Tulear: Ville du Soleil

I should stop being surprised by the unexpected. For some reason life’s hiccups still amaze me and catch me off guard at the most obvious moments, traveling for example. My friend Dee and I decided that we would make this Christmas in Madagascar memorable since we were both away from our families and Madagascar naturally provides a significant amount of adventure. After many discussions, our indecisive brains compromised on going to the beach outside Tulear on the west coast adequately called by the locals « Ville du Soleil. » (City of the sun)

This unforgettable journey commenced Thursday afternoon with a plan, something I should learn not to bother with. The plan included leaving that afternoon by taxi brusse (local bus transport), spend the night with my friend 4 hours south of us, and catch the next bus early the next morning for Tulear. As history repeats itself, I should have known better than to rely on this plan. Five p.m. we departed, only an hour and a half later than scheduled – not bad. While on the way, I received word from my friend we were staying with that there were no buses to Tulear the next morning but would have to wait until tomorrow evening. Having a slight understanding of Malagasy transportation system, I didn’t hold onto that disappointing news too strongly but calmly told myself to go with the flow.

My friend Anna met us at the taxi brusse station four hours later, by now almost 9pm. After a brief update on the transportation situation, Anna found out that the Director of Transportation of the region was leaving to Tulear the next morning on his family vacation and was looking for people to split the gas with. We jumped on the opportunity to not ride 14+ hrs in a bus; however this little luxury required us to depart at 3am per the director’s wishes. So off we went to Anna’s house to eat noodles, sleep on a twin bed, and enjoy the blessing of having a friend in a foreign city hooking us up with sweet deals.

Three a.m. arrived sooner than anyone wanted. We hustled to get our sleepy bodies out the door, brush our teeth and pee in the dark, and walk a couple of kilometers with luggage in blackness. We learned through this early morning jaunt that Mr Director was not a patient man calling us every 2mins to get our location update. We met our transportation hosts, settled in four to the back seat, two in the front, and about six in the truck bed lounging over luggage, chickens, and pots. Despite a five person vehicle carrying about 12 passengers, we had a better hook up than a taxi brusse.

And we were off, well until 6am that is when it is normal for Catholics to attend morning mass on Friday morning for thirty minutes in a random town while in route for family vacation. We took this opportunity to eat some bread and eggs and walk to the market, only to receive a phone call from Mr Director informing us the 30mins was over and he was ready to hit the road. The journey commenced again only then stopping another three hours later to drop off my friend Anna and eat an official breakfast.

Mr Director and his wife were very gracious giving us brief history lessons and pointing out things along the road that tourists should be interested in, which he kindly scolded me I slept through all the important parts. After a brief family roadside chat about 3 hours later in a random town, we were invited to eat lunch with them at Mr Director’s sister-in-law’s house. They treated us as one of the family. It is always a bit awkward accepting blessings from strangers and a great lesson in humility. We hit the road again only stopping once more along the way to buy some charcoal to add to the already overloaded truck bed. Despite all of the stops, we arrived in good time in the Ville du Soleil 12 hours later, however, the trip was not over.

Dee and I boarded a pusse pusse, man pulled cart, destination taxi brusse station for the final leg of the trip; unfortunately this bus was a real crap shoot. Poor Dee was stuck in the truck bed with about 25 other people, children, and chickens as I was up front sitting on a seat made for someone 5 feet tall, fumigated by the chain smoking chauffeur, and listening to a chatterbox passenger. About 6pm, 15hrs after the commencement of this epic trip, we arrived ! We collapsed. We ate. And we did nothing for 5 days. And then the trip home greeted us again.

Tragedy at Lake Victoria

I never knew someone could have a thousand thoughts in three minutes and those three minutes be the end of something precious. I received my first life guarding certification when I was 15, almost 10 years ago. For seven years, life guarding provided the majority of my high school and university income. I was only once forced to use the skills that I spent many hours drilling into my head and perfecting and thank God it was only a mere shallow water save.

I abandoned my life guarding profession three years ago. I thought I said good-bye to it forever and never thought I would find myself sitting on the shores of Lake Victoria, Uganda attempting to save a life.

It was only the third day of my vacation. I had gone to Lake Victoria with some friends searching for a nice, memorable afternoon; unfortunately the afternoon turned out to be more memorable than I would like as the flash backs and sleepless nights keep reminding me. After an hour of laughing and playing, I saw a sight out of my peripheral vision, one I was always trained to recognize but never wanted to witness : only thirty feet from me two people were dragging a girl out of the water -unconscious. I saw them attempt CPR but the wrong position on her stomach and not her chest. My immediate thought was – there is nothing I can do! I was afraid I had forgotten everything and I would kill her instead of help her. But finally my mind connected with my heart : what the hell was I doing sitting there when I had seven years of training and a child’s life slipping through the cracks ?

