Alexandria!

The hotel was great, but time to leave. After Shaloo got in, we moved to my friend Leanne’s house for a couple nights. It was nice to get somewhere and just relax and have a house. And a washing machine. I did 6 loads of laundry and hung it to dry on a rack—my clothes haven’t been clean in 3 weeks. We discovered that you can order takeout online here for a nominal fee (1-2$ delivery charge) from about 100 locations, so we got falafel and Hardees for lunch and delicious Pizza Hut for supper. I played some Mario Kart, which I’m crap at, and just enjoyed the house and catching up with Leanne for the night.

The next day came at 5:50am. We had to go to the Canadian Embassy for a little passport snafu. I figured no one could be less efficient than Passport Canada IN Canada, but I was wrong. We sat in the lobby with a bunch of people who had Canadian Visitor tags on—presumably, those who are trying to come to Canada. When we finally got into the consulate, they were totally unhelpful and sent us away to get other documents and pictures together. Since it was 9am and we had

plans, we said screw it and will try again at a real embassy—the one in London.

9am was a hastily planned tour to Alexandria for the day. It’s 220 km to Alex from Cairo, but the roads aren’t fast, so its 3-4 hrs. We stopped at a lovely coffee shop, Shaloo’s first proper coffee experience in months, and finally arrived in Alex around noon. Alexandria is described as the “greatest historical city with the least to show for it,” because it has been destroyed so many times throughout the ages. It was founded by Alexander the Great (proper city name is Al Iskendariyya), and was the seat of Cleopatra’s throne. It was once a thriving metropolis, but Christian and Muslim wars destroyed much of the metropolis— and with the Muslim conquest moving the capital to Cairo, the city was left obscure for centuries.

We first visited the Catacombs of Kom Ash-Shuqqafa when we hit the city (construction: 2^nd

century AD). This ancient Roman burial site was discovered when a donkey pulling a chariot fell through the ground in 1900. It’s a pretty impressive, and famous, burial site—the catacombs consist of three tiers of tombs and chambers cut into bedrock at a depth is 35 meters. You enter down a spiral staircase of 99 steps, and it’s a very interesting, eerie place. There are chambers for bodies, a library for holy books, a dining hall for family members… when they discovered the catacombs there were mounds of broken dishes in this area. Apparently, it was customary to eat in the catacomb and then break the dishes on the floor. A very interesting place, but no pictures allowed.

We next hit Pompey’s Pillar and the Serapeum, erected in 291 AD. This is a giant 30 m pillar, left standing at the ruins of the Temple of Serapeum, is one of the major attractions in Alexandria. The Temple housed all the overflow books from the famous library of Alexandria, and was destroyed in 391 AD by Christians—in an assault against Pagan intellectuals.

We next went to the Roman Ampitheatre, but there wasn’t enough to see to make it worth paying for. The sites in Alex are interesting, but there is so little left of them. This on is 13 marble terraces, and used to be a park in Ptolemaic times.

It was well after lunch time, but we had little time left to see everything—so we headed to Fort Qaitbey. This fort, which looks like a castle, is nestled on the Mediterranean and offers amazing city views. It was built in 1480 on the site of the original Pharos lighthouse (one of the original wonders of the world, destroyed by earthquake). It was cool to see, but I think we were more of a tourist attraction than the site itself. Our guide explained that most of the people there weren’t from Alex, but from villages and towns where foreigners don’t generally travel. So, to them we

were something only seen on a television. We took no less than 30 pictures with people, and a couple overly-aggressive guys got a little irritating by the end. But, we got to see the city from a whole new angle. After this long run of sites, I was ready for a few liters of water and a nap.

We had a quick lunch at a French-Middle Eastern fusion place—the falafel was delish. I’ve decided I might just eat falafel every day for the remainder of the trip. I got my giant bottle of water, and we were off for our last site—the Library of Alexandria (Bibliotheca Alexandrina). The original library was founded in the late 3^rd century, and aimed to have one copy of every published work on earth within its walls. When ships came to harbour, they were searched for any books—and anything found was confiscated and hastily copied. Alexandria was an information repository, and the destruction of knowledge in Alex led to the Dark Ages. The original library was destroyed, either by Julius Caesar or early Christians. The new library has space for 8 million books, and it a multi-floor, vast collection.

We hit the road again for Cairo—I slept through the entire drive. We stopped at the Papyrus museum when we got back, where a nice man showed us the papyrus making process and harassed us to buy something. I actually did, as I thought the art was really interesting. A small-ish sized piece was about $40, so I got one with the Egyptian Calendar on it. We thought we were heading home, but instead we hit a small bar for a drink and a shisha. Most people are familiar with shisha—it’s a flavoured tobacco water pipe thing that everyone smokes here—every man, I should say. We each tested out a different flavour, and hit the road back to Leanne’s. This is where the fun really began. The driver dropped the guide off on the highway, as it was closer to his house. He was supposed to take us home and we’d pay him and all would be well—which would have worked out if he had any idea where he was going. After a series of phone calls, questions to randoms and some stopping to walk around the road and smoke a cigarette, we found our house. About 2 hrs after we began the hunt. All in all, it was an interesting day and a good start to Egypt. I needed to acclimatize to the heat a bit, as I’ve been living in A/C, and prepare myself to see les Pyramids! That happens tonight….we’re going to the (supposedly cheesy) Sound & Light Show at Giza—stupid as it may be, I can’t wait! Yay for tacky tourism.

A discourse on difference.

First, I apologize for this blog post. I know it is made up of only half formed ideas and reflections, and maybe I will make something of it later tonight. But, here we go.

