the great esacape...

...comes with a twist.

tage, dorthe and ida (the directors family) are in danmark to enjoy some weeks of holidays. so does christan, she left to the US to met her family and friends. back in kids, kieron (he is from ireland) and myself are the only muzungus. and because kieron is working in the school, during the day i am the only "different" one. that is not a big problem, after some time here i don`t realy feel that different, and the people don`t treat me different anymore. that is the case as long as i stay inside the defence of kids, as soon as i step outside i can hear kids shouting "muzungu" "bye, muzungu" "bye, bye"! (the kids from kids (sorry for all the kids, i hope you get what i mean) shout: youhonest, johanisi, hanis, youhanison or, which i like most, sharon when she sees me, says: you are myhonest)
acctualy, i is high visible that i am different. due to that, once in a while it is nice to go to places where you are just one out of many others. that are places like garden city, centenary park, lake victoria hotel, munyonyo speke resort and many others, to make the long story short: all the westernstyle resorts and restaurants where "rich" people hang out (it is, thankfully, not a matter of color, there are people from every race this planet owns). to go to such a place is somehow an escape to europe, just for some hours. but last sunday, my escape had a twist. i went to serena hotel, the most luxury hotel in kampala. i choosed it because it is close to garden city where i wanted to buy some plain youghurt which is not aviable in the village... i shouldn`t try to find an apology. i went to serena hotel, that`s what it is. i payed much to much money just to hang out on the pool, and as i sat down on my deckchair i realised that i was the different one once again. all around me where rich, old, (and here it was like this: mostly white) people with dollarsings in their eyes.

i prefer to be the only muzungu.

warum eigentlich?

ich bin sehr gerne in afrika. das wusste ich schon, als ich in kamerun 1000 bäume für den urwald gepflanzt hatte. oder als ich zusammen mit stucki`s aus dem berner oberland für zwei wochen durch marokko tourte. und ich weiss es jetzt wieder, wie ich beginne mich hier in uganda heimisch zu fühlen (natürlich ist es offensichtlich, das ich nicht ugander bin). meine frühste erinnerung an afrika ist eine holzrassel, die mir meine grosseltern von einer ihrer kenia-reisen mitbrachten. ich weiss nicht, wie alt ich damals war, jedoch schenkt man holzrasseln nur kleinen kinder. auf der rassel stand: hakuna matata - kein problem! das zauberwort, das wohl fast jeder bürger dieser erde kennt. vieleicht daraus entstand eine faszination für afrika, die mich bis heute nicht mehr losgelassen hat. ich erhob den afrikanischen elefanten zu meinem lieblingstier, bewunderte nelson mandela (in einer allgemeinblidungslektion bei herrn blauth and der berufsschule diskutierten wir die maslowsche bedürfnispyramide, wonach die selbstverwirklichung nur über vier weitere stufen der pyramide zu erreichen sei. ich warf ein, das nelson mandela aus dem gefängniss kam, wo praktisch keines der bedürfnisse gedeckt war, um praktisch im alleingang südafrika zu demokratisieren, was wohl der zenit der selbstverwirklichung sei. (dass ich mit dem "praktisch im alleingang" falsch lag, wurde mir in den letzten tagen bewusst)), träumte von safaris in der serengeti, hoffte einmal den kilimanjaro zu sehen und wünschte mir als jugendlicher eine halskette mit dem afrikanischen kontinent als anhänger, und das in einer zeit in der ich noch nicht hiphop oder reggae hörte.

