that-a-way, lady

pointing the way for prayer - on my hotel desk

My first travel upgrade - from a normal room to a "Lady Avari Suite." In addition to being on a ladies-only wing of the hotel, I received a box of cookies, a cake (yes a cake), fresh flowers, and a platter of fruit. That's not all - I also received bath salts, complimentary face cream (for sagging skin), and a red silk kimono with pink satin slippers. From this "cocooned" suite, I have a window that overlooks the pool, which is always filled with men swimming and sunbathing. Hmph.

lahore's bad week

DAWN headlines on 13 march

I'm in Lahore, the cultural heart of Pakistan. That's the spot of land nestled between China, India, Afghanistan, and Iran.

I'm in Lahore because I took a consultancy with FIRMS Project - a USAID-funded project which is tasked with:

developing a dynamic, internationally competitive, business sector in Pakistan that is increasing exports, employing more people and producing higher value added products and services.

I am working on the Market Readiness Program - providing training and support to women-owned businesses in the garment, jewelry and home decor sectors in Multan and Karachi.

After numerous delays because of visa issues (a dark and dingy Pakistani Consulate office in Hotel Diplomate in Kampala, a leap of faith in Fed-Exing my passport to DC, the freak snow storm that delayed it, and one Officer McTernan who held onto my passport for a long time for no good reason), I finally got the stamp and boarded the plane... Only to land in Lahore during the worst week in recent history. I arrived on Wednesday. Last week, Pakistani intelligence captured the leader of the TTP in Karachi (that's Tehrak-i-Taliban, the Pakistani version). On Monday, in retaliation, a suicide car bomber rammed into a police interrogation building in Lahore.

After a routine security briefing on Thursday in the FIRMS office, I felt fairly doubtful that I'd come to understand what "lockdown" even meant. After all, some friends were silly enough to compare suicide bombs to that old adage about lightening never striking the same place twice. Then, just as I was in a meeting thinking about lunch on Friday, the PA came on and twin suicide bombs in the Cantonment area of Lahore were announced. Lockdown = check.

I didn't hear anything, feel anything or see anything, other than concern on the local staff's faces as they called their families and tried to resume work. One woman brought over menus for lunch - Subway, McDonald's, or KFC. The Subway man still delivered our lunch, we just weren't allowed to leave the building.

I finally made it back to my hotel around 8 pm, and was once again contemplating food when I received a text message from the office reporting another bomb blast in Moon Market. And then two more, and then more. The sound of an SMS started to make me flinch. I ate my room service - red snapper, mashed potatoes, red carrots and French apple pie. I finally fell asleep, fitfully, and spent my Saturday indoors - mostly in my hotel room, locked down once again until further notice. So much for kurta shopping.

haiti

haiti (courtesy of getty images)

Almost immediately upon returning to Kampala, the earthquake in Haiti happened. I was sitting on the couch in the living room as Danny was going to work - "did you know there was an earthquake in Haiti?" He hadn't heard. Haiti was his last post with State Department - he was there for two-and-a-half years.

And a day later, he was gone. He took a one-month assignment to help out at the US Embassy in Haiti, so we went from circumnavigation of Lake Vic mode into crisis-earthquake-goodbye mode. I guess that's how these things happen.

completing the circle

a home-grown coffee shop in kigali

12 Jan.

On the morning of the 12th, we drove through central Kigali to exit the city and head north, and made a stop off at Bourbon Coffee for some joe and breakfast sandwiches for the road. We bought a bag of coffee to feed Aisha (our housekeeper). I unfortunately had gotten her hooked on caffeine, and we thought it best to give her her own stash.

The most remarkable thing about this last leg of the trip was crossing the border back into Uganda. While it still held that feeling of "home," after visiting Kenya, Tanzania and Rwanda, we couldn't shake the feeling that something is just not right with Uganda. I freshened up on the history of dictators, reading aloud from the guide book. Danny tried his damndest to avoid the idiot drivers trying to run us off the road. Admittedly, that last chunk of road from the border, up through Mbarara and Masaka is quite bad - we knew that. But somehow, after the smooth tarmac of Tanzania and Rwanda, we were quite pissed off.

