Salam wa aleikum

Maybe I should introduce myself now as Baby Spice? Shakira? Or a representative from Lonely Planet? The 3^rd was a masked identity we created without the Egyptian’s opinion…

I met up with a dear friend Jade the day before I was to fly to the enchanted land of Egypt. It was inevitable that we would discover a brilliant plan for her to come with me...dah…

8:00, 9:00, 10:00pm only 5 more hours to endure and stay awake till we flew. Why do I always choose the horrid flight hours to save some mullah? I was looking forward to having some time away in general and to think etc, also time for hot water, gas, clean feet and stable electricity. Our taxi arrives African time and were on a tight schedule to make our flight. About 45 minutes into the hour drive to the airport the taxi is slowly drifting to the side of the road…’sorry ma’am looks like were out of petrol’. Times like these I do not appreciate the blaze tune to the comments. Out the driver jumps with a jerry can and sprints into the black of night. Jade and I sit. Starring at the time ticking, the petrol light shining and the random unsafe feeling of the boda driver starring in on the 2 Mzungu’s in the car as he goes by at 2am.

Were speechless and appreciate the bugs buzzing’s not allowing the silence to exaggerate our fears. What can you do. The driver reappears with the fuel and off we go….

Arriving in Cairo felt rather bizarre as I am greeted by an Uncle I can hardly remember and the tiredness taking over my motion. We drive to our home for our time in Cairo, the Dutch Ambassadors residency. We are welcomed by a huge perfectly floral yard and magnificent house. I am too tired all that is going on and cannot register the new shiny surroundings so I go to sleep. I awake to the informing of dinner soon and greet my Aunty, the Dutch Ambassador in Cairo. It is amazing and a privilege to spend time with family who you hardly know and get to know them and their achievements. An unforgettable, special time sharing stories of family, some gone, some now older.

We were equipped with maps of everywhere and priceless information on the city we were about to explore. Starting with the Cairo Museum we quickly realized that we were quite different to locals and wore far less clothing on our body, especially our heads…

Egypt is amazing, excitingly rich in culture and history that is unfathomable. We somehow tackled all that we set out to see and do.

I love going to a new country and spending time in the hidden richness of local ‘hang outs’ and discovering the quirkiness of people and their culture. Its funny that people seem the same all around the world. Smoke from Shisha pipes filing lanes, old men drinking tea and enjoying an endless game of Backgammon chuckling over their historical jokes. Traditional food always served with a dish of ‘what could this do to my body, specifically bowls if I eat you?’ Dark allies overflowing with coffee shops and locals calling you in. Children playing with cats and covered in jewelry. Driving rules and roads nonexistent. Markets cramped with new delights and junk that somehow presents the unfamiliar culture that makes me feel I would really want it…

We went to a mosque and upon arrival we realized that maybe our appropriate dress wear wasn’t so appropriate after all…I was soon to discover I have very sexy ankles that should really be covered in public, so I was given a beautiful gown shall we say to do the amazing job of covering me head to toe. Lurking around corners and dark prayer rooms I felt I should be in a sequel for Harry Potter. All humorous moments aside, you do stand in awe at the history, beliefs, respect and architecture of the mosques.

As if to be popped in between tall buildings, my eyes were popping out when there in front, was the Sphinx. We made our way closer and closer, pushing off the men bouncing up offering camel rides, proposals and tourist ‘must haves’. It felt as if I was watching my surroundings through the Discovery Channel.

We negotiate the camel trip and over my leg hops onto this quirky, camel. Camels are very humorous creatures and seem to resemble cartoon like facial expressions. You lean back and are surprised as they spring there back legs up and then forward allowing their front legs to straighten. The man whom we negotiated with motioned us to go while calling out ‘enjoy, pay me 80 000 when your back’.

There games never cease to amaze me and I argued back ‘no, we agreed 70 000’ as my camel is awkwardly walking away.

‘you pay 80 000 or you will not enjoy’ he firmly responded.

