3 weeks later...

I admittedly have been slacking on keeping a written account of my travels. My last week in Africa was the most inspiring and intriguing in the hospital... and the most memorable. Every day something exciting or tragic happened. Everyday I learned something miraculous about humankind or perseverance. And so, there was little time to sit and write. But I will try to catch up.


Day 15- playing tourist

Today I had a rough day in the clinic and in the labor ward. There was little to do and I suspected because of the rain very few patients came in. So I left early so that I could play tourist with a couple of Swedes. We took a dala dala into Marangu, a village somewhere on "the mountain," and explored the Chagga caves. These caves were home to the Chagga people years ago and provided an interesting insight to how they lived. There are 2 main tribes in the Kilimanjaro area- the Maasai and Chagga. The Maasai are your quintessential Africans draped in red robes carrying a herding staff, known for being fierce lion killers and cattle herders. The Chagga are the peaceful counterpart living in harmony with "the mountain." The two tribes were rivals to say the least. And that folks is your superficial and brief history lesson, less detailed than a quick google search and probably with false information. So after the caves we explored a waterfall and drove to the gates of the Mt. Kilimanjaro National Park. We ended our tourist day sharing a huge jug of banana beer on the side of the road, our taxi driver in his pink disneyland sweater joined us, and eating a delicious meal of bbq meats. Goat included of course.

Day 16- a day in the OR

Before coming to Africa I had this romantic vision of what being a nurse in a maternity ward meant. I imagined groups of women supporting the laboring mom, a natural progression of labor and delivery, and most importantly an environment that embraced natural childbirth. Well, I was wrong. I saw more cesareans than vaginal births. And I saw a cultural disconnect between patient and caregiver.

I watched a tubal ligation during one of the c-sections today... that means she got her tubes tied. This woman was on her 4th c-section and wanted to call it quits. Understandably so. Ironically, this extremely fertile woman had only one obvious ovary and one obvious uterine tube. Dr. Awesome searched and searched and just couldn't find the second set of sex organs. So, he tied up something that may have looked like a uterine tube and called it a day.

I learned a very important thing that day, a physician- at their own discretion- can opt to perform a tubal ligation on his or her patient if they have had more than 3 c-sections. Controversial? Oh, yes. Discuss. This practice is very telling of many things. Ethics, or lack there of. Hierarchy and position of health care providers. Population management. The struggle of... fill in the blank.

Day 17-

During report the nurses and physicians had a lengthy discussion regarding a patient who had decided to leave the hospital against medical advisement (AMA). Something that one of the head nun said struck me- he, the patient, has to truly love himself before we, the healthcare team, can do anything for him. I can't remember the last time I heard a nurse or a health care provider express concern about a patient loving oneself.

