At the foot of the mountain Namsan with the Seoul Tower is a traditional village located. This Namsangol Hanok Village shows the architecture and daily life in a traditional Korean houses called ‚Hanok‘
Heiss, trocken und staubig, das ist Loyangalani am Turkanasee. Ein Bad im See spendet zwar etwas Erfrischung, doch das Wüstenklima erfasst einem wieder sobald man am Ufer steht. Immerhin gibt es Quellen, in deren Nähe der Ort gegründet wurde. Auch unser Camp liegt an einer dieser kleinen Quellen. Das Wasser reicht aus um einige Schatten spendende Palmen hervorzubringen. Es lockt aber auch immer mehr Leute heran, die der kargen Landschaft nichts mehr abtrotzen können und in unsäglicher Armut leben. So wächst Loyangalani und droht die wenigen Ressourcen mit zu vielen Menschen teilen zu müssen.
Trotz Mittagshitze schlendern Michael und ich durch die staubigen Strassen. Hie und da kommen wir in ein Gespräch, machen Fotos und versuchen mehr über das Leben hier zu erfahren. Eine italienische Nonne erzählt uns über das ärmliche Leben hier, über die vielen Kinder, die trotz örtlicher Schule kaum Zukunftsperspektiven haben. So vertrauen sie alle, dass eine göttliche Fügung die ersehnte Wendung in diese Wüstengegend bringt. Bis diese aber kommt sinnieren Michael und ich über die sinnvolle Nutzung der Quellen. Unsere europäische Denkweise stört sich an Verschwendung des Wassers, das oft ineffizient genutzt wird und irgendwo über die Strasse läuft, um dort im sandigen Graben zu versickern.
Touristen gibt es in dieser abgelegenen Region weniger. Einige verirren sich trotzdem dahin. Nicht zuletzt wegen Wolfgang, der hier vor etwa 40 Jahren als erster ein Resort aufgebaut hat. Aus dem Geschäft hat er sich zurückgezogen, hiess es. Eine Legende ist er geblieben. Michael, mein Reisebegleiter, und ich fanden Wolfgang bei einem Bier in einer Bar. Mit einer Kippe in der Hand starrt er in den Fernseher über der Bar. Das Fussballspiel interessiert ihn offensichtlich mehr als wir Neuankömmlinge. Mein redseliger Reisegefährte löchert ihn mit Fragen und erzählt ihm von seinem Leben und Plänen als Missionar in Kenia. Wolfgang zeichnet ein müdes Lächeln auf sein eingefallenes, tief gefurchtes Gesicht. Ihn interessiert es nicht, denke ich für mich. Er sieht aus wie ein Mensch der mit dem Leben abgeschlossen hat. Die Geschichten anderer berühren ihn nicht mehr, und die eigene Geschichte ist abgelebt. Sein hagerer Körper fragt nur noch nach etwas Maisbrei mit Fleischstückchen, einem Bier und Zigaretten. Der müde Geist gibt sich mit dem Fernsehprogramm in der Bar zufrieden, und vielleicht flackern einige erinnerungswürdige Momente vor seinem inneren Auge auf.
I could take the nice tarred road out of Uganda, but the scenery on the northern slope of Mount Elgon was to tempting. The road became more bumpy and dusty with every mile, but bigger also the people smile. From time to time i had to stop for a photo, or just for the stunning view, or simply to give way to a big truck on narrow roads. Time schedule got lost. Instead of a few hours drive i needed all day to reach the Kenyan border post. The last village before frontier i found a fuel station where the diesel pump worked by hand. Can’t remember when i had such a laughter with tank guys filling up my diesel tank.
A few kilometer off the main road, the dusty road leads trough savannah and small villages. Red rock boulders appear on the horizon, growing bigger to nice shaped mountains. On such boulders, the Twa people draw mystical signs and figures on the rocks. Next to a tiny building, which suppose to be the office, i can even camp over night. This let me time to explore the the small caves with rock arts, climbing on the rocks to watch the landscape from above and visiting the villages around. There’s hardly any artificial light at night. The colors of sunset and sunrise are amazingly strong and the full moon send a silver light over the landscape.
Early morning a young guy approached me. He offered tours. Despite my plans to travel further, i got convinced to spend a day longer in this area. Julius, the young tour guide, promised me, not only to guide me for an hike along the Congo border, but also showing me authentic village life, where he’s born. I didn’t regret my decision. Trough villages and over farmland, he brought me to a cave, climbed up an hill with craters, where every inch is used as agriculture land, introduced me with school and showed me the spring, where village people get their drinking water. On this hike, i got the whole lot impression of country life in Uganda.
Something different after those weeks at the coast. A nice, cool place with fresh air and green, lush forests. A quite, peaceful spot with great view over landscape. The Irente Farm just out of Lushoto has the perfect reputation for that. After a friendly welcome, i parked my Land Rover at the grassy campsite, took a fresh breath and got already a taste of the famous dishes with garden fresh vegetables. Back to my car, it was surrounded by big group of teenagers, playing and screaming. Oh Lord, why have these school class from Germany to be here on this week? They visited a partner school here for a project. However, it turned out pretty fun when they started with drum lessons and dance schooling. If i needed some breaks, i headed for a walk and chased bugs or chameleons with my Nikon.
It was quite late when i arrived my camp in Bagamoyo. I grabbed my Nikon and went to nearby beach. To my surprise it was pretty busy there. Teenager played football or jumped in acrobatic style in the sand, bicycles and tricycles went around, a young, blonde teenager climbed a palm tree and collected coconuts. The main activities were the returning fishermen, who sold their catch right at the beach. Surrounded by a crowd, the men sold the catch of the day in bundles to the best offer. Right at the beach, the fishes were cleaned and carried home for fresh dinner.
The biggest surprise was the openness of the village people. Despite all the tourism on the beach, the village just back of it, seems hardly to see any foreigners. Old people greeting friendly, while kids waving and shouting enthusiastically to me. Some small kids were even so afraid of a strange looking white man they started to cry. But mostly i got a open smile in my camera and laughters after they’ve seen their faces in the screen. If someone would ask me about the most beautiful spots on Zanzibar, i’d response in the smiling faces of the village people.
After i found the beach of Jambiani quite average, i walked trough the village. Ducks crossing my way, cows roaming around, doves hiding in their shelters. The people sitting in front of the houses, waving me very friendly and having a chat. Wood lies behind the houses for their kitchen. Several boreholes on the streets provide the people with fresh water. A very picturesque and peaceful image of a village.
One of the manager told us the entire history of that project. While my friend wrote it down, i got briefly the purpose of it. To get the girls from the street, out of drugs and their struggle in life, teach them a profession and help them to find a job. Tailoring is a good way. Just recently another seven girls from the project found a job in a big tailor factory, he told us. The office is occupied by 6 persons, busy at their desks. Colorful fabrics and and finished bags are lying around.
We are led around the building which stands just at edge of a slum. In there upper levels are the rooms for education, a library and the sewing machines. Next to famous brands like Singer stands machines from China. No matter, as long they do their work. Three women were busy and explained how they produce washable sanitary pads. Good idea to produce something reusable, but despite they’re convinced it’s easy to clean them properly, i still doubt it since they use to wash with cold water.
On roof top young women with their children just finished lunch.The kids were playful, posed for photos and some older ones wanted try themselves to take pictures. A couple boys gathered in a corner to play cards. When get down again, a dance class just started in one of the rooms. With the rhythm in our ears we leave the place.
rene bauer photography 