The Baobab Forest in Himo Tanzania

I haven't posted a blog in some time.  I try to make my blogs more about places, people and the marvels of where we live than anything else; thus, I hope that this blog bides you well.  Today, this Sunday, John and I went to our first "hash" of our trip in Kilimanjaro Region Tanzania.  "Hash" means that lots of your friends, acquaintances, friends of acquaintances, and total newcomers meet at an afternoon hour usually on Sunday and manage to follow the "hare" to find the way to the end of the walk/run.  This "hare" sets the trail with flour.  Sometimes the flour has a cross, and when that happens you have to find the next  flour about 100 meters away.  Then you shout a spirited "on on" and the rest of the group follows with one sort of designated person putting an arrow for the path. Sometimes the path may seem "spot on" but there is a giant "F" after several meters and then you have to turn around and look for the correct path again.  We have ourselves set many of these hashes with tricks and turns (that if I am walking as I used to do  running, personally hate- but love to set). The good news is that there are bites and delicious beer at the end of each of these "hashes."

Today's hash was in a particularly thorny, high and difficult trek.  But, the area was too interesting for me to pass up even though I am still a bit jet lagged and anxious about falling on my new back. This hash was in what we call the "Baobab Forest."  It is an area where there are many baobab trees, but lots of bush and acacias as well and we are told, snakes (never seen one here).

Because of my relatively recent surgery, I determined within 500 meters that I could not safely do this hash.  So, I set about the area and found some interesting things for photos. Even John said that I would have been very unhappy with this hash, a. because of the steep sides and b. because there was no place to place your feet to avoid a slide, and c. because there were times when you had to crawl under thorny acacia bushes to get to the next flour patch.  I hate to admit defeat, but I certainly have no interest in either a fractured hip or a terminal tip over the side of a rock.  So, I tried to photograph a few not very good shots of baobab trees and other things nearby.

The problem about taking good baobab shots is that there is so much scruff around them that you cannot get a clean shot without a "panga" machete to cut everything away.  Some friends actually suggested that the next Hash at this spot should include one person with a panga to cut some of the bush away.  His reasoning was sound as he had many cuts and scrapes when he finished the run.  But, I am pretty sure that would not have helped me.

Our destination was "Simba Hill" in Himo.  "Simba Hill" is of course kiswahili for Lion Hill.  Himo is a tiny town outside the bigger area of Marangu, which hosts the primary climbing gate for Kilimanjaro.  At the top of "Simba Hill" is "Simba Rock" which John describes as 10 feet up, "possible" 10 feet down "impossible".  But the view is supposed to be spectacular from there.  I will never know.

Simba Hill

Meanwhile back at "base camp" Patricia drinks one Serengeti beer, and then wanders around.  The most striking thing about this area other than the trees is that it is a deserted but not official burial ground.  The cultural practices of  Tanzania include burying your dead at the family plot.  Most of the time there are people living in these homes, but at this one, we found only a deserted house with a broken lock.  But there were 3 graves near the house and another  ruin of a house with 2 burial sites. I think these two graves are most interesting.

Burial 1 (died 2016)

                

This burial is significant to me because this person lived from 1995 to 2016 (age 21).  Perfect to have been part of the AIDS epidemic that wiped so many young people out.  In Tanzania medical drugs did not become available for free until 2004; thus many many people died. Perhaps more likely this person died from a motor accident of some kind.  This, too is killing the young people in epidemic proportions.

This grave caused great discussion amongst the "wazees" (the old people particularly who have been in the country for a long while).  I was told in no uncertain terms that  the date of birth was probably inflated in this woman's case.  I disagreed.  But of course, there were no birth records amongst the Chagga people in 1913.  There might have been bibles (which I argued) and there might have been some even that would have made the memory of the family more certain.  But, surely as my friend argued, if I didn't dig the body up and have it evaluated for age, I couldn't be sure that this person lived to be 106.  I argued that the tribe most predominant here, the Chagga's, if they survived young and middle age, tended to live very long, There is no disputing that, but I had to agree, that not knowing anything about this family, I could be wrong. The relative, dying at aged 21, would have been a registered birth.  But this one, no. Anyway, it was a beautiful sight to see.

3 graves

Though there were lots of rocks and Acacia trees around, I chose to try for a good Baobab shot.  I failed but here are some of the trees in the forest.

3 Baobobs (actually 4)

My attempt to be creative

A big Baobab 

As you photographers can see, I need help, but I had no panga to clear all that brush from the bottom of the tree and probably would not have been successful anyway.  Still the old trees are a treasure.

We drove back to Moshi with the sunset just under this sort of abandoned building.  Some day, back to the Baobab Forest.  Just let the record show that we have driven past this forest probably 20 times in the last 14 years, and I have forever tried to get beautiful shots.  But I have never had hours to look, squat, lie down on my stomach, crawled up and down hills, tried different angles and all the rest.  I just think that the bush and the baobabs don't care about me and my shots. Perhaps one day, and perhaps some of my photographer friends can try to help me.  I promise that there are rows and rows of these wonderful old trees, but I am unlikely to be the person that can form the right photograph of them. Sigh. Welcome to Moshi.  A paradise all its own.