Friday, August 21, 2009

Mudança de casa

Depois de 2 anos de bons serviços, o caipirau vai desaparecer. E porque a herança é pesada, em vez de 1 vão passar a co-existir 3 blogs com temáticas diferentes. Vamos ver se consigo arranjar tempo e assunto para os alimentar a todos. Serve este post para dizer que a partir de hoje a minha nova casa online é a velha casa que nunca deixou de existir




Espero ver-vos aí com os vossos comentários sempre oportunos. Até breve.

Tuesday, February 3, 2009

Back home

I'm back home and so I will return to my home blog as well. The Office in Uganda is now closed. You are most welcome to my home in Boston, http://caipirau.blogspot.com/

Huganda, reflection after Africa


‘There is a lot of stuff we don’t know. That does not make it nonexistent, it just makes us ignorant.’ My father used to tell me this, I guess rephrasing Socrates’ motto ‘all I know is that I know nothing’.

After four weeks in Uganda and Tanzania that is how I feel: there is a lot of stuff that I don’t know. That would not be a big concern if I were the only ignorant, but it is a massive problem when most of the Western world knows so little about Africa.

While I was in Mbarara, for two weeks I was flooded with the war on Gaza. For two weeks, CNN, Al Jazeera, and BBC would dedicate most of their airtime to the war. The war ended conveniently on time for Obama’s inauguration. The war’s toll, which is obviously horrible, was 1000+ victims. Meanwhile, 80 people were murdered by LRA in northern Uganda, a few hundreds were being killed by the rebels in Northeast Congo, and drought in Uganda and Sudan was causing an unknown number victims. However, CNN, Al Jazeera, or BBC publicized none of these casualties.

Other than the AIDS calamity, a rebellion here and there, or a large tragedy, Africa is invisible for us, the Western world, the first world. People die and suffer in silence, they do not call reporters, they do not expose their tragedy. And we pretend they do not exist.

Not everyone of course, there is foreign aid, people who throw copious amounts of money to finance aid programs in Africa. There are probably programs for every single aspect of life in Africa: education, healthcare, food, infrastructure, elections. Any excuse is a good excuse for an NGO to exist. Half of the foreign aid money will probably end up in the pocket of a corrupt government official but no one seems to care. Foreign aid reminds me the old Chinese proverb ‘Give a man a fish and you feed him for a day. Teach a man to fish and you feed him for a lifetime.’ Foreign aid in Africa gives the fish but it does not teach how to fish. I still don’t know if this happens because people are ignorant, which though sad is forgivable, or because NGOs have a vested interest in maintaining the status quo, which is inadmissible.

Subsidy dependence is something that a lot of people talk about in Portugal and I never fully understood until now. If you get everything for free without effort, why would you work? I can also point out similarities between this and spoiled kids. If you are used to get everything easily and if at some point the source dries up, you don’t know how to do things by yourself. And since you are used to get everything effortlessly, you will blame someone else for your problems and expect someone other than you to solve them.

I am not inventing a new theory or discovering new problems, I am just repeating what more than one African told me about the situation in his country. Foreign aid feeds first a lot of bureaucrats in the Western world, then a lot of corrupt government officials in the third world, thirdly another bunch of aid workers who do not prescind from brand new Land Cruisers, a herd of helpers and other luxuries that most Africans will never have access to, and finally, with the leftovers, they buy people food, books, clothes and medicines. Who decides where and how to invest? The first world. Locals are not involved.

I talked to a lot of ambitious people with plans and dreams. However, most of the time those have two options: they have to do everything on their own because no one else is interested in working, or they flee their homeland and fulfill their dreams somewhere else. The fault? They say NGOs are feeding people, giving what they should farm and grow, and making sure that every basic need is covered. As someone told me in Uganda, ‘if you are used to have food, clothes and shelter by begging, why would you want to work?’

This economy leads to subsistence agriculture, no industry, and very few services, eliminating currency circulation, which means no revenue for the government, which means no money for public spending, which means more help from NGOs. The only currency that NGOs bring to the countries is what they spend in expensive hotels, fancy restaurants and new cars, but that is not enough to reactivate local economies and it just creates more subsidy dependence.

The little boys I spoke to have dreams, huge dreams for their age, but how many of those will survive the apparent curse? As one friend in Uganda told me, ‘If just you people left us alone we would then decide what to do with our country. If we want to make money we will farm our land and sell our crops in the market. If we want to study we will build schools and hire teachers. If we do not want any of this, we will just peel bananas and eat matooke everyday.’

