Caged

When we were growing up, we each had opportunities to look into the eyes of exotic, caged animals from places as far away as Africa.  Whether it was a zoo, a circus, or another venue, we could smell the dung, watch the elephants spray water on their backs, gaze at the unimaginably long giraffe’s neck as it chewed its dry hay, and see the lioness pacing in her cage driving a path into the barren floor.  We both grew to hate the sight of the animals caged, and the more we learned about the complex social structures of lion prides, herds of elephants, the long migrations of the zebra and wildebeest, the more we rejected the idea that cages, even the largest and most generous of “habitats,” could ever mimic the open ranges and jungles of their homes.

In Africa we were in the cages; whether they were the high top Land Cruisers that dotted the landscapes like wildebeest in the distance or a tent or cabana where we were zipped in for a night.  We were allowed no more than 10 feet from our vehicles in stops to “check the tire pressure,” a euphemism for peeing behind the car, after our guides threw rocks in the brush around us to ensure no waiting leopard or lions.  We were the ones escorted at night by vigilant armed men with AK47s scanning the path to our abode.  We asked one if they had ever actually seen lions in the camp area and he smiled bemusedly at us, replying that the most recent one he had seen had been lying on the porch of our cabin. 

We loved our cages, though.  They allowed us a glimpse into the daily lives of the African wildlife, unimpeded by our presence on the landscape.  Through the bars of our safari pop-top vehicle we glimpsed a family of hyenas at a den and watched lions wake up, bathe each other, and play as kittens do.  We watched, transfixed, as one lioness dragged a recently killed young Thompson Gazelle away from another and as another group of three lionesses tried to catch a zebra.  Another sought the shade of our vehicle, lying at our feet, and the last stared at us with hunger in her piercing, yellow eyes.  With no cage surrounding her, she considered the risk of leaping the short 5 feet into our vehicle, and the open air Land Cruiser with rolled down windows and a popped top suddenly felt like its “gates” needed to be drawn.  Elephants meandered by with babies less than a week old trying to walk under the giant footsteps of their mothers and aunts, ears impossibly big for their size.  Giraffes chewed their cud, staring thoughtfully at the strange beasts in the cages below them as oxpeckers dug ticks from their thick hide, sliding up and down their spindly legs and long necks.  Cheetahs eyed us thoughtfully, moving their young back a few feet, not sure of the reach of the animals in their iron cages that had thundered down toward them on the vast plains.  Herds of wildebeest, zebras, and gazelles split apart as we slid through them, engulfed by their dust and feeling their hoof beats through the floor of the Land Cruiser.

We know that it is a rare privilege to enter into the world of wildlife.  We have no illusions about us being there, for there is always some impact caused by our presence, no matter the attempts to minimize it.  Yet, we would gladly enter our cages to ensure that theirs are left open; that they can remain unimpeded, free to roam.  The world is becoming more populated and the great migrations reduced in size and grandeur.  Protected parks in some regions have lost two thirds of their elephant herds in less than five years from market pressure and poachers with few other solutions before them.  The World Wildlife Fund reported that in the last 4 decades, animal and fish populations have declined by more than 50%.   One cannot help but wonder if the generations that follow ours will see animals only in cages…if at all.  There are many organizations, governments, and special individuals engaged in actions to ensure that such a future never emerges, but it could if we are complacent.  There is real human hunger and suffering surrounding these herds as there was surrounding our own vast animal herds in north America.  In our country, it was the wealth of nature and our natural resources that were the keys opening the access gates for many Americans.  Yet our vast herds of grazing animals are gone as are other species such as passenger pigeons that seemed infinite only a decade or two before they were driven extinct.  Some see ecotourism as a solution for preservation.  In the end, modern ecotourism tends to benefit only a few, rather than the many who stare at the people and cars racing by to see their land and animals.  The question before us is how to open the doors for all rather than ignoring the cage of poverty.  Without solutions, we are likely one of the last generations to see the amazing abundance and diversity of animals we have viewed these past weeks. 

Posted in Dar es Salaam, Tanzania.  Images are of our “Toyota Land Cruiser cage”, a hungry lioness, and a small portion of the thousands of wildebeest migrating near the Serengeti. 

Comfort Zone

Our “comfort zone” is defined by the state where uncertainty, scarcity, and vulnerability are minimized and where we feel we have some control.  For those of you who have followed our blog and adventures since the beginning, you know we deliberately choose our path to be, at times, uncomfortable mentally, emotionally and physically.  In part, we began this journey because we were too “comfortable”.  We believe it is when we are uncertain, emotionally vulnerable, experiencing scarcity, and lacking some control that we most grow.  Since we started this journey, we have traveled to five continents and over 30 countries. Africa is a place which tests our boundaries, our sense of vulnerability, and our physical and emotional comfort.

