there won't be snow in Africa this Christmastime

It’s already December; it’s unreal how fast time has passed here. Getting off the plane in July, six months stretched out forever ahead of me – six months of being away from my family and my friends, six months of trying to work in a language I barely comprehend, six months of none of the comforts of home (oh, how I miss showers…). It seemed like forever. And now it’s December, and I’m in the homestretch… and I’m not altogether sure that I’m ready to leave. Today included, I have exactly sixty days left in Africa. Sixty days! That’s nothing. A few weeks of work and a handful of weekends left to explore and enjoy this beautiful place. Some of you probably remember me joking that I thought I would fall in love the second I got off the plane and you’d have to drag me back to Canada… It was never a joke. Africa is home now, and I know I’ll be coming back.

My sixty days are divided up between three (potentially four) countries, so I need to use my time wisely. Friday morning, Katie, Claire, Logan and I are setting off to Burundi for the weekend. This is half necessity, half insanity, I think. Katie and I need to renew our visas sometime before Christmas, and Burundi is the cheapest way for us to do that. And we all want to see more of this beautiful continent, so Burundi it is. Luckily, Burundi isn’t in the news as much anymore as our neighbour to the west – a peace deal was signed in May and the country is slowly becoming more secure. We’re overlanding, taking the long and winding road from Kigali down through Butare, crossing the border and going south to Bujumbura on the banks of Lake Tanganyika. I’m expecting a pretty laidback weekend; there’s not a lot to do or see in Bujumbura but it’ll be a nice break from the routine of Kigali.

Post-Burundi, I ‘work’ for two weeks, and then Katie and I are off to Tanzania for Christmas. We fly from Kigali to Kilimanjaro, where we’ll spend a day bumming around admiring the view before heading over to Arusha, where we’ll stay the night. Bright and early the next morning, we set off on our safari adventure – five days of driving through the Serengeti, Ngorongoro Crater and Lake Manyara – before getting back to Arusha on Christmas Eve. Christmas Day will be a bit of a weird one for us… We’re spending it on the 8 or 9 hour bus ride from Arusha to Dar es Salaam! We have loaded Christmas movies onto Katie’s IPod though, so it’ll be a tolerable trip despite my carsickness, I hope. We’re hoping to get into Dar just before the last ferry leaves for Zanzibar, where we’re spending December 26^th- January 4^th. We’re spending the first few days exploring Stone Town, followed by a few days in the northern coast towns of Nungwe and Kendwa. I’m so excited for the beach! I’m a Maritime girl; take me away from the ocean for too long and I feel homesick for the waves and the salty air. Zanzibar is an African paradise – beaches to lounge on, forests to hike in, city streets to discover.

I’m hoping our amazing Christmas plans will make up for the feelings that have started springing up over the past few days. I haven’t been homesick yet; lonely, sure, and I miss my family, but so far I hadn’t experienced any particular intense “I need to be at home” feelings (minus the unpleasant phone situation, of course). Now, though… I miss home. Or more specifically, I miss Christmas at home. It’s December 3^rd… And it feels like the middle of August. I’m sitting in my office listening to Christmas carols, staring out my door at a sea of green hills and red dust. The sun is blinding, but not because it’s reflecting off inches of pristine snow. Rwandans tell me it’s cold outside at night now, but it’s certainly not the kind of chill you keep off with mittens and a scarf. I’ve always argued I could live anywhere at Christmas time because I hate (hate hate hate) the snow and cold, and I never thought that was a part of my Christmas experience. Nothing like moving to Africa to let you know you’re wrong!

I am a Christmas preparer extraordinaire. Despite five years of working retail during the Christmas season (which is enough to drive anyone to drink), I love this season. I love the buildup – the Christmas carols in the mall starting November 1^st; peppermint mochas at Starbucks; lights going up on houses and nurseries hawking their trees by the side of the road; baking and decorating cookies; shopping for presents and wrapping them. It’s funny though, because as much as I am sad to be missing Christmas with Leah and all the preparations that go into Christmas with a young child in the house… what I find I’m missing most is Christmas with my mother. The smell of cookies baking in my mum’s kitchen. Endless lists of ingredients and snacks, choosing hors d’oeuvres and cheeses and wine together. Her panicky shopping starting the first week of December (I’m smugly always finished in October or November), where we wander the mall in search of something for my dad (the hardest person to buy for, ever) and stop to have coffee and chat. I think it’s not so much that I miss my family, or that I miss Christmas, but that I’m mourning a huge interruption in tradition – an interruption that is likely to become the new norm. It sort of hadn’t occurred to me that being an adult would mean the loss of something I didn’t realize meant so much to me.

Oh, and four countries (because if you did the math, you would see that Rwanda + Burundi + Tanzania = 3) is because we might take a couple of days prior to our flight into Heathrow to play around in Kenya. I say might, because I am already broke. And surprisingly to some people, traveling in Africa costs money. Real money, which I don't have. Depressing!