One Way Ticket to Bangkok...

Final Blog Entry

2008-10-06T08:47:00.002+03:00

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

2008-10-03T18:40:00.000+03:00

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.

2008-09-27T22:00:00.000+03:00

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.

2008-09-19T03:07:00.000+03:00

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

2008-09-18T13:06:00.001+03:00

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!

2008-09-17T22:45:00.000+03:00

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...

2008-09-17T18:01:00.000+03:00

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

2008-09-17T06:01:00.000+03:00

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

2008-09-16T18:00:00.000+03:00

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

2008-09-14T17:55:00.000+03:00

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

2008-09-12T14:14:00.001+03:00

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

2008-09-10T22:37:00.000+03:00

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

2008-09-10T22:29:00.001+03:00

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

2008-09-09T22:14:00.000+03:00

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

2008-09-08T09:56:00.000+03:00

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

2008-09-07T10:34:00.004+03:00

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

2008-09-03T12:21:00.000+03:00

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

2008-08-31T15:15:00.000+03:00

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

2008-08-28T22:07:00.000+03:00

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

2008-08-28T21:42:00.000+03:00

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

2008-08-27T09:23:00.000+03:00

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

2008-08-25T10:00:00.001+03:00

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

2008-08-24T10:09:00.000+03:00

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

2008-08-23T10:09:00.000+03:00

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

2008-08-21T10:09:00.000+03:00

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

2008-08-19T07:09:00.000+03:00

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

2008-08-18T22:44:00.001+03:00

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

2008-08-14T19:36:00.000+03:00

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

2008-08-13T19:18:00.000+03:00

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

2008-08-12T18:59:00.000+03:00

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!

2008-08-10T11:26:00.002+03:00

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

2008-08-09T11:03:00.000+03:00

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

2008-08-08T23:31:00.001+03:00

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

2008-08-08T22:52:00.000+03:00

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

2008-08-06T09:25:00.005+03:00

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

2008-08-03T11:16:00.000+03:00

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!

2008-08-02T20:46:00.005+03:00

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

2008-08-01T20:46:00.001+03:00

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

2008-08-01T08:39:00.000+03:00

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

2008-07-31T20:57:00.001+03:00

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

2008-07-29T20:45:00.000+03:00

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.

Why are we so scared?

2008-07-27T16:49:00.006+03:00

Hitch hiking has slapped me int he face with the realities of muzungus in Africa. Only once has a car driven by whites or with white passengers even slowed just the slightest bit to make sure we were ok, and never once have we been offered a ride. It's hard for me to comprehend why. Is it fear? Or indifference? Or lack of commraderie? I think it must be a little bit of all of those. But why? Are two American girls walking down a road in extremely rural Uganda a threat? Why wouldn't you stop if you saw two foreign girls sitting on top of their backpacks more than 20km from the next Rwandan village? I think the reactions we've encountered--fellow tourists and expats zooming by in their armoured vehicles, barely even daring to glace in our direction--speaks to the culture of fear that we as Americans, as westerners have grown accustomed to living in. Propoganda domiates our media. Terrorism. Guns. Suicide bombers. Civil war. Hate crimes. Murder. Gangs. National Security. Don't leave America because it's dangerous out there, shouts the media. And unfortunately, that fear is all too evident here. The vast majority of tourists I've encountered have been shocked and baffled that I'm traveling throughout the region as an independent traveler. Most come on organized tours, never leaving the percieved security of their private cars, their fellow travelers, or the hotels catering almost exclusively to foreigners. I get the feeling that far too many peopel come to Africa, to far off, exotic, and dangerous sounding places to snap photos of dirty kids, of people in traditional dress, and of wildlife just to impress people at home. It infuriates me that people come to Africa only to experience it from an arms length, from behind bullet-proof glass, and from the comfort of an eco-lodge or 5 star resort. We're safer here than we are at home. The people here are curious about us and want to have conversations with us. The local food is safe and delicious. Local transportation while it might not be the most comfortable, you'll never feel more connected to a country or have a greater sense of commraderie than when you're piled into a minivan with 25 people and their goats. Step outside of your box, leave your security blanket at home, and you'll be amazed at the world out there.

Hitch Hiking into Rwanda

2008-07-25T21:14:00.000+03:00

THE UNFOLDING OF TODAY"S EVENTS....
1. Woke up early and ate leftover's from yesterday's lunch, boiled potatoes and beans, from my handy dandy frizbee as I watched the sunrise over Lake Bunyonyi.

2. Checked out of the resort and walked 3km up a very steep hill waiting for a ride into town. Finally, once we reached the top of the hill we got picked up by a sweet potato truck, crammed ourselves into the back with about 35 other passengers and rode down a very dusty road into Kabale.

3. Waited at the Celtel (my cell phone service provider)store for over an hour trying to get my cell phone credit activated, but with no success. Oh well, Celtel doesn't work in Rwanda anyways!

4. Walked through Kable towards the border twon of Kituna for 30 minutes before getting picked up by an incredibly nice, new, and modern Mercedes Benz big rig which took us to the Uganda-Rwanda border. That was probably the most comfortable ride I've had yet in Africa.

5. After crossing the border into Rwanda, Kate and I sat on the side of the road and wiated for a ride. Within minutes we were speaking French, Swahili, and English with a girl walking up the road to collect water. Between the 3 of us and 3 languages we could almost understand each other!

6. After a little begging, the driver of a petrol truck straight from 1960 agreed to give us a lift. Hesitant of the police checks up the road, hakuna matata, we assured him and off we went. 9km and nearly an hour later (yes, this was the slowest transport I've ever taken) I was told to lay down and hide from the police. I made myself as flat as possible in about 3 feet of space and hoped for the best. Even when the police opened the drivers door to look inside the cab, somehow they missed me, the muzungu laying diagonally in the front seat. We continued up the road at literally a snail's pace, Kate and I passing glances at each other indicating, "This is ridiculous, we could be walking faster than this!" Eventually, I asked the driver to pull over so that we could walk. A little surprised that we wanted to get out of the truck in absolutely the middle of nowhere, he let us out, and we waved goodbye to the cigarette smoking petrol truck driver. And yes, we did walk faster than the truck until gravity pulled the truck down the other side of the hill.

7. Dropped in the middle of nowhere, Kate and I walked and walked and walked up the steep road that snaked through beautifully green hills. Kids appeared from the hills. One turned into five, and five into ten. They followed us in curious hesitation, never getting with 3 feet of either of us. Their smiles were shy and reserved. Their timid behavior leads me to believe that they don't see too many muzungus here.

8. We finally made it to a tiny little town that had a few restaurants grilling bananas and goat brochettes (kababs) and serving beer. Having not eaten since breakfast, exhausted from kilometer after kilometer of uphill walking, and needing to pee, we collapsed at one of the 3 nearly identical restaurants lined up on the road. Manueuvering myself past the hanging goat carcass, around the BBQ, down a tiny alley into the back of the restaurant, I find the toilet--a mud hut sitting on the edge of a cliff over-looking the fertile valley below. It may have just been a hole in the ground, but the view from the squatting position was breath taking. Walking back to the restuarant, still distracted by the view and my rumbling stomach, I forgot about the goat carcass and ran into it. Yes, full on bumped into a fully skinned goat hanging upside down from the ceiling!

9. Not wanting to miss an opportunity to catch a ride the remaining 60km into Kigali, we ordered 2 giant Primus beers (720mL each!), a grilled banana and took our places on the side of the road. Again, one guy turned into five, which turned into ten. Within minutes, there is a semi-circle with a 3-foot buffer surrounding us. To keep things lively, I play a popular Nigerian song on my phone and soon enough we're dancing, laughing, and carving our names into the history of the town.

10. Vehicle after vehicle passed us, none willing to give us a lift. It was approaching dusk, so I gave us 20 more minutes to find a ride, otherwise we'd just pay the $2.50 fare and take a matatu (shared minibus taxi) into Kigali. But I was determined to make it all the way to Kigali for free. A Land Rover owned by the International Red Cross Society slowed as I flagged it down coming around a bend in the road. I pleaded our case and after momentary hesitation, he agreed. Yes, we're going to Kigali!

11. Turns out Rwanda is 1 hour behind the rest of East Africa, so when we arrived in Kigali it was just approaching 5pm, not 6. We got dropped in town and figuring we'd easily find a guest house in the sprawling capital city, we set off on foot to find a place to stay. Not once did we see a guest house, only a smattering of fully booked high-end hotels. Kigali's roads twist and turn over the hills that house the city and don't exactly offer the most inviting or navigable city grid. Lost, tired, and unsure of where to find accomodation, a woman finally suggests the One Love Hostel, puts us on motorbikes and off we go.

12. We arrive at the gates of the hostel, which is obviously set up for tourists, and cross our fingers that they have an available room. Turns out they did have a room available, but at $30 a night I had to push back the anxiety rising in my chest. The room is huge and grungy, easily another 10 people could fit in here with a few bunk beds. The water stained ceiling is flaking off and caving in in spots, and the dungeon-like feeling of the room is only bettered by 2 small windows. Famished, we head straight for the restaurant. We're told we have 2 to chose from, so we decide on the one closest to our room. Walking through a courtyard we're greeted by the squaks of caged parrots poking their heads through the tops of cages and by at least 12 cats. Dirty, mangy cats who have obviously been in their fair share of fights. The first restaurant is really just a bar, their food menu consisting of nothing more than local snacks--grilled bananas, meat brochettes, and a few other items that disguised themselves in the mystery of the French languauge. Hungrier for a little more than bananas, we walked through the hostel's compound, which by the way seems to be completely deserted, to find our second option. The outdoor restaurant is illuminated by a single light hanging from the branches of a tree. A group of young business men occupy one of the many otherwise vacant tables. The waitress speaks only French and the menu, written completely in French alludes even Kate who studied the language in school. After struggling through the menu's options, I order what I suspect is fish salad and Kate gets fried fish and chips. Surprisingly, this is exactly what is brought to us nearly 30 minutes later. The dim lighting makes actually seeing our food difficult, but as I bite into my salad, fresh rings of onion, shredded carrots, cabbage, and chunks of fried fish smothered in mayonaise, I'm happily surprised. Better than I had expected. Kate too digs into her fried fish, but after a few bites is completely repulsed by the awful odor coming from her plate. The middle of the fish literally smells like cat urine. Although my better judgement told me that the fish on my plate was likely once part of the the fish on Kate's plate, I found no funky odors coming form mine and continued to eat. The food tasted good and I was hungry. We both went to sleep, in the nearly abandoned, a little shady and bizarre hostel, fingers crossed that a good night's sleep wouldn't be interrupted by gastronomical urgencies.

Phew, what a day!

Rwanda!

2008-07-25T10:57:00.000+03:00

We're going to Rwanda today! Rwanda is one of those countries that has always held a certain level of mystery and excitement for me, a place that my mom regards as one of the most beautiful places on earth, and a country with a culture unique to its own. Mention Rwanda and images of a horrific genocide are conjured, but that was nearly 15 years ago. Nobody talks of the enormous strides the country has made in uniting its people, of healing shattered communities, and bringing justice to the perpatrators. Why is it that people are still scared to visit Rwanda? Why are we still hanging on to a history that we chose to ingore in a country's darkest hour, but now, well over a decade later, we can't seem to let go of? I hope that me being there opens the hearts and minds of people at home to the true realities of this tiny East African country.

Relaxing in Uganda

2008-07-24T21:51:00.000+03:00

What a peaceful and relaxing place this is. After weeks of constantly moving, river rafting, hitchhiking, hippo watching, more hitchhiking, walking, walking, and more walking, both Kate and I were exhausted. Not the kind of exhausted that can be remedied with a good night's sleep, but an exhasution that takes a few days of utter relaxastion to cure. I spent most of the day yesterday doing the things I love most--getting lost in the hills that surround Lake Bunyonyi, making friends with school kids, devouring a new book, and swimming in the lake. I guess I didn't really sit still too much, but indulging in such activities was just the recharging relaxation I needed. Swimming in a fresh water lake in Africa is a rare occurance, as nearly all fresh water bodies of water on the continent are infested with bilharzia, a tiny parasite that wriggles its way into your skin and eventually into you liver, where it lays eggs and causes all sorts of serious trouble. So, I couldn't pass up the opportunity to swim in one of Africa's only safe lakes and in Uganda's deepest lakes, despite the chilly weather. As the sunset, Kate and I sat around the campfire and talked about family and happiness, and I am so grateful to have the family I have. No matter how bad or dysfunctional your family may seem, it could always be worse. I am so blessed to have healthy and supportive parents (3 of them!) and a wonderful sister. There's no better feeling in the world than to know that I have strong and loving people surrounding me, who love me and who will do anything for me.

