Minsk, Belarus: Wide Streets and Stiletto Heels

Здравствуйте! Как дела? Hello all! How’s it going?

I had a wild week in Belarus. A wild week of…working. Fortunately, between hunting down the prices of transmission fluid, iodized salt, and a number of other market basket goods, I managed to squeeze in a few hours of down time.

On the flight from Frankfurt to Minsk, I sat next to a Belarusian-born business student studying in Toronto. We chatted about Minsk, about Toronto, and about a summer he spent as a furniture mover in America. My favorite anecdote of his – running out of money and using his last $13 to buy sausages and 3kg of rice at a Denver supermarket. Atta boy! We continued to chat when the plane landed, but when I got held up at customs, we made plans to see each other later in the week and said our goodbyes.

The drive into Minsk was picturesque. Wide, lick-ably clean streets and monolithic Soviet facades, the grandiose aesthetic of Stalin’s massive post-war rebuilding. During WWII, Belarus was invaded by Nazi Germany and suffered greatly during the occupation; 25% of the entire population was killed, and by the time the war was over, barely a stone was left standing.

As we approached the city center, my eyes darted from window to window – rolling parks and river bridges, a wedding celebration, and because it was nearing May9th (Victory Day), banners and flags galore. My thoughts of Minsk’s troubled past gave way to the vibrancy of a modern city.

Some interesting facts about Minsk:

  • At one point, U.S. Secretary of State Condoleeza Rice called Belarus an “outpost of tyranny.” For the last 15 years, Alexander Lukashenko, a mustachioed megalomaniac known for controversial comments, has served as the Belarusian president. Yes, the KGB still taps phone calls.
  • In 1986, the Chernobyl incident left a quarter of the country contaminated. To this day, effects are still felt in the southeast.
  • All foreign visitors are required to possess medical insurance, which can be purchased at the airport if need be.

And now, a brief glimpse of activities during the week:

  • I ate at Jomolungma, the only Tibetan restaurant in Belarus – of the 4 Tibetans in the country, all of them work there. The food was fantastic, and I enjoyed speaking with the multi-lingual owner about the history of the restaurant.
  • Side note – the women in Minsk are breathtakingly beautiful. It’s like a supermodel breeding ground over here. The click-click of stiletto heels provided a quasi-erotic soundtrack to my week, and when it came time to price women’s lingerie, I made sure to take my precious time.
  • I ate at Upteka, a pharmacy-themed restaurant bar that boasts a Cyrillic eye chart in the bathroom.
  • My colleague, Catherine, bought $6 tickets to the ballet, but due to the language barrier, she accidentally bought tickets to a stage opera. We didn’t know this of course, until the show began.

The last night, though, was my favorite.

After a last-minute, unscheduled meeting with one of our clients, we rushed to a late dinner at Graffin, a local-dish restaurant with an atmosphere “akin to being inside Willy Wonka’s brain.” My choice of Belarusian ational cuisine was the draniki, or potato pancake.  For all members of the Jewish tribe out there, if you feel like eating latkes year-round, Belarus is the place to be! After dinner, Catherine and I were recommended one of Minsk’s 15 nightclubs, Club Africa. Apparently we weren’t pretty enough, because ‘face control’ wouldn’t let us in. That’s what you get with all these damn supermodels. Back at the hotel, Catherine and I impishly explored an attached business center after seeing a ‘dance bar’ sign on the door. Buzzed and curious, we sat down at the (empty) bar but decided not to pay for the ‘erotic dance show.’ After a few drinks, some businessmen came in and ordered the show, so while Catherine and I finished our drinks, we caught the first half of the show. Best part of the evening – the DJ, seeing me eye the pretty girls, looked at me, raised his arms and said, “After two weeks, they are like furniture to me.” Classic.

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Tomorrow I will post an update about Kiev, where I’m writing this post. Hope you enjoyed!

