I spent last Saturday at Ngorongoro Crater in northern Tanzania and it was incredible. And even more incredible for me to think of was that this was my third visit to this amazing spot.
Hands down, among the biggest “perks” of my job are these kinds of opportunities. Some people enjoy company cars or airplanes, memberships at clubs or season passes to famous ski resorts as a result of their jobs. For me, because much of my work at Compassion has included hosting visitors to the countries where we work, I get to see some of the great sights our world has to offer.
I’ve gone fishing for piranhas on the Amazon, wandered through Mayan, Aztec and Incan ruins, seen the sights of world cities like Bangkok and Calcutta, rummaged through the stalls at dozens of interesting local markets, and seen the ocean from numerous beaches on both sides of Latin America, as well as in the Caribbean, Asia, and East and West Africa. Perhaps my favorite though, I’ve been able to see Africa’s animals up close and personal on several occasions. (On a day in 2005 after an especially close encounter with a cluster of giraffes, I returned to the hotel to find an email from my dad, who knew I was on safari, entitled “Have you kissed a giraffe?” I wrote back, “I didn’t, but I could have.”)
And I get to do all this in the name of work.
After a week of all-day meetings, as we headed to the Crater this time, I looked forward to the day with expectation, knowing how gorgeous that spot of earth is. But adding to my enjoyment was the fact that I had a special guest along this time -- my Compassion sponsored child, Godlisten. Fast approaching his 14th birthday now, Godlisten was just seven years old when he and I met on my first trip to Africa in 2001 a few weeks after I became his sponsor. We’ve managed to see each other a few times through the years, meeting for dinner or a day at a park or ice cream or, when all else failed, for a few minutes together at the Compassion office in Tanzania.
Phoebe & Godlisten -- this is, if I remember correctly, our fifth visit together. Godlisten doesn't realize that most Compassion children never have an opportunity to meet their sponsor. For him, it's just normal for me to show up every 12-18 months.
A few years ago, Godlisten had gotten to spend a few hours on a short safari close to home that Compassion arranged for his entire student center, and in the intervening years at various points in his letters he had mentioned how much he liked seeing the animals of his homeland. So when I realized I had an opportunity to take him with me to the Crater, I jumped on it. Early as it was when we departed Arusha, Godlisten headed out on this new adventure with his big beautiful eyes wide open, ready not to miss a thing.
A very happy Godlisten looks out the top of our safari vehicle moments after we got to the bottom of the Crater.
And what a view we got. In my opinion, Ngorongoro is a stunning place in any weather and at any time of year. But this particular visit may have spoiled me forever. As we began to descend into the 100-square-mile Crater, we were at first swallowed in a fog that kept us from seeing much beyond the deep green of the very closest trees and plants. But turning a bend, we were suddenly met with sunshine and very soon after, the sight of an incredible landscape below us. Tanzania is coming to the end of its rainy season, and so every surface was lush and green from the moisture.
What I did not know until this visit, though, was that at this time of year most of the valley boasts mile upon mile of wildflowers. Yellow, royal blue, pink, white -- it was absolutely incredible. And then among all the flowers, there were countless gazelles, zebras, wildebeests, hartebeests, buffalo, elephants, ostriches and numerous other types of birds. The lakeshore was so densely populated with flamingoes that there were stretches of solid pink, broken up only by the occasional flapping of the birds’ large wings. All this made it easy to understand why Ngorongoro has been nicknamed the Garden of Eden.
There were lots of babies everywhere -- zebras, baboons, wildebeests and more -- trying to keep up with the rest of their families and herds.In a day filled with breathtaking sights however, two stood out. In six years of safaris, I had previously never seen a rhino, save for a black dot I once viewed through binoculars while a guide said “that’s a rhino.” But on this day, as we were driving along we suddenly came on a massive rhino, perhaps 60 meters from the road, nonchalantly munching on the wildflowers and paying us no mind at all.
My first rhino sighting! They have a reputation for staying far away from people in Ngorongoro, but this one was not at all phased by our presence.
Not long after, we came across two different pairs of lions, even closer to us than the rhino. In each case, a male and female lion lounged together among the flowers, for all the world looking as though they were enjoying a lazy afternoon on holiday. The moment we spotted the first pair was perfected as Godlisten, with eyes wide and jaw dropped, said “simba” (Swahili for lion) under his breath. He told me later it was his favorite sight of the day.
