Kenzie and I said goodbye to the team last night as they returned home. Today, we leave early for Moshi, a town two hours east of Arusha, at the foot of Kilimanjaro. Our destination for the next five days is the Kilimanjaro Christian Medical Center where Kenzie will offer education to the Neuro ICU staff.
It is really just a drive through the countryside. I am reminded of the road from Delhi to Agra in India and the back roads of upstate New York and Missouri. I love how the trees make tunnels for the road, meeting in the middle above, hiding the sky. It is pleasant, cool and a bit perilous as passing anywhere can be.
As we enter Moshi, looking for the hospital, the roads change. On one side there is an abrupt drop into a drainage ditch. On the other, a thin margin before life in the city begins. There is not much room for error. To my eyes, the roads are narrow and barely two-way but to local eyes, there is plenty of room! Nonetheless, I find myself sucking in to make myself smaller to help us squeeze through and don’t get me started on turning around when lost…which we were.
Twittering birdsong and the vibrating cicada buzz brings music to the reddish-brown dirt and rich green landscape as we approach the market next to the hospital. A woman passes carrying a long tray filled with bananas and avocados held comfortably atop her head. The air is filled with the scents of fresh lumber, fried meat with an intermingling of fresh air breezes.
We will stay at the Doctor’s compound, A14. It is marked by a sign and a charming tree by the garage. Someone has hung red solo cups from its branches and planted a delicate assortment of plants within. In a jungle environment where life is keen on overtaking every inch, it is a lovely, though unexpected, decoration. We will share this home with Cyrus and Francisco who are neurosurgeons on loan from Barrow’s, back home. Our housekeeper, Sia, greets us and settles us in before walking us to the hospital.
There we meet Sr. Magdaglena, Nursing Specialist in the Surgical ICU. She graciously gives us a small report on each one of the 9 patients. Kenzie has a delightful way of bridging the communication and cultural challenges. She asks questions and always relates their practice to hers in an easy, inclusive way. She is here to learn and share and there is no superiority in her manner. It is a pleasure to watch her work with such easy beauty and skill.
Friday
The sunrise sparkles behind and through the trees, the world is alive with bugsong answered by the choruses of birds and a distant rooster. The soft wind breezes through the treetops, drying the midnight rain, still shiny on the leaves below. The smell of the air is rich with its earthy, moist vibrance.
We walk to the hospital through the mud, increasingly taller as the ground becomes one with our shoes. Once on the cement, we stomp and carry on like tap dancers gone wild trying to attain our original height before entering the hospital.
We arrive early for African time but on time for us. We change into scrubs in the narrow, small room provided and I attempt to hide the residual mud beneath my shoe covers.
We have come for the morning rounds in the surgical ICU, scheduled for 0730. Around each patient, in turn, there is a gathering of ~15 caregivers: Dr. Chrystal, Magdalena RN Specialist, Night/Day shift bedside RNs, physiotherapy, pharmacy, dietary, and a chaplain praying at the bedside of an adjacent patient.
They speak low and I strain to hear. Dr. Chrystal reminds them to speak English for ‘our guests’. The discussions are detailed and thorough as the team describes much of the patients’ night history, present status, ongoing needs and future goals. This meeting of the minds is unexpectedly lengthy but appears to be patient centered and helpful.
After the fourth patient, I leave for a cup of cool water. I tell myself I have never been made for the ICU and, this morning my body agrees. I feel like an imposter but take comfort in knowing I am Kenzie’s imposter.
Next, the Neuro team rounds begin and there is a bit more energy in the room. It becomes louder, more lively, smiling and laughter erupt. This has not been my experience with Neurosurgeons. I may need to reevaluate my life.
Unsure about who I can touch and talk to, I leave Kenzie to her strengths and go in search of the mountain. Kilimanjaro is just northeast of our location and I can get a limited view from the parking lot. Its snowcovered, towering top remains protected by the fluffy white clouds of the morning. As I try to find a path towards it, for a clearer view, I am soon scallywagged by the constant underbrush and trees that seem to step in front of me at every turn. The mud seems to swell around my shoes and soon I retreat before I am swallowed up into the landscape.
It is clothes washing day at the compound and I have not remembered to put my scrubs out. As I enter our yard, there are newly washed clothes hanging to dry and I wonder with dismay if I have missed my opportunity. There was no water during the afternoon yesterday which means I can’t do my own. I decide to acknowledge my defeat and admire the colors of the clothes instead. It is with sudden surprise that I recognize they are my clothes hanging in front of me. Our sweet housekeeper, Sia, has come to the rescue again.
It is humid. I would love a shower but the afternoons appear to be water resistant, not a drop to be had. I discover that the best way for me to deal with the life sucking heat is to lie immobile. This allows even the slightest of breezes to be fully appreciated. I am feeling some congestion build in my chest as well so lying down is a win-win.
Francisco returns briefly and lets us in on a little secret before he is off to the hospital again. He tells us about the Courage Cafe. It is a small cafe that caters to the non-Swahili, supports saving children from trafficking AND it delivers! This is a game changer for us. Ready as we were for canned chicken salad again, we welcome pizza and french fries instead.
Saturday Today, I stay in bed when Kenzie leaves early for a day at the SICU. My cough is worsening so I decide to live vicariously through Kenzie and keep my cough to myself.
When she arrives back in the early afternoon, she regales me with tales galore. Routine care with teeth brushing and bed baths, skin care and tube care and time for morning tea. Everything stops for tea…now that’s an idea to bring home!
I tidy up my journaling and photos before a rousing game of Golf, the card game, though I hear there is an actual nearby course with a notable golf pro in residence. Cyrus joins us. This Golf was my favorite game in Haiti. I remember hours of raucous fun though I can’t remember any of the rules today.
Our boys, the neurosurgeons, take us into the market for a late lunch at their favorite, safe place. They warn us it is a hole in the wall but the rice and chicken is good, that is when they have rice and chicken. I order rice and vegetables since there is no chicken. The waiter returns to say there are no vegetables and he’ll see if they have rice then he brings me rice and vegetables. It is a lovely lunch with friends. As we walk to the car in the pouring rain, I feel like the coolness is washing away my fatigue. My hands begin to dance as they sometimes do when I am feeling myself inside. Watch out cough, my sense of well being is coming to conquer you.
When we get home, there are Swahili lessons at the kitchen table that hardly pause when the electricity goes off. My doodling, however, is hindered so I switch to writing. The rest of the night is chasing after the power, whether it be the electricity or the power within me. It is a la la salaam night indeed.
Sunday
K and I walk over to the hospital chapel in hope of catching a service but not knowing the timing, if any. We encounter a crowd of fancily dressed church goers just leaving but we swim upstream anyway. The chapel is a freestanding, round building with windows for walls nestled in a courtyard of gigantic trees of ancient growth. It is a beautiful garden setting. The shade is delicious.
As we sit at the foot of one to the trees, a small group gathers inside so we join them. A young lady dressed in beautiful floral yellow sits next to us and becomes our guide. She brings out the order of service book and finds each hymn, pointing to the words, in Swahili. I try to sing in Swahili but lose my way and resort to singing ‘watermelon’ which makes me look like I’m singing. Some songs are familiar: My Hope is built on nothing less than Jesus and His righteousness; or Hapana rafiki kama Yesu: There is no friend like Jesus. She also directs us when to stand, sit and kneel. K finds her Google translate app and it translates the sermon for us. It is the passage of the loaves and fish and I am instantly taken back to the heat of Texas and the Chosen where we filmed this scene. I close my eyes and envision it.
As service ends, the congregation file out singing in Swahili: On Christ, the solid rock I stand. We form a Whoville circle around one of the magnificent trees and end the service there, together.
After service, Chaplain Johnson greets us. He tells us the history of the church and makes our final hymn all the more connecting. The founding bishop came to this spot looking for God’s direction in building a hospital. When he saw the random, lone boulder here, he knew this was the place. He climbed on top and prayed for provision. On Christ, our solid rock we are still standing.
We are invited into the big city for lunch by our neurosurgeon hosts. We take a tuk tuk to meet them and relish the cooling breezes that come with it.
It is a bustling Sunday in the city. Tour groups gather, local Maasai dressed in Maasai grandeur, gather under a tree awaiting tourists in need of a guide. Among them, to our mutual surprise, is Alpha. He had helped me translate at Longido hospital after a patient there recognized me from clinic in Keteumbiene. The patient needed my help getting a ride back home and both she and I needed an interpreter. I apparently have a memorable face for a munzunga.
When I left Longido, I regretted not getting his info as his kindness, English and heart of service could be an asset to our team. Remarkably, 😉I have his card now.
Back at the compound, K and I go to the hospital in search of the view of the mountain. After many attempts and only one passable success, we return. We meet Cyrus and he takes us just past our house to the money shot. He calls the mountain Kili and its lesser peak, also spectacular, mini Kili. It is a brilliant, fresh sunsetting wonder!
Monday It is Paparazzi day for me in the SICU. I am shadowing K with her camera. In the dispensing of my duties, I am cautioned to not photograph patients. This, of course, is already in my RN DNA but how delightful that it is in theirs as well.
We are sent off with warm gratitude on both sides and invitations to return. Walking through the busy Neurology clinic, I think of the crowds of people who gathered around Jesus seeking His healing touch. They are here today as well.
