On Saturday morning (the 3rd of May) a group from school set out from Arusha for the base of Mount Meru.  Although the mountain sits literally on top of the town, we climbed it from the other side, meaning that we had to take an hour drive into Arusha National Park to start our journey (at the Park Gate if you are using the map).   There were four teachers and ten children on the trip.  The children were all in the same year, and were about 14 years old.  It was a great group to climb with.  They were a fun group, have all known each other for many years, and were determined and fit as well. 

On Saturday we walked through the National Park, past giraffe, wart hogs and buffalo.  We had an armed ranger, Peter Matthew, who introduced himself as “the gunman”.  He was to keep us safe from an eventual buffalo charge.  Charles (another teacher) and I had our own plans, scouting out trees that we could climb up and ditches that we could pile into should we face a charge.  ” Unbuckle and bolt” was the name of the strategy.  We were all carrying packs that weighed in at between 30 and 35 pounds, so our options were limited.  

The walk gradually became a climb, going from the lush flatlands up into the jungle of the lower slopes.  We walked for about four hours until we reached Miriakamba Huts, where we spent the first night.

The next morning, in the brilliant sunshine, we set off for the second hut, called Saddle Hut.  Like the first day, I was a thousand meter climb.  Previous groups wad warned us about the dreaded steps, of which there are reputedly almost two thousand.  

This day’s walk took us about four hours as well, and all along the way were buffalo droppings.  Like a cow pat really.  Nothing very exciting, except for the fresh ones, that indicated that there must be a buffalo quite close by.  I was ready to unbuckle and bolt.  The steps took us through more forest, and through the trees we had an amazing view of Kilimanjaro, sitting on a sea of clouds.

We arrived at Saddle Hut by about two in the afternoon, had lunch, and then went to bed.  We had to get up at one thirty a.m. for the last climb up to the summit. We set out a little after two, and soon we were scrambling and climbing our way around some pretty steep slopes.  To get to the summit of Meru you have to make your way around the side of the mountain until you can get at the peak.  It is a strange shape, sort of like a letter C, hollow in the middle except for a spectacular ash cone.  Several times on the climb we walked along ridges that were about two meters wide and dropped away for hundreds of meters on both sides. On the way up, at night, we didn’t really notice.  On the way back, we noticed.

We summited at about eight in the morning, all of us.  No-one had to go back.  I could certainly feel the altitude in my lungs, but no-one felt any sickness at all.  There was a three or four hour stretch when Charles and I entertained one another by talking jibberish.  That must have been the altitude.  Once we reached the summit, we all spent a minute remembering our friend Leebeth, who died earlier this year. The day she died, Meru was covered with snow like no-one had ever seen it before.

On our descent we reached Saddle Hut by one in the afternoon, all told an eleven hour journey.  After resting for a couple hours, we walked it down to Miriakamba Hut again.  Thirteen hours.  I took a shower, the coldest shower of my life, and felt like I was ready for bed.   The next morning, we finally crossed paths with a buffalo. He was only twenty meters away, but was sadly not interested in us.  I was unbuckled and had picked out a tree already.  You see, for us to be safe the gunman would have to drop the buffalo dead with one shot.  My father always told me that a wounded buffalo was the deadliest animal that you could ever meet in Africa. The walk back to the car was only  about two hours long, but by now our calves and thighs were really asking for a little clemency.  We made it down, into town, and I came home to find that Sofia had grown and was more beautiful than I could remember.  I had missed her and Samantha so much over the four days.    

This week-end I am climbing up Mount Meru, hopefully to the summit.  Socialist Peak.  I will be back on Tuesday, and will be able to post a photo or two and tell about the trip.  I expect lots and lots and lots of rain.  We shall see.  Leaving Sofia and Samantha behind is difficult.

This is the sort of thing that I thought I would be writing about on my little blog.  The rains are here, the BIG rains, and the road down the mountain is worsening with every drop that falls.  A year and a half ago the president (Jakaya Kikwete, lest anyone out there should think that there is only one president in the world) was due to visit a church up the road from us, and so the road was graded beautifully.  Since then, no one of any importance has come by, and the road has suffered.  Add to the woeful state of the road the woeful cattle driving skills exhibited by the Maasai morani and the result was that we were late for school.  

Last night in the UK our friend and colleague Leebeth died after being very sick for a few months. She lived in Ilboru as well and was a neighbor of ours. We shall miss her very much. Last night it also stormed all night, and this morning Mount Meru was crowned with snow. Even the old timers here say that they have never seen the mountain like this. 

We had a long, long Christmas holiday this year.  Three and a half weeks.  Samantha and I were excited just to be around Sofia.  No other plans.  Sofia was 5 months old and three and half weeks with her represented a considerable portion of her whole life up until now.  We ended up taking 2 safaris  (a safari in Kiswahili is a trip of any kind, not necessarily dressed in kaki shorts with wide brimmed hats pointing at wild animals).  First we went up to Marangu, a small town pretty high up on the slopes of Kilimanjaro.  It is as far as you can go without paying the $60 per day park fees.  It is also where my great grandfather settled in 1902.  We relaxed, looked at the ruins of one of Nonno Giuglio’s houses, and of course played with Sofia.

