“I want to go to America”

“Chong Chong”

Um, excuse me? M gives me a wide-eyed amused look. 

“Are you from China?”

“No, I’m American.” “She’s American.”

“You do not look American. Where are you descended from?”

“My parents are Chinese…”

Sigh…Not this again!

Getting up at 5AM to the ululations exulting from the mosque, I was in a hired drop car (thanks to my gracious hosts for setting it up!) to pick M up from the airport. We were now waiting in the immigrations office–a brick building filled with officials harmlessly flirting.

“She is mine,” the big boss said pointing at M to another, having established, or claimed, her as a new girlfriend earlier that morning.

Apparently, I belonged to the other. Fabulous–whatever can help us get through quickly.

Earlier, in the morning, we had gone to the moneychangers–or basically some men by the side of the road with sacks of Naira.

“How much for pounds?”

“250 Naira for 1 GBP”

Perfect! Giggling at the novelty of this seemingly sketchy but perfectly legit transaction, we finished counting out the change multiple times. Then settling in with our deceptively large pile of money, we headed back to the couchsurfing host’s house to deposit our loot and draw out enough money for the day.

Arriving at the immigrations office around 10AM, as the only foreigners, we didn’t have to wait in line. Shuffled into a separate yellowed brick room with one large desk, 2 broken chairs and a fan, we waited.

“Ah Geisha.”

…whatever. “American.”

“You be my girlfriend,” he said claiming M. The officials were chatty, charming and unfortunately would not budge as we discussed fees.

“We are doing conservation work here, oh that is so expensive!”

“Yes, we charge Americans more because it is so difficult and expensive to get into America for us.”

Fair enough…

14000 Naira per person. This on top of the fee charged online and the surprise fee at the embassy in London when you apply in person.

Damn.

“I have been to America: Houston, Texas, Philadelphia…” a matronly official announced.

“Why is it so difficult to get to America? We would like to go to America.”

“Well, if I were the immigration officer, I’d let you in for free!”

We spent over an hour chatting and trying to figure out what was going on and what we needed to do–pulling out forms, invitation letters to the park, showing passports. The officials were fairly entertaining, if the process wasn’t so slow–giving up chairs for us to sit on as the room filled with the midday heat.

“Where are you going?”

“Taraba state”

“Oh! That is very dangerous, we do not want you to get kidnapped. Why don’t you fly?”

“We don’t have very much money, it’s so expensive and so is this extension…” (They give you 1 month on arrival and we needed 3).

“It is not safe, we are worried, you need to find reliable transportation.”

Oh my.

Eventually, they decided things needed to be done officially with photocopies taken, files drawn up, etc etc and we would be able to collect our passport at 2-230PM.

So off to run some errands in the meantime. First, we needed to get some ethanol (for my hormone samples). After getting stuck in the red, red dirt, some locals obligingly helped us shove off into traffic. Cars will zip through the dirt between highway lines, U-turning into oncoming traffic–which luckily (or unluckily) was a bit dead-locked. Dozing on and off in the heat and sweating, we just wanted the day to be done.

At an dilapidated building, we searched for the medical supplies. Not used to the heat–exhaustion and hunger were settling in. The brick walls were spray painted with “NO PUBLIC URINATION, POLICE ORDER” with a man defiantly spraying on it.

People made clicking and kissing noises at us to catch our attention.

“Ah, sweet, take my brother?”

What?

Finally, after asking around, someone finally knew what ethanol was. Purchase complete! Looking around, I’m so glad we brought our own first aid and sterile needles.

After a pit stop back at the house for some lunch, we returned via taxi and a mini-motorbike ride. More waiting.

The big boss (“The hunter cannot be hunted”) flexed his authority in front of us by showing his power over his crew. Being on his good side has it’s perks.

Sleepily sitting in the heat, we just wanted our passports and to go.

“You can stay ’til July”

“You must come and go out with us.”

Smiling and laughing politely,

“We will visit in May on our way out of Abuja.”

“Ok! You stay with us til July?”

Sure…

Scribbling their numbers for us, we finally left and headed home–sweaty and salty and very very sleepy. Catching the short motorbike ride, out taxi took us back for showers, catnaps and then beer with the hosts.

Couchsurfing has been amazing in Abuja–I’m so glad they were here to host! Having arrived earlier, they made me feel so welcome and less lonely about the big change. Introducing me to people, giving advice–I feel better about being in Nigeria.

a little blurry--posing in front of the washington state map

Tomorrow, we pack up and head towards Gashaka. Hopefully it will only be a 2 day journey. I’m very excited to re-live my chapas experience. This is most likely the last update until we leave the field end of May as there will be no internet access.

