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Given that the recent floods in Northern Kenya were not the perfect answer to a 2-year drought, the tribes people whom we fed in Northern Kenya back in September are still extremely grateful for yours and our efforts and they made sure to share their gratitude with reporters and the rest of Nairobi’s community. During our experience of a lifetime up North, we had the pleasure of two journalists joining us, Fatuma and Jack. Their sole purpose was to document our life-changing journey and interact with the local communities. Not only did Fatuma and Jack find the droughts impact to be shocking but they also found our commitment in helping others to be fascinating. Upon arriving back into Nairobi, Fatuma and Jack shared their stories and photographs with their newspaper only to find that the paper had made the swift decision to publish our story from the North. Check it out below:

I know we’ve said this before, but a huge THANK YOU again to those of you who contributed to the cause in Northern Kenya. You people are the ones changing the world through every effort and contribution you made in September. Our gratitude for your efforts is endless.

Our Audience

Our friend Kenneth, who we were visiting in Uganda, was born and raised in this particular village. He decided to bring us to this school, amongst other places, to show us the “true” Uganda. His village is small and word travels fast so when Kenneth told his family and friends we (white people) would be accompanying him over the weekend, it became the talk of the town. People found out we would be swinging by to see a few of the local public schools so they made a huge effort to gather upon our arrival.

It was awkward to say the least as people’s eyes traced our every move and we were escorted to the empty wooden chairs before the crowd. It was then that I could tell that this experience wouldn’t be as I had imagined: a walk through the classrooms, a chat with the teachers, and maybe a short game of soccer with the students. No, this was a formal meeting. Luckily, we had Kenneth and his friend Charles who sat on both sides of us to translate what was happening. Several formal thank yous and introductions were made by the head of the Parent Teacher Association and other decision making boards. Then the teachers, parents and community members thanked us repeatedly for coming and then divulged the truth of the mater. The head speaker, agenda in hand, spilled all of the problems facing the school. There were not enough teacher housing, not enough classrooms for the children, no bore hole for clean water, no roofs on some of the classrooms, no money for lunches, and no exercise books for children to use during lectures. They explained a list of sad truths to us as we sat there trying to remember them all. Then, the speaker stopped speaking in his tribal tounge and grew quiet. Charles turned to me and said, ‘they’d like you guys to introduce yourselves and tell them how you can help them with all the problems they have.’

I’m pretty sure I sat there looking like a deer in the headlights for a brief moment before Kenneth got up and began introducing us in the local language. What would we be able to say or do to these people who have been waiting here all day to share with us their problems in hopes that we can fix them?? Ideas raced through my head. Who do we know? What connections do I have? How much money could I contribute? How honest should I be with them? Chris and I exchanged ideas briefly as Kenneth was wrapping up our introduction. Thankfully, Chris got up, thanked everyone and addressed the issues that they had grilled us on. He made it clear that we are two people who were not prepared to fix all of the schools problems, but that we can gladly share their story with others so that one day, their school may get the attention that it needs. We didn’t really have much else to say and I think Charles could see that so he quickly requested we get a tour of the facility from the Head Master. Whew! I couldn’t tell whether the people were completely disappointed or satisfied with our visit. We were the first white people to visit their school EVER and although we are recent grads, they see white people and assume the money and power follows.

Inside a Classroom

Several students and community members followed us around as Chris and I asked the Head Master questions about the school. Gaining eye contact with a few of the students made my heart melt. I desperately wanted to give them the books they needed, a light to study with, food for their tiny stomachs, a roof over their head and drinking water for the hot school days. I desperately wanted to hug them and tell them that everything would be okay. But it wouldn’t. Less than 40% of the children in this primary school would pass the National Exam to attend secondary school and less than 1% of those children would pass the exam to be admitted into University. The worst part was, we couldn’t do a thing about it while we were there. Adults and children both looked to us like we would be their answer but we weren’t. We were nothing more than a glimpse of hope that more white people would hopefully attend their school and give it the attention it deserved.

If you’re interested in helping out schools in the villages of the Kaberamaido district of Uganda, please contact our close friend Kenneth Ongalo-Obote at: kenobote71@yahoo.com.

