Matt's Missives

The following is a summary of journal entries and thoughts accrued over the last nearly two weeks, as I left Tamale and went, via Accra and Nairobi, to Tanzania with my mother and brother. It’s divided, more or less chronologically, into sections that for the most part deal with different aspects of the trip so that they can be read seperately, since this is a fairly long entry.

24.12.05

Arriving in Accra two days ago I was impressed, after my brief stay in Tamale, over the sophistication of the city. There really is a marked difference in how people dress and act in the more cosmopolitan south. But Nairobi . . . that’s a real city. Tall buildings, green lawn, and a bunch of swank hotels, one of which we’re in.
After meeting Tony at the hotel last night we drove south through Kenya, and eventually crossed the border into Tanzania, stopping in Arusha and then continuing on to the first of several national parks we’ll be visiting, Tarangire. The land we came through, I’m told by our guide, Paul, belongs to a people called the MoArusha, ethnically and linguistically similar to the Maasai. In fact, we were all under the impression that this actually is Maasai territory, given what little I know about them. These people dress the same (the red and blue robes, which have in the last century replaced leather clothing), emphasize herding heavily, carry the trademark Maasai staffs, and have the same lanky figures that fit this landscape, which makes you feel you can walk forever. However, while they herd (sheep, goats, cattle and donkeys), they are primarily dependent upon agriculture, particularly corn and beans, for food. This is heavily resisted by Maasai culture.
Another major difference between this group and the Maasai are their structures. I have observed two types of structures, apparently adapted to different village types. In the larger, more commercially based villages structures are rectangular. Posts of wood (probably as thick as my calf around), probably acacia of some kind, are woven with smaller horizontal beams throughout to form the frame. This frame is then often stuffed with stones, which are abundant, and daubed over with mud. The rooves are thatch from the abundant grasslands around.
The second type of structure seems to dominate the more agriculturally-based villages employ round huts. The vertical posts are smaller, though probably also acacia (it being the only wood of any abundance other than baobobs in this area), and closely spaced (probably less than 6 inches), then daubed over. It seems to me these structures are somehow attached to agricultural practice itself (even as the structure becomes rectilinear in commercial areas); that lifestyle and economics inform design. I am curious to see the Maasai houses.
The agricultural villages themselves really differentiate from the dry grassland around us, they are green and lush. Although it’s easy to wonder whether these villages should really be green, given that it’s now the dry season, from what I can see they’re making maximum use of plants and shade. Palms and succulents are what really stand out in this place--plants that can make use of a heavy rainy season to survive a long dry season. It makes many of these towns little oases in what is currently a very dry place.
We pass Mt. Meru, Tanzania’s second tallest mountain (after the continent’s largest Kilimanjaro) outside of Arusha. Clouds trail off the mountain, offering a little respite from the heat, and up the slope the land greens, growing more emerald than yellow as it climbs into a highland forest. We arrive in Arusha at midday, when the sun is absolutely overhead. Just below the equator here the sun cuts a clear line east to west all year long, casting no shadows north or south.
Arusha is a small town well-placed as a base for the many nearby national parks; it’s a nice town, for a dusty dry place. But it’s more than just a tourist hub. I didn’t spend long here, but something struck me about Arusha as important. There is a heavy expatriate influence here, and a large Indian-Tanzanian population. The Maasai, the Chagas, the coastal traders, all meet here. The British used to use this as a base on their way from the Serengeti to Nairobi. It’s also a geographical midpoint: a stone in the centre of the city marks the halfway point from Cairo to Capetown. The heart of East Africa. Perhaps most striking, though, is it’s important role in East African politics. Originally playing host to an East African political alliance between Kenya, Uganda and Tanzania (doomed because of the complex and corrupt politics of the 70s and 80s), it now provides the meeting place for the new economic alliance being forged between those countries. More interesting to me, though, is that it’s also hosting the U.N. Tribunal for Crimes Against Humanity in Rwanda. The trials, more than ten years after the genocide, are ongoing. Funny that the U.N., an organization responsible for abandoning the people of Rwanda, is now responsible for administering justice there. But, I suppose, what choice is there?

25.12.05

We entered Tarangire yesterday, a park famed for its baobab landscape and elephants. And elephants we have seen in droves. More than this, though, baboons, vultures, a thousand small, bright, beautiful birds that Paul names and I promptly forget, hyrax (the closest genetic relative to elephants that actually resembles a marmot), many antelope varieties from dik diks to gazelles to elands to waterbuck, zebras, giraffes, jackals, ostrich, warthogs, wildebeest, and lions. One young male and a four females, panting under a few trees, bellies full, the eyes of a thousand zebras and it seemed as many tourists on them. Birds of prey, Bataleur Eagles, African Fishing Eagles, Maribou storks with their strange backward knee joints, and many more. There is too much here to process. This is only the beginning.

