My Traveling Notes

Ending statement

2008-06-01T18:25:00.001-07:00

Dear my readers

…blank, blank, and blank in my head…no words coming up…
I’ve spent days already sitting in front of computer trying to write this “Ending statement” of my two years journey. I never took this long to type in the first letter to start my article. It proves how hard it is to realize “The end” of what I truly loved and give a conclusion to two years of chaos life.

I don’t have enough words to write down a mighty conclusion, but let me, at least, pick up some fragments of thoughts out of my bewildered mind and list them down randomly…

*Not at all brave woman

“You are brave woman.” This is how people responded when I explained my journey. I liked “Brave woman” than being called “Hey Aki, you are a chickenshit,” of course…. To be honest, however, I really don’t count bravery as a part of my characteristics and thus started to feel awkwardly about my new title…”brave woman.” I told people that I am not a brave woman as many times as I was misunderstood as a woman with balls (even scientifically impossible). And eventually I came to think of the reason why people had to give me the title of such…“balls.”
The reason, I think, is simple and clear that we have this fundamental agreement on our planet; the world is unsafe, particularly when it comes to the place where you are NOT scientifically familiar with. Certainly, I also thought that the traveling would require some level of bravery before I left for this journey. I believed that there would be quite some countries which I would not travel through for the security reason as well. Nevertheless, more places I traveled, less brave I leaned that I was required to be….and I started to think that there must be only and very small parts of the world where I should worry about my safety (my opinion as far as I traveled.)
In general, we are more negatively informed about the world than positively and we are trapped by the image of dangerous world to be scared of getting out of our little limited territory. We are passionate to create so many imaginary enemies everywhere in the world and get already satisfied with imaginary obstacles you might face on your way without even traveling the places. How pity…
My journey was very personal and limited in terms of what I could witness, but at least I want to say that My journey was SAFE and with full of positive experiences. I am alive. I wasn’t seriously threatened. I was not robbed. No major accident nor injury. Instead, I was helped and cared so many times especially when I was alone and created problems by MYSELF. I was just a puppy, not brave, not strong, not that skillful nor intelligent…I was allowed to be a puppy because the world was, after all, pretty safe and kind…
Therefore I declare once again, that I am not at all a brave woman. I once was only when I took the first step out to the world because I didn’t know any hand-touched reality as I was also a believer of DANGEROUS world. But not now, not anymore. Okay…and so now, let me double check my things….I mean…balls…
No, no. surely there aren’t!

*Traveling puppy to ignorant puppy

SO, a puppy traveled two years and what she learned was her ignorance. How pity! But it’s very true, and I didn’t know it as much before.
Two years ago, I had a broad image of, for instance, India. I thought that India was India. Period. I thought I knew about India through reading a few articles about India, but then I visited the country and realized that how impossible it was to generalize the country of India in single word nor image because India I stepped in was, SO huge and SO diverse! How could I know them all! Impossible. Furthermore, it’s not only about India but everywhere. Even those small countries like Djibouti, I observed hardly anything but a tiny part of their land where I could glance around for a few days. I went to Djibouti, and now I can say for sure that I don’t know anything about this tiny country in Africa. Additionally if I talk more honestly about Djibouti, I didn’t even know there was a country named Djibouti as well as many other African countries since I always had this conception of African that Africa is ONE big AFRICA. Period. So, Once upon a time, there was ONE place called Africa where I didn’t know much, but now there are 35 African countries which I don’t know anything and haven’t visited at all yet. SO I feel, at least 35 times more ignorant, or even more ignorant since I came to know that there are different cities, tribes, ways of living, industries, religious believes and political ideas in each country of Africa. And I must question to myself, how many cities in each country, have I been to? A few. And how many tribes did I lean about? None, or one, or two maybe. Now, you can imagine…how little I could discover after all my journey. How pity!
SO, I am now giving a wry smile and trying to find, at least, one little meaning to what I have been doing in last two years. I would say, “I learned my ignorance as I learned the scale of this planet and the greatness of its diversity.”

*Traveling commodity

This is my little tips for traveling, what you need and should travel with. (from my personal experiences, I mean…)

1. Good sleeping bag.

You don’t need the best backpack, but spend good money on your sleeping bag. It was the biggest mistake of mine that I brought a cheap, low quality sleeping bag. Sleeping bag is not only for sleeping, but it can be used for many things, such as a pillow (when you didn’t have one in the cheap hotel) or carpet (when you have to rest on the ground) or cushion (When you have to sit on the wooden seat on the train for 20 hours) or as a little winter cloth (when you find unexpected SNOW falling…) and for insect prevention (when the mattress is not clean, better to completely cover up yourself with a sleeping bag to protect yourself from F-king BED BUGS and Malaria risk mosquitoes. SO, bring a warm, big enough, but very light sleeping bag.

2. Sunglasses and a Mask with a big Mickey mouse printed on.

Protect your eyes and throat from strong sun, cold wind, air pollution, and dry air. You can also use them for your little protection when you have to walk in the dark night. I put on Sunglasses and Mask with a big Mickey mouse print when I had to go and catch an early morning bus before sunrise or when I was dropped off in middle of nowhere in the middle of night. I met some drunker, gangs, and homeless people on the dark streets, but THEY avoided me when they saw my face…covered with big Mickey mouse mask…

3. Beach Sandals.

You will use Beach Sandals everyday.

4. Knife.

Nice to have a good Knife for cooking, pealing skins of fruit especially when you don’t find water to wash vegetables or fruit. Plus, you can use it for your little protection as well. I don’t mean to use it against people as a weapon (Please don’t be confused), but you can just have it in your hand in order to indicate your sense of guarding yourself. When I was thrown out of a vehicle accidentally somewhere in the middle of night and surrounded by strangers (many unofficial taxi drive men) in the darkness, I always took out my knife and pealed the skin of, for instance, an apple. I didn’t smile. I kept pealing skin as I quietly spoke, negotiated prices, etc. I didn’t ask for help. I didn’t compromise on the price nor condition. I continued pealing with my knife until I was offered acceptable condition.

5. Sugar and Salt.

Bring some sugar and salt. You will survive in most of the conditions if you can find water to mix with sugar and salt. Also, sugary salty water is life-saving drink when you have diarrhea. Take them with you!

6. Honesty and Modesty

Honesty and modesty helped me to stay relaxed and peaceful. And of course, when I forgot to have both of them….I failed, lost, and caused lots of shameful problems. What I mean in here “being modest” is not that you accept everything and compromise. It’s not modesty that you stay in silence and obey what you are requested.
The effective modesty I learned through my traveling can be accomplished by very simple method.

1. Be always aware of the possibility to meet different (very different sometimes) ideas and beliefs.

2. Listen first, think carefully and don’t force, but simply and straightforwardly suggest your ideas.

I can suggest above methods now because I failed so many times and was involved in so many problems because of my egocentricity. I was in trouble obviously when I tried to convince people from the beginning by what I believed “World standard” or “Common sense.” I should have known that there wasn’t always a clear line between right and wrong in negotiation, interaction or discussion, but it should have been a simple communication to figure out the point where to compromise less-painfully for both. So, let’s be modest and listen to what people would say even when you want to scream after one second, “NO, It’s not right! Bullshit!!”

Honesty was as essential as modesty in my travel. I don’t mean here “Honesty” as to tell every single truth of you or your thoughts. My honesty is more for the preparation to meet new world, new system and new people everyday. This is how I prepared my mentality:

Be honest and behave honestly what I believe based on the fundamental moral belief as a human beings.

I realized later through my travel that I could stay who I was and relaxed in any situation as long as I was honest as a human. On the other hand, I was nervous and had to lie or pretend something else to manage through the situation when I was behaving (speaking) for my convenience, advantage or profit.
After I learned how to be honest and have come to be clear about my moral belief to prepare, I was never afraid to meet any situation, condition, system or talk with anyone from any background or position. I was ready to explain from my heart no matter how strangely or painfully I could be treated in the different conditions.
I sometimes said after long negotiation, explanation, injustice, unfair treatment that:
To corrupt government officials or dirty minded police men,
“After all these talk, you still believe that you are right, then go ahead and arrest me. You can put me in jail first then we will talk. I am ready.”
To those cheaters or racists,
“If you are not ashamed but satisfied with your SUCH behavior (action or words), okay go ahead. I am not going to say anything anymore. Do it as you want. I have nothing to lose except my pride as a human.”

*Individuals speak

There were opportunities to think over “individuals and a mass” throughout my journey as I took a closer look at historical backgrounds of each country, different social tendencies, and people’s relationship with their religious lives. My trip was after all, more or less a process of tracing the history of 20th century which has experienced two times of world war and world divided cold war, and of experiencing a little closer to the religious conflicts in the presence. All the experiences gave me some questions about the human tendencies; aggression, rampancy and sometimes brutality of the people once after being in a GROUP.
And what, I think, is required for our future world is to end, TRULY end the bloodiest 20th century in every meaning. Precisely, we must end the period when a mass of people follow a particular ideology or religious believes blindly or implicitly, and the time when the power of a mass eliminate “individuals” and blot out “differences of potential threats.”
So, here is my wish as a solo backpacking puppy:
I wish 21st century to be the period of Individuals when everyone thinks in their own heads, act upon their discrete wills and ideas, and take individual responsibilities.

Especially through this trip, I often felt some levels of coercion bright by the group of people. Solo traveling to me was the practice to set myself in the situation as a minority. I was alone entering everyday into the group of OTHERS in the different cultures, social systems, religions and nationalities, and as powerless minority, I was required to observe cautiously the environment, grasp the situation, and act out more carefully. I had to do so because I had to take all my responsibilities ALONE on my wrong behavior or disrespectful words. However, I found the people in a group (majority) to tend to be more self-centered or pushy because of their sensory illusion that responsibility for each has been alleviated. It’s harmfully natural that a mass (the sense of being a part of majority) often make us blind, thoughtless and irresponsible, but it’s unquestionably true that we, everyone, has to be a part of some groups in order to have a normal social life. Therefore, it’s very important to have your individual opinion as you belong to a group and always re-examine yourself or your group from a fair subjective point of view.

I hope and expect for 21st century, that respected individuals will travel freely through different groups, and communicate genuinely in order to improve this amazing planet to even more beautiful.

*Dear everyone.

Thank you for reading my articles. I enjoyed writing and was encouraged by you, the readers very much.
Bye-bye for a while until I will depart for my WT2 (World Travel 2) and see you somewhere on this planet.

A big warm hug,

Aki

Americans, would you please shut up?

2008-05-12T23:43:00.001-07:00

Certainly there were some incidents I faced in my travel, which had something to do with American nationality. I thought about picking up some incidents to discuss in my blog but I’ve chosen not to because of two reasons.

1.USA is not the PLACE I traveled within this two years trip.

2.I hesitated to write and post since I knew the articles would be anyways negative criticism of some characteristics of American national and I was afraid that ALL American people to be generalized in such negative characteristics which I write. I did meet amazing solo American travelers on the way as well as SOME very thoughtful and open minded people inside the U.S when I lived there. Additionally I felt extremely sorry when I met those great individual travelers who had to hide their American nationality and lie themselves as “Canadian” because of what’s represented as the entire image of America in the current world situation and absolutely ridiculous propaganda which people had to believe in some almost brain-washed sort of places in the world….SO I didn’t want to put anymore of extra on my blog, which might enforce negative image of American national…I didn’t want to see American backpackers to be isolated nor America to be targeted at the center of criticism by SOME blind biased believers of limited information…therefore I kept neglecting the topics of America and didn’t write about them..

I came, however, to post this article about American nationals because I spent a sad night in the hostel in Portugal with ridiculous four American travelers and it was my very final night of 22 months and 6 days of traveling. In fact, I was very disappointed. I was supposed to stay in silence, but I couldn’t hold my anger anymore. I exploded!! Sorry….my curse, short temper I mean…then I decided in the middle of night around 4:30 am, trembling with anger and disappointed to the darkest hell…that I would post an article on USA, the place I didn’t even travel this time. It happened in my final night. I thought it was a CALL to write. I regret but I have to. I am sorry for the respectful American backpackers I’ve met…now I must point out and raise my voice to say “Shut up!” to some of the idiots which USA shipped out to the world under the name of tourism.

I selected three incidents.

1.My first exposure to American bunch tourists was in Cambodia when I visited the famous Angkor. I remember that I was sitting on the bottom of stone stairstep with other German traveler and talking with the child sellers. Little girls were trying to sell small handcrafts and postcards and staying around us for a while. Of course, we didn’t buy anything from them because, believe me and you know it well if you travel, there are just too many kids and adults trying to sell things to foreigners every single second at every single corner. German traveler softy said to the girls that he has enough post cars already so that he wouldn’t buy. The girls said please, and he responded no and girls said again please and he said no as if they were playing a game…and of course, the girls asked me to buy post cards. I said no to them because I didn’t have much money. Then I changed the topic and asked the girls if there were sisters or not, and one of the girls told me that they were friends, etc. So the girls were around us, talking more than selling, for quite a while. Then I heard a big noise approaching. A group of about 6 middle aged women tourists walking towards the kids around the site and started to buy souvenirs. All the kids around the ruin rushed to the group, of course, because what they basically did was to “strew” the small notes of US dollars. My eyes were glued at the sight because it was so abnormal…they spoke about 5 times as bigger voice than the normal people talk in the world standard as if they had to be heard by every body around the ruin and they busily and enthusiastically handed their US dollars to the surrounding children as if they feed the starving animals in the zoo. I was speechless and just watching the dramatized incident. The women screamed out, “Oh my look at her!!! Look at this girl! She is SO lovely!! She is SO smart!! I just LOVE her!!! She is an amazing girl!! Don’t you think?? I want to give her a chance! I want to take her back to the states Really!”
I opened my mouth “Oh…they are from America. They said.”
My German friend quietly responded, “Yes I knew they were from the states.”
“Did you? How?”
“They are typical Americans. They behave in the different way. American people, they act in a certain way.”
“I didn’t know…I met some American backpackers, but I didn’t realize much…”
“I mean usually American travelers are open-minded people. Americans who travel, they have reasons and motivation to come out of their country. So I have no problem with them and they are usually nice. But when they come in a bigger group, they act in a very strange way. I’ve seen the group of Americans just like them….many times, so I can tell.”
I was still watching the group of women surrounded by little sellers and thinking…that maybe what my German friend told me about Americans and their behavior would be true since he’s traveled much more than I have…
When we were quietly sitting still on the stone step, two of the girls came back to us and bashfully asked us to buy their postcards. We said to her, of course, “no” as we smiled. I joked to her, “Run! Run to them, hurry up. They have a lot of US dollars. You run and sell. Go now! We don’t have U.S dollars, but they do. They are Americans.”
A girl shook her head sideways and spoke in a wheedling voice, “I want YOU to buy this.” Then she sat next to us giving up her business anymore; the chance to sell a lot to the Americans, and so we just sat there quietly together for another 5 to 10 minutes even after the storm of the grouped tourists left with a thunderous noise.
I vividly remember the little girls who came back to sit next to us, the backpackers who would never buy their postcards, instead to the American tourists group which came with the bundled U.S Dollars. I thought that… kids are not toys. They are not pets. They are not “just sorry labors.” They know something. They feel a lot. Maybe they don’t know how to explain thing in logical ways yet but they have much softer and sensitive human hearts which we, adults, can’t imagine. Of course, they must sell things in order to support their family or under the pressure of mafia in the area. They have to run for money and chase the noise that big tourist’s wallet makes everyday, every minutes. They work like machines by repeating the same phrase they just learned for their business. The children, however, know something…deep inside of their hearts…not only about the money and business…but something else, very important else.
I continued on traveling through Eurasia and Africa, including some of the world poorest countries, after I left Cambodia. I met many many many children working, selling all days, almost dead, or really maybe already dead on the streets, the children waiting for a small share of food with the empty cans or plastic bowls, children wiping the floor of the train with their ragged T-shirts, and the children who stayed around me hours and hours just to talk with me who would never give them money nor hardly buy anything. And, I often thought about the girl who sat next to us in Angkor.
Truly that there is no point to be depressed about the children I met, as myself a lucky wealthy Japanese bitch, but when I recall my memory from Cambodia as I hear the noise of which the big American tourists made with their bundled dollars….ok…now I am writing about the moment of Angkor and I am helplessly holding water in my eyes…feeling the girls who were sitting next to us. Very difficult issue of the world…and stupid but f-king tears in my eyes.
The tourist screamed out, “Look at this girl! She is so LOVELY! She is SO smart! I want to take her back to the states!!”
My question is, “Do you really? Or it was just a joke?”
The tourist screamed, “I just LOVE her!!!”
Love….
I am not asking them to shut up…but I would prefer them to keep their voice down a little bit and take a pause of silence to think about….the complication of the word, “Love,” the meaning of such strong word.

2. Another incident I have to write is from the mountain area of Pakistan. I met several guides (Travel Agents) in the several different places in the mountain area. I got along with them since they were friendly but maturely gentle (No asking marriage nor money related problems at all with them). While I spent time with them, two of my brothers (I call them my brothers since they were not my paid guide but became close friends like brother and sister relationship), I heard about the reputation of American tourists. Two of my brothers live in the different cities. They are different individuals I met in the different places separately, but what they told me about the American tourists group were same. They never demonstrated a sign of anger or anything negative, but simply and modestly told me when I asked them about their job as a travel agency that they both had some experiences of guiding American tourist groups. So I said that I didn’t expect that any American was willing to come to Pakistan to travel because of the reputation (wrongly negative reputation) they probably were informed about Pakistan. Then they said, “There aren’t many but still there are people coming from America because they want to see some mountains or they want to hunt deers.” Then they powerlessly laughed and said, “You know what they called me? They called me “terrorist.””
“You are kidding.”
“No I am not kidding. They come directly face to face and call me, “You terrorist!””
“It’s very rude…even if it’s a joke…”
“No they don’t say it like they are joking but more seriously they call me “Hey terrosit! You terrorist!””
I was speechless. I was surprised that my bothers were staying calm and telling me such terrible experience…They continued,
“Yeah….they think we are terrorists…they think I am terrorist…ok, and I don’t try to prove that I am not a terrorist anymore because I am NOT and I don’t talk about such nonsense. Waste of time. But, I just don’t understand why they have to come all the way to here and call me terrorist. They can do it at their home, but why they come to my homeland to say such thing…”
“…I don’t understand either…I can’t believe it. Just very very sad.”
My brothers didn’t look like being so much agitated by the incidents. They didn’t seem to be overly depressed when they told me about it. They spoke in low keyed way of speaking throughout the conversation. And ME? I was very depressed. I wanted to shout out to the beautiful mountain ranges in Pakistan, “Americans, would you please shut up!”

3.Finally, I write about my final night in Portugal. I stayed in the same hostel for three nights in Lisbon. The receptionists were very nice in that hostel and I was quite touched by them as many other guests gave the same credits to the hostel, we thought “they are the warmest and kindest among the hostels in general.” The four Americans who checked in my last day, third day, immediately began to complain…about I don’t know exactly because I was just shocked and afraid of them screaming in the small dormitory room for 10 people. I believe that they were complaining that other guest accidentally left a property on one of their four beds they wanted to take and they got SO nervous about the INVATION to their bed. So they screamed and yelled at the receptionist, “We don’t want to DRAMATIZE such thing, BUT!!!” and they continue…
And I was just sitting at the corner of the room silently and waiting them to calm down. They came in the room as if nothing was visible to them except themselves…no greeting, not looking around the room, but they crushed into the room with a big noise. I kept in silence. I didn’t move. Probably they didn’t distinguish me, garbage can, or a small sand on the floor….those unimportant objects sitting in THEIR room. I knew that they were American traveler since I traveled enough by that time to recognize what my German friend told me in Cambodia about “American behavior.” They were 5 times louder than others in the room and they did the exaggerated complaint as if showing their drama to everyone in the hostel. I was irritated, but I was, of course, in silence. And towards the end of the “Shouting conversation,” the girl said to the receptionist as many other Americans do, “I am from New York.” Yes, they love introducing their nationality even when not asked. And she continued in typical words to say, “Hey your English is good. Where did you learn it?” ….not her business. I was irritated, but stayed in silence.

Three girls and a boy left for the party at night and we got a peace back in the hostel. I met a very nice and intelligent Australian traveler, and so quietly but warmly celebrated the final night of my journey. I went to bed earlier since I had a long flight in the following morning. The dormitory room was quiet and we were sleeping until THEY came back.
I heard someone opened the door with noise in the middle of night. I knew that they came back from their party. They walked loudly into our room and opened the balcony door so that all the lights in the street hit us and room was so bright. They were still in the party mood, and yes they did start a party in the room!! They were laughing and talking without hesitation. Someone in the room said, “Shhhhhhh!” for three or four times loudly to make them quiet but they didn’t even lower their voice and kept talking in their notorious loud voice. I looked at my alarm, it was 4:21 am. I suffered for a while in the bed and worried about my long flight which will take 24 hours total from Portugal to London and exchange an airport and take another one to Hong Kong. I wanted nothing special but nice simple asleep because of the flight. The American tourists, however, never ever lowered their voice and started to laugh even louder. My heart was pounding…I was wishing them to realize the noise and disturbance which they were making in 4:21 am. I was, in fact, very angry.
“Excuse me,” I got up finally and said, “Shut up or get out.”
“That’s rude,” one of the girls spoke back to me and they started to complain.
I didn’t want to talk to them. I didn’t want to see them. I just ignored them but they were now complaining so loudly about me having given them a caution. Finally someone else in the room (Australian traveler) said to them, “At lest make an effort to shut up! (I think this is what he said..)” Then the girls began to lower their voice…and finally dropped in asleep. I couldn’t sleep for another hour. I was, in fact, very very angry.

I admit that the words I choose were not appropriate. I usually don’t say such thing, “Shut up or get out,” and as long as I can remember, it was my first time throughout my two years traveling that I spoke out to give a caution to those who were noisy in the room. I usually don’t care about noise or light. I can sleep anywhere in any condition. Additionally, I didn’t experience irresistible noise nor lights in past two years…
I was shocked by myself that I really said something in such words…yes, I lost my temper…and my words were impolite. I apologize the rudeness of the way I warned them, but then I give a correction and say it again, “Americans, would you please shut up?”

I regret, but I post this article. Please know, however, that my respect to those open-hearted American travelers and to SOME thoughtful people I’ve met in the states, hasn’t changed and will never change no matter how dark my experiences were with SOME American idiots I met through my traveling.
Dear my friends, the ones I respect…, I hope to see you again in this amazing and exciting world. And we will talk in soft voice, modestly and peacefully.

Best regards,
Aki

Portugal

2008-05-09T09:09:00.002-07:00

Three years ago when I was working in Tokyo, I read a Japanese novel titled, “Here land ends, and ocean starts.” The story begins with a letter sent from Cape of Roca, in Portugal, the very western edge of Europe. I dreamed about the place ever since and set Roca as my final destination, the place where the land ends and the ocean starts.
I started from my country Japan, the island located outside of eastern edge of Eurasia and came slowly through Eastern Asia, South eastern Asia, Central Asia, Middle eastern, and African continent to some parts of Europe. 22 months and 5 days after my departure, I reached my goal, Cape of Roca.

I took a train and a bus to the Cape on that day and sat on the stone wall at the tip of the cape for hours overlooking the turquoise blue ocean, the water I came thousands of kilometers for…
Then I felt…nothing really special. I was neither overly moved nor had a sense of accomplishment. I just sat there and watched the beautiful ocean just like I had been doing occasionally in last 22 months; going to new place, discovering something new, and print the sight in my memory. I felt strongly about its breathtaking color of the water and thought about… how much I loved traveling…

I was not overly depressed but a little sad to realize that I had to end my journey, which I lived with and loved for last two years. I was happy not because I finished this inconvenient and sometimes dirty travel, no hot shower, starving, sleeping outside, stuck in the packed vehicle for 30 hours or more…kind of budget backpacking I mean, but rather felt excited about the passage in future continuing after this traveling.
Yes, this is exactly how I have been feeling in last a few months; I was heading towards my Goal, Cape of Roca, but actually feeling like heading towards my starting point…the place where I start my new challenges. It was a strange feeling but I sometimes had to restrain my excitement to finish my journey as soon as possible and start new projects as I, on the other hand, wished to travel more and more countries forever.

I watched the blue water for hours at Roca. I stared at the silver path made by the reflecting sun on the water surface; the silver path extending all the way towards the horizon of Atlantic ocean…I realized my body, slightly but certainly trembling with excitement…nothing to do with my finished journey in the past, but everything about my future and brand new life journey I just started from that moment.

On the very edge of the cape, where I could overlook the Atlantic ocean, I found a stela on the little hill surrounded by the heart-warming spring flowers; there were words carved on the stela in Portuguese.

“ＡＱＵＩ・・・
ＯＮＤＥ　Ａ　ＴＥＲＲＡ　ＳＥ　ＡＣＡＢＡ　
Ｅ　Ｏ　ＭＡＲ　ＣＯＭＥＣＡ・・・

Here… land ends and ocean starts…

Spain

2008-05-09T09:08:00.000-07:00

I found Barcelona to be a nice place to visit, of course. I enjoyed walking in the fresh breeze under the clear blue sky, of course. I spent cheerful time, of course, watching the young people playing volleyball on the beach, emerald green Mediterranean behind the scenery. I liked Spanish art, street music…and I would have liked Spanish cuisine if I ever tasted them; unfortunately those were not for a solo budget backpacker, like myself, of course.

Although I liked the city of Barcelona, I felt relieved more in Madrid when I arrived at my friends’ apartment. Then I really thought that it’s not a good idea to spend time alone in Europe…

So, about Spain, I want to come back again someday when I have money to enjoy all kinds of entertainment and definitely in company with someone in order to share the experiences and sit down together to appreciate the Spanish cuisine!! Ah…I just missed the highlight of Spain, didn’t I? Idiot! I am! But I don’t want to sit in the fancy restaurant ALONE.

Germany (Berlin)

2008-05-07T19:02:00.000-07:00

Who could expect the capital of Germany to be so tranquil? I couldn’t.
Berlin was so calm. Very relaxed. Almost drastically quiet as far as I walked in the city. I don’t know whether I should define the quietness of the city to be either good or bad, or enjoyable or rather boring. At least, however, I came to conclude that my visit to Berlin was A MUST event of my two years journey. Berlin made me feel like so after all because….my trip to the city was more about learning than entertaining….through some rather “drastic” aspects that I witnessed during my stay. I don’t know how to explain my feeling since it’s very personal and abstract, but I would say in Berlin, the things I glanced on the streets or the atmosphere my skin touched unexpectedly or some of the usual incidents which have happened around myself, clicked my brain…set something in my head to think over even after I left Germany. Strange experience, but the experience that I had to have.

Contrasting to its quietness of the city, there were some things which glued my eyes on. I saw several street performers here and there. The quality and the level of their performance, in comparison to other cities I have seen, were high. I was glued to them on the streets.
Also I saw the stretched group of protesters on their roller blades on the main street. I stopped and watched them passing by quickly while I was blankly thinking about the image I always had…:Berlin as one of the remarked western cities to speak against absurdity and power in the world. I don’t know much about Germany and thus no clue if it’s true or not, but from my “Quiet Asian Working class Civilian’s” point of view, I always and secretly expected “One of those voiced cities in the west will speak out.” So, I was glued the bunch of roller-bladers on the street….although I didn’t know what they were protesting against…

My favorite place in Berlin was Saturday market which my friend took me to. It was a cheerful place where local people come and buy organic products face to face from the producers. My friend explained that it’s worth paying some extra costs on organic food to avoid mass produced food from a big supermarket because they are, of course, healthy and my friend also wants to support organic farmers to continue their way of farming which is healthy both for human and environment. Maybe….I thought…it’s time for me to quit going to supermarket to buy a PACKED meat, vegetable, and genetically modified fruit…, and stop letting one third of artificial food be waste in my fridge every week…. My friend is right…it’s the time for me to pay extra to be nice to environment as well as my body.
So, where can I start, dear my friend? Give up both on my freezer and microwave? Drink fresh squeezed apple juice mixed with fresh carrot juice? Buy a whole cow from one of those organic farms? Or be a vegetarian?

Beside its drastic quietness, Berlin to me was dark and cold. It was a pure surprise for me to stay in such dimly lit city as well as inside of the house and ever quietest heating supply because I am from the world famous neon-lit capital, Tokyo!
I heard that Japan was once the leading country of its solar power technology, but Germany became more advanced than Japan these days because their awareness to the economization of power was much higher than us, among the civilian as well as political level.
So, I was wondering as my nose running and eyes struggling to see in the chilly dim city, how many more years the energy policy of my country would heavily rely on the nuclear energy…

My friend drove me in the city as he introduced briefly the historical importance of architectures, and I walked the same area by foot the following day. And what I was thinking on the street was….to buy a good history book and read through it when I go home. There are things that I can’t logically explain….but is this only me who felt urgent to read a history book after walking in Berlin??

Finally, my friend gave me excessively precise directions to the airport the day before I left. Everything was so well completely organized and so accurate on route and time so that there was no chance to get wrong on the way to the airport. Everything went drastically accurate as my friend explained. Then I arrived at the airport and met my last “Drastic” experience….in order to go through luggage check-in and security gate. Airport in Berlin, I must say, was drastic…including the awareness of other passengers against “Possibility of Wrongness” which turned overly judging eyes to watch out other’s bags, properties…I wanted to argue back, ”hey, my bag is my bag! That’s not your business. Who the hell are you by the way, my mom??” In addition, the drastically strict security check was so close to some kind of intimidation…ok…for their satisfaction, “Let me unwrap EVERYTHING! EVERY SINGLE THING!

Berlin…, what are they so nervous about?

Czech (Prague)

2008-05-03T20:33:00.000-07:00

You will regret if you went to Prague without a camera. It happened to me on the first day when I walked in the city without my camera because Prague is one of the most Picture Cues concentrated cities in the world. At every corner of the city and from every angle of the hill side, you just have to stop and press the button of your camera. As it is remarked by the tourists from world wide, Prague is definitely one of the rare places in world, set in such completion in its elegancy of city’s configuration.
Prague is extreme in terms of city structure.

Besides its architectonic beauty, Prague offers one of the most concentrated cultural experiences such as opera, classical music, classical ballet performances, etc. You can catch your favorite cultural event from various choices, anytime and everywhere in the city. Seeing Opera at the National theatre was really special to this budget backpacker…and I walked back to my hotel after the show, fulfilled and feeling surreal on those stone paved streets in old town…dimly lit…
Prague is extreme in terms of its art and entertainment.

Finally about the people in Prague, there were some extreme customer services which surprised me. For instance, when I went to buy a bus ticket to Berlin at the bus station, the lady at the information counter ignored me first, then spoke a few English words, then yelled at me in Czech, and finally shut her mouth as well as her eyes….I knocked the window and asked again about the bus to Berlin trying to wake her up, recover this lady from her mute…”Excuse me?”….rescue this poor lady who went into coma…”Hello? Hello?” No response. She was dead on her chair.
It was not the only case I experienced, but I found several people who were either in coma or mute in Prague. I spent only five days in Prague and faced a such high concentration of people in coma and mute…oh my…what’s wrong with them…

SO, Prague; definitely one of the most elegant cities to visit in the world….which I will probably never come back again since I am not a hospital.

Netherlands

2008-04-26T15:30:00.002-07:00

I heard about Amsterdam when I was in West Africa every so often. Amsterdam was famous among Africans. They repeated “Amsterdam” as if it was the only name of the place they knew among European countries or even among all developed countries. Amsterdam sounded to be their dream land. So when they saw my non-black skin, they always liked to start the conversation on their favorite topic.
They said,
“I will go to Amsterdam with you.”
“I am not from Amsterdam.”
“I mean Europe.”
“I am not from Europe.”
“Why? You are not Amsterdam?”
“I am definitely not Amsterdam.”
“OK…where you from?”
“From Japan.”
“Japan is not Amsterdam?”
“….no.”

My curiosity was growing bigger….what is it, Amsterdam?

After his welcome pick up from the bus station, my friend introduced me Amsterdam, “Here in Amsterdam, you can find people from all over the world, originated more than two hundred countries.”
“There are only two hundred countries existing in this world, I believe.”
“Exactly. So, you can pretty much find all the nationalities in Amsterdam. This is like the most cosmopolitan city in the world.”
Well, no question for that. Amsterdam, the most cosmopolitan city in the world…

I liked Amsterdam. There were wide range of attractions and nice little cultures to enjoy everyday.
My friend, whom I met in Bamako in West Africa where we both loved the music, took me out this time for Ethiopian restaurant on the weekend. The taste reminded me of my trip in Ethiopia and confirmed that I really like this Ethiopian traditional cuisine, Enjera. After our dinner, we went to listen to the music by Ethiopian and Dutch mixed group. It was GREAT!! I was very happy about the African night in Amsterdam and thanked to this cosmopolitan city.
Additionally, it was a pleasure for me to meet my friend’s flat mate since this man knew SO much about the world which I don’t yet know….I just had to listen to him every night letting my ears be “Dumbo” because he didn’t talk only about Dutch things but much wider mucho deeper reality about the world. Who’s this man, by the way?

So I liked Amsterdam. I liked the mixture, variety and openness of Amsterdam. Amsterdam can provide “everywhere” of the world. So now, getting back to the original question, “Japan is not Amsterdam?”
Well…let’s say, “…can be.”

France (Paris)

2008-04-24T18:23:00.000-07:00

I went to one of the most well known cities in the world, Paris.
What for? Crape? Café au lait? Eiffel tower? Romantic conversation? With who?
I had two apple tarts made by a “Japanese” friend in France, and those were excellent. My host kindly took me one of those Japanese restaurants located almost every single corner in Paris, and no question, I loved every single bite of it. Came to think of the days in Paris, however, I didn’t taste anything French like….ah wait…can I count on a piece of croissant?
I took some romantic pictures for the Japanese honeymoon tourists in Paris as I was asked to do so. Surely those pictures will come out very sweet, good for them.

I remember I kept walking about 12 hours almost nonstop, no companion, no conversation, no picture taking of Eiffel tower or nothing else, with a can of Fanta. Alone in Paris proved…ok…
I saw some of the extreme architectures and breathtaking overview of the city from hilltop. To give my trip a conclusion, this is what I came for. Architectures….yeah….they were really something.

…and?

Italy (Venice)

2008-04-24T18:21:00.001-07:00

Just one day in Italy. Only a day in Venice, but I did walk in the old city, the place of my dream, supposed place of surreal beauty which will swallow visitors into it and allow them to travel through ages. Venice…let me take a look…
I saw many pigeons here and there, and I saw even more Asian tourists in groups everywhere. I was scared by oriental crowds after not seeing them for a long while….because so many of them appeared all together and all of sudden. Korean, Japanese, Japanese, Chinese, Chinese, Chinese, Chinese, Chinese, Chinese….and more. I was sweating cold and my heart pounding…because I was so unprepared to see them, SO many of them all together…in Venice. In a way, yeah…surreal.

My friends guided me out of tourists’ crowds and we went into back streets for some “CPR walk” in more space, more oxygen, and less noise. I was just listening to our footsteps echoing on the stone paved narrow streets.

Peace.

We all stopped when we reached at the little open space, next to calmly running water channel, adequately silent. Blue sky above our heads was cut in square by surrounding architectures. I breathed out, “Here, I can sit down and spend all my afternoon. Reading a book. With a cup of cappuccino. Should be perfect.”
“Cappuccino.” My friend smiled.
“Or think.” Another friend softly spoke. Herself as well smiling.
“Right..."Or think"” I said.
The moment with no frill. The perfection in simplicity. Tiny but surreal memory from the magical city, Venice.

Slovenia

2008-04-23T02:04:00.001-07:00

Once upon a time, when I was looking into a microscope, I accidentally discovered this little land called Slovenia on a map. Therefore I decided to come to Slovenia in order to pursue my study in micro particle. No, that’s not true.
Once when I was in Thailand, I found my Slovenian friend in the mountain. I ignorantly confused Slovenia with Slovakia. Hello me? I was embarrassed. I was shocked that there was a country of which I didn’t know the location. So I opened my world map immediately after the mountain disaster and searched around Europe with my magnifying glass.
There is was, FOUND it! Therefore I had to come to Slovenia for my first country to visit in Europe in order to recover my ignorance and pursue my study in backpacker’s geography.

OK. So I was in Slovenia for 8 days whether you believe me or not, and there were so much of varieties to enjoy in there, which I could never imagine when I was just dreaming about them with a magnifying glass in my hand. I just had to come and observe with my necked eyes…
Unfortunately, however, I cannot give you all the details of good sites in Slovenia because I am egocentric enough to rather keep them secret for my hidden vacation places…sorry. If you are very curious about Slovenia, you better start from trekking in Thailand, or get stuck in a laboratory looking into microscope or desperately run around with your magnifying glass because Slovenia has to be the country of rewarding, healing and treatment...at least to me they were…after years of accumulated fatigue from my trip.

CURE.

My 8 days in Slovenia- almost aroma therapeutic time in the cleanest environment, passed in a blink. It was one of a few places where I had a heart-rending time to farewell.

For the last tip for traveling in Slovenia, the most memorable time spent was in the car which my friend drove for days and hours.
…so…, I just proved by myself that I am not talented to write a travel guide, didn’t I?
OK. For the last tip for Slovenian people,
I wish, my fiend and her surrounding friend and families have the accurate measurements to learn the depth and length of my gratitude which will stay deep under my skin until the day I die.
…so…, did I just demonstrate my potential to be a dramatic writer? I think I did.

Europe extra!

2008-04-16T04:40:00.000-07:00

Europe was not in my plan when I started my journey. Europe is expensive. Period.

Europe is too expensive for a backpacker like myself. Europe is too expensive for a person with a daily budget of 10 Euro like me. If my calculation is accurate, I have to finish a day in Europe with 4 cups of espresso only…or 2 and half sandwiches only…or filling 1/5 petro tank of a car only. And of course, sleep outside and move by foot only and drink water from a river. So I didn’t think about going to Europe at the beginning.
BUT I ended up adding Europe at the end of my journey because I was informed how silly and stupid I could be if I went home without seeing Europe at all since I would be in Northern Africa, almost there to Europe….Well….then I came to think of my silliness and stupidity, and reconsidered if I wanted to stay stupid or either recover it by visiting Europe after all. My Hamletting symptom began …to be stupid…or not to be…

Because my friend offered me free accommodation and pure drinking water (not from a pond), I decided to go to Europe. I didn’t expect a BIG tourism, of course in this still anyways crazy expensive Europe, but at least from my heart, I wanted to come and see my friends in Europe. Honestly, I was not that excited about touristy activities or sight seeing touring any more after visiting here and there for 22 months….so my motivation to Europe…almost only motivation I would say was the reunions with my friends.

I was questioning to my heart in last 6 months while I was Hamletting over my stupidity….”How do I want to end my two years?”
My answer was; to meet again my friends whom I found in my journey and talk to them, the very interesting but somehow a little weird ones who travel in this crazy world just like I do.

So, here I am. Came to Europe. Not a bad idea, is it?

Morocco (18 days)

2008-04-16T04:32:00.000-07:00

Morocco 04/03/2008 ~ 21/03/2008 (18 days)

As a part of African continent, so close to Europe and one of the Arabic countries, Morocco represents everything in its cultural mixture. From Sahara desert to snow capped mountains and from Atlantic long coast to Mediterranean seaside, Morocco presents everything in its geographical mixture. Plus, delicious yogurt to Tajin to Cuscus to Kebab to Olives to Café au Lait to Arabic tea to sweets to sweeter sweets to snails in a bowl, Morocco provides everything in its gluttonous revolution!

