Because Michael and Nicole live in Northern California, we make regular trips out to California. It has become one of our favorite domestic destinations. The rugged coastlines and natural beauty north of San Francisco are breathtaking and the great wines don’t hurt either.

Air BnB

We arrived at our Oakland Air BnB late on Wednesday and tried to sleep in a bit on Thursday. The Air BnB was absolutely beautiful. Gleaming bloodwood colored floors brilliantly reflected the daylight from the floor to ceiling wall of windows. Despite the beauty and the ideal location of the air BnB, it bordered East Oakland. A casual review of the headlines reveals the rampant crimes of the East Oakland ‘hood’ — much worse than Bedford-Sty or South Providence. So where do we head for breakfast? — to Fong’s in the heart of the ‘hood.’ It was as though Mary was recreating the Dexter Lake Club scene from Animal House. The only thing missing was someone asking “ you mind if we dance with yo dates.” Irrespective of the initial amazement (theirs not ours), the breakfast was great and the people watching, priceless. That evening it was a BART ride to San Fran’s Chinatown for dinner at Begoni’s, a very hip Asian Bistro for Mike’s birthday celebration.

Plastic Jesus

Friday morning we explored Oakland’s waterfront, did a little window shopping \240and Ubered to a section of town we dubbed ‘Little Mexico’ for dinner. Just before we left home, we stopped to see Mary’s niece Jane, her hubby Paul and their three beauties. Their eldest, Katie had just passed her driver’s test that afternoon and was super stoked. After some good natured harassment, I couldn’t help singing Reverend Billy Sol Hargis’s theme song about a plastic Jesus on the dashboard. \240So while waiting for Mike and Nicole to join us for dinner in Little Mexico, we walked by a variety store that had every size effigy of Jesus, Mary, Saint Anthony and the Virgin of Guadalupe; of course we had to stop and pick up a plastic Jesus for Katie, Lord knows (pun intended) she can use all the help she can get.

Begoni’s Restaurant, Mike’s Birthday

Begoni’s Crew

After a dinner of street style Mexican, we headed to the Oracle arena to see Elton John on his farewell tour. The years have not been kind to Elton but his music and voice have not suffered. At 71 he was still playing and belting out song after song for nearly three hours. As impressive, if not more, was the band’s drummer, who’s toured with Elton since 1969. In his British style suit and tie, he looked like someone’s elderly grandfather, yet played like Buddy Rich in his prime.

On Saturday morning we met up with Mike and Nicole in Novato and carpooled up to Occidental to go zip-lining at the Sonoma Canopy Tours. Mary and I have gone zip-lining a few times before and it is always exciting; Mike and Nicole had never gone. So, much of our enjoyment and entertainment was derived from watching the expressions on Mike and Nicole’s faces as they zipped on and off the different platforms. The rain and heavy mist added a fascinating veil to the \240experience. Overall, an enjoyable day.

Zipping in Sonoma

Nicole and Mike rented an Air BnB overlooking Bodega bay, so after a long day of driving and zipping, we hung out by the fire working on crossword and jigsaw puzzles, drinking wine and scotch and catching up and sharing old stories. It is the very tail end of the whale migration from the North Pacific to the Baja area. So on Sunday morning we hiked along the coastline trying to catch a glimpse of any lagging rouge whales migrating on PRT (Puerto Rican Time). Beautiful sights but no PRT whales.

On the way back from Bodega Bay we stopped in Mill Valley at one of Michael’s favorite restaurants. During the trip up, he mentioned a few times that he wanted to eat at ‘soul’ food. Again on Sunday, after our hike, he said we should eat at ‘soul’ food. When we got to the Mill Valley restaurant we realized the restaurant was called Sol Food (sol like in Spanish for sun). Mary and I have been married for over 13 years and dated since before our boys, Michael and Jeremy graduated from High School. Puerto Rican food has been a usual and regular staple at home and Mike never seemed particularly interested. So we were pleasantly surprised that the restaurant he recommended was a Puerto Rican restaurant. Only in California — the restaurant was packed and the wait line was, literally, out the door. Pollo a-la-barrita (rotisserie chicken), plantain tostones and maduros, mofongo, rice and beans till they came out your ears, and plantain encrusted shrimp po-boys. I don’t have to tell you, we had to waddle out and still took half of it home. \240We said our goodbyes, parted ways on the 101, and we headed to SFO to start part two of our 2019 adventure; Hong Kong.

Great PR food

In the summer of 1996, two Hong Kong detectives picking up an inmate at Corrigan CI (the correctional facility I ran at the time) for extradition back to Hong Kong, presented me with a Hong Kong Police hat badge. They stated the badge was significant to them because police badges would change once China took over control of Hong Kong the following year. I didn’t give the trinket or Hong Kong much thought at the time but twenty-three yeas later here we are, finally visiting this amazing city.

Typical Cellblock

Hong Kong Island was ceded to Britain when Britain defeated China in the First Opium War in 1842. During our trip to Thailand three years ago, we wrote about the Golden Triangle’s opium production and trade (the Golden Triangle encompasses southeast Myanmar, north Thailand, south Laos, northwest Vietnam). Because of the lucrativeness of opium, different countries fought to control it; at first Great Britain through the Opium Wars and subsequently the CIA during the Vietnam conflict, \240but that’s a longer story for a different time.