Rushing to Wait

2008-07-24T13:37:00.000+03:00

And here we are again, in the same predicament we seem to find ourselves in just about everyday--rushing to wait. I woke up this morning to the shrill horns of buses and to music blasting from huge speakers just outside my hotel window. Good Morning Africa! But that's what you get for choosing a guest house just next to the bus stand. Aside from thumping music, I also had a strong feeling that we should get on the bus today for Kable, 8 hours south of here, rather than hanging around Fort Portal for an extra day. Leisurely I got dressed, washed, and packed up my things, as Kate lay in bed cursing the unwelcomed wake up call. I walked out to the buses waiting outside to inquire about a possible departure to Kable. "We're leaving momentarily, get on the bus, quick!" With Kate still back in the room I ran to hurry her along, grab my things, and hopefully find breakfast sometime before the impending departure. Kate was ready within minutes, and luckily the bus hadn't left. We grabbed breakfast from the hotel lobby and ran to the bus. Phew!, we made it. An hour later, we're still sitting on the bus waiting to leave. At least I was able to snag fried eggs and bread from the hotel!

Kabale and Lake Bunyonyi

2008-07-23T19:43:00.000+03:00

The bus ride down to Kabale was a relatively uneventful 8 hours, except for the little girl who puked all over me just as we left town! We drove through Queen Elizabeth National Park and spotted storks, wildabeest, and plenty of bats. A Dutch woman died just last week after contracting a form of ebola from the bats down here, so I'm glad we just passed through! Sometime during the day, the ticket collector on the bus decided he wanted me to be his girlfriend and during one of the many stops along the way, presented me with a huge bunch of bananas. I declined his offer and enjoyed his gift of bananas, but his longing eyes were upon me the rest of the trip. Once we finally reached Kibale, the touts and motorcycles were aggressive and intimidating, not exactly the best way to start off after spending all day on a dusty bus. But once we grabbed our bags and escaped the onslaught of commotion, we were able to hitch a ride out to Lake Bunyonyi in the back of a pickup truck, a big rig, and then finally on the backs of motorcycles. Kabale and Lake Bunyonyi have been dubbed "The Switzerland of Africa," and although I've never been to Switzerland to compare, the terraced hills, pine forests, and high mountain lake could easily pursuade me to relax here for a few days. We're staying in a rustically charming tent-cabin overlooking the lake, and after a few beers around the campfire, I was lulled to sleep by the symphony of crickets and frogs. It's amazing what a world away you can travel in just a few hours.

Seeing myself in my parents

2008-07-20T13:26:00.000+03:00

There's a quality in both my mom and dad that I was so embarassed by growing up, but grew to admire as I got older. A quality that I never saw in myself and never really expected to see. I was always too shy or self-conscious, too concerned about what other people thought about me. But my parents have always had the amazing ability to just talk to anyone, befriend anyone, engage anyone in conversation. At the grocery store, in line at the post office, in traffic on the freeway. I'd always duck my head in embarassment, roll my eyes in my annoyed teenage way. But now, its a quality I absolutely love about them. Why not talk to your fellow shoppers, or to the person sitting next to you on the park bench? We are all just people, plain and simple, and why not enjoy eachother's company? And finally, I've seen this same quality in myself. Kate made a comment a few days ago about my ability to befriend anyone, and I had one of those out of body moments when I was able to step back, out of my body to really see myself and the person I've become. And I really am a product of my mom and dad. I see more and more of them in me everyday. It's like my bond with them is tightening and strengthening, my love for them, my admiration and gratitude to them has increased immensely in recent months. I so look forward to getting to know each of them on a human level, not just as my mom and dad, but as human beings who have great knowledge and wisdom, who have stories to tell and who I am proud to be a part of. So mom and papa, this one is for you, for the wonderful years we've had, to the life you've given me, and to the many many years ahead that we'll get to share together. I love you both.

Hanging with Hippos

2008-07-19T23:56:00.000+03:00

I woke early this morning to the melodious orchestra of the birds chirping, calling, and cooing over the canopy. The sounds were a welcomed announcement of morning after a night that had Lara and I clinging to each other in fear.

While enjoying dinner and beers at the camp, we watched in anticipation as the black clouds rolled around the bend in the Nile, the wind whipped through the trees, and the lightening lit up the darkening sky in fantastic bolts of pinks and purples. The roar of thunder rumbled and roared in the distance growing ever louder as the storm moved slowly along the course of the river, snaking its way thorugh the thick green canopy and the horizon-hugging Blue Mountains. Wart hogs roamed freely throughout the camp looking for any morsel of food left by the constant turnover of campers. Out of the darken bushes just in front of us appeared what I though was another of the many warthogs that had been grazing past us all evening. That is one huge wart hog, I casually relay to the others sitting around the table. "Um, no, I think that's a hippo!" announced Kate. The hippo mozied on by us, not payin gus the slightest bit of attention even as hordes of people jumped out of their seats to photgraph the waltzing beast. I was captivated by the nonchalance nature of the animal best known for its deadly jaws and stampeding feet. Others didin't seem concerned of the hippo's wild nature as they followed it through the campsite and cornered it in a thicket of bushes. I sat waiting, just waiting to hear shrill screams of the pursuing kids, an overpowering roar of a threatened hippo casting a warning. Luckily that never happened. Eventually the commotion settled, people finished their dinners, and returned to their bandas to get ready for bed. Lara and I followed suit, but stopped just short of our tent when the hippo appeared again, grazing on the grass around our sleeping quarters. We looked at each other, eyes wide and filled with uncertainty and fear, we grasped for each others arms, something familiar and comforting before bursting out in nervous laughter. Raymond, one of the staff memebers, explained to us that our tent had been set up in the middle of a hippo trail, and that it was quite normal for hippos to graze around the tents at night. "Don't worry," he went on, "if you hear them at night, just don't make any noise. Don't scream, don't laugh, just play dead. They won't trample you if they think you are dead." Again, Lara and I looked at each other and nervous laughter spilled from our bodies. Of course, no problem, we rebutted, hakuna matata! Needless to say, Lara and I slept tucked tightly inside our individual sleep sheets, hugging each other on a small piece of foam pushed as far from the sides of the tent as possible...but no hippos were heard during the night, thank goodness!

Hitchhiking out to Murchison Falls National Park

2008-07-19T17:40:00.002+03:00

We set out early this morning after a fried egg and toast breakfast, backpacks strapped to our backs, cameras in hand, and began walking. 89km to Murchison Falls National Park--no problem! The copper dirt road lined with maize and sugar cane fields, twisted and turned endlessly. We walked and walked, thumbs out, hoping to catch a ride with a passing vehicle. To pass time, I began singing "The Ants Go Marching" and only got to the 8th verse when a salt truck slowed down just enough for us to jump in. We bumped along in the back for about 10km before the turn off the the park came up on the left. Thanks for the lift! We continued on foot for a good hour, stopping to hand out stickers to kids and shake hands with villagers. Eventually a tractor came up behyind us and enthusiastically welcomed us on board. Within minutes, I found myself driving the thing. Waving, laughing, having a great time. I guess all that tractor driving up at my dad's has finally come in handy...they were impressed with how well I handled the 1906 British engine! We rode in the back of the tractor until it reached its farm, which lucky for us was only a 20 minute walk from the park entrance. Once we reached the park gate, I immediately made friends with Assaf, the park ranger, convinced him that I was a resident of Tanzania (thanks to my Swahili skills!), shared a peanut butter sandwich with him, and before long secured passes into the park for the much discounted resident price! The first rest camp inside the park however was another 50km down the road, and Assaf sternly warned us that if we walked "the animals will eat you!" Not wanting to risk my life with the beastly baboons patrolling the road, we sat and waited. I chatted iwht a few of the other staff that were hanging around, sharing peanut butter sandwiches and slices of mango. Eventually an SUV pulled up and a young Indian couple offered us a ride, although they only had room for one. Kate hopped in and enjoyed the cushioned front-seat luxury of an air-conditioned SUV. Lara and I on the other hand crammed ourselves into the back of a beat up Toyota Corolla packed to the brim with melons and eggs en route to an high-end lodge. Lara sat on my lap, I cradled a box of eggs in my arms and off we went. The three men up front drank beers and chewed on coffee beans as the beat of Africaized-Christian rock hammered through destroyed speakers. Wildabeest, warthogs, and baboons aparently sprinkled the road, but all I could see wat the number 11 on the back of Lara's bright orange t-shirt. When we arrived at the Red Chilli Rest Camp we were told that there were no more accomodations, but of course, we quickly made friends with a few of the guys who work here, and they've promised to find a place for us to stay. Hakuna Matata!

From Jinja to Kampala and on to Masindi

2008-07-19T17:40:00.001+03:00

After 2 fun days at the Nile High Camp Site in Jinja, we left our little adventure paradise for Kampala in hopes of securing permits to see Uganda's gorillas. But our attempts to secure 3 of the very highly sought after permits were unsuccessful, so we changed our plans and have decided to head north rather than south. Not to worry though, we won't be going too far north where the Lords Resistance Army (LRA) continues to wreak havoc on rural communities with a decade long civil war, but close. We sat at the bus station for 4 hours waiting for a bus to leave for Masindi, and finally at 1pm it did. OUr goal is to get to Murchison Falls National Park which is tucked away in the far western part of Uganda, about as close to the border of the Democratic Republic of the Congo as you can get. Most people who come to the park, known for the Nile's biggest and most spectacular waterfalls, thousands of hippos, crocs, and bird life, not to mention lions and even giraffes!, do so on organized tours from Kampala. As such, public transport ends in Masindi, 85km from park headquarters. But being an independent traveler always looking for an adventure, I suggested to my travel companions that we do this one completely on our own. No hired vehicles, no tour operators. Hitchh hiking!

We arrived in Masindi much later than we had anticipated, and our chances of hitching a ride into the park at sundown were slim, but we gave it a valiant go anyways. As the dark rain clouds moved in and the gusts of wind picked up every leaf, piece of trash, and dust particle not secured firmly to something, we conceded to stay the night in Masindi and resume our efforts in the morning. We found a small guest house to stay in just as the skies began to light up with bolts of lightening and the thunder echoed across the hills. And then the rain came. Bucket and buckets of rain poured from the skies, quickly turning the streets into rivers of mud. Just in the nick of time, we checked into a local guest house, dropped our bags, donned our ponchos, and took to the streets of Masindi, running from store front to store front in search of a restaurant and a little relief from the storm. Nobody else was stupid enough to take on the rain drenched streets, but waited patiently for the storm to pass huddled under any form of cover they could find. How ridiculous we must have looked--3 muzungus barreling down streets and alley ways, leaping over the instantly formed rivers and lakes, ponchos flapping in the wind! We eventually found a restaurant and bar and were warmly welcomed by the others who were seeking refuge there. Beers, matoke and beans, a few games of cards, and even American music videos in the background, all under an African rainstorm in the middle of rural Uganda. This is why I love traveling!

White Water Rafting on the Nile

2008-07-16T17:12:00.000+03:00

I rafted the Nile! Yesterday, we spent all day on the Nile River, swimming, laughing, paddling, and conquering over 10 separate rapids. The rapids ranged from class 2 to class 5 and one even had a 10 foot vertical drop that we flew over in the raft and plummeted into the angry waters below. The river chewed us up and spit us out, capsizing the boat, hurling us over board, slamming us into rocks, but it was absolutely amazing! It was 7 hours of sheet adrenaline, punctuated by periods of calm that made time for diving and flipping off the side of the boat into the refreshing river. Towards the end of the day, we were overtaken by the rain clouds and got caught in the midst of a relentless African rainstorm. The sky blackened and released huge pellets of rain, turning the surface of the slow, calm river into a dramatic and energetic dancing water show. The rain intensified, continued, and didn't let up. The sky continued to darken and visibility was reduced to just meters. We paddled and paddled and paddled, partly in a vain attempt to escape the rain and partly just to stay warm. Exhausted and with no end in sight we took a break and jumped into the water to warm up. The river felt like a warm bath tub compared to the cold rain. With the thunderous raor of the next set of rapids growing louder, we struggled with shaky arms to pull ourselves back into the raft and prepared for the upcoming rush of adrenaline. We went over the rapids in pouring rain and even though it was only a class 3, the boast was slammed by a wall of water, flipping us over and throwing us into the water to tackle to rapids on our own. It was awesome. Banged up knees and bruised shins met us at the bottom, but I've never felt so alive, so aware of my present, my reality. I'm in Uganda, swimming down rapids in the Nile River, in the midst of a fantastic rainstorm. Eventually the rain clouds passed and the sun pushed away the cold that was taking hold on our exhausted bodies, as we mentally prepared and pumped ourselves up for the last rapid of the day, "The Bad Place."The name alone ignites a flame of fear in the pit of your stomach, but the anticipation and sense of accomplishment that comes with getting through such a massive, angry outflow of water subdues any lingering fear with pure, absolute excitement. "Stay to the right, if we go down on the left you'll be in a class 6, paddle hard and hold on tight!" These were Jeffery's last words to us as the water speed increased and the river dipped sharply downwards. Bring it on! One girl got thrown out and another got slapped in the face with her paddle, splitting her lip open. Half way down the rapids blood began pouring from her mouth, but she made it down to the bottom like a champ, never complaining once. In celebratory glee, I threw off my helmet and dove into the water, basking in the thrill of just having white-water rafter 22km down the Nile River!

