Rainbow over Tarangire

We have just two weeks now until our departure from KIA airport, 8 hours north across Africa to Amsterdam and another 8 hours west towards a week with family in Boston and then home to Chimacum on the 26th of May, eleven months to the day since we set out on this adventure.  So many mixed emotions. Great excitement to lay our eyes on friends and family at home again is the overarching feeling, to be sure, but now that the goodbyes have begun in earnest we can’t deny the sadness that accompanies our glee. 

After the last of our American visitors in March – Sylvia and Roland and then Eric Utne – we had our little Maasai sister with us for a full month, and now she has returned to school in Namanga.  Merriley (named after my mother) is the daughter of a favorite student from the first class at MGLSS, Naibelie Lekitony and the great granddaughter of the legendary Koko Ruth.  Merriley is eight now and came to spend the month of April with us, including ten days at the coast during Easter break where she delighted in the warm Indian Ocean waves.  She ate more than Eric at nearly every meal!  Of that Nakaji said, “Well of course.  The food is available.  She will eat it until you make her stop.” I think she gained 10 lbs. 

The family at Pangani on the coast

Since then we have been finishing up projects and winding down.  I received the final congratulatory message regarding my thesis this week.  We are attempting to sell the Land Rover in this financially strained, low safari season.  A trick, maybe.  The girls and I are just back from a wonderful weekend in Tarangire with Kees, Trish and Laura and Annette for Stella’s 6^th birthday while Eric is off with Annette’s husband Jon on a long adventure.  They drove south to Lake Malawi and are now en route home via a circuitous zig-zag across to the coast and then back to Arusha in nine days total.  He is having a ball. I’m covering his Algebra classes – working to wake up my math brain after a 20 some year hiatus…  It’s been nice to teach again just before we go.  The four of us will get one last night at Tarangire next week after Eric and Jon get back.

Jon, Annette and Brendon Simonson

Former student Nashiye, now a teacher, and her daughter Nashipai

Lots of visits these days from former students, which is so much fun.  Some of those we’ve seen lately include Martha, Elizabeth, Sehela and Nashiye (above) – the four who originally came from Koko Ruti’s village of Kimokowa, Nashipai, Naidella and Katito.  I dread saying goodbye to Nakaji soon.

Claire and Stella are counting the minutes and savoring thoughts of neighbors, salmon on the grill, cousins, grammies, bath tubs, school, ice cream, etc. etc.  And all the while they are enjoying each day in Africa, somewhat aware that it will be many long days before we see her again.  They just brought me a bowl of one of their favorite Monduli delicacies – grated coconut with milk and sugar.  Yum. 

Rebecca, Merriley and the twins

They will miss friends like Rebecca and her twin nieces, Winnie and Queenie, with whom they spend every Friday as well as all the neighborhood kids and the students.  By next fall when the school schedule starts again I think they will miss this broad sense of freedom that they have known here in Tanzania, running wild after short school days with teacher Daddy.  They will be in first and second grades!!  Hard to imagine.  We are so grateful to have spent this luxurious year with them before school schedules take over.  I’m sure we’ll all remember it with much fondness. 

Today the Gloriosa Superba, my absolute favorite Tanzanian wild flower, is bursting up all over Monduli after a good long rain last night.  I was afraid Claire and Stella were going to miss it, but it’s come just in time.  Hooray!

Gloriosa Superba

Monduli's wild lily

Elizabeth Lesitee with her mother and son and our three in Longido

Abby and Nakaji visited Sarah's school in Longido

Elephant Charles with daughters Elesmere and Sierra

Larry Passmore and Agnes Marko who both visited in February

Some of Nakaji's family - from left, Nakaji, John, Sinyati (Joel's fiance and sister of Sehela), Joel, front - Jimmy with daughter Joan, now 2

Tarangire with the Terhells - Kees, Trish and Laura

Birthday Ele for Stella

Stealing Water

Coconut pickers at Pangani

Stella watching the coconut pickers

And the coffee is ripening again as we go...

EBJ

Looking up into the tree ferns on the way to Machame camp.

