Fodor's Travel Talk Forums - Trip Report Trip Report: Kenya & Tanzania, Sept/Oct 2007

PART 16 – “You Are So, So Lucky!” (Oct. 7th, 2007)

This morning’s wake-up call came on time—a soft “Jambo!” accompanied by tea on a tray and fresh hot water in our bucket sink. We finished packing our bags and enjoyed one last meal at Oliver’s. As I gazed out from the dining tent at the golden grass and the wide sky above it, I felt sadness creeping over me. Some of it was, of course, saying goodbye to this wonderful camp and the even more wonderful Arthur. But it was also that I was just now beginning to feel that slide downhill, realizing that we’d turned the corner and were heading into the final leg of our safari.

The staff gathered to see us off and they all waved as Arthur pulled the Land Rover away, heading back toward the Kuro airstrip. I waved back and watched the tents retreating into the distance until—quite soon—they vanished into the grass and were gone. We had a terrific game drive on our way to the airstrip, and all the animals of Tarangire seemed in cahoots to keep us from leaving. First we were stopped by the Tanzanian traffic police (as Arthur called them): two zebras who stood sideways in a perfect barricade across the road. Considering that we were there with the engine running, they stayed much longer than I would expect an average zebra to stand still. After they moved along, we passed some reedbucks and a stately eland standing under a tree. Next, we encountered a complete surprise—a mother serval and her kitten slinking through the tall grass! We were so flabbergasted by this sight, we barely managed to snap a picture before they completely disappeared. But I was glad to have a moment of looking right at the kitten’s little face before he bopped away, and I doubt I could ever have captured that even if my camera was ready. They were well camouflaged in the grass, but as they hurried away we could track their progress by the bright flashes of the white spots on the backs of their ears. So, Tarangire did not keep all of its cats from us, after all—and I would take these little guys over a dozen lions any day!

Of course, we saw a great variety of birds this morning, as on all our Tarangire game drives, including a fish eagle, an adorable little African hoopoe (who quickly became a new favorite with his unique looks and his comical manner), kingfishers and starlings and more rollers. Then our way was blocked again, this time by a mama elephant and her kids. As they moved silently into the dry, skeletal brush by the side of the road, they showed us once again how effortlessly an elephant can become invisible. By now we’d eaten up quite a lot of our travel time, so Arthur started to hurry onward. But we’d only gone a short distance before yet another roadblock stopped us in our tracks. This time it was a big herd of buffalo, cows and calves. They sauntered across the road, taking their time and surrounding us on both sides. Hey, girls, we have a plane to catch! But they were in no hurry, and the babies lifted their noses at us in that charmingly snooty-looking cape buffalo salute.

At last the buffalo moved on and we could drive forward, and that’s when it really started to get silly. A herd of bachelor impalas rushed onto the road and blocked our way. And then the real problem, only a short distance farther—a large herd of elephants crossing slowly in front of us, in what seemed like an endless column. It was the grand finale to our stay in Tarangire, and it made us feel, just a little bit, like maybe the animals wanted us to stay as much as we did.

We did end up making it to the airstrip with a few minutes to spare before our little plane arrived, so fortunately we had time for a proper goodbye with Arthur. Another tourist was standing in the center of the runway as the plane came in, and his guide and a ranger had to run out after him, yelling at him to forget taking a picture and just MOVE OUT OF THE WAY! This time we didn’t have the whole plane to ourselves—it was a full flight, everyone heading on to the Serengeti except us. I watched Tarangire disappear out the window and felt crushingly sad, missing this place (and Kenya too) all at once and so badly that it was like a physical ache. So, even the most wonderful safari is not perfect—there is this part, too. I tried to tell myself that this wasn’t the last time I would see this place. And even if it is, it is now forever a part of my memories and who I am now, so it will never really be that far away.

Jackson met us at the airport at Lake Manyara, this time in a larger and much older, scuffed-up Land Rover. He asked about our adventures in Tarangire as we headed toward the lake, driving down a steep road past baobab trees growing on the side of the dramatic cliff. We stopped at an overlook with a wonderful view of Lake Manyara. The blue-grey water vanished into haze at its far edges, an immense puddle of reflected light at the base of the escarpment’s steep drop-off. In the forest far below, we spied the spindly necks of some giraffes and the little grey bump of an elephant.

