Update 18:

It has been an interesting week. It was my 11th week here in Sudan. 11 weeks have come and gone out of a 3-month contract. Technically I should be getting in a plane to Geneva in the next few days. In actuality though, I have extended my contract for one month. I will now be leaving South Sudan on the 19th January. 4 months in Sudan!

Next week is Christmas, but to be honest there isn’t the slightest amount of excitement on my part. I can’t really believe that Christmas day is in 4 days. I can’t quite imagine what snow is like anymore, and I certainly can’t fully appreciate Christmas when it’s 40 deg.

I remember the only other Christmas I spent away from New Brunswick, I remember it was even hotter than here. It was 48 deg, a heat wave was again sweeping Sydney, Australia. Wildfires were again threatening the suburbs. Smoke filled the air. Some parallels can be drawn between then and now that’s for sure.

I remember the penthouse in Darling Harbour that I was living in. I remember how much money I was making, selling my soul for a huge credit card company, but nevertheless I was living comfortably. And like right now in Sudan, the week before I had spent only one night sober.

But in Australia it was different, I mean there were things to do and we were doing them. Heading to Manly or Bondi or Coombs or one of the other beaches to soak up the rays, enjoy the topless bathing, barbeques and Bundi&Cola’s. Going to Kings Cross. House parties. Eating good food. Riding a crotch rocket without a helmet the wrong way down the street (they drive on the other side, so turning immediate right at an intersection is a bad idea).

This year though I am Sudan. They drive on either side of the street, depending on how they feel, or if they feel they are in a bigger rush than the oncoming traffic. It’s hotter and dustier than the Dust Bowl. Garbage is strewn everywhere, especially the creeks. It seems to be a well-established pattern of garbage removal throughout much of Africa, put it in the creek for the flash floods to magically make it disappear.

There are some similarities, there are barbeques, there are house parties and there is a pool (but no topless bathing allowed), instead of the beach you can lounge on the bank of the Nile (just keep an eye out for crocodiles the size of a canoe). Yes. A CANOE REFERENCE, I AM CANADIAN. I could get on a motorbike and test my reaction capabilities, but the bikes are bought for $700 brand new and are Chinese made, something breaks before you can even start it. So between their lack of quality and insane driving patterns of the country I stick to the Landcruisers.

The biggest similarity though is missing the family. It sucks to be away from home. To know how well they are eating, to know that my niece and nephew are the center of attention and not me (haha), yet to quantify the thing that I miss the most is impossible. But certainly the company, the family, the walks with or without snowshoes, the arguments, the feeling that you get when you are at home that no matter what; they love you, the snow, the cold, the food, the eggnog, turkey, mashed taters, gravy, enhanced hikes with friends, brothers and sisters, trips to the lookout.

I remember my birthday almost two years ago; I remember how great it was because it was hopefully the most miserable birthday I will have. It was so great because now I value so much company that you love on special days. I expect this Christmas to parallel that day. It sounds funny, but I can’t wait for it, I look forward to this Christmas because in the future I will do my level best not to spend one this far from family. I can only hope to always remember this one so that I will appreciate being home so much more in future times.

I am happy to spend these holidays in Sudan. I will never forget this Christmas, this New Years; it’ll be another interesting experience that lives on in my memory. After all, life is made up from experiences. This will be one of them and I look forward to it, almost as much as I look forward to being back home.

So if it’s possible for you, make sure you can spend this Christmas with someone or at least somewhere you love. Try not to take it for granted that you have the privileged life that you do. Not too many people live the way we do, free from disease, malnourishment, war and insane military and police organisations. When you look at it from a different perspective, the problems that we as Canadians face appear tiny and insignificant. I know, I know one shouldn’t compare ones problems to another’s.

I’ll probably put out another update soon, but if I don’t get one out before Christmas. Merry Christmas and a Happy New Year. Think about a New Years Resolution and aim to fulfill it. Thanks dudes, dudettes, ladies and gentlemen alike.

Update 17:

I wish I could paint this picture with words. Even if most of you might not know what plastic sheeting and shadow nets are, I think you can appreciate it based on what follows.

But imagine parched earth, giant two-inch eggshell pattern cracks in the dirt as far as an eye can see. Think of how a shattered windshield would look to an ant then magnify it to our abilities at perception and you’ll have an idea what I am talking, about well aside from the colour, that is.

Shadow net is exactly what it says, nets tied to poles or trees (if you can find one) that are about 3-5m off the ground, erected to give shadow, to protect us from the unrelenting and scorching sun. Plastic sheeting is essentially just a plastic, rip resistant tarpaulin on a 250m roll. Our compound walls and office roof are made from plastic sheeting and sticks, not the best for any kind of protection but it keeps folks from seeing inside.

I am currently on a field trip. Not like a high school field trip, where alcohol and trouble always ensue (for me, usually in that order). It is more like I am visiting a field project, providing them with support, entertainment, a new face for a week performing (in vain) in all attempts to keep them happy and from dying of heat, boredom, and their seeming frustration that their capital/supervisors (I am unfortunately one of them) don’t seem to understand or respect their problems.

There are the constant pleasant rivalries between the field projects and the capitals (Khartoum and Juba) regarding which is hotter. The closest comparison would be to hockey team rivalries, still friendly but there always exists a bit of animosity.

The temperature competition is a bit closer though, usually 1 or 2 degrees, each location believing it is the hottest. As far as I know it has been between 38 and 42 degrees everyday since my arrival. So one day it’s hotter in Juba, the next it’s hotter in the field. Either way 40 C is hot, that’s 104 F. Even under the shadow net.

But back to the picture: Think of African planes like in the movies, with funny shaped, and very scattered trees. One random tree here one random tree there in a plane of 8ft tall brown grass. Lions; you know they are just lurking in the grass waiting to eat you, no matter what the locals tell you about the army having eaten all of them during the wars. Scorpions. Snakes. Thousands of varieties of insects; and thousands of each variety. Parched earth. Dust. Smoke from people burning the grass (some random annual tradition, or perhaps protection strategy since armies have a hard time concealing themselves in the open).

Think of the not so subtle rumble of diesel generators burning the fossil fuels that are allowing me to write this. Or of having a bunch of Dinka staff that don’t speak English (and I sure don’t speak Dinka) wandering around with their traditional scars on their foreheads, making them resemble skinny Klingons. Wow, a Star Trek reference.

For those of you that know Vernon (lean by our standards) he would be considered well nourished with his 6’3” frame and 160lbs by the Dinka’s standards. The Dinka’s are of a similar height to him and I (6’4”). At my 200lbs, I am called fat. In fact I have since my arrival, been called the white Dinka, the fat Dinka, and the white and fat Dinka.

One day when leaving the field on my last trip and standing in front of the compound waiting for the car to take me to the airstrip, these Dinka’s came running to me as they had been told that there was a white man taller than they were. My resemblance to the Dinka’s is not the biggest stretch, with my once lean frame and buckteeth, I really only have the skin colour that differentiates me.

40kms away is the birthplace and childhood town where Manute Bol grew up, famous Sudanese NBA basketball player, if memory serves me right he used to be the tallest NBA player at a bit over 7’6”. There is also a famous model from Tyra Banks and Naomi Campbell era, named Alek Wek Deng, from this area as well.

To return to the picture: Think of the 8 ready for safari Landcruisers sitting in front of the compound at dusk, with the sun going down over the Intensive Therapeutic Feeding Care clinic in the background. Picture the Doctors and other medical staff sitting fiddling with their short wave radios trying to catch a bit of news from their home countries. Or perhaps of the nationals playing a match of volleyball, donated by either MercyCorps or Shave the Children, as the heat of day subsides and the sun starts to decline into the dust filled sky.

Add to this the men sitting around their shisha/hookah pipes smoking scented tobacco. Always on the alert listening on their HF/two way radios. Are they needed somewhere? Perhaps they can ignore this call? The best parts of the day are mid afternoon where the wind starts blowing a bit, bringing a much-needed cool breeze to the camp.

But, with every good comes bad. The breeze always comes from the East, coincidently so are the latrines. For the new compound currently in construction, the latrines are on the Western wall.

Think of relying on satellite for all communication to the capital and Geneva HQ. Think of talking on a sat phone, knowing you can’t walk and talk, or be inside. Or imagine the frustration when you can’t get through and you need to, or worse when you do and the call drops and you have to repeat the process all over again. Try to dream of living and having your storage in tents, for months. Giant white canvas tents, and even with shadow nets the inside can and usually does reach 50 C.

For me, I love to be in the field, even with the heat, the plastic sheeting and shadow nets. The poor conditions and not exactly gourmet food, the struggle and challenges of it all are the fun parts. The challenges of management that are my day-to-day struggle in Juba are less fun. But to be fair, my attitude has changed. I am more positive, I have to be, I couldn’t last the three-four months here if I didn’t.

Think of all of this, and perhaps you might get to experience a bit of Africa and not have to leave the comfort of home. Ahhh, some days I wish I had done that.

Update 16:

One of the things I don’t have an answer to.

Once upon a time in a land far far but not too far away there was a baby chick trying to get out of its shell. Along came this wonderfully kind and compassionate person who saw the shell starting to crack, vibrating and rocking as the chick was trying to break out.

I will ask you a few questions along the way here.

1st question. If you were that person now, and saw the chick hatching what would you do? Please think about this for a second.

Ok. Now this amazingly kind, compassionate person chose to help the chick hatch, (s)he wanted the chick to breath, to grow, to help alleviate what (s)he interpreted as the suffering the chick was experiencing as it fought to escape its womb.

