Safari interruptus

On a sandbar at Croc Valley Camp, elephant tracks lead to the bank on the far side.
It was there where a tourist recently erred in getting within six feet of the water.
Properly motivated, crocs can move quickly.

All right, I get it. At least some of you are wondering why this blog hasn't been updated since I sent my first dispatch from Lilongwe on June 28. What happened with distributing the One World Futbols? What's going on with the shoes? Are you going to share the story of Nicole, the Chinese volunteer who was undocumented as a child because she was supposed to be aborted? And why no safari photos?

There is an explanation. Two, really.

Currently, the radio silence has been due to the ungodly slow and unreliable Internet service I'm experiencing in my current digs. In my first residence here in Lilongwe, the service allowed me to blog rather effortlessly. But at this time, in the wee hours of July 12, I couldn't even make a donation to my The Shoe That Grows fund page because of the loading speed.

(The donation, by the way, was based on a purchase from Walter Mugove Nyika, a fascinating gentleman I met at Klaus Guest House, where I'm staying. I'll be telling you more about him later.

Walter wanted to purchase a pair of these shoes for his daughter so I pocketed the 11,000 Kwacha that he paid for them and attempted the online deposit in vain. I'll just have to trust my honesty that I will put the money in my account when I get home, or whatever.)

Croc Valley Camp

The first night of the Safari took place at Croc Valley Camp in Zambia, operated along a river by a Rhodesian gentleman. The photo below is of our cottage, which we could walk to during the day, but under escort at night, when the hippos might come up from the river and root around for food. I was assured that if I stayed on the porch at night the lions wouldn't come up and eat me, but I never found  the opportunity to test that claim. Like, I would?

Home, sweet home, where the giraffe saunter by whenever they feel like it.

Baboons

"Oooh, almost, but down and to the right. No, to the right!"

One of the first things I noticed about the Croc Valley Camp was the abundance of babboons. When they weren't checking out ways to swipe food, they were picking nits. And when they weren't picking nits, they were copulating, which helps explain their abundance. I can't say as I blame the males; some of the females were kinda cute -- the one in the photo at the right, for example. Look at those eyes; doesn't she have nice eyes? Uh, maybe I've been alone too long, but I still think she's kinda cute. What do you male readers think?

Elephants

OK, so here's a riddle or you. What time is it when an elephant sits on your fence? (Answer: time to get a new fence.)

Elephants are tough on trees, too. Check out the next two photos. Those trees have been banged up elephants. They basically head butt trees to knock them down so it's easier to get to the food. And from the looks of the photo at the left, elephants aren't finicky eaters. That grass that's heading for its mouth looks pretty dry and scraggly. How do they survive on that, anyway?

For trees, the survival strategy might depend on three factors: Location, location, location. The wise tree grows out of a termite mound, like the one in the third photo. Elephants don't seem to bother them. I noticed several trees that employed that strategy. Smart trees!

The tree that got away -- from the elephants

Hippos

Hippos look like they could spend a little less time floating in the river and a little more time at a spa, but they actually aren't fat, and I wouldn't suggest depending on your ability to outrun them, no matter how motivated. I didn't have much opportunity to get any good close-ups of them, so  you have to settle for these images.

The Madonna and Child image of the calf floating next to Mom, below, is a little pixelated due to distance, but you can still note the reddish hue on the old lady. Hippos tend to come out of the river only at night because they sunburn easily.

I was told this problem with the sun makes it tough for the old guys, when the young hippos decide its time for them to retire from the mainstream; figuratively speaking. They may get stuck off in a small waterhole someplace. I saw one of those old guys; he didn't have a lot of elbow room in his mud hole.

Water buffalo

If there's one thing water bufflo demonstrate, it's this: the bigger they are, the harder they fall, when they fall. (So maybe there's yet hope for America.) Check out the skull in the photo below. It made me realize that, in Africa, the chance of fading quietly into the sunset is probably not going to happen.

While the boss rests, the ladies dine on a buffalo who no longer worries himself about  them.

The buffalo turns up its tasty nose, long gone, at dinner.

At the end of the day, we returned to the Croc Vallry Camp, where I discovered a pool table (!) and decided to engage in one of my preferred pastimes. It was not a great experience. The balls were undersized and beat up. The felt on the pool table was three generations behind replacement; The sole pool stick had some sort of threads coming out of it like a kind if intestinal mold sending out tendrils. (Some exotic African malady we weren't warned about?) And the tip was not felt, but a rather uneven loose plastic cap. And there must have been a gravity well somewhere on that table, because even if you could hit  ball correctly with that awful stick, the balls declined to travel a straight path.

