Africa 2009 - NgoroNgoro Crater - Part 7

Panorama of Ngorongoro Crater
View from the Caldera Rim

Rena on the way to our Modest 5-star Hut

John and Margaret in front of the Main Dining Hall

Flying High and Fast at the Sopa Lodge Pool

Our new driver is a full-blood Masai named Letowe (pronounced Let –toe-way). Masai’s come in two varieties: 1.) traditional ones who still wear blankets, walk everywhere and are very tall and thin as rails. 2.) modern ones who wear khakis, drive SUV’s everywhere and are tall and fat as American tourists.

Letowe is the latter. He has been to college for two years to get an associate’s degree in wildlife tourism and knows every animal, bird, flower and insect in Tanzania.

We clamber into Bushbuck Travel’s Range Rover after finishing our expensive Arusha lunch and head West for the bush. Kilimanjaro, the little hill on the prairie, is covered with thin high clouds. We pass coffee plantations on the slopes and lots of Tanzanian ladies in their colorful wraps – called kangas. Clothing is much more traditional on this side of the border – no designer jeans or double-knit polyester suits.

Our destination is Ngorongoro Conservation Area a natural phenomenon which is on the UNESCO list of official World Heritage sites. The crater formed when a giant volcano exploded and collapsed on itself some two to three million years ago. It is 2000 feet deep and its floor covers 102 square miles. Estimates of the height of the original volcano range from fifteen to nineteen thousand feet high. (And yes, there were people at that time. We will meet three of them later in this narrative.)

We arrive at the crater in late afternoon at the Park entrance. While Rena looks for good deals in jewelry at the gift shop (there aren’t any), I peruse the natural history display. The crater is 14 miles across and is the largest caldera in the world. It is unique in Tanzania as the only conservation area providing protection status for wildlife whilst allowing human habitation. Land use is controlled to prevent negative effects on the wildlife population. I take it that this means the local Masai can’t graze cattle in the caldera. Watch for circular road-signs with a cow in the middle and a slash across.

A population of approximately 25,000 large animals, mostly wildebeests and zebras inhabits the crater floor. Ngorongoro reputedly has the highest density of mammalian predators in Africa. There were 62 lions at latest count. Leopards too! Black rhinos, hippos, eland and gazelles make up the rest of the mix. Primates are represented by two particular species with well-deserved reputations for nastiness – baboons and homo sapiens.

We can’t wait to visit the park but today we have just enough time to get to the Lodge before dark. We climb the 2000 feet up to the crater rim on a red clay and gravel road with many switchbacks. “Must be treacherous in the rain,” I think to myself.

At the top is a magnificent panoramic view of the caldera. There are two lakes in the bottom and the wild animal herds are just visible. It is so green and lush compared to the surrounding savannah! The altitude is such that there is no dry season and the animals in Ngorongoro are non-migratory. They live in a year round ungulate paradise.

Our destination is Ngorongoro Sopa Lodge, where we are greeted by teams of baggage handlers and maids who escort us to the reception area for a glass of fresh mango juice before escorting us to our respective bungalows. We shower and change clothes, then head back to the main dining hall. I linger at the swimming pool to snap photos of this amazing crater spread out at our feet. I don’t linger long because sunsets are very short in the tropics.

On the way into the dining hall, I contemplate the physics of the current situation. Right now, I am on the Equator and therefore at the furthest point from the earth’s axis of rotation. The earth’s circumference at the equator is roughly 25,000 miles. If I stand here for a full 24 hours I will travel in a circle the entire 25,000. Divide 25000 by 24 and here at Sopa Lodge swimming pool, I am spinning at roughly 1000+ miles per hour – twice as fast as the jet plane that brought me to Africa and faster than I have ever moved relative to earth’s center in my entire life.
And that is why, my friends and fellow travelers, sunsets are over so quickly in the tropics and linger so long over Lappland.

A mite peckish, after essaying this short detour into the world of physics, I join the others at our table. We dine on tilapia and prawns in opulent surroundings. All the other tourists are from Europe and are svelte in their tailored khakis and bush shorts. I think we see only one other group of Americans in bright colored shorts and horizontal striped tops.

After dinner we walk from the dining area to the open-air patio. In the whole 102 square miles of Ngorongoro Crater there is not a single light shining. We are standing at 7500 feet above sea level. It’s the dark of the moon, the sky is pitch black and the stars are spectacular. I am totally blown away as I contemplate the astronomy that surrounds me.

I am facing due West. On my right I can see the great square of Pegasus with the big dipper lower in the Northern sky. On my left is the Southern Cross and the vast expanse of the Milky Way. What wonder and joy to be in Africa gazing out across the galaxy on a balmy night at the dark of the moon glued by gravity to the surface of a giant nickel-iron ball with a thin stony crust spinning at 1000 miles per! I am exquisitely dizzy just thinking about it. I look toward the center of the Milky Way, stretch my arms to the skies, throw back my head, balance on one foot and let out a long howl of satisfaction. King of the Universe and top of the heap!