Surprisingly mixed African Europeanized Arabic country, Morocco puzzled me…What is Morocco after all? How shall I categorize them? I didn’t find an answer for this. Therefore, I simply asked to the local people.

“How do you identify yourself? African? European? Arabic?”
Here is the answer: “We are in Africa but not exactly African…and Arabic but….not really Arabic either….Europe…? No…well…let’s see…Morocco is Morocco. We are Moroccans. That’s all.”
Makes sense to me. Morocco is Morocco. This is how Morocco is to be.

No words but hearts (Appreciation)

2008-04-09T02:06:00.001-07:00

*No words but hitched

There is so much to see in Morocco and thus you will end up seeing so many tourists around. Because tourism is big in Morocco, annoyance can be big with those people who deal with foreigners. And annoying ones talk a lot as if they have to show off the every single meaningless words they just learned in French, English, Spanish, Italian, German, Japanese, Korean….”Hey, one second! I will give you a good price.” “Democratic price!” “The best! true quality!”
What was “a good price?” I wasn’t sure about whatever the words they had to say on the streets filled with souvenirs, but I leaned for sure who was the good, democratic and the best, true quality Moroccans. Those quality ones, of course, didn’t come with meaningless noise, but came with something meaningful in their own language which I didn’t know. They appeared on my way as if they act vivid miming in the marvelously comedic silent films.

The place I met them was the border entrance to Morocco. They came behind of us, the car I hitchhiked from Mauritania to the border, driven by French tourists. It was a beautiful morning and the sun was not yet high enough to trouble me with its deadly heat. I was eating my breakfast biscuits outside of the car and they, the three Moroccans and one Mauritanian in the Mitsubishi truck came and stopped. They first smiled at me and waved their hands while they were still seated in the truck. I waved my hand back to them and simply questioned myself, “Who are they?” Then they jumped off the truck and ran towards me. I didn’t know who they were but held some biscuits out, saying, “Would you like some?” They grabbed my biscuits and began to eat without WORDS. I had no idea who the hell they were and why they came overly close to me and began to eat my biscuits with me. We didn’t greet. We didn’t talk, but we ate biscuits together under the morning sun. One of three Moroccans, who was a woman, was holding my hand tightly all the time….and additionally she had to hug me tightly several times…and so we were physically attached to each other for no reason but still not at all comprehensive language between us. I had no idea why I had to stay so intimately with this lady and other three men who were eating my biscuits, but I began to learn that they were heading to Northern Morocco, where I wanted to reach. Then I began to FEEL that they were willing to take me to the North with them. So I spoke to the French tourists who took me to the border but was not heading to the same direction as me, “I will switch my car to that Mitsubishi truck. I FEEL like they are going to the North.”
“Are they taking you to the North?”
“I FEEL like so. I will give a try. Thank you very much for the ride to the border.”
Then I carried my backpacks to the truck and sat on the seat with them with my smile but without words. I didn’t know what else to do, but just sit and see what would take place. After the long entrance formalities, the Mitsubishi truck began to move….move towards the Northern Morocco….carrying me and my backpacks inside of it. This is how I met them and how I began to travel over 2000 km throughout the western part of Sahara.

* No words but estimated

There was only one Mauritanian man who could share a few words with me in English and French. So, we tried to have a conversation in the back of the seat. I just had to ask him, “Excuse me, but who in hell is the lady in the front seat?”
“I don’t know. She got on our truck suddenly. She is a crazy woman.”
“Oh, yeah. No doubt she is crazy.”
“Very very crazy!”
“I agree with you.”
“But I don’t know what the relationship between the driver and the crazy woman. Do you know?”
“How could I know? I also suddenly got on this truck just now, and I don’t even know who they are….the lady, driver, you…anyone on this truck. How about your relationship to the driver?”
“My relationship? MONEY. What else?! MONEY.”
“….oh…sure. money…and how much did you pay to him?”
“I pay 500 dirham (approximately 70 USD) from Nouakchott in Mauritania to Gleaming, about 3 to 4 hours south of Agadir.”
“I see…500 dirham…makes sense to me. So…how much do you think I should pay to the driver? Since I got on the truck without negotiation or agreements on the price. I just met you guys and jumped on the truck because it seemed natural for me to do so…and well…I don’t know how much to pay.”
“I think 400 (55USD) would be OK for you to Agadir. Do you want me to talk to the driver?”
“Well…I don’t know what to do, but I …think it will be OK to talk to the driver when I get off. To be honest, I don’t have much dirham now, so I will just hand him equivalent amount in Euro and Dollars to 400 dirham when I get off. And see…”
“I think it will be fine. No worry. The driver, he is a nice man. He will not be difficult with money.”

SO, I was estimating that the fare will be about 400 dirham (approximately 55 dollars), but then there were actions and facts which made me re-estimate the amount to pay.

Action 1. They took me to the café and ordered me a real brewed café au Lait and breads with cream cheese. I didn’t think there was any accurate words to express how I felt when I tasted the real smell of coffee after drinking only Nescafe for 7 months. It was overwhelming experience for the person like me, who loved and addicted to coffee for years. I was speechless for a while. When I opened my mouth as well as my wallet, it was too late that everything was paid secretly already and they simply asked me to put my wallet back in my pocket.

Action 2. The driver drove throughout the night without sleep. We stopped for dinner and tea breaks for a few times on the way. The driver took us to the best eating places where he always goes. Wherever we went, we were welcomed by the people who know our driver. Very friendly cooks, managers, waitresses, and his friends at the restaurants asked us to photograph together. So we did. We took a lot of pictures together and had a lot of fun time. At the end, driver paid everything. He kept saying NO to me whenever I tried to pay from my own wallet.

Action 3. I witnessed! In the middle of the night when the driver was pumping gas to his big Mitsubishi truck, I witnessed how much the meter had to go up and the price meter had to increase dramatically high and rapidly. I was shocked by the cost of gas….the amount the driver would have to pay. I wasn’t able to see the total cost at the end because I was afraid to know this F-ing expensive perto money!! Damn! The driver went to pay with a bundle of cash in his pocket and came back almost nothing. ….Shock. He seemed a bit disappointed and gestured that the gas price went higher again.

So, I re-estimated. After I saw him paying this enormous amount of petro money, I made my mind. I decided to give this innocent driver all the cash I had with me. I wasn’t sure how much exactly I had in cash, but I estimated that my cash in dollars and Euro would make about 200 USD. I thought that clearing my wallet and giving him everything would be appropriate because he was very nice to take this strange backpacker who jumped on his car without saying a word, and he paid my food and petro and still never lost his smile. So the re-estimated price was “everything I had” for that heart-warming journey through west Sahara.

* No words but naked communication

After every other passengers got off at their destinations, only two of us, the driver and I continued our journey to Agadir. When we reached Kebab restaurant for lunch, we met up with other two drivers who were my driver’s friend. As we spoke with NO words but only with our so called “universal language,” I FELT that one of the drivers would drive to Marrakech, 4 hours north of Agadir, where I wanted to reach finally. I FELT that the driver2 (let me distinguish him as the driver2 from the original driver I traveled with) was again willing to take me to Marrakech with him. Plus I FELT that the driver2 was offering me a place to sleep at his home for a night in Agadir and drive up to Marrakech the following morning. I FELT so.

Communication 1. Two Mitsubishi trucks stopped in front of driver2’s home, and the driver2’s family nicely welcomed me and took my backpacks into their home immediately. I got off the truck and thought that it was the moment to give all my cash to the driver1 since it seemed to me the last moment to see him. When I was about to go and find my wallet inside of backpack, the driver1 gestured that he would come back and eat dinner together at driver2’s home. Then he didn’t give me a moment to pay or say thank you or say good-bye or nothing but drove away by leaving a big smile behind. Well….I missed the chance…but I thought I would do it when I see him again at the dinner. All I had to do was to believe in what he said about our dinner appointment in NO words but his gestures.

Communication 2. The driver1 didn’t show up at our dinner table unfortunately… but, but let me tell you something, I just had to indulge myself with their home made Tajin and Moroccan salad! Oh my….FOOD, I mean. The ladies in the house cooked all the time for dinner, breakfast and lunch….and I used my mouth only for eating but nothing else since we couldn’t communicate in WORDS. Well…let’s say there were two ways of communication between us, sisters in Morocco and Japanese backpacker. One of them was food. They cooked and I ate. They cooked more and I ate more. Another communication was….I will tell you in Action3.

Communication 3. I began to worry after late lunch if the truck would ever go to Marrakech or stay in Agadir forever. I had no words to make things clear but at least tried with my universal language to tell them that I had to go to Marrakech. The ladies in the house responded in their language.
“Hammam!! Hammam? Hammam!”
….? Excuse me, but what were they talking about? I was completely lost in translation. Hammam…supposed to be the Arabic style public bath…wasn’t it?
I had no idea why they started to talk about this “Hammam” when I asked them about the truck to Marrakech. The ladies seemed very excided and mimed themselves polishing their body. …..right…Hammam…Okay….Hammam….so what then…?
So I tried to get my conversation a little bit more practical and at least wanted to tell them that I first had to go to Bank to get some Dirham and then pay for Hammam and other costs to Marrakech. I put all my money on the carpet and explained.
“This is Euro. EURO! Do you understand? And This is Dollar. Dollar! Yes? And go to BANK. And BANK give me Dirham. Dirham and Hammam. Good! And Dirham and Marrakech. GOOD! Understand?”
Ladies were quietly watching me talking and miming for a while, then came to understand something. They screamed,
“NO PROBLEM!!” in French.
Then they rushed preparing my soup, shampoo, towel, and polish gloves, even they brought some underwear for me! No thanks! So we were all set and rushed to Hammam instead of Bank. Instead of Marrakech.
From here on, the naked communication started. Very open and universal style of communication, I would say. 5 of us, five sisters on the planet, harmoniously communicated in the Arabic style steamy bath and put soaps on each others’ skin and rubbed, polished, washed one another. There was no necessity of any kind of WORDS in Hammam but a piece of lovely underwear only. Very intimate communication and probably….it was an ideal model of how international communication should be…

* No words but hearts

After Hammam, the driver2 told me to get ready to go to Marrakech. I gave farewell kisses to the sisters who cooked for me and rubbed my skin in Hammam. Then I got on the driver2’s car and thinking…how could I tell driver2 about the original driver who took me all the way from Mauritania-Morocco border and explain that I wanted to hand him my money. How….
The situation has changed, however, that the driver2 didn’t seem to go to Marrakech but took me to the long distance bus company. I understood that his plan has changed and so he drove me to the bus stop where I could take a bus to Marrakech. I thanked him for such kindness he offered me and was trying to find the way to explain about the original driver. The driver2, instead, took my backpack and began to walk towards the ticket counter. So I went after him and did my best to stop him since I was not ready to pay in Dirham. I had to go to the bank first in order to get some cash to buy the ticket. I did my best to explain and thank him and farewell. The driver2, of course, didn’t stop. I assumed that he understood what I meant, but instead to stop, he went directly to the ticket counter and purchased a ticket to Marrakech (90 dirham) for me. Oh my….what was he doing to…the traveler who was a total stranger to him…
I immediately took out 20 USD which I had in my trousers pocket at the moment and put it on his big chest saying, “OK, please. At least please take this. Here I have 20 dollar. You take it to the back and it will be 150 dirham. YOU GO BANK! Understand? 150 dirham!”

He nodded to what I said, but strangely he opened his wallet again and began to count 150 dirham. I first didn’t get what he was doing but then I came to know that the driver2 misunderstood me. He thought that I was asking him to exchange money since I didn’t have any dirham. “NO NO NO,” Mr. driver2! I had to scream now,
“NO! Not the exchange. This is your money. Understand? Yours! Because of the ticket, food, Hammam, great time and everything. THANK YOU!! Understand?”
It was his turn to get confused by what I was doing to him, but then he came to understand finally. He understood that I was trying to give him 20 USD, and so he just said one word firmly, “NO.” He shook his head side ways and unequivocally refused my 20 USD. Instead, he clasped hands with me and left the bus stop with his pleasant smile. He was gone. I was there with my 20 USD quietly. Nothing came out of my mouth. I was standing at the bus stop with an air of abstraction….No words, but a bus ticket in my hand which the driver2 purchased for me.

Moroccans spoke to me in No words, but with something else which I loved more than any words.

Mauritania (10 days)

2008-03-17T08:39:00.000-07:00

Mauritania 23/02/2008 ~ 04/03/2008 (10 days)

There was an unfortunate accident in Mauritania last December. Four French people lost their lives with gunfire. Paris-Dakar Rally is canceled due to the security problem of western part of Sahara. French government is prohibiting their people to travel in this country, “nothing but dunes.” It’s time for this vast sandy country to receive all the negative reputations.
And so, my mom e-mailed me, “Please please don’t go to Mauritania! Too dangerous!!”

Therefore I did. I went to Mauritania without any security consideration. I went deeper into Sahara to see if something was dangerous. I walked through dunes with a poor little camel to see if there were terrorists.

Silence.

I found nothing but purity of this deserted land. Silence after silence. Peace after peace.

Deep inside of Sahara (Muslim)

2008-03-17T08:38:00.001-07:00

I didn’t see too many things in Mauritania because I was closing my eyes more than opening. The sunshine was just too strong. It struck my eyes and created the dizzy whiten horizon. Plus, I was fighting with fever for my illness and struggling with fever from the desert, and so rather stayed quietly than walking around everywhere.
I don’t remember too many things but a few from Mauritania because I was stuck in the cycle of “sand, camel, goats, sand, camel goats.” Plus I stayed long time in the famous GARAGE (bus stop) of Mauritania…hours and hours, days after days….
I don’t want to talk too much about Mauritania because media already talked so much about them since the deadly incidents in last December. Plus, they were advertised quite negatively ever since.

SO, among a few memories I have from Mauritania, let me list down three scenes I’ve witnessed.

*Nothing but dunes

I went one night two days trekking to Sahara desert. I walked into dunes with a guide and a poor little camel. I saw nothing but dunes and more dunes, 360 degree surrounded by endless hills and mountains of sand. I heard nothing but surface of the sand rustling in the wind. I spoke almost nothing but “Thank you,” “good taste,” “fine,” in French. The guide was even quieter, but asked me sometimes, “fine?” in French.
Two days of serenity.
I saw the guide making a prayer on the sand under the killing sunshine in the afternoon desert. I sat next to the camel and gulped water.
Serenity.
I saw the guide making a prayer on the sand in the air freezing morning twilit. I stayed in my sleeping bag and shrank like a little bagworm.
Serenity.
I saw the guide making a prayer in the sandstorm. I saw him just a little bit but didn’t see him most of the time…since I couldn’t open my eyes…I was digging my backpack out of sand and looking for an eye drop…trying to wash off the sands in my eyes….

*Top of the stony piles

I took the longest train in the world in Mauritania. It runs through the desert and carries 210 wagons of minerals and two cars of passengers. The total length of the train is something like 2.5km!
I caught the train in the evening and climbed the ladder up onto one of the wagons for its great view and free ride. I sat on the pile of black minerals, possibly irons. I watched sun setting down horizon with one old Tuareg riding on the same wagon. I waved my hand to four young boys who got on the wagon in front of ours. No one else, but six passengers on the open air wagons. Every time the wagon had a strong shake, the old Tuareg turned a look back on me to see if I didn’t drop from the wagon. Then I sent OK look back to him, informing him that I was safe, still on the wagon.
Then I saw.
The old Taureg and four young boys stood up on the top of stony piles and faced towards south east. I saw them making prayer quietly on the shaky hills of minerals on the wagons.
Serenity.
After the countless stars began to light us from the panoramic sky, I walked on the black mineral and went to hand some biscuits to the old Tuareg. He gave a small nod and accepted a bag of biscuits. He said to me something in his language. I didn’t understand his language, but knew what he was saying.

*In the morning chill

In the middle of night, when the train made a short stop, I saw someone climbing up on the wagon approaching to me. It was the man who took the same truck together all the way until we got on the train; he was on the passengers’ cart, and I was on the wagon. He said,
“Let’s go to the passengers’ cart and have some tea.”
“….tea?”
“Yes, we are all having tea now, so come and join us. You don’t have to worry about the fare. It’s free. FREE! Let’s go!”
“No, I mean, I like wagon because of the beautiful stars. Money is not the problem.”
“Okay, but we are going to drink tea together!”
I asked him if it’s ok to join the tea ceremony and come back to the wagon later, but he was scrambling down the ladder with my backpack already without listening to my words. He was right….that there wasn’t much time before train began to run again. So, I rushed down the ladder and ran after him. I got on the passenger’s cart and found everyone else who also traveled by the same truck to where we took the train. They, about 7 of them, welcomed me into their compartment and squeezed their generous asses to make extra space for this Japanese stranger. Then we started this everlasting tea ceremony.
Amazing Mauritanians don’t know how to facilitate the lights inside the train, but know how to light the candles and how to turn on the gas stove (WOW! Where did you bring it from!?), and make delicious tea in an appropriate manner. It didn’t seem easy to make a proper tea in such dark shaky train, but they did their best to accomplish the process for 4 times of complete ceremony through all night until the next morning! I had 12 cups of very sugary tea with them, talking, laughing, sometimes watching shooting stars from the window as we lined up at the aisle to look out the windows. We even did some arm wrestling in the middle of night from 2 am! Honestly my body was very tired….from fever and headache and traveling in the desert…but I accepted their tea as many times as they offered to me because I was overwhelmed by their passion to make a good tea in such condition and their absolute generously.
In the early morning, when my body was almost down but last spirit was holding me up at the edge of this world, I saw.
I saw other passengers lining the aisle with carpets and making a prayer in the morning chill.
Serenity.
I was sticking my head out of the window and brushing my teeth; waiting for the sun coming up and shine warmly and softly upon us, all of us in Mauritania.

Purity or stupidity (People)

2008-03-17T08:08:00.003-07:00

“When in Mauritania, expect nothing can be expected.”
I just created a new proverb for Mauritania because they are amazing. They can’t get anything straight almost perfectly, and they have to make everything in disorder almost artistically. They are the real example of how much human beings can disorganize things to almost charmingly.

A night before I left the capital Nouakchott to desert city Atar, one local man came and spoke to me at the hotel.
“I heard that you are going to Atar tomorrow. Is it right?”
“Yes, I think so.” I answered.
“I am going to Atar too and leaving here around 8:30 am. So let’s go together. We can go to the taxi stand and catch a shared Mercedes around 9:00 am.”
“I am sorry, but I am leaving here around 7 am and catch a taxi by 8 am since I don’t want to arrive late in Atar, and hoping to get on another taxi to Chingettti on the same day if possible.”
“You don’t have to leave at 7! It’s too early. Do you know how long it takes to Atar? Only three hours.”
“There hours? No, I don’t think it’s possible. It’s a long distance. I looked at the map.”
“You don’t know anything, but I do because I LIVE in Atar. Believe me, it’s only three hours. SO if you leave at 9 am, you will arrive around noon in Atar and you can easily get on another vehicle to Chingetti around 1 pm and two hours later you are in Chingetti. No problem!”
I didn’t know if I could trust his words or not, so I asked another local man who works at the hotel. His answer was “Yes, it’s possible to get to Chingetti within a day and it will be fine to catch 9 am taxi with him (the man). It will be convenient for you to share a taxi from the hotel to taxi stand with him and get on the same Mercedes, so why don’t you meet up with him at 8:30?”

Here, two locals told me that 9 am taxi will give me enough time to get to Chingetti. Okay, why not, I decided to go with the man. I waited for the man at the hotel the following morning until 8:30. The result was the man didn’t show up. The worker at the hotel, the one I spoke a night before, smilingly told me his opinion that the man was not coming as if he wasn’t supposed to come anyways from the beginning.
“Excuse me? He is not coming?”
“No. I don’t think so.”
I wanted to complain more but I didn’t find enough time to do so since I waited for the man until little passed 8:30. I immediately went on the street and looked for a taxi alone instead of finding a cheaper bus because of NO TIME! I arrived at the shared taxi stand 10 minutes after 9 am. I bought a ticket right away and waited for the car to be filled with more people so that we could start traveling to Atar. I wasn’t surprised to wait for a while possibly up to one hour because I usually wait A FEW HOURS until whatever the shared vehicle gets enough passengers to leave. So I was eating Banana peacefully next to my taxi and watching who’s coming to fill other seats. Then I realized that the drive of my taxi and another driver of his Mercedes started to argue. They were fighting and pulling my backpack at each other. Oh…my poor backpack…I thought, but I didn’t want to participate in whatever the problems they were having, so I kept in silence and continued with my little banana.
After a while, the driver of Mercedes walked to me and said, “Get on my car.” ….fine....doesn’t matter which vehicle I take as long as it goes to Atar. So I opened the door of Mercedes and found 5 adults and 3 kids already seating inside of the 5 passengers car…well…fine…I will squeeze and fit in it…and 10 people including the driver would take this FIVE passengers’ Mercedes. I wasn’t surprised since I have done this kind of overly packed shred vehicle in many places in Africa, but I just knew it wouldn’t be so easy to close the door. When we finally succeeded to close the door of Mercedes, I could feel the bones and lungs of the old man sitting next to me. His body was compressed and breathing tightly….suffocating. I worried about his condition but could do nothing except wait for 20 minutes in the packed car until the driver finally turned on the engine. Our Mercedes drove….not towards Atar but only inside of the Nouakchott to greet the driver’s friends or families or co-workers or whatever from here and there. After driving inside the city for a while, our Mercedes came back to the taxi stand where we started. And the driver said to me, “You, get off my car. It’s too tight for the old man,”
Excuse me??? I wanted to say something, but I didn’t since it was so obvious that the overloaded car was threatening the old man. So then why did he put me in his car at the beginning??? I wanted to say something, but I didn’t since I made a resolution to interact very peacefully with people from this year, 2008. So I got off Mercedes and got on the original car. 9 people squeezed in the 7 peoples’ car and waited another 20 minutes until our baggage got tied up on the rooftop. When everything was ready, the driver told us, “Everyone, get off my car.”
Excuse me, again??? I wanted to scream, but I didn’t since we were explained that the car was broken and couldn’t move….So then, why didn’t they check the car first and see if it could move or not before tying up baggage on the rooftop, more importantly BEFORE STUFFING ALL THE PASSENGERS in that packed car??? I wanted to scream, but instead got off the car quietly and switched onto another car….to wait another 20 mints until the baggage were all shifted on our new car…
Two hours and half after I arrived at the taxi stand, plus changing the vehicle for four times, finally I left Nouakchott. Did I arrive in Atar 3 hours later and get to Chingetti on the same day? Hell no! I arrived in Atar 7 hours later! Let me tell you something, don’t expect anything in Mauritania and take it their charm that they can’t get anything straight.

A night before I left Chingetti, the owner of the hotel asked my next destination, so I said, “I am going to Choum to catch a train. I will go back to Atar first and sleep one night there and take a taxi to Chum the following day.”
“Why you say you sleep in Atar one night? You can go to Choum tomorrow, and catch a train at 7pm. You leave here at 9 tomorrow morning and arrive in Atar before mid-day, and take another taxi from Garage to Choum at 1pm. I know the drives, they are my friends. I can call them so that you can reach Choum with no worry tomorrow.”
Of course, I didn’t expect the things will work exactly as he explained, but I kept his idea in my mind as one of the options. I asked him to call his friends to keep a seat for me to Atar, drop me at the Garage (taxi stand) and reserve another seat from Atar to Choum. And..Let’s see how things will work.

I got ready by 9 am next morning as I was told, and waited for the first vehicle until 10 o’clock. Then the driver claimed that he wanted to raise the price of the seat. My answer was NO since I had already paid when the hotel owner booked my seat a day before. The unhappy driver made me wait for 15 minutes until he finally accepted the original price. Then he took me in his car and drove inside of the city for half an hour for something I don’t know…maybe for nothing…maybe for greeting his wife? Maybe to meet his cousin? Then he came back in front of the hotel where he first picked me up and said, “Get off my car and exchange.” So, I changed on another Mercedes and waited another hour to drive INSIDE the city again for…excuse me, but is there any purpose to drive inside the city for an hour??? The drivers often claimed that the price of the seat had to go up because of the crazy petro price. BUT I would rather suggest that they could save so much petro if they stopped driving here and there INSIDE of their tiny walk-able city BEFORE leaving! Don’t drive hours for noting! I wanted to yell, but I didn’t because of the year of peaceful 2008.

It was half passed twelve when I arrived in Atar. Did I find the friend driver of the hotel owner? Of course, not. I found some goats walking around the sandy garage. I asked the crowds if there was a car going to Choum at 1 pm. They answered,
“There will be 3 o’clock taxi going to Choum, so why don’t you wait with us?”
“Do you think I can catch a train tonight?”
“Of course. You leave here at 3 and arrive Choum at 5 and train will come at 6. No problem. Well, please sit with us and wait.”
So I waited with a hope. I stayed under the hellish sunshine in the afternoon desert and suffered in the deadly heat. I wanted to go to Choum.
Half passed 3, I began to wonder…if I could reach Choum before train comes or I would stay with some pretty goats forever. So I asked the crows of men, “I can go to Choum today? For sure?”
One old man assured that one car would leave for Choum sometime SOON and he sold me a ticket. So here I was again…just wait patiently with a ticket in my hand and stay pleasantly with some lovely goats.
Around 4 pm, I began to worry that I would be stuck with goats, but never ever reach Choum. So I asked the crows again.
“Excuse me, but when does the taxi leave? Which taxi? Which one? I have to catch a train and don’t have much time left. I have to go now!”
Some people responded,
“It’s too late to catch a train. And in fact, there is no taxi to Choum today.”
“NO TAXI TO CHOUM? SO then why did you just say that we are leaving SOON? Why did you sell the ticket to me? Hello?”
“No taxi today. Tomorrow morning.”
“It doesn’t make sense! You guys said that there is a taxi at 3 pm so I waited. Then you sold a ticket, so I waited, and now there is no taxi? Why didn’t you just tell me that there isn’t taxi today, so that I could go to the hotel to rest but not stay here like an idiot at the GARAGE! TOO HOT! CRAZY HOT!”
“Tomorrow, there will be a taxi.”
Finally I was angry. I had to be angry. I just couldn’t smile anymore, but say something to those idiots who couldn’t even run A TAXI to Choum!
“How could I trust you, Mauritanians?! You, Mauritanians are stupid!! You have to make everything so disorganized!!”
“No! We are not stupid!” Some of the men argued back.
“Yes, you are!! You are all stupid!”
“No, we are not!!”
I really felt it hopeless to fight over the stupidity of Mauritanians, but I didn’t want to stop my mouth because I interacted too much with my goats in that miserably sandy GARAGE all afternoon!!
“Stupid, Mauritanians!”
“No stupid!!”
“Yes STUPID!!!!!”
“No STUPID!!!”
I felt helpless and very hungry since I wasn’t eating much. So I gave them my last speech and walked to the hotel.
“I don’t trust any stupid Mauritanians! Bye.”

Next morning, I didn’t have another choice but go back to the same Garage to test my luck. I didn’t feel comfortable to meet the same people from the day before since we stupidly fought over stupidity. So I decided to pretend as if I was bardy enough to forget about everything so that I walked in a dignified manner. Then I greeted with my big voice from the distance to the crows of men including the old man who sold and refunded my ticket the evening before, “Assalam Alaikum!”
“Alaikum Assalama!” I saw the old man greeted back to me in a distinct voice as he walked towards me.
He sold me the ticket immediately with the same price from yesterday and quickly put my backpack on the rooftop of his car.
“I will go to Choum today and catch a train! Can we make it?” I asked him.
He nodded deeply and repeated reassuringly “Choum! Choum!” and gestured me to wait on the spot.
I was surprised and impressed by their attitude which they didn’t show even a trace of our quarreling. They acted naturally and welcomingly without any sort of bad aftertaste. I had expected and prepared for an awkwardly morning but it, after all, turned to be a very refreshing morning. Yes, this is Mauritania. Nothing goes as expected. Past is past and current moment is the moment you live in. Yesterday is not today and today is a fresh now day in Mauritania.

There is no planning in Mauritania. There is no cause and effect. 9 o’clock is not 11 o’clock. 1 o’clock is not 3 o’clock. Taxi can go to Choum at 3 pm and it can’t go to Choum at 4 pm. No reasons, no sequences, and no result.
Mauritanians can be very stupid since they can’t get anything straight. There seem to be so much of waste between the moment of happening to another moment of happening. Mauritanians, however, can be very pure that they can live on the every fresh day and every refreshed moment. Their hearts are reborn every half an hour and restart with their split-new hearts.

Furthermore, Mauritanians can be philosophical. They succeeded to free themselves from secular value in time frame and mundane realism of causal association.
Moreover, Mauritanians can be cosmological. They go beyond time and space and allow themselves to travel freely between fractionated moments. Impressive….
Are they partially applying some sort of quantum theory in their daily lives, particularly for driving a Mercedes?

Senegal (13 days)

2008-03-13T07:48:00.001-07:00

Senegal 11/02/2008 ~ 23/02/2008 (13 days)

My experience in Senegal had really nothing to do with tourism. I didn’t do any touristy activities.
My life in Senegal was not that close to the general lives of Senegalese local. I didn’t visit villages or many other cities in Senegal, but stayed only in a little part of Dakar.
My days in Senegal were all about my friends, the teachers from France and their students (richly mixed nationalities) at the French school. BECAUSE I stayed at my friends’ apartment　and spent time with them every single day, from the morning to night. I must thank them for hosting me! And sorry about 9 days of disturbance….occupying a room and toilet…and…and stealing food from the fridge… (Dear my friends, let me confess now…that I stole 5 eggs and two teabags and a lot of mayonnaise from your kitchen….sorry)

I spent absolutely fulfilling days and quality time in Dakar because of my French friends; their openness and hospitality. And I had one of the most exciting and memorable time at the school because of the students; their curiosity and sweetness.
Thanks Dakar. And thank you very much for everybody.

Questions from the little philosophers (Students)

2008-03-13T07:45:00.001-07:00

This whole experience at the school in Dakar started with one simple question by the little students whom my friend teaches.
“Is she your girlfriend?”
Because I stayed at my friend’s (male) place for nearly 10 days and happened to see them, his little students, several times when they came to his apartment, the question popped out eventually.
“Who’s that Japanese person living at our teacher’s apartment?”
So, my friend had to tell them that I am NOT his girlfriend but a traveler who crashed in his pad on my way. My friend said,
“I told them about your traveling that you are traveling around the world for 20 months already and went to many countries. And my students seemed impressed and interested in what you are doing.”
“About my traveling? Do they understand? I think they are too young to understand what it is to travel around the world. Well…interesting.”
“I don’t know, maybe they don’t know exactly what it is or about the countries you visited, but at least they reacted to what I said. They know it’s somehow amazing to travel over 20 months.”
“How old are they?”
“They are around 8 years old.”
Then my friend suggested me,
“Why don’t you come to my class and tell them about your traveling. I think they will like it. Maybe they won’t understand everything, but at least they will like your stories. There is a big world map in my class, so you can use it to show the way you came and explain to the children. And also if you have some pictures from your traveling, you can show them in the class. What do you think?”
I thought it would be very interesting and fun to visit the class and talk about my traveling with the little children. So, my answer was, “Why not!”

Half an hour later, another friend of mine who teaches math at the school introduced me to her friend who teaches economy. It was funny that less than 15 minutes after I met the economy teacher, she also suggested me to speak in her class.
“I always tell my students to have a wide view of the world and interested in many countries, not only about Senegal or France, but many other countries. And telling them the importance of learning foreign language because language is a power, you know? Language will make it possible to know the world, so I want my students to learn English, Spanish and one more language from Asia. And I think you are the real testimony of what I am telling them! You went to 35 countries in Asia, Middle East and Africa. And so I can show the real model to the students if they learn language and if they wish, and then yes they can travel like you do, and they have the chance to know the world with their own eyes. I teach older students, around 17 yeas old. They are all great students, so can you come to my class tomorrow?”

After a while, my friend, the math teacher asked me as well,
“If you don’t mind, can you come to my class as well? My students are a little quietter but very good students, so I think they will like your stories. And be honest, I want to hear about your traveling too! I haven’t heard about all the details yet! So I will be very happy if you come to my class and speak about your traveling.”

One after another, yes, this is how things work. At the end, I visited total 6 classes at the French school and spoke to the children from 8 to 18 years old. I had fantastic time with those amazing children!! Oh my, what an experience for me!
It was an absolute joy to meet the students in the classes, and the best part of my visit was not about the stories I told them but the questions that students asked me. Therefore, let me introduce you some of the questions I liked and my answers.
Here they are;

*Frequently asked questions about traveling

Q1. Which country did you like the most?

A1. This is one of the most difficult questions to answer because there are both good parts and bad parts in every country. If I pick out, however, a few countries which I remember strongly because I enjoyed so much in, are such countries like Pakistan, Ghana, Myanmar, Syria, Iran….well, there are so many countries I liked and enjoyed, so it’s really not easy to choose the best. But I liked Ghana, Pakistan, those countries because I met great people there. It’s funny to say that after I have seen many beautiful landscapes, such as lakes, mountains, beaches, and many great sites including numbers of world historical heritages, what I remember is just “people.” When I think back the countries I visited, the first thing and probably the only thing comes in my mind is the people I met. Only when I look at the pictures I took in each countrie, I can remember “ah, yes I went to see this beautiful mountain, or it was an amazing architecture,” but in my memory, it’s only about the people. Therefore, the impression of the country really depends on the people I met in there.

Q2. How do you like Senegal?

A2. I like Senegal very much because I am having great time with PEOPLE in this country! I haven’t traveled a lot in Senegal, so I can’t tell if Senegal is a good place for tourism or not. However, personally I am having a such great time with my friends and with YOU, the great students! So, I will remember Senegal as one of my favorite countries where I had so much fun with the people I met. Thank you!

Q3. Isn’t it dangerous to travel alone?

A3. First, I don’t think that world is so dangerous. I thought the world could be dangerous before I left for this traveling because I was informed so much about the negative parts of the world, probably only about “how dangerous the world is!” by the medias in Japan. But I came out for traveling 20 months by now and visited some of the places which Japanese media and government warned me “They are dangerous!!!”, but I never found any danger yet. Truly, I have seen only a small part of the world, so I don’t know everywhere about the world yet, but from my experience, I just want to say, “world is not as dangerous as the people believe.” And funny thing was that those places marked by the government, “the most dangerous,” were after all one of the least dangerous but very safe, heartwarming, and friendly countries.
Secondly, I like traveling alone because I have more chance to meet new people when I travel alone. When I am with someone, I always stay with my partner, talk with my partner, and I start to feel a line between “We are and They are.” But when I am alone, it’s very simple that “I am one of bunch,” and I can easily merge into the circle of the locals or other group of travelers. Additionally, I usually get a lot of helps by people since I travel alone. This also relates to “our belief of dangerous world,” but I found usually that the people tend to help me more than hurt me. So, I am very safe to be alone in the “supposed to be dangerous world,” and receiving the kindness of people around myself.

Q4.What made you decide to travel the world?

A4.I was always interested in the different cultures and traditions, so it was very natural thing for me that I came out for traveling the world. Also I was learning the performing art in the university, I was dreaming to observe the performances in the different cultures, such as dancing, singing, different types of music. I was thinking to travel after my graduation, so I did.
Another reason is a little more political. After 911 happened in 2001, I felt that the world was strangely divided into two areas, good and bad, allies and enemies. And if I accept the theory of Japanese government, only the U.S and a few economical powers are our allies and rest of the world, almost everywhere else was either categorized, dangerous enemies or unimportant strange countries. And my question was “Are they really??” SO I decided to travel to the places where Japan doesn’t pay positive attention to and take a look with my eyes and walk with my feet and try to make friends in those places. Even if the governments want to, I will not let anywhere to be my enemies or unimportant strangers. SO I am traveling and doing my best to make good friends everywhere, and hoping to feel closer to each country and all to be my important allies.

Q5. Are you succeeding with your mission?

A5. Yes, I think so. I made more friends than I expected at the beginning. And I am feeling much closer to those countries which I didn’t even know their names before traveling.

Q6. Who supports your travel financially?

A6.Myself. I worked 1 year in the U.S and 2 years in Tokyo and saved money for traveling. If you save money or have an income resource as you are traveling and wish to travel, you can do the same thing. Everybody can.

*Questions about Japan from high school students

Q1. Is it true that Japanese society is very competitive?

A1. Yes it is. Competition starts when you are born and lasts until you die. Even some of the babies are competing to enter the well known kinder gardens. Then students have to go through pressuring examination every time when they try to enter the school. Examination is held only once in a year in March and you must do well on it because there is no other chance. Now the society is changing, but still the belief is strong that educational record is so important to get a good job. More or less, people are working very hard to compete with others all the time to reach the top of pyramid. But the reality is that only a few can reach the top and rest of bunch become losers through our social filters called competition.

Q2. Is it true that many people commit suicide?

A2. Yes it is. Every year, approximately 30000 people commit suicide. There are a lot of social pressures in Japan as well as responsibility and over working. The major cause of suicide, I think, is that many people don’t know what they want to do in their lives, how to have fun and quality time. After studying and working so hard, people come to question themselves, “What is the purpose of my life? What am I going to obtain after all these hard works? Am I living or already dead?” Japan is an economically powerful country but sometimes it turns hard in our society to understand the meaning of life or to feel the importance of our existence.

Q3. How many day offs do you have in Japan?

A3. Let’s see….about two days…? Officially we are supposed to have some time like 2 weeks of paid offs in a year, but usually you are not allowed to take as many days off as you want. I know some of my friends in my age, never took paid offs ever, or my sister finally took 4 days offs after working for the same company for 4 years! 4 DAYS for 4 YEARS! What’s wrong with her? But it’s quite normal that people don’t take offs or take only a few days off if they are lucky.
Students have 40 days summer vacation and about 10 days to 2 weeks offs each in the winter and spring. However, students are expected to study hard during their breaks, so some students get even busier during their vacation time. They work hard and prepare for the new term. Since students are expected to study during holidays, you will be in trouble if you didn’t study but only rest during your holidays. I had a lot of problems since I didn’t study much during my vacation but I PLAYED around. Yuppy! I am a bummer!

Q4. I like Japanese Manga (cartoons and animation) very much. What’s the impact of Manga industry in Japan?

A4. Yes, Manga industry in Japan is unbelievably big. It is not as much openly recognized industry comparing to other mega industries such as cars or electronics, but secretly it is very big! And I believe the export of Manga is increasing year after year. There are many talented people working in the industry already and professional Manga writer (or working for animation industry) is always one of the most dreamed profession among Japanese children. As long as Manga attracts many young people, I believe the industry has even bigger potential to grow in future and share larger part of our exports.

* Philosophical questions from the little children (around 8 years old)

Q1. Do you eat rice?

A1. Yes we do. We eat rice twice or three times a day. Rice is our staple food as well as many other countries in Asia.

Q2. I think Asia and Africa is neighbors because they both eat rice.

A2. Right…they can be neighbors…Africa and Japan is very far to each other, but Africa and Asia in fact is…yes I think they are neighbors.

