The Not so Mundane

So...I know I have been really bad about blogging lately.  I told myself when I started my second semester here that I would be better about writing for everyone back home.  I haven't exactly followed through but that is mostly because my life has become so routine here.  It's amazing how quickly the human body can adapt to almost anything.  Cultural differences, differences in the weather, in how I move, how I spend my free time, what I eat, who I hang out with, how I talk, my mannerisms, what I study, what I believe, what I feel, what I think and what I dream...they are all different but have all become almost normal to me now.  However, I forget that they aren't normal to everybody back home...that some people might find what I feel to be mundane as very interesting.  So I figured I would share a little bit about what my everyday life is like here.

To start, there are classes.  I was really discouraged about my experiences at the University last semester.  I didn't feel that I was being challenged intellectually at all.  Instead, I felt that it was my patience that was being tried the majority of the time.  I could write a whole blog post on my trials in the classroom alone.  Instead of going through the same process this semester, I took a little bit of initiative and changed my schedule a bit.  I am still taking three Peace and Conflict Studies classes...however, I made sure that they were the classes being taught by reliable professors who actually believe in class interaction and engagement.  I've also taken advantage of the rest of my free time by signing up for private Kiswahili classes.  I meet three times a week for a total of six hours with a jolly and enthusiastic Ugandan professor named Innocent.  I really can't believe how much information you can absorb during two hours of personalized lesson plans...its great!

Rainy season has finally arrived again.  It seems like it has either been rainy or cloudy for a week straight now.  It also means a welcome drop in the temperature.  From when I got back in January until last week, it rained maybe once or twice.  The rest of the days were filled with brutal sunshine and annoying red dust.  With temperatures in the upper 80's everyday, no AC and open windows...my entire room was covered in a thin layer of red dust, no matter how often I mopped, wiped and washed.  In South Carolina, you have pollen.  In Kampala, you have dust.  Now, there is a red muddy river flowing down what used to be the street outside my window.  Uganda's 'winter' temperatures are in the lower 70's everyday.  Another way I've adapted after spending 7 months here....I actually think lower 70's are pretty cold.  I was wandering around today in a jacket and slippers with a blanket wrapped around my shoulders.  I'm still not as bad as my neighbor downstairs who walks around with a snowcap and a scarf around his neck.

The ironic thing about this past week is that even though it has rained incessantly every day, my hall ran out of water for almost three days.  I don't exactly understand how this happened but it did.  I actually stuck my toothbrush out in the rain yesterday to rinse it off...since the sinks were all running dry.  When it rains this much, Kampala stops.  The boda drivers all park their motorcycles and take cover.  People walking the streets quickly find shelter huddled under the awning of a nearby shop.  The construction workers outside my window stop their sawing and hacking.  Except I don't stop...and people look at me like I'm crazy.  I ventured a thunderstorm today to walk next door and buy my lunch.  There is a little canteen attached to my residence hall that serves local food everyday at one.  And everyday, I show up to have my plate filled with heaps of rice, beans, peas, gnut sauce, a huge slices of pumpkin...all for $1.50.  I used to hate this food.  I would only eat it when I was too lazy, hungry and/or desperate to come up with another option.  Now, I rarely miss a meal.  It's become a routine part of my day.

Other than classes and eating rice and beans, I've become super involved with my host Rotary club lately.  I don't have classes on Wednesday nights anymore, so Wednesday has now become my Rotary day.  It starts around 3 when my host counselor and I go to the gym to work out together.  Then, there is fellowship at 6:30.  Immediately followed by dance practice....yep, that's right.  My host club has a dance team, which I am now a member of.  We have been rehearsing every week after fellowship in preparation for our debut performance at the Rotary District Conference at the end of April.  It promises to be a blast!  After dance rehearsal is several hours of drinks with all the Rotarians wild enough to stay out until midnight drinking glass after glass of wine and beer....which is pretty much the whole club.  Rotary Club of Muyenga is a wild bunch...a whole group of them a planning on attending the RI Convention in May so New Orleans better get ready!

Anyway...that about sums up my everyday life here.  There are boring days and exciting days.  For every day that I get frustrated, homesick or annoyed, there is also a day where I can't help but realize how much I love it here.  The crazy traffic, the nerve-wrenching boda-boda rides, the dust, the rain, the beans, the wooden desks chained to my classroom floor, the police roaming the streets in bright blue camo, the tattered bright yellow NRM campaign posters, nights without electricity,ATM's without cash, the rolex men and women selling sausages, the local pork joint, Reggae nights, my little concrete room....they have all become home to me over these last seven months.