26.12.05

We left Tarangire and head towards the Great Rift Escarpment. We arrive at a wall, I think more than two thousand feet high, created when Europe and Africa collided millions of years ago. This stretches from Ethiopia to Mozambique, and boasts the birthplace of proto-humans. We climb quickly up the escarpment, and arrive the top, looking out over a plateau, the rises slightly on its western and eastern sides, with farmlands stretching the dozens of kilometers between us and that western half. We drive across the land of maize and herds and reach the western escarpment, which rises to 7600 feet in the Ngorongoro highlands that look out over the Serengeti Plains. The land becomes a tropical rainforest as we climb above the dry lands that stretch below us to the east. We reach the top and pass the lip of the Ngorongoro crater, where we will go in a few days.
To our west the lands stretches off in to what seems like forever. I feel like I am standing on the edge of the world, at its top, staring into eternity when I see this place. It seems like everything, everywhere, ever, is stretched below me on this plain, or above me in this sky. And I wonder, what it must have been like, looking out over this world, from up here, for the first time, with human eyes. This was the beginning
We begin the descent into the Serengeti and past true Maasai villages and we glimpse them, their herds, here and there along the road. And everywhere are the wild herds: gazelle, zebra, wildebeest. Thousands upon thousand upon thousands dotting the landscape we can see. There is game everywhere. We drive through this endless grassland and I am overwhelmed by a kind of anxiety. All around me lies a place I do not understand. I mean, I can name some animals, a few plants, make a few guesses about what this place might look like across the seasons, but I think I am struck by the fact that I know absolutely nothing about this place. In fact, not just the Serengeti, but Africa itself. Maybe everywhere. I realize that maybe I have this feeling all the time, that it’s easy to ignore when I’m surrounded by people. When I’m in a new landscape, where people are culturally quite different the easiest thing to do is focus on bridging the culture gap. And whatever those gaps might be, there is still the knowledge that we share a basic mode of being. We perceive, process and communicate in what are basically the same ways, on an animal level (is that going to get me in trouble with the postmodernists?). But this . . . this is so radically different, so open that I am struck by my inability to create a narrative. I have no story for this place. I mean, how much do I even know about my own home?
Overwhelmed by this sensation of complete and utter alienation from the landscape surrounding me I start to wonder about the first people. The Oldupai Gorge is near here, this cradle of humanity, where proto-human fossils date back 3.6 million years. And I wonder what stories they told of this place. Were they born into it knowing it? Did they, by evolving here, simply develop a culture completely at ease with the dangers and beauty of this place? Or did they enter it, as I do, an alien? Did they wander it together, following the herds, which they say were then as they are today, naming, describing and creating the myths of land? And if they did, could this be considered an act of creation? Did they call on ancestors, and gods? Did they sit on the escarpment for weeks and study the land? Did they walk behind the herd and tell of the animals that shaped the land, of wildebeest and lion, of the ghost leopard that hunts from the trees? Did they keep walking into this eternal landscape, until it changed and became a new land? And when it changed, did they continue onward and so become a new people, telling a new story, and creating a new world with their words? I am simply left wondering.

28.12.05

Another Serengeti day, this time based around the giant rocks called kopjes that dot the landscape, apparently spewed from the Ngorongoro crater when it erupted 3.6 million years ago. It blew these rocks over 150km, these giant rocks that give us vantage over this flat land. God, when that volcano blew it must have seemed like the world was ending.
Paul takes us to caves where the Maasai used to live, before their land was appropriated for a park. He wonders what the cost has been of our gains this last century. I think we all do.
Paul intrigues me. He’s one hell of a naturalist. He’s got a name for every bird we see (and that’s a pretty huge feat given the sheer number of birds that inhabit this place) and most of the plants, understands the body language of the huge beasts we see roaming this place, determines what is happening out there simply by listening to the noises, watching the signs. He can see more while driving at 50km/hour than I can staring out the window when we’re stopped. He knows the weather, and is concerned about how dry it is at this time of year. There should be small rains. He knows this place. He has a story.
He’s got strong opionions too, but he’s helpful to people. He knows this is a harsh place, and so does what he can to make sure people are okay when they break down, that no one who needs help is ignored. It’s good to see. He jokes about kids being leopard BBQ, which shouldn’t be funny (but somehow is) for its truth. A boy was killed by a leopard last year at one of the lodges in Tarangire.