Welcome to Uganda!

2008-07-14T20:04:00.000+03:00

We crossed into Uganda today! After running through the streets of Nairobi to catch a 7am bus headed for Kampala, hastily downing a breakfast of 4 pieces of white bread and 1 small banana between the three of us, we settled into the roomy bus for a 12 hour bus ride to Jinja. The bus drove through north-western Kenya, through burnt and looted store fronts and destroyed villages. Small encampments of UNHCR (The UN refugee agency) makeshift tents lined the main road, evidence of the post-election violence that still continues today in this part of the country. Bus aside from refugee camps and looted villages, we spotted wild zebras, ostriches, elephants, and even camels as we drove through one of Kenya's many national parks. Once we crossed into Uganda the rain was fierce and unrelenting. Our final destination today is Jinja, a small town in south-eastern Uganda which is known for its adventure sports. Located at the source of the NIle River on Lake Victoria, we came here for the world-renowned river rafting and if I feel brave enough, maybe I'll even give bungy jumping a shot. (At this point, I had to stop writing in my journal because the months attracted to my headlamp became so intense that I couldn't see the paper anymore!) The guest house we found to stay at is located on a cliff over looking the Nile. Famished, we devoured plates of food and local beers (Nile Special) watching the setting sun turn the massive river into hues of pinks and purple. What a way to end 3 days of traveling!

Arrival in Nairobi

2008-07-13T21:47:00.000+03:00

It's been a long 2 days of travel, and after nearly 11 hours on the bus today, we've arrived in Nairobi. The bus was scheduled to leave at 10am, but when the bus was still practically empty at departure time, we waited, and waited, and waited for it to fill up. Finally at 11:30 we left Mombasa, and drove literally non-stop to Nairobi. We didn't stop once along the way, except to pick up and drop off passengers, which meant lunch was acquired hastily from roadside vendors--a boiled egg here, a mango there-- by the time we arrived in Nairobi at 8pm, we were famished. After finder a place to stay, we made a beeline for the cafe below the guest house. The food was good, hot, and filling, and entertainment was provided by a man so drunk that in the middle of eating, his head dropped into his plate of food, his unconscious body slid from his chair, and he laid passed out in the middle of the restaurant. Curious commotion ensued as the waitress kicked and jabbed at the man, and eventually after his lack of response, she dragged him out to the sidewalk, his head thumping down the stairs behind her. The customers went about their small talk, hardly taking notice, like this was some normal, everyday event. Lara, Kate, and I looked at each other in disbelief. 20 minutes later after finishing out meal, the man was still sprawled out on the sidewalk, people walked over him, stood around him gossiping and laughing with friends. It's like he wasn't even there, bizarre!

A Week on Lamu

2008-07-12T18:59:00.000+03:00

This past week on Lamu has been phenomenal. From the bumpy bus ride to charging donkeys, from the exceptionally gorgeous homes we stayed in to partying the night way on a floating bar in the middle of the ocean, and of course, getting to know the house staff and cooks. Sammy, Tosha, and Stanley treated us like royalty. Every whim was catered to--outlandish, over the top meals prepared by Sammy, free flowing drinks at any time of the day, spa treatments overlooking the Arabian sea, and clean, comfortable rooms with hot water showers! Sally and Alice are a remarkable mother-daughter duo, with amazing family and friends surrounding them. Over 40 people flew out to Lamu from the UK and California to help celebrate their birthdays, that in and of itself speaks wonders of the type of people they are. Most days were spent lounging in the infinity pool overlooking the ocean, windsurfing in the Lamu channel, riding donkey's along the beach, and racing the local sail boats. I thought the week would putter along, that I'd be itching to leave by the end, but no, it was quite the opposite. Each day was filled with fun activities, one day rolling int the next always with anticipatory excitement at things to come. I spent a lot of my time in the kitchen getting to know our cook, Sammy who is a phenomenal chef whose talent goes unrecognized. Ginger lime pie, passion fruit custards, grilled snapper, and salads were prepared and served with awe-inspiring creativity. I hope I can recreate some of them at home! I in turn shared some of my favorites with them; spaghetti with spicy-roasted vegetable marinara, garlic bread, chocolate chip cookies, and for breakfast, banana bread and egg-in-a-hole-in-a-toast. Sammy, Tosha, and Stanley were shocked that we befriended them, but deeply grateful for the opportunity. Never before had guests held conversations with them, or listened to music with them, let alone prepare dinner for them or take interest in their lives. But I couldn't imagine it any other way. How could you possibly ignore the very people who make you vacation so luxurious and comfortable?

The Ride to Lamu

2008-07-07T18:44:00.000+03:00

Kate survived her first night in Kenya, despite the head that to a new arrival can be unrelenting. Her misery in the heat was traded early the next morning for a long, adventurous bus ride out to Lamu. The first 5 hours were relatively smooth...the bus speeding down a tarmac road through fields of pineapple plantations and remote coastal villages. Across the aisle from Kate and I sat a mother who suffered from some form of mental illness. She swayed and rocked in her seat, agitated by people nuances, and the nagging of her embarrassed young daughter. Her eyes were wild and skittish, crusted over by a nasty looking infection. Her tattered dress revealed her emaciated chest, the bones of her rib cage poking through her paper thin skin. The woman's nerves were tested even further when we turned off the tarmac and onto a dirt road heading for the coast. The bus rattled to such an extreme extent that the seat just in front of the woman broke. The seat back fell back into her lap, along with the gentleman who was seated in it. Her patience was wearing very thin as she grimaced in frustration and discomfort, shaking her head, and glaring out the window, but she refused to switch seats and created quite an unnecessary commotion. We shook along for 3 hours, my butt and legs numb from the constant, intense vibrations. Kate put it perfectly..."The poop is about to be vibrated right out of my butt!" So true.

We eventually arrived in Lamu after an exhausting 8 hour bus journey, only to have no clue where to head next. Lamu isn't a big island, but all we knew was that we needed to get to Shela Beach, which turned out to be a 45 minute walk through the sand. With our packs on, our stomachs grumbling, and exhaustion setting in, we made the trek to the other side of the island. After what seemed an eternity, we arrived in the very posh Shela Beach and began asking every muzugu we saw if they knew Lara or Alice. After a handful of quizzical looks, one of the bar boys pointed us in the right direction. We found Lara in a gorgeous house, just set back from the beach in a beautiful garden setting. Let the luxury begin. This is going to be a great week!

Welcome Kate!

2008-07-04T18:34:00.000+03:00

Kate has arrived! It's so good to see her, but the poor girl is absolutely exhausted, and drained after 3 flights, and 24 hours of traveling from London. I realized today when she arrived what a different reality I am living in, how different "normal" has become for me. I wrote her just the other day telling her not to worry about anything, that I'd be at the airport to pick her up, and that I had a great place for us to stay. Patrick and Jon's home where I have been staying is a one-room apartment, no bigger than 300 square feet. It's located on the 2nd floor of a mechanic shop in an industrial part of town. Junk cars clog the streets, men covered in grease and oil pour from every shop, and the roads are little more than puddles of mud and piles of dirt. In the US, no one would ever live in such a place, but here in Kenya, in Africa, it's normal. There is a single toilet and shower for the 4 families that live here. Food is cooked and clothes are washed in the central common area. Kate was shocked, anxious, and concerned, and it never even crossed my mind that for someone arriving in Africa for the first time, straight from the realities of life in the US, that this would be a little intimidating. A squat toilet that doesn't flush, sleeping in a small, hot, stuffy room with 2 strangers, and all in a part of town that to an unaccustomed eye looks shady and dangerous. I guess splurging for a hotel room for her first night would have eased the transition a bit. Sorry Kate! Welcome to Africa!

Hanging out in Mombasa

2008-07-04T14:21:00.000+03:00

Happy 232nd Birthday America! Being in Kenya I'm missing the quintessential 4th of July celebratry fireworks, but today is a great day nevertheless. I've been staying in Mombsas with Patrick and his cousin, Jon since I arrived here on Wednesday. Patrick is a couch surfer and both of them have been great hosts! They are incredibly easy to talk to and the conversations we've had have been awesome--US politics, soul searching, African history, what it takes to be truly happy, beer-- you know, the usual!

Also staying here is Jeremy, a 23 year old guy from France who left home in October to embark on a 3 year hitch-hiking stint around the world. I only wish my mom was here to give him some advice! He started in Europe, passed through the middle east, crossed on to the African continent via Egypt, and is making his way south until he reaches South Africa. He'll sail to South America from Cape Town, explore the Americas and then sail once again to the South Pacific, stop over in Asia, travel overland to India, and then make his way home. Amazing! Jeremy and I have spent the past few days hanging out and sharing travel stories. Sunday he leaves for Uganda, and tomorrow I leave for Lamu. Kate arrives in less than 2 hours, which is exciting beyond belief. I've been anticipating her arrival for months and I can't believe its down to just mere hours now. She more than makes up for the lack of fireworks!

Moving on to Mombasa

2008-07-02T22:25:00.001+03:00

I spent the majority of today on a bus from Dar Es Salaam to Mombasa, and most of my hour doing one of my favorite travel activities--drifting off into my own thoughts, gazing at the passing scenery, and just being alone, relishing in the relative anominity that the bus provides me. Cathy uploaded lots of East African Bongo Flava music for me, so I finally had some new tunes to bop my head to and nap my feet to. But it was when Kenny Chesney's "Don't Blink" came on that the memories of the past 8 months flooded my thoughts and the realization that this journey is coming to an end brought tears and an intense sadness. To say that this journey, this experience has been life changing, while it holds truth, doesn't do it justice. I've become the person I always wanted to be, I've learned to truly and deeply love myself, and I have found total happiness. This is a time of my life that no one can ever take from me, and no one can ever duplicate this experience. It is unique to me, and only me. I have shared my days with many wonderful people, some who simply passed through my life, others who have become close, dear friends. But I've learned something from each of them, and am forever grateful. Soon the freedom and adventure of a carefree life of traveling will end, to be replaced by a new chapter, one that promises to be full of lessons and new experiences too, just of a different sort. I have learned the value of being selfish, I have fallen in love and mended a broken heart, and I have found my niche with the girls of Team 100. The three things I hoped to accomplish this year. It's such a satisfying feeling to have come so far.

Getting My Hair Did...

2008-07-01T19:04:00.000+03:00

Cathy and I spent all day in town, an exhausting, hot, and event filled day...but let me skip to the best art. We're in the dala dala headed home, and Cathy suggests we stop by the salon to get our hair washed. Having not washed my hair in at least a few days, I happily agreed to have someone else do it for me. The women in the salon were all hoots and giggles when I walked in with Cathy, and when they found out I wanted my hair washed (and as I later found out, styled too!) they turned up the thigh-slappin', laughter inducing excitement that much more. After having my head scrubbed nearly raw, I was seated in the styling chair. She started by blow drying my hair, which by the way has gotten really long, into a big puff of hair madness. This is going to be interesting, I said to myself, wondering what the heck I had gotten myself into. Once my frizzed out hair was dry, she worked a palmful of goop into my roots, making me look like a wet poodle. Cute. And then the styling began. I wanted to just get up and say that my hair looked nice the way it was, and not dig myself deeper towards the disaster I could see looming, but I didn't have the courage to disappoint. They were all having so much fun watching the production. My hair was pulled back into a tight ponytail, gel was plastered to the top of my head reminiscent of the Mexican girls in high school whose hair always seemed to be permanently stuck in place, and funky lines were parted into the sides of my head. "I make your head into pineapple!" boasted Mama Zima. And that she did. She proceeded to twist and spike my hair into a horrible rendition of prom hair gone bad. But the women beamed in approval and Cathy gushed at how beautiful I looked. I smiled and pretended to love it too, secretly counting the hours until I could take it out. And more than a little horrified at the prospect of having to be seen in public like this. The second the bus tires begin to roll tomorrow, these bobby pins are coming out and I'm wrapping my overly gelled head in the security of a scarf! I think was was my first, and last visit to an African beauty salon!

Too Much Food!

2008-06-30T11:01:00.000+03:00

I need a break from food! I haven't stopped eating since Cathy picked me up--ugali, greens and chicken, BBQ beef and plantains, fried cassava and spicy salad, makade with coconut, tropical fruit platters, and simmered pork with ugali. And I've only been here a day and a half! Oh, and not to mention that all of this is accompanied by big bottles of local brew. I had to tell Cathy this morning that I couldn't keep up with this constant food fest, my digestive system needs a break!

Goodbye Lodz, Hello Cathy!

