Thursday, March 12, 2026 To Moshi
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.Â
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.Â
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.Â
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.Â
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
Tripping with God: Stories of Faith and Inspiration 