MEMOIR!

The blistering sun shone its rays down on Jeff, Cody, Jeremy, and me as we soaked them in on our balcony. Africa was different from anywhere else, almost indescribable. The large orb in the sky radiated the perfect temperature for a spring day, the smells of burning trash permeated the air, and the lifestyle was very laidback. We had finally settled into our “vacation” which wore the slight disguise of a missionary trip. Our accommodations in this mountain side town of Arusha was a hostel-like building painted in a bright shade of yellow, giving us a feeling of relaxation as we took in the sights, sounds, and smells. As we found out after entering the large main doors, our accommodation was in fact a nunnery and also the house of the archbishop of the Catholic church in the city.

This trip to Tanzania, a sizable country on the eastern coast of Africa, was the ideal way to get away from the hustle and bustle of freshman year. With the help of our guide and friend Wendy Whiting, our group of seven kids and two adults organized our adventure in as little as two months. This involved the flight planning, contacting our new friends on this foreign continent, and getting the permission from wary parental units, scared to send their little babies off to such a hostile new world. And getting here was half of the adventure.

We left on a Thursday afternoon from the little box canyon town of Telluride, eager to meet new friends and gain some awesome experiences. We drove the seven hour, turned nine hour trip to Denver, to catch our “red eye” flight to Washington, D.C. After braving a blizzard on highway 285 and twisting our way into the streets and interstates of the city, we arrived at Denver International Airport with literally no time to spare. After the girls got all 20 of their checked bags together, Jeff and I raced through security with one thing on our mind: making it to the boarding gate before it closed at 11:56 PM. After exiting the subway onto Concourse B, the two of us sprinted to the end of the terminal, avoiding the moving sidewalks and lost tourists, with pillow and backpack in hand. After two minutes of an exhausting workout, we reached gate B54, and out of breath we both shouted in unison, “Did, we, make, it?!”

Of course we had, with plenty of time to spare, thanks to our speed and agility. We boarded our plane, ready for a good night’s sleep. Four hours later we arrived in D.C. at six AM local time and then boarded a short flight to John F. Kennedy International in New York. Our next leg of the journey was the worst and best part of my flying experience on this trip. Our carrier was Emirates, a company based out of one of the richest nations on the Earth, and it showed in the plane. We were greeted by women with funky accents who rewarded us with warm face cloths. We were next given a happy pack as I like to call it, full of blankets, headphones, meal tickets, and my favorite, a sleep mask, all to make our journey enjoyable. The next 21 hours of travel were a complete blur full of unfamiliar words, loud movies, and surprisingly good airline food.

Our troop finally landed in Dar es Salaam around 40 hours after leaving the homeland. Exhausted, we all were corralled into Customs and Immigration in the basement of the airport. It was humid. It was hot. And best of all it smelled like B.O. What a wonderful welcome to Africa.

Although it was mid-afternoon there, back home it was still the middle of the night. My body clock had been sent on a whirlwind adventure. But the traveling was over for now. We arrived at our hotel an hour later, after dodging traffic and pedestrians alike, and finally were allowed by the travel gods to enjoy ourselves. Our hotel was the most beautiful setting: the wind flew through the trees as the waves of the Indian Ocean crashed against the sand and rocks of our beachside resort. I was in love. In spite of the amazing scenery and great smells coming from the kitchen, all I wanted to do was shower.

We stayed there in our own tropical paradise for a week, serving the Lord through service to others. We volunteered at the YoungLife camp that was being held at our hotel, performing nominal chores such as cooking, sweeping, and cleaning the rooms. And it was all worth it. After a week of meeting new friends and relaxing we headed off to the aforementioned mountain town of Arusha, a lovely ten hour drive by bus.

After filling into a small taxi van, we drove to our temporary home, a large and decked out building painted in a mellow yellow color and surrounded by a substantial wall and gate. Upon our arrival we were greeted by a young nun named Sarah, an odd name for an African lady. She rushed us in, out of the dark and into a large sitting room. We were shown our rooms, two people to a suite. Jeremy, the male counselor, and I entered our room, painted pink with yellow window shades and purple bedspreads; a room fit for a king, or maybe a little princess girl! But it did not matter as I could sleep for days and could barely open my eyes wide enough to notice and care about the color choice.

The following day was filled with relaxation! After waking up to the smell of burning bread and coffee, we all gathered in the kitchen for a community meeting paired with breakfast. We were served tropical fruits, scrambled eggs, and best of all Milo, an energy boosting drink that tasted like hot chocolate. We sat taking in the tasty dishes and smells while tuning out our group leader as she tried to let us know the day’s plan. Nobody was listening and she finally realized this and stood up like a lion pouncing on its prey, which unfortunately was us. Angered by our inability to listen and follow directions, Wendy scolded us and informed us once again about the day’s plans. Our day consisted of a market trip followed by lunch and then free time back at our nunnery. After washing up and taking showers, we headed off to the local bazaar to buy goodies to bring home.

