Nimechoka (I Am Sleepy)

Rothschild Giraffes, One of Most Endangered
Giraffe Species

It’s our first evening back from our expedition in Lake Nakuru National Park, and after over 10 hours of traveling across Kenya via Land Cruiser, crammed in with 8 other people with bulging book-bags and camera-bags, I’m very tired, so I’m going to go ahead and post a few pictures, clear up a couple things, and crawl beneath my mosquito net to dream of lions roaring.

   So I know that for a few days my blog disappeared.  Unfortunately, my email account was temporarily hacked and my blog placed on hiatus by Google so as to protect my information.  Luckily, everything is reset and safe, and my blog was just fine.  A few awkward emails were sent out with a virus by the perpetrator, but everyone seems to have been fine.

   Also, I promise I’ll post more about my expedition, because a lot of brilliantly amazing things happened.  We saw many rare animals, had some awkward run-ins with baboons in the campsite, and I finished my search to see the Big 5 and Little 5.

   Big Five: lion, leopard, rhinoceros, elephant, buffalo.

   Little Five: ant lion, leopard tortoise, rhinoceros beetle, elephant shrew, and buffalo weaver.

   

White Rhino and Zebras (Behavioral Analysis Research)

Two of Six Young, 1 yr-old Lion Cubs Lounging

 Lala Salama, rafiki zangu na familia. (Peaceful sleep, my friends and family).

Some Photos in Serengeti (Interlude to Part II)

 

The Big Bowl They’ve Named the 8th Natural Wonder

The Ngorongoro Crater, as it’s known, is a naturally formed crater from a collapsed volcano some *cough* years ago.  The land is fertile and lush, filled with greens and blues and blooming flowers… and wildlife.

Ngorongoro Crater from crest

   We departed for Ngorongoro Crater at 7:30am.  We were told that before descending into the crater, we would spend a small time conversing with the management team about the crater’s environment, economical impact, and…

   Well, you’re bored, aren’t you, reading about this.  To tell the truth, so were we.  We were sitting literally on the crest of the crater, in an office (air-conditioned, the first I’ve seen since arriving in TZ), impatiently waiting to venture into the bowl and see the animals.  We were being forced to waylay our safari for a lecture on infrastructure.  After what seemed like a long half-hour we were released to our vehicles once more.  Our driver, and wildlife ecology professor John Kioko, laughed at our uncontained excitement.  Kioko drives like he’s running from the law every time he drives, and riding in his car is a guaranteed thrill, especially careening down a narrow mountain path into the crater.

   The view of the crater was breathtaking from the top, but the view on the ground inside the crater is heart-stopping. 

   It should be noted, here and now, that on every drive through a national park, we are required to record the number of mammal species within 50 meters of our vehicle, and how many of each species’ individuals there are.  Why is this important? Because within the first 2 minutes of reaching the base of the crater we spotted zebra, buffalo, eland, cheetahs, hyenas, wildebeest, and elephants.  My hand-to-God, these creatures were all meandering about the entry into the crater and around a small lake, as if presenting themselves on their best behavior for the tourists. 

Within the day we estimated a count (just our vehicle of 7 students and one teacher) of over 1000 zebra, 1000 buffalo, 2000 wildebeest, and 40 elephant.  These are the big number animals, and were liberally littered about the plains.  What I want to discuss are the rare, not-so-easy to spot animals.

   Take, for instance, the cheetah.  We saw three.  Two were hunting, and one was lounging beneath the shade with some guinea fowl (no, surprisingly the bird wasn’t dead.  I guess the big cat was already full).  We also saw a cerval cat slinking through the tall grasses.  A treat for the day were three black rhinos, extremely hard to find in the park, and we were gifted with two parents and a baby.  Of course, they were visible only by binocular vision, but the awe was still there.

   Hyenas, while I’m told are closer in species to cats, act quite like dogs.  They trot, and lay in the sun, and lounge in small puddles of water.  Often we drove only a few feet from hyenas as they lay in the puddles in the roads, trying to find some respite from the brilliant sun.  The weather on this day was a perfect mix of sun, clouds, and a bit of a breeze to keep cool.