Baboons, here we come!

Hot Hot Heat

“Hello, you’re welcome, I like very much”

He said, pointing to my sunglasses perched above my sweaty forehead.

“You give to me? Yes, thank you. I like very, very much.”

Hopeful look.

“I like these very much too. Thank you, have a nice day.”

Shopping for some fruit and wine to bring back to my couchsurfing host, I had walked out in the midday heat that was oppressively hot. The sky was filled with dust and the local mosque shivered golden and blue along the skyline.

“Bonjour!”some worker called out—despite the language spoken in the city being English. I haven’t spoken French since DR Congo.

“Ça va?”

A green, beat-up taxi (they’re called ‘drop cars’) off Nile Street honked as I tried to walk nonchalantly towards a busier intersection away from the house—that was easy enough.

“Supermarket please. How much?”

“200 Naira.”

Now in a large, cracking cement building, doing shopping, I remembered that in Africa, I am “white.” Curious eyes followed, people introduced themselves and were quite friendly.

No fresh fruit. So I left and decided to hire a car for the day. The next cab that pulled up was driven by a very serious man with fine scars cut delicately along his cheeks in simple crisscrossing patterns. He ferried me around to a local fruit market where I bargained for pineapples, watermelons, avocados and some green oranges.

Next stop—where’s the wine?

Several shops later, we ended up at a Chinese bakery where a young businessman from Shanghai became very excited.

“You speak Chinese?”

“A little. Wo de zhongwen bu tai hao.” (A little, my Chinese isn’t very good…)

After giving me his number (my little list growing!) and wishing me good luck, Olilobello (taxi driver) and I continued our search for wine that was unsuccessful so we finally headed back to my host’s home. The rest of the evening was spent playing in the pool with little Deborah and one of my hosts.

In the evening, the ‘International women of Abuja’ assembled for an amazing Italian dinner that made you forget you were in Africa. Coming from all embassies, the ex-pat crowd is small. Sitting and listening to all their stories of travel, Nigeria and other places–it must be fascinating work. I’m in love with anything that involves movement and travel.

The restaurant chef was a tiny Italian women who didn’t speak a word of English. Grandmotherly and sweet, she had been brought down to cook authentic Italian food. She was simply adorable. Armed with an impressive wine selection, this will probably be the best meal I’ll eat for awhile.

Ending the evening with some tea and chitchat, I’m so happy to be back in Africa. The terrible flighty feeling is somewhat at rest now.

Tomorrow, my fellow American will arrive and we will spend the day going to immigrations to extend our visas, buy supplies and prepare to head into the bush!

Back to Africa–Nigeria! How I hate goodbyes…

“I don’t know where my passport is!”

Frantically panicking, one hour until my flight, I’ve misplaced my passport. Two of my friends are trying to calm me down.

“You didn’t leave it at the lab. Just think for a sec.”

Pause. Breathe. Ok. It’s in the bag of silica–phew!

Catching an early morning flight, I’ve arranged for a taxi to come get me around 345AM. Up with some friends and flatmates, the living room is taken over with bags, clothing, rubbish and an assortment of medication.

Why didn’t I sort this out sooner?

The past week has been a blur of 3 hour nights of sleep, errands, getting a visa (the Nigerian embassy does NOT make it easy…), vaccines and last-minute shopping sprees inter-spaced with tequila, beers, jazz, sushi and goodbyes. And everyone knows how I hate goodbyes.

Sharing a last beer and cigarette, the taxi driver waits as they all calm me down.

“You’ll be fine.”

“Checklist? Passport? Yellow card? Plane tickets?”

Ok. Four big bags, a day pack and my purse. So much stuff! Going to Nigeria’s Gashaka-Gumti National Park to follow baboons and take poop samples.

Goodbye hugs…don’t cry.

I wave from the taxi and start crying immediately for the third or fourth time that evening.

“Are you sad?”

“Yes…”

“Are you coming back?”

“Yes…….”

I just can’t handle moments leading up to going away.

At Heathrow, it takes almost 2 hours to get all the bags checked. Near tears, the staff patiently helps me wrap bags together to bring my bag count down to 3 and check them into different places to minimize the amount of extra fees I need to pay. Thank goodness.

London-Frankfurt-Abuja.

Going through customs–I am the last person.

“Can I please get an extension here?”

“No, I can only give you one month.”

“Oh, I’ve heard it may be possible to do it here…it’s just so difficult for me to get to an immigration office once I get to the park.”

