My Parents' Visit: Round Two

Sorry to keep you waiting...

Right away, my parents got a taste of what my life at Ihungo tends to be like- we arrived to find the house almost barren of water. There wasn’t enough even for all of us to bathe that first night, hardly enough for the toilet and cooking. However, my parents came here with their eyes open, they were expecting some discomforts, and they shrugged off the shortage without a second thought. And more importantly, once we began unpacking their luggage and didn’t have time to worry about trivial things like water. After all, they’d brought me an entire suitcase full of candy. I’ll write that again. They’d brought me an Entire Suitcase full of candy. Think about it for a minute.... In addition to the 70-odd pounds of chocolates, sour gummies, and wasabi peas, they’d also brought me my long-awaited Christmas present- a guitar. Let’s just say that I was more than a bit overwhelmed, especially after unpacking it all and forming a giant mound of candy on my coffee table. I’ll try and post a picture; you’ll be impressed. In other news, I now have diabetes.

The next morning was the weekly “Monday Morning Parade,” an hour-long fiesta where the student body stands in formal columns and gets drilled by their elected representatives and whichever teachers may have a bone to pick. It’s very reminiscent of what I’d imagine a military inspection would be like- lots of denigrating yelling, singling out poor examples, and rigid formality. I’d planned on escorting my mom and Bill to this in order to introduce them in one fell swoop, hoping that this particular parade would be calmer than some that I’ve witnessed. That was not to be the case. We arrived at the parade grounds at around 7:15 in the morning, and stood mutely for the next half an hour as name after name was called out, the “chosen” students coming forward to kneel in infamy. It must’ve been a rough week for the some of the teachers; they were on the warpath that morning. At least fifty of the several hundred assembled students ended up being summoned to the front of the columns, all patiently waiting on their knees for whatever punishment they would receive for whatever crime they committed. Before said punishments commenced, I managed to squeeze in a quick introduction of my parents. Unfortunately, the mood wasn’t very light and all my attempts at levity fell on humorless ears. Looking at my form five students however, I saw many grins and nods; they were happy to finally get a look at Mwalimu Masanja’s family. Immediately following the introduction, I saw one of the teachers bring out a stick. There are some ugly realities here, and that is not one that I wanted my parents to see, so we left as quickly as possible. As we made our way back to the home, we walked to the rhythmic cracking of the atrocity that is corporal punishment. Sorry, sometimes it really gets to me...

Back home, Bill and I made our black coffee (this became a near-ritual) and we prepared to visit Bukoba. I was excited to show them my favorite path, descending the bluff from Ihungo and winding through villages, offering great views of our surroundings. It was also an opportunity for me to show off a little bit; I greeted most people in the tribal language, causing a wake of happiness and awe (again, white folks don’t tend to know any Kihaya). It was a pleasant walk in the mid-morning sun, mainly because it was downhill rather than up, and before we knew it we’d reached town.

My parents later told me that, even though they didn’t speak any Swahili (that’s not entirely true; by this point, they’d learned the criticals: how to thank and how to say hello), the people in Bukoba were the most friendly they encountered throughout the trip. That’s nice to hear. I met a tourist once in Dar, and told her I was from Bukoba. Her response: “Oh, that’s the place where they don’t call you ‘mzungu’.” Well…yeah, they do. Just not as often as elsewhere in Tanzania, and not out of any negative sentiment. After covering almost all of greater Bukoba by foot, and after a disappointing buffet at a normally (I swear!) passable restaurant, we headed back up (this time by taxi; it was hot, and it was uphill). As the sun went down, we decided it was now or never, and put in disc one of “24” Season Five.

Four or five episodes later, Jack Bauer is having a pretty crappy day and we’re tired. As some cruel twist of fate, for the first week or so, every night only one of my parents would get a good night’s sleep, and the other...well, wouldn’t. That next morning, we decided to take the day off and rest up, to have our A-game for the fast-approaching safari. We took a short, pleasant walk around the Ihungo area, watched some more “24” (by this point we were in too deep; that show is really addictive, you know), talked and relaxed. One of the nicest parts of my parents visit was the opportunities we had to converse, and to get to know Bill on a different level. And for me, normally being surrounded by non-native English speakers, it was such a release being able to express myself fluidly and regularly (that sounds like I’m talking about something else entirely, doesn’t it?).