The staff, after a brief startle, re-arrange themselves and grin at my outgassing of delight. They like American tourists the best. We are big tippers and more fun to watch than the sedate European wazungus.

Tomorrow we descend the caldera!

DAKTARI

Africa 2009 - Tanzania - Part 6

UPLOAD TANZANIA

DOWNLOAD KENYA


BRING LOTS OF MONEY!


BORDER BREAKFAST

CRESTED CRANES

BYE BYE KILIMANJARO

BYE BYE ELEPHANTS

It’s a bright sunshiny morning as we upload our luggage into the minivan and say ‘Bye-Bye’ to Amboseli National Park. But first we have to stop for a few more photos. Amboseli is definitely the best place in Kenya to take elephant pictures. And the birds aren’t too shabby either. I love the crested cranes!

Then it’s time to hit the road. Back across dusty Lake Kilimanjaro and onto the single- track dirt-road to the park entrance. At the gate, we wait in the van for Robinson to pay the exit fees. Rena scores three really nice necklaces of hammered copper and tiny glass beads from some Masai Mamas. Margaret and Jon resist the hard sell by rolling up the windows and looking the other way. But I am careful to make eye contact with each vendor and apologetically shrug shoulders while gently saying, “Hapana pesa, pole.” (‘sorry out of money’ in Swahili). I’m trying my best to dispel the impression that all foreigners are harsh. The Masai must marvel at how threatened mzungu’s are by markets and bargaining. I find that a kind look costs nothing and is greatly appreciated, wherever one travels.

From the park entrance it’s a one-hour drive to the border at Mahanga. Outside Mahanga, we stop at a lovely café for breakfast. I spring for some mandazi – the square donuts of East Africa . Everyone else is afraid of food poisoning but I overdose on hot, sugary fried dough. Lucky for me, I’m protected by a cast iron stomach and the doxycycline antibiotic that I take to prevent malaria. (Incidentally, the Swahili word for diarrhea is tchi-tchi-tchi. I believe it’s onomatopoetic for the sound of thick liquid dropping into a pit latrine.)

At the border we have to change everything – our minivan for a 4-WD Range Rover and our drivers and money for their Tanzanian equivalents. We soon find out that everything in Tanzania is more expensive than in Kenya – beginning with the visa to enter the country. In Kenya a visa costs $50 as you enter – in Tanzania it’s double that! But only for Americans! At first I thought we were singled out because we’re supposed to be wealthy. The real explanation is that America charges the most of any country in the world for its entry visas. So Tanzania, Brazil and a few other countries are asking Americans to pay tit-for tat at their borders. Payback is a b**ch!

After emptying our wallets of major moolah, we cross the border. (and find that lunch in Arusha, Tanzania is twice as expensive as in Mahanga, Kenya.). If you go on safari in Tanzania be sure to bring lots of cash.

Tanzania travel tip #1 :) On second thought, the next time I cross into Tanzania maybe I'll take off my underwear, don a plaid blanket and hike across with the Masai. There are benefits to being a member of a traditional tribe that has never been conquered, doesn't believe in school, and has no concept of borders. The Masai just follow their herds and if the animals head south from Kenya into Tanzania - so be it.

Tanzania travel tip #2 :) Many places in East Africa will only change U.S. bills Series 2006 or later. Apparently, counterfeiters have a much easier time making fake bills to match earlier Series. We had to go to three banks in Amesbury to find $1000 in Series 2006 spending money to bring with us! (By the way, paying with plastic is OK in Nairobi but not common anywhere else in East Africa.)

DAKTARI

Africa 2009 - Meet the Masai - Part 5

One small Leap for a Man

One Giant Leap for everyone Else

Honored Guests
Tough Competition - Peter is on the left

They're not Kidding!

Before heading to the Tanzania border, I meet a Masai named Peter in the hotel lobby.
Being a wee more than a wee bit Scots (the new-world Beans of North America are a black sheep offshoot of the Clan McBain), I feel a shared bond with this tall warrior wearing a red tartan blanket and no underwear.

I offer the traditional greeting to my new-found kinsman:
“Eyeh, Sopa!” (How are you?) I intone.
“Eyeh, Hepa,”(Fine and you) replies Peter.

This greeting in the Maa language, is followed by the traditional queries:
“How are your children?”
“And how are your cattle?”
(These comprise the two main measures of Masai wealth.)
“My cows and children are well,” says Peter.
I tell him my children are fine too and lie about the cattle.
(Although once upon a time I did own a small herd of Hereford's. But that, as they say, is another story.)

By and bye, Peter invites me and my clan to an exhibition of traditional Masai dancing.
Jon, Margaret, Rena and I march single-file from the pool area to a shaded dance floor where the bare earth is packed hard and smooth. We are greeted by 4 women and 5 men all in traditional Masai plaids.

