Exposures


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Another Kind Of Journey

Text by Patty Simon | Images by Dick Simon
India

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There are so many reasons to travel but the best is when you slowly and surprisingly realize the purpose.

I always thought it was about seeing new and different places…

Checking off a list of sights and getting to know people in unique cultures.

But I am beginning to see a connection to what I am drawn to and it starts with my last few years at home.

I find myself always hungry to go into the next slum so I can witness and understand firsthand poverty and suffering.

I say this at the risk of being a downer. At home, the last couple of years have pushed me in this direction. My quest for understanding the homeless population in Boston has led me to the horrific Rwandan genocide to Apartheid townships and now the slums of Mumbai. I feel like I am drawn to the streets, the poor, the struggling – the question of “who” they are, how they got there and the million dollar question – what is the most effective way of helping these people?

There are many experts on this subject, many people already doing great work to chip away at this enormous problem and people like me, who find it overwhelming. One finds an air of “acceptance”. I have often wondered why foreign NGO’s are doing a lot of the work that the local rich could do. Many are… And I admit my exposure is very limited.

What I come away with are more the philosophical big universal questions like a Why does it exist at all? Why does it continue?  Why does it become invisible to our consciousness?

I pose this to you and would love to get feedback! All of you have your own wise thoughts that might help me put this puzzle of puzzlement together.

I look forward to hearing from you.

 


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Varanasi – City of Death

Text by Patty Simon | Images by Dick Simon
India

Have you ever been to a place almost 30 years ago and go back and feel like nothing has changed?

I remember the first time I went to Varanasi, it was all about fire and water and little clay pots.

We are here to watch the open-air cremations (2-300 per day) by the sacred River Ganges. All Hindus wish for this end, the most holy, and the best opportunity for nirvana.

It is all quite dramatic! As I wander thru the narrow lanes of the old city splashed with offerings on shrines found in every nook and cranny and vendors selling strings of marigolds, incense, shrouds woven with gold and tins of ghee to rub on the deceased for better burning… I watch families of mourners carrying their loved one’s body (one every five minutes).

Night seems to enhance these ancient rituals. It also conveniently covers up the “impure” habits of these wonderful people… The idea that garbage of any kind should be left anywhere and everywhere.

So, I prefer the darkness. It highlights the stacked pyres of wood (there is actually a rule governing how much wood a family is required to buy inI order for the body to be burned down to ash). I know there is a body burning but the blackness protects my sensibility and I only see the beautiful reflection of the flames on the water along with tiny tins of flower and votive offerings – one of which was mine! This is all quite charming in water that by day is full of trash, excrement, cinder and an occasional coin or gold necklace that was wrapped in the body and a scavenger will find the next day with a magnet fishing pole.

The cremations are the focus along with a beautiful ceremony, called Aarti, held at the edge of the river on platforms holding red-robed priests blowing conch shells, ringing bells, burning incense and brass pyramids of tiny candles chanting blessings galore.

As if this is not enough to burn a lifetime of memories into our minds, the next day brings another boat ride viewing pastel buildings of the past, the ‘ghats’ (steps leading to river) where locals are washing themselves, even brushing their teeth (remember in the same water as the night before!), and washing their clothes (beating the dirt out on a stone slab). Oh, and did I mention the sacred cow or two that seem to be using the river too!

Still, one can’t help but fall in love with the color, the ritual, and the seduction of the Hindu faith in the afterlife where life always gets to a better place.

 


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India Arrival and First Impressions

Text by Patty Simon | Images by Dick Simon
India

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Capetown to Dubai – 9 hours
Layover in Dubai – 4 hours
Dubai to Mumbai – 3 hours

I was apprehensive, curious and excited to be going back to India. What I remember is a place of dense population and colors everywhere mixed with a smog made of dust, automobile exhaust, humidity and poverty with a touch of the rich and famous (Dick’s friends from HBS and YPO).

In the last 2 days, we have dined in luxury… had incredible conversations about slum rehab and doing business in China from an Indian’s point of view… Visited Dharavi – the slum of “Slum Dog Millionaire”… Driven thru Kamati Pura – the red light district hearing the horrific stories of sex trafficking… Learned about “Pavement Dwellers”  – whole families literally sleeping on the streets and if you are lucky, under a piece of ragged plastic or fabric… Dhobi Gaat – the historically famous open-air laundry where “only” men use 730 cement vats to wash and line dry laundry… And lastly, the famous delivery of 200,000 lunch boxes daily by white capped men to all parts of the city. (Harvard Business School has done a case study where there is less than 1 mistake in 6 million deliveries.)