It was always my question where to draw a line between Asia and the other areas. Especially when I was traveling through central Asian countries, such as Uzbekistan or Kyrgyzstan where people speak Russian and Middle Eastern countries where people have brown or blue eyes and keenly believe in Islamic religion, I felt exotic even though we are all SAME ASIAN. It was first hard to believe for me that they are same Asian like us, Japanese, Chinese, or Vietnamese, but when we talk about, for instance, Asian cup of soccer game, we are all categorized in Asia. And as long as Middle East, especially Arabian peninsula, is defined as Asia, Asia and Africa are unquestionably neighbors. Plus, if we categorize areas in the world based on the staple food of the region, then Senegal and Japan should be neighbors because WE BOTH EAT RICE! Am I right?

Q3. How old are you?

A3. How old do I look like?
Then I told them my age, and children screamed “WOW!!!”
“Excuse me, you just screamed WOW! But what’s WOW about? Wow because I am old? Or I am young?”
“Because you are YOUNG!”
“Oh! Really?!”
“Yes, you are just one year older than my MOM!”
“….oh…really…”

Q4. Do you use bamboos in Japan?

A4. Yes we do. We use bamboos to make small products like chopsticks or big things such as furniture. Bamboos are very useful and very much used in Japan. And we eat bamboos as well.
“WOW!! EAT?”
“I mean the little bamboos, the baby bamboos. When it comes out of the ground, we take it and cook it.”
“HOW?”
“We boil it to soft and dip it in soy sauce or cook with Japanese flavored soup. We eat it in the spring time and it’s very tasty!”

*the best question of the day asked by a little girl.

Q. Any dogs in Japan?

A. Yes there are! There are many dogs and cats in Japan because people love pets.

It was the cutest question and one of my favorites. My heart was melting with such purity and innocence that the little child could have in her soft imagination. But I recalled the question after the class and reconsidered that it was a meaningful question. I think it’s very natural that you don’t know if there are dogs in Japan or not if you have never been to Japan. Thus it’s very normal to ask the reality to someone who’s been to Japan. Do you agree?
We, adults, however, are careless than the children, and we are easily convinced by the information which we even don’t know where they popped out. Current society we are living in is like an ocean of mass information brought from here and there and somewhere we aren’t sure, but we swallow information without verify the truthfulness of the information. We talk as if we know everything because in our adults’ world, we have this troubling pressure of that we must “know it all.”
How do you know if there are dogs in Japan or not if you have never been to Japan? Ladies and Gentleman? Because someone told that there are dogs in Japan? It the person reliable? Because you’ve seen it on the website? Anyone can create any sorts of fakes and lies on the website. Because Japanese government announced it? Out of question.

So, why don’t we be more suspicious and ask some questions like the little philosopher in the elementary school?

Are there terrorists in Pakistan?
I haven’t seen any when I was in Pakistan. Maybe there are and maybe not.
Are there starvation death in Ethiopia?
I haven’t seen any when I was in Ethiopia. Maybe there are and maybe not.

I wanted to ask some questions before the war started in Iraq.
Are there any dogs in Iraq?
I don’t know. I’ve never been there.
Are there mass destructive weapons in Iraq?
How could I know? I’ve never seen them before.

Is there ketchup in my grandmom’s refrigerator?
I don’t know since I haven’t checked inside….there should be mayonnaise….
Are there machineguns in my grandmom’s closet?
Maybe there are!! I don’t know!

Are there any dogs in Europe?
I assume there are since some of my reliable friends told me that there are. BUT I will go and see if there are really dogs in Europe or not in near future. I hope there will be since I love dogs very very much!

Mali (20 days)

2008-02-21T08:25:00.000-08:00

Mali 23/01/2008 ~11/02/2008 (20 days)

Needless to say, Mali is the highlight of tourism in West Africa. Breath taking landscapes, trekking along escarpments, sun setting magnificent Niger river, and brightly colored costumes filling the foots of the biggest mosque made out of mud. Yes, I enjoyed them all by torturing my wallet for pure tourism, thank you very much. They were all great as I expected.

The biggest enjoyment, however, struck my ears after I finished my guided “Tourism”. The music of Mali, the sounds of Bamako turned the biggest threats to my poor wallet! Mali music sucked my money, my time, my soul!! WOW!

Mali, the highlight of tourism in West Africa, in fact, is the highlight of music in the world. Did you know that? I didn’t because I was an ignorant idiot, but I do now!

So what? Laugh it off! (Mentality)

2008-02-21T08:24:00.000-08:00

Staying outside of your country for a long while is joyful but can be stressful at the same time. Especially when you are sent to the unknown strange area in middle of nowhere, like a small village in Mali…

I met this Canadian volunteer who works in the isolated village in Mali. I was very happy to speak English with someone after spending some time in French speaking countries, and she also needed a little break from her African local life. So we became friends and decided to grab some beer for good chattering night. She explained that there was a little down time after she began her new life in the assigned small village. She didn’t look overly depressed or pessimistic at all, but just told me about the psychological ups and downs that she had been through. Yes, I could totally understand her feeling. It’s really, nothing to do with “Home sick” nor “desire of escapism,” but just a little more exaggerated emotional waves, I believe. I had the same symptom just after I stared to live alone in the united states when I was 19. It was not the place like a village in Mali if I compare my experience to hers, but certainly there were unavoidable ups and downs which I was hiding deep inside of my heart. Nothing was wrong. Nothing to be depressed about. But what I thought that we came to agree on was that living alone outside of our country was a LITTLE different from the life in our own homeland. …just a little difference….that’s all…just a little

As we continued on talking our lives in foreign countries, I came to reveal that she was about to recovering from her Malaria.
“Malaria?! Were you infected Malaria?”
She told me that she suffered from sever diarrhea and high fever from Malaria and unfortunately experienced threatening food poison twice as well already.
“Oh my….I didn’t know that you were Malaria. You’ve experienced a lot for such short period of time! Malaria and food poison!”
“I mean, twice. Twice with really bad food.”
“No wonder you were down for some time…if you didn’t become down then it could prove you a real crazy. It sounds more about physical down than psychological I think…”
“Maybe that’s true. I don’t know which one came first, but right…I was sick physically and down psychologically. Those two elements are connected so closely each other. Maybe psychological problem brought me Malaria. ”
“Truly! I think that emotional fatigue and nervousness often cause us physical illness. I haven’t experienced food poison like yours like vomiting, but I used to have constant diarrhea and cycle of high fever through first year of my travel. They were so persistent. But when I think back the days of my illness, I feel like my mentality, my emotion called physical illness into my body. For example, I was eating the food on dirty dishes with fear, I was thinking…“I may get sick if I eat them” then I got sick after eating. But now I don’t think anything, I am not afraid of anything, and no more physical disease can attack me.”
We talked about the sickness and accidents we experienced, and I asked more about Malaria since I have a chance to get infected easily.
“How was your Malaria? A German traveler I met in Ghana, explained Malaria “You can die from Malaria but you don’t have to die. But once you are Malaria, you want to die. You will want to kill yourself.” Was that so terrible? You are amazing that you have survived and still alive! Congratulations!”
“Yes, it was so bad! It really depends on your luck. You might get Malaria right after you came here like me, or you never get infected like you even after staying months in Africa. Malaria was not like a cold at all, you will know immediately if you are Malaria because of so much body pain and high fever and diarrhea and everything! I was so unlucky.”
“I don’t know if I could survive if I got Malaria right after moving in such isolated strange area in Mali…I admire that you have survived.”
“High fever and diarrhea struck me so many times, so I was just staying in my room alone and watching my fingers. Then, you know what happened? My fingers were so dehydrated and they became like…shrunken…how can I express it…”
“Wrinkles?”
“Right! The tips of my fingers got wrinkled, but I couldn’t do anything with them but watch them dehydrated…, you know? ”
At our beer table, she closely looked at her fingers and rubbed tips of her fingers as she probably did the same in her room alone. I looked at her fingers as well and we started to laugh. I laughed as I imagined her finger so dehydrated and turned like some shriveled poor carrots which were staying in the fridge for months. Funny! But I had to say,
“Sorry. It’s not the thing to laugh about, sorry.” I apologized as I was still laughing lightly,“It’s not funny, it’s serious. Sorry.”
“No, it’s fine. It’s funny. I wasn’t depressed about my fingers in my room alone like “Oh no…I am dying or anything,” but it was more like…just watching them and somehow in my heart, laughing my miserable condition…like “Oh…poor fingers…” you know?”
She was still laughing and we looked at her fingers again and laughed with our imagination of “Poor shriveled fingers…so dehydrated in nowhere in Mali…”
Everything we talked about, our illness and accidents, sounded so comedic and we had to give so much laugh to them. And I was thinking and questioning myself, as I was enjoying some miserable stories we had, how many of my friends in Japan would able to laugh about these stories…stories of dehydrated fingers because of Malaria and vomiting food poisons and constant diarrhea and… My wonder was…who in Japan will find it comedic? and laugh them off?

The stories of this volunteer reminded me of another experience I had when I lived in the states, the time when I had no visa, no job, no money in America. It was right after my university graduation, and I was living here and there at my friends’ houses, sleeping in my car and living behind of someone’s garage with no windows. Additionally, I was a vegetarian that time due to the financial problem of inability to purchase some meat. Yes, it was one of the highlighted miserable times of my life.
SO, some time during my vegetarian era, I had a chance to live with one Russian girl, who was two years older than I was. AND her life was SO miserable to LAUGHT about! She was forced to come to the states alone by her family back in Russia when she was mid teens, and survived in the city without knowing a word in English at the beginning. Her survival life was unbelievable, and so I was sitting upright on my bed every night and listening to her stories…like…the enormous violence she experienced with her employers, or she was hit the back of her head by the grip of big knife by the wife of employer, or being mistakenly arrested by a security guards at the Golden Gate Bridge when she was just looking down on the water for misunderstood reason of “attempt of committing suicide?” and sent to mental hospital and locked up inside for months and had to share a room with other three psychopaths, and one of them was schizophrenic personality and turned to be 4 years old girl or an old man or whatever, and of course she was first shocked and scared in the hospital with bunch of patience, like the one who was screaming and eating sandals all day long and etc…and of course, she wasn’t able to stay in the hospital any longer since she was not psychopath, so she cut her wrists deeply several times with a piece of broken glasses in order to threaten the doctors, “I will kill myself! If you don’t free me from this hospital!” (I almost vomited when I saw the scars on her wrists.) WOW!
She was also intimidated this way and that way by the owner of our house (I mean the owner of our “garage”), and she had to run away because of the financial threats by the owner and so I decided to let her escape secretly from our house so that the owner couldn’t chase her all the way to the final destination to kill her and take all money out of her, and so I drove her to the house where the schizophrenic lady was temporary staying with her cats, and eventually I met the lady… and shook her hands… and said…”hello…how’s everything?”
In short, her life was unbelievable!

The biggest problem she had during the time I was with her, was her cavity. She wasn’t able to go to the dentist since she didn’t have health insurance because of her poverty and illegal staying. SO, we drank to heal. We had to drink the cheapest wine to erase the cavity pain out of her mind, or walked outside to get some cold breeze to cool down her swelling cheek….and always, we talked. We talked a lot every night and we laughed even more. She told me one night that she was beaten by the wife of the restaurant owner with a grip of the big knife. So I laughed because I wasn’t able to imagine such unrealistic incident without putting them into some comedic settings. We laughed hard then I said to her,
“I am sorry. I shouldn’t have laughed….sorry. Are you alright?”
“I am not alright at all! It hurts. But don’t be sorry, Aki. It’s funny. You should laugh. We should laugh! I don’t forgive that fucking bitch!”
“Neither do I! She is a real bitch!”
We laughed again. I touched the back of her neck and was completely shocked by the size of the hump. SO BIG! Oh my… I just had to give her another laugh since it was so dramatically and unbelievably big! Then I apologized her again,
“I am so sorry that I laughed again. Can I give you some ice? You better cool it down.”
I still remember what she told me then,
“It’s good that you laugh about my experiences. You are the first friend I made in America because you laugh and you listen to my crazy stories every night like this. It’s really crazy. I know! You know what? I met many people here and they said to me “Oh, I am sorry to hear…” and gave me a face of sorrow but they all ran away after all. To be sorry for me? and for my experience and crazy life and miserable situation? And so what? Sorrow doesn’t help me! It doesn’t let me out of this situation, at all. So then why don’t we laugh instead? SO I am very happy that you are with me and drinking and laughing and joining me saying “what a bitch! Fuck!” It helps me. You laugh it off so I feel much better! You know what? You can’t survive in this world if you don’t laugh.”
I had to repeat what she said to me…”You can’t survive in this world if don’t laugh.”

The Russian roommate and I laughed a lot as I did with the Canadian volunteer. We often laughed about her life in the mental hospital, especially about the story of her playing dolls with her adult roommate who turned 4 years old…Nancy? Or Stephanie? We forgot her name because there were so many. When we were laughing about the stories, I often thought that I would be definitely accused by “Normal sensed people in Japan” for being so immoral and impolite if I did it in front of them. So I told my roommate several times that maybe I shouldn’t have laughed. But her answer was always same, “You can laugh, and you have to, if you think it is crazy. If you don’t think it’s crazy or you want to “pretend” as if it’s not crazy, then I think, you are the one to be crazy. I mean, you can’t play dolls with psychopth for months if you didn’t have the heart to laugh about it.”
I agree with her.
You can’t live in garage if you can’t laugh about it. You can’t live in nowhere in Africa for years if you can’t laugh about your Malaria and food poison. You can’t travel if you can’t laugh about the amazingly varied shapes of the poops you experience from place to place! Sometimes, they are too soft, too hard, too colorful, but too wonderful.

Recently I often think about the well established life in Japan as I travel through West Africa where the countries are listed among the poorest in the world. In West Africa, there are inconveniences, children begging food, women carrying heavy water for miles, unpaved dusty streets, diseases, malaria, short life expectancy….etc, but people don’t look depressed including the travelers and volunteers in this area. And in my country? We have more than enough food, houses, comfortable life, and no threats of Malaria and, approximately 30000 people die in Japan every year by the disease called “Suicide.” People need medicines, psychiatrists in the country with one of the highest living standards and the society of seriousness and politeness. It’s my country that cannot laugh about Malaria, the poor dehydrated fingers…

Let me list down one more story for the conclusion of this article.
Right after I started to live in the U.S, there was a time I didn’t eat. I was staying with a family but the host mother didn’t cook for me regardless of the meal price included in the contract of my stay. I was alone, quiet, polite, innocent, young frightened puppy right after turning my 19 years old, so I wasn’t able to scream like “I am Hungry!!!” or “COOK now! F-bitch!” but rather kept in quiet. I didn’t know if it was OK to open freely the fridge of someone’s home, or it wouldn’t be too rude to cook by myself at the kitchen of someone’s home…so I was just starving…and quiet.
One evening, however, I couldn’t stand my hunger anymore, so I opened the fridge of the house secretly and quietly and stole a small packet of “Tofu” to cook. I remember how happy but embarrassed I was at the time that I stool food, cooked and filled up my stomach with fried Tofu. Then I wrote to my family in Japan, “I am not eating these days. My host mother doesn’t cook. I don’t know why. I found a pack of Tofu the other night, and ate it for dinner.” After a while, I received a letter from my sister in Japan, saying,
“About the story of A tofu for your dinner…it will be a good story to laugh about someday. Don’t worry Aki. And guess what, we are already laughing about it here in Japan. Hehehe.”
My sister was right. Eating a packet of tofu for dinner? SO WHAT? Host mother doesn’t cook? SO WHAT? Doesn’t know how to use American kitchen? SO WHAT?
My attitude has changed after reading my sister. I ordered my host mother, “Please fill your fridge with vegetables at least, if you don’t know how to cook!” then I began to chop the carrots and potatoes powerfully with those American knives.

Excuse me, you got a problem? Ah yes…it’s serious…I know…and you want to cry….I see…but can you just say it like a little charm, “So what?” and maybe laugh it off? Because you can’t survive in this world, if you don’t laugh.

HAHAHA! Here you go.

Show time (Fashion)

2008-02-20T04:49:00.000-08:00

What do you picture when you think about the streets in the developing countries? What are the ladies wearing in your imagination when you conceive the streets in Africa? Dirty trousers and worn out T-shirts? No, people are not wearing such miserable cloths. It’s me wearing something disgusting….and getting embarrassed these days….among everyone else who is dressed brilliantly. What’s wrong with my outfit….

I realized in many places in the developing countries that people are well dressed. Very well dressed as if they show up on the streets for their fashion show or carnival. Especially in the West Africa where streets and houses are made out of plain brown mad, the costumes of the ladies captivate my eyes; the swingy skirts and shawls with distinctive prints on the colorful cloth! Can you imagine that people array themselves in headdress to glittering ornaments around ears, neck, wrists and fingers, to the elegant sets of tops and skirts. And you can witness all in the daily usual sites on the streets. I had to just admire some of the ladies who make fire on the dusty sidewalk and fry breads in the big pan and make small business as they are still dressed up! What an elegancy! What a beauty! What a femininity! So I decided to call them “the real women” distinctively from other apes with no penis including myself. Really… what’s wrong with me, with my costumes…

I am a budget backpacker therefore I wear a dirty trouser and worn out T-shirts to travel through this rather masculine adventure. Truly I do need some boyish dirty trouser to ride the dusty trucks for days without taking shower or trek in bushes with my backpacked homes. Of course, it’s better to wear worn out T shirts and hide any sort of indication of my wealth. Definitely it’s important to erase femininity and stay strong and tough and rough and grow some mustache (if possible) to overcome gender disadvantages. In short, I have to be a man on some occasions. Yes, I have to be a greasy smelly masculine MAN! Because I am a backpacker!
Some questions stand out, however. Am I always stuck in the dusty bus? No, only sometimes. Always trekking? No. Never taking shower? NO! Possessing such wealth to hide? NO!!! Growing mustache? NEVER! And where is my penis? …well… let me see if… NOWHERE! Therefore I must admit that above all were just my excuse for not caring my outfit as much, and now probably the time for me to consider my little fashion show.

I can wear something beautiful if I wished, and I should dress nicer if I don’t want to be embarrassed. Therefore I did: leaned and decided to dress up. I walked to the biggest market in Bamako, the capital of Mali, and spent two days looking for some colorfully printed cloths. Then I spent a few hours finding a good tailor and explaining the style of dresses I wanted. I did all my best to make my tailor understand my needs, by drawing pictures and gesturing the shapes, the function since we were not able to communicate linguistically. I wasn’t sure if he really came to understand what I wanted, but I handed my cloths, the destiny of my dress, to his hands when the experienced tailor nodded quietly with eyes of his confidence.
For next half an hour, all I could do was to sit upright and witness his magical work!! Oh my…god’s hands? This tailor, who didn’t even measure precise size of my body nor did plan anything at all, impulsively began to cut my cloths with his big unsharpened old scissors! And extemporaneously began to sew the pieces together on the sewing machine run by his magical foot. He didn’t say a thing. He didn’t ask me questions. He didn’t look at me. He never stopped his hands. He worked like the most accurate assembling machine and well…maybe he was a machine…yes probably he was a machine because I was handed a completed product, my skirt, about half an hour later as if it just came out of “sewing microwave.” Dingdong! And my skirt was ready.

So here I was, dressed better and felt much better. I went outside and walked on the street with my new skirt. It suddenly turned do enjoyable to just walk on the said walk because I didn’t have to see miserable myself reflecting on the show window. I could appreciate more to be a part of the beautiful city of Bamako and to add another color on the streets just like the other colorful ladies, Yes!!

It sounds almost ironic that the poor developing countries made me realize the importance of staying dressed well. They stimulated my sense and taught me how much of impact that fashion can bring into internal and external parts of our lives such as impression, characteristics, motivation, and emotion. Also they gave me a warning that carelessness in fashion can prove the laziness, dullness, and even sometimes impoliteness of myself. I have to watch out my laziness…must do the best to hide my dullness…through my fashion.
They also made me realize the greatness of traditional outfitting because traditionally and historically human beings used to wear distinctively fashionable garments! Traditional garments may not be as comfortable as contemporary clothes and often don’t function as much practical. However they are often a hundreds times more elaborate and thousands times richer in originality. So, I started to think recently what to wear when I get back to Japan….planning to wear Kimono (Japanese traditional dress) on some occasions or a little more practical outfit made out of traditional Japanese cloths, prints and ornaments. Maybe it will not be as much comfortable, but I will try. I should try because I want to add a beautiful color on the streets in my country and entertain the people, including the tourists coming to see my country from distance, just like I was greatly impressed by the colorfully dressed people in West Africa.

Ladies and Gentlemen, Show time!

Niger (12 days)

2008-02-02T04:38:00.001-08:00

Niger 12/01/2008 ~ 23/01/2008 (12 days)

Niger today is where peace and danger stay together as close as wall-paper. You can either spend smashing time or bombed to die by a twist of fate. My experience? Splendid!

Coming back to Muslim country after sometime was heartwarming. Hospitality of the people rinsed out my dark soul which had been too dubious and afraid to open freely. Yes, Niger is the country of caring, sharing and offering of those keen religious civilians. Maybe because I chose a right city to stay in, I only had the fulfilling days in the absolute serenity. Zinder…the city of beauty to remember…

On the other hand, I finally gave up on Agadez where used to be the best reputed city in Niger due to the accelerating violence around the area. I heard later in the capital city that 6 people were bombed to death on the road between Zinder to Agadez where I was supposed to travel….on one of the days when I was supposed to travel….and so…all I can say for now is…I am lucky that I am alive.

Hundreds star hotel (Accommodation)

2008-02-02T04:36:00.000-08:00

I heard about this amazing hotel when I was traveling in Burkina Faso. When I met a Belgian traveler who just arrived from Niger, I asked him about the accommodation in Niger. He marked a recommended hotel on the map of Zinder, the second largest city in Niger, as well as one of the bus stops owned by a private company. I appreciated his suggestion but had to ask him again about a few more options, especially about other hotels in the different cities. His answer was interesting, “NO. You don’t go to hotel. I didn’t go to hotel. It was exception that I slept in the hotel in Zinder because the hotel was so nice, but other time, I was sleeping at the bus stop. It’s very nice, I liked. Local people are also sleeping at the bus stop, no problem, and they are so nice nice people. You can always sleep at the bus stop in Niger and it’s very very nice, and free.”
Okay…it sounded very very nice because it’s free, but I was very very curious because it’s a bus stop. I was wondering how I could manage through about two weeks of my stay in Niger with nice nice free bus stop…

Anyways, I crossed the border into Niger from Benin one afternoon. The minibus ride on that day took me much longer time than I expected and I arrived the first larger city, called Dosso, at around 9:30 pm. I got off the minibus. I didn’t have a map. I saw nothing but a dusty disorganized city in darkness because of their limited lighting supply. And all I knew about Niger was, “I can sleep at bus stop, it’s very very nice and free!” I looked around the minibus station….very dirty. Pees and poops are mixed with the dumped food and disposed plastic bags on the sandy muddy ground. Period. It was of course free to sleep there, I guess, but it never seemed very very nice. So…
Luckily however, one business man I got along with on the minibus kindly arranged a local man to take me to the proper hotel in the city since he worried about me walking alone and looking for a hotel in such dark city. SO, the local man took me three cheapest hotels in the city to let me take a look. The quality of hotel, I must say, was not very very nice, and most disappointedly, the cost was not at all free but quite pricy. Those were the prices that I was not able to afford at all. So, I started negotiation, and I could cut three dollars cheaper than the original price. BUT it was still too much for me. I was tired from the all day trip being stuck in overloaded minibuses, and I was very hungry since I found myself not eating since early morning breakfast. I didn’t like the price and quality of the hotel anyways. At the moment, I had to choose if I would negotiate more, or compromise on their price, or go and find another option. My choice, however, was none of those. My decision was surrender….surrender peacefully on finding hotel because this is the policy I set up for 2008: No more hard negotiation, no more fight over small money, but give up peacefully and sleep outside. I decided this policy after Togo where I had my final bloody negotiation, which I wrote in my article from Togo. I believe now that it’s much better to sleep peacefully outside than negotiating hard on unfairly set up prices and much nicer to walk by my foot than going through greedy negotiation with ill minded drivers of transport. Therefore I smiled. I smiled and thanked for the hotel receptionists for thier consideration but told them that I would rather sleep outside since I couldn’t afford the price. The receptionists laughed at my idea and I laughed with them about my idea, hahaha! Yes, if they want to laugh, I can laugh with them because 2008 is my year of peace. I don’t get angry but I smile and laugh only, hahaha!!!

I left the hotel peacefully. I assumed that the people at the hotel thought that I would anyways come back later since they knew that their hotel was the only option in the city (other two places were out of consideration anyways) and it would be impossible for the foreigner alone sleeping outside. I didn’t, however, go back. I walked back to the minibus stop and told the accompanied man that I would wait for the morning at the bus stop. He seemed a bit confused. I smiled and told him, “No problem.” He was still thinking and worrying about me. I smiled at him again. Then I recalled my memory carefully what the Belgian traveler told me about the nice nice free bus stop. I remembered he marked one of the private bus companies on my map….right…it was not the minibus stop but it was a private bus company. I opened the map of another city on which the Belgian traveler made his marks and found the name of the bus company. Then I asked the local man to take me to the private bus company.
The recommended bus company….oh WOW….it’s just a vast sandy empty space surrounded by brick walls and gated by the security guards. Then I saw, WOW, local people sleeping on the mattress or straw made carpets placed on the sandy ground inside the gate. Then I saw, WOW, countless stars in the sky! Yes, I could recognize immediately that it was the place where being recommended by the traveler, “Very very nice and free!”
I purchased a ticket for the bus departing very early next morning and began to prepare my sleeping space with my plastic carpets and sleeping bag and etc. Kindly the workers at the bus stop suggested me to sleep inside of small house located next to the ticket counter and explained that women can sleep inside separately from men since Niger is a Muslim country, and they warned me that it would be very cold outside in the middle of night. I asked them, however, if I could rather sleep outside on the sandy ground since I couldn’t give up on the stars floating above the sky!! They were all so gracious to accept my request and nicely offered me extra carpets on the ground. People sleeping around me were also caring and invited me to join their outside hotel to survive through the freezing night together. Yes, it was the nice nice people’s free hotel as it was recommended more than anywhere else in Niger. I came to agree with the Belgian traveler completely.

It seemed a such convenient system to sleep at the bus stop and I really liked it. I made a set cycle of taking long distance bus together with their free accommodation service: go to the bus stop a night before the departure, sleep a night and catch the bus early in the morning, arrive the destination late at night, sleep another night at the bus stop and start looking for a real hotel after sunrise. It was much more convenient to wait for the early morning bus at the bus stop than getting there in still dark 4:30 am by leaving the hotel and looking for a transport to the bus stop, and its’ much safer to sleep one more night at the bus stop and wait for the morning than going out to unfamiliar city in darkness, negotiate with taxi driver and look for a hotel. AND, free accommodation for two nights!! Yeah!

Throughout my journey in Niger, I always used bus stop hotel before and after my bus ride no matter which bus company I traveled with. Both public and private companies offered excellent free space where I could sleep safely. I slept indoor sometimes if the outside was too cold, but enjoyed more outside where domed galaxy was over me.
I can’t afford five star hotel but I can stay at the Hundreds of stars hotel! Fantastic! Additionally, I caught four shooting stars around freezing 3:30 am when I was blankly looking up the sky!!! Of course, I made four peaceful wishes for my family, friends and myself! Right, I can’t even afford three star hotel but I can stay at the four shooting stars hotel! I am getting so rich these days!!??

I usually don’t list down any specific accommodation on my articles since my blog is neither created for commercial purpose, nor advertisement, nor traveling guidebook. Exception occurs, however, for such nice nice and free accommodation.

“Splurge! The most recommended hotel in Niger.”
In case you failed to find a decent accommodation in Niger, or in case your negotiation got greedy bloody tough with the hotel owner, or in case you have to catch a bus so early in the morning, or in case you are an afraid puppy to wander around the dark night city looking for a hotel alone, I highly recommend the safest and the most convenient accommodation at the bus stops in Niger.
You have no necessity to negotiate, but you will be offered the best price, FREE. And you will peacefully sleep under the most romantic ceiling and be able to meet not as much romantic but at least the nicest locals around your carpets on the comfortable sandy ground. Plus, you will possibly and honorably be shot by some of the countless stars filling far above your head!!
Welcome, to the Hundreds star hotel.

Sharing bread, sharing hunger (Traveling)

2008-02-02T04:34:00.000-08:00

It becomes always a controversial issue among travelers, whether or not we should give money to the begging children. There are different opinions, of course. Begging children can be quite annoying sometimes or can be a real challenge for the traveler if she tries to dismiss them out of her sight. I’ve included this issue in one of my articles from Tibet, but here again I am writing on it because the story of begging children never ends as long as I keep on traveling. I wished it could have finished when I moved out of Tibet, but reality was that children have been begging around me almost all the way I came. Therefore here again, the same question, shall I give money to those children on the street?
My answer is “NO.” This is my traveling policy that I don’t give money to the children on the street. I can buy extra things from child sellers on the street or I can buy them bananas if they are obviously starving. I can donate directly to the education facilities, or orphanage schools if they could feed the children. More importantly I don’t mind spending hours with children, sit down and talk with them if they need some attention from adults. However, I don’t give away money. Here are two of many reasons that support my decision:

1. My first exposure to the street children was in Mongolia. Children always followed me around my hotel and begged money or any kinds of products. Some of the children were quite aggressive so that they came to steel my bottled water from side pocket of my backpack, or grab my cloths or block my way to get something from me. I didn’t know what to do with them back then, so that I simply asked the local opinion to my Mongolian friend. Her point was clear, “Don’t give anything to the children. Especially foreigner should be more careful with their money.” “But maybe the children need money to survive,” I said. “No, they don’t need money to survive. There are different kinds of facilities or schools to accept those children where the children can eat and sleep for free and receive proper education. But, those children often run away because they don’t want to do their duty, or don’t want to follow the minimum rules of the facility or don’t want to study. You know, it’s just easier to stay with other children on the street and playing, begging, steeling as if they play games or something rather than staying with adult supervisors. They come out of their school and don’t learn anything except being involved in some crimes, and grow up uneducated. Finally they will be taken into Mafia. So please don’t easily give away money to the street children. All they have to do is to go back to their school!”

2. I discussed it again with Rasta-man when I was in Ghana. I wanted to ask his opinion since he was the artist who used to visit education facilities and perform for the children. His answer was also clear, “Don’t give money to the children. Never do it. Those children are often used by the religious organizations and trained to beg and gather money from foreigners. They are not doing it for their survival but they are forced to do it for adults. The children need education. They have to go to school instead of begging to the foreign tourists, but foreigners often give away money to the children so that the organization never stop forcing the children to beg and thus no chance for the kids to go to school. Maybe it’s a small money for foreigners to give away, but it’s big for people here. Begging is a good business. It becomes a job, you know? So, the children here cannot go to school as long as the foreigners thoughtlessly scatter their money around in Ghana. Also, the idea of begging to foreigner will destroy our African self-esteem and keep us away from our real independence. Africa will not grow better as long as we are selling our souls. Harmful spirit. Big problem. So please don’t give money to the children in my country.”

The local adults asked me not to, therefore I don’t. As my first policy, I don’t give money to the children. What about food…shall I give food to the starving children? The question pops up one after another…. because this is Africa…continent of question.

My answer is “Yes.”
After I entered in Burkina Faso, I found the children carrying their plastic bowls. I wasn’t sure what they were doing with the bowls but later realized that those were the indication of begging food.
In one early morning at the small food stall, I was having my breakfast and there was another local man surrounded by many children with bowls. I had to watch them curiously because the local man ordered three big dishes for his breakfast. Is he going to finish them all??? That was my question. But then I saw the man stopped eating in the middle and began to give his left over to the children with bowls. I thought it was a good idea to fill the stomach of the starving children by leaving some food. Therefore I did. I did what the local people do and took out my emergency food out of my bag, put them on the table and let the children to take them. Ever since, I have been ordering a little more food than I can eat and leave some for the children. I don’t have bad feeling for doing it since I know that my left over food will not go into the pocket of religious organization or mafia but simply going into the stomachs of children. I left more food after I came to Niger, the country labeled as the poorest in the world. I felt pretty Okay especially when the children acknowledged me “Merci!” on their way back home, holding their bowls with good innocent smiles. Good…good…I thought, and I accelerated little more…to buy extra brads to fill the bowls of children…a few more children and more children…until finally I was threatened by the aggressive children running towards me and trying to grab some pieces of breads from me. The more breads I purchased, the more children surrounded me. The more breads I brought out, the more hands stretched towards me. The more breads I tried to give, the more definitely I had to realize my breads were not at all enough to fill the increasing number of bowls. Then I came to think…maybe I did too much and… had to admit my way to be wrong…

The stories of begging and giving continue without intermission as long as I travel. One afternoon in Zinder, the second largest cities in Niger, I was walking on the street with my camera. There were many children, more than ten, came to greet me, so I greeted them back and did some hands shaking. Then the children asked me to take their pictures. Well…I usually don’t take the pictures of people in Africa and I often refuse when I am asked to take his or her picture just in case they would charge me for being my “Photo model” later. Children, however seemed genuinely wanted me to take their pictures, so I decided to follow their requests. I took pictures of them and as I’d assumed, the children didn’t ask me money or anything. They just wanted me to take their photos. Period. I didn’t find anything wrong and I enjoyed playing with the children for a while. Then I met two local adult women who approached me. We greeted nicely one another and had a small conversation. It was a peaceful time since the ladies didn’t blame me taking photos or anything, but they asked me, at least to offer food to those children I took the pictures with. At that moment, I didn’t feel bad since their request was food but not the money, so I just told them that I will do it when I find food. No problem! I thought. However, I recalled my memory later and started to feel uncomfortable with the incident. I came to question about the mentality of those ladies who asked me to feed the local children. Am I more responsible than the local ladies on feeding the local children? The ladies who seemed very well nourished and weighted about twice more than I do and dressed so elegantly in beautiful consumes asked me to feed about 10 local children on the street. Right…I am a foreigner and I am probably able to make a lot more money than those ladies when I go back to my country for the reward of my hard work, but I am unfortunately not as rich as they think I am at this point of traveling. I do suffer from my hunger sometimes. I cannot eat for a day sometimes. I had to think back several times on my trip “Did I take any meat for last week? Two weeks? For last one month?? Am I going to be a vegetarian? When was the last food I tasted…? This morning…or last night…or last lunch…?” Unquestionably I look slim. It’s been very difficult to gain any weight on my budget traveling. I weight something like 47 kg for my height 169 cm which proves that I am not well nourished kinda person(although I am healthy OK with my small fat). And I have to manage through a few more months on this tight budget with my T-shirts with holes. Of course, it is true that I am still hiding several thousands dollars in my bank account and I am able to buy new cloths if I wanted and possible to feed hundreds of children with my will by emptying my account. But I cannot use up my money in Niger or any place on my way because I want to travel. I want to egoistically but passionately travel through Africa, Europe and finally reach my goal, Portugal. I cannot give up on my dream…sorry.
Therefore I have no reason to accuse against the ladies nor ask them to give up on their gorgeous dress to buy some food for the children at all. I even think that it’s great to dress well no matter what. I had to wonder, however, just wonder two points: how did those well dressed ladies feel when they saw me the skinny foreigner in worn out T-shirts on the street? Did they ONLY think of MY responsibility to feed those children in their city?

Finally, I met a Korean traveler in Niamey, the capital of Niger, who’s traveled over 100 countries throughout the world. Our topic, of course, turned into the begging and giving of the developing countries. She told me from her experience,
“Yes, I have seen many many people begging throughout my travel. MANY. But I found something different in Africa. They beg in the different style than the other continents, you know?”
“What do you mean?”
“In Africa, I mean in West Africa, people insist me to support them as if they take it for granted that foreigner SHOULD support people in Africa. They say, “You should give me money. You should feed the children. You should bring some gift,” so I told them that I don’t have gift for them because I can’t carry gifts from Korea all the way. I have to travel with my backpack for months and how could I bring hundreds of gifts to give away? Then they told me that I SHOULD buy some gifts, for example in Algeria, and bring them to Niger to give away, then I SHOULD buy new gifts in Niger and bring them to the country I visit for next. Basically they were asking me to be a gift courier from one country to the next all the way through my trip. Do I have to be? I met many beggars in the world but I was commanded for my first time in Africa that I SHOULD do something for them. Should I?”
“Interesting point.”
“I was just told by a local lady before I arrived in Niamey that I SHOULD give something to the local children including her kids. So I argued back to her that they are her children, their children in their country, so THEY should give something to the kids. They should be responsible. Then I said, “I don’t marry and I don’t make children because I can’t be responsible. Why do I have to be so responsible to someone else’s children?””
I was very interested in what she told me about her experiences as well as her thoughts. In fact she is not at all cold hearted person or merciless tourist. She was very caring and thoughtful traveler who visited so many countries. I could understand her character since I spent two days with her talking a lot and having meals together. I asked her opinion, her solution to those endless situations of begging and giving. She said,
“There is no single answer. It’s case by case. But at least I don’t give money or gifts to the local people. Once I give something, they want more and more. And some people become very aggressive beggars as well. But I share my food sometimes with children. I divide my bread or banana in half or into pieces and share with them. I eat half and they eat half. I never give whole bread or banana, but always divide and share so that they will understand that I am human and have to eat as well as they are and they do.”

I was pleased to talk with her who could share ideas over this difficult topic. I learned a lot from her. She was right. Maybe it’s the time for me to quit thinking whether I should give or not give, but think it in the way that I can SHARE.
On this trip, what I can share with children may not be as much of food to fill OUR stomach but more of OUR hunger. Half banana for me and half for the children. Half hanger for me and half for the children. Yes we will share. I will be sharing as I continue on seeking the finest solution that I may be able to reach someday.

Benin (3 days)

2008-01-22T08:33:00.000-08:00

Benin 10/01/2008~12/01/2008 (3 days)

Benin is another small country after visiting their neighbor, Togo. They do speak French like Togo, they do use CFA like Togo, and they do love music like Togo…I believe. To be honest, it was one of the most monotonous border crossings into Benin from Togo. I didn’t even get the Exit stamp from Togo! And suddenly being told that I was in Benin. Okay…there I was….in Benin. Thank you.

Better three days than not visiting Benin at all. I should at least find a special characteristic of Benin, oh well….let’s see…Benin Benin…
Probably, it is a little more organized infrastructure than their neighbors. Road, facility, and motorbike taxi drives in their uniforms with the registration numbers printed on their backs. Well done. And probably the very good mattresses I enjoyed at the two different hotels I spent nights: definitely the bests on this trip and could be even better than mine at home. So.
So?
Benin, mattress, excellent, and so and WHY?

Developing future market (World)

2008-01-22T08:30:00.000-08:00

Let me first list down what I have seen in Benin: many motorbikes, second hand cars, mobile phone everywhere, TVs, stereo, some nicely built facilities, and very well constructed roads where the mini vans drive as fast as 150 km/h. In fact, I have seen them not only in Benin, but also in many places in Africa.
As the ordinary site of Benin, I’ve seen many African men in their western style outfits sitting on their motorbike, playing with their mobiles and killing their time, and women in colorfully traditional outfits busily doing house works, raising children and earning little from their mini businesses. In short, men live in their more “westernized looking” lifestyles similar to the ones in the developed countries, and women live in their more traditional African lifestyles.

