To Kenya. And back.

This week has been interesting. Eventful, adventurous, enlightening and somewhat unexpected, but, yes, another interesting week in Tanzania for a myriad of reasons.

I started out last Sunday with a beautiful trip out to a hidden natural spring with some of the other international volunteers. Beginning the morning with the hour’s walk to the main road where the bus was picking us up, I was initiated in the “short-cut village route”, supposedly better as it avoids having to walk down the traffic dirt roads. Within minutes of leaving the school grounds, we were immersed in the depths of the surrounding hills, following the small mud paths that wind their way through the mountains. Locals have walked these hills for years, paving tracks through the vegetation from their homes to the market, river and beyond.

I had been told early on that we would be crossing the creek during the walk. Picturing in my mind a small babbling brook (much like that of the  same “creek” that runs through the school)

I was somewhat taken aback when we suddenly paused at the banks of a river. This was no idle hop across a slit of water, this was a stepping-stoned, rock-filled balancing act across a mildly raging river!

Being utterly void of balance, grace and stability, I have never enjoyed crossing small bridges, ropes, logs, or rocks. Anything that involves balance evades me. I just can’t do that nimble, sprightly dance that people seem to so effortlessly do to carry themselves over places. Instead I am a ditherer, a clumsy footed, nervy wobbler who invariably gets wet.  And yes, this crossing was no exception. I got half way, then wobbled, so decided that it didn’t look too deep, and waded through instead; delivering myself soggy, but safe and sound to the opposite bank. I think wading may be the way I get to town from now on!

Usa River is our nearest “hub”. It is where you can buy your fruit and vegetables, find a post office and catch a bus to somewhere. Yes, it is an hour’s walk away, but it does at least have all of the essentials you need to live.

And haggling in the marketplace for your pyramid of tomatoes or potatoes is an entertaining way to spend a Sunday morning.

Magi Moto was the name of our destination for the afternoon – a secret oasis some two hour’s drive beyond Usa River, hidden in the heart of nowhere.  After an hour down the good road (ie. It had tarmac) we turned off onto a dust track and delved into the depths of the wilderness in the foothills of Kilimanjaro.

There were just miles and miles of nothingness – just trees, goats and acres and acres of dust.

Yet, all of a sudden, the bus rounded a bend into a tree filled glen and we all poured out to the sight of this.

An exquisite, natural pool in the heart of the wilderness. The water, fresh from the mountains, was unbelievably clear and crystal-like as it glistened in the midday sun. Surrounding boughs fed the tropical feel of the place. It really was an extraordinary little find in the midst of nothing and nowhere.

A swim up current in the spring, pushing through briars and hanging palms (in manner of a swamp-scape escapde of Indiana Jones) revealed an open air pool, with crystal clear water revealing a rather large, scary black hole looming underneath, housing (I am sure) deadly eels, piranhas and alligators. Luckily all deadly wildlife stayed hidden. Oh, apart from a lovely little blue lizard

and some rather pesky little toe-nibbling fish. I know many people out there pay good money to stick their tootsies in tanks of feet-munching fishes in swanky beauty parlours, but I have to say I am not a fan of the sensation or the idea and didn’t really appreciate being chewed!

An afternoon of balmy slumber ensued, with swimming, sitting, idly chatting and whiling away a Sunday in the boughs of a little African glen with some of the locals and other volunteers.

Just as I was starting to feel rather peckish, I turned my head to see that a mini-restaurant had been erected in a corner of the clearing that had been empty twenty minutes previous. Serving a selection of fizzy drinks and the infamous local delicacy, Chipsi Mayai, the lovely proprietor was an instant hit, his restaurant churning out endless orders within minutes, all cooked over his little fire.

I ordered said delicacy and was presented with a ginormous plate of food – a Chip Omelette as it translates – that kept me going for the rest of the day until the dusty bus journey back home. All in all, a rather lovely Sunday afternoon.

Unfortunately the rest of the week has not been quite so blissful, resulting in three trips to hospital, several blood tests and a 24 hour trip to Kenya! Since touching down in Dar a few weeks ago, I've had a slightly swollen right arm but, as my ankles had also swollen, I assumed it was the heat or the travel.  However, after two weeks of sustained “big arm” and following self-medication of anti-histamine and asprin, I decided it was time to vist Dr Africa.

