The events of the past couple of weeks have passed by in a blur of days and activity. With Miriam’s last day in the office having come and gone, Liz and I have been left to our own devices. My compiled list of all the tasks I have to complete filled about three printed pages, so I have had no problem finding things to keep me busy. Callum, along with Liz’s help, has been writing a proposal for the healthcare component of the program. This document will be submitted to an organization in the United States this week, and we hope they will agree to fund a pilot of the program, to be followed later by a full implementation. Following this submission, Callum will begin working on a plan for the dioceses of Atlanta and Virginia, which Bishop Mdimi will take to the United States when he travels there in October. The work of The Carpenter’s Kids seems to be constantly evolving and expanding, and it’s been great to witness these changes.
One of the big events in the diocese this week was Synod, which is a yearly meeting of all the priests of the diocese. For the past few years, however, there hasn’t been enough money available to hold the convention, and therefore this year marked the first Synod in three years. Pastor Noah, the director of The Carpenter’s Kids, is also a parish priest at a church in Dodoma. He spent the week in Mvumi (about one hour outside Dodoma) at Synod, and we hoped at some point that he would have a chance to address the group about the program. As the schedule was very tight we were unsure whether this would be a possibility, but Noel and I nevertheless prepared a Power Point presentation with photos I had taken at villages and information about the program. On Wednesday afternoon, Pastor Noah called to tell us there was a chance we would be given a brief amount of time later that evening, and that he would like the whole staff to come to Synod to be present for this. So, after spending almost a full day in the office, Liz, Noel, Mmoti, John, Callum, Daudi, John Joseph (the CK driver), and I set out on the hour drive to Mvumi. After waiting around for about four hours for all the priests to assemble at their nightly meeting, we entered the convention hall and were seated in front of 600 people. This large group included all of the diocesan parish priests in addition to one other member from each parish, as well as the head staff of the diocese which included Bishop Mdimi. We were luckily given time to give a brief presentation, and therefore we were all required to introduce ourselves. Liz and I have become quite accustomed to giving our short intros in Swahili in the villages, but doing it in front of 600 people was intimidating to say the least! Callum read out his introduction which the guys in the office had helped him write earlier that afternoon. As always, however, the group was very appreciative – and somewhat surprised – at our use of the language, especially after Pastor Noah told them we’d only been here for a short time. After Pastor Noah’s brief summary of the program, Bishop Mdimi elaborated greatly upon the background and benefits of the program. He is one of the few bishops in Tanzania who accepts help from the Episcopal Church of the United States, and most other bishops refuse this connection due to the issues of homosexuality and the ordaining of women. Bishop Mdimi is a very knowledgeable and forward-thinking man, and it was wonderful to hear him speak so generously of both the United States and of The Carpenter’s Kids Program. After the presentation the staff finally headed home, arriving back in Dodoma about eleven p.m. We were exhausted and weary from the long day, but renewed in our pride for The Carpenter’s Kids.
I am finding one of the more challenging aspects of being here is the environment in which I work. I have come to realize from past work experience that I am definitely not an “office worker”, and I am much more suited for work “in the field”. Put me in a hospital or a retail store (both of which I have experienced) and I’m fine, but put me in an office, and I tend to get exasperated fairly quickly. The office also seems to grow infinitely warmer with each passing day, which doesn’t ease the situation in the slightest. I am finding my wonderful colleagues to b
e a blessing, as without them I’m not quite sure I’d be able to make it through the day! Part of the difficulty of this situation comes from the fact that I entered into this experience thinking it would give me a break between school and getting a job, and in essence what I have done is come to Africa and started a job! This is not to say that I’m not enjoying the work that I’m doing – because I most definitely am – but I will say that I look forward to our Saturdays in the villages, which are hands down my favorite part of the week. Just yesterday we visited the villages of Chiuftuka and Chibelela, both of which were quite a distance from Dodoma. It was a first-time distribution at Chifutuka, and it quickly became clear that Liz, Ainsley (a visitor from Australia), and I were the first white people these villagers had ever seen! While we are used to the attention that Wzungu receive in Dodoma and in other towns of Tanzania, I don’t think we were quite prepared for the spectacle we became in this village. The children were all very excited at our being there, and everyone – adults included – was constantly lining up to have their photos taken. It was p
ossibly the first time they had seen a camera as well, and seeing themselves on the digital screen was a source of endless entertainment. As always we were warmly welcomed, our imperfect (though improving!) Swahili was regarded with surprise and applaud, and John was even presented with the gift of a chicken – which then rode with us inside the Land Rover for the remainder of our journey. Overall it was quite an interesting day!
