Menstruation is one of the most common and uniquely female experiences. Unfortunately, the reality is that around the world millions of girls and women struggle to manage their monthly periods. Unable to afford or access proper menstrual products, many girls and women rely on crude, improvised materials like scraps of old clothing, pieces of foam mattress, toilet paper, leaves, and banana fibers to manage their menstruation – all of which are unhygienic, ineffective, and uncomfortable. Faced with frequent, embarrassing leaks and a susceptibility to recurrent infections, the impact is that many girls and women experience their monthly period as something that prevents them from engaging in daily life – whether this is going to school or work, or carrying out their normal domestic responsibilities.
1 Out of 10 African schoolgirls skip school or drop out of school entirely due to a lack of menstrual products and poor access to proper sanitation, according to UNICEF. This critical unavailability of sanitary products in developing countries is a major barrier to education for girls of school-going age. The inability to effectively manage menstruation contributes to absences of up to 4-5 school days each month, equating to as much as 20% of the academic year intentionally skipped, simply due to menstruation. Eventually many of these girls drop out of school entirely, increasing their likelihood of teen pregnancy health complications and early marriage, and further limiting their future career and economic opportunities.
MilesAlongTheSea: During our travel through the more remote parts of Africa we came across a lot of, in our eyes, “small solvable problems, but unsolved” that would make a huge difference in daily lives. In Northern Namibia, Koakaland we got to meet and worked with over a 100 young school-going girls. Although the topic might be a little taboo to talk about, the problems are real. When we were in Uganda we visited AFRIpads; a social business that locally manufactures and globally supplies cost-effective, reusable menstrual pads. When we got the opportunity from AFRIpads to work together and change some lives we took it with both hands. Coming from Uganda, crossing Kenya in Ethiopia the first real opportunity came up: Tim & Kim Village in Gorgora, Ethiopia.
Tim & Kim Village is a social enterprise with the aim to help the local population in and around Gorgora. The village of Gorgora is a little off the beaten track and facing many challenges. Clean drinking water is hardly available, just like school materials, medical supplies and education could be improved.
MilesAlongTheSea, AFRIpads and Kim&Tim Village combined powers en set up a get together, which in Ethiopia goes hand in hand with a coffee ceremony: 3 strong well prepared espressos, made above a coal fire and sipped from a small cup, where we invited all the young local ladies to participate. With the help of Mebratu, a local, translator and active advocate for raising awareness for STD’s, HIV and the use of condoms, we started the demonstration. Helga explained how to use the AFRIpads with the help of the hand outs and booklets that AFRIpads provided. After the demonstration, the girls got the chance to feel the pads and ask questions if they wanted to. We hope this small support will help the women and girls break the barriers that menstruation creates in their lives and to helping them rise to their full potential. http://afripads.comhttp://www.timkimvillage.com
It’s the 22nd of December when I walk with a leaden step through the dust. I’m tense, but also excited about this trip. The sand blows up when I walk and falls back down behind me in a puddle. It is early morning and the small little town comes to life slowly. People poke their heads out of simple huts made out of wood, bricks and tinned roofs. From their front doors I get some curious stares and even though I cannot hear them I see their lips make the well know “ Muzungu, Muzungu”, translated “white man, white man”. They whisper it, while they nod towards me with their heads. I think back to the Maasai who tell each other stories until deep in the night and it wouldn’t surprise me if my sudden appearance makes for a good character in one of their stories here.Not that I have ever experienced it myself, but I can imagine that this, walking through an empty street, is how it feels to be model walking down the catwalk in a set of clothes from a daring desiger. A designer who has yet to make a name for himself in the fashion industry, he’s different from everyone else. As the model wearing it, you’re not entirely sure yourself what you think of the design while everyone stares at you.My feet lead me to a table with some very strict looking officers. They direct me to a chair in the shadow outside. I am now in the French speaking part of Africa and I am reminded of the fact that this is not a language I am familiar with. From my spot in the shadow I can see people crossing the border with all their merchandise to sell. By the time I have been there of more than half an hour I start to get a bit anxious. I’m looking out over a street filled with little shops, at the end of the street on my side where the borderpost is situated, they made a little piazza. The road and the piazza consist of sand and dust. In the middle of it is a flagpole. A soldier takes his position in the middle of the square and blows loudly on his whistle. It seems like a scene out of “Peep Behind The Curtain”. Everyone suddenly stands still: Donkeys, carts, vehicles, pedestrians, everything seems to be glued to their place. I follow their example and go and stand next to my grey bag on the ground. Three soldiers are now walking from the officers building to the middle of the square. Draped over the shoulder of one of the soldiers I see a flag. They quickly hoist up the flag to the top of the pole and while the soldiers walk back to the officers post I hear the same whistling sound again. Directly after the frozen world seems to come to life again. Children start running, women put down their heavy burdens from their heads and temporarily put it on the dusty ground, men urge their donkeys on and put the train in motion again. They tell me that the border is now officially opened.