   We walked about 4 hours to the first camp, Machame camp (3000 m). This hike through the forest was interesting (large tree ferns were my favorite) and easy walking on a wide, well maintained trail. The camp was right at the edge of the forest and here we got our first view of the summit, which was quite exciting. There were also good views of the Shira range to the North of us. The camp itself was rather spread out—many small areas in which to pitch between 5 and 10 tents, and a central area of “huts.” These included a couple of old green, round metal yurt-like things that could be called huts, and a very new, large (1000 sq ft?) complex of roofed buildings that seemed to be used by park personnel who were running the camp. One room was for signing in, a ritual at each camp in which we stayed. I went back later and counted a total of 41 climbers, the majority from Europe, registered that evening. So with porters, guides, and cooks I imagine we were some 120-140 people altogether in the camp.
    

Our cook (in orange) supervising breakfast preparation at Machame camp.

     Unsure of exactly what the routine in camp was I decided my best option was to wait and find out. I was soon very pleasantly surprised to find that it included hot popcorn and tea delivered to my tent, and then later a large, hot meal of meat, rice, and vegetables, also brought over to my tent. “Mr. Ericki, your dinner is here?” Having made camp late in the afternoon, it was late evening by the time dinner was over, and I retired to my journal and book before sleep. The following morning rounded out the typical camp routine—a breakfast of porridge, toast, eggs, and sausage, a walk around the area to look for birds and take pictures, packing up, and then headed onto the trail by 8:30 or 9.

These trees start branching after 45 years, and this species is only found on Kilimanjaro.

     We walked between 4-6 hours each day on good trail. Most of the walking was easy but uphill, and only steep in a very few spots. As the entire retinue of climbers and porters was following basically the same schedule, there was a steady stream of porters passing us all day long. It was truly amazing to watch them come blasting past with large loads, often balanced on their heads. Even more amazing coming upon groups of them taking a quick cigarette break every so often, before taking up their loads again and heading to higher elevation and thinner air. Unfortunately the trail itself was littered with a fair amount of small pieces of garbage, and on day two I decided to bring along a plastic bag to pick up litter. This seemed to make quite an impression on many of the porters and other guides, as I often heard my guide explain my strange behavior to them—“hapendi taka taka KABISA…he REALLY doesn’t like garbage…” I never did quite decide whether Siragi thought I was being more of a nuisance by stopping every two minutes to pick up a candy wrapper or some other scrap of plastic, or if he really appreciated my efforts.

Typical view of a porter passing us on the trail. Often times they carried a full pack plus a bundle on the head.

     If the view at my feet was a bit unsettling, the views everywhere else were consistently spectacular. Most mornings were clear and afforded views of the summit area as well as the expanse of Tanzania laid out below us. Mount Meru was visible at some point nearly every day, and the ridges and valleys of the slopes of Kilimanjaro provided many amazing sites full of huge rock formations and vast boulder fields. Also of note were many interesting and crazy looking high altitude plants, some of which looked like leftovers from a strange science experiment. By mid-morning the clouds usually rolled in, and on some days we had rain (or hail at higher altitudes) but only for an hour or two, and never any big downpours. It was usually cloudy when we made camp, but each evening it would clear up and there would be a spectacular view in late afternoon of the peak, and perhaps of the rest of Tanzania to the South. The view would always be waiting again in the morning for my AM walk before hitting the trail again.

The array of tents at Shira camp on our second night.

    We made our way to Shira camp on day two at 3,800m, Barranco on day three at 4,000m, and then Barrafu on day 4 at 4,500m. While the Eskimos are said to have 11 words for different kinds of snow, Kiswahili has one word, Barrafu, that can mean “cold”, “ice”, “snow”, or anything else related to this rare occurrence. Far above the treeline, Barrafu could also mean “desolate.” No plants, only rock and dust and cold chill air. Yet of course more spectacular scenery, including a view of the ascent route as well as a stunning view of Mawenzi (see photo at top of this blog entry), the 5,500m peak that is also a part of the Kilimanjaro volcano complex. Very steep and rocky, it is considered too dangerous to climb and is now (I think) off limits to would be climbers.

