Houston, We Have a Problem...

Nine flights in ten days. 

That’s what my first Tanzanian visitor, my former boss and now dear friend, Shahara, kept telling anyone who would listen about her visit to Tanzania.

And for her, it was true.  It was only four flights for me, but who's counting?  She came to visit me for ten days last month, during which time we saw several different parts of Tanzania, requiring multiple flights.

Officially, our trip began in Dar, that’s what we locals call Dar Es Salaam. I say officially because that is where we met.  Shahara entered Tanzania by flying into Dar, and I planned to travel to meet her there by bus.  Two fairly nice, comfortable charter bus companies run between Dar and Moshi every day twice a day, and the ride is about eight to thirteen hours depending on weather, road conditions and traffic. I had decided to take the bus, instead of the 45 minute plane ride to Dar to save a few dollars since Shahara would be the first of my three visitors, well groups of visitors, as my final ‘visitor’ included my Annie, David and Nick. Such a lucky girl, I am, that some of my family was able to come visit!  At the time, I thought the bus was a logical, and economically smart idea, especially since I didn’t have a problem with the half-day bus ride because it gave me a chance to see the Tanzanian countryside, plus, taking a bus in a country is always a learning experience. 

This bus trip was a ‘learning experience’ for a much different reason.  On the morning of the Monday I was traveling to Dar to meet Shahara, I went to the bus station bright and early for my 7:00 am bus.  My ticket instructed me to arrive by 6:30am, and I was informed by many of the Stella Maris staff that unlike almost everything else in Tanzania that is rarely on time, the buses run like clockwork.  So, Inno and I arrived at 6:45am, my compromise between what I was told about how timely buses run and the reality experience of ‘timeliness’ here in Tanzania. At 7:05am, with no bus in sight, Inno went to check with the bus manager about my bus because he was surprised that they were running late. I was not surprised, and chalked the bus’s tardiness up to same reason I chalk the rest of Tanzanian tardiness up to.  Inno came back to tell me that no buses were running to Dar today. Now, if you know Inno, you know that he is the constant jokester, so of course I did not believe him.  It took him about five times, the fifth time accompanied with an explanation, for me to actually take him seriously.  The explanation: as March, April and May are the months that make up the rainy season (the cooler of the two Tanzanian seasons: rainy and dry), it had been raining quite regularly like normal. Unfortunately, there had been so much rain in Dar Es Salaam that the only bridge entering the city had been destroyed by flooding the previous night. 

On the one day that I needed to take a bus to Dar, to meet Shahara– who would be landing at 4:45pm and expecting to meet up with me to catch our 6:30pm flight to the other side of the country–there were no buses.   This left me with just under nine hours to figure out how I was going to get to Dar, come hell or high water, no pun intended.  Inno and I began working like mad people to come up with a plan.  As Inno tried to find out if any automobiles could actually enter the city, I began calling airlines.  The originally expensive price of a one-way ticket to Dar now looked amazingly reasonable compared to the same day cost of a one-way ticket.  I thought that I had come up with a genius plan, considering the circumstances, to cancel our three day trip to Mwanza, the second most populated city in Tanzania on the western border of the country, also bordering Lake Victoria, and use the ‘credit’ of our tickets to Mwanza to fly Shahara to Moshi, where I was currently stuck.  Instead of visiting Mwanza for a few days before heading off to Zanzibar, we could cross over the Kenyan border to Nairobi and visit there.  However, the airline with which we reserved our Mwanzan flight would not reimburse or alter our original travel plans in any way, shape or form.  Their argument was that it was not their fault/problem that I could not get to Dar to make my flight because of the bus/road issue.  Of course they were technically correct in that detail, yet they failed to overlook that it was not my fault that this occurred either.   During my unsuccessful attempt to make these changes, I also learned that there were not any seats still available on any of the flights on any of the airlines from Moshi to Dar.

As the morning got later, I began to really worry.  Shahara didn’t have a Tanzanian phone, so I could not even reach her to explain what had happened.  How did society live for so long without cell phones? Didn’t things like this happen before the 1990s? What did people do?  She would arrive to the airport expecting to see me and I would never appear.  Additionally, we, or at least I, would miss our flight to Mwanza.   We were there for such a short time already that if we, or I, missed this flight, it did not make sense to reschedule a later flight to Mwanza at all.  I was stressed.  I think poor Inno thought I was going to pull out my hair.  At 11:30am, four and a half hours after we began to try to solve this dilemma and one hour before the last flight to Dar for the day was scheduled to leave, a seat opened up on the one remaining flight. 

