Freedom of the Hills

'The Little Ones': The Making and Unmaking of Child Soldiers

2010-10-02T13:47:00.000-07:00

There is a reason your childhood years are referred to as ‘formative’. We do not come into this world with well-formed personalities or moral structures. That which we come to know as right and wrong, we learn from our environments, friends, and, first and foremost, our parents. It is not a quick process and it is in development until we are adults. We start with a blank slate and the genetic footprint of our parents’ genes. As we all know, children can be remarkably cruel and remarkably kind without fully knowing what either condition is. They are testing out their moral legs, seeing what is acceptable and what is not. Children are not moral or immoral, they start off amoral. This is why when they are stolen from their families and forced into an environment killing and survival they often make the most ruthless of soldiers.

There are around 250,000 child soldiers used in combat zones all over the World, but never so prominently as in Africa. After 30 years of war and over two million lives lost, the Sudanese government has come to a peace agreement with the Sudanese Peoples’ Liberation Army in the south of the country. Under pressure from the United Nations the SPLA has agreed to free its child soldiers. The children of Southern Sudan are coming home. Expectantly, there have been many problems. Many of the children have fled their villages to return to the barracks from which they fought, others have killed people in their communities. Once these children have been transformed into amoral killing machines, the job of re-integrating them back to the homes is a long and difficult task.

The process of making a child soldier occurs in what sociologist Erving Goffman called a ‘total institution’. Western examples that use such institutions in forming their members include the military, the police, and the prison system. In such places, the world to which the trainees are exposed is a world in which they have no control over their lives. Time and the sequence of indoctrination periods is controlled by the authorities. All trainees are made to look alike. Uniforms are used in this function. Exact obedience to the rules is enforced with severe consequences. Work and discipline are used to exhaust the trainees. In the case of child soldiers, brutality can be added to the list. Extremist cults use the same set of rules. The goal is to break down the individual personality of the trainee until you have a blank slate on which the new collective identity of the institution can be written. When doing this with adults, the authorities have difficulties. Adults have well-formed personalities and morals that need to be broken down or altered. The case with child soldiers is different. Children are only in the process of learning when they are kidnapped from their parents and brought to camps to learn the profession of killing. They are already blank slates and they learn and adapt quicker than adults. They are taught to see their fellow child inductees as brothers and the authorities as ‘older brothers’ who will protect them from the brutality, feed them, clothe them, and teach them new things. There are harsh punishments for those who would flee or disobey. They are rewarded when they obey and beaten or killed when they do not.

As the ultimate survivors, children adapt to this environment and take to learning such new skills as weapon cleaning; disassembly and reassembly; and target practice very quickly. The late Polish journalist Ryszard Kapuscinski, who spent years in Africa observing conflicts, remarked that some of the children’s early ideas remain with them. Adults, he noted, knew to fire at the enemy from well-covered positions. Children are less informed about the sheer danger of a firefight and the wide variety of firearms used can come across as toys. The children charge headlong into battle without fear. Many are used as cannon fodder. Those who survive and learn quickly become excellent soldiers. Romeo Dallaire, who has an active role in advocacy for child soldiers’ rights, has said that the young fighters who take to their roles and survive are capable of complex military action. This includes leading adults in attacks, reorganizing for counterattacks, and carrying out ambushes.

Child soldiers have little capacity to understand the gravity and magnitude of killing someone. Their moral understanding of the world was interrupted and reformed in an inescapable cult setting. Sadly, many of the worst and bloodiest massacres in the Rwandan war were carried out by these children, as their ‘older brothers’ cheered them on. Without a well-formed sense of empathy and mercy and with a well-formed sense of the importance of killing for the cause, these soldiers are ruthless in their killing efficiency. Africa’s countless wars and warring factions have made horribly pragmatic use of this fact.

The children are spending their formative years in combat; killing or avoiding being killed. They become creatures of war instead of just soldiers. Thus, when the conflicts end and efforts are made to reintegrate them back with their home communities and parents, severe problems arise. They have known only a family of violence where their ‘older brothers’ kept them alive and fed. When coming back to peaceful communities that they have not seen for years, they are coming back to alien worlds. Many simply flee back to the barracks of the armed groups. Others are violent and anti-social in their dealings with civilian life. These children have been taught problem-solving skills in an insulated environment. The essence of these skills: that killing will solve their problems. Murders have been committed by these returnees. They are simply doing what they know best in the hopes of solving problems. Re-integration is a slow and painful process in which the children must re-learn everything. Right and wrong must be taught again. But the years in which empathy may have been infused into their characters with ease are gone. They were stolen. The United Nations and various NGOs are involved with these efforts to repatriate the children. Their success rate is limited. More intensive support is desperately needed.

The use of child soldiers is an atrocity as great as the killings that these children carry out. They are taken from the love of their parents and transformed into something less than human. When we tally up the dead and mutilated from these conflicts it stretches far into the millions and we are appalled. When faced with the child soldiers we are face with dead souls. They have undergone a living death in the cauldron of war. In the war in the Congo (often called “Africa’s first World War” due to its size and the various countries fighting) child soldiers were used extensively. They were called ‘Kadogos’ meaning ‘Little Ones’. The use of such a term of endearment is a horrible irony. How many children die on the field of battle and how many more die only to continue to live?

Ijtihad versus Jihad: Thoughts on the proposed building of a mosque near Ground Zero

2010-08-16T16:54:00.000-07:00

Let me be clear from the off-set, this is an outsider’s article. I am not a Muslim, nor even a particularly religious person. Consequently, this is an article by someone on the outside looking in and making observations. Nevertheless, I do consider myself to be a somewhat informed outsider. I have read extensively on this issue: from journalistic dispatches and essays to critical analysis of the Qur’an to a biography on the Prophet Mohammed. I have travelled in the Muslim world. I have beheld the austere beauty of the Hassan II Mosque in Casablanca and have been overwhelmed by the spirit and mystique of the holy city of Moullay Idriss. I hold as one of my dearest principles that we are all human first, before we are Muslim or Christian, homosexual or straight, black or white, etc. I shall try to be as informed and balanced as possible in the following, but am especially open to comments on the issue from Muslims as they provide a perspective I cannot.

The proposed building of a mosque three blocks from the 9/11 site has opened a firestorm of debate. While listening to CBC radio one morning, I heard the voices of some of the protestors against the building. They were the usual ineloquent, hateful and paranoid comments of racists: “They’re [the Muslims] taking over”; “Obama is probably a Muslim”; et cetera ad nauseum. Unfortunately, according to Sheema Khan, one of the guests on that broadcast, the voices of a group of 9/11 firefighters had not been included in the sound bite. They were apparently eloquent and stated that while they respected religious freedoms they believed the building of a mosque to be “too confrontational”. The very fact that there was a protest highlights a disturbing fact: many blame Muslims as a whole for the 9/11 attacks instead of Al-Qaeda terrorists.

The landscape of Islam is as varied as the landscape of most major religions. A Shia man in Tehran may, and most probably will, have a completely different worldview from a Sunni in New York, just as a Baptist Christian in the American South will differ greatly from an Orthodox Christian in Ethiopia or a Druze in Syria. To make Islam and Muslims monolithic and thereby assign blame is like blaming all Christians for the Waco standoff or the abuses of Catholic priests in residential schools. It doesn’t make sense and it shows nothing but ignorance. This is exactly why a mosque should be built near the 9/11 site.

There is of course a more basic argument to be made. It was highlighted by Barak Obama while speaking to a group of young Muslims at the Whitehouse. He stated that the right to build places of worship was part of the American spirit and law. Put simply: it’s not only legal but in keeping with American tradition.

There is a deeper issue that is coming to the forefront as well: the war within Islam. There can be no denying that horrible crimes against humanity have been carried out in the name of Islam. From the 9/11 attacks, to the mutilations and murders of the Taliban, to the repression of women and minorities by Wahabist sect Muslims – the list goes on. Islam, of course, is not alone in this. Most of the world’s religions have been cited as justification for horrible acts all around the world. The vast majority of Muslims oppose these acts and see them as a violation of the true spirit of Islam: a spirit of tolerance and peace.

There is a large and active movement of Islamic reformists who believe that the religion has been, in the words of Sheema Khan, “hijacked by radical Islam”. These reformists face severe dangers in their work from extremists within their own community. Radical Islam and its followers - be they the Muslim Brotherhood of Egypt or Al-Qaeda in Iraq, Afghanistan, Pakistan and elsewhere - believe in overturning secular states where Islam is the dominant religion (e.g. Egypt) and the re-establishment of the Caliphate as an Islamic super state stretching from Morocco to Indonesia that is ruled under Sharia law. The problem is, as Canadian social commentator Gwynne Dyer points out, the Muslim middle-class in these secular states don’t want this and the revolution is failing.

Some thought should be given to why the extremists have gained popularity at all. Many of these secular states are very repressive and very poor. Political repression and economic disenfranchisement leads to resistance. The extremists offer a different path that ends in Paradise and for many it’s a choice they are willing to make. If there’s one point to be made about the Taliban or Al-Qaeda, it’s that they’re genuine. They do believe that God is on their side and they do believe that Jihad, or Holy War, is the one and true path for followers of the faith. What’s remarkable about the extremists is how limited their knowledge of Islam and the Qur’an really is. Like religious extremists of all backgrounds, they read what they want to read and interpret it as they see fit. They believe their holy justification is a command not open to interpretation when their very outlook is based on flawed interpretation.

Canadian Muslim reformist Irshad Manji has started ‘Project Ijtihad’. ‘Ijtihad’ is Islam’s own tradition of debate and dissent. Her work highlights human rights abuses in the name of God. In her writing she cites periods of Islamic history in which religious tolerance was the norm as was respect for women. Her goal is to re-open the shut door and breed debate and the possibility of different interpretation and dissent without the threat of a Fatwa hanging over anyone’s head. Support for her movement is growing.

It is time for America to see the true face of Islam – not just the slanted view from the media (most notably Fox news). There is a streak of Islamophobia a mile wide in the United States that can only be fought with exposure and integration. This will be a difficult task fraught with dangers. Sheema Khan actually opposes the building of the mosque as too confrontational and disrespecting of New Yorkers. Without a doubt, there are many raw nerves surrounding the attacks. She made the very valid point that when she asked the mosque builders where their funding was coming from they dodged the question.

If the New York mosque is a closed space of radical preaching it will be a disaster and an insult to every American. If it is an open space, such as the Hassan II mosque in Casablanca, there is the possibility that minds may change. Mainstream Islam can begin to reclaim their faith from the extremists and people of other faiths can see that their beliefs and those of Muslims are really just different sides of the same coin: belief in and active worship of God. So let the mosque be built, but make it a space not just of worship, but of education and true Ijtihad. It stands the chance of being an American version of the South African Truth and Reconciliation commission. Perhaps, with its building, the deep and terrible wounds that were inflicted that September day 9 years ago can begin to heal. Whether this happens or not remains to be seen, but I am hopeful.

Affecting Change: Fighting the institutions of innequality

2010-08-06T09:19:00.000-07:00

Historically, the most popular party in the United States was not the Republicans or the Democrats. In the early years of the 20th Century, the Socialist Party raised astounding grass-roots support countrywide on a policy of addressing social, economic, and political inequalities. They mobilized the poor farmers in the countryside and the industrial workers in cities on a scale never seen before and presented a major threat to the established political elite. They opposed American involvement in World War I and this sealed their fate. The government used new anti-sedition laws to imprison the leadership of the party, dissolve its structure, and essentially erase the party from history. They used a propaganda campaign to whip up fear of a communist revolution on American soil and the Socialist party lost widespread support. Nonetheless, their legacy lives to this day in the form of the major trade unions that were established with their hard work and strife. Large-scale, institutional change was achieved – at a great cost.

Today, in the West, the forces concerned with facing and affecting national and global inequalities have been relegated to the outside. Every time the leaders of the economic status quo meet to establish policy there is widespread grass-roots opposition – in the streets. Since the famed ‘Battle of Seattle’ in 1999, the anti-globalization movement has grown and maintained its presence at these gatherings. They are a force to be reckoned with judging by sheer numbers but have yet to affect top-level institutional change. The story always ends the same way – with anarchist groups causing damage and riot police violently dispersing thousands of individuals and movements that are presented to the public as dangerous radicals.

The question facing the Left is clear – how to become a united force capable of changing government policy instead of simply a fractured force capable of drawing attention to the inequalities of current policies. The movement is trapped on the outside looking in. In spite of over 10 years of fervent activism, the protestors are just that: protestors. This is not to discount progress that has been made. The World Social Forum is a clear example of successful organization to bring together countless social movements to provide an alternative to the status quo of the World Economic Forum. However, the WSF remains locked out by the Western media and relatively unknown to the general public. Effectively they are screaming in the dark. The Left is facing a brick wall: a right-wing behemoth establishment supported and self-justified by corporate media. The Western institutions have money to build a media structure that can simply exclude the Left from coverage. Without exposure to the general public, the Leftist alternative is invisible. The public see no alternative other than what is presented to them in print and on television and come to believe that they have no choices beyond what is shown to them. Apathy and despair turn to anger and scape-goating begins. The conservative movement relies and thrives on anger and fear and never fail to present a list of enemies on which the socioeconomic problems of the common individual can be blamed. Lose your job to outsourcing? Blame immigrants, homosexuals, a Zionist conspiracy, the United Nations, minorities, whoever, it doesn’t have to conform to reason. Just don’t blame those in power. It’s easier to hate the Other and blame him for your problems than investigate the root causes of the issue. The problem is huge and seemingly intractable.

Take a concrete goal of the anti-globalization movement: the overturning of the Washington Consensus. This consensus, born out of the 1980s of Reaganism and Thatcherism, holds that the pillars of privatization, market deregulation, and fiscal austerity should be enforced on developing countries through the loan-lending auspices of the International Monetary Fund and the World Bank. Developing countries are forced to open their markets to cheap Western imports that undermine their home-grown businesses while the West maintains trade barriers to prevent imports from these countries thus protecting their domestic industry. The consensus has lead to record profits of the formation of multinational corporations whose profits dwarf the GDPs of these countries. It has also led to social unrest, corruption, and widespread poverty throughout the developing World. It is institutionally enforced inequality.

Anti-globalization protestors can draw attention to these inequalities and organize to create grass-roots alternatives (such as ‘Fair Trade’) but can they affect large-scale institutional change? The proponents of the Washington consensus have their economic well-being at stake and endless resources to combat resistance and quash alternatives (such as media blackouts of such alternatives). They have everything to lose and will not go without a fight.

The answer may not lie in the West at all. Explosive economic growth in other regions of the world has brought the fight right to the West’s front door. After nearly 30 years of suffering under the Washington consensus, other countries have organized their domestic markets to compete with the West instead of being enslaved to them. China, India, Brazil and others have shown that regulation, smart investment, and financial saving have lead to economic prosperity. American-based multinationals are now having to compete with pressure from new multinationals based out of the Third World. These countries have organized into powerful trading blocs that are organizing relations with each other instead of with the West. China established trade links with Mercosur (a trade federation including Brazil, Argentina, Paraguay, and Uraguay), replacing the Americans – who had been their previous trading partner. China also established major links in Africa and came to an agreement with the powerful economies of the Association of Southeast Asian Nations (ASEAN). India, while exploding in growth, is establishing links with the subcontinent and members of ASEAN. Instead of enjoying total, hegemonic control of trade relations and rules, American multinationals are being forced to compete to survive.

Some of these trading blocs, having suffered previously under the control of the IMF, understand the importance of protecting their workers and their workers’ well-beings. Nowhere is this more true than in the miraculous shift to the Left in Latin America. When Evo Morales, a relatively uneducated, indigenous, cocoa farmer was elected in Bolivia he began sweeping changes in a country overrun with corruption and elitism. Hugo Chavez, though becoming more and more dictatorial in his ruling, has done a great amount for the poor in Venezuela. Lula da Silva’s, of the Worker’s Party, was elected in Brazil, and brought fighting social inequality to the forefront. What is even more impressive is that the people and governments of South America have sent a clear message to the US that they will no longer tolerate interventionism on their part. When American-backed right-wing groups began social unrest in Bolivia, Chavez and da Silva sent a clear message to Washington. When Chavez was ousted in a military coup, the people of Venezuela took to the streets demanding he be reinstated. The coup failed. Now there is talk amongst the leaders of a completely unified South America on economic and trade issues and Lula da Silva has proposed a trans-South American worker’s union.

Morales, Chavez, and da Silva organized grassroots support for their elections and have overturned institutional inequality and initiated a future less dark for the poor, disposessed, and disenfranchised of their nations. The question remains in the West, can we do the same? We may be aided by the fact that the economic shift in which US hegemony has been replaced with competing trade blocs will force compromise and a new consensus that is more representative of social concerns instead of just economic ones; one that reflects the needs of the citizens of the World instead of just the shareholders of American multinationals. This change from the outside, with the slant of corporate right-wing media, will be met with fear and hostility on many fronts. The anti-globalization movement and the Left in general are presented with the question of how to deal with this backlash. At the 2010 United States Social Forum (USSF) in Detroit one of the main issues of debate was the establishment or larger educational and lobbying groups that could serve to liaise with the institutions of Western power instead of simply protesting them.

Big changes are coming whether we like it or not. The Third-World power solution has great potential for good but also for corruption and the suspension of human rights in favor of economic cooperation. As we speak, India, Thailand and others are buying huge interest in Burmese oil, bolstering the brutal regime there. Perhaps the challenge for the left can be read in the slogan for the USSF: “Another World is Possible, Another US is necessary”. We have to offer hope and viable alternatives that will keep food on people’s tables in the face of institutions that offer fear and scape-goating. It’s not an easy task but it is essential. The psyche of the West needs to change before its institutions will. It is perhaps changing the psyche and worldviews of the average citizens that the social justice movement will affect large-scale institutional change.

Strange Bedfellows - Thoughts on the G20 Summit and the Anti-Globalisation movement

2010-08-01T09:04:00.000-07:00

Extremists at opposite poles need each other much more than apparent animosity would indicate. Hezbollah needs the apartheid laws and bombings of the right wingers in the Israeli parliament to justify their attacks just as the parliament needs the rocket attacks to justify their policies and bombings. Islamic terrorists need the zeal of Christian fundamentalists and vice versa. And as much as they would hate to admit it, the violent anarchist minority (such as the Black Bloc) that show up at World trade meetings to smash windows and burn cars desperately rely on the exclusionist policies of the economic status quo.

In a world described in images and thirty-second sound bites it is the phenomenon of the spectacle that decides global public opinion. A recent cover of Maclean’s magazine shows a picture of a burning police car with a Black Bloc activist jumping in front; the headline – “Lock them up”. The anti-globalization movement is losing the battle of the spectacle, and thus global public opinion, thanks to the mindless violence of a tiny minority in their ranks. When people look back at the G20 meeting in Toronto, they won’t remember the policies decided upon by the World leaders, or the alternatives and valid arguments presented by the protestors – they’ll remember that burning police car.

Make no mistake, during the summit there was limited coverage of police violence against peaceful protestors. Brief shots of citizens being tasered, beaten, and tear-gassed were shown on the airwaves. However, two factors rendered these images moot. For one, the mainstream populace is always more accepting of ordered institutional violence than its chaotic, anarchistic opponent. People want to see the police maintaining order by whatever means necessary rather than balaclava-wearing goons smashing clothing stores, banks, and whatever they take to be their enemies. Secondly, the images of police violence played side-by-side with images of the Black Bloc. By visual association the protestors are found guilty. The media companies thrive on spectacle – it’s their bread and butter. Add to this the fact that the companies are owned by large corporations with vested interests in the global meetings. A media bias is at work. Need proof? Every year there is coverage of the World Economic Forum in Davos, Switzerland, where the big economic players decided the rules for the next year. Every year there is no media coverage of the World Social Forum, where activist groups meet and propose alternatives.

In my opinion, the cause of the anti-globalisation movement is just. The very name of the movement affects their cause. It suggests that they oppose inevitable global economic trade. This makes them appear irrational in their goals. Many members have adopted the ‘Global Social Justice Movement’ in replacement, but it hasn’t caught on – even with the activists themselves. The aims of the movement are clear – these economic meetings are completely exclusionary. They exclude representatives from the poorer nations on whose backs they ride; workers’ movements; indigenous movements; environmental movements; women’s’ movements; and a host of others. The summits decided the economic destiny and livelihoods of millions without asking for the opinions, or, God forbid, the participation of representatives of these millions. The protestors are there to make a stand and demand that their voices are heard. If the destinies of millions are being decided by a few, the voices of resistance will be heard.

The problem is, they aren’t heard. The movement is denied access to mainstream media and we are left with a violent spectacle. The movement is presumed irrational and public opinion turns against them. The movement relies of guerilla media, the internet, and hot-spots of liberalism like university campuses, to communicate. It gets the word out surprisingly effectively to a few, but still keeps them marginalized to the mainstream middle-class.

As Canadians, citizens of a democracy, it is not just our right but our solemn duty to question authority. The summit organizers rely on public apathy to pass their decrees and send the police out into the streets. It is our duty, each and every one of us, to see past the media slurs and the violent spectacle to get at the heart of the matter. We must investigate and leave no stone unturned in our quest for the truth of these summits. Global inequality of all kinds is perpetuated by the malice of a few and the apathy of millions. This investigation will expose us to things we don’t want to see. It is a road to psychic discomfort and perhaps the realization that we are all at fault in our accepting ignorance of World affairs. In the final say it is up to us to force real change and give a voice to the silent millions suffering under global economic policy. At the same time, it is up to the movement to make a stand against elements within their own ranks and completely disown the Black Bloc and other violent anarchistic segments. All they accomplish is the swaying of public opinion away from true socioeconomic justice and the justification of police violence. And the G20, among others, rely on them more than anyone else to help railroad their policies. We are already seeing the effects of these policies in Western nations. In the end, it’s up to us to speak – not to be spoken for.

The Simplest of Questions - Thoughts on the Afghan War

2010-07-29T09:06:00.000-07:00

On the 25 of August in 2009, 14 Afghan National Police members stole three Ford Rangers, took their weapons, and deserted from their posts at Neshin Castle. Just over a week later, 8 ANP members took a truck from the same outpost and deserted. A note in the military dispatch detailing the desertion states matter-of-factly that they deserted because they hadn’t been paid. NATO and the United Nations have been in Afghanistan for nearly a decade trying to build the civil structures of a functioning nation and they still can’t pay the police officers. These stories and others are detailed in over 90,000 short and terse military dispatches leaked to Wikileaks last week. The overall picture is grim. High civilian casualties, constant combat and disorder, and the systematic failure of institution-building come across in the acronym laden field reports. In the section focusing on defections, it is interesting to note that along with ANP desertions have been the surrender and defection of (sometimes) large groups of insurgents.

When the media portrays the war as a clash of civilizations and a battle between Islamic fundamentalism and the auspices of modern democracy, the field reports tell a different story. Alliances and allegiances in Afghanistan are weak and shift on a regular basis. The questions in the minds of Afghan (including those ANP members) are not of grand scale ideological conflict. They are the questions one would expect of anyone who has been trying to live in a country torn by war for nearly half a century: How do I keep a roof over my head? How do I feed myself and my children? How can I avoid getting killed. The ANP members did not swear allegiance to the Taliban and go off to fill their ranks. They left because they weren’t being paid and could not make a living. A dispatch tells of a group of around 40 insurgents who, after their Mullah had been killed, surrendered to US forces because they were tired of “running and hiding.” They didn’t admit that they were misguided and now accepted the West’s philosophy. They just wanted the fighting to stop.

Since the invasion and defeat of the Taliban government in 2001, NATO and the UN have imposed a top-down enforcement of institution-building in Afghanistan. Basically importing Karzai to head things and going to Warlords (some of the worst human rights violators in the world) and giving them cash and government posts. The hope seems to have been to drop a Western government from the sky onto the country and hope that it would take root. The result has been widespread corruption and nepotism. Warlords languish in their riches, accumulating more and more while the average Afghan has seen little to no improvement. In essence Afghanistan has gone from a vicious and genocidal (but predictable) dictatorship to a state of complete chaos where their lives depend on the whims of criminals and the aim of NATO fighter jets.

It is time for a rethinking of nation-building in Afghanistan. The top-down approach is not working and the basic needs of millions are still not being met. A story emerged recently (though it got very little publicity) of the success of a small Afghan community. The leaders of the town had realized that they couldn’t depend on the West for help against the Taliban and that they could depend on the Taliban to attack and conscript them so they decided on a grassroots approach. The community itself organized and trained a militia from their own ranks. To this day they have held off repeated Taliban attacks and secured their region without the help of Western aid. Their militia was referred to by an American commander as they most effective Afghan fighting force.

