And Then I Go Home

0ctober 22^nd: Thursday

I awake to the light of day streaming in through the windows of the ferry. We are steaming into Dar. We depart in a large mob. Every one is very rude getting of the boat. I am consistently elbowed, poked, and shoved. Why does everyone need to get of so fast? I manage to finally get off. I find the daladala that my driver friend Muhammad from the ferry said should take me to the bus stop.

We docked at 6:00 and it takes the daladala a half hour to get to the bus stop. I fight my way through the mob of guys who are trying to make a few shillings by buying me a ticket or taking me somewhere I already know where to go. I make it to Dar Express office and try to buy a ticket. Unfortunately the 7:00 bus is a more expensive one. So the man puts me on the 6:30 bus. Another worker leads me in a wild goose chase throughout the bus station looking for our bus. We finally find it, third in line for going out the gate. For whatever reason I am not allowed to get on there. First we have leave the station and cross the station. Then as the bus leaves the station I am ushered aboard.

Sleep some of the trip home but I can’t get comfortable. O finish my book and spend several hours staring out the window. We finally arrive at 3:05. it is good to be back in Moshi. I walk down to easycom and do some email. Then I go home.

It is good to see everyone. I realize ow hard it will be to say goodbye to everyone. We go to prayers that night where I pray and play with the little kids in turn. That evening I hang out with unity and his family. It is good to be back.

In Which I Eat Fresh Sea Food, Talk To Many People and See Some Humongeous Tortoises

October 21^st: Wednesday

I am awoken at 4:30 by a Muslim crier who sounds like he is right outside my window, which he probably is. I get up around 5:30 and dress. I leave my hostel to go explore the city before breakfast. I have to rouse the owner, to let me out of the locked door. The city is strangely empty and quite compared to when I went to bed last night. Soon however it begins to fill with people beginning their days. The daladalas start, almost no shops are open but people wander about in a focused manner. Its hot, even now I am sweating.

I get back around at 7:00 and after pounding on the door for several minutes I manage to wake the owner. I pack all my thinks. All my cloths smell of sweat. I only brought three shirts and I am saving the last for later today. I dress in my swim trunks and then pull on my shots over them. Breakfast is toast, fruit and egg. I check-out and take a wandering path over to the big tree, a massive tree that sits on the edge of the town and across the street from a beach that is the launching grounds for many of the boats. There I meet Kazim; another friend of Daniel that said hooked me up with the day before. Kazim is a medium height, well built African, dressed in a bright yellow brazil jersey and a pair of swim trunks. He greets me with a big smile and soon finds me a pair of fins and a mask and we set out for prison island which is a 35 minute boat ride away.

As we traverse the bright blue ocean I talk to Kazim. We talk about a lot of things. I learn that he night fishes at Pemba, the island north of Zanzibar, for a fish like the barracuda that is longer than a man. He is not yet thirty and has been a fisherman/guide his whole life. He ask me if I have a boyfriend. I ask him if he means girlfriend. He says yes but continues to get the word wrong throughout our conversation. He himself is single because as he tells me “the problem is always the women on Zanzibar.” I tell him it’s not just on Zanzibar.

We arrive at prison island where we spend about a half hour seeing some ruins and feeding the giant tortoises on the island. There are over 100 of the monsters. The largest’s shell must have been 5ft by 3ft. they are huge massive creatures. Their size and weight are staggering.

After this I spend several minutes watching Kazim take apart his engine and clean the spark plugs. Kazim apologizes and tells me not to worry. We get under way soon enough and travel out to the reef. I put on my fins and mask and jump in. it takes a few minutes to get used to breathing through the mask. The reef is colorful and full of fish. Perhaps not the best snorkeling reef ever. The sun is gone, the water isn’t very clear, and the reef is obviously damaged by anchors but it is still beautiful. After snorkeling for about an hour I retire to the boat. With the sun gone I am cold and the mask is giving me a headache. We go back to Stone Town.

We arrive around noon and I am sorry to say goodbye to Kazim. I wander down the waterfront checking out the menus for the restaurants. One, the Archipelago, looks promising. I mount the stairs to the second story restaurant where I change into my last clean shirt and some not very clean shorts. I sit at a table that overlooks the ocean. The sun is out again. Palm trees and white sand lead down to blue water. I order the baby squid salad with tomatoes and green peppers and the BBQ swordfish with avocados. Amazing. The squid salad is nearly the entire squids, just the insides and eyes, beak removed. I leave and wander down through the touristy part of town. I buy some postcards. I scoff at cheesy t-shirts that cost $28. I stop by a group of guys playing an interesting game. They tell me it is called Kerem or something and explain the rules to me. I discovered a fun question to ask. I ask whether Zanzibar is a different country than Tanzania. The responses are remarkably different. Yesterday a shop owner told me passionately that Zanzibar is a different country and that the Tanzanian president didn’t want the Zanzibar people because they were Muslims. He also told me that every single person on Zanzibar was Islamic. My Kerem playing friends tell me they are from the main land and that people who say that Zanzibar and Tanzania are different countries are fools.

I wander around Stone Town, buying some gifts for Unity’s Family and a few other things. I check out the old dispensary, whatever that is, and find a public building with art work done by local artists on the second floor. The building is a really cool design. I use their very western bathrooms and am delighted to find a toilet. After nearly an hour of searching I finally find the Anglican Cathedral which is built on the site of the old slave market and whose alter is set on the same spot as the whipping post. I decline a guide to the disgust of the men at the gate. I am running low on money. I look at the slave chambers and explore the church. It really is beautiful. As I am leaving one of the guides stops me and quizzes me on the history of the church. I am able to answer most of his questions since I did some research before I came here.