This may seem like a neverending story. It can burden a soul who doesn’t look up. But thanks be to my God Who also has a neverending story and He invites us to look to Him. He has never called me to cure the world. He does call me and each one here to touch the lives He puts before us and leave the rest to Him. If I do not trust Him for this, it would not be faith.
We leave on the 9p plane for home. After 16 days, I think I am ready to go.
Kwaheri, TanziAnne and Moshi Mackenzie
Today, I stay in bed when Kenzie leaves early for a day at the SICU. My cough is worsening so I decide to live vicariously through Kenzie and keep my cough to myself.
When she arrives back in the early afternoon, she regales me with tales galore. Routine care with teeth brushing and bed baths, skin care and tube care and time for morning tea. Everything stops for tea…now that’s an idea to bring home!
I tidy up my journaling and photos before a rousing game of Golf, the card game, though I hear there is an actual nearby course with a notable golf pro in residence. Cyrus joins us. This Golf was my favorite game in Haiti. I remember hours of raucous fun though I can’t remember any of the rules today.
Our boys, the neurosurgeons, take us into the market for a late lunch at their favorite, safe place. They warn us it is a hole in the wall but the rice and chicken is good, that is when they have rice and chicken. I order rice and vegetables since there is no chicken. The waiter returns to say there are no vegetables and he’ll see if they have rice then he brings me rice and vegetables. It is a lovely lunch with friends. As we walk to the car in the pouring rain, I feel like the coolness is washing away my fatigue. My hands begin to dance as they sometimes do when I am feeling myself inside. Watch out cough, my sense of well being is coming to conquer you.
When we get home, there are Swahili lessons at the kitchen table that hardly pause when the electricity goes off. My doodling, however, is hindered so I switch to writing. The rest of the night is chasing after the power, whether it be the electricity or the power within me. It is a la la salaam night indeed.
Sunday
K and I walk over to the hospital chapel in hope of catching a service but not knowing the timing, if any. We encounter a crowd of fancily dressed church goers just leaving but we swim upstream anyway. The chapel is a freestanding, round building with windows for walls nestled in a courtyard of gigantic trees of ancient growth. It is a beautiful garden setting. The shade is delicious.
As we sit at the foot of one to the trees, a small group gathers inside so we join them. A young lady dressed in beautiful floral yellow sits next to us and becomes our guide. She brings out the order of service book and finds each hymn, pointing to the words, in Swahili. I try to sing in Swahili but lose my way and resort to singing ‘watermelon’ which makes me look like I’m singing. Some songs are familiar: My Hope is built on nothing less than Jesus and His righteousness; or Hapana rafiki kama Yesu: There is no friend like Jesus. She also directs us when to stand, sit and kneel. K finds her Google translate app and it translates the sermon for us. It is the passage of the loaves and fish and I am instantly taken back to the heat of Texas and the Chosen where we filmed this scene. I close my eyes and envision it.
As service ends, the congregation file out singing in Swahili: On Christ, the solid rock I stand. We form a Whoville circle around one of the magnificent trees and end the service there, together.
After service, Chaplain Johnson greets us. He tells us the history of the church and makes our final hymn all the more connecting. The founding bishop came to this spot looking for God’s direction in building a hospital. When he saw the random, lone boulder here, he knew this was the place. He climbed on top and prayed for provision. On Christ, our solid rock we are still standing.
We are invited into the big city for lunch by our neurosurgeon hosts. We take a tuk tuk to meet them and relish the cooling breezes that come with it.
It is a bustling Sunday in the city. Tour groups gather, local Maasai dressed in Maasai grandeur, gather under a tree awaiting tourists in need of a guide. Among them, to our mutual surprise, is Alpha. He had helped me translate at Longido hospital after a patient there recognized me from clinic in Keteumbiene. The patient needed my help getting a ride back home and both she and I needed an interpreter. I apparently have a memorable face for a munzunga.
When I left Longido, I regretted not getting his info as his kindness, English and heart of service could be an asset to our team. Remarkably, 😉I have his card now.
Back at the compound, K and I go to the hospital in search of the view of the mountain. After many attempts and only one passable success, we return. We meet Cyrus and he takes us just past our house to the money shot. He calls the mountain Kili and its lesser peak, also spectacular, mini Kili. It is a brilliant, fresh sunsetting wonder!
Monday
It is Paparazzi day for me in the SICU. I am shadowing K with her camera. In the dispensing of my duties, I am cautioned to not photograph patients. This, of course, is already in my RN DNA but how delightful that it is in theirs as well.
We are sent off with warm gratitude on both sides and invitations to return. Walking through the busy Neurology clinic, I think of the crowds of people who gathered around Jesus seeking His healing touch. They are here today as well.
This may seem like a neverending story. It can burden a soul who doesn’t look up. But thanks be to my God Who also has a neverending story and He invites us to look to Him. He has never called me to cure the world. He does call me and each one here to touch the lives He puts before us and leave the rest to Him. If I do not trust Him for this, it would not be faith.
We leave on the 9p plane for home. After 16 days, I think I am ready to go.
When my last child graduated from High School last May, I found myself considering what I would do now that I’ve grown up, anew.
As I welcomed home a friend returning from Africa, I felt God inviting me to another round of traveling with Him. So here I am, traveling with my ZoeHopeGlobal.com team to Tanzania, East Africa. We will be returning to God’s project in Ketumbeine and to our established, beautiful partnerships with our friends.
“Zoe Hope partners with ordinary people to guide children and their poverty stricken communities toward greatness.” God always uses the ordinary to give and receive His extraordinary. I am so pleased to be back!
Join me as I journal through this adventure.
TanzaniAnne March 1, 2026
Tuesday, March 3 It is a cool, breezy day. The sky is overcast with the heavy smell of rain in the air. Birds are singing, dogs are barking and the rumble of awakening life surrounds us.
We drive to Ketumbiene today in a 20 passenger van/bus. Sam is our driver for the week. He is tall and thin with a brilliant smile.
From my bus window, Arusha rushes by. I marvel at the hot tin roofs on the block houses gathered in clusters. They are yellow, black and red, some with a point, others mimic Kilimanjaro with their flat peaks. The driver ahead of us swerves abruptly revealing a calf sauntering down the middle of the highway unaccompanied much like the children.
There is a 4 year old child with a red backpack walking alone down a muddy dirt lane adjacent to the busy traffic. Another, slightly older boy, is running beside the shoulder of the road. It is so curious to me how often the small ones are left on their own, independent.
Further out, I hear the clanging, jingling sound of bells and see a herd of goats living their best lives within feet of our 50mph bus seemingly unaware of the peril.
As we leave the city with its shops, houses and bustle, the roadside becomes lushly green. The overcast sky has broken free into fluffy white clouds and blue skies. White goats and sheep dot the landscape and are brilliantly illuminated by the sun peeking through the clouds. They graze on the soft rolling hills with their natural fencing separating fields of crops and grazing. With my desert eyes, it is a sight to behold.
After a long while, we arrived at the next town, Longido. With a left turn, we reached the dirt, bumbly road to Ketumbiene as the thorn forest rises to meet us.
There is every shade of green and brown in the soft, sharp, prickly, muted, vibrant, shiny, dusty , light, dark cacophony of foliage that closes rank in dense pockets of brambly tangles. There are few other colors on the savannah floor as far as the eye can see.
Roofs are now thatched as we trade the paved road for the dirt one. We spot zebras, giraffes and Impalas on our way. I love this place.
My deep fatigue coupled with the mesmerizing scenery has me in la la salaam (Swahili for good night) mode. So off to la la I go.
Wednesday, March 4, 2026.
As I watch the sun rise, my heart spontaneously calls out “Show me Your glory, God”. He reminds me that I held His Glory last night as I held Pastor Peter’s new baby named Glory.
The first day of clinic is always a bit chaotic as we all learn our stations and choose our rhythms. I saw a lot of patients of every age today. I gave several shots. My older men with their toothless smiles make me giddy with delight. Most sit down in my chair with blank expressions but when I take their hands and say their names, they are transformed. It is medicine to our souls. There were so many with Sciatica symptoms like my own. Like my sons, Joseph, Thomas, Samuel, and Peter were among them which made us all smile.
I was en route to somewhere else when one of our high schoolers pointed to a door I was passing and, with concern, said there was so much blood in there. Curiously alarmed, I pivoted and found a 6 year old darling on a gurney with a gash on his forehead. I’ll call him Roscoe. He was screaming as the blood poured into his eyes and mouth. His mother was struggling to keep him on the table so I helped her. I put pressure on his wound with one hand and held his other hand as I talked to him in English. We locked eyes and he calmed though he didn’t know a word of my English. The thing about language is that the words don’t need to be known for the intent to be understood. All through the suturing, my young friend held my gaze and allowed us to help. His bravery and strength of spirit were stunning.
It made me think of the Hebrew word Ruach, God’s breath. How God lends us His courage by breathing His breath into us. I think God used His Ruach today to breathe through my breath into my little friend.
Back home, a friend’s prayer for me was that harmony might come through me and add to the beautiful song God was playing. How lovely a blessing to be invited to infuse His harmony to another in need! We serve an awesome God!
Thursday, March 5, 2026.