• 1.8 tons of maize meal
• 590 pounds of cooking fat

We then delivered:

• 2.1 tons of food to individuals
• 15,816 meals to villages

Every single cent went to feeding empty bellies of young children, windowed and elderly women, pregnant mothers, and the men attempting to provide for them. The first village we stopped at was surreal. We pulled up to a few small huts made from tree branches and empty rice sacks. They were small and egg-shaped, not even large enough for one to fully stand up in. The land was red and barren from the endless days of no rain and the burning African sun had absorbed any moisture that was left. There were a few cow carcasses lying around and a well that was completely dry. We drove slowly into the village trying not to disturb people with our cloud of dust. There were small children who ran to the car waving and chasing us. Most of them had no shoes, tattered clothing and appeared to have not bathed in weeks. They were people who had never been exposed to the simple luxuries we all take for granted. When we jumped out of the truck a group of young girls ran up to the silver door handle staring at their foggy reflections. They were amazed that they could see themselves! The rest of the children followed us around as we met the village elder and began arranging how we should best distribute the food to ensure every family received something. I was so shocked that despite that everyone was almost dying of starvation, they still had the decency to gather around and chat with us before taking their food. There was a true sense of appreciation, hope, and happiness that came from them. They orderly took a place in line and waited their turn to take their food, thank us, and shake our hands. There was no pushing, no yelling, and no greediness. Shocking me even further, instead of taking their food back to their huts and eating it, they proceeded to make us tea with the little camel milk they had left. They showed complete selflessness and gratitude even in their time of despair. You all fed the bellies of some unbelievable individuals!!!

We proceeded to several other villages, some large and some small. Several of the villages were infested with dead cattle, the putrid stench of bad meat and blown intestines, and flies that found homes on the children’s faces, hair and teeth. Most of the children owned only one outfit which was holey and covered in dirt, but there were a few boys who ran up to the truck completely naked. They had no clothes to put on. These boys were skeletal looking, with childlike legs of nothing more than skin over their bones. Their knees protruded from their tiny upper legs. Their ribs showed through as they ran and their collar bones popped out casting deep shadows on their chest as they waved. Yet, the fact that they were starving hadn’t taken away their childlike curiosity and spirit. They were filled with smiles and giggles. And the young children who’s mothers were out fetching water several kilometers away, would patiently wait in line to collect the goods for their family. When they would take the cooking fat and the maize meal into their own hands they acted as though they had just won $1,000,000. The satisfaction it gave me to see them so happy was the best gift I could have ever received. The weak mothers and elders thanked us repeatedly and the children waived and chased our vehicle as we drove to the next village.

Chris and I left the last village having learned extremely valuable lessons about life, love, gratitude, and appreciation. We felt so small surrounded by an issue that was larger than all of us. We recognized that we could not feed everyone, but even if we were able to make the slightest impact on someone, it was a good start. From the bottom of my heart, we cannot thank you all enough for your donations. You gave these people hope and probably saved a few lives as well.

A message from the Hon. Joseph Lekuuton:

Picture Found From the BBC: This cow could not stand without the Maasai's help

It was just yesterday that we were heading back to Nairobi from the Maasai Mara on what we expected to be a mindless four hour drive. We jumped into the small SUV and began our drive back to Narok where we would transfer to a matatu to take us the rest of the way to Nairobi. Relaxing into my seat, I, for once, did not have a care in the world. I was perfectly content with where I was at that moment, or so I thought I was.

No more than five minutes after we left the gate did we begin to see the realities of the drought in Kenya. I noticed that the Mara was dry but I didn’t realize what kind of impact it was making on the local people, their cattle, and the wildlife. The vegetation was brown and the creeks were completely dry. There were several cow carcasses strewn about the land; some of which had recently died while others we just skeletal remains. The drought’s destruction was endless. Local Maasai were making their daily treks through the scattered carcasses and not even giving them a second look. It hit me that this had become everyday living for them. It was no longer about finding the greenest pasture for their only source of income (their cattle), but it was now about finding any pasture that their cows could feed on. The situation has become survival of the fittest for both the people and the animals. At one point along our drive, three Maasai were walking their cattle across the barren land to find a place to graze. They had around 100 head of cattle moving forward, yet just 500 feet behind them, they had already lost 6 cows. The weak cows were lying down too weak to hold themselves up. They would certainly die over the next 24 hours. There was one cow that two Maasai walked back to save. It took them all the strength they had as they fought gravity to lift this deathly skinny cow from the red chalky land back to its feet. It staggered around for several seconds having no food or water in its system to help it move forward. Our driver, a Maasai himself, explained that this particular cow would only last three more days at the most. He mentioned that in one month, the drought will take a head of 100 cattle, down to a group of three or four.