It was late morning and roasting hot by the time we entered the park. So, not the best time for a game drive, but we still saw quite a lot. Right away we came across a bull elephant only a few feet from the road. He was in musth, with what Jackson referred to as “GPS” (having to do with a syndrome and something being green… you can figure it out), so we kept very quiet and did our best not to disturb him. This guy offered us another up-close-and-personal moment, where I could tell he was looking right at us and thinking about us, just as we were thinking about him. He didn’t seem bothered to have us there, just kept happily ripping leaves off tree branches. After a few minutes we left him in peace.

This park was really beautiful, with dense forest and natural springs bubbling up from the ground—all that green a nice contrast to the oranges and browns of Tarangire. Another bull elephant was waiting for us farther up the road in a cool shady spot; he willfully ignored us for a while, shuffling his feet and dragging his trunk across the dirt before deciding to head off the road into the forest, where he broke a few trees down while we watched. We saw some bachelor impalas, one with a dramatically broken horn, and as they all turned their rumps toward us Jackson pointed out the perfect black “M” on their rear: “This is why they are called the McDonald’s of the bush,” he said with a laugh. Nearby we saw more giraffes and some very young elephants with no adults in sight. I’m sure they were there hiding in the cover of the trees, keeping a close eye on us.
As we drove out of the forest into a more open area the sun blazed down on us; most of the animals had wisely cleared out to take refuge in the shade. It made me wish we’d had the chance to come here in the early morning or later in the day. We drove through a forest of quinine trees and brush, and here we started to see a bit more activity, including lots of vervet monkeys. One mother had a baby less than a month old clinging to her belly. The monkeys would make their way up inside even the thorniest of trees and poke their little heads out the top to survey the area, outlined against the bright blue sky. We saw more primates near a stream: a busy group of baboons of all sizes and ages, searching the grass and underneath fallen logs for insects. A long, serene Nile monitor was hanging out in the sun. “Just a juvenile,” Jackson said, but you’d never guess from the size of him.

Our last stop was the hippo pool and the wide plain beyond it, and there was plenty of action here. Hundreds (if not thousands) of white pelicans surrounded a pod of hippos who were lolling in the water and mock-fighting with their mouths open wide, showing off those big, blunt teeth. Gathered nearby was a large herd of zebras and wildies, a pair of giraffes bending their necks gracefully down to drink from a stream, warthogs and marabou storks. The noise and smell of the pelican-and-hippo party was intense, but it just added to the scene. How remarkable it is to see all these animals just hanging out together! Too soon it was time to head off to our camp for a late lunch and a chance to rest before our Big Night Out. On our way out of the park we saw blue monkeys in the forest, a harbinger of more good things to come.

We drove back up to the top of the cliff and then out a rough, dusty road to Kirurumu. This was another tented camp, nowhere near as remote and wild as Oliver’s camp, but still nice. It reminded me of Sweetwaters, with large tents on raised platforms with fully-plumbed bathrooms, surrounded by a network of pathways and attractive common areas—a high-roofed, open dining room and a bar with an outdoor patio and a great view. Each tent had an animal’s name: ours was “Lammergeier,” after the eagle. A lot of Maasai work at the camp, and everywhere we looked we saw guys hanging out in their red and blue shukas. Since the guides ate in the dining room here, we invited Jackson to have lunch with us, and we had a lively, interesting conversation about education in Tanzania, the situation for women, and the ways that he felt his generation’s attitudes were very different from their parents’. (Looking back on it, we wished we’d had the chance to share at least a few meals with James, as well. Things seemed a lot more formal at the lodges in Kenya… or maybe we just didn’t know the drill yet and were too shy to ask.)