The women garland us with fine Masai beadwork and we are led to seats as the honored guests. The Masai Moran (warriors) enter with spears and whisks to begin their low, rhythmic, hypnotic chant.

Then the jumping starts. Each Masai warrior takes a turn doing serial leaps as high as he can.
“Wow, these guys can really jump,” whispers Jon.
“Not bad,” I agree. “But watch this.”
I call Peter over. Before long I'm in with the dancers.
At 5 feet 10, I'm the short guy in the back row.
As the chant progresses I work my way to the front. It's show time!

OK! Now for the big jump. One, two, three – Heppa!
That's one small leap for a man, (and no great leap for mankind, either).
I cast a glance at my fellow dancers.
Most of the Moran are smiling. Perhaps it is in appreciation. More likely they are whispering softly to each other in Maa, “It's true what they say - The white guys can't jump.”

I get a more honest response from the front row of the gallery where I have obviously impressed the royalty. Milady Margaret is laughing herself silly and her handmaiden Rena is about to pee in her pants. We buy sodas for all the guys and contribute a thousand shillings to the Moran’s 'Children and Cattle Welfare' fund.

“I love watching the Masai drink Coca Cola. It's just like the commercials on TV!” enthuses Rena as we head to the van.

Robinson puts the pedal to the metal and we're on our way to Tanzania. The road signs are looking more ominous. It's rough, it's dusty, it's an adventure.

DAKTARI

Africa 2009-Amboseli Game Drive- Part 4

LION WATCHERS
LION LOVERS
WHAT MAMMALS DO BEST BEER FOR BREAKFAST?
HAPPY TRAILS

The game drive at Amboseli starts promptly at 7:30 AM. We have no further brushes with squirrel monkeys or other varmints and after our coffee and cake we assemble in the trusty Toyota van to see what the rest of the park has to offer.

Our driver, Robinson, is a whiz at birds. On our way in to the gamepark, we spot a lilac breasted roller, a black bellied bustard and two spur winged plovers. I can’t tell one avian from another but I love the names!

One of our first sightings of the morning is two lions humping. Never seen that before! I'm reminded once again that on my 13 visits to East Africa, I’ve seen lions doing lots of different things, but I’ve never actually seen a lion kill anything. What’s with that? Where is ‘nature red in tooth and claw’?

In fact, as I reflect further, I’ve never seen any animal murders at all in my 20 years of visiting East Africa. It makes me wonder, why are real-life safaris so different from the usual serial killings that one watches on National Geographic specials or Animal Planet shows?

Rather than predator versus prey, mostly what we see on safari is lions making babies and lots and lots of breast feeding. We see baby elephants, baby wildebeests, baby zebra and their lactating Moms. Maybe Darwin and his followers have it all wrong! Maybe the survival of the species doesn’t depend so much on how great a hunter your Daddy is but on how great a nurser your Mommy is. That’s why Mammals are us. And Tyrannosauri are extinct. In which case, we humans would be wise to spend more of our resources improving the quality of our support for nursing mothers rather than beefing up our military might. Call it the “Boob Theory” of evolution! Just think, if Darwin had been a woman, perhaps ‘survival of the fittest’ would have a whole different meaning. It may be only a theory -- but I like it. Go mammals!

After the game drive, we arrive back at the Serena Lodge for a hearty safari breakfast. Gotta love those fresh mangos! There's no Kenya AA coffee for the young ones however. Seems like they've discovered the pleasure of Tusker for brunch. After breakfast, the expedition splits up – most of our fellow travelers head back to Nairobi where they will catch a plane to Kisumu and eventually meet the truckload of luggage in Esabalu village.

Next stop for John, Margaret, Rena and me is the Tanzania border for more safari adventures. A sign on the track to the border promises a bit of rough travel ahead! As does the sign on our Tanzanian land-rover – “It’s rough, it’s dusty, it’s an adventure.”

DAKTARI

Africa 2009 -Mugged by a Monkey- Part 3

SCENE OF THE CRIME- PATIO AT AMBOSELI
THE PRIME SUSPECT-LOOKING INNOCENT
SQUIRREL MONKEYS CAN BE SCARY-ESPECIALLY AT NIGHT!

“God, it’s still the middle of the night!”

As usual jet lag has me wide awake, brain humming at 5:00 AM.
Then I remember the young Masai warrior who showed us to our rooms last night.

“There is always fresh coffee on the verandah 24 hours per day and seven days in a week,” he proudly intoned.

“Just what your average Mzungu tourist needs to hear at 5 AM,” I think to myself.

Slipping into my standard issue African flip-flops, I quietly open the hut door and let myself out into the pitch black African night. Far away, a wildebeest coughs. Otherwise complete silence. Brandishing my outsized room key as a weapon, I flick the switch on my trusty pocket torch and stumble down the path to the main lodge.

