Endangered

We arrived on the island of Sumatra a few days ago. Here, we intend to take in as much of Indonesia as our eyes can handle in a week and a half. When we landed in Medan, we were met at the airport by someone from the bungalow we had arranged to stay at. He was to drive us the 3-ish hours to Bukit Lawang where we would find our accommodation, nestled in one of the most remote and picturesque jungle-side towns in the world.

Our driver dropped us off as close as you can get by car, and the brother of the bungalow owner met us on his motorbike to escort us (and, more importantly, to transport our luggage) up the long, narrow road to the inn. We were outwardly impressed by his navigation of the incredibly steep paths, which he managed gracefully even while toting both of our large packs on his bike.

When we arrived, we were completely overwhelmed by the beauty and serenity of the place, and thrilled that we were fortunate enough to be spending the next few days there. Even just the walk to the bungalow left us feeling as though we had entered some sort of dream world—the type of place you only see in movies. We were shown to our room—a humble 10x10 thatch-roofed abode which sits at the very top of the facility and looks down on the rooftops of most of the town. We relaxed there for a few minutes before climbing the steep stairs back down to the restaurant to get something to eat.

We chose this destination for one reason: the orangutans. As soon as we learned that these incredible animals—with whom we share 96.4% of our genes—live in Sumatra, we knew we had to try and visit them. Sumatra is one of two places left on earth where orangutans still live (the other is Borneo), and sadly their habitat in both places is getting smaller by the day. Though both the Bornean and Sumatran orangutans (considered to be two separate species) are endangered, and the Sumatran orangutans are even “critically endangered”, an estimated 9520 acres of the jungle in which they live is cut down each day to be replaced by a palm oil plantation or a rubber tree farm. That comes out to about 6 football fields worth of their lush, green habitat every minute. The increasingly high demand on these two products, or on products which contain palm oil or rubber, has created an all too familiar situation: certain people placing a higher value on the development and commodification of the forest here, than they do on the unique plant and animal species which inhabit it. In short, there's a lot more money to be made on palm oil and rubber, than there is on saving the orangutans, or the countless other things that live in, and can only be found in, the Sumatran jungle. Sadly, the majority of us are blind to what's going on, or regularly choose convenience over compassion and activism.

Palm oil is used for all sorts of things. We cook with it, wash ourselves with it, paint our faces with it, even fuel our cars with it (that's right, the supposedly “greener” biodiesel is often made with palm oil). Anything that comes in a wrapper almost certainly contains it. We didn't use it hardly at all 60 years ago, but now we can't seem to manage without it. “Why?” you might ask. Because it's cheaper for companies to use palm oil than any of the other ingredients which can easily be used in it's place. Although they are the ones deciding to take the more cost-efficient, less sustainable route, it's us, the consumers who are enabling them by purchasing their products. The harsh truth is that with every purchase you make of an item containing palm oil, you are feeding the demand for more plantations, and by association, contributing to the destruction of more rainforest, and the killing of the creatures which inhabit it.

The tragic fact of what's happening in places like Sumatra and Borneo was proven entirely too true to us as we made the drive to Bukit Lawang from Medan. We passed virtually nothing but palm oil plantations. Rows and rows of palm trees—as far as the eye could see— and every last one of them planted in a spot where there used to be precious rainforest. We were both overwhelmed with sadness for the continuing loss of such a beautiful environment—an ecosystem which is so rare, and from which such beauty grows. 

Please, consider becoming more informed on this important subject by clicking HERE before reading on.

We were fortunate enough to see a female orangutan our first afternoon from the deck of the bungalow restaurant. She was hanging out in a tree just above the bank of the river on the opposite side from us, and she was stunning. One of the employees pointed her out to us and we watched in awe as she swung about, feeding on different branches. She moved confidently from tree to tree, captivating us with her strength and gracefulness. We continued observing her while enjoying our own lunches, and then headed down to the riverbank to get a closer look. 

We sat watching her for nearly an hour, unable to tear our eyes off this incredible creature, who looked and moved so much like us, yet in a way unlike any creature we'd seen before. Orangutans have adapted to have especially long fingers and limbs, which significantly help them to achieve such impressive arboreal locomotion. They spend most of their lives up in trees, making them extremely skilled at climbing and navigating between branches. They are also highly intelligent—the average adult orangutan's intelligence is comparable to that of a six year old human child. Eventually we decided to head up to our room—we had scheduled a trek for the following day and had many more animals to see in the morning!

