Just as I thought, the road from Isiolo to Nairobi was smooth. I hitchhiked with a bus from Isiolo to Meru, with a car from Meru to Kobo, and then with a pickup from Kobo to Nairobi. Meme, the driver, is a university professor in Nairobi. He came back to Kobo to visit his family. He usually picks up passengers to share the gas, but he picked me up for free, bought me lunch and even paid for my transport from his home in Nairobi to where I was supposed to meet Mwega, founder of Karika, the organization I was going to volunteer with.

How I got to know Karika was an interesting story. Free Hugs Vietnam works with an American NGO called HOW. HOW’s director, Ms. Amazing Hillary, has a partner in Ireland called Niamh. When I started my trip, Hillary asked many of her friends to help me, and Niamh introduced me to Karika. Karika basically saved my life when I first arrived in Nairobi.

Mwega and Karika’s secretary, Violet, picked me up from Hilton hotel. I made it to Nairobi just few hours before my birthday with almost nothing in my pocket. I was over the moon. All I wanted now was a good shower, a good dinner and nothing else would matter.

They took me back to Violet’s place. She lives in a slum area called Kawangware with her two sons: 15 y/o Kale and 11 y/o Hamfari (whose name I thought at first was ‘I’m free’). The 9m2 room was divided into two parts by a wattle wall, the outside part serves as the living room, while the inside serves as the bedroom-cum-kitchen. The living room has a small set of sofa, and a tiny TV. The bedroom has 2 small bunk beds for the kids and one slightly bigger one for Violet. When I was there, Kale slept on the couch to give me his bed. I was deeply touched. I couldn’t thank them enough.

After 5 days 4 nights on the road, I was coated in dust and smelt like sour dough. I desperately needed a shower. I looked around for the sign of a bathroom but couldn’t find any. One hour later, still nobody mentioned anything about it. Unable to wait any longer, I asked for permission to use the toilet.

Violet’s face suddenly became pale. She gave Kale the flashlight to show me the toilet outside. It was a traditional Africa toilet, shared by a dozen of family. Next to it was a small empty room which I assumed to be used as the bathroom. Now I understood why nobody ever suggested me to take a bath. It was just impossible to take a bath at that time. No water no light.

Nothing else to do, I went to bed early after carefully cleansing my skin with some tissue so that the dust wouldn’t fall on my bed. I was waken up next morning by the suffocating smell of the oil cooking stove. Violet was making tea. She warmly welcomed me:

- Do you want to take a shower now?

- A million times YES.

And she gave me a bucket of 5 liters of water. There is no water to waste. Water only comes once a week. Violet stores it in two jerricans. I asked for a little more so that I could wash my hair as well, promising her that I wouldn’t take a shower the next day.

After a breakfast of milk tea and mandazi (sweet fried bread), Mwega and Violet took me to work. Karika stands for Kenyan Aged people Require Information, Knowledge and Advancement. They work with old people, providing them with information, consultancy and support. I was supposed to teach the management board how to use computer but they didn’t have electricity at the “office” (which is actually a hut sparsely put together), so most of the time, I just hang around the class. At that time, Karika was teaching handicraft to two dozens of youths who can’t afford to go to university. They asked me how old I was.

- 21. Actually I’m turning 21 today.

- Really? Today is your birthday? Are you going to buy us cakes?

Geez, I couldn’t even buy a cake for myself T_T I changed the topic. They asked what I was doing and I told them that I was doing a long trip.

- Wow, you are rich.

- No, not all travelers are rich. Actually I’m traveling with very little money.

- How can you buy flight tickets?

- I’m don’t fly. I travel by road, mostly hitchhiking.

- How about accommodation?

- I couchsurf. I mean, I stay at strangers’ houses for free.

- Are you kidding us? Chip, it’s ok if you don’t want to buy us cakes, but stop telling lies.

Offended, I tried my best to let out a faint smile and walked away. I couldn’t blame those kids. Years of colonial White-settlement created a racial chasm that still affects Africans nowadays: many of them believe all white people are walking money bags (I’m called “white” here). Those tourists who pour money carelessly on luxurious tours and local kids don’t make it any better. I went out to find an Internet cafe. To my utmost delight, a friend invited me for dinner to celebrate my birthday. I told Mwega that but he didn’t want me to go. He was worried about my safety. Nairobi, especially Kawangware, is not the best place to go around at night. He told me that Violet already cooked me dinner.

- Come on, she will be very upset if you don’t eat with her.

