Tanzania: Ngorongoro Crater

We wake up to find that it is totally clouded-in, and still drizzing. I hope we will see some game, and not skid of the cliff! As it turns out the road down is steep, but not as scary as I feared – there was always a little bit of earth between the edge of the road and the abyss, so even I with my fear of heights didn’t think we were going to fall off the edge after all. I was certainly glad when we made it down, however!

Once down on the crater floor, it’s not as cloudy as it was above, and the drizzle has stopped. We see a couple of lions in the grass, but it’s really a tease – they are so camouflaged that we can barely make them out. I hope we’ll get a better view later. We stop to view some birds. I’m impatient – I have cats to see! Roman says that morning is the best time to see cats, and I really don’t want to waste time on yet another weaver or bustard. So I get sneaky and say “let’s go” in Swahili: “twende tafadhali” [sp?], and it works! Roman starts the engine and we move on. That was even better than learning how to say ‘where is the bathroom?’

We see a cluster of vehicles ahead, and head toward them. It’s the modern equivalent of watching for vultures circling. And indeed, we see 2 lions eating at a kill, with jackals waiting at a distance. A couple more lions are nearby, and finally we notice the big male off on the right. As we focus on the scene, we realize there are more and more lions: 5,6,7,8! And then off to the left, another female guarding a second kill. Every once in a while she looks over at the rest of the pride, as if to say: “dinner’s ready!” The other lions slowly start walking that way, so we shift our position to the second kill.

As more and more lions amble over, they crowd in until there is a veritable pile of lions obscuring the kill. They are not that hungry, having already feasted at the previous kill. Two quickly go in search of an after-dinner drink – a small mud puddle right in front of the vehicle ahead of us. From our angle, all we can see is 2 tails stretching out from the side of the land rover. There are still a few lions at the kill, and suddenly the male appears from the rear – we get a great view of him. He approaches too fast for me to un-zoom my camera, so my last shot is an extreme close-up (which has been very satisfactory at scaring my friends at home :o ). Then he proceeds to wend his confident way up the line of vehicles, spraying the tires as he goes. He makes it clear who is boss.

Another lion starts to cross the road, then lies down right in the middle, effectively blocking traffic. We can’t help but think he is disdainfully amused. More and more vehicles congregate. The scene rays out from the lions in the road, surrounded by the various land rovers, with the kill slightly off to the side. Then I suddenly notice that the other lions have now circled around us --we are surrounded by lions! It’s a good thing they are not hungry. My face keeps alternating between open-mouthed awe and sheer happiness. My roommate calls that my happy cat face. She gets that way when she sees elephants.

Eventually the lions disperse and we do too. After seeing more wildebeest (a darker color than we have seen before) we also see a zebra parade, and a handful of warthogs.

We head over to a curve in the road where a few vehicles have assembled, and try to figure out what they are staring at. Their heads are pointing in the direction of a trio of warthogs, but we can’t imagine what is so fascinating. Roman is the first to spy the cheetah hidden in the tall grass. At first I can’t see it at all, but it raises its head, which helps. Once I get a fix on the position, I see the spots faintly through the grass, even when his head disappears again. But then I stare so hard I’m not even sure I’m seeing anything.

Luckily we get a better chance later, as Roman spies a cheetah seated in the grass. I couldn’t see it at first, so he told us to look for the stick. Then I saw it – it really did look like a stick, or a long neck poking up from the grass. I couldn’t figure out how that shape could be a cheetah. I wasn’t familiar with those narrow shoulders and long lean body. Finally I got a closer view through my binoculars and realized I was looking at his whole torso. It’s funny how much you have to train your eyes to see the animals.

We go to the picnic area for lunch and bathrooms, eating in the land rover because the kites are attracted to food, and can actually be dangerous. I’m getting antsy again as time passes – we don’t need to spend so long eating a dry little sandwich and cold chicken leg. We could be seeing animals and instead we are just milling about. But that’s just my NYC impatience talking – I’m very task oriented, and right now my agenda is to see game. We get going again and all is fine.

Later in the afternoon we get a real treat, with an exquisite performance by two cheetah brothers. They walk up the road, approaching us with casual unconcern. We watch with delight, and whisper our desires – “oh, I wish the back one would hurry up so I could get them both in frame (done). I wish they would cross over there so we could see their profiles (done). I wish they would turn their head so I could see their face (done). I wish they’d walk to the top of the hill so I could get a silhouette (done). Never has a subject posed more obligingly. They watched some distant gazelles, but unfortunately we had more interest in a chase than they did, so nothing happened.

After the delicious tension of the cheetahs, we turned to comic relief at the hippo pool. The hippos are crowded side by side, with a couple further away at each end. We are amused by the splashing, which happens via no visible cause. The hippos off by themselves at the end have a tendency to roll instead of splash. I take a picture of one with a foot sticking up in the air, and realize that when I get the picture back I’ll have no idea what it is.

As we approach the exit and wind through the forest area, we are all looking for an elephant for Idelle – it is her favorite animal (other than gerenuk) and it is funny that we have seen a single one in the crater (except for one far in the distance, which doesn’t really count.) Just as it is almost too late we pass one under a tree, about 20 yards from the road. His tusks are huge, as long as his trunk, and the guide figures he’s about 60 years old, and probably on his last set of teeth, with only a short lifespan left to go. We stare soberly as he says that, realizing that there is no way to delay the normal process of nature.

The full list of animals we saw included golden jackal, wildebeest, lions (including a pride of 9 at 2 different kills), greater flamingo, lesser flamingo, Thompson’s gazelles, Egyptian geese, cheetahs, kori bustard, hartebeest, rufous tailed weaver, ostrich, black rhino (in the distance), warthogs, spotted hyena, grants gazelle, silver backed jackal, cape buffalo, sacred ibis, hadada ibis, hippopotamus, grey heron, crested crane, secretary bird, elephant, olive baboons.

The trip back up to the rim is steep and bumpy, but again not as bad as I was afraid of. But the cumulative effect of these bumps has taken a toll on my back, and I’m in some pain after we get to the hotel. I stop by reception on the way in and schedule a massage. I really need to do something or I won’t be in shape to go tomorrow. So after the excellent massage I take a hot shower, and pop some aleve, and apply some bio-freeze, and then join the group for cocktails. 5 muscle relaxants in a row has to be a record, and it works. I’m ok in the morning.

Tanzania: Road to Ngorongoro

After pouring all night, the rain does not let up this morning. I’ve totally misjudged the weather on this trip. It hasn’t been as hot as I expected (although I will find that the Serengeti is hotter), and while I expected a couple of showers, I didn’t expect this pounding unceasing rain – isn’t this the dry season? We ask about the rain, and they confirm that it has not rained in 3 months, until now. I try to be happy with them.

We leave Gibbs farm and go to Karatu, the nearby town. The original plan was to see the market, but the rain washes that out, so instead we travel around doing a couple of errands for people. Faye is looking for a disposable camera (to replace the one she lost in Nairobi), and Idelle is looking for Amarulo liqueur. We are clearly in a local part of the little town now – suddenly the signs on the shops are all in Swahili rather than English, and when we find a liquor store it won’t accept dollars (and while we had gotten Kenya shillings, we didn’t get any Tanzania shillings). We drive around some more and end up at a nearby lodge, hoping to find a camera for Faye. While we are there, we are treated to yet another welcome dance, this time by the Iraqw tribe (no, not the same as Iraq!)

We get back on the road and stop briefly at the little museum at the entrance to Ngorongoro, however after killing all that time in the village, now we are in a hurry. Because of all the rain, the big trucks have been forced to wait at the entrance (so as to not block the way) but now they are being allowed to proceed.
We want to go ahead of them rather than behind, in case they get stuck, so we jump back in the land rover and set off. I can feel the tires slipping. It is scary enough here on the rim, and I’m more and more anxious about the road down into the crater tomorrow. The roads are amazingly bumpy, but I suspect it is because there are basically no locals -- the Maasai walk, and everyone else is either a tourist or working at the hotels.

When we arrive at the lodge, ‘H’ hands us our keys. I ask him if he has given me one with a good view. He assures me ‘yes, the best’. We go to our room and find that while the room is beautiful, it is clearly not ‘the best’. It’s on the lower level, and the grass and brush obstruct the view, so you can look out across the crater, but you can’t look down, while the second level has grand vistas. I’m a bit annoyed. I’ve had specific talks with him explaining that my priority is a good view, and he keeps yessing me, but ignoring my request. I totally understand that everyone cannot get the best room all the time, but it bugs me that he looks me in the face and tells me my room is the best when it is clearly not. At lunch, he asks how our room is, and I tell him I would prefer one with a better view, on the second floor. He says he will try, and after lunch appears with a new key. I can’t help confirming:
“Does this room have a better view?”.
“Yes”, he replies.
“Is it on the second floor?”.
“No”.
“Then why are you saying it is better?”
“I thought you just didn’t like your room and wanted a different one.”
So then we say we want to keep the old room, because it is not worth the hassle to move if the view will not be improved. So now he thinks I am irrational and hard to please. Sigh. I’m not sure whether I’m just paranoid, or whether there is really a pattern that single women get the worst rooms.

