Inspiration

Today is a day that I will never forget. I started off the morning being completely humbled and inspired by one of the seven "wonders of the world," then witnessed history as Obama was elected president. I can't remember a day that I felt so proud and excited about the future as I do today. These past few weeks have been filled with inspiring events, and I am trying to take in as much as I can in my final days of travel before I return home to Minnesota.

Jeff and I spent four days in Goa, southern India, relaxing, laying on the beach, and watching evening movies in an outdoor restaurant near our hotel. It was nice to spend some time taking it easy, but was all too similar to the lazy days I spent lounging on the beaches during my travels in Africa. After a couple days, I was anxious to move on and experience the diversity, chaos and awe of the rest of India.

After Goa, we headed to Varanasi, a city described as "the beating heart of the Hindu universe." This area, on the banks of the Ganges river, holds dozens of ghats--a series of steps leading down to the river where people of the Hindu faith come to cleanse themselves of sins or cremate members of their family.

Many people I met traveling said Varanasi was one of the highlights of their trip in India, and I can easily see why. The city was a bit overwhelming at times, but the chaos, balanced out by a few yoga classes and some relaxing time on the steps of the ghats, helped us to appreciate all that the city had to offer.

After our exhausting 30-hour train ride from Mumbai (which, because it was the Hindu holiday of Diwali, was overbooked be about 300%, and I had to share my tiny "bed" with three other people), we took an autorickshaw to our hotel. After two years of practice riding in questionable forms of public transport and getting used to incredibly scary and potentially life-threatening driving, I thought I could handle anything. Obviously, I had never been to Varanasi. The streets are lined on both sides with fruit stands, makeshift barber shops, roadside restaurants, horse-drawn carriages, bicycles, idling people, cycle rickshaws, and possibly as many dogs and cows as there are people—in the middle of the city! On top of that, there are thousands of vehicles weaving their was in and out of traffic, around cows, over potholes, etc…all the while blowing their horns at every possible opportunity (which, we discovered, is about every three seconds). I have never been so concerned for my well-being as I was during that ride. But somehow, amid all the chaos and noise, there were no accidents during our 4-day stay. I will assume that one of the Hindu gods was watching over the roads…

A good portion of our time was spent walking along the river, visiting the various ghats. Varanasi is probably one of the best people-watching places in the world. People from all over the Hindu world, and tons of tourists (many of them burnt-out hippies) spend their days on the ghats—praying, swimming, meditating, doing laundry. Throughout the day we saw at lease 30 men, many of them old, strip down naked and walk into the water. Even the cows joined in the fun, cooling off in the water or getting soaped down by their owners.

Further down we watched the ceremonial cremation of dozens of Hindus. Bodies were laid on bamboo stretchers and doused in the river before being covered in wood and burned. Apparently Hindus believe that dying in Varanasi offers the person "moksha," liberation from the cycle of birth and death.

When we weren't wandering around enjoying the city atmosphere, Jeff and I decided to take some yoga classes. For three days, we spent two hours learning some yoga basics and enjoying the benefits of meditation and exercise. Our instructor, a funny man with wild hair and rather bad teeth, focused on a practice that integrated various yoga techniques with a good amount of breathing exercise and meditation. I really, really enjoyed the classes and left everyday feeling rejuvenated and calm—something I could use more often. And at the beginning of each class we started with a laughing exercise, which the instructor claimed to be a very healthy thing to do. He told us to follow the simple instructions: "Half the food, twice the water, three times the exercise, and four times the laughter" in our daily lives. I think that's some pretty good advice.

After four days in Varanasi, we took the night train to Agra, home of the Taj Mahal. This morning we spent about three hours wandering around the awe-inspiring structure as the sun rose. Everyone has seen pictures of the building, but there is no way to put in an image or describe in words the incredible intricacy and beauty that the Taj Mahal possesses. If it weren't for the election coverage on TV, I think I might have spent the whole day lingering in the gardens and enjoying the view.

Tomorrow we go to Jaipur, another famous Indian city in the Rajasthan state. We have about 2 ½ weeks left, but plenty of activities to fill our time. I'm looking forward to experiencing even more of this incredible country.

Uganda, Switzerland and India...

These past few weeks have taken me thousands of miles and to three different continents. I am currently in Goa, India, where my friend from college, Jeff, and I are relaxing on the beach and easing ourselves into the madness and excitement that is India. I've uploaded some pictures from the past few weeks, which do my experiences more justice than a wordy post could :
UGANDA:


Mama! John Mary's mother, who we visited when I traveled to Uganda in 2005 with CSB/SJU students. I stayed at her house for a week.

