Katwe is a village at northern end of Lake Edward. Along a dusty, bumpy road are some shops and gloomy bars. Most of people living in the houses scattered in the neighborhood or next to the huge lake. At first glimpse just another quite village somewhere in Uganda. But there is something special. Just next to this village, beyond a low crater rim, a small lake appears. At the shore are many ponds in different sizes and colors, mostly dark reddish to almost black. The high quantity of salt makes it worth to collect it. This business grew over generations, and the trade system is still the same. There is no big company who owns the salt, but families taking care for their own plot. A plot usually get inherited to the next generation of the family. Beside the plots, there are also men who walking in the middle of the shallow lake. With iron sticks they break the salty rocks from the ground of the lake and bring it on rafts on land. The salt, crystalline or as rocky plates, get shifted on shore, protected by plastic sheets or covered with dry grass, till they sold and moved by trucks.
Kategorie: history
Coffee Plantation
On the volcanic soil, coffee grows better and is tastier than where else, they say. So, i visit a coffee plantation near Kisoro to proof it. The friendly people here explain the entire process from the seedlings to green beans to the ripe red ones, from harvest to the inner beans and drying process, from stamping off the skin to roasting over the fire. But best of all, the coffee tasting at the end. For the next weeks i know exactly where my coffee was grown.
Kigali Genocide Memorial
At entrance gate every passenger has to get off the vehicles for security check. After the car is parked a friendly staff at reception welcomed me with a smile and explained me there is a photography fee of 20 US$ inside the museum building, but outside it’s free to take pictures. Due the low light in the exhibition rooms i decided to focus on the stories, and taking only few shots from outside.
Just behind the welcome hall a room with rows of chairs is prepared to show an introductory movie. A brief overview of the history and some heartbreaking stories of survivors of genocide brings the viewer goosebumps.
In the museum a path leads from display to another, shows photos and and explanations on big boards or short movies on screens. Another room displayed stained clothes, broken skulls and piles of bones from victims of this horrible time.
The head full of thoughts and impressions i took a short walk trough the area. There are mass graves on terraces just beneath the museum. Some dried roses laying on the concrete lid of the graves and names of victims are carved in the stoney board next to it.
In the small, but pretty rose garden a few blossoms are left. And almost as sign for the future, the sun breaks finally trough the clouds and shines on the red flowers.
Bagamoyo – Old Town
Despite the sleepless night, caused by noisy neighbors, i wanted use the soft morning light for photos in Old Town Bagamoyo. Along the empty streets are old colonial houses, some were more important than others, but all witnessed the history of the town. I didn’t came very far as a young guy stopped me photographing. A self called tour guide wanted to sell entry tickets for an historical building. I refused to get inside and went on. He insisted i have to buy those tickets even i make photos of buildings from outside. Since i stay on public road when i make my photos i don’t have to pay any fee for it, i explained him. A older guy joined in, indicated himself as ‚officially‘ representative of Ministry of Tourism, and threaten me with a fine and arresting. In the entire „old town“ it’s forbidden to make photos without a paid permit. He couldn’t tell me where exactely the „old town“ begins or ended, though. Also my questions about private houses, nature things as trees or public buildings like churches or mosques couldn’t he answer. But he keeps following me for quite awhile and bothered me with threats. One of the few bad experiences in Tanzania, which treats me normally with big hospitality. Okay, i tell myself, Bagamoyo doesn’t like me, so i go on. Within an hour i was on the road again…