I am overwhelmed by the air pollution “thick as soup”, the crazy traffic, the garbage everywhere, the professional courtesy of the staff at the Oberoi, the thousands if not millions in poverty, the crumbling buildings, the makeshift shack stores, the opulent wealth, the ugly underbelly that every city can have but this major city shows too much of it, the marigold garlands adorning the doorway for good luck and the industriousness of making recycling big business in the slums.

I seem to be always attracted to the struggling, the poor and the history of how they got there. In every instance, I have been pleasantly surprised that our view of “slums” now includes the term “work” and “upward mobility”. These people are still stuck and it is not happening fast enough.

I had a strange experience. When I landed and took a taxi to our hotel, I was so overwhelmed by all of the above. Then I went to the slums which are ten times worse and looked at the same hotel route with new eyes- all relative.

Which brings me to my final thought… All this ultimately forces me to look at what ails our own country – our poverty, our policies, our homeless and unemployed. We are all in this together!

 


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Capetown

Text by Patty Simon | Images by Dick Simon
South Africa

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We just put Alex and Ben in a taxi to go home via Dubai. It is very sad to let them go. We had so much fun. Sacred time for me.

Cape Town is a cross between San Francisco and Boston set up against the sheer cliffs of Table Mountain and Lions Head, next to the Atlantic. We stayed in a private home that was cosmically a mix of my mother’s taste and mine. I felt like I had come home. Quite charming. We were lucky to be there Jan. 2 for the New Years Carnival Parade – brightly colored satin costumes and faces painted with glitter designs. Great band music. You can imagine how many pics Dick took while I have lots of video. We visited Robbins Island (like Alcatraz) where Mandela’s spent 18 of his 27 years in prison in a tiny cell. Our guide had been a prisoner himself. The highlight of our time for me was visiting many townships like Soweto where different NGO projects are happening. We visited a youth choir, women’s craft coop, organic community garden, tasted fried lamb fat and liver and watched a man making a living skinning cow heads piled up in a shopping cart (great video to share!). And, most importantly, collected lots of bottle caps – my new art material. (If anyone has any ideas on what to do with them, please let me know!)

So, I will end South Africa with this. Though I had a wonderful time and met wonderful people, I just could not shake the idea that though Apartheid has “ended”, the chasm between the rich and famous and the poorest of the poor to the tune of 1.6 million is still there. We heard time and time again that if it were not for the sanctions, Apartheid would still be existing. I spent my whole time trying to understand. Nelson Mandela was truly a miracle worker. I just wish we could clone him to continue his great work!

On to India!

 


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South Africa – Kruger

Text by Patty Simon | Images by Dick Simon
South Africa

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Our time in the great outdoors was incredible. We were the only guests, which meant our game drives at 5am and 5pm were fantastic because we could stay out or go anywhere we wanted.

Highlights included:

* The lodge itself – a huge flood last year wiped out the property so we walked into a brand new gorgeous home with cathedral ceilings of thatch, patio with dipping pool set with electric fencing all around close to a watering hole where we saw elephant, hyenas, baboon and impala come and go.

* First day found a pride of lions with youngsters, and lazy male. That night we  tracked them sleeping on the road hearing incredible roars back and forth.

* Driving on a ridge with a river below… Saw our first rhino – rhino are being poached at the rate of two a day – herds of elephants with babies, kudu, and bright blue kingfishers.

* Migrating Quelea- thousands of birds that swarm and make little balloon nests out of grass.

* Tracking leopard tracks on road we find vultures that give away the location of the kill made the night before. Smelling the rot of decay we find the eaten carcass of a young buffalo.

* And, of course, giraffe, herds of impala, more elephants, and much more.

We hated leaving but travel is travel and we head to Cape Town.

 


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South Africa – Soweto

Text by Patty Simon | Images by Dick Simon
South Africa

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I left you reading about the Pygmies or Twa in Rwanda making pottery, singing and dancing.

I mentioned that our flight to South Africa became somewhat of a nightmare – one needs a different kind of endurance while traveling… Finding energy to keep going until the next opportunity to put your head on a pillow.