Now, let me talk about the quotes I’ve often heard about Africa before I came to this continent, “African poverty,” “undeveloped Africa,” “need more attention to Africa, the neglected continent,” and “rescue Africa and support their development.”
Above all is how the world perceives Africa: poor and undeveloped place which requires more attentions and helps from the world. And here is my perception towards Africa after traveling through 13 African countries in last five months: fundamentally different kind of lifestyles which have developed prosperously in African soil and the mixture with some modernized city lives in the sense of western standards.
Interestingly, none of other travelers I have met in Africa thought the continent to be poor, but rather they spoke passionately about the richness of Africa. Even the cooperative volunteer confessed me, “I came to help African people, help them to develop, educate them, make some changes in the community and support their development. BUT, I don’t think they need my help. I became unsure after spending some time here, if I came to just destroy the great ways they have already developed by their own or invading their land or just imparting my standards upon those people.”
Ironically, however, the rest of the world is still believing poor undeveloped Africa, and we HAVE TO believe it. And more ironically, some people in Africa believe it as well, they HAVE TO believe it. “POOR AFRICA!”
Here are some examples;

One Japanese traveler I met in Zimbabwe likes taking pictures. He took many pictures of children when he met them in the country side of Ethiopia. He really liked those children and impressed by the active and lively energy the kids had. Therefore he sent a few of those pictures to his father in law through attached e-mail. Later he received replay message and found his father in law saying, “I was relieved that those children are surviving positively even in SUCH POVERY.”
“I was surprised and I was shocked,” the traveler said because he never intended to show African poverty since he never felt the children to be poor when he was taking the picture of them. He said, “There is a rigid conception of poor Africa in Japanese society, and people are not ready to accept such NOT poor Africa. I was very sad when father misinterpreted my photographs in such negative way…”

Another example is the man who came to convince me that African poverty when I was having dinner in Burkina Faso. The man was well dressed in western style shirt and trouser, and eating good and drinking a lot of beer. This little drunken man came to my table and didn’t leave the table for annoying long time in order to tell me and my company, “Help us! Help Burkina Faso! We are poor. We have nothing. We suffer. We not developed. You, rich country, great great country. Please help us! Japan help us poor poor Burkina.” It took me quite a while to make him leave our table since the man was so passionately appealing the poverty of his country; the man who was drinking several bottles of beer which I wasn’t able to afford on this budget trip and the man who’s not wearing the T-shirts with some holes which I was wearing.

Another man from Togo, who lives in the decent clay made house, possessing two mobile phones, his own motorbike, TVs, stereo, DVD player and filled materials, told me that he doesn’t like Africa. He doesn’t like the poor life in Africa, so he will get a visa and go to Amsterdam sometime soon. He told me that he doesn’t live like Africans but Europeans so that he wears hip-hop style T-shirts and pants and watches TV all day inside of his house….? Excuse me, but I don’t know if Europeans are watching TV all day long for almost 7 days a week at their home….since I have never been to Europe as well as he hasn’t. Anyways, it sounded strange to me that this African man had to mock down Africa among too many products from developed countries which already filled up his clay made house. Obsession of material...

Keen believers of African poverty can be the officials of international cooperative associations or the politicians who have to decide the use of national budget. I recently found a headline on Yahoo Japan, announcing, “Ministerial party advocates increase of ODA (Official Development Assistance) budget, three times as much more.” I wasn’t able to read the while article due to inadequate internet connection, so I don’t know how much exactly would be the budget and how much will be invested the development of Africa. I assume, however, at least over 2 billion USD will be budgeted and part of increase will come to Africa because of the belief “Africa needs development!”

Really?

There is one thing that I realized after traveled in Africa; those people (mostly male citizens of Africa) who poses more materials from developed countries think themselves poorer and talk about money all the time. Additionally, they dream so much more materials from outside of Africa. They watch TV and get more idea of materials and they drive motorbike and dream about automobile to be more advanced. They just want more.
I think that the projects and investments done in Africa by the developed countries under the name of “helping African development” have been implanting in Africa the conception of undeveloped poor Africa. International assistance brought western value, denied traditional African standards, and informed the people how little they posses compared to the developed world and into finally making Africa so poorly hungry.
More and more assistances are coming into Africa and working up the western style of developments. Japan has created some gorgeous bridges or facilities, and China did amazing road constructions across the continent. Foreign investment created gun threatening modern cities and set up the international financial functions. And, a lot of products, the ones produced and manufactured in the developed countries and sold to Africa have been and will be sucking more money from Africa, just to increase their debts maybe…? Now people in Africa have to buy cars from outside because roads are already constructed suitable for fast driving cars. People have to buy mobile from outside since there are antennas. They have to buy all kinds of electric appliance endlessly from outside since electronic power is supplied. They have to get better equipment and more advanced instruments since the medical facilities now look like a palace. And those advanced technology will require bloody costs for its maintenance. The more the continent is assisted, the more material Africa will need to import.
It almost sounds to me that foreign aid (assistance) is investing for themselves, not for Africa, but for their own profit of their future by developing bigger markets in Africa and finding more consumers who will purchase more from outside. My country knows that Africa cannot produce cars like TOYOTA and TVs like SONY, but they will have to buy more from us after Africa being more assisted, constructed and developed in their environments. Yes, we have endless products to sell as much as other developed countries. All we need is “materially obsessed Africa which is starving to purchase our products.” Maybe yes…maybe not…

Excuse me, but who said Africa to be neglected and need more attention from the world? I think Africa has received too much attention already and this is the continent of having been disturbed and exploited constantly by outsiders throughout their history.

Togo (9 days)

2008-01-18T06:20:00.000-08:00

Togo 02/01/2008 ~10/01/2008 (9 days)

Music music music and more music. From 9 am in the morning through midnight, sounds and beats go on and on and on and on! Yes this is West Africa, music is their meals. Yes, this is Togo, music is their existence.

Togo, this tiny skinny country is, really, a big fat amplifier. Beats come up from the ground and shake the walls, windows and beer glasses here and there.
Dance dance dance and more dance. Men fill the music bars. Ladies swing their waists together with their little babies tied on their backs. And those kids, the dancing heroes jump around the amplifier and never get tired, never go to bed!!

Muscle VS Brain (Traveling)

2008-01-18T06:16:00.000-08:00

I learned in my guidebook about this gorgeous valley in the northern Togo, called Tamberma. The area sounded quite interesting in terms of its culture, architecture and nature, so I decided to visit. I calculated the distance, read about the situation of the transportation, and decided to take a day trip from Kara, 57 km south of the valley on Wednesday, the market day of the village in the valley. So, I went to the bus stop on Tuesday afternoon to gather more practical information for the transport. Minibus drivers and taxi drivers surrounded me immediately and so we started to communicate with my little French and pen and paper.
According to what they explained, the minibus taxi to the Kande, the gate entrance to the valley would leave at 7 am and the fare would be 1100 CFA. I can exchange to another vehicle to Nadoba, the village in the valley and there would be plenty transport to come back to Kara at the evening. Additionally, I can take another minibus to Benin border the following morning. It would leave at 6 am and cost 900 CFA.
The information was good enough to confirm my plan, so I thanked the drives in French. Most of the drives greeted me back and began to leave the place. There was a man, however, who was at the behind of the crowds came to claim me that I should at least offer some food if I wanted to appreciate their help. I told the man that I didn’t have any food. Then he said I should offer him a cigarette. I gestured him that I don’t smoke and no cigarette with me. Then he finally started to ask me money. Well…it was the man who was just watching my conversation far behind the crowds and what I was doing was just asking the departure time and the fare to the drives of the minibus which I was going to take the following morning. And why do I have to give him money?
To be honest, it was not at all the surprising incident after traveling sometime in Africa, but I still don’t get used to it, being asked for money or gift for every single action I take in this continent. Problem. Anyways I refused to give him money and disappointedly went back to my hotel as knowing myself pointed from my back “the penny-pinching china.” (China is a country, not the people by the way, and precisely I am Japanese.)

Next morning, I went to the bus stop around 6:30 am to get my seat on the minibus. Did I get the seat? Yes, I did. I got my seat on the shared taxi, and then problem started. The drives charged me 6000 CFA for privately hiring the taxi for my own instead of filling other 5 people to share the car. I said no to it, of course and told them that I would wait until other passengers would join me. So I waited in the car for about 1 hour and half. Did I get anyone else? Not even one. I began to be concerned that the departure of the taxi would be quite delayed so that I might not be able to come back to the city by the evening and have to screw up on border crossing to Benin which was planned in the following morning. Therefore I checked the information again and changed my plan. I ran back to my hotel and packed things and checked out my hotel. Then I again went to the bus stop with my backpacked HOME just in case I get stuck in the village in nowhere for a night, and decided to go through the valley all the way to the edge of Togo and cross into Benin from the different border than I previously planned.
I was back at the bus stop and again waited other passengers. My backpack was already put in the taxi and drives repeated me “just wait in the car.” Therefore yes, I did. I waited another hour in that empty car like an idiot. Finally, however, I went outside the car and asked around other cards heading to the same direction. Not more than 5 minutes later, I found a shred taxi going to Kande which was filled with 5 other people already! Excuse me, but why didn’t they tell me about the one almost ready to leave? Why did they make me sit for 3 hours in that isolated empty car? Well…I wasn’t surprised about it as well after spending sometime in Africa…but I assumed quite surely that they were waiting me to consume my time and surrender and finally pay 6000 CFA for the whole car. I didn’t want to think in such way…but yes I thought so.

Finally I was in Kande little before noon time and here again drives of taxis, motors, minibus, whatever the people surrounded me. And all the negotiation follows;
Motorcycle charged me 5000 CFA which I couldn’t afford to pay anyways for its short ride. Minibus charged me 2000 CFA for 28 km ride to the village, Nadoba. It was right after I paid 1100 CFA for 57 km ride by shared taxi. Distance became half and the price went double. Didn’t make sense. I was hungry and tired, so I took a time and sat down at the small stall instead of deciding which vehicle to take. I ordered some food and some other men came to negotiate their price at the table. Someone wrote down 1500 CFA on the paper indicating the price for minibus. I assumed that it was still over priced but at the same time thought that I would need to compromise on 1500. Then another man came and asked how my negotiation had been going. I explained to him by using pen and paper that the motor was crazy 5000 and minibus came down to 1500 so far. He was thinking for a while and then suggested me 700 CFA.
“700 CFA to Nadoba?”
He nodded and wrote down 700 on the paper. It was very good price, could be too good, but since he confirmed it even on the paper, I decided to take his motor. I sat on the seat and handed him 700. He started his engine and meanwhile handed me back 700 and asked me to pay later. Well…I felt something strange and had to get ready for possible money fight coming up later. Anyways his motor drove into the savanna valley and stopped at the gate entrance to the reserved area which was about 1 km from the city. I was asked to go inside of the office and charged for the entrance fee of 1500 CFA to go through the area. Okay….I paid to enter the valley. And then I was stopped by the officer again when I was about to leave. The officer and driver spoke to each other in their local languages and the offices asked me,
“How do you get to Nadoba?”
I answered that the motorbike would take me to the place.
“How much do you pay?”
I said 700 CFA. Then officer and the motor man made a little eye contact each other and officer laughed. I know an annoyance was approaching me again, but rather stayed in quiet.
“Excuse me,” the officer laughed, “700 to Nadoba is impossible.”
“But, he said so, and he wrote down 700 on the paper as well. Please take a look.”
I took out the paper on which several different prices were written during my negotiations and I pointed the number the driver gave me, 700.
“Here, he wrote 700 after someone else gave me 1500 to Nadoba.”
“No, no no. This is the price to this gate entrance. There was a miscommunication between you and him because you don’t speak French and he doesn’t speak English. He meant to take you here for 700. He didn’t know that you were going to Nadoba. He can’t take you to Nadoba for 700.”
“No, it’s not the language problem. He knew that I was looking for a vehicle to Nadoba and offered 700 which I already agreed on.”
“No, 700 is too small. You see, motorcycle charged you 5000 CFA and minibus was 2000. That’s the price. 700 is impossible.”
I had to be amazed that the officer knew everything about my negotiation which I explained to the driver in ENGLISH & FRENCH at the lunch table. If there was a miscommunication between us then how could the officer know all that I was charged 5000 to go to NADOBA and 2000 to go to NADOBA. It was nothing to do with language problem, in fact, it was very clear that the driver claimed to the officer in local language, “she wants to go to NADOBA but she will only pay 700,” so that the officer had to stop me and ask my transport to NADOBA. Am I right? Possibly, the drive and officer were family or friends or business partners. I was tired. I didn’t want to go through anymore of negotiation. I was already in savanna, 1 km away from the city, so if I had negotiated, I would have had to compromise a lot since there were no other vehicles around. It was the trap by the drive to take me into the savanna first and start negotiation. …fatigue. Well…you know what? When I don’t want to use my brain, I use my body instead. Nothing more to think about. Nothing more to talk about. No more negotiation. Period.
SO, I simply told them, “Togolese are the liars. You guys are the cheaters. I know it well. I don’t trust Togolese. I don’t like dirty minds. I don’t want to talk anymore. I hate Togolese. Thank you very much. Have a nice day.” Then I exited. I heard them laughing and saying, “You can’t walk. It’s 28 km!” They probably thought that I would come back soon and beg them to give me a ride and accept whatever the price they set up. Unfortunately, however, I was too stubborn to do such thing and my legs were too strong to beg for their help. So, I walked. I walked on the little path with my 23 kg backpacks. You know what? I like staying in nature. I like exercising. I like adventures. I had nothing to worry about since I had my backpacked HOME with me. I can sleep in my sleeping bag when it becomes a night. I can cook spaghetti soup when I get hungry. I can purify any kind of water with my tablets. Walking 28 km in the beautiful valley? Fantastic!!

As I walked on the path, I met some local villagers on the way. It was a peaceful and beautiful walk along with some local people. When I walked several hours, I was getting thirsty. One of the local men who was walking together asked me if I wanted to come to his home for water. What a great offer! I thought. Then I visited his clay made straw hats house and was offered some local wine! His family treated me very nicely and I had some interesting conversation with them and local people around since the man and his brother could speak English pretty well. We also talked about the negotiation I just went through at the entrance, they were absolutely shocked by the price I was charged and told me the regular price: 900 for minibus instead of 2000, and 2000 for motorbike instead of its 5000. I spent about an hour with them and had a good time in the quiet valley area. When I was about to leave the place, the brothers asked me if I needed a ride to the rest of my distance. They said that they wanted to do it as a favor and charge only for the petro cost of the motorbike. I felt that I could manage through by walk since I walked 10 km already and rest of 18 km didn’t seem too much pain to my physical condition. I felt more polite, however, to accept their offer in that situation since they really seemed wanting me, really waiting me to buy some petro from them (Their business was to sell petro). I asked how much perto they wanted me to buy and the price. They said 1200 CFA for 2 liters. OK…I didn’t want to do a calculation since the family was so nice to me…but my devil brain calculated. It was 300 CFA more expensive than minibus for 10 km shorter distance, and almost equivalent to the regular price for motorbike ride for rest of 18 km. It didn’t sound like paying ONLY for petro, but I politely accepted their price and thanked them for doing it as their favor. So I paid and took his motorbike. When we came to somewhere I didn’t know, the man stopped his engine. I thought that there might be an engine problem or something, so I asked him, “Any problem?” His answer was, “finish.”
“Finish?”
He nodded. “Oh…you mean, this is Nadoba?” He nodded, “yes.” The area didn’t look like village but more like a middle of nowhere. I asked him again, “Is this really Nadoba?” He said, “Yes.” Well…ok…I had to accept it since he was saying that we arrived in Nadoba. I shook his hand and gave words of appreciation in French. Then he began to drive the direction we just came. Then I saw a police on a motorbike started to chase him and myself as well was stopped by another police. Oh my…what’s happening here…
The police asked me why the motorbike driver drove away right after he found the polices on his way.
“…? Excuse me? I don’t get it.”
“The driver, he just saw us, the police, then he suddenly stopped and drove away, why?”
“I don’t know sir. Because we arrived in Nadoba, so he left…”
“No, this is not Nadoba. This is 2 km away from Nadoba.”
“2 km?? oh…he said this is Nadoba tho. And he dropped me off. Excuse me, but do I have to walk 2 km to Nadoba from here?”
“No you don’t have to. My colleague went to catch him. He will bring your driver back. You just wait here OK? Did he charge you money?”
“Yes. I paid 1200 CFA from his village which was about 10 km from Kande.”
“Damn! He can’t leave you here like this! Lady, don’t be afraid OK? Here in Togo, you have nothing to be afraid of. We are good police. We will help you. OK?”
In fact, I am not afraid of anything, not only in Togo, but also all over the world anyways. Nevertheless it looked better for me to be an innocent chicken little puppy and being rescued by the good police in that moment. The driver and another police came back several minutes later and the police ordered the driver to take me to Nadoba and find proper accommodation for me and get a confirmation signature from me and hand it to the police on the way back.
The driver obeyed the command by police. Everything was just fine at the end. Then, the only mystery was the odd action the driver took after finding the police on his way. Why didn’t he drive 2 km more and drop me in Nadoba? I didn’t understand. All I could say to him when he finally left Nadoba was, “Thank you very much for your help.” I didn’t want to speculate what actually happened between me and him and police. My brain refused to think it over again. All I wanted was a nice peaceful rest.

There were two more opportunities to use my brain before I went bed that night. One of them was a French tourists group which offered me a ride to the city in Benin where I was supposed to go on the following day. It could be worth considering if we were sharing a car and splitting the charge, but the situation was different. Two French girls came with three local guide boys by three motorbikes, and so one of the guides was simply wanted third tourist who could sit on the back of his motor on the way back. The charge was 5000 CFA which was three times more than I estimated for that distance. The girls were innocently genuinely nice people who worried about my transport since I was alone in the bushy village. At the same time, however, they were innocently short term vacation travelers who’s concern was nothing to do with their finance, but with the efficient tours within well managed time schedule. SO, I simply appreciated their offer, but told them that I would sleep one night in Nadoba and leave the following morning by myself instead to go with them on the same day.
Later that night, I met another local man who wanted to TALK with me so eagerly. Maybe he wanted to talk about those romantic Baobab trees, I don’t know. The man asked me if he could come to pick me up in Nadoba in the morning and take me to Benin by his motorbike. Well…from my countless experiences with those men who had to come and talk to me in Africa, I could say 90 % surely that he was the kind of man who did not approach me to give me an tricky overpriced motorbike ride but probably the one who need a foreign friend or visa support to Japan or just a female tourist to spend sometime, precisely killing his boring time for a day. He didn’t seem a bad guy or anything, but I just couldn’t spend any more time with people, talking, explaining, negotiating, speculating….whatever it could be…
The best of the day was unquestionably my 10 km walk when I recalled my memories, and the hardest was the interactions with too many men around, all those money related incidents that agitated my mind and heart too much. Yes, I was overloaded and after sometime, yes broken down.
It took me quite a while to explain to him that I would prefer walking to the border but not accepting his free ride. Probably he couldn’t understand such person who’s so passionate to walk another 5 km to the border along the unpaved dusty way, but at the end he just had to accept the impenitence of a traveling puppy.

Early next morning, I left the hotel and walked the way to Benin border. I was breathing in the morning fresh air and warmed up by the brisk light of sun uprising from horizon. More and more children came out of their clay made village houses and greeted me on the way to their school. Bonjour!!
When I was getting closer to the border, I met a lady carrying about 20kg or more water in a big tub on her head. We weren’t able to communicate linguistically but came to understand quite a bit while we walked very slowly along with. I told her how much I was impressed by her carrying such heavy water on her head as she was catching drops coming off the little hole at the bottom of the tub, acrobatically with her calabash made bowl on her left hand! And she was still smiling and walking and talking to me in her language! Plus, she succeeded to give me the right direction of the way to the border gate during her performance! We walked to nearby her house together and began to walk separately to our own ways. She turned her face and sent me again her beautiful smile on the little path to her traditionally made fortress Tata house. How breathtaking the whole scenery was!! It was very close to the last moment in Togo and the best moment to remember forever as the memory from my days in Togo.

When I arrived at the border, I was in the comfortable fatigue and absolute tranquility. I spent some time talking with the immigration officers at its ever quietest border in the middle of valley. The officers calmly asked me where I was heading to and how. I smiled and answered, “I will go to Natitingou. I will take a shared minibus or something if I could find one. If I couldn’t, I will walk slowly.” The officers were shaking their heads sideway since the distance to Natitingou was not at all for walking but they were smiling anyways. After all, the officers were so genuinely helpful that they found a very good taxi, not the one overloaded, but the decent vehicle for 1500 CFA only. Surprise.
I didn’t do anything. I was just sitting and smiling and somehow getting ready to walk another distance, and suddenly everything was organized, negotiated and came in ready right in front of me. Magic.

One thought crossed my mind when I was in the taxi, “How much was it, the charge for the motorbike to Natitingou last night…? Well….let’s see, something like five…five…well… how much…” I didn’t remember. I didn’t have to remember.
I looked from the car window the gorgeous valley expanding as far as eye could see and again let my brain on the quiet holidays.

Burkina Faso (16 days)

2008-01-14T08:39:00.000-08:00

Burkina Faso 18/12/2007~02/01/2008 (16 days)

I didn’t enjoy Laundry more in any places than Burkina Faso. Two reasons: Dusty sandy harmattan made it a tearing joy to wash off the dirt which covered all over my body everyday. Dry Sahara climate made it a pleasurable work to make everything dry within 15 minutes.

Burkina Faso is a whole big dust. It is a cheerful dust. The peaceful dust. Sometimes, it turns an astonishing dust like the unbelievable marche taking place in the middle of flat vast desert! WOW!
And, yet undeveloped cities of Dust reminded me of two things:
certain value existing opposite edge to the development and extraordinary type of elegancy having vanished from the cleanly washed places of the world.

Viagra marche!! (World)

2008-01-14T08:36:00.000-08:00

When I was traveling in Yemen, I found an information book which was filled by the comments left by the Japanese travelers who’ve come through various countries. I opened the book with excitement not only for its useful travel information but also some crazy incidents put in bizarre words by those odd species of homo sapience, who had to travel in such place like Yemen, (hello? Where the hell is that?), after traveling all the strange places in the world for months or years even. As I was reading, I found this unforgettable comment;

Yemen Information:

1. Japan to Yemen to Japan
(Short term tourist)

The one who’s chosen Yemen for your short vacation, yes, you made a right choice.
Yemen is the best country to experience a traditional Arabic culture. There are beautiful architectures preserved in Sanaa, and you can meat gentle, kind and proud Yemeni people. Recommended places to visit in Yemen for you are…(There was a long list of the attractive places.)

2. Japan to Yemen to third country
(Possibly longer term traveler)

The one who’s chose Yemen for the kick off country of your long journey, yes, you made a right choice.
Yemen is the best entrance to Arabic culture around the neighboring countries. You can enjoy the proud and kind Yemeni people and start your journey with beautiful cultural experiences, positive ideas and good impressions. The places I recommend for your Yemen trip are…(There was a shorter list of some interesting places.)

3. Third country to Yemen to Third country
(Long term traveler. The odd ones who will never be able to fit back in the normal Japanese society. )

The one who’s stopped in Yemen during your long journey, yes, you made a right choice.
From third country to third country, you have been traveling for a long time already. You must be a little bit tired and maybe having a difficult time to impress or entertain yourself after traveling so many of interesting places. Therefore, I strongly recommend you to stay in the capital city “Sanaa” for good.
You have already seen all kinds of beautiful things, interesting things, unique things and world heritages throughout your global journey, and so your stick must no longer get stiff by those usual surprises except something like, “OH MY GOSH!!”
YES, your problem is same as me, “impotence against the beautiful objects.”

You don’t have to go outside of Sanaa because it’s too much of a bother to go to the office and get permissions. Don’t you think? (Registration and permissions are required in Yemen to visit every city outside of Sanaa.)
Sanaa is beautiful. You can eat some great Yemeni cuisine here. You can communicate in English in Sanaa. I don’t think there is a better city than Sanaa. Agree with me?
SO, No need to go anywhere but stay in Sanaa for good. Let’s stay relaxed in Sanaa quietly and peacefully.

I had an impulse to jump up on the couch and shout at the top of my voice, “Exactly!!!!!!” I couldn’t, however, even stand up for a while because I was absolutely shocked and impressed by the accuracy of the writing! I had to sit there and calm down first as the book still unclosed on my palms. Who in the world could express this traveling symptom, the apathy that long term traveler face with, into such appropriate expression “Impotence against the beautiful objects?” What a genius writer he is!

Yes. I was fighting with my constant fatigue especially after I entered Burkina Faso. The climates changed up and down again within a month after cool South Africa to hot humid Ghana to now dry desert Burkina Faso. New country after another. New language, new currency, new food, new city, one after another. I don’t even know how many new people I meet everyday, how many national parks I have visited, how many world heritage sites, world famous market, waterfalls, mountains, beaches, instruments, music, rare animals, castles, forts, temples,….etc. Traveling over a year does require sentimental stamina as well as physical strength. The key of traveling is to maintain energy level, don’t let my curiosity fade out, and take actions, actions and more.
Yes, I know it…I know it…I will take some actions...later but let me first rest….and ….

After I had so many great meeting with people throughout my Ghanaian trip, I was honestly bit tired in Burkina Faso. I was thinking and wondering what I could see in Burkina Faso, if there was anything worth seeing in that dusty sandy Burkina. Waterfall…? Probably not. I was impotence even when I saw the world famous Victoria falls from Zambia….so that I had to try again from Zimbabwe side to “impress” myself with water under full moon twice! I paid over 35 USD to buy the Viagra falls or Viagra moon or whatever to cure my impotence!! Oh..well…I need stronger pills…cough, cough, excuse my illness.
I almost thought that I could just stay in the capital, Ouagadougou for good and lightly seek for small goodies only around the neighbors because;
It’s very hot outside. The sunshine was too strong. It would be dusty painful journey if I made a trip to outside of Ouagadougou. It would be too much of a bother to gather information, walking with my 23 kg backpack to the bus stop, finding a right vehicle, negotiation on the price in FRENCH, and more. Ouagadougou is not a bad city to be, so no need to go outside of Ouaga. Let’s stay relaxed in Ouaga quietly and peacefully….

I canceled, however, the easiest option I could chose, and decided to go and take a look at a marche (market) held in the northern desert. I didn’t know if worth making two nights three days trip all the way to the desert to see A marche. Marche is marche, you know? That’s where people come and go and sell and shop and so what? I have seen many markets throughout the world, including some very extraordinary ones to so so…ok kinda ones to highly recommended market in Ethiopia which didn’t excite me as much....
Well, anyways, I jumped on a long distance bus in one afternoon and headed to the northern town called Duri where I could exchange my vehicle into the further north, the place called Gorom-Gorom. I got off the bus after five hours fine ride and checked in the hotel in Duri. Then I went outside to find a transport that would carry me to Gorom in the following morning so that I would catch the famous Thursday marche. I asked around the people in FRENCH. Okay now, the result I got was something spoken in French and explained in French and wasn’t comprehended by a traveling puppy. Thank you very much. I FELT that some people said that there would be no transport to go to Gorom on Thursday morning…? And I FELT that I wouldn’t be able to catch a vehicle in the morning. But then, I FELT that a driver of a yellow minibus, which was parked sideway, was telling me that I’d better get on his minibus and reach Gorom immediately. So, I FELT that I should get on his bus otherwise I might fail to get to Gorom and miss the march, the only purpose I came up to the desert for. Therefore I dashed to the hotel and checked out the hotel which I checked in half an hour ago. Then I went back to the yellow minibus and jumped on. The minibus drove on the bumpy unpaved sandy land and arrived in Gorom two hours later in the dark night. I was tired. I didn’t like the darkness of the night. I didn’t want to walk around in the night in the place I didn’t know at all. I didn’t want to look for a hotel. AND, I don’t speak FRENCH. I was getting ready to open my sleeping bag under any kind of lighting supply, but then I met a local man who speaks English! THANK GOD! He told me that there is a nice and safe place where I can sleep in my sleeping bag, so I walked with him to outside the mud brick sandy city to vast sandy land with poorly dotted bushes. I found nothing but whiter sand shined by moon light. It was a quiet night. When I began to concern about my safety and asked the man if there would be any threats of wild animal or scorpion, he told me not to worry and pointed two small domed tents made out of straw carpets, “You can sleep next to that nomad’s tent. It’s very safe.” Oh my… nomads, me and sleeping on the sand?

We greeted nomads and I opened my sleeping bag next to the little straw made windbreak screen nearby the domed tent. I lied on the sandy ground looking up the stars filling the night sky of the desert. Marvelous! The difficulty, however, struck me after a few hours: coldness of the night in desert. I was freezing outside, wrapping myself with every possible belongings such as towels, handkerchief, scarves…, and praying the morning sun will shine my body ASAP! Additionally, there were some animal threads as well. Those sheep and goats around the nomad’s tent were so busy all night, and came to eat the straws of my windbreak screen!!
“Hey, hey, don’t eat it, go away, go, go!”
I was up almost all night because of the frozen air and the animals, and just waiting for the end of night. Finally, in the morning, I got out of my sleeping bag with my icy body and squatted next to the fire that nomad’s made. I liked fire more than anything. Fire, my friend. Fire, my lover…but it was not hot enough to melt the big ice which was stuck in my body, so I decided to walk and climb up a big rock for warming up my body. It was a very nice morning exercise and I could receive morning sun on my whole body on the top of the rock. Fantastic. Then I SAW.

THEN I SAW from the top of the rock that the many people coming to Gorom somewhere far form the desert, from the horizon, from everywhere around the broad expanse of desert! The nomadic ladies on the donkey, the children on the donkey carts, and Tuaregs on their camels!!! OH MY GOSH! Who are they? Where are they coming from?!
I went back to the center of the city and put a bench on the street and began to drum with the local people I met. We welcomed with our drum beats those endless waves of people entering the city and coming into the famous marche. Ladies and more ladies came one after another, those nomadic ladies in the colorful ethnic costumes with gorgeous ornaments scattering over their body. Children and more children were entering into marche, chasing their sheep and goats, and carrying their commercial products. The Tuaregs, those ravishing knights on the camels, wrapping their head elegantly with the strikingly colorful scarves, dropped some soft gentle smiles to me, a drumming puppy, from far above their camel backs. The whole city, the every streets to the marche was filled with the enormous number of people from everywhere and turned one of the most vibrant and the most glittering places in the world!!

I did have fatigue. My body was covered with dusty sand and mud for two days of being unwashed at all. My skin was burnt to pain by harsh sunlight, and inflamed eyes were ever drier. The sight in the Gorom, however, didn’t allow me to rest, and it made me hesitate to blink a second. I couldn’t believe that I was witnessing it in the year of 2007 on the earth but not on Mars. OH MY GOSH.

Yes, my soul was shaking in front of this extraordinary Viagra marche!!!
And now, impotence was history.

Small noise in my pocket (Traveling)

2008-01-14T08:27:00.000-08:00

Burkina Faso is not a rich country. Some statistic document lists Burkina the third poorest countries in the world. The relatively small land of Burkina is dry and sandy. Natural resources are as small as their agricultural potential. Although the economical poverty demonstrated on the statistic data doesn’t mean that everyone is starving to death or living in the worst condition, certainly the living standard was not as much higher. Ouagadougou, the capital of Burkina, was the least developed capital among those 11 countries I have visited in Africa so far. Some of the streets were still unpaved even in the capital and the houses were traditional mud brick styles with toilet holes on the ground. In short, the infrastructure seemed to require a little more improvement.

One evening around 8 pm, I went outside looking for some street food. I walked about 5 minutes from my hotel and found a wooden cart parked on the sidewalk. There were several pots on the cart and a few men in the lower working class outfit were eating rice served in the plastic basins. I greeted the cook in my little French and he nicely softly greeted me back just like many other people do in Burkina Faso. I checked inside of each pot and pointed some beans, rice and vegetable soup. Although I would be totally fine with the food served in the basin since that’s the way I was eating in Ghana as well, the cook was so nice for me to prepare two plastic plates instead; one for beans and another for rice and soup. The cook was smiley man and politely handed two plates served with a cup of water and a spoon attached! Thank for his special attention!
AND the taste of the food was….well…not impressive….well…because it’s just a cheap street food in Burkina…well…it was not tasty…at all…, well…to be honest…it was sadly bad. I wasn’t sure if the cook had ever washed his beans before putting in the cooking pot, but it tasted nothing more than clay. Rice was very dry and smashed and distorted. Soup had no flavor. Maybe he forgot to put salt, pepper, or Maggie… and of course, a little suspicious cup of water was served from the bucket underneath the cooking cart. I was not sure that maybe he was putting some leftovers back in his soup pot or where that bucket water came from. But surely, the taste made me concerned if I would be able to finish up my plates regardless of my hunger. All I could try at the moment was just EAT. I swallowed those terrible food with whatever the water I was served. I didn’t have much fear against the food since my stomach had grown strong after months of training, but rather I felt much pressure to finish my plates. I didn’t want to waste the food because it was the result of the effort made by the cook who was very nice to me. And because it was the food grown in the poor sandy land of Burkina. And because it was the food that local working men come and eat….the anticipated suppers after their labor. SO I ate and ate.
When I finished about two third of my food, a local man came and sit on the bench next to me. He was wearing very dirty tattered clothing and his tired face looked like unwashed for weeks. After a few seconds he was seated, he quietly stretched his arm and took my rice& soup plate and began to eat with his hand. He didn’t say anything. He neither greeted me nor looked at me. He didn’t devour gluttonously. His eyes seemed unfocused not only on the food but on anything. He was just so powerless and slowly putting my leftovers into his mouth. I was speechless. The man was still working on my leftovers which already became disgusting rice porridge after stirred up by me. Then I asked him with my gesture if he wanted beans as well. The man blankly looked at my bean plates and slowly hold out the rice plate towards me. I moved rest of beans into his plate. The man slightly nodded emotionlessly as if he was acknowledging me and slowly slowly began to eat again with his still unfocused eyes.

I paid and thanked the cook who treated me well until the last moment, and began to walk the street back to my hotel. A few seconds after I turned the first corner to my hotel, I realized that there were a few coins in my trouser pocket and a question was raised in my mind, “Should I go back to the cart and add some rice and soup in that man’s plate?” I didn’t know what to do and undecided mind made my heart beat faster. “What should I do?”
Instead of my confusion, only my feet certainly carried my body towards the direction of my hotel. I was walking away from the cart, away from the man, and away from the extra rice maybe the man needed. Now I had to come up with a good excuse that I didn’t run back to the cart. I was thinking…”Because the food I left was so little that the man has already finished eating and left the bench. Maybe there are more and more hungry people hiding around the cart and I will have to feed several mouths if I go back. Excuse me, but when did I become a donator? I am just a tourist, that’s all. The incident tonight should be concluded that I had too much food to eat up therefore someone else helped me, period. What’s wrong with it? Nothing.” I repeated my selfish excuse and conclusion many times in my mind as if to convince myself, all the way back to my hotel. The annoyance was the coins making cheap noise at the bottom of my trouser pocket.

Even after I got back to my hotel, I kept thinking about that man.
“Maybe I should have gone back to the cart. No. There wouldn’t have been no point even if I’d gone back. Well, but the man was hungry. Or maybe I should go to the same cart every night and order too much more food to make leftovers if that man is showing up at the same bench like tonight. Why do I have to make leftovers? Hello? What kind of HELP am I dreaming about…by leaving some food for him during my short stay? But, he can, at least eat my leftovers for a week or up to two weeks of my stay, but then what? Any changes in his future? Any improvement? Happiness? Hello, me? ”
I acted so strange that night. I was just sitting on a metal chair in the Spartan dormitory room for hours to think about the man at the cart. What was wrong with me? Why was I agitated so much by that man who was just hungry but yet dying or anything urgent. I’ve seen countless beggars already, street children, disabled people thrown out the streets, hungers, poverties, and old lady sitting at the same corner of the street for days like a rock and holding an infant which was possibly dead. That’s the kind of sites I have seen repeatedly throughout 18 months of traveling and I’ve thought through those people over and over till I came to my conclusion which seemed fair enough to keep me going through my journey, “I am a powerless tourist. Period.”
And, why now? Why that man? Why again? Why?

I think because the cook was warmhearted hardworking person, but the food he cooked was bad, and the man began to eat my disgusting leftovers feebly without speaking a word. It could be just another usual experience for me if the cook was a lazy nasty person, or the food was fine, or the man came to just beg me money like many other people do on daily occurrence. I didn’t know who to blame in that situation, and felt pathetic but helpless.

I think because it was a few days before Christmas when the world had to go frantically materialistic. That was the time of the year when people had to be almost intoxicated with joy, happiness, appreciation, gifts and more gifts, best dishes, special supper, best friends and families. I didn’t see Christmas illuminations from the bench where I was sitting with the man. The man didn’t say a word. I gave him clay-flavored beans. The cook was just doing his job on the sidewalk in the ordinary site.

I think because I am getting closer to my finishing point, Europe. I will exit from Africa within 3 months and go to Europe. Of course, there still are 3 months to go and I am pleased to travel through exciting West Africa. My heart, however, knows it certainly in deep inside that I AM getting out of developing countries and going to developed countries sometime sooner. My body feels it strongly that I WILL BE taking hot shower instead of cold bucket water and eating diarrhea free meals on the clean plates instead in the plastic basin. AND, my imagination flies to sometimes where I WILL BE seeing some great friends I have in Europe and I WILL BE having the best possible time with them at the lunch table in beautiful Europe. And of course, my family, friends, mom’s miso soup, Sushi, Sukiyaki, and hot spring with Sake will follow after Europe. It was not my intention to dream all about them, but they started to come and invade me.
Really, there is no point to compare the situation I am in and the one I WILL BE in. It’s a waste of time to long the things that I don’t have in here. It is the whole point that I embrace the environment I have now in front of me and fully enjoy whatever the things I can reach with my bare hands in Africa. I know it well. My logical brain understands it well.

I was agitated because;
No matter how much clay beans I eat or bucket water I drink, those are just some temporary experiences for me and almost permanent daily lives for them, the cook and the man.
And… so what? …?

I will be listening small noise of the coins in my trouser pocket, a little more time, a few more moths until I reach my “promised comforts and convenience.”

Ghana ( 25 days)

2007-12-31T05:12:00.000-08:00

Ghana 24/11/2007~ 18/12/2007 ( 25 days)

First impression is important therefore I chose Ghana for my first country to visit in West Africa.
First experience had to be somewhat exotic but not too far edged from the world I live therefore Ghana for its mildly but distinctive regional culture with some level of comforts. First food to taste had be eatable and memorable therefore Ghana for its spicy red chill pepper sauce mixed with rice, pasta, yam, salad, fish, chicken, eggs, I mean anything you want. The first linguistic experience in West Africa had to be manageable therefore thank Ghana for speaking English! Plus no idea how to survive throughout the rest of West African countries with French bucket.
The very first people I met had to be genuine, helpful and VERY friendly therefore there almost seemed to be no other choices than Ghana!!

I kicked off my West African travel with passionate beats of drums in Ghana. And, I wish my heart to maintain its vibration, like the euphoric drums, until the day I exit from West Africa. Ghana, Ghana, Ghana, Brava!!

Freeing from the color of my skin (Appreciation)

2007-12-31T05:10:00.000-08:00

Thank God finally, I came to write on my favorite category, “Appreciation,” in Africa. There were in fact, some chances to appreciate local people I’ve met in Africa even before I came to Ghana, but what I appreciated in Ghana was such “non skeptical” kind of friendship that the local business man offered me throughout my stay in Accra.