We set off with our guide bright and early after a hearty breakfast. He knew tons about the flora and fauna of the jungle and stopped often to point out an animal or bring our attention to the call of a particular bird. He told us all about the medicinal uses of plants that we passed, and often offered us a taste of ones that were edible. It's hard to so much as pass through such an environment and not be impressed by it's diversity and natural bounty. We were continually astonished by the wealth of plants and their broad spectrum of uses. As we stared into the deep, tangled green on either side of the trail, it wasn't difficult to imagine the possibility of things growing here that no one has ever discovered.

An hour or so into our eight hour trek we spotted our first primates of the day—a couple of white-handed gibbons (a small species of ape) bouncing around the tops of the trees. We scurried down a hillside, pulled out our binoculars and tried to get a good view of them as they darted quickly from branch to branch. As we sat straining to catch a glimpse through the leaves, our guide pointed out some other animals—macaque monkeys—a few of which were swinging in some trees nearby. We stood gazing up at them, high above us in the branches. At one point we found ourselves looking directly up and were caught off guard when our guide hurriedly warned us of the “hot shower” we were about to receive. Sure enough, we ducked out of the way just in time to avoid getting peed on by a full-bladdered gibbon that was passing overhead. All three of us stood in the middle of the trail laughing hysterically at our extremely close call, which of course scared the monkeys away, so we continued on.

Mid-way through the morning, our guide led us to one of several orangutan feeding platforms that are scattered throughout the park. The rangers occasionally offer the orangutans supplementary food at these specific locations, and so, he told us, it would be more likely for us to find one there (hoping for an easy snack, no doubt). Sure enough, as we approached, we came across a small group of people gathered watching, and just beyond them, a very special sight indeed: a beautiful mother orangutan with her new baby in tow.

Our guide told us they were very familiar with this particular orangutan, and that her baby had been born only ten days ago under the watchful eyes of some of the park rangers. He explained that they don't use tracking devices, but rather that the guides and rangers often recognize many of the different orangutans in the park by their facial features.

We continued watching the pair for quite a while, in awe of her strength and dexterity as she flowed from tree to tree, and amazed at the tiny baby's ability to hold on to his mother's side through every stretch and swing. We learned that one of the things that makes population recovery difficult for these wonderful, endangered creatures is the especially long length of their birthing cycles. Though their gestation is the same as ours—9 months—a young orangutan will stay with his mother for six to eight years learning everything he needs to know to survive on his own. Mother orangutans can only manage to feed and teach one baby at a time, and thus only have another once the previous has “left the nest”.

To our surprise, this 'new mom' seemed to feel quite safe and unfazed by the presence of the growing group of people gathering to watch her and her little one, and we were able to get incredibly close. At several points, she even moved towards us in her attempt to reach a different tree. When this would happen, the guides would ask us to calmly back away, and do our best to maintain at least a couple of meters of space between her and us.

Once we'd had our fill (and felt like she deserved some space) we left her to munch on her leaves, and continued on our trek. After a while longer, we stopped along the trail and enjoyed a traditional Indonesian packed lunch—fried rice with veggies and an egg wrapped in banana leaves. To top it off, our guide had brought along a variety of jungle fruits for dessert, some of which we had never seen or even heard of before.

Later in the afternoon, we ran into another group of macaques. There were quite a few of them scampering all through the trees and on the ground around us. We hung out for a while, enjoying their antics.

As our trek was nearing it's end, we came upon one final species of primate—the Thomas Leaf monkey. There was a large group of them playing in the trees and making quite a ruckus just near the edge of the park. We loved their “David Beckham” mohawks and the little white rings around their eyes.

Despite our exhaustion from the long day in the park, we were reluctant to leave when the time came. We felt as though we could spend months exploring and still not feel ready to go. We knew there were still more animals to spot, more plants to taste, more sights to behold—but sadly, the day was coming to an end, and our time was up.

We left feeling a renewed and even stronger desire to fight for and protect this extraordinary place, with its diverse inhabitants and unparalleled beauty. That being the case, we want to strongly urge you, our readers, to take action—however small—against the atrocities being committed by short sighted corporations that are motivated by greed. Avoid buying products containing palm oil whenever possible, and research carefully before purchasing rubber products as well. Do your due diligence and READ the LABEL before you buy! The orangutans, and other jungle residents don't stand a chance if we don't take action now. If nothing else, I want this beautiful place to still be there for future generations to experience like we did.