   While I was enthused by the abundance of wildlife I’d only seen on television (and, let’s face it, the Lion King), my eyes were frantically scanning the tall grasses for my own favorite mammal.  We were told initially that we weren’t likely to see these majestic creatures.  There must have been some deity poking around our area that heard my pleas, because on this day I was awarded not one, but 7 of my favorite mammal: Panthera leo, or simply known as the lion.  

   Aslan, simba, lav, leeuw, leone, or leijona, the lion is distinguishable around the world as a large, fierce, and proud animal.  In stories they’ve been named royalty in the wilds of Africa, and in history are often used as symbolism for families of the nobility (so, too, are the color purple, the mace, the flail & crook, and many others, but for now I’m gushing on my favorite large cat).  We saw a group of females, a lone male sleeping soundly in the sunshine, and a family of two cubs, female, and male.  The cubs were curious and often tried to make their way closer to our vehicle.  It was quite a feat for me to resist reaching out my hand to grab one of the little fluff-balls, but I figured that while this was illegal, I was also at the mercy of the parent lions.  So I withheld from my kidnapping endeavors, and instead settled on taking photos. 

   My smiles from the awesome sights of the day still hasn’t left my face.  Lion cubs, and other animals of Africa, can certainly inspire a lot of smiling.

My Mother's Face in the Market

One characteristic of my family members that I’ve always admired is their no-tolerance for BS policy.  It is one thing to humor someone, but quite another to be taken advantage of or lied to.  My father is all about honesty upfront (though his April Fools pranks aren’t to be contended with).  My brother is quiet in sticky situations, but never lets someone play him for a fool.  

   And then there’s Jill P, a.k.a, Mom.  Growing up, I watched my mother turn her take-no-prisoners stubbornness on those unfortunate souls, including myself.  It is a face that many have seen, including some friends-considered-family, and it’s an all-or-nothing set of features; a look that says “you-are-an-idiot-if-you-think-I-will-fall-for-that,” or in other cases, directly stating in her commandeering tone that she won’t be taken advantage of, period. 

   I felt those exact features take up residence on my face today.  My mother, whom I’m told often I resemble extremely closely, was both my shield and my battering ram today as I took on the Mtu Wa Mbu Maasai marketplace. 

   In tourist towns and marketplaces, salesman and shopkeepers are quick to tell you that they’re the ones to give you a “good” price, or the “African” price, as opposed to the tourist price.  I will honestly, and quickly, be the first to tell you that this is almost always a lie.  Salesman are salesman are salesman, and they’re wanting the most money from your pockets.  As a foreigner in Mtu Wa Mbu, or any marketplace of the like, you have to be two things: an aggressive barterer, and a stubborn mule.  If you aren’t comfortable with a price, you walk away. 

   Today was more frustrating than ever before when shopping, and when I become frustrated I find my actions relatable to my mother’s.  My brow is set a little lower, my back is straight, and the tone of my voice drops.  In rare cases of extreme frustration I speak very quietly, with expert enunciation, and I can just feel my mother standing next to me, protecting me from rip-off deals. 

   And with time, and a bit of practice, you find that you hold a great deal of power.  That painting that originally was priced at 85,000 Tz shilling turns out to be sellable for a much lower, much more agreeable 25,000 Tz shilling.  The salesman dogging your heels are not so willing to follow you about and shove necklaces in your face, instead finding that you’re “hapana, sina pesa,” (no, I have no money) means – and I ask that you pardon my French – to “bugger off, I’m not buying.” 

   I am not, by any means, suggesting that you not show respect and be polite.  I encourage politeness, because giving a little brings much into your life.  But never let someone take advantage of you for your separate nationality, and never let someone allow you to feel uncomfortable if you do not wish to purchase their goods.  In the end, your happiness with a price is the key, and if they are unhappy with your price, then maybe they should find a different occupation.

   Metaphorically, you could take this bargaining analogy to a whole new level.

   It was nice “having” my mother with me today.  I never feel far from home, because the characteristics of my loved ones emerge when I need them most.  Today I needed my mother’s back-bone. 

   Who knows, tomorrow I may need my brother’s ability to occupy himself in the most mundane ways, as I’ll be camped out in a classroom for several hours.

I leave you with some more photos of my travels to Tanganire.  Kwa heri.

Counting Grass and Walking on Water

Today was spent counting the grasses of Lake Manyara National Park.

