Book: Half of a Yellow Sun
Author: Chimamanda Ngozi Adichie
Published: Farafina, Lagos 2006
Reviewer: Robert E. Gribbin
I spent the last three months in Nigeria. It was indeed a fascinating place. Under new President Yar'Adua it was full of energy and the expectation that problems can be solved and that the nation can look forward to a brighter, more prosperous future. Nigeria today has moved far beyond the passions of the 1967-70 Biafran civil war, yet some of the issues of disenfranchisement and tribalism remain as troublesome impediments to true national unity. Chimamanda Adichie's novel, that all of Nigeria is reading, is a haunting reminder of the enmity of the war, the arrogance, the violence and the hardship that was visited upon the Igbo people.
The title of the novel evokes the half of a yellow sun that was the central emblem on the Biafran flag. The sun also figured on the uniforms of Biafran soldiers. The half sun initially is symbolically seen as a rising sun representing the hopes and expectations of the new state. However, as the story progresses and Biafra descends into a besieged hell of poverty, starvation and collapse, the sun is clearly setting. Dreams are over and lives are irreparably changed.
The story focuses on a rich Igbo family, especially twin sisters, Olanna and Kainene, whose personalities are quite different. Tracking them and their various relationships to family, lovers and friends provides background for the war and a soap operatic setting for the plot that finally gathers together and moves forward seriously to delve into what happens when the normal stresses of living are overwhelmed by senseless violence. Much of the novel is viewed through the perspective of Igwu, a young naive houseboy called to service in the home of Professor Odengigbo, a fervent believer in the Biafran cause, who becomes Olanna's husband. Although Igwu does not understand his social superiors, he carefully observes them and gets to love them (and they him). Several delightful passages in the novel reflect Igwu's village naivete when he puzzles about middle class life style.
Hanging over the domesticity of Odengibo and Olanna's university household in Igbo territory were the tribal politics of Nigeria in the sixties. Following the assassination of Prime Minister Balewa (a northerner) in 1966 by Igbo officers, a series of pogroms and massacres were visited upon Igbo migrants in northern Nigeria. Thousands died and tens of thousands retreated to the Igbo heartland. Another coup d'etat brought northern officers to power. Rejecting that change, Igbo nationalists declared Biafra independent. The Federal Government responded by beginning a "police action" that morphed into civil war.
Although it only presents the Igbo perspective, this book is not about the politics of the war. Rather, it is about people - rich, middle class and peasant alike - all of whom become victims of forces beyond their control. Part of the tragedy of the Biafran civil war was the absolute conviction by the Igbo people, as represented by characters in the novel, that their destiny was to be free and independent. Consequently, they stoically accepted the enormous hardship visited upon them as Biafra was battered and starved into submission. This is that story: the pride, the courage, the resourcefulness and the initiative as folks coped with the collapse of their lives, with death, disease, starvation, betrayal and ultimately, defeat.
The central characters of the novel fill out nicely as the story progresses. They become real as they struggle with circumstances and against the doom that the reader knows lies ahead. Dramatically told, Chimamanda Adichie has written a compelling narrative of human resilience in the face of tragedy.
Wednesday, September 26, 2007
Thursday, September 6, 2007
Sudan's Lost Boys - a book review
What Is the What – the Autobiography of Valentino Achak Deng
Dave Eggers, McSweeney’s, San Francisco, 2006
Whew! In novel form this book tells all you ever needed to know about the Lost Boys of Sudan. The story begins with the civil war violence in 1983 that shattered the peaceful villages where Sudanese of various backgrounds lived together more or less harmoniously. Fleeing destruction of their world by Arab marauders, first hundreds, then thousands, even ten thousands of black African youngsters – mostly boys, but a few girls and later whole families - began to trek from their villages into the unknown in search of safety and peace. Months and hundreds of miles later, these refugees found little succor in squalid camps in Ethiopia. Later they were forced to move hundreds more miles back through the Sudan into northern Kenya. There they settled into a teeming camp that became home for ten years. Finally, several thousand of these wanderers were granted refuge in America.
Their walk was of epic proportions. The traumatized children were afflicted by disease, weariness, malnutrition, hunger, lack of leadership and rogue SPLA soldiers. They were pursued by raiders, shunned by most villagers, attacked by government warplanes and some were eaten by lions. Yet they mustered their courage, buried their dead along the way, supported one another and buoyed by hope, they marched onward across the swamps and deserts of Sudan. Pinyudo camp in Ethiopia was not the paradise they envisaged, but offered a year’s respite. Yet that too unraveled in an orgy of violence. Again the boys trudged onward. Beset by troubles and responsibilities that most children never encounter, they grew up on the walk and in the camps.
They settled into a more predictable limbo in Kakuma camp in northern Kenya where they went to school and became young adults. Ultimately as word of their travails spread, several thousand Lost Boys and Girls were admitted into the United States to begin new lives in America. It was a dream, but the reality of the dream was fraught with new obstacles of how to cope with America and how to come to terms with themselves and their pasts.
The novelization of Achak’s story with him as an engaging narrator permits the Lost Boys saga to be told in detail and with great emotion. The author uses flashbacks from present day Atlanta to recall events. Achak’s insight into himself and his relationships with others is genuinely touching. Not only are readers educated on the terrors of Sudan and the trek, but also on the reality that unsophisticated young African men confront in contemporary American society.