When are we in our comfort zone?  The answer may surprise you.  We spent our first few days in a deeply impoverished area in western Kenya, having our first traditional meal of ugali and stewed vegetables at a home for orphans.  Ugali is an important part of the childrens’ meals as the corn meal mixture (which reminds us of tamale dough) is filling and is used as a “spoon.”  A handful of the mixture is taken, rolled into a ball, and squeezed gently to flatten it a bit.  The right thumb is then pressed into the wad to make a depression, and the “tool” is then used to “spoon” up lentils or stew in a large delicious bite.  Before beginning and after finishing, hands are washed with warm water at the table.  Only the right hand is used for forming the unique tool and for eating as the left has other purposes in a place without toilet paper.  In contrast, only a week after our first taste of ugali, we found ourselves in a top tier five-star resort near the Serengeti in Kenya.  We were offered the chance to stay for two nights in the resort on the edge of Ngorongoro Crater.  The opportunity was a donated gift about to expire from a silent auction, and our guide sold it to us for a small portion of the normal nightly rate of $1,500.  At The Manor we met our butler Peter, had truffles laid on our pillows each night, and baths drawn for us with rose petals floating in the warm fragrant water.  Our room was far, far bigger than the dorm apartment in Gunnison we call home, and the dinner place setting with 5 forks, 5 knifes 4 spoons and 4 wine glasses was as confusing to us as anything we have encountered thus far in all of our travels.  Despite the grandeur, we had less uncertainty and a greater degree of comfort eating ugali with our students and their friends than during our five course dinner served with impeccable style by Peter.

Comfort zone.  In Africa, people stare at us everyday.  Some with friendly curiosity, others with desperate hope, and a few with hooded eyes or even hostility.  In rural villages, the kids follow us, most shouting habari (“How are you?”), tagging along, curious. We see few women or kids in bigger cities.  They are absent, rarely seen, and we walk from place to place in a sea of men.  In most cities, we have been warned not to go out at night and our normal freedom of small town Colorado and our love of walking is limited to the day.  This is an unexpected feeling for us and one that is not comfortable.  So where have we found our comfort zone?

It is, as it almost always has been, in nature.  We feel at home as we walk through the Kakamega Forest or ride on a safari surrounded by nature with teeth and claws.  We are far less fearful of the lion that crawled under our land cruiser than the guys who followed us through Stone Town. In the backcountry, we search eagerly for cobras knowing it is not the snakes that are dangerous to us.   Even when the guide told us not to move as the mother elephant slid by us, inches from our face, we both felt physically safe.  We were exhilarated mentally and emotionally at the wonder of her trunk so close to us that we could smell her breath.  We know that the python we watched in a nearby tree was less likely to swallow us whole than are the dark streets of Dar es Salaam at night or the slave holding pits below the church in Zanzibar.  There we could get lost in the belly of humanity, swallowed as half a million souls were just over a century ago.  Yet it is in these darker places that our boundaries are tested, our minds stretched, our hearts questioned by things we do not completely understand and will never know. 

Posted in Zanzibar, Tanzania.  Images are of our first pot of ugali being made at the Nduru Children’s home in Busia, Kenya; the elephant that visited us in the Manyara National Park, Tanzania; and the slave holding cell in Stone Town, Tanzania.   

Worlds Apart

When we began our journey in 2012, we had no jobs and few possessions and felt incredibly free to wander with no predetermined agenda.  Our life was “worlds apart” from the life we had known prior to that moment.  The feelings of unrestricted freedom were like a long, deep breath of fresh air!  As we return to Gunnison this spring, our experience will be “worlds apart” from that of the first two and one-half years as we enthusiastically jump back into the world our graduate students occupy in the Master in Environmental Management program at Western State Colorado University.  

As we travel, we have relied on technology to stay connected and current with what is going on in the world.  Jess, being a whiz at logistical planning on something as small and compact as a smart phone, has been the motor at the center of the machine as we have traveled from place to place.  Sally, on the other hand, has determined where we are going, be it next week or in the coming months.  All of this would not be possible without the IPhones we carry with us everywhere we go.  How did people ever travel the way we are before technology?  Yes, it was possible, but now, the ease of staying connected is “worlds apart” from the way it used to be. 

As we have travelled for the last three and one-half years, we have found that being “worlds apart” can also refer to the social and cultural distances, sometimes short and sometimes great, separating us from the people and places we have visited.  Predictably, it can also refer to the mind boggling differences we have found among not only our place-based cultures across the U.S., but also the differences we consistently and constantly discover within the same country, across countries, and between the U.S. and other countries.  Distances, cultures, ecosystems-----all can be “worlds apart” from what is common place and comfortable to most of us. 

