Tuuli's Blog
Sunday, July 31, 2005
The bush
Amoebas are among the sneakiest of all tropical diseases. Amoebas work in mysterious ways to make you comply with their presence. They weaken you with pain, drain you of all of your will and mental capacity, and pacify you with... beer. It's true, your stomach hurts less if you drink beer. It could make for a pretty unproductive week. Thankfully, my travel companions understand the amoeba, and gently coerce me to get up, sleep in the bush, and interview doctors. If I was left to my own devices, I would have stayed in bed in Bamako.
Amoebas are among the sneakiest of all tropical diseases. Amoebas work in mysterious ways to make you comply with their presence. They weaken you with pain, drain you of all of your will and mental capacity, and pacify you with... beer. It's true, your stomach hurts less if you drink beer. It could make for a pretty unproductive week. Thankfully, my travel companions understand the amoeba, and gently coerce me to get up, sleep in the bush, and interview doctors. If I was left to my own devices, I would have stayed in bed in Bamako.
Sunday, July 24, 2005
Bamako, Mali
We arrived in this bustling city by the River Niger midday. Trying to find our hotel was a ridiculous feat, which involved asking for directions about ten times and being told different routes by all ten people. We must have been quite a sight to see as we pulled into the Catholic mission's parking lot: the car covered in mud, high-pitched squealing noises from the roof rack, a thick layer of dust on all our bags, and three dirty, inelegant, smelly travelers asking for a room. "Yes, just one room, please. We can share," I say to the concierge. I see his inquisitive look. I say to myself: Don't look at me like that. I'm not sleeping with both or either of these two men. In Africa, male female relations are pretty clearly defined. As a child, you belong to your family; as a woman, your husband. Pretending to be married to either Sean or Nate has helped me in most situations, as it provides a clear indication of my unavailability. People everywhere like to ask: "C'est madame ou bien mademoiselle?"
Meanwhile, because we have been used to doing so, Sean introduced me as his wife. But he forgot to tell me that he had done this... and thinking that this was a capital city and people were more familiar with Western women traveling through, I introduced myself as single. This innocent miscommunication invited a little unwelcome footsie action in the phone cabin from one of our hosts. All the while I am confused: You are standing way too close, buddy. Wait, that's his foot! What is he doing?
In his defense, he was likely confused by all the mixed messages and thought I was looking for an opportunity to be unfaithful to my "husband" (you know, the one I didn't know about). In think: Great! Now what do I say? "Ummm... I have a fiancé in America. I was just speaking with him on the phone..." I said. "Why did he not want to marry you? What are you doing here?" he asks. Now he is even more confused. What a tangled web we weave.
Bamako has incredible light. Dusk brings an incredibly thick sensual warm light to everything you see. The cars and crowded streets and open gutters seem to loose their hard edges in this magical light. Add the dense moisture of an approaching thunderstorm and you would think that you had entered an alternate universe. Everything is beautiful and calm. You feel a little lost and wander the streets as if in a dream. You think about cutting the air with a knife. Could be all the pollution, but it is incredible.
This was bound to happen, but Bamako is also site to my first random African illness, one which I hope will make my stomach stronger in the long run. I thought I smelled something foul seeping out of my pores last night, and sure enough, I awoke this morning to stomach cramps so painful that I could no longer sleep. This cramping has only worsened throughout the day, and when it brought tears to my eyes on the side of the road, I opted out of participating in the round of interviews we had set up for the day (research for our next article). Feeling whiny and somewhat depressed by all of this, I find comfort in the fact that I will get to know my body infinitely better as it gets pushed to all sorts of extremes.
