Crash Course

As I approach the end of the Montessori training session I've been leading, I wanted to share a bit with you all about what's been going on. It's been a difficult but awesome learning experience, with new and unexpected challenges around every corner.

It was up to me to determine how I wanted to structure the course—which in itself was tricky for me, as I had never done anything like this before. I received some guidance from Pam, the in-house (but currently in Canada) Montessorian who is usually the one who teaches the trainings here. I structured my plans around the topics she normally includes in an attempt to create as much consistency as possible between her training and mine. I also planned to show all of the materials in the Swahili Montessori manual The Olive Branch has created for its teachers.

I spent the first two weeks covering the handful of vital theory topics, discussing the materials and demonstrating presentations (actually it was two partial weeks as we had a national holiday and some other activities to plan around). All of this was translated into Swahili by either Daudi (the first week) or Humphrey (the remaining weeks), who The Olive Branch provided for me and who were both a lot of fun to work with.

Now in our third week, we have asked the children from Azimio-Mapula—the community where the training is taking place—to join us. Most, if not all of them came to school there under the guidance of the previous teacher, who wasn't there long and who quit unexpectedly in November. None of the children have attended any school since then.

This week we are doing “practice teaching,” Tanzania style. The children arrive anywhere between 8 and 9 and we get started whenever all (or most) of the teachers show up. Being on time is something you eventually stop worrying about here because it rarely happens. Getting from point A to point B is so trying and treacherous that there's really no telling when anyone will arrive. We all do the best we can. We stay flexible and we make do.

On our first day of practice teaching, I planned to split the 40 or so children up into groups of six or seven per teacher, and allow each teacher to work with their own group. By the time 9 o'clock rolled around, five children had showed up. Another trickled in later bringing us to a grand total of six children to work with (for the four teachers who had made it that day). We made do, and it turned out to be plenty for them to handle on day one.

The children got picked up and pushed from place to place; the teachers got constructive criticism and a reminder about our lecture on “Independence.” One tried showing a very young child the “cards and counters” and they got a re-explanation of how each lesson builds on the previous, and how yes, they do have to be given in the right order. Another dismissed all the children from her group and once, and we talked again about dismissing them one by one to chose their next lesson.

On day two, eight children came and I insisted only two teachers interact with them at a time. The rest were to sit and observe and try their darnedest not to get involved until it was their turn. The classroom began to look like it should, with many children working at their mats and a few being led in a group. I saw numerous accounts of true concentration, most of which got quickly interrupted by an eager teacher wanting to give another lesson. We talked about this, too.

I find my self repeating a lot, rephrasing a lot (and face-palming a lot). I've also been reflecting a lot on what I did well in the course of the training, and what I could have done better. Just as the children are a mirror of our actions in the classroom, these teachers are a reflection on me, and how successfully I've done my job here. It's especially interesting for me to get to see which things they absorbed from the previous two weeks, and which either got lost in translation or went in one ear and well...ya know.

It's an uphill battle, for certain, but we are making progress, and that's about all I can hope for. I feel confident that these six people will make wonderful teachers for their communities, should they have the dedication to stick with it for a while. No one comes out of training an outstanding Montessori teacher, and they will be no exception. As I've told them many times these past few weeks, being a fantastic teacher comes with time and experience. No one expects greatness right away (thank goodness!). I hope the same will prove true for me in the coming months in Thailand, as I attempt what I've begun to think of as "Montessori Crash Course 2.0". 

The Patchwork Mountain

A majestic green mountain sits behind the Zion Home, bordering the humungous valley that lies to the East, and keeping watch over the town of Uyole. My eyes have been drawn to it nearly every day since we arrived, especially in the early mornings when its aglow with the light of the rising sun.

When Sean and I asked about it, the children and staff here informed us that there is a path leading to the top. We resolved to climb it before we left, and the other morning we set out to do just that. We filled our small day packs with water and some light snacks, and put the word out that anyone who wanted to join us was welcome to come along. Two of the girls here, Tuma and Laudia, jumped at the opportunity to get some exercise, and the four of us set off with them in the lead. Although we could have managed okay without them, we were glad to have some “tour guides” along who had hiked the mountain before and who knew the way.

