TZ Update #10: Kilimanjaro.

                When you are a little kid, you tend to form unreasonable life goals for yourself. Most of your desired job descriptions are something overtly heroic—firefighter, doctor, fighter pilot. For me, it was one thing and one thing only: baseball player. I met Paul Molitor on two different occasions after Brewer games, and he signed two different autographs, one of which read “Ben, be a ballplayer.” Sure, it might be co-ed slow pitch softball, but I’m still being a ballplayer, yeah? Eventually it turned towards wanting to be a marine biologist, which is a phase that hits pretty much every kid I can think of, especially when you have gone to sea world in San Diego half a dozen times. I did not become a marine biologist.

                One life goal that I can honestly say I never had as a kid was climbing Mount Kilimanjaro. But when it happens to be practically taunting you from your place of work each day, it seems to me like you have to take the opportunity.

                Every morning whether I wanted to or not, I woke up at 6:30. Unless I was running late, I would usually walk up to the dining hall for breakfast after I was dressed. At that time of day, when it was most clear, I often turned left and walked over to the playground and looked into the distance at Kilimanjaro. I don’t know why, exactly—maybe to make sure I was still in Africa. In mid-December, I started looking at that big snowy rock in the distance and saying to myself “see you in a week.” Here's Kili from school:

                 

                I set the trip up through Isaac, who works at the school and leads the Outdoor Pursuits trips. Outside of school, he is one of the guides for a company here. He has been to the summit personally about 85 times. Had he not been traveling for the holiday break, I would have gone up with him. Instead, I went with his company. The company was ran by an middle-aged businessman named Willie. He came and met with me once before the trip to collect money and look at the gear I was bringing along on the trip.

                The rest of the team: Augustine, my guide, age 29. Augustine is a slight fellow, but very fit. His English is decent, but not great. If ask him a question, he usually begins his reply with “yes yeah,” “yeah yes,” or “yes yeah yes.” He lives in nearby Marangu and has a girlfriend named Laura in Moshi. Other than that, he climbs mountains for a living. Joakim (also known as “Asunda”), my cook, age 34. He is a lanky guy who wore shorts and knee-high socks no matter the weather. He is missing a few teeth. He is very insistent in keeping me on a strict eating schedule. Breakfast is porridge, juice, tea, bread and sometimes eggs and sausage. Lunch is a box lunch of hard-boiled egg, bananas, oranges, bread and butter, juice, and a snickers bar. Dinner always has a soup and the soups are generally my favorite part: Cream of asparagus, ginger carrot, leek soup. Otherwise it is mostly the standard Tanzanian fare of rice and meat or vegetables, sometimes fish. In the afternoon, it’s tea or cocoa and peanuts and popcorn. The traditional Masai blanket—red with purple cross-sections—is always laid down on the table before I eat. Then there are four porters, who carry the supplies up and down the mountain, oftentimes in a big burlap sack on their head.

                The trip cost around $1,200 plus tips for the crew. This is actually a pretty decent deal as many tour companies charge around $1,800. This cost includes daily park fee, climbing permit, 4 nights lodging, food, water and other supplies.

                December 22^nd, 2011: From 1900 meters (6,270 feet) to 2,720 meters (9,000 feet), rain forest terrain.

                At around 8:45, Willie comes to pick me up at ISM. We run to the ATM and my card has problems, so once again, I start a trip not quite fully paid up. At least this time, I am probably 80% paid off, unlike the safari disaster. We drive up to Kilimanjaro National park in a black Toyota Corolla with a cracked windshield. It takes around a half an hour to get there. Augustine and Asunda meet us near the front gate. It takes a while to get me signed in, so I go to the little shop and buy a few pieces of bubble gum and a couple of packs of graham crackers to keep in the day pack.

                Augustine has some things to take care of, so the first hike is just me and Asunda. The setting is scenic with lots of tropical trees, monkeys and waterfalls. At lunch time, I meet a few people who would end up being my roommates for the night. Two of them are gentlemen from Switzerland named Vladimir and Jonas, and both are my age. Vladimir’s English is pretty decent and Jonas’s is nonexistent, which leads to double work for Vladimir over the course of the five days. The third is an Aussie named Jennifer who is mid-30s and teaches at an adult education program for refugees near Sydney.

                The phrase they use a lot in the mountains is “polepole” (poh-lay poh-lay)”, which translates to “slowly, slowly”. It is used on Tanzanian road signs as well, to warn drivers of upcoming speed bumps. The whole trick with mountain climbing and avoiding altitude sickness is polepole, in this case, allowing your body plenty of time to acclimate to the rapidly thinning air. Throughout the climb, I try to take this to heart.