There was a fierce storm last night. The wind whipped and thunder roared and the rain, rain, rain came down, down, down in rushing rivling, rivlets. Even so, it was a mere footnote in my slumber, awakening but not disturbed.
This day held so many profound wonders. My cry to see God’s glory yesterday became so poignant today. He knows my heart and answers me at the point of my need. He has made each of us to be His radiance, reflecting the radiance of Jesus as in Hebrews 1:3. He knows that more than seeing His glory, I long to be His glory and He nourished my deep places today. I am humbled, emptied out, filled up and stunned by how wondrous God is!
I started in the clinic seeing my precious babies, their mamas and siblings with their waxy, crusty ears, running noses and GI issues. I love the little ones. What a privilege to be trusted by Mama to care for them and her.
It wasn’t long, however, before Kelly came, and with urgency in her voice, motioned to me to follow. In the same room as yesterday, a 7 year old boy had been carried in by his dad and placed on the stretcher. It was immediately apparent that this little boy was gravely ill. I’ll call him Paul.
I unwrapped Paul. He was pale, limp, and feverish. He was in extreme respiratory distress with increased heart rate and was nonresponsive to painful stimuli. I looked for a place to start an IV and discovered that he already had one.
Paul’s story was slow to evolve but it went something like this… He had been sick for several days and kept at home as is their custom. He was given tribal remedies and when he began to get worse his family took him to a nearby neighborhood clinic. The clinic began initial treatment but soon recognized that his extreme distress was beyond what they could treat so he was brought to us.
Our local doctors gathered with Kelly and began a series of treatments addressing multiple difficulties as they arose. Our working theory for the core diagnosis seemed to be meningitis but it was clear he had multiple other complications. We gathered what was needed from all over the hospital including borrowing from other patients in less distress. The oximeter, thermometer and blood sugar meter we got from our clinic. The oxygen and suction with tubing along with equipment to drain his bladder we got from the hospital. We tested him for HIV, took blood, gave IV fluids, did old school chest percussion, to name a few…
As his labored breathing worsened, our local docs opted out of intubation because there would be no adequate way to transport him and we anticipated he would need to be stabilized and taken to a higher level of care. We called our medical partners in the US for treatment options. On and on as we desperately searched for ways to reverse this precious one’s troubles.
Kelly and the local doctors were impressive with their creative solutions for wrangling equipment and making procedures work with the spare parts that were available. Their collaboration was a meeting of the minds and their only goal was to give the best care possible.
I was an overseer of sorts, monitoring and assisting as needed but my main job was to be the one constant by Paul’s side. I held his hand, rubbed his head and talked to him in English. I repeated his name and talked to him about Jesus as I prayed over him. I told him how his strength in fighting today showed how he would make a fine Maasai warrior one day; that we were working hard to help him to that goal.
The closest hospital that could provide a higher level of care was an hour away down the same bumpy dirt road on which we had come. We called for an ambulance having no idea what actual services would be provided by it. My time on the Navajo reservation had taught me that an ambulance didn’t necessarily mean it would bring equipment with it.
All the while, our US team rallied around all of us in the room. They wiped my sweaty face, brought water, snacks and prayers. Our students asked thoughtful questions and excelled at loving this sweet little one and me. Like Moses whose arms were held up by Aaron and Hur in Exodus 17, so were our ‘arms’ held up by this team.
After hours of fighting for his life with no improvement, Paul went home to Jesus. I closed his eyes and, with my hands on his chest and head, I thanked him for the privilege of caring for him and I thanked God that though our human goal for healing looked different, it was accomplished in the perfect healing of our child’s soul.
How marvelous that we serve a God Who always answers our prayers with His best rather than with our ideas of what might be best. How profoundly beautiful that God brings us just what we need exactly when we need it. He stoops down to, once again, breathe His Ruach through us to others and through others to us.
A few days later, we were told that Paul’s dad gave his life to Christ. He told us that he was moved by the way we cared for his son and he wanted to know our God and bring his whole family to church. Pastor Peter connected him with a Pastor and church near his home. Your wondrous ruach at work, Father, bring it on!
Friday, March 6, 2026.
I was tired today and my mind was a bit slow to wake up after my body did. I would look for the highlighter that was in my hand. I’d get in a rhythm and forget I was asked to do something else. I heard rumors that we might see a birth today but I tried to center my attention on the patient in front of me until…
Kelly came and asked me to go with the woman in labor to Longido. The doctors decided it should be by ambulance. I never saw the ambulance yesterday so the issue of equipment was still on the table.
My dear sweet mama was having her first baby but the birth could not progress because of some tribal customs that were done to her when she was young. She needed an emergency C-section and because we had no anesthesiologist where we were, she needed to go the one hour ride down the bumpy dirt/mud road to the nearest town, Longido. It would take an hour for the ambulance to get to us and then another hour to get to Longido, in theory.
Before they realized she needed a C-section, they had put her on medicine to make her contractions more effective. After realizing she needed a C-section, they didn’t turn the medicine off. When I got there my poor darling was having vigorous, frequent contractions every 1-2 minutes. She had an intense desire to push and was, indeed, pushing. She was also peeing blood which is a sign of distress for both mom and baby. I turned off the medicine and listened for the fetal heartbeat. It sounded strong despite her current environment.
My mama, I’ll call her Eloise, was lying on an old wobbly, elevated cart without side rails under one thin sheet with her shuka wadded up for a pillow. I asked for a cloth to wipe her brow but it was somehow lost in translation so I found my cooling cloth in my backpack and used that.
I wanted her to lie on her left side to maximize circulation to both her and the baby but as the time went on, Eloise was too restless to maintain any one position for long. It became a constant dance from one side of the gurney to the other to ensure she would not fall off. Of course, I talked to her like I did Paul but I didn’t know if I was comforting or helpful. I doubted until she sat up and pulled me to her so she could rest her head on my chest. It was then that I understood we were doing this together.
We spent the next 3 hours visually reminding Eloise to pant through the pain. I took the tiny win when the contractions slowed to every 1-3minutes. I had one of our students helping me and keeping track of the timing. He was a priceless companion.
The ambulance came 3 hours later. It was a small van with a stretcher on one side and a small bench on the other. There was a small cabinet up against the cab wall; no equipment. There were two attendants and a driver. I envisioned that my patient would be on the stretcher; one attendant, my student and me on the bench and the other attendant and driver up front. It is funny sometimes what I think with my American city girl mind.
The van was small so there was no standing up. As I approached I saw the attendant sitting on the end of the stretcher with the patient and two women who brought buckets of supplies with them sitting on the bench. I timidly sat on the little space left on the bench by the back door but soon realized I couldn’t see, let alone touch my patient. I wanted to be sensitive to their cultural ways but I knew this wasn’t going to work. I gingerly stepped over the two while I was bent in half. I was thinking that I’d trade positions on the bench. Ha! I ended up propping myself up on the tiny cabinet grabbing hold of the stretcher rails with both hands while leaning over my patient … and I stayed that way for the entire cacophonous roller coaster ride through the muddy, thorn forest to the hospital. When I wasn’t white knuckling it on the rails, I was smacking my head on the roof and trying to encourage my patient to pant and not push. My Navajo reservation days came flooding back to my mind which was good because that was when I did my delivering of babies.
We were relatively intact when we were delivered to our destination. By this I mean, I had only bruises and our baby was still inside!
The hospital staff were welcoming and kind. Two of our students met us there and had already charmed their way into the hearts of the staff. We were invited into the OR provided we wore a mask, a hat and a pair of the white Yves St Lauren crocs that were lined up outside.
I was a bit uncomfortable with the anatomy lessons to which the students were being exposed but my only resort was to trust my leaders who initiated it.
Eloise was made to sit straight up on the table that, again, had no side rails. She shivered, uncovered in the cold room, but was impressively able to remain still while the doctors struggled to give her a spinal block. All this while still contracting every 1-2 minutes.
Once the block was accomplished, she was laid flat, arms wide and a screen was placed between her chest and abdomen to protect their sterile field. I wasn’t sure if it was allowed but I briefly slipped my hand in hers and caught her gaze a few times hoping to reassure her.
A C-section (Caesarean section) is a surgical procedure used to deliver a baby through incisions in Mama’s abdomen and uterus. The procedure typically takes about an hour with the baby delivered in the first 5–15 minutes. This said, my students stood in a line, mesmerized by the procedure. It took some strength for the doctors to separate the abdomen layers to reach the uterus. There was a lot of blood but they managed to defy my reservations and stand tall. They asked good questions and listened to my answers. They were curious, respectful and grateful. I was proud to have them with me.
One doctor’s large hand was swallowed whole by the incision and a blink later, out came our baby’s head and body covered in the fluids of birth. It was like a magic trick: now you don’t see her, now you do! It was a girl!
After the cutting of the cord, her small blue body was gathered up in cloth and taken to the incubator where she was vigorously dried off. We held our breath until several minutes later she gave us hers in a weak cry. Needing encouragement to breathe, the Nurse held our tiny, blue darling upside down by her legs and gave her the stereotypical spanking of life. It was evident that she would need oxygen.There was in a 6ft tall canister that weighed 5,000 pounds, give or take, on the other side of the room, standing by for Eloise. It was commandeered and as the Nurse struggled to move it, the students came swiftly to her aid and brought it to our tiny girlfriend. With oxygen and continued encouragement, our blue baby became pinker and stabilized.