In the early 20th century, Hong Kong’s population exploded with refugees, mostly from China. The large number of immigrants helped launch Hong Kong as a major manufacturing hub. Based on an agreement reached by mainland China and Britain on July 1, 1997, Hong Kong became a Special Administrative Region of the People's Republic of China under a principle of 'One Country, Two Systems'. This allows the city to enjoy a degree of autonomy, including retaining free trade and freedom of speech. However, over the years mainland China has been encroaching on Hong Kong, even building a sea bridge that connects Hong Kong to the mainland.

Because of weather and a little turbulence, we touched down at Hong Kong’s International Airport at about 7:30 AM; only half hour behind schedule. However, when you’re stuck on a plane for 15+ hours, every minute counts. Every new place we visit has its challenges; transportation from the airport, cellular phone usage, getting around, etc. \240Hong Kong has to be by far, one of the easiest cities to navigate. We stopped at an airport kiosk to get a SIM card for our phone and the woman at the counter also had discount tickets for the airport express train. Based on where our hotel was, taxis and shuttle buses were a bit expensive. The express train, with plush seats and immaculately clean carpeted floors, took us to Central Station and from there we boarded a free hotel shuttle. After arriving at the hotel, we didn’t even dare sit on the bed let alone lie down for a second. \240A long time ago we read the best way to acclimate to a new time zone is to get out, walk and spend as much time as possible in the sun or daylight.

As many of you know, we have a fascination with old jails and prisons. \240So we were happy to discover that within walking distance from our hotel is the former Victoria Prison. The large compound housed the police station, police lock-up, jail, magistrate as well as the prison. If arrested, booked, arraigned, adjudicated, convicted and sentenced you never left the compound. Closed and dilapidated for years, it has been converted into a museum, cultural center and entertainment venue which is now call The Tai Kwun Centre for Heritage and Art. Prized architects Herzog and de Meuron were the creators of the 485 million dollar heritage conservation restoration project. The former officer’s parade grounds know resembles an Italian piazza with high end shops, bistros and upscale bars. The inmate’s prison yard is an outdoor entertainment venue with live music and performing arts. Numerous cell blocks contain art museums but a few were preserved so that one can experience the living conditions during the time the prison was operational. At its worst overcrowding, a cell barely designed for one inmate held as many as seven.

Cells converted to ‘Bar’

Typical Cell

After a few hours touring, meandering through shops and the obligatory people watching, we made our way back towards the hotel, zig-zagging down back streets and alleys. A random left turn in the general direction of our hotel brought us to a very narrow street. As we peered into what appeared to be a hole-in-the-wall restaurant but with numerous Michelin Star awards in the window, behind us we hear the wind and roar of a sports car pulling up. A new jet black McLaren parks up ahead and a young couple in matching outfits and hoodies pop the gull wing door and climb out, down one street we see a man jump into the back of a shinny new Bentley; Toto, we’re not in Kansas any more, this is in-your-face opulence.

Eventually we make it back to the hotel in time for the happy hour reception (or as the poor young woman at reception said “happy time”. Sorry, too tired and jet lagged; no happy time for anyone). A plate of dim sum and a glass of wine later and we were nodding like rednecks at a poetry reading.

Family Style dinning at Michelin Dim Sum

The next few days were spent exploring the city. One of the sites researched recommended getting an Octopus card for public transportation. They work on trains, subway system, buses, the San Fransisco style Ding-Ding cable cars and even the elaborate ferry system. It made getting around the city easy and affordable.

Our table mates

Understanding cultural differences goes a long way. Some of you are familiar with our Thailand stories about Chinese tourists. Personal body space is not high on their priority list and it apparently does not mean the same to them as it does to those of us in the west. Queuing in a bathroom or any other place means they are literally chest to back, which is particularly disturbing when you’ve spent over 30 years working in prisons. If you leave space between you and the person in front of you, it is license for them to slide in. Sort of like leaving space when trying to exit for Logan Airport; any daylight between you and the car in front of you means another car will slip between you. So when we got in line to buy our Octopus cards, we stood at a bright yellow line that said, in Cantonese and English, “wait here for next teller”. \240Irrespective of the sign, a Chinese man pushes by saying “excuse, excuse” and stands right in front of us with his face at the teller window. Apparently the sign is for visitors not locals.

Before our trips we compose rough lists of things to do and see, though we never fully adhere to them but rather improvise based on local recommendations. We walked different parts of the city, we rode a ding-ding (a double decker version of a San Fransisco cable car) to Hong Kong center and even had lunch in a Michelin Star rated dim-sum restaurant Mary’s nephew Raymond III recommended in Hong Kong station. However, we mostly ate at Dai Pai Dongs or street food vendors, with the locals. You sit family style, which means you share a table with total strangers.