Take a man away from his family and town, put him in a uniform and give him a gun, put his life in constant danger, and don’t pay him anything. Chances are his support for your plans for his country will wane severely. Why shouldn’t those ANP members have deserted? What exactly were we doing for them? Take that same person, approach him in his town and offer him the basic tools for deciding his own destiny and trust can be built. It is not for us to decide what happens in Afghanistan. It is for the Afghans. An Afghan wants safety, peace and health as much as anyone else. Help is definitely needed and this is not a call for Western powers to pull out of Afghanistan. It is a call to truly, and for the first time, approach the Afghan people themselves and give them control. Undermine the Warlords and Taliban by building a horizontal base of grass-roots, village to village support. Let the villagers decide on the institutions they need and want and provide protection and support when they organize.

If anything can be said with certainty from any side of the political spectrum is that the Afghans have suffered enough. For us to replace tyranny with violent uncertainty and widespread cronyism is not helping. Let’s restart with the people and build from there.

Spirit of the Sun - Article

2010-07-26T08:45:00.000-07:00

There is an uneasy peace in the streets of Cape Town. It appears as a city under siege. Armed guards stroll aimlessly through the business district twirling their truncheons. Barbed wire and electric fences surround all buildings from high-rises to modest apartments. The occasional car passes through the rainy streets. Everything feels sterile, sanitized and cold: lifeless. The morning passes and the streets begin to fill. But still, the joyous noise and mayhem of other major African cities cannot be found here. The blacks and the whites keep to themselves as they pass with briefcases in hand. Apartheid has ended, but still, of course, the streets and alleyways are cleaned by blacks. The city’s soul is hidden under a bullet-proof vest.
Some friends and I decided to visit one of the black Townships on the outskirts of the city near the airport. On the way there, the driver takes us through the remains of the completely bulldozed ‘District Six’. It used to be a huge neighbourhood housing blacks and whites that was completely demolished in the 1960s by Apartheid authorities. The homeless were relocated to shantytown camps, one of which was named ‘Langa’ meaning ‘the Sun’. Langa was the site of some of the fiercest battles between police and freedom activists during the fall of the White Only government. I had heard it described by journalists as a “hellhole of filth, disease, and violence.”
When we arrived I felt a keen sense of exhilaration. This was the Africa I had come to see. The dirt streets were overflowing with people. Corrugated tin roof shacks were stacked together and formed the passageways for the ample traffic. Scores of curious children swarmed us as we disembarked from the van. The healthy and well-clothed tots plied us with questions and took our hands as if to give us a personal tour of their home. We wandered the streets where women cooked meet on grills and men carried wares. Though we were a curiosity for passersby we were never hindered and never felt the slightest threat.
We were soon invited into a local bar, composed of an empty, windowless shack, with a bench around the inside, a woman stirring a pot at the back, and a solitary hanging light bulb providing the only illumination. The hut was filled with men of all ages, some with woolen caps. The beer was poured into an empty paint can and passed around the room. It was offered to us and we all had a swig. No payment was accepted and we thanked our gracious hosts.
Out on the street we were directed to one of the larger concrete bunkhouses that lined the center of the township. As we walked towards the building children played soccer in the street, teenagers stole glances at us and laughed, and old men chatted huddled around corners. The afternoon sun cast the scene in a golden hue.
I am told by the driver that it can take eight years or more of waiting before a family can be offered space in one of these barracks. We enter a room not near big enough to be called a bachelor suite back home. It is home to eight families and their sleeping bags are laid out in carefully assigned positions. The matriarch of the largest family proudly shows me around. She is particularly happy to show me her night-patrol jacket. During Apartheid, Langa was controlled by brutal criminal gangs. The populace rose up and did away with that, instituting their own patrols to keep the peace. She is beaming with pride over her role in keeping her community safe. Her husband is away in the city doing menial work to pay for their living. She is left to care for the kids during the day and watch the streets at night. I ask her,
“Is there any crime in Langa?”
“No, no,” she tells me, “everyone knows everyone else.”
We walk the busy streets and chat with many people. Most hope of a better life in the city, a better job, more money. Concurrent with this we encountered a strong sense of pride in the township. People talked about future plans for community centers and schools.
We made our way over to the ‘illegal settlements’. These were shacks set up on land that the government had designated as no-go zones. These were the poorest settlements in Langa. The industriousness of the residents was impressive. One family’s shack was composed entirely of doors. One made judicious use of toilet seats. A young man emerged from his home and welcomed us over. His two beautiful daughters came out to play with us and pose for pictures. With pride, he freely welcomed us into his home and introduced his wife. He explained that he worked during the day in the city. He told us that he worked very hard to provide a better life for his daughters.
The graciousness and generosity of the citizens of Langa was overwhelming. The strong and cohesive sense of community in this place in undeniable. The goal of Apartheid was to break the blacks: to disenfranchise them, take them from their homes, to destroy their culture, to make them weak and subservient. No greater testament to the failure of those policies exists than in Langa. Langa has a soul and it is vibrant, industrious, alive, joyous, and full of hope.
Whereas Cape Town exudes a feeling of fear and the need for protection, Langa welcomes you with open arms and oozes pride and self-regeneration. The townships and their tribulations contain valuable lessons for Cape Town. At the same time, there is much that Cape Town can do for the Townships. It would be thoroughly irresponsible to write anything about Langa without mentioning the poverty. It is there in force, especially in the illegal settlements. Much more funding is needed for proper housing for the residents. Much can be also done to address the rather shameful fact that the city uses the townships as a cheap labour force. Their pay rates are never sufficient to escape the townships and provide a better life for their children.
What Langa offers Cape Town is far more long-reaching. It is the proof that forgiveness is possible and sometimes great opportunity for bridge building can come from the relics of the painful past. The joyous, vibrant and stridently life-affirming spirit of this magical place can hopefully one day infect Cape Town itself.

The Lives of Others - Article

2010-07-25T08:32:00.000-07:00

Dusk had fallen on the landscape like a thick blanket when we entered the town. Our vehicle bumped along the hole-scarred highway lined with wooden shacks. We were silhouetted by the shacks’ solitary light bulbs: the town’s only illumination. We rounded a bend and our path was blocked. A crowd of perhaps one hundred Ethiopian men danced and jumped in the street. They sang and waved their walking sticks giving us the impression that we had stumbled upon an impromptu celebration. As we inched forward into the mass, something changed in the space of an instant. The crowd enveloped the vehicle and began to shake it and beat the hood with their sticks. The reason for the change was written into their faces: they had seen my bearded white face in the back seat. Now the thump of sticks off the hood was accompanied by a multitude of outstretched hands demanding payment. In the midst of panic I realized that producing my wallet would have only worsened the situation. My sense of isolation was palpable. Regardless of the fact that I was in a vehicle with several Ethiopian friends I felt completely alone – the only white man in this corner of Africa.

After what seemed like an eternity, a man appeared shouting at the crowd and pushing them from the front of the vehicle. Our mystery benefactor cleared a small opening and we pushed forward and out of the town. As we entered the impenetrable darkness of the African night, our expedition cook turned to me from the front seat.
“They drank the local beer,” he said with a smile as calm and collected as he ever was. It was as if the situation had never weighed on his mind in the slightest.
These moments had been indicative of the best and the worst of an encounter with the Other. My difference, the colour of my skin, had been the catalyst of the meeting. Assumptions were made on both sides; neither side was capable of seeing past the prejudice of the moment to the truth of the matter. The group saw a rich westerner; an easy rube to be intimidated for benefit. I saw an unruly mob and probably imagined more danger than was really present. Yet in the end an unspoken dialogue prevailed. The man had pointed out to the crowd that they were being belligerent and putting themselves in a position of domination over me to extort reward. I was a visitor to this country and this, the man reasoned with the crowd, was highly inappropriate. This sense of action as being wrong was not Ethiopian, it was common to all humans. They left, only temporarily shamed out of song and dance to grant me a reprieve, and I departed relieved and shamed by the depth of my racially motivated fear. Nothing had been said and yet everything had been known.

The cook’s calm smile and reassuring words were important in their own right. However much we had come to know each other and however much we shared in common as human beings – we came from different worlds. In my world violence was a phenomenon most commonly experienced through watching the nightly news. Aside from the odd hallmarks of crime, such as seeing some yellow police tape in front of a local restaurant, it was largely foreign to me. And when I did see signs it was with the same grim glee as a motorist slowly driving past a highway accident.

As our vehicle drove on into the warm night, I took stock: there was an entire geography of context to understand in this country. This was a country where the proliferation of automatic weapons amongst the populace was absolutely commonplace. This was a country where the burnt carcasses of tanks and armored cars littered the fields. This was a country where a few cafes had grenades thrown into them shortly before I arrived. This was a country that had felt the despair of famine and the terror of war both in the very memorable past. A crowd of drunks haranguing one’s vehicle was barely something about which to raise an eyebrow.

Fear, however, real, unadulterated fear, is often the byproduct of a meeting with Others. In one sense it is a primal fear of the unknown harkening back to when humans existed in small clan groups and always risked encounters with other clans. As the late Polish journalist Ryszard Kapuscinski put it, we are then faced with three choices. We can fence ourselves off from the Others and pursue an isolated existence. We can enter into dialogue with them and attempt to grow stronger with each others’ help. Or, we can enter into war with the Others. All too often, one can imagine that fear triumphed and war was the result. All we have to do is look at the innumerable conflicts around the world based on perceived difference and ethnicity. The unspeakably bloody results of Rwanda, Chechnya, and Bosnia added to what we witness everyday in Darfur, push us as social actors to somehow see past impulsive prejudice and conquer the fear.

When it comes to encountering difference, dialogue is the currency of cooperation. Without dialogue how can an Israeli come to terms with someone who is willing to blow himself up to fight what he sees as unjust oppression? Without an honest attempt at mutual understanding how can the average white American understand that the motives of terrorists are more complex than just idiomatic statements like “They hate our freedom,”? However, getting beyond the fear and towards a multilateral debate with others is no easy task and the cards are stacked against any who would try. In spite of this, rising above the anxiety of contact with those who are different from us is the most important task a person may be confronted with in contributing to a full and lasting peace in the world. We must not forget that in an encounter with Others, one learns important truths about oneself. In the words of Emmanuel Levinas, “…the self is only possible through recognition of the Other.” This is not always a pleasant or welcome experience – but it is vital. We immerse ourselves in a new context of being, essentially, in a new world. We are alone and we are whole. We are no longer a pastiche of our Western friends and values. We can become the Other and understand instead of drawing back in fear.

If we look at the globe, all we see are groups of Others trying to coexist. Boundaries are everywhere demarking difference: by race, by class, by country, by religion, or on a larger scale, North vs. South, East vs. West, First World and Third World, Occident and Orient. Perhaps the boundary that matters most is one defined by inequality: the boundary between the enfranchised and the disenfranchised, the haves and the have-nots. The gulf between those with power in the cabinets and boardrooms of the world and those in the streets crying out to be heard is the most chaotic and socially explosive of global divisions. It was just such a chasm of understanding into which I fell that night in the small mountain village. The men in the street saw an outsider with means: a man whose wealth allowed him to visit their country. Mine was the face of the ‘faranji’, the face of one who hides behind a camera lens and powers through their landscape in air-conditioned range rovers. Perhaps I angered them. Perhaps they were tired of being a display for self-important travelers. Perhaps they thought I owed them something.
All around us we see fences, wars and dialogue. Those with influence and capital build walls to protect them from the Others. Theirs’ is the dialogue of alliances of groups of others seeking domination of everyone else. They view the problems of the world through the strictly reductive lens of an economic prism while hiding behind their fences of police blockades and tear gas. Not surprisingly, it is fear of Others that guides their hands. It is a fear of what such an encounter would mean and, more importantly, what it might mean to the socioeconomic status quo that they have enjoyed so thoroughly for so long. However, the policies of exclusion and the deification of economic determinism have brought us to the chasm before which we stand and a serious altering of the status quo, if not complete overhauling, is due.

It is only the dialogue of inclusion and cooperation that has any chance of bridging the gap. The World Social Forum is a commendable example of groups of Others coming together and seeking solutions through multilateral assistance. They work to give a voice to the silenced. We must never forget that the whole Othering project, which sets us apart with difference is undermined by the primacy of human experience. We all take pride in our accomplishments and regret our failures; appreciate honesty and do not accept lies; feel comfortable and safe in a warm home and feel destitute in the cold street; we all demand dignity and the right to have our voices heard. The list can go on and on. This primacy unites us all, rich and poor, and is the key to breaching the fences of our world and opening productive lines of dialogue. In an age when environmental threats couple with economic and social ones to threaten the very existence of global order, meeting the Other on common ground and realizing our ultimate sameness is fundamental to our survival.

North Shore Peak Bagging Part 3: Crown Mountain attempt #2 - Are we ever going to get to summit?

2007-07-14T15:25:00.001-07:00

Last Thursday was yet another beautiful day to some hiking. Dave and I grabbed our gear and headed to the base of grouse with the intention of summitting crown and climbing the camel; it was 11:30AM. For times sake, we took a cat track that avoided summitting grouse and then we found the "Alpine route" which skirts the slopes of Dam Mountain and Little Goat and brings you out at the top of Crown Pass. It was actually a really steep route and kind of sketchy at parts. Luckily, at this point, Dave and I were sure-footed with our crampons.

We began our descent down the 1,000 feet steep descent that is Crown Pass (we hadn't put our helmets or our safety-line on yet). The sun was shining at it was a beautiful day. Part of the way down I slipped and begen to slide down the steep slope towards the trees below. I plannted my axe by the shaft (improper self-arrest, I was supposed to use the blade). This resulted in me losing my axe and slightly faster and faster about 50 feet down the slope before I somehow manged to plant my crampons and stop myself. It was pretty scary, but all's well the ends well.

We came to Crown Pass where a couple of skiiers emerged from the Lynn Valley route. We couldn't find the path up the mountain (our big mistake). So we bush-whacked through the desnsest brush I've ever seen save from Brushing. It slowed us down greatly. However, we eventually made to the line of cliffs that demarcate the boundary between the steep lower slopes of crown, and the summit. I figured that we could save some time by simply rock-climbing and scrambling up the cliffs to the upper levels. We scrambled and climbed up the clifffs for a while before we realized the waterfalls and streams were making the rock dangerous for ascent. We came back down and realized we were out of time (so close). So we began the trudge back down, when we found the path.

We climbed Crown Pass in 45 minutes and made it back to Grouse as the light was failing at 9:30 PM. 10 hours of slogging it, I was beat for the next few days. I figure we might have to wait for all the snow to go before we can really get up to the summit. Third time's a charm maybe?

North Shore Peak Bagging Part 2: Crown Mountain and the Camel (we bit off way more than we could chew)

2007-05-15T12:19:00.000-07:00

Last thursday the weather couldn't have been better for some hiking up on the North Shore. The sky was cloudless, temperature hovered in the mid-teens and there was a slight breeze to keep things bearable. Dave and I had rented snowshoes and poles from MEC to climb our way over the various mountains that lead to Crown Mountain. I had, foolishly, packed about 70 pounds of climbing gear and protection, rope, water, jackets, food, and camera gear into my sport climbing bag in the vain hope that I would be able to haul it all to our final destination.

We arrived at the top of the Grouse Mountain gondola at about 11:30 and started off climbing Grouse. It was an easy snowshoe up a cat track but I started to realize just how overloaded my pack was. We discovered, coming down the steep path off Grouse to the base of Dam Mountain just hwo hard it is to snowshoe downhill. You really have little control of where your feet go and end up sliding all over the place. To the left is a shot of Dave on the summit of Dam which is higher than Grouse by some amount. We set off again down a steep path to the base of Little Goat Mountain. Little Goat was steeper than Dam to get up but not as long.

We paused for a little food before continuing into uncharted waters for us. We came to a point, on the saddle between Little Goat and Goat where the snow simply dropped away into the Hellishly steep valley wall of Crown Pass, a vertical drop of about 300 meters. We decided to leave our snowshoes at the top, as it was getting dangerous with them with us nearly sliding down Crown Pass, and donned our crampons and ice axes (we didn't at this point rope up or put our helmets on).

We sort of bushwhacked, cutting a traverse across the top of the pass looking for an open path down. At one point, on a 60 degree slope, both my crampons slipped out from under me and I began to slip down the slope that only got steeper and led into the trees and rocks 300 meters down. If I hadn't slammed the handle of my axe into the snow and self-arrested I would have been seriously injured if not worse. That fall sort of rattled me a little bit and I descended the rest of Crown Pass very slowly and gingerly. On the left is me at the base of Crown pass.

We had realised at the top of the saddle that we very likely wouldn't make our goal on that day, it had taken us much longer than expected to reach Crown Pass. At the base of Crown we roped up, donned helmets and harnesses and began our ascent of Crown through the trees. We made it about 200 or 300 meters up the lower sloped before we realized in was 4 PM and we had to turn around.

We staged a photo of me climbing the base of Crown. After we paused at our final point in the trek, we ate a good supply of Dave's chocolate bars for sustenance and began the Hellish trek back up the wall of Crown Pass.

Walking through wet snow with crampons is like walking up a sand dune. For every two steps you take, you slide one back. It was tiresome but we managed to achieve it in about an hour.

When we came to our snowshoes I found myself struck with a wave of euphoria. I simply felt really relaxed and generally good all over. Dave was struck with the same feeling a few minutes later. We weren't sure but we explained it away as being a rush of endorphins because our bodies were so destroyed combined with the overexposure to sun we both had that day.

It was time to get off the mountain but we still had a ways to go yet. We very slowly continued on our way, summiting Little Goat for the second time.

To the right Dave strikes a Touching the Void pose coming back up Crown Pass.

The sun was setting and making for nice pictures when we snowshoed our way back up to the summit of Dam. At this point the bag was weighing very heavily on me, my face was a picture of despair and I was descending the mountain any way I could.

At the base of Dam I came to my senses and ate a sausage, bread, a block of brie and some more chocolate. I also put on my fleece. I began to feel more human and we discovered a flat cat track that led back to Grouse.

Pretty soon we were back at the lodge, completely burnt out and realizing that if we are to climb Crown and the Camel we either have to wait for summer to melt the snow or come again with a tent and make it a 2-day outing.

Me coming back up Crown Pass.

Me looking back at the unacheivable target of the day.

North Shore Peak-Bagging Part One: Brunswick Mountain

2007-04-25T12:29:00.000-07:00

One of my goals for this summer is to climb as many of the Vancouver North Shore moutains as possible. Dave and I set our sights high when we chose Mount Brunswich for the first of our climbs. It's the highest of the North Shore peaks at 1785 meters. I checked with an old VOC friend for some data on the climb and he urged that we use ice axes and crampons in our ascent for safety's sake. I got Dave kitted out with axe, crampons and helmet at Mountain Equipment Co-op (my new employers - more to come on this) and we were set. I was eager to try out the axe and crampons I got from my Brother last Christmas.

On Sunday the 22nd of this month, Dave called me in the morning and picked me up shortly thereafter. We spent a few minutes picking up food for the climb before we headed to the small hamlet of Lion's Bay on the Sea-to-Sky Highway. Here we parked at the trailhead (we were the only car there), and began our climb up the switchbacks to our designated turn-off. It was completely fogged in and the mist blew through the trees and across our path as we continued. After about half an hour (just enough time to work up a bit of a sweat), we turned left at the fork. And headed down an old logging road towards Mount Brunswick. Unfortunately Dave's point-and-shoot was out of batteries and I had forgot my camera.

We shortly came to Magnesia Creek with a beautiful waterfall and I kicked myself for not bringing the camera. We forded the Creek and began a very long and very steep climb up deteriorating loggging road switchbacks. We reached the snowpack just below 1000 meters in elevation and struggled up to where the road ended and the Brunswick trail began at 1050 meters.

We imediately lost the trail (as we were following footprints) and began to bushwack a path straight up through the trees and steeply sloping snowpack. Very quickly we realised that we could go no further without our crampons and ice axes. We took a few minutes to put them on and then our progress picked up great speed. We fought through the trees and picked our way up the snowy slopes with relative ease but it was slow-going and very physically demanding. Some of the slopes were exposed and open amongst the trees, the steepness, Dave and I guessed, to be about 60 degrees in places. We climbed and had a great time until we looked at our watches and realized we'd never make the summit in time.

We finished our climb at about 1400 meters vertical on the western ridge of the mountain just a couple hundred meters from the rocky headwall to the summit. We'd climbed just about 1200 meters vertical over about 8 1/2 kilometers. It had been a steep and long climb and we decided to come down.

We did have some spectacular views however. The fogged cleared at times and we had commanding views of Howe Sound to our right and a very snowy and corniced Mount Harvey to our left. Once again I kicked myself for not bringing my camera. Just a few moments to slow down and breathe in the freedom of the hills.

On our descent I slipped from my grip with the crampons and went careening down steep snow slopes (often towards a terrified Dave who would have to dive out of the way). Usually the trees stopped me (a little painful). These bumslides continued as we made our way down and rejoined the long lost trail.

We were exhausted by the time we got to the logging switchbacks and it took us another 3 1/2 hours just to descend back to the car. The sun was out however and we had some beautiful views that remind me of why I live in this city and province.

Well, we failed to summit our first peak, but no matter we've resolved to come back in the summer months and do it sans snow and ice. It was a great time though and learning the tricks of axe and crampons was hard work but great fun.

Until later...

A Nairobi Story...Long overdue...

2007-04-02T17:03:00.000-07:00

*** Sorry for the long delay, mainly been searching for the right words to cover my experience in that city - it is in a word 'ambivalence', but I have no doubt that I will return to Kenya and it capitol for future climbing and trekking trips ***

Addis Ababa, from where I'd come to visit Nairobi has very Marxian streets and avenues. Huge, 16 lane streets leading to enormous traffic circles and grandstand squares built to hold thousands. The remnants of the communist Derg regime abound. There is no central downtown in Addis, just a network of major streets and squares. There are high-rises and low-rises but they pop up all along the relatively one-storey cityscape.

I arrived in Nairobi with fear in my eyes. Everything I'd read basically told me that no matter what I did, I was going to get mugged, day or night. I just wanted to get to my hotel and wait for the GAP people to pick me up to trek Mount Kenya.

As we drove I was impressed by the outskirts of Nairobi, large warehouses, and stores. When we finally got to the city core, Nairobi has one, it was a bunch of high-rises and business men and women walking on the streets. It looked recent, modern, and well-kept. I got to the hotel, and was surprised to find the GAP hadn't booked a room for me [I'm still in a battle with GAP]. But nonetheless it was pleasant.

The next day I found out from a man who'd been helping me earlier at the hotel. He was dressed in a a suit and his name was Jacob. I made the major error of assuming he worked for my hotel. He was indispensible for me, he took me on a long tour by foot of Nairobi, which I came to see was a vibrant, modern city in the swing of and economic boom. It's a bit more tropical than Addis, with verdant greeen parks just off downtown. I saw the Kenyan Parliament with Jacob and he answered all my questions about how bad the crime used to be. Apparently, the Kenyan government had launched a major crackdown on crime and police corruption and things are much better he explained.

After I'd found out that the tour people from GAP had ditched me, I resolved to spend the next 6 days in London with Pat. Jacob was great, he got me to Brtitish Airways, he helped me change the last of my Ethiopian Birr into schillings, and he got me a ride to the airport. Okay I was gullible, he was a little too perfect. He'd been explaining to me all along that there was a 70 000 schilling (100 $ Can) "departure tax" at the airport. And to put it bluntly, I trusted this man, he had acquired my 'confidence'. You can see where this story is going.

When I got to the airport, Jacob took my passport and the money to "pay off the guards so they wouldn't bother me". Through the grace of God I got my passport back and even tipped him for all his help. He told me to wait at the aiport cafe for the guard and that was the last I saw of Jacob. Once I got inside and realized I'd been taken I had to give the guy a lot of credit, he'd been so professional, well dressed, so kind and decent - just the sort of passive aggressive authority figure I would trust. Yeah I got taken, and it pissed me off, so when I say Nairobi is relatively crime free - I was being conned as I was coming to that conclusion. Oh the Irony...

Reflections on Ethiopia...

2007-02-19T07:58:00.000-08:00

This is not an African journal entry. I stopped making those when I got back to Addis. There really wasn't much to report, I was just hotel surfing and waiting for the Mount Kenya trek. At the time I was just tired of travelling and didn't do much reflection. I felt I had to rest for what was going to be an exhausting climb in Kenya.

Now, since I re-started these entries and, in a sense, relived my whole trip through them I was able to reflect on how much I learned and gained from Ethiopia. So, I was up at 5:30 this morning, I've had breakfast, showered, etc., and I'm waiting for a phone call from a prospective employer hopefully granting me an interview (I'll call him at nine if he hasn't reached me by then). Perfect time to sit down and jot some thoughts on the country and my experiences there.

