Praise the Lord

Mini-Bus Advertising 

ARUSHA, TANZANIA: “Passion of Christ” is emblazoned on the mini-bus we pass and “Praise the Lord,” on the commercial lorry ahead of us. A large billboard sign reads, “Christ Kingdom Church.” “Why all these religious signs,” I ask my guide. “They’re advertising." He says, "There’s a lot of competition among the various religions here. 60% of the population is one type of Christian or other, the other 40% are Muslim and they all want to increase they’re membership. There’s a lot of money involved.” I noticed some beautiful churches and mosques in Harare, Nairobi, and now here; churches and mosques that stood in stark contrast to the miserable shanti towns they inhabited. In Harare, I noticed that book vendors mostly offered religious tracks and books and used study guides, like Algebra Made Simple. Seldom, if ever, did I see a literary work of fiction. Apparently, over the centuries, evangelicals of all stripes have transformed these cultures into vanguards of one type of religiosity or other. In fact, I haven’t, as yet, met anyone who isn’t religious, for I usually ask, “Why do you belong to this religion?” A Pentecostal told me, “Because they don’t allow drinking, smoking, or fornicating, and that’s what I believe in.” A Catholic told me, “Because it provides a community and essential services, like healthcare and education.” As my guide and I drive on I can’t help but probe into the influence the various religions are having on the country. “You know,” he says, “We have six religious radio stations: Catholic, Lutheran, Baptist, Assemblies of God, Muslim, and one other that I’m not sure of.” More probing on my part and he responds, “Most of these stations support the anti-homosexual legislation that our legislators will be taking up in the next session. They want legislation similar to what Uganda has implemented. Right now homosexual acts here are punishable with 30 years in prison. The problem with the law is that the perpetrators need to be caught in the act.”

We All Live Looking Over Our Shoulder

NAIROBI, KENYA: It’s only a one-night pit stop before continuing on to Tanzania. My driver from the airport talks non-stop about the threat of terrorism. “Every week there’s some kind of terrorist attack. Last week in Eastleigh, a terrorist threw a hand grenade into a crowded restaurant killing six and injuring dozens more. The government seems helpless to do anything about it, and when they do round up the potential perpetrators, mostly Muslims, they’re accused of discriminating against the Muslim population. Some believe President Uhuru and his Deputy Ruhu are actually personally involved. They might be right. The President and his Deputy are being charged by the ICC for crimes against humanity for orchestrating large-scale violence following the 2007 elections. They want the world to believe that they are indispensible to the West in their fight against Muslim extremism. I think the two may have even been behind the Westgate Mall terrorist attack. There are just so many unanswered questions there.” I mention that I had read that Nairobi is one of the ten most dangerous cities in the world. “It’s true,” he replies. “We all live looking over our shoulder.” We arrive at the heavily guarded hotel where I go through airport level security screening, sans removing of my shoes. I have time the next day and would like to see some of the city, but a quick gander outside the hotel compound reminds me that this is not where I want to end my trip.

Keep Your Greedy Corrupt Hands Off Them

A Billion Dollar Note

HARARE, ZIMBABWE: “No one works here,” my driver to the hotel tells me. “And the few that do, don’t get paid. We don’t make anything anymore. All the industries have been shut down. We now have 80% unemployment and have to import everything, even our currency.” The official currency is the U.S. dollar but try to change a twenty for something smaller and you’ll get a blank stare. Sometimes you can find someone who will break a twenty for Botswana pula or South African rand, but at decidedly disadvantageous rates. Even the banks struggle and are unwilling to give you more than a couple of fives or maybe, if you’re lucky, five ones; and those are always blackened and threadbare having passed through thousands of hands. Of course, there are no U.S. coins. The result is that you often end up paying more: The 20-minute taxi ride to the hotel cost $30, the hotel room $200, and a small paperback novel, $25. In 2009, Zimbabwe gave up trying to keep up with the hyperinflation and went to the U.S. dollar. At the time a two billion dollar Zimbabwe note was worth one cent. Now street hustlers try to sell them as souvenirs for several dollars. As we pull up to the heavily guarded Holiday Inn, I say, “I have only a $100 bill. Do you have change?” The driver shakes his head; “I can break it for two $50s.” I’m being taken, I think, and say, “The hotel must have change?” The driver reluctantly agrees. Half-hour later, I get the correct change, but only after one of the porters goes to the gas station across the street.

