Final Blog Entry

Well, I figured I'd better sign off now. I've finally found my groove being back at home and am settling in nicely to a daily routine, finding peace with my scattered, unorganized exsistance, and progressing down my never ending to do lists. I have plenty to keep me busy over the next few months and enough motivation to keep me going for much longer. Right now the plan is to stay in Sacramento through the holidays and then hopefully, move either to the Bay Area or to Portland. I guess it all depends on where I can find a job. So please, keep your eyes and ears open for me! Public health, nutrition, journalism, marketing, I'm open to just about anything. Thanks for following along during my journey to 14 countries and 3 continents. It was your encouraging words, your hilarious comments, and knowing that I had a band of supporters at home that kept me going during those tough times when all I wanted to do was book the next flight home. I've uploaded the rest of my photos, so feel free to check them out: www.picasaweb.google.com/dona.j.francis

My email address is: dona.j.francis@gmail.com and as you know, I always love to hear from you! Thanks again for the support and as always remember, Don't ask what the world needs. Ask what makes you come alive, and go do it. What the world needs is people who have come alive! -Sparrowrose Howard Thurman

Adjusting to Life at Home

I've been home for 2 weeks, and all in all, I've loved every moment of it. But today, suddenly things changed. I woke up irritated, pangs of anxiety coursed through me as I thought of everything that I have managed to pile onto my plate. Starting a non-profit, being Emily's college counselor, helping my mom with the impossible task of getting her organized and her finances on track, and of course, running errands for her. I have friends to see, need to start looking for a job, have to organize my photos into a scrapbook, and Monday I start working for Michelle as Mia's nanny. Thing after thing has gone wrong today, and despite constantly working on a project or checking things off of my to do list, I feel like I've accomplished nothing! What I wouldn't give for an 8 hour bus ride and the ability to stare off into the oblivion. I wish I could just zone out in front of the TV, but I have absolutely zero tolerance for TV these days. I get antsy watching movies and lose all concentration during TV shows, I prefer books and listening to music, but when you just feel like zoning, there's nothing better than TV. Being a type A person, one who loves structure and organization, I'm struggling with having no solid place of my own. I split my time between Michelle's and my mom's; half of my stuff still in boxes, the rest scattered between the two places. My room at Michelle's is Michaels and my room at my mom's is her office. I have no where to go that is just mine and that notion alone is what is motivating me to find a job for the new year. I don't want to live this transient lifestyle anymore, I want stability, routine, and independence.

I had a fantastic week in Florida visiting my slightly neurotic grandmother, my mom and Irene. The trouble I anticipated with adjusting to life at home has yet to surface. I've managed to slip right back into life here--sups of morning coffee, driving, shopping, and wine with my mom. Being able to take a hot shower everyday is something I will never again take for granted. Clean clothes are such a luxury, and the sense that I can do absolutely anything I want in life is liberating and inspirational. My mind occupies itself with planning for the future of the Team 100 Foundation, to do lists, brainstorming, and devouring everything related to athletics and running have kept me plenty busy. Despite the market crash, the fiery political contest, and depressed predictions of the future, I have nothing but hope. I am grateful that today I am just 26, and not 66 or 76, and that my financial future isn't tied up in the falling stock market. I foresee a great future for the girls and for myself. I am looking forward to getting home, to seeing friends, and reconnecting with my sister. And I'm excited to start a non-profit, to find funding, and to see this little idea grow into something profound. Something that not only is going to fulfill my lifelong dream to work on a cause that intimately empowers Africans, but something that is going to effect great change to not just a few girls in Tanzania, but for their families, their sport, and their country.

Insomnia in D.C.

Well, it’s 3am and I’ve been awake for 2 hours now. Watching the news, Oprah, and now some stupid movie, but my mind is restless and unable to sleep. I have to leave for the airport in 3 hours and am hoping that yesterday’s lack of sleep will catch up to me so that I’m not a complete zombie when Irene picks me up this afternoon. It doesn’t help either that my stomach is aching in hunger despite the 2 bean burritos, cinnamon twists, and diet Coke that I devoured last night at a grungy Taco Bell. That meal though was perfect…it tasted just as good as I had dreamed it would be!

Thoughts from the Plane

The map indicates we’re somewhere over Eastern Canada, slowly plotting along our 7000 mile course. With only 2 ½ hours to go, the nostalgic harmony of Coldplay wets my eyes with sentiment, with anxiety, with thrill. I can’t let myself believe that I’ll be on US soil tonight, that I’ll get to talk to my family, that it’s all over. I don’t know where the months have gone, or how I’ll adjust to being home. How will this person I’ve become—the strong, vivacious, confident me—hold up among the pettiness, the shallowness, and the consumerism? I worry that the insecurities will return, the feelings of not being good enough, those things that I worked so hard to obliterate this past year. Will the frustration, the tension I so often feel with my mom, Calvin, and sister be any different? I hope I can relate to people. I am not looking forward to having the same conversations over and over, or experiencing the loneliness of being surrounded by too much meaningless excess. Will the needle of my internal compass lose its direction? I’m scared I will start to flounder, that the choices and decisions that once seemed perfectly clear will begin to muddle, that everything I was once so sure of, so excited about will gradually fade. I’ve been so excited to come home and now that it’s so close, the uncertainty is rising in me. Is this really what I want?
Yea, it is. I’m ready to get on with the Scholarship Program. I’m ready to discover who I really am now. To see how this Dona really is different from the girl who flew to Bangkok on a one-way ticket last November. I left fleeing the loss of a person I loved in absolute blind faith, in search of the real me, and in search of a new direction for my life. I think I’ve found both and I’m excited to share both with my family and friends at home. It’s just scary going back to a place I know will not have changed at all, when I’ve changed so much.

I love Doha!

I’ve died and gone to heaven! Doha is incredible, overwhelming, and a land of immense wealth. I was welcomed into a world of BMW’s, chauffeured limos, and Range Rovers. Where futuristic 40+ storied buildings line the shoreline, where every road is paved, and where people are well-dressed. I was taken directly to my hotel, The Movenpick Towers and Suites, by the waiting shuttle. I naively asked the driver, Is the hotel nice?. Yes ma'am, it’s a 5 star hotel, he curtly replied, his friendly eyes passing a glace through the rear-view mirror. During the 15 minute drive to the hotel I couldn’t take my eyes off of my surroundings, my jaw hanging open as we whizzed through the Middle Eastern city obviously created by a country with immense oil wealth. I was paralyzed when we pulled up to the hotel. The Swiss owned hotel greets is guests with marbled floors, crystal chandeliers, and tactfully gaudy gold furniture. The staff expertly took my bags, checked me in, and showed me to my suite on the 9th floor. I fumbled with the magnetic swipe card that acted as a key before pushing open the huge darkly stained wooden door to reveal a grand suite, larger than most affordable apartments in California. The room’s kitchenette was well stocked with complimentary bottles of water, a coffee maker, state-of-the-art table top grill, and all of the coffee and tea I could manage to greedily, and with a little guilt, stuff into the front of my backpack. Further in I was dazzled by a colorfully twinkling view of Doha’s skyline framed by two floor-to-ceiling windows. The goose-down beds enticed me into an evening of channel surfing on the flat screen TV, but not before taking the most luxurious shower of my life. I allowed the soothingly hot water to pour from the waterfall style shower head, unconcerned about the amount of water I was wasting as I used an entire bottle of shampoo and conditioner to clean my hair and the full container of body wash to scrub my skin of the months of built up dirt and grime that bucket showers just never seem to be able to rid you of. I stepped out of the shower feeling one step closer to the realities of home, begrudgingly put on my dirty clothes, and went downstairs to see what my free dinner voucher was all about. I wasn’t even hungry, but I was curious. Curries, salads, meats, cheeses, breads, and a variety of desserts decorated the tables. Suddenly, I had an appetite. I piled my plate with expertly designed salad creations, with smooth creamy hummus, and selections of cheeses from around the world. Macadamia nut brownies, a slice of cheesecake, and a fruit tart also managed their way onto my plate. I can’t remember the last time I felt so satisfied, so strikingly happy, and so full of joy, all because of food. Before I gorged myself too much, I was back in my room and had slipped into my cloud-like bed, called to request a 5am wakeup call, and got lost in the obliteration of too many channels. Animal Planet, BBC, MTV, HBO. I couldn’t decide on anything, inundated with choices, so I spent an hour or so just browsing the endless channels before cutting myself off from the mindlessly addicting quality of TV and cozied into the soft embrace of my bed.

Just as I had laid my head down, the shrill ring of a technologically advanced telephone popped me out of bed, the voice on the other end greeting me in a soothing, sweet, “Good Morning Ms. Francis. I hope you slept well. Breakfast is ready for you downstairs and your shuttle will be here to pick you up in 1 hour.” I packed my things and headed downstairs to a magnificent breakfast buffet—sausage, pancakes, waffles, omelets, fruit (even kiwifruit!) cereals, oatmeal, croissants, and scones—that enticed me into being hungry. Still full from a wonderful meal on the plane and the exceptional buffet from the night before, all I really wanted was cup of coffee, but how could I pass up a spread like this? I helped myself to a few of the lighter selections, slices of plums and kiwifruit, dried apricots, cheese slices and that wonderfully smooth hummus. I enjoyed my breakfast along with a cup of real, drip filtered coffee and soaked up the luxuriousness of my reality. What a world away I’d come in just a few hours. The morning before I had woken up in a bed shared with cockroaches, a shower smelling of urine, and an obnoxious 6 year old wanting to fight me.

Anticipating What's Next...

It’s like I’m in some sort of holding period—jetting off from the developing world, back to the developed. Back to 300 TV channels, paved roads, and more choices then most of us know what to do with. Gone are the grueling 12 hour bus rides, hello to my own private, air-conditioned car. No more shady guest houses or hand washing my own clothes. The luxury of comfort and ease await me, first in Doha and then tomorrow in Washington D.C. I can’t decide if the excitement I feel is for the initial break from bare bones travel that home promises, or if it’s for the known, the routine, and starting a new chapter in my life. Have I cured the wanderlust in me, tamed the free spirit? I don’t think so, maybe just for now. For a week, a month, or even a year, but already I can feel the urge to plan my next great adventure, my next exploration of a world that sometimes seems so small, but also so overwhelmingly huge. I have seen so much this year, grown by leaps and bounds, but still I find myself ever questioning and wondering what the world out there has for me to discover.

