Cameron Dunkin's blog

Politekele Wetenskap

 

I can’t always keep track of where I am. And my blogs are doing a miserable job of keeping themselves up to date. 

 But – despite all that my blogs have missed over the past few weeks, I am now in South Africa (Stellenbosch University to be exact) and started classes today. 

Should I start by telling you about everything that’s going on now, or dive back into everything I’ve missed? I can’t be sure… Okay, I’ll start back where my last blog left off (or at last the last one that posted. Unfortunately one or two are MIA).

 

Last you heard, I was at an international fair with a python ‘round my neck. Since then there was

a)   Cameron bouncing on a bus through elephant grass and dusty sunsets to visit a Grassroots Partner in quaint Luyansha town

b)   Cameron spending time with Canadian journalists learning about water issues in the township of Chifubu

c)    Cameron having his final sleeps in Ndola and saying goodbye to Kenneth and the wonderful Kasweshi family. I miss you guys! Final paints, final flicks, final ice creams, final musics, final everythings.

d)   Cameron waking up with a miserable cold and spending the day running errands in town before the 6 hour bus ride to Lusaka.

e)    Cameron trying all these new funky fruits that are supposedly good for colds. Ifibulu and entetungulu if you’re wondering what they were (but you won’t find them in the typical pharmacy… not yet anyhow. They tasted really funky but good. If pictures work, I’ll try to show a snap.

f)     Cameron going ‘fly, bye, fly, bye’ from Lusaka to Jo’burg to Cape Town

g)    Cameron spending a few days at a friend’s godmother’s friend’s sister’s friend’s home right on the coast of Cape Town. Long walks on the beach, with toes in the cold Indian Ocean.

h)   Cameron shopping till kingdom come. Kleenex, pots and pans, and everything in between. In the past 5 days, if it exists, I bought it.  Jeanne Marie and me running aboutst the city in search of sun and slippers. We found both.

i)     Cameron hanging out with Marion! A friend from uni back in Vancouver who I haven’t seen since 2005, is out here, and so we’ve had some good times together.

j)     Cameron meeting Constantine, my new housemate. He’s from Hamburg, Germany. Real nice (or as I’m learning to say Lekker good). And I don’t know much more about him to make it more of a comment.

k)    Cameron starting classes. Cameron learning Afrikaans (like politekele wetenskap – which is what i’m studying here… i think. need to make sure of that). In summary: Cameron doing lots of new things.

 

So that’s me. I spent last week in 6 different beds over 7 nights. I’m pretty tired (and have spent the last two nights catching up properly on sleep).

 

But things are great. Stellenbosch is breathtaking. Scratchy mountain peaks break into the horizon on all directions. And everything is quite lush and green. Birds of paradise growing as weeds below the eucalyptus trees, dotting the paths through the manicured gritt paths.

 

This blog lacks detail. But I have hour long stories for every step of the past journey. And not yet the will for sharing them. The mates ‘round the dorm are getting ready for another night out – they say it’s their forth in a row. That’s one race I won’t be keeping up with.

 

But things are great. I have lots to be thankful for. I have lots of work to get done for SpanAfrica – lots of posting of the new great Grassroots Partners we’ve expanded to in Zambia, and the details for the volunteers they’re looking for. I’ll spend time on a future blog going back in better detail about life in Zambia and what all that time meant for me. It really was an awesome experience.

 

as the rooting cheers start outside the door, I’m going to wind up the blog.

 

Yours and yours,

Cam

The bustle and excitement about the International Trade Fair made its way under my skin weeks before it pulled its way into Ndola, and the government declared its national holiday.

 

Kenneth, Catherine, and I left the house early in the morning to catch bus and taxi on our route, hoping to beat the mass descending on the grounds. Did we beat it? No (I am still catching up from my lack of sleep, as described in earlier blogs, and use this excuse for lazy mornings, long baths, and sleep-ins). Shhhh.

 

Ahead of the crowds, no. But made it, we did. We started in the Kenyan Pavilion, which stood itself as close to the front of the gates as it could. Convenient enough. And I stood their proudly, bartering away (as hard, and as with as harsh a vocabulary Swahili will permit) knocking prices down on the wooden figurines that I decided needed to join my collection. The chance to speak again! My Bemba isn’t worth two sticks, but being back in Africa I’ve been craving the chance to really use my skills again. Those honed on the past three escapades in Kenya.

 

On to the Middle East! Persian rugs, Pakistani bubble gums, Egyptian leather jackets and hieroglyphic scrawls on papyrus.

 

Reams of fabric from Ghana. Women hawking Nigerian films with wigs and dresses elaborate enough for the most glamorous of drag queens.