   No, I’m not joking. Yes, it really happened.  And no, it wasn’t exactly the neatest field exercise that could happen. 

   But think of this: who gets to say they walked 400 meters with a square wooden frame, metal pole, clipboard, and bottle of water to count and note the population species densities of grasses in the grasslands near Lake Manyara, beneath the burning sun of East Africa?  This girl.

   Well, okay, I haven’t sold you yet? That’s alright.  Because, at the end of the day, the time was well spent.  My morning had been dedicated to finishing a report on baboon behavior.  The afternoon to grasses.

   Oh, and did I mention the buffalo?  The wildebeest, the jackals, and the seeking waters of Manyara?

   Let me explain.

After counting grasses our professor pointed towards the lake, which was still about a thousand meters away, and said, “if you’d like, walk to the lake.  Do not approach the animals.  We’ll pick you up in the vehicles.”

   Putting our boots to the mud, we headed off in the direction of the lake.  We were running, prancing, leaping, and walking in parts in our headway to the lake.  Tourists were nowhere to be found on this side of the park.  We had the fields, the lake, the animals, and the entire shore to ourselves.  The grasses were tickling our legs as we ran, laughing as we desperately dodged small holes and even smaller rodents and birds.  The buffalo and Thompson gazelle nearby watched as we whooped and ran, and in the spirit (at least we think so) they ran with us to the shore’s edge.  Jackals and wildebeest trotted along around us, a wary perimeter, observing these two-legged mammals running happily towards the shoreline. 

   We ran to greet the waters when, in actuality, the waters were on their way to greet us!  Lake Manyara is never deeper than 3.9 meters at a time (about 12 feet) and the winds sweeping swiftly across the surface of the waters were pushing the waves closer and closer towards us.  Trickles of clear lake water were creeping across the dry, cracked earth.  We stood still as the waters flowed around our shoes and towards the grasses behind us. 

   If one looked at just the right angle, it looked as if a person were walking on water.  And that day, I believe, we were all floating a few inches of the ground, our cheerful spirits carrying us across these wild, untamed, and beautiful lands.

Walking on the waters of Lake Manyara

“Sitaki Mume!” (or “I do not want a husband!”)

   We were given advice, and a translated statement to carry with us like shields: hold onto your money tightly, and “sitaki mume,” which means “I do not want a husband.”  The money against pick-pockets, and the saying against those who would declare themselves happy to be our husband. 

   Today was a day that will be best known for its abundances of the negative, “no.”  Hapana was a theme for the day, and it wasn’t because I was shy – oh no, never shy – but because pawners and salesman in Karatu are persistent.  It’s a lot like trying to tell a fly that it isn’t allowed to have a taste of the honey jar: flies do not understand English, and even if they did, it only makes them try for that gold delight a little harder.

   In this case the flies were the salesman, and the honey our Tanzanian shillings.  Here in Tanzania one U.S. dollar is worth approximately 1600 shilling.  Granted, everything here is pretty cheap, and Karatu is famous for its bartering inhabitants.  One tip I learned quickly: there’s an African price, and an mzungu price, or “white” price.  So whatever price I was given, I cut in half and worked my way slowly up.  And let me tell you, I walked away with some pretty interesting items for what I know, as an American having shopped for trinkets and fabrics before, these items were bought for a steal. 

I'm in the center, hopping and circling with the rest!

   But let me jump backwards a bit, to the morning.  We began our day visiting an Iraqw tribe boma, which is an outdated styled living/working hut.  We were directed on the process for making local beer, as well as the making for a wedding skirt and shirt.   Fun fact, it is the mother-in-law that makes the bride’s skirt and shirt, and this process can take up to three months.  The bead work is quite intricate, with symbols that represent the world, home, and future for the bride.  We were dressed in wedding garments (mine a simple kanga fabric-skirt), and proceeded to dance away the early morning hours with the Iraqw people in a mock wedding-dance and celebration.  The drums were heavy in our ears, the words flowing through our veins, practically moving our limbs all on their own. 

   It was after this visit that we proceeded to Karatu, a town near to our camp.  We were told to watch our money, and just say “no” repeatedly to street vendors. 

