Endnote.

Zanzibar, Tanzania - I feel almost too overwhelmed to really grasp all that has transpired over the past few weeks, and to be able to say it was one of the most incredible experiences of my life. Almost. But, when I look back at the sum of the parts -- the sum of incredible experience after incredible experience -- I realize there cannot be any question. I'm just not sure my mind is ready yet to think collectively of all these experiences as one larger memory. It was all too much for that.

The opportunity to learn about other people, and to be able to make a difference -- however fleeting -- in their lives is something that cannot be underestimated and is something that will remain with me always. We are so lucky -- and we can still learn so much from other cultures. Even faced with staggering levels of poverty, disease and malnutrition, the majority of people I met in Africa were overwhelmingly happy. With an average life expectancy of 45, and much to overcome to prepare their children for a better life, one has to wonder if there's simply little time to dwell. It's a perspective many of us could learn to appreciate.

Day 13: A True African Experience.

Mwanza, Tanzania - As large raindrops begin to fall from a darkening sky, one of our host’s daughters reached up and silently took my hand in a sign of friendship as we made our way downhill through a small Mwanza community where we had had lunch. It was a sweet moment on a day that really featured a true experience in Africa that most tourists don’t have the opportunity to enjoy.

Meaghan, Alison and I had been invited to lunch by the interns’ housekeeper, Pendo, at her mother’s home a distance out of town. Making our way first to Pendo’s place, we were greeted by a succession of children – some hers (she has eight), some her sister’s and some her friend’s – in a small dark, teal room with a set of shuttered windows and a curtain that had been pulled across to separate bedroom from living room. Leaks in the ceiling were like large cup rings on a coffee table. Chairs and couches quickly filled as children came in, saying the respectful “shikamoo”. They seemed very excited to be having us as guests and quickly brought out a box of photographs and showed us their English homework. None of them spoke it much at all.

They were, however, quite eager to have their “picha” taken and would laugh with delight – and rib each other mercilessly – when we’d show them their facsimile selves on the backs of our cameras. The whole day, they’d point out photo opportunities and often stepped behind the shutter themselves. It was a nice change from having to be so careful about respecting cultural values here, where you don’t just randomly take pictures of people.

Eight children of various ages, the three of us and Pendo each piled into a dala-dala (a small mini-van-like bus) for the 25-minute ride to our destination. Stuffed beyond capacity, there were at times more than 25 sweaty people in the vehicle. And a basket of live chickens. This is Africa.

With the children leading the way and carrying a large basket of cooking bananas, vegetables, wood and other cooking supplies, we made the 20-minute trek up into the hills to Pendo’s mother’s home. The dirt ground in front of the relatively-large house was impeccably swept and out of small gardens sprouted plants that folded unto themselves when touched.

As one child flicked impatiently though stations on a large radio, another showed off his dancehall moves; others began preparing the food and yet another box of photographs was brought out. The children eagerly pointed out themselves and their parents. Pendo’s mother brought out a large bag of plaited straw and taught the interns how to make intricate patterns that could eventually be woven together into large mats.

Lunch, made on a small portable stove outside, was cooking bananas with tomatoes and onion, and some pineapple. Sitting around a coffee table, the children eagerly dove into a large plate, using pieces of banana to scoop up the sauce. Apart from the great company and honour we felt at being invited, the amazing thing about this was that they fed 13 people – most of whom are still growing – for less than five dollars (the enormous bundle of bananas cost 3,000 TSH, or about $2.75). It boggles my mind.

After lunch, the children rose to action, whisking away the dishes, washing and cleaning the house while Pendo had her hair braided by her mother. This was all a real African experience and I was very thankful for having been able to participate in it.

Day 12: Sekou Toure Hospital.

Mwanza, Tanzania - Visiting the Sekou Toure regional hospital in Mwanza this morning, we were reminded of how lucky we are to have the health care service we do in Canada. While the hospital was better equipped than the one we visited in Kenya earlier in the trip, its inadequacies were punctuated by its complete lack of electricity and water since last night. They have no back-up generators.

A large number of the hospital’s patient base of 4-5,000 lines the hallways on long benches, or sits on the lawn. One woman brought with her a basket of live chickens as geckos scurried along the floor. Each of the “In case of emergency, break glass” cases was cracked.

Each day, the hospital helps bring 40 babies into the world and cares for 80 HIV/AIDS patients. One advantage of its being a government-run hospital is that patients only need to pay 5,000 TSH (approximately $4.75) for a registration card that will cover all of their examinations, necessary diagnostics like ultrasounds or x-rays, and any medications. Wait times are only two hours.

HIV/AIDS patients undergo mandatory counselling sessions before they are able to see a doctor, and the room where one such session was being conducted was full of women and young children. And the surgeries scheduled for today? They will have to be postponed until such time as electrical power returns. Such is life in Africa.

This afternoon, we went back to the kitchen so that Meaghan and Alison could deliver follow-up exams related to the mamas’ English lesson earlier in the week. The mamas were busy cooking lunch for one of the local schools, for whom they prepare breakfast and lunch as a side business. We also returned to the Forever Angels orphanage for a couple of hours and it was nice to see I was remembered from last week.