Today was a whirlwind of emotions. I was joined by another volunteer, a pre-med student fresh out of high school from Denmark. We walked into a very busy maternity ward and I was immediately drawn to a little bundle wrapped tightly in a kanga laying on one of the newborn warmers. I poked my finger to touch his precious little cheek and my heart dropped. No, it sank. This baby was dead. My first reaction was not something I am particularly proud of but I recoiled. I snapped my finger back feeling like I had just intruded on a secret. I turned to the Danish girl and whispered "that baby is not alive." I didn't know what to do. I wanted to hold it but at this point no one was giving any attention to this bundle. All hands were on deck for two other laboring mothers. We had mom #1 on the left writhing on the delivery table buck naked quietly begging for someone to help her. I, still being in shock about the baby, went to her side and just said the only thing I knew how to say "pole sana," which roughly translated means "I am sorry you're going through this." It is the thing I hear the midwives say the most. And on the right we had mom #2, screaming and refusing to push. It was a scene I had seen before. Midwife, nurse, doctor all at her side yelling at her to push. There was no monitor but it was obvious that with everything happening the baby was probably not faring well. Mom #1 makes some more noise and the doctor decides to check her. Three minutes later baby is crowning and is delivered. Mom #2 continues to refuse to push, yells that she doesn't care about the baby... wishes it were dead. (All of this obviously translated to me after the fact.) Nurse hops up onto the delivery table and straddles mom... pushes with all her might on the fundus. She is pushing with so much force the delivery table is shaking. Midwife is giving an episiotomy. Meanwhile out of the corner of my eye I see someone take the dead baby to the room where they... take out the laundry. And doctor, after having just delivered a baby scooted on over to stand at the end of the delivery table and barked orders. Finally... Finally, the baby is born. He is pale and still. Dr and nurse rush over to the warmer that 5 minutes ago had a lifeless baby on it and commence CPR. "Oxygen!! Oxygen" the doctor yells, it takes two people and about 10 minutes before they get a cannula and tubing that was patent. And what struck me the most was the excruciating lack of urgency. The staff, nurses and doctors, could not find tubing that would work with the oxygen concentrator. It it seemed like no big deal. I stood mortified and terrified for this baby's life. He was so limp. They suctioned, performed chest compressions, and artificially breathed for him for what felt like 45 minutes but was probably only 15. Still, 15 minutes of continuous CPR and I really thought this baby was gone. When he finally cried I was in awe. Did this really just happen? Holy crap. I helped to warm the baby and wrapped him up in a dry kanga... he was so flaccid. He had no tone. But, he was alive. A half hour of some supplemental oxygen later he was slapped on the butt before being delivered to his mother in the recovery room.

The day ended with a c-section. Aside from the poor mother laying naked on the delivery table waiting for the doctor and the OR team for an hour, it was a routine surgery.

Day 18- last day, mostly sad goodbyes.

I did very little today except for say goodbye to everyone and take some pictures.

Day 19-21: travel. travel. travel. home.

An exhausting 45 hour journey home with a 13 hour layover in NYC where I experienced the antithesis of African life.

Hospital and Safari

Day 8-14

St. Joseph Hospital. Moshi, Tanzania.

My first day at the hospital began with a stomach full of butterflies, but actually every day does. I stumble around not knowing really where I am needed, what needs to be done, and who to work with. Somehow my blue scrubs from the goodwill stand out so vibrantly amongst a sea of brightly colored kangas. I ward off constant staring with a smile, a wave or a "habari" and I'd say 90% of the time I get a smile or a neutral "nzuri." The other 10% are hard blank stares.

Fellow nurses- imagine your first day on the floor not even really knowing how to spike a bag of fluids or where to get a pillow. But, on top of ALL that you can't talk and you are deaf. How the hell are you going to do anything or learn anything. Well, you manage and adapt. I have things like a cheat sheet with very specific Swahili phrases. My worn down paper has phrases like "lie down" or "take one at night" or "PUSH!!." But other than that I have almost zero form of verbal communication. I try to talk with my face, my eyes, my hands. The biggest lesson learned here is how darn important communication is in the healthcare profession. The language barrier between myself, the staff, and the patients is less of a nuisance and more of a road block. The importance of communication has been darn well drilled into my head during nursing school but was just really hammered home during my stay here in Tanzania. I have to admit, I was naive and quite ill-prepared for this.

I spent most of my first day playing with pregnant bellies. Measuring fundal heights, palpating for fetal position and using a fetoscope to measure fetal heart rates. It is simple work but a foundation to caring for preggos. And, it is an amazing thing to connect to a living baby within another person. I almost feel like I am intruding on a special relationship when I listen for the baby's heart beat. I worked with two nurse midwives and saw upwards to 60 patients. I also gave a ton of vaccines to newborn babies and expecting mammas. I'd say that was a solid first day... except for getting lost on the way home. The hospital is about a mile and a half away from my accommodation with a total of three turns, somehow I missed turn #2. I befriended a little school girl named Janet and in exchange for some pocket change she led me to my home. Sweet girl.  I walk to and from the hospital every day past houses, motorcycle taxi drivers and a few shops. There is always the same house bustling with 5-6 young toddlers half naked yelling gibberish at me. As soon as he sees me coming one little boy, with out fail, twice a day runs to the edge of his driveway waving his hand screaming "yayayayayayayaya."  