And we went home for my birthday dinner. Violet made ugali and cabbage, the same as what we had last night. Suddenly my heart broke into thousands of pieces. I knew it wasn’t easy for them to keep food on the table everyday, and I felt really bad that I couldn’t help them with anything.  But I couldn’t hold myself up any longer. I finished the dinner and went to bed. Tears dwelt in my eyes. I cried and cried. I didn’t blame anybody, but I wished Mwega had let me go out for dinner instead of forcing me to eat at home. Self-pity? Yes. Bitterness? Yes. Oh Chip, you get what you deserve. It’s YOUR birthday, not MY birthday. Who gives a shit about you huh? Millions of people out there don’t even know who their parents are, let alone what day they were born. If you think you deserve something, go get it yourself. Nobody is obligated to make you happy. I felt more lonely than ever. I missed my family, I missed my friends. I almost convinced myself that the next day, I would rent an apartment and get out of here. Life here is just too hard.

My friend Pawel with the kids at the place where I was staying

But the next day as I woke up in the suffocating smell as usual, the broad smile on Violet and the kids’ faces struck me made me feel like a pussy. I had stayed there for only one night and already cried my heart out. They had been living there for ages and still think that there is no better place than home. A situation doesn’t define who you are, but the way you deal with it does. And apparently, they were dealing with it better than I was. I felt ashamed of myself. If they can live with this, so can I. I’m going to make myself get used to the “no water no light” life in this slum, I’m going to make the kids at the orphanage understand that you don’t have to be a money bag to travel, I’m going to teach Violet to use computer, and I’m going to learn Swahili to talk to the old people.

Challenge accepted!

Tags: Africa, Chip, Karika, Kawangware, Kenya, Nairobi, travel, Travel and Write, Travel Diary, Volunteer

It was a crazy year.

And my resolution for 2012:

- Survive the apocalypse.

- Find a boyfriend.

- Be home for the next New Year’s.

- Continue to be crazy and awesome.

This is how my 2011 started: Waking up in a beautiful house with a handsome guy preparing breakfast for you and 2 other handsome guys polishing your nails <3

Went into the jungle to meet the Buddha Boy of Nepal. He's surprisingly muscular for somebody who meditates 24/7 without food or drink. He said that he'd achieve enlightenment after few more years. He has been meditating since 2005. Februrary 2011

Holy festival in Nepal. March 2011

Motorbike trip around Nepal with Dictator, Frenchie, Small boobs, Chinaman and me (Ling ling)

Learning to do some coconut handicraft in Pokhara, Nepal

Morning tea on Himalaya.

The Great Pyramid of Giza, Egypt

Makhtesh Ramon, the largest makhtesh in the world.

Lag BaOmer, the largest Jewish festival. Israel

Running on a Palestinian hill

Suffering from tear gas at a demonstration in Palestine.

Sinai

With a Hamer baby girl. I do look like a Mom

Bull Jumping festival in Ethiopia

With the uglist birds on earth, Marabou stork

With the orphans at an Negat's Children House, Ethiopia

Hangover after Ethiopia's New Year. Sep 11, 2011

Hitchhiking from Moyale to Isiolo, through one of the most dangerous roads in Africa.

The only card I received for my 21st birthday. I had a quiet birthday in a slum where I volunteered in Kenya

Sneaked into a national park in Kenya

Fishing in Lamu, the lost paradise that lies between Kenya and Somalia

With 2 Masai men, the iconic tribe of East Africa

And now, amidst parties of Dar, I'm getting damn bored

Tags: 2011, 2012, Chip, Chipro, Friends, Huyen Chip, travel, Travel and Write, Travel Diary

The next day, I woke up early. There was absolutely no traffic, so I was forced to take a bus to the border. Standing next to me was a middle-aged man in brown leather jacket and checked cap. There was something about him that distinguished himself from the rest of people on the bus. His face was sharply cut, his eyebrows were thick, and his eyes were deep. He stood there with one hand holding on the metal and another in the trousers’ pocket. I couldn’t help but imagining him puffing on a pipe, just like any Don in a Hollywood mafia movie.

- Where are you going, Sir?

- To visit my mines in Yabello. – His English was perfect.

- Mines?

- Yes, I’m a gem trader.

And just like that, I had the most interesting conversation about finding and trading gems. Mining had always been a myth to me, a lucrative myth that through history has caused millions of people to leave their homes to dig into the ground and never go come back. Suddenly, I desperately wanted to have the first hand experience of it.

- Can I find a job at one of your mines?

- Haha young lady, look at your hands. Can you even hold a hoe?

- Of course I can. Pay me less if you think I’m not working as hard as the others, but pay me more when I find something.

- This is the dry season, we don’t have water to run the mines so you’ll have to wait. Why is that you want to work in a mine? You don’t have money?

- You can say so.

- I have to get off here. Email me your address once you have one. I’ll send you something.

