Dikembe

This past week saw the passing of a couple of famous US sports figures. One was a professional baseball player named Pete Rose. The other was a professional basketball player by the name of Dikembe Mutombo. I say US sports figures because the Congolese Mutombo not only became famous in the US, he became a US citizen in in 2006.

I was a big fan of Rose in my younger days. He was an intense and talented athlete that, through a very long career, ended up being one of the greatest players of all time. He also, in the end, turned out to be a bit of a schmuck. I had forgotten, or was not aware, how terrible he was until this week when I read some accounts of his storied career. The contrast between Mutombo and Rose couldn’t be more striking.

Mutombo also had a long and amazing career as a professional athlete. Not perfect, by any stretch of the imagination, but he was a man of considerable integrity who spoke something like nine languages and gave of his time and wealth to help those less fortunate. His list of humanitarian accomplishments exceeds those of his basketball career. And he literally, and figuratively, rubbed off on me. I should explain.

* * *

In autumn of 1991 while working at a boarding school in western Switzerland, I received an invitation to visit the family of one of my students in Denver, Colorado. I should say that it wasn't uncommon for me to receive invitations like this. One year I went to the small country of Andorra where I stayed with the family of a student. The dad and I became relatively good friends and on one occasion he gave a friend of mine and I the keys to his Land Rover to tour around the country for the day. Another family invited me to stay with them at their chateau/vineyard in the south of France for a couple of days. And there were some other notable invitations that I will write about some other time.

André and I weren't very far apart in age and ended up being good friends. He was also mature for his age and I was conveniently immature for my age. Though his family was rather comfortable financially, his father was a Swiss Ambassador to the US and his mother was an American business woman, he seemed very level-headed, particularly compared many of his “rich school” peers. 

* * *

Part of what was behind the invitation was that André's mother had tickets to a Denver Nuggets basketball game. Thanks to the internet, I had help in pinning down that the date of the game was Dec. 28 of that year. But I didn’t need the internet to remember their opponent – the Boston Celtics. It was one of the most famous teams in NBA history featuring Larry Bird, Robert Parish and Kevin McHale among others. I should say that I was on board with going to the Nuggets game even before I learned who they were playing against. The Nuggets, on the other hand, were not a huge draw. Mutombo was only in his second season as a professional (though already well-known) and they were not playing very well.

The plan was to fit the visit into my Christmas travel that year. I would fly from Geneva to Idaho to see family for the holiday, then head to Denver on Dec. 27^th, attend the game on the 28^th and then carry on back to Switzerland on the 29^th.

* * *

André’s mother worked for a sports entertainment company that had ties to the Nuggets which is where the tickets came from. It turned out that they had four tickets and André and I would be accompanied by his uncle and, to be honest, I can’t remember who the fourth person was.

His uncle drove us to the game. We knew we would have decent parking given that André’s mother gave us a VIP parking pass along with the four tickets. Sure enough, we ended up parking in the same lot as the players, adjacent to McNichols Sports Arena. We were off to a good start.

* * *

Once inside the arena, we had to find our seats. None of our crew had ever used these season tickets before so none of us knew were we were going. Also, the numbers on the tickets were a bit cryptic and didn’t give us a clear indication as to where our seats were. We approached the event staff as we entered and a guy motioned us to proceed down into the lower section. I was thinking that this keeps getting better. I hadn’t attended many professional sporting events by that time and I certainly had never been seated in the low section near the action.

We continued to walk down the steps but our ticket numbers still didn’t correspond to anything we were seeing labeled on the seats. As we reached the bottom, we showed our tickets to another event staff who told us to “come this way” as she proceeded towards the floor. We were getting pretty excited thinking that we would be in the floor section. But it would get even better.

The woman escorted us onto the hardwood to four folding chairs that were at the end of the Denver bench. Unless we had Nuggets uniforms, we couldn’t have had better seats. I remember at the time thinking that, as a sporting event experience, it’s unlikely that I will ever do better than this. So far that’s still the case and I don’t see that changing.

