wished we had a chance to spend a few more days here.

Rolling in from the airport, we found ourselves being whisked along on an 8 lane freeway that rivals anything in the states, and we unfortunately ran into traffic that jam-packed every lane. Getting off the freeways to make better time is an expertise most professional drivers have, and ours did this with aplomb, making sure to drive through an idyllic residential area. We drove by stately manors, the golf course where Gary Player earned his badge, and we even drove by Nelson Mandela’s house that was quite tasteful and featured armed guards on the fence perimeters. This was akin to Beverly Hills of South Africa, with about a 70% price discount. We arrived at our hotel (the Park Hyatt) and were pleased to find it was situated within a shopping area with great restaurants and all the modern conveniences we lacked in Accra. Yes, I said conveniences.
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The boys hadn’t been to a skate park in a long time, and we had found (via the web) that there was a great one in a nearby Joburg suburb. We hired a driver, and went to the park at the “Monte Casino” which is a hotel, casino, and boardwalk mall that looks like a direct rip off of the Ceasar’s Palace in Las Vegas, replacing the roman theme with a slightly more modern Italy. Faux blue skies adorned the ceiling of the mall area, and the shops were bustling. The skate park was a cool and clean indoor facility, and the staff and the skaters were all very nice. The boys skated for 3 hours after doing some school work and both had a great time as they burned off weeks of steam, in non skate-friendly Accra.
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The only serious thing on our agenda while in Joburg was to tour the Apartheid Museum, which was across town from our hotel. We drove through the downtown area and headed toward Soweto. The museum was in the Gold Casino area, and it was part of a large complex that includes a theme park, a casino, and a hotel. Seems there are only two major casinos in the Joburg area, and we hit both of them in the same day. The museum was an incredible experience and gave all of us an education about the history of South African apartheid, how the concept evolved and how horrible it was for anyone who wasn’t a blanc (white). It was mind blowing to see firsthand how a government passed laws mandating segregation. It was equally mind blowing to watch a video of the leader of South Africa introducing the new laws, and calling apartheid “a good neighbor law”. There were individual stories of how apartheid affected Blacks, Indians, and Asians, (basically non whites). It was heart breaking.
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There were documented stories of killings instrumented by the government, ridding the country of anti-apartheid demonstrators. It was quite amazing to all of us that a minority government could have held back the vast black majority for so long, and equally astounding was that the apartheid was reversed without a major war. Many people died in the struggle to rid South Africa of apartheid, but there was no civil war. You have to applaud any government that is willing to open the scars of a broken policy, and bear ownership for so many wrong deeds, so many deaths, and so much wrongheadedness. The only other example I can think of is the Holocaust museum and the Jewish Memorial in Berlin. We talked as a family and agreed that the American government could take note and think about doing something similar around the subject of slavery or the American Indian.
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Posted by Blakei 11:13 Archived in South Africa Tagged family_travel Comments (0)