 

We stopped by the booth for City Council to take our picture over the artificial pond. We learned about a new solar power bicycle. We splurged on ice creams and deep fried chips.

 

Pony rides, cotton candy, raffles, concerts, face paint (the boys opted most commonly for having “Obama” or “Michael Jackson” painted to their foreheads), balloons, dust, cat calls, and electric lights – all riding together with energy and pizzazz.

 

The highlight – even above the discount trinket tables from the Congo – was, though, the snake zoo.

 

You paid a dollar at the gate. Catherine led Kenneth and myself through the long winding tape towards the exhibits. Black mambas, spitting cobras, Gabbon vipers, rattlers, – the whole lot. All of those deadlies from Africa sitting in glass tanks around the park, waiting for you to tap the glass or lift the latch.

 

These cages were not the same as those found at the Toronto Metropolitan Zoo. No, siree, these were homemade cages, built by some Afrikaans farmer in his home outside Kitwe. Crocodiles in the swimming pool, and a guy who told me he used to let the little guys bite ‘em on the finger so he could get the buzz from the venom.

I smiled with as much confidence as I could, as the python posed himself around my neck for the photo. I pet the iguana. I tried talking to the parrot. I listened intently to the stories, I read the signs, and I snapped the photos… All as if I wasn’t scared to death of even the most docile of those creatures sitting there in their boxes.

 

Finally, enough was enough. Scared to wits that someone would bump over a box, and 400 fatalities would end up in the Zambian Post in the morning, I bid farewell to the scales and returned to the safety of wooden animals and vicious haggling.

 

Feet aching, with bags in each hand, and sunburn on my brow, we picked a bus, and drove all the way home, at the end of our marvelous day at the fair.

 Lovingly yours, 

Cam 

“Town?” I say as I hoist my self into the front cab of the bus.

Smile and nod from the driver, and we’re on our way. Not to town.

 

I sit and watch the town pass – the woman with her set of logs stacked precariously on her head, the ice creamery where I’ve been stopping in every few days, splurging on the ‘Dollar per TUB’ deal, the running kids, families in their best attire off to Church, interspersed by some local youths who are making their ways home from their not-so-religious nights – Ndola town strolling and meandering peacefully through the morning.

 

“Town?” I ask again as the bus juts itself off onto a dirt road… one I know isn’t heading for town.

Smile and nod from the driver, and we continue our pace. Not to town.

 

The bus pulls into Chifubu. A shantytown that I’m just becoming familiar with, and only with my keenest landmark observances (I think I remember that fence… that cell phone credit stall looks familiar… I can’t think of where else I may be…).

 

And since we’re here, I might as well tell you about Chifubu. A township developed around the local brewery (which since collapsed), the area has its fair share of social and economic issues. I’ve been here a number of times, getting to know a SpanAfrica Grassroots Partner, Maurigrace Schools. Started by Maurice (where half the name comes from), this elementary school, tailoring school, chicken and rabbit rearing school, and child and women’s rights and advocacy school all find themselves tucked into a pocket of a plot of land, providing the needed holistic, academic, and vocational education services needed in the community.

 

I’ve only been able to make my way out here a few times (which is why I’m still not super familiar with the area), but have fallen in love with the dreams and efforts put forth by Maurice and his small team of teachers.  Sitting with Maurice to hear his long stories and explanations about everything in the community, right down to the stories and pictures of the children being supported by the organization – painted much of the picture of Zambia I’ve been longing to see: that of the people.

 

Being here for so short a time (5 weeks makes you realize how much better it would be to stay for 5 years, should I have chance to rebook my flights, and swop around my education), I’ve been able to meet a lot of our Grassroots Partners here, and have had a great time laughing and cooking with Kenneth and his family, but I haven’t been afforded the time to get my hands into some projects of my own ( a lot of my work being about the preparation for future volunteers to come). But Maurice made sure that I got a 5 minute dance performance from some students, and got proper introductions to some of the cute faces I’ve only been able to greet in assembly.

 

-       but I’m getting off track. I’m not in Chifubu today to visit Maurice. I’m supposed to be heading to town to buy ingredients for some afternoon cake baking back at home.

“Town. I’m trying to go to town” I say again to the driver, stifling a smile.

 

He nods understandingly. “The bus will turn around in a bit” he mentions, “Why aren’t you in Church?”

And error is found not in my direction making, but in my religious truancy. Guilty as charged.

 

“Why aren’t you in Church?” I ask him – since, by sitting here in the bus beside me, he also is a skipper.

 

“7^th Day Adventist”, he explains as he pulls his cigarette pack from his shirt pocket. “Do you drink?” he asks, not really waiting for my answer, “Because you should buy for us.”

