On the journey

Photo: a present to yourself. Sift through all the photos of you from the past year. Choose one that best captures you; either who you are, or who you strive to be. Find the shot of you that is worth a thousand words. Share.

This photo was taken in August by Pastor Randy. Our group was walking back from the village of Mahove to our bus for a return trip to Tungamalenga. We were walking because Mahove is very remote, up a mountain, several kilometers off the dirt road. Every other time I've been there, I'd taken a Land Rover and had to replace a tire that was punctured along the way.

We had been to Mahove to talk about bringing water to this sprawling village. The women and children walk about 3 miles one way to get water for their village. Men don't fetch water. There is a wonderful, inspiring Bibi (grandmother) in the village who has persevered in her quest to bring water to this village. She visits the parish office (miles away) and continues to ask for help in bringing water to the village. We have heard this request for several years, and finally the parish placed this need as the number one priority on their list of partnership projects.

So in the village, we had met this time with local government officials. It's important to talk through the details with all the stakeholders in a project like this. Sometimes we'd like to just go in and make the project happen, but we've learned to listen first and follow the pace of our African partners.

I like a couple things about this photo. I have a newly framed enlargement of it on my wall at home, and every time I look at it I'm compelled to walk toward it. Is it because of the path? or to get a closer look? It draws me in, every time.

I like it because it puts me in perspective. Yes, it's a picture of me walking alongside Pastor Naftal, on the path from Mahove toward Makifu. I like that we are holding hands and are deep in conversation. But we are so small on this path in the vast landscape. What we're doing is important, but it's just part of something so much larger than we ourselves.

As I go from 2010 into 2011, I want to remember to enjoy the journey and all that it brings--the sweat, the effort, the long walks, the conversation, the purpose, the holding hands, the vast landscape, and being a small piece of something much larger than myself.

The Drum and the Spider

In October 2010, I brought a drum back from Tanzania. On our last day in Tungamalenga, Mama Neema, an evangelist who leads worship with exuberant singing and a powerful faith, handed me a plastic bag of groundnuts, and this drum. It was beautifully and simply carved, and the goat skin was nailed in by acacia tree needles. I love the patterns burnt in around the drum, and how it stands crooked, tilting its head.

Mama Neema doesn't speak English, and even through interpreters we hadn't said anything to each other besides hello, because we didn't have time to see her as often as other trips. I was very surprised and touched that she gave me a gift like that--and since I'm a musician it was very fitting.

Airport security doesn't like stories like these. We had to eat as many groundnuts as we could and then give them away to another friend while in Iringa, the city on the way to the airport. Riding on the bus I was very protective of my drum; it sat in a bag on the overhead shelf, and I glanced at it every few minutes.

When we got to the airport in Dar es Salaam, I looked inside it and found a spider.
Not an icky-furry-foreign spider--I don't think. It looked just like a daddy-long-legs. But my mom and I got a little nervous, wondering if this would slow us down getting past customs. We tried shaking the spider out, but it didn't work.
So, we get on the plane with no problem--the flight attendant actually wanted to play the drum--and I'm sitting there for 8 hours wondering if the altitude changes will split the skin of the drum, whether that spider is dangerous...and when can I get a shower? Things like that. Then we got to Amsterdam.

Waiting for our plane I thought about playing the drum and setting out a hat, but this crowd didn't look like they wanted to hear music, let alone throw money in a hat for it. We were all tired. Then when we started walking to get on the plane, an African woman asked, "Where did you get that drum?" We started chatting. Then an old man gave the drum a beat as we walked, smiling.

Leaving Amsterdam, I put my backpack and the drum through the security scanner, this young Dutch security officer says quite cheerfully, "Is this your drum?" "Yes." "Play something," he said. Airport security just scares me in general. Rapidly I thought, "If I don't play will they still let me on the plane? Is this a test?" I gave it a couple nervous beats. "Very nice," the officer said, still smiling. "You will drive everyone on the plane crazy!"

And I was free to go.

I never thought this gift from Mama Neema would lead me to have so many little interactions with people, literally from all over the globe, people who usually are just going through the grind of travel, trying to get to the next plane, screening the next passenger. It was a welcome sign of friendliness in this stressful place.
We landed in Detroit, and did security again, lugging all our baggage in this big cart. This security guy looked like we shouldn't mess with him, and he ordered us to go see another officer on the opposite end of the room, so that's what we did. "Oh this is cool!" He said, then he saw the spider. We asked what we could do about it. He shrugged. "Take it outside, shake it, when it comes out stomp on it."
And we were free to go.

We took the drum home and sprayed some deet in it. I played it, displayed it, and my drummer friends were jealous. Months later we assumed since nothing was crawling out of it that the spiders had died from the deet ambush. Then just this fall--a whole year later!--I see this funny stuff around the drum that looks like saw dust, about two inches of it. And little black larvae underneath it. Yuck yuck yuck. Out comes the vacuum, and out goes the drum, into the garage in a garbage bag. It's been sitting there all this winter, and we hope that the bugs have frozen to death. Has anybody else had something like this happen? You bring back the coolest conch shell and it's filled with sea urchins? Or a hat from Russia that gave you head lice?
I'm lucky that I have a biologist friend who loves this type of stuff and will take a look at it for me--I just want my drum back without having to worry about termites!

Tanzania #7

Tomorrow I leave for my seventh trip to Tanzania. I'm excited. I'm traveling with a great group of guys--two my age and two teenagers--who will be my travel buddies. They're new to the Tanzanian experience, but they're all game and ready to take on the challenge of travel to a third world country.



For some reason, I've been thinking about travel companions of the past six trips. Companions really make or break the journey, you know. I'm so grateful to have had wonderful companions for many of my journeys.



There have been wonderful medical professionals who kept the members of the group healthy. First trip, a wonderful doctor who met us every morning for breakfast with the questions, "did you sleep well? do you have any diarrhea?"

There have been those whose expertise was in biology, who would spot wild animals, name trees, pick up tortoises and help the group appreciate and understand the environment of the savannah.

There have been teachers who provided encouragement and teaching tools to our partners, there have been business people who mentored our partners who are involved with microfinance, and there have been pastors who shared their experiences serving, nurturing and leading congregations.

There have been people with years of wisdom who become "bibi" and "babu" to our partners [grandmother and grandfather] and there have been youth who give our partners hope that this partnership will continue into another generation.

I have been blessed to share three of those seven trips with my two daughters.

For all these traveling companions, I am grateful.