The Ex-Pat community in Dodoma is quite large, and I am always somewhat surprised upon walking around town to see Wzungu whom I have never seen before. Part of this is because it seems as though the people here are constantly changing. There are always new people arriving, people leaving, and people visiting, so there is ample opportunity to meet new volunteers like myself. I have enjoyed spending time with everyone I’ve met so far, and the people in our compound are no exception. Our compound is made up of 8 apartments, two of which were empty until just this week, and the rest of which are lived in by Ex-Pats. Aside from Liz and I there is Leane, who lives two doors down from me and teaches at the CAMS school across the road. She is from New Zealand and is the mother of two college-aged boys (they will be visiting for a month or so in November, so she is very excited about that!), and she plans on being here long term, meaning 8 to 10 years. She has been a wonderful friend to both Liz and I, and it has become somewhat of a ritual to have dinner with her in the courtyard on Thursday nights. Another apartment is occupied by Catherine, who is also from New Zealand and teaches at the school. She too, has been very helpful, and always extends an offer for us to tag along when she’s heading to town. KuSum, who is from India, is another one of our neighbors. She is doing research on neonatal and maternal deaths, and she is usually very busy with her work. Her husband is currently in Vietnam on work business, and I think she is finding it hard to be away from him. She came and chatted with me the other night and began talking about how her husband keeps telling her she should leave her job here so they could be together. She said that as appealing as that option sounded, she could not just leave her work. She said, “Though you may want to, you can't run away from life. It will always haunt you to fail. You'll regret it for the rest of your life.” Her words really struck a chord with me, and I keep reminding myself of them. Even though sometimes I may find it difficult to be here, and there will be times that I’ll want to pack up and come home, I know that I would be disappointed in myself for doing so, and I’m not sure whether that is something I’d be able to forget. Another apartment is occupied by Corey, who works at the hospital in Mvumi. She only lives here on the weekends, and I think have only seen her once in the month and a half that I’ve been here! The other two apartments, which had been empty, are now occupied by two 21-year-old girls from Holland. They just arrived on Tuesday and will be here for five months. They are speech therapy students and will be working at the school for the deaf as the final part of their studies. The two of them joined Liz, Leane, and I for our weekly dinner, and they are both very sweet girls. It will be nice having a few more young people here to hang out with! Liz will be moving out of her apartment in about three weeks and into Miriam’s apartment at the lower compound. It will be strange not having her ten steps outside my door, but at least she’ll only be about a five minute walk away. I believe that Peter – a teacher from the U.S. returning for his second trip – will then move into Liz’s apartment. There’s no telling who will come and go around here, but it’s nice to be surrounded by such a wonderful group of people.
Some of my most enjoyable moments of the past week have been centered around a usually unenjoyable engagement for me – running. I ran cross country and track all through high school and have since attempted to continue this habit, but the truth is that I usually hate every minute of it. I perform this dauntless task for no other reason than without it I feel lazy, but my dedication to the sport ebbs and flows with great inconsistency. I’ve done a bit of a better job here, and for a time I was doing my running in the late afternoons. The increasing heat and my tiredness after work have provided two good excuses to talk myself out of going, however, and thus I regrettably dragged myself out of bed before work on a couple occasions last week to get it over and done with. While I had been running a loop consistent with our daily walks to the office – into town on the main road and returning home on the back roads, with maybe a few loops around the school thrown in – on one of these mornings I decided to head south of our compound and in the opposite direction of town. Less than five minutes after heading out, the paved road quickly gave way to the dusty and rock-strewn roads typical of Dodoma, and a clustering of mud brick houses lined the periphery. I continued on this path for a while towards one of the mountains of craggy rocks which seem to enclose the town, passing men, women, and children on their way to work and school. I usually receive a substantial number of odd looks – as people’s diets and lifestyles leave little need for exercise in Tanzania – and a variety of greetings to most of which I know the appropriate responses. At one point I decided it was a time to walk for a bit, and not long after I was joined by a little girl of seven or eight who had emerged from one of the houses along the path. Due to my small repertoire of Swahili and hers of English, we quickly exhausted the little information we could extract from each other, and thus were left to simply walk side by side. Monica – as I discovered was her name – took my hand, not seeming to mind that we’d met mere seconds before, and it was like this that she and I walked together, not saying a word. We came to a point and decided to turn around, and