Day 11: A Good Deed.

Mwanza, Tanzania - It was tremendously rewarding to take part in a good deed today during an excursion that will make an enormous difference in a woman’s life.

Where there’s poverty throughout Mwanza, homes in the slums up the hill we visited today are in even more serious states of disrepair. Missing are even the open sewers of the city; refuse of all varieties – fabric, packaging, corn cobs and liquor sachets – blanket the ground, piling high in areas where the wind has carried it. The hills are rocky and steep, the ground hard and dry. Small shacks perch precariously on ledges, gravity pulling wood planks to the ground. With the heat in full force, the hike makes your lungs ache.

As ever, children call out to us and we are welcomed by a number of friendly adults sitting in front of their homes or small shops.

When we reach our destination, a frail-looking woman with few teeth comes to the door of her clay hut and welcomes us warmly into the small room that serves as kitchen, bedroom – with a bed made from pieces of discarded foam – and living room. Soon, her granddaughter, Sikitu – the reason for our visit – comes by and we’re able to hand over a letter and 500,000 TSH (approximately $450-500) from former WHE intern Dallas Currow. Dallas had come to know Sikitu during her time in Tanzania and had conducted additional fundraising back in Canada to help her pay for medicine and other needs.

That is a life-changing amount of money here, particularly where she lives. I can only imagine the look on her face when she opened the envelope.

Glasses: Half-Full.

Mwanza, Tanzania - All within five minutes today, we witnessed a large contrast of activities within the community where the interns’ apartment is located. Returning from the market, we saw a crowd forming as people hurried from all corners to see what the commotion was about. People were smiling, laughing and pointing toward a large throng of people amassed in front of a couple of stores, and someone else was lying on the ground. Suddenly, two police officers appeared from the centre of the mass, one firing shots into the sky, as they whisked an uncooperative suspect away. Yet five minutes later, when we came back outside, a crowd had formed for a different reason: some of the performers we had seen in the HIV/AIDS morality plays last week were doing an African dance, backed by musical instruments reminiscent of a southern jug band. Quite the activity – and a little surreal.

The heat hung heavily and we really felt its effects as we walked throughout the city, and over to the community kitchen, where Meaghan and Alison also teach the ‘yogurt mamas’ English three times a week. Today’s lesson was about the possessive forms of subjects and the interns worked with the mamas in both Swahili and English to help them understand proper sentence structure. The mamas were also really excited to receive reading glasses, which Meaghan’s mother had sent to the community. It was cute to see them trying on different frame styles, but the glasses should really benefit the mamas in their studies and day-to-day work.

All the while, a number of the community’s younger children began appearing on the kitchen’s steps and looked in at us with curiosity. Playing peek-a-boo and making some funny faces sent them into peels of laughter and led to their pretending to hide on the steps or to their scurrying away, only to return all over again.

To Market, To Market.

Mwanza, Tanzania - Looking to pick up some materials for the apartment, Ruben – who is from the Netherlands, and lives with the WHE interns – and I had our senses assaulted when we headed to one of Mwanza’s local markets this afternoon.

The acrid smells of burning garbage were paired with pungent herbs and spices and fresh produce. Though we had our first real rainstorm of the trip this morning, and have enjoyed somewhat cooler temperatures – particularly at night – it was hot and sticky as we wove between the small stalls amid repeated cries of ‘’ and ‘rafiki yangu’ (‘my friend’). Swahili rap music fused aurally into the familiar patter of 50 Cent as a man with a Rastafarian hat danced in the street. A tall man with traditional Maasai sandals made of old car tires hurried back to one of the stalls, where he helped an older mama. Women with babies swaddled in colourful African fabrics on their backs pushed through the crowds, looking to pick something up for dinner. Commotion ruled the moment.

Bargaining sometimes became heated vocally, but everyone was eager to make a deal. Prices dropped radically when you showed you knew a little Swahili and refused entreaties to pay higher prices. We waded through tight wooden stalls hawking bins, cooking ware, produce and a long row of caged, squawking chickens. Men sat in front of tiny shops, ironing clothes with cast irons into which they place hot embers; young boys followed us around, their arms laden with plastic bags for sale (going rate is 1,000 TSH, or a little less than a dollar). Others carry large quantities of produce or timber on their heads or on wheelbarrows, navigating uneasily through the throngs of people. It was impossible to move without pushing past people and without your head and both sides of your body rubbing up against various wares.

Walls, concrete pillars, bus shelters, store signs and banners were all festooned with the colours and familiar wave of Coca Cola.

Another market we ventured into, called Mlango Moja, was laden with t-shirts, sneakers and other clothes that had been sold here from charity clothing bins back in North America. Row upon row of Nike shoes and Tommy Hilfiger shirts hung tightly in rickety stalls and, unlike my experiences in such markets in Malaysia, these weren’t, for the most part, counterfeit. Instead, they were merely second-hand. The irony of buying something and taking it back home would have seemed poetic, but I didn’t.