                We get to the hut at probably 2:30 and then on a small hike up a couple hundred meters. This is part of a process called acclimatizing, which refers to acclimating to the altitude. Once back down, we rest for a little while. The hut buildings are all the same from site to site. They have low ceilings and triangular roofs that are rather severe. There are 3 wood-framed single beds in the shape of a U and a top bunk above the middle one. For each of the nights, I take the top bunk. We eat dinner at around 6. I end up befriending a family from Bulgaria—two daughters and a mother and father—and talking to them until about 9, when I go crash out.

                December 23^rd, 2011: 2720 meters (9,000 feet) to 3,720 meters (12,275 feet), moorland terrain.

                It’s an early day and I am feeling pretty good. Eggs, sausage, porridge, tea. Augustine and I leave at about 8:00 AM. He tells me the interesting hierarchy of mountain climbing staff. Apparently, he started as a porter for a couple of years, and then became a cook’s assistant, then a cook, and finally a guide, which he has been doing for several years now. Asunda, he says, who is a step away from being a guide, has never been to the summit of Kilimanjaro. I guess even if your job is climbing World Mountains, you still have to pay your dues.

 The vegetation of the moorland looks like this:

                The weather is good, probably 60s or 70s and sunny. We get to the next hut at 2:00 and eat peanuts and drink tea as per usual. After that I drop the pack, and Augustine and I go on an acclimatizing hike. This hike is up to Zebra Rocks, which are rocks that are striped due to the reaction with the rain. We are up about 1,000 feet from the huts now. When we get back down, my body begins to shake from the cold.

                In the dining area, I have on a bunch of layers and a winter hat but I continue to shiver. The Bulgarian family is there and the mom gives me a pouch filled with hot water. It helps. I write down a sheet of basic Swahili and they return the favor with a sheet of basic Bulgarian. They also give me a quarter tablet of Diamox, which is a drug that some people swear by to avoid altitude-related swelling. It doesn’t really help, but I trust them. I come to find out that Kilimanjaro is the fifth world peak the parents have climbed on the way to climbing the highest mountains on each continent. They say that up to this point, Mount McKinley is their favorite.

                When I go to bed, I am roasting and shivering simultaneously. I get out of the sleeping bag. I shiver. I get back in the sleeping bag. I take off the wool socks because I’m sweating. I toss and turn. I get up four separate times to go the front steps of the hut and take a leak. The temperature in the hut is a balmy 39 degrees. Sleeping at high altitudes is proving to be a bitch.

December 24^th, 2011: 3,720 meters (12,275 feet) to 4,710 meters (15,550 feet), moorland/alpine desert.

                I wake up feeling shaky from the fever. My legs ache and feel like a couple of rocks. Once I got moving and got breakfasted, I started feeling a little better. The Bulgarians inquire about my state and I tell them I’m feeling okay. They claim I did not drink enough water the day before; here I was thinking two and a half liters of water would be enough. I crack jokes with the Swiss guys with Vladimir acting as the go-between. Augustine comes to get me and we’re off.

Right out of the gate we’re hiking an incredibly steep hill and I make sure to keep it a little bit polepole. A half an hour into the walk, we get to the alpine desert. This is exactly what it sounds like—a cold desert. Augustine and Asunda turn around a little while later to try and track down a missing wash basin, so I’m on my own for a while. Lots of steep ups and downs. A good portion of the hike includes the saddle, which refers to being in between the peaks with Kilimanjaro on the left and Mawenzi on the right. It looks quite awesome, frankly. Augustine catches up and we eat lunch on the saddle.

                We arrive at the final hut at about 3:00 pm. At this point, you can pretty clearly see the trails going up to the peak of Kilimanjaro, and those bastards look steep. I unload my pack and hang some damp shirts via a rain gutter and some rocks to weigh them down. I take some pictures.

                Asunda comes in at 4:50 with dinner. Today it is just a meat and potato stew with bread and butter. A ton of carbs to get one ready for their undertaking. I read About a Boy and get my clothes all set out for the “morning Augustine comes in to debrief with me at around 5:45 and begins to freak the f out. He’s nervous that I don’t have enough layers up top. I assure him that the t-shirt, thermal, double-thick hooded sweatshirt and windproof shell will be enough. He insists that it will not be. We go back and forth for a little while as best as we can, trading off broken English and even broker Swahili. Finally, he gets two pairs of long underwear from Asunda and tells me to pack them as well. I make sure to pound a whole bunch of water.