Mr & Mrs Lion on holiday... I know I have a lot of lion photos here, but I just couldn't get over the scene and wanted to include as many as possible.
From the first day I met Godlisten, when asked what he wanted to be when he grew up he always answered “a driver.” He has always been fascinated with cars, but coming from a very poor background has ridden in them only a few times. I still remember that when I headed out for a day of story gathering on that 2001 trip and invited Godlisten to come along, he was ecstatic. Not because he was going to spend the day with me so much as because we would be going from place to place in a taxi, and it was his first time in a car.
During his years at the student center, Godlisten has been encouraged to continue his education for as long as he can and to dream big about what he might do with his life. He has listened to this advice, but it has never changed his love of cars, and somewhere along the way, perhaps two years ago, he began saying that he would study tourism so he could become a safari driver -- quite a good career in an area of his country termed the Safari Capital for East Africa.
I think our day together, bumping along in an old Land Cruiser with the sun and the wind and all that incredible beauty all around us, only solidified his dream. When I asked if, perhaps 15 years from now, I could count on him to take me and my family on safari, he didn’t even have to wait for my question to be translated into Swahili. With his big wide smile he said -- in English -- a resounding “yes.”
Two Phoebes! For the first time in my life, I have another Phoebe around. Up to now, at no point had I ever shared my name with anyone at school, university or any job I've had. But now that I've moved to Africa, there is another Phoebe working with me in the region. She is from Burkina Faso and is such a dramatic, smiling, laughing person and I love to be around her. Though after years of never writing my last name on anything and always knowing that if someone said "Phoebe" it was me they meant, I will confess that it's an adjustment to stop and confirm which Phoebe is being spoken to at times.
This picture is one I took a few years ago in Uganda, but I thought it was an appropriate introduction to this post. For today's purposes I'll call it "Practicing"...
Yesterday, as I was driving to work I saw a man hauling a fairly good-sized bundle of wood by resting it on the seat of his bicycle and walking beside it steering the bike. I’m not talking short lengths of firewood either. I’m talking full-size lengths of something along the lines of 2x4s. He was obviously working hard, and I was impressed.
This type of transportation is very typical. In fact, in Uganda, where bicycles are the most ubiquitous of any African country I have visited, I have either seen personally or been told about by friends who witnessed it, a myriad of (impossibly) large, heavy objects being hauled by bicycle. Among the things that have made it into what I will call my “bicycle haul of fame” are a washing machine and a sofa -- put on end, so it reached far into the air.
Another photo from Uganda a few years ago. Of all the bundles I've seen hauled on bikes over the years, this was by far the cutest. Don't be too alarmed -- he wasn't actually sitting there while his dad pedaled the bike. Instead, he somehow shared the seat with his father (which is perhaps equally incredible). This was just where he waited while his father conducted his business.
In Ethiopia, I’ve witnessed similar hauling projects by taxis. Although usually pretty rickety-looking, these vehicles should obviously be able to carry more than a bicycle, and so I guess I shouldn’t be surprised to see furniture, stoves, refrigerators, etc, strapped to the tops of these cars. I think what I find interesting is that the taxi drivers agree to it! Can you imagine, in New York City or London, or Colorado Springs, for that matter, hailing a cab only to tell the driver you’d like to load your new washing machine on top to take it home?
The fact is that in the West, we’ve been conditioned to believe that every project or task must have it’s own special process, tool, gadget or gizmo. No taxi driver would ever agree to haul a refrigerator because we all know that businesses offer delivery on these things, right? Never mind that we will usually pay an additional $50-$100 for this service.
I lived in dormitories, townhomes and apartment buildings for nearly 15 years before moving here. It had been a long time since I had a lawn or trees or plants to take care of. Now I have this beautiful little lawn and garden and I found myself worrying for a couple of days because in addition to being very difficult to come by, things like lawn mowers are prohibitively expensive.
So I was greatly relieved to find out that Baptiste, who helps me at my house, is actually not only willing to use a simple hand-held tool (called a “slasher” in Uganda, but I’m not sure of its name here) for cutting the grass but actually prefers it. Nor do we need a rake. A short, handmade stick broom is more than adequate for tidying up both the grass and the brick areas of the property. I think all in all we spent less than $50 getting the various tools for cutting, trimming and cleaning my little lawn and garden.
