233: Elsita's walk to the sea

About two months ago, Elsita and five of her colleagues at the Gobabeb Research and Training Centre (www.gobabebtrc.org) decided to do what no-one they knew or heard-of had ever attempted in the same way before: to walk due west from the middle of the world’s oldest desert (where the Research Centre is located) about 60 kilometers (40 miles) to the tip of Sandwich Harbor on the Atlantic Ocean. The youngsters trained for six weeks, planned for all contingencies they could possibly conceive of (though they missed a few, as you’ll read below), and set out water-containers by car at 3 pre-selected spots along the way. Here is Elsita’s write up of this most amazing epic journey, all done under the name of “research,” in order to get the permit needed to attempt this otherwise crazy feat. Best wishes to all for a sweet new year --
__ __

Starting out in the early morning of September 9th, we found ourselves at a little spot in the (dry) Kuiseb River called Klipneus, with only the Central Namib Sand Sea between us and our destination: the ocean at Sandwich Harbor. (See map, below, with our camp-sites and water-points) We were 6 -- intrepid and daring adventurers all -- ready to take on anything sandy that could possibly come at us. Immediately, we left the cozy dry riverbed behind and began marching west, the sun rising behind us, up to greet our first set of dunes. For about two-thirds of the distance between the river-bed and the ocean the topography consists of linear dunes - line after line of dunes like giant orange waves. The last third of the Sand Sea turns into a maze of dune after dune in no particular order, a vast hilly stretch that we nicknamed "the House of Pain" in grim anticipation.

We expected that we would have to climb up the steep wind-formed dune slip- faces (the steepest slopes of the dune with the loosest sand) while lugging 8kgs of water as well as food, sleeping bags and other accessories like jackets and tents. But when we finally came face to face with our first dune we were pleasantly surprised to find the sand was hard and we could pick our route carefully - winding over the lowest crests, avoiding the steepest ones, and walking around sand-dips and crater-like bowls that would have cost us precious energy. Prior to the hike we had managed to drive out to and bury containers of water at three set-points along the way, and with the help of Google Earth maps and GPSes we navigated through terrain with minimal landmarks.












Map ............................................... Linear Dunes

In the photos, you can see us marching. The best way is to step in each other's footsteps to minimize sliding backwards too much. (Now, wherever I go I still feel the urge to step in the footsteps of the person ahead of me!) But when I was leading the group I got many complaints that my stride was too short, so I started doing funny things -- making my tracks go in meanders, hopping on one foot for a few steps (etc), that everyone had to follow. It was all quite silly (which was in-keeping with the spirit of the hike). It also occurred to us that I get the award for the most steps walked on the hike - 3 for every 2 of everybody else (tall people with long legs)!

Each day we started marching early in the morning and hiked until midday when the heat of the sun forced us to set up tents and nap for 4 hours (we augmented this siesta by stuffing our faces with peanuts and raisins and throwing around a Frisbee.) Then, as the temperature dropped from its mid-day boiling point, we picked up and continued until sunset.









Dune Crest ......................... In the Dunes

The first few "interdunes" we crossed – that is, shallow valleys in-between the linear dunes -- contained light-patterns of desert vegetation. But as we moved closer to the ocean, we saw less and less green. Amazingly, we still saw quite a few critters though. We found a Golden Wheeling Spider perched on top of a dune - so called because of their awesome ability to roll down the dune using all eight feet to whirlwind downwards. We put it on a steep slip-face and poked at it to make it wheel - quite a nifty party-trick. We also found ourselves shocked when, after sighting ostriches in the distance (yes, running around across the 7th dune oceanwards), we passed their footprints in the sand and discovered that their stride reached 2 meters (over six feet)!

Once, while trying to find a bush big enough to pee behind (I couldn’t find one), I startled a speedy Namib Sand Snake. It darted under some twigs and I approached, knowing that it was harmless. Unfortunately I was unprepared for what happened next: the snake coiled itself like a spring and then, to my utter horror, launched itself into the air straight at me! I may or may not have screamed like a small child and ran around in circles swearing while being chased by a jumping snake. By jumping I mean full horizontal, total extension, flying leaps. We eventually caught it in a hat and calmed it down.