Ghana revisited

Axim, the Cape Coast, and a long goodbye to Accra

sunny 85 °F

We returned to Accra from the Masai Mara and Nairobi without a strict agenda. After Nairobi, Accra seemed different to us now. Contrasted against the blue sky of Nairobi, the Harmattan seemed less like an interesting and unique Saharan phenomenon and more like stifling smog, simply making Accra feel dusty and a little dirty. The city didn’t feel big anymore. Nairobi had huge skyscrapers and a “real” downtown. Accra just sprawls at 1, 2, or maybe 10 stories at the most, and you always wonder where downtown is. Things that once seemed quaint now seemed a little a bit backward; open sewers, dirt streets, power and water that is as unpredictable as your local weatherman, the traffic, hawkers and beggars at every major intersection. Yes, the thrill of the Africa Cup of Nations had passed, and we were just expats in Accra now. Our lens had changed. What hadn’t changed was our love for the people of Accra and our appreciation of how these people take it all in stride. And our appreciation for Anna and Freddy’s ability to adapt as if they were locals, had bloomed into awe. Whether it’s calling the guy to fix the washer “again”, or getting a truck to actually FILL the water tank on a Sunday afternoon, or turning the generator on at 11:000pm to get the air conditioners to work. They too, take it all in stride.
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We had a few chances to visit some Ghanian beaches during those last two weeks as well, which is also part of the “expat in Ghana” experience. One was just west of Accra and one was about 5 hours away near the Ivory Coast border. While we visited these places, we discovered a secret that no one in Ghana wants you to know. The beaches are insanely good. There is great surf for boarding, boogie boarding, and body surfing. The sand is clean and it is relatively critter free. Honestly, there were more bugs and dangerous reptiles in Australia than there were at Ghanian beaches. The people at the beaches are super friendly, and laid. The food is great and the lodging is a great value.
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Our favorite beach was in Axim, about 30km from the Ivory Coast Border, where we spent 4 days at the Axim beach resort. We could hear the sound of border gunfire from the local militia as they squared off against the Ivory Coast Army, and we did see the amphibious tanks rolling. Just kidding. Except the part about the amphibious tanks. But seriously, the Axim resort had nice little villas, a couple of nice bars and restaurants, and a great little zip line which the kids (and me) loved. They had wonderful tide pools and a great boogie boarding / body surfing beach that was to die for. We really enjoyed it. Anna and Freddy love this place and they reserved a family villa that had three separate rooms, and a common living area with a gorgeous view. We had some wonderful evening storms while we there which made the view all the more enjoyable. Still, this is Africa, and you simply have to change your expectations about many things, and just let go. When your food will arrive, whether you will have power or hot water, whether your beer will be cold or warm is all up for grabs. Set your western resort expectations aside. This is Africa.
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Something that folks rave about when they come to Axim is the trip to the stilt village. We drove within a few km of the Ivory Coast border into a little coastal town Beyin which is the launch point for the stilt village called Nzulezo. We parked the cars near the beach and we couldn’t help but notice a killer sand bar break that was producing super long lefts. Maria Sweasey, you would have been in heaven. It was only about three feet, and as with most of Ghana, the waves went unclaimed, set after set. In and the tour office we met the men that would “pole” us. We were also told that the “elder” of the village would give us the history of the village for a donation of one bottle of local gin – I kid you not. We bought the gin. From here we walked into what feels like a Bayou and climbed into Canoes. Francis and Felix, our two pole-men/tour guides, pushed the boats along with their poles and we rowed when it was deep enough. We made our way through jungle and onto a large and broad river. After a few km or so of paddling, we pulled up to the stilt village. The village was not what we expected. I expected grass and bamboo huts and few signs of western influence. Wrong! First, we were greeted by the bar owner/landing party who was ready to set up beers and sodas for us. I bought a round. We cooled off as much as you can in 85 degree, 95% humidity. From here we walked with Felix and Francis to meet the “elder”. We walked through the village and it was incredibly dirty and it was evident that the people of the village were simply tired of having visitors. They’d rather we not be there. We arrived in the area where the elder would visit with us, and as we expected, he appeared to be hammered, having polished off his last donation. We listened to the history of the village and it was settled by Malis that were fleeing tribal warfare. Here, they were untouchable, and here they had a windless environment versus living on the other side of the village where the farms existed. This trip was fun, but the real fun was in rowing the canoes and seeing the landscape. The village felt a bit like a sideshow to the real event.
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On the way home the kids and Carol visited the Cape Coast Castle. I had gone home with Fred a day earlier, in dire need of antibiotics, having ingested something very wrong. The Cape Coast Castle is ominous. That is an understatement. You see, the Cape Coast Castle was built by the Portuguese in the 1500s to hold and transport slaves off to the rest of the world. 12 million slaves passed through this Castle on the way to Brazil, Spain, Portugal, Britain and the America to name a few. 8 million of those slaves died either in the Castle or crossing the water. There were 3 holding cells, each the size of a living room that would hold 150 women. No light. No toilets. Little water. Women stayed in there for months before being transported in a weakened state, only being let out so they could be examined to see who would be cleaned and strengthened so governor could rape them. The men were treated equally badly and there was even a cell that existed simply to starve insubordinate slaves to death. One room called the point of no return was the last room a slave entered before they were loaded on a ship for transport. Here they might see a family member one last time as they were boarded on ships headed to different places. A man might go to Brazil (the most common destination) and his brother to America. If either made it to their destination, which only 33% did. The Cape Coast Castle is an ominous example of man’s inhumanity to man and should be experienced by all visitors to Ghana.
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The one thing about Ghanian beaches that we found tough to deal with was driving through one poor village after another to reach a beach that we intended to use as our playground. These people use the beach and the ocean for their subsistence. They may fish in the ocean, they may gather rocks or shells on the beaches. It really hurt our hearts to see hungry people in every town, and folks wearing clothes that they had on for weeks without washing. The real expats who have been here for a long time see through all of it, and don’t notice, but for our family it was really hard to see. We were reminded by expats that these people love their way of life and are happy. Living to our standard wouldn’t make them any more so. We were reminded that only 70 years ago, these areas looked as they did 700 years ago and that what we were seeing was progress and evolution. The advent of cell phones and power is changing many of these lives for the better, and you can see it, albeit inch by inch.
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A fitting sendoff to our visit in Ghana was some freaky behavior in the power grid. Ghana power was suffering fits and starts and power out then on then out then on. Freddy and Anna’s generator was failing as well adding to the scene. When we got to the airport, we saw lightning on the horizon, and understood. The airport lost power three times and the Windows ™ start up screen appeared on every monitor in the place. We made our way to the plane and bid Accra and Ghana farewell with a heavy sigh (we’ll miss our family and friends) and perhaps just the slightest feeling of relief.
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Posted by Blakei 08:16 Archived in Ghana Tagged family_travel Comments (3)

