Keep the rubber side down

When I arrived in Africa in May 2005, I decided to bring my mountain bike. In fact it was a fairly nice piece of equipment and I thought it would be a nice way to explore during what I thought would be 2-3 years on the continent.

But during my first week in Dar es Salaam, I received a sobering message about what riding here can entail. We heard that one of our guards had taken a machete to the head as someone stole his rather old, Chinese, single-speed bike. We went to visit him in the hospital and, thankfully, he was conscious and we were told that he was going to be okay.

As I left the hospital, my head was spinning, not only about what had happened to him, but the kind of environment I was now in. I had just moved to Tanzania and I was still adjusting to my new reality. I was already getting used to expats sitting around talking about the latest crime that happened to them or someone they knew. This poor guy was riding a relatively cheap bike and got smacked. I could only imagine what someone would do to get mine. I ended up using it sparingly in Dar until I moved to Kibondo (rural NW Tanzania) where I would use it more. I had one or two interesting moments there but overall it was a much nicer place to ride.

riding near one of the refugee camps where we worked

* * *

In early November I had a bit of a bike accident while sailing past the snarled Monday morning Nairobi traffic. It was nothing sinister but rather a simple clipping of a pedal on a cement divider. My mountain bike flipped and I took a nosedive onto the bike path. It happened rather fast and didn’t involve any pedestrians, motorcycles or cars. Just my own, somewhat uncoordinated, self.

I was wearing a helmet but that did nothing to protect my front paws. As I got to my feet, I knew right away that I had at least broken my right wrist (technically the end of the radius in my forearm) and probably my left thumb as well. My flash self-diagnosis ended up being correct, far from being my first fractures of this kind.

For better or worse, I made the decision to soldier on to the office and call Priya from there. With hands shaking a bit from the freshness of the accident, I gritted my teeth and eventually was able to get my chain back on. As I was doing so, a beggar with bad timing decided to try to hit me up for some change. I don’t know if he saw the accident or noticed my scuffed-up clothing, but it probably wouldn’t have stopped him from taking his chances on a temporarily immobile foreigner. I raised my head briefly from looking down at my chain and greasy fingers and gave him a look I’m not proud of. But it did nonetheless quickly deliver a message that he needed to move on.

Thankfully the bike was mostly unscathed (given that it had conveniently landed on me). I mounted and trudged up the hill, albeit a bit wobbly. It soon dawned on me that hands are quite useful when riding a bike. Not only do they assist in supporting your torso, it’s how you change gears and access your brakes. I momentarily questioned the wisdom of my decision to carry on but after a few minutes, it appeared that I was going to make it the full mile and a half or so to our office building. Once at my desk, I called Priya. She dropped what she was doing and would proceed to spend the next five+ hours with me navigating the emergency/accidents process at the hospital.

Thankfully I haven’t spent much time in the healthcare system here. I hope it stays that way. This particular trip was a mix of surprising efficiencies and surprising inefficiencies. But the entire process took way more time than was necessary, and it even could have been longer had we not pushed a bit. Priya facilitated some things for them and I opted out of getting measured for a sling. Otherwise it would have been even longer.

One thing that was interesting was that the x-ray of my right forearm/hand revealed evidence of half-dozen or so previous breaks from years’ past, including a bone chip floating among the carpal bones in my wrist. My left x-ray was more modest with only three or four previous breaks. Not good memories.

a more sedate ride with family in Nairobi

As we got in our Uber, I stared at my forearm cast and thumb splint with my mind racing, thinking about how the day’s events would impact the next couple of months. I was in considerable pain but I was distracted by my thoughts. My trip to Somalia the following week would necessarily be canceled. Without the use of either thumb and the fingers on my right hand, no opening containers, no buttons, zippers, shoe laces, typing, driving, writing, etc. etc. until further notice. Ugh. Except for walking, I was hard-pressed to think of things that I would still be able to do.