The next day was mostly observing. It being my first day in the labor ward and not actually being a midwife AND not being able to talk to anyone led to a day of feeling like a useless pile. So I did what felt natural, I carried babies when I had no idea what else to do. As soon as I walked into the labor ward someone was being carted off to the "theater" for a cesarean section due to prolonged and obstructed labor. This was my first c-section to watch and what a treat for it to be in Africa. One of the more moving moments of my time at St. Joseph's Hospital was when this baby was pulled from the horizontal slit made in a young mother's lower abdomen. Eyes squeezed shut and mouth gaping the baby was silent and for just a little too long. The physician (from here on called Dr. Awesome) picked up the baby and started to stroke him in a downward motion. I, slightly teary eyed and in complete emotional awe, looked at the scrub nurse who was talking me through the operation and interpreting bits of swahili. He said, not yet. Not yet? Don't sigh with relief until you hear the baby cry. A few more moments passed and finally, the first cries of this baby immediately breaks the tension in the room. Dr. Awesome closed his eyes in silent prayer for what was probably only 2 seconds but as I watched him it seemed like eternity. It was such a slight gesture but in my eyes so incredibly moving.

It would be an understatement to say that the health care system and hospitals are different than those of the developed world. I would say try to imagine what health care and hospital wards would look like in the 1950's and put mud and dirt all over everything. No judgment, just observation. It is an antiquated system here speckled with technology and modern practices. The waste produced here is LIGHTYEARS less than that made in an average US hospital. All of the drapes used during surgery are cloth and can be seen drying on a clothesline outside the operating room prior to getting autoclaved. Everything is sterilized and reused, even the nasal cannulas. No one gets a bandaid after a shot. Every glove, every dollop of alcohol sanitizer and every piece of cotton or gauze is used with special care and consciousness. Nothing is wasted as there is little to waste. However, there is a definite disconnect in infection control but a definite lesson to be learned in resourcefulness.

During my time in the labor ward I wondered... with no name tags, no wristbands, how the heck do the nurses and moms know whose baby is whose?? Well, African women live and breath the Kanga- the multi colored cloth one would imagine the quintessential African woman to have wrapped around their body. Kangas are used as clothes, as a receiving blanket, as a carrier for an infant, as a sheet to put over the examination table in the clinic, as a peri pad wadded up placed in their underwear literally 5 minutes after popping out a baby. The kanga and how a woman uses or wears it gives them a way to express themselves and define their personality. And with their newborns? They know exactly what patterned kanga they own... very seldom are two alike. Newborns are swaddled in a matching Kanga to the mother or the grandmother. Ingenious and pretty fool proof I'd say.

Safari- Tarangire National Park and Ngorongoro Conservation Area

My first and only weekend in the Kilimanjaro area consisted of riding in a bumpy jeep, craning my neck to see out the window, standing in a jeep, snapping hundreds of photos, having a good time, and trying to sleep in a bouncy jeep my head bobbing to and fro like never before. I did a two day safari in Tarangire National Park and the Ngorongoro Crater, a collapsed volcano with tall walls encasing a menagerie of animals that seemingly live harmoniously together. I managed to see four of the big five- Lion, Buffalo, Rhino and Elephant. Among many other spectacular creatures. My favorites were the warthogs, giraffes, and zebras. The terrain just looked like where the dinosaurs would have roamed and it was equipped with gigantic beings like rhinos... slowly lumbering, placidly chewing grass. I was lucky enough to view this animal as they are extremely endangered and there are only 26 in the crater. Deeper in the jungle and at higher elevations I drove in the jeep feeling like I had just jumped out of Jurassic Park. A t-rex was just around the corner.

