the sandlucas (a joint effort by sara and lisi)

the wolcott children have a tradition of missing each other’s birthdays. we always seem to be on opposite sides of the globe on the day in question. so, in lieu of actually being there for each other, we’ve come up with creative ways of saying hey- i’m thinking of you. like for example, hiking to the top of a mountain and shouting happy birthday sara in the appropriate direction, trusting that the winds would carry the message on.

on this particular day, in order to mark the 26th birthday of our beloved brother, sara and i went to the beach. from the moment we opened our eyes that morning, we were inundated with special reminders - shall we say omens - of luke’s special day. the radio played the happy birthday song in kinyarwanda during breakfast, and when we stopped at the internet cafe, the 50 cent song “in da club” blared from a nearby computer (”yo shorty, its ya birthday, we gonna party like it’s ya birthday”).

so we hardly could’ve forgotten. we spent all morning brainstorming, scheming up different ways to celebrate as would do the man justice. we imagined climbing the tallest tree in gisenyi (which unfortunately was a palm tree and neither of us are that agile). we discussed having all the students of apagie sing michael jackson’s “don’t stop till you get enough” (but as we were no longer in musha this was logistically impossible). finally we settled on building an effigy of his face out of sand.

with waves crashing, and magic-hour approaching, we located a perfect patch of beach to give the four foot by two-and-a-half foot lucas the best view of the lake and the volcano in the distance. then we set to work. a strong jaw-line was sculpted, a distinguished forehead carved, and eye-sockets shaped. lisi delegated herself the task of chiseling the perfect chin while sara added bushy eyebrows and spiky hair. a face emerged from the sand, rose from our fingertips, summoned by our memories. now came the challenging task of calling forth… the nose. sara, for obvious reasons, was chosen to produce the likeness. a bordewieck bridge mounted between eyes glittering with volcanic residue. the defining wolcott feature rose, a promythean rock admidst the smooth dunes of his cheekbones. nostrils were dug and earlobes added.

then, out of nowhere, an unfortunate wave attacked from the south and returned his once prominent, now crumbling, chin from whence it came. lisi made furious attempts at reconstruction but to no avail. poseidon would have his way on this occasion. as lisi’s shoulders slumped in resignation, sara, giving her a pat on the back, said “you did the best you could.”

the two wolcott sisters stepped back into the crowd of 40 adolescent onlookers who had gathered, and admired the masterpiece that is our brother. we gave him a kiss on the cheek and warmest birthday wishes and then walked off into the sunset.

“it’s a shame about his chin,” lisi said.

sara replied, “like he hasn’t heard that before.”

 

happy birthday luke.

thanks again

school’s up and running again and students are back.  one by one, the students you’ve all helped to sponsor have appeared at my door to pick up this term’s school fees.  each brings stories to tell about spring break - many spent their time working in the fields of their family’s farms, some did odd jobs to earn money to support the family or help pay school fees for a younger brother or sister, some studied.  all send thanks, their own and those of their families, which i’m now passing on to you, along with my own.  thank you for making it possible for these kids to finish high school.  here they are: eric, francoise, innocent, hyacinthe, jean-paul, jean-claude, francis, and fulgence (missing are anthere, felix, and bosco).

  

  

p.s. two of the kids from last year whose third term fees you sponsored got scholarships to national university!  woohoo!

happy birthday to me

at 12:01am this morning in zanzibar, i got a birthday kiss from my tanzanian friend mosi. the hotel had decided to throw a full-moon party on the beach with hundreds of people, music, dancing, and an impressive acrobatic display by a troupe from stone town (all in my honor of course - why not?).

at 12:01am this morning in kigali, i got a birthday text message from three of my favorite girls - cathryn, giudi, and sara. they had decided to go out dancing and celebrating in rwandan fashion (without me, but with me in their thoughts - how could it be otherwise?).

at 12:01am this morning in new york, i got a birthday text message from my housemate and partner-in-crime amanda. she wasn’t actually in new york - she was in western tanzania - but she got her time zones mixed up.

