The Thing About Africa....

Well here we are, the final post. Sitting here in Sweden we couldn't be further removed from the chaos and energy of West Africa. Sparkling cleanliness, uber-efficiency, and fresh-off-the-runway fashion. And hot water. Over the course of countless discussions during the trip there emerged numerous themes, ideas, and unanswerable questions. We thought we'd share our ideas here, hopefully to be discussed in person later. If you wish to discuss with Dan, please fly to Sweden. If you would like to discuss with Peter, feel free to fly to Scotland. If Evan is your choice then okay, Vancouver will do for now.

One of the prevailing concerns we all had before arrival was personal safety. Based on the region's tumultuous history, this seemed somewhat justified. From Evan's proposed 12-wallet mugging deterrent system, to Dan's (patent pending) concealed moneybelt alternative, to Peter's expired credit card and BCAA wallet decoy, we were ready. Worries ran rampant of gunpoint street robberies, violent politically-motivated riots, and elaborate tourist scams. But, a former civil war does not inherently make for an unsafe country today (see US, Spain, Vietnam, etc.), something we were thrilled to discover. In many of the places visited, pride of country was very important, highlighted especially in nations actively trying to get back on their feet. Citizens seemed very concerned with everyone's security, especially tourists. Aware that international perceptions can drastically change based on one person's negative experience, we were very well taken care of and it seemed as though no one would let harm come to us. We hardly ever felt threatened.

Prior to the 'tourist trail' we didn't really meet other backpackers, possibly based on government warnings and some of the perceptions noted above. We did, however, meet oodles of aid workers and volunteers from various First World organizations. Everyone was young, enthusiastic, and genuinely wanted to help. After the inevitable jokes about us not really doing anything, a repeated discussion topic was the effectiveness and merit of both short-term projects using recent high school graduates as unskilled volunteers and long-term efforts with big money from foreign governments. There is an undeniable positive effect to cultural exchange - the three of us have done foreign volunteer work as unskilled young people - gaining insight in this way into the problems of development is tremendously important. However, it's vital not to be deluded into thinking that this counts as responsive aid. Most volunteers we encountered seemed very realistic about this and were frustrated by the lack of sustainable impact.

So do we do away with unskilled youth-oriented volunteer projects? In favour of what? As our good friend Charlie Hare once asked, "what should young, energetic, and enthusiastic people with a social conscience do with their lives?" Young people aren't necessarily going to focus this energy on the developing world unless they have some more personal, familiar connection, making this type of cultural exchange invaluable. But that's not the entire picture.

Before we move on, let's be clear. Aside from the Umoja Foundation Without Borders work, we were in Africa strictly for our own experience. Different from aid impact, our impact came as tourists. Does tourism count as aid? Is it a viable avenue for development? In a country, for example Mali, landlocked and with virtually no natural resources, tourism may represent the only option for Western-style development. The more tourists come, the more Africans are faced with the disparity between developed excess and undeveloped simplicity. This manifests itself most evidently in an air of entitlement with those that deal with tourists. In a more global context this attitude is seen with African governments relying, more-or-less entirely on foreign aid. Instead of putting in an effort to build strong nations, politicians are mired in a culture of handouts, corruption, and an insitutionalized mindset of capitalizing on post-colonial guilt. On an individual level, anyone who succeeds monetarily is expected to keep an elaborate extended family afloat. This, combined with a lack of opportunity, makes for very little incentive for the others to work and even less incentive to be the one who takes initiative.

That being said, there are undeniably highly motivated and educated people striving to get beyond the current norms and who have a passion to see their country and continent improve. Once the greater attitude shifts away from 'Africa the hard-done-by' and the role of aid is better understood, well, we'll see what happens.

The thing about Africa.......

Re-re-re-re-RECAP!