The carver

However, the gentleman at the right joined me in a game, and I think he prevailed by whatever rules we seemed to agree to in our haphazard contest on that miserable table. Afterward, I learned that he was selling carvings at the camp.

These two carvings in the photo at left  weren't particularly well made, but I purchased a pair for $10 each. After all, I need some sort of souvenir from Africa, don't I? It didn't hurt that he told me $20 for the two pieces will get two of his four children into school for a term.

His name is Whitson Banda, and he's 37 years old. The two girls my purchase sponsored are Alice, born 2003, and Lidiya, born 2006. I will never see them; I will never be able to confirm that his story is true. But from what I learned when I asked around, it's probably true. For the price of a restaurant meal and a glass of wine I may have put two little girls into school for a term. Or not.

Whitson displays a crocodile-themed ashtray.

You say pot-A-to, and I say pot AH-to . . .

The next morning, the moment of truth arrived. My hostess is the person responsible for my coming to Malawi for safari. She is a very bright, capable person, who made it possible for me to ship 30-40 One World Futbols and nine The-Shoe-That-Grows to Malawi for free. She made it possible for me to bring 85 hats and lots of garmets, and 25 kazoos and other minor goodies in two duffels because I wasn't toting futbols. At this writing, much of the booty is destined for the Dzaleka refugee center, a community of 27,000 from several African countries which she told me about. She has been a wonderful co-consirator and she opened an opportunity for me I could only dream of. However, after collaborating for months arriving at a plan, we found out that we should have spent a little more time together before she took off for Africa last fall. It's one of those issues about one person squeezing the toothpaste tube in the middle while the other prefers to squeeze the end. We just didn't belong in the same pot together. It happens to the best of us.


So after a heartfelt exchange, we mutually  decided that I should return to Lilongwe and, she, having taken vacation time, should travel on to Zimbabwe. When she returned I could pick up the materials she was storing for me. It appeared to be a bit of a setback, but something amazing seems to be resulting from this change in plans.

It started as a serendipitous notion and has evolved into a development. And there's the distinct possibility that it will become a reality. Maybe even an accomplishment.  This trip is taking some amazing twists and turns. I hope you stay with me. (And I hope I can get better internet service. If not, I'm home in a week, and I'll share the rest of the story then.

Forgive the typos! Love you all!

Robert
and Jean Baptiste

And Micah

and Shu

And Carlita!

A quick morning of shoes, balls, reunions, hope, shopping, hats and a very unusual (for us) delicacy

Hello, friends.
It's been a whirlwind day. I had no idea how much would get accomplished in so short of time. Our connections with the Dzaleka refugee center and the donation of balls is almost guaranteed, and it happened so easily I was quietly ecstatic. It began and ended with my driver, and an unbelieveable stroke of good luck.

Duncan, chewing on . . .

At 8 a.m., Duncan showed up. Maggie knew him and his good reputation, and that is why we had him park his car and drive hers. I think having him drive her car was supposed to cost K10,000 (10,000 Kwachas) instead of K15,000 if he drove his own. But by the end of the day, those details had long been forgotten and I really didn't care. I paid him K16,000.($21.68)  Oh, and another 2,000 for some mice; and lunch; and a baseball hat with the caption, "No Problem." That's Duncan in the photo on the left, chewing on something. More about that, later.

When Duncan arrived, I started to explain to him that I wanted to connect with the "There is Hope Malawi" office at the United Nation's refugee center in Lilongwe, Dzaleka. That's when he disclosed that he personally knew Innocent Magambi, author of Refugee For Life: My Journey across Africa to Find a Place Called Home. And, he added, we don't have to drive 40 miles to Dzaleka, because the office for There is Hope Malawi was just a short drive away. In very short order I was waiting to meet Innocent, who was in a meeting. Then, out of the meeting walked Nicole Hongjin Lin, the young Chinese woman who I had met in Addis Ababa, and who was on her way to volunteer with his organization. That's Nicole, sitting next to me in the photo below.

Nicole and me outside the headquarters of There is Hope Malawi

I needed no further introduction. Innocent invited me into his office and I presented him with a red, junior-sized one world futbol, explaining that it could be punctured a thousand times and still bounce, he practically made my sale for me. It's not unusual for a good soccer ball to last as little as a week at the camp, he said, noting that this one didn't need a pump. I explained that one ball can serve approximately 30 people. I expressed regrets that I didn't have more to donate. Innocent noted  an organization could hold onto one ball and serve three soccer teams that trained at different times of the week, making it possible for one ball to serve 90 players. Soccer is big at the refugee camp, he said.