~Jenna

Stranded and Stung

One of the things we were most looking forward to in Malaysia was a visit to the Perhentians—a small group of islands off the northeast coast of the mainland peninsula. Palm trees, white sand beaches, world class snorkeling...about as close to a 'tropical island paradise' as either of us has ever been. Picture something like this, and you've pretty much got it.

We were sooo excited. Sean had never been snorkeling before, and it felt like it had been ages since we'd had a chance to just relax and not have to do anything. About three days before we were scheduled to arrive there, we learned we couldn't go. The entire east coast of the country is right smack in the middle of their annual “monsoon season”, we were told. Sadly, we were forced to re-imagine what “paradise” might actually look like right now.

We had been informed that if we managed to get to the island, everything would be shut down, and we'd be lucky if we could get back again in between horrendous rain storms. Of course, no one at the non-refundable hotel we booked on the extremely tourist dependent island bothered to mention this tiny detail, and none of our pre-trip research exposed any information about the island's weather patterns. Talk about bummed. But what can ya do? It was pretty clear that miserable, drenched, and stranded was not how we wanted to spend any of our time in Malaysia.

Such a big part of traveling is learning to roll with the punches. You work with what you've got, do your best to stay flexible, and play whatever cards you get dealt. So we altered our plans last minute. We decided to spend more time in Penang—an area we had heard wonderful things about—and try to squeeze in a little snorkeling elsewhere. We booked the majority of our remaining time (five nights) in Georgetown, Penang, and planned to spend two days and one night on nearby Langkawi Island, where we could lay on the beach and (hopefully) do a little snorkeling.

We ran into a few glitches getting there, but eventually made it to our hotel on Langkawi after a short ferry ride, two buses, a long ferry ride, and a “teksi”. When we finally arrived, we made a b-line for the nearest beach (another 25 minute cab ride away) and lounged in the sun for what was left of the afternoon. At the beach, we looked around for the best snorkeling option for the following day. There were a few different ways to go about getting our faces in the water, but we eventually settled on doing an “Island Drop”. This entailed being taken out to a private island in the bay by boat and left there for as long as we wanted (or until about 5pm, whichever came first). It was far from the most affordable option, but seemed the only way to spend any decent amount of time snorkeling, and was also appealing for obvious other reasons.

The next morning, we woke up, checked out, and headed right back to the beach and arranged our ride out the the island. The view on the boat ride alone was spectacular. As we left the crowded beach behind us and headed out among the islands in the bay, we were filled with excitement and thrilled with the choice we had made (even if it did mean splurging a bit).

 We were dropped on a secluded strip of beach about a hundred yards long, complete with an abandoned shack and a nice shady spot under an overhanging tree. Perfect! We threw down our towels, and started fitting on our masks and snorkels. We'd been given only one set of fins, but planned to take turns. Sean waded out into the water, and I followed close behind him.

We noticed immediately that the water was cloudy and the visibility poor due to the wave action stirring up the sand on the beach, but figured we'd head out a little ways and see if it didn't improve. We had been in the water all of a minute and a half, when my foot hit the bottom and I felt a sharp, stabbing pain.

I called to Sean as I flailed around, back-paddling towards the beach and trying desperately not to brush the bottom again as a moved through the shallow water. Lifting my leg out of the water, I immediately guessed what had happened. There were a handful of short black spines protruding from my foot, and a good many more barbs that had broken off beneath the surface of my skin. I had been unlucky enough to have kicked a sea urchin.

I was unable to stand or do anything about my foot with the movement of the waves, so Sean scooped me up and carried me over to our towels. I removed the spines that I could grasp, and dug through my bag for a pair of tweezers I happened to have with me. They did no good, as the rest of the spines were completely buried. Meanwhile the entire side of my foot had turned red. We had brought only our small packs on our overnight trip and had left the first-aid kit behind due to lack of space (of course!). The panic of not knowing what to do or how severe the injury might be, and not having proper supplies, was exacerbated by the fact that we were stuck out on an island by ourselves. We rinsed the wounded area with clean water and—acknowledging that neither of us knew the first thing about sea urchin injuries—decided the only logical thing to do was to call for help.