Some bought clothes, some little trinkets, and Jeremy even bought a machete, that would probably all sit at home collecting dust but also remind us, when we happened to come across it, about a once in a lifetime trip to Africa. The sun was hot today and by lunch time we were not only parched but also starved. Our lunch was a dish called Ugali, a tasteless paste that stuck to the top of your mouth and was unbearable to eat. Even after my year spent in India, a capital of weird foods, I still have not come across something so gross. Unsatisfied, we headed back to our temporary home.

Back at the nunnery, we guys decided to adventure around the property and building since it was so vast. On the second floor we found libraries, prayer rooms, and a balcony that led to the south side of the building. Here we sat, talking about future plans for life, the rest of the trip, and especially how much we loathed Wendy at times. The concrete ledge was nice and cool against the sun’s rays.

“Yo guys, check this out!” Cody, my friend from school yelled from across the balcony. We all turned around, interested yet too lazy to get up and walk over to where he was standing. Eventually, after much persuasion all three of us were next to Cody, staring down at what seemed to be nothing. “Do you think I would break my legs if I jumped off that?” Cody pondered out loud, pointing over to a water tower on the roof of the home. “No way man,” responded Jeff, another friend from high school. “It’s only, like, maybe twenty feet.” At our still young and active age we felt like we could do anything. A tall, 14 year old at the time, I was invincible. “I dare you to jump from this ledge to the one on the guest house,” said Jeff in a bold and daring voice as he showed us what he was talking about. We inched ourselves along the foot wide outcropping that we were now gathered on, on our way along the side of this nunnery to the destination of interest. We moved out of the shade as we continued on this little adventure that Jeff had so ingeniously created.

Arriving at the point where we could monkey across the lawn, Cody replied after much deliberation, “Of course I can jump that. Piece of cake.” Our counselor and the only person with a sane mind, Jeremy, interrupted our fun. “You guys sure you can make it?” he asked. “No problemo,” replied Cody. “Yeah it is no big deal,” I chimed in. It was odd to see Jeremy so wary and protective. We usually got to do whatever we wanted and it was a rare site to see him deny something to us. He was, after all, what we liked to call, the monkey man: curious about everything and willing to explore anything. But, as usual, we ignored Jeremy’s advise and began to hop over the gap.

Jeff was first and made it with ease. Next in line was me. I leaped over the twenty foot drop, grazing my nose on the wall as I held on for dear life and eventually caught my balance. Cody hopped over after me, almost losing his balance. Luckily Jeff and I were there to pull him into the wall. Finally “Leeper the Creeper,” as we had fondly nicknamed Jeremy, made it over in no time. Next on our agenda was where to go. We had not made a plan beforehand and now were lost on the edge of a building. We inched around, trying to find a cool place to jump to or climb across. The sun was still beating onto us as the day grew older and we could all smell the stench of the farm animals in the backyard, unless that was our own. Each of us continued to brain storm the next cool idea. Jeremy finally spoke up, “Why don’t we jump over the rail and go back down to the front. I saw a cool section where we could climb up the bricks back to the main building.” This plan sounded fine to us so we head to our next destination.

As we followed Jeremy, I took in the surroundings. Tanzania despite the poverty and pollution was really an amazing place. Through my days there I had seen much of the country, from the capital city with its traffic, beaches, and hordes of people, to the small town we were now in. Our current location in Arusha was a nice change. Mt. Meru rose in the north while Mt. Kilimanjaro could be seen on a clear day to the east. Even the people here were cool. The previous day we had wandered around the streets, meeting locals who lured us into their shops with reggae and tribal music and tasty looking street food. The smells also caught our attention, drawing us away from the constant smell of burning trash.

At every corner you could almost taste the corn that was being roasted by little ladies dressed in dirty garb but garnishing a welcoming smile. I remember one shop that caught my attention: a small restaurant that looked really genuine and wholehearted. Many people were gathered outside drinking Coca-Cola out of the glass bottles and enjoying a scrumptious egg sandwich, freshly prepared. Inside one could see the television playing a football game, or soccer, like us insolent Americans like to call it. Adjacent to the screen there were political posters next to a rug with Bob Marley smiling back at you. The store seemed to warm me up and I dreamed of owning a similar shop and living the “Hakuna Matata” lifestyle.

I was brought back to reality as Jeff asked, “Hey, who wants to go first?” I was not the climbing type so I chose to watch the others make their way up to the window ledge and study their techniques. It was at last my turn, and I strained up to reach my first hold for my hand. I continued up and up until, after much effort, I reached my friends. I was occasionally a wimp when it came to hikes and strenuous activities but I was usually successful at hiding things like this from friends. Here we decided to take a well deserved break. We called for Wendy to bring us some sandwiches. “Wendy!” we all chanted in unison. After much coercing and much wasted time she came out with a tray of peanut putter sandwiches which we gobled up within seconds. Satisfied with a tasty, and American meal, we went back on our adventure to nowhere. After circling the building multiple times, Cody suddenly climbed into an open window. “Wait!” shouted Jeff, but Cody had already entered. We followed him in and found him frozen, looking up at the far wall.