Problem solved, you say?  Think again.  Now the problem was that this flight was leaving in an hour and Stella Maris is 30 minutes away from the airport.  Oh, and not to mention that I had to buy the ticket at the airport; online purchases were no longer allowed, and no one could guarantee me that when we got to the airport, that the ticket would still be available. 

I don’t think Inno has ever driven so fast.  He got us to the airport 22 minutes, which truly deserves an award, and he ran with me to the ticket counter.  Although I was (kinda) thankful for a resolution, I was irate at the money I was dropping on this ticket.  There was not time to dwell on that.  I was thinking, though, about how up to that point of my time here, the economical differences between the people to whom I have grown the closest and me have been almost non-existence, as there no situations where this reality has been blatantly noticeable had arisen in four months.  However, as I was pulling out the money to pay for this ticket, more than double of an average working person’s monthly salary, I could feel the tug on my heart, for I knew that if the people to whom I had become the closest were in the same situation as me, they would not be able to buy the plane ticket I was purchasing, despite my frustration with the cost.

I swallowed my emotions, for the time being, bought the ticket, hugged Inno and ran towards security.  To add insult to injury, security confiscated my contact solution, as it was larger than the approved carry on size for liquids. Of course it was, since I packed my bag for a bus trip, not an airplane, and oh, I had been a little preoccupied since I learned the bus option was no longer a viable option to think of the liquids in my bag.  Of course losing your contact solution is not the end of the world, but after my morning, even such a little encounter as that had the ability to put me over the edge.  It turns out that I sat at the gate of the-most-expensive-one-way-ticket-I-have-ever-bought for about twenty minutes before boarding, during which time I brooded and brooded over the stark reality between the people I love dearly and myself that I had just been forced to face/remember, the cost of this ticket and the insignificant loss of my contact solution.  I told myself I would leave my sulking and my sob story in the airport, which I tried to do, Shahara might tell you otherwise, but I really tried, and did my level best to not let the rocky start to our trip taint the ten days we had ahead.

I arrived in the Dar airport hours before Shahara arrived and before I was supposed to arrive by bus.  Since it was my first time to this airport, when I arrived to Tanzania I flew directly from Amsterdam to the Kilimanjaro airport, I followed the crowd to baggage claim.  Since I did not check any bags, RIP contact solution, I continued to follow the crowd until I found myself about to walk out of the doors of the airport.  I stopped to ask airport personnel where I should go if Dar was not my final destination and I was catching another flight.  I was told to exit through the doors the rest of the people were walking through and to speak to a woman sitting at a desk outside.  What I learned when I spoke to that woman, after I exited the building, following the directions I was told, mind you, was that no passenger is allowed to be in the building three hours before his or her flight.  NO ONE.  After my glorious morning, I now had THREE HOURS until I was allowed to reenter the building, since my next flight was not for six hours, with nowhere to go and nothing to do.  Just not my day, I tell you. 

Frustrations, reflections and the like aside, I made it to Dar and was able to meet Shahara when she landed.  That, of course, is the blessing of the day and the part of the day that I should have forced and still should force my brain to focus on.  However, I don’t think I am totally past the rest just yet.  I’m working on it.  It was just not my day, I tell ya. 

April's Absence

My dearest blog readers,

Please consider this here letter my sincerest apology for my absence from writing during the month of April.  I can only imagine the pain you experienced this past month without my captivating reflections and stories, but rest assured, I am back and will not ever abandon you like that again.

Tanzanian school years are structured differently from the American 9 (or 10, depending upon where you live) month on/ 3 (or 2, again, depending upon where you live) month off cycle.  Here, school years start at the beginning of the calendar year and are broken up into trimesters, with a month off between each (read, for those a little slow on the uptake: school for January, February, March, off April, school for May, June, July, off August, school for September, October, November, off December). As such, we just completed our first break, or holiday as it is called here, during which time, I was blessed to travel to two different parts of Tanzania for a week AND to South Africa for almost two weeks.  April flew by in the blink of an eye, with a lot of silly, frustrating and impactful experiences along the way.

So, my faithful readers, stay tuned for several spirited reflections about my April adventures! I will do my best to make up for lost time as I share about Mwanza, Zanzibar, Johannesburg, Cape Town, traveling within country as well as across the continent and everything in-between!

With renewed commitment,

Madam Jesca
Your favorite mzungu kichaa toka Tanzania (crazy white foreigner from Tanzania)

Garbage, Goats and God

I can only sit back and smile after a day like today.  