And so we passed our time - hiking, napping, eating, refilling water bottles, dodging snakes and so forth. The nights were cold and windy, but it was a sweet moment when, at our second camp site 12km (8 miles) from the ocean, I lay looking up at the stars and brightest moon and realized that the faint yet consistent background noise was the ocean. The third morning, thick fog rolled in, covering our interdune like an impenetrable cold wet blanket. Here we spotted several Fog-basking Beetles (/Onymacris orbicularis/) doing their thing: perching on the top of dunes, butt up in the air allowing fog water to condense on their exoskeletons and trickle down to an eagerly awaiting mouth. Soon the fog made long-distance vision impossible and we were forced to navigate blindly by GPS. Here is also when we left the reassuring guidance of the linear dunes and entered the House of Pain. There was nothing we could do to avoid charging up and down sandy slope after sandy slope (each several stories high), attempting to remember every single summer-camp song, rhyming game and marching cadence we had ever heard to lift our spirits. There were several rounds of the a cappella free-for-all of "Old Joe Clark" (an American folk song), "Amarula" (a popular tune in local !Nama language) and "Don’t You Want Me?" (an 80s dance hit) before we finally scaled the tallest dune yet and to our great joy glimpsed the sweet SWEET glorious ocean for the first time.









House of Pain .................... Fog Basking Beetle

The marine sighting boosted our morale incredibly, and we crossed the remaining 6 kilometers (4 miles) at breakneck speed, pausing only to take a "Safety Break" to hydrate before charging onwards. Our long hours of training prior to the hike kicked in as we sped up and down like Dune Gorillas (a non-existent creature invented solely for the purpose of confusing school groups.)

And finally the ocean spread out in front of us. We pitched tents, tore off our clothes, linked arms and charged into freezing cold water under the watchful gaze of a curious seal. After our siesta we turned south, following the beach towards our final destination. The view that now greeted us was both epic and stunning: A magenta sunset over the ocean, the tide rising and the strip of beach on which we walked narrowing by the minute between the ocean and tall steep dunes. The near-violent waves became unavoidable and I found myself running along the beach when the waves rolled out and running up the dunes when the waves rolled in. Alas, my best efforts to keep only my feet wet were thwarted when a large wave ricochet off a sandy bank and soaked me to my waist. Soon we found a superb campsite halfway up a dune, where a bowl of sand had been hollowed out by wind, leaving us with a view of the ocean and shelter from the wind. Fortunately, we slept deeply that night, because the next morning we noticed brown hyena tracks right near our tents!

Dune meets Ocean

The next morning we made it to Sandwich Harbor - a haven for seabirds such as cormorants, gulls, flamingos and also several very fat jackals. We passed a series of lagoons and an abandoned cabin (haunted by the Sand Witch –ha ha), followed by a long peninsula jutting out into the ocean with a mass graveyard of sea creature skeletons, shells and guano. We reached the end of the peninsula and looked inland across the small bay. We stopped for lunch and ate the most delicious sandwiches ever created with leftover trail food.

Elsita Kiekebusch
Research Technician
Gobabeb Research and Training Centre
P.O.Box 953, Walvis Bay, Namibia
Tel: +264-64-694199, Fax: +264-64-694197
e-mail: elsita.k @ gmail.com
Website: www.gobabebtrc.org

232: Two sets of clothes, one pair of shoes, and a blanket

A few years ago, Catholic AIDS Action – the organization I co-founded and headed in Namibia for six years[1] -- gave birth to a child in Tanzania, and called it Uzima (“Wellness”). I hadn’t seen the offspring until last week. Uzima is a small holistic organization based just north of the Mozambique border, whose mother is Catholic AIDS Action’s other co-founder -- my mentor and friend, Sister Dr. Raphaela Haendler.










