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The commandant stepped out into the one hundred degree heat wearing shorts and a tee shirt. Even though he was not expecting us he greeted us warmly and granted us free access to the whole camp. The furniture was sparse and threadbare but there was a sense of the orderliness and quiet dignity.

The three women from Monrovia who had made a presentation in Abuja explained that we had only a short time to meet with the residents. The commandant sent us to the elected camp leader and the head of the women’s group in the care of a resident. As we walked by the first house, a woman stepped onto the porch and said, “Oh good, you are here to take us home”. Further along scrawled in chalk on a drab brown wall someone had written, “God knows the reasons”.

We met the camp leader and head of the women’s group. The ladies wanted to bring greetings from Liberia, an update on the situation there and share about the results of the Abuja conference. Runners were sent to tell people to come to the Church as soon as they could. As we walked across the homemade wooden bridges that span the fields and link the living areas the homemade church bell began to peal. From all corners people begin flowing toward the open air sanctuary.

Evelyn reported on the Abuja conference and the positive changes she has seen. Theresa read the women’s statement. Clara vowed that the women are committed to continue their campaign until peace returns to the land and they can return home. Evelyn presented a gift of fifty dollars to the camp leader for the welfare of the camp as a token of support from their fellow Liberians in Monrovia. We ended by standing, holding hands around the room and singing the Liberian national anthem, a moving moment of hope and spirit.

The Church was full, every bench filled with women and children, men standing in the aisles and people hanging through the windows. I estimated more than 500 were there with no notice or preparation. The pastor commented that more came without notice than show up for the UN-sponsored meetings.

The spirit is there and they are going on with life as best they can but Liberia — “home” — is clearly where they want to be.

Romeo began surveying our fellow passengers in the gate area. A few minutes later a distinguished looking man in African robes entered with his wife and sat quietly near the gate entrance. Romeo felt drawn to him and as he approached, the man stood to greet him. Romeo asked about travel to Abuja and this unknown man replied, “Perhaps I can help”.

Dr. Musa Moda, Minister of Adult Literacy and Non-formal Education, was not only a high ranking government official but a Christian as well. He and his wife were returning from two weeks in Germany where they had been sharing about the true situation in Nigeria. They were going from Kano to Kaduna before returning to his post in Abuja. He confirmed that the only feasible way to Abuja was by car and promised to help us “arrange transport”. Now we had hope–but still no concrete plans.

Kano was typical of many African airports, with long runways but a small aging terminal building. The KLM jet parked on the tarmac and we stepped out into the 107 degree (F) heat. At the bottom of the stairs we were flanked by agents and soldiers directing us to walk the 150+ yards to the “Arrivals” doorway. A bus waited for Nigerian officials and we were surprised to be ushered onto the bus. As we entered the bus Dr. Mota smiled and welcomed us to Nigeria.

When we entered the terminal building we found a few immigration booths in the dimly lit hall and were greeted with pandemonium. The noise level was rising and people pressed in from all sides. Dr Moda took us aside where he was met by a uniformed man and an immigration official (with an identity badge). They collected our passports and disappeared into the crowd. Soon we were ushered through the immigration lines and asked to identify our luggage, but our passports were still being processed.

A man in white robes stepped up and introduced himself as the Director of the airport. When our passports arrived we began to realize that Romeo’s passport was not only Liberian (an ECOWAS member country) but was also a “Diplomatic” passport. Now we were not just visitors we were “guests” of the government.

We were assisted through customs and welcomed on behalf of the State and Federal governments of Nigeria. We piled into three cars and drove 30 minutes to the Government House for the State of Kano. The governor (a classmate and good friend of Dr. Moda) was resting before the evening’s state affair so we missed meeting him. His Aide-de-camp invited us in for refreshments and began working on a way to get us to Abuja.

Soon we were presented with two options: 1) Drive to Abuja tonight or 2) drive to a hotel in Kano or Kaduna for tonight and begin the journey to Abuja in the morning. We chose the first option (had we chosen the second we would have been certain to miss the most important part of the conference) even though the second was more appealing at the moment. A government station wagon was called and sent out for fueling.

Shortly after 7:00 P.M. the three of us, our luggage, the driver and a uniformed government soldier (with rifle) began the “three hour” journey. The driver kept up a steady 50-60 mph pace (where possible) but even with almost no traffic it still took a full five hours. We stopped six times for toll booths (lit by flashlights, oil lamps or candles) but were more delayed by the fourteen police and military roadblocks which we encountered. These were the moments when government license plates and especially the uniformed soldier’s presence shortened the discussions and smoothed our passage.

