Spent the day wandering around Stone Town, Zanzibar’s Old Town. Exploring the city, I feel like I’m in an old movie.

While the old town has a certain old world charm to it,  it definitely feels as if it hasn’t been kept up at all. It’s an old artifact that is decaying.

While out walking, I came across the bazaar, where everything you can imagine is being sold, many times by merchants who just lay their wares out on a blanket on the sidewalk. The place was crowded with lots of people yelling and hawking their goods.

Would you like a suitcase or mattress with your fresh-squeezed juice?

In addition to its reputation for being a source for many spices that have been traded around the world, Zanzibar has a darker reputation – that of being a slave trading center in the 19th century.

One of the world’s most notorious slave traders,  Tippu Tip, made his home on Zanizbar.

Tippu Tip knew the African continent so well, he gave critical advice to David Livingstone, the intrepid explorer.

Speaking of Tippu Tip, there is a very somber tribute to all those who came through Zanzibar as slaves at the old Slave Market. The structures of the market itself are gone, having been bulldozed and replaced by the Anglican Cathedral on the island.

When the church was built, the bishop at the time had the altar placed directly over the former whipping post of the slave market.

The church is right next to a mosque

One of the distinctive architectural features one finds all over the island are the intricate doors of the homes and businesses. These styles have been handed down from the combined Arab and East Indian design influences.

Speaking of design, there are other fascinating architecture styles to be found on the island.

Built in 1883 for Barghash bin Said, second Sultan of Zanzibar, “The House of Wonders” was the first building on Zanzibar to have electricity.

The Old Dispensary is the major architectural attraction in Zanzibar. Located across the street from the ferry terminal, it was originally the main source of dispensing drugs and prescriptions in Zanzibar’s Stone Town. It is now a collection of shops & tourist attractions.

The old fort is just that – the original fort designed to protect Zanzibar against invaders in the 19th century.  

And finally, for those that are worried about sexism on Zanzibar, it’s still very much a factor in the Muslim community.

Another long day today. For some reason, the only inexpensive and feasible flight back from Kigali required a departure at 3:50 am (yes, in the morning). Because of the timing, I had to leave for the airport at 1:30 am. I ended up just hanging out at the hotel bar Saturday night watching soccer matches and waiting for my time to leave.

As we were taking off from Nairobi on the second leg of my day’s travel, the pilot said we were flying at an altitude of 18,000 feet and that we may be able to see Mt. Kilimanjaro off to one side of the plane. 18,000 feet? That still over 1,000 feet BELOW where I was just a week ago. Amazing. Mt. Kilimanjaro is such a huge piece of geography, I was unable to see it from the plane window because it creates its own weather patterns. Everywhere else, it was fairly clear, but the mountain was shrouded in clouds, so I was never able to get a clear view of it from a distance. That reinforces even more how fortunate I was to be able to summit on such a clear day.

I landed in Dar Es Salaam at 9:30 am, then took a taxi to the ferry terminal where I booked a ticket on the 12:30 pm ferry to Zanzibar.

As the taxi pulled into the port area at the ferry terminal, the atmosphere was one degree short of pure chaos. A large crowd milled about outside the ticketing office. Vendors were selling everything from cashews to soft drinks to t-shirts. Men in orange vests were yelling at the taxi driver and me. I looked over to the taxi driver, and said, “Porters?”, to which he quietly replied, “Yes.”

I had read about these situations. The moment the car trunk is popped these porters reach into the trunk and deputized themselves to handle your bags, walking away toward the ticket office without even asking if you would like to hire them.

I made sure I was wearing my black baseball hat and reflective sport sunglasses to give the appearance of “Don’t mess with me”. As I emerged from the taxi, the driver knew well enough to wait on opening the trunk until I was standing at the back of the cab. Different porters were yelling at me to allow them to take my bags, and I was firmly saying to them, “No thank you! I take my own bags!” After a few exchanges, they realized I was serious and knew what I was doing (joke’s on them, eh?). They backed off, giving me a decent path to the ticket office. They would have to find someone else to take advantage of.