English is rarely spoken at any of these establishments, so the common form of communication for ordering is mostly sign language — just point to what you want. We rode up part of a half-mile escalator just off of \240Hollywood Road. It is the central-mid-level escalator, the longest outdoor covered escalator in the world. It connects the central and western district with the Soho and residential districts. In the morning it runs downhill to get residents down to work and at 10:30 AM it reverses direction and runs uphill. It was not intended to be a tourist attraction but it has become a unique micro-culture with bars, restaurants and markets that previously only existed at street levels. It gives you an insight into everyday Hong Kong life, taking you through the little alleys, stalls and coffee shops, popular with the working masses.

Victoria Peak

A couple of touristy things we did were to ride up to the 118th floor of the Ritz Carlton for a drink at the Ozone bar and rode the Ngong Ping cable car to the highly commercialized ‘big Buddah’. \240From the cable car you can see the highly controversial sea bridge that connects Hong Kong to mainland China; it is the longest sea bridge in the world. We went up to Victoria Peak for sunset, however, the funicular to the top was undergoing repairs. \240So we were loaded onto city buses for the 30 minute plus bus ride to the peak. The last person on the bus had to be shoved in so that the doors would close. I didn’t think it possible to pack that many people onto a bus. If someone fainted, they would never hit the floor. One of the hyped activities recommended was a slow ferry cruise of Victoria Harbor. The cruise not withstanding, the real entertainment was the ticket agent. All of 4’10” and all business, he was regimented and methodical. We tried to ask a question but it was answered with “wait! that coming”!! \240After handing us tickets, he gave specific instructions where to sit until he returned to get our group at 1:07. Not 1:05 or 1:10 but 1:07! He then ran around performing odd tasks, picked up supplies for the boat, shouted out directions to others on the pier and at 1:07, he gathered our group and had us queue to board the boat.

Although we find cities fascinating, they are not where we prefer to spend the majority of our time. Hong Kong is impressive and on our unscientific scale it rates fairly high. However, it falls a little short of our top list of cities though it is relatively clean and safe with no apparent homelessness or panhandlers. Most importantly, the people we met were extremely friendly and helpful. More than once, as we looked at a city map or our phone for directions or bearings, someone pointed us in the right direction. One man in particular, after giving us detailed directions to the Victoria Peak funicular, asked us one favor, “while in Hong Kong, spend a lot of money; it’s good for our economy”. \240Sage advice, we should be so kind to foreigners in our country.

Now we are headed to Dubai for a few days to rest up before our twenty-one day excursion of Uganda.

The five hour flight from Dubai to Uganda was relatively easy. However, once we landed we had to wait over twenty minutes for a gate to open up. You have to love third world countries; we often encounter a sense of disorder when we arrive and Uganda did not disappoint. Two lines with one attendant at each greeted at least three planes worth of international travelers. Twenty deep by about twenty wide, passengers were funneled like sand sifting through an hourglass until finally the attendant asks to see our passport and yellow fever vaccine verification. They don’t read the stuff you give them, they don’t determine if the passport is yours or Popeyes, they just want to check that task off their list. Then we were off to immigrations where an extremely disinterested and disengaged woman asks for our visa documents. We were missing one application, which meant she actually had to type a name into the computer to retrieve the visa information.

1st accommodations

We contracted with a Ugandan company, Pearl Afric, to provide us with a guide and driver while in Uganda. Raymond, our driver and guide baring a placard with Mary’s name, waited for us outside. He loaded us into a Toyota Land Cruiser and drove to the Via Via Guesthouse, where we were to spend our first night. When we planned this trip we intentionally booked locally owned places, avoiding large chain hotels. Although in most remote areas those hotels were not even an option.

A few US $, Millions of Ugandan Shillings

Via Via was nothing remarkable, simple concrete structures with no air conditioning and a single lightbulb in the room and bathroom. Mosquito netting over the bed protected us from whatever the lightbulb attracted and, the heat not withstanding, windows could be shut to keep birds and monkeys out of the room. We won’t take up a lot of time boring you or ourselves detailing every accommodation but we simply wanted to contrast our luxurious accommodations in Dubai with the rustic ones here. \240In Dubai, as well as in Hong Kong, our biggest concern was properly adjusting the room temperature in Celsius, while here we had to worry about monkeys taking off with our bags. The days are Tarzan repelling hot but the nights cool down to a low simmer.

Sacread Burial Grounds

The following morning Raymond once again picked us up and drove to the capital of Kampala. Because we are in Uganda for 21 days, we wanted to have enough local cash for meals and tips. We stoped at a money exchange in the city and exchanged a few hundred dollars. The exchange rate from USD to the Ugandan Chilling is 3,671.00 to $1.00. We walked out of the exchange like cartel mules carrying wrapped bundles of Ugandan cash.

