Matt Gerber: Letters & Speeches
Click on an entry below:
- Farewell Letter (USA, May 2007)
- World Refugee Day (Uganda, June 2006)
- United Nations (Kenya, June 2006)
- Coffee Adventures (Ethiopia, June 2006)
- A note of thanks (Ethiopia, June 2006)
- Migraine, Mud & Men with Guns (Ethiopia, June 2006)
Matt wishes to thank Angie Bachara and Ginger Duncan for their assistance in proofing many of the letters which were sent from foreign locations.
Farewell Letter
Thursday, May 31, 2007
The following email is the final email sent by Matt Gerber, as outgoing CEO of TeamWorks International. It is intended for staff, community partners, and various other supporters.
Dear friends,
A federal penitentiary for women seems like an unlikely place to spend my final day as CEO of TeamWorks. But there I sat at Coffee Creek Correctional Facility in Wilsonville, Oregon, watching a group of inmates graduate from an optometry vocational training program. Last fall I was invited to facilitate a life goals/vision workshop with these women and share about my international experiences. I was touched to hear each graduate, clad in a traditional cap and gown, deliver her own speech about the importance of the program and the future. I listened to their words of anticipation about what the future holds and realized that I too was about to close a chapter of my life and venture out.
A look back
I reflect on my time in TeamWorks with great warmth and extraordinary fondness. I remember all of the participants on our many trips and the amazing fruit that came from many of those experiences: Ann's return to
Looking ahead for TeamWorks
As many of you know, the Board of Directors made the decision to focus the mission of TeamWorks on student sponsorship beginning first with
The foundational ethic of TeamWorks philosophy has been the empowerment of our staff and community leaders. Taking place in concert with the emphasis on student sponsorship, a number of staff will be continuing on their personal journeys to follow their passions thanks to the help of TeamWorks. Ryan Johnson's Completing the Circle program will continue under its own auspices as it raises awareness of the stories behind consumer products. Also, the model of guiding communities through project design and implementation has also grown into another independent organization called Mirrabooka Global. I am very excited for all of the people worldwide who are apart of these programs and wish them great success in their endeavors.
Looking ahead for Matt
I am moving on in pursuit of my own dreams as well. For the immediate future I will be focusing on financial stability to allow me to apply to, eventually enter and complete medical school. I am currently interviewing for jobs in and near
I would like to take this moment to thank a few people outside of the staff who have made my tenure as chief executive of TeamWorks possible. There are too many to name here, but a few I would like to especially mention are: Kenn and Janita Caldwell, Dave and Melva Brandt, Al and Nancy Jubitz, Ray Jubitz and the Jubitz Family Foundation, Logan Grizzel, Sarah Radley, Mike and Renee Loy, Sue Donovan, Jon and Tracy Schroth, Caroline Helou and the Portland staff of Ameriprise Financial Services. For the support of these individuals TeamWorks, and I personally, are eternally thankful.
Closing: Graduation Time
As I sat in the audience watching those women celebrate their milestones, I realized at that moment that I too was about to graduate--from TeamWorks. Four years after starting this organization I am moving on. Similar to my graduations from high school and university, I take with me a treasure trove of relationships and learning that will inform the next chapter of my life and all future endeavors. My life will now be permanently colored by the richness of my time with TeamWorks and I count myself unbelievably fortunate to have shared this experience with all of you.
In service and friendship,
Matt Gerber
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World Refugee Day
Tuesday, June 20, 2006
I dont have much time to write but it is important to me to make this posting, as brief as it is. Today is World Refugee Day. The topic of refugees and displaced people is perhaps one of the topics that I am most passionate about. Today I attended a special event on this topic held at the United Nations High Commission on Refugees, here in Uganda. I hope each of you will take a just a moment to check out this link:
World Refugee Day
Thank you.
United Nations Office in Kenya
Wednesday, June 14, 2006
"If the future is to remain open and free, we need people who can tolerate the unknown, who will not need the support of completely worked-out systems or traditional blueprints from the past."~Margaret Mead
It is mid-morning as I catch a matatu (a public van) from Nairobi out of town, driving along a curvy road that leads through densely forested hills. After twenty minutes we suddenly come upon a junction of the road that is commercially developed, with people everywhere, and I hear the honking and commotion of daily life. There are a number of other matatus and buses around that have people cramming in or hopping out. I exit mine and begin walking up a well-paved road. At main gate my name is on the VIP list and I begin to make my way through a series of security checkpoints. When I emerge on the other side of the fences and guard stations, I step into the sunshine and I have entered a new world.