What can you do when you’re already mounted on this large animal? Of we embark, somewhat trotting over the unending, stretched desert hills in the blazing 45 degree heat. We reach the pyramids and have somehow convinced the tour guide that today he will let us climb one of the small pyramids, and allow that rule not to, slide by. It was incredible and breathtaking, standing on the pyramid it is hard soaking in the history and grandness of what you are on top of. We hurry back down as there the other Egyptian tour guides are fast approaching yelling in Arabic for us to get off. In true clumsy, un appropriate foot wear Brigitta style, I cut my foot and enjoy the next week cleaning out sand and dirt from every tourist site we enter into. A man comes to collect our ’80 000’ and after giving this he tries to argue that we need to pay 80 000 for the tour guide. We mockingly laugh this off. In anger and losing this battle he decides to drop jade and I in the middle of nowhere…Jade had mentioned she wanted to walk for a day in the desert (huh hmm) and this was going to be it…

We spent a day exploring Coptic Cairo, with unending temples, churches, grave yards and historical symbols.

The night life in Egypt is delightful. My Aunt and Uncle took us to a German Ballet which was so experimental and a wonderful experience. We had dinner on a small sailing boat on the Nile taking in all the lights and life off the sides of streets. Local market walks and Shisha sessions at night. But my favorite evening was going down town for a traditional Gypsy show that keeps the historical Egyptian music and rhythms alive. Room filled with antiques, tea cups snuggled into hands, tambourines being ‘tuned’ over a fire before the show and then vocals so unfamiliar and the beats adrenalin forcing you to join in on the movement.

We put on our backpackers badge and one of the house men set up the cheapest way to travel to Luxor for us. We know the plan but didn’t quite register the exhaustion of the unfolding of it…Our night train arrived at 2am instead of 12, and we were welcomed in Luxor by the 45 degree heat and men more annoying and persistence than one could have imagined. We started with the Temple of Luxor and Temple of Karnak then set off to find our hostel. The Bob Marley hostel, highly living up to the names expectations! We awoke at 5:30am and jumped on the fiery across the sea to the East side for our Hot Air balloon experience.

I felt like a 5 year old not being able to hold their excitement under their skin. The basket was dropped from the car and off the men went firing the air inside the balloon and then shooting the flames up. We were lifted and placed inside and up we went. Over the fields, houses, temples and Valley of the Kings and Queens. Surreal, unforgettable and looking positively at the situation amusing when trying to hold back the fear I asked ‘are we dropping at an alarmingly un-normal speed?’

‘landing positions’ the controller yelled and we were alerted he could not see into the distance and it would be very unsafe to continue forth so we must land right away. This meant some poor residents field below. Sure, a disappointment we weren’t up flying high for longer, yet every second we had was amazing and were happily surprised to receive a full refund! Damn, we just never got a tshirt ;)

We then spent the rest of the day conquering the sites of 8 different temples and tombs in the killing 50 degree heat. That night we boarded the local night train back to our loved and missed Palace. Due to corruption of ticket buying the day before, buying that night on the train was the best way around this. Tired, possible heat stroke and dehydration in goes the ear plugs, bag straps tightly around wrists we shut our eyes to sleep.

‘Move, you’re in our seats’ I open one eye and there is the lady poking me an hour later saying this over and over again. We are informed that we don’t have reserved seats….?...you buy tickets on the train you are not assured of a seat number. We stroll the carriages, moody, craving sleep and comfort in search for a place to rest our heads. We find one seat and Jade and I share this space. One and a half hours go by and dejavu….were up now storming the train, with no patience or calmness for the men and offices pestering us. Jade excitingly holds my hand and is thrilled to share her discovery of a patch of train floor she saw earlier on. At this stage I wasn’t fussy yet an area between a man’s seat and the door to the connection of the train carriages roughly 1m by half a meter isn’t impressive…we settle and maneuver our bodies to cramp into this area for the rest of the night. I didn’t think it was possible to sleep were I did, nor did I think I ever would but desperate time’s right? We laughed ourselves to sleep.