I'm getting ready to leave my hotel and head to a friend's house for a couple nights, but I thought I would address something. When I started plans to come to Egypt, and continually since I made them, people have reacted the same way--excitement about the pyramids, and fear about terrorism. When people would ask me, "Aren't you afraid of terrorism? Americans get attacked there..." I would always give a reassuring laugh and say that everything would be fine. But, I would be lying to say that it hadn't crossed my mind. There are bombings in Cairo sometimes, and as an Islamic country it gets lumped in with most Muslim nations, inciting thoughts of extremism and fear in the west. I'm not saying that it is totally safe here, but it is no less safe than any major European city. Cairo is cosmopolitan-- there is everything here you could ever want. The people are generally friendly, though in my experience little English is spoken outside of tourist/expat locations. I went shopping and found all western clothes, an Aldo, and a Johnny Rocket restaurant. I saw couples, the unmarried type, laughing, holding hands, and kissing on cheeks in public. Sure, many people are religious and dress in a certain way, but they're the same as anyone else. That is the overarching thing I've learned from the places I've visited-- people are truly the same everywhere. There are cultural differences and sensitivities which are unique to specific places, but people are the same. Everyone wants life, love, and happiness. Most people are kind. I believe that most people are good. There is extremism all over the world--we have extremist evangelicalism, and there is extremist Islam as well. But on the whole, people are peaceful and violence and hatred are universally denounced.

I was reading the Egyptian Gazette this morning, and two front page stories caught my eye. First, Oman al-Bashir is in town. The Sudanese President is supported by the Egyptian government, despite being accused of genocide in Darfur by the International Criminal Court. The article showed him with the President of Egypt, Hosni Mubarak, decorating newly graduated police officers and talked about Egypt's interest in peace in Darfur. The word genocide was only used once, when describing what the ICC had accused al-Bashir of. It was a strange article to me, as I see al-Bashir so differently from how he is portrayed here.

The other article of interest was "Call for concerted efforts against Islamophobia". In this story, an Islamic woman was stabbed to death in a German appeal court while present to testify against a Polish-German man who had been convicted of calling her a terrorist. She was on a playground with her children, wearing a headscarf at the time of the incident. He received a fine for the racial slur. At the appeal, her husband tried to protect her and also received a few stab wounds. Compounding this was a German police officer, who presumed the Muslim husband had started the fight and shot him in the leg. This story is absolutely insane and horrific, but has not brought about intense anger in Germany. The article asks what "the reaction would have been in Germany had she been Jewish". People here are aware that the rest of the world sees Muslims as terrorists and dangerous people—but it is illogical to assume that everyone from an entire religion practices the worst perversions of those beliefs. And those that do are not just Muslim. For example, Fred Phelps is a psychological terrorist in my opinion. There are many ways to pervert a religion to reach a violent goal, but I don’t believe that’s the point of religion. And I believe most people in the world would agree on that.

Cairo!

I've arrived in Cairo!

The flight was lonnnnnng... on the flight from Addis Ababa I met two awesome American girls who had just lived my African nightmare. They were teaching in a village in middle of nowhere Ethiopia, and were taken from their homes at gunpoint by the government in the night. They were illegally detained and held without cause for 3 days, without being allowed to speak with their embassy or families. No one knew where they were. The Embassy was searching for them, and when they found the students the Ethiopians had already issues a deportation order. They had been held for 55hrs in total, and were put on my flight from a detention room in the airport at the last minute. We were all pretty hungry so we asked for crackers--and got these gem Ethiopian Jets ones...little airplane crackers. I'm aiming to not complain about anything ever again, as I can't imagine living through what these girls did.

Cairo was the best airport experience of life. I've heard horror stories about this place, but I came in at 2:30 am and my friend Leanne organized a car for me. I walked into the airport, and a guy had my name on a card. I went to him, and he filled out all my forms in Arabic and I gave him my passport and just followed him around. He got my visa in 30 seconds and we went through immigration in 60. I wasn't even asked a question. Not one. Just walked though. He carried my bag too. We got to the door and he shook my hand, and handed me off to Khalid, the driver. Khalid took me to a sleek black Mercedes and I just relished the bit of luxury. For the next 30 mins we drove down beautiful roads--the first relaxing vehicular experience in awhile! I stayed in the Heliopolis area at an Intercontinental, which is one of the best hotels ever. They were super nice to me, gave me a late check out, free internet and breakfast...pretty much everything I wanted. I didn't realize til today, Sunday morning, that there is an amazing mall and movie theatre attached! I went on a little shopping trip and picked up a few shirts... I wanted more but it seemed like a poor choice.

I discovered tonight, when I went down for supper menus, that there is a post-work reception in the lobby every night from Sun-Thurs. This reception features free food (WOO!) and drinks...including wine and beer. I snacked on pita and falafel, and ordered fries off the kids menu while watching The Fugitive tonight. It's been a pretty chill night, which I loved. And needed, I think. My only complaint? The hotel room reading. The most recent issue of Egypt Today is laid out for visitors to peruse-- though, I don't think the headline is particularly tourism-encouraging!

Tomorrow Shaloo gets into Cairo, and we start checking out the country. We have to make a, hopefully quick, embassy visit and will head to Alexandria to start the adventure! Can't wait!

Leaving Kigali - A Sad Day.

What a day.

For lunch, we met with one of my favourite people in the world, Eloge. Eloge is a survivor, and I blogged about him early on—the first thing we did when we arrived in Rwanda was to attend a memorial service for his father. We talked about the program, and Eloge told us how impressed he was and how much he believed in us. He’s really part of the team, so it didn’t need to be said—but there’s something about approval from this guy that just makes your day perfect. As always, he gave a little impromptu speech that made everyone cry, but was uplifting at the same time. I don’t know what I believe in religiously—its come up a lot in this country—but I know that when I sit with Eloge I see all the best things the world has to offer. Whatever God is, it shines through him. I know he will change the world.

We also had a little cry with Faustin, our “guide”/BFF. We thanked him for everything he did for us, and he made a little speech. He said he has no family, and he has been searching for someone to be his sister. He took Sara’s hand, and said he had been waiting for her— to be his family. He is getting married to his beloved “bebe”, and he always thought she deserved a sister—Sara is that woman. SO sweet. He told me that I was tranquil and said everything with my eyes—and that I had the qualities of a leader. I countered that if he remembered my RDB experience, I certainly wasn’t always tranquil haha… but I think I was quieter around Faustin because he was always explaining things in French and my mind isn’t fast enough to translate and make informed commentary before he went on to the next thing. I generally understood him, but translating took me too long!