And there he was: waiting, staring, looking disapprovingly at us, the Pope! We all suddenly froze in our steps, and finally Cody turned around running back out of the window, almost losing his balance once again. On cue, the rest of us ran out of the sacred room and joined Cody on the balcony. We had just seen the Pope, in a nunnery, while breaking into someone’s room. There was no way we weren’t going to hell! After this bad omen we went back down to the living room, and hid our sinned selves while playing a few rounds of cards and pretending like nothing had happened.

After the shock and excitement of the previous day, we rose to a loud banging on the door. Today we were going to an orphan school in the slums of the city. After another delicious breakfast we packed into two vans while listening to some bad African music. The drive was bumpy. The sites were interesting. And the smells were intoxicating. Being an American teenager I had not experienced anything that I could compare this day with.

As we drove through narrow potholed alleys, through the middle of a city within a city, I saw so many things. I saw half naked children running barefoot through puddles of dirt, feces, and chemicals. I saw homes made of cardboard and tarps. I saw packs of stray dogs barking at anything. They were sights that many people would never have the privilege of encountering. I could feel myself entering into a new world as we pulled up to a wooden building with a sheet metal roof, about the size of my living room. As we pulled up, a large group of children formed and started to sing:

Jambo, Jambo rafiki. Aboregani, misuri sana. Karibu, Karibu kwertu YoungLife yetu. Hakuna Matata!

The voices of angels came to us as this small group of orphans welcomed our group of fortunate white people through song. After they had finished and we were clapping, each child ran to us and gave us long, strong hugs of compassion. As we were attacked by this loving swarm of children, I noticed to the left of me that one of my travelmates, Aspen, was crying. After further investigation I learned that two of the little girls started to call her ‘mommy’ and were clasped to her so tightly that she could barely walk.

As the day continued on we were put to various tasks that we rotated between in the few hours spent with these underprivileged children. I started out with the rest of the guys digging holes for fence posts. Each of us were handed a shovel and axe. I turned to the ‘construction site’ to find two teenagers named Darweshi and Kalunga already well into their work. I walked over to them speaking slow English and hoping they would understand, “Can I help you?” They looked up and smiled at me, so I took that as a yes. I joined the two of them, both around my age, and began digging. The morning sun warmed the three of us up quickly as we swung the axes up and down. “How old are you Darweshi?” I asked, hoping he would comprehend. “Ten five years, sir,” he answered. I felt ashamed by the fact that he addressed me as “sir.” “Me, call Dan, no sir,” I instructed him while pointing to myself. He looked up from his worked, smiled, and gave me a high five.

Although I was outside face to face with steamy heat and mosquitos, I was having the best time of my life. Just being in the presence of my new friends was life changing. And getting to know them was even better. Both Darweshi and Kalunga opened up to me as the hours passed. We conversed about sports, school, and especially America. We had finally completed our manual labor and took a well deserved lunch break. The three of us walked to a small shack by the school building and washed our dirtied hands. I was then greeted with a dish of rice and beans, two of the main staples that these children survived on. Kalunga told me that it was a special day today since we were there: cooked vegetables were also served.

It broke my heart to watch my friends eating their miniscule portions of rice and beans, yet it broke even more when the two of them offered me more of their meals. To see such hospitality and kindness in people who had almost nothing was incredible. I insisted that they finish their meal, and they did with huge smiles. I was truly in the presence of real gems. Following our mid day meal we started a game of football, as in soccer. For the ball we used a piece of rubber wrapped in rubber bands that served its purpose quiet fittingly.

The game started and the teams were set as Darweshi chose myself, Kalunga, and my friend Cody. The other team was three of the Africans and then Jeff. Now, to be honest, I suck at soccer. And I was not looking forward to getting my butt kicked. But the match started and somehow, through luck, I managed to score a goal in the beginning. After wrestling in the dirt for the ball and acquiring a few bumps and scrapes, my team came out victorious. We celebrated with high fives around the house and some sort of victory dance that Kalunga taught us. After finding a tree, we all sat in the shade soaking in the victory. But as the sun began to fall beyond the sheds and trees, our group leader informed us it was time to go.

After sad hugs goodbye, we were sent off with another song in local dialect, sending chills through my spine as the voices of these smiling and grateful children soared to the heavens. Another load of hugs were received by us and once again we piled into our vans. We drove off, back into the city followed by a herd of running children and I looked back one last time, savoring the moments and memories of the day. We sat together, sharing stories and excitement as the sun took its final dip beyond the horizon, sending shades of orange and flickers of red into the African sky. I will be back, I thought to myself, I will be back!