What I did this Summer by Mary Sue Stegehuis It's the classic back to school assignment, but this

is not the stereotypical essay. This summer I climbed a mountain, walked above the clouds, (took my own "private" helicopter ride off the mountain,) discovered I have a "Nerd Family" and found I have African brothers. And if that where not enough, I learned the meaning of sacrifice from strangers, and glimpsed God's overwhelming love for me. -Just your typical summer :) This past July, I had an opportunity to go to Tanzania, on the east coast of Africa. Many people have asked me to write about my trip, which was an amazing gift; I hope my story will be a gift for someone else. (You might want to grab a cup of coffee, it could go on a bit...) I read an email in December offering scholarships for teachers to study experiential science for 3 weeks in Tanzania. More than 500 Michigan teachers applied, including myself, and against the odds, on December 26th, I received notification that I got a scholarship; best Christmas present ever (at least since the first Christmas.) I would be going on safari, visiting an Aids orphanage and school, two dormant volcanos, one of which I would climb- Mount Kilimanjaro. In January all 18 teachers met for the first time and found out just what we'd signed up for. We would be learning about Tanzanian culture, the biomes of Kilimanjaro, and all about altitude sickness. In addition, we would train, physically, for climbing the mountain. Nearly every weekend, I loaded up my backpack with 3 liters of water and hiked everywhere; up and down Michigan Street hill, Cannonsburg Ski slopes and all around Grand Rapids. Friends loaned me exercise equipment, packs, sleeping bag, etc. that I'd need, and became my hiking partners. I could never have gotten to Africa without my community! In July, I found my feet on Tanzania soil. The community of teachers I traveled with were some of the most positive, most patient and most supportive people I've ever met. The first night we were there we found a huge spider on the lawn. Immediately, our group of grown adults/ teachers, some of us parents, turned into squealing 8 year olds, taking pictures of it, measuring it.... we bonded within days. We jokingly referred to each other as "our Nerd Family." We had numerous flat tires and breakdowns during our safari days; the Serengeti is really rough on vehicles. What amazed us was that whenever one of the vehicles broke down, drivers, not only our 3, but every driver in the vicinity dropped everything and came to help. And they stayed, sometimes for hours, until the problem was solved. It was clear that in the Serengeti, where you are hours and hours away from anything, your community is literally your lifeline. All the drivers, no matter what company they worked for, cooperated, to help fix cars, to locate animals, to warn of dangers. One night we broke down in Ngorongoro Crater. We had a broken leaf spring. There are no tow trucks, and we were 30 minutes from our lodge. Drivers stopped and conferred with Tuma, our driver. It was decided that he would send small groups of us on to the lodge with different drivers and that

he would stay and fix the car. The last 4 of us were reluctant to leave him out there alone; there is a very real danger from predator animals after dark. He told us that he would be taken care of; that this time it was his car broke down, but next time it would be someone else's car, and then he would help them. And he was right. It was a joy to witness; to be immersed in this community. But as amazing as this and every experience was, for me, it was the mountain that was life changing. This was the only part of the trip I had some hesitation about. We'd been told just how important it was to train- this would test our physical and mental limits, and no one would help us get up there; if we couldn't continue, we would go back down and join our group when they finished. So I trained. I have never been an athlete, and I was 10+ years older that the second oldest member of our group (and 30 years older than many of them). But we were also told that our summit was our summit, no matter how high it was. My goal was to see the cloud sea (to view the clouds from the top down) and if I saw that, I'd be happy. By 2 hours into our hike, I was feeling nauseous. I thought it was a side effect of my Diamox medicine, or a bad lunch; nobody gets altitude sick on day one, and I didn't have a headache (usually the first symptom.) I got to Camp one and figured sleep would help. The next day I started off again, but the nausea was getting worse (think- morning sickness). One teacher was sick enough to go back down, but I was still thinking (altitude really messes with your reasoning skills) that I would get better. I stopped taking the Diamox and figured once it was out of my system, I feel better. I didn't. As I continued on I was having a rough time; everything was just hard. It wasn't that I felt like my pack was too heavy, or that I had trouble breathing, or my muscles were tired, it was just hard. I started praying, "God, I running on empty, you'll have to carry me." My friend Stacey was struggling too and walked with me since she needed a slow "pace car." We didn't talk much, but at one point she told me how bad she was feeling, and I told her, "I know, me too. Pray, it's all I can think of to do." She told me that she had Amazing Grace running through her head. So, there we walked, mostly in silence, together, praying. At one point I was saying Hail Mary's and I couldn't remember all the words (!), so my prayer became, "Hail Mary, full of grace.... Please pray for me!" And we kept walking. A short time later, one of the guides, his name is Rojas (which I mangled, calling him Roger for 2 days) came up behind me and asked if he could carry my pack. I knew he was not supposed to do that; that was my responsibility, so I told him, "no, I'm alright." He asked again, and then added, "You need to be free." I can't even describe how wonderful those words sounded- he was right. I handed my pack over to him. Later that day, another teacher reminded me that he wasn't supposed to do that, and I thought, for a