Wandering the streets of Stonetown is like a journey for the whole body, your senses being bombarded from all different directions, all at once...especially this last trip.

The sights...
Intricately carved Zanzibar doors
Splashes of emerald green, royal blue
Weathered paint chipped away to reveal the aged wood beneath
Buildings that tell a story
Wandering the alleys takes you back to the days of spice merchants, sultans, and slavery
The rough grey stone broken by curved, rounded archways
Passing the doorway of a local mosque, politely peeking in
Shoes littering the entryway
Prayers and incense escaping to wash over you
Sequined, bejeweled, beautifully embellished robes of local women
The turquoise waves of the Indian ocean rising to meet the stone walls of the city
Giant vessels resting at port
A sharp contrast to the little wooden dhows, canvas sails bursting with wind, floating past.

The smells...
The tang of local spices, such an intricate part of this city's rich history
Becoming a part of the city's architecture, spicy smells that have seeped into the streets themselves
Into the wood, into the stone
Take a deep breath and you can almost taste it
Rich perfumes from spice carts that litter the streets
Mixed with the perfume of hidden incense, burning inside one of the city's holy buildings
Walking through the local market
The pungent, heavy fragrance of the day's fresh catch becomes almost too much to handle
Fishy odors that are suffocating
A breeze and the sweet, salty sea air fills your lungs

The tastes...

The fresh fruits are what I will always remember the most.

Feasts of the sweetest, juiciest varieties

Straight from the Garden of Eden

Passion fruits

Mangos

Melons

Bananas

Iced cold glasses of their fresh squeezed juices

Heavenly nectars that offer sweet relief to parched tongues

Exotic flavors that lace all of our meals

Rich in the spices of the trade that built this city

Spicy Ginger

Tangy Masala

Thick Curries

The sounds...
Sunsets and sunrises broken by Calls to Prayer...coming from all directions
Spilling from the loudspeakers of the mosques scattered throughout distant alleys
Joining as one, guiding those who gather for worship
The songs of little boys and girls creep out the windows of a small schoolroom
Tickling your ears as you pass
The shouts of street vendors selling their goods
A polite bell of a rusty bike
Issuing a quick warning before it comes careening through the narrow alley
Three nights of the most beautiful music
The festival aptly named Sauti Za Busara (Sounds of Wisdom)
Africa's best artists, pouring their soul onto the stage
Music that I don't just hear but feel.

Stonetown is one of those enchanting places that seems to come straight out of a dream. Getting lost in its narrow, winding alleys, I immediately fell in love with the city.  It's a magical city.  Yet, like the magic of all mystical things, the magic is lost if visited too often.  This is why I've decided to leave Stonetown behind for the rest of my time here.  To remain only with the memories of the city's affect on me...the way its streets fill me with awe and wonder.  And then one day, when I am older and wiser and have lived the better part of my life...I want to return to the city again.  To experience the city's magic one last time.

Today, I woke up to one of the most beautiful days in Uganda yet.  I honestly believe it was a blessing sent to me to remind me how much I love this place... to remind me that this is where I need to be right now.

The view from my window

I spent most of the night in a restless sleep before finally being awakened around 4am by a screaming baby outside my window.  As the baby continued to wail for the next hour, I had time to reflect back on my first night in Uganda, which I spent in this same hotel.  Coming back to this hotel again and again has given me a vantage point to reflect back on how far I've come over the past few months.  The thing I remember most about my first night here is how utterly alone I felt.  Waking up in the middle of the night to find the electricity out, I was literally and figuratively left in the dark.

I've tried several times to put those first few days here into words in my journal but failed.  It's just such a whirlwind of emotions that there really are no words for it.  However, over Christmas break I read Mango Elephants in the Sun, a memoir from a girl who spent two years in a West African village in the Peace Corps.  Although her experience was a little bit more extreme than mine, reading her reflections on her first few days there has finally helped me write about my own experiences.  She writes about how she sits in her hut, dying of thirst, but too afraid to venture out and face the stares of the ladies at the water pump.  My first few days here were also spent hiding out in the sanctuary of my room.  There, I didn't have to pretend that I wasn't lonely, overwhelmed and frankly scared to death.  I would spend hours reading every book that I had packed as a way to escape the world that lay on the other side of the door.  This time around, my first night back felt a little like coming home.  Although I've learned over the past few months that South Carolina will always be where I feel most at home, I couldn't help but feel a huge grin spread across my face as my taxi turned down the familiar dirt road that led to my little hotel.  