I have been struck by many of the small shops you pass when you’re going through town; at every turn, there seem to be hair salons with garishly distorted airbrushed faces on the front. A disproportionate number of bed frame manufacturers ply their trade in small workshops along the road, though with the size of families here, I suppose it’s a product that is always in need. Small shops hawk candy and soda and are flanked by one-room shanty hotels. Wood and concrete structures lay side by side, many of which are brightly painted with advertisements and brand logos.

Day Nine: Buswelu.

Mwanza, Tanzania - On roads carved from clay, and etched by rivulets and sinking tires, we made our way to the Buswelu Primary School this morning to take hand-made cards and picture books prepared in English and Swahili by students at Tecumseh Public School in London, Ontario for the children here.

At times, flooded roads became impassable and we were forced to wind through the labyrinthine community, past residents tending to meagre plots of land and washing clothes or themselves in their front yards. By the looks of surprise we received, it became immediately evident these weren’t roads regularly traveled by ‘s’. I suddenly felt very conspicuous and exposed in my pallor. The fact our cab ride to Buswelu – a suburb of Mwanza – cost an average man’s monthly salary was also food for thought.

Homes were generally constructed of clay or concrete; chickens, dogs and goats darted onto the roads with impunity. Children, of all ages, too. It continues to amaze me how many children are always scurrying about – often with loads of water or sticks on their heads – and taking care of themselves from very young ages. It’s not uncommon to see a five-year-old looking after his or her smaller siblings, without a parent in sight. I can’t imagine how young responsibility is foisted upon, or accepted by, youth here, but with the sheer level of poverty, there is an obvious reason why. There is very little time for parental supervision.

Upon arriving at the school, our car was immediately surrounded by children, pointing at us and asking us questions. Thankfully, Meaghan and Alison’s Swahili is much better than mine. Ushered into Headmaster Leonard Chinyele’s small office, we were welcomed and asked to sign the visitor’s register, which has happened everywhere we have been thus far. It was our hope to ask Mr. Chinyele to have students at the school write back to their Canadian counterparts on cards provided by the Western Heads East project; he readily agreed, saying that he could get them to us by the time the interns return home in December. The more we can learn about people in other parts of the world, the easier it can be to understand where we can help and what we can learn from them. Exposure to children like those at these schools is a positive first step.

Lions and Elephants, Hurrah.

Mwanza, Tanzania - The goal of the modern safari seems to be to shoot as many as you can of the ‘Big 5’ – lion, leopard/ cheetah, hippopotamus, water buffalo and elephant. Only now, you do it with a camera instead of a rifle.

While sitting beside my tent on the rim of the Ngorongoro crater the first night after a full day of travel, I realized our journey (“safari” in Swahili) had already provided me and my travel partner – Western Heads East intern Meaghan Horgan – with more than we could have hoped for. We were blessed with clear weather as we traversed various topographies – flat, dry savanna, tropical forests, lush mountains and short scrub – making animal sighting easier.

We were greeted almost immediately by giraffes and a herd of approximately 13 elephants, crossing in front of us. Three hours in, we had already seen thousands of antelope, gazelles and zebras. Water buffalo and baboons made their way through the grass at every turn. Hippos resembled clumps of grey rocks floating in the water; warthogs and ostriches scampered about. We had also crossed paths with our first big cats, including a pair of lions, a leopard climbing out of a tree and a cheetah enjoying its freshly-killed Thompson gazelle – while fending off a flock of vultures. All of this happened within a few feet of us, which was surreal, especially considering there are no fences. This is the wild.

We were reminded of this as we came across the female lion, lazily lying under a tree near a pond. We watched as a gazelle sauntered over, separated from its mates. It fell over, possibly sick, then continued to the water hole. The lioness tensed on her haunches and sprang into action, catching herself a meal. Seemingly unimpressed, a male appeared from the tall grasses and decided to challenge a water buffalo. Without the female’s support, he ended up backing down, tearing off a piece of the gazelle as a consolation prize instead.

During the trip to Ngorongoro, too, we passed a number of Maasai, their easily distinguishable red or purple garments contrasted against the dry grass. Their villages, surrounded by fences of stick and brush to keep predators out, dotted the mountainous climb. Acacia and Baobab rose randomly from the vast terrain, but passing hollow, bleached bones served as a reminder that this is one part of the world over which you have very little control.

The Ngorongoro crater – the largest unbroken caldera in the world, and considered by many to be the eighth wonder of the world – was breathtaking in its beauty, though clouds and fog washed in over it in the morning. It is also considered by some to be the birthplace of civilization. The crater’s walls rose high and were scarred by the switchbacks that took 20 minutes to traverse to the bottom. The backdrop was stunning, with cascading hills, vast plains and the large Lake Magadi. We had our drive interrupted briefly as a large herd of wildebeests crossed the road in a perfectly straight line and, toward the end of the day, we completed our ‘Big 5’, spotting one of the very few remaining black rhinoceros in the crater.