Then I wander down to the southern part of the city. I cross over form historic Stone Town to the modern Zanzibar City. I cross into a park where there are several football games going on. I sit down to watch. A young man soon comes and sits down and we start to chat about sports and Zanzibar. After an hour I leave. I wander up to the waterfront where I stop at an Italian restaurant and order a beer and watch the sun set. I couple of elderly ladies who I rode the ferry here with come up and ask me if they can join me at my table. I say sure. They are both from Norway and have traveled all over the world together. We have an interesting conversation.

After the sun sets I excuse myself. I am going to go eat at the food stalls which serve fresh daily caught seafood. The food stalls are located in the middle of the Forodhani Gardens. I buy a plate full of fresh fish, shark, prawns, calamari, and piece of garlic Nan.

As the cook puts my order on the grill to heat it up I stay and chat with the assistant, a young guy with a quirky sense of humor. I eat looking out at the ocean and watching the people wander around the food stall. While there are a lot of tourists there are even more locals. A man sits down near me and try to sell me a cd of African music. He is really drunk and keeps falling asleep, waking every few minutes to mumbles about his cd and hum the tune of one of the songs. He is sitting on the edge of the stone wall of the harbor and I am mildly hoping that he falls asleep and topples into the water. No such luck. I go to find the bathroom and discover that it costs 300 Tsh. Ok, this is a strange country. This is a legit guy asking for money too. He has a uniform, and key, and they price is written on the wall of the toilet.

After exiting the most expensive bathroom I have ever visited I pull out my remaining Cuban cigar. I rim the edge and then discover I can’t find my matches. Great. I go back to my friend at the food stall and he helps me light it. I let him have a puff and he chokes and starts coughing. A bit stronger than a cigarette I guess. I smoke the cigar as I walk towards the ferry. I am taking the night ferry back to Dar. I walk along the waters edge. Look out at the big black ocean. Drop some ash on my foot. I finish the cigar and through it into the water.

I spend several minutes at the ferry trying to get someone to stamp my passport to prove I was here. I finally find a man who can. I board the ferry and am ushered into the upper deck. Got tipped of here. I could have paid less and gone below deck where they leave the lights on and watch Jackie Chan movies. I strike up a conversation with a daladala driver named Muhammad. I then read and finally fall asleep near midnight. At some pointing the night I need to go to the bathroom. We apparently are on the ocean since the boat is rocking back and forth. I stumble towards the bathroom. As I try to keep my balance and aim I am suddenly suspicious of this seemingly innocent water on the bathroom floor. I finally manage to make my way back to the upper deck. I am now feeling decidedly sick. I flop down on my couch I scored for my self. The sickening motion of the boat soon turns to a pleasant lulling and I fall asleep.

Black Berry Jam and Nature is Not G-Rated

October 20^th: Tuesday

I got up early again in order to catch the daladala into town and make my 9:00 ferry. Janet very kindly made me whole wheat toast with blackberry jam. Little slice of home. Dan walked me to the road at 6:00 and I hopped on the daladala around 6:30. As we made our ponderous progress into town we continued to add more and more passengers until we were cramped like clowns in a Volkswagen and I was sweating like I was in a sauna. After a certain point our forward progress began to diminish to a few feet every couple of minutes. The pedestrians streamed past us. Finally as it neared 8:00 I elbowed my way out. I needed to find a taxi. My check in time was 8:30. As soon as I got out the traffic demons seeing that I had given up decided to let traffic start moving. Soon my daladala was out of sight. Great. I crossed the street and found a group of taxis but no drivers. Finally I found the drivers. I haggled for a bit and got into the passenger side with another driver who spoke no English. Thankfully I know “fast” in Swahili so I just sat back and cried “Haraka! Haraka!” I seemed to found the most passive and defensive African driver in all of Africa.

When we had finally arrived at the ferry it was two minutes tell 9:00. So much for checking in early. I was ushered through several gates and by several rotund ferry workers. During this time I noticed that my ticket said check-in-time 9:00, departure9:30. Oh. I sat around tell around 9:30 when I noticed a lot of the other whites were leaving. I decided to follow. I wandered down to the docks where I gave my ticket to a bored looking Indian fellow and boarded a speedy looking boat full of tourists. I guess it’s a bit too much work for the ferry workers to alert the passengers when their ferry is ready. It’s just so much to ask.

I ended up falling asleep on the trip over. I woke to see a sparkling green coastline and white stone buildings sitting atop the blue ocean. Kinda beautiful. We tourists piled of the boat and we proceeded to go through customs. I tried repeatedly to contact Daniel my supposed guide for the spice tour I planned to go on that day. He finally texted me that he was in a meeting. I tried to text him back that I was waiting at the dock but I don’t seem to be able to send texts Tanzanian phones. Go figure. I pushed my way through the hub of taxi drivers at the gates of the dock. After nearly 40 minutes of confusion, failed texts messages, many a missed call, and one point where my phone refused to do anything despite the four little bars in the corner. Finally Daniel got a hold of me to tell me that his friend Said (pronounced “say-eed) was meeting me.

Said was a slimly built Muslim, around thirty. He took me to lunch, which was part of the package. Spiced rice and chicken. The best African meal I have ever had. Then we went on the spice tour. While I don’t think Said ever smiled while he was with me he did like to talk. We talked about Islam, Zanzibar, his family, the drought, his career etc… We arrived at our destination. A slightly wooded area a thirty minute drive out of Stone town. There we met Levi our guide and Nike our spice boy. Levi is not Levi’s real name but that’s what I call him because he was wearing blue jeans and a blue shirt that said “Levi” on it. Plus I can’t remember his real name. We wandered around and Levi with the help of Nike showed me an astounding variety of spices in a staggering array of plants. Beware though, this spice tour was not rated G. some more inappropriate highlights which of course I remember. Ginger is a Viagra for men. Likewise nutmeg is a Viagra for women. Also Levi declared that the henna plant root was “very dangerous” and “bad” since if consumed it could cause abortions. Cool. The finale consisted of Nike (again not his real name, he wore a Nike cap at jaunty angle), the spice boy, climbed a massive palm tree and cut down three unripe coconuts which we drank the milk out of. Delicious.