I draw in a deep breath of excitement as I take in my surroundings: vast rolling hills of meticulously cared for lawns, a few large trees scattered throughout, and the asphalt road lined with tall flagpoles baring the banners of each country represented by the United Nations. I am here at the United Nations Office of Nairobi (UNON), one of the largest UN complexes in the world, ranking third after New York and Geneva. As I crest the hill I see the driveway makes a broad loop in front of the main building on the campus, a large open-air structure housing a grand foyer, library and dining hall. It is quiet here, peaceful. Everything is green and the facility seems like an oasis of serenity in comparison to the places and issues that occupy the time of most of the people who work here.
I have been invited to the UN today by Sarah Keino, a Kenyan working for the United Nations Development Program (UNDP). Guided by publicly posted maps, I make my way through beautifully manicured courtyards past waterfalls and Koi ponds. In contrast to the hustle of the main street, the people here do not seem to be in any rush, small groups of individuals going to or returning from meetings pass unhurried beneath large flowering trees. The variety of hues in skin color, styles of dress and languages spoken are all externalities emphasizing the diversity of the people on our planet. I marvel at the individuals who not only get to tackle major global issues daily, but undertake this work alongside peers from every corner of the world. I find Sarah's office and she introduces me to her coworkers before we head to the cafe in her building for a cup of tea and a pastry.
A significant part of my role in East Africa is not starting projects, but also gaining a greater sense of what kind of humanitarian work is being done here and who the main collaborators are in that work. Sarah explains how her agency, UNDP, in very close work with other UN agencies and nongovernmental organizations (NGOs, like TeamWorks Intl), address many of the infrastructure needs of developing countries. Below I have listed of few of the UN agencies, along with links so you can learn more about what their work encompasses:
UNEP: United National Environmental Program
UNESCO: United Nations Educational, Scientific and Cultural Organization
WHO: World Health Organization
WFP: World Food Program
UNAIDS: United Nations AIDS Organization
UNHCR: United Nations High Commission on Refugees
UNIDO: United Nations Industrial Development Organization
UNICEF: United Nations Childrens Fund
Like any large and high profile organization, the United Nations receives a great deal of criticism. Currently there are tensions between the White House and the leadership of the UN regarding reforms that the USA says are needed. I am not going to comment on that current debate, but rather I want to emphasize the importance of the UN as a unified governing body that has the capacity to act with altruism and neutrality. The UN serves many important roles in the global community, one of which is giving a voice to every country represented. Smaller countries like Haiti and Togo can address the General Assembly right along side larger nations, such as India or China. Formed after World War II, the UN proposed to be a unifying force that can overcome a world fractured by conflict.
The United Nations is not trying to strip individual countries of their rights or sovereignty. All an individual needs to do is read the UN charter to see that their mandate is the protection of the rights of all people, regardless of age, gender, nationality, religion, etc. As far as history is concerned, the UN is a very young institution that is still growing and discovering its potential. As the quote at the beginning of this entry suggests, many of the world issues facing the UN today, and further complicated by globalization, have never been tackled by a single organization before. We must be patient and not give up on the importance of an institution that can and does facilitate mutual accountability in between nations.
Ethiopian Coffee Adventures
Thursday, June 8, 2006
Yirgalem, Sidamo, Ethiopia
Facts:
Coffee accounts for roughly 70% of Ethiopia's annual foreign revenue. Of Ethiopia's annual crop of 4 million bags more than 90% is grown on subsistence farms and smallholdings, and about 40% of coffee grown stays within the country (they really love it).
One of my missions in Ethiopia is to gain a better understanding how coffee production impacts community development. The goal is to use this information back in the United States to connect consumers with a greater awareness of the people and places that make their coffee possible. The fact is that coffee is one of the most highly traded commodities in the world, second only to oil. Consumers should understand that buying a Fair Trade coffee, for example, instead of a one that is not has a direct and positive impact on the lives of the farmers. This is because Fair Trade certification as well as many types of farmer cooperatives are ways that farmers can more than double the price they are paid per pound for coffee.