   When I say they were persistent, I do not only mean they would ask several times for your money, lowering prices as they went.  I mean that they would learn your names, teach you words, become your friends, and walk with you for the 5 hours you were in Karatu, hoping that by the end you would, finally, purchase that small blue beaded bracelet.  We were accompanied by a young group of men today, all hoping to learn new words in English, and show us the best places for fabrics/jewelry/shirts/food or anything you pleased.  They helped to barter, keeping to the African prices.  Most were genuinely friendly, and wanted nothing more than to spend the day with some new mzungu friends, learning our habits, and lending some much-needed know-how.  My personal companion, Jonathon, stuck with me the entire day, constantly reminding me to clutch my bag to my front with both hands, especially when visiting the Karatu market.  Jackson and Patrick, two other men with us, directed us to fabric sellers. 

   Men elicited cat calls often (though I cannot imagine how attractive my long, matronly black skirt is to any person).  Two marriage proposals were offered to me today, and my “sitaki mume”s (I do not want a husband) were quickly evolving to “nina kuwa mume”s (I have a husband) by the end of the day. 

   But one simply cannot visit a crowded market place without a bit of excitement.  I was helping my friend Adam pick out a kanga for his sister when, without any warning, an older woman (mama) leaps forward in front of Adam, is yelling loudly, and grabbing at a man standing behind Adam.  Thinking an argument was about to break out, I was shocked (to say the least) when the woman then wrenches her hand away from the man’s body and hoists into the air a wallet, all while screaming and pointing at the man.  Adam, baffled, notes that the wallet she has obtained is his own.  The man, the woman is yelling, is a thief, and she had seen him nip Adam’s wallet from his front pocket.  His front pocket, mind you, not the back.  Like a mama lion, this wonderful woman had rescued Adam’s wallet, and the folks in surrounding stalls were quick to chase the thief from the area.  The woman (and several others), in the midst of our thanks and gratitude, wished only to instill in us the necessity of simply keeping your hands always on your money.  Unaona pesa yako!

   What a wonderful world it is, it always seems, when something bad can produce such actions in complete strangers.  A woman, with no regard for her safety or anything, takes note to grab hold of a pick-pocket to forcefully rescue a wallet for a foreigner.  These people in Karatu – really in all surrounding areas – know who we are, and treasure us as much as we treasure them.  Goodness and kindness abound, and I only hope that I can return the favor to them.  Pay it forward, as it were.  Right is right anywhere, whether it be Tanzania or the U.S., and it’s nice to know that even though we’re foreigners stumbling around the area, trying to make a living, there are always polite gentleman, mamas, and generally good folks to look out for us.

   We ended our day sitting at a pub named Happy Days, enjoying French fries, and some tasty, locally brewed beer (the drinking age here is 18, Mom and Dad).  Stories were swapped, laughs were shared, and memories were sealed in Tanzania.

Show and Tell... and Baboons Barking?

We named this lazy baboon Kermit

Yesterday (Sunday February 5th, for those finding it difficult to follow the time difference) was dedicated to research and field observations of baboons.  Olive baboons claim a fancy scientific name, Papio cynocephalus anubis, but are far from fancy creatures.  In Kiswahili, the term for baboon is nyani.  The olive baboons are somewhat volatile in activities and emotions, ranging anywhere from playful, to lounging and relaxed (as noted by Kermit, to the left), to screeching in anger.  A noted sound of the baboon is called a bark, because of it's facial similarities to a dog.  I have to argue that most dogs I know of are much cuter than these grown, amorous monkeys... well, alright, I am purposefully speaking of my own dog - Sami - who is a yellow labrador.  I miss her constantly, and this seemed the perfect time to mention her!

   Three hours were dedicated to driving and noting the behavior traits of the rapscallions.  For all of my research, I have come to three conclusions: 

1. Olive baboons are extremely similar to people in social activities.  On this lazy Sunday morning I would have loved nothing better than to lie in a shady place and enjoy the sounds of birds.  These baboons were just what I imagine many parents doing with their children in the park, as the adults would relax or sleep, and the young would climb, jump, and play constantly with each other, taking a break only to return to their parents and incessantly bother them for snacks.
2. Baboons like to be watched. They're show animals.  They know what the tourists are here for, and they aren't going to put off their activities just because a few hundred cameras are pointed directly at them.  Eating? No problem.  Butt scratching? No nerves for these baboons.  Climbing from tree to tree, pointedly ignoring Mama Baboon's screeching? Always.
3. Baboons are the gray squirrels/rats of Tanzania.  They're everywhere! Just like back home in the states - especially in NC - these baboons are seen so often that one no longer takes keen interest in them.  After a time it was common to hear voices citing sighs of boredom over baboons floating about the interior of the vehicles, because baboons are simply installed in all crevices of the Lake Manyara habitat.  