“Ah, Heaven,” I exclaim. The hearty aroma of Kenya AA wafts from a steaming urn at one end of the patio. I remember what my grandfather used to say about Maxwell House back on the family farm in New Raymer, Colorado. “Hotter than the devil, blacker than hell and good to the last drop.”

I fill two earthen mugs with Kahawa moto (hot coffee), maziwa (cream) and sukari and head back up the path to surprise my hutmate. John passes me on the way back and inhales deeply.

“Fresh coffee on the verandah,” I say quietly, pointing toward the patio.

Back in the hut, Rena is not a happy camper, but she soon revives and starts packing a bag for the morning game drive. Binocs, camera, sunblock, water, hat, etc.
Suddenly a bloodcurdling scream issues from just outside our hut. Margaret and I burst from our respective rooms at the same time.

There’s John, drenched in coffee and shaking his fist at the rain gutter on our hut.
We look up to see a very small, very happy squirrel monkey stuffing pound cake into its mouth with both hands.

“I’ve been mugged by a monkey!” yells John. Choice but ineffectual epithets fly toward the little thief on the roof who shakes one fist and curses right back. Margaret and I are laughing really hard. No sympathy for poor John.

“Good thing lions don’t like pound cake, “ I chortle. “You might have been a goner.”

“I guess there’s no harm done,” admits John. “From now on I’ll eat my cake first, before I head back to the hut.”
DAKTARI

Africa 2009 - Amboseli = White Dust - Part II

KILIMANJARO
RENA RESTING IN OUR THATCHED HUT

OSTRICH FOR DINNER ANYONE?

'SWAMPY' THE ELEPHANT

SUNSET DE JOUR

ROOMKEYS - DOES SIZE COUNT??

White dust. That’s what Amboseli means in the local Maa language. As we go off road across the dried remains of Lake Amboseli, our van kicks up huge plumes of white dust. Lake Amboseli is 15 km long and fills with water in the rainy season. Now in the dry season it’s completely evaporated, leaving miles and miles of thick white dust. We pass Masai women wrapped in their colorful plaid blankets trudging patiently in this harsh environment. High in the background, floats the white cap of Kilimanjaro. It is positively surreal, tiny human figures in a lunar landscape. Where on earth can they possibly be going?

The white dust is deposited by glacial runoff from the snows of Kilimanjaro. Kilimanjaro is the highest mountain in Africa. It rises three and a half mile from the dusty Njaro plains. Its snow- covered volcanic peak is the second largest mountain in the solar system, only dwarfed by Olympus Mons on Mars for sheer geologic bulk.

“Wow! That’s some mountain !” enthuses John.

“So you say!” I demure. “It’s not even considered a mountain by the locals.”

“What do you mean- not a mountain?” John swallows the bait.

“Well, the name is a kind of an in-joke in Swahili.” I explain. “It’s a play on words. Lima means hill, the diminutive prefix ki- indicates it’s a small hill, and Njaro is the dust –filled plain we are driving across right now. Put it all together and you have ‘little hill on the prairie’ or Kilimanjaro.”

After the white dust of the lakebed, the Amboseli Serena lodge is an oasis.
Cute little monkeys frolic on the grounds as we are led to our individual bungalows. Each bungalow has a thatched roof, a hot shower and beautiful murals painted on the white-washed walls. How delightful.

We arrive late and take a curtailed game drive to see elephants belly-deep in swampy mud while the sun sets over the acacias. This sure makes up for a lot of white dust! The dining hall has murals too – John sits with his back to a wall decorated with a somewhat disconcerting mural featuring an ostrich’s derriere!

After dinner we sit on the verandah as groups of animals follow a game path from the watering hole to the savannah. The path passes not 40 yards from our table and floodlights from the hotel illuminate the most astonishing parade of antelope and zebra. Thompson’s gazelle, waterbuck, wildebeast, and zebra pass in a continuous, silent tableau – 20 or 30 animals at a time. A true “garden of eden” moment. We relax into primeval revery. East Africa – my 13th trip and always there is something new.

Returning to our rooms, we pick up our undeniably phallic room keys at the front desk.
“It would be hard to walk out of the hotel with this in your pocket,” I quip to John. “Wouldn’t want to embarrass the staff.”

“Or the animals,” John laughs.

Our fair lady wives just roll their eyes. But we’re in Africa and we’re having fun.
It’s rough! It’s dusty! It’s an adventure!
DAKTARI

Africa 2009- The Adventure Begins - Part 1

Margaret in need of a Shoehorn
Harriet & Irene at Kenyatta Airport- Sisters with Stuff!