With two and a half weeks of holiday under our belts we decided to head off to Lushoto. I am writing from up in the forests of the West Usambara Mountains (old school, pen and paper). one night before we return to Arusha.  Being in  Lushoto gives you the feeling that you are up somewhere in the highest of the highlands, when truth be told the elevation is the same as it is in Arusha.  The people here are the MSambaa, and of course, the language is therefore KiSambaa (Maasai, Kimaasai, MChagga, KiChagga etc.).  At the turn of the century (last) the germans came up to Lushoto, and enchanted as they were by the cool weather, the dense hardwood forests, and the incredible abundance of bird and wild life, they settled.  They established Lushoto as their mountain retreat from the oppressive heat of the coast.  The birds and the weather are still here.  There are small patches of “protected” forest around, but on our hike through the forest we saw plenty of cleared areas and men sawing down trees.

We stayed at Muller’s Mountain Lodge, and old two story German house.  It was run by a group of young Tanzanians, who answered to a mysterious leader that no-one saw for as long as we were there.  Mullers is outside Lushoto, and is nestled on a hillside, peaceful and beautiful.  The grounds are filled with an endless variety of plants, flowers and trees.  During the day we were often interrupted by the goat-like braying of pairs of silvery cheeked hornbills as they dipped and looped their way across the valley, back and forth all day long.  For their size and prehistoric look they have such an effortless and hypnotizing flight. Walking through the forests Samantha felt the beauty of what was around us. I felt an even stronger sense of what this place must have been like only 50 years ago.  Our forest guide, Francis, a 5 foot tall, wiry, fit, 72 year old MSambaa, told us about the forests when he was a child.  ”so think that you could not see the sun.  It was dangerous to walk in the forest.  Snakes, buffalo, leopards.”  Those days are gone.  Zamani sana.

Samantha and I have signed contracts that will keep us here in Tanzania for another school year (until July 2009).  We will have the option of staying another year beyond that if we want to, but it seems likely that we will leave.  There are so many things about life here that I am very hesitant to give up, but there is always a bigger picture.  Samantha and I came here for the quality of life, as well as for the opportunity to put some money away.  Beginning in August our salaries will be cut by about 9%, and here inflation is at 9% and climbing.  The quality of life, in my opinion, is really excellent, but sooner or later we would like to start to tuck away a shilling or two.  All of this has brought a couple of things to the front of my mind.  One is that one and a half years is no time at all, and with a five-month-old baby, that time seems to pass even faster.  So I feel like we have to see as much of this country and its people as possible before we leave.  The second is that I start to become very excited about all of the experiences we will be able to cram into our time.  Two sides of the same coin, I guess.  So, in this frame of mind, at Christmas time we went to Lushoto…

I am writing in the midst of a long thunderstorm that has been rumbling on for a couple of hours now. It rained last night, all night, and was gray and muggy all day. The sun made a fleeting appearance in the afternoon, but for most of the day the sky threatened to rain on us. We are in the short rains, but the season should be ending about now and they never really came as they should have. The wakulima, the farmers, are all complaining. Our night watchman Noel keeps me up to date with the mood in the village. He is a farmer as well, as pretty much everyone is. Tanzanians up the hill here all have a job and a small shamba (plot) that they work after their regular job hours.

As I write the rain has become stronger, pounding on the tin part of our roof (most of it is actually terracotta tiles; very Mediterranean, you might say…). From one perspective our life here is much the same as it ever was in New York. We work about 8 hours per day, come home and begin to live our domestic life. Our evenings are spent being completely consumed with our amazing little girl, and perhaps reading a few pages of a book. Sometimes we borrow DVD’s or watch some of the more obscure titles that Matt recommended to us. This does not leave so much time for sitting around and just experiencing Tanzania, and sometimes I panic at the thought of not experiencing it enough.

Then it rains like this, and we go outside onto the verandah and watch the sheets of water come down, smell the wet dust, and revel in the idea that the tree, vegetables and flower bushes and potted plants that we have planted will be creeping skyward as we sleep, green and vibrant in the morning when we get up. My anxiety about experiencing Tanzania fully begins to ebb away.

Of course, with rain comes shida (problems) with power. Right now, the music that has been playing in our living room has been replaced by the metronomic beeping of the UPS (Uninterrupted Power Source, essentially a big back-up battery) under my desk that feeds my computer in the darkness of a power cut. I get about 7 minutes more power, but I am going outside anyway. So that’s all. I’m done. When the pwer comes back and we have internet, I’ll post. It will be after Christmas by then, as we are leaving in the morning for Marangu. So Merry Christmas too, if you subscribe to that celebration. Otherwise, Jimmy, Brian, Steve, happy holidays etc. Usiku mwema. Good Night.