Geographical fault finder that I am, I noted two errors: Kitale, Kenya was referred to as Ketale in several passages and Kenyatta Airport was regularly misspelled as Kinyatta.
In summary, the saga of the Lost Boys is overwhelming. This book delivers a full dose of intensity - at times it was too much. I had to take a few breaks. Even so, What is the What is a worthy read. Finally, even though it was mentioned from time to time during the narrative, I never really understood what the what might be – perhaps some sort of universal truth - so the title of the book escaped me entirely.
Dave Eggers, McSweeney’s, San Francisco, 2006
Whew! In novel form this book tells all you ever needed to know about the Lost Boys of Sudan. The story begins with the civil war violence in 1983 that shattered the peaceful villages where Sudanese of various backgrounds lived together more or less harmoniously. Fleeing destruction of their world by Arab marauders, first hundreds, then thousands, even ten thousands of black African youngsters – mostly boys, but a few girls and later whole families - began to trek from their villages into the unknown in search of safety and peace. Months and hundreds of miles later, these refugees found little succor in squalid camps in Ethiopia. Later they were forced to move hundreds more miles back through the Sudan into northern Kenya. There they settled into a teeming camp that became home for ten years. Finally, several thousand of these wanderers were granted refuge in America.
Their walk was of epic proportions. The traumatized children were afflicted by disease, weariness, malnutrition, hunger, lack of leadership and rogue SPLA soldiers. They were pursued by raiders, shunned by most villagers, attacked by government warplanes and some were eaten by lions. Yet they mustered their courage, buried their dead along the way, supported one another and buoyed by hope, they marched onward across the swamps and deserts of Sudan. Pinyudo camp in Ethiopia was not the paradise they envisaged, but offered a year’s respite. Yet that too unraveled in an orgy of violence. Again the boys trudged onward. Beset by troubles and responsibilities that most children never encounter, they grew up on the walk and in the camps.
They settled into a more predictable limbo in Kakuma camp in northern Kenya where they went to school and became young adults. Ultimately as word of their travails spread, several thousand Lost Boys and Girls were admitted into the United States to begin new lives in America. It was a dream, but the reality of the dream was fraught with new obstacles of how to cope with America and how to come to terms with themselves and their pasts.
The novelization of Achak’s story with him as an engaging narrator permits the Lost Boys saga to be told in detail and with great emotion. The author uses flashbacks from present day Atlanta to recall events. Achak’s insight into himself and his relationships with others is genuinely touching. Not only are readers educated on the terrors of Sudan and the trek, but also on the reality that unsophisticated young African men confront in contemporary American society.
Geographical fault finder that I am, I noted two errors: Kitale, Kenya was referred to as Ketale in several passages and Kenyatta Airport was regularly misspelled as Kinyatta.
In summary, the saga of the Lost Boys is overwhelming. This book delivers a full dose of intensity - at times it was too much. I had to take a few breaks. Even so, What is the What is a worthy read. Finally, even though it was mentioned from time to time during the narrative, I never really understood what the what might be – perhaps some sort of universal truth - so the title of the book escaped me entirely.
Thursday, August 16, 2007
Rwanda Abolishes Capital Punishment
On July 25, 2007 the government of Rwanda abolished capital punishment. This carefully considered decision sent different messages throughout society. Some citizens were heartened; others quite distressed. However, in several ways the decision will permit the justice system to function more effectively in bringing the many thousands still charged with genocide and crimes against humanity to answer for their actions. Those already convicted and sentenced to die will while out their days in jail.
Lack of accountability for crimes of ethnic hatred was among the contributing factors to the 1994 genocide. Perpetrators of sporadic pogroms aimed at the Tutsi since 1960 had never been held accountable. This impunity led planners of the 1994 event to believe that they too could escape punishment for the ethnic slaughter they unleashed. However, despite the murder of nearly a million people, the perpetrators did not escape. Many were apprehended and held for trial.
Ending impunity and trying over 100,000 persons for genocide crimes was and remains a complicated task. Trials began in 1997 and the first convictions occurred in that year when execution was the law of the land.
In my book In the Aftermath of Genocide: the U.S. Role in Rwanda I write about the executions that occurred on April 25, 1998. Twenty-two persons died that day, four in Kigali.
“In Kigali the four convicted – Froudouard Karamira, Silas Munyagishari, Elie Nshimiyimana, and Virginie Mukankusi – were brought by truck to a field outside the Nyamirambo stadium. About twenty thousand persons somberly watched as the genocidaires were lined up, tied to stakes, and black hoods slid over their heads. There was no ceremony. A team of soldiers shot them at close range with automatic rifles. Another soldier administered a pistol coup de grace to each head. It was quickly finished. The bodies were carted away in the same truck that brought them. The crowd dispersed.
“The government had made its point. Impunity was at an end…. Having made the point the government carried out no further executions in 1998. This restraint began to pose a problem. I did not think the government wanted to execute the hundreds or possibly thousands of prisoners who would be given capital punishment. That would be a lot of vengeance for one government to administer. Suppose then that only the worst offenders were chosen for execution – but how to choose? They would all be convicted under the same law, and all equally guilty. Rwanda’s solution to this conundrum seems to be patience. Those sentenced to die remain in prison awaiting the carrying out of their punishment.”