Although I had originally planned to travel the country in a tour, going it alone has its advantages and disadvantages. At no point was I sheltered from the culture I had come to see. This was great. I travelled with locals, their chickens and cats as well; when I wanted to see a site I literally found someone lingering around the hotel, he'd find someone else and we'd negotiate a price just as the locals do; walking around cities and towns where I was the only white would bring out locals (in one case) who were more than happy to help me out with my problems, or just wanted to follow me around and ask questions. Concerning the latter, this eventaully became annoying: there are times, especially as a photographer, when you don't want to be approached and hassled. You want to slip into the background and effectively disappear to get your photos. Almost everywhere in Ethiopia this just was not possible. This was quite bad since it led to me taking rest days to avoid the scammers on the street and staying cooped up in a hotel instead of hitting the streets with my camera. Still, the positives of independent travel in my case outweigh the negatives.
The sites of interest themselves were living, breathing entities (except the castles of Gonder). The monasteries of Lake Tana were just that - they housed cloisters of Monks who tended to the site. The Stone churches of Lalibella were active and provided service for the locals every sunday. When you go to these places you don't have the feeling that you're visiting a tourist site (it helps that there's hardly any other tourists), you have the feeling that you're visiting an active monastery or church of immense importance to the spirit of Ethiopia. It leaves you humbled and fascinated.
Ethiopia remains the secret gem of East Africa. With the Simien mountains, and sites like Lalibella you'd think the place would be crawling with tourists. It really isn't and in a way I'm glad. Of course it would be better for Ethiopians if more tourists came (I was asked by many of the local guides I hired to encourage more tourists to come), but it's fantastic to explore the country totally solo. You get the feeling that you're bearing witness to wonders that few in the Western world (their heads filled with images of starving children when they think of Ethiopia) will ever be priviledged enough to see.
Ethiopia is making steps towards democracy but is still ruled with an iron, or aluminum fist. There's no military or police roaming the streets. But there's been problems with election fraud. I learned from people I talked with (mainly about the impending war with Somalia's Union of Islamic Courts) that people who talked badly about government policy ended up in prison. It's not nearly as bad as the Mengistu regime with its massacres, but today's Ethiopia has a long way to go in doling out democratic freedoms to it populace.

Looking back, I feel very honored and blessed to have been able to see this country in the manner in which I did. Independent travelling made for some truly local cultural experiences and enabled me to do things I wouldn't have had the option with a tour (such as the climb of Ras Dejen). Would I go back? Probably not, but that's just mainly because there are so many other places I want to go in this world.

Journey back to Addis...

2007-02-17T10:37:00.000-08:00

Day 48, November 23

I was up at a ridiculously early hour to participate in the disorganized mania of loading my bags and catching the bus to addis.

I tipped a boy to save me the seat up front right across from the driver. Our trip started off in the arid, scrub-covered mountains of the Lalibella area before progressing to flat, cultivated, relatively-treeless plains.

We made pretty slow progress; especially on hills with the driver grinding gears in a way that reminded me of my struggles with Beulah. We passed through town after town all clustered around the highway with their shacks constructed from all manner of bric-a-brac. The seeming impermanence of the towns' construction gives the impression that they just sprung from the ground.

We finally came to very mountainous terrain with verdant green peaks rising up all around us as the bus clung to the cliffside road.

After a very long day we came to the lively but unremarkable town of Dessie - our halfway point. I found a cheap room moments after leaving the bus station and later had some tibs (lamb with injera) at a local restaurant where I was clearly not welcome. I took an early night.

Day 49, November 24

I was up at 4:15 this morning to wander over to the bus station and wait for my seat in the cold. We finally got moving at about 6:20. We travelled through more of the same mountainous terrain and a few tunnels.

I don't know why I was so eager to to get the front seat, itkilled my knees and the bumpy ride bruised my tailbone the entire way. I spoke with an Australian couple (the only other faranjis besides me) who had been travelling for a month and were en route to the Omo region of the south. I wish I had enough money and time to head in that direction.

We finally came to the crowded outskirts of Addis after a long day's drive. I started to notice my skin colour again after a long time without caring. The bus station was hectic but I found a cab to the National Hotel. It feels like I've been travelling for ages and its only been three weeks.

I'm going to have to while away the time here in Addis before the Mount Kenya trek that I am greatly looking forward to. Although, the prospect of Nairobi does frighten me.

The Eighth Wonder of the World and its hidden gems...Part Two

2007-02-16T14:40:00.000-08:00

Day 44, November 19

Today was unremarkable except that I was invited to Abeje's for lunch. He lives in a small house with his girlfriend on a dirt road near the hotel.

We were served very spicy doro wat with pepsis. Ethiopian spice is really nothing to downplay. You can feel the burn going down your throat. Afterwards I had a couple of cups of fresh coffee which was very nice.

It was quite nice to have a meal outside of the hotel; Abeje and his girlfriend were nothing if not hospitable. It was quite heartening for him to welcome me into his house in the way he did.

Day 45, November 20

Today we set off very early in a 4x4 to visit some of the churches outside Lalibella. The road was very bumpy as it descended from the mountain and travelled through the arid, scrub-covered mountains of the region.

After about an hour we reached the village of Bilballa. We turned off the main road and followed a smaller, steeper track back into the mountains. We stopped in a vilage and hiked up a long flight of wooden stairs until we came to a huge, semi-circular cave with water dripping off the top.

A priest eventually showed up and let us into the compound beneath and inside the cave. There a beautiful brown & white, marble and wood church was situated. It had many windows with cruciform patterns and had horizontal band patterning to it.

We were led to a communal graveyard at the back of the cave where countless skeletons were piled. With the bats it was relatively creepy. Abeje said I could take a picture; the thought of taking a picture didn't cross my mind. Let the dead rest.

The church was that of Yebranos Christos and was built in the 12th Century, before Lalibella. We were let inside to see the patterned arches and rooftop. The church was built on olive wood flooring and effectively sat above a basement of water. It was quite the sight.

On the way back to the main road, we stopped at a relatively unremarkable-looking, semi-monolithic church. It was the baptismal site of King Lalibella and was built in the 6th Century by King Caleb of the Axumite Empire.

It amazes me that these structures have withstood the test of time and are still standing. Inside we were shown the oldest relic yet: a goatskin book written in Ge'ez from the 6th Century.

It was quite an eye-opening day that just highlighted how ensconced in history Lalibella is. These structures serve as a true testament to the power of faith.

Day 46, November 21

Today was a pretty unremarkable rest day. It was pouring rain in the town - it made me a bit homsesick for Vancouver.

I took a walk uptown and managed to get hassled for money only about a half dozen times.

Day 47, November 22

Today Abeje and I hitched a ride with the hotel taxi to see the cave Church of Nakuta La'ab about 7 km from town.

The church was absolutely stunning. Perched underneath a natural cave with a stream dropping in front from above. The church was built in the 13th Century and then rebuilt in the 19th after a natural disaster. The interior was filled with tiny natural pools being filled with holy water from the cave. We were shown many Church treasures by the priest including crowns, processional crosses, and a basket decorated with silver and gold.

I had a lovely vegetarian lunch at Abeje's with tea. Tonight we a re heading uptown to arrange a bus ticket for me to Addis.

I will definately miss the plentiful wonders of this town.

The Eighth Wonder of the World and its hidden gems...Part One

2007-02-16T13:05:00.000-08:00

Day 40, November 15

Today has been a rest-and-recovery day from trekking. I must admit I'm getting quite fed up with all the scammers in the streets [of Gonder]. I've arranged an early morning bus ride to Shire at which point I either bed down or catch a minibus to Axum.

Day 41, November 16

I missed my bus ride to Axum so I've spent another day cooped up in Gonder. I got a little Christmas shopping done though.

I've decided to cut Axum out of my itinerary and am instead flying to Lalibella in the morning.

Day 42, November 17

Today was taken up by a flight from Gonder to Lalibella. It was a very short flight over the Simien highlands in this ravine-ravaged land. I met an American couple from Boulder, Colorado and we talked about everything from Ethiopia to American politics (they were distinctly anti-Bush).

I'm treating myself to a very nice, up-market hotel in the town. Lalibella is perched on a mountainside and is very scenic with its two-storey, cylindrical peasant huts with thatched roofs standing alongside more modern structres built from cinderblock and mortar.

Day 43, November 18

Today I learned who Lalibella is considered the Eighth Wonder of the World.

We started off early with me meeting my local guide, Abeje, at the hotel entrance. We walked up the bumpy cobble-stone streets until we came to the entrance where I paid a hefty entrance fee to a random man who ran off to get me my receipt (I did get it of course, I just love the laissez faire attitude of African commerce - Everything happens on African time).

The churches are amazing feats of construction, there's just no other way of putting it. The first one, Bet Maryam (House of Mary), was huge: over 30 meters long, over 20 meters wide and 10 meters high. The designs are very intricate and laced with numerical meaning. There might be 12 windows representing the twelve apostles; 3 pillars at each corner representing the holy trinity, 7 crosses on a processional cross respresenting the 7 miracles, and so forth. All the churches are subterraenian.

Most of the churches are monolithic = cut from a single stone with 12th Century tools (i.e. hammer and chisel alone). Apparently it took 40,000 workers and 23 years to build the compounds.

The inside of the churches are dark and atmospheric and pungent with the smell of dry straw which is laid beneath their rugs and carpets. There are many different cruciform designs cut into the rock. There was usually a painting or two depicting Saintly feats and Biblical stories.

The churches are linked by narrow passageways and, in one case, a long, pitch-black, underground tunnel. This gives the impression of an entire underground city. Active services for the residents of Lalibella take place within these churches every sunday. This is an ancient, holy city that still lives and breathes.

Each church had a priest who was happy to display the ornate processional crosses with each point and knob indicating apostles, doves, archangels, miracles, etc. It's very beautful and ridiculously intricate metalworking. I hope my pictures turn out (it was very dark inside the churches).

At lunch-time we went to the Saturday market. A roiling mass of people selling their ware; this was the true sub-Saharan market that I had been wanting to explore. There was tef, honey (which I got to taste), sorghum, salt, and textiles. It was cramped but such is its nature and I was excited and snapping away with my camera.

Exploring the church compound took all day and it was very exhiliarating. Moreso than the monasteries of Bahir Dar, or the castles of Gonder, The churches of Lalibella have truly struck me with awe. That their wonder is not known wider than Ethiopia boggles my mind. Everywhere you walk you're humbled by their prescence and deeply struck by being so close to something Holy. Today has definately been a highlight of the trip.

Ras Dejen and the Simien Mountains...Part two

2007-02-15T11:13:00.000-08:00

Day 35, November 10

We started early in the morning today for what we thought would be a 7-hour trek. The path first descended from Geech plateau to the river that runs between the two highlands. After that it was a steep and lengthy climb up the other plateau. When we came to the 3900-4000 meter range I found myself feeling the altitude quite a bit.

The plateau pinnacled at a small summit known as Inatye. At 4070 meters it's my first 4000 meter summit for me in these mountains. The plateau simply dropped off into a kilometer-deep cliff gorge from the summit and we had great views of the lowlands as well as Imet Gogo. We had lunch there and the clouds rolled in to blanket the summit.

As we began our down-climb to Chennek camp we passed a few shepherds with their flocks. The opposite side of the plateau was a very steep descent that our path traversed. We passed through a large troupe of Gelada baboons that were clearly irritated by our prescence (they lift their eyebrows and bare their teeth when annoyed).

On occaision we would come to breaks in the plateau cliff-ridge where we took in striking views of the clifs and peaks enshrouded in cloud. At one break we spotted a herd of nine young Walia Ibex. They were at quite a distance scampering down the sheer cliffsides.

At the bottom of the plateau wall was the roadleading to camp. My guide says I'm the strongest person he's ever hiked with. We pushed a 7-hour trek in 4 1/2.

Tomorrow we climb higher than I ever have before. The camp is completely fogged in right now and it's quite cold.

Day 36, November 11

No two ways about it, today was a long slog. We started off by heading to the cliffsides near Chennek camp in search of Ibex. We were rewarded with a few of the animals perched on the cliffs near a group of baboons (with whom they share a symbiotic relationship).

At one point a huge old Walia Ibex with grey and white coat, a billy-goat beard, and 2-foot-long arching horns passed no more than 20 feet away from us.

From the cliffs it was a steep climb through rocky terrain up to Bwahit Pas. At 4200 meters it's the highest I've ever been and although I was certainly feling the altitude it was not nearly as bad as I remember Morocco's Jbel Toubkal being.

From the pass we descended steeply over 1000 meters vertical. A few hours passed before we came to the village of Chiro Leba where I had a pepsi and some injera with chili. After the village we continued down to a river-bed before another steep climb to the camp. The last climb really took it out of me.

All told we travelled 17 kilometers today. Tomorrow it's a steep climb to the summit of Ras Dejen, Ethiopia's highest point, and Africa's 4th or 5th (the guidebooks can't decide).

Day 37, November 12

I'm resting in my tent right now with very tired legs and a general feeling of being put through the ringer. Such are the joys of trekking.

The day started off with us leaving camp at about 5:30, long before the sun had risen. The first part of the hike was a straight vertical slog up the valley behind Ambiko camp. We came to the small village of Mizma and my guide pointed out a funeral service underway. The locals were standing in a circle and chanting lowly, I was told they were praying. We turned at the village and went straight up the valley wall.

After that, the trail continued uphill by skirting the buttresses of several mountains before turning directly uphill. It was mid-morning when we reached the 4200 meter pass of Dashen Burr. After the pass the trail was fairly reasonable but the altitude forced me to stop for breaks every five minutes.

We finally came to the base of a large, crown-shaped rock face that was the summit of Ras Dejen. We scrambled the last few pitches and triumphantly arrived at the highest point in Ethiopia at 4543 meters (nearly 15,000 feet). There is definately something to be said for standing on top of a peak that it decidedly higher than everything else around you. The phrase "Top of the world" really does seeem to apply to your state of mind. I was completely elated to be on top, filled with the sensation of a natural high.

I added a rock to the cairn and selected a summit stone for myself. The views of the surrounding ranges were spectacular. The hike back down was a great deal easier but it took its toll on my legs. I will sleep well tonight.

Day 38, November 13

We started off at a reasonable hour this morning and hiked down through Ambiko valley to the riverbed. After that we had a steep climb of about 500 meters vertical to Chiro Leba. The 1000+ meters vertical climb of Bwait was looming heavy over my head and I decided we should take the easy way out.

We all rode mules up the zig-zagging and rocky path to Bwait Pass. It was a bumpy but fairly comfortable ride. From the pass it was just a lengthy descent to Chennek camp. Near the bottom we saw a herd of about 20 Walia Ibex intermingling with Gelada baboons at close range. So ends my trekking in the Simiens.

Day 39, November 14

Most of today was wasted waiting at Chennek camp for our ride to arrive. My guide and I walked over to the cliffs to look for Ibex (no luck). I spent a good deal of time wathcing two troupes of Gelada and studying their movements. To my disappointment they didn't have one of their noisy territorial matches and spent their time eating roots. I had some delicious spicy potatos and injera at the rangers' camp before the ride showed up in the afternoon (there had been a flat tire).

We drove back to Gonder in the darkness of evening which made dodging people, cattle, and sheep quite a challenge for the driver.

Ras Dejen and the Simien Mountains...Part one

2007-02-15T00:20:00.000-08:00

Day 32, November 7

Today began my 8-day trek into the Simien Mountains of the Ethiopian highlands. It started with a comfortable ride in a range rover from Gonder to the highland town of Debark. There I met my guide and we took on an armed park scout.

We drove for a while towards the first camp before the guide, myself and the scout got out an hiked. The mountains are very striking and unique in that they seem to begin where the land simply drops off for a kilometer or so down the side of the highlands. The highlands form a series of sloped plateaus that the hiking trail follows. Off the edge are tremendous cliffs and steep ridges that fall down towards the cultivated land of the lowlands.

We literally walked through the middle of a couple of Gelada baboon troupes. They have little fear of humans; though they are wary of our scout's gun.

Today's hike was relatively easy for about 2 1/2 hours or 7 kilometers. We were above 3000 meters and I found myself huffing a lot. We're now at Sankaber camp (3250 meters) for the night.

Day 33, November 8

Today was a strenuous uphill trek through some stunning countryside. We started off after an extended breakfast (our cook is amazing) and actually descended from Sankaber camp into a deep valley between two plateaus. After a couple of hours or so we came to a viewpoint overlooking the cliffs, ridges, and towering peaks that edge off the highlands. Central to the view was a 600-meter waterfall effectively linking the highland valley with the cultivated lowlands.

The next portion was straight uphill on the steep valley wall heading for the road. I was huffing like mad but I kept up a decent pace. We continued to climb on the road meeting a few shepherds and Gelada baboons along the way.

We lunched down in the valley at the river that lead to the waterfall. The final section was a steep climb up the opposite valley wall through barley and flax fields. After some time we came to a collection of large conical peasant huts that marked the village of Geech. Entirely Muslim, the village supports about 700 people.

We had made good time so we stopped at a family's hut for some coffee. The coffee preparation was from scratch and quite involved. First the woman washed the beans in water before cooking them over the fire on a flat pan. She then used a large mortar and pestle to crush them into a powder. She then added the powder to boiling water and served up. Even though I really don't like coffee I had two cups and found it strong and delicious. It was served with injera and some ridiculously spicy chili.

After the village of Geech we climbed past the tree-line into rocky, high alpine moorland. We reached Geech camp in record time at 3600 meters altitude. We had trekked about 12 kilomters in 4 1/2 hours. Other trekkers have made it to the camp now; the sound of Amharic is in the clean, cool air. There's a peace and tranquility in these hills that is sorely lacking from the mania of the cities. It is very refreshing. Mules are milling about (we've gone away from the road) and I find myself looking forward to dinner (last night's was superb).

Tomorrow, I have a feeling, will be quite a long, steep climb. My lungs have taken a beating but my guide says I keep a fast, strong pace. I look forward to the upcoming peaks.

Day 34, November 9

Today we started off at a reasonable hour and headed for our first summit. It was a steadily uphill journey for 5 kilometers through alpine moorland dotted with giant ilobelia plants.

As we neared the summit of Imet Gogo there were spectacular views of a kilometer deep gorge to the south where the plateau dropped off and equally stunning views of the towering peaks sprouting from steep ridgelines to our north. The plateau we were on tapered off into a small, rocky pinnacle that was the summit. There was a minor scramble to reach the top of the summit at 3926 meters. In spite of the altitude I wasn't huffing that badly.

We trekked to two more viewpoints along the plateau edge on the journey back to camp. They both afforded great views of both the lowlands and the peaks in between.

The cloud cover has rolled in right now and it's quite cold at camp. I'm drinking tea and, as always in these mountains, looking forward to dinner.

The Castles of Gonder...

2007-02-14T15:43:00.000-08:00

*** Sorry for the long hiatus, I've been ill and seeking work in Vancouver. I'll pick this up again and keep going until I have all the entries. I'll also upload a whack of photos to the blog after the written entries are down. Yes there's desert, but eat your vegetables first. ***

Day 30, November 5

Today was composed primarily of a mini-bus trip from Bahir Dar to Gonder. After switching buses (really just cramped toyota 70s mini-vans) in Bahir we began our stop-and-go trip through the flat-farmland with the occaisional tree.

The mini-bus seemed to stop for every Ethiopian on the road and the trip was slow-going. At times space was shared with small children, a chicken, and a cat.

Large and heated discussions the nature of which I can only guess, were had in every small town along the way. As is usual in this country, the road was filled with people, meandering cows and donkeys, and the occaisional oxen cart.

We eventually headed into some high hills that I guessed to be the foothills of the Simien Mountains. A few rocky towers jutted from the tree-covered hills. The slopes of the hills were covered with terraced farmland.

Now I am in Gonder. Tomorrow I plan to see the castles and sort out my Simien tour.

Day 31, November 6

This morning, as I went in search of the post and telecom building, I developed a pre-pubescent entourage that seemed intent on practicing their english and getting to know me. In any event, they proved helpful as they led me to a phone where I got a hold of my local Simien tour operator Bedassa.

I met Bedassa at the hotel and we chatted. Everything is set for my trek to begin tomorrow. He explained that Gonder was the "Camelot of Africa" because of its castles. I had spied these buildings down a road during my morning search and took it upon myself to go and explore. I stealthily ditched my entourage first.

The castle compound was very impressive. A total of six 17th Century palaces are in the area. Some have been reduced to ruin while others stand as if new. Their designs are quite unique with domed cupolas and high parapets. In a couple you can freely wander from room to room and out onto promenades. I found myself taking many pictures. Apparently, as a wayward guide told me, each castle was constructed by a separate emperor.

My entourage found me outside the castle compound. There are sometimes when you don't want to be accompanied. I'm back at the hotel now looking forward to the mountains.

Bahir Dar and the Lake Tana monasteries...

2006-12-29T15:15:00.000-08:00

Day 27 Nov. 2

What a day! It started off early in Addis at 3 AM. I had booked transportation to Bahir Dar the day before with the hotel mananger. He basically laid out a travel itinerary with guides and hotels recommended.

I went to the hotel gates to wait for what I expected to be a minibus. A toyota truck was already there loading gear. After a while I was approached by a man from the truck who told me it was my ride. I cautiously piled in and we raced around the darkened streets of Addis with the men inside chattering away in Amharic. I felt like Kapuscinski in the middle of a situation that excited me but whose nature was beyond me.

We picked up an Ethiopian woman and an Israeli man whose name I would later learn was Adam. With all passengers on board we raced out of the city and into fertile farmland dotted with large green trees.

It was quite cool and mist was in the fields. The road was filled with people and animals. Most people had their heads wrapped in blankets for warmth while carrying walking sticks or switches (if they were hearding goats or cows).

If cars have the right of way in Ethiopia, there'd be no way of tellling it. The roads teemed with people and we had a few near misses with people and animals.

Of the people: There were shepherds, old women, girls carrying firewood and large gourds of water, groups of children (some tending animals), and the occaisional individual with an AK-47.

Of the towns along the way: true Africa - naked and unwashed. Dirt streets with ramshackle shacks serving as stores and restaurants. People swarmed through the streets and herds of animals shared the road with trucks.

At one point we emerged from the rolling, tree-covered hills and the cultivated valley floors to find ourselves climbing down the side of a massive gorge. The Blue Nile snaked its way along the bottom.

It took us the better part of an hour to descend into the gorge and easily an hour to climb out again. It was hazy from the heat but still a magnificent sight.

We stopped for a drink and a bite to eat after the gorge. I was treated to injera (Ethiopian flatbread - kind of like a huge grey-coloured sourish-tasting panacake) with lamb by one of the passengers.

We continued to drive through the fertile fields of sunflowers, tef, and even canola with shacks and peasant huts dotting the expanse.

The whole drive was quite the experience and a clear exposure to the Africa I've come to see (especially the towns).

Day 28 Nov. 3

This morning I was awakened by a host of birds outside the hotel room. I decided I wanted to see the monasteries of Lake Tana. After some negotiations with a guy I had run into yesterday I was on a boat with a guide and another Ethiopian.

The boat was fairly slow as we motored into the lake. Pelicans we present as we a few fisherman paddling about in small reed fishing vessels. After half and hour or so we arrived on a jungle-covered island. a set of stone stairs led the way through the foliage and past huge spider nets to the monstery of Kibran Gebriel.

A local monk hosted us in the monastery museum. It was filled with relics from the 13th Century - when the monastery was built. He showed us intricate crosses and ancient texts (some with pictures) written in Ge'ez (the Ethiopian equivalent to Latin or Sanskrit).

The monastery itself was a cylindrical stone building with a conical grass roof (which was protected from erosion by sheet metal). Inside was a huge cube-centre painted with various religios scenes.

On the way out we stopped and ate some injera with spice provided by another monk. The monks hovered in the background on the island. Our guide greeted many of them.

Back on the boat we headed to two more island monasteries. The monk of the final island showed off a 900-year-old text written on goatskin.

The feeling of history in this part of Ethiopia is palpable. Robed monks share the sidewalks with beggars and pedestrians.

It was a fascinating day and the first taste of the history I've come to see in this part of the world.

Day 29 Nov. 4

Today was a do-nothing rest day. One venture bears mentioning though.

I went out into the town in search of a telecom to call my folks. I was soon approached by a man who introduced himself as John and started talking. He said Ethiopians think of Canada as being "the moon" ("very peaceful"). With his help I was soon down a dirt road at a shack with 3 beaten-up phones. When the number didn't work I soon had my own entourage of Ethiopians leading me to another store. John and Ephrim went out of their way to help me and asked nothing in return. It was quite the heartening experience.

Exit Windhoek enter Addis Ababa...

