Up, UP, and Away.

                                                                 By Shayla
I awoke at 4:30am with a start in our dark cave room in Cappadocia Turkey, and fumbled to pull on 3 layers of pants, 2 shirts, a sweater, a down coat, a scarf, hat, gloves, and 2 pairs of socks. It would be accurate to describe me as a fuzzy Pillsbury dough boy. Outside in the air that sliced with chill through my excessive layers, our ride was waiting.

It was still quite dark, and the air moist and thick. The vehicle paused several times to let other well bundled people into its mouth, swallowing them up, and rolling away.

At the launch headquarters, they served us complimentary breakfast sweets and cups of hot apple tea, which I eagerly wrapped my numbed hands around. The four of us stood around a small table munching.

We were altogether way too giddy considering the hour, but understandable due to the upcoming event at hand. My excitement pulsed through me and I laughed to myself, and stole cookies from Trevor's plate mischievously. I simply could not get over what we were about to do. We were about to go up, up, and away, our wild adventures taking us high in the sky.

Back in the van, we could see clusters of half blown colorful hot air balloons the size of houses lying like beached whales, tethered to their baskets. More of them loomed into view from behind the protruding fairy chimneys, like an odd dream. Each balloon was unique in vibrant color and pattern, but I immediately spotted my favorite out of the pack. Minutes later, after winding through the rock faces, the van came to a stop right in front of that very balloon out of them all.

The company men ran around like busy ants, finished blowing up our big beauty, and assisted the 4 of us and several others into the giant basket. We were quite a mixed basket of folks ;) (get it): Two young Chinese guys, an older British woman, an Asian woman, and a pair of European girls, plus 4 blond Americans, all of us united by the experience of going up in a hot air balloon in Cappadocia, Turkey. Everything was happening so fast, and my whole being was thrumming with excitement. By now the day was just dawning, the first light seeping into the world above the mesa in the distance.I watched in wonder as the first few balloons drifted up into the sky, so beautifully majestic. Our captain fiddled with the nozzles, sending off short blasts of gushing flame above us.  Soon, we too began to ascend, leaving behind the yellow-dressed company men, the dewy grass, and the fantasy-like chimneys, each one in sequence. I've experienced lift off dozens of times, especially in the last few months, with planes being our main source of transport. It gives you that surge in the stomach, the roar of the enormous propellers, the awareness of speed and motion, then a sudden rise when your brain tells you, "you're flying!" In a plane it is immediately obvious in that last split second when your stomach takes its leap, that you've left the ground. None of that is true about today's lift off. As far as I'm concerned we are a feather. Our lift off makes no announcement and gives no cues. We rise slowly, the ground growing farther and farther away still. We are weightless, rising and falling gently in our oversized wicker basket. We have no control over our direction and there is so much beauty in that. This is a journey in a very pure sense, who knows where it will lead us? The chimney strewn landscape grew smaller, I watched it happen as if in slow motion. When I finally looked up, prying my eyes off the ground far below, we had reached a significant height, and I realized just how many balloons filled the valley. In clusters more balloons stood at the ready to be set free. More and more of the elegant beasts rose up, filling the grey sky with color, bringing the vast expanse to life. Some lit up with a haunting flicker and glow before their flame disappeared in an instant like a candle being snuffed out. Something about that glow was so completely magical and filled me with awe. Suddenly we descended and loomed over a rock formation, that seemed so close I could practically touch it. Beyond the chimneys beneath us was a small valley and in it, houses were built into the rock face, many of them crumbled and abandoned in disrepair. But then we rose again, higher until the once expansive mesas had become tabletops fit for mice. Chimneys formed long curving ridges like the skeletal spine of an enormous creature. Fields of green, varying in shade, created a patchwork quilt that blanketed the whole valley. Even the balloons, which had dispersed across the sky, seemed miniscule. At one point our captain mentioned casually that we had reached about 1000ft. Wow. The temperature had most definitely dropped and to my delight, tiny snowflakes fell daintily into flecks on my mittens. I was in utter awe...and I wondered: how come such broken, messed up people--individually and collectively--are so privileged to live in such a beautiful world? We don't deserve any of this, but yet God gives us this wonder-inspiring place to inhabit. I believe he gave it to us because when we take the time to simply stop and soak up its brilliance, we are a smidge closer to seeing HIS awe-inspiring beauty. And boy did we get to see it and revel in it. The thing about a hot air balloon ride is that it's a tender experience. What I mean is that it would not be quite so magical if we were the only ones in the air because we wouldn't get to witness the spectacle of over 70 other balloons rising and drifting throughout the sky. Similarly, in the human experience, life is not so special, or meaningful if we were to do life alone. This is why I am so grateful to be surrounded by such caring friends and family.
We too rise and fall, but there is always the reassurance that they are there. And they sure do make life way more beautiful.
We too rise and fall, but there is always the reassurance that they are there. And they sure do make life way more beautiful.

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Venturing into the Masai Mara

                                                                  By  Shayla

Leaving Achungo early in the morning, we drove all morning through a lush valley inhabited by rows of sugar cane stalks that formed pools of life, all reflecting a warm glow of golden light. Our tiny taxi came to a stop and we made the switch to our Safari adventure van. For the next few hours we jostled on a very bumpy road through brown land marked by low shrubs and bushes. What we were seeing out our rattling windows was the famed Masai Mara. Occasionally masai men or women could be seen far out in the bush in their colorful red or yellow shuka herding their sheep, goats, or cow herds. Several times we had to wait for an entire herd to cross the road before we could continue on our way. We are most definitely entering an entirely new culture.

