SOLE HOPE AND FRIED OKRA

There are so many good things happening in Jinja, Uganda, it can be a little hard to keep up.  

Though we were there only a few short weeks, we were fortunate to meet some inspiring people doing incredible things, from educating kids to improving health to empowering women through job creation. It really changes your view about humanity when you encounter so many organizations helping others.  

Because of their partnership with the founders of Light Gives Heat, whom we had gone to Jinja to visit, we had the good fortune to meet the Collie family--Asher, Dru, Quinn, Asa, and Silas. Former North Carolina residents, the Collies are the heart and soul of the non-profit Sole Hope, which is working to put close-toed shoes on African children to eradicate foot-related diseases. 

They're also one of the coolest families we've ever met. In addition to running a  life-changing nonprofit, they moved to Africa with a three-month old baby, their kids are hilarious and well-behaved, and most importantly, at our second dinner at their house, they cooked us fried okra. In Uganda.

And we LOVE okra.

Over this heavenly, deep-fried dish, we got to hear how a youtube video inspired this family to move to Africa and take on the daunting task of putting shoes on the feet of African children, while teaching others a way to earn a living. Did we mention we think they are awesome?

Somehow we left without one photo, so this is from their
website.Thanks to Sole Hope and the Collies (and Betty, too)!

Thanks again to the Collie family for giving us what we were in dire need of...a home-cooked meal, good conversation, and a brief chance to feel like we were part of a family, if only for a little while. 

You guys knew just what we needed!

To learn more about the incredible work of Sole Hope, check out their website and blog. If you're inspired (how could you not be, really?), there are many great ways to get involved! You can also check them out on Facebook.

LIZ'S PET RHINO IN UGANDA

Kabira, the Southern White Rhino, happy in her habitat at the Ugandan Wildlife Education Centre.

We will admit, our knowledge of rhinoceroses was limited. Up until this particular day, we had only glimpsed one from afar (as in, really afar, looking like a speck through binoculars) on our recent trip to Serengeti National Park. 

But, we happened to find ourselves with several days in the small Ugandan town of Entebbe, famous for being the staging area for all United Nations vehicles for peacekeeping missions in Central Africa, as well as being the location of a rescue mission of a hijacked Air France plane in 1976.  Perhaps not as well known, the city also happens to have a Wildlife Centre, with a rhino.

Yes, it was time for Liz Dolittle to commune with the animals again, as she's done so often on this trip.

A rhino shows Kip his best side.

In addition to the two Southern White Rhinos, the Ugandan Wildlife Education Centre is also home to giraffes, a baby elephant, lions, chimps, ostriches, and more. But really, as evidenced in the photo at right, we were here for the rhino, which was clearly not having any of Kip's usual antics.

Having no previous rhino knowledge or experience, and just coming off of a close encounter with a semi-aggressive gorilla with a not-so-funny sense of humor, we got a little spooked when this rhino Kip had been harassing walked calmly away, then turned and charged at the fence. Or so we thought.

Clearly we had never heard about Rupert the Rhino, or this family, or Jessica the hippo.

This seemingly dangerous rhino didn't charge the fence. She just ran up to it like an adorable puppy and stuck her horn through for a little scratch. The gorillas were nice, but who knew a rhino in a zoo could be the highlight of our Uganda trip? 

It turns out, this particular rhino, who we have learned is named Kabria, was brought to this wildlife center in 2001 as part of a program to re-introduce rhinos to Uganda, where they became extinct in 1984.  Programs like the one at this centre, and at Ziwa Rhino Sanctuary are leading the charge for re-population, with some recent success, no small feat considering the White Rhino only re-produces once every three to five years.

Kip gives her a good scratch behind the ears, which she loved. 

Unfortunately, Uganda will never be able to recover the population of the extinct Northern White Rhino, and there is still a demand from China and other Asian countries, who believe that the horn is of medicinal value and will purchase the horns for $1400 an ounce, meaning these animals can be worth more dead than alive. 

We can only hope that wildlife sanctuaries like this one can ensure that the population of the Southern White Rhino, like Kabira, can make a comeback.

And maybe, when Liz wins the lottery and comes up with $37,000 she'll be able to buy one of her very own to keep for a pet. 

Rhino toes...almost as big as the camel toe we saw in India.

MODERN RWANDA?

Rwanda's capital, Kigali, sits high on a hill. In the foreground, a man in the parking lot of the Genocide Memorial,
digs through gravel in search of what, we could never find out.

For most of us what little we know of the African republic probably came from the Oscar-winning movie Hotel Rwanda. The film highlighted atrocities that took place during the bloody genocide nearly two decades ago, when over one million men, women and children were brutally murdered in three months. 