We passed through the town, walked over the train tracks, and crossed a large field before we really started climbing. Once we did, we found the path to be quite steep much of the way, and slippery with loose dirt and gravel at times. We strolled passed farm after farm as we ascended the mountain—some being tended by their dedicated owners, others occupied only by their steadily growing crops. 

We also passed numerous people on the trail, most of them carrying heavy loads either up or down the mountain. Almost everyone we came across was curious. “Who were we?” “What were we doing?” they would ask the girls in Swahili (always, of course, after extending a customary greeting) to which they all received the answer “We're climbing the mountain!” Most shot back puzzled looks, and if I had to guess, probably responded with something along the lines of “No really...” or “but WHY?” They simply didn't understand the concept of climbing the mountain just for fun, for exercise, or to see the view from the top. They couldn't wrap their minds around why anyone would want to climb it who didn't have a farm on it (which we obviously didn't).

For these people, climbing the mountain was the result of the unfortunate location of their farm. In Tanzania, farming is a way of life—even if you do something else for work, you also farm in order to grow your family's food for the year. Virtually all the land gets farmed, and if you're not quick enough when it comes time to claim your space, you end up stuck with a crappy plot. The less desirable land is that which is far from a water source, has poor soil quality, or is at the top of a very steep mountain.

We continued passing the farms—each with it's meticulously planted rows of crops—the entire time we were hiking. Corn, peas, potatoes, beans, cabbage, more corn... all the way up. The entire time we continued passing people working on these farms. It took us two hours to reach the top, and the whole time, I kept thinking “holy cow! These people do this every day to get to their farms... and then they work on their farms! Sometimes for ten hours they work. And then they have to hike back down carrying all their equipment...”

I was as baffled by this as they were by our desire to hike the mountain for fun. No wonder they couldn't make sense of it. In Tanzania, the people mostly work. They work to eat, they eat, and they sleep so they can work again tomorrow. They are no strangers to exercise, but know it only as a bi-product of long hours and back-breaking labor.

When we reached one of the mountain's many crests and decided we had gone far enough, we sat down and the four of us guzzled our water and shared a snack. We admired the view over the rolling patchwork hills and the backdrop of Uyole down below us.

If the farmers seemed puzzled before, they were even more puzzled when we passed by them again so soon heading in the opposite direction. To them, making such a strenuous climb for such a short visit at the top seemed ludicrous. We simply laughed and shrugged, and continued on towards home...  

An interesting looking seed pod (?) that I found along the way along with one of the many beautiful and perfectly symmetrical orange flowers we saw

A Traditional Tribal Dance

As one walks down the muddy, rutted backroads of the Tanzanian countryside, a sense of stepping into the past sets in. The old mud and brick huts, the cows and goats gazing placidly towards the passerby, the clothes swaying on fraying lines, all give the impression that this place has remained untouched by--and even unaware of--the passage of time.

A few days ago, this sensation was heightened for both of us when we found ourselves in the midst of a Maasai village, taking part in one of their traditional dances. The Maasai are a group of semi-nomadic, pastoral people who live throughout Kenya and Tanzania. Despite the influence of the outside world and pressure from both the Kenyan and Tanzanian governments to abandon their traditional lifestyle, many Maasai live lives that are strikingly similar to those of their ancestors. Deborah's husband, Putiyei, is a Maasai, and a few nights ago we were invited to the nearby village where his family lives to witness and join in one of their dances.

I should note that I use the term “nearby” liberally. The journey out to this village was quite long and involved. We walked down to the main road and took a 45-minute dala-dala ride to another town. We then piled onto several piki-pikis and took an often-harrowing ride on a pothole-ridden, muddy, bumpy dirt road to another, even more remote village. Jenna, myself and some others were lucky enough at this point to catch a ride in Putiyei's 4-wheel-drive for the remainder of the journey (in which we came very close to becoming hopelessly stuck in a giant mud puddle created by a recent heavy rain). The rest of our group had to walk for almost 2 hours to reach our destination—the village of Soluwaya.

