It’s done. I’ll let you decide for yourself whether you think our effort was a success.

After careful consideration I decided to educate the Maasai rather than spending the money we raised on farmland. The Maasai are experts with cattle, but have zero expertise in farming. It became obvious early on that Olomo and his village had no idea how to plant, grow or deliver corn from the farm to their village – so I turned my attention toward traditional education instead.

I’ve spent the past two-weeks researching schools in Arusha, TZ – meeting with teachers and administrators trying to figure out the best plan of action. Why education?

The vast majority of Tanzanian’s don’t make it past “Form Four” (10th Grade). Those who graduate from Form Six (12th Grade) find work – and those who graduate with a one-year certificate from a technical school easily find good jobs. Those  graduating from a technical school with a two-year diploma are guaranteed a successful high-paying career. The select few who finish university with a three-year bachelors degree write their own ticket.

In addition to sending people to school I spent some of the money to help my Kilimanjaro mountain guide start a business that will funnel 10% of profits into a Porter To Guide Program (P2G). The idea is to help porters learn English and go to guide school, ultimately helping them break the cycle of poverty that rules their daily lives. (Most porters make $2 a day, depending on tips alone to feed their families). Stephanie Thomas was kind enough to help with designing the website.

Go to: www.fairtradetrekking.org to see the final product…. and please remember to use FTT if you ever plan on climbing Kili yourself! Amani William is a fantastic guide, a great guy and he’ll take great care of you. (Oh, and without his help none of our efforts would have been possible. He spent the last two weeks working closely with me every single day).

The result: we are sending Olomo to the Pasiansi Ranger School in Mwanza, his 11 year-old sister to a private secondary school for five years,  Amani to business school for a year and a seven-week computer course (along with buying him a bunch of gear for his business), a Maasai hotel employee named Pauline to school for an Information Technology certificate, we invested in a small charcoal business for a guy named Sylvester who lives in the largest slum in Nairobi and finally, we put aside a little money to begin English training for the FTT porters.

Olomos’ sister Naiputa was our largest investment. At 11 years-old she is too young to begin secondary school which starts after Standard 7 (7th Grade) – but after explaining the situation to the headmaster he decided to admit Naiputa early as long as we provided her with an extra year to adjust, learn and grow up. Thus, Niaputa will be attending secondary school for 5 years, rather than 4.

None of this would have been possible without her father’s blessing and a promise. In Nogorongoro it is Maasai tradition to circumcise a girl upon graduating 7th grade and marry them off for a bride prize. A young bride typically brings a dowry of 10 cattle – roughly $2,000. Eager to gain payment, many fathers marry their daughter’s off within hours of graduation.

This will not be the case with Naiputa. In a meeting with school officials I made her father make a direct promise to the headmaster that as long as she was in school she would not undergo circumcision or be married off. In return, I promised that if Olomo and his father paid for Form Five & Form Six, I would send Niaputa to college (so expect another fundraiser about 7 years from now)! In the event that Niaputa drops out or fails out of school, the money will go to help another student. Go to http://moringesokoine.org/ to learn more. (The website is terrible. Google it for more info.)

Below you’ll find a breakdown of how the money was spent:

Naiputa – Moringe Sokoine Seconday School (5 years) – $3,500. Includes tuition, room, board, uniforms, books & allowance. $100 donation to school.

Olomo – One year at Pasiansi Ranger School. $1,200. $65 to visit the school prior to admission. $100 watch as gift for his father.

Amani - $600 tuition for a one-year business certificate from The Institute of Accountancy. $100 computer course. $300 cook tent. $900 two new Tarango II tents, $200 two thick Thermarests ground mats, $450 new HP laptop computer, $100 web-hosting & domain for 5 years, $110 porter English training.

Pauline – $100 Computer course.

Sylvester – $200 Charcoal business start-up money.

Extra Expenses – $1,000 for M4M reprints from Asymbol, $2,000 for my flights. $100 for travel bags to carry gear for Amani. $100 operational fees for banking. ( FYI: Just so you don’t think I’m an ass for taking 2K for flight allowance… I paid for all of the original event costs which exceeded 2K by a fair bit and I covered my lodging & travel expenses for the 2 weeks I was arranging everything in Tanzania).

Total Raised: $10,642

Total Spent: $11,225 (excluding event and two-weeks of living expenses).