Let’s start with the baby goat I watched be born today.  Well, I wished I had actually seen it with my own eyes.  I was picking up garbage with the some of the P5 kids, getting ahead of myself here; that is the next highlight story, and Silvano came running up to me: Madam! Come see the goat.  Now, seeing goats, cows and the like is not an uncommon occurrence here, so I gave him my best what’s-so-exciting-about-that? stare.  Silvano, an extremely bright and hard-working young fellow, read my stare, to which he responded: The goat is having a baby.  As he quickly ran off, I realized he meant right now.  I sprinted off after him, excited to experience my first baby goat birth, and first any-kind-of-animal birth for that matter. Unfortunately my mzungu legs were not fast enough, and I caught up with Silvano and laid my eyes on the baby goat the literal SECOND after it hit the ground upon entering the world (according to Silvano, who is a pretty reliable source).  I was bummed to say the least.  My disappointment quickly faded, as the brand new baby got up in his (or her) first minute of life and started walking around --- a little shakily, sure, but walking in the first minute of life. We humans sure take our time at such things!  And, as any teacher can appreciate, I was just elated when one of my students said: Madam, look, a kid, while pointing to the newborn goat since kid is a new word P5 learned in English class with me this week. #proudteachermoment (it is PC to do hashtags in a blog?)

In addition to this almost-goat–birth citing, today some of my beloved P5 scholars learned a little something about community service and our responsibility to treat the environment with care.  The six foot wide patch of grass between our school grounds and the main road is regularly, almost always quite honestly, cluttered with trash of all kinds.  Although it isn’t technically the school’s, nor hotel’s, property, it can be seen by anyone coming to visit the school or staying at the lodge.  Besides the lack of aesthetic appeal, I want our children to be thoughtful citizens who recognize that our school deserves to be better kept and recognize that they have the ability to impact/change/improve a situation, even if it is just trash.  So, I marched twelve P5 scholars out to the road with a garbage bag, not the easiest thing to come by, let me tell you, and we went at it.  Like any good (or experienced) teacher, I made a game out of it: who can collect the most pieces of trash.  Boy, you should have seen those little ones move.  Somewhere in the middle of the clean up, we had the momentous goat birth, which derailed our work for a short time, but not for long.  Good old Silvano, collected over 400 pieces of trash and indeed was the winner of my challenge (and deservingly received four lollipops, one for each hundred pieces of trash – thanks for sending those, mama).  Although I was more excited about how much better the area between the road and our school looked post clean–up, the kids, too, noticed the improvement.  They even, eagerly may I add, asked if we were going to clean up the rubbish every Friday.  Another success! Happily, I told them we would start off collecting the trash that more than likely will reappear every other Friday.

As we began to make our way back to the official school grounds, the rugby guys, these eight European guys who are spending five months teaching rugby to kids all along the Eastern coast of Africa, were heading off to their next stop.  They happened to be driving out right as we were approaching the road from the lodge to the main road.  They have been at the hotel for about a week, so it was nice to be able to say good-bye before they continue on their journey.  Although a week is a short time, most visitors that I get to know are only here for about that long and it is quite remarkable how much you can learn about someone in such short span of time when there’s very little outside distraction and you are away from home.  It’s a unique situation where one can build bonds much more quickly that one does in regular life.  Or at least that’s been my experience.  And, ironically enough, these guys are going to be in Zanzibar the same that SCJ (can’t wait!!) and I are going to be there.  What are the odds of us both having our relaxing holiday for the same five days?! Odds aside, it will be nice to reconnect with them in a month and the share crazy, funny stories that will unquestionably occur between now and then.

The day just kept getting better, though! After the kids were dismissed for the weekend, I was finishing up my preparations for my Saturday tutoring tomorrow and continuing my work on the never-ending project that is organizing the library. Good thing for me I love such tasks, a logistical queen in her glory.    I was enjoying the quiet and solitude, as all the teachers had headed home as well, when the fundi (any craftsperson, handyman, etc) that I spoke with yesterday about making some much needed shelves for the school unexpectedly showed up with a quote for the total cost of my order.  Now, let me tell you, in a country that takes pole pole (slowly, slowly) to a whole new level, I was shocked and delighted with this immensely quick turn around time.  I also learned that once Teddy, Mama Shayo, Father Kitali, Stan/the foundation, the fundi and I, yes just a few people, all agree on a proper price for this job, it will only take him two weeks for the shelves to be done.  I recognize that this may not sound that speedy or that exciting to readers back home, but please be assured this deserves a small celebration.  Another plus for my already fabulous day.