Kenya - The School of the Savannah

Free the Children and Leaders Today – Making a difference

sunny 70 °F

This story really begins last June in Cannes France where I met a young man named Craig Keilburger. Craig is the founder of a nonprofit organization called Free the Children. Craig started Free the Children when he was 12 years old to fight child labor. Free the Children’s scope has since grown to include freeing children from poverty and exploitation as well as empowering young people with the confidence to create positive change in the world. As part of this scope, Free the Children has built 500 schools around the world, with over 65% of the funding coming from children. I was so inspired by what Craig and Free the Children was doing, I wanted to get our kids involved in some way, I just didn’t know how given our already-committed travel schedule. While we were in Tibet, Carol and I discussed taking the kids to Kenya to help build a school. We thought it would be a fantastic experience. We could easily carve out a week as a side trip during our Ghana visit. With that decision, we made arrangements for our family and Anna, Carol’s sister Anna, to spend a week in Kenya.

We landed at Nairobi’s Jomo Kenyatta airport at 5:30am, blearily making our way through immigration, customs and baggage claim. We were met by two beaming faces from Free the Children. Brooke and Jon were there with bells on, bubbling with much more energy than we had, having slept rather poorly on our flight. We stepped outside and made our way to the van. It was cool. Uh oh. We didn’t dress for cool. I mean, Nairobi is on the equator, isn’t it. It was completely lost on us that Nairobi is at an elevation of 5,500 feet and it doesn’t matter if you’re on the equator. Whoops. Filo, our driver, whisked us to the Karen Blixen Coffee Plantation through the early morning traffic of Nairobi. While I distantly listened to Jon and Brooke talking with everyone in the back seats, I recognized Jon’s voice. I was so tired, I never put it together. Jon had been the person in Toronto that had put our entire trip together. I re-introduced myself with a bit more vigor.
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We freshened up in our rooms at the Karen Blixen, and met Jon and Brooke again for a trip to a Giraffe Sanctuary and a bead factory. The Giraffe Sanctuary was really interesting. We were taught about giraffes, where they live, the three sub species that live in Kenya, and we were able to get up close and personal which these pictures show. Yes, their tongues are disgusting, but they actually carry a natural antibiotic, so after licking our faces, we were actually healthier than before (real or imagined). We visited the bead factory that employs mostly single moms and saw them working the process of painting and firing beads. We also went to the Karen Blixen Museum. Karen Blixen wrote the novel “Out of Africa”. We saw her original house, plus many artifacts from the movie with Robert Reford as well. It was Valentine's day which was kind of lost on all of us, until we tried to get a table for dinner. No chance. Anna, Carol, me and the kids ate in the bar amongst the decorations and fawning sweethearts.
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The next morning we prepared for a short charter flight headed to Kenya’s Masai Mara, about 200km from Nairobi. This is where Free the Children and its sister organization “Leaders Today” have developed a site for Kenyan volunteers. The “School of the Savannah” not only houses volunteers, it also acts as a leadership development campus of sorts, provides a place to gather and reflect on the day’s activities, and acts as a hub between school building projects. It also provides jobs for local people. With the worldwide news about political unrest and tribal fighting in Kenya, very few people were traveling and we were the only volunteers staying at the facility. At the plane, we were met by some of the leaders of Free the Children, that were having an offsite at the facility. We met Mark, (Craig’s brother), Roxanne, (Marks wife), David Baum, (an organizational consultant), Peter Rihuhu, (who runs Kenyan operations), his wife Michelle who provides medical services to many of the villages, and their baby son Kananja (aka Andrew). We flew out of the charter airport directly over Kibera, where most of the televised violence had taken place. Kibera is the 2nd largest slum in Africa (Soweto is the first) and it is pretty amazing to view from the air. People buy a piece of corrugated metal lean it up against another, and call it home, until they can afford or acquire another piece of metal to make a wall and roof. Once they have a roof and walls, maybe they’ll even fashion a door, and once they have that, they can hang a curtain and perhaps rent the half of their “home”. Almost hard to believe. After we passed over Kibera, we passed over large estates and homes that rival the stateliness of southern plantations and these soon gave way to farms and rolling hills. We approached the great rift valley, and the Mara. We were all surprised by how much agriculture there was. I don’t know what we expected, but farms, for as far as we could see, wasn’t it. The only animals we saw as we landed were Cows.
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We were met on the landing strip by a Masai Warrior and guide named Nabaala (the Masai name for Greedy or Hungry). Nabaala wore traditional Masai clothing and carried a Machete and a Konga (a Massai club). It was love at first site for the boys. We were also met by Robin, an American from Chicago who has lived in Kenya for 5 years, and speaks the local languages with ease. We walked to the facility and Nabaala speaking great English described plants to us, using english and latin names as he pointed out the plants. Is this guy for real? The answer is yes, but more on that later. We arrived at the facility and found a very stout electric fence surrounding it. It turns out that there is a salt marsh right next door that elephants really love, and they tended to walk through the center of the camp so the fence made a great defensive line. We thought we’d be in tents and bunks, and were surprised (actually blown away) that the facility had built family housing that was beautiful and comfortable: Two bedroom homes with lofts and two bathrooms that could sleep all 5 of us.
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Emorijoi