Of course, problems in Africa can hardly be explained by pointing the finger to philanthropy. You have corruption, civil wars, tribalism, colonialism heritage, fight for natural resources, dictatorship, you name it. But it is obvious that foreign aid, as it has been happening until now, is not the solution. So why insist? Why do we keep on trying to make them happy the way we think they will be happy? Why insisting on sending money to feed corrupt ministers?

The most positive I take from my time in Uganda and Tanzania is the optimism of the people. Maybe it is a coincidence but I saw more optimistic and less whining people in Uganda, where NGOs presence is not as strong. Or maybe it is just cultural. But in general people are optimistic, ‘things are getting better’. Slowly, because no one is in a hurry and rushing is rude, despite the angry westerners who keep complaining of Africa’s slow pace. ‘Haraka haraka haina baraka’ is a Bantu proverb that means hurrying brings bad luck. And slowly Africa is moving forward, at least according to the optimistic Africans I had the opportunity to talk to.

Friday, January 30, 2009

Leaving Zanzibar

Fishing dhows on their way to the market

I cannot say Zanzibar was a waste of time. In six days here I managed to complete an open water diver certificate, watch European fat tourists in their natural habitat, get a few recipes of local dishes, and do some physical activity. I am now in Nairobi, waiting for my flight back to Entebbe, then Amsterdam, then Lisbon. I might just go to Nairobi for a walk, after all there is a long wait ahead of me.

Yesterday I took the final exam to become a certificated diver. Seating by the beach, the water calling me, there was not a lot of motivation for a test. I ordered a beer to get some inspiration and it worked: 90% when 75% was the minimum required. I cannot wait for my next dive, hopefully next month in Australia.

The problem with diving for the first time in Zanzibar is that now it is very hard to find better diving spots. I am not going to dive in Boston to see lobsters and crabs in freezing water.

Later in the afternoon I discovered the only good thing about Neptune resort. While Debbie was sending emails and trying to change her flight, Cat and I sat on the bar surrounded by speedos and bellies, and ordered a cocktail. That led to an intricate problem. We did not have orange bracelets like everyone else, the all-inclusive scheme. But since everyone is all-inclusive, they didn’t take cash. Solution? Free drinks for the non-guests. There is something positive about these resorts, as long as I am not the guest.

The last meal in Zanzibar was a barbeque on the beach, my feet on the sand, the murmur of the ocean behind me, the smell of grilled nduaro and maize, Futari telling the story of her life. Maybe I will miss Zanzibar after all. Futari tried to make me promise that I would come back soon but I cannot do it. Who knows?

Wednesday, January 28, 2009

Diving in Zanzibar

I arrive in Matemwe and ask for the diving school, they indicate a small hut with a sign ScubaLibre. It doesn’t look very legitimate but they have all the PADI certifications and, better than that, I can have an instructor for myself. Ted decides to join me and so we go, four days to take an open water diving course that, in theory, should allow us to dive by ourselves down to 18 meters. Sounds good.

The first day is theory and pool. Since there is no power here, we don’t have video capabilities so we have to read it all. That does not sound fun but what can we do? Reading on the beach is not exactly bad either. The pool exercises are fun. Emmanuel, the instructor, is a funny guy. His high-toned voice does not match his trimmed body but he’s got great communication skills.

Emmanuel, the diving instructor

But what I want is to go to the ocean and that happened today, after a few pool sessions. Mnemba Island is the place where everyone dives, with a coral reef around the island and extremely rich underwater life. Our boat looks crappy but sturdy, in the middle of all the other boats we look like the poor divers. Who cares? The water is astonishing, an irresistible diaphanous mantle.

Mnemba Island viewed from our boat
The boat crew
Our sturdy boat
The first open water dive is to get used to all the gear and to strengthen the skills we learned. We only dive in shallow water but even 5 meters underwater we can see an amazing amount of aquatic life. I cannot wait for the second dive, when we will go to 10-12 meters and actually dive around the reef. My expectations are high but the reality exceeds my best dreams, especially when we spot a giant turtle. Too bad I can’t ride it.

Just like Emmanuel said, after a while breathing through a regulator is like second nature, I don’t even think about it. I cannot wait for my next dive, this time to 18 meters.