                Vladimir and Jonas come in at 6:00 pm and its lights out. Now I’m of course spazzing out about the temperature issue, and for that matter, it’s not exactly easy to try and fall asleep this early. I have to go to the bathroom a couple times in the night, so rather than walk all the way to the other end of the building and outside in a t-shirt and shorts, I pee in my empty two-liter bottle. I fall asleep, sort of.

                December 25^th, 2011: 4,710 meters (15,550 feet) to 5,895 meters (19,450 feet), then 5,895 meters back down to 3,720 meters. Terrains include alpine desert, ice cap, and moorland.

                Day 4 actually begins at 10:30 pm. Asunda comes in, smiling, with hot water, tea and peanuts. I struggle out of my sleeping bag and start putting on the umpteen layers. The tea warms me up. Augustine comes in with one more layer, a fleece top. The final lineup is this: Smartwool socks, shorts, two long johns, khaki pants, t-shirt, thermal shirt, fleece, two-layered sweatshirt, windproof shell, hat, mask, glove liners, gloves, hiking boots. 

               We hit the path at 11:15 pm in the hope that we will get to the summit at sunrise. It’s pitch black, save the hundreds of stars and Augustine and my head lamps. I provide myself with one simple mantra: If I think I’m going slow enough, go even slower. Even early on, I let whole groups of people pass me up. About a half an hour in, I put on the iPod. I get through Frightened Rabbit’s the Winter of Mixed Drinks, an inspirational 45 minutes of Scottish acoustic rock. Then a little less than half of A Tribe Called Quest’s Midnight Marauders before the battery says “screw this, it’s cold out here” and died. It turns out that I have heard that record enough times to play through the remainder of it, word for word, in my head. This keeps me busy for about a half an hour and keeps my mind off of the cold.

                The cold is not the coldest cold I have ever experienced by any means; it is more the fact that I am exposed to it for an unspeakably long time. The 5 layers up top/4 layers on bottom work great but I start to get super cold in my toes and fingertips. Also, my nose. It is so cold that one of my water bottles freezes completely.

                The trail for this portion is what is known as a switchback trail, meaning that it goes up in a zig- zag. We walk about 10 minutes at incredibly steep angles before leveling off for 3 or 4 minutes at a time. It goes like this, these fifteen minute intervals, for around 6 hours. It gets steeper as we get higher. When we are at the end of each of the leveling off portions, I bend over, take a bunch of deep breaths, chug some water and burp. At around 4:00 am, I take my glove liners off and put them over my socks. It seems to help with the swollen toes.

                At roughly 5:30 am, it starts to get light out. I stop to look down. Straight in the middle is the Mawenzi peak, to the left is Kenya, and to the right is Moshi. Pretty incredible. The next part is basically the only portion that might be considered technical. We are essentially crawling up boulders, but this is not anything that requires any additional gear. It’s manageable. I can see the top.

                We finally topple over onto level ground at around 6:40 am. This is Gilman’s point, which is at 5,681 meters (18,750 feet). Immediately, I tear up. I think that it’s equal parts beauty and relief. I’m done; I’m finally done. I look at the sunrise over Mawenzi and Kenya for a few minutes. I take some pictures solo and with Augustine. He tells me that over the course of the night, the other guides were looking at me as they passed and talking trash in Swahili, saying I wouldn’t make it up. Showed them. 

               Augustine tells me we’re not quite to the summit. He points to a green sign in the distance. It looks deceptively close. No problem, I tell him.

                Damn.

                The walk from Gilman’s point to Uhuru peak is far and away the worst part of the hike. It’s straight ice and snow, and the wind is relentless. It’s probably around 30 miles an hour, and it’s balls-freezing cold. I have my trusty ski pole to keep me mountain-goat sturdy. I still slip and fall every five minutes or so. A few minutes in, I see Vladimir and Jonas on the way back down from the peak. Vladimir is super sick, mostly with a splitting headache. In all, from Gilman’s point to Uhuru peak is an hour and a half. This is certainly not ideal after seven plus hours of cold uphill. But I push on. I want to get to the actual top of this beast.