2006-12-19T11:07:00.000-08:00

*** Bakc in rainy and storm-ravaged BC, will continue posts and should have some pictures later in the week. ***

Day 24 Oct. 30

I'm sitting outside Windhoek international waiting to check into my flight and reflecting on my time in Namibia.

I went for a sun-downer with 2 British tourists and Mack, a black fellow of about my age who works at the resort. As we sat and watched the sun go down in a cloudless sky, Mack sang the Namibian anthem for us and said he was proud to be a Namibian. Reflecting, I remarked that Namibia is similar to Canada in the respect that the two are countries of shifting landscapes. The main difference is that in Namibia you can drive through four or five of these uniquely different landscapes in the space of a day whereas in Canada many more days are required.

My favorite landscape in Namibia would have to be Sesriem and the Sossusvlei. Sitting on the pink dunes of the Namib expanse and watching the sun's rays bring out the iron-red of the mountains and the radiant yellow of the grass plains and the deep green of the Camel Thorn trees was spectacular.

Also, the juxtaposition of the curved dead trees, the grasslands and the huge salmon-coloured dunes rising behind was quite striking and made for good photography.

Learning of the Bushman culture has stirrred me to learn more and one day visit the Kalahari desert.

The landscape around Sesriem and Sossusvlei screamed Africa to me and was unfortgettable.

My experiences in Etosha highlighted the otherworldliness of this place. Watching the African giants lumber about or group silently at the waterhole was amazing. It was a grand time I had in this country and hiking in the Tsaris canyons gave me more time to appreciate its hidden beauty. Now it's off to Ethiopia for Halloween.

Day 25 Oct. 31

I slept on the flight to Nairobi and I slept most of the way into Addis Ababa. Coming into the airport was amazing. Gone were the dry colours of Namibia, they were replaced with a broken and slivered chessboard of lush green farmers' fields. Olive, hunter, and saphire green fields as far as the eye could see. The city was hemmed in by completely foliated dark green mountains.

I changed my money at the airport and was ushered to a cab by a helpful man. Tipping was the norm.

You can feel this country's poverty from the start. As my cabbie drove through gridlocked streets my cab was approached by all ages of beggars: an old woman, a young woman with baby on back, and childreen selling kleenex.

The city as I have seen it is a hodge-podge of low rises, giant squares, and dillapidated shack stores that are the same in description as the ones in the Cape Town township tour.

This is the sub-Saharan Africa I came to see. The poverty is everywhere but so is the heart and the otherworldly beauty I've yet to fully come to understand yet appreciate a great deal.

I was a bit overwhelmed so I'm hiding in my hotel room at the old and basic but comfortable Itegue Taitu hotel.

I get the feeling that I'm one of very few tourists in this city.

Day 26 Nov. 1

I ended up sleeping off jet-lag and not exploring last night. Early this morning Shehebo Halil, my cab driver from the airport, showed up to take me to the Mercato (reputed to be the largest open-air market in Africa).

We drove straight into the madness and Shehebo offered his services as a guide. Donkeys laden with produce, herds of goats, lines of cars, and a roiling mass of people all shared the main thoroughfares of the market.

The ground was mud in some places and wet cobble-stone in others. We walked the narrow alleyways of the market through the used materials section where plastic containers, bits of metal, bits of leather, and rubber were all transformed from their prior uses into some new thing of use.

I didn't find the market intimidating by my guide advised me to keep a good hold of my camera.

In the cramped passageways of the marlet we brushed by men, women, and children all going about their business. We travelled through the woven district, the metalworks district (where nothing was heard save the clanking of hammers), and the leatherworks area. We also visited areas with sacks of coffee beans, spices, and garlic. At one point I was offered hashish.

It was an exhiliarating experience and in the cramped but alive alleyways and streets I got a taste of true sub-Saharan African daily life.

Tomorrow Shehebo is picking me up to take me to the mini-bus that goes to Bahir Dar.

Zebra River Lodge and the Tsaris Mountains...Part 2

2006-11-17T07:04:00.000-08:00

Day 19

Today I was to walk the 10 kilometer Olive trail in the Naukluft mountains. I drove out to the area with one of the workers. We saw ostriches and springbok as we went.

Unfortunately, at the Naukluft ranger station, we were informed that a hiker had gone missing. A few rangers were sitting around waiting for a helicopter from Windhoek.

Apparently, he'd been in a large group of hikers on the long Waterkloof trail when he decided he couldn't make it the whole way. He decided to go back on his own and, surprisingly, his hiking partners let him. His partners made it back and he did not.

Just another reminder of how dangerous this land is when one is careless.

We saw another troupe of baboons on the way back. I heven't done much but read today. I have another big hike planned for tomorrow morning.

***Note: The missing hiker was found the same day by the helicopter.***

Day 20

After a very late (post-noon) start today I set off to hike the Kudu loop.

The trail started off easily enough climbing slightly and following cairns along the canyon wall below limestone shale cliffs. After an hour or so the path turned into a large canyon and climbed steeply over several kilometers to a high plateau in the Tsaris.

Once I reached the high ground I lost track of the cairns and set off on my own traversing the plateau ridge. I came to a point where I could see the lodge far down below. Between myself and there stood a very steep decline and several bands of limestone shale cliffs.

I slowly headed down and only came to realiuze how high the cliffs were once I was right on top of them.

I traversed the top of each cliff band before I found a scramble route down that seemed feasible. Once the cliffs were conquered I recalled Coleridge's descent of Fat Man's peril and loudly trumpeted the triumph of reason over nature (as with Coleridge it was really just blind luck).

Having found my way to the valley bottom I set off overland in the rough direction of the lodge until I rejoined the cairns I'd been following.

After one more cliff descent I made it through the dry river-bed back to the lodge.

A dip in the pool amongst the bees and some Wallerstein have capped off my day.

Day 21

Today we were up early and off to Windhoek for supplies. We startled a springbok as we drove to the main road.

We drove through the dry savannah spotted with green camel-thorn and fig trees amongst the scrub. Huge boulder hills gave way to rolling hills covered with vegetation as we reached the city. The beautiful jacaranda trees, with their purple flowers, still dotted the city.

Rob dropped me off downtown where I needed to pick up Rx and money. It was to be my first afternoon alone in a sub-Saharan, black-African city.

I admit that I was a bit nervous at first. I suppose I was waiting for the hawkers and hustlers to pull me into their game. However, only paper-boys wanted my money and they are easy to fend off.

I had a lovely lunch at thge Cafe Zoo before heading off to the streets. There was a huge youth festival going on and the adjacent park was filled with a tourist market.

I was probably the scruffiest individual there with my beard, Che Guevara shirt and sandals. Nonetheless the Namibians were friendly and a few said hello.

At one point a huge thunder, rain, and lightning storm passed overhead and myself and a bunch on Namibians crowded under the protection of a huge tree.

After a while of waiting for Rob being in the visible minority became a bit taxing. Everyone stares and since I can't speak Africaans or Nama I couldn't understand their comments. A few teenagers walked by and yelled "wassup my nigga!" at me. It was in good fun. Still the staring and comments become irritating and you have the urge to say "What are you staring at?" I didn't and the urge passed. Windhoek does have a relaxed vibe to it and I enjoyed my afternoon downtown nonetheless.

A further note on wildlife in the morning: we saw ostriches driving in, I saw a black-backed jackal and we all saw a troupe of baboons at the police checkpoint outside the city.

On our way back to the lodge after stopping for gas at Reheboth, we saw rabbits, a fox, a scorpion, a tiny steenbock, and two Kudu (think African elk).

Only a few days before I go to Ethiopia. I'm nervous but ready for the next leg of this adventure.

Day 22

Lazy day today. Shaved off my huge beard (it only tookk 4 razors).

Read a lot of Wallerstein and had an epiphanous moment regarding the article I mean to write for adbusters.

Tomorrow I think I'll do the canyon walk or possibly go up to Gail's cave.

Day 23

After a late-morning start I decided to do the short hike to Gail's cave in the canyon across from the lodge.

On my way out I startled a large troupe of Baboons. When I made it to the dry riverbed I saw and heard three large males perched on a clif-side and barking out warnings at me. I barked back and got a couple of good photographs of them on the cliffside.

The real treat came later. I went off the 4x4 track, crossed a fence and traversed in front of the buttressed cliff faces looking for the cave. My attention was startled by hoof beats and I looked up to see 13 to 16 mountain zebra traversing the valley floor and climbing the cliff face with ease. I whipped out my zoom lens and got a few shots of the herd galloping along the cliff side. I consider it quite a blessing to have spotted such rare animals twice now in my time at the lodge. It's a nice way to say goodbye to the wilderness on my last day.

I made it to the cave and had some water. I took my time surveying the unique landscape of the Tsaris mountains before I mosied down the 4x4 trakc back to the lodge.

For the remainder of the day I have one lat swim planned and a good deal of Wallerstein to read.

I'll definately miss this part of Namibia when I leave tomorrow. I had some good hikes in landscape I probably won't see again. I've met some interesting people though it's unfortunate no one was even remotely close to my age. It's been good to have some time to get a better feel for teh true beauty of Namibia that I find lying in its shifting landscape and hidden gems. It's a shame I never got to visit a true Himba village to experience some of the culture. but that is reason to come back.

Zebra River Lodge and the Tsaris Mountains...Part One

2006-11-15T04:00:00.000-08:00

*** Just got back to Gonder after 8 days of trekking (120 km!) in the Simien mountains. I'm exhausted but happy to say that I made it to the summit of Ras Dejen (4,543 meters). Tomorrow I'm off by hook or crook to Axum. ***

Day 15

After waiting for a while in Windhoek I was picked up by Rob and we set off for the Zebra River lodge.

We eventually came to the Naukluft mountain range. A long chain of peaks rose up on our right. Apparently, the trails are not well maintained and I was told of stories of hikers wandering off and becoming lost for days.

The lodge is quite nice and nestled into a veritable maze of canyons with pancaked rock layers rising to flat-topped plateaus. It's very peaceful here and I look forward to some hiking in preparation for the Simiens in Ethiopia.

Day 16

Last night was a great introduction to the warm and familial atmosphere at the lodge. Many of Rob and Marriana's extended family and friends were staying over and we had a delightful dinner featuring tasty Kudu as the highlight. The conversation was jovial and I was made to feel as part of the family.

After a lovely breakfast of cereal and hot-from-the-oven muffins, Neil (a retired English policeman who now lives in Cape Town) and I were driven to a gap in the fence by Rob. We started our hike along the grey sands and sculpted rock of the dry river-bed. We heard all manner of birdlife including the rosy-face lovebirds chattering in the cover of the large, green fig trees.

It was starting to heat up significantly as we followed the riverbed towards the pancaked and red limestone strata of the canyonlands. We saw a large scorpion scampering over the rocks. Neil indicated that its large tail displayed its menace and that I would be in some trouble if I was stung by it.

We followed the streambed into the canyon and spotted a large troupe of baboons on the cliff-side keeping a keen eye on us and barking amongst each other. The flaked rock of the canyonenclosed on either side of us and we noted that we were being followed by two or three male baboons who barked warnings as we climbed through the rock.

We came to a small spring overrun with beetles and bees. Neil told me that a group of Germans he was guiding had come across a spitting cobra in that area. We found the shed skin of a large snake.

We climbed out of the canyon in the heat towards the flat-topped high-grounds of the Tsaris mountains. Our baboon escorts had left at that point. After a good steep climb, we made the high-grounds where the breeze and the level trail provided some relief from the searing heat. We rounded a corner and Neil and I spotted a group of five mountain zebra. Neil pointed out that I was a 'lucky man' as they are rarely spotted by hikers. They gallopped along the steep and rocky slope with great agility. They were a beautiful sight.

We continued along, traversingcanyons and once again descending to dry riverbed with its fig trees filled with noisy and startled parrots. We joined another trail and silently slogged our way back to the lodge for a lovely lunch. It was a five hour hike in the blazing sun. If I do smaller hikes once a day while I'm here i should be fit as a fiddle for the Simiens. Right now I think I'll go for a swim; African bees and wasps be damned!

Day 17

Lazy day today. Napped and swam in the pool. Quite the hike planned for tomorrow morning.

Day 18

I just finished my first self-guided hike for 4 1/2 hours on the Canyon walk. I got a late start this morning (10:00 AM) and though there was a breeze for relief, the heat of the Namibian summer was already beating down.

The trail climbed steadily as it clung to the cliff escarpment of a huge and picturesque canyon in the Tsaris. Limestone shale slipped off the trail as I clambered around another and then another abutment along the canyon wall.

It's the heat that really taxes you on these hikes. My water was already hot by the time I needed to use it. After a few hours the trail zig-zagged up a rocky canyon coulee and I made for the high-ground. Once there I was privy to the fantastic maze of canyons, dry riverbeds, and pancaked limestone that stretch as far as I could see.

I walked along the top of a cliff, past a hilly peak called 'Neil's Hump' and scrambled down a few small limestone faces to hasten my return to camp.

I've just finished off a wonderful lunch (everything is luxury to me at this place). Now I'm going for a swim (I was radiating heat when I got back) and a short nap afterwards.

Etosha...

2006-11-04T03:37:00.000-08:00

***Sorry the posts haven't been up to date, finding usable internet in Ethiopia is a bit difficult. Etosha and Namibia seem a world away now, but I'll keep faithfully posting this journal.***

Day 12

Last night at the campsite we had a truly special moment that I would classify as another 'Viva Africa'. A group of local women came to our fire and serenaded us with African songs. How to describe them; filled with energy and happiness the songs were distinctly African.

We arrived in the Etosha pan today after a short stop-off at a petrified forest. There we saw all manner of lizards and 60 - 80 million-year-old spruce. For some weird reason I had it in my head that the trees would be standing. They weren't and I was a little disappointed.

As soon as we arrived in Etosha with its flat grasslands and abundance of trees we saw animals. First came a herd of Zebra.

Next we saw 3 giraffes munching away at foliage. It is a truly bizarre and beautiful animal. It was at that moment, while taking pictures of the gangly, other-worldly animal, that Kapuscinski's words rang true for me. Africa really is a universe unto itself. As a continent with a name it exists only in our minds.

Soon we're going for an afternoon game drive. I really hope to see some big cats.

Day 13

Last night and today has been all about the animals. We had our first game drive last night and we weren't disappointed.

Oryx and Springbok abounded in the brush. Black-faced impala and a pair of black-backed jackals also made an appearance. Herds of zebra mosied around. At one waterhole, 3 female lions and six cubs played. It was great to see the big cats. Wilderbeests were also here and there.

The real treat came as we drove back to the resort. A huge, old elephant lumbered with a lightning storm as a back-drop.

We had a jackal prowling our camp during dinnertime and later in the evening at the floodlit waterhole I watched a black rhino have a mexican stand-off with 6 giraffe.

We began our drive early today and were rewarded with 2 male lions at a waterhole with a jackal picking at remains off to the side. We saw an abundance of birdlife and 4 more lions later on.

Later we saw a herd of zebra intermingling with a herd of elephants. Earlier in the morning at the floodlit waterhole we watched 4 elephants drinking. Eventually we came to plains shared by zebra, oryx, springbok, wilderbeest, and giraffe.

The floodlit waterholes and the mingling of African giants lumbering about give a real Jurassic park feel to things. You really haven't seen these animals until you've seen them in the wild.

With the elephants, lions, and rhino I've now seen 3 of the big five. My fingers are crossed for a leopard. We're going on another game drive in an hour or so. Etosha definately makes the top three experiences of this tour. The wildlife is just another facet of the place's beauty that I am just coming to grasp.

Day 14

Well, it was a million to one shot but somehow it worked out. We set off last night in search of a leopard. After a while of driving and seeing the illusive and tiny dik-dik deer we came across the wretched stink of a rotting impala carcass in a tree. Then there it was.

A stunningly beautiful African leopard lay resting beneath the tree. For a while there was just the whirring and clicking of cameras. To our surprise, the leopard posed for pictures before moving to the other side of the truck for more pictures. I consider myself quite blessed to bear witness to such a majestic big cat.

We came back to our camp to wart-hogs and jackals prowling our campsite. In Etosha, everything goes by the animals' rules.

As we left today we saw 8 more lions bringing the 2 and a half day total to 23. The last we saw was a group of four juvenile males just lounging amongst a group of springbok.

We drove south through the well-treed bushland before entering the low mountain ranges around the capital of Windhoek ("Vindhook"). It's a pretty city filled with greenery and dotted with the electric purple of the jacaranda trees.

Tonight I say farewell to the group and tomorrow it's off to the Zebra River Lodge and the life of luxury after roughing it for so long.

Swakupmund north...

2006-10-25T08:36:00.000-07:00

Day 9

This morning we saw a large troupe of baboons as we drove out from camp. We were heading to the coast and we drove through the mountains to get out. We stopped in one area of upwardly thrusting striated rock known as "moonland". After several striking conyons we were back into the dunes that continue all the way to the coast where we saw flocks of flamingoes. Not much to report today. I'm sleeping in a warm bed tonight. It's much cooler as the coast. It's good to see the ocean again after so much desert. Tomorrow I go sky-diving.

Day 10

Sky-diving: one word - WOW! It was overcast in the morning so my jump was postponed until just past noon at which point there were blue skies.

Myself, Sandy and Cathy from the group and an English chap named Charlie were driven to the airport. We went through dry training before Charlie and I were loaded onto a tiny airplane to be the first jumpers.

We flew over the dunes down to Walvis Bay and back towards Swakupmund as we steadily climbed to 10,000 feet.

I was the first jumper. Derrick, my tandem jumper, strapped himself to my back as I kneeled in the front near the doorless exit (we'd been doorless the whole flight).

As I stepped out onto a foothold and felt the windspeed I had a lsight spell of nervousness. This was quickly over; I had no time to be scared.

We leapt out and I had enough time to think "What the f-" before the experience took over. Initially we flipped upside down because my legs were in the wrong position. Derrick corrected that and I was soon on my stomach free-falling 5000 feet at 220 kph. It's beyond description. I was yelling and hollering and having a blast. It was sort of like ebing suspended in mid-air. You don't realise you're falling and just have a steady blast of air from beneath.

Before I knew it there was a huge pull and the chute was out. The next five minutes were spent turning arounf through the air as we descended.

It's an insane rush and I have to say I'm hooked. I'd love to do it again. I had a DVD made and have picture stills on CD. The whole madness has been recorded for posterity.

Day 11

Today we drove from foggy, cool Swakupmund back into the baking heat of the desert. The land we drove across was much more savanah than the barren scrubland of earlier days. The scrubby plains were dotted with all manner of acacia trees and great piles of red, house-sized boulders upthrust all around.

This was Herero country and we saw their huts and herds of goats as we drove along. The women stood at the side of the road dressed in long, multi-colored Victorian-style dresses. They were selling dolls in the same manner of dress. Andy told me that the women used to be naked but that French Hugeonauts [sp] had them dressed up when they encountered them hundreds of years ago.

We stopped at Twyfelfontein and had a guided tour of 4 to 6 thousand year old Bushman rock carvings. They were very clear and depicted local as well as coastal animals. I am really eager to learn more about the vanished Bushman culture. I regret that I won't be able to see the Kalahari this trip.

Tomorrow it's up to the Etosha pan. Fingers crossed for animals.

Part 3: Fish River Canyon to Sesriem...

2006-10-22T10:10:00.000-07:00

Day 7 Oct. 13

Last night's canyon visit was indeed spectacular. It is hard to describe to one who wasn't there so I'll rattle off a few stats: The Fish River Canyon is supposedly the second largest canyon in the world. It's over 120 kilometers long, 27 kilometers across at its widest point and over half a kilometer deep. We hiked three kilometers along its rim looking into its depth to watch the nearly-dry Frish River snake its way through the bottom.

The layers of strata were coloured mixtures of brown, deep red, and ochre. Thge entire canyon was painted golden by the sunset we stayed to watch. It was a very nice, quiet moment. We saw a large scorpion on the conyon rim and springbok as we drove back to camp.

Early this morning as we drove across the scrubby desert plain with its dark mesas rising in the distance we saw a flock of female ostriches racing along. We also startled a few more Springbok.

Our destination is Sesriem and the dunes of the Namib desert. As I'm finding with the wildlife and the conyon, the stark beauty of Namibia hides many gems. You have only to scratch the barren surface
------
I'm sitting at our camp-site now surrounded by miles of maize-yellow plains broken only by the hunter-green of the ancient camel-thron trees and the jagged spine of the Tsaris mountains. After driving for some time across the scrubland we arrived in this striking landscape at Sesriem near the edge of the great Namib desert.

On the horizon are the salmon-pink dunes we will be exploring tonight. My fascination is held byt eh mountains. Thsi is where the Zebra River Lodge ois and these are the ranges I will be trekking in. The rock is steep and looks like it will make for exhiliarating scrambles. The surroundings are a welcome change from the desert scrub-land I've seen so much of.

En route we saw more ostriches and sprinbok. I feel I'm getting a strong sense of Namibia as a place of shifting landscape and hidden beauty. I must admit though, these places have an abundance of tourists that I did not expect.

Day 8 Oct. 14

Last night I had my first true glimpse of the Namibia I came here to see. We drove to the begginning of the dunes and watched the sunset over the Tsaris mountains. The mountains were painted a deep rusty-red by the light and the yellow grass and the green Camel Thorns were radiant across the plains. It was an unforgetable moment and one which inspires oneself to leap for joy and shout 'Viva Africa!' at the top of their lungs. Gone were the barren and unremarkable scrub-lands, now I only see the astounding beauty of the land.

That night, after dinner, everyone was startled by a huge and fast spider. It looked exactly like the one that startled me in the Sahara and we learned today that it's harmless, lives in the sand and is called a "dancing white land spider".

We had a very active and eventful day today in the clay-oven that is Namibian summer. We were up early in the morning to climb Dune 45 in the Sossuvlei. It was 160 meters high and quite the hike to get to the top. The sunrise was beautiful from behind the pink dunes.

After a good breakfast we 4x4ed off into the desert with our guide Boesman ("Bushman"). He basically taught us how to survive in the desert (how to catch a lizard for example) and taught us many things about the Bushman culture that used to flourish in the desert. The name 'Bushman' derives from when the men used to defend their territory by firing arrows at the enemy from behind bushes.

Survival in the desert is harsh and the culture had occasion to abandon the elderly and small children in bad times. When a child was abandoned they were left behind and the rest would turn their back and never look back or speak of the child again. That night the mother would stay on the smoky side of the fire to hide her tears. The bushman say that if you open a bushwoman;s heart you will find many fires. Some go out with age bu that child left behind will always remain a fire.

The Bushmen worshipped the moon and believed that good people, upon death, go there. Bad people inhabit hyenas and unhappy people become dust devils forever looking for happiness.

Boesman provided so much information, I'm eager to find out more on my own. Sadly the cultre was exterminated by others. Up until the 20th Century it was still egal to hunt them for sport.

As we drove to our new campsite we stopped off at Sesriem canyon. It had a sandy bottom and was scultped into fascinating formations.. It took photos but kind of wished I had black and white loaded for the occaision.

It's been a long and wonderful day but I'm tried now and the flies are driving me mad. Tomorrow a real bed in Swakupmund!

Africa Journal Part 2: Cape Town to Orange River

2006-10-16T08:12:00.000-07:00

Day 4 Oct. 10

Today began with us in Cape Town meeting up with our GAP tour members. There were about 16 of us and we met our guide Andries and our driver John. We were travelling in a huge Africa-overland truck named Stevie.

Driving North from Cape Town we went through beautiful countryside. Rolling hills with wheat farms lining the valleys. In the far east we saw a large ridge of jagged and craggy peaks rising and following us North.

We came through a pass of about 600 meters and then we were in the Cederberg Mountains. The foothills were filled with naturally sculpted sandstone. Little towns with strange Germanic Afrikaans names clung to the base of rocky outcroppings and mountains that rose behind.

We came to Citrusdal where we stopped for wine tasting. I didn't take part but people had fun. The real treat of the day came after we reached our campsite. We were offered a guided hike into the Cederberg hills with "Skookie" a local who grew up in the hills.

Skookie had an infectious way of talking that made you more enthralled as he went along. He took us from bush to bush telling us of the various shrubs and bushes his people used for remedies, glue, and all manner of uses.

He told us great stories about how the Puff Adder is a lazy snake and snores when it sleeps. Or how the Baboon thinks it has stolen 7 oranges and put them under his arm when in reality he has stolen only one while the others rolled away from his arm with each new prize. He showed us ants and birds whose actions were harbingers of rain.

At one point he walked off into the bush and returned with a desert tortoise (the peed on anyone who tried to pick it up) and a baby scorpion. Skookie truly was a man of the mountains and he made the hike unforgettable.

Day 5 Oct. 11

Today has been a day of contrasting desert scenery. We left the Cederberg Mountains behind us early on and headed into flat semi-desert plains covered in low-lyingbluish-green and grey scrub.