At about midnight as we pulled up to the fourteenth roadblock, we could see the city lights of Abuja and breathed a collective sigh of relief that we were finally there. The thought of a warm bed and a quiet room after 30 hours of travel was uppermost in our minds. But “it’s not over until it’s over,” and the worst part of our journey was just beginning.

When the conversations continued and the driver pulled off the road we suspected a problem. The soldier was from a different command and did not have a proper “pass” to enter the capital district. We produced our letter of invitation from the ambassador, passports and hotel reservations and were assured that “we” were approved but the soldier needed clearance. For an hour we sat in the dark and were told “just a few minutes” or “they are coming now”.

Finally some movement began, The man who stopped us took the soldier into his van and we followed him into the city. But with the hotel in sight we turned into the entrance to the presidential palace (and Police barracks), where the soldier was driven away and we were left with three young soldiers. Another hour of “they are coming now” and “it will only be a few minutes”. Finally Romeo convinced them to summon someone with authority who agreed to at least talk. After an animated discussion with Romeo this man could not explain why we were being detained if this was a military procedural problem. He finally agreed to escort us to the hotel, still treating us like suspicious characters. The copies of our invitation letter and our hotel reservations helped us through. It seemed to take forever to check in but by 2:30 A.M. we collapsed into our separate beds. Romeo had been traveling for over 36 hours.

God had seen us through. “When God is for us, who can be against us?”

We arrived for tea and later discovered that lunch was served outside. We chose a nice table in the shade, ordered some fresh lime soda and availed ourselves of the salad. When we got up to see what was next we discovered that the monkeys had decided to share our lunch. The waiter ran over with a slingshot and chased the culprit away with only a spilled drink to show for his (or her) effort. Later a monkey popped out of the bushes only about 3-4 feet away. They may look cute but monkeys can be vicious and will bite and scratch deeply.

After lunch we decided to hire a guide (without whom we would never even have found the trail and for sure never found our way back) and take the 1.5 hour nature “walk” through Gokarna forest. He stopped at the kitchen and picked up a handful of salt.

Seems a major attraction is the Le Meridien golf course cut out of the jungle. We walked the 70+ steps down the hill to the first tee where a troop of 30+ monkeys was occupying the practice green and keeping the golfers at bay. We skirted around them and headed down the first fairway (which seemed narrow to me). The fairway sloped down at a 45 degree angle then up again before the green. Now I am not a golfer but that does seem a bit extreme. In addition to a caddy the golfers have a ball boy who dives into the forest and finds your sliced or hooked shot.

At a bend in the narrow fairway we followed our guide as he dove into the undergrowth and started climbing almost straight up the side of a hill. It is the Monsoon season and it rains every day on and off all day so it was rather muddy and slick. After a healthy climb the ground leveled off and we found ourselves under a canopy of trees with very little undergrowth.

Soon we discovered why our guide had salt. Our “walk in the woods” was not just in rainy season it was also the leach season. There were (literally) thousands of those little critters. Once my eyes focused I could see them about an inch tall kind of standing on their tails on leaves wiggling into position to launch themselves at us. We had to stop often and scrape them off our shoes and socks. Jacqui seemed to get the worst of them at first but we all collected our share. Then it started to rain. The tall leafy canopy keeps out the sun but not the rain. In seemed strangely incongruous to me to be walking through a forest with a multicolored umbrella over my head. But… whatever works. The umbrella was later folded and used to beat back those pesky leaches.

Then we noticed the soldiers with rifles giving us the once over. Later to find out that the Crown Prince was playing golf today and this was part of his protection detail.

Eventually we reemerged onto the golf course and after letting a twosome play through climbed back up a 45 degree hill and then up the 70+ steps to the hotel proper. David and Jacqui went off to their room with plans for us all to meet up at the swimming pool shortly.

Once back my room I peeled off my muddy shoes in the bathroom. The bloodstains on my left sock told me all was not well. I climbed into the shower and pulled off the socks. Sure enough five of those little buggers had gotten into my shoe and through my sock and were happily munching away at my left ankle. I removed each of them in turn but the floor continued to turn red. Seems that to make a leach more effective nature has equipped them to secrete an anticoagulant that keeps the blood flowing freely. The flow kept up for a couple of hours even after soaking my feet in the Jacuzzi.

This is one of those trips where nothing comes easy, even a simple “walk in the woods”.

The time away was a welcome sanity break after a high stress week and before an even more stressful one ahead.

PS: Miracles do happen; The Nepal Stock Exchange began live electronic trading on August 17, 2007.

Tuesday through Saturday was a holiday in Nepal. Worked Tuesday and Friday but everything was closed Wednesday and Thursday.

