Where Have All the Tourists Gone?

NAIROBIA, KENYA: Back to Nairobi, a one-night pit stop on the way to Rwanda. My agent in Windhoek, Namibia, had originally routed me through Johannesburg, but in looking at the map Joe Burg, as it’s fondly called, seemed like back tracking. I had thought Kenya was a country I would want to visit, but my agent steered me clear and I now understand why. I took a quick tour of the city and the National Museum and didn’t see any tourists. An article in the local paper explains why: first, the country faces serious security challenges from terrorism to violent robbery; second, park fees are twice as high as those in Tanzania; third, the country is seeing a dramatic increase in pouching, destroying the primary reason for tourists to come to the country in the first place; and fourth, the government’s arbitrary decision to charge a value added tax on tourism, which probably speaks to the even more serious problem of corruption. The headline in the same paper read: “18 envoys ask Uhuru to act on corruption.” The envoys included U.S. Ambassador, Robert Godec. Their letter to President Uhuru begins with, “Corruption is undermining Kenya’s future, its economic growth, security, and government services.” Just as a test of the security concern, I asked my driver to drive me to Somalia. “You’re not serious?” he said. The farthest north he would take me was 400 kilometers, which is still 800 kilometers from the border. “Oh, well,” I said, “A tour of the city will have to suffice.” We drove on past the memorial park commemorating the 1988 bombing of the U.S. Embassy, killing 2,000 people, and then on to Westgate Shopping Mall where 47 people were recently killed. My driver had an Obama 08 sticker on his front windshield and so I asked him, “What do you think of Obama?” He responded, “I liked him at first, but now I’m disappointed that he’s not doing more for Kenya. He needs to come here and tell the American people that it’s safe to visit here. We need the American tourists to come back.”

Hakuna Matata

Infectious Smile

ZANZIBAR: Jambo (Hello), Asante Sana (Thank You), Karibu (Welcome), Hakuna Matata (No Worries. Be happy.) The Swahili words roll off their tongue as though from the Broadway musical, The Lion King. But it’s real here and very infectious, as tourists soon catch the vibe and start greeting each other with Jambo. A stranger at the airport told me, “In Zanzibar, we are all language teachers,” and commenced with a brief lesson in Swahili. It was the same in Tanzania. Wherever I go I try to learn at least two words: “Hello” and “Thank you.” Those two words are usually enough to at least crack a smile and sometimes start a conversation. But too often, to my chagrin, even these two simple words can be a challenge, involving rolling R’s that stick to my tongue like super glue or guttural sounds that makes me cough. Here though, it’s nothing of the sort, as I have been immersed in the soft tonal sounds of the Swahili language as soon as I stepped off the plane. But it’s not just their language that is infectious, but also their welcoming smiles. As travelers we know that too often smiles are a mask for more pressing self-serving concerns, but here, more often than not, they are genuine expressions of friendliness. Hakuna Matata.

Pristine Beaches

Pristine Beaches

ZANZIBAR: This was intended to be a restful interlude between the safaris of the past few weeks and the upcoming Gorilla trek in Rwanda. Zanzibar, I had heard, had pristine sandy beaches, and warm clear waters; ideal for sunning and bathing. Oops, I must not have read the fine print. Instead I’ve encountered rain and dirty beaches. Strolling along the beach strewn with garbage I’m constantly set on by peddlers of paintings and local handicraft. “Hello there! Where are you from? Obama country? My name is Alibaba. You know Alibaba and the seven thieves? Yes, that’s my name. What is your Name? David, you say. I like that name. Now you’re King David and I’m Alibaba. Right? King David, you come now and see my shop. I’m an artist. I make these things in my village. I carve things. I paint things. I do this all myself. You like, I give you good price.” His artwork is identical to what I see in the other shacks that line the beach. He continues, now grabbing my arm, “You buy! Help me support my family.” I can’t resist, “Alibaba, if you’re the artist and proprietor of this shop, why don’t you clean up the beach in front of it?” He looks at me quizzically, and then laughs, “You funny King David. Now you buy. I give you good price.” I turn and he follows me for another ten meters before I’m picked up by another vendor, “Hello, where are you from, etc., etc.?”