After lunch we headed back to our tent to take a much-needed nap, charge batteries and do some laundry in the sink. Before we knew it, it was time to make the bumpy ride back to the park, where our bush dinner awaited. I wasn’t sure what to expect from that, but I was surprised when we only drove a short way into the park and stopped at an area near some buildings with electric lighting and a restroom just down some stairs. Okay, not exactly the setting I’d pictured when I heard “bush dinner,” but… We could hardly believe the set-up: a huge buffet, a chef in a tall white hat, a waitress hovering nearby, and one solitary, candle-lit table. All this just for us? We seriously kept waiting for other people to arrive, but the whole buffet spread really was just for the two of us. There was no way we could eat all this food, but I wanted to try at least one bite of everything. And boy, was it delicious—tilapia, mchicha (a local spinach dish), visheti (little finger-shaped “donuts”), and the best, most tender and flavorful beef I’ve ever had. I told the chef that, and he just beamed. He was eager for us to try everything and basked in our compliments, and we felt obligated to stuff ourselves silly. Then a table laden with all types of fruits and desserts appeared, to top things off. We were so full we were ready to burst, and we kept encouraging Jackson, the chef and the waitress to please share the food with us. Does anyone ever eat all of this?? Once again, I have to mention that it was wonderful to have this fabulous meal, but also disturbing to have so very much food thrown at just the two of us, when we knew that nearby there were families who would never be able to give their kids even a fraction of this. We were glad to see the others take some food when we assured them we were all finished and couldn’t eat another bite. Hopefully none of it went to waste.

For our night game drive, we switched to a big, open-sided Land Rover with a spotter’s seat on the front. In addition to Jackson, we were joined by a spotter and a park ranger (with his obligatory rifle). We bundled up in blankets against the chill and set off into the dark forest, watching swarms of bugs zipping around in the spotlight’s beam. It didn’t take long before we began encountering night creatures—small spotted genets, several porcupines trundling along, a freaked-out little pair of dik-diks in the road (one of whom wandered along right in front of us for a long stretch). Whenever the spotter found one of these critters, he put a red filter over his light and was careful not to let the beam linger on any animal too long. Consequently, we got a really great look at all of these animals, instead of just watching them panic and run away. Even if we hadn’t seen anything else that night, this would have been our best night game drive by far. The guiding and spotting was so much more sensitive and skillful than what we’d experienced on our other night game drives, and I just can’t say enough about the feeling of being in an open vehicle at night, with the darkness and all the sounds and smells of the forest that much closer around us.

Our next surprise was a pair of greater bush babies high up in the trees. This was our first chance to really get a look at them (even though we’d been hearing them many nights). Also high in the treetops, we saw a pair of silvery-cheeked hornbills, looking very regal in the moonlight. A white-tailed mongoose was busy scurrying around on the ground below, an animal we hadn’t seen since Mt. Kenya. The night forest was alive with sounds—birds and monkeys and bush babies and rustlings that might have been animals or just the wind… and the sound of our ranger softly bickering with our spotter. “He doesn’t think he’s finding enough animals for you,” Jackson said quietly, with a smile. “He thinks he can do better.”

Suddenly we heard a flurry of noise and screeching in the distance. “Baboons warning about a leopard!” Jackson said. The ranger got visibly excited and began telling us (via Jackson) that they had been seeing a large male leopard on recent nights, not far from this area. So we pushed onward, the spotter swinging his light around. And as the light passed across a patch of darkness, it illuminated a pride of lions! There were three females and a male, all lounging around not far from the road. The leopard was a maybe, the lions were a definitely… so we opted to stay with the lions for a while. The male lion was really amorous and kept sniffing around one of the lionesses, trying to encourage her to get in the mood, but she was having none of it. It was eerie to see how completely they all vanished when the light moved away, leaving us looking into pitch blackness and knowing there were some very large cats out there, somewhere very close. What else was out there behind or beside or in front of us, unseen but able to see us? How easily could one of those cats just stroll around behind us and right up to our open vehicle? It was a spine-tingling thought… but still, I loved this more than just about anything I’ve ever experienced, being out here in the night with them. As the light passed over them, the lions looked back at us with infinite patience, and then most of them went back to sleep.

