Back to Africa

The Monduli Mountains

As the Arusha-bound shuttle bus pulled away from the Nairobi Airport, the first thing we saw was a superb starling perched on top of a post. Then we saw the acacia trees, and the nests of weaver birds decorated on branches, and Maasai boys herding sheep, and women carrying buckets of water on top of their heads, and we knew we had made it. Back to Africa.

By the time we were done with the immigration process at the Nmanga border out of Kenya and into Tanzania, the sun was setting. It was another sign of Africa. We had left behind the endless summer sunlight of Moscow and had returned to the equatorial sun, when it starts to set around 6 pm and will, reassuringly, rise again around 6 am – a year-round constant. Ahead of us loomed Mount Meru.

For most of the ride, Scott and I reminisced about our past time in Tanzania, recalling names of students and their defining traits, fun trips, times with friends, old routines. We were mentally transitioning ourselves back into that mode of life, slowly letting go of traveling.

Once we reached Arusha, everything that followed was a series of reunions and returning, with some new elements mixed in. The shuttle dropped us off in the same parking lot that we left from one and a half years ago. Peter picked us up, not in the school’s Land Rover Defender that we associate with African NGOs, but a new-ish Hilux, a vehicle the school was in the process of acquiring when we left. He brought us familiar Indian take-out and filled our ears with stories that attempted to erase the gaps of our lost time. We drove past familiar landmarks and finally to Monduli, our final destination. We pulled into town and even though it’s been one and a half years since Scott and I left, it felt like no time had passed. We pulled into Mzee Mbazi’s driveway and the night guards were sitting at the table. Samson, who used to guard the house when we were there, stood up and embraced us happily in the dark. He remembered us. Quinn, our old roommate, who now works in the Boston office and is visiting the school for a two-week stint, came out to welcome us. The house had some new (‘new’ being a relative term) photos on the wall, a couple new pieces of furniture, and different people inhabiting it. But it was the same nonetheless. Scott and I are in a different bedroom now with a different mosquito net. And we fell asleep that first night to the same barking dogs hoping we were where we were meant to be.

That lingering question, a fragment of doubt, was washed away as soon as we saw the first students at the school – Sang’orie, Lota, and Edu. One by one, in pairs, running up to us, or shyly looking our way, the students welcomed us. At the sight of some of them, tears came to my eyes and I wiped them away immediately not wanting to worry the students. When the Groton bus pulled up the driveway carrying the Groton students and a few Orkeeswa students, the door opened and Obedi was the first to emerge. He stood for a moment looking at Scott and I, said in a loud whisper, “wow,” and came running to us. Gestures and mannerisms of the students that I had forgotten were instantly shown – the Maasai handshake, the double hug, the incessant “You’re welcome.” After seeing the students, only then did being back make sense.