We all made it to East Africa -hour 23 of our trip

One ton of Luggage in a two ton Truck

I am so psyched. First, of all to be blogging again after a long hiatus (nothing since May 7th). And secondly, to be writing about my favorite continent Africa. In the next series of blogs Rena and I will be touring Tanzania and Kenya searching for wild game, world peace and the Garden of Eden. We’ll be joined by our good friends and travel companions, Jon and Margaret, Lowell. (You may remember them from our expedition to Santorini last fall!) This adventure takes place June 8-22, 2009. Enjoy.
******************

Our trip to Africa begins 12 hours ahead of our scheduled departure with a little time zone confusion (i.e. jet lag). This is to be expected when traveling 1/3 of the way around the globe. But usually it occurs after a long jet flight and not before.

Anyway, our limo driver shows up at 6 AM and politely stands on his horn to alert the neighborhood that something is up. I have already gone to the office to tidy up my desk for a long and potentially dangerous journey to the wooley wilds of East Africa. (I always imagine I’ll feel better coming back to a clean desk. It never happens but one can only hope. A man’s reach should exceed his grasp, etc.)

Rena runs downstairs in her jammies to confront the driver.
“We asked for the limo to come at 6 PM,” she expostulates.
“It doesn’t say that here – it says 6 AM,” the disgruntled driver replies waving a piece of paper.
“Well, that piece of paper is wrong,” Rena starts laughing. “Come back in 12 hours please.”
The interview ends with an unhappy limo driver trying to peel rubber while backing out of our driveway in a Dodge Caravan. Hopefully he will be more gruntled next time (if there is a next time). What if he doesn’t come back?? Oh no!

Our trip is off to a very early start! By the time I arrive home, Rena, Jon and Margaret are up and preparing a nice breakfast. The rising sun is shining on the back-deck overlooking the pool and the Powow River. The River provides a suitable lush jungle backdrop for our departure to Africa. A pair of Great Blue Herons adds to the primordial ambiance. I’ve always dreamed of having a remote controlled submarine in the shape of a full-size hippo that I could launch from my dock to patrol the river and surprise hikers and kayakers as they pass by. Now that’s what I call ambiance! Maybe I’ll get working on it after I retire.

The limo driver’s partner shows up at 6 PM sharp and we load the Caravan with 12 bags plus carry-ons and us. The luggage barely fits – poor Margaret is crammed in the back with all that stuff and may need a snorkel just to breathe.

The reason we have so much is that we’re traveling on missionary airline tickets which allow three 50 pound bags for each traveler. We are packing medical supplies, school supplies, gifts and lots of kids shoes donated by the Timberland Kids, Company. That’s 1200 plus pounds of passengers and luggage.
There is no question of peeling out in these circumstances. We barely chug up the hill to the main road!

“What the hey,” I ask rhetorically. “Did either Stanley or Livingston travel light? What’s good enough for Teddy Roosevelt is good enough for us.”


Check-in is a bear! I win the contest for the piece of luggage closest to the limit – 49.5 pounds for my black duffel with the school supplies.

The trip is roughly 8000 miles beginning with an overnight flight to London. In Heathrow’s brand new Terminal 5, we meet up with the rest of our expedition- eight more travelers with another 1350 pounds of luggage. There’s a tense moment as final boarding begins. The last member of our party, Kimberly Edwards, of Boulder, Colorado hasn’t arrived from Denver! Kimberly joins me just as the gate is closing. All aboard!

At last we’re on our way: a daytime flight across the Alps, the Mediterranean, the Sahara and the Rift Valley to Nairobi. For scenery, it’s my favorite flight of all. With luck we’ll see the glaciers shining in moonlight on 17,000 foot Mt. Kenya as we make our final approach. The next stop is Jomo Kenyatta Airport.

DAKTARI

Update on Norman - May 7, 2009

Thumbs up from Norman

Treading Water

Swimming

Fishing for the Big One

You may recall the story of Norman, who received open heart surgery for a valve replacement thanks to Dad's generosity. (See "Memories of Dad -part III") Here's the latest photos of Norman 8 months post surgery together with a report from Patti at Capstone Ministries.

"On the 23rd of December I put a mark on the wall inside our pantry to measure Norman's height. On the 25th of April I measured and marked again. Norman has grown 1 1/2 inches in 4 months!! Another boy who has been part of our family here since early 2002 is Bennard. "Beno" (a former street boy) is schooling in Mombasa and comes home during the school breaks. He has been home since early April. He and Norman have really bonded.

Beno loves to work in the yard, so he and I had a lot of "remodel" projects in the past few weeks. After class time Norman would help. He was able to carry large rocks, push the wheel barrow full of cow dung, he transplanted flowers and used the hoe. I'm amazed at his strength. He is such a happy boy now.

I hope Norman will participate in working his father's shamba the same way he helped here. I just pray that his father will work WITH him and not just send him out to do the work. Norman loved going out and helping my husband Dan with harvesting the moringa trees....his joy is in the fellowship which makes the work fun.

Norman's father Alex still needs counseling to come out of a dependancy attitude (so common to Kenya). When Alex was here last he told me that I had promised him many things. I had to clarify that when we talk about hopes and dreams, about what is possible,...these are not "promises". Capstone's purpose and vision is to restore the child back to the family and to help the family to function together ...NOT to promise them things.