On the other hand, none of the rooms here are bad. The room is beautiful; with every amenity you could ask for, so I get over my snit and decide to have a good time. Everything is really working out perfectly, time after time. It’s just that this one detail about a view has rubbed me the wrong way.

I find the observation porch, and am enthralled looking through the telescope. I see zebras, wildebeest, elephants, and a rhino. Occasionally someone else stops by and I step back and invite them to take a look. They always seem surprised that I’m relinquishing my spot, but I don’t understand why anyone would refuse to take turns. As it is getting chilly, I run back to my room to get my fleece, only to find that the briefly clearing weather was just temporary, and the rain and clouds are back with a vengeance. I’m worried that even if it clears tomorrow, the road with be too muddy to traverse safely.

Most of our group seems to spend the afternoon either napping or in the gift shop. I’m glad I at least spent some time looking into the crater. If it doesn’t clear up that might be my only view of it! I realize that I was so worried about my unknown roommate before the trip, that I spent my energy praying about her rather than the weather. I have to admit I got a good deal out of it, because she has been a terrific roommate, so I can’t complain.

This evening we were supposed to have a walk by a naturalist at the hotel. As it turns out, the naturalist was not there, but a guide took us. It was chilly and damp and muddy, and I was surprised that our whole group went. Our guide was Maasai, and explained the tribal custom that had knocked out his bottom front teeth. In the past, there were so many cases of tetanus that they developed this idea to prepare for lockjaw, so a patient could be fed through a cow-hide straw. I asked him whether they would accept vaccinations if they were made available, and he said yes. I though it was heartbreaking that children’s teeth are being knocked out by their loving parents in an effort to protect them, when a safe vaccine exists.

After the walk, our feet had a huge build-up of mud (probably mixed with various dung). I scraped and rubbed my sneakers, and was amazed that the layer was still almost an inch thick! I’ve never had to work so hard to clean off my shoes, in fact, I was sort of getting foot claustrophobia! After scuffing through gravel and abrading it against cement steps, and shuffling through puddles, finally it was just messy in the treads. Now I grasp how it works when the Maasai build their houses and smear them with mud and dung. This stuff just refuses to wash away or to disintegrate. Our leader arranged for the hotel to wash all of our shoes for us overnight. I couldn’t believe when I saw my sneakers in the morning. I had intentionally brought ones that weren’t clean and new, and miraculously they ended up much cleaner than when I had started my trip.

Tanzania: Lake Manyara and Gibb's Farm

Lake Manyara! Suddenly we are in a lush jungle instead of the arid grassland. It’s hard to describe the difference in the air – less dusty, of course, but also with different subtle aromas. Subtle, that is, until we pass through a veritable dung collection. But I’m so happy to be here that even the dung smells good to me.

We stop for a picnic lunch. While it was clearly put together with great care, the meat in the sandwich was curiously bi-colored, and the yogurt containers bulged suspiciously. I’m pleased to be traveling with a group that doesn’t whine about it. We variously comment, and then move on, packing the untouched items into a couple of the lunchboxes, which our driver hands out to some locals near the edge of the park.

We are nearing the end of our Lake Manyara drive, when the driver calls out “Simba!” I was so excited I gave a little shriek (oops!) and jumped out of my seat like a jack in the box. The lions were sleeping under a tree, relatively close, yet in such dark shade you could barely see them, much less photograph them, although I tried, of course –it kind of worked to overexpose the shot. At first I saw just the one on the left, whose profiled head showed a recognizable silhouette. Then I saw the white stomach of the one on the right, and the stretching foot of the one in the center, curled around the tree trunk. Finally we realize that there are actually 2 in the middle and 2 on the right – 5 in all. An enduring memory from Lake Manyara.

The flamingos were only seen from a distance, looking like shimmering pink quartz on the shore. The hippos lumbered in and out of the water. We got a good view even from the distance. Other game included blue monkeys, olive baboons, zebras, wildebeest, vervet monkeys, warthogs, spoonbills, great cormorants, impalas, lesser flamingos, pale chanting goshawk, joves thunderbolt, grey heron. And we also enjoyed seeing some of the various trees: mahogany, fig, tamarind, and wild bush mango.

After we leave Lake Manyara, we ascend the ridge to get to the Ngorongoro region. We stop at more shops, of course, and I finally buy a pair of candlesticks and a salad knife and fork. Then on to the T shirt shop. While we are all amused by the ‘endangered feces’ shirt, we reluctantly leave it behind, realizing that we might not really wear it once we’re back home. I see a package of Maasai cloth for sale, and enjoy the irony of the washing instructions which warn not to dry it in the sun. I guess thousands of Maasai all over Africa never read the instructions, LOL ;)

We arrive at Gibbs farm in the afternoon, a veritable oasis [pictures]. The gardens are lush and colorful, and our room is spacious and comfortable, and even has a fire place, although it is not quite cool enough to use it.

I’m really looking forward to a hot shower, but can’t resist afternoon tea served on the lawn, surrounded by flowers, sitting under a jacaranda tree. The best cake and cookies we’ve had in Africa. The cookies are made with their own macadamia nuts. Yum!!!

Dinner was outstanding. They grow most of their own vegetables, and even the non-vegetable lovers among us enjoy them. Carrot and ginger salad – unusually spicy, but delicious. Arugula soup – dark and creamy, but a bit too bitter for my taste – the only non-winner of the evening. Green salad with a lovely light dressing, with just a hint of sweetness. This is the first green salad I’ve dared in Africa. The manager here specifically discussed the vegetables, and insisted that since they grow their own and manage the entire process from field to table, they can control the hygiene. I decide to believe him. We’ll see. Let me not forget the spinach – the best version of creamed spinach I’ve ever eaten – tender with just a hint of nutmeg, and creamy without being too rich or gummy. Curried vegetables for the vegetarians, and a pork dish for the carnivores. Only the ugali has no taste, but I gather it is not supposed to. Finally a marvelous lemon meringue pie for dessert --- the best I’ve had in 30 years, tangy and creamy at the same time. We all cut ourselves polite small pieces, hoping to stretch it to the 14 seated around our table, but are pleased to savor seconds when we see a second pie appear.

I’ve also treated myself to a Tangawizi twist – a drink made with ginger beer, tequila, a surprising amount of fresh ginger, lime juice, and who knows what. It is served with a salt rimmed glass and tastes like a fresh ginger margarita. Yum. It’s so good I have the same thing the next night.

After dinner my roommate reminds me that we were going to try the amarulo (remember that tree we passed?). We adjourn to the lounge with our drinks. It tastes like a combination of Harvey’s Bristol cream and frangelico – nutty, creamy, and slightly sweet. I would definitely try it again.

I give myself the treat of just lazily falling into bed without bothering to set out my clothes for the next day, since I’ve decided to skip the 6:30 birdwalk.

Today is sort of a vacation from our vacation. The day starts with the sound of buzzing bees outside our room. I’m still half asleep, and can’t figure out what the sound is at first. It’s not one or two bees, it is a convention, but they don’t bother anyone—they’re just busy sipping the nectar from the flowers. I luxuriate in a truly hot shower, and give my hair a good lathering. Then on to a delicious breakfast.

I’ve already had passion-fruit, pineapple, tree tomato juices at other camps, but this morning there is a new option: rhubarb! It was pretty good, although actually a bit too sweet. I also have my usual one-egg omelet, and a bowl of fruit and a muffin. Not only the vegetables but also the baked goods are better than usual here.

After breakfast we watch a coffee roasting demonstration, and then have a chance for a hike. ‘H’ describes it in a way that sounds excessively strenuous, so I say I want to go just half way. The lodge manager is totally accommodating, and offers to supply an extra guide so I can turn back when I want to. On hearing this option, Faye and Idelle ask if they can join, so we have a party of 4. We set off with Esau – he pronounced his name ‘Eh-SOW’, so it took a minute to get it, and then I said: ‘from the Bible?’ and he said yes.

We went slowly, to accommodate Idelle’s knee, and the adjustment to the altitude (5,700 ft). Esau attentively gave a hand at any steep parts, and pointed out footprints of dik dik, buffalo, and elephant. I politely responded to his overtures by trying out my few Swahili words, and he was delighted every time I came up with something appropriate. Whenever I tried a new word, he got so excited he gave me a high five. With that kind of encouragement, one could really improve at this language thing! We stopped frequently so Idelle could catch her breath, and he taught us to say ‘twende’ (let’s go) when we were ready to move on. We plan to try that on our next game drive if we stop for too long looking at birds.

Esau showed us a plant he called Maasai toilet paper. It has surprisingly soft leaves. Later on he took pains to identify a nettle, and tell us not to touch it. I couldn’t help but comment that it was important to not confuse it with the toilet paper plant. He really liked that. I think he doesn’t usually understand American jokes, but he definitely got that one.
We actually turn around shortly before reaching the waterfall. As it turns out, I think I could easily have made it all the way (unless the very last section is dramatically harder), but we got to a steep part and didn’t want to overtax Idelle’s knee. We were close enough to hear the waterfall. It did somehow take the gloss off of ‘H’s self-aggrandizing story about having to carry a tourist on his back for 4-1//2 hours back to the lodge (considering that a 77 year old recovering from a broken knee-cap did the return trip in just over an hour).