übrigens war es auch nelson mandela, der mich in den letzten tagen davon abhielt, meinen computer zu benutzen. caro hat mir seine autobiografie überlassen. ich wollte zuerst ein anderes buch (dead aid von dambisa moyo - sehr empfehlenswert, wenn man wissen will, wieso afrika auch nach dem erhalt von insgesamt mehr als einer bilion us-dollar immernoch arm ist, und wie es einen anderen weg für afrika gibt) fertig lesen, doch mandela lag auf meinem tisch herum und ich konnte nicht wiederstehen, wenigstens die bilder anzusehen. wohl etwa 4 stunden später konnte ich das buch kaum noch in den händen halten, ich war so müde. das war am dienstag abend. jetzt habe ich das buch gerade zu ende gelesen und bin mächtig beeindruckt. "der lange weg zur freiheit" ist ein dickes buch (ich glaube etwa vierhundert seiten) und ich habe im moment ziemlich viel zu tun, doch ich nutzte jede freie minute um zu lesen. in diesem moment kann ich mich an eine stelle erinnern:

"ich freue mich, dass sie frei und wieder bei ihren freunden und ihrer familie sind, doch ihre rede gestern war langweilig", das schrieb eine weisse haushälterin per telegramm an nelson mandela, am tag nach seiner freilassung nach fast dreissig jahren in haft.

do it like arthur dent, don`t panic, thumbs up!

the hitchhikers guide through africa, rule number one: don`t panic!

that is what i learned during the last week. and how do you learn best? by endless repetition. but let me put the events in an order. i took a plane to zanzibar last friday to spend one week holiday on this tropical island. and there it all began. i forgot my yellowfevercard (the yellow booklet) at kids and was not allowed to board. after some talking to different airportofficers i finally got into the plane. i was scared that i would have to pay fines at every boarder that i`ll cross. but, don`t panic, thumbs up, nobody asked me for the yellow booklet again.

kilimanjaro out of the plane (yes, propelerplane)

in zanzibar i met caroline and we rented a vespa to cruise around the island. the third day we went snorkling around Mnemba atol. two local fishermans took as on a handmade sailingboat out to the little island and we spent some hours chasing fishs, seastars and seaurchins between the corals. Mnemba it self is more or less just a white beach surounded by turquoise water.

mnemba

we returned to early, so the tide was to low and we couldn`t get over the rif in front of zanzibars shore. together with the fishermans i tried to push the boat over the rif but we couldn`t manage. so we took a two hours walk through wadable water along the rocky shore passing thousands of crabs and little, smelly hotwatersprings. the first thought i had was: "fuck", (as i stood on some seaurchins and bashed my feets on stones) but a second later our no-longer-fisherman-now-i`m-your-guide fellow made me feel like: don`t panic, thumbs up!

boat

the week turned to its end and i took the ferry to Dar es Salaam to look for a bus which could take me back to uganda. while i was searching for the scandinavian express office (why the hell is a buscompany in eastafrica called scandinavian express) i found out that the company made a smashup and did no longer operate. knowing rule number one of THTA i said my self: don`t panic, thumbs up! and asked the first person i could find (it took me maybe half a second) how i could get to kampala. five minutes later i found myself in a little office in the back of a restaurant where a former skyguide from Frankfurt had his little touristic bureau. and another 10 minutes later i had my ticket to kampala, cheaper then anywhere else, for the next morning.

one of the very few pics with me... actualy the tanzanian group wanted to take pictures with the muzungus, we didn`t know them at all :-)

after a night at YMCA in Dar i boarded the bus at 5am at the busstation (considered to be one of the most dangerous places in town, but: don`t panic, thumbs up! it really was no problem as the station is filled with friendly and helpful people) and my around-30-hours-to-4-days-trip began. it all went perfectly until we arrived at the border to kenya and found our bus with a flate tyre but no spare one. but: don`t panic, thumbs up! five hours later somebody found a tyre that fits and the trip continued. as we arrived in nairobi (some call it nairobbery) latenight the bus to kampala allready left. so i spent the night in the buscompanys waiting room and i really didn`t have any idea what was going on or where i was. but, a little boy, waiting with his mum for the bus to kampala aswell, saw the "pissed-off" in my face and made a sign to me: don`t panic, thumbs up!

next morning a luxusbus (or something like that) had a seat for me and took me hasslefree to kampala where i spent one night in the backpackers hostel before i went back to kids-of-africa friday morning, exactly one week after leaving it.

kilimanjaro out of the bus

at the end of the day it was the best trip of my life so far, thumbs up!