Significant miles of separation were a part of our lives this time as we began our next travel adventure.  This trip launched in a unique way, with Jess exploring Costa Rica with a group of WSCU MEM graduate students and Sally recuperating in Arizona after fracturing her back.  “Worlds apart?”  It definitely felt that way to both of us.  The last three and a half years have been some of the best of our lives.  Living daily, traveling both abroad and in the U.S., and working in a place and job we both love have been made all the more meaningful and wonderful because we have been able to do it all together.  The time apart in early January gave us both pause-----time to consider the meaning and value of separation and the sweet feeling of reunification.

We have joined together again, paused in Europe for a week, but are ready to travel to a new world, one that is likely to redefine for us, once again, what it means to be “worlds apart”.  We head to Africa.      

Posted in Barcelona, Spain.  Images are of Sally looking out at the Mediterranean Sea, Jess with Western State Colorado University students in Costa Rica and both of us in Besalu, Spain, together again.

Once in a lifetime

Sometimes, as we reach for the 25th plate to wash, stick our head into a roasting hot metal barrel in the jungle, or wait for army ants to clear out of our cabina.....our minds go to the Talking Heads' song "Once in a Lifetime".  

One stanza goes something like this:

"And you may ask yourself 

What is that beautiful house? 

And you may ask yourself 

Where does that highway go to? 

And you may ask yourself 

Am I right?...Am I wrong? 

And you may say to yourself

Self! My God!...What have I done?!"

We often ask ourselves "My God, what have we done?"  Perhaps the real question is how did we end up without a house, in a distant land, begging for rides from almost strangers or finding the coins to jump on a standing-room only bus to the next town or border.  Our lives have become increasingly unusual by most of our friends' and families' standards.  For the past five months we have been traveling Central America, mostly for our own education, but also to seek educational opportunities for a few dozen graduate students and to create connections for our university.  The results of this atypical life can be hilarious at times.  One recent morning that started before 6 am had us rushing from morning duties including smoking about 20 pounds of bacon in the tropical forest, (a task as fun and as hot as it sounds), to a conference call with our boss and colleagues back at Western.  The conference call via wifi was briefly interrupted by loud bird calls and our mentioning a snake we spotted a few feet away.  Ten minutes later, we were back into deep discussion, squatting on a wood plank bench low to the ground, when we both caught movement out of the corner of our eyes.  The snake was rapidly approaching us!


 For those of you familiar with snakes, you know they typically avoid people they clearly see.  This one raced to us, reared up, and struck toward our feet!  We scrambled up narrating the situation to our colleagues as we saw that the snake had successfully struck and killed a small rodent which had been hiding in the shade of our feet under the bench.  Triumphantly, it held its kill high in the air, weaving between us toward a quieter patch of forest to enjoy its breakfast.  We continued our conference call, eyeing our seat, and scanning our surroundings.

That day was far from over before we retired to our simple cabina of four screened walls with no water, electricity or bathroom to distract us from the cacophony of forest sounds and the rush of water in the river below.  We were still to have an afternoon full of meeting guests and serving drinks to an eclectic group of people including those from Ireland, France, Costa Rica, New York City, and a three time Olympian medalist from the USA.  After dinner, we both had emails and manuscripts to work on while the Internet was available.  

While our friends often express envy at the varied and adventurous Facebook postings we submit, we know that many, especially those who best understand the details of our days, think we are absolutely crazy.  Yet, for us, the Talking Heads' title best describes how we did get here.  We all have one life to live or give. Each strike of midnight brings us 86,400 seconds closer to the new day.  We get to use that time only once....once in a lifetime.  For us, we want to experience life in other cultures and places while helping to create a more sustainable planet and just world.  We want to celebrate that life and explore diversity on the planet, our species' own as well as its other inhabitants.  So we find ourselves in some pretty unusual places, seeing incredible things, facing physical discomfort and mental joy, while still trying to give time and effort to people and ideas that inspire us.  We really understand that each moment is occurring "once in a lifetime" however short or long that life might be.  We have come to believe that personal growth is made more challenging when we are static in our lives and daily activities, so we choose to live the unexpected life that saying "yes" more than "no" has brought us.  Ours might be a rather extreme way of feeling the vibrancy of change.  You do not have to leave your country and sell all of your possessions to have a more dynamic life.  But each of us may need to question whether what has become routine is also satisfying.  Did we spend each of today's 86,400 seconds in living fully, working toward our values, sharing our gifts and passions, doing a small kindness or selfless act?  There is comfort in routine, but also danger in comfort.  

Posted at Golfito, Costa Rica.  Images are of Sally and our jungle smoker, our snake bench, and our simple cabina.