Left to right: Morris, Olomo, Naiputa, Elirehema and Amani.

Nice work people! You made a huge difference in the lives of everyone mentioned above and they are all tremendously grateful!

Now, I’m off to take some more pictures…

Holy Shit, we did it! As of today (September 14) the Maize For Maasai project has raised $10,642. After subtracting for all the reprints (around $1,000 in printing costs) that still leaves more than $9,500! We could never have done this without your generosity and the amazing support of our unbelievably kick-ass Jackson, WY community! I would like to thank everyone who gave their time, energy and hard-earned money to make this endeavor possible. (See below for the full thank you list!)

After speaking with Olomo, my Maasai contact in Tanzania, it looks like this project is going to move forward fast, really fast. Their time to plant is in November, so I will be returning to Tanzania around Thanksgiving (appropriate) to help his village purchase the land, seed and supplies they need to get started.

As of now, the plan is to purchase two hectares of farmland – roughly two soccer fields. I have advised Olomo that the transaction must be legal, with the funds being transferred to a bank account. He wrote back that, “we must have executive officer from a village or area were we buy a land as one of our witness together” and nothing about banking options. All I can tell you is that I’ll do my best to make damn sure everything is legit…. which reminds me of what African’s loved to say when my things were lost, my plans were delayed and the simple seemed impossible… “this isn’t America or Europe you know?”

Moving forward we are doing our best to research potential partner organizations that could lend farming expertise to the effort, or even find an academic institution that might like to make M4M a sustainable agriculture research project. Any input, ideas or leads would be welcome?

Finally, I’d like to especially thank both Steph Fellows of the Art Association and Stephanie Thomas of Backcountry Baby for all of their help – both of whom went above and beyond to make this project happen…. and everyone else who helped out as well!!!

Destin Peters & Meagan Schmoll – Stinky Prints (Large format printing)

Tim Harland - Snake River Brewery (Damn Fine Beer)

Benjamin Carlson – Carlson Collective (Graphic Design – see poster)

Colleen Quigley – Draw Quigley (Graphic Design – see postcard)

Clay Preheim – Open End Studios (Web Design)

Zach Allen – Asymbol Gallery (Photo Printing)

Kristine Harris - Whole Grocer (Fresh Food)

Jim Stanford – JH Underground (Best JH News)

Rob Nelson – White Buffalo Club (Great steak, liquor, spa, rooms and more.)

Tom Savitski – Cartridge Club Direct (Simply Generous)

Mo Murphy – JH Chamber (Chargers Fan)

Frank Londy - JH Cinema

Andy Zimmerman – BikeWire

Jen Jacobsen – U of Wyo

Andy – Picas

Chrissy Koriakin – KHOL

Everyone at  – Jackson Hole Radio

April Hankey – Friends of Pathways

David Gonzales – The Snaz

Christian Burch – Mountain Dandy

Andy Ripps – Calcon Mutual Mortgage

Hal Wheeler – JH Paragliding

Jack Watsabaugh – Defined

BUY PHOTOS. GROW FOOD. FEED PEOPLE.

Thursday September 1st, 6-9 PM – Center for The Arts outdoor lawn. (Jackson, WY)

In Tanzania’s Nogorongoro National Park, a Maasai village struggles to survive on a meager herd of livestock, unable to hunt or cultivate within the boundaries of the park. On a visit to East Africa last winter, Jackson photographer Morris Weintraub was struck by the modesty and generosity of the Maasai villagers. He returned to Wyoming determined to help those he photographed. On Thursday, Sept. 1, from 6 to 9 p.m. at Center for the Arts, Weintraub will display a collection of photographs to help the Maasai purchase a plot of farmland outside the park. Prints will be sold, auctioned and raffled off, with all of the proceeds going to purchase land where the Masai can grow the corn they need to stay healthy throughout the year. The villagers have a saying, “The Maasai are friends to everyone.” Let’s return that sentiment.

Refreshments provided.

Facebook Page:
http://www.facebook.com/event.php?eid=277121275634894

Rwanda:

Less than 24 hours into my trip I found myself limping through the streets of Kigali (Rwanda’s capital city) clutching a broken flip-flop in one hand and bleeding from a recently stubbed big-toe as I dutifully followed a random Rwandan through littered streets to find what I hoped would be a shoe repair man. It was a pretty funny scene, one made worse by the fact that I am blessed with some of the ugliest feet you (or, judging by their contorted faces, any African) have ever seen. During this short pilgrimage two things occurred to me. One: Rwandans have a sense of humor, made evident by their unveiled chortles at my expense. And two: My doctor was right to give me a back-up tetanus shot.

