The Masai people of Kenya are an intriguing lot! Our stay in a Masai village was like stepping back into time...let me describe:
We enter the large gate into the family compound...the gate is made of sticks. On the right is the mud and stick hut (about 8' x 8') of the "First wife." Beside that is a stick enclosure where she keeps here goats. A little further along the path of packed cow dung is a second, slightly smaller hut. This is the kitchen of "second wife". Her name is Mama Moses and she comes out to great us. Suppa! She says with a large toothy grin. Mama Moses has a hole in here earlobes you could put your fist through. She is bedecked in beaded necklaces and wrist bands, and a filthy piece of cloth is wrapped around her body. Hanging around here neck (alongside the traditional Masai bead work) is a cellular phone. She shakes our hands, says Suppa again, and our translator explains that we are to say Ippa in response. I am given the Masai name of Nassieku, and for the next few days, that is how I am called. Next along the compound's interior is "third wife's hut - on the right, and then "fourth wife" is on the left. "Dad's" fifth wife died some time ago.
Dad is 72 years roughly. No one really knows since the Masai have only been counting for a decade or so. They used to keep track of their age by the number of rains. So all Dad knows is he is 400 rains. He lives in the tiniest mud hut. It is circular, has a dried grass roof, and a bed made of sticks which sits about 12" off the ground. It has a cow hide on it. Dad's earlobes are also large skin rings full of beads and buttons. On each arm he has 12 large burn marks....Masai body decoration. I will tell you more of Dad a little later.
We stayed in the house - not hut - of Moses. First born of second wife. He lives in the US and is the founder of ELAND, the project that works in this village to improve the education of the Masai people. Joel and I have a large bed to share. The outhouse is downright heavenly compared to the urinals for women in Ghana. It is a small tin building with a large hole in the ground....no issues there...just aim! Joel had some concerns about the over sized spider in the corner, but I was happy he was there for I was pretty sure it could gulp a fly in a single mouthful - and there were no flies in the outhouse!
Along with four wives were various sons, daughters and several grandchildren. The kids were barefoot and in the tornest, filthiest clothes I had ever seen. EXCEPT FOR A NICE SET OF CLOTHES AND SHOES FOR CHURCH, THESE WERE THE CHILDREN'S ONLY CLOTHES. Their clothes were not dirty because no one bothered to wash them...it is because water is so very scarce. I went with the young girls to fetch it on day two. We walked (I am NOT exaggerating) 2 kilometers to a large dugout which was full of the reddest, ugliest water I have ever seen. We filled our 20 litre containers - that weighed now a 1000 pounds or so it seems, and walked back to the village with the water on our backs - supported by a strap on our head. It was VERY hard work! And there were little girls 7 years old doing it every day! Yes...water is way too precious to waste on children's clothing.
The kids all go to school, wearing their shabby, but clean school uniforms.
While the older kids are at school, the 3-5 year olds take the goats out into the savanna to graze...herding them like pros...sitting all day in the scorching heat...seldom any shade.
The women also take their turn with the herds. The cows and the goats are the life blood of the Masai. They do not grow crops or keep chickens. They eat only a diet of goat's milk, goat and cow blood and meat. They buy cornmeal or rice in town. That's it. Goat intestine stew was a tasty meal we were served one night. While we were there we watched a calf be born, and a newborn goat die.
Yesterday we met with "Dad" in his hut. He laid in the dark room, and we sat on small stools with an interpreter. I asked him a thousand questions about his culture...about the times when he was a boy, about the coming of the Colonials. About how life is, and how he sees it changing. It was all very surreal...we laughed together as we compare notes. I asked about life with 5 wives. His eyes about bugged out of his head when I told him we marry who we want and our fathers do not decide. I explained that we marry for love...and he looked at me with the most curious eyes, and asked (thru the interpretor) what do you do when love goes away? I said we separate and he wondered what happens to the children...I explained shared parenting, and remarriage and step children...that led to more discussion, and soon, it was my culture that seemed barbaric.
We talked for hours...we laughed. He looked at me intently with his slightly glazed over eyes, and agreed that there were some good things about western culture and modern times. He particularly liked the idea of education - and sold most of his herd to send all of his children to school. School has only been free for the Masai for the past 5 years...so now everyone goes to school. Even 25 year old men are in school uniforms attending grades school. But Dad knows it will be education that ultimately may change the Masai life forever. Already his son David - our host - has made the decision to marry only one woman, and he does not have mangled earlobes. Dad also particularly likes cell phones...thinks it is a miracle that he can talk to his son Moses in the United States!
On day two we went to a house warming party at a neighbors house...only an hour walk thru the scorching heat (Joel got sooo sunburned he had to wear my very girly white safari hat!....he looked pretty corny standing next to the 2 Masai warriors who showed up). The Masai warriors were very scarry! Hair in spiked long brains forming horns on the head...beaded things everywhere...and when I tried to break a branch off the tree to clean my teeth after lunch, one of them pulled out a long machete from under his loin cloth and trimmed it for me....I kid you not...his shoes were made of old tire rubber. What was even more bazaar was seeing him - and all the other Masai...raising the hands in praise and singing to worship songs while a preacher played the synthesizer/keyboard set up under the tree...plugged into a generator. ±The Masai have no running water, no electricity, mud huts...they drink blood and wear machetes....yet there they are - I kid you not....jumping up and down singing western style praise tunes...and listening to a preacher who would have put Billy Graham to shame. Absolutely surreal!!
Joel will tell you more about our time with the Masai and we will attempt to upload some photos real soon. Love to all.
PS
Happy Birthday Dad!
Sunday, September 30, 2007
Wednesday, September 26, 2007
Final thoughts on Ghana -Greetings from Nairobi, Kenya
Well, after fighting with the local internet, I thought I would be unable to post, however, our host here in Nairobi has internet access after 7pm, so I thought I best post now. We head out to a remote village tomorrow and likely will not have access again until possibly Sept 30 (Happy Birthday Dad if I don't have access), or maybe on October 8th. We head out on safari on the 30th, and can post that day IF the hotel we are at has internet.
Final thoughts on Ghana...
Interesting cultural observations
More later on our village and safari experiences.
Love to all...keep the comments coming.
Final thoughts on Ghana...
Interesting cultural observations
- All senior males and females are called mapa and papa...whether related or not
- Children are carried on mom's back for 3 years
- Woman have permanently arched backs and bottoms that stick out (from carrying babies)
- They snap fingers with each other with every hand shake
- Men are very touchy-feely with each other - and it is not a sexual thing
- Everyone carries a handkerchief (to wipe sweat)...Joel even bought one
- Most people are openly religious
More later on our village and safari experiences.
Love to all...keep the comments coming.
Tuesday, September 25, 2007
Saturday, September 22, 2007
Answers to question
Hey Joel Here. We've had a few question and considering how we have a little time to ourselves today we thought we might give some answers.
First off, to answer some general questions regarding culture/economy and the way things are done here:
The economy is very inefficient. When y0u walk down the streets of Accra you see people selling bicycle innertubes and bars of soap from buckets on their head. There is no such thing as business districts here. every residential neighbourhood has its own bars, restaurants, shops, and hawkers, selling just about anything you can hope or expect to buy here. This is simply the way things are done.
For many people, work entails waking up at 4:30 aM, walking to the local outlet, buying 25 loaves of bread, carrying these in a basket on their head to the local bus depot or traffic jam and selling them car to car for a slight mark up. this is how a LOT of people are employed, and i'm sure that they make enough money doing this to survive... barely. 70% of the country is employed in agriculture. i've seen the farms. most of them are tiny.... the size of a backyard in calgary, with the crops planted irregularly and the field poorly maintained and insufficiently weeded.
It's easy for someone from the west to look at the way things are done here and have absolutely no sympathy. to be perfectly honest, i think a lot of the way things are done here is backwards and counter-productive. but it's not because the people are lazy or stupid. they simply lack education and training. the simplest and most basic agricultural and market9ing skills are revered as treasured knowledge here. In many of the villages we go to, farmers are taught for the first time that it's a good idea to plant their crops in rows, to stake out various parts of the field, and to raise the plots above the ground level in mounds. this is simple stuff! but no one has bothered to tell them before! Once they learn these things, they start to do things better and you see their lives improve.
