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Saturday saw me, once again, engaged in my favourite quarterly distraction of obtaining a visa extension. It really seemed to sneak up on me this time around. I just can’t believe it’s been three months since I was in Africa; almost two months since my birthday; and almost a month since the play. Time is screaming by me like a red-neck in a pickup truck throwing beer-bottles at the road signs. Well, to be expected I suppose. Tempus Fugit, as Augustus might say.
Anyway, I found myself in the office of the Assistant Director for the visa branch once again pleading my case. This time I had my boss with me who was working on getting her own machine-readable passport and had gained the respect of the Ass. Director the previous week by tearing a strip off of everyone in his office. I commend her. He had told her that if she needed anything else at all, she should go straight to him. And so there we were. Sometimes things just work out well.
I think it’s the fourth time I’ve been in this guy’s office, and on each occasion, he’s started shouting at a subordinate while I’m sitting there. Since I don’t understand what he’s saying, and he seems so upset, it makes for a fairly intimidating experience. However, this time I was expecting it, and when it happened, I started wondering whether he sets it all up on purpose to show how important he [...]
Of my whole trip to and from Africa, out of 18 total hours of flying, by far the most irritating part was the last leg from Dubai to Karachi. I don’t know what it is, but any flight between Dubai and Karachi, or vice versa, is really annoying. I think part of this is based on the fact that statistically, there’s a good chance I will be sitting next to a Pakistani. Now, don’t get me wrong, as you all know, I love Pakistanis, but when it comes to planes, they drive me crazy. To start with, half the time, no one is sitting in the right seat. I don’t know if the seating plan is just unfathomable or what, but I’ve never been on any other flight with so many people saying, “Excuse me, I think this is my seat.” This time around, I figured it just wasn’t worth the hassle, so I gave up my aisle seat to the guy already seated in it, and sat in the middle. I figured that since it’s not a long flight, I could probably deal with it. However, because I always request the aisle, I had not anticipated the special tortures of sitting between two strangers. You see, I’m not even sure how this is possible, but no matter how small a Pakistani man might be, he will somehow take up as much space as humanly possible on an aircraft. I mean, I’m a large guy. I [...]
8:05 AM, June 6, 2005 – Dubai, UAE – Approx. Temp. 36 C
I arrive at that Pakistan Consulate. The lobby is blessedly cool and air-conditioned. Ben explains my situation to the man at the desk. I am expecting a work invitation letter faxed to this office. I’m told that although the office opens at 8:00, the window for foreign passports does not open until 9:00. That is Fantastic I think. Ben leaves for work and wishes me luck. In my estimation, I will need it. I read the paper, and not being all that interested in the happenings of the UAE, I am done quickly. It is only now that I realize that I have left my book at the apartment.
9:05 AM, June 6, 2005 – Dubai, UAE – Approx. Temp. 39 C
I stand in line for the foreign passport window. Being a “window” it is of course outside and I no longer have the refuge of the air-conditioned office. I patiently wait in line as people slide in and out in front of me. Sometimes they ask quick questions, sometimes they have obviously skipped in front of me in line. Sometimes I wonder how much value a line even has in this part of the world. But still, I wait patiently. I am a model of calm and patience.
9:20 AM, June 6, 2005 – Dubai, UAE – Approx. Temp. 39 C
I reach the window and attempt to explain [...]
As best I can remember from Kampala’s Capital FM radio:
Woman: We told him not to Dig!
Man: But he would not listen.
Woman: We told him to watch out for power lines!
Man: But he just kept digging.
Woman: We told him to check with the power company!
Man: But he would not listen, he just kept digging.
Woman: (sighs) Ah, that one is dead now.
…
It seems to me that for an informercial to be considered effective in Uganda, someone has to die. At least in this case the unfortunate man, so intent on his digging, is the focus of the ad. I’m still baffled by the guy who is celebrating because his girlfriend died of AIDS but he didn’t. But you know, I remember our local NB Power company, used to have commercials on TV with kids trying to climb on electrical towers, and guys cutting down trees (or digging) without checking with the power company first. Those would always end with the screen going to inverse, skeletal black and white and resound with this sickening electrical shock sound. It used to scare the crap out of me as a kid. So I guess that isn’t all [...]
After some advice from friends, and a little research with my friend Google, I realized that I might just need a yellow fever shot to reenter Pakistan. Uganda itself is not endemic, but Kenya is, and since I had a stop over in Nairobi (even though I wouldn’t be leaving the plane) there was a chance I could get stopped in Dubai or Karachi as a possible health hazard (irony, irony). Since even the chance of Pakistani quarantine was just about as appealing as urinal-mint duty at Grand Central, I decided not to risk it. Besides, it seemed like the perfect reason to delay my return and stay on with my sister for an extra week.