What the person didn’t know at the time were the consequences of his/her actions. For sure it would be hard to place fault in his/her good intentions. After all (s)he had acted in good faith and was only trying to help!

However the chick will tell you a completely different story. It wasn’t suffering at all. It would have told the person, if it was able or knew it, please don’t help me. I am not strong enough to survive outside my shell, my hormones and chemicals are not balanced enough yet. Once they are, I will be strong enough to get out of my shell and will be able to survive in the cold hard world outside.

But the chick couldn’t communicate this to the person, and neither it nor the person knew the effects. In trying to help this chick, (s)he had actually paralysed it since it wasn’t chemically poised enough yet and essentially condemned the chick to an early death.

I suppose we could ignore this story, perhaps we can adopt the philosophy that there are always more chickens laying more eggs. But perhaps there is something more to be thought about.

2nd question. If you were that person now, and saw the chick hatching what would you do?

Is acting out of compassion without understanding the consequences acceptable? Perhaps acting out of good faith isn’t good enough anymore, or maybe ignorance is perhaps not that blissful after all? It could be possible that action without knowledge or even thinking about the ramifications could actually worse than acting but with knowledge that the outcome will fall short of desirable.

An Ethiopian man that had seen the effects of many instances of aid told this story to me the other night, I will not take credit for thinking it up, but it well illustrates my confusion and internal conflicts that I have had in my mind for some time.

3rd question. Dudes, what do we do?

Update 15:

There is so much to write about, where to start? I did write update 14 and posted it but did not send an email. Since the last email though, much has happened; I rode Yvonne across Canada and around the perimeter of the USA, one of my favorite friends got married, my sister gave birth to her and her husbands second, my father went under the knife and is busy recuperating, two missions in South Sudan have been proposed and accepted, one canceled, and most recently I have flown back to Geneva, and expect to be in Sudan by Saturday.

Let's start with the figures from the bike ride.

20,070kms, 52 days, 40 days on the road, 26 nights in the tent, both oceans seen, one gulf, countless bays, 9 provinces, 22 states, 2 hurricanes, 4 moose, 2 bears, numerous deer and small critters, 1 snapping turtle, over 1100 L of burnt fuel (my carbon footprint this year is the shits), ran out of fuel twice, 2 bird/Daniel impacts at 90mph, 6 tires, 4 oil changes, 1 drive chain replaced, 3 close calls, 4 Gb's of photo's and videos, too many pounds of muscle turned to flab, 2 encounters with the law (both in the US of A), 0 speeding tickets, 1 warning (get this, for failure to stay in seat), no standing on the pegs in the states, and too many tearful departures, but fun times rain and shine.

First of all a big thank you to the folks that put me up in their homes and fed me along the way, particularly those that sheltered me from the two hurricanes (Hanna and then Ike). I am extremely grateful to all of you that helped me along the way, the best parts of the trip were usually at your houses and meeting you!

Now to the stories:

Driving to Cornwall from the other side of Hartford, Connecticut, I got caught in the rains of the the now tropical storm Hanna. I managed to get temporarily orientated challenged, and while now I think I was on the “right” road, at the time it was definitely the wrong road. While riding at about 20-30 mph in 3-5 inches of standing water on a heavily loaded sports touring bike in a bright orange rain suit I soon noticed that I was the only while fella in the area, there were sirens all around, accidents left and right, and men on all corners.

Now it is a bit funny that I was shaking in my boots there, and yet in the Congo I could have a conversation with a fella in fatigues, an AK-47 and bullets on his chest without batting an eye. However, rain soaked shirts sticking to the skin very clearly revealed the outline of what were supposed to be concealed handguns. The first chance I got I did a U-turn and virtually catwalked me and my bike out of that American Ghetto, only to take an hour to find another way around in the relentless downpour.

An hour or so later, soaked to the bone, and another 30 minutes or so left to my destination, with rains just as heavy, I came around a corner about to cross a hydro-dam. I noticed a guaranteed unseating round rock the size of a turkey plate, and a few inches above the water on the road right in the path of my tires. With only feet to react I scooted around it. As I passed it I stole a quick glance at the object that apparently was not a rock at all as it had the head and tail that are unmistakably those of a snapping turtle. I distinctly remember my right leg lifting up off the peg as I made this realization, even though I was well out of snapping distance.

The next adventure was on the border of North Carolina and Tennessee where I had the opportunity to ride the Dragons Tail (if you have high speed you should YouTube it). 318 curves, 11 miles. The bike was never standing straight for the duration. I had a hoot, even if on a loaded 919. I scuffed up both boots cornering. It was here on these 22 miles, infamous for it's wrecks and a few deaths, that I probably burnt 50% of my brakes and 25% of my rubber. Hard riding is damned hard on the bike and for Yvonne's sake I can easily say that after running it twice, I was not tempted to ride it again.

Eight hours after Hurricane Ike hit Galveston I rode through the wake, I was actually only 100 miles or so North. It would seem that I was chasing the tail tp see if I could grab it and giv'er a good ol'shake. In reality I was pressed for time. If you ever get the chance to chase a hurricane, on a motorbike, and you do catch up and grab her tail, take advice from someone that has done it, let go, stop, slow down, turn around, just don't continue, especially at night. For me it was way after dark and I couldn't find a campground or even high ground. If you have been to Louisiana or South East Texas you know very well what a bayou is. For those who are unfamiliar; a bayou is basically a damned big swamp, combine that with hurricane force winds, driving rain, and a storm swell, it means wet, very wet, and not much high ground.

So riding along, watching for telephone polls that had been snapped in half like matchsticks and more importantly their associated possibly decapitating wires, while worrying about taking a flying branch to the head, I found the first place that looked like I wouldn't get shot at for trespassing (not really a joke in Texas). I pitched my tent 10 meters, fighting off the hungry skeeters, battling the winds, all while trying to keep the tent dry before I can get the shell on. When I camp like this I like to be visible from the road so the cops know where I am, in the hopes that they don't think I am hiding. That being said I had a hard time falling asleep in the high heat and humidity, with every branch moving or scratching the side of my tent making me think someone was out there.

Sure enough a couple of hours later my tent is lit up by some kind of spotlight. I hear a lull in the rain, doors slam, footsteps scramble up the loose gravel hill, downpour returns, hurried footsteps heading away now, doors slam again. This repeats a few time as the rain abates and intensifies over the next 30 minutes before a sufficient lull occurs and they can make it too my tent. "Sheriff's office!" Silence on my part, pretending to have been asleep. "Sheriff's office! Is there someone there?" They ask me what am I doing. Answering I indicated that I was just trying to stay out of the rain, their chuckled response was that they were attempting the same thing. They asked me for my ID, then where Vancouver was, then BC, finally they knew about Canada. The fella doing the talking looked at his buddy and asked him "How d'ya reckon we run this one through our system?" Buddy says "Haven't got a clue!" They chuckle again and tell me not to bother the neighbors or go wandering around and to ride safe. I found it hard to fall asleep again, too much excitement and way too hot and humid.

Feel good/inspirational story of the trip. I dropped in on my junior high bus driver while in Texas. I hadn't seen her for a good 10 years, probably more. Her story goes to show that you can do just about anything. This woman, my bus driver, never even completed grade 10. Not to put a date on her age, but just so you have an idea her kids were my current age when I was 15 or so. However, in the last decade, she obtained her GED just for kicks, then went to university and graduated with a Bachelor's, and since that wasn't enough she then completed her Masters not too long ago, all with a perfect GPA of 4.0. I think just recently she became an accredited psychologist or psychotherapist and currently works with young adults that have already had a rough go of it all. To me that is an absolutely amazing and inspiring path that just goes to show what can be achieved if you make it happen.

New Mexico was super cool, and as their slogan states it is the "Land of Enchantment." They were the most friendly folks along the American way, and one family even paid my dinner before they left. Only word of advice should you travel through there, get gas wherever you can. Half the towns on the map are either deserted or too small to have a store let alone a gas station, on top of that they are separated by hundreds of kms. Man did it ever get cold at night though. Teeth chattering and body shaking when riding kind of cold.

I had by the time I got to Bakersfield, California, been carrying a replacement rear tire since Mobile, Alabama. I figured that I would ride this tire until it was finished completely, which I did. Yvonne was almost limping into Bakersfield, with two unsuitable tires, a worn out chain (word of advice: do not use a de-greaser on o-ring chains), and a oil change way overdue. The rear tire was actually cracking and peeling along sections of it. But in Bakersfield she received some much deserved and overdue lovin'.

That day though, riding into Bakersfield was the longest of the trip. On that one day I checked out the Grand Canyon, got my kicks on what was left of Historic Route 66, walked around and over the Hoover Dam, rode up and down the strip in Las Vegas, and rode into Bakersfield over 1000kms after starting the day with a squawking chain and peeling rear tire.

Not much to say about the Pacific Coast, aside from it's outstanding beauty, it's perfect waves, gorgeous girls, and pleasant ambiance, except for that it has inspired my next trip. Well after Sudan that is.

Update 14:

It’s been some time since I last updated this site, so I figure that now is the last chance I have before heading off again.

I arrived in New Brunswick almost exactly two weeks post departure from Vancouver, after riding 6920kms across Canada. It was an amazingly beautiful ride; with good weather most of the way. It seems too corny to say that I merely enjoyed the beauty and diversity that Canada has to offer, but I can’t think of a better way to describe it other than even while riding in downpours and hailstorms that drove a couple cars to standby on the side of the road I had this huge goofy full tooth smile spreading from ear to ear.