Anxiously Waiting

It’s 6am. I’ve still got 6 hours before I even leave for the airport, but I’m absolutely giddy with excitement. I can’t sleep or concentrate enough to read a book. I want to run through the streets, to shout at the top of my lungs, to laugh, and dance, and hug strangers. Today is a huge day for me, a day I’ve been excitedly anticipating for months, a day I finally feel 100% ready for. Yes, I’m most excited to see my family and friends, to indulge in all of the foods I’ve so dearly missed, but I can’t tell you how much I have been looking forward to my Qatar Airlines flights, a night in Doha, and the duty-free shopping. Kate hyped up Qatar to the point where I’m worried I’ll be disappointed—big seats, personal TV’s, great food, free alcohol, and friendly service. Then there’s the lure of phenomenal duty free shopping in Doha—perfumes, makeup, and magazines—all that stuff that makes you feel girly. Stuff I’ve really come to appreciate after being grungy and dirty for so long.

Leaving Kate Behind

After a slow, relaxing morning at the hostel, drinking instant coffee and filling my rumbling stomach with watermelon, oranges, and amazingly enough, toasted whole-wheat bread (an anomaly in Africa!) smothered in fresh fruit preserves, I made a final sweep through to check for forgotten items and in excited anticipation said goodbye to Kate. My drinking buddy, the girl who I can always count on to share a shandy or a box of South African red with. The girl who started this trip terrified of malaria and who provided me with a daily tally of her latest bites. The girl who has pushed me to be a more compromising, tolerant person, a friend who I’ve shared some of the most memorable days of my life with. It’s a challenge to find someone who you can travel well with, and despite the stubborn Taurus in both of us (we share the same May 19 birthday) and the tense, irritating moments when we’d both push each others buttons, we made a dynamic pair. I was sad to leave her behind, but the promise of home sprinting towards me helped to negate any lingering pangs of sentiment as the bus rolled off down the Arusha-Moshi Highway.

4 months ago driving between Nairobi and Arusha I remember relishing in the golden landscape of acacia trees, vast open grasslands, a setting crimson sun, and the colorful specks of Masai herding their prized cattle. The scene yesterday was identical, but its magical intensity had faded. A scene that I had once been stunned by, overwhelmed, and embraced by was just another landscape of the African bush. It’s beauty dulled by its normalcy. But still, it’s that vision of Africa that I love, the romantic dream of Africa that has always pulled me to this continent. That’s how I know I’m ready to go home. The spark, the glimmer, the excitement, and the magic have faded. I feel like wrapping up into the anonymity of a cocoon and hiding from a world where I will always be a muzungu, a walking dollar sign, a person to be started at, and a curious novelty. Not only have I started dreaming about Taco Bell and California Pizza Kitchen, but the sense of relief I will feel when I step foot into the Washington D.C. airport, and will simply be another face, another traveler, just one amongst the crowd. Saying this however, it’ll probably be a week at home before I long for the magic of Africa.

Saying Goodbye to Arusha

I said my final goodbyes to Zach and Mama Gwandu early yesterday morning after spending just 2 days in Arusha tying up loose ends in preparation for the start of the Scholarship Program. In fact, today Mamu Gwandu is traveling the 8 hours to Singida to pick up Neema and Faudhia! I arrived in Moshi yesterday morning to find Kate still in bed, nursing a hangover from the previous night. Turns out wine, cocktails, beer, a stripper pole and encouraging friends can make for some interesting stories. After a shower and a cup of coffee, we lingered around town, caught up on internet to do lists, and enjoyed a shandy and Greek salad while basking in the magnificent views of Mt. Kilimanjaro before heading back to the hostel for an afternoon of homemade popcorn and Julia Roberts movies. Exhausted from 3 consecutive nights of disturbed sleep, zoning out to Notting Hill and My Best Friend’s Wedding while filling my yearning for home with one of my favorite snacks was perfectly in order. We’re staying at a place called Hostel Hoff, a hostel that arranges short and long-term volunteer projects for its guests. There’s a constant flow of volunteers here, some staying for just a week, others for upwards of 6 months. It’s a homey little place with a great hot shower, the best book exchange I’ve seen in months, and a fantastic staff that cook delicious meals and make sure that you feel right at home. Kate has been here since Tuesday and plans to stay for the next 6 weeks or so volunteering with a local womens group before returning home to Sacramento in November. As for me, well tomorrow I’m off to Nairobi, my final stop before making the 2 day journey home.

Just 4 Days To Go

Just 4 months ago, I vividly remember expressing my explosive excitement at the prospect of flying to Africa in just 4 days. And here I am today, just 4 days away from leaving this continent and making my journey home, consumed by that same explosive energy. There is so much I love about this continent, its people, and its culture. Many people come to Africa with romantic dreams of the endless Serengeti, colorful tribes, and vibrant culture dominated by traditional dancing and the infectious thumping of drums. Others never dare touch the continent's soil for fear of rampant famine, gut-wrenching poverty, and endless bloody civil wars. The truth is that Africa is a massive continent, bigger than North America, Europe, and Australia combined. A continent of 54 countries, over 6,000 languages, and more than 1 billion people. It's home to modern cities, McDonald's, and the latest gadgetry. It's also a place where preventable diseases, unclean water, and basic human rights go unchecked. Despite the massive hurdles African countries face, its people are optimistic, loving, and gentle. I've experienced some of the greatest acts of human kindness here, but also have witness some of the cruelest. It's a continent of extremes, of parched deserts and snow-capped mountains, of urban sprawl and rural desolation. It's people are black, white, brown, and every other shade in between. Successful democracies neighbor countries whose elders have experienced more modernity than their grandchildren. Africa is all of this, and every gradation in between. Leaving here, I hope people will begin to recognize this great continent as just that, a diverse continent, not a country, not a single entity. Civil war in the Congo shouldn't scare travelers away from Togo, and famine in Ethiopia doesn't mean destitution in Tanzania. The countries I've experienced in Africa have all been magical, be it the generosity, the landscape, or the smiles. Despite the hardships and perceived difficulty of life here, Africa will and always has held a special place in my heart. I've traveled to Thailand, Cambodia, Vietnam, China, Laos, India, Kenya, Tanzania, Uganda, Rwanda, Congo, Malawi, Mozambique, and Zanzibar during the past 10 months, and while each country has meant something different to me, it's the African countries as a whole that have had the biggest impact on me.

South-East Asia was about letting go and learning to be selfish. About doing things when I wanted and for no other reason than it made me happy or it felt good. I learned the importance of putting myself first and discovered the liberating sensation of saying yes to me, and when necessary, no to others. India was a spiritual place. A country where I mended a broken heart and tasted the affection of unconditional love. It's in India where my spirituality and beliefs were clarified, where I connected with my inner being and my eternal soul. India forced me to question, to rethink, and to examine. Africa helped me to let go. To let go of the go in me, that negative voice that had me far too concerned about petty things. Once I was able to recognize my insecurities as nothing more than conditions of my past and nuances of my society, that bright, golden ball of light in me began to shine. The warm glow of my soul began to shine again, and I was able to recognize myself again. Just as India forced me to question and examine my surroundings and beliefs, Africa helped to center me and taught me that finding the answers isn't always necessary, that it's OK to not know. But what I do know is this. That each of us are on a spiritual journey, a journey that brings us back to earth time and time again as we strive for enlightenment. The things that we experience are by no means random or by a stroke of luck or misfortune, but carefully timed events to help our souls reach the next level of consciousness. People are brought into our lives for specific periods of time to remind us of things or to teach us lessons. And many of the people close to us are the same souls who we have known in past lives and will continue to have relationships with in the future.

I can't tell you why some people experience devastatingly difficult lives while others haven't a care in the world. Why children are raped and brutally murdered. Why people take machete's to their friends and neighbors, or why entire countries are ravaged by endless, seemingly ridiculous wars. I am more confused about many things since setting foot on the east coast of Africa, but perfectly secure in knowing that it isn't my job to solve the world's problems, to understand everything, or to have perfect clarity. My job is to be an active participant in the events and situations put before me, to listen to my inner voice, and to do what I can to improve the lives of others. This 10 month journey has allowed me to connect with myself, to love myself unconditionally, and to intimately recognize that everything happens for a very specific reason. The universe attracts each of us to the situations that will help us grow spiritually. So take life as it comes. Work hard, but don't push too hard, and know that this probably isn't the first or last time you've been here. Enjoy the journey, embrace it, learn from it, and above all else, don't be afraid of the challenges. You will always be taken care of.

Last Day in Mbulu

My last day in Mbulu has been a productive one. The morning started out wiht a trip to the town's stadium where the girls do their speed workouts. After, Zach and I walked into town to use the internet, but a town-wide blackout led us instead to the office of Martha Massowe, the director of a local women's empowerment group funded by the Lutheran Church. Although our discussion was brief, she has agreed to invite the girls to her seminars and workshops related to women's health, gender based violence, and poverty eradication. The single biggest barrier that these girls face are unwanted pregnancies, and the controversial issue of birth control in a fundamentalist religious community make tackling the problem slightly more challenging than simply educating them on their choices and giving them access to contraceptives. Despite the group's affiliation with the church, Mrs. Massowe is a self-proclaimed feminist and woman's rights advocate, and I hope she can become a positive role model and mentor for the girls while empowering them about issues that intimately affect them.

After lunch with a few of Zach's friends, we caught a ride back home just in time to meet with Mrs. Ayo, the wife of Mr. Ayo, headmaster of Chief Sarwatt Secondary School. There are a few key things that I want these girls to have, most importantly is the ability to speak English. As such, one of my objectives during the three days that I have spent here was to identify qualified English teachers who can teach the girls conversational English over the course of the next year. And Mrs. Ayo is just the person I'd been looking for. Having been a teacher for the past 19 years and a mother of 2 herself, she exudes a fun-loving, enthusiastic personality that the girls latched onto immediately. I'm not sure where I'm going to come up with the 50,000 shillings ($40 USD) she's charging per month, but English is something that these girls cannot afford to not know. We've agreed to start the 2 hour sessions twice a week in November, so I'll just keep my fingers crossed that the money will be there. Somehow I'll find the money. In addition to an English tutor, Zach has helped me identify a full-time massage therapist (crucial for the development and recovering of stressed muscles) and a woman who will cook 2 meals a day for the camp. Right now, the girls do all of the shopping, cooking, and dishes, consuming the majority of their free time. For a mere $25 per month, the girls will instead be able to focus on learning English and with equal importance, be able to enjoy the luxury of free time. Time to do those things that all teenagers love--to listen to music, to gossip with friends, and to sleep. I am so looking forward to sinking my teeth into this project once I get home and to create something great with these girls and something great for their country.