Sitting in with us was Cathreen Ndege-Chirwa, director of programs. Could this ball be used in the girl's net-ball program? Innocent asked. Well, yes, and that means the Muslim girls who engage in sports separately could benefit as well. Depending on whose figures you use, Muslims account for between 13 and 30 percent of the Malawi population. They and Christians are the two largest religious groups, and from what I have learned, they coexist harmoniously. Innocent had just saved me the task of trying to make inroads with a faith community that I knew very little about.

Tomorrow, I explained, I go on safari. But when I'm back in a week, I can meet the players who will be using the futbols that my readers sponsored. I left four balls to facilitate his ability to make organizations serving the camp familiar with the One World Futbol. I also left a small version of The Shoe that Grows.

Oh, I guess I didn't mention that nine more pair of The Shoe that Grows arrived yesterday from the states. Unlike Shu, these balls are blue, and that's a photo of some of them below. Innocent was familiar with this product -- many have already been donated to the Dzaleka camp. And that's a relief for me, because I didn't feel comfortable about leaving so few.

On the way out the door, I donated 27 tank tops like the one in the photo at the right. These were part of a bundle of clothing donated by Paula Everdell-Brown, a Facebook acquaintance who teaches EMT courses, works with an ambulance company and participates in sporting events -- which resulted in her having lots of sports-related hats to donate as well as sports clothing. (Thanks, Paula!)

What a great feeling. But that blew a hole in my plans for the day, because the biggest challenge has turned out to be a cake walk.

Oh, but the fun was just beginning. There was shopping to do, including picking up some bananas from a roadside vendor. "Vendor" is used advisedly, because no-one hangs out a shingle; sellers just find a spot by the highway and pile up their wares. Malawians are industrious and entrepreneurial, it seems. The lady in the photo below sold me a large bunch of bananas for K1,200--less than $2.

I also bought a bag of oranges from another individual, who hand picked them for me from this pile dumped on the side  of the road.

Not much meat here; best eat the bones as well.

It was lunch time, so Duncan and I stopped at a mall where I wanted to purchase groceries. In a fast food restaurant I said I wanted Malawian food, so we had a nice snack of quail. The bird is so delicate that you can eat the bones, and they are nutritious, Duncan explained. He was right, although he ate all of the bones on his bird. I left the tough ones on the plate.


However, there was another meal yet to enjoy: Mice. See the photo below? We drove all over to find one of these roadside salesmen.

Since you're asking, the answer is yes, aficionados include the fur in the meal -- or so they say.

Mice, explained Duncan, are an important protein source. There are lots of mice in Malawi, and it is a mouse that Duncan was chewing on in the photo at the top of this post. And the only thing not consumed is the guts. The mice are cleaned, and then eaten from head to tale, bones and all.

The mice live in burrows under the ground. Their burrows have several grass-cushioned chambers and an escape hole.  A hunter finds the burrow, finds the back door, blocks the back door, and then blows smoke into the hole, suffocating the mice. Then he digs up the meal. I wanted a photo of that, so I practiced the art of the deal: I would buy the mice for Duncan if he would help me get photos of the vendor and allow me to take a photo of him eating a mouse. From his point of view--what's not to like? He would eat a couple mice and then take the balance home to share with his family. He has a daughter, 7, and a son, 2.

The first gifted hat

The day was only half over, and I was done. I went to a cash machine so I could fill the tank for the safari tomorrow. When I returned to the car, there was a young boy begging for money. I don't make it a practice of handing out money, but I had an alternative plan. After all, I AM the man with the hats -- 85 of them donated at my pre-safari birthday bash June 15 at First Class Ballroom in Everett, WA. We're not only talking baseball hats. We're talking bush hats, driving hats, even ladies' sun hats. I opened my duffel, nudged some One World Futbols aside, and came up with the hat at the left. He put it on and beamed. Afterward, I realized I owed Duncan a big thank you for the help he delivered today, so I let him sort through several base ball caps until he found one he liked. I'm glad I had one with the words, "No Problem." It certainly fit the theme for the day.