I find the expression “all thumbs” a bit puzzling. I’ve never used it but I’m familiar with the fact that it means “clumsy” or “awkward”. Try having no thumbs. Now we’re talking clumsy. It’s amazing how critical those things are. Once again, I am reminded of the challenges faced by the disabled. Mine, thankfully, are just for a few weeks.

Cherries and Cockroaches

The psychologist, Paul Rozin, has said that a single cockroach will completely wreck the appeal of a bowl of cherries, but a cherry will do nothing at all for a bowl of cockroaches.

I read a book recently called Thinking, Fast and Slow by Daniel Kahneman. Among millions of other things, he argues that people tend to remember the negative much more than the positive. If I say five positive things about you and one negative, you’ll invariably dwell on the negative thing I said. It’s human nature.

This sort of thing prompts us to want to avoid negative outcomes at all cost. We like good things but we put much more energy into avoiding bad things. Studies show that golfers tend to shoot better when avoiding a bogey rather than shooting for above par. Animals apparently do the same. Alpha males tend to win more fights when preserving territory or their role in their leadership of the herd (or pride in the case of lions). Defense rather than offense.

All this tends to keep things closer to the status quo. I’ve seen this manifest itself in many circumstances, including my job. While donors, organizations, governments, etc. all want to generate positive outcomes (improve quality of life), the reality is that we invariably expend more energy on avoiding negative outcomes (saving lives). Generally speaking, that’s a good thing. But it can make us all risk averse and possibly miss some opportunities.

* * *

We’re in the middle of a severe drought in the Horn of Africa. We need to get aid to the neediest as quickly as possible. We’ve improved on this over the years but we still have much to learn. Ten years ago there was a big emphasis on trucking water to people during severe droughts. We still do that on occasion but it’s cumbersome and expensive. The world began to realize there may be a quicker and better way to do this (other than expensive modifications to watershed management). What if we just gave needy people cash and let the drivers of the private sector fill the needs? Much of the world has been averse to the idea of giving poor people money. Too risky, it is said. We need to tell them what they need. Or, they’re probably destitute because they don’t know how to make good decisions with money.

In fact the reality is quite different. The data shows that the poor generally prioritize well when provided cash. They don’t have the luxury of being able to make mistakes. We can always find, and point out, exceptions, but generally speaking, the poor, particularly the abject poor, are far more efficient with limited resources that the middle and upper class.

The concept of using cash as a tool to reach the needy has been around for a long time but it has taken a long time for people to warm to the idea. As phones have made their way to the deepest corners of Somalia, cell coverage (strangely) being as good as what you find in the US, a key piece of the puzzle was already in place. Another essential ingredient was an easy-to-use money transfer service. This has also been in place for several years. Moreover, this allow cash to get to them far more quickly and, with electronic transfers, much more safely.

The last big piece is whether or not people would have access to what they need, whether or not they have money. In Somalia, the private sector has proven to be very efficient at keeping supply chains open in some of the most adverse conditions. If people have money, the private sector can generally make it happen, whether it’s delivering water, food or medicine. Imposing UN or other organization logistics can distort markets, add expense, create redundancies and/or simply not provide value added.

* * *

Cash transfers have worked well and they’ve now become an essential tool in the toolbox. But they’re not perfect. How do you identify those in need, particularly if they are in a remote location? Who verifies that the phone numbers you have correspond to the people you identified? Has the list of recipients been kept confidential such that they aren’t subsequently targeted by predators? What if the private sector fails? In smaller markets, it can contribute to inflation.

The point is, cash transfers, previously considered unthinkable, have been used around the world to get aid quickly and efficiently to the needy – more resources making it to the hands of the those in need and less squandered on the logistics of aid delivery. We're hopeful that donors will step up and continue to  make these resources available in the weeks and months ahead. It shouldn't be used in all circumstances but for some situations it works amazingly well.

The humanitarian world is, and always will be, rife with cockroaches. There have been bad experiences where the cockroaches have beat the system, infiltrated the cherry bowl, and diverted aid. While it's not pleasant, it’s important not to become overly focused on the bad and lose sight of the good. 