Some of the kids at the school that has been built at Mama's house. About 60 high school kids are currently enrolled at the school, and over 100 elementary kids come everyday for extra-curricular activities.
Classroom during a debate for the high school kids: "Is agriculture or industrialization better for the future of Uganda?"

SWITZERLAND
I visited my friend, Ueli, at his home in Bern, Switzerland for two weeks. It was a very welcome change from the chaotic uncertainty of Africa. I was able to experience life in a developed country for the first time in two years. Much of my time was spent baking (in a real oven!), eating cheese, and exploring this beautiful country.
A view from the bridge below Ueli's house.
The Swiss Alps (we did a 6-hour hike through the mountains one day)
A small town in the Alps
Some of the most beautiful mountains I have ever seen

Ueli and I at the top of a peak
Ueli and I in Bern
The view from the steeple of a church in the middle of BernHouses along the river

QATAR:
I flew on Qatar Airways from Nairobi to Geneva, Switzerland, and again from Geneva to Mumbai, India. Each time I had a layover in Doha, Qatar. The first was from 8pm to 8am, so I had plenty of time to explore the airport.
The gate for my flight.

INDIA:
The view from my hotel window in Mumbai (luckily, I had this gorgeous view...unluckily, I was attacked by bedbugs...)

The Mumbai train station, the largest in all of Asia (and possibly the most confusing)
The road from the train station to Anjuna, the beach town we are staying at in Goa.
Cows. Why wouldn't there be tons of cows wandering around the beach? It's India!

I will be in India until November 22nd, when I (finally!) fly back to Minnesota. After a relaxing week in Goa, we have a full itinerary planned in the northern part of the country that will take us to three major religious pilgrimage points (Hinduism, Sikhism and Buddhism), a camel fair with over 50,000 camels, snake charmers and desert, the Taj Mahal, and many other exotic and interesting places. But for now, I'm just enjoying the relaxing atmosphere of the beach!

Never Again

I am sitting at a very nice and modern internet cafe in Kigali, Rwanda. I just came back from the best grocery store I've stepped foot in for over two years, and I took a taxi ride this morning in a minibus that only allowed 15 passengers and required me to wear a seat belt! These past three days in Rwanda have been a very welcome change from the random inefficiency that has been the norm throughout my travels. The roads here are in perfect condition, taxis depart at scheduled times (and you can buy your tickets ahead of time), and there are police (yes, armed with giant rifles) every 10 feet in the city so I feel extremely safe. On top of that, I have met more kind and helpful people than anywhere else. The city is definitely up-and-coming and you can sense the optimism in the people. I really like it here.

Yesterday I went to two genocide memorials outside of Kigali at Nyamata and Ntarama. I'm still trying to process what happened and what I saw. For that matter, I am still trying to understand my visit to Gikongoro, another genocide memorial, that I visited on my first trip to Rwanda three years ago. How can you possibly make sense of the horror that occurred 14 years ago? At the same time, though, it is inpiring to see the country where it is today: young, optimistic, and full of hope for the future. To me, Rwanda is a success story. They have managed to get past those 100 terrible days and rebuild in a positive way. Of course, reminders of the genocide still exist everywhere--in the various memorials throughout the country, in the man limping down the street with a stump for a leg, or the woman with no fingers begging on the side of the road. But the overwhelming feeling in Kigali and Rwanda in genera is that of hope for the future. That makes me very excited for Rwanda and optimistic that the future will hold great things.

I took a minibus to a genocide memorial in Nyamata yesterday, located about 45km outside of Kigali. From the main road, I walked about 250m on a dirt path that led past various mud houses, two well-kept schools, and a crowd of young girls playing games in a nearby field. I entered the gate to find a very simple one-room brick church--the site of unimaginable tragedy 14 years ago.

Being the only visitor at the time, I was met by the young man working there and given a private tour, allowing me to have a very long and personal conversation. The man is 26 years old. He was 9 at the time of the genocide. We first walked into the main church: a large, open area with simple benches and a statue of Mary near the alter. He didn't say much at first, as I waslked around slowly, looking at thousands of articles of clothing, coverein in dust and dirt, that were laid upon the benches and strewn across the floor. On the alter there was a white sheet draped on top, most of which was stained a deep red-broan color. And the corrogated tin ceiling had hundreds of holes, allowing rays of light to shine throughout the church.