Next destination – Dahab, The Red Sea. After well rested and living it up in the Embassy we are refreshed and are ready for the cheap way of doing things outside the Embassy again. After never needing our passports previously when we had travelled we carelessly thought it would be better to keep them locked up at the Embassy instead of having to constantly carry on us in the Red Sea. I know what so many of you would be thinking right now and Shushh ha I’ve learnt…This time we took the 12 hour bus and soon after departure were stopped by officials and walked off the bus as oh my we didn’t have our passports. The time we don’t….So we argue, they yell at each other in Arabic my ears perking in every time I hear ‘Australia’. The passengers on the bus now on one side with their eyes goggling out to the situation now outside as if to have placed the bus on a slant. I spoke the only thing I thought that could save us and that was confident spill on my Aunty being the Ambassador and knowing of all we are doing. We were let back on the bus without another word hahahaha…. This repeated 6 more times and I had my speech perfected by the end.

Dahab is stunningly beautiful and charming. On one side you have mountains painted up the sky and on the other you have the Red Sea, sparkling with her blue rays. It is a very chilled place and I could stay there for at least a month! I love that everywhere you eat you are seated on the ground immersed in cushions. We spent a whole day snorkeling our way through the Red Sea coral reefs in an area called The Blue Hole which in parts is 110metres deep! Yet we could surface the water and still touch coral and the majestic underwater world. The wonder of the detailed exquisite world down there is awe inspiring.

That evening, dressed in beach pants and ‘flip flops’ (safe word to use I realize more and more) we jumped on horses and off we went through the dark night along the street market, sand and then through the water. Perfect end to a perfect day! Although, my hesitations awoke after my horse was cantering along the sand in the decision to create a faster path and hated being controlled. ‘No insurance, paper work, medical assurance if anything was to happen…’

We finished our newly loved lifestyle in The Red Sea with a bike ride along the shores and between the mountains and sea.

Our last few days back in Cairo were full of more markets, eating (too much at every inappropriate hour), special night chats with my newly known and loved family members, finishing the emotionally inspiring book my Uncle wrote during their time in Sri Lanka and soaking up the dream lifestyle on a silver platter.

In the taxi ride to the airport, a tear made of gratitude and sadness dropped onto my top. Egypt was unforgettably special yet I know there is a whole world waiting for me, full of surprises!

Rwanda

On the 2nd of April a friend and I faced the dilemma of our Ugandan Visa’s quickly approaching the point of expire. I had wanted to use this predicament as an advantage and travel to Rwanda as I had read, heard and was impacted by what I knew of the 1994 Genocide. So we headed off, largely unaware of the history of this nation.

Freshly arrived driving through the city; streets so clean (in comparison to Kampala) the air unspoiled and the landscape of ‘a thousand hills’ was beautiful and refreshing. I was soon to be reminded of the tiredness accompanied to travelling to a new, unknown place can bring with the change of currency, unfamiliar ways and culture and history = emotionally draining.

A friend upon our return decided to see Rwanda for herself and I agree of how she described it as “Hills surround the city on every side, making it feel as though you are protected from anything beyond it, which as we said, is rather ironic.”

The Rwandan Genocide was the 1994 mass killing between the tribes of Hutu and Tutsi, an estimated 800,000 people over the course of approximately 100 days were killed.

Approaching the Rwanda Genocide Museum, we saw hundreds of what I assumed as locals, marked with a dash of purple material walking towards this site. I felt somewhat guilty as a tourist and disliked driving up to the site amidst a crowd of mourners, the car and our skin making us stand out. Being Easter and the genocide presence quite recent, this is a time of remembrance. We tried to stay out of way and split from the crowd to the museum, as the crowd went and mourned, burying remains of loved ones they are continually finding.
I was amazed and hauntingly enlightened at the information we soon after discovered. The scale of innocent killings, other countries involvement and assistance and how so many people of higher power than the locals tried to contact ‘outside’ help. These transcripts of radio calls, letters and other forms of despairing correspondence had clear evidence of what was occurring and were desperate cries for help. I read that if the UN had sent in 5000 troops the degree of the Genocide would not have occurred. Apologies after were of course given.

I can’t help but think and relate this to horrendous, unspoken situations in the world today.

I could not and cannot digest this nor comprehend. I search for a solution in some form or string to understanding so much. The faces worldwide that is everyday being slayed to an undeserved, evil death are not shown. And the mother’s heart that was once beating alongside her son’s is silent.

