Why is a black man hiking in the park a rare sight?
Jul 27, 2010
IT is very early in the morning, and I have a few minutes to write down some notes using my torch light before getting up to light the portable Primus stove to start preparing breakfast for my camping family which includes my son Oceng, 11, his friend Akim Olak, 11, and my two long camping buddies M
IT is very early in the morning, and I have a few minutes to write down some notes using my torch light before getting up to light the portable Primus stove to start preparing breakfast for my camping family which includes my son Oceng, 11, his friend Akim Olak, 11, and my two long camping buddies Michael Ogwen and Aloysius Okwong Okumu.
The routine is the same every year. I am the early riser, the cook who prepares breakfast of gritty oats porridge, sweet tea and snack to prepare the party for the 15 to 20 km tough hike during the day. The tents come down shortly before six, and breakfast is served at exactly six.
With heavy packs slung on our backs, and the hiking sticks handy to steady the walks through hilly climbs, narrow ridges and even hazardously spindly wooden planks that serve as bridges over precipitous rivers and creeks, we start the hike at exactly seven. Every year, we try to include a young child in the party of five to six people. Last year, around this time, it was my son Oceng’s first trip into the wilderness.
Although the boy at times hated the tough 65km hike, he walked the distance, and decided to initiate his friend Akim this year. Now a veteran of sorts, Oceng has been helping Akim negotiate the difficult climbs, and the steep descents. Akim has been great, telling stories and being very cheerful. He is exceedingly polite and respectful even when the walk is getting to him. After the 15km hike which felt twice as long from Pincher Lake North to Maggie Lake yesterday afternoon, the boys took time exploring the wood and swimming in the cool lake water. I could hear them dashing around, their voices echoing through the forest while singing R & B songs I did not know they knew, whooping with laughter and having a fun time together. It was the sunniest day since we entered the park on Friday afternoon. But it was Akim who made an observation that put into words what I had known a long time, yet never verbalized as succinctly as he put it. He said, “Uncle, there are no blacks hiking in this park.†Now, the issue of race is something I always try to handle with great care because my attitude is that children should see the person and not the colour of skin. It is an attitude that has instructed my own career as a teacher in a multicultural setting where students come from diverse backgrounds. Akim’s observation, however, was an astute one that I could not quite dismiss.
I have been coming to this park, travelling the exact same trail every year since the summer of 1989, and only once, five or six years ago, came across a young black man, probably around 18 or 19 years of age, hiking in the company of an all-white camping companions. I recall the meeting so vividly because the young man had been so surprised to see my all-African party of six that he dropped his pack and ran to greet us. He was so excited, and said as much, to see blacks in the park. We exchanged some pleasantries as only hikers can, such as where we were heading, how far we had already travelled and what animal we had seen along the way. He had seen some deer, and we had come across a moose. Then we said good-bye, and we all went our separate ways, and since then, we seem to be the only black folks hiking the park. The absence of blacks hiking in the park may be unique to Algonquin Park only, and may not be the case elsewhere, say in the United States where there is a larger black population. But if the experience in Algonquin Park holds true everywhere else, then there must be underlying reasons for it.
I would dismiss as nonsense any notion that black folks do not care about being in nature, and would rather stay close to the comfort of home. Instead, I could speculate that there may be some socio-economic factors involved. It could be that black folks, many of whom are fairly recent immigrants to Canada, must work ever so hard to make a living that the idea of going into the forest just for fun sounds like a sheer waste of time. With a growing middle class population such a situation could change. In any event, I could only validate Akim’s observation but could not quite provide him with a rationale as to why there are no blacks on the hiking trail. Instead, I told him that that was precisely the reason why I felt it was important for him and Oceng to get to like hiking in the park, and to introduce their younger siblings in the coming years. It was about changing attitude, I told him, of looking at opportunity rather than limitations, and what one can do rather than what one cannot or should not do.
Although I had a feeling he wanted more or a better explanation than the one I gave, I could not offer one without being stereotypical about race. But his observation requires some serious research, perhaps one that an enterprising sociology student could pick up. For instance, how many native Africans take time to visit their national game parks just for sight-seeing as opposed to poaching animals?
How many Ugandans, Rwandese or Congolese go to Bwindi Forest each year to see the gorillas? How many South Africans travel the vast veldt to experience the beauty of the landscape and the animals that traverse it?