     As with most summits, the final attempt to Uhuru peak on Kilimanjaro is made in the pre-dawn hours. This is to take advantage of the best weather in the AM, and to avoid warm, melting snow. The snow proved not to be an issue on this morning though, as there wasn’t any aside from that accumulated in the big glaciers we passed. After the several weeks, and now four days of fretting and wondering whether the altitude would get the best of me and keep me from the summit, we began the final ascent in the pitch black at just after midnight. The next five hours were fairly surreal, moving step by step up steep trail in the pitch black, illuminated only be weak headlamps. Above and below we could see strings of lights that were other parties of climbers slowly making their way through the black of night up to the summit. Far below we could see the lights of Moshi town in the distance.
     For the first time, it was truly icy cold—the wind picked up and for several hours it seemed possible that a storm would blow in and keep us from our goal. I struggled to keep feeling in my fingers and toes, and concentrated at every step on maintaining forward momentum. A stop to pee seemed like a fairly major ordeal, as did any other adjustment to gloves, jacket, or other gear. Throughout, the nagging concerns about whether we would make it or not crept in and out of my mind. With little experience to go on, it seemed like anyone’s guess. A slight headache and vague nausea came and went, depending on my ability to focus on keeping these feelings at bay.
     At around 5:00 we found ourselves at Stella Point, where the trail from our route hits the main ridge that leads to Uhuru peak. Siragi and I had passed many groups of climbers along the way and were now among one of the first groups to make it to this junction. There was much celebration amongst the guides, and it was made clear that the worst was past—from here to the summit was a wide, gradually sloping trail, and only 45 minutes of walking remained. By now too I could detect a faint light on the horizon and could stop worrying about whether my headlamp batteries would die before sunrise. We continued on along, plodding step by step in a thin-air daze as the horizon slowly turned bright orange and the sky above a beautiful shade of blue.

Obama and me standing on the summit.

     At the summit we encountered the sign I had seen in numerous pictures, brought to you here with yours truly standing by—I switched into my Obama cap for the occasion, though it doesn’t show so well in the photo. The views were incredible all around! We could see down into the caldera area, within which lies a deeper crater–we could only see the edge of this but it was impressive nevertheless. The glaciers gleamed in the dawn light with as many shades of blue as can be imagined. Euphoria and relief at having made it, as well as exhaustion along with no small amount of anxiety about having to make it all the way back down. I took many moments to stop and wonder at the beauty of the sunrise climbing over the horizon–a spectacular show of variously colored light spreading across the surreal landscape and the vast expanse of Africa that lay below us. Also some moments of appreciation for my Great Aunt Ginny and Great Uncle Carl who both passed away last year. Ginny who always extraordinarily kind, supportive, and generous, particularly with children, and Carl who was famous in the Barlow clan for his lifelong habit of picking up litter and trash on his walks. These two relatives, whom I knew mainly in glimpses during my childhood, seemed to have accompanied me for much of this trip.

Glacier sparkling in dawn light at the summit.

     The way down felt much more arduous and difficult than the way up, and I thanked my lucky stars for having dragged Kees’ ski poles along with me for five days. Six hours up turned into three more hours back to Barrafu, where I collapsed for a several hour nap before breaking camp and continuing down for another 4 hour downhill hike to our final camp at Mweka, at 3000m. All was relief now, exhaustion, and very sore legs. The ski poles were like crutches and I hobbled into camp and fell into rest, now anticipating the rest of the journey home. The following morning I limped the rest of the way down to the Mweka gate, where I then had a ride back to Moshi, followed by a shuttle to Arusha where Abby, Claire, and Stella waited to greet me. How wonderful to see them after being so far away for the week!
     And what did I learn from all of this? Six days of relative solitude in the midst of extraordinary views and an entirely different perspective on the physical world provided great opportunity for new and different perspectives on my tiny existence in this vast world. A renewed appreciation for the examples set by those who have come before me, combined with continued inspiration from the opportunities presented by a new leader at home. And of course, as with so many other experiences this year, more appreciation of how incredibly fortunate I am in this world, and a resolve to give something back in whatever way I can. One thing is for certain, I will never forget my sojourn up to the top of this beautiful and magnificent mountain!