A few minutes later I see a heavy and impressive looking Landrover Defender coming from the sandy track towards the border post. On the side of the military green Landrover is the logo from “Parc National De Virunga” visible. A sigh of relief goes through me. Two very impressive women poke their heads through the open windows together with their equally impressive barrels of their well maintained AK47’s. Both of them jump out of the spartan vehicle with grace and position themselves on either side of the car. It gives me goosebumps that very instant. The driver and the guide also jump out of the car, both of them walk to the entrance of the border post office and to the place which I now regard as my own. Just like the first ritual of the day, I immediately jump up out of my chair and welcome my saviors. A set of documents is given to the officers at the border. A small nod from behind his desk gives me the permission to go on into Congo. He slowly pushes my passport my way and I don’t hesitate in taking it as soon as I can. I get in the car between the two ladies and get a hasty explanation from the guide: “ We have to hurry, a group of Mountain Gorillas has been spotted not too far from border just an hours drive from here and if we hurry we can still see them. It is a unique chance and a special group, but I’ll tell you all about it later.” The driver listens in on this conversation and starts the car when the guide is finished. A moment later there is no chance of even having a conversation and we need all our attention to stay seated in the shaking terrain vehicle. We are driving through small villages and the view constantly changes. The only thing that doesn’t change is the poor condition of the road. Everyone around me tries to relax in their cramped position while I have to try really hard to keep myself in one place. I’m getting really excited by now to actually see the gorillas and my heart jumps when the speed decreases, the shaking becomes less, the vehicle drives a semi circle before it stops and everyone jumps out of the car (which doesn’t have any doors or windows by the way) with a military precision. We all walk to the park post with me in the middle. One of the trackers (these people are rangers who are specialized in finding the gorillas) is already waiting for us. The guide quickly exchanges information with the tracker, pulls out his machete from his pants and starts making his way through the heavy jungle.I realize I am extremely lucky when within 10 minutes I am standing eye to eye with the Mountain Gorillas. I know from others this usually takes a substantial hike, but here I am. They almost seem shy and from behind a small tree 6 pairs of eyes stare at me and the group of men whom I came into their territory with. It is obvious that they were just busy with their siesta before we came to disturb. It takes a little while before they are used to our presence. Large branches are being torn from the trees and pulled through their mouths from left to right like they are eating satay. The tasty leaves are the ones being left in their mouths and the branch itself is discarded. It is fascinating to see how humanlike these animals behave and for one hour I feel like I am completely in their world.
My experienceMy trip to Virunga is probably one of the highlights of my Africa journey. Through Virunga I got to do two activities: visiting the mountain gorillas and climbing the active volcano , the Nyarongo. The National Park itself is just beautiful and one of the most stunning ones I’ve seen so far.Organization wise I was very impressed with the way Virunga organizes your trip. They are well aware of the safety risks and take absolutely no chances at all. They will not let you drive into Congo yourself, but they will arrange transportation from the border and to all the activities you are going on. The rangers in Virunga are extremely well trained and very knowledgeable about the park.Visiting the Mountain Gorillas in Virunga is just magical and definitely worth doing! Of course I have no experience with visiting the gorillas in the other neighboring countries, but I can imagine that seeing them in Virunga is a bit more authentic as there are not that many tourists going and because of the sheer wilderness you have to plough through to get to them. Climbing an active volcano is something you can only do in a few countries in the world and to see the lava churning beneath you while you stand on the crater rim is something you can hardly do justice with by taking photos. You have to experience it yourself!The climb up is long and a serious one, but doable for a different levels of fitness. I would recommend hiring a porter and a cook which will make it a lot easier. The guides take it slow and take the altitude changes into account.If you have the opportunity to visit this park: Go!——-
Virunga National Park is a UNESCO World Heritage Site in the eastern Democratic Republic of Congo, on the border of Uganda and Rwanda. Virunga is Africa’s oldest national park. The park’s 7800 square kilometers includes forests, savannas, lava plains, swamps, erosion valleys, active volcanoes, and the glaciated peaks of the Rwenzori mountains. Virunga is home to about a quarter of the world’s critically endangered mountain gorillas. The park’s two other Great Ape species, eastern lowland Grauer’s gorillas and chimpanzees, make Virunga the only park in the world to host three taxa of Great Apes. Virunga’s southern sector is best known for the mountain gorillas that live on the flanks on the dormant Mikeno volcano (4380m). Dense forests cover most of southern Virunga, which also make it ideal habitat for chimpanzees and numerous species of monkey. Across the valley to the west sits Nyiragongo volcano (3470m). Climbing to the top gives you a spectacular view of the world’s largest lava lake. A little farther north is Nyamulagira volcano, which is considered the most active in Africa. Nymulagira has erupted over 40 times since the late 1800s – the most recent eruptions occurring in January 2010 and November 2011.