Since those first executions, no further were done. About a thousand persons have been sitting on death row since 1998 with more added each year. Annulling the death penalty will now commute death sentences to life imprisonment. This relieves the government of the problem of potentially having to execute a thousand prisoners. Of course, it avoids the international outcry that would have resulted if a program of such executions were begun. Presumably the prisoners and their families welcome the change. Opponents of the death penalty are also pleased as are Rwandans who believe that national reconciliation can best be accomplished without further shedding of blood. Yet many survivors are disappointed and dismayed, even feeling betrayed. They had long awaited a final rendition of justice for those who murdered family and friends. They seek a sense of closure they will never have.
On the wider perspective of justice, absence of the death penalty opens the door for the extradition of genocidaires identified and even arrested in Europe, Canada and in other non-capital punishment nations. Heretofore such nations refused to extradite accused to Rwanda on account of the possibility of capital punishment. Now, they will be expected to comply with proper extradition requests. Similarly with the International Criminal Tribunal for Rwanda that sits is Arusha, Tanzania. One impediment to close cooperation between the ICTR and Rwandan judicial officials was the existence of the death penalty. With the annulment cooperation should improve. Over the longer term as the ICTR winds up operations in coming years, cases can be transferred to Rwanda for adjudication and convicts for incarceration.
In summary, given the circumstances abolishing the death penalty was the right thing to do. Domestically, Rwandans know that impunity is finished and that justice is being meted out. Genocidaires are answering for their crimes. Life in an African prison is no bed of roses. Internationally, Rwanda is doing the right thing that enhances its reputation and its ability to apprehend more of the “big fish” genocidaires.
Lack of accountability for crimes of ethnic hatred was among the contributing factors to the 1994 genocide. Perpetrators of sporadic pogroms aimed at the Tutsi since 1960 had never been held accountable. This impunity led planners of the 1994 event to believe that they too could escape punishment for the ethnic slaughter they unleashed. However, despite the murder of nearly a million people, the perpetrators did not escape. Many were apprehended and held for trial.
Ending impunity and trying over 100,000 persons for genocide crimes was and remains a complicated task. Trials began in 1997 and the first convictions occurred in that year when execution was the law of the land.
In my book In the Aftermath of Genocide: the U.S. Role in Rwanda I write about the executions that occurred on April 25, 1998. Twenty-two persons died that day, four in Kigali.
“In Kigali the four convicted – Froudouard Karamira, Silas Munyagishari, Elie Nshimiyimana, and Virginie Mukankusi – were brought by truck to a field outside the Nyamirambo stadium. About twenty thousand persons somberly watched as the genocidaires were lined up, tied to stakes, and black hoods slid over their heads. There was no ceremony. A team of soldiers shot them at close range with automatic rifles. Another soldier administered a pistol coup de grace to each head. It was quickly finished. The bodies were carted away in the same truck that brought them. The crowd dispersed.
“The government had made its point. Impunity was at an end…. Having made the point the government carried out no further executions in 1998. This restraint began to pose a problem. I did not think the government wanted to execute the hundreds or possibly thousands of prisoners who would be given capital punishment. That would be a lot of vengeance for one government to administer. Suppose then that only the worst offenders were chosen for execution – but how to choose? They would all be convicted under the same law, and all equally guilty. Rwanda’s solution to this conundrum seems to be patience. Those sentenced to die remain in prison awaiting the carrying out of their punishment.”
Since those first executions, no further were done. About a thousand persons have been sitting on death row since 1998 with more added each year. Annulling the death penalty will now commute death sentences to life imprisonment. This relieves the government of the problem of potentially having to execute a thousand prisoners. Of course, it avoids the international outcry that would have resulted if a program of such executions were begun. Presumably the prisoners and their families welcome the change. Opponents of the death penalty are also pleased as are Rwandans who believe that national reconciliation can best be accomplished without further shedding of blood. Yet many survivors are disappointed and dismayed, even feeling betrayed. They had long awaited a final rendition of justice for those who murdered family and friends. They seek a sense of closure they will never have.
On the wider perspective of justice, absence of the death penalty opens the door for the extradition of genocidaires identified and even arrested in Europe, Canada and in other non-capital punishment nations. Heretofore such nations refused to extradite accused to Rwanda on account of the possibility of capital punishment. Now, they will be expected to comply with proper extradition requests. Similarly with the International Criminal Tribunal for Rwanda that sits is Arusha, Tanzania. One impediment to close cooperation between the ICTR and Rwandan judicial officials was the existence of the death penalty. With the annulment cooperation should improve. Over the longer term as the ICTR winds up operations in coming years, cases can be transferred to Rwanda for adjudication and convicts for incarceration.
In summary, given the circumstances abolishing the death penalty was the right thing to do. Domestically, Rwandans know that impunity is finished and that justice is being meted out. Genocidaires are answering for their crimes. Life in an African prison is no bed of roses. Internationally, Rwanda is doing the right thing that enhances its reputation and its ability to apprehend more of the “big fish” genocidaires.