He hesitates but holds firm. Feeling some pity for me, he helps me though customs and goes to hire me a cab.

A couple marriage proposals later while getting bags checked, someone is waiting for me out front. Too bad I’ve lost my fake wedding ring. Next stop to my couch surfing host’s house–a German working for the ministry in Abuja. We pass through several police checkpoints and everyone is curious about the massive amount of bags I have.

One police officer though is very kind and gives us directions as we are lost. Patiently drawing out streets in the dust and giving me his phone number if there are any issues.

“I want to go to America. I love America, you should take me with you.”

We finally arrive and there are two American girls on their way out, and they’re from Arizona! My home state. What are the odds?

Chatting a bit with everyone, I finally shower (I forget how hot and dusty it is here!) and pass out after not having slept in almost 2 days.

It’s great to be out of London despite all the drama of leaving.

Busy as a bee…

One year ago, I was enjoying my last month at Lajuma before going to the Democratic Republic of Congo. This year, I’m also preparing for a new journey.

In a month, I’ll begin collecting data for my dissertation. Location? Gashaka-Gumti National Park in Nigeria as part of the Gashaka Primate Project. Study animal? The olive baboon (Papio anubis). I’ll be looking at gastrointestinal parasites–so lots and lots of poop. Again…

Return to the Dark Continent!

I’ll be leaving with another student–also an American! We will be flying into Abuja and taking several taxis until we reach Serti. From there, someone from the field site will pick us up by motorbike–getting to re-live my flight from Iyema in DRC and chapas in Mozambique. We will spend roughly 9ish weeks in the field with no internet access but plenty of baboons and bugs.

So. Excited.

I’ve spent the majority of my time in London sitting in front of a computer and could use some fresh air, adventure and stars. Maybe there will be some good rocks for me to hop on as well? The next month will now be spent creating my behavioural ethogram, finalizing methods, applying to grants and getting vaccines.

As well as panicking. But the good kind.

The class is now splitting up with some girls going to Madagascar, Morocco, Spain, etc etc etc. Surprisingly, the only three boys in the course (out of 24) are all staying in London. Very bittersweet as we are all fairly close–with several girls being the only reason I’m still sane.

Although somewhat dissapointed I’m not collecting data back at Lajuma, very excited to try somewhere new–fingers crossed that Nigeria stays stable enough to conduct my research. But, London is freezing and having had 3 summers in a row, I’m not used to winter. Migration onto warmer climates!

Someone said to me Nigeria will be “a playground” compared to DRC, so hopefully there’s plenty of lianes for me to swing on and trees to climb. 2011 was pretty darn great so here’s to a fantastic (if not frantic) 2012!  

Let’s get a move on shall we?

That feeling where you can’t sit still, your insides are vibrating and you don’t know whether to run or take a shot of whisky to calm yourself down?

Zugunruhe.

My first encounter with this word was while watching Heroes and decompressing after a long day: “When a change comes, some species feel the urge to migrate, they call it zugunruhe. ‘A pull of the soul to a far off place,’ following a scent in the wind, a star in the sky. The ancient message comes calling the kindred to take flight and gather together. Only then they can hope to survive the cruel season to come.”

Sounds a bit romanticized.

A German compound word–like Torschlusspanik (which means “gate-closing panic” and refers to the fear of diminishing opportunities with age)–Zugunruhe perfectly describes this wanderlust that can’t be shaken. Zug means migration; Unruhe is anxiety or restlessness. After spending days and nights sitting in front of a computer (once for almost 25 hours straight), I’m ready to get a move on!

With further googling, a study by Barbara Helm and Eberhard Gwinner from the Max Planck Institute for Ornithology in Germany (2006) popped up. They tested the presence of Zugunruhe in stonechats (Saxicola torquata) and described it as “the urge of captive birds to migrate, [manifesting] itself in seasonally occurring restlessness.” This restlessness exhibits itself in increased nocturnal activity with photoperiodic responses that change seasonally.

Check, check and check.

This term has apparently caught on (awhile ago…)—capturing artist Rachel Berwick in her beautiful 2009-2010 display, Zugunruhe. Writer James Gorman also expresses this universal urge in his 2006 New York Time’s piece It’s Time to Discuss Migration, but I’ve Got to Be Moving On.

Finally! Something to describes this pent-up energy with the only current outlet: cartwheels down empty halls at 3AM during bathroom breaks or vending machine raids for chocolate. Or when procrastinating during a paper–frantic searches for flights to far, far away places.