It is believed that coffee actually originated in Ethiopia. Sometime between a 3rd and 10th centuries (depending on which version of the legend you hear), a young goat herder saw his animals got excited after eating a certain type of berries and leaves. He tried it himself with the same results and headed to a monastery to tell them what he found. The monks were skeptical at first and threw the berries into the fire. Intrigued by the rich smell of the roasted fruit, the too tried them and discovered it made them more attentive for evening prayers. Coffee consumption, including in the hot drink form, spread across Ethiopia where it remained a secret until the 16th century when it was exported to Arabia and the India spice route. The region where coffee was first discovered is called Kaffa, the root from which the word coffee and caf� is derived. (This historical overview was paraphrased from the Bradt Ethiopia Travel Guide, Ed. 4, by Philip Briggs; page 541. This is a phenomenal book if you ever plan on traveling to Ethiopia or just want to learn more about the country and its people.)
There are now many coffee regions in Ethiopia, of which Kaffa is still a principle location for growing. Also in the south of the country, the Sidamo region exists as another prime location for the production of coffee. I came here by bus, to the town of Yirgalem in the heart of Sidamo, to gain a greater understanding of coffee and the communities that produce it. The journey from Addis Ababa, through the city of Awassa, to Yirgalem, took about nine hours in total. I met a family on the bus and they have invited me to have dinner with them and stay at their home tonight.
As we pull into town the first thing we do is sit down for a cup of coffee. It is strong coffee and served with splash of milk in tiny cups and often with lots of sugar. Even in the smallest communities there is a significant cafe culture, with every pigeon-hole restaurant featuring at least a table or two where people can sit outside and enjoy their hot beverage (sometime tea, but mostly coffee). The town of Yirgalem is on a hill has one paved road that runs the length of the ridge with the small homes and dusty streets sloping gently away. All around Yirgalem are expansive plantations of coffee and bananas and other fruit. It is green and lush and an extremely scenic area.
I take a tour of some plantations but everyone keeps telling me that the best time to come is between September and November when the coffee is ripe and being harvested. That said, there is still plenty to see. I walk from farm to farm, often taking narrow dirt paths leading through jungle until I emerge at the next thatch hut where a coffee grower lives with his family. There is an assortment of cows and chickens around each home and I seem to amass a growing throng of children as I made my way by foot. They are following me with rapt fascination as to why I am taking pictures of the coffee plants they have been surrounded by their entire lives. They giggle and point at the tall white guy and use the word faranji, which means foreigner in Amharic. I guess they don't really get many visitors to these parts--a fact that I actually enjoy.
The people here are wonderfully hospitable and quite curious about the work I do. I have shared with a few people about community development and I am surprised to discover there is really not much in the way of civil society here (meaning groups of people who are not formed for the purpose of governing or business). There is hospital that was financed by the king of Norway a few decades ago, but there is a collective concern in the community around the issue of AIDS and the children who are being orphaned. This morning I conducted a leadership training at the request of local school teachers on the topic of how residents can form their own associations to address the needs of their community. With a number of educated and caring people here they seem primed and ready to tackle major issues facing Yirgalem, a community of about 70,000 residents. The best part is that these people will have complete ownership of this work, its priorities, and the long-term goals. br>
These people do not need money to help their communities, what they need is ideas. I need to be connected to other groups in Ethiopia and other parts of the world that are achieving similar goals. Giving people the tools for this connectivity (I found one internet-connected computer in Yirgalem) and a basic idea for organizing themselves is the next step after identifying the needs to be addressed, which these people have done in the areas of healthcare and education. I am eager to learn more about this community and watch how the people of Yirgalem form their own associations to work along side local government and the coffee cooperatives as advocates for the people living here.
Stay tuned--you are going to hear more about TeamWorks involvement with Yirgalem and this coffee region in the future.
GAIN awareness of the coffee cooperatives by visiting this website.
GIVE of your financial resources by buying Fair Trade and organic coffee.
GO on a trip and experience your own adventure in service. Download an application.
A note of thanks
Tuesday, June 06, 2006
Although my trip is far from over, I do want to take a minute to express my appreciation to a few people whose generous contributions specifically made this trip possible:
Al Jubitz
Kenn & Janita Caldwell
Sarah Radley
Michael & Andrea Kuchler
Bruce & Kathrine Litchfield
I also want to thank my manager Ray Murray and district manager Patti LoPriest who gave me this month off from work.
If you are interested in making a donation to this trip, other trips, or to any number of TeamWorks projects, you can donate online by clicking here or go to the website to learn more.
Migraine, Mud & Men with Guns
Monday, June 5, 2006
In high school English class Mrs. Allen taught us there are three mains types of conflict: man vs. man, man vs. nature, and man vs. self. As I lay here--dehydrated and alone--curled up under a bush to escape the midday African heat, I realize my day has already exhibited each of these tensions in startling quantities...