The second night, we camped in the Serengeti and went to sleep to distant calls from lions and hyenas. I was bitten on my Achilles by a tsetse fly, but though it really stung, I don’t think it has made me sick. It was an amazing and surreal night to look up at a partially-lit sky, pinpricked to let the heavens shine through the silence. Lit light blue, it was as though darkness should never completely fall over the sky, depriving us of the Serengeti’s beauty. I couldn’t believe I was standing in the middle of it at night, surrounded by all I had seen during the day.

Today, Meaghan and I rose at 5:45 to watch the sun rise over the park and to begin our trek home to Mwanza. We awoke to zebras, antelope and gazelles visible from our tent door; we passed lions as we exited the camp. On the way out, we saw many more animals and actually had a chance to get out of the car to take a rope bridge across a river in which a crocodile swam below. I didn’t want to lose my sandal. Or my footing. The most amazing experience came toward the end of the day when two long lines of elephants came together in a V, heading to the river to cool off. In all, more than 150 elephants of all sizes passed within feet of us. It pretty much summed up the trip for us: we were very fortunate to see all that we did; many people spend far more time and see far less.

Forever Angels.

Mwanza, Tanzania - Really making me miss my own back home, Meaghan, Alison and I spent the afternoon volunteering our time with the children at the Forever Angels orphanage in Mwanza.

The orphanage is currently home to 20 children under the age of three, and is being expanded to house double that number. Many of the children came from families where the parents died from disease, or were simply left on the orphanage’s doorstep. One boy we met had been beaten so badly, and left at the gate, that he needed to be resuscitated in hospital. Others had had their growth stunted by severe malnutrition. Most of them just wanted some love and some attention – just like any other child.

It was funny to see just how little difference there can be in children, regardless of where they are from – much like my previous experience, it seem inevitable that if you build a sandcastle, a child will get the biggest kick out of squashing it. And then asking, amid peels of laughter, to have it rebuilt. We played in the sandbox, gave piggyback rides, sat with the children during snack time, played catch and participated in other children’s games. One of the boys, Joseph, was really interested in my camera and wanted me to put Alison’s sunglasses on so that he could take a photo. Then, he wanted to take a picture of his friend. He was quite pleased with the results of his pressing the button releasing the shutter and capturing the moment for himself.

It was also a little funny to hear them sing the Bob the Builder theme song – or some variation thereof. Like kids everywhere, they’re good mimics.

Mabatini.

Mwanza, Tanzania - “Hapana – asante!” (“No, thank you”) I said to the ‘yogurt mamas’ this morning after they expressed many thanks for our visit and for our support. “We teach you about probiotic yogurt, you teach us about life,” Gregor added. With the experiences we have had over the past week, such a statement resonated with a tremendous amount of poignancy. The energy the ‘yogurt mamas’ bring to the Western Heads East initiative and to their community is tremendous. I am privileged to have had the opportunity to witness this first-hand. We were meeting with the mamas for the last time as a full complement of team members on this trip; Gregor, Jennifer and Maryanne have just left for the airport. I, however, look forward to working with them again over the coming weeks before I, too, return home to Canada.

From a personal standpoint, I have been amazed to see the sheer number of children running about and looking shyly, excitedly or sometimes with trepidation, at these “muzungus” coming into their community in a Range Rover. The Mabatini village is not exactly a tourist destination. They are quick with smiles when you engage them, and are fascinated by seeing pictures of themselves on the back of a digital camera. Today, I nearly incited a mini riot of children who rapidly surrounded me after I took a photo of one of the boys and showed it to him. Soon, children – seemingly extricating themselves from crevices in the walls – clamoured around for their opportunity to be photographed and to be around the visitors. It was as though it took one to break the ice, to show we were friendly. The excitement is infectious. Of course, my handing out superballs to a few of the children only whipped the crowd into more of a frenzy, but you can’t possibly begin to bring enough for everyone. Children are, literally, everywhere.

This, of course, is one of the big reasons this project is so important. While I can presume it’s the same throughout the majority of Africa, I have seen first-hand, and know to be true, that malnutrition, disease and lack of access to potable water are ravaging populations in Kenya and Tanzania. It has been astounding to see so few senior citizens throughout our travels. I get a sinking feeling in my stomach when I realize just why that is: the average life expectancy is just 45. It’s universal whether you’re in Canada, the United States, Kenya or Tanzania: the children are the future. With this in common, we could certainly learn from each other to help create a better future around the globe. Despite their hardship, and often limited opportunity, the children here are, for the most part, extraordinarily happy. Many are sick, but they do not look defeated. Nearly all their clothes are in tatters, but “sawa” (“it’s alright”); it’s hot here.

It’s something I would suggest we think about a little more often as we stress about deadlines, bills and what shade of taupe to paint our walls. We certainly have poverty, disease and a different kind of malnutrition in North America, but here, it seeps into everything the dust can reach. Which is to say, everywhere.

Day Five: Mwanza.