My chest tightened and my throat closed as I fought back my tears. How could this be happening while I along with most people around the world had no idea?!?!? What would these people do for income? For food? For survival? The driver then explained the following bits of information which I have confirmed:

• 90% of cattle will die as a result of the drought
• Maasai rely on their cattle for 100% of their income
• While locals once sold their cattle for anywhere between $125 to $375USD, their famished looking cows are now selling for as little as $13USD. Despite these prices, they are still selling cattle and using all of their income to buy feed for the rest of their starving heard
• Locals are having to kill their own cows to provide food for their starving families
• The government has declared a state of emergency in most Kenyan regions however most of the aid money is vanishing before it hits the villages due to corruption
• Schools in Kenya are proving to be the only place some children can get food
• Since the cattle are so skinny and unhealthy, when the rain finally does come, the cold and wet weather often kills off the weakest cattle in the group

I was no longer content. Instead I sat there completely perplexed, disturbed, saddened and shocked. The drought is currently a huge problem, not only for the cattle and the people, but also for the wildlife alike. Animals such as monkeys, leopards, and lions are becoming for vicious with Maasai and their cattle because they are desperate for food that they would normally find during a normal days hunt. I recognized that Chris and I could not solve the problem on our own but I was not ready to ignore the situation.

Later that day, we met up with Joseph Lekuton, a key member of the Kenyan Parliament (formerly Chris’ 8th grade teacher). We were telling him the story of our drive home and his eyes widened as he said, “You think that’s bad? You should see the people up North. Everyone is starving. The cattle are dying off and many people haven’t eaten in 4 days. They don’t even know where their next meal will come from.” Chris and I sat there silent. Just when I thought it couldn’t be worse, it was. Joseph wanted to take us up North to show us his province. It was then that it dawned on us. We already committed to using a percentage of our donations to a charitable cause, and what is better than saving people from slowly starving to death? We couldn’t walk away from the opportunity to help. Then Joseph said he would give us a driver, an interpreter, and mapped out areas that need the most help if we could buy the food and deliver it ourselves.

We quickly changed our flights and committed to buying at least $1,000USD worth of food (we’ve increased our goal, see below). I know this is very last minute, but we will be purchasing and delivering food through Monday, October 13th and 100% of the donations that come through the link/button below will be put towards feeding those hit hardest by the drought in Kenya. Please feel free to donate whatever you can as every dollar will help. Thank you in advance for your support and contributions.
UPDATE: An anonymous donor has agreed to match our goal (up to $1,000) if we reach it, so we’ve raised our goal to $1,000 USD
UPDATE 2: In less than 24 hours, we’ve already reached our $1,000 goal, and thus have also received our matched $1,000. Thank you all for your support! We will be on the road delivering food until October 13th, so we will gladly accept further donations and use them to buy more food along the way.

Donate to Chris + Amy’s Kenya Food Drive

Fundraising Status: $1,165 / $1,000 + $1,000 = $2,165

I had just taken the ferry over to Zanzibar that morning and I felt sick as a dog on the boat. Upon arriving, we quickly found a place to drop our bags and immediately set out to find the clinic the guide book suggested for travelers wanting to be tested for maleria. After walking around in the scortching sun for what seemed like entirely too long, we popped our heads into a hotel and asked the owner if he could assist us in finding the clinic we were looking for. He had never heard of it however, coincidentally, he mentioned he felt as though he may be infected with maleria as well and that he’d walk us to a clinic he knew close by so that we could both get tested.

We followed him closely, winding through the narrow, maze like streets lined with archaic stone buildings and shops. Within 5 minutes, we arrived at the clinic. It was what I was expecting for an African building: a small, old, and somewhat rundown building with a sign at the top of the door stating that indicating it was a clinic and drug facility. The nice hotel owner walked me inside where we both quickly filled out a small form giving our name and date of birth. I followed him back to a small room where I went inside facing a doc sitting in a white lab coat. He didn’t speak much English but I said “malaria test” and he knew right away what he was doing. He opened a small metal needle from a secure wrapper, rubbed my thumb with alchohol and gave it a good prick. As the drop of blood on my finger grew larger, he collected it on small glass try, put it under his microscope and told me to wait in the hall outside.