Sometimes in Africa we can stand up in the Land Rover, sticking our heads out the windows and forgetting all about seat belts. Dust billows through the windows and pretty soon we can’t tell one another from the buffalo, our faces so dirty!

Sometimes in Africa wedding parties cruise the streets of town banging drums and blowing trumpets, people dressed in lace and satin as white as the snows of Kilimanjaro.

Sometimes in Africa the light of a full moon shines on fields of maize and beans like a magic spotlight for the dance of skeletons. But always in Africa doves coo and we dream of home.

Sometimes in Africa, before the rains, elephants dig deep holes to take their baths. They wallow in muddy pools made by tusks and trunks in dry river beds. They always seem to know just where to dig.

Sometimes in Africa thunder rumbles but the rains forget to come and everything turns to dust. Goats and cattle cry and women walk far and far with buckets on their heads.

Sometimes in Africa thunder rumbles and the rains DO come, washing spiders and shoes and everything in their path downstream. Then the world turns the greenest green you’ve ever seen.

Sometimes in Africa, after the rains, great toads and tortoises can be coaxed out of their holes to become shy friends for an hour or a day. But always in Africa roosters crow and we dream of home.

Sometimes in Africa, when a papaya is ripe, we shimmy up the bumpy trunk with a stick to poke it down. We slice it and eat it with lime juice, yum!

Sometimes in Africa when termites are swarming, our neighbors feast on fresh insects – crunch crunch. By the next morning the only proof of the feast is a pile of translucent wings around the mound.

Sometimes in Africa we drink Loshoro, straight from a smoky calabash. The fermented milk is lumpy and sweet.

Sometimes in Africa, on the Indian Ocean, little boys spear octopus with long, slender sticks in the shallow waves. Their bodies are covered in black, sticky ink when they come in to sell their leggy catch. But always in Africa donkeys brey and we dream of home.

Sometimes in Africa the old ones spit on our heads. We bow towards them to receive the blessing, saying Shikamoo, Koko – “I kiss your feet, grandmother.”

Sometimes in Africa the warriors and maidens dance, leaping into the sky. They shake their shoulders up and down and sing to Engai who lives in the smoking mountain.

Sometimes in Africa we walk to the market for coconuts and mangoes and oil for the lantern. Women selling beads and bananas call out to us and we admire their colorful wares.

Sometimes in Africa we carry our babies to town on our backs, just like the real mamas do, wrapped in kangas and tied securely around our shoulders. Then all the mamas smile at us and tell us what good mamas we’ll be one day. But always in Africa the chickens cluck and we dream of home.

Sometimes in Africa the early morning sunshine wakes us from our dreams with a kiss. On sunny days the African plains are as wide as forever and birds fly in from Timbuktu and beyond.

Sometimes in Africa we get mealies for lunch – maize roasted over charcoal by happy women on the side of the road. We chew on them for the rest of the day, sucking the juice from the ends.

Sometimes in Africa the afternoons are as long as years. The wind stops and the sun beats down on people and animals and cicadas and none but the cicadas can keep their eyes open even when they try as hard as they can.

Sometimes in Africa, after the sun goes down, a harmony of voices skips across the school yard and through our bedroom window, a wild lullaby for us as we drift towards tomorrow. And always in Africa crickets chirp and we dream of home.

Happy Valentine’s Day! We miss you and will be home this June.

With Lots of love, Eric, Abby, Claire and Stella

The Giraffe Brothers - Snared giraffe to the right...

The Giraffe Story by Claire and Stella

Once upon a time we were driving on safari with Mom and Dad and Dave and Michele in the Serengeti. We were watching four young male giraffes when Dave pointed out that there was a wire around the neck of one giraffe. The wire was wrapped tightly and it was dragging on the ground. It looked like it had been there for some time and the giraffe didn’t like it one bit.