Finally the van pulled up in front of a large building that seemed very out of place in this wide open bush. Two masai men in shukas greeted us and slung our bulging REI backpacks on…upside down. Seeing them in their traditional clothes with our modern gear made for such a laughable clash of cultures. Once we had dumped our things in our spacious rooms, we were told that the two masai men, Danson and Joel, would be our security guards. When night falls we had to flicker our porch light to summon them so that we could be escorted to the dinning hall because of the danger of wild animals who sometimes wander in. That’s how close to the park we are.

Once we had settled, we got back on our safari van for a short drive to a nearby masai village. Upon arrival, the village chief’s son, a tall man wrapped in red fabric and laden with colorful beads, introduced himself warmly as Manjou, though he explained his Christian name is Samson. As our guide he told us everyone who lives in a village is related and because of this, no one can marry  within. Matter-of-factly he said, “Most masai are polygamous, I have 2 wives.” Honestly, I was taken aback. As much as I have learned about those who practice polygamy, I’d never met someone who did. Their ways are so very different from mine and the traditions and beliefs of people I’ve been surrounded by my whole life. I can’t help but feel weird about the prospect of polygamy especially when Manjou turned to Trevor and asked, “How many wives would you like?” But I know it is the reality and expectation, even a sign of wealth and success for many. (More on that later.)

He and several other Masai men walked us over several yards where an entire group of masai men in fiery orange and red shukas stood gathered.  As we neared I could hear a deep guttural humming that I realized was coming from the men.  The sound was so inhuman and otherworldly and I stood paralyzed in a feeling I have never felt before, something between fear, and curiosity. The ensemble of young men lined up and began to dance, skipping slightly with hands behind their backs. Not two minutes after we’d arrived to the impromptu tribal ritual, our boys, Trevor and Dad, were draped in shukas and reeled in to take part in the dance. The strange resonating guttural thrumming continued as they paraded single file to the beat. Then one by one each masai tribesman stepped forward to take a high vertical leap. We were told that the one who jumps highest wins the most “choice” wife. Imagine that. I laugh when I picture high school guys back in California practicing their vertical jump to win over girls.   Their dance was over and a man took both mom and I by the arm and led us through the village entrance , a break in a tall fence made of wooden poles. One of the masai wore a tall bushy hat made of the mane of a lion that one of the young masai warriors killed. According to Manjou, once a boy reaches a certain age he and several others along with a village elder will go survive in the bush for 1-5 years as a right of passage. The goal is to kill a lion and the young man who spears it first gets the right to the mane. Masai are a people who do not participate in agriculture. They depend solely on their livestock for meat and wild vegetation. While the warriors are living in the bush, they return to their village every few days to slaughter a cow to eat the meat and drink cow blood. They return in the dead of night because they mustn’t be seen by their family until the right of passage is over. Once completed, the masai warriors will get to marry. I was in awe of being in a true masai village and being hosted by actual masai. I looked around at the circle of cow dung huts and was amazed by the radical difference in our lifestyles.

Manjou led us into one of the huts and showed us the the different parts. There was a major pocket of space near the center where cooking is done over a small fire, with several tiny “rooms” that branched off: one for the children, another for a man and one of his wives and another for baby animals. Their beds were nothing more than thin mats and rags laid on the cool dirt floor and filled the entirety of the room. Being invited into that family hut which was about the size of my bedroom was incredibly humbling. Seeing such humble living conditions was nothing new for me, we’d passed hundreds of huts much like this one, but being inside one put things more  into perspective. I was able to close my eyes and imagine this was my life and my home. Walking around their village, I was so taken with the simplicity, functionality, and vibrancy. This culture is so pure, raw, and utterly beautiful. I don’t pity them because I could tell they weren't looking for pity. These people are so obviously strong and capable. It made me even more taken with a simple life. Why is it that Americans have such a more, more, more mentality? Why aren’t the bare necessities enough?

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A Hand to Hold

By Christy Tonge

One of our favorite parts of each day was the walk to Achungo and back. Early on, when we were still only slowly making friends at Achungo, children who lived along the roadside reached out to us and befriended us with exuberance. Each day on the path as we approached, we would see a throng of little friends running out to wave and greet us. 
  The sound I will miss most when we leave Kenya --besides the joyful singing-- is the happy shout we heard without fail on our daily walk:
“Mzungu, Mzungu, How awwwww youuuuu?”

Some would holler and wave from a distance, their big grins and their enthusiasm lighting up our spirits. Others became our precious companions who would just walk up to us without a word, take our hand, and walk the path with us in sweet silence like a longtime trusted friend.  

Each time I saw these kids, it was such a tug on my heart. For one, because they were so beautiful and precious. And there was an extra tug when I saw older kids, because I realized that it was a school day, and they weren’t in school.

 

Unlike in America where every child can attend school for free, here, only those families who can afford the uniform and materials fee can send their child to school. The families of these children whom we would see on our walk were likely too poor to send them to school.

 

 
Many times, we would see kids during the school day peering through the fence of Achungo, longing to come in and take part.

In the US, it’s probably the #1 complaint most kids have – that “uggh…they have to go to school.” It sure put things in perspective to see what a dream come true it would be for children here to be able to go to school.

It made me appreciate Achungo that much more.
Since Achungo offers school for free (with uniforms and materials and meals), over 300 orphans and children whose family can’t afford school are getting an education, in an environment of love and hope. How I want to give the same gift to each of these children outside the gate as well.

I will be returning home a passionate advocate for how one person can so significantly change the life of a child. Sponsoring a child’s school fees, for what to us is a minimal amount, will transform the future entirely for that child, and for their family, and for their  children, and so on.

I will cherish those walks along the dirt path, hand in hand with our precious little companions--forever.

 

 

 

 

When I look back on my life and think of the most beautiful moments I have been privileged to have…those walks hand in hand with our treasured little friends will be among the most vivid.

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