I finally drifted back to sleep as the sun was rising and the world outside my window began to wake up.  For the next several hours, I drifted in and out of sleep basking in the warm sunshine and soft lake breezes that seeped through my wide open window.  As I lay in bed, in a room right down the hall from the same room I spent my last night here a little over a month ago, it seemed like the past few weeks spent at home were all just a crazy dream...very surreal.  The Christmas celebrations, the snow days, the trips to Charleston.  It's almost like I just closed my eyes for a few hours, drifted off and woke right back up in my cozy little bed in Entebbe.  The only proof I have that it was all real is the four aching holes in the back of my mouth where my wisdom teeth were removed just a few days before catching a flight back to Uganda.

It's amazing how life can just flash past in a colorful, beautiful blur.  If you aren't paying attention it slips right by, leaving you with only the memories.  

Last night, as I drove away from the airport, I couldn't help but think that the next time I make this drive I'll be saying my good-byes to Uganda, possibly forever.  My heart automatically clenched up.  I know it will be one of the hardiest and heaviest good-byes I've ever had to make.  At this moment, I vowed to make the most possible out my last four months here, soaking in every moment.  Every warm, sunny day.  Every plate of rice and beans.  Every wild, late night with friends.  Every crazy boda-boda ride.  I want to look back on my time here and not just see a blur but a plethora of memories and moments in time.

Have you ever been stared at by hundreds of people?  Like really stared at...them turned 180 degrees in their seats, not blinking, not smiling.  It seriously has to be one of the most unnerving experiences ever!  But its the greeting that we got when we arrived at a traditional 'Give Away' ceremony in Mbarara last weekend.  First, you try to smile back...still they stare.  Then you try staring back...they don't even flinch.  Finally, you give up and just ignore them, turn around several minutes later to realize that they have been blankly staring at your backside this entire time.

After living in Uganda for over 4 months now, I've gotten used to not being able to go anywhere without standing out.  Still, sometimes I wish that I could just go back to being normal for a day or two...to be able to forget that I'm white and a foreigner...that I could go somewhere without being stared at, or hit on, or asked one of the usual questions. "Where are you from?" (Which is followed by an Obama comment 90% of the time) "How do you find Uganda?" "Do you eat matoke?" (I swear I get asked this question at least once a week...I've been here since August.  They eat matoke at every meal.  Yes, I've tried it by now.  And no, I don't like it no matter how big my butt is supposed to get if I eat it)

The beautiful hills of Mbarara with the ceremony tents in the distance

Yet, being foreigner has its advantages sometimes...like Nici and I getting to go to Emma's (a boy in our Hall) 'Give Away' last weekend.  The itinerary turned out as follows:
-Wake up at 5:00 in the morning
-Spend an hour waiting for our ride (who was obviously operating on Africa time)
-Spend 5 hours driving
-Spend 4 hours waiting for the rest of the groom's party to arrive (who were also operating on Africa time)
-Spend 15 minutes eating a feast of matoke, rice, chapati, peas, chicken, gnut sauce, salad and fruit (anyone who knows how slow I eat should realize what a big feat this was for me)
-Sit through 5 hours of speeches in Luganda
-Drive 1.5 hours to our hotel
-Spend another hour convincing the boys that no, we weren't going out dancing with them and to leave us alone so we could pass out
-Wake up and spend another hour waiting for the boys to get up and ready
-Spend 6 hours driving back to Kampala in a car crammed full of 8 people

With the groom and best man

The bride's party covered for the ceremony

All of that was still worth it for the experience.  We got to don traditional dresses (which I LOVED!).  We were allowed to march into the ceremony with the groom's party.  Once we were seated, the bridal party entered, fully covered including their faces.  They remained that way throughout the entire ceremony.  Traditionally, the groom isn't supposed to see the bride between the time that her family 'gives' her away and the actual wedding ceremony which is usually several days later.  The bridal party then presented the groom with several gifts.  Family and friends literally spent hours making speeches and adding their own contributions to the gift pool.  Since Mbarara is mostly a tribe of herdsmen, the bride and groom were pledged over 20 cattle by the end of the night...quite a haul!