In the end, though, I still ended up paying a porter. As we queued through security (a narrow door into a small room with an X-ray machine and people pushing and shoving to get through), I tried to unload my pockets of all their contents, but the line was shoving to get through the X-ray portal, so I walked through without emptying any pockets, thus activating the metal detector. I was also wary about putting anything unsecured through the X-ray machine as there was a large group of people all reaching for items on the exit end of the X-ray. If I was held up at the X-ray door, I would have never been able to get to my loose stuff.

A security officer told me to go back through and put all my pocket contents on the conveyor belt. As I began to turn around a porter waiting on the other end of the conveyor told the officer that it was my watch that was activating the alarm and that I was OK. The officer gave me a pass.

Of course, by this point my bags were already in the porter’s hands. I decided to reward him for getting me through. 10,000 shillings thank you very much.

Karibu means Welcome in Swahili

Two hours on the ferry, and we docked in Zanzibar. The first establishment outside the ferry terminal is Mercury’s Bar. Mercury, as in Freddie, late of Queen. Turns out Freddie was a native Zanzibarian and this restaurant / nightclub is a lasting tribute to him. His original name was Farrokh Bulsara and he was born steps from where the restaurant is today.

The rooftop breakfast area of the Kiponda Hotel in Zanzibar

I checked into my very modest hotel – talk about being dropped into an old movie – and took a nap after my long day. I was awoken at dusk with the loudspeakers next door calling for evening prayer. Zanzibar is 99% Muslim, so I will be hearing those loudspeakers five times a day. Surreal, cool and exotic. I’ve never been in a predominantly Muslim area before.

Later in the evening, I walked around Stone Town, the old city on Zanzibar. The city is fascinating, a labyrinthine  community with heavy Arab and Indian influences. There was a food bazaar in one of he parks, where I ate some local delicacies.

I’m entering a new phase to my trip. While the past couple of weeks had a degree of structure to them, what with the planned excursions up Kili and into the mountains to track gorillas, I’m now at a point where I will begin to head south after my time here on Zanzi. My itinerary will become more unstructured and fluid as I make my way south on trains and buses. Should be interesting….

– At one point while driving back from viewing the gorillas, we were on a road at the very top of an extremely high ridge. Far down below, one could see a river snaking its way through the valley. We wee a good 4,000 feet above the river. Grand Canyon type of scale. But instead of a desert environment, the verdant hills created a spectacular vista. A view one has to see to really appreciate.

– One of the most popular forms of transport in African cities is “Moto-taxiing”. Basically there are people in blue vests all over town on motorbikes. You walk up to one, ask the fare to your destination, slap in a helmet and off you at a fraction of the cost of a car taxi. Plus you get there much faster as these guys weave in and out of traffic. Fun experience.

Please note – I have a lot of pictures of the gorillas, taken with my Nikon Coolpix P610. Unfortunately, i am experiencing technical issues with the camera right now, so I will have to upload this post with few pictures. Check back later for pictures once I resolve the problem.

The main reason I traveled to Rwanda was to visit the mountain gorillas, which live in an area that features eight volcanoes, most of them extinct, in an area that is bordered by Rwanda, Uganda and the Democratic Republic of the Congo (formerly Zaire).

There are currently approximately 880 gorillas living amongst the three parks in the region, Volcanoes National Park in northwest Rwanda, Mgahinga Park in southwest Uganda and Virunga National Park on the eastern border of the DRC. This number has increased over the last five years. The last official census in 2010 of these majestic animals counted 786. There is currently a new census being conducted and the 880 number is expected to be somewhat close to the new wild population numbers. Anecdotally, the large number of babies indicates that the populations are growing, though the mountain gorilla is still classified as a critically endangered species. For more detail on the census efforts, please visit
http://wwf.panda.org/?254110/New-census-critical-for-mountain-gorillas-in-Virunga .