After lunch we drove out to two schools that Free the Children had built in communities that were a few kilometers away from the facility. As we slowly traversed the well torn and bumpy road, all the locals we passed were waving to us in our trucks. Young children would stream across farms toward the road, not with a hand out, but rather, a huge smile and two arms outstretched, waving and yelling “Jambo!” which means welcome or hello! We pulled into the entrance of the Emorijoi primary school and we were greeted by a throng of sweater clad children lining the fence, singing a greeting song and welcoming us into their school. The music was beautiful and the children’s faces were lit up with excitement. We stepped out of the cars, and the kids flocked to touch us, hold our hands, say their names and ask ours. It was overwhelming and Carol’s eyes were tearing. They kids were so appreciative of our visit and so interested in Parker and Griffin. We met Paul the headmaster, a strong, quiet, and gracious man, who walked us about the school buildings that free the children had built. He also walked us to where the old buildings stood, to show us the improvement, and then showed us a water station where children wash their hands after using one of the new toilets. He was very proud that kids were finally washing their hands after going to the bathroom. Hygienic consciousness is no small accomplishment here. It is a very big deal and can improve community health almost instantly. We talked with Paul about the impact and the growth the school had seen since the new classrooms had been built. A new school is a self fulfilling prophecy of success. More new buildings can decrease class sizes, which interest more parents, which brings in new students, which brings in new teaches, which improves student/teacher ratios, which improves quality of teaching and learning. Paul talked about a future phase which would provide teacher housing on campus, so teachers wouldn’t have to walk or drive from villages far away. It seems only a few weeks earlier during a rain, high water over one road prevented teachers from getting to school. Not at all uncommon. As we walked to the cars, some little kids were playing tag and chase with Griffin and Parker and we all joined in. One child in particular, who looked to be about 4 years old and full of diabolic energy, taunted me by rolling his eyes, swiveling his hips, and with arms outstretched motioning with his fingers to “come get me”. My heart melted a thousand times right there. We played like this for a while, before heading to the school where we would spend our days working.
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Enelerai
Enelerai school is a few Kilometers from Emorijoi and services a different community. The kids knew we were coming and welcomed us similarly, following us up the hill to the school as we entered. Bright new classrooms had been built for the elementary school, and the old classrooms still stood. It began to rain and we made our way under shelter in the old classrooms. Kids flooded into the room from behind, beside, and they even seemed to ooze through cracks in the walls, like the water that was pouring outside. We were packed in and they were singing and asked if we would sing. I got volunteered since Carol and kids were too shy, and I completely blanked. The only song I could think of was “On Broadway” from George Benson, thanks to some bad Karaoke memories. I belted it out and surprised the kids… and myself because I actually remembered the words. We then ALL sang songs that Brooke led and that was a blast. The rain stopped. The kids went back to class. We walked into classrooms and each of us introduced ourselves, while some of the kids did the same. Parker noted that the 8th grade class was actually doing 9th grade math from California. 8th Grade is the last year in elementary school before you move on to secondary school and only the best make it to 9th grade. The 8th grade class is small, composed of only the best, most serious and most fortunate students. These students didn’t have to stay home or drop out to help with the farm or the chores. Many do. It takes great parental commitment and a breaking with historical norms to take a child through secondary school. We saw a great deal of that Enelerai. This village dreams of great things and education is the way to get there.
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The Building Experience
The differences between old and new classrooms at Enelarai is stark. The older classrooms consist of mud and stick walls, small openings for windows, a tattered tin roof, uneven mud floors, a black board, and desks. It is hard to see the black board or for that matter the students. The new classrooms in sharp contrast have thick cement foundations, brick walls, skylights in the roof for light, and glass windows. They are clean and they stand proud. We were here at Enelerai to help with the secondary school and were in fact going to start digging the foundation of the kitchen the next day. The next day, we began working on digging the footers for the foundation. We spent four days working alongside Kenyan construction workers, some of which live in the area, and some of which come a long way to work on the project (referred to as Fundi’s) . Truth be told, we only put in a half day on each of these four days, and even with that, it was hard work. Picks, Shovels, biceps and backs are the tools of creating footers in rural Africa, not backhoes. Carol and I wanted the boys experience to be one of blisters. That would prove true. Our job was to dig the footers around the perimeter of the kitchen to a depth of about four feet. The first day the ground was very wet and the clay chunks that lay just under the grass stuck in thick chunks to our shovel blades and Picks. This was slow going. We learned from Wilson, a Fundi, who was there with us every day, how best to do this. The clay chunks were so large that Anna started a trend by not even using the shovel and just heaving them out. Over the next three days, the earth dried and we got more productive. We couldn’t help but notice that the ditches seemed deeper than when we left. We were grateful the Fundi’s were helping us make our way through the muck and we were more grateful that they put us with our ineptness as I’m sure we were to a large degree just getting in their way. In any event the kids put in some good hard work and we all got blisters. Working alongside the local men was extraordinary and taught us how to pace ourselves, and also taught us how tough these men are for putting 10 or so hours of grueling physical effort into the same trench each day. We finished our work by creating rebar structures for the cement pour. We cut the rebar with a hack saw, cut wire with a hammer and rocks, and tied the rebar sections together. It seems amazing how things are done here when you consider the expensive power tools that are available in the world. People, not power, nor money are available more broadly here, and that’s what deployed.
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We were working on Sunday morning when we heard some African music from beyond a tree line. I could swear it was live. And we argued about Radio vs: Live. During a quick break we peaked between the trees to see a church service taking place inside a small and austere building. A quasi-tuned synthesizer and drum machine belted out music that went on for what seemed like hours. Folks inside could be seen dancing and heard singing. What did we do? We danced our way back to the digging site, playing with a little girl who lived nearby as she danced as well. I wish I could describe the dance. It was beautiful, rhythmic, proud, and distinctly Kenyan. I’ve seen this dance before, but never in states.