What happened? Little did we know we were entering into a marathon. Arriving at Kigali airport at 11am only to find out our flight does not “exist”. Rule number one, always confirm flights. The next flight is one in the morning, which means we stay up all night. I always find the silver lining and it was visiting the Twa, have dinner and go back to airport at 11:30, fly out at 1:30 am, arrive Joburg at 5:30am where we are met by our guide and taken on a city tour till noon. We visit Mandela’s first home with Winnie, the mansion he lives in now, the famous township, Soweto, which was quite interesting as it has three distinct sections – the shacks for the poorest of the poor, government housing and what they call Beverly Hills (suburban houses where people have good jobs and choose to stay in Soweto… The reason? Close community.) We visited museums explaining some of the complicated history around Apartheid. We jump back on the plane to take a 2 hour flight to Kruger National Park where we are met and driven another two hours to the private game lodge, nDzuti Lodge run by Judy and Bruce. By dinner we had stayed up for almost 40 hours! I call that a full day(s)!

 


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The Pygmies – The Tua

Text by Patty Simon | Images by Dick Simon
Rwanda

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We travel down a bumpy, muddy clay road going through smaller and poorer villages until we see a barefoot woman sitting outside of a mud and clay hut, making a pot. The Tua (or pygmies) comprise only 1% of Rwanda’s population. They are the poorest in the country and JP told us they will want money. This is such a dilemma in traveling.

We do not encourage “begging”. JP once told us when boys were asking for money that if we gave them something, it would not only encourage more “asking”. They would quit going to school. He said little children show off their cute smile and get coins but as they grow up, their cuteness wears off and their only recourse is to turn to stealing. They end up in prison. JP told a great story about when he found one of these boys. He coaxed and threatened and even fed him breakfast everyday to get him to school. The boy is now finishing secondary school and has a scholarship for college!

So, back to the Tua. I use my IPhone to video the pot making. Hand built. They use the broken bottom of a round fired pot to turn the clay. No fancy wheel. As I video all the children start watching the camera as if it is a movie and all they need is popcorn. Once they figure out they are on film, the kids create a choir and the young women begin to chant and dance. They get Alex and me to dance and JP starts taking our picture. Quite funny! By the time we finish, we have attracted a huge group all expecting a “gift”. What to do? JP suggests giving to the head of village so he presents $50 USD – a small fortune! They cheer, and then bicker. Will there be a fight? Uh oh! What have we done? JP gets out of car and sets them all straight. Ah, a happy ending… We think!


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Leaving Rwanda – well, almost

Text by Patty Simon | Images by Dick Simon
Rwanda

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I woke up this morning sad to leave Rwanda. Sad for many reasons. I have been reading Philip Gourevitch’s book about the genocide. In it was yet another horrific description of barbaric behavior – using machetes the “genocedaires” would chop off each foot, each arm just to watch the suffering of the Tutsi. Think about Dian Fossey’s favorite gorilla named “Digit”. He suffered the exact same fate from the poachers. I put that fact together as I was laying in bed. I believe the gorillas have fared well with its $18 million revenue brought in by 25,000 visitors each year. I wonder if the Tutsi’s have done as well. I believe they have because of Kagame’s leadership and pragmatism. I read that Kagame was a Rwandan refugee in Uganda since the age of four so his wish was a sense of belonging for every person in Rwanda.

So my sadness around the genocide will always be a part of me. Today we visited JP’s family where I learned that his wife went back to her hometown to be with her parents only to have them murdered. She ran and hid in the forest for months. These families all carry so much loss… too much sadness hangs in the air like the mists hanging around the volcanoes.

I am sad to leave this landscape and its people. Ah, the countryside. Everyone is outside. Everyone is going somewhere. Everyone is carrying something – a baby on their back, a load of firewood on a child’s head, a mattress, a sack of potatoes, a plastic bowl of pineapples, a yellow water jug, and a hoe balanced just so. Most walk for hours long distances and others who have a source of income bicycle, take a motorcycle taxi or public buses. The men shake hands and the women shyly smile. The country is spotless because two years ago they banned plastic bags. Now they just need to work on car pollution. The politeness is impeccable. The “muzungu” (white person) curiosity everywhere. There is a mix of blue jeans and kanga cloth.

Rwanda is a tiny jewel of Africa with great leadership. If the hate can disappear then it will have a bright future.

I must end with another quote by JP, “My generation has to die of old age before we can be rid of the memories of murder.”