The gorillas have been migrating to the parks in Rwanda and Uganda due to extreme volitility in the DRC and the forests they control. The DRC has been waging a war amongst government forces and two militias, each loyal to the Tutsis or the Hutus. The gorillas have been near some of the fighting, and seven were slaughtered by government forces in 2007 so that they could blame and politically cripple the head of the park service, who was waging a war against secret government operations to clear cut the forest to create charcoal, an important (and lucrative) fuel source in the DRC. In fact, the area is so volatile the U.K. Foreign Office states that “You should remain alert to the possibility of military incursions, stray bullets and/or artillery fire entering Rwanda if you’re near the DRC border.”

As a result, the gorillas have become wary of humans, especially when they carry long sticks (we were issued hiking sticks to help navigate the trails and told to leave them behind as we got near the gorilla group). The long sticks remind the apes of guns.

I booked a one-day expedition with a local company in Kigali. Because I wasn’t staying overnight in one of the lodges near the park, it involved a 4:30 am pick-up in order to get me to the park in time for the start of the tour, which is managed by the Rwandan government. My driver & host, Eric, provided a wealth of information about the gorillas, Rwanda, anything I was interested in. He was a very knowledgable resource and it was a great pleasure getting to know him.

As we approached the starting point for the tour, there was a heavy, constant rain falling, complete with an occasional flash of lightening and burst of thunder.

The government of Rwanda limits to eight the number of daily permits issued for each group of gorillas, so all s to minimize the exposure of the gorillas to too many people. After being designated to a particular group of gorillas, a group of eight of us received our briefing from our guide, Patience (and yes, that is his real name).

Patience and me  

Patience has been a guide for 12 years and has developed a very close bond with the group he visits almost every day. The group that Patience oversees consists of 22 gorillas, which includes one silverback (the dominant male), a few adolescent males, a dozen or so females and about four to five babies, aged from one year and less.

We set off to find the group in that aforementioned heavy rain. My poncho was well designed for the job, as well as my hiking boots, which gave me yet another reason to love them. Because of the rain, the paths were extremely muddy and slippery. We made our way through some high rainforest, periodically stepping in mud that would sink our feet up over our ankles. The “path” roughly followed a small stream, to the point where it wasn’t clear whether the stream was created by the path or vice versa.

After more than a kilometer of slogging through the mud, Patience received word via walkie-talkie as to where the group could be found. Each morning, a group of trackers goes into the forest to check on the welfare of the apes as well as get them “on radar” so they can communicate the coordinates of them to Patience or the other guides.

Our group was going to be found in an extinct volcanic crater. We hiked to the top of the mountain, only to have to descend into a vast, steep valley that once was the crater of this volcano.

The route into the crater involved having to carefully work our way down the side of the crater wall, which was about 300 feet high and very muddy with small footholds to step onto in order to lower yourself down the steep decline. I was using roots as handholds to help steady myself and give me leverage to get down each step.

Once we got to the bottom of the crater, we had to traverse the length of the oblong crater to get to the gorillas. Wading our way through the waist deep sawgrass, we eventually came to an area where we took a break. But looking up into the foliage around us, there was definitely somebody moving around under the low bamboo leaves.

Patience said we had made it to our destination, and he reinforced that we were not to get within seven meters (about 20 feet) of the gorillas. If they approached us, we were to step back and make way, but if they wanted to touch us, we could allow them. We just couldn’t reach out to them.

We slowly moved up the far side of the crater floor, and came within sight of the silverback, who was sitting contentedly munching on bamboo. We moved in closer with Patience making his greeting known to the large male by making a low guttural growling sound. The silverback replied in similar fashion.

Patience then encouraged us to “Look at the king of the jungle! Appreciate his size and his power! He is the master of this crater and of his clan of gorillas!” It was clear that Patience adored the gorillas under his care, and he was brimming with pride in being able to share these wonderful animals with us.

Soon, we began to see other gorillas move into the area, mostly females, with two of them attending to little toddlers. In fact, one of the females was squiring two babies, one pair of a couple sets of twins that had been born in the last year.

