Change of Location: Same Blog – New Site

I’ve recently decided to move my blog from the basic WordPress hosting option to WordPress run through a different host (Bluehost). So you’ll see this will be my last post on this direct site. In order to keep following me you’ll have to go to my new website, and follow me from there (you’ll see the subscribe option on the left side still – just scroll down a little bit). This can be done at:

I’ve recently started to try posting videos every so often, so you can see those at:

And of course, for more pictures, you can visit:

Hope you follow to the new site and stick around for the journey!

A Day in Gety – Part 1


These past few months have been a structured series of chaos. Since arriving back in Congo in early July, I have spent less than 4 weeks in Bunia (my main base) – meaning almost 10 plus weeks ‘out in the field.’

My new role with Samaritan’s Purse (SP) is the “Emergency Response Program Manager” – or, basically managing the Food and Non-Food Item (NFI) teams who bring assistance in emergencies. Within a week of getting back, I hit the ground running by heading out to Gety, in Southern Irumu to help organize and host fairs.

In the NGO (non-government organisations) world, fairs are a type of intervention to help people in need. The classic approach to intervening in a crisis to bring the goods/services that are needed and to hand these out through direct distribution. However, if not done carefully, this can disrupt the existing markets as people will not need to buy from local vendors.

When the situation permits, we instead try to use the local market systems to reach our beneficiaries. The situation in Gety allowed for this approach, and so, through long hours of discussion and analyzing we selected 25 NFI vendors and 16 Food vendors.

The next step was to choose a fair site. This was done with the local village leaders, and usually is a large soccer field that we then fence off and install small boutiques for each vendor. The vendors then move their items into the stalls and we progressively serve the vulnerable population, giving them coupons that they can use in the fair grounds, to buy the food and articles the need to survive.

The video below is a summary of  the first half hour of our day. Hopefully, as time goes on, I’ll be able to post all the various segments. This first part is how our day begins at our sub-base. Every morning with SP, we begin with half an hour of morning devotions, which usually entails some worship/singing, someone sharing a small passage, prayer, announcements for the day, and then a time to greet each other before tackling the day.

Sometimes we just use the whole half hour for worship/singing – and in Congo, that means dancing (as they say, Congolese express themselves through dance, so if they’re expressing thanks and joy, they will be dancing).


Uganda and Tanzania

I recently acquired a GoPro Hero4 – Silver edition (basically, a small video-camera).  I was also able to take a break from the Congo for a week of adventure through Uganda, Tanzania, and Rwanda. This is a just a portion of that time. Also, first time using my GoPro so bare with me if the footage isn’t so great. Best part? Getting to see my parents after almost a year apart (and surprising them in the airport).

So here it is:

1. Kampala, Uganda
2. Jinja, Uganda
3. Nairobi, Kenya (Airport)
4. Dar es Salam, Tanzania

Shot in:
1920 x 1080
59.94 fps

The Drive Home from Work



By the time the last person had moved through the distribution line to receive their rice, fish and noodles, the sun had dipped below the horizon, leaving only a faint glow of orange as proof of her passing and the moon was rising on the other horizon to take her place.

The team was exhausted after almost 10 hours straight of distributing food to the remote village in northern Tanna, an island of the Vanuatu archipelago in the South Pacific. Distributions mean starting early with loading the 4×4 pickup trucks, driving over rough roads, unloading and serving. The tiring part is the fact that all the rice is packaged in 10kg bags, we have to both load and unload these. We often form chains of men, standing in a line, tossing the bags from one person to the next, until it reaches the pile. One or two hundred isn’t so bad….but we’re doing over a 1000 bags of rice a day, not to mention the noodles and fish, so it gets tiring under the tropical sun.

