House of Peace

I have come to the realization that I like to accomplish everything on the 11th hour. Packing and then re-packing, that pesky doctors appointment, last minute errands, pick up that extra tooth brush I forgot to put away in my carry on luggage. I think I am made for the 11th hour- I am afflicted by the 11th hour syndrome.

Sitting in YVR, it is finally beginning to dawn on me. After two years of remote planning, putting together possible travel itineraries, editing of proposals and trying to picture what my experience in Dar Es Salaam will look like, I am finally doing it!!!

Now you might be wondering, why would I want to fly half way across the world? I am about to start my three week pseudo volunteer vacation in an effect to finally do something meaningful again as well as taste a sense of reality. Two years in Vancouver has made me soft. I yearn for the days of chaos, adventure and the possibility of sickness. I am returning back to my roots- doing something simple that isn't about me. In the everyday rat race, the target is always the next big step. You want to walk to experience life, but you are asked to jump, leap even in order to get ahead.

For me, this is the pause. This pause means volunteering with one of my friend's organizations in Tanzania on a variety of different projects from Radiology implementations to nutrition tracking programs. In all honesty, I dont know what to expect. I have an idea but, I am waiting to see what this reality taste's like.

This pause means a re-discovery. Over the course of my many legs to Dar ( YVR-JFK-DOH-DAR), I will be going home.

New York is the first pit stop. The city that never sleeps always manages to teach me something new. Every trip peels away another layer from the hustle and bustle. This time I want to capture the city come to life through a fancier pair of lenses- my camera of course. A layover also means a pit stop to meet up with the lovely Ms. Pangetsu, catch up over latte. I imagine laughter, chocolate induced commas, and sharing of new dessert recipes.

The next leg takes me to the city of my childhood- Doha. Memories of the corniche (i can taste the salt on my lips already), roast chicken, running around the old gold souks, eating badam (almonds), pista ( pistachios) and drinking saffron milk. This is the city of my childhood. My memories are weaved with flakes of arabic and the smells of salt and perfumes.

I am reminded of the calls to prayer, card boarding down sand dunes (before sand boarding became popular) mom buying me pastries at the center, the parks and tasting delicacies from all over.I wonder if I will the recognize the city. More importantly, will the city recognize me?

But in the end, I am looking forward to Dar Es Salaam - "The House of Peace". Everyone I have met who has traveled to Africa, has told me there is a pull to return. I wonder what my pull will be and what this journey holds for me.