The two memorial churches we visited I will never forget…
-Ntarama Genocide Memorial
Churches were thought of as a place of safety so the pursued took refuge in churches, thinking the militia would not get in and kill them in a place usually thought of as a sanctuary. At the Ntarama site 5000 people were killed. Upon entrance there are the skulls and bones of these victims. The prints on the skulls clearly show signs of the trauma that killed them. Among the mass of skulls you see fragile small tops of children’s skulls.

The victims clothing hangs from the roof and is draped, covering the walls. The precious few items they were wearing at the time are piled at the front of the church. It’s hard to fathom seeing someone’s glasses, shoes, rosemary beads, wallets, keys, children’s socks, the last remnants of what they clenched or wore when the grenades blew in, the ruthless Rwandan brothers flooded in and the machetes started massacring. Sitting on the pews of those before who sat in fear of what was about to take place, praying desperate prayers which I can only think would feel helpless. My feet aligned were there’s would have shock.

Outside the once mantled room belonging to the priest was still housing a broken chair, table, bibles and paper work.

-The Nyamata Genocide Memorial Site

This church was also a haven for the frightened people who fled hoping to escape death. 10,000 were killed here, there are 12 survivors.
We were greeted by a gentleman by the name of Charles. Charles walked us through the church, telling the story of the massacre that had taken place here, how the blood was still on the wall, splattered on the roof, the gunshots in the door, walls and ceiling. 'I think the killers thought it was like a party' Charles said. The people inside heard the killers coming from afar banging drums and chanting joyously towards the church and then breaking down the door.

He told us of the storyline of the killings, the mockery and stunning cruelty used by the killers, every now and again stopping in pain, as if biting his lip and then bringing himself to continue.

“They took 5 of the highly known intellects and tied them around this post, here they had there ‘wisdom’ bashed out with a hammer. They then mocked the dead bodies to rise up and walk out if they had a brain.”
“Are you bored? Do you want to play football?” One smirked to the crowd “let me go get you a ball” he returned throwing a head of one of the victims towards them. They chopped of arms and waved them in front of the crowd singing ‘were waving goodbye to you cockroaches for good’

Charles went on “there was a Hutu lady brought here and told to kill her husband, a Tutsi. She refused so they took her to the front, laying her on this alter. From here they ‘removed’ the sin from her using a machete, removing her unborn child in the process.”

We followed Charles to the area the children were together. I cannot bring myself to write these stories. We walk the pews, draped with the victims’ clothes and belongings, past the blood stained alter, the skulls underneath the church and then outside walking underground to the masses of skulls, coffins and body parts. The stench hitting you in the face and the thousands of bones nearly touching your own.

I couldn’t cry. Maybe because it is too unfathomable.

I sit outside talking with Charles. I ask the common question of how long he has been in Rwanda. He nervously puts his hands under the table and looks past my face into the distance. In a trembled voice he reply’s “I was one of the twelve that survived the genocide in this church”

I was speechless and recalled the bizarre moments Charles delivered during the ‘tour’. Charles at the age of 8, was victim to not only being there and watching and hearing the screeches of his whole family being killed but now living with terror he witnessed. Charles brother smeared him with his blood before he died. Charles pretended to be dead and for three days he tried not to move as the killers intermittently probed bodies to see if anyone was still alive. He then went to a swamp and stayed for 31 days, waiting by the last words of his brother “I will meet you here” Charles was later found and brought to an orphanage.

Charles spoke of the reconciliation process and despite all, he seems at peace. Which to me seems impossible, yet Charles is a remarkable man whom I will never forget nor take for granted hearing his story.

I sit here now in the airport waiting for my flight back to Uganda, I cannot comprehend all I have seen and heard nor do I think I ever will. Rwanda seems to have come a very long way, the whole nation is rebuilding in every way. There is hope, motivation and some pure miracle of forgiveness.