* * *

We had to determine among ourselves who would get the seat next to the players. We quickly decided that, since there are four quarters and four of us, we would rotate each quarter.

As the players warmed up and we were soaking it all in, a guy came over, introduced himself as the General Manager of the Nuggets and welcomed us to the game. Then a lady came and asked us what we wanted to eat or drink (something that would continue throughout the game). Then the GM came back and said that he was going to try to arrange for us to meet Larry Bird, but no promises.  The whole thing seemed a bit surreal.

What we found out later was that the tickets we were using were held by the Nuggets organization for real VIPs (celebrities and so forth). I’m quite sure that the GM didn’t know who we were nor did it matter. Whoever was there was usually important and protocol was to treat them well. On this occasion, for whatever reason (maybe the holidays?), no famous and/or rich people were on hand and four nobodies would fill the seats. Which is strange given that the Celtics were in town. Anyway, we were loving it.

against Parrish and the Celtics but not from the game I watched

Throughout the game, Denver surprisingly maintained a lead. Bird was struggling a bit and we found out later it was due to his sore back. Though I was indifferent about who was winning, it’s always nice to be in an arena where the hometown fans are happy. It added to the ambiance. We did speculate, however, that if Bird played poorly and/or the Celtics lost, it might impact our chances of meeting him. In the end, our speculation proved to be correct.

* * *

I remember that I was given the seat closest to the players in the fourth quarter. In retrospect, it turned out to be the best option. As the final quarter began, the seat to my left was open. There was one more chair than there were players on the bench. But midway through the period, Mutombo was whistled for a foul as he was defending Parrish. In addition to being upset about it, it was his fifth foul and he was pulled from the game to prevent him from getting his sixth and final foul.

Happily, the angry Mutombo went straight to the open seat at end of the bench – right next to me. The trainer tossed him a towel and handed him a water bottle. In his frustration he slammed the towel on the floor in front of him and unexpectedly turned to me and shouted in a Congolese accent, “He’s all over me! He’s been all over me all night!” I was caught off guard and honestly don’t remember how I responded. I’m pretty sure it was some sort of wide-eyed awkward mumble of affirmation. The guy was 7’2 (2.18m) and angry. Agreement seemed to be the sensible option.

He continued to grumble as his sweat increasingly dampened the left side of my jeans. That turned out to be our only “interaction” and within about fifteen minutes he was put back in the game. 

Admittedly, I followed his career more closely after that. It wasn’t easy given that there was no internet back then and NBA basketball was difficult to track from Switzerland. He had an impressively long career, particularly for a big man, playing for 6 different teams over 18 seasons and retiring in 2009. It's sad that he's gone.

* * *

Fun fact: Mutombo’s full name was Dikembe Mutombo Mpolondo Mukamba Jean-Jaques Wamutombo.

Another fun fact: Mutombo moved from the Democratic Republic of Congo to the US at the age of 21. Next year I will begin my 21^st year in Africa. It could be that we’ll end up with a similar amount of years on the continent. Crazy thought.

Ethiopia Part 2 - Jigjiga

As I mentioned previously, I was given the opportunity to visit while in Ethiopia for regional meetings. They organized three different visits to various humanitarian projects and I naturally was drawn to the one that has some obvious connections to where I work.

We did this in April 2013 when our meetings were hosted in Uganda. A few of us went to the far north of the country just south of the border with South Sudan (Agoro, Kitgum and Palabek). It was a fascinating trip and I had high expectations for this trip as well.

* * *

I have heard about Jigjiga for several years. I have a couple of staff who are from there and it’s also an area where some Somalis have gone for refuge when conflict or natural disaster on our side of the border has forced people from their homes. As a result, it hosts some refugee camps.