We were greeted by friendly smiles and timid but playful groups of children. We took a brief tour of the village and were kindly invited into multiple surprisingly modern and well-furnished homes, where we sat smiling and shifting in somewhat awkward silence. Putiyei wasn't with us to translate, and none of those present were even close to conversational in either Swahili or Maa (their tribal language).

When the dance participants began to gather, we were invited to join in. The dancers were to be a group of so-called Moran (the Maasai's term for young men, generally between 18-30) and young women (some very young). I was ushered into a private room where I could change, and Kashu, Putiyei's brother, handed me a set of robes, a “cattle stick” and a long knife in a sheath. After donning this strange garb, I set off with Kashu to begin the procession that heralds the beginning of the dance. I found my place in line, and started off with the group.

As we marched, grunts, shrieks and other strange sounds emanated from the procession, sounds I would never have guessed a human could produce. A young girl directly behind me stifled giggles at the bespectacled, gangly white man in front of her, and I really couldn't blame her. I was finding it hard not to break out into laughter myself.

When we reached the place where the dance would begin, the Moran and the young women (actually only a few who I would have judged to be old enough to call “women”) separated themselves and formed two arcs opposite from each other. The men then began to grunt and wheeze, creating a rhythm and a droning, continuous tone. The dance was relatively simple, consisting of many variations of the same theme—a man from the group would sing a high-pitched string of words, and was in turn responded to by the group. Occasionally the women and girls would join in, punctuating the men's chants with soft, lullaby-like singing, but mostly, the songs and dance were led by the Moran. The chanting would begin, and the men would take turns stepping out of line and jumping as high as they could, keeping time with the chant. The technique—which I found to be incredibly difficult—was to keep one's entire body rigidly straight and launch into the air, using the calf muscles while bending at the knees as little as possible.

This phase of the dance would last anywhere from 10 minutes to a half hour, after which the women would get involved. They would step forward, towards the men, and shake their upper body in such a way as to rattle the beads and metal of their ornate collar-necklaces as loudly as possible, while still keeping their body as still as possible . I was happy to see that Jenna, too, was dressed in traditional garb and was participating with the young women and other volunteers. The men would dance around them, interacting with subtle gesticulations and more strange sounds.

The dance lasted for hours, and the longer the chanting and jumping lasted, the more relaxed the group became, the more willing to improvise and forget rules and inhibitions. We fed off this energy, and found ourselves dancing with them well past dark.

Us with Kashu, taking a quick break from dancing to snap a pic

My throat ached, raw from the grunting; my legs burned, but I continued nonetheless, until finally Putiyei approached and told me that dinner was ready. Thankful for the reprieve, I stepped out of line and left the group of dancers. They continued for at least another hour, and Jenna and I could hear their music even as we lay in bed after dinner.

In the morning, after breakfast, some of the women from the village brought out some of their beautiful, handcrafted, jingling jewelry and offered it to us to buy. The volunteers passed around necklace after beaded necklace, debating which ones they preferred and negotiating prices. We couldn't believe the bargains we were getting on such incredible pieces, all of which must have taken many hours of dedicated and practiced work to make.

The female volunteers, admiring the jewelry and deliberating which to purchase

When we completed the jewelry negotiations, we thanked the villagers for hosting us and for including us in their unique tradition. We then set off down the road, beginning our nearly two hour walk back to the village we had passed through on the previous day. As we walked away, we reflected on our experience, marveling at the beauty and distinctiveness of it all, and contemplating the likelihood of us ever participating in such a ceremony again.

A beautiful Maasai girl, still wearing her dress from
the night before

Deb and Putiyei's daughter, Serianne,
all decked out in her Maasai finest

It's things like this that have made this journey such a rewarding and enriching experience for both of us. The entire night seemed surreal to me at the time, like something that I was watching happen to someone else. It's a story that both of us will recount for many years to come.