2008-06-28T10:58:00.000+03:00

After a few days of a comfortable, clean bed, a daily hot shower (or even twice daily!, and hour upon hour of relaxing by the pool or on the beach, my little fantasy world came to an end. I said goodbye to Lodz and her colleagues this afternoon, and while I was sad to see a good friend leave, I am so thankful to her for sharing the past couple of days with me. It waqs just the touch of luxury I needed and the dose of English-speaking compainionship I longed for after weeks of village life. I need to be in Mombasa for July 4, so for the next few dyas I'll be staying with my friend Cathy. Already we have talks of endless foods I need to try, places I need to see, and people I need to meet. I have a feeling its going be be a busy couple of days!

A Whole New ME!

2008-06-26T10:07:00.000+03:00

I am really proud of myself! Close to eight months, eight countries, and all by myself. I've been selfish, I've fallen in love, I've fallen out of love, I've accepted and embraced me for me, and for once, I really like my hair! :) I've learned the importance of balance--of working hard and enjoying the things in life that I love. It's okay to spend money on myself, to treat myself to nice things, and demand only the best. And finally, I've started to let go of the pressure I've always put on myself to be thin. Food and exercise have been a nagging obsession that I have struggled to abandon for years--my stomach isn't flat enough, my legs are too big--an persistently unhealthy obsession with body image that has stuck with me despite incessant attempts to abandon it. I never had the self control or true desire to starve myself, but thoughts of calories and exercise were always on my mind. And now finally, I am starting to let go. Who cares if my stomach isn't as firm as the girls in magazines or my legs aren't as thin as the next girls. I've been blessed with a healthy, functional body that allows me to do everything I love, why hasn't that been enough? I have more important things to think about than focusing unnecessary energy on my imperfections and striving for unrealistic, conformist ideals of beauty. I've finally let myself focus on the great things that make me, me. It's liberating, it's freeing, and it's one of the biggest accomplishments of my life.

Dar Es Salaam and the Kunduchi Beach Hotel

2008-06-24T21:18:00.000+03:00

My alarm sounded at 4:45am, not that I was sleeping anyways. Knowing that I had to get up extremely early, I had crawled into bed by 8:30pm and had a relatively sleepless night. Excited and anxious for my upcoming travel to Dar Es Salaam, I spent most of the night tossing and turning in anticipation of the next day's journey. Normally such a night frustrates me, but last night I was just happy. So happy I guess that I didn't want to waste my time sleeping. After 4 weeks of living at the training camp, in a village, as part of a family, my body pulsed with the excitement and freedom of traveling again. Long bus rides. The quiet and luxury of retreating into my thoughts. Forging into new lands and unknown places. I couldn't wait! And so, when my alarm finally sounded, I popped out of bed, the wind whipping through the trees outside, the darkness of night surrounding me. After a warm cup of chai and under the glow of the moon, Patrick and Rehema walked with me across the school yard and through the village down to the main road, the wind a biting cold, reminiscent of an alpine winter. The bus was scheduled to arrive at 5:30am, but 5:30 came and went. We stood under the shelter of a bush, trying in vain to escape the wind blowing cold into our bones. At 6am, as the sun began to chase the moon from its throne, the welcomed glow of headlights raced towards us along the road. Buses, trucks, and dala dalas passed us by, honking as the approached, and slowing just slightly as the inquired at the muzungu standing on the side of the road before dawn. Wrapped in layers of clothing and fabric against the early morning cold, my hopes were raised and then smashed with each approaching beam of distant headlights, in a desperate bargaining with the bus gods to get me out of the wind. Finally after nearly an hour of enduring the lip chapping, ear aching cold, my bus arrived. Hugging my hosts goodbye, I climbed on board and squeezed my way through the overcrowded bus to my seat. Seated in a row of 3, I plopped down ungracefully next to a woman and young man. The woman was the epitome of large. Her mama African hips swelled onto all three seats, her bussom rested in her lap. The boy was pushed against the window and I wedged myself onto what remained of my seat. Only my right butt cheek fit, the rest of me hung off the side and into the aisle. I spent the next 12 hours trying to find a comfortable way to balance myself on half of a seat, my legs always in the way as people moved up and down the aisle of the bus. But after enduring a flat tire, a girl getting sick on my feet, eardrums pierced by the screaming blare of the radio, and a very sore butt, we arrived in Dar Es Salaam.

I was met by Cathy, the manager of a tour company here and colleague of a friend from Arusha. She drove me out to Kunduchi Beach Hotel and Resort where I met up with Lodz. Cathy is a young, ambitious, and worldly having lived in India for close to a year, and at just 25, is the managing director of a successful tour company. She's invited me to stay with her at her home, to show me her city, and to take me to Zanzibar! I think I'm going to have some fun here!

We pulled up to the resort and I was floored. The Tanzanian and Arabic grand architecture of the entry invited me into a world of a 5 star resort. The warm, tropical breeze flowed through the reception and the calm crashing of waves filled my senses. I love the beach. My reunion with Lodz plastered a smile on my face and a happiness that radiated from my heart. We hadn't seen each other since finishing grad school nearly 3 years ago, and finding each other in Tanzania was such a surprising coincidence. She is currently working in Haiti on an HIV/AIDS project through the University of Maryland, and is here in Dar Es Salaam for their annual training with their other country projects, including staff from Nigeria, Kenya, Rwanda, Tanzania, and Zambia. Lodz treated me to a buffet dinner and a few bottles of Kilimanjaro--fresh rolls, eggplant Parmesan, spaghetti, salad, and chocolate cake were just a few of the many different foods | piled high on my plate. What a night! There's nothing like a 5 star hotel, a great buffet, big bottles of beer, and a HOT shower to perk up your mood!

Meeting Neema and Faudhia

2008-06-23T15:51:00.000+03:00

The Massong family, Patrick and Rehema, and their two children, Maria and Peter, have embodied the true spirit of African hospitality. I've spent two wonderful days in their home, just outside the town of Singida. Rehema has made sure that I am well fed (maybe a little too well fed!), well rested, and always happy. I spent much of today visiting the home of Neema and Faudhia. Both girls live on the outskirts of Singida in the most basic of homes imaginable. Mud bricks stacked less than 5 feet high form the walls and layered sticks sealed with mud and cow dung formed a roof. One room for sleeping, one room for cooking. And that's it. Only 2 small holes allow light into home's dark interior. The walls are caked in black soot from years of charcoal and wood fires used for cooking and heating the home. Neema's family has 7 children, Fauhdia's 6. Seeing their living condition, really truly seeing it and experiencing it, not just seeing it in a picture or reading about the poverty stricken lives of Africans, sparked deep seeded inspiration to do everything in my power to lift these families from the only reality they have ever known. Neema's father is a night watchman and is the sole provider for the family with an income of less than $50 per month. Fauhdia's family are farmers and live solely on the crops and cattle they produce. During my visit with each of the families, through Mr. Massong as my translator, I explained the Athletic Scholarship Program and what the future could hold for their daughters. I emphasized that through determination, hard work, and dedication that their daughters could achieve anything. The parents, with deep gratitude in their watery eyes, thanked me for bringing such blessings into their lives. Feeling the sincerity in the grasp of their hands and in their words, I too was moved to tears. Something so basic, but utterly life changing. I am more determined than ever to see this program succeed.

Congratulations Girls!

2008-06-22T23:16:00.000+03:00

I am thrilled to report that the girls won every event they entered. Rehema took first place in the 400 and 800 meters, Faisila and Anastazia battled it out to the finish line to finish 1-2 in the 1500m, and Zaituni and Natalia ran a strong, fast 5,000m to take 1st and 2nd. Juma, the only boy on Team 100, also finished 1st in the men's 5000m race. The Manyara Region is a newly formed region in Tanzania and as such, has few athletes and even fewer decent track facilities. The competition was held at Babati Stadium, but a stadium isn't exactly what I'd call it. In the center of the town is a wide-open field which serves as the community center. Foot and vehicle traffic use it as a short cut through town, cattle and goats graze on the patches of grass, church functions take place here, and now, the field is home to the town's track. Using nothing more than a shovel, the track's perimeter has been dug out and individual lanes created. The dusty, soft dirt ground is scattered with tall patches of grass, littered with holes created by the long winter rains, and lots and lots of rocks. Not exactly the ideal place for a track meet. In fact, the track perimeter was so difficult to see, that a handful of athletes actually got lost, and took shortcuts while running around the nearly invisible track. But it worked. Many athletes ran barefoot, some girls ran in skirts, and everyone seemed to have a good time.

Manyara is located in the hills above the Rift Valley and has produced many of Tanzania's best long distance runners. I met more Olympians, marathon winners, and world record holders in my 2 days in Babati than I could count on 2 hands. Unfortunately, most elite athletes from Tanzania lack the knowledge or English skills to make the most of their talent after their professional running careers are over. The majority become low-level coaches, tour operators, or involved in local politics. Without English they are confined to the East African, Swahili speaking nations, and without knowledge of world events or current running standards, they again are limited to where they came from. It frustrated, saddened, and motivated me. There is so much talent in Tanzania that is being wasted. Being a world-class athlete brings a world of opportunities to these people, but they lack the know-how of how to make the most of it. The business of running has brought great prosperity and recognition to countries like Kenya and Ethiopia. With just a few elite Kenyan runners in the 1960's, they have managed to churn out hundreds, thousands of athletes who are notorious for their amazing long-distance capabilities. Just last year, a single training camp in Kenya (located less than 100 miles from Babati), sent 27 athletes to US universities on full athletic scholarships. And for Kenya, this is normal. But for Tanzanians, Zach is one of only a handful who have ever made it to a US university. It's not that they lack the talent or the smarts, they lack the connections and the knowledge of what is available to them. And so, this is the gap that I am determined to fill with the Team 100 Athletic Scholarship Program.

Every year, starting in 2013 I am going to help 2 Tanzanian students enroll in US universities on full-athletic scholarships. Under Zach's guidance and training, there's nothing standing in the way of making this a reality. We have already picked the first 2 girls for the program, Neema Raymond (the younger sister of Rehema Raymond who joined Team 100 2 years ago) and Faudhia Shabani. Both will complete primary school (8th grade equivalent) in September and assuming they pass the National Exam to enter secondary school, they'll move to the Team 100 training camp in October and start secondary school in January. I've personally guaranteed Zach that I will find funding for these girls in the form of a grant, donations, or from my own pocket, as I know this is the start of something much bigger than then $80 a month it will cost to train, feed, clothes, and education each of them.

This morning Rehema and I said goodbye to the others and headed for Singida. We were all supposed to be traveling to Singida together, but yesterday it was confirmed that the Nationals have been rescheduled for July 11 & 12. Rehema and I came to Singida in order for me to meet her sister, Neema and the rest of her family, as well as Faudhia and her family. I am staying at the home of Mr. Massong and his wife, also named Rehema, who run the primary school where close to half of Zach's athletes attended school. Mr. Massong has been the one to identify these talented young athletes for Zach, beginning with Zachia over 10 years ago--and today she's ranked 6th in the world in the 5000m. It's amazing what's sitting right here, an amazing opportunity that I'm hoping I can help to launch Tanzania on to the world running scene and to produce athletes that aren't only exceptional runners, but well-educated scholars and visionaries who will do great things for their country.

Arriving in Babati

2008-06-20T19:06:00.000+03:00

Yesterday was a whirlwind of commotion as we prepared to leave for Babati. The girls ironed their clothes, scrubbed their shoes, and packed their bags so full I thought some had plans of not coming back! Dressed in their Sunday's best, the 8 of us said our goodbyes and walked the long 3km into town. The bus was scheduled to leave at 1pm, but of course African time dicates here, and we didn't roll out of the bus station until nearly 2:30pm. I passed the time reading a newspaper and buying tempting snacks that were being hawked through the open windows and door. Roasted peanuts, lollipops, biscuts, and assorted drinks are sold from deteriorating cardboard boxes perched perfectly ontop of the heads of young women and men. Sitting in the first seat behind the door and being a muzungu, the snack vendors couldn't resist me. At one point, I had 5 people all selling the same snacks, pushing their merchandise into my face, "Muzungu, muzungu!!" they yelled, as if I was deaf and standing 50 meters away. I buried my face behind the pages of the newspaper and tried not to be noticed.

Once we left the bus station, the chaso didn't end. Police checks, falling baggage, a young girl getting sick in my lap, and what seemed like a contest to see how many people could squeeze inside the bus and hang off the sides, were all just part of the 3 hour ride that never left chance for a dull moment. The uncomfort created by the chaos inside the bus was obliterated by the passing scenery. Tall yellow-green grasses stretched on for miles, the high clouds and late afternoon sun cast warm shadows on the deep green hills. Massai villagers cloaked in red, herded their goats and cattle, taking respite from the sun under the cool shade of an acacia tree. Kids chased eachother and rolled down the hills, smiling, waving, or simply staring at the white face zooming by in the bus.

We arrived in Babati tired and dusty. But thanks to Zach's many friends who live in Babati, we were warmly welcomed into the guesthouse and shown to our rooms. The place is basic, but clean and very comfortable. And, at just 3000 Tsh per night (about $2.50), there's no complaints. After cleaning up, we enjoyed a great fish, rice, and greens dinner, followed by chai. The chai had extra cloves and cardamon which reminded me of Christmas time. It was a great end to a long day.