Getting to Uzima required enormous coordination and support from lots of people. The rinky-dink airline that I dubbed (Im)Presicion Air doesn’t allow anyone to book flights from outside the country. To add insult to injury, the flight left Dar es Salaam five hours late. Fortunately, I met a nun who was waiting for the same plane and of course she knew Sr. Raphaela and could assist with logistics. A car picked us up in Mtwara, which is a coastal town that I couldn’t even pronounce before I got there, and drove two hours to the convent where Sr Raphaela serves as Prioress. (Although almost 70 years of age, this is just one of Sr. Raphaela’s many duties. She also oversees medical care at the district hospital, provides leadership for a new Catholic high school, and helps run Uzima.) When I finally arrived, she greeted me with open arms. Then Sr. Raphaela and I chatted like old school-friends, late into the night. Finally she said. “It’s time for sleep. Tomorrow I’ll introduce you to Uzima and then we’ll go swimming.”

We set off early to meet the people involved. Uzima is a beautiful “child,” ably led on a day-to-day basis by local Tanzanian staff, a volunteer social worker from Switzerland, and Catholic AIDS Action’s first accountant, Piet Hein Meckmann, who followed Sr Raphaela to Tanzania three years ago. Like Catholic AIDS Action in Namibia (which is still going strong), Uzima provides care and support to local villagers who have been ravaged by poverty, AIDS, and other tragedies. Many of the principles we carved together in Namibia have been replicated: the organization trains and supervises local volunteers who visit the sick in their homes, provide counseling, make referrals to the local hospital or schools, distribute emergency assistance, and above all, offer hope. The same training curricula are used, as well (translated into the local language, of course) -- both for home-based care and HIV-prevention.







Uzima works in six local villages, relying on small donations from the Catholic Church to meet expenses. Yet many of the clients and almost half of the volunteers are Muslim. In working side by side, the volunteers don’t just care for the sick; they also nurture a fresh ecumenical spirit in the area. Thus, for group prayers, they switch off – one time Christian and the next time Moslem. Similarly, when they had to design a logo for Uzima, the volunteers opted against any religious symbol but agreed to the picture of the Catholic Church because, as they explained, the church represented their region and not just the Christian faith.

Sr Raphaela and I joined several volunteers on their supervision rounds. One difference for us is that we had the luxury of a car, but usually the volunteers must walk. They spend hours doing this work every day, without any monetary compensation. I find this incredible, knowing that most are just as poor as the clients they visit. So what is their motivation? Later in the day, I heard some reasons: “Our neighbors need us.” “I am grateful to God to do this work.” And “I appreciate the training I got, which gives me respect in the village.”

Uzima aims for the alleviation of suffering, human dignity, and the chance for a better life in the future. Yet these are difficult goals to achieve. In Tanzania, 17% of all children are considered “most vulnerable,” due to illness, the loss of one or both parents, child labor or abuse, disability, and/or grinding poverty. Okay, you may say, in a country where most people are needy, just how poor is poor? By way of one example, the national standard for the “adequate material well-being” of children is two sets of clothes, one pair of shoes, and a blanket. And shockingly, this remains far out-of-reach for most. According to the government own documents, less than 20% of all Tanzanian children currently meet this standard.[2]










At each home we visited, we met outside under a tree or on a grass-mat, as the mud-and-stray home of the patient was invariably small and unsuitable for visitors. One woman we visited had just started medical treatment for HIV the week before. Previously, she had lain bedridden for months, and had almost died. The volunteers were delighted to see her. “I’m feeling much stronger,” the patient explained. “I can already sit up for long periods of the day.” Then she looked at her elderly mother who sat on a straw mat few feet away, and who takes care of the patient’s children. The woman continued. “But we have a new problem… Now that I am on treatment, I am hungry. Our harvest failed last year and we don’t have enough to eat. My appetite means that either I don’t eat or else someone else in the family has to skip food for the day.” One of the volunteers checked the storage-baskets and saw that they were almost empty. “Uzima will allocate some maize-meal for the next few months,” the volunteer said. “Once you get stronger, you can start working the fields again.”