After spending a few minutes in here, without any explanation, we walked outside to a beautiful garden area and down some steps into a tomb that has recently been turned into a mass grave where victims can rest in peace with at least some dignity. In this structure were hundreds of wooden caskets, each containing approximately 10 bodies. Each casket was carefully covered in a beautiful white and purple cloth. Flowers were laid amongst the caskets. Tears welled up in my guide's eyes as we stopped at two coffins and he told me, "Here...here is my mother and father." Then, pointing to the box directly underneath, "...and my three brothers and three sisters." Up to this point, I had no idea that he had suffered so severely and lost everything. I thought he would just give me an overview of the area and tell me the facts. What I received was something much more personal and profound.

We went down a few more stairs where there were about 10 shelves containing hundreds of skulls and bones. Many of the skulls contained gaping wounds where people were bludgeoned with machetses, rocks, guns. It was incredibly difficult to look at these things, but important to see the reality of the genocide--to remember what happened.

After spending a few minutes trying to make sense of the situation but only becoming more confused and infuriated, we walked back into the church. My guide began explaining. The door, a steel-barred structure, was still bent and the bars had been torn off. This, he explained, was where the Interhamwe militia forced their way into the area where an estimated 10,000 were hiding--hoping to be protected in their place of worship and the only place they thought was safe. Hundreds of militiamen forced their was in and systematically massacred all those inside-using machetes, rocks, grenades, guns... The holes in the ceiling were remnants of the grenades and gunshots. Dark patches of blood still clung to the brick wall.

He showed me the exact spot he was when the Interhamwe entered the church. Desperate to stay alive, he hid his small body in a corner, covered with bodies of people slain. He explained to me that he stayed in this position for two full days, too terrified to move an inch for fear that the militia was stll present. After 48 hours, though, he was so starving and weak that he had to get up to find some water and bananas. But he quickly came back to the church and hid for another ten days, too scared to go anywhere else. After many days, the Rwanda Patriotic Front (RPF), the Tutsi rebels, took over Nyamata and he was able to come out of hiding.

When I asked how the Hutu militia knew to come to the church, he told me that the killers were his neighbors, family friends who had lived together for many years. Yet, somehow, he is still able to live here today. I asked what it's like to confront the people who did this to his family, and he replied, "I have forgiven them. What choice do I have but to move forward?" This man has unimaginable strength that I cannot begin to fathom and a testament to the desire of Rwandans to put the past behind them and build a brighter future. At the second memorial, the woman showing me around told me, "We are no longer Hutu or Tutsi. We are all Rwandans--one people. That is our future."

A sign posted at Ntarama, written in Kinyarwanda, the local language, translated to: "If you know me, and you really knew yourself, you would not have killed me." It seems like the new Rwanda is successfully helping people to know each other, break down barrier, and move ahead to make sure that the slogan commonly used, "Never Again" actually holds true.

Since I last wrote, I spent a week hanging out on the tropica island of Zanzibar, wandering around the labrynth that is Stone Town, the Arabic-built city of tall buildings and narrow streets. Then I spent a few days relaxing on the northern beach of Nungwi. The sand was perfectly find and white and the waters were clear, warm and a beautiful turquoise color. This was the closest to paradise that I have ever been, and nothing beats drinking a cold beer in a little restaurant directly on the beach, watching the sun set over the ocean.

On Monday night I took the "economy" ferry back to the mainland. The trip generally takes about three hours, but because the port doesn't open in Dar until 6am, we had to anchor the ship on the very choppy and unpleasant water for about 5 hours. I was nauseous the entire time and couldn't sleep because I was jammed between two other people on a rather uncomfortable bench! But we made it back and I sat around Dar for 12 hours waiting for my 36-hour train ride. I took the Central Line train from Dar Es Salaam all the way across the country, and got off at a tiny stop in the middle of the night, from where I would get a connection to the Rwandan border. Luckily, a very wonderful old woman was in my cabin who lived in Kahama, where I was going, so she took me under her wing and showed me where to go. After four full days of travel without sleeping in a proper bed and many hundreds of km behind me, I arrived in Kigali and was able to find a nice resthouse. I've been here for three days now, and while I would like to stay longer, I am moving on to Uganda tomorrow to see the amazing peope I met when I visited three years ago.

Planes, Trains and Automobiles (and steamboats, flatbed trucks, sailboats and dugout canoes...)

Wow. Where do I begin? It’s been almost a month since I last wrote, but I feel like I’ve done enough to fill a year. I’ve traveled through three different countries, met some of the most incredible people, and really challenged myself to travel through some of the most remote areas of these countries by myself.