We arrived in this bustling city by the River Niger midday. Trying to find our hotel was a ridiculous feat, which involved asking for directions about ten times and being told different routes by all ten people. We must have been quite a sight to see as we pulled into the Catholic mission's parking lot: the car covered in mud, high-pitched squealing noises from the roof rack, a thick layer of dust on all our bags, and three dirty, inelegant, smelly travelers asking for a room. "Yes, just one room, please. We can share," I say to the concierge. I see his inquisitive look. I say to myself: Don't look at me like that. I'm not sleeping with both or either of these two men. In Africa, male female relations are pretty clearly defined. As a child, you belong to your family; as a woman, your husband. Pretending to be married to either Sean or Nate has helped me in most situations, as it provides a clear indication of my unavailability. People everywhere like to ask: "C'est madame ou bien mademoiselle?"
Meanwhile, because we have been used to doing so, Sean introduced me as his wife. But he forgot to tell me that he had done this... and thinking that this was a capital city and people were more familiar with Western women traveling through, I introduced myself as single. This innocent miscommunication invited a little unwelcome footsie action in the phone cabin from one of our hosts. All the while I am confused: You are standing way too close, buddy. Wait, that's his foot! What is he doing?
In his defense, he was likely confused by all the mixed messages and thought I was looking for an opportunity to be unfaithful to my "husband" (you know, the one I didn't know about). In think: Great! Now what do I say? "Ummm... I have a fiancé in America. I was just speaking with him on the phone..." I said. "Why did he not want to marry you? What are you doing here?" he asks. Now he is even more confused. What a tangled web we weave.
Bamako has incredible light. Dusk brings an incredibly thick sensual warm light to everything you see. The cars and crowded streets and open gutters seem to loose their hard edges in this magical light. Add the dense moisture of an approaching thunderstorm and you would think that you had entered an alternate universe. Everything is beautiful and calm. You feel a little lost and wander the streets as if in a dream. You think about cutting the air with a knife. Could be all the pollution, but it is incredible.
This was bound to happen, but Bamako is also site to my first random African illness, one which I hope will make my stomach stronger in the long run. I thought I smelled something foul seeping out of my pores last night, and sure enough, I awoke this morning to stomach cramps so painful that I could no longer sleep. This cramping has only worsened throughout the day, and when it brought tears to my eyes on the side of the road, I opted out of participating in the round of interviews we had set up for the day (research for our next article). Feeling whiny and somewhat depressed by all of this, I find comfort in the fact that I will get to know my body infinitely better as it gets pushed to all sorts of extremes.
The middle of the bush, Mali
We made the right decision and chose the better road out of western Mali towards the capital of Bamako. We realized this 200 kilometers out of Kayes when this supposedly better road turned into a bumpy, muddy mess. Driving at 20 kilometers an hour didn't help. The roof rack fractured and almost fell off. We wondered what the worse road would have been like? Four hours later, in need of a back massage, we realized that we were loosing light and that we should figure out a place to sleep. Not knowing whether we would make it to a town with a hotel before dark, we opted for sleeping in the bush. Driving on would have been a greater risk since this road was reportedly full of bandits stalking nighttime travelers. Pulling off the road, out of the line of sight of bandits, we parked the car in between some bushes and set up camp. We didn't have much food. I found a scorpion under a rock.
As night fell, lightning lit up the eastern sky and we prepared for the downpour. Once it started to rain, the boys left took shelter in their tent and I was alone in mine. Hyenas howled in the distance behind us. Minutes later they howled in front of us. I was scared. The wind began to scream. Suddenly, the two wooden poles that were holding the tarp up for rain protection slammed into the side of my tent, almost impaling me and pinning me to the side of the car. Not realizing what had happened, haunted by images of hyenas, I was too terrified to move
In the morning, I insisted on driving on the muddy, puddle-filled road that I had hated so much the day before. This time, I actually enjoyed driving for its challenge. With roads like these, video games pale in comparison. Forty kilometers later, we came to another paved road (funded by the European Union). I pulled over and let Sean drive because I was falling asleep from boredom at the wheel.