Later I found out that he paid for my bus ticket. He gave me his business card, but I have never emailed him. Maybe I should, just to say thank you eh

The bus driver and conductor took me under their wings and bought me breakfast/lunch. I arrived at the border town Moyale in the afternoon. The whole town centers around a dusty main road that hosts a busy market, a petrol station, a church and a mosque. I always love border towns. They are never modernized enough, yet they are never backward. They are always exotic, the perfect playground for the infusion of two different races, two different cultures, two different languages, two different cuisines. Border towns are probably the only place ever truly borderless, as the differences are embraced, rather than to be rejected. And nothing beats the feeling when you first see the sign: “Welcome to [country name]”.

The only time I don’t like border towns is when I have to change money here. I tried to find to find an Internet cafe just to see how much money I’d be willing to lose, but nothing worked. I approached a man in black suit hopefully he’d know the rate.

- You need to change money? Come, I’ll take you to Kenya bank.

- On the other side of the border? Oh, I can’t buy Kenya’s visa now ‘cos I don’t have money.

- Don’t worry about it.

As I jumped in his car, I realized that it was a Kenya’s government car. This man was the governor-to-be of Kenya’s Moyale. As long as I was with him, nobody asked for my passport.

The rate was ridiculously bad, and after buying $50 for the visa, I had only 400 Ksh left (~$4). He put me in a guesthouse, a 4m2 room with a single bed and a window to the gloomy corridor. The toilet is outside, and there was no water for washing. But “it’s safe, clean, and only 200Tsh/night”. He paid for it.

Kenya’s Moyale is one hell of difference from Ethiopia’s Moyale. People there called me “mzungu” instead of “faranji”, but nobody gave me higher price just because I looked different. Kenyans speak English better, and they hassle you less. The dry sand, the white tents, the girls in black veils and the mosque made me feel as if I was back in the desert somewhere in Egypt. I made friends with a local family and they sent their teenage daughter to show me around.

There was nothing to see in Moyale. I knew it was time to leave, but I didn’t know how. Taking bus was out of question, but I was reluctant to hitchhike. The road from Moyale to Isiolo is considered one of the most dangerous roads in Africa. Most vehicles that go through it have armed escorts. My best friend Asher, a crazy traveler who has been to this area, sent me a message: “Ha, from Addis to Moyale is easy. Now try to find your way to Isiolo. If you hitchhike, I’d kill you.”

I ran into a Chinese guy called Roger and his colleague. They invited me to join their promotion in Ethiopia the next day. For the sake of procrastination, I agreed. The next morning, as I went to their hotel to wait for them, I struck up a conversation with a man sitting in front of his laptop. It turned out that he was also going to Isiolo.

- How are you gonna get there?

- A private car.

- When?

- In about 1 hour.

So I ran back to my guest house, quickly packed my stuff, called Roger to cancel and joined the man. His private car was actually a jeep, and he wasn’t going alone. There were few other buff men in the crew. I was seated on the back of the jeep which was sparsely covered with thick camouflage cloth. At first, I was happy. I’ve always liked sitting on the back of pick-up trucks with fresh air and natural wind on my face. But I soon realized that traveling on a tarmac road and traveling through the desert aren’t the same.

I couldn’t count how many times my head banged against the metal hanging cross jeep. The only thing I could do was to hold tightly to the pole, as there was a real threat that I could be thrown out of the jeep any minute. The sun was hot. The wind was strong. The sand was ubiquitous. My lips parched, my eyes slit, my face covered in dust. I couldn’t breathe. Looking to my left, I saw another jeep about 100m from where I was. Suddenly I realized that there wasn’t any road at all. We were just following scattering trails cross the desert.

Once in a while, I saw the resemblance of a forest, but the trees looked like they were straight out of the Old Forest of The Lord of the Rings, created to trick the profane travelers who dared to enter the haunted land. They were big like oak trees, each with hundreds of branches spreading out like an umbrella. They didn’t have any leaves, but the bark was whimsically colorful: green, blue, yellow. I stared at them like a stoned junkie staring at Windows Media Player, until the sound of a bang and a dent on my head brought me back to reality. I knew that I was extremely lucky to get a ride from town. Had I hitchhiked in this land, if I didn’t get kidnapped and killed by bandits, I’d probably get lost and die.

The jeep stopped by Marsabit, a desolate desert town half way between Moyale and Isiolo. I barely had time to breathe and picked the dust out of my nose when the jeep started moving again. We were running out of time. The road was long and bumpy.

I arrived in Isiolo at midnight with only 200Tsh in my pocket, as I already spent 200Tsh on water and some food. The jeep stopped at a hotel but I couldn’t afford it for nuts, so I walked around hoping to find a cheaper option. I found a guesthouse for 600Tsh. I told the owner that he didn’t have to give me a room, that he could just leave me sleep on the couch for 200Tsh. I must have looked like a zombie at that time, as troad had completely destroyed me. He told me that I looked like I needed some rest, and he let me stay in a room for all what I had left.