in passing back by her house she indicated that she wanted me to come with her. I was a little apprehensive about this, as I wasn’t sure whether we’d encounter her parents – who would surely wonder why their daughter had brought a strange Wzungu to their home – but nevertheless I went with her. I timidly set foot into the dirt floors and walls of her living room, and soon realized that no one else was home. I was able to gather from Monica that her parents were at work and she was left home alone, as she did not go to school. She encouraged me to sit in one of the upholstered chairs, and she disappeared behind one of the three curtained doorways of the small house. She came back with paper in hand, which she proudly handed over to me. The papers were letters from her pen pal, a girl named Zoe from Colorado, and she insisted that I read each one of them. It was clear from the dates that these letters had been written years ago, and I wondered whether this correspondence still continued or whether she had safely stowed these crumpled letters as one of her few possessions. It made me feel guilty about the child a friend and I had sponsored through World Vision in middle school. After receiving only one letter in many months we had decided that $22 per month was too much to spare from our babysitting allowances, and thus abandoned our African pen pal. After a few more minutes I indicated to Monica that I had to go to work, and while she was intently trying to communicate something to me in Swahili, I reluctantly had to say goodbye and leave her without understanding a word she said. I told her that maybe one day I would come visit her again, and I hope that a future running journey will enable me to do so. I was touched by the simplicity and the warmth we had shared in our short time together, and I couldn’t help but feel a little bounce in my step and smile on my face as I headed towards home.
After going to church this morning and then spending a few lazy hours poolside at the Dodoma Hotel, I decided yet again that I should probably go on a run. Despite the fact that it was the hottest time of the day, I knew that whenever a running urge strikes I have to snatch it up, else it disappears as quickly as it came. The extreme heat brought about the rebellion in me, however, and for once I decided to cast aside the spandex Under Armor pants that I had taken to wearing under my running shorts. It had been instilled in us that modesty is of utmost importance here, and shorts are seen to be inappropriate. It was my logic, however, that running was a different story, and if the Olympic photos on the front pages of the paper were any indication, then even Tanzanians knew that people exercise in shorts! So, I set out – barelegged and all – and headed out to search for a route which Callum had told me about. I seemed to receive no more or less unusual looks from passersby, so I convinced myself that the shorts were obviously not too terrible of a thing! I ran for a while before I found the turn-off Callum had described which apparently led to a large water hole. I began my trek down the small and very rural footpath, and was immediately in awe of the landscape around me. I imagine that my surroundings were very similar to what you would find in Arizona, though I have never been to this part of the United States. Everything had a slightly orange tint from all the dust, and the leafless foliage, unusual shaped trees, and craggy hills lent a very desert-like feel to the landscape. I continued along the path, my only company being goats and cows, who would begin trotting along at my approach, leaving a dusty wake for me to follow. At one point I climbed a small hill and saw the “water hole” below me. My vantage point afforded me a great view, and what I saw around me was a beautiful sight. Children and animals alike were seeking respite from the midday sun by swimming in the water, and a few older boys were lounging on the banks. I continued to follow the trail which swung in a wide arc around the water, and after exchanging a few greetings with the children swimming, headed back towards the road. When I was almost back into town I took the opportunity to stop and talk to a few women who had greeted me in English on my way past the first time. One of the women said she had lived in Pennsylvania while her husband was in school there, and we talked for a bit about what I was doing in Dodoma. I took this opportunity to ask (as she was a Tanzanian who spoke very good English) whether the shorts I was wearing were a bad thing. Her reply gave me much relief, as she explained that in normal life yes, shorts are bad, but that they are fine for exercising. I was grateful for her advice, as well as for the conversation, which provided a short break from my laborious running in the intense heat! I was reminded of cross country days in high school when we would gather to run in the almost unbearable heat of August in Georgia. This time, however, I was glad that stopping to walk cast only disappointment upon my own conscience, and there were no coaches there to frown at my lack of endurance. Though I arrived home exhausted and dripping with sweat, I realized that I actually had enjoyed my run. It has become clear that discovering things on foot and straying from my normal path is the best way to experience things. On both of these excursions I have been blessed – whether it be by the company of a sweet little girl or by having the beautiful landscape of Africa lain before me– and as Robert Frost wrote in his famous poem, “I took the [road] less traveled by, And that has made all the difference.”