 

The bus turns around, and any of my worry for not making it to town and winding up having to hitchhike my way back from anywhere blows out the window into the sunny blue day.

 

“But 7^th Day Adventist…” I start with a smile. “Are you a Christian?” he asks, and it’s my turn for a chagrin smile without words.  “Religion without the rules” I muse. “What’s the point?” And we share a knowing (or perhaps very uncertain, but connected and contented) smile, as the bus plotted down the same path from which we had come – so many very past minutes ago. 

 

Albert – his name was Albert, and before long, the two of us were listening to my Bollywood Aaj Ki Raat tunes, iPod dangling between the two of us while the bus continued to fill up and pat down the dusty roads. Albert and his bus to anywhere, and as wonderful an adventure as a Sunday morning could ever be chalked up to be. 

 Yes, please, to the Gospel Pub

One of those moments that you have, where you just know that everyone around you would get as much of a kick out of the idea as you would… 

 Kenneth and I are driving down through Mapalo shanty town, on our way to a potential Grassroots Partner organization. The house gardens are smock full of colors and flowers that climb up the mud walls, creep through the windows, and have in their own way a  Beatrix Potter quaintness to them. The road is a matted pile of dust, that is kicked into spirals and clouds from the soccer ball being launched back and forth by the kids (out of school because of strikes). 

The weather here, despite it being their winter, holds itself steady to sun and blue sky, dotted with the lightest and sparsest of clouds, with temperatures that inspire t-shirts, flips, and shorts every day. My wardrobe is beautifully repetitive. 

 So, we’re driving along the road, bouncing out of our seats on the ride, as we pass what has to be one of the most packed pubs I’ve ever seen on a Tuesday afternoon. The front is wide open, the tin roof propped up by green pillars, with its assortment of eclectic lawn chairs and plastic tables. The bar inside, is quite your run-of-the-mill Zambian pub. The walls are painted light blues, covered in soccer posters and flags. Castle lager, Savanna Dry, and Coca Cola crates line the walls and fill the fridges.

The difference with this pub was, that on its cracked speakers, at full blast, was the bouncy cheery melodies that you would otherwise only find in a Pentecostal hall on Sunday morning. Yes, this was, as I can only best describe it, a Gospel Pub.

We all laughed long and hard at the irony of this joint. The most innocent mix of spirits and Spirit, sitting out on the side of the road as if it was the most typical site. I don’t really know how prohibitionists would respond to this established irony, but it was one of those memories that sunk itself in warm and deep to my memory, and I thought I’d have to share. We didn’t stop for a drink this time… but should we pass by again, I’m sure some part of my soul would be longing for a sip. 

My moments here in Zambia are continuing to go wonderfully. Kenneth and his family are so warm and hospitable. We have a lot of fun, and more than even talking, we’re spending our time dancing and singing. We’re a good match. : ) 

 I’ve been getting to know a number of others along the way, including 2 of our SpanAfrica homestays, a retired army Major, where we go to watch our football matches (his home has its own mini banana plantation – it’s so beautiful!), and a pastor, Nelson, who accompanied Amos and myself to the Congo border, so we could step inside, and get a flavor for a truly African truck stop. 

We drove through the major extent of the Copperbelt Region on our way (through to Lumumbashi, if you’re curious enough to follow on a map) , and passed through Kitwe, where a friend from uni spent a lot of his youth. Brock – what’s the name of your spot again? I couldn’t remember, so I didn’t actually visit. 

I cooked Italian for my family last night. I enjoyed the cooking, and they enjoyed the not-cooking, and seemed to like the food (though I secretly saw a few of them not finishing their olives) ; )

oh! And I shaved my head. I haven’t ever shaved it before (not since birth), and so it was this kind of freaky-adrenaline rush excitement all at once, as I used my mini scissors and electric razor to pull it all off. Every time I feel the breeze, or scratch my head, or peer into a mirror, I get that surprised jolt – where’s my hair? But it’s fun. If I had all day on the internet, I’d try to post a picture. But posting pictures seems to take more patience than I could muster, so imagination is all I’ll leave you with. It’s probably more ‘Buddhist monk’ than ‘RL polo’ look that came from it, but it makes me smile. 

If you’re a prospective volunteer, just reading this blog for the scoop of travel and volunteering, I admit, I probably run my blogs off into the least relevant areas. But the work comes and I love it, but I never seem to remember my camera, and my mind is never in the ‘let’s think about a blog’ mode, while working. But I will do my best to get an upcoming summary or two on what volunteering experiences and opportunities are like here in Zambia.