We are still haunted by the stories and images we witnessed in the Kigali Genocide Memorial Centre. It's impossible not to be inspired by the courage and warmth of the people encountered both there and throughout the country, who've overcome so much. 

While scars both visible and otherwise remain, much progress has been made since 1994, including investment of billions of dollars in international aid. Rwanda now is considered a model for developing countries, with economic stability, a modern healthcare system, and one of the best road systems in Africa, as we experienced during a week-long visit. 

A man sells fresh loaves of bread as Liz looks on from a bus window. 

Kip gets a "Welcome in Rwanda" at the Tanzania border crossing. 

BABY TIME IN THE SERENGETI

Following his mother up an acacia tree, a one-yr-old leopard stares at a Land Rover of photo-happy tourists.

Our priorities may have changed when it came to hiking Mt. Kilimanjaro. But nothing was keeping us from a multi-day safari in the world famous Serengeti. 

Budgets be damned, we would be riding in the back of a well-aged Land Rover, camera in hand, tacky tourist hat on head, gawking for hours at lions and leopards and sunsets that could fry a memory card.

While we came for the wildebeest migration (photos later), we got an unexpected surprise by seeing so many babies. It seems spring had sprung, the rainy season was on the way and lots of brand new little animals were taking their first steps. The squeals (from us) and cuteness (from the animals) was pretty overwhelming.

Enjoy the photos!

Awwww! A baby zebra peers over her mom's shoulder.

The vigilant parents of a baby water buffalo stand guard. Buffalo are the third most deadly animal in Africa when it comes to killing humans. 

A mud-covered baby elephant calls for his mother. This little guy put on a show wallowing in a water hole.

Baby giraffe with mom.

PHOTO FRIDAY: MEAT MARKET

Talk about a dirty job. 

Next time you're having a bad day at the office, imagine what it might be like hauling around slabs of raw meat on your back all day. That's the occupation of the guy above we met at Stone Town's meat market. 

Six days a week. For hours on end. With blood running down his neck, dripping onto his bare feet and soaking into his T-shirt. 

It's a dirty job, but this guy managed to do it with a smile. 

ZANZIBAR FISH MARKET

A shark awaits his turn on the auction block, momentarily ignored by the fish-buying crowd behind him.

A stroll through Stone Town's daily fish market delivers some intense scenery outdone only by its potent smells. The place seriously reeks.  

But the sight itself is worth the nasal discomfort, not only for the fish viewing as much as for the chance to watch and talk with the fishermen and auctioneers and customers in attendance.  

We spent as long as our noses would allow. Afterward, we gulped fresh air, put in some afternoon beach time, watched the sunset circus act, and finally ventured down to the town square, where each night local chefs cook up some of the tastiest seafood around.. 

Next stop, the meat market just around the corner.

The daily auction can last for hours as fishermen constantly deliver their catch.

Liz learns some bargaining tips from a fish delivery guy. Men pedal bikes with baskets full of massive tuna, sword fish, and even sharks. 

Chef Kip

Hungry Liz

BEACH COWS

Zanzibar's picture-perfect beaches rarely get crowded. Unless a herd of cows gets thirsty and decides it's time for a drink and some sun. These hedonistic bovines give nude beach a whole new meaning.

BUTTERFLY FARMING IN ZANZIBAR

At the Zanzibar Butterfly Center, visitors get to experience the first moments of a butterfly's life,
while the Center provides an income for local farmers and incentives them to protect the tropical forest.

While traveling and volunteering, we often meet or hear about creative people doing innovative things to help alleviate poverty. Until a recent visit to the Zanzibar Butterfly Center, however, we had never imagined farming butterflies as an engine to support local economies.

Figo the butterfly farmer

But just ask Figo, one of the more than 30 villagers who raise caterpillars for the Center in the island's tropical forests. The young entrepreneur filled us in on the practice's viability.

"It gives us a reliable source of income," says Figo, who lives near the Center and became a butterfly farmer three years ago. "It also gives us a reason not to cut down the forests, which we used to use for charcoal."

Farmers like Figo can earn a steady income, selling their "crops" either locally to the Butterfly Center, which needs a constant supply, or for export to markets as far away as Europe. 

Depending on the species of butterfly the pupa will produce, farmers can earn anywhere from 25 cents to one dollar per pupa, also called a chrysalis. Since most butterflies live only 2-3 weeks, the work and resulting income is steady, as long as there is demand.

Liz peers into the raising cage, where mature pupae are glued to sticks. There, they will eventually emerge as butterflies, which you can witness during your visit to the Zanzibar Butterfly Center.