Fortunately, we had a cell phone with us and had taken down the number of the guy who dropped us off. He hadn't been planning on coming back to get us for another four hours, so Sean tried desperately to overcome the language barrier and explain to him what had happened and that we needed him to come right away. Eventually, he understood. We waited for what felt like forever, but was actually more like 40 minutes. When they finally arrived, Sean carried me to the boat and we headed back to the  main beach. Knowing that we were no longer stranded or alone and that some sort of help was available at the beach was incredibly comforting, and from that point on, we mostly found our ordeal to be pretty funny.

As we pulled up on the beach, a crew of guys ran down from the lifeguard stand carrying a backboard. I laughed and insisted that it was overkill, but they didn't seem deterred in the least. Four full grown men carried me the whole 20 yards up the beach as I giggled incessantly at the absurdity of it all. At the lifeguard stand, a group of people gathered to offer assistance (and to see what the fuss was about). The first aid I received was interesting, to say the least. One guy scraped at the barbs with his fingernail. Another squirted my foot with vinegar. But the strangest part was this:

Apparently the local's treatment for sea-urchin stings is to whack the imbedded spines repeatedly with a plastic shoe horn? It's entirely unclear where this practice came from, and what the logic behind it is, but it seemed to work (kind of). The redness disappeared almost immediately, and the pain (mostly) subsided within a few minutes. I was able to hobble around on it for the rest of the afternoon, and it seemed to improve steadily afterwards.

It's hard not to feel sorry about our snorkeling adventure being ruined (twice), but I guess sometimes things just don't work out the way you plan. And when you're traveling, chances are, some sort of adventure is in store wherever you go, whether you plan it or not.
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*Foot Injury Update* For anyone feeling especially concerned (or inexplicably interested in the goings on of my appendages): I have had a strange tingling sensation in my foot that started 2-3 days after it was stung. I feel it only when pressure (of even the slightest sort) is exerted on one particular spot where the sea urchin spines entered. When this “sweet spot” is touched, or the muscle around it flexed, a tingling sensation shoots up my foot, finishing at the tip of my big toe. I can only assume that one (or more) of the spines that remain in my foot is interfering somehow with my nerves, and is creating this disturbing sensation. I intend to visit a “real” doctor or hospital the first chance I have to get a proper exam done and figure out what's going on. Unfortunately, there aren't any appropriate facilities in the Sumatran Jungle—where we are currently—so when exactly this will happen, I'm not entirely sure. The good news is, I'm still able to walk fine, and the condition seems to be stable (read as “well, at least it's not getting any worse”). Rest assured that we're on the look out for signs of infection (of which there are absolutely none) and have zero idea what to do beyond that.

*Update #2* Yesterday we made the difficult decision to skip some of our time in Berestagi to come into Medan and see a doctor. We started off at the hospital, where I was asked simply for my name, date of birth and (of course) religious preference before being seen by a general physician. Her English was pretty limited, but she took a quick look at my foot, gave me an injection of something she said was "to calm the nerves", charged me a mere 10,000 IDR (about $10) and told me to come back at 5 to see the neurologist. Feeling a tad skeptical about all this, we phoned the local US embassy to ask their advice. They informed us that medical care in Indonesia is generally sub-par, and they would recommend going to Singapore or Vietnam for anything serious. They also gave me the name of the doctor who the embassy employees use for small stuff here in Medan. He went to school in the UK and speaks English well, they told me. I called to make an appointment and went in to see him late this afternoon. He seemed to think the sensation I'm experiencing is related to the tendon rather than the nerves, and was of the opinion it would probably go away in a month or two (!?!). He was somewhat concerned about infection and prescribed a course of standard antibiotics (which we've already got with us) and a topical antibiotic as well. He seemed far more interested in where we were headed next, and in offering us unsolicited advice about malaria (as well as popular tourist destinations), but hey, if he's not worried, perhaps I shouldn't be either? In any case, there's not a whole lot more I can do about it now, short of flying to Singapore (which of course, I'll do if it gets any worse). Otherwise, I suppose I'll just wait it out and take my Cipro...

It's been an interesting few days to say the least. The whole incident has made us both very wary of foreign medical services, and has left us feeling extremely thankful that neither of us has incurred a more serious injury abroad (knock on wood). We've become frighteningly aware of how much we take reliable medical care for granted in the states, and what a hassel it can be to seek care elsewhere. Hoping this is a solitary experience for us, because though being sick or having an injury is never enjoyable, it's even less fun to deal with in another country. 