Oh, “the almost”? We made a huge mistake not confirming our flights. As punishment, we get to airport only to find out the flight doesn’t exist. The next flight is tonight at 1 am! Ugh! But we had a great day!

 


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Gorillas

Text by Patty Simon | Images by Dick Simon
Rwanda

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Our guide for the gorilla trek, Frances, tells us we will be visiting the Amohoro group of 18 (which means ‘peace’ – befitting Rwanda’s thinking for its future).  The largest gorilla group, called Susa, has 35 members. There are 10 habituated groups and 4 or 5 others. The park divides visitors into groups of 8 people. We trekked with a Canadian, Australian and a Brazilian couple. To get to the trailhead, we have a 4-wheeler that goes on the worst rocky road ever with villagers everyday watching the rich parade up the volcanoes. There are 25,000 visitors a year @ $750 per person for permits. This is not counting paying porters and tips for guides and hotels, drivers, food and buying handicrafts. One has to feel good about this because it supports the economy, protects the gorillas and proves that Dian Fossey’s work and murder was not in vain. There has been no poaching for ten years.

After bumping along, we arrive at the start and hire 2 porters dressed in blue jumpsuits. They very politely introduce themselves. In true ‘You are Loved’ form, my porter is named Valentine. He was so very sweet, holding my hand on the steep ups and downs! We are given a well-worn walking stick and start!

We begin by going through fields of daisies used to make pyrethrum insect repellant. It was heavenly. Potato blossoms and children yelling “hello, hello”!

We are joined by 3 guards with guns to protect us from buffalo and the occasional elephant. But the real threats are not animal but vegetable… stinging nettles taller than me and giant thistle (along with bamboo) are the favorite foods of the gorillas. We climb for 2 hours. Our guide stops, tells us we are here, leave backpacks and get out our cameras. The first one appears. I am so overwhelmed by this experience, I start crying. To see this giant, healthy and happy, in its true environment and not trapped in a cement cage behind bars is quite stunning. Funny enough – I find myself not scared at all. They ignore us. I shot a lot of video. What did we see! A silverback pushing a tree trunk toward us to show who is boss.  A mother and tiny baby frolicking in the grass. Juveniles doing the monkey thing – swinging from branch to branch. The best was a huge male and female climbing and totally debarking a tree (for lunch!)

We were 5 feet away… Just watching for the allotted one magic hour! And like Cinderella, it was over! As we were going down, a guide asked “Are you satisfied”? I answered, “A thousand times yes!!!” These gorillas represented all that is possible… Especially in contrast to the rest of Rwanda’s past.

 


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Finding The Monkeys

Text by Patty Simon | Images by Dick Simon
Rwanda

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Nyungwe Lodge is literally plopped in the middle of a tea plantation. Early morning brings the pickers, wearing pieces of plastic used as an apron, plucking handfuls of the youngest light green leaves from the top of each plant. The young men and women throw the leaves behind into a woven basket. Sometimes the bottoms of the baskets are worn out and patched with red or green plastic netting.

We see all this as we are eating French toast with honey and fresh banana, and of course, Rwandan black tea!

We arrange to go see the Colobus monkey – shiny black with whiskers of white fur around the face and running down each arm. They have long tails that are used for balance, not to hang from branches. They never drink water… only eat leaves.

The babies were adorable – miniatures of their parents. The newborns are all white and cling to their mothers for dear life. The families spend their time eating and playing with each other, which sometimes lead to skirmishes of bared teeth. Eventually they swing from tree to tree to move on. (If the young are too small to swing through the canopy, they jump to the ground and quickly run to the next grove of trees.)

We watch for hours as if it is just another lazy afternoon laying in the tea fields with a women trekker nearby. It is one of those magic moments of travel. Not moving, just “being” with the landscape and what it has to offer… in this case, beautiful Colobus monkeys.

We get close and watch a juvenile pick leaves and chew them up. Sometimes they stare at us and give us a photo opportunity and sometimes they all have their backs to us. What must they think of us?

After getting a great view of the white baby with its mother and seeing eye-to-eye through binoculars, we head back to the lodge for a beautiful lunch. I take a swim in the infinity pool set next to the forest and then join the family to watch  “Gorillas in the Mist” – preparing for what everyone says is the highlight of our time in Rwanda.

Merry Christmas to All from Rwanda!