to move up and down
albert9
on tour
at the winery.
ami.
couples.
sophie.
Der Herr Schöne
Aus lauter Langeweile schaute ich heute GZSZ, nein halt, DSDS heisst die Sendung. Deutschland sucht den Superstar. Läuft schon ähnlich lange. Da macht einer mit, der heisst Herr Schöne. Er hatte lustige, wilde Korkenzieherlocken die auf den Seiten mit dem Bartschneider schön säuberlich eliminiert worden waren. Nur oben wuchsen sie wild in den Himmel und nach vorne in die Stirne. Nicht ganz so schön, wie dies der Name vermuten liesse. Wenn sich Herr Schöne nicht grad beim Bohlen zum Affen macht, ist er Musicaldarsteller. Ich hasse Musicals. Und dem Herr Schöne sah man an, dass er in solchen mitwirkt. Steif wie ein Stock stand er da und schaute ein wenig weinerlich in die Gegend, was mich nicht verwunderte, weil das Leben meint es nicht besonders gut mit einem, der Musicaldarsteller ist. Das ist ein wenig wie wenn einer sagt, er sei Maler und alle denken “oh, ein Künstler” aber in Wahrheit malt er Hausfassaden an.
Auf jeden Fall hat Herr Schöne zwar voll musicalmässig ausdrucksstark aber eben sehr schlecht gesungen und als es dann zur Entscheidung kam, hat er vorher noch ein wenig herumgeheult wegen seiner schwierigen Kindheit (womit er nicht der einzige in der Sendung war, offenbar ist das der neuste Trick, aber da kommt der Bohlen dann auch nochmal dahinter, so in der übernächsten Staffel) und dass ihm alle immer gesagt hätten, er bringe es zu nichts. Was ja jetzt mit der Musicalgeschichte ganz offensichtlich auch der Fall ist. Es war so rührselig, ich musste beinahe ein bisschen Erbrechen. Allen Vorhersagen zum Trotz ist der Herr Schöne dann tatsächlich weitergekommen. Und zwar in die Liveshows. Das muss etwas wirklich, wirklich Schönes sein weil der Herr Schöne ist nach der Urteilsverkündung faktisch durchgedreht. Nach einem veritablen Heulkrampf gefolgt von minutenlangem “danke, danke, ich hab es geschafft, der Herr Schöne hat endlich mal irgendetwas richtig gemacht, der Herr Schöne wird es allen zeigen, der Herr Schöne ist der glücklichste Mensch auf der Welt, blabla” (er hat tatsächlich immer in der dritten Person von sich gesprochen, so wie Alex Frei, aber das erstaunt mich jetzt grad überhaupt gar nicht) hat er sich schliesslich sämtliche Kleider vom Leib gerissen mit Ausnahme einer sehr kleinen Unterhose und sich in die Fluten des Indischen Ozeans (die Sendung wurde auf den Malediven aufgenommen) geworfen und gejauchzt. Ich habe nicht gejauchzt. Ich habe geschrien. Genau so, wie wir früher, beim Skirennen, wenn der Helmut Höflehner runtergedonnert ist, laut “ghei um, ghei um” geschrien haben, bin ich vom Sofa aufgestanden, ganz nah an den Fernseher herangegangen und mit voller Insbrunst gekräht: “Ertrink! Ertrink!”
Courage, respire!
Three stories from a journey into the heart of Africa.
Monsieur Fulgence‘s Meat Theory
„What do you mean they don’t eat meat?“ says Monsieur Fulgence. He is our guide and after a while of cruising around in the stunning Akagera National Park in the far east of Rwanda, we felt like it‘s the right time to discuss some cultural differences.
„Well, they just don‘t like it.“
He shakes his head: „Ha! I could eat meat every day! I love meat! Especially pork, which is hard to find in Rwanda.“ Then he laughs long and hard and it starts to smell a bit of exotic spices in the Toyota Landcruiser, we‘re using to travel the bumpy roads of Rwanda. After a moment of silence, Monsieur Fulgence explains: „You know, I have this theory: The most clever creatures are those who eat both, meat and plants. Like human beings. Followed by the ones who eat only meat. Like lions for example, or leopards. And the most stupid animals are those who eat nothing but plants. So why should I choose to be stupid?“
He stares puzzled into the grassland. After a while, he takes out the little book of birds he’s carrying around, flips a random page and starts to read, carefully keeping one eye on the surrounding, not to miss a single thing.
Maybe this is the main difference between people in Africa and Europeans: Not missing a single thing. Whereas we‘re fed up with options and possibilities, which results in the fact that „not doing something“ is the real luxury, the Rwandans got that hunger of doing everything. We‘re struggling with work-like-balance and they, frankly, couldn‘t care less. Living is working and vice versa. It‘s all about getting the chance to take that next step, which leads to a bit more wealth, a bit more comfort and finally a bit more meat.
