Bye, Mzungu, See You!

by | posted in: Adventure, Africa, Overlanding, PJ, Travel | 2

Border Blunder

Another day… another border. This one didn’t prove to be any better despite the fact that we had already applied for visas ahead of time. The woman at the window enthralled with her YouTube videos said we needed a print out of our visa confirmation, even though the website clearly states that it’s not necessary. When we tried to argue our position with a screenshot of their website, she passed us off on her superior who was also adamant we have paper proof. He sent us out on the outskirts of the compound to print, and when we returned, the process was over quickly. Then we needed to register the car. The woman at this window sent us out back to a cluster of glass offices where a gentleman with the largest receipt book we’ve ever seen was sitting. He said we were good to go which left us skeptical. What about filling out for your giant registration book? Where is our paper receipt? It turns out we were right; we were not good to go, for when we went to the gate, the guard said he needed a piece of paper and told us to reverse and go to another building.

By the time we drove the car to three separate buildings trying to get it registered, Coons let Kourtney sit with the car to make sandwiches while he tried to figure all of this out. Running back and forth for another hour, Coons finally arrived back to the car where he noticed our back tire was looking a little flat. We used our compressor to fill the tire and crossed our fingers it would hold up — we just wanted to get the heck out of the border.

We drove right to the capital, Kampala, which is a tight, cramped little city where the motos maneuver faster than all vehicles and the white taxi vans cut people off at every turn. Kampala is stressful even to the experienced driver so we were more than ready to reach the backpacker lodge and finally get out of the car. When we did, the sky opened up in a fury. The grass sopping wet within minutes. So we went to the bar to have a beer and wait it out, but it didn’t let up. Then we noticed that water was pouring in through the sunroof of the car creating a small lake on the driver’s side (subsequently fixed in PJ Part 5). After months in the tent and days in the rain, we opted for a 14-person dorm room that was blissfully empty.

The awning doesn’t exactly stand up to monsoon rain.

Lugazi

The next morning, October 20th, we were on the road to Lugazi where our volunteering began. Before we reached our meeting point with Valence (the program director), we were pulled over by a very aggressive police officer who told us passing trucks is illegal (even though other cars were doing it and the 18 wheeler was going 20km in a 50km zone). He told us we had two options: go to court and pay 3.5 million shillings ($950) or pay him 100,000 right now ($25). Hindsight is 20-20 and we should have offered to go to court — what a story that would make for the blog — but eager to get to our meeting spot on time (like it matters in Africa), we paid the money which he pocketed cockily and sent us on our way. No receipt. We would get stopped in town almost daily and never ticketed again, so on average, we made out okay in Uganda.

We met Valence and he brought us to his home. He lives in a very safe compound that is fenced, gated, and guarded by a night watchman who would surprise us by cleaning our car once a week while we were sleeping. We really enjoyed him! Valence has three children: Joshua age 11, Bethany age 8, and Abbey age 3. Joshua and Bethany attend a boarding school which is where children tend to receive the best education. We were able to eat almost nightly with Abbey whom we adored. She has a lot of character with her beaded braids and her frequent outfit changes. She would ride around in the driveway on this blue motorcycle which made the most obnoxious sounds. She’d sing the Baby Shark song and something about baby Jesus that we later heard on a documentary called God Loves Uganda. Doreen and Aunty Rose made most of our meals, and they were always interested in our favorites. They make a mean chapati which is like fried pita bread — so delicious! We especially enjoyed the peanut sauce, cabbage, and Nile perch. They also encouraged us to try new things like roasted grasshoppers and jack fruit.

The ladies of Lugazi.

Valence is a visionary. He grew up orphaned at a young age and finished a degree at university where he met his wife. His dream was to open up a school in his home village of Kitoola. He has since opened up two campuses, one with a junior school and the other with a junior and secondary school. In total, almost 1,000 students are receiving an education at these schools.

Unfortunately, Valance, like most visionaries tends to miss a lot of details. When they say it takes a village, they must have been talking about Hopeland. If it weren’t for the people Valence surrounds himself with, the organization would most likely collapse. We were a bit dismayed that when we showed up, he seemed to have no idea what we were there to do and the school staff seemed surprised at our arrival. The microfinance program which attracted us to this particular organization, Hopeland Volunteering (or YAFOFO), was nonexistent. It seems like it existed five years ago, but no one ever bothered to update the website, or tell Coons that it was no longer a thing. We were left with the impression that they collected our money and forgot about us completely. To boot, Valence left for the states less than a week after our arrival. Even before he left, he was frequently called away for political campaign meetings. Amanda, his representation in the US, seemed to have no idea about the inner workings of the program and confessed she only operated the website for Valence. So Coons kept himself busy with Jovia, the organizations’ bookkeeper, who was really grateful for his help; that is at least until we could settle into a routine.

In addition to helping Jovia, Coons had an opportunity to meet with a local women’s savings group in Lugazi. This group was made up of about 45 women who would meet every Friday to discuss their finances, problem-solve, and save money together. Each member contributed 2,000 to 10,000 shillings per week ($0.50 to $2.50) to their personal savings and some money to a community fund that was used for member emergencies. Members are able to take loans out against their savings, secured by household collateral, and the interest is shared among all members. At the end of the year, the members get their money and shared interest back and can choose to continue saving or use the money for other endeavors. These savings groups empower women to become an equal partner in household decisions and provide an important safety net for people in a culture where saving money is not a common occurrence.

Coons presented to the group with translation provided by Innocent.

Armed with this knowledge, Coons prepared a simple one-page handout that the women could use to track their monthly expenses and categorize them so they could get a better sense of where their money was being spent. It’s hard enough to keep track of your spending in America, but for people who work 100% in cash and don’t have bank accounts, it’s nearly impossible. The handout also had a space to help them visualize and quantify their financial goals, whether it was starting a small business or putting their children through school. Valence’s brother, Innocent, was there to help translate and the presentation was very well received by the ladies.