Our group stood in awe of these magnificent creatures moving all about us, casually eating and enjoying their day. The rain had stopped. We were allowed to spend one hour in the company of the gorillas, periodically moving our position in order to get the best camera angles.

Across the crater floor and up the low side of the crater wall opposite us, we could see other gorillas all feeding and casually hanging out.

The hour with the gorillas went way too fast. We soon packed up and said goodbye to some park rangers / trackers who come early in the morning and stay late into the day to monitor the gorillas and make sure that no hunters try to infiltrate the crater and kill a gorilla for its meat.

With Patience and four of the park rangers who protect these magnificent animals.

In some African cultures, eating “bush meat” or the meat of a gorilla, brings special virility and power to the person who eats it. While it is outlawed, there are still poachers trying to score a rare kill, and the rangers periodically find a snap trap that can sever a gorillas foot.

In fact, Eric told me a story about Patience that illustrates his close bond with the gorillas. As he was leading a group one day, he heard the anguished screams of a female gorilla. After sending the group back a safe distance, he went in to investigate and discovered one of the baby gorillas caught in a snap trap. The mother was hysterical, seeing her baby in that predicament. Patience worked his way over to the baby, acutely aware the mother may attack him. Once he got tony betray, he discovered that the trap, while holding the baby’s foot, had not done any real damage. He pried the trap open and gave the baby back to Mama, who carried the toddler away, obviously relieved that her little one was going to be OK.

As we ended our day, I told Patience that he was so very blessed to have such an incredible job. He smiled broadly and said, “Yes, I am very blessed indeed”. Thank God we have dedicated people like Patience and the park rangers, who put their lives on the line to protect these awesome creatures.

We headed back along the same path upon which we had entered the crater. As I said to one despairing member of our group, “Unfortunately what goes down must go back up.” We spent the next two hours retracing our muddy footsteps through the quagmire.

No Kili dust left on my boots ☹
A late lunch at the local lodge, as well as a much needed boot cleaning provided by the staff (in an hour, my hiking boots were ready for me, squeaky clean, dry and warm) and then Eric and I were on our way back to Kigali.

Last night, I stayed at the Hotel Des Mille Collines, more popularly known as Hotel Rwanda, upon which the 2004 film starring Don Cheadle is based. Mille Collines is the nickname for Rwanda, French for “Land of a Thousand HIlls”. Rwanda certainly lives up to its nickname, resplendent in its geographical magnificence.

The hotel became a refuge for over 1,200 people during the Rwandan ethnic cleansing campaign in 1994. Hotel guests, Tutsis and moderate Hutus all huddled I n the hotel as a place where they could escape the madness and hopefully be evacuated by UN security forces.

The film portrays Cheadle as Paul Rusesabagina, a hotel manager who was left to handle the situation after the hotel’s owners (Sabina) evacuated all non- Rwandan personnel from the property.

Rusesabagina with Cheadle at the premiere of Hotel Rwanda.

In the telling of the movie’s story, Rusesabagina is a hero who saved hundreds upon hundreds of people from certain execution, a modern day Oskar Schindler. However, witnesses describe a very different account.

Rusesabagina worked with a screenwriter to share his story. The screenwriter ended up writing a great story for the film, which received many accolades in the award community. Problem is, a screen writer is hired to tell a great story. He is not a journalist who will be held to the strict tenets of accuracy. As a result, Hotel Rwanda is a fictionalized story about events during the genocide.

Based on a number of accounts that have recently emerged from the ordeal, it appears that Rusesabagina was in tight with the murderous Hutu militias, and was even witnessed drinking and laughing with them in the hotel lobby bar.

Rusesabagina charged anyone who wanted refuge in the hotel an exorbitant sum to enter. The hotel ran out of food, but was recejving a steady supply of humanitarian meals from the UN, for which Rusesabagina charged any guest who wanted to eat, even though Sabina had been very clear to Rusesabagina that the meals should not be charged to the refugees.