Can you spot the baby hippo sleeping beside its Mother?

Worry not, for the rest of the day was spent observing other species in the area.
   Alright, in complete honesty, we were "observing" by means of camera, with our eyes combining forces with the great visibility of our camera lenses, as if our pupils had all become the wide, black photo-lenses shining beneath the bright light of the jua na Afrika, or "African sun".
   The hippos were all lounging out beside the pools, which was somewhat unusual for the time of day, so we were lucky to obtain some amazing photos.  There were two baby hippos, eager to swim, lounge, swim, sleep, swim, swim, swim! 
   As we headed towards the gate, leaving behind us the savannas filled with zebra and wildebeest, we were confronted by a herd of elephants.  The great grey animals sauntered purposefully past our vehicles.  Their steps were accompanied by various trumpets from their trunks, directing their young away from the vehicles that they were so curiously and eagerly wishing to examine.  Curiosity is curiosity in any eyes, and it's quite easy to spot the trait in any young person/animal.  These young elephants were quite ready to observe our large green cars.
   That evening I slept heavily, and peacefully, with animals of Lake Manyara dancing about my dreams.

They walked right in front of our vehicle.

   The morning brought with it another beautiful day, and the neighborhood rooster was fervent in his endeavors to waken us with his crowing.  We left camp at sunup, and hiked to an cliff that provided an overlook of the mountains/farming land of Arusha.  It was here, amidst the great winds flying up from the valley, juniper trees and morning doves that we had our morning lecture.  It is amazing that I can rightfully say that I've had class on the ledge of a mountain in the highlands of Tanzania.  Needless to say, our greedy eyes were wandering, scouring for imagery as aggressively as an eagle scans for prey when it is hungry.
Tomorrow, or Tuesday, is our first day off.  We are going to see an Iraqw boma, and then off to Karatu to visit the market, and finish our day at Happy Days, where we will get to enjoy some missed American cuisine.  I'll be sure to share my experiences tomorrow, marafiki zangu and family, but for now, kwa heri!

Just in case you're missing my beautiful face.

And I've already acquired so much color!

Banda living is interesting, to say the least.  There's no air conditioning, and no fans to dispel the evening heat.  The warm evenings settle quite like a dry heated blanket, only there's no thermostat to adjust the temperature.  We leave our windows open at night, hoping to catch some of the nighttime breezes as they drift through the air (and praying, in turn, that the bugs stay outside).  I never sleep inside my sleeping bag, but lie with it against my side, as if to have a friend sharing the space.  To be fair, like anybody who has ever shared a space with someone, if it get's to be too warm I am quick to shove my "partner" as far away from me as possible, without shame or regret for my hasty motions.
   Sleeping beneath a chandalua (mosquito net) is a bit magical, as if I'm a princess sleeping beneath a canopy.  In fact, I bet Cinderella, Aurora, or any of the princesses with canopies used them for just the purpose of halting bugs from entering their sleeping space (because what kind of princess has any red bumps from bug bites?)
   What physical item do I miss most while living here? Cold beverages.  We have clean, filtered water all around the camp, which is a miracle in itself.  I do, however, long for the days of ice cold, Carolina sweet tea.  In fact, I implore my friends to drink a sweet tea for me, and host a small distance-wake with sweet tea (or cherry), french fries, and a tasty sandwich.  Not to say the food isn't fantastic here in Moyo Hill, because it is! I never go hungry, and (this is mainly an address to my mother) we always have Heines ketchup!  That sweet tomato paste always fixes any dish.
   I'm quite sold on maize and Tanzanian sweet pancakes.  Breakfast is always a treat.  The staff took the time to devise some homemade salad dressings, and they assured us that nowhere would we find thousand island dressing that was as nzuri as their's... and they were right!  We're always quick to complement the staff here, because their smiles and chorus of "asante sana" are a treat.
   One wonderful aspect of this trip - a characteristic that I had no notion of needing until after this week - is the solidarity, stability, and overall easy camaraderie that exists among the group.  There are no cliques or groups, and everyone is friendly.  I never feel that I cannot speak to someone.  And when someone is feeling down, or there's a weak animal among the herd, we're quick to act like a mother baboon is to aid its young.  It's a blessing to be among genuinely happy people, and I hope to bring this happy feeling back with me to Chapel Hill.