Sara’s mom took us all out to Heaven, an amazing expat restaurant. We had, hands down, the best meal in Africa. Sara even got a free little cake and birthday song—the humiliating type where 10 people come out of the kitchen singing and bring a little cake with a candle. The best part was they set it in front of me, so I got the abject humiliation while I tried to tell them to move the thing to her.

Alas. Today is the end of Kigali, for now. I woke up to WATER for the first time in 4 days, and despite its freezing-ness, I had the best 20 min shower ever. You appreciate everything much more here. A cold shower is far, far better than no shower. Richard, one of the survivors we met along the week, stopped by the house to visit this morning. He just wanted to say goodbye. So sweet of him. Everyone has been very welcoming and wants us to come back as soon as we can. I think they would keep us here if they could! The generosity is astounding.

Everyone else if off to a wedding tonight. They’re going to get traditional African clothes today. I’m at the airport right now, in Kigali, waiting to fly to Cairo…via Addis Ababa and Khartoum. Trying not to think about that second one.

I love my new gorilla pen.

Efficiency may not be a strong point here, but at least things get done. I last wrote about how I was supposed to get my money back from the tourism office for my lack of Gorilla trekking. Well, it was supposed to happen before noon on Thursday (the day I left, or so I told them), but did not occur. So, I went back in on Friday with a look of death in my eyes. The man I was dealing with, Faustin, was slightly scared and invited me to sit down. He called the travel agent, who was trying to keep my money, to come in and bring me cash or she would be suspended. While we were waiting for her to arrive, he gave me some handmade Rwandan baskets and a…gorilla pen. With a whistle. Then he asked me what I was going to tell Canadians about Rwanda. He was very concerned it wouldn’t be positive. Then he asked if I was single.

Eventually, the chick showed up and gave me my money back, in cash form. No bank transfer required, and I’m heading to Egypt with real money as opposed to an ATM card and a hefty load of hope.

We split up a little recently—mostly, I split off from the group. The others went to church with Faustin, our guide. I wasn’t feeling it (which was good, as it was super Evangelical with people speaking in tongues) so I bailed and went to Bourbon Coffee, the expat Starbucks with free wireless internet. I met up with Sara’s mother’s group, randomly (there is also a group of 30 Canadian educators here, mostly from Ontario) and we headed over to Hotel des Mille Collines (Hotel Rwanda) for a drink. Mmm drink.

Another great Bourbon Coffee experience occurred the next day—when we met a survivor at the UTC. I had been put in touch with this gentleman by an acquaintance who said he was incredible, and someone I definitely have to meet. Without knowing anything at all about him, I felt like we should try and meet—and was it ever worth it. He’s an incredible young man, only 29, who is working for an organization that does education and promotes peace and understanding in schools. We learned that Rwanda doesn’t actually teach Rwandan history—not modern history, that is. It is difficult to teach and not pit students against each other, but there is also no denying historical fact. Patrick, the survivor, also told us a bit about his life and of his dream to help other survivors. He used to play on the hills of Kibuye and herd cows with his grandfather, who used to tell him marvelous stories. He was a city boy, but was always happiest there and didn’t want to leave. His grandfather was well respected and known, but rivals sent the Interhamwe after him and he was killed on the hillside while herding his cows. His grandfather had even given Patrick a cow, and he hoped to find at least that one—unfortunately, it had been killed an eaten by the Interhamwe—who stole all of his grandfather’s cows and buried him on the hillside. His dream is to someday build a house on that land and buy a herd of cows—so that survivors can live there and be given another chance. Truly an incredible guy.

Tonight was Sara’s bday—I won’t say what age because she’s sensitive about it—and we took her out to dinner at a fantastic restaurant with a strange name. AMAZING pizza. Don’t make any comments about the food choice- I’ve been eating a lot of beans and rice and it was a welcome change!

C’est tout for now—leaving very soon. Not quite ready to say goodbye to this country!

Efficiency, where art thou?

As most people know, I am super anal retentive about organization. I have lists upon lists to organize my life, and always travel with a detailed itinerary in case anything goes wrong. I have had to try very hard to adapt my life to Africa-- "ca va aller" is not a good enough answer for me. Unfortunately, that's just how things work here. Today, I got another lesson in this. And I dealt with it in my personal style. Oops.

As I mentioned earlier the gorilla money is $500 USD which is to be refunded to me. So, I went to see Esther, the woman at the toursim department, that the Park Warden forwarded me to. At the park, I was told I just needed to take my ticket back and they would refund my money. I protested, saying there was no evidence that I didn't see the gorillas and anyone could have said they didn't go and gotten theit money back. They assured me they would tell this chick, and she would know I was coming. I asked for a handwritten note explaining the situatuion, but they also denied that as unnecessary.

As you've likely guessed, I got here and was told I needed a written report and the other copy of my ticket. Exactly what these guys HADN'T given me. They also hadn't told her I was coming. I was told by the incredible helpful (please read this as dripping with sarcasm) Esther that it was a major process and would take weeks, to which I folded my arms, sat back in my chair and responded "I'm foreign. That's not good enough." Not as mean as what I said to some Indians, but a close second.

It took an hr of calling various people to organize how to do this--apparently, I have to write a letter and the Park Warden, who knew what he was supposed to do but was just trying to screw me, has to write a report and send it along with the other copy of my ticket, via BUS to Kigali. I also have to get the third copy from my travel agent and take all of these documents to another office and lose my mind on some guy named Faustin, who will supposedly give me my money back if I say I'm leaving tomorrow and am in a rush. I might also throw in some law comments (there is a clause in the contract about full refunds upon illness) and the classic tourist line about how I'll never come back and I spent a lot of money here.

The real lesson might be bureaucracy is slow as hell anywhere, but can be expedited in Africa if you use your "bitch voice" and refuse to leave an office until someone deals with your problem. In Canada, you'd just sit there for 5 weeks.

Murambi. One of the worst crimes in history.

I awoke this morning around 5am, to the city-wide call to the mosque. In cities where there is a large Muslim population there is an early morning prayer call that sounds like something between a song and a speech. This is the second one I’ve woken up to in Africa, and I always wonder what’s going on for a second before I remember. After a stellar freezing “shower” (read: drip from a tap) we headed out for breakfast and off to Murambi Memorial.

