8:19am Tuesday, Aug 28We leave camp in a flurry of frantic packing, bobbing backpacks and waving children. When the jeep pulls up to collect us, we throw our bags in and begin the process of saying somber goodbyes to the guards and the children clinging to the gate. I think I’ll miss Michael the most. We say goodbye, exchange addresses, promise to send photos and letters. I say goodbye to the children and I feel really sad to be leaving. Cecilia smiles at me and it seems so strange to me that I will never see her again. I have only been here for 4 weeks, but the memories that I have made will last me a lifetime. As we drive away, the guards jokingly fall to their knees and the children chase the jeep and wave. I wave to them from the back, until we can’t see each other anymore. Then I put my headphones on and try to think about what adventure awaits me, to distract myself from what I am leaving behind. Charlie and I split his headphones with a jackknife and listen to Bob Dylan, as I watch the road disappear from behind the jeep for the last time. It hits me here that I may never see Mampando village again.
We have a farewell dinner in Singida. It’s in the same restaurant where we have eaten during all HAPA weekends. As always, Mr. Mwiko rises and gives his goodbye speech. I am used to hearing him talk now, he begins with saying “I will make this short” and 45mins later, we clap. His speeches are so heartfelt that you can’t help but enjoy them, the fact that they are so long-winded serves only to add to their charm. Maran says a few words about the project and thanks HAPA for making the experience so amazing. At one point she says “now we know who the school is for, it’s for Cecilia and Vincent and Michael” and I feel a lump in my throat when I realize that is exactly what this opportunity has done for me. It has allowed me to put faces to the word “Africa”. I think that is what has changed me the most. I am now someone who knows people who live here. It makes the difference between a place I have read about and a place that has become real in my mind.
We meet the new people going to the camps. They are pale and full of questions and I can’t believe that was us 4 weeks ago. What a difference a bit of time makes eh? We just smile and know that no matter what we tell them, we can’t give them any real answers. You just have to be there.
The next morning we get the bus to Arusha. First of all, we don’t have any tickets. HAPA was supposed to take care of everything and as I am shuffled from seat to seat at 6am, this does not appear to have been the case. Ben and I get pushed and pulled, yelled at, kicked out of one seat after another. I can tell Ben is getting really pissed off and I am worried about being stepped on. Finally, the HAPA teacher stuffs us into the front bench. Just as I’m crossing my fingers that some gross stranger with a chicken in a plastic bag doesn’t sit beside me, Jeff sits down. Thank God for that.
The bus is far beyond packed. We end up with 3 people sitting on boxes, facing us with all of our legs entwined. Well, you can’t have it all. At least there is no chicken. This creepy man keeps touching Ben’s knee, then mine. There’s nowhere to move, so we put up with it. Ben keeps his eyes closed for 80% of the ride. I am wedged between him and Jeff so tightly that I can’t move at all. I try to sleep and feel my head nod, then we hit a huge dip or hill and BAM! I’m very much awake. An hour down the road I have to pee. I try to tell myself that I don’t, but I really do. I decide to wait another hour, hoping for a communal pee break on the side of the road, like on the way to Singida. Nope. Finally, I tell Kieran Duffy in the front that I really can’t hold it and he tells the driver. The driver pulls over and they tell me to get out. I am really wary of this and I mouth to Jeff “Don’t let them leave without me” as I step off the bus. There is nowhere to go, simply grass. Oh well, time is money, not dignity and I pull down my pants and squat really low to the ground, in front of the entire bus. Yeah, I’m just that hardcore. I’m sure the real Gaelic meaning of the name Christie is “one who can pee anywhere”. Thus, I flourish is right. I felt kind of proud, squatting there. In Africa, peeing in front of an entire bus load of people is an accomplishment. A rite of passage if you will. Congratulations, you’re a real woman now.
I feel good that I don’t take myself too seriously and I’m grinning a wide-toothed smile as I climb back aboard. Meghan just shakes her head and the ride goes on. When we finally arrive, our bags are dropped in the dirt. They are absolutely filthy and the white t-shirt that I am wearing becomes 5 shades of beige. I like it. It matches my hair. I am now even less concerned with appearances. Africa: It does a body good.
Ben and I are staying at the YMCA youth hostel. We get there and find a quaint, cozy, 2 bed room, waiting for us at the top of the ancient cement stairs. The shower and toilet is down the hall, but we like it. It has a good vibe. We flop on the bed and congratulate ourselves for surviving thus far. We meet the others at Pizzarusha and have “pizza” which is a chipati with ketchup and cheese. It’s not the greatest, but it will do. When Ben and I get back to the hostel, we hear music. I think “oh that’s neat”. Then we realize it’s a wedding reception and it’s going on right below our room! The speakers are on full blast and there is a man dressed like a pimp MC’ing. We stand at the cement balcony, laughing as we realize that there really won’t be any sleep tonight. I go get changed and Ben starts brushing his teeth. Moments later he runs into the room and says “Kelly, come look at this!”. They are dancing. Old, young, bride, groom. We stand there, captivated by the happiness below. Just then, thunder claps and this crazy tropical rain starts pouring down on them. They just keep moving. Like rain is a separate entity and can come to the party if it so desires. And all of these people, this family, in the best clothes they own, dance like smiling children as they get soaked to the bone. I feel so alive in watching this real celebration going on. Ben and I lean against the railing and smile until we’re too tired to smile any more.