Dizzy in Manyara National Park (Literally and Figuratively)

Today was our first day driving to a national park, where we would conduct basic research and field exercises for identifying various wildlife.  5 hours driving across Lake Manyara National Park, world-renowned for its vast baboon population, driving with our heads popped out of the top of our Land Cruisers. Hours of yelling “simama” to our driver to stop when we saw an animal, followed inevitably by a “twende, tafadhali,” which means “let’s go, please!” 

   So I’m guessing you weren’t expecting me to begin with a word of advice.  No, I’m not giving advice on proper camera etiquette, or how best to protect your binoculars from the dusts of dry, red-dirt roads.  No, my piece of advice is fairly simple, and common, and something I wish I would’ve followed today:

Always follow the directions on your prescription medication packages.  Why? Because if, say, you were to take your malaria pill without food in your stomach, then your day at the park might be somewhat challenged by the nausea and dizziness you’d be experiencing.

When I say it was a dizzying experience in the park today, I meant it both figuratively and literally.   Our eyes and ears were attuned to nature, seeking out all natural wildlife that we could lay our greedy sights on.  Baboons so accustomed to vehicles would sit idly by the roads as we drove by, grooming or screaming, or watching the young play.  Giraffe peaked their heads out from the trees as if wishing to greet us.  Hippos, wildebeest, zebras, blue monkeys, vervets and grivets, impala, warthogs, dik dik, and elephants were only an arm’s length away from our vehicles at times.  We were so close to the elephants, or tembo, that we could hear the sounds of their ears flapping. 

   Did you know that dik dik mate for life? Just like penguins, it’s always the cute animals that take life-mates. 

I can honestly say that I’m living the Lion King dream.  My favorite movie, hands down, and I’m actually here where it was all based in.  The forests are lush and green, while the savannahs are brightly lit and baked by the sun.  Lebo M and his Zulu warrior singing-crew were staging a concert in the back of my mind all day.

   Them, as well as a pounding headache accompanied by dizzy spells.  I believe the hippos might have been laughing at my pale-white face. 

   Being sick could not surpass my awe for being so close to these African animals.  We had fun, and as long as the wind was on my face I was okay to go.  It was hot, and slightly breezy, with animals all around, and I couldn’t have been happier.

   Our second day excursion is tomorrow, where we’ll spend all of our time recording baboon behavior.  These baboons aren’t terribly concerned about being watched, which I guess is a good thing.  I will, however, need to recharge my camera battery tonight. 

    And my day would end with a nice cold shower, to rinse the dirt and grime from my body.  You’d be surprised how wonderful a cold shower feels after being out in the sun all day.

Chasing the Sun with a Soccer Ball

   Before you begin to read this entry, please open a second tab on your browser, head over to YouTube, and type in LP – Into the Wild.  It’s a song, the photo you’ll see is a very stunning woman with super curly hair/fro thing.  That is the theme song of my day today, and, I hope, the song to the rest of my days here in East Africa.

   I could take my time to tell you about my first time working breakfast cook-crew this morning, and how I rocked those pancakes (without Bisquick, but from scratch!)

   I could tell you about the fresh fruit we get every single morning here.

   But I’ll have time for that later.  For today, let me share two stories.  One is silly, and my friends will giggle when they read it.  The other is moving, and lovely, and quite striking in its simple splendor.

   Today in class we learned some tracking techniques for animals.  One informative source from animals is their – say it with me now – dung. Poop. Number 2. We were informed that a place designated by animals as their poop-palace is called a maiden… Yes (Hannah, Miranda, Mom and Dad, John and friends), our hometown shares the name of an animal’s crap-trap.  I could not make this stuff up, and you may or may not tell whomever you wish.

