Tag Archives: John A Geddes

Osiri, a Lake Victoria fishing village

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Osiri village is a 15 minute walk from the Luanda ferry dock that takes me to Mbita town. It is a small fishing village with a population of about 500. The people there struggle with poverty and the unfortunate lack of adequate clean water and sanitation.

Osiri fishermen

Osiri fishermen

I was introduced to the community through Meshack Andiwo, a fellow who as had the opportunity for a bit more education than most there. He indicated that the community was concerned about the children not getting any schooling. It is near this village that CanAssist has built the Stewart Geddes School. Fishing had been the main source of income for people in the village but this is becoming more challenging for a number of reasons.

Firstly, as in the rest of lake Victoria, the fish stocks are being depleted. Nile perch were introduced to the lake in the 1950’s as a potential source of fishing income. This was both a blessing and a curse as these fish have a voracious appetite and have consumed many of the smaller species in the lake, upsetting the ecological balance. They can grow to be very large. Nile perch caught in the lake are packed in ice and taken to a larger city, Kisumu or Nairobi, for filleting and shipping to Europe.

Day catch of Nile Perch. These four fish weighed 38.5 kg.

Day catch of Nile Perch. These four fish weighed 38.5 kg.

Although the price that the fishermen can get for the fish has fallen, it is still an income. So the people who live here are forced to sell the fish and go without. Despite being close to this nutritious food source, they can not afford to keep the fish which end up in European markets.

Another introduced species that is causing problems in the bay is Water Hyacinth. You may know this as the lettuce-like floating plant on ornamental garden ponds in Canada. They sell for $4-$5 each in garden centers in May and June. They have a nice purple flower and spread out over the pond only to be frozen at the first frost.

Somehow, this native of South America entered the Lake Victoria system in the 1980’s and since then, they have rapidly taken over. Millions of them float in clumps or even large islands in the lake, being blown around by the wind and currents.image Although they may shelter the fish in some ways, the fishermen have trouble with their nets brewing caught up in the rafts of plants and when a large crop blows in to the shore at the village, it makes landing or launching a boat impossible.

Water hyacinth floating on the lake.

Water hyacinth floating on the lake.

They also act as a breeding ground for mosquitoes, thus increasing the spread of malaria and dengue fever.

I told the folks here that the poverty problem in their community could be solved if they could just sell these plant pests to North Americans and Europeans for their backyard ponds. Another inequitable obscenity, when you think about it very much.

This unventilated latrine is the only toilet for the 500 people living in Osiri village.

This unventilated latrine is the only toilet for the 500 people living in Osiri village.

There are few households with any toilet and most of the people in the community either use the bush or one small latrine found near the centre of the village. They collect their water from the lake but the lake is becoming increasingly polluted with sewage, laundry detergents and other effluents. Many do not boil or purify their water before consuming it as this takes time and money or consumes scrounged firewood that is needed for other cooking.

Kids swim in the lake and others bathe there. Many are infected with bilharzla, a parasitic fluke that can infest kidneys and bowel.

Despite these challenges, the people who live in Osiri Village are cheerful and optimistic and my visit to the community and the Stewart Geddes school was heart-warming.

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Lake Victoria shoreline …

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The room that I am staying in now is about 50 metres from the shore of Lake Victoria. I sleep with my screened door open and under a mosquito net. This morning I woke up about 7:30 to the deep croupy bark that I recognized as coming from a hippo. I bounded out of bed and down to the shore in time to catch two big hippos swimming past about 20 metres off shore. It reminded me of seeing dolphins in the Gulf of Mexico … only a little heftier. They would submerge and then come up with a snort for a breath of air as they cruised along the lakeshore.

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There is also a pair of African Fish Eagles that have a nest in a high tree behind the local clinic and they have entertained me annually with soaring flights over the shore about sunset.
This year they have not failed me. One seems to have taken to sitting on the bow of a local boat to scan the waters and surrounding area. Last night one of them was perched by the dock, seeming to enjoy the sunset. I tried to get a photo of him but found the light from the sun too bright. But with a little repositioning, his shadow in the setting sun made the photo I was looking for.