So class was SUPER boring last night, and I felt inspired by my love for this crazy place.  I decided to write a poem about it:




The Most Beautiful Piece of Hell


Baking
The brutal beams tearing into my soft pale skin
Equatorial sun
A single bead of sweat leaves a cool trail down my neck
There is no escaping the Heat
Debilitating
Consuming
Burn


Red
My new favorite color
The dust has claimed every one of my possessions its prisoner
A thin gritty layer
In the nose, the mouth, the eyes
A non-living parasite that has consumed my very being
Choking
Suffocating
Grime


Falling
The sky swells, turning an angry and desperate grey
Big fat drops
The earth, dry and scarred, reaches back
Rains that cleanse the city
Washing it all away
The Sweat
The Dirt
The Heat


Cacophony
Blaring horns mix with jarring shouts from passing taxis
"Wandegeya, Wandegeya"
"Bwaise-Kawempe"
The cool mist of early dawn broken only by a distant Call to Prayer
My own Kampala lullaby
Familiar
Soothing
Home

     I've had a pretty busy week, so I'm spending this lazy, rainy Sunday catching up on everything I've neglected over the past few days (hence the two super-long blog posts in one day).  The reason for my hectic schedule has been the amazing opportunity I was given to participate in a week long training session on water crisis and climate change.  Adelphi, a German public policy think-tank, sent two trainers to Makerere to spend the week working with some students from our class.  The training included two full days at the university learning all about water crisis.  The first day, we learned how to identify water user groups, management groups and conflict between these actors.  We then learned how to map out these conflicts on an 'actor map.'  The next day, we learned how to identify marginalized populations and how to conduct culture sensitive interviews in preparation for the fieldwork that we would be doing later that week.

Driving through the mountains

      Wednesday is when the real adventure started.  We traveled over seven hours by bus to a small city in western Uganda called Kasese.  We were scheduled to leave at 7:30 in the morning.  Being the prompt individual that I am, I arrived right on time.  True to African style, I sat around and waited another hour for everyone else to show up.  However, by 9:00 we were on the road, all crammed into our little white van like a can of Ugandan sardines.  I managed a few hours of sleep in between all the potholes, speed bumps, and police checks that we hit every few kilometers throughout the entirety of the drive.  A few hours into the journey, we pulled over for a lunch break.  As soon as our van came to a stop, we were accosted by dozens of street vendors all sticking their heads through our windows, selling chapatis, roasted bananas, mystery meats on a stick, juices and cold waters.  I stocked up on some chapatis and bananas but wasn't brave enough to try any of the mystery meat.  As we set off again, the landscape around us began to change as we entered into the mountainous region of the country.  The air became cooler as dark gray clouds gathered above us.  Finally, after 7 long hours we pulled into our hotel.  We grabbed a quick lunch (which I considered to be more of a dinner since it was 4:30 in the afternoon by now) and then set off for a tour of the local copper mines.

Inside the mines

We first passed through a small mining village, which consisted of a few dozen dilapidated wooden houses tucked into the valley of the surrounding mountains.  Groups of blue-uniformed school children roamed the streets, but otherwise the area seemed eerily deserted.  We were given a quick tour of the copper mines which have been struggling lately, which is reflected in the run-down nature of the entire community.  We were even taken a few hundred yards into the tunnels of one of the mines.  I must say that I feel very blessed that I am fortunate enough to never have to do work like this.  We were shown the pits where miners spend hours harvesting the copper before having to haul the 45 kilogram packs out of the mines on their backs.  We then returned to the hotel where we were briefed by a local guide, split into interview teams and then spent the rest of the evening preparing for the next day's field work.  All of this evening business was made just a little more exciting by the constant electricity black outs that came and went throughout the night.

Some of the Basongora cattle

     The next morning, we had an early start as we headed out of town to begin our interviews.  Our first stop was a visit to the Basongora tribe.  The Basongora are pastoralist, which means that they raise cattle for a living.  Their community consists of a few concrete structures, some small huts, a primary school and lots of pasture land with grazing cattle.  When we arrived in the village, we were met by several Basongora members who were eager to show us around.  We learned that there used to be a water channel that ran right through the Basongora pastures.  However, when the local council changed leadership five years ago, government maintenance of the channel stopped and all of the water dried up.  The Basongora now have to walk 7 kms there and back to the nearest river, so their cattle can drink.  In the dry season, they have to make this trip twice....thats 28 kms a day just for water!