Scorching heat followed me from the desert in southern BC, through Alberta and its badlands, Saskatchewan and all the way to Manitoba. It was too hot and flat for my rear tire in the prairies and I ended up having to get a new one in Thunder Bay after melting most of the middle off of it. I tested the handling capabilities of the bike when loaded in the BC interior, hiked up hills in riding boots and jeans in 35 deg temperatures in wild rose country, outran a couple huge storms covering the living skies in Saskatchewan, and then checked out The Forks and the friendlies in Manitoba.

In Ontario, I experienced highway robbery at the Northern gas pumps at $1.50/L, charging that because they could, so not Canadian. But the majesty of The Great Lakes, the rolling hills and all the scattered lakes in-between was unforgettable, the good pavement even had a curve or two mixed in between muddy construction zones. I made it all the way to Espanola, On before I had to put on the rain suit, and from there to Montreal I basically kept it on.

In Montreal, I got to sample some of that famous Italian Della Valle food, hung out with a few of my favorite people in the world, had some Schwartz’s, walked downtown and then the Main one night during a downpour and smiled throughout, despite the soaked Levi’s and Puma’s. I popped over to Vermont to celebrate and witness the marriage of one of my best dudes and his absolutely amazing wife, and got cut off from the bar. I didn’t know you could get cut off from a bar at a wedding, in fairness though I am really happy they did and it was a really good idea on their behalf.

High winds and low temperatures that chilled me to the bone accompanied me through Vermont, New Hampshire and Maine to New Brunswick. But arriving close to midnight, I was greeted by a fairly worried (and rightly so) mother. I mean whose mother really wants their son to be riding a motorbike across a continent, or working in the sketchiest countries in the world, or doing half the stuff I get up to. So props go to her for her courage, her patience, and attempts at understanding.

I would like to take this opportunity to thank those of you along the way that have helped me, or housed me, or fed me, or spent the time to talk and to listen to me. I met some truly amazing people along the way, and not just on this trip, but there are those of you that have made it all worth while. I kid you not, the world and it sights are physically beautiful, but they pale in comparison to the beauty in the hearts and actions of those that I have met. To you, never give up, enjoy life, be kind, contribute, make the world a better place, not just for you, but for those that you meet, for your friends and family, and if possible your enemies alike. We all need nurturing once in a while, and many of you have done that for me along the way. Thank you.

With that, I leave you to jump back on Yvonne, head to Cape Breton, do the Cabot trail and then head south through the USA along the Eastern seaboard, then west along the Gulf of Mexico (avoiding hurricanes if at all possible), then north up the Pacific coast. Rip it up.

Update 13:

Quick on the heels of Update 12, and likely there will be a 14th fairly soon as well.

Most of you know my immediate plans, at least those of you who have seen me, and those that I have had the fortunate chance to talk to by phone in the last few days. For the rest of you however…

I arrived in Vancouver almost two weeks ago. First thoughts that ran through my brain as I stepped out of the international arrivals at YVR:

1. Wow the air is so clean here, it smells like… trees, and rain, and flowers, and no black diesel fumes. Wow.

2. Why oh why didn’t I grow enough kahuna’s to give that wretched KLM flight attendant my number.

3. That I get to see my friends and family very soon. With Karny and not Fat Todd picking me up at the airport.

Since then I have visited a whole lot of amazing friends. Watched three sets of the Celebration of Light fireworks, played “Pitch’n’putt”, went the old companies company BBQ, got soaked on my bike, biked from N.Van to W. Van to English Bay, to Strathcona, not sober, another bike trip from Main to English Bay and back, again not sober, had many dinners, breakfasts, sushi, and coffee “dates.”

All in all, I am again left questioning why am I leaving again? Yet I know very well the answer, and look forward to the next set of adventures, that start tomorrow.

I have kitted up my motorbike with hard cases, a windscreen and new exhausts so that I can talk a wee road trip across Canada. Luckily for me the two events that I most wanted to be back in Canada are happening around the same time, Mr. G and Ms. S are getting hitched in Vermont in the middle of the month, and my sister is having her second baby towards the latter half of the month.

I figured what better time to hop on Yvonne and go for a ride. So, I have intentions of visiting family in Calgary, Chicago, Southern Ontario, and then Montreal. If you are on the way and want me to swing by, or if you have a friend along the way that has a free lawn that I could camp on for a night, hit me back. I was supposed to leave today but had a few technical difficulties and will be leaving first thing tomorrow morning.

I intend on doing about 600km/day. Roughly two tanks, tomorrow night I should be somewhere in the BC interior, Thursday night Calgary, then somewhere in Saskatchewan for Friday night, Manitoba Saturday. I will try and keep a fairly regular posting along the road, for a few reasons. My Vancouver mobile phone will accompany me should you need to contact me urgently.

The beginning of September I plan on getting back on the bike and heading back to Vancouver via the Eastern USA seaboard, then along the south and finally up the west coast hopefully arriving at the end of September, just in time to do another mission with MSF.

Let me know if you know of any great scenic roads as I am not partial to the TCH for the whole trip.

Update 12:

I really didn’t write much about Uganda, and since I was there for a couple of weeks in total, I feel it only fair to add a little blurb on the little bits of it that I did see.

The flight from Congo to Uganda was largely uneventful, except that the person that took off and landed the Beaver aircraft was not the pilot. He was some dude that had his pilot license and asked the pilot if he could fly the plane for a bit. Sitting right behind the pilot watching the pilot do the cross on the forehead and chest right after he puts what looks like a crash helmet on definitely made me worry for a second or two, or the rest of the flight. All in all though the flight was only moderately wobbly, and I didn’t need a sick bag, so I can’t complain too hard.

Getting into the Entebbe airport I quickly figured out that there was no one to pick me up, calling my responsible dude in the Congo he gave me the number for the taxi company that we are allowed to use. A few minutes later I am in a pretty sweet taxi heading into Kampala, the best touch was the in-dash TV that we could watch when stuck in rush hour traffic.

A quick administrative debriefing in Kampala the next morning, and then off to Jinga to whitewater raft the source of the Nile (touristy I hear you say, well that’s because I was a tourist, duh). Getting to Jinga via one of those oh so iconic symbols of African transportation; the 14 passenger Toyota minibus loaded with more than 14 passengers. Met up with a nice group of people, went down some class 4’s (they said class 5, but I think not). Ate a great BBQ, watched the $45 video they made of us rafting, got drunk, and went to sleep.

In Jinga I met a Memphisian who wanted to go to SIpi falls as well, and since her friends no longer wanted to head that far a distance for such a short time, it turned out that we went with each other to check out the cascading waters. Setting out this time on the back of boda boda’s (125cc Chinese motorbikes) to fetch one of those wretched, made for mini people, mini buses, and finally getting into a 5 passenger Toyota Corolla wagon with 8 folks on board. The minibus ride was cramped, Nutella slept most of the way, I read my book. The station wagon ride was messed up, the woman beside me was very well endowed and her boobs kept bouncing off of my side, not as much fun as it would seem let me assure you.

In Sipi we stayed at this awesome retreat called Sipi River Lodge. The owners are ex-whitewater kayakers, probably skiers, climbers, the kinda people that I tend to associate myself with. They were really cool dudes, they had not even opened to the public yet, so we were some of the first paying guests. Awesome setting at the bottom of the second set of falls, trendy style construction, great food, not uber expensive. We went abseiling off of a perfectly good 100m cliff; I will admit that I did not enjoy walking off of the edge. Hiking in the high heat and humidity also proved to be a fairly sweat inducing activity. If you enjoy the chill side of life plus a bit of hiking then you might want to check these guys out. http://www.sipiriver.com/

The reason that this trip was made possible was Nutella’s research. She had found a magic mystery bus that drove past the resort at 2:30am and would pick us up especially if we called in advance. Now I really don’t like to travel at night. But without taking this bus I would not have been able to go to Sipi, so clambering on this bus in the wee hours of the full moon lit night I found a tiny seat with my and Nutella’s name on it. I couldn’t sit up straight because my head hit the roof, so I would lean forward onto the seats ahead, which made the dude beside me use my back as a place to sleep, soon enough the dude was fast asleep using half my back, and Nutella was sleeping on the other half. A remarkable four or five incident free hours later we arrived in Kampala, said our goodbyes and found our ways back to our respectable houses.

I was lucky to see one of the Bunia staff in Kampala that morning, so we went for lunch at, I kid you not, I feel like Chicken Tonight. She came with me to the airport and we said goodbye, or until next time.

As I went through airport security, the guard told me that I had to open my bag as he needed to see what was at the bottom. I knew right away what he was looking for. What I didn’t know when I bought the hand carved hippo teeth as presents for my family in the Congo was that they are kinda like Ivory and that it is fairly illegal to transport. Anyway, I got on the flight without hassle and without Ivory, sorry family no presents.

Nairobi airport in Kenya was fine, the only cool thing was once a Congolese operated ancient Russian Antanov aircraft went past the windows and shook the heck out of the airport. 747 buzzed by silently and this not so big prop plane shook the fillings out of the old folk’s teeth.
Geneva was nice, I had a few days where I did not have to work, so I toured Geneva, searched for motorbike parts, ate well, went to a few live shows, and played street basketball. The shock of Geneva was how little people smiled, laughed, or visibly enjoyed life. I am sure they do, maybe just not in the way that the African nations that I had gotten accustomed do.