Jigjiga is the capital of the Somali Region in Ethiopia. As I alluded to in the previous blog entry, historically the Somali people have covered a large swath of eastern Africa. They form one of the largest ethnic groups on the continent and cover one of the most expansive landmasses by a single ethnic group in Africa, in spite of the fact that the people are divided by national borders.

* * *

A Bit about Greater Somalia

The modern division of the Somali people came about for a number of reasons. For centuries, there have been external forces from Arabia and other parts of Africa who invaded and/or created alliances with several powerful Somali empires who dominated the regional trade. But as the Scramble for Africa began to heat up in the second half of the19th century, Europeans rapidly began to expand their colonial ambitions in the Horn of Africa. Various sultanates entered into treaties with various external powers. Much of this was driven by the access to the strategically important Suez Canal and Gulf of Aden. Italy and Britain in particular were focused on the Horn of Africa.

The borders that are recognized today are largely the product of the fallout of World War II. After the war, deals were made among the victors regarding the spoils. In 1948, under pressure from their WWII allies (and to the dismay of Somalis who were obviously not consulted), the Brits ceded control of the Somali territory in what is now Ethiopia. This was based on a treaty they signed in 1897 in which the British ceded Somali territory to the Ethiopian Emperor Menelik in exchange for his help against raids by Somali clans. Britain included the proviso that the Somali nomads would retain their autonomy, but Ethiopia immediately claimed sovereignty over them. This prompted a bid by Britain in 1956 to purchase back the Somali lands it had turned over, but it was unsuccessful. The role of Ethiopia in this division of the Somali people continues to be a sore point even today.

The division of the Somali people in the south (northeastern Kenya) is also the product of this period. On 26 June 1960, four days before granting British Somaliland independence, the British government declared that all Somali-inhabited areas of East Africa, or “Greater Somalia” should be unified in one administrative region. Their intention was for Kenya to cede part of what was called the Northern Frontier. However, after the dissolution of the former British colonies in the region, Britain granted administration of the Northern Frontier to Kenyan nationalists despite an overwhelming desire of the region's population to join the newly formed Somali Republic.

Thus, the Somali people remain divided by modern, international borders. This sentiment behind “we didn’t cross the border, the border crossed us” applies here as it does in many parts of the world. A few years ago while in Mogadishu, I saw the below image painted on the wall in a meeting room. It took me a minute to figure out what it was, but it eventually dawned on me that it is a map of “Greater Somalia” – the Somali territories irrespective of modern borders. It still figures prominently in the Somali psyche.

* * *

Jigjiga

In Jigjiga, 1948 brought about mixed feelings. The withdrawal of British forces meant the end of colonial occupation. But it also meant Ethiopian governance which, for many, was still considered a foreign (non-Somali) entity, albeit African. This sentiment fueled periodic unrest over the next several decades, including the Ogaden War and the Somali invasion that I mentioned in the previous blog.

Today, the city is peaceful (unlike other parts of Ethiopia) and becoming an economic powerhouse. Construction is everywhere and it’s a far bigger city than I thought it was.

we drank SO much coffee

From Addis it’s about an hour flight. We arrived in the morning and, after our security briefing, our party of five (three visitors and two Ethiopian staff) hopped  in two Land Cruisers and we headed northeast towards the refugee camps located near the border with Somaliland. We arrived after about an hour and a half and went straight to some child protection activities.

"crazed child force-feeding frightened cat"

Having worked in Somalia for over seven years, visiting the Somali region of Ethiopia was particularly interesting. It felt similar in some ways and in other ways it was very different. The soil is generally darker and more fertile. There is still the pastoralism that drives the economy on both sides of the border but on the Ethiopia side you see more cattle. In Somalia, it’s mostly camels and goats. In addition to the long tradition and cultural attachment that Somalia has to the camel, when in such an arid climate camels obviously make the most economic sense. However, if you have a wetter climate with more fertile soil, cattle make more economic sense. You still see a few camels in the Somali Region of Ethiopia, they’re just far outnumbered by the cows.

a bit greener than what I am used to

Another striking difference is the security situation. Though the Jigjiga area has seen its troubles over the years, it’s calm now. Unlike Somalia, there was no need for armored vehicles, tinted windows, armed escorts, etc. We just headed out in normal Land Cruisers.

serious crowd

Though the area is dominated by Muslims (83%), the approach to the faith seems slightly more relaxed. You occasionally see non-Muslims and a few women walking around without head covering. You would never see that in Somalia. Even if you’re visiting, you would adhere to local customs. I saw a video a while back of a woman being chased down a street in Somalia and being called a prostitute, for leaving the house in jeans.