David and Jacqui (Australians who had lived in Vietnam before coming to Nepal) suggested going to Dhukilhel for the festival days when things were closed.

It was an hour and a half drive over rough roads with few signposts but David negotiated it like a local and we arrived around noon. There was one snowcapped peak sticking out but the rest were covered by clouds which is apparently a typical occurance. We decided to hike through the village to a local temple which the map said was a 20 minute “walk”. Perhaps for a mountain goat it was, but it took us over an hour and was all uphill. David reckons we were around 5,500 feet above sea level. On the top was a small restaurant where we had tea and crackers. There were soldiers sitting around drinking tea who quickly picked up their rifles and stood guard. The locals came up the gravel road by motorbike. We headed down accompanied by a local dog who was quite friendly but liked to get underfoot.

Around six in the evening we gathered around a large round fireplace next to the dining room along with about a dozen others that had arrived. We were the only ones speaking English. Sitting around a roaring fire with a glass of wine listening to chatter from across the globe is one of those unusual moments that helps one reflect on the nature of the world community.

The rooms had no heat but the large feather beds and blankets were cozy as long as I stayed in bed. They even turned on the hot water in the evening and the morning for showers. My balcony overhung the valley which stretched out for miles and down quite a long way. I woke up in the middle of the night and looked out the window between the curtains which I had left open so as not to miss the sunrise. The sky was filled with stars in the pitch black sky and the lights from the huts below seemed like another field of stars reflecting the heavens.

I awoke at dawn. Keen to see the mountains emerge, but alas all I could see was mist and fog right up to my window. I cannot deny my disappointment, but the sounds of a flute and drums floated up from the valley below and the laughter and chanting followed soon after.

As we sat outside having breakfast the fog began settling downward away from us. As it settled into the valley it looked like a sea slowly receding as the tide from the shore. Slowly but relentlessly it moved, and as it sank away I looked up and the mist seemed to quietly slide down the mountainsides revealing stark white peaks tinted orange with the light of the dawning sun. Within the hour a panoarama of peaks appeared emerging from west to east. Instead of hiking we ordered tea and sat for several hours watching the rugged peaks appear one at a time.

What art man that Thou are mindful of him in the face of the majesty of God’s creation.

We checked out and drove about a third of the way around the valley to another hotel for lunch outside with a view of the mountains. After lunch we hiked a couple hours into a nearby village on the ridge. It was populated with rough brick huts and houses perched on the hillside, accompanied by various chickens, goats and water buffalo along side. One neatly dressed young man came out and invited us to see his house. Inside was a dirt floor with a hollow cut out for the cooking fire. What surprised me was the bright shiney stainless steel pots and pans for cooking that could have come from a Crate and Barrel store. Everything was sparse and the blankets worn but clean and neat. He offered to have us see the upstairs but the bamboo ladder did not not look like it was built for westerners. The children followed us everywhere chattering away in surprisingly good English as we looked out over the valley at the Himalyayas beyond.

Saturday evening we (Judy, Ivea and Mike & Debbie) arrived at the dock shortly after 7pm. I had just found out that the schedule was to cruise until 11:30 then dock and disco until 2am. Midnight sounded late but survivable. It was a “dinner cruise” but the caterer had a mixed reputation and the buffet table was a mob scene so we had eaten leftovers at Judy’s earlier. This left us in strategic command of the dessert table and the free champagne bar while others jockeyed for their food.

The boat was something like the Wendella and other cruise ships on the Chicago river or something like our Li river trip in Gulin. It was a two deck ship and the top deck & tables were jammed so we staked out a spot on the lower deck at the back of the boat on some life preserver boxes. We were between the stairway to the upper deck just below the band and the only toilet on board. The trip was for Expatriates (Expats) and I discovered that most of them were Brits and not that many Americans. Did some mingling (which is the reason I wanted to go) but not much mixing went on.

The river trip was beautiful. Great view of the city with gold capped cathedrals and forests punctuated with beaches and underside views of massive bridges. Later we could see the stars clearly from the boat.

An hour or so into the trip I stopped to survey the remains of the food table and briefly exchanged pleasantries with a Canadian chap in a black shirt and white jacket (hereinafter referred to as the Guy) who was rather boisterous and was wrapped around a young Ukrainian woman (hereinafter referred to as Girl1). I proceeded on my assigned task, procured Champagne and returned to the team hangout in the stern. Later I observed the Guy at a table on the upper deck at a table with Girl1 (who was now wearing his jacket) and Girl2.