Founded six years ago by a Scottish ecologist, a Zanzibari forester and a Tanzanian conservationist, the Center received a United Nations SEED grant last year, recognizing it for sustainable development and environmental innovation. 

"Visitors can see and touch all stages of the life cycle, from egg to caterpillar to pupa to new-born butterfly," said co-founder and Scotsman, Benjamin Hayes. "It's one of the biggest butterfly facilities in Africa, and every visit helps us support the local farmers."

The glistening green chrysalis of the Gold-banded Forester is dotted with gold flakes.

If you get to Zanzibar, make sure you drop by the Center for a visit. Enjoy the surroundings, learn about the insects' life cycles, and best of all, try to stand still while watching a newborn butterfly take its first flight from the palm of your hand. 

Best of all, remember you're visit and dollars help support the livelihood of some of Africa's only butterfly farmers. 

ZBC founder Benjamin Hayes (left) and a volunteer show off a collection of pupae. 

An African Monarch, also called a Plain Tiger, rests on a leaf at the Zanzibar Butterfly Center.

SUNNY MONDAY: END-OF-DAY SHOW

Yes, we know it's supposed to be "Funny Monday." 

But it's been weeks since we posted a sunset photo, plus the end-of-day sky around Cape Town is hard to beat, so enjoy this Sunny Monday substitute shot. Hopefully, we'll have some mind-blowingly hilarious stuff for you next week. Either that, or you may have to suffer through a sunset from the beaches of Zanzibar.

Win-win, right?!

BTW, if you or anyone you know is considering a spring break trip this year, check out this article on alternatives to the "traditional" beach/party vacation thing. Read more about alternative spring breaks HERE. 

PHOTO FRIDAY: CHAMELEON CHOW TIME

As one of the largest chameleons in the world, this Parson's Chameleon gets hungry.  We were lucky enough to catch this female (note the absence of "nose horns" seen on the male in our last post) having an early lunch.

Her tongue can extend roughly one to one and a half times her body length. The cricket she was targeting didn't have a chance against the heavily muscled, sticky tongue that forms a suction cup at the tip, specially designed to capture quick moving insects. 

We're amazed that she was able to roll it all back up into that tiny mouth. Nature...especially on Madagascar...is pretty cool.

For more fun chameleon facts, click here.

ANIMALS OF ANDASIBE NATIONAL PARK

Andasibe National Park has lots of lemurs, including the curious, cuddly common brown lemur above. 

If there's one thing visitors come to Madagascar to see, it's lemurs. The island is home to 101 species, all endemic. The cute little creatures range from the smallest primate on the planet--the mouse lemur, to the famous ring-tailed with its black and white-striped tail.

After the sailing drama of the west coast, we headed inland to check out the country's unique animals and insects. It's worth noting that almost all of Madagascar's reptiles and amphibian species, half of its birds and all of its lemurs are found nowhere else on earth, making the place a virtual Eden for animal lovers, of which we definitely are. 

Just three hours outside of the capital Antananarivo, lies Andasibe National Park, famous for its families of indris, the largest species of lemur and also one of the most endangered. 

On a three-hour hike and a night walk, we were able to check off just about all the critters on our 'must see' list, many of which you can peruse below. 

For what it's worth, we didn't get lost once, we only had a few bug bites, we could hear indris calling from our lodge near the park, and the bus we took left and arrived more or less on time. 

Pretty boring actually...and so long overdue.

Liz happy to arrive at the park, where we would soon meet our first lemurs.

The elusive indri, which sings somewhat like a humpback whale, jumps a little like a frog, and looks kind of like a kid in a skinny panda suit.

A colorful Parson's chameleon crawls through the leaves after a light morning rain. 

The tiny, curious-looking giraffe weevil above is a full-grown male.  

A Diadem Saifaka kicks back while checking out some nosy tourists.

The Blue Coua, which eats bugs, fruits and small reptiles.

A sleepy chameleon we met on our night walk.. He's about four inches long and could easily snooze in the palm of your hand.

If you're really interested in hearing an indri's call, feel free to check out this video we shot in the park. While you can definitely hear the indris, you won't see one in this shaky home movie, despite a lot of panning around the forest. 

BOAT BUILDING IN BELO, MADAGASCAR

As mentioned, Belo sur Mer is home to some of Madagascar's most famous boat builders. Check out some of their handiwork below:

Sun sets behind the skeletal remains of a would-be ship who never saw her maiden voyage. 

A cargo boat under construction in Belo. Vessels like these require intricate woodwork, as noted by the tightly-connected stem, knee joint and ribs, which are held in place by physics, wooden pegs, and frequent prayers.

A man hammers pegs into a beam support of a dugout canoe. His friend smiles for the camera.

The scalloped sides of the pirogue above highlight the traditional methods  still used to carve these ocean-going vessels.

