The Flight

Not much to say about the flight really. Arriving over East Africa I started to get excited and confused by the reality of the situation. The sun set, but I could only clouds below. Later on, as we approached Arusha I could see little dots of light in the distance. Little constellations of homes and shops. Not joined up by yellowing strings of street-lights like in Europe or North America. Crisp looking white lights, reflecting the star filled sky.

As we got closer we began counting down to arrival with the help of the SkyMap on the screen above our heads. The plane, with its bland food, bland entertainment and plastic interior, a familiar transportation to the unfamiliar and new.

The temperature guage showed 20°C, then 24° then 29, then 32 as we descended towards Kilimanjaro International Airport. Touch down, and it is all real, surreal, and I really feel like any preparation is wasted, or pointless, or useless. Do we need all the things that we have brought? Do I know enough to do what I want to do? Would it have been better to stay in London and find a more familiar way of fulfilling myself, our selves? What does it mean to be ready? Is it something one can feel?

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