Remembering our trip out to Mihingo in October, we counted off the clustered items on sale on the way back into Kampala - the drum section, the woven mats, the painted stools, the asparagus-like unidentifiable veggies, the FISH. We pulled back into Kampala, sat in jams and finally pulled into the compound in Muyenga. Greeted with waggy butts of Henry and Neilos, we gave a collective sigh and started to unload the car. Home.

mwanza - kigali

so long, friends

11 Jan.

Eventually we had to say good-bye to Hotel Tilapia and pretty little Mwanza, and get back on the road. We were a little over halfway around the lake - and we only had two days to get Danny back to the office. It was appropriately rainy when we woke up, packed the car and hit the road. Due to some bad instructions from the hotel front desk, we ended up at the wrong ferry. When we finally found the right one about an hour away, the ferry was pulling away from the shore. I silently read the New Yorker (about how to make Jews feel included on Christmas) while Danny fumed.

As always happens on a trip so long on the road, a melt-down occurred. I wanted to read him the New Yorker story and he wanted to be mad. Then I got mad that he was mad and he cheered up by purchasing a monkey hat off a vendor. We rode the ferry silently, with arms crossed.

The road from Mwanza to Kigali was a good one. We reached the border at Rusomo Falls, I walked across the little bridge over a raging orange rapid, and met Danny on the other side. The "no-corruption" policies of the Rwandan border control made for a quick crossing, and we were on our way - on the right-hand side of the road. Rwanda is called the "land of a thousand hills," and we wound our way, zig-zagged and swooped all over the country, heading north, then west into the city. Everything about the Rwanda seemed tidy - from the cleanly swept yards to the impeccable dresses worn by the women. The road was smooth and free of potholes. We remarked at how something must be going right here.

We ended the evening crashing at my friend Julie's house in Kigali. We walked through the residential neighborhood and had dinner at Papyrus, drank oodles of wine and walked back home.

mwanza

bye-bye to the animals

9 Jan.

Danny and I were pretty quiet driving back out of the Serengeti. We fondly remembered the worst parts of the trip in "hey, this is where you had your first absolute freak out and took out the emergency flask!" or "hey, isn't this where you got out to pee and had to dance to get the tsetse flies off of you?" We paid another visit to the Grumeti River crossing, which was flooded and filled with crocs. And finally, we were at the gate. Danny haggled with the rangers about the fee, and I sat in the car reading and fending off vervet monkeys that were trying to break in and steal stuff (little bastards).

oh, hi. gimme your cookies.

It was high fives all around when we got back onto the tarmac and made our way to Mwanza. I think I even heard the Defender give a loud sigh of relief.

The rock outcroppings of Mwanza are unmistakable, surrounding the lake shore with scenery. They reflected pink, dusky light as we entered the town from the east. Mwanza is Tanzania's third-largest city. At the suggestion of my Kampala Book Club friend, Anna, we drove straight to Hotel Tilapia.

the buganda queen

It was when we were touring the available rooms that Danny and I caught a glimpse of "Buganda Queen," the steamship permanently docked at the hotel. They'd turned the ship into guest rooms, and to our delight, the Marner Suite was available.

We spent two days in Mwanza, without really leaving Hotel Tilapia. The permanently-docked room listed to the left, so you had to do a bit of a gravity-dance in the bathroom so as not to slip and hit the wall. All part of the charm. On the second night we ordered in, Indian food by candlelight on the bow/patio, amidst the old cranks and chains. The rest of the time we caught up on Al-Jazeera and watched Religulous on my netbook. I could have stayed there for a month.

ngorongoro crater

wildebeest crossing our path on the way to the crater
7 Jan.

The road to Ngorongoro Crater was just as bad as the road to Seronera. If you can ignore the bumps caused by the grading technique used to make the road, it's possible to spend the journey in awe of the landscape. The Serengeti plains were made by layers and layers of volcanic ash from the huge volcano that collapsed into the Ngorongoro Crater. The soil is thin, which accounts for the tree-less plains punctuated by kopjes - the tops of what were once mountains, now just rocks on the surface of the plains.

We passed the turn off for Olduvai Gorge and the landscape changed again, now ascending into verdant green hills, passing Maasai herders as we climbed higher and higher. The temperature dropped quickly and dramatically, and we arrived at the edge of the crater in the middle of the afternoon - lucky to grasp a brief moment of clear before the clouds swept across the rim.

view from the top - ngorongoro crater

The fog crept across the road as we drove along the rim and made our way to Simba A - our camp site for the night, perched at the top of the crater. We concocted our best meal of the trip: Kraft Mac & Cheese, beef chili and canned corn. Five star accommodation and dinner. Late into the night we heard crunching and saw a lone elephant making his way through the trees on the rim. Bush pigs surrounded the camp, crashing and squealing in the dark.

8 Jan.

The next morning, after much discussion and debate, we decided to splurge and pay the fee to go into the crater. We got this far...