A warm hug and hello to you all,

Cameron 

Good morning! (mwa shibukeni, according to my Bemba cheat sheet)

 

Well, it’s 2 in the morning. And I’m half way through my morning stretches and work. Jetlag is still having its fun with me.

 

I go to bed punctually at 9:00 at night, night mask installed. Dedicatingly without any caffeine or sugar after noon. But every night like rule, somewhere after 11 at night (yup, after 2 hours of sleep – which, for the record, is even short for me in napping terms), I am fully awake.

 

Fully awake. Me and the barking dogs. For the next six hours or so. Me and my yoga, and music, and current book, and an episode or two of pirated video, and my work. And then I’m back in bed around 5, to sleep for a few hours, get up and start the day.

 

If it were not that I was here in Zambia, I wouldn’t have the adrenaline keeping me running through the days, and I’d probably be a little grumpy. But here I am. Ndola, a large mining town to the north of this beautiful country.

 

It’s my first time to Zambia, and I’m living with SpanAfrica’s Regional Director Kenneth. Kenneth and I met (most briefly) back in 2007 at an International Prison conference we were attending in Toronto.

 

Long story short – I broke out of prison about 2 years ago, and have made my way to Zambia to avoid being discovered. But it’s really great seeing Kenneth after all this time.

 

I’m staying in his wonderful home with his family. For the arrival of myself and Amos (another SpanAfrica Team member, and my good friend from Kenya), the Kasweshi’s had posted “Rule Sheets” throughout the house.  The lists generally stated “We love you, and feel most at home”.  – and we do!

 

They think I walk too fast, that I talk too much, that I work and study too much, that I need to get fat, and the fact that I use cold water to wash in the morning is hilarious. Every time I attempt a phrase of Bemba, I get a roar of laughter and encouragement from some room in the house

We’re getting along famously. Having a whole lot of fun together. It feels like we’ve been living together for months and months, and this has quickly felt just like home.

 

I’ll need to take some time painting you a picture of Zambia. It’s one of the least dense countries in Africa. Amos is enthralled by the huge fields of wild grass that are left to grow free, and I’m loving how smooth the roads are, and the fact the Supah-marts sell mayonnaise.  Life is relaxed. You can spend millions of kwacha without breaking a sweat.

 

I brought my paints, but it won’t be until Amos heads back to Kenya (in six short days) that I actually get a proper break when I can crack ‘em out. Amos, Kenneth, and I are here planning and collaborating all the work SpanAfrica takes part of here in Africa. Our daily sessions are long, huge, give my run-ons quite the space to breathe, and enjoyed by all of us. Enjoyed as long as we can keep our eyes open.

 

I have paragraph after paragraph of thoughts that I want to share with you all, but will keep this a blog, and not novel. We have lots planned for the day. And I have the feeling that I will also have an entire night once again, to share with my thoughts, my book, and the barking wild dogs.

 

Mwa shibukeni (I need to keep practicing this…)

 

Big smile,

Cam

Hi hi,

 

I’ve made it. A relatively non-eventful two day journey has reached me here to South Africa. And so far, I’m loving it. This blog is dedicated (can you dedicate blogs?) to Erine, for sharing your country, and even more – for sharing your amazing family who have been so good to me, while you yourself are farther north in Canada than I’ve ever set foot. Thanks Erine!

 

As I’ve been pretty tired, I’ve decided to trace back my first two days in South Africa by cups of rooibos tea, which are the only reason I’ve been awake at all for these first great moments.

 

The First Cup

It’s midnight in Jo’burg airport. I’ve already been sitting in the Mugg & Beans diner. And if we’re counting, I’ve downed six cups of rooibos in the past few hours, while my head dodds up and down onto the table, while I try concentrating on a newspaper stretched over the table. My journal sits there wanting to be written in, but I can’t bring myself to understand that I’ve actually arrived, and my emotions seem unstimulated as I can’t grasp I’ve actually left Toronto, slurped coffee outside Paris (and along the route continuously), and am now sitting back in Africa.

 

As the numbers dwindle inside the café, a man calls me over to his table so we can share the remaining hours of our layovers together, and orders another round of chai. Rob, a middled aged Afrikaans pool designer from Durban, had spent the week before in Kigali, Rwanda doing estimates for his new ventures for building pools there for hotels, gyms, and homes. We sit together, reviewing pictures on his digital of a large number of either cracked pool bottoms or deep holes he’s now getting ready to fill.

 

I’ve been exhausted for about twenty hours so far. Naps have been sporadic and generally short lived, and being someone who plans my days around the pillow, it seemed it could only have been an external force (perhaps my first round of teas, and the cups that followed with Rob), but we chatted like old friends for seven hours all through the night. Politics, business in Rwanda, faith and potatoes, holidays in Alaska. . .  Rob taught me my first words of Zulu, convinced me to visit his homeland province of Natel, and set me straight about what cell phone provider I need.