I’ve traveled a fair bit and I can say without hesitation that my time in Rwanda was some of the most rewarding time I’ve ever spent abroad. The people are unbelievably warm and welcoming and the country itself is very beautiful. 3,000 or so rolling hills all terraced for farming to feed an economically struggling and often hungry nation. Outside of the capital (and a couple other larger cities) the norm I encountered in the countryside was mud-huts with thatched roofs for housing, inhabited by proud, hard working people trying their best to farm enough food for their families. Learning what I did about their lives and their predicaments immediately put my own blessed existence into perspective. It is entirely impossible to walk amongst these people without feeling a sense of responsibility to help in some small way – not out of guilt or obligation, just simply because they’re worthy.

For most of us, the genocide of the 90′s is all we know of Rwanda. It has defined their nation and will continue to do so for generations to come. However, to their credit, the Rwandan’s themselves are not hiding from their past – with the national genocide memorial standing as testament to the atrocities committed during the 90′s and criminal trials still taking place in neighboring Tanzania. It’s a reality Rwandan’s live with every day – not as a simple stain on a tarnished national reputation, but one that can be seen everywhere in the thousands of orphaned children across the country who are struggling to raise their siblings and break the cycle of poverty.

I met three high school aged kids who all lost parents in the genocide (Olive, Josephine and Patience) – two of which are orphans. They are all struggling with the same question of how to rise above the bleak future set before them. They are all high achievers. They are all exceptionally intelligent. And they are all very poor with multiple younger siblings that they are struggling to feed and care for. Even if they could somehow raise the $800 per year for tuition to attend college, who’s going to care for their younger siblings and tend to the fields while they’re gone? It is thoroughly humbling to sit inside a mud-hut house amongst three perfectly groomed (yet completely impoverished) 17 year-olds who attend school by day and farm in the fields each afternoon to feed their siblings. That’s tough. What’s worse is to hear about their dreams and aspirations (in adequately articulated English) of becoming scientists, doctors and artists in a flat dull tone, devoid of excitement, punctuated by resigned shoulder shrugs and big smiles that suggest while they still cling to hope, they don’t dare let themselves believe their dreams will ever come to pass.

My favorite two days in Rwanda were those that I spent walking amongst the people in the countryside. At one point I sat down by a lake to watch women hang laundry and children play. After a while I was approached by  an older man who introduced himself as the head of the village. He was not smiling and he seemed wary of my arrival. He wanted to know what I was doing there? Sitting, staring… I explained that I was simply traveling and trying to meet the people of Rwanda. Softening a little he asked, “But aren’t you scared? Don’t the people in America think Rwanda is very dangerous?” To which I replied, “Yes they do. But I believe that you must trust people, to get to know people.” He smiled, warmly shook my hand and welcomed me to the village. It was my something I will not soon forget.

Serengeti:

It’s awkward and lonely being a dirt-bag traveler in Africa staying in four-star hotels, surrounded by overweight Caucasian families and chattering Chinese business types every night in the Serengeti luxury lodges  (camping was an impossibility because I needed power to download photos)… but everything else about the experience was fucking brilliant! The word Serenget (no I) is a Masai word meaning, “endless plain” – which is as fitting a term there could possibly be. The terrain stretches to the horizon, uninterrupted, in every direction. In the central Serengeti, there are some larger rock formations that the predators use as cover for attack, but mainly it’s just flat land, some high grass and the occasional umbrella topped Acacia (and a few other types of trees that I fail to remember because the Acacia are just so much cooler!).

Quite honestly, I learned more about how the typical African worker is getting screwed by the man than I did about the ecosystem that surrounded me. But for me, connecting with local people is what traveling is about anyway, so that was fine by me. I can tell you a few interesting things I remember however….

