I'm having a hard time feeling any pep today. Gee, I wonder why? I arrived with the others in our group of travelers late yesterday afternoon at Dulles after traveling for 25 hours (counting time spent in the Kilimanjaro and Amsterdam airports), through who knows how many time zones.

I had planned to write a blog entry Monday night from the Internet cafe when we arrived back in the city of Moshi to spend the last night before flying home. (We had spent the first few nights of the visit in Moshi, and had then been in the small town of Karatu for about a week. We came back to Moshi because it is very close to the Kilimanjaro airport.) But here's what happened. I waited for 15 minutes until one of the three computers opened up, and then started the five-minute snail's pace process of getting on line, and I had finally gotten into my Yahoo mail account and was just about to click on an e-mail Patty had sent -- when the power went out. Just for two seconds. Just enough to shut down the computers. Then the lights came back on. Then I waited for 10 minutes while the guy at the Internet cafe tried to get the computers back on line. But he couldn't. So I left.

I experienced this kind of thing happening all the time with the electricity. The basic infrastructure is so unreliable that it's one of the big obstacles that will have to be overcome if Africa is to be competitive in the global economy.

So, anyway, here's the blog I would have posted this past Monday night. (I always wrote them out first, because I had to pay for the minutes I used on the Internet. I could have sent it during the five-hour layover we had in Amsterdam, but the charge there was six Euros for a half-hour of time!)

We have been in the town of Karatu for the last week, and have returned to the city of Moshi, near Mount Kilimanjaro. It's 9:00 PM. Tomorrow night we will get on a plane to begin the journey home. I will be so happy to get back home to Patty. But I have seen and experienced so much.

I have spoken with pastors who have four or five congregations in their parish, each location separated by up to 15 kilometers; but who have no motorized transportation, and who must walk from congregation to congregation.

I have worshiped with people who walk several kilometers each Sunday to get to church

I have missed the summer solstice this year, but have experienced my second winter solstice, this past week in TZ!

I have discovered that ear plugs are a great aid to sleep, with a roomate who snores.

I have seen an entire student body of a primay school thrilled to have been given a single soccer ball.

I have seen a blue heron eat a snake.

I have been within 30 feet of an elephant.

I have seen a monkey dash through an open window of one of our safari vehicles, steal a cookie, and flash back out and up a tree to eat the cookie before the running, yelling driver could get to him.

I have sat in on a choir practice at the Karatu Lutheran Parish.

I have visited a bicycle shop in the small town of Karatu.

I have been put on a pedestal everywhere I have been, because I am a "mchugali," a pastor.

I have been offered a job, teaching at the Mwicki Bible College, by the principal, when he met me, on the spot. (I declined the offer.)

I have been asked by numerous excited Tanzanians if I think Barack Obama could actually be elected president. (If that happens, I'll tell you, there will be dancing in the streets of Africa.)

I have baptized four infants and one adult. (Two of us mchugalis were baptizing people at the service this past Sunday at the Lositee Congregation in a Masai village.)

There's a whole lot more to share! We'll get together for a congregational dinner in the fall. I'll even show color pichures!

I'll even have a picture album and a DVD to show, of my visit to the Mongai Parish. The Mongai pastor, Pastor Minja, brought them to me at the "hotel" in Moshi, just before we left for the airport. I'm glad he caught me. Here's what he had to do, to get to the "big city": He walked seven kilometers down the mountain from his parish to the main (dirt) road to catch a bus (actually a "dala dala": one of the privately owned mini-vans that serve as buses, with up to 20 people crammed inside, each paying 500 TZ shillings for the ride -- 50 cents). He rode that into Moshi. Then he saved a few minutes by taking a taxi to the hotel, which is a few kilometers out. Of course, he had to do the same thing, in reverse, to get back home. So -- that is how he spent his day.

Wow.

I guess I'll stop complaining about the longer trip to our hospital, in its new location.