This past month and a half has presented me with many new roads down which to travel. I’ve encountered road blocks and many a pot hole, but now and then I find one which has the smooth ride of a newly paved road. I’m trying to take all these things in stride, and I never know what will be waiting for me just around the next bend. Though I know I’ll continue to encounter minor bumps during my time here, I also know that each new road brings new joys as well, and they’ll help me find my way.
One of the big events in the diocese this week was Synod, which is a yearly meeting of all the priests of the diocese. For the past few years, however, there hasn’t been enough money available to hold the convention, and therefore this year marked the first Synod in three years. Pastor Noah, the director of The Carpenter’s Kids, is also a parish priest at a church in Dodoma. He spent the week in Mvumi (about one hour outside Dodoma) at Synod, and we hoped at some point that he would have a chance to address the group about the program. As the schedule was very tight we were unsure whether this would be a possibility, but Noel and I nevertheless prepared a Power Point presentation with photos I had taken at villages and information about the program. On Wednesday afternoon, Pastor Noah called to tell us there was a chance we would be given a brief amount of time later that evening, and that he would like the whole staff to come to Synod to be present for this. So, after spending almost a full day in the office, Liz, Noel, Mmoti, John, Callum, Daudi, John Joseph (the CK driver), and I set out on the hour drive to Mvumi. After waiting around for about four hours for all the priests to assemble at their nightly meeting, we entered the convention hall and were seated in front of 600 people. This large group included all of the diocesan parish priests in addition to one other member from each parish, as well as the head staff of the diocese which included Bishop Mdimi. We were luckily given time to give a brief presentation, and therefore we were all required to introduce ourselves. Liz and I have become quite accustomed to giving our short intros in Swahili in the villages, but doing it in front of 600 people was intimidating to say the least! Callum read out his introduction which the guys in the office had helped him write earlier that afternoon. As always, however, the group was very appreciative – and somewhat surprised – at our use of the language, especially after Pastor Noah told them we’d only been here for a short time. After Pastor Noah’s brief summary of the program, Bishop Mdimi elaborated greatly upon the background and benefits of the program. He is one of the few bishops in Tanzania who accepts help from the Episcopal Church of the United States, and most other bishops refuse this connection due to the issues of homosexuality and the ordaining of women. Bishop Mdimi is a very knowledgeable and forward-thinking man, and it was wonderful to hear him speak so generously of both the United States and of The Carpenter’s Kids Program. After the presentation the staff finally headed home, arriving back in Dodoma about eleven p.m. We were exhausted and weary from the long day, but renewed in our pride for The Carpenter’s Kids.
I am finding one of the more challenging aspects of being here is the environment in which I work. I have come to realize from past work experience that I am definitely not an “office worker”, and I am much more suited for work “in the field”. Put me in a hospital or a retail store (both of which I have experienced) and I’m fine, but put me in an office, and I tend to get exasperated fairly quickly. The office also seems to grow infinitely warmer with each passing day, which doesn’t ease the situation in the slightest. I am finding my wonderful colleagues to b
e a blessing, as without them I’m not quite sure I’d be able to make it through the day! Part of the difficulty of this situation comes from the fact that I entered into this experience thinking it would give me a break between school and getting a job, and in essence what I have done is come to Africa and started a job! This is not to say that I’m not enjoying the work that I’m doing – because I most definitely am – but I will say that I look forward to our Saturdays in the villages, which are hands down my favorite part of the week. Just yesterday we visited the villages of Chiuftuka and Chibelela, both of which were quite a distance from Dodoma. It was a first-time distribution at Chifutuka, and it quickly became clear that Liz, Ainsley (a visitor from Australia), and I were the first white people these villagers had ever seen! While we are used to the attention that Wzungu receive in Dodoma and in other towns of Tanzania, I don’t think we were quite prepared for the spectacle we became in this village. The children were all very excited at our being there, and everyone – adults included – was constantly lining up to have their photos taken. It was p
ossibly the first time they had seen a camera as well, and seeing themselves on the digital screen was a source of endless entertainment. As always we were warmly welcomed, our imperfect (though improving!) Swahili was regarded with surprise and applaud, and John was even presented with the gift of a chicken – which then rode with us inside the Land Rover for the remainder of our journey. Overall it was quite an interesting day!The Ex-Pat community in Dodoma is quite large, and I am always somewhat surprised upon walking around town to see Wzungu whom I have never seen before. Part of this is because it seems as though the people here are constantly changing. There are always new people arriving, people leaving, and people visiting, so there is ample opportunity to meet new volunteers like myself. I have enjoyed spending time with everyone I’ve met so far, and the people in our compound are no exception. Our compound is made up of 8 apartments, two of which were empty until just this week, and the rest of which are lived in by Ex-Pats. Aside from Liz and I there is Leane, who lives two doors down from me and teaches at the CAMS school across the road. She is from New Zealand and is the mother of two college-aged boys (they will be visiting for a month or so in November, so she is very excited about that!), and she plans on being here long term, meaning 8 to 10 years. She has been a wonderful friend to both Liz and I, and it has become somewhat of a ritual to have dinner with her in