Mother gave a simple course in marketing to a group of agricultural students, and you could see in their faces that this was precious material they were being taught. they are eager to learn, and ready to try new things, but they aren't willing to risk their livelihood on a new and untested idea. for a lot of them, barely enough money to survive is better than nothing, and nothing is what they might get if they try something new and untested. simply coming here and teaching basic skills improves the lives of many.
It can be very frustrating at times. the economy is so obviously inefficient. people aren't proactive, they don't innovate. everyone is stuck in a cycle of poverty and barely able to sustain their meager lifestyles.
here is the thing to understand:
It's not our fault! It's not OUR job to pull these people out of their problems. Do not feel like you have to help. they have it tough here; the climate alternates between very wet and very dry, and this makes it very hard to implement sustainable agriculture. it takes 5 hours to get from one business district to the other because road infrastructure in inefficient and public transport is so slow... this means that everything takes a long time. entrepreneurial spirit is everything here. there are only a few big companies that employ people, so the vast majority of people are self-employed as salesmen or merchants... there are simply no other job opportunities here. the 0ther problem is a lack of capital. it's hard to start business ventures here because of inflation and lack of starting capital. the only jobs available to most people are buying food in bulk and selling it on the streets to consumers... but because that is the same thing that everyone else is doing, their products are priced too low and the margins are too high. they can't make enough money to save.
Part of it is the legacy of colonialism. businesses and individuals have only had 50 years to develop themselves. that's not a very long time compared to us in the west. the other part of it is the culture, which is very different from ours. that means that things don't work the same here as they would at home. maybe that will change with time, but it will take a few generations.
Ghana is doing well compared to most African countries. the people here are unified ethnically and religiously and they have not had to deal with civil strife or civil ware. they are fortunate. yes, people are poor. but they are learning how to sustain themselves. They have a lot to learn, but every new thing they learn helps them improve their lives. a lack of education is the biggest problem, and that is not a problem that can be solved overnight. it's going to take a little bit of time.
The people here are for the most part happy and content. they want to figure things out on their own, and they don't expect anyone to help them. if people are willing to help, that's great, and they will learn everything that they can from them. They are a very patient people and all that they ask is that we be patient with them as well. they'll catch up to us one day, and if we are interested in helping them do that,"We are welcome"
First off, to answer some general questions regarding culture/economy and the way things are done here:
The economy is very inefficient. When y0u walk down the streets of Accra you see people selling bicycle innertubes and bars of soap from buckets on their head. There is no such thing as business districts here. every residential neighbourhood has its own bars, restaurants, shops, and hawkers, selling just about anything you can hope or expect to buy here. This is simply the way things are done.
For many people, work entails waking up at 4:30 aM, walking to the local outlet, buying 25 loaves of bread, carrying these in a basket on their head to the local bus depot or traffic jam and selling them car to car for a slight mark up. this is how a LOT of people are employed, and i'm sure that they make enough money doing this to survive... barely. 70% of the country is employed in agriculture. i've seen the farms. most of them are tiny.... the size of a backyard in calgary, with the crops planted irregularly and the field poorly maintained and insufficiently weeded.
It's easy for someone from the west to look at the way things are done here and have absolutely no sympathy. to be perfectly honest, i think a lot of the way things are done here is backwards and counter-productive. but it's not because the people are lazy or stupid. they simply lack education and training. the simplest and most basic agricultural and market9ing skills are revered as treasured knowledge here. In many of the villages we go to, farmers are taught for the first time that it's a good idea to plant their crops in rows, to stake out various parts of the field, and to raise the plots above the ground level in mounds. this is simple stuff! but no one has bothered to tell them before! Once they learn these things, they start to do things better and you see their lives improve.
Mother gave a simple course in marketing to a group of agricultural students, and you could see in their faces that this was precious material they were being taught. they are eager to learn, and ready to try new things, but they aren't willing to risk their livelihood on a new and untested idea. for a lot of them, barely enough money to survive is better than nothing, and nothing is what they might get if they try something new and untested. simply coming here and teaching basic skills improves the lives of many.
It can be very frustrating at times. the economy is so obviously inefficient. people aren't proactive, they don't innovate. everyone is stuck in a cycle of poverty and barely able to sustain their meager lifestyles.
here is the thing to understand:
It's not our fault! It's not OUR job to pull these people out of their problems. Do not feel like you have to help. they have it tough here; the climate alternates between very wet and very dry, and this makes it very hard to implement sustainable agriculture. it takes 5 hours to get from one business district to the other because road infrastructure in inefficient and public transport is so slow... this means that everything takes a long time. entrepreneurial spirit is everything here. there are only a few big companies that employ people, so the vast majority of people are self-employed as salesmen or merchants... there are simply no other job opportunities here. the 0ther problem is a lack of capital. it's hard to start business ventures here because of inflation and lack of starting capital. the only jobs available to most people are buying food in bulk and selling it on the streets to consumers... but because that is the same thing that everyone else is doing, their products are priced too low and the margins are too high. they can't make enough money to save.
Part of it is the legacy of colonialism. businesses and individuals have only had 50 years to develop themselves. that's not a very long time compared to us in the west. the other part of it is the culture, which is very different from ours. that means that things don't work the same here as they would at home. maybe that will change with time, but it will take a few generations.
Ghana is doing well compared to most African countries. the people here are unified ethnically and religiously and they have not had to deal with civil strife or civil ware. they are fortunate. yes, people are poor. but they are learning how to sustain themselves. They have a lot to learn, but every new thing they learn helps them improve their lives. a lack of education is the biggest problem, and that is not a problem that can be solved overnight. it's going to take a little bit of time.
The people here are for the most part happy and content. they want to figure things out on their own, and they don't expect anyone to help them. if people are willing to help, that's great, and they will learn everything that they can from them. They are a very patient people and all that they ask is that we be patient with them as well. they'll catch up to us one day, and if we are interested in helping them do that,"We are welcome"
Friday, September 21, 2007
Thoughts from Ghana - Corrie
Imagine a world where everyone worships God. As you walk down a busy street, hymns and praise songs fill the air. A world where everyone is gracious, polite, and kind. Where time is taken to not only inquire "how are you?", but to actually want to listen to the answer! A real answer...not just the curt response "fine."
Imagine a world where every older woman is called mama and elderly men papa, and where a young child is happy to crawl into the arms of an adult they do not even know - soon to fall fast asleep. A world where children are carried on the backs of their mothers until they are 3, even while she works all day selling wears off her head at the side of the road. How about a world where young children do their chores without being harped at...small girls as young as 5 carrying heavy things on their head, washing clothes in buckets of water drawn from the ditch at the side of the road...where young boys sit for hours weaving beautiful cloth, or trudge miles to collect bamboo poles. Imagine a world where woman sit huddles over the tiniest fire, cooking their daily meals in a single pot. And imagine that all the while these tasks are performed, the people wear smiles on their faces and hum songs of praise.
Imagine a world where everyone is eager to learn how to improve themselves and their world, and where advise given is graciously received. Imagine a world where no one smokes, and no one drinks too much (if at all).
This is Ghana. A place of beauty for sure...lush green vegetation everywhere...but far more beautiful are the people. There is something to learn from a race that admonishes their media to"inform and transform" the minds of the people (to be more godly).
Ghana is committed to improving the lives of its people. They have mandatory community service and lots of government programs. What they lack is money and skills...human resource training is terribly lacking, and even the most basic of marketing skills are so much appreciated here. Simple understandings we have and take for granted in the west, are coveted here. They seek our knowledge and want to suck as much information out of us as they can. I feel I have been useful...and look forward to helping more. Each and everyone of you has something you could offer Ghanaians.
Today I gave a short lecture at the college about marketing, and on Monday I will teach a class in more detail. All the students are eager to learn...as are the directors who we will spend this afternoon consulting on strategic management. We will be here until Monday. Tomorrow we will do some sightseeing, and then on Sunday will attend church and meet the village elders. We are pretty sure we will be able to upload photos later today or tomorrow. Thanks for your comments...please post some more...we read them eagerly, and miss you all so much.