After the first day I did some luxury camping equipped with a five course meal and scotch with scots... although I recently learned that "scotch" is an American butchering of what really is whiskey. I, not really being a drinker, knew none of this and made a fool of myself. I joined a father and son duo from Scotland on the safari trip and had a blast with them. The son was quiet but kind and his father quite cheeky and fun. Both are doctors, the son doing TB research and the father doing primary care visits in the Bush of Zambia.

When someone thinks of a safari I imagine topless jeeps, khaki outfits and telephoto lenses. Well, Scot Sr. nailed it... minus the cheesy safari hat. And surprisingly about 80% of the other safari goers had their all khaki/telephoto camera outfits on too. I had no idea it would be this stereotypical. Nonetheless, standing in a jeep and peering out the top while driving through rough roads and trying to spot animals was extremely fun! It was like a disneyland ride for 8 hours. But, by day two I was done. My back ached from the uncomfortable seats and bumpy ride and I was exhausted. Am I getting old?

Everyone in Africa moves with a sort of grace that is just not seen in the US. The people here move deliberately and purposefully. Women walk along a busy street with 50 pounds of bananas on their heads as cars, buses, and motorcycles rush by. I bring this up because on my jeep ride to Ngorongoro crater at 6AM I saw two african men running. Running... what?? I haven't seen anyone run since I saw a tourist go for a morning run on the beach in Zanzibar. People don't even run when they cross a street and a bus is 5 feet from hitting them. Well it is ironic. The best runners in the US are black... but after two weeks in Africa I finally see someone running. Probably a Kilimanjaro guide.

I'd say my first week at the hospital was a success. I managed to help people but also sit back and observe a lot. There is much to learn from watching. I see what people view are important and what can be let go. I saw babies saved and mothers give birth. I've seen bravery and the tolerance of pain that I have never seen in a US hospital. I've seen women survive the most gruesome births and I've seen midwives use their gentlest touch. Aside from this environment I've seen much of the Tanzanian countryside. From my walks to and from the hospital to driving to the national parks. I've seen majestic animals and just the craziest looking creatures. Huge trees 800 years old and a pride of lions lazily napping in a field of daisies. I have seen children herding goats and old men playing what looks like checkers but probably isn't. I have seen a lot.  

I have much more to say about the healthcare system here and about my time in the hospital but this post is long enough and you are probably bored ;)

Zanzibar to Moshi

My apologies for the long winded posts :)

Day 4: rest and relaxation. Repeat.

Today didn't amount to much. I slept in, took two hours to eat breakfast, finally got on the internet, laid by the beach and went to the Zanzibar IKEA. I chatted it up with some more locals and got duped into a few souvenirs.

In the evening I joined my new Scottish friend in the most horrifically awkward hotel for dinner. We saved each other from being our respective hotels solo traveler creeper. This romantic getaway hotel was a baffling experience to say the least. Awkward empty tables for 2, random karaoke entertainment, a "Massai show and tell" with a tepid audience. The most disconcerting was the staff who wouldn't stop trying to do things for me. It went beyond good customer service and was a clear reflection of a social divide deeply rooted in human kind. Nonetheless Scotland and I made the best of it, smoking hookah well into the night and discussing our superiority as solo travelers... ironically together.

Day 5: Stone Town.