Murambi was a technical school where over 50,000 were killed. The Tutsis in the region were hiding in churches but became too numerous and were told by the town leaders to go to the school where they would be protected. They were attacked 4 times, but it was the last attack that destroyed the resistance. The Tutsis were suffering starvation and dehydration, and at 3am late in April, the Interhamwe slaughtered the refugees.

We were guided by a Hutu woman whose Tutsi husband and two sons were killed at this site. She saved her daughter by carrying her on her back and fleeing to her hometown after the massacre. It strikes me each time we go to one of these sites and the guides have almost universally survived the savagery themselves and lost everyone they loved. Yet, they are there. They are walking through the bones and the bodies and sharing the site with tourists taking pictures. I don’t know if I, despite how much I would want the events remembered across the world, would be able to do that. Murambi is a particularly difficult site, with many buildings holding the full remains of people. They have been preserved with a type of paint or thin plaster and the looks of horror and pain are still etched on their face.s I don’t have any pictures… I felt similar to how I did in Majdanek, Poland, in that I felt like I was violating something sacred. It was heartbreaking.

I don’t really have anything else to say at the moment…. It’s very bright today and I think I’ve got sunstroke. Again. Feeling not so hot…we’re going for lunch and a few liters of water right now. Maybe I’ll be able to reconcile some of these events and have something more insightful to say later on… but I don’t expect much. Today I felt like I really saw the genocide. And now I feel empty.

Rwanda and the Congo!

Internet has been limited over the past few days, and while I know it may be positive and help me learn to enjoy life and live without constant access to the outside world, I am still unable to find the joy in being without the world wide web. I know that’s a sad thing, but it’s the truth and I admit it.

After the ill-fated Gorilla adventure (ill for me, that is) we headed to Gisenyi to stay with Daniel’s family. They are the nicest people in the world and opened their house to us immediately—they even had our shoes washed. The home was lovely and was the first time I’ve seen HOT WATER in weeks. Most showers in Africa are cold water only—if there is a shower. So, we’ve been having ice cold ones for a long time—the hot shower was a real treat. As was the massive and amazing supper. After a fantastic meal we headed out to “take tea” on the veranda and have an impromptu dance party where local African daces were taught. We were not the best of students, but it was a valiant effort and much fun! I’m pretty happy to have an African family

now—they invited me over anytime and truly make everyone feel at home. With 8 children, I suppose that would be second nature!

We decided to take an exciting side-adventure at this point, as the family is Congolese but livesin Rwanda. We had all discussed going to Goma with enthusiasm, but weren’t sure if we would really do it. This morning, we did. We all piled into the jeep and set off for the border—some 3 minutes away. Alexis took out passports to get them stamped and the Congolese authority said he would keep them and we’d deal with the “formalities” later. As you can imagine, we were not

impressed by this but Alexis said that we should trust him to deal with it and so we did. We left our passports with Congolese customs officers. To save anyone a heart attack while reading this post—we got them back without incident.

Goma was amazing, and not what I expected. A volcano devastated the region 8 years ago, and people have built their homes on the volcanic rocks left behind. Much is still black and charred, and with such a lack of vegetation it makes the area looks desolate. Aside from this, there is a clear lack of happiness in the people of Goma. In Rwanda, everyone is happy and smiling and excited to see us—even if their own lives have been unimaginably difficult. In Goma, everyone seems sad. There is extreme poverty and extreme wealth, with no visible distribution. Perhaps comparing to Rwanda is unfair—Rwanda is 15 yrs out of war and the DRC is still in it.

We did a tour of Gisenyi after getting back to Rwanda, and headed off on the long, bumpy ride to Kibuye. The road was not recommended, but was a few hrs faster than the alternative, more navigable, route. Maybe not our best decision ever. I usually take the back of the jeep because I don’t get as carsick by being thrown around—thanks to the extensive pharmacy I brought with me. But this was insane. We were tossed around for 3 hrs getting to Kibuye—at one point my head hit the ceiling and I heard my neck snap. That was a great moment. We finally hit our hotel and passed out for a few hours of blessed sleep.

This morning, we briefly visited a church where many had been killed. Kibuye was a Tutsi area, predominantly, and as such the fighting was most deadly and bloody here. We also were lucky enough to met with Josephine, a Hutu who sheltered Tutsis in the war. She took in 5 at a time, and by cover of darkness snuck them to the shores of Lake Kivu where she had hidden boats to take them to the Congo and out of the war. She also recounted the story of Thomas, a child who came to her. She protected him despite the opposition of her husband, and eventually when it became too dangerous hid the child with her parents. After the war, he was raised as her own son and is now studying in Kigali. As for the people in her town, they are afraid of her. They don’t trust her after finding out she protected Tutsis—but she just smiles and seems grateful for life. An amazing woman.

We headed off on another gem of a road to Bisesero, the site where 30,000-50,000 were killed.

The area was called the “Hill of Resistance”, where Tutsis banded together to fight back against the Interhamwe. Unfortunately, they were massacred in June 2004. We met a man at the site whose entire family—parents, 11 brothers and sisters and wife—was murdered in the area. He is all that remains. It is a strange thing, to walk into a room of human skulls. I want to say it is sad and horrific, but those are clearly implied. What surprised me was how little emotion I felt—indifference is a terrible thing, but I cannot comprehend that each of those bones was a person. I know it is real, but it does not seem to be. Like the Holocaust program and my experiences in Poland, I don’t believe I will fully synthesize this information until I return home and have more time to think.

We are in Butare now, ready for our last day outside Kigali and our last set of memorial sites. Murambi Memorial is known as the most visceral and difficult of all the sites, so I am personally not looking forward to it. But, this is the job we are here to do and the lessons we are here to learn.

Lesson: The Internet is Not Universal.

It's Monday evening and I'm sitting in a Butare internet cafe. I promise I have lots of new and exciting blog updates-- but I dont have enough time to post now.

Let's just say, there is an entire post entitled CONGO...as I went there yesterday.

Everything is good and we are all well. Getting back to Kigali tomorrow, and will have plently of stories to share! Hope all is well at home.

xo

"This is my personal hell"

So, last I updated you, we were heading to Ruhengeri to see Gorillas.