This gave way to rolling desert hills covered in rocky outcroppings with no trees in sight. The variation and the landscapes were quite striking.

At one point we travelled between mountains that were just immense piles of sandy boulders. The regions we drove through were barren and without water. As we neared the Namibian border I saw a range of high hills that looked like heaps of black ash piled amongst the beige-coloured scrub.

At the border crossing the temperature broke 45 degrees C, a new record for me. The mountains on the way to our campsite were deep red-coloured spires jutting from conical slopes, kind of a smaller version of Monument Valley. I can't believe I'm going trekking in this land.

We're camped at the Orange River right now and I think I'll take an after-dinner swim.

Day 6 Oct. 12

The swim last night in the Gariep or Orange river that divides S. Africa from Namibia was unbelievably refreshing. I really have to get back into swimming; and I'm glad there's going to be a pool at the Zebra River Lodge.

It's been as hot as ever today and a bunch of the group went on a canoe trip. I chose to stay back in camp and go for a quick hike back into the hills skirting the rusty-red and purple rock mountains behind the camp. It was hot and I trucked along to start getting used to this weather for the trekking I'm going to be doing in the Naukluft ranges.

I got a few good wide shots with my new lense. My hat and glasses shielded me quite well from the heat.

When I turned to come back I noticed a huge swarm of large threatening insects approaching. I scampered away and the swarm moved off (the guide said later on that it was probably African bees).

This country has a stark and dry beauty that burns its way into your consciousness along with the heat. The canoers are back, we're getting ready to leave. More to follow.

----

We drove a great ways across the Namib desert for the remainder of the day to Fish River Canyon. It was mailes and miles of hot scrubby plains with cinder-flaked mountains rising up. The country has a foreboding beauty that invites the eye of the photographer but warns the traveller against reckless passage.

Many times today in the heat I imagined how easily one could perish on those ashen plains.
This evening we're going down to the canyon to see the sunset.

Part 1: Cape Town, the Mother City....Part 2

2006-10-16T01:26:00.000-07:00

This is an in media res posting verbatim from when the last post left off.

Our guide had trouble with my name and said that it "broke the tongue". He told us of the forced deportations of blacks, coloureds, and black malays as he drove the "the district" area (now built up to resemble any other part of downtown Cape Town). There was an occaisional old mosque, school, or church that had been left by the wrecking crews.

We drove to the black township of Langa. Words fail me. Alleyway after alleyway of ramshackle shacks constructed with the wood from pallets, corrugated metal, cardboard, boxes, signage, etc. The neighbourhoods teemed with youngsters running about, groups of locals chatting, and women roasting meat on grills over oil cans.

We were definately an oddity to the locals but there wasn't the slightest bit of hostility detected. We visited a 'Shabeen' (illegal pub): a darkened hut filled with men on benches drinking beer from a huge coffee can. We were all offered a sip.

We were given guided tours of old "hostyel" accomodations where 3 families (11 people) shared a bedroom smaller than my bachelor place in Vancouver. Nonetheless, everyone was smiling and the children were clean and curious. I was shooting pictures like mad.

We drove through different areas of the township some with relatively large houses and others (the informal or illegal areea) lopsided shacks. The inhabitants in the latter area were proud to invite us into their homes and have their pictures taken with their children.

It was an eye-opening and life-changing experience; a good taste of what is to come in Ethiopia. We even visited a local witch doctor and his hut strung with the dried skins of every animal imaginable.

It didn't taken long for me to fall in love with South Africa. I have to get rest tonight because tomorrow I climb Table Mountain, the great giant that looms behind this fascinating city.

Day 3, Oct. 9th

I had little idea what to expect when I reserved a guide in B.C. for a scramble up Table Mountain. The mountain, Devil's peak, and the Lionhead all dominate Cape Town's skyline and all approaches look rather steep.

So earler this morning I met up with me guide, Roger Galloway, and we embarked on a Class 'C' scramble called "Kloof corner". The route began at the bottom cable car station and progressed up a steep slope to the foot of a vertical ridgeline. It was at this point that the scramble began. The route when right up a vertical wall that I would classify as a hard 5.7. There was a chain with which to pull yourself up the wall. I went first and found the 15 feet or so fairly challenging in stiff mountaineering boots. I adapted using a lot of arm strength to compensate for bad footing, and made it to the top.

We followed the ridgeline, climbing and boulder hopping along. The weather see-sawed between sunlight and foggy rainclouds that enshrouded the rocks. It was by far the most difficult climb I've taken part in and its hazards were amplified by long drops and cliffs surounding the route.

We came to a second chained wall section that was like an open book with a crack at the spine running the length of about 40 feet straight up. The rock was wet so footholds were bad but It made my way up going on adrenaline and arm strength.

"Intimidating" was the word I would use for most of the climb. The surrounding cliffs left no room for error. Finally we made it through a pass in the rock to an 11-inch wide 'chimney' that stretched 20 feet verical. There was another chain to assist in climbing. Roger went first and I followed with great difficulty. There wasn't enough room in the wedge to turn your hips sideways and lift a leg in the normal manner. I squirmed around, crushing my ribs and making no vertical gain. With much cursing and yelling I eventually got my feet higher and broke through the chimney to the other side (a huge vertical drop but no squeeze). The chain assisted up a fairly easy slope.

The remainder of the climb was much easier but still perilous. At one point we were traversing a cliff face with an 800-meter drop beneath us. Fog covered the top of the mountain and rarely broke to reveal Cape Town down below. Exhausted and soaked, with grated hands from the sandstone, we took the cable car back down.

I would like to classify this climb as my first true mountaineering experience. After Kloof Corner everything else seems like hiking. I spent the rest of the day resting at the hostel.

The Africa Journal Part 1: Cape Town, the start

2006-10-11T05:00:00.000-07:00

Day 1

I've slept the whole day away due to jet-lag and will, after writing this entry, try to get some sleep with the thrumming of club music from downstairs. The flights in to Cape Town bare little mention except that I had a good visit with Pat at Heathrow. The Africa flight was long. But seeing Table Mountain jut majestically through the clouds upon our approach was priceless.

Once out of the airport the mountains, it is clear, dominate the skyline. Table looks very steep and sketchy. I can't wait to climb it on the 9th. As we were driving from the aiport I had my first real glance of a true African shanty town. An astoundiong collection of shacks built from everything imaginable: corrugated metal, some wood, signage, whatever will do. I noted that on the other side of the highway was a middle class neighbourhood hidden behind concrete walls topped with coils of barbed wire. South Africa, it seems, wears its social problems on its sleeve.

Tomorrow I'm going to go out on a township tour and get into those areas with my camera. It'll have to be in the afternoon which leaves me the morning tp check out the sites around here.

Day 2

I'm back in my room right now a bit speechless and astounded at all the day's events so far. I feel, for the first time, the I've gotten a taste of the Africa I came here to explore.

The day started off early with me out of bed at 6 AM: wide awake and hungry. I hit the streets and walked along for a while looking for somewhere to eat. It's Sunday and nothing was open. I was quick;ly approached by a young man who introduced himself as Katanga. He shook my hand and told me his story of being a Tanzanian refugee who came to South Africa as a stowaway on a ship. He spoke of the need for education to make something of his life. In other words he was setting me up for wanting money.

I hailed a cab, gave Katanga 20 ren and headed for Cape Town's shorefront. Nothing was open so I asked the cabbie to take me to a place for breakfast. We finally found a place on the slopes of Table mountain. I'd been able to book a half-day township tour earlier so I decided to do a little more sightseeing in the morning.

Cape Town has a strange feel to it. The signs of fear are everywhere: barbed wire, high walls, spiked fences, private armed guards roaming with truncheons, etc. The city is given a slightly sterile feel. Kind of like a fortress preparing for a seige that will never come. For sure, the racial fear that defined Apartheid has not dissipated yet.

I made my way to the Castle of Good Hope, built by the first Dutch Settlers. It's quite near downtown and its layout is in classical citadel formation. The interior walls are painted a Canary yellow and the parapets have cannons in place. I toured a small museum inside with Dutch paintings of ships, dishes and cutlery of the era, and the dining hall with tables laid out further than 100 feet long.

I rested for a bit back at the hostel before my guide for the day picked me up and the real adventure began...

Sorry no time left to finish Cape Town, I promise to do it next time I have the chance to use the internet, the Township tour (absolutely amazing) and scaling Table mountain (scary rock climbing without ropes) to follow in next post.

Afghanistan: The eternal quagmire...

2006-09-23T18:36:00.000-07:00

The British were chased out in the 19th Century, the Russians were marred by it in the 20th, and now the forces of NATO are struggling with this perenially failed state in the post-9/11 world. Many factors are at play in the current conflict, the most important of which to Canadians is our role in this widening conflict.

Is the Canadian military aiding in assisting the fledgling Afghan democracy of Pashtun patriarch Hamid Karzai put down a reactionary and fundamentalist insurgency or are we simply playing poodle to American forces intent on guarding oil interests in the nation?

It's a difficult question, and the reputation and perhaps survival of the United Nations and the NATO alliance hang in the balance as our men and women keep coming home in flag-draped coffins.

The current regional situation makes the war unwinnable for NATO as it is being faught now. Operation Medusa may have resulted in the deaths of over 500 Taliban insurgents. But those that survived simply retreated across the porous Pakistani border into the tribal regions of that country. Taliban recruits are pouring out of the Madrassas of Pakistan everyday and the insurgency can rely on this reserve only to grow with disaffected Muslim youth seeing the fight as a chance to do what they can against expanding American imperialism. Certain reactionary charity organisations across the arab world (most notably in Saudi Arabia) keep the Taliban in guns and ammo out of their fat coffers.

The leaders of these Arab nations face a dangerous paradox. Both Saudi Arabia and Pakistan are attempting to stay true to alliances with the Americans while desperately trying to reign in the growing Islamic radicalism within their own borders through policies of apeasement. With these reactionary elements left to their own devices, NATO and Canada could be looking at a very long and dirty war in Afghanistan.

One of the prime reasons for the rise of the Taliban insurgency has been the lack of economic development in the country since the original invasion of the Americans. At the time, the nations of the West lined up to donate huge amounts to adi in the reconstruction of the nation. Much of this has stalled and farmers have again taken to opium production as a means of survival. Thus the Taliban has another source of funds with which to wage their war.

One of the primary weapons the Taliban used in their war against Ahmed Shah Massoud and the Northern Alliance was money. Many of Massoud's allies were turned to the Taliban side with bribes.

The Pashtuns of the Kandahar region are no immediate fans of the Taliban who assasinated one of their Patriarch's (Karzai's father) when he had the tenacity to suggest in a letter that they were destroying Afghanistan with their wars and religious tenets. This weapon can be used against them. The allegiance of the Pashtuns, on which the surivival of Afghanistan depends, can be bought as it has shown in the past.

Of course, much more than this is needed on a regional level. Anti-American sentiment fuels the conflicts in Afghanistan and Iraq and provides recruits for the insurgency money or no money. As this drama plays out, we can do little but sit back and watch.

9/11 - Five years on...

2006-09-12T14:39:00.000-07:00

When I was in the bush, cutting down trees, I found that certain thoughts, or memories, or simply images would get stuck in my head as I worked. The images floated about and I replayed them on a circular basis. One of these images was of the intial 9/11 terrorist attacks five years ago.

I was living in Parkdale with my buddy Pat when the attacks occurred. I had just gotten off a huge shift of working security at a building that was, interestingly enough, called the Residences of the World Trade Centre. Early in the morning I heard Pat yelling for me to get up. I was dog tired and kept sleeping. Finally he rushed to my room and said that terrorists had attacked the world trade centre. I thought it was some sort of joke or ploy to get me downstairs for something (given the name of my workplace). I came into the living room in time to see a replay of the second plane hitting one of the towers. Holy Shit, was the first thing I said and I repeated it several times.

Pat and I must have gone through several packs of cigarettes that day just sitting and watching the events unfold. Outside there was little movement, all radios were tuned to the news and it seemed that all of Toronto had stopped to watch the cataclysmic events churn out.

The aesthetic of that attack. The unimaginable magnitude and sheer absurdity of being able to watch a passenger liner slam into a building and their subsequent collapse, the could of dust chasing New Yorkers through the streets was burned into my consciousness. It was just too big and world-changing an event and aesthetic to lose over time.

I thought about that morning many times over the next few years.

One of the creepiest facts I learned of concerned the fate of the junk metal from the site. Many of the victims were reduced to dust in the attacks. Dust that coated the city and became ingrained in the junk metal. The metal was quickly carted off in the days after the attacks and sold to junk yards to be melted down. The melted metal was then used for all manner of consumable objects. Manily cans; cans for soup, catfood, spaghetti sauce and what have you. The dust, however, remained and the atoms that were once office workers were alloyed with an array of consumer items that, I'm sure, have passed through department stores over the years.

It seemed to me unfitting and wrong that the remains of the victims should meet such a fate, to be absorbed and canibalized back into the consumer society from which they were wrenched. The economy lurched on, people were commanded by the President in the early days to go out and buy. And these atoms, this dust came to rest on shelves and in cupboards across the US.

Notes from an ex-con...

2006-09-08T10:42:00.000-07:00

The sun is shining, its warm and I'm surrounded by the fragrant aroma of gardens and gardens of flowers. In short, I'm miles away (literally and spiritually) from the dreaded Ospika camp. My last day in the bush was okay, Pete the slavedriver made us work until 6PM. Myself, a second year named Pat and a rookie drove out of the camp in a truck with a trailer on the 1st of September.

Pat had bad luck on the roads and ended up hitting a huge rock and blowing out a front tire (we already had 2 flats from the ride). He was shaken up so we changed the tire and I drove the rest of the way without incident. I was overjoyed to be done with brushing. It is certainly a job I will never return to. I became sick of the people and their cro-magnon conception of jews, homosexuals, and other things. I'm sick of working with idiots who I normally wouldn't asscoate with in the real world. Oh sure, there were a few decent guys, but given ther suffering associated with that job, and the lack of money that I expect to be good every year - there is no good reason for me ever to return to Apex (Rapex).

I drove down from Prince George to Vancouver uneventfully and took a cab back to my apartment. I immediately came down with some sort of stomach flu that is just relasing its vice-grips from my stomach and allowing me to enjoy my newfound freedom.

The Africa trip is coming together. I have my plane tickets, my vaccinations, and my visas are being applied for. The GAP tour backed out on me in Ethiopia so it looks like I will be travelling that country independently. It should be quite the adventure with some pluses and minuses. I probably won't get the exposure to the tribes in the south that I was looking forward to. On the other hand, I can organize an expedition up Ras Dashen (the highest mountain in Ethiopia and Africa's 5th Highest mountain) on my own (apparently it's a scramble but totally climbable). I bought myself a Bradt guide to Ethiopia and intend to spend a good part of this month laying out an itinerary for an amazing trip.

I found the books I'll need to write that article for Adbusters and will be bringing them with me to Africa with a note-book. For the moment, I'm still striving to extract the bush and the genraly hideousness of this season from my veins. It's not too hard when I'm surrounded by the peace and natural beauty of Vancouver Island.

Signing off recovering quickly...

Corporatism and Myth...

2006-08-26T13:21:00.000-07:00

A society's myth is its collective memory. It is beyond constraints of time, it is outside logic and reason. The Haida referred to Myth time and Historical time. Historical time is the time we live in, the Haida defined this metaphorically as the village while myth time was the forest around the village. In this sense myth is external to our lives and yet it surrounds us at all times.

A while ago in university I was watching a documentary called The Cola Conquest. At one point in the film it referred to the story of the Mayan Indians in southern Mexico. Coca Cola has occupied a spiritual place in the collective myth high above that of a simple drink. For years, in religious ceremonies and spiritual worship the natives used their own black alcoholic broth made from corn as an offering to the Gods. It was their holy water and was used by Shamans in various ceremonies. Now, however, this has been replaced with Coke. The soft drink is now used as an offering to the Gods and as their communal holy water. The coke company, of course, has begun to market to this phenomenon.

When I first heard this I had an epiphany regarding my novel. The corporate already controls so much of what we think and how we order our lives. However, once they invade the realm of the spiritual and myth - they will have total control. How does one resist one's own communal memory and script of how things were when how things were is now in flux and melding with how things are?

It is the goal of any worthy corporation to penetrate as many aspects of our lives as possible. Subliminal advertising is already being put to use in Japan for pop. A person will walk past a vending machine and "hear" the sound of a cold pop being poured into an icy glass on a subliminal level. Myth is the final realm of conquest. It resists corporate co-opting because the corporate is very much a facet of historical time. However, how long before marketing execs conquer this? How long before our own myths and stories come complete with product placement? The transition has been smooth and complete for the Mayan Indians. Will it be the same for us?

Just some thoughts from a tired tree brusher on his last day off in camp.

The Bitter End...

2006-08-25T15:41:00.000-07:00

Well, the day off after the 6-day shift from hell has arrived and things have taken a turn for the worse here in Ospika. The shift was fire hours (3:30 Am - 1:00 PM). But we disregarded that and worked multiple 12 hour days. I was beat, the bush has finally defeated me.

Justin arrived back in camp and I found out that I had been dropped a level, meaning I lose $10 a day. I was told by Pete that it had to do with my performance during the heli-block and the other Mackenzie block. All the levels are posted so all the camp knows, moreso after an incident a couple of days ago. I was cutting on a huge block and we were all rushing to finish. I'd actually been having a really good day: the temperature was good and so was my quality (stump height, herbicide application, etc.) We got to a point where we were flying through some brush rushing to complete the block for the day. Pat, a second-year French cutter was working treeline and he got stuck in some heavy brush, so I cut down and took over thinking I was helping. I was dog-tired and my quality wasn't good, I acknowledge that. When the day ended (we didn't finish the block), I was standing at the herbicide and gas cache getting ready to head back to the trucks. Pat marched down and proceeded to tear a strip off me saying my quality was horrible, that I'd been there for 3 years as a brusher, and that I was dropped a level. Right in front of all the brushers. It was completely humiliating.

I've always felt like an outsider on the brushing crew who connects with a few individuals. Now that sense of isolation is even moreso. He didn't have to ream me out in public and he didn't have to reemphasize my dropped level. He's an arrogant asshole whose pushing for manager in his next year. The guy's been on my ass all year with jibes here and there and I guess he finally had his opportunity to rake me over the coals.

So now I'm hyper-paranoid over my quality and how I operate on the line (we brush in a line). If there wasn't a completion bonus coming right up on the 31st I'd quit on the spot and fly out of this shithole.

There's just one 5-day shift left though and I'm just going to suck it up, remind myself that the brushing crew are not friends just colleagues, and finish this season when my contract's up. Earlier than I expected but I just can't stand things anymore, I need to get back to the city. I want to rock-climb with my new trad gear, I want to relax in Van, I want to see my family and Tracy and Emily, I want to start researching the article I'm going to write for Adbusters.

On a positive note - the one that keeps me going - things are really starting to role with the Africa preparations. Things are getting paid for and my flight is being arranged. Africa calls to me and I will be there soon camera in hand and notebook at my side should I be inspired.

Tired, filthy but relieved - signing off...

The Ospika bush-ballet continues...

2006-08-13T15:43:00.000-07:00

Well, many things to report since my last post. We were working a ridiculously thick block here in Ospika (nothing but giant patches of gnarly and twisted alder and willow) about a week ago before we quit and drove out to Mackenzie for some other work. Before we left, when we were back in camp, I was taught how to use the quad. I rarely find myself taken with a completely macho boys' toy, but this thing kicks ass. roaring it up and down the Ospika runway was a ton of fun. I'll have to see if I can ride it again at some point.

In the way of books: I finished Ghost Wars a while back. It's incredible just how in bed Saudi Arabia and Pakistani Intelligence (the ISI) were with the Taliban and Al Queda. The back-room dealings in the book were fascinating. However, the sheer amount of bureaucracy and finickiness that kept the CIA from getting Bin Laden before 9/11 is incredicle. Considering how easily they funded assasinations and coups from WWII until Allende in Chile, it's quite a surprise to see them tied up in legalities when pursuing someone who's already attacked them a number of times. Judging by the recent terror arrests in London however, it looks like Musharaff [sp] has cleaned up the ISI to a great degree.

I've moved on to a book called Mountains of the Mind. It concerns itself with how mountains and their ascents have been looked at an perceived through the ages, it is quite interesting with many little tidbits that are grand. Consider this one: In the 1700s, I believe, Samuel Taylor Colleridge was hiking up England's second highest mountain. He chose a difficult and rocky route down and soon found himself hanging by his arms and dropping down onto steep ledges in his descent. After getting stuck for a while, and marvelling at the powers of reasoning, he descended a rock chimney and made his way down. It is generally considered the first rock climb. Colleridge! The first rock-climber - absolutely priceless.

So, as I mentioned before, we drove out of Ospika and went to the illustrious little outpost known as Mackenzie. It was nice to drive on soft pavement, see buildings and streetlights, and hear cars for a change after a month in the woods. It's interesting how marvellous the urban aesthetic, even if it was just Mackenzie, can be after seeing nothing but gravel roads and trees for so long. We finished a small block of fairly easy brush off the highway on our first day of work. The next two days we got to be flown into our block in a helicopter. The ride was very short but it was still fun and it broke up the monotony a little. The block was good cutting but steep in some areas, we only had 2 days to finish it so we pushed really hard. On the second day I must have come in contact with a bunch of stinging nettles and the left side of my hand is blistered up and burnt. I haven't been burnt by those since I was about 8 and I fell into a ditch on a forest walk in Qualicum. Nasty little plants to add to Satan's favorite plant which was in abundance (devil's club).

We drove back into Ospika today and I probably have 5 more shifts before I call it a season. It'll be long and hard work but I'm going to push hard, put my head down and just deal with it. Africa approaches and I'm already taking care of things at that angle.

Another thing, my full Cabinda article was printed in The Knoll. It's available for anyone to read at www.theknoll.ca . I've been mulling over in my head a good article I may be able to write in the coming year for Adbusters about the switch in world powers with the descent of America and rise of China seen through World Systems Theory Wallersteinian lenses. It's a project for the year to say the least. Right now I have to write an essay for school contrasting and comparing Mill's principle of utility with Habermasian consensus building. I really don't want to do schoolwork out here but it must be done. I've had some good thoughts about re-working the 4th chapter of my novel completely and I may start that out here as well.

Most of all, I have a lot of brush-cutting to look forward to for the next little while. The homestretch is not to far off and I'm starting to see the very dimmest glimmer of light at the end of the tunnel...

Ospika Blues...

2006-07-21T16:34:00.000-07:00

So I am writing during a necessary day-off taken to arrange for prescriptions to be picked up in PG. It's friday on the second shift of brushing activities in Ospika camp and we still have a long way to go. We'll probably be in this camp until early September.

The cutting so far has been fairly average Ospika terrain with one exception. We did have to do work on a ridiculously vertical, devil's club-infested hell block on some very hot days. Some of the managers were noting that they'd rarely been beaten so badly by a block before. I've had worse, but definatly not this year. Brushing is made increasingly difficult when there's absolutely no sure-footing. Add to this the fact that all around you are gardens filled with poisonous-spined hell-plants and the cutting becomes some sort of Sysiphusian trial. There comes a point where you actually get tired of cursing and resign yourself to a continual and extreme level of pain.

That being said, we've since moved on from that block onto something a lot more manageable. It's been a while since we've had rain and those days without clouds ("blue laser") make the cutting a lot more difficult. However, this is Ospika and it's my third season so it isn't anything I haven't come to expect from the camp. The cutting here is difficult and it makes you really earn your pay. Apex has added another form of payment onto our checks if we stay past August 31st, so that's a perk.

Soon it will be august and I'll be in the position of getting all my stuff for Africa ready. I keep mulling that over in my head and it keeps me positive.

I'll try to keep posting if anything of interest happens but chances are it'll just be groundhog day for the next 6 or so weeks.

Signing off.

Ospika bound...

2006-07-08T15:35:00.000-07:00

Well, word has finally come down the Apex totem pole and it looks like the fire rating has gone down and we'll be shipping off for Ospika camp on monday. I can't really describe how good this is right now, I was starting to wonder just how long I'd be holed up in this university residence. Ospika is our camp deep in the woods (10 hours out of PG) and word is that we have a long contract there - maybe 6 weeks of solid, non-fire hours work. If weather continues to be decent, we can move smoothly from there to other solid contracts and start to do some damage control on the financial end of this season so far.

In the time I've been here I completed the first section of Ghost Wars, my book on the American involvement in Afghanistan. It's quite wide ranging and very informative and so far has painted a very good picture of how the Americans sowed the seeds of radical (reactionary would be a better word) Islam by supporting the hard-line Islamic fighters, through the auspices of Pakistani intelligence, because the Pakistanis assured them the hard-liners were the best at fighting the soviets. It was during this time that Osama landed in town and with others, began debating the true nature of the jihad and who was their real enemies - the soviet communists or the Americans and their Israeli allies. It all has the feeling of a grand Shakespearean play gone horribly wrong.