At another home, we met an eleven year old girl who had first come to the volunteer’s attention some months back. It turns out that this child had never gone to school, and instead functioned as the household servant. The mother, who was undergoing medical treatment, had also never received any formal education as a child and didn’t understand what was wrong. “This won’t do,” the volunteers said. “In Tanzania today, every child has the right to a primary education.” Then they arranged for tutoring so the youngster wouldn’t have to start at Grade One, and got the mother to agree that her child would be given sufficient time each day to attend classes and do homework. The day we visited, the eleven year old was very excited but also a little scared. She would start attending school for the first time in two days, beginning in Grade Three. “Don’t worry,” the volunteer comforted her. “Soon you will make new friends and then everything will work out fine. Next week, we’ll come back to see how you are doing.”









In yet another household, we met a small girl that the volunteers had never seen before. The child, around four years old, looked horribly malnourished and dirty, with many small scabs covering her skin and big bald-patches on her head. “Whose child is this?” they asked. “She’s the daughter of our neighbor who ran away to Dar es Salaam and left the girl behind,” came the answer. “We couldn’t let her die but we also don’t even have enough food for ourselves. Even the water needed to wash must be paid-for.” The family members added that they keep hoping a relative will come to claim the child, but so far no one has. The Uzima staff and volunteers quickly conferred with each other about the situation. Ideally, they need the involvement of a government social worker to find a temporary placement for this child and then track down the parent(s). But Tanzania’s social welfare system is so broken that this will likely prove impossible, and meanwhile the child’s condition will only worsen. Fortunately, Uzima has its own social worker who can access some immediate treatment and start to make inquiries in the area. “We’ll be back on Monday,” the staff said. “Then we’ll figure out the next step, together with you.”

Back at the office, I reviewed Uzima’s excellent accounting and data-base systems, and stopped next door at the parish hall. Here, 80 high-pitched voices chorused joyfully to the beat of a hand-made drum. Sr. Raphaela introduced me as a visitor who was born in America. “Do you know anything about America?,” she asked in KiSwahili. Half a dozen hands shot up. “Obama!” the children shouted. I was amazed by the recognition until I hit the roadway the next day, on my way back to Dar es Salaam. Every third fourth bus has a huge picture of Barack Obama plastered on the back, with messages of “Hongera” (“Congratulations!”) and more. Could anyone have imagined this level of pro-American imagery in the heart of Africa, nine or ten months ago?










In the afternoon, I joined Sr Raphaela for the best lake-swimming I have ever experienced, halfway up a nearby mountain on church property. (The lake is certified with pure spring-water that tastes like silk, and is sold in bottles as an income generating project for the parish.) The next day, before leaving the area, I also stopped to see the Catholic High School that Sr Raphaela is building. It started in 2005 but quickly floundered due to a lack of finances and good management. Then the Bishop asked Sr. Raphaela to take over. Today, 270 students attend, with the projection of doubling the number in two years’ time. Frantically, Sr Raphaela tries to raise scholarships for those who make the grades but can’t afford the school fees. In addition to academics, many life-skills are taught. On the brand-new campus, you can already see a half-dozen classroom blocks, the start of a girls’ dormitory, a science-laboratory and an IT room with 38 computers. Students often walk 90 minutes each day to school and back, so hot porridge is served daily – cooked outdoors on an open fire. Already, this is the best school in the area, with both Muslim and Christian families clamoring for their children to attend. This blew me away, once again: Muslim families choosing to send their children to a Catholic school because they know, deep down inside, that what really counts is the quality of the education and the moral values that their children will be taught. It seems that here in rural Tanzania, a whole new world order has begun.