Speaking of Father Kitali, the parish priest of the church from which the Stella Maris children come and through which the school and lodge have its roots, he stopped by the lodge today, as he regularly does.  Father Kitali is one of my favorite people in Tanzania and is the embodiment of what type of person Christ would hope all of his servants to be, especially the leaders of his church.  Father Kitali is so warm, kind, humble, understanding, engaging and engaged in your comments.  He also has a great sense of humor, and, his laugh is out of this world.  I feel so warm and happy at the mere sound of his laughter.  As I was walked into the lobby, I saw through the window that he was sitting outside enjoying a nice glass of wine.  I went out to greet him and we ended up having a lovely two-hour conversation about this, that and everything under the sun.  It is experiences like this that make me love it here.  It is experiences like this that give me such great peace and know that this is where God intended me to me at this moment in my life.

And to top it alllllll off, one of my mzungu friends who lives in a completely different region of Tanzania is in Moshi tonight!  Although I actually love being the only mzungu around, outside of the hotel full of wazungu, (plural of mzungu), I am the only non-Tanzanian teacher at the school and spend the rest of my time with my Tanzanian family, Meredith is a Peace Corps volunteer I met a few weeks ago.  I came home from school one day to Inno telling me that there was this mzungu staying at the hotel for a few nights with her family whose Swahili was really good.  Naturally, I couldn't wait to meet her.  After learning her mom is from Michigan and a few other random commonalities, it is fair to say we hit it off.  She loves Swahili as much as me, and as Inno alluded to, after being in country for over a year a half, is damn near fluent.  Motivation for me to get to that level!

Thank you, Friday, for being so kind to me. 

ASKING for Homework

I am beaming. 

Or should I say, still beaming. 

Tanzanian children do not get homework.  #1: They do a LOT more work in school each day than American children – trust me and #2:They have a massive amount of responsibilities when they get home (fetch water, sweep the compound, cook dinner, hand wash clothes, tend to the goats/chickens/etc).  As an educator who is an avid supporter of (an appropriate amount of) homework in the States, I do not take issue with the absence of homework here in Tanzania. 

However, two days ago, Tuesday, two sweet girls from P4 came up to me, very shyly, and asked: Madam, can we please have some math homework?  As they asked, they each held out exercise books, again timidly, for me to take and write homework for them. I was equally surprised and proud of them, as exercise books are quite expensive for children to purchase – so expensive that Stella Maris provides exercise books for our students as many children would not be able to afford them otherwise.  Before Stella Maris, as a school community, decided to purchase exercise books for each child, one communal exercise book was passed around a classroom so that children could have a turn at ‘practicing’ the skill of the day – as the other children silently waited for their turn. 

I stood, under the unrelenting afternoon sun, in the middle of the school grounds, beaming at these two girls, both of whom have been slightly struggling with math the past few weeks.  They took the initiative not only to ask for homework, but also made a rather large sacrifice to get the needed materials.  Of course, I willingly agreed and at my next available moment, I wrote down a few problems in each of their exercise books that mirrored those we did in class.  At the end of the day, both girls politely approached me to inquire about their exercise books and excitedly took them back from me and then hurried along to their homes.

That alone would have been enough to make me beam and plaster a big smile on my face for the rest of the day.

That was just the beginning.

Yesterday, first thing in the morning, both girls brought back their exercise books, completed of course, with varying degrees of accuracy.  I smiled as I took the books, and continued on with my morning routine.  I had a chance to grade their homework and prepare a few more aligned-to-the day’s-lesson problems before P4 math.  I took the exercise books with me to class, prepared to return them to their owners at the end of class.  After my introduction of the new material and a few practice problems, I sent the lovely P4 scholars off to complete some problems on their own.  After a few minutes of silent work, a line of students formed at my desk.  Confused and almost ready to launch into a lecture about raising hands before we get up (we’re working on it – it is not the most important battle to me to fight, so I have not yet really put my foot down on this one, and actually may not ever), I noticed that each student had something in their hand.  I signaled to permit the first student in line to approach me and as he hands me an exercise book, he says: Please, madam, may you write some math homework for me to do? I look down the line of ten or so children and realize they all are waiting to ask me the same question. 

Just BEAMING, I tell you.

