Turkish Airlines Flight TK9

December 4

The chapter is coming to a close.
My departing flight from Kilimanjaro to Istanbul leaves at 3:30 am. I transfer to a non-stop into LAX, and then onto a short flight to SFO.
The Mkombozi mamas and I exchanged emotional goodbyes this morning. I brought ice cream. They brought me a pair of pretty sandals. We argued over who was more blessed. The debate continues since ice cream is a rare luxury, and my toes have never looked so beautiful.
Teaching was the goal. The assignment was to increase the mama’s English vocabulary and expand their business knowledge. Along the way, the roles switched .
If I taught them anything, it was to have more confidence. They provided the education.
Can you learn to live just for just one day? The mamas taught me to love what God gives me every day - a day at a time. Is it too late to teach someone to sing? I have so many new Swahili songs in my head. Where does one get instructions on how to properly build a spinach field? The best way is on your hands and knees, say the mamas.
We’ll start a new chapter next year. I’ll be back. And God willing, my continuing education courses will still be available.

 

Make some money but don’t let money make you. ~ Tanzania proverb

November 30

Going back to my last Mkombozi mamas update - we were waiting to meet with Kilimanjaro Natural Food Cooperative. We experienced some success with drying tomatoes, and we were anxious to locate a buyer for the product.

The director, Njarita Mmbaga, invited us to meet him last Tuesday.

At the appointed time, Mama Fatuma, Mama Theresia and I were welcomed by a very gentle and gracious man.  Bwana Mmbaga started the co-op  about nine years ago with a few other farmers. His group was keenly aware that surrounding coffee plantations were losing market share. And, based on local law, coffee plants and property were awarded to the youngest son of the owner. Many women and their families were displaced when brothers walked away from their inheritance.

Today, KNFC employs about 600 women who constitute 98% of the members.  The cooperative focuses on drying and selling local fruits – mostly mangoes, pineapples, bananas, and rosella. KNFC is available to instruct farming techniques, conduct job training and assist with the construction of commercial dryers. In most cases, drying is done in small groups of women using one dryer. Altogether, there are 30 solar drying groups.

Bwana Mmbaga spoke at our Mkombozi  business meeting yesterday. He was careful to explain the plusses and minuses of being employed by KNFC. The mamas will need to meet certain quality standards, and they will have to transport their final product to a KNFC warehouse themselves. There is a membership fee, also.

All in all, five of the mamas committed to receive training. In the meantime, they’ll secure small loans from the Mkombozi “bank” to pay for equipment and fees. The mamas say the prospect of generating income from retail sales is an exciting step for them. Till now, their farm products were sold strictly at small neighborhood shacks. 

As for me, I’m a bit anxious. What if I assumed my Western drive for profit will work for Mkombozi?

The mamas are exhilarated and I'm afraid the train has left the station. Now it’s in God’s hands.

 

Ngorongoro Crater represents unparalleled beauty of one of the world's most unchanged wildlife sanctuaries - Wikipedia

November 24

There are no words to describe the experience of allowing yourself to be a wild animal.

As I traveled across the Ngorongoro Crater, I allowed myself that dream... to dream I was an animal.

With permission from no one, I surrendered all human limitations. I gave up my two stubby legs, and traded them for four muscular limbs attached to agile paws. Instead of compromised lungs, I had strong and almost endless breathing ability. My feeble mind was exchanged for one with quick nimble thoughts, capable of making snap decisions. The two eyes of mine were given away, and replaced with the ability to spot a mouse’s movement beyond the outer edge of the crater.

This was Ngorongoro’s gift to me. 

For a short time, I paced myself with the cheetah and barked with the hyena. I marched  to the watering hole with the lions and bolted away from it with the zebras. Hippos invited me for a swim, and flamingos took me for a short flight along the savannah. Leopards allowed room for me on the branch and giraffes shared the tallest tree branches.

I made the decision to surrender. I was crazy enough to believe I could do those things.

And for a few seconds, it was possible.

“You know you are truly alive when you’re living among lions.” - Karen Blixen, Out of Africa

 

Faith is believing when common sense tells you not to. Don't you see? It's not just Kris that's on trial, it's everything he stands for. It's kindness and joy and love and all the other intangibles. - from Miracle on 34th Street

November 17

Macy’s Thanksgiving Day parade is just a little over a week away. I’ll miss watching it on TV. However, all the sponsored balloons are starting to sour my view of the event.

