The Elephant Cloud

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Jay rustles just as dawn breaks and when I look up, he kisses my cheek, whispering its still early. I drift asleep as he pulls the door closed; the still morning begins to stir with crickets and song birds. Jay strolls the grounds, camera in hand until young Jomo breaks his silence. The two walk together sharing life stories in a mix of broken Swahili and English, Jomo is a traditional East African Maasai living with his wife and baby daughter, he and four other Maasai guard the medical compound as we sleep. In traditional red cloth draping over his shoulder, it wraps around his legs, a staff rests in his left hand while he treads on old rubber tire sandals; to his left, Jay, adorned in his UNH baseball cap, black tee-shirt and faded jeans now too big, walks in his chaco sandals, two worlds astride.

Near the Ngorongoro crater, we are in a valley of tropical lush forest surrounded by verdant hills, the ridge line bestrewn with beautiful canopied trees. It’s a lovely place, below are fields and parcels of land, cultivated rows of vegetables lined with dark red earth. Dirt roads and thatched huts crisscross the terrain, we are anxious to explore Karatu, our home until 2010.

Tanzania’s fertile Eden ships organic coffee beans all over the world for a price most farmers don’t earn in a week, but not a single bean finds its way into our village. Instead, I attempt the perfect ratio of Africafe Instant Coffee and Nestle’s Powdered Milk. Sipping my brew, yesterday’s cases of malaria, brucellosis, amoebas, HIV, syphilis and dysentery run through my mind. Jay returns, preferring his chamomile tea straight up.

Sunlight pierces the windows, we gather our notes and amble to the clinic. So our morning begins.