Said and I talked again on the ride back to Stone Town where he helped me find some cheap lodgings for the night. At 16,000 Tsh ($12) a night the Annex of Abdullah fit the bill. I said good bye to Said. And took a much needed shower. Then I went out and explore Stone Town. After wandering through a thoroughly confusing set of streets I finally found the ocean. Hoping I could find my way back I went and checked out the House of Wonders, or the National History Museum. A massive and beautiful building it now houses several exhibits of the islands past, including a full sized dou (sp? Rhythms with “ow”), cloths from the royal palace, and the first president’s car, a tropical turquoise beast complete with tail fins.

After that I plunged into the labyrinth of Stone Town. With narrow streets, hardly wide enough for a motorcycle and high 3-4 story buildings it is easy and fun to get lost. The buildings are painted white and are in various states of decay. A mixture of Arabs, Indians, and Africans wander its streets. 95% of Zanzibar is Muslim and there are mosques everywhere all painted white with sea green trim making them look like giant cakes.

To save money I don’t eat out that night. Instead I rely on my supply of digestives and g-nuts. Before going to bed I take a look at my foot. I had developed a blister under several calluses on the way off Kili. However it has been hurting in the last few days. I think it may be infected but I can’t see anything since it is covered by the callous. The pain now is so much that I can’t sleep without pain medication. I take my knife to it. Pus and blood run out. I think it’s infected. I track down a pharmacy and ask for band aids. The women pulls out what looks like a roll of gauze. Ok. Only 200 Tsh. I get back to my room and discover the gaze is a net like think with more holes than my mosquito net. Never mind. My room thankfully has a fan. I fall asleep early that night to the sound of the city alive around me. Street vendors calling. Kids laughing. Men talking on street corners.

I Take A Bus Ride, A Taxi Ride, and A Daladala Ride

October 19^th: Monday

Crawled out of bed at 5:45. Pulled on some cloths and made sure I had everything. I had packed everything in a small backpacking pack my dad left from our assault on Kili. Unity and Grace gave me a ride to the Dar Express office where the bus would pick me up. Before I got out they prayed for me. The bus was scheduled to leave at 7:30 so I was surprised and delighted that we were on the road by 8:00.

The bus itself was very nice. Comfy seats, clean, and they served complimentary sodas which for 25,000 Tsh I think was called for. I sat right in front behind the driver next to the aisle. The bus driver looked upsettingly tired. I decided to keep an eye on him so if he started dozing off I could douse him with my coke. I soon fell asleep and dozed for a couple of hours.

Driving in Tanzania always interests me. There seems to be only a few driving rules. First driving on the left side of the road. Second, right of way is decided by the size of the vehicle, not by any traffic rules. So we being in a huge travel bus always had the right of way. Top of the food chain. Oh the other rule is that matatus, or daladalas don’t have to obey the traffic rules, but at their own peril.

We arrived in Dar Es Salaam shortly after 3:00. We pulled into a large bus station and as the other passengers and I clambered off the bus we were immediately assaulted by taxi drivers. I dodged behind the bus and made my escape towards the exit. I called the McBrides who are old friends of the Tricaricos and who I planned to spend the night with. They said they would pick me up at the Mwenge Carvers Market at 6:00.

I decided to take a taxi to the carvers market since I couldn’t find a daladala that was going there. I spotted a slightly built young taxi driver who I figured I could take in a fight if need be and asked if he could take me to the market. He replied in the affirmative and I got in. as we started of I asked him if he spoke English. He gave me a confused, bewildered look that I took as “no”. He had a stuffed elephant hanging from his rear view mirror that upon my saying “jina” (name in Swahili) and pointing he confided its name was Omar. Using the same sophisticated technique I learned his name was Harry. We stopped for gas and then he promptly took me to what looked like a strip mall. I reminded him I wanted to go to the carvers market. We left the mall and drove along several roads for some time. Finally we stopped at another gas station where the young Harry sought the knowledge of his fellow taxi drivers. After several long minutes of rapid discussion where I learned that none of them spoke English and they consulted my tiny map of Dar that was noticeably lacking the location of the carvers market harry pulled into the street, pulled a U-turn parked on the other side of the street. We had found the market. I stepped out and looked back at the gas station where we had just spent the precious ten minutes trying to figure out how to get here. The Taxi drivers who had helped us waved.

The carvers market was made up of at least 50 small shops each selling nearly identical souvenirs. Carvings of animals, masaai, bowls, utensils, beaded jewelry, knives, and artwork. It amazes me that all the tourist shops in Africa that I have been to sell nearly the same identical things. I wondered trying to kill some time and finally asked someone which daladala I should take if I wanted to get to the Zanzibar Ferry. I was told the Mwenge Posta. Armed with this knowledge and a sense of adventure at around 4:30 I hopped on the correct daladala and paid my 250 Tsh, about 20 cents.

I struck up several conversations on the ride. One with a painter, another with a student studying medicine in the Dar University. I was told I needed to tell my Swahili speaking door man I wanted to get off at posta zamani. For those not familiar with daladalas they are very small buses, or rather large vans. Equipped with approximately 14 seats they can hold more than twice that number. The crew consists if the driver and the door boy. The door to the daladala is a large sliding door like on a van. The door boy stands by the door, pulling it open and closed, shouting the destination of the daladala, and collecting the fare from the passengers.

