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.