Let’s move to the kitchen. Contrast me, who sliced my hand open just trying to use a knife rather than scissors to get into a package, with Baptiste who easily opened two cans of tomato paste for me with that same knife without a second thought. I come from the world of Williams-Sonoma and Crate & Barrel, where I’ve learned that one should have a special tool for slicing tomatoes, eggs, mangoes, avocados, grapefruit, etc. Now I live in a place where mangoes and avocados are often coming out our ears, and if I showed one of those gadgets to Baptiste, I have a feeling he would laugh.
Lest you think I’m demonizing those types of stores I mentioned above, let me pause to assure you that I’m absolutely not. I love wandering around kitchen gadget shops and seeing all the new fun things that can make cooking and baking easier. Before I moved I made more than one Crate & Barrel run and spent lots of time in Target’s kitchen utensil aisle.
Many of the cool gizmos available are actually pretty practical. There’s a lot to be said for having just the right tool for the job. All I’m saying is that it’s easy to start thinking of those things as necessities, when in fact they’re luxuries. One can do a lot with fairly basic items. A bicycle. A taxi. A slasher. A stick broom. A knife.
I love having people over for dinner. I enjoy cooking but am much less likely to do more than grilled cheese or the occasional pot of soup when I have only myself to feed. However, at the moment I’ve been reticent to invite people over. Literally the only piece of furniture in my house other than the bed has been a chair that I borrowed from Chantal.
It was one thing to tell someone like Mandi who was here volunteering that she could join me for a floor picnic on Easter Sunday. She was young and game and far from home and it was Easter and having dinner with someone on the floor was better than spending the day alone. But saying “Hey, I’d like to have you over, but, um, do you mind sitting on the floor?” to someone who lives here and could enjoy dinner in the comfort of their own home where they actually have … well … furniture -- that’s a different matter.
Still, tired of spending most evenings alone, I decided to go ahead and make this funny invitation to Chantal and Mbanda, who have been so kind and hospitable to me since I arrived. Rather than laughing at me when I extended the invitation, they even postponed plans they had for Wednesday evening to say yes. And they offered to bring over a couple folding chairs so we could be really radical and not sit on the floor.
We had fajitas, and let me just say that I was very proud of how my first attempt to make tortillas by myself turned out! The food was tasty -- having all three lived in Colorado for a long time, we regularly crave Mexican food -- but what I want to talk about was the funny and fun process of maneuvering the pans and dishes in order to prepare and serve everything.
First, make the tortillas. That’s an easy decision. They can be kept warm in the oven while other things are cooking. Then wash that pan because it’s the same one needed to cook the meat and vegetables in. Cut up tomatoes and cheese and put them into two coffee mugs. Mash up the avocado in a bowl, then transfer it to a little saucer because that bowl will be needed for dessert. Melt a little chocolate bar I splurged on and add some milk so we could have the sauce over ice cream (another splurge but it was a special occasion -- my first “dinner party”).
Having no serving dishes, we served ourselves off the stove and carried our food on trays -- I have one and Chantal brought two more -- to the dining room. I only have 2 sets of flatware, but thankfully because it was fajitas, I could offer those to the guests and if they noticed that I was only using my hands they were polite and didn’t point it out.
Chantal and Mbanda were gracious and complimentary and lingered over their meal as though we had all the normal comforts of things like tables. Dessert time came and I used my two bowls to serve up their ice cream. I even offered to make coffee in the coffee press Joe brought me when he came to Uganda (coffee, I must admit, is one of the staples of my breakfast diet and my noble intentions of doing without it till my belongings arrived faded away quickly) and Mbanda accepted the offer. But all the mugs and glasses were tied up at the moment so I took quick stock. The cheese was almost all eaten. I transferred what was left onto the cutting board, washed the mug, and voila!
“Aren’t you having dessert?” Chantal asked as I delivered the coffee. I told her yes I was, returned to the kitchen to wash the mug I’d been drinking from, and served myself. She smiled big when I returned eating my ice cream from the same mug that had held my juice moments earlier.