Imagine a world where every older woman is called mama and elderly men papa, and where a young child is happy to crawl into the arms of an adult they do not even know - soon to fall fast asleep. A world where children are carried on the backs of their mothers until they are 3, even while she works all day selling wears off her head at the side of the road. How about a world where young children do their chores without being harped at...small girls as young as 5 carrying heavy things on their head, washing clothes in buckets of water drawn from the ditch at the side of the road...where young boys sit for hours weaving beautiful cloth, or trudge miles to collect bamboo poles. Imagine a world where woman sit huddles over the tiniest fire, cooking their daily meals in a single pot. And imagine that all the while these tasks are performed, the people wear smiles on their faces and hum songs of praise.
Imagine a world where everyone is eager to learn how to improve themselves and their world, and where advise given is graciously received. Imagine a world where no one smokes, and no one drinks too much (if at all).
This is Ghana. A place of beauty for sure...lush green vegetation everywhere...but far more beautiful are the people. There is something to learn from a race that admonishes their media to"inform and transform" the minds of the people (to be more godly).
Ghana is committed to improving the lives of its people. They have mandatory community service and lots of government programs. What they lack is money and skills...human resource training is terribly lacking, and even the most basic of marketing skills are so much appreciated here. Simple understandings we have and take for granted in the west, are coveted here. They seek our knowledge and want to suck as much information out of us as they can. I feel I have been useful...and look forward to helping more. Each and everyone of you has something you could offer Ghanaians.
Today I gave a short lecture at the college about marketing, and on Monday I will teach a class in more detail. All the students are eager to learn...as are the directors who we will spend this afternoon consulting on strategic management. We will be here until Monday. Tomorrow we will do some sightseeing, and then on Sunday will attend church and meet the village elders. We are pretty sure we will be able to upload photos later today or tomorrow. Thanks for your comments...please post some more...we read them eagerly, and miss you all so much.
Joel In Ghana - week two
Wow, the time has really flown by since we arrived in Ghana. Me and mother both have pretty bad chest colds, but aside from that are doing great and feeling well. The reception here has been amazing. We have completed our work with LHL (Living Helping Learning) and are now in Kumasi where we will be working with the director of the Kumasi Institute of Tropical Agriculture.
The bugs here are huge. there are ants on the farm here that are bigger than a paper clip, with these huge black mandibles. thankfully, they don't climb stuff and so none have tried to get up my pant leg. they're still pretty creepy though.
The people here are amazing, and everywhere we go it seems we are welcomed warmly. I'm getting used to the humidity here, but the air is thick and it bothers the throat and eyes so that sometimes i wake up in the night and it feels like my eyes and the skin on my face are burning from some chemical. Apparently it's the toxins leeching out through my sweat and irritating the sensitive skin on my face.
We have met some friends here, and everyone we meet wants to exchange e-mail with us. the cell phones here are amazing. they're dirt cheap and you can buy minutes from little stands on the side of the road that you can find just about anywhere. for less than $10 we were able to buy enough minutes to talk to Canada for almost an hour! The food is good too. lots of spices, and very flavourful. we are still getting a feel for the local culture and customs and every now and then we make a mistake and people give us looks. it's embarresing when it happens, but we're getting used to it and it's the only way to learn.
Everything here takes forever. yesterday we took a bus from accra to kumasi, we left the house in Accra at 8:00 AM, boarded the bus to Kumasi at 10:00, the bus left Accra at 12:00 (they had to wait for it fill up) and arrived in Kumasi at 6:00 PM. 10 hours on a bus going down bumpy dirt roads. ugh. but even that, we are getting used to. nothing happens quickly here, and in our western haste to "get down to business" we often make the cultural mistake of asking people business questions before we have been properly introduced. the proper way to do things here is to shake hands (from right to left) introduce yourselves, then sit down. inquire about each others' health (an important topic) the host will then offer your something t0o drink. next the visitor (usually us) will state the purpose of our visit, then the host will explain what they are doing there. this goes on. then when that is done there is usually a few minutes of silence (which i find incredibly awkward) and then and ONLY then will business be discussed. it has forced us to slow down, but it still grates on the nerves. a few days ago we spent 5 hours on a bus and 45 minutes of introductions and formalities to conduct a 5 minute interview with a woman running a private school outside of Accra. this is normal here.
Anyways, i'm running out of time on the computer, so i'm going to post this now and hopefully add to it tomorrow. lots of love.
The bugs here are huge. there are ants on the farm here that are bigger than a paper clip, with these huge black mandibles. thankfully, they don't climb stuff and so none have tried to get up my pant leg. they're still pretty creepy though.
The people here are amazing, and everywhere we go it seems we are welcomed warmly. I'm getting used to the humidity here, but the air is thick and it bothers the throat and eyes so that sometimes i wake up in the night and it feels like my eyes and the skin on my face are burning from some chemical. Apparently it's the toxins leeching out through my sweat and irritating the sensitive skin on my face.
We have met some friends here, and everyone we meet wants to exchange e-mail with us. the cell phones here are amazing. they're dirt cheap and you can buy minutes from little stands on the side of the road that you can find just about anywhere. for less than $10 we were able to buy enough minutes to talk to Canada for almost an hour! The food is good too. lots of spices, and very flavourful. we are still getting a feel for the local culture and customs and every now and then we make a mistake and people give us looks. it's embarresing when it happens, but we're getting used to it and it's the only way to learn.
Everything here takes forever. yesterday we took a bus from accra to kumasi, we left the house in Accra at 8:00 AM, boarded the bus to Kumasi at 10:00, the bus left Accra at 12:00 (they had to wait for it fill up) and arrived in Kumasi at 6:00 PM. 10 hours on a bus going down bumpy dirt roads. ugh. but even that, we are getting used to. nothing happens quickly here, and in our western haste to "get down to business" we often make the cultural mistake of asking people business questions before we have been properly introduced. the proper way to do things here is to shake hands (from right to left) introduce yourselves, then sit down. inquire about each others' health (an important topic) the host will then offer your something t0o drink. next the visitor (usually us) will state the purpose of our visit, then the host will explain what they are doing there. this goes on. then when that is done there is usually a few minutes of silence (which i find incredibly awkward) and then and ONLY then will business be discussed. it has forced us to slow down, but it still grates on the nerves. a few days ago we spent 5 hours on a bus and 45 minutes of introductions and formalities to conduct a 5 minute interview with a woman running a private school outside of Accra. this is normal here.
Anyways, i'm running out of time on the computer, so i'm going to post this now and hopefully add to it tomorrow. lots of love.
Monday, September 17, 2007
Corrie from Accra
Leaving the city of Accra was a welcomed blessing. The city has air so thick it hurts your lungs. The open sewers and miles of shacks were depressing. It was hot and humid...everything new and scary. We piled on to a Troll-troll (a dilapidated van that would have been condemned to a junkyard in Canada), built to hold six, there were sixteen of us squished in there…no seat belts or air conditioning of course) and drove into the country where we watched three hours of the most beautiful countryside pass by. We were delighted to see another side of Accra too. There were actually large, modern buildings and homes…clearly a sign that things are improving for some in Ghana.
We arrived in the village of Have in the Volta Region. Most of the homes were small shacks of mud, many with thatched roofs. Some were made of brick and had tin roofs. Each was built in a small compound with others – whole extended families living together in a small compound of sorts. Chickens and goats roamed freely everywhere, free to scavenge for food where they might.
There we were given a tour of the school, which was shocking to say the least. Walls were crumbling, roof rafters split and falling down, dirt floors, and crumbling mud and brick walls. There were no desks for the children to sit on, and no shudders to keep the cold rain and wind out. Most children and people alike wore rags of sorts…always clean and pressed. It was not unusual to see a small boy proudly strutting in a large mans shirt. Water is scarce, and women still haul it by the bucketful to their homes. Cooking is done on a small hibachi-type stove – just big enough for 1 pot. Fuel is wood…gathered by the children and women from the hills that surround the village.