 

As the sun pulled through the window, and we said goodbyes, it sunk in with deep excitement and pleasure – I am in Africa. I’m back.

 

The Second Cup

It’s late afternoon. After a morning deepset nap, I’m sitting front seat of a car, peering out at the rich winelands, as we weave under shadows of clouds of deep grays and purples, casting a dark and wonderful mood over the great hillsides of boulders seeped in deep grasses and the thinnest and tallest of trees. My recently met (and deeply enjoyed and appreciated) hosts: Erine’s Tannie Kotie and sister Jeanne Marie have taken me first to a shopping centre for a bite, and now after we’ve left a tour of the Stellenbosch University grounds (where I’ll be starting classes in a month!), they are taking me to Franzhoek for some proper crepes and coffee.

 

It could just be my sleepiness, but I’m overwhelmed by the colors all around me. The deep green palm fronds; the greys of the rocks that sink deeper and deeper into the mists; the dark dark soils and deep-set blacks and browns of the grape vines that run the fields. And then, every so often at the gates of a farm the vibrant bouganveillia or hibiscus or birds of paradise throwing in their rainbows to the mix.

 

The rain is coming down hard as we pull up to the coffee shop. The smells from the coffee shop are unlike those I’ve ever smelt before. So much, that I don’t even know what the smells are. But – as logic would fit it – it was coffee. Jeanne Marie agrees that coffee shops don’t ever smell of the true coffee beans and roasts except for in South Africa.  A second cup, in this small town.

 

A Third Cup for the Road

Sunday. An entire night of sleep, an Afrikaans church service (thankfully I at least caught the part where I was introduced to the congregation before I lost myself to daydream), and then a nap to procede church.

 

We’re in the car again, Kotie, Geanne Marie, and another friend Lala (the list of people grow, as all friend lists should). We’re off to the ocean. We drive down through Cape Town, a city awash with construction projects underway for the soccer World Cup this time next year, and break over the mountain barrier (and through the clouds) to a drive of cliffs, informal settlements painted brightly, and the ocean.

 

We sit together at Seaforth, a nautical restaurant filled with old wine bottles and ropes, overlooking the rocky shore.  Over fish lunches, ice creams, and coffees, the conversation continues along of everything South African I’m curious about. Working on my Afrikaans pronunciations and vocabulary, and laughing over the stereotypes and pop-icons that are big here.

 

Penguins. The first wild animals I’m to see this trip in Africa, are les petits Jackass Penguins that nest through the wild nasturtum and sharp branches by the ocean. The sea swelled up and down, in its forever manner, as we walked along the warm-winded path. The sea with its penguins on the right side, the indescribable (yup, I can’t really figure anyway to describe them at all) and settlements to the left). And in my heart, the simplest and profound of emotions I’ve felt in a long time: happy.

 

Greg Mortenson,  Everest Climber and rural Afghani school builder, expresses that it’s three cups of tea that take strangers and make them family. As I was thinking of how I’d start off my first blog, I thought I’d share his sentiment, and try to encapsulate my first few days that have taken me in a country I haven’t ever set foot on before to one that I’m now so excited to be calling home for the next two years.

 

Tomorrow I’m off to Zambia for a month. Many cups of tea, and many adventures to come.

 

Sien jou,  (see you!)

Cameron

2 days.  

2 days until I leave for Zambia.

I can’t actually express how quickly the past few months have gone. For those of you just tuning in, I’ve spent the past number of months living in Colorado with friends while working full time for SpanAfrica. It was a bit of a dream job – do what you’re already doing; take away other work distractions; and save up for school all at once.  I remember watching the clock New Years Eve, just as all my plans began to form together, and as midnight struck the second hand seemed to move a little faster. And already it’s been a fast year.

As transient as the past while has been – it gave me the chance to make some new friends, and catch up with some old ones. No, I never got to see everyone I wanted, nor did I get to spend the proper amount of time with anyone. But I’ve been so thankful for seeing everyone I did get to. I’m sitting here, back momentarily in Toronto, having taken over my brother Tim’s desk, to write a start-off blog; trying to piece together all that is coming. 

The bare details for my upcoming life chapters (which really is as detailed as I can be right now) are that I’m heading to Zambia until mid-July, spending time with our (SpanAfrica’s) Regional Director Kenneth Kasweshi there, taking in the flavors of Ndola and getting some programs started there. 