The last three Sundays I’ve attended Catholic mass with my Mkombozi mamas. The parade of women’s exquisite kangas* is a parade more to my liking. The bright and bold fabrics – worn without a single sponsors’ name – is pageantry at its best. I’m particularly impressed with the mamas that wear a piece of fabric wrapped on their head. An extra dash of boldness…
The service is in Swahili and I’m afraid I can catch only two or three phrases about every five minutes. Not that it matters. The tone carries the message, and I make up my own sermon to go with it. There’s not a single hymnal in the house. Every response and song is from memory.
More than a thousand attend the 6:30 am mass. I counted. The service is held in a large cathedral with high corrugated metal ceilings. Several birds join the service and occasionally whisk past the monsignor during communion. I wonder if one might snatch a wafer on his way through…
The cathedral is without a single road leading to it, or a parking place. Members walk along rocky paths to attend services – even the bibis (grandmas) with canes and stumps for feet. Almost the entire congregation is made up of rural farmers. Who, after service, go home to work in the fields and tend the cattle before an afternoon of “rest.”
I will miss the Moshi parade more than Macy’s parade, when I leave. The devotion and passion is far more authentic. The colors are much better. And zero emissions.
*A rectangular piece of fabric worn wrapped around the waist, and another wrapped around the shoulders.  

 

#moshimamasundriedtomatoes

November 11

My Mkombozi mamas are smart.
Two things they have a lot of in Moshi is tomatoes and sunshine. Here in this part of Tanzania, mamas can corner the market and be production central for sun-dried tomatoes.
Except - they’ve never heard of sun-dried tomatoes Never tasted sun-dried tomatoes. The tomatoes they use are the plump, ripe juicy kind. In their eyes, dried up, shriveled tomatoes aren’t going to make anyone rich.
Aha.  Where there’s a will there’s a way. My mamas agreed to give the drying process a try. They took their big red juicy orbs and chopped them up into slimy thin slices and placed them on a screen. Next, they positioned their salted slaughtered prey in very hot sun for two days. It brought tears to their eyes to watch lovely fat tomatoes get reduced to bulimic conditions.
Here’s where it gets good… There’s a natural food cooperative in Moshi that’s currently recruiting women to dry fruits and vegetables.  The organization is set up to train, provide low-cost drying materials and farming assistance to low-income mamas. The cooperative is opening new markets in Europe and looking for sun-dried tomato producers.
We haven’t got a meeting yet. But already - my smart mamas have started spreading the word. Sun-dried tomatoes are trending. 

You heard it here first…

 

Hold me closer tiny dancer - Elton John

November 8

Another amazing experience with a beautiful child in Tanzania…
Good Hope is a very simple program situated in the outlying area of Moshi. The center provides schooling and vocational training to children affected by HIV-AIDS. Mom may be the victim, or both mom and child. The center generously provides sevices to both at no cost.  
Members of the school’s administration are unpaid.  Three equally regarded directors organize school programs around education, home visits and lifeskill training. There are two Cross Cultural Solution volunteers that currently support the directors’ work.
The volunteers  planned a Halloween party fundraiser last week. The whole house was invited and the big draw was a bingo tournament. First prize was a ruler and an essay written by the one of the students.
I suck at bingo. It’s said that serious bingo players need a good luck charm to be competitive.  Reviewing my options, I selected a young girl – already fascinated with the operation of my camera. She hopped on my lap and proceeded to double and triple check the letters and numbers called, hoping beyond hope we’d be the first to say “Bingo!” We lost, and another volunteer won.
My good luck charm exited my lap and moved onto where candy was being distributed.
In the meantime, I sighted a young boy – maybe three or four-years-old - dancing near the DJ. He didn’t seem at all concerned about the candy distribution process. This young man was born to dance. Without a single spectator (he wasn’t aware I was watching), he performed an amazing routine of smooth dance moves. The performance was never meant to impress. He did not look for a single high-five or thumbs-up. His dance was offered as a gift to the universe.  
As a matter of fact, when I focused the camera on him, his routine immediately ratcheted down a notch. Did I offend him? Was his dance like a mountain wild flower – never intended to be removed from the place of creation? I said “pole,” Swahili for I’m sorry.
Just before our group boarded the bus back, he stopped his dance briefly. Just long enough to hug me. Maybe my apology was accepted.
Now - feeling a bit guilty – I’m sharing him with you. 

See photos.

 

Competitive Eating Legend Kobayashi Downs 42 Cups Of Coffee - Huffington Post  Headline

November 5

 

One of the joys of living in Moshi is being just a short distance from world-class coffee fields.
At the lower elevations of Kilimanjaro, many Chagga tribe people grow and harvest the coffee plant. Coffee production is one of the few cash-generating crops in Tanzania.
We visited one Sunday. Our guide’s name was Mike. His father, grandfather and great grandfather farmed on the same land we toured. Over time the government has sometimes been apathetic, sometimes possessive and most recently greedy. Fees are required from the farmers for marketing programs. Yet, the farmers haven't realized an increase in sales – and they are still required to pay.
Mike took us through his small plantations in rainforest type of surroundings. I thought I felt the start of rain. Mike corrected me. The small rain drops were actually from a tree that releases dew as each blossom opens. Isn’t that rather magical??
We participated in each step of the process.   The best was the consumption of our labor - a very, very fresh and rich cup of coffee.
As an aside, the growers consume almost 45 percent of the coffee they produce. During certain holidays, men gather at the home of a friend to play the “coffee game.” Each man must declare the number of cups he will consume during the night. Bragging rights are a stake, mind you. The game commences and doesn’t end until there is a winner – usually well into the next day.
Mike admits most Chagga are caffeine-addicted. I think I’ll stick to my three cups a day.  