At the end of class, I took my now rather large pile of math homework exercise books back to the teacher’s work room, reflecting as I walked, thinking to myself: Children nearly begging for homework.  Never thought I’d see the day.  Actually, that last sentence is not entirely true, as I have had the privilege to meet lots of hard working children during my first five years in education, but you get the gist.  Children who would choose to sacrifice a month’s worth of candy in order to be able to volunteer to do homework.  Priceless.

And to finish off this homework-development “turkey”, hope there are a few bowlers out there that get this reference, today, when I thought I had recovered from the surprise and delight of recent homework inquisitions, I found myself humbled yet again.  Somehow in the last 48 hours, the Madam-Jesca-will-give-you-homework-if-you-bring-her-an-exercise-book rumor spread like wildfire to P5, to whom I teach both English and math.  So today, a handful of my P5 babies could not wait to ask if I would give them some English homework.  Not only did they ask, but they anxiously awaited my response, as if there was a real possibility I would deny their request.

In a school that does not give homework, I spent over an hour today writing homework for my P4 and P5 overachievers, and I mean that in the most sincere, loving and proud way possible.  It should not have been the most enjoyable hour, rewriting the SAME ten P4 math problems twelve times and the SAME ten P5 English problems seven times, but I was still basking in the glory of knowing how much these kids care about their education and their ability to be successful in school.

That, I’d say, is worth the hand cramp.

A Tanzanian 27th

I’ve always felt that celebrating a birthday in a different country makes that birthday special for mere geographical reasons.  It’s a good thing that this is my perspective, too, as I turned 20 in Ukraine, 21 in Ghana and now 27 (eeeekkkk) in Tanzania.  As I mentioned on Facebook and have tried to express to each family member and friend who took the time to send me an email, card, voicemail, text message or like, a birthday note means that much more on your birthday when you are away from home and the effortlessly familiar.  Take it from one who has been around this block a few times.  So, many, many thanks to all those who thought of me on the 5^th, including Mike and his hilarious Skype video voicemail, Ashley and Bean and their eCards, JaLissa and her personalized rendition of my grandpa’s famous birthday song and the many emails, texts and Facebook messages. XOXO to each of you!

My day in Tanzania was a nice, quiet, Wednesday.  As it turns out, my beloved somewhere-between-my-mom-and-older-sister Teddy went into the hospital to deliver her newest daughter on the 4^th.  I was truly hoping Shamila would wait until the 5^th to put in appearance so we could be birthday twins; however, Shamila had other plans, which is understandable since she was already two weeks past her scheduled appearance date.  So, at 6:30pm on the 4^th, only five and a half hours before my birthday, the beautiful Shamila was born.  As such, Teddy was as she should have been recovering at home with her family instead of working at the hotel on my birthday.  Selfishly, I was bummed because Teddy is such a major part of my experience here and why I love Tanzania so much, but that’s just the way the cookie crumbled. 

However, I got to spend the day with my wonderful kids.  I was overwhelmed with the abundant amount of sweet, homemade cards, pictures and a bracelet (from the precious 5th grader Happy) that I received.  The big smiles and repeating “Happy birthday, Madam” from these amazing kids is enough to make anyone melt.  The entire hotel staff was also extra sweet.  Dean, who I have not yet had a chance to mention, a professional chef from Canada who lives in Florida and is in Tanzania for the month of March to assist in improving the kitchen of the hotel, was kind enough to make me a special birthday dinner: black bean burger with fries and CHOCOLATE MOUSSE.  Let’s get a few things clear: 1) chocolate is one of the most direct ways to my heart, and that mousse was my first taste of chocolate since 2013.  2) I don’t eat black bean burgers in the States, but that bad boy was delicious and such a nice break from the daily mounds and mounds of rice and ugali I have been consuming. 

So, Dean, Inno and I had a nice, delicious dinner together. Mama Shayo even had all of the school staff come to the hotel for a soda to celebrate my birthday. We had to do this the day after my birthday because Wednesday was Ash Wednesday and everyone had to go to church, but it is the thought that counts.  To round out, or rather close out the birthday celebration, Inno and I went to Glaciers on Friday and had a blast.  Those Sex on the Mountains are dangerous, people.  :)  But, all of my Tanzanian friends were there and we had a great time, laughing (mostly at me trying to speak Swahili) and joking together.  Singing, dancing and just enjoying ourselves under the stars against the backdrop of a Tanzanian night was the perfect way to end celebrating my birthday.  I wouldn't have wanted it any other way.  