Infectious Joy

I apologise for not updating my blog as frequently as you and I would like. I have been regretfully lazy with writing as I am addictively finishing days with ‘switching off’ evenings.
So much happens too that when I dedicate the time for pen to paper, my head overflows and I can’t puzzle all that’s happened back together. Enough excuses : )

I am content not knowing where I’ll be or what I am going to do this year. I am still in Namuwongo, Kampala and have been working with Uganda Hands for Hope. I am helping establish a tailoring program for women living in the slum that is self sustainable, empowering and enables them to care for themselves and their families. I hope this will equip the women with valuable skills and a trade they can establish anywhere.

I need to grasp the truth that it’s not going to blossom by itself, I need to just run with it and that trial and error are learning leaps, without these how can there be success.

Finding stable market places for the products and consistent orders are my focus right now. This wasn’t what I thought I would be doing, sorting the accounts isn’t my highlight and sourcing of fabrics and all material items has reminded me of being in a stressful, uncontrolled, chaotic video game.

When buying fabrics I always went with another crazy enough person to push through the wild crowds, rummage through the street shops and then use your final energy to negotiate a locals price with. Last time I went by myself, unwise and regretful. I found myself distressingly lost, panicking from the men throwing their bodies and lips against the sides of my car and involved in my 3rd experience that week with police with their most familiar lines of – ‘your under arrest....were taking your car or your licence..’ but fabric being the symbolic victory was in the palm of my hands at the end...all is well that ends well.

I love the tailoring program and it has been an honour and joy to watch the women and the unfolding of the potential a tailoring program can deliver. The women are so beautiful with such unfathomable testimonies and strength. I feel as there is now a trustful friendship with the ladies, which is very meaningful.

Hands for Hope is an incredible organisation and I am constantly reminded of the vast help there offering to children and families who without this aid would be forgotten.
Being with the children you sometimes forget where they sleep each night. When I walk up the hill from the project and those inescapably, contagious smiling faces walk down to the slum I become rather emotional watching their precious feet about to step into such hell.

I helped an afternoon class and felt like I was learning so much through the kid’s dynamics between each other. Some of their work brought up there family members and life. I’m not us to sitting in a classroom and a child crying from death of parents or refugee life. Or children demanding more math equations and homework.
I was completely lost when a darling brought up her workbook for me to check, which she had been proudly writing a story in. Naively, I turned the page and her eyes sparkled with the prospect of my marking.

“My father died...my mother cannot work...my brother always cries....we were given 27 days before we are evicted because we cannot pay the rent...I’m praying for God...this is my life story”

How can I ‘grammatically check’ this through my teary eyes, heart pounding and not having the courage to look this girl in the eyes again for her ‘brilliant writing.’

My 2 lovely new house mates and I put on a ‘Uganda’s Got Talent’ show for the afternoon class they teach. The kids were tremendously excited and were planning their acts all week; it seemed they wished to fly with this moment of fame! There was traditional dance, singing by younger and older, break dancing, modelling and plays that the kids had written themselves and performed.

The talented written plays were in Lugandan so I didn’t understand them verbally but anyone could understand them visually. They were about situations from their life like housing problems, drunken fathers, not having money to pay the landlord and going through rubbish humps. Yet these were made somehow hilarious and all the kids and adults couldn’t stop laughing...All the kids were given medals. One of the girls was still wearing her medal around the school the other day : ) It was a very special and proud day for them, but I believe more so for us.

It is becoming colder and wetter now. Good and bad. Cold = rain = slum become worse than hell. The smell hits you like sewerage and from a distance you can see all the rubbish from the hills raining down the sea of people’s homes. The other night I kept waking up from the cold and thunder thinking of the people in the slum that tonight would not be able to sleep, that disease would be brewing everywhere, THEY would be freezing and homes would be flooding and collapsing with water and rubbish. And what can they do? Yet the following morning the kids are at the project running up as per usual with their infectious joy....

I have spent today researching all I can on the prospective of getting the tailoring products into fair trade shops in Sydney and hopefully have some wonderful ladies to host like ‘product’ parties....who would have thought partying could change Uganda! Ha I think it would be amazing awareness and a special personal connection between the maker and buyer...

Depending on how deep I look through my idea kaleidoscope I can overwhelm myself but we shall see....sometimes though it seems the impossible is more achievable than the possible.
Love x