When I wrote last, I was in Blantyre, the largest city in Southern Malawi. Zane and I stayed for about three days, enjoying real food (and ice cream!) and stocking up on supplies for the next leg of our journey. From there, we went to a little coastal village called Cape Maclear, located on the southern edge of Lake Malawi, where we generally laid on the beach and hung out. I wasn’t especially impressed with Cape Maclear—as the Lonely Planet correctly notes, the area has been taken over by “beach boys” hanging around, trying to get everyone to take a boat ride or let them cook a meal. Honestly, I can’t blame them for trying to make a living, but it is incredibly frustrating when you know that nobody is genuine and only wants to make a buck off of you. However, I did see some of the most spectacular sunsets of my life and was able to relax quite a bit.

Following that, we traveled to Monkey Bay where I met up with Liz, Marti and Dave, fellow Peace Corps volunteers who are also traveling after our service. It was great to catch up with them and hear all of our stories from the short time we had been apart. Friday morning, we all packed up and walked about 3km into town to catch the Ilala Ferry, an extremely old steamboat that travels up and down the lake, transporting passengers and cargo to some very remote areas in Malawi and Mozambique. The ferry was a great experience. But after all the hype I’d been hearing and reading about it, I was expecting our entrance to be a bit like the beginning scenes of Titanic. I was hearing the theme song (My Heart Will Go On…) in my head and picturing women with wide-brimmed hats and fancy, well-groomed poodles parading around on the first class deck. In reality, there were plenty of people with baseball caps and the only animals on board were the chickens and goats that would be dinner for the passengers onboard! Nonetheless, it was still an excellent experience. The boat, of course, left over an hour late, and somehow got farther and farther behind schedule at every stop. At many of the ports, we were stopped for over five hours while small boats shuttled all of the people on and off, and brought various supplies to the shore. And while it was a bit frustrating at the inefficiency of the whole process, it was working. The boat simply needs to make it up and down the lake within a week, where it starts the process over again. So while we may not have been breaking records, the people and supplies were still getting where they needed to be, and the boat would inevitably make it back to Monkey Bay before the next departure. We left on Friday morning and were scheduled to reach my destination, Likoma Island, at 1pm on Saturday afternoon.

We reached the island 12 hours late, at 1am on Sunday morning. The only light came from the electrified boat and the brilliant glow of the full moon. About ten backpackers got off (but I said goodbye to Liz, Marti and Dave who were continuing onto the mainland), and we were met by a small boat that took us to the backpackers we would be staying at, Mango Drift, which is a quaint little property directly on the beach. We got to know the other backpackers very well during the five days on the island, and also spent a lot of time wandering around the various villages. Likoma Island is very small, maybe 2 km by 5 km, and supposedly has 6000 people (but it seemed like much less). Because the island is in the middle of the lake and has little access with the outside world, it has retained much of its tradition and charm. Also, there is virtually no crime on the entire island, so it was nice to walk around and not worry that every passing person would try to rob me! My favorite ‘hang out’ became a little restaurant called the Hunger Clinic, located on the opposite end of the island, about 45 minutes from the backpackers. We went here on four occasions and enjoyed a simple but tasty meal of beans and nsima (pap) for the equivalent of $0.80. The people were incredibly friendly, and the island may be my favorite place so far.

While on Likoma, I met some people who were staying on the Mozambican side of the lake, where one person’s mother is in the process of starting a community development tourist project. Basically, they are employing people from the local village to build a resort literally using their own hands and completely local materials. In the process, they are creating dozens of jobs and doing various development projects within the community. They invited me to come visit the project, so, because I have a very open schedule and wanted to be flexible, I changed my plans and went to Mozambique once again. So, the next morning, after enquiring about the boat I would need to take and the immigration and visa process (and getting generally uncertain answers), I said goodbye to the people I had been traveling with, put on my pack and trekked for over an hour across the island to find a boat off the island. Before leaving, I had to locate the immigration officer (just a man sitting in the middle of the market with a briefcase) to get stamped out of Malawi. Then, I boarded a rather small and homemade sailboat that transported local people from Likoma Island 10km across the lake to Cobue, an extremely small and remote town on the Mozambican mainland. Because the wind was strong and the boat did not have the best steering, we landed about 3km from the main town on the beach of someone’s home. Fortunately, a nice man named Felix was on the boat and took me under his wing because I had no idea where to go. He led me through a few rivers, around a banana plantation and over some large hills, directly to the police station that doubled as the immigration office. I sat with the officer for about 30 minutes while he figured out the proper procedure for a visa (I don’t think they get many foreign travelers passing through this way). But at the end, I paid the correct fee of $30 and he didn’t even demand a bribe! Felix then proceeded to walk around the entire (but tiny) village asking if anyone was going to Metangula, a town about 120km south, where I needed to go. No one knew of anything, so Felix first invited me to his house for a some tea and biscuits, then took me to a little restaurant run by a very sweet woman who let me set up my tent on the sand by the lake. At about 9pm, though, someone showed up with a truck that was headed down to Metangula, and because there is hardly any transport that way, I jumped in, and was on my way.