After a visit to the Crater Park HQ for fees and fuel, we descended into the crater. The setting seemed surreal, with the lake rimmed with pink flamingos and a giant male lion napping next to the road.

ah, I'm so full, I'm just gonna lay here and zzzzz.........

The blues and greens of the walls were a dramatic backdrop for the yellow grasses of the floor. We mostly just drove around for a while, seeing zebra, elephant, and rhino in the distance. We had to make our way back to Seronera to camp, so after a quick drive around, we had to get back to the ascent road and make our way back. The whole time we were in the crater, I couldn't help but think about the geological process that created it - the instantaneous collapse of an enormous volcano - bigger than Kilimanjaro. I wondered which was more impressive - the volcano in its mighty, natural state, or the depression caused by its collapse?

big lonely guy walking on the crater floor

the serengeti

massive herds of grazers on the vast serengeti plains
6 and 7 Jan.

We'd heard from lots of people to be prepared to spend a fortune in Tanzania. The visa alone is $100 for Americans. Entry to the parks is $50 per person per day, with another $40 per vehicle per day and $30 each per night of camping. Get out your calculator - that's $200 per day if you do safari entirely on your own. Maybe that was why I expected big things. Or maybe it was that the Mara was so spectacular, that Serengeti just had to be bigger and better and... more.

bless the rains down in africaaaaaa

I clung to my relentless optimism as we passed through the gate to embark on the "two hour" journey to Seronera camp site. Four and a half hours later, after heavy rains, horrific roads, killer tsetse flies and a looming sense that something must be wrong, we saw the sign for Serena Seronera Serengeti Safari Lodge. We were so frustrated by the drive that we shelled out $427 to stay for one night at the lodge instead of camping. Danny awoke in the morning announcing the "best night of sleep ever in his whole entire life." I just wanted to sit next to the pool. We had a fabulous breakfast with tasty little plums, and one of the staff washed the muck from the Defender and the increasingly smelly muck from our cooler (melted ice + spilled milk + spoiling meat).

defender gets a bath

And then, of course, we got back on the road.

from mara to musoma

5 Jan. Our departure from Masai Mara was a bit delayed - first by the deluge, then sleeping in, then the gutsy blue-balled vervet that stole our pasta, a side trip to see some lions, and the road to Lolgorien "paved" with 3-foot deep mucky muck. We reached the border at Isebania and then continued south on Tanzania's beautiful tarmac roads, hoping to reach camp just outside Serengeti's Ndabaka Gate before nightfall. It was ambitious.

With the waning light painting a magical horizon around us, we tried once again to find that idyllic off-the-road spot that eluded us in Kisii. We pulled off to see about camping on a farmer's property, and were quickly surrounded by every Tanzanian in a 5-mile radius - none of whom could speak English. We drew pictures of tents and tried our best to convey our need for a scenic and private campsite, but to no avail.

We pressed on in the dark, eventually arriving at Tembo Beach Hotel in Musoma - a small town on the shores of Lake Victoria. Tembo Beach is a common stopping point for ginormous overland trucks, and when we pulled into the car park, there was a circle of travelers chatting next to one of the large, lumbering vehicles. We set up our tent in a sandy spot and cooked chicken spaghetti. I turned in early and left Danny to the devices of an older woman from the overland group - who'd taken a liking to him and his scotch.

Upon leaving the next morning, we saw what we'd missed in the cover of night. Musoma is a really neat town, with sand-swept streets and a languid beachy feel. As we drove through on our way to Serengeti, we were both sad that we didn't have time to walk around and get a better feel for the place.

food chain

crows on a wire (Flickr pic)

I read a Sherman Alexie book - War Dances - on vacation. Mostly at the Serengeti petrol/repair station in Seronera, while some guys repaired the bushings on the Defender. Later on, as we were making our way to Mwanza, I got to the last page and found this poem, Food Chain, which really struck me. I'm still writing about our trip, but this is a little interlude.

Food Chain

This is my will:

Bury me
In an anthill.

After one week
Of this feast,

Set the ants on fire.
Make me a funeral pyre.

Let my smoke rise
Into the eyes

Of those crows
On the telephone wire.

Startle those birds
Into flight

With my last words:
I loved my life.

~ Sherman Alexie, from War Dances

hyena, lion, weaver : dog, cat, bird

teddy bear? no, that's a sleeping hyena

danny woke them up

Then, the next day, we heard a rumor about some cats that made a kill....

that's a very dead giraffe head in the foreground

grrrrrrr........