There are good hospitals out here (you pay, obviously, but you can get treatment). However, unfortunately for the poorly Tanzanian, the hospitals often close for public holidays and Sundays and therefore I was given two days of closed doors when I went last weekend to get some help (what with it being "Zanzibar Day" on Saturday, and Sunday on Sunday). During that time I researched which hospital would be the best to go to, what with my eventful past medical history, and discovered a superb university hospital here called the Aga Khan who have modern facilities and excellent doctors. I managed to see a lovely doc on Monday morning who ran some blood tests to rule out infection and clotting before investigating further causes. However, after returning some rather dodgy blood test results, she decided I should have a Doppler examination but annoyingly (here’s the gem) the nearest doppler machine to use for said test was in either Dar es Salaam or Nairobi. Ace.

Mad as it seems, it was an easier journey to travel up to Kenya than it was to go back on the hell-bus to Dar, so I nipped back home, packed my passport and toothbrush and set off early the next morning on a bus to Kenya.

The journey was actually quite lovely – the tarmacked road sliced through lush vegetation, covering plains of goats, cattle and even camels at one point (bus too fast for picture)!

The border crossing was amusing. You had to exit the bus to walk through the departures of Tanzania and be stamped out of the country.

It was then a five minute mosey down the dusty road (filled with lots of big trucks and endless folk just sitting around) to “cross the border” and visit Kenya arrivals.

Annoyingly, even though my visit was fleeting, I still had to fork out $50 for a three month tourist visa. Will just have to come back again another time and make a bit more use of it.

Long story short. Made it to Nairobi after around 7 hours on the bus, zoomed to the hospital for tests and was given an appointment with the Breast Cancer specialist, Dr Ronald Wasike.  He ordered a few tests – a dopplar exam to rule out blood clots and then a few more blood tests to examine my strange blood figures.

Because at this point it was nearly 7pm, I had to return to Dr Ron to get the results the next morning (a rather sleepless night in a stark, simple but very friendly hotel in the centre of town: the Kenya Comfort Hotel (two out of three elements of the title were at least true).

Diagnosis: luckily not imminent death from blood clots, African beasties or rapidly swelling torso, but annoyingly I have been diagnosed with a condition called Lymphodoema, a potential side effect from all of the treatment I received for blasting my cancer a few years back. No cure, just a lifetime of “managing” the condition, and several more years of puffy arm syndrome. Nice.

Hats off to Dr Ron and the Aga Khan team though – an incredible place, quite possibly one of the best hospitals I have ever been in (and I’ve seen a fair few in my time). And hey, what’s a 16 hour round trip to Kenya when you get to hang out with Dr Ron and his wizard machines?! Plus another stamp in the passport. Busy now swotting up on the latest advice for dealing with this pesky (and I have to say, a little unwelcome) condition. Hey ho.

After having skived three days off work, I went back to school on Thursday to carry on my work with Revocatus in setting up the Sixth Form. We had many a meeting during the ensuing days with various folk in the school, trying to encourage them to help set up some extra-curricular activities for the F5 kids. Sadly, neither pastoral care nor enrichment programmes exist in the basic Tanzanian education system, so explaining (and getting teachers to understand) why it is good for students to do things other than study, study, study whilst they are at school is just met with blank and unresponsive faces. Another battle, but one I’m determined to win.

The rest of the week has been spent settling in and getting used to how things work out here. Where I live is beautiful but very remote (as I said before, nearest shop is an hour’s walk) and so planning ahead is the name of the game. It’s not safe to walk anywhere at night, so it seems that weekends are times to restock the fridge, catch up on a bit of life outside of the school and see a bit of the surrounding hillsides.  There is something wonderfully simple about life out here though – you eat what you have in front of you, you see and do what is surrounding you and you socialise with who is living next to you. Choice is removed, but it doesn’t mean that life is restricted – simple yes, but still good. And so it is time for me to resume the simple life once more, to sign off and and make the most of the rest of the day. Fortunately for me, teabags and (fake) milk are available out here, so I can nip down to make a brew, grab a book and while away the rest of the daylight hours chilling with the birds in the garden and the colobus monkeys hanging out in the surrounding trees. Not a bad end to a somewhat eventful week in the land of nomadic Musson...