Travels in Africa #2 - Rwanda

Leaving South Africa wasn't much of a problem. As
exciting as it was we really felt that we were on
"Africa-lite" instead of the real deal adventure we'd
come in search of. I awoke on the cot outside of the
tent just after 7am. This morning was a bit warmer
with a warm breeze to boot. There weren't as many
animals at the bank of the lake this morning, and our
interest had waned a tad bit as well. As we went
about our morning routine, however, we heard a few
grunts and squeals coming from behind the tent area.
Our interest was piqued and Robert and I made our way
off of the deck in a hurry. I presumed that it was a
boar or a warthog, as the grunts had a pig-like
tremble to them. I was quite surprised to see a
couple of baboons darting behind a small building in
the brush only 15 feet from our camp.

Though we had consciously done what we could to avoid
a significant amount of time in Johannesburg we had
every intention of trying to see a bit of the downtown
area prior to taking off. We returned to the city via
a different route than the one we'd come to Marakele
on. From Thabazimbi we drove on an a relatively empty
two lane highway. After a stop for chips and a bottle
of water in Warm Baths we realized the
interstate-style highway we were going to take through
Pretoria and on to Johannesburg was actually a toll
road. There was a posted sign informing us we would
need to pay 26 Rand (approximately $4) at the toll
plaza. After our splurge on snacks in Warm Baths we
were down to 12 Rand, so we pulled into the gas
station just before the toll road.

The US has an incredible infrastructure designed for
cars. Our interstate system is very impressive and
the number of gas stations that are present off of
most of its exits is unmatched in any country I've
been to. Granted there are remote areas where you can
travel for miles and miles before reaching an exit
with a place to fill your tank with gas or your face
with junk food, there are also exits where there are 5
different gas stations to choose from. I've never
noticed an abundance of stations like that in any of
the other countries I've driven in. This part of
South Africa was no exception and we pulled in to
attempt to find a way to pull money from an ATM or
exchange a few US dollars. The crew working inside
was of little help and though they did speak English
they seemed to speak it quietly and without
confidence. The man behind the counter seemed quite
confused at what I was asking him to do; there was no
ATM and he surely didn't want my US Dollars. He was
unsure if the toll road would take credit cards or if
one of the service plazas would have an ATM. Robert
and I were unwilling to backtrack the 10km to
Warmbaths where we'd seen an ATM, so we entered the
toll road without enough funds to cover our upcoming
fee.

The traffic on the road moved quickly and the 45km to
the first toll plaza was covered quickly. Robert was
driving and pulled the right-side drive vehicle into
one of "manual" lanes so we could explain our
situation to the person taking the money. In the US
it's common that if you show up to a toll plaza
without enough money they will allow you fill out a
piece of paper and either pay the toll or the toll and
an additional fine via the mail. This didn't appear
to be an option here and as we tried to sweet talk our
way through with a partial payment in Rand and another
in Dollars the cars piling up behind us were becoming
impatient. Their system did accept credit cards, but
only those local to South Africa. We had two choices
available to us and both of them involved backing out
of the lane we were in. We could either turn around
and make our way back to an exit for a smaller road
that paralleled the highway or we could see if someone
would be kind enough to exchange our five dollar bill.
The first guy we asked was willing to give us 20 Rand
and soon enough we were back on our way.

Tired of our the one CD we burned for the impromptu
trip we switched over to the FM radio just as traffic
slowed to a crawl around Pretoria. Amidst talk of the
pros and cons of wet t-shirt contests the male DJ on
the air kept providing updates that the N1 (what
seemed to be the major north/south highway) was at a
dead stop where we were. Unbeknownst to us Friday was
the start of a big holiday weekend, and many travelers
were out on the road. Thankfully Robert was driving
and I was able to catch a short nap. I chuckled to
myself as I closed my eyes because recently I've
expressed how much sitting in traffic bothers me. It
astounds me that an entire hour or more of my life can
be wasted making almost no forward progress. The most
recent episode was when I traveled down to the
Outerbanks Marathon in November. Though Megan and I
were able to get out of DC before 3pm, 395 and
eventually 95 were practically moving parking lots.