Like how lions screw for far less time than I pee. My goodness. Don’t blink or you’ll miss it. Apparently when they pair off to mate they have sex every half-hour for more than a day to increase their chance of conception. The photo I have of a male lion roaring was taken just seconds after a brief mating session. It was a roar every man can identify with – and one which, as a photographer, I wish I had been better prepared to capture! …Or that giraffe look like they are in slow motion when they run because they do not alternate moving their front and hind legs as all other animals do, but instead move the left and right legs in unison….Or that a wildebeest’s best protection against predators is that their young, upon birth, are up and running in just a few minutes. (Similar for zebra and giraffe as well. Apparently it’s not a good idea to lie around for long when lions are on the prowl)….Or that antelope turn and face their adversaries when being stalked rather than trying to distance themselves from the predator. I watched this strange dance as an antelope actually moved closer to a cheetah to keep a better eye on him, while making sure he kept a safe distance to outrun the cheetah if it decided to make its move….Or that spotted hyena look damn scary and strong. It’s no wonder they can chase lions off their kill when working as a pack…..Or that zebra stripes are not black and white from the start – but more of a dull gray that grow darker and lighter with age – and that their stripes work to confuse predators attacking the herd. It’s tough to tell who’s going which way when they are moving in mass….. Or that ostrich are enormous and not to be f’d with. They have a big claw that works in a slashing motion on those long legs of theirs that makes them formidable opponents on the open plains. Basically, there isn’t anything out there that isn’t tough as nails and deserving of your utmost respect.

Which brings me to my one piece of advice if you’re ever planning to visit the Serengeti. Make damn sure you go number two before heading out into the bush for an extended period, because trust me when I say: you WILL NOT want to leave the vehicle to take care of business!

The Ngorongoro Crater is a natural caldera with an 1,800 foot perfectly circular mountain rim that sits on the western edge of the Serengeti. Once a massive volcano, it now houses a fresh water lake that attracts every animal in the greater Serengeti ecosystem. Beyond the crater rim, stretching further than the eye can see, lies the Serengeti and the 60,000 Masai who inhabit Ngorongoro National Park.

Imagine if you can, Yellowstone National Park inhabited by thousands of Native Americans, all living close to the way they did 200 years ago. Mud huts with thatched roofs dot the hillsides. Children milking cows and goats each morning before heading down dusty dirt roads to schools miles away. Ornately accessorized mothers and wives with elongated earlobes and brightly colored jewelry making tea by firelight inside their dimly lit homes. And men, with expertly scared faces, wrapped in traditional red cloth, carrying big knives and long sticks made from Acacia tending to their cattle.

Guided by a gracious Masai named Olomo who I befriended a couple weeks prior, I was invited to live amongst the Masai for a few days inside the park. Unfortunately, following a lengthy meeting with the suits at park headquarters, this proved to be illegal and we were forced to make alternative arrangements – which included bribing park rangers, hiring an alcoholic driver, sleeping at unauthorized encampments and slinking around the park without an authorized permit for an exciting yet all too brief 48 hours.

Before I get into the details of what I learned in my short time with the Masai, let me first address the overall impression I got from them as a whole. You see, Masai do not just inhabit the park, they’re everywhere! I met Masai men (easy to spot in their traditional red, plaid dress) all over Tanzania and Kenya and my experience was amazingly consistent. They were all friendly, well groomed, strong, healthy looking types with big white smiles. They exuded a sense of peaceful friendliness while commanding respect – often emitting some sort of visceral, “don’t mess with me or I’ll happily beat you down”  kind of energy. Masai are recruited for and hold most of the security jobs in the cities for what I can only assume are the reasons listed above. Above all, it seemed to me that the Masai men were honorable people, to be trusted and admired. They appeared to take pride in their reputation of strength and integrity and when I asked if there were any people the Masai didn’t like, the answer was a swift “no” – followed by, “The Masai are friends to everyone.” (However, it must be said that from what I’ve read they are historically known throughout Africa as ruthless cattle thieves and warriors – but perhaps that’s all in the past?)

Olomo is the son of the village chief. His mother is one of nineteen wives and he plans to take his first wife in June when he is done paying the dowry of twenty cattle to his bride’s father. His village is small and dusty. It looks out over miles of flat land toward tall mountains. Mornings and evenings are busy in a Masai village, with most of the day spent hiding from the sun, resting in the shade of large trees. The children begin milking goats and cows at 4:30am. By 6:00am they are walking to school… depending on how far they have to travel. It is not uncommon for primary school children to walk 10 kilometers or more to school each way, five days a week. Most students stop attending school after the 6th grade. When I arrived at the school my first day the children were preparing to leave the classrooms for lunch (which was the same as breakfast). 607 students lined up to receive one cup of corn porridge each, ladled from four over-sized steaming cauldrons  – a gift for which they were truly thankful because food is not plentiful at home.