Gaddaffii Mosque

After stuffing cash in every pocket and and in backpacks, we started our cultural tour of Uganda in the capital city of \240Kampala. We visited the Royal Burial Grounds where all the Kings, dating back to the start of English colonialism in the early 1800’s, were buried. Uganda’s Kings ruled until the 1950’s when the king was overthrown and a democratic government, with an elected president, was installed. The Kings nowadays simply serve in an advisory and ceremonial capacity. \240Uganda is roughly the size of Colorado but it has three major kingdoms made up of 53 tribes. Each tribe has a distinct culture and language. The English helped to unify the country by introducing Swahili and English as the national languages. Although they have maintained their languages and traditions, many of the tribes are now able to communicate with each other in either English or Swahili. What complicates things even further is that the tribes are divided into clans and the clans are further divided into families. Kampala alone has 50 different clans, all with different responsibilities to the king.

Our next stop was at the Gaddaffi Mosque, the largest mosque in East Africa. Like beauty, history is in the eye of the beholder. Many Americans view Regan as the best president in modern history, some bestow Obama with that title and even others would claim it is Trump. Internationally, the world viewed Idi Amini Dada as a brutal dictator, yet many here revere him as the best president Uganda has had. They claim he loved Uganda and detested corruption and only killed those who were corrupt, despite Human Rights Watch estimates that he killed between 100 to 500 thousand dissenters. \240 Because he was Muslim, while in power Idi Amini started construction of a Mosque on a Kampala hill, however, much of the money intended for its construction was embezzled. When Amin was overthrown by Tanzanian forces in 1979, with only the foundation laid, construction halted. Years later Libya’s president Muamar Gaddaffi visited Kampala and the Islamic community asked him to help with the construction. He not only agreed, he had his personal engineers oversee the construction and had materials shipped from all over the world. As an example, the elaborate rug was made in Iran and the stained glass came from Murano Italy. The Gaddaffi Mosque was subsequently competed in 2008. To worshipers in that Mosque, Amin and Gaddaffi are viewed as a heroes rather than the brutal dictators we have come to see them as.

Beautiful Mosque Interior, Mary In required dress

We finished the day with a tour of the martyrs memorial. During the turn of the century the ruling king invited Christian missionaries to come to Uganda. Many of the servants and members of the royal family subsequently converted to Christianity. After the king’s death, his 18 year old son, Don Jr, became king. His advisors managed to convince him that the Christians were plotting to overthrow him. They used the Lord’s prayer to help convince him: “thy kingdom come, thy will be done on earth”. \240On a Sunday, when the king returned from an extended journey, all his servants were worshiping at church and there was no one at the port to receive him. Infuriated, he had his executioner arrest them, drag them off by their feet to be tortured and executed. \240Some of the faithful even included the king’s sister and nephew. Their backs were raw as they were dragged and some died on the way. The ones that survived the journey were beaten, dismembered or burned alive. When the executioner reported back to the king, he was dismayed to report that none of the Christians asked for mercy or forgiveness and all refused to denounce their faith. Eventually the king and the executioner converted to Christianity. There is a yearly pilgrimage to the site, and the stream where the executioner and his men washed their cloths and weapons is now a source of holy water for the faithful. Pope Francis is the third Pope to visit the site since the executions.

Christian Martyrs

After a long day of tours, heat and more meals than we could count, we were dropped off at the Apricot Guesthouse for a Nile beer and a much needed rest. Tomorrow we continue our cultural tour of the Ugandan tribes.

The next morning we drove to Jinja to whitewater raft the upper Nile. We picked up a coffee and a bag lunch on the way and headed off to the meeting point. \240As most people visit Uganda during the months of June, July and August, we were the only two guests on this company’s rafting trip. I started to have second thoughts when we met the crew from RAFT Uganda. \240Our Captain Big Juma, was a large East Ugandan with a missing front tooth, and our boat mates were two young men who barely spoke English. \240In addition to our crew, there were another 4 young men, also with limited English skills. \240One young African manned a supply raft (food, water, sunblock, medical supplies, etc.), two were in rescue kayaks and one photographer in a separate kayak.

Despite a heavy accent, Juma spoke Americanized English, adorned with bad jokes and puns. \240He was only quasi serious when he started to go over the safety instructions, which were identical to ones we received in Pucon. The one notable exception was that, as opposed to Pucon, Juma made us jump into the water to practice the survival techniques he had just gone over. Chile’s water was too cold so rather than practice they hoped you remembered their security briefing if a situation arose.

Once we practiced with rescue kayaks and learned how to get back into the raft (no easy task without assistance) we headed down the Nile. \240The upper portion of the Nile has none of the predatory creatures one will find in the lower end of the river so we felt comfortable swimming and cooling down between rapids. When another rafting company reached a rapid before we did, Big Juma would stand and scream, “you’re going to die” and then roar out a cynical laugh. \240Although as intended, we had some adrenalin filled moments, Juma and his crew made sure we felt safe while having thrilling fun. \240By the end of the trip, Mary’s opinion of whitewater rafting had changed.

Nile River Sunset View from our Tent

That night we stayed at the Nile Porch Lodge , which was code for Nile tents. Our tent, on an elevated eastern bank of the Nile, had breathtaking sunset views. \240Despite monkeys chucking discarded fruit pits on the tin roof, it was a rather relaxing stay. \240The following morning, Mary once again hesitantly indulged me in riding quads through the local villages. Despite choking on persistent clouds of red clay from the rut ridden paths, it was fun zipping through the villages, high-fiving the little kids and watching the women wash cloths and clean fish on the banks of the river. We went back to the lodge,showered and were back in the non-air conditioned Land Cruiser bouncing down dirt roads on our way to Kumi to see the painted rocks of Nyero.