Later that day, the rain sent the weavers into a frenzy.

sand river camp = locus amoenus

Home to the first 360 degree sunset.

Several people had suggested we stay at Sand River Camp. The site, which is actually a park gate, is nestled in the hills, on the winding banks of aptly-named Sand River. We were the only campers, which added to the feeling of remoteness of the place.

When we pulled up to talk to the rangers on the first day, they all shrieked and ran away. Turns out it wasn't because of us, but rather a young green mamba that showed up on the walls of the gate. Here's the deadly little guy eating a lizard. The ranger gave us a full lecture on the deadliness of the green mamba.

green mamba eating a lizard, which appears to be shitting itself

The first night at Sand River, after the amazing sunset, night fell and we were sitting at our campfire - when suddenly we heard what can only be described as munching. We took out the spotlight to check it out - a family of five elephants was walking along, eating grass on the other side of the car - not 25 yards from where we were sitting.

Our second night at Sand River, we decided to cross the river and camp a bit further from the gate. We picked a perfect spot with a tree on a bending bank. After a full day of incredible safari, we pulled up in the drizzle to set up camp. It had been drizzling all day, and it turned into full-on rain as night fell. Sometime while I was cooking dinner (minestrone soup mix with pasta and chicken added in), there was this strange howling sound. It gave me goosebumps. Again, out with the spotlight... but this time it wasn't animals, but rather a fast-rising river. Within minutes, Sand River had risen about 6 feet and was now a raging torrent of dark brown water.

morning after the deluge

We pulled the Defender up higher onto the bank and nestled in for a night of flood-filled dreams. The next morning, we took our time with breakfast, assuming the bridge was out.

We weren't alone. A vervet monkey crept up on our campsite and perched himself in the tree. It didn't take long to figure out he was casing the joint, and as we were merrily photographing his blue balls, he chose the perfect moment to run into our campsite, tucking a bag of rainbow-colored pasta under his arm football-style, looked both ways and ran. Danny was fast behind him (yes, he chased a wild monkey to retrieve our pasta), returning and fist-pumping the bag of pasta he stole back from the monkey.

And THAT was the end of our stay at Sand River.

from kisii to sand river camp

atop the western escarpment, looking out over masai mara

3 Jan. Following our hearty mashed potato breakfast, we continued south through Kilgoris, where the tarmac ended and began a winding journey through a beautiful pastoral setting - green hills with grass kept short by munching cattle, the occasional Maasai herdsman. My trucker side-kick sun burn began.

We entered Masai Mara through the seldom-used western gate - most tourists come from Nairobi, which puts you at the northeastern corner of the park. Seeing that Kenya had been receiving huge amounts of off-season rain, the last stretch of road into the park was horrific. Danny got to use more than his fair share of his defensive driving skills getting through this mucky mud pit that was eating everyone else's cars. I don't know how he did it. The actual arrival at the park is stunning - we didn't realize we'd been driving atop an escarpment, which promptly opened to the widest, most beautiful and empty scene you can imagine - yellow-green grass, acacia trees, and rainstorms on the horizon.

wide open spaces in masai mara

After a brief stop off to check out Kichwa Tembo Camp (a luxury camp - we stopped for a beer, tour and some ice for the coolers), we reached the main gate.

Our campsite, Sand River Camp, was on the complete opposite end (southeast corner) of the park, so we got to drive through the entire park on our way there.

hitting the road: from kampala to kisii

Danny and I are unfortunately getting a reputation for being late to things. We were definitely late for our trip - luckily there was no plane to catch - just the Defender sitting in the driveway, waiting patiently. We spent most of New Years Day packing: a trunk with our clothes; a bin filled with canned beans and corn, chili, pasta, oatmeal, coffee, mac & cheese, packets of tuna; foldable camp chairs and table; lanterns and cooking stove; yellow jerry cans of drinking water; "the kitchen" - a backpack filled with cooking and eating utensils; coolers with meat for the early days on the road; our two guitars (in a romantic ideal of our trip, we were musical vagrants), and an inexplicable amount of booze for two people for 12 days (you know, just in case). Neilos hopped in the back seat and put on a VERY depressed face.

We finally hit the road just before dark, and ran into rain on the Kampala-Jinja Road, realizing the headlights were not sufficient to be driving in the dark. So, on our first day, we made it about 90 km. We stopped for the night at our friend Wim's place, staying in his cottage for the night.