Let's just say, the entire process was a challenge.

First, we left the city and realized the road was disasterous. It was 3 hrs of rocks and bumps and thrashing around... but we had a good time singing Disney and hymns. I figured, on that road would could probably use some "amazing grace".

We got to our hotel location. A couple random, sketchy drunk guys came out to get us to our rooms. Turns out, it was a house and we had to choose which house we wanted to rent. There were 6 people, and we wanted to be economical... so, we went around to check out which would be the better deal.

The First House - We walked in and it was dingy and yellow, with some sort of substance stain coming from the ceiling down the wall. Ok. Whatever. Then we walk into the kitchen and there is a giant puddle of water that has dripped out from under the sink. WTF? Is this normal? I start laughing and have to leave the premises to avoid being rude, but it as a laugh or cry situation and all I could do was laugh. Heartily.

I calmed down a little and we moved to the next house. House 2, shall we say.

House 2 - We walked into a little living room with chairs and sofas. Not a bad start, despite the salamander running around on the ceiling. Checked out the rooms...fair. But, they did have double beds, so we could all share and cut costs down. Con--no mosquito nets--an absolute must here. So we decided to go with this place for the night and have them bring us nets.

Well. While they were net-hunting, we checked out the bathroom, which looking and smelled like it had been inhabited by animals. There was no toilet seat or paper, and the toilet leaked into a puddle around your feet. Sexy.

When the staff guy with the net came back, we realized he was loaded. He tried to put up the nets but was about a foot too short and kept falling over. Eventually, we called Daniel in to help and he tried to put Sara's net up. The fell and smoked the staff guy in the eye, while the rest of us howled laughing and were of no help at all. Eventually, they got that one up but had to get more help to put up the second. Mine involved driving a nail into the ceiling and hanging the net precariously off of that. Eventually, they both got up and we had nets... however, the beds were questionable too.

Before I had too much time to worry, I saw the door opening (no knock?) and in walked the

sketchy hotelier who has been trying to talk to me and Sara all night. He wanted a photo.

Back to the sleeping situation. I had no pillow, which I actually preferred after looking at the pillows of other people. So, I balled up my pants and shirt from the day and used them in pillow form. 

I should add, the cost was 3000 francs per person--ie $6.

None of us slept well last night, but we awoke at 530am-- happy to get out of there. We headed to the Gorillas in the Volcano National Park, and after getting a little lost twice we arrived and waited for our group. The people organizing clearly forgot about us, as we were only 3 (Daniel couldnt get a ticket to go) and we waited til the very end to get a group. It happened that there was no space, so we got our own group. Of three. We headed out with Edward, the lovely guide, and started up the road to the mountain. One thing I didn't account for? The massive amount of thick, red dust floating around. I breathed it in for about 2 minutes before I felt my lungs closing off. Anyone who knows of my serious dust allergy can imagine this was not a good scene. I didnt want to whine so I plodded along, getting less and less oxygen. I got mostly out of the bad, dusty part, but the entire 4 hr trek (on the trail we had,...there are multiple trails) would have been the same. I gave up at the top of a hill, at the

edge of the forest, when I was gasping and dizzy and almost passed out from no air. No Jordin Sparks references, pls. I was pretty sure I was screwed. I started back down the hill with a porter, gasping and hacking the entire way back and curled up on a concrete floor while a bunch of people stared at me.  Raffi had called Daniel from the top of the hill and told him the sitch, so he showed up with a puffer and pills of salbutamol--totally saved my life. 

Alas, I didn't get to see my gorilla friends. Perhaps I shall come again in the rainy season and check them out, or in the summer but more prepared with the proper medicines. I have EVERYTHING else that I could ever need, but didn't think about a puffer.

All is well now and Im at a nice hotel restaurant with wireless, waiting for Raffi and Sara to finish the Gorilla expedition.

Oh, and the $500USD that it cost? Refund, baby.

And the incomprehensibility begins...

The last couple days have been intense.

We had a get together at our house with a group of organizations and survivors, to talk about their experiences. Unfortunately, I was suffering from a self-diagnosed throat infection and took a nap/drugs while the visited. After I got up we were getting ready to head for supper, when another man came tour door. He introduced himself as Richard, and he was the happiest man I’ve ever met. He lost his family in the genocide, but has found a faith and strength that lets him continue to be smile. In fact, we commented on how young he looked and he said “it’s because I smile so much.” How one could continue to live, let alone smile, after such an event amazes me.

We’ve started the truly difficult days, and are heading into some of the hardest. We visited the Nyarubuye Memorial yesterday, where thousands were killed in a church. This is a common theme of the genocide, as in past violent outbreaks Tutsi who sought sanctuaries were safe as the Hutu didn’t follow. In many cases, the Tutsi thought this would be the same. It was not. In many instances, thousands of people packed into churches and were brutally slaughtered. The sites are visceral, with human remains visible at every site (we’ve seen, anyway). The Nyarubuye site had another interesting feature-- the statue of Mary had her lower arm hacked off with a machete. This was, apparently, because here nose was too narrow and long, like a Tutsi.

Today we visited Nyamata and Ntamara churches—very close to Kigali, but where thousands died. In the latter, mostly women, children and the aged. We also visited the Ibuka office, the kinyarwandan word for Remembrance. This story is relatively known—the Belgian troops who were guarding the Tutsi were recalled, and they left them to their deaths. Within minutes of their departure, the Interwamhe set them on a death march and eventually killed them after they were too tired to continue.

The most inspiring moment for me, thus far, was meeting Silas. Silas is a Hutu, who was in the army fighting the RPF. When he realized what was happening, he started smuggling Tutsi into Burundi. He saved 23 people in 3 days, before he was found out. He was warned that the army was coming after him, so he hid in Burundi until the end of the war. He is the equivalent to a Righteous Amongst the Nations, and risked his life to save others. This is, sadly, not a common story here.

The people Silas saved are now his family, as his own regards him as a traitor. The elderly women are his grandmothers, the children call him father. And he met his wife, amongst the women he saved. He has had children now, though hatred has not ended. Neighbours poisoned his children—one passed away from the attack.