Her head was elongated after trying to get out for hours but we were assured that in the miracle process of birth, it would return to round with time. She was wrapped up like a baby burrito and left, unattended, in the warmth of the incubator.
For the next 30 minutes, the staff worked to put Eloise back together. Numb from the block, Eloise was able to rest at last. She was never given her baby to hold or even see. When all was done, the baby was placed between her legs on the stretcher and they were wheeled off. I grabbed her hand one last time and smiled, at last resting myself.
Saturday, March 7,2026
I have always liked that Mary, the mother of Jesus, pondered His birth in Luke 2:19 and as I begin my day, I am in need of pondering myself. I have had to sit with the words my teammates have lavished on me over the past few days.
I was acutely present with Roscoe, Paul and Eloise. My back ached from standing so long but it never deterred me. I was exactly where I wanted to be, not only at the point of my patients’ need but at the pinnacle of my most satisfying desire and gifting.
The extraordinary thing is that my team recognized it as well. At the bedside of all three, I often wondered if I could have been more productive elsewhere. Their many affirmations countered those thoughts.
A couple teammates told me I was like Paul’s mama, caring for him like a mother would. Another told me he admired my work. Another said there was no doubt that I had earned the trust of this team… At the time, this made me pause and wonder. “I was just doing my job,” was my gut response and though this is true, they saw that by doing my job, I was in the center of God’s remarkable plan.
They have given me the extraordinary gift of speaking out loud and, somehow making visible, that which I have hoped in my heart for years but thought was unseen.
I felt seen and valued. It was like their words were God’s words pouring His Ruach into me to tell me through others: “Well done, good and faithful servant. I am pleased.”
Morning VBS
Today we are going to Ketumbiene Primary School for a Vacation Bible School organized by our students. It is Saturday so there is no school but the students, both our and theirs, are gathering with the signature vitality of children.
The first round is singing and dancing. A large circle of three people deep is formed, with our students intermingled. The kids are ready and responsive. They overlap the English and Swahili songs, teaching each other. It is a good start.
Next, the games begin with a spirited soccer, I mean, football match. Whoops, hollers and shouts of acclamation resound as balls and bodies fly. The intensity of joy is palpable and this match becomes a brilliant universal connection point that is celebrated.Last, we have storytime. The students gather under the courtyard umbrella tree. Here two of our student leaders tell the beautiful story of God’s heart for all us and how His unlimited love can change their lives for the extraordinarily better.
Watching from the side, I see two of my male students notice that a crying, young girl is separating from the group. They grab an interpreter to ask the girl why she is crying. The three of them gather around her and I see one put his hand on her shoulder as they pray. It is the Bible story in action and I can only stand in silent awe. As I was seen, so too is she.
Afternoon It is a breezy afternoon when we begin our perilous 4-wheel drive trip through the rain soaked countryside in our non 4-wheel drive bus. We stop often to clear debris from the ‘road’ which is really a simple dirt path. We recognize that we are bamboozled in the end and walk the rest of way.
We have been invited to a Maasai celebration of family, community, life…oh yeah and the circumcision of four young men that will launch them into adulthood.
We arrived at the boma celebration. It is a Maasai ‘neighborhood’ consisting of several thatched roofed huts with communal outdoor kitchen, areas for keeping animals and for gathering under shade trees; all within a communal Maasai fence made of thorn bushes that deter predators.
The colors of the Maasai traditional dress worn by the revelers among which we are included, pop against the green and brown of the countryside. The mountains rise in the distance against the cloud streaked, magnificent blue sky making the beauty complete.
As we enter, there is a large gathering of dancing/jumping Maasai young men in all black shuka attire. This signifies that they have already been launched. Our group joins and soon we are the inner circle, welcomed completely with the vigor of excitement and hospitality. The young men jump, two or three at a time, with a particular rhythm that ends with a bit of a lunge forward. Some of our team take to the dancing/jumping with the electricity of authentic connection. Their delight and exuberance is contagious but my body warns me to stay reasonable and remain immune to the siren song.
Later, we are told that the jump’s end lunge forward is designed for the young men to choose a bride. It seems that some of our gals have inadvertently agreed to multiple marriages but fortunately, no livestock has been exchanged to seal the deal!
It has been a day of celebration, laughter and beauty. We are no longer they and us. This week has made us ‘we’.
Sunday, March 8, 2026.
2 .
I awakened with avid anticipation for a day at church. My first time here, we worshipped in a small wooden building and gathered under a tree for fellowship. Today for the first time, Church will be held at our New Hope Center’s recently built pavilion! An open air covered space with a sound system, chairs and room for all. There will be a ribbon cutting dedication and party!
I am ready!…until I’m not. My vigor turns to dismay as I begin to be undermined and overtaken by my own body. I spend the day in bed instead… I tell myself it will be okay because I get to return in June…and I believe it. The team brings back their excitement fitting for the festivities of the day. It is a wonder to see God’s inspiration become reality. Like the Velveteen rabbit, it has become real because of love.
Gratefully, TanziAnne
2 Corinthians 3:17-18 17 For the Lord is the Spirit, and wherever the Spirit of the Lord is, there is freedom. 18 So all of us who have had that veil removed can see and reflect the glory of the Lord. And the Lord—who is the Spirit—makes us more and more like Him as we are changed into His glorious image
As I watch the sun rise, my heart spontaneously calls out “Show me Your glory, God”. He reminds me that I held His Glory last night as I held Pastor Peter’s new baby named Glory.
The first day of clinic is always a bit chaotic as we all learn our stations and choose our rhythms. I saw a lot of patients of every age today. I gave several shots. My older men with their toothless smiles make me giddy with delight. Most sit down in my chair with blank expressions but when I take their hands and say their names, they are transformed. It is medicine to our souls. There were so many with Sciatica symptoms like my own. Like my sons, Joseph, Thomas, Samuel, and Peter were among them which made us all smile.
I was en route to somewhere else when one of our high schoolers pointed to a door I was passing and, with concern, said there was so much blood in there. Curiously alarmed, I pivoted and found a 6 year old darling on a gurney with a gash on his forehead. I’ll call him Roscoe. He was screaming as the blood poured into his eyes and mouth. His mother was struggling to keep him on the table so I helped her. I put pressure on his wound with one hand and held his other hand as I talked to him in English. We locked eyes and he calmed though he didn’t know a word of my English. The thing about language is that the words don’t need to be known for the intent to be understood. All through the suturing, my young friend held my gaze and allowed us to help. His bravery and strength of spirit were stunning.
It made me think of the Hebrew word Ruach, God’s breath. How God lends us His courage by breathing His breath into us. I think God used His Ruach today to breathe through my breath into my little friend.
Back home, a friend’s prayer for me was that harmony might come through me and add to the beautiful song God was playing. How lovely a blessing to be invited to infuse His harmony to another in need! We serve an awesome God!
Tuesday, March 3 It is a cool, breezy day. The sky is overcast with the heavy smell of rain in the air. Birds are singing, dogs are barking and the rumble of awakening life surrounds us.
We drive to Ketumbiene today in a 20 passenger van/bus. Sam is our driver for the week. He is tall and thin with a brilliant smile.
From my bus window, Arusha rushes by. I marvel at the hot tin roofs on the block houses gathered in clusters. They are yellow, black and red, some with a point, others mimic Kilimanjaro with their flat peaks. The driver ahead of us swerves abruptly revealing a calf sauntering down the middle of the highway unaccompanied much like the children.
There is a 4 year old child with a red backpack walking alone down a muddy dirt lane adjacent to the busy traffic. Another, slightly older boy, is running beside the shoulder of the road. It is so curious to me how often the small ones are left on their own, independent.
Further out, I hear the clanging, jingling sound of bells and see a herd of goats living their best lives within feet of our 50mph bus seemingly unaware of the peril.
As we leave the city with its shops, houses and bustle, the roadside becomes lushly green. The overcast sky has broken free into fluffy white clouds and blue skies. White goats and sheep dot the landscape and are brilliantly illuminated by the sun peeking through the clouds. They graze on the soft rolling hills with their natural fencing separating fields of crops and grazing. With my desert eyes, it is a sight to behold.
After a long while, we arrived at the next town, Longido. With a left turn, we reached the dirt, bumbly road to Ketumbiene as the thorn forest rises to meet us.
There is every shade of green and brown in the soft, sharp, prickly, muted, vibrant, shiny, dusty , light, dark cacophony of foliage that closes rank in dense pockets of brambly tangles. There are few other colors on the savannah floor as far as the eye can see.
Roofs are now thatched as we trade the paved road for the dirt one. We spot zebras, giraffes and Impalas on our way. I love this place.
My deep fatigue coupled with the mesmerizing scenery has me in la la salaam (Swahili for good night) mode. So off to la la I go.
When my last child graduated from High School last May, I found myself in need of considering what I would do now that I’ve grown up, anew.
As I welcomed an African returning friend, I felt God inviting me to another round of traveling with Him. So here I am, traveling with my ZoeHopeGlobal.com team to Tanzania, East Africa. We will be returning to God’s project in Ketumbeine and to our established, beautiful partnerships with our friends.