The Nitty Gritty

Our sincere apologies for the gap between posts-- the past week has been incredibly busy for both of us! Since we arrived here we have been working non-stop on different projects that The Olive Branch is involved in. They have a ton going on here and there is never a dull moment, or a lack of work to be done!

Upon arrival, I was assigned the task of planning and administering a Montessori training course to six new teachers. Most haven't even completed the equivalent of 3^rd grade themselves and have never taught in a classroom. Almost all will be in charge of their own school when the training is over. It's really bizarre to be entirely in charge of other people's training being that I only completed my own Montessori training a few years ago and have yet to lead a classroom myself. The other staff here regularly refer to me as a “Montessori expert,” in response to which I usually have a good chuckle. Relative to most people here though-- and certainly as compared to the villagers I'm training-- my knowledge of the subject does seem immense. Yet as large as the amount of information I would like to share with them is, we have only three weeks in which to complete the training.

The classroom where we are doing the training...

Yes, that's ALL the materials they have. Yes, that's a giant puddle of water on the floor. And yes, this is one if the nicer classrooms...

The new teachers are eager; eager to work with The Olive Branch, eager to start a new career, eager to help their communities. Their capacities are somewhat limited by their lack of previous schooling and experience, but they are making a sincere effort to stay with me through the incredibly fast and abbreviated training.

I have run into my fair share of challenges already in the first week. When I arrived at the classroom on Saturday to check out the materials and prepare for the training, I found all of the materials mixed together and piled against one wall. They hadn't been touched since the previous teacher quit in November, and were covered with a thick layer of dust and grime that floated in through the broken windows. I spent hours that first day dusting things off and creating the "shelves" you see below.

The rather sparse Practical Life "shelf"

Sensorial (there are also Sound Cylinders, Touch Tablets, Constructive Triangles, and a few Geometry Cabinet shapes)

The Math "shelf"

Home-made Teen's and Ten's Boards

Language (Sound Game objects, home-made Sandpaper Letters, Picture Cards, and a Moveable Alphabet)

There are practical issues as well. My commute to and from the training location alone is quite difficult. It involves walking to town, catching an overcrowded dala-dala (minibus) to a village called Mswiswi, walking some more, and then either riding a bike, or paying extra for a piki-piki (motorcycle) ride from there to Azimio-Mapula, the village where the training takes place. The dirt “roads” are washed out and muddy, and often look more like drainage ditches than anything navigable by vehicle. It takes my translator and I anywhere from an hour and a half to two and half hours to get there, depending. Then we do it all again in the afternoon to get home. Some of the teachers come from even further away.

Then there's the issue of translation. As if our time isn't short enough already, everything I say must be translated into Swahili. You might think this would make it take twice as long, but you'd be wrong: it takes longer. I have a great translator, and he does a wonderful job of not only translating what I say, but also explaining to the teachers what he feels needs explaining due to the massive gaps between our two cultures and educational levels. Unfortunately, this means I have no choice but to move slowly through the material. It also means I have to cut out ALL of the “non-essentials” (and even many of the “essentials”). This leaves the new teachers with only the bare foundations of Montessori, which The Olive Branch will continue building on over the next 10 years. That's the trajectory. Ten years before a teacher will have received all (or most) of the information and developed a solid understanding. Ten years before the classrooms will look even remotely like Montessori classrooms are supposed to. Better be a hell of a foundation...

Sean, on the other hand, has been spending most of his time here at The Zion Home. He's been working one-on-one with the children and coming up with a comprehensive evaluation of each child and his or her skill levels, strengths, and difficulties. He has also been helping to get the kids involved in organizing and fixing up their classroom. They tackled the mess of papers and books on the shelves, and made lists of the kinds of books they have (not many), and the kinds they still need (lots!). As a group they chose some great new paint colors (bright orange and even brighter yellow!) and washed the walls. Sean has spent every spare moment he has priming and painting and helping to make the classroom a place the children can look forward to spending time.