There is more work to be done.

On a happier note, on the way out of Kigali for Ruhengeri (Gorillas!) we stopped at a Gacaca trial. This is the community court passing judgment on genociders. It was particularly interesting because a woman was being sentenced, and none of us had ever really thought of female attackers. Women frequently tortured, in brutal ways I have no desire to recount, and this one was sentenced to 30 years in prison. We also saw a long line, 2 by 2, of about 100 people cleaning roadsides with similar blue outfits on. These are genocideurs—perpetrators of the genocide who have been sentenced. 

We’re leave tonight for Ruhengeri—in the north of Rwanda. Finally—a sadness free day!

Happy Canada Day from Hotel des Mille Collines!

Today has been fantastic-- it started with a visit to Mille Collines, the famous "Hotel Rwanda" to talk with Zozo, the only remaining staff member who worked there before and through the genocide. Zozo recounted his story for us over a couple hours and some coffee. The genocide began on 6 April 1994 and by the 8th the telephone lines were cut and the only outside communication they had was that on the television--from CNN. The reporting was scant and just said Rwanda was in war, but it was all they had and it was on constantly.

Zozo said that when the Belgian Manager fled with the expats, he left the hotel to be open to whoever needed refuge there. Though there are only 104 rooms, over 1200 people were saved by hiding in Mille Collines. Many of the leaders in Rwanda today are survivors from that location.

Zozo's family was killed, but he survived and remarried a woman whose husband had been murdered. He now has 6 children and multiple grandchildren, and says that as awful as the world can be, "life does go on".

It was an honour to meet this man, and he was very friendly and kind. He is clearly very popular and well known in the community, and everywhere we walked multiple people would exclaim "Zozooooo!"

The horror that has occured here preoccupies our minds, but while these people do live with it, it does not preoccupy theirs. Zozo said it seems like long ago, and things have changed so much. This country is the safest in Africa, its people are beautiful and generous, and the society has come back from great division and terror. The resilience is inspiring.

One of the people we met, a 38 yr old who looked 25, said he looked so young because he smiled so often. After surving while your entire family died and you lived in fear on a daily basis, I cannot imagine finding the will to smile. These people are incredible.

for David.

I blogged yesterday about having visited Gisozi memorial museum—the AEGIS run museum based on Yad Vashem. I wanted to add this piece, as it was one of the most powerful for me. Things surrounding children are always the worst. For example, the museum has a children’s area with photos of murdered children and little plaques with their favourite things, best friends, last words, mode of death etc. listed. One 2 year old died by being smashed against a wall. The cruelty and inhumanity continues to astound me, no matter how much I think I know.

This child stuck in my mind because of his plaque, which I will transcribe below. Meet David:

David Mugiraneza was 10 years old.

His favourite sport was football.

He enjoyed making people laugh.

He dreamed of becoming a doctor.

He died from being tortured.

His last words were “UNAMIR will come for us.”

I was 10 years old when David died. If he had lived, he would be my age today, and he might be a doctor, or a father, or a teacher. He was denied his life because he was Tutsi.

It is a crime against humanity to be accused of being born.

Sometimes I find it difficult to explain why this project is so important—why genocide education is so important. I want to avoid the platitudes, like “if you forget history you are doomed to repeat it”, but it seems the best explanation I can give. “Never Again” has not proven to be a reality, and if we truly want to find peace, we must recognize that, as life, it is a process. It takes time. I truly believe this project is important, and with the right combination of luck and opportunity, we will have the chance to change the lives of many Canadians.

The Land of a Thousand Hills

Where to begin. Arriving in Kigali was par for the course—no bags, but at least someone did pick me up. A definite bonus. Raffi and Dan, Dan’s friend Yves and his cousin Conso greeted us in Kigali and we headed off to move into our house (I have a bednet!), which is rented for the two weeks we are here and is definitely a much better deal than a hotel—though, not my dream of staying in Milles Collines for a night…which is ok, since we are doing happy hour there instead.

We’ve already done a lot in Kigali, and it’s only day 3. Most of the genocide sites, the really difficult places, are yet to come. When we first got here, we tested out Rwandan mass transit with a “bus”—basically a cargo van that you hop on and off of for .30 cents. We also checked out the local Starbucks—called Bourbon Coffee. We are very lucky to have a Rwandan on our team, who not only speaks Kinyarwandan, but also is related to most people in Kigali and ensures we have lots of homes to visit. Our first was a visit to Conso’s house, where she fed us a fabulous African meal—sort of a casserole dish, made out of beans, eggplant and plantains (a banana-like potato). It was the best African food I’ve tried so far! And, it was free. Definitely a nice touch when everything else is so expensive. For breakfast, we bought some bread and peanut butter, and have been having those and some juice at home before heading out for the day. Peanut

butter is a fortune here, but was definitely worth every cent.

We have met some amazing people here. The National Commission in the Fight Against Genocide was one of the best—the Executive Secretary of the Commission met with us and discussed Rwanda, the genocide, the future, and showed a lot of interest in our programme. We also met with a widow’s organization, which offers counseling and medical services, amongst others, to Rwandan genocide widows and young women. They also have a business side, where Rwandan widows create items—dolls, jewelry, bags, baskets etc—and the organization sells them, providing income to the women. I bought a lovely doll, which I carried around all day, and who will live in my house forever as a reminder of the amazing women we met. Many lost everything—husbands, children, sisters, brothers, parents… one cannot imagine the type of strength it would take to even continue living after that experience.

Camp Kigali was another incredible sight. Anyone who has seen a Rwanda genocide-based movie will know of this story—and those who have read about it will know more accurately. Basically, after President Habyarimana’s plane was shot down, the Prime Minister received de facto control, but was killed with her family before having the chance to address the nation. She was being guarded by 10 Belgian troops, who had no idea that the Hutu

militia who showed up offering to guard the PM actually intended to kill her. They left her with the Hutu militia and returned to camp with other militia members. After they realized what was happening, they tried to fight back and were killed by a grenade blast and gunfire from the Hutu militia. The building itself is littered with bullet holes and signs of the horrors that occurred there. There are also messages written on a blackboard by family members, decrying Dallaire as blind and heartless for having done nothing. This is an interesting juxtaposition to the position in Canada, where he is a hero figure. The memorial itself is 10 pillars, each representing one killed Belgian soldier. The pillars have notches representing the ages of the soldiers-- one has 25 notches, etc.