We made the right decision and chose the better road out of western Mali towards the capital of Bamako. We realized this 200 kilometers out of Kayes when this supposedly better road turned into a bumpy, muddy mess. Driving at 20 kilometers an hour didn't help. The roof rack fractured and almost fell off. We wondered what the worse road would have been like? Four hours later, in need of a back massage, we realized that we were loosing light and that we should figure out a place to sleep. Not knowing whether we would make it to a town with a hotel before dark, we opted for sleeping in the bush. Driving on would have been a greater risk since this road was reportedly full of bandits stalking nighttime travelers. Pulling off the road, out of the line of sight of bandits, we parked the car in between some bushes and set up camp. We didn't have much food. I found a scorpion under a rock.
As night fell, lightning lit up the eastern sky and we prepared for the downpour. Once it started to rain, the boys left took shelter in their tent and I was alone in mine. Hyenas howled in the distance behind us. Minutes later they howled in front of us. I was scared. The wind began to scream. Suddenly, the two wooden poles that were holding the tarp up for rain protection slammed into the side of my tent, almost impaling me and pinning me to the side of the car. Not realizing what had happened, haunted by images of hyenas, I was too terrified to move
—let alone leave the tent—to fix the problem. I screamed to the boys, who ran out their tent to help me out. They immediately started to make fun of me for being so terrified and helpless. Their making light of the situation was exactly what I needed. It wasn't all that serious. I didn't need to be saved, but they had come to my rescue anyway. The sight of them in the downpour in their underwear made me laugh, and my fear was gone. The tarp was secured with our spare tires and we decided to drink some brandy to calm our nerves. A couple of card games later, we turned in. Once the rain slowed down to a drizzle, I woke up nervously to the sound of animals scurrying in the bush (sounds that were previously overshadowed by the rain). I drifted back to sleep. Later, when the rains had ceased and it was pitch dark outside, I awoke to the sound of footsteps by my tent. I hardly dared to breathe as I tried to imagine what could be making that noise. It sounded like a cat. A big one. I listened until I was too tired to stay awake. Dawn was welcome.In the morning, I insisted on driving on the muddy, puddle-filled road that I had hated so much the day before. This time, I actually enjoyed driving for its challenge. With roads like these, video games pale in comparison. Forty kilometers later, we came to another paved road (funded by the European Union). I pulled over and let Sean drive because I was falling asleep from boredom at the wheel.
Saturday, July 23, 2005
Kayes, Mali
Peace Corps volunteers warned us about the border crossing we were about to use coming into Mali. The police will issue visas unofficially, they said, but sometimes they turn people away if they are not liked. Knowing this, the three of us turn on the charm at the police station and joke with them about the $20 "penalty" necessary to purchase the visa, insinuate an extremely funny lack of sexual prowess of that Fula man (Sean), and agree with their interpretation of our voyage as folle (crazy, for all you non-French speakers). Twenty minutes and a whole lot of jokes later, we drive off towards Kayes on another brand new road (Mali is also HIPC). We are happy of our success at crossing borders the back way, but also because Mali was one of my favorite countries on my last trip through this region. After talking with volunteers in Kayes, the road to Bamako does not seem straightforward anymore. It seems the rain has taken out a bridge in an area known for banditry. Instead, we scout another road that would lead us to the capital in a roundabout fashion. There happens to be beautiful waterfalls called "Les Choutes de Fallou" down this road... A flat tire in the hottest hour of the day. River crossings with bags over our heads through a hydroelectric plant. Some heinous worms that invaded Nate's pants. A road side application of rash powder (worm check). An intense sunburn... We stagger back into Kayes humbled, but glowing over our experience at these beautiful falls. The beauty overrides all of the fuck ups. We still wonder whether this road is out of the question. Why not just lay back and relax? Think about it for a day or two.