On the following day, our ferry to Mwanza was leaving in the evening. We’d arranged to meet Jodi and Manuel at a restaurant near the port before heading out. Most of the day prior to that was spent packing for the safari and watching Jack either get betrayed by the last one you’d expect or convince someone to help him in the pursuit of truth. Very nice. During dinner, Bill got his first taste of ambrosia- Stoney Tangawizi. This is a ginger-flavored soda that Coke produces here in East Africa. Do not be misled; Stoney has little in common with its feeble cousin “ginger ale.” My mom took one sip and did the “bitter beer face” from those old Miller commercials. Stoney has a serious ginger bite and it’s heavenly. Oh yeah, I guess it was nice for my parents to finally meet my two closest friends here, too. They said it was interesting to hear perspectives about life here, or life as a volunteer, beyond my own. Those of us living here have truly manifold experiences...

Right on schedule, the whistle blew and we boarded the overnight ferry, my favorite form of transportation in East Africa. First-class is actually comfortable (at least compared to the death trap that is a bus), sleeps two, and generally I’m out like a rock until the skipper guy smacks on the door, telling us the boat has arrived. I guess Bill didn’t sleep as well, as his bunk, the upper one, wasn’t properly fastened and the engine vibrations caused it to properly shudder throughout the night. Luckily, the safari wasn’t departing until the next morning, and we had a full day to kick around Mwanza.

Kathryn, another volunteer and good friend of mine who lives on the east side of the lake, had arranged to come meet us. In the afternoon, we got together at a swanky joint for lunch, then spent the next six hours or so talking, enjoying the warm weather and cold beer, and chilling out. In an unprecedented move, we went straight from this place to the Chinese restaurant where we planned on having dinner. Every time I swing by Mwanza, I try to eat at this restaurant. As my parents said, “This would be good even in America.” The sizzling beef and the gongbao chicken are oases in the desert of Tanzanian cuisine (read: ugali and dagaa).

Bright and early the next morning, our safari began. The driver, who would be doubling as our guide, picked us up at our hotel (the “Christmas Tree Inn”; woop!). His name was Ezekiel Okaka, and he was the man. Throughout our safari, he proved himself time and again to be one of the best guides in the park. Considering he’d been doing tours since 1978, that makes some sense. Okaka was a stoic fellow with a deep belly laugh and a “no worries in Africa” attitude. We felt fortunate to have him at the helm, with his calmness and experience. The vehicle he (and nearly every other Serengeti guide) was driving was a converted Toyota Land Rover, in which the roof could be propped up high enough for all but the very tall to comfortably stand up and look out. I am very tall.

After stocking up on the essentials (toilet paper, water, Scotch), we left Mwanza and traveled the two hours north to the western Serengeti gate, near Musoma. Our first day in the national park would be spent traversing the “Western Corridor,” a long, contracted swath of land heading east towards the park’s center. Most tourists enter and exit Serengeti from the east side, coming from Arusha, so the Western Corridor is a less-viewed (and less crowded) section of the park. As we followed the main dirt road leading eastward, we began to catch glimpses of the raison d’etre of our safari- animals! Along the Corridor, there was a profusion of zebra, antelope, Grant’s and Thomson’s gazelles, and warthog. My mom kept laughing when she would ask Okaka to stop so that she could take a picture of some beast in the distance (this happened more than a few times), as she knew we would see so many of these animals in the following days, likely in more camera-friendly locations, but we stopped anyway, eager to get a taste of African wildlife. The Western Corridor ran along a narrow river, and we stopped for lunch in the shade of some acacia trees on the bank. As we ate our hot dog sandwiches, we listened to the nearby hippos bellowing and snorting. We continued making our way towards Seronera, the central “town” in the Serengeti, and as the afternoon wore on, we began to see other animals in the distance- elephant and giraffe. For all of us, one of the most striking aspects of the Serengeti was the amazing environmental variance we couldn’t help but notice as we covered kilometer after kilometer. The landscape changed from lush wooded river basin to thorn-bush scrub plains to hilly savannah (just like you are imagining a savannah ought to look) in the course of a few hours’ travel. Each region was dramatic in its own right, and we found ourselves repeatedly stunned by Serengeti’s natural beauty. The unique and unusual creatures dotting this scenery only added to our appreciation; the raisins in our tapioca pudding.