The obvious difference is that the region is just one part of a country that is ethnically and culturally diverse. Somalia doesn’t have this sort of diversity.

* * *

typical Somali region village in the middle of nowhere

After our visit to the refugee camp, we returned to the field office where we would have a late lunch. Visits like this are rare so they pulled out all the stops. They spread branches across the floor as decoration and a sign of respect. The meal consisted of multiple courses (chicken curry, fried fish, beef, fried chicken, salad, rice, fries, etc.). It was far more than we could eat. The leftovers would inevitably be consumed by staff, which was some of some comfort.

fancy

After lunch, we headed back. It had rained during the time that we were visiting the refugee camp and the road was muddy. In one or two places the water was halfway up the side of the vehicle. We spotted some massive tortoises over the course of the day and a couple of small dik-diks (small antelopes that are less than two-feet tall fully grown). Otherwise, there isn’t much wildlife. 

* * *

Upon arriving at the hotel in Jigjiga, I was looking to put up my feet and catch up on some emails. I retreated to my room with a couple bottles of water and settled in, hoping that there was a sufficiently functioning Wi-Fi. There was, but I soon noticed a couple of other issues.

Traveling for a couple of decades in various parts of Africa, I’ve seen a lot of weird and/or off-putting things in my lodging. I’m pretty chill about most inconveniences and I sort of roll with the punches. I thought the most annoying thing I would deal with was the loud street noise. Just outside was a busy street with non-stop traffic, including noisy trucks and tuk-tuks. I put on my noise-canceling headphones and it seemed to dampen the sound. I resumed my work.

As dusk set in I went to turn on the light. As I hit the switch, an intense pulsating light flashed in the room. For some unknown reason, the hotel had installed a strobe light for the overhead lamp. I tried various things to get it to stop, thinking that no one in their right mind would purposefully install a flashing light as a hotel room’s primary light source. To no avail. Just then I heard a guy from the hotel out in the hallway. I opened the door, greeted him and mentioned the issue. His English wasn’t very good (and “strobe light” is not a common Somali term that I might have learned) so I motioned for him to come near the doorway and gave him a demonstration. He seemed sincerely surprised and asked if I wanted to change rooms. I actually don’t use overhead lights very often if there is a nightstand lamp option. There was, so I told him that I was fine, but that they needed to banish pulsating lights from their hotel rooms.

I closed the door and went to turn on the lamp. Of course, it didn’t work. I tried everything to get it to come to life but to no avail. In retrospect, I probably should have marched downstairs and had them switch my room. But, given that I always travel with a small rechargeable lamp, I would be going to bed soon and I was leaving the next morning, I shrugged my shoulders, turned on my personal lamp and carried on with what I was doing.

Then the first mosquito bit my ankle. I put on repellent and continued working. But they turned out to be relentless, paying little heed to my attempt to deter them. At one point I shined the light on the wall above my head only to see dozens of mosquitos on the wall waiting their turn to have their way with me. After a second application of repellent to my head and pulling the sheet up to my neck, I was able to get some sleep.

The next morning we had breakfast and made our way to the airport. Other than a sweaty, noisy, packed waiting area, a delayed flight and a chaotic boarding process, travel back to Addis went smoothly.

I was more than happy to return to my nice hotel room at the Radisson, have a drink and settle in to a mosquito-free, strobe-free, quiet night.