“Zoe Hope partners with ordinary people to guide children and their poverty stricken communities toward greatness.” God always uses the ordinary to give and receive His extraordinary. I am so pleased to be back!
In my devotion today, I read the passage in Luke 8:26-39 The restoration of a demon possessed man. The devotion spoke of how the presence of evil in the world can be so overpowering to us and to those who see its effects. Not only was the man overpowered but those watching were overpowered as well and possessed by paralyzing fear… but only until Jesus stepped in with His power to overpower the overpowering bringing restoration.
There are darker powers at work in our world, but their power pales in comparison to God’s.
God with Us plan on the YouVersion Bible app
We all have issues as we are confronted with the effects of doing things our own way rather than God’s way. The effects of trauma and fear in our lives have deep roots. The choice is given however. Will we focus on those effects or will we choose to focus on Jesus Who will step in with His power to overpower the effects AND our fear…? Restoration is found only in Him, our Living Hope.
My word for the year in 2025 was Anticipate: to borrow the joy that will come when Jesus restores applying it, with hope, today.
As it stands, it is 2026 today but the principle prevails. When I am faced with difficult issues and people, as I have recently been, where will my focus be? Fear? Or my Living Hope of Restoration, Jesus.
My word for 2026? Shine. Anticipation applied equals shining with the light of His power to restore.
“In His light, we see light.”Psalms 36:9 In His light, we are invited to be light.
The Sparkle sisters took on the Heraldsburg of Birthdays with their usual panache and style. The twinkling lights of the venue were a radiant echo brilliantly complementing the dazzle of the elegantly inventive and oh so enchanting trio.
The gala surrounded them with the cheer and energy that mimicked their own. The warmth of the red, pink and white sparkling bubbles and mead was second only to the scintillating smiling of the fellow revelers.
The room was narrow, the ambience magical and it opened to a lighted courtyard. The water centerpieces floating their delicate flower candles offered a dash of curious delight reflecting the surprise of the chandelier above.
The black salt hors d’oeuvres tantalized taste buds as the waiter made his purposeful rounds to our Sparkler of honor like a bee to his queen.
The lights of the camera were, of course, drawn to their inner shining, reminiscent of the puparazzi back home. They donned additional accoutrements that added the perfect whimsy to every outfit.
Off to the right was a secret door barely noticeable to all but the most whimsical. Lead by their honored Sparkler, they slipped unseen into the imperceptible realm.
There they found another courtyard of glimmery wonder. Small groups of soft spoken murmurers were gathering under the stars but as they entered, all eyes turned to the magnificence of the one born this day. In hushed whispers, they beckoned her into the castle.
Bacchanalians were raising their glasses of shimmer as she arrived. A raucous music joined them as they broke out into the song their hearts had been singing all along ever since the snowy, resplendent day when she had arrived long ago.
The song they sang, even without speaking, was the song of the truth of triumph, of connecting strength, of jubliating celebration. Look how far they had come! Look how sparkling a Sisterhood they had grown up together!
Their sister of origin, proudly smiling down upon them in her uniquely shimmering way, would be pronouncing the rightness and goodness of this night, of this gathering, of their Sparkling beam of birthday light!
What if their faces stuck this way in the sparkle doodling of celebration? Well, that would be creepy but nonetheless, there would be ibuprofen to pay for the splendour of being inseparable even when apart…
Happy Birthday, Sparkling ones. I love you more than air.
So I didn’t go to church today. I woke up with some nausea that might mean a migraine was coming but that wasn’t the reason I didn’t go. I sat and prayed beforehand and I felt like I was being directed back to bed. I wanted to argue because I don’t like using my migraines as an excuse to not do things, especially church, but God reminded me that He’s in charge of the migraines and is trustworthy. I went back to bed.
When I awoke, I took my dogs on their well anticipated walk and listened to the missed Grace sermon given by Pastor Logan McAdams.
I picked a rock on the path as he tied in his words with the message last week. What is it I am holding onto instead of trusting it to God? I’d been thinking about this but wasn’t landing anywhere.
Logan went on. He talked about the beauty of the Hebrew poetry in Genesis 1. He talked about how God was calling us to define ourselves by His image instead of by what we do. How resting is a part of God’s calling as He, Himself, did on the seventh day.
By this point, I was feeling pretty validated for staying home to rest but God wasn’t done. The rock thing still eluded me. It didn’t seem like the migraines fit.
I had to pause the sermon when one of the dogs, the 2nd most reliable, disappeared. It made me retrace my many steps back down the path. This always irritates me. The dog was nowhere to be seen and I was beginning to panic at the thought of the trouble he was getting us into now. Feeling powerless, I turned to prayer.
“You are good, Lord. You gave him to me and You’ve got him in Your plan for me. I trust him to You and relinquish my angst. Help me in my unbelief.”
Abruptly, Usko the dog, his name means faith, appeared and began to trot the long way back by my side. Walking by faith if you will…
I restarted the sermon: Logan continued. Rest means trusting in God’s provision. I smiled at this theme of my day.
God’s Word tells us that He needs us, me, to know that He has accomplished an end to our striving to earn our worth. As we learn to rest, to pause and focus on Him, we remember it is He Who will care for us because it’s what He does. We no longer need to work to earn love. We can now work because we are loved.
Our culture is saying we are only as good as what we can produce, like an obedient dog? I looked at the rock in my clenched fist of a hand as Logan continued.
Aha! These rocks symbolize what we cling to in our own power rather than giving it to God. And when we don’t give to God that which we believe relies on our own strivings, that thing will keep us from living out of the rest secured for us. It also makes us unable to take hold of what God has for us.
It seems clear that my dogs are on top of my rocky list. I put so much pressure on myself to achieve well behaved dogs and I fail every day in one dog way or another. What if I approached each walk with open hands in anticipation of His glory instead of walking in fear that my best effort will not be good enough?
Logan finished by citing the great commission in Matthew 28. If you follow Jesus, your job is to go. If there are things keeping you from going, (on dog walks?) and Logan suggests there may be more than one ( several dogs), it is time to give them up to God.
God wants to work in and through me to make His name and rest known among the nations, even among dog naysayers.
When we approach Him with open hands free of rocks, He gives us more of Himself and His goodness. Oh the wonders He could do and does! He even uses and, I dare say, specializes in, using the relative commonplace like a lost, disobedient dog named Faith.
Holy, Blessed Father! Look where You have sent me! Peru at night.
It is late, the dark seems foggy and there are cool ocean breezes. There is traffic galore and we are told that a concert has just let out. The flow is further hindered by a stopped car that blocks the packed road. The driver who, it seems, has no such hindering flow problems as he personally waters a nearby tree. The sight takes me back to the drunk man on my brother’s first day in Ganado long ago…
The flight from Houston was fine though a bit agitating with turbulence both inside and out. I dropped an ear bud, then a pen, then the partner earbud…bent over in half, head between my legs, flashlight out, hardly breathing…I was tempted to look for the candid camera staff in my suffocating comedy of errors.
The road to the hotel is oceanside. There are towering walls of natural rock to the left with some covered in a shadowy green. These draw my eyes up to the high-rise hotels on top. The Pacific Ocean is on the right with its imperceptible waves highlighted by the curiously illuminated eye catching white foam. As we drive past, cars randomly park on the highway taking in the view without, it seems, any thought for safety.
After a full day of traveling, I am surprised to find myself smiling and energized. It is well after midnight when I lay my head down.
Midnight Mischief,
PeruAna?
Saturday, September 20, 2025
Sunday
It’s a beautiful quiet Sunday morning as I walk to the Good Shepherd Anglican Church for their English service. There are all kinds of dog walkers out with their beautiful huskies to tiny fluff balls. Most people, even the doggers, are bundled in their down coats braving the 67° weather. I am in my gauze skirt and short sleeves relishing every minute of the breezing. In Phoenix, you can always tell who the tourists are because they wear shorts in the ‘winter’. I am clearly a tourist in every aspect of my being just as my son predicted. It makes me smile at my ridiculous self.
In the afternoon, I take a walk to find the ocean. I walk past a bar called Eden. I wonder at what possible meaning it could have… full of snakes perhaps?
It is not far and soon I reach the east end of the ocean cliff park, the Parque del Amor. The walkway is lively with lovers and flowers, families and gazers. The young couples hold flowers bought from vendors. The older couples hold each other’s hands. Philip loved to give flowers. I wonder which set we would take after.
I expected to see a celebration of bright clothes in the riotous colors reminiscent of Africa and India, but it is not so. The voices and laughter, smiles and play tell this story instead.
The lush greenness of the park is home to vibrant birdsong. Birdsong always acts as a portal of sorts bringing my imagination to the true garden of Eden. I like to imagine walking with God in the garden in the cool of the day. It is especially lovely as there is no need to hide anymore since Jesus became God’s righteousness.
There is a misty haze to the air and horizon. The ocean wind brings the smell of rain. I rise from the trail to a vista of the western shore. The sun has broken through and electrified the white waters with its shimmering, magical effervescence. It is as if the veil has been torn and the glory of God rises to welcome me to Peru.
It is a fine beginning.
Later, as the night gathers in, I reflect.
Holy, Blessed One,
How precious to be present in Your presence this day in Lima. I boast in your safe keeping of me.
Dayenue: which would have been enough, but You also gave me welcome at church and old hymns to sing and communion to share and a personal prayer from the pulpit for my safe travel.