Hopeland Junior School

For a month, we settled into a nice routine. We woke up, showered, had a delicious breakfast which quickly became our favorite meal of the day: eggs, sausage, fruit, toast, and tea all made by Aunty Rose. Then we set out for the Kitoola village. We drove five kilometers down a dusty and bumpy dirt road, often splashing through puddles from the overnight rain. Each day we would become stuck behind a massive tractor pulling a trailer full of sugar cane until we had enough space to pass. BEEP BEEP! We would wave to the families working in the fields, washing their boda bodas (motorcycles) in the river, and sitting outside enjoying the morning sunshine.

Hopeland School — home to 450 crazy kids.

When we arrived at the Hopeland Junior School, the children would announce “the visitors are here!” and “mzungu!” which is Swahili for “white person.” Coons settled into a small room outside of Innocent’s office. Innocent is the principal of the school and an absolute gem. He is every bit the motivated, optimistic, and passionate educator we were hoping we would be working with. Kourtney would pick up a new chapter of Charlotte’s Web (that she typed the night before) from Brenda in the printing room if the generator or solar power was working that day. Coons met with teachers to discuss their budgeting, finance, and long-term goals. Kourtney taught three classes per day for an hour each, visiting primary four through six.

Coons’ “office” while at school where he met with teachers in between classes.

When she entered the room, all of the students would stand and greet her, and they would continue to stand until she gave them permission to sit. It turned into a little game as Kourtney was not used to this incredibly polite behavior, she would frequently forget to request they be seated and they would laugh. The students also laughed at how frequently she broke the chalk, so they would always fetch extra for her at the beginning of the class. The students loved wiping the board, collecting papers, and helping carry her things back to the teacher’s lounge. Each day P5 taught her another word or phrase in Lugandan. Anything to be helpful. The students also cleaned their classrooms daily during lunch, sweeping and mopping the floors. When the next teacher was late, we would dance. When the teacher didn’t show up at all, we played games or ran around in the fields out back past the toilets.

Kourtney with her breaktime crew.

Kourtney found that the teachers taught writing and grammar quite well, but reading was not much of a priority (the lack of a library didn’t help). What little reading the students did was out of a work book which she didn’t believe sparked much joy. She worked on reading comprehension with the students as well as vocabulary and strategies for test taking in reading. The P7 group, in particular, was eager to ask her questions as they prepared for their national exams. Kourtney aimed to provide an experience that was less didactic and more interactive. The children had never acted out a scene before! There were plenty of days where the chapter couldn’t be printed or the only dictionary was misplaced, and she had to improvise, allowing the students to read from her cellphone or look up words on her dictionary app.

Improvisation is the name of the game especially in Africa!

During break or lunch, the nursery children would run over to us, touching our hands, feet, nose, ears, elbows, hair, etc. We would teach them English words or read to them, and they would ask us to say “nose” and “hole” in Lugandan, laughing uncontrollably. Lunch was posho (maize porridge) and beans. Every. Day. We drank little water so as to avoid using the bathrooms that were a circular hole in the ground with a door that doesn’t close and was definitely see-through. When it was time to leave, the children yell, “Bye, see you,” and run to the gate waving. We’d chug a liter of water on the way back to Lugazi and talk about our day. While Rose opened the gate of the compound, children from the school near our compound came running down the street chanting, “A Mzungu, a Mzungu!” We parked PJ and went back outside the gate for greetings and high-fives. Then the next day we did it again. There are certainly worse ways to spend a month.

Sipi Falls

During the weekends we took mini excursions. The first one was to Sipi Falls, four hours east of Lugazi. Our campsite was a bit tricky to get into, requiring us to back down a steep hill with a sharp curve, but the views of the waterfall from the bar made it all worth it.

The view from the bar was worth the price of admission.

While we enjoyed a meal, the monkeys tried to steal our trash and during the night avocados fell from the trees near our tent. We met a nice European couple who had also quit their jobs and had been traveling for a year, but all in Africa via public transport. We offered to give them a ride to Jinja in a couple of days where they were hoping to go eventually and they gladly accepted.

The next day, our guide Martin brought us on a hike down into, behind, and under three waterfalls. The views were incredible and Coons was able to practice more with the ND filters on the fancy camera!

Finally found some water in Africa to use the ND filters.

We were able to get so close that we got soaked from the mist of the falls. It was a nice long hike through the local villages where we learned to say “Takwenyo” (Hello, how are you?) as we stomped through the mud. Martin was particularly skilled at finding chameleons in the trees, and he put them on our hands so we could feel them claw their way up our arms!

Karma, karma, karma, karma, karma chameleon!

On the way back from the hike Martin told us about some of the interesting customs of his local tribe. Kourtney had read that you can attend a circumcision gathering, so she had to ask. Boys are not circumcised until they are at least 13. From age 13 to 18, a boy can make the decision about when he wants the procedure done. The ceremony and procedure are largely for health reasons but it is also a right of passage, and they will usually refuse pain medication. Until this happens, he will not be considered a man. The immediate family with make food and beer and invite family and friends for the event. Fortunately, they no longer practice circumcision on females.

The next day Martin picked us up at 9am and brought us to his village where he showed us his coffee plants. He showed us which ones to pick and a nursery where transplanting starts. Then we sat outside his home while coffee was drying on the ground in the sun. We crushed some of the dried beans to separate the skin, and then sifted the skins out in the wind like someone would flip a pancake in a pan.

Coffee red, coffee green, one for me and one for you!

Then we roasted the beans on the fire inside their cooking hut until the aroma and color were perfect. We continued to crush the beans until they were fine grains all while singing songs Martin made up to pass the time.

♫ KC don’t you worry. In Sipi coffee is waiting for you don’t worry. ♫

After we boiled the water and coffee mixture, we were ready to taste. Kourtney and Martin made a medium roast so Coons wasn’t about to try this batch. But remember in Colombia when he did try coffee?! Instead Martin arranged for some of the local beer to be brought to his house so Coons could sample it. They brought it in this yellow plastic jug that looks like it might have held oil for a vehicle at one point. He poured it into a kettle with a long spout and Coons went to town. The beer tasted more like porridge and could certainly suffice as a meal in a bind. The alcohol content was low as this was more of a social drink that is meant to be filling.

Local coffee and beer — living like real Ugandans!

After our drinks, we brought Martin to his butcher a couple of towns over along with the Europeans who were coming with us to Jinja, where the source of the River Nile is located. We stayed at a nice lodge overlooking the river with a rope swing so we could swim in style.