On the way back Esau teaches me the Jambo song. Luckily I had already downloaded it onto my ipod before the trip, so I had the sound in my head. We stride down the hill singing together, with him directing so that I’d do the proper antiphonal echo on the ‘hakuna matata’ part at the end. He takes great pains to make sure that I remember to insert ‘Gibbs Farms’ in the right place (instead of ‘Kenya yetu’).

Lunch is a buffet, but much fresher and more appetizing than we have had anywhere else. The salad has fresh avocado (from their own tree, of course), and I enjoy the pumpkin soup and the beef salad served with their own home-made chutney. I went up for seconds, but was diverted by the desserts: a perfect rhubarb crisp, a creamy rice pudding, a chocolate pudding/cake, and that’s not all, but it is all I’ll admit to trying! Definitely the best desserts we’ve had in Africa, including at the fancy Stanley Hotel in Nairobi.

After lunch, I have trouble getting details from ‘H’ about our itinerary. I’m trying to figure out how to fit in a garden tour and medicinal plant walk as well as the school trip and home visit. I finally get frustrated. When I ask him if it is possible to do the trip and also the garden walk he says “if there is time”, but that is exactly the problem, I don’t know if there is time. Finally I realize that I need a break from him regardless of the itinerary, and I decide to stay back. I gave ‘E’ the colored pencils I brought for the school, and went to the reception desk to ask about the medicinal plant tour and the garden tour, only to find that the ‘doctor’ is off today, so the medicinal plant option is out anyway. Actually, I overhear that he is actually out sick, which doesn’t bode well for the efficacy of the medicinal plants anyway.

The staff here is so accommodating. They were apologetic that it took them a whole 5 minutes to arrange someone to take me on the garden walk. I was expecting to have to make an appointment, and they basically asked a gardener to drop what he was doing to serve me. I think his name might be Lazarus, but with the pronunciation from Swahili, I’m not sure. I have a wonderful time with him. He is friendly, and is amazed that I know many of the vegetables. He started quizzing me on each one – ‘do you know what this is?’ and was truly thrilled every time he could show me something new. At one point I thought he was showing me something quite unusual when he pointed out ‘rose berries’ but he finally explained it was like a strawberry and all of a sudden I got it – raspberry!

He was excited if I could answer anything in Swahili. He stopped at one point to take a brief phone call, and profusely apologized. When I answered ‘hakuna matata’ he gripped my hand with fervor, and forgot to let it go. And his ecstasy knew no bounds when I got the verb right when he asked where I was from. Unatoka wapi? Ninatoka New York! But then I over-reached myself by trying to echo back ‘two children’ in Swahili when he told me about his family. I did ok saying I had no children, but didn’t get the agreement prefixes right when I tried to say two children. He seemed eager to explain, but I’m not sure I’ve got it – I think it turns to watoto wili. I was trying to say mtoto mbili. ( Swahili has this really complex grammar, which I was basically able to ignore, but it is much more highly inflected even than Latin. In preparing for my trip, I had bought an introductory Swahili book and tape, of which I reviewed the first chapter before I gave up and settled for the “In flight Swahili” CD, which was much more my speed, since it just teaches you a few simple things to say right away. )

And now I’m sitting on a lounge chair in the garden writing my journal, and listening to the various birds. I’m looking forward to afternoon tea. This break is great. Gibbs farm is a wonderful place, and I’ve truly enjoyed my day of respite. The gardens are lush and green, with colorful flowers and abundant birds. It feels like a different planet compared to the dusty roads.

Although I’ve appreciated NOT thinking about work, or being in touch with anyone from home, I decide to send one group email to my friends and relatives, just so they know that I’m safe and happy. I assumed the computer would be in an office, or something, but actually it is a laptop with a wireless connection, so they ask me where I want to use it, and I end up in the garden, typing while overlooking the coffee plantation, and listening to the birds. It all feels sort of unreal. Africa is a different world from being at home, but Gibbs farm is yet a different world from everything else we’ve seen, sort of like a really good dream.

Today, tea includes fresh peanut butter cookies and pound cake. It appears as if by magic. Again, we eat in the garden, serenaded by birds. We see a red bird with a long, long tail. We are interrupted by a shower, so I grab our tea tray and run up to the patio which has large sun umbrellas which will also work as rain shields. The staff is busy running around and rescuing all the seat cushions, and are almost amazed that I figured out how to carry the little tea tray all by myself. ;)

After the tea, you wouldn’t think that I would have an appetite for dinner, but you would be wrong, because dinner is again delicious. The waiters have an unusual and appealing serving style. Each waiter carries two large bowls of food, and offers you each bowl in turn, while holding the bowl in the opposite hand up at head height. It is sort of a combination of a dance and lifting weights. Again, each dish is excellent.

All night long we hear rain pounding on the roof, interspersed with the sound of animals running back and forth. It sounds like a convention overhead. Running footsteps, growls, squeals, and chatters. Later we are told that it was probably bushbabies on the roof (we had seen one near the reception desk).

Tanzania: Tarangire

We leave Amboseli and drive to the border between Kenya and Tanzania. In the immigration office I see a funny sign on the wall: “No man can serve two masters at ago”. I think it was intended to be a Bible verse that was quoted in British English and then written down phonetically.

We say goodbye to our drivers, and switch vehicles. As usual, everything works like clockwork. The new drivers and vehicles are waiting for us, and the luggage is transferred without our having to lift a finger (except for our carry-ons). Finally the road is blacktop, but that is almost worse, since we go a lot faster and thus the bumps are spine-cracking. By the time we disembark near Arusha I’m nearly crippled (which is a little embarrassing, considering that I’m almost the youngest on the trip). Meanwhile, our oldest traveler who is 89 shows off the fact that she can touch her toes. When my travel mates see what bad shape I’m in, they graciously switch places so I’m no longer in the back, which has the worst jolts. Other than that, the new vehicles are impressive. Instead of the minivans we had in Kenya, these are stretch land rovers with a pop top. The vehicles feel sturdy and reliable, and there is a decent amount of room, since it is arranged that we each have a window seat.

We spend some time in Arusha so as to delay our arrival in Tarangire until the tse tse flies die down. We are a little intimidated to hear that they can bite through cloth, and aren’t really repelled by DEET.

We finally arrive at Tarangire. The hotel lounge is open to the outside, with a beautiful vista. We’re eager to see our tents, complete with sink, shower, and toilet. Dinner is good, but not nearly as good as the Amboseli Serena. This camp is not fenced, so we get an escort from dinner back to our tent. The tents have electric light until 11pm, but are very dim even with the light on. We go to sleep early, and I sleep like a log.

Morning comes at 5:13 when I hear a cacophony of birds. I doze for a while, but get up to watch the sunrise. There doesn’t seem to be any hot water yet, so I’m not going to take a shower. In spite of the fact that I’m loving my Africa trip, a cold shower is a little too close to roughing it for me to enjoy it. ;) At 6:15 I get my gentle wake-up call – a visit from a room steward carrying a pot of hot chocolate. Heaven! I sit in front of the tent sipping hot chocolate, listening to the birds, and taking occasional pictures of the sunrise.

Breakfast is our least inspired meal so far, but the view from the lounge and front patio is marvelous, overlooking the Tarangire river, and with animals roaming within sight. During our stay here, we see both dik diks and elephants within a stone’s throw of the tent. At night we hear birds and jackals, but are a little disappointed to not hear anything larger.

The morning game drive starts at 8. We are told that the animals here are active a bit later. Who knows? We’ve heard so much buildup about the tse tse flies, but are blessed with a cloudy day, and literally only see one fly, which ‘H’ kills to show us. People were so afraid they were blasting the whole land cruiser with bug spray – not the kind you use on your body, but the kind you blast a room with and then leave the area. I’m afraid we will be poisoned so I stand up so my head sticks out the hatch and I get some fresh air.

On the drive we see some dwarf mongoose, white backed vulture, ostrich, red billed weavers, yellow necked spurfowl, red billed quelea nests, yellow collared lovebirds, dik dik, white headed buffalo weaver, hamerkop nests, spotted hyena, lilac breasted roller (a beautiful bird even to those of us who are not particularly bird watchers), impala, zebra, vervet monkies, elephants, crested francolin, warthog, magpie shrike, hadada ibis, Maasai giraffe, cape buffalo, waterbuck, white bellied bustard, ground hornbill, tawny eagles, and of course baobab trees (I know they are not game, but for a newcomer they are an indelible part of seeing Africa).

I thought breakfast was our least inspired meal, but lunch surpasses it in mediocrity. But it is edible.

The best animal viewing from the lodge is actually in the early afternoon, when the wildebeest form a parade, crossing the Tarangire river and pacing north to better grazing land. The parade stretches on and on as far as the eye can see, with only small gaps, sometimes interspersed with zebras.

The afternoon game drive is a little disappointing – we see lots of the common animals, but nothing new, and spend an inordinate amount of time in one place just looking at birds. I wouldn’t be so antsy, except I really want to see some cats. We see osprey, violet wood hoopoe, waterbuck, wildebeest, zebra, elephants, white browed coucal (or something like that!), rufous tailed weavers.

If I thought lunch was disappointing, dinner was worse. Maybe it wasn’t really that bad, but it was truly cold. I wasn’t too happy about the safety of food that had been sitting on a buffet so long it was totally cold, so I just picked at mine. I would have been happier with a hot plate of ugali and goat stew.