29.12.05

I am sitting on the edge of what I’m told is the world’s largest uncollapsed crater, the Ngorongoro. From here to the other side is 21km, and it’s nearly a thousand meters high. Up here all is green, this tropical rainforest. There is yellow grass and green at the bottom of the crater, swamp and scattered trees. Small rises down there, and some lakes. But mostly it looks flat.
Again I feel like I’m looking down at a whole world. A whole world contained in a bowl. Maybe it’s like being in a fish bowl. I can’t really explain my feeling, but there is a gravity to this place. Like I’m compelled towards the centre. Compelled to roll all the way down this hill. Drawn down like water to a drain.
Saw a Maasai village today. The houses were made of dung, in a sort of kidney bean shape. They were cool and comfortable, but do all their cooking on open fires with no ventilation. This is affecting their health. They are in a fishbowl. Just one more set of animals for the tourists to gawk at.

30.12.05

Death at the bottom of the crater. We saw a buffalo killed today, huge beast, by lions. There were, at one point, eight lions on top of him. They would take him down, hanging off him, and he would keep rising. He must have fallen and stood at least four times before falling for good. I don’t think I have ever seen an animal fight so hard to live. Eight lions. It was interesting watching them work, slowly, so as to insure none of them were hurt by this driven buffalo and his massive horns. First they took down his back legs, then one went for this throat, slowly. Like a house cat batting a mouse. Then slowly more piled on his flanks. Then it was just a matter of time.
While this was sad to see, I didn’t feel disturbed by the death itself. What disturbed me was the 50 land rovers lined up to see it. Obviously I can’t blame people for wanting to see this, since I was there watching as well. Nor can I really blame the Tanzanian government for making the most of their tourist industry (though I think that there was a little too much traffic in the crater, for the most part all the parks seemed well managed, and the safaris minimally intrusive to the life of the animals and plants here). What disturbed me was the attitude of the tourists (I can feel a rant coming on).
While we stood there watching a buffalo die, and I think feeling lucky to witness this event (as such trying to be respectful), two carloads of tourists next to us shouted back and forth to eachother jokes about being lion meat, shrieking with laughter as an animal did battle with eight lions. This attitude seemed prevalent in many of the people we ran across during our trip. A comment in one of the guest books I flipped through in Serengeti summed up how most people felt about this place: “It’s like a giant zoo!” And so they act as if they’re at home, wandering around a zoo. Talking and shouting while animals hunt, showing little to no interest in any kind of Tanzanian culture or people, it quickly became apparent that, as my mother put it, this is the European equivalent of the Caribbean package tour for families.

01.01.06

New Year’s Day. We are back east of the Great Rift Escarpment. Yesterday we arrived at our hotel for lunch. It is a hotel run (though not owned) by the Maasai people here. I spent the afternoon walking to a waterfall with a guide and one of the guys who works at the hotel named Fadhil. He is about my age. Being out of the Land Rover for an afternoon was awesome, walking and talking to this guy, I finally felt like I was actually learning something about the country I was in. Fadhil is from Arusha and has been working at the hotel. He is one of the few non-Maasai employees and is saving for college. He wants to go into tourism, which seems to be the only sure thing around here these days, and has already taught himself both English and Spanish (French is next, on top of Maa, the Maasai language and Swahili). He told me about banana beer and African football teams, and some medicinal plants we saw around.
After dinner I stayed up talking (and drinking beer) with him and one of the Maasai guys who worked there named Moses, who was also in his twenties. Fadhil told me how when this area was created God made three people, and gave one a stick, one a hoe, and one a spear, to herd, to farm to hunt. These are the main lifestyles still practised here, though agriculture seems to be colonising the other modes of life. It has a way of doing that. The Maasai we’ve seen so far have not been particularly well off, their way of life being eroded by modernisation, economics and an increasingly agricultural economy. They are fighting hard to maintain their traditions, but I think it’s fair to say they’re probably not the culture they once were. Talking to Moses was inspiring in many ways. He told me how ridiculous he thought white people were for tourism. Despite (or perhaps because he’s) working in the hotel, he didn’t have many good things to say about tourism or tourists. I can’t say I blame him. Still, he was eager to share about the Maasai culture, the different stages of life and initiation rituals, their beliefs. He was open about many things, some fascinating, some repellent. The Maasai still practice female circumcision/genital mutilation. He was very straightforward about it being a necessary measure to insure women didn’t cheat when the men were away. I didn’t even know how to approach that one, how to begin crossing that gap, so I just nodded, not really able to express what I was thinking.
Despite the problems of the Maasai culture, though, I have a lot of respect for them. It’s increasingly difficult in our world to live a non-sedentary life. Pastoralism is dying everywhere, and the Maasai are fighting hard to keep their traditions alive. To see someone see the lifestyle we the privileged have, and decide they don’t want it, and fight to keep what they have inspires me. It gives me hope.

04.01.06

I am in Tamale, and the sky is hazy with dust. I begin work on Monday.