I stopped over on the VOC website and saw pictures of the beautiful scrambles taking place that I am missing when I'm up here. Next year, when I have some time off, I'm go ing to have to dedicate a great deal of my time to learning the ins and outs of mountaineering and getting some good climbs in. Until then I will have to satisfy myself by looking wistfully at the beautiful peaks that surround Ospika camp.

Yeehaw! I'm going working....

Brushing thoughts...

2006-07-06T13:29:00.000-07:00

Still no real rain in PG. There was a thunderstorm last night, but the precipitation isn't sticking around and I'm still out of work. I watched Superman last night to fight the boredom that is quickly setting over me. Don't have much to say about the film, the last batman blew it out of the water in terms of interest and direction. It was grand to see Parker Posey though - even if her talents were grossly misused - not to mention Kevin Spacey. To save money I've relocated from the Downtown Motel (where I was languishing if front of the tv for hours) to UNBC and its dorms. I plan to get lots of reading done on my book about the CIA's involvement in Afghanistan and the subsequent rise of radical islam and the Taliban. I thought I'd try to list some thoughts and songs that god through my head when I brush. Given the nature of the work it's very hard to have a connected train of thoughts, one finds that one simply finds one thought or idea and sucks it the way Molloy sucked those stones he kept in his pocket.

Thoughts:

- The memory of the first time I met my niece Emily and her smile when she saw me at the door.
- The first moments of September 11th as I remember them from when I lived in Parkdale. The sheer magnitude of the event can be contemplated as if one is witnessing an astronomical event.
- The second season of Carnivale and the wish that more tv and film would be that good.
-[rare because it's too early in the season to contemplate such things] the thought that soon enough I'll be back in Africa and I won't mind brushing away flies and mosquitos then.

Songs: [rarely complete, sometimes just the chorus over and over again like a mantra until it drives me crazy]

-Jackson, Johnny Cash and June Carter Cash's both sung.
-38 years old, The Tragically hip.
-Fireworks, Bobcadgeon, The Tragically Hip.
-The Boxer, Simon and Garfunkle.
-Mrs. Robinson, Simon and Garfunkle.
-The Rose, Bette Middler (oh you should hear me sing that one)

That's all that I can think of for now, I'm sure there's plenty more that I'm forgetting having been away from the bush for so long. My Cabinda article should be coming out soon (it may be out already) in The Knoll (woohoo - the full version). I asked them to mail a copy to my Vancouver apartment. I'll put in a link from this site if they ever have it on their website. I bought myself a set of nuts for trad climbing the other day, just looking at them has me pumped for a full year of climbing next year.

Praying for some respite from the heat (PG is currently smogged in with forest-fire smoke) and signing off for now...

Up a creek without a paddle....

2006-07-04T09:56:00.000-07:00

Well, another week or so has passed and we have been forced to shutdown because of the heat and the fire risk. After spending a couple of days in PG last time I was here, myself, Adam, Ash, Andre, and Ryan were pleased to learn that we could get in some cutting.

We piled into a truck and headed for Fort St. James, a remote outpost somewhat less of a town that the illustrious Mackenzie. In that town we picked up Pat to complete our crew. We drove into our camp for the stay, Leo Creek camp. It was composed of seperate buildings for bunking, eating, games, etc and was more rustic than we're used to.

We worked for five days, all of them on fire hours (getting up at 3 AM, working till 1 PM). The block was hilly and ridiculously thick. Huge walls of alder interspersed with gigantic aspens and cotton woods. it was like cutting into a wall. Other patches of the block were laden with slash piles of rotten wood (nothing ruins a day quicker than stepping on what you think is good footing and then promptly hearing a crack and descending six or seven feet into a hole that you have to crawl out of - with much cursing). The devil's club was bad on this block as well. If you are unfamiliar with this plant, it is aptly named. It has huge green maple leaf type leaves with a stocky stem. Every part of the plant is covered with venomous spines that burrow into your skin should you brush up against it. I expelled many an expletive battling my way through the Devil's gardens in the slash (as an append to the earlier explanation, imagine that hole you fall into off the slash is filled with devil's club - it like a trap set by Satan himself).

Ash quit one day, it was his fourth season and he kind of hit the wall. Didn't want to cut trees anymore, quite understandable but too bad. Apex is losing guys left, right and centre - rookies and vets alike.

The heat was pretty bad, high 20s most of the time, but it was the bugs that made the cake. Billions of the little bastards. My arms are again red with bites from mosquitos, noseeums, and black flies. There were times, especially at lunch where it all got a bit much. Imagine sitting down to enjoy some food and being surrounded by the constant whine of mosquitos while having to clear out blackflies from your ears every other second. It was maddening and the bug juice didn't seem to work that well.

I was able to finish the 1421 book while in camp. Quite a good read. At the end of the book, the author's post-script covered new evidence that is emerging daily. The most fascinating was evidence that the Chinese fleet built permanent settlements far up the Amazon, deep in the jungle. In 1925, and explorer disapeared searching for such lost cities. The author is currently looking for people to pick up the torch and seek out these lost settlements. I couldn't help but think what a find that would be. It warms my sense of adventure to know that there are still near-mythical sites to be discovered in this world.

I bought myself a pipe before I went into Leo Creek, but I've stayed off the cigarettes. I do enjoy a good puff on the pipe while also realizing that this too is something I must quit before I go to Africa. I'll work on it.

Right now what I need is rain. I have the option to tree-plant, but I don't want to do that, especially because I'd be a rookie. 'm tired of working partial-days and making no money. We need the rains to come before we can settle into some good long contract and start raking in the cash.

On the other hand, a few days off in town may give me a little time to work on the novel. I've been kind of stumped for a while, but sometimes just sitting down and typing a little helps.

I never did get myself that Chai latte last time I posted, so it's even more important that I get it now.

Signing off and praying for rain in PG...

If trees could scream I'd have a very disturbing job...

2006-06-28T12:07:00.000-07:00

So, back from the bush for the time being. Currently sitting in the Prince George London Drugs shortly awaiting a chai latte from Starbucks with my name on it.

We were put on fire hours as soon as we left to brush in the Munro/Blackwater area around Williston lake. This means, that because of fire hazard, we had to get up every morning at 3 and be in the trucks before quarter to 4, so that we could brush from sun-up till 1 pm. It sucks for a variety of reasons, one of the biggest being that we don't get paid full wages, the other involving the spiritual logistics of waking up at 3 am to work.

Nonetheless, work progress nicely on a huge and flat (about 111 hectares) block about an hour from camp. The first day, when we drove in from PG, was pretty hard. However, by the second day it was as if I never left the block last year. Technique came back very quickly and it seemed like the whole school-year had been some quick blure that had taken mere moments to pass.

It was hot though. It got up to 28 degrees one day. So needless to say, I'm generally sweating like mad out there. The bugs were awful as well. As soon as you shutdown your saw to fill up with gas (it's a manual block = no herbicide) they're all over you. My arms actually turned red from bites. It looks like a rash all over my arms but it's just from mosquitos.

I had a harder time of it last year adjusting back to brushing than I'm having this year. Quitting smoking certainly helped and the mountain hiking I was doing with the VOC helped as well. My waistline is already starting to slim up and I'm 5 or 6 days into my second month without cigarettes. They've even been offered to me several times at camp and I've managed to turn the offer down. I'm on stage three patches now and expect to be off them entirely pretty soon.

We have a much smaller crew this year. Maybe twenty guys. Already a few of them have quit. Most of that happened on the last day before we got shutdown and pulled from the area. Pretty strange. One guy got canned, a frenchy with a bad attitude, and it was hard to feel sorry for him. You have to fuck up big time to get yourself fired from Apex.

So right now some brushers have gone back home (with the next rain expected in a week or so), others are going planting, and I'm hoping that a contract at Babine (near Smithers) opens up tonight. In which case, it would be off to brusher's paradise.

I've almost completed that 1421 book which has been great and served well to point ou what a small deal Christopher Columbus's sailings were at the time. The European explorers already had maps of the new world and we well aware of it before he set sail. I can't wait to get off to a camp like Ospika and dive into the book my Dad got me for Christmas.

That's all for now I think, time to lounge about in PG, and go get that Chai latte. It's the simple things you miss when you go to the bush.

Signing off...

Hurry up and wait...other thoughts in preparation for the season...

2006-06-18T15:44:00.000-07:00

For a little while there a nasty rumour was circulating that we might be doing a little bit of tree-planting before the season started. I was left to ponder, what had we done wrong. Had we offended the Brushing Gods without knowing it; not enough herbicide libations poured out last season. After a tense afternoon bracing myself for the first thing to go wrong this season, word came down - a shift and a half of manual brushing at Munro camp (Manual means without herbicide - nothing to carry in the backpack except gas - easy as pie). Grace and the Brushing Gods had clearly chosen to smile upon us.

The last few days have been uneventful. I did go with Justin to pick up a truck from the tree-planters camp early this morning. It was good to start to get a little experience in the trucks before the season starts. It increases the odd chance that I might end up driving one at one point (though there are other candidates around).

The crew has been busy with their herbicide course (for which I already have 5 years certification) so I have been bustling around PG preparing for the 6 or more weeks that are to be spent in Ospika camp. The non-smoking thing has been going just fine: 4 weeks today and I'm nearly done with the level 2 patches soon I'll be off them entirely. I made sure to bring to fully unread Adbusters magazines from Vancouver and I just picked up a Harpers today. Over long stints in the bush, good magazines are to me as clean, cool water is to the parched man. Comraderie can only take you so far. There is a great need to distance onself on occaision and escape into the verbal/visual world of good writers.

On that note, I've advanced leagues through 1421: The Year China Discovered the World. It's a fantastic book and accounts the explorations of a massive Chinese fleet throughout the new world in the aforementioned year. The book is a result of 15 years of research and reads like an account of the author's investigations. For that and other reasons it's quite an exciting read as he travels from one corner of the world to the next one always finding the shreds and clues he's looking for. His evidence is substantial and solid and the very idea turns European exploration on its head. I love the account of the one wing of the Chinese fleet (who had been sent by the emperor to gather tribute from the inhabitants of the unknown reaches of the world) coming into contact with the ancient Mayans in southern mexico and their flourishing empire.

It's also amazing just what a backwater Europe was at the time of the explorations. The so-called civilized world was composed of Arabia, India and China all of whom traded with each other. Nowadays, after writing my China paper for my class on development and underdevelopment, the time for the rise of China is already underway. Searching through news articles and other data I found that China has, in the last few years, established itself as the dominant economic force in the Association of Southeast Asian Nations (ASEAN). It's power in that trading bloc is only slightly off-set by the emergence of another regional powerhouse: India. It has replaced America as the prime trading partners with Mercusor, the South American trading bloc that includes Brazil, Peru, Paraguay and Chile. China has also expanded into Africa, signing oil deals with Nigeria, Chad, Angola, Zimbabwe, Kenya as well as replacing Canadian company Talisman in the Sudanese oil conglomerate. China is rising to its formal imperial glory without the use of the sword (although, its sheer economic size is often enough to negotiate trading arrangement with other countries that sway heavily in favour of the Chinese. Where America is floundering in a war and dropping further and further into debt, China is flourishing without debt and remaining cool when America tries strange WWI triple-entente military alliances with Japan and India (trying to hem in China). China doesn't need to fight the Americans, they can sit back and let their competitors on the world stage for the title "superpower" slowly or quickly economically disentegrate.

Ahh, well, enough for now. Stay tuned to the blog for updates from Ospika when I get into camp. I'm sure keep this blog will be one of the many things I will use to keep my sanity in that place.

Once more unto the breach...

2006-06-16T12:57:00.000-07:00

So just a short post regarding my whereabouts for the next 6 to 8 weeks (read: middle of nowhere). I'm currently sitting in the London Drugs in Prince George after taking the overnight Greyhound. There is no way to sleep in greyhounds, I'm convinced their seats were constructed with joint and muscle pain in mind.

There seem to be a lot of rookies around and very few veterans. I'm the only one from my year so far, a couple have come back from last year, but the pickin's are looking slim. I'm stuck in PG for the next few days while everyone else does the herbicide course. Then, from the sound of things we head off to Ospika camp for a 6 to 8 week stretch.

Rookies are going to drop like flies, it'll be a baptism of fire. Ospika is 10 hours into the bush and nothing but gnarled trees, rivers, mountainsides and wasps to welcome us. It'll be good money for me, and I did bring a ton of different books. I just keep looking forward to the Africa trip at the end of this stint in the bush. Once Ospika finishes it'll probably be August already.

I saw Al Gore's "An Inconvenient Truth" with Dave the night before I left Van. Pretty good, a bit too Gore-centric but interesting and frightening nonetheless. The vast majority of it was simply good scientific evidence of global warming's effects and frightening predicitons. Should the western antarctic go sea levels go up by 20 feet. Read: 65 million refugees worldwide. It's a film that people skeptical of global warming should see. If anything it simply cries out with irrefutable data. I have a sneaky suspicion though that the anti-global warming position of many conservatives is more of a political stance than it is a true belief. It's kind of like saying "we're a red state and don't fall for that liberal bias about the environment". It becomes about the current administration and where you stand rather than the environment. It's a shame too, because the environment and its changing weather patterns doesn't give a shit who you voted for. Hurricanes aren't selective.

Well, time to sign off and go try to get a room at UNBC. Hurry up and wait, that's the order of the day. Two months in Ospika, good God...

Radical Islam the greatest threat to Democracy?

2006-06-07T17:36:00.000-07:00

After all the hooplah following the arrests of the terror suspects in Canada, a lot of chatter has been going around the various news networks regarding the threat that "homegrown" radical islamists pose to "democracy" (another term as vague as "freedom" these days). This claim, I believe, does have creedence and must be addresses but it is not monolithic - to assume that Al Queda is one monstrous octopus-like organisation with operatives everywhere is just naive. The allure of fundamentalist Islam to disenfrachised Muslim youth, in Canada and the E.U. especially warrants open discussion and discourse.

What annoys me is that this problem is a double-edged sword, with only one side being addressed by media outlets. After the Canadian arrests, there is outcry for debate and solutions, however - the other side of the story, the events and actions that truly inspire the terrorists and give them their best reasons lie south of the border and are never talked about.

What about American foreign policy since the first Gulf War. The landing of a huge, American (read: Christian infidel if you're Osama) in the Kingdom of Saud, the home to Mecca and the prophet Mohammed's homeland. The land was defiled by the simple presence of the troops and so the first reasons to strike back are in order.

A few years later, Osama strikes and bombs the American embassy in Nairobi. Clinton responds with a barrage of cruise missilles targetting supposed terrorist training camps as well as a "weapons factory" in Khartoum, Sudan. Most of the missiles fall short of targets, in the words of Gwynn Dyer when I heard him speak before the start of the Iraq War "My eight-year-old daughter with a dart-board and a handful of darts could have done a better job." The missilles instead land in rural Pakistani villages killing civilians (a fact non-challantly passed off by the media as if expected) and the weapons factory in Khartoum was actually making medicine (another oops). If I lived in the mountains of Pakistan, and a bomb killed my family, I'd certainly be angry and sad enough to pledge alleigance to an organisation that promised me revenge against the people behind the bomb. Wouldn't you?

The CIA has a term called "Blowback". It refers to counter-reactions that occur as a result of actions taken by American forces, covert or overt. Along comes September 11th and the whole world gasps at the magnitude of the attack. Where did this come from ask the American people? Why do they hate us? Is printed across Newsweek amongst other rags. Blowback on a huge scale.

To believe that America went to war in Iraq to pursue and wipe out terrorists that were and are a threat to America (the "fight the over there so we don't have to figh them here" argument), is to be ridiculously naive. Saddam Hussein was a secularist, Islamic radicals had been a threat to his government and he was well known within the area for torturing and killing any Islamic terrorists he was able to get his hands on (seeing them as a threat to his leadership).

Iraq has oil, yes, a lot of oil that is easily processable. It also holds a seat on OPEC, and shortly before the Iraq War, Saddam was pressuring the oil-producing nations' organisation to switch their reserve currency from the American greenback to the euro. Now, by proxy, America has the oil, it has a seat on OPEC (they still use the greenback). As Dyer, points out in his book "Future Tense" the Iraq war was illegal (i.e. deemed by the U.N.). He believes it was not only launched to secure oil reserves, but as a show of imperial might by the American government. It was to show other regional powers (E.U., Russia, and especially China) that the U.S. wasn't playing by the rules anymore and would occupy entire regions to secure that their political and economic interests were met.

Take the position, if you will, of an Iranian man middle-aged living in Tehran. You faught in the Iran/Iraq war and have no love lost for Saddam but are aware that the Americans funded and armed your enemy during that time. You watch as countries to the East (Afghanistan) and West (Iraq and Saudi Arabia) are occupied by the imperial military forces of the Christian West. It doesn't help when President Bush describes the operation as a "Crusade". To you, it would seem that the Islamic world is having its very existence threatened by a power on the other side of the world. Now your country is threatened with war if it doesn't stand down and stop nuclear weapons research. Why should you and your country bow down to the Christian invaders? How would you view the actions of America and its allies in your neck of the woods?

The call comes for solutions. Though, personally, I support the presence of a U.N. force to stabilize Afghanistan believing that the Taliban were the shame of the world long before September 11th, I believe the very fact that our troops are seem as allies to the Americans is putting our troops at risk (no matter how good their intentions are). Hamid Kharzai is seen as a puppet of the Americans and his government as well by a large percentage of the Afghan people. Perhaps replacing our troops with peace-keepers from muslim countries would be a start. Bring in Pakistani and Iranian peace-keepers, draw in these countries (Pakistan the lone muslim nuclear power) and Iran close to the U.N. (the ultimate vessel by which a nation may save face in front of its people while negotiating). If the rest of the Muslim world sees the western forces withdrawing from these area and the appearance that the members of Muslim world will help their neighbours when in need - good things could come of this.

Of course, American troops won't withdraw for a very long-time. It would probably take an economic crisis (they're heading for one right now) to do that. For the time being, "to preserve that American way of life" in the words of the President they will be there. That can be translated as securing and guarding oil reserves so that seas of SUVs have sufficient gas to run for another few years.

So before we wonder where all this hate comes from in the muslim world, take a look around and try to understand their position.

Signing off...

The allure of the hills...

2006-06-04T18:40:00.000-07:00

I've spent the last few days on hikes with members of the Varsity Outdoors Club (VOC) in the mountains inbetween Chilliwack and Hope. While I was hiking, especially today, I spent a good deal of time trying to rationalise and figure out just what it is, ontologically speaking, that draws me to these hills and these actions.

The first hike was up Elk and Thurston mountains just east of Chilliwack. When I was a kid, travelling on the Trans-Canada to Qualicum for the summer, these lush, forested mountains with their spectacular waterfalls signalled that I was truly in BC and soon I would be smelling ocean air (after a brief transfer through the cow-dung stink of Chilliwack - Thank God cows can't fly, my dad used to say). I got up early in the morning and drove out with three other VOC guys into the mist and rain we were kind of hoping wouldn't be there.

The hike began easily enough but soon became an upwards ridge climb through high stands of cedar, fir, and mountain hemlock enshrouded in morning mist and fog. It was relentlessly uphill without respite and I found myself falling behind the group (to my chagrin). I took some photos but the light was bad, so any of the photos you see on this post are thanks to the internet. After what seemed like quite a while, light could be seen emerging at the top of the darkened woods and we emerged into Elk mountain meadows. We were above the clouds and afforded beautiful views of the Chilliwack river snaking its course through the valley far bellow and snowy mountains across the valley (when the sun chose to break through the clouds).

We continued along the ridge and climbed another 4 kilometers or so until we finally came to a large cairn that marked the summit of Thurston. The meadows were filled with the early signs of flowers and were skirted with rocky cliffs. Occaisionally we crossed snowpack. It made for good photography. We ate more food before it began to rain hard and even hailed for a few minutes (which we took as a divine sign to head down). I had a much easier time on the downclimb and we made good time through the meadows (running at times) before finding our way back into the forest and back to the car at about 3:30 (we'd started at about 10). In total, 15 kilometers round trip and over 1000 meters vertical gain.

We got food in Chilliwack before plodding through the traffice back into Vancouver.

Saturday was a day of recuperation, walking around downtown with moderate muscle pains.

Today, I was picked up early in the morning and Sandra, Scott, and three other VOCers headed past Chilliwack to a forestry service road near Hope. The hike was to Eaton Lake and starting off wasn't too bad, I lead early on before dropping back. It was only 4 kilometers up, but it was straight up (about 900 meters vertical gain over 4 km). The forest was a lush combination of towering trees covered in Old Man's Beard moss with a mossy floor. Eaton river surged down the slope and we crossed it several times.

As I began to drop back from the crowd and experience serious muscle pain in my quads (not quite recovered from Elk Thurston) I gave serious though to just what it was that draws me to this activity while friends like Jason wouldn't touch it with a nine-foot pole and Cliff isn't interested in it. What was the primordial appeal? A good deal of it is sensual and aesthetic I think, the feeling when you breach the forest and make it to the alpine meadows is always nice. Walking across tenous bridges while surveying the mad rush and roil of the river below gives you a strong sense of your tenancy on this planet. The sheer force of the surroundings, sometimes only in the steepness grading of the path is more than enough to humble you.

We climbed up through fog and cloud and eventually made it to the lake. It was raining and the surrounding mountains were fogged in. A whiskey jack did eat bread out of my hand several times, a sort of communing with the vessels of nature that picked up my spirits.

When the rain picked up, we started down and again I had an easier time at it, even leading near the bottom. The ride home smelled of musty hikers (probably just me).

All and all a few good days of exercise and a sort of contentedness mixed with severe muscle pains that is hard to describe unless you've felt it for yourself. I suppose, to sum it up I'd need only quote the title of this page - it is a certain freedom in those hills.

Signing off...

Here's a link to the photos Jordan took of the Elk Thurston hike:
http://jordan.mpages.org/elk/

Hiking photos as promised...

2006-06-01T18:00:00.000-07:00

A misty Cowichan Valley as seen on the way up Mount Tzhouhalem.
More Tzhouhalem views on the way up to the summit. The view from the second summit looking south is centre. Blair Fairweather, my hiking partner of the day is right.

A couple of photos from on top of Grouse Mountain when Dave and I trekked around there...

Some mountain scenery on the right taken from the summit of Little Goat Mountain. The right photo shows the summit of Big Goat Mountain on the right and Crown Mountain on the left.

Dave has a bite to eat and surveys Big Goat Mountain on the left. The sunburned trekker in front of Crown on the right, and the summit of Crown at centre with the "Camel" visible on the right (one of my climbing goals).

More mountain scenery from the top of Little Goat, with the aid of the long angle lens.

The Stawamus Chief on the left taken during my trad course. The windswept and rainy granite coming back from the summit of the first peak of the Chief.

On the way down from the first summit of the Chief, in desperate need of dry clothing and warm food...

The 27th year...

2006-05-28T13:58:00.000-07:00

My birthday has come and gone and time for reflection on the year as a whole is in order. I certainly didn't accomplish all the school goals, but that has just been side-tracked for the next couple of years, it'll get done when it gets done and not a moment sooner. A few goals accomplished:

1. Quit smoking for the last time, now that I'm 27, and have good things to look forward to, and it's Day 7 again, I'd like to say to people in the future that I quite smoking when I was 26 period.

2. I had my first piece of writing published, the Cabinda genocide article in the Ubyssey campus paper, the full article should come out in in May's issue of the The Knoll.

3. Kept active with the VOC and kept in generally good health all year. Increased climbing skill to sport leading 5.6s and 5.7s consistently, when before I could only top-rope a 5.9 at the max, that level is up to 5.10a. Learned Traditional and multi-pitch ascent. Got in more days climbing this schoolyear than last year and still have atleast 2 days planned at Squish before work starts.

4. Completed the third and fourth chapters of my novel. Both need editing, and the third needs to be pared down (God damn Dan Brown), but I expect to have Ariat's chapter written by the end of my 3rd season in the bush.
_____

The birthday was a blast, for many reasons but mainly because I got to see my bro, Gareth, who's on the Canadian National Ski Team, for the weekend (he's pictured at right doing Zoolander's Blue Steel I think). My sister and friend Reuben and my Aunt Lois (Back from New Zealand) were also there and we all had dinner at Milestones on the Victoria wharf. I drove back home in the rain and Gareth and I hit the sack in the studio. The poor guy's totally exhausted from all his training but I insisted on saturday that we go summit Mount Tzhouhalem.