We had a nice visit and eventually they said goodnight and headed home, generously telling me to hold onto the folding chairs until my furniture arrives. It was a very fulfilling evening and I was very happy I’d gone ahead and extended the invitation rather than waiting until I could entertain “properly”.
Don’t get me wrong. I will be absolutely thrilled when my things arrive -- hopefully in another three weeks or so. But I also appreciated the reminder this week that I don’t actually need them. I have a bed. I have a stove and refrigerator and washing machine. I now have three chairs. I have a few pots and pans, plus five cups, two plates (I borrowed the third one), two bowls and a handful of flatware. And all of that is more than enough to actually live on -- and even entertain company!
Disclaimer: Usually I tell stories, and so that is probably what you have come to expect. This week, I suppose I am feeling more philosophical. Perhaps this is partly due to the fact that as of today, I have been granted my visa and work permit and am now officially a resident of Rwanda, making the permanence of my move a little more concrete for me.
Humans were meant to live in community. It’s a concept that I’ve heard so many times in my life that I’ve come to consider it cliché. But I realize the truth of this idea in a way now that I have not understood perhaps at any other time in my life.
I recognize that I am a fairly gregarious, social person. One of those who tends to test as “extrovert” on assessments like the Myers-Briggs. So some of you more introverted people might argue that I feel this way because I am the type of person who “gains energy from other people.” But I want to make a challenge to us all that, regardless of psychological test results, part of being created “in the image of God” means that we need to have others around.
Technically I live in Rwanda now, but because of my travel, prior to this week I have not really been meeting people. I have good relationships with many of the people that I work with around the region. Some I have known for 6 or 7 years and we work well together and respect and love each other. I appreciate my times with these amazing people, but the truth is I always know that we will say goodbye in a few days, and it may be some months before I will see them again.
In Colorado, I said goodbye to an amazing group of people. In addition to my family, whom I love with a depth that I can’t put into words, I also have the privilege of knowing a group of women and men whom I admire and love and have allowed to know me to an extent that I, as a fairly self-sufficient and independent person, did not previously believe was possible.
I think I didn’t realize until this week that there has been a part of me that was reticent to search out new people in my new home because I have highly doubted that I can find another group that is as worth knowing as these individuals I have left behind. While the wonders of internet and Skype and mobile phones mean that I don’t have to completely give up meaningful communication with these lovely people, I’m understanding as the days go by my spiritual need for a local community as well.
Over the last few days, I have had the opportunity to begin to get to know two very interesting women from Belfast and Glasgow, a group of women from across the US who have become a close-knit band, and a kind medical-doctor couple from Madagascar along with their two children. In all honesty, I guess I don’t know how many of these people I will still know a year from now. That’s one of the intimidating aspects of trying to create community for oneself in a completely new place. At 18, heading off to university, it was a big adventure, part of the fun of the whole experience. At 32, sometimes it just feels like work.
But I’m learning to appreciate the process all over again. I feel fortunate to have met so many interesting people in such a short time, and at the same time recognize that many people are worth getting to know -- have interesting stories and lives and ideas and dreams -- if we just give them the opportunity to show us.
My friend Katy from Compassion in the States (hi, Katy!), when I described this international group of friends I have begun “collecting,” said that she thought it sounded like what she pictures heaven being like -- people from all over the world living together in community. I agree with her.
I made spice cookies a couple of nights ago and as soon as they were cool enough to move, I put some on a napkin and took them out to Baptiste, who works at my home. Thinking I was coming out to ask him to do something, when he realized what I was doing he smiled and said, “Thank you. Thank you very much.” Baptiste has begun to learn some English words and phrases since coming to work with me, and I have noticed that “very much” is one of his newest vocabulary phrases. He only seems to use it when I have suddenly surprised him by doing something that helps him that he wasn’t expecting.
I like to think that under any circumstances I would have taken Baptiste some cookies, but I realize that it is this longing for community -- to know and be known -- that made this moment of connection important for me.
Sunday marks the 14th anniversary of the day the Rwandan genocide began. 100 days in Rwandan history when the understanding of the need for community was forgotten and the hatred that seems to come too easily to our fallen natures took over. Here, next week will be a week of mourning as people remember those they lost during that horrific time. But as Rwanda moves forward, there is also an emphasis of forgiveness and hope as this beautiful country continues to grow and learn and look to the future.