After dinner I ask where the ladies room is. I didn’t realize that I need to specifically say ‘toilet’ , and so they don’t understand me. I finally attempt to ask in Swahili and comprehension dawns. You see, my plan of learning 10 words works! This is my theory about learning languages when traveling. It is too intimidating to think of actually learning the language, so most people don’t bother to learn anything. But I set myself a goal to learn 10 words (and usually end up learning a bit more once I get interested). It’s amazing how much you can communicate with Hello, Goodby, Please, Thank You, Yes, No, Where is…, and maybe a few other chosen phrases.

We hang around the bar waiting for our escorts to our tents, but no one appears. We finally ask at the reception desk and they seem bewildered. Finally the woman at the desk picks up a flashlight and says “come”. We feel a bit stupid – we’re both taller than she is, and she clearly does not have a weapon, so we feel as if a little girl is bravely leading us through the dark.

I skip a shower again, since the water never seems to get hot (although some people in the other tents say theirs was warm). I’m glad I brought some damp wipes, which will have to do, for now. We leave the tent flaps open for the full experience, and hear some more animals in the night – probably jackals.

The next morning I rise early enough to watch the sunrise, sitting on the front porch of the tent drinking my hot chocolate. Some of my traveling companions never got their wake-up call, or got it at the wrong time, but mine is just right, and the hot chocolate is a treat.

Leaving Tarangire we see a yellow collared love bird, elephants, wildebeest, guineafowl, warthogs, white bellied go away bird, zebras, and an amarula tree, which gives rise to a conversation about the liqueur, which we enjoy later in the trip!

Overall impression of Tarangire:

The food was cold, the showers too,
But boy oh boy, look at the view.

Kenya: Amboseli

In the shower this morning, I realize that I need to do a bit of attitude adjustment about those millipedes, or I’m at risk of turning into a whiner. After all, they aren’t hurting anything. I decide to channel my energy into writing a rhyme a la Dr Seuss.

BLACK MILLIPEDE:
I do not want you on the floor.
I do not want you by the door.
I do not want you by my bed,
Especially not by my head!
I do not want you on the ceiling
(It gives a creepy crawling feeling)
I do not want you on the wall,
I do not want you here at all!

I was fortunate that my roommate didn’t mind rising early, so I got to sleep ‘late’ until 5:45 – no wonder I was hallucinating about millipedes in the shower! The early start was so we could go on a morning game drive. Within the first few minutes we see wildebeest, common waterbuck, zebras and warthogs. We enjoy learning the difference between the common and defassa waterbuck. I’m amazed at the variety of animals that are in view at one time: 4 lions, a herd of zebra and wildebeest, a few elephants, an ostrich in the distance, and a crowned plover.

With that scene as a backdrop, we notice off on the side a lone Thompson gazelle, oblivious to a solitary lion nearby. The lion approaches. We are silently urging the gazelle away, but he actually moves nearer to the lion. “Go away!” we want to shout, although no one speaks out loud. We are aware that we are only observers, and are not intended to be participants in this drama. Suddenly the gazelle notices the lion, and bounds away. The lion gives chase. They arc back around, and we expect a kill. The lion gains on the gazelle--the handwriting is on the wall. Some of us are excited and expectant, and others are resigned. Suddenly the gazelle goes into hyperdrive and escapes effortlessly, outdistancing the lion within seconds. It reminds me of something from Star Wars. The show is over. We don’t understand what we’ve just seen. Stephen explains that the lion was slow, and seemed to be limping a little (not that I noticed), which enabled the gazelle to outdistance it. But even if the lion was slow, I don’t understand how the gazelle put on that sudden burst of speed.

Then we watch a herd of elephants as they amble across the road. 5 adults and 3 children. It’s fun watching animals so large, because the relative ages are so apparent. A one year old is much smaller than a 5 year old. We also notice a tawny eagle, a vulture, and Maasai giraffe – at Sweetwaters we were seeing reticulated giraffe instead. I can’t tell them apart– I know the markings are different, but I just don’t ‘see’ it yet. Also warthogs, Thompson’s gazelles, guinea hens, Eland, black backed jackal, a pregnant wildebeest, and an olive baboon.

We also visit a Maasai village. We are greeted by Wilson, the chief’s son. Our group tries to greet him with Jambo, until he explains that we should say Sopa/epa in Maasai. We are surprised to see him wearing a blue and red plaid, instead of red.

Then they do a traditional welcome dance, the men on one side, the women on the other. They invite us to dance with them, and I see where pogo dancing comes from. I bet that adolescent Americans think they invented it, but the Maasai are much better at it. The men jump higher and higher to show off their strength. Then they include us in a traditional prayer. We are asked to crouch, bow our heads, and respond ‘nai’ during the prayer. I’m praying my own prayer under my breath, and wishing I knew what we were assenting to, but all is revealed shortly. “That was a traditional Maasai prayer”, Wilson explains. “We are Catholic. We asked a blessing for your journey.” I know these visits are somewhat staged, but I was still touched.

Then we see hunks of goat roasting on a tripod of branches over a fire, and a pot of blood. One in our group asks about the different colors we see them wearing – lots of blue or black rather than purely red. He explains that they are wearing the true Maasai color, and that the people we see elsewhere wearing red are probably Kikuyu who are dressing up to look like Maasai, and don’t know how to do it properly. Ironically, the Masi Mara Maasai (who wear red), feel that these Maasai have sold out to civilization, and are not authentic.

They offer us some of the roasted goat, and most of us try it, but not me. I’ve been eating the food at the lodges (except for the lettuce and fresh greens), but some of the meat looks not cooked well, and I’m not sure about the cleanliness of the guy’s hands who is cutting it, or the knife for that matter (even though we saw them rinse from some dubious containers of water). After all, at home I don’t even use the same spatula for cooked and raw hamburgers. The others try it, and seem to enjoy it. And I don’t hear about anyone getting sick afterwards, so I guess it was ok after all. Maybe next time I’ll try it. [Note to self – did you notice how casually I said ‘next time’, as if I’m already thinking of going again?]

The village has 4 families, with 252 people. So far we’ve actually been outside of the village proper. Now we enter the village and see another welcome dance. The guys pogo – the higher they jump the more appealing they are to the women. The chief’s son says he has been married 3 days. He shows us his wife. She is beautiful, but does not look as happy as he does. We find out later that this village still practices genital mutilation, so we can’t help but wonder if this is part of her unhappiness.

Wilson speaks excellent English. We ask where he learned it, and it turns out that he went to college in Tanzania. But he made it clear that his place is here, home with his tribe. Wilson explains some traditional medicines, including the one for men with many wives. As he speaks, I try photographing the tall man. For some reason I’m having trouble focusing – I’m not sure if it is just too backlit or what. The man is very patient and waits for me, posing until I get it. Finally a Maasai teen politely taps me on the elbow and suggests “lens cap”. Was I humiliated!

Then they show us how they start fire, first spinning a stick, then adding dried grass when it smokes, then twigs. I’ve seen laborious Boy Scout attempts, but this is amazing. We can’t believe how fast the whole process was. The fire is made every morning, and then shared house to house. Wilson is curious at what I am writing in my journal, and asks to see my notebook, and reads aloud: “They show us how they start fire.”

After the fire, we watch them playing mancala. Today they are gambling for goats. I notice again that it is just the men who play. The observers are very aware that we want to watch, and duck or fade away so we have a good view, but the players are quite serious. They don’t want to risk their goats! The women on the other hand are responsible for building the huts – they are framed with acacia wood and cisle, and smeared with cow dung, which ends up waterproof, and is also termite proof.

After the tour of the village, we ‘shop’ at their open air market, with their wares spread on clothes on the ground. It is uncomfortable how they do it – we get separate escorts who take us from cloth to cloth – slowly – as the merchants reach out and wave items at us, trying to catch our attention. Then they split us up and take us out back to pay. I’m so uncomfortable I pay the asking price instead of bargaining. I think it’s probably about 3 times what the actual value should have been. At first I’m pleased to simply consider it a donation to support the village, but when I find later that they are still practicing the genital mutilation I wish I had bought at the Maasai school instead, even though I didn’t like their necklaces as much.

Back at the lodge again, we see more vervet monkeys, of course. I had worried that we would be pestered by mosquitoes here, given our rude buggy welcome, but they aren’t a big deal. Yesterday, we must have arrived just at the worst time, at dusk, and they disappear during the day. We have a good lunch (in a curiously dark dining room), and then have an afternoon game drive.

The afternoon game drive is our least interesting so far. We see the top half of a hippo, looking like a beached whale, and lots of birds. That was part of the problem – once ‘E’ started observing birds, we actually sat in one spot for 45 minutes while she tried to identify each one. For some reason, the guide didn’t have binoculars that day, so each bird had to be discussed at great length. The rest of us got bored. In any event, we saw African fish eagle, blacksmith plovers, Egyptian geese, white pelicans, white necked cormorant, African jacana, sacred ibis, glossy ibis, cattle egret, spur winged plover, little egret, crowned crane, kori bustard. The Kori bustard engendered one of the running jokes of the trip. For some reason, in an African accent it sounds like bastard. Although we didn’t see a lot of animals, we got a special treat at the end of the drive, when we saw a rainbow.