3.6 Million Year-Old Footprints

Olduwai Gorge

OLDAVAI GORGE, TANZANIA: I learned from the plague in the small museum that in 1976 members of Mary Leakey’s paleontological team were just fooling around, throwing dried elephant dung at each other, when one of the members ducked, slipped, and hit the ground. As he did, he noticed the clear indentations of animal prints in the hard surface. The team knew that at this level of the Gorge the footprints had to be over three million years old due to the unique feature of the Gorge in which over millions of years intermittent volcanic eruptions had created four clearly identifiable geological layers that can now be tied to specific periods in time. Through the Gorge’s successive levels paleontologists have continued to discover the remains of prehistoric hominid species and their artifacts that aptly demonstrate the evolution of humankind. Leakey’s team removed the sand from the animal footprints only to find footprints that looked very human like. These footprints they determined had to have been that of Australopithecus Afrarensi; the same specie of hominid as that of Lucy found in Ethiopia in 1974, whose skull is about the size of an ape. Therefore, paleontologists theorize the footprints demonstrate that bipedalism predated the evolution of other human-like characteristics like large brain size. Concerned over preserving a record of what they had discovered, Leakey’s team created a plaster cast of the footprints, which are now on display in the museum. “But where are the actual footprints?” I asked my guide. “They’re forty-five kilometers from here, but you can’t see them, because they’re buried.” After making the cast, the Leakey’s team had buried them to preserve them for future generations. This, however, they soon found wasn’t such a good idea, as plants started to take root that would eventually destroy the imprints. Efforts are now being taken to ensure that that doesn’t happen. “But wait,” I asked my guide. “Why cover them up at all? Why not build a museum around the footprints that would preserve them while actually allowing future generations to view them?” “Don’t know,” my guide responded. A nearby tourist, who appeared quite knowledgeable on the subject, said, “The cost/benefit analysis simply doesn’t support it.”

What If I Had to Pee, then What?

Lion

SERENGETI, TANZANIA: It’s 9:30 p.m. and I’ve retired to my tent for the night. As I lie down, I hear the screech of an elephant trumpeting. It can’t be more than a few feet from the front of my tent. For my protection, I had been escorted earlier to my tent but we had seen or heard nothing. Then a roar! “Oh my god, it’s a lion!” This is followed by the trumpeting of the elephant again. Back and forth they go. I swear, they’re going to go to blows right in front of my tent. I peek through the flap, but see nothing in the pitch darkness. I contemplate what I can do to protect myself if either attacks the tent. Elephants can get vicious and turn on people. A tourist was killed by one a few months ago. And, of course, Lions, they’re another story. They’re 80% effective in knocking down the likes of wildebeests and zebra. A large enough group will take down an elephant. My guide had assured me they don’t bother with humans because if they do, they’ll be shot. “But are all lions really that rational and isn’t there just that one that doesn’t know any better?” It’s unnerving but what can I do? Fortunately, whatever disagreement the elephant and the lion is having doesn’t last, but other noises instead take up the slack. I hear the blubbering of a water buffalo coming from the back of my tent. These creatures are so tough and ornery that even lions keep their distance. Guides with rifles are allowed to shoot them if they come within twenty meters of a tourist. This one sounds like it’s ten feet away. The water buffalo moves on but is soon replaced by some snorting warthogs, the sound of which I clearly recognize. I’m not exactly afraid of them, but they have been known to attack a lion; and so the night goes. The next morning I ask my guide, “What was all of that about?” “Those were two bull elephants and four lions you heard.” Again he assures me that they wouldn’t have gone for me in the tent. “What about the water buffalo?” “Nah, they’re okay too, as long as you don’t step out of the tent.” I’m thinking, “What if I had to pee, then what?”