It was sometimes difficult for me to genuinely establish any kind of friendship in Africa. It was not because there weren’t friendly people in Africa, in fact people here are very outgoing and friendly, but it was more about my heart that had been afraid to open to the people with full 100%.
Traveling in Africa made me extra nervous with those people approaching me or offering me a help. There are mainly two reasons that people came to say hi to this Asian traveler: making business with me or getting a free passport to Japan through international marriage.
For instance, if someone introduces me the cheap hotel HE owns when I get off a train in the middle of night, it means “The man was NOT owing hotel at all but guiding me to some crappy hotel after hotels to charge more on introducing many hotels and add more charge on taxi meter which his friend drives.”
If someone invites me for eating or drinking for some local FRIENDSHIP, I should be first careful with the sleeping drug contained in the food, and watch out my belongings, and then prepare for the possible negotiation (fights) which may follow after for its invitation charge, extra food charge, triple price added on the beverage charge.
If someone says hello to me on the street and begins to walk along the way with me, then I should come up with good excuse to get him away from me in order to avoid the possible claim at the end “the charge of walking together,” or introducing his “souvenir shop.”
Even when I make some closer friends, I should prepare MONEY for their invitation to the dinner, drinking and visiting places. Especially, when someone asks me to visit some nice places or his parents home for party, it means I pay the transport and food on the way for him as well as myself.
And of course, there are constant fights over the special price set for me, a foreigner, due to what they explain “because your skin is not black,” against my tiredly raised claim, “Why do you have to overcharge me every single time?”

Please know that it’s also the fact and truth that I met people who had no intention to suck my money out of my wallet or cheat me or expecting financial support from Japan. I met people genuinely accepted me and invited this stranger from Asia to their home and accommodated and offered local food with such generously. Usually those African women, who always work hard, raise their children, and assemble the household, welcomed me as a guest and accepted me with their natural smiles. SO, I do appreciate their hospitality from my heart.
If I talk honestly, however, I was too skeptical to enjoy their invitation with my heart closed partially. There was always suspicion deep inside of my heart that the enjoyable time might turn into the conversation of MONEY at the end. Honestly that I had to be always aware of my skin color which was generally interpreted as MONEY more than a person, which brought me into some wrong cycles of African experiences.

The Ghanaian business man who I met in Cairo, Egypt when I transited my flight, and came together on the same flight to Accra, was different. Maybe because I met him at the secure place like the airport, but not on the street, or maybe because he dressed well than people on the street, or maybe because he is already a quite impressively established business man regardless of the same age as me, my concern about MONEY related friendship gradually disappeared from my mind. From the beginning, he treated me nicely like the way I would like to treat my guest if any of my friends or struggling backpackers come to my country, Japan. He offered me a ride from an airport and did his best to find a cheap but VERY nice accommodation for me. I was surprised that his friends and he spent so much time and effort until finally we found the hotel that matched my needs in the very late at night after the long tiring flight! He didn’t do it for money. He did it just to help a stranger from Asia, so he left the hotel after he gave me his contact number and paying my two nights hotel costs from his wallet….oh my….
Next day, I tried to hand him some dollars to pay him back my hotel charge as well as the lunch he brought for me since I had no local money to buy anything on that Sunday when all the Forex Bureau was closed. But , he didn’t accept it instead, he said, “You have to travel for a long time. You need money. Don’t worry.”

That’s how I met him, and I spent such peaceful three weeks in Accra with him, his family and his friends. No one had no intention to ask my financial support nor to marry me to move to Japan, but they were all just friendly open minded and funny people with great help.
SO, I would like to appreciate from my heart for their kindness and genuine friendship in Africa, the people whom I would love to and will for sure to stay in touch forever just like I do with many other frineds from various regions in the world.
Yes, I made good friends finally in Africa! And the time with them in Accra was what I will remember as the highlight of my traveling and one of the best memories from Africa.

I remember one time when he took me for lunch, I told him that he has no obligation to pay for my lunch and I should be in charge of that lunch since he was helping me so much. This business man, however, didn’t let me take the bill. Then I asked him what I could do for him to pay back to the kindness he had been offering to me. He said, “Think that I am a little sponsor for you, for your travel in Ghana and Africa. I would be happy if you remember Ghana for good. You see? You can remember like…, ah yeah I went to Ghana once, that was a nice country… and you can tell your friends about Ghana.”
YES, I will remember all the goodness about Ghana for sure and remember this amazing country that allowed me to forget what color of skin I have.

My dear friends, the hard working compassionate brothers and sisters in Ghana, I will do my best to keep inside of my heart, the good sprit you imparted upon me until the day I will come and see you again in Ghana for another great memory; the spirit of freedom, “Freedom from the color of my skin.”

Black hair Jack 21? Yeah!! (Experience)

2007-12-24T07:02:00.000-08:00

One of the biggest thrills that you can have on your traveling is a haircut. You can, of course, avoid to get your hair done and wait until you reach your usual beauty parlor in your hometown, or you can gamble your destiny.
Please know that you are not gambling to really “WIN” something nice but rather to “Accept” wacky art show takes place on your head. Well…did I discourage you too much to gamble? Okay, then I can give you some encouragements as well. Please remember that hair is consumable body parts and your hair style doesn’t stay there permanently. It’s not that you are chopping off your fingers or getting a tatoo on your butt. Your hair will grow again as fat as the grasses in your little yard. So, let me invite you to Black hair Jack 21. You bet your hair and test your fortune. All I can say to you is “Good luck and have fun!”

My first bet in Black hair Jack 21 took place in India. I went to a small barber shop and cut off my pony tail. I told the barber boy “Cut my hair very short and make me look like a man.” So, he did his best with his big blunt scissors and an orthodox shaving knife. Maybe I was the first foreigner he’d ever had as his customer. Maybe I was the first woman he’d ever worked on and had to cut off long bundled hair since women in India usually keep their hair very long. And definitely that was the first time for me to be shaved by the 19th century (or even before) kinda looking knife and made my hair look like a seductive black mushroom.

My second bet in Black hair Jack 21 took place in Kyrgyzstan. My hair had grown to a huge black mushroom by that time so that I was asked by a local man I met, to go to the hair salon for reshaping my mushroom. Since he was a nice innocent young man and I never intended to scare him away with my mushroom, I obeyed his order and went to the hair salon introduced by him. It was unbelievably, nice modern and well managed hair salon so that my mushroom disappeared from my head! I was no longer wearing any kind of vegetables nor animals on my head but fortunately something called “hair style” was back on me. Yes! I won!

I had my hair grow until I bet for third time in Ghana. My hair was again growing to around shoulder line and the length began to bother me after I entered in Accra, the hot and humid capital of Ghana. I don’t even remember how many times I had to take shower to wash my sweaty hair and how much time I had to wait to dry it in such air with no capacity of evaporate another atom of H2O. So, I began to consider another gambling in Ghana as well as I was asked again by a local man I met, to cut my hair shorter. I checked in some hair dressers around my hotel, but wasn’t sure if I could really let them touch my hair in a place like AFRICA. However, I decided to bet my pony’s tail again when I reached a beach town called, Kokrobite where my bath was located outside with a self filled bucket water. Yes, I was urgent to have shorter hair to make my bathing simpler.
So, I visited a hair salon in the town, and asked the hair dresser if she could cut my Asian straight hair. The lady proudly said, “Of course!” I asked her again if she had any hair cutting experiences with non-African race. She proudly said, “Sure!”

Now I had to have a faith in me and sat quietly on the chair. The lady put a small piece of towel on my shoulder and began to bundle my hair. What I was surprised was not that she didn’t put me on the plastic cover but the pain when she tried to gather my hair. She was obviously struggling with putting my hair together and tie them with a rubber band. She tried but all my hair just came unbounded right after she released her hands. So, here she tried again…again…with more power and more…and more pain!! So, I seriously stopped her hands and asked her, “Do you want me to hold my hair?” Then I offered my hands instead of her rubber bands to hold my hair up while she was cutting the lower layers. It was my first time cutting my hair without a single rubber band (or clips) and holding my own hair up. What an experience!
Next surprise was the cutting equipment which was not the scissors. She took out an electronic shaver with a huge comb on its tip and began to trim the surface of my hair. I didn’t know what to say about the trimming, just afraid of my hair partially trimmed too short so that making some kind of urchin on my head…, but I knew how to scream out, “Wait! Wait! Wait! It hurts!!”
It was the most painful moment when her trimmer shaver was eating my hair into and pulling!! The lady apologetically smiled and tried more gently. BUT it still hurt!!
So, I politely smiled at her with my wet eyes and asked her to rest her hands for a while. Then modestly asked her, “….are you cutting my hair or….or having a surgical operation on my head…?”
The lady apologetically laughed, “sorry , sorry, did it hurt?”
“Yes,” I nodded.
She tried her best to do it gently but the pain was too much to endure. So, I softly suggested her, “ Do you want to use scissors instead? They might be suitable for my hair and much much easier.”
She agreed with me and took out an unprofessional toy scissors. She again tried her best to, this time, CUT my hair. Cutting, however seemed never be easy for her and she was obviously struggling with my hair that slipped out of two blunt blades. Challenge after challenge…

The hair dresser did her best and I did my best to help her to cut my Asian hair, such as to equal the length of the sides, left and right which were different about 2cm when she first cut them. She did her best to convert my advice into her skills and I did my best to compromise positively, take things into the best imagination possible, and be happy with the work she has done.
SO, as a result, my hair became shorter!! Yeah! And I was not injured or bleeding!! Yeah! And I was totally fine with so much of hair pieces scattered all over my face and shirts and trousers because it was right before I was going to bath and wash my clothes!! Yeah! And MY hair style reminded me of people from 1970s which I have only seen from recorded images of films and TVs!! Yeah! Now 1970’s is happening real on my head in the year of 2007!! Yeah! And it’s totally absolutely fantastic that I am now ready to be cast in 1970’s commercial TV advertising their new kind of Miso soup or one of those women running into the shop to occupy soups and toilet papers during 70’s oil shock!! Yeah!

Wanna gamble? Go for it!!

No work No food (Refugee)

2007-12-24T06:59:00.000-08:00

It was a very simple commodity exchange between me and Rasta-man at the sandy beach town called Kokrobite. Rasta-man was kind enough to help me with his drumming skills so that he gave me drumming lessons for 6 days because I wasn’t able to take expensive drumming lessons at the famous academy. It was a such helpful offer and enjoyable experience for me so that I decided to offer him food and to be his first customer to purchase some accessories from his newly opened art shop.
We both agreed on what we would exchange and I was very happy. Spending time with this Rasta-man meant to me more than just learning how to drum, but leaning Rasta soul, life, Reggae, and most interestingly the cooking method of Ghanaian dishes! Yummy! So, we cooked everyday together from making fire with charcoal to tomato based spicy sauce. We drummed everyday and practiced many times a day, singing Bob Marley, “No woman No cry.”

There seemed to be no problem between me and Rasta-man. There was another man, however, staying at the Rasta’s house temporary. It was a Liberian refugee man who was a year older than myself and usually lives at the refugee camp in Ghana. He was a self-identified “Unfortunate man” who had to evacuate from his country due to the internal war occurred when he was 9 years old.

Okay here, let me list down some of the endless stories that he confessed me about his “Unfortunate life.”

1. He still suffers from the aftereffects of the worst time he had to spend during the country’s confusion.

2. His youth was destroyed and his opportunity to learn music at the academy, which he really wanted, was taken away due to the war. Therefore he had to learn music by himself in his own way and he did.

3. He wants to do a music concert tour to Europe and Japan, so wishing ME to find a sponsor. He can’t financially manage his music tour since he is a jobless refugee.

4. He is also interested in machines and technologies so that he wants to go to Japan to learn how to assemble amplifier.

5. Once he learned how to assemble amplifier, he will go back to Liberia and open a amplifier business. Therefore he asked me to ship the necessary components from Japan to Liberia. He will assemble those components and put a tag on his amplifier, “Made in Liberia.” Then those amplifiers will make some great sales in Liberia.

Okay here is what Rasta-man and I had to tell this Liberian refugee:

We were very sorry for his youth and all those dark experiences he had to go through. We thought it would be nice if any sponsor could support his career as a musician. However, it is very difficult to find financial support for anything for anyone, not only because he is a refugee but because that’s the way it is generally in the world.
I suggested him to learn assembling amplifier in Ghana but not in Japan. He answered that he has no such opportunity in Ghana because he is discriminated in the society because of his nationality as a Liberian. Even if he is fortunately hired, it will take years for him until he can receive some proper instruction of assembling and start working practically as a mechanic. I thought that it won’t be so different even he tried it in Japan since any kind of works at the beginning level require some hardships and unfairness even in Japan. Additionally, it would be more problematic for him to get used to Japanese work environment, understand the work ethic of Japan and achieve the level to learn something with his language level of which he doesn’t speak a work in Japanese.
Rasta-man warned him “No one will buy your amplifier if it’s tagged “Made in Liberia.” People will buy only when they are made in Japan. And in fact, your amplifier is not made in Liberia. Only assembled in Liberia but components are from outside. Don’t lie. Don’t cheat.”
I told the refugee man that I would happily ship out the components if he could hand me his capital money to purchase components and fees for the international shipment. He told me that he has no money to buy components but he can only assemble and make sales in Liberia.
“Excuse me? Everyone in the world, even the idiots, can make profit if the capital money is not necessary and components are given him for free. We don’t call it a Business, but generally and undoubtedly we call it a DONATION. And those are different.”

Probably you found me as a cold hearted devil bitch who destroyed this poor refugee’s dreams. Fine, I accept my character, but I don’t want to compromise on this…telling the reality I know about the world, norms outside of the refugee camp he lives.

Okay now, let me write down the time with which we, three of us, spent together;

I wake up in the morning and go and see the Rasta-man. We drum and we sing, “No woman No cry.” Then we go out for little grocery shopping and cook together. During our cooking time, the refugee man is at the beach smoking weed. When our meal is ready he comes back and eats. When we finish eating, Rasta-man and I clean dishes. The refugee man goes to siesta without leaving any words of appreciation. Rasta-man and I go to art shop to work. Cutting and polishing the crafts. The refugee man refuses to help us since he doesn’t like working on small things. So, he goes to the beach again and smokes his pot. The same routines are repeated everyday. The refugee man shows up only when our meal is ready, and eats and leaves without saying “thank you.”
The refugee man is picky as well, that he wants to eat the food he used to eat in Liberia. He prefers rice than yam. Complains. He sometimes eats separately from us because he wants to have his own flavor. He puts his food in his dish and goes away and eats alone. AND not a single word of appreciation for us, his cooks and catering sponsor.

Therefore one day, I asked him if there was anything that he could offer us back. He said that he could catch some frogs from the pond and make some fog grills. Well….sounds…interesting. I was happy at least, that he decided to DO something finally! So we planed to have froggy supper on the very final dinner we were supposed to have on Saturday night. I checked the ponds around the house and found some creature swimming in the dirty muddy water….but all I wanted was the result of work that would be accomplished by the refugee man. It finally came to Saturday night, and I asked the Rasta-man if the fogs were ready at his house. The answer was disappointing. He just informed me that the refugee man left his house already and went back to his refugee camp. SO, there were no frogs nor supper nor nothing. The man has just left without even greeting to us who spent last five days together and feed him on every meal. He gave up on our fogs and went to eat another FREE meal offered at the refugee camp. Good for him.
I was speechless. I didn’t care about the refugee, what he does or what he dreams about. WHO cares!
I felt fortunate at least that I didn’t visit his refugee camp where he asked me many times to come and visit together with him; the refugee camp where he can eat free meals and he is financially supported by the family in the US, 200 USD every month, and where he is supported by many NGOs and international cooperation volunteers who can sing and dance like crazy hot with him…?? And having fun time at the cool cafes at the camp…??? Hello? What’s going on there??
I am glad that I didn’t go with him to pay additional cost of HIS transportation and food and etc to get to the camp and see something…I don’t even know….I don’t even care.

This man will be smoking pot at the beach, being supported by many and keep complaining his life. It’s his right to be helped due to his position as a refugee and his right to complain about his life instead to thank for the help he’s been receiving from others. I don’t give a damn about his life nor future. I would never support this “Unfortunate Refugee man.”

Fine! You can call me a merciless selfish bitch from rich country, who doesn’t want to pay anymore attention to this POOR refugee man. I will accept it. I want to call you, however, if you feel sympathetic to ALL the people categorized “refugee” and want to appeal to the world for endless support for them, then I think, you must be ignorant or just another hypocrite.
At the end of my drumming days, I was no longer singing “No woman No cry,” but almost wanted to sing against this Jobless refugee, “No work No food.”

South Africa ( 3 days)

2007-12-14T09:04:00.000-08:00

South Africa 21/11/2007~23/11/2007 ( 3 days)

Who said Africa is not yet developed? What do you mean by “Africa among the third world countries”? Where can I find those traditional, wild and exotic faces of Africa?

South Africa is just another developed country. Technological, convenient, comfortable and MONEY SUCKING!!! Damn! Why am I paying 10 dollars fee for just exchanging small dollars….even smaller than 10 dollars….? Am I getting negative number for my exchange? Hello, am I alright? NO!

I didn’t find much specialty about the country but felt more like…well….like coming back to the United States….because of their car society with highway jungles, suburban houses with a pool and a big yard, and food, more food, the most food, and drinks, movies, shopping malls.
I was watching TV in one afternoon on the comfortable couch with some sugary coffee: the commercial programs of enthusiastic people trying to sell….some magical tea to detoxify…reduce fat….get rid of constipation…and…
Yeah…I am back in the developed country.

Choosing the doors to open on the way. (Security)

2007-12-14T09:00:00.000-08:00

Johannesburg is noted as one of the most notorious cities in the world where robbery and gun shootings can take place in broad daylight. There were different kinds of precautions and advices over Jo’burg, which I received from other travelers before my entrance to South Africa.

1.Don’t go to Jo’burg and stay away from your death.

2.You can go to Jo’burg but never go outside.

3.You can go outside in Jo’burg but always take a secured private vehicle and walk only in the safe suburban area with reliable neighborhood.

4.Never walk out Park Station (central bus station) otherwise you will be shot.

5.Go outside of Park Station and test your luck.

One of the very experienced traveler, whom I met in Harare, walked outside of Park Station, and robbed 3 times out of his four trials. It simply means that his luck was 25% fine and 75% unfortunate. Surprisingly however, he is still alive.

6.Don’t get off your taxi except some emergency cases. If you accidentally got off your taxi, choose an appropriate weapon to protect yourself.

This traveler with stomach problem had to stop his taxi and get off to squat in unknown area of Jo’burg. Taxi driver was afraid of the environment and so drove away when the traveler got off in a grassy parking place in nowhere. He was left alone and found some street men approaching to him while he was pooping. He had no weapon to protect himself except the ones just came out of his anal. Therefore he did; he threw his hot fresh poop against those strangers and made them run away.
This is a cardinal rule, “Never resist” if you are threatened in a gun society like Jo’burg, but an exceptional case is also admitted.

After being attacked by 5 armed men in Harare, I had to choose carefully my destination and transportation. Since I booked a flight from Jo’burg to Ghana, Jo’burg was anyways unavoidable destination and so I chose a more secured bus service from Harare to my destination. The cheapest I could find for the bus service to Jo’burg was something like 3 USD, but I decided to pay 35USD instead, for my security cost. The difference between 3 USD and 35 USD was (Believe me!) nothing to do with the cleanness of the vehicle or the softness of the seat, but only one point: whether it goes inside of Park Station or drop off their passengers somewhere outside the streets. So, my choice was to pay 32 extra pain dollars just to make sure that I would not be hovering on the street in Jo’burg with my foreigner’s signs, “backpacks on lighter skin color.”

I arrived in Jo’burg around 9 in the morning and got off my bus inside of Park Station. I was alive. Then I thought about my only planned activity in Jo’burg, which was to visit Apartheid museum. The museum was located opposite direction to my hotel, so it seemed better to visit the museum first and check in the hotel later. But HOW? How to get to the museum and move to my hotel from the museum was the question. Since I didn’t want to carry my 20 kg backpacks with me all the way to the museum, I decided to deposit them all at the station. I put in my trouser pockets small money only and left my completely locked backpacks. So, now I was really useless stranger with no sign of wealth and plus bit looked like a Karate master with dirty loose trouser with my head covered with pink towel. Then I went to the information desk to learn the safe way to the museum. The lady at the counter suggested me a minibus taxi. I was surprised that she didn’t recommend hiring a private taxi but a public minibus. So I asked her, “Is it safe to take a minibus taxi?”
She answered, “Of course.”
So…well…it seemed that there was a safe cheap public transport….so I asked her again, “So where can I get on the minibus?”
“It leaves from the taxi rank nearby Park station.”
“Excuse me, but you mean I have to go outside of Park station and go to the Taxi rank? How can I get to the Taxi rank then?”
“It’s nearby, so you can easily walk.”
“Easily? Means safely without being shot or dead?”
The lady was laughing and kindly drew a map and the direction to the Taxi Rank.
“Sorry that I am asking over and over again like a crazy nervous one, but are you sure it’s safe to walk outside Park station? Or….is it possible to take a taxi to the Taxi rank? Sounds bit silly but…”
She smiled at me, “It’s safe. No problem. There is no taxi in such short distance anyways. You can take an exit from there and just walk, it’s very simple. Only a few blocks.”

SO now I had to choose if I wanted to be a chicken puppy traveling piece of crap to find a private vehicle or be a Karate master, at least in some level of imagination, in order to walk to the Taxi rank. I decided to pretend as a Karate master and took Yakuza (Japanese Mafia) walk to the exit. Then I stopped and heard a puppy’s heart beating busily deep inside of Karate master. I looked around the streets. I didn’t see even a single non-black person while I was standing there. Well…I was Hamletting….to walk or not to walk….that’s more than a question….
One security guard approached me and asked if I was alright.
“I am not that alright…and not at all sure if I will be alright…how can I get to the Taxi rank from here?”
I opened the map I just got from the information desk and asked the guard. He explained the direction with some enthusiastic gestures. He said that the way is very simple.
“Do you think it’s quite safe to walk there? Like a tourist alone walking on the street. Do you think there will be no problem?”
“Well, I think it’s not that dangerous. It’s not a long distance.”
“Are you sure? It’s safe to walk?”
“Yeah…it’s usually fine…but,”
“Yes, but…and like how much?”
“Just one coca cola.”
“Like exactly how much?”
“It’s up to you…5 rand?”
“OK.”
I hired a security guard for 5 rand (80 cents) and had him walk me to the Taxi rank. It was only 300 m or less, but I felt the distance to be a lot longer. I didn’t see any non-black person on the street but instead felt many glancing eyes on myself.

The minibus taxi was in a pretty good condition. I didn’t find any problem but rather found some very caring local passengers, who helped me to pay the fare, stop the minibus at the right place and instruct me to the gate entrance to the museum. Probably I looked a such odd tourist who came to the museum by public transport, but at least the local people, including the museum staffs around the entrance, treated me in decent manner.

When I came out the provocative museum to dry my tears, it was again the time to choose. The museum staff suggested me a private taxi to the station and called one of those which was waiting in the parking lot. The price, however, was suicidal 80 Rand (12USD) for a such short distance!! So here, I had to choose between risk taking minibus and deadly bankruptcy. I took a risk rather than to choke my self to die with 80 R and decided to test my luck and see if my choice would lead me to the real death.

Minibus itself was fine and I was again surrounded by nice helpful locals only. The most risky was the returning walk from taxi rank to Park station. It was only a few clocks walk and this time I knew the exact way to my destination. BUT without security guard. I stood at the Taxi rank for a while and looked around the streets. There were full of people on the streets walking, shopping, and doing whatever the things they had to do in their daily lives. Maybe there were thieves among the crowds. Maybe there were guns in one of the pockets of the pedestrians. I didn’t know. There was no way to point out the risks on my way anyways. I took my steps forward to the crowded street believing myself a cool tough Karate master. I was slowly walking in the central Johannesburg alone and looking the people around, the shops, sellers, street food etc. The environment seemed to me just a normal day, normal street, and normal lunch time of people buying their light meals. I walked like everyone else, as if being one of other locals around and began to greet the people with smiles. Then I started to exchange some small conversations with street sellers. I bought some fresh tomatoes and some more onions later from another seller. The short risky walk turned peaceful and enjoyable little time in Jo’burg. AND as a matter of fact, I was alive.

Traveling, I think, is what you choose. Choices create your ways and open the different kinds of doors on your way. The most interesting parts of traveling, I think, is that you can’t expect what exactly you find on the other side of doors. There might be fine people or thieves or gorgeous scenery or violence or excitement or boredom or death or tasty food or bankruptcy or unexpectedly lucky free ride or painful over charge with some fights following after. You never know. You open the door first and see what you get. I got good things only every time I opened new doors in Johannesburg. I was lucky.
And in fact, I didn’t have to find hot fresh poop on the other side of my doors. Double lucky me!

Zimbabwe ( 27 days)

2007-11-30T00:35:00.000-08:00

Zimbabwe 25/10/2007~21/11/2007 ( 27 days)

“Once” Zimbabwe was economically strong. “Once” Harare was one of the most developed cities in Africa. “Once” their currency was stronger than the US dollars…. And “Once”….and “Once”….
There are too many “Once” used in describing the country of Zimbabwe because of the radical change they have experienced in a short period of time. The country has collapsed.

What I discovered in Zimbabwe, however, was not the prosperity in their past nor how it was lost, but their unbroken legacy that has been taken over at deep inside of the nation. Ethnic pride, sophistication, modesty and solicitude to others were the major characteristics that distinguish Zimbabwe from the surrounding African countries.

Let me remember and talk about Zimbabwe as the country of “Even today” instead of “Once they were... “
They co-exist beautifully with their traditional culture and artistic heritage, and “even today” captivate people with the music by Mbira at night clubs…communicating to their ancestors….in the costume like the cave men….Oh my…”even today….”

Karate backpackers under attack (Violence)

2007-11-30T00:34:00.000-08:00

It was around 8:50 pm on the street about 20 m away from the gate entrance to our hotel, a violent crime took place. Five athletic local men attacked us, four Japanese backpackers including two Japanese boys in the darkness.

Was I shocked by the attack? No, I wasn’t because it was supposed to happen and it did happen at final. There were repots of frequent attacking around the notorious 5th street nearby the hotel I stayed. The dark corner of the 5th street was targeted by the local thieves because they knew that some Japanese travelers come and stay at the hotel with US dollars, the most and probably only effective money in their currency collapsed society.
Japanese embassy even, was warning and providing detailed information in order to protect visitors from troubles;

1. Don’t walk outside after dark.
2. Don’t carry your backpack and never show your wealth.
3. Don’t walk outside when you are alone.
4. Don’t resist but obey their orders if you are threatened to hand out your belongings. Otherwise you might be violently attacked.

Probably you agree that above cautions is nothing special but common practice if you are in the area of high marked danger. Usually I am very careful since I am a puppy and a chicken traveler. I usually don’t walk outside after dark and reduce items that I carry with when I walk in the city. In such occasion when I must, cannot avoid to, walk alone outside in the darkness such as couldn’t find a taxi to the bus stop and walking alone in the middle of night, I do a lot of preparation. I walk and get familiar with the way when the sun is still up and calculate the exact distance and the necessary time to the place. Then I arm myself: attach valuables directly to “Uneasily touched” body parts by gum tape, put a sunglasses and a hat on, hold a knife, and cover my face with a facemask with an absolutely weird Mickey mouse printed on. Everybody on the way, men women homeless thieves and gangs, try to keep a distance from me once I am armed and walk like a Yakuza, the Japanese mafia. So, this is how careful I usually am, and as its victorious result, I never had any problem until I was finally troubled in Harare. And then this is the mystery…why was I walking on the dark street with a lot of properties including backpack in the high marked area on that night?

It seemed to me almost a trap that loosened my sense of vigilance and disarmed me to the least protective, careless babe in the woods.

I was careful when I first arrived in Harare. I was afraid to walk outside at night even when I went to the restaurant two houses away from my hotel with other 5 people. Then I took another walk in the middle of night with other 10 people, mostly male travelers, on the way back from night club a few days after I went to the restaurant. I was still nervous at that time even though I was with other 10 people. Then another walk followed a week later from the same night club with 6 other people. I didn’t feel much fear this time. And a week before I was attacked, I walked back from the Chinese restaurant located in the city center with other 4 people including 3 men. We did talk about our security matters on the way and avoided dark streets and walked fast to our hotel. Finally on the day of incident, I had a supper at the very same Chinese restaurant and walked back to the hotel taking exactly the same route with other 3 people. My sense of vigilance has dropped very low by the time and even unrealized the number of people I was together with has been reduced from 10 at the beginning to 3 on the day. It was a trap for me that the number was reduced little by little for three weeks of time. Had I been with only three others at the beginning, I would have never walked in such darkness. Besides that we were all carelessly walking in the darkness with fewer people, we were carrying a lot of things including four boxed instruments since we were on the way back from our lessons that day.
So, now we were a group of four, and carrying bags and boxes of instruments which appealed such wealth to those thieves who didn’t know what’s actually inside. So they came. 5 armed predators came from our behind.

Two boys in the front and two girls their behind, and we turned the last corner to our hotel. I could feel some people approaching from our behind and obviously targeting my friend, a girl who was walking on my left. The girl said something regarding the danger approaching us. Two thieves forereached us and one of them stood in front of the boys to block our way. The big man, who made two boys almost look like elementary kids, took out an empty bear bottle from his trouser. I understood the man was causing us a problem and threatening us but my top concern was another man approaching to the girl from her behind. SO I ignored the man in the front but instead turned my head to the left….then I saw the man jumping on the girl and grabbing her backpack violently. He was obviously trying to tear at her backpack but it didn’t easily come off her shoulders. The man began to drag the bag to farther behind together with the girl. The girl was screaming as she was being dragged so fast to her back into darkness. It was only a second or two, twinkle of the moment, but I felt in my bones that the girl was taking away to somewhere alone by that fucking thief. So I ran. I ran towards him and tackled his stomach to take his hands off her backpack. At the moment when my fingers reached her backpack, his first punch hit my face. “FUCK!”
I felt no pain since my adrenaline was 100 % to fight against the man, but his right straight punch was good enough to bleed my upper lip. Yes, a puppy in blood.
The man’s hands were still on her backpack and the girl was screaming like an unidentified monster. SO here I went again, second tackle. The man’s right punch, this time, didn’t come straight onto my face but hit my head from the side making dull sound. “FUCK!”
It was more painful than the first punch on my face….fuck…and my neck in pain,…damn it…yes a puppy in pain.
I don’t exactly remember what happened then, but I hard the girl and another boy screaming for help and saw the thieves running away. We were all alive. We were saved.
We picked up our instruments which were scattered on the ground and dashed to our hotel. On the way, I was asked by the boy, “Weren’t you wearing glasses??”
“Glasses? …am I not wearing them?... right I am not. Where is my glasses? Where??”
He was right. I lost my glasses. Probably they fell on the ground when I was punched. The girl lost one of her contact lenses too. We didn’t know where and when we dropped them because we were in panic with 200% adrenaline that we didn’t even realized the loss a while after. We went back to the place where we were attacked, looking for the lost properties but couldn’t find them….or I would rather say that we couldn’t see anything since the place was so dark with the shadowy big trees without any lighting supply. And yes, a puppy in weak sight…

Following morning around 6 am, someone knocked the door of our room. When we opened the door, we found a local lady, who’s been staying at our same hotel, standing with my glasses!!! She told me that she found them on the street! My glasses found! Unbroken! Undamaged! Thank you so much! SO now a puppy in original outfit. Furthermore, another miracle followed after it. When I went outside two hours later, I found my friend, who didn’t know the early morning discovery, still looking for my glasses. I told him that my glasses were found and so we tried to find a contact lens for the girl. However, you know… a piece of hard contact lens….well…is not that easy to find like glasses…. So my friend and I were talking that maybe it was stomped by pedestrians already and broken in pieces. Hopelessly we squatted and I looked down on the ground. Then I saw a tiny shiny piece of glass reflecting the morning sun among died leaves covering on the ground!
“I found it!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!” I screamed.
It was only a few seconds of search, but I found her contact lens! Yes a puppy as a Sherlock!

SO, let me go now on our posteriors survey called, “Lost and Found.”
We lost NOTHING.
We found glasses and a contact lens, PLUS, we found ourselves proudly strong Karate backpackers who beat back 5 armed athletic men with ourselves not a single weapon. We scared them away with our bare hand, fists, and unbelievable human alarms, and got no serious injury nor physical damage.

And so, wanna fight with us?
Don’t even think about it.

Power of the instruments (Music)

2007-11-30T00:33:00.000-08:00

I cannot exclude Mbira out of my topic when I talk about my days in Zimbabwe. It was quite unexpected and strange that I met this traditional instrument. The beginning was at the border entrance to Zimbabwe when I met a Japanese couple travelers who was about to enter the country for purchasing Mbira.
“Mbira? What’s that?”
I had no idea what they were talking about and couldn’t imagine at all how the instrument would look like. After I met this couple, I met two more Japanese travelers who also were talking about Mbira. My wonder was getting bigger as well as my interests to the instruments. In fact, it seemed to me so strange that I started to meet many Japanese tourists which I rarely found on my way after Nairobi. In addition, those four travelers I met at the Zimbabwe borders were the ones I saw in the same hotel in Nairobi but hardly spoke to one another. I felt being almost plotted that I re-met them again in Zimbabwe and this time got very close to each other. They surprisingly said to me, “You speak Japanese fluently?!”
“Yes, of course I do. I am 100% pure Japanese.”
“I thought you were Korean or American or something non-Japanese when we met in Nairobi.”
“But I greeted you in Japanese once. You guys didn’t respond as much and kept somehow distant air….actually this is a surprise for me that you guys turned so friendly this time. I never imagined that I could start conversation with you guys when I was in Nairobi.”
“I remember when you greeted me and remember how shocked and confused I was at that moment. First I thought you were American because you were writing something in your computer everyday and I saw you typing in English. Then I saw you hanging around with some Korean travelers, then I thought that maybe you were Korean. Then you suddenly greeted in Japanese for a good surprise…remember even after you greeted us, you were still cooking with other Korean travelers and sharing rooms with Koreans or Americans or…, so we concluded maybe you were Korean who speaks English and knows how to greet in Japanese. You were the mystery for us.”
“….mystery?”
But finally their mystery found an answer and we were ready to take an expedition together to the capital city, Harare, in order to find the even more mysterious instruments, Mbira.

Full box of surprises were waiting for me as well in Harare. We re-met another Japanese couple who we’ve met in the hotel in Nairobi. None of us expected to meet them again since the husband was infected Malaria in Kenya and they were about to leave Africa and going back to Japan. However, here we were again. The couple explained us that they decided to make this last one trip to Harare before they go home just because they wanted, so badly wanted Mbira. They flew to Harare only for Mbira and we met them again. Additionally we met a new Japanese business man in the same hotel in Harare and surprisingly he was one of a few Japanese professional Mbira players as well as the owner of the music shop for Africa oriented music. Coincident after coincident, and now I had to think that my days in Zimbabwe were pre-planned by some superpower and involved into the powerful cycle of Mbira.

Mbira, Mibira, Mbira….Okay and Mbira. Mbira was what we all talked about…that was what we were all enthusiastic about….that’s what we all loved…..but you know what…I had to ask one thing to my travel mates after all our conversation…very important question...I mean…So, I whispered to ask them with my face covered modestly by a piece of cloth.... “What is Mbira by the way…? I don’t know what it is. Is it really good?”

SO, here they presented “a first Mbira concert for an ignorant puppy” by the professional player and the couple who were already taking some lessons before we arrived. And…
Mbira was very interesting instrument; I have never seen anything like Mbira. If I pick out one similar instrument, it should be Karimba. The dynamics of the sounds, however, was incomparably greater than Karimba because of its larger scaled instruments body and the bigger sized metal keyboard. So, did I turn to be more enthusiastic about the instruments? Hell yes!!

So, here we went to meet a Mbira craftsman and made our orders. This craftsman I thought was almost magical that he made our Mbira out of gggg…garbage!!! I don’t know if he was just a craftsman or re-cyclist as well, but he made our instruments from the wasted metal springs of dumped old couch! Can you imagine that? I didn’t at first, but I had to at the end since he created a such enchantingly sounding Mbira from his garbage pile.

My days in Zimbabwe were full of surprise because of Mbira. I planned to stay only about 10 days in Zimbabwe at the beginning, but I ended up staying 27 days because of Mbira. I couldn’t wait Friday night for Mbira night club and had to dance and jump around until middle of night after 7 shots of vodka because of Mbira. I was so stimulated to explore more about art and music and so purchased 7 CDs and 2 DVDs relating Mbira music. My eyes were now wide open and my ears turned Dumbo, so I got ready to move to West Africa, the highly reputed music & art paradise in the world. AND finally, thank Mbira for bringing those amazing friends back on my path: those music lovers whom I hardly opened conversations with in the city of Nairobi but finally came to share so much of excitement over our favorite subjects, art and music, and even more favorite “World traveling and exploring.”

Passport on a bargain price (Currency)

2007-11-26T09:43:00.000-08:00

There was a time when Zimbabwe dollar was stronger than the US dollars. Their economical power was second strongest among African countries after South Africa. Harare, the capital of Zimbabwe, does remain the face of its high development with all kinds of financial facilities, modernized office districts, and international authorities. Reality of the nation, however, has changed. Zimbabwe dollar lost its value so rapidly and their bank notes are now dumped in the garbage cans on the streets or used to wipe asses in the toilet as even less valuable “paper” than the toilet paper. Economical power declined and country suffers from lack of food and materials under super inflation. Inside of their beautiful modern city has turned hollow; lost their proper function and failing to maintain their economical or political relationships with other countries internationally.

In such society where people seek a pile of toilet papers than the pile of Zimbabwe dollars, foreign currency, precisely US dollars, wins everything for its stability. The government of Zimbabwe has set up their “Stable” official exchange rates and forcing the financial facilities not to change it based on the natural shift of their market. Black market, however, exists as a practical market no matter what their government decides. It does shift its rate dramatically towards higher inflation and to the most unstable currency. Therefore in Zimbabwe, the gaps between official rates and the black market is getting bigger and bigger day after day.
For instance, the rate I was reported by other traveler before entering the country was 1USD = 240,000 ZD marked on the 4th of September. Then it has changed to 1USD = 250,000 ZD on the 11th, a week later. In the mid October, another traveler exchanged his 1 USD for 500,000 ZD. Then I crossed the border to Zimbabwe in late October and got my first rate for 1 USD for 800,000 ZD. It was pushed down to 1USD = 1,150,000 ZD during four weeks of my stay.
Since exchange rates are unbelievably unstable in Zimbabwe, there are things that you have to know before handling your money. One transaction can send you a hell or let you stay unexpected heaven. What divides your destiny is your knowledge of whether your transaction is processed on the official rate or on the rate in black market.

* Tragedy of ATM

There are convenient ATM machines located everywhere in major cities in Zimbabwe. They are “usually” very useful, BUT never touch ATMs in the currency collapsed country!!
Okay here is an example. You want to buy your lunch and it costs you about 2 USD for instance. All the markets, restaurants and shipping places charge you on the black market rate, so your due is about 2,300,000ZD (1 USD = 1,150,000ZD). So now, you have to go and get some local currency. You couldn’t resist the temptation of fast cashing ATM, and went to withdraw 2,300,000 ZD for your lunch. Do you remember how much you withdraw? About 2 USD? Right, that’s what you believe. The reality, however, is different. Your bank will calculate your 2,300,000 ZD on the official rate, 1 USD = 30,000ZD. It means you will be charged about 77 USD for this transaction. PAIN!!