Back in Dar es Salaam, a strange sensation rolled over me. I had already been in Tanzania for two weeks, conducting both research and training. That night, I spoke to Bernd on SKYPE. He told me that Kelev, our 13 year old shepherd dog, had contracted a massive infection and was possibly dying. When I hung up, I started bawling like a baby and felt depressed for two days. Not only because I loved this dog and will miss him terribly, but also because it felt preposterous to me that I was so upset about the passing of an old dog who, by anyone’s measure, had had a better life than most of the people in Tanzania. Fortunately, Bernd informed me later in the week that Kelev was making a remarkable recovery and would surely be around a little while longer. And yet, what does this teach us about the inequalities to which we have grown so accustomed?

Over and over, I kept thinking: Is it too much to expect that, at the very least, every child in this world should have access to basic food, health and education – let alone, two sets of clothes, one pair of shoes, and a blanket?

[1] See www.caa.org.na for more information
[2] Tanzania HIV/AIDS and Malaria Survey, 2007-2008

231: Parental Pride

We have a Lance Corporal in the family! Contrary to what you might think, the reference to ancient weaponry does not refer to a fencing title, but rather to a promotion last week for Sergio in the US Marines. He remains stationed in Japan for another year or so, working in the transport detail and hanging out at the beach with his new buddies whenever time allows.

Elsita also got a promotion but with a less fanciful title. She is now on the permanent research staff at the Desert Research Foundation of Namibia, assigned to a contract with NASA (yes, the National Air and Space Administration) to document and analyze the presence of extreme bacteria in the Namib Desert. The folks at NASA think these bacteria might, just might, be similar to life in outer space -- that is, IF there is life in outer space, they hasten to add, not wanting to forsake their jobs for the loony bin until all the data comes in. Elsita plans to continue doing this desert research – presumably also on some other projects – until starting graduate school next year in environmental biology, hopefully back in the States.


We hope you won’t think us too boastful in the way we are “shebbing naches” (absorbing joy) from our children’s accomplishments. Being so far from friends and relatives, however, these e-mail letters are the best way we have to share our good news. (We also welcome your updates about family, and promise to respond accordingly!) Meanwhile, we remain grateful for the support that many of you gave last year to Elsita for her Central American adventures, courtesy of the American Jewish World Service. Happily, a summary of Elsita’s experiences now appears on the AJWS website at
http://ajws.org/what_we_do/service_and_travel_opportunities/world_partners_fellowship/profiles/.

Most recently, however, both Elsita and I were asked to testify to the Namibian government on the new draft Child Protection Bill, in our case to offer guidelines on how Namibia might consider International Adoptions. (By way of background, most Namibians distrust adoptions, in part because they believe that adoption cuts off the child’s biological link to his or her innate spiritual and ancestral heritage. Nevertheless, we take it as a good sign that folks still wanted to hear our perspective.) Elsita couldn’t give her testimony personally because she was at work in the desert, but her open-letter generated a huge round of applause. I share it below, at the end of this e-mail.





As for Bernd and me, there’s not much to add at the moment. This past weekend we hiked some of the world’s highest sand dunes at Sossusvlei (truly, the height of mountains). This part of the country is really gorgeous, especially now. Although in 2008 the dunes received only a total of 5 millimeters of rain, this year already brought 218 millimeters and the “short rains” in October or November may still add more. As a result, the grass is now higher than anyone can remember, and the animals have gotten fat and happy. On the other hand, the heavy rains also caused the once-golden sand-dunes to turn reddish-brown, probably because the iron granules inside the sand-dune became rusty. So almost all the dunes send of a deeper, darker reddish hue than we ever remember them before!






Tomorrow Bernd starts a new semester at the Polytechnic, amidst the usual headache of too many students, too few classrooms, and a shortage of lecturers and equipment. At least our own students are well situated (now numbering 14, whom we help sponsor as part of the Saving Remnant program): one recent graduate won a scholarship to continue studying in France; another got a good job at the national power company; and a third graduate started night-school (in addition to full-time work) where she is “acing” her way through an added year of studies. Three other students have internships and the rest remain in school full-time -- all doing well.