Kakum National Park + Cape Coast Castle

Five weeks and some change, and I find myself trudging laboriously through 5 inches of fresh, windswept snow. I missed Boston.

Africa wrapped up nicely. Last Wednesday, just before 5:30am, I awoke to the pitter-patter of light rain. The sky, still shadowed, appeared calm, but I was worried the weather wouldn’t hold. Francis picked me up at the hotel, and once we escaped the environs of citified Accra, I dozed off.  3 hours and 300km later, the rain had stopped, the sun had risen, and our car pulled into Kakum National Park. It was quiet – the kind of quiet one can only expect to find so far away from urban clamor.

Ghana (under British colonial rule at the time) passed its first conservation law in 1907 – banning the cutting of young trees of a certain size. Over the following decades, Ghana noted both endangered species and a dwindling supply of rainforest timber, so, in 1994, Kakum National Park opened with the goal of integrating environmental conservation and small enterprise development with community engagement and tourism. Today, many trails are available, and 410 species of butterfly have been discovered (I saw two of them!). The park also boasts the only rainforest canopy walkway in Africa – a route I was set on taking.

Kakum National Park is a protected area. It is necessary, then, to have a guide. I was ushered to an elderly group of four. Bill and Pauline and Jim and Margaret were from Kent, England, and I was happy to join their company. They were comical. Bill commented on the weather – “I don’t mind the rain. It is the rainforest after all” and Jim, explaining the psychology of the canopy tour to his wife, grinned –  “It’s an equation, my dear. Fun divided by terror, or something like that. Ha!” They were a riot. Lots of chuckling up the trail.

Rockson, our 15-year park veteran from central Ghana, led us to the start of the canopy walkway. Gesticulating with his hands, he pointed out seven bridge lengths that looped around in a sweeping arc, one of them 180 meters above the forest floor.

Bill, on the last leg of the walkway, declared:

You know, Alan. I used to have vertigo. Now, I am just shit scared.

I left my friends and walked back down the trail, knowing that my time was limited. I stopped at a coconut stand, and for about $1.25, purchased a coconut and a 20 oz bottle of locally fermented palm wine. By the time I got back to the car, I was tipsy, wishing I had bought more wine for the day.

Francis drove us to Cape Coast Castle, and I sobered up immediately after learning that the dungeon corner where we started our tour housed up to 300 men at one time. That room was damn small. I spent about 2 hours walking around the premises. It was an informative, emotional experience, learning about the brutal conditions in which American-bound slaves spent their final hours in Africa.

On Saturday, my flight did not depart until 8:10pm, so I had one final day of exploring. I spent the first half of that day at Kwame Nkrumah Memorial Park, a park and museum constructed in honor of Ghana’s first president. When I first walked in to the park, I was immediately approached by 30-40 school children who noticed my camera. It was intense – like a swarm of jubilant gnats, they surrounded me, pulled me, laughed and shouted and all the wonderful, playful things that a group of excited kids can do. I snapped a few photos, and each time I showed them their faces I triggered a new wave of hoots and howls. It was hilarious, but after a few minutes I was exhausted and had to duck away. My second pair of African-bought sandals had just snapped, and I asked the woman at the gift shop if she had any super glue. Before I knew it, she had grabbed a large rock and was hammering nails into the bottom of my right sandal. Whatever works.

In the museum, I was amused at all the images of President Nkrumah – with famous folk like Fidel Castro, John Kennedy, Queen Elizabeth and Mao Tse-Tung. I left the museum and spent the last few hours at Makola Market, a series of streets devoted to ready-made clothing, assorted fruits and vegetables, fabrics, household items – it’s vibrantly chaotic, beautiful and animated in the kind of way that you can only find in market-based economies.

I bid farewell to Francis, my trusty auto-guide for the week and wheeled my suitcase into the immigration line at Accra’s Kotoka International Airport.The immigration official and I shared an amusing exchange.

Official: So, you leave us now. We hope to see you again soon. Have you finished all the Ghana currency?