Chapter One: Migraine
Oh, the experience of this sweet life.
- Dante
People occasionally ask me what a migraine feels like. They inquire, I think, out of curiosity at how a headache could be so bad that someone must go to the emergency room. I tell them that, for me, it feels like an evil gnome is prying his way out of my skull with a searing hot screwdriver. Signs of this imminently approaching doom include slurred words, light sensitivity, and impaired motor functions or numbness. (Given these symptoms it is not surprising that migraines are remarkably similar to strokes, neurochemically speaking.)
As you may guess, there is never a convenient time to get a migraine. This is particularly true during pre-dawn hours in African savanna when you slip out of your tent to urinate. It is at this moment I have two realizations--though I am not sure which is more concerning: first, that I am getting a migraine, and second, that I am standing in the exact location where we saw a 12-foot crocodile resting the evening before. I quickly return to my tent to take some of the migraine medication I have brought with me, but to no avail. The battle between my migraine and I begins.
As our groups takes down camp a few hours later the pre-symptoms are persisting but the headache has not come and I am hopeful it will not. Our expedition is making its way deeper into the heart of the Afar (pronounced AH-far) region today and there is no time for breakfast. Note to self: A cup of instant Nescafe with migraine medication on an empty stomach is not such a good idea. Although vomiting is a typical companion of my migraines, I have no doubt the pure coffee sped things up. (So much for faking my way through the headache so my travel companions would not know.)
The first time I feel the need to throw-up I have our driver, Kalem, pull over. After that however, I simply hang my head out the window when needed. It is not the best way to see the beauty of Africa, I can tell you. The headache worsens as the sun rises above the plains and we bounce through dry pot-holes and skirt around boulders in old riverbeds. Despite the nausea, I have decided to get the most out of this adventure as much I as possibly can. Basically living in denial, I try to simply convince myself that I do not have a headache; it didn't work.
I think how the Apostle Paul referred to a thorn in his side and how Superman had that issue with kryptonite. Being confronted with our own weaknesses and humanity can be a challenge indeed, and truthfully, I have never coped well with it. Perhaps it was my own frailty that I was rebelling against more than the headache itself. Migraines mean that I am not in complete control of my life and what happens; it means that I that I must reply on others--sometimes for my very well being and safety. Here, in the African savanna, I am particularly appreciative of good travel companions.
Today, however, migraines are the least of the dangers we will encounter.
Chapter Two: Mud
It is only in adventure that some people succeed in knowing themselves--in finding themselves.
- Andre Gide
As much as I have tried to disguise the condition of my migraine, it seems my travel companions have caught on. We take a break at Filoha, which literally means hot water in the Afar language. True to its name, these hot springs bubble forth in deep, clear azure pools ringed by lazy palm trees that filter out all of the sunlight. The feeling of the warm water on my skin provides an odd sort of relief considering how hot the air is, but it is quite soothing. From this tropical oasis we begin walking the two kilometers across the savanna to the tiny native village nearby where Kalem and our Land Cruiser await us.
From another oasis of palm trees nearby I hear the low bellow of camels. There are hundreds of camels are milling around under the shade of the tree and drinking spring water. My friend Bernard, a middle-aged French naval officer stationed in Djibouti, explains how these camel trains are often used by the Afar people to smuggle weapons, alcohol and other contraband from Ethiopia into neighboring countries like Somalia. Hence, part of the reason that Afar people are so well armed. (For more information on the arms trade, see the movie Lord of War. To learn where Djibouti is, click here.)
We continue walking but even from a distance we see something is wrong with our Land Cruiser. The severity of the issue does not become clear until we approach and it looks like the earth is swallowing our vehicle starting with the front. The tar-like mud hides the front tires and is up past the running boards in the back. I now know how Atreyu felt in the Neverending Story when his faithful horse Artex was sinking in the Swamps of Sadness. With every attempt to get the vehicle unstuck, Kalem, only succeeds in embedding the wheels deeper into the mire. We discover only later that the entire savanna is a veritable minefield of treacherous mud bogs hidden by a thin layer of grass.
Bernard glances down at his high-tech watch with temperature and altitude gauges. It is already 114 degrees Fahrenheit and we have not even reached the middle of the day. He removes his watch to assist some of the local tribesmen who are now trying to dig the tires out. I feel queasy and rush over to some tall grass nearby to throw-up again; not a good sign. With the combination of vomiting for so many hours and dry African heat my body is severely dehydrated. Although we packed plenty of water and I have been drinking it constantly, I can't keep anything down.