Later I was sitting in the back of the boat chatting with an American woman who heads the US/Ukrainian High School exchange program. There was some shouting and we looked up to see a passenger with his forearm on the neck of the Guy pinning him against the wall outside of the toilet. We intervened and separated the two. As the angry man and his female friend (in white French costume) screamed at the Guy about how revolting he was. I took her by the arm and escorted her to the stairs out of sight of the Guy. By now much alcohol had been consumed all around and good judgment was not at it’s best.

Shortly thereafter another man came down the stairs, turned the corner, walked up to the Guy and punched him in the face. He went down like a brick, his glasses went flying and again intervention was appropriate. One lens of the Guy’s glasses had popped out and some time was spent locating it.

It was shortly after 11pm and the boat had made several turns up and down river and now appeared headed for the dock for which I was grateful. It had been pleasant but I was tired and needed a good night’s sleep. It would also be more difficult to get home after midnight as the busses, trolleys & trams shut down and the taxis are not such a good deal.

I looked up and saw a man on the outside of the railing moving toward the rear of the boat. I presumed it was a crew member preparing for docking. As he moved out of the shadow into the light I recognized “the Guy”. He just stood there on the rear corner of the boat. I looked back a Judy (whom I was talking to) and when I looked back he was gone. There was a splash and I could see the ripples and what appeared to be thrashing behind us. Ieva ran up the stairs and told the organizing committee to call the captain. I sprinted the distance of the ship on the lower deck and told the crew to tell the captain. I ran back to the stern but by now we could see nothing.

Ieva had watched the whole scene develop. the Guy stood, looked back at the boat, then turned (appeared intentional not a slip) and jumped. When he hit the water he appeared to thrash like someone who was in trouble. If you also include that he was drunk, irrational and the current was strong the prospects were not promising. What was it? A drunken Stupid/Stupor, an act of dispair, a suicide? We could only ponder and pray as the boat circled and searched. These things happen so fast that they leave you with a sense of unreality. No instant replay to try and grasp what occurred. The surge of emotion as the consequences of the action come to mind

The boat turned back but it was tricky business at night with buoys and shallows on both sides. Several of the crew appeared with life preservers and one stripped to his briefs and put on a life jacket, ready to go in after the Guy. We circled and cruised what the captain thought was the area with many people looking and a searchlight sweeping the water and shore for a couple of hours before abandoning the search. Later a small Police boat arrived and started cruising in along the shore.

As we neared the dock a patrol boat came along side and we stood offshore for 15-20 minutes. Judy, Ieva and I were escorted to the Bridge where we found a Police Officer, a British woman from the organizing committee who had observed the incident, Girl1, Girl2 and the woman who sold us the tickets (who was also a translator). We were told the we were to go the police station to file a report.

The policemen wanted all of us and the entire organizing committee to come to the police station with them. Everyone else disembarked and headed home. We left the boat together and followed the policeman across the deserted dock a few blocks up to the “station”. Two boat crew came as well but the British woman and organizing committee were not seen again.

They took us into small room that appeared to be an interrogation room with bars on the windows. In the hallway was a steel door to what appeared to be the “cell” They then took the 2 crew and Girl1 into their main “control room”. The control room had a bank of phones with selection buttons (circa 1950’s) and a VHF radio console (circa 1960’s). The man in charge asked the questions and proceeded to record the information by hand (rather laboriously and slow) while he was asking questions. I took a short trip to the toilet which was a squat affair reminiscent of rural Syria or perhaps the yellow mountains level. Did not stay long.

Some time after 3am we were ushered into the control room to have our statements recorded. The policeman asked us to tell him what we saw and asked some questions during the process. The translator gave him our answers and he “carefully” inscribed them on his paper. (Oh for a tape recorder and word processor at that moment). By 4am we had finished, still puzzled by the turn this was taking.

During the interrogation the translator tried to call the Canadian Embassy (wrong number and the American she rang was was no doubt shocked to get awakened). They then called his hotel. The plot began to thicken. The hotel claimed he had arrived dripping wet and locked himself in his room for the night. The timing of when he jumped, where we were, and the logistics of getting to the hotel didn’t appear to work. Meanwhile the policemen got distracted and the translator showed us what was found in the Guy’s jacket pockets. Along with some money was a condom and a pair of handcuffs. Apparently both Girl1 and Girl2 had admitted to sleeping with the Guy who had only been in town for a week.

Was he alive in bed at the hotel or floating in the river somewhere?

About 4:10am an officer came with a car and took us home. The translator remarked “you have a rare opportunity, the sunrises are very beautiful in Kyiv”. About 4:30 am I crashed in my new bed, turned off the alarm and gave thanks that it was over.

