A Zebra Crossing...

We were driving quite quick, when a giraffe loped out from behind an acacia bush, long graceful limbs propelling it across the road as Simba frantically pumped the brakes hard, the big off-road tyres biting deep into the soft track. By the time we had stopped, the giraffe was gone, but as we set off again, I looked back to see a family of zebras following their long-necked mate, causing Sammi to slew his 4X4 to a halt behind us.

The road conditions worsened, until at one point we were reduced to rumbling slowly through massive dust-filled potholes the size of small cars. Often we left the road all together, driving diagonally up sharp banks by the side of the road to avoid wheel-loosing crevices and large boulders. Eventually the road leveled out to hard corrugation that rattled the toughened glass windows. We started making good progress, throwing up a huge dust-cloud as we powered through the desert-savanna, waving at the children who would shout and laugh and wave excitedly as we rumble past. Occasionaly we would slow down for Masai tribesmen who would be herding their cows out of our path, raising a solemn hand in greeting.
We eventually started climbing a steep hill, and when we reached the top, the view below was of a completely different landscape from the previous desert-scrub.

The view down onto the valley was like a paradise picture of Africa, luscious fertile green trees growing wide and shallow over round green desert-date bushes, all contrasting against a deep rich-red soil. At the bottom of the hill, while driving along the bank at the side of the road to avoid a car-swallowing pothole, the engine died.
Bizarrely, Mrs Grasshopper and I grinned at each other.
The following vehicle stopped, and we all got out for a "comfort break" and a smoke while Simba muttered in kiswahili from under the bonnet.

It was here I experienced my first meeting with the "wait-a-bit" bush. Brushing past it even gently will result in its long barbed thorns becoming hopelessly dug into your skin and clothing, forcing you to literally wait a bit while carefully and methodically unhooking yourself. Not easy if your also holding your man-tackle at the time, rest assured.

Simba soon had it fixed, and we thundered along again, all the time waving at local Masai, or quickly covering our mouths as a passing truck filled our cab with choking diesel fumes, and dust that caked our sweat-soaked faces.
A couple more hours past when we heard and felt a BA-BANG....BA-BANG....BA-BANG... coming from under the Landrover.
I looked at Simba, who looked at me. 2 mins later I'm lying face-down on the sandy "road", peering intently at the rear off-side axle.
"Go on!" I shout. Simba eased the vehicle forward as I lay prone, head underneath as the rear wheel slowly rolls towards me.
BA-BANG!- it goes, shooting dust, stones and sand in my face. Coughing and spluttering I shuffle away from the rear wheel and shout again; "Go on!"
BA-BANG!
At this point I realise the whole exercise was pointless- I know absolutely f- all about cars.
Choking and spluttering, I get up and focus my streaming eyes on Simba.
"Uh, Broken" I say, pointing vaguely at the rear of the Landrover.
We swap places, and I try to find first gear in the lucky-bag of gearbox.
"Go on!" Simba shouts, and I ease her forwards.
BA-BANG....
Cough, cough, "Go on!"
BA-BANG...
Simba gets up, and I jump out the drivers seat.
"Uh, Broken" he says blinking, pointing vaguely at the rear wheels.
I nod solemly.

I realise the other vehicle had overtaken some time ago. Mrs Grasshopper and I share another slightly mad grin. Katrin just looks at us.

It didn't take long for Sammi to turn around for us, and after a fast discussion amongst our leaders and drivers, we limped on for a mile to a small village. Here we were immediately surrounded by small children as we jumped out the landrovers. Ruben tells me the mechanic will fix it, gesturing to a short bloke lying underneath a lorry, rhythmically hitting it underneath with a lump hammer, letting out a small grunt each time.

All of us volunteers took photos of the children, at their strong instance. They were all laughing, pushing and pulling at each other, eager to be right in front of our cameras. I wasn't sure how to feel. They were dressed in rags, stick-thin, many without shoes, yet here I was in my expensive western clothes, over-fed and dripping on phones, cameras and other equipment, pockets full of money. The children were positivly ecstatic to see us, touching me then pulling away shyly, before reverting to pulling and patting me, asking me to take a photo, always smiling, oblivious to the hard stones and filth beneath their bare feet. My eyes suddenly stung with shame at my self and my lifestyle, and at the desperate poverty the children were in. I was also moved at their genuine happiness to see me, despite neither asking for or getting anything from me. I walked to the other side of the landrover, away from the children, who had surrounded my companions, and lit a cigarette. I tried to swallow the lump in my throat, and had a think.

Ruben eventually said our vehicle could not be repaired, so would have to go to someone he knows for the night. So we all squeezed into Sammi's landrover with our day-sacks, and set of for this new destination.

The sun set suddenly, and the temperature dropped. Dark figures blurred past us in the night, and Sammi really put his foot down, and explained over the roar of the wind and engine we had to be off the road by 7pm for safety. We barrelled along, and I tried to atatch the canvass doors to the sides of the vehicle to keep out the peircing wind, as we rocked and rolled though some kind of checkpoint (were they guns?) and into a forest, before finally pulling up at some kind of lodge.
Sammi told us to make ourselves at home, as he was going back to fetch our luggage from the top of our stricken Landy. He apologised profusely, but he needn't have- the lodge was amazing, despite, or even because of, the power cut the owners were experiencing.
We realised as a kindly gentleman shown us to our rooms with a candle, that we were the only guests in this lodge, which was built right at the foot of Mt Kilimanjaro. After a candlelit dinner of rice, African stew and beans served in a wonderful dining room off the accommodation block, we settled in chairs on the veranda outside our rooms. One of the more astute members of the group had grabbed one of our shopping bags, so under the most magnificent starlit sky we sipped red wine and talked about the journey so far, before collapsing into soft beds under our mosquito nets.
"This has been amazing" whispered Mrs Grasshopper to me.
"I know. Why do I feel chuffed that our car broke down?"
"'Cause we got another night of comfy beds and hot showers!" She replies.
I slept soundly that night, knowing we would definatly be in the camp tomorrow.