   Oh good ‘ole little Maiden, you just can’t get a break, can you?  (To John, how does it feel to know you play for the poop-camp blue devils?)

   Tonight we took our cameras, donned our now dirt-caked tennis shoes, and made a short trip to the “soccer” field to play some ball.  The children were waiting, smiling with happiness, reclining leisurely in the grasses.  It was tennis shoes against bare-feet.  Adults against watoto.  Us and them.  Feet beat the earth solidly, and laughter was the sound of the afternoon.  In soccer – in playing games – there is community, solidarity, and an equality perseverant above any language or culture barriers.  A smile is a kicheko is a smile; ultimately universal in happiness. 

   The last of the evening was spent observing the sunset, my first in Tanzania that I could watch the sun set fully behind the mountains of Arusha.  The land was golden, the clouds bursting with fiery hues of red and yellow.  The sun our target, the cameras our weapon, and our minds in paradise as we watched the sun fall below the horizon.  Children smiled for pictures, and silhouettes were popularly photographed.  We were happy, and we were all watching the sun set.  It was a shared moment we had today, one that everyone could partake and appreciate.  A sunset is beautiful, and all the more so knowing that I was standing in the foreign lands that many have termed God’s Country.  The beginning of man.  I’m not so sure it’s where it all started, or that Africa was the birthplace of man… but I do know that it has been the start of an amazing, life-altering experience.  One I hope to share with everyone.  
(All photos are mine mine mine.)

Mosquito Nets and A Chorus of “Picha!” (A First Night and Day After Account)

Upon arrival in Kilimanjaro airport of Tanzania, I went through the necessary visa applications, fingerprinting, and luggage collecting.  I was blessed in finding all of my luggage safe and sound, while many in my group had an unfortunate time finding that their luggage had not yet arrived.  I was directed outside, where I promptly had a try at my very first Kiswahili conversation with a local, our dereva (driver).  I must say my professor, Bwana Mutima, has all of my gratitude, for my words were correctly spoken, and polite.  The dereva was pleased, and smiling, and helped me follow along with words I was unfamiliar with.  I must admit, I too couldn’t keep the smile from my face.

My first step and breath outside was in Tanzania, and it was brilliant.  The sun was shining, the temperature is absolutely perfect, with a spectacular breeze and spots of clouds.  I always had considered Africa extremely hot, and here now in Arusha (or more specifically, Moyo Hill Camp) the weather is so perfect it alone would be a reason to live/vacation here. 

We drove 2.5 hrs to reach our camp.  My dad would be so thrilled to know I’m trucking it across the African soil in a hardcore, tough green land cruiser, complete with grilled lights, pop-off roof, and thick-treaded tires.  Our dereva never drove beneath 160km unless going through a town, as there were speed bumps.  Within only an hour in Tanzania we spotted giraffes, zebras, and a baboon.  We stopped in Karatu for a bit of shopping and money handling, then continued through Mto Wa Mbu (literally meaning “river of mosquitoes”) and Rhotia, our “local” town. 

Night came only too soon, and blissfully so, for after 48 hours of traveling I was quite ready to sleep.  I’m still catching up on my sleep schedule.

The night was filled with hyenas yipping, dogs barking, and a lone cricket in our hut that refused to quit chirping between 4:30 and 6am.  If you know me personally, you know that this terrified me to no end that there was a cricket in my room.  And I can absolutely say with certainty that everything in Africa is indeed bigger, including crickets.

I slept well beneath a canopy of mosquito netting, or chandalua. 

My morning began at 6am, with a walk around the compound.  It was wonderful, just a bit of a crisp chill, and I met many locals along the way.  Children on their way to school ran directly towards me, smiling and waving, some shouting “picha!” and wanting me to take their photograph.  They were giggling upon seeing their faces on the camera’s screen.  I met this same group later that day walking back from town, and it was here that I had my second conversation with a mtoto msichana, a small girl of 6yrs that I had taken a picture of earlier that morning.  She gladly told me about her day at school, and then asked if I had a pencil (una penseli?) that she might have.  I did not, but her bright smile did not diminish, and she told me that she had to walk home with her brother, and that she hoped to see me tomorrow.  I hope to see her, and her friends, again too.