I met a gorgeous flight attendant on the KLM flight from Amsterdam to Vancouver; she kept coming over and talking, asking questions, bringing me milk, and chocolate. I knew that she had more than a day in Vancouver, but I pussed out and didn’t give her my number, I guess that whole world is still quite foreign to me.

Update 11:

I wish that leaving a country, its people and the friends that you made along the way got easier as countries visited multiply. The truth is, when standing on the cold asphalt in front of the Vancouver International Departures Terminal seven months ago, I bawled my eyes out. I had made quality friends, friends you can count on, and I was leaving. They said I'll be back, that I'll see them again. I hope that I will. Today as I sit writing this (on the way home), my eyes start to well with tears. Somehow (for dignities sake) I force myself to control the waterworks, people here would think I am crazy (maybe you do too). I have made some really good friends, shared unforgetables and experienced memories that will last a lifetime. Through this course of becoming a seasoned traveller, I was hoping to graduate to an experienced departer.

I feel however, that everytime I leave a place, I leave a part of me and in turn I take a part of that place with me. It's not a bad thing, it's just the way it is. Experience has learned me that within a few days the sadness disappears, I will have found a new home, or a new activity, or perhaps the pain of saying goodbye lessens as the joy of saying hello overtakes.

At this stage, saying goodbyes and hello's are far from over, they are just getting started. I wonder then, if I do leave a part of me everywhere I go, will there then be a day when I don't have more to give? Will I reach a threshold and have no more to give, a day where I will be unable to say goodbye again? Or is it the other way around, since I take a part of the place with me, my memories increase and experiences accumulate, do I instead grow and therefore have more to give at each situation that I encounter? I have hoping for the latter option.

I can never say for sure if I will again someday see the people that I have met. Chances are not high that I will be able to see each and every one. There is an inherent sadness in saying goodbye and realising that it actually most likely is a goodbye, and not an à la prochaine or a see you soon. I try not to sound fatalistic, and I know the world is a big place, and that throughout the years lived there will be opportunities to see them again, but the odds are not that high that I will have a second chance to see every single person met at a later date.

To that effect, to the MSF Bunia team/family: I humbly thank you. What I learnt most in the past three months was not technical, it was not logistical. What I learnt from you was how to live with people from different cultures, people with whom I had language barriers, people who I ate two to three meals a day with, hung out with after work and those I worked with. I was confronted with strong and independant personalities, challenged by them, by language barriers and personality clashes. Did I fail once in a while? Sure did. Was I the best I could be everyday? Unfortunately not. Did I learn from the lessons? I believe so. Thank you for teaching me, and for having the patience when my eyes and ears didn't see and hear clearly.

I learnt more about MSF as a whole than I expected and less about the technical domain than I had anticipated. I also have the belief that perhaps my technical abilities are actually better than I have given them credit for, and while there is always room for amelioration, I probably am well equiped for MSF's requirements. So it turned out that this mission followed the last couple of years and led me further down the path of personal/internal improvement. COOL.

Sadness in leaving is dissipating, Geneva, Vancouver and Canada await. Life goes on. The world beckons, I hither.

Update 10:

Three months ago I was sitting in this seat in Geneva composing a hurried update to inform you that I would be leaving right away for the DRC, that I was sorry for not getting the chance to say bye for now. Today I am writing this post with the knowledge or at least the intentions of seeing most of you soon.

I am heading back to Vancouver on Wednesday the 23rd, getting in at 16h25. Any takers to pick me up??? It's bad timing for rush hour, so I might just take the bus and skytrain out to Coquitlam.

But the update:

I left three months ago with my usual mentality when I travel. I try not to research too much before heading out. I try not to make expectations or to imagine what I will see, or what I would learn, I like the surprise. Three months later I have an idea about the Congo and the Congolese, about MSF, and more about me. Can I quantify it in one posting? Can I make it interesting or even readable? I haven't yet processed it all, and as my sister wrote me "Sometimes only 1/3rd of what you learn traveling actually occurs during the time spent abroad, it take returning home and and processing the data to learn the remaining 2/3rds" so this posting contains only the highlights of my time in the Heart of Darkness.

- Giving blood to help the Medics save an infants life, twice. I already put a post on this, so I won't elaborate, other than to say that the second time is just as special.

- Watching a cesarean. Those who know me well know that I am fairly squeamish. So why would I subject myself to watching such an intense surgery? I feel as though I have to confront my fears so that they no longer remain a fear. Did it work? Hells no. This was real fear, I starting sweating that awful cold sticky sweat, my mouth dryed up, I couldn't breath, all I wanted to do was rip off the facemask as it was seriously suffocating me, I was too hot, I got dizzy, there was a period of at least two minutes where my eyes were open and yet I saw nothing. I saught solice in the cool of the concrete wall. Cut, cut, stretch, stretch, pull, pull, snip, snip, sew back up and sew back up. 25 minutes later, she was already in the process of recovery, the baby crying and me whimpering. In all fairness it was by far one of the coolest things I have ever seen. I know now though that if someday I find me a wife, and she needs a cesarean, I know which end of the operating gurney I will stay at. Thank you Dr. Claudine and Dr. Claude, I will never ever forget that experience.

- Seeing a baby in an incubator, I think that two of my fingers and my thumb would have had the same mass. Without MSF this baby would never make it.

- The honour of holding hands with another man. Laugh. I did. When I first heard that it is common for African men to hold hands I thought it was so not hetero. It took some time, but when the staff started walking with me and holding my hand, wow, I felt respected, accepted, appreciated, encouraged, and touched. I knew then that I was part of the team, and that I had a friend.

- Learning about MSF, about living within a team, with people with different personalities, with language barriers, with personalities that clash with mine.

- Making friends, leaving an impression of me in the hearts of the people that I met, knowing that my overall effect was positive, being able to have fun, and also being able to work at the same time.

- Spending time on top of the water tower, watching sunsets, reminiscing about the past, listening to my buddy Andrew Hunter's songs about our teenage years, dreaming about the future, loving the present.

Thank You CONGO

Update 9:

Heya chico's, chica's, dude's, dudette's and respectable folk alike. It's almost the middle of June as I write this. That is crazy because it means that I been here for more than half of my contract. I have even received my end of mission form that I am supposed to be sending back to Kampala, Uganda soon. In fact 5 weeks from today I will be hopping on a little prop plane out of here. Wow, so fast.

I am trying to decide what to do after my mission. Right now I plan on taking a week in Uganda and white water rafting the source of the Nile. I mean, why not? After the week in Uganda, I have to head back to Geneva for debriefing, then back to Canada for more debriefings. At this stage I reckon I'll be back in rain city on or around the 25^th of July.

The end of August puts me in Toronto, Montreal, Vermont, New York and New Brunswick for birthdays, weddings, and the birth of my sisters second. The question therefore remains what to do with the three weeks proceeding. I am fearful to write my plans for fear of sabotage by some incredibly caring members of my family, so for now I'll keep it under wraps.

But sushi in Vancouver, steaks with Carruthers in Toronto, dancing with the Vancouver ladies, surfin' with whoever is left of the boyz, meeting up with my bro somewhere, chillin' and celebrating Matt and Jenn's marriage lakeside in Vermont, hopefully meeting someone in New York, swatting mosquito's on the front porch while lazing in the hammock as the sun sets over the woods back home, eating some exquisite Italian food at the Della Valle's in Montreal, livin' it up with my sister in Ottawa, walkin' in the woods with Papa, spending quality time with my sister and her husband before, during and after the arrival of their newest addition, maybe if I am lucky I might even get a prairies harvest in before I head off again. Wow, I LOVE LIFE!!!

I want to thank those folks that wrote to me in response to my "Motorbikes" posting. Truly and honestly thank you for the kind words that you sent to me. You know who you are, and when I get back you can be sure I'll be making a personal visit to ya'll. The best part of that posting for me was actually having the courage to post it. Most of you would probably find it funny that I was afraid to say what was/is on my mind. But for words like those of which I wrote, they are hard to put delicately, and to believe in them enough to entirely open yourself up, to praise, and criticism alike really required a fair amount of courage or faith or possibly even ignorance.

One other thing that I am learning as time goes on, is that others do not need to believe in my beliefs in order for me to maintain my convictions. I have no doubt that there are those of you do not exactly share them. A wonderful part of life and the choice in life is that you don't have to. You can choose. I enjoy discussing opposing beliefs equally as I do my own. These conversations are of personal benefit to me; they give me an opportunity not only to reflect on my beliefs but also to see how others live, think and believe.

I love most of all difference. There is no need for everyone to be the same; difference helps the world go round. For me there is no need to try and change your point of view. I respect you and yours. That being said sometimes I have a hard time understanding where some come from.

On the Congolese front, work has changed a bit. Right now the Hospital Logistician (one of my supervisors) has taken off for two weeks, leaving me responsible for his post as well as mine. This is pretty neat as I get to spend my days at the hospital and seeing the day-to-day operations here. Unfortunately for me my assistant is and has been sick with Meningitis for a couple of weeks and probably won't be back at work for a week or so more, also the assistant of the Hospital Log had a motorcycle accident and will be off work for a month. That means that both of my right hand men are not here, making a bit more work and responsibility for me. But hopefully no more that I can handle, I will let you know in two weeks. hahaha.