Yes, we’re proud parents. No two ways about it. Meanwhile, I’m heading back to Tanzania tomorrow for three weeks’ work, but I should be available on-line. Catch you later, I hope!






Elsita’s adoption testimony (which was read aloud):

Hello Everybody,

This is Elsita Kiekebusch writing. As my mother probably explained to you already, I was adopted at the age of 6 months from Guatemala, a country in Latin America. I lived in the United States until age 11 at which point I moved to Namibia with my family.

I do not know the details of my birth, but I do know that I ended up living in an over-crowded orphanage in Guatemala’s capital city before being adopted and moving to the USA. As you can imagine, my life is certainly quite different than what it might have been, had I not been adopted. I think one of the most widely cited positive aspects of adoption is the change in the level of opportunity that a child experiences when adopted from a disadvantaged background into a more privileged environment. Within this context, material wealth comes to mind -- but even basic opportunities such as education and health care are clearly invaluable. My life in the USA (and also Namibia) has certainly been less danger-filled in comparison to the then war-torn Guatemala. However, to me, one cannot overlook the emotional benefits of being adopted into a caring and stable family environment.

One of the fears accompanying international adoption that I have come across here in Namibia, is that an adopted person will lose their connection to their biological family, their ancestors and their heritage. These are definitely real losses, and have given me cause to more strongly consider my own identity. My younger brother (not biologically related) is also adopted, and he is the one and only person I know who can share the same unique story as my own. I know that we both sometimes speculate about our biological relatives. We wonder what they are like, what they believe in and all the other “might-have-beens.” It seems obvious to me that the cutting off of these familial ties has more to do with the extreme circumstances of my birth and subsequent abandonment than the adoption itself. Adoption has allowed me to find a new and wonderful family and home.

It follows that in my “new” life I was also given the opportunity to reconnect with my heritage. I have been given the great gift of parents that have always encouraged me to explore my roots. I have traveled to and lived in several parts of Latin America (including Guatemala) in my adult life. I have learned about the history and culture of Guatemala and also to speak Spanish (the official language there.) Perhaps for some people who are adopted, learning about their country of origin isn’t a priority, but this has always been very important to me.

Adoption has probably been the single most defining event of my life. And I’m pretty happy to report that it has worked out very well for me. For children who do not have a family of their own, it can provide a great opportunity – a second chance at life.

Sincerely,
Elsita

230: Breathless moments

Life is not measured by the number of breaths we take,
but by the number of moments that take our breath away.
(Anonymous)

That quote stares you in the face in my friend Kathryn’s kitchen in Zanzibar. Bernd and I slept in her guest-room during our first two nights on this Tanzanian island, in her Arab-style penthouse apartment atop Stone Town’s tallest residential building. Welcome to Breath-away Moment Number One, with its golden-glow sunsets and vast rooftop views! (I’m cheating a bit: the roof was six flights up without an elevator. So even if it weren’t gorgeous – which it was -- we would have been out of breath.) Far below, we surged through winding streets, propelled through the exotic local market like a rivulet seeking deeper water. And we had that, too: the beautiful blue Indian Ocean was just a few minutes away, with its quaint fishing dhows, haunting Muslim prayer-music, and the beckoning smells of a hundred different native spices.









Twenty-four hours later, we experienced Breath-away Moment Number Two. This happened five times, in fact, as that’s how often we went snorkeling during our week’s “re-honeymoon” -- sometimes surrounded by throbbing puffball jellyfish (slippery to the touch and barely stinging), sometimes by schools of iridescent blue and gold swarms (so many fish, they looked like floating snowflakes), and sometimes by large groupers, slim trumpet fish, beautiful angel fish, spongy sea cucumbers, long-fingered starfish, giant clams, and the occasional octopus or lobster -- but always with the gorgeous coral below us, like the flowerbeds of a botanical garden.