Nigeria - The Irony of Kleptocracy
By all reports Nigeria is among the most corrupt nations on earth. Little is accomplished without due consideration. Sadly, corruption has become the political and economic culture of the country. Patron-client relationships govern all aspects of life. For example, candidates for political office are nominated and selected by cultivating supporters with funds and promises. Such comity is extended with the certainty that when installed in office, officials will royally compensate their sponsors from government treasuries. Patronage includes flat out payments with diverted money, as well as jobs, travel, special privileges – building plots in cities, for example - and other patently illegal transactions including un-competed contracts and payments for projects that are not just never completed, but never begun at all. Moreover, people expect to pay “fees” for any service – public or private
Not only are billions in oil revenues blatantly misused, but a portion of Nigeria’s oil wealth is stolen daily via the simple means of pumping crude from isolated wellheads or draining a pipeline. More sophisticated theft involves over-invoicing, under-loading or a variety of slights-of-hand with documents.
Even the criminal system operates through corruption. Internet scams that capitalize on greed reflect endemic acceptance of corruption. Although violent theft and carjackings are commonplace, there has been a rising tide of kidnapping for ransom, extortion and protection rackets.
Because of embedded corruption nothing works efficiently or effectively, but the largest loss to society is that little of Nigeria’s enormous wealth is invested productively for the benefit of the nation. Roads are woeful, the railroad defunct, port infrastructure dilapidated, refineries inoperative and power generation minimal. The industrial sector is faltering and agriculture all but collapsed. Schools, hospitals, and clinics operate under shameful conditions. Most quality of life indicators are in decline. All this in one of the world’s great producers of hydrocarbons!
Is there hope for reform? Well, yes, a little. Successive governments, including the new administration of President Yar Adua have created and empowered anti-corruption commissions designed to identify and prosecute the worst offenders. So far, while some “big men” have been called to account, the record is not encouraging that such institutions can stem the tide. Concomitantly, however, there is increased understanding by civil society organizations, the people as a whole and even elected officials that the system is not tenable over the long haul. Anarchy, as is now occurring in the delta region is a reality that might spread. Disaffection leading to Islamic fundamentalism in the north is also on the rise. Fear of such threats to the state strengthens reform elements.
The irony is that had Nigeria’s wealth been properly invested, the whole economy would have expanded dramatically. All ships would have risen on the rising tide, including those of the small numbers of elite who have benefited disproportionately from corruption. Instead of the distortion that now exists with one percent of the population outlandishly rich, a small middle class composing a second tier and a poverty stricken majority in a distant last place, Nigeria might have more equitable income distribution and a public sector to be proud of.
Not only are billions in oil revenues blatantly misused, but a portion of Nigeria’s oil wealth is stolen daily via the simple means of pumping crude from isolated wellheads or draining a pipeline. More sophisticated theft involves over-invoicing, under-loading or a variety of slights-of-hand with documents.
Even the criminal system operates through corruption. Internet scams that capitalize on greed reflect endemic acceptance of corruption. Although violent theft and carjackings are commonplace, there has been a rising tide of kidnapping for ransom, extortion and protection rackets.
Because of embedded corruption nothing works efficiently or effectively, but the largest loss to society is that little of Nigeria’s enormous wealth is invested productively for the benefit of the nation. Roads are woeful, the railroad defunct, port infrastructure dilapidated, refineries inoperative and power generation minimal. The industrial sector is faltering and agriculture all but collapsed. Schools, hospitals, and clinics operate under shameful conditions. Most quality of life indicators are in decline. All this in one of the world’s great producers of hydrocarbons!
Is there hope for reform? Well, yes, a little. Successive governments, including the new administration of President Yar Adua have created and empowered anti-corruption commissions designed to identify and prosecute the worst offenders. So far, while some “big men” have been called to account, the record is not encouraging that such institutions can stem the tide. Concomitantly, however, there is increased understanding by civil society organizations, the people as a whole and even elected officials that the system is not tenable over the long haul. Anarchy, as is now occurring in the delta region is a reality that might spread. Disaffection leading to Islamic fundamentalism in the north is also on the rise. Fear of such threats to the state strengthens reform elements.
The irony is that had Nigeria’s wealth been properly invested, the whole economy would have expanded dramatically. All ships would have risen on the rising tide, including those of the small numbers of elite who have benefited disproportionately from corruption. Instead of the distortion that now exists with one percent of the population outlandishly rich, a small middle class composing a second tier and a poverty stricken majority in a distant last place, Nigeria might have more equitable income distribution and a public sector to be proud of.
Friday, July 13, 2007
East Africa - Paul Theroux's Dark Star Safari
Following is a review of Paul Theroux's latest travel book, which is now several years old. The review also appears on the web site of the Friends of Kenya.
Dark Star Safari by Paul Theroux,Houghton Mifflin, NY 2003
Dark Star Safari – Overland from Cairo to Cape Town marked Theroux’s return to Africa in the year 2000 after thirty years absence. He strove to travel the length of the continent as a solo voyager using local transportation such as buses, trucks and trains. Using his other travel books as models, he closely observed those whom he met and commented trenchantly, candidly and cynically about them. The value of the book is that Theroux writes so well that his observations ring of truthfulness – whether or not they are accurate. The compilation of anecdotes forms a body of work that paints a realistic picture of contemporary Africa. Furthermore, because he revisits territory and situations known to RPCVs, we have the advantage of seeing again places and people we once encountered.