 

Never doubt that a small group of thoughtful, committed citizens can change the world; indeed, it's the only thing that ever has. - Margaret Mead

November 2
I arrived in Moshi three weeks ago. The moment we landed in Addis Ababab, Ethiopa, I knew we weren’t in Kansas anymore. Military-looking types were on the tarmac, and again at customs check-in.

A few hours later, Tara and I landed in Moshi. And though there wasn’t the same amount of military presence – there was just enough to charge the hair on your neck.
Today, my new friend Tara, was back on a flight to Addis Ababab, and eventually on to her on to her home in Corvallis OR. Three weeks have passed. Tara’s the first of our group to depart.

All of us worked closely together – so very intensely – in order to make a difference during our short-term assignment. Tara was especially brave. She’d never traveled out of the country before. When assuming a student loan, she requested enough funds to allow her to volunteer abroad. Just for three weeks… Her volunteer placement in Tanzania has truly been an education.
The goodbyes will continue to get harder. In one week, my other roommate Priya, as well as a super-wonderful couple – Nancy and David – will board flights home.
On a happier note, Katie Jacober arrives Saturday.
Traveling is learning. ~ Kenyan Proverb

 

Brilliant! - Guiness Draught commercials 2004-2009

October 31

Some things are so smart, I want to think it wasn't an idea that someone had - but rather an organic concept that grew from the universe.

The Maasai are a nomadic tribe found in Eastern Africa. Best known for their skills at herding and sustainable living, they also are extraordinary jumbers. And I mean jumping in one place. 

Remember the 80's arcade game Whack-A-Mole? With absolutely randomness, the moles jumped from their holes so fast; very few could get a solid whack.

Our Maasai have one-upped (literally) the moles and can jump from standing position to almost four-feet high. It's said that's why they have no calf muscles because they never let their heels touch the ground.

The tires from area vehicles are short-lived. There's so few paved roads. Almost all travel is conducted on deeply-rutted boulder-infested dirt "tracks." In response, re-purposing broken tires is a thriving business. 

Maasai men are very wise, and could see these tire treads as an advantage. There are a number of viable businesses that produce 4-wheel-drive sandals. The tread cushion gives just a small lift to the Maasai jumper.

Mama Sarah told me it was an idea derived from pure necessity. Tires are too expensive to recycle and there’s no industry for that.

I believe the universe is tickled that the Maasai have found a small way to defy gravity.

 

Laughter is carbonated holiness.- Anne Lamott

October 26

Rosalinda Orphanage. 

I just met someone who said, "I don't do oprhanages." Not because she's against the concept. It's because she can't bear to leave empty handed. The same way people won't visit animal shelters. How can you leave even one abandoned soul behind?

Mama Pauline is the director of Rosalinda Orphanage. She is also the pastor of Rosalinda Church, a very shabby structure that holds more than 50 attendees most Sundays.

Mama Pauline and her husband have about 35 charges. Ranging from age 5 to 18, their brood defies the odds. Each beautiful child is given respect, discipline and most of all love from the moment they enter the propery. 

They laugh - a lot. They hold your hand. They hold their friend's hand. And, if it's humanly possible, they hold Mama Pauline's hand,

Not one of these kids appears to be an abandoned soul.

We jumped rope and played games I hadn't remembered since I was eight years old. Every kid was fair and considerate.

I wish there weren't orphans. But if there must be - I wish every one has a Mama Pauline holding their hand.

 

He Ain't Heavy... He's My Brother - The Hollies, 1969

October 22

 

Last Saturday, five new friends and I participated in a death march up to the first night camp site of Kilimanjaro. 

I started cheerfully in the middle of the group. The local guide, who goes by Major, loaned me his iPod. Rockin to the Kenyan tunes, I became aware that our group was split in two. One of my new friends, Julie, had faded to the back of the pack. Thinking I was being benevolent, I waited and joined them. About halfway, Julie was spent and begged to be allowed to return to base.

Apparently, Major assumed I wanted to run up the remainder of the trek. The guy was born to breathe thin air. Please, have mercy... It was me versus him. He cajoled, sang, told jokes, walked backwards and used several other tactics to encourage me to "hop to it." Sweet Jesus, this man tortured me. 

Four hours into to it, I crested the dirty rocky trail to find a heavenly pasture awaiting me. I'm certain I heard the theme song from Rocky playing in the background.

