Friday, July 23.

11:00 p.m.

I write this from a tent in the highlands of the Rift Valley. Something howls mournfully in the night. I am on safari.

Okay, so the tents have mattresses in them. And we have hot showers and actual toilets (not just holes in the ground... I've run into a few squat pots already, and they take some getting used to). But tomorrow I will wake up, unzip my door flap and step into savanna as far as the eye can see. It's very, very cool.

Our driver, Godfrey, and our guide, Hussein, took us to a Maasai village west of Arusha. Side note: Godfrey drives like a maniac. Careening in and out of traffic-jam situations in the people- and- dust-clogged arteries of Arusha, I swear someone was going to meet his or her brutal end at the front bumper of our Range Rover. When traffic opened up, it was 120 kilometers per hour, dodging dala-dalas and herds of cattle. I will never drive a car on Tanzanian roads, especially knowing Godfrey is out there too.

Back to the village. We were greeted with a dance of thanks and welcoming. The women pulled us into their circle, and I learned a few Maasai song lyrics. They put the traditional broad, beaded Maasai necklace bands around our necks... I learned later that they are worn by women who have been circumcised (eeeeesh...). But in the moment, I was holding hands and singing with people who have lived in the same place, in the same way, since nearly the dawn of humanity. The children ran over to shake hands, very serious during the gesture, but then the cameras came out and they were instantly silly, like all kids are in front of cameras.

Maasai women are competitive, shrewd saleswomen. And aggressive. They could take on any stockbroker in the U.S. when it comes to closing the deal. I now wear a necklace and a bracelet made from a Maasai woman's hands. I owed her for teaching me how to sing and dance Maasai-style--her gestures and smiles made that very obvious. Walking past tables and tables full of beaded jewelry, you'd suddenly find your arms grasped and bracelets slipped on, or arms firmly attaching a cow-bone necklace around your neck. I now know exactly what might be going through the mind of a deer standing in the path of a pair of blinding headlights. None of the Maasai women speak English or Kiswahili, and so it was stressful having to rely on the men to translate. I was a little disappointed that this set the tone for the end of our otherwise incredible visit.

When we managed to extricate ourselves from their selling war, the sun was setting. In the middle of absolutely nowhere, the stars are close enough to touch. The kids, covered in dust from head to toe, looked like ghosts in the light of the camera flash. A flock of birds took off overhead, disturbed by something lurking in the growing darkness.

Tonight, I realized how much Africa has already slipped under my skin.

It is late, and tomorrow we go to the Ngorongoro Crater. Lions and rhinos and elephants, oh my!