Epilogue:
Two days later we were told that he had indeed made it to shore and his hotel. Rumor has it that the Canadian Embassy personnel showed up and escorted him to the airport

The next morning we took his scooter to a place where we met one of his friends. We then drove through Bombay, down crowded streets and eventually through the center of the city past the Air Inda building and business center and on to the other side of the city.

AIDS was a growing problem and the government was beginning to had out free condoms. Of particular interest to this group was the young prostitutes. Many of these girls (and they were indeed children) had been kidnapped or even sold by their parents into virtual slavery as prostitutes and the men using them thought condoms were unmanly so refused to use them. This put these girls at high risk.

After lunch our host announced a field trip. We piled into cars and shortly thereafter I found myself standing in front of a row of dilaptdated wooden buildings where these girls were forced to work. I was completely shocked when one of the madams invited us to go inside and see what the place was like. It was dark and dingy and each girl had a bed with a curtain across it where she not only “worked” but also lived. It was appalling and distressing but intriguing at the same time. Our host told us the going rate was the equivalent of about seventy five cents. Now I knew why these people felt so strongly about doing something about the situation.

When we returned we found people crowded around a television set. Thirteen bombs had gone off across Bombay. The Air India building we had passed was in ruins and a shop we had passed had been destroyed by a motorcycle bomb. Viju tryed to call home but the authorities had shut off telephone service and all main highways were closed and guarded by troops..

The problem was how to get home. Viju hired a taxi who took us as far as he could go. We walked to a train station and found the cross town trains were partially running. We took a train to another stop where Viju engaged a rickshaw to maneuver the back streets. Then we walked again until we arrived at his scooter and headed home on the scooter.

I knew my wife would hear about this on the morning news so it seemed best that I let her know I was OK. We stopped at Viju’s house to send home a FAX (this is before email and internet). I FAXed my wife that I was safely in Bombay where thirteen bombs had gone off that day and Viju had taken me to a brothel.

The systems were installed and running fine when I returned to Chicago. A few weeks later we got a fax that there were problems. The computers were all failing on a regular basis. It was crisis time, loss of data and program crashes were not a good thing.

John drove up from Nairobi the next day to investigate. He stayed the day and saw the actual failures with his own eyes. He called me in Chicago the next morning after he got back to Nairobi. The falures all happened at about 10:00 am. The screens start flickering, the data in memory starts doing wierd things and everything soon grinds to a halt. So what happens at 10;00 am I asked. That is Chai time. Chai is tea. so just before tea time all the ladies plug in their tea kettles to heat water for Chai. But we put UPSs on all the systems I responded. Yes but they make that awful buzzing racket so they were all unplugged and set aside. The computer outlets are conveniently located and the standard outlets were hard to get at so they plugged the teakettles into the red computer outlets. The meter showed the voltage supposedly 220VAC dropping down below 140 volts. No wonder the memory was failing with the daily brownout.

So what to do? We wrote up instructions on how to save files and power down the computers every day before Chai. Procedures we can change, culture we cannot.

Jim needed to visit their office in Moshi, Tanzania (at the base of Mount Kilimanjaro) and wanted some company for the drive. We were driving the company car.

I had meetings in the morning so we put my bags it the car after breakfast. Jim picked me up from my office later in the morning. He negotiated the Nairobi traffic amazingly well for an American and soon we were out in the desert sailing along a rather nice highway toward the Tanzanian border.

Now it was time to let me drive. I had my international license but had never driven on the left side of the road before. It wasn’t so bad on the open highway with no other traffic. We were not alone though. My heart skipped a beat when a gazelle leapt across the road in front of us. I was going to have to be just as alert as if I was on an expressway back home. We would occasionally see baboons hanging from trees on the side of the road, a Masai trying to sell us an ostrich egg and the usual zebras and wildebeest along both sides of the highway.

The border crossing was at Namanga. We pulled up to the immigration/customs building (barely more than a shack) to get our passports stamped. Across the road was a tiny kiosk run by an Indian trader selling a bit of everything to whomever would come by.

I found myself standing in front of the building with the Kenyan border guard. I was still wearing my blue business suit, white shirt and red tie from the morning’s meeting. I was flanked on either side by Masai warriors with their bright red robes, gigantic earrings and tall spears. It was and incredible site Jim wanted desperately to take a picture but had heard too many stories about the Masai sticking spears through people foolish enough to risk a photo.

I needed a passport and visa, the Masai did not, they just wandered back and forth across the border whenever it suited them.

My final mental picture as we got into the car to leave was of the young Masai woman sitting along side the road, nursing her infant child and drinking a coke.