Questions Asked:Is Virunga NP safe?Even though there have been 2 recent killings of rangers in the Northern part of the Park, the Southern sector of Virunga NP is considered safe for visitors.Virunga officially reopened for visitors 3 years ago and since then there have been no reports of tourists being involved in shootings or incidents. New tourist activities have been developed and the park now offers high-end lodging located near the center of the three main tourist attractions: the mountain gorillas, Tongo chimpanzees, and Nyiragongo volcano.Personally I consider the park as being very safe. The rangers are highly trained and as a tourist you’re under continuous supervision of an armed ranger squad.Even though the current situation in Congo is questionable, Virunga NP is working really hard and is very much succeeding in securing a safe zone for tourists, their staff and for the species they’re protecting. I would very much recommend traveling to Virunga NP How does Virunga NP ensure security?Before opening for tourists and after a tragic event where 5 members of a gorilla family have been killed, the park has undergone significant institutional and security reforms. The international community continues to ensure that Virunga rangers have the equipment they need in order to patrol the park. For National Park standards the rangers are highly trained and used to risking their lives on a daily basis to protect the endangered wildlife and habitats within the park, as well as the people living around the park boundary. Booking a trip through the official Virunga NP website. Virunga NP offers pick up and assistance with the border crossing entering Congo, guarded and armed transportation, guarded and armed trips and excursions and variety of accomodation. Mountain Gorillas?The mountain gorilla, a large, strong ape inhabiting Africa’s volcanic slopes, has few natural predators. Yet due to detrimental human activity, such as poaching, civil war, and habitat destruction, the mountain gorilla, a subspecies of the eastern gorilla, has become the most endangered type of gorilla. Currently, the mountain gorilla’s habitat is limited to protected national parks in two regions of Africa. One group of gorillas lives in the Bwindi Impenetrable National Park in Uganda. The other group is spread over three national parks in the Virungas mountain region of the Democratic Republic of Congo, Uganda, and Rwanda.Mountain gorillas are as shy as they are strong. But when threatened, they can be aggressive. They beat their chests and let out angry grunts and roars. Group leaders will charge at the threat. Mothers will fight to the death to protect their young. Mountain gorillas live in groups of up to 30. The group, or troop, is led by a single alpha male and an older silverback. These males are called silverbacks because of the silver stripe they develop on their backs when they mature. The oldest males of the group are at least 12 years old. These troops also include several younger males, adult and juvenile females, and infants. In addition to providing protection to group members, silverbacks maintain order and decide all activities within their troop. They schedule feeding trips, resting time, and travel. They also father the majority of the young in the group. Female mountain gorillas can produce young beginning at age 10. They carry one or two babies at a time and give birth after a 8.5-month gestation period. In general, they will bear between two and six offspring in a lifetime.