Leaving for Regionals in Babati

2008-06-20T10:14:00.000+03:00

We're leaving for Babati in a few hours and Zach just received a phone call from the Tanzanian Athletics Foundation informing him that each club is only allowed to bring 6 athletes to regionals. For bureaucratic reasons having to do with budgets and personnel, he was also given the news that the national competition scheduled for next weekend has a 50/50 chance of being rescheduled or cancelled all together. Frustrated, Zach had to give the news to the girls first thing this morning and had to choose which girls would be attending. So unfortunately, only the girls who will score points for the team are being allowed to travel today. The girls have been very understanding, but you can see the disappointment in their eyes.

I am still excited to see Zaituni, Natalia, Rehema, Faizila, Anastazia, and Juma run. Plus, my trip to Singida will also give me the opportunity to meet the 2 girls that have been tentatively chosen for the Athletic-Scholarship Program. They have both been highly recommended by their primary school teacher for not only their academics, but also for their running potential. This is the same school teacher, Mr. Massong, who helped Zach to identify some of his most promising athletes. I am thrilled that I will get to personally meet both girls and their families before the program begins. This will be the beginning of a long relationship with these girls, one that will hopefully see them graduating from US universities, running in international competitions, and most importantly, doing something great for their country.

Mexican Food, Team 100, and Donations

2008-06-18T12:18:00.003+03:00

My days at the Team 100 training camp in Arusha are quickly winding down, and before I left, I wanted to do something special for the girls. So today, after much planning and a marathon trip to the produce market and Shop Rite, the only supermarket in town, I chopped, sauted, mashed and mixed my way to a Mexican feast. The girls were enormously helpful, cooking nearly 100 chapatis, otherwise known as the tortillas, while I made refried beans, Spanish rice, pico de gallo, and guacamole. Starting before 9am, we didn't sit down to eat until after 2pm, all 35 of us. The food was a huge hit and everyone seemed to get a good laugh out of trying to prepare and eat a taco. The whole taco concept was a little too foreign, so after just a tentative bite or two, most conceded to eat their chapati, rice, beans, and toppings mixed all together using their fingers as utensils. The girls appreciated getting to try some new foods and of course, I absolutely loved sharing a little piece of my home and culture with them.

We leave on Friday for Regionals in Babati (just south of Serengeti National Park) and head further south to Singida for Nationals. Unfortunately, we under estimated the cost that both competitions would incur and now have to make the difficult decision of who to leave behind. Transportation alone, due to gas prices that are now up to $9 a gallon here, is going to cost over $500! Thankfully the generous donations of my friends and family will help to lessen the burden that the Gwandu's will incur and without which, participation in either of the competitions would not be possible this year. I'm sad to have to leave 4 of the girls behind though, especially after they had gotten their hopes up about seeing their families.

A big THANK YOU to Irene Hatsu and Paula and Matt Dillon for the final contributions to Team 100. I have now exceeded my goal of raising $400!

Late Night Adventures

2008-06-14T11:53:00.003+03:00

After dinner, feeling cold, tired, and in need of some alone time, I cozied myself into bed to immerse myself in my current novel, The House of Sand and Fog. Living in such close quarters with 13 girls there is little such thing as quiet or privacy. Reading is my way to get to that quiet, isolated place I need occasionally. Zaituni, who sleeps across from me, brought me a hot cup of tea to lessen the biting cold that was numbing my fingers and toes. Appreciative of the warmth to wrap my fingers around and of the heat that filled my chest, I lost myself in the world of foggy Half Moon Bay, the smells of the Pacific, and the contorted, complex lives of fictional characters. Soon, my eyes grew heavy and sleep was just a few relaxed breaths from lulling me into its warm embrace, but the tea too had begun to settle in my bladder. Against my better judgement, I ignored the slight pange of discomfort and let sleep take me.

I awoke in the dark of night, cursing myself for not going to the bathroom when I had the chance. I tried to ignore the sharp pain the constant pressure in my lower abdomen as I listened to the rain fall outside. Just ignore it, go back to sleep, I'm sure it will be day break soon, I tried to convice myself. But it was too much to take. I switched on my phone, the absurdly bright, neon blue light blinding me. 1:36am. It flashed, taunting me. Irritated, I satup knwning full well I'd have to make the long, wet journey through uneven, mud-slicked terrain to the toilet. I had no other choice. I removed my socks, searching blindly for my headlamp, and as soundlessly as possible, slipped my feet into flip flops 3 sizes too small. Keeping my headlamp turned off so as not to further rouse the 7 girls sleeping around me I bumped and bruised my way towards the door. All the while, Zach's voice rolling through my head, reminding me of the bandits who roam the streets and villages at night looking for unsuspecting homes to break into. Just 2 nights ago, a house not more than 50 meters up the road was attacked by 30 masked men demanding radios, cell phones, and money. The last girl to bed each night locks the door from the inside with a key, and places the key on the bookshelf in the bedroom. But as if my hesitation to go outside had made the decision for me, the door of course was locked, and the key was not where it was supposed to be. I couldn't find the key anywhere. Shit. There was no way I could hold my bladder for another 4 hours. Desperate in those last moments before release, when you begin to lose control of holding it any longer, I found a water pitcher and hastily filled it with just an inch of water to lessen the hollow announcement of pee hiting the bottom of a plastic container. The release was euphoric. I held the plastic jug in place, my thumb slipped over the lip, acting as a gauge on the jug's interior wall. The last thing I needed was for the container to overflow. The pee came and came and came. I started to worry that one of the girls would wake and come check on the noise in the front room, only to find me squatting over a water pitcher relieving myself. What a sight that would've been! To shake me from this image, I felt moisture on my thumb, and while I still wasn't finished, the rest could wait until the morning. I pulled up my pants and flipped on my headlamp only to find the jug that I had just peed in surrounded by a large puddle. Either I have bad aim or the container has a leak. Not wanting to risk further reprocusions of the ladder, I swiftly picked up the jug and placed it in an empty bucket nearby. I'd deal with the urine puddle in the morning. I crawled back into bed and sleep didn't come easily, the nervous excitement of what I'd just done still pulsing through me. As I lay there, the bunk above me began to stir, squeeking and creaking with movement. One of the girls climbed down and soon the familiar dribble of urine hitting water sounded. And when she finished, another girl, and then another. I guess they all pee in a bucket in the middle of the night. Silently I laughed at how silly it all seemed.

I made sure to be one of the first one's up in the morning, to clean up the mess I'd made, dispose of the evidence, and thoroughly wash the containers I'd soiled, containers by the way that are used for drinking water! After cleaning up, I headed back into the room, and sure enough just beyond the last bunk there was a designated pee bucket, filled 3/4 full with the collective liquid waste of 7 girls. If I had only known.

Donations Update

2008-06-14T11:12:00.002+03:00

Thanks to my latest contributors, Jen Abrams and my family, I am now just $50 short of reaching my goal! We leave on Friday for Babati where the girls will run in regionals and then from there, we will travel directly to Singida where the Nationals will be held. The girls are training hard, excited, and so appreciative that people all the way in America actually care enough to donate money on their behalf! Thanks again.

Pictures from Kenya and Tanzania

2008-06-12T12:37:00.003+03:00

Here's what I've been up to for the past 3 weeks!

The Future of Team 100 and Me

2008-06-12T11:37:00.000+03:00

I feel like things are really starting to fall into place. Zach and I have created a plan for me, for him, and for the girls that we will all benefit from in the coming years. I have an opportunity to become a manager for these girls. As manager my role would basically be representing them at the international level, securing participation in races, and finding corporte sponsorship. It's a big job and one that will take a few years to fully develop, as many of the girls still have a good two years before they will be ready for international races. I have a lot to learn not only about the world of professional running, but also about business if this is going to be successful. But it's exciting and something that I am passionate about.

But first, I am working to establish the Team 100 Athletic Scholarship Program. Two girls each year, starting in January 209, will be selected by Zach on the basis of athletic and academic potential in their final year of primary school. The girls will live and train at the Team 100 training camp while simulateneously attending secondary school. The girls will be expected to maintain a minimum 3.0 grade point average during their secondary education and Zach will work with them to ensure that they meet NCAA Division I standards. As director of the program, I will develop relationships with coaches and athletic directors at top US universities to facilitate the offering of a full-athletic scholarship. Each of the girls training under Zach today, had they had the opportunity to attend secondary school, could attend any top NCAA Division I school of their choice. At just 16 and 17 years old, many have already broke college-level records. It's exciting to be at the forefront of an opportunity that has the potential to bring many great rewards to Tanzania.

Missing home and all its goodness!

2008-06-10T12:26:00.002+03:00

Today is the first time I've really longed for home recently...specifically for a few of my favorite things:
- Sharing a pot of coffee with Michelle
- Going to the movies and devouring a large popcorn with plenty of butter and salt
- Super burritos from Taqueria Guadalajara in Davis
- Grocery shopping and lunches at the Food Co-Op
- BBQ Chicken Pizza from California Pizza Kitchen
- Drinking great California wines over dinner with my family
- Saturday mornings at the Davis Farmers Market
- Watching reality TV with Michelle over a bowl of her famous popcorn
- Fuji salads from Crepeville
- My mom's hot sausage grinders
- Jumping on the trampoline with Michael
- Danish pancakes and fikadela at Michelle's house
- Going to spin classes with Jen at 24 Hour Fitness
- Ginger Martini's with Paula and Bea in Walnut Creek
- Skateboarding around Sacramento with Bauer
- Tuna fish sandwiches and Cape Cod potato chips with my mom and sister
- Cycling on the American River Bike Trail
- Big diet cokes with crushed ice and a 3 Musketeers Bar/Sour Patch Kids from AM PM
- Driving my car
- Lazing around the house on Sunday mornings, reading the newspaper and listening to smooth jazz with my mom
- Running at McKinley Park
- Trader Joe's
- Coffee from Java City (medium roast with half n' half and 2 packets of Splenda)
- Baking chocolate chip cookies
- Frozen yogurt from Big Spoon (vanilla with fresh raspberries, walnuts, and mini chocolate chips!)
- Saturday morning garage sales
- Going to San Francisco just for sourdough clam chowder bowls on the pier and dinner at Nankings!
- Potato rosemary bread with Danish butter
- Snickerdoodles from Whole Foods
- Road trips up to Oregon to see my dad

I am so looking forward to going home! See you in September :)

Another Day at Church

2008-06-09T19:01:00.000+03:00

Church was, once again, another interesting rendition of intense faith and absolute belief. The service was very similar to last week's-- ear-piercing ballads, simultaneous yelling of random prayers, and collapsing congregation members--with the insertion of an off-the-cuff speech by yours truly. The pastor called me forward during the morning announcements and asked me to say a few words to the congregation about the Team, my faith, this community, and the future of Tanzania. My mind went blank, frozen in fear and uncertainty. What am I supposed to say to this congregation of over 200 Swahili-speakers? I stood up there, staring out into the sea of dark faces, colorful head wraps, and squirming babies, and the words just started spilling from my lips. A man stood up and translated my words. I babbled on for a few minutes, talking about the importance of giving to others and the notion of interconnectedness and karma. I challenged each of the congregation members to be a part of Team 100 through loving guidance, imparting their wisdom, and through prayers. Throughout the few minutes I was up there, several times the congregation erupted in an explosion of "Amen!" and "Hallelujah!." I ended with asante sana and everyone started laughing. The translator even translated my final words, "Thank you very much!." After a few hours of songs, a sermon, a little dancing, and prayers for individuals that resulted in sobbing, wailing, and collapsing of church members, the pastor pointed to me, motioning me to come forward. I hesitated, looking around to make sure he didn't really mean me, but then "Muzungo, come here." Ok, that's me, I thought. Nervously I stepped forward in my schmorgishboard of funky backpacker clothing made even more appalling by the colorful, mismatched accessories the girls had given me that morning to wear. A bright pink and purple flowing hippy skirt, chaco sandals, a lime green shawl draped over one shoulder, and a scarf on my head. It was bad and I was self-conscious, made worse by the fact that the entire church was focused on me and what was about to happen. The pastor raised my hands, grabbed my head, and through clench teeth and with spit spraying my face, began to shout exotic words. His hands trembled and his grip tightened. His tone intensified. I stood motionless, terrified that I too would faint or start muttering in tongues just as the people before me had. Unsure of where to look, I kept my eyes down, too scared to look into the pastor's eyes. Finally, after what seemed like hours, he slapped my forehead with a fierce "Asante Baba," (Thank you Father) and turned me back towards my seat. as i turned around, I discovered two women standing close behind me prepared to catch me if I fell. I later found out that the pastor was simply blessing me, asking the Lord to guide me, and through me, to bring great success and growth to Team 100. I'm glad next week will be the last marathon church service that I will attend here! Hopefully next week, my participation will be limited to sitting silently in my chair. :)

Thank You, Thank You, Thank You!

