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.”

Update 1:

I perhaps wish I could be more creative with the names of my updates, but I’m not, at least not yet.

I am in Bonn, Germany. I have been here since Thursday, January 24th. I am on training with Medicines Sans Frontieres (Doctors Without Borders as known in North America). I have decided to make a career shift. I am not sure if this is temporary move or what exactly it is. What I do know and it is confirmed more so at every stage of furthered information of MSF, is that it is right for me, right now.

I don’t know where I am going, I don’t know when, and I don’t know exactly what I will be doing.

What I do know is that I will be responsible for a large part of a projects logistics. I will be the support for the support. I make sure that the “Medicines” can do whatever it is that they need to do. I’ve seen presentations of great projects, of safe projects, of heartwarming projects. I’ve also seen presentations of not so great projects, of famine, of unsafe projects, and of the sadness that accompanies. And so, the bulk of this post must deal with unpleasantries.

Yesterday, three MSF staff were killed in Somalia. My heart goes to the families that have to endure such hardship. I don’t think that any them would read this posting, but if you do, please hear the words that I write to my family and my friends because I want them to know why we do what we set out to do.

I don’t want to die, I don’t want to be tortured, or kidnapped, or see the atrocities that might be seen, I don’t want to see the sadness. But, the people that live and die, are tortured, kidnapped, and live in these environments probably don’t want to see them either. I can’t imagine that anyone would want to hurt, to be hungry, to be maimed. I can’t stop hunger, I can’t stop pain, I can’t cure HIV, I can’t prevent war, I can’t prevent sadness. All I can offer is to alleviate suffering. That is all. Humbly, that is all that I can offer.

If I had lived in an environment prone to suffering, I would pray every night for someone to help me, my family, my friends, even my enemies, to help me so that I don’t have to suffer so much.

But I lived in Canada. I have had the most wonderful life that one could ever want. I’ve had all the things that many would want. Now it’s time to give back in the best way that I know how. If you know a better place to start at than the basics, please, let me know.

All of this to say, yet, I don’t want to die, or get hurt. With all the hopes and prayers in my life I don’t want that. But I can’t not help (I know the grammar, but it makes sense). I have to. I want to, more than anything in the world. I can’t let the horrible acts of irrational violence stop me. The events of this week gave all of us taking this course the opportunity to reflect and reconsider. Not one person is dropping out.

We are aware of the risks. We don’t like them, at all. We wish they weren’t there, but they are. There are so many people in this world suffering. It has to be stopped eventually. But before that, alleviation is the best that I can offer; maybe someday I can be part of stopping it.

My friends and family, I Love You. I don’t want you to suffer; I hope that I am never the cause of your suffering. I wouldn’t wish that on my worst enemy. I realize the irony in going to alleviate suffering and yet consequently or potentially being the cause of suffering. It’s a Catch-22. I wish it wasn’t. But wishing doesn’t make it so.

I realize that this is a somber post, I do not intend on sending another one of this sobriety. I feel like it needed to be said. I hope that it helps you understand why I am embarking on this newest path. I am willing to answer questions, to clarify details, I am open to advice, I will listen, but if I might be stubborn and do it my own way regardless.

With Love to You,
Daniel

Only a coffee table to go!!!

So far I have built my bed, night stands, entertainment unit, and now the bookshelf. Someday I will have to build the coffee table also. So I was building the shelving unit on Saturday, after climbing and buying a sweet ass suit for I&P's wedding, when I returned a missed phone call. Apparently Sandra and Augustin were heading to a concert, they weren't sure who the headliners were, a Tim something or other and a Faith not sure what her last name is.
Lord Thunderin' Jesus. They are going to the best (super subjective) concert this year in Vancouver and they don't even know who's playing. Tim McGraw and Faith Hill. Turns out they have a spare ticket and would I like to come. Are you kidding me. I don't think I have ever made it from North Van to downtown so quickly in my life. I missed the first two songs. But was pretty much on my feet for the rest of the night. Thank you guys so much for hookin' me up. BEST CONCERT EVER!!! (again fairly subjective).

The Boyz Post Surf on Ferry

A pretty neat picture highlighting a few buddies, the normal colour of the ocean and in the background the silt curtain formed from all the spring runoff flowing through the Fraser River. It's really neat how the fresh water and the salt water don't like to mingle, something to do with weights and stuff...
A great weekend, that will be repeated.