Baby Moses would have loved the sunset over the Nile.

We saw more Mzungus than we had in months! We ate at this awesome place which has a couple of large shipping containers turned into food stands and they had every variety of food that you could image. Coons had pizza and a smoothie and Kourtney had Thai food and a mint iced tea. It was so delicious we went back the next day — mostly because the Mexican food stand was closed the first time we went! It did not disappoint.

Kamuli

Our second excursion was to visit Issac and Joseph in their villages. We were supposed to visit our friend Heather Rose from Portsmouth, but she unexpectedly flew home early, and Issac said he hoped we would still come to meet him. I guess that he and Heather had been fighting over who would take PJ’s third seat, so he was happy to take a selfie in the car and send it to her.

Sorry, Heather Rose — no seat for you!

He brought us to the house he grew up in and he and Joseph cooked us a huge meal that we thought was dinner, but turned out to be lunch! It was quite delicious! We got to meet Heather’s chicken Embwa so we’re happy to report that he was alive and well. Then we went into the center of town to buy fish and see if his father was around. His father has a school in town, so Kourtney got to dance with the students while we were waiting. Apparently we had just missed him as he was at church, so we set back out for Issac’s home to cook the fish.

We offered to help with dinner but didn’t prove to be too helpful. Neither of us had skinned a fish and had already been feeling queasy about some of the meat we had been consuming lately, so Issac happily obliged us. We cut up some onions and tomatoes inside a tiny bowl on our laps with a dull knife and Joseph laughed at us. We had been taking our table, cutting board, and chef knife for granted clearly. The dinner was incredibly tasty. After avocado for dessert and conversation — mostly about Joseph’s aspirations to make 20 friends and then go to America — we retired to our rooftop tent which seemed to amaze them.

The next morning we walked into town to get chapatis for breakfast. Kourtney thought she was carrying Issac’s daughter, but it turned out it was his niece, so she started to feel bad about stealing someone else’s child for such a walk. Once safely back, Kourtney returned the child and we finished breakfast and tea. We ran into Issac’s father as we were setting out to Kagulu Rock to hike.

Issac and Joseph asked several times if we had hiked before, so after telling them a couple of times we have been hiking before and love it, we figured we might as well play along and tell them it was our first time and we were nervous we might not make it up. They expressed their concern for us as we did not look as physically capable as Heather Rose who apparently struggled to reach the top. The love that Issac and Joseph have for Heather Rose knows no bounds. They speak of her frequently and compare everything we/all white people do to what she does or can do. Why don’t you run 20 miles from the city to the village like Heather Rose does? You can’t cook as well as Heather Rose. Joseph even asked Heather Rose to name his newborn son!

We made it to the summit!

Feeling inadequate, we still managed to make it up to the top of the rock formation in around 25 minutes. It was a steep climb but offered beautiful 360 views. At the top is a comical sign that reads, “Finally! 3600 feet. Congratulations.” We laughed because it wasn’t even the highest point of the rock, so we set about getting to that point. The ~11 children (it was hard to keep track as more would keep appearing) that were hiking with us brought us to a cave but said to enter we must take off our shoes and pay tribute to spirits living in the cave. Not wanting to disrupt the spirits or leave our shoes behind, we opted to find a different way around. We walked through tall grass and scrambled up rocks so hot from baking in the sun, but we made it!

After we descended, we drove to Joseph’s village to see his family. They were very sweet and welcoming and insisted on feeding us. Interestingly enough, in their culture, it is considered rude to eat with your guests. So they made us a delicious meal and then they ate separately from us as a sign of respect. The meal was very tasty! Joseph’s aunt was just delighted that we were there, saying it was a miracle from God. On the way back to the car, she and Kourtney held hands the whole way. It is so cool that language may separate people but love and respect never do!

No matter where you’re from, everyone needs a hand to hold.

It was a short visit with Issac and Joseph, but it was a special one. We thank you both for inviting us into your homes. Then we needed to head back as we needed to go back to Issac’s village, gather his things, drop them off in Kamuli, and then make it home to Lugazi hopefully before dark. Rule #1! Of course, this didn’t happen and we had one of the most stressful nights driving back to Lugazi thanks in large part to those white taxi vans who were running us off the road, driving in our lane, beeping their horns, and flashing their high beams at everything that moved. We made it safely but it was tiring. Doreen and Abby were there to welcome us back with a warm dinner, and we felt like we had a home away from home.

Our experience at Hopeland changed us profoundly. We found ourselves in the car discussing sponsoring children and adults looking to continue their education. Did you know for $1,500 USD you can put a young man or woman through a three-year teacher education program? To put a student through one year of boarding school in Kitoola is one million shillings which is the equivalent of about $300. We discussed adoption. Did you know there are more than 4.5 million orphans in Ethiopia? Then we started discussing helping to run a school or build one of our own when we retire. Coons could finally have that Land Cruiser he wanted. We could fly back in the winter months so as to not miss the ski season. Of course, there are people in other parts of the world, not to mention our own backyard, who need our help, but there is just something about Africa that stays with you. It’s hard to explain: it’s difficult, chaotic, and corrupt but it’s also interesting, unique, and unforgettable in a way that leaves you speechless and looking forward to returning. Either way, Kourtney found herself counting her lucky stars for the opportunity to teach abroad and for a husband with whom she will continue to formulate new goals and aspirations.

The Warm Heart of Africa

by | posted in: Adventure, Africa, Overlanding, PJ, Travel | 1

Fingers-Crossed

After our recent border experiences, we were really starting to dread border day. Dressed in over-sized green cargo shorts (Coons calls them his “border pants”) and one of his two t-shirts, Coons parked PJ on the side of a large white building and was immediately swarmed by people selling peanuts and exchanging money. Once we had a fat stack of Malawian money, we entered the building where we handed over our passports and paid for our visas. We decided to get the car registration started in the meantime while we waited for the visas to be processed. This seemingly nice lady with the typical African lack of spacial awareness walked up to us, asking if we needed insurance.

Insurance Lady: “Hello Sister. Hello Brother. Do you need insurance today?”

Us: “We have COMESA, but thank you.”