                After much bitching on my part, we finally get to Uhuru peak. This area is more open, so the wind whips even harder. I don’t have a flag or anything like that to wave at the top; I should have brought my American flag Springsteen jacket. It turns out I have my Camp Anokijig pants in my day pack, so I take those out to represent. Better than nothing. I take a few more pictures. We look over at the ash rim of the dormant volcano, but it is far too steep to get to. To the west about fifty feet away is a real life glacier. It’s amazing. Here is what it looked like:

                By now we have been at Uhuru peak for five minutes and the wind is too unbearable to want to stand around. On the way back, I see the Bulgarian mom and dad. Apparently, the younger daughter turned around halfway up from altitude sickness. The other daughter got to Gilman’s, helped fly the Bulgarian flag, and proceeded to vomit everywhere after the picture was taken. I wish them luck. Augustine leads the way and I continue at the pace of a slug, again slipping and falling every five minutes or so, and this time cursing and smashing my ski pole into the snow in frustration. It is obvious by now that the fatigue has set in.

                The way down from Gilman’s peak acts as the reprieve. It only takes about an hour to get all the way down to the huts compared to seven and a half to get up. The main reason for this is that it is a whole carved out section of super-soft gravel, so we essentially downhill ski down it. You slip every few minutes, but it does not hurt at all. When we get to the huts it is 10:45, so I have been walking for eleven and a half hours. I put some socks out to dry.

                Asunda and one of the porters come in with some soup and tea and tuna and pasta and congratulate me. I eat with a slight smile on my face and read my book. When I’m done, Asunda tells me I should lay down for a rest. I don’t argue this. I wake up about 45 minutes later to (no joke) a mouse nibbling on my ear. Asunda comes in laughing and points. “Mouse,” he says. “Thanks for clearing that up,” I say back. Clearly I am in a world-class mood.

                We get packed and start back down to Harumbo huts. This is essentially the very last thing I want to do right now, but I understand that if I knock it out now, I do not have to knock it out later. We go back through the saddle and into the moorland. The clouds are spitting rain at us. I kill an hour by trying to come up with the titles of every episode of LOST from seasons one through three. I succeed.

                We are to the huts by about 4:00. I rest up for a minute before Asunda tells me it is time for dinner. I read and wait. The hut is so packed that I have been put into the second building for dinner. The porters come in and out without closing the door behind them, and it drives me berserk. I yell at them twice to please close the door, but they keep forgetting. It has started to sink in that it’s Christmas and my family is on the other end of the world. I am doing my best to keep it together until Augustine comes in to talk about tipping the porters, obviously just trying to do his job, and I just let him have it. I am fed up with our botched communications and am potentially the most physically and mentally worn I have ever been. After I eat, I make sure to apologize. I talk to the Swiss fellows and the Bulgarian family, who are angry because they were not served meat on Christmas, which is a Bulgarian tradition. It looks like everyone is in a foul mood. I decide to cut my losses and head towards the sleeping bag. I text one of my friends back at ISM and fall asleep. It is 7:30 pm.

               

                December 26^th, 2011: 3,720 meters down to 1,900 meters, moorland and rain forest terrains.

                I wake up at 6:30 feeling like a million dollars. The world is all the sudden a beautiful place again. I eat breakfast and get packed. The Swiss guys and I take some pictures together. Then we start to head down. I crack jokes with Augustine to make up for my attitude from the day before.

                Along the way, I interface with a lot of people. As I start talking to two dudes, I come to realize they are from the Twin Cities. They are with a group of 14 missionaries from the western suburbs. It’s crazy how small the world is sometimes.

                One of the women from the Mpls group, it turns out, is being carried the whole way down by about four porters in a stretcher with wheels. She sprained her ankle about 200 feet from Uhuru peak. So she is literally being carried the whole way down. I am shocked that the porters are able to do that during the steep portions of the Kilimanjaro peak. She is in good spirits considering. I suppose it would be kind of awesome to get a free ride down.

                Through the rainforest portion, I ask Augustine where all the monkeys are. He says they are celebrating Christmas. I call out “Wapi Kima?”­—where are the monkeys—over and over like I’m seven years old. No luck.

                We get through the gate and I throw my arms up in celebration. The line at the “signing out” station is long and disorganized so I go and sit in the shade. It’s amazing that I am back to shorts and a t-shirt considering what I had been wearing 36 hours previous. Augustine gets me my certificate and I bid farewell to the Switzerland folks.