at 12:01am this morning in seattle, i got a birthday email from my nutty brother. he had attached links to funny youtube videos he’d picked out to make me laugh (have a look). he had also written witty captions to the pictures on my blog (have a laugh at his comments).

at 12:01am this morning somewhere in the middle of the pacific ocean, i got a birthday phone call from my parents in new york. they had held a family dinner the night before (at perhaps the same moment i was collapsing weerily to bed as the sun was rising in zanzibar), had invited my grandparents and my aunt to show pictures and tell stories of their visit to africa to see their oldest daughter.

all these people i love, celebrating my day in their own corners of the world - it makes me feel very special. thank you all.

and now that 12:01am on april 20th in the year 2008 is gone and no longer exists anywhere on earth, i am eating ice cream at a quiet table in stone town, watching the sun set and local children do back-flips on the sand. the water has turned purple and the dhows are just rocking dark silhouettes. and it has been a very happy birthday.

visitors

when mom and dad said they were coming to visit with my sister, it was unexpected, but exciting nonetheless. dates were arranged to coincide with my spring break but not overlap with the genocide memorial week (tactless time to be a tourist). the guide book was opened, and planning begun to give my family a full taste of east africa. we’d start in rwanda, see my school and students, walk through nearby villages and visit marcelline’s nursery on our way to the lake. i’d show them around kigali, introduce them to vso colleagues and office staff, take them to the memorial center. then we’d make our way by car down through the rainforest to the tea estates in cyangugu on the shores of lake kivu, at the border with d.r.congo. on our way back we’d stop in butare’s national museum, then the king’s palace in nyanza, for some history and culture. there was time for handicraft shopping and to swing by musha to pack before flying to arusha for a three-day safari. lake manyara, tarangire, and ngorongoro crater - lions, elephants, giraffes, zebras, hippos, you name it - in an open-topped land rover, over stunning landscape. from there we’d fly again, this time to zanzibar for a taste of swahili culture and architecture, swimming in turquoise waters, and finally some rest on white sand beaces before heading home.

it was beautiful, this itinerary of mine. the best of all worlds. wild rainforest, rural villages, open savannah, beautiful beaches. a blend of culture, real life, and wild life. there was plenty of time worked in to meet and chat with local people, with my colleagues and friends, with each other - for my parents it had been over a year since we’d seen each other. the plan was flexible to a certain extent, to allow for rest, changes of mind and mood, and of course, for the whims of africa. a beautiful plan. i was proud of it. i was a budding one-woman tour agency.

 

and for the most part it went off well. i think mom, dad, and sara were pleased in the end. but there were some things i hadn’t bargained on.

airplanes. apparently, even if you have a ticket in you hand that you’ve already paid for, you still must confirm your flight in advance. mom, dad, and sara spent their first night in africa on the floor of the dar es salaam airport, their first day stuck in kilimanjaro airport in arusha (frantically calling around, contemplating a charter flight, a car, any possible means of getting to kigali), and most of their second day in the nairobi airport, where the water had gone out. their luggage, however, arrived without delay on the originally scheduled flight. i went to the airport to meet my family’s bags but no family.

potholes. once they finally arrived, the car we rented in rwanda had a low bottom, a paranoid over-protective owner, and a pothole-seeking function we couldn’t manage to disengage. the five-hour journey from kigali to cyangugu (through washed-out roads, ridden with mud-slides, boulders, over-turned trucks, and, you guessed it, potholes) became seven, severly draining our motivation to ever drive anywere ever again. (we bounced back though - dad was a real trooper).

rain. believe it or not, it does actually rain during the rainy season (it didn’t last year). though we were blessed with sun when it counted (on the days of the village walk, the rainforest walk, and all of the safari), and it mostly only drizzled the rest of the time, we did have some memorable downpours. like when it was coming down in sideways sheets while dad was trying to back into a parking spot and the car battery disconnected, stalling and shutting down the whole electrical system. sara was practically swimming, standing outside directing dad into the spot and when dad got out to pop the hood he got drenched as well. then when we arrived in stone town, zanzibar, it was pouring and there was all kinds of flooding. the narrow streets were like rivers. we waded around up to our ankles in it. ironically, i was the only one without a decent raincoat. at a certain point you just give up and say, well, it’s only water. at least it’s not hot.