I finally made it to the water front and the ferry office which thankfully was still open. I was happy to be back in a big city. Although it could never be confused for say Portland it still gave that impression of a large, bustling, almost western city. After I finally bought my ticket which was much cheaper than my research had indicated it was approaching 5:30. I called the McBrides in order to see if they wouldn’t mind waiting for me to find a daladala back so I could still stay with them. After several missed calls, failed text messages, repeatedly buying of airtime from a drunk (or high, I wasn’t really paying him a whole lot of attention) Rastafarian the McBrides finally just told me to wait where I was and they would come and get me. Well I was feeling pretty stupid at this point. I had wandered off and gotten myself in trouble and now these adults had to come rescue the kid. At least that is the way I felt. However I am glad that I was able to spend the night with them instead of a guesthouse.

They rolled up and after handshakes I got in and we headed to a favorite Chinese restaurant because the traffic out of Dar is so bad at night we would have been stuck in traffic for hours. Waiting out the traffic while eating good food seemed like a good plan to me. The McBrides, Dan and Janet, have been missionaries in Dar for 17 years. They are about the same age as my parents with four kids, all of similar ages as our family. Being able to spend the evening talking with them was an amazing blessing. They are an interesting, wise, and godly couple. Also they have great taste in food. We ordered several delicious dishes but the best was “inside out fish” in some mango sauce or something. It was delicious.

When we arrived at their house that night the power was out due to the electricity rationing. I met their two kids who still live at home and also was introduced to their shower which I was very thankful for. Then I fell asleep and when the power came on at midnight I cranked up the fan they had given me and slept in a cool breeze.

In Which I Say Farewell To My Toenails

October 15^th-17^th: Thursday-Saturday

Thursday during school Patrick trimmed on of the trees there. I say trimmed because that is the word he used but what he actually did was cut off every branch with leaves on it. During break time all the kids were to be found underneath the tree bouncing up and down on the branches and chasing each other with sticks performing Jackie Chan moves. It was hilarious.

By Friday my toes seemed to stop collecting puss and had stopped hurting. That night I was looking at them and realized they were really loose. So I grabbed on to them and just peeled them off. It was fascinatingly disgusting. I have packaged them and am sending them to parties unknown as revenge for past grievances against me. Just kidding. Maybe. Watch out.

My dad brought my Zune over but it seemed to have some mechanical difficulties so he had to take it back in order to fix it. Thankfully my little brother Pete has burned me a couple cds so I have been listening to all this week.

I bought my bus ticket for Dar Es Salaam on Saturday. I leave Monday at 7:15. due to my knowledge of African time hopefully we will be on the road by 8:00. It will take about 8 hours to get form Moshi to Dar so I will just spend the night in Dar to save money. I plan to stay with an old friend of Al Tricarico. Then on Tuesday I will take the ferry to Zanzibar. If everything works out I will be able to go on a spice tour that afternoon. I plan to spend the night in Zanzibar and then on Wednesday explore Stone Town and with any luck go snorkeling. I will take the night ferry back to Dar. As I understand the night ferry takes about 6 hours to traverse the distance between Zanzibar and Dar. However it is not allowed to dock tell after 5:30 so I will most likely have some time in Dar before I can catch a bus back to Moshi.

Life Returns to Normal and A Death Day In Tanzania

October 12^th- 14^th: Monday-Wednesday

Monday morning my dad and I got up early and met Unity who was giving my dad a ride to the airport. We spent a few interesting moments trying to locate my dad’s underwear that was supposed to be ready last night. I hugged my dad goodbye and he disappeared into the airport.

I spent that day getting situated back into my room at Unity’s. I needed t sort everything that my dad had brought for me and get settled back in. that afternoon I went to easycom and got caught up on all the email that had accumulated since climbing kili. During the descent from kili I learned something interesting about my boots. Every time I took a step downhill my toes would jam into the toe of my boot resulting in an n incredible amount of pain. By the end of the first day they were tender and I a little loose. By the second day they had swollen and huge pools of pus had formed under my two bug toes. They were loose but not enough for my to rip them off then and there.

It was great to get back to school Tuesday. I forgot how much I missed the little guys. I helped out in Glady’s class as usual. During break time the kids bounced around and played managing to stomp on my tender toes at least as often as not. Thanks guys.

Wednesday was a holy day here. The death day of their first president. So no school. I spent the early morning typing up my blog on kili and then went into town. Dad had left our little backpacking pack that I had lugged to the top of kili. It’s a nice size and I think I am going to take it to Zanzibar but neither of the side pockets zippers work. So I took them into town and got them repaired at the same shop where my dad bought a shirt. Cost me less than two dollars to get them repaired. I also bought a book about 6 guys who sailed a raft from Peru to the South Sea Islands. I don’t know why yet but it looks fascinating. I also bought some cheap sandals which I hope will hold out tell after I get back to Uganda. The ones I brought to Africa don’t have a sole left.

It looks as though I need to go to Zanzibar next week if I am going to make it a four day trip. So I need to consolidate my plans. I talked to Unity that afternoon and he said that he thinks it will be fine if I go next Monday the 19^th through Thursday the 22^nd. It sounds as though we will be visiting widows and orphans this weekend and bringing them food and other necessities.

Pizza and Cigar

October 11^th: Sunday

Sunday morning my dad and I again attended Unity’s church. We arrived shortly after 10:00 because we had to go buy some petrol for the generator since there was a local blackout at the church. Upon arriving everyone is praying aloud and privately. Praying aloud is something that all Africans seem to do. It’s really cool when the entire church starts praying. Some people are loud and passionate, pacing back and forth, while others stand close to the walls and speak quietly.