My good friend Amos, who I lived with in Kenya last year, is flying down for a brief visit so we can get some serious brainstorming and planning accomplished. I’m so excited to see him again! If I can’t get back to Kenya for a visit, this is definitely the next best thing. Amos is working with us as well – and it’s so great to have him on the team.

I suppose I shouldn’t spend this blog looking back, though I think my nostalgic thoughts of the past few months are rivaling my growing excitement for new travels. Hiking Colorado parks, strolling the Vancouver seaway, picnicking alongside the Ottawa River, reading horror stories by firelight at the cottage, running around downtown Toronto, and all of the cups of tea I’ve had all along the way. I think the past few months have really prepared me for everything I’ve got coming, (haha – yes, I said ‘I think’).

As I’m also starting schooling at Stellenbosch in South Africa, I’m also packing for my new chapters there. I’m being picked up from the airport by Tannie Kotie (yes, I already have an adopted aunt). I can’t say I know too much as to what to expect. Actually – I really don’t have much of a cotton pickin’ clue. But it’ll all work itself out, as it already seems to have.I know blogs are supposed to be much more ‘about the moment’, and here I am, reminiscing of all I’m coming from, and daydreaming of all the uncertainties to come. But maybe this will suffice for a start off. 

I promise exciting nit-picked details of everything to come. Maybe I’ll visit the Congo (like Tintin or Stanley); maybe I’ll fjord the Victoria Falls. I have overdosed myself on inoculations and  malaria tablets (I do not plan on getting sick ONCE). 

Similarly, I do not intend to spend afternoons with Zimbabwean terrorists, sit through civil war, hang out past government curfew, contract any new exotic disease (actually, I don’t think there are any NEW diseases for me), but I also promise no repeats. The rest is yet unwritten. 

Sunscreen and sketchpad in hand, I am off.

 Your friend,

Cam 

Mwirire (hey in rwandan)
Up here in Canada, the sun is shining (at least in Ottawa at the moment), but winter chill is slowly swaying back and forth across the country. This change in weather would have Mary Poppins off again, and is stirring up my own wish for travel. If only I had an umbrella like hers…

Anyhow, until I can click my heels or wave a wand to land me back somewhere warm and dusty, I’ll try to find contentment in just letters, books, and learning about all that’s going on around the world.

The JustUs Project held their video premiere last week. This was a documentary I’d heard about for a while in the making and finally got to see. The entire film was shot in Rwanda to look at the Millennium Development Goals and how they are shaping up in this one country.

The Millennium Development Goals (MDGs) are 8 critical targets the United Nations has set for the world to achieve by 2015. These broad ambitious goals have been taken on by nations around the world, seeing the need for humanity as a collective whole to address what needs to be done in our world, which we can’t ignore much longer.

I read Jeffrey Sachs, The End of Poverty, which was one of the earlier publications on the MDGs and was excited by what ideas were even being proposed, such as eradicating extreme poverty and hunger, and providing universal primary education. Exciting, lofty, and way over my head. These were goals for wealthy governments and rock stars. I didn’t include Canadian university student as one of those a part of this effort.

My first trip to Kenya in 2005 changed a lot of that for me. I’d read about AIDS and poverty with intimidating numbers and tragedy-filled commercials. I remember one afternoon, taking a nap on one of the bunk beds at the orphanage I was staying at and thinking how similar I was to these youth I was living with. We shared books, did laundry together, they’d cook me fish, I’d clean scraped knees. The whole distance and lack of connection that I had held for my life to that point disappeared. That whole ‘me’ and ‘them’… differences disappeared. It was just ‘us’ taking care of each other, entertaining ourselves, learning from each other.

From university or interest, I’ve ended up watching a million documentaries on ‘Africa’. Some I’ve shaken my head at: the ones that instill pity, and evoke self-righteous feelings to those who pick up the phone, or leave you feeling like there’s nothing to do for ‘them’. Some documentaries just document horror and try to squeeze in as many graphic images of guerrilla troops and bloodshed living in that stereotypical ‘heart of darkness’. Some documentaries look at the desolation and what foreigners are doing for locals, how outsiders alone are solving the problems. Perspectives on Africa, or the “Majority World” in general are often informed by films or notions like these. Perpetuating ‘us’ and ‘them’.

As the title suggests, “JustUs” studies the MDGs and Rwandan life from the perspective that everyone from anywhere can and should be taking steps to meet the goals. The video documents the need; it discusses the goals and why they are set, and how they are being achieved (in this case Rwandan projects solving Rwandan issues, sometimes partnering with internationals and larger organizations in extending their reach). The perspective that on earth there is work being done by ‘us’ (humanity as a whole). Interviews in the documentary, depicting need and progress, evaluate what is being done as a whole. Africa is not a continent waiting around for foreigners to solve its problems. Dynamic local individuals and teams are bringing about change – sometimes small because of means, but Africa is not a stagnant place. For development to happen, the world needs to partner together (this is the 8th MDG). Grassroots and governments; individuals and organizations; us.