I spent a week hanging out at the resort with my friends, snorkeling at some great reef in the lake, walking around the village, and going for hikes along the lakeshore. It is a great location for a resort, and the project is empowering the entire village—I hope that when it opens next month, it is a great success.

From there, I decided that, since I was already in Mozambique, I would take the road less traveled and enter Tanzania through the northern part of Mozambique. Not many people travel in this area because of the huge distances, limited transport, and lack of tourist accommodation. But that was the part that was the most appealing to me. I’d been traveling with lots of tourists my entire trip and I was ready to get off the beaten path a bit and see some places rarely visited by outsiders. And that is exactly what I got. It took me six full days to travel from Metangula to Tanzania, but I took a two day break in Pemba. First, I went from Lichinga to Cuamba, a 300km journey that somehow took over 10 hours to travel. The entire day, I was squished in the back of a flatbed truck, surrounded by women with babies, bags of maize meal, and various chickens and goats from place to place. The road was unpaved and very bumpy, and I was extremely sore by the time we got into Cuamba at 9pm that night. I stayed in a local resthouse and was waken up at 4am by my driver from the night before who had arranged transport to take me to the train that would be my mode of transport for the next leg of the journey, to Nampula. The train was a great experience. I had tons of space to myself, and while the train was crawling along at a very slow pace, I spent the day looking out the window and enjoying the beautiful scenery and comfort relative to the day before. Along the way, we stopped in dozens of tiny villages where everyone came running up to the windows, selling everything imaginable from fresh fruit to live chickens to airtime. At about 4pm we arrived in Nampula, a relatively large city in the northern part of the country. There were no backpackers, and little budget options available, so I stayed in a very sketchy (but safe!) guesthouse in the middle of town. My room was like a shoebox, and there was no running water in the bathroom (so it smelled quite bad), but it was a place to sleep before moving on the next day. At 5am the following morning, I caught a 10 hour bus to Pemba, a beach town on the northern coast. I stayed here for three nights in order to rest and recover from the three long days of travel, but was soon on my way again, leaving on a 4am bus up to Mocimboa da Praia, the last town before the border to Tanzania. Like Nampula, this is not a well-traveled town, so I stayed in a local resthouse on the main road. I wasn’t exactly sure how I would get to the border the next morning, but was told to wait outside at 3am and a truck would come by that was headed to the crossing. Well, at 1:30am, a man knocked on my door, and in broken English I could decipher the words “Tanzania” and “Border.” So, I jumped out of bed, threw my things together, and within 5 minutes, I was out the door and in a truck and proceeded to make various stops around town collecting people before we took off for the border.

We arrived at about 5:30 am, just as the sun was rising above the ocean, to the border post. After waiting for an hour and the border guards scrutinizing my passport looking for some problem in which they could demand a bribe (and finding none, thankfully), my passport was stamped and the truck took us 5km to the Rovuma river that separates the two countries. This was definitely the most adventurous border I have ever crossed and I loved every minute of it. There is no bridge, but rather lots of men with dugout canoes who load people and luggage into the tiny compartment and use very long oar/sticks to push people across the river. There were about 5 of us and our bags crammed into this tiny boat, the top of which was almost under the water. I got quite wet during the 15 minute ride across, but made it safely and without incident. Apparently this can be quite dangerous during the rainy season, where canoes have been known to capsize in the middle of the river! Across the river, I went through immigration and received a visa without problems, then continued on to the nearest town, Mtwara. I spend the night again in a local resthouse and took a very old and rickety bus the next morning to Dar Es Salaam. Most of the road was paved, but there was a patch of about 50km where it was just dirt and incredibly bumpy. I was sitting in the back of the bus (which quite obviously had no shocks), and had to hang on to the seat in front of me for dear life. Every bump sent us flying into the air, and I hit my head on the ceiling a few times! But, we made it safely to Dar, from where I caught a taxi to take me to the Safari Inn hostel.

I’ve spent the past couple days just walking around the city and planning for the next leg of my trip: Zanzibar, the famous spice island located off the coast of Dar. Tomorrow I will take a ferry out to the island and spend a week walking around “Stone Town,” lying on the famous beaches, and hopefully taking a spice tour to see the hundreds of spices growing on the island.