I made a beach side agreement to utilize the taxi services of Captain Mao. I'll explain... I wanted so badly to not get screwed over with tourist pricing for a taxi back into town. Mister Mao, a Kendwa local just trying to make a living, and I made a deal for a Cheap taxi ride. Caveat... I'd have to share. No biggie, I like sharing. Well morning came and Mister Mao was leading me into an unexpectedly empty taxi and a driver that was not Mister Mao. This could have gone in either direction... Sketch balls or perfectly fine. The first ten minutes of the ride i was deciding my plan on how to best use my pepper spray. By fifteen minutes into the ride we were talking about clove trees and Bruce Lee. Since I'm sitting here happily writing on my tablet you can guess... The ride was Perfectly fine and actually quite great! My game of risk was beneficial two fold. I got to pass the miserable honeymoon couples waiting for the fancy $50 taxi with a very smug grin on my face and I had a great time chatting with my driver! He gave me an impromptu spice tour along the way and stopped to buy me some street food that I've been dying to try. He walked me to my hotel,  gave me a Swahili lesson and many fist bumps to say goodbye. Now I am happily basking in my cheap but comfy hotel. Apparently the old house for a Sultan's harem. I'll venture out to the alley ways and explore the richness of stone town.

My wandering in Stone Town amounted to eating the most delicious seafood soup and passion fruit juice ever and chatting it up some more. I appreciate people wanting to practice their English and showing a genuine mutual interest in each others culture and home, but doing this person after person mixed in with predatory "beach boys" and "tourist traps" can be exhausting. After hours of exploring I sat on a long stone bench in Forodhani Gardens and watched people. I watched little boys chase one another with a stick, the littlest one lagging behind and crying. I watched tourists cling to each other as they walked by. I watched an old man watch me.

The evening amounted to eating more seafood- big surprise, and more wandering- big surprise. I walked through street markets with women sitting on the ground selling avocados as big as grapefruits and tables glistening with the days catch... Calamari, octopus, tuna. I waded through the savory smoke of barbecuing mussels and random meats, I bummed an African cigarette from a fisherman. I spilled ginger and lime sugar cane juice all over myself. By the end of the night I smelled like Poseidon's armpit.

Day 6: Stone Town to Kilimanjaro

I am on a flight from Dar Es Salaam to Kilimanjaro. This day has gone surprisingly well considering I had a sleepless night and an awkward morning.

My hotel room was right next to the hotel roof top restaurant. It is more like a room with chairs and a stove. Around 3am someone decided to make some food and invite their friends. By 4am someone decided to get belligerent and shout at the ghosts in the wall. I was glad my door had a good strong lock but needless to say I laid awake moderately terrified passing the hours battling with the one mosquito that made it under my net.

Morning rolled around and I was treated to a breakfast full of local fruits and fried balls of dough. The morning light hit the rooftop terrace just perfectly and my flowy skirt ruffled in the breeze. I feverishly jotted notes in my journal to the hum of chirping birds and a distant radio. It was quite a scene from "eat pray love" and super barfy ;) A little while later, I come to find my trusted hotel keeper... Sweet, quiet, and most important lucid Jerry was the one making all the racket throughout the night. Still quite drunk He stumbled to the breakfast area, interrupted my idyllic eat pray love moment and slurred out some sort of confirmation regarding my taxi to the airport. This put me on edge but Thankfully I had a few hours to confirm my ride with someone who wasn't falling over drunk.

The afternoon came and went. I visited the local museum and learned about the Sultan rule of Zanzibar throughout the 18th, 19th and early 20th  century. I ate Palau (sp?) A Zanzibar dish sold from a milk crate a young girl was carrying a top her head. A local bought some so I thought I'd follow suit. It was a delicious rice dish flavored with spices from the island dotted with beef and tomatoes.

I finally arrive in Moshi. The starting point for many to pursue the summit of Kili, but for me the starting point of my nursing endeavor. There were a few hiccups along the way but mostly everything went smoothly. A Zanzibar airport grounds crew member now has a new phone equipped with a charger, a casio watch and some headphones... learned my lesson! I forgot my phone was in my luggage as I haven't been using one and really didn't think anyone would think twice about it. It is a dumb phone from the grocery store... A perfect testament to my absolute ignorance and naivety of being an entitled American.

Day 7: Post this blog, read my book  and brush up on my maternity nursing as I start my first shift at the hospital tomorrow!!!

Africa!