Regardless though, we dug deep and found the energy for one more smile as the chief begged us to come receive a gift from the village. With a small word of thanks, the village handed us a chicken and several woven mats as a sign of gratitude for the work we had done and the food we had distributed. Somewhat embarrassed, we graciously accepted the gifts as it would be rude not to (although ruefully laughing at the fact we’re distributing food aid and in return they give us food back – but the cultural basically demands that they give us gifts and so they do), and loaded them into the back of the pickup before scrambling in ourselves.

The engine turns over slowly in the brisk evening air before coming to life while the whole village lines up to wave goodbye as the pickup lurches forward to begin the long drive home. We wave back with one hand while the other grips the side of the pickup bed so we don’t fall out. Everyone is lost in their own thought as we slowly snake our way down the mountain roads toward the coast of the island where we stay.

I’m sitting at the back corner, holding onto two sides of the truck. Besides me sits one of our guys, who’s blond dreads, lit up by the moon, bounce with the movement of the truck as though they’re alive. In front of me, sprawled out on the floor of the truck bed, sit two soldiers, chatting quietly as they take puffs from a cigarette which they pass between themselves, the smoke lightly greeting our faces as it makes it way out of the crowded pickup and into the open air. In front of them, holding onto the cab, sit two more of our guys, staring silently ahead, watching the road illuminated by the headlights of the truck.

Above us, the clear night sky flickers to life with a million stars, led in their nightly dance by the unmistakable shape of the Southern Cross who’s arms stretch out wide, beckoning us home. One of the guys has started to play Bob Marley on his phone, the calming lyrics of “’cause everything is gonna be alright” float into the air, mixing with the low rumble of the pickup to create the only sounds in the evening.

The road twists and turns down the mountains, through small valleys, and over steams with no bridges. The driver rarely is able to get out or first or second gear as he constantly navigates the holes in the dirt road, often hidden by a layer of fine dust. When he does hit one, we all float off the bed of the truck, momentarily suspended in the air, before our backsides collide again with the surface, creating black and blue marks for those of us with lighter complexions. Occasionally he’ll swerve at the last second, throwing one side of the car towards the other – and the other often towards the grassy bank of the road. When this happens, we all just hold on tightly, each hoping that his arms will hold against the momentum pushing us the other direction.

It’s a long drive home, although only about 30 kilometers, it takes us well over two hours. Occasionally another truck will pass us, going the opposite direction. The road is so narrow that often one or the other has to stop and pull off for the other to pass. In a sign of greeting, the two drivers will tap their horns. In the areas where it’s wide enough for two cars at once, the cloud of dust following our nightly compatriot hits us fiercely in the face. We all turn our heads, closing our eyes and holding our breathe for a few seconds before our truck is able to emerge from the dust storm and we inhale deeply the fresh night air.

Every now and then, the driver will stop abruptly as an animal, often a cow or pig, wanders across the road as though it owns the world. Once a wild herd of horses is rudely awakened from sleeping on the road and stamp their hooves in discontent as they make way for us.

By the time we reach the bungalows where we are staying, every one of us looks a different ethnicity due to the layer of dirt, sweat, dust and grim that  has covered us from head to toe. We leap out, grabbing our bags and chicken, fist bumping our team members, before tapping the side of the truck signaling that he can move on. The guys still in the truck wave and shout good night and we wave back, knowing in a few short hours we’ll be at it again.

Sometimes people ask me if it’s hard doing this kind of work, having to live in basic conditions, eat what would barely pass for food as a consistent diet, and work long hours in remote places, and I often don’t know how to reply, because like anything, it has its highlights and its rougher moments. But rides home, lit up by starry skies, through mountains passes, talking with amazing people are what remind me that I love what I do, who I get to do it with, and where I get to do it.

Vanuatu Food Distribution – Day 1

Vanuatu Day 1 -_-12

I am currently living on the island of Tanna, a southern island in the archipelago of Vanuatu, an island nation in the southern Pacific ocean (think east of Australia). In theory, I’ll be stationed here to help do food distribution around the island (serving something like 30,000 people!). I’ve been here already 4 days, which has flown by! However, today has been by far the most memorable day I have had in a while. It’s already a bit late, and I’ll have to the same thing tomorrow, so this post will be brief. But I just wanted to explain quickly, how my day went.