Post college, I developed the habit of taking a moment to reflect upon my last year as I embark upon another. When I look back at 26, it was quite a year:  I finished up my year as a young principal; unexpectedly, yet miraculously (thanks to the wonderful Andrew E. Hasty) found myself teaching 5^th READING, who would have ever seen that coming?, at such a positive, supportive school with the best staff and ever better kids; helped a dear friend get settled in the Big Apple; witnessed two of my close grade school friends get married as well attend the special, Ghanaian wedding of two people who are literally made for each other; oh and let’s not forget, I decided to leave New York, American teaching, my friends and family and move to Tanzania.  And here I am, in Tanzania, where I will spend half of my 27^th year.  As 27 unquestionably falls in the category of ‘late twenties’, I did have a few freak out moments on the days surrounding my birthday, as I asked myself: Do I really know what I am doing with my life? 

And the answer is: absolutely not.  But, maybe because I’m crazy or maybe because I’m actually growing up, I have come to peace with that.  I have realized that nobody really has it ‘figured out’.  So, I have decided that instead of stressing about the unknown, what I have (or have not) accomplished thus far in my life or how I match up to what society says I should be doing at this age, I am going to try my absolute level best to simply enjoy each day and fully embrace 27.  Why spend 27 stressing about ‘being this old’ when next year I more than likely would say, Gosh, I just wish I was 27 again so that I could really enjoy it.  I’m sure I’ll have my moments of anxiety like any Type A, OCD, Italian, Irish and Polish female, but hopefully they are fewer and less catastrophic because I am giving my best effort to intentionally living in the here and now and leaving the rest to the big (wo)man upstairs.

The Kili Chronicles

I joined a group of two other American climbers: Brian, a meat cutter from West Virginia and Grace, a lawyer from New York City.  It is common for groups to be as a large as 12 climbers, but I was pleased that my climbing group was much smaller.  I have always gravitated toward smaller, more intimate settings, for example, Xavier vs Michigan State, and I figured that it would be much easier to keep three people on pace and together than twelve for such a journey. 

For each climber that goes up Kili, three porters also climb: one porter carries your bag, one your tent and the other carries part of the ‘trip's shared supplies’ (read dining tent, food, gas tanks, chairs, etc).  Additionally, there are two guides for every three climbers, so our tiny group of three had two awesome guides accompany us, Emmanuel and Andrew.  Finally, one cook, one waiter and one tent monitor (the person who watches the tents at night) also climb.  Thus, climbing is quite a production, to say the least.  There definitely were times when I felt bad about my desire to check this item off of my bucket list, as it required so many other people to work so hard.  I found my mind going back and forth between that guilt and the understanding that my climbing fulfills a financial need in Tanzania as a whole as well as support the individual livelihood of the members of our crew. 

We took the Machame Route, which can be completed in six or seven days.  We opted for six.  I have been putting off writing this entry, as it is really hard to sum up such an experience.  Quite frankly, each day of the climb could be its very own blog entry.  Part of me wanted to opt out of writing about the climb in its entirety since I know I cannot really do it justice, but I figured that would be unfair to friends and family at home.  So, I have decided to write a short recap of each day, including starting and ending points, weather description, and the high and low point of the day, accompanied by an assortment of pictures.  I should mention that I took over 300 pictures, so even trying to pick out just a few for each day was quite a challenge.  But, I did my best to include a combination of pictures that would give as complete a description as possible.  That being said, if you really want to know about the climb, do it yourself, for second hand stories (and pictures) just don’t cut it.

Day 1

Starting Point: Machame Gate (5905 ft)

Ending Point: Machame Camp (9840 ft)

Distance Traveled: 9 kilometers

We left the base of the mountain at 2pm and climbed until 7pm.

We climbed through the rainforest portion of Kilimanjaro (saw some monkeys!) to the beginning of the Morelands, which were freezing! 

Not actually freezing compared to the top of Kili, but as I was wearing shorts and profusely sweating from the hot rainforest portion of the mountain, I was shivering like mad for the last half hour when the temperature drastically dropped as we kept climbing.  Being cold was the usual reality for me on this climb, surprisingly though.

This day’s hike was fairly simple, and a straight shot.  Not too much of an incline and there was a man-made path for the entire climb. 

NO RAIN

High Point: Getting the climb started!

Low Point: Having to pee six times before we got to the base camp for the night. 

Right before we started our climb!

Can't say you weren't warned...

And I'm off!

The bottom level of Kilimanjaro: rainforest.

Our camp site for the first night. 

My home during our climb. 

Day 2

Starting Point: Machame Camp (9840 ft)

Ending Point: Shira Camp (12,600 ft)

Distance Traveled:  7 kilometers

We left camp at 9am and arrived at destination for the evening at 2 pm.  