We needed to call somebody to help. Amazingly our cell phones worked in the Serengeti and we still had a little battery juice left. First we called Annette who lives at Tarangire National Park to see what she knew. She said, “Call Elephant Charles.” Charles works in Tarangire, too, and he knows a lot about animals in Tanzania. Mama called Charles but he said that the vet he knew in the Serengeti was out of the country because this was Christmas Eve. We were just feeling discouraged and had meanwhile discovered that our Land Rover wouldn’t start, when the phone rang. It was Annette again. She said that Vet Richard was NOT out of the country and she gave us his number.

Daddy called Richard and he said, “Thank you for calling. Let me get a few guys and put my kit together with a rope and I’ll be there within an hour. Can you stay with the giraffe?” Daddy said, “Yes, we’ll do it.”

Daddy and Dave got out and pretended to fix the car while Michele videotaped and when Mama tried it again, what do you know? It worked. So we turned the car around and got into a good position to watch the giraffe. We ate our box lunches while we waited. After about an hour, Richard and his car full of helpers arrived.

They all got out of their car and Richard put on a special veterinarian jump suit. It was white. The men all practiced with the rope. Richard explained to us that if the giraffe didn’t fall down on its own, they would have to wrap a rope around its legs and pull it down. One of the men stood in the middle like a giraffe and they practiced wrapping his legs and pulling him down. Richard loaded his dart gun and told us that we could follow them, but we should stay back about 100 yards so that we could watch without being in danger. Richard’s wife became the driver of their car and Mama followed in ours as we set off after the giraffes who were walking across the plains and through some small acacia trees by now.

After a few minutes Richard’s car went off road in pursuit of the giraffe. We followed but stayed back quite a ways. We watched as Richard’s first dart missed the giraffe. The following went on and on for almost two hours. It was hot in the Serengeti afternoon, but we were all very patient and anxious about what would happen. We just kept following Richard’s car across the bush. He had to shoot four darts before he finally got a good one into the giraffe’s back hip. We could see the dart hanging out of the giraffe.

The giraffe began to walk very funny. The other three giraffes were watching it all the while and sticking close by. They seemed worried about their brother. Finally, the giraffe was groggy enough, but not falling down, so Richard’s wife stopped their car and the men all jumped out with the rope. About six men took the two ends and ran towards the giraffe. They brought the rope around from the front to the back and pulled that giraffe down perfectly. We were right there looking straight on with an excellent view of the whole thing.

The Team wraps the giraffe's feet and pull it down for rescue

As soon as the giraffe was down, Mama started the car and we drove up close. Daddy jumped out to get photos of the giraffe while it was on the ground. Richard very quickly snipped the wire that turned out to be a nasty snare. Then he gave the giraffe a shot of medicine to reverse the sleeping dart and the giraffe immediately jumped up. Richard said that giraffes cannot lie down for more than a couple of minutes because their hearts pump so hard to get the blood through their long necks to their heads and when they are down, this pumping is too strong. It can kill them very quickly.

The Amazing Giraffe Rescue Team with clipped snare

We all watched and cheered as the giraffe ran across the grassy plain. It was a happy time. We stood around and talked with Richard and the other helpers for a few minutes and then it was time for us to get back on the road towards Lobo in the Northern Serengeti where we would spend Christmas Eve and morning. We felt very good about saving our Christmas giraffe.

Snares are still a big problem in Tanzania as poachers try to catch wild animals. Richard and his wife are working to teach people about the dangers of snares and about how to help the animals who get caught in them.

The End

Pre-Form One Student Kalai Sonjo

Active Volcano - Oldonyo Lengai "Mountain of God"

Claire and Namanyaki

Stella and Loserian

Jacaranda Season in Monduli

Pundamilia in Tarangire after rains

A great two week visit with Grammy Sal in November

One of the teacher's houses at school

Monduli Juu Primary School

Koko and Stella

Last weekend we made a trip up the Nairobi Road to Kimokowa to visit Koko Ruti, the original inspiration behind Maasae Girls School. Koko is the one who, back in the 80s, went to the elders of the tribe to ask that girls be educated in secondary school. She shared her belief that education of a woman is education for a whole village. Koko went to this group on her knees becuase women within the tribe are not allowed to attend the meetings of elders. Legend has it that she spoke eloquently about the need for women to be educated so that they can help their people to adjust before all Maasai grazing land disappears to foreign land owners and parks, the direction of things now. Koko spent the first years at the school with us – grandmother to all. She claimed then to have been 100 years old, and is still claiming this today!

