Part 12

Gebra is about 55 years old. He knows very much about his country and the animals that live there with him. He is very good at his job, even though he looks like he needs a break from us Americans. He fields questions on mating habits, annual rainfall and economic status, with a fierce proud ness. He has probably answered these questions many times, but never makes you feel like you are one-thousandth customer.

The others are still looking around in the store. I get bored and decide to walk back to camp. On my way an old women comes up behind me and in English asks me my name. My name is Kimberly, what’s yours? She says Mama Christina then starts talking a mile a minute. Her English is the best I’ve heard from an African. She says that her husband is a teacher about 30 miles from here. She doesn’t really say miles, she just points in the direction of the sun and motions that it is far away. She tells me that she has six children and that she would like me to come to her home to have some tea and goats milk. I would love to but I don’t think that I am allowed. I ask her to give me a minute to find my guide and ask permission. Gebra has started walking towards us and tells me that it’s probably better if I just stay with him. He actually kind of speaks directly to me and doesn’t even look at Mama Christina. I think that it is a status thing. He has a job and it is in the travel industry so he is much to important to speak with her. The realization hits me later that men and women don’t share the same conversations. In Tanzania the women only speak when they are spoken to. They make the dinner and leave the room while the men and young boys eat. Only after the men are finished are they allowed to eat and then they clean up. I will go into further discussions on this topic later. This is a subject in which I truly do not understand. It takes several talks with Gebra around the campfire to even comprehend it somewhat.

I tell Mama Christina that I would love to come but it doesn’t look like I am able. She promises to come to the campsite in the morning and bring her husband and children. I ask her to bring me some goat’s milk. She agrees.

When we get back to camp my luggage has arrived. I give hugs out and then take my bags into my tent. I sit in my hot tent feeling like it is Christmas. My bags and their contents are damp and have ants crawling around throughout. It seems that they have been sitting in the rain somewhere in between Ohio and here. Normally I would raise Cain about it but today, I don’t seem to mind. I simply sift through my shorts and I find my book, The Prophet by Kahlil Gibran. One of my fantasies about this trip is that I would be able to read this book around a campfire. It would not only allow me to share this wonderful piece of literature but also allow me to read aloud. I like to do this and I believe that I am good at it. My only practice thus far has been Dr. Seuss to my niece and nephew, but I am confident that the stories come alive as I read them. Confidence in this area is one of my strong suits. I hope I never ever lose it, either.

I get my triple fold pouch of toiletries and head towards the showers. I won’t even mind if there is no warm water. I feel great right now. I go into the concrete box and set up my mini spa. I have my pouch, my towel, my change of clothes and my comb on the windowsill. It’s not really big enough for all these things but there is no hook or knob or anything else in the stall. It’s so small that even sitting there everything will get a little wet. I turn on the water, not really warm but not ice cold. I put my face under first, then everything but my arm, which is holding up my stuff on the sill. I start picking through my pouch to find my shampoo I grab it and make a slight turn toward the water, with that motion everything that was piled becomes re-piled but now it is sitting under the shower mist on the dirty shower floor. I make a noise that has only once before come out of my innocent little girl mouth…”Assface motherfucker”, “God damn, can’t even take one shower and everything falls blah, blah, blah”. It seems that now that I have all my unnecessary material stuff I have become my old ungrateful self. I move quickly trying to pick everything up and get it back from where it fell. My bar of soap has dirt crunchies throughout it and the water is turning cold. After about five minutes of trying to beat the odds I give up & let everything but my clothes get wet. I don’t even use my razor. Who cares anyway, right?

After my shower it is time to eat dinner. This campsite offers no spectacular views and no animals are hanging out. We all eat in the peace and quiet of our own minds. After dinner Jim and Debra announce that tonight is their twelfth year anniversary today. We all talk about what a milestone it is and about how happy we are for them. I ask them if when we start the campfire may I give them a present. They say that it would be wonderful. I go to my tent to add a few layers of clothes and to get my book. When I return I show them the book and tell them that I will be reading a passage from it entitled “On marriage”. I start to read. This book is truly captivating so I know it wasn’t just me but before I know it even Solomon and John and sitting around the fire listening to the story. I am so taken back. At this one moment everything that I have known before becomes a blur and I am in the midst of my destiny. When I finish the chapter I see many eyes looking towards me with appreciation and understanding. Questions about the book and where I learned to read like that come from just about everyone. Debra says that that was one of the greatest gifts that she has received. I am happy again. I knew this trip was going to be a new beginning for me.