Since this column focuses on Kenya, I will confine myself to comments about the East Africa section of Theroux’s journey, i.e. Kenya, Uganda and Tanzania. Theroux came down the great north road from Moyale on a cattle truck, an overlander truck and with a missionary. Because he was refused a ride, Theroux gave vent to his negative opinion of AID workers and their undertakings. “They were in general oafish self-dramatizing prigs, and often complete bastards.” Theroux, however, was an equal opportunity basher, noting the provinciality of Kenya’s northern residents who were apprehensive about troubles in Ethiopia, Theroux observed, “These ignorant inhabitants, traveling on a hideous road in an over-heated desert, in a neglected province of one of the most corrupt and distressed and crime-ridden countries in Africa, regarded sunny, threadbare, but dignified Ethiopia as a war zone.” As did the locals Theroux feared shifta bandits. He was told by a driver, however, “They do not want your life, bwana, they want your shoes.” Theroux reflected that indeed human life was cheap in Africa; shoes had more utility.
Seeing the slums outside Nairobi, Theroux said, “it was clear that the Kenya I had known was gone. I didn’t mind; perhaps the newness would make this trip all the more memorable.” Theroux did find a new Kenya, where inhabitants were savaged by Moi’s thugs, harassed on crowded crime ridden streets, governed by a self-serving ruling class, afflicted by HIV/AIDS and gripped by a sense of desperation that he encountered in all African cities. He noted that whenever a city grew bigger, “it got uglier, messier, more dangerous, an effect of bad planning, underfunding and graft.”
The author did not stay long in Nairobi but hurried on through Nakuru, Kericho and Kisumu. He was not impressed. He noted the lack of any modern development. He blamed ineffectual international assistance programs for being a complete waste of money, but also recognized that Africans themselves had botched most opportunities. He saw one “booming industry” upon leaving Kisumu – coffin makers – “a perfect image for a country that seemed terminally ill.”
Theroux returned to his personal past in Kampala where he had taught for several years at Makerere University. He found Uganda marginally better than Kenya; at least it was imbued with a sense of forward motion. In contacting old friends he discovered that the surroundings of the political debates had changed, but the underlying terms were the same. How to develop? Who should rule? How? What systems would work for Africa? Obviously there were no answers to these questions. While awaiting permission to board a lake ferry, Theroux wandered around the city he once knew and reflected on the changes wrought by thirty years in Uganda, in Ugandans, and in himself.
Finally aboard a rail-car carrier to Mwanza, Theroux entered into a Zen like state that would successfully carry him across the lake, on by rail to Dar and via the TanZam towards Malawi. Although he enjoyed the people, Theroux observed, “The dogmatic, motto-chanting Tanzanians had been humbled. No one talked of imperialism and neocolonialism now, nor of the evils of capitalism – though they could have, for even capitalism had failed in Tanzania.”
Errors: I always stumble upon geographical mix-ups. I am surprised that “fact checkers” don’t do a better job. Talking about volcanoes, Theroux said that “Mt. Lengai in Rwanda” was erupting. However, Mt. Lengai is dormant and in Tanzania. All the Rwandan volcanoes are dormant, but Mts. Nyiragongo and Nyamulagira in neighboring Congo remain active. Theroux noted that he had hoped to visit “Kabila” in western Uganda to see chimpanzees. There is no Kabila. I assume he meant Kabale Forest where chimps are easily seen. Similarly, he listed Lake Tanzania as one of the East African great lakes. Its name is Tanganyika.
Theroux ‘s journey began before East Africa and continued on afterwards. His take on other countries and people encountered are equally realistic, albeit amusing or infuriating. Theroux wanted to be in-the-mix, but not of it. He sought to retain a dispassionate perspective, but never hesitated to share scathing judgments. He was proud of his undertaking, but arrogant in judging that the sojourns, travels, observations and works of others were somehow less noble. Even so, a reader cannot help but like the guy. He went and did it and told it like he saw it.
.
Dark Star Safari by Paul Theroux,Houghton Mifflin, NY 2003
Dark Star Safari – Overland from Cairo to Cape Town marked Theroux’s return to Africa in the year 2000 after thirty years absence. He strove to travel the length of the continent as a solo voyager using local transportation such as buses, trucks and trains. Using his other travel books as models, he closely observed those whom he met and commented trenchantly, candidly and cynically about them. The value of the book is that Theroux writes so well that his observations ring of truthfulness – whether or not they are accurate. The compilation of anecdotes forms a body of work that paints a realistic picture of contemporary Africa. Furthermore, because he revisits territory and situations known to RPCVs, we have the advantage of seeing again places and people we once encountered.
Since this column focuses on Kenya, I will confine myself to comments about the East Africa section of Theroux’s journey, i.e. Kenya, Uganda and Tanzania. Theroux came down the great north road from Moyale on a cattle truck, an overlander truck and with a missionary. Because he was refused a ride, Theroux gave vent to his negative opinion of AID workers and their undertakings. “They were in general oafish self-dramatizing prigs, and often complete bastards.” Theroux, however, was an equal opportunity basher, noting the provinciality of Kenya’s northern residents who were apprehensive about troubles in Ethiopia, Theroux observed, “These ignorant inhabitants, traveling on a hideous road in an over-heated desert, in a neglected province of one of the most corrupt and distressed and crime-ridden countries in Africa, regarded sunny, threadbare, but dignified Ethiopia as a war zone.” As did the locals Theroux feared shifta bandits. He was told by a driver, however, “They do not want your life, bwana, they want your shoes.” Theroux reflected that indeed human life was cheap in Africa; shoes had more utility.