We were shown great respect and treated as special guests.
Over the course of then next 2 days we were taken to other villages and shown more crumbling schools, crowded orphanages, and daycares operating in shacks – jammed full of 50 children, sweltering in high heat and humidity. Their conditions were abysmal; yet, the children all smiled, and in unison said “You are welcome!” – The standard Ghanaian greeting.
I was amazed to see how happy everyone was. They sang and danced and laughed. They were gracious and kind. There seemed no thoughts to their poverty…they only worshipped God with a sincerity I have seldom seen. Everyone it seems here is an evangelical Christian, and without exception each day the air is filled with worshipful song, layered in beautiful harmony. I have never before met such beautiful, friendly people.
Most difficult for me was last night when we slept in a town called Kpandu. There the proprietress housed and fed us, in quite adequate conditions, however, there at her home were 3 beautiful boys, who when we arrived, ran to me, throwing their arms in the air. I scooped them up, was quickly informed they were all three orphans. I held and snuggled them for hours, while I watched the village girls sing and dance for me…all was beautiful, until bed time, when all alone, I watched the three boys leave the kitchen where we (not they) had just finished our evening meal. Next to the kitchen was a concrete floored room – much like a garage. There the three boys (ages 3, 4, 5), without undressing, laid down on the bare concrete and closed their eyes.
My heart broke, and I did not sleep, knowing there were there …all alone. There were no good night kisses for them, except from me…
Today I informed those taking me around the projects that we would need to stop in town so I could buy three mattresses. Tonight I hope the lovely, happy, beautiful boys will sleep better. I also ordered 2 sets of bunk-beds to be built, the bottom one with rails to be converted to a crib… a new baby will be born soon, and the proprietress has already agreed to take the baby in.
The needs in Ghana are great. But they are fixable. $500 builds 18 desks…I saw with my own eyes…they can be built in 2 weeks. $1000 will build toilets for the school, $10,000 will build a large orphanage…the land is already bought.
Tonight we are back in Accra. Our work with LHL is complete, and soon we head out of town again to do some training with a group of graduates from the agricultural college. Then we will be running a management staff workshop, helping KITA with their strategic plan.
One last word about pictures...we continue to take hundreds...however, they are all on our laptop, and unfortunately, the NGO we are working with has a very old computer without a USB port where we can plug in to transfer the photos and upload them...not too mention it has taken me over an hour just to check my mail and upload this because they dial up computer access is so slow....speaking of slow...Ghanaians give new meaning to word slow...not of mind of course..but of doing everything...walking, talking...every meeting begins with long formal introductions, followed by tea or water and the stating of ones purpose there (even if they know why you are there), only then can you get down to business...the only thing that moves quickly in Ghana is the troll-trolls as they careen past motorbikes and groups of women with baskets, TV's, and everything you can imagine on their heads!
Love to you all.
PS the five things I will never ever ever again take for granted:
Toilet paper
Hot bath
Coffee
A soft bed
Clean air and water
We arrived in the village of Have in the Volta Region. Most of the homes were small shacks of mud, many with thatched roofs. Some were made of brick and had tin roofs. Each was built in a small compound with others – whole extended families living together in a small compound of sorts. Chickens and goats roamed freely everywhere, free to scavenge for food where they might.
There we were given a tour of the school, which was shocking to say the least. Walls were crumbling, roof rafters split and falling down, dirt floors, and crumbling mud and brick walls. There were no desks for the children to sit on, and no shudders to keep the cold rain and wind out. Most children and people alike wore rags of sorts…always clean and pressed. It was not unusual to see a small boy proudly strutting in a large mans shirt. Water is scarce, and women still haul it by the bucketful to their homes. Cooking is done on a small hibachi-type stove – just big enough for 1 pot. Fuel is wood…gathered by the children and women from the hills that surround the village.
We were shown great respect and treated as special guests.
Over the course of then next 2 days we were taken to other villages and shown more crumbling schools, crowded orphanages, and daycares operating in shacks – jammed full of 50 children, sweltering in high heat and humidity. Their conditions were abysmal; yet, the children all smiled, and in unison said “You are welcome!” – The standard Ghanaian greeting.
I was amazed to see how happy everyone was. They sang and danced and laughed. They were gracious and kind. There seemed no thoughts to their poverty…they only worshipped God with a sincerity I have seldom seen. Everyone it seems here is an evangelical Christian, and without exception each day the air is filled with worshipful song, layered in beautiful harmony. I have never before met such beautiful, friendly people.
Most difficult for me was last night when we slept in a town called Kpandu. There the proprietress housed and fed us, in quite adequate conditions, however, there at her home were 3 beautiful boys, who when we arrived, ran to me, throwing their arms in the air. I scooped them up, was quickly informed they were all three orphans. I held and snuggled them for hours, while I watched the village girls sing and dance for me…all was beautiful, until bed time, when all alone, I watched the three boys leave the kitchen where we (not they) had just finished our evening meal. Next to the kitchen was a concrete floored room – much like a garage. There the three boys (ages 3, 4, 5), without undressing, laid down on the bare concrete and closed their eyes.
My heart broke, and I did not sleep, knowing there were there …all alone. There were no good night kisses for them, except from me…
Today I informed those taking me around the projects that we would need to stop in town so I could buy three mattresses. Tonight I hope the lovely, happy, beautiful boys will sleep better. I also ordered 2 sets of bunk-beds to be built, the bottom one with rails to be converted to a crib… a new baby will be born soon, and the proprietress has already agreed to take the baby in.
The needs in Ghana are great. But they are fixable. $500 builds 18 desks…I saw with my own eyes…they can be built in 2 weeks. $1000 will build toilets for the school, $10,000 will build a large orphanage…the land is already bought.
Tonight we are back in Accra. Our work with LHL is complete, and soon we head out of town again to do some training with a group of graduates from the agricultural college. Then we will be running a management staff workshop, helping KITA with their strategic plan.
One last word about pictures...we continue to take hundreds...however, they are all on our laptop, and unfortunately, the NGO we are working with has a very old computer without a USB port where we can plug in to transfer the photos and upload them...not too mention it has taken me over an hour just to check my mail and upload this because they dial up computer access is so slow....speaking of slow...Ghanaians give new meaning to word slow...not of mind of course..but of doing everything...walking, talking...every meeting begins with long formal introductions, followed by tea or water and the stating of ones purpose there (even if they know why you are there), only then can you get down to business...the only thing that moves quickly in Ghana is the troll-trolls as they careen past motorbikes and groups of women with baskets, TV's, and everything you can imagine on their heads!
Love to you all.
PS the five things I will never ever ever again take for granted:
Toilet paper
Hot bath
Coffee
A soft bed
Clean air and water
Thursday, September 13, 2007
Barcelona and Casablanca and Accra
Joel on Barcelona and Casablanca
Where to even begin. We spend our last day in Barcelona split up. Mom and Emmanualle go on a bus tour of the Old City, while i stay at the hotel and continue working at my Novel (and despite my best efforts continue to misuse every piece of punctuation i place). While on the bust tour mother and Emanualle get flashed by a penis weilding exhibitionist, and this is the talk of the afternoon. It would soon be eclipsed. On the metro we get pickpocketed by a couple of old hunched spanish ladies who get mother's money belt half way unzipped before she notices and belts one of them in the neck. they give us the finger and scamper off down the tunnels of the metro.
Our flight leaves at 10:00 Pm for Casablanca so we plan on being at the aiurport by 8. We cut it a little too close with the trains and end up running to catch the train to take us to the airport. Somewhere along the run mother's day-pack (which she insists on zipping from both sides so that the to zippers meet at the top of the bag instead of down one side at the bottom) comes open and her $600 eye glasses fall out. We never do recover them. We make the train just in time, and hop on quickly. We are the only ones in our car, but that doesn't bother us. Until the lights turn out. The train stops at a strange looking station on the outskirts of town and the lights come back on. It sits there. For about ten minutes. When the lights come back on suddenly a display lights up informing us that the train we are on is "No Servicio". Now we're a little worried as we are already running behind schedule. It gets worse. The doors won't open. We're locked in the train.