2008-06-09T13:19:00.002+03:00

I want to extend many many thanks to Johnna Phillips, Toni Adams, Emily Perez, and Vibhu Athavaria for their generous donations to Team 100. From the donations of just 4 people, I am now more than half way to my goal of $400. Please help me ensure that each of the girls gets to attend Nationals this year! Thanks for your continued support.

Dona

Obama Fever

2008-06-09T13:04:00.002+03:00

News of Barack Obama's nomination for the Democratic ticket has sparked widespread celebration across Africa. Fan clubs have popped up from Ethiopia to Nigeria, and diginitaries and heads of state are publicly announcing their support for the politician with Kenyan roots. Obama is treated with such esteem here that he is seen as a symbol of tolerance and hope for the future of Africa. People expect that Obama will solve many of the problems that have devestated the continent for decades--the fighting in the Horn of Africa (Somalia & Eritria), rising food and oil prices (1 gallon of gas in Tanzania is nearly $8!), and even, they hope he will bring about an end to the political corruption that is crippling the continent. A town in Uganda has named a street after the Senator, Obama Boulevard, and locally made t-shirts and bumper stickers are cropping up everywhere. In Niveria, txi's have been drapped in Obama paraphenalia and websites have been set up to rally support from Africans in Diaspora. Beyond the buzz, Obama has clearly touched something profound among Africans, something that is deeper than skin color or ethnicity. He has sparked a glimmer of hope for a generation of young people who have known nothing but violence, corruption, and hopelessness.

Living in Arusha is Paradise

2008-06-07T13:12:00.001+03:00

Time is passing so quickly! Already, I've been in Arusha for 10 days and looking back I am amazed at how effortlessly I have slipped into life here--with no running water, no electricity, no proper toilets, and certainly none of the small luxuries I grew accustomed to in Mumbai--but here it doesn't seem to matter. People are happy, laughing, and living. I am happy too. Life here is simple, we live by the sun,and there's something very rejuvenating about that. Strip away all of the modern luxuries and you really get to know people. Despite the language barrier, its easy to find something to laugh about. There are no expectations, just simple acceptance for who you are. I am blessed to be living in one of the most beautiful, fertile, and green places on earth, not to mention among some of the most welcoming and gentle people I've ever encountered, and have to remind myself to relish in this reality before its gone. Even though there's no blending in here, and I'll always be a muzungoto the locals, I fit in perfectly here. It all feels so familiar and comfortable.

My First Day of Running

2008-06-05T12:46:00.000+03:00

I went running with the girls for the first time today, and even though it was just a recovery run for them after a hard speed workout this morning, I was actually able to keep up with them for the entire 40 minutes! Granted, I don't think we were running faster than a 10 minute mile pace, but after 7 months of not running, I was pretty proud of myself. We ran on the roads that meander through the villages, past kids playing soccer, and streams with women washing clothes, up hills, and through herds of goats. Kids and adults shouted "Muzungo!" some even mockingly ran behind me for a good laugh. I don't think they see too many white people running around here.

When we got back home, I taught the girls some new stretches and introduced them to different ab exercises. They laughed and giggled their way through yoga-inspired stretches that had them mending in ways they never thought possible and groaned as they worked their abs in places they didn't know they had muscles. Ok, is that enough? "No, continue, continue!," echoed throughout the courtyard as I dug deeper and deeper in my memory, back to my days of gruelling track workouts, to come up with new things to teach them. The run and stretching felt great and even though I know I will be sore tomorrow, I'd love to make this a daily event...ok realistically, at least a 3 time a week event!

Let's Send Them to Nationals!

2008-06-03T12:54:00.002+03:00

The girls of Team 100 are training hard in preparation for 2 big competitions in the coming weeks. On June 21-23, they'll be running in the Manyala Regional Championships and just a few days later, June 27-29, will be competing in the Tanzanian National Championships. The Nationals will take place in Singida, the hometown of 13 of the 14 girls on the team. The girls only get to see their families once each year due to the prohibitively high cost of traveling the 8 hours from Arusha to Singida. All of the girls are giddy with excitement at the prospectus of getting to see their families an additional time this year.

Competing in races is a crucial part of the girls development and in launching them into the word of professional, elite running. Unfortunately, due to costs, Zach has to limit the number of races that each girl gets to participate in. Because the Tanzanian Nationals are being held in the girls' hometown, I want to ensure that each of everyone of them has the means to attend the competition, to see their families, and to show their parents what talented athletes they are. Most of the girls parents have never seen their daughters run. I estimate that it is going to cost Zach close to $400 in bus fares, accomodations, and food for the 14 girls plus himself and Mama Gwandu to attend the competition. Many of you have asked how you can support me, an organization, or a cause over the course of my travels. I've decided that this is it. Please donate whatever small amount you can afford so that I can guarantee that each of the girls gets to attend the Nationals and see their families.

Click on the Donate Now button to help these girls as they work toward fulfillng their dreams.

Peanut Butter Brings Such Happiness!

2008-06-03T08:52:00.000+03:00

Each morning the girls eat 4 pieces of plain white bread and a cup of sweet, black tea. Unhappy with the quality of this breakfast, especially for growing athletes, I've started purchasing bananas or oranges to add to their breakfast. This morning I set a jar of peanut butter on the table as the girls sat down, and they went absolutely crazy! It's like it was Christmas morning. They devoured nearly the entire jar, spreading the thick gooey peanut butter thickly onto their bread. They giggled, laughed, and laughed even harder as their tongues got stuck to the roofs of their mouths. The scene would have made a perfect Got Milk? commercial. The happiness that it brought them filled me with sheer joy. It's amazing what a simple thing like peanut butter can do. Plus, seeing them eat a more complete, well-rounded breakfast satisfied the health nut in me!

Sunday Morning Church

2008-06-01T12:48:00.000+03:00

We arrived at church at 8:30am, and already the band was playing and the first few rows of seats were filled. I followed the lead of the girls and sat with them in one of the hundreds of plastic chairs that filled the concrete building. As the minutes went on, the band grew louder, the church filled to capacity and the energy intensified. By 9am, the band was hushed, and one of the senior members of the church began a prayer. Soon the entire congregation had their hands in the air, eyes closed tightly, and were muttering collectively individual prayers. The tone gradually increased until I was uncomfortably surrounded by hundreds of devout Baptists, swaying, hands shaking, heads nodding, yelling out to God, praying for salvation, praying for redemption, confessing their love for the Lord. The would continue for a long few minutes before the prayer leader slowly silenced the congregation, she spoke a few calming words, and again the intensity, the energy, and the prayers would start again, continuing for an uncomfortably long few minutes. After 4 or 5 repetitions of this cycle, the band was started up, and instantly the church as transformed from a place of devotion to a rock concert. People began dancing, singers belted out horrible karaoke renditions of Africanized songs of praise, and the smiles on peoples faces were infectious. A few of the girls I am working with joined a small group of women in the front of the church in traditional Tanzanian dances, people shook hands and welcomed each other, hips were shaking, and hands were clapping. It was the most fun I'd ever had at church. 30 minutes of dancing and ear-piercingly loud singing later, the and slowed and the pastor took his place at the podium. From here the typical church events ensued; testimonies from community members on acts of miracles, a sermon on the importance of loving God completely and the blessings this will bring, offerings to the church, and then when I thought it was over, things really started to get interesting.

By this time it was already 12:30pm, my stomach was grumbling and my ears were muffled from the 4 hours of onslaught that they endured sitting near speakers turned up about 100 decibels too high, and needless to say, I was anxious to leave. Through broken translations from the man sitting on my right, I was informed that the pastor has the power to heal through the holy spirit and to remove evil spirits that are tormenting congregation members. So the pastor had called forward anyone in the congregation who had a problem that they needed additional help and prayer to solve. Close to 100 people crammed to the front of the church. The simultaneous intense praying that I witnessed at the beginning of the service began again. The pastor too muttered and mumbled words into the microphone, asante baba, asante baba, thank you father, thank you father, were the only words I could make out as his head began to twitch seemingly uncontrollably, his eyes flickering and squeezed tight. And then, the words stopped, he moved into the crowd, and then he slapped a women on the forehead, and the another, an anger and aggression in his eyes. He clenched the head of a man, digging his fingers into his scalp. Women started convulsing, fainting, screaming, crying. People lay twitching, seizing on the floor, unconscious. The pastor moved through the crowd, praying for them, slapping foreheads, clenching scalps. The intensity in his eyes frightened me. I've seen this before in movies and read about it in books, but never before have I witnessed such a sight.

After the crowd had thinned, the pastor called on a few individuals, claiming the holy spirit had sent him messages for them. He advised one man to find a new home, another man to visit his ailing mother, and prayed with a woman to ensure that all the money that was stolen from her is returned. He picked each of these people from a crowd of hundreds, I wonder if his messages from the holy spirit were really right?

The pastor said his closing remarks, and all the while, laying just a few feet from me, a woman who had fainted continued to lay unconscious, sprawled uncomfortably on the cold cement floor. At the closing of the service, the band began to play again, startling the woman from her sleep. She sprung to her feet, confused, breast hanging out of the top of her shirt, she stumbled in circles, swinging her arms, a look of panic and fear in her eye. The pastor fought to calm her, muttering prayers, and slapped her forehead. With a single slap to the forehead, a light flashed in her eyes, and she was back. She smiled and began dancing, hugged the pastor, and was back to normal. It's like she was hypnotized, possessed and controlled by something else.

Zach Gwandu's Training Camp

2008-05-29T16:11:00.001+03:00

I moved into the training camp after spending the afternoon in Arusha with Zach. The camp is small and very basic, but comfortable and homey. The camp is really more of a small compound, home to Zach and his family (his wife, 4 children, and 5 orphans),the 14 girls he trains, and 5 families that he rents rooms to. Centered around a courtyard that is used primarily for washing clothes and doing dishes, are the 3 buildings which house each of the close to 50 people who live here. The girls share two rooms, each with 2 sets of bunk beds...that means most girls share a bed so that they can squeeze 7 girls into each room. One of the girls even has a 13 month old daughter who lives here too. I'm staying in one of the rooms with the girls, but am living luxuriously with the bottom bunk all to myself! There is no electricity, and the two toilets and shower stalls (cold water bucket showers in pitch blackness, mind you!) that are shared by all 50 of the people who live here are outside. Once the sun goes down, the lanterns are brought out. Dinner is eaten by candle light, showers are taken with just my puny headlamp to provide light, and going to the bathroom at night is just a big no, no. The kitchen too is outdoors. Cooking is done over a wood or characol fire under a makeshift tin roof. There are 3 small gardens where they grow corn, beans, and a few local vegetables to help cut down on food costs. All of the girls have rotating chores--cooking, cleaning, and laundry. It's a tightly run, close-knit family, each person working together to reach a common goal--to become world class runners. Already 4 of the girls, none over the age of 23, are ranked in the top 50 in the world in various middle distance events. They have managers in Europe and two have modest contracts with Adidas. But its still not enough to keep the electricity on(the government has no system of measuring electricity and so therefore charge households random, arbitrary fees, typically around $200 per month!) or more than just the very basic foods on the table. But Zach has a vision for these girls and for his country,and these girls know that this is their ticket out of poverty.

I admire each of these girls, recruited and subsequently moved from their homes at the age of just 13 or 14 to come train here, over 7 hours away from their villages. Each one has been hand selected by Zach on the basis of natural talent, body structure, and family values. Zach and his wife, Mama Gwandu, struggle each month to ensure the girls and their own children have everything they need, but it's Zach's love for his country, his vision for the future, and his sheer will that really keep this place and Team 100 going. It's an inspiring sight to see 2 former Olympians give up their opportunities for material wealth and comfort in order to produce a better future for these girls.

My morning in Arusha

2008-05-29T07:47:00.000+03:00

I connected with Zach last night and he will be picking me up at lunch time today to take me to the training camp...phew! I spent much of the morning sending emails,updating my blog, and walking around Arusha. While in search of the Celtel store (my phone service provider), I met 2 teenage boys who walked with me and patiently helped me practice Swahili. I've never had such a strong desire to learn a language, and already with the help of a phrase book, I'm able to communicate basic things.It's exciting to be able to tell someone what I want,to bargain in the local language, and to respond when someone greets me. I can also now count to 50 which really helps at the market! I spent3months in India, and never learned more than a few words of Hindi. But Swahili is a language that is fun and exciting for me, and one that over the next four months I hope I can get a good handle on. Not that its a useful language to know--spoken only in a handful of East African countries, but is a language for me that is exotic and a pleasure to speak. So, until next time, kwa heri!