The old-school boat building continues on one of the wide beaches of Belo. They even have goats, too!

PHOTO FRIDAY: FRIENDLY FACE IN MADAGASCAR

He may look like he's about to inflict some serious pain on an intrusive photographer, but 70-yr-old Philibert, who worked at the guest house where we stayed, actually had a smile nearly as bright and contagious as the grin on the kid from last week's Photo Friday. 

We caught Philibert in action while he was building a fence out of palm leaves to protect some brand new coconuts he had just planted around the property. If you've got a fence that needs mending or building (or a photographer that needs scaring), this is your man.

BOAT TRIP FROM HELL II

Dawn breaks on the first minutes of  what would be a 20-hr round trip crunched into this two-foot wide dugout pirogue/sailboat. No bathroom, no motor, no food, no shade. #wedodumbstuff

Traveling as we do, slowly and without a real itinerary or timeline, we sometimes hear of idyllic, off-the-map places that sound in dire need of a visit. In whispers and with hand-drawn maps, locals and like-minded travelers will describe these mythical spots, making sure others don't hear lest they ruin the sacred secrets passed over by time and place and cell phone towers.

Supposedly, this was the case with Belo Sur Mer, a coastal village south of Morondava. What little we found to read about Belo sounded incredible. Tales of locals still building large ships “the old way," using only handtools and wood, right on the beach. There were rumored to be beautiful beaches, stunning bays, sunsets (readers of this blog-hi Mom-know how we love sunsets), and best of all, a guy who would take us diving in the Mozambique Channel not too far offshore.

There was just one catch. It was rainy season, and the road was closed, so the four-hour 4x4 ride option was off the table. But an enterprising restaurant manager assured us, “no problem.” He could get us a pirogue that would sail us down the coast to this magical place...and it would only take three to four hours. It sounded so easy, we got ourselves so worked up that neither of us even thought about the original "Boat Trip from Hell" we took across the Pacific at the beginning of the trip. 

Us, hurting, eight hours into the trip.

Those who forget the past are condemned to repeat it. 

In the same restaurant we met Ernest, a backpacker from Charm City, Baltimore, not an hour's drive from our house in DC. We quickly convinced/conned him into joining us and splitting the costs. Over celebratory drinks we toasted our good luck. Plans were made for a 7 AM departure the next day.

We met our pirogue captain as planned, and walked to the boat, which was about half a mile down the beach. This is where things got interesting.  For starters, the boat was not exactly in ship-shape condition. Loose wooden planks floated in the bottom in standing water already inside. The skinny mast, a bark-less former tree limb, looked splinted and weak. And the boat was small. Really small.  Barely shoulder width at the widest point, and about 15 feet long. We gave each other reassuring looks, shrugged our shoulders and climbed in. We could handle anything for four hours. And we would be eating amazing seafood on the beach in Belo by lunchtime.

Over 20 hours, we were passed by lots of pirogues, like the one above, which had a full-size sail and unbroken mast. 

Earnest, with ripped sail in the
background, still manages to smile.
This guy is awesome.

More than four hours later...

We were in the hot sun, with limited shade (thankfully Liz brought her umbrella), limited water, and no food, somewhere in the Mozambique Channel. Our sail, which was an oversize bed sheet tied to a large stick, pushed us along painfully slow. Saltwater that soaked us when waves crashed over the sides constantly stung our eyes. Water in the bottom of the boat grew slowly deeper, despite our bailing efforts. We prayed we were close.

"How much longer, Captain?" Kip asked, since he was the person wedged closest to where the driver hand-steered with a paddle he probably carved himself. 

"Don't know. Maybe we arrive by 2 PM." 

Wait, what?!  Four more hours. Liz asked the same question, and we got the same answer. Gritting our teeth, we wished we’d been smart enough to bring some food with us. Not surprisingly, 2 pm came and went. We sailed on, butts numb, backs aching, sweat pouring. No one spoke for hours.

Our first mate, searching for wind and land...and probably a bathroom.

Then the mast broke during a surprise wind gust. At least we had some excitement. Which was then followed by an even slower pace. 

We finally make landfall around 4 pm, as the sun sank slowly toward the sea. Painfully, we struggled out of the boat into knee deep water. Moments later, we kissed the beach. Incredibly, our new friend Ernest was still speaking to us.

Two days later, we would repeat this process, only somewhat better rationed with water and food and sunscreen. After the previous journey, we thought we were prepared mentally and physically. But nothing could have readied us for what turned into a 12-hour marathon back up the coast. 

Mythical places? Idyllic, untouched locales? There's probably a reason they're like that. Take our advice--let them stay that way. You'll thank us later.