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Election anxiety in Kenya …

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January 22, 2013

Kenya is starting to get tense in the lead up to the elections scheduled for March 4. Last week,  parties were to nominate their candidates. Administrative delays and many allegations of improprieties in the process have led to skirmishes, accusations and some violent confrontations in various parts of the country.

After the 2008 election the country fell into chaos with ethnic rivalry and mistrust being the flash point. Since that election there have been many strange realignments of previous rivals which may have diffused the tribal separations somewhat. But the redistribution of voting districts and realignment of party alliances has resulted in fierce competition to gain party nomination. Several sitting MP’s appear to have lost out and thereby will be stripped of their power, authority and privileges. This has not sat well with some.

Kenyan politics would make a good soap opera. But for the average citizen elections become times of tension, desperation and guarded hope that things will slowly improve. The country is still suffering from the disturbances that followed the election in December 2007. One has to hope that the democratic process will be allowed to grow without causing another debacle in March when the country goes to the polls.

Today, I head to Mbita via Kisumu, an area where there have been some significant disruptions. I am hoping that the hot tempers of the past few days will have cooled off somewhat and that calm will prevail in the upcoming weeks.

On my way to Kenya …

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Saturday January 12, 2013. Noon.

Well I am on my way … Again. This is my tenth trip with The McGill Canadian Field Studies in Africa Programme (CFSIA) and an even dozen to East Africa in total. It is hard to believe. Firstly that so much time has passed and secondly that Africa has become such a big part of my life. For the ten years prior it was Bosnia. Things change and I imagine that ten years from now…I will be a lot older…things will be different again. However, carpe diem will be my mantra for now.

20130112-130600.jpg I am on the train on the way to the airport at Dorval. Via rail has change it’s luggage policies so I have to take a long route via Ottawa to get to the airport so I could take my bags with me. I have one large bag of “stuff” that will be left in Kenya. I have been good about my personal luggage this time, with about 15 pounds less than what I took last year. And even that may be too much. This Via-rail trip may sound like a lousy diversion but, in fact, I have a business class ticket, will still arrive in lots of time for my flight tonight and am being feted with wine and beer and food and free wifi as I travel. So the bottom line is that this is a more reasonable way to spend the day, getting ready for the long two flights to Nairobi than sitting on a bench in the airport in Dorval, guarding my luggage and waiting for the ticket counter to open. I am always glad to get the trip started – no more wondering what I have forgotten or might forget. Too late for that and nothing I can do about it now.

It is barely past noon and I have already had a beer and a glass of wine and lasagna. The steward has told me that there will be a second meal service between Ottawa and Montreal. I will gain weight before I even get off the ground.

I will keep a journal as I travel and probably post in my blog this year as well – something new. I am all set. Twende! (Swahili for Let’s go.)

Photo oops …

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I enjoy photography and time that I spent a couple of years ago in the Kibale Forest region of Western Uganda was perfect for taking pictures. It was a delight to wander along the forest road and wait patiently for a butterfly to light on a nearby leaf or flower. While waiting for them to stay still enough for me to focus and get the exposure correctly set, I ended up looking in the grass or bushes and discovered dragonflies and grasshoppers and dung beetles and iridescent flies. On two occasions, by the roadside, I also chanced upon a couple of bright green snakes about half a metre long. Snakes are not my favourites and they are generally feared and killed on sight by the locals. I suspect that these were just harmless grass snakes but it makes a better story if they were poisonous mambas. Some of the research assistants at the Makerere University Biological Field Station told me they hadn’t seen a snake in over a year. I saw two in one day. Luck? Or just the time to stand quietly and wait and watch?

baboon3649 A couple of big baboons would sneak around the corner of my cottage late in the afternoon as I sat on the porch reading. If I stayed very still, they didn’t notice me. One wandered over to a tree a few metres away from me and sat down in the shade, leaning up against the trunk. After a few moments, he looked my way and our eyes met. Well, his eyes and mine through the viewfinder of my camera. He thought for minute, then gave a brief baboon bark and got up to wander off, followed by his pink-rumped companion.