I seem to have gained about 5 kilo's since arrival; I hope it ain't all fat. I tend to pass my Friday evenings at the United Nations bar; the best part is the $1 drinks and that it's all military guys who can't dance. Saturday nights are at a party at one of the other ONG's or UN camps. Luckily there are a couple of girls that can dance salsa, so even though I am not a very good dancer, here I am. I even teach salsa classes to MSF expats on Wednesdays after work.

I went to one of the local bars the other night, hadn't been to this one before and I'll probably go back some night but not too soon. Turns out this is the kind of bar that you can get into trouble at. I have never before had a tongue stuck in my ear as a pick-up "line." I hope to never ever have that repeated, after all you can't really do much about the saliva left in your ear, the sanitation in the bathroom is non-existent so you can't wipe it out with your finger and God knows what would happen to your shirt. Turns out the mullet and handlebars don't turn everyone off.

I must add on a sad note, that I have shaved my mullet and handlebars off, and likely the mullet will never return. It was a sad day for me, even if it didn't really flatter my looks I grew quite attached to it, as it had taken quite some time to materialize.

Mattey G, McCormick, WillAYYY, Chris, Kevin, Kara, Dale, Todd, Fat Todd, Brad, your respectable's, and those that I have mistakenly left out, how about a surf trip on the 26^th and 27^th of July?

Update 8:

What's new on the other side of the world? I wonder who is winning in the Stanley Cup playoffs, and if the spring rains have come and gone, and how life is treating you. I guess I have been away for almost 6 months, which neither is nor feels like a long time. It is quite interesting how different life is here from France, from Maroc, Germany, or Canada. And yet life was quite different between each one of those countries as well.

One thing that has maintained a consistency from France then to Uganda and now to the Congo is the damned cold showers that attempt to plague my existence. Sure it's nice and hot here, so the cold shower is much more refreshing than those taken in the tree stunting winds of Southern France, but the first 15 or so seconds still are an unnecessary and needless to say unpleasant shock to the system.

It's been a busy week in terms of celebrities, President Kabila was supposed to show up for some form of session or negotiation or talks on the local abundant petroleum reserves. These reserves are quite close to the border to the more developed and hence more capable (at extracting petroleum) Uganda. There is unease in my mind to this possible problem, I mean if everywhere else in the world wages war over petroleum, is it too big of a stretch to imagine war returning to this conflict ravaged region? These people are just in the first stages of recovery from their last grotesque machete de-limbing guerre here in 2003, and with the prospect (at least in my eyes) of another possible conflict…. Not so trop cool.

But the President didn't show up, yet, as he tends to prefer more surprise oriented visits for reasons of security. Surprise visits make those coup d'etats that are oh so famous in developing countries harder to organise and accomplish for some reason. Celebrity number two; Ben Affleck showed up here at MSF's hospital in Bunia for his new ABC television program depicting a well known American actor posing as a journalist in places where he isn't known. Funny thing is, most if not all of the MSF staff didn't recognise him either, one even gave a tour to Affleck's group and then had to ask which one he was. Apparently he holds less notoriety in Europe. Side note: celebrities are not as rare as one would think with MSF, Angelina Jolie was here in Bunia visiting the hospital shortly after the war in 2003.

On the more cooler side of life. Watching a movie at the Medical staff quarters I was summoned by one of the guardians to return to the non-medical staff quarters, as there was an ongoing disturbance. So I got in one of the faded pink LandCruisers with a chauffeur and bumbled down the road. Greeted at the gate by a very angry Congolese woman, and a scared stiff (rather small) member of the national staff. God knows what he said to her that resulted in such fury, but needless to say he probably won't do it again. 30 minutes later, and with the reinforced steel gates closed, she stopped pounding and hollering so I was able to send the chauffeur and his Cruiser back to base.

Falling asleep less than half an hour later, knocking on the door woke me. The Hospital director, on his way to Manhattan (the bar), had been informed that a little girl needed blood to make it through the night, me being O+, I was the candidate. I suppose whenever we give blood at home we are saving a life somewhere someday, but the realisation was a bit more pronounced for me that Saturday night. For me, trop cool dude. Thanks Mama and Papa for hooking me up with O+.

That concludes the second update from the "Heart of Darkness."

Update 7:

For some reason, one that as of yet still isn’t clear to me, I was required to show up at Entebbe International 2 hours and 45 minutes prior to the departure of the Congolese pond-hopper. Literally we hopped over the big pond, Lac Albert, which separates Uganda and the Uturi province in the Congo. Apparently my luggage was 10kgs overweight, but the nice gentleman behind the counter, after a serious argument, only made me pay 5 USD. My guilt for arguing over such a small amount of money was soon exponentiated when, while waiting on board the plane I witnessed the pilot telling a passenger that we would be overweight if he boarded the plane. Nice start Daniel.

I did not witness the previously relayed accounts of pilots praying and crossing themselves prior to flight, likely because it was an American pilot. This provided me with more confidence, not him being American but more so that he didn’t feel that he had to pray. The flight over Uganda was largely uneventful, and I can easily say I have flown over much more remote regions in Canada. Leaving Uganda airspace over Lac Albert I quickly got my first really good glimpse of the Congo. I say really good because the plane was scarcely higher than the peaks of the mountains we flew through.

Customs were hot and sweaty, with 10 people crammed into a locker sized room in high humidity and temperature. The process was smooth enough, another 20USD on top of the 300USD visa. The Toyota LandCruiser that symbolises MSF transport looked funny with pink paint in contrast to it’s usual white. I found out soon that due to the heavy concentration of the United Nations here, we apparently do not want to be confused with them. Alors, Pink.

The first two or three days were a tad worrisome. I didn’t understand a single word that anyone said. Everyone spoke at once, or incredibly fast. The Congolese French can be hard to interpret, and still is, but I can pretty much get through it now. I have now been here for two weeks. I turned 27 on my second day in the Congo. There wasn’t any fan fare. I didn’t know how to call home, and didn’t really feel the urge, sorry. I was likely the most alone I have ever been on a birthday, but strangely, I felt not an ounce of loneliness. As such, my birthday came and went like any other day. It was a good day.

I have 13 chauffeurs under my direct supervision. But in essence I have no real responsibility. I am here to learn as much as I can. I am pushing to be involved in emergency and exploratory missions, but not too hard until I feel more comfortable with my French. The hospital is big, in total there are around 350 people who are employed in order to maintain it and it’s services. The sky and clouds are beautiful, it’s the rainy season, and though it only rains once every few days, when it does, it comes down in sheets likely at a rate of 4 or 5 inches per hour, but only for about 15 minutes. Everything is soaked, and then instantaneously the sun comes out and dries it all up in about an hour leaving no trace of the torrentuous tempest that was there moments before.

On a weekend trip to Lac Albert, the first pleasure trip in 8 months for other expats (first for me in 4 days), we got to see a portion of the countryside. We saw only one baboon, a handful of waterfalls, overloaded trucks and motorbikes, cows with massive horns and a few very curious Congolese. That night I was welcomed into Africa traditional style with a fever, diarrhoea and an upset stomach. Two days later I felt much better, but my derrier was so sore from all the toilet paper that I could barely sit down. A week later and it is almost all healed up.

The UN presence is crazy. Every 3 out of 4 vehicles are white with the big black or blue letters of UN on it. There are many posts with heavily armed sentries, patrol units, armoured all terrain vehicles. So far I have seen Aussies, Pakistanis, Moroccans, Uruguayans, and probably others all kitted in their camo fatigues and blue helmets.

There is little socialization between NGO camps and the military, and is quite frowned on upon. Although on big soccer nights members of all the NGO’s put that aside and join together at the MONUC house (UN social house), to watch the games on the big screen. I have no doubt that during the Olympics; I will spend a fair amount of time there. They also have a gym there that I tend to use as frequently as possible.

Since this past Thursday was a jour ferier (bank holiday), on Wednesday night I went out with a couple of the doctors. I had no intention of going, but soon found myself as the only white guy in a bar called Manhattan. I could not have stood out anymore than I did. An MSF shirt with the sleeves cut off, red board shorts, and a whitey (muzungu in Swahili) in the midst of many watu weusi (black dudes and chicas).

Planning to be there for only one beer I chilled on the milk crate (supposed to be a chair, and with my bum in such a state, I found it rather uncomfortable). Every time that I moved to get up they would order another round. 5 or 6 rounds later, at 750mL a pop, I had made a trip to the bathroom, turned the MSF shirt inside out, ripped off the tag, and found myself on the dance floor dancing to the Congolese beat. Luckily for me I can dance well enough that I didn’t look like the typical giant white dude in a floor packed with not so whites.

That was my first week or more.

Motorbikes and My Life Mentality

Somehow things happen in life that seem at times a bit too uncanny. I read a book called “Hills End” when I was really young; the main dude in the book was super cool and had a Honda 500 motorbike. Many years later I turned 16 and bought my first motorbike, a Honda 500, I might not have been super cool but at least I had the bike. Lot’s more of these things happened that I choose not write about here for your sake. But the biggest one to date would be what I decided to do last September. I decided then that I would work for MSF and go to the Congo. I was so confident that I would work for MSF that I told people that I would be doing so, long before I even applied let alone interviewed. I wanted to go to the Congo and said I would be, before getting a contract. Here I am in the Congo, with MSF. Dreams can come true.