when mom and dad left, sara and i had an evening to ourselves in stone town before her flight the next morning. it was thankfully not raining and we walked along the pier to watch the sunset. a load of boys, maybe forty of them, were jumping off the pier into the harbor, dressed in shorts and t-shirts. sara and i sat watching for a minute. then i turned to her and, with a nod to the diving children, said ’shall we?’ to which she responded, as she took off her rings, watch, and sunglasses, ‘only under two conditions. one, i get to go first. and two, you have to take a picture.’ and then she jumped, fully clothed, off the pier into the harbor. the boys hooted and hollered and she bobbed up smiling. ‘you’ve got to try it.’

and i did.

 

local wisdom or a trip to the dentist

lamu, kenya, last december. i’m hanging out with some friends i’ve met here, in a small bar near the harbor. a multi-cultural batch - kenyan, german, australian. as talk of politics and con-men dwindles to the wee hours, omar is seized with pain. he groans, holds his left jaw, mumbles ‘it’s starting again,’ and makes a dash for the water. my inquiring look at herbert yields an explanation: omar has a toothache. it must be pretty bad because the pain, when it comes, is the searing debilitating sort. now he returns from the ocean with a bottle of salt water to gargle, plops himself on his back on a bench, closes his eyes and continues moaning. every few minutes he stands up, spits into a planter, takes another gulp of salt water, and lies down again.

according to herbert, because of course omar’s not talking, he’s been doing this all week. he won’t go to the dentist, because in lamu there’s no one qualified (’he’ll just pull it’). so he’s self-medicating until he can get to mombasa. a mysterious tall man appears (beckoned by whom?) with a small satchel. inside are all manner of pain-killers, prescription and non. omar buys some aspirin. but an hour later he’s still groaning, sweating, gargling, spitting. suddenly he sits up, throws his head in his hands between his knees and starts rocking back and forth. when he looks up again there are tears rolling down his cheeks. a grown man, cocky and confident when i first met him, reduced to tears. hassan and i pull him to his feet and help him stagger down the street to the all-night health clinic.

the night nurse readies a needle while i make jokes like ‘open up and i’ll pull it out for you’ or ‘whaddya say we just cut your head off, huh?’ omar gargles. spits. before i realize what she’s doing, the nurse has stuck him in the bum with a general anaesthetic. brilliant. she gives him some pink pills and we hobble home.

in the morning the shot has worn off and the pink pills turn out to be no more than ibuprofen. but luckily the tall shady guy with the little bag of drugs appears magically. omar buys some codeine. i’m the self-appointed nurse trying to make sure he doesn’t overdose. a glance in his mouth shows an enormous recess above his back molar, eerily grey and frothy. he still won’t see the dentist and i’m in over my head, thinking seriously about dragging him to mombasa myself.

but the codeine gives temporary relief and omar has a plan. his brother knows a guy named simba (a common name in these parts) whose mother has been known to cure toothaches with a local fruit that grows on another island. it’s the size of a cherry, yellow, and poisonous if you eat it. i’m skeptical but he promises if this doesn’t work we’ll go to the dentist. hassan finds a boat to the island and returns two hours later with the fruit. we walk down the pier, find simba sitting on a wall chewing a plant - a stimulant of sorts, looks like sprouts almost, illegal but common. anyway, simba gives us a boy to lead us to his mom’s house. the boy takes off through winding streets, past donkeys, out of town into a village of thatch-roof houses. simba’s mom sits in the sand before her house cleaning coconuts, old and wrinkly, one eye wandering, wrapped up to the chin in kanga fabric. omar proffers the bag of poisonous fruit.