Mwanza, Tanzania - The heat hangs heavily, like a sopping wool sweater, sucking from you what breath hasn’t already been stolen by dust-filled lungs. Despite being the beginning of the rainy season, we have seen but a sprinkle since we landed in Africa nearly a week ago. The small breeze rattles the palms into chatter and Lake Victoria glistens hazily in the morning sun. Kingfishers, storks and eagles stalk their breakfast dizzily, lazily drifting. Then rocket straight toward the water below as through threaded to a fishing line.

The ‘Faculty’ portion of the trip draws to a close today, as does much of the formal agenda. Gregor, Jennifer and Maryanne begin returning home this afternoon, though Isaac will remain for a couple more days. I’ll be starting the ‘Intern experience’ of the trip, staying with the Western Heads East interns and volunteering in the community for the rest of my time here. Goodbye hot water, regular access to the Internet and reliable electricity. The interns are the are the contingent from Canada who keeps the project going on a daily basis, so I look forward to gaining some perspective into their experience, and we have a number of great things planned.

Oh, that and a couple of us are heading out to tent on the Serengeti and at the Ngorongoro crater for the next couple of days. You know, small things.

Day Four: Mwanza.

Mwanza, Tanzania - Without question, the days painted with the experience of visiting various towns and communities have thus far proved to be the most rewarding – both personally and professionally. Being among the people has provided unparalleled opportunities for seeing how other people live, and also for how much we have to be thankful. The sights. The smells. The sounds. The feelings. Our senses are alive and being pulled in so many directions.

Today, we visited the birthplace of the Western Heads East project in Africa – the Mabatini community kitchen. Before we had the chance to do so, however, we had a successful meeting with Regional Administrative Secretary Alhaji Yhya Mbila, who cleared space in his morning schedule to meet with us at the prompting of Amran Batenga, Chairman of the regional Chamber of Commerce, with whom we met last night.

Our objective during the meeting was to increase awareness of, and generate increased support from government for, the Western Heads East project. “We all out support it; we’re talking about AIDS, which is a big threat,” Mbila said. “Mwanza is the hub,” he began, telling us that the lake region is home to 30 per cent of the country’s population. “Historically, we have competition economically with Kenya and Uganda, but invariably, we are the best.” While he previously had little knowledge of the project, he was sufficiently impressed that he promised to visit the community kitchen over the next month to experience it first hand.

Which is what we did next. Greeted by the mamas, who were all wearing green Western Heads East T-shirts (which read, on the back, “How can a cow fight HIV? Western Heads East”) along with their traditional kitenge, we were given portions of the probiotic yogurt that has helped them build their reputation in the community. Though we eventually added a little bit of sugar, it tasted quite good.

The mamas’ kitchen is a small room with turquoise walls and a mural depicting the community engaged in the yogurt making process on one wall. Awash with green plastic containers, a small floortop stove, a refrigerator, other tools and a table for distribution, the kitchen will need to be expanded to increase opportunities for sustainability. The village of Mabatini is dry and set into the hills with dirt roads and people everywhere. Most of the buildings are stone and the wind whips down the laneways, carrying with it dust and the excited trills of children. I look forward to revisiting the community over the next week or so and seeing more of it. It was an amazing experience.

Following our time in the kitchen, we are treated to a cultural experience as the local Tunda Sana theatre troupe ushered us in as honoured guests to watch a series of performances aimed at teaching people about HIV/AIDS through drama. While I likened it in my head to opera – which you don’t necessarily need to understand the lyrics to enjoy – we had an interpreter and were truly blown away by the performance, and the experience. Following the main morality plays, the audience was engaged to ask questions of the actors, who remained in character while providing their responses. It struck me how this encouraged important discussion among the group, and was impressed by the actors’ ability to reply in metaphor. On one such occasion, for example, an actor portraying a philandering girlfriend was asked, “Why have more than one boyfriend,” to which she replied, “You can’t live on the same diet of rice.” This also happened to be the one time an actor had no answer to the follow-up question: “If you need change in your diet, why not women?” I also thought that was a pretty enlightened question for this area. The session wrapped up with a traditional African dance, which was also a tremendous, unexpected experience.

Looking out at a rainbow arcing over Lake Victoria, I feel almost like I have found the pot of gold of experience; this has also been another amazing day.

Day Three: Mwanza, Tanzania.

Mwanza, Tanzania - Arriving in Mwanza, Tanzania this afternoon following yet another travel day (that makes five straight days on planes), we are finally able to shed our wings for a few and settle in one place. Upon arrival, we were met at the airport by the Western Heads East’s project’s current interns, Meaghan and Alison, and taken to Hotel Tilipia, on the banks of Lake Victoria. We were even greeted by birds the size of small adults, nicknamed “Dirty Birds” around here. I thought they were statues they were so big. Statues don’t move, though.

Taking in the sights from the air has its unique benefits and can give provide perspective about just how big things are, how the topography and climate change and how dense populations are. From what we have seen so far here, it’s mostly: very vast, predominantly arid and home to geographically diverse peoples.