Newborn gorillas weigh about 1.8 kg (4 lb.) at birth. They are as weak and uncoordinated as human babies. For the first four years of their lives, they get around by clinging to their mothers backs. By 3.5 years of age, the young gorillas are fully weaned from their mothers milk and start the same diet as mature mountain gorillas: plants, leaves, roots and shoots.Fully-grown male mountain gorillas can weigh up to 180 kg (400 lb). Females weigh half that at about 90 kg ( 200 lb). Aside from the silver stripe on their backs, male mountain gorillas are distinguished from females because they have a crest of fur on their heads. Both genders have similar thick black hair covering their body. Their thick hair keeps them warm in cold mountain temperatures. (Source)How endangered are the Mountain Gorillas?Mountain gorillas are considered critically endangered by IUCN’s Red List. Not only are mountain gorillas threatened by loss of habitat due to human encroachment, they have also become victims of human violence. As civil war rages in Africa, efforts to conserve mountain gorilla populations have been curtailed. Mountain gorillas have also been killed or captured by poachers. Their body parts are sold to collectors, and baby gorillas are sold illegally as pets, research subjects, or private zoo animals. (Source)Estimated are that there are currently around 300 Mountain gorillas. Talking to the rangers in Virunga I understand that in the area that I’m visiting there are 121 gorillas divided in 8 groups with 4 solitary silverbacks. How does Virunga NP sustain without being a much traveled tourist attraction.Virunga has 3 ways of generating income. Through worldwide sponsoring and support, through the generation of Electricity produced by a couple of small energy plants and through tourism. How do I get there?Travel from Uganda and cross the border with the assistance of Virunga NP at Bunagana.Travel from Rwanda and cross the border with the assistance of Virunga NP at GisenyiVirunga NP arranges Short-Stay Virunga Visas for access to the park. Like to know more? Please go to:VirungaVirunga PowerNational Geographic About Virunga
In the western part of Uganda you will find an area that looks more te belong in Vietnam, Birma or Cambodia. It gives off a totally different feeling than we are used to in Africa. It makes you realize how large this continent is and how many hidden treasures of nature is has. The land around us looks like a wild frozen sea of nature with giant waves, the green icebergs pointing up towards the clouds and the mist, especially in the morning, makes it look like a fairytale. A lot of the native forest is cut down and is replaced by farmland or other trees like eucalyptus, which grows faster and will therefor supply more wood in time. The mountains around us are like big checkerboards, all divided into different crops like vegetables, maize, grain, tea, bananas and potatoes. Traveling through this area we first visit Lake Bunyoni, which got its name because of the variety of bird species around. The name literally means “Place of many little birds” and is located in South Western Uganda between Kisoro and Kabale close to the border with Rwanda. Located at 1962 m above sea level, it is about 25 km long and 7 km wide. Someone told us that the dept of the lake can go up to 900 m which if true that would make the lake the second deepest in Africa.It’s a beautiful area, but als also commonly visited by locals throwing a party, overland trucks hosting the young travelers and people coming down for the weekend driving from Kampala. This doesn’t make it less pretty but makes us decide to keep on driving to Lake Mutanda. Lake Mutanda is located between a two and four hour trip (63Km) from Lake Bunyonyi depending on your driving. It lies hidden in the mountainous landscape of southwestern Uganda, in the Kisoro district. We can say that we find it the most scenic and postcard pretty lake of what we have seen of Africa. The Lake is nestled in the foothills of the Virunga Mountain Range, at an altitude of 1800 m. The three volcanoes within the range, that are partly located in Uganda (Mount Muhabura, Mount Sabinyo and Mount Gahinga), can be seen in the background.
Mutanda Lake Resort
It is a warm day, the wind blows through our open windows which we rolled down halfway. I can feel sweat drip from my neck down my back. Even with the windows open and the wind blowing in it is hot. A large cloud of dust from a passing car minimizes our visibility and covers the car in a blanket of fine red dust. While I am trying to look through this cloud, we both try to close our windows as soon as possible to prevent us from being covered in it as well. We follow a narrow road on the mountain, the road is like a long thread woven through a green tapestry. The threads from the weaving loom are pulled apart and different colors of yarn are woven in. Left, right, left, right, uninterrupted we drive from one direction into the other. It is not a cheap tapestry. The colors are deep and endless, but everything ends in green: dark green, light green, bright green and mint. I close my eyes and think myself on top of that carpet, flying over a fairytale landscape. Over deep valleys, along blue lakes, misty mountaintops and active volcanos. The beauty of Uganda that takes my breath away. Taking the backroads from Lake Bunyoni to Lake Mutanda certainly makes for a very interesting drive with stunning scenery all around. When I see the first glimpses of Lake Mutanda, it’s the stillness that makes the first impression. A quiet lake, a few ripples in the water and little islands scattered in the middle. We follow the road on the edge of the lake and after a few corners I think I am able to see Mutanda Lake Resort, perched on one of the peninsulas in the lake.