I collapse near the only bush I can find, a sad looking shrub exposed to the harsh elements and whose thin, leafless branches provide almost no shade. In the small area of less-sun below the bush, there is an ant mound and a pile of goat manure. I try to position myself between the two so that I can still see the unfolding drama with the Land Cruiser. Breathing slowly I tell myself I will be fine and make the decision to not vomit anymore. Just as I give thought to also lending a hand to the process of digging out the wheels, I feel the bile rising again in my throat and I must return to the tall grass.
My father tells the story of being stranded in Death Valley during the course of a military exercise gone awry. He explains with near delight how he realized he would never be able to drink enough water to keep adequately hydrated and decided to administer his own intravenous saline drip (I should mention that my father is a medic). With a good book and continuous IV-fluids he waited under the shade of a tarp until his unit arrived. Somehow as I recall this, his situation seems so much more blissful that my current experience. If I had saline here I would be hooked up and already looking forward to writing to my father who would be quite proud of me. Another time, perhaps.
With a towel over my head to escape the unrelenting sunlight I pass in and out of coherence, unaware of how much time has gone by. I hear the tires of the Land Cruiser squealing in the mud not far away and I can smell burnt rubber. The situation seems bleak. Having been stripped of all resources I take for granted in the United States (like, for example, a cell phone to call for help), and even having my own health failing me this moment, I turn to that which even the harshest conditions cannot take from me: prayer. The Orthodox Christians of this land and elsewhere believe that you can petition the Mother of Christ, as you do her son, to be an intercessor in times of need. Through my great physical exhaustion I continue to pray and lose consciousness.
My eyes flutter open. I hear tribal voices singing in the background and see a face looking at me tenderly. Her features are gentle, her skin is white, hair is blonde, and her eyes are a liquid sapphire blue. From the African plains to the dwelling place of angelic hosts, clearly, I am dead.
Chapter Three: Men with Guns
Fear makes strangers out of people who should be friends.
Shirley MaClain
The delirium of heat exhaustion and dehydration subsides as I begin to come to and take stock of my surroundings, reassured to discover I am still among the living. I awake on a small mat in the shade in front of a hut in the village. In place of my shirt, a moistened towel rests on top of me, cooling my body as the water evaporates. I am suddenly startled. Above me, looking down, an Afar warrior stands examining me curiously, stoic and contemplating. I recognize his attire from what I have seen in photos: a single piece of white cloth draping over on shoulder and around his waist. In one hand a thin stick and with the other hand he loosely grasps the barrel of an AK-47 balanced nonchalantly on one shoulder. He moves away quietly out of view behind the hut.
At that moment an African woman appears at the door of the hut and seems pleased that I am awake. A plate of banana bread with hand-crushed peanut butter and a glass of water are waiting next to my head on the ground. The best I can manage in local language, I ask the woman her name and try to tell her mine. I cannot pronounce her name but suggest that I call her Mama as she has taken care of me during my headache. She gives a kind smile and goes back into the hut to make me some sweetened hot tea. I drink numerous glasses of water and feel the salt from the peanut butter and sugar from the tea replenishing my electrolytes.
Through the fogginess of my mind the recollections begin to come into focus. Hot springs. Land Cruiser. Mud. Under the bush. More vomiting. This woman took me to the village. I survey my body to see if I am all intact. My feet are sore and I see that they have been bleeding. I now remember needing to urinate and stumbling barefoot across the jagged volcanic stones between the huts. I am glad I have a first-aid kit in the Land Cruiser.
In stark contrast to the rustic hovels in this area, there are three modern camping tents not far from where I am laying. It is out of one of these tents that a young woman appears, medium height and a slender athletic build. She is white, with sandy blond hair and blue eyes behind petit glasses. Coming over, she introduces herself: Brittany Davis from New York University, and halfway through an eleven-month research project studying a particular species of baboon.
Brittany proceeds to explain how lucky we are to have made it this far into the region without armed escorts. She details numerous circumstances where the Afar warriors have stopped foreigners, stolen all of their valuable possessions and raped the women. Brittany talks also about the practice of female circumcision that is widespread among people here and in other parts of Africa. The stories of violence and assault continue as Brittany tells how she herself has armed guards each day when she is out in the field doing research. She did concede, though, that the guards were there to protect her not just from humans but the large predators like lions that are endemic to the entire area surrounding this encampment.