I sat there on the bench next to another man waiting for his results for only a few minutes when the doc called me back in to his office. He handed me a blank paper with one scribbled word on it… ‘NEGATIVE.’ As crazy as it sounds, I had mixed feelings as I stared at the note in my hand. If I tested possitive then I would know what I had and I could be prescribed medicine to treat it promptly. On the other hand, testing negative proved that my anti-malarial pills are working and that my immune system would get stronger.

I went to pay at the front counter and when the woman told me the amount I owed, I was completely shocked. It equated to a little under $1.50 USD!!!! How could it cost so little, yet millions of people don’t get tested when they come down with symptoms? Up to 2.7 million people die EVERY YEAR because they don’t treat their malaria in a timely manner. I understand $1.50USD is equivalent to much more in developing countries but it disgusts me to think that while we throw money around like chump change, other people live off of less than that per day. It has made me appreciate the value of $1.50USD and I will forever sympathize with those who debate whether they should get tested and increase their chances of survival or feed their family.

“Where is the cheapest chicken?” I asked thinking it was going to be at one of the larger grocery stores. There was a moment of silence and then Baraka said with a slight smile, “We will be picking one out at the market and then we will bring it home and slaughter it.” WHAT? Did i hear that correctly?? That’s crazy! Then again, did I really think they bought frozen chickens in the grocery store when most people here don’t even have freezers? Of course they would slaughter their own chicken just before the big meal. Baraka could tell I was intrigued and invited us along for the experience.

The next morning, while Neema visited with her estranged father, Chris, Baraka, and I headed down the road to the market. When we arrived at the chicken coops, Baraka turned to me and said, “Choose the chicken we will eat. And make sure you grab a hen because they taste better.” I gave him a look of horror and bewilderment as I quickly turned my head to my prey. I actually had to grab the chicken out of the big cage? Baraka opened the door and I slowly put my hands in, trying to figure out which bird would put up the least fight. Sadly, I’ll admit that I was somewhat scared that one would turn and bite me and I would come down with an actual bird flu of some sort. Then, when I finally committed to grabbing one, I missed her. They are fast little suckers! Finally, the chicken coop owner became annoyed with my shenanigans, pushed me aside, and grabbed one of the hens by its wing, and shoved it towards me to hold on to.  I positioned both of its wings behind its back to be sure it wouldn’t escape, and I followed the guy behind the chicken coop to the slaughter house. Surprisingly, the chicken squawked but didn’t put up a fight. Thank you Miss Chicken for not making me look any dumber than I already looked.

I knew we were getting close to the slaughter house when the putrid smell of raw chicken, blood and guts roasting in the mid morning sun caught my nostrils. Whoa… it was nauseating! The shack that housed the men working was tiny. The roof consisted of rusted sheet metal and small, aged branches. There were two of four walls built holding the roof up. There was a sign above the shack with pricing on how much it cost to hire the guys to slaughter the chicken. Luckily it was cheap (~ $0.25 USD) so Baraka decided to hire them to do it quickly instead of us doing it at home. Baraka still wanted me to help after he realized that I had never slaughtered a chicken. I was up front and center when I handed the chicken off to the axe man. He took the chicken, threw it down on the ground and with one swift swing of the axe, the chicken was now two. Ugh, there was blood covering the walls and I quickly glanced down at my legs to make sure the blood hadn’t hit me as well. It was creepy seeing the body move without the head but that didn’t stop the guy from grabbing it’s neck and throwing it into a steaming pot of water. He stirred the whole bird (sans head) around with a large wooden spoon to loosen the feathers. After soaking the bird for 30 seconds, he pulled it out of the pot and threw it to another guy who began stripping it of its feathers. I was surprised at how quickly the feathers came out after soaking it. I had to give the guy credit, he de-feathered the chicken in 5 seconds time…no joke. The last guy was waiting for our prized hen, and when he got it in his hands, he showed that bird who was boss. He had the stomach and guts emptied from the chicken in no time and suddenly it was back in my hands once again; this time, in different form.