Between the toll episode and the traffic we barely had
enough time to do anything in Johannesburg. Though we
knew we'd have no time to get to the Apartheid Museum
or even get out of the car, we wanted to take a peek
at the downtown area that everyone had attempted to
keep us from. Downtown major cities have fascinated
me ever since childhood. The giant skyscrapers and the
allure of the hustle and bustle were quite intriguing.
As the highway passed the city center there was a
clearing that provided for a good look at the city.
Like most cities, the view from afar was much better
than when we exited onto the surface streets. Those
were busy with people and matatus (the small toyota
style mini buses) everywhere. The streets were
relatively dirty and Robert observed that it had a
look of being about a decade behind. We'd been told
by our cab driver to Sandton that was when the
majority of the major businesses had cleared out.
Nevertheless, there was a ton of activity. I'm sure
there are pockets of the city that have some sort of
allure for a tourist, but with the limited time we had
it was going to be impossible to seek out. I
navigated us to a park that was shown on the map.
However, as the car made its way up the hill the only
thing we were able to notice was trash and graffiti
tagged rocks. There didn't seem to be any place to
get out of the car and take advantage of our position
above the city. Instead of searching for a way to do
that we pointed the car in the direction of the
airport.

Whether it was the holiday or the upcoming holiday
season of Christmas and New Years we weren't sure, but
the airport was a madhouse. We sought out Rwanda Air
Express and then fought for position as 5 separate
lines approached the two counters checking people in.
Just shy of the counters was a baggage weigh station.
We handed our tickets to a gentleman behind a small
counter to our left and pushed our over-filled luggage
cart onto the scale. They asked how long we'd been in
country and when we responded it'd been three days
they told us that the four bags we had between us were
overweight. We tried to explain that it shouldn't
count because we had only expected to be there one
night. The schedule change on the part of the airline
is what had kept us in South Africa. The guy went and
spoke with another guy as they pushed our baggage off
the scale in the direction of the check-in counters.
The baggage man returned and told us that he was
waiting for someone else to speak with. After a few
minutes we decided we should just attempt to check in.
As we handed the agent our tickets and passports she
asked for the slip of paper that indicated the weight
of our baggage. We tried to tell her that one wasn't
given to us and she said "well you need one because I
cannot be expected to check you in and weight your
baggage." After a brief conference with the baggage
guy she proceeded to check us in without any further
problems.

We arrived in Kigali under the cover of night, which
is always a strange time to enter a city. We
disembarked the plane, grabbed our bags and had a
brief moment of anxiousness when I realized we were
required to run our bags through an x-ray machine
before exiting customs. At the RO Tambo International
Airport in Johannesburg Robert and I had added to the
duty free collection he'd started in Canada and we'd
both continued at Dulles. Between the two of us we
were delivering 2 bottles of Woodford Reserve, one
bottle of high end Gin, one bottle of Jameson, one
bottle of Grey Goose Vodka and one bottle of Havana
Cuba Rum. I believe the common allowances are
typically one liter bottle of liquor per person
entering a country. So we had three times as much as
we were allowed. From Johannesburg Robert had sent
our friends in Rwanda a text which said something to
the extent of "have Matthew be prepared to flash his
badge and aide us with a side exit." Matthew and
Victoria Golbus are friends of ours from Washington,
DC. Matthew was doing training there for his position
as a Regional Security Officer for the State
Department. May 2005 they were assigned to Kigali,
Rwanda. They are the impetus for this trip. They are
a blast to hang out with and between their pad in
Kigali and when we meet them to climb Mt. Kilimanjaro
on January 1st we plan to use their house as a
springboard for adventure in Eastern Africa.