We had a pretty clear day for flying and got a good look at Mount Kilimanjaro, where we landed to pick up additional passengers (I’m gathering Precision Air functions a bit like a big city bus…), the Ngorongoro crater and the Serengeti. There was also volcanic activity below as a volcano bordering the crater had begun spewing ash.

Seeing small vortexes of dust curling violently into the sky like wagging fingers, it was amazing to see just how dry and dusty everything is. I had believed the plumes were smoke from campfires, but as I watched them dance through the brush as the winds changed, it became apparent they were something else entirely. It was also particularly interesting to see homesteads on the savanna set up with circular or square fences of planted brush to keep wild predators away. Likely a good thing when you live in these parts in a mud hut. Small sections were portioned off with additional brush fences for gardens or for goats, and in the inner circle – with the most security – were the owners’ homes.

Prior to bidding kwaheri to Kenya this morning, we had an early meeting with Nyambura Gigthagui from The World Bank, who looks after funding for this probiotic yogurt project in Kenya. She warned of the importance of moving quickly to prevent any loss of momentum, and to also ensure that any community kitchens set up are wholly owned by the women’s groups rather than any one individual. “At the community level, we have so many resources available, but we need a framework for decentralizing them,” she said. Hopefully – and I believe we do – we have a positive way in which we can encourage these groups to take ownership and use their learnings to provide significant benefits to their communities.

The dust in the air has coated the interior of my lungs, bringing with it a slight hacking cough not helped by the long days nor the pollution in the cities, but none of us can believe we have been here for only three days.

Day Two: Oyugis/Kasipul/Kabondo.

Advance caveat: I'm aware this is far too long a post for a blog, but it was such an important day, I feel I had little choice. Given the inconsistency of Internet service here, it also comes relatively unedited.

Put simply, this was one of the most incredible days of my life. While there is so much to say, I still feel trepidation in my fingers because words – especially in the written form – seem unable to do justice to all we did and experienced in such a short time. Without first-hand knowledge, much of rural Africa is, unfortunately, beyond the context of understanding for many North Americans.

Complaints about traffic and poor road conditions rank somewhere between hobby and sport in Canada, yet, I have never endured a ride bumpier than today’s trip past various villages into Oyugis, Kasipul, Kabondo and points between. The roads – where formal ones exist – are in serious states of disrepair, while others have been carved from the earth and wend their way awkwardly up hills and over jagged rocks. But it’s not that we could complain about traffic. The roads were nearly devoid of cars, though a few buses spewing black exhaust made things interesting on the narrow strips of pavement.

No, instead, the roads were lined with people walking or cycling, carrying with them their wares, belongings or other people – one bicycle transported five people. Along the way, children waved, smiled and ran alongside the truck; others led their goats and cows along the ditch. As we climbed into higher elevations, the relatively arid terrain gave way to lusher, tropical trees and plants, including coffee, pineapple and banana. Consistent throughout, though, was the poverty. The landscape was dotted by small villages of mud huts or tin-roofed shacks in varying states of disrepair, and by town markets teeming with activity and people hawking their wares.

Following a two-hour drive, our day began at the Rackuonyo District Hospital, where we met with the superintendent, the district AIDS/STI coordinator and representatives from KEMRI and the ministry of public health. The project’s researchers sought permission to include some of the hospital’s 5,000 HIV/AIDS patients in the probiotic yogurt project, a proposal agreeable to the superintendent, so long as privacy standards are maintained. Visiting the hospital was interesting in its own right as it was equipped with very few facilities – mostly an outcropping of small buildings the size of an average North American kitchen. Additionally, when we walked in, a technician was drawing blood from a long line of patients – without wearing gloves. This was mind boggling, particularly given the high-risk nature of the task.

We were then welcomed in the Kokal village by the Oranda Women’s Group, who will likely follow in the footsteps of the ‘yogurt mamas’ in Mwanza, Tanzania, and begin preparing probiotic yogurt for their community. “We are very happy for your visit,” the group’s chairperson stated as we were ushered to seats of honour in their compound as cows grazed and small children sucking on sugarcane peered with curiosity at their visitors. “This is the only project like this in all of Kenya, so you are leading the way for the country,” said Canadian scientist Gregor Reid.

We then made our way through villages to meet with the Nyanam Women’s Group, who showed great promise as advocates for the project and demonstrated particular strengths in communications, marketing and sales. “My argument has always been, who brings food, brings life,” added Isaac Luginaah, the project’s principal investigator. There could be real value in leveraging their aptitudes to help spread the word of benefits from probiotics and to potentially involve them with the sales aspect, rather than yogurt production itself.

For lunch, we stopped at a roadside restaurant and I enjoyed some local fare: fried chicken and a slab of ugali. While I came to Africa armed with 50-60 Swahili words, I have limited my use to fairly basic sayings, particularly “habari”, “nzuri” and “asante” (hello, I’m fine and thank you, respectively), but at lunch I used my first full sentence: “Samahani – naomba una chupa ye maji baridi; asante sana” (“Excuse me, I would like a cold bottle of water; thank you”).