Some wise guys once said, "the thing about Dakar is no matter how you get there, in da-car or in da-plane, there are crazy adventures to be had." That statement definitely held true and arriving in Dakar the second time was certainly a strange experience. Did that even happen? Where are we? Who are we? Dan, is that you? You're so beautiful. In order to keep things exciting for you readers we generally refrained from describing most details about where we were and what we were actually up to. So, now that it's all over, we thought it best to provide a brief summary of the countries and their highlights; some of the adventures that were had. Bear with us.

Morocco (and Western Sahara)

A great start to the trip and a good intermediary between Europe and Africa. We got used to traveling again and unfortunately were accompanied by parasites. Crossed into Western Sahara, our first conflict zone, and arranged dodgy transport to Mauritania. Leaving here felt like we were truly entering 'Africa.'

Mauritania

Desert and Moor desert. The words 'ore' and 'train' are thrown around a lot these days but never quite in the same sentence. We married that odd couple in a wonderful rail adventure, bunking down with turbaned Moors, peeing in bottles, and sharing boiled goat and tea in jolting ore cars under the crystal night sky. The first rain of the trip is encountered on our camel trek into the Sahara.

Senegal (1)

Our first taste of the sub-Saharan vibe and also Pete. Tasty. Got any Maggi? Crumbling colonial buildings and frantic markets make their first appearance. Dakar was a surprise in its urbanity and modernity. Remove the street vendors, throw in some traffic lights, take out some hustle, throw in a little bustle, and you've got yourself a First World city.

The Gambia

Beach bums, a recurring local who was basically Flava Flav, and Dan's birthday rounded out the Gambia experience. This tiny sliver of a country had some key lessons for us: don't enter countries with unmarked blue tablets (don't worry Moms, they were just sleeping pills); how to open coconuts with only our bare hands and raw ingenuity; and how to deflect the attention of overly persistent hustlers and beach bums.

Sierra Leone

Getting off the ferry in Freetown was one of the most intimidating experiences of the trip. In daylight and with some common sense, it turned out to be no worse than the downtown eastside of Vancouver and was one of our favourite cities of the trip. The idyllic Banana Islands just outside of the city and the relative safety, lack of hassle, and friendliness of the people were all things we didn't expect to find in such a recently war-torn country.

Liberia

Surfs up! Because of our local connections with driver Kelvin and Morris, a member of the Monrovia SWAT team, our experience here was more personal. Hearing their war stories and having clear examples of the country on pause for so long had a much more immediate impact on us than reading about Charles Taylor and the recent conflict. We hung out with Evan's mom and the Liberia '77 film team and Evan got malaria. It was free. Bonus!

Cote d'Ivoire

CDI was all about avoidance. Dodging the mystical Touaregs that had somehow abandoned desert life for the beach; bypassing diarrhea-inducing rice and sauce in favour of tasty grilled fish; evading the persistent demands for bribes from the hungry rebels; not to mention, circumventing the ridiculous prices of Abidjan. One thing we couldn't avoid was Basilicasaurus in all its biblical awesomeness! This was the country that was actually currently in conflict, something we hadn't really realized until our arrival in West Africa.

Ghana

Oh Ghana, how long did we spend enjoying your cheap beer, luxury T.V.s and beachside resorts? Too long? We think not. We couldn't have timed things better as our stay in the country coincided perfectly with the World Cup and Ghana's entire run to the round of eight. Big elephants, big bus rides and even bigger mommas (Ghana was pretty well off).

Togo

A breezy ten days in Togo brought us more inexplicably lengthy minibus rides, cliffside granary discoveries, and pristine waterfalls. This was the land of the taxi-moto (motorcycle taxis), avocado sandwiches(!), and omelette sandwiches. We watched the World Cup final in the derelicte capital of Lome.

Benin

Why is there a border between Benin and Togo? We couldn't tell you. Crossing the border, absolutely nothing changed. Much to Peter and Evan's delight, the FanIce merchants were permitted free passage, ensuring adequate bagged ice cream consumption. Rasta beach hotel, voodoo culture, and the little tyke-run stilt village of Ganvie. This was the extent of our Easting and the closest we would get to Nigeria. Talking hockey with a Peace Corps volunteer made our bush taxi ride North fly by. We may have made his week as well.