It was an experience. A true African experience. I am not currently a vegetarian, but after witnessing the kill, it made me want to reconsider.

After speaking with the woman who spoke English best, we realized that they were caretakers of the land. They watched over the main house while the owner, an older German woman, was away. Chris and I wanted to understand their lifestyle better so we invited them for dinner. The head woman rejected since they had three children in addition to four adults, but we insisted they join us and finally they agreed. We would all meet in the owner’s lodge for dinner at 6:30pm.

We didn’t have much time to settle in, set up camp, and begin cooking before 6:30pm rolled around. The Namibian’s began to arrive around the lodge table. They were quiet but seemed eager to have the company. The women brought juice for the table while the main man of the household, Sydney, helped us light candles for the table (we had no electricity). We all decided to make pasta with meatballs because it was one of the heartiest meals we had in our food supply and we imagined they would enjoy eating meat (even if it was from a can). Upon sitting down, we all awkwardly crammed around this non-geometrically shaped small rock table. Eleven of us remained fairly quiet until after we began eating our food. We had small conversations throughout the first serving of dinner however we could tell that dinner is not a social activity with them. It is a way of life. By their second and third helping of dinner, the family began to open up about themselves and their Namibian traditions.

Sydney and his wife were the main man and woman of the household. They had two small children ages 3 and 1. Sydney’s sister Bianca and his cousin George also lived with them in their apparently tiny house with Bianca’s small 1 year old. We learned so many fascinating things about their lifestyle:

• They all survive off of Sydney’s income which he makes monthly from the German owner. Therefore, meat is rare in their diet and most of their meals consists of a traditional porridge.
• When speaking with each other, they used their native language, which is a Khoisan dialect of the African Bantu language. It involves using different clicks of the mouth to communicate. It is truly fascinating to hear!
• They do not own a vehicle of any kind therefore, when they make runs to the grocery store or post office, they plan it well in advance. The closest small town providing a post office and a market is 80km away so they only go to the market every 5-6 weeks. Usually, they can ask their neighbors for a ride or if they don’t have one lined up in advance, they can try to hitch a ride the day of. The only problem is that the road they live on in small and sparsely traveled, so often times they may wait all day for a ride into town and back.
• They would like their children to go to school however with the school also being 80km away, it seems impossible to have them attend. Therefore, Sydney may decide to home school them which is common for many families in their area.

Later that evening, the Swedish med students asked about vaccinations and diseases and how they deal with them. Surprisingly, they were uninformed on the mosquito diseases in the area, how they are contracted, and how the body deals with vaccinations. It shocked me! I wondered how they dealt with sickness if they were uncertain of what it was but then they explained their holistic medicine approach. Should they have an upset stomach, headache, aches or pains in the body, they grind up an ostrich egg shell, oryx liver, and aardvark droppings, and consume the powder. They swore that that they’d always feel better the next day.

It dawned on me over dinner that while we lived lifestyles that were worlds apart, but they were still some of the most down to Earth people I have met yet. All of them were grateful, hospitable, and humble for what they had in life. They welcomed us with open arms into their home, their culture, their family and their lifestyles. In return, they soaked up the information we shared with them regarding US lifestyles, medical practices, education, etc. The night turned out to be more than I could have ever asked for.

After renting our Toyota Yaris in South Africa, it never occured to me that I might be able to cut loose on the open road. You see, all over Cape Town there are signs warning of speed cameras ahead. Although I never actually saw one of the alleged speed cameras, it was enough of a deterant to keep me driving just more than a few kph over the speed limit.

Then we crossed the border… I had read in the Namibia guidebook that speeding tickets cost only $1 per km over the limit, which meant at a absolute maximum (given the Yaris’ performance) we’d be looking at a fine of ~$70. Combining that with the roughly 0.1% chance of actually seeing speed checkpoint (based on conversations with people who had driven through Namibia), I felt comfortable going whatever speed I wanted.

The first few hours were on an open paved road quite far from wildlife, so I could literally floor the gas pedal and go as fast as the car allowed. What an incredible feeling! Driving without constantly monitoring the speedometer is how it should always be. In fact, not worrying about my speed or police down the road made me even more aware of the road conditions and my surroudings.