Duncan & hat

Love,
Robert, and Jean Baptiste

And Shu,

and Micah,

and Carlita

Malawi, the resilient

LILONGWE, MALAWI--The wi-fi isn't working, which means that even though Maggie got the SIM card into my G6 Android with help from a handy pair of scissors, I'm still not able to call the refugee camp to schedule an appointment. I can't reach Ulisa Bay Lodge either, where I want to spend a five-day getaway meeting the natives, distributing One World Futbols, hats and clothing, and see the cathedral that was erected with the encouragement of Dr. David Livingstone. That's right, Livingstone, the missionary Sir Henry Morton Stanley went looking for in the late 1800s. ("Dr. Livingstone, I presume?") Stanley not only had the distinction of finding Livingstone. He also appears to be the only man to serve in the Confederate Army, the Union Army, and the Union Navy.

Anyway the wi-fi will probably come back on sometime today, and at least I have internet connection (although it quit for a while last night.) Yesterday the tap water also slowed down due to some problem with the pipe from the humongous water tank in the yard, which will be fixed sometime today. Wi-fi and Internet can be spotty, sometimes due to power outages. But it isn't obvious to me that power is the reason, because Maggie  has a generator that automatically kicks in when the electrical grid hiccoughs.

Malawi demands resourcefulness

Malawi's flag

You have to be resourceful in Malawi. The natives certainly are. They live on the lowest per capita income in the world -- about $250 per person per year, according to the World Bank. Somehow they scrape by. At first glance, the extreme poverty isn't so obvious in the city; but most Malawians don't live in cities.

Maggie's version of resourcefulness includes realizing that the SIM card I paid  K2000 for (2,000 Kwachas) didn't fit the holder in my G6 Android so she carefully and confidently whittled it down with a scissors until it did.

Incidentally, this process got me to finally find out what SIM means. It's "subscriber identification module." if you want to know more, click on the boldface. It's a link to a Wikipedia explanation.

Enormous lake on its border

Malawi is a landlocked nation of 17 million in southeast Africa. It is bordered on the east by Lake Malawi, which comprises one-fifth of the country's territory. It is the world's ninth largest lake and has an abundance of fish. It also has little critters that can get into your body and make you really uncomfortable, so this will be a non-snorkeling trip for me.

(I should acknowledge that much of this information that doesn't come from direct observation is pulled from the Internet, so it has to be true, right?)

Lake Malawi is just large enough to justify a tiny navy. Its army is composed of two rifle and one parachute regiments reportedly trained by the United States at one time. Its air wing of a few helicopters and various other aircraft was formed in 1976 with help of the German government.

Kwacha, kwacha, kwaca!

K2000 = $2.71 U.S.

The unit of exchange is the Kwacha (dawn) subdivided into 100 Ngwee (bright). On June 25, 2018, 2,000 "dawns" were worth $2.71. So now you know what I paid for a SIM card and a bunch of minutes. When I realized it was $2.71 I went back to count how many of the original 40 banks notes I had gotten from the ATM, and only one was missing, so yes, I indeed paid $2.71 for that SIM card--and a big bunch of minutes.

By the way, I kind of like the sound of the word, Kwacha. It's kind of what I might say while tickling a baby.  For instance: "Kwacha, kwacha, KWACHA! . . Kwacha, kwacha!

17 languages

There are 17 "living" languages in Malawi. English is spoken widely and the main native language is Chichewa. Two-thirds of the adult population are literate (73% men, 59% women).

National government structured like ours

The country's constitution provides for three branches of government similar  to ours, except that they haven't created and populated the Senate yet. Voter turnout has declined from a record 93 percent in 1999 to 54 percent in 2004, with only 14 percent voting in local elections.

Death rate

Amazingly, Malawi's death rate  fell gradually from 26 per 1,000 people in 1966 to 7.5 per 1,000 people in 2015. U.S.rate: 8.44 deaths per 1,000.

Refugees

The Dzaleka refugee camp. Click image to go to "There is Hope Malawi" Web site.

Just a short drive from the heart of Lilongwe, Malawi's capital, there is a refugee camp with 27,000 individuals from eight African nations. The United Nations High Commission for Refugees is the service organization for the camp, known as Dzaleka. Total refugee population in Malawi is estimated at 57,000. Dzaleka is the refugee camp that I hope to visit  this week, before I and Maggie head out on safari for a week starting Friday. We will be driving, camping, and occasionally finding indoor accommodations where we can shower.

The fortunate Chinese baby

If I can squeeze a visit to Dzaleka in, I also want  to connect with a young Chinese woman I met on the plane from Addis Ababa to Lilongwe. Her name is Nicole.

Nicole has the distinction of being the "lucky baby" in her family. Under the "one child" policy in China, she was supposed to be aborted. Instead, somehow she made it past that gauntlet and qualified as "undocumented." I think this disclosure occurred when I asked her what was taking he to Malawi. The answer -- she feels an obligation to give back, so she is volunteering at the Dzaleka refugee camp, with an organization called There is Hope Malawi. I myself have hope -- that I find her and that she shares her story -- it's the kind of story you don't hear every day.

