30 days have September, April, June and NOVEMBER? yikes, November is already over!

This is a last-ditch attempt at getting at least one posting done for the month of November, which has been soooooo busy!  Here it is in a not-so-short recap:

-trip to Kenya (October 25-Nov 1) to visit fellow Yalies at the Maasai Wilderness Conservation Trust:

            We drove from Stone Town to Nungwi in the northern part of Unguja island, where it is obvious how insulated and isolated the Italian-owned resort is from the local community.  We took a small boat from there to Pangani, a sleepy Swahili town on the coast of mainland Tanzania, north of Dar es Salaam.  We were dropped off right at the beach of where we were staying, the Beach Crab Resort.  It was a quiet place with sleeping options in a bungalo or a tent under a thatched roof structure.  They had a nice candle-lit dinner on the beach with amazingly fresh seafood and a variety of side dishes.  Quite yummy.  We only spent one night there before driving from Pangani to Moshi, which took about 7 hours.  Before we left Pangani, we asked a man if he sold “madafu” or young coconuts from which you can drink the coconut water.  He told us to follow him to his back yard, where he proceeded to wrap a rope (made of coconut fibers, none-the-less) around the length of his forearm.  He twisted the loop into a figure-eight, put one foot in each hole, a large knife in his mouth, and began to climb the coconut tree using the rope as a way to keep his feet together and give him support during his ascent.  He climbed the 30foot tree in less than a minute, and then whacked a few coconuts off the top, letting them thud to the ground below where we were standing and watching.  He climbed down quickly and started hacking at the coconuts to open them so we could drink the water, and then eat the young pulp inside.  It was so refreshing, and we gave one of the coconuts back to him so he could enjoy the rehydration after his efforts in procuring them for us.  I’d like to try climbing the tree with the figure-eight rope technique… a project for another day I suppose.

(below is a picture of a street in Pangani)

Here is a view of the mountains and a sisal farm somewhere between Pangani and Moshi:

            The drive from Pangani to Moshi was quite beautiful, and gave a good survey of Tanzanian geography.  We passed through Usambara Mountains, flat plains filled with sisal plantations, barren lands with little but acacia trees, lush green areas sprouting with trees and farms all over, and little villages and a few larger towns sprinkled through it all.  We arrived in Moshi late in the afternoon to weather much milder and less humid than on the coast, which was a welcome change.  We stayed the night in Moshi, before leaving for Iltilal, Kenya.  The road between Moshi and the border crossing at Oloitokitok was not much of a road.  As one of the kids said “this is a goat path, not a road for a car!”  There were a few times when we weren’t sure if it even was the right road at all.  Part way through, the spare tire on the back of our Toyota Land Cruiser was bounced off its resting place on the back of the car because we hit the bumps so hard, not something that happens every day!  We tied it back on with rubber cords and continued along the twisting and hilly track, catching glimpses of Kilimanjaro carefully guarded by a collection of clouds preventing its full viewing.  Bump after bump, the people in the back seat continuously had their vertebrae compressed as their heads hit the ceiling, or each other.  I was thankful I had taken my Dramamine!  Crossing the border was uneventful, thankfully, and we met up with a 2009 Yale graduate in a small Kenyan town before starting the last part of the trek to our destination at the Maasai Wilderness Conservation Trust camp. 

From there, it should have taken about an hour.  It took about 5.  It was raining, the roads were muddy, and of course, we got stuck.  Two roads diverged in a gooey fog, with clouds spitting cold rain—we took the one that looked less muddy, and it did make a difference.  About 15 seconds after we started down the seemingly less-muddy road, we gracefully slid into a ditch and were at about a 25º angle tilted to the right so the driver’s side was in the ditch (we drive on the right here).  The kids got out of the car, wrapped in a Maasai plaid shuka (blanket) and huddled under an umbrella.  Kevin, the Yalie, Chuck, a cousin of the family I live with, and the mom of the family all got out to push while the dad of the family was at the wheel, trying to get us out of this lovely situation.  We dug with the shovel and collected what sparse twigs and rocks were available to try to put them under the tires to give more traction, but no success. We rocked the vehicle, pushed some more, revved it up, put it in reverse, everything.  It was stuck stuck stuck.  We finally got it to move, but not any progress out of the ditch, only further down the hill.  We took this as a positive because the other road went downhill too, and we knew we needed to eventually meet up with another road down there.  Fine, good, let the vehicle skate through the muddy glue. 

We spotted an area where the ditch seemed to level out slightly to meet the road at a less severe angle, hoping it would allow us to navigate back toward our normal horizontal position.  Unfortunately, the reddish-brown paste of earth had other plans for our 4x4, and guided us further off the road.  Down down down the road we drifted, happy with the movement of the vehicle even though our problem wasn’t yet solved.  We leveled off, and put on the brakes to reassess the situation.  It’s a good thing we did, because a mini-version of the Marianas trench was waiting for us where the intersection between where our chosen road and the “main” road used to be.  It wouldn’t have been passable with a monster truck it was so deep and wide.  So that waited at the bottom of the hill, but off to the left and right were other areas where the earth had been worn away by the flow of water, creating sharp gashes in the otherwise gently rolling mound of soil.  No, we weren’t stuck between a rock and a hard place, but it was quickly approaching that given the gauged out terrain that surrounded us.  We managed to turn the car to face up the hill, but standing behind that monstrosity of a vehicle while it and you were both slipping in the goo that coated the terrain was not exactly a comfortable situation.  One too many inhalations of carbon monoxide, one erratic sploosh of mud jerking the wheels or one decision by gravity to pull the car down the hill instead of letting it go up could have meant an unfortunate ending to this story. 