I spotted Victoria just after we cleared customs,
scott free! We figured since Matthew was missing he'd
actually heeded our warning and sneaked behind the
customs wall to ensure he'd be sure to restock his
liquor cabinet. Instead, Robert, Victoria and I all
exchanged vert heartfelt greetings and Vicky informed
us that Matthew had to drop off some paperwork with
someone else who was either entering or leaving the
country and he'd meet us shortly. A minute later I
could make out the familiar shape of Matthew's small
frame in the darkness of the airport parking lot. I
charged towards him with glee, ecstatic to see his
perpetual smile. He smelled a bit of alcohol and as
we exited the parking lot they confessed they'd
already been to one party and we were heading to a
bar. At this point it was after 10pm, later than
either Robert or I had gone to bed since we'd arrived
on the continent. Though it mainly consisted of
sitting, we both were exhausted from the drive and the
plane ride. However, we surely had expected that
Victoria and Matthew wouldhave social plans, and
Robert and I were both anxious for a beer.

Republica was quite an interesting bar. It consisted
of exactly what we'd been told the owner intended - a
strong mix of "Ex-Pats" and upper class Rwandans.
Matthew retrieved three steins of Mützi beer and we
cheered our welcome to Rwanda. Robert and I were
introduced to a number of white people who were either
living in or visiting Rwanda. There seemed to be a
pleasant mix of white people from many different
countries around the globe. Of course we were curious
as to what people actually did for work in the country
and they were curious as to why we were there, too.
It's always amazing to me how exciting other peoples
lives can sound, and how exciting our lives sound to
other people. I work in the music industry and Robert
dabbles as a tour manager and spends a lot of time
building challenge/ropes courses. We both live
relatively free lives and that alone led directly to
our abilities to take the time to visit Africa.

We were not introduced to any Rwandans. We've been
told that it's been very hard for Matthew and Victoria
to mix with the locals. Though this bar was crowded,
the company we kept made us feel that we could have
been at any bar in Washington, DC, or Arlington.
There were NGO and political people around us, no
different than back at home. We had a few beers
before going home. Though we stayed up until well
after 1am there was talk of departing the house by
8:30am for an all day hike.

Though I awoke many times throughout the night, I rose
from bed after 9am. It was pouring rain outside.
When we'd booked the trip for December I was excited
because I was informed that we would be traveling to
the region during the dry season. Unlike Washington,
DC, which has 4 seasons, I've found that when a
country or region has a "wet" and a "dry" season it
can be awful to travel during the former as opposed to
the latter. Third world countries don't have the
infrastructure to handle stuch heavy rains - flash
floods and muddy streets are common occurrences. By
11am we were in the car, searching for the trailhead
to Mt. Kubuye.

I snapped a multitude of photos along our drive to the
trailhead. Over the hour and a half, 65 km drive
there was plenty to see that was fascinating. Many of
the buildings were small and worn down and there were
people walking in both directions on either side of
the road. Robert and I commented that finally it felt
as if we werein the "real Africa." We were still
quite sheltered from having to face the hardships of
travel we'd presumed we'd see on this trip, however.
It's not a complaint, and in fact the leisure to to a
trailhead in the comfort of Matthew and Victoria's
Nissan Pathfinder was convenient. The road was decent
aside from a few major potholes. Rwandans were
walking on both sides of the street. Ninety percent
of them were balancing something upon their head.
This is the preferred method of carrying anything in
Africa. From huge bags of vegetables, to bundles of
sugar cane to book bags/backpacks (with straps), while
the people were walking they were carrying it upon
their heads.