After 5 minutes of banging on the windows and shouting for help, two passersby mercifully let us out and inform us that the train we were on is "No Servicio". Yeah, about that... We ask a few people and find out that a new train is coming soon. I am already quite convinced we are going to miss our flight.
The train comes, we get to the airport, and now we are racing down the walkways scooting from terminal to terminal in search of our flight. By some miraculous fortune (and the general laid-back slowness of the Old World) the flight is delayed and people are still checking their baggage when we arrive. Releived, exhausted, we wander through customs and security and find our gate. gate 59. We still have half an hour till the plane is set to board, so we sit down and enjoy our last mini bottle of wine before leaving the comnforts of Europe for the heat and uncertainty of the African continent.
We finish our wine and head back to the gate.. It's deserted. Everyone is gone. the passengers are gone, the ticket lady is gone, everyone is gone. Now it's panic time. Stupidly, recklessly, we run out onto the tarmac and start shouting through a window at a group of ground crew members on their coffee break that we don't know where our plane is. They look at us like we must be total idiots and rather pointedly explain that we're not allowed to be on the Tarmac. We understand this. We can't find our flight, can you please help us? No. We're not supposed to be there. Ok, back into the terminal and up the stairs it is. Our flight is flight 151 on Royal Air Maroc, so we find the poor check-in girl from Emirates Airways flight 1035 to Bristol and start pouring out our dilemma. Poor woman, she has no idea what we're talking about and probably doesn't speak english well enough to understand two frantic and panicked anglaphones talking at the same time. She tells us to contact the airline. i have a better idea, i check the departure listings on the computer screen.
Now... i',m sure many of you are probably thinking "duh", and you're absolutely right, i have no idea why that wasn't our first and onlyu instinct. The gate has been changed to #53, which is, ironically, right next to the little cafe where we had been drinking wine. We actually watched the passnegers of our flight come up the escalator and line up less than 10 feet from us before running downstairs and entering panic mode. sigh.
No worried, we get on the flight, releived, but WAY stressed out now after our day of misfortune and mischance. When we arrive at Casablanca we hail a taxi and proceed to get the tourist discount. I don't even care that he's overcharging us, i just want to find a hotel and collapse.
Our Hotel is called the Hotel Central, and is located just within the walls of the old city in Ancienne Medina. At this point in my life (we haven't arrived in Ghana yet) it is the poorest slum i have ever seen. By night the old city is a terrifying place, and i am very grateful that the taxi we take is able to bring us to within feet of the door. A word about the taxi ride:
We started out in a normal taxi (no meter, that would be wishful thinking) and at some point as we approached the old city were informed in a combination of arabic and heavily accented french that we would have to transfer to a "petite taxi" to enter the old city. Whatever, let's go. We barely fit in there with all our bags, and the driver of our new taxi has absolutely no idea where the hotel central is. none whatsoever. He starts to drive away, but then stops and ends up idling in the middle of the road shouting out the window at our first taxi driver (presumably asking where the hell this place is and why in god's name any tourist would want to go to the old city) This takes a long time and a lot of words, which i find strange. Soon a third taxi driver has entered the conversation and now they're all shouting and standing in the middle of the road with traffic creaming by heedlessly on either side. After following a second taxi for most of the way and then stopping three times for directions from pewople on the street (they all give us different directions i'm pretty sure) we finally make it to the old city. The taxi driver wants fifty dirham's for his leg of the ride. whatever, he can have 500 dirhams if this place has hot water.
It does. we shower and head straight to bed. it's been probably he most hectic and stressfull day of the trip and we're glad it's over.
The next morning is spent visiting the Mosque of Hassan II, the third largest mosque in the world, and it is a beautiful site. we take lots of pictures. (you can't have any)
Then we wander down into the old city to visit the traditional market, and i am starting to freak out. we are the only pale faces, and everyone is looking at us as we walk by. To my surprise (and releif) the locals are a friendly bunch who give us free fruit and want us to take their picture. a couple old moslem ladies stop to tell mother how beautiful she is and to thank her for respecting their culture by wearing a headscarf.
The roads of the old city are too narrow for cars, and we quickly get very very lost. now i'm really worried as i can no longer sense which direction the sea is in, and am not sure where our hotel is. As we walk down one of the seemingly endless and identical streets i feel a hot palm press up against my nose and eyes and grubby fingers scratching for my sunglasses. I stand there motionless as the assailant somehow misses my glasses (they were probably slippery with sweat) and then runs off ahead of us and around the corner. The locals look a little shocked, but no one asks us if we are ok. I'm not sure if we should continue going the same way (the way the assailant went) or turn back, but i don't want to appear timid or fightened in front of the locals so we continue down the street and round the corner to the left. A few minutes later the assailant attacks me again. This time he grabs onto my bag with one hand and pulls my head back with the other to get a a better shot at the glasses. still he somehow manages to break free and run off without them. i'm quite shooken up now, and getting scared. the locals are just standing there. we stop a few blocks later and ask a policeman for directions, then quickly skirt the edge of what appears to be a brawl in the making and head towards the sounds of vehicle traffic. Finally we get back to the hotel and i am determined to spend the rest of the time until our flight leaves hunkered right there in the lobby. but we don't. we tell the hotel manager about the attack, and he seems very upset by it. he tells us that his hotel depends on tourists for business and it really makes him mad when this sort of thing happens. he says not to let it bother me though, it could have happened to anyone, anywhere. at least i was not hurt, and he tanks God for that. so do i.
Graciously, he offers to drive us back to the mosque where we take a guided tour, and then he reccomends an excellent Morrocan restaurant just a few blocks from our hotel. the food is delicious and i eat way too much. we also drink as much water as we can. soon we will be heading to west africa and i have no idea what the water availability situation is there. we get to the airport for our flight way too early (upon my insistance) and mother talks to Stephane on the phone while i chainsmoke marlboros and listen to two arabs talk in french about nothing in particular. We are the first ones to go through security at our gate (an hour and a bit early) and we sit at the gate all by ourselves for a good 25 minutes beor enayone else even bothers to show up.
Just as the plane is boarding, a young African man at the back of the line falls to his knees at the foot of his European looking escort, an immigration official. He is begging for something, and getting loud and nervous. The poliuce come over, and the immigration official seems to be discussing something with them. i am nervous because the man looks very agitated and i am afraid he could become violent if they let him on the plane. as we board we ask a professional looking african man in front of us what all the commotion was. He tells us that the man does not want to go back to Ghana. It dawns on me then that this man was likely being deported back to his home country after trying to get into the European Union. I saw the look in the man's eyes as he boarded the plane, and could see fear for his life written there. something terrible awaits him back home. It occurs to me as the plane takes off that we are about to willingly head to the one place in the world this man is trying to get away from. i try to not let it worry me, but it's hard.
Corrie from Accra
Joel and I are in Ghana, staying at the Directors house of an organization called Learning, Helping, Living. A nice man, very committed to his work.
Arrival in Accra was shocking. I was expecting a large, modern city, but what I got was 3 million people who live in shacks...mud roads, open sewer ditches. The air is constantly full of smoke that burns the eyes. I was speechless. It is a bit overwhelming. Joel and I are in a small room together, we have a bed each, with a foam mattress and a sheet. There is a large screened window. The chickens outside crow constantly, and the humidity is so high it hurts to breath. There is a modern toilet, and in a separate room, a large bathtub. There is no hot water. We are very priveleged here. This home is considered upper middle class. Godson, the man here, is retired and has 6 children (several of which have given up their beds for us). There is dial up internet and a very old computer, so uploading pics to the blog is out of the question. Even checking mail has taken a very long time.
Today Godson will take Joel and I into the heart of the city, to the market, and to the Ministry of Health. He works closely with them to deliver programs to help educate rural villagers on TB, Aids, and other sexually transmitted diseases. They use many herbal remedies here, and homeopathy and alternative care are widely endorsed by the government and people here.
I am sick with a cold, and the heavy wet air is not helping...I am sticky all over and wishing I had a long loose dress that did not touch my skin...maybe at the market.