 

Not Just a Job

Much of East Africa is in the midst of a drought. People, crop, livestock are all dying. It's extremely sad. My team is responding as much as we have resources for in Somalia but it feels like a drop in a very large bucket. there may be some rain on the way for some locations. As in 2018, we may see people move from drought devastation to flooding devastation overnight.

One of the most impactful things I witnessed during the severe drought in 2017, and one of the most moving things I've seen in my career, was the amazing generosity people displayed. People who had lost almost everything were sharing with people who had nothing. So humbling.

For the needy shall not always be forgotten, and the hope of the poor shall not perish forever.  

Psalm 9:18 

* * *

My job inherently takes me to some of the poorest places on the planet. Moreover, my organization tends to focus on populations that are the most critically in need, often due to conflict/displacement, catastrophe/climate change, etc. So living in, or traveling to, rough places is sort of what you sign up for.

For decades, this occupation catered to the single, or at least the childless, individuals often with a bleeding heart and a backpack. It was the rough and ready adventurer with a purpose. Salaries weren’t great and benefits were minimal. For some, it was as much about the adventure as it was about the people being served.

Dar es Salaam 2006

Over time, however, as with many occupations, there was pressure to evolve. Organizations became larger and expectations of funders grew. It was no longer enough to mean well. Demonstrating effectiveness and efficiency became paramount. And in the last 15-20 years, due to abuses by some aid workers, there have been enhanced efforts to protect populations, not only from those in their context but also from those rendering aid.

The other change has been that positions in the aid world have become increasingly nationalized. As education levels and skills of indigenous populations increased, high-level positions have been absorbed by local staff. In addition to positive benefit of tapping into local knowledge, it has also reduced the cost of aid by not flying in international staff with their growing costs, and in many cases, enhanced security needs.

Tanzania 2006

As a result, humanitarian careers have become professionalized. Competition has increased for international positions and people from the global south are now a huge and growing percentage of the humanitarian workforce. Graduate degrees have become mandatory for higher level positions as well as many years of demonstrated experience. Systems are more sophisticated and there is constant pressure to innovate and improve the way aid is delivered. 

 

* * *

As I stumbled into this world, it became apparent that I would face a rather steep learning curve. It would require learning a new and evolving career that would test my management, finance, statistics and multicultural experience beyond what I would have imagined, in addition to learning to navigate life/work in a very different culture. And not only would the cultures be different, they would also be places that, for various reasons, would be among the poorest countries on the planet.

Burundi 2011

How poor? In fact there are many ways to measure poverty. One is gross national income (GNI) which measures the overall income of a country and provides an indication as to which countries are the richest and the poorest in the world. GNI is the sum of money earned by a country’s population and businesses within a given year. It includes income earned by corporations or persons based in a given country but operating outside of its borders.

If you look at GNI, Burundi, the landlocked country where we lived and worked for six years is by far the poorest country in the world, with a gross national income per capita of just $780 — a fraction of the worldwide GNI per capita of $17,535. Inept leadership, rampant corruption, high birth rate (increasing pop. density) have all contributed to tremendous amounts of abject poverty and a context where there is no indication that the drivers of this poverty are being dealt with. Ironically, it’s also one of the most beautiful places I’ve ever been, let alone lived.

Somalia 2019

Ranking second on this notorious list happens to be where I work now, Somalia, with a GNI per capita of $870. Using GNI as an indicator, this means that I have spent the last 11 years of my life working in the two poorest countries on the planet. Crazy. Who woulda thought.

 

Mogadishu

Once the dust had settled on my trip to the US, it was time to begin setting up my return to Somalia. The pandemic has reduced my time there considerably from what it was in 2019. It’s been good to have the extra time with family but, as I’ve mentioned before, it’s harder to do my job.

Travel is more complicated and every time there seems to be a new twist – some sort of new procedure or required document or something. It’s annoying but it’s not something you can control. You just need to make sure that you’ve done the basics and adapt as they keep throwing new things at you.