I heard about a tragic traveler who didn’t know about this trap and cashed local currency equivalent value to 200 USD at ATM. He didn’t realize the serious problem in which he was getting involved until he finally saw his bill sent by his credit card company because his 200 USD was just 200 USD value, what he needed for his practical expenses, in black market. I can’t imagine how shocked he was when he noticed the disaster, probably he couldn’t believe it first, but the bill was charging him about 5,000 USD (The rate basted on the time he withdraw). This traveler could not continue his traveling and unfortunately sent back to his home to pay off for his “Only one transaction” in Zimbabwe.

* Almost free passport

Collapsed currency is tricky and can be a disaster if you don’t pay careful attention. On the other hand, it ca provide you a magical fortune if you could take advantage of it. The key is to look for the public offices or government owned facilities where official rates are applied for their price settings.

The best example is a renewal of your passport. The embassy which is managed by the government gives you the price of passport converted into local currency on the official rate. Japanese passport, for instance, costs about 150 USD if it’s obtained in Japan, so that the Japanese embassy in Zimbabwe charges equivalent to 150 USD in Zimbabwe dollars. It means that the price at the time is 150*30,000= 4,500,000. Okay, now you go to black market and exchange your money; buying 4,500,000ZD with your USD. How much do you pay? 4,500,000/1,150,000 = 3.91 USD!!! Yes, your new passport costs less than 4 USD, don’t you find it cheap? Yes, you do, and I almost do, but actually I don’t because if I did it in Myanmar, another currency collapsed country, it could be about 75 cents since their official rate and black market has 200 times difference( 150/200 = 0.75). Why didn’t I renew it when I was in Myanmar then…and waited for “expensive 4 dollar passport” until Zimbabwe?
This story of passport bargaining doesn’t end at 4 USD in Zimbabwe; it has more because what I was charged at the embassy was not 4,500,000ZD but 35,000ZD at end. Do you know why? I don’t exactly, but I assume that the embassy gave up on adjusting the price anymore since Zimbabwe dollar has been extraordinary unstable and their government kept printing new bank notes or temporary checks to survive in their super inflation. So, the price is fixed from long time ago when 35,000 could be converted 150USD in official rate ( when 1USD =223 ZD, how many years ago??)
Anyways, I went to the embassy and first asked to make additional pages attached to my old passport since my passport didn’t have enough blank pages to continue my travel. The official at the embassy, however, asked me back,
“Why don’t you renew it instead of just adding pages?”
Yes, he was right. Passport was now on the bargain price of 3 cents!!! (35,000/1,150,000 = 0.03) So, I decided to purchase my new passport which comes with IC chip inside and doesn’t expire for next one decade for 3 US cents although the price of adding pages was attractive as well (0.47 cents).
How did I feel when I got my new passport? I felt fortunate that I didn’t wipe my ass with 1,000 ZD notes (0.08 cents value) but rather kept it in my wallet and used for purchasing my passport!!! Yeah!!
Thanks for collapsed currency. I love you very much.

As USD wins everything in this country and especially when it comes to “government controlled or restricted” prices, I experienced some unexpectedly lucky prices such as…French full-course lunch at five star hotel = 7,000,000ZD = 5.2 USD, a movie ticket (Die Hard 4) = 400,000ZD = 0.34USD, L size vanilla ice cream with cone = 240,000ZD = 0.2 USD, 16kg parcel shipments to Japan = 4,600,000 ZD = 4 USD etc.

* Who suffers the most

If you don’t have USD or anything that you can trade in the black market, Zimbabwe is a hell. Those who work for public services, government offices have hard time since their salary doesn’t go up as rapidly as their living costs.
Hypothetically, a police office got paid 125,000,000 ZD for his salary in September 4th when the rate was 1USD =250,000 ZD. It means his salary had 500 USD value. Nevertheless, if he was paid same amount two months later on the 4th of November, then the value of his salary drops to 108 USD (125,000,000/1,150,000). Can you imagine that your salary becomes 1/5 within two months?? I can’t, and I don’t want to.
Same calculation is applied to your bank account. If you have USD in your account, there is no problem. The value never changes. If you have ZD, then it will become 1/5 in two moths and probably disappear to Zero value within half year.

AND my wonder is…how are the people surviving in this country? In this condition? HOW?

Zambia (6 days)

2007-11-05T01:51:00.000-08:00

Zambia 20/10/2007~25/10/2007 (6 days)

Zambians introduce themselves such as, Zambians are friendly, Zambians are outgoing, Zambians love drinking, Zambians want to go to Japan, Zambians are dying with diseases, Zambians are proud of their independence, so that free to do anything like pee on the ground whenever and wherever they want, and Zambians are thieves.

And then, my introduction of Zambia follows;
Zambians were the friendliest ever in African countries, and they are powerful hard drinkers loving music. Zambian men do speak their dreams to get married foreigner and women want some friends oversea so that they were enthusiastic about exchanging telephone numbers with a Japanese backpacker. Shall I call them? Zambians are proud people but don’t pee on the ground as freely as their independence. At least I didn’t witness.
And, Zambians are thieves. “Zambians please! Don’t identify yourselves as thieves! Don’t say that otherwise you will be the real thieves one day!”
Petty crimes do exist, so “Don’t get passed out in front of your Zambian friends and watch out your belongings especially your mobile.” This is the advice from Zambians and caution from a backpacker as well.

Value of your picture (Travel)

2007-11-05T01:38:00.000-08:00

It’s always a question when and where I photograph. My camera has been relatively quiet since I came to Africa because of my policy: no photograph when surroundings are not willing me to take photos. For instance, I heard that the Masai people in Eastern Africa generally dislike to be photographed unless being paid, so that I didn’t take even a single picture of Masais. Even when I was suggested to take their pictures by other local Tanzanians, I didn’t. I don’t want to be stressed by giving a stress to the locals through photographing. The hardest thing, however, is that I have to figure out every time, who wants to be photographed, who’s OK, who’s annoyed and who’s doing business on being a photo model. Sometimes, I am asked by bunch of people to take their pictures on the streets almost every step I move. On the other hand, I am yelled out by surrounding bunches only when I took out my camera out of my backpack to take a picture of street board, traffics, or even some dogs on the street. I experienced several times when people screamed “Don’t take!” “Get permission!” or “Pay money!” ….and my question was…get permission from where?? Traffic signs? Pay money to who? The dogs??

SO, I am not much motivated to take pictures in Africa. I want to avoid those cases which people voluntary walk into my photo site and claim for “fees” later on. I enjoy photographing only those who enjoy being photographed or those who asked me to photograph them.

When I was walking around the city one afternoon in eastern part of Zambia, many friendly locals called to me on the street. I stopped every so often and had some short and sometimes quite long conversations with the people. One young man asked me if I had a camera inside of my backpack when I went to buy a bag of chips at the stall. I said yes and he asked me to take his picture.
“Sure. If you want, I will take your pictures,” I said and took out my camera.
I photographed him and his friends together next to the pile of potatoes, and they looked all happy. Then I asked them if it’s OK to video tape them pealing skins of potatoes and frying in the Zambian styled pan. They said, no problem, so I videotaped. It seemed that almost everyone in that environment were just willing to be photographed and so I took the picture of other people on their request as well, such as the ones who just walked in front of the stall or the guys at the bar across the street. I had some great time talking with them about their country, my country and their potato business and etc, while after finished taking pictures. When I was still there, another young man approached me and claimed that it was not respectful that I took the picture of local people. So, I argued back the man that I photographed the individuals only because they asked me to do so, and I didn’t and will never take a picture of that man unless he asks me to.
“What are you going to do with those pictures?” the man asked me.
“Mostly just keep them for myself, for my memory of this trip to Zambia. And maybe I will show them to my friends or family.”
“How much do you make out of the pictures?”
“Nothing. I am not professional photographer.”
“No you are lying. You, tourists take our pictures and sell them to the magazines and make much money. But you don’t pay us. So that I am saying it’s not fair.”
“You are misunderstanding. This is just my personal trip on my vacation and I am taking some snaps because I can’t come here, like Zambia, every so often, and this is the place I want to introduce to my family and friends since they don’t know much about here. I am not taking anything for commercial purpose, same like many other tourists. We usually take pictures for memories. I want to remember this Chip stall and introduce my family that I met Chris by showing this photo, right Chris?”
The man who first asked me to photograph nodded, “Yeah. I like taking pictures with tourists and wish her to remember me even after she goes home.”
I asked the man how much he thinks that we, tourists, make money out of a picture taken in Zambia.
“I don’t know exactly, but you guys make something like 1000 US dollars for selling a picture to magazines or making post card.”
“One thousand US dollars?! I wished I could sell my pictures to the magazine if I could make one thousand US dollars for this, just by taking some snaps with local people I met on the street. I wished! But for sure none of the magazines will buy my snaps for 1000 US dollars.”
“But there are many books and magazines with pictures from Africa.”
“So are the other places in the world. The point is that I am not a professional photographer, just a tourist.”
“What if a magazine asks you to sell them your picture? What you do then?”
“First my pictures will not be found by magazines since they are personal travel snaps. If my pictures are discovered accidentally by a magazine, I don’t know how but, then I will probably sell them for the price like almost nothing, just give away price.”
“See, you are selling them!”
“OK fine then, so what kind of problem do you have if my snap is introduced on a magazine in Japan? Do you have any problem? If some tourists come to Japan and took my picture and put it on a magazine in their countries because it’s a very good picture, then I would rather be happy for being on a magazine. That’s cool, I think. If Chris says that he never want to be on a magazine, then I will, for sure, never give my snaps to the magazine, but it’s really up to you. And in fact, your chances are very little to be on magazine unless you are a star or someone special internationally.”
“I don’t mind being on magazine. I am just happy if she could remember my face and name.” Christ said.
The man on his claim continued,
“But the problem is, you will introduce us on a magazine as poor dirty Africans. Not because the picture is very good, but you want to show poor Africans in your rich country. And you get paid for it and maybe you raise funds out of it.”
“Are you poor? You are wearing nicely and you are eating fine and you want to tell me how poor you are? OK fine, if you think so, keep on claiming your poverty. But I don’t think so. I know poor people. They are not here. They are on the streets dying and begging. I met many of them throughout the countries I traveled. And if I want to find those POOR people and take their photo to sell and raise some funds, then I will not come here, like Zambia to meet Chris or others around here, but I will directly go to the parks in Tokyo, I will go and see the people living under the bridges in Japan without homes, without food, and without family. They are poor.”
“Why you say there are homeless in Japan? You are rich country.”
“It’s not that everyone in Japan is rich. Country is rich but there are both riches and poor in Japan. It’s same everywhere in the world. There are very rich people in India but at the same time, countless suffering from poverty. There are many riches even in Zambia who make thousands times more than I make in Japan. So, don’t say that you guys are poor because you are Africans.”

The man left us. I didn’t take his picture anyways. I took a few more pictures with other crowds who stopped by the stall while I was arguing.
I understand the points that the man was making although I argued back to him from my side. I understand that the stress they have for being photographed is bigger than the stress that I have for their misunderstanding to the Snap shots we, tourists take.
I often wish if I came without a camera and I could forget about all those matters of photographing. I am seized sometimes with an impulse, however, to grasp a moment by a permanent memory of photography because the moment is meaningful, extraordinary, magnificent or fascinating that I don’t want to let them fade in my memory. Yes, that’s the pure reason that I am carrying a camera with. Nothing to do with magazines or fund raising or 1000 US dollars. It’s just a pure will of traveler that I take some pictures just because Africa is amazing. Just because I want to remember my friends I met in Africa. Am I right Chris?

Malawi (14 days)

2007-10-28T04:07:00.001-07:00

Malawi 07/10/2007~20/10/2007 (14 days)

Malawi is like a picnic shelter. The small land provides milder oasis among its energetic neighbors in Africa; relaxing lakeside, refreshing hillside, and soft natured local people.
Yeah…good place to spend some time, rest and heel yourself in the comfortable resort areas. Go for it.

Malawi, on the other hand, left as small impact in my memory as the size of their tiny land. Nice beautiful beaches…and so? Good beer, pizza and pasta, and western style party….so what? And bunch of volunteers from developed countries in bikinis…

Nothing’s wrong with Malawi. It’s peaceful, comfortable and good country I believe. But it was colorless and quieter….I mean, somehow, lonely place for an Asian backpacker like myself.

Beat the kids with tears in my eyes (racism)

2007-10-28T04:05:00.000-07:00

It’s about the time for me to point out racism in Africa after having traveled 6
countries on this continent. Sorry, my dear readers, that my topic is dark. I must, however, write this before I decide to run away from Africa for being too disappointed.

There are racism and other kind of prejudice existing not only in Africa or Malawi but almost everywhere in the world. Even some of the Arabic countries I traveled through, I heard about other travelers who faced mostly verbal insulation and some physical intimidation based on racism although I personally never had any problem through the Arabic countries. My surroundings became noisy after I arrived in Africa about two months and half ago. There has been some annoyances caused by people around based on my racial background and there has been even more impoliteness thrown against myself for being a foreigner.

I came to think about all kinds of insults I have been coming through when I met a Japanese cyclist in the capital of Malawi, Lilongwe. I accidentally found this traveler at the cyber café and we started to talk about traveling in Africa. He told me how much he’s been enjoying his cycling from Cape Town and I told him my exciting experiences from the northern countries of Eastern Africa. Besides our good stories, he began to talk about the negative sides of traveling, and said, “I am so annoyed by the crows who keep calling me “China china,” or throwing stones to me on the streets. I just had a local man arrested this morning for insulting me. I guess he’s in a jail now.”
“Jail?”
I understood how he felt when he had to hear people calling him “China china” for hundred times a day on the street, but maybe jail was too much for their crime. He continued, “I didn’t mean to send him to jail, but he ended up being arrested since I fought against his insult. I could have ignored but I decided not to. So when the two young local men pointed me on the street and yelled at me “China” and laugh at me, I dashed towards them. They tried to run away and I chased them. People and police on the street mistakenly thought that those men robbed me, and so that one of them got arrested and taken to the police station.”
“How impressive.”
“What made me so angry was their laugh against me. I don’t know if they, all those people who have to yell at me “China” everyday, really intend racial intimidation. But at least, I feel so uncomfortable and annoyed. If they mean to discriminate me, I will fight against. If they are just ignorant, I will teach them how to behave.”
I was impressed and encouraged by this young man. Therefore I made my mind also, when people insults me or behave too impolitely, I would fight against and teach as well although I knew it would require me extra energy, time and effort than just neglecting them all.

Obvious cases came up on the very next day when I went to a small town nearby Zomba plateau. Unfortunately I wasn’t able to give them corrections when I heard some men calling me “China china” for first couple times since I was busy looking for a hotel with my 20 kg backpack on my back, but I came to raise my voice finally in front of the supermarket after checked in the hotel. Three children at the entrance yelled at me “Hey Yellow! Hey Yellow!” and then laughed. I wished I could just ignore them and run into the market to fill my hungry stomach, but instead I stopped and told the children. “Don’t say Yellow to me.” The children were still laughing and fooled by repeating, “Yellow, Yellow.” “China, Yellow.” It seemed to me a time to be angry, so I yelled them back, “You stupid kids! Don’t never say Yellow. You are impolite. Do you understand?” The children were in silence, staring at me. “I said, don’t say Yellow to me, never again. Do you understand? If you do, say “Yes”.” Children didn’t say anything, but I looked into their eyes for a while silently. I thought that they somewhat understood that it was not a good thing to say to someone, so I went into the shop. When I walked out after shopping, those children at the entrance surrounded me and said gruffly, “Give me money.”
Well…excuse me, but who the hell are they? What are they? Children calling me “Yellow,” and asking me to give away money?? Hello? At this time, I was angry. I knew that there was no point to get angry with children, but I was. So, I coldly refused, “No. I never give you money,” then I began to walk away. I heard the children shouting, “Yellow!!! China!!!” from my back as I walked towards my hotel. I didn’t turn back. No one stopped them. I didn’t see any adults who gave caution to those children. I walked in the echoing sounds of their racial insults on the way back.

That night, I seriously questioned myself if I really wanted to continue on traveling in Africa. The children I met at the super market seemed just too much for me. Then I remembered what my Korean travel mate was saying in Ethiopia when we traveled together through the southern part of Ethiopia. People behaved so rude that they often laughed at us “Chin chon chan” to look down on Asian race, and many children greeted even more impolitely, “You! give me money!”
Excuse us, but what kind of greeting was that?? Hey, you! give me money??? Hello?
We did get annoyed by them and once when we got stuck in the small village because our bus got broken, my travel mate suggested, “How about beating the children violently if they behave impolitely? Just slap their face twice, once each from left and right cheek if they say, “Chin chon chan” or “You! give me money!” I think it’s not good to leave them like this, saying such thing since adults here are also behaving same like children and never teach their children. If we all travelers beat them and educate them, then they will stop saying it. What do you think?”
He was right. It’s not good for the children to be uneducated. It was their shame to say such thing. They were demonstrating their ignorance and providing such bad impression of their country.
Then I imagined what if I had children and they yelled at people, “White!” or “Black!” and asked a stranger “You! give me money!”? I would be so embarrassed and disappointed. I would hit my kids with tears in my eyes for the most depressing behavior of children that myself as their mother had to witness.

I felt tired to go out and see anymore local people on the street that evening. I didn’t want to see those children at the supermarket anymore. So, I just stayed in my room, deeply and stressfully thought through my reactions to take against their discrimination. Shall I really teach them with physical violence?

Next morning, I went out for breakfast. It was only about 100 meters from my hotel to the stall I had some chips and eggs, but I heard the worst combination of the words thrown by the adults local men on the street, “China!” “Jap!” and “Yellow!” I remember how badly my breakfast tasted and I began to walk back my hotel planning to leave the country as soon as possible. Then I heard a man calling me, “Sister, hey sister, wait!” I glanced at him once but didn’t stop my walk since, as you know if you ever traveled in the countries like Malawi, you meet hundreds of men calling, speaking, and throwing whatever words to you on the street. So, I ignored him. The man, however, kept calling me, “Sister, please, wait!” When I slowed down, the man ran to me and asked where I was going. I said, “Hotel.” Then our conversation sort of started….and he asked me how I found Malawi. I honestly said, “I started to hate this country so I am now thinking get out of this place as soon as I can.”
“Oh…what’s wrong?”
“Because people here hate me and look down on my Asian race.”
“No we don’t. We love Japan. We admire you kind people, amazing economy and technology. I like Japanese very much.”
“So, why, then, people keep insulting me like “Yellow!”? I am sick and tired of this. How do you feel if you come to Japan and people pint you on the street and laugh at you and saying “Hey Black!”? If you hate us and intimidate us, then I will hate Malawi and leave the country immediately. If you guys are disrespectful, then I don’t give a damn to the people here in Malawi.”
“I am so sorry to hear such thing. They are foolish. They don’t know what they are doing.” “I am glad, at least you think their behavior is foolish.”
“Please forgive them. We like Japan.”
“Sorry, but I don’t forgive because insult is insult. But I expect you to teach them not to do it anymore. Especially those children, if you don’t teach them, they will not know how disrespectfully they are behaving or how bad impression they are giving me about Malawi. I had some very good experiences in Malawi as well. Relaxing, heart warming experiences. SO, I wish from my heart that I will like this place and people, and leave the country with some great impressions.”
The man listened to me carefully, apologized instead of the actual people who were foolish, and promised me to tell the people around not to do it anymore.
Well…I thought the conversation with that man was a good start. I would hit if those foolish children were my kids and would share the pain of doing absolutely wrong as their parent. But I cannot hit every single people on the street to educate because I would have to have equal amount of pain every time when I hit someone or yell back to someone for hundreds of times on my way!! SO, I decided to speak to the people with normal sense and ask them to warn others to stop their foolish actions. I spent about two days, just finding the people on the street, market, and restaurants, and had some long open conversations over the racial issue. Everyone who I spoke to, agreed with my point and promised me to give some corrections to fools.

And the result? I am not sure whether it was the immediate effect of the corrections or just a coincident, but I didn’t hear anyone saying foolish words against me around my hotel and my eating area in the last two days I spent in the town. Peace was back, and I started to see again the cheerful smiles of people in Malawi.

Tanzania (19 days)

2007-10-20T00:52:00.000-07:00

Tanzania 19/09/2007~07/10/2007 (19 days)

Mt Kilimanjaro, Zanzibar Island, Serengeti National Park, and Lake Victoria. They are all in Tanzania, and what do you expect for them? Nice comfortable fun touristy, but painfully money sucking vacation, am I right?
BUT, I was wrong. 19 days in Tanzania was absolutely chaotic, full of accidents, incidents, laughter, and fighting on the ground level local lives.

Tanzania, my fifth country to visit in Africa, shortened the distance between me and Africa. They were straightforward and the friendliest, and made my days crazy busy with good and bad and the best and the worst, including some funniest locals and the dirtiest touts.

SO, here I have to question myself. Do I want to visit there again for the second time? Well…let me think. I definitely want to see the locals I spent some time together and would love to chat with them in my crappy Swahili. But, I will not visit Tanzania again unless I am healed one day, my heart wounded by the worst, craziest, and the most violent border cross and money exchange I went through twice in Tanzania.

* Be careful with notorious money exchange at the border. Fake currency, lies, intimidation, annoyance, and trick and trap come all together. Besides all, I personally experienced a fake police and violent actions by those surrounded men. It was the worst ever after having crossed borders of more than 25 countries.

Lady, sleeping by me… (experience)

2007-10-20T00:51:00.000-07:00

New experience is always exciting. I enjoy small accidents and unpredictable happenings. I travel because I need some exotic or rather I would say… excentrc stimulation in my life. SO, here I am.

I had this odd but stimulative experience on the boat trip to Zanzibar Island. I took a dhow boat from small fishing village called Bagamoyo to the famous touristy island just because I wasn’t afford the passenger ferry from Dar es Salam and more importantly I wanted to ride on the traditional sailing boat.
What I did after having arrived in Bagamoyo was to research the condition of the village and the boat. Since it required me a negotiation with the captains of the boats, I decided to get known with the people around the dock and learn local language to make the negotiation smoother. One afternoon after I spent about a week to wander around the area, I made my mind and stood on the sandy beach facing the direction of dreaming Zanzibar far beyond the turquoise blue ocean. I proudly pointed the island over the horizon and declared, “Nataka Kuenda Zanziba~~r!!! (I want to go to Zanzibar)” The young man at the fruit stall came out and asked me “Zanzibar? Kuenda Zanzibar?” He was the Banana man I had been greeting almost everyday for last one week. I said, “Ndiyo. Kuenda Zanzibar Kesho! Boti Boti!(Yes, go to Zanzibar tomorrow. Boat boat)” “Kesho(tomorrow)?” “Kesho morning (I didn’t know how to say “morning” in Swahili.)” The Banana man called up the captain he knew and introduced me to him. SO, here I was again, spoke clearly to the captain, “Nataka Kuenda Zanzibar!!”
“Oh, I see, you are going to Zanzibar, yes? When you wanna go? My boat is leaving tomorrow night.” Surprisingly the captain spoke fluent English and it made me baffled since I came to the dock mettled to negotiate in Swahili. I turned so empty and forgot what to say…even in English, “….nataka…nata…Zanzibar…” The Banana man explained the situation instead of me, a lost mumbling puppy traveler, and so the captain spoke to me again, “Come tomorrow at 8 pm here. I will meet you. You just call my name and everyone knows me. Okay? And we will leave around 12 am midnight and arrive in Zanzibar the next morning. It is alright?”
“yes…tomorrow…shillingi ngapi (how much)?”
I was still sticking to my Swahili like an idiot after it became obvious that English was appropriate language to speak between the captain and me. You know, I couldn’t drop my crappy Swahili…because I learned it for this, for this negotiation for last one week, talking to the fishermen, girls at the stall, and Banana man to practice some Swahili words! Those people I was practicing with, barely understood English, didn’t even count numbers in English, so I tried hard to learn their language to communicate, to get ready to negotiate with the local captain, but then only the captain…he speaks good enough English to discourage me, disapprove the effort I made in last one week…
Maybe the captain felt sympathetic to this poor aphasic puppy, so the negotiation went compassionately. We agreed on leaving at 12 am the following night with the fare as low as 6 USD instead of 21USD which is charged for the passengers’ ferry.

I went back to the dock the following evening and had some farewell supper with Banana man and other village people. It was around 10 pm, I began to prepare myself to get on the boat, which was already 50 meters away from the shore!!! NO~~~~! I was wondering how I could reach the boat floating on the dark windy ocean and get onto it. …do I have to walk or swim into the water just like the other sailing men walking into the dark ocean, soaking their body up to their necks and carrying the cargoes on their head? How can I carry my backpack and PC bag without soaking them into the water…oh my….So I asked the people around; they gave me two options. One was to ride on the shoulder of the sailing crew. Another was to hire a small plastic boat. I definitely chose the plastic boat since it seemed unavoidable to get my pants all wet if I’ve ridden on someone’s shoulder.
Riding a plastic boat itself was a fine experience, but I later realized that the pants would be wet no mater how I tried because the wooden dhow boat was already WET. When I transferred onto the small dhow boat, I was addressed to sit down on the very edge of the boat, which was the only flat space on the boat. I quietly sat, and felt well…sandy wet wooden floor under my ass…yeah…something like that. The captain was very generous that he gave that small flat space for the ladies, me and another local lady. The lady was already lying on the floor and ready to sleep. I was there to hesitate to lie down because the floor was wet…and more seriously…I didn’t see enough space to lay my body. SO, I was looking up the night sky and enrapturing myself by such romantic view of white sail sticking towards galaxy…and thinking how to sleep on that little space…how…
Before I found a solution for my sleeping space, the captain told me to sleep by the lady, the big middle aged tough mama lady, very very very closely next to each other. Right…practically that was the only space …I knew it, but…. The lady kindly beckoned me into the little area round her big berry. Right…practically that was the only space…I knew it, but…
I swallowed my saliva and laid my body intimately beside the lady, of course mylsef facing opposite to the side of the lady. I could feel cold sticky water invading my trouser and pants from the left side of my body and warm soft human temperature pressing into the skin from my back. Yeah…kinda excentric experience with some stimulation in it…

As it turned deeper into the night, it became windy with a little shower. The temperature was dropping cold so I covered my head and neck tightly with the hood of my jacket. Very kind captain and “Warm” lady seemed concerned about my heat loss, so they nicely offered me more intimate sleeping posture together with the warmest lady. I logically understood their marvelous kindness but physically confused by the intimacy they’ve requested. Left side of my body was cold wet and aching from the hard surface of the wooden boat, but I was not courageous enough to flip my body over and face to the lady. I tried at least to turn my head and face up to the sky and see something romantic up there, but I failed. It was almost odd and funny that the colder the night became, the more tightly attached we, ladies, were. The more intimately attached we were, the less romantic the sailing night became. Therefore I gave up on my romanticism anymore but rather came to rely on astrophysics, theology and anthropology: I kept thinking and convinced my mind to believe how accurately the earth was rotating in the unit of time so that the sun would soon come up to give its nice warm morning shine equally to us all homos, I mean Homo sapience.

The dhow sailing experience was new to me and interesting. The warmth of the lady was unforgettable as well as the breath taking galaxy beyond the sail. But, at the very bottom of my heart…maybe, it’s just maybe though…I pray secretly that I may not meet too many warm ladies on my way.

Wake up! Stupid Africans! (problem)

2007-10-20T00:49:00.000-07:00

You might have found this title quite provocative and problematic. Fine, that’s what I intended. I am sitting in front of computer just to talk about the pure stupidity of Tanzanians I met. Thanks.
I met this Tanzanian business man on the street in one afternoon. He was just a stranger to me, who speaks some English because he belongs to tourism business. I told him at the beginning that I wasn’t’ interested in any kind or tours or guides that he could provide as a part of his business. Honestly, I am not a tourist on a short vacation with fat wallet but just a poor backpacking puppy who has to live through years of traveling. I thought that he would give up making business on this useless traveler and go away immediately. Unexpectedly, however he didn’t leave, but rather began to follow me as a free guide of the area. Free guide…? I wasn’t sure about this man, but I didn’t scare him away as I usually don’t do such thing to locals unless they are asking me for money. So, we kinda sat together for lunch, and kinda sat together at the café and kinda spent relaxed afternoon with other surrounding locals, his friends, etc, and kinda talked about history, politics, society, life, culture, future, ….such topics which I enjoy talking with local people. So, I did spend some time talking with this business man.
Some time after being together with him, this business man began to talk about his mining business. He said that he purchased a mountain and started a business a few years ago, but hasn’t been doing well in terms of selling and marketing. I see…., but so??? He asked me if I could help him finding a better market to sell his gemstones and do a better business out of mining.
“…gemstone business..?? I have never done business by myself and I know nothing about minerals. I think I am not the one to consult your business plan.”
He was, however, very serious about it, “I don’t know anything about outside of Tanzania, anything about Japan, Europe and other international markets. All I have been doing is to sell gemstones to some Kenyan black markets. They don’t buy our stones in proper price, so I must find another way. I know e no one that I can ask about foreign market or trading since I am here. Then I met you yesterday and I really think that you are the one to help me.”
“You can meet much better business people from Europe. Just like the ones you were guiding…they are successful, they know the world better, they know how to make money which I don’t know. I am just a backpacker with some writing habits. I think you picked wrong person to ask for help.”
“No. I am not wrong, believe me. Those people from Europe, yes, many of them come and they spend a lot of money. But they are very very busy people who just come and go quickly. They are not interested in what’s Tanzania or what we locals do or think or our society or anything local or social. They have no time to sit with locals like this, you do, and talk about Tanzania. You just said that you have some interests in African local life, social issue, politics, economy, and having visited orphanage school in Uganda to investigate the inside of Africa, am I right? The person I want to talk to is an individual like you, not the people who come for beautiful beaches and historical sites with a packed group.”
“…business between Tanzania and Japan…in the field of mining??? Well…”
I told him many times that I don’t know anything about business and mining, but he pleaded, at least once, to come and look at his mountain and understand how he has been digging gemstones.
SO, I decided to make three to four days trip into bushes and dig some gemstones to be “Possibly” rich business puppy and do some practical cooperation for Africa…through opening business between Japan and Tanzania??? Hello? Who the hell am I??

 Does the sense of time exist? Any schedule??

Maybe I am too strict about time because I am from a country where trains cannot be a second late. Nevertheless, this whole experience with this business man was way far from my understanding of time, I must say. I don’t remember how many time I asked him, “For how long do I have to want like this?”

Day first, he was late for two hours and half for our appointed meeting time and we didn’t reach even half the way to the mountain on that day. All we did was to arrive at his parent’s home on the way and greet his family, which was not a bad thing for the day.

Second day, I wake up around 7 am and waited him to wake up later. Then we did pretty much nothing…I don’t know what he wanted to do for the day, but I just failed to use internet nearby village and somehow visited his sister’s friend’s house by a bus….hello?? What was I doing??? It turned around lunch time and I finally asked him, “Are we really going to bushes today?” He asked me back, “Do you want to go today?” “Excuse me, but that’s MY question. What’s the schedule? You told me that the trip will take three or four days and we are already on the second day. I don’t know how many days you need to take me to the mountain and show me and explain me the mining business you are doing, but I have to come back tomorrow or a day after tomorrow since I made only three to four days for this trip as you explained at the beginning.” “…right…so maybe we should go today, right?”
“I guess so, but you know better than I do. You should know.”
SO, we decided to move forward around a little past noon. I asked him what I need to bring into the bush such as mosquito net, sleeping bag, candles, water purifier tablets, food etc. His answer was not clear. He said that food and accommodation are already organized and prepared so that there should be nothing to worry about. I brought sleeping bag just incase I get cold in the mountain but left most of my properties with my big “home” backpack. We caught a bus and a truck to the mountain. He told me that I can just wait for our dinner until 6 pm, which was supposed to be prepared by his business partners at the village. So I didn’t eat. I stayed starving dying puppy…until I finally screamed out and stopped our truck in order to swallow whatever eatable into my shrunken stomach in tiny village on the way around 9 pm!! It was my second meal after my breakfast in the morning 8 am!! Hello? And the time we arrived in the village? 11:30 pm. Of course, no food nor his business colleagues, nor place to stay…and additional pain was that I didn’t come with my backpacking “home” as I was addressed beforehand by him….yes, I was very unequipped and thrown out the bushy village in the middle of night. Was I angry? Yes, I was.

 Learn! Research! And Use your brains!

Next morning I honestly told him that I want to cancel the mountain trip and head back to the city immediately. I didn’t want to waste my time and money anymore. He was obviously rattled. “Please don’t say such thing. I am very disappointed. I was thinking all night why I made you angry like that last night and preyed for God to forgive my mistakes. So, please don’t give up on me, on this business, on Africa. You will know what I have been doing and how hard I have been working in last five years once you come and see the mountain with me. So, please come to the mountain.”
“I don’t trust your words anymore. Everything you told me was just unclear to me. Things didn’t make sense and turned completely different or wrong or I don’t even know what’s happening with us on this trip. Even if you tell me and try to convince me hundreds of times, I will never know exactly when and where we are going to do what.”
“Yes, Aki, this is exactly what I needed. This kind of conversation.”
“Excuse me?”
“You see, this is the cultural difference we have between Japan and Africa. Here in Africa, this is how things work. You can’t expect exact time or exact plan. I am very happy that you came with me and openly telling and teaching me the system you guys have outside of Africa.”
“I am not your teacher. I don’t want to teach a business man who’s older than I am. I am just a traveler. I just want to have friends who can share some good ideas and good respect to each other. I don’t want any student in my life.”
“I know. Yes, I know what you mean. We are friends and we are both learning to each other. I am learning the system of your country and I want you to learn African system as well since we are the business partners, right?”
“I belive, it’s much nicer to stay at the equal level than teaching you and learn to each other. Yes, I want to learn some of African systems. BUT I will never apply your African system when it comes to Business! You don’t see it? No one in the developed countries will apply your “no time, no plan, obscure system” of Africa in their business and no one will agree to be your business partner if you don’t know when and where and how and what in accurate numbers.”
“Okay, Okay, I understand. In the business, I will try to be accurate on time. I will.”
“You know what I feel so stupid and disappointed about? It’s myself spending time here talking with you and telling you to be ON TIME. Such basic thing.”
“Aki, I really appreciate this opportunity. I thanked for god hundred of times that he let us meet. If you didn’t come with me, I would have no chance to learn such basic thing even. You see, god prepared everything. He knows, and everything will be alright.”
“…sorry to tell you this, but I am not at all religious. I don’t believe in god so that I don’t know what he prepares or knows about. Of course I respect your belief in god and it must be very very good for you, I guess. BUT I don’t rely on God for dealing business. I rely on practical system and accuracy. Sorry.”
I saw him in tears…
Oh my…no… please don’t …please don’t cry men…from the early morning…No man No cry, right Bob?
He said in a broken voice,
“Please don’t disappoint me and don’t give up on me and on this business. And give me a chance to learn the outside world through you.”

Two of his colleagues joined us and we walked into the bushes in the mountain. They’ve demonstrated their digging caves and explained the mining process. Then they asked me to move onto the next cave they have been digging. My feeling, however, was that it wouldn’t make much progress no matter how many caves we visited but it should be more important to know “the process after the mining.” So I asked them, “What do you do with those stones after mining?”
“We sell to the Kenyan traders.”
“Do you know what those Kenyans do with those stones?”
“No we don’t. I think maybe they are selling them to Thailand.”
“Do they manufacture stones into products and bring to Thailand? Or just transporting?”
“…We don’t know.”
“Did you research about the value of the gemstones you dug out? “
“…?”
“Do you know how much money those Kenyan’s make out of gemstone business?”
“They make a lot but never pay us properly.”
“How do you know that they are making a lot without even know the value of your stone. Without researching where and how those Kenyans sell your gemstones…maybe they are not making good profit either…you never know. Maybe your stones are sold as the parts of those cheap souvenir accessories sold on Kaosan road in Bangkok.”
“….I see…we don’t know about Thailand.”
“I don’t know about the gemstone market in Thailand and I have no idea how those Kenyans are doing business with stones. I have to research first.”
“Yes! Please help up.”
“Excuse me, but you are the ones to research. You are the owners of this mountain, and you guys are Tanzanians who have to do all the work within Tanzania. You have to know about the system in Tanzania, like where you can manufacture your stones or trading regulations or taxes or I mean everything you need to start your way of business.”
“We don’t know how…”
“ Just use you brain! Think. You just explained how you dig stones. That’s good. I understand the process. BUT, if you just bring out a dirty rough stone and hand out someone, then you get the minimum pay. That’s what you have been doing to Kenyan traders. But if you wash and clean your gemstone and cut them, find your way to manufacture your stones and ship out by yourself, then you get paid for all the process you’ve done. You have to think in your head and increase the work you do. If you do more than digging, you get more. I think so. Do you know now in the world, how thing are working? Developed counties are so wise that they come and take natural resources out of Africa or other undeveloped countries and bring everything back to their countries. Then those rich countries manufacture products and scatter around the world with way high price to those developing countries. You see what I mean? Be wise and think and work and manufacture. Then you have more industry and you have more business. And I think you should really start some researching and must know very well about your stones and regulations. Values, appropriate way to cut and manufacture, tax and exporting.”
“…I see…what a learning…no one ever told us such thing…such way of thinking…”

 Foreigner and cheap labor

SO, I refused to take a longer tour to look at every single holes they made in their mineral mountain, and so came down to the nearby village with them. I was thinking to head back to the city as soon as possible and start my research on minerals at the cyber cafe or visit the administrative offices or some sort. When I was waiting for the earliest bus, the business man asked me, “Can you tip them before we leave?”
…? I was really confused. Tip??
“Excuse me, but what for?” I asked.
“Because they went all the way up to the mountain with you. Just small money is OK, but they will be happy if you tip them even a little. They are much elder and it’s important to show some respect. You know…for the work they did…I think they are expecting..”
I could feel boiling anger raising in my gusts, glad I didn’t have a hot grilled pizza on my hand that I couldn’t smack straight on his face, but I was so f-ked up by his idea, his mind set!
“Why do I have to tip them!? I didn’t ask them to come with me to the mountain! I never did, but they just followed me! Did they come because they wanted a tip for the hiking?? Are they stupid or what? I was the one to be asked to come to the mountain with you, I almost feel like I am the one to be tipped but I don’t ask or expect for tip, you know why? Because it was supposed to be a business trip for us as business partners. AND business partners don’t’ tip, don’t even think about tipping or being tipped! Stupid! and one more thing, although I was not supposed to point out this but I decided now to tell you, your elder friends, those middle aged gentlemen, they didn’t pay the minibus fare to the gate entrance to the mountain. I paid. I paid for yours and for your friends. And did you guys pay me back? NO. Did anyone say to me “Thank you”? NO. What’s wrong with you guys. I don’t believe you. I just handed you a big note because I didn’t have small change that time, and you paid with it for everyone. Yes, that’s fine, it was not a big money, just four of us, I can pay for you guys, but at least, you have to say something, don’t you think? You guys, all of you, just neglected and kept in silence when someone else was spending money for you. You are so impolite!”
“….Oh…I am so sorry that I didn’t notice. It’s maybe a cultural difference.”
“Yes it is! And I don’t respect your culture anymore. Don’t mix up your wallet and mine! Never talk about tips! Idiots!“
“sorry…it’s just our culture…you know, we think that if foreigner comes with us, then usually we are tipped because foreigners have more money. That’s the system in Africa. But yes, I want to learn your way, so you can just forget about the tips…”
I was sooooo depressed and disappointed by those assholes, glad there was no sharp cliff in front of me to jump off to kill my depressed dark heart…but I was almost in tears for their mind set, their problematic mind set, preventing them from progress…keeping them forever to be such poor stupid men.
“Do you know what you just did? You drew a clear line border between you and me. You Africans and me foreigner. You cheap labor and me rich foreigner. If you ask me tips because I am a rich foreigner, fine then, I will give you some trashy cash. Those garbage money to tip, some candies to scatter, and you guys will be so happy to be my cheap labor. This is how Africa has been colonized and controlled by rich countries, don’t you realize? I came all the way to the mountain and spend some time and money on this trip because I tried to do something together with you, stand at the same level, struggle and share some ideas as your partner. BUT you denied it. You want me to be your master and yourself to be a cheap labor. Thank you very much! Good luck with your digging job! Some wise rich business men will soon come to your mountain by his hired Land Cruiser, and he will tip you and tip your friend, and he will buy you a dinner even and all of you guys will be so happy that you will forget about business or industry or planning or everything. You will grab small money and stay as a poor Tanzanian mining labor forever! Good for you.”
I felt that no one in the world could be more stupid than I was at the moment, for spending some time and sharing my honest idea with those idiots, and no one could be more generous than I was for NOT tipping them after all even though another thought crossed my mind… to tip them, and trick and control over everything behind

 Don’t’ trust African man. Don’t let them say that.