In the Jungle with the Russians
After a 90 minutes drive and a two hours walk you‘re finally there. „Welcome to the jungle,“ says the guide. Followed by some advices which you don‘t get since he speaks English like a rattlesnake. Fast and furios. The slightly overweight Russian-American girl in your group of eight is breathing as if she just gave birth to a fully grown-up ape. You offer some water, which is neglected. A tall mocca from Starbucks would probably do the trick. But you‘re in the jungle and Starbucks is as far away as anything could be. Mister rattlesnake still babbles and you‘re asked to leave your bag with the guards (which is a bit sad because you brought your razor to give Monsieur le Silverback a decent treatment) and to just take a camera and no food because gorillas like to eat. A lot. And they don‘t drink. They take all their liquids out of the food. That‘s why they eat so much. Got that? Good.
Then, all of a sudden, it gets silent. You spotted the first one. Around 20 meters away. Your heart is pounding and you feel a bit like Diane Fossey or Indiana Jones. Alive. Another guide takes out his machete and starts to cut a path into the jungle. You follow him, anxious, joyful, nervous. After the next corner, you‘re right in the middle of them. Two gorilla-kids running and jumping around, some older females relaxing and eating. You take pictures, look around to see if you can spot some more. There is - so far - no sign of the silverback. The russian girl luckily got some color back in her face and gasps loudly at the sight. Maybe she found a last bottle of vitamin water in her rucksack. Then: „Pssst!“ What was that? „Pssst!“ You turn around and see one of the guides waving at you, pointing some five meters lower around the corner, whispering: „Silverback!“ You rush over, nearly slip out on the steep slopes covered by wet grass, take another deep (hopefully not last) breath - and there he is: The silverback. Sitting face to face with you, only two meters away, chewing, grunting from time to time, having, as it looks, quite a relaxed time. You turn around and smile at the guide, he smiles back and nods: Yes, this is Africa. This is Rwanda. Welcome to wonderland.
You spend a full hour with these fascinating animals. It is truly astonishing. You will never have felt as light-hearted and content as on that walk back down the hill. Except of course the Russian girl. The walk back had worn her out completely, and when Silvio told her that her struggle to cross the fence protecting the National Park reminded him of Guantanamo (followed by some other hilarious jokes) she somehow broke into pieces, resulting in the guides basically carrying her down, where she fell into the soft and comfort seat of their gigantic jeep like a little tsarina.
Courage, respire!
„Hey, can you handle another basket of bananas on your bike?” „Of course, hand it over!”
There is always space for more in Rwanda. Bikes are so packed that you hardly see the wheels any more. And they are driven with passion. There ain’t no mountain high enough by Diana Ross could certainly be the unofficial hymn of the country. Where you and me would stop, cry and claim an oxygen treatment, they start hitting the pedals. And they’re hitting them hard. The only thing you can do, when you pass one of those modern-day heroes, is bow your head in admiration, hold your thumbs up and shout out „COURAGE!” followed by a encouraging „RESPIRE!” They love it and no matter how steep the hill is, they will smile at you, happily noticing that you’re one of those who know muscles primarily from magazines as „Men’s Health” or „In Shape” and from movies with Arnold „schau wie schorf des is” Schwarzenegger. Intercultural communication at its best.
The movement itself is one of the most fascinating things in Rwanda. Mobility is a key driver for progress and since there is not really a public transport system, mobility is walking for the time being. It’s excessive. Wherever you drive or stroll through, the roadside is full of people walking and carrying things. They walk with pride. Maybe it‘s their bizarre habit of carrying all their belongings on the head, which makes their appearance so elegant that every yoga teacher would do another fifty salute to the sun in pure jealousy. A basket of fruit, a container of water, a carpet, even an umbrella is - when not in use - carried on the head.
The country is literally on the move and you can only whish that it is moving into a good direction. The situation is stable for the moment but stability comes mainly through repression and therefore a great loss of freedom. It’s a dance on thin ice. „Courage”, Rwanda. And don’t forget to „respire” from time to time!
Fact is: Travelling through this country in the heart of Africa was without any doubt one of the best things I have ever made. Of course, we were spoilt with a suitable car, best friends who knew how to get along and a nice home in Kigali to come back after the trips out of town. But the hospitality of the people, the adventure that waits behind every corner and the beautiful landscape are not to be missed. So if you ever have the chance to go – don’t hesitate. It’s gonna be legendary!
nasty.
rwanda.