A simple, but very cozy, partly canvas house/tent with a verandah that looks out over the lake will be our new home for the next couple of days. Opposite from our room, on the other side of the little bay, I can spot the road we just drove on and after a while I realize that apart from the occasional boda boda, not many cars drive in this part of Uganda. An older guy moors his dug out canoe and starts cleaning it. Birds enjoy the nectar in the red blossom on the tree in front of me and in between the banana trees I can see some children walking their goats to the best grazing spot. Sitting on the verandah I wish I was more of a birder. In ten minutes I see more variety in birds, than I have seen in the past 2 days. They come and go, dive in the water for fresh meal and chirp in different songs.Dinner is a three course meal with a vegetarian and non vegetarian option. Set in a cozy lit restaurant, looking out over the volcanos, we have a wonderful dinner while the sky changes colour for the night. By the time we walk back to our room, the Bell Frogs have come out and their characteristic sound fills the air for a few more hours. In the early morning we are very lucky to see the volcanos in the distance since the sky is clear and we decide to take the boat out after breakfast. Together with Gerald, the guide, we cruise around on the lake and see a multitude of different birds flying and nesting near the water. We pass a few fishermen with their homemade rods trying to catch the little fish which they put on a stick before frying them over a fire. On some of the bigger islands in the lake we can see women working on potato fields where they get dropped in the morning and picked up at the end of the day. Since most of the local people are not really good swimmers, to me, this seems like the perfect way of getting your wife out of the way for a certain period of time.We turn back when the sun gets too bright and relax the rest of the day.
Even though Lake Mutanda is in a far corner of Uganda it is a perfect stopover coming from Rwanda, or as a basis for a gorilla tracking. It’s definitely one of the best places we’ve visited in Uganda!
When we visited the Karamojong we were incredibly lucky in capturing two amazing stories. Stories which are told by the Karamojong on the long and dark evenings to entertain each other around the campfire. This second story was told by Elizabeth from Kautakou and she tells us what it was like growing up in a time of violence.
A little girl is sitting hidden away in the corner of the house. She pushes herself as close to the wall of mud and branches as she possibly can. If she would’ve been able to vanish in a puff of smoke, she would have. In the stories they tell around the campfire people sometimes can, they disappear in thick smoke to reappear somewhere far away and she wishes she could now. A loud scream from outside sets her teeth on edge. She recognizes the voice, it is her mother’s. She is shaking like a leaf and blacks out for a while until she feels another hand in hers. It’s her brother. He whispers: “You have to be brave little sister.” Together they silently crawl on hands and knees towards the exit of the hut. After the first robbery, the place feels different, not safe anymore. It feels like a normal hut instead of their home where they grew up. Her brother leads her outside where it is dark. Once their outside, he looks at her and puts both of his hands on her cheeks. They are warm and rough from working outside on the fields. “Run little sister, run as fast as your legs can carry you,” he whispers. They both start running, his hand solidly holding hers. They run out of the village. The thorns are hurting the soles of their feet, but they don’t feel the pain. She hears a shot being fired, coming from the village. Her brother falls down. He looks at her and tells her with a weak voice: “ run, runnnnn!” From the village she can see men armed with guns coming their way. She turns around and starts to run again, as fast as she can, without looking back. Elizabeth grew up in a time when there were a lot of raids. She lost her brothers and parents in these raids. “Around 1960,” Elizabeth tells us, “the white people came to Uganda from England. The English didn’t understand the Karamojong, and decided that they would not tolerate people who walked around naked. They would shoot them. Because there were fights between different tribes and because some of the tribes got their hands on weapons, the other Karamojong tribes also wanted them, so they stole them from the English. Between 1986 and 1995 was the height of the war between these tribes. There was hate, jealousy and weapons made it even worse. After 1995 this all changed. The new government wanted the Karamojong to put down their weapons freely, Later they exchanged them for food and in the end they simply took the weapons away by force, killing the Karamojong when they needed to. Since 2005 there are no weapons anymore and things are better. Everyone still know what happened and the hate is something hard to forget. Still, everyone thinks it is better now without the guns!”
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When we visited the Karamojong we were incredibly lucky in capturing two amazing stories. Stories which are told by the Karamojong on the long and dark evenings to entertain each other around the campfire.This first story was told by Matthew Toyo from Kautakou and tells us about how being brave can save your life.