Red colobus 3182One afternoon, I stood for about 20 minutes waiting for a couple of Red Colobus monkeys to follow the rest of their troop in a rather precarious jump across the road. The jump involved climbing high in one tree, rocking the branch to get some spring, then virtually flying through the air spread-eagled to catch the lower branch of a tree across the road and scramble up to safety.

This pair was particularly cautious. They took turns heading to the takeoff spot, rocked a bit, peered over the road to their intended destination then hesitated and sat back down. Second thoughts. They looked at each then traded places, only to agree that this would be a perilous jump. jumpThey reminded me of two of my friends who carried out the same exchange while preparing to jump off a rock cliff into Georgian Bay one summer. I wondered if the monkeys sat around a campfire drinking Bailey’s at night. Not likely.

Eventually one of the monkeys braved the jump. Her success gave new courage to her friend. But the end of this adventure came so fast that I missed the shot. I had framed the photo, set the focus and waited so many times that when the final leap actually occurred, I had written it off as another false alarm. By the time I snapped the shutter, the deed was done. (I did catch my friends in mid air on their way into Georgian Bay, however.)

I also enjoyed taking pictures of the beautiful children in the nearby village of Kanyawara – children that I had met on other visits to the community – Fiona and Moses and the ragamuffin, Rose.

The kids are always happy to pose, and then squeal with excitement when I show them their photo on my digital camera screen.

kan]yawara kids3501One young fellow also decided to give me something good to photograph. I had motioned to some kids to get a bit closer to the cattle they were tending in a field near the village, They chased the animals around a bit then stopped for me to take a couple of pictures. Initially I didn’t notice that one of the boys was leaning up against a bull and massaging the bull’s scrotum. The bull didn’t seem to mind – at first. But suddenly the bull decided that this interaction had become altogether too personal and he determined that it was enough. He grunted and turned on the kid, head down like in a Spanish bullfight. He chased the boy around the field while the other children squealed in delight. Once again the action was too quick to catch and when it stopped, I was too embarrassed for the frustrated and aroused bull to take his photo.

Another group wanted to perform acrobatics for me. As one fellow stood on his head, the pinkish soles of his feet waving in the breeze, another group decided that they would jump over a rolling automobile tire like Russian dancers. I was never quite able to catch the jump as they didn’t understand my instructions to wait until I was ready before they started to roll the tire.
handstandOne little girl stood behind the older boys and raised her leg high into the air to kick it over the tire as it passed. She was wearing a vivid blue dress that set off her smooth brown skin and I caught, quite by accident, her jump behind the boys. I thought, as I reviewed the picture on my camera that this was actually the best moment and a little cropping would make it my picture of the day. But when I looked a little more closely, I realized that this wouldn’t do. The girl had no underwear on and my shot had caught her like Sharon Stone in Basic Instinct. No amount of Photoshop manipulation could fix this up.

Another opportunity lost, but what I lost in photos, I remember as great stories.

African Butterflies

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Red butterflyMy last blog about the Monarch Butterfly and Africa got me looking through photos I have taken of Butterflies in Africa.  Good segue into this one which will only be butterfly photos – give you a reading break.  I have enjoyed chasing butterflies all over Kenya and Uganda to get their pictures – more challenging than photographing giraffes. Butterflies don’t stay still for long.

I even wrote a children’s book for my grandchildren based on butterflies in Kibale Forest, Uganda. Some of these photos were taken on Poinsettia bushes in Kenya, others on the forest floor in Western Uganda. The one against the bricks is called a Christmas butterfly.  I hope you enjoy them.  Happy New Year.