I haven't had much internet over the past few days, mostly for lack of trying. It seems contradictory to travel allllll the way out here to sit by the Indian ocean and surf the net. So what follows are pieced together ramblings of my first few days in Africa. Sorry, no pictures. You're gonna have to read my incessant blabbering.

Day 1: Arrival in Dar Es Salaam.

I arrived in Dar a hot sweaty mess with a backpack that was clearly overpacked (why do I always do this!?!). My first moment in Tanzania began like all international stories do. I forgot to do something in the states so getting into the country required some hoops, bargaining, and someone taking my passport and sticking a dirty needle in me. Just kidding, sort of ;) Apparently I had to get my yellow fever vaccination in the states before entering Tanzania... every guide book and travel website out there says so. I missed the memo. So, upon arrival a lady in a white coat took my passport and lead me out of the visa line and into a small dark room. She took out a candy tin full of (sterile) needles and  some vials, she drew some fluid up and handed me the needle. Through conversation she discovered I was a nurse. I stalled, waiting for an alcohol swab or something... well that never came so she figured she'd move the process along. Poke, done. Welcome to tanzania.

Unfortunately besides my airport doctor's office visit there is little to say about Dar, I slept through most of my stay here. Jet lag and pure exhaustion got the better of me. Except for my taxi ride from the airport. It was then that it hit me like a ton of bricks... I am in Africa. This is a whole new world.

I must say, there is a certain amount of vulnerability in traveling solo. You don't have that buddy to talk to when you're in a taxi or eating a meal. You don't have that second person to confer with when you are navigating the crooked unnamed streets of an exotic place... or that someone who can do the math while you exchange currency so you don't have to multitask conversions while you are counting twenties. BUT, in lieu of all those instances where having a travel buddy could come in hand I feel that I have gained so much more. I have had the most interesting conversations with locals and I have been able to make friends with them. I avoid being in my own little world while on the other side of the world.

Day 2: Zanzibar.

Throughout the night I woke periodically to the hustle and bustle of Dar Es Salaam. Around 3AM there finally came a certain kind of calm that took over the city. It woke slowly here and there with calls to prayer some honking and a few people shouting across the alleyway.  I certainly felt as though I was staying at a local hotel as there were no tourists in sight, or at all for that matter. They must have all been at the Hilton. Breakfast was in a purposely kept dark room with seemingly somber men and women waking up to the day. I strapped my super conspicuous backpack to myself and headed out into the city to find the ferry building. Thankfully I had an idea as to where it was so it was fairly easy to find. The hardest part was trying to cross the street.

The ferry between Dar and Zanzibar was indeed an interesting and exciting experience. There was a healthy mix of local black Tanzanians, women in burkas, Muslim families, and adorable children smiling and crawling over their parents. I befriended two gentlemen on the ferry, one a Muslim who taught me how to say "salaam aleikum" and gave me a bottle of mango juice and the other a Tanzanian with big dreams and a churning mind. I learned about the corrupt Tanzanian government and how Tanzania has so many resoures to offer the world. He asked me questions ranging from why is America so powerful to why HIV is so widespread in Africa to how he can raise money so he can fund his farm and open a school for children who have lost their parents to HIV. What an interesting man... And what an amazing dream! I had fleeting thoughts of collaborating with him to return one day with a team to provide care for the children of his orphanage... A medical mission so to speak. Well, he could have been a creep just trying to get money but I had none to give and I want to trust in human kind. I gave him my email address and told him to write me a proposal and we could go from there... Making friends in high places, his farm is at the foot of Mt. Kilimanjaro.

I arrive in Stone Town, Zanzibar and haggle my way to Kendwa...  a village on the northern tip of the island. One of the most memorable sights of the ride between Stone Town and Kendwa was seeing three small children dancing around on their porch with their mother/older sister (?) along right beside them. Their smiles and laughter were irrisistable.