Sensorial Rush

Our first several days in Malaysia have been a whirlwind of sensory experiences. Already, Asia has provided numerous sights, sounds, tastes, and smells that are altogether different from Africa. That is certainly not to say that there weren't a variety of things to see, hear, taste, and smell in Zambia and Tanzania—or in Europe, or back home for that matter—but here everything is somehow qualitatively different from anywhere else we've been.

Bright neon colors flooding out from the market stalls, the metallic wings of a butterfly, and flowers unlike anything we've seen stimulate our eyes and awaken our sense of wonder. The songs of birds and laughs of monkeys echoing down from the jungle canopy, the erratic beating of a drum in celebration of the new year, and an insect producing a noise as loud as a motorbike make memorable treats for our ears.

Our noses, sadly, have been less lucky, assaulted by odors seeping from sewers and wafting off trashcans—smells which are potent and disturbingly ubiquitous. Yet, as if in compensation, only the most mouth watering aromas emanate into the streets from every single restaurant we pass, which brings me to the food...Oh the food! The fare had been so unvarying in the previous month, and our tastebuds had grown so uninterested that the past few days have felt like a never-ending gift for our pallets (heck, after four solid weeks of rice, beans, and greens in Tanzania, even the food on the plane tasted amazing!)

Malaysia is a melting pot of cultures and therefore boasts a mixture of cuisines from all around this corner of the world. At any given point, we've had our choice between tantalizing tandooris and colorful curries, between the unique “banana leaf combos” and the “kong po” chickens. We've indulged in the soups, the fried rice and the noodles, and enjoyed more than our fare share of the freshly made naans, which are covered with everything from garlic and herbs to strawberries and honey. And all for about 30 cents on the dollar as the exchange rate here is so good. It would be accurate to say we've been feasting since we got here, while simultaneously appreciating and enjoying every bite as we never have before.

Its hard to believe how many new things we've encountered in only the first 72 hours, and we anticipate more new sights, sounds and tastes with excitement (while holding a tad more reservation regarding the smells).

~Jenna

Asante Sana, Africa

Since we arrived on this incredible continent just over five weeks ago, we've been welcomed with outstretched arms and friendly smiles everywhere we've gone. We've seen countless amazing things and had a plethora of new experiences, yet we still feel like our time here has been far too short. We could easily spend twice again as much time as we already have, and still not be at a lack for new sights nor frights, for joyous nor challenging moments. Africa has been an adventure around every corner, and we've seen and learned more in these few short weeks than we could have ever thought possible.

As we prepare for our final big leap (Asia!), we find ourselves, once again, reflecting on our time here and feeling grateful to all of the amazing people who contributed to it. Our most sincere expression of gratitude goes out to:

James, the cabbie in Lusaka, who was the first to welcome us

The staff and guests at Lusaka Backpackers

Rupert, Jason, Joe, and Ben of Kapiri Mposhi Top Rank Suite, the best classic rock cover band in all of Zambia

Tilly, Norman, Beatrice, and all the other bar patrons whose company we enjoyed immensely

Chris and Kelsey, for graciously including us in their plans and showing us a fantastic time

Jessie, who was kind enough to invite us to visit her village, even though we didn't make it

Everyone at Faulty Towers in Livingstone

Joe, for the ride back to Lusaka

Deborah, for starting such a wonderful organization and allowing us to be a part of it

Putiyei, for all of his help and support, as well as his constant positivity

Serianne and all of her incredible brothers and sisters at The Olive Branch, for welcoming us into their family

Caitlin, Annalise, Svenja, Maren, Claudia, Adina and Lindsay for all the good times shared (especially over Stoney's and Settler's)

Adrianne for her never-ending patience and willingness to help, and for taking such good charge in Deborah's absense

Kashu, for all his help (and especially for teaching Sean to dance like a Maasai!)

Daudi for making sure I was understood, and visa-versa

Humphrey, for his support, stories, and laughs (and also for setting us up with Moodie!)