I still respect and can understand you if you think of me as one that told a mistruth. As I told folks that I would do these things before I did them. I can see why you would think this way. I have noticed however that as time goes on, and experiences amount, that I really have been able to become the person that I wanted to be, and have done what I wanted to do. I really wanted my dreams to be realized, to achieve these dreams I went in the only direction I knew, to go forth and blunder through whatever obstacles arose along the way. I had no idea what problems I and I alone would encounter on my path. But I do know now that I can be who I want to be, if I have the dedication.

To be frank (and not the person) I can’t tell you that I know where I am going any more or less than you. I can’t predict the future, and I would be quite surprised if there are those that have the ability. I have had many dreams, with the big ones realized, for a while it was to become an Engineer, to have a stable, secure job that would more or less guarantee a more or less easy lifestyle. The thing with life for me is that once I have realized a goal; I get bored and need to find a new goal. I think I have discovered and am working towards attaining the goal that will set me free. I don’t know if I will ever actually get there, or if anyone ever does, but the voyage along the way is and will be worth it in any case.

For those that have known me at various stages in life, and more than likely the same applies to most, high school peers would say that I changed between high school and university, university friends would say that I changed between university and where I am today. To this effect I believe I am not unique. We all change in some ways. For some the change can be gradual, subtle and sub-conscious, for others it can be relatively rapid, stark, obvious and conscious; but nevertheless it usually occurs.

The changes that I went through prior to 2007 were of the sub-conscious and subtle variety without leading necessarily to any substantial benefit or detriment to my person. Following the culmination of the relationship with my first love, the personal changes that I chose to make were of the conscious, and to me the stark and obvious, array. What I experienced following the break-up was what I now consider the most defining period in my life. I needed, and wanted to change. I was tired of the person that I was. I was bored, and I had achieved the goal that I had set forth about 8 years previously (Engineering).

From my understanding a lot of us of the newer generation, those recently graduating from university (especially career oriented students), go through what is called the “quarter-life crisis.” Books have been written on the subject so I won’t elaborate; suffice to say that many people don’t even realize that they are far from alone. For many, the goal to go to university to get a “proper” education and find a “good” job starts early and to achieve this goal, many work hard for years. After graduation, a job is found, the goal/dream is attained and hence many are left wondering what next. Many do not enjoy their jobs, it isn’t what they expected or they have some other explanation for their emotional unease and un-directed ambition. I realize that I use the word many without any form of proof or statistics, all I have are my experiences, and those of my friends, peers and colleagues who have had similar accounts.

For my so-called “quarter life crisis” the problem wasn’t a lack of meaningful employment. I really liked my job and grew very fond of the people at the company. I am pretty sure that a long and prosperous employment would have been likely. I suppose one of my philosophies at this stage, good or bad, is that I don’t particularly want to be an expert in anything just yet, I don’t feel like that is my place in life. I prefer on the other hand to be pretty good at a lot of things, than great at any one thing. I don’t doubt that if someday I find something that I want to become an expert on, I will be able to do so.

On the personality front however, things were barely hanging together. Mentally and emotionally I was a wreck, with the support of my employment helping in no subtle way to keep me together. The pieces of life that I had conjoined in an attempt to make sense of things through the course of growing up had themselves grown into an extremely unstable and shaky structure. I didn’t like the person that I had grown into; I missed the Daniel in me. Most of the people that I met rarely saw him, friends saw him slightly more frequently, he got lost when I was really young, and Dan took his place. The difference in names may sound simple, or perhaps even a bit schizophrenic, but it is monumental in my efforts to return to my roots, to be the person that I know I can be.

Through the course of the past year or so, I have been choosing to live life in a constant state of growth. Choosing to change, to grow spiritually and to rework my consciousness was the cause of my period of serious yet temporary depression. I personally had to (metaphorically if not somewhat literally speaking) destroy the previously mentioned structure or fabric that I was made of. The structure of building blocks or pieces of life that had made me who I was required complete demolition. This process was immensely painful, and without the help of the most wonderful counsellor I am sure it would have been close to, if not completely, unbearable.

Through the course of the last year or two I have been able to sift through the rubble of personal debris that was the result of this personal choice. Pieces that didn’t fit together before found new homes; the blocks were shifted into a more coherent and meaningful manner. Through months of work, and continued to this day, I analysed my behaviour, outlooks, attitude, and ability to extend myself and constantly strive towards the greater good: to contribute to humanity. My goals have significantly changed, and while I am proud of the person that I have evolved into, I know that I had much help along the way. Strangers smile at me for no apparent reason. I leave lasting impressions on people I meet, as they leave substantial memories with me as well. Friendships or relationships formed are no longer shallow and superficial, but tend to be deep, meaningful and heartfelt.

When I embarked on the path of spiritual growth and evolution I had no idea where it would lead. I just knew that it was the right goal for me to pursue. If, as I stated earlier, I tend to easily become bored when goals are achieved; why not set upon a goal that would likely be very difficult to attain. A goal that would likely not leave me bored after attaining it.

My current knowledge and experience indicates that I only have the life that I am living; perhaps there is an afterlife, or re-incarnation. To me what happened before and what happens next is more or less irrelevant in the sense of everyday living. What I mean by that is that I try to live today as today, I want to experience the world, to learn, to grow, or in short, TO LIVE.

Tomorrow will bring with it what it may. I try to live everyday as though it may be my last, to be clear I call it the life mentality and not the death mentality. It is a newer mentality for me, although I have always lived with the principle of never doing anything that I may regret, and consequently never regretting anything I do. But the life mentality expands on that, and I am by no means pioneering this methodology as I think that I first read about the idea in a book called “The Monk Who Sold His Ferrari.” But life mentality explained; means to live today in a way that if I woke up dead tomorrow there would not be anything that I would have rather have done with my life. That I leave every person I meet with a good and true impression of me, and that I more or less live by the Golden Rule.

Inevitably, I sometimes still leave a bad impression on someone, or get angry with someone without due cause, or screw up in some other way. I have not yet perfected this way of life in all aspects, but I am quite good at it already, and it is so worth it. A few times I have been asked questions like If you could be anything or be anywhere in the world, what or where would that be? The answer is always the same, without exception or hesitation: here. I would be somewhere else or doing the other thing if that was what I wanted.

Although I have attained employment with MSF, that was never my goal. MSF is a means to an end. I have stated in a previous post that I do not intend on changing the world, at least not yet (hahaha), as I do not have the expertise, knowledge or experience to be able to do so in a way that would benefit earth-kind. My goal, for now, is to alleviate suffering in populations rampant with destitution. Since my current posting is more a training mission than anything else, I probably will not be able to fulfill my objective in any observable manner.

When I started writing this posting it actually had a completely different tone. I had no intent of writing what is written and I hesitate to put it on the blog. Somehow and for some reason I can’t explain, I feel it is my responsibility or duty. I strongly believe in being open and not having secrets. While it can sometimes be violently hurtful, discovering or uncovering the truth early on, the early discovery usually makes the information easier to digest in the long term.

I am definitely not attempting to preach, or to tell anyone how one should live their life. Too many people offer advice freely without really taking the time or making the effort to understand where the individual is coming from. I am also not saying that the way that I live should be followed by anyone. Nor am I suggesting that self-reflection or counselling or spiritual growth is necessarily your path. The purpose of this posting is to explain to you as clearly and as succinctly as I can in a brief manuscript some of the choices that I have made along the way, why I made them and the result/effect.

Furthermore, I can remember being significantly lost for quite some time and turning around in circles trying to determine which way to go. I remember not being able to find answers in anyone else’s words or advice. No one could help me get out of where I was, and trust me when I say that I left no friend in peace with phone calls at all hours of the day. To those friends, I am forever in gratitude for your patience, time and love that you showed me. I found out what real friends are for. That might be one of the many reasons why I continuously strive to form deep and lasting friendships to this day. True friends are irreplaceable.

But, when it all boils down to it, friends could not solve my problems. They were unable to walk in my shoes; they can understand, be compassionate, and listen empathically, and on the whole they may have helped me through the experiences. But they were not and never will be me. I alone am the master of myself, it is me that will walk in my shoes, come what may, thick or thin until death do I part.

I alone am responsible for my growth, to expand my horizons, to live. No one can do it for me. There is no icing to put on the cake, that is the blunt and honest truth. I can get through just about anything now though, no matter the breakdown, no matter how hopeless it may appear, that is one of the things that I have learnt, there is usually a way. So if I have the will, evolve, it is worth more than I can dream of.

While you may or may not gain anything from this posting, its purpose is to provide a possible option of guidance during a time of difficulty. I did not elaborate on the feelings I experienced during the course of the past but you can be assured that some were unbelievably annihilating. I remember periods of time so bleak that even the blues that accompany the Vancouver rains were analogous to the sunniest summer day on the beach in comparison. Or of times of blind fury. Or of times where the future was so blurry it didn’t look like it was there. But through Grace, or fortune, or perseverance, or dedication, or through the words of loved ones, or maybe even God I saw the light at the end of the tunnel and am able to dance to the Congolese beat today. To say the least, there is not a place in the world that I would rather be than dancing, laughing, singing, and rejoicing in all that life has offered. For without the bad I would not know the greatness in good.

With love and hope for the best in your future.

Update 6:

My departure from Geneva, Switzerland, was an indication of how things can and can’t function African style. My itinerary was to be as follows, KLM all the way from Geneva to Amsterdam to Nairobi, Kenya to Entebbe/Kampala, Uganda. Shortly after boarding the flight destined for Amsterdam, we were told that mechanical failures would prevent the flight from departing.