Some days I ask myself what the hell I am doing wandering around Africa alone. I wonder why I travel for 10 hours in the back of a flatbed truck, squished among 50 other people, goats and chickens in the hot sun. I wonder why I put up with that insect that burrows into my foot and lays eggs, that I then have to dig out with my swiss army knife. And I wonder why I eat peanut butter and honey sandwiches for breakfast and lunch, and rice for dinner every single day because I can’t afford to go out to eat. There are definitely moments that I feel it would be easier to go back to Minnesota and enjoy the comforts of home (and trust me, I am MORE than excited to go home). But then I realize that I am having some of the best experiences of my life here. I feel more alive now than I ever have. Every day brings a new adventure, and new challenge, and I learn something new about myself. And it is the insignificant things: watching people sell fresh fruit to the passing train, observing a religious ceremony while walking through a random village, hanging out at the local fish market when the boats come in, that I would not trade for the world. I really do love traveling in Africa and I am excited for the second half of my trip.

Traveling to Malawi

In the past few days, I’ve traveled over 100km, through some of the worst roads imaginable and some of the most beautiful scenery imaginable to reach Malawi. I am currently in Blantyre, the country’s 2nd largest city in the south.

I spent 7 days in Tofo, generally lying on the beach and relaxing. Coconuts constantly fell out of trees, so I enjoyed plenty of sweet coconut milk and fruit. One afternoon, while walking on the beach, I noticed something jumping in the water, maybe 50m offshore. For the rest of the day I sat on a grassy hill watching dozens of dolphins and a humpback whale jumping and diving right in front of the beach.

As beautiful and relaxing as Tofo was, I was ready to move on after a week. Another traveler, Jasper, and I left at 6am to journey up to another coastal town, Vilankulos. First, though, we stopped at a field just off the main road to town where an organization is training rats to uncover landmines left from the civil war. I’d heard a little about the project but didn’t completely believe it existed. When we walked up to the area, though, we saw about 8 people leading rats around on a leash over sections of land. Apparently these rats, a rare type found only in the mountains of Tanzania, are trained there for about a year before being sent to the field—in Mozambique, Angola and the DRC. They are conditioned through a positive rewards system to smell TNT in the landmines, then given a bite of banana for the good work. The ‘training field’ was sectioned off into 10x10m squares. Each rat did one practice run every morning, walking up and down the square. When It smelled TNT, it began to dig a bit to alert the people. The mine is then marked, the rat is given a treat, and someone can dispose of the mine safely. We stayed for about an hour, talking to the guys in charge and watching rats searching. It was amazing to see these little creatures working and to see such a creative approach to such a terrible problem.

After hanging out with the rats for awhile, we went to Inhambane where we caught a ferry across the bay to the town of Maxixe, where we caught a chapa (local taxi) to Vilankulos. The chapa was half full of passengers and half full of gin and wine being transported to villages along the way. About 2 hours into the trip, the road went from being in decent condition to absolutely dilapidated—huge, deep potholes every few meters, and sections of the road that were completely missing. We were constantly swerving back and forth, trying to avoid holes. Luckily, our driver was not driving like a maniac, so I didn’t feel in danger too often!

I stayed in Vilankulos for 3 nights in a backpackers located directly on the ocean. I spend most of my days lying in hammocks, reading and eating fresh pineapples from the market. Every morning, dozens of fishermen go out to sea in their homemade fishing boats called dhows. At about 4pm, as the tide comes in, so do the boats with their catch from the day. Everyone from the village rushes out to meet the boats. Women carry the catch in baskets on their heads, unloading tons of fish, squid and crabs on the beach. A makeshift market forms for about an hour while people purchase the seafood, then take it back home to prepare. I walked along the beach, through the middle of the fish market, watching the dhows sail in and the sun set.

On Friday morning, and Australian traveler, Zane, and I caught a bus at 4:30am to start our 2-day journey to Malawi. We traveled in a relatively comfortable half-bus for 7 hours to Inchope, from where we caught a chapa to the town of Chimoio. It was a easy day of travel and we got to the backpackers at about 2pm. We spent the night relaxing and hanging out with two students from Boston College doing research with a local microfinance NGO. We went to bed early, knowing that the next day would be long and tiring.

At 3:30 on Saturday morning we showed up at the bus scheduled to leave at 4am. Because there was so much extra luggage—bags of mealie, huge suitcases, baskets full of fruit, etc., they had to tie all of our bags to the roof to allow about 40 people onto the bus with a capacity of 25. So far in my life, I have never been so uncomfortable! I boarded the bus at about 3:45, sitting next to a window. The wheel was under my seat, so there was a big hump in place of the floor. My legs were crammed almost to my chest, my smaller bag sitting on my lap. 5 people were crammed into our row with 4 searts, so I couldn’t sit flat against the back of the seat. The whole ride I was partly sideways and unable to move an inch. We finally left an hour late at 5am and traveled like that over pothole-ridden roads for 7 miserable hours! Arriving in Tete, I had never been so happy to stand in my life.