Travel back and forth to Somalia is a bit more complicated, largely due to security reasons. We’re keeping an eye on the tensions between Kenya and Somalia given that each side has a tendency to add new wrinkles to sort of spite each other. For now it’s still manageable.

For this trip I would travel with one of my new colleagues. She’s new to the context so it’s always good to have someone with you on your first trip. I didn’t have that luxury when I first went but I feel like it’s more complex than it was then.

The 4:30am departure is always a tough way to start things off. The advantage, of course, is that you arrive and be there at the start of the day. I am officially a tax-paying resident and normally I can get through immigration relatively quickly. On this occasion, it took considerably more time due to the queues. Eventually I was able to get through and was greeted by our security guy, Mohamud. It’s always good to see him and catch up on how things have been going. He’s a rich source of information and he always takes good care of me.

My colleague, on the other hand, was not so fortunate. She didn’t cross through from immigration and eventually Mohamud was able to make his way back in to find out what was going on. I waited out in the baggage claim area amidst the chaos that it is. The more time passed, the more concerned I became. They’ve been known to turn people around and put them back on the airplane for inadequate documentation. I didn’t see her paperwork but I assumed everything was in order.

After nearly two hours, she and Mohamud finally came through and we were able to move on. It’s still not clear to me what happened. Sometimes I don’t want to know. By that time we’d already missed a meeting we were supposed to have and we ended up hopping in the armored vehicle and carrying on directly to the office.

We had lunch plans outside the office so we basically dropped off our bags, checked a few emails and headed out. We were headed to the Lido where I love to have lunch whenever I get the chance. As I’ve mentioned in the past, it’s not the sort of outing that would have security approval for most organizations. In fact, most UN and donor agencies aren’t even allowed to venture outside the fortified airport compound “green zone”. It’s unfortunate. Technically speaking, people in the airport compound are in Somalia but practically speaking, it has little resemblance to the country. It’s basically a military base. It used to be a collection of “temporary” container structures but as time passes, these facilities are gradually becoming more and more luxurious. I rarely go there but each time I do, I’m surprised at how things have changed.

While I’ll avoid comment on the ethics of the “comfort competition”, I do struggle with the incongruity of these facilities as compared to those that exist in the host country. For example, alcohol is forbidden in Somalia yet the law doesn’t seem to apply inside. The same goes with conservative clothing, which also is generally not recognized inside, even when Somali officials are attending meetings/events (which borders on disrespectful). While it inevitably makes things more pleasurable for those who reside inside, I sometimes question the double standard. To me, Somali customs are part of being in Somalia (so long as they’re not an infringement on human rights).

Anyway, we were soon in the armored vehicle and winding our way through the streets of Mogadishu. One of the reasons I like taking guests to the Lido is that it requires a trek across the city. It’s a fascinating place with loads of contrasts. New buildings. Old, bombed out buildings. It’s good to get out of the office/guesthouse and see something. Often there’s a tendency to focus on meetings and emails.

After you enter the restaurant compound, you walk from the rather trashy parking area, through a walkway and gradually you see the turquoise waters of the Indian Ocean appearing from the other side. There’s always a steady breeze blowing through the open restaurant keeping temperatures rather comfortable. We walked through and down to the beach. I always feel the need to touch the water as a sort of ritual. After taking some photos (flanked by guards), we retreated to the upper floor of the restaurant where we would have fresh juices, seafood, fruit and, in my case, an espresso to finish off the meal. It’s a wonderful Somali experience.

Then it was back to the vehicle and back to the streets of the city. We generally take a different route each time for security reasons. But I’ve done this enough that I’m getting increasingly familiar with the city. I long for the day when the extra security is no longer needed and I could just walk around with a camera and enjoy the city. Not sure this can happen in my lifetime.

The next few days were packed with various meetings, some at the airport compound, some internal, one in a nearby restaurant. It’s always good to meet with partners and spend time with staff but it’s exhausting after a while. But I was able to meet the UK ambassador, the head of the UN in Somalia, and many others.