2 Jan - time to get serious. We got on the road to Kenya and crossed the border at Busia. Kenya greeted us with rain and shitty roads (yes, worse than Uganda). We drove into Kisumu for money and bread - Kisumu is a lakeside town, and Kenya's third largest city. Then on further south to Kisii. I'd been reading about what an utter crap hole Kisii was - litter-strewn streets, lots of weird unfinished construction - a sort of Tijuana in the Kenyan hills. Unfortunately, darkness was again fast approaching, and we recognized that there was no possible way we'd make it to the Mara before dark. We both shared the dream of setting up camp in some idyllic spot just off the road, with stunning views.



Instead of scenery, we were awarded with an evening at the Kisii police barracks. Danny pulled his international policeman card and we parked the Defender between two buildings housing about ten officers. Surely the highlight of their new year.

The highlight of my morning, however, was when Danny tried to turn last night's mashed potatoes (accidentally made enough for an army) into potato pancakes. Note: mashed potatoes fry up nicely the next day as.... mashed potatoes, nothing more. So we had mashed potatoes for breakfast and hit the road.

the big trip

adventure! animals! the roar of a diesel engine!

Sometime this past fall, Danny and I decided we wanted to take a big trip - a road trip. His affinity for Land Rovers made it an easy thing to envision - hitting up some of the hottest spots in East Africa on an over-land adventure all our own, in the world's coolest car. Danny already had a Land Rover Discovery when I met him. Sometime in 2009, he came home with a beat-to-hell white Defender, made sometime in the late 80s, with doors that didn't entirely work, and a constant smell of petrol - reminiscent of going out on the boat at home. As much as I loved that Defender, the thought of relying on it to get us around East Africa made me nervous. The solution? Buy one more Land Rover Defender - this time a late 90s model (also white) with a roof rack.

I came back from the holidays with maps of TZ, Kenya and Rwanda. A friend loaned us his South African rooftop tent, which involved a few Clubs and Danny sawing off part of his roof rack with a handsaw. After that we were more or less ready to go. Except that we didn't have the slightest clue of where, exactly, we were headed. At some point we'd gotten it into our heads that we'd just drive all the way around Lake Victoria - seeing everything we could along the way. Eastern Uganda, western Kenya, Masai Mara, Serengeti, Ngorongoro Crater, Lake Vic's coastline, Rwanda's hills, western Uganda and home again.

In twelve days.

2009 bookshelf

a great little used bookshop in Melville, a neighborhood in Jo'burg, RSA

I'm starting a new side bar list for 2010 reading, so here's a comprehensive list of the books I read (mostly devoured) in 2009. The books are in the order I read them (backwards) - the most recent book first, all the way to the beginning of 2009.

As I was going through the list to hyperlink the titles, I realized that I felt emotion and memory for each entry on the list - I could actually imagine how I felt and where I was when I read the bulk of the book. My most productive reading place this year was my friend Katie's place in Beaver Creek, Colorado, where I hid out for a couple of weeks in the snow - maybe it was the giant bath tub or the fireplace - I read A LOT. Otherwise, my favorite place to read is on a couch, with one leg thrown up over the back of the couch. I do a lot of that at Danny's house - usually around 3:30 pm when my mood inevitably crashes.

Strength in What Remains by Tracy Kidder - from the author that wrote Mountains Beyond Mountains - this book is about a Burundian man who makes his way to NYC during the war in Burundi (after a horrific journey through ravaged Burundi and Rwanda), ends up at Columbia, and returns to Burundi to build a clinic - which has become Village Health Works. Incredible and inspiring read.
Location: the couch in Danny's living room, recovering from a cold picked up in the Ohio winter

The Time Traveler's Wife by Audrey Niffenegger - read this first and then watched on my flight back to the US. Eric Bana continues to be one of the most beautiful men on earth. And it was a great book.
Location: KLM flight across the Atlantic on my way home for Christmas

Half the Sky by Nick Kristof and Sheryl WuDunn - excellent and inspiring book about the plight of women around the world. Incredible - everyone working on women's issues should read this to feel refreshed. I sent it as a Christmas gift to my wholesale distributor - Stacey Edgar, of Global Girlfriend.
Location: Danny's couch

Buddhism Without Beliefs by Stephen Batchelor
Location: in bed, all over throughout the year

The Lexus and the Olive Tree by Thomas Friedman - hungover and in my underwear, this seemed perfect for a Sunday afternoon - a bit outdated today, but Friedman's crystal clear explanations for globalization and globalution are addicting. I'm loving the education on stocks, bonds and the electronic herd.
Location: poolside

Man Walks into a Room by Nicole Krauss - my mountain-climbing companion Kapner left this with me and I reluctantly picked it up - it was beautiful. A man loses the last 24 years of his memory - a haunting look at memory, love, forgetting...
Location: Mihingo Lodge at Lake Mburo