An old man with a wrinkled skin is sitting in the tall grass in the shade of a large tree. He looks up at the sky. The clouds are congregating in a thick blanket above him. “ Will it really rain?” he thinks to himself. It has been dry for so long. He looks around. His spear made out of wood, with a sharp, solid point, stands next to him against the trunk of the old tree. The tree which, just like him, has been around for a while now. This morning he led his cows out of the village and herded them to his favorite spot, a place where there always seems to be grass, at the old tree. He loves this tree. Normally one of his sons joins him, but today he is alone. His son went to town a few days ago to sell some things as he hasn’t returned yet. This is very common he knows, his son will not return before he gets a good price on the market and found himself transport back to the village. He starts to count his cows: 1,2,3,…,16,17,…19,…28,…32…this is the last one he counts before his eyelids start to droop and he falls sound asleep. The moment he wakes up, he hears the raindrops fall on the leaves above him and onto the ground next to him. He wipes a drop from his face. “This was probably the drop that woke me up,” he thinks. He gets closer to the trunk of the tree to shelter himself from the sudden heavy rain. With every raindrop that falls on the dry soil he can see a little bit of dust blow up. “ About time,” he sighs, the rain is late this year. In the distance he can see the familiar sight of his cows. They are taking shelter too and turn their backs into the storm of rain. “Ah good,” he thinks, “ This way, I don’t have to herd them all together again”. He lets himself slide down again and waits until the rain has stopped. Luckily, he doesn’t have to wait long. The drops turn into little drops, and the little drops turn into minuscule drops before the rain completely stops as sudden as it had started. He gets his spear which is still leaning against the old tree and starts to walk towards his cows. The grass is still wet and he enjoys the feeling of cold wetness between his toes. Sand sticks to his feet. He looks at the earth below. His father was a good shepherd and an even better tracker. His father learned it from his father. He never knew his grandfather, but he has heard the stories. He has tried to teach his sons,but they are more interested in women and trips to town. Maybe they will care to learn later, he secretly tells himself to keep his hopes up.The old man gets on one knee in the wet sand. With his fingers he reaches to the ground. That is strange, he thinks to himself, while he looks at the print in the soil. That is a hyena print and it has been a very long time since I have seen a hyena in this area. He presses his palm against the print. It fits. It’s a front paw, a male alone, possibly pushed off by the rest, possibly wounded by fights with other males. Wounded animals are dangerous, everyone knows that. They look for easy prey and are constantly prepared to attack. They will not hesitate. With a sudden jolt he looks up towards his cows. They are still grazing peacefully, close together. On hands and feet he crawls closer to the animals while taking in his surroundings. The cows will not react to him at all, he knows that, because they are used to having him around. Another fresh print on the ground, he knows he’s getting closer. He gazes over the tall grass, his hand tightly holding his spear and he looks at the sharp point. It’s still undamaged and razor-sharp. His heart is in his throat. This is not the first time, but he doesn’t have the strength of a young man anymore, he knows that, he has to be smart this time. He looks around him, how would his father have solved this? Suddenly, he knows, the soft earth and he starts to dig in the soft soil. He digs deeper and deeper with his hands until he has dug out a narrow hole. He trusts his spear into it, backwards. He makes sure it is in a 90 degree angle with the sharp point facing upwards. He starts to fill the hole again with sand until the spear stands solid as a rock. Now that the spear is in place, he starts to crawl further. Low to the ground as a predator, silent as a mouse, but wise, brave and unbeatable like an elephant. He spots the hyena in between the cows, exactly where he thought it would be. It is lurking around the mothers with young calfs, the easy prey. He crawls closer, closer, even closer. His heart is beating very loudly. He can almost smell the hyena by now. The grass gives him good coverage and the soft earth muffles his sounds. Now, he is close enough. He grabs the grey tail of the hyena, gets up with all his speed and strength and starts pulling and walking backwards towards the spear in the ground. The hyena is totally surprised. His hind legs are partly suspended in the air and the front ones are not getting any grip on the wet grass. The speed with which he is being pulled completely surprises the animal. The sharp point of the spear is rapidly getting closer. Sweat streaks down the man’s face. With his bare hands he still holds the hairy tail. Just a little closer, he thinks to himself, the animal is roughly 60 kg he guesses. At that moment, the ground becomes harder, the hyena is getting his hind legs back on the ground and gets back his grip. The spear is only a few meters away. With all the power the man possesses he starts to pull again, he knows it is now or never, the hyena still hasn’t regained full grip. His hands and knees are hurting, back in the day this would’ve cost him no effort, but he doesn’t want to think about that right now. The hyena is not giving in at all. He has to think of something and fast, his hands are hurting, but he can’t let go.The moment he will let go the hyena will definitely be after him, or worse, his cows. He needs these cows to be able to give a good brideprice for his sons future wives. Letting go is no option and the spear is too far away. Suddenly, he sees someone walking in the distance. How lucky! “ Help me, help me!” he shouts as loud as his tired voice allows him. The young man has heard him and is coming closer. But the moment the other man sees the hyena he stops and flinches. The old man looks at him and says: “ there, two meters away from me, is a spear in the ground, take it and spear the hyena!” The man assesses the situation, thinks about it and answers:” No, that is way too dangerous! The hyena will eat me and then you.” “ Don’t be ridiculous”, the old man says, “ get that spear!”. The other man walks backwards slowly and refuses to.“ Allright” the old man says, “what if you take over the hyena’s tail and I get the spear and kill him?” The young man contemplates this offer for a few seconds and decides to help the shepherd. He walks over to the hyena and grabs hold of the tail, with fear still in his eyes and the hyena frantically trying to get loose. The old man can finally let go and shakes his stiff and painful arms. He takes a few steps towards his spear and pulls it out of the ground before walking over to the hyena. But then he suddenly changes his mind. He looks at the man and the hyena and says: “ A lesson in life is to learn not to be a coward, I will give you this lesson and maybe you will have to pay a heavy price for it….You’re holding the hyena very well, though. Bye.” He then herds his cows together and walks away. The young man holds the hairy hyena tail tight with his sweaty hands. Now he is totally by himself. Afraid to let go of the tail he can see the sun slowly setting for the night. The moment he feels all the strength go out of his hands, the hyena gives one last pull. He cannot resist it and the tail slips through his fingers. The hyena, finally free, doesn’t think twice and runs as fast as his tired body can carry him. Away, far away to a quiet place for the night. The young man falls down, exhausted, in the still damp grass. He’s tired, but relieved. Moral of this story: when you are brave, you are able to safe yourself.