After we finished filling out the registration, the officer said we needed to pay three separate charges, some in Malawian Kwacha and some in USD to the bank. Lazily, he made us fill out each of the deposit forms with the bank name and account number as if we were supposed to know it. When Coons pulled out the stack of money to separate the fees, he noticed we were 13,000 Kwacha short. The fixer was still around trying to direct people through customs and immigration, the man begging, “Brother, give me money,” was making his rounds, but the cunning insurance lady was nowhere to be found. She had most likely pick-pocketed us and disappeared.

After sitting and stewing, all of our fees were paid and our visas ready. We drove away ready to be done and restart our Malawi experience. Starting now…

We stopped at Barefoot Safari camp on the outskirts of the capital, Lilongwe. This was a proper South African setup with individual grass pitches, running water, electricity, and a braai. It had been a while since we had a setup like this. Wanting to fit in a three-day hike before our volunteering started, we were on a tight timeline so we could only spend one night here before beginning our journey south.

On The Road Again

Eager to get out of the city and out in front of the huge 18-wheelers clogging the road, we followed the crowd of taxis passing them as we left the city. Of course, we were immediately pulled over by men in bright white uniforms. The traffic police informed Coons he was speeding and the fine was 10,000 Kwacha (about $13 USD). He had video evidence with his digital camera outfitted with a speedometer gun which he proudly showed Coons. Ugh, okay restart again. Starting now…

On the roads, there are typically two different speed limit signs. There is a 50 kmph sign as you enter villages and then a 50 kmph sign with an X through it as you leave. So in town, you are to drive 50 and outside of town… not 50? We tried asking officers at the various traffic stops how fast we could go in a “not 50” and most of them didn’t understand us. Smiling with their heads tilted slightly, one answered he didn’t know (How? You are a traffic officer? This is your job) and one answered that you could drive 90-120 kmph. However, this is impossible in practice, because you can sometimes see the 50, not 50, and 50 kmph signs in quick succession, leaving little time for acceleration. We actually were stopped because we were driving 53 kmph (32 mph) in a 50 kmph (31 mph) zone. What. The. Actual. Hell. As the traffic stops piled up, our ETA on Google Maps crept later and later.

This would become an all-too-familiar sight.

At one point, we were stopped behind a tractor-trailer truck for several minutes who was prevented from moving forward by a large gate the police weren’t opening. One of the female officers directed us around the truck. As we pulled forward she hollered:

Female Officer: “Stop! Reverse! Pull over to the side!” she yelled, picking up an orange traffic cone.

Female Officer 2: “You have run over a traffic cone. That is reckless driving.”

Stunned by these dramatic, obviously orchestrated antics, we sat in silence for a moment. Do we try to explain the situation? Argue? Pretty sure nothing under 10kmph can be considered ‘reckless.’ Finally, Kourtney spoke up and added some honey to the situation.

Kourtney: “Madam. We are so very sorry. Please forgive us. We made a mistake.”

Satisfied, she let us go.

Why did we come here?

Still on the road, we made it to Blantyre which is the last major city before Mount Mulanje and stopped to refuel. With sidewalks for the pedestrians and two lanes for inbound and outbound drivers separated by a partition, we were thinking we would cruise through and make up for lost time. Not even ten minutes later, people were shouting in the streets, some of them at us, only some of them in English. Confused, we continued on, windows rolled up and doors locked. Then old, white, run-down taxi vans started driving head-on towards us. We knew they didn’t obey any traffic laws, but this was a new low. We finally realized there were riots in town and started to try and find our way around. This would take much longer than expected and cost us a tire, which you can read about in PJ Part 5.

In the dark, we reached the base town of Mount Mulanje and were immediately swarmed by freelance guides who approached us, pounding on the windows. Worn-out, we said we couldn’t think of hiking the mountain yet and begged them to direct us to Hiker’s Nest Backpackers. Once safely inside the hostel gate,  Ruth greeted us, and we let out a sigh of relief. Seriously — starting now…

Mt. Mulanje

At first, we were thinking we needed a day to recover after all of the previous shenanigans, but the next morning after a good night’s sleep, we were determined to start hiking. Coons organized a guide and we set out at 10am. To the base camp of Mt. Mulanje is a steady uphill climb — 1,500 meters of elevation gain over 13 kilometers. Not prepared for the immediate and nearly constant uphill, carrying all our gear on our backs, this took longer than expected ~7 hours. Feeling tired, sore, and wondering why we allowed ourselves to hike after sitting on our butts safaring for three months straight, we reached the camp.

It was nice seeing Africa from something other than a car window.

We met a nice Belgium couple who were one day ahead of us on the typical three-day schedule and looking for a ride to the lake where we were also going. They shared with us the dinner their porter cooked for them, a lovely vegetarian dish, and we swapped stories about traveling over firelight. We exchanged numbers and planned to meet up to head to the lake together.

The way up to the summit was an hour-long bear-crawl up slick granite rock and then an hour of climbing over and under huge boulders. It certainly kept us entertained and alert! Thankful to have small packs, we were able to complete this section in record time to enjoy the 360 views.

It was a tough climb, but oh so worth it.

On the way down the sun was beating down on us and we could feel the sunburn coming on. Should’ve packed the sunscreen! Once we made it back to the camp, we made lunch and finished packing before setting back out to the next camp.

The next camp was another two hours, mostly downhill. We were back looking at the beautiful flowers and trees as we neared the top of one valley. Then the sky turned violent and dark; the thunder started crackling just above our heads and the rain started pouring down. We kept trekking forward at a more hurried pace, but the rain continued to beat down of us for the final hour. Trudging through puddles in the rain with a pack cover collecting water is one thing, but when lightning is illuminating the sky just above us, we started to feel uneasy. When we finally arrived at the rest camp, we removed our soaked clothing and put it out to dry overnight and leaned our shoes by the fire. A really sweet Israeli couple, who had also just gotten married and were on their honeymoon, made us a cup of tea while we warmed ourselves by the fire. Coons shared his experience during his birthright trip, and they shared their experience visiting The Book & Bar in Portsmouth, New Hampshire.

