Enroute
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
Tripping with God: Stories of Faith and Inspiration 