Red Clay Quad Ride

Women Washing and Cleaning Fish

Interestingly, \240Nyero’s painted rocks and caves only date back about 2000 years. They believe tribes migrating south, stopped in Nyero and left the older tribe members to settle in this area. \240Although the paintings were nothing remarkable, our your guide, whose name escapes us, dragged us into caves, through canyon rocks, up steep inclines and through a dusty village in 100+ degree heat. \240Mind you it was only our fourth day in Uganda and our fingernails were already starting to sweat. Raymond collected some amarula fruit from nearby tree (we’ll talk about the euphoric effects of amarula later on) and we were once again on the road to start one of our most memorable encounters in Uganda at Sipi Falls.

Climbing through Canyons

Scaling Steep Rocks In 100+ Degree Heat

Off To Sipi Falls

The next morning we were scheduled to hike the Sipi Falls and in the afternoon we were slated for our first culture tour — hiking through farms and villages to interact with the locals. Right after breakfast, Raymond arrived with Moses, our local guide for the day. Moses explained we would drive to the hike’s starting point and eventually walk back to the lodge.

That day also happened to be Jeremy’s 40th birthday (the youngest of our three kids). Within a few minutes of driving we commented that, because of the eight hour time difference, we wanted to call Jeremy before our afternoon culture walk. Immediately Moses asked,”is your son circumcised? \240Followed by, “how old was he when he was circumcised”? \240Now that’s a pretty dandy way to start a conversation. Still perplexed by the question, Moses exclaims that his circumcision was the most f*%#ing painful day of his life.

Moses explained that circumcision was a rite of passage in his tribe. \240In the Sebei tribe, to prove you are a man, somewhere between the ages of 16 to 22 you must go through a public circumcision ceremony. \240He proudly recounted how friends from all over, including Massachusetts, had come to Uganda for his circumcision ceremony. Oh No — there’s video!!! We kept thinking, holy crap, he’s gonna show us his penis!! He pulled out his phone and cued up \240a video of his tribe’s last circumcision ceremony. \240Luckily for us, he was eighteen for his circumcision, 14 years earlier. Video recordings, at least in Uganda, were not as common as they are nowadays. The video showed pant-less young men ranging from 16 to early 20’s nervously looking up as the village ‘doctor’ walks up, grabs their cycloptic appendage and de-hoods them. \240All the while tribal members, guests and observers sing and dance as if participating in some demented Soul Train. \240Because not circumcising is a sign of weakness, when young men chicken out and decide to keep their hoodies, they are hunted down and forcibly circumcised. \240In some instances young men have been chased down in other countries, all for the sake of not dishonoring the family or clan.

Despite the initial comedic strangeness of the conversation, it took a darker turn when we started to talk about female circumcision. \240Moses stated that it is now illegal to circumcise women, however, tribal traditions and beliefs die hard. \240Despite the illegality of female circumcisions, Moses admitted that in some remote villages, at least 200 had been performed last year alone. \240We suspect that number to be much higher. Uganda is a polygamist society where men are encouraged to have as many wives as they can afford. \240Even in urban areas, women are considered property rather than a man’s equal. \240Men must have a house, or what passes for house in the village, and pay a dowry to take a wife. The dowry usually ranges from 5 to 10 cows or the financial equivalent. \240In the Sebei tribe, if a woman is not circumcised, her family is not entitled to a dowry, if and when a man decides to marry her. \240She also cannot own cows (a huge form a currency here), can not express herself in public settings, cannot serve food to elders, and when she dies, she cannot be removed from her house by the front entrance. \240A hole must be cut in the back of the house in order to remove her. \240In a country where women are dehumanized and marginalized, failing to be circumcised substantially lowers what little worth you may have.

As planned, the morning was spent hiking up and down steep inclines, exploring caves, walking to the three Sipi Falls and learning about the local farming practices along the way. For example, how to differentiate between banana strains including the traditional yellow banana plants and ‘matoke’, their green cooking banana, which they mash like a potato. \240We even met one of the tribal chairman, an older weatherbeaten gent of 52. He offered us land if we stayed and farmed in Uganda. \240He then requested some shillings so he could buy a soda; a real land baron.

Because of some near vertical climbs and rappel worthy descents, two local boys (actually 19 and 21, although they looked much younger) helped drag us up the hills and help lower us when needed. Their primary source of income was selling amber stones they mined themselves from the surrounding hills. \240 They were excited when they were able to sell a piece for 10,000 shillings, about $2.70 US. We returned to the lodge for lunch and then ‘groucho-ed’ back up to our cottage to relax before our afternoon culture walk through the village.