The next morning we left the second camp and continued to walk downhill to a waterfall with a view of the massif behind and a nice pool for swimming. It was lovely to relax and look at, but we didn’t swim as we had a big day ahead of us: we had offered to give another American named Ben a ride to Blantyre where Nadeem and Kasim said they had a spare tire waiting for us. Then we needed to make it to Zomba to pick up the Belgiums and continue on to Lake Malawi.

You can tell dry season is ending when waterfalls actually have water in them.

Lake Malawi

We arrived late at night — again — with the Belgiums. We stayed at the Funky Cichlid and it was awesome and so relaxing. They treated us to dinner and drinks and we were all looking forward to some R&R after that brutal and beautiful hike.

Hiking friends are the best friends.

The Funky Cichlid has a restaurant/bar overlooking the water with a volleyball net and kayaks for rent. They have pool tables and couches for lounging and we took full advantage of the latter. We took some time to blog, nap, and eat at the restaurant. There was a Mother’s Day party set for that evening, but we met some day-drinking locals who ended up being too old for how obnoxious they were. One gentleman, in particular, was ruining all of the ladies’ day. He hollered at anyone who would listen that he didn’t appreciate the hostel dogs co-existing with him. “I AM NOT A DOG!” Culturally, dogs are kept for protection in Africa; they are not fed, cared for, or loved. They protect the family and the livestock. Finally, his wife put him to bed in the car so we could relax in peace. The night turned into a party with drinking games and dancing and excellent conversation. We left for another part of the lake the next day where we planned to dive for the first time since Central America.

Lake Malawi is a beautiful lake nestled between Malawi, Tanzania, and Mozambique. We had an excellent time scuba diving in Nkhata Bay with Aqua Africa. We observed lots of interesting fish 30 meters down including enormous catfish — the moms protecting their babies and the dads circling near us skeptically — and mouthbrooders, whose babies stay near their mother and swim into her mouth at any sign of danger.

Don’t look into the light!

At nighttime, we helped a group of dolphin fish hunt. They followed our flashlight over and in between the rocks and when we would illuminate a small fish, they would gobble them up quickly. It felt great to be back under the water. The only thing we needed to do now was grab medication to combat Bilharzia, a disease caused by flatworm parasites that live in snails that inhabit Lake Malawi — they just love passing the parasites on to humans.

The next morning we went shopping for groceries and headed to the Kings Highway Rest Camp. This is probably one of the nicest camping spots we’ve had thus far in Africa. Our spot was right on the beach. The facility is run by a lovely South African couple who brought us clean water to drink and stuff to keep the bugs at bay. The facilities were so beautiful and clean, we thought about sleeping in them. Warm showers, western-style toilets, soap, and hand towels — what more could you want?

Where you at mon? We right near da beach!

We took one last dip in the lake (with all its fun parasites) where we were immediately swarmed by a group of local children. What started as a round of high-fives quickly turned into a rambunctious playtime over the next hour. Non-stop throwing children off of our shoulders and flipping them into the water. We felt as though we had gotten another work-out in. Once the sun started to set, we made dinner, and reflected on our time in Malawi, preparing for our epic drive through Tanzania as fast as we can! Uganda or bust.

Malawi is called “The Warm Heart of Africa” and people from Malawi are sure to tell you when they greet you. We suppose we agree. The police are a little absurd and Africa time continues to get the best of us. However, we met a lot of genuine people who were very nice and helpful, and we tried to be as equally nice and helpful. We saw the beauty of the mountains and felt the relaxation of the lake (We’re really hoping we don’t have Bilharzia!). All in all, it was worth a visit.

A Dip With The Devil

by | posted in: Adventure, Africa, Overlanding, PJ, Travel | 1

Border From Hell

The Zambian border would prove to be the most challenging so far in Africa. At the Kazungula border, we drove PJ onto a large wooden barge that brought us across the river. Several men were there to “greet” us, looking to change money and provide information about insurance for the vehicle. They said the madam needed to get out of the car while Coons drove onto the boat, so they walked Kourtney to the boat where another man approached asking for a “tax fee.” Kourtney told him she didn’t have any money and continued on to find Coons who was in the cabin paying the correct person. Once across, we would spend the next two hours going from one building to the next (at least half a dozen of them in total) to get us and PJ legally into Zambia.

PJ likes water crossings, but typically he can touch the ground.

In Zambia, Interpol requires people bringing in cars to have a police clearance letter. Of course, Coons had read about this, and we’d been stopped by only one policeman asking if we knew about it, informing us we needed it to prove that the car isn’t stolen. Since we had already left South Africa without one, we decided to play dumb.

“A police clearance letter? What’s that?”

So the people at Interpol grumbled and made us get up and read the “rules” from the poster on the wall. They sternly informed us that the next time we come, we need to make sure we have one and ultimately let us through. Sure thing. See you never! This would continue to happen as we crossed between Zimbabwe and Zambia, different departments, different officers, same result.

There were also a lot of fees to pay: KAZA visa (for both Zim & Zam), carbon tax, road toll, and council levy. Of course, each of these needs to be paid in a different building, none of which have signs. Not to worry, the tout from the ferry was still following us and sure to point us in the correct (usually) direction, following behind us still. At one point, a pleasant female officer with a small soul patch under her chin even walked out with us to inspect PJ, making sure the license plate and VIN number matched our paperwork. She pointed out the various buildings where we needed to go to pay each fee and told us not to deal with the touts, but of course, as happens at every border, the officers ignore the actual touts. Touts, or runners, are locals who hang around at the border to prey on foreigners. They typically offer money changing and third-party insurance and are adorned with fake credentials on a lanyard hanging from their neck. They swarm any incoming car driven by a foreigner and follow along, trying to be helpful, never taking “no” or “we’re fine, we don’t need any help” for an answer, then demand money when you’re about to leave. It would be so easy to ban them, yet frustratingly, no border ever seems to do anything about it.

Our final task was to get insurance for the car for a day until we could get to Livingstone and purchase insurance from a legit agency that we could extend to cover us in Zimbabwe, Malawi, Tanzania, Uganda, and Rwanda without having any more people hassle us about insurance. The tout following us around for two hours seemed a good enough insurance “agent” so Coons went to his shack to strike a deal. Thankfully, the agent accepted a little less than the actual price as the border fees had completely drained us of the local currency (Kwacha) that we had changed at the border. We were supposed to return to one of the first buildings once we got change where we still owed five kwacha — sorry about that buddy! As seems to be the case everywhere that only accepts cash, no one EVER has any change. We figured that’s the cost of doing business. Hopefully, they figure out one day that having a change bank is absolutely necessary.