Claire teaches the children to make god's eyes

View from the boma - Longido Mountain

Koko and Abby

Stella with a Grandson and a Great Granddaughter

We gathered in the dining hall where I had my computer set up with all the gizmos. That in itself was quite interesting for these technology deprived girls (lucky them!) Amazingly the power stayed on for the entire evening. I turned on the projector and the first image showed up large on the wall, the face of a female lion – big brown eyes, whiskers and teeth, covered on one side by all the little program icons of my desktop. “Ooh wee!” the shouting began immediately. “What is it?!?”

At first I laughed at them, but then realized that many of them were truly unable to identify the image as ‘lion.’ These young Maasai women who have lived their lives in the heart of lion country have either never seen a lion – that’s what Maasai men are for – protecting the bomas from lions so the women and children don’t ever have to see them – or they have seen a real lion, but are not able to conceptually translate a two dimensional photograph taken with a high resolution zoom lens into the real thing. And all those little Microsoft doo dads made it more confusing, I’m sure.

They asked if I wasn’t afraid, sitting so near to the simba. “No,” I laughed, and reached up to pet the kitty – scratching behind its ears. The next thing I knew they were all parading to the wall, gingerly reaching out a finger to touch a tooth or an eye lash, squealing with feigned fear and true delight, running back to their places with their hands over their faces – the familiar gesture of embarrassment.

I was almost afraid to proceed with the Deep Oceans if a little ol’ lion could cause this much stir!

But we did proceed with an hour of Blue Planet and the excitement never waned. Whales, turtles, crabs, squid, waves, fish that make light, schools of herring… David Attenborough’s narration was never heard over the groaning and squealing as one amazement followed another. I asked them the next day if they’d had bad dreams, but in the light of day they denied any fear. The pure embodiment of sophistication…

12/1 A sunrise walk down from the school and out to the “Big Ditch” takes me past a mud and stick hut from which is blaring Radio Tanzania, run on four D batteries, no doubt. I approach the hut to pass, expecting the static to formulate into Swahili morning news but am surprised as instead the words become English and the voice resolves into that of my new president, giving his justly praised acceptance speech, now nearly a month past the election. I feel pride as the Mama of the house gives a friendly wave to one of the token American’s in Monduli, our status here recently elevated.

11/29 The day we celebrated Thanksgiving this year (Saturday after) was an appropriately traditional hodge podge gathering. The four of us were joined by Jean and Marvin – American Lutheran missionaries here in Monduli, our good ex-pat, development worker friends Kees (Dutch), Trish (American) and their daughter Laura (adopted from Romania), and some of my old friend Nakaji’s children. Nakaji was in Mbuyuni visiting her mother that day, but she sent Junior – her son who was 5 when I left here in ’96, now 17, her older son Jimmy and his wife and their 1 yr old daughter. It felt like a nice cross section of “our people” here. Eric roasted two chickens and Trish brought an honest to goodness turkey breast. We had mashed potatoes and squash, gravy, stuffing, grilled egg plant and green pepper (pilipili hoho in Swahili – everyone should know that), mango chutney, corn, nice wine and apple pie. I was amazed at the labor intensity of an apple pie without my pre-measured butter and food processor for the crust or my apple peeler/corer for the filling. The gas ran out on the stove part way through the baking, so it ended up in the oven for over two hours, but we ate it anyway! Of course we talked about Native Americans and generosity and gratitude in general and the day was fine. It was even rainy and foggy most of the day, so if you didn’t feel the temperature or texture of the air, it was almost like fall in the Northwest. A few of us sat around the table until after the candles had burned down to nubs, sipping brandy and nibbling dark chocolate from The States. We thought of friends and family far away and all spent the following day in a slight homesickness funk.