We finally moved along and left them alone, feeling pretty certain we’d already seen the highlight of our night game drive. But we were wrong. All of a sudden, a low-slung, cartoonish little fellow came wandering out onto the road in front of us. “Oh, look!” I breathed, barely daring to make a sound, “Is that—?” And everyone in our vehicle—Jackson, the ranger, the spotter—just about exploded with excitement and joy. (I am so glad I had our video camera running, because catching their reactions on tape was just priceless.) “Aardvark, aardvark!!” Jackson whispered, nearly leaping out of his seat. “Oh! Oh! You are so, so lucky! It is so rare to see them! Oh, my goodness, you are SO lucky!!” The ranger was grinning from ear to ear, whispering rapidly in Swahili. “He says it has been a very long time since they have seen one in this park. This is wonderful –it proves they are still here!” Meanwhile, the aardvark just snuffled along the dirt road and wandered off into the darkness, totally unaware of how much delight he’d just brought to five people, all of us now as giddy as little kids. “This is only the second time in my life I have seen one,” Jackson exclaimed, and then told us it is an old saying that if a person sees three aardvarks in his lifetime, it means he will live a very long life. “And it’s true,” he insisted, “because you MUST live a very long time in order to see three aardvarks!”

We encountered some more animals on the rest of our drive—hippos grazing, including one chunky yet agile youngster who ran right across our path at a pretty good clip, and some night-time birds—but nothing that could compare with the aardvark surprise. We made it out of the park with one minute to spare before the 11pm deadline. When we dropped off the ranger at his station, he enthusiastically shook hands all around, still grinning, and then practically ran into his station house. “He cannot wait to tell them about the aardvark,” Jackson laughed.

Outside the park gate, we were greeted by the other Green Footprint driver with some troubling news. We were supposed to switch back to our regular Land Rover for the drive back to camp, but there was something wrong with the clutch. So instead we drove all the way back up the hill and along the bumpy road to Kirurumu in our open game drive truck, the wind in our faces and stars overhead. Even at this late hour, there were still people out walking along the dirt roads. A Maasai guide met us to walk with us back to our tent in the darkness. By now it was well past midnight, so we just fell into bed and sound asleep. I dreamt of—what else?—aardvarks.

PART 17 – “The Cutest Little Boy in Tanzania” (Oct. 8th, 2007)

Today was a unique day in our African journey, because it was not about the animals at all. Instead, we were going to spend the day with people, hopefully getting a brief glimpse into their lives here in Tanzania. And, best of all, we’d have the chance to meet Josephat, the little by we sponsor at the Rift Valley Children’s Village.

We awoke to warm sunlight streaming into our tent; some time in the early morning, the Maasai guys who work at Kirurumu must have come by and quietly opened the external canvas flaps (they’d been closed when we arrived at the tent late last night). We had a later start today, and it was nice to sleep in a little. But we still needed to have everything packed up and ready to move on. I was moving a little slow this morning, still a bit “hung over” from all of last night’s excitement (can you get drunk on wildlife?). And I also felt a bit nervous—meeting people is always fraught with so much more tension for me than being around animals. (Not to mention our last cultural foray—in the Masai Mara—had been less than successful.) But mostly, I was curious about what it would be like to meet Josephat and the other kids at the RVCV. Would he like us? Would he be indifferent? Would we have anything to talk about with a 7-year-old boy?

But first, we would be touring the village of Mto Wa Mbu with Jackson. When he picked us up in front of the lodge he still had the big, open Land Rover from last night’s game drive. He told us that our regular vehicle would be at the mechanic while we were in town, but it should be ready in time for our afternoon drive to Karatu and the orphanage. We drove over to the Serena lodge to leave our luggage at Green Footprint’s activity office there, since we wouldn’t want to leave things in an open vehicle while in town. A bit of a drag, since this meant we’d have to make another trip back to the Serena to get our bags this afternoon before we headed onward. But I just kept thinking how lucky we were that the car problems coincided with our walking-around-town-day, and that it hadn’t happened when we were out in the bush somewhere or on a long drive between towns.