As I was there pushing on the back of the car with three other people, all dirtying the white exterior with our ochre-sullied hands much like we were finger painting, I thought back to the time I pushed my 1985 tank of a Volvo station wagon home from The Big Apple gas station in Belfast after my senior year of high school.  The clutch had gone caput, and I needed to get home because it was late at night.  I thought I could make it up the hill on Main Street/Route 3 using my momentum but I began to drift backwards down the hill once I got past where Kallis Ford used to be.  I turned the car around somehow, and took my chances going through the Hannaford parking lot, using what little momentum I had left.  I had never noticed it, but before the entrance to Hannafords was changed to be closer to the traffic light (intersection of Rts 1 and 3), it was ever so slightly inclined leading up toward “the muck.” Here I was, a 17-year-old girl pushing from the back of the Volvo, then running and hopping in the drivers seat to yank the wheel in the direction I needed it to go, hopping back out to give another heave-ho or two, then grabbing the wheel again.  I’m lucky Belfast doesn’t have more traffic at that time of night, or many people would have witnessed what looked like training for the world’s strongest man competition pushing that tank of a car.

 I was quite proud of myself after reaching my driveway, until the momentum I had was lost due to the turn into the driveway and the change from pavement to gravel.  I remember pushing from the back of the car and my Dad coming out in the driveway, followed by our spastic dog Rocky.  I must say it was one of the few times I had seen such a puzzled look on my father’s face, him watching a large car creep up his driveway without a driver or any passengers in it.  I peered out from behind my pushing post to his question of “what the heck are you doin’?”  “Pushing Lurch (our nickname for this gem of an automobile) home… I think the clutch has given out.”  This was followed by a look of squint-eyed confusion from my father, who replied “you know, they have these things called cell phones that can, you know, be of some use during situations like these.  I believe you even have one of your own, correct?” 

Right, of course, a cell phone- one of those not-so-new-fangled pieces of technology available to my generation.  I had received one as a graduation/going to college gift but had not thought to use it, despite it being nestled in the dashboard tray of the car.  I think my Dad made some joke about me going to Yale after that.  I was still mildly impressed with myself for pushing the car home over 1 mile in the dead of the night.  A bit later that summer, my Mom gave me a bumper sticker that said “never own a car you can’t push yourself.”  That turns out to be quite good advice.

Anyway, our attempts at pushing our vehicle were not as successful as my experience in little ol’ Belfast, Maine.  We were stuck, and that was all there was to it.  By this time, it was dark, still cold, and still blowing a wind that was moist and unsettling.  There was a suggestion to pitch our tent and camp there for the night in hopes that the soil would dry out a bit by the next day.  There were no lights around, and we didn’t see any houses of any kind.  Kevin luckily had a walkie talkie that eventually got in touch with someone at his base camp and they said they were sending help.

This is our lovely vehicle.  It felt even scarier than it looks being in (or pushing!) the car at that angle!

Before that vehicle arrived, we started to play the alphabet game of “I’m going on a trip to Africa and I’m bringing with me (proceed by filling in items going in alphabetical order).”  From what I remember, here’s what we thought we’d bring:

-alligator

-banana

-candy

-donuts

-elephant (they don't get stuck in the mud like Toyota Land Cruisers)

-four-wheel drive

-grandfather (for telling stories and advice of how to get out of this situation)

-hot packs

-igloo (for shelter)

-jumbo jet

our grocery list became more practically-oriented as we went along and grew tired of our situation being stuck and cold, waiting for our rescue.  The vehicle came, and we hitched a rope from its front to our front.  It drove backward up the hill while four of us pushed the back end of our vehicle.  Our vehicle seemed to be skating along the ditch on a magnet rail, not wanting to exit onto the road.  We were successful this time, relieved that we weren’t going to be spending the night in the wilderness, equipped with only a small tent. 

            We reached the camp without any more problems, despite having to cross a river bed that is sometimes too full and is impassable.  It seemed like a joke compared to the predicament we had ourselves in with the ditch.  When we reached the camp, I soaked my foot because I had acquired a 1-inch thorn in my heel when one of the kids accidentally kicked me (the thorn was apparently hiding in the mud that was caked to her shoes).   Ouch.  It did not come out easily.

While this story is far from over, it is time for me to go to bed.  I’ve drafted an outline of the rest, so stay tuned and I’ll tell you about the rest of that trip, plus my trip to Uganda in the next post(s).  Hope all is well with everyone and you had a nice Thanksgiving holiday!