We have also visited the Library and Info Centre of the International Criminal Tribunal for Rwanda-UNICTR, the Institute for Development and Research for Peace (poorly translated from the lovely French), and AEGIS, a British organization that does amazing work in Rwanda. The best experiences in my view were the Gisozi Memorial Museum and the Memorial service we attended. Gisozi is based off of Yad Vashem in Jerusalem, which I have also visited, and is a beautiful centre of remembrance for not only the Rwandan genocide but others as well-including the Hereoes, Jews, and Armenians. The museum also houses a garden-like grounds area, as well as the burial site for 50,000 people. Interestingly, the museum has been attacked by grenade 3 times in the past few years, most recently killing a police officer at the gate. The hatred isn’t dead—just as it isn’t dead from the Holocaust or any other systematic, cultural form of discrimination. But in Rwanda, peace is the only option. We were told by one of our speakers, “what other choice do we have?” Rwanda is so small and densely populated—peace must be found for the country to function. President Kagame has been instrumental in creating this peace, and people in this country appear to LOVE him. He has brought stability, peace, education, and hope to a people who had lost it.

The other experience, perhaps the best so far, was visiting a Rwandan memorial service. My friend from the March of Remembrance and Hope, and SHOUT, invited us to attend the memorial service for his father, a doctor who was murdered I the genocide. It was a celebratory service, lasting many hours, where people shared stories and music, memories and dreams of a man they all loved and continue to miss. They also expressed pride in my friend and his sister, and talked about how proud their father would be today to see their success. It is a strange thing—to attend a service in a language you don’t understand (kinyarwandan) and yet to somehow understand what is being said. The passion and love this man had for his family was so clear. And in knowing his son, who is one of the kindest, gentlest people I’ve ever met, I know he must have been all of this and more. And, this is only one story. One of a million.

I read today that the Rwandan genocide is not a genocide of a million. And the Jewish Holocaust is not a genocide of 6 million. Instead, it is murder—one after another—millions of times. It is millions of acts of brutality and evil, and we should not lose our conception in a number we cannot envision. It is one life, and then another, and another…

There are dogs howling outside…not sure what’s going on, but it doesn’t sound positive. Time to go to sleep, I think. A bientot.

And, I again have clothes!

Luggage arrived. That's the most important thing. This post is clearly for my mother, who is worried about me and my stuff.

Kigali is amazing. Can't wait to share it with you!

Happy almost CANADA DAY!

Kigali

I finally arrived in Kigali with Sara. We got in at 8:20am on 28 June, flying Kenya Airways--so I cant blame Royal Air Maroc for my lost luggage this time.

Yes, again.

Hopefully the rest of the day progresses well! Will update on the amazing city soon.

Tribute to MJ - Part II

For my last night in Cotonou, we hit my fav restaurant again—the fabulous Shamiana’s. Nate, Katharine, Shaloo, Nina and I had way too much food and planned to follow it up with karaoke at local haunt Chevalier.

We hit Chevalier a bit early, and there were only 3 other people there. We picked our spot and ordered bottle service for 4 – one in our party went home after dinner, so the 4 hardcore’s went out for the second weekend. A bottle of Gordon’s and 4 tonics later, and we were set to go. We didn’t realize, however, that karaoke here isn’t like normal karaoke where people actually sing. There are 5 or 6 staff who basically perform a concert to karaoke tracks. The songs were in French, English and Fon (local language) and it was amazing. All of the performers were really talented. There was a particularly rousing “We are the World” where the entire bar sang the chorus together and a Michael Jackson video played in the background. We decided after a few hours and while on the second bottle of gin that it was time to hit the club next door. There wa slots of dancing and fun times, followed by me almost breaking the gate at Shaloo's trying to get

back in, and being locked out of the house at 4am for awhile. But, we figured it out eventually.

After a fabulous sleep, I had a delightful brunch--Benson cooked me an omlette! I thought this was pretty fantastic. It's a rare day when a man cooks me breakfast. I took what I thought would be a quick run out to the store to get some food for a surprise supper (really, leftover maple curry pasta). Unfortunately, it was only 3 pm and the store was closed til 4, so I ended up buying Paul (the driver) a beer and talking about his life and how he was left heartbroken by a mean North American who had his child and left him to return home.  I grabbed more brie and wine at the store, and made supper for Shaloo, Nate and Katharine-- my last meal in Cotonou. Strangely, it was kind of sad.

Shaloo took me to the airport. We were both pretty exhausted, and when I got to the airport I

was physically ill. I had more anxiety from seeing that hell hole again than I've ever had before. I even tried to have a beer and relax a little bit failed.

After saying goodbye, I went thru security where the customs men asked me if I was ever coming back to Benin. They told me I should come back and get married. Had to get in one more marriage comment before I got out of the country.

Going through the metal detector and xray machine was fun-- they let me keep 1.5L of water, but took the batteries out of my camera and inspected my Blistex pot for 5 minutes. Someone else asked for my shoes-- I thought he was asking me to take them off an scan them-- but then I realized he was asking to HAVE them. I replied they were the only shoes I had. That seemed sufficient. It was a quiet departure from Cotonou--far better than my arrival. I had a great time with Shaloo and his friends and wish I was there for the parties planned on Tues and Thurs-- I expect Thurs will be epic.

Off to Kigali! Will post pics soon... my net connection is pretty lame as of now.

xo

Waking up to the news...

MJ has died. He may have been many things, but the most important of all was his iconic status as a brilliant musician. Sad, sad, sad. I had a ticket to see him in July, which unfortunately won't be happening now. But alas, so goes a superstar.

We are going out in Cotonou tonight for a MJ celebration, at the local karaoke bar. I don't even know if MJ will be a song option, but here's hoping. I have tomorrow in Cotonou, and depart at 11pm for Kigali, Rwanda, where the work begins.