Disappointment continued even on the way back when the businessman asked me to pay OUR long distance bus fare. He didn’t bring enough cash to pay his transportation. Period. Should I have kicked him off the bus and left him in savanna for good? You would probably say Yes, wouldn’t you? Right…that’s what I really wanted to do, but bad news…I had enough cash to pay his fare to bring back this idiot with me.

When we arrived at his parent’s home, I honestly told his sister about his debts to see if any of his family could pay me back instead since I couldn’t trust him saying to pay me back later. The girls in the house took it seriously, especially his younger sister who was in the same age as me, and did the best to solve her brother’s problem. Even mother was apologetic to me. The women in the house, they were not capable to pay me since they didn’t have cash, they strictly assured many times to the business man to pay back to me later. Before I left the house, the sister sadly said to me in her room, “Don’t trust African men. Don’t believe any of them.”
“Well, excuse me? …how about your brother…” I asked.
She looked a bit confused but said, “ He is…he is not a bad person. He is good person in nature…but”
“Yes, I know he is a good person. I agree with you but..”
“right…but…like anyone else in Africa…like those men…he is…”
“A bit confused minded…you mean?”
“Yes. So..he isn’t bad and I am sure and mom even made sure that he will pay you back so please don’t worry about your money, and of course you can call us if something happens, but don’t believe them, any African man.”

That time, I just remembered what other travelers, who had been to Africa, informed me before my visiting to Africa. They said without hesitation, “African people are stupid. They don’t think in their head. I warned them many times that they are disadvantaging themselves or losing through crappy negotiation, but they didn’t listen. So, finally I gave up and came to let them lose for their own stupidity. They are used to be controlled by foreigners because of their long colonization, so they can’t think by themselves what they should do. I was first irritated but then after all tired of seeing them to be volunteer losers”

I know that the business man is not a bad person. I enjoyed local African companies, chatting and eating together. I liked his sisters and mother very much. I have been having some great experiences in Africa. AND I wish Africa to grow and I wish for the local people I met, to have good happy lives. Therefore I am shouting to African men, “Wake up! Don’t be stupid!” I hope that one day, his sister will no longer need to say such thing “Don’t trust any African men,” and none of the travelers will say “African people don’t think in their heads.”
SO, please Wake UP!

Tasty hand (custom)

2007-10-20T00:47:00.000-07:00

Traveling over a year is something. I realized it when I was having my lunch at the fisherman’s food stalls at the fishing village called Bagamoyo. This food stall was my favorite stall where I ate everyday: cheap, wild, local place. One late afternoon, I had a lunch there as I did everyday. I walked to the place with some fried fish purchased at the neighboring stall and sat down on their wooden bench placed on the sandy ground. The smiley girls at the stall greeted in their local language as they served me white rice piled on a plate and some fishy tomato sauce in a bowl as usual. So then I started to eat.

I was very hungry and the meal was very tasty so that I was not talking or thinking anything but just eating. About half of my rice mountain was taken into my stomach, I noticed a spoon sticking to the other side of white rice mountain. Well… a spoon…unused…I didn’t know.
I got back eating as yet the spoon sticking the side of rice. I was imagining how oddly I would feel if I ate with the spoon while I continued on balling up rice in my right hand and dipping into the fishy sauce. Then I remembered how awkwardly I felt when I first ate with my hand in India. Some Indian locals told me that the good taste will escape if you didn’t squash rice with a hand for eating, but I couldn’t believe them at that time. Therefore I usually preferred to use spoons and forks if those were available. Finally in Tanzania, however, I was eating with a hand unconsciously and feeling more comfortable than using spoons. I was not forcing myself to behave like the locals do nor imitating or experiencing the local habits.
I broke up the meat of fish into pieces with my right hand and put them into my mouth because I just felt very natural to do so.

Besides that I eat with a hand, I eat everything as well. I eat a fish from his head to tail. Poor little fish is eaten his meat, bones, tails, heads, brains, and eyeballs as well by this savaged hungry backpack-traveling puppy. I remembered how much I was shocked when I ate some fresh organs of goats sacrificed in the mountain village in Nepal, and how surprised I was when I witnessed locals putting goat’s brains and eyeballs into a pots to cook, which were taken out of the chopped head of a poor little goats. Now I eat everything with pure enjoyment. Fish brain tastes good as much as his jaw. Skull is a bit hard if the fish is grown too big, but definitely it’s worth trying to see if it’s chewable.

I came to co-exist with flies as well. I share my food with many colleague flies around because I am generous. I saw one fly accidentally slipped off the edge of my sauce bowl and dropped into the fishy tomato ocean. Oh well…poor little fly…wasn’t able to swim well and died in the red sauce. I scooped his corpse with a spoon kindly and laid it on the side of table. The girl of the stall sadly looked at me and I awkwardly smiled at her. Then I dipped a rice ball in the sauce and put it into my mouth quietly. I was mourning for the little poor fly until I cleared all my dishes empty so that I didn’t say a word but was remembering… I remembered how annoyed and stressed out when I first met a group of massive flies at the restaurant in Mongolia at the beginning of my traveling. I spent more time whisking away the flies than eating. Flies…I also remembered my days of diarrhea which lasted on and off for a long time through Laos to Myanmar to India to Pakistan to…unforgettable days of soft poops with so much of researching about bacteria, amoeba, and anti-biotic etc. What I realized, however, at the funeral of this died fly was that I have been forgetting and not caring about the shape of my poops anymore since …since….I don’t even remember since when. I think that I am still experiencing some odd shaped poops every once in a while when I am too intimate with my colleague flies and bacteria, but I don’t do my careful observation in the toilet anymore. I don’t care how oddly it’s shaped, ans eventually and voluntarily poop gets back to its original figure without any treatment.

So, now I must say that traveling over a year is something. I never thought before that my hand could provide extra flavor to the squashed rice balls or I could be so merciful to a poor little fly who failed to swim in the greasy fishy tomato sauce. Yes, traveling has raised some immunes and habitual revolutions inside of my body and mind, like realizing how tasty my hand was! SO, would you like one?....a palm of my hand? Believe me, it’s really good.

Uganda (19 days)

2007-10-20T00:46:00.001-07:00

Uganda 01/09/2007~19/09/2007 (19 days)

Do you know another name for Uganda? I know you do. It’s so famous. That’s what Winston Churchill remarked about the country. OK let me say it once again, “Pearl of Africa.”

Uganda collects good reputations from every single traveler. Such as “holding the best green and the best water” “get excited in Kampala, the energetic growing capital!” and “just meet the Ugandans and you will love Africa.”

Two weeks at the orphanage school in rural area of Uganda proved their reputations to be absolutely right. Uganda offered me two weeks of healing holidays in the fantastic green land, calm peaceful atmosphere, and among those soft natured polite locals. And, And, AND those children at the school…unforgettable shines…ravishing beauty…Those little pearls I fell in love with… in “Pearl of Africa.”

Welcome to the backstage tour (cooperation)

2007-10-20T00:38:00.000-07:00

“International cooperation” sounds very kind and nice. It does sound like “wishing other country to be better” and “willing to help others.” I have met some people who work with international cooperation organized by their governments every once in a while as I have traveled through third world countries. Especially in Africa, the frequency remarkably increased to meet those people as a proof of how heavily Africa is targeted as the place to be “cooperated” by other countries.
Uganda is one of the most targeted countries where the government love to send their hired volunteers to help and work for. At least JICA, Japanese International Cooperation Association, has been increasing the numbers of the volunteer members in Uganda. Do you know why? Because Uganda is relatively SAFE country with LESSER problems. Excuse me but did I confuse you? yes, I want you to be confused as much as I am.
I am not a critic, by the way, who’s specified on global politics or international cooperation. I am just a traveler with some suspicion and questions about the world. Therefore in this article, I decided to simply list down some of the wonders I have.
Fair?

 Self satisfaction

I read some reports in JICA magazine, by those members of PAID volunteers. Some of the reports were impressive and talking something like….”I was sent to the unknown village area. The life was very hard there and I didn’t know what to do at the beginning. However, I did my best to learn their local languages and tried to have as much communication as possible with local people. I overcame so many difficulties for last two years. When I look back my two years, I really think that I did my best and all the hardships helped me to grow and made me stronger. Etc…” It’s great that those PAID volunteers overcame their hardships and grew stronger….for them good. BUT how effectively did they cooperate to the local areas after all? I couldn’t find enough details in their reports. Did they work for international cooperation or self education?

 Because there is a position.

I met a Japanese graduate student at the orphanage school where I stayed for two weeks in Uganda. This man visited the school to investigate the project (orphanage school) done by an individual volunteer since he was doing a study of international cooperation specified in Eastern African area for his graduation thesis. He told me that he’s done internship with JICA and hoping to get a position in his related field, possibly in JICA office in future. SO, I asked him about his motivation and reasons why he wants to work at the international cooperation agency. He answered, “Because that’s the field I have been studying.” Right. It’s great that he has a dream and has been studying hard to get the position. And so?
I asked another question to him, “What about the undergraduate students you teach. As you said, they are all willing to get a job at the international cooperation agency. Do they every talk about why they want to work for the agency or what in particular they want to cooperate into the other countries?” He thought about my question a while, then answered. “They want the position because there are such positions. It’s like why not taking it if there is a position. …come to think of it…it’s funny that none of the students ever spoke me about what or how they want to cooperate, but only what position they want and how to get that position in the agency.”
SO, if there is no such position, none of them really wants to cooperate internationally. Period.

 Quick money for traveling

I met a Canadian traveler at the hostel in Vietnam. We were in the same dormitory room and we discussed the travel in Africa since he told me that he used to work as a member of Canadian organization for two years in Rwanda. I was very interested in what all he told me about Africa since I was planning to visit Africa later. When I told him my concerns about the security and financial situations in Africa as I thought that African travel would cost me a lot if I expected a decent level of security, he recommended me to join in the international cooperation. He said, “You can apply for a position online. You can stay in one of African countries for sometime like from 6 months. You will get paid and you can travel to the other neighboring countries on your holidays. That’s how I traveled in Africa.” Then he told me the names of the countries he’s visited in Africa. It seemed a good opportunity for me to solve my financial problem as well as the security situation by belonging to some kind of organization. Additionally it could have been a good chance to do some researching on the cooperative work of volunteers. He gave me a lot of information about it and later kindly forwarded the URL of the listed organizations. I truly appreciated for his suggestion and information, but at the same time confused myself a little bit.
“Am I going to join international cooperation just because I need some extra money for traveling in Africa?”

 20,000 dollar is waiting for you

I met one cheerful young Japanese man at the orphanage school. He is a member of JICA volunteers in Uganda and came to see the orphanage school during his holidays. I asked him what made him to become a member, and he answered, “I worked for a Japanese company after university graduation for about a year and half, but I quit the job because I hate it. Then I thought it might be interesting to do something different and found this volunteer work. I wasn’t sure but since I didn’t have any experience in abroad, I thought it might be interesting to do something outside of Japan. Then I applied and luckily got this job.” I asked him how he found his current volunteer situation. He said, “I don’t know yet. I just started five months ago. I know neither English nor local language, so now I am trying to learn at least English…but not much yet. And can you believe what I have been doing? I was teaching English and Math to the children in the primary school for their first term. I don’t know English and I am very bad with math. So I asked the school to change my subjects from the second term, and so I will probably be teaching Gym and Music after holidays. I think those subjects are a little better for me.” I wasn’t sure if he knew any of local songs nor able to sing them in local language to TEACH the children Music. For a little example, the children at the orphanage school were all amazing singers, dancers and drum players. I asked THEM to teach me some of their songs and how to play the African drum. It was very very very difficult for me!! And so….how will that young volunteer man teach music to the local kids? I asked another question, “Do you have any plan for yourself after finishing your term as a volunteer?” He said no. “No, I don’t…but you are right…time flies and my term will end quickly after two years…and yeah, I have to find something to do…but at this point..no I don’t know…”
BUT it’s OK, I suppose. He can do this “PAID two years volunteer abroad experience” to think about his life, think about his future, think about the meaning of his existence…to become a philosopher or whatever, but there is one thing for sure. Equivalent YEN to something like 20,000 USD will be just waiting for him when he finishes his term of wandering. If you are in your early to mid 20’s, just a few years after finishing your school and be confident to add 20,000USD in your savings easily after two years from now, then you don’t have to read the following text. But if you are not, then you should read and get ready to be angry as a taxpayer who’s potentially paying for the salary of those volunteers. 20,000 USD is not a big money in Tokyo, of course. But if this pure amount of money comes directly into your saving account, then the story is different. Life in Japan is F-ing expensive. You get paid a lot but will spend a lot as well. I had some bloody painful time to survive in Tokyo and saved up a little LESS than 20,000USD for my traveling within two years of work….paying for an apartment, living expenses, income tax (f-king income tax, I would say), reserve fund for pension (am I going to live such a long time?), several kinds of insurance (which I don’t even remember what they were for)….and how much was left in my saving? Nothing.
AND, 20,000USD is guaranteed in the volunteer’s saving account, no matter what he does for two years, such as improving his English and being a teacher of GYM.

 Another kind of colonization

JICA volunteer tried to teach English but failed so that now teaches GYM and MUSIC. Another JICA volunteer teaches volleyball. I heard that KICA (Korean International cooperative Association) teaches Korean language. I met some volunteers from American Peace Corps or Canadian organization and heard about more cases of their works, but I haven’t heard yet about any other projects done except teaching English to the locals. I know English is nowadays important language to learn and Korean….well…I am not that sure but maybe it’s a good language to know….but is it really “A HELP” to the people in the poor living condition to teach them English or Korean or Music or Basketball under the name of “International Cooperation?” Is it more effective to educate local kids to speak some English than providing them pure drinking water, skills of agriculture, or most importantly education of their own language and society? Hypothetically, had I have children and the volunteers from other countries come to Japan to teach my kids English, I would politely fart and smilingly say to them, “Thank you, but no thank you.” I would prefer my kids to learn Japanese and many other things about the society in primary level. Only if they want to learn English, I will find them a chance to learn it. If they want to learn Chinese, fine, I will find Chinese education for them. If they want to work in one of Arabic countries in future, fine, they can learn Arabic. If they want to travel in Italy someday, then, go for it learn some Italian.
Volunteers teaching their own languages in the countries they picked out…under the authorization of their governmental agency…sounds to me a bit like another kind of colonization.

 Appealing to authority

I met another JICA volunteer at the orphanage school, who’s very close to the end of his two years term. I asked him how he feels about the work he’s done in last two years. He said, “I feel finally getting used to the environment towards the end of my term, but sadly I have to leave here in a few months from now. The project I started will be interrupted and it will not be taken over to the next volunteer since my replacement will not come here for 6 months after I leave. I have no chance to meet my replacement and the project will be abandoned. The newcomer will have to start over again from zero just like I did…” I asked him, “Is there any way that you can extend your term and continue your project until it’s finished or coming into, at least some levels of “shape”?” “No, there is no way. My proposal to extend my term was not accepted.” “Why not?” “There used to be the option to extend the length of work, but not any more because JICA needs a proof of MORE NUMBERS working as the volunteer. They don’t want one person to stay longer but rather to have two or more people to fit in the short term and to be counted on their report.” “What report?” “Report to United Nations.” “Why?” “They have to report and appeal to UN how many numbers they send as the JICA volunteers in order Japan to be recommended to be a parliament member of UN security council. It’s not about what we do but more about how many people we can put on the statistic paper.”
SO, international cooperation is considered one of the effective investments for my country to improve their position in UN and obtain better reputation among “Rich developed countries.” Well…where are those poor countries…? Cast out the business?

 Investing for us

This is another JICA related man I met in Addis Ababa, Ethiopia. When we talked about the significance of JICA including volunteers and other projects (mainly infrastructure buildings) accomplished by Japanese companies, he mentioned something interesting. He said “Nothing is wrong with using our national budget for ourselves, the citizens of Japan. JICA can provide some great opportunities for young people to experience abroad and encourage the people to be more aware of the international society. Same in other projects. They provide projects for Japanese companies, provide jobs for people in Japan. National budget is the tax we paid, so it’s very natural to pay back to us, invest for younger generation of Japan, help to decrease unemployment rate, support Japanese companies to grow and improve economical efficiency.” His point was persuasive. Yes…why not?
But then, we should use the budget under the name of “scholarship for experiencing abroad” or “aid for business growth of Japanese companies” but not the name of “international cooperation.”

 Advertisement

Everybody knows that the many of projects done under the name of “International cooperation” are just the ways to advertise those rich cooperating countries to be “how nice they are~~!” I know it. My friends know it. I heard many people whispering it everywhere, but it’s not yet voiced in public as big as it should be. Why not? Because we don’t want to shout out loud like “Let’s stop international cooperation!!!!!!” If you do it, you really sound like a merciless selfish ugly devil bitch with fatty wallet, who doesn’t care about the developing countries. But I believe that the real bitch is hiding among the benevolent echoing of “international cooperation.”

There should be some helpful projects done as well. It is just that I have witnessed only a few good ones among the bunch of crappy projects.
Money circulates mostly among the backstage. Money circulates from rich to rich. Powerfuls use their money to be even more powerful…in this world, international society. SO, where are those “supposed to be” main characters of “international cooperation?” We don’t see them as much because this is a backstage play by wealthy characters only under the title of “international cooperation.”

Making wishes for Protein. (Volunteer)

2007-10-04T05:38:00.000-07:00

This story starts at the cheap hostel in Nairobi where I stayed. I found this small note left by another Japanese traveler announcing “Welcome! Anyone, who’s interested in NGO projects or just willing to experience some rural life in Africa”
Well yes…observation of international cooperation was one of my assignments in Africa and more excitedly, experiencing life in an African remote area was listed among the top 5 activities of my wish list titled something like, “must do in Africa.” Therefore I’ve continued on reading carefully through this hand written message.

Summary of the text:
This is an orphanage school managed by a Japanese man who’s been volunteering in Kenya and Uganda area for more than 27 years. This might be a good opportunity for you to learn about the dark side of Africa from him since this man has experienced a lot of things in Africa including several times of serious Malaria infection, life in ghetto area, being robbed with handguns etc. Currently there are 36 children staying at the school and living together. They are orphans, who lost their parents mostly from HIV. It’s worth visiting the school. Lovely children may welcome you with songs and dances. Please know that there is neither electricity nor water pipes at the school since it’s located in the small village of southern Uganda. Children go to the nearby spring (bit dirty stinky spring) to get some water several times a day, and meals are prepared mainly by the girls. Basically, you can stay at the school for free and three free meals are served during your stay, therefore it’s better for you to bring some things to donate. Children will be happy if you bring some fruit and vegetables since those are not sufficient at the school. Also, only if possible, and if you are going with a group of people, it’s a good idea to bring a few “live cocks” since all the cocks have died out and only hens are left alive so that they have no chance to breed chicks. Also, there is a constant insufficiency of children’s clothing (age range from 5 to 15) and stationary. Donating soccer balls will be a good idea to make children happy. …and…what else….well, it’s also helpful to buy a saw in Kampala (the capital of Uganda) and bring it to the school. I mean, not the crappy one but the real sharp saw which can cut woods properly.
There is pretty much nothing in the area. However, because there is no electronic lighting supply, you will be able to see countless stars, galaxies in the night sky, and luckily some shooting stars. Plus, you will be able to experience Malaria if you forget to take Malaria prevention pills.
Please bring pure drinking water and candles for your own use for not disturbing the management of the school. Thanks.

I closed the information book imagining already myself visiting the school to meet lovely children. A course of wonders, however, popped up in my mind immediately after.
“….what can I do for the children during my stay? I have no experience of international cooperation. My visit can be just another disturbance for them hosting a stranger traveler, letting her stay, and feeding three meals. Is there anything that I can cooperate to the school? Any particular work? It can be an extra work for them to find me a “volunteer work” and waste time for instructing this useless short term visitor. How long shall I stay? A week? Two weeks? Is longer better? Or shorter? “
I wasn’t sure if my visit would have a positive influence or negatively disturbance to them. I couldn’t, however, give up on meeting the children after reading that information notes. So, I made my mind. “I will go to Uganda. I will visit the school. I will see what happens then. I will stay a few weeks if it looks appropriate or it’s also fine for me to leave quickly after delivering some chickens if I find myself just a useless extra mouth to feed at the school.” I walked to the bus stop in Nairobi and got on the night bus heading to Uganda. “Yes! I will go and see the children in Uganda. I will bring some live chickens to the school if such tiny thing can make the children happy.” Chicken, me, and children, that’s all for my trip to Uganda. Fair enough reason to visit the country, at least I felt so. Nothing else. No other plans nor entertainment. Chicken, me and children…..chicken, me and children….

I spent a few days in Kampala to prepare before visiting the school. I did some preparation for myself, such as getting water purifier tablets, start taking Malaria prevention pills, buying extra torch and a packet of candles, and financial preparation for next a few weeks (possibly)before going into the village where no banks nor exchange bureau exists. I started shopping for the donation items at the same time. I walked in the city and market everyday and checked the products and the price ranges. But then again, a course of questions popped up in my mind. “What shall I bring to them?”
I didn’t know how many boys in what age needed what kind of clothing nor if they wear shoes or normally staying bare feet. I didn’t know if they still need some chickens or possibly some other volunteers (or traveler even), who’ve read the note, already donated enough numbers of cocks. The thing was that I didn’t know anything for sure about the environment they are living in and I didn’t want to bring “inappropriate donation items” to this village school. What I concerned about “inappropriate” was such items which are unfit for the life in village area and possibly make some materialistic gaps between school kids and other locals in the area. For instance, I didn’t want to donate a brand new Nike T-shirts if other children in the area are wearing second hand shirts with holes and broken buttons. It turned uneasy to pick out “some things for children” as I had to avoid to damage the balance of living standards in the unknown rural area. “What do they need? What should I bring to them….”
Maybe because I wondered so much, or maybe because I was unconsciously mumbling “what should I bring…” repeatedly like a little idiot foreigner with some alcohol problem, a local business man in the same hotel kindly spoke to me if I needed any help from him. As I discussed my concerns with him, I found out that he would be a good help to pick out donation items since he also helps and donates to some schools in northern area occasionally through his church. He said, “I always appreciate such help from foreign volunteers. Let me go to the market together and help you getting some appropriate donation items for definite LOCAL price or even less,” and he added, “however, speaking about your plan for the chickens, I am not sure. It will be hard to bring them alive if you are taking a local transport to the school.” He was right. It was another concern and a big question to myself, “What and how much can I carry with me all the way to the village? besides my 20 kg backpacks….and by the local bus….and long walk to the school after getting off the bus….mmmmm how can I manage it….”

The business man and I went to the local market the following afternoon, and we purchased some items within my financial and physical capacity…..as much weight as my arm muscles could lift. Following is the result of our shopping;

12 T-shirts. 10 trousers (jean pants both for boys and girls). 8 pairs of sandals (different sizes). 8 soaps. 2 dozens of notebooks as well as 2 dozens of pencils. A jar of baby oil (some kind of local moisturizer). A dozen each for cups and plates (business man’s recommendation). And he suggested me to buy some chickens nearby village after putting luggage at the school once and he told me that the chickens in the village should be a lot cheaper than the ones we checked in Kampala. SO, I got on the earliest bus in the following morning without any chickens….but with fatty four bags challenging my muscle with their total weight of about 40 kg. Did I reach the school with no problem? NO. I managed about half way through by walking a little path after getting off the bus, but then became no longer able to move forward. Therefore I brought out my mobile phone from my business case and made a call to the school to come over and rescue me by their 4W car…in my dream. Therefore in reality, I just stayed among the bushes quietly with my luggage and did nothing effective but some botanical observation until finally two lovely boys and a teacher (local man) came to rescue me by foot after being informed by other locals “a poor foreigner is struggling in the bushes.”

The condition of the school facility was fine….I would say since I had expected something extremely basic like the facilities made out of woods and mad only. The actual situation was much better, well organized and cleaner. AND most surprisingly, there was a cock!!! WOW! This big male chicken was acting like a king of his kingdom and erotically chasing around beautiful hens. Good for him! He already produced about 6 of his successors and 5 more were waiting to get out of their white shells sometime sooner. Yes, Mr. King of Chicken! Go for it! Go for the girls! Chase around! We need more chicks!

One unfortunate thing was that I wasn’t able to meet the Japanese man, the owner of the school, due to his long term absence. He’s been in Japan working last half year and saving money to manage his school. Yes, the managing orphanage school is not an easy thing to do. Currently he is accepting 80 students at his school. 55 out of 80 are orphans, and currently among 42 kids are sleeping at the school dormitory. Tuitions are rarely paid by the relatives of those children, so basically the man is offering free education and free two meals for the regular students, and free accommodation and free three meals for those 42 children. Eventually, the cost management becomes crucial part of running the school. Filling the stomachs of 80 growing children limits the food variety that the school can offer. The bigger the amount is required, the smaller the variety becomes. Posho (cooked corn flower) and sauce with a few small pieces of tomato or cabbage are repeated everyday. Sweet potato or Matoke (cooked banana) is served instead of Posho only on the special days like Sunday. Children can taste some sweets like a banana or some pieces of jack fruits sometimes when those are donated by village people or foreign visitors.
AND proteins? Well…there were some tiny dried fish cooked with the sauce…and what else…? Beans appeared on our dinner table only once during 15 days of my stay. AND meat? Don’t even think about it. Such thing is not witnessed at the dining of the school.

One night, I was standing outside, looking up whatever the stars, and thinking thoroughly about FOOD. Then I remembered my original plan of donating some live chickens. At the moment, I didn’t give a damn about shooting starts or whatever but instead, deeply imagined through some chicken wing BBQ and chicken breast sandwiches. Then I remembered what the children told me about the pig they used to raise but accidentally stolen by someone. Pig….it was just too painful to imagine a pork chop, pork curry and some of PORK dishes I used to eat very often in Japan…..I haven’t been tasting pork over a half year…NO, NO, NO Aki, don’t even think about it! I slapped my face a few times and tried to push such Porky imagination away from my mind. Regardless of my resistance…PORK grew so big in my mind and didn’t stop stimulating my stomach until 3 am when I finally fell in asleep.

SO, what I decided when I woke up in the following morning was TO GET A PIG. I couldn’t think of anything else but a pig. I asked a teacher to go to the village with me and find a little pig to donate. We walked into the banana leaves and asked around the village people if anyone wanted to sell his pig. It took us for two days to find the one, a good one I mean, and finally we got this absolutely ugly young pig which had nothing else in his mind but eat! Eat like a pig!

A night before I left the school, people at the school kindly organized “ a farewell dinner for Madame Aki.” And, can you imagine what we got for the dinner? We got beef stew! WOW! The children were absolutely speechless as well as I was until all the dishes quickly cleared out empty.
Beef...Meat….Protein…and almost teas in my eyes….feeling some level of guilty for costing them so much on the goodbye dinner of this poor backpacking Madame….but yes…that stew was exactly the taste I wanted the children to have sometimes or even once in a while. As I was truly touched by their generosity for such Protein farewell, I wished from my heart that their meals will be improved somehow and proteins will appear on their dining table every so often.

After heart-tearing goodbye to the children, I began to walk along the same little path I came 15 days ago. I thought about the children over and over, about those little angels who have knocked me out hundreds of times by their unbelievably cute smiles and broke me up by their purely funny entertaining actions.
There was nothing really I could offer or cooperate for them after all as a poor backpacking traveler…. except making the best wishes for them. I wish nothing but the bright future and happiness of those children. Wait….let me add two more wishes here; one for Mr. King of Chicken to be even hornier. And another for a little ugly pig to eat like a cow and grow to a big fat greasy lovely smelly yummy protein. I wish!

Kenya (17 days)

2007-09-21T05:13:00.001-07:00

Kenya 16/08/2007~01/09/2007 (17 days)

Money changes many things. Money brings unbalances in the society. Money doesn’t guarantee richness in people’s lives. I guess….

Kenya is one of the most well known countries in Africa. It gathers safari tourists from everywhere in the world, and Nairobi probably is the most developed capital in the Eastern Africa. Kenya…do you know what’s Kenya? Who’s Kenyan?

There are tall buildings, fancy hotels and casinos in Nairobi as well as gun-shootings, electricity problems, and ghetto like living areas. There are beautiful natures in national reserves as well as 8 tourists vans surrounding a sleeping lion and Masai people who want money and materials, any materials like mobiles, watches, hats and etc.

I was eating greasy chips everyday just like many other locals do in money sucking city of Nairobi. Chips, chips and more greasy chips…
I looked up the sky one day in the National reserve. I saw mushroom like shaped clouds floating in the brisk blue sky, and beneath a wild impala facing up to the golden grassland. This is Kenya…isn’t it?.

No pain, No gain (Accidents)

2007-09-21T05:06:00.000-07:00

After I left Yemen, every kind of transportation I took got broken on the way. I mean it, “ever kind.” And so eventually, the travel took much longer time than being planned. I mean it, “much longer” like almost the double the time of original plan.
The cargo boat from Yemen to Djibouti floated on the Red sea for extra ten hours just because they realized the engine had a problem only “100 m” after they swam from the port Al-Makha. The boat trip took us 28 hours, instead of 18 hours which was first announced, and finally arrived in Djibouti in 1 am mid-night.
The train from Djibouti to Ethiopia got stuck in a village as I mentioned in the previous article, so that I missed my second train which was supposed to depart 6 to 7 hours after the arrival of first train. Yes, we were thrown out of the train for extra hours in nowhere village just waiting the wheels to be repaired.
My travel mate and I took several buses from Addis Ababa, Ethiopia to the border city to Kenya. Here again, the bus we took on the way to the border stopped for some problems in a tiny village for hours. It took us about 5 hours to realize that the dead engine wouldn’t revive in a day, and took us another hour to give up on the broken one and switch to another tiny bus for that “supposed to happen” emergency case.
A boat, train, and a bus got broken, and what else? This is the story from Ethiopia/Kenya border to Nairobi. Since we had such impressive record of broken vehicles, we had to, we must have sacrificed another poor vehicle to complete our legend. So we did. Our final target was a truck, precisely a cattle car to Nairobi.

My travel mate and I got on a cattle car in the morning. The truck we took was not carrying animals on that day but the rear deck was filled by the sacks of grains and full of local passengers. Additionally, more passengers were sitting (clinging to) on the ceiling, which was made open air with roughly crossed metal pipes. Yes, we knew the trip would be rough and tough as we squeezed ourselves among the locals on the metal piped ceiling, but anyways we took this heavily stuffed cattle car simple because there was no other choice.
The view from the rooftop was excellent…supposed to be excellent….but, but….couldn’t open my eyes fully… because of the blowing wind and sand and dust hitting our faces harshly. It was a fight between wind and me, fight between sunshine and me, and a fight between bumps road and me. Fight! The things I won: some wild monkeys and an ostrich running in the savanna! The things I lost: my health and clear consciousness.
I knew it was my turn to be sick instead of my travel mate who was sick in Ethiopian side when I woke up in the morning with soar throat probably caused by the cold bucket shower I took a night before. I knew that “F” fever and body pain would attack me soon. And yes, they came to me right after we stopped for a lunch break. The bumpy dirt path and windy pipe seat were now for me just a devil’s laugh, and aspirin was the only ally. I was banding my body to one of the pipes, slumbering and wishing that our truck will arrive in the midpoint city by the evening as it’s scheduled so that I could lie on a bed.

It didn’t take me a long time to realize how stupid I was to hope something like “On time” in Africa. The flat tire made clear that we would not reach the midpoint by evening because it was already late afternoon around 4 pm when the tire got flat in the middle of desert that was not at all close to the city. Shortly after the tire was replaced, I saw from the ceiling, a hundreds of camels walking in the dusk and it was soon followed after by the chill of the black night. The deeper the darkness turned, the colder the night became. The colder the night turned, the higher the temperature of my body increased. I didn’t have much thought, but all I wished was to arrive in the midpoint city, Ishiolo, by the early morning as other passengers predicted, and lie on a warm bed in the hotel. Everybody else besides myself was wishing the same and those wishes caused some struggling among the passengers, such as “who gut’s more room to lie down, who gut’s the warmer little space” kind of….
Other passengers in the rear deck screamed out when I stepped down on there in order to look for a little space to warm up my body. I was scared by the screaming crowds, so I climbed up on the roof immediately. Next, my travel mate was yelled out when he got on the rear deck looking for his sleeping bag to cover ourselves on the chilly roof. People were bloody nervous about “their places,” and acted like monkeys to fight over a little turf they’ve occupied. “Just looking for our sleeping bags! I’m not taking your places!!” Who wants to hear another monkey’s reasons in such situation? No one. Who wants to understand a such logical explanation? No one. Travel mate without his sleeping bag came back on the rooftop which was in a big mess as well. There were pushing, squeezing, kicking off others…etc on the roof pipes…just because everyone wanted a little more room….even a few cm extra on the edge of pipes….people wanted…wanted to lay their bodies….wanted to close their eyes and rest for a while…
I have recollection of that night up until 2 am when our truck stopped and turned off its engine sound. I didn’t think much why the truck had stopped. I only remember that I was freezing and tired….and well…I fell in asleep like sinking into deep mud. I don’t remember afterwards…
I heard my travel mate whispering a few words to me in the morning mist; I heard his voice in my dream….and later woke up with my body covered by his sleeping bag and hanging around the pipes on the very edge of rooftop. Our truck was still where it stopped in mid night.

Yes, this article is the final episode of my broken vehicles, remember? So, let me tell you something, “Our truck was broken.” This time was not flat tire but even more serious. The axletrees got broken! Thanks very much for the truck which was not anymore repaired but completely died in the middle of nowhere. And all we could do in the moment was to forget about the F broken truck but open our mattress in savanna and Take a nap. Zzzzz. Hello? What else could we do? Ping pong? Jumping rope? Playing black jack 21? So we slept on the ground just to kill some time until being rescued. Our dream of being rescued…

There were some fancy cars, like Toyota Land Cruisers, passed by our broken truck., but they were all merciless UN marked or NGO kind of bitch cars. They didn’t help us. They didn’t even think that we were the objects worth giving their hands to help. Usually they drove fast through by leaving us a dusty wind, or made a brief stop just to give a cold laugh to us…dirty, poor, miserable passengers of broken vehicle….Probably they thought we were another species of the wild primates living under the dead truck in savanna….I guess so…I felt so.
The only helps were our fellow trucks, so the passengers turned again bloody nervous to get on the trucks which could only provide limited seats. Some passengers began to leave around noon, being rescued by other trucks. There was a problem, however, for us, foreign passengers, that the driver of the fellow truck decided to discriminate us and didn’t give us a ride unless we paid about 5 times as much as the locals paid. So, I thanked for such F-king offer and missed the change to get on the truck. In addition, we realized that the driver of our broken truck had disappeared already with all the fare we paid. Did he just run away like this? With our money? Leaving passengers and his broken vehicle in nowhere in savanna? Anyways it was clear that we would not get refund and we would have to find “fair truck” to let us get on since our cash was short.
About 8 to 10 passengers were staying still with our poor broken truck which was destined to die on the way because of the overweight, carrying 20 t cargo plus passengers on his capacity of 10 t. Poor little car…abandoned by his master….

I spent painful hours. The sunshine was just too harsh and we had no natural shade to hide ourselves. We were hiding in the small space under our truck and waiting for another truck to rescue us, waiting with a little left water in a bottle, 5 pieces of biscuits, and 4 candies. Around 4 pm, finally we stopped another truck. It was fast driving cattle truck with their rear deck filled by goats and sheep. I saw the truck unexcitedly since my physical condition had dropped seriously bad by that time and I didn’t have a confidence to climb up on the roof and manage through the bumps and shakes. In fact, I didn’t want to take a truck anymore and rather stay resting under the broken truck and wait for a real rescue. There was no choice, however in that condition. I was ordered by my travel mate to get on and go immediately, and also addressed by one merciful local man who asked me to go first and himself wait for another truck. He advised me not to miss the chance and negotiated the fare for us. SO, I was on a truck again.

This fast truck was a real killer. I hardly managed to stay on the pipes since the shakeup was too much. “I’m falling down!!!”
Moreover our new truck carelessly drove through the bushes, making scratches everywhere on the side and top of the auto body. A danger hit us when some tall trees with plenty spikes struck the rooftop. I really don’t remember some moments after I was hit by the branches from the back of my head. When I came back to my conscious, I realized that my hat was gone and my left hand was bleeding from scratches. Then I turned towards my travel mate and saw….oh my gosh……what happened to him. His face was covered with his blood!!!....Dear Mr. Travel mate…excuse me, but…you look more like a middle of surgical operation than an action hero.
He later explained about the accident that he was tying our backpack to the pipes but didn’t remember from the moment after he felt a strong impact on his face. When he realized that he was still on the track, he felt some warm liquid running on his forehead and cheek. He looked down on my backpack, which was hanging beneath the pipes, then he saw his red blood dripping on the yellow cover of my backpack. Then he turned towards me and found me sticking to the edge of pipes holding back of my head with one hand and another hand gripping a pipe.
The episode of this “ever bloodiest ride” continues on. Ladies and gentleman, let me proudly announce that the skin of my ass was finally pealed off from hundreds of thousands times of rubbing against metal pipes and began to bleed. It was a real sort of “Pain in the ass,” thanks very much. One of the most miserable and painful moments in my life.