Unfortunately, the rain didn't appear to be lifting
and our hosts had to describe the beauty we'd be
seeing if the sky were sunny. After an hour and half
we pulled off the main road and made our way over a
very rocky, yet muddy, path. There was one strip that
had contiguous rows of houses on both sides of the
road. Many locals were sitting in their doorways or
under the short overhangs in front of their houses
staring at our car. Unless you've been to the third
world, it's pretty hard to describe the conditions of
the small village we were passing through. The few
buildings that have glass windows seem to have at
least fifty percent of them broken. The majority of
the houses have corrugated sheets of steel for
roofing, many of which show signs of rust and wear.
It's astonishing to us that people live in these
conditions. Even in the torn and trodden parts of our
cities and country one can imagine themselves in the
situation. Here, however, it's almost impossible.
Whether it be riding down the street watching the
people walk with monstrous bags on their heads or
driving through a small, dilapidated village, I can't
imagine myself in these African's shoes.

We pulled up to a soccer field where we were supposed
to park the car and find the trailhead. I hopped out
to use the bathroom and was instantaneously drenched
by the downpour that increased its intensity as we
pulled up. Once I got back in Matthew explained that
it would be futile to attempt to climb Mt. Kibuye.
Neither him nor Victoria was familiar with the route
and the times they'd hiked it before they could look
towards the peak when they deemed themselves off
route. My body was craving activity, so we agreed
we'd try to hike up to a waterfall we'd passed on the
side of the road halfway back to Kigali.

By the time we got there the rain had ceased. We
parked the car in front of a small restaurant, crossed
the main road and headed up a farm trail. The Rwandan
countryside is farmed from top to bottom throughout
the entire country. The patches of crops dispersed
amongst the banana trees ensures the integrity of the
bright green color one would expect from such a
mountainous terrain. In fact, Rwanda is often called
the "land of one thousand hills." My mind loves to
make comparisons to other places I've been, and this
time Guatemala shot to the forefront. From the start
of the hike young children living in the small houses
scattered about the hillside came out to greet and
follow us. I'm not sure if the fact that it was
Saturday made any difference or not, but kids popped
out at every turn. They were all incredibly cute,
many of them decked in second hand clothing sent from
the US.

There was no true trail we were following. All of the
trails that lead from farm to farm amidst the hills
could be considered great hiking trails in the US.
They were all singletrack and you could essentially
make your way however you wished. If you felt lost
you could turn to the gang of kids following you and
they would point in the correct direction. Matthew
and Victoria's knowledge of French wasn't of much use
here, but their Swahili was enough to keep us going
where we needed to go. We allowed the little children
to guide us down the hillside once we'd hiked for an
hour and a half. Instead of creating a series of
switch backs to get us back to our car these kids led
us straight down the steep, slick trails. We all
scrambled and fell a few times, much to the amusement
of the smiling faces of the children around us. We
made it back to the car and had a few cokes at the
restaurant as a form of informal payment for keeping
an eye on our vehicle. As we entered the car to
leave, Matthew gave the one kid had been with and led
us from the start a piece of chocolate. My
understanding is it is very hard to deal with the
youngest generation of Rwandans and their constant
please for monetary handouts. The chocolate gift was
a deliberate reward for the hard work they kid did for
us (whether he realized he was working or not).

Saturday night in the ex-Pat community entailed
invitations to two parties for the night. The first
party was being thrown by the head of Heineken in
Rwanda. As Robert and I sipped Mützi draught beers we
sarcastically laughed to ourselves about how surprised
we were that Matthew and Victoria had befriended one
of the main alcohol suppliers in the city. They are
social butterfiles and exercise that aspect of
diplomacy quite well. Hell,for all we know that's the
main reason Matthew was hired in to the State
Department to begin with! We were there for a bit of
time, but the crowd was a bit older than the rest of
us. Like the bar the previous night there was a mix
of Rwandans and ex-Pats (whiteys). The dance floor
was alive and well, with the newly married wife of the
host leading the crwod through the mix of popular
western and presumably regional African tunes. The
dancing was fun, as was the pool table. Eventually,
however, we had to leave for yet another party.