In the afternoon, we met with two more groups of mamas to examine other viable options for community kitchens and were asked some important questions, including one about whether traditional, local sour milk products provide the same benefits as probiotic yogurt. Differences between controlled and uncontrolled fermentation are important to distinguish. According to Professor Reid, while the sour milk may provide certain benefits, bacteria in it dies in the gut and, thus, does not provide the same beneficial qualities as probiotics.

I am amazed by how ubiquitous Coca Cola is here. The company’s logo was permanently overlayed in the corner of a television program featuring music videos. Shiny red, well-painted bus shelters bear the Coke logo (and were unquestionably financed by them). In many villages, bright red Coke stands rise up between dilapidated shacks housing other businesses. And, in nearly all cases, the Coke buildings were the nicest ones in the village. Even more shockingly – and perhaps the irony of ironies – one of the hospital buildings was sponsored by the beverage maker (and bore a large mural to that effect). In a community with a 17 per cent HIV/AIDS infection rate, however, I suppose the hospital’s need for funding surpasses concern for diabetes, gum disease and other drawbacks of soda consumption.

For someone as interested as I am in the world and in how people live, today was an incredible opportunity to experience a different people, a different culture and a different way of life. It was amazing. Children would invariably bound along, waving and giggling or retreat shyly. Many would then soften with wide eyes and take off with peels of laughter with their friends. Replying “nzuri” to their timid hellos left them tickled pink. In matching school uniforms, they’d cut down the laneways and peer into the buildings we were in, often unsure until we waved or said hello. Then came the widest smiles. Driving through the countryside and villages, and meeting the mamas in the various communities was rewarding on so many levels.

This was a day to remember.

Kisumu: Part Two.

Kisumu, Kenya - My first full day in Africa is winding down as I atop the Imperial Hotel watching the sun set over Lake Victoria.

After chicken stew with rice for lunch, the group met with members of the Kenyan medical institute, KEMRI, and other key Kenyan stakeholders to determine elements to be covered for a baseline study related to the introduction of probiotic yogurt to the community. Researchers were hoping to discover if three measurements they felt could help determine the success of the project were viable within the community:

1. By measuring levels of CD4, does this probiotic yogurt affect immunity for HIV/AIDS?
2. By measuring height and weight of children, 2-5, do we see any significant benefits?
3. Do episodes and duration of infection diminish with consumption?

Significant progress was made in preparation for the project’s commencement in Kasipul, which has a population of 140,000; during the second phase, the project will expand to Kabondo, which has a population of 60,000. Both have an HIV/AIDS infection rate of 17 per cent.

It was important for the Canadian and Kenyan representatives to clearly understand how they planned to identify candidates for the study (including ratios of men, women and children), and how potential candidates could best be served. It was commonly agreed upon that it is critical that potential candidates are properly sensitized to the benefits of probiotic yogurt for an ongoing commitment to become sustainable. And now, dinner beckons.

Day One: Kisumu.

Kisumu, Kenya - Now I feel like I’m in Africa. Having spent most of the past two days in airports and flying over the continent, I have arrived with the full team – which now includes Gregor Reid and his daughter Jennifer – in Kisumu, Kenya. Flying at the crack of dawn this morning, we were able to see Mount Kenya rising above a carpet of clouds – towering over it, in fact.

At Kisumu’s small airport, we were greeted by a group of uniformed school children who waved eagerly as we disembarked. Kisumu isn’t really a tourist spot, but the group seemed to enjoy watching the planes land. It’s a rural area, replete with farms and thatched houses on the opposite side of Lake Victoria from Mwanza, Tanzania, where we are headed in a few days. In town, however, Kisumu is pretty hectic, with Jeepneys and bicycle taxis careening down the roads and through the myriad roundabouts. In reference to driving in Kenya, our driver this morning said, “Here, you just take care of yourself”.

Gregor and Jennifer have already been on safari, and also had the opportunity to get up-close and personal with some cheetahs, and to pet them (apparently, they purred). Wild giraffes also come up to their hotel’s windows, and stick their heads through, which, based on the photographs, looked pretty neat. So far, I’ve only seen some pelicans or storks, and a crane, all of which are really large birds.

As the Internet service has been down at our hotel for a few days, we sought out an Internet café, which turned out to be a bit of an exercise in futility. After playing musical chairs trying to find a computer that would even let us open a web page, we waited. And we waited. Then, a couple of us drafted quick emails and pressed send. Nothing. The service went down and our efforts were lost. While we got nothing in return, all things considered, the 17 Kenyan Shillings I spent amounted to less than a Canadian dollar for a half-hour of so-called connection. And, I like to think that’s part of the experience, too.

As I am want to do, I parted from the group for a while this afternoon when we had some free time. I wandered outside the city gates and came across a large open market, where they sell pretty much everything, from dried fish, to fresh produce, to clothing. I tend to like to immerse myself in the world I am visiting, and not just visit tourist sites. I like to see how people live and what locals do and, because of this, I can be a bit impulsive in my wandering. Based on some of the looks I received, I’m not so sure I was welcome in this market. Being such a shutterbug at home, I also had to be more careful, given that many people here don’t like to have their photos taken, or want to be paid if you do. I encountered one vendor who asked me to pay up, though I hadn’t even been shooting in her direction. I also acquired a shadow, a young boy named Ricky, who followed me back to the hotel, asking for money, keeping up by hopping along on-and-off of the ragged sidewalks.

