Arusha, Thursday, January 26,2017

I thought without John and others here, I would sleep in late, but, of course, that isn’t how my life works. Still, I did not have to rush getting ready for any activity nor need to eat breakfast right away.  In fact, I don’t remember when I did eat breakfast, or lunch.  In fact the whole morning slipped by in mental fog, but I know I did some laundry, made a peanut butter sandwich, read, and took a nap.  Right now, I’m reading “This is the Story of a Perfect Marriage,” a collection of essays by Ann Patchett. I’m enjoying it very much, and so far my favorite essay is the one about trying out for the LAPD.

Oh, around 11:00, Ray came to drive me to the Kijenge Supermarket, a small store which often carries items I can’t find elsewhere.  I really didn’t need much, just some more dish detergent, matches, and coffee, but I wanted to explore in another store. Unfortunately there were bare spaces on the shelves and nothing very unusual to look at after all. As I was leaving, I made an impulse purchase of a bag of locally made potato chips, which I decided we could have with guacamole in the evening. I experienced my usual feeling of guilt as I paid 3500 Tsch. for them, but that is actually only $1.60. Furthermore, they proved to be much better—a bit thicker—and more flavorful than our usual American chips.

Around 3:30, Evans pulled in with the three travelers, who enthused about Uru Shimbwe and the views of Mount Kilimanjaro. John had also taken Ron and Evans on the hike to the nearby waterfall, which is a lovely place. Their host, Victor, had once again brought his “chef,” who proudly wore his uniform and made impressive meals. Those of you who were here with us last year will remember some of his fantastic presentations. I was very pleased that Ron and Colette stated that the Archbishop’s house and their experience there was far better than going to one of the advertised tourist hotels.

After unloading and relaxing—or napping—for a couple of hours, we decided that we would make our own dinner instead of ordering something from the restaurant kitchen.  I had four “Russian sausages” I had bought earlier in the week at Meat King and two packets of instant mashed potatoes, and Colette had a big head of broccoli she had bought at the market, so we combined our goods and had a hearty farm-style dinner. I don’t know what made the sausages Russian; they were like very tasty big, fat hotdogs. For dessert, we had bowls of nearly melted ice cream, which had been trying to survive in our refrigerator during the power outages. After some more debriefing of the Uru Shimbwe experience, we ended another excellent day.