These are some the questions in search of answers, and one that hopefully, some readers can help me with. I really do not have the answers for them.
For now, though, it is time to make that porridge, and prepare to hike out of the park. I know we will be back next year.
Opiyo.oloya@sympatico.ca
The routine is the same every year. I am the early riser, the cook who prepares breakfast of gritty oats porridge, sweet tea and snack to prepare the party for the 15 to 20 km tough hike during the day. The tents come down shortly before six, and breakfast is served at exactly six.
With heavy packs slung on our backs, and the hiking sticks handy to steady the walks through hilly climbs, narrow ridges and even hazardously spindly wooden planks that serve as bridges over precipitous rivers and creeks, we start the hike at exactly seven. Every year, we try to include a young child in the party of five to six people. Last year, around this time, it was my son Oceng’s first trip into the wilderness.
Although the boy at times hated the tough 65km hike, he walked the distance, and decided to initiate his friend Akim this year. Now a veteran of sorts, Oceng has been helping Akim negotiate the difficult climbs, and the steep descents. Akim has been great, telling stories and being very cheerful. He is exceedingly polite and respectful even when the walk is getting to him. After the 15km hike which felt twice as long from Pincher Lake North to Maggie Lake yesterday afternoon, the boys took time exploring the wood and swimming in the cool lake water. I could hear them dashing around, their voices echoing through the forest while singing R & B songs I did not know they knew, whooping with laughter and having a fun time together. It was the sunniest day since we entered the park on Friday afternoon. But it was Akim who made an observation that put into words what I had known a long time, yet never verbalized as succinctly as he put it. He said, “Uncle, there are no blacks hiking in this park.†Now, the issue of race is something I always try to handle with great care because my attitude is that children should see the person and not the colour of skin. It is an attitude that has instructed my own career as a teacher in a multicultural setting where students come from diverse backgrounds. Akim’s observation, however, was an astute one that I could not quite dismiss.
I have been coming to this park, travelling the exact same trail every year since the summer of 1989, and only once, five or six years ago, came across a young black man, probably around 18 or 19 years of age, hiking in the company of an all-white camping companions. I recall the meeting so vividly because the young man had been so surprised to see my all-African party of six that he dropped his pack and ran to greet us. He was so excited, and said as much, to see blacks in the park. We exchanged some pleasantries as only hikers can, such as where we were heading, how far we had already travelled and what animal we had seen along the way. He had seen some deer, and we had come across a moose. Then we said good-bye, and we all went our separate ways, and since then, we seem to be the only black folks hiking the park. The absence of blacks hiking in the park may be unique to Algonquin Park only, and may not be the case elsewhere, say in the United States where there is a larger black population. But if the experience in Algonquin Park holds true everywhere else, then there must be underlying reasons for it.
I would dismiss as nonsense any notion that black folks do not care about being in nature, and would rather stay close to the comfort of home. Instead, I could speculate that there may be some socio-economic factors involved. It could be that black folks, many of whom are fairly recent immigrants to Canada, must work ever so hard to make a living that the idea of going into the forest just for fun sounds like a sheer waste of time. With a growing middle class population such a situation could change. In any event, I could only validate Akim’s observation but could not quite provide him with a rationale as to why there are no blacks on the hiking trail. Instead, I told him that that was precisely the reason why I felt it was important for him and Oceng to get to like hiking in the park, and to introduce their younger siblings in the coming years. It was about changing attitude, I told him, of looking at opportunity rather than limitations, and what one can do rather than what one cannot or should not do.
Although I had a feeling he wanted more or a better explanation than the one I gave, I could not offer one without being stereotypical about race. But his observation requires some serious research, perhaps one that an enterprising sociology student could pick up. For instance, how many native Africans take time to visit their national game parks just for sight-seeing as opposed to poaching animals?
How many Ugandans, Rwandese or Congolese go to Bwindi Forest each year to see the gorillas? How many South Africans travel the vast veldt to experience the beauty of the landscape and the animals that traverse it?
These are some the questions in search of answers, and one that hopefully, some readers can help me with. I really do not have the answers for them.
For now, though, it is time to make that porridge, and prepare to hike out of the park. I know we will be back next year.
Opiyo.oloya@sympatico.ca