So I went to bed. I had no money left but I felt better than ever. I just travelled through one of the worst roads in Africa, safe and sound. Now there was nothing standing between me and Nairobi. I had no doubt that I’d reach Nairobi before Sep 19 – my 21st birthday.

Tags: Border Crossing, Chip, Chipro, Ethiopia, Gem, Hitch-hiking, Isiolo, Kenya, Mining, Moyale, People, travel, Travel and Write, Travel Diary

I woke up the next day, fresh and happy. At that time, I was sure that the decision to hit the road was the right one. If I had stayed in Addis, I would just hang around the places I usually went to. Lot of comfort, no risk but also no excitement. Now I had the whole new road, 487km, in front of me to explore.

I had neither a map nor a guide book at that time. From Mergia, I knew that I would have to get to Dilla, then Haggae Mariam, then Yabelo and then Moyale. Negat Children’s Home is very close to the main road down South. Mergia walked me there, then we bit goodbye.

- See you around! – Yeah, around the world.

The first car that picked me up dropped me at the bus station. He never understood the meaning of hitchhiking. I hopped on like 3 different cars: a car, a pickup truck and a truck; each took me around 20km further. The road was winding and deceiving. After 4 hours, I thought that I must have traveled at least 150km. But the truck driver who dropped me at Dilla warned me:

- Are you sure you want to do that? Still 400km to go.

- What? How far is it from Awassa here?

- 90km.

Oh I hate it! With this speed, it’d take me at least 2 more days to reach Moyale.

The further south I went, the less traffic there was. Only a car every 10 minutes. Most of them traveled very short distance. I had to walk for a long time, and attracted a lot of unsolicited attention. Normally I would try to walk out of town to get rid of it, but at that time I was too tired to care. I put my backpacks down. Two dozens of people, both young and old, gathered around, stared at me. I took out my phone and played Ray Charles’ music loud. Soon I got carried away by the music. I closed my eyes, started whistling and dancing. Some whistled back. Some sang along. Some laughed. When I opened my eyes, the audience had grown to at least 50 people. I burst into laughing. And they all laughed. It was quite a scene. I must have been the first street entertainer they had ever seen in their entire lives in this boring village.

I got on another truck and immediately fell asleep. I woke up just to realize that the truck had come to stop. The engine broke down and the drivers were trying to fix it. There was absolutely no traffic on the road. I fell back into sleep and woke up again. The truck was still stalling and there was still no hope of fixing it anytime soon. So I just sat in the middle of the road patiently waiting for a car to run me over and end all my miseries. Finally a pick-up truck emerged from dust. It was transporting furniture with metal legs shooting up like giant teeth. I crouched trying to avoid being thrust through by one of them.

The truck dropped me outside of a small town 27km away from Haggae Mariam. It was around 4pm. I planned to hitchhike to Haggae Mariam, but as I was walking through that small town, few dozens of people surrounded me. They forcefully put me on a bus. I had no idea what they told the bus conductor that he refused to accept my payment.

I arrived in Haggae Mariam at dust and had no other choice but to stay here for the night. I walked in the only stayable-looking hotel in town, Haggae Mariam Hotel. It was way over my budget. I explained my situation to Tina – the beautiful receptionist. She was at the same age as me, and was completely shocked to hear my story.

- Stay here, pay as much as you could, and we’ll chip in the rest.  – spoke she on behalf of the staff at the hotel.

But I couldn’t let them do that. I knew they got paid next to nothing, and I’d kill myself if I took their money. Luckily, a gentleman who was staying at the hotel overheard the story and offered to pay for the rest.

After having my accommodation fixed, I began another mission impossible. I would have to buy Kenyan visa at the border in dollars, but all I had was Ethiopian birr. Something strange about Ethiopia, you can never buy dollars anywhere outside Addis Ababa. The banks only buy dollars. They don’t sell. A man there told me that he would take me to a place where I could buy dollars. I agreed to go with him after dinner time. But as soon as I walked by the reception, Tina grabbed me:

- Did that man do anything do you?

- No, he told me he’d take me to a place where I could get dollars.

- Don’t go with him. He’s not a good man. We live here, we know. – The girls around nodded in approval.

- He seems to be nice to me so far.

- He told everybody that he kissed you.

I also didn’t have a good feeling about him, so I thanked the girls and decided to drop that mission. Bored, I gave the waitresses there a hand, then went to bed early. If you ever come to Haggae Mariam, please drop by to say Hi to Tina for me.

Tags: Border Crossing, Chip, Chipro, Ethiopia, Haggae Mariam, Hitch-hiking, Isiolo, Kenya, Moyale, People, travel, Travel and Write, Travel Diary, Yabello