Interviews with the Basongora herdmen

    We were then split into our teams and given a chance to interview some of the locals.  Our team got to interview four of the local herdsmen, with a translator to assist us since none of the men spoke English.  We discussed all the problems that these men encounter in trying to fetch clean water.  We also discussed possible solutions to the water issues plaguing the Basongora community.  After about an hour, we had to leave to head to our next interview.  I was very sad to go since I had already fallen in love with the Basongora and their community.  Their land was beautiful....flat green pastures framed by deep blue mountains rising in the distance.  I was in awe of the people themselves, as well.  I can't imagine how difficult life must be for these people, having to work for hours every day for something as simple as water.  Yet, the herdsmen that we talked to were so poised and gentle.

At the source of the channel

      We headed into the mountains for our next set of interviews with the Bakonjo tribe.  First, we stopped of the see the source of the channel at the nearest river.  We then traveled further down the channel where the Bakonjo farming community is situated.  Although the Bakonjo are slightly more fortunate than the Basongora in that the channel has not yet dried up in their part of the community, the water that does flow in this channel is very dirty and not fit for consumption.  We sat down for our interview where we discussed the issues that the Bakonjo have in trying to obtain enough water for their crops and fish farms.  Our second interview was a little rushed since lunchtime was drawing near, and it is considered to be very rude to interfere with mealtimes in Ugandan culture.  After just an hour with the Bakonjo, we set off.

Interviews with the Bakonjo

 For our own lunch, we spent the afternoon at the HIPO Resort on the shore of Lake George.  We spent an hour lounging on the shore before enjoying a heaping plate of rice, matoke, groundnuts, vegetables, and tilapia (which I personally skipped).  The evening was spent battling several more black outs while trying to make closing presentations of the day's findings.  Within the next week, we will all be completing case studies of the water conflict taking place in the Basongora and Bakonjo communities.  These case studies will then be sent to Adelphi for them to use in the framework that they are publishing on water conflict and climate change.  Overall, I can honestly say that the whole experience was one of the highlights of my time in Uganda so far.

My philosophy in life has always been of the Ralph Waldo Emerson mindset: "Always do what you are afraid to do."  It's true what they say...those things that you fear the most usually turn out to be the most worthwhile.  However, I might have outdone myself a little this time.
      Last weekend, I signed up to go whitewater rafting on the Nile.  My trip to Jinja left me anxious to get back there to try to battle the mighty river in a little inflatable raft.  They are currently constructing a dam upstream from Jinja which is scheduled to be finished by the end of the year.  While this dam is definitely necessary to help solve the electricity problems that plague the area, this means that most of the river's largest rapids will disappear within a few months.  I wanted the honor of being one of the last few people to experience this awesome adrenaline rush...and what a rush it was!
     The first hour in the water was spent learning all of the skills necessary to keep us alive throughout the journey.  We learned basic paddle instructions: "forward" "back paddle" "Dig hard" "DIG HARDER" "Hold on" "Get down" "Look away".  More importantly, we learned to follow these commands with a military-like precision.  Battling Class 5 rapids is almost an art form.  Paddle strokes must be made at exactly the right time. Weight in the raft must be shifted in certain spots.  We were also forced to jump out the raft and learn the proper position to float in (in order to prevent our legs from snapping on the rocks hidden beneath the rapids).  We then climbed back on the raft....or, in my case, were pulled back onto the raft.  We learned how to anchor our paddles to prevent us from breaking the nose or knocking out the teeth of our neighbors.  Finally, our raft was flipped and we were supposed to learn to find the air pockets underneath in case we were ever trapped.  I say 'supposed to' because I never could manage to find one...all I ever did was swallow a whole lot of river water until I managed to pop out the other side, coughing and gasping for air.  If all these skills were necessary for my survival, I wasn't really sure I wanted to do this anymore.  But I absolutely refused to chicken out.
   We were off, with me mumbling a few half-hearted prayers under my breath.  We approached the first rapid...a Class 2.  Even the 'small' class 2 left me a little shaky on the other side.  The idea that this was the smallest of the rapids that we would be seeing that day did absolutely nothing to ease my nerves.  We pushed on, next up was Bujagali Falls, the crazy Class 5 rapid that inspired me to make this whole trip in the first place.  As we approached, we could see all the Mzungus on the shore with their cameras, waiting to witness our struggle.  Our first Class 5 went relatively smoothly and my nerves began to ease a bit.  This all changed at our next rapid, a Class 3.  Expecting an easier ride, none of us were prepared when our raft hit a wall of water and flipped into the air.  Caught off guard, I forgot to hold onto the rope of the raft and was swept away by the rapids.  I simply tucked my legs and rode out the waves until a safety kayaker paddled to my rescue.