Seeing the slums outside Nairobi, Theroux said, “it was clear that the Kenya I had known was gone. I didn’t mind; perhaps the newness would make this trip all the more memorable.” Theroux did find a new Kenya, where inhabitants were savaged by Moi’s thugs, harassed on crowded crime ridden streets, governed by a self-serving ruling class, afflicted by HIV/AIDS and gripped by a sense of desperation that he encountered in all African cities. He noted that whenever a city grew bigger, “it got uglier, messier, more dangerous, an effect of bad planning, underfunding and graft.”
The author did not stay long in Nairobi but hurried on through Nakuru, Kericho and Kisumu. He was not impressed. He noted the lack of any modern development. He blamed ineffectual international assistance programs for being a complete waste of money, but also recognized that Africans themselves had botched most opportunities. He saw one “booming industry” upon leaving Kisumu – coffin makers – “a perfect image for a country that seemed terminally ill.”
Theroux returned to his personal past in Kampala where he had taught for several years at Makerere University. He found Uganda marginally better than Kenya; at least it was imbued with a sense of forward motion. In contacting old friends he discovered that the surroundings of the political debates had changed, but the underlying terms were the same. How to develop? Who should rule? How? What systems would work for Africa? Obviously there were no answers to these questions. While awaiting permission to board a lake ferry, Theroux wandered around the city he once knew and reflected on the changes wrought by thirty years in Uganda, in Ugandans, and in himself.
Finally aboard a rail-car carrier to Mwanza, Theroux entered into a Zen like state that would successfully carry him across the lake, on by rail to Dar and via the TanZam towards Malawi. Although he enjoyed the people, Theroux observed, “The dogmatic, motto-chanting Tanzanians had been humbled. No one talked of imperialism and neocolonialism now, nor of the evils of capitalism – though they could have, for even capitalism had failed in Tanzania.”
Errors: I always stumble upon geographical mix-ups. I am surprised that “fact checkers” don’t do a better job. Talking about volcanoes, Theroux said that “Mt. Lengai in Rwanda” was erupting. However, Mt. Lengai is dormant and in Tanzania. All the Rwandan volcanoes are dormant, but Mts. Nyiragongo and Nyamulagira in neighboring Congo remain active. Theroux noted that he had hoped to visit “Kabila” in western Uganda to see chimpanzees. There is no Kabila. I assume he meant Kabale Forest where chimps are easily seen. Similarly, he listed Lake Tanzania as one of the East African great lakes. Its name is Tanganyika.
Theroux ‘s journey began before East Africa and continued on afterwards. His take on other countries and people encountered are equally realistic, albeit amusing or infuriating. Theroux wanted to be in-the-mix, but not of it. He sought to retain a dispassionate perspective, but never hesitated to share scathing judgments. He was proud of his undertaking, but arrogant in judging that the sojourns, travels, observations and works of others were somehow less noble. Even so, a reader cannot help but like the guy. He went and did it and told it like he saw it.
.
Tuesday, July 10, 2007
USA - Drive to Alaska
Following is a piece that I did for the Washington Post travel section, but they have not used it yet.
The Trip: A fifteen thousand mile odyssey from Virginia to the land of the midnight sun – west across the prairies, north along the spine of the Rockies, up the Alcan Highway, north to Dawson, Yukon, “Top of the World” highway into Alaska, north to the Artic Circle, then almost every road in that vast state (there are not that many), back south on the ferry through the inside passage, zip across the lower 48 to home. Whew!
Who went? Me; Connie, my wife, and our 2003 Jeep.
When? July to mid-September.
Why? I had been there briefly in 1992 and knew that Alaska needed more time. There is just too much to see. Recently retired, we had the time and the vehicle; besides, we had not been on a really good road trip since driving around East Africa for two months in 1999.
How long? We did not rush. Twelve weeks.
Getting there was …three quarters of the adventure. Each day was new. The road rolled out before us. Mountains loomed, glaciers gushed, bears prowled, flowers bloomed in profusion, rivers roared, fish jumped. Most roads were well paved and, once past the Canadian mountain parks, traffic was light.
First Alaskan moment: Stopping in the rain and mud at the ramshackle log cabin café at Boundary replete with moose antlers and assorted junk stacked around the yard, but a warm welcome, hot coffee and cinnamon buns inside.
Best museums: A guided walking tour of historical buildings – the court house, customs house, old church, and the army post - in the town of Eagle (population 60) exposed a rich trove of sleds, vehicles, pelts and paraphernalia from the gold rush era 100 years ago. Eagle has few visitors so everything was hands on – touch, sit, feel. A second delight was the hammer collection in Haines that displays virtually thousands of hammers of all descriptions. I also recommend the state museum in Anchorage, the oil pipeline display in Valdez, sourdough cabins in Hope, and Native American artists at work in Sitka.
It was all worth it when…. after two days of camping in the cold rain and mist at Wonder Lake in Denali Park, I arose at 3:00 am and in the dawn’s early light discovered Mt. McKinley, the mother of mountains, towering above. She was out and crystal clear for two days, fading again into the clouds only when we departed.
Wildlife: We saw lots of bears – black, grizzly, brown – along the Alcan, and all around Alaska, but especially in Denali Park where we also had encounters with moose, wolves, caribou and ground squirrels. In the waters we saw tens of thousands of salmon spawning, otters floating, sea lions bellowing and whales breaching. Eagles, hawks, puffins and kittiwake gulls crowded the skies. Good binoculars were essential.