I now sought a new flight plan, as I had consequently missed my connections (and judging by the facial expression of the fella behind the check-in counter, Entebbe, Uganda isn’t the most common destination, who would have guessed). Upon disembarking the plane, the line-up at the KLM counter had over 150 unhappy individuals. To me, it didn’t matter; I have been on too many cancelled flights to be affected by this development. Thank you Air Canada for teaching me patience in this arena, after all they are the Kings of cancellation and delays.

To make a long story short KLM really came through, and I had a new itinerary within an hour or so, oh and quite an interesting one it was. I flew Geneva to Frankfurt, Germany on Lufthansa, Frankfurt to Addis Ababa, Ethiopia on Ethiopian Airlines, and finally Addis Ababa to Entebbe, Uganda on United Arab Emirates. I arrived in Entebbe only 7 hours later than I would have by KLM, most of that time sleeping on the benches in Addis Ababa International. I will also add that in my limited global experiences, Ethiopian women are in the upper echelon as far as stunning physical beauty is concerned, so I was quite happy to have a stop over in an airport full of such calibre (even if they were the cleaning ladies).

The flights were more or less uneventful, with the only mildly interesting tidbit being the reactions of the flight attendants and the neighbouring passengers when I ate 5 meals on the Lufthansa flight, 2 or 3 on the Ethiopian flight, and 4 or 5 on the Emirates flight. Grandmama J and Oli, remember when we were 12 in Ottawa and I ate something like 13 or 14 croissants for breakfast because it was the first time I had encountered a “fake”/continental breakfast? If I remember right the waiter was Ethiopian. Do you remember his reaction to me devouring such a quantity? Well history repeated itself, again.

In Kampala, I found an envelope on my bed containing money and security protocols, as the office was now closed for the weekend that was to be my so-called preliminary briefing. I can’t upload pictures, and I also didn’t take a picture of this. But one image that will still in my head of Kampala, was a pickup loaded fully (cab and box) with plain clothed men armed to the teeth, with Kalashnikov’s and rifles of every sort. Apparently these were merely security guards getting picked up or dropped off from their shift. I wanted so badly to take a picture, but my intuition got the better of me and I am here to tell you about it today. I also decided that these “security guards” were of a different variety than the ones back home who tend to either be washed up 300lb football players who can’t run or 1st generation Canadians who probably would rather run than risk confrontation.

On my second day in Kampala, I went with a couple of MSF’ers to Entebbe’s botanical gardens. We saw monkeys, trees, jungle, termites, a flower called “Yesterday, Today and Tomorrow,” and the Ugandan side of Lake Victoria. It was at these gardens where I was bitten by the Tsetse fly. What I didn’t know about the fly at the time was that these fly’s carry the disease called “Sleeping Sickness.” I won’t know for at least three weeks as to whether or not I contracted it though, apparently it can be latent and takes time to manifest itself.

Monday rolled around the next day, as it tends to do, and I was swamped with briefings; logistical, medical, administrative, social, historical and finally security. All in French, and especially of the historical I only gathered about 50% of the information, as the Congolese tribal names, warring factions, and locations were all jumbled together with my limited capacity for French. Ah, c’est la vie!

Tuesday morning I woke to a ringing phone telling me that I was heading to the Congo a day early, in fact in only a few hours. So all in a rush again, I packed up and boarded yet another plane. What I didn’t know at the time and wasn’t informed about until one of my many briefings in the DRC is the following story, although I doubt it would have made a difference in my decision to get on the plane.

MSF and other NGO’s sanctioned the services of a Canadian named Michael Moor (not the movie dude I imagine) to verify if any of the Congolese airlines were safe enough to fly on. Months later, two airlines (for shits and giggles I’ll call them “A” and “B”) were certified “safe enough” for MSF. This report came out on Monday, on Monday afternoon shortly following the report stating that “A” was safe to fly on, a loaded DC-9 (read big plane for Africa Centrale) from airline “A” with somewhere near 100 people on board crashed in a marketplace in Goma, DRC. The next morning I boarded a pond-hopper flight to the Congo on airline “B.”

That was Uganda, I haven’t even touched on my destination yet.

Update 5:

Right on the heels of update 4. My apologies for sending one out so quickly, but I won't likely be sending one out again too soon.

As you read this, at least for my North American readers because of the time difference, I will either be en route from Geneva to Amsterdam, or Nairobi Kenya, or Entebbe Uganda, or if you don't check this before April 20th I'll have arrived in Bunia DRC. I guess I will be celebrating on the 23rd my 27th birthday in a whole new world with a whole whack of new entities. Chalk this birthday up for something new fersure.

I didn't get any time to call home. I will be more or less out of contact until my return to Geneva at the end of July. I will try and update my blog whenever I can. There is an internet cafe or two there, so maybe I will be able to.

The posting sounds perfect. It is a training mission, and I won't actually have too many responsibilities. I am there to learn as many things as possible, so that I can be more valuable to MSF and to the populations that I intend on attending to in the future. I won't speak about the details, or the briefing, as they wouldn't really be in my style of quasi-interesting writing, and I really don't know that much about where I am going. I will know more in a month...

Well, I hope you all take care of yerselves for the next bit, I sure intend on doing the same.

à bientot!

Update 4:

Hello again,

To the new readers out there, thanks for taking the time to check out what is going on in my life. I appreciate your time, I hope that at the end of reading these "updates" you feel as though your time was well spent. If not, I apologize, after all I am an Engineer and not a writer...

A special thank you to all of you kind readers that have sent me the emails or posted comments on the blog. I hope you forgive me for not responding to you all, because I absolutely love reading your notes. It helps me keep the desire to write these updates, and I suppose if I weren't beating around the bush, I'd have to say that I love the attention and affection. So, Thank You.

News:

I am in Geneva, Switzerland. I left Les Corbieres in the South of France this morning, many thanks to Tim for the ride to the train station. Tomorrow morning I have my briefing for the mission in the Congo. I am not sure as to when exactly I go to the Congo, I thought it was the 24th of April but they have only booked me two nights in the hostel. So, perhaps I won't be in Geneva for too long? I'll send out another update once I have all the details.

The South of France:

What a wonderful time I had here. I arrived in Toulouse from Marrakesh past midnight during the middle of some sort of school vacation meaning that all the hotels were complet, and it was raining. Somehow, I found a place to stay after walking around for two hours with 35kg of gear on my back. The next morning I bought some cheese, a baguette and orange juice in a store and ate my petit dejeuner in a park near a kids play gym. I left shortly after eating since I realize how intimidating (read pedophilic) I may appear with a mullet and handlebars. However, I fell in love with France from arrival. I have been in France three times previously and felt no connection. Times have changed and it is would prove to be too tedious to explain, but I love France.

I caught a train to Narbonne where I met a friend of a friend of my parents. Thank you Marc and Mark, you guys are great. The greeting I got from Marc was one that won't easily be forgotten. Half in English or half in French or something, he said to follow him and run quickly. Now I am by no means out of shape, but running with 35kg on your shoulders is pretty hard, and trying to keep up with someone else tests your physical limits in juxtaposition to your pride. Apparently the last bus to the village leaves at 6:15 and it is 6:15, so we ran. We caught the bus. Then the proper introductions were made.

It only got better from there. Marc let me stay in his house and use his car (a Citroen le Deux Chevaux, classic French snail car, yeehawww), in return I would help around the house and he would return to his home in Paris. From my point of view, and I am sure he would agree, we both got a great deal. I got to paint, varnish and stain his new addition, and I got to cut firewood. So I stayed in shape, had a free place to stay and a car in which I almost fit inside.

The house had no electricity, a wood stove, a gas stove, no refrigerator, an outdoor shower and ice cold water to shower in. I learnt how to light a fire in the dark, how to eat meat that has mold and fungi on it, and how to hold my breath involuntarily.

Can I tell you the pains of showering? I didn't shower for 5 days when I got there. There was no way in hell I was going to get under that water. But I started to smell. I hoped for a sunny day. But, the weather did not co-operate, to make matters worse Les Corbieres is like the second windiest place in France, and judging by the number of windmills I would have to agree. Finally we were to go somewhere for dinner and I had been running the chainsaw all day, so I bit the bullet and took my first shower.

Call me a sissy, I don't care. As soon as the ice hit the skin my lungs stopped working, I got brain freeze from the outside, my balls retracted to where they were when I was an embryo. I could swear to emphasize, but it wouldn't do justice. It was a toss up between properly rinsing your hair and risking a bit of the old "soap in the eyes" burning, or subject your heads to cryogenics. I remember after the first shower, waiting to see how long it would take for me to be a man again. I wish I could say I got used to it, but that wasn't happening. I did tough it up a bit more though because my sleeping bag started to smell.

I also got a sunburn, surprising because I didn't get one in Morocco. But then I didn't go skiing there. Spring skiing in the Pyranees was great. Thank you Eric for taking me there, and for sharing a hotel that had a shower with hot water. YEEEHAWWWW!!!!

Apart from all of that, I more or less spent my time reading books. Self help, psychology, philosophy and religious. I relaxed, grounded myself some more, reflected and took time to think about a bunch of things that I just needed to get straight. Most of my journey wouldn't be interesting enough to you to write about here, and perhaps this isn't the forum to discuss. At least not yet. But I seem to be hell bent on learning, so I keep on going and trying and practicing. I believe I am in a better place than I was when I left in January, so that makes me happy. Expansion and growth.

