Posts Tagged ‘People’

22
Dec

Sep 16 – 17 – 18: Addis Ababa to Nairobi by Road – Part 3

   Posted by: Chip    in Kenya, Overland

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.

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22
Dec

Sep 15 – 16, 2011: Addis Ababa to Nairobi by Road – Part 2

   Posted by: Chip    in Backpacker's Challenges, Ethiopia, Hitchhiking, Kenya, Overland

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.

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2
Aug

Kolkata part 1: Shocks on the face

   Posted by: Chip    in Uncategorized

***For more pictures, you can visit my Facebook here

Kolkata – the commercial and financial hub of eastern India – is far from what I’d always thought of India. I knew that as a part of India, it’d be dirty, busy and cheap, but I couldn’t imagine that Internet would be that scarce and getting a SIM card would be that hard in a country that accommodates so-called Asia’s Silicon Valley. And once you’ve become used to it, it’s even harder to realize that the city that symbols that poverty of India is actually home of many respected intellects – 2 (+1) Nobel laureates and a lot more of writers, poets and filmmakers.

Bird-eye view of Kolkata from the plane

Bird-eye view of Kolkata from the plane

India in my mind was always the heaven of tourists due to its cultural diversity and a wide range of travel products come at a super cheap price. However, I could hardly spot any tourist on my flight to Kolkata, and welcoming me to India was an old & cranky airport. I mean, really old and cranky, even more than Yangon airport.

Welcome to Kolkata

Traffic in Kolkata is another shocking story. Being born and raised up in Vietnam, I used to tell my friends in Malaysia and Thailand that if they are upset by traffic jams in Kuala Lumpur or Bangkok, come to Vietnam and they’d love their countries. Now I have to say that if anyone in Vietnam is mad at notorious jams in Vietnam, come to India and you’d feel proud of our country. Everybody is honking. Jams everywhere. Drivers never care if there is somebody crossing the road or not. Cars can hardly move faster than 20km/h. I chatted with a friend of mine who once spent 8 months in Vietnam.

Chip: Traffic here is crazy, much much more crazier than in Vietnam. My head can’t stop popping.

Friend: What!?? Crazier than Vietnam? Unbelievable!

Having spent a huge amount of my life blending into startup community in Southeast Asia, I have heard amazing tales about Asia’s Silicon Valley in India. As a matter of fact, I expected to see wifi, if not everywhere like in Vietnam or Singapore, but at least in most important buildings & restaurants. It turned out that wifi is a strange definition here. Cyber-cafes are expensive and hard to find outside tourist areas. Even though India is famous for its mobile startups, getting a SIM card here is super complicated and takes up to several hours to go through all steps. Thanks God that I have Asenla and her husband, Longchar with me, else I don’t know how I’m a foreigner would be able to handle with all those stuffs.

With Asenla

But the most shocking thing about Kolkata, as what Anuradha already warned me in advance, is the presence of poverty everywhere. It’s not coincident that Mother Teresa’s work about the destitute and poor in this city was given a Nobel prize.

Some other images about the city

Kolkata won't be the same without those super cute yellow taxis. They can be found everywhere through out the city

And crows as well

Where did they find that many people? :(

I have never seen that many banners in my whole life

Antoreep – my host in Kolkata – read my draft and told me that I seemed upset about the city. Hehe I don’t!! In fact, I’m amazed by Kolkata in particular and by India in general. Everything here is so extreme. Everything here is happening so fast. Walking on the street, I don’t dare to blink as I’m afraid that I would miss something interesting. I savor every moment I spend here, and yeah, I think I should go out instead of staying at home blogging in such a beautiful afternoon like today. My host Antoreep and his brother are taking me around the city. I will blog about how Kolkata is the cultural hub of India in my next blog post, soon!

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