The entire documentary had me slipping in and out of memory and personal experiences in the sub-Saharan, which is what drew me to it so strongly. It showed the Africa I knew, not some westernized version of Africa with Alex Trebek holding your hand to tell the story. Rwandans set the content and held the dialogue – it was their voice talking about their country, needs, and successes. This is what I think international education should be made of.

My blog has run far too long. words tripping over words. The JustUs Project is touring Canada right now, and sometime next year the documentary will be available to all for purchase. Check out www.thejustusproject.com for more info on it all, including general info on the MDGs.

Getting involved with partners those we have here at SpanAfrica exist to also drive the point home that humanity needs to work together – learn and understand the differences so we can see our similarity. It’s the similarity that inspires motivation for justice.

Goodbye in Rwanda is a word I have yet to learn. So I’ll sign off with what’s familiar.

Cheers, Cam

Muli Shani!    (desperate attempt to speak a word in Zambian Bemba)                                                        

                Even though it’s been over four months since I was in Kenya, time has barely slowed, and SPAN has continued to push forward. Even though I’m not even in Africa, it seems that emails from and about Zambia, Nigeria, and Kenya are what fill my inbox most. And they definitely seem to fill my thoughts most also.

So even though, I am lacking in my own stories and anecdotes from sub-Saharan life, I thought continuing a blog would be one of the ways to summarize (the long into short) what’s going on with SPAN on the other end of the line.

  Expanding SPAN to Zambia has been one of those exciting accomplishments that came together with a year of work with our new Regional Director for Zambia, Kenneth Kasweshi. Kenneth and I met while we were both attending a conference on global prison social support systems being held in Toronto, Canada. Our conversation plunged first off from our mutual interest in microfinance to the work he was doing in 44 of Zambia’s prisons. His work for Prison Fellowship Zambia in the city of Ndola in the southeast of the country, addressed a unique but vital aspect to development. The organization works on a broad scale, from training incarcerated persons with valuable skills to medical support to supporting the families of prisoners, and even to providing microloans to ex-convicts as a way of revitalising their lives and encouraging healthy steps for sustainable reintegration.

                Long to the short, Kenneth patiently worked alongside us staff to answer questions and set up SPAN operations with homestays, contacts, legal and cultural information, and introduced us to several great grassroots organizations. We’re right now preparing several candidates for an expected trip to Zambia in January. So excited to see this happen! It all comes together. Muli Shani (hello) is the only word I know – Bemba being only one of Zambia’s 73 languages, I have a long way to go. but have fingers crossed to get myself to Zambia in the next year to also get in on the action and gain a word or two more.

            When I was in Kenya, I spent most of my time, and lots of my blog writing talking about Baobab Branch: the alternative education organization that I got to co-found with my good friend Amos Otieno (Kenya’s Regional Director). Back when I left, the office was finished design (refer to martha stewart colonialism), and the first students had braved the doorstep. It was just beginning to take off, as I had to also – take off. In the past few months, Baobab Branch received its Kenyan NGO status, and has admitted its first group of students who are receiving their high school degrees where before they weren’t able to afford school. Of course, a big amount of thanks has to go out to the few donors who took to sponsoring these students, but excitedly enough Baobab Branch has also continued to bring in paying students who also want and can afford the services, which is offsetting the costs a lot, and hopefully bringing the organization closer to its goals for complete local self-sustainability.

               Morokoshi Nursery School, another project that fellow board member Kai Staats and I became involved with is also doing great. The founder and ED, Steve Muriithi, is forever sending me excited emails about how the teachers are improving the standards; how the solar panel lights are working out; how students are excelling; and how his crops are growing.

If you skim down to the bottom of the blog, you’ll see the picture of the new desks for the kids (with chairs to come) that Steve raised the funds for – with his addictive market juice stand – that is another big recent step forward for the school, which is still hoping to find a way to build another classroom for January to extend up a further grade and take these students to grade one.