Next the church begins to sing and dance. Generally we will sing a slow and a fast song. The songs are call and response and are beautiful. They are simple and repeat the same lyrics over and over again but the passion and ability of the singers is incredible. During the slow songs people just sway but during the fast ones they start dancing and that’s when I feel how white I am. They form into lines in the back, men and women. They all follow a leader but it is barely discernable between who is leading and who is following. Black Africans seem to have music in their blood. My dad put it a good way, he said that while music is important in both the west and Africa, African music is all about the participation.

After singing for at least an hour there will be announcements and then the choir will sing a song which they have prepared during the week. The choir ranges from little kids, 8 or 9 to Gladness and Lightness who are in their 20s. they put a small basket on a stool up front for offerings during this song. Then the Sunday school kids come up, about a dozen of them, and they say their memory verse for that week, then people will stand up and give testimonies or ask for prayer. We usually sing some more before Unity or whoever is preaching begins.

Unity can preach for over an hour. I can’t understand a word he says but he is a passionate and dynamic speaker. Then Unity will pray and lastly we will sing a song. As we sing we all file out of the church and create a “reception” line. We pass by and shake everyone’s hands in the church. The line loops around and on a full Sunday can almost meet itself again.

That night my dad and I had a celebration dinner. We ate at Indioitaliano’s. We both wore our team Kilimanjaro shirts. On the way over dad tried to take a picture of one of the fruit ladies stacking here oranges in little pyramids but she say him and stood up and started yelling and frothing at the mouth. Not really. Everyone on the street though was very unhappy with us though.

For dinner my dad and I both had pizza. I had some chicken and pineapple pizza and my dad had sausage (hot dog). Both where incredibly good. We both had a couple beers and spent hour just talking. I love that I can spend time with my dad as an equal. After trying their descent milkshakes we broke out one of the Cuban cigars I had bought upon my exit from Uganda. Since my dad was still feeling pretty low from altitude sickness we split it, which I guess to my dad means he has about a dozen puffs and then gives it all to me. Best cigar I have ever had. So smooth and delicious. A great end to a great adventure.

And Back Again

Day 5: 12,336 ft- 6,102

We were awoken at 5:00 that morning by Emmanuel. We dressed, packed, and ate breakfast (in my case) and looked mournfully at some fruit and a “sausage” (My dad, who did actually manage to eat some fruit and a “sausage”). By 6:00 we were on our way. It took us about 5 hours to negotiate the trail down to Marangu gate. We passed a few clean people on the way up.

We would beat Tory, our Swedish friend to the gate, which is the first time we should beat Tory on the entire trip. He had made it to the top nearly 2 hours ahead of us and always roared past us during some part during the day. He is a beast. Andrew also beat us to the top although by only about an hour. He has a bum knee of some sort so what took us only 50 minutes to descend would take him almost 4 hours.

Stephan told us something interesting. He told us about how at Horombo huts they have guards with guns full of “bullets and fire” who went on duty at 8:00 pm and were very aggressive so we shouldn’t walk around at night without a headlamp, if we needed to see and monkey we should go strait, and we should not wander around and say look at Moshi at night. Thanks Stephan, sounds like good advice although a little late.

Upon arriving at the gate we met a thoroughly clean Calvin who had gone ahead to get our certificates ready. We filled out the registration book and then went to see Calvin’s shop and then to eat some lunch. My dad who still wasn’t feeling well didn’t eat anything. After lunch we were ceremoniously given our certificates which my dad and I refused to touch since we were incredibly dirty. Then our guides said thank you, they and the porters sang for us, and then I thanked them. The my dad thanked them and gave them their tips. We piled into the van with Stephan, another pastor (presumably the owner) his son, wife, and some other undistinguished people and drove to Moshi.

My father and sorted our incredibly dirty gear and then showered. For dinner we went to a little coffee shop and had some decent milkshakes and burger and fries. Thant night we crashed and I slept for 12 hours.

In Which My Dad and I Both...(like i'm going to tell you if we make it or not. you have to read it to find out)

Day 4: 15,518 ft- 19,331 ft- 12,336 ft

After catching about 3 winks (much less than the average 40) the night before my dad and I got up around 11:30. I put in my contacts. Emmanuel arrived with tea, we got on our gear. The Swedes thankfully left. It is unfortunate that layering was popular a few years ago since my dad both resembled onions. I had on a complete set of thermal underwear, pants, another pair of windbreaker snow pants, two pairs of socks, boots, gators, a fleece, a windbreaker, my coat, a hat, liners, and heavy gloves. We put our headlamps on and after adjusting our poles we were ready to go. Calvin and Stephen met us at midnight and we began.

That day almost a full capacity of climbers were trying to reach the summit. Most started a half hour ahead of us. We say their lights already beginning to creep up the mountain. We began pole pole. We moved in steady rhythm and almost silently. We stopped to remove layers, drink, and add layers. We passed some slower climbers. We met a few coming down. My world shrank to my father’s feet in front of mine. To the trail of slag and the rhythm of my feet and poles. We stopped at 4:00, to drink and rest. It was at that point that my father said he knew he could make it. We kept climbing. Steadily up hill; I kept track of steps, left, left, left right left. Then is would switch and count my poles, left, left, left right left. As we neared the edge of the crater we slowed even more. Pole pole took on a whole new meaning. Step. Breath. Another step. Gilman’s point our goal looked deceptively close in the moonlight. We clamored over boulders now. The sun began to rise. Gut check. There was no trail now. Calvin just led us wherever he could. Unrelentlessly upward. Finally we emerged on the edge of the crater around 6:30. Gilman’s Point 18,638 ft. A cluster of boulders, the littered garbage of thousand of other climbers, a wooden sign. The sun bathed the mountain in golden light. We stood now in a sea of clouds.