moment that I should take it back, which I did at the next rest stop. But later he again asked for it and I passed it over to him. It wasn't the correct thing to do, but it was the right thing to do and I knew instinctively that he would not have offered if it wasn't right. And he carried my pack; my burden, for me. Not only that day, but for three more days. I asked him, the next day, why he was carrying it for me and he smiled and said, "Because I want to see you at the top (of the mountain.)" So simple, so generous. I need to explain that it was only a 12 lb pack, but at altitude, it's significant, and I could hear Rojas switching it around; in front, on top of his pack, one armed... as he walked behind me. We talked a little. I asked about his family, and told him about mine. He called me Mama Sophie, because in Africa, you are named for your youngest child. I got through day 3, and on day 4 actually felt a bit better, but still couldn't eat or drink much without the nausea coming back, so I was getting a little dehydrated, and low on "fuel." Once again I strapped on my pack, but within an hour or so Rojas asked for it and I handed it over. The terrain became boulders and was the first "climbing" we had to do. I remember being frustrated that it was so beautiful and I normally love to climb, but I wasn't really enjoying it, and I wanted to. At several points We had to leap from one rock to another, which I happily did. Rojas said to me, "Mama Sophie, my Godt, you are so strong, you walk like a 40 year old." (I'm 57) it was the nicest thing I think I've heard, and when I was struggling, I replayed those words in my head, and clung to them. We talked about maybe going up to Gilman's Point, which is about 1,000 feet from the official summit. I thought maybe I could make it, but by afternoon, that was clearly out of the question. I made it to Camp 4, Kibo- 15,500 feet, and two camps above the clouds, and that's where I stopped. At that point, I had the classic headache and nausea that meant altitude sickness. I stayed in camp and Rojas stayed behind to take care of me. As a mom, and teacher, I am the one who helps others; the problem solver, so this was a pretty unique situation. That night I developed chest pain. I realized that I couldn't afford to take chances, so I went to let our group leaders know. Very calmly, but very quickly, our tent became like a hospital room. A doctor happened to be at Kibo, and assessed my situationcould be a combination of dehydration, exertion and altitude, but equally possible I'd had a small heart attack. They needed to get me off the mountain, soon. Oxygen tanks appeared, my tent mate, Kristy, took my pulse/ oxygen levels regularly. I was strangely calm. I knew the situation was serious, but I had this amazing community who was embracing me and I knew they would take care of me. I can't even explain how completely peaceful and safe I felt; God had me and my friends had me. There were many quiet conversations outside my tent, the doctor stopped in a couple more times, Rojas sat with Kristy and I- in fact that was the only time I got a little concerned; when he put his head down and just said, "Mama Sophie.." I told him I'd be OK, but he guides climbers all the time, and if he was

concerned, maybe I needed to be. But I still felt like, no matter what the outcome, God definitely had this. They got me down the mountain on a cross between a gurney and a unicycle (you'd have to see it) and then onto a helicopter to Nairobi Hospital, and because there was no time to figure out, no plan to get me back. Thankfully, my heart checked out and I could rejoin my friends the next day. I had a cell phone with a half charged battery and less than $40. My friends had to pool their money (the airline wouldn't take my charge card for a ticket- You know the Visa ad? it's not everywhere you want to be.) and send me a confirmation number via text. I couldn't get a text out to them letting them know I'd received it. There is a whole lot more to the adventure- seriously, I began to feel like the "high maintenance" child in the family. But here's what changed for me; in me. I was sitting in mass, a week or two after I returned, and we sang, "Will you let me be your servant, Let me be as Christ to you...." My eyes teared up, I could hardly sing, and I realized that Rojas' carrying my pack, as huge as that was, as completely overwhelmed with gratitude as I had been (I'd been close to tears at that point too), it was the human face of Christ's sacrifice for me. This stranger who had no obligation to help the way he did, out of pure love and compassion, carried my burden, repeatedly, joyfully. I began to understand the cross and communion in a way I never have before. And I know that my understanding is just the tiniest glimpse of that love and sacrifice. It's bigger that words can express, more than our minds can encompass. Post script:After finishing this article I was given another gift. This past Friday one of my traveling companions posted how much she was missing everyone and wanted to visit Tanzania soon. We'd all been feeling like that on and off since our return, but this really made me miss everyone. I went to school and was teaching when one of my 4th graders asked if they could see the Baba Yetu video, which is a musical version of the swahili "Our Father." So we watched it right before school mass. It's very moving and reminded me of Tanzania. Our principal, Suzi Furtwangler, happened to be taking a tour of people through the building at just that moment. She stopped at our room, motioned me over, and introduced me to Sister Kate, who, she explained, was from Africa. I started tearing up and hugged her without even thinking (the poor woman had no idea what was going on.) Suzi explained to her that I had just been to Tanzania, she registered that, and then hugged me. I was so completely overwhelmed. Then they left, I got myself together and went on with my day. Later on, I found in my staff mailbox, a form for a 201 student, with Sister's name on it. It meant that she was placed in my class to do her pre-teaching! (I called her to set up a schedule, and explained that I was the crazy woman who cried and hugged her the first time we met. She said she would have done the same thing.) What a blessing! When I told my class, they said, "It's like a miracle." I told them it was. God is great. All the time.