At the time, this day felt very challenging.  It was SUPER steep (the steepest of all of the days besides the midnight climb to the summit), and it was steep for the entire day of climbing, as opposed to other days where it was steep for a short duration and then flattened out. 

The view on this day was absolutely beautiful: walking through the clouds, waterfalls as you look right and left and lots of elevated places where you could see parts of the rainforest from the day before’s climb.

POURED, freezing cold rain for 1 – 2 hours at the end of the day's hike. 

High Point: The views, including a breath-taking sunset at our camp site.

Low Point: That rain was an absolute bitch.

The terrain as we left the rainforest and moved into the Morelands.

Standing in the clouds. 

Body overheated; hands freezing. 

The only picture I got of any waterfall before it started pouring. 

Climbing is so much easier without rain!

Beautiful view after it finally cleared up. 

Sunset at base camp on second night. 

Day 3

Starting Point: Shira Camp (12,600 ft)

Ending Point: Barranco Camp (12,960 ft)

Distance Traveled: 10 kilometers

Left at 9am and arrived at our destination for the evening at 4pm.

This day seemed fairly easy to me, which was nice after the tiring day before! There were some significant inclines, but they were spaced out between long stints of flatter terrain.

We began to acclimate our bodies today by climbing up to 14,864 ft (Lava Tower) before settling back down at 12,960 meters to sleep.
The day was broken into two parts: reaching Lava Tower, a 300 foot amazing lava formation as the morning portion and the second stint of the day was spent getting from the Lava Tower back down to Barranco Camp. 

The initial hour climb back down from the Lava Tower was this awesome sharp decline, obstacle course of pure rock -- like straight out of a video game!

A lot of climbers choose the Machame route because of the gradual acclimation that happens on Days 3, 4 and 5 to prepare for the climb to Uhuru.  

LIGHT RAIN

High Point: Sitting under the Lava Tower for lunch, taking in the beautiful scenery

Low Point: Brian and Grace (especially) were having a hard time acclimating to the elevation so our climbing speed greatly decreased from here on out

Right before sunrise on Day 3.

My ROCK STAR guides, Emmanuel (left) and Andrew. 

From left to right: Peter (our cook), me, Brian, Emmanuel, Grace and Andrew. 

Alpine Desert. 

Finally beginning to see some snow...excited! 

Stopping to eat our packed lunch at Lava Tower. 

There I stand in my lime green waterproof pants. 

Time to make our way to base camp for the night. 

Peek-a-boo! After climbing through the desert all day, these bad boys appeared!

Day 4

Starting Point: Barranco Camp (12,960 ft)

Ending Point: Barafu Camp (15,100 ft)

Distance Traveled: 13 kilometeres

Left at 9am and arrived at the destination for the evening at 6pm.

This day was our second two-part day.  On Day 4, the main challenge is to climb the massive and super cool Barranco Wall. 

Climbing the wall was absolutely exhilarating and also the scariest part of the trip by far.  Mama, you would not be happy knowing how scary, but I am back alive, so don’t even give it another thought! ;)

REALLY BAD RAIN

Because of the type of climbing today required, the rain was not only cold and yucky, but it also made the second part of the day’s climb much more challenging.  We were climbing both up and down a lot of boulders, uneven surfaces, and stepping stones and they were all majorly slick because of the rain.  Thankfully there were no injuries, but there definitely were some moments that could have gone sour quickly. 

High Point: That Barranco Wall! I felt like a real life superhero scaling that bad boy!

Low Point: I was so uncomfortable during the rain on this day that I wanted to punch something.

Our dining tent; above, breakfast on the morning of Day 4. 

The Barranco Wall!  Those little specks of white and color are people climbing!

On our way!

Made it to the top of the wall!  So peaceful and calming up there. 

As we walked through this part, all I could think of was Pride Rock once Scar took over in Lion King!

DAY 5!

Starting Point: Barafu Camp (15,100 ft)

Middle Point: Uhuru Peak! (19,340 ft)

Ending Point: Millennium Camp (10,170 ft)

Left at midnight to climb to Uhuru Peak.  Arrived at Uhuru Peak at 7:30am.  Climbed back down to the same camp where we ‘slept’ (or rather napped at for 3 hours) the previous night, arriving there at 11:30am.  Took a two-hour nap, had some lunch and then climbed another three hours down to our camp for the night, arriving between 5 and 6pm. In case math wasn't your strong point, that was 15 hours of climbing after three hours of sleep after a 9 hour day of climbing.