Burkina Faso

With only a month remaining in Africa, Burkina felt like a corner was being rounded. The abundance of sights and fellow tourists came as a surprise in a country that we knew so little about. We had a great night out in the wonderfully-named capital, Ouagadougou. Waterfalls, limestone peaks, and hippos, oh my!

Mali

Another horrible border crossing that we neglected to mention. Slept in the back of our minibus at the border and then somehow drove through the border post without getting stamped in, leading to mega headaches down the road. More ridiculous travel statistics: 36 hours to travel 400km. Great sights though. The world's largest mud-brick mosque at Djenne, Timbuktu, and the culturally and geologically unique string of villages that comprised the Dogon Country. The start of Ramadan marked the end of our nightlife.

Senegal (2)

Having come full circle, Dakar was an old hat. We were gone long enough for new highways to be completed, grocery stores to be entirely renovated, but not long enough for our favourite restaurateur to forget about us. Flying out at 230 in the morning gave us lots of time, in the groggy netherhours, to reflect on all that we'd seen and experienced in a 5-month African adventure that, a year ago, none of us would have envisioned (except for Peter who'd been planning this trip for four years in a different part of the continent; sorry man).

Thanks for listening to our rants and taking our posts with a grain of salt. Sorry if we went too far sometimes but we had a blast writing them and often got a little carried away. We're all looking forward to our eventual returns to Vancouver, sharing pints, elaborating on our stories, and hearing what everyone else has been up to.

The Thing About Timbuktu....

Places that don't exist: Narnia, Atlantis, Terabithia (and the bridge that connects it with everywhere else), Waterworld, The Sandlot, Timbuktu, Mordor, The Big Bamboo (R.I.P.), Gotham City. Wait a second, hold the phone Commissioner Gordon! Timbuktu actually exists? C'est vrai, it's a real place and we'd be damned if we didn't pay it a visit.

The timely arrival of rivets from the coast, coupled with the confirmation of the Northward flow of the Niger River (thanks Mungo Park) from the town of Mopti (Mali), put us in good stead for a smooth journey down the lazy river. Our charge, the Tombouctou, was a fine vessel indeed. Showing only slight flakings of rust and equipped with eight cabins, a full galley, and a bar stocked with gin and tonic, she was the embodiment of riverine luxury. With an able crew such as ourselves, rounded out with fine officers from Finland and Germany, and a contingent of Malian seamen (well, rivermen) all that was left was to sit back and let the land slip by under static skies.

We steamed two nights and three days with minor ports of call to offload produce, ale, and the latest technology from China. It was a fantastic journey, one of the highlights of the trip both in the setting and the context. We were on a boat to Timbuktu!

Disembarking at the edge of the Sahara, we expected nothingness. A vast landscape filled only with sand, al-Qaeda, and wandering Touaregs. We found sand, mostly in our spaghetti. We found Touaregs at the internet café. But we never found al-Qaeda, praise be to Allah. We also found tourist passport stamps and altogether more hassle than we were expecting from this famed desert outpost. Aside from some turban purchases and mosque viewings, it was mostly too hot to do anything. Finally, something we'd expected.

The place itself is no longer an isolated desert community, sealed off from the outside world by one of the most forbidding ecosystems on the planet. The last remaining hurdle to reaching Timbuktu is getting past the contemporary notion of perpetual terrorism and abstract al-Qaeda threats. There's an airport, two internet cafés, dozens of hotels, and tourist hassle is through the Saharan night sky. Don't get us wrong though, there is still something magical about sleeping under the stars at the edge of the Sahara and interacting with Touareg that have a legitimate claim to a unique desert lifestyle.

The thing about Timbuktu is that it now seems like more of an idea than a place. But what a romantic idea.

The Thing About the Tourist Trail......

Apologies once again for neglecting our posting duties. You must be chomping at the bit for a new post. Tugging at the bridle. Bulging at the stirrups. It's just that we've found ourselves back on the tourist trail and there have been places to go and sights to see. Giddyup!