The second party was a "leaving" party for a woman
named Alex (al-ix) who had been in the country a few
years and was giving up her position here to go work
for the EU in Jerusalem. The crowd at this party was
quite a bit younger. There was dancing as well, but
this time to a live band. They predominately played
what I presumed to be African music, but everyone in
attendance was very amplified by it. We were buzzed
from the free Heineken, but the beer was still flowing
at this party. Unfortunately, I felt that I'd entered
the vicious cycle of drinking, sleeping shortly and
poorly, actively recovering and then drinking again.
We were out quite late, but the ping pong talbe and
the 80's tunes after the band made for a great dance
party.

I awoke relatively early the next morning feeling the
effects of the social schedule here. Luckily we were
able to relax for a bit over coffee on the porch
behind Matthew and Victoria's house. Though quite
modest, their house is big for the standards I'm used
to in DC. I was quite jealous over the ability to
host multiple people and casually entertain on a
porch. We continued to catch up over coffee before
moving ourselves over to a brunch hosted by a friend
of M and V's. The brunch was a conglomeration of many
people we had yet to meet, and during the typical
discussions of "oh, what do you do?" we figured out
there was an ex-Pat from the US living here with his
girlfriend; both of whom mountain bike. We made plans
to ride with him later in the afternoon. Until that
time we sat out back of a house in a fantastic
garden. Opposite of the previous morning, the sun was
shining brightly and the sky was blue. We were able
to catch glimpses of the Kigali hillsides to the north
and east, lined with red clay tiled roofs.

Just as we were assembling extra gear for Robert and I
to go on the mountain bike ride, the sky opened up.
The downpour was intense. We threw the bikes in the
back of Matthew's Land Rover and headed off to meet
Ken. We drove about 10km to the other side of town
and along the way Ken called to let us know that it
had already let up there. After a few more patches
and tube changes we were all ready to roll and tore
off down a road lined by sizable houses on one side
and a golf course on the other. Soon enough, however,
we made a couple of turns and dropped into dirt road
lined by a small row of more typical buildings. From
there we made a few more turns and were immediately
navigating a wet and muddy road. Not once on our
three hour ride did we ride on anything that was an
official trail. Solely by utilizing the single track
trails similar to what we hiked on the day before we
were able to complete one of my favorite rides I've
ever done.

Ken has lived here almost two years and in that time
he's explored the hillsides near Kigali and in the
rest of the country. The population was more dense
closer to the city, and there were people out at every
junction. Ken brought along a completely
inexperienced biker, so we spent a lot of time waiting
for him at eat juncture. Paths usually split near a
house or group of houses and the return of the shining
sun combined with our presence lured people out to see
us. Everyone was inquisitive and friendly. Many of
them wanted to practice their limited French or
English. At one point, late in the ride, we stopped
to purchase some bananas to fuel the last part of our
ride. Within minutes we were surrounded by at least
fifty people, all of them smiling and looking at our
strange outfits, expensive bikes and camel backs.

We rewarded ourselves with a grand meal at an Indian
restaurant within walking distance of Matthew and
Victoria's. Robert is a vegetarian and he, Matthew
and Victoria all agreed that we could order four vegan
dishes and share them. The food was exquisite. We
returned to the house close to 11pm and I made
sandwiches for our next day's adventure. I crashed
out close to midnight, which made the 4:15am wake up
call quite hard. However, on this day we were going
to travel to the Parc National des Volcans (Volcanoes
National Park) to track the rare mountain gorilla.
The only remaining gorillas live high in the mountains
that form a natural border between Uganda, Rwanda and
the Congo (Zaïre). This is where the research by Dian
Fossey sparked the book and movie of the same name
"Gorillas in the Mist." I hadn't done much research
on the trip, but was told by a friend in Washington,
DC, as well as Matthew and Victoria that this is
surely one should do once. Prior to our arrival
Matthew had gone and made a hefty monetary deposit
with the Parcs office to ensure that we would have a
spot.