Peace Corps volunteers warned us about the border crossing we were about to use coming into Mali. The police will issue visas unofficially, they said, but sometimes they turn people away if they are not liked. Knowing this, the three of us turn on the charm at the police station and joke with them about the $20 "penalty" necessary to purchase the visa, insinuate an extremely funny lack of sexual prowess of that Fula man (Sean), and agree with their interpretation of our voyage as folle (crazy, for all you non-French speakers). Twenty minutes and a whole lot of jokes later, we drive off towards Kayes on another brand new road (Mali is also HIPC). We are happy of our success at crossing borders the back way, but also because Mali was one of my favorite countries on my last trip through this region. After talking with volunteers in Kayes, the road to Bamako does not seem straightforward anymore. It seems the rain has taken out a bridge in an area known for banditry. Instead, we scout another road that would lead us to the capital in a roundabout fashion. There happens to be beautiful waterfalls called "Les Choutes de Fallou" down this road... A flat tire in the hottest hour of the day. River crossings with bags over our heads through a hydroelectric plant. Some heinous worms that invaded Nate's pants. A road side application of rash powder (worm check). An intense sunburn... We stagger back into Kayes humbled, but glowing over our experience at these beautiful falls. The beauty overrides all of the fuck ups. We still wonder whether this road is out of the question. Why not just lay back and relax? Think about it for a day or two.
Tuesday, July 19, 2005
Tambacounda, Senegal
Senegal is building roads! Beautiful ones with no potholes, funded by the European Union. I guess it pays off to become a HIPC (highly impoverished poor country). We could not help to compare Senegal's infrastructure to the Gambia's. The initial differences between these two countries is staggering, defying the World Bank's logic of ranking the Gambia as wealthier than Senegal with its poverty index. In the Gambia, there is hassle, threats from men in uniform, and electricity that stays off for most of the day. In Senegal, as we drove through a war zone, we drank pure water from the tap, witnessed roads being built, and never experienced a power outage. We even heard of a new law that was recently passed which legalized prostitution, offering women trying to survive in the sex trade a way to get free medical care and regular tests for AIDS and other STDs. Volunteers we spoke to told us to talk with women in the sex trade in Tambacounda, who would reportedly carried identification cards that registered them as legal workers.
Despite all of this forward thinking and great infrastructure, as we pulled into Tambacounda (which we were warned by several people would be hot), I was tired and not the only one in the car about to explode when we drove past the hotel four times in search of its sign. It started to rain, hard, the night that I was writing this and the internet café lost its fabulous DSL connection to the lightning and thunder. Along with two hours work. The rain also prevented us from searching out women to talk to in the city center. Infrastructure or not, this is Africa, and loss is to be expected...
Senegal is building roads! Beautiful ones with no potholes, funded by the European Union. I guess it pays off to become a HIPC (highly impoverished poor country). We could not help to compare Senegal's infrastructure to the Gambia's. The initial differences between these two countries is staggering, defying the World Bank's logic of ranking the Gambia as wealthier than Senegal with its poverty index. In the Gambia, there is hassle, threats from men in uniform, and electricity that stays off for most of the day. In Senegal, as we drove through a war zone, we drank pure water from the tap, witnessed roads being built, and never experienced a power outage. We even heard of a new law that was recently passed which legalized prostitution, offering women trying to survive in the sex trade a way to get free medical care and regular tests for AIDS and other STDs. Volunteers we spoke to told us to talk with women in the sex trade in Tambacounda, who would reportedly carried identification cards that registered them as legal workers.
Despite all of this forward thinking and great infrastructure, as we pulled into Tambacounda (which we were warned by several people would be hot), I was tired and not the only one in the car about to explode when we drove past the hotel four times in search of its sign. It started to rain, hard, the night that I was writing this and the internet café lost its fabulous DSL connection to the lightning and thunder. Along with two hours work. The rain also prevented us from searching out women to talk to in the city center. Infrastructure or not, this is Africa, and loss is to be expected...