                Willie and his driver are waiting in the parking lot. He gives me a big handshake. Augustine and Asunda hop in the car as we are all going to nearby Marangu. Once again, we run to the ATM so I can tip Augustine and Asunda and finish paying Willie. It’s Augustine’s 30^th birthday. We say our goodbyes, and Willie drops me off at an annual Boxing Day party two doors down from the Marangu Hotel that is being thrown by the Brice-Bennett family, who have kids at ISM. I walk into the backyard where the party is looking like a straight-up disaster. My nose is sunburned, my lips are dry and cracked and swollen, and I have my big backpack on my back and my day back on my front. I talk to the teachers I know and a couple of friends. There is a great food spread and I eat, but socially I am worthless. I take the first ride back to ISM I can get, with my friends Paul and Magda and their kids. The first thing I do when I get back to Kisanduku is take off my hiking boots. The next thing I do is take a long and cold shower. Then I climb under the mosquito net and watch some TV on the laptop. I can’t help smiling. I climbed Mt. Kilimanjaro.

                …I left Tanzania two days after I summited Kilimanjaro feeling like it was a sufficient end to the trip. If you asked me right now if my experience in Africa changed my life, I would say yes. If you asked me why or how, I’m not sure I would be able to articulate it quite yet. But someday, I will.

                

                   Thanks for reading—

                

                    Ben.

TZ Update #9: Swahili Crash Course

                In the early 1980s, my mom’s husband John took a 3-week trip to Kenya on an outward-bound style trip. He absolutely fell in love with the place. Though many of you who are reading might have been a little envious about my experience, none more so than John. I have no doubt that he and my mother will one day make the trip back to East Africa. So for the benefit of those two, and for any of you that are interested, I present a short crash course in Swahili.

                Vowel rules:                                                                                                                              A’s are pronounced as “ah” almost exclusively.                                                                                                          E’s make the “eh” sound at the beginning of the word and “ay” if they are at the end.                                             I’s make the “ee” sound usually and in some cases the short i sound in the middle.                                                 O’s and U’s are basically the same as they are in English.

                Greetings and Manners:                                                                                                                            The East African culture is very greeting-based. You are more or less expected to greet people. There are two greetings used here, and both are pretty different.

                You have Hujambo (usually shortened to Jambo) which means “hello”. Your response would generally be Sijambo—I am well. However, this greeting is not used with most Tanzanians under 40 and is oftentimes considered a word for tourists. There are older Tanzanians that use Jambo more often, but the most common among the locals is actually Mambo, which is more formal, ie “What’s up.” The response to that is Poa—I’m cool.

                You can add any number of things to the greetings or responses, such as:

                Jambo/Mambo…                                                                                                                              bwana=sir                                                                                                                                                                                         mama=an older woman (shown as a sign of respect, literally “mother”)                                                                  rafiki=friend                                                                                                                                                                                       dada=sister                                                                                                                                                                                                kaka=brother                                                  

                                                                                 

And rather than Sijambo/Poa, you can say:  safi=I’m fresh/clean                                                                                                                                                                                    salama=things are peaceful                                                                                                                                                        safi kabisa=I’m totally fresh/clean

                People in Tanzania are always interested in what’s going on with you. The basic way to ask “how are you?”is Habari Yako. But Habari actually translates to “what’s the news?” You can ask:

                Habari…               

Yako= What’s news with you?                                                                                                                                                   Za kazi= What’s the news at work?                                                                                                                                         Za nyumbani=What’s the news at home?                                                                                                                  Za safari= What was the news with your vacation?                                                                                                            Za asubuhi=What’s the news of the morning?                                                                                                                             Za mchana= What’s the news of the afternoon?                                                                                                                                Za usiku= What’s the news of the evening?

                9 times out of ten the response is Nzuri, which means “things are good.” An important word to know as a qualifier is sana, which means “very”, thus a lot of times people will respond with nzuri sana-things are very good. If you ask a habari question, you can also get salama or safi as a response.

              

  Politeness is big here as well: 

Asante (ah-sahn-tay) = thank you                                                                                                                                           Asante Sana=thank you very much                                                                                                                                         Karibu=You’re welcome                                                                                                                                                                               Karibuni=You’re all welcome                                                                                                                                                      Karibu Sana=You’re very welcome                                                                                                                                        Samahani=Sorry/Excuse me                                                                                                                                                      Tafadhali=Please                                                                                                                                                                                Naomba=I would like…(when ordering at a restaurant, etc.)                                                                                                Pole (poh-lay)=I’m sorry (sympathy)                                                                                                                                       Pole Sana=I’m very sorry                                                                                                                                                             Apana Asante=No thank you

                Yes is Ndiyo, No is Apana, And is Na.