Scariest moments: We hiked for several hours daily – rain or shine. In Alaska we had lots of rain. I wore bear bells and when evidence, i.e. fresh scat, indicated ursine presence nearby, I clapped and sang out, “I can run fastest. Catch Connie!” Fortunately, this was effective; the only bear I met at close quarters completely ignored me.
Best golf: Yes, I carted my clubs along. The links type course at Haines cannot be bested anywhere in the world for its spectacular setting along the fiord surrounded by snow capped mountains and hanging glaciers. It was a decent nine hole layout as well, but the eagles all stayed in the trees.
Thrill: Flying in a small plane below the mountain peaks over the vast Davison glacier and looking up to spot mountain goats on the ledges.
Favorite meal: An hour long boat ride from Homer took us to Halibut Cove, an artists’ enclave, where we dined at The Saltry on scrumptious fresh seafood before a roaring fire on the covered outdoor deck. A good bottle of wine made it perfect!
Hostelries: We stayed at brand name motels, mom and pop’s, even a double wide motel, b&b’s, our tents, with friends, park and fishing lodges, and a cabin on the ferry. We especially liked two old hotels with the charm of an earlier epoch: the Van Gilder in Seward and Hotel Halsingland in Haines. Be warned, however, that all lodging in Alaska – no matter the quality – is about twice the price of “outside,” i.e. the lower 48.
Biggest disappointment: Not the bugs, the distance, the prices, my failure to catch a really big fish, but the weather. August/September 2006 was mostly chilly (day time highs in the fifties at best) and wet. However, long daylight was nice and the few sunny days were magnificent.
While we were there: Alaskans squabbled, then elected a newcomer woman governor over seasoned pros. They voted a cruise ship tax (that will be passed on to passengers.) They vociferously debated routing of a natural gas pipeline, whined about federal controls on federal land, rejoiced in the $1000 per capita payout from the state’s Permanent Fund, bemoaned the extension of the 81st Stryker Brigade in Iraq, and mourned the passing of Iditarod legend, Susan Butcher.
The Trip: A fifteen thousand mile odyssey from Virginia to the land of the midnight sun – west across the prairies, north along the spine of the Rockies, up the Alcan Highway, north to Dawson, Yukon, “Top of the World” highway into Alaska, north to the Artic Circle, then almost every road in that vast state (there are not that many), back south on the ferry through the inside passage, zip across the lower 48 to home. Whew!
Who went? Me; Connie, my wife, and our 2003 Jeep.
When? July to mid-September.
Why? I had been there briefly in 1992 and knew that Alaska needed more time. There is just too much to see. Recently retired, we had the time and the vehicle; besides, we had not been on a really good road trip since driving around East Africa for two months in 1999.
How long? We did not rush. Twelve weeks.
Getting there was …three quarters of the adventure. Each day was new. The road rolled out before us. Mountains loomed, glaciers gushed, bears prowled, flowers bloomed in profusion, rivers roared, fish jumped. Most roads were well paved and, once past the Canadian mountain parks, traffic was light.
First Alaskan moment: Stopping in the rain and mud at the ramshackle log cabin café at Boundary replete with moose antlers and assorted junk stacked around the yard, but a warm welcome, hot coffee and cinnamon buns inside.
Best museums: A guided walking tour of historical buildings – the court house, customs house, old church, and the army post - in the town of Eagle (population 60) exposed a rich trove of sleds, vehicles, pelts and paraphernalia from the gold rush era 100 years ago. Eagle has few visitors so everything was hands on – touch, sit, feel. A second delight was the hammer collection in Haines that displays virtually thousands of hammers of all descriptions. I also recommend the state museum in Anchorage, the oil pipeline display in Valdez, sourdough cabins in Hope, and Native American artists at work in Sitka.
It was all worth it when…. after two days of camping in the cold rain and mist at Wonder Lake in Denali Park, I arose at 3:00 am and in the dawn’s early light discovered Mt. McKinley, the mother of mountains, towering above. She was out and crystal clear for two days, fading again into the clouds only when we departed.
Wildlife: We saw lots of bears – black, grizzly, brown – along the Alcan, and all around Alaska, but especially in Denali Park where we also had encounters with moose, wolves, caribou and ground squirrels. In the waters we saw tens of thousands of salmon spawning, otters floating, sea lions bellowing and whales breaching. Eagles, hawks, puffins and kittiwake gulls crowded the skies. Good binoculars were essential.
Scariest moments: We hiked for several hours daily – rain or shine. In Alaska we had lots of rain. I wore bear bells and when evidence, i.e. fresh scat, indicated ursine presence nearby, I clapped and sang out, “I can run fastest. Catch Connie!” Fortunately, this was effective; the only bear I met at close quarters completely ignored me.
Best golf: Yes, I carted my clubs along. The links type course at Haines cannot be bested anywhere in the world for its spectacular setting along the fiord surrounded by snow capped mountains and hanging glaciers. It was a decent nine hole layout as well, but the eagles all stayed in the trees.
Thrill: Flying in a small plane below the mountain peaks over the vast Davison glacier and looking up to spot mountain goats on the ledges.