After four plane rides, a handful of taxis, a ferry, some haggling, and wandering around I was at last sitting my ass on a tropical beach eating octopus and drinking coconut water. Between chatting with locals and reading my book in the sun I take a dip in the turquoise waters of the Indian Ocean. All the stress of travel and jet lag ended in a magnificent calm.

Day 3: Now that is what a sunburn feels like... Yowza!

Turns out one afternoon of sitting by the beach was enough relaxing to warrant me seeking out some sort of activity for my second day at Kendwa. I ventured out for a day of fighting seasickness, hanging out with some tourists and locals, and snorkeling off the coast of Mnemba Island.

The day previous, I met Moses, a born and raised Kendwa local with a healthy amount of rico suave charm. We chatted on the beach and he sold me on a snorkeling tour. Well, all he had to say was "fresh caught lunch included" and I was already on the boat.

It occurred to me that there would be other tourists on the boat and admittedly so it was something I looked forward to. Meeting people from other countries is an added perk to traveling. Though, so far my most satisfying interactions with people have been with locals. They are genuinely curious and genuinely appreciative of my efforts to speak Swahili with them. However, the solidarity of being a tourist in such an exotic place seemed appealing. I was both right and very wrong.

Traveling alone has offered me the opportunity to do a lot of observing. The general theme of the breach resorts in Zanzibar are "honeymoon paradise for couples that would rather look at their phones" and "entitled white people that can't be bothered to smile." I won't get off my high horse quite yet because... Well that shit bugs me. And unfortunately it is just testament to how inherent racism can be. I'm not saying these people are bad. There is just an element of sensitivity and graciousness that is just lost. At dinner an American girl explained that she wanted her fish seared for exactly 60 seconds on each side to a waiter who clearly spoke very little English. Rather than dropping it she persisted. Finally after a gaggle of staff members came together at their table they figure something out... But c'mon, bitch shoulda sucked it up. Later, I hear her talk about how she pretended to not speak English and how hilarious it was to trick a local. She was a little too proud of herself. And then on the other side of me a table full of South Africans were snapping their damn fingers shouting "garçon" completely oblivious of their assholery. A group of Israeli girls would not smile or even humor a sweet crew member on the snorkel tour, one of them was straight up rude... Thankfully I don't think the gentleman realized. So, needless to say i did not get to know these folks. I'll get off my high horse now.

I have met a small handful of those who don't fall into the categories of unhappy, unsmiling, depressing tourists and for that I am grateful. I met some study abroad kids from Atlanta, GA and a sweet gentleman from Scotland. All were gracious and seemed genuinely excited to be here... Enjoying the island, culture and people. It was a breath of fresh air and made me less irritated with tourists. Ok, now I'm officially off my high horse.

My big snorkeling tour was quite fun but I must say the highlight of my day was at sunset. I laid along the beach and watched a soccer game unfold between the locals. There was so much laughter and energy juxtaposed against the slowness of a fiery sunset, the silhouette of bobbing fishing boats and Massai men sauntering, robes flapping in the wind.

in two short days

yes, it has been three long years since i have touched this blog... since i have taken the time to sit and write for anyone to see. i flipped through old posts and revisited 22 year old robyn and 25 year old robyn. now, it feels like a good time to rejuvenate the writer in me and discover the 28 going on 29 year old robyn.

in two short days i will be on a 14 hour flight to AFRICA. the travel bug that once infected me has come back from its dormant slumber. this trip could not have come together at a better time, i am between jobs... nursing student to full fledged nurse. i have worked my butt off over the past year to maintain sanity and secure my nursing degree. now, it is time to enjoy the perfect mixture of relaxation, education, and adventure.

i am traveling to Tanzania and Zanzibar for the next three weeks and i plan to write about my travels on this blog. hopefully i'll keep up unless i am busy getting a tan, eating mounds of seafood, and nursing people. we'll see how it goes...

tonight i sleep soundly next to my little abbie. by tuesday night i will be waking up to this...