Working Out the Details

Zach and I spent much of yesterday ironing out the details for the Scholarship Program and brainstorming ideas for the future of the training camp. Neema and Faudhia take their primary school final exams today and by next week, Mama Gwandu will travel to Singida to pick them up. Rather than moving them straight to the training camp in Mbulu, they will stay with Mama Gwandu in Arusha for a few weeks as they are eased into a training schedule and to help with the tough transition of being away from home. But by the first week of October they will be in Mbulu with the rest of the girls. Rather than staying in the same room with the other 10 girls, Zach has rented out a seperate room for them so that they will be able to focus on their studies. Right now, the room is just a 12'x12' cement room with a nice big window and overhead light, but with no furniture, it's not yet suitable to be lived in. And so, with some of the leftover funds that we donated back in June (A big thanks to Susan Vitulli of CPNS!!), I have placed an order with a local carpenter for a bed, table and desk, and two chairs. Today I'm going to pick out a mattress and bedsheets, and maybe a few extra things to spruce up the room a bit.

Yesterday, Zach and I also met with the headmaster at Chief Sarwatt Secondary School to inform him of the girls' enrollment at the start of the new school year in January, explain the program, and to introduce ourselves. Mr Ayo was very enthusiastic about our plans and supportive of our lofty ambition. Sitting in his office, berating him with questions and expressing my concerns, I felt like a parent interviewing potential schools for my child's enrollment. It's so exciting to see all of this coming together. What started out as just an idea, a mere suggestion just two months ago, is coming to life and the future of two young girls from poor, rural villages is about to change dramatically!

Back at the Training Camp

It's so wonderful to be back with the girls again. It's like being home. I was greeted by exuberant squeals, massive hugs, and genuine, ear-to-ear smiles. Since June, 4 girls have had to leave the camp to return tot heir villages due to a lack of progress. Zach isn't running a charity program, and when girls, after a few years show little improvement or lack of competitive desire to achieve, he has to make the difficult decision to send them home. Unfortunately, Zubeda, Farida, Phelomena, and Gertrude are no longer part of Team 100. But in the next two weeks, Neema and Faudhia, the youngest recruits to the team, and the very first scholarship students will be joining Zach and the girls in their new home in Mbulu.

The camp in Mbulu is much more comfortable than the conditions in Arusha, the biggest improvement being electricity! The girls are also less cramped and are afforded slightly more space, but with 10 girls still sharing a single room, that's not saying much. The camp is located at 1,850 meters in the Great Rift Valley, home to some of the best runners in the world from Ethiopia and Kenya, and soon, if all goes as planned, from Tanzania as well! The high altitude will give the girls the extra edge they need to eventually compete among the best.

Zakia unfortunately did not perform as well as she had hoped at the Olympics and didn't earn a spot in the 5000m finals. However, the stomach pains she suffered the day of her Olympic debut have subsided and she has been racing in Italy for the past few weeks, winning races and running times close to her personal best. She will run in a few more international invitationals this month before coming back to Tanzania to resume her training. Zaituni will be traveling to Europe at the end of October to compete in a handful of cross-country invitationals as well. The two 14-year old scholarship athletes, Neema and Faudhia have been invited by the International Athletic Federation to compete in a race in India next month too! These girls are becoming quite the international bunch. Good job girls!

Feeling Great Again

All of those depressed, funky feelings have completely disappeared. With less than 2 weeks left, I feel like I've come full circle. I'm excited about going home, but glad I still have some time left here. It was when I still had between 3 and 4 weeks left, when I was exhausted from long, seemingly unending days of travel and still a good amount of time before my departure that I slipped a little. But now, having done everything I came to Africa to do and anticipating the next couple of days visiting Zach and the girls, I am just happy, plain and simple. And I just found out that my mom will be in Florida visiting my grandma at the same time as me, so I'll get to see her a whole week earlier than anticipated!!

Tarangire National Park

Morris, a former Olympian and training partner of Zach and Mama Gwandu, is also the chief of police for the entire Manyara Region. Holding such a high position in a rural, newly formed region of Tanzania brings with it great respect, authority, and a certain level of fame. Morris' genuine and compassionate demeanor has the entire town of Babati wrapped around his finger. We're staying at the nicest lodge in town for free. We've eaten at the nicest, most expensive restaurant in town for free. And last night, after returning from our safari, we enjoyed beers at the police mess for free. Tarangire National Park is within the Manyara Region and therefore, under Morris' jurisdiction as well. Tanzanian National Parks are strictly monitored and controlled due to their immense income generation for the country. Private vehicles are not allowed to enter any of the park, and all visitors must enter as part of an organized tour and with a registered tour company. Doing this will set you back anywhere from $150-$200 per day. But not when you've got Morris on your side.

Prior to his appointment as Chief of Police, he owned Green Leaf Safari Company based in Dar Es Salaam. Since his move up to Northern Tanzania, the company has been handed over to Cathy to manage and run. With his knowledge of tourism and safaris, Morris organized a day trip to Tarangire National Park for us--no formal tour company, no hefty fines, just a nice, leisurely day in one of Tanzania's parks with the highest concentration of animals and the lowest concentration of tourists. We started spotting animals before we even entered the park. Thousands of zebras, buffalo, and antelope. Families of graceful giraffes and lumbering elephants. We spotted birds--Helmeted June Fowl, Vultures, Bear Go Away, Hammackos, Hornbills, and even the iridescently blue backed Bustaling. We watched a jackal stalk its tiny prey, a Kirk's dik dik, the smallest of the antelope family. But the most exciting sighting of the day was when we stumbled upon a family of elephants trying to intimidate and fend off a single, female lion. The lion was lying low in the shade of an evergreen baobob tree, watching with intense calculations the herd of elephants clustered just a few meters away. As we positioned ourselves into a better viewing position, the lion's rustling in the grasses sent the elephants into round of ferocious warning calls that made the hair on my arms stand up. The lion, alone and vulnerable against elephants without the help of her pack, retreated from her strategic position, creeping closer to us and further from the imminent threat of angry, protective elephant mothers. As the lion came towards us, her bloody chin revealed the recent feast she'd been enjoying under the baobob, a feast she was probably reluctant to leave behind to the mercy of the savannah's scavengers. The entire scenario lasted only a few minutes, but the vivid intensity of it has it burned into my memory forever. As we pulled away, Kate and I exchanged a look of utter disbelief, completely shocked at what we had just witnessed, and our jaw-dropping silence was lost as laughter and excitement-induced chatter spilled from our mouths.

A few minutes passed and I took to my perch hanging out the rear passenger window, the African sun casting its glow on the open plains and its warms rays on my skin, the wind picking tears from my eyes, and the feeling of completeness filling that little spot just under my rib cage where I like to think my soul resides. I felt so whole, so complete, so alive out there, and again, a smile spread across my face that couldn't be contained.

Swimming with Wild Dolphins

Kate treated us to a beautiful hotel on the east coast of Zanzibar for the night. The hotel's restaurant and bar overlook the neon-turquoise waters of the Indian Ocean, its reach stretching out to the brilliant blue horizon, and its vastness dotted with the triangular white sails of dhows. At low-tide, women work the seaweed farms, harvesting a crop that is exported for mere pennies to the sushi consuming nations in the east. Meals of kingfish and prawns have satisfied my insatiable love for fresh seafood, and the sounds of the ocean have filled my ears with the magical allure of the coast. There is something so primitively comforting about being by the ocean, just like the flickering of campfire flames, or the sacheting of white puffy clouds across a bright blue sky. The interconnectedness of all of us, of human beings, of our ancestors, of the universe is so powerfully apparent when you can just be. Learning to just be has been a major part of this trip for me. To be one with myself, to be one with the world. It's a liberating feeling once you can finally let go of the external world and all of its influences, to be fully in the moment, in the present. And for some reason, finding that inner-peace and presence is much easier when you succumb tot he magic of flames, to the dancing of clouds, or to the powerful beauty of the ocean.

We woke up before the sun had peeked up from the horizon, enjoyed a breakfast of pineapple, papaya, and tea, and by 7am had boarded a small boat that took us out into the rough seas in search of dolphins. Ominously dark clouds patchworked the sky in gradations of greys and blacks, and the deep blue water swelled in turbulent anger with teh approaching storm. But the impending storm never came, the waters calmed, and teh sun chased the darkest of the clouds away. In the chilly tropical morning air, we stripped down to our bikinis, strapped on our masks and snorkels, and pulled the rubber flippers onto our feet. And then we spotted them. A pod of dolphins, their dorsal fins cutting elegantly through the water's surface. I dropped off the side of the boat, ungracefully flipping into the water backwards. The dolphins were everywhere, jumping, playing, diving into the ocean's depths. What started out as 8 or 9 disappearing to the ocean floor, quickly turned into a pod of 20 strong circling up towards us gently nudging a blow fish, passing it between them, just as kids play with a balloon. Tapping it up and letting it gently float back down, showing off their colorful toy to their curious, amazed guests. I did flips in the water, clapped my hands, and peaked their curiosity. They swam within a hands reach from me and I giggled like a little kid. Our smiling faces examined each other, our noses just 2 feet from touching. The playful creatures invited us into their world and allowed us to join in the fun. I am still giddy with amazement, in awe of their proximity to us, and amazed at the true gentle nature of the perpetually smiling creatures. Eventually the dolphins swam off towards deeper water in search of food, leaving us to climb back into the boat and bask in the adrenaline-infused excitement coursing through our bodies. Once again, it was impossible to wipe that smile from my face or to control the laughter bubbling from my chest. Swimming with a pod of wild dolphins off the coast of Zanzibar was one of the best experiences of my life!