I will be working with Godson to review his strategic plan, tweak his funding proposals, and discuss ways to make the most of volunteer tourism.
Love to all, we will try to update you often, but are uncertain as to how long we will be staying in Accra. We may be sleeping in one of the villages soon.
Where to even begin. We spend our last day in Barcelona split up. Mom and Emmanualle go on a bus tour of the Old City, while i stay at the hotel and continue working at my Novel (and despite my best efforts continue to misuse every piece of punctuation i place). While on the bust tour mother and Emanualle get flashed by a penis weilding exhibitionist, and this is the talk of the afternoon. It would soon be eclipsed. On the metro we get pickpocketed by a couple of old hunched spanish ladies who get mother's money belt half way unzipped before she notices and belts one of them in the neck. they give us the finger and scamper off down the tunnels of the metro.
Our flight leaves at 10:00 Pm for Casablanca so we plan on being at the aiurport by 8. We cut it a little too close with the trains and end up running to catch the train to take us to the airport. Somewhere along the run mother's day-pack (which she insists on zipping from both sides so that the to zippers meet at the top of the bag instead of down one side at the bottom) comes open and her $600 eye glasses fall out. We never do recover them. We make the train just in time, and hop on quickly. We are the only ones in our car, but that doesn't bother us. Until the lights turn out. The train stops at a strange looking station on the outskirts of town and the lights come back on. It sits there. For about ten minutes. When the lights come back on suddenly a display lights up informing us that the train we are on is "No Servicio". Now we're a little worried as we are already running behind schedule. It gets worse. The doors won't open. We're locked in the train.
After 5 minutes of banging on the windows and shouting for help, two passersby mercifully let us out and inform us that the train we were on is "No Servicio". Yeah, about that... We ask a few people and find out that a new train is coming soon. I am already quite convinced we are going to miss our flight.
The train comes, we get to the airport, and now we are racing down the walkways scooting from terminal to terminal in search of our flight. By some miraculous fortune (and the general laid-back slowness of the Old World) the flight is delayed and people are still checking their baggage when we arrive. Releived, exhausted, we wander through customs and security and find our gate. gate 59. We still have half an hour till the plane is set to board, so we sit down and enjoy our last mini bottle of wine before leaving the comnforts of Europe for the heat and uncertainty of the African continent.
We finish our wine and head back to the gate.. It's deserted. Everyone is gone. the passengers are gone, the ticket lady is gone, everyone is gone. Now it's panic time. Stupidly, recklessly, we run out onto the tarmac and start shouting through a window at a group of ground crew members on their coffee break that we don't know where our plane is. They look at us like we must be total idiots and rather pointedly explain that we're not allowed to be on the Tarmac. We understand this. We can't find our flight, can you please help us? No. We're not supposed to be there. Ok, back into the terminal and up the stairs it is. Our flight is flight 151 on Royal Air Maroc, so we find the poor check-in girl from Emirates Airways flight 1035 to Bristol and start pouring out our dilemma. Poor woman, she has no idea what we're talking about and probably doesn't speak english well enough to understand two frantic and panicked anglaphones talking at the same time. She tells us to contact the airline. i have a better idea, i check the departure listings on the computer screen.
Now... i',m sure many of you are probably thinking "duh", and you're absolutely right, i have no idea why that wasn't our first and onlyu instinct. The gate has been changed to #53, which is, ironically, right next to the little cafe where we had been drinking wine. We actually watched the passnegers of our flight come up the escalator and line up less than 10 feet from us before running downstairs and entering panic mode. sigh.
No worried, we get on the flight, releived, but WAY stressed out now after our day of misfortune and mischance. When we arrive at Casablanca we hail a taxi and proceed to get the tourist discount. I don't even care that he's overcharging us, i just want to find a hotel and collapse.
Our Hotel is called the Hotel Central, and is located just within the walls of the old city in Ancienne Medina. At this point in my life (we haven't arrived in Ghana yet) it is the poorest slum i have ever seen. By night the old city is a terrifying place, and i am very grateful that the taxi we take is able to bring us to within feet of the door. A word about the taxi ride:
We started out in a normal taxi (no meter, that would be wishful thinking) and at some point as we approached the old city were informed in a combination of arabic and heavily accented french that we would have to transfer to a "petite taxi" to enter the old city. Whatever, let's go. We barely fit in there with all our bags, and the driver of our new taxi has absolutely no idea where the hotel central is. none whatsoever. He starts to drive away, but then stops and ends up idling in the middle of the road shouting out the window at our first taxi driver (presumably asking where the hell this place is and why in god's name any tourist would want to go to the old city) This takes a long time and a lot of words, which i find strange. Soon a third taxi driver has entered the conversation and now they're all shouting and standing in the middle of the road with traffic creaming by heedlessly on either side. After following a second taxi for most of the way and then stopping three times for directions from pewople on the street (they all give us different directions i'm pretty sure) we finally make it to the old city. The taxi driver wants fifty dirham's for his leg of the ride. whatever, he can have 500 dirhams if this place has hot water.
It does. we shower and head straight to bed. it's been probably he most hectic and stressfull day of the trip and we're glad it's over.
The next morning is spent visiting the Mosque of Hassan II, the third largest mosque in the world, and it is a beautiful site. we take lots of pictures. (you can't have any)
Then we wander down into the old city to visit the traditional market, and i am starting to freak out. we are the only pale faces, and everyone is looking at us as we walk by. To my surprise (and releif) the locals are a friendly bunch who give us free fruit and want us to take their picture. a couple old moslem ladies stop to tell mother how beautiful she is and to thank her for respecting their culture by wearing a headscarf.
The roads of the old city are too narrow for cars, and we quickly get very very lost. now i'm really worried as i can no longer sense which direction the sea is in, and am not sure where our hotel is. As we walk down one of the seemingly endless and identical streets i feel a hot palm press up against my nose and eyes and grubby fingers scratching for my sunglasses. I stand there motionless as the assailant somehow misses my glasses (they were probably slippery with sweat) and then runs off ahead of us and around the corner. The locals look a little shocked, but no one asks us if we are ok. I'm not sure if we should continue going the same way (the way the assailant went) or turn back, but i don't want to appear timid or fightened in front of the locals so we continue down the street and round the corner to the left. A few minutes later the assailant attacks me again. This time he grabs onto my bag with one hand and pulls my head back with the other to get a a better shot at the glasses. still he somehow manages to break free and run off without them. i'm quite shooken up now, and getting scared. the locals are just standing there. we stop a few blocks later and ask a policeman for directions, then quickly skirt the edge of what appears to be a brawl in the making and head towards the sounds of vehicle traffic. Finally we get back to the hotel and i am determined to spend the rest of the time until our flight leaves hunkered right there in the lobby. but we don't. we tell the hotel manager about the attack, and he seems very upset by it. he tells us that his hotel depends on tourists for business and it really makes him mad when this sort of thing happens. he says not to let it bother me though, it could have happened to anyone, anywhere. at least i was not hurt, and he tanks God for that. so do i.
Graciously, he offers to drive us back to the mosque where we take a guided tour, and then he reccomends an excellent Morrocan restaurant just a few blocks from our hotel. the food is delicious and i eat way too much. we also drink as much water as we can. soon we will be heading to west africa and i have no idea what the water availability situation is there. we get to the airport for our flight way too early (upon my insistance) and mother talks to Stephane on the phone while i chainsmoke marlboros and listen to two arabs talk in french about nothing in particular. We are the first ones to go through security at our gate (an hour and a bit early) and we sit at the gate all by ourselves for a good 25 minutes beor enayone else even bothers to show up.
Just as the plane is boarding, a young African man at the back of the line falls to his knees at the foot of his European looking escort, an immigration official. He is begging for something, and getting loud and nervous. The poliuce come over, and the immigration official seems to be discussing something with them. i am nervous because the man looks very agitated and i am afraid he could become violent if they let him on the plane. as we board we ask a professional looking african man in front of us what all the commotion was. He tells us that the man does not want to go back to Ghana. It dawns on me then that this man was likely being deported back to his home country after trying to get into the European Union. I saw the look in the man's eyes as he boarded the plane, and could see fear for his life written there. something terrible awaits him back home. It occurs to me as the plane takes off that we are about to willingly head to the one place in the world this man is trying to get away from. i try to not let it worry me, but it's hard.