                

Here is how you count:                

  Moja=1                                                                                                                                                                                                                Mbili=2                                                                                                                                                                                                 Tatu=3                                                                                                                                                                                                  Nne=4                                                                                                                                                                                                   Tanu=5                                                                                                                                                                                                 Sita=6                                                                                                                                                                                                   Saba=7                                                                                                                                                                                                 Nani=8                                                                                                                                                                                                 Kisa=9                                                                                                                                                                                                   Kumi=10

                And if you want to do 11-19, it’s just Kumi na (ten and) ______. i.e., kumi na mbili=12.

                Elfu means thousand, so to say “5,000 shillings” is Shillingi elfu tanu. To ask for change is changi.

                And some other odds and ends:       

Kidogu=Small, a little                                                                                                                                                                      Kubwa=Big, large                                                                                                                                                                             Mzungu=Tourist (usually derogatory)                                                                                                                                    Moto= Hot                                                                                                                                                                                          Baridi=Cold                                                                                                                                                                                                Chakula=Food/Meal                                                                                                                                                                      Magi=Water

                                                                                             

 Jina Lako Nani=What’s your name?                                                                                                                                        Una Itwa Nani=What are you called (colloquial)?                                                                                                                  Jina Langu ni ______=My name is…                                                                                                                                       Nina Itwa______=I am called…                                                                                                                                                 Badai (bah-dye)=See you later (today)                                                                                                                                         Tuta onana kesho or just kesho=see you tomorrow

               

  You’ll hear people say Ham Nashida here, which translates to no problem. If people tell you they say Hakuna Matata here, that’s B.S. It’s what people say to tourists; locals almost never say it to each other.

                Most importantly: Naomba Coca-Cola Moja=I would like a coke                                                                                                                                   Naomba Kuku na Chipsi= I would like chicken and fries

            

    I hope that this is helpful, in case any of you find yourselves in East Africa, or befriending someone 

who speaks Swahili. You never know.

               The other reason that this blog post is entitled “Swahili Crash Course” is because on my last day in Tanzania, I had to drive a vehicle.

                Jann, the 2^nd/3^rd grade teacher and her retired husband Bob, from New Zealand via Zimbabwe, asked me to drop them at the airport shuttle and then use their truck for whatever errands I needed before dropping it back at their house at ISM. Bob drove the ten minutes to the shuttle station and I waved goodbye to them. I then began to get myself used to the various differences—driving on the left side, shifting with the left hand, sitting on the right side. All of this would probably be easy to negotiate on, say, the Autobahn, but I was in downtown Moshi.

                No, it’s not like martial law exists in Moshi or anything like that, but there are a few factors that make driving in Tanzania a little bit like the video game Grand Theft Auto. First of all—and I may have mentioned this previously—people are allowed to purchase drivers licenses without actually taking a driver’s test in Tanzania. As you can imagine, this rule allows for many persons who have no business behind the wheel to operate unsafe and often enormous vehicles. Secondly, there is a culture here in which people often just walk in the middle of the street. Oftentimes, these are merchants taking their products between locations. For example, as I was driving along on the busiest street, a gentleman with a cart of pineapples came out in front of my truck, so I slowed myself down in the name of commerce.  And though Moshi has three large roundabouts surrounding the downtown, there are no stoplights. I guess the easiest way to describe it is that every intersection is sort of an assumed four-way stop. That does not necessarily mean everyone is assuming the same thing.

                Errand 1: Nakumatt. Nakumatt is a Kenya-based superstore that arrived in Moshi on December 1^st and had been quite a big to-do. It is still working on getting some items up on the shelves, but for the most part it has a lot of what you need and thus has been a godsend to some of the teachers and their families. I pulled into the parking spot without incident, and after a 3 point turn and avoiding a couple of pedestrians, I was on my way.

                The next stop was Union Café’, a coffeehouse in the middle of town that many of us frequented for its excellent coffee, decent food and wood-fired pizzas. I ended up talking with an expat named Patrick who was living in Dar es Salaam and visiting Moshi for a couple of weeks as I ate breakfast and drank coffee. So far so good.

                Then I stopped to change 100,000 shillings to 41 Euros at the change bureau. I got back into the car and started through the gravel lot. A car pulled out in front of me; I swerved slightly to avoid it and ended up clipping the mirror of a station wagon. The alarm went off and the owner came out of the bank. She was displeased at first, but after surveying the damage, realized that there was nothing to worry about. I gave her about 10 pole sana’s before hopping back into the truck.