Arrival in Zanzibar

Well, we've made it to Zanzibar! After a relaxing day in Dar and a night at home watching movies (Aquamarine!) and drinking wine, we boarded the ferry at 10am this morning and by 1pm had reached the fabled "Spice Islands." Conquered first by the Arabs in search of lucrative trading routes with the east, Zanzibar maintains its traditional Swahili, and hence, Muslim culture. The ancient Stonetown provides a glimpse into coastal East Africa's past, its jade-blue waters team with giant tortoises and dolphins, and its well developed tourism infrastructure has tourists flooding its high-end restaurants and boutique hotels. Cathy lived here for 5 years, working at one of Zanzibar's finest resorts, and today her connections granted us access to the island's largest pool and a delicious fresh fish lunch compliments of the general manager. I am really looking forward to spending the next few days exploring the island, its beaches, and especially excited about finally, finally, finally getting to do some shopping! I've spent the past 10 months deliberately not buying much of anything for lack of space and hassle in toting souvenirs around the world, but now that's no longer an excuse. I'm ready to blow the rest of my budget! :)

A Long Day from Mozambique to Tanzania

Being in Dar Es Salaam and staying at Cathy's house is exactly what I needed. We arrived last night after 15 hours of hitchhiking our way from Mozambique. We spent most of yesterday in the back of a big rig, crawling at a walking pace along a pot-holed dirt road, covering just 200km over the course of 7 hours. The cramped seating, the sluggish heat, and piercing tang of African beats had pushed me to a near breaking point. I sat tucked up into a ball consciously taking deep breaths, calming my agitated thoughts, trying not to think about my rumbling stomach, or the 12 hours we still had ahead of us. And then the engine stopped. 50km from the nearest town, the sun descending quickly towards the horizon, Kate and I sat on the dirt embankment among the dry grasses and prickly bushes, as our 3 male driving team jerry-rigged a solution to the pestering engine problem. I was no longer annoyed, but a little scared. Scared that we'd be stranded with no village in walking distance, with no food or water, and with 3 men in rural Tanzania in the dark. Kate and I exchanged glances. The worry and concern displayed through a tense silence, the paralysis of movement, and prolonged stares off into the distance. Luckily, the scenarios running through our minds vanished when the truck's engine roared to life and the driver shouted, "Twende, twende!" We crawled back into the sleeping quarters of the cab and tucked into the most comfortable positions possible. Happy to just be moving forward, I noticed a difference in my thoughts. What was just an hour before a frustrated, agitated, and negative mindset, had completely flipped to one of appreciation and gratitude to at least be in a moving vehicle. The universe always gives you the experiences you need for the evolution of your consciousness, and this was a clear reminder that a situation is only what you make it, it is how you consciously choose to perceive it. There's no room for negativity, as your situation could always be worse.

Painstakingly we bumped and jolted along the once paved road, a road that's been forgotten and left to the brutalities of nature, watching as over the course of a few hours a handful of private vehicles zoomed past us. I was grateful for the ride we had, but with each passing vehicle, feelings of jealousy crept up as I calculated our chances of getting to Dar before midnight slowly dissolve. Just as the sun disappeared, we screeched to a stop to buy charcoal from a group of boys sitting on the side of the road. Rather than staying in the truck, I hopped out too, barefoot and determined. I stood just beyond the truck, on the side of the road and prayed. I payed to Jesus, to Allah, to Buddha, and to Lord Shiva. I prayed tot he universe to bring a vehicle for us. I stood there in hopeful concentration and pleaded to the universe for help. A few minutes later, the universe answered my prayers. The pickup truck was only going another 30km down the road, but seeing it as an answered prayer, Kate and I hastily threw our bags into the flat bed and waved goodbye to the excruciating hours of big rig travel. Thank you, thank you, thank you.
I kept an eye out the back window, hoping to catch a glance of headlights that maybe, just maybe would be heading for Dar. Just outside of town, we stopped at a police check, and while the driver was being questioned by the authorities, distant headlights raced towards us. As the high beams approached us, I hesitated, but didn't want to risk losing the opportunity to ask. I hopped out of the truck, and again barefoot, ran to the stopped vehicle, waited until the policemen finished their questioning and asked the million dollar question, Are you going to Dar Es Salaam? A wave of hopeful euphoria consumed me as he invited me to jump in. I think I let out a high-pitched scream, threw my hands in the air, spun around on my dancing feet, and waved to Kate to hurry up. I couldn't wipe my face of the smile, of the joy that radiated from my eyes, or of the laughter that bubbled from my soul. The workings of the universe are awesome!

We barreled down the road, flying past villages and towns, past kids bolting across the street and goats and chickens darting to avoid becoming road kill at an exhilaratingly terrifying 140km/hr. By 10pm we were dropped in front of Cathy'sghouse and greeted by her inspiring smile and excited embrace. We exhaustedly showered and devoured a brilliant display of grapes and fresh, hot pasta before collapsing into her massive bed and falling into a deep, deep sleep.

In a Funk

I am in such a funk! Exhaustion and being ready to go home have combined to put me in a depressed, slightly overwhelmed mood. The feelings come and go, but for about the last week, I've just felt down. I find myself counting the days until I leave and am not realy all that excited about the things I have planned between now and then--shopping in Dar Es Salaam, Zanzibar, a safari in Tarangire National Park, visiting Zach and the girls, and finally, Mt. Kilimanjaro. All phenomenal things in their own right, but I've very much unenthusiastic about it all. I feel frumpy and out of shape, I'm sick of being dirty and grungy, my hands and feet are in a state of absolute disgust, and my clothes are hanging on their final thread. I am ready to be done being a backpacker, to be clean and to wear normal clothes, to go to the grocery store and to go running, to watch movies and laugh with my friends, to have a routine and my own space. I am sick of wearing a bandana on my head everyday, of having orange finger nails from henna that is long past its prime. 20 days and counting.

Unbelievable Generosity in Mozambique

Wow, its been a long time since I last wrote...I guess laying on the beach, swimming in the neon blue water, scuba diving, and drinking 2M's have consumed all of my time! Kate and I spent 4 1/2 days in Wimbe Beach and finally indulged in the sunny beach activities we'd been looking forward to for weeks. Mornings were spent with coffee and CNN, a brisk swim in the ocean before breakfast, and by 10am, we'd walk into town, plunk ourselves under the shade of an umbrella and laze away the day with good food, books, music, and the constant lure of the ocean lapping onto the beach. We managed to meet some wonderfully generous people who made out time at Wimbe even more enjoyable-- Michael from Rome treated us to drinks and lunch for the first few days, a handful of South Africans paid for our indulgences on our first evening, and then Grace and Mandy, 2 fresh law school grads from NYC treated us to a great lunch and wine, not to mention they were our accomplices in some fun, but embarrassing evenings at Russell's Place. Even on our way out of Wimbe as we headed north up the coast, we were picked up by a group of South African's who not only gave us a ride up to Mocimboa de Pria, but a comfortable place to stay, a fantastic fish and prawn dinner, and use of a company truck (yea, I got to drive for the first time in a year!). We were treated like family and never allowed to pay for anything.

The generosity that I have experienced over the course of the past 10 months has restored my faith in the inert goodness of human beings. Despite all of the evil and wrong-doings in this world, the vast majority of people are loving, compassionate members of a global community who do try to do good for others. Regardless of what their motives might be, and as selfish as those motives often are, people are genuinely good. It is our environment, exposure to poverty, and a lack of opportunities that corrupts us. Kate adamantly disagrees with me on this, but I am a firm believer in the good that lies in people's hearts, a believer that ultimately good always prevails over evil.

Alive and well in Mozambique

Internet has been very expensive and hard to come by in Malawi and Mozambique so I apologize for the lack of updates over the past few weeks. But Kate and I are doing great and having a phenomenal time on the northern coast of Mozambique. I'll post updates once I am back in Tanzania in a week or so. Until then, I'm off to go scuba diving! Ciao!

Tropical Paradise and Longing for Home

Wimbe Beach stnads up to all of the hype. Silky, white sand beaches glitter in the tropical sun, turquoise, emerald, and royal blue water flistens intothe horizon, and the offshore coral reefs provide an allure of small rolling waves, and the fascination of an underwater kingdom. It's the perfect place to indulge in books, naps, and leisurely swims. But despite all of this, I'm ready to go home. I'm tired of living out of my backpack, of wearing the same clothes everyday, of always having to eat at restaurants. I miss my mom's voice and my sister's laugh. I miss the comfort of being with my family and the day to day routine of life at home. I am really excited to be going home so soon!

Wimbe Beach, Mozambique

After spending a day wandering the nearly deserted, old streets of Ilha de Mocambique's Stonetown, we had had enough of the strangely quiet, ghost town feel of the old Portugese capital. The gradeur architecture of the once bustling city has been left to deteriorate, falling victim to the satly air and a lack of enterprise. Enormous cathedrals and mansions, forts and statues of Portugese settlers make for beautiful phots, but the lack of things to do and the strange lifeless quality of the place sent us on our way just 24 hours after arriving. With a lack of the white sandy beaches we had been craving, Kate and I set off early yesterday morning for Pemba, a town 7 hours norht and infamous for it's glittering beaches, calm turquoise waters, and picture-perfect tropical allure.
We arrived in Pemba by late afternoon and upon befriending an Italian in town, caught a lift out to Russell's Place, a South African owned camp just across the street from the beach. Turns out we arrived just in time for the celbration of a few birthdays that we being honored with the hosting of a costume party. Huck Finn, a sheriff, a toilet seat, Jane Fonda, and a member of the Fallopian Swim Team, were just a few of the outrageous characters who made the evening memorable. We somehow managed to get all of our drinks bought for us last night, a huge feat considering a cocktail here cost nearly $5! The drunk, meathead of a DJ played terrible music, but for a bystander his music selection made for some gutteral laughing fits as we watcghed people attempt to find the rythym. Most of the party attendees were white South Africans who live here permanently, a tight community that live in a warped reality of Arifkaan's culture, money, and alcohol. All night I felt as though I'd been granted access into the real world of Afrikaaners, like I was watching something that few people actually ever get to see. It was wierd...that's all I can really say about it!