Mama Tina and Bibi Illoma for feeding us and washing our clothes

Issa, Chiku, Mathias, Lucas and the rest of the awesome staff at TOBFC who keep everything running smoothly day-in and day-out

Abiati, Tusajigwe, Amina, Upendo, Tatu, and Ben for allowing me the honor of teaching them about Montessori

Everyone out at Mama Putiyei's for all their help and accommodations

Baraka and the entire village of Soluwaya for including us in their beautiful tradition

Mohammed, for taking such good care of us in Mikumi (and for spotting those lions!)

And lastly, Beda, for arranging everything and keeping us worry-free in Dar

A great big THANK YOU to each one of you for being part of our experience here. It's been an incredible month, and it wouldn't have been the same without you!

And as always, so much appreciation to our families and friends back home for their continued love and support. You guys ROCK!

And now, Chapter 3...

Savann-O-Rama

         Animals have always been a source of inspiration and awe for me. I remember when I was young I used to drag my parents' enormous illustrated encyclopedia of the natural world off the shelf and spend many slack-jawed hours staring at the images of the magnificent creatures inside. I shared the dream of many young boys and girls at that age—to be a scientist, studying animals. My romantic image of this glorious profession was always of myself traipsing through some faraway desert or bushwhacking through a thick jungle in search of some elusive and exotic creature, binoculars slung over my neck, pen and notepad at the ready to record my observations. These notions were fueled by a big stack of National Geographic Magazines my brother and I had started collecting, and by the nature documentaries I watched on PBS.

         Although I've left my childhood long behind me, and my dream of studying animals for a living along with it, I still hold a powerful appreciation for the natural world and the wild things which inhabit it. That is why when Jenna and I had the opportunity to explore another of Africa's National Parks, we had to jump on the chance. After all, who knows when we'll be back again?

         Jenna and I left Mbeya and the wonderful people at The Olive Branch for Children a few days ago. We decided we would take a bus to Mikumi—a small town which shares its name with the natural park it borders—and spend two nights there. We hired a guide who had been recommended by a friend at The Olive Branch to drive us into the park and spent a full day with him.

        Mikumi National Park, at 3230 square kilometers, is the fourth largest national park in Tanzania. It borders the Selous Game Reserve, and many animals found in the park regularly migrate to and from that region. Most of the park is characterized by savannah, and is home to a variety of the typical large mammals of that ecosystem in Africa: zebras, giraffes, elephants, warthogs, wildebeests, etc. Mikumi did not disappoint, and we found ourselves face to face with many of the animals that had inspired my childhood fantasies. While I had seen many of the animals before, in zoos, there is something altogether different and much more special about seeing such animals in the wild, in such large numbers.

Mohammed called this a "whiska" (I am unsure of how to spell it!)

        We started the safari very early in the morning. Our guide, Mohammed, picked us up from our hotel at 6:00 am, and we found ourselves setting off as the sun was rising. This, Mohammed said, was the best time to observe some of the hundreds of varieties of birds that populate the area. He proved right, and as we began our day, we were greeted by dozens of different species. The birds we encountered included the amazingly ugly marabou stork (an omnivore with a bald, fleshy head), ground hornbills, a spooky-looking owl (apparently feared as a harbinger of death by some locals), and the appropriately-named superb starling (incredibly vibrant with glossy blue, red and yellow feathers).

A trio of ground hornbills

For lack of it's proper name, I'll call this one an "Angry Bird"

            

The not-so-pleasant-to-behold marabou stork

 Besides birds, we soon learned that the park held a plethora of larger beasts, and we set eyes upon countless giraffes and zebras. We also encountered a few groups of elephants, some water buffalos and a group of Hippos keeping cool in a pond. A rare sighting was a couple of black-backed foxes keeping a wary distance from our vehicle. A particularly special sight was one pair of giraffes, a male and a female, putting on what seemed to Jenna and I a display of flirtation. One giraffe would swing its long neck around and knock the other's flank with their head. Then the other would reciprocate. This lasted quite a few minutes, and the display reminded us of a game that lovestruck teenagers might play.

        

A family of giraffes chowing on their favorite, acacia leaves

                                                                 
Throughout the day, Jenna and I were both keeping a watchful eye out for an animal neither of us had seen in the wild. As the day wore on, we were beginning to doubt whether we would get the chance to see one before we had to pack up and head home. It was approaching late afternoon, and our time in the park was rapidly diminishing. Luckily, Mohammed's trained eyes spotted two of these beautiful creatures resting in the shade of a nearby tree. They were two lionesses, and they were far enough away that we would have passed them by without our guide. They gave us a disinterested glance as we passed, stretched, and continued their afternoon nap. Hours later, as we were returning to the park entrance, these two were exactly where we left them, resting up during the heat of the day to prepare for the night's hunt.