If you can imagine heaven as the Baltimore Aquarium, all warm-water and a hundred-thousand times bigger, then we were in the middle of it, without any glass windows or heaving crowds to separate us from the incredible, other-worldly surroundings. We wanted to ooh and ah every few moments except then we would have swallowed gobs of water, proving (among other things) that we weren’t in heaven just yet. So we gesticulated wildly instead, pointing this way and that. The fish names conjure up the incredible variety of what we saw: crocodile fish, parrot fish, sweet-lips, sea-squirts, basket-stars, lionfish, zebra fish, squirrel fish, damsel fish, lizard fish, emperor fish -- a veritable underwater safari.

Breath-away Moment Number Three took place when found ourselves face to face with a huge underwater hawksbill turtle that we followed until it surfaced for a gulp of air and then slithered away into the ocean depths.

Breath-away Moment Number Four happened on Zanzibar’s Prison Island, full of history and crumbling buildings, and now a sanctuary for giant Aldabra Tortoises (the Indian Ocean cousins to the famed Galapagos Tortoises), to whom we fed fistfuls of their favorite green-leaves. The tortoises gravitated to the food like waddling puppies to their mother, but even better than feeding them is this: As we learned from the much smaller land-tortoises we used to raise and release in Namibia, all tortoises love to be gently stroked under their necks and around their heads as they can’t reach this part of their anatomy in the event of an itch or entrapped dirt. Amazingly, these Aldabra tortoises loved the scratching so much that their necks protruded by almost a foot and got stiff like a hard-on, heads emerging from their winkled neck-skin and bobbing to the touch. Don’t think I’m joking or over-sexed until you try this yourself; then I promise you’ll find it as bizarrely sensual as we did.








Breath-away Moment Number Five also involved communing with animals. We visited Zanzibar’s only national forest where extended families of endangered Red Colobus Monkeys have become habituated to tourists. You need only to stand amongst them and they come seek you out, rather than the other way around. We could have stayed for hours longer, but nevertheless we took almost fifty photographs.







If you do follow us to Zanzibar, however, the one place you must absolutely visit is Chumbe Island. It’s a jaw-dropping, breath-taking, magical sanctuary like none we’ve ever visited before. Chumbe Island is the only private marine reserve in the world, six miles off the main Zanzibar coast, with seven overnight cabins, delicious food, fabulous views, and a gazillion environmental awards for their low-impact habitat, go-green pit-toilets, environmental research, and commitment to local education.







On land you can relax on the sandy beaches, walk amidst a dense mangrove forest, explore the inter-tidal marsh, or seek out the island’s four species of local crabs (including the endangered coconut crab, the world’s largest). The guided snorkeling is the best, though. You’re so close to the reef that scuba diving isn’t even permitted. The island’s underwater coral park boasts 430 different species of fish and Bernd says he wouldn’t be surprised if we saw almost all: the diversity overwhelmed and delighted us at every turn.

The difference between a damaged and a healthy coral reef is like night and day. To further the conservation messages we absorbed, let us briefly share what we learned about why coral is so important:

Waves: Coral reefs cause waves to break far from shore. This means less erosion and calmer water for people to work in and live by.
Fish: Coral reefs are full of little holes and spaces, the perfect place for young fish to hide from predators. The reef is also an important fish-breeding ground and nursery. In Zanzibar, over 70% of the local dietary protein comes from fish, so it is vital for fish stocks to be maintained. By contrast, less reef yields fewer fish and less food.
Biodiversity: Coral reef is the home of a huge variety of animals and plants. Just think of it as the rainforest of the ocean.
Medicine: Scientists are discovering that many marine organisms contain powerful drugs. For example, the Caribbean Sea Whip Coral contains anti-cancer drugs, and can even be used to replace bone!
Tourism: Coral reefs are beautiful and stimulate the imagination. But because coral polyps (that is, the little animals that make up coral) like warm water, most reefs are found in tropical or sub-tropical areas. Therefore, a lot of reef is located in poorer countries, where it attracts visitors, generates jobs, and brings in much-needed cash.
Our camera doesn’t take underwater photos, so hopefully you can see this for yourself some day. We promise it will take your breath away!