* * *

I had an interesting interaction with one of the African Union (AU) guards one morning while entering the compound. He asked for my ID and as he looked at it he grinned. He looked at me, nodding his head slightly and looking over the top of his sunglasses and said, “Instructor!”

“Sorry?”, I replied. I wasn’t sure what he was talking about.

“You were my instructor,” he said as he handed me back my passport. My mind was racing to try to figure out what he was referring to. Suddenly I thought back to my time in Bujumbura. Back in 2013-2014, I was asked to provide a sort of international community relations training to AU soldiers. Burundi has been a contributor of peacekeeping troops to Somalia for many years and learning how to interact with UN and international organizations was part of their overall training prior to being deployed. Little did I know at the time that one day I’d actually end up working in Somalia.

Without seeing the flag patch on the guy’s shoulder, I quickly assumed that this was what he was referring to – though quite a stretch that my very brief part in his training could still be recalled so many years later.  

“You remember me?” I asked.

“How could I forget? You were my favorite instructor in the Rangers Course in 2017.”

By now I could see the patch on his left shoulder was the Ugandan flag. I smiled to myself that indeed, this was a case of mistaken identity. Too complicated to undo (and I was in a hurry), I just left it and told him thanks, that it was good to see him and to have a nice day.

I have been told on occasion that I look like I’m military, or former military. In fact we were in a mall in the US one time when our girls were little. I was sitting on a bench and the kids were playing while Priya was off buying Christmas gifts. A woman who was sitting on an adjacent bench looked over at me and said out of the blue, “I just want to thank you for all that you are doing for our country.” I smiled and told her I wasn’t in the military but it was a kind thing to say. She apologized for the mistake, saying that she was sure I was a soldier. Must be my haircut.

* * *

Having been in the US for a couple weeks not long before heading to Somalia, I was missing my family more than usual. I don’t have much stamina when it comes to spending time away from them. I was quickly counting the days until I would be back in Nairobi listening to my girls discuss in detail their Halloween costume plans.

On the morning of my departure day, I had a brief discussion with one of my supply chain staff. I asked him about the support he has been providing on one particular organizational initiative. Generally my discussions with the team are in English and their command of the language varies quite a bit from one person to the next. My fault since I should have learned Somali by now.

“I’ve been hardly working on it,” he said. My eyebrows raised momentarily. “It has been a big priority.”

I quickly realized the confusion as I tapped into my former English teacher self. “Hard” can be an adverb, as in “I worked hard”. Likely, because he’s more familiar with “ly” adverbs, he felt he needed the suffix. Unfortunately, in a rather interesting and confusing twist in the English language, his very slight mistake conveyed the exact opposite of the intended meaning. At least I thought it was interesting.

* * *

The travel home was blissfully uneventful, at least compared to expectations. For someone who’s not accustomed to travel between Mogadishu and Nairobi, it might not be considered blissfully uneventful. It might be more akin to an annoying labyrinth. Somalis are not big on signage, unless maybe it’s advertising. When you first arrive, there’s no sign directing you where you need to go. I just know having done it dozens and dozens of times. There’s a small, sheltered area where you need to leave your bag unattended (breaking a cardinal sin of travel) and wait for a guy to come through with a sniffer dog. Once you get your bag there’s no indication as to where you go next. No sign directing you to international departures which is still more than a hundred meters away around the terminal to the left. Then you go through another security check and then onto to check-in. From there, there is no indication that you need to go to a Ministry of Health window to get a stamp on your negative Covid test certificate (had to wait 20 minutes for the lady to show up). After that, there’s no indication that you need to go to another desk (some sort of manifest check) where a guy stamps your boarding pass (had to wait 10 minutes for him as well). You just need to know. Without these two stamps, you can’t get through immigration. Your Covid documents are checked at each step.

Once you get through the immigration, you have another security check. At both this one and the one before, you need to fire up your laptop/tablet to demonstrate that it works. Then they swab it to see if it has an explosive material in it.

