Tionana (See you later)

Kilimanjaro. This big mountain begins in jungle forest; trees draped with bearded lichen sway light green in a back and forth misty zen, and you can imagine black and white colobus monkeys swinging from the branches far in the bush. You quickly enter the open tundra that breezes cold and dry, baring little plant life, yet rolling vast like a meadow of rock and shale. The top, secretly holding sparkling glaciers that rise up out of a million years of earth history, is a humbling testament to how small we really are. Yet, along with this mountain beauty are hordes of people, richies and fatties alike, that swell the mountain paths. Thousands of porters harness the core strength needed to haul their cargo of comfort camping equipment and food, with salaries dependent on the hopeful chance of a generous tip. I carried my own load, but as required, had a guide (friendly Geoffrey) and porters (Daudi, Nauzari, and Ali) to carry and cook my (crazy delicious and full) meals. These are the kind people I hiked with and was inspired by. Bypassing a conga line of mzungus each morning, I found myself alongside dozens of seasoned porters (some in flip flops, most with backpacks and crazy sacks on their head, even two women!!) learning Swahili and shrugging their urge to pole pole (‘slowly slowly’). By the end, I perhaps earned a small piece of their respect, as well as a sunrise summit glowing in pink gold.

Lushoto. Many travelers have avoided Kilimanjaro due to the masses, and have instead opted for the quieter Usambaras in North Eastern Tanzania. Intrigued, I hopped on a bus, that broke down, and hopped on another bus, that corkscrewed its way up a to the small mountain town of Lushoto. To describe the beauty of these mountains would be to deny my first feelings of speechlessness. It was a hidden gem. Green lush farms terraced up, with bananas fawned alongside the river. The town itself had not been ruined by tourism and was politely curious and relaxed when I rambled down the road. It seemed peaceful, healthy, with chameleons in the trees, monkeys sounding, and goats nibbling, all alongside the flowers and fruit abundant. It felt like a home.

Zanzibar. High tide brings a warm morning swim in the metallic blue of the Indian Ocean and an underwater world fish tank to snorkel in. The strong current pulled me effortlessly alongside fishes and coral colored in all shapes and sizes (puffers and nemos and scarfaces!!). Low tide stretches a mile of kelpy puddles where fishermen and women scour in beautiful wraps and nets, with Masai men strolling down the beach warrior poised in Raybands. The food is amazing, deliciously flavored with the catch of the day and the local spices that the island is renowned for. Stonetown is the main port and a diverse mix of Arabs, Indians, and Africans flow happy and relaxed down a maze of alleyways with beautifully carved wooden doors and split level balconies.  BBQs and fruit stands are found when you are lost, and the twilight zone is constant but seems to only bring new passageways through the town and interesting stalls filled with beautiful cloths, Swahili spiced coffee or tea, or else a friendly chat with a funky rasta.

Homeward. Frenzied bus rides leaving me weathered and beaten, to breathtaking beauty of spiraling mountain farms and fisherwomen walking barefoot searching for shells, with heartbreaking realism of how to make/keep a dollar, always learning through generosity of selfless spirit or swindling corruption, on to other worlds underwater or in the sky. And all this is now ultimately linked to my own world. A fond memory I will keep close, yet an experience that will continue to gift courage, diversity, and new perspective in my story.  Thank you Africa, and good bye for now.

I have arrived

Jump forward. Though not without a fond look back and a tip of the hat. To the lovely Kusamala staff; for their warm welcome and friendly collective. To the four months spent developing projects, and gaining ground on Africa, agriculture and all that crops in-between. To the new perspectives and courage earned with my long stay in Malawi, which has prepared me with the up-most patience in traveling forward, and a certain solidarity only established with time in one place.

After departing Kusamala with lots of hugs and pictures, I headed south to hike up Mount Mulanje, the tallest mountain in Malawi (3,002m/ 9,849ft). It was all very 'lord of the rings' -esque with cedar forest giving way to open grasslands stretching far and up up, summitting with a bouldering escapade. Two nights I slept in mountain huts with a big fire place, playing Bao (popular board game) outside with my guide Stanford. He looked like he was off to school with his sneakers, and Jansport backpack full of bread, butter, a box of cookies, and was the perfect hiking partner; very quiet, yet with a quick wit that eased the stretch.

After the mountain trek, I headed again to Cape McClear, where after a long bus ride (complete with a 2 and a half hour sermon), I was happy to hear that the Ilala Ferry would not leave until the following day. I happenstance rendezvoused with some folks from Kusamala, as they were visiting Pierre's project in Kasanka Bay, and was able to take a day to relax by the lake with good friends and good eats. The next day I boarded the Illala Ferry which sails to port towns along Lake Malawi, as well as the islands, one of which was my destination, Likoma. I splurged on a first class ticket, and am grateful in retrospect. Along with the incredible price gap, First class is able to lounge on the breezy upper deck, while Second and Third are stuffed into the hull, along with maize sacks and livestock. I stretched out on the deck to sleep, so thankful for the millions of stars overhead, the lake below, and everything in between. On arriving to Likoma: beach camping, mini kayaks!!, clear water snorkeling (with crazy electric blue Cichlid fishies!), wandering hikes, and good good food. To sum up, very chill island living.

After a couple of very beachy days, I decided to make my escape, or else stay forever, and so I boarded a smaller midweek boat to the mainland. The boat was named Malungo (which means Malaria in Chichewa), and it slowly rocked and dipped its way to the mainland for a good six hours (of course busting the engine... so thank goodness there was a spare... though much smaller)! Mini bus from Nkhata Bay to Chitemba, a 15km mountain trek from Chitemba up to Livingstonia. My destination: Lukwe Ecolodge and Permaculture Garden to visit Leiza (whom I met at Kusamala during her water management workshop). I did not know until I arrived that I was to find a peace paradise nestled back in this bush. A mountain side dream garden, terracing lush and colorful and healthy, with ponds overflowing into ponds, and ducks scattering about, gravity fed water systems, and gooseberries and raspberries abundant, and coffee!!, pineapples and banana best friends, veggie bed cornucopias turning whimsy at every corner. And Lieza's home, an open air house that overlooks the craziest waterfall, all very much like Swiss Family Robinson, where once she stood, sixteen years ago, looking at this particular mountain side and said, "Well, no one's over there." I was in awe, inspired by what can be done with time spent and ideas shaped, and relaxed as if I was home.

And now, after crazy border crossings, buses that have stretched as long as eighteen hours (though not without spying some giraffes, zebras, and elephants!!!), a whole lot of fried bread snacks, too many peanuts, I have arrived in the big town of Moshi at the base of Kilimanjaro, the tallest freestanding volcano in the world; the rooftop of Africa.