About 10 days later, we arrived in Etosha National Park, where at the main building they had the recently revised speeding fines posted. Evidently the $80 ticket from before the guidebook was written now cost over $500 plus a court visit. I guess I was quite lucky we hadn’t been pulled over yet. Despite that we never once saw a police vehicle for the rest of the trip, we kept ourselves to a more reasonable speed.

I’ll never forget how enjoyable driving is when you don’t have to worry about your speed. Looks like I’ll have to wait until I’m on the autobahn in Germany to enjoy it that much again!

Candy began to paint us the picture of his village life immediately. We first joined him to go and collect fresh water from the clinic 5km away. There were two fresh water spouts in his village for its entire population, neither one being extremely close to his homestead. Usually, he would walk there with two large empty containers, fill them up, and carry them back… 5km away!

Once we filled the water and returned it back to the homestead we set out on foot where Candy showed us around his village. He took us to one of the infamous cooka shops where the villagers produce a grainy, tart, traditional alcoholic beverage. Candy mentioned it’s a very popular place to hang out during the day for for the high percentage of people not working (it gives them something to do during the day). Candy then showed us the small convenience store that villagers visit whenever they have money, which is sporadic and infrequent. Until then, they try to survive with the little they have.

That night for dinner, Candy taught us how to make mahango porridge over the fire which he prepares and eats every day, three times a day. Usually, he will include a soup mix or a local relish from the bush to dip the porridge in. We all sat around the fire and enjoyed the small meal with him. Afterwards, we sat idly around the fire (still somewhat hungry) on disintegrating cinder blocks and old paint cans chatting about village life and answering Candy’s constant questions about the US. Chris began showing him pictures of the US, our families, etc and he was in complete awe. I could not tell if he was more impressed with the photos or the iPhone we used to show him.

The next morning, we all indulged in more porridge and said our goodbyes. Candy thanked us several times for sharing his meal with him and allowing him to share with us his village lifestyle. He was so proud to share his customs, his homestead and the village life. Upon driving away from his homestead, I remember looking back and being humbled by the experience. Those who say the village life is so simple overlooks several key factors. Their agendas may not be filled with breakfast meetings, running errands, soccer practice, and vacations, but they are focused on the hard work of day to day living. He appreciates the laid back lifestyle of showing his guests around, chatting with his friends, living off the land, and attending to the chores of his homestead. It surprised me with how long it took us to do basic stuff such as retrieving clean water. I’ve never in my life appreciated the things we take for granted (running water, electricity, and plentiful foods) so much. THANK YOU CANDY FOR THE AMAZING EXPERIENCE!

People tend to think that if they decide to go camping as they travel, that they have to lug all of the equipment with them from the get go. On the contrary, I’ve realized that it’s much easier to buy your equipment at your destination of choice (pending you’re flying into a city). Asking locals for cheap places to find these items (whether they be dollar stores, used sporting goods stores, etc.) opened up a whole new (and much cheaper) purchasing experience for us. Below are the essentials that we’ve included on our camping list:

• Tent (used at a sporting goods store)
• Sleeping bags
• Ground pads
• Mosquito candle
• Silverware
• Plates, cups, bowls
• Small stove + 10kg gas tank
• Pots
• Soap
• Sponge
• Cooking utensils
• Aluminum foil
• Toilet paper
• Lighter
• Select food items

The best part is, when we are done camping, we can sell the items back to a used sporting goods store or we can barter them off for rides, goods, food, etc.

The poler pushed off and we were floating down the water in no time. The sun had just begun warming the earth. The sky was nice and clear. The water so calm that there was a perfect reflection of us, our boat, and the sky above. I laid back soaking up the sun enjoying the relaxing ride to camp. Our poler pointed out several small colorful frogs perched on the weeds, and explained how his village prepares waterlilly root for mealtime during the dry season. He also stopped the mokoro in front of some hippos who were snorting loudly about 110 meters away. As he explained where they live in the water and how dangerous they were, we strained our eyes to get a better look at their heads popping in and out of the water. Chris asked to get closer, but our Poler refused because getting closer than 100 meters can be extremely dangerous. I was glad we were not going to move in for a closer look because statistics show that hippos claim more human lives than any other animal in Africa (except for mosquitos).