Infidel by Ayaan Hirsi Ali - fantastic first choice for the Kampalan Ladies #1 Book Club. An honest look at what it's like being a woman in the Muslim world. Unbelievably brave book. Read most of it with malaria.
Location: on my malarial sick bed

Baking Cakes in Kigali by Gaile Parkin - a No. 1 Ladies Detective knock-off, this novel was a welcome respite from anything serious - quick and quaint tale of daily life of a Tanzanian cake-baker in Rwanda.
Location: night time by lantern in Gulu

The World is Flat by Thomas L. Friedman - I loved this book, even with it's ridiculous length and redundancy. I was really late on the bandwagon, but now I know so much more about Bangalore, the internet, China...fascinating. Read this in Zanzibar, of all places. I really know how to pick em.
Location: Z Hotel, Zanzibar, recovering from climbing Kilimanjaro

Surrender or Starve by Robert Kaplan - picked this up off the bookshelf in my house for the Kilimanjaro trip - about the politics of famine in the Horn of Africa in the 1980s. Turns out it was Jackfruity's old copy, which made me think of her Bissell vs. Kaplan posts back in the day.
Location: slopes of Kilimanjaro

Cheap by Ellen Ruppel - excellent book about the high costs of discount culture in the West - pretty relevant to my current existence.
Location: my apartment - a rare place to hang out

Body Surfing by Anita Shreve - and thank you, Anita, for depressing the shit out of me. I got hooked on Shreve back when I was an even more emotional high school student. I hope it says something positive that I can no longer stomach the drama.
Location: poolside at Danny's house

Life of Pi by Yann Martel - really enjoyed this, but was thoroughly confused by the island that eats you.
Location: at my parent's cottage on Johnson's Island - laying on the couch on the patio, but somehow conjures memories of rhubarb at the Marblehead farmers market

The Alchemist by Paulo Coelho - re-read this on a Wednesday afternoon. Means more to me every time I pick it up, and I'm feeling very at one with the soul of the universe...just about to turn myself into the wind.
Location: Danny's couch

A Place of My Own by Michael Pollan - how the writer built his own "place" - a little shack in which he writes, read, and thinks. A heavenly piece of literature.
Location: in bed at my apartment

The Consolations of Philosophy by Alain de Botton - checking in with Socrates, Seneca, etc. to feel better about the random annoyances of daily life.
Location: on the little couch in the Cronin guest house

Siddhartha by Herman Hesse - I picked this up in South Africa at a little used book shop.
Location: on the little couch in the Cronin guest house

The Native Commissioner by Shaun Johnson - picked this up at the Apartheid Museum in Jo'burg, and wow. Tells the story of a white South African man working under the Apartheid regime and trying to detach from his horrific work - resulting in depression and, ultimately, suicide.
Location: on the couch at Mosetlha Bush Camp in South Africa - while Hitesh was snapping away taking photos

On Chesil Beach by Ian McEwan - as beautiful and depressing as Atonement. McEwan seems to be a bit obsessed with how small decisions totally change our lives.
Location: in Melville/Jo'burb, at the Ginnegaap Guest House

The White Tiger by Aravind Adiga
Location: On the porch of Virunga Lodge, Rwanda, with that looming volcano in the distance

The Botany of Desire by Michael Pollan (not finished, gave it to Julie) - an exploration of sweetness [apple], beauty [tulip], intoxication [marijuana] and control [potato] - so nerdy it hurts (and I'm actually reading it - the apple part was all johnny appleseed...)
Location: Rwanda

Creating a World Without Poverty by Muhammed Yunus - treatise on "social business" and lots and lots of talk about the various Grameen businesses.
Location: on the couch at the Cronin's guest house

Purple Hibiscus by Chimamanda Ngozi Adichie - excellent book, scary parallel reference to red satin pajamas.
Location: New York and DC, before heading to Uganda

On Love by Alain de Botton - read this for the second time, with fresh eyes.
Location: Los Angeles, during downtime at the LA Gift Show

Ishmael by Daniel Quinn - "talking" gorilla unveils the dangerous story we as humans have been selling ourselves - the bogus idea that the world belongs to man. Man belongs to the world.
Location: Katie's place in Beaver Creek, Colorado

Blink by Malcolm Gladwell - Why didn't the Getty realize that the kouros was a fake? "...mostly it's because the Getty desperately wanted the statue to be real."
Location: Katie's place in Beaver Creek, Colorado (most of it read at a little gelato shop while Katie was skiing)