Nairboi to Arusha

2008-05-28T18:35:00.000+03:00

I happily said goodbye to Nairboi this afternoon, boarding a bus for Arusha, Tanzania. After we got out of the city and its expansive suburbs, the pot-holed streets gave way to smooth tarmac, the dust and exhaust fumes eased into crisp, rain quenched air, and the endless roadside stalls of used clothing, shoes, and furniture eventually disappeared into the great African savannah. The plains stretched out for miles, exotic bushes and trees scattered the landscape,and the distant hills provided a magnificent canvas for the sun's setting rays. As we neared the Tanzanian border, the hills became dynamic mountains, gazelles and impalas sprinted through the tall grasses, and herds of cattle and goats were tended to by their owners donned regally in bright red cloth and intricate beaded jewlerly. After crossing the border, Mount Meru revealed herself. Shrouded in thick clouds, the mightiness of Africa's 3rd tallest peak was diminished, but beautiful all the same.

I arrived at the Impala Hotel expecting to be met by Zach, the founder and head coach of the training camp I'll be staying at.However,my bus was 2 hours late and Zach wasn't there. Without his cell phone number or address, I had noway of contacting him other than sending him an email. The hotel had an internet cafe, which after I sat down at one of the computers I realized charged a minimum fee of $5! Appalled, but with no where else to go, I begrudgingly logged in. I sent a quick email to Zach,then searched for a budget place to spend the night. After scratching down a few hotel names, I caught a taxi into the town center, and ended up at the Arusha Backpacker's Hostel. Unfortunately all of the dorm beds and single rooms were full, so I had to fork over $16 for a double room. Arusha is located at the base of Mt. Meru and within short driving distance to Ngorogoro Crater and Serengeti National Park, and as such, the town is built solely around tourists. This means everything is quoted in US dollars, and as a result, much more expensive. I'm just happy to have a nice hot shower, a soft bed, and free breakfast tomorrow morning!

Kenya's Love of Alcohol

2008-05-28T09:34:00.000+03:00

Kenyan's love to enjoy themselves, to laugh, to dance, and to relax. At the root of this enjoyment is alcohol. Streets are lined with small bars, open from before noon until after the sun rises. Men stumble drunk down the streets at all hours and women too an be found pounding back 500mL bottles of Tuskers long after midnight. Mutisya too lives by this cultural dictate, spending every night at local bars with friends who seems to be mostly women. He starts in the early evening and rarely comes home before 5am Not once during my 2 1/2 days here did Mutisya see his wife, Theresia, or 5 year old son, Willy. And only for a few fleeting moments did he interact with his 18 month old son, Jeremiah. Mutisya is an arrogant man who lives his life to his fullest enjoyment even at the expense of his family. He claims to have 3 or 4 girlfriends at only given time, travels to far off places like Brazil, Cancun, and Europe, always alone, while his family goes about their lives in Nairobi. He claims this is normal, this is the Kenyan way. Men and women married, but living separate lives, enjoying the company of other men and women at will. I somehow don't fully believe him. This may be his reality, but I hope its not the norm for the majority of Kenyans. Mutisya's arrogant, cockiness turned me off to him almost immediately, but this morning I learned more about him that scares me even more.
He's not just newly dabbling into politics like he originally claimed, he's right in the middle of it, in the thick of the violence, the corruption, and turmoil. His neighborhood, Eastlands, is where much of the fighting and protests happened after the elections and he was one of the major ringleaders. He's got friends in all corners of Nairobi, and enemies too. The opposition government has tried to poison him several times, gangs were sent to his native village where he was organizing people in violent rallies to spray his car with bullets in attempted murder. Even now he's got security that follows him and friends that watch his every move. Last night we watched coverage of violence erupting on every news channel, "That fighting is just on the next street over," he proudly announced. I sat silently stunned, unable to respond. "Aren't you scared to be in politics?" I later inquired. His response was that "its just all part of the game. It's like dating a woman and then she dumps you. It's just the reality of it." Mutisya expects the fighting and violence to begin again within in the next 4 days as the upcoming election gets closer. "Have you ever seen a person burned alive?" Mutisya asked me as he was driving me into town to catch my bus for Tanzania. "What?!? No, of course not." I replied, disturbed by his question. "If you were staying here longer, you'd probably see a lot of that. It's common in Nairobi." Thank God I'm leaving.

Couchsurfing in Nairobi

2008-05-26T09:18:00.000+03:00

Theresia's husband, Mutisya, picked me up from the airport. He's a chatty, sociable guy who runs businesses as diverse as a travel company, a children's home, and stock trading. But his latest venture is politics. During the 20 minute drive from the airport to his home, we stopped 3 times to shake hands with seemingly innocuous people on the street. After a shower, nap, and my first dose of Kenyan cooking (being a vegetarian here is going to be next to impossible!) we met up with Karen, a young family friend and neighbor. I was told that we were going for a tour of the city. Along the way, Mutisya continued his political socializing from the drivers seat--waving at people on the street, his big, over zealous grin plastered beneath his eyes twinkling with the possibility of political victory fame. What I thought was another of his social stops was in fact "a gathering of a few politicians," AKA a political rally. Great, I thought. My parents would kill me if they knew I was here. Within 3 hours of landing in Kenya, I've somehow found myself in the center of a rowdy, rambunctious political rally--the very first place every travel advisory tells you to avoid. But here I am, an obvious outsider among the hundreds of bright orange t-shirts, bandanas, and banners collectively pulsing with excitement, energy, and anticipation.
Nairobi is holding local elections on June 11 and Mama Taa, as she is known among her supporters is running for a post in the senate. Running isn't exactly the right description of the political process here, bribery and corruption is a better fit. Mama Taa is holding a rally to speak to her supporters and to raise money for her campaign fund. But in order to draw a crowd, politicians provide free food and drinks to attendees, and often times, hand out cash as a sort of door prize. In a country where unemployment is rampant, where food and oil prices are soaring, of course people will come out for a free meal and the chance for a little cash. It's African corruption at its finest. But in truth, is it really any different than our own political system? Our politicians wine and dine the rich to get support too...only here its the poor who are bribed and brainwashed with lofty, impossible promises into voting.

Saying Goodbye

2008-05-26T00:09:00.000+03:00

Saying goodbye was impossibly difficult. During the past 48 hours, Vibhu's voice his embrace, or just an innocent glance would set my chin quivering, my eyes filling with tears. The inevitable was approaching far too quickly, every hour passing faster than the last, each meal a nostalgic reminder of the many happy weeks together. I know now that I was brought to India to meet Vibhu, to learn from him and enjoy time with him, but most of all I was brought to India to fall in love with him. His love form me is pure, genuine, and undiluted, but I wasn't able to fully return his love. I have a journey to finish and until I do that, I cannot love him the way he deserves. So I leave for Kenya with a heavy heart that deeply loves a wonderful man in India, and a heart that longs for selfish adventure and personal growth. Time will help to untangle m confusion and ease the pain of leaving behind someone who loves me more purely that I have even been loved before. So now I sit here, in my surprisingly spacious seat on a Kenyan Airways flight, my eyes heavy, red, and puffy from a day of tears and desperate for sleep, taking off into the night sky to the great continent of Africa, more unsure than ever about my future.

Final Set of India Photos

2008-05-24T15:58:00.002+03:00

Here's my final set of photos from India. I've uploaded pictures from Holi (finally!) as well as my trip up to Rishikesh and from my birthday. The photos have been added to my general India photo album, so you'll have to scroll through to find the new ones. I'm off to go celebrate my last night in India with friends, beer, and good food. See you in Kenya!

The Countdown to Africa

2008-05-23T08:34:00.002+03:00

I AM GOING TO KENYA IN 4 DAYS!!! It's unreal, it's unbelievable, it's fantastic! I've waited for this for so many years. The tugging on my heart, soul, and entire being by this continent is one that I can remember clearly beginning early one morning, I couldn't have been more than 4 or 5 years old, sitting mesmerized in front of the TV watching naked, skinny, forlorn looking African children, the same age as me, climbing through piles of trash, sleeping on the streets, begging for food. I knew watching that infomercial that there was something much too familiar, much too close to my heart, that somehow I belonged there. That bond, the closeness that I felt that day has guided me to where I am now, and although I've beem tp Africa before, this is the trip that my soul has been waiting for. I don't know what to expect when I get there, and for once, the unknown is fascinating and liberating.

India's Caste System in a Modern World

2008-05-21T09:09:00.000+03:00

Nearly all of India's 1.1 billion people are part of the caste system. Although integral to the Hindu belief, it also encompasses non-Hindus and very often dictates a persons life. This system of social hierarchy divides Indians into 4 castes, the the Brahmins (teachers, scholars and priests), the Kshatriyas (kings and warriors), the Vaishyas (traders), and Shudras (agriculturists, service providers, and some artisan groups). These four castes are further divided into thousands of sub-castes based on family names.Surnames classify your status in society, especially in rural areas where the caste system is especially rigid and pervasive. But even in places like Chennai, Delhi, and Mumbai, the first question asked upon introduction is often one of caste inquiry, "What is your family name?" It seems to me this is a way to pass judgment on strangers to classify yourself against others in a centuries-old heirarchy, a way to make assumptions about a person based solely on the generalizations of their social ranking. The caste system penetrates nearly all aspects of life in India, from where you work, to where you live, to your entrance into universities, to the person you marry. My understanding is that it is nearly impossible to marry into a higher caste, and marrying down can bring great shame and dishonor to your family. The caste system continues to bring about discrimination (although caste discrimination was officially outlawed by the Indian constitution) as stories in local papers frequently relay such atrocities as low-caste people being denied access to water from public wells, or being harassed and physically harmed for simply walking in high-caste neighborhoods. The blatant discrimination mirrors the social issues the US has had throughout our history and what we as a nation continue to struggle with today--the racial tensions, discrimination, and injustice towards African-Americans especially, but also towards the Chinese, Mexicans, and to nearly every other ethnic group that has immigrated to the US from poor, developing countries. India has followed the lead of the US in implementing affirmative action policies, a genuine concept that in practice has many unintended harms. India is now facing the same issues of reverse discrimination, of unwanted, unfair treatment, and of bafflingly difficult questions of how to improve the system to make education and job opportunities open, fair and equal for all. I hope Indians can do a better job than we have managed for ourselves.

So much of India's past remains discernible today despite the astonishing pace of change since independence in 1947. It's free market reforms of the 1990's have created one of the most capitalistic countries on earth. Combine that with a caste system which in large part defines who you are based on your material possessions, and you've got one of the most consumeristic nations on the planet. It's a bizarre mix of traditions and culture as old as the rivers that crisscross this giant country and of high-tech, innovative technologies that fuel the sprint towards westernization. It's a place that as an outsider I will never truly understand, but India is a place that has changed the way I see the world.

Rambling Thoughts for the Day

2008-05-18T16:07:00.004+03:00

There has been a definite change in the weather over the past few days in Mumbai. Dark clouds have been gathering, winds have been dancing through the streets, and an anticipatory excitement has filled the voices of locals. The sky is the bluest blue I ever seen here, the stagnant, energy draining heat has cooled, and there is a feeling that the worst days of summer are just about over. Newspapers are filled with articles relaying information to citizens about high tides, evacuation plans, and other disaster preparedness necessities. The monsoons bring months of constant rain to a parched country, turning the dull landscape into one of vibrant greens and blues, quenching the soils with much needed rain. But in cities like Mumbai and Delhi, where overpopulation and poor planning have people living on top of each other, in buildings that adhere to no modern building codes, and on streets with improper drainage, the possibility of life-threatening floods is an all too real reality. The weather forecasters don't anticipate the monsoons to begin until June 10, and say that this shift in the weather is just fickle pre-monsoon weather patterns, but whatever it is, I'm just happy that rain is in the forecast!

Happy Birthday Vibhu! Today is Vibhu's 27th birthday and we've been celebrating in typical Dona fashion--with lots of good food! We started off the morning with mango pancakes, pomegranate, banana, mango, and mint fruit salad, and big, piping hot cups of sweet Indian chai. Lunch followed a few hours later, a stir-fry made from the random assortment of vegetables that were beginning to wilt in the fridge. But Vibhu had never had stir-fry before and I think it was a hit! Lunch was topped off with homemade Kulfi, Indian icecream that Vibhu taught me how to make a few days ago. And soon, we're going to dinner at a restaurant that is supposed to be one of the best in Mumbai, best known for it's lavishly decorated jungle-themed interior. Since we don't have an oven, I had to improvise on the traditional birthday cake, so this afternoon I made coconut sticky rice which we'll enjoy topped with fresh mangoes and trick birthday candles :) after dinner.

The plans for the birthday party have unfortunately fallen through. Turns out having some fun with needy kids is much more difficult than I could have expected.

Well, I think that's it for today. I'm planning to upload some photos tomorrow, so be on the look out for those soon. Thanks for all of the early birthday wishes!

Back in Mumabi

2008-05-16T10:31:00.002+03:00

I love being back in Mumbai and getting to just laze around the house all day--wake up late, breakfast, shower, read, internet cafe, cook lunch, nap, read , afternoon chai, shower, cook dinner, meet up with friends in town, sleep--REPEAT! It's the perfect way to spend a week. Rest, relaxation, good food, and great company.