the courtyard on Thursday nights. Another apartment is occupied by Catherine, who is also from New Zealand and teaches at the school. She too, has been very helpful, and always extends an offer for us to tag along when she’s heading to town. KuSum, who is from India, is another one of our neighbors. She is doing research on neonatal and maternal deaths, and she is usually very busy with her work. Her husband is currently in Vietnam on work business, and I think she is finding it hard to be away from him. She came and chatted with me the other night and began talking about how her husband keeps telling her she should leave her job here so they could be together. She said that as appealing as that option sounded, she could not just leave her work. She said, “Though you may want to, you can't run away from life. It will always haunt you to fail. You'll regret it for the rest of your life.” Her words really struck a chord with me, and I keep reminding myself of them. Even though sometimes I may find it difficult to be here, and there will be times that I’ll want to pack up and come home, I know that I would be disappointed in myself for doing so, and I’m not sure whether that is something I’d be able to forget. Another apartment is occupied by Corey, who works at the hospital in Mvumi. She only lives here on the weekends, and I think have only seen her once in the month and a half that I’ve been here! The other two apartments, which had been empty, are now occupied by two 21-year-old girls from Holland. They just arrived on Tuesday and will be here for five months. They are speech therapy students and will be working at the school for the deaf as the final part of their studies. The two of them joined Liz, Leane, and I for our weekly dinner, and they are both very sweet girls. It will be nice having a few more young people here to hang out with! Liz will be moving out of her apartment in about three weeks and into Miriam’s apartment at the lower compound. It will be strange not having her ten steps outside my door, but at least she’ll only be about a five minute walk away. I believe that Peter – a teacher from the U.S. returning for his second trip – will then move into Liz’s apartment. There’s no telling who will come and go around here, but it’s nice to be surrounded by such a wonderful group of people.
Some of my most enjoyable moments of the past week have been centered around a usually unenjoyable engagement for me – running. I ran cross country and track all through high school and have since attempted to continue this habit, but the truth is that I usually hate every minute of it. I perform this dauntless task for no other reason than without it I feel lazy, but my dedication to the sport ebbs and flows with great inconsistency. I’ve done a bit of a better job here, and for a time I was doing my running in the late afternoons. The increasing heat and my tiredness after work have provided two good excuses to talk myself out of going, however, and thus I regrettably dragged myself out of bed before work on a couple occasions last week to get it over and done with. While I had been running a loop consistent with our daily walks to the office – into town on the main road and returning home on the back roads, with maybe a few loops around the school thrown in – on one of these mornings I decided to head south of our compound and in the opposite direction of town. Less than five minutes after heading out, the paved road quickly gave way to the dusty and rock-strewn roads typical of Dodoma, and a clustering of mud brick houses lined the periphery. I continued on this path for a while towards one of the mountains of craggy rocks which seem to enclose the town, passing men, women, and children on their way to work and school. I usually receive a substantial number of odd looks – as people’s diets and lifestyles leave little need for exercise in Tanzania – and a variety of greetings to most of which I know the appropriate responses. At one point I decided it was a time to walk for a bit, and not long after I was joined by a little girl of seven or eight who had emerged from one of the houses along the path. Due to my small repertoire of Swahili and hers of English, we quickly exhausted the little information we could extract from each other, and thus were left to simply walk side by side. Monica – as I discovered was her name – took my hand, not seeming to mind that we’d met mere seconds before, and it was like this that she and I walked together, not saying a word. We came to a point and decided to turn around, and in passing back by her house she indicated that she wanted me to come with her. I was a little apprehensive about this, as I wasn’t sure whether we’d encounter her parents – who would surely wonder why their daughter had brought a strange Wzungu to their home – but nevertheless I went with her. I timidly set foot into the dirt floors and walls of her living room, and soon realized that no one else was home. I was able to gather from Monica that her parents were at work and she was left home alone, as she did not go to school. She encouraged me to sit in one of the upholstered chairs, and she disappeared behind one of the three curtained doorways of the small house. She came back with paper in hand, which she proudly handed over to me. The papers were letters from her pen pal, a girl named Zoe from Colorado, and she insisted that I read each one of them. It was clear from the dates that these letters had been written years ago, and I wondered whether this correspondence still continued or whether she had safely stowed these crumpled letters as one of her few possessions. It made me feel guilty about the child a friend and I had sponsored through World Vision in middle school. After receiving only one letter in many months we had decided that $22 per month was too much to spare from our babysitting allowances, and thus abandoned our African pen pal. After a few more minutes I indicated to Monica that I had to go to work, and while she was intently trying to communicate something to me in Swahili, I reluctantly had to say goodbye and leave her without understanding a word she said. I told her that maybe one day I would come visit her again, and I hope that a future running journey will enable me to do so. I was touched by the simplicity and the warmth we had shared in our short time together, and I couldn’t help but feel a little bounce in my step and smile on my face as I headed towards home.