Alex somehow had the impression that we would put in a well for him. I told him that if he needs a well then it's up to him to proceed, to do what he can and if he finds a roadblock then Capstone will consider how to assist...but that is not a promise. This is one of our greatest challenges and the reason that Dan and I often remain in the background.... when people see the mzungu (white people) they think there is a lot of money so automatically the hand of begging goes out. We are here to empower - first spiritually - and to assist physically if necessary but NOT to create a greater sense of dependancy.

Another cute story.....Norman decided he wanted to try his luck at catching a talapia (fish) from our pond. Beno set him up with a hook, a line and a piece of styrafoam for a bobber. In one day he caught 4 large talapia. Talk about a boy in heaven!! The next morning he went out early and caught another one....but then he realized he didn't ask permission to fish again so he threw it back and came and asked me if he could fish. I really laughed that he was so faithful and tried to undo his mistake. I think he finally caught the same fish again. Now it's time to restock the pond.

So, thats some of the inside info on Norman. Norman will return to the Doctor in early July for another ECHO on his heart. Then we'll see him again for the Capstone Camp in August. I envision Dan and I taking the "grandparent" role and having Norman visit during the school breaks. We won't go to visit him in his home because our presence will create problems among the villagers who see the white people coming. Home visits will be made by the Capstone staff. I've really grown to love this boy. I grow to love all our boys as I get to know them at the Transition Center but with Norman it has become a very special bond. I try to guard my heart and not become too attached but with Norman that was impossible...I'm attached."

Patty

(quoted from Patty Schmelzer's email with permission)

Memories of Dad V - Requiem

DAD IN HIS FAVORITE CAR -1967 JAGUAR XKE
WEDDING PHOTO 1946

FULL MILITARY HONORS -FEB 17, 2009

ONE GIANT LEAP FOR A MAJOR

Dad passed away on February 5, 2009 and was buried with full military honors at Fort Logan National Cemetary, Denver, Colorado on February 17, 2009
****************************

Obituary for My Dad

Last night at 10:40 PM Manley Lafayette Bean, USAF Retired,
a reluctant warrior and former Arkansas farm-boy,
kicked the traces.

With Pegasus high overhead, the former Air Force major
relinquished his tight hold on the flying trapeze,
leaped to the horse's back,
grabbed a handful of celestial mane
and soared past the astonished moon to parts unknown.

At 1:26AM, his one and only son lights two candles.
"Bye Dad," says Mark with a tear.
“Safe journey and a happy landing."

At 3:30 AM the Angel of Transformation makes her rounds.
"Bye caterpillar," the Angel says softly
A new butterfly flutters
"Bye tadpole," the Angel says softly.
A tiny frog croaks.

At 4:00 AM the cries of newborn babies fill the skies.
The Angel smiles softly.
Feb 5,2009

.

.

Full Military Honors

A perfect “V” of geese flies close formation
Whipped by the fierce west wind.
White caps break upon the lake
Under a windswept sky.

The Angel of Surrender and Release
Stands to attention.
Eight mourners, eyes front,
Witness the careful folding of the flag.

My gaze transfixed upon a square of light.
A single withered leaf glowing in the sun.
I glance away. The airman gives the flag to Mom.
I look back. The withered leaf is gone.

I do not see the shovel
Nor hear the earth upon the casket lid.
The bugle sounds farewell.
Rifles ring out piercing my windswept heart.

I surrender, wings furled, dropping like a shot.
The flight of geese does not break rank.
They carry on.
Can I?
March 7, 2009 Daktari

Memories of Dad IV - Last Story

Dad and Me - February 2006
Me and my Folks

I’d like to share one last story about my Dad. And it really is the last story.

February 3, 2009

This morning, Mom, my sister Susan and I meet with the medical team. Dad has been hooked up to a BIPAP machine for breathing. This is a plastic bubble that fits over his face and is pressurized so that the lungs are blown open and oxygenation is better. Dad is struggling with it and I think he would be better without it. It’s a stressful meeting but eventually everyone agrees. The bubble should come off. If nothing else it will allow Dad to talk and let us know what he really wants us to do.

We re-group in Dad’s room and the nurse unhooks the BIPAP machine and takes off the bubble. She puts Dad on plain oxygen. Dad’s first words are, “What a relief!” Within minutes he is talking with Mom, Susan and me.

“Hey,” I think. “ Pulling the plug isn’t as sad as I thought. No question this is what Dad wants.”

We talk about the good old days. Dad gets reports on all the relatives – especially Sophie and Norman, the Kenyan boy with the new heart valves. We talk about the barbershop we used to go to and Dad remembers the barber’s name – Bill Wilkins.

Dad tells us all about the recent salmonella peanut butter scare, including where the manufacturing plant is located. Apparently, being in a coma is no excuse for missing out on the latest fear-mongering from CNN.