Me: Yes, yes I have.

Official: Why have you done this?

Me: Uh…[pause]

Official: Because I am standing right here you see – *wink* *wink*

Me: Next time I see you, I will make sure to have some left over, yea?

I spent my final minutes on African soil at the airport bar, sipping my locally brewed Star beer and thinking about the survey in its entirery. The beers propelled me into the inevitable hallucinatory state of 24+ hour travel. I remained alert enough to finish a German movie about a failed (and fatal) attempt of the Eiger’s North Face, falling asleep for the remainder of the flight. I spent a few hours in Frankfurt, and before I knew it, I was back in Boston, happy to unpack, unwind, and turn my mind off for the afternoon.

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That wraps up my February survey. I hope you enjoyed the posts! I have some fun things planned for the month of March, kicking off this Thursday with a list of unfrequented, rogue travel destinations. Gotta satisfy that travel itch before I leave again in late April!

My First Bribe

The drive to Ibadan took 3 hours. As we made the transition from citified Lagos to the wide, open stretch of the African hinterland, the buildings, the hawkers, the honking – it all disappeared. The roads, in decent condition, were littered with oil tanker wreckage, and from time to time, small villages could be spotted alongside the highway. Huge, bold-texted billboards passed by – City of David, Fire of Mountain, Redeemer’s University, Kingdom of Heaven on Earth. “Names of prayer cities,” my driver explained. Unfortunately, I missed out on most of the explanation, as I still have not grown the ears for Nigerian English. I heard something about plots of land, Church classes, and mega-events, but I’m still not entirely sure what a ‘prayer city’ is. Any pundits out there care to fill me in?

Traffic was nothing like Lagos, but the occasional bottlenecks were still a marvel. Transport trucks, motorcycles, and filled-to-the-brim passenger vans, they were all there. When movement slowed, the selling began. The products were practical (iced drinks and biscuits), and the merchants scuttled between vehicles to hurry after potential customers. I was spotted a few times – white skin! – but with a short gesticulation of the limb, I waved the sellers on.

The hotel in Ibadan is (to repeat a word that I’ve used in the last two updates) seedy. It’s a cash-only establishment. The manager gave me an oral tour of the hotel. “Gym and pool, free. Internet, over there, 200 Naira for one hour. You see sign? Massage parlor, you pay, eh, whatever you want.” He chuckled. The elevator, the one that works, smells like the rudder of an out-of-season speedboat. My room is comfortable, though, with a built-in radio above the headboard and plenty of soccer on TV.

Today, at 3:30pm, I found myself in a small, two-storied grocery store off the main Ring Road. In Africa, securing permission to record prices has not been a problem so far – I shiver when I think about Russia. This particular establishment, however, would not budge. “I am sorry, but we do not allow it, your economic research,” one of the floor officials said. I was persistent, and so was she. I chose my words carefully. “Listen, I do not know what to do here. My company comes here every 6 months and it was not a problem. I will only be a few minutes. Is there any way we can make this work?”

The last two surveyors have both had problems getting permission, so that part about it not being a problem was a slight stretch. “Go ahead,” the official said. I walked upstairs, and a few minutes later, I was told that I had to give the workers something in return for “helping” me write down the prices. Right. After I was done, we negotiated a bit. At first, one person wanted me to purchase an entire handle of Vodka. After settling on a few small snacks, we all laughed about it, and I made them promise to not harass the next surveyor.

Pringles, a red bull, and some yogurt – my very first bribe.

A Rwandan Safari

Sing it with me now:

Nants ingonyama bagithi baba! Sithi uhhmm ingonyama!

Lion King? Circle of Life? Elton John? Anyone?

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First of all, thank you for reading through my last post. Unlike many of my other updates, it included a hefty amount of facts. The Kigali Memorial Centre filled my head with numbers and images and history, all of which I felt compelled to expound upon you. Your patience is appreciated.