Our first stop in Mto Wa Mbu was at a medical clinic, a place we’d specifically asked to visit. We were shown around the clinic by the head doctor, and it was fascinating (and sometimes depressing) to hear about his daily practice. The clinic is small but neat and efficient, and they do a lot with limited resources (primarily American donations) to provide preventive and curative treatments for HIV, TB, and, especially, prenatal care. They have a staff of about 25 doctors, nurses and assistants to serve the whole community, and patients pay about $3 a visit, on average (although, of course, some cannot afford to pay at all). We visited their tiny lab, an exam room, the pharmacy, and medical records room. Today was their eye clinic, with an outdoor exam area set up, so we saw lots of patients lined up and waiting in chairs all around the outside of the building, many of them women with small children and babies. The doctor told us that the biggest challenge they faced was teaching people how to prevent health problems, rather than waiting until they were very sick to come to the clinic. He said this particularly the problem with HIV, since no one wants to talk about it. Before we left we thanked him for spending so much time with us (when they were obviously very busy!) and found out how we could send a donation to the clinic after we got home, since we didn’t have enough cash left to spare much on the spot. (One thing to note: although there wasn’t a lot of pressure to donate money, he did politely say, “If you feel inclined to help us…” It’s pretty safe to say that if you visit a medical clinic, a school, or any kind of aid organization, you’ll be inspired to want to help in some way, so consider coming prepared for that.)

After we left the clinic, we took a walk through the banana groves that surround the town. Mto Wa Mbu is a rich farming area, and it was impressive to see the way the banana trees grew so dense and gigantic, towering over our heads as we walked along a narrow dirt path between two farms. Jackson pointed out all the different varieties of bananas and told us how they are used in local cooking—“Jamaica” bananas served in a beef dish, “elephant tusk” bananas for grilling, “mash” bananas for mashing into a porridge. He said that the sweet red bananas were a local favorite, and he’d get some in town so we could try them. We also saw some other local crops, notably coco yam (taro—for, basically, the Tanzanian version of poi), as well as a weed that the Maasai use for mosquito repellent. At one point we saw a couple working out in their field, and the scene was so picturesque that my husband asked if they minded if we took a photo. Jackson called out to them in Swahili and they replied that they wanted payment. One of those uncomfortable moments… my husband just smiled and said, “Well, that’s okay, never mind” (remember, we were $100 short on our tip supply because of the changing cost of visas, so we were really low on cash at this point!). When Jackson relayed this message to them, the farmer shrugged and smiled and Jackson laughed at his reply. “He says just go ahead and take the photo, no need to pay.”

Near the end of our walk through the farms, we stopped to visit a tiny Makonde carvers’ shop and blacksmith, where we talked a bit with the carvers and watched them work. A very old man was sitting on the ground working homemade hand bellows to keep the coals hot. We bought a couple of tiny carved heads (the size of chess pieces), but unfortunately we lost them somewhere along the way and they never made it home with us.

At this point, Jackson gave us a choice for the time we had left before lunch. We could either visit a school, or else go to the local pub and the town market. We chose the latter, because we’d be visiting the kids at the RVCV later on and wanted to have as many different experiences as possible today. So, off to the pub—a tiny outdoor area with shady benches under a roof, and a collection of sheds for storage and fermenting of mbege, banana beer. After a short tour of these and learning how mbege is made, we sat down to try some. A group of little kids gathered around to watch us, giggling and taking peeks at my camera, and we all ate red bananas together. The beer itself was strong and yeasty and not very tasty, but the bananas were the most delicious we’ve ever had. Mostly, it was fun to goof around a bit with the kids, taking their photo and showing it to them on the screen (which elicited even more giggles). With Jackson acting as translator, we chatted with the young woman who owned the pub. She brewed the beer herself, and seemed to get a kick out of the fact that we mzungus would even try it. She asked where we were from, and whether we had any children (everyone here always asks us that). When I said no, she asked how old I was, and said encouragingly and with great enthusiasm, “It’s not too late!” I asked if these kids were hers, and she waved her hand absently and said, “Some of them.”