Vibhu brought me so much food back from Germnay, I'm in food heaven! Fresh European bread, loaded with nuts, seeds, and oats, 2 jars of peanut butter, homemade blueberry jam, chocolates, Haribo candies, and some of the best granola I've ever had. It makes me miss home just that much more!

Ok, so I know you guys are dying to know what is going on between Vibhu and me, and I haven't been very good about offering up many details. But what I can tell you is that, yes I do love him. But I am confused about his role in my life. I can't honestly say that I have confidence that we are meant to be together. I have an overwhelming feeling that something life defining will happen for me in Africa. This trip has always been about making it to Africa to do something, be it work, explore, or to learn something more about myself. Whatever it may be, Africa is the pinnacle of this year long journey for me, and until I go there I know that I cannot make any big life decisions. Vibhu has opened my heart to love again. My heart that had been shattered by love almost a year ago, has now come full circle in the healing process. Everyday my life is filled with more happiness, joy, and love, and I have Vibhu to thank for loving me the way every person deserves to be loved and for helping me to finally understanding the importance of never settling for second best.

My Afternoon in Delhi

2008-05-08T13:18:00.000+03:00

I just arrived in New Delhi after an 8 hour bus ride from Rishikesh. After finding my way to the railway station via directions from strangers, a bus, and then finally on overpriced rickshaw, I headed straight for the Foreign Ticket Counter. "I'd like to go to Mumbai tonight." I told the man behind the counter. "Impossible." He replied, never taking his eyes off the computer screen. Having checked tickets online, I knew full well that seats were available on today's trains, and I wasn't about to let this grouch of a man make me stay in Delhi overnight. Pushing him, hounding him, arguing with him, finally, miraculously he found a seat for me. Normally this kind of thing doesn't bother me, but having only eaten a few bits of coconut and a few spoonfuls of peanut butter in over 24 hours, I was not exactly in the most chipper of moods. After a few annoyed and disgruntled looks, the man handed me my ticket. I gave him the sappiest smile and the cheekiest "Thank You!" I could muster. What a world away I am already from the peaceful bliss of the ashram.

I have only ever heard negative things about Delhi--it's hot, it's way over populated, it's dangerous, touts scam you, people are mean and aggressive--and with what little time I've spent here, I'd have to agree. The rickshaw driver's charge 4 times the price you'd have to pay in Mumbai, people lie just to get a few extra rupees out of you, children set up scams to try to steal your money. It's a vicious city, every many for himself.

I'm sitting in a Refreshment Room at the train station and in typical Indian fashion, the items I tried to order were unavailable. Thali? No. Sandwich? No. Rice and Dal? No. "Ok, what do you have?" I inquired, humorously annoyed. Omelets only. Everything else is finished. "Fine, an omelet will be fine." I found a seat towards the back of the nearly empty canteen and refilled my water bottle with the jug of water that sat of my table. Parched, I gulped down half a litre of water before letting out a relieved, quenched sigh. A few moments later, one of the staff came by my table to wipe it down with a wet cloth as he made his rounds cleaning up the messes left by previous customers. After satisfactorily wiping down my table, he squeezed the dirty contents from his rag into the jug I had just enjoyed water from. Wow, I thought to myself. That wasn't drinking water. I just drank the collective dirt, waste, and leftovers from the restaurant's tables. Awesome.

Today's Events

2008-05-06T17:21:00.001+03:00

Today has been an interesting day.
1. A wild rain storm raged outside early this morning, angering the old wooden shutters in my room as were knocked around in the wind. I lay sweating in my bed, slapping away the mosquitoes who feasted on my arms, taking refuge from the wind and rain in my stuffy room. As the sun came up, I inspected my arms to find a mountain range of bites. Examining my face with my finger tips, I found 3 bites on my forehead, and a painful lump just under my lower lip.

2. During the morning meditation and then the subsequent yoga class, my mind was racing in a million directions at once, wildly skipping from one thought to the next as I began planning my trip to Africa and then home. Those three hours absolutely dragged on, as my body wanted to do anything but sit still and my mind was sprinting a marathon.

3. There's an hour of down time between the yoga class and the morning lecture, and typically I use this time to drink a chai and read the newspaper. This morning was no different except that my excited, almost hyper hand knocked the chai over just moments after it was served, spilling nearly the entire cup of searing hot liquid in my lap. The splash of liquid was so incredibly hot that I couldn't scream, I couldn't talk, I couldn't think, focusing only on the absolute pain that was ripping into my lower abdomen and thighs. My mind screamed, my eyes cried dry tears, as an overwhelming sensation to pee my pants overcame me. It took all the willpower I had not to further wet myself. The restaurant owner brought me another chai (I managed to drink this one!) and a lifetime supply of napkins to clean myself up.

4. After a great lecture about reincarnation, I spent the uneventful afternoon gorging myself with fresh coconut and mangoes, followed by a food and heat induced nap, and a few hours of reading. Current book? A Long Way Gone. A story of a boy soldier from Sierra Leone and his escape to the US. Not exactly the most uplifting text to be reading in an ashram, but still worth reading every word.

5. The evening yoga class was tough, sweaty, and invigorating. Sweat poured down my chest and rolled down my forehead and neck in an endless stream. This is the only time I can ever recall my sweat not tasting salty. Ok, don't get the wrong idea, I don't regularly go licking sweat from my skin, but we all know, sweat is salty. When you're sweating as much as I was today, a little inevitably finds its way onto your lips, and I was really surprised when I licked my lips and what I got tasted more like warm water than sweat. Maybe I need more salt in my diet.

6. After washing away my salt-less sweat covered body, I went down to the internet cafe. I opened my email to read an email from Vibhu saying that he's coming home early from Europe and will be arriving in Mumbai on Sunday. Shocked, ecstatic, concerned, a rush of thoughts bombarded my mind, as a feeling of sheer joy filled my body. Vibhu's birthday is the day before mine, and instead of having a party with our friends, we had planned to throw a big party for the kids who live in the slum behind his house. But unfortunately, we didn't have time to do much planning before he left, so the idea sort of fizzled out, knowing that upon his return there wouldn't be enough time to complete all the planning and preparations. But now, we have a whole extra week! So I'm going to stay at the ashram until Thursday or Friday and then head back to Mumbai via Delhi. The mountains will just have to wait until my next trip to India, I've got a birthday bash to plan!

Reincarnation

2008-05-06T12:10:00.000+03:00

Today's lecture provided the answers to so many unanswered questions I had regarding reincarnation. The rebirth of our souls, over and over again, is something I have always believed in and accepted as a fundamental truth. Despite never having studied this or really knowing much of anything about it, it's just something that has always made perfect sense to me. The past two days our teacher has been discussing the three worlds and bodies, the physical, the astral, and the causal. We inhabit the physical world and our physical bodies, but upon death, our souls, which are encapsulated in our physical, astral, and causal bodies, move on to the astral world. The astral world is almost exactly the same as the physical world, but instead of being made of physical elements (earth, fire, water, air, and space) the astral world is comprised of energy and light. When our physical body dies, our astral body takes on the form of our physical body at its best (typically this is when we are between the ages of 25-30). In the astral world, things are generally pleasant and life is easy. But because of this, the spiritual development of our souls is greatly slowed down, and most astral beings want to get back down to the physical world to quicken our spiritual development.

At the moment of conception in a woman's womb, there is fierce competition in the astral world to enter the body of the new embryo. However, it is only the soul with the closest karmic match to the mother that will get to inhabit this new physical being. Thus, the purer the soul of the mother, the purer the soul of her child. And thus, a soul is reincarnated into a new life. In the Hindu tradition, it is thought that a typical soul goes through this process of reincarnation for an average of 1 million years, before it is released from the cycle of reincarnation. So don't worry, if you haven't got things right in this life, you have plenty more to try to set things straight!

Ayudveric Medicine

2008-05-06T11:44:00.000+03:00

The other day I had a consultation with an Ayudveric doctor, who just by feeling my pulse was able to tell a lot about me. To start, according to this science, we are all born with a predetermined tri-dosha, made up of Vata, Pitta, and Kapha. Each of us have a combination of these three elements with a predominant tendency towards one. My dominant element is Pitta, or the fire element. The doctor told me that while my Pitta and Kapha are strong, my Vata is really weak (I'm still not entirely clear what this means or how to fix it). After just a light touch to my wrist, the doctor questioned my liver health, suspected problems with my menstral cycle, and was convinced I struggled with lower back, knee, and chronic stomach pains, as well as a general lack of energy. He couldn't have read me any better than that. He recommended a few tablets which would help to clear all of these issues up, and curious of their effectiveness, I decided to give it a shot. Now I don't want to jump to any conclusions so quickly, or be that person who blindly believes everything I'm told, but this morning I woke up at 4:45am with an amazing amount of energy and haven't felt a single pange of discomfort in my stomach for a few days. It could be all of the meditation and yoga too, or most likely a combination of all three, but either way, physically I am feeling great! This stuff is pretty awesome!

Another day in Rishikesh

2008-05-05T11:15:00.000+03:00

This morning's meditation, yoga, and lectures were all really good. I love how relaxed and energized I feel after the meditation and yoga, and despite the soreness in my muscles, I love the sense of accomplishment that it brings. I was awakened early this morning to the sounds and smell of fresh rain fall, and by sunrise a cool breeze fluttered through the courtyards of the ashram bringing with it a perfectly refreshing start to the week. But by mid-day. the sun had moved out from behind the clouds, and a hot, humid heat gripped to everything in its sight. The holy men, or Babas, who line the streets of Rishikesh have begun to recognize me, and the boys at my favorite restaurant bring me a chai without me even having to order. It's a good feeling when you start to blend into a community. I've only been here 4 days, but somehow I've already become a familiar face.

I've decided however, that tomorrow I am going to leave the ashram and Rishikesh to make my way up to Dharamsala, a tiny village that is home to the largest Tibetan community outside of Tibet. Dharamsala has also been the Dalai Lama's home since his exile from Tibet int eh 1980's. But before Dharamsala, I'll stop over in Chandigarh for a day, where I'll stay with a family I connected with through couchsurfing. Chandigarh is supposed to be India's best planned city, complete with tree-lined streets laid out in a logical grid design. I'm looking forward to the massive lassi's that Punjab is famous for and the Tibetan food (noodle soup, chocolate balls, and momos!!)in Dharamsala. Of course, the beautiful Himalayan scenery will be a big plus too!

Rambling thoughts for the day...

2008-05-04T06:33:00.002+03:00

I didn't take well to life at the ashram at first. But slowly, gradually, I am finding my way, and beginning to settle into the daily routine of mediation and yoga. I wake up in anticipatory excitement for the morning meditation and to listen to the teachings of the ashram's guru. My body has aclimated to the heat, and while I was hoping that coming to Rishikesh would provide respite from the muggy heat of Mumbai, the constant, albeit warm breeze that flows off the Ganges provides at least some relief. Having only negative experiences with yoga prior to this, I was skeptical of my ability to enjoy the benefits of the ancient practice, but I have come to appreciate its calming and energizing effects. Forging friendships hasn't come easy here, as many have taken vows of silence, however there is enough stimulation along the tiny strip of restaurants, shops, and temples to provide many hours of fascinating people watching.

Thanks to everyone for the words of encouragement and positive thoughts during the difficult times of sadness, loneliness, and soul searching. I find such comfort in knowing how many people check up on me daily, who keep me in their prayers, and who love me unconditionally. Despite how far I am from home, I feel like I have grown closer to the people who I love and care about, and I so look forward to seeing each and every one of you when I return home...whenever that may be.

I feel a little more lost everyday...

2008-05-03T12:09:00.004+03:00

My little clay room nearly suffocated me last night. Despite the cool breeze outside, the heat of the day had absorbed into the walls and created a human-sized tandoori oven. I poured water on myself, turned the fan up until it swung precariously from the ceiling, tossed and turned. Mosquitoes nibbled at any exposed skin and my mind wouldn't settle. It was a long, uncomfortable night that I don't look forward to experiencing again.

Once again, I find myself with feelings of loneliness. Going through the motions of travel, searching for an authentic experience, but unable to shake this feeling of emptiness. I thought yoga and meditation would help me to re-center myself, but I'm not enjoying these practices as much as I thought I would. I miss Vibhu terribly and have realized how much of my heart I have given to him. I want so desperately to be with him again, but know that the next time I see him will be just that much closer to my final departure from India on May 26. Despite my attempts to fight it, I've fallen in love in India and that's put a big, huge wrench in my plans, and has created feelings of doubt, confusion, and uncertainty.

My heart and soul have always yearned and loved Africa, and there's nothing about that that has changed. I know there is something there for me to experience, to learn, to accomplish, but leaving India is seeming to get harder and harder, while at the same time, my desire to be back at home intensifies daily also. I won't feel like I've completed this journey until I've made it to Africa, but everyday I feel more and more ready to go home. I know that I can't stay in India, that Africa is calling me, and that my spirit is ready to be back at home. I feel pulled in 3 different directions and its making me feel a little more lost everyday.