                Then it was off to the post office to drop off a postcard to my aunt and uncle in Milwaukee. I parked and ran in and out—at most 45 seconds—and a woman was on her way to writing a parking ticket on the dash. “No,” I said, “Leaving.” She looked at me, befuddled and I started the car and backed away. The only problem was that due to the lack of any real turnaround spot, I had to execute one of those Austin Powers turns where you get about 5 feet forward, have to back up, etc. And when I finally got to moving forward, I went into the right lane for a second before I realized I was still in Africa, not on highway 94.

                Gripping the steering wheel in the classic “10 and 2” position, I focused solely on getting home. It was only ten minutes to ISM. Would it be possible without further incident? The answer was no. As I was nearing the roundabout on one of the narrow side streets, a Dala-dala came barreling towards me, packed with people. The street was too narrow to hold us both, and I didn’t have enough time to pull over. My left two wheels went onto the gravel on the side of the road and I drove on a tilt for a few seconds before righting myself.

                I’m sure that with more practice and less tensing up of my body, I could probably drive in Africa just fine. Having never driven in Tanzania, I was unprepared for the unique idiosyncrasies of good ‘ol Moshi town. It really would make for a decent video game.

                I will have the re-cap of my Kilimanjaro climb in a few days, which will be my last post about the strangeness and the beauty that is Tanzania.

                Safi kabisa.

TZ Update #7: Habari za Safari

First things first: I climbed to the top of Kilimanjaro and made it back safely. It was pretty incredible and also the hardest thing I have ever done in my life. I am behind on the blogging and photos due to school wrapping up and getting ready for that trip, so I'll give a re-cap on Kili in a week or so. This post is about the safari I went on over the December 9th weekend.

“Habari za Safari” actually translates to “How was your vacation?” in Swahili. Thus here in Africa, you can go on safari without it meaning looking at animals from a jeep. I, however, went on a vacation in which I looked at animals from a jeep.

When you’re living in a country like Tanzania, every now and then you get what I like to call “3^rd-world’ed out”— frustrated with the living conditions. I don’t say that meaning to sound spoiled; it’s just inevitable. The majority of my safari weekend was awesome and exciting, though I had to deal with some serious third world headaches at times. Looking back, some things were my fault for not being prepared and some things that were not so funny at the time are now hilarious.

I started out by waking up too late on the Friday I left, thanks in large part to a barbecue hosted by one of our English teachers the night before. I was due at my bus at 6:00 AM and it was to pick me up at the Impala hotel down the street from school. I got there at about 6:07, and it had just left. I considered running into town where the bus was idling until 6:30, but I wouldn’t have made it. At about 6:15 I called a taxi, but they wouldn’t have been able to be there for another 20 minutes. The next bus to Arusha (where my safari was departing from) would not be until 11:30. I managed to flag down a man driving an SUV and his son, and they gave me a lift. We pulled up to the bus right as it started to move down the street and thankfully they let me on. As I boarded I noticed Rosemary, one of the teachers at ISM who is from Kenya and was on the way to Nairobi to visit family for the long weekend. “Did you get on just now?” “No, I got picked up at ISM,” she said. “They’ll pick you up at school?” I asked.“Yes, if you tell them ahead of time.” I spent the following five minutes cursing under my breath and receiving looks from the other passengers. Eventually, I moved on.

There had been a bit of a problem with money leading up to the safari. I ended up switching dates a little late, so once I got everything finalized, I received word that the company wanted me to do a wire transfer. Just like everywhere else in Tanzania, they do not take credit cards. This was only 3 days before I was to leave. I looked at my wells fargo online statements and could not figure it out. I went to the bank in Moshi in which the safari company had an account set up, and they could not figure out how to do the transfer either. Finally, I went on a colleague’s fancy google phone and called Wells Fargo, who told me that I would have to come into a branch and set up the international transfer function. That’s going to be a problem, I said—I’m in Africa. I called the company and told them the situation, and they said it was not ideal, but it would have to do. I would have to pull out roughly 2,200,000 Tanzanian shillings from the ATM.

Fast-forward to a couple days later and I am arriving in Arusha, 8:00 AM. I meet Fred in the hotel parking lot, my guide. He’s early 40s, speaks pretty decent English, tells good stories and has a very infectious laugh. I explain to him that before we get going, we have to go to the ATM so I can pay the company. He agrees and we head to the nearest Barclay’s bank. I get out 400,000 shillings—the max per ATM transaction. I put the card back in and go for it again. “Insufficient Funds”. I’m thinking that’s impossible. Especially considering Barclay’s has this advertising campaign that’s like “You can get out 1,000,000 Shillings!” which is followed up with instructions on how to do so: “Insert card. Take out 400,000 shillings. Re-insert card. Take out 400,000 shillings. Re-insert card. Take out 200,000 shillings.”