From there we walked across the main drag to the central market and wandered up and down the rows past the covered stalls, admiring the luscious-looking fruits (every size and shape and color of banana you can imagine), multi-colored beans in hues of purple and red, baskets full of grains and seeds, hanging strings of baobab fruit (which Jackson pointedly told us is good for fertility… seems like everyone in Tanzania is trying to tell us something), roasted catfish on a grill and live fish swimming in murky tanks of water, with music blasting from the stalls where food was cooking. My husband had a special request—he wanted to find some Maasai “Hundred-Miler” sandals for his twin brother. We visited the little shop of a sandal maker, where he got to try on several different styles and see the old tires they were made from. The true “Maasai” style were made with thick, curvy motorcycle tire tread for the soles—they were more pricey, and really hard to walk around in! After some hard bargaining, he ended up buying a more comfortable pair for about $6. A really cool souvenir, and Jackson said that wasn’t a bad price for a tourist. The sandal maker really wanted my husband’s watch at first, but no deal—he told them it was a gift from his wife, and they all laughed and said, “Well, then, she will never let you trade it!”

From the market, it was a short walk back to get our car from the medical clinic (dodging some baboons lurking in the bushes, since Jackson was still carrying the rest of our bananas), and then a short drive through dense banana groves and past small farms to a little local restaurant for lunch. We visited the kitchen—a small outdoor space behind someone’s house with pots bubbling over an open fire and Mama busy plucking a freshly-killed chicken for us. We ate outdoors under the trees, and the food was absolutely delicious—a generous spread of chicken, goat curry, fruit and veggie dishes, lentils, and even some tilapia caught from the little fishpond nearby. For company we had two attentive cats and a couple of baby goats. Plus Stoney Tangawizi to drink (the fizzy ginger soda we hadn’t had since our Kenyan road trips). The only thing we didn’t care for was a very sour, pulpy fruit with big seeds (I can’t remember the name, so I can’t warn you any more specifically than that!). Mama came over to ask how we liked the food and my husband was able to use his Swahili again—“Ninepende chakula cha hapa sana sana!”—much to her delight. She asked about where we were traveling to and where we’d been so far. She guessed correctly that I was an American, but said she wasn’t sure about my husband—was he Japanese? Chinese? Korean? With Jackson’s help and his smidgen of Swahili, he explained about being “Chinese-American,” and how his grandparents came to the U.S. from China. It was fun to talk with her for a bit, and especially cool for my husband to get to use some Swahili. Everyone seems to love it when we’ve made the effort, and it makes me wish I’d learned more. People are so good-natured about our efforts, and no one gives us a hard time if we pronounce things wrong. So, give it a try!

After lunch we drove over to pick up our Land Rover, which was supposed to be ready by now (we were already running about an hour late, just enjoying being on “African time”). But the mechanic was still working on it and seemed pretty grim. It needed a whole new clutch. For the first time, I started to worry about whether we’d actually make it to the RVCV today, and Jackson looked worried too. He told us if they couldn’t fix it we would be able to switch to a minibus that Green Footprint had in town, but that he’d really prefer to have the Land Rover for the Crater tomorrow. We parked the big open vehicle outside a restaurant in a little patch of shade and waited. And waited. By this point it was getting really hot, it was getting late, and we were getting really concerned. Hakuna matata, I kept thinking, but then I would think of Josephat and the possibility that we might not get to meet him, and I got pretty bummed out. The bright spot in all this was that the restaurant was playing some amazing music over a loudspeaker—church choir music with such an infectiously happy, uptempo sound that we couldn’t help being cheered by it. We talked with Jackson about it, and it turned out that he used to sing in a choir just like that when he wasn’t out guiding safaris. He was thrilled that we liked it so much, and happily translated the Swahili lyrics for us as the music played (my husband caught it all on his minidisk recorder). This lead to a conversation about our band, and the music my husband writes, and all the types of music Jackson likes to listen to. (After we got home, we sent Jackson a cassette player, since he’d told us that his was broken and he never got to listen to his tapes anymore… and we also sent him a tape of our band. The guys in our band really loved reading his comments about our music, and suggested we go on a tour of Tanzania someday.)