Vanuatu Day 1 -_-13

The day here begins at 7am. We meet for breakfast, which consists of bread and coffee (today, we were lucky enough to get fried eggs – a rare surprise). Sometime between 7:15 and 7:30, we meet for group devotions, prayer, and daily planning. By 8am we were down to the warehouse, loading trucks for our distribution. Today’s site was Lowinimahapen (far North Tanna). Although only being about 25 miles away, it takes well over an hour to get there due to road conditions (dirt roads, up and over several low mountains). The scenery is absolutely stunning: you climb this dirt roads that snake their way up the mountainside. For many portions, you can see all the way down to the coast – and then out to the seemingly endless ocean. The island is made of lush, green plants. Occasionally you’ll see wild horses evening roaming the slopes.

Vanuatu Day 1 -_-11

We spent most of the day distributing food to the village. Near the end, the chief came and told us that they were going to do a thank-you ceremony for us. Not being completely sure what this entailed, we tentatively agreed. It started out with the whole village surrounding the small field we were using. They then proceeded to bring out a pig, several woven bags, and woven mats. This was all piled in the center, where the chief stood. He then thanked us profusely (through a translator, as they all speak Bislama, but this village’s “formal” language is French, so they spoke French with us). Afterwards, I had to give a few words as well – and accept the gifts in front of the whole village by laying my hands on them. I thought we were done as the gifts were moved off the field.

Vanuatu Day 1 -_-4

I was then more surprised when the whole village came out onto the field, and began to sing and dance a traditional song for us. For almost 15 minutes, this went on, everyone was involved (including young children) as they performed for us. To keep rhythm, they stomped their feet – this quickly created a dust cloud around the whole dance party as the field was made of dirt.

Watch some of it here:

Vanuatu Day 1 -_-8

Vanuatu Day 1 -_-9

It was amazing to experience – watching these people dance, sing, smile, and laugh, despite having lived through one of the worst storms possible (cyclone Pam). They had hope – and it was contagious.

Vanuatu Day 1 -_

The Restaurant at the Other End of the Island


I yawned and stretched as rolled out of bed. This was the first day I didn’t have to be at the dive center at 7:45 am for diving lessons and my body had appreciated the extra sleep, although regretting the extra hours I had stayed awake watching a movie the night before. The room was dark, only faintly lit by the outside light seeping through the curtained windows. I stood and crossed the room, throwing back the shades to have my eyes blinded by the brilliant morning sunlight, making me unable to move like a deer caught in the headlights. I squinted and rubbed my eyes before fully understanding what I was looking at – this was the first sunny morning I had seen the whole week.


In mid-May, I had the opportunity to visit the famous island of Zanzibar, off the coast of East Africa. Most of time was spent in on the northern tip, learning how to scuba dive (something I had never done before – I even got certified for the first level, that is, PADI Open Water), and relaxing. I had rented a motorcycle for my week there, and although I was doing little drives everyday, it seemed like a waste to not explore more of the island. So I waited patiently for a day where there was more sun than rain (it rained every day for the first 4 days I was there) and charted a course.


People often say that the value of a trip is not the destination, but the journey itself. I often agree with this statement, however, at times it is makes the journey more worthwhile if you have a goal or destination at the end. With a little research, I found the point furthest from where I was staying, was near the southern tip of the island. Digging a little deeper, I found the most famous aspect of that point was a restaurant, known as The Rock. I decided, then and there, that when the sun arrived, I shall dine on the Rock.


And so, that morning that the sun greeted me in her full radiance, I hurried to get dressed, gather my camera, scarf down a quick breakfast, and jump on my motorcycle. I navigated down the eastern coast of the island, stopping occasionally to appreciate the view. While driving, I passed the Jozani National Forest. For time considerations, I decided to press on, and if I had enough time, I would stop on the return leg of my journey.