We met up with Moses just before 4:00 PM and walked from the lodge to the adjacent village. Men still toiled in the fields and women busied themselves preparing dinner, while children played in the dusty red clay. The children always waved and greeted us with “hello muzungus”. \240Muzungu is what Ugandans call white people. \240As a woman in Kampala explained, muzungu is not an insult but rather what white people, whom they perceive as having money, are called. \240I can imagine that it literally translates into “hey dumb honky”.

As we entered the viallages, children would pose for pictures. \240Although reluctant to have their photos taken, women occasionally agreed. Once we showed them the pictures we took, they would ask if we could send them a copy. \240We graciously agreed only to later learn that it literally meant, send a copy. \240Although the village center and shops have electricity, very few villagers are fortunate enough to have electricity. So emailing or texting photos would not be an option. Moses explained that it was okay to say no, but if you promise to send them photos, it would be disrespectful and disappointing not to send them. We will most certainly send them. \240A beautiful, tall dark-ebony skinned 72 year old woman wanted to personally greet us. She introduced us to her daughters and grandchildren but refused to have her picture taken because she claimed her hair was grey and ugly. Mary, dwarfing next to her, convinced her how beautiful she was. She finally consented and shyly smiled for the camera. \240At one point I posed with her and made her giggle when I leaned in to kiss her cheek. Little did I know, we were now betrothed.

As we walked past clusters of mud huts, we noticed gravesites along the perimeters. We asked about cemeteries and were told that cemeteries were for people with no land or homes. The custom is to bury family members near their homes so they would always be close to bring good luck and counsel when needed. \240The walk was a long hot lazy exercise as Moses stopped and spoke with every person he encountered or waved to passerby’s on the other side of the road. If the conversation was relevant he would translate, if not, they would part ways and he continued with his detailed lecture on the production of cabbage, the proper irrigation of onions or the required square-meters needed to plant coffee. Without missing a beat or interrupting a conversation, he would pull down a branch to expose a chameleon. \240As we walked through farms, if we encountered the farmer, Moses would discretely slip him a few shillings as a thank you for allowing us to use his land.

As young women effortlessly walked by with full stalks of bananas balanced on their heads, he called over to one and had her relinquish her nearly four foot stalk for us to carry. Mary and I both tried, but even with both hands, we could barely keep the load balanced on our heads. He then had us try walking, which produced a wobbly-legged Walendaesque dance. Once we finished entertaining them, the young woman plopped the bananas back on her head, as though she was donning a bonnet, and walked away nonchalantly.

Throughout the walk, Moses repeated the mantra that he and many of the villagers were striving to be job creators rather than job seekers. They are currently seeking funding to build a vocational and agricultural school on property that was donated for that purpose and many of the farmers, including Moses, have started a coffee collective. Under previous administrations they were not allowed to export their coffee so they would smuggle it to Kenya where they would get paid pennies on the dollar for what they believe is some of the best organic coffee in the world. \240Kenya in turn would rebrand it as their own.

Part of our cultural experience was, what we believed would be, the mundane task of making coffee. Freshly picked, the coffee berries are reddish colored and the beans are slimy and cream colored. They are then laid out in the sun to dry and once dried, the husk must be removed before roasting. Moses grabbed a pan full of dried beans, removed the husk from one of the beans and joked that it would take all day to husk enough beans for one cup. \240He then grabbed a huge mortar and pestle, poured in the beans, and proceeded to beat the husk off the beans. We all sat on the front poach of a modest concrete structure and took turns pounding the beans. We then returned them back to the pan and started sweeping them into the air while blowing on them to separate the husk from the beans. \240Once the beans were mostly husk free we walked into a mud hut that served as a traditional kitchen. The cooking surface consisted of a stone slab with three holes, a center one for cooking and the two side holes for ventilation. The area beneath the cooking surface accommodates wood and some charcoal. The amount of heat is determined by the amount of wood slid in and out of the opening. \240A young woman with a baby strapped to her back, entered the confined “kitchen” and stoked the fire. Moses poured the husked beans into a large dry cast iron skillet and demonstrated how to stir the beans. Stirring is constant throughout the roasting process and, as I must have drawn the short straw, I stirred and roasted the beans. After a few minutes of sitting in the hot smokey kitchen you start to get memorized by the aroma and the process of roasting the coffee beans. Once all the beans were uniformly dark golden brown, they were transferred back to the original pan in order to sweep and blow out the remaining husks. I assumed that from here on out the process was simple; grind the beans and place the grounds in the coffee maker — wrong! \240We walked back to the porch and poured the beans back into the mortar and pestle. Now as we pounded, instead of removing the husk, the beans were easily crushed. As he improvised encouraging verses, Moses had us sing as we took turns crushing the beans into a very fine powder.

Once done, we walked back into the kitchen and poured some of the fine powder into a pot of boiling water. The coffee grounds boiled and frothed for a few minutes as Moses explained that this was the traditional way of making coffee. \240As we boiled and strained the coffee into an urn, the young woman who previously stoked the fire bathed her adorable baby in a plastic tub by the kitchen door. We asked Moses who the woman was and did she mind us being in her kitchen. Throughout our walk, just about every woman Moses met, with a chuckle would introduce her as his girlfriend. He then said the young woman was his wife. Incredulously we laughed and said, really, who is she. \240Shyly he confirmed it was his wife and the kids playing in the yard were his children and the modest concrete structure was his house.