I tell him stupid jokes and we laugh together.
Two termites walk into a pub and one asks: ‘Is the bar tender here?’
How much did they pay Johnny Depp to have his ears pierced for “Pirates of the Caribbean”? A buccaneer.

My favorite image is when Susan and I leave the room to go out to lunch. We look back and see Mom and Dad holding hands and looking at each other. Wow!

By evening, it’s just me and my Dad in the hospital room. I call the nurse to help get him up in a chair.

“Is there anything else I can get you?” I ask.
“Ice cream,” Dad whispers and he winks at me conspiratorially.
I score a couple of vanilla Hoodsies from the fridge in the visitors lounge and we sit watching ‘Star Trek’ while he takes small bites of the ice cream. It’s doubly delicious because we have to keep hiding it from the nurses. He’s not supposed to have anything to eat. We feel like playful small boys pulling a fast one on the authorities.

Play and adventure – that’s how we show the God of Monkeys and Apes that we are still alive, even when our hearts are breaking, our wings are drooping and we’re about to lose our grip and fall off life’s trapeze. . .

February 4, 2009

It’s 10:40 PM and I am asleep, caught in the throes of an angry dream. In the dream I have to go somewhere, but my shoes are missing. I know exactly where I left them and they’re not there. Someone has stolen my shoes. I am so mad.

The phone rings and it’s my sister. Dad has taken a turn for the worse. He’s going fast.
I wake Mom but she doesn’t want to go to the hospital, so I go in alone.

Before getting in the car, I look up at the mountain sky, always so bright and clear. The great square of Pegasus is directly overhead and a brilliant half-moon is sailing in the sky beneath.

By the time I get to the hospital Dad is gone. It’s peaceful and OK. Hugs and sadness.
Then on the way back from the hospital, I remember the shoe dream.

“Dad and I always wore the same size – 8 ½ D,” I recall.
Suddenly a light-bulb fires off in my brain.
”Holy smokes,” I realize. “That guy who stole my shoes in the dream must have been Dad!”
“And he didn’t take just one. He took both of them.”
I start to laugh and tears fill my eyes, as I realize that wherever he is going, Dad needs two shoes size 8 ½ D. (Dad had his right leg amputated in a bus accident in 2004.)

The next day I tell Susan my shoe dream. She also had a dream the night Dad died.
My sister dreamed that she and Dad were walking down the street and she suddenly realized that he was walking on both legs! She was happy he wasn’t in a wheelchair in her dream.

“Did you happen to get a look at his shoes?” I ask.

“Not really,” Susan replies.

Take that, you God of Monkeys and Apes!
Manley, the one-legged shoe thief, strikes again.

Things I miss - Memories of Dad III

Norman Boarding Plane to Nairobi
Patty and Norman

Norman with his Dad Alex after Surgery

Things I Miss

I miss Dad’s words of wisdom and gentle advice. Like Mr. Rogers , he knew how to use a few words wisely. “Simpler is better,” as Mr. Rogers used to say.

I miss his kindness and courage , too. He cared about his family, his country, the work he did and the employees who worked for him. He cared a lot about politics and was happy to have lived to see Obama sworn in as President.

Dad even cared about people he never met and didn’t even know. Last August, after he had moved from his condo to the Frasier Meadows Nursing Home, I visited Dad in Boulder to see how things were going. He was busy getting the sink lowered, hooking his computer up to WiFi and organizing a hunger strike among his fellow inmates to get pot roast instead of steak tartare served at Sunday dinner.

We were sitting around in his room when he said, “You know, I would really like to do something in Africa.”

“Like what?” I asked.

“Something that would help someone who needs a hand,” Dad replied. “I know your project in Kenya does a lot of good and I would like to help.”

“You could make a donation to one of our programs,” I offered. “Maybe electricity for the health center or books for the reading program.”

“That would be OK, I guess,” said Dad dubiously. “But I would really like to do something more personal. Maybe you can think of an individual who really needs my help.”

“I’ll see what I can do,” I promised.

A little while after this conversation, I received an email from a friend and fellow Rotarian, Dan Schmelzer in Kisumu, Kenya. Dan and his wife Patty run a program to re-patriate street boys in Kisumu to their families of origin. A homeless street boy will stay at Dan and Patty’s for up to six months while his family is located and contact between parent and child is re-established. The family is enabled to take care of their returning son – financially, emotionally and spiritually. And finally the prodigal son returns home.

Norman was one of these boys. Dan had written because Norman needed a heart operation to replace two badly damaged heart valves. At age 12 Norman had been banished from his home by his father for ‘laziness’. Alex, Norman's father, complained that he would send the boy to school and Norman would never get there. He would tell him to sweep the compound at home and 10 minutes later Norman would be sitting under a tree with the job only half done. “I can’t have a son who is lazy and good for nothing,” said Norman’s Dad.