One of the most popular itineraries through this region is the corridor from Senegal to Ghana via Burkina Faso and Mali and we hitched our wagon onto this route in Burkina Faso. Oh and what sights we saw! Ditching our horses and buggy, we rented bicycles and toured the countryside like Danish grandmothers, soaking in meandering waterfalls and lazing with non-pygmy hippos. We rented high octane scooters and cruised the countryside like Turkish teenagers, and put on our archeologist hats once again to peel off the layers of mystery surrounding the craggy protrusions of the Sindou Peaks. With so many kilometres to cover and such varying landscapes the only constant was the number of flat tires: five over two days.

Of course, our apparition on the fabled trail has meant that our day-to-day interactions with locals have changed. Hands, once extended sideways for a friendly handshake and 'welcome to my beautiful country,' are now extended face up for a 'monsieurs, donne-moi de l'argent.' Trying to uncover prices and arrange transport is once again a daring game of cat-and-mouse where nothing is at it seems and twists are as sharp as the bends in the Niger. Our role as tourists has come up again and again in beerside chats. Has our presence in less-traveled countries contributed to the gradual clockwise rotation of all those hands from sincerity to misguided expectation? Burkina certainly seems to be caught at the cross-roads between the benefits and the drawbacks of tourism, making the division overtly apparent. We're hoping that our smiles and kind declination to dole out freebies will create a model for positive future interaction. Perhaps this is naive. You have a couple of weeks to gather your thoughts: we plan on having a round-table analysis of this and other themes in the final installation of our saga.

The thing about the tourist trail is, contrary to popular belief, it's not actually paved with gold like the Yukon Trail. We've found it's most often paved with gravel and rutted, potholey ashphalt. Watch out for flats.

The Thing About Umoja Foundation!!!!!

So it's been a few months now of us blathering on and cracking lame jokes when we have the time and you reading our blathers and laughing politely. But we realized recently that we haven't yet told you about our foundation. Designed to fill in the gaps left or overlooked by pre-existing NGOs, the Umoja Foundation Without Borders (Umoja for short) has been on a ground-breaking innaugural microcapital injection tour since early March.

Umoja is based on a few simple principles that guide our basic actions and development work.
1. A hands-off policy towards development that doesn't bog down progress with bureaucracy, lofty goals, specific skills, or actual work.
2. A conservative approach towards capital investment recipients, whereby basic business structures remain unchanged and adequate returns to investment are stringently evaluated.
3. A comprehensive grassroots approach that covers diverse avenues of investment.

These principles translate into some key day-to-day interactions and activities that demand full commitment from the founding fathers and primary donors. A typical day involves multiple street-level capital injections to entrepreneurial recipients with culinary leanings (ie. big mommas). Collaboration is always encouraged between recipients (avocado hawker plus bread monger equals sandwich delight). In the transportation sector (ie. motorcycle taxis), a small amount of available funds are often aggressively bid on leading to a highly intensive interview process to determine the recipient that will provide the right rates of return to donor investment. One large daily investment is also reserved for the enterprise in the hospitality sector (brothels excluded) that adequately demonstrates a low-overhead business model.

Quotes from the founding fathers:
"I like to start my daily injections off with a 500CFA minimum donation to the cafe with the best hot spaghetti." - D
"It's important not to be disillusioned with the impact we're really having in these communities. I go to bed every night feeling great about the numerous lives I've changed that day." - P
"As has been clearly demonstrated in other development programs, too much capital investment can be just as detrimental as not enough. I always make sure to get the right price for the fair amount of goods and services." - E
"There's no way it costs that much for a ride across town. I'll give you half that or we'll find another recipient." - D
"This FanIce [ice cream in a bag] is not up to Foundation temperature standards. Do you have a colder one?" - P
"What's your cheapest beer?" - E

If you're inspired by everything you've read today and think that Umoja provides realistic, sustainable solutions to real microeconomic development problems, you may consider a small financial donation. Alternately, the organization is run on a volunteer basis with both 6- and 4-month placements. If you would like to apply for a future project or donate, please send pertinent information and three relevant references to umojayes@gmail.com. We also accept both blank and filled-in cheques.