The two hour drive to Ruhengeri at 5am was
particularly entertaining. We traced the same route
we had when we attempted to climb Mt. Kibuye on
Saturday. Rwanda is very close to the equator and
therefore the sun typically rises at 6am and sets at
6pm every day. Though not as active as they would be
upon our return at 3pm, the road was still lined with
people carrying things on their heads. There was
thick fog at times and the dodging of oncoming traffic
and a fair share of potholes didn't allow for any
continuation of the night's short sleep.

Upon arrival at the Parc Headquarters there was an
assemblage of other tourists. The Parc officers
assigned us into groups. We'd requested a group with
a longer hike and were assigned to the Susa family.
The Parc limits the number of tourists in a group in
order to ensure that it is manageable and it also
limits the stress on the gorillas. The seriousness of
the efforts by the Parc towards preservation of these
animals was impressive. Our group leader was a
brightly animated Rwandan named Olivier. He slowly
introduced us to the Susa family by showing us
photographs of each of the members. Numbering just
over 30, the Susa family is the largest family of the
seven visitable within the Parc. The family contains
three silverback gorillas, a number of black backed
males and females, a few juveniles and two twin
babies. When Olivier spoke he would often smile and
open his eyes widely. His excitement and energy about
the gorillas was contagious.

Unfortunately, the Susa family lives on Karisimbi
Volcano and it's access point was another hour and a
half drive. Olivier caught a ride from our driver and
we were able to chat with him along the ride. He grew
up in Rwanda and played basketball as a kid. He was
interested in whether or not we'd ever been to pro
games in the US, particularly those of Kobe Bryant or
LeBron James. He confessed that his training to be a
guide had taken roughly two years and covered all
aspects of tourism in addition to specific work on
interaction with the gorillas. The countryside along
the ride was the most spectacular yet. The volcanoes
and the mist that hung above them made for a dramatic
intersection of colors.

During our ride there trackers had been seeking where
the gorillas were that morning. The gorillas move
anywhere from 200 meters to eight miles on a daily
basis depending on the food supply of the area they
are in. Gorillas are vegetarians and their diet
consists of bamboo and green thistle leaves. After a
talk about safety and acceptable behavior near the
gorillas we were informed that the gorillas were
roughly a one and a half hour hike up the Karisimbi
mountainside. The path through the very thick bamboo
shoots was a muddy mess. Though access to the
gorillas is limited the rain soaked path never gets
relief from the daily stream of boot prints. The
combination of altitude (close to 10,000 feet)
combined with the lack of sleep made for slow going.
Eventually, though, we were informed that trackers had
found a large silverback which we could view. They
used a machete a path through the thick bamboo. As we
made our way towards our first viewing I had no idea
what to expect. Then, before I knew it, we were all
standing in a line 25 feet from a huge gorilla.

We were told he was the dominant male of the family.
He sat on his ass with his arms crossed. The guide
and his assistant communicated with the gorilla via a
number of different grunts. The seven tourists
snapped a number of pictures. We were able to stand
and observe him for a good ten minutes. He remained
seated, arms crossed, the entire time. Occasionally
he would scratch his head or even yawn (supposedly the
bamboo has an alcohol content that makes the gorillas
a bit drunk when they eat), but by and large he just
stayed put. That said, it was still a marvelous
sight. He was gigantic yet peaceful. I paid
particular attention to his nose, as Olivier had
explained in our initial briefing that the noseprints
of gorillas are their unique identifiable feature;
similar to fingerprints for humans.

We slowly moved on to where a tracker had located
another gorilla. There was stinging nettle everywhere
and even the thick pants I was wearing did little to
protect my legs from the burning sensation. This time
we found a female gorilla sitting on a perch of bamboo
and we all huddled in to a vantage point below her.
We could see little more than her head and chest.
However, within moments of our arrival her two
juveniles made their presence known. They entertained
us by climbing on one another and even swinging and
dangling from one of the branches, behavior similar to
what we'd expect from chimpanzees. These two were
incredibly cute!