Nabaala
We had a morning and an evening with Nabaala, the Masai Warrior who patiently spent time with us educating us about the Masai. One morning he took us to an open field to teach us some of the Masai’s weapons. He taught us how to throw a club called a konga and how to shoot his bow and arrow. It was amazing to watch the command that Nabaala had over these tools. Nabaala could hit a bird in flight with his Konga, and easily hit an animal in the eye with his bow from over 100 meters. The bow and the conga were wooden and handmade. We all took turns trying them both with differing degrees of success. Nabaala was a great teacher, praising every attempt with “Wow!” that was great! The kids are hooked. In the evening, we sat around a table on a hillside sipping tea as the sun went down, as Nabaala told us about the process to become a Masai Warrior in the first person. Now, I know I’m going to get some of this wrong, but it’s largely right. (Chime in Nabaala if I got something wrong). He was named when he was 5 years old, not when he was born, based on his characteristics or nature. At 12, he was circumcised quite publicly and if he flinched during the operation, he was basically cast out of his village as a “flincher” shamed by his entire family. Nabaala is not a flincher. Nabaala was prepared for his circumcision by burning, cutting, etc… to get him ready for the pain. After a successful circumcision, Nabaala entered a hut for 6 months to heal his wounds. He couldn’t bathe nor cut his hair. At the end of that healing period, he bathed, cut his hair, and then went to a camp where he ate meat, trained on his weapons, and saw his body change to prepare for the ultimate ritual: kill a lion. Masai men must kill a male lion and come back with it’s mane as a headdress to become a warrior. Nabaala described his time in cave on the Mara where he prepared for his lion kill. He described how he killed the lion and lost two friends in the process. He described how urgently he needed to kill the lion, because he had an exam to ensure he get into secondary school, and he couldn’t afford to miss it. Nabaala did actually kill a lion and make it back in time for his exam. Nabaala went on to attend a 4 year university in Nairobi to study botany, biology and the environment, and he now enriches people’s lives by keeping the Masai culture alive and educating us on all that surrounds us on the Mara. This is a truly amazing guy who lives every day like it is his last.
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The Village Walk
We spent an afternoon on a community walk near Enelerai where we were able to visit with some of the local people in their homes. We were taken by the pride the village women had in showing us their homes and walking us through the neighborhood. The proudly showed us their school and the new water collection system, and a few different homes where we met some wonderful people. The homes were round, one or two room bungalows, and the cooking was done inside over an open fire, in some homes in the same room as the bed. Smoke fills the hut and everything smells of it. Most young children have runny noses because of all the smoke, that and a relatively low functioning immune system. If you imagine a young child clinging to his mom while she is cooking , it all makes sense. The houses were clean and well cared for. We were educated on how daily tasks are done and who is responsible for what. It seems that the women do all the work. I know that’s a bit blunt, but it’s true. They fetch the water. They fetch the firewood. They cook the dinner. They keep the house. They manage the kids. These women are studs. The men take the herds in and out every day. That’s it. You do find men like those working along side us at the school, but apparently this isn’t the norm. We had a chance to fetch water, just like an 8 year old girl would do in her village. We all tried it. Imagine carrying a 50lb container of water on your heard for two kilometers. Now imagine doing that twice or three times a day. You do this just so you can cook, or wash, or drink. And this water comes from the Mara river, which is not a clean river. We all took turns carrying the water on our heads with a rope strap. It was very hard and completely impossible to imagine an 8 year old girl doing this two times a day, school or not.
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We were lucky to have tea with three of the women with whom we walked the village earlier that day. We sat around a table and spoke frankly of the way things were long ago, and the way they are now. We spoke about men and their roles and women and their roles. We spoke of wife beatings which are common, about wives having wives if they are unable to have children, about men having multiple wives which is also quite common, and about the very little that men actually do on a daily basis. It is hard to grock why this is a male dominated society, given that women do all the work. Female circumcision is still practiced, (illegal but practiced), men beat their wives, take loans and then disappear, etc… Carol told them that I actually do the laundry and they giggled, seeming a little uncomfortable with the concept, while still wanting the village men to do more. One of the women there manufactured and sold charcoal, (which is an insanely tough and labor intensive job) to bring in the family’s money, and she still held down all the other responsibilities in her household. She was 60. With all of the responsibility and pain these women shoulder, they still find the time to organize as a group to work on projects with the intent of moving their community forward. These women, and women like them, are the strongest force of change for rural Kenya. We include Robin among them.