229: Connecticut encounter

While Bernd and Elsita scaled Namibia’s highest mountain (see Namibia Diary #228) I was in the United States. Family Health International conveniently paid for my fare and I spent two weeks at their headquarters in Arlington, Virginia, and at a nearby conference. (This was the closest I got to President Obama, but it was fun anyway.)

Afterwards I added a few days’ vacation and a visit to southwestern Ohio where my undergraduate alma mater awarded me an alumni citation for professional achievement. Returning to Wilmington College after 37 years felt both strange and wonderful: This small Quaker school now aims for similar goals as ours in Namibia – namely to provide an opportunity for first-generation college students to get a degree and build a better future(40% of their student body). Although hard-hit like everyone else in the recession, the faculty voluntarily agreed to a pay-cut and several retired professors are offering their services for free (including several of mine from way-back) -- thus ensuring that the college will pull through without sacrificing the quality of their education.

In the New York and Washington areas, I was royally treated by friends and relatives, and I marvel that our family has not yet been forgotten – if anything, the friendships have deepened over the years. Thanks to everyone for their interest and hospitality. I feel spoiled and loved and eternally grateful.

That said, I hardly thought my stories of travels in the US could compare to the nail-biting adventures of the family’s mountain-climbers, especially Elsita’s Saga of the Shredded Shoes -- until I reached Connecticut.

Heading northeast by train from New York, I looked out the window for signs of wildlife. Just to the side of the tracks, I saw a gray heron, some egrets, a few chipmunks, two deer, and a loon. Once in Connecticut, my cousin announced the daily program: We would spend the first day near a local pond to go hiking and swimming and enjoy a picnic on a grassy knoll. On the second day we should look for wild orchids, hike in a nearby state part, and have another picnic. Everything worked out perfectly: The swimming was cold but clear, the food was yummy and fresh, and the hikes provided an incentive for more of the same. Sure enough, we also got to see some blooming wild orchids (here is Bob pointing at one), walk along the Appalachian Trail (you see cousin Carol and Bob by the sign-post), and enjoy some lovely views.







If it weren’t for my cousins’ cat, however, we would have missed the highlight of my stay. While the rest of us slept, he (the cat) started pacing at 5:20 in the morning, eventually waking Carol. As she got up to let the cat out, she looked outside the back door to the tin garbage bin that stores the household supply of wild bird food. Suddenly, Carol let out a hoarse whisper that she repeated three times, each time elevated in volume and alarm: “Bear! Bear! BEAR!”

The instant these magic words reached my ears, I jumped up and grabbed my camera. I needn’t have rushed, however. The object of Carol’s call was sitting placidly, nose inside his treasure trove, seemingly oblivious to the gawking humans just inches away on the other side of the glass door.

The scene took my breath away. I had seen bears only fleetingly before, and always at a distance. This bear was huge. And powerful. And very, VERY close.

With the rising dawn, I snapped some pictures. We didn’t want to frighten him, thinking that a scared bear might be more than we could handle. On the other hand, Carol lamented that they had just bought a large sack full of bird-seed. Would the bear eat it all? Trying to save his investment, Bob opened the bathroom window, just inches from the bear’s head. The bear slowly rose, sauntered across the lawn and turned back around, only to return across the little garden bridge two minutes later in order to finish off his object-of-desire. This dance took place twice more in the next half hour, as the lure of fresh sunflower seeds always brought the bear back. Here he is, in full glory.






When he finally had his fill, the bear stood up and left. Graceful and unperturbed, he was an object of great beauty. The rest of us talked about the bear’s visit all day. This was the first time Bob and Carol had seen a bear in over a year, and they had never encountered one this close. And only two hours from downtown Manhattan! It takes my breath away, just thinking of it. I’m still smiling.