Monday, January 26, 2009

Pwani Mchangani

That is the name of the village where I am staying in Zanzibar. Located on the northeast cost of the island, Pwani Mchangani is a very small village with no roads, just a sandy path, a small market where people trade the daily catch and some fruits and vegetables, and a school, from where I hear children singing or reciting every morning.

Pwani Mchangani, with the ocean in background

Like in most villages I have seen in East Africa, although people look poor they do not look unhappy. They have food and education, and here they even have tourists to sell crap they call artifacts. There is an IKEA Zanzibar, Prada Zanzibar and other popular names, maybe to make tourists feel at home.

I am staying in a private house far away from the big resorts. The first day here I was walking on the beach when I passed one of those resorts. Curious, I went in and what a hideous scene! Speedos and no shirt seems to be the rule to be accepted here. Fat Europeans walk their bellies around with colorful cocktails, or even worse, they bounce they bellies playing ping-pong. The building is totally neutral, I could be anywhere in the world. A well gardened grass bordering small beige houses, a kidney-shaped pool with a bar in the center and, obviously, a big golden fountain. The whole picture is obnoxious and imagining spending time here is probably one of my worst nightmares.

The problem I see in these resorts is that they isolate people from the reality around, and the reality is so much more interesting: the thousand blues ocean, the white powdery sand, the fishing dhows, the seaweed gardeners, the local sellers, the local food. All these are experiences those tourists ignore because they rather be around a pool eating $10 burgers and burritos and drinking pink margueritas. I hope that is not an aging issue and I never become like that.

Our house is cute, a four-bedroom villa right by the beach with straw roof and palm trees all over. The natural air conditioning, as they call it here, is the air coming from the ocean and crossing the house. Futari is in charge of the operation here, she takes care of everything and acts like a mother: you are not eating enough, you should not go to the water now, don’t forget sunscreen.

Our house, pictured from the low tide
The entrance from the beach
... and the beach where I swim everyday

But, however relaxing and gorgeous this can be, I am getting bored. These peaceful paradises are not for me; I need action, things to do other than long walks on the beach. Pwani Mchangani is too small to provide any interesting action other than rush hour in the market. The closest town is Matemwe, which is not a lot different from Pwani, and Stone Town is too far away. I decided to take a diving course to keep me busy and I am glad I decided to shorten my vacations here. Meanwhile I have been reading and writing, which is enriching and helps to fill my days. But, although I will be sorry for saying this when I arrive in Boston, I am getting tired of so much sun, white sand and clear ocean. I could not live in a place like this.

Saturday, January 24, 2009

Zanzibar


A hot heavy wind greets me as I walk out of the plane in Zanzibar. The airport is tiny: three money exchangers and a locked customer care office are the only signs of human presence. There is no baggage claim, an employee brings the suitcases to the middle of the airport and starts an improvised auction.

Outside a few cab drivers fight for a ride to Stone Town.


- Jamba. Karibu. My friend, it’s 20 to Stone Town.
- 20 what? Dollars? Shillings?
- If it is too expensive you just tell me. This is not a fight, just a negotiation.

I take a ride to Stone Town for TSh15K (US$12) and the driver tries to sell me a ride for the next day. ‘For 50 I take you to Pawani.’ You never know if they are talking in dollars or shillings but that is the purpose. If you do not ask they will make a 30% profit.

- My friend, $40.
- We agreed TSh40,000. If it is $40 you just drop me here.
- Hakuna Matata, you pay 40K but you call me when you go back to airport
- Hakuna Matata

Stone Town, the heart of Zanzibar Town, is the archetype of an African city. The colonizers built and the locals watched passively to the gradual degradation of the buildings. The architecture is Arabic, 100 years ago I could probably feel I could be anywhere in northern Africa or Southern Europe, it recalled me the small villages of Alentejo in my homeland. Today, Stone Town looks like an abandoned city: filthy, smelly, and dark despite the white walls. There is litter in every corner, decomposing under 100 degrees temperature.

Someday I would like to understand why Africa is like this. Every country I have been into is a bunch of patches built by colonizers that no one ever cared to maintain: the Portuguese built Cahora Bassa in Mozambique, the British built Makerere University in Uganda, the Chinese built railway between Dar es Salaam and Kapiri Mposhi. When you talk to Indians in Eastern Africa they say Africans are lazy, there is nothing to do about it; the ones who are not lazy flee to Europe or America. I resist to believe that argument. Everyone who ever tried to build something in Africa did not care about the Africans. Colonialism, Maoism, or the most recent wave, philanthropy, are good examples of this.