Bernard finds Brittany and I at the hut and Mama invites him for a cup of tea. He updates me on the status of our expedition. Our Land Cruiser has now been lodged in the mud for five hours now; help has been radioed for and should arrive sometime before evening. In any event, it seems apparent to both Bernard and I that we should plan on spending the night in this village. Brittany offers to move her staff so that we can have one of the tents. (Bernard tells me that I can have the tent because he always prefers to sleep outside as he did the night before).
It turns out that Brittany hired Mama to be her cook during her research assignment. Mama brings me a bowl of macaroni with red sauce. My appetite has returned and I am convinced it is the best food I have ever eaten. Brittany follows her commentary on the dangers of the Afar by emphasizing their overwhelming hospitality. She says when you visit the villages it seems that every family wants to invite you into their home for coffee. Though the rifles are intimidating, there is still a warmth to their nature that is genuine and unconditional. I wonder, silently, how we are to know if the Afar we encounter are wanting to rape and pillage or invite us to coffee.
Chapter Four:
Two Bottles of Beer and Two-hundred Baboons
Every now and then go away and have a little relaxation. To remain constantly at work will diminish your judgment. Go some distance away, because work will be in perspective and a lack of harmony is more readily seen.
Leonardo Da Vinci
The sun passes overhead, now in the home stretch of its daily arc across the sky. After many hours of waiting, a four-wheel-drive truck from a distant ranger station finally arrives and successfully pulls our Land Cruiser from the bog. Bernard and I sit in the shade on small porch in front of Mama's hut enjoying more hot tea. The cluster of homes is on a rocky knoll overlooking the entire area. I see that we are actually in a massive valley ringed by tall cliffs.
I comment aloud to Bernard how rare it is for me to simply sit and enjoy life. The pace of my life, even here in Ethiopia, has been dictated by meetings and phone calls and agendas. I know I do not want to [have] the experience but miss the meaning, as T.S. Elliot said. Now that my headache and nausea has passed I see the sun not as a force that is trying to kill me but as a source of life and illumination. Like fresh air cleansed by the rain, this time following my migraine seems to afford me great clarity on my life, challenges and dreams. I think about the friends and family and by what measures I define my life as successful. I consider my own quest for meaning and desire to be significant in the world and I realize that I make life a lot more complicated that it really is. My mission is simple: to love others and live with integrity, being faithful to my values.
Bernard reaches for his camera and takes off to do some exploring before sundown. Silhouetted on the horizon I can see the bodies of numerous baboons at the top of the cliff. Brittany invites me for a closer look at the animals she spends each day with and I eagerly accept. As a small child I watched countless National Geographic specials on the researchers who spend each day in the wilds studying the creatures that share our planet with us. We head toward the cliff, passing a large swamp where sunbathing crocodiles slide back into the water. I follow Brittany past a waterfall and up a narrow crag in the cliff that is hidden by tall trees. We arrive at the top of the cliff and join the clan of about two hundred baboons relaxing after a long day of foraging.
The baboons are unphased by our presence and I walked to the edge of the cliff to take in the dramatic panorama. In contrast to the parched savanna of the surrounding region, the springs have made this valley an epicenter of life, with expansive marshes and numerous thickets of palm trees. Everything is green and alive. Tall cranes wade in a nearby pond and a mother warthog grazes in the distance with her offspring. To me this place is a wild and almost prehistoric paradise; to the animals and people who dwell here it is a natural sanctuary where the drama of life unfolds in each moment. Around me, on the rock escarpment, juvenile baboons jostle and play. The adult baboons, reclining among the rocks and in tree branches, look on with languid disinterest.
Tonight under a star-filled sky a half-moon shines brightly as Brittany, Bernard and I sit outside. We talk about international politics and Bernard's travels in Madagascar and the wonders of Ethiopia. From our food supplies there are two beers left, which Brittany and Bernard drink because I am sticking to water and tea this evening. (Brittany is particularly delighted to have both her first beer and real conversations in English in many months.) I think about the our initial plan to arrive back in Addis Ababa this evening but how the serendipitous path of life has afforded us other adventures. As my two new friends talk I smile quietly in the dark, thankful to be alive and blessed to be in Africa.
Don't just read about adventure--get involved!
GAIN awareness of the Afar people by visiting this website. Also, learn more about the grim realities of female genital mutilation (FGM) that impacts the lives of millions of women and girls.
GIVE of your financial resources by supporting conservation efforts in East Africa.
GO on a trip and experience your own adventure in service. Download an application.