"Africa: Unexpected "
Two days after finishing our trek of Kilimanjaro, Meredith and I left Arusha for a six-day camping safari to Lake Manyara, Serengeti National Park, and Ngorongoro Crater. Thomas our guide and Moses our cook accompanied us on this stage of our African adventure. The trip began with a two-hour Land Rover ride to Lake Manyara - most of which ran over a rough, dusty, wash-boarded dirt road in the African outback. Still, after the brutal descent of Kili, I was happy to be siting, even if the ride was so rough it felt as if my spleen was bound to rupture.
Lake Manyara National Park is just outside of the town of Mto-wa-Mbu, which is loosely translated as "River of Giant Child Stealing Mosquitoes" - or something like that. Regardless of the translation, you get the idea.
As far as safaris go, Manyara left a lot to be desired. Sure we saw blue monkeys, vevet monkeys, baboons, elephants, giraffe, buffalo, antelope, impala, dik diks, zebra, and warthog, but it felt a bit contrived, like a tour of the game park in San Diego. Only not as pretty.
But the town, the town was great.
Mto-wa-Mbu is a small community nestled near the river and Lake Manyara. It's an oasis of lush banana trees (and giant mosquitoes) in an otherwise barren and dry basin. We stayed at the lovely Holiday Fig Resort - which I highly recommend. Sure we only pitched a tent in their lawn, but they fed us well, and the rustic, bungalow style of the place was as near an authentic African experience as one could hope for.
We arrived at the resort (it's called a resort because they have hot water and an empty swimming pool) around noon, and Meredith and I decided to sit in the shade of their garden to rest our legs, still aching from six days on Kili.
While I was sitting there on this otherwise quiet Sunday afternoon, I heard in the distance what I swore was singing. At first I wrote it off as a distant radio or my imagination, but after several minutes, I was convinced it was, in fact, singing.
I picked up my camera and took off down the dirt road to find from where this music originated. As I walked through town, the singing grew louder. Its source was a quaint little church, the First Evangelical Lutheran Church of Mto-wa-Mbu.
The church was a small one-room building, with open windows, high wood beam ceilings and lit only with sunlight. Its walls were painted in soft yellow and lime green. In the corner of the church, the 30-person Kantate Church Choir was practicing - singing a variety of hymns in the native Swahili.
I was the only visitor in the church at the time, and the choir director, Peter, a young man who looked a bit like a youthful Robert Townsend, smiled and waved me in. I sat down in the front of the church, in the cool afternoon air, and just listened as their voices filled the room while birds flew amongst the rafters. Roosters crowed outside.
I have no words to describe the experience - their music was that beautiful.
My spirit soared.
The birds fluttered above my head and whistled with the choir. And they sang. On and on. I smiled. I smiled deeply. So deeply it squeezed tears from my dry eyes and drier soul.
Being there was as close to a religious experience as I have come in a long time.
Music is the language of the spirit. And the music they made saved mine.
It is astounding how much joy, how much beauty can come from a place rife with poverty and famous only for its mosquitoes. If you're lucky enough to find yourself there, and just sit quietly and listen for it, you might hear it too.