Arrival in Mozambique

After a series of memorable events--packing 25 adults, 14 children, a couple of chickens, and all of our luggage into the back of a small pickup truck, a vomiting mother, bag swiping boys on bicycles, and a misunderstanding about payments resulting in a kid putting a hex on me--we arrived in Cuamba, Mozambique. Not too much changed once we crossed the border, mud hut, thatched roof villages sprang up occasionally along the road, skinny, scabbed, knobby kneed children covered in dust run to out chase the lone passing vehicle, young women wander down the road with an infant wrapped in colorful fabric on her back, a toddler clenching her finger, and a few older children surrounding her. I can't help but think how desperately these women need access to birth control. I'd guess that 90% of women here, and throughout sub-Saharan Africa are burdened with far too many children. It's no wonder that with an average of 6 children, families cannot pull themselves out of poverty. Rising food and transport prices, poor access to education or health services, and an income completely relying upon ever changing weather patterns, its a hard life, but all it takes to change is empowering women, one village at a time.
Jeffery Sachs is heading the Millennium Development Project whereby he and his team work closely with individual villages in Africa and Asia to help them meet the Millennium Development Goals--access to quality health care, free education for all children, improved, sustainable farming techniques, and women as income generators and small business owners. The success of these villages is astounding, it's heart warming and inspiring to finally hear of an African development project with significant, lasting results. Meaningful success are far too hard to come by out here, especially with the billions of dollars being poured into the continent. But I think Mr. Sachs has taken the right approach. It may be an approach that is much more time consuming and labor intensive, bit it works and that's a lot more than most big NGO's can boast for out here.
Anyways, back to our journey. So the people and landscape changed little when we crossed the border, but what did change was the language. Mozambique is a former Portuguese colony, so unexpectedly Kate and I have found ourselves digging deep to uncover those few words of Spanish that we know. At least we can ask the price of things, and for the most part, understand the numerical responses. But, everyone does call me by name here. Dona in Portuguese means woman or lady, which is a little strange, but humorously amusing.
We arrived in Cuamba on Tuesday evening to the warm glows of a setting sun, wrapping the entire town in a blanket of golden shadows, smoothing the edges of an otherwise dusty small town. The train to Nampula originates in Cuamba and seeing that Kate and I have had more than enough hard, long bus rides in the past few weeks, the prospect of a 12 hour train ride was incentive enough to make it here by Tuesday night, just in time to catch the early morning train on Wednesday. Through limited Spanish, hand gestures, and afew drawings on napkins and in the dirt, we managed to find a hotel, buy tickets for the train, baguettes and snacks for the next day's ride, and even dinner at a local watering hole. The menu was impossibly difficult to decipher, but my first bit into an egg and cheese sandwich had me holding back tears of joy. It tasted just like a McDonald's Egg McMuffin, and its only downfall was that I had finished the thing in 4 bites and it left me craving more. It's funny how much of the past 10 months' memories are centered around food, and this little town will definitely be remembered for it's sande de ovo y queilo.
We woke up at 4am Wednesday morning to board the departing train and wound up in a compartment with 2 English boys, Stewart and Josh. The pair has been traversing the classic London to Cape Town route for the past 7 months, and despite their lack of cleanliness, provided good company for the journey. And best of all, we were able to swap books, so FINALLY we have some decent books to read!
The train stopped frequently in small villages along the way, and I got to indulge in one of my favorite Indian past-times--sampling all of the unknown foods being sold by local villagers. Fried dough, honey peanut brittle, and perfectly tart mandarins were the day's highlihgts. Topped by a bottle of Manica, one of Mozambique's favorite brews, at 10:30 in the morning, and I couldn't have asked for a more pleasurable ride.
We arrived in Nampula, once again to the beauty of a setting sun and what seemed to be the entire town anxiously waiting to greet the arriving train, found a hotel that despite it's high price tag, afforded us the luxury of a hot shower, flush toilet, and CNN. And much to my surprise, this morning, a free breakfast buffet...with I might add, Cornflakes! Oh what a bowl of cereal will do for one's spirit!

I Missed the True Malawi

It's a crisp cool morning, the sun just beginning its ascent into the big blue sky, the sounds of morning--the splashing of bucket showers, the hungry cries of children, the honking of horns announcing a buses departure-- are carried by the wind, rustling through the eucalyptus trees. Kate and I expect to cross into Mozambique this afternoon, traveling first to Mandimba and then on to Cuamba. Malawi has been a whirlwind experience, spending only 7 days in the country and primarily at backpacker places at that. I don't feel like I really got to know this country. I didn't eat local food, or learn any words in Chichewa Only once, last night, did we stay in a local guest house. We really skimmed over this country and its the first place that I don't feel like I got the full experience. What I did learn about this country is that its much easier than its neighbors, rightly living up to its label of "Africa for Beginners." Transportation is relatively easy, people for the most part speak English, there are plenty of muzungus to latch onto, and as I reluctantly found out, its well set up for travelers. It's a country I'd love to return to, but next time I want to discover the true Malawi.

Arrival in Lilogwe, Malawi

After 3 full days in Nkhata Bay doing nothing but soaking up the sun on a white sandy beach, diving off of cliffs, and swimming myself to exhaustion, we bid the lakeside paradise farewell to explore a bit more of this tiny landlocked country. A 7 hour bus ride south landed us in Lilongwe, Malawi's capital city. Although we arrived after dark, I was immediately struck by the sense of modernity exuded by the city's composition--neatly stocked grocery shelves, illuminated, well-maintained car dealerships, fast food restaurants, and even cross walks and stop lights that were observed. Based on recommendations from our hosts in Nkhata Bay, we found Kiboki Camp just outside of the city center. The large garden welcomed us to into one of its many tents complete with thick foam mattresses, and after a quick bite of tikka masala and rice, we cozied into our little urban campsite and drifted immediately off to sleep.

Lake Malawi

I am ready to pack up my life and stay here. Ok, well I guess my life is pretty much packed up, confined to a tiny red backpack and as of late, a papyrus basket from the DRC. But, I honestly think I've found a place where I could be happy, content, and utterly at peace forever. I thought I was almost ready to come home, but now, I'm not sure. I've seen a lot of tropical paradises in the last few months, and none can come close to this. The waters of Lake Malawi are the clearest I've ever seen. Warm, fresh water, and loads of tropical fish darting through the turquoise backdrop, lightening bolts of bright blues, pinks and yellows. Diving down beneath the surface finds a vast world of rocks, caverns, and plant life. The lake's fresh water keeps the fish small, but plentiful and diving down to explore the network of caves is an exhilarating test of one's bravery.

From Vwanza Marsh to Nkhata Bay

Sometime well into the night we were awakened by loud rustling, trampling of dry leaves, and the breathy exhalation of elephant sighs. Kate popped out of bed, peered through the reed mat window covers and in a whispered exclamation said, "Dona, you've got to come see this!" A group of 17 elephants grazed across the filed less than 2 meters from our noses, their trunks reaching high into the trees to find the choicest leaves to munch on, the babies staying close tot heir mothers finding comfort in her protections. A high, bright moon illuminated the scene, its light reflecting off the lake and blanketing the mighty creatures in a blue glow. We stood, stooped over the low windows watching in awe as the elephants went about their business, completely unfazed by the two sets of eyes examining them. I eventually tucked myself back in bed and drifted off to sleep to the sounds of the elephants parading around our hut.
At first light, we went for a guided walk through the park, spotting baboons, hippos, impalas, bush backs, and a few more elephants. Our armed guides didn't seem concerned that we were walking less than 5 feet from the waters edge, water that was teaming with hundreds of hippos, Africa's most lethal animal. It made me just a little nervous, but we made it out alive, unscathed, and full of adrenaline. After a leisurely breakfast back at camp, we packed up and caught a ride back to the junction for Nyaka National Park with our Italian friends. We piled ourselves intot he back of a truck with 30 other passengers and all of their luggage, propped ourselves on top of bags of dried fish, tied scarves around our heads, and took off down the road towards the park. Bumping along the road, I struggled to find something secure to hold on to, my bum scooting closer and closer to the cab's edge. I was able to wedge my foot between a few pieces of luggage, providing me with a little more balance and a sense of security that was probably misconceived. The locals laughed, their brilliant smiles lighting up their faces, as they watched us, 2 muzungus riding with them, crammed in there with them, sitting on top of their prized possessions, barreling down a dirt road, past their family and friends, their villages and their reality. There was a definite sense of pride, a commonality, a camaraderie that was exuded.
Unfortunately, the front axle of the truck broke and after coming to a grinding halt, we sat on the side of the road for 2 hours patiently waiting for the new part to arrive from town. Baking out in the sun, hungry, and rising irritability helped us to make the decision to nix the park and head for the beach instead. We caught a ride back to Rumphi in a rare passing vehicle, and after a series of minibuses and a couple of hours, Kate and I found ourselves in Nkhata Bay.
While buying a box of wine at the grocery store, I made friends with Harold, a British carpenter who has been building schools and playgrounds in the area for the past few months. Having friends who run a guest house, he offered to take us out the Butterfly Space, a relaxed, low-key, hippy place right on the water. Perfect. and so, here we are, enjoying the relaxed perfection of a tropical paradise. I can't wait to see this place during the day time. I can only imagine how beautiful it must be.