FINALLY, the car was ready! The mechanic test drove it around the block and everything seemed to be working again, so we swapped vehicles and headed out of Mto Wa Mbu, back up the winding road to the Serena lodge to retrieve our bags, and then speeding off toward Karatu. Along the way, we passed a mud hut with a giant CelTel ad pasted across the roof. By this point I had a fierce little knot in my stomach about the car and it wouldn’t go away. I didn’t trust this cruddy old Land Rover—it wasn’t just the clutch, it was also the back window that wouldn’t stay shut, the broken door on the rear passenger side that never would open and the one on the other side that frequently got stuck, the scratched-up windows the we could barely see out of (and certainly couldn’t snap pictures through). But mostly, it was the feeling of not trusting it to get us where we needed to go… and knowing that it had cheated us out of several hours’ worth of fun with the kids this afternoon. None of this was Jackson’s fault, but we could tell he was feeling really bad about it. And, hey, TIA (this is Africa), stuff happens! But it was still a bummer. Much later, after all was said and done (and we’d made it safely into and out of the Ngorongoro Crater), my husband said that at least that old clunker gave us “safari street cred,” because it was a well-used machine that had clearly seen a lot of action. [It’s worth noting (for any of you considering using Green Footprint) that this was the only real complaint we had with GF, and even then we knew it was relatively minor compared with what could happen. Mary at GF told me that they’d decided to sell that Land Rover because it was getting to the end of its useful life, so hopefully it’s no longer in their fleet. But I do want to emphasize that Green Footprint did a great job for us in every other way, and Jackson handled this one hitch with grace and professionalism. I would certainly book another safari with them, especially with Jackson as our guide. Because, ultimately, a great guide is worth far more than a few hours wasted on car repairs.]

The road out to the Rift Valley Children’s Village was absolutely insane—steep, riddled with huge potholes and ditches in the red earth, so narrow and treacherous at some points that I had to shut my eyes. I kept waiting for the car to kick the bucket, but it plowed along like a trooper (and we sure were glad not to have that minibus!). At last we reached a pleasant little village with a long road lined with jacaranda trees, nestled in the green hills of the Ngorongoro highlands. And there was the sign welcoming us to the RVCV.

We were greeted by Sara, the volunteer coordinator, who showed us around the children’s village and introduced us to Josephat. What an adorable kid! He was so shy when he first met us and shook our hands. His eyes were huge, his little face very solemn as he showed us around his kindergarten classroom. (None of the volunteers could believe how quiet and shy he was, and they kept telling us what a cut-up and goofball he usually was.) I asked him questions about his school, and he showed us their artwork and the weather chart on the wall. “What was the weather like today?” Sara asked him, and he replied in a tiny voice, “It was sunny.” We noticed that Josephat had 15 gold stars for good behavior on another wall chart, more than any other kid in his class.

When we walked up to Tarangire House, where Josephat lives, its littlest resident came out to greet us with his house mama. He was only two years old, but he gave us a big smile and a hearty, “Hello!” (I wish I could remember his name – we met so many kids today, I can’t recall them all.) Sara warned us that we’d arrived at bath time, so we would probably be surprising some naked little boys. As soon as we went inside, a bunch of half-dressed little bodies went running away, shrieking and laughing. Josephat, not to be outdone (since we were HIS visitors, after all) rushed into his bedroom and hid behind the door so he could jump out and scare us as we walked in! We dutifully pretended to be very scared, and the boys in the room cracked up. As Josephat showed us around his room, more and more curious faces peeked in to see what was going on, and the room filled up quickly with kids (and a few volunteers too). The boys seemed especially intrigued by my husband, constantly asking, “Who IS this guy?? Is he from America? Does he play football?” Looking around a bit, we realized that all the volunteers we met were young women—between them and the Tanzanian house mamas, the kids probably didn’t have too many men in their lives.

Josephat got out his sticker book to show us, and Sara said it was his favorite book. We’d sent it to him last Christmas, so I was thrilled to see how beat-up and well-used it was. He wanted to give us each a sticker, so he spent some time flipping through the pages with a look of intense concentration, carefully choosing ones he thought we’d like. He picked a white horse for me and construction equipment for Jackson and my husband, and stuck them on the back of our hands. Then he sat on the bed with his friend Christopher and me and showed us his Spider-man coloring book. He’s a huge fan and has sent us pictures of Spider-man in the past, so I kept teasing him—pointing to pictures of the bad guys and saying, “Is this Spider-man?” The boys would shriek and laugh, “No! Not that one! THIS is him!”