Favorite meal: An hour long boat ride from Homer took us to Halibut Cove, an artists’ enclave, where we dined at The Saltry on scrumptious fresh seafood before a roaring fire on the covered outdoor deck. A good bottle of wine made it perfect!
Hostelries: We stayed at brand name motels, mom and pop’s, even a double wide motel, b&b’s, our tents, with friends, park and fishing lodges, and a cabin on the ferry. We especially liked two old hotels with the charm of an earlier epoch: the Van Gilder in Seward and Hotel Halsingland in Haines. Be warned, however, that all lodging in Alaska – no matter the quality – is about twice the price of “outside,” i.e. the lower 48.
Biggest disappointment: Not the bugs, the distance, the prices, my failure to catch a really big fish, but the weather. August/September 2006 was mostly chilly (day time highs in the fifties at best) and wet. However, long daylight was nice and the few sunny days were magnificent.
While we were there: Alaskans squabbled, then elected a newcomer woman governor over seasoned pros. They voted a cruise ship tax (that will be passed on to passengers.) They vociferously debated routing of a natural gas pipeline, whined about federal controls on federal land, rejoiced in the $1000 per capita payout from the state’s Permanent Fund, bemoaned the extension of the 81st Stryker Brigade in Iraq, and mourned the passing of Iditarod legend, Susan Butcher.
Friday, June 15, 2007
Kenya - Not so Ferocious African Bees
As a Peace Corps Volunteer in Kenya in the late sixties, I shared a ramshackle European farm house with two other PCVs. Despite its dilapidation, it was certainly not a rural African hut. We had indoor plumbing, running water (when the 1913 vintage pump could be coaxed into operation), electrical outlets (but no generator), even a phone line and telephone number (but no instrument). Nonetheless, it was acceptable shelter.
What did remain magnificent, however, were the flowers. We had a profusion of roses, day lilies and flowering bushes of all types. Orange and lime trees continued to produce abundantly. The most redolent white trumpet shaped flowers grew on bushes some ten feet high. We called them the bee trees because they attracted bees. Hundreds, if not thousands, buzzed around incessantly. When the indoor plumbing was inoperative on account of lack of water, the dash through the bee trees to the outdoor facility had to be timed so as not to agitate the bees. Even so, we got used to them and coexisted amiably.
One of my housemates, Dennis, observed one day that the bees were getting louder and flying constantly around the windows to his room. Investigation behind the shrubs showed that, sure enough, bees were streaming in and out of the crawl space. Our Nandi tribesman night watchman, confirmed that bees had moved in and were making honey. He proposed a solution. He said he had some friends who knew bees and collected honey. In exchange for the bulk of the honey, they would rid us of the hive. We cut the deal. Within a day or two, one of the experts inspected the site. He said his team would return when the time was right.
We waited expectantly, but no one showed. The dry hot days stretched out. The bees buzzed. Dennis could not sleep at night from the hum below. Finally, the rains began, first in the afternoon, followed by a long evening soak. The next rainy night the bee men arrived. In the pouring rain, they stripped naked, busted into the crawl space, pushed a smoky torch under the house (I feared they’d burn the whole place down) and began passing out buckets of honey comb. Soon they located the queen, placed her and a quivering mass of insects into a paper box to cart off to more salubrious surroundings.
With some delight one of the bee men told me that bees did not associate wet hairless human skin with the enemy. However, they would attack furry creatures with frenzy. Woe be to the bee man who was not shaven! The night, the smoke and the rain also confused the bees, impeded flying and communication.
We got a half bucket of delicious honey out of the deal and patched up the hole the next morning.
What did remain magnificent, however, were the flowers. We had a profusion of roses, day lilies and flowering bushes of all types. Orange and lime trees continued to produce abundantly. The most redolent white trumpet shaped flowers grew on bushes some ten feet high. We called them the bee trees because they attracted bees. Hundreds, if not thousands, buzzed around incessantly. When the indoor plumbing was inoperative on account of lack of water, the dash through the bee trees to the outdoor facility had to be timed so as not to agitate the bees. Even so, we got used to them and coexisted amiably.
One of my housemates, Dennis, observed one day that the bees were getting louder and flying constantly around the windows to his room. Investigation behind the shrubs showed that, sure enough, bees were streaming in and out of the crawl space. Our Nandi tribesman night watchman, confirmed that bees had moved in and were making honey. He proposed a solution. He said he had some friends who knew bees and collected honey. In exchange for the bulk of the honey, they would rid us of the hive. We cut the deal. Within a day or two, one of the experts inspected the site. He said his team would return when the time was right.
We waited expectantly, but no one showed. The dry hot days stretched out. The bees buzzed. Dennis could not sleep at night from the hum below. Finally, the rains began, first in the afternoon, followed by a long evening soak. The next rainy night the bee men arrived. In the pouring rain, they stripped naked, busted into the crawl space, pushed a smoky torch under the house (I feared they’d burn the whole place down) and began passing out buckets of honey comb. Soon they located the queen, placed her and a quivering mass of insects into a paper box to cart off to more salubrious surroundings.
With some delight one of the bee men told me that bees did not associate wet hairless human skin with the enemy. However, they would attack furry creatures with frenzy. Woe be to the bee man who was not shaven! The night, the smoke and the rain also confused the bees, impeded flying and communication.
We got a half bucket of delicious honey out of the deal and patched up the hole the next morning.
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