Voodoo has nothing to do with dolls?

Ouidah is the birthplace of the Voodoo religion, and a centre of worship for practitioners. It’s about 40 km from Cotonou, and one of the few places where there are many sights to check out.

This morning I took Shaloo’s other driver, Herve, and after a quick ATM stop (my VISA works here!!) headed off for Ouidah. What an experience.

It is rainy season in Benin, so at any point it may spontaneously pour. This happened last night, so many of the roads were covered in meter wide puddles. Within the first 15 mins I had my first puddle run in—the driver had his window down and I was in the back passenger seat. A large truck went by and threw a liter of water into the car. The driver took most of it, but I had a significant amount of puddle water in my hair after the experience. What I have learned in Africa is you have to be flexible, and when things don’t go as planned just remember the mantra “ca va aller”.

First on the list in Ouidah was the Temple des Serpents. This is really a tourist trap as opposed to a temple, but it was formerly used as a Voodoo temple. In fact, a beautiful, large Catholic church is built across the road, and was paid for by the Voodoo religion leaders over a hundred

years ago. Apparently, they built it across the street to keep an eye on what was happening there. Now, the temple is used to house 40 pythons and offer fab photos to tourists. It costs 1000 to enter, and 1000 for pictures (about $5 in total) and the guide takes you into the python room for some pictures. Pretty much the scariest thing ever. The snakes aren’t slimy and gross as I’d imagined, but they move around and slither and look at you like they want to attack. Or, that’s what I perceived from my snake.

After this, we hit the Sacred Forest—I was pretty excited as I played Zelda as a child and thought I was walking in to find the Great Deku Tree or something. That pretty much happened, but with a lot more religious significance. Religion is an interesting topic here—in North America, it isn’t discussed a lot and it isn’t socially positive to question people about their beliefs. Here, people ask and talk about religion a lot, and though they may hold one set of beliefs, they are open to others and sometimes practice more than one. For example, people in Ouidah practice Catholicism in the day and Voodoo at night—probably one of the reasons Voodoo is associated in the west with evil and darkness—because when the slaves were taken to the Americas they were forced to practice Catholicism in the day and had to hide their

Voodoo at night. This practice has continued to this day. In the sacred forest there are many sculptures symbolizing a

multitude of Voodoo and animist deities and beliefs, my favourite being the Amazon woman.

Amazon’s are from this part of Africa, and they famously went topless into war to distract the foreign armies of men—before chopping their heads off. The forest itself is beautiful and lush—it just feels peaceful. It contains a huge and rare iroko tree that king Kpasse, the founder of Ouidah, is reputed to have turned himself into while fleeing enemies. None of the kings are ever said to have died—it is not allowed—instead, they have changed forms. When the king dies, there is a special drum which is beaten and it signifies to the people that the king has passed to a new consciousness. But, he has not “died”. There is a Voodoo cemetery, as they do inter their dead, but there is no service for their passing. I was told to place my left hand on the king/tree and make a wish, while leaving an offering for the king/tree. The highlight of this trip was when I heard a strange sound, like a tap being turned on, in the middle of the forest. I turned around and Herve, the driver, had whipped it out and was taking a piss. In the middle of the Sacred Forest. What a gem.

We went for lunch after this, at a restaurant of Herve’s choosing. I was told to order the chicken, which I was hesitant of, but there was nothing non-meat on the menu. I tried to order just fries, and the waiter wouldn’t let me. So, I ordered fried chicken (the safest, I figured) and french fries. Clearly, I only ate the fries as the chicken was definitely a track star and looked tough and deadly. Herve, however, loved it and licked the bones clean—after the slight let down that they

didn’t have rabbit, he had a good meal anyway.  .

We went back to the Musee d’Histoire d’Ouidah, which is open from 9-12 and 3-6. We had gone there at 11:45 and they told us to leave and return later. I was hesitant to go back, but I’m glad I did as it was very interesting and I met a great American guy who’s doing research on Voodoo and learned a lot. The museum is a reconstructed Portuguese fort from 1721, and houses exhibits relating to the slave trade and the links between Benin and Brazil. The slave trade artifacts are amazing—in a clearly horrific way. There were recovered chains and collars—the Portuguese bound the slaves 2 by 2 and marched them 2 km’s down the route des esclaves (slave route) to the Point of No Return. There were also paintings depicting slave experiences and how people were treated—over 10 million people were deported from Africa (this sounds really high… but I admittedly don’t know much about the slave trade) and were subjected to the worst possible conditions. Men were made to sleep face down, women face up—so the Portuguese could violate them if they so desired. About half of the Africans on each boat died before ever seeing land, and some jumped from the boats into the ocean off the African coast, as the preferred to die in their homeland than in a foreign one. The guide was the first I’ve had to speak English, and he even made a “joke”—when we went towards the souvenir shop he said we could buy anything and everything that we wanted—except “him”, referring to the counter attendant.  After all of that...definitely not funny.

The museum was quite good, but the real highpoint of the visit was the Route des Esclaves and the Door of No Return. The route starts near the Museum, and travels ~2km to the coast. Lining the route are different symbols and images—my fav was definitely the Tree of Forgetfulness, which slaves were forced to circle 5-7 times, to forget the land they were leaving. On the beach is a grand arch, a memorial Point of No Return—once the slaves crossed this line, they knew they would never see their home again. The front of the Arch, when walking through, depicts slaves in chains walking towards a boat. On the other side, once they have crossed and there is truly no return, the image changes to the front of the slaves, in line towards the boats. Between them, looking backs towards their homeland, is a beautiful tree. Trees are a universal symbol of life, but here it means even more—the tree is meant to symbolize that life is eternal, and when the slaves would die, their souls would return home to Africa for eternity. My pictures aren’t too great here, because I walked down to the ocean and suddenly, from a clear blue sky, the heavens opened up and dropped 20 liters of water on me. In about 10 seconds I was soaked, but it was a wonderful experience nonetheless.

This is a long post—but it was a pretty cool place and I learned a lot about the Voodoo religion and the horrors of the slave trade. It was clearly a horrific process, but I had never really thought about what it entailed or would have been like for those people.