Tuesday, June 25, 2013

Welcome to Burundi


From Addis, we caught a flight to Nairobi, Kenya. Lydia and Julia pulled the lucky tickets to sit at the emergency exit row, and were asked to move, so that they could switch with “someone more qualified to operate the door.”  In other words, they were too small.  Other than that, the flight went without a hitch.  My biggest issue was that my seat back decided that it was happy where it was and nothing could move it, despite the emergency exit row being directly behind me, giving the people in the next row extra leg room anyway. 
     In any event, we landed in Nairobi and relaxed in the plane while it was refueled and new passengers got on.  Luckily for us, about seven people got on, leaving a great deal of room for everyone.  I know Ginger took an entire row to herself; I sat in the seat right next to the emergency exit so that I would have leg room and a window.  The leg room did wonders; I fell asleep as soon as we were in the air.  I awoke to the left side of my body chilled beyond belief.  Cold air from outside the plane was leaking through the emergency door, and I was very uncomfortable.  I had no time to move away before the fasten seat belt light came on and I was stuck in that seat.  
     After we landed, I found that Ginger, Lydia, Julia, Chris (Champion, the Beam one is Christopher for our purposes), Kim, Vickie, and Lizzie all awoke with a jolt when the plane hit, not touched, the ground.  I've been hearing about that landing from them since.
     Because I was not expecting to fall asleep, my rude awakening at the hands of low temperature put me in a bit of a sour mood.  I realized it, though, and once we finished filling out our cards about who we are and why we want entry to Burundi, I kicked myself back into gear and helped get our twenty-three suitcases onto carts to bring to our transportation to the Swedish Guest House, where we're staying for the first two nights and our last night in Burundi.  The driving rules here are crazy, but they make perfect sense.  Everything has its proper place.  If it's not in its place, it gets honked at.  It's that simple.
   Today has been a very full day, and it's still not over.  First thing in my morning, not necessarily everyone else's, the two present Willettses decided to go take a closer look at a pair of pet monkeys tied to a tree a few hundred yards from our rooms. From what I've heard, I was still asleep, they loved J.D.  They were tossing seeds to them, and one monkey was quite friendly.  J.D. held out a handful of seeds, and one came out of the tree to grab a handful and climb back up.  The second came over from the ground and, while he ate none, felt J.D's arm and hugged it, then ran off.  Lydia saw that they seemed friendly enough and took some seed to give it a try.  She held out her hand, he gave the seed some interested sniffs.  He must have smelled something good, because he took her wrist and bit down on her hand.  In the words of J.D, "[Lydia] squealed, [the monkey] squealed, and everyone got worked up."  On our way to spot some hippos at Lake Tanganyika, we stopped at the local hospital for Lydia to get some just-in-case shots and her bite wound cleaned.  
   For a snack at the "yacht club," where we watched for hippos, David brought us plates of fried whole minnows with lime, tomato, and onions.  We all enjoyed them greatly, except, of course, for Kim, who despises the very notion of eating anything that previously lived in water, no matter how fried.  As we got up to leave, David spotted a hippo, so we all rushed back to watch the hippo and finish our snack.  It was then that Gagnam Style came on.  Ginger, Lizzie, and even Kim danced to it. The workers at the club were so entertained that they played the song two more times.  The second time it played, J.D. joined in.  
     After the lake, we went to see the site where Livingston met Stanley.  It's a beautiful precipice overlooking the plain upon which sits Bujumbura, the capital of Burundi.  To the west, or left if you’re facing Buja, is Lake Tanganyika.  Directly to the south, between the sheer cliff and Buja, runs a river.  Because the rainy season was over, the river was very low, but it was apparent that it floods during the wet season.  To the east were huge, gorgeous mountains that rose up suddenly out of the plain.  The rock was interesting.  It was, as Christopher complained on the way there, just a rock (he’d been there before), but the vista was well worth the drive.
     After a quick lunch and rest, we went to a “museum,” which turned out to be more of a zoo.  Our guide told us about three crocodiles on display and the differences between them and then took us to a cage housing a lone chimpanzee.  J.D. had clearly not gotten his primate fill for the day, because he excitedly shook hands and high-fived her.  Our guide told us that she was depressed recently after her family died of disease.  The actual museum portion was a replica of pre-colonial Burundian housing.  After the tour of the grass huts, we passed a crocodile being fed. We, of course, crowded around the cage to see it chomping around a still-moving unidentifiable rodent.   The next cage over was the one where people were getting pictures taken holding the tail of a live crocodile.  Except for Gretchen, Christopher, and Kim, we all got our pictures taken holding its tail.  One of us was even photographed fleeing in terror after the crocodile decided to flick its tail.  I’ll not name names, but I will say that while she had it, she held the tail quite gingerly.  We then went to the house of snakes.  Lydia, ever adventurous even after squaring off with a monkey, held a few, along with the rest of us.  On our way out, J.D. had another tangle with the chimp, who refused to let go of his arms.
     From the zooseum, we went to the THARS office in Buja to use the wifi, and then to David and Felicite’s house for dinner.  They showed us around their gardens and rabbit cages.  They were not, mind you, pet rabbits.

A link to J.D’s blog for a decidedly different take on things: www.psychopastor.com

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