We sat on his porch, sipped on the most delicious coffee we have ever tasted and listened to stories about his upbringing. \240He never knew his parents and at 32, he still could not fully comprehend why his mother abandoned him. \240Raised by his ‘auntie’ he put himself through school. Multilingual, intelligent and introspective, he talked, not of himself, but about his dreams for his village and the next generation. We were humbled by his presence and forever changed for having spent a brief period of time with this giant of a man.

My Beautiful 72 year-old Girlfriend

Our Beautiful New Friend

With a heavy heart, we said goodbye to our new friend Moses and Sipi Falls and headed north along the border of Kenya towards the border of South Sudan. We first stopped at Moroto and the next morning headed to Kotido. Ultimately we would do our first game drive in Kidepo National Park, but first we would spend two days with the Karamojong and one of their sub-tribes the Ik.

Kotido Huts

Our accommodations at both places were unremarkable, tents and huts; however, our night in Moroto took a memorable turn. The tent was clean and comfortable with a private bathroom, however, it was just on the outskirts of town, across the street from some large entertainment venue. Once a month or so, the venue would host “concerts”. \240Well wouldn’t you know it, the monthly event took place on the very night we stayed there.

Tabacco Sniffing Drunk Karamojong

We readied for bed at about 8:30 as we were exhausted, but at 9:00 neon lights were illuminated, and chest thumping, Night at the Roxbury, club music, started. Intermittently, they introduced bad karaoke. Shortly after 10:00, the manager scratched at our tent, apologized for the noise, and gave us earplugs. Graciously we accepted but we knew the music would eventually die down. Oh but señor, how wrong you can be. The music thumped on until 6:15 AM; and yes, we were awake to enjoy every beat, every note, AND the grand finale. Our sheer exhaustion made for an interesting car ride the next morning.

Mary’s Seven Foot Friend

In total, we had four encounters with the Karamojong. Dating back to Dictator Idi Amin Dada, Ugandans remarked, Uganda will move forward but the Karamojong will stay behind.

Rock Top Home

The Karamojong are related to the Masai Warriors of Kenya, however, the Masai have moved forward, modernized and are attempting to assimilate, while the Karamajong have refused to budge. Their “wealth” is measured in cattle, which they hoard and refuse to eat or sell. They believe God willed all cattle to them so they often crossed into Kenya to poach cattle. They would have violent and deadly encounters with Kenyans and other Karamajong clans over \240cattle. Our host in Kotido recounted that not long ago, Karamojong clans would come down from the hills at night, exchange gunfire and hack each other with machetes. \240Much of the time both Karamojong men and women walked around mostly naked, carrying AK47’s. Based on negotiations between Uganda and Kenya, Uganda stepped in and forcibly disarmed the Karamojong.

Rock Family

Our first encounter with the hill Karamojong was in the afternoon in a remote settlement in Moroto. No sooner did our truck pull in when we were accosted by some severely intoxicated folks. One older woman with a tattered T-shirt and partially exposed breast, stumbled out yelling and flailing her arms. We soon learned that she wanted no pictures taken. Her staggering male counterpart postured and shoved, demonstrating a bone ring that signified his wealth. Our local guide carried a bag of sniffing tobacco, which he claimed they like; that was an understatement. Once they saw the bag of tobacco, they were drawn to it like a moth to a flame. \240Our two initial euphoric greeters now wanted hugs.

Elder Son and Grandchild

We hiked up the foothills for about an hour when we came across a young man measuring well over seven feet tall wrapped in traditional garments. He first wanted a picture with Mary and then wanted us to climb a rock to meet his family. We struggled to navigate up the vine covered rock which he easily navigated. \240Not visible from below, the concave top of the rock housed several huts, a make-shift kitchen, a few goats and an entire family. An older woman sat holding a grandchild surrounded by her adult male children. Younger women sat on the ground crushing corn with a stone in order to prepare the one meal the family would have for the day. The men were very animated and wanted their picture taken; with each other, in front of their huts, and even with their goats. Although the grandmother allowed us to photograph her, the women in the kitchen refused.

The meeting was touching and eye opening. We were awed that people in this day and age actually live in these conditions. On a rock! Moved by what we saw, we wanted to give the family a few shillings for allowing us to spend time with them. This sparked a small debate. Our local guide expressed that they rarely gave money during site visits and would normally ask the clan leaders to walk to town in the morning to collect it. He feared the family would be too drunk to remember receiving anything. Raymond weighed the options but wanted the family to know the gift came from us. \240Because this group did not appear to be intoxicated, we agreed the local guide would give the money to the grandmother for safe keeping. He handed over the 12,000 shillings we gave him, about $3.25 US, and we started our arduous descent from the high rock. Raymond never even noticed the seven foot man zoom past us but Mary and I caught a glimpse of him as he disappeared on the trail ahead of us.