With the water turned off, refugees only had access to the chlorinated pool water, again at a fee from Rusesabagina.

It is hypothesized that Rusesabagina actually ran the refugee center as a way for the Hutus to have access to a ready pool of hostages which could be used as barter with opposition forces.

Rusesabagina now lives in exile in Brussels, where he has worked in a number of jobs, including a taxi driver. Whatever happened to the money he extorted from those desperate hotel “guests” is not known.

its been interesting staying in a hotel with such a past. If only the walls could talk……

I had the opportunity to visit the Kigali Genocide Memorial today.

This memorial is dedicated to the over one million people (mostly Tutsis and some moderate Hutus) who lost their lives in the Rwandan genocide over a 100 day period in 1994. 250,000 are buried here under huge concrete blocks – most have never been identified.

The genocide began immediately following the assassination of Rwanda’s Hutu president in a plane crash. The seeds of the social conflagration were sowed many years before by Belgian occupiers, who, in the 1920s and 1930s divided the population based on their social position (Tutsi’s were owners of 10 or more cows, Hutus then were those deemed not as prosperous. The Twa are another, much smaller social group).  Over time, there was a tremendous accumulation of resentment between these groups, and as there had been changes in power, the new ruling group would exact recriminatory revenge against the other.

It came to a head when the Hutus lost their president and recriminations against Tutsis were swift and brutal. In the years immediately preceding the bloodbath of 1994, there had been a lot of Hutu propaganda about how Tutsi’s should be exterminated. On that fateful day when the president was assassinated, Hutu militias stormed into homes of neighbors, families and those pre-identified as Tutsi and began their murderous campaign, usually using machetes in order to exact as much pain and torture as possible. Men, women and children were all marked for execution. Road blocks throughout the country enforced on-the-spot executions. As stated earlier, over one million people died in the space of 100 days.

The Memorial and museum do a very nice job presenting the history of the genocide. It is a very moving and sobering experience. One section is dedicated to allowing families to display pictures of lost loved ones.

Another area has a display of skulls and bones of some of the victims. Very powerful. And yet another section displays pictures and biographies of children who never got to realize their futures. Heartbreaking.

I have been very impressed with how today’s Rwandans have come to reconcile their community with such a horrible past.  Paul Kagame, ethnically described as Tutsi, has set an environment where forgiveness and reconciliation are valued above all else. No one now identities as Tutsi or Hutu or Twa, just Rwandan. The leaders of the carnage were tried and sentenced (many to life imprisonment) in international war crimes courts. Perpetrators of the genicide were encouraged to plead guilty in exchange for public service sentences. Those who did not plead guilty were sentenced to prison.  They were also encouraged to go to the families of those they killed and ask forgiveness, in many cases even living with the family for a period.

The Rwandans I have spoken with seem to be at peace with their horrific past. The openness with which the genocide is discussed is quite impressive. Instead of trying to hide and forget those events, there is open public discourse. I’ve had a few people actively recommend I go to the Memorial to see and learn about what happened. With an open and frank discourse about the genocide, the bright light of sunshine continues to foster a deep understanding and appreciation for what happened. It becomes much harder to spin those events in a way that allows one group to slant or politicize them for their own gain.

in speaking with one ex-pat Brit here, unfortunately, she feels that the openness still hides a deep and simmering resentment that could boil over at any time. For the sake of the wonderful people I have met here, I hope and pray that never happens.

It has been amazing to see how much Rwanda has grown economically. This is a vibrant, welcoming country that I’ve enjoyed tremendously.

Wednesday night (the night of the incredible spectacle nature treated me to), I was down in my hotel bar watching a Premier League football match when I struck up a conversation with a gentleman who was there with some friends. He overheard me tell the bartender I am from America, and he said while he is a Rwandan native, he has spent the last eight years living in Calgary. Talk about a change in scenery.