As I learn to live within the community of my new home, I encourage my friends and family back in the West to also take a moment to remember Rwanda this weekend.
As I think I've mentioned previously, I won't have any furniture until late April or early May. So for Easter dinner I just spread a blanket on the floor of my empty dining room and Mandi (a volunteer for Chantal's homes) and I enjoyed a floor picnic of homemade spaghetti and chocolate chip cookies -- both a special treat!
Saturday marked my second full month living in Rwanda. At the moment, I feel like it’s a bit of an overstatement to say I’ve been “living” in Rwanda because of the number of days spent on the road in the last few weeks. I’ve been home exactly 12 days in March, causing one of my coworkers to ask me on Friday why I am bothering to rent a house right now. I was sort of wondering the same thing.
Since I last wrote, Spring arrived in the West, most places celebrated Easter (I say most because Ethiopia won’t celebrate Easter until sometime in April and for all I know there are other countries with different schedules as well), and I visited Tanzania and Kenya. I was supposed to be in each place for about 3 days but got stuck in Tanzania for 2 extra days. I love Tanzania, but I was only going to have a very short time at home between there and Kenya before the glitch and so was a bit frustrated to spend my Good Friday and Saturday trekking back and forth from the airport, leaving me at home for only about 36 hours before heading out again.
Now I am settled in back at home and am looking forward to about three straight weeks without travel, which will be very nice. I spend a large percentage of my travel time in meetings, and while the meetings are often productive and worthwhile, I struggle to find an interesting way to write about those! But in all my comings and goings, I’m continually noticing or experiencing things that make me wish someone else was there with me so we could commentate on them. Things such as…
the woman really needed her coffee
My last morning in Ethiopia, the hotel dining room was very busy. A UN peacekeeping group from Uruguay had stayed in the hotel the night before and they were all trying to get their breakfast so they could get on the road again toward wherever they were going. Things were hopping and the dining room staff were running around frantically. Among the guests was also a North American woman who did not seem to be what one would call a morning person.
One of the wait staff came near and she called out loudly to him, “Can I get some coffee?” The man nodded and headed off, ostensibly to get the coffee. Approximately 45 seconds went by. Another staff person happened to pass near the table. “Um, I need some coffee!” the woman said again. Again, the person nodded and headed in the same direction as the first one. Another 45 seconds or so passed, and yet a third staff member happened to be near the woman’s table. She marched up to the person and said, “This is the third time I’ve had to ask for coffee. Is anyone ever going to bring it?”
The new woman headed off, only to be greeted at the kitchen door by the other two staff, both carrying coffee. They evidently sorted out among themselves what was going on and the woman “finally” got her coffee. It just made me think about how often all of us say things that are true strictly speaking, and yet don’t really accurately represent the situation.
Incidentally, I got my coffee instantaneously. It seemed that coffee-fetcher number two had a coffee that no one needed...
pronouncing each and every the other letter
The languages of all the African countries I have visited so far are basically phonetic. So when people learn English, they can find the spellings a bit of a challenge at times. This leads to words such as clothes having two syllables rather than one, and a personal favorite: “froo-eet joo-eese” (fruit juice). A Ugandan friend of a friend of mine refers to this as “pronouncing each and every the other letter.”
Another favorite for me is the word “because.” Often a pivotal word in sentences as a person explains something, the word can be dramatically drawn out and every letter gets its turn. Several of my friends and co-workers across the region are especially good at this, transitioning into their explanation with a nice long “be-cah-oose.”
please madam...
Internet problems have been a nearly constant part of trying to get work done in the office ever since an electrical storm knocked out our connection within my first week or so of arriving in Rwanda. When things get especially bad, I have the option of going to the Rwanda field office, about 10 minutes away, to download emails.
On one particular day, I had left to have some lunch and came back to find that the IT person had left a sticky note for me at my desk that read: "Please madam it is advisable that you go to the Rwanda office where connection exists. The equipment has failed."
Frustrated as I was by the ongoing connection issues, this note made me smile.
caution: high waters ahead
Waiting for my ride in the lobby of the Impala Hotel in Arusha, Tanzania, I sat watching people go to and fro. This is actually something I do a lot when I’m traveling -- in airports, lobbies and hotel restaurants, since I pass many hours by myself sometimes.