Things started to get a bit rowdy when Christopher and Simone began “showing us their muscles,” and then demonstrating their “Power Ranger” moves for us and wanting us to film them. Josephat, suddenly feeling shy again (and probably overwhelmed by these bigger, louder boys), ducked into the alcove of his closet and started doing his own quick karate chops and kicks in there. But before long it was time for him to go off and take his bath. When Sara told him this, he looked surprised and glanced down at his dusty play clothes and grimy bare feet. “But I’m not dirty!” he insisted.

While Josephat was in the bath, Sara showed us around the rest of the village and talked about the kids’ daily lives. Right now, for instance, they were supposed to be off in their houses having post-bath movie time to wind down before bed, but most of them were too curious about the strangers and kept running up to us to say hello and ask where we were from. Freshly spiffed up in a clean outfit, Josephat came racing back out to the playground to catch up with us, holding the little photo book we’d given him. We also brought toys and games for the kids to share, but they would be getting those later—Sara explained that they don’t like to hand out toys when people come to visit, because they don’t want the kids associating having visitors with getting stuff. Instead, they would keep it for birthdays and other special occasions. But they did tell us that a nice gift we could give Josephat would be some pictures of ourselves that would show him something of our life back in California. We’d put together a little book with pictures of our dog – Kyle at home in his favorite chair, the three of us camping in a tent and hiking in the mountains, things like that. We figured he wouldn’t be interested in pictures of our jobs, but since the kids at the RVCV have several dogs we thought he might like that. He really did seem to dig it—as he flipped through the photos, he said, “What a pretty dog!” and when Sara said, “Do you want to tell them about the dogs here?” he just said, “No, this one is better.” (Darn! I would have liked to meet the kids’ dog!) He also seemed really impressed by the pictures of snow in the mountains.

When it was time for us to go—so we’d make it back out that treacherous road before nightfall—Josephat and Sara walked us back to our car. He thanked us in a very small, sad voice, and I knelt down to say goodbye… and then he threw his arms around me and hugged me so hard! I told him what a good boy he was, and how much we loved finally meeting him, and how we think about him so often and really hoped we could come visit again. He said, “Me too! Very much!” Then hugs all around, and Sara cheered him up with an upside-down tickle session. Josephat stood waving goodbye to us until our car turned a corner and we could no longer see him.

I’m not sure I can adequately convey what any part of our Africa journey meant to us, and just how much it meant… but meeting Josephat was truly one of the great highlights of our time here. What a sweet, funny, kind little boy. We were so lucky to get to meet him; I’m sure he has no idea how much that touched us. (When we returned home to California, we found a postcard waiting for us from Sara, who told us that he liked to look at our picture book every night before bed and several times fell asleep holding the pictures. So we made another little photo book of our visit with him and sent it back to Tanzania.)

We arrived at Plantation Lodge just before dark. This place was a pleasant surprise, after the initial disappointment of not being able to stay at the Crater. Actually, compared with the peek we had at the Ngorongoro Serena, this place was much nicer—it felt a world away from the huge safari lodge and buffet line atmosphere. The gardens were lovely and green, with geese wandering by and flowering trees throwing colorful petals down onto the lawn. It was so quiet and peaceful, and our little cottage named “Jacaranda” (appropriate, I thought, considering that the sight of that tree out the window in Nairobi was one of my first “I’m in Africa!” moments) was gorgeous, definitely one of the most comfortable places we’ve stayed.

The only downside… Tonight at dinner we were seated with a British couple, but we couldn’t have a conversation (not even across the table with each other) because the small dining room was completely dominated by the noise coming from the boisterous and increasingly drunk group at the next table. (I won’t say where they were from, only that they were not from either of the countries represented at our table. Jackson told us the next night he’d heard from the Plantation Lodge staff that one person from this party-hearty group actually got so sick with alcohol poisoning that she had to cut her trip short and fly home early!) The food was delicious, but the noise was so annoying that it was hard to enjoy it. We ate as quickly as we politely could and then happily scooted back to our peaceful little cottage to rest up for our last day on safari. Tomorrow, the Ngorongoro Crater!