From Tete, we caught a chapa that would take us to the border. It took about an hour and a half to load up—again our bags were strapped on top. There must have been 5 babies and 3 chickens on board, along with the 22 other people jammed into the 16-passenger vehicle. The two hour trip to the border took almost 3 ½ hours because we had to stop at practically every village along the way, unloading boxes or picking up extra people. We were a little nervous because the sun was quickly setting and we still ahd to get through the border and travel 100km to our final stop. After exiting Mozambique, we were trying to negotiate a decent price for a private taxi to take us the 5km to the Malawi entrance. The driver was trying to charge us a ridiculous amount, so, getting irritated, I stuck my hand up as a really nice Land Cruiser drove by. Luckily, the man pulled over and gave Zane and I a free ride to the border entrance and all the way to Blantyre. We passed three police checks along the way, but got by without a problem when the driver slid some money into the hands of the police, who were more than happy to let us by without hassle.

Finally, at 8:30pm, we arrived at the backpackers. We had been traveling for over 17 hours and were absolutely exhausted. I put up my tent in the yard, laid out my sleeping bag, and fell right asleep. I’m sure there will be more travel days from hell in the next couple months, so I will be sure to enjoy the other days that much more. And as obnoxious as the transport was, it is an integral part of the experience traveling in Africa and I an glad to be able to experience the unedited version of life here.

Tomorrow I am going up to Lake Malawi and will catch the Ilala Ferry, a steamboat that takes people and cargo up and down the lake. I’ll spend a week relaxing on Likoma Island with a couple other Peace Corps Volunteers, before heading up to Tanzania.

Mozambique (aka Paradise)

I am writing this entry in a little coastal town in central Mozambique called Inhambane. One week ago, I officially finished Peace Corps and said goodbye to South Africa. It wasnt difficult to leave Pretoria, but i had an incredibly hard time saying goodbye to my village--especially my host family. i had a wonderful farewell function in both of my villages and have memories that will last a lifetime.

now, though, I have begun my 4-month trip around africa and india. after hanging out with a some peace corps friends in south africa, i made the trip to Maputo, the capital of Mozambique. even though its only about 75km from South Africa, the city is drastically different from everything i ahve known for two years. maputo is very laid back, with a kind of latin-africa mix. not many people speak English, as Portugese is the national language, and there are really no grocery stores--only markets selling anything and everything you can think of. i went to the infamous fish market the first afternoon. other volunteers have visited and raved about the incredible seafood and atmosphere. when you walk in, there are dozens of stalls of women selling seafood fresh off the boat. Being from Minnesota, ive never been a seafood lover, but the lobster and prawns that i ate were by far the best iºve ever had. after choosing the food on a platter, we walked over to the mini restaurants set up that take the food and cook it right in front of you. it was amazing.

i met up the first night with some Italians living in Maputo that Becca and i had met while pony trekking in Lesotho. We went out to dinner, and while walking back to the backpackers, we were stopped by the rather corrupt police patrolling the streets. i didnºt know that i was supposed to be carrying my passport at all times, so i stored it in a safe at the backpackers for safekeeping. however, if stopped in maputo without either your original passport or a certified copy, the police will try to take you to jail or, more commonly, demand a bribe to let you off. luckily, i was with my Italian friends who speak Portugese, so they were able to bargain for me and it only cost a few dollars to get off. I learned my lesson though. this is definitely not South Africa anymore!

Yesterday i took a bus up to Tofo, about 8 hours north of Maputo. This is one of the best beaches in the world, and for two years ive heard other peace corps volunteers rave about this tropical paradise. when i left south africa, it was the middle of winter and i had to wear long underwear, hats and mittens to bed. even during the day i was wearing a fleece to stay warm. Right now, though, I am wearing a tank top and sweating--itºs amazing how much the climate has changed. The backpackers is directly on the beach, and i can hear the ocean waves from my tent as i sleep. and because the civil war in Mozambique finished only 10 years ago, tourism hasnt really exploded yet, and the beach is relatively empty. i have a feeling that in the next 10 years, hotels and resorts will be springing up all over the coast. for now, though, only a few backpackers are there, making it the perfect place to relax for a few days.

Im really enjoying travelling so far. i was a little nervous about travelling by myself, but ive been meeting wonderful people from all over the world (but no americans), and i donºt think i will be by myself very often on this trip.

i will try to post some pictures sometime in the next couple of weeks, but im not sure that i will find reliable internet, so it may take some time. i am off to the market now to buy fresh vegetables, pineapples and coconuts to eat for the next few days. hopefully everyone is doing well at home. i certainly am doing well! take care!