Some of the highlights of that first day, beyond getting our first taste of the land and animals, were: Okaka brazenly driving through rivers where bridges had been washed out (in spite of another car which obviously didn’t make it to the other side), finding out that tse-tse flies exist in the Serengeti, and that they can bite through clothing (these aren’t the deadly ones, I hope, as all of us were bitten at least ten or fifteen times), and getting a look at a massive crocodile sleeping among the rocks, only to realize that some of those rocks were additional crocodiles (sneaky sneaky).

We arrived at the campsite as Apollo’s chariot was taking him into Hades for the evening, and were greeted by our one disappointment during the entire safari: most other campers had large canvas tents, with cots, camp chairs, lanterns, and so on; we had two small tents that a Boy Scout might take on a weekend trip to his backyard, and no other equipment. In the end, my mom had to scour the area to find a rock to use as a chair, and we used our flashlights for illumination. How much are we paying for this..? Luckily, being the rugged Oregonians that we are, we were only temporarily nonplussed. After putting all the packs in my tent, Bill and my mom had almost enough room to share the other one, and if I slept diagonally, only my head and feet touched the tent walls.

The campsite was replete with campers from all over the world, and the social climate was laid-back and open. We had conversations with some Dutch rose-growers, a young Indian from Goa, and a French couple. Despite our deficiency of equipment, and despite the relatively basic nature of the available facilities (ask my mom about that...), we eventually decided we were glad that we’d chosen to camp (as opposed to staying in lodges), mainly due to this friendly atmosphere. As Bill later told us, he was happy we camped for many reasons, but mainly because he woke up at 2:30am that first night to the roar of some distant lions. Imagine laying in your tent and listening to the thunderous growls of the “king of the jungle,” that’s a pretty awesome, if a bit scary, experience.

Our itinerary for the next day included several “game drives” in which we would seek out lions, a hippo pool, and the elusive leopard (Matt, the British chap who lived in Bukoba for some five years, told me he’d been on four safaris and never seen “el leopardo”). That morning was a testament to the skill of our hero, Okaka. Throughout the Seronera area, many drivers were conducting a morning search for leopards. Okaka took us down on particular road where he said they tend to sleep, and we searched in the trees for the telling outline of the dozing cat. As we reached the end of the road without any luck, Okaka turned us around, to find other areas to search. Halfway back, however, Okaka’s expert eyes spotted a lump-shaped shadow on the branches of an acacia tree some 200 meters away (Bill, is that about right? You’re the hunter...). Sure enough, he’d found a leopard that was almost indistinguishable from its perch, as it lay straddling one large branch. We were treated to Okaka’s belly laugh for a good five minutes as he kept telling us how clever those leopards are (turns out they’re his favorite animal in the entire park), and shaking his finger at the leopard as if he was scolding it for trying to hide from him. When we’d finished taking pictures and staring at the big, lazy cat through binoculars, Okaka got on the “leopard channel” on his radio, and broadcast the location to the other drivers in the area who were still searching (in vain). As we headed back to the central area to look for lions, a bevy of vehicles passed us heading to where we’d come from, spurred on by Okaka’s sighting. It made me really appreciate Okaka’s instinct and skill as a guide that, out of the twenty or so other vehicles we saw that morning, he’d been the one to find the leopard.