inside the house, simba’s mom prepares the fruit - cuts and smears the tomato-like seeds on the end of a stick, lights and burns it till a black smoke smolders. above the smoke stream she holds half a coconut shell over-turned with a hole in the top. the smoke collects in the shell and rises through the hole. she motions for omar to place his mouth over the hole. not to inhale. to then spit into a bsin of water she’s pulled over. dusk has fallen and the only light is from a candle on the sandy floor and the glowing embers of the burning fruit. in the shadows i see a mouse crawl up to sniff the fruit rinds. it stops, looks me in the eye, then scurries off. omar spits.

simba’s mom swishes the water in the basin, peers in, like reading tea leaves, moves the candle closer, points a rugged henna-painted finger into the water. in the glinting light, amidst bubbles of spittle, i clearly see: worms. small white worms.

in the morning, omar is fine.

on safari woohoo

 

spring break

i’m on vacation in zanzibar, soaking up the sun and enjoying the view. except it’s rainy season, so sometimes there isn’t any sun and everyone gets drenched in a down-pour. but it’s a price i’m willing to pay for skipping the crowds and the heat of high season. i’m doing a lot of nothing - reading, swimming, sun-bathing, thinking, writing, staring out at the ocean. it’s paradise interspersed with the odd rainstorm, the odd beach-bum (sister do you want a massage today? snorkelling? masai necklace? maybe later?), the odd snipet of conversation from other tourists (laurie have you seen my ipod? pass the sunscreen? guys, they’ve run out of vodka at the bar). mom and dad left on sunday, sara went back to rwanda monday morning. i’m hanging with a couple of volunteer friends from rwanda for a few days, then i’ll be on my own for a few more. oh, and then i’ll turn 28. my second birthday in africa.

 

images from zanzibar

the sky opens and the rain pelts down, pock-marking the sand and sending pink tourists scurrying to the comfort of awning-ed terraces of sheek restaurants with brightly-colored fancy-named mixed-drinks.  from my vantage point submerged in emerald waters, cold rain pouring over my head and dripping off my eyelashes, i see the rain bounce up off the ocean surface.  water is everywhere.  cold and grey from above, warm and blue below.  the bouncing raindrops create the semblance of fog, through which a boat appears, a small wooden contraption, normally salt-stained and sun-bleached, today a deep brown color from the rain soaking it and its passenger through and through.  the man is standing in the boat, rain coursing in rivers over broad black shoulders.  he is propelling the boat through the fog with a long mangrove pole.  i imagine i am in a misty medeival scene from king arthur, instead of the mystifying isle of zanzibar.  submerged on the seductive swahili coast.

at low tide the waters recede beyond view, leaving mucky marsh full of seaweed, seashells, sea urchins.  brave zanzibari fisherman plod out gingerly, their feet sinking to the knee in peanut-butter-consistency soggy sand, out to waiting nets.  the horizon is dotted with their tiny silhouettes in the distance.  as the tide begins to rise they wade back to solid ground.  i watch six women, covered head-to-toe in colorful fabric kanga wraps, make their way through waist-deep turquoise waters, their skirts trailing behind them.  the tide is coming in and it’s started to rain.  suddenly one woman claps her hands and shouts and the others quickly close their line into a circle, splashing and laughing and tightening the circle.  they have scared a passing school of fish into the net held by two of them.  all six peer into the net to admire their catch, dump it into a red bag, then fan out again and continue to wade along the shore, rain-soaked and water-logged but chattering and smiling anyway.  the leader spots another school of fish, claps, shouts.  the line closes.  there is more splashing and laughter.  fishing in the rain.

out of touch

sorry i’ve been out of touch so long.  i’ve been traveling around east africa with my parents and sister.  lots of stories to come.  in the meantime, just a reminder to check the update button on the right-hand side of the page.  i often put little ‘i’m safe’ notes up there after events like earthquakes or political turoil. 

video links

i’ve recently joined the rest of the modern world and to explore this whole youtube thing.  sort of.  i managed to upload some videos i’ve been hiding here on my laptop just waiting to share with you all.  for what it’s worth, it takes hours to upload this stuff, particularly when the internet connection or electricity typically cuts in and out.  so i’ve worked hard to bring you these.  check them out:

gorillas, more gorillas, kivu writers, wedding dancers, apagie dancers, nursery kids