The next morning Ben is sick. I run downstairs and buy stale donuts and we eat them in our beds. When he’s better, we go to the market. It’s very similar to Singida’s market. We each buy a Masai Chukka, which is a plaid blanket that looks like a tartan. The Masai wear them as clothing. We also find some tire sandals and Ben talks the guy down from 20,000TSH for 2, to 17,000TSH. He fumes about getting ripped off all day. Say what you will, but no one can haggle a deal like Benjamin Travers.We go back to the YMCA and put on our tire sandals and chukkas. I joke that now we’re real warriors. We lay around. We take photos. We eat a bag of cookies and a packet of cheese spread. The phone isn’t working and we miss Maran and Steph. We try to go meet them at the Impala, which Ben says is “so easy to find, we don’t need the map”. We end up walking down this scary dark road with no torches, unable to find the damn hotel. Ben keeps saying “100 more yards, then we’ll turn around”. We go to the end of the road. We get a text to meet the others at Pepe’s.
Pepe’s…is the best food in ALL OF AFRICA! I have avocado shrimp, steak and crème brule. It’s amazing. I haven’t eaten food like this in 2 months. I eat until I feel sick. I order ice cream and make Ben finish it because I seriously, can’t eat one more bite. We walk the others to their hostel. Anna gives me and Ben these cool knitted toques that they got in Mvae. They fold down into balaclavas and we promise to wear them during our Kilimanjaro climb. Saying goodbye is REALLY hard. We give huge hugs and head out into the night once more. As I said, we have no torches. 3 dogs run towards us from the darkness. I stand tall and feel terrified as they rub against me. It doesn’t feel friendly, it feels like a warning. We walk to the gate. It’s just past 10pm and they have locked it. This old man in a rain slicker wanders over to us and I can’t see his face in the darkness. Ben talks to him, while I remain surrounded by dogs. There is a moment of shock when the man grabs Ben around the neck and pulls him into a headlock. He is simply showing us what will happen if we leave. We will get mugged. Oh, good to know. Good thing Ben doesn’t have a weak heart either.
We try to explain that our phone isn’t working, but he just motions for us to follow. We stand on the porch of an old house and continue to try to communicate. We don’t know how much is actually going in. The rain is pelting us. I stand there, in my Thai pants and shawl, in sandals, watching them talk. Then one of the dogs starts biting my leg. My bare leg. Instantly, a thousand medical horror stories borne of the mouths of African canines, leap into my mind. I just start saying “it’s biting me, it’s biting me!”. Then I run over and stand behind Ben. Human shield, sweet. I may be tough, but I’m not daft. A bite from a strange dog in the heart of Tanzania is definitely on my “don’t” list. Then I hear this awful noise, like dogs being tortured coming from the house. Like howling and crying. A white car pulls in. Maybe this is a cab. Maybe not. . I feel like I am in some backwards horror film. Welcome to the Tanzanian release of “the hills have eyes”. The man tells us it’s a cab. We get in and are driven to the Y. We actually make it there. In one piece.It’s late, we’re soaked and tired.
We pack our things for the morning. Shidolya tours picks us up at 8am and we are off to climb Kilimanjaro. We’re really excited about this. We’re meeting back up with Carly and Greg and the four of us will spend 6 days on the volcano. I’m really stoked. Ben and I talk a while, then drift off to sleep. I dream that my family is with me and we’re at Mghumbu camp. In my dream, this old woman sends a child in to ask for money. When I pick her up and take her back to the gate, the woman pretends the little girl was disobeying and begins slapping her in the face. The kid starts to cry and I feel this scary feeling of trying to keep my family from seeing this. They start to run to the gate to stop her and I don’t know what’s worse, letting them try to get involved, or trying to tell them that it’s just the way things are here. I guess this is because I have seen women beating their children like this, when they run into the road. In my dream everything starts shaking and then I’m awake. The entire room is shaking. Everything is loud. I sit straight up in bed and realize what it is: an earthquake. I say “Ben, what is that?”. Not because I haven’t already figured it out myself, but because I simply don’t want to be the only one awake. He sits up immediately and in this “I’m not quite awake” voice, says “is someone at the door!?”. And I think, no….. no one is at the door. If someone was at the door and that’s what was making that horrendous banging noise, I would be a lot more afraid. He gets up and runs to the door. I say “no, it’s an earthquake”. I think, oh my God, he’d have opened the door??? If someone was banging like that? Great. He looks still asleep to me, as he crawls back into his bed. The shaking stops and everything is quiet.
I return to my dreams, although I don’t remember the ones that follow. Ben tells me later that he stays up until dawn, thinking about how we got ripped off on the price of the tire sandals. This is how we remember our last night before hitting the mountain. In the morning, Carly text messages her mom and says “Big earthquake last night, off to climb volcano. Talk soon”. I am able to laugh at everything, because the strange has simply become the mundane. Climbing volcanoes, it’s just how we roll, son.