The thing about Umoja Foundation is, what did you think we were doing here?

The Thing About Stilts....

In southern Benin there is a town like no other. Monkeys hump kittens, the streets are paved with water, stilts are a form of currency, and kids run the show.

In the 17th century, while the Beninese kings were busy making a mint from the slave trade, a small group of people decided that slavery wasn't for them. Led by Kevin Costner, they took to the water in rusty sea-doos, creating a town, called in the ancient tongue, "Puuure Wataaa Werld". Things worked swimmingly, literally, as the king's slave hunters were land dwellers, forbidden from going on water because of religious principles.

The village grew from the ground, or water, up, based entirely on Big Bamboo (RIP) stilts. The streets, were therefore H-2-O, and the well, well, there wasn't a well. Indeed.

Now, for some reason unkown to anyone, only the children prospered. And what remains today is a town completely run by kids. While three-year-olds at home are about as useless as Kevin Costner in Waterworld, in Ganvié, 3 is the age when you take to the water to seek your fortune. Most modern fortunes seem to be found selling inch-long fish, or just asking for cadeaux from tourists. Everywhere in the town kids in boats go about their daily business, paddling small canoes, punting larger craft, and tending to their tasks. At night things don't slow down. There's just a lot more crashes.

Furthermore, during our stay, we encountered quite the enthusiastic couple; an odd couple of sorts. One small monkey, named Chumpie, and one small kitten, named Humpie. Hilarity of the indescribable sort ensued. Chumpie seemed to like to grab a hold of Humpie from behind. And, well, you know. Check the pictures. Cuteness and Cuteness (Hi mom).

The thing about stilts is that sometimes you walk on them and sometimes you live on them. Also, sometimes you're 3 and the captain of your own lake freighter.

The Thing About a Good Posse.....

Mmmmm Togo! It's great to be here. A funny thing happened on the way though - did you read the last post. But seriously folks, we'll be here all week.

After lengthy bus rides and too many matches and double beers to count, it was the perfect time to see some sights. But this is Togo, more of a do-it-yourself vacation spot. The supposed highlight of northern Togo is the mysterious cave dwellings inhabited by long forgotten savages. But in order to get there we had to choose our own adventure. Go to page 17 (the next paragraph) if you wish to visit the caves. Or skip to page 25 (the bottom of the post) if you just want the thing about.

Over the course of our adventure we hire a taxi driver named Capitain, are forced to hire two local guides, and baksheesh the local chief. As soon as word gets around that some white guys are paying for a visit to the caves, everyone and their baby pig gets involved: 14 local slingshot-toting children, a flock of sheep, the aforementioned piglet, 5 shirtless teenagers, a guy with a speakerbox tied to a stick, a cow, and the guides we actually hired. We assume that, collectively, this crowd will come together to unravel the unknowns of these long-forgotten, recently remembered caves.

Our hike included beautiful maize and sorghum fields, a steep sprint up a ravine, and then a descent through a metal ladder to the cliffside caves themselves. Our posse led us on a tour through the caves, which actually turned out to be cereal storage facilities built in the 19th century to avoid the taxman. Turned out not to be savages at all. And no one really lived in them. Another mystery solved. Turning to our next mystery we commence our search for Toucan Sam and are led on hands and knees into a narrow bat cave oozing with hantavirus. Probably. However, despite our best efforts, we couldn't locate any Fruit Loops or Trix. We emerged to wash off the hantavirus in a trickling cascade and beautiful views over the surrounding plains tasted better than a bowl of Count Chocula and strawberry milk.

The thing about a good posse is, "C'mon everyone! Some white guys are paying for a trip to the caves! Bring your animals! Someone call Speakerbox!" But no rabbits because Trix are for kids.