An hour later, we had our first sighting of a lioness. Several other Land Rovers were stopped at a seemingly random place, and until we pulled up alongside them, we wondered at what they looking. Then, well-hidden in the tall grass, the lioness raised her head and looked around. Though this lioness was only ten feet away from the road, she was so obscured we would’ve driven right past her if not for the other cars watching her. Again I was impressed with the reliance that all the guides have on one another to make sure their clients have a memorable safari. For us, one lion wasn’t enough, so we continued to drive around these unique rock formations called “kopjes” that jut out of the Serengeti plains like the prows of sinking ships (think of the “Circle of Life” rock from Lion King), searching in the sun and shadows for the beast. Eventually, we came across another gathering of vehicles, and slowly realized they were watching three lionesses relaxing in the shade of a thorn bush. As we sat and observed, a topi (it’s a member of the antelope family, Davis) crested a nearby hill and stood silhouetted against the blue sky. We humans weren’t the only ones who took note of the topi, one of the lionesses caught its scent as well, and began the hunt. The whole stalking process was fantastic to watch, not just for the thrill of witnessing one of nature’s great hunters in action, but also for Okaka’s belly laughing commentary (“ohhhohohoo you topi!! Oh mister topi ohohoo noo!”) and Bill’s professional excitement (“look how she’s moving with the wind. Ok, now hide yourself for a bit! She’s getting really close now! I can barely see her in that tall grass, what a hunter!”). In the end, after stalking the topi for half an hour, the lioness missed the kill by about ten meters, when the topi finally caught its scent and bolted. According to Okaka, a lion will sprint the last five to seven meters of distance between it and its prey, so it was a close call for “mister topi”. The hunt having ended, the other tourists and their guides headed off to search for the next excitement of the day. As we followed suit, we noticed there was a lorry (big transport truck) parked right next to the thorn bush where the lionesses had been resting. The lorry’s front-left tire was missing, and some tools and parts were strewn on the ground. Pulling alongside the cab, Okaka asked the driver what happened. Listening in, I heard the driver tell him that the lorry had broken down the previous night, and they’d been trying to fix it but lacked a part. Then, sometime in the early morning, the pride of lions had come and planted itself right next to the vehicle, hindering any further attempts at repair. The driver was content putting his seat back and dozing until the lions moved on; I wondered how a semi driver in the States would’ve handled the same situation.

After a nice Tanzanian lunch (rice, beans, chicken), we were off to the hippo pool. En route, we passed through hordes of giraffe and elephant, counting them by the dozens. My mom found a new photographer’s quest: getting pictures of the baby animals alongside their parents. You’ll have to ask her to see “the collection” (word on the street is that she took a remarkable 2000+ pictures during the trip). The hippo pool, when we reached it, turned out to be well named. It was a pool of sluggish water, replete with somewhere between 20 and 40 semi-submerged hippos, bathing and bellowing. They’re hard to count; all you can see is their nostrils half the time. By the time we left to return to our campsite, it was early evening and we’d been animal watching since before eight in the morning. Our arms and necks were getting slow roasted by the sun, and my neck was stiff from standing at odd angles to see out from under the roof (however, eventually I devised a scheme of using a cooler like a booster-seat and just sitting on my “throne” instead of standing; ingenious). Naturally, after two days of sweating and getting dusty, we needed baths. Unfortunately at our campsite, hot water was only provided to the other campers (I don’t know where they got it, but we were jealous), so we had to fill up some empty bottles with the tepid water that was available, and pour it over our heads like a Gatorade commercial. The end result was that we were nominally clean.

After another pleasant night in our miniature tents, we hit the road leading us to Ngorongoro Crater (ask my mom or Bill to say this word, Ngorongoro. It’s got a difficult pronunciation, and en route I tried teaching it to them a number of times, with arguable success). The crater is one of the world’s most renowned animal habitats, and we’d planned our safari so that it would be the climax. It was a bit far from Seronera, though, and we leisurely spent almost an entire day making our way there. During the crossing, we happened upon one of the last great animal migrations: the wildebeest migration from Kenya’s Maasai Mara to the southern Serengeti and back again. Hundreds of thousands of wildebeest (also known as a gnu) smothered the plains, descending away into a mass of indistinguishable brown. In this sea of innumerable animals, the movements reminded us of the ebb and flow of a tide, the swells and troughs of waves. No pictures we took will do justice to the sheer magnitude of the wildebeest migration, and it was fantastic to look upon.