The closing “ceremony”
Our last day at the Enelerai school ended in a thank you ceremony in which we were thanked by teachers, parents and students alike for coming to their village and their school, and for contributing what we had in our short stay, and for spending time with them. We each spoke in front of the students and parents, and thanked them in turn for educating us and welcoming us into their community. We had learned so much and were so grateful for all they had given us: warmth, welcome, kindness, laughter, and an overwhelming sense that at its core, humanity is good regardless of circumstance. We finished the day playing a game of soccer with some of the students and it was astonishing to see them run across a field full of rocks in their bare feet, showing off skills. We wished that we had been here much longer and had accomplished much more. We hope to come back to this wonderful place and help in any way we can.
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We came to Kenya and the School of the Savannah to show our children firsthand what can happen when a small group of likeminded people are inspired to do something for others. We came to show them that a small act can blossom past impossibilities into something that can affect millions of lives. We came to show them that inspiration and perspiration when combined could achieve the impossible, and we hoped that we would find people that exemplified all of that. We did.

Robin: Thank you for educating and inspiring us with your story and for helping these people so passionately. We honestly don’t believe that people would be waving feverishly at every car as it drives by if it wasn’t for the genuine care you have shown to these people and the frank and open dialog that you have had with them that has made so much of this possible.

Jon and Brooke: Thanks for helping us understand things on our own when you thought we should and explaining things when you thought we needed it. Also, thanks for being our friends and cohorts. Your sense of humor and skills as facilitators helped us enjoy our trip more than we ever could have on our own. We are still laughing at the answer to Parker’s question: “Hey Brooke, If we combined the USA with Canada, what do you think we should call it?” Your immediate dead pan response: “Canada.” Brilliant. Jon, we’re now hooked on Arrested Development. Thanks. You were both awesome and insightful from pick up to drop off and felt like part of the family. You know where we live. :-)

Nabaala: Thanks for everything. Parker wants only to be a Masai warrior now. Do you have room in your next camp? :-)

Roxanne, Michelle, Mark, Peter, and David: We consider ourselves very lucky to have had a couple of nights with you over the dinner table. You are all living proof of what my sister Lori believed, and what Margaret Mead said was 100% right: Never doubt that a small group of thoughtful, committed citizens can change the world. Indeed, it is the only thing that ever has.

Thanks for everything.

Posted by Blakei 09:10 Archived in Kenya Tagged family_travel Comments (6)