Corrie from Accra
Joel and I are in Ghana, staying at the Directors house of an organization called Learning, Helping, Living. A nice man, very committed to his work.
Arrival in Accra was shocking. I was expecting a large, modern city, but what I got was 3 million people who live in shacks...mud roads, open sewer ditches. The air is constantly full of smoke that burns the eyes. I was speechless. It is a bit overwhelming. Joel and I are in a small room together, we have a bed each, with a foam mattress and a sheet. There is a large screened window. The chickens outside crow constantly, and the humidity is so high it hurts to breath. There is a modern toilet, and in a separate room, a large bathtub. There is no hot water. We are very priveleged here. This home is considered upper middle class. Godson, the man here, is retired and has 6 children (several of which have given up their beds for us). There is dial up internet and a very old computer, so uploading pics to the blog is out of the question. Even checking mail has taken a very long time.
Today Godson will take Joel and I into the heart of the city, to the market, and to the Ministry of Health. He works closely with them to deliver programs to help educate rural villagers on TB, Aids, and other sexually transmitted diseases. They use many herbal remedies here, and homeopathy and alternative care are widely endorsed by the government and people here.
I am sick with a cold, and the heavy wet air is not helping...I am sticky all over and wishing I had a long loose dress that did not touch my skin...maybe at the market.
I will be working with Godson to review his strategic plan, tweak his funding proposals, and discuss ways to make the most of volunteer tourism.
Love to all, we will try to update you often, but are uncertain as to how long we will be staying in Accra. We may be sleeping in one of the villages soon.
Tuesday, September 11, 2007
Corrie - Rome and Nice
Rome
Wandering the streets of Rome was like being in the middle of A Ben Hur movie. Everything is ancient there. As you all know, I love all things old, and particularly old buildings, but Rome redefines old for me. Old to me has always been 120 years old! Rome has buildings erected in 123 BC! Yes, over 2000 years ago. And these buildings were in amazing condition. Everywhere we went there were stunning examples of Roman architecture, beautiful sculptures and fountains. Even the old watering fountains (for people to drink from) dotted the side streets...and people still drank from them...and they were a thousand years old! I am serious...the city has intact infrastructure from ions past, that provided running water everywhere...and still does!
We took the tour of the Coliseum, and if you are ever there, be sure to pay the extra 10 Euros for the tour. They skip you past the line up and you get a very comprehensive guided tour full of interesting facts. The price also includes a tour of the nearby ruins (incredible and amazing). Of course travelling with Joel is like travelling with a tour guide. He seems to know everything about everything, and after the guide gave us the rote tour of the Coliseum, Joel concluded with an in-depth discussion of Roman history, Greek philosophy, and the effects of Alexander the Great on the Roman Empire and all kinds of other historic tidbits that helped me appreciate all I was seeing.
After 2 days in Rome we took the night train again (this time in a first class private sleeping car – less fun really that the Couchette that sleeps six, but a nicer sleep), and arrived in Nice, France. What a gorgeous city! The colour of the water here is a dark sapphire blue, turning to a see-through light blue...much like the Caribbean water only more blue and less turquoise. It was warm and very salty.
The architecture here is different again, the Mediterranean influence is everywhere. The entire city is built on the side of mountains overlooking the sea, and sprawling along miles of beach (rocky not sandy). The downside was it cost 15-25 Euros to rent a chair on the beach to have the privilege of drinking a 10 dollar bottle of beer (sigh!). I have resigned myself to the fact that 8 days in Europe will cost as much an my entire 6 weeks in Central America.
However, the trip to the south of France was worth it...just for the figs! Fresh figs. Not green, tasteless fresh figs like my boyfriend introduced me to in Quebec...dark, black- red figs which I swear must be the food of gods! This fruit, ripened on the tree, is by far the godliest thing I have ever tasted. Its texture is divine, and the pleasure of eating one after another was pretty close to that of great, slow, decadent sex (Nicholas plug your ears!).
I might also add here that the $20 salad I ordered on the beach yesterday was in fact, the best salad I have ever eaten...full of fresh tuna fish, tomatoes palm heart, avocado, corn and lettuce...with the most delightful vinaigrette I have ever had....tried to get the recipe out of the waiter...but to no avail.
My roommate from Victoria (and Quebec), Emmanuell e, met us in Nice (she has been staying in Paris with family), and will accompany us to Barcelona...very handy to have around on this leg of the journey since she is fluent in French, English and SpanishPhotos of Rome
I can only do one now because the internet is moving slower than a midget trying to run a marathon and each one is taking 25 minutes to upload.
Joel in Rome
warning: this post is replete with typos. i blame the laptop. it skips keys. i'm not going to fix them because i'm pressed for time.
The trip to Rome from Venice is only a few hours by train, but it passes through some very lovely countryside. We arrive at the train station in Rome at 10:00 PM, with a hand-dran map showing us how to get to our hotel. We need to take the A1 metro line, and then walk 4 blocks south and three blocks east. no problem.
only the A1 metro line isn't running after 9 pm. woops. Ok, no biggie, we'll figure it out. supposedly there's a bus that does more or less the same route, and we plan on finding it. We step out of the train station into the street and there are an awful lot of people milling around for 10:00Pm. After rebuffing several agrressive offers for 50euro a trip, unlicensed, "minicab" rides, we finally find a taxi driver who appears to have a meter running. the trip costs 15 bucks and we arrive t the hotel a few minutes before the reception closes. it's late and we're tired but we check in, stow our bags, and hit the sack.
We end up sleeping in a little longer than mother had expected, but no bother, she's got a plan. first stop is a little cafe on the corner of an incredibly busy and noticably uncontrolled intersection. we east delicious pizza and drink beer and mother spends a few frustrating hours trying to get her phone card to work (we would eventually figure it out). While i am sitting at the table by myself i hear a screech and a crash and look over to catch the tail end of a traffic accident. Other people are gasping. Naturally, i start laughing, cuz its funny. To my surprise, i am no the only one. An old italian lady sitting behind me (with a plate of pizza to herself bigger than mine and mothers' combined) is cackling away, and when she sees me laughing too, she proceeds to say something to me in italian. It's clear i don't understand, so she hollers (LUCA!!! LUCA!!!!) for the waitor, and he translates for me:
"She says that drivers in Rome are crazy; everybody here is crazy." but it's meant to be funny and she's laughing, so i have a good laugh too. No one bothers to call the polie, there's no need. one of the cars involved in the accident was a police van, and interestingly enough the accidet appears to have been the police's fault. "The police are the craziest drivers of them all" she tells me through her translator.
After we finish lunch and mom finishes on the phone we head to st peter's basillica, which is an impressive sightto be sure. The line to get into the vatican is longer than the line to get in to purgatory, and i politelysuggest maybe we do the vatican tomorrow. mother grudgingly concedes and we make our way instead to an oldcastle nearby built in the days of the Roman Emperor Hadrian. We spend several hours looking through the exhibits at the museum/castle. i spend a few minutes trying to explain to mother that you can't make cannonballs out of stone and expct them to work, and she spends a few minutes explaining to me that she definatley gets to pick the next sight.
