"When I'm home I'm always thinkin' of the road, and when I'm on the road I'm dreamin' of my home."

Wise words from a wise man I once knew. Sung, not spoken, on his debut album, "Into Surrender." I love that album -- it was given to me as a gift, most of the songs just polished versions of compositions I'd heard hundreds of times each, from acoustic infancy to full scored adulthood. Chris Jamison is the one who so perfectly summed up the exact dichotomy of emotions that I myself have been experiencing without let up since I left for my trip almost two years ago.

When I'm home, all I can think about is the road: outdoor reggae festivals in Germany, running with the bulls in Spain, drinking rakija in Serbian kafana's, closing my eyes to savor the scent of the seaside in Istanbul, crossing my fingers as I put a sandwich of spicy, mystery organs in my mouth on the dirty sidewalks of Saigon...

But when I'm on the road, all I can dream about is home: the sound that a Louisville Slugger makes when it cracks a line drive into right-center from our seats at Minute Maid; a nice, greasy, Otto's double meat burger; my dad awake at his computer when I get home from a friend's house at 2 a.m.; my mom and her dogs; my little sister's friends and their refusal to divulge any information on her boyfriend situation.

I've been in Tanzania almost ten months now. And yet, aside from a quick dash to Dar in January, and a long weekend on Zanzibar for a music festival in February, I haven't traveled a bit. Nor have I felt at home, per se. I've been thinking of the road and dreaming of my home, often, since July.

I got to go back to Houston for Christmas/New Year's. It wasn't until this month, almost a year exactly since my first great adventure, Snooze Button Vol. 1, came to its tearful conclusion in April 2007, that I got back on the road.

Dreamin' of my home at Kaporgwe Falls, just a four hour hike from Tukuyu, TZ: UVa really was the last place I could say felt like one.

It's been refreshing for my soul, seeing the south of Tanzania. Arusha, in the upper northern tip of the country, right next to Kenya, is Babylon, straight up Babylon. The Southern Highlands are far from a New Jerusalem, but hey, at least they're trying.

Southerners in TZ, for some reason, are notorious for their proclivity for switching up the 'l' and 'r' sounds; kiandarua becomes kiandalua; hairuhusiwi become hailuhusiwi; "Dar mpaka Moro!" becomes "Dar mpaka Molo!" This woman is no exception.

We started a day after the NCAA championship game. Our destination was simply, "South." Our friend from our first year dorm, Marysunny, also a UVa kid, was doing Peace Corps down there. And we planned to meet my friend Sarah, living in Malawi (or is it Marawi?)

No plans, no shackles, just the road. Just the freedom of the road.

We started in Morogoro (or is it Molo?). One night there. We were still paranoid about the African city condition -- it's dangerous out there at night -- so we hid all of our food money for the month in the top compartent of the toilet, wrapped up in a Ziplock bag.

The bag had a hole in it, apparently.

Then it was onto Iringa ... but no one mentioned to us on the bus that we were passing through it, not even the driver, and since there are no signs alerting you to this fact -- (for Iringa, you get dropped off a few km outside of town proper) -- we just rode into Njombe, a quaint little town with a nice waterfall that was just what we needed, after the Arusha Nightmares of the past nine months.

But not before a lovely lunch at Al Jazeera.




We chilled for two nights in Njombe.

I met an Astros fan.




I laughed at the TZ equivalent of the "Got Milk?" ad campaign.

"Kunywa Maziwa Halisi Kwa Afya Yako" -- Drink Real Milk For Your Health (lots of TZ'ers drink powdered Nido)

And we let the receptionist at the Mwasia Guest House lose her picture-taking virginity.

It's always a little sloppy your first time, and you'd be crazy to expect head, especially in TZ.

But the best part about Njombe -- the thing that I will always remember about an otherwise forgettable transit town along the Dar es Salaam-Mbeya highway -- was the river that ran through it.

A waterfall greets you upon entering and leaving the town.




But to really see the dope spot in Njombe, you need to bushwhack down a bit to the river.




I love the sound of rushing water. Damn, do I love that sound.




It is very peaceful. Very conducive for contemplation.

Of course, "peace" and "contemplation" are luxuries that I am afforded as someone from the First World. I have the ability to see other people's lives in Tanzania -- it "fascinates" me (how quaint); they do not have this chance. Because for the vast majority of Wabongo, life is a hustle.

There is no maternity leave from celling fruit and cell phone credit on the street.

Tanzanians live in the present because they don't have any other alternative.




And the kids have very few rules to tie them down.

Some of them even led us over that log bridge to this spot, Kaporgwe Falls.




A little bit of heaven, if you asked me.




We stayed at a Peace Corps volunteer's house for free just outside of there in Tukuyu, the rainiest place in Tanzania.




(Njombe was the coldest place in TZ, so we're hittin' up all the superlatives.)

From there, it was on to Matema Beach.












Two nights there. Then back to Mbeya, for our fourth total night there.

"Sit with Peace."

And finally to Iringa. We made it this time. Thank God.

It feels like home.