Accra, Ghana

We’re not in Kansas anymore…

semi-overcast 88 °F

The plane arrived in Ghana and we were greeted by a blanket of heat as we descended the stairs to a waiting bus on the tarmac. The heat was less stifling than we expected, thanks to a seasonal phenomena known as the Harmattan, a dry and dusty West African trade wind that blows from the Sahara into the Gulf of Guinea. It carriers sand and dust that blocks out the sun like a fog. Even with that, it was over 90°, and humid. We grabbed our bags, made our way through customs and to the curb, where our official greeter, “Uncle Freddy” stood by with Dennis, his driver and trusty sidekick. We are here visiting Fred and Anna Adams, Carol’s sister and her husband. Fred works for Chevron in Accra, has been here for two years, and is working on bringing fuels and natural gas to Ghana from Nigeria. Fred and Anna live in the Accra suburb of East Legon in a great house that easily manages all of us, Fred, Anna and the folks that work for them – which is very typical for an expat. In fact, employing local Ghanaians is required by the government for expats.
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The contrast in this East Legon neighborhood is something that you wouldn’t see in a developed nation, but is quite typical in Africa. Next to this great house that we are staying in is a tin shack with a family living in it full time. Chickens roam the yard and each morning the family bathes themselves in the yard. Children will be raised to adulthood in this house, and those children could become Doctors or Lawyers. People emerge from these tiny tin shacks dressed, pressed, and starched to the nines, ready to go to work. A similar home is just across the street. This is just the way it is here, and it can be seen all over Accra. It’s not considered strange. It just is. Another thing that “just is” are construction projects that seem to never end. Beautiful homes rise in the neighborhood and then seem to stop making progress. They’ll make progress eventually, just not now. Skeletons of incomplete homes and buildings punctuate the landscape and this isn’t considered at all bizarre. It just is. Another thing that “just is” is fluctuating water and power supply. The power goes out regularly and every large home has a generator to maintain power. The power doesn’t just stop. The lights start to dim, and then eventually the power goes completely. The same thing happens with water. It just runs out and comes back at another time. Folks don’t fret about it. They just make sure their schedule accommodates this kind of thing, and they don’t get upset when it happens. It is expected. It just is.
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Another thing that is expected is traffic. There are 2.2 million people in Accra and the roads and infrastructure struggle to accommodate them. Streets are paved, then not. Streets appear to be “through”, and then just stop. Lanes are simply suggestions which are largely ignored by the locals, and traffic lights sit lifelessly, without power, encouraging intersection anarchy. With all that traffic, the stop and go, the near misses, and the stifling heat, people wave to each other calmly as they let drivers squeeze ahead of them into the lane, then patiently waiting for the next five feet of movement. Whether in a car, a cab or a tro-tro (a large shared taxi van) they just patiently wait. You won’t find road rage in Ghana. It takes a long time to go anywhere, or do anything, and people expect it. Man, could LA use a dose of that or what? Something that complicates the traffic situation is the lack of super markets or super stores that might have everything you need. There are no home depots, kmarts, best buys, etc.. If you want to get some nails, you might have to go to the other side of town, which could take more than an hour. We’ve been part of this routine now for over a week. This isn’t a convenient life. Again, in sharp contrast, and Accra is a contrast Anna can walk across the street and buy soap, eggs, salt, and other staples, just by walking to the neighbor's little "shed of commerce" across the street.
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Something that the Expats apparently don’t like, but we love are the “hawkers” on the street corners. Every busy intersection is abuzz with vendors walking and running between lanes of cars with goods for sale. Apples, water bags, toilet paper, mops, ice cube trays, chocolates, magazines, snacks, or whatever you can carry on your head. The hawkers negotiate deals with the folks in the cars, send in the goods and then continue to barter for a mutually agreeable price. The hawkers then chase after the cars to either get the cash or get the goods back if a satisfactory price can’t be negotiated. This works pretty efficiently. We picked up three ice cube trays and two power outlet converters just yesterday.
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The People
A Ghanaian cab driver in New York once told us that we would see the “sweet face of humanity” in Ghana, and he went on to tell us “A little food, a little music, and a little soccer” is all that Ghanaians need. He wasn’t exactly right, but on the whole, the people of Ghana are wonderful. The people are fun, passionate, hard working, and they love life. They love life just like it is here. They don’t wish for a life that we might have in the states because you can get to your store faster, or have 200 kinds of cheese side by side in the grocery store. They appear to like it just the way it is. Esther and Dennis who run the house for Anna and Freddy are great examples of local Ghanaians. They are quick to smile and love to hear us “try” and use the local language called Twi (pronounced Trwee). Of course they both speak excellent English as well, but they speak Ghanaian around each other and we love to try. Esther’s daughter Gifty (a great name!) and her brother Kwamei are at the house quite often and we’ve been playing cards with them, doing homework with them, listening to music, talking soccer, and just hanging out.
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The Africa Cup of Nations
We were very lucky to have our visit coincide with the Africa Cup of Nations soccer tournament. This tournament takes place once every two years, and pits the best teams in Africa against each other. This is Africa’s world cup. This year the tournament was in Ghana, and the semi finals and the finals were being played in Accra. Soccer was everywhere. Anna went on a scalper search for some tickets and at the last minute, we were all able to get tickets to the Ghana vs: Cameroon semi final game. The scalper’s prices were dropping as the game approached and we lucked out. The streets on the way to the semi final were beyond jammed. Hawkers ran between cars selling Ghanaian fan gear; shirts, flags, horns, silly hats, whistles, scarves... The Ghanaian team is called the “Black Stars” and this night, Accra was going Black Star crazy. As we approached the stadium, we had to get out of the car and walk. Traffic just stopped and we were passed by masses of Ghanaians walking the streets, either going to the game or crowding around televisions that glowed in shops fronts. The air was damp and hot, and thick with the smells of smoke and meat cooking over open fires in the parking lot. Dusk was settling in. African rhythms boomed from drums while bands and DJs played fantastic Ghanaian and Cameroonian music. Huge crowds danced and fires burned while the music played. We separated into twos and made way to our entry gates. Parker and I had seats together and we smashed ourselves into the queue to get in. The game was starting and we were still in line. We pushed forward and I swept a pickpockets hand away from my pockets, we saw a south African bloke throw a man to the ground to protect his friends backpack. We were told it might be rough. It was. We made our way to the seats while the game was in full swing, and the crowd was so loud you couldn’t hear your own voice. At half time, it was still zero-zero, and they fans were jubilant. About 25 minutes into the second half, Cameroon scored, the collective Ghanaian crowd audibly exhaled, followed by an uneasy silence. The rest of the game was painful to watch as Cameroon dived all over the pitch , feigning injuries. On the way to meet the others, the streets were calm but crowded, and resignation could be read on the face of the locals. Esther was very upset and was holding back tears. She was a good proxy for all Ghanaians. The excitement waned a bit in the city after that evening, but it was still “the cup” and the city was still excited. Freddy and I went to a sports bar for the final, and saw a group of young men from Cameroon jump from the crowd and begin playing with the band in the post game. Cameroon lost to Egypt, but the Cameroonians were partying as if they won, and hearing their rhythms and the ease at which they maneuvered through complex polyrhythmic chanting and drumming absolutely blew my mind.
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Golfing in Ghana
Fred and I played a round of golf at the only “grass” course in Accra. I use the term grass rather loosely, because there wasn’t much of it. The greens were like rough, the sand traps were more mud than sand, and the fairways played like a hazard. Shacks lined some holes on the course, while shared TVs glowed with the Ghana cup consolation game, which would eventually establish Ghana as the third place team. Our caddies were awesome, and they steered Fred and I around the course, avoiding army ants and termite mounds. I lost only one ball thanks to a stellar forecaddie. It was unbelievably hot and humid and you could hear Ghana scoring as neighborhoods broke out in shouts at each Ghanaian goal.
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The Market Places
Cynthia is one of Anna and Freddy’s gate guards (yes the house has barbed wire and a manned gate), and she has a special talent. She is an incredible seamstress. Anna asked if she would make some clothes for us and she gladly said “Yes!” She asked to see a pair of my pants, and said she could make a new pair just like it. We just had to go shop for fabric. So Esther Dennis, Anna, Carol and I made our way to the market. This is the Ghanaian peoples market where you can buy fabrics in one shop, buttons in another shop, thread in yet another shop, Ghanaian hip hop in another and so on. This market reminded us a bit of the Barkhor in Tibet. Crowded and tight streets, lined with small shops, snaked their way through alleys and walk ways. A few large streets crisscross the market slowly transporting goods in open lorries. We cruised the markets and had an awesome time. The people welcomed us into their shops and dickered with us on prices. Negotiating the deals was half the fun. The other half was walking the market to the shouts of “Abrone!” (meaning foreigner), and shaking hands with Ghanaian shop owners and their friends. People in these markets loved to see us, and you could tell by reactions that it was very novel and unique to have white people in this market. We keep remembering our NYC cab driver telling us “You will see the sweet face of humanity” … indeed I think we did
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Posted by Blakei 09:20 Archived in Ghana Tagged family_travel Comments (2)