Crossing into Malawi and Exploring the North

It's been 6 days since we arrived in Tanzania. 6 long, tiring days of rough bus rides, long waits on desolate, deserted roads, and more meals of beans than either Kate or I care to stomach. After yesterday's 18 hour, 450km bus ride along a sandy dirt track from Tabora to Mbeya, we hopped on yet another bus this morning at 7am on our way to the Tanzanian-Malawi border. We got thoroughly ripped off both on the price of our bus tickets and in the process of changing money, but once we got all of that behind us, we got our passports stamped, waved goodbye to tanzania, and crossed into Malawi, my 12th country in the past 10 months. The beauty of Malawi astonished me--dramatic green peaks, turquoise-jade water streched out towards the horizon. One-fifth of Malawi is covered by Lake Malawi, a tropical, warm, fresh water lake that not only provides the livlihood for millions of Malawians, but also attracts sun worshiping, beach loving tourists. Starting in the north of the country, we're making out way first to Vwanza Wildlife Reserve and Nyaka National Park. We made it as far as Rumphi today on public transportation, but entrace to either of the parks is another 50km from town. After valient, but unsucessful attempts of catching a ride with goods delivery trucks, Kate and I bought some Doritos and sat on the side of the main road and waited. The afternoon was pressing into evening and we'd just about given up hope of making it into the park today, when Roberta and Augernio slowed to my pleading hand gestures. The Italian couple agreed to take us into the park. Our plan had been to go to Nyaka Park, but when Augernio veered the car in the opposite direction, our plans instantly changed. It's interesting that everyday we wake up and have a general idea of what the day will hold, but everyday brings with it surprises and unexpected turn of events that by the time we go to sleep, a completely different day was enjoyed and experienced than what was expected. It's a nice way to live.
Roberta and Augernio were going to Vwanza Wildlife Reserve, and now, so were we. We had no idea what the accomodations would be like, not to mention any idea if there would be any availability, but we've never let that stop us before. An hour outside of town we happened upton the small, unassuming park gate, paid the $5 entry fee, and ventured off into the park to find a place to stay. The woman at the gate gave the simple instructions to "go straight," and that's what we did. A few hundred meters down the dirt road, a family of elephants gathered, grazing on shrubs and tugging leaves off of trees. What we thought was just 3 elephants turned into 7 or 8 as they meandered along the road and through the thick, dry vegetation. We waited patiently in the car, not wanting to get too close to the group which included a few females and their babies. Kate excitedly videotaped what she could from teh backseat, enthusiastically narrating what will likely be very boring footage. After about 20 minutes of wiating, the group cleared the road and we were able to contiue on our search for a small gathering of huts "just up the road." Dusk was giving way to the setting sun and Roberta began expressing her concern about driving around unguided, in the path of wild animals. Blocked by fallen trees and overgrown grasses, the road we were instructed to drive down abruptly ended. Confused, and now even more concerned, Augernio turned the rented sedan around and drove cautiously back towards the main gate. The road split off at various junctions, but with dilapidated, worn signs providng no true clarity, Augernio made the frazzled executive decision to ask one of the park rangers for directions rather than venturing further into unknown, wild territory in the midst of animals migrating to the watering hole for their nightly drink. Good decision Augernio!
It turns out we passed the small huts just after clearing the main gate. Three rustic, reed huts sat grouped together overlooking Vwanza March where hippos and elephants lounged by the water. The dropping crimson sun cast a magical hue across the golden grasses as we sat enchanted by the elephants playing in the water, enthralled by the powerful barks of hippos, and astonished by the vividness of the moment.

Watch Zakia Run in the Olympics!

Ok, our very own Zakia Mrisho will be representing Tanzania as her country's only female athlete. She will be running in the 5000m race scheduled for Tuesday August 19. Check your local listings and make sure to watch one of the girls from Team 100 make us proud!

Sitting and Waiting

Well it turns out the bus from Uvinza to Mpanda doesn't come until tomorrow, so Kate and I have spent the better part of the morning sitting on the side of a road, chasing the fleeting shade, hoping to find a ride south. The nearest town is a 45 minutes walk in the opposite direction, but luckily we stocked up on snacks, namely a tub of peanut butter, crackers, and BBQ Pringles before we left Kigoma yesterday. So at least we won't be hungry! It's only 11am but the sun's rays are heating up the dry, dusty earth, scorching our necks and the early morning shade has become a rare commodity--Kate and I sit huddled under the last remaining shade in sight. The distant rumble of approaching trucks provides hopeful entertainment as the trickle of villagers greet us with concerned curiosity.

Rantings for the Day

We got talking to a few of our fellow passengers on the bus this afternoon, and soon Kate was speaking French with the man sitting behind us. John and his family have been living in a Congolese refugee camp in Western Tanzania for the past 12 years. The language barrier made fully grasping his story difficult, but it was an interaction that really got me thinking. 12 years. 12 years of living in a temporary hut. 12 years of waiting, hoping, praying that you'll be able to go home. His children were born in the camp and know no other life. 12 years of waiting for food rations. 12 years ago he was a man of dignity, a man who was able to provide for his family, a man with a career and dreams for the future. But fleeing his county and being left no other option other than settling in a camp in the far reaches of Tanzania's most remote region, has stripped him of that pride and dignity. His eyes watered with grief and his body shook as he told his story. It made me feel inadequate and helpless. But as I sat there, gazing blankly at the passing scenery, I realized that I'm not helpless, that there is always something you can do to invoke change.

The UN presence is everywhere here, brand new, white SUV's with UN plastered boldly on the sides, zipping down roads, parked in 5 star resorts or beind the protection of secure gates. Signs dot the roads with UN logos, pointing out the upcoming refugee camps and various other projects they have here. The World Food Proggrame, UNICEF, etc. But what is really being done? Why are children growing up as refugees? Why are entire families permanently living a life of temporary subsistence? 12 years, that's inexcusable. And John's story is by no means uncommon. What is the UN truly doing for these people? Hosting conferences at 5-star resorts? Writing quality control reports from the comfort of their plush homes? Conducting site visits in their obscenely expensive vehicles? And for what? It is unacceptable that with the hundreds of millions of dollars being funneled into these countries each year that people fleeing their homes cannot be decently provided for. Having a job with the UN, or any other major NGO for that matter, is like being part of an exclusive club. It's who you know that gets you the job offer, then there's the private UN hospitals, the executive clubs, the homes outfitted with $120,000 worth of upgrades, the unconditional use of UN vehicles for work and pleasure, the tax incentives, and a lifestyle that is unattainable at home. Obviously there is work being done and objectives being accomplished, but what's the true motive and where are the absolute, tangible, significant results? I don't call thousands of people still living in camps after over a decade results. That's failure of a bureaucratic organization tangled up in its own red tape, its own agenda. An agenda that has a lot more to do with guilt from the past than anything else.

I wish I had a solution rather than just complaints, but what I do have is the optimism that my nationality can make a difference in the life of John and his family. I promised John that I would do my best to improve his situation, and even if that's just pushing his asylum seeking status through to higher ups within the UN, well then at least its a step in the right direction. All we can do is provide hope. Once people lose hope, they lose a lot more.

From Kigali to Kigoma

On Tuesday morning we said good riddance to the DRC and headed back to Kigali. After a night in Kigali, we headed east for the Tanzanian border and back into a country of cheap food, cheap accommodations, and a familiar language. Western Tanzania is vast, open, and remote. The roads are unpaved, dusty tracks cutting through endless landscape of dry grasses, rolling hills, and acacia trees. Small villages crop up along the roadside every now and then, providing a great contrast to Rwanda's hilly roads that are inundated with men on bicycles, women walking with massive loads on their heads and infants on their backs, and seemingly endless numbers of children spilling from the hills. By Wednesday evening, we had made it as far as Nyakanazi, a small, but typical rural Tanzania town consisting of a smattering of shops that all sell the same basic necessities, a few restaurants all offering nyama choma (grilled meat), ugali, and beans, with a guest house attached to the back. With no electricity or running water and tired from 2 full days on the road, we had called it a night by 8pm. Of course, as soon as we had laid down and gone through the nightly mosquito net ritual, the electricity came on bringing with it bright lights, blaring music, and screaming TV sets. I was able to drown out the obnoxious commotion and fell asleep relatively easily, but by the sleepy look of Kate the next morning, she didn't have such a good night.

After sitting on the side of the road for close to 2 hours, the bus for Kigoma finally arrived. Packed to the bursting point with people, market goods, and even a few chickens, Kate secured seats for us (although I think a few passengers lost their seats in the process) while I found room for our backpacks underneath the bus. According to my map, the road to Kigoma appeared to be paved, however the hopes of a smooth ride were quickly dashed as we took off down the red dirt road. Having the window seat and Kate in the aisle, her patience was tested and the invasion of personal space severely violated. People from the aisles practically sat in her lap, elbows rested on her head, and chickens squawked in her face. She's learning some good lessons in patience here, and after a few moments of irritated frustration, took it all in stride. I am really proud of how well she continues to adjust to the harshness of life here, and although we still have different preferences in terms of food and accommodation, we are traveling very well together. I think we bring good balance to each other and have both learned a lot about compromise.

The bus stopped for a 15-minute lunch break about 4 hours into the 10 hour journey, and seeing the fatigue in Kate's demeanor from the constant onslaught of people touching her and bumping into her, I offered to switch seats. She happily accepted. The remainder of the bus ride was much the same as the first half--a bumpy dirt road, red dirt coating everything exposed to its constant cloud, and the loud rattling of glass windows set into window grates that were just a little too big. Kate's face and chest slowly accumulated a thick layer of copper red dirt, and by the time we arrived in Kigoma she was unrecognizable. Her sunglasses created a raccoon effect around her eyes and her teeth suddenly seemed blindingly white. Noticing her appearance, the sly giggles of passengers spread and soon the entire bus was talking about her. Pointing, smiling, laughing. The laughter was contagious and soon both of us were keeled over in our seats, tears brimming our eyes, our sides cramping from lack of oxygen. It's been a while since I laughed that hard. Why she was so much dirtier than anyone else on the bus is beyond me, but it was probably one of the funniest things I've ever seen!

We got off the bus tot he onslaught if taxi drivers biding for our business. Kate desperately wanted to stay in a nice hotel where she could take a hot shower so directed our chosen taxi to the Lake Tangayika Beach Hotel. But after driving down a road clearly under construction, we were informed that the hotel had closed. Refering to Lonely Planet for another potential hotel, we asked the driver to take us to Hilltop Hotel. His beat up old Toyota Corolla chugged its way up the hill towards the hotel, but without enough gas, the engine kept cutting out. Park. Reverse. Neutral. Turn the key. Give it a little gas, and off we go. We made it up to the resort overlooking Lake Tangayika and the eastern most reaches of the DRC, only to nbe told that the hotel had no vacancies. I'm convinced our taxi driver was some 16 year old kid who borrowed his big brother's car for the afternoon to see if her could make a little money, because honestly he was completely incompetent. We drove around for the next 20 minutes searching for a place to stay. Yet despite signs pointing towards hotels and guest houses, stopping to ask for directions, and an engine that couldn't stay running for more than 2 minutes, we seemed to go in circles. And in a small town with only a handful of guest houses, it was pretty pathetic. Park. Reverse. Neutral. Turn the key. And off we go. We finally made it to Omega Guest House where luckily there was running water, otherwise Kate probably would have started crying. The place wasn't exactly the $140 a night place on the hill that Kate was hoping for, but it had warm water, a functional shower head, and a comfortable bed. What more could you possibly ask for?