We barely paused at Gilman’s point. My father and I wanted to continue to the Uhuru Peak. It took us another hour and a half to negotiate the winding steadily inclined trail that edged along the rim of the crater to the highest point in Africa. Although only about a mile this portion of the climb took forever due to our exhausted condition and high altitude. The trail was crowded with climbers as several summit routes converged on the summit. At 8:00 we reached Uhuru Peak, which at 19331 is the tallest point in Africa. We spent a few precious, breathless minutes at the top before descending. We paused at Gilman’s point where Calvin served us tea, biscuits, and a much appreciated snickers bar. My dad was really feeling the affects of altitude sickness by then. We literally ran/skied down the loose slag at a breakneck pace. We arrived at Kibo hut in under an hour. What had taken us 6 ½ hours that night had just taken us 50 minutes. Altitude sickness finally caught up with my dad shortly before we entered camp. He spent a few minutes dry heaving before we both managed to crawl into bed for a well deserved hour nap.

At 11:00 we awoke and hiked down to Horombo huts were we would spend the night. At this point my dad was feeling worse. He managed to eat a little on the way down and shortly after I left for dinner he threw it all up. I though he might have something besides altitude sickness because he seemed to not be getting better despite the fact that we had descended nearly 7,000 feet. Right before we went to bed that night to sleep for a continues 11 hours Calvin came and upon my father’s request prayed for him. It was really cool to see this black man laid his hands on my father and passionately pray aloud in Kiswahili for a man he had only known a few days. Then we slept.

The Continued Confusion of the Europeans and New Levels of Modesty

Day 3: 12,336 ft -15,518

We were again woken at 6:00 by Emmanuel and his tray and thermos. After washing and breakfast we started hiking at 7:30. We climbed steadily all morning rising out of the heath and moorland and into the alpine desert of rock and sparse, hardy flowers. The mountain now towers above us. The steep trails leading to the crater rim clearly visible in the morning light. The clouds are all still far below us. Blotting out the rest of Africa.

We passed through the saddle between Kilimanjaro’s smaller, jagged peak, Mt. Mawenzi and Kibo. Here past climbers have assembled rocks into words and messages. We stopped for lunch in sight of Kibo huts at the base of the steep sides of the crater which rose another 3,800 feet above them. The pick nick tables at this point were thinner than the seats of the first day, barely 8 inches across. The seats were less than half a foot. I guess along with the decrease in air pressure the size of tables also shrinks. Lunch was unremarkable except that a bar of Cadburys chocolate was provided for dessert which was greatly appreciated.

The last mile to Kibo huts we gained nearly 1000 feet and Calvin and Stephen took it pole pole. Kibo huts sit at the foot of the steep sides of the crater. These huts are much different then the previous huts. There are three main buildings. The guide huts, the porter huts, and the largest, climbers hut. These building are made of stone and look like they could withstand a nuclear holocaust. The climbers hut consists of 5 large rooms with 6 bunk beds in each and another room with tables. Our room was nearly full with my dad and I, two Australian guys, and 7 Swedes; two of whom were women my mothers age.

A quick word on Europeans. I have mentioned the apparent disregard as for European distinction between a separate male and female bathroom. They seem to also have a different sense of modesty. Upon my Arrival at Horombo huts I happened to see a lady older than my mother calmly walking back to her cabin without any pants on. The 2 Swedish ladies in our cabin seemed agree with this level of modesty. Did I mention they were my mother’s age? Again not to beat the point to death but one of the larger Swedish gentlemen seemed to thing it was more comfortable to spend the morning after our assent in his Speedo like underwear. I guess they were probably cheap if he paid for the amount of material they were made out of.

My dad and I went to bed after eating at 5:00. The Swedes meanwhile seemed to think this was a good time to sort all their gear. I suppose the altitude was getting to me since I was unable to fall asleep despite having hiked all day. I think I managed to catch a few hours sometime between the Swedes finally going to bed and their guide waking them up at 11:00.

More Monkeys and Confusion on the European Continent

Day 2: 9,000 ft -12,336 ft

We were awoken at 6:00 by Emmanuel bearing a hot thermos and a tray of sugar, teabags, instant coffee, etc… We made our drinks and changed into our cloths for the day; the same as yesterday except now we put on gators which our guides suggest to keep out the dust. Emmanuel returned at 6:30 with hot water to wash and then at 7:00 we ate a breakfast of bread, hard boiled eggs, “sausages” (all African breakfast sausages are in fact hotdogs of dubious origins) a rather yummy cornmeal porridge, fruit, and more hot water for drinks.

We got on the trail at 7:30, the first ones out of the camp, and almost immediately passed out of the jungles and into the heath and moorland. Smaller seemingly shriveled trees and large bushes which gave of an air of survivability and windswept toughness that the precious vegetation had lacked the day before. We hiked for another five hours that day gaining more than 3,000 feet in elevation. We climbed above the first layer of clouds that day and saw the mountain’s peak dominating the skyline as it would for the rest of the trip. We stopped and ate another amazing lunch at the “half way point” which stands about ¾ of the way between Mandara and Horombo. We had chips and a very mayonnaisey salad as well as everything of yesterday’s lunch. Stephen battled the wind for about a half hour before finally conceding and putting away our pink bouquet.

We reached the Horombo huts which sits on a windblown hill and is essentially the same as the Mandara huts except that the bathrooms are in the middle of the camp. Although to me these seem to be clearly labeled between men and women apparently the largely European population of the camp did not understand. I repeatedly found women in the men’s side of the bathroom. These women, far from seemingly feeling out of place among their y chromosomed counterparts’, looked unfazed.