Wrapping Up

In 22 days, I will be finished with Peace Corps and heading off to start my next adventure. It's hard to believe that two years have passed by so quickly and that I'm so close to being done. I'm in Pretoria right now--we had our COS (close of service) Conference last week where we said goodbye to the people that have been our support group and best friends during our time here. About 15 volunteers have already gone back to the U.S. and the rest of us will be leaving sometime in the next two months. I don't think it's really hit me yet that I am finished, but I'm sure it will become more real in the next two weeks--my last two weeks at site. I'm going back on Saturday (after going to a 4th of July party at the Ambassador's house tomorrow!) and will hang out in the village for the last week of the school holiday, then I will be busy going to farewell functions in both of my villages and saying goodbye to my host family and dear friends that I've made these last two years. On July 18th, I come back to Pretoria to close out my service and become an RPCV (returned Peace Corps Volunteer). Overall, I'm very happy with my service and wouldn't change anything.

The past term went really well. I managed to paint two giant world maps, one at each of my primary schools (I'll post a picture when I come back to Pretoria with my camera). They turned out well, except for the extra country that somehow ended up in Africa on one map...

My lifeskills group went very well. We met for 6 Saturdays, and I facilitated sessions on HIV/AIDS, communication skills, decision making and relationship skills. We only had about 10 kids that showed up regularly, but they were so eager to learn and participate that the course was very enjoyable for all of us. One Saturday, we were doing a session about role models and goal setting. We discussed the importance of role models and looking to the future and began setting goals and making a plan to reach them. A few days later, three of my students came to visit me at my house. They noticed that I had my goals largely written and hanging on my wall. One of them began talking excitedly about the goals that she had written for herself after the class, and that she was also going to hang them up on her wall, just as I had done. I know that the class wasn't extremely long and that we didn't cover many topics, but I think that at least a few of them were inspired and understand the connection betweek their futures and making good decisions now. That's all I can hope for.

I finished teaching chemistry to my grade 10 and 11 classes. This may have been the highlight of my Peace Corps service because I was working with people who were genuinely interested in learning and was able to put my 4-year degree to good use. I was walking to school to give out the mid-term exam a few weeks ago when some of the best students in my grade 10 class stopped me and begged me to stay. They told me that they loved the way I taught and really understood what we were doing and enjoyed learning chemistry since I began teaching. It was nice to know that I was making an impact, but heartbreaking to know that after I leave, they may never be taught by someone who has formal training in physical science again. I hope that the 6 months that I did teach made a difference. I'm hoping, too, that anohter Peace Corps Volunteer will replace me in September. They could continue teaching chemistry and possibly even math for two years, which would hopefully give some learners a solid base that would help them get scholarships for college.

Finally, we received funding for the Peace Corps Partnership request that I submitted in November. We are trying to build a library and computer training center for the village, and we got almost $2000 donated from people in the US. A few weeks ago, my principal and I journeyed down to Johannesburg to the Rotary Book Project, where thousands of books are shipped in from Texas every week and given away for free to those who need it here in South Africa. We were able to browse through a large warehouse and pick out anything we wanted. We got books ranging from the Berenstein Bears, to Little House on the Prairie, to mathematics text books. Overall we took 300 books back to the school and have set up our small library. Kids have begun to check out books already--their enthusiasm is very inspiring, especially considering that there is virtually no culture of reading here. I hope that after I leave, people will continue to make use of the library and take advantage of those books. We also purchased five computers that will help to start the computer training center. Unfortunately, since I am leaving soon, I do not have time to train a few people in the village to be the trainers for the computer classes. Again, I am hoping that we get another volunteer who can continue this project and help young people in the village learn computer skills. We shall see.

After I say goodbye to my village and finish my Peace Corps service, I will be heading out with a hiking backpack and the readjustment allowance we receive, and spending four months wandering around Africa and (recently!) India. I'll spend 12 weeks travelling through Mozambique, Malawi, Tanzania, Rwanda, Uganda and Kenya. From Nairobi, I am flying to Mumbai, India, and spend five weeks backpacking around. I found a ridiculously cheap plane ticket to Mumbai last week, and after reading up for a bit, decided to give India a try! I will be home on November 22nd, just in time for a good 'ol Minnesota winter and a proper white Christmas. So while I am sad to leave South Africa and say goodbye to all of the people who have been a huge part of my life these past two years, I am extremely excited to travel and cannot wait to get back to Minnesota again.