On the way back from a quick Mana Pools trip, we would hit another Zambian border equally as terrible and stressful only this time with car problems, some tears, and more money needed to pay people off in exchange for their demanding to “help” with the car. Anything to make a buck!

Livingstone

We happily arrived in Livingstone and to the Jolly Boys Backpacker’s Lodge. This place was very cozy and quiet, so much so, the staff suggested that we go to the one closer to town for a more vibrant feel. We decided that we needed some peace and quiet and this was the perfect place. With its nice pool and lounge area, we were able to relax and blog. There was one TV that played the same commercials all day on repeat and spotty WiFi, but we made due. We met some fellow travelers (two Aussi women and one American guy) who were planning on going to the Devil’s Pool in a few days and asked if we wanted to join. Kourtney immediately perked up. It’s dry season! That means the water is low enough to visit the pools!

“Coons! It’s our spot! We have to go!”

So Kourtney immediately set out to make plans with the receptionist. We signed up for the same day at 2pm and booked one more night at Jolly Boys.

Devil’s Pool

We entered Victoria Falls National Park from the Zambia side and met up with our guide and three other tourists who were actually staying at the other Jolly Boys in town. One was extremely nervous about waterfalls after having fallen 15 feet from a waterfall in Yosemite, another eager to experience to the fullest the last bit of his holiday before heading home, and a young girl happily beginning her three-month-rapid-fire journey through 20 countries. The walk brought us quickly over the top of the falls, scrambling over rocks, which three months ago (during our wedding) had been underwater. We saw some elephants munching on trees in the distance. Dropping our valuables into a lock-box near a fancy patio, we set out into the water.

We have to get in that?!

Our guide led us to the edge of the waterfall and into the Devil’s Pool. We told us to stay to the left-hand side, otherwise, we might be swept away, and warned us that little fish would likely nibble at our toes. But then he let us hang over the edge of the falls on our stomachs, peering 355 feet down. What an unreal experience! Not only were we back in the place where we married, but we were in the falls and looking straight down to the bottom.

It was a looong way down.

After the guide helped us snap some photos, we let the other three take their turn and stayed off to the side where another rainbow appeared. Here Coons had a confession to make. “Don’t be mad at me,” he said, “but…” as he held up his left hand to reveal that his wedding ring was missing! After secretly carrying those things around for months and then going through the trouble of resizing while we were home for a week, it was gone. However, Kourtney couldn’t be too mad. If he was to lose it, this place makes for one hell of a story.

We decided after the trip to stay in the park and watch the sunset. We toured all of the viewpoints, waved to people on the Zimbabwe side, and watched people swinging off the bridge before we set up our camera to do a time-lapse. The sky wasn’t doing anything super impressive, so we stopped it early and decided we’d better get home before it was pitch black out.

Unfortunately, we had to leave before the sunset got really good.

On the way back to the lodge, the sky turned from a pale pink to bright orange and blue, reflecting off the water, and Kourtney wanted to stop and snap more photos, but Coons had read bad things about people being robbed who stopped on this particular stretch of road. So we continued on, the sky turned black, and people swarmed the streets, making the trip back difficult and tiresome. Not driving at night is Rule #1 for a reason!

The next morning we headed back to Zimbabwe for a three-day trip to Mana Pools National Park (you can read all about that adventure here) and then returned back to Zambia. After another aggravating border crossing, we decided to stay in the capital to refuel and recharge. Here we stayed at another backpacker lodge where a group of drunk 18 year-olds were getting ready to go out for the evening. One that looked like Justin Beiber was chain-smoking cigarettes and explaining that they were teaching in a small village nearby in a high school nonetheless. Hopefully, they made a little more sense when sober. We made an “ok” version of Mexican tacos with what ingredients we could scrounge for at the supermarket and hoped they wouldn’t be insanely noisy when they came back.

Southern Luangwa National Park

The next morning we left the city and drove all day to make it to Southern Luangwa National Park. Eventually, we came to a “police” blockade. An officer stopped us and asked where we were headed. Then another man with a receipt book came and told us there is a 100 Kwacha tourism fee to use the road.

Kourtney: “ So let me get this straight. Only tourists have to pay this fee?”
Officer: “Yes.”
Kourtney: “So you only stop white people and make them pay money?”
Officer: “Yes.”
Kourtney: “This sounds like a trap.”
Coons: “Is there another road we can take?”
Officer: “No.”

So Kourtney asked again how much the fee was, suggesting 50 Kwacha and the men agreed. She demanded to know what our money would be used for, and the men answered that they were trying to bring electricity to the village. We were annoyed about paying another potential bribe to the police, but they had guns and we were in the middle of nowhere. So we paid.

We passed tons of villages where little children would run to the side of the road, waving hello and shouting “sweets.” Bad habits brought on by other travelers stopping to hand out candy — the last thing these kids need. Next time we’re bringing books! The roads were starting to get bad near the outskirts of the park, but we wanted to make it to a secluded spot near the river where we were sure to hear hippos. So we kept on until it was so dark that we couldn’t find the path leading to the river and opted to camp in between the river and road, so we hopefully weren’t spotted by park security. We had cheese and crackers for dinner in the car that evening because we didn’t want to risk cooking in the darkness with wild animals around.

The next morning we were up, out, and at the gate for its opening. We planned to stay along the river for most of our game drive, so we took a dirt road following some safari vehicles leading to the water. However, before we reached the Luangwa River, we saw a huge hippo in the trees.

“This isn’t where I parked my car!”

Kourtney was elated as this was the first time we have seen a hippo far away from the water; usually, it is difficult to get pictures of them with more than their heads exposed. He was alternating between mean-mugging us and chewing, knowing he had missed his curfew and needed to get back to the river. Just when we think we are safari-ed-out, we see another fascinating part of the animal kingdom that tells us this was all worth it! So we continued along the river, spotting a herd of elephant and an obstinacy of buffalo. We caught two giraffes necking by a tree and a small family sitting down underneath some trees during the heat of the day.