After several minutes, we were slithering through tall watergrass and clear waterholes on our way to camp. We were enjoying the scenery and warding off bugs when suddenly there was a gigantic splash 6 meters in front of me. I looked up startled, only to see that the splash was made by a huge hippo that was charging straight towards us. The hippo was so quiet under water that the poler didn’t see him until we were almost on top of him. It was charging us full speed, me being his closest prey. Time slowed down that instant. I stared for a milisecond in complete horror as I watched the hippo’s mouth open, it’s teeth showing the pain they could induce. The water droplets rolling off the hippos face… Chris turned to the poler asking what we should do. The driver froze doing and saying nothing. I remember repeating Chris’s question along with a slew of other words. I stopped breathing as my heart pounded in my throat. I looked at the hippo gaining ground, then back to the poler, then again at the hippo. Hoping Chris was with me on my idea, I stuck one leg in the water ready to jump out and run. I remember my life flashing before my eyes as I said aloud: “I’m going to die today.” At that point, the hippo was upon us. I was completely helpless. I could do nothing more than pray. It was the shortest and hardest praying I’d ever done in my life. As I opened my eyes a second later, the poler had begun pushing us a way from the hippo and was yelling at it. The beasty animal took one more leap at us  and with one meter left between her and I, the hippo suddenly veered off up into the grass. Had she taken one more leap towards us, we would have been gone. Done. Finished off.

Photo taken from Blue Heron Pictures (leblanc0444 on flickr)

We continued backing away from the wild hippo as I sat there shaking in the tiny little boat which could have been destroyed with one snap of her teeth. I was far beyond crying. I was horrified, fearful, and shocked.  Trying to make sense of everything that had just happened, I closed my eyes and tried to breathe. What are the odds that this would happen to me? How unlucky was I? No… how was I so lucky? That could have ended horribly but we all survived. There was not a scratch on us. There was only an up close viewing of a hippo that will be seared into my memory forever.

**For those interested, the rest of the trip was great! During our bush walks we saw giraffes, zebras, wildebeests, warthogs, impala, baboons, and elephants. In fact, the elephants not only ran us out of camp on the last day but they blocked our hiking route back to the mokoro so we had to take off our shoes, roll up our pants, and trudge through the mucky hippo and crocodile infested water to get to the small boats. It was an experience of a lifetime…

The next morning, we were up and in the car by 5am to get in the line (aka the queue) for enterence into Sossusvlei. We waited for the gates to open until 6am and when they finally did, we went to turn on the car realizing to our horror that the car was dead. Nooooooo! Car after car passed by us as we sat there trying to wave someone down. What were we thinking… no one was going to stop and help us. They had waken up just as early as we had to try to make it to see the sunrise over the dunes. Luckily, Chris had come up with an alternative. He sat in the car as the three of us got behind the car and began pushing towards the gate. Slowly, we built up speed and just when we thought that it wouldn’t work, Chris stepped on the gas, and popped the clutch out with enough speed to start the car!!! YES! Having only lost 20 minutes, we hurridly purchased our permit inside the gate and was on our drive through Sossusvlei. Sixty kilometers later, the road had ended and we decided to park and walk towards the largest dunes 5km ahead. The sun was rising as we began our climb onto the largest dune. The African sun hit the dunes perfectly creating a god-like orange hue on the sand. The shadows exaggerated the perfectly edged lines of the dunes creating unique shadows to each mound of sand. The hike upward drew on as the sun baked the earth. Not yet all the way up, we stopped to strip down to our bottom most appropriate layer. It was then that I recognized that the sun burns so hot during the days that it scorched the sand. The sunny side of the dunes showed a black hue on the surface from the heat of the sun’s rays. ‘Did I bring enough water with me?’ I thought as I wiped sweat off my forehead. This hike had better be worth it.

Reaching the top turned out to be more than worth it. It was breath taking! More so, it was one of the most amazing things that I’ve ever seen in my life. The orange hued sand contrasted dramatically against the bright tourquoise blue sky. There were few green shrubs that managed to survive the heat of the sun below. In certain areas where water would collect at the base of the dunes were white sand floors. From above the white sand pools looked like a winter’s lake frosted over with snow. The sand dunes extended in all directions for as long as we could see. It was brilliant, beautiful, breathtaking, energizing, and peaceful. Enjoying the scene, the four of us took off our shoes, put our toes in the sand and enjoyed this once in lifetime view.