To Patty, Norman seemed genuinely sorry that he couldn’t do his Dad’s bidding.
“He says you’re lazy,” she told the boy.
“I’m not lazy. I’m just tired,” replied Norman. “I’m so tired that I can’t walk as far as the school. When I work in the compound I become out of breath and have to sit down.”

Patty and Dan took the boy to a doctor who did an X-ray of Norman’s chest. His heart was ‘as big as a soccer ball’ they were told. They took Norman and his father to Nairobi to see the most famous heart surgeon at Nairobi Hospital. They were told that Norman was in congestive heart failure and wouldn’t live a year without surgery to replace two of his four heart valves. The operation would cost $4,000 and that didn’t include the cost of the valves.

So Dan was emailing Rotarians that he knew in the U.S., to ask for money to give Norman a heart operation. So far, Rotarians in Denver had convinced St. Francis Hospital to donate two state-of-the-art bio-prosthetic heart valves for free. But they had only raised $500 of the money needed for the surgery. He was writing because, despite medications, Norman’s condition was worse. Norman needed an operation right away.

I called Dad on the phone and told him the situation.
“I can do that,” he said. “Where do I send the money.”

My sister arranged to wire transfer $3500 to Barclay’s Bank in Kenya. Norman, Alex and Patty flew to Nairobi. The operation was a success. Now Norman has a new heart and is enrolled in school. He can play soccer and enjoys reading. He only reads at a second grade level and he is very small for his age, but he is learning and growing rapidly.

Norman and Dad never met one another. I’m hoping to visit Norman when I travel to Kenya in June. I’m sure Dad will be happy when that moment comes. Thanks to my Dad’s ‘open hearted’ charity, a new life has opened up for Norman and his Dad. Norman has a new heart and Alex has a son who will never be lazy again.

In the Mishna Torah, the great doctor/rabbi, Maimonides describes eight levels of giving charity to others. At the highest level a man gives his own coat to another who he does not know and he who receives it does not know the one who has given him the coat.

When I think of my Dad, I will always remember that even while facing his own approaching illness and death, he was able to reach out and give the gift of life to someone he didn’t even know. Somewhere in Africa a small boy is running and a father is watching. Thanks to my Dad.
DAKTARI

Memories of Dad II - Make a Friend

My Dad just after WWII -First Lieutenant
Sister Susan and Me - on our way to France

Quonset Hut Schoolhouse

After France, the Bean family moved to Fort Worth, Texas where Dad worked at Carswell Air Force Base. It was 1956 – the start of the Cold War. The biggest bombers of them all , the B52’s carrying hydrogen bombs, took off at all hours of the day and night. The sign at the base entrance said "Strategic Air Command: Peace is our Profession".

Our trip back was pleasant – a first class cabin on the S.S. United States from Cherbourg to New York. There was one frightening episode the first day out. The lifeboat drill alarm sounded when I was by myself. and I thought the ship was sinking. Otherwise it was smooth sailing. My sister, Susan, and I loved the Spanish melon in the dining room. It was Easter in the North Atlantic complete with an on-board Easter Egg hunt for kids.

Driving a new Buick from New York to Texas was an experience. My sister, Susan, worried the whole way about our new school. She was afraid no one would speak French!
She was right, they didn’t.

Our school in France held 35 students in six grades . One teacher for grades 1,2 and 3. And one for 4,5 and 6. The two classrooms were housed in a small Quonset hut on the army base in Sampigny, about 8 miles from St. Mihiel. Each classroom had a coal stove for heat in the winter and there were no flush toilets – just latrines at the back of the playground. A military ambulance picked us up and delivered us to school each day. By the time I left France for ‘home’, I had only had one teacher since first grade.

The day I entered the 4th grade at Castleberry Elementary School in Fort Worth was a complete culture shock. It was a two story building with 600 kids. I knew no one. There were 25 kids in my classroom and one teacher. She seemed OK. At the first opportunity, my classmates were delighted to show me the state regulation classroom paddle on a hook next to the blackboard. That was for the bad kids I was told. I wondered how many bad kids went to school in Texas if every teacher needed a paddle to defend herself. The alarm bells for recess and lunchtime reminded me of the lifeboat drill on the Titanic. I was petrified!

That night when I went home, I cried and cried.

“I don’t want to go to school,” I bawled.

Dad came into my room and knelt down next to the bed.

“I know it’s hard,” Dad said.
“Don’t worry, Listen and I’ll tell you what to do.”
Then he gave me these words of advice.
“Tomorrow, when you go to school you only have to do one thing,” he advised. “Make a friend. That’s all just make a friend.”

The next day, I did what he said - I made a new friend. Dad was right. I definitely felt better and after a while I knew I would be OK in my new school. Since then, whenever I’m in a new situation, I remember Dad’s advice and look for a friend. It worked for him, and it works for me too.

DAKTARI