Sombrio Beach - Surf Trip

Where else but in Beautiful British Columbia do you get to see a bunch of die hards in tents on a beach in constant rain? After coming out here to surf for the weekend and hiking a short part of the Juan de Fuca trail I have decided that next summer I will try and hike the West Coast Trail. It was absolutely beautiful, rugged, muddy, wet but super humbling.
Smart Man Dan sees a wet slippery log crossing the Sombrio river, SMD thinks "well heck lets cross this wet slippery log." SMD was partly wrecked at the time, luckily he doesn't fall in (which doesn't make the story that good), but he does answer his cell phone halfway across the log and has a conversation. When he gets to the other end of the log he realizes he is 20' off the ground with no clear way down. The End.

I cathect this object....

A little sepia tone. Man this thing rocks. Is it going across the country this summer? Now is the time to do it. Not a bad way to show up at a wedding on, suit might be a bit ckrinkled. <- How do you spell that word??

Here's the Tat.... Evolution

So a few of you have asked to see the newest addition to my body. Well here it is. Just about healed now. Still a few scabby bits left, kinda gross. The symbol is my symbol. I made it, it means something to me that I haven't yet been able to find a word or words for. It originated a long time ago probably mid-teens.
Lotsa stuff happening at the moment. Just got into West Coast Swing and Country Two Step. I can't believe me of all people seems to be dancing a minimum of four nights a week. This is getting ridiculfreakinless.
Anyway more to come, just busy right now.

Speed Limit = 75 mph, gotta love it!!!

Since I was delayed getting to Montana, I had to stay an extra day. I didn’t work that extra day though; instead I hiked Mount Sentinel, shopped a bit, and walked around. I must say Montana is a pretty fun place, the girls are fairly up front and fun, ahhh country girls… how refreshing, none of the hoittie toittie rich attitude city girl shit. Real girls, where did you all go?
So I guess I do have one little story from Mt. It was 3pm and I was driving to the airport to catch my 5:20 flight. Driving alone the W. Broadway highway and I pass a sign, a sign that says “Every Mothers Nightmare Tattoo Parlour.”
If you know where the rest of this story is going raise your hand. You should know that I am terrified of needles. I have had many bad experiences, all of them revolving around my tougher than leather skin (more stories for that). 4:15 tattoo is done, I swear I’ll never get a tattoo again (but probably will). 4:30 get to the airport and get selected for secondary screening. Do I have something written on my forehead? Nevertheless I make the flight down to Salt Lake City just so I can get back up to Vancouver. More implusiveness to follow likely.

Montana

After getting denied entry for having all of the right forms but not walking in confident enough in what I needed to do to get across, and for being honest, I got in on round two. I swear, they won’t let someone in to the country to do something legal and that will be beneficial for them, but they’ll…. Argh!!! Frustrations aplenty, and pretty much these were just the start of what was to come. Let’s just say after holding onto a 50 lb metal pole in 12 feet of water travelling at up to 15 ft/s I have some pretty intensely strong forearms.
I personally have never heard of removing turbines from a penstock and then opening the gates wide open and letting the water rip roar through the structure. As one of the experts there I felt a little over my head when they were asking me questions like “that seal we just blew, is that bad?” I think I knew the answer, but not from my degree, more intuition, that with the dam vibrating et al…

Yvonne on the Connector Highway between Merritt and Kelowna

I rode Yvonne 450km’s on my first day, up and over two mountain ranges, in 50+ km/hr winds, in snow covered banks and hills, and along on one of the River roads that follows the Fraser river floodplain. I am so glad that I waited until Yvonne came around, everything worked out just right getting her. I am always willing to take you for a ride, but maybe not letting you drive her just yet.

Yvonne in Kelowna

Now usually I don’t have two pictures of the same thing, just to try and limit the amount of downloading time. But I really couldn’t stop myself. Here are pictures of my and Yvonne. I named her after the really awesome woman that sold me her. Honestly I was super curious to meet the woman that rode this bike. This bike is not a girly bike by any mad stretch of any wild imagination. This mother of four agreed to sell me this bike 3 weeks ago and waited until I had enough money to purchase the bike; she refused other higher offers and even picked me up at the airport. She wanted Yvonne to go to a good home, and figured that I would be that good home, which I wholeheartedly intend to be.