Strange to think a year ago, I was getting ready to celebrate Christmas down in Lajuma, South Africa. Now I’m stuck in “Hell” most hours of the day (typically nighttime–I’ve turned nocturnal). Hell is the nickname we’ve bestowed upon the Roehampton Whiteland’s 24hr computer room.

Initially–due to being ridiculously hot with tapdancing elephants above and noisy undergraduates within–the name was brought on by a hilarious, delirium driven conversations that only occurs during the wee hours after long hours in front of a computer. With winter, Hell has now frozen over as–for some reason–there’s no way to regulate the temperatures in this room to a comfortable median. Oh well.

Now it’s all primates, primates, primates; reading, dreaming, talking, writing all on primates. It’s been great and insightful being surrounded by people with similar backgrounds but can I get out of London please???

Sometimes, I’m just bursting and frazzled with too much something–zugunruhe. Or even Toska– the Russian word that describes a sense of aching without any specific causes or a vague restlessness.

Despite the beautiful architecture, everything is just too darn expensive to fully enjoy sometimes. City life can be stifling and there’s been no chance of hiking or rock climbing. My home range has been reduced down to 2km² with passage through the “landscape of fear” between home and university.

This landscape of fear refers to the dodgy bit I traverse daily frequented by British youth with nothing better to do than bluff and harass people. Sometimes this escalates, as seen during a stabbing earlier last week when Roehampton security drove me home.

However, coming this spring, I plan on migrating back down to Africa. The plan is currently Nigeria, but who knows?

In the meantime, I’ll need to find an outlet to dispel or distract this feeling. Luckily, a friend from home will be visiting next week after Christmas!

Here’s to cheery holiday spirits to everyone!

London Doris is falling down… (or God Save the Queen?)

This title comes from a short-shorts wearing friend as a suggestion for a new blog name while studying in London. I’ve just had a Mac & Jacks while waiting for boarding to calm the nerves after a tearful goodbye to my mother. They’re currently boarding first class so this will be short.

A little over a year ago, I left for South Africa and now I am off again! Moving slowly towards my goal of studying something on every continent. Exciting, exciting

After a lovely farewell night at The Rez with whisky and a martini (who knew they even had those kinds of glasses? The Rez is classier than I remember!) and an amazing brunch made by Mama Ferris (Maggie Ferris is a saint!), I spent the rest of the weekend with my parents and finally finished packing last night at 1 AM.

And so begins Ch. 2 of this blog: Europe.

Cheers!

 

Home, Sweet Home

A little over two months and 20 lbs later (yes, out of Africa with too much food and alcohol around…I’ve started rock climbing and doing hot yoga to ahem, slim down), I’m preparing to move to London for a Master’s program on September 19th. Just only settled and all caught up with friends and family, I’ve started going through boxes and piles of accumulated goods and would prefer just to give it all away (or burn it…). Africa and being so far away from home has taught me to let go of material things.

Other ways I’ve changed:

• Gotten over my fear of the dark (no joke–an ex-boyfriend bought me a nightlight once but how else can you see the stars?);
• Gotten over my fear of death (it’s actually comforting to someday return to the earth);
• Being alone is quite nice;
• Strangers in general are and can be amazing;
• And being lost is nothing to panic about.

I’ve started to feel a little antsy being situated and inside so long. Between packing and the numerous doctor appointments and check-ups (found out from blood results I had survived another tropical disease, dengue fever, in addition to malaria!), I’ve been trying to go on weekly hikes. What I miss most are the stars at Lajuma. The galaxies and smearing of lights, sleeping outside in crisp, clean air and waking up to the chattering of Samangos overhead.

“Life is tough. It’s full of things that you may not like, but you’ve got to accept them like everybody else…Whenever something’s bothering you, look at the stars; it will remind you how small you really are, and I promise you, you’ll feel much better.” –Coin Locker Babies by Ryu Murakami.

This describes perfectly how I feel after a long day and sadly, the stars here are quite unsatisfyingly dim. However, Seattle is beautiful in the summer with the lakes and surrounding mountains–especially Mt. Rainier. And being home and not living out of a bag and unwinding is comforting. But now I’m almost ready to leave again and excited to move to the UK where I’ll finally get to experience a winter! Having had three summers in a row, I never thought I would be excited to wear sweaters and bundle under blankets.

But feeling the l’appel du vide, soon to be off onto a new adventure in 18 days and hopefully back into the field by 2012! Working on that list, ticking off continents and species, meeting strangers and getting into trouble.

But Oh, Seattle, how I will miss you and kickball with the LEGENDS, backpacking at Mt. Rainier, skinny dipping in bioluminescent algae and other random adventures.