The Masai culture is based on very strict rules. Everyone has a job and contributes. Men do man’s work. They tend to the cattle, defend the village and farm (when it’s allowed). Women cook, raise the children and do the “house” work. Women are charged with the responsibility of building the homes, which is said to take a week and requires collecting an amazing amount of cow dung. The women wear jewelry to be attractive to the men and elongate their ears for the same reason. Neither are mandatory though. It’s simply a matter of style. The women with hair are single. The ones without are married. While most westerners balk at the idea of these women being one of many wives, it is not uncommon for women to take different men as lovers as well. And while you might expect there to be repercussions for such transgressions, the matter is dealt with in a surprising manner. If the woman is impregnated by the lover, her husband is responsible to care for the baby (even when it isn’t his) – with the true father expected to pay child support. $100 per year in child support is asked of suitors from nearby, with greater financial support being expected the further the lover has traveled. Apparently, where Masai women are concerned, it pays to shop locally!

For Masai men, wives are a necessity. It is not as much about love as it is a practical matter of spreading their seed to ensure a larger and more prosperous village. As Olomo explained to me, “If you have a wife and she fails to give you children, you just get another one.” When I explained that we only get one wife in America, he said that it, “sounds like a big headache”. Then I told him that we don’t need extra wives to ensure bigger families because doctors can just give men more sperm or women more eggs. To which he incredulously replied, “This is crazy!”

When it comes to the Masai. I really don’t think it’s appropriate to judge them by our own western values. While everything about their society is completely different from our own, it appears to work pretty well… (from the outside and what I noted in my uber-limited experience, that is). Which brings me to some of the challenges facing the Masai in the park. Basically their culture is under attack by the park service, who are struggling themselves to  balance a big-game ecosystem that remains their most profitable tourist attraction and a population of 60,000 indigenous inhabitants. Today, the Masai can no longer hunt any game, they are not allowed to cultivate within the park and they are now being pressured to limit the distance they herd their cattle when grazing. Couple all of this with the shorter rainy seasons that have plagued them for the past few years and the Masai’s traditional ways and current situation both seem highly unsustainable.

If the Masai are no longer allowed to hunt, (or even farm for that matter) and they are on their way to being forced to keep their cattle in pens – what will remain that makes Masai, Masai? They are being forced to adopt new rules that directly oppose the very tenets and traditions their culture is based on. While westerners are encouraged to come and hunt animals on African soil, they aren’t even allowed to protect their stock against attacking predators (with spears, not guns!). Furthermore, most of the villages go without enough food or medicine to care for their families because only a miniscule amount of money from the tourist industry ever makes it to the people who inhabit the park.

It all just seems ridiculously unfair and without an easy answer. Olomo is worried because they’ve lost many cattle in recent years due to drought and they’ve had to sell others to buy grain to feed the village. He hopes to raise enough money soon ($2,000) to buy a plot of land just outside the park where his village can grow enough maize to help feed their families. The traditional Masai diet is primarily meat, blood and milk, but Olomo admits that maize is needed to sustain the village, especially since their animals are malnourished and have begun to starve in recent years.

In the paradox that is Africa, Olomo hopes to become a park ranger someday and join the people enforcing the rules that govern his tribe. The pay is good and the work is steady he contends. Once again, I see an honorable Masai hoping to do what’s best for his family and his village….

Other tidbits of Masai info:

* Two donkeys equal one cow. 12 goats equal one cow. * Masai are not allowed to drink alcohol until they become a junior elder at the age of forty. *There are water sources for people and animals placed every 12 kilometers throughout the park. Women travel with donkeys each morning to fill up for the village. *Masai jumping game is a way to impress the ladies. The higher you jump, the more desirable you are. *Men often send their sisters to find women for them when they want to “jiggy-jiggy” (as Masai men call it). You can send a friend or go yourself, but it’s said that sisters are the most persuasive. If they bring a woman back for you, the mother leaves the hut to sleep elsewhere for a night or two. (Uhhh, awkward!) * There is a special branch the Masai use as a tooth brush and there is a “Gum Tree” from which the Masai pull the sap to chew. It tastes a bit like black licorice and never loses its flavor. *The ceremony for adolescent boys to become men includes circumcision. After the procedure the “men” have their faces painted white and travel from village to village for three months being fed and housed by the community. *Many Masai men have no armpit hair. It’s been bred out of them. (Gene therapy here we come!) *Many Masai from Ngorongoro herd their cattle hundreds of miles to Kenya to sell their cows at a better price. *Before drinking fresh goat blood from a slaughtered animal, young boys whisk it with a stick for 5-10 minutes to break up the clots. The meat is reserved for the men with no part of the animal going to waste. *The bed in a small Masai hut typically sleeps three grownups or six children – or a mixture there in. *The best gift to bring the women of a Masai village? Tea and sugar.

Kilimanjaro:

At 19,341 feet above sea level, Kilimanjaro is the tallest mountain on the African continent. Beyond that, all I can tell you is that it’s a fantastic climb and that the porters are damn strong and grossly underpaid. While traveling, it was shocking to learn about the inequities African workers face, with no finer example being the current work environment on the Kilimanjaro. Most of the porters on Kili, who carry 40+ pound packs on their heads for hours each day for their western clients, earn a whopping $3 a day – with many of them going unpaid and living off tips alone. The porters on my team were lucky. They were fed gruel (porridge) for breakfast and lunch before eating a hearty dinner each night. Unfortunately, many porters are sustained by porridge alone and often go without a proper meal the entire week they spend on the mountain.

To compound matters, nearly all of the porters are grossly unequipped to deal with the elements – wearing second-hand cotton clothing and tattered Members Only jackets shipped over from America. (Not kidding, I really did see a M.O. jacket on the mountain. Most wear sweatshirts though.) While I was initially psyched to learn that we’d be hiking in what some dubbed “the snow storm of the decade” (which consisted of rain and light snow for 5 straight days) – my elation quickly turned to concern upon realizing that every non-mzungu (white person) around me was wet, cold and freezing. Basically, they were hiking in the rain while carrying gigantic loads and camping at around 16,000 feet without so much as a poncho. Even my guide who was “well equipped” by African standards confessed that his hiking boots were 2 1/2 sizes too big and that he didn’t own a rain jacket.

On the final morning the tension in camp was palpable. Our guides and porters who had been so cheerful and ebullient the entire trip, despite the hardships they endured, were now visibly on edge. Basically, they were terrified by the idea of being stiffed, as many (and I don’t mean to assign blame, but I am absolutely going to) Europeans fail to understand the concept and importance of tipping. Case in point: two really nice Germans explained to me after their climb, “We paid a lot for our trip, so I didn’t think we should have to pay any more.” What they failed to understand was that 50% of the money they spent booking their trip stayed in Germany and 95% of the remaining profit was pocketed by the company executives who were hired to execute their trip. In short, the workers on the mountain are getting screwed, so if you do ever decide to climb Kilimanjaro, remember to build tipping into the cost of your trip ahead of time.

As for the hike itself…. it was awesome. Basically how difficult you’ll find it is determined by the pace at which you choose to hike and how well your body handles the altitude. I went slow and (aided by Diamox – a drug that helps prevent altitude sickness) handled the altitude quite well. Actually, I didn’t suffer in the least. However, there were loads of sick people all hiking around me, miserably trudging their way up the mountain with bad headaches and loopy stomachs. On the second day I asked a bunch of Norwegians if they were taking any altitude drugs and they laughed at me. “You Americans love your drugs” they chided. (Which, after some thought, I had to agree with.) Six of seven in the group grew ill and were miserable for the better part of the last three days. My suggestion: embrace your inner American and take the drugs. The glaciers at the top are epic wonders – best enjoyed without the taste of vomit in your mouth.

Lamu, Kenya – Maulid Festival:

Resting on the edge of the Indian Ocean, the sleepy town of Lamu, Kenya is a pearl on the Swahili coast. Boasting a population of 20,000 people the island is home to 52 mosques, 5,000 donkeys and two cars. (One ambulance and one ATV Four Wheeler.) There is little use for cars on the island, as most of he buildings are little more than five feet apart. The alleys snake, twisting and turning in a maddening maze of sublime confusion. And when you do finally break from the labyrinth, your eyes are usually cast upon mango trees, sandy beaches or dhows (traditional Arabic sailboat) moving effortlessly against the western sky. Lamu is tranquil, save one long-weekend a year toward the end of March when Muslims come from all over Africa to celebrate the birth of their prophet Mohamed. Games a celebrations mark a festival which culminates with believers marching, dancing and singing their way through the streets to gather in a public square that rests at the top of the island.