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Moroto is like the dot on the i, it’s not entirely necessary, but it does make a difference and finishes it up nicely. That book on the shelf, with its off-putting cover, it’s been there for years, but you can’t really put yourself to read it. Then comes the day you finally do, you take that book, you forget about the cover, turn the first page and start reading. Before you know it you’re being sucked in by the story. You inhale the letters like it’s the last oxygen on earth. Consciously and full of life. Different and tasteful. That is Moroto. The journey to it is out of the way. The roads are bad and under development, which almost makes it worse. One moment there is perfect tarmac, while the other you are launched out of your seat by giant road bumps or violently shaken apart by a multitude of potholes. But the journey is worth it. At the end of that road is a small village, that looks abandoned but also lively. It’s a village that connects the modern world to its original African roots. It’s where the people don’t know any other way than the nomadic way of life; keeping cattle, building a new village every ten years on a different spot and bearing as many daughters as you can (since they will make a good bride price). This is where the village elders decide whether their offspring go to school or if they stay true to their nomadic roots.What we find in Moroto is a mixture: traditional clothes, but armed with a Nokia, piled up crates of beer and CocaCola, but on the back of an oxcart, a suit, but worn over Maasai sandals made out of car tyres.We are warmly welcomed by the team from Kara-Tunga. It’s a small tour operator that tries to promote the Karamoja area with tourists. The guys who work for Kara-Tunga as tourleaders have their roots with one of the Karamojong tribes in the surroundings of Moroto. Sunday 11 decemberStill drowsy from sleep we find our way out of the rooftop tent. Battered and worn out from the battle we had to fight last night. The itchy welts are an angry red against our white, slightly tinted skin. With our torches we tried to minimize the damage, but the tent must have looked like a discotheque when we chased the mosquitos and killed them one by one. It’s way too early for us, but a strong cup of coffee helps a little bit. Our guide arrives an hour later than we had discussed the day before; it’s African time. We’re kind of used to it by now and we even find ourselves behaving like this sometimes. Still, we try not to show our frustration too much, because in this particular case we could’ve used an extra hour of sleep. With our guide Peter, who grew up in one of the surrounding villages until he was send to school when he was 12 years old, we drive off. He sits in the car like a prince, with his nose almost agains the front windscreen. He’s wearing a bright orange t-shirt with the Kara-Tunga logo and a traditional hat and necklace, it suits him. He leads us off the main road and a narrow track leads us to the entrance of the village. The village is a small settlement made out of local materials. Already at the entrance we are amazed at how it is all constructed. The “walls” that are erected around the village are about 60 cm thick and made out of twined branches, on the inside they are supported by beams which are put in the ground every three meters. This way, the wall can withstand a whole lot of force coming from the outside. The branches are carefully twined and it is impossible to penetrate this structure and get into the village without decent tools. The entrance to the village is the size of the entrance of a large igloo; we have to stoop down to get through. When we get through we have to walk around a very large spiny bush. Peter tells us that at night, this bush is pulled into the entrance. The entrance acts like a funnel and the spiny bush gets pushed together by it. The sharp spines make sure that no one even thinks of entering the village at night. Simple, but effective. They also put steel plates and pieces of tin right behind the entrance, if someone tries to get in, it will not go unheard.