We took dad's truck and ended up wandering around below the actual hiking trail looking for the correct path up the rock. We back-tracked for a while until we found a small trail leading up the rock.

It definately wasn't the trail I took with Blaire, it was smaller and ran up the cliffs and outcroppings towards the first summit.

We ran part of it and after every sramble there was a nice viewpoint of the cowichan valley. My brother had his digital camera and took the photos.

We found, and I was able to capture a garter snake on the way up. It released its defensive stink on my fingers but it was worth a picture or two before I set it free.

We eventually found our way to the cross at the first summit. There we rejoined the main trail and headed down after a little rest.

We jogged the bottom of the trail to make time. I was just glad to spend some quality time with my little bro.

He's off at the airport now with my folks. JB and Reuben left early this morning. I'll upload the rest of Gareth's pictures to this blog.

Then I'm going to try to finish off one of my papers. The next post will be a bunch of my photos from recent hikes.

Weekend on the rocks...

2006-05-23T23:00:00.000-07:00

The Vancouver heavens have opened up a deluge of Biblical proportions late on a tuesday evening and it seems about time to update the blog.

I spent the weekend in Squamish taking a course in traditional climbing. Squamish left a pretty nice impression on me. I've always liked climbing in the smoke bluffs, but the town shares that remote mystique that I guess I would apply to places like Canmore in Alberta. Surrounded on all sides by mountains, good hiking and great climbing it seems far from the port hustle of Vancouver although it isn't. I stayed in a nice, but pricey hostel, next to the highway for the weekend. The room was pleasant an empty most of the time, with amazing views of the Stawamus Chief from its patio.

Friday morning started early at the local starbucks where myself and another fellow named Peter met our teacher for the trad course, Craig. It rained lightly for most of the day, which didn't matter too much as we spent the better part of the day familiarizing ourselves with traditional gear (cams and nuts), and their proper placement in cracks underneath the Zombie roof.

When the sun came out in the afternoon, Craig set up a top-rope on a beautiful and fun 5.7 climbed called the Laughing Crack. I was hooked up with a rack of protection and made my way up the climb without much difficulty. The real challenge is looking at part of the crack and figuring out just what size of cam or nut you'll need to fit in properly. It definately will require a great deal more practice. You have to get used to climbing along with one hand and having the other able to go to your side to find gear without risking falling. It was great fun, especially given the climb itself was not too simple but ridiculous fun nonetheless. I found a picture of a trad climber going up the laughing crack pictured on the right.

For reading in the hostel I had Irshad Manji's "The Trouble with Islam Today", an excellent book that really requires a post of its own to be made later.

I bought a small booklet and pen to record the various knots and rules for my course on the second day. We trekked in to Ronin's Corner [sp] and set up another top-rope on a nice 5.6. The corner was where I first learned to set top-ropes on the VOC Longhike 2 years ago. I went up the pitch, set up and anchor and Craig showed me how to belay from the top. We turned the climb into a 2-pitch and it went well. In the afternoon we went over to Fern Gully and I had my first true trad climb on a gentle 5.5 or 5.4 that was basically a collection of big crags and verticle shelves thirty or forty feet up. I definately benefitted from having done sport before as the usual spookiness factor of climbing above an anchor wasn't too extreme. At the top, I learned the munter knot belay and Peter seconded my climb. We rapped down the pitch and spent the rest of the afternoon learning rope ascent and some rescue techniques.

All and all a great course. The investment of a trad rack is a bit daunting, especially at the pre-brushing-season-moment, atleast $700. But given the freedom it allows in terms of finding out climbing spots and going up mountain faces without the need for bolted routes.

On monday, Dave came up from rainy Vancouver. We had ambitious plans of going up Mount Brew, but that was scaled back to a climb of the backside of the Chief. The beginning was a forested stair-master of a climb that just went up and up through the forest next to Shannon Falls. We decided to climb the first peak. The whole climb was about 450 meters vertical, and near the top it steepened up to ladders up scalloped and rippled granite slopes. Dave and I got off the tracks and I, in the blowing wind and rain, tried my hand at a solo of a nice granite slab. A little slippery and spooky but fun. We soon convinced ourselves that we'd lost the route and returned back to the path. The last part of the climb was up onto the granite peak in the wind and rain with the help of chains at one point. We skittered to the top (to wet for photos), before we joined a bunch of other hikers heading down the peak. It was a reverse stair-master on the way down and we were soaked to the bone and cold when we made our way to the Brew Pub for lunch.

Weather wasn't perfect, but a damn good long-weekend nonetheless. Dave's off to Scandanavia and Eastern Europe tomorrow, watched a bit of Michael Palin's "Sahara" tonight. Signing off for now.

Summer's hit the island and the sad decline of the Panditas...

2006-05-17T00:42:00.000-07:00

It's late at night at my dad's place on cherry point road near Cowichan bay. I had a nap earlier, so I'm kind of wide awake now trying to wind down. Everything is beautiful here, my Dad's flowers are all in bloom, he has the green thumb and knows all their names all I know is that the whole property is permeated with the warm, humid smell of intermingling flowers. All the stars are out and, aside from the TV, I can only hear the sprinklers outside. The Rhodis are in bloom and smell great.

My Mom's dog Morgan is here and doing well, chasing robins and rabbits. Spirit and Ruffles, our two cats are as spritely as every and are happy to have me over again.

I got a great deal of progress done on the China paper today, mainly just outlining Wallerstein's World Systems Theory for use later in application to China's shift from external to core nation after the death of Mao. It's the type of paper I love to write. I'm all over political sociology and development studies. The better the grades in this course, the better that chance the CUSO will look at my application. Their application states that work overseas will help. I'd definately consider living cheaply in Marrakesh or Tunis if I could find work. According to Lonely Planet though, I'd have to be plugged into the ex-pat neighbourhood, and unemployment's high, I'm no teacher, and the jobs should really go to the Africans. Hopefully, I'll have most of the paper done by tommorow evening.

In a couple of days I'm taking a traditional climbing course in Squamish. With weather like this, it's going to be amazing and gives me every reason I need to stay off the smokes.

Ah, yes, the 'Panditas', Sanskrit for Scholar and origin of the word bandied about the American network news chats 'pundit' as in 'poltical'. Is Fox news anything but the mouthpiece of the Bush and Cheney administration. It is stunning how well that network of "scholars" has served the administration in: acting as apologists for administration, reporting selectively, keeping the fear level at its highest whenever popular, and ruthlessly attacking the Democrats (i.e. comparing the President of Iran's recent message to the President to Democrat talking points). Okay, so you say, yeah, I watch Jon Stewart too but who really believes Fox. The answer: The same people who've ensured that the Bush Administration has served two terms. Many of them in the Bible belt, blaming jews and homosexuals for 9/11 (Fallwell), and while holding the Bible high know so little about religions in general as not to know:

A. Jesus was a Jew.

B. Allah is Arabic for "the God" not God, and refers to bringing the people of Mohammed into the correct faith of the followers of Abraham (the first prophet) and Jesus (who is seen as the second prophet). One God that Jews, Christians, and Muslims pray to.

Say that to the average Texan and over a dinner party.

signing off for now...

Hiking: Vancouver Island, Vancouver and other stuff...

2006-05-14T15:50:00.000-07:00

So first to report, yet another cigarette relapse, it was a small regrettable one, but now I'm back to day 3 with the patches and feeling confident that I won't relapse again, as I really can't afford to literally or figuratively. This is minor business, my blog keeps me honest about these things.

When I was still on the island last week I went to visit Tracy again and her little curly-blonde-haired, 13-month-old baby Emily said "Hi!" to me when I came in the door. According to Trace, she's becoming much more independent these days. I saw her crawl around and work on standing near the coffee table. I was there a while back to see her clap her hands (a first), and this time I saw her clap her feet (another first). I wish I had a picture I could upload of her, but at this time I don't. I took he for a little walk around the house and bounced her around before Tracy and I left. We hunted around Parksville for a while looking for some moving boxes for mum but couldn't find the place. Lunch at Smitty's, brunch I should really say. Then off to Englishman river falls for a nice hike around the falls. Tracy and I chatted, I ran the last bit uphill to the parking lot. I love the lush vegetationan tall trees of Vancouver Island. When I go up north brushing, my fondest memories are of wandering the Vancouver Island rainforest.

In other news, Kalle Lasn of Adbusters rejected my Cabinda article for being "too particular". I guess it wasn't "Adbustery" enough. I'll keep trying, and its going to be published in The Knoll at the end of May, so I'll have a link to it from this site by then. Came back to Vancouver and have been working feverishly on a paper for my sociology of development and underdevelopment about the Chinese economic miracle that we are all witnessing in the news. A little bit more research and I can start writing the giant. I went to the Kaleida cave twice and UBC and climbed the all VO+ routes (5.10a) in the bouldering wall. Since it costs a bundle for me to go to the wall, I spent some time at the weights as well.

Yesterday, Dave and I went up the Grouse Mountain Skylift (bloody pricey but great views from the top). There was thick and sloshy snow all around and a Grizzly reserve at the base of Grouse. We watched the bears for a while, before Dave acquired sunglasses for me (as I was going blind from the snow reflection). It was a beautiful blue sky and sunny day. We began our hike on a cat-track and hoofed it up the the summit of Grouse. Beautiful views of the Greater Vancouver Area, I took a few pictures and will put a link to them when my roll runs out. We descended into another snowy valley and fought our way up to the summit of the next peak (Dam mountain). As with the lions, we would have made much better progress with snow-shoes. After stopping for some food, we descended into another snowy valley and fought are way up to the summit of Little Goat mountain. At this point we only saw one other hiker on his way back - possibly from Crown pass.

At the top of Little Goat we had beautiful views of Crown Mountain to the left and Big Goat mountain to the right (pictued is crown sometime in the summer). In the distance we could see the Tantalus range, and Garibaldi. I took many pictures. Crown and Big goat were covered in snow with no tracks leading to the summits. We considered an ascent of Big Goat before a time check made the decision for us to return to Grouse.

We slowly ascended to the peak of Dam and then re-ascended Grouse before sliding our way down the ski hill back to the lodge for a good dinner.

At home I received my UNICEF yearly report in the mail, I also realised that my face was lobster-red from the reflection off the snow. Next time I'll be a little better prepared for peak trekking on a sunny day with snow.

Today, I went to the gym, climbed all the VO+ routes, ran two miles in on a treadmill in about half an hour, lifted some weights and finished one more VO route before heading home. I'm feeling good about the non-smoking thing and just have to remember to always have sugarless gum in my pocket (that stuff is essential).

Signing off, tired and sunburnt.

Day 2 all over again...

2006-05-06T22:52:00.000-07:00

Okay, some things to report: a cigarette relapse on my 11th day. I felt like a heel as soon as I cracked the pack - damn school pressures but no excuse really. So now I'm on day 2 of the patch again. So much essay writing to be done over the next month and all I want to do is get out into the mountains and hike. I got some of my vaccinations for Africa yesterday, a small amount of yellow fever is coursing through my veins at this moment (it hasn't given me much more than a headache).

Back on Vancouver Island at the moment at my mom's place in Qualicum Beach. I always feel as if I've come home when I stay in this town. I went out with Tracy and her new boyfriend Mike tonight to see the Errington Coffee House performances. A couple of decent bands performed and a soloist did a pretty good rendition of "Smoke gets in my eyes" amongst others. I love the small community atmosphere of this place, the coastal rainforest all around, I even enjoyed the rain that came when I got to Qual, which is something odd to enjoy in early May.

I went with Dave and saw "Live and Become" at Fifth Avenue cinemas. It told the story of a young Ethiopian boy who escapes the Ethiopian famine by disguising himself as a jew so that he might escape to Jersusalem with the rest of the Falushas (I think they were called). A very good film the focused on the boy's life as he grew up and desperately tried to construct an identity for himself in this foreign land always knowing that his only true wish was to return to his mother in the refugee camp in the Sudan. The film ends with him returning to his homeland to work with doctors w/o borders. He sees his mother, and grasps her to himself (she is a mere wisp of a woman after years of poverty). When he does so she lets out a wail of uncontrollable sadness. It's hard to describe the sound, it's not high pitched crying, it was a low and endless bellow. If sadness could be described in sound, that would be it.

Also saw Brokeback Mountain, damn Ang Lee. Crouching Tiger Hidden Dragon made me want to travel to China given his luscious cinematography and consideration of landscape as a backdrop to events. The movie was all it was played up to be, beautifully sad. But the scenery, those jaw-dropping high alpine meadows, lakes, and mountains of Alberta. Sometimes I miss the prairies and the mountains of my youth to a great degree. Never more than seeing that film. I've really got to get myself a vehicle and climb and trek in the Rockies on of these days.

Good news to report about the Cabinda article, I'd sent it to the editors of Adbusters hoping to get it published. I hadn't heard anything for a few days until Kale Lasn, owner and publisher of Adbusters, contacted my through e-mail and asked me to send him the article. Fingers crossed, if I could get the full article in Adbusters it would be would be a Godsend.

I'm now of the state and mind that a 4th season with Apex as a brusher might not be what I really want to do with my life. I've decided to apply for a position with Canadian University Students Overseas (CUSO) for a 2 year volunteer position in Africa after I graduate. Hopefully doing development and sustainable economy work in Burkina Faso or Ghana. I intend to e-mail their African director with my interest pretty soon even though graduation now looks like it's going to take 1 more semester and a summer semester before graduation.

Signing off....

Darwin's Nightmare - A Film Review

2006-05-02T23:29:00.000-07:00

Just finished watching Hubert Sauper's documentary of the above name. A pertinent film that discusses a case in point of the 1st world/3rd world exploitative relationship I was talking about a couple of posts ago.

The film centers around the Nile Perch fishing industry on Lake Victoria in and around Mwanza, Tanzania. With hand-held interviews and scene-shooting, the film gives its focus a raw and uncensored feel.

The nile perch, is a huge predatory fish that europeans pay top dollar for. According to EU officials in the film, exports of the fish represent the largest export commodity that Tanzania has to offer. The fish however, has devoured other fish in the lake and also cannibalized its young. The result is complete devastation to the Lake's ecosystem. A meeting of Tanzanian government officials is shown a film detailing this destruction and quickly brushes it off as only showing the bad side of the nile perch. They speak of the importance of "selling Tanzania, and selling fish" over the problems it might present.

Even though, factories are producing 500 tonnes daily of the fish for export, none of the fish goes towards solving the desperat famine within the region. The film notes that while 2 million European whites eat the fish daily, only the useless heads and carcasses are allowed to be sold to the local communities. A local man is paid to guard the fish stocks from intruders looking for food, he notes that he only got the job because the last man who had it was hacked to death. The huge transport planes that come into the area daily are supposedly empty. It is noted, however, that they often carry arms and ammunition for sale to rebels in the D. R. Congo (see previous post) to sustain Africa's great war. As a Tanzanian journalist points out, this provides the Europeans with a double profit, guns come in, fish come out, while nothing goes to those who work the hardest.

The women of the film are widows whose husbands have died of Aids or famine and they come to work as prostitutes for the pilots. During a funeral, a pastor notes that the rebion can lose 50 to 60 fisherman in 6 months to "the virus". Yet he maintains that condoms are dangerous because they are a sin against God's law. The girls risk beatings from their clients, as the film ends we learn that one woman was beaten to death by an Australian client.

It is a very sad but extremely necessary film. The security guard says that he would welcome war because it would mean he would be well-paid for a change. Many stories are told in them film and they are all tragic. The fish industry may benefit the fat cats in the government of Tanzania for now, but a few years down the road, the entire country will be facing massive famine instead of just certain regions.

When I rented the film, a friend of mine who works at the video store told me to rent it if I wanted to depress myself. Charity fatigue doesn't just grip nations, it grips us. What can we do but listen, write, and open our eyes to the extremely exploitative relationship between the world that surrounds us and the world of Africa and other regions of the third world.

The Effects of Protest and Rumblings of War in the Congo

2006-05-01T17:21:00.000-07:00

In my last post, I wrote that Talisman inc, a Calgary-based oil company operated in the Sudan during the civil war between the muslim Khartoum government and the Christian/animist militias in the south. This was true. However, a good friend pointed out to me that Talisman, due to pressure from human rights groups has withdrawn from the Sudanese projects until peace comes to Sudan. The U.S. government also applied pressure to Talisman, threatening to pull it from US markets. The larger project, from which Talisman sold its stake, the Greater Nile Oil Production and Pipeline project still continues to operate with companies from Malaysia, China, India, and Sudan's domestic company. Ultimately, it's a small victory, but a victory nonetheless that shows the positive effects of large-scale protest.

Such protests took place yesterday en masse in Washington DC, and smaller scale in Ottawa, Toronto and Vancouver. At least one members of the Project for the New American Century (PNAC) has spoken publicly about military intervention in Sudan "because we can't allow dictators to kill their own people." This quote of course is not found anywhere in PNAC a document that was written before 9/11 and was concerned with establishing the United States of America as the only true world power and empire. Tenets of PNAC include the rolling back of civil liberties of Americans, fighting and winning multiple theatre wars, military control of space and cybersapce. Chillingly, the document wrote that such actions could not be done unless a "second pearl harbour" a cataclysmic event happened. Along come the attacks of 9/11, and
PNAC becomes policy. Since Bush has taken power, PNAC has had a name change and was referred to as the 'Freedom Doctrine" by Bush in his second inaugural address. Most people will tell you that the war in Iraq and Afghanistan is about control over regional resources (oil and gas mainly). As Gwyn Dyer points out, the wars are a way of showing potential regional rivals (such as the EU, or China) that the US "no longer plays by the rules" in terms of international law. The Iraq war was an illegal war by UN standards. The US has made a strong play to hold down Iraq and Afghanistan. Let us not forget how resource rich Iran and Sudan are. The chink in PNAC's armour, is that the US military is exhausted from combat in Iraq. The idea of the US fighting in multiple theatres and winning is ludicrous to comanders of their military forces. It is no surpise the the members (Cheney, Rumsfeld, Wolfowitz, and Richard Perle) have never served a day in the military.

As late as the spring of 2004, there were rumblings of war in the Democratic Republic of the Congo. Observers worried that it might result in a repeat of the first African World War (1998-2003) that involved 6 nations and left 3 million dead. The main opponents in the war are long-time rivals Rwanda and the government forces of the Congo. To put the deaths of this war in perspective (deaths from fighting, starvation, and disease) it would be the equivalent of a 9/11 catastrophe every day and half for 5 years straight. The wild and lawless regions of eastern Congo are home to anti-Rwandan militants (many the escaped perpetrators of the Rwandan genocide), Rwandan-friendly militias, and Congolese troops. In early June 0f 2004, two miltias occupied the Eastern Congo city of Bukavu for a week. Joseph Kabila, the rebel leader who ousted Mbutu sese seko's brutal regime in the 90s, responded by chasing the rebels out and posting between 5000 and 10,000 Congolese troops along the Rwandan border. Rwanda cites its involvement in the Congo as protecting their nation from the anti-Rwandan militias. It must be said however, that Rwanda desperately needs the energy resources in that region for their power-starved nation.

However, Rwanda still relies heavily on foreign aid which they run the risk of losing should they launch any military offensive into the Congo. The U.N. has its most expensive mission in this region of the Congo, and U.N. helicopters launched attacks at rebel militias to drive them from Bukavu. One group retreated, the other did not. The DR Congo still has the world's largest concentration of child soldiers, though as many as 15,000 have been demobilized. The DR Congo's UNICEF head of office Massimo Altimari rarely if ever visits the site he funds. The BBC quotes him as saying, "The situation doesn't permit all the displaced people to go back to their villages because they are scared, they are tired...We have no government here, the government is represented by the army and the army is not behaving well."

This war bears another grim description in which rape is commonly used as a weapon of war. A church hospital in the region houses rape victims, many just teenagers, and in three year has treated as many as 4,500 victims alone from their region. The majority of the deaths in Africa's long war are children dying from preventable diseases reports Amnesty International.

Though sporadic fighting continues in the vast regions of Eastern Congo, the real crisis emerging in the humanitarian one caused by years of vicious combat. Villages have been destroyed, children abducted for use in the various militias, and disease runs rampant. Organisation such as UNICEF fear entering the region for their own personal safety.

War and Rebirth: Some thoughts on Africa

2006-04-27T20:14:00.000-07:00

Remember Europe in the mid-1990s: a multitude of separate nations and economies, some booming, some struggling and a full-blown genocide occuring in a country that used to be called Yugoslavia. The European Union was in its fledgling state, not yet the economic and political power-block that it is now. The western world jumped to the aid of the Bosnians, I certainly remember nightly broadcasts from a bullet-ridden hive of snipers called Sarajevo. There were great failures (such as the Srebernitza massacre of over 8000 Bosnian muslims) due to a United Nations tying its own hands militarily speaking and prefering negotiation with Milosevic while his para-military chetnicks ran rampant through the safe-zones. Nonetheless, the press of the world was there and we were reminded nightly how very important transpiring events were to ours and Europe's security.

Now try to remember Africa at the same time. Rwanda, the Hutus and the Tutsis. As Romeo Dallaire, the Canadian comander of U.N. forces in the region points out in his film "Shake hand with the Devil", his mission was provided with so little supplies and logisitical support, it was as if he was set up to fail in preventing the ensuing genocide. The world turned its back on Rwanda, and why not - it's Africa after all. It's tribalism and Rwanda has no strategic value. Nearly 1 million Rwandans died. Rwanda was the only conflict that caught any portion of the global media eye. The decades old and brutal civil war in Liberia was ongoing, no to mention the war that was termed "Africa's World War" (1998-2003) fought by rebel forces escaping Rwanda, Angolan Rebels, and Congolese rebels and government forces deep in the jungles of what was formerly known as Zaire (now called the Democractic Republic of the Congo). This war is still ongoing and has claimed 4 million lives over the course of its dreary 8 year run. Amnesty International reports that recent fighting has flared up and that the region is far too dangerous for aid workers to enter.

When I interviewed a UBC anthropologist about the genocide in the Angolan occupied enclave of Cabinda, he spoke of "charity-fatigue in the West." There seems, only so much that we can take of this misery, we just come to a point where we don't want to hear anymore. It seems however, that Rwanda, as grave the cost was in human life and suffering, has taught the world's media a harsh lesson. Though coverage has died down, the genocide in the Darfur region of Sudan has not. It bears the grim title of the first genocide of the 21st Century during which atleast 100,000 civilians have lost their lives at the hands of the Sudanese-government-backed Janjaweed Militia. The war has left hundreds of thousands in refugee camps along the border region with Chad. This is a problem that Africa is trying to handle for itself. Soldiers from the African Union (AU) police the camps and help provide water and medicine to the refugees. But the soldiers are undersupplied and rely on local pick-ups for transportation. When it comes to protecting the refugees from the raids of the Janajweed or the Chadian rebels be they looking for child soldiers to abduct, food, women to rape, or men to kill, the AU forces are outgunned and have been reported as standing aside as these crimes are committed. The AU is currently funded by the EU an the US, both of which want to see a UN force into Darfur. The president of Sudan has vowed to make Darfur a graveyard for foreign soldiers, and recent threats from Osama bin Laden seem to suggest that a UN force in the region would serve as a big-target for fighters in the region inspired by his message. A recent attack by Chadian rebels and the Janjaweed militia on the capital of Chad in an attempt oust the president, has resulted in increased tensions between the two countries. The attack was defeated, many of the attacking forces were child soldiers abducted from the refugee camps. The leaders of Chad threatened to expel all refugees from their border regions back into Darfur. The UN quickly stepped into to ease tensions.

The plight of child soldiers in African wars is well known to writer/journalists such as Ryszard Kapuscinski. The children are abducted from their families or refugee camps and kept as prisoners. Somali warlords would use amphetamines to suppress the hunger of their soldiers and work them into a drug-induced state. Cannabis is often used to suppress any feelings of pain. As Kapuscinski points out, children have little concept of self-preservation and would run madly into combat firing wildly while their adult counter-parts were more inclined to take cover in battle. Thus, the surviving children, addled with drugs, are psychologically broken and constructed into killing machines. Aid agencies have reported cases of child soldiers being returned to their long-lost families and then running away to find their soldier compatriots. What lives they may have had are cancelled out by the wars and warlords of their lands. When the wars end, and the soldiers are no longer needed, they return to the cities and seek employment. All too often, the legacy of the wars is a physical one for many.

Recently, there have been some developments in a positive direction that are worth noting. Four Sudanese nationals have been charged with war crimes in relation to Darfur and are having their assets seized. They include rebel leaders and military comanders of the government in Khartoum. The civil war that tore Liberia apart for so many years has ended, and the nation recently celebrated their first democractic election of a woman president (2 firsts). The notorious Charles Taylor, former president of Liberia and instigator of civil war in Sierra Leone as well as in his own nation was captured in Nigeria and is being put on trial by UN forces for crimes against humanity. Angola has enjoyed 2 years of relative peace after the end of their 30-year civil war. It is now enjoying relative prosperity due to its oil reserves (especially in the enclave of Cabinda - see link on sidebar).