Tonight they served us a 7 course bush dinner. It was fun eating outside, but with full amenities such a cloth tablecloths. After dinner we were treated to a Maasai dance. One of the Maasai came over beforehand, clapped his hand on my shoulder, and announced that he wanted to marry me, and this was a wedding or courtship dance. I replied by asking him how many cows he would give, and he said 10. I said it wasn’t enough.

We knew from our morning Maasai visit that the pogo dancing was intended to impress. This time it was actually thrilling, because they each jumped in front of me in turn, higher and higher, then ran forward lunging at me and yelling. As the youngest female in our group, I was clearly being courted. It was rather startling, but all in good fun.

As I lie in bed writing this, I can hear the frogs chirping. They sound like persistent birds.

In the morning we again have those strange black millipedes in the room, on the walls, ceiling and the floor. I chant my Dr Seuss rhyme as I get dressed. They don’t seem to be harmful, but it is weird. All in all, I'm getting fewer bug bites than in the Adirondacks.

Kenya: Kajaido Boarding School

On the way to Amboseli, we visit the A.I.C. Kajaido Boarding School. The African Inland church started the school in 1959 with 20 girls. In 1964, after Kenya independence, the school was turned over to the government. It tries to address cultural problems. The biggest issue is that at around the age of 13, girls are subject to genital mutilation. The school is trying to help and educate girls who have run away to escape forced child marriages and genital mutilation, or who have faced other situations such as being raped, or being orphaned due to AIDS, or having physical disbilities. 90% of the girls are Maasai.

The school philosophy is that if they educate the girls, they educate a nation. They also function as a rescue center, so girls who know their families have plans to ‘circumcise’ them, can have a place to run to. They have an award winning music program, and a drama program to encourage them to communicate.

They teach English, Kiswahili, Science, Mathematics, and social studies. Some of the girls go on to high school and college. They need sponsors to pay for the higher education. “God always opens a door for us” the teacher says gratefully. The first grade could have children ranging from 6-16, depending on when they started their schooling. Some children need to walk 10k to get to school, so they need to be old enough to walk that far.

Ellen asked who takes care of the children after school. The answer was that a matron and dispensary are available for medical care. Clearly they weren’t thinking of the kind of childcare we are used to.

A sixth grade class sings for us. “I’m happy today so happy, in Jesus’ name I’m happy, because he has taken away my sins.” A couple of girls recite poems. They are eloquent, with intense voices and dramatic hand gestures. They are in the ‘speak-out’ drama club. The school motto is “determination and dedication to excellence.”

Although it is Sunday, they show us to a schoolroom to talk to some of the children. I chat with Tabitha, who asks how old I am, and when I ask her to guess politely suggests ’20?’ We have been warned not to ask the girls specifics about their background, since so many are victims of abuse of one sort or another, so I try to ask something more neutral. “How long have you been coming to school?” “A LOOONG TIME” she replies, “20 weeks”. She is 12. Her favorite subjects are science and match.

Then we are shown the dormitory – a long room with a row of bunks on each side. Each pair of bunks are abutted next to each other, and 2 girls share each bed, so in every 8’ by 6’ slot 8 girls are expected to sleep. It is abundantly clear why they need a new dormitory! If this were a prison, the inmates would sue for more space. Grand Circle (the parent company of OAT) is collecting money to build a dormitory. Many of us are glad to chip in.

The children are all in uniforms, which seems standard practice in Kenya. Most of the children are Christian, but they have a handful of Muslims. As we leave the school, we pass a mosque, which our trip leader explains is for the Somalian refugees in the neighborhood. He said that while the Maaasai who interact with the outer world often become Christian, they rarely become Muslim. In his words, they do not join ‘Islamology’.

Now back into the vans for the trip to Amboseli. My backside now understands why the inflatable seat cushions were recommended, although it is probably good that I don’t realize it will get worse later! After a long day’s drive, I’m wondering why we bother to keep switching camps, but as we approach Amboseli, it is immediately apparent that we will see different varieties of animals. I guess that was supposed to be obvious, but as a safari novice, I didn’t really grasp it until now. We pass a gerenuk hidden in the bush, as well as an elephant, spotted hyena, ostrich, yellow baboon, zebra, Thompson’s gazelle, and wildebeest. Due to the drought, the lake is dry, and we are able to drive straight across. The rutted path across the lake is actually smoother than the road was, but it surely is dusty. I finally realize that this is what those buff kerchiefs are for. This is a great solution. I pull one over my head, then slide it back over my hair, and tuck the back ends in at the nape of my neck. I don’t care if it looks silly, it saves my hair from that amazing phenomenon where dust and wind together create instant dreadlocks.

I had made the mistake of saving one of those little bananas from our boxed lunch. It was in the pocket of my cargo pants, and when I stood up in the van to spy the gerenuk, I didn’t realize I was mashing the banana until the pulp seeped thru the pocket, creating a wet slime. I asked our trip leader what to do with the crushed banana, and his only idea was to hold it in my hand for the next 22 kilometers. That did not sound like a plan to me, so I emptied out some toiletries from a baggie in my carry-on, and used that as a garbage bag.

We’re tired and dirty when we arrive at the Amboseli Serena. They greet us with welcome wet towels and passion fruit juice.

We can tell we are in mosquito country – even just in the lobby we are being attacked. No one has any repellent on, since it wasn’t a problem before. I wish we could just move on to our rooms, but the registration process is taking some time. I’ve got my carryon, my daybag, my camera and binoculars, and I’m trying to slather on bug repellent, and just don’t have enough hands, but once I’m sticky with the repellent I don’t want to mess up my camera by even trying to put it away. Finally we’re given our keys and our room steward carries our duffles and leads us to our room. It is attractive and luxurious, only slightly marred by the black millipedes sprinkled all over the floor. Idelle steps on one and it crunches underfoot and breaks in half. The front half keeps slithering onward. The beds are shrouded in mosquito netting, which is white so it looks romantic rather than utilitarian. There are so many light switches we can’t figure them out. It is appealing to be back in the land of full-fledged electricity, after the 11 watt bulbs at Sweetwater’s -- that's not hyperbole, they actually were 11 watts!

I don’t want to inadvertently research what kind of bugs are attracted by banana pulp, so I pull off my pants as soon as I’m in my room, so I can send them to the laundry. My roommate puts me on banana restriction. From now on when we get a boxed lunch and I’m tempted to save the banana she just gives me a look. Thanks to her watchful eye, I don’t end up with any more laundry emergencies. It is working so well rooming together. I think it actually helps that we don’t know each other, because we don’t have any ‘hot buttons’ to push.

Dinner at the Amboseli Serena was the best meal in Africa so far. I had a light cream of pea soup and a small steak. Dennis tells a funny story about the school. He asked a girl to read something for him, and she reads from the Bible, Romans 8:8. Then he asked her if she understood and she said not really, so he ended up having to try to explain it. While he doesn’t claim to be a believer, it sounds like his explanation was pretty good. He said that if another girl took something from her and she hurt her instead of forgiving her, it would not please God.

The lodge employs Maasai as monkey chasers. They stand with sticks, and watch, and chase off the monkeys when they try to climb on the outside tables, or run into the dining room.

Kenya: Sweetwaters

After breakfast we check out of the Stanley Hotel in Nairobi, and embark in the minibus with the roof hatch that we will use for the rest of our stay in Kenya.

In every neighborhood, from the slums to the exclusive 'Karen' suburbs, we see churches: Lutheran, Pentacostal, Baptist, Anglican, Catholic, Deliverance, Dominican Friars, Coptic, Full Gospel, 7th Day Adventist, Assembly of God, and more. Each of these churches is the fruit of a believer who left everything to follow the call of God, and share the Gospel with this nation. I'm humbled as I realize the difference between my luxury safari, and the deprivations they must have suffered.

After we pass the suburbs we get into farmland. We pass the Del Monte pineapple farm – the 3rd largest in the world. And we also pass small farms with people working in the fields, bending from the waist. Backbreaking work on papyrus, coffee plantations, bananas, charcoal, papaya, and tea. We have our first sight of what will be common: people riding bicycles by the side of the road, often carrying huge loads. It is hilly enough that they have to dismount and push on the ascents. Sometimes the loads are so big they can’t ride at all. I find myself wondering why they don’t get a cart instead – they’d still have to pull it, but at least they wouldn’t have to hold it up. Everything is being done by human power, usually without even the help of animals.

On the highway we are stopped frequently by roadblocks – heavy duty spikes on the road. Sometimes we are just waved on, and sometimes they examine all the paperwork of the vehicle and the driver. It’s all pretty low keyed and quick, nevertheless.

In addition to the people with bikes, we also see people carrying odd loads – sometimes bulky bundles, and once we see two guys actually carrying what looks like the hood of a big truck. I don’t think I could even lift it, and I wonder where they are taking it, and why the truck can’t carry its own hood. On a totally undistinguished road we cross the equator. I was dozing, and the guide points it out, and I’m not sure where to look – I think I was expecting a big stripe on the ground. Luckily, on the way back we have a channce to stop and get out. I keep expecting to feel different somehow, to notice something, but there is only the sign.