Dayenue: which would have been enough, but You also gave me ocean views and birdsong and your light upon the water–crisp, stirring glimpses of Eden.
Dayenue: which would have been enough, but You also gave me an ocean overlook centering prayer to nurture and prepare me for this time.
Dayenue: which would have been enough, but You also gave me a text from Barb and a call from Joe and a lovely meal on my own and then a fine, free pisco sour with a new friend and teammate.
Dayenue: which would have been enough, but You also gave me a sister-in-law to come home to…
Thank You, Holy One, for this most amazing day. I am wholly blessed by You, indeed (and in deed).
Welcome to Peru,
PeruviAnne?
You look around
(NOT to be construed as Pervy Anne please)
Sunday, September 21, 2025
Monday
Yesterday it was dogs in jackets. Today it is cats in condos. Kennedy Park is a city park not far from the hotel. It has been dedicated to cats. It is the Peruvian equivalent to a cat rescue. Concerned cat lovers have built cat condos and placed bowls for meals and the cats have moved in. They get vaccinations and health care and the freedom to lounge and prowl at will. A few joined us for dinner at an adjacent open air restaurant. Langostino Risotto was on my menu and I was not inclined to share though my teammates did. Our visitors were clean and healthy looking and so affectionate. Support animals for all the weary travelers. I wonder if crime rates are down in this part of the city…
We toured the Huaca Pucllana Pyramid today. I walked past it on my way to church. It rises up in the middle of a neighborhood. It is considered an expensive status symbol to live near it.
It is not a cone shaped pyramid as I am used to but an asymmetrical one. Tall and long. It is made of mud bricks that are stacked like books on a shelf. In the wisdom of the ancients this allowed for flexible movement that provided survival during earthquakes. This is one theory to explain its survival 2000 years later.
Our guide told us that the pyramid is a solid fortress without an interior and was presumably built to get closer to God. I’ve been studying Genesis, Exodus and Leviticus lately and this set off a flurry of connections for me. Feel free to scroll down should you prefer a travelogue to an emerging dissertation.
Our guide also said that to the builder priests, creation consisted of 3 realms: the heavens for the gods, the earth for living beings and the waters below for the underworld.
The job of living things was to appease the gods into creating favorable life sustaining conditions. If there was a drought, for instance, the ancients guessed that they had displeased the gods and sought ways to make them happy. Not having any rule book, they had to guess what the gods might want. This escalated over time to human sacrifices. It didn’t matter when the rain came, it was attributed to the success of the sacrifice and so became a repeating cycle.
In the time of the writing of the Old Testament, the world was seen in similar terms. The world consisted of the same 3 realms; only the waters below symbolized the chaos of pre-creation. Creation was the order made out of the dark void of chaos. YWH’s original intention was for man to live in His presence and steward the world with His life promoting wisdom, extending His creation and diminishing chaos. When the first humans decided to rely on their own wisdom rather than trusting YWH’s, chaos extended instead of order.
With a rule book being written by man, the spiral began. The knowledge of how to please God was lost and replaced with the kind of guesswork above.
But YWH did not leave us in our own chaos. YWH raised up the nation of Israel to reclaim His original intention: His people living in His presence stewarding His creation with His life promoting wisdom. YWH took the guesswork out of the equation. He established His law so that His people would know exactly what would please Him and what would not. The rest of the world, however, still lived in the uncertainty of guessing what the gods wanted.
And here we are back at the pyramid. Our guide postulated that the pyramid was built to please God. I wonder if it was a cover for seeking to live in the presence of God but doing it our own way instead His way. It is a picture of the tower of Babel all over again…a repeating cycle in civilizations everywhere. People have attempted to get to God using our own power; to avoid listening to Him, we vainly attempt counterfeits.
This pyramid is another example of man’s grasping for this counterfeit way to obtain that which YWH longs to give us: His people living in His presence, the source of all true life, stewarding His creation with His life promoting wisdom.
This is a view of things to come
Mankind continually fails to understand that, that which God requires, He also provides. A back door is not necessary because He invites us into His presence through the front door!
There is so much more to this than I have words to fashion but even so… such a reaction to just one pyramid! I would exhaust myself if it wasn’t so energizing!
Another amazing day. Thank You, YWH!
Multilayered Mischief,
PeruAna
Monday, September 22, 2025
Tuesday
It is early morning-ish when we board a bus and leave Lima on the Pan American highway, a 19,000 miles road from Alaska to Argentina. It is an overcast misty air day. To the right, the Pacific Ocean peeks out at intervals. On both sides, the barren dirt hills rise and disappear in the clouds. Some have rocky nobs but most blend in with the color of the day, beige.
Down the coast, the hills begin to multiply and reach higher as they will become the Andes. Endless sand dunes pay homage at their feet.
There are scattered building projects on the way. Those that have been completed have sparkling white walls and lush green accoutrements. They stand out brilliantly against the beige and are completely foreign to the other side of the road. It is reminiscent of the early days on Sandy Beach in Rocky Point, Mexico.
As the day progresses, the hills fall away and we come to narrow, fertile valleys. Farms begin to take over the desert floor. Rows of scruffy palm trees and dusty green things separate the crops. Corn, cotton and peppers thrive here. The soil is rich with the glacier runoff of the Andes, add water and growth sets off.
We stop half way in Chincha at the 16th century San Jose Hacienda. It is a grand house with a long history. The house and grounds are lush and welcoming. We have a lovely meal on the veranda, are serenaded by a Peruvian woman with a gorgeous voice and Susan and I go out to see the immense Bao Bao like tree in the yard. We are lured to the front yard by a strange, loud wailing sound and we find the most extraordinary white peacock perched and posing for us. After lunch we tour the tunnels beneath the house where the family hid when Pirates attacked. It was much like I imagine the border tunnels to be in Arizona.
Our destination is Paracas, 5 or so hours south of Lima. We are staying at a beach side resort that is a walled oasis in the bleak dustiness of the town. The zero edge pool draws my attention to the sunsetting horizon with its magnificent pink and orange.
I sit, alone, hearing the waves lap against the rocky beach. I watch the birds fly so close to the water it looks like they are skipping on it. I am road weary but feeling so blessed and well as a bit of the white peacock’s elegance gathers in and settles in my inner being.
Thank you, Lord, for another most amazing day.
Mischief managed,
PeruAna
Tuesday, September 23, 2025
Wednesday
The 12 seater Sessna flight to the NASCA lines takes 20 minutes over the desolate sands of the coast. The smooth sands subtly give way to the endless, ever increasing heights of the Andes foothills that seem to peek (and peak) out from their coverings of dust.
It is not hard to follow the path of the water as there are natural wadis formed in the sand and dotted with random green bushes all along the route. Rain is non-existent but flooding caused by Andes’ glaciers comes once a year filling them up.
The lines or geoglyphs are really a variety of shapes in addition to lines etched in the sand. They are estimated to be 2000 years old dating back to the pre-Columbian era. There are about 300 different figures, including animals and plants.
I am told that the Hummingbird is the most famous geoglyph in the world and the Peru Preserve uses it for its logo. The hummingbird was believed to be a messenger between realms because of its ability to play dead and stop its heartbeat thereby having a foot in both life and death. Though there are many theories about the how and why’s of these mysterious lines, water has always been equated with life and it is believed to be a part of the answer.
Our first lines are found in the desert on the edge of the green valley of the city of NASCA. The valley abruptly appears between the barren sand mountains and, by contrast, is a visually, stunning surprise.
The little plane banks back and forth for ultimate viewing. This repeated movement disturbs my delicate balance and throws me into a cycle of intense nausea despite medicating beforehand. Nonetheless, I breathe deeply and try to pay attention though no photos are attempted.
There is the royal family with their fabulous hairs. The monkey, the dog, the flower, and the spirals! Doodles after my own heart only in football field sizing and all drawn with one continuous line.
In the afternoon, we are treated to a Dune buggy adventure. The Cierro Blanco dunes are golden dunes despite the name and are the only dunes in the world near an ocean. Their ever-changing, wind sculpted, wave-like shapes are the second highest in the world at 6,000 feet. They are part of a national reserve with controlled access and part of me is relieved that I don’t have to long for my Suzuki as I would not be welcomed to drive here on my own😉. (My mother would be secretly relieved as well).
The ride is compared to a roller coaster but it is way more fun than that. Wilbur, our driver, is a charmer and expert. The late afternoon is cool and the perfect time to speed. We dash along the ridges and dip abruptly into valleys. I have nightmares like this where I have to drive down impossibly steep hills where you can’t see the bottom but somehow this delights me here. I have been drawn to sand dunes ever since I missed going to the Muskegon, Michigan dunes as a kid. Today is extravagant!
The dancing shadows and light on the sand can be so mesmerizingly beautiful. We stop atop a tall dune whose edge is a bowl and out come the sand boards and down I go. It is a bit disconcerting when the bottom rushes up to meet me. I lose my nerve and tumble overboard halfway up the other side. Except for the walk back up, it was outrageously fun!
We toast the sunset with a glass of Peruvian Champagne and as the day gathers in, we ride off into the sunset, revived and satisfied with a well earned smile frozen in place.