Friday, January 23, 2009

Going to Zanzibar


I am saying goodbye to Uganda. In a few hours I will be taking a cab to the airport to catch a flight to Zanzibar. Unfortunately, I could not find a way to go trekking in Mount Elgon. I will save that for the next visit.

The next week will be spent on the beach, diving turquoise waters, and relaxing. Well, and working out to lose the kilos I gained in Mbarara. No more matoke.

If the Internet gods help, I will post here my final thoughts about Uganda and maybe some pictures from Zanzibar.

Thursday, January 22, 2009

Kampala


The Lonely Planet says about Kampala ‘like Rome, Kampala is built on seven hills, although that is where the comparisons begin and end.’ It seems to me obvious that the author of this has never been in Rome, otherwise he would find many other similarities.

Like Rome, traffic in Kampala is chaotic, one-way streets are a suggestion because if the street is wide enough for two then it’s a two-way street, people honk to release traffic stress, the air is heavy and polluted, and there are lots of pizzerias. I can’t find more similarities but I’ve only been in Kampala for a day and a half.

Chaos is probably the word that better defines Kampala, the capital of Uganda. With 1.2 million registered inhabitants, it’s likely that the true population is twice as much. The city and the roads to access the city were made for 400K people, which explains very well why you can spend 2h in traffic to cross 6-7 blocks. Walking is much faster but much riskier as well.
When I say risk I’m not talking about violence or mugging, just crazy traffic. The roads have a hierarchy, and the pedestrian is very low on that pyramid, which means that you are invisible to any hierarchical superior.

Nonetheless, Kampala is somehow charming. Maybe the seven hills give it a touch of romanticism that I recognize in many other hilly cities that I know: Rome, Lisbon, San Francisco, Rio de Janeiro. Maybe chaos is after all a fate of any capital and people eventually find their sweet spot in the middle the anarchy. Or maybe is just because it’s different, it’s an African capital, the safest capital I’ve been in Africa.

I like Kampala, it’s a city with personality. I think I could live here for a while.

Wednesday, January 21, 2009

Plans of a teenager

Elliot, the porter we hired at Buhoma to help us cross the impenetrable forest, has been quiet all day. He does not want any food or water. ‘Sure?’ He is sure.

We are seated in the forest waiting for something to happen; maybe a gorilla will show up, maybe a blue monkey, maybe nothing. I ask Elliot one more time, ‘are you sure you do not want water?’ He is fine.

- What do you do in life? I ask.
- I am porter.
- Do you go to school?
- I’m in high school. I want to go to the university in Kampala next year.
- What do you want to study?
- I want to be a veterinary and work here in the park. If veterinary is not possible, I want to study chemical engineering. That is important here in Buhoma to help in healthcare initiatives.

That sounds like a plan. Elliot, the porter, is 16, but he already has plans for life. Later we find another boy in the street who tries to sell us some carved wood gorillas. We decline but he explains his life,

- I am 14, my uncle taught me carving wood, my mother died from AIDS and my family is very poor.

As sad as it might sound, it sounds like a memorized selling pitch. But the boy does not give up,

- This is good wood.

I am definitely not interested in a wooden gorilla,

- What do you do besides being here at the store?
- I go to school, next year I will go to high school.
- That is impressive, how old are you? What do you want to do?
- I am 14. I want to be a lawyer because there are not a lot of lawyers in Uganda. And as the government pushes for democracy, more lawyers will be needed.
- That sounds very smart!
- But I do not want to be any lawyer. I want to be a criminal lawyer, because that is what people will want in a few years.

I am impressed. Here it is a 14-year-old boy explaining me why he wants to be a lawyer and not any kind of lawyer. I just replied, ‘I wish I had such a clear idea of what I want to do of my life.’

I had a very positive surprise with the level of education in Uganda and the importance people and newspapers give to education. What happened is that, while most African countries invested foreign aid money in college education, which is usually a privilege of wealthy people, Uganda invested in primary and secondary education. That allowed poor people to access education and, as a result, to reach national colleges. The rest, the maturity of these teenagers, is probably a result of the tough childhood and sad stories as the one I heard in Buhoma.