Troubles at the Border

Yesterday morning Kate befriended Mr. B (his real name has to remain unknown due to security issues) and James and foreign service officer and a pilot for the UN. Kate has been looking for connections with both organizations, so we chatted with them over breakfast, and on a whim decided to stay here another day. Having their own vehicle, they offered to show us around a bit, see some of the Rwandan countryside, tour the Primus brewery, and then meet up with a few of their friends for dinner. Perfect. We set off at 11am, and after securing our DRC exit stamps, walked across the border into Rwanda and waited for the driver to come through. Being diplomats we were waved through, our documents never checked, let alone stamped to indicate we had entered Rwanda. We hung around the border post for a good 20 minutes before the diplomatic vehicle cleared the border, but once it did, we jumped in and drove along the scenic lake shore road towards the Primus Brewery. Lonely Planet noted that the brewery offers frees tours, so we figured we'd show up and see what happens. The security guard denied us at the gate saying to come back on Wednesday. I think he was simply intimidated by the flashing of a diplomatic passport in his face, had it been just Kate and I, I think we could have gotten in no problem. Back in the car, looking at the map, and with no clue as to what to do next, we drove around the hills of eastern Rwanda. Neither Mr. B or James had yet been to Rwanda, so they enjoyed getting to see the endless terraced hills, lakeside villages, and of course, all of the people. Rwanda is such a densely populated country that something as basic as finding a place to pee on the side of a remote, dirt road can be a frustrating challenge. After a few hours of driving, I resorted to peeing on the side of a steep hill, wedged between two trees and the moderate protective anonymity of shrubs, to the sing-song chanting of "Muzungu! Muzungu!" provided compliments of a group of young kids. Hungry, and with no town within moderate driving distance, we headed back to Gisyeni where we stopped at the Stip Hotel for lunch. Prince and Jeanette were working and greeted us with shining smiles and warm embraces. A delicious lunch of grilled cheese and chips was paid for compliments of the daily stipend issued to UN employees, and after filing our stomachs with the nostalgia of classic American food, we drove back to the DRC-Rwanda border. Once again, we were waved through immigration, our passports never even glanced at. Sweet. That was too easy. I thought to myself. At the DRC immigration office however, all of that changed.
"Where are your Rwandan exit stamps?" the cheery border guard questioned. Mr. B explained to him that because of his diplomatic status, entry and exit stamps for Rwanda were never obtained, and that our documents were never even checked. Perplexed, but adamant that we have the appropriate stamps before we could enter the Congo, we were turned away and told to go back to Rwanda. Walking back through the 100m of "no man's land" between the two countries, a strip of land which belongs to neither country, but which typically requires you to have the appropriate stamps to enter or exit, I envisioned us getting stuck, unable to re-enter Rwanda or the DRC simply because of a misunderstanding and lack of proper border control. The embassy's would have to come get us out. Luckily that didn't happen. The immigration officer nearly lost his temper when he realized we had entered his country illegally a few hours before and then left his country without any formal record of our movement. He ranted about how we had broken the law, how we could easily be thrown into jail. I let Mr. B deal with it, tried to keep a low-profile, and stay out of the heated situation which seemed to be gearing up for a bull fight. But again, luckily that didn't happen. After a stern warning and glaring eyes, we filled out the appropriate entry and exit cards, our information was inputted into the computer, our passports were stamped, and we were on our way back to the DR Congo.
Happily the Congolese border guard ushered us through to the immigration officer without checking for the Rwandan stamps he so adamently insisted upon at our last crossing attempt. He smiled and waved, and welcomed us into his country. This is Africa, and I've learned to stop questioning the completely illogical. It's African logic, and mos of the time I don't get it.

The stern faced immigration officer sitting behind a barred window took our passports, immediately stamped Mr. B and Jame's documents, but fumbled through the two remaining passports disgruntled and agitated. The man, who must have had a long, tough day, peered up from his desk and pointed his finger at me, indicating that he needed to have a word with the two of us. Confidently we entered the immigration office, knowing full well that we had the appropriate, valid visas needed for re-entry. The man told us so himself that very morning. In broken English, he methodically explained the difference between a single and a multiple entry visa, and that our visas were 8-day single entry only. I tried my best in both English and Swahili, and with Kate chiming in in French, to remind him that not only did he tell me differently that morning, but that no where on either my receipt or in my passport did it indicate single entry. He refused to listen. Another woman butted in, picking up our passports, inspecting them, and then in sheer disgust slammed both passports onto the desk, "Impossible! No visa, no Congo!," the words flying from her mouth accompanied by sprays of spit. Between Kate and I, we didn't have the $70 to cover the unnecessary, but seemingly absolutely necessary visas. We stepped outside to discuss our options. I suggested we just walk the 200m to our hotel, stay the night, and upon exit in the morning, deal with it then. The immigration officers were too busy to notice us walk out of the room and didn't seem bothered by the face that we'd now begun walking down the road into Goma. I wanted to hedge our bets and hope that new immigration officials would be manning the office in the morning, and hopefully get around paying for an additional visa. Kate on the other hand thought we'd end up in a Congolese jail with my plan, and on the verge of tears and a panic attack, we went back into the immigration office to deal with the situation. Kate sat silently in the corner and let me do the talking. I embellished some story, showed him my shmorgeshboard collection of currencies, and told him that if he took all of it,. I wouldn't be able to eat dinner. Somehow he must have pitied me, took the $25 in US cash, and left me with a few hundred Congolese francs so that we wouldn't go hungry. Despite the fact that we got back into the country for $25 rather than $70, the officer slyly slipped the cash directly into his pocket. We so just gave him a $25 bonus. Corruption once again, and its so frustrating. I hate to be part of such a fundamentally debilitating system that has taken hold of so many African countries, but what choice are you given? I hope he at least feeds his family with that money, or pays his children's school fees rather than pissing it away on a few bottles of Tembo.

Coffee and Rambling Thoughts

What a gorgeous morning! The rising sun is casting its warm glow over the lake as I sit here drinking REAL coffee, eating tropical fruit salad, and listening to the lake's water lap the shore. Kate unfortunately is sick in bed with horrible stomach cramping and a bad case of diarrhea. We had planned to return to Kigali today, but in her current condition, we may very well spend another day here in Goma. Last night I finally got all of my photos uploaded...what a relief! I've struggled to find decent a internet connection in most of the East African region, and its funny that it's here in the DR Congo, that I've not only found a decent connection, but it's free!

It's an interesting phenomenon being a tourist here, as other than Kate and me, they simply don't exist. Goma is held by the government and UN Peacekeeping forces to ensure that the rebels stay out, providing relative security for the hundreds of foreigners who work for NGO's and the UN here. The outskirts of Goma and beyond are controlled by various rebel groups. Check-points and rebel patrols make travel in the eastern part of this country incredibly difficult and dangerous, however it's good to know that the NGO's haven't pulled out. Save the Children, UNHCR, World Vision, USAID, and countless others continue to operate out of Goma as much of the region continues to be controlled by rebels who attack villages, rape women, and force children into becoming child soldiers. IN January, a peace deal was signed between the government and rebels and to date, seems to be holding. However, local papers report that some of the rebel factions are beginning to arm themselves again in preparation for more fighting. My understanding of the conflict is limited, but what I can say is that it all goes back to injustice and power.

Poverty for some breeds hopelessness and envy of the more fortunate, creating a sense of imbalance and injustice. With nothing to lose and the potential for huge gains, men all too often resort to violence to gain control and ultimately power over others, over a situation, or over a region. This phenomenon has repeated itself thousands of times throughout history and around the world, and despite our claims to learn from our mistakes, to never again let history repeat itself, the issues of injustice, of greed, and of the accumulation of power are much too complex to simply say we will never let it happen again. Genocide, civil war, ethnic cleansing, and gang violence are still very real threats and still very much a reality for millions across the globe. There is immediate or simple solution, or for that matter, even a complex international accord that will create lasting long-term results. I think we as a species, as human beings, have reached a point in our history where its only through widespread evolution of our consciousness that sustained change will come.

The gap betwe4en the have's and the have not's is widening at an alarming pace. Technology is creating exceptional advances in medicine, in communication, and in education. But all of these advances are only available to a small percentage of the world. Why is it that in the west, we've been able to successfully transplant organs and limbs, save people from cancer, and help others to live relatively healthy, normal lives with AIDS, but in Africa, 1 million children still die every year from malaria? We've eradicated malaria from the US, from many Asian countries, from Australia, why can't we eradicate it in any African country? The technology and know-how are there, but its the lack of will, the perceived importance that is lacking. Humans are greedy, but I also believe greed is a concept of the physical self. Each of us are on a path towards enlightenment, a path that takes our souls many rebirths to attain. The harshness and complexity of life seems to have made realizing and acknowledging that inner-soul much more difficult. As a species,. we have moved away from seeking to understand to desperately seeking to gain. Rather than focusing on our eternal souls, the sameness that each of us share, and choosing to love others, we have an overwhelming tendency to focus on our physical selves, our egos. By doing so, our primary focus is on the betterment of individuals, the accumulation of material things, and the attainment of power and control. We obsess with labeling ourselves as Christians, as white or black, as a Ugandan, or as a Hutu. As a runner, or a mother, as a leader or a follower. By doing so, we lose sense of who we are as eternal beings, of our true nature at the level of our souls, and out of fear of losing control, we hang on to those labels in desperation. It's these labels and the notion of right versus wrong that they carry, that we divide ourselves and can begin to justify horrible actions and thoughts. As human beings, we need to evolve away from our obsession with labeling each other into the framed reference of self-realization. We need to stop looking to the future for change, for peace, and for happiness. All of those things are already here, right now in the present. We're simply too blinded by our egos to see it, too focused on the external to make the necessary shift. As granola as it sounds, it all comes down to love. Absolute love and acceptance for yourself and for those around you, despite the physical differences we may have, or the different beliefs that we hold. Once you can love and accept yourself, all the perceived problems that you have will dissolve and disappear as the universe aligns itself with you. The power of the universe--some call it karma, others call it God, whatever it is, once you are in full alignment with it, anything is possible. That's what I think its going to take to change the world.