Mid-morning, we passed a wildebeest calf that had been separated from its herd, and was blindly running along the roadside, lost and scared. After expressing the requisite pity, we drove on, only to encounter a small pride of lionesses roughly a kilometer further along the road, in the direction the calf was running. In the distance we saw the remains of their previous kill, and now they rested with swollen bellies. Okaka knew what was likely to happen, and stopped the Land Rover for us to watch the inevitable hunt. Sure enough, a few short moments after we’d stopped, the calf came scampering into view, still moving without direction. The lionesses took note, and slowly slipped into “stalk mode,” laying low in the grass and slinking along to find the right location. Again, Okaka provided us with a soundtrack to the hunt (“ohhh the gnu! That baby gnu oh noooo! Ohh ooohoo no!”). As the calf neared the lionesses, I must admit I began getting excited for the kill. Bloodlust, maybe, but I wanted to witness a successful hunt. Fortunately for my mom, who held the opposite wish, when the calf neared the lionesses, they sprang too late and put forth a halfhearted chase, not being hungry, and the calf escaped unscathed. Minutes later, a jackal caught the scent and took chase. Again, the calf somehow managed to elude its hunter. Finally, it found two adult wildebeests which promptly adopted and protected it, and my mom smiled at the happy ending. So did Okaka, showing his soft side by telling us that it wouldn’t have been fair for the calf to be killed. Me, I was disappointed...

The main stop on our drive to Ngorongoro was at Olduvai Gorge, a name that might ring bells with those of you interested in archaeology and anthropology. The gorge facilitates study and dating due to the highly stratified landscape, and carries interest in researching hominid evolution (East Africa is another “cradle of civilization,” people). In the 1960’s and 70’s, some teams of researchers found distinct and telling footprints in a specific strata that indicated the presence of Australopithecus boisei, a hominid from the Lower Pleistocene epoch that demonstrated an upright posture for walking. If my memory serves, this helped fill a gap between apes and Homo erectus, the evolutionary precursor to us Homo sapiens. Apart from the historical significance, Olduvai carries strong cultural interest, being in the heart of the Maasai people’s homelands. (In fact, “oldupai” is the original name for the Olduvai Gorge, because in the Maasai language, “oldupai” means sisal, a useful plant which is ubiquitous in that area. A German researcher in the early 20th century misunderstood and wrote “olduvai,” and now the world knows it as such). Maasai tribesmen are omnipresent in the area, resplendent in their red and purple tartan-esque robes, armed with machetes and clubs, bows and spears. Their villages dot the region, small clusters of thatched huts surrounding a central gathering point. When you think of Africa, and images spring to life of partly clad men shouting and jumping around a fire, shaking spears and invoking the spirits, you are more or less picturing the traditional Maasai. These are the people who, rather than battling, decide who is correct in a conflict by a “jump-off”. Now, while continuing to live as herdsman and hunters, a large part of their income comes from selling traditional Maasai wares, from beaded necklaces to razor-sharp short swords. The Maasai cluster around tourist-heavy locations, such as the entrance to the crater, and try to make money even by offering to be in pictures (for the right price; apparently, “do it for free” wasn’t the price they were looking for). In the crater itself, a national conservation area, Maasai are still allowed to graze their cattle, which is a sure sign that the Tanzanian government values the Maasai culture and heritage.

Leaving the gorge, our vehicle climbed into the hills, higher and higher, and before we knew it we were on the peak of the crater. We skirted the rim for several kilometers before arriving at our campsite, one which was substantially more crowded than the cozy Seronera site. However, the facilities were improved (hot water!), and the view was grand. Our plan was to relax that night, and then spend the entire following day in the crater, taking our time to see it all.

Next week: the grand finale.