Standing in front of Bujagali Falls...a Class 5

     As we pressed on, thunderstorm clouds filled the sky ahead of us.  We paddled faster, racing the rains.  We came to our last class 5 rapid of the morning...Big Brother, the most technical rapid we would battle.  We were instructed in exactly the pattern of strokes and maneuvers necessary to ride the rapid's giant waves and holes.  After practicing the technique several times through, we had reached the edge of the rapid.  The whole setting was very foreboding, as our raft picked up speed, rushed forward by the hands of the river, a clap of thunder sounded in the distance.  I remember thinking in my head "If I have to die today, at least this would be an awesome way to go."  The ride itself was insane.  Huge waves of green water washed over us.  Our raft would fly into the air and I would be bracing myself for the flip, when we would just pop out on the other side of the wall of water.  We managed to ride all four waves and holes in the rapid and made it to the other side where we got to watch the remaining teams battle.
     We then stopped on a little rocky island in the middle of the river for a much needed lunch break.  We gorged ourselves on fresh bread, meats, cheeses, local avocados and salad before setting out to battle the remaining of the rapids.  The second part of the day entailed lots of paddling with only four rapids in between.  I was thankful for the long stretches of peaceful paddling along the river.  We were allowed to remove our gear and jump into the river for a refreshing swim.  However, all of the paddling left my already burning arms nearly numb.
     Unfortunately, about an hour after lunch, we finally lost the race with the impending storm clouds.  Rain began to pound down on us.  The sky darkened and all warmth from the sun disappeared.  We were literally huddled in the raft, pressing forward desperately for the blue sky we could see ahead.  Finally, after about an hour, we reached our next set of rapids just as the rain was letting up.  I can't really remember the details of these rapids...only that they included two class 3's and one class 5 but they were otherwise pretty uneventful.  Their memory has been overshadowed by the experience of our last rapid of the day....a nasty Class 6 and 5 that proved to be by far our craziest ride.  The first part of the rapid included a 7-foot waterfall and was classified as a class 6.  We were not skilled enough, neither stupid enough, to attempt to paddle this rapid.  Instead, we paddled to the shore where we carried our raft a few yards downstream before hopping back in.
     I honestly couldn't tell the difference between this half of the rapid and the first part.  They both looked like a class 6 and death to me.  However, by this point, I just wanted to paddle the thing so I could get off the raft, change into some dry clothes and curl up on the bus for some rest.  Literally, within 2 seconds of paddling out into the rapid, our raft hit a wall and flipped.  We were told that if we flipped to let go of the raft.  Otherwise, we would surely drown.  Since I could never remember to hold onto the raft in the first place, I had no trouble at all remembering to let go this time.  However, when I came back up to the surface, I realized the raft had flipped on top of me.  Although, we were instructed to stay calm in these situations, there is really no way not to panic.  There is water swirling all around you.  You have no idea which way is up and which way is down.  All you want to do is take a breath but every time you do, you get a mouth full of river water instead.  Finally after just a few seconds (which really felt more like a few minutes) I broke to the surface.  As soon as I took a gasp of air, I was swept back under by the next wall of water.  I rode out the rest of the rapid before being hauled back to the raft by one of my saviors, the safety kayakers.
     After completing our journey, we spent about an hour enjoying some chapatis, mystery meat on a stick, and fresh pineapple while reminiscing about the highlights of the day with our teammates.  I also took this time to purchase a few photos of the day's adventures.  Just in case anyone doesn't believe me, I now have photographic evidence, including a pretty epic picture of our raft in mid-flip.  In all, it took about a week for my burning muscles to recover from the four hours, ten rapids, and 31 kms that were paddled that afternoon.