Bumpy Bus Rides and Guerrillas in the Mist

Well, another full-caliber, action-packed week just went by and I find myself recuperating at an internet cafe in Nairobi, Kenya. Since last time i wrote, i began and completed a tour across Kenya and Uganda, beginning with the Masai Mara National Park in Kenya (part of the Serengeti ecosystem) and ending with Mountain Gorillas in the misty jungles of the Democratic Republic of Congo (DRC)...

In order to share the experience of recent days fully with you, though, the first topic that i need to address is a topic well-addressed by Barney in his song "Bumpy Bus Roads" off of his debut Platnium album, "Fun School-Time Songs". Excluding endangered wild animals and edgy Congolese men with machine guns, a solid 95% of my last week can be pretty well summarized by the three words "bumpy bus roads". (For example, yesterday, i did a 14 hour, overnight bus ride from Kampala Uganda to Nairobi, which is, perhaps surprisingly, even less comfortable than it sounds.)

A week ago in Nairobi, upon meeting the other members of our tour group (conveniently divided into two groups, "Canadian" and "Non-Canadian"), we climbed aboard a gigantic Safari truck and began our drive west toward southwestern Uganda. Averaging an excruciating 15 miles per hour for 12 hours on our first day, my patience with East African road conditions met its first, but certainly not last, test of patience. Suffice to say that my patience failed; I cursed the Masai tribe (allegedly responsible for so called "road maintenance" near the Masai Mara National Park), not to mention those cheerful Canadians, annoyingly un-phased by the horrid road conditions. I came to the conclusion that, contrary to the romantic and celebrated images of the Masai's rich cultural history (e.g. fighting lions to protect their cattle, sending their adolescent boys into the wilderness for 5 years as they enter manhood and roaming the plains with the traditional combination of spear, shield and cell phone), that the Masai should ditch their traditional ways of life and begin with fixing those damn roads, perhaps with the help of gregarious Canadians who, incidentally, could learn to complain a little more like us well-practiced Americans. I mean, what could be more important than minimizing the annoyance level of impatient tourists being chauffered around to see all sorts of wild and endangered animals? Compelled to document the severe injustice of the situation, i attempted to write a mini-dissertation on the subject, entitled, "The Next Big Evolution of the Great Masai Tradition: Repairing Crappy Roads" (which, unfortunately, due to the bumpy nature of the bus ride, is virtually illegible). However, like many others who have endured the hardships of the rough terrain of East Africa, I survived, thanks in part to large rations of Salt and Vinegar flavored Pringles, Coca Cola and Snickers and even occasional Blackberry access. Although clearly proving myself to be a rough and ready, hardy traveler, I opted NOT to witness a Masai male circumcision ceremony, as tempting as it was.

Gradually, the bus ride across Kenya and Uganda became more enjoyable. I completed my "Zen and the Art of Motorcycle Maintenance", finding a little bit of extra Zen to keep me happy. I was also amused my the occasional road-side "Hotel and Butcher" shops. The smiles and waves from Uganda children were welcoming and endearing, at least until the smiles and waves were accompanied by the shockingly consistent, but not so effective, calls of "Give me my money!" I also started hanging out with another member of the tour group, an Israeli named Allon. With my 9 years of additional life experience, i imparted to him heaps of immortal words of wisdom (e.g. proper tent-zipper closing technique) in exchange for an occasional cigarette. We gradually befriended other wayward travelers along the way (Shawn from Virginia, Jenny a Tanzanian / Kenyan visiting from Norway), and even started getting along well with the Canadians, who proved capable of tolerating not just crappy Masai roads, but also impatient and Blackberry-carrying Americans.

The big finale, of course, were the guerrillas in Congo. Oh wait, I mean the gorillas in Congo. I had expected our tour group to see the Mountain Gorillas in Uganda or Rwanda, but turns out that our tour agency opted to take us across the border to the uh, somewhat-less-than-stable, DRC which has been mired in civil war for over a decade, with its eastern half infamous for lawlessness, rebel groups and troublemakers. Given the tour agency's general lack of preparedness, clear expectation setting and communication of plans, it was not so surprising to have this "minor" change in agenda nor hardly a word about the implications of this change. The only reference to safety was by a DRC government representative, who, after collecting expensive gorillas trekking permit money, quickly dismissed the Lonely Planet's suggestion to avoid the DRC. Upon crossing the DRC and Ugandas border, we were escorted by a half dozen machine gun touting soldiers. Although no one said exactly who or what they were protecting us from, i think it was safe to assume it was from Congolese and/or Rwanda rebels and militiamen, as, although I'm no expert on gorilla (or guerrilla) deterrence, I don't think that rocket propelled grenade launchers are intended gorilla deterrents. I suppose that the site of such heavy armaments is supposed to engender a sense of safety and security for us tourists, but amazingly it did not. Oh, and the fact that just about everyone in the DRC seems to have a machete didn't make the senses rest any easier.

Although the combination of recent murders of gorillas just weeks before and armed soldiers didn't add a sense of comfort, the biggest source of discomfort was the worst-van-ride-ever drive from the border to the national park. Suddenly, i felt like i was too harsh on the Kenyan Masai, whose roads were miraculously smooth and well-maintained compared to these Congolese roads. Not only that, but we were crammed into a two-wheel drive Toyota mini van that proved to be the most abused vehicle on the planet which had long ago lost any semblence of a suspension system. As we ascended the muddy, bumpy and rocky hills, we attracted a full-scale parade of Congolese kids, chasing the van, pushing the van, adding and removing rocks under the van as it swerved, bounced and lurched reluctantly up the mountain for 3 SOLID HOURS. (Incidentally, this van ride was beneficial in temporarily forgetting other concerns, like 16 year olds with machine guns.)

Once our van ride completed (and we were all deserving of medals of honor), we THEN began our machete-led trek / stomp through the Congo jungle to find us some gorillas. The DRC lived up to its reputation that nothing is easy in the DRC, and we trudged through chest-high vegetation and battled menacing red ants for another 4 hours, searching for some of the last mountain gorillas on the planet. And just as I was beginning to fear that we might not see any gorillas and that we would have to repeat the days events again (please God, no!), we found them... The gorillas, i mean. And yes, it was amazing. We were within 5 feet of a HUGE male silver back gorilla. The female gorillas and baby gorillas played around us, literally within touching distance. I felt a great sense of purpose that i hadn't felt before on my trip, namely because for the first time in 10 weeks and after carrying it through four continents, i finally had a chance to use my camera tripod, which somehow seemed to impress the dudes with the AK-47 machine guns. No seriously, it was amazing to see these beautiful creatures up close and personal in their own home.

It was not until after we returned from the DRC that i learned that the already tenuous relationship between Uganda and Congo was getting hotter by the day around disputed border areas and that a recent firefight along the border left one british oil prospector and several Uganda soldiers killed. Moreover, gorilla trekking in the area was called off by various government agencies immediately after we did so. So, i guess we were pretty lucky to have our troubles limited to bumpy bus rides.

After the gorilla trekking, i left the group and headed back East to Nairobi to catch a flight up to Italy, my next stop. On the way, i stayed in Kampala which turned out to be quite a night after i ran into a couple of local Kampala guys. I ended up sharing their curb with them, hanging out for a long time and attracting an little crowd, interestingly mostly fans of Tupac Shakur and Arnold Schwarzenegger. i got a little flavor of the local favorites and hang outs, escorted by new friends Paul, Paul and Henry.

The next couple of weeks will be touring around Europe before heading back to the US of A, via Japan. Hopefully blog updates will be more frequent...