On the road in to the Sweetwaters Tented Camp, we see our first game. I was so excited to see a zebra – I didn’t know or care that they are seen all over the place, I was thrilled. We also saw defassa waterbuck, grants gazelles, olive baboons, and reticulated giraffe. We arrive at Sweetwaters, and are greeted with warm damp towels and fresh juice – I had one called tree tomato. It was kind of odd but not unpleasant – tart, thick, and mildly sweet.
Porters carry our duffels to our tent. Esther carries my room-mate's and mine – 2 duffels at once. I feel bad because I’m not used to women carrying loads like that. I feel stupid walking behind her while she carries the bags. Finally I say to her “you must be very strong”. She stopped to face me, and was proud to answer: “African women are VERY STRONG!” Her nose was beaded with sweat, and she was breathing heavily, but she was confident and proud and strong! Can you imagine the sob story you would likely get from an American women in that situation? When I saw the women working in the fields I was glad I was not an African woman, and when I saw Esther carrying the bags I was really glad (and there were other occasions later on that made me gladder still!). But I could really learn from her positive attitude.

Lunch was nice – a buffet with an amazing view across the savannah. While eating we watch zebras, warthogs, and some impala. We also see a ‘superb warbler’ – iridescent blue with shades of green or purple depending on the light. I’m fascinated by the beautiful bird, and don’t realize that it is very common – we will see it again and again wherever we go. On the way to and from our tents we see marabou stork, rock hyrax, and guinea fowl.

After lunch we go to a ‘cultural village’ where 3 tribes live together: Turcana, Samburu, Pocat. (I’m not sure how you spell them). One of the men acted as our guide and interpreter. He had been educated by a missionary school, and spoke English quite well. There are 3 kinds of huts, different for each tribe. They are pastoral – they have to pick up and move when the drought is too bad. First we see the children sitting in the dirt. A woman is there with her baby and is asking the medicine man for a consultation. Apparently he decides the baby is ok. I can’t figure out if the ‘appointment’ is staged for our benefit or not. We also saw a warrior, who had 3 scars on his shoulder indicating that he had killed a hippo. If he had killed lion it would be 4 lines of scars. The men have both decorative scars and also medicinal scars, inflicted by the witchdoctor.

Each tribe also danced for us, different dances for the different tribes. The men of the second tribe are playing a game together, but are not joined by the other tribes. The children, however, play all together. This strikes me as a sad worldwide principle – children start out accepting each other, but then segregate themselves when they become grownups. In this case, there is clearly respect and cooperation between the tribes, but the fact that they don’t play together still struck me. It also struck me that we do not see any games that women play.

We visited inside each type of hut. The huts are dark, lit only by a tiny hole serving as a window. There is no furniture, and almost no belongings. For the second two tribes, the husband and wife don’t share a bed, but have separate sleeping platforms. I didn’t quite understand the explanation, it had something to do with the warrior not wanting the smell of children on him, which could attract wild animals – or something like that. In the third hut we are invited to note how smooth the mud on the walls is. The wife works hard on this, to keep her husband interested, otherwise he might move on to another of his wives. Meanwhile, the elaborate beaded necklaces on the wall are a sign that the wife is in residence. It sounds sort of like the flag flying over Buckingham palace to indicate that the Queen is there. If the wife returns to her parents, they will know the difference between a visit and a domestic upheaval by whether she brings all her necklaces with her.

On the way to the village we saw game all around: buffalo, giraffes, impala, grant gazelles, zebra, warthogs, and waterbuck. At one point, the giraffe necks undulating in front of the trees look like something out of Jurassic park – but giraffes are exotic enough, I don’t need dinosaurs!

The night game drive starts slowly at first, just some African hares and some zebra. It picks up a little interest with some cape buffalo – truly ominous looking in the dark. And suddenly a lion! No, it is two lions, no, it is three. What are they looking at? I’m transfixed – my first lions! They are standing, they are walking. No! They are stalking a white rhino. The lions separate and approach from different directions. The rhino is unaware at first. Just as he senses them, we realize there are a 4th and 5th lion approaching from behind. The circle tightens and we barely breathe. The rhino slowly backs up – we’re afraid he will actually back into one of the lions behind him, which he doesn’t seem to have noticed yet. The circle draws tighter and he backs some more. Suddenly the table is turned -- the rhino has had enough and trots forward at one of the lions, who turns tail and bounds away. The intricate dance continues back and forth, but we are not sure who is choreographing it, the lions or the rhino. Eventually we realize that the rhino is less worried than we are, as he lowers his head and starts to eat, not even deigning to pay attention any more. Meanwhile, the lions appear oblivious to easier prey – a Grants gazelle less than 50 yards away, on the other side of a small hill.

We return to camp still thrilled with the dance of the lions and the rhino. My bed is peculiarly hard, but I don’t care, I’m just happy to be here. And even happier when I notice a wonderful surprise: someone has put a hot water bottle in my bed! I’m very chilly after the night game drive, and I’m grateful both for my silk long johns and the hot water bottle.

The following day, we visit the chimpanzee sanctuary with game drives on the way there and back. The sanctuary is protected by an electric fence. One of the chimps runs back and forth in front of us, whacking the fence hard with a stick. Apparently, they’ve learned not to touch the electric wires, and instead they use the stick since it does not conduct electricity. That’s way more knowledge of physics than I expected a chimp to have!

Suddenly we hear a great commotion – screeching and chattering. The ranger urgently shooed us back to the van – ‘hurry! Hurry!’ What is going on? The chimp Paco is loose. The rangers run into the bush calling his name. Meanwhile our own little drama was unfolding at the van, as Stephen, our driver, couldn’t find his keys. Good to know we’re not the only ones who get flustered, LOL. Stephen finally found the keys (they were in his pocket after all), so we continued on a short game drive, where we see olive baboons, reticulated giraffe, defassa waterbuck, impala, sacred Ibis, saddle billed stork, grey heron, grants gazelle, Thompson gazelle, impala, and a distant hartebeest. We ask Stephen why the one impala is chasing the other and he tries to be delicate: “I think she has a headache.”. We’re disappointed that Mt Kenya is still shrouded in the clouds. I’m going to have to settle for a picture of a giraffe by the shoulder of the mountain instead of the classic pose.

We visit a Spinning and Weaving factory, founded by the USA Presbyterian church. 107 women now work there. It supports them and their children. Primary school is free in Kenya, but secondary school you have to pay for. We watch them spinning and weaving by hand, and many in our group buy rugs. They are relatively small, but I still can’t figure out how they will fit them into their duffles. The woman who shows us around the factory is an excellent guide. Her accent is funny, but she is a great presenter. For some reason, she has trouble with the letter ‘W’, so it takes us a while to catch on to what ‘ool is. She keeps stressing that the ‘ool is washed in Ivory Soap, until it is pure white. White, it turns out, is a relative term.

Lunch was another buffet. I kept jumping up from my seat to take pictures of the giraffes at the water hole. We also see an oryx. After lunch I have a shower. It was waaaaaaaay too cold to take one this morning (although my brave roommate did). And now I’m sitting on the patio in front of the tent watching the giraffes. One has especially dark and defined markings. Beautiful!

We visit a rescued black rhino. Close up, he is even bigger than I expect. He is semi-tame, so we are told we can take pictures with him (while the sign warns we do it at our own risk). We are told to promptly move out of the way if he starts to move! On the way back to camp we see some black-backed jackals and hartebeest, but still no elephants (which are a favorite of my roommate, so we are on the lookout). We also see some oryx, with those peculiarly straight horns. Then dinner and bed. Hurrah for the hot water bottle!

Nairobi: beads, giraffes, slums, movies

After the end of the long flight, I arrived in Nairobi, and made my way through getting my Kenya visa, collecting baggage and customs & immigration, all very easy and smooth. Even before my luggage showed up, I saw our guide outside, holding the OAT sign. I felt like a little kid who was reassured they were going to be picked up after all! And right next to him was someone holding a World Vision sign. That interested me because I’ve been a World vision donor for years, and one always likes actual confirmation that there is more going on than a glossy brochure with pictures of starving children. As it turns out, I saw World Vision all over the place, so at least now I’m confident that they are really on the scene.

After a good night's sleep, we have breakfast and go for a walk in the city, then return to the hotel for lunch. After lunch we set out for the giraffe sanctuary, the bead factory, and the Karen Blixen house, but we pass the Kibera slums on the way.

This is heartbreaking and inconceivable. 700,000 people living in shacks side by side, with almost no electricity or plumbing. We’re told that many of the people are refugees from Sudan. I can’t help thinking of something I heard a World Vision representative say. When a community has no functional infrastructure, sometimes it takes outside resources to provide enough hope for the village to then help itself. One glance at these slums makes that evident. How can an individual who grows up in the middle of this even have a vision for change, if his entire world is encompassed by the slum?

The shacks lining the street are actually shops, selling clothes, bananas, soccer balls, corn, hardware, eggs, shoes. Raw sewage seeps in a ditch by the road. Interspersed with the shops are medical clinics, a Montessori nursery school, and numerous hair salons. We see ads selling everything under the sun, and a bravely hopeful school motto: “hard work pays”.