In lighter news, I went on a ridiculous safari yesterday. Absolutely ridiculous. I’ll start from the beginning.

I rolled out of bed at 5:45am and picked up a few sandwiches and fruit that I asked the hotel cafe to prepare the night before. My colleague, Joe, and I met our driver, Ernest, and we began the 2 hr trip to Akagera National Park, a 2500km² expanse of land in northeast Rwanda, cornered against the Tanzania border. Animals roam freely back and forth between both Rwanda and Tanzania, migrating wherever the water attracts them. Luckily, lots of precipitation had graced the Rwandan side of the park over the last month.

When we arrived at the park, our resident guide explained that we had three safari options – a 3 hour loop, a 5 hour loop, and an 8 hour loop. After asking questions and weighing or options, we opted for the 5 hour loop. We hopped into the vehicle – myself, Joe, our driver Ernest, and our trusty guide – and began the safari, following dusty, rock-laden tracks into the bush. I jotted a list of animals that we saw:

Several Cape Buffalo, Topis, Burchell’s Zebra, Elephants, Oribi, Reedbuck, a pod of Hippopatomi, and Vervet Monkeys, as well as one Masai Giraffe, one the legs of a Warthog, one pair of Crocodile eyes, and an Olive Baboon that tried to climb into our jeep.

It was wild. For roughly $150, the trip was more than worth it.

Alright, it’s almost 1am 1:30am and I leave in an hour 30 minutes for the airport. Kigali has been fantastic. Today’s itinerary:

Take off from Kigali at 4am – land in Nairobi at 6am

(layover in Nairobi – do some exploring if I can stay awake)

Leave Nairobi at 1:30pm, stop in Cotonou, stop in Abidjan, land in Lagos at 9:30pm.

Fingers crossed that all flights go according to plan. Talk to you from Lagos.

Kigali Genocide Memorial

I have grown to appreciate the commute into downtown Kigali. Make a left outside the hotel complex. Drive past the gas station, Chinese restaurant, and Kigali Business Centre. Turn right at the roundabout. Make a wide, arcing loop up the hill, then careen through traffic into the centre ville, past Union Center and the recently finished, Chinese-supplied, Simba Supermarket. Having spent a week navigating the route, I could almost drive it myself.

This morning, though, was different. Instead of making a left outside the hotel, we made a right. Unfamiliar turns. Potholes capable of serious damage – I could only imagine what it would be like to ride a bike. Outside the window, a scene of dust-blanketed streets, crimson soil, sardine-packed minibuses, abandoned gas stations, and packages balanced precariously, yet so seemingly effortlessly, atop human heads. It felt good to not worry about work today. Real good. I was en route to Kigali’s Memorial Centre, apprehensive about the trip, yet eager to learn more about the 1994 genocide.

I hopped out of the car, surveying the large, empty parking lot in front of me. After a brief pat-down from one of the security guards, I entered the gate, walked down some stairs, and found myself at the entrance desk.

You want to visit? First time? Where you from?

I purchased a 55-minute audio tour and was ushered politely outside to station #1.

In 1999, 5 years after the genocide, the Kigali City Council drafted a resolution outlining plans to build a memorial center. Funded and managed by London-based Aegis Trust (with the help of the City Council), the center has four goals:

  • To provide a dignified burial ground for victims of the Rwandan Genocide
  • To inform and educate those about the genocide in Rwanda and other parts of the world
  • To serve as a documentation center
  • To provide support for survivors

After four years of construction, the Memorial Centre opened its doors in 2004, welcoming 1500 visitors a day in its first week of operations.

I continued my walking tour. Roughly 250,000 bodies are buried in the Centre, and even to this day – 15 years after the genocide – new bodies are still being uncovered throughout Rwanda, still being brought to the Centre for a proper burial. Looking at the three-tiered level of mass graves, I couldn’t help but think how different these grounds were from a regular graveyard. Out of the quarter-million bodies under my feet, not one of them had died of natural causes.