             On the other side of the world – seemingly as far away as you can get from the balmy equatorial weathers of Kenya and Zambia, SPAN is thrilled to have partnered with Canadian high school student Nikita Desai. This Kenyan raised ambitious livewire I’ve gotten to know over the past bit, has decided to use her social group’s efforts to link her high school with Morokoshi Nursery School. Her school benefits from a lot of learning and education about this kindergarten powerhouse in Kenya, and they’re in turn raising funds to hopefully further the scope and possibilities of what is already being done on the ground. Nikita will have her own SPAN blog running soon, so that’s all I’ll say there. You’ll have to read hers to learn more. http://blogs.spanafrica.org/nikitadesai/

        While SPAN as an organization has spent a lot of work over the past while doing website tinkering, readjusting the board to increase participation and involvement, and setting up our plans and direction for the future, the fireworks and excitement of SPAN goings on, we can proudly say is being held up by our local African partners and our volunteers who have continued to do fantastic work in whatever field they’ve been working for. Even though my position doesn’t allow me to interact personally with most of SPAN’s volunteers, I am glad to receive good reports on what they’ve been doing over the past summer for a number of our partners. Well done to you all!

        Rambles turn to drawn on blurs, and my attempts for the short have miserably become long. But I suppose after taking a writing hiatus, and with all that I know has been going on, I ended up having to share it all.

Hope everyone is well!

As internet says to say chau in Bemba:

Kafke Nipo,

Cam

           

The sky is brightening.

The Baobab Branch office was painted ‘Northern Sky Blue’ and that’s the colour of the sky out the window. I no longer have a view of banana trees, gliding ibis, and stone walls stacked with broken glass. Now I have this blue Northern sky, framed by budding maple and crab apple trees. After being in a place of raw expression, emotion, events and landscape for so long, it feels quite surreal to be back in the soft quiet of Canada.

My last week in Nakuru had me learning how to install solar panels under Kai’s lead, at Morokoshi Nursery School. Camping out in Steve’s farmhouse under kerosene lamp and twinkling stars was a great way to slow down and just breathe for a moment or two before my segue home. I managed to get all of my final errands, meetings, coffee cups and chapatis, and goodbye’s accomplished in my last moments. I boarded the plane in Nairobi feeling like I’d achieved what I’d set out to do. I tied all the trip’s strings together, just as Amos and I ran through some final business details on our early 5:00 taxi route to the airport.

Can I summarize my entire trip? Draft some succinct culminating sentences to put it all together? The trip was just a lot of days, a lot of experiences, a lot of challenges, a lot of good times. In my head, it’s not working itself to those summative statements I was expecting I’d have. Maybe in years to come I’ll be able to do that. Perhaps it’s all still too current. I still hold the inkling that outiside the front door are those banana trees and bicycle taxis and noisy children and cows and charcoal venders.

I had assumed this blog would be an easy one to write. Everyone who has experienced Africa seems to always have so much to say. Dinensen, Kipling, Hemmingway, Paton, Achebe, Dahl, Conrad, Livingstone, Ng’weno, Geldof, Stanley, Equiano. And I agree a trip to Africa should dissolve writer’s block generally, but I’m left looking back, maybe without the foggiest idea of what just happened. Boom, you’re in Kenya. Boom, a million things to do and process. Boom, you’re back. Maybe it was because I could write in the moment, all those other blogs, that they came out so easily.

But where this trip maybe hasn’t yet given me life’s answers, or clarity, or a certificate; it has given me the desire for continuing – continuing a life of travel, exploration, trying new things, collaboration, learning, living. ‘Msafiri’.

A few months ago, I came across Ulysses, stored on my computer. I copied it to my journal, and ended up reading it to Amos a couple times. Even though my life is hardly Greek epic, I thought I’d end off with a few lines that say more than my own pen is producing. The thought of loving each day and continuing forward, is one thing this trip has shown me, I can’t really afford to not have in life.

Finallly, thanks to everyone – from my homes in Canada and Kenya who helped me through all and everything. Each of you has become part of my story, and I know I couldn’t have done anything without all of you. Special thanks to Amos, Ruth, Allan, and Steve who held my hand through it all and made the trip such an incredible thing. I look forward to when we can be together again.

Signing off,

Cameron

I cannot rest from travel; I will drink
Life to the lees. All times I have enjoy’d
Greatly, have suffer’d greatly, both with those
That loved me, and alone;

For always roaming with a hungry heart
Much have I seen and known,– cities of men
And manners, climates, councils, governments,
Myself not least, but honor’d of them all,–

I am a part of all that I have met;
Yet all experience is an arch wherethro’
Gleams that untravell’d world whose margin fades
For ever and for ever when I move.
How dull it is to pause, to make an end,
To rust unburnish’d, not to shine in use!
As tho’ to breathe were life!

To follow knowledge like a sinking star,
Beyond the utmost bound of human thought. To strive, to seek, to find, and not to yield.
To those of you who have yet to experience the sub-Sahara, I suggest you purchase a ticket soon. Camesh.

http://www.facebook.com/album.php?aid=2015211&l=f26d0&id=180500406 (a visual summary)