After passing the slum, we arrive at the Kizuri Bead factory. Kizuri means small and beautiful. The factory was started to provide work for single mothers. We see women forming the clay, glazing it, and placing the beads in kilns, after which they are strung into necklaces. . Then (of course!) they are for sale. It’s not really a style I normally wear, but I buy one just to support the factory. As the clerk is processing my order, another woman behind the counter asks her something in Swahili. ‘Mojo tu’ she replies. I think I can figure out what she said – ‘only one’. Oh well. But it's a great example of outside resources starting something that helps people help themselves.

Then on to the Giraffe Center, where we feed the giraffes. Just for my friend April, I feed a giraffe from my mouth to get a picture of me ‘kissing’ the giraffe. I wasn't going to post the picture, since it looks so bizarre, but my friends are already trying to blackmail me with it, so I might as well let you enjoy it too.

The ranger keeps insisting that the saliva is ‘very antiseptic’, but I’m glad that ‘my’ giraffe is so delicate I don’t even feel him take the pellet. Some of the guys get totally slimed, with strings of elastic saliva shooting out with eager abandon.

Africa- how an idea became a trip

Africa! The very name sounds exotic, doesn't it? As a child, it reminded me of Tarzan. In High School, I worried about starving children in Ethiopia. In college, as a new believer, I was afraid that God would send me to eat bugs in Africa. So when I found out that people also visit Africa for fun, it took years for me to get used to the idea.

More recently, as an adult, I gradually became aware of the AIDS crisis, which finally led me to sponsor a child in Uganda. Halfway around the world, there is a little girl who is now very important to me. And I'm humbled to say that I am now important to her, too. Suddenly, my vague interest in going on safari someday, merged with a new focus. I felt a need to visit Africa, so see the land, to meet the people, and to understand a little bit about the challenges facing the region. Uganda is not really a good tourist option right now, so I started looking at nearby options, and found a trip to Kenya and Tanzania. It was purely a pleasure trip, and yet it changed me, as travel so often does. Seeing people who live such different lives, reminds me that God created more than the suburbs! Visiting a land where the very climate is different, reminds me that even things I think are eternal and inevitable, like the march of the seasons, are different elsewhere. Gazing at the immense variety of wildlife reminds me of the magnificent creativity of God, although I have to admit that when I look at a wildebeest, I wonder what God was really thinking. It sort of looks as if he was only practicing.

My next several blogs will simply share my journal from my trip.
p.s. The photo is of a baobab tree in Tarangire.

Another day at the nursing home...

Last week I had to throw together a message quickly. I took an idea from an email, and talked through the 23rd Psalm, looking at how each verse shows us something about God -- his relationship with us, his provision for us, etc.
I threw in bits of information from my own experience, such as standing in the desert in Israel, and seeing ground so dry it was cracked open. That sight has made me understand more clearly what a blessing water is.
I threw in other bits of information from the book A Shepherd looks at Psalm 23.
And finally, I focused on the last line -- dwelling in the house of the Lord forever, and how Jesus has given us the means to do that. I told them that no one needed to leave anxious or uncertain about whether they would dwell in the house of the Lord forever. That anyone who receives the salvation of the Lord, and puts his trust in Jesus, can be assured of where he is going.

To me, it seemed a very ordinary message, slightly colored by my guilt at not preparing better. But afterwards, when we went around the room praying for people, I found that it had made an impact. When we ask the congregation what they want us to pray for, some are puzzled and can't think of anything; some want prayer for health (usually to be able to walk, or to use an arm impaired by a stroke); some want prayer for their relatives (often dead ones); and some want prayer for world peace (a perennial favorite).

But this time there was a new theme in their requests.
"I want what you talked about -- to dwell in the house of the Lord forever".
"Just pray what you said -- I want to dwell in the house of the Lord forever".
"I pray all the time, but can you pray that I will dwell in the house of the Lord forever?"

After we finished, the head of the recreation department asked if I would go upstairs to visit with someone who was distressed. (You did realize that Church is considered recreation, didn't you?) I spoke briefly to the woman and heard what was on her mind, and then knelt on the linoleum in front of her wheelchair, with people bustling back and forth, and prayed for a burden that had been on her heart for 60 years.

And my own reward came as I left. An elderly gentleman accosted me on my way to the elevator and asked my name and what I was doing there. He took my hand, and pronounced with glee:
Ann, you're my new best girl!

The park as a melting pot.

At night, the park is the kind of place they drop off dead bodies. But during a sunny holiday afternoon, it is the epitome of innocent fun, and healthy diversity. So I’m sorry if what I write sounds like stereotypes – it is merely observation.

For some reason that I haven’t figured out, there is a significant Russian presence most weekend afternoons. Actually, I’m not positive it is Russian, but it sounds similar to me. From end to end of the park I pass cluster after cluster of fair-skinned families speaking some sort of Eastern European language. They don’t seem to interact with anyone else, but will exchange a pleasant nod when you pass, except for the adolescents, who have clearly learned the art of snobby condescension from their American peers. The Russians walk on the paths and sit on the benches, and sometimes play soccer. Cars with diplomatic license plates are sprinkled through the parking lot.

The African Americans generally gravitate to the picnic tables, sharing a barbeque with family and friends. The teens play basketball rather than soccer. The picnic area is often decorated with party streamers, or with a church banner. Huge aluminum trays of food are transferred from the SUVs, (which have music pounding with a deafening bass).

The Asians are a smaller presence. The children are tiny and polite, and obey their parents when they are told to not wander too far.

Most of the Caucasian Americans are usually there only to walk their dogs – the joggers and serious walkers visit earlier in the day. An occasional father tries to teach his son to ride a two-wheeler. The eternal tension between safety and letting go is played out time and time again.

But on a holiday weekend there are different populations. On Memorial Day, there was a huge crowd ready to watch a Chinese puppet show between the tennis courts and the softball field.

As I continued my walk, I passed the pavilion I saw big banners announcing that it was reserved by the Church of Christ of Israel. I was curious since I wasn’t familiar with that church, so I paused to observe, only to be glared at by a man who was clearly guarding the reserved area. As I walked away I was puzzled to hear what sounded like Salsa music blaring out over the apparently African American crowd. I couldn’t quite figure out what the group was.

Continuing around the parking lot, I encountered an ancient Chinese man, who gave me a smile and a small bow, and courteously greeted me with ‘Ni Hao’. I was pleased to realize that my two words of Chinese were enough to recognize what he was saying, so I paused to return his bow (a little deeper, in honor of his age), and say ‘Ni Hao’ back to him.

Passing the playground I noticed that the little children were the most integrated. They weren’t seated in the isolated clusters of the grownups, but happily played together, without regard for whether they spoke the same language or had the same color of skin or the same shaped face.

On the way back past the picnic area, I heard beautiful singing. It was familiar, yet I couldn’t quite place it at first. Finally I realized that I was hearing “How Great Thou Art”, sung in Korean. They definitely got my award for the best music of the day!

I hardly heard a word of English on my whole walk, yet the overall effect was very American to me.

Don't look now, but someone's watching you.

Our lives are a witness in more ways than we expect. That can be both good and bad, depending on how seamlessly our Christianity is reflected in daily life. I remember that a former pastor of mine used to say that you shouldn’t put Christian bumper stickers on your car unless you could drive without exhibiting impatience, road rage, or rude gestures.
Even while we disparage other people for just being ‘Sunday’ Christians, the temptation is nearly irresistible. We may be subtler than those whose behavior on Monday through Saturday could get them arrested, but to some degree most of us slip to some degree, whether it is gossip or garden-variety unkindness. And people are watching us. Ironically, I think that non-believers often have higher expectations for us than other believers do. They are truly offended when we act like the rest of society.
I was reminded recently of the fact that people notice how we act. The context was in the workplace, and didn’t have anything to do with belief, but it was still a reminder that people observe us, and make inferences.
I had a bad week at work, and ended up arguing with someone. I didn’t say anything I regret, but I spoke with more heat than the situation really called for. I felt a little ridiculous afterwards, and confessed to my boss, whose reaction was reassuring. “Maybe he’ll actually pay attention to what you said because you don’t usually act like that.” So that one sort of ended up as a left-handed compliment.
There was a former boss who called me in one day and complained: “I notice that when you work late, such as 2 or 3 in the morning, that you are irritable the next day.” Let’s see, after working from 9am until 3am the next day, going home and sleeping for 2 hours and then taking the train back in to work at 9am again, he thought I was crabby? Well, he was correct, but I thought it was a stupid thing to say.
Last week a co-worker left to take a different position. When she announced her move to me, she said “you’re one of the people who made it hard”. I was really taken aback – I didn’t have all that much to do with her, but never thought we had a problem. But while I was trying to process this, she clarified – she meant that it was hard to make the decision to leave. She is a brilliant, poised, young woman, who was seeing me as a mentor and role model. I had no idea.
But that’s basically the point. We can be good role models, or we can be bad role models, but we’re role models whether we want to be or not.
Sometimes it’s funny. A friend of mine who is a teacher in Tennessee brought a number of her students on a field trip to NYC. And she informed them that they had to wear sneakers rather than high heels, and quoted as her authority her friend (me!) who works in NYC and knows what to do! I didn’t have a chance to tell her that 20 years ago when she knew me, there were a lot more women wearing sneakers than there are now. Somewhere in Tennessee 20 high school girls are probably still complaining about me. This is the first and last time anyone will make the mistake of thinking I’m a fashion maven.
Sometimes it’s frustrating. I’m peculiarly bad at recognizing people, so I always let the other person say ‘Hi’ first, so I can try to figure out if I know them. Even someone I work with, or whom I’ve known for years, might not register on my brain as someone I recognize. So people often assume that I’m unfriendly or intentionally avoiding them.
I remember a song that was popular some years ago that said: “You’re the only Jesus some will ever see”. It wasn’t meant to be heretical, it was simply pointing out the fact that most non-believers interact with and observe believers before they ever bother setting foot in a church.