Once you’re through this one, you move to the gate area (preferably after picking up a cold water) where your carry-on has yet another sniffer dog check – the fourth security check. One would think that would finally be the end of security checks. Alas, no. When you arrive in Nairobi, the only flights where passengers are subjected to on-arrival security screenings are those from Somalia. It’s a full-on check as if you’re departing. Then, after they check your Covid test documents, you go through Kenyan immigration and, believe it or not, there is yet one last conveyor belt security check (the sixth one for your traumatized little carry-on) before you leave the terminal.

Like I said, blissfully uneventful, so long as you know all this is coming and all your documents are in order and ready for viewing.

* * *

The early evening taxi ride through Nairobi was warm. Between the time I left for the US and now, the season had clearly changed. We’re only two hundred kilometers (124 miles) south of the equator but we’ve clearly moved into “summer”. Seasonal differences are minimal compared to most of the world but there are still seasons.

Upon arrival at home, I greeted my sun-kissed family. The girls are on holiday so the rest of my family spent the week at a resort on the coast with a couple of other families. They had just arrived a few hours prior. Would have been nice to hang out at the beach with them but oh well. Good to be back together.

Idaho...again

It’s been weird during the pandemic not to travel. Traveling for work or vacation had become second nature to me and to all of the sudden stop was strange. I thought I might get stir crazy but it didn’t really happen. It was the first time in over thirty years that I would spend more than 12 months without an international flight. It was time for my horrendous carbon footprint to have a break. I’m hoping, in all honesty, that I’ll look back at the pandemic as a turning point in my life when I began to reel in my travel and allow it to taper off. It’s not that I don’t like to travel anymore, I just think that the past 15-20 years has been a bit excessive.

Last year I had planned a trip to the US in late March. It was a rather infamous time to have a booking as international travel began its nosedive. I was still confident that I might travel as of February but by early March things were not looking good. In the end, it wasn’t possible and KLM issued me a voucher.

I’ve been sitting on that voucher ever since. However a few months ago I realized that it was scheduled to expire in December and I was at risk of losing it. At the same time we were thinking about my mother-in-law Yvonne’s upcoming return trip to the US. After not much reflection, it seemed to us that it would be best used to accompany her on her journey. It’s not that we felt that she would be unable to travel alone. She’s quite capable for an 80-year-old. But we knew that it would make it considerably easier. I have access to some travel privileges that tend to streamline the process considerably. It’s that travel is far more confusing than it was several years ago. It just seemed to make sense that I could use my ticket to travel with her and then carry on to have some bonus time with my family.

* * *

at the airport

After having spent a wonderful month with us in Kenya, my Yvonne sadly said tearful farewells to her daughter and granddaughters. We took the late-night Uber to the airport and navigated our way through security and Covid screening. Eventually we were in the business lounge with a moment to catch our breath before boarding. It’s hard to say but it’s possibly the last time she’ll see Kenya.

* * *

Towards the end of 2019, just prior to the beginning of the pandemic, we bought some property in central Idaho. The land is in a mountain valley near where some of my family live. There is a house located on the property that is unfinished. Apparently the previous owner died during construction and the family paid someone to button up the house, sealing it in to protect it from the elements while they put it up for sale. It was good that they did given that it was up for sale for a couple years before we bought it and, the combination of the pandemic and the boom in construction in the state, it has meant that it remains unfinished.  

The main reason for the ticket that I purchased in March 2020 was to see if I could get the work moving on the house. As that failed miserably, the other objective of this trip was to see if I could finally get things moving on finishing the construction. I had recently had some interested from some contractors, something that has been rather rare of late given the massive construction boom in the nation’s leading housing market.

After Yvonne and I separated, I carried on to Boise. I arrived alone with no fanfare. It’s been many years since I’ve traveled to Idaho by myself. I picked up my bags and located my rental car. I tuned it to NPR and headed to my sister’s where I would stay for a couple of days.

* * *

With the exception of occasional short trips to NY for work, this was my first fall in the US for about 17 years. I have to say, it was quite special to see the colors and feel the cool autumn air.

East Boise in the autumn

Boise’s nickname is the City of