Year 27, Day 107

The Family is all here!

Cue the Sesame Street song: "One of these things is not like the others, One of these things just doesn't belong." Its official - with the arrival of Nic's brother Joe, I'm the only brown-haired, brown-eyed child of the Wright-Barreth clan. There's one in every family. Its me, Nic, Joe and Momma Mary E versus Africa.

The flight to Africa doesn't leave until late this evening and so we kill some time exploring London's Camden Town Market. It absolutely blows my mind and reminds me of the markets in Thailand. I intend to come back here soon and throw down some major cash, provided I either:

a) marry rich
b) get the nerve up to recklessly max out my credit card
c) get an English big-kid job

At this rate I'm banking on option b.

Admittedly, it does make me somewhat nervous to be having "Courtney and Kristen Do Asia 2010" flashback-memories only hours before attempting to jump continents to Africa. I mean, between the Amazing Race style passport renewals, 2 missed departure flights, 3 nearly-missed domestic flights, and 1 missed international flight home due to ignorance of the 24-hour clock... it was not the smoothest of trips. But I've got a secret weapon this time. Momma Mary E is what we would call a Type A-Personality. She's in control and I'm happy to go along for the ride!

Can you tell which one of these things is genetically not the same???
Ya me neither.

Ear plugs - in. Eye mask - on. Sleeping bag - yes we brought that too - awesome!
I've become a seasoned flyer and its a peaceful 10 hour over-night flight from London, England to Dar Es Salaam, Tanzania. This is followed by general chaos and disorganization during our highly questionable visa application process where they take your passports away, take your fingerprints, and you pay $50 USA to get them back with a teeny-tiny stamp on them. This is my first introduction to how things roll in Africa. Basically like Asia. Basically in their own way and on their one time. African time. And always in a means that appears completely unorganized, and yet the job gets done. We then have a small lay-over and a 1 hour flight to Kilimanjaro, Tanzania.

Outside the airport we suddenly find ourselves stranded. Where is our ride? There was supposed to be someone from the orphanage here to pick our asses up. Did we mix up the days? Oh dear. No body wrote down the phone number. Or the lady's last name. Or the address of where we are supposed to stay. And our high-tech internet loving phones are useless as there is no such thing as convenient wireless internet in Africa. During this time it becomes clear that a new game of "One of these things just isn't the same. One of these things just doesn't belong" has begun. We are approached by everyone and anyone offering to give us a ride, or carry our bags for a tip. We are Mazunga's now. White people. And therefore we have money. People even yell "Muzunga" at vehicles we are in and constantly stare. Its entirely unnerving at first, and then after a while you just get used to it and stare back. After a solid well-that-was-silly-of-us-now-what? hour, our ride arrives!!! Rahma is the founder of Karim's Orphanage and is therefore our host for the next 10 days.

Cue the next chapter of life.