The road unfolded beneath my motorcycle quickly and the island’s coastline blurred by. Despite making good time on the road, about every half hour I was stopped by some policemen in order to be questioned. I often made sure to be the one to start the conversation, breaking into a smile and conversing in broken Swahili (I actually refused to switch back to English, no matter how bad it was – the policemen often didn’t know what to make of this). The police would often squint at me a bit, trying to process what was going on. Then they would ask for my license and Zanzibar papers – probably hoping I would have an issue. After 3-5 minutes of discussion, I was let go without any major issues as everything was in order. I was reminded by one that I shouldn’t drink and drive – which I’m not sure if it’s a good thing, as a friendly reminder, or if he thought I was already intoxicated at 1 pm in the afternoon….Zanzibar-40


Finally, as I rushed along, I saw briefly, between the line of palm trees guarding the pristine white beaches and turquoise waters from me and the hard, paved road, a thatched roof sitting out on the water. I quickly braked (perhaps too quickly as the back tire fishtailed along the pavement for a few meters) and turned around, taking the first footpath that wound lazily through a small fishing village before spilling me out on the wide open beach that stretched as far as I could see in either direction. In front of me, standing proudly out of the sea, stood a pillar of rocks, and on top, rested a small, white building with a thatched roof – I had made it to the Rock.


I was able to walk across the beach, and wade through the low-tide waters to reach the stairs, only getting up to my knees wet. Lunch was squid and vegetables – I figured since I was eating at “sea,” I had better eat something sea-worthy. However, by the time I left, the shore was already 50+ meters away, and waves had moved up 5 or 6 levels on the staircase.  A small boat was waiting and the men quickly put me on shore, coasting in on the waves.


My next stop was the Jozani forest, famous for its Red Colobus Monkeys (only native to Zanzibar) and mangrove forests. I visited quickly, as the sun was already beginning to set, before heading back up, straight through the island – which allowed me to see the palm plantations and spice farms along either side of the road (although I didn’t stop to actually visit them). By the time I arrived back up in Nungwi, the sun was almost hidden on the horizon, casting its final glow out across the calm waters, silhouetting the fishing boats along the shoreline.




All in all, it had been a good day.



Cats, Dogs, and Kittens


We tend to have a lot of cats here in Congo – the main purpose being that they are a rat deterrent (there are also a lot of rats in Congo). Our office cat had a litter of kittens last Tuesday (13 days ago) – 4 really cool looking kittens. Everything seemed to be working out fine for them and we left the first weekend, confident that Tes (the cat) was going to be okay.

158 160 162 165

However, we came back from the weekend and found out that she had disappeared. The guards said they hadn’t seen her since Friday. So we were left were four motherless kittens – that hadn’t been fed in probably 3 days.


We brought them home and started the difficult process of syringe feeding them a mixtures of fresh cow milk and eggs (it’s the ingredients we had on hand). We have another cat at the house, who is pregnant, but instead of adopting them, she would hiss and growl at them. So for the past 6 days we have been feeding them by hand every 3-4 hours….a very taxing/difficult task.


While feeding them, we often put them down so our 5 month old puppy can also get used to them. Today, that puppy decided to crawl into the box with the kittens and start licking/caring for them. We were all surprised!


Then, as our cat, Stoner (don’t ask…) was sitting on my lap, I decided to try with her again. As I put down the first kitten she hissed and growled and tried to jump away. I held her and kept petting. Her focus was then distracted as our dog, Mara, jumped at her. In this moment of distraction, the kitten was able to sneak under her. She didn’t resist too much and I slowly added the others until all four were feeding off her.


Here’s to hoping that my days of feeding cats are over, and that the orphans have new mothers – either a cat or dog.


The haphazard chronicles and musings of a global nomad.


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