What I must tell you is the people who continue on for another three to four days to summit, have my upmost respect. And even more, the local porters achieve status of super human. The men (and a few women) carry all the gear for those who summit ON THEIR HEADS. 40 to 50 pounds each.

God bless them. Amen.

 

Caldwell Banker Real Estate Tip - The market value of your home will always increase if you showcase a stunning view. 

October 21

 

Well, I'm certain our Cross Cultural Solutions home-base is not on the market. It definitely has a stunning view though.

My room is on the first floor. This last week, I toured the second floor. It is my favorite place to sit. The balcony has an extraordinary view of Kilimanjaro (see photos).

The locals consider their place of habitation Kilimanjaro. Very few people say they live in Moshi or Arusha. They proudly state they are people of the mountain... 

No doubt. The extraordinary and grand peak is the most prominent landmark for miles. When I was out for a jog yesterday - I managed to lift my head up from the rocky unpaved road to stare right at it's snow-capped summit.

Next blog entry - my climb to Kili's first night base camp.

 

"Give a man a fish, he'll eat for a day. Give a woman microcredit, she, her husband, her children and her extended family will eat for a lifetime." - Bono

October 18, 2013

 

The job I was assigned is all together new. 
The  women in the local village formed a support group in 2008. They invested funds, and awarded very small loans. To receive a loan, a “mama” was required to find two friends willing to “co-sign.” If the mama is not able to repay the loan, her friends agree to make good on the amount. 
Mkombozi (Redemption in Swahili) is a network of 24 women today. In addition to making loans, it is possible to buy shares. After one year, interest accumulated from the business loans (3% interest rate) is distributed among share holders. 
The mamas are now starting to develop a cooperative. The purchase of cattle feed, seed and bricks can be made in bulk – at a price less expensive than individual purchases.
Mkombozi is a community within walking distance of my CCS home. I will teach the mamas English three days a week, and two days a week I’ll visit their business. In almost all cases, the business is either farming or animal husbandry. English is taught at my CCS home.  
I am anxious. All I know about the topics of farming and raising farm animals I learned from “Old McDonald Had a Farm.” My Swahili is poor at best… How can I teach if I can’t translate the words?

Surprisingly, the mamas will take me as I am. They embrace me, and tell me I've already made a difference.

And, they have already made a difference in me.

 

Wisdom from Mama Fatuma and Mama Sarah 

Oct. 13

1. A mosquito net around the bed is required. But for it to work, it must be tucked into the bedframe tight. Priya wears long skirts every day, yet she has three bites on her bum right now. Ahh... Mama Fatuma showed us the secret, no more bites.

2. Swahili Time is designed to work in countries on the equator. Do not try this in the US. The day is broken up into 12-hour parts. The first starts with daybreak at 6 am. The second at sunset at 6 pm. Each period starts with 1 o'clock. Right now, it's 8 am US time and 2 o'clock Swahili Time. Of course, according to Mama Sarah, you also must conside the local's TFT (Tanzania Flex Time).

More Mama Fatuma and Mama Sarah wisdom to come...

 

Dave & Alyisa's Wedding Day

Oct. 11

A wonderful day for my friends, Dave & Alyisa. So sorry I'm not there to celebrate your union. Congratulations!

Instead, I'm situated in a lovely home in Moshi.  And a very wonderful group of people surround me.

Mama Sarah and Mama Fatuma are my guardian angels. Two beautiful and wise women take care of our volunteer home.

I share a room with Priya and Tera. We're a wonderful combination of culture and personalities. The volunteers who are already living here report the food is better than eating at any five-star restaurant! So much for my African diet...

My only issue is internet connectivity. It seems that my connection only works when situated in a corner of the living room, while standing on one foot and the winds are blowing east to west.

Be patient. I will update. When the winds are cooperating.

Hakuna matata.

Wisdom does not come overnight. - Swahili proverb

Oct. 10

The trip started with a taxi. A taxi trip from SMF to SFO.  And that was just the beginning.

United flight cancelled, so we were transported to SFO via taxis. Arrived in time for a beer and then boarded flight to DC. Slept, thanks to the beer.

Three hour lay over in DC. Was keenly aware during the boarding process that my color did not really match the rest of the passengers. It must be the correct flight...

About 12 hours later, I arrived in Ethiopia. Silly me. I thought Addis Abana was in Kenya. Nope, it's in Ethiopia. 

Flight to Kilimanjaro included African-type food. So far so good.

Entering the country, not so much... The little stop over in Ethopia qualified me as at-risk for yellow fever. Unfortunately, the US doctor recommended against getting the vaccination. We thought for a minute a return trip to US was immenent. 

With a little negotiation, and some US cash, I had the very important yellow fever vaccination card.

My adventure will manage to carry on.