It was much colder at the Horombo huts and as the clouds rolled in around 5:00 enveloped the camp in a cold mist my dad and I had to pull our more layers. Our cabin mates were the same as the prior night. Tory, a tall rather angular Swede, who hiked at a pace that scoffed at the pole pole (slowly in Kiswahili) advice of the guides in order to better acclimate and not to wear out the bodies of the climbers. He is a pilot who is now flying for Ethiopian airways and has a house in Red Lodge. Tory is a talkative and interesting guy. Andrew, a thickly built Brit is quite, volunteering no more information about himself than to answer my dad’s questions.

That night I rose myself from sleep and find a monkey. The moon was so bright I didn’t even take my headlamp. On my way back to the cabin I wandered over to the edge of the camp and stopped to see Moshi, clearly visible some 1000 feet below us. I could not believe the amount of lights in Moshi.

Ok, Hopefully This Works Better Than My Last Post Which Was Supposed To Show a Cool Map

Day 1: 6,102 ft -9,000 ft

My father and I woke at the Lutheran guest house and changed into our cloths for the day. Shorts and a t-shirt. We ate a hearty breakfast and prepared for departure. Stephan our head guide appeared at 7:30 in an incredibly deteriorated car and we loaded our two duffel bags and our backpacks. We then traveled to Unity’s house which was a trip we hoped to avoid by giving him our other luggage the night before. However my dad had discovered that morning that he had failed to pack any underwear so a quick stop was called for. After that Stephan needed to run a last minute errand and then we were on our way.

We arrived at the Marangu gate shortly after 9:00 where we met our other guide, Calvin and our five porters. Colman, Emmanuel, Joshua, Jacob, and the fifth one. Colman would double as our cook and Emmanuel as our waiter. We finally started after much bureaucracy at around 10:30. We hiked threw jungle of tall twisting trees, Tarzan like vines, and underbrush too thick to see threw. Stephen informed us shortly after leaving the gate that he had to “go find a monkey”. Apparently that is code for going to the bathroom. That day we found many monkeys.

We stopped for lunch were our trail meets an old road that the porters use and sat down to a delicious meal. We had bread, cucumber soup, chicken, muffins, a vast assortment of fruit and a thermos of hot water for making drinks. Our wooden pick nick table was decorated with a blue table cloth pulled from Calvin’s pack, an army of condiments, blue band, peanut butter, jam, hot sauce, tomato paste, honey, condensed milk, coffee, tea, drinking chocolate, and hot chocolate. Also pulled from the confines of Calvin’s pack was a small wooden vase and a dozen or so pink plastic roses.

We hiked for about 5 hours that day and arrived at our first camp, Mandara. We arrived around 3:30 and signed in and were shown our cabin. The cabins consisted of an A-frame structure about 8 feet at the base with the peak about 10 feet up. There were two beds on either side of the cabin on the floor as you entered perpendicular to the door and another at the back parallel. The fourth bunk was directly above the back bunk about three feet. Our cabin mates for that night and for most of the trip were Andrew and Tory, and Brit and Swede respectively.

That night our dinner was served on the porch of the large A-frame dinning hall with a large sleeping room on the second level. Our table was laid with the ever present pink flowers and we dug into another hearty meal. Our guides apologized profusely for not being able to get us a place inside but we assured them that we preferred being out in the fresh air and indeed for the remainder of the trip, except at Kibo where it was impossible, we would eat on the front porches of the Dining halls.

Warning! Scientific Content! Kinda

Mount Kilimanjaro is a strato volcano that rises approximately 19,331 feet. This makes it the tallest peak in Africa. While it stands alone Kili is part of an east-west belt of valcanoes stretching across Northern Tanzania. There are 2 main Peaks on Kili, Kibo and Mawenzi. Kibo is the taller and hasseveral glaciers scattered around it’s crater’s rim. Mawenzi is smaller although at 16,893 ft it’s ragged spike summit is the third tallest point in Africa.

This is a basic outline of our route of the Marangu Route, the route my dad and I will take. It is also known as the “tourist route” and the “coca-cola route”. It is called the coca-cola route because, for the right price, you can buy a coca-cola at any hut on the trip. Also it is the most luxurious route since it provides huts.

 Drive to Marangu Gate. Walk through the rain forest to Mandara hut (9,000 ft).

 Leave the forest and cross open moor land to Horombo hut (12,336 ft).

 Walk through moorland then alpine desert to "The Saddle" between the peaks of Mawenzi and Kibo and on to Kibo hut (15,518 ft).

 Very early start for the summit on steep scree up to Gillman's Point (18,638 ft) which is on the crater rim. Continue around the rim to Uhuru Peak (19,331 ft) the highest point in Africa. Descend to Kibo and then down to the thicker air and relative warmth of Horombo hut.

 Descend to Marangu gate.

Team Friesen United For 2009 Kili Climb and Steve is Here Too

October 2nd-3rd: Friday and Saturday

Friday morning I taught at the school as usual. In the after noon I consolidated my Christmas gifts for my family. Really excited to give them. Packed my backpack for overnight. I went to prayers and then shortly after we started Unity, Grace, Gloria, and I left to go to the Lutheran guesthouse were my dad I will be staying. Dropped off my bag. Met Steve, husband to my Dad’s assistant (she’s a secretary but I think that term is now sexist and ourdated). Steve is spending a year in country teaching at a school in Babatu, which is in the middle of the country.

We left shortly after 6:30 to go pick up my dad at the Kilimanjaro National Airport. The ride there took about an hour during which I got to talk to steve who is a really cool guy with a lot of experience and wisdom. My dad’s plan was scheduled to arrive at 7:45. so it arrived as expected shortly after 8:00. we waited for some 40 minutes for my dad to finally appear. I gave him a big hug.