Photo taken from Izla Kaya (izla on Flickr)

We were driving between the Skeleton Coast and Kamanjab when we drove through a small little village carved into the edge of a rocky hill along the dust covered dirt road. It always interests me in whitnessing other’s lifesyles, ways of transportation, careers, and education so I stared out the window intently hoping this villiage would be able to provide some insight for me as to what it’s like as we passed by. The first sight I experienced will be blazed into my mind forever. We had come to a T in the unmanaged dusty dirt road with a sign giving directions to two towns. Under the sign were a group of boys no older than ten years old. As we had stopped in front of the sign, three of the boys began running towards our car, barely clothed, minimal meat on their small set frame, and no shoes on their feet rubbing their bellies asking for food. They chased after our car, sprinting along with their small bare feet on the rocky unpaved roads asking for food. The pain in their eyes was unbearable. It was heartwrenching. I wanted to stop and cradle them in my arms. I wanted to stop and give them a hearty meal. I wanted to stop and give them money. I wanted to stop, hug them and tell them everything would be okay. I wanted to stop and understand their pain. But stopping wasn’t an option for us. Our gas gauge had been running on empty half way up the Skeleton Coast and the last thing we could do is stop and get stranded in a place with no fuel stations, much less cars. As we drove further through the small town, I peered out the window to see extremely small houses… no, extremely small outhouse-sized shacks in which a whole family lived in. The goats and cows roamed freely and the best mode of transportation I saw was a man with his two sons riding a half broken down wagon pulled by a donkey. There were no signs of work, therefore there were no signs of making money to live. There was no farming to provide food because the land was too dusty, dry and hot. There were men, women and children alike sitting along side the road. Some of them were sitting in the dirt, some of them were standing peering out with lifeless eyes. There was a family trying to hitch a ride to the next closest town. It made me wonder what it was that had them needing to go to the other town. There was a small school burried between the village’s living areas. The school was tiny and didn’t look adequate enough to house and educate the children and people of its community. Where did the teachers learn the information to share with their students? So many questions ran through my mind as something dawned on me. These people are living on land that is not suitable for farming, not large enough to bring in revenue, not easily accessible to bring in goods and people, and not connected enough to make people aware of their issues. Meanwhile, I was concerned about running out of fuel to make it to the next town?!?!? My mindset changed in an instant. I was instantly happy to have an adequate roof over my head, shoes on my feet, food in my belly, and a family who has raised me and given me everything I’ve ever needed to be successful. It was then that I promised myself to be more flexible, more understanding, more positive and most of all more gracious for the people and things that I have been given in life.

Later on, I told Andy what had happened and it was then that I found out that he has a flatmate who lives in the back room. Apparently, he works late in the restaurant business and was trying to get into his own house. I felt like such a fool. The ironic thing is, we locked him out of his own house. To make matters worse, I almost called the police on him. After hearing the new info, I sat there thinking ‘ well at least it pays to be a chicken sometimes.’

Needless to say, travelling the world allows us the opportunity to meet several unique individuals from all walks of life at any place and time. Table Mountain was one of those opportunities. Chris and I had passed two Saudi men eating their lunch just meters from the summit. Chris and I did not think about bringing food on our hike so when the Saudi men joined us at the peak, we began speaking with them about how they were smart to have brought food with them. We began talking with them more when one of them offered us his sandwich and a banana. He had packed extra and could see we were hungry. After much resistance, we accepted the food and continued on with our conversation. He asked us where we were from and we told him we were from the US. “Oh, Americans hate us…” was his response. We were shocked. ‘Hate you?’ I thought… What a stereotype. I pondered this for a second and then realized that America has harshly stereotyped much of the Middle East for several years now. Too many Americans blindly and unjustifiably associate terrorist activity with everyone in the Middle East. Chris and I spoke with them about the issue, the misunderstanding, and our plan to learn more about the situation as we trek through the Middle East in a few months.

We ended up hiking down the mountain with them sharing stories with each other along the way. By the end of our day hike, we had learned more about their family, their religion, and their lifestyle than most people know about their neighbours. We exchanged information and have since been in touch. Chris and I will be joining them for traditional Arabic coffee tomorrow. Not surprising, they are two of the most unique, generous, and humble human beings I have ever met.