Get a room, guys!

On our way back to the gate, we spotted a hyena taking a mud bath! We thought they slept during the day.

“You guys wanna join? The mud is nice and warm.”

Once we left the gate, we decided to stay at Croc Valley Backpackers for a night. This place had the loudest hippos we’ve heard yet and tons of crocs lying around. We snagged the last spot they had which was right on the water. They had a huge pool which was so refreshing in the heat. We met a brother and sister from California; the sister is in the Peace Corps working in a Zambian village, and the brother was visiting her for a couple of weeks. We met more people from the US in Zambia than any other country on our trip—how strange, right?

Kawaza Village

For our final evening in Zambia, we decided to visit the Kawaza village where visitors can arrange a home-stay, attempting to live like a local. After driving around a few small villages while everyone stared at us, we finally found Sam, who runs the organization and his partner Grief (that’s not a typo). They walked us to the church where we stayed for a few minutes, listening to the priest and a couple of lively scripture songs.

The church turned into a party once the boys completed their ceremony.

After, we met up with the principal of the primary school, asking questions about operations and curriculum. He took us on a tour of the school where we peeped at some classrooms, the teacher’s quarters, the football pitch, and the kitchen where they make sure every child has at least one meal per day. We found out that this one school alone serves ~46 villages, and in order to preserve their local language, Kunda, they don’t begin teaching English until 5th grade. We quickly learned “Bwange” (Hello, how are you?) and “Bweno” (I’m fine.) so we could communicate with the pack of children following us around.

Ever want to feel like your famous? Step 1: Go to Africa. Step 2: Be a Mzungu (white person).

We returned to the village where we would spend the night; the traditional grass huts are built of clay, bamboo, and grass. They had small mattresses and pillows covered in a bug net for us. Coons took a nap while Kourtney chatted with Grief about gender roles and customs. Fascinated, Kourtney munched on mango while Grief explained: women are responsible for fetching water which they carry in large buckets on their heads, taking care of the children, cleaning the house, preparing all meals, washing dishes, preparing water for bathing, farming, gathering, etc. They must kneel before greeting, before serving warm water for washing, and before all meals. If a woman does not kneel, provide warm water, or chicken for the first meal, she is considered disrespectful, and her husband (if she has one) is within his rights to divorce her. Men are responsible for farming, making huts, and working, although the women also help with all of this. Men must also pay a dowry in order to marry. This dowry differs from the type and/or number of cattle based on the woman’s education and virginity. Abstinence is expected, and the newlyweds shave each other before they copulate for the first time which the woman is obligated to thank the man for every time. Newlyweds are given a large log for their fire in the hut where they sleep, and it is expected that by the time the log is completely burned up, the man must impregnate the woman. Until recently, families were as large as 13 (not including mom and dad), and in fact, the woman who runs the village is living proof. Now, with the help of education and rising costs of raising children (e.g. school fees), family size is typically four to six children which is helping women live much longer. If one of the children has special needs, it is within the man’s right to divorce his wife for cursing the family unit. Adultery is frowned upon and either spouse may ask the village leader for a divorce in such cases.

Once Coons woke up from his nap, Grief brought us to the football field where there was a match between the local team (he was their keeper) and another local village. Children lined the length of the field, frequently stepping over the line drawn in the dirt until a coach would come along with a stick and redraw the lines. Most of the players were in ratty sneakers or barefoot and were running back and forth constantly. There was no grass anywhere on the field, which meant the ball, and players, were moving constantly at rapid speed. Surrounded at all times by crowds of children, we must have shaken hundreds of little hands at the game, making it difficult to pay attention to the score of the match.

The wall of children created an ever-changing out of bounds line.

When we returned to the village, we showered and ate dinner which was posho (maize flour porridge), small silverfish, and pumpkin leaves — we had already eaten chicken for lunch, ensuring we were respected. Once supper was finished, we gathered around a small bonfire where a group of women showed us some traditional dances while a group of men played the drums. In small villages with no electricity and not much to do at night, dancing around the fire is used as a form of birth control; when the sun sets, each night there is dancing in a different village in the area. Little children and older adults feeling the music would join in on the sides. Because Kourtney was a female visitor, we were lucky enough to witness one of the dances only women perform in the home with a female who is coming of age. The dance is used to teach her what is happening/will happen to her body and how she must take care of and please a man.

Around 11pm, the dancing ended and we retired to our hut. Two men were hired to watch over PJ and us, directing us to the bathrooms so we wouldn’t become confused about its location. Kourtney didn’t sleep well because in the huts under the bug net was a heavy wool blanket covered in small insects the size of a spec of dirt. She could feel them crawling all over the mattress and her until the morning. She quickly rose and prepared to visit the school since it was Monday. After breakfast and before class, Sam brought us to the healer. She is a slight, older woman dressed in a purple outfit adorned with small red crosses. She helps the local villagers with herbal treatments for malaria, constipation, evil spirits, and consummation among other things. When visiting the healer, as opposed to a doctor, you don’t tell her what’s wrong. She reads your aura and spirits and tells you what is ailing you and then prescribes medicine to treat it.

While Kourtney observed a 9th grade English class preparing for government-mandated exams, Coons visited the local gin distillery. He tried the strongest of the batch, straight from the bottle, and reported back that it was pretty good and the villagers were impressed he didn’t make a face.

Who needs a million-dollar distillery when you have an old tire, a clay pot, and a little bit of creativity?

Then it was time to leave. This experience was certainly eye-opening and unique and we were happy for the opportunity to immerse ourselves into a different culture. It is a different way of life in the Kawaza village, but everyone has a lot of love and respect for one another, always extending a hand and a smile in greeting, and that never goes out of style!

Even though our time through these countries has been shorter than we expected, we really have been able to make the most of our time in Africa. Our volunteering was set to start in less than one month, and we still had two more countries to pass through! Next up, Malawi.