After going to church this morning and then spending a few lazy hours poolside at the Dodoma Hotel, I decided yet again that I should probably go on a run. Despite the fact that it was the hottest time of the day, I knew that whenever a running urge strikes I have to snatch it up, else it disappears as quickly as it came. The extreme heat brought about the rebellion in me, however, and for once I decided to cast aside the spandex Under Armor pants that I had taken to wearing under my running shorts. It had been instilled in us that modesty is of utmost importance here, and shorts are seen to be inappropriate. It was my logic, however, that running was a different story, and if the Olympic photos on the front pages of the paper were any indication, then even Tanzanians knew that people exercise in shorts! So, I set out – barelegged and all – and headed out to search for a route which Callum had told me about. I seemed to receive no more or less unusual looks from passersby, so I convinced myself that the shorts were obviously not too terrible of a thing! I ran for a while before I found the turn-off Callum had described which apparently led to a large water hole. I began my trek down the small and very rural footpath, and was immediately in awe of the landscape around me. I imagine that my surroundings were very similar to what you would find in Arizona, though I have never been to this part of the United States. Everything had a slightly orange tint from all the dust, and the leafless foliage, unusual shaped trees, and craggy hills lent a very desert-like feel to the landscape. I continued along the path, my only company being goats and cows, who would begin trotting along at my approach, leaving a dusty wake for me to follow. At one point I climbed a small hill and saw the “water hole” below me. My vantage point afforded me a great view, and what I saw around me was a beautiful sight. Children and animals alike were seeking respite from the midday sun by swimming in the water, and a few older boys were lounging on the banks. I continued to follow the trail which swung in a wide arc around the water, and after exchanging a few greetings with the children swimming, headed back towards the road. When I was almost back into town I took the opportunity to stop and talk to a few women who had greeted me in English on my way past the first time. One of the women said she had lived in Pennsylvania while her husband was in school there, and we talked for a bit about what I was doing in Dodoma. I took this opportunity to ask (as she was a Tanzanian who spoke very good English) whether the shorts I was wearing were a bad thing. Her reply gave me much relief, as she explained that in normal life yes, shorts are bad, but that they are fine for exercising. I was grateful for her advice, as well as for the conversation, which provided a short break from my laborious running in the intense heat! I was reminded of cross country days in high school when we would gather to run in the almost unbearable heat of August in Georgia. This time, however, I was glad that stopping to walk cast only disappointment upon my own conscience, and there were no coaches there to frown at my lack of endurance. Though I arrived home exhausted and dripping with sweat, I realized that I actually had enjoyed my run. It has become clear that discovering things on foot and straying from my normal path is the best way to experience things. On both of these excursions I have been blessed – whether it be by the company of a sweet little girl or by having the beautiful landscape of Africa lain before me– and as Robert Frost wrote in his famous poem, “I took the [road] less traveled by, And that has made all the difference.”
This past month and a half has presented me with many new roads down which to travel. I’ve encountered road blocks and many a pot hole, but now and then I find one which has the smooth ride of a newly paved road. I’m trying to take all these things in stride, and I never know what will be waiting for me just around the next bend. Though I know I’ll continue to encounter minor bumps during my time here, I also know that each new road brings new joys as well, and they’ll help me find my way.