Especially since we arrive with Peter as an escort we are being warmly welcomed by the village. He clearly feels at home and easily walks us through the maize of alleys. The whole structure reminds me of a beehive: cells within a larger cell. Areas within the confines of the thick wall, separated from each other by a thinner wall than the one on the outside. The entrance is always a narrow and low gate. Children are running through it with no great difficulty, but we have to stoop low to access the family compound. The different compounds almost always look the same: one, two or three huts, a kitchen area, a place for water and food storage. The occupancy of the compounds doesn’t vary a whole lot: children, ranging from 0 till 15, a dog, chickens, ducks, sometimes goats, sheep and cows. These are usually taken in at night and shepherded out in the morning. After we’ve been walking around for a little while we notice a group of young people gathering in the middle of the village. With their feet they stamp on the dusty soil and we start to hear a rhythm, which is really catchy. It finds its way through the dust, to the other huts, children and under your skin. The first symptoms show when you don’t even realize that you’re tapping, nodding or clapping on the beat.The whole village seems to be called by the rhythm and gathers around us while the group of people in the middle starts their dance.One of the elders with a fair bit of charisma and an impressive voice is clearly the motivator. His energetic hip movements and rhythm are catching. The amount of dancers are multiplying and before I know it I’m also dancing and shouting in an unfamiliar language.
When the dancing has finished and we look around is, we see that the entire village has turned up. We ask one of the village elders and the charismatic dancer to tell us a story about life in the village. They tell us two wonderful stories that we will write down separately.Peter finds his way out of the village and we follow him. As soon as we have left we can feel the tiredness from the lack of sleep wash over us. The village for us was like a bath of energy, you fall in and you’re being carried away through warmth, love, simple passion and energy. Overenthusiastic children who grab your hand and take you into their world with their sparkling eyes where the mother of pearl colored whites stand out against their dark skin. The dusty faces, snotty noses who walk with their brothers and sisters on their backs. Hands and feet rough with calluses, but warm and full of love, friendship and honesty. Hands that run through the coarse hairs of a young calf to remove unwanted ticks, hands that run through the soft hairs of a newborn daughter, hands that take a hold of home made tools and that start on a long day from sunrise to sunset. I look at my own hands and see the soft skin, clean finger nails and knuckles with tiny, almost invisible, scars. They are the same hands, but so different. 33 years of age, but protected and defined by comfort. Peter takes us back to Kara-Tunga. We take along one of the village elders, in his best suit, to Moroto. It’s quiet in the car, at the moment we are all in our own little worlds.
The Kraal
By the end of the afternoon we leave for another village. Peter climbs into our car again and leads us out of Moroto and onto a long dusty track. All of a sudden he shouts: “Stop! We passed the exit!” I look at him rather doubtful. “ But Peter, we didn’t pass any roads..”. Well, we have to go back he informs us. When we reach a large tree he says: “ Look, here it is.” A very narrow track where clearly only cattle walked recently leads us into the bush. We take the turn and follow the cattle track which is just wide enough for the car. After 2 kilometers we reach some huts that are almost not visible because they have the same colors as their surroundings. A Kraal, a temporary settlement, Peter explains. We are warmly welcomed just like the other village before. We park our car in the middle of the village while everyone watches us with curiosity while we set up camp. The campfire is lit and the men return in small groups with their cattle and find their place around it. We have dinner around the fire and listen to the stories from the men which Peter translates for us. A large pitcher of local brew is passed around. The stories turn into singing and the women also mix into the group, while they were separate from the men earlier on. We go to bed when the fire is almost out. Some of the men find a resting place around the hot coals, while others look for more privacy in the fields. The women return to their huts and children and we find our familiar spot in our rooftop tent. http://www.kara-tunga.comhttp://www.discoverkaramoja.com
Dinner is a three course meal with a vegetarian and non vegetarian option. Set in a cozy lit restaurant, looking out over the volcanos, we have a wonderful dinner while the sky changes colour for the night. By the time we walk back to our room, the Bell Frogs have come out and their characteristic sound fills the air for a few more hours. In the early morning we are very lucky to see the volcanos in the distance since the sky is clear and we decide to take the boat out after breakfast. Together with Gerald, the guide, we cruise around on the lake and see a multitude of different birds flying and nesting near the water. We pass a few fishermen with their homemade rods trying to catch the little fish which they put on a stick before frying them over a fire. On some of the bigger islands in the lake we can see women working on potato fields where they get dropped in the morning and picked up at the end of the day. Since most of the local people are not really good swimmers, to me, this seems like the perfect way of getting your wife out of the way for a certain period of time.We turn back when the sun gets too bright and relax the rest of the day.