We drove back to the guest house and ate dinner there with steve. Then my dad and I crashed in our room were we partially unpacked and he revealed a container of my mother’s snickerdoodle cookies which had been baked only a day earlier. Tastes like home. I need to thank everyone who contributed movies, cards, and candies for me. everything is greatly appreciated and I thank you for the time and money you spent. I look forward to sitting down to a good movie and breaking out some American candy.

The next day I woke early and did my devotions and caught up on my journal. My father was finally roused by steve knocking on the door inviting us to breakfast. My father showered and dressed and we went and ate a sparse but good breakfast. That morning the three of us walked around town running some errands of steve’s, exchanging money for my dad, and emailing my mother. We ate lunch at a coffee shop on steve’s recommendation where I had a very good cold sandwitch and my father braved a pizza which was actually pretty good. Then my dad and I returned to our room to sort our climbing gear. After that we walked to Unity’s house to get some cloths I needed and dad was able to meet some of the people hanging around.

It is strange to walk Moshi with someone else and not by myself. The things I am used to stand out to my father such as the poverty and dirt and I am able to talk and express my thoughts to someone for the first time about my life here. I showed my dad Unity’s house, my room and the church/school.

That night for dinner we went to Deli Chez and had a delicious meal. I had a BBQ chicken pizza which’s crust was identical to Naan. My dad got a pepper steak with mash potatoes. Having my father here is an incredible blessing. Having a companion to share all the adventures of a day. Not eating alone in a resturaunt. Hearing stories about our family. Talking about my future and what I want to do with my life. Trying food together. Exploring Moshi. I realize how lonely I have been and I thank God he has kept me content.
My dad brought a book called “Tourist Route” my @$$. The book is only about 60 pages and it tells the story of a man who on a whim decided to climb kili with a few friends. His humorous adventure have excited and prepared me for the climb ahead. He explains how actually difficult climbing kili is because of the altitude and has raised my awareness and determination to reach the summit.

Shakespeare Meets Whitedent and I Learn What Those Nets Over Your Beds Are For

September 28th- October 1st:Monday-Thursday

Monday I found a copy of King Lear by Shakespeare when I was looking through the street vendor’s collection of used books. Bought it and finished it Tuesday. I really enjoyed the play. The copy I bought is great because it has a bunch of back round information and notes to go along with the play which are very helpful. Wednesday then I went online and downloaded Hamlet, Macbeth, and Much Ado About Nothing. Also returned to the book vendor and found a copy of Othello. Wednesday night then I read Hamlet. I love Hamlet, it is a great play. I wish though that I could find books of all these because it’s not as much fun to read them of the computer.

School has been good this week. Tuesday through Thursday I have been in charge of Gladness’ class because she has been going to a conference of sorts for teachers. Tuesday I was teaching the kids some English and a little boy through a spit sodden wad of paper at another kid in the front row. Unfortunately he missed and hit me. so I gave him a couple licks and Ella another teacher came in and started applauding. All the teachers carry sticks here to “mind the children”. Its completely acceptable practice. I can imagine myself trying to run for public office in the future and my opponent bringing up the fact that I beat children in Africa. Wednesday Omar, one of the kids, was walking around with the deflated soccer ball on his head while a crowd of other kids followed in his wake chanting and singing. After doing a couple laps of the field they came over to where I was sitting and Omar put the ball/crown on my head and they stood in a circle around me and chanted. Later they ditched the ball and were all singing and keeping rhythm by hitting broken water bottles, pill bottles, and bottle caps with sticks and singing.

Tuesday I went to the Shree Hindu Mandal Ujamaa Charitable Dispensary to get a malaria smear and some cream for my ringworm. Ringworm in a fungal infection of the skin and not parasitic worms as some may believe. The hospital itself was surprisingly clean and nice. As the name suggests it was run mainly by Indians. I got the smear and after waiting a half hour for the results I was ushered into the nurse/doctor’s office. I sat down in the chair in front of the desk and the women behind the desk say very slowly and softly, “be thankful…very thankful…there is no malaria.” She acted as though she were telling me I didn’t have cancer. she then commenced to explain very carefully about wearing bug repellant, about these net things that I guess your supposed to sleep under (oh, is that what they’re for. I though they were dream catchers to keep out evil spirits and malignant ancestors), and questioned whether I was on any preventative malaria medication. She treated me as though she thought that I was deathly afraid of contracting malaria and entirely ignorant as to how to prevent it. I guess she gets this impression from white people in general. After being released from her office I took a look at my receipt and say that I had been charged 1000 Tsh for “consulting fees”. Rip-off.

Have been running very little this week. Partly because I want to rest for kili this coming week. However I have also hurt a muscle in my leg. Its right on the inside of my shin bone on my left leg. It swells up and aches during and for a few minutes after running. After doing some research I have concluded it is the soleus m. there seems to be no way to stretch it so letting it rest is the only option.

Finally ran out of toothpaste this week so I have been using my new Whitedent. Three in one striped toothpaste; advanced long lasting protection formula with free toothbrush inside. Blue toothpaste keeps your breath Ultra Fresh, white toothpaste gives you strong white teeth, and red toothpaste with LLP-3 formulas provides long lasting protection. the box says this toothbrush is “New Improved” and the other side of the box hails it as “Revolutionary, toothpaste with LLP3 formula.” Directions for use: “Use twice daily for strong teeth, fresh breath, and healthy gums. Use with Whitedent toothbrush for effective cleaning, brush for at least one minute. Do not swallow-spit and rinse after use. Children under six years should brush under adult supervision and use only a pea sized amount. Visit your dentist regularly.” I think the visit your dentist regularly is a catch all. “what? Out toothbrush caused your teeth to turn black and then fall out of your mouth? You should have visited your dentist regularly, we put it on the box.”