In Defense of Food by Michael Pollan - I heart MP and the pages 147-201 of this book. In short, the cover says it all: "Eat Food. Not too much of it. Mostly plants." Thank you, MP, for your continuing common sensical brilliance.
Location: Katie's place in Beaver Creek, Colorado - mostly read in bed

The Good Husband of Zebra Drive by Alexander McCall Smith
Location: Katie's place in Beaver Creek, Colorado

The Tipping Point by Malcolm Gladwell - LOVED this book and trying to figure out how to tip One Mango Tree
Location: Katie's place in Beaver Creek, Colorado

Untethered Soul by Michael Singer - eliminating the annoying chatter in your head, letting go of your stuff, tao - excellent and simple advice for a better way of living
Location: Started in the Bahamas, on the beach at the Sivananda Ashram, finished in Beaver Creek, Colorado

The Other by Ryzcard Kapuscinski - a collection of lectures on the concept of "the other" as told through Kapuscinski's journeys. Always thrilled for "new" stuff from Kapuscinski, and this one is pretty bold and thought-provoking - an honest look at being a white westerner working in a non-white, non-western context.
Location: Katie's place in Beaver Creek, Colorado

yawning chasms of change

For weeks prior to leaving for my two-week US Christmas vacation, I was waxing poetic about snow, Starbucks coffee, and shopping malls. The months since my last visit were enough to wash away any cynicism I'd had about Midwestern American life. Plus, it's Christmas. It's home.

Since I got home, I've been in a bit of a fuzzy and emotion-less observation mode. After a whirlwind 24-hour DC visit and trunk shows at a fair trade shop in Cleveland, the snowy white fairy dust settled out.

I forgot that winter in Cleveland means this:
It gets sort of light outside, the sky stays gray and ominous and from 8 am to 6 pm it looks like it's 6 pm. Perpetually on the cusp of dusk.

And Christmas:
Even in a dying county facing brutal job loss, the Strongsville Mall is packed to the gills. In this little suburb of just over 40,000 people, the roads are brimming with cars and the all paths seem to point to the mall. Nothing seems to have changed.

Except, it seems, for me. Everything seems a bit shellacked. Even the Starbucks Grande Mocha that was my lifeblood for so long looks bigger and architecturally weird (was there ALWAYS that much whipped cream on my coffee??). Driving my mom's Matrix feels like a kid's toy after the rumble and roar of my diesel Pajero. Driving is too easy. The country of origin labels on every piece of clothing seem larger than life. In my first 24 hours back home, I managed to have a quick spree at Victoria's Secret (helloooo people - they figured out how to increase your bust by TWO cup sizes!) and GAP (a perennial addiction that's harder to break than Starbucks). But since then I've been a bit shell-shocked.

Much of this is superficial. I doubt I would have had the same reaction had I spent two weeks in DC. But the chasm between the life I live in Uganda, and the life I knew in Cleveland - the life I left more than ten years ago - is gaping. So I imagine it's a bit like visiting the Grand Canyon. Looking down and wondering at the majestic fissure - wondering how it got there. What it means.

dreams of sewing machines - taking stock

I'm back at Schiphol Airport again. This time I found the Starbucks, in Lounge 1. I had to go through customs to acquire this grande mocha.

It really hasn't been that long since I was last here - it was summer then, on my quick layover back to Entebbe. One thing is certain - I always feel very far away when I'm here. It's cold and dark. It's almost 8 am and the sky is still inky black.

So, in my usual habit of reflection at Schiphol, here's the list.

Personal

1. I climbed Kilimanjaro.
2. I made a second visit to Zanzibar and got a henna tattoo on my butt.
3. I survived malaria.

After surviving malaria, I succumbed to workaholic syndrome - putting aside everything else in my life to focus 110% of my energy on One Mango Tree.

dreams of sewing machines...

Personal merged with professional, and my emotions suddenly linked up with the ebb and flow of doing business in Africa. In short, over the past few months I thought I was losing it. Coming out on this end, surrounded by the sterile organization of Schiphol, I can now say that I've "learned lessons" and "overcome challenges." Starting a business in Uganda is no easy task - trying to make it sustainable is even more difficult.