11/27 Instead of Thanksgiving, November 27^th here was the day of Neema Ndooki’s “Send Off” celebration. Neema was a student in our first class at the Girls’ School. I remember fondly going out to her boma and interviewing her with a small group of others and their Standard 7 teacher almost fifteen years ago. She was so shy, but eager to enter secondary school. Her boma, out from Kisongo at Moita Bawani, on the edge of the Simanjiro Plain, was traditional and dry. I had been there once before on a maize distribution trip during drought time. Her father and his wives and many children were all there to meet us and seemed almost supportive of Neema’s education. Since then, much has happened in Neema’s life, including college and ordainment as a minister as well as a difficult breach with her father and more recently her engagement to a man from Moshi, also a minister. She acted as chaplain here at the school for two years, but has gone back to get a master’s degree at Makumira University this year. She is tall, beautiful and strong, as well as a little bit opinionated!

A “send off” is the bride’s family’s pre-wedding celebration, a big party to officially “send her over” to the husband’s family. Selina Rotiken, another student from that same class (who attended university in The States and returned to marry a man from her home village and is now teaching English at Maasae Girls) sat with her up front until the hand over took place. Though the party was in a fancy hotel in Arusha, the young women were dressed in traditional Maasai wedding attire. Beautiful! Five other former students were there, amazingly grown up and successful in their lives, all married with children. It was a treat to see them again. It wasn’t long ago that they were being adamantly told that they would never be able to marry. Of course they would be too old and too educated when they finished, no one would want them. Ha!

11/26 Listening to Claire and Stella play “Dinner Party” as I did the dishes today I was brought into close contact with my girl friends back home. So many of their phrases and general hospitality were quoted to the make believe guests by my daughters. I’ll recount a few of the lines that I can recall, but there were plenty more…

“I’d like to thank you all for coming and to tell you how honored we feel that you are here.”

“This is such a special day and we’d like to honor Red Bear on his birthday.”

“Please, feel free to eat. There’s plenty of food here and more in the kitchen!”

“It makes us so happy to be joined with friends on this special day…”

“Please, won’t you have another piece of pie?”

“You are all very important to us and we are so glad that you have come…”

It went on and on like that! I kept my chuckles to myself, but write these quotes now with gratitude for you who teach Claire and Stella all about “honoring” one another. Many thanks!

And a few of the absurdities of life here that keep us guessing…

· Electricity is sporadic. It goes out most nights just as the sun sets and comes back on moments after we fall asleep – lights glaring throughout the once dark house. Still it is amazing that we have enough that our refridgerator/freezer are completely viable. Water in the pipes has been even more inconsistent. There is no shortage of water coming down from the sky these days, washing away roads and top soil, our height increased by inches as we walk about in the mud, but just try to get some to come out of the shower or sink! The everywhere green is beautiful though.

·

As we were driving home from Arusha the other night after dark, blinded by oncoming headlights on an all too narrow road, Eric yelled and I screech/swerved (somehow) around a long line of military trainees – out for a lively night hike down the left lane of the highway, completely oblivious to the possible effects of a Land Rover travelling at 60 km/hr. on the unarmoured human body.

·

To enter school now in the rainy season you have to slip and slide your way down a steep embankment, grabbing hold of the rock wall at the bottom to regain your balance and then tip toe across small stones set in the deep puddles, leaping finally to the safety of a slick, muddy landing. Good Luck. And don’t forget, you’re wearing a dress and your good teaching shoes, carrying a bookbag and often a computer. The fundis building the two classrooms on campus don’t seem to have cement or time to spare to deal with this less than welcoming situation.

·

We have a new donkey in our yard. Apparently it’s an old donkey, actually. The story says that it has shown up here, unattended, during the rains when the grass is new, for going on 12 years. It fattens up for a few weeks and then disappears again. We’ll see. I find it a little disconcerting, but I can’t really say why. AAJ