As I watched, a cluster of three or four people walked by. Among them was a tall, somewhat portly gentleman. He was dressed for business in fairly typical trousers and a button-down shirt. But what made me notice him was that his trouser cuffs sat a good two inches above the tops of his shoes. I glanced up at the waistline of the trousers to find them -- yep -- hiked up nicely to mid-torso. As the group walked by, the gentleman, engrossed in conversation, grabbed hold of his waistband and pulled them up even farther.
random shoes
Driving from my house to the office, I pass a very busy spot where there is a petrol station and three roads converge. There is always a hubbub of pedestrian activity and I very often see people dart across the road when it’s questionable at best whether they had time to make it before a car, bus or motorcycle taxi ran them down.
On three occasions now, I have seen a lone shoe sitting right in the middle of the road at that spot. While I have no idea what is the real cause of these random shoes, when I see one I always get a mental image of someone running across the street with a vehicle bearing down on them, losing their shoe in mid-stride, and continuing on to safety with only one shoe.
which side of the road?
While Kenya, Uganda and Tanzania all drive on the left-hand side of the road, Rwanda and Ethiopia both use the right-hand side. Since our regional team represents all the above countries, discussions arise sometimes when we are all together about which side of the road is really the “right” one to drive on.
The last time we talked about this as a group, one of the gentlemen said that there is only one appropriate answer to the question of which side of the road do you drive on. The correct response? The side that the pothole isn’t on.
the real world
Last Monday, I needed to catch a flight to Kenya. A taxi was supposed to pick me up from the office at a set time. Twenty minutes after he should have arrived, I asked the person who had arranged it if she could find out what was going on. “Oh, he probably is just running an errand first,” she said, as though this was a valid reason to be late. “He shouldn’t have committed to the job if he wasn’t going to be able to get here on time,” I responded. At which point the individual smiled, shook her head and said, “Oh Phoebe, we live in the real world.”
Whatever world the taxi was in, I needed to catch my real flight and asked for another taxi to come. By the time the new taxi came, loaded my luggage and we headed out, the real world taxi had still not bothered to complete his errand and get to the office.
friendly checkpoints
The hotel I stayed at in Kenya is directly across the street from the Israeli embassy. As a result, security on the street is very, very tight. In fact, driving on the road is somewhat akin to driving through an obstacle course. Large barriers are placed at regular intervals so that a car has to weave in and out of them. Once these are cleared, several sets of tire-ruining teeth are also strategically placed and must be maneuvered through as well.
These barriers mean that for certain stretches, traffic can only go one direction at a time, further slowing down one’s progress. Evidently fully aware that such a street does nothing for the drivers’ patience, there are signs with cartoonish smiley faces reminding everyone that these are “friendly checkpoints.” When one finally clears the last barrier, those same funny smiley faces appear again, this time with the message “Thank you for visiting Nairobi’s safest street.”
continuing my key saga
Well, it had been a few weeks since I got locked in or out of anywhere so I guess that streak couldn’t last forever. This most recent key adventure may have been the best yet. While visiting the Kenya office, one day I excused myself and headed to washroom. I went in a stall and turned the key.
When I was ready to leave again, the key wouldn’t budge. I wrestled with it for several minutes to no avail. It was lunchtime and even if I hadn’t been extremely embarrassed at the thought of yelling at the top of my lungs to get someone’s attention, the possibility of anyone hearing me was slim anyway.
I looked up at the cement walls surrounding me and realized that the stall walls didn’t go all the way to the ceiling. Standing on the back of the toilet, I could just stretch one leg up to the top of the wall, pull myself up into that narrow space, and jump down on the other side. It was, however, extremely dusty up there and so when I showed up back in the meeting room with my clothes covered in dirt, I had some explaining to do.
It turns out that that particular lock has a history of deciding not to work from time to time, and I was not the first person to ever get trapped inside. I was evidently the first victim to decide to scale the wall, however, and the country staff were quite impressed with my skills.
Update: I mentioned a few weeks ago that I helped a neighbor, Rafa, get her small son to the hospital with a dangerously high fever. The little boy ended up spending the better part of the week there, but is now home and doing very well. Rafa and I have only succeeded in talking by phone so far, but hope to meet up for tea and a less panicky visit this evening so that we can get to know each other a bit under less stressful circumstances.