Sunday, July 17, 2005
Sedjou, Senegal
Leaving the Gambia with our official police escort, I felt giddy and happy to be on the road. Crossing the border into Senegal for only a small "fee" made everything feel blessed. Until we saw the military police posted on the Senegalese side hanging out in the shade of a mango tree with rocket launchers. Cassamance, the southern part of Senegal, has been site to a sometimes violent separatist movement from the northern government for the past few decades. One military post we passed on the way was reported to have been ambushed last month, four soldiers dead. For travelers though, the best thing to do is to prepare for the worst, but expect the best. As soon as we headed south, the road improved along with the scenery, and we drove past some of the most beautiful, lush and green country I have seen in West Africa. Working through my initial nervousness about using the bush as a toilet (the threat of setting off a landmine while peeing), some wrong turns that led us toward a muddy decrepit bush road, and an unexpected ferry ride across a river that our map didn't recognize, we pulled into Sedhiou, and the calmness and friendliness of the town overwhelmed us. So, true to our instinct, we stayed an extra day. The excuse? Sedhiou also happened to be a regional capital, with an active AIDS program. I am glad we are not on a tight schedule, because you cannot have one if you want to enjoy Africa.
Leaving the Gambia with our official police escort, I felt giddy and happy to be on the road. Crossing the border into Senegal for only a small "fee" made everything feel blessed. Until we saw the military police posted on the Senegalese side hanging out in the shade of a mango tree with rocket launchers. Cassamance, the southern part of Senegal, has been site to a sometimes violent separatist movement from the northern government for the past few decades. One military post we passed on the way was reported to have been ambushed last month, four soldiers dead. For travelers though, the best thing to do is to prepare for the worst, but expect the best. As soon as we headed south, the road improved along with the scenery, and we drove past some of the most beautiful, lush and green country I have seen in West Africa. Working through my initial nervousness about using the bush as a toilet (the threat of setting off a landmine while peeing), some wrong turns that led us toward a muddy decrepit bush road, and an unexpected ferry ride across a river that our map didn't recognize, we pulled into Sedhiou, and the calmness and friendliness of the town overwhelmed us. So, true to our instinct, we stayed an extra day. The excuse? Sedhiou also happened to be a regional capital, with an active AIDS program. I am glad we are not on a tight schedule, because you cannot have one if you want to enjoy Africa.
To keep this short and sweet, I am delirious with excitement and half crazed with angst about tomorrow. Tomorrow when we set off in our beat up rusty red car to drive off into the African bush. When we laid out the map on the living room floor a couple of days ago, and began to follow the solid red, black and dashed lines of the roads that we will take to get to South Africa, everything finally sunk in. I need to sleep now and gather all the strength I can.
Friday, July 15, 2005
Hello all,
As most of you already know, I am in Africa to drive a modified 1979 Datsun Skyline from West to South Africa, stopping along the way to talk with people about how the message of AIDS awareness is understood in local communities. We hear a lot in the news about the types of aid that the Bush administration, nongovernmental organizations, and even church groups are providing. But what does this aid look like on the receiving end? Please check out our website for more information on our modest project: http://overland.naomba.com/
For the last two weeks, I have prepared for the trip here in the Gambia by eating more peanut stew, fried chicken, rice and fufu than I could handle. Surprisingly, it was the oysters that I collected in the afternoons with the help of a band of small boys on the beach that were the tastiest and least upsetting. My traveling companions (Sean and Nate) and I have also spent a lot of time together. Six to eight months in a car with two guys is going to be challenging—but I feel completely safe with these two. Mostly, our sense of humor will carry us through the worst parts of the trip.
We are currently speaking with local companies about sponsorship for our trip. This is hugely important for us, because we have raised only about half of our expected budget. You can imagine that driving 8,000 miles of road that is sometimes unpaved, through places in which military convoys are required, through the blistering heat of the Sahara, and through dense jungles in the rainy season... is going to run a little expensive. We are hoping that to raise the remainder of our budget through donations from corporate sponsors—and hopefully, from people like you. If you have any ideas that could help us (organizing dinner parties, events, and such to raise funds), please email me. There is also a link on the website to make a donation through paypal.