Doh!

Oh, and after a day of struggle, I made the wi-fi work by taking my cell phone off airplane mode.

So that's what's going on. I'll tell you more when there's more to tell.

Love,

Robert and Jean Baptiste
Oh . . . and Micah . . .

and Shu . . .

and our new friend, Carlita!

What to take to Malawi

The booty I'm taking to Malawi

OK friends, here's the deal: in 27 hours I take the red eye to Toronto. I climb off the plane at 8:45 in the morning, go through Canadian customs, and then crash for a good night's sleep before I board another jet at 11 a.m. Friday, June 22, for Addis Ababa, and then on to Lilongwe, capital of Malawi, in Southern Africa. So I haven't got time for a long post here. In this one, you get the quick and dirty.

What you see in the photo here is the booty I'll be taking with me for the Malawians. About 85 hats, a few nice dress shirts, lots of sports tank tops and T-shirts, women's garments. and a few other odds and ends.

Here's what you are looking at in the photo. At the bottom, some diarrhea medications along with malaria meds, which I start taking two days before I leave (like right now.) Right next to those is Shu, one of my traveling companions. That's the name I gave this Shoe that Grows. There are nine others on their way to Maggie, my Malawi contact and traveling companion. In Africa, Shu will be bobbing along on my backpack, right next to Jean Baptiste, because I'm going to be distributing One World Futbols as well as a shoe that will expand for years as a child's foot grows. I'll tell you more about that later.

See that blue soccer ball -- that stays here. Too big. Jean Baptiste, shown in the photo at the bottom of this post, is my other traveling companion, and a lot easier to pack.

Oh, I almost forgot. I have a third traveling companion (other than Maggie). That's Micah. I call the white hat in the photo Micah, in honor of its donor, Michael Kheriaty, a gentleman I know in  the ballroom dance community. His and another 84 hats that I'm taking to Malawi, and which are crammed in the green and red duffel bags in this photo were donated at a clothing drive I'm going to tell you about in the next blog or so. I'm not cramming Michael's hat in the duffels. I'm wearing it, to keep it in good shape for some tall African man. I'll know who to give it to when I see him (her?), and I'll try to post a photo so you all know it was a good fit.

There are some other things in the photo -- a really loud necktie which will likely go over big in Malawi, or Zambia, or Zimbabwe, depending on what happens.

Also in the photo -- some sharp Tilamook cheddar cheese, and some Best Foods Mayonnaise -- which should make Maggie do back flips as soon as she reads this blog. These products are like gold in Malawi. Oh, and see that little curvy orange thingy hanging around the cheese? That's a really cool goose-neck lamp that plugs into your lap top's USB port to illuminate your keyboard in the dead of night. Those make really nice stocking stuffers; and poor as Malawi is, there are going to be laptops.

That little button in the bottom center -- it's from the Northwest Folk Life Festival. I will bet somebody will get a kick out of it. And the kazoos? Not many people know this, but I'm the guy who introduced kazoos to Hanoi. The reason I know this is because I had to show really smart adults how to get music out of them. I'm packing a bunch of them along for the kids.

And how about those T-shirts? These are my own -- love them, but never wear these. One is a Puma shirt my son gave me; he's a shoe designer for Puma, living in Nuremberg. English is widely spoken in Malawi, so I hope they like the Deport Racism T-shirt, which was manufactured as a poke-in-the-eye for Tweetie Bird. I'm a supporter of the Innocence Project, and that shirt lists the names of wrongly incarcerated people who were released, mostly on the basis of DNA evidence. More than 300, many who spent years on death row, are rebuilding their lives. And I hate to part with my Bernie shirt; maybe people in Africa have heard of the guy who wouldn't have been so insulting to our international allies.

Am I political? Yes. Extending the hand of friendship is a political act. But, as I told my dance mates, giving them the shirt off your back is an act of love. They were very supportive of this effort, and I'm proud of them.

I'm not taking the greeting card. It's special. It was given to my by Alex Hawkins, a great dance instructor at First Class Ballroom in Everett. You can't tell by looking from this distance,but when you open it, there are a bunch of little figures that wiggle while the Cupid Shuffle lyrics and music play. Cute. Where did she find that?

Well, time to start winding down for the night. Morning comes early, and I have to beware of loose ends.

More later . . .

Love,

Robert,
and Jean Baptiste,
Oh and Shu. . .
. . . and Micah, too.