In between painting sessions, he's been teaching lessons to the elementary-aged kids. He gets them involved at every possible opportunity and does lots of games and puzzles. They seem to love his approach, and also the change of pace from their normal lecture-based lessons. Sean, too, seems to really enjoy these lessons and working with the kids.

Though we haven't gotten to spend much time together over the past week, we are both enjoying the experiences we're having here and have been having fun swapping stories in the evenings. Our time, as usual, is going fast, but I truly think we'll leave feeling as though we've been a part of something worthwhile and accomplished something of value to The Olive Branch and to the people it serves. If you have any interest in learning more about TOBFC, you can visit their website at http://www.theolivebranchforchildren.org/

Also, we've observed that the library here is in desperate need of a bit of filling out. Please consider checking out the list of beginner and middle-reader books below and ordering something for the children at Zion Home to read! These are just some examples, so feel free to pick out anything you think the children would enjoy (maybe something you enjoyed as a child!). If you choose to purchase a book, please post the title in the comments below so that others can avoid duplicating your choice. Any contributions are guaranteed to be appreciated greatly, and enjoyed by the children here for many years!

Book Suggestions:

The Very Hungry Caterpillar by Eric Carle
Where the Sidewalk Ends by Shel Silverstein
The Giving Tree by Shel Silverstein
Where the Wild Things Are by Maurice Sendak
Little Bear's Friend by Else Holmelund Minarik
Anything from the Animorphs Series
Any of the Redwall books
This Crossword book (or something similar!)

Books can be shipped to TOBFC Headquarters in Canada and they will be brought to Tanzania by a volunteer!

The Olive Branch for Children
14-3650
Suite #377
Woodbridge, Ontario
L4L9a8
Canada

Please request a note on the package indicating that the book is "A donation to the children's library at Zion Home" so that it gets to the right place! Thank you!

Home Away from Home

When we arrived in Mbeya, Tanzania we were met at the station by Deborah, the director and founder of The Olive Branch for Children, and her Tanzanian husband, Putyei. They are both unbelievably kind and dedicated people, and Deborah immediately started telling us all about their organization, and what they would be having us do here.

Africa has offered no shortage of smiling faces and warm welcomes for us, but when we arrived at The Zion Home-- our based for the next 3+ weeks-- we were shocked to walk into what was possibly the warmest welcome either of us have ever received. The kids started dancing, drumming, and singing in typical Tanzanian style as we walked through the door. We both froze, completely overwhelmed by their smiling faces and enthusiasm at our arrival. We stood speechless, and our travel-weariness disappeared as the sound of singing, clapping, and stomping feet surrounded us. They carried on like this, not just for one song, but for three! When they finally finished, Deborah introduced us in Swahili (most of the children here speak English, but some have just arrived and do not) and then the most amazing thing happened... the children rushed us- all 30 of them- and every last one of them gave us each a GIANT hug and said "Welcome!". It was one of the single most amazing moments of my life. To be completely surrounded by these children, who have had only the toughest of lives, and have their little arms and bodies wrapped around us so warmly, silently thanking us for being here, even though we'd only just arrived.

We spent our first evening playing scrabble with a few of the kids (a great way for them to practice their English) and then played a freeze-tag type game with larger group. After we had dinner (beans, rice, and cooked greens- the standard lunch and dinner meal here) the kids went to bed, and we stayed up a while playing “Settlers of Catan” (a group favorite) with Deborah, Putyei and the other volunteers.

The Olive Branch not only operates the Montessori outreach program, building schools and providing teacher training in the surrounding areas, but it also operates two homes housing over 45 orphaned children, many of whom are living with HIV. The main site where we are staying is not just the home of Deborah, her husband, and her one and half year old daughter, it's also the home of the 30 children in their care and the multiple interns and volunteers they have working for them at any given time. In addition to this, The Zion Home is the main operating office of their organization, which provides home based care for people living with HIV and community health education in addition to the Montessori outreach program. On top of all this, about half of the children who live here are home-schooled on site. Needless to say, there's a lot going on! The facility here is big enough for them, but only just barely, meaning space is at a premium and there's no such thing as having your own--for anyone. Needless to say, there's a lot involved in running an operation like this one and there are constantly people bustling around, preparing meals, washing dishes, and helping with the kids.