We kept moving according to Olivier's instructions.
He led us to a better vantage point for the female and
soon enough a few other members of the family made
their way towards us. We were all snapping photos
when suddenly we tourists felt as if we were
surrounded. The one female was still above us and a
couple of other gorillas were approaching us from
either side of the trail. In the presence of guides
and the armed guards who accompanied us there wasn't
any true worry. But when one of the gorillas stepped
right in front of an English woman who was with us her
eyes lit up with fear. We all breathed a sigh of
relief as Olivier lead us on to another couple of
gorillas.

The Parc limits our interactions with the gorillas to
an hour or less in order to allow the them to carry
out their daily activities. Planned or not, our
guides saved the best for last. Seeing the large
silverback, the mother with her two juveniles and a
number of other gorillas along the path could not have
prepared us for the grand finale. The trackers cut
through tick bamboo and we slithered through the dense
forest to an opening where at least 15 gorillas were
sitting and eating. It was a magnificent sight! Two
silverbacks were present, many black backs and females
and even the baby twins were there before us. It was
nearly impossible to soak it all in.

The hike back down the muddy path was more an exercise
in not falling than it was in walking. We'd been
given bamboo walking sticks to aide us on the way up
and I wished I could add another to use as ski poles
going down. Everyone in the group was happy and
excited about what we'd just seen. Talk bounced from
that to the other typical travel speak of where people
were from and what brought them to Africa. Robert and
I picked up a few tips on safari's in Kenya and
recommendations for the coast.

Eventually we were back in our car and on our way back
to Kigali. The fifteen minutes of dirt road to lead
us back to the main drag was lined with farms and
small houses. The rich black soil at this elevation
lead the locals to produce massive amounts of
potatoes. Everywhere we looked there were people
walking, biking, carting and dragging sacks of
potatoes down the street. Each and every child ran to
the edge of the path to frantically wave and cry out
"Mazungu" (white man). All of them were adorable, but
I took special liking to any child that would wave
with both arms or run alongside the car. The older
children and many of the adults had stern looks on
their faces as we passed. Taking a cue from my friend
Vique who traveled to Kenya a number of years ago I
employed a practice of smiling and waving at them,
too. Immediately they would return the greeting,
regardless of what they were doing. There were times
I was fearful someone was going to drop the heavy load
they carried on their head just because they were
eager to wave back to us. There was one short part of
the dirt road where someone had obviously introduced
the teenage boys to the "dude nod." As I waved and
gave them a slight nod of my head, they returned a nod
of their own with a half smile.

I was able to catch a bit of sleep on the ride back.
The never ending social schedule of Matthew and
Victoria meant that after a dinner of home made
burritos we were headed over to another gathering. I
was exhausted, having packed a number of different
activities into the past three days and nights.
However, Pete, the English guy hosting the get
together had just returned from a climb of Mt.
Kilimanjaro and we were all eager to hear how it went.
He and his Australian buddy, Bert, expressed that it
had rained the entire trip. Bert and one other guy in
their group were able to reach the summit, but Pete
suffered from the altitude and stopped shy of the top.
Robert and Matthew chuckled towards Victoria and I as
they know that we both despise rain and cold. Why
we're signed up for a summit which will likely contain
both in large amounts is a question I hope to be able
to say that only the reward of pushing my body to the
top of a 19,000 foot plus mountain can answer.

Today is Tuesday, December 19th, and in this tropical
climate it feels good not to be caught up in the
silliness of holidays. In fact, if it weren't for the
fact that many people at the parties we've been
attending were going home for Christmas and New Years
we probably wouldn't even realize it is that season.
Today Robert and I are going to figure out our plans
for the two weeks before we meet up with Matthew,
Victoria and two of their other friends to climb
Kilimanjaro ourselves. Tomorrow we'll head to Uganda
and Thursday we hope to go white water rafting in
class five rapids at the source of the Nile. From
there, however, it's all open. We're just trying to
find the way to maximize our time here on the limited
budget that we have, as everything here usually is
accompanied by a hefty price tag.