The next morning I ask one of the clerks, “With such high unemployment, how do people survive?” “It’s very difficult,” he sighs. “I’m so grateful that I have a job and one that actually pays. You see many companies don’t even pay their employees.” “But then how do people survive?” He shakes his head, “Peddling mostly, or doing odd things like guarding or washing cars.” Outside, I decide to buy the paper. The headlines read, “$7 Billion circulates in informal sector.” It seems the government wants to regulate this sector involving 2.8 million people. A government spokesman is reported as saying, “Just imagine if the 2.8 million people were to pay $1 per month, what that would contribute to our fiscus.” I decide to dig deeper. There are vendors everywhere. I show the newspaper headline to a flower vendor. “Are you a part of the informal sector?” I ask. He doesn’t understand and so I show him the newspaper. He reads it slowly and carefully and then laughs, “Yes, yes, I am!” “So, what do you think of this idea?” “It’s stupid. It’s a joke. It’ll never happen.” I continue on asking various vendors and basically get the same response. One vendor, selling sandals, explains, “We don’t want to do this. There’s nothing left for us to do. If they would open the factories, we wouldn’t have to do this. Registering us and collecting taxes will never happen. If they take away our businesses, what then?” Harare is a scary place because of all the unemployed young men you see loitering around, but those peddling are not the problem. They are the country’s only solution for now. Among them is the next Bill Gates or Steve Jobs. My advice to the Zimbabwe government: “Keep your greedy corrupt hands off them!” 

This Too Is Real

Women with Firewood

KASANE, BOTSWANA: Before I left home, I read Paul Theroux’s book, Dark Star Safari, on his trials and tribulations of traveling from Cairo to Cape Town. Theroux’s objective was to discover the “real” Africa by shunning anything tourist related; flights, safaris, historical sites, etc. In the process, he was shot at twice, robbed once, and temporarily infected with debilitating disease. To top off his miserable experience, as I recall, saw only three wild animals: an eland, an ostrich, and a baboon. Nevertheless he implies this was the only way to see and experience the “real” Africa. Okay, I’m thinking, so maybe what he reports on is a slice of Africa, but by no means the “real” thing. For this is akin to a foreigner traveling through the U.S. by bus and drawing his observation of America from the various bus stops and their immediate neighborhoods. I actually met a British woman who did just that and encountered a frightening side of America most of us couldn’t identify with. What any seasoned traveler wants is honesty, of course, and hopefully a balance between the good and the bad, the positive and the negative. Without a doubt there’s the underside to Africa, like the four women I met in Botswana carrying firewood back to their village. “We want electricity,” one said. “Can you help us?” Who, of us, can imagine living under such circumstances? On the other hand, you can’t help but marvel at the endless breathless vistas, the rich diversity of wild life, and the efforts being taken to preserve it all. This too is “real.”

Praying for Lions

Giraffe

CHOBE, BOTSWANA: The range rover normally seats nine, but I am the only guest this morning, as we depart the lodge for the Chobe National Park to view its diverse wild life. As if on demand a Kudu steps in front of us as we enter the park. Minutes later a herd of impala, stare us down, reluctant to get out of our way. Down at the Chobe river hippopotamus wallow in the shallow reeds, and further up on the banks a herd of elephants slowly makes its way to the river. Our goal though is the lion or the leopard. There are only twenty-five lions and fifteen leopards in the entire park of over ten thousand square kilometers. Spotting them is difficult, as the lions roam far and wide and the leopards are hard to detect among the trees’ foliage. Yet, just yesterday, my guide assures me, “We saw three lions and a leopard.” Suddenly, my guide stops and points to a herd of impala that have been frightened. “There, over there must be a lion.” We wait in silence as the impala dash into the bush. “It must be God’s will,” my guide finally sighs. “God’s will, I ask?” “Yes, I asked God to allow us to see the lion.” “Does your God often answer your prayers?” “Yes.” “Really?” “Yes!” “For example?” “Well, a couple years ago I woke up blind in one eye and prayed to Jesus — you see I’m Christian — I’m a Baptist. After a week, Jesus answered my prayer and I could see again.” “Did you see a doctor to find out what was wrong with your eye?” “No, I don’t go to doctors.” “But weren’t you curious as to what was wrong with your eye?” “No, I knew what was wrong. The village witch doctor had placed a curse on me.” At that point a water buffalo distracts us and we don’t return to the subject of prayers and lions. Instead, we drive around for another half hour seeing nothing but a few giraffe and gaggle of baboons. “Maybe tomorrow,” he says, as we pull up to the lodge.