The most amazing thing about this place is that it truly feels like one big family. It's hard to tell who is an employee and who is a resident and everyone pitches in when needed, even the children. Deborah and Putyei aren't just the directors of the organization, they're the parents of each and every one of the kids in their care. The children all call them “Mom” and “Dad” and think of each other as brothers and sisters. To them, we are “Auntie Jenna” and “Uncle Sean”. It feels incredible to be welcomed so easily and quickly into this amazing community.

Our first morning we woke early to the sounds of roosters crowing, children playing outside the bunkhouse and breakfast being brought in from the outdoor kitchen. Over the course of the day, Deborah gave us an overview of what we would be doing for the next few weeks. I'll be heading out into the villages to administer perhaps the most rapid and condensed version of a “Montessori Training” that has ever been done, while Sean stays here and works with the kids one-on-one to come up with individual projects they can focus on while their teachers are busy giving lessons to other children (the home-school here includes lots of kids of mixed ages and abilities, but is not Montessori... yet).We're both excited to dive in and get started, and are looking forward to seeing what we can accomplish here!

Taking the Train

When we arrived in Zambia, we weren't exactly sure how we would get to our next destination. Taking a coach across the border into Tanzania would be slightly less expensive perhaps, but would also mean long rides on overnight buses (not to mention being cramped on a bus for the better part of 40+ hours). The only other option for travel between the two countries is the Tanzanian-Zambian Railway (or TAZARA for short) which runs a whopping two trains per week, is estimated to take 24 hours, and is only reliable when it comes to one thing: it's virtually always late. And we're not talking twenty minutes or even an hour late, we're talking days late. After weighing our options, and talking to many people in Zambia, we decided to take the train. We'd heard it was an awesome experience in spite of (or perhaps even because of) the lengthy delays, and we figured it would be the better option.

We boarded the train in the afternoon and were put in separate compartments for men and women, although fortunately they were right next-door to each other. Although we had bought first class tickets, the compartments we were in fell well below the level of cleanliness you would find on any train in the Western world. Sheets and blankets were provided in first class, but they were obviously unwashed. In fact, it was apparent the whole train never got much more than a quick sweep and mop. About an hour into the ride, a staff member came down the isle passing out water, soap, and toilet paper to the first class passengers-- more “perks” the other two classes did not receive. The standards, if they exist at all here, are incredibly different from those we are used to.

To our great surprise, the train left the station in Kapiri Mposhi exactly on time and remained that way throughout most of the trip. We spent most of the afternoon lounging and playing cards in the dining car and then crawled into our bunks early and settled in for the night. The train was an old one and it was a bumpy, jolty ride. The night was no exception and we both remained in a state of partial sleep, waking frequently when the train stopped or the conductor slammed on the breaks too hard. Regardless, we were happy to at least be able to lay down horizontally to sleep and to get up and move around when our muscles needed it (both luxuries we have too often gone without while traveling from place to place).

As we passed by huts and small villages, children would come running out along dirt paths waving and chasing after us. Each time we stopped, villagers would approach the train carrying bowls and baskets of food and offering it to the passengers on board. At the stations, children would gather between the tracks scrutinizing us through the windows, waving, or soliciting “gifts”. At one station, where there was a particularly large group of children gathered, I took out some candies I had in my bag and began tossing them out the window. They completely freaked out! The kids started scrambling and pushing each other in their efforts to catch the sweets, and I tossed carefully, trying to give some of the shorter children a chance. All of a sudden, one particularly greedy and clever child came flying up out of nowhere and grabbed the candies out of my hand! Without my seeing him, he had run parallel along the train for a ways, gaining enough speed to jump all the way up to the window (a good 7 or so feet off the ground) and snatch the whole bag. Before I knew what had happened, he had taken off down the tracks with his loot and the whole crowd of kids chasing after him. Oh well, it was fun while it lasted.