I rushed over. I pushed the rescuers aside and not very politely informed them they were doing CPR incorrectly. They readily allowed me to take over. It all came back in only a few seconds : compressions, breaths, and repeat. Initially, we all had hope that she might come back as she began to vomit. However, I noticed her stomach continuing to bloat and her body go hard. I knew that she was dead but those around me were so grateful for the effort I continued. A minute later I checked her pulse and and to my horror there was nothing. I wanted so badly to feel a faint flicker of hope. I quietly exited the scene as those remaining continued to try.

I returned to my place on the shore not quite sure what had just happened. The only thing that I could think was that someone’s little girl had just exited this world and they were about to receive the worst news of their life. I sat and silently prayed for the little girl I only knew in her death. A few minutes later the crowd dissipated and this precious, lifeless child was carried away over someone’s shoulder sort of like a sac of potatoes. This sight only deepening the sickening feeling already settling into my gut.

A few minutes later, I relocated up the beach. Walking in front of me was a beautiful girl about the same age and figure. She wore a beautiful red dress with a sweet, innocent smile. I couldn’t help but think that there should have been two girls like this on the beach at this moment, however, that wasn’t the case and one young life was gone.

Now, hours and days later, the flash backs continue. When I see the lake, a young girl, a bare stomach, or something the consistency of vomit, my heart renches and my mind cringes. The only thing left for me to do is to pray for the family who is digging a grave, saying « good-bye », and continuing to mourn for many days to come. Please do the same.

Photos for my mother who does not have Facebook!

Roads in Congo



Geoff - Country Director



A tired late night in the office



Hubert - our logistician



Country church outside of Bunia



Mbaki - Bridge rehabilitation supervisor

Dr Matern and I

I am not sure who wished the bad karma on Dr Matern and my interactions together, but somehow, someway, something bad always happens when we are in company. Dr Matern is the chief adviser for all Medair medical projects here in Congo. You know he is quite smart, because, well, he is a doctor. I find him to be a bit ditzy and the type of person whose mannerisms just make me laugh. He is quite pointed and direct, which is a trait sometimes hard to come by in Congolese culture thus adding to his already unique compilation of behaviors. When working together, often times I find myself following in his smiling wake cleaning up some of the small disasters he unknowingly creates.

Dr Matern is with us here in Isiro for the next week helping to close a project. Since he arrived today and I had to take something from him, I decided to give the chauffeur the weekend off and drive to the airport myself, later fully regretting this decision.

I arrived a few minutes early at the airport which 50 years ago was a beautiful place. Today, it is depressing time capsule of broken windows, decrepit baggage belt, paint that hasn’t been reapplied in well, 50 years, and a cheesy bar with plastic chairs where local authorities are found slurping their beers and eating fried, juicy caterpillars that were only minutes before squirming in a bucket with their friends lucky enough to enjoy the upcoming flight on Congo’s blacklisted airline alive, at least until it crashes like most Congolese airplanes eventually do. Thankfully that wasn’t the case today and Dr Matern arrived safe and sound disembarking the plane looking a bit dazed and confused all the while sporting his chic Medair cap and trademark smile.

For once I was thankful for Congolese impatience and pushiness as he made his way to the front of the airport authority line to get his papers stamped releasing us from our need to grace the airport with our presence any longer. We walked out the door bags in hand only to discover our vehicle had a flat tire. I was a bit surprised for two reasons: we had just changed that exact tire the day before and Dr Matern hadn’t even been in Isiro for more than 10 minutes and we were already faced with a dilemma.

After changing the tire the day before, the mechanic remembered to put the spare in the truck but not the jack or the lug wrench. It was soon apparent that there really is no African ingenuity that can substitute for a jack and lug wrench needed to change a truck’s tire. Dr Matern and I hunkered down in the hot truck listening to hip hop on the only radio station that picks up signal preparing to wait for someone to bring us the necessary tools from the base, only 9 kilometers (5miles) away but a 30min drive. Vehicles surrounded us and the thought crossed my mind to ask one of them for a jack and lug wrench but I honestly didn’t have the faith that they would have the tools either. Let’s be real, Congo is the place where we deal with the crisis when it occurs instead of planning ahead, like we were so accurately demonstrating.

Dr Matern relaxed in his seat to only shoot up a few seconds later having an epiphany but backed with more faith than me to actually ask one of the owners of the vehicles around us for the necessary tools. Thankfully someone had them and came to our rescue. Dr Matern hunkered down in his recently shinned dress shoes and creased dress pants proving to be more macho than I originally gave him credit for. I sincerely thought I was going to have to be the one to organize a positive outcome to this travesty. But, Dr Matern came through thus equaling the score. Moments later we sped down the airport road in fourth gear, the only one in Isiro you can do that with. I smiled and waved at the solider trying to get a bribe from me enabling his drinking habit, which I gracefully talked myself out of when entering the first time. Another victory for Team Kristie and Dr Matern, however, we will see how long this victory dance lasts as Dr Matern is in Isiro for another 7 days!