I made some great friends in Les Corbieres, and can't wait to return their hospitality to them or their daughters, wherever I end up someday. I will be back, I don't know when, but I loved this place.

I miss you all guys, each for your individual qualities, and as a group as well. Right now I can hardly wait to have my first hot shower in three weeks, but I think the hostel only lets you shower until 10pm, so I will have to wait until morning.

Je Vous Embrasse Tous.

Update 3:

Hi’dy’ho,
So I left you in Taghazoute in that nice little surfing village. A lot of places have been visited since there and lots of new developments, Edith left for London and is going to be heading to Chad pertty soon, Steffen takes off for India tomorrow, and I am heading to southern France for a month, after which I will be heading to Switzerland for a week for briefings for a three month “training” mission in the DRC with MSF.

Funny thing about being in Taghazoute was that it hadn’t rained in like two years (according to locals) and yet it rained 4 out of 10 days there. We made some pretty neat friends there, who would have us for tea in their carpet selling shop and for our last night we went to their house where they made some form of music and drank Berber Whiskey. They were amazingly hospitable people.

Steffen and I then took off to Tafraoute to witness the Almond Blossom Festival in the Alem Valley, only to find out it hadn’t rained in how many years and the blossoms weren’t happening yet. We found a place with a sink and two beds for about 6 bucks a night for both of us, fairly filthy to say the least. The next morning we walked down the street to look for a map and ended up paying for a three day tour from Tafraoute to the Sahara and then to Ouarzazate.

Included in the tour were free bicycles for the afternoon. So we decided to bike through and around the Alem Valley. Equiped with a crappy, and not to scale, map we set out at about 1pm. What we didn’t know, until much later, was that it was a 50km trip mostly up and down steep hills with switchbacks. Damn it, I hate bicycles, I swore after get my first motorbike that I would never ever go back. I remember why, I swear that seat was trying to act as a wedge and split me in two the whole trip.

Half an hour before sundown we come across a sign 17km to Tafraoute. Holy H-F&ӎing Hannah were we ever not happy. Not only were there no almond blossoms but there was also no damned food. It seemed like all the villages were deserted. Luckily less than a km later was a town that had bread, cheese and water. The next 9km were a continuous switchback uphill. Legs were cramping, it was getting dark and cold, and we had to take a lot of breaks.

The last 7kms were downhill, my rear and back were so damned sore that a new position was found. Does anyone know how fast you can get going down a steep hill and continously pedeling for fear of cramps if you stop moving? Well we found out. I also found a new position, hands free and with my back straight. Oh it felt good. Trouble was; switchbacks, darkness, locals in black clothing, and kamikaze drivers. Got to the bottom and Tafraoute in complete darkness and without injury, except that sore rear that wasn’t comforted later on the camel.

What can I say about the desert. It is hot in the day, very cold and night. A sunrise and sunset in the Sahara is pretty neat. Camels are filthy creatures, and I hope I never need to be on or use one again. The drive to the desert was lonely, we saw very few vehicles (I think 3) in over 300kms. Also the bread tastes likes sand, as did the couscous, and nuts. The shower water is salty, likely bore water. But it is absolutely beautiful, and I loved the experience.

We were offered jobs as extras in the film industry in Ouarzazate, but declined and found out later that theses were the biggest studios in Africa. D’oh, my chance at fame and glory, all gone. We also found out that night that Steffen needed a Visa to get into India not just the flight that he had purchased. So we hustled off the Rabat the next day. The bus to Marrakesh was a long ride through the High Altas Mountains, and cramped especially with our not so diminutive size.

The bus ride from Marrakesh to Rabat sucked. Travelling at night is a really bad idea. Big accident, our bus was rear-ended by another bus as we had stopped for a previous occuring accident. Whiplash was the only injury for us. Because of the way we had been sleeping, It hurt when Steffen turned his head to the left, and me to the right. It takes a week before the pain is gone. Interesting, never had that before. We were told later on that there were no fatalities. But we can’t be too sure due to the wailing of a woman on the other bus when they put the carpet over the driver, maybe he was just cold? It took 1.5 hrs for the police to arrive, and 2 hrs for the paramedics, and we were only 15mins from Casablanca. Don’t travel at night is definitely a good plan.

Rabat was really nice, the women didn’t have to cover themselves up and had jobs that didn’t include domestic tasks. It appeared to be a progressive city. We are now in Marrakesh, which is the craziest and hustleriest city I have ever been to. Too many damned tourists, and too many people trying to take advantage of them/us.

It’s hilarious for me, because I can’t even look into a shop in a touristy part of town because they will try and sell me anything. If I do go inside because I like one of their shirts or shoes everything is way too small, and there is no chance of it fitting. But they try to convince me that it’ll fit after I pay for it. In non-touristy places, I can walk past and even into stores without the storekeeper even talk to me. I’ll ask if they have a shirt in my size, they always look me up and down and say no, nothing in your size. Hmmm, it’s a shame because the knock off designer shirts made in sweatshops would be oh so trendy.

I guess I should talk a little bit about the DRC. First of all it is the former Zaire, known as the Congo, also known as the location for the genocide of 1994 between the Hutu’s and the Tutsi’s. I remember being 13 years old and not understanding any of it. Now I am twice as old as I was then, and I am going into a country that has changed substantially, and most importantly for me, and I suppose for you as well, I am NOT going into a war zone.

I am going to be managing a 200 bed hospital, a fleet of 10 vehicles, the communications and the housing for the national and expat staff. This placing is more or less a training placement for three months so that I can learn how everything works in a relatively safe environment. I will also be expanding my capabilities with French. It is more or less an ideal introduction into the work that I will be doing, MSF is supplying the training with the intention that I will do more missions if I am cut out for it, and also they are putting a greenhorn in a place that shouldn’t be too overwhelming.

I will be in southern France at a friend of a friends until then. I will be on email, and hopefully will find a phone network to call from.

Click Here For Pictures.

Just so you know, if reading is too difficult take a look at the pictures, afterall I always liked picture books more.
If clicking doesn't work copy and paste:

www.picasaweb.google.com/dtmarnold

Update 2:

Trusty steeds, er, readers!

Here is Update # 2. I still haven’t come up with a better naming scheme. I blame that on the many years spent in the engineering world!
So you should know that I am writing this on a balcony 30ft above a surf beach in Taghazoute, Morocco. The waves are breaking, the full moon is tomorrow night, and every once in a while you get a whiff of air that smells like rotten garbage, feces (not specific to animals), or of a combination.
Steffen (a cousin), and Edith (fellow MSF staff) join me in this absolutely wonderful experience. When the sun is setting and rays are piercing the clouds it’s hard to believe that a) this isn’t Heaven. Or b) that this time last year I was drilling holes through a meter of ice in -40 degree northern Albertan tundra.
There is no way in the world that a year ago I could have predicted or expected this drastic lifestyle change. I am awaiting a placement with one of the worlds most respected organisations. I am on call. Ready and waiting for someone, somewhere to call me and send me somewhere to do something. Can I be more vague?
The truth of the matter is that I finished my Pre-departure and Logistix training in Bonn, Germany on February 6th. The following morning I met Steffen in Koln, caught a train to the airport and flew to Barcelona for a few days. Edith was supposed to be on the flight, but she missed it and caught one the next day.
Some Internet research later told us that the cheapest way to Algeciras at the south of Spain was by renting a car. So we rented a car and drove along the Mediterranean coast in two days (1300 kms). We stopped in a few cool places, I tried to drive the snot out of the Citroen, but the little diesel bugger pulled as hard as I pushed. I love diesels.
We took photos from atop the rock that included Spain, Africa (Morocco) and Great Britain. Who knew that Gibraltar is British? Apparently that’s common knowledge. We also drove past the ferry to Ibiza, but none of us had the money to have that kind of party.
Taking the boat to Tanger, Morocco was kinda neat, a chick hurled. I almost hurled when I saw the chick hurl, as my stomach had been feeling off for a few days thanks to funky fish in Alacant.
There was a hot chick on the boat, but I am not sure how white dudes are supposed to talk to Muslim chicks. At least that’s my excuse for pussing out. To my boys out there, laugh all you want, remember who’s surfing right now and who’s sitting at a desk.
On the Muslim front: I have to say that I was and am incredibly ignorant of their religion. But I do have to say that the westernised slant is very biased and doesn’t take into account the hospitality they show, the kindness and willingness to help. I have rarely encountered such friendly people. I started by saying that I was and still AM ignorant. I am aware of that, but I definitely have much more respect than what I have been led to believe living in the western society. (That’s my political rant for the day).
So Tangier was good, they are quite the hustlers, and you have to watch your pockets at all times. My handlebars and skullet (I can’t grow a full mullet due to the bald gene) quickly earned me the nickname Ali’Baba, I like nicknames. We tried to buy a car there, that didn’t go so well. We take buses now. Casablanca was filthy, and the coolest place to be apparently was McDonalds, where I actually heard Dolly Parton’s “Coat of Many Colors” blasting through their audio system. Marrakash looked really neat, nothing cooler than a city almost in the desert that when looking down the main esplanade you can see snow peaked mountains less than 2 hours away.
In Taghazoute there are a number of neat surf breaks that, depending on wind and swell direction as well as your skill level as a surfer, determine what’s right for you, whether or not you think you can ride the specific break.
One thing that I have learnt, the hard way as per usual, is that when a little kid starts dancing in front of you, don’t dance back or you will likely receive a sharp kick to the shins followed by laughing and what sounded to me like “infidel.”