I decide to try another ATM—Insufficient Funds. Next one says the same thing. I proceed to go 0 for 6 on the next string of nearby ATMs. At first the insufficient funds thing worries me, but I get out a receipt and see that both savings and checking are looking healthy at around 4,000,000 shillings apiece. That’s great and everything, but I have only about 15% of the money I owe for the safari with the 400,000 shillings. I call Hagai (safari owner, Israeli) back and tell him what’s up. He is less than thrilled. We meet on the side of the road; I feel like a complete schmuck and let him know that if he wants to send me back to Moshi, he’s more than welcome to. No can do, he says—everything’s already paid for. After I apologize and sweat for about three minutes straight, he sends us on our way.

Fred and I get to Tarangire at 10:30 am. The first thing of note there are the baobab trees—the thickest trees I have ever seen. According to Fred, some of these trees are over 1,000 year old. Nuts.

I could tell that Fred was unsatisfied with the first hour of the game drive; we saw a big pack of impalas, a few ostriches and my favorite, warthogs. Personally, I found the warthogs hilarious. They all have long mohawks that stretch from their head all the way down their back and a set of horns near their snout that are comparable to a thick white Rollie Fingers moustache. Also, they constantly headbutted each other, and I consistently guffawed at it. Easily amused, I guess.

Tarangire National Park is well-known for its elephant population. Over the course of the day, I saw at least 200 elephants. It’s kind of insane how enormous they are when you are up close. I’ll let the pictures tell it. Also at Tarangire was an enormous troop of baboons at least fifty primates deep.

That night I stayed at the Tarangire Safari Lodge in a giant platform tent with two beds (I pushed them together) and a shower (I took one). The lodge sits on a ridge above the cliff and the view of Tarangire is just bananas. I could step out of my tent, take a few steps and look down onto multiple families of elephants 100 yards under me. It looked good at sundown but even better at sunrise…I got up at that time because I forgot to change the alarm from the previous morning. It ended up being a good thing. Again, I’ll let the pictures tell it.

Day 2 started with a successful trip to the ATM (‘’oh, hell yeah!’’ as my father would say). We then started on the ascent towards Ngorongoro Crater. This was at one time a volcano; essentially, the lava built up and the whole thing collapsed onto itself. There is a large rim circling the crater, so in order to get to it, you have to ascend and then descend. Because of the abundance of vegetation, there are loads upon loads of animal species, most prevalent of which are zebras and wildebeests. We got to see one cheetah from afar (very rare) and five lions including two males (more rare than females). I spied the cheetah for about ten minutes through the binoculars and it was being pretty stagnant. I let Fred look for a few minutes and said ‘’You know who I bet is being hilarious right now? Some warthogs.’’

Towards the end of our time at the crater, I fell asleep. To be honest, safaris take a lot out of you. Each game drive is around 5+ hours in a hot car. In fact, I ended up with an outrageous left arm sunburn from dangling it out of the passenger (backwards from America, remember) side window.

The final day was at Lake Manyara, renowned for its blue monkey and hippo population. I had, in my haste, forgotten my camera battery charger at home Friday morning. However, it managed to last all the way up until the final 45 minutes at Lake Manayara—a pre-Hanukkah miracle, perhaps? Though they were far away, I got a little bit of decent hippo footage and took my favorite video, a troop of about 50 baboons, 1 by 1, jumping over a small puddle rather than simply walking around it.

I was supposed to stay in Arusha Sunday night, but I was far too cashed, so I hopped a bus to Moshi and made a plan to deliver Hagai the remaining balance via a teacher that works at both our ISM campus and our ISM-Arusha campuses. I got on the bus at 5:00 and paid around $2 for the ride that would be around 1.5 hours, in theory. Not so much in practice. We stopped several times on the side of the road to fill the 18-capacity bus to around 40 people, until around 3 or 4 people were actually hanging onto the side. We had four separate breakdowns until the driver and his crew realized the issue. They had run out of gas. After much deliberation, body odor and a couple of crying babies coming to grips with the situation, they managed to start the car up long enough to get us to a gas station. We got in around 7:30 and I grabbed a cab home to ISM, a good hour later than I expected to return.

Gotta love the 3^rd world sometimes, yeah?