I had high fever, aching body, stomachache cased by continuous shake-ups, two broken blisters on my palms, soar arms and backs from gripping pipes tightly for hours, and plus “Pain in the ass.” I felt that I already got everything I could possible obtain throughout this legendary ride, but there was more to add on. Finally it started to rain and I was drenched on the top of the roof.
“Perfect” I thought. It seemed to me a pure experience of tragicomedy so that I started to laugh on the rooftop. The harder the rain hit my skin, the harder I laughed. I laughed and laughed harder as if I was reminded to laugh more again by the rain slapping my cheek painfully. Yes! I was the winner. I was the heroin of this tragicomedy! It was just another victorious story to tell! The story of perfect tragicomedy. The story of real pain, “Pain in the ass!” Yeah!!! Then I lift my face up….up towards rainy savanna.
I saw deep green lowlands continuing as far as my eyes could see and a line of sunshine falling from the break in the clouds, falling onto the green savanna, partly changing the color of green. AND, I saw a huge bright rainbow magnificently sitting on the unending stretch of the green carpet!!! I was speechless. I was holding tightly the pipes and watching the rainbow. It took me 7 days. 7 days of broken vehicles with pains and bloody ass to reach Nairobi. I knew in that moment, however, the 7days of episode was just a prologue to that extraordinary rainbow. Was I crying? No, I think it was just some raindrops that attacked my eye balls….but I saw. I was seeing. My eyes were open widely ever, catching the breathtaking sight.
Mother earth sparkled only a few minutes during the 7 days, but it was enough shine to pay off the pains. You know something?
No pain, no gain.

Ethiopia (9 days)

2007-08-31T04:18:00.000-07:00

Ethiopia 08/08/2007~16/08/2007 (9 days)

Just like the color of their flag, Ethiopia is brightly painted in red, green, yellow and more. Clear contrast between rich red soil and deep green forests prepares the base for some striking colors like, yellow bananas, mangoes, and colorfully painted shops and sign boards. Colors in Ethiopia….will not give you a second to close your eyes.

Ethiopia is distinguished as a cultural and historical center among the other countries in Eastern Africa which are more or less the safari paradise of their national parks. Art like coffee culture in Ethiopia made another traveler a coffee addict. Because I wanted to smell it once more…because my tongue wanted to taste it once again….because my heart wanted to discover the mystery into the depth of dark brown water….my arm was stretched, stretched longer to reach the small cups filled with allurement.
Caffeine in Ethiopia…will not give you a second to sleep.

Run people, run! (Training)

2007-08-31T04:14:00.000-07:00

Ethiopia serves delicious espresso as a part of their elegant culture. Ethiopia provides breathtaking landscapes varied from dry grass lands to deep green forest. AND Ethiopia produces excellent marathon runners including some legendary athletes such as “bare feet gold medalist runner, Abebe” Ethiopia is one of the highest remarked rival countries of Japan which, we believe, is another big factory of top level marathon runners. Therefore I had to, and I did observe Ethiopia’s athletic soil and carefully studied their training method. Yes, now I must admit that I was a spy sent into Ethiopia by JLRA (Japan Long distance Runners Association).

# 40 km is nothing?

The feature of the sports called marathon is obviously its longest distance you have to run. The distance is 42.195km. If you like driving a car too much, you are not qualified as a marathon runner. What you need for growing as a great marathon runner is, first, your mind set…the basic belief of 42 km to be nothing. As a first step to your great success, just follow the manual sentence to speak like this; “Excuse me how close is it? Only 40 km? That’s all? Let me run then. It’s nothing for me.”

I saw several locals began to walk along the railway to the next stain station, which was located 40 km away from the place we stopped when the train got broken before reaching the destination. From that experience, I discovered that 40 km is a walking distance in a great marathon country.

# Training with extra weights

Training is important even for the talented athletes. In Ethiopia, people train habitually and walk for the long distances daily. I saw many adults, kids, men and women just walking and walking on the roads in country side. Noteworthy point was that people walk with enormous amount of extra weights, such as bundled bananas, sugar canes, huge baggage, firewood and pasture grasses. I had never witnessed such high number of people walking and passing by on a road with carrying extra wights.

I highly recommend to destroy your vehicle first, just like the destroyed train and the buses in Ethiopia, which have died one after another….many time engine problems and broken wheels….. Then take your belongings out of your vehicle, preferable several bags filled with bananas or huge plastic container bottles for drinking water, and then WALK!

# Training under mental pressure

One of the most important factors to be a great athlete is strong mentality. This psychological part of athletic sports is getting paid more attentions these days so that the mental training is becoming more to the core of training.
How can we train our mentality and make it strong enough to fight against the pressure of the race? How can you be a winner under the strong pressure of the compettition?
The best training is to set yourself in a situation as urgent as possible and train yourself daily under as much pressure as possible. I was quite impressed by the method Ethiopians take in their training.

Ethiopian style of combined mental training:
Every time our bus stopped at the small village on the country road, people carrying their sales products surrounded our bus. Some people came to sell their bananas, avocados and many people came with their bundled sugar cane which was approximately 15 pieces sugar canes tied tightly with strings. I don’t know how much a bundle of sugar cane weighted, but it didn’t look light at all. Our bus made a brief stop at the each village and mercilessly began to run by leaving the bunch of sellers behind. The surprise, however, was the sellers. They didn’t give up, but instead, they began to run beside our bus. They ran very fast holding their bundled sugar cane, running parallel to our driving bus, speaking through the doorway to the conductor of the bus and trying to make a business. They negotiated the price as they kept running still and made sales as they were running very fast. In that sales competition, the fastest and the toughest was the winner and succeeded to hand the bundled sugar cane to the conductor. And then, they received bills, which were thrown out of the window of the bus. The point was that our bus was never slow, it didn’t slow down for the running sellers, but those extraordinary locals didn’t let the bus to leave them out behind. They could do such thing because of their trained legs and more importantly because of their toughness, their mentality that they would never ever give up until they could sell out the sugar cane. Even sometimes when the negotiation took a longer time and even the seller’s faces began to distort with the hard breathing…they did not give up. They kept running. Just running.

To be a great runner, make a business that requires you to run. Feel the pressure of business, and run hard to make it. And never give up. Chance is limited, and you must not miss a chance of your sales.

Now do you feel like you can be a great marathon runner? Please come to Ethiopia and train yourself in this amazing athletic country. The highland of Ethiopia will give you an additional hardship to suffocate with reduced oxygen. You will feel so easy to run 40 km with bundled sugar cane once you’ve finished your training in Ethiopia and getting back to your lowland life. Good luck. Good luck to Japanese runners as well. It’s not easy to beat the runners from Ethiopia.

# JLRA is an assoiation in my imagination. Thanks.

Sparkles in darkness (Children)

2007-08-31T04:11:00.000-07:00

Let me first explain briefly about the train I took from Djibouti to Dire Dawa in Ethiopia. It was the first train I have taken in Africa.　
First, the train in Ethiopia doesn’t give announcement on their departure. The train starts suddenly without clear cues. Therefore, you need to wait around the train you want to get on and jump onto it when you noticed that the train started to move. It requires you a sharp awareness of your circumstances and preparation to get on anytime when the moment comes. Keep your eyes half open even when you are sleeping at the platform.
Secondly, the platform of the train station is constructed on the ground level so that it’s necessary to climb up to get on the train since doorway of the train is attached high above the ground level. Problem is that there are often no proper ladders attached below the entrance door. Therefore, if you are overweight or handicapped with your arm muscles or not that acrobatic like, kicking up sky and throwing your legs above your head in order to cling to the train and climb up on, sorry to tell you this….but you might just to fail to get on the train. Unfortunate.
Thirdly, please do not expect “seats” to sit on, but there are attached benches instead. The benches are made out of gridiron wood pieces and just like the one you can find in the parks. Chair back is as low as above the waist line. Therefore you will need a little technique to sit still as your arms locked on your chest and slightly bent your torso towards your frond…then close your eyes for about….28 hours?? Or a little longer.
Finally, there are no electricity nor lights inside of the train. You can hardly read your seat number after sunset. Your little flashlight will be the life saver and you might succeed not stepping on the baggage filling around the aisle and more importantly the people who’s sleeping on the floor. Best environment to shut up and sleep quietly since you can’t have any other activities except searching for a ghost in such darkness. Close your eyes and dream about the train in India for example, and realize how luxurious the lowest class sleeper of Indian train was…..there were lights on the trains in India. Lights.

Our train left Djibouti station at dark black 4 am and crossed border to Ethiopia in the morning. It went through grassy lowland as well as some rocky dry land. Our train, the simple iron boxes were under the severe sun and the even inside wall was heated too hot for us to lean against our bare skin. Train stopped in the almost every single villages on the way and stayed there for unlimited time. I saw all village people coming out of their clay walled houses and running to our train. Village people in colorful cloth dresses with plastic water containers surrounded our train, selling food or just having fun with the people from outside of the village. Once our train began to move without departure cue, small confusion occurred around the doorway between the village people rushing to get off the cart and the passengers rushing to cling to the door way.

We were supposed to arrive in the place called Dire Dawa around 2 pm and switch to another train to Addis Ababa at 9 pm at that night. I thought 7 hours would give us enough time to exchange a train to next one. Nothing seemed complicated.
BUT here in Ethiopia, there never was such TIME to be enough. I already started to feel that the train would not arrive at 2 pm when the train was forever resting at each village. Dream of 2 pm arrival was completely neglected in somewhere unknown but the place surely far from Dire Dawa. Our train went on going and again stopped another village around 4 pm. Another stop…I was just wishing that the train would start running again sooner and reach Dire Dawa so that I could at least stuff my stomach which was missing a proper meal since a night before. Our train…however, kept resting at the village over 40 mints…and didn’t even show the intention to leave anytime sooner. Majority of passengers began to get off the train one after another and those bored passengers began to play football outside! Oh my….so I decided to get off the train for a while and sat on the rail for getting my sweaty shirt dry. About two hours have passed, I found out that our train got some problems with its wheels so that waiting for a repairing team. ….Okay let me again, briefly explain the first train I took in Ethiopia….it got broken on the way. Thanks.

I was informed that Dire Dawa was about 40 km away from the village and I saw some people who gave up on our broken train and began to WALK along railway towards Dire Dawa. It was already 6 pm and my concern was about the second train I had to catch at 9 pm. I didn’t know what I should rely on…my legs or Ethiopian train…, “shell I walk? Or wait for the wheels to be fixed?” I came to the conclusion, however, that it would be impossible to reach Dire Dawa by 9 pm even if I chose to walk because I couldn’t walk any faster with my 20 kg backpacks. SO, I decided to wait at the village.

The village in the appreciated nature, wide expanse of grassland and in its nothingness was very heart-healing. I enjoyed the moments of sun setting below horizon and the fresh air cooling down around myself. AND then, the night came with complete darkness. It was I guess my first time ever that I realized “the night comes as sun goes down.” It was the first time ever experienced the clear shift from lighted world to the complete darkness. The village didn’t have electricity. No lights. No lighting equipments except some flashlights. I didn’t even see a candle or a made fire as I didn’t see any firewood or much trees around. The sky was mostly covered by the clouds so that the stars and moon were not supplying dims of the night. SO, the only activity that the mother nature provided us after sunset was…to sleep. Most of the passengers were already lying on ground around the dead train and some of them sleeping on the floors on the train as well. My travel mate and I took out our sleeping bags outside and lay on the ground, knowing that we missed the train to Addis Ababa but not knowing how long we would have to stay in the village.

When I was drowsing, I felt some people in darkness staying around myself. Those were the children I met when the sun was still up…I guess…. Actually I couldn’t see them in such darkness as much as the children could see me since my eye sights were spoiled in the overly lighted city life. They were just sitting around me but never bothering me nor disturbing my sleep. I called their names and stretched out my arm. The children confidently replied by saying “Yes” back to me and softly hold my hand with their warm small hands. They were the little entertainers in that dark night. They spoke politely and quietly, and curiously asked me some questions in English. I felt so much peace in the moments as my hands gently wrapped by the several hands of children and my heart washed by their smiley white teeth sparkling under the night sky. Not easy to put my feeling in the words but I felt something quite different at that night: something very special, absolute warmth and comforts to the children as if I was healing in the deep warm ocean with my hands held by a mature experienced psychiatrist. Peace, peace, and… peace.

To be honest, I don’t always enjoy children around myself. Especially when I am traveling and taking crappy transportation, screaming infants and smell of pees poops often disturb my long ride. I even get irritated sometime when I see the group of children getting on the same bus and starts crying, jumping, and behaving like monkeys in the zoo. The children I met in the village were completely different from those monkeys kids. Additionally, I realized other children on our train behaved also very maturely and politely. Those infants and little kids on the “extraordinary African train”, never cried. Never screamed. Never disturbed me, the strange foreign passenger. But well behaved during a long ride, which should have been very boring and uncomfortable for small children. Very small children were playing together in a certain level of manners without any fights or acting selfishness, and the young kids in their 8 to 12 years old behaved as if they were already grown up gentlemen. I was impressed by such mature attitude of them when I had conversation with them in our broken English.

Darkness of the Ethiopian village reminded me of my days in a small village in Myanmar, the village with limited lighting resources and electricity. I still remember the children I played with; they were all very charming, warm and at the same time gentle and remarkably polite. Therefore I figured out that the maturity of the children inverses the amount of lighting resources they grow up with. This is just my personal theory, but the children in Ethiopia, those amazing sparkles in the darkness, added more proofs to the theory I believe.

Djibouti ( 2 days)

2007-08-29T04:00:00.000-07:00

Djibouti 07/08/2007~08/08/2007 ( 2 days)

The gate entrance to Africa, Djibouti welcomes travelers with brightly colored antique architecture, up beat music and relaxing cafes on the streets.

I had one wish for Djibouti, only one expectation for this tiny African country: to give me a decent impression of Africa as it is the first country I ever visit in Africa. It didn’t have to be a paradise but shouldn’t have been a hell either. I began to walk in the Djibouti city with my fingers crossed.
It didn’t take a long time to realize myself that I chose a right country to have first experience of Africa. I luckily met good locals with certain level of politeness, friendliness, and gentleness; I got pretty much everything I expected for this country.

Thank Djibouti for a good motivation to travel in Africa. Yes, I will be traveling through African continent with some positive energy that this small country has raised inside of me.

Mild kick off (Mixture)

2007-08-29T03:58:00.000-07:00

What do you expect when you are entering to the new continent for the first time in your life time? What about Djibouti, what comes in your imagination when you hear about the country’s name like Djibouti?
Djibouti was the very first country I ever visited in Africa. I could have expected something strikingly new or different, but because it was Djibouti, I almost failed to create any precise image of this first African country. Djibouti… where is that?…I felt as if I was visiting a tropical island somewhere in Pacific ocean or unknown country in Caribbean sea or somewhere. OK…to tell you the truth, I didn’t know that there was a such country named like Djibouti…and to be more honest, I didn’t even heard of their name until I realistically thought about crossing Read sea from Yemen to Africa. Therefore even after my boat left from Yemen side, I was still struggling with their image….somehow couldn’t believe that I was soon arriving in Africa. If it was Kenya or Nigeria or South America, yes, I could have imagined more clearly about the places and expected more “African like” experience.

The impression of Djibouti after getting off the boat was more or less similar to what I had imagined. I mean, I didn’t get a strong “African like” impression. I still remember the very first thing that my travel mate told me on the street, “I think, somehow Cuba should look similar to this.” My answer was “Yeah…I guess so,” even though we both had never been to Cuba. We didn’t feel “Absolute Africa” on the street, but we felt something different although we didn’t even know how to define such thing “Absolute Africa.” We spent quiet afternoon at the peaceful beach and spent long time at the evening sitting in front of the colorful antique cafes, having good quality coffee and spaghetti. The whole day in Djibouti was relaxing, comfortable, and mildly cultural as well. Basically, Djibouti didn’t shock me with “new continent surprises.”

Djibouti locates in Africa. Therefore eventually the local Djibouti people are African race. The way they look is completely different from the people in Arabic countries and the races from other continents. They are Africans. If I observe the country, however, from social, cultural, and religious aspects, it would be almost impossible to draw a line between Djibouti and other non-African places. This small country, for instance, locates in Africa but still very close to the Arabic Peninsula. It is sandwiched by Eritrea and Somalia, the two strong Muslim countries(*later I was informed that Eritrea is not Muslim country but multi religious.), and so yes, Djibouti is another Muslim country. In addition, their culture is, in many parts, western like as Djibouti did receive cultural influence during the colonization of France. It was not difficult to find western food, good café and the people who speak some English besides their fluent French in Djibouti. I felt ease in Djibouti city comparing the situations in Yemen where the price of food even was often written in Arabic letters only.

SO, I would say, the experience in Djibouti was mild. I just came to another Islamic country which I became familiar with in last four months of traveling around Middle East. I arrived in the country where I can see alphabets everywhere, which I can read. I indulged myself into spaghettis, tomato sauce, sandwiches, and espresso, which I used to eat back my home and during my stay in the United States. It was a mild kick off to traveling in Africa. Gently and slowly, I started to meet “Africa” in the soft mixtures brought by historical repaintings and began to experience small changes in the subtleness among the geographical gradation of this rounded world.

Yemen ( 23 days)

2007-08-23T04:36:00.000-07:00

Yemen 14/07/2007~05/08/2007 ( 23 days)

There are cities in the world、which I call “Living Museums.” For instance, Yangon in Myanmar, Calcutta in India, Peshawar in Pakistan, Aleppo in Syria, and I definitely want to add on my list, Sanaa from this southern edge of Arabian Peninsula. Sanaa on the dry brownish mountain vibrates: the living museum of beauty, dignity and ethnic pride.

No artificial entertainment but several cups of tea seemed more than enough to keep me on the streets of Sanaa. Just sitting for hours at the tea shops. Just watching for days the people passing by. Just staying in the city, walking around for TWO weeks! And never ever got bored, it’s the magic of this place.

The city absorbs travelers, makes them addicted to and leads them into deeper and deeper inside of their traditional live museum: where exotic eyes of Yemeni women (the only visible parts of their body), passing on the stone-paved streets. This is where dandy Yemeni men with their traditional daggers on their proud golden belts, send their gentle smiles to the guests from the other edge of the world. This is where Azan echoes through the Yemeni architectures, which are constructed exquisitely with bricks and arch windows. And, this is where small “men” make their business on their small products together with their big eyes filled with pure curiosity and shine of youth.

Anytime if god decides (Adventure)

2007-08-23T04:32:00.000-07:00

Anytime if god decides (Adventure)

I didn’t expect that the god needed so much time to decide the schedule of a small cargo boat. I finally left Sana’a on Saturday morning in order to catch a cargo boat to Djibouti by crossing Red sea from Arabian Peninsula to African continent. I headed little by little to Al-Makha, the tiny village on the coast line, only with quite inaccurate and rough information. There seemed to be people who succeeded to cross the channel by some small wooden boats. The schedule of the boats, however, was not clear at all. According to my rough research, there should be boats every two days or twice a week at least. In addition, there was a lucky female traveler who got on the boat on the very evening when she arrived Al-Makha. On the other hand, there was another story of a female solo traveler who’s been to the harbor but kept being rejected to get on the boat for being woman alone so that she waited at the boring village for ten days until finally she met other male travelers who could take a boat together. Women alone could be a disadvantage but I found another note left by a male traveler who took a boat from African side, saying “The price of a ride should be around 20 USD but if you are woman, you can give a single kiss to the captain and get a free ride.”
Free ride for a single kiss? Well…doesn’t sound bad, does it??

SO, I decided to stick to the “single kiss ride” and made a plan to go to Al-Makha alone. I thought that it would be important to dress well and utilize effective women’s weapons if there would be such. Yes, as a woman’s pride, I still had some disposal contact lends brought from home for “an unexpected special occasion,” and yes, there should have been unused eye-shadow and lipstick compressed somewhere around the bottom of my backpack. And, yes I had no problem to drop some tears on the spot if wet eyes could be counted as a woman’s advantage. I calculated that two drops of tears should be appropriate to get through the situation. What if, however, I failed on my plan? Or asked a single kiss on the captain’s lips instead of his cheek? No problem. I would immediately go to a net café, type in my credit card number and give a farewell kiss to some US dollars instead, in order to book a flight ticket to Addis Ababa in Ethiopia. There was nothing I could lose. SO, let me give a try at least.

I was gathering more information and preparing my costumes before leaving to Al-Makha. One morning, however, a change has hit my plan and I was forced to give up on crossing the Red sea alone. The change was brought by a Korean male traveler, who showed up in front of my room in one early morning, declared to be my bodyguard, and acclaimed never to let a woman travel alone by a dangerous cargo ship filled with dirty male crews. Well…excuse me then, what about my free ride plan of kiss?? He didn’t, however, compromise but rather convinced me to take a boat together with him if I wouldn’t give up on taking a boat. Well…I didn’t hear that the boat would be so dangerous nor crews could be so dirty. So, I asked him,
“So then, have you ever heard of any woman ever had any problem or faced danger on the boat? And from where did you hear such thing?”
“I haven’t heard yet any woman faced danger so far, but I heard that there were two MALE travelers who have been raped by the crews on the ship. You never know, maybe you will be the first lady who would be raped.”
“ Two MEN who’s been raped??”
“Oh, Yeah.”
So then….sounded like that I would have to be his bodyguard and protect him on the boat from other dangerous MALE crews….oh my…how complicated the situation was …

Korean traveler and I left to Al-Makha on Saturday morning and arrived in the small colorless village in the afternoon of two days later. We rushed to the immigration office right after we got off the shared taxi. Inside the immigration office, looking like a small abandoned building, there were three people lying on the floor: an ambassador and two other officials. Ambassador smilingly greeted us as he was still lying on the mattress on the floor, chewing Qat (green leaves of soft drug, which Yemeni men chew all the time) and drinking Pepsi diet. We sat on the chairs in the room as we were addressed to do so and cooled down our sweaty shirts, then we asked ambassador if there was any ship going to Djibouti that night. Ambassador calmly answered from the floor, “No problem. Anytime.”
ANYTIME!! How fantastically his words sounded to us! “We can leave to Africa ANYTIME!” Yeah!
Excitedly I took out my passport and asked ambassador to give me an exit stamp. Ambassador softly asked me to sit back and relax, and offered some Qat as he started to ask us some personal questions instead of processing our passport. Well…I wanted a stamp first and go and check the ship I was going to take….though…

Three people in the office slowly kept asking questions on and on as if they were filling their boring afternoon time by questioning us, two strangers from eastern edge of Eurasia. I was chewing small amount of Qat, enduring its bitter taste, and checking up the clock on the wall. Time was passing….and we were stuck in the immigration office with Qat….Eventually I started to worry about the ship and the departure time. About an hour has passed, we didn’t find any more reason to sit and wait in the office so that decided to walk to the dock and check our ship to take for the night.

Certainly there was a small wooden cargo boat and several bigger containerships floating at the simple dock. There were cows and sheep separated by wooden fences inside the cargo boat, waiting to get off. On the other side, two camels on each time were hauled and taken up on the containership with a crane. Additionally there were about 500 mixture of camels, cows, sheep, and goats gathered around the dock to be traded.
SO….what’s this….? I thought. Am I in the farm? Or is this what? Noah’s Ark?? It seemed that their trading method to import “fresh meat” without freezer was….simple…ship them ALIVE.
How smart!! I was impressed.
According to the information we gathered around, those big containerships were heading to Somalia or Eritrea, and the only one heading to Djibouti was my favorite wooden Noah’s Ark. The captain at the dock explained that the boat would leave to Djibouti two nights later. TWO nights later? So then what can I do in this boiling hot humid, colorless, and dusty village for two days? We really wanted to leave that night, so we walked back to the immigration office to confirm the schedule of the boat to the ambassador, who’s announced us “ANYTIME!” a few hours ago.
When we informed to the ambassador what we’ve just heard about at the dock, he finally took out his red antique telephone and made a call to somewhere as he was still lying on the mattress anyways. He cheerfully informed us after he hang up the phone, “Tomorrow after tomorrow.”
“Tomorrow after tomorrow? Not today?”
“Not today. Tomorrow after tomorrow.”
“Tomorrow, tomorrow anytime. Insha’allah (If god decides).”
“SO we have to wait here for two days?”
“Yes, anytime. Insha’allah (If god decideds). Do you speak German? I speak German.”
“…?”
Ambassador offered us more Qat. My travel mate politely accepted and put some leaves in his mouth, but I didn’t think I could take any more of those since it tasted just bitter but nothing more than the leaves or grasses planted for animals.
“Qat? Madam?” Ambassador offered me again and also asked my travel mate, supposed to be my husband in that situation, to suggest Qat to his wife.
“Madam, no. No Qat. Woman, no Qat,” my husband refused Qat to protect his madam…me.
“Why? Woman, yes Qat. In home, woman yes, Qat.”
“Madam, no Qat. Madam….well…baby.”
Sounded like I was a pregnant madam besides I was married for my second time on this trip just because I was traveling in the Muslim countries where unmarried couple traveling together should be perceived unquestionably odd.
“Baby?”
“Yes, Baby. So Madam, no Qat.”
Ambassador and other officials looked somehow delighted and be happy for us….for my pregnancy…
“I have 5 children,” one official proudly told us and asked how many children we were expecting in future.
“…we don’t know…many…Insha’allah (If god decides).”
“Insha’allah. Anytime~.” All of them smiled cheerfully.

Fortunately we succeeded to kill our time in the crappy hotel with full of baby cockroach, which obviously overcharged us since it was the ONLY hotel in the village. Oh well…anyways, here we were…two days later finally came back to the immigration office to get a stamp and take a boat to leave in the evening. When I brought out my passport, the ambassador, again lying on the floor with Pepsi diet, softly addressed us to sit down and informed us, “No today. Tomorrow.”
“Excuse me?? You told us to come back today, so we waited for two days. We have no time, we have to go to Djibouti today!”
“Tomorrow, ANYTIME. Insha’allah.(If god dcideds).”
I was really confused by this unscientific decision of God, but it seemed that we had no choice, no power anyways to make the god to decided to ship out the small boat. We were blankly sitting in the office, thoughtless. I didn’t know how I could kill my time for another day or possibly even longer time until god finally makes his decision. While later, I suddenly came up with a striking idea.
“I will do a jumping rope!” I exclaimed.
“Jumping rope?” Korean travel mate suspiciously looked at me.
“Yes. This is a perfect climate, amazing heat and humidity. So I will stay outside and keep jumping rope until our boat leaves.”
“Are you good? How many times can you do?”
“You mean single jump? Or running jump? Or double? Which?”
“I mean, double jump.”
“Well….I think I can jump about 100 times.”
“100 times? That’s a lot for double jump. Can you really? I don’t think I can do 100 times.”
“Only if I have a good jumping rope tho…but yes…I think if I try, I can still manage 100 times continuously.”
“100…yeah…maybe I can do that too.”
“So why don’t we go outside and do jumping ropes? I liked it when I was little. I was always jumping a rope. Always.”
“….good…go ahead.”
“….yes…it’s good…”
“…..”

We were offered some Qat and Pepsi diet, so we decided to leave the office quickly and went out to meet the captain of the boat. The answer we got….was even worse. The boat was leaving “Tomorrow after tomorrow (two days later) or on Saturday or Sunday ( three days later or four days later).” Plus, Insha’allah.
People around the dock repeated unconfidently, “Tomorrow, tomorrow, ANYTIME if god decides.” Yes, we already knew it for sure that the boat would leave ANYTIME only if god decided. We knew!!!

We went under the shadow to hide ourselves from the strong sun. My friend had to smoke. I had to drink up a bottle of sugary water. We didn’t want to think anything. I didn’t want to move anywhere.
“So…what shall we do?” my travel mate asked me.
“…I will play Ping Pong.”
“…good.”
“I don’t want to go to that hotel again. I would rather stay here and keep playing ping pong against the wall until I succeed to get on the boat. I will not sleep. I will not eat. I will just play Ping pong. It will be so much fun.”
“Yes…good.”

Now our point was clear. We didn’t want to spend another night in that ghost hotel nor suffocate another minute in the sauna village. Therefore we made a decision: take the phone numbers of the ambassador and the captain, and leave to the bigger, cooler city on the hillside. Wait in the better city as we keep calling to Al-Makha for checking the departure schedule of the boat. Then come down to Al-Makha immediately after the departure is confirmed on the telephone in the morning.

In the second evening in the cooler city, Taiz, we kidnapped a local journalist, who seemed among the best understanding English in Taiz, after our several attempts to catch bilinguals on the street. His English….it turned after all a big mystery for the night, but anyway we took him in our hotel room and asked him to make a call to Al-Makha, asking the departure schedule in Arabic language. Surprisingly and delightfully, the journalist translated the message of the telephone that our boat was leaving the following afternoon. “Tomorrow afternoon, we can leave!!”

We wake up following morning, pack our stuffs, and made a call again for confirmation. And, do you know what we heard then? I think you do. The captain said, “No today. Tomorrow. Insha’allah.” Thank you very much for your guess and yes, right, we heard nothing else but the same words repeated over again. So now, we needed another decision or another activity to kill out time by the time god decides. My travel mate, very intelligent and organized man, suggested to go to Aden, the biggest port city on the other side of the mountain. Then look for any ships in Aden, which is heading to Djibouti while we keep calling to Al-Makha so that we can increase the probability to catch a boat from two different possibilities. My opinion was different from his. I told him as myself a retarded puppy traveler that I would rather go back to Al-Makha and stay patiently at the dock until the boat leaves. I didn’t know about Aden, I don’t do calculation, I don’t know much about probability or possibility or something mathematical, but all I could come up with was to sacrifice my body in the deadly heat of Al-Makha as long as the god requires me. In addition, enthusiastically practiced ping pong in the hardest condition would pressure god to make a little quicker decision for this poor idiot puppy traveler. We had a big quarrel over our decision. He thought my idea was nonsense and I never understood any kind of math even from my elementary school time!! We fought, and at the final conclusion, this intelligent man convinced me by his logics. I don’t know logics anyways, so I gave up on jumping roped Ping Pong and took a shared taxi to Aden with him. Thank you!!

Aden…well nothing was wrong with this city. Clean, nice, well spoken English…good food!! But we found no boat to Djibouti except the one with broken engine floating for months to be fixed someday. So…we slept one night in Aden and unexpectedly called up to Al-Makha following morning. Can you believe what we heard on the telephone? The message of the captain sounded more than enough alarm to hurry our asses to Al-Makha. He told us that the boat was leaving at 4 pm that evening!! So we jumped on the fastest car possible and switched transportation from one to next just to make it to Al-Makha by the departure time. We finally came back to Al-Makha around 3 pm and ran into the immigration office. The ambassador was on the floor as usual and asked us to calm down, hold on, and not yet to bring out our passports.
“Excuse us, but our boat is leaving at 4 pm tonight. We need a stamp now!”
“Yes, yes, anytime. Insha’allah.”
“This time no Insha’allah!” For SURE!”
“Tomorrow. 10 o’clock.”
We just thought that the ambassador was the wrong person to speak to.

We visited the dock, but the boat was not yet filled with cargo and obviously needed more time to be shipped out. Yes…in Yemen, no one has a right to decide but only the God. And God doesn’t decided until the very last second until the boat actually leaves. We stayed at the dock until 6 pm just watching the people filling their boat little by little. Yes, we slept again in our favorite cockroach hotel. Yes, we went to the immigration office next morning at 9 am to take a boat at 10 am. No, there was a surprise that the ambassador was not lying on the floor but sitting on his chair!!!!!!!! I didn’t imagine he could sit!! Without even drinking Pepsi diet!! But yes, the departure time was still unrevealed within “Insha’allah~~.” We waited and waited without playing Ping pong and got on the boat at 7 pm at night.

When finally God made his decision, it was already a few minutes passed 9 pm. I was very very very happy and excited when our boat took off from the dock. I saw three pelicans slowly flying parallel to our boat in the dark sea of the cloudy night.

“Insha’allah ( If the god decides)” One of the most frequently repeated word and at the same time the least forgettable word I heard in Yemen. I waited 7 days to catch the God’s cue. I was given 7 days to dream about the boat while traveling to the other side of the mountain and come back. Did I have a good time? Yeah. I think worth waiting for 7 days, if it was all included in the God’s plan.

Bugs and me (Crisis)

2007-08-20T06:29:00.000-07:00

As I mentioned in “To begin with,” I have been reporting to the Japanese organization “Asia Pacific Medical Innovation Forum.” Yes, the focus of my observation supposed to have been on health and medical affairs. There are two specified fields, I can say, that I have been studying and experimenting enthusiastically with my body, which I call “self-sacrificial-laboratory,” ever since I started my journey: two specialized fields, diarrhea and high fever. By now, my knowledge has been accumulated fairly enough to title myself as a doctor specified in soft poop and regular fever. It’s about the time, however, to add new study in my fields simply because I am a such keen researcher on the health and sanitary affairs and a devoted reporter to save the world from the unavoidable crisis that human beings must face and the inveterate enemy to fight constantly. My new field of study, let me announce, is “Bugs.”

Warning:
I met a traveler a few days before I flew in Yemen, who had visited Yemen about a month before. She informed me that she got quite some numbers of insect bites on her body during her stay in Yemen. I could see some marks of bites still on her arms about a month after the disaster. “Bed bugs?” I asked. She said, “Probably mites,” and she warned me “You might get some bites in Sanaa if you are unlucky.”

Condition:
Needless to say, the hotel I stayed in Sanaa was one of the cheapest, simplest and poorest in its quality. Fantastic 4 dollars accommodation per night with communal broken shower room with some fresh poops accidentally left on the floor by some guests, who failed to poop in the small toilet hole. My room did have interesting smells, some sort of mixture of dead animals and dirty socks left unwashed for 5 days in plastic bags in the sun. The bed was framed with brown aged woods that were a little thicker than chopsticks, and the mattress, which was just like a rectangular apple pie smashed by a fist for 100 years curse, was covered with a Large size warty handkerchief that was, I guessed, bleached and washed several times in hydrochloric acid. Additionally, the poor handkerchief was baked together with the tragic pancake mattress by a packet of cigarettes. In short, the room seemed quite normal for a backpacker.

Process:
I sprayed on my bed a few times with my insect repellent and covered myself with a spread out sleeping bag. I slept a night and wake up next morning. Any problem? Not much. The rush I got on my hands was small enough to be forgotten. So, I carelessly used same bed for my second night without spraying anything on the mattress and wake up the following morning. I found 8 insect bites on my right arm, all together around my elbow. They turned red lumps about 1cm in diameter each by the evening time and became itchy. Then I found some more bites beginning to swell on my hands and ankles as time went on. I felt insecure about my bedding condition, so I sprayed insect repellent again on the mattress and slipped two large sized plastic garbage bags between mattress and bed cover. Regardless of my effort, however, I got nearly 50 bites all over my body following morning, especially on my hands, arms, thighs, feet, neck, back, and deadly bites concentrated on my shoulders. Lumps were bigger and fatter than the day before. The big ones were about 2.5cm in diameter, and the ones on my shoulders, I must say, looked no longer the regular lumps of circular shape but almost like the mountain ranges made out of red humps. Needless to say, all the lumps turned unbearably itchy.

I walked to the front desk and reported the nightmare. The reception was just smiling but not taking my problem seriously. “What’s funny? I got bites all over my body!! Look!” I made them look at my bumpy lumpy arms and asked them to give me their insect spray. I ran back to my room, sprayed all my property, including my sleeping bag, plastic garbage bags, my shoes, my jacket, and outside and inside of my backpack. Then I changed a room and relocated myself to two floors down in the hostel. What I did first was to spray again in my new room: new mattress, new bed cover, new carpet and even the wall.

My bumpy lumpy body was just getting worse. I didn’t know human could suffer so much from itchy bitchy f-king lumps!!!!!!!!! It was not the same itch from mosquito bites which I have experienced many times in my life, but it really went over my standard of “Itchy condition.” Staying in the room itself was just too uncomfortable and depressing, so I walked outside thinking about the re-invented vocabulary to express such condition of itchy hell. When I walked to the old city, I found another traveler, who also had the same problem as me a few days ago.
“You got bites also?” I asked her as I felt relieved to find another patient like myself.
Unbelievable fact…..I was stunned when she explained that she stayed in the exactly same room in the same hostel as I stayed a few days before I checked in, then she was eventually forced to switch her room after getting severe insect bites. She explained that she caught bed bugs and some big visible-sized mites in her room and still suffering with lumps as still being under heavy medication.
She said, “I am applying creams of itching reliever and taking double amount of prescribed pills. It’s getting better, but still suffering from sleepless nights.”

Let me tell you something here. According to her explanation, the hostel game me the “Bugs paradise” as they knew the room was full of bed bugs, fleas, and fatty mites.
“F!!!!!”

I almost wanted to fly out Sanaa, but I tuned down my escape when I realized that my next destination was Ethiopia where travelers call “repository of bed bugs.” I opened a map of Africa and questioned myself with the lowest motivation ever….”do I really want to go to Africa?” Then I closed a map quietly…”Should I cut Ethiopia off my plan…just to avoid more bugs in my life?” It was the second crisis of losing motivation after first one which hit me in New Delhi, India with continual high fever and repeated diarrhea.
I was seriously depressed. “How can I survive through the war between bus and me….”

Cure and care:

I thought that the killing myself was the best way to end itchy hell, but I didn’t. Instead, I took double amount of prescribed pills and was completely depressed from the fear of additional bites and possible effect from overdose.

Cure: Overdose of anti-histamine pills might help you keeping your brain blank for hours and keeping you away from awareness of itch. You will be wandering or hallucinating all day, “…well…what was it…itchy… patchy…catchy…bitchy…yeah…I remember her…wait...what was it pal?”

Care: Sing some songs or play ping pong, but don’t scratch your bumpy lumps. Stub your pillow with daggers and chew your bed cover, but never scratch your bumpy lumps. Laugh hard and do some pushups with underwear, and just endure!! BUT never scratch!

Protection and prevention:　

Bed bugs are tough. They can grow as big as 8mm and they can suck human blood as long as 10 minutes. The amount of blood they can take within one bite is five times as big as the size of their body, so they look like a ladybug after their bloody meals. In addition, they are skillful travelers. They hide in cargos and travel over seas. Or they travel with backpackers by hiding among the stitching of backpacks. Once they arrive in new place, they start living around new comfortable beds, lay about 5 eggs everyday, and coming out of their home only during night time to stuff their stomach with sleeping human body. Additionally, it is almost impossible to catch in the act since they don’t come out when the room isn’t dark and they can use anesthesia during bite. Yes, I am talking about smart and skillful bugs.

Before I am stepping into Africa, I must prepare and arm myself for the fight between bugs and me. Here are some tactics and necessary items for the protection from bugs.

Tactic 1: Never trust any bed, any bed cover, and any pillow cover that look clean OK, but make sure to spray insect repellent at first around the bed, cover the mattress with plastic sheets, and use your own sleeping bags and pillow case.

Tactic 2: Keep the lights on when you go to bed.

Tactic 3: Put on a raincoat or windbreaker when you sleep, and cover your head with hood and tuck the hem in the trouser. Wear socks and tuck the bottoms of trouser also into the socks. “Hide you skin!”

Items : The strongest insect repellents. Plastic sheets. Your own sleeping bags and pillow cover. Anti-histamine pills. Cream to relieve itchiness. Antiseptic and antibiotic cream just in case bites start bleeding and getting infected. And a set of ping pong just in case you have nothing else to keep your consciousness on.

Bugs and future:
Did you know that the bed bugs are irrupting recent years in some of the developed cities in the world, such as New York? The damage cased by the increased number of bugs are becoming more serious year after year. This world phenomenon is making fortune only for professional insect exterminators, but causing disaster to the rest of the citizens. Therefore if you are thinking about a new business for your future, just start insect exterminator’s company. And if you want a business partner, call me. I can bring some sample insects from Yemen and help you with scattering “profitable enemies” for you.
Sorry it was my f-king joke. It’s not even a joke. Let’s eradicate F-bugs from the world!! Thanks.