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blue butterfly 2

christmas butterfly2butterfly 4

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Colours of Kibale Book cover

A tragic death in Tanzania

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I never met Susan Wells. The news that this 41 year old Canadian aid worker had been killed in late November shortly after arriving in Tanzania to do charitable work struck home, however.

I imagined her arriving at the Kilimanjaro airport, tired from the long flight from Canada but invigourated and very excited to be back where she felt she belonged in some way. She would have been eager once more to meet loving children who would swarm her and welcome her in a heartwarming way that is hard to describe.

But she never made it. Her body was found in a field near Arusha. What exactly happened is still not certain but the bottom line is that her mission to East Africa ended in tragedy.

The message conveyed to others by this horrendous assault might be that East Africans are cruel and heartless. It is actually quite the opposite. I’m sure that the people living in the community where Susan Wells worked are grieving with a deep despair. I know that she would have had loving associations with many. Why else would she continue to return?

There are bad people everywhere. We don’t want all Canadians judged by the likes of Luka Magnotta, Russell Williams or Paul Bernardo. All of America can not be measured by the actions of the young man who murdered children at a Connecticut school this week. Tanzania has the same population as all of Canada. A tourism sector report in 2010 reported close to 1,000,000 tourist visits per year. Foreign visits  – both by tourists and by community aid workers – are  an important contributor to the local economy. Violence of this nature towards foreigners is rare.

Travel anywhere has its risks. Visitors to East Africa are aware that crime rates there are much higher than at home. Foreigners are perceived (and rightly so) as having more money than the locals. It must be tempting if you see a visitor using an iPhone that costs as much as you live on for a year, to want to relieve them of it. Pickpocketing and theft is rampant. Even the locals are cognizant of security risks and the potential for them to be victims of crime. Caution is always required. I’m sure that Susan Wells knew that and in all likelihood she thought she was being safe. Most of the people you meet are friendly and helpful. It is hard to imagine that you may be the victim of of such a violent crime – whether at home or abroad.

It is very sad that a young woman who had dedicated herself to sharing with people less fortunate in Africa has been brutally murdered. I suspect, however, that she would not want this crime to taint the reputation of the East Africans who had provided many other loving moments that she must have experienced while living and working there.

Visitors to East Africa are much more likely to be greeted with welcoming affection than negativity.

Visitors to East Africa are much more likely to be greeted with welcoming affection than negativity.

My goat – Veronica

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In an earlier post, I mentioned my goat, Veronica. Let me tell you about how she came to be mine.

Over the time I spent with the Canadian Field Studies in East Africa, I became good friends with Stephen Moiko, a Maasai fellow who, I met in 2004. In addition to having a traditional Maasai background (he is the second youngest of 27 in his extended Maasai family) Stephen has excelled in academics and is soon completing his Phd in Anthropology at McGill.

His family lives just outside Nairobi on a home site that was once part of his father’s traditional village. They are gradually acquiring various more modern amenities but still struggle with access to water and have outdoor latrines. Electricity is a convenience introduced to their home only 3 years ago.

I have stayed with this family several times since meeting them in 2004 and the many conversations I have had with Stephen, his wife, his mom and his kids have really helped me understand Maasai culture.

On one visit, young Dennis, a nephew of Stephen’s who lives across the road, was sitting with me in the living area as the solar lights were gradually dimming. He was about 12 at the time and intrigued by this muzungu from Canada.

Our conversation was limited and some of our time was spent sitting side by side in silence.

At some point we started talking about friends. “Who is your best friend?” I asked.

“Right now, you are.” was his answer. He took a Maasai bracelet that had been made by his grandmother off his wrist and gave it to me. “I want you to have this,” he said.

Then he said “And I want to give you one of my goats, too.”