Emirates Airlines and Dubai

Man – that was a long flight

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Well, if you have to take a long flight, Emirates is the Airline to take. This, by any measure was a long flight and thus warrants its own blog entry. The service was great, the food was fantastic, the kids were treated like special little citizens, and the seats were very comfortable. We flew business class because we knew it was going to be brutal. We flew 3 hours to Sydney, 14 hours to Dubai, and then 9 hours to Accra, Ghana. The flights, including layovers, wore on for 30 hours gate-to-gate. Dubai was our introduction into the region. The airport was immense and people from all over Africa, the Middle East, and Europe lay strewn across the floor of the terminal, sleeping with their heads against the walls. With thousands of others, we pushed carts of carry-on luggage through the terminal through the masses avoiding those sleeping on the floor.
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We arrived at sunrise and the city loomed large, or maybe I should say stretched tall, rising out of a hanging dust cloud. Parker was in heaven, and had been chattering about the Dubai skyscrapers since the beginning of the trip. What we saw from the sky and the airport was pretty shocking and certainly isn’t replicated anywhere else in the world. One building actually stands double the height of the empire state building and we could see this from the airport terminal. Other clusters of immense buildings rise all over the city in what I’m sure is anything but a random pattern. As we left the city and the airspace, it seemed really odd to see all of this incredible building, and then seeing how quickly and abruptly it stops - running into vast stretches of sand. On one side of town, the view conjured up visions of Vegas, and the other side, Miami. Both on steroids.dubaiblog01.jpg
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Posted by Blakei 05:31 Archived in United Arab Emirates Tagged family_travel Comments (1)

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