Very nice guy – his name is France and he was visiting here before heading back to the Great White North. The soccer match completed, I excused myself to retire for the night and we wished each other well

The following night, I stayed at a wonderful new hostel here in Kigali, and the owner asked if I had had dinner yet and asked if I would like to explore a local eatery with him. I was eager to explore another new dining experience and get to know this fascinating guy, who has traveled all over the world.

So he and I are sitting in the restaurant somewhere in Kigali, and I hear someone yelling, “John! John!” Turns out, France was there entertaining a couple of beautiful women, and he saw me across the room. We had a great mini-reunion and exchanged info. I may visit him in Alberta for a hockey game, eh? Small world, especially considering Kigali has over a million residents (though yes, most won’t be hanging out at my hotel bar – LOL).

By the way, the name of my hotel Wednesday night was the Karisimbi Hotel, which ironically happens to be the name of one of the volcanic mountains in the area I was traipsing around in today.

Last night was, meteorologically speaking, awesome. Around 7:00 pm, we began to get a good, steady downpour. Around 8:30, the thunder and lightning moved in, and what an incredible show! The storm lasted for a good 12 hours, dumping rain like I have never seen before. That, combined with the near-constant rumbling and crashing of thunder and the attendant flashing of the natural pyrotechnics, gave me a much-relished opportunity to sit on my hotel balcony and take in nature’s wonder. I sat there in awe for three hours. I have NEVER seen a show like that before, even from my days back in the Midwest.

Kigali is a lush, green tropical locale, sitting just below the equator. Nicknamed the land of the thousand hills (en français, le pays des mille collines), Rwanda was a Belgian colony until 1961, when it was granted national independence. While the native tongue is Kinyarwanda, English and French are commonly spoken.

The country is very proud of its native gorillas, which are found in the western mountains of the country.

Today it is quiet and sunny, but the forecast is calling for more rain over the next four days. Let’s just keep our fingers crossed that it stays dry for my gorilla trek tomorrow, which leaves Kigali at the ripe hour of 4:30 am.

Well, I’ve already broken one of my initial trip tenets: that I would not use an airplane unless absolutely necessary. I made the decision to travel to Kigali, Rwanda so I can spend a day in the Volcanoes National Park to visit the mountain gorillas.

There are no direct overland routes, and trying to cobble together a trip from Arusha to Kigali would have taken too much time.  I’ve been here in Africa now for two weeks, and I’m already beginning to feel a bit of a time pinch to get done everything I want to do and make it down to Cape Town in time.

My flight connected through Nairobi, a place I visited 30 years ago when I was a young buck full of youthful exuberance. I only had enough time for nine days when I was here back then, but I made the most of it, staying at Giraffe Manor (the former estate of Karen Blixen of Out of Africa fame), visiting Treetops Hotel in the Aberdare National Park, safari in the Masai Mara and a few days on the Indian Ocean at Malindi.

I have fond memories of drinking Tusker beer at the end of my long dusty days on safari.

It was nice to enjoy a cold one for old time’s sake on my return to Nairobi (even if it was just in the airport).

Nairobi airport has changed significantly since I came through here 30 years ago. In 1986, it was a small airfield – still significant by other East African standards at the time – with no enclosed terminal. It was an open air operation with a large roof and high walls.

It s changed quite a bit since then.

Even American commercialism has gotten in on the act:

A four-hour layover and I was on my way to Kigali, Rwanda, where I landed late in the night. I had booked the night at a small, boutique hostel. But it was such a boutique, that when I arrived at 1:30 am, it was shut down closed. No lights, no activity – nothing. My very friendly taxi driver, Lewis, took me to a more reliable accomodation. After a long day of travel, I finally fell asleep.

Staying at a mid-range hotel in Arusha –

yes, this is my room and it is indeed in the city.

Two different hotels I’ve stayed at in the area and both of them have packs of dogs in the area who bark all night long. And they get crazy – wouldn’t want to encounter them on the street. They would probably rip my face off.  I think they are neighbors’ “pets”, but they are kept in groups and their barking is incessant and loud. Ah, first world problems…..