Proud Home Owner

Before we had traversed halfway back to the car, the seven foot man returned with a full bag of vodka pouches. Similar to the alcohol nips sold in the US, kiosks in town sell small pouches of alcohol for about $0.20, capitalizing on the tribe’s alcoholism. He had obviously consumed his fair share of pouches on his return trip home. Valuable lesson for us and for Raymond, always listen to the local expert.

Twins and their Goat enjoyng their new fame

Our last two experiences with the Karamojong were in Kotido. We had hired a local guide through a Dutch woman who owned a private school and ran a small lodge. She boasted her guides were the best and was highly critical of other tour companies who brought their own guides. However, after over an hour wait for her guide, Moses, the young cabin boy whose job it was to sign people in and lug bags to huts, showed up with a guide’s shirt on. Raymond, Mary and I looked at each other, shrugged and jumped into the Land Cruiser with Moses. We don’t want to confuse you with our previous Moses, but Moses is a common name in Uganda. Attempting to be politically correct, the three of us, somewhat jokingly, \240eventually called this Moses the learning disabled Moses; we hope to adequately capture why.

Rock-top homes

The village we intended to visit was the largest single Karamojong encampment in Kotido. Our first point of order was to stop at the tribal chief’s administrative office (yes an actual government type office) to pay a stipend allowing us to visit his tribe. Because it was Sunday, we had to wait a few minutes for the chief to show. A few moments later an individual in western attire, shirt and slacks, pulled up in a \240Boda-Boda (Boda-Boda, short for border to border, are 125 to 250 cc motorcycles that supplant taxi’s in Uganda. Originally they were used to transport individuals from one border to another— for example Kenya to Congo) We paid the chief and headed to the village.

Karamojong Women Carrying Water

Our first clue that something was wrong was when we met the local clan chiefs. \240Four of them in their finest Sunday getups, suit jackets, hats, derby’s and staffs, grumbled in Karamojong, refusing us entry. Moses seemed confused and it was apparent that the head clansman had trouble deciphering what Moses was saying. We quickly realized that not only was Moses’s English skills deficient his Karamajong was just as bad. During his rantings, the clansman slipped and spoke a few words in English. Raymond quickly pounced and called him on it. It turned out he not only spoke understandable English he also spoke Swahili. Note that Swahili and English are only taught in school, which meant at some point the clan chief had some formal education.

Raymond & Clan Chiefs Sit In Ancestor’s Home

The clan chief explained that once the tribal chief was paid, none of that money ever made it to the clans or villagers. \240We apologized and offered them a few shilling — immediately we were transformed into the prodigals. The clan leaders wanted their picture taken, they wanted to show us where their fathers and grandfathers had lived and offered to sell us all manner of trinkets. Karamojong men carry small hand carved stools used to sit while visiting neighbors; with my help, Raymond was coerced into buying one. While Raymond, Mary and I interacted with kids and families, slow-Moses stood in the background and just watched.

Clan Chief

After our ruckus encounter with the clan chiefs we were allowed to enter the village proper. The villages are fenced with an intricate and impenetrable weaving of branches. Interestingly, the fences are built by women. The entrance is no more than a crawl space, camouflaged with a dry bush so that from afar the entrance is not detectable. Kids easily ducked in and out of the entrance while I had to crawl on my hands and knees. Sleeping huts and a thatched kitchen are nearest to the entrance while the enclosure for their precious cows is in the center of the compound.

English Speaking Head Clan Chief

A family unit is usually comprised of one man with as many wives as he can afford to keep. In this particular family the 60+ year old man had only two wives. The older one was out gathering firewood when we arrived and the younger one, a woman in her early to mid twenties, tended to the dozens of kids, including her youngest about a year old. Young women and some of the men decorate their faces with scar tissue. They form small cuts on their foreheads and around their eyes, which leaves raised scars. When asked, they said it fixes their eyes and makes them look better; I guess it’s an alternative to Maybelline. They have no electricity and the men wear \240only what amounts to be a loose fitting sheet. The women recently started wearing clothes, their outfits comprised of a threadbare t-shirt and a loose fitting skirt; no bra and no undergarments. \240Raymond joked that those factors could account for all the children.

Mending Fences with Clans

Family Leader with Young Wife and Baby behind

Young Women with Scar-Designed faces

Facial Scar Designs

Raymond on his New Karamojong Stool —looks like a stool of shame

We were glad that our last encounter with the Karamojong family was uneventful and somewhat pleasant. We found the initial alcohol fueled aggressiveness unpleasant but their harsh living conditions were never lost on us. They are trapped by tradition and expectations and cannot fathom change. They are the scourge of Ugandan society, often found as beggars or thieves in the major cities. One young man we met had attended secondary school, was literate and spoke multiple languages. However, once back in the village was faced with no jobs and no opportunities. The unintended message to the rest of the village was the futility of education.

Village Children with Slow Moses waving behind them \240and poor Raymond still getting shaken down by the Clan Chief in the background

Truly grateful for having been graced with the chance to encounter such a remote and seemingly primitive culture, even by \240Ugandan standards, we were off to the national parks to find Uganda’s other treasure, their abundant wildlife.