PJ Part 5 – Uganda… We Made It!

by | posted in: Adventure, Africa, Overlanding, PJ, Travel | 1

After the brief ferry ride, we managed to navigate our way through immigration and customs to enter Zambia. One item we did not have, and that would become a point of contention during our next few border crossings, was a police authorization letter. Apparently, we were supposed to go to a police station in South Africa and get a letter stating that PJ was not a stolen vehicle. We got asked for this letter at three different border crossings for Zambia and Zimbabwe and thankfully we were able to plead ignorance at each one and they finally cleared our vehicle. These two countries will also send out an officer to check the car and make sure the license plate and VIN match your paperwork. This was by far the most thorough inspection at any border up to this point, but thankfully all of our paperwork matched. PJ – we hope you aren’t a stolen vehicle, but if you are, please keep it to yourself!

We cleared Zambia customs and bought third-party insurance from some dodgy agent outside the border, fully intending on buying new, legitimate insurance in Livingstone with an extension to cover us for the rest of the trip. It was a waste of $12 but it got us out of the border quickly and saved us during a couple police check points.

After spending a few days at a laid-back hostel in Livingstone where PJ rested, we packed up and started to leave, but there was one problem… PJ wouldn’t start. Great! Turns out the battery was dead but thankfully another overlander in the campsite had a portable battery and gave us a jump to get us back on the road. We assumed that it had just drained from sitting for a few days and didn’t think much of it. That would prove to be a false assumption.

Other than a dead battery and some border issues, PJ gave us no other problems throughout Zambia and Zimbabwe. The roads in Mana Pools National Park required some 4×4 driving but nothing PJ couldn’t handle. After some more 4×4 driving in Zambia on the way to Southern Luangwa Nation Park, we were across the border to Malawi.

We spent a whole day driving south through Malawi, constantly hassled by police and forced to adhere to very low speed limits. We were getting close to Mulanje and passed through the town of Blantyre to fill up before the last hour to our destination when we ran into some trouble. We had heard some news about protests in Malawi, but knowing they were politically motivated and not targeting foreigners, we weren’t too worried. Of course, it was just our luck that protests and riots had started that afternoon in Blantyre. Halfway through the city, it turned into mayhem. Cars were driving towards us on the wrong side of the road to get away from the disturbance. Pedestrians, noticing our skin color and foreign plates, were yelling at us, only sometimes in English, to go in all different directions to get around the disturbances. After a few wrong turns, we were stuck in traffic when a well-dressed Indian man pulled up next to us in a new Toyota Hilux.

Nicely dressed Indian man: “Where are you guys going?”

Us: “Mulanje.”

Nicely dressed Indian man: “Ok, follow me.”

And just like that, we pulled a U-turn and took off after him. We were speeding through small backstreets and alleys and twisting our way through the streets of Blantyre – Coons felt like Jason Bourne. Sadly, our good fortune came to an abrupt end when two women pulled up beside us, despite oncoming traffic, to tell us we had a flat tire. Our hearts sank. Not now! After signaling to our navigator (we later learned his name was Nadeem), we pulled into an alley where we were immediately swarmed by children and a few adults.

It was impossible to even get near the tire.

One thing about Africa is it’s very difficult to actually do anything to your car by yourself. People always come over and start helping, whether they know what they’re doing or not. So we were relegated to the sidelines while Nadeem and others swarmed around the car to change the flat. Back on the road, we immediately noticed the tire was wobbling and feared that something else had gone wrong. We drove to a service center where Nadeem’s mechanic, Kasim, stopped by to make sure nothing was wrong – it wasn’t – and after refitting the tire, we were finally on our way. We would see them again on our way back through Blantyre as they helped us grab a new spare tire.

Thankfully we found a spot without people so the mechanic could take a look.

Malawi was also where our battery really started to give us issues. We were able to start our car by linking it to the secondary battery that ran our fridge if we were just parked overnight, but if we were in a location for longer, both batteries would be too drained to wake PJ up. We found this out the hard way in a hostel parking lot on Lake Malawi. No one in Africa seems to own jumper cables, but they’re more than happy to pull the battery out of their car to replace with yours to get you started. After swapping batteries, we decided to start disconnecting the battery every night so it would have enough juice to get us started. This strategy would persist until we made it to Uganda.

Set up the tent, disconnect the battery.

After Malawi, we had to cross western Tanzania from South to North in as little time possible to make it to Uganda for our volunteer position. It took us two and a half days of near constant driving, but we were able to wild camp for free both nights and made it to the Uganda border uneventfully. After one of the most difficult border crossings (paperwork wise), we noticed one of the other tires was looking a little flat. The tire gauge confirmed. We still had a couple of hundred kilometers until Kampala, so we pulled out the inflator, filled the tire up, and kept on going, stopping every so often to make sure it was still holding.

The final injustice struck us once we got to Kampala. We had spent the first four months in Africa in the heart of the dry season – we hadn’t seen rain in months. Uganda was a different story. It rained like clockwork, morning, afternoon, and evening. This was an angry rain, as if the sky was getting rid of the water as quickly as possible each time. It was here, in Uganda, that we were made aware of the leak in our sunroof. What started out as a minor drip turned into a flood once we reached the hostel. Unable, and unwilling, to deal with it after seven weeks of driving, we booked our first room since we left Johannesburg, grabbed a beer at the bar, and decided to deal with it later. Our windshield wipers were shot, the battery wouldn’t hold enough charge to start the car after a couple of hours, we had a slow leak in one tire, needed an oil change, and oh yeah — there was a lake of water in the driver’s side. But we had made it.

Limping over the finish line, we had made it to Uganda.

The next morning, we went to Uganda’s version of Jiffy Lube and Tire Warehouse. We got a new tire, new battery, new windshield wipers, and an oil change. We made sure at least one of us had an eye on PJ the whole time — we’re sick of playing “what did the mechanic steal this time” after we get our car back.

Rule #1 of owning a car in Africa — NEVER leave it alone with a mechanic.

We even managed to use the compressed air to clear out the drains in the sunroof. A few rainstorms later, we were confident we would stay dry. In much better spirits (which would be slightly dampened by the ticket/bribe/extortion from the local traffic police) we headed to Lugazi to start our four-week volunteer stay.

Johannesburg to Lugazi. Eight countries, seven weeks, just under 7,000 miles, and only four trips to the mechanic. Not bad PJ, not bad.