How do you describe this day? We climbed in the pitch black, only able to see by our headlamps, for 6.5 hours to reach the Summit Point (second highest point) exactly as the sun was rising.  One of the most beautiful views of my entire life.  Such a surreal experience. Then, we climbed another tiring hour to the top of Kilimanjaro, Uhuru Peak.  It is crazy to think that you spend five days getting to this moment and point, and you spend maybe an hour there and then head back down. 

Around 5:30am, I had to separate from Grace and Brian and climb ahead with Andrew.  Grace and Brian are such troupers because they were having a really hard time throughout the night due to the increased elevation.  So, they had to climb extremely slowly.  After 5 hours of climbing with them at this slow pace, my calves were beginning to cramp up.   We were climbing at a much slower pace that I could have/would have liked, and it was making the trek harder for me.  Although I wanted us all to stay together, just as they couldn’t help that they need a slow speed, I couldn’t help that my legs were burning.  So, Andrew and I went ahead and got to the top about an hour before Brian and Grace.  Poor Grace had such issues with the altitude that she doesn’t remember being at the top.  At least she has lots of great pictures to prove she made it. 

Uhuru Peak is truly magical.  It is like a page right out of a story book: peaceful, pure and breathtaking.  That morning will be forever etched in my mind, and I feel so fortunate to have been able to witness that slice of God's masterpiece with my own eyes.

The path from Uhuru back down to Barafu can best be described as a gravel ski slope.  Cool, right? Not on your knees.  I literally had zero physical problems for the entire climb until we had to make our way down that gravel.  Your body wants to just run down it so fast, but your brain knows better, so you are constantly applying massive pressure on your knees in order to stop the momentum of your body.  This was the hardest part for me for sure. 

Arriving back at Barufu Camp was like Christmas morning for a young child.  My body was so exhausted and all it wanted to do was sleep.  Reaching Barufu and being able to rest for a little while was a heaven sent.  I have to admit, I was not geeked to climb for another three hours, but ya gotta do what ya gotta do. 

Starting our midnight climb to Uhuru!

6:33 am, 19 February 2014. 

Awestruck. 

Chilling....literally!

On the way from Summit Point to Uhuru Peak. 

Viiiiccctttooorrryyy!

View from the highest point in Africa. 

Post midnight climb and gravel path back to Bafaru.  

DAY 6
Starting Point: Millennium Camp (10,170 ft)

Ending Point: Mweka Gate (4,920 ft)
Distance Traveled: 10 kilometers

Left camp at 8am and arrived at Mweka Gate around 12:30pm.
Before we left, we had a 'closing' ceremony where Brian, Grace and I had a chance to express our deep thanks and appreciation to our entire team before we began our last climb.  The crew also sang the official Kilimanjaro celebratory song, and had one heck of a dance party while singing.
We had a great, relaxing, light hearted climb back through the Highlands and Morelands into the rainforest, during which time I kept my eyes peeled for a rock shaped like Africa.  And, thanks to Emmanuel's help, I will be able to bring a piece of Kili (shaped like Africa) home with me!
About an hour into the rainforest, it began raining SHEETS of rain, which it proceeded to do until we got to the bottom about two hours later.  We were soaked through and through by the time we got into the car to head back to Moshi and had puddles of water in our boots (which had remained perfectly dry until the last two hours).

Our entire crew: wazungu, porters, guides, cook, waiter and tent watchman!

The highly revered Kilimanjaro celebratory song and dance in action!

One last view before we began our final descent.  

How people are carried to the base of the mountain when unable to continue on their own.  

Raining...again.   Photo taken before the SHEETS of rain fell upon us. 

Off the mountain and back in Moshi! We made it!

As it continued to rain, we piled into the van and drove back to the office of Kili Heroes (see picture above).  Here, we received our official certificates and celebrated our success! I couldn't wait to get back to Stella Maris and see my family, Teddy and Inno, who I had greatly missed that week.  School was just finishing for the day when I arrived, so I dropped off my bags and walked over to the school.  I always get warm and fuzzy when those about whom I care deeply miss me, or rather show excitement upon my return.  I felt such joy when I turned the corner into the school courtyard and the kids, as they saw me, started smiling, screaming and running to me --- I had only missed four days of school.  I wish I had a picture of the massive 'group hug' that ensued; thankfully that image will be engrained in my mind and heart for quite some time.  The perfect ending to a remarkable journey, I'd say.