Something pretty special.
In attempts to walk you through my day,
complete with sense of emotion would be a bit difficult,
but I will try my best.
Pick up time 10:30 am, on the dot.
Sophie, our guide, is at the gate.
Sophie is a pretty remarkable woman. She is 25 years old and is in the process of trying to start her own safari company, entirely run by women. The thing that’s really special about Sophie is that through her obstacles, she still keeps moving forward with a smile on her face. While she was in school, studying how to run her own business, her sponsor expected a different kind of compensation – and though it meant losing her chance for an education,
she said no.
When we first met Sophie, tens of volunteers ago, she was just riding next to a GHTA volunteer on a bus to Arusha at night.
When the bus broke down, all of the passengers were stranded with no alternative transportation.
Sophie took the volunteer to Arusha herself and then showed her around the city.
No doubt that Sophie is now our go-to guide for anything adventure.
But the even better thing, she is fully sponsored by a group of women who want to see her succeed and ask for nothing in return.
And so the adventure begins.
Drive to Materuni village, drop off point; estimated 25-30 minutes - more time is factored in for the unpredictability and rocky road conditions.
Once you leave town, all bets are off.
As we started to ascend into the depths of Kilimanjaro, you definitely got to experience the full affect of an ‘African massage’. Sophie called the ride our own personal African massage because of all the rocks and divots in the road that caused the car to shake and bounce non-stop – you had to grab a strong hold onto whatever you could.
An easy way to make friends nonetheless, meet Danny, to my left and Conor to my right. Danny, a 36 year old, is originally from Cuba and former associate creative director for Disneyworld. Danny moved here in January and plans to start his own safari company, setting his sights on the Serengeti. Conor, a 24 year old solo traveler is spending his time volunteering in various positions around Tanzania. He is in Moshi for the next couple days, while he completes the Kilimanjaro Marathon.
As we drove, deeper into the foothills, we became more and more engulfed in the vibrant overgrown forest filled with apricot, avocado, banana, coconut, and mango trees. We passed many little villages that looked as though they had been abandoned and starting to deteriorate but to our surprise, they are communities thriving with the local tribe, Chagga. Children played along side the road, in the fields with their friends while the elders (both men and women) carried their goods up and down the road to sell to vendors.
It’s something pretty special to witness a woman in her late eighties doing the work and carrying the weight just as she would’ve when she was younger.
Shortly after, we were out of the car and making way further into the hills on foot up narrow dirt paths. Attempting to take in all that I see –I was mesmerized by all that surrounded me. Sophie led the line, as Conor, Lucy and Sumi followed closely behind. Danny and I found ourselves breaking from the line to take advantage of photo opportunities as we walked. As we came up to a clearing, we looked out to see that we were the only ones in the midst of the tropical forest that continuously grew around us. We looked out to the luscious rolling hills, filled with life in all its forms: the town below, bustling, communities in the hills filled with people, and wildlife roaming in this place they call home.
I hear water.
We were close and we knew it.
“The water in this stream is from the waterfall, it’ll take us there” Sophie said.
And that’s just what we did; as our narrow dirt path ran along the flowing stream, we walked – meeting locals and visitors from near and far. Crossing over bridges formed by slabs of tree nailed together, up hills and around a bend.
One last big hill, a slippery slope.
There it was.
Majestic in all its glory, the largest waterfall on Mount Kilimanjaro –
Pictures don’t even do it justice.
Ndoro waterfall could take your breath away. It stood, tall, dropping glacier water from 100 meters into a pool at its base. After Sumi’s reaction of saying her brain could’ve potentially been frozen I changed my mind of going in and it’s a good thing because it started to drizzle. Soon that drizzle changed to rain.
Then the rain turned to MONSOON.
Priority: make sure camera stays dry; don’t care too much about all the rest.
Funny thing is I didn’t expect it to continue at that intensity for very long – thankfully the camera remained undamaged though the rest of my body was drenched and covered in mud by the time we came across a village off the main road. At first, I thought we were just taking shelter from the storm, on the porch of a cement house who’s steps led down to the village below - but we ended up staying. (I was bitterly cold at this point; everything except my camera was wet. Thankfully I had a semi-dry towel in my backpack that acted as a shall to generate some sort of warmth).
An elderly woman walked in and out her home to a hut next door, laying out a very large selection of food for the taking: spiced rice, white rice, beans, beef stew, hot peppers, sautéed spinach, softened plantains and a colorful plate of fresh avocado, cucumber, mango and watermelon.
To say it was delicious would be an understatement.
I was incredibly thankful at that point, not only for shelter but for the wonderful hospitality of the locals and the incredible meal they provided.
After going back for seconds, we were introduced to bwana kahawa, or mister coffee (man).
Mister coffee man, a Chagga local about 33 years old, knew everything there is to know about their plantation. He explained the many depths of the bean to cup process. Just then, the rain stopped and the clouds cleared, perfectly timed.
There are three shells to a coffee bean, the first one, a red berry, is removed in a device that separates the bean from it’s shell by the turning of a wheel. The second layer, that looks similar to a peanut, is broken off in a process consisting of a large wooden pestle and mortar.
At first, he brought an open basket of pale colored beans over to our table, asking us to peal off the shell. A difficult task unless you use your teeth - However, definitely not edible. It was only when we got down to the base of the village, that we were able to hold the wooden mortar and have a go ourselves. As we bashed the beans, young locals joined in, in song, clapping their hands together in unison.
So many smiles.
Especially the littlest one of us all, a young girl from the village (no name, sadly), standing in the circle, clapping her hands together as she bounced in between me and Sophie.
After the beans were removed from their shell, we needed to separate them from the remaining dusty substance. Using the half basket from before, mister coffee man flipped the contents and they eventually separated. hakuna matata, no problem. Next stop was removing the third layer in the makeshift stove on top of an open flame in a small brick kitchen.
Warmth.
With lots of continuous stirring…
We watched the coffee beans go from pale white to brown, in a matter of minutes.
It was that dark golden brown that we all envisioned coffee beans would look light right after being roasted. The smell that filled that small room was amazing, the smoke however was thick and a bit hard to handle (no ventilation system).
Soon enough, it was back to the pestle and mortar, where we helped break up our coffee beans into a powder substance. This powder could be used to create coffee candy or coffee itself. Setting a small portion aside, they took the rest back into the kitchen where a small pot was boiling. He poured the remaining powder into the pot, gave it a stir, and there it was… coffee ready for drinking.
And my goodness was it good.
Nothing like a hot cup of coffee to warm the body up right!
Time to go back home.
Just before we were getting ready to leave, we sat down with all the locals to ask them about their experiences here and about their lives. Many of the men in the village have families and couldn’t be older than 22-25 years old. One man, Joseph has two kids and he is only 22 years old. Crazy.
As I walked down to thank the villagers below, the young little girl greeted me. When I bent down to give her a hug goodbye, she kissed me on the cheek. Perfectly timed by Sophie, as she captured the moment that I will always remember.
This trip will always remain a warm memory, one I am very thankful to have been a part of.
Lastly: when we were walking back to the car, I passed a building that said ‘Facebook pub’ on it – and when I went to take a picture, a local stepped in for a ‘SELFIE!’ as he carried a heavy bag of melons on his head.
Even though I was drenched and covered in mud, in the end, I wouldn’t have had the day any other way.