As we crossed the border, guys came on board carrying huge stacks of Tanzanian shillings and offering to change our money. We knew they would be offering us a lousy deal, but didn't have very much Zambian money left, so we took them up on it, figuring it would be easier than finding a bank. Other entrepreneurs were selling Tanzanian SIM cards and air time, which we also purchased. How convenient!

The countrysides of both Zambia and Tanzania are absolutely beautiful. To get to see so much of it from the train was especially nice. All in all, we had a great time on the train and are glad we went that route. Everything about Africa is an experience, and moving from place to place is certainly no exception. 

Chobe National Park

It's probably news to most of you that Africa is actually quite expensive. Zambia in particular is one of the costliest countries in Africa to travel to. Before coming here, we weren't aware of this, nor were we prepared to spend triple in a day in Africa what we spent in the same amount of time in Europe.

When we arrived in Livingstone, we immediately realized how many amazing things there were to do there that we couldn't afford. There was river rafting, bungee jumping, boat rides, booze cruises, swimming holes, ultra-light flights over the falls, safaris, and many, many other fantastic sounding things that all cost a boatload of money to do. Having already gone through more than half of our entire trip budget in Europe, and still having 5 full months of travel left, most of these adventurous outtings were out of the question for us (but if we ever come upon bottomless travel funds, we're coming straight back here to do it all!).

The one thing we decided to spring for while in Livingstone was a day safari to Chobe National Park in Botswana. You can bungee jump anywhere, but when it comes to seeing giraffes, monkeys, crocodiles, and elephants in the wild, there's only a few handfuls of places in the world where you can go.

The safari lasted the entire day and was split into two parts: the first half by land through the park and the second half by boat on the Chobe river. We left our hostel at seven, crossed the border and arrived at the Kalahari Tour base in Botswana by nine. After having a light breakfast we hopped into the open sided safari vehicles and set off.

We hadn't even been in the park five minutes when we spotted our first group of elephants. Chobe has the largest concentration of elephants of anywhere in Africa (an estimated 50,000) and boy could you tell! Over the course of the day, we saw hundreds of them.

The absolute highlight though was this 2-3 week old baby elephant. He was playing in the mud and was perhaps the cutest thing any of us had ever seen. You can see him here hiding under his Mom, and we have a great video but not enough bandwidth to get it uploaded :/ 

We saw a variety of other awesome animals, too...

This giraffe...

These impalas...

Lots of dung beetles, rolling their dung...

These mongoose... 

And so many birds!

Then there was this pair of warthogs. We noticed that one of them, sadly, had had a run in with a porcupine-- strangely enough, it had ten or so quills coming directly out of its rear end. One of the people on the tour explained that porcupines and warthogs both live in underground burrows, and also that warthogs enter their burrows backwards. We collectively speculated that perhaps the warthog had been unfortunate enough to have backed into a burrow that was already occupied. Ouch!

If you look closely, you can see the quills (at the rear of the one on the left) 

After a great lunch at the Kalahari house, we walked down a short path to the river and got on the boat. The river itself made for a beautiful setting, and from the boat we saw lots of hippos, a crocodile, a monitor lizard, more impalas, lots more elephants, and some buffalo.

But my personal favorites were these monkeys, whose babies clung to them in the most adorable way!

About half way through the boat ride, the sky darkened and the wind picked up. A few moments later, rain started and the guides handed out these super stylish ponchos.

Feeling completely satisfied with all the great animals we'd seen, we decided to embrace the storm and make the most of it. On the upper deck, we discovered that if you held your poncho just right, you could lean your full weight against the wind.

Heading back across the border into Zambia, we agreed that our safari experience was well worth the splurge, and resolved to go on another as soon as we get the chance.