Pictures, Pictures, Pictures!

I am absolutely ELATED to announce that finally, after days and days of effort, I have uploaded most of my photos from the past few weeks. Unfortunately, I lost about 2 weeks worth of photos due to a technical issue at one of the internet cafes, so that means no photos of the girls running at regionals, or my visit to their rural villages in Singida, or the pineapple hairdo in Dar Es Salaam. I'm just happy that it was only two weeks worth and not more. I've organized the photos by country, so click on the link below and then take your time to browse through Kenya, Tanzania, Uganda, Rwanda, and the DR Congo. Enjoy!

http://picasaweb.google.com/dona.j.francis

*I haven't had a chance to add captions to many of the photos, but at least you'll get the general idea.

Arrival in Goma

It took close to 2 hours to complete the border crossing procdeures--long queues, distracted immigration officials, and checking, double checking, and triple checking documentation--but by 11am we had reached the DRC. From the Rwandan side of Lake Kivu you can see an enormous, beautiful, and lavish resort build out over the lake on the congolese side. Kate, willing to splurge on another night of luxury inquired to the cost and availability of a room at the Ihusi Hotel. Running low on cash and unable to exchange foreign currency in Goma, we're biding our time with only $4 to our names until Kate's family can Western Union some money to her tomorrow. Luckily, we don't have to pay for the hotel until we check out! The DRC runs on a complete cash economy, no visa or mastercards accepted here, and the only ATM in the country is locaed in Kinshasa, a 3 day drive from Goma. So let's keep our fingers crossed that the Western Union transfer goes through tomorrow. Otherwise, who know's what will happen!

After spending a few hours wandering the dusty, dilapidated streets of Goma, we took motorcycles out to a rural village suburb to have lunch with Prince and his family. The family of 4 live in a tiny 2 room wooden house in a compound of identical homes where Prince's extended family also live. Prince's wife, Princess, prepared a typical and delivious Congolese feast for us--cassave flour ugali, boiled bananas, greens, fish, and beans. I absolutely loved it, and lucky for me, Kate didn't take too well to the food, so I got to enjoy her leftovers as well. We didn't stay more than 90 minutes, as Prince was worried about us getting back to our hotel before dark. But in the short time we visited, I learned a lot about politics and daily life here in Goma. The economy has been devestated by years of civil unrest and rebel fighting, there are no jobs, and a strong commitment to God allows people to be optomistic about the future. LIfe is hard here, but people persevere and don't let the harsh reality of their lives dictate their happiness. The Congolese, at least the few I've met, are a strong people, a happy people, and an incredibly friendly people. I guess its the same with many of the world's people whose lives are riddled with war, conflict, and chaos. Human beings have an astounding ability to overcome, to forgive, and to flourish. If humans didn't have the capacity to forgive, I think we would have annialated ourselves centuries ago. Despite the horrors that we continue to inflict on eachother, its amazing that we don't lose hope that the tomorrow is another day and that tomorrow offers the opportunity to start anew.

A Night of Luxury in Gisyeni

After such a tough day trekking up a volcano and week after week of staying in local guest houses, Kate had reached her limit and wanted to splurg on a day of luxury at a high-end hotel. We checked-in to the Stip Hotel, a $95 a night resort on the shores of Lake Kivu, complete with a pool, sauna, steam bath, and a gym. Unfortunately we never did take full advantage of the ameneties here, choosing instead to lounge by the pool and drink glasses of red wine. But the day was perfect and just what we needed. Wine, great food, and phenomenal accomodations all compliments of Kate. I promise to get you back one day Kate! I quickly made friends with Price, Jeanette, and Emanuel, the 3 bartenders at the poolside bar. I had inquired about buying the entire box of red wine rather than paying by the glass, and Jeanette offered to send her friend across the border into the DRC to buy a box at the local price. Within an hour, we had an entire hox of South African red wine delivered to our room direct from the Congo!

After a great pasta dinner, we hung out at the bar with my 3 new friends and Dennis, the incredibly cute manager of the hotel. Emanuel and Price, both Congolese and with a day off from work approaching, offered to show us their home villages just on the outskirts of Goma, the border town. Why not? So today we're crossing into the DRC to spend a day or two in Goma. How cool is that?

Trekking Mt. Bisoke

We spent all day yesterday trekking up Mt. Bisoke, a 3711m volcano located in Rwanda's Volcano National Park. We set off at 8am, driving nearly 45 minutes from the park head quarters to the edge of the national park and the base of Rwanda's sencond hightest peak. Led by our guide, Jean-Pierre, and sandwiched between two rifle totting armed guards, we set off up a trail that we expected would take us no more than 5 hours to complete. The trail began as little more than a nature walk, cutting through local farms and lush, dense forest. An hour into the walk we reache the true base of the volcano and the once-home of Diane Fossey. "Now the hike begins," warned Jean-Pierre. "The next 3 hours will be uphill." And uphill they were. Ankle deep mud, rocks, and stinging nettles occupied my concentration as we climbed. As we got higher, the mist thickened, and the group grew more and more tired. The cold gripped my fingers, making it difficult to get a firm grasp on my walking stick. But we kept going My feet absolutely blackened by the wet mud, my nose dripping, my breath escaping me. About half way up, 4 people turned back overwhelmed by the intensity of the trek. Hunger began to set in, people's moods deteriorated, muscles began and cramp. "Only 40 more minutes," Jean-Pierre announced. A low grumble came from the other hikers. The promise of scaling a colcano, the beauty of its crater lake, and views of the DRC kept me going. Fatiguing my body felt incredible. My feet struggled to grip the muddy trail, my arms burned from incessant contraction as I pulled my body wp the path. But eventually, finally, and with utter relief, we finally made it to the top. The terrain changed quickly from wet, mist covered rainforest, to rocky, grass covered plains. Hungry and fatigued, but thrilled to have reached the summit, I broke out in a run towards the volcano's center and the crater lake tucked in its interior. I sat there, just on the edge of the volcano, engrossed by the stunning views and my proximity to the DRC, literally just a stone's throw away. After devouring a few odd snacks gathered from other hikers, (I didn't bring food with me as I expected the hike to last only a few hours and to return to town by lunch!) watching the clouds roll on and off the peak, and taking a few photos, our guide announced it was time to begin the descent if we were to make it off the volcano by nightfall. I had expected the trek down to be much more difficult than it was, however within minutes we were all covered in mud. My hands and feet were completely caked in black goop and sliding down the face of the mountain proved disatarous for my poor Chacos. The straps were tested to their limit and the soles of the shoes, that just a few days before underwent their fourth superglue job, came undone. Halfway down and with still two hours to go, I decided to finish the trek barefoot. The mud felt great squishing between my toes. Sometime between worrying about stepping barefoot on stinging nettles and swinging from the vines of a giant tree, Jean-Pierre hushed our conversations and pointed into the thick vegetation. "You hear that? Can you hear the gorilla's eating?" We watched in excitement, the rustling in the distance. And then he appeared. A silverback gorilla sitting peacefully, chomping on wild celery. Without a care in the world the gorilla glanced in our direction revealing the enormity of its head before going back to the mundane task of peeling his celery. Having not purchased the $500 permits to officially track the gorillas, we were told to keep moving and sternly reminded not to take photos. Fair enough. Another 100m down the trail and the rustling began again. Jean-Pierre pointed out into the thicket of grasses, vines, and trees, and a streak of silver lumbered away from us before finding the perfect place to sit and eat. Jean-Pierre explained that in this family group there are 27 members, 5 silverbacks, and we just encountered 2 of them! The sheer rush of excitement that pulsed through my body shot through onto my face in a wild-eyed smile that took a long time to fade. We observed the second silverback for a few minutes before we were ushered off and continued down the mountain. To be in the presence of such an amazing animal, such an elusive giant, but one that is gentle and exhibits such striking resembalences to us, especially when you look into their eyes, its no wonder individuals ahve gone to great lengths to save them. The feeling is indescribable.

We completed the hike by 3:30pm, a long, exciting, and unforgettable 7 hours later Kate managed to not once, but twice step into wet, juicy mounds of buffalo poop, covering her socks and sandals in the stuff Between my barefeet covered up to the ankles in thick, black mud, and hers in buffaloo poop, we were a mess. Luckily for us however, one of our fellow hikers offered to give us a ride to our next destination, Gisyeni, a lake-side town 150km away.

The ride to Gisyeni was uneventful and by 6pm we had expressed our gratitude to the Dutch man and his son, hopped on the back of motorcycles and rode the last 2km to a cheap local hotel. Tired, hungry, and in desperate hope of finding a hot shower, we were dropped at Auberge di Gisyeni, where the man at the reception adamently refused to let us stay in a single room. Too tired to argue for long, we conceeded to the more expensive double room, but when the toilet didin't flush and the shower didn't drain, and the stale stench of the room's last occupants permeated the sheets and walls, we were moved to that cheaper, single room we'd wanted to begin with. The room was clean, but the shower was frigid. A cold shower, a heaping plate from the restaurant's buffet, and a Primus later, we passed out on our soft bed, tucked snuggly into the green Shrek sheets. What an amazing day!

An Update on My Plans

I've decided against going to Burundi. Internet searches and local newspapers highlight violence that continues to grip both urban and rural parts of the country. And its not just violence between civilians and rebels, hutus and tutsis, but foreign aid workers are being targeted, especially in Bujumbura, the capital city. So instead, I'll cross back into Tanzania and travel south along the country's remot western cooridor towards Zambia and Malawi. I think I'll have about 3 weeks to see either or both of the countires before returning to Dar Es Salaam to visit Cathy and so some shopping, then head up to Babati to visit Morris and go on a safari, spend a week at the training camp in Mbulu, and if I have time, spend a few days on the slopes of Mt. Kilimanjaro before flying home on September 17. My time is really widdling down, but its amazing how much you can do, see, and experience in just a few weeks! But no more planning for the future, today Kate and I are looking forward to trekking the volcanoes and hopefully spotting some primates at Volcanes National Park just outside of Ruhengeri in north western Rwanda. This park is home to Rwanda's infamous mountain gorillas and although we don't have permits to track them, we're hoping an availability or two opens up so that we can see the magnificent animals.