It's easy to blame Africans for the problems of Africa. Indeed, endemic corruption is a hallmark trait of so many democratic and autocratic governments in the region. What is not so easy to admit or see is that we in the Western world both benefit from and encourage such corruption to maintain our standard of living in the West. Alberta-based corporation Talisman Incorporated has been exploring and drilling for oil in Sudan with full compliance and complicity of the Khartoum government long before Darfur made the nightly news. There have been reports of the Janjaweed militia being used to run civilians off their land to allow for unimpeded oil exploration. American oil-giant Chevron-Texaco has been doing business in Africa for over 40 years. In 1975, the corporation paid MPLA Angolan soldiers to take over oil fields in Cabinda (during the initial invasion of the Republic by Angolan troops). Countries like Nigeria and Angola are overflowing in oil and mineral wealth and yet, so little of that wealth finds its way back filtering amongst the citizens of those nations. Regions of the D.R. Congo are similarly rich in resources to the point where there have been recent rumblings of war amongst neighbouring nations. Once again, central Africa could sink back into its world war with barely a peep of acknowledgement or care from the World's media. Africa as a whole, through the auspices of the AU is taking major steps to address their regional problems. Any solutions will be impossible without an admission of complicity from the Western world in resource-exploitation of African nations, and steps taken to eliminate this economic relation. It is a relation that beckons back to the dark days of colonialism, the comparison is not difficult to draw. The first step is admitting that we as citizens of the west are part of the problem. After that, what are our options?

Donate, Unicef and Amnesty International do good work on the continent, if you can. Protest the complicity of cororations such as Talisman and Chevron in ongoing genocides. The least we can do is become aware. Africa has the strength and will to improve its own situation. This, however, is impossible when Western corporations ensure that progress is made impossible through support of regional government corruption and infighting for their own financial benefit. Africa is on the precipice: the 21st Century could hold amazing potential and growth for the continent. Already we are seeing this in the area of eco-tourism. Imagine travelling to Mauretania or Libya in the 1980s, now there are several tour agencies operating in those and other nations. While some regions are in recovery and growth mode, others, such as the Democratic Republic of the Congo, see no end to their suffering.

Generalisations on the continent are always cause for some concern. In the words of Kupscinski, Africa is too large, it is a cosmos, except in the minds of Westerners Africa does not exist.

The Aesthetics of Sorrow in Film - two case studies

2006-04-24T16:39:00.000-07:00

Most people I've spoken with about Ang Lee's Brokeback Mountain have described it in terms that I would paraphrase as a beatifully sad film. I have yet to see the film, but having seen Ang Lee's Crouching Tiger Hidden Dragon, I take what they say at face value. When the majority of hollywood tripe films (i.e. romantic comedy - "Failure to Launch") or even very good heartwarming films (i.e. Napoleon Dynamite - with its truly happy ending) concern themselves with emotional and aesthetic gratification (Sara Jessica Parker and Mathew McConaghey[sp?] are both beautiful people - by hollywood standards - and the sets 'ocean front property with nice light coloring and warm coloring' give a feeling of warmth, and joviality) something must be said for the importance of films that don't pander to this desire from the paying public. The beauty of sorrow in film has a far different pull on the viewer. I'm disregarding films like Sean Penn's "The Assasination of President Nixon" which are about as comfortable to see and hear as all ten fingernails dragging themselves across the chalkboard and leave you somewhat ill to the stomach and mind afterwards. The good sad films leave you with the opposite of gratification, there is an emotional emptiness that seems to fill the stomach when the curtain closes and yet you are convinced that what you've seen was nothing less than truly beautiful.

Take English director Michael Winterbottom's futuristic tragedy "Code 46" with Samantha Morton and Tim Robbins. Winterbottom manages to create a futuristic world solely out of the components and concerns of our own modern one. Instead of relying on expensive sets, filming was taken to various different parts of the world (Dubai, Shanghai, Northern India, amongst others). Most of the world has been reduced to desert ('a fuera') where the poor and displaced eek out a living, while the fortunate live in the cities. The story tells of an insurance investigator who falls in love with the woman he is sent to investigate. The woman, Maria, feels that she has been waiting for Robbins all her life and that fate has intervened to bring the two of them together. There is a palpable attraction between the two in the first seconds of their meeting (an interogation room - where Robbins uses an 'intuition virus' to determine that Maria is the one who has been dealing out false insurance papelles). They meet later on a subway and over the course of the night begin a passionate affair (Robbins is married with a child).

The colors normally associated with warmth and happiness in films are inverted as the bright and hot colors of the desert wastelands of the outcasts where Maria had lived for a number of years. Other uses of warm colors and lighting paint the picture of a grand and solemn sense of urban alienation for those living inside the cities through Winterbottom's superb camera work. For two souls to meet through chance and share each others' embraces and find love in this aesthetic quickly brings a forlorn beauty and the chance of true happiness. In time, Robbins does some investigating of his ownand finds out that a relationship with Maria is a violation of Code 46. Because of mass cloning and in vetro births, much of the world shares genes. The code is in place to protect against sex between individuals who might share similar genes resulting in incestuous reproduction. Even though the two characters are worlds apart both in where they came from, how they were brought up, and who they really are the world they live in or perhaps fate has conspired to make their love forbidden. A pondering Robbins seen above in the airport with hundreds of flourescent Damoclesian swords aiming at him from above and below. It is a beautiful shot, but it offers little comfort. Enter the desert and become a nobody, remain in the stark cities and lose the one true love of his life. He comes back the Shanghai, ordered by his bosses to track down the offender when he failed the first time, and learns that Maria has had a pregnancy terminated and all memories of him and their affair "the sex act" as it is termed by a doctor, wiped from her memory. At this point, the warmth and inkling of happiness we have from the film is solely an effect of the two lovers being together. They are playing a dangerous game and the stark beauty of the opposing environments seems ready to swallow them at any point.

In an embrace at the airport, when Maria has helped Robbins gain passage out of Shanghai, she remembers him from her fatalistic dreams. An embrace is all that is needed, they resolve to throw caution and the demands of their world to the wind and flee to the legendary freeport of Jbel Ali. Once they arrive in the city (a combination of Rajastan and Dubai) the aesthetic changes. Yes, the pleasantries of the city are not present, it is dirty and run down but it has personality and warmth. From the blanket to their bed that the hotel owner's wife made, to the children running and playing in the streets. There is a very real sense that where they are now is far more human than the world they were brought into. Perhaps this is an affect of their feelings: they are together and in love, perhaps there is a chance of a life together. After a night of passion, Robbins watches silently as Maria unwittingly betrays their love to the authorities, in voice-over we hear her speak "you must have known what the virus would make me do, was there nothing you could do to stop me?". She calls in a Code 46 violation and returns to bed with no memory of what she has done. They flee, they are pursued.

The separate environments and world of the two lovers triumphs in the end. We see Robbins back in the sterile white and blue Seattle, his memory wiped of Maria, Jbel Ali, and everything he knew as vital for his soul for that brief time. Maria is cast a fuera, into the wastelands for her crime. She is unimportant now, one of the outcasts. Thus, she is left with her memories. She and her memories compose all that remains of what once was a beautiful thing. She wanders through the barren desert, a picture of perfect loneliness. She sits, tired, her eyes half-closing before uttering to the emptiness of her world in vain "I miss you."

Andrea Dorfman's first feature film "Parlsely Days" is of a similar vein, if more quirky in its development. This east coast indie venture tells the story that so many films never consider: the end of a long-term loving relationship. Kate (Megan Dunlop) and Ollie have what their friends term the perfect relaitonship. She teaches bicycle maintenance and repair and he's a (absurdly meticulous sex-ed teacher at a local school). The film works well to capture the indie feel of north Halifax, as some critics have put it, from the handlebars of a bike. Kate learns that she is pregnant, and on the advice of her herbalist friend, embarks on a diet of parsley to induce menstruation (a herbal abortion).

She's been with Ollie for five years, he is (sometimes irritatingly so) the picture of a perfect, lving, caring boyfriend (he's referred to as a "male lesbian" by her lesbian friends). Kate, however, shared a passionate kiss with one of her bike students that left her convinced that she could no longer be in love with Ollie. As the film progresses, she is isolated from friends and Ollie (in her own mind) as she mulls over her difficulties. She's tormented as to what to do. In between, we have idyllic flashbacks of how their love began in a canoe on vacation at a lake. It is clear, from these times that the two were very much in love for some time and that the decisions she has to make will be difficult and are hers to make alone.

She see-saws (quite literally in one shot) on her decision to break up with Ollie. Ollie learns of the pregnancy on his own, is elated and has visions of a shared future for him and Kate. Ollie never fell out of love with Kate, he remains faithfully devoted through the last scenes. Kate comes clean with Ollie and, as they sit alone in their canoe that lies in the grass of their backyard, she learns that it was Ollie who was really responsible for the pregnancy (everyone had always thought he was the 'King of contraception'). He tells her he doesn't care about the kiss she shared with the student and that they should move on and stay together. When the words come out, it is with no pleasure that Kate declares "I don't love you anymore". The words bring as much sorrow to her as they do to him. They lie in the canoe all night and following day, in the words of Kate "when you think you're holding someone for the last time you don't want to let go" while a melancholic Julie Doiron cover of "In the Early Morning Rain" plays.

The parsley fails, Kate goes for an abortion. Ollie, has a book constructed for Kate "Other things to think about when you are getting and abortion" that is juxtaposed with a beautiful 8mm sequnce of shots. As the film ends, we see Kate and Ollie when it all began, out on the lake in the canoe. Kate makes him promise that ten years from now, no matter who they're with, they have to come back to this exact place. Ollie promises. The canoe and the lovers fade away and we are left with nothing but an empty lake filling the screen. There are points of intensity in a relationship when vows such as that are made and believed for a long time - as Parsely Days beutifully points out even that can fade away into nothingness.

Week 1 - Squamish: I got squished...

2006-04-22T20:16:00.000-07:00

The day began early, after a late night shooting the shit with Ryan in the back alley. Up at 6, substitute yogourt for usual liquid breakfast, bring camera, rope, ten quickdraws, helmet and the rest of the gear. At the greyhound station early, my bespectacled climbing partner for the day in nowhere to be seen. He arrives as the bus is preparing to leave, great relief at this point. A slim man, with short hair and a french accent, Gilles from Portugal. I get the sense he's out of my league in terms of climbing ability (I have said I would be comfortable leading 5.8s or 5.9s), he's interested in sport climbing and trad.

We arrive in Squamish and walk over to the smoke bluffs. The VOC party was supposed to be meeting at the town's Tim Horton's. We can't find it so we continue on alone. The weather is beautiful, not a cloud in the sky and the sun's going to be bright and hot. We hike up (I'm relieved to find that I'm not huffing nearly as much as I was when I smoked and climbed stairs at the library for God's sake) to Burger's and Fries and find what we think is a 5.8 slab. It's steep, with nothing but the smallest nubbins for nail-holds, nothing but smearing action with the feet. I volunteer to lead it for the first climb of the day. It's difficult at first, I get to the first clip and I'm in. The bases of my soles are killing me, I make it to the second clip and (struggling) get in the quickdraw. I clamber up a little further, try to get footing off to the left, first lead fall. Not bad, expected it, though I didn't push off the wall so hands and forearms are grated. More scrambling, another fall shortly thereafter. Then I make a hard push for the third bolt, and have a great lead fall, my first big one, it even caused a wierd 3-4 second anxiety/adrenaline attack. It passes and I make it clear to Gilles that I can't get up this one.

I come down and a couple, Luc and Winifred approach and chat, it turns out that Gilles' book is wrong and I was trying to lead a 5.10a called High Boltage. Fuckin' eh! the last thing I lead was a damp 5.7 in Skaha. Gilles leads it quite well and sets up an anchor, and then I climb the bastard. Hardest outdoor climb I've ever done - feeling pretty proud of myself at this point. Luc and Winifred borrow my rope for a while; Gilles and myself scout out other climbs.

We retrieve my sport rope and head down to Fatty Bolger for some sport leads. We both lead a 5.6 called Dave's and a 5.7 called Stepladder with no falls. Good slab with more visible foot ledges and larger hand-holds. We run into a party of French-Canadian climbers (two of wich are in the VOC though we've not met before).

After a rest for water, and a small dose of sugary caffeine for me, we begin the lengthy hike to find the Octopuses' Garden at the top of the Bluffs. The sun's really out and its a sweaty hike for me. We arrive in trad country with a group of climbers laying protection up crags. Bill the Kaleida Cave administrator/builder is there laying protection up Octopuses' Garden. I watch for a while trying to learn. I can't help but staring at a climb called 'edible panties'. Gilles has disappeared around the corner to find Respiration Rock. I track him down and we're staring at a series of crags and crags so wide they deserve the term chimney. He instructs me in the belay style of traditional climbing, the language barrier proves to be a bit of a problem, but we're using two ropes and I eventually get the picture. Gilles starts up the wet and mossy 5.6 called Hernia. The crags prove torture on the feet as he places his cams and uses his friends as he calls them (as they call them in Portugal) to aid in getting up the chimney before moving significantly over to the left and using them again for a bit to get up the second chimney. He makes it, remarks at its difficulty, and sets us an anchor around a big tree at the top. He takes a while to set up the belay at the top and I take a while to get sore feet into climbing shoes before I begin to second the pitch. The first cam comes out without much difficulty but the crags destroy the feet. With much yelling from me and encouragement from Gilles, I muscle with my arms up through the first chimney, smearing to the left and right with feet until I reach the mid-climb bench and rest. I hammer out a nut and manage to jam both thighs and feet into the second chimney and pull desperately with my hands with much yelling and support from above. Make it to the top, hoot and holler, fuckin' rights - first experience in trad and it was grand. I make a terrible rappel down scratching every part of me as I descend, something about rappeling still freaks me out a little. Gilles cleans the anchor and comes down in proper style.

We pack up with just enough time to rush down the hill and into town to catch the Greyhound back to Van. All day no sign of the other VOCers. Nonetheless, a completely kick-ass way to celebrate 1 week without smokes. On the bus ride back we gaze at the Stawamus Chief (pictured above at right, next to typical squish rock). It's a goal, it might be a ways in the future before I can trad my way up it. I'm going to take a 2 day trad instruction course in Squamish before the summer. Harder sport next time, and maybe a little begginer trad.

Now I'm weak, with a sunburn and bashed up knees. Signing off for now...

Did I freeze Sam McGee?

2006-04-20T15:58:00.000-07:00

Okay, those are the lions, dead centre top of picture. The two rock peaks are, respectively, the East and West Lions or the Two sisters. Yesterday was day four of the contintual-exercise-to- avoid-smoking-routine and it worked quite well, a bit two well.

The day begins at around ten, when I roll out of bed, consume caffeine in large sugary doses and pack my camera bag with 2/3 of a box of crackers. Mountaineering boots, check, warm fleece, check (thinking I probably won't need it), camera and all accoutrements, check, two water canisters, check, guidebook, check. Next step, wake up Dave. He's up and about. Soon he's at my door and we're off. Of course, the trekking pole (I had to forget something) is left at home. We're downtown consuming Mcdonald's food at around noon. Strange thing about that sort of food, it tastes good going down, but provides you with absolutely no energy, I guess there's nothing really strange about that.

We follow the directions from my guidebook and find ourselves on the sea-to-sky highway a little later. We drive in circles in a neighbourhood off the highway for a while until frenzied navigation leads us to a fenced off logging road. The route has been found. It starts to rain seconds after we get out of the car. I am quite happy that I did being a fleece. I realize the trekking pole was left at home, curse my existence for a while (I have tendenitus [sp?] in my left knee) but suck it up and we begin up the winding road. Time check: approximately 1:15 PM. It's a good start, steep and gradual, gets the blood pumping. Dave and I remark that this is the country where the new Battlestar Galactica is filmed, cylon territory. The rain is light and consistent, Dave (who wears spectacles, is blinded by fogged glasses and wet hair (he has no hood to his jacket). We finally reach the trail proper, the fleece has been taken off along with the Peruvian toque I got for Christmas from my Aunt Carolyn in Australia. We start to see traces of snow alongside the trail.

We pass a rock slide, then a water fall and river blanketed by concrete-esque snow that we trapse across. Nice scenery, but the rain is coming down, not really worth a photograph. Then we notice what are perhaps the markings of a snowmobile. No sounds, it's a miserable day in Vancity and the weather isn't any nicer up here. We realise, shortly, that we are the only two souls on the mountain, memories of a dutch math teacher from my high school "zere we were, up on zee north ridge". Now the trail is uphill and covered with snow (2 to 3 feet of hard pack), somewhere below the snow are rocks and flowing water. The bridges are impossible to find and occaisionally with an anguished bellow, the leader falls into what we later term "mines". Basically placing his foot where he thinks there is footing and, quickly finding none, plunges unceremoniously a few feet down. We stop regularly for water breaks.

After some time, the trail branches down a snowy slope towards another creek. Wooden stairs looking like they were fashioned by disgruntled wood nymphs aid somewhat in our descent. We cross the bridge onto the lions proper and get a slightly fogged view of Howe sound and smoke rising from houses on the other side. A food break is necessary, if only we'd brought cheese. Dave provides some turkey sausage in trade for my crackers. The trail switchbacks through towering firs and the snow becomes increasingly deep. The fleece is back on and strong winds are blowing through the trees. A short but extensive discussion is had about ex-girlfriends in between falling into increasingly deeper and more menacing mines.

The switchbacks stop and the trail skirts along the side of the mountain, at this point I am in the lead and every two or three steps lands one of my legs descending quickly into the unknown. This is followed by curses and difficult extractions from the mines. The trees begin to thin out as we reach the tree line. The marked trail disappears and we continue upwards until we decide to cross over into a tree-less avalanche chute to take our bearings. We have a much higher view of a fogged in Howe sound. Time check: 5:00 PM. There's a storm blowing on top of the East lion. Dave and I are convinced that God Himself may be waiting on top of the peak ready to decapitate us with a bolt of lightning should we challenge Him anymore. I mark our furthest point, perhaps 150 yards from the western ridge. There will be no summit today. We pause, dave smokes a single cigarette, the sun shines through the clouds for the briefest of instances. Endorphins are flowing through my veins, though all my clothing is soaked, I feel rather pleasant. We vow to summit one of the lions come June.

The descent (read: frenzied leaping and sliding down snow) begins. I keep picturing Milestone's white chocolate cheese cake waiting for me in the city. We make good time, though the mines slow us down cutting my bad knee at one point. We keep up the pace and make it to the car by 7:00 PM.

Cold and wet, we proceed to Milestones and eat frugally, though the cheesecake does feature for me. Back home, and a warm shower never felt so good.

Early to bed, early to rise. Sociology final written and finished a few hours ago. Didn't do nearly as bad as I thought I might.

Tonight, a film featuring Noam Chomsky and relaxation before heading to Squamish on the weekend for perhaps two solid days of leading on some good rock. Things are looking up.

The Doves of Mirhleft

2006-04-18T16:29:00.000-07:00

The school year has passed quicker than most. It is, in the proverbial language of languishing undergraduates 'crunch time', and I have chosen to make some sort of an inaugural post for this new site. An exam looms in the near distance, but strangley becomes less threatening as the date approaches. What to speak of?

Cigarette smoking, a habit that had gone on for far too long in my life was quit three days ago. It's been on and off this year with the cancer sticks, I'd quit for 5 months last year before a 50 day stretch in a logging camp broke my will. As a tactic to combat the urge, I've embarked on a day to day exercise mania that seems to be working. Day one: climbed Mount Tzhouhalem with a friend of my dad's on Vancouver Island. The mountain is quite small, barely 500 meters off Cowichan Bay, and when we made it to the first summit (marked by a cross) we were met by a native father and three of his kids. The two girls gave us easter eggs and wished us a happy easter, before we continued on. As someone who spends his summers tree-brushing (read: cutting down deciduous trees with buzz-saws so that the coniferous trees grow faster for the logging companies - it pays the bills), and spends his off-time in a nasty port-o'-call by the name of Prince George, the native family was a welcome site. During the schoolyear, the only story getting newsplay concerned the beating death of a young girl by her native uncle and during the summer there's nothing but constant exposure to the racial slurs of brushers on the subject of natives. I was always raised with a high respect for the local natives (growing up in Calgary) as my family had ties with the Blood tribe that went back many years. Unfortunately, Prince George (asleast the downtown core) gives racists the ammunition they need. You kind of understand how a person can form stereotypes, if they have no background understanding to come from. The legacy of betrayal, violence and disease that our culture levied on the native populations is forgotten in the stumbling annoyance of a drunk begging for change.

It's like Africa in that way, the images we see are most usually of starving children in dusty villages. The news we hear about concerns little more than war and starvation. And yet I am hard pressed to find a more beautiful place on this earth than the small coastal town of Mirhleft in southern Morocco near the disputed region of the Spanish Sahara. To stay in a simple auberge run by a French ex-pat tucked away in the dusty lanes of the town and be woken into the deep blue of early morning by the inimitable Muslim call to prayer mixed with the cooing of nearby doves. There were no tourist attractions, the boarding was simple, and the beaches were devoid of locals and yet if money were no option, I'd board a plane for Marrakech and spend atleast a year in that town writing, reading, and drinking mint tea everyday.

Don't get me wrong, there was poverty in Morocco and I imagine a good portion of the populace don't have an easy time of it. However, in the words of a woman who travelled with us for a while and had travelled more extensively in sub-saharan Africa, the stress that we as Westerners put upon ourselves from waking hour until we collapse at night is taken in stride in Africa. When we flew out and landed in the UK, the first thing we noticed was that everyone on the streets of London seemed to be going somewhere else in a major hurry. Gone were the lazy cafes, and groups of locals chatting their way through the days events. After Morocco, London seemed cold, antisocial, sterile, and (though I never really put my finger down on the last one) there was a current of danger.

Bringing this back to the native family, it was just nice to have something stand out and say we're human before we're anything else, and race (as a social term) only matters when individual people insist on it. That, or I just thought it very nice that a couple of kids were willing to share their easter eggs with us (chocolate is a seriously valued commodity when hiking that the smallest child realises).

I had my first piece writing published a few days ago. I always thought I'd be able to twist the arm of some local fictional compilation and get a short story in edgewise. It turned out to be a news article I'd written on the forgotten genocide occuring in the tiny Angolan-occupied enclave of Cabinda for UBC's The Ubyssey. The night before the paper came out, the editor e-mailed me and told me to cut my 1700 word article to 650 at the max. This resulted in me cutting two-thirds (and a lot of the detail) out of it. I brought it to him, and he went to work on it. The result wasn't bad, the editor added a sentence of his own and used the rest of my article to indicate that there has indeed been a genocide occuring here since the Angolan invasion on 1975 that the world has causually forgot. Aside from spelling my name wrong below the title, the thing that struck me as odd was that he took out all mention of the fact (and its a supported fact), the American oil giant Chevron actually paid the Angolan troops to take over the oil fields of Cabinda, not to mention that they continue to pull 8 million dollars a day out of the resource-rich pocket of land. Their complicity in the genocide was excised from my writing. So I'm getting the full article published in an underground paper at the school. Anyone interested in finding out more about Cabinda should go to www.cabinda.net. The enclave is trying its best to get the world to notice what has been going on there for years.

The title of my blog is a reference to a series of mountaineering guides that have been published over the years. It also refers to a real feeling you get once you hoof it through miles of bush and arrive at a beautifully pristine alpine meadow. I got a taste of it this year with the Varsity Outdoors Club. The only trekking I've done at any real altitude came when I was in the High Atlas Mountains of Morocco. We trekked to the top of Jbel Toubkal (4167 meters), North Africa's highest mountain. It was a good two day slog through arid brushy valleys followed by a scramble through steep boulder fields to get to the summit. Once you're up there though, literally having the breath taken from you, in the words of our Berber guide "you are in a different world". I've rock climbed since high-school, but it was that experience that urged me to continue into the world of mountaineering.

I has planned on going to Nepal for 3 weeks of trekking in the Annapurna ranges before 3 more weeks of wandering around the countryside. Unfortunately, the country's security situation has been on a serious downhill slide since the new year. It's gone from a cancelled cease-fire with the Maoists to the King ordering security forces to shoot protestors in the space of a few months. So that trip was cancelled, and a return to Africa is in the works. Two and a half months of trekking and photography in Namibia, Ethiopia, Kenya and Tanzania. It's a full brushing season away, but it seems closer every day.

As for the near future: climbing the lions in North Van tommorow, exam the next day, lead climbing in Squamish on friday. An early morning is taking its toll on me now. Enough ramblings for one post.