Don’t look now, but someone’s watching you. What are they seeing?

Thank God for Spring!

Today was beautiful -- it really couldn't have been better. Whenever we get a day like this I dream of moving someplace where the weather is like this all the time. There are two problems with this idea. The first is that if such a place exists at all it is probably in California, and I'm just not a California type of gal. But the other reason is a little harder to explain. I have a sneaking suspicion that if the weather were nice all the time I would lose the joy of the contrast.

Even though it was an easy Winter, it was still a long one, and I was sick of it, and really ready for Spring. So every time I noticed a concrete sign of Spring, my heart lifted, and I was reminded of the goodness of our Creator. The most ordinary places suddenly turned into spots of joy. And each sighting has been catalogued in my mind.

The first crocus of the year was spotted in Long Island City. I had dragged a co-worker around the block, at lunchtime, and he was disconcerted to find me enthusing over this little purple flower. Normally Long Island City looks pretty gray and grubby, but the creative power of God was not deterred. The first blossoming tree showed up during lunchtime one day, while I was eating lunch in the cafeteria. I ran over to the huge windows showcasing the trees, and felt that Spring was really coming. Wow, God visited the cafeteria (who would have thought it? Maybe He can do something about the food). The forsythia bloomed one day when I was getting in my car in the parking lot.

The first azalea showed its face in a tiny park when I was walking from the train to work. When I say tiny you are probably imagining something the size of a large backyard. This park is about half the size of my bedroom, with a few scruffy little bushes. What a surprise to see pink flowers on those dead looking twigs. The resurrection power of God, at work in this pathetic little park.

And yesterday was notable because I was too hot. I knew that the weather report said it would be in the high 70s, but I didn't quite believe it, so I went for a walk wearing jeans and a turtleneck. I walked the length of Hempstead Lake State Park, and was so happy to be too hot, because it is a sign that SPRING IS HERE. Yaaaaaay God!

I wrote all of that last week. Today is gray and rainy, and my windshield wipers left big streaks because they were all clogged up with those frilly little green things that fall from the maple trees. But that made my heart sing, too, because every time I see that yellow-green maple pollen dust, I'm reminded that God has healed some of my allergies this year. The pollen count is worse than usual (11.4 on a scale of 12), and people all over are complaining, and yet I'm a lot better than usual. I still seem to be allergic to cats and dust, but the maple trees aren't really bothering me. This is a far cry from the years when my face would swell up until I just had little pig eyes. So now, even streaky windshield wipers remind me to thank God!

In Memoriam, Jim Toop

My friend, Jim, died last week. We met at work, in 1987. We were a funny pair—I was rather prim and proper, and he was rude and crude. But don't think that I'm talking behind his back now that he's dead -- in recent years he took great delight in describing himself this way. He was a staunch friend, and we treasured each other, even though we sometimes baffled each other, too.

We appreciated each other’s ability to analyze computer software, and enjoyed engaging in intense discussions about the best way to design something. At times, our discussions became very heated, yet we would happily adjourn for lunch together, with mutual respect and good humor. We shared a hobby of reading, although our choices were dramatically different. I read light murder mysteries, interspersed with inspirational Christian non-fiction. He concentrated on military history. He is the only person I know who actually owned a set of the official United States Annals of the Civil war. The volumes covered an entire wall of his apartment.

During that phase of his life when I first met him, he was rather a hermit. One December I foolishly asked “have you finished your Christmas shopping?” I hate this question myself, and felt stupid as soon as I asked. But I felt even worse when he answered: “Yup. I sent my aunt a check, and bought myself a book. I’m all done”. His life basically consisted of going to work, reading, and occasionally attending concerts. He often wore the same shirt all week long. When he spilled food on it (an unfortunately frequent occurrence), he would scrub the food with his tie. By Friday, an archeologist could have figured out the meals for the week.

On Monday mornings, we greeted each other after the weekend. Our conversations fell into a routine.
Jim: What did you do over the weekend?
Ann: I went to church.
Gradually he started asking me specifics, about what the pastor said. It started simply as a means to extend the conversation, so I missed the fact that he was actually becoming interested. I related the sermon to him each week. It was simply our Monday morning routine.

And then one day, out of the blue, he asked if I had any books about Christianity to recommend to him. Knowing his personality and hobby, I made an untraditional choice, and lent him Josh McDowell’s Evidence that Demands a Verdict, in two volumes. I figured that anyone who was so interested in original sources would appreciate a discussion of the Bible from the perspective of the actual documents. I gave the books to him just before a long weekend, and the following Tuesday he handed them back and announced: I’m ready to read the reference manual. Well, I had never heard it called that, but I realized he meant the Bible. I immediately started planning to provide him with a good study Bible, but he headed off my plans at the pass, and insisted:
I don't want one with any opinions, I just want the text.

So the following day I showed up with a plain NIV. No commentary. No notes. No devotions. Just the text. As I handed it to him, I said, "Most people prefer to start with one of the gospels." But he was not interested in doing it that way.
Jim: I start books at the beginning.
Ann: The Bible is actually a collection of 66 books, and it is easiest to understand if you start with one of the gospels.
Jim: I start books at the beginning, and I read them until the end.
Now I was beginning to get a little worried. I wondered what he would think of Genesis.
Ann: Do you have any church background?
Jim: I've been to a wedding, and a couple of funerals.

A few days passed, and I wondered if he was reading it, but I was too afraid to ask. 8 days passed, and I couldn't stand it any longer, so I finally asked.
Ann: Have you been reading the Bible? How is it going?
Jim: It's going pretty good.
Ann: How far have you gotten?
Jim: I'm in Second Samuel.
I didn't see how that was possible. I figured he couldn't possibly be grasping it. After I got saved, it actually took me 6 years to get through Second Chronicles, and he was almost that far after barely over a week.
Ann: Do you understand what you are reading?
Jim: I'm getting it pretty good.
Ann: Really? What do you think it is about?
Jim: The schmucks keep screwing up, and God keeps giving them another chance.
Typical of Jim, it had a crude edge to it, but twenty years have passed, and I still haven't found a better one-sentence description of the Old Testament.

A couple of months passed, and Jim approached me:
Jim: Can I ask you a question?
Ann: Sure, what is it?
Jim: I'm reading Isaiah, and I want to know, is some of this sort of a preview?
Ann: Yes!
I realized that the Spirit had to be inspiring his reading, because there is really no way he would have grasped the prophetic significance on his own -- after all, he hadn't read the end of the book yet, and didn't know how it turns out.

Finally, after 81 days, he came to me and announced that he had finished reading the Bible. In order to understand what came next, I have to tell you about one of the sermons that I had related to him months beforehand. In that sermon, the preacher told about writing a list of things he was going to do for God, signing the bottom, and presenting it to the Lord, to a resounding lack of applause. Upon asking the Lord what was wrong, the Lord said that what he wanted was for him to sign the bottom of an empty piece of paper, letting the Lord write the list.

So before I even knew what was going on, Jim whipped out a piece of paper, signed the bottom of it, and asked:
Do I give this to you?
I was dumbfounded. Did this guy just get saved in front of me? Standing next to my desk in the insurance company? Without coercion? Without pleading. A sovereign act of the Spirit. While I was still standing there speechless, he continued:
I guess the next thing is for me to go to church with you. What train should I take?
Sure enough, he came to church that Sunday, and announced that he would be back the following week, but I encouraged him to get hooked up with the Manhattan Vineyard instead. He lived way uptown, so it didn't make any sense for him to be taking the train all the way out to Long Island.

The next thing I knew, he was not only going to the Sunday service, but also attending a kinship. Then he started going to a weekly prayer meeting, and also joining friends from church at the movies. The hermit was turning into a social butterfly (although he still didn't wash his shirt!) Finally his new church friends taught him how to hug. It's not that he was unwilling, or weird, it's just that he really didn't know how, and the term bear hug doesn't do it justice. We were afraid he would crack someone's ribs. Subtle hints didn't help. What worked better was to yell "that's too hard". Of course, you had to yell before your breath was squeezed out of your body.

Eventually, his job moved to Atlanta, and he moved with it. Ironically, although a computer programmer by profession, he was a Luddite, and resisted getting a PC, or even using email. So we didn't see much of each other or talk much in recent years. A couple of months ago I received a message that he was in the hospital, and I called him there. He had had a knee operation and was having trouble learning to walk again. He was expecting to be released to a rehab unit, and said he'd give me his phone number when he got it. I offered to send him some books, and was momentarily uneasy when he wasn't especially interested -- that really didn't sound like Jim. But I didn't pay too much attention, I just waited for the call to give me his new phone number. And instead, I got the call that he had died. The woman who called me was trying to find out if he had any living relatives, and where he should be buried. And while I know he is in a better place, I miss my friend.