Manic Mischief,
PeruAna
Wednesday, September 24, 2025
Thursday 🐧
Penguin Day!
And so I have been singing all day:
Penguin’s Lament by S. Boynton
“When you are a penguin
And see nothing but penguins
And frozen ground
When you are a penguin
And I am one
You have nowhere to hide
You have no way to run
Little leg cannot stride
So we rock side to side, side to side, side to side to move
We can’t even fly!
And I’m a little too cute
Oh, yes, I know
I′m all dressed up, but I′ve got no place to go…”
We board a boat for our excursion to Ballestas Island off the coast of Paracas, Peru. It is an island that non-scientific humans are not allowed to walk on but we are promised Humboldt Penguins, sea lions, Peruvian Boobies and red beaked somebodies.
The coast is desolation on steroids with its brown smoothness and not a growing thing in sight. The sky above is dank and grey. The air is misty and cold. Like a page out of Moby Dick, dismay hangs heavy on the horizon.
Nonetheless, our imaginations are quickly hijacked by stories of the bounty that is grown and exported out from this port. We are told of the scallops harvested here. They are the best in the world because of the icy and calm waters. Then there are the most exquisite blueberries, avocados and produce grown anywhere.
As we round the coast, we see the Candelabra geoglyph. It dates back 2000 years and is the symbol of Paracas. Some say it could be a depiction of the cactus used in ancient ceremonial rites. Others say it is possibly a rendition of the tree of life. I am surprised it does not have phallic connotations although tree of life might be an euphemism for such. In practical terms, it continues to function as a lighthouse pointing sailors home.
The limestone caves and arches captivate me and I turn from lush dismay to furtive expectation. The nooks and craggy bits are right out of a pirate movie and I imagine going exploring on the forbidden terrain.
We arrive at the caverns and caves and are treated to a rarely seen intimate moment between two sea lions.
We spot the Humboldt Penguins quickly. They are either solitary or in twos, with a dad and baby peeking out from a rock hole. The adults have a black stripe that is absent on the under-one crowd. There are two rounding a cliff and I watch amazed as they jump and waddle their way down the steep incline to the water’s edge. The one ahead of the other, he turns back abruptly and back up he goes, his companion in swift order. There must be a sea lion in the water. It is real life drama before my eyes:
When you are a penguin,
You have nowhere to hide
You have no way to run
Little leg cannot stride
So we rock side to side, side to side,
side to side to move
We can’t even fly!
Yet somehow their impossible movements bring them back up to safety. It is a nail biting wonder to watch.
Our afternoon is spent at the oldest distillery in the Americas. It creates Pisco, a clear alcohol made from grapes. The Pisco sour is the national drink of Peru. I was tired and reluctant to join but that which I resisted became my blessing. The beautiful sunny day, sweet breeze blowing, green grass, vineyard and trees, the Andes rising up from the plain… magnificent!
Magnificent Mischief,
PeruAna
Thursday, September 25, 2025
Friday
As I gaze out at the ocean this morning, Susan points out the Ballestas Islands off on the horizon and the Moby Dick harbor we passed is just across the bay. I was totally unoriented to my position yesterday. I suddenly feel my new eyes with wonder. In my mind’s eye, I know the vibrant we details of the forms I see only in shadows from here. The richness of color and movement, sight and sound, the freshness of the wind and the smells of the caves, not always pleasant. My spirit within me becomes giddy with the multidimensionality of it.
It is glimpse of the exquisite reality of 1 Corthinians:
“For now we see through a glass, darkly; but then face to face: now I know in part; but then shall I know even as also I am known.” 1 Corthinians 13:12
Some of my travel mates seem so eager to be known. They are friendly and kind and quick to share all their past adventures yet I often ponder why they do not seek to know others as fervently. There is even a tinge of desperation to some of them.
This morning has me wondering if they travel in search of the new eyes I was given today. Are they seeking to be transformed from shore sitters to those who know the intensity of life that awaits them in the distance?
“To know even as also I am known”. This is the marvelous two way beauty of being known by Jesus.
I am blessed to be born a listener and it frees me to receive their gifts and strivings. To give them a taste of the gift of being known if only in this moment.
We are heading back to Lima to catch a plane for part two of this trip: the Amazon!
Meandering Mischief,
PeruAna
Friday, September 26, 2025
Saturday
We arrived late and rested well. It is a cool morning in Iquitos but only because we haven’t left the hotel yet. Willie is our Naturalist for our journey. His fun and curious facts include::
The Amazon is 4266 miles long, the longest river in the world though not the deepest. It starts high in the Andes and winds itself to the Atlantic Ocean through Columbia and Brazil. We are just south of the equator here. There are few tall buildings because there are no rocks, only clay. An 11-story building was attempted but it sank and was labandoned. It lives next door.
Iquitos is a city of a million people. It is 645 miles from Lima and the only city in the world NOT accessible by any roads. You can take a 28-hour bus ride to southern Peru town, then take a 5-day boat ride but no road access, only boat or air. Oil, wood, tropical fish and tourism are the main livelihood.
Iquitos means ‘Slippery people’ and is named after the indigenous people who would disappear down the river when they spotted a missionary.
They have 255 days of rain a year: Dec-May so
there are no rings when a tree is cut down because there is no season change. So curious.
There is a festival for St. John the Baptist and they serve a meal in the shape of John’s decapitated head. It is considered a beautiful, snacky tribute. Again, so curious.
There is much talk of piranhas so of course I share about my brother’s pet piranha, Fred. Fred was a part of the family for 10 years or more. When he went to piranha nirvana, my mom taxidermied him and he hung on the wall for years. It is hard to imagine his golden, large self in the water I will be invited to swim in…
We spent the morning at the Amazon Rescue Center/Biopark. They rescue trafficked animals, heal and release them to the wild when possible. Birds galore: Macaws, toucans, parrots, parakeets and owls. Baby manatees, capybara, turtles, caimans, the tiniest monkey and fish.
The Piache are the largest freshwater fish in the world and can be up to 7 feet long. Their orange geometric scales are lovely. They have lungs and gills and are the only fish in the world like this. They breathe in through their lungs and out of their gills. Apparently, if you reach your hand down toward them they will jump and suck down your arm with their mighty suction power…
We rode one of the local wooden buses back to town. The base is metal and the rest wood. They play loud music to give it a fiesta vibe. Fun!
It is a humid day and our refuge in the hotel pool is refreshing and welcomed. Susan and I sip sangria before we call it an early night. Tomorrow! The mighty Amazon in earnest.
Mischiefing,
AmazoniAnne
Saturday, September 27, 2025
Sunday!
Commissioning day for my sister in San Francisco! It seems, the word of this has gotten out and the Iquitos military is setting up in the town square for the celebration! It is a sunny, fresh day in this neighborhood! Welcome Pastor Sally!
I still have the Penguin lament stuck on replay in my head. As I am not succeeding at replacing it, I’ve decided to change the words. If you are a rainforest, no one else like me, except every other rainforest, you ever will see. Miles of rainforest as fine as can be!
To the Amazon! Our rallying cry begins.
We are taken to the market to experience the local culture. Here we are given funding and a Spanish word on a paper with instructions to buy the item. Susan and I have Arroyo. We will give our purchases to those we meet along the Amazon way. There is every kind of wild animal and fish meat splayed open and ready for purchase. I pass a vendor whose produce is labeled ‘Phoenix fruit’ and another with lush jumbo sized vegetables. I exclaim with delight, “Oolala” which I then hear him repeat several times as I continue on my way.
We begin on the Italia river, a tributary to the Amazon. The banks of the river belong to the poorest of the poor community. It is free to live here con amenities… no water, power or sanitation.
The water level is low now but will rise 9 meters by May. You find all of life floating together on this river: the market, dentists, school, gas, mechanics, church, bars and garbage, both internal and external and all man-made.
We stop at the home of Ruth Milagros and her twin, Luna Milagros. Their mama named them her miracle twins. Ruth is a dark haired beauty with a brilliant, welcoming, red-lipstick smile. She lives on the river where she grew up and now in a house built by her husband. She is expecting her second child in a month or so.
They tell us they have never had foreign visitors and are as curious about us as we are of them. I am drawn to them and wish I was part of a clinic so I could stay awhile. We give our earlier market purchases to them. They tell us that this community doesn’t look out for each other unless you are related; that they must struggle for every advantage and yet joy flows from them. My joy expands by just being with them.
We reach the Amazon river which is visibly marked by a change of water color from black to brown. The contaminated water seems to be replaced with random floating green plants like lily pads, river lettuce. It is breezy and relaxing and very wide. I am surprised by the gratitude that overtakes me on the boat. My heart is filled to bursting. I am on the Amazon!
50 river miles from Iquitos, we are welcomed to the Explorama Lodge. During high water season, we would disembark at the Lodge but today we must walk 25 minutes through the iconic forest.
The lodge is an open air/screened in, handmade, thatched-roof wonder. The forest surrounds it on all sides much like the bugs of unusual size surround my mosquito-netted bed. It is a bit of a reverse zoo as I lay comfortably within and watch the wildlife march by.
This is the land of the Yagua ‘red people’. We are greeted by several members of the community. They share their names and we share ours. Manuel, the leader, remembers my name telling us it means water in his language. I think of the living water Jesus gives and wonder if I can live up to my name.