Already only one day in to Rome and it is my favorite city so far. the people seem not ony genuinely friendly, but eager to help as well, and bery patient. we meet a few other tourists at our hotel in the common kitchen we share together (two brits, a loud irish art instructor, and quiet girl from toronto). We cook food, share a few drinks together, and talk about this and tht. mother quickly starts talking politics and turns the kitchen into a conservaive re-education camp. topic of the day? healthcare. i can see we're outnumbered so i sit this one out, and go for cigarettes outside every time i'm tempted to jump in. i have a chessboard with me but no one will play with me. sigh. maybe someone will play me in africa.
we get into bed by about midnight fully prepared to get up early the next day and do the vatican tour. by 2:30 AM we are both still wide awake. mother wonders if it was the two cappucinos she slammed down this aternoon. i wonder if its the bottle of wine we drank that only cost 3bucks and tastd faintly of paint thinner.
by 3:45 AM wehave decided there is no point lying in bed if we can't sleep. so we reorganize and pack our bags for tomorrow. this kills half an hour and tires us out a bit. we get back into bed, but by 5:00 AM we are still awake. we drift off somewhere around 6:30AM. needless to say, getting p early the next day to do the vatican is completely out of the question. but we still have to check out by 11 am, so we stash our bags and hop onto the tour bus and head to the colloseum. definatley the best part of the trip so far. we pay a little extra for a guided tour and it is well worth it. the guy is funny, and incredibly knowledgable and gives us a lot of history. after the colloseum we explore the excavation of the ruinsnearby, and then slowly make our way back to the hotel to pick up our bags.
right around 7:30 PM i start to get uptight (happens at the same time every night) but despite all my nightmare scenarios we make our train no problem. i was hoping for some time o work on my novel in rome, but as it turned out there was just way too much to see and do. i put it off until Nice. (where i do get a considerable amount of writing done because now we are back with Emmanuelle and she can keep mom company while they see the sites, giving me time to sit in the hotel drinking gin and tonic and plunk away on the laptop. i seem to recall Nice was on the beach? i'm not sure... i was inda in my own world for most of it. we stayed just as long there as we did in Rome, but whereas i can remember just about every second of every day in Rome, i can't recall much of Nice. OH! i found a nice little grocery store. that counts, right? smokes were even cheaper than in italy, too. (though nowhere NEAR as cheap as Barcelona)
right now i'm in the Hotel in Barcelona writing on the blog. we had planned on staying at this guesthouse, we even paid a deposit, but the guy turned out to be a crook and we got the hell out of there and found a decent hotel to stay at instead. i've been a bit of a hotel hippo the last few days cuz i've been doing alot of writing, but i've still had a chance to see most of the sites. this afternoon when mom and emmanuelle get back from the bus tour we're going to the beach, where i will spend most of my time trying to find an electrical outlet for the laptop.
that's all for now.
Joel's Top5 European Surprises:
5. People drink booze in the streets and no one seems to care
4. There are little shops EVERYWHERE, like 8 on each street selling the same stuff.
3. Everything is WAY more expensive then home (except booze and smokes)
2. Cashiers in stores get to SIT DOWN in elevaed chairs while they work.(fuckin unions)
1. Nobody has tried to shank me yet.
photos of rome coming soon.
The trip to Rome from Venice is only a few hours by train, but it passes through some very lovely countryside. We arrive at the train station in Rome at 10:00 PM, with a hand-dran map showing us how to get to our hotel. We need to take the A1 metro line, and then walk 4 blocks south and three blocks east. no problem.
only the A1 metro line isn't running after 9 pm. woops. Ok, no biggie, we'll figure it out. supposedly there's a bus that does more or less the same route, and we plan on finding it. We step out of the train station into the street and there are an awful lot of people milling around for 10:00Pm. After rebuffing several agrressive offers for 50euro a trip, unlicensed, "minicab" rides, we finally find a taxi driver who appears to have a meter running. the trip costs 15 bucks and we arrive t the hotel a few minutes before the reception closes. it's late and we're tired but we check in, stow our bags, and hit the sack.
We end up sleeping in a little longer than mother had expected, but no bother, she's got a plan. first stop is a little cafe on the corner of an incredibly busy and noticably uncontrolled intersection. we east delicious pizza and drink beer and mother spends a few frustrating hours trying to get her phone card to work (we would eventually figure it out). While i am sitting at the table by myself i hear a screech and a crash and look over to catch the tail end of a traffic accident. Other people are gasping. Naturally, i start laughing, cuz its funny. To my surprise, i am no the only one. An old italian lady sitting behind me (with a plate of pizza to herself bigger than mine and mothers' combined) is cackling away, and when she sees me laughing too, she proceeds to say something to me in italian. It's clear i don't understand, so she hollers (LUCA!!! LUCA!!!!) for the waitor, and he translates for me:
"She says that drivers in Rome are crazy; everybody here is crazy." but it's meant to be funny and she's laughing, so i have a good laugh too. No one bothers to call the polie, there's no need. one of the cars involved in the accident was a police van, and interestingly enough the accidet appears to have been the police's fault. "The police are the craziest drivers of them all" she tells me through her translator.
After we finish lunch and mom finishes on the phone we head to st peter's basillica, which is an impressive sightto be sure. The line to get into the vatican is longer than the line to get in to purgatory, and i politelysuggest maybe we do the vatican tomorrow. mother grudgingly concedes and we make our way instead to an oldcastle nearby built in the days of the Roman Emperor Hadrian. We spend several hours looking through the exhibits at the museum/castle. i spend a few minutes trying to explain to mother that you can't make cannonballs out of stone and expct them to work, and she spends a few minutes explaining to me that she definatley gets to pick the next sight.
Already only one day in to Rome and it is my favorite city so far. the people seem not ony genuinely friendly, but eager to help as well, and bery patient. we meet a few other tourists at our hotel in the common kitchen we share together (two brits, a loud irish art instructor, and quiet girl from toronto). We cook food, share a few drinks together, and talk about this and tht. mother quickly starts talking politics and turns the kitchen into a conservaive re-education camp. topic of the day? healthcare. i can see we're outnumbered so i sit this one out, and go for cigarettes outside every time i'm tempted to jump in. i have a chessboard with me but no one will play with me. sigh. maybe someone will play me in africa.
we get into bed by about midnight fully prepared to get up early the next day and do the vatican tour. by 2:30 AM we are both still wide awake. mother wonders if it was the two cappucinos she slammed down this aternoon. i wonder if its the bottle of wine we drank that only cost 3bucks and tastd faintly of paint thinner.
by 3:45 AM wehave decided there is no point lying in bed if we can't sleep. so we reorganize and pack our bags for tomorrow. this kills half an hour and tires us out a bit. we get back into bed, but by 5:00 AM we are still awake. we drift off somewhere around 6:30AM. needless to say, getting p early the next day to do the vatican is completely out of the question. but we still have to check out by 11 am, so we stash our bags and hop onto the tour bus and head to the colloseum. definatley the best part of the trip so far. we pay a little extra for a guided tour and it is well worth it. the guy is funny, and incredibly knowledgable and gives us a lot of history. after the colloseum we explore the excavation of the ruinsnearby, and then slowly make our way back to the hotel to pick up our bags.
right around 7:30 PM i start to get uptight (happens at the same time every night) but despite all my nightmare scenarios we make our train no problem. i was hoping for some time o work on my novel in rome, but as it turned out there was just way too much to see and do. i put it off until Nice. (where i do get a considerable amount of writing done because now we are back with Emmanuelle and she can keep mom company while they see the sites, giving me time to sit in the hotel drinking gin and tonic and plunk away on the laptop. i seem to recall Nice was on the beach? i'm not sure... i was inda in my own world for most of it. we stayed just as long there as we did in Rome, but whereas i can remember just about every second of every day in Rome, i can't recall much of Nice. OH! i found a nice little grocery store. that counts, right? smokes were even cheaper than in italy, too. (though nowhere NEAR as cheap as Barcelona)
right now i'm in the Hotel in Barcelona writing on the blog. we had planned on staying at this guesthouse, we even paid a deposit, but the guy turned out to be a crook and we got the hell out of there and found a decent hotel to stay at instead. i've been a bit of a hotel hippo the last few days cuz i've been doing alot of writing, but i've still had a chance to see most of the sites. this afternoon when mom and emmanuelle get back from the bus tour we're going to the beach, where i will spend most of my time trying to find an electrical outlet for the laptop.
that's all for now.
Joel's Top5 European Surprises:
5. People drink booze in the streets and no one seems to care
4. There are little shops EVERYWHERE, like 8 on each street selling the same stuff.
3. Everything is WAY more expensive then home (except booze and smokes)
2. Cashiers in stores get to SIT DOWN in elevaed chairs while they work.(fuckin unions)
1. Nobody has tried to shank me yet.
photos of rome coming soon.
Sunday, September 9, 2007
Ok here's some photos.
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