So I called up Emirates in Uganda and told them I would like to change my flight. All well and good, I was told, I could do it at their office in Kampala. Right, I said, but I’d like to do it over the phone because I’m four hours away by bus. No, apparently that was no longer their policy. You’re sure? I asked. They were very sure.
So this was troubling. My flight was scheduled for Sunday night and here it was Friday morning. So I did the only thing a man in my situation could do, I grabbed my brother in law for moral support and headed off on a crazy cross-country odyssey. We packed two bags and within half an hour were standing on the main road, [...]
Know what I just remembered? In Uganda, nose picking and crotch scratching are totally not taboo at all. I suppose this leads to a lot of trouser bogies. Although, most often, I saw the actions simultaneously, like the ole “pat your head, rub your tummy” trick. It’s a strange sight though, to see a man standing, talking to his friends, with one hand knuckle deep and the other patrolling his package. Ambidextrous.
You can’t pick your friends [...]
After a restless night in a tree house and a morning tracking chimps, Anna and I were pretty beat. Still, we figured that since we were there, we might as well try to take in a hike at a nearby wetland reserve. We struck off down the road, confident that soon enough someone would come driving along and give us a lift.
6 Km and a blistering hot hour later, a truck pulled up beside us. Anna told the driver where we were headed and he replied that that was exactly where he was going. We asked how far away it was and he replied, “56 Kilometers.” I started to curse. Anna declined the ride since it couldn’t possibly be where we were headed. We walked around the next corner, only to see the sign for the wetlands we were searching for maybe 500 feet away. Our friends in the truck had pulled up beside it, honking and pointing, apparently now in full awareness of where we were talking about. When we finally strolled into the centre, sweat coursing down my back, who should pull in behind us, from our own campsite, but the damned Dutch Dyke Trio. I could barely look at them I was so irritated.
Anyway, we set out with our guide Josea, who was a kind of timid little guy, with a less than perfect command of the English language. I started to wonder whether he was related to Wilson, master of [...]
Despite our fatigue, my sister and I were understandably excited to go tracking chimps in the rainforest, especially since we had travelled a helluva long way in a stinking mini-bus and paid a lot of money to do so. As we ate breakfast, I looked at the other tourists that had signed up, We seemed destined to be saddled with a group of surly Dutch women with harsh expressions and short greasy hair. I couldn’t help thinking of the little dutch boy and what he could do with his thumb in this situation. They seemed to be complaining about everything, and I turned to my sister, rolled my eyes and said, “White people.” ” Are they Dutch or German?” she asked me. ” I dunno,” I replied, “They all look the same to me.”
Luckily for us, our friend J.B. decided to guide us. We were leaving the Dowdy Dutch Dykes behind, so it was going to be just the two of us (we can make it if we try). I liked J.B., even though he was still ribbing us about the Black Mamba. He reminded me of Forrest Whittaker, except with no lazy eye, in fact he was fully binocular (with binoculars). I must say he was an amazing guide. He could identify birds by their calls and could often whistle out to them and get replies. I was so intent on the hike and all the birds and monkeys [...]
I have to admit that after the Great Black Mamba Scare of 2005 I was slightly skeptical about spending the night in a tree. Especially a tree in the middle of a rainforest, ten minute’s walk from the main camp, guarded by a slithering, black poison repository. Now, if we had almost stepped on some sort of sleeping carnivore, then sure, I would have been happy to sleep in a tree. I would have said, to hell with all of you, there’s no way I’m not sleeping in a tree. But the fact of the matter is that I had just almost stepped on a snake, and now I was looking at the tree in which I intended to sleep, and not half an hour before I had examined a poster depicting a local “Tree Snake.” It just seemed like maybe there was no direct need to poke fate in the eye with a fork. But then, I certainly couldn’t show any fear in the presence of my little sister, especially since she was resolutely refusing to show any fear in the presence of her older brother.
However, after climbing up the thirty-foot ladder to our arboreal home for the night, the coolness factor of sleeping in a tree house in the jungle quickly reestablished its footing in my mind. Black Mambas be damned! I’m sleeping in a tree in Africa! So after dinner, my sister and I settled in for the night. We played a [...]
Just so you know.
In the middle of a rainforest, in a National Park, in a country with two official gradations below “Outhouse,” is just about the worst possible time to get [...]
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We shall not cease from exploration
And the end of all our exploring
Will be to arrive where we started
And know the place for the first time
-T.S. Eliot
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