Being Pelted with Hail (And Other Misadventures in Africa)

A month in Africa cannot pass without a (mis)adventure, it seems... and I'm pretty cool with that. It makes for a gallery of memorable moments, that's for sure... as if Africa was not memorable enough on it's own. We volunteers generally refer to it as "T.I.A" or "T.A.B." ("This is Africa" or "That's Africa, Baby")... just be prepared for the worst as well as the best, because you never know what might happen.

Last month, myself and a handful of other volunteers decided to take advantage of a public holiday (TZ Independence Day) and go on a long-weekend trip to Boma N'gombe & Arusha, where we intended to camp by and swim in the natural hot springs for two nights, followed by a hiking safari in Arusha National Park. Naturally, it started to rain within an hour of us taking off in our safari truck (and by "safari truck," I mean "ancient van" more aptly described as a shaggin' wagon, packed to the gills with camping gear, wonder bread, our guides, and us). Upon reaching the absolute middle of nowhere in the African plains, we found ourselves re-living Genesis: suddenly, the skies opened up and poured down all around us, turning the never-ending dirt into deep, raging rivers of mud and rain... only our van was no ark.

After countless ridiculous maneuvers, near sinkings, and fruitless searches for shelter, we finally rolled into a tiny village and up to its one major building -- the police station. Long story short, we hopped out, conferenced with the local chief, and ended up spending the rest of the night "camping" on the front porch and inside the one-room meeting house, the heavens unleashing its furry all around us. Thank goodness we had food, water, wine in spades... not to mention good senses of humor. Mind you, this all happened after the hatchback door of the van flew open twice along the way there, spilling everything in the trunk (i.e., every single one of our sleeping bags, of COURSE) out into the raging muddy waters behind us. Unreal.

We woke early the next day on cement floor in our damp sleeping bags (after barely sleeping at all, although, truly, it was the bats that kept me awake), only to hop back in the van and (finally) make our way over to the hot springs. After hydroplaning twice and losing both the sleeping bags (for a second time) and the spare tire (at an entirely different moment) once, we pulled up to what looked like a small jungle oasis in the middle of nowhere. Inside, we found paradise; the hot springs are the definition of Gorgeous. Pools of warm, clear, and deep aquamarine water lay nestled in a leaning canopy of cool, dark trees. Roots and trunks hugging the water wind and cross all over each other, etched with hundreds of names, initials, and dates.

Upon jumping in (the easiest way to enter the giant, slow-current bathtub), I felt instantly refreshed and ridiculously clean, despite sharing the water with catfish and the branches above with leaping monkeys. We camped there for the night (with minimal mishaps), relaxing both in and out of the water for a full day before hopping back in the van heading for Arusha. I would return to the hot springs in a heartbeat. And now for a whirlwind summary of the remainder of that trip:

Naturally, it rained the next day, beginning just as we were about to commence our walking safari through the national park. Still, we managed to capture some fabulous views of thousands of flamingos as well as several giraffe, so all-in-all, not a waste of time in the least. Later that night, we stayed at a hotel in Arusha... and by that, I mean we arrived at a friend's brother's brand new hotel only to find out we would be the first ever guests and the majority of our rooms didn't have furniture yet. But of course! The next day, our guide/friend woke up with the worst case of food poisoning any of us had ever seen, so he ended up being stranded in Arusha (with Craig, being an excellent friend and trooper) for an extra day while the rest of us caught a packed-to-the-gills, hot-as-hell bus back to Moshi... but only after getting totally mzungued by the cab drivers that brought us to the bus station.

In conclusion, I love traveling (when you're with a good group of patient, flexible, and fun-loving friends, like I was) and can handle juuuuuust about anything. Of course, I don't remember a time that I was more exhausted than I was after that weekend... except for perhaps the first Friday of 2011. Now, here's where the hail comes in.

Since I cannot even come close to having enough money or time to climb to the summit of Mt. Kilimanjaro during my three months here (it takes about a week and well over one thousand dollars), a group of friends and I decided we would do a day hike of the mountain, conquering the entire first (of four) layers -- ALL rainforest! The goal was to hike up to the first base camp near the moorland above the rainforest, and then turn around and head back down the mountain, all in about 7-8 hours. We arrived in high spirits, sweltering in the hot sun and humid vegetation; we left drenched, sore, and freezing.

The hike up was full of blue monkeys, waterfalls, and trees upon trees upon trees, so I obviously loved it. I wouldn't have been surprised if Steven Speilberg swung down from a branch and announced we'd entered Jurassic Park. The higher we got, the more of a work out it became, with the path becoming more steep and rocky with each passing minute. After stopping for lunch and breaking to watch male and female porters pass up and down the path, each carrying approximately 20 kilos of gear in packs atop his/her head -- no joke -- we continued to climb. Suddenly, the sun disappeared and we found ourselves surrounded with the sounds of thunder and lightening. Commence the crash-course in exactly why it's called a RAINforest. Not entirely surprised, I whipped out my raincoat and we all continued upward... but that was the least of it. To say that it "poured" would be an understatement -- we nearly drowned in rain. Determined to reach our final destination, however, (even if we shattered our tailbone or ran into a velociraptor along the way) we pressed on... our large group of friends slowly breaking up and climbing at our own pace as the temperature began to drop as quickly as the rain.

After slipping, sliding, and charging my way up, I reached the base camp with the first group of friends, only to find that the second we hit the clearing, the rain turned into HAIL. Here we were, in the dead heat of summer in Africa, and we were getting hailed on -- incredible. Let it be known, I haven't run as fast or as much in the past three years as I did in that one afternoon, making my way down Mt. Kilimanjaro. Get me wet and cold enough, and I guess I'll do anything! One hour later, the very first of my group, I emerged from the forest, drenched, cold, and utterly incredulous. Somehow, I lept, ran, and barrel-rolled my way down that steep, mudslide path without breaking a leg... or my neck. Amazing.

Anyway, that particular story ends with my not knowing how long I would have to wait for my friends at the bottom of Kili, meanwhile quickly turning into a human popsicle, so I hopped into a car with my new hiking buddies from Germany (who I met literally 8 hours earlier) and catching a ride back to Moshi and the home base. There, I stood under a blisteringly hot shower until I could feel the blood reenter my fingertips and toes, debating what kind of chores I could get done while under the spell of an insane adrenaline rush. Needless to say, the rush didn't last -- I did nearly nothing for the next two days, as my hips and legs were so sore I felt like I was 90 years old.

Like the broken record that I am, I will conclude by saying it was an epic misadventure of a "T.I.A." day that I wouldn't trade for the world. Way to keep me on my toes, Africa. Touche.