It’s an amazing festival, featuring exotic competitions such as greased pole walking, henna painting, tug of war, swimming, dhow racing and donkey racing. I could lie and tell you that I’m a huge henna painting fan (it was crazy man, I was going nuts), but really I was there to witness what I hoped would be some hard core, bump-and-grind, good ole’ fashioned donkey racing. After catching the tail end of the semis I was pumped for the finals – which never happened because the donkey riders went on strike! (Not kidding. They never got paid for the semis and a minor donkey revolt broke out.) Crushed, I was forced to turn my lens to the matter at hand – a wonderfully colorful and beautiful religious festival celebrated by humble, good hearted and devout Muslims…. most of whom would really rather prefer not having their photo taken.

And a few extra random photos from around Karatu, Tanzania:

Walking the Spanish colonial streets of Havana is a wondrous experience. Everyone is out. The streets are full and the shops are empty, because the vast majority of locals can’t afford anything but the bare necessities.  They stand in line, sometimes hours in advance, guarding against the chance that their food ration might run out. One pound of meat (almost certainly chicken) per person every two weeks. In the country, the raising and slaughtering of beef is a federal offense as result of a law established to ensure enough meat to sustain the restaurants that cater to the tourists. There is too much to tell about this fascinating Latin world that was shunned by the American government nearly 60 years ago.  Civil liberties as we know them don’t exist in Cuba. Castro and his brother Raul work hard to keep their people as uninformed as possible and pay the military and police well to ensure an obedient populous. Politics aside, I found it impossible not to love the Cuban people. I experienced almost no anti-American sentiment and found the people to be as open, gregarious and friendly as anywhere I’ve traveled.  They are a very giving people, even with so little to give. Of course, you will be bombarded day and night by people trying to sell you something or make a buck off you, but consider this: The $5 bottle of rum you could buy and share with ten thirsty Cubans costs one-third a city engineers’ MONTHLY salary. That’s right, an engineer makes $15 a month! An ex-physicist who waited on me explained that he quit his job as a college professor to serve tourists spaghetti because he made far more in tips than he did as a teacher. (Although it must be said that the Cuban educational system is fantastic.) And most people tip really shitty there…. because it’s all Europeans remember! It was my experience that the Cubans love Americans. First, because they say we are generous and tip well. Second, because we are American and “right or wrong” that still gives us street cred. And third, because they have only met a few of us! God help our reputation once Havana becomes the new Cancun. Get there now people. Get there now!

Lets see, what else…. classic American cars are everywhere and it is definitely seen as a status symbol to own one. (You need a special license and the government forbids you from selling it.) They love baseball and they play it incessantly…… without a ball! It’s no wonder they are so good. Had I used a broom handle as a bat and a plastic bottle cap as a ball, I’d have been better too! Other favorite street games include hand ball, dominoes and chess. The tobacco for their world-famous cigars is grown a few hours east of Havana, but most people don’t smoke because they can’t afford to. It seems like everyone in Cuba is a musician. Music is everywhere and although it can get a bit redundant (as most of the bands play the same songs for the tourists) they really are quite good. The Jazz scene in Havana is especially cool. Their national hero is Che. Castro is feared, not beloved. Although, it did seem that he is supported more heavily by the older generations (as many older people still respect him for kicking our American asses out and taking back the country). Housing, education, food and health care are free, but if a Cuban wants something above and beyond what the government provides it’s probably going to be more expensive than they can afford. I met a man whose eye glasses where broken and he couldn’t get them through his socialized health care program, so he’d been saving for two years to buy a new pair…. for $75! (However, his wife was recovering nicely after getting a FREE quadruple heart bypass surgery). It’s also worth saying that I found Cuba to be exceptionally safe and easy to travel. Finally, I’d like to give a shout out to my new friends in Santiago; Andres, Alex and George – who were great travel guides and better party partners.

These images were taken over a three-week period in January of 2010. Travel itinerary: Havana, Vinales, Cienfuegos, Trinidad, Camaguey and Santiago de Cuba.