I was flattered but didn’t want the boy to give me something so valuable to their family. “Thanks, Dennis but I can’t take it. You know I live far away.”I said

“Oh, you won’t take it away, I will look after it for you but it will be yours. I want to give it to you as my friend.”

The next morning he took me to the paddock and showed me the goat that was to become mine. It was a healthy young female goat with dark marks over the eyes. “She looks like Veronica Lake,” I said. “Let’s call her Veronica.”

Time has gone on. Dennis is now a young man, having just completed secondary school. Veronica looks a little old and tired but she has had a few kids over the years and Stephen’s mom can still point them out to me. Maasai herdsmen identify their animals by making a unique combination of cuts in their ears to show who owns them. Veronica and her progeny are marked with my unique brand – as part of the Moiko clan. When I visit the family, I always go out to the field to find Veronica and what remains of her extended family. Some of her offspring have, no doubt, become someone’s dinner.

I will always remember the generosity of this young Maasai boy. I still have the beaded bracelet and although I have been given many other beaded items over the years, this is the one that I wear when I visit Maasai communities in Kenya. And Dennis and his grandmother still notice with pride that it is his bracelet that is on my arm. The bracelet reminds us all of the endearing connection we have established despite our quite divergent backgrounds.

I suspect that when I visit them over the years, Maria will point out a goat that is supposed to be one of Veronica’s offspring. I won’t know if they are just humouring me or if it really is one of “mine”. But really, it doesn’t matter. We know that it is a little remembrance that will bond us and that is what is important.

Dennis LP.S. How cool is this? As a result of publishing this blog article three days ago, my young friend Dennis has found me online and we have had a chat. He is now a young man, attending University in Nairobi. What a Christmas treat for me!!! The internet has shrunk the world beyond belief.

My very extended global family

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Although I am Canadian to the core, since 1998 I have spent many scattered weeks and months working elsewhere in the world and, to my surprise, have come to think of myself as a global citizen.

One of the great pleasures I have had is developing enduring friendships with people in many communities where I have visited or worked.

In Bosnia I enjoyed the hospitality of several families, and developed ongoing friendships with co-workers during the 11 years that I worked there. My closest associates were Bosniak Muslims, Orthodox Serbs and Croat Catholics. We were all able to get along and work together despite the preceding years of war based on “ethnic” differences.

With my Italian “family”. We chat regularly by Skype and get together every year or two either in Europe or North America.

In Italy, I have friends who have a bedroom in their house that they call “John’s room”. I have enjoyed making pasta with Aunt Bruna, babysat young Enrico when he was a baby and enjoyed special pizza made for me by their friend, Antonio.

In East Africa I have been blessed with cultural nicknames. In Maasai, I am John Ole Moiko Geddes and am a part of the Maasai Oseuri age set. In Uganda I also have been given traditional names of endearment. In western Uganda I have been given the empaako name Amooti. In another part of Uganda I am known as Otim. Emails that I get from there are addressed to Dr. Otim.

My non-conformist calf.

I have my own goat in Kenya (her name is Veronica) and have actually developed a little herd of her offspring. When I visit there, my Moiko family can find my goat(s) in their herd and point them out to me. The goats, however, don’t remember me.

I also had a calf given to me a few years ago. The Maasai fellow who did this said he picked this particular animal because it was “weird”. It was a real non-conformist liking to ramble with the other animals, goats and sheep. I took this as a compliment. Culture, colour, race or religion make no difference to me as to who my friends and family are.

Dan learned early on that if he wanted to be part of my family, he had to sport the right T-Shirt.

In Kenya there is a fellow who calls me “Dad”. I hear from him every week (more often sometimes than my kids here in Canada!) and he is Facebook friends with my family, has chatted on Skype with my 93 year old father and has pictures of my grandchildren stuck on the door of his refrigerator.

Having the chance to actually live with families in different communities has definitely given me opportunities to develop close friendships not usually available to “tourists”. These relationships have enriched my life immeasurably.