Can you spot the lionesses?

Myself and our guide, Mohammed, next to an enormous Baobab tree

        We watched the sun rise and set in the park, and the entire day was filled with sights I had spent my childhood dreaming about. As the sun crept closer to the horizon and we headed for the exit, Jenna and I agreed that taking the day to explore that beautiful place was a decision neither of us would regret.

Ends and Beginnings

Every day when I arrived at Mama Putiyei's and the school in Azimio-Mapula, I was welcomed with a massive smile by Putiyei's grandmother. Everyone calls her “Coco,” which is the Maasai word for grandma, and she is one of the sweetest, tiniest old ladies I've ever met. Each morning, I would shake her hand and address her in Swahili in the customary way one uses when greeting an elder or someone to whom you want to show respect.

“Shikamoo” (shee-kah-moh) I would say, to which she would answer “Marahaba.” When translated literally, 'shikamoo' means “I hold/kiss your feet”, and 'marahaba' means “you are welcome to do so” but as they are used practically, it's more like saying “I am beneath you” and “Why, thank you for saying that.”

About three days into the training, Coco adopted the charming habit of kissing my hand whenever we would have this exchange. She would then clutch it gently, give it a few pats (which I would always return) and then let go. Though my knowledge of Swahili is limited to the above and a few other key phrases, and our interactions routinely stopped there, she was so obviously pleased simply by my acknowledging her. She treated each time as though it had been years since a young person had properly greeted her (which I know to be untrue) or as though it were the first time she'd met a mzungu (white person) who attempted a Swahili greeting (possible, but unlikely). In any case, I thoroughly enjoyed our interaction every morning and grew quite fond of her during my time there.

Today was our final day of training. Sean decided to tag along as he's spent most of his days working at Zion Home and hasn't been spending much time in the villages. After my customary interaction with Coco and our morning cup of tea, we began class as we have all week, by singing the National Anthem with the children (a requirement of all schools in Tanzania). 

The children then washed their hands in a bucket of water, entered the classroom, and began the work period. We had a beautiful morning of practice. I encouraged the teachers to focus on allowing the children free choice of their activities and on not interrupting those who were concentrating (which was many!). They did a great job on both accounts, which resulted in the best morning we had all week. The children were working steadily and flowing well from one activity to the next, and the teachers spent less time bouncing from lesson to lesson and more time observing. I felt it was a huge accomplishment for them, and a true indicator of how far we've come in these three short weeks.

The practice classroom in action

Leading a group

Building the Pink Tower (and catching me taking his picture)

"Bead Stringing"

Practicing how to unroll a mat

Showing the Geometric Shapes

When the children went home we discussed the written exams, which they completed yesterday and I reviewed last night. They then presented to me the Practical Life materials they had been asked to make as part of the course. I was overall very impressed by these and by their creativity in making them (not to mention the fact that they all actually brought them, which has apparently been a challenge in previous trainings). When we finished with those, I congratulated them on having completed the course and handed out their certificates.

From the Left: Abiati, Humphrey (my translator), Tusajigwe, Ben, Myself, Tatu, and Amina (missing is Upendo, who was absent this week due to a death in her family and who will complete the training on site at her school in the coming weeks with another volunteer) 

Although I wish we'd had more time to spend, I feel confident that all of these people will make great teachers. If their classrooms look anything like ours did this morning, they'll be well on their way.

After enjoying our last lunch together, I thanked everyone at Mama Putiyei's house for all of their help and hospitality throughout the training. I offered a special 'goodbye' and 'thank you' to Coco, during which time I shared with her (via Humphrey) how much I had enjoyed her smile each day. She seemed incredibly pleased to hear this, and it was apparent that my feelings were mutual.

As we rode away for the final time on the back of the piki-piki, a wave of combined sadness and accomplishment came over me. I feel incredibly satisfied with the course and with how far I was able to bring a group of teachers who only weeks ago didn't know the first thing about Montessori. At the same time, the conclusion feels bittersweet and I know that there's still a great deal to be done. Something deep down in my gut tells me this isn't the end, and that my work here has only just begun...