Professional

1. moved into our new workshop
2. hired a cook/cleaning woman, compound manager and armed guard service - fired compound manager for pimping and hired a new compound manager, suspended new compound manager for stealing airtime... and so it goes
   
3. started up the One Mango Tree Guest House, and quickly discovered that being a landlord is a full-time job in and of itself
   
4. hosted Stacey Edgar, founder of Global Girlfriend, who visited our new workshop and gave me a schooling in all the things I didn't know - she more or less lit my ass on fire
5. worked with Hilary Dell, our first design intern, to design 5 pieces of apparel for Global Girlfriend - a cami, scoop neck tee, tee dress, cardigan and wrap dress - production on 7,500 pcs. starts in December
   
6. started working with Gihan da Silva - a Sri Lankan living in Uganda who knows everything - about apparel production, textiles, used cars, rally car racing, government bureaucracy, how to talk to Acholi women to make sure they show up for work, etc. He is my saving grace and my best friend in Uganda, and he's now working with One Mango Tree
   
7. found a Ugandan lawyer and went through the annoying process of registering as a national NGO in Uganda, which took months and cost $1,000 and about a dozen trips to the lawyer's office, only for him to send me home to collect additional documents. Our complete certificate sat on the NGO Board Director's desk for weeks just waiting for her to show up and sign it, but it is now complete
   
8. went through a similar lengthy process to acquire a TIN number (like the EIN in the US)
9. faced slightly less run around and acquired an export certificate
10. build a relationship with a mostly reliable shipper, dropping our costs from over $12/kg to about $4/kg (thanks Gihan)
    
11. learned how to fill out oodles of customs paperwork - commercial invoice, packing lists, GSP Form A, and continued my education on AGOA policy (handbags don't qualify), Category 9 exemption and HTS codes
12. learned how to procure packing materials - carton boxes, poly bags, sticker labels - the things you don't really think about until you get an order for 4,600 pieces
13. completed a 4,600 pc. order for Global Girlfriend - definitely our biggest accomplishment this year - through this production we brought all of our tailors up in their skill levels and perfected quality control. The change this created in our capacity was incredible, and we had to bring on three new tailors to get it done - the end result was 133 cartons of One Mango Tree products shipped to Seattle
14. received a grant from International Organization for Migration (IOM) to take on referrals from their partners (ex-combatants, vulnerable women) for training and employment, training program starts this month, wrote a case study for their Labor Market Analysis
    
15. found a textile designer and worked with volunteers Anna and Zach Thompson to design four of our own fabrics for 2010 - all organic and absolutely beautiful - allowing us to cut ties with the Chinese wax print knock-off market we relied on in the past
    
16. signed off wholesale distribution in North America to Global Girlfriend
17. brought on Alison Farley to be our independent sales rep through Global Girlfriend
18. received another order for 3,000 pcs from Global Girlfriend
19. made our first projections and income statement
20. somehow squeezed in production for Christmas and gave the website a face lift, with help from new intern Amy Karr on photography and editing
21. since June, our staff went from 6 to 25

And finally, at 8:20 am, the darkness is lifting outside. Welcome North.

beautiful one mango tree video

Our friends at International Organization for Migration (IOM), with whom we partner on community reintegration, put together this gorgeous video of our tailors working in our new workshop. Check it out and pass it around!

the badge of honour

In the early days, I was religious about Malarone. I filled my prescriptions before trips, and popped each pill feeling pretty good about the fact that I was being so responsible. That was until a) my health insurance coverage ended, and b) I actually moved to Uganda. It seems that no one who actually lives here long-term really takes the stuff. When I got here in February, I started myself on Mefloquine. After weeks of waking up bathed in sweat and immersed in fear from my freakish dreams, I called it quits. I'd started having nightmares that were turning happy memories into scary, non-sensical, apocalyptic scenes. I figured malaria would be better than that.

So, it's no wonder that eventually, my time would run out, as it did earlier this month. I was as busy as ever, looking forward to a packed week of One Mango Tree tasks, when I woke up Monday morning with the vague feeling that something was off. Very off. You know it's pretty far off when I wind up at The Surgery. The faint pink line showed I was prego with parasites, so the doc loaded me up with killer medicines and sent me home to misery.

What's malaria like? Cold...so cold I must wrap myself in lots of blankets...then so hot I can't stop drinking water and feel delirious (104 degrees hot), then bathing in sweat. 20 mins of feeling exhausted and sort of okay, and then all over again. Then hips aching and aching - then lower back, then add in a pounding headache. 3 liters of water every day - my skin never looked or felt better, but those little parasites kicked my ass for the better part of a full week.

People kept joking that I was earning the African badge of honour, and I promptly replied that the badge was stupid. In hindsight, I realize I now share one more thing with Kapuscinski, and am happy to brag that I, for one gross week in early October, was his sister in African illness suffering.