Alzheimer’s disease – a personal reflection

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How many times has this happened to you? You have spent all Saturday afternoon doing your Christmas shopping and you emerge from a crowded WalMart, ladened with bags into the parking lot. It is snowing a bit and cold. You head down the aisle where you think you parked your car but as you wander along you can’t see it. You stand for a minute, perplexed. All the rows look the same and that red van that you think was parked beside your car has left. For fifteen minutes, you wander up and down the aisles. At some point you actually wonder if someone has stolen your car. Do you call the police? You become frustrated and curse yourself for not taking more notice of your spot when you parked. All these parking lots look the same. Eventually your vehicle appears, right where you left it. You vow this won’t happen again. But, of course, several months later it does.

Now imagine what it is like to live like that day-in and day-out – never remembering exactly what you did two hours ago, what season it is or who that friendly person was who said hello to you in the grocery store. You are at a party and seem to be the centre of attention. Is it your birthday? An anniversary? Is it Christmas or Thanksgiving? Those young adults are calling you Grandma but your grandchildren are much younger than that. Or are they? This is all so confusing.

My Mom had Alzheimer’s disease. Throughout her life she was always a very social person, loving parties and music and people. As her dementia progressed,
robbing her of her memory, it also took her ability to do what she loved most – interact with friends and family. She knew something was wrong. At first others would politely correct her or challenge her gently about what she was saying. Then people began to sit quietly, unable to have a meaningful, accurate conversation. Instinctively, Mom noticed this change and she began to withdraw as well. I’m sure she was feeling increasingly isolated in her fog. She worried that she was “driving everyone else crazy”…or that she was crazy herself.

During World War II my mom entertained troops training for war with a touring show in Ontario. She loved it. Her signature numbers were Minnie the Moocher and Frankie and Johnny. Even years later her friends would urge her for a rendition at parties. And she would gladly oblige.

As I watched her, I imagined that her life had become like living in a constant dream-like state. Her mind would take elements of truth – things she had read or seen on TV- and mingle them with people and events from her past into a tangled, but very inaccurate story. Dreams can be entertaining, bizarre and even terrifying. How difficult must it be to live in a dream all day, never being able to ground yourself in reality?
It helped to keep a sense of humour and even Mom seemed to hold on to this at times.

I remember a heated debate between my parents one Saturday afternoon as we drove up Richmond Street. Mom was insisting that one of her old friends was participating in a sing-along version if The Sound Of Music that was to play at the Grand Theatre the next week.
“He’s dead, Lorraine.” insisted my Dad.
“No,” claimed Mom ” He is playing in the orchestra. I read it in the Free Press.”
“We went to his wake, three weeks ago.” grumbled Dad.
A tense silence followed. Then she added “He looks like hell.” More silence. ” It must have been those three days in the funeral home.”

Mom and Dad greet each other at the train station as my Dad returns from service in Europe during WWII. This photo was taken in late December 1945. They married June 8, 1946.

It was touching to watch my Dad try to continue to involve Mom in decisions and planning just as they had done throughout fifty five years of marriage. Long discussions would end in some consensus but an hour later, Mom would not remember what had been decided and ask the same questions over again. Mom was losing her memory. Dad was losing his life partner.

The progressive course of Alzheimer’s is frustrating and saddening for both the person a their family. It is also a common problem that will become more prevalent as we baby- boomers age. We are not alone. Our family shares this difficult experience with the families of Ronald Reagan, Margaret Thatcher, Charlton Heston, and possibly even yours.

The last time I saw Mom she was in a chronic care facility. She really didn’t know where she was. We had spent the evening before listening to old songs on a Tillsonburg radio station. She loved music. It gave us a springboard to reminisce about times past. When I left to go home the next day, Mom was in wheelchair in the hallway waiting to go to lunch. I leaned over and kissed her on the forehead. As I stood up to go she grabbed my hand and squeezed it. “Do that again” she whispered. I did. It was our last goodbye.