We are treated first to a traditional dance which they offer to Mayantoo, the spirit of the rainforest. A blow gun demois next and we are welcomed to try. The blow gun is 6-7 feet long and the dart is launched by blowing. The tip of the dart targets the nervous system and is made from a mixture of Curare, scorpion, hot sauce, and poisonous frog venom. Hot sauce, imagine that! Philip could have used his own blood, I bet.
It is sunset in the rainforest. The sun glowing off the high tops of the trees. As I thank God for my Sister being commissioned right now, the birds and twittering things join me in this celebration of life, for her and for us.
Mischief magnified,
AmazoniAnne
Sunday, September 28, 2025
Monday!
It is our first walk in the rain! I have been wondering if it would rain at all… We are told this is mild rain at best.
Today is our ‘Day in the Life of…’ The part of the trip where we visit a village and are hosted in a home for lunch. A short boat ride brings us to Ramon Castilla Community and School. This is the second visit from this travel organization. These people do not have many foreign visitors.
The community families greet us from the top of the river bank. They are eager and beautifully welcoming. Just for our visit, they have built 35 wooden stairs and railings to ease our ascent!
After a visit with the elders, we are escorted to the school, a short walk down the village path, where each student pairs with one of us to share their schoolwork. I take the teacher’s seat and am quickly surrounded by Senora Gladys’ kindergarten class of four. I am in my happiest place among them. I read in Spanish to them from their teacher’s workbook without having any idea what I am saying. This warms them to me and the real work begins. We point out the circlos, quadraticals and trianglos and then get to color them Azul, verde and rojo! We are very clever.
Senora Gladys has prepared a song and play for us: The Three Little Pigs. Three of mine hold sticks each with a pig on top and another holds the wolf. Senora G begins the song and, holding hands, my pigs follow her. The wolf is supposed to break in and take them but my lobo gets a robust case of stage fright so I step in surprising us all! I put on my mother’s witchy face and growl as I chase them.
We close with a round of the hokey pokey much to everyone’s delight. The laughter, even the elders, is contagious. This may be my even happier place!
We are welcomed into the Pastor’s home for lunch and feast on pollo noodle soup, El Dorado fish and rice. His midwife-wife and daughters and grandchildren gather with us. My little shy lobo is among them. They kiss me on the cheek and call me family. It is a delight and so reminiscent of my clinic trips!
On the boat ride home, Willie is at it again. The depth of his Amazonian knowledge seems as vast as the forest. This time we are looking for the famed but rare Amazon Pink Dolphin and we find him!
Pink dolphins are freshwater mammals whose skin is pink. Their snouts are long and their foreheads enlarged for enhanced sonar capabilities. They have tiny eyes and are almost blind but as the water is opaque and dark, they are not much needed. When a baby is born, the alpha male catches the newborn and throws the baby out of water to teach it to breathe before he gives it back to mom.
We catch multiple glimpses of its glistening pink self. Outstanding!
Arrival at our lodge has Susan and I running for a cold drink for revivication. There is nothing like a sweaty, hot day reversed with a Coke!
The forest outside our screened room is alive and awake. The song of the honking frogs, night birds and cicadas, which live everywhere I guess, become our bedtime lullaby. We, like the pink dolphins cannot see but our sonar is strong!
Blessings upon blessings,
Marvelous Mischief!
AmazoniAnne
Monday, September 29, 2025
Tuesday! Canopy Walk Day!
We begin at dawn just as the blackness of night gives way to the softness of sun tinged skies. A mist rises off the river giving a myst-ical majesty to the river bank. The light on the water is pure liquid silver and gold.
This part of the river is 5 miles wide. You can see how high the water rises by the clear high water mark on the trees. There is gunmetal grey mud on one side and brick red on the other. Willie tells us that the ground in this Amazon basin is made up of layers of soft clay and sand deposits over 13,000 feet thick. This means there are no rocks here. What a thought! This boggles my mind.
We begin our hike to the canopy from Exploronapo lodge. It is a rustic lodge 50 river miles from our last one. It is a haven for researchers. The last two weeks they have hosted ornithologists with telescopes! The Chachalakas are singing loudly today. Their voices tell this world that the river is rising.
This part of the forest is called ‘terrafirma’ meaning it is not reached during the high water season. It is, however, far from firm. Our journey is an impossibly squishy one. Muddy, bottom of the lake kind of mucky mud makes me alert for slippage. The leaves of every variety of plant and the air, drip with the moisture and soon I am as wet as they. The humidity has a way of calling forth my own inner wet. Even my back side is dripping in a steady flow like the army ants below my feet. There is a point in the process, however, when the complete drenching turns cooling but it doesn’t last as long as I’d like
Did you know that Tolkien’s Ents actually live in the rainforest? They are called walking palms here. They can move more than 5 inches over time as they look for nutrients and sun. Their roots are a good source of calcium for the lactose intolerant.
The canopy walk will take us to 120 feet above the forest floor through the five levels of trees:
Forest floor, Understory, Canopy, Upper canopy, and Emergent. There are a series of towers connected by cables with chest high wire mesh ‘walls’ and wooden board lined pathways. Each level has its own distinct smell and temperature. If my happy place was yesterday, then this is my happy adjacent place.
It is easier to walk on these swaying pathways than the ground below. I have to watch my feet down below but here I can ‘walk’ with my hands. Hands on the cable and head in the trees, since there is no slippage, my feet can be on their own.
I am giddy with the delight of it. I love the tops of trees! They call me to join them in their haven of clean lines, strong branches and vibrant surrounding colors; forest and sky connected.
My words are so inadequate in describing the beauty, joy and gratitude racing to gain utterance from my deepest being. So, my head up, I walk wordless in the presence of my Creator and soak in every moment.
I feared one pass through the canopy walk would not be enough and I would leave wanting more. The truth is, when I walk with my Creator in the cool of the day, He makes what I have, enough! What a soul filling, deeply satisfying crossing. The whole trip In a sentence!
Mesmerizing Mischief,
AmazoniAnne
Tuesday, September 30, 2025
Wednesday!
This hot, muggy morning, we are offered an open-air boat ride. I am reluctant until Susan suggests we bring our umbrellas! It is a brilliant suggestion and I am all in. We board our fishing boat and go in search of piranhas! I go with my brother’s pet, Fred, in mind. He was golden yellow and at least a foot long,
There is a fishing pole for everyone but I opt to sit with my umbrella and cheer on the others. Jean quickly becomes the Queen of the waterway with a whopping 20 catches! The others mostly feed the fish but a few catch a few.
The water is dark and dank. It is hard to see anything unless they swarm but even then they are the color of shadows and impossibly fast. When one is caught, they are transformed into shimmering, bright silver and gold beauties, small but mighty. Their famed teeth are sharp and jagged. Those we catch, that are big enough, are presented for lunch.
Our afternoon is spent on Monkey Island, a monkey rescue haven. They work with the police to rescue monkeys from trafficking. They rescue, heal, rehabilitate and release to the wild when possible.
These monkeys come when William, our 24 year old guide, calls. He knows everyone by name. They hang and swing on him and the trees and eagerly seek the pecans he offers.
Sabrina is a small, white darling with a fierce streak. She chases everyone else with her quick, ominous snarling. William has to call her name multiple times to get her to cease and desist. She shoots him a look with every calling of her name. William says she’s jealous of those who get pecans.
As I stand listening and watching, I realize I have a wooley monkey sitting behind me using me for shade. He and a friend become enamored with my red gauze pants, grabbing them and playing peekaboo. I try to capture the scene between my legs with my camera.
Magnetic Mischief,
AmazoniAnne
Wednesday, October 2, 2025
Thursday, Going home day
To start our day, we take a short walk into the forest with Willie. It is wet but not muddy. As we round a corner, the trees break and a giant tree appears before us in the clearing. It takes my breath away.
It is a Ceiba tree, 165 feet high, 45 feet wide and 300 years old. It has 50 feet long, above ground roots that slither like anacondas into the forest.
Willie tells us these trees are hunted for plywood and so few are seen near the river. It would take a 3 day walk into the forest to find another one.
The original locals would worship at the base of this tree calling it their earth to heaven connection. They believed there was positive energy here and so they would come to hug the tree when they were feeling low or ill. With time, they always left feeling better. do not have time so it’s lovely that the trees of the canopy did the job.
As I consider whether there is energy here, Romans 1:20 answers my query. Of course, there is energy here! Your energy is here. You are where beauty lives. This makes me smile all the more as I hug the tree.
“For Your invisible attributes, namely, Your eternal power and divine nature, have been clearly perceived, ever since the creation of the world, in the things that have been made.” (Romans 1:20, ESV)
The rest of the day will be a series of boat, bus and plane rides. We begin with a boat back to Iquitos. AmazoniAnne is going home.
Philip loved South America so I decide it is time to release him into the wild. With Susan beside me, the Amazon rushing by, wind borne Philip joins the river.
Susan was not at Philip’s memorial because of Covid so this is deeply moving for both of us. Maralee sits with us. She is well acquainted with grief and is so very brave and beautiful to share our tears as we honor him. It is bittersweet but somehow so very affirmingly fitting.
This trip has been more marvelous than I could have imagined. I had no idea that my heart would respond with such joy.
Tripping with God: Stories of Faith and Inspiration 