I meandered my way through the various memorial gardens. I saw a butterfly. It started to rain. I learned about the various foliage – cacti, acacias, roses, fruit trees – and how they were purposefully planted, sometimes in a particular geographic representations, other times standing as symbols on their own. I strolled through the Garden of Unity and the Forest of Memory. The rain held a steady cadence, intensifying the audio explanations, dramatizing the experience. I struggled (and am still struggling) to remember the literary term that describes when an author uses weather to parallel the narrators emotions.

Inside, the Centre is divided into three sections, one for the Rwandan Genocide, another for genocides around the world, and a third for Rwanda’s child victims, the latter section specifically included to “reinforce the horror” of genocide.

While I’m certainly not qualified to accurately explain what happened in 1994, I’ll do my best to summarize, and what better way to do so than with bullet points (my favorite):

  • In the early 20th century, “new colonial masters [Germans, Belgians] were obsessed with the differences between the Rwandans, promoting notions of distinct ethnic groups in a way that had never been done before.”
  • Arbitrary distinctions lead to very real actions. Anyone who owned 10 head of cattle or more, for example, became a Tutsi, and anyone who owned 9 or less became a Hutu. Identity cards were issued in order to help sort out the subjective, anthropological differences between Hutu and Tutsi.
  • Tension arose, and Rwandan unity slowly eroded.
  • Under a Tutsi majority, the Hutu voice grew louder, and radical parties formed, spreading seeds of violence.

In Rwanda, when the Europeans first…

The electricity cut out during my tour. I propped myself against the wall, and two minutes later, the lights were back on.

  • The Hutu government marginilazed the Tutsis. Its leader, President Juvénal Habyarimana, helped create a militant faction of the government called the Interahamwe. Times were tense.

Here’s where it gets bad.

  • April 6 1994, 8:23pm: Hutu (Rwandan) President Habyarimana and Burundian President Ntaryamira were shot out of the sky as their plane was descending into Kigali.
  • At 9:15pm, road blocks had already been set up by Interahamwe militia. Houses were searched.
  • Less than an hour after the plane crash, killings had already begun. Death lists had been prepared in advance, and those on the list were targeted first.

Jenoside yakorewe icyarimwe mu kanya gato.

Le génocide fut immédiat.

Genocide was instant.

So many of us have become emotionally numb to images of violence on TV. I thought I was, until I reached one panel, a short recurring clip of actual video from April 1994. It was the most disturbing piece of footage I had ever seen. My knees became weak – I moved on.

  • Rwanda became chaotic. Bodies everywhere. Neighbors killing neighbors, husbands forced to kill wives and children. Women were raped. The statistics are mindboggling.
  • Over a period of 100 days, roughly 800,000 people were murdered. Do the math. That is between 5 and 6 people every minute.
  • Other countries stepped in, but it was too late, the damage had already been done.
  • The aftermath is another story altogether. Orphans, refugee camps, missing persons, post-traumatic stress, effects that are still evident today.

I apologize if that was a bit choppy. Obviously that’s not the whole story. There were many other variables at play, but hopefully for all you Rwandan scholars out there, I got the basics right. Visiting the Memorial Centre is a must for anyone in the Kigali area, because as hard as it is to think about, the genocide cast such a dark shadow over Rwandan life, a shadow that still hovers over many aspects of Rwandan culture today.

I spent the rest of the afternoon at a local market, talking to shop owners about their handmade products, buying a few gifts here and there. Lazy dinner at the hotel, accompanied by a much-needed glass of red wine. And now, off to bed. Trying to see some wild animals tomorrow! Stay tuned.

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For more information about the Rwandan Genocide, you can start with the wikipedia entry, although it may be a little daunting. I strongly suggest We Wish to Inform You That Tomorrow We Will be Killed With Our Families: Stories from Rwanda, by Philip Gourevitch, for an informative read. If you are more of a visual person, then Hotel Rwanda is an excellent film.