Thanks to Connie, I will be posting articles and blogs from the road onto the website as frequently as possible. We have a laptop and a car charger, but connecting to the Internet may occur as infrequently as a couple of weeks. I encourage you to check the website often and I promise to do my best to represent the people we encounter, including women impacted by AIDS (which will be my focus).
Women like Juliet, a refugee from Liberia who landed in the Gambia four years ago to escape a terrible civil war which has killed hundreds of thousands of her countrymen and family, unsettled the entire sub-region, and has sent refugees across Africa and the globe. Juliet says that even though the situation in her country has calmed down enough for her to return, the family that remains there would not receive her well if she went back. "Why would I go back? What for?" she asks. "My family would ask me how I was able to survive in a strange country for so long." Like many returning refugees, Juliet's family would assume that she is alive only because she entered the sex trade for survival. For now, these conversations are bringing up only further questions. It is these types of complexities that I hope to come to understand further along the way.
What do we hope to accomplish with this trip? Mostly, we are sensitizing ourselves to the problem of AIDS in Africa, so that the work we will do in the future (mostly in the field of journalism and international development) will be guided by a realistic picture of the reality on the ground. I will be challenged to learn more about myself than I can now imagine. I hope that you follow our journey.
Love, Tuuli
As most of you already know, I am in Africa to drive a modified 1979 Datsun Skyline from West to South Africa, stopping along the way to talk with people about how the message of AIDS awareness is understood in local communities. We hear a lot in the news about the types of aid that the Bush administration, nongovernmental organizations, and even church groups are providing. But what does this aid look like on the receiving end? Please check out our website for more information on our modest project: http://overland.naomba.com/
For the last two weeks, I have prepared for the trip here in the Gambia by eating more peanut stew, fried chicken, rice and fufu than I could handle. Surprisingly, it was the oysters that I collected in the afternoons with the help of a band of small boys on the beach that were the tastiest and least upsetting. My traveling companions (Sean and Nate) and I have also spent a lot of time together. Six to eight months in a car with two guys is going to be challenging—but I feel completely safe with these two. Mostly, our sense of humor will carry us through the worst parts of the trip.
We are currently speaking with local companies about sponsorship for our trip. This is hugely important for us, because we have raised only about half of our expected budget. You can imagine that driving 8,000 miles of road that is sometimes unpaved, through places in which military convoys are required, through the blistering heat of the Sahara, and through dense jungles in the rainy season... is going to run a little expensive. We are hoping that to raise the remainder of our budget through donations from corporate sponsors—and hopefully, from people like you. If you have any ideas that could help us (organizing dinner parties, events, and such to raise funds), please email me. There is also a link on the website to make a donation through paypal.
Thanks to Connie, I will be posting articles and blogs from the road onto the website as frequently as possible. We have a laptop and a car charger, but connecting to the Internet may occur as infrequently as a couple of weeks. I encourage you to check the website often and I promise to do my best to represent the people we encounter, including women impacted by AIDS (which will be my focus).
Women like Juliet, a refugee from Liberia who landed in the Gambia four years ago to escape a terrible civil war which has killed hundreds of thousands of her countrymen and family, unsettled the entire sub-region, and has sent refugees across Africa and the globe. Juliet says that even though the situation in her country has calmed down enough for her to return, the family that remains there would not receive her well if she went back. "Why would I go back? What for?" she asks. "My family would ask me how I was able to survive in a strange country for so long." Like many returning refugees, Juliet's family would assume that she is alive only because she entered the sex trade for survival. For now, these conversations are bringing up only further questions. It is these types of complexities that I hope to come to understand further along the way.
What do we hope to accomplish with this trip? Mostly, we are sensitizing ourselves to the problem of AIDS in Africa, so that the work we will do in the future (mostly in the field of journalism and international development) will be guided by a realistic picture of the reality on the ground. I will be challenged to learn more about myself than I can now imagine. I hope that you follow our journey.
Love, Tuuli
Archives for Tuuli's Blog:
July 2005 August 2005 September 2005