Our plans have changed for today and we will now not be going to Oyugis until tomorrow morning, but we have meetings for the rest of the afternoon, and into the evening.

Alive in Africa. But the Internet Isn't.

Nairobi, Kenya - Habari! Sorry folks, but the Internet has been intermittent at best here in Africa, which I suppose is part of the experience. As such, the posts have been somewhat delayed in being posted, and are without photos. I'll do my best to update the posts with photos when I can, and when I return. I also haven't been able to adjust the dates/times, so I've simply attached them as part of the copy of the post. In the meantime, bear with me.

Africa. (!)

Nairobi, Kenya - Okay, I have been up for 30.5 straight hours (discounting the 10-minute catnap I got on the plane), of which I’ve been traveling for more than 26 of those hours. But I’m here on the other side of the world, landing in Nairobi a few hours ago and then having to negotiate with an Air Kenya representative for the tickets we need to fly to Kisumu tomorrow morning. Yes, tickets we had already booked while back in Canada.

As we passed over the equator around 18:30 local time, the sun was setting with ruby reds atop brushed cotton clouds. It was a pretty sight. Unfortunately, the clouds thickened as we descended into Nairobi, greatly reducing visibility. The first thing I noticed about flying over Kenya was how dark much of it is – unlike many of the other places you travel, this country does not appear like a Lite Brite from the sky at night. Upon touchdown, a single thought popped into my head: “Omigod. I. Am. In. Africa.”

But, it’s 21:45 here and I have to be up at 5:00 to catch our flight at 8:00 tomorrow morning, so even the much sought-after Tusker will have to wait. Timely enough, too, because I just about lost electric power for the second time in ten minutes.

Head in the Sand.

In Flight - We have been flying over the African continent for some time now and have been greeted by little more than a giant tableau of sand for as far as the eye can see – even while traveling at 900km/h. A stretch a few minutes ago proffered some outcroppings of rock and a brief change to an ochre-hued landscape, but from the air, we were still left with enormous rivulets of sand – a giant beach without the water, or a sandbox you wouldn’t want to be stuck playing in. There also appeared to be a section of farm plots layed-out in rectangles and hexagons, but with no other signs of civilization around, and definitely no roads. At first, I had thought we were flying over some really dirty water, but then it struck me: could this be the Sahara? Yes, it was.

We have been blessed with a perfectly clear day for nearly this whole leg of the journey (my first stretch with a window) and it has been fascinating to watch the topography change from lush, verdant Dutch farms fed by the tendrils of innumerable irrigation ditches to the mammoth crags of the Alps to now, the vast aridness of a seemingly unending desert. It was also particularly interesting to see the crisp outline of Italy’s boot at the southernmost point of the European continent.

A notoriously poor sleeper on planes, I’ve only mustered a single 10-minute nap since we left 21 hours ago. With only a few more hours to go until we land in Nairobi, I’ll likely hold off at this point – I don’t want to miss seeing the land shed its skin yet again as we pass over the Savannah on our approach.

3...2...1...And so the Journey Begins.

Toronto, Ontario, Canada - As the plane gained altitude and the landscape shifted from checkerboard farms and the rust-coloured, paintbrush-like tips of fall trees in southwestern Ontario to a field of dimpled clouds, it struck me that my journey to a land far different from my own had begun. It is a journey that involves more than a series of connections through airports filled with nomadic people of whose lives you gain little but a fleeting snapshot. It is, I say without hesitation, a journey where the impact will be felt not just physically in the hot, dusty climates of rural Kenya and Tanzania, but on the psyche. And hopefully, at the same time, I will be able to help make a difference in others' lives. Having spoken with numerous people who have made this trip before me, I have an extremely difficult time thinking I won't come back in some way changed.

It is this feeling that both excites me and renders me slightly apprehensive – there's something about leaving a piece of yourself behind and coming back to those you love somehow less complete. Or, paradoxically, more complete. I have long been fascinated by how people live, particularly in other parts of the world, but I've been told that nothing really prepares you for your first visit to a developing continent like Africa. The poverty. The disease. The morbidity. The happiness. A trip to Malaysia last year provided me with my first real experience in the developing world, but the newly-industrialized country remains quite different from many of the areas I'll be visiting in Kenya and Tanzania over the next few weeks.

Drawn to the lore of Kunta Kinte, Kizzy and Chicken George, Alex Haley's Roots has been my favourite book since a young age. From the opening chapters of the book, I became intrigued with Africa, but never really thought I'd ever end up going there. Now, a flight to Amsterdam, followed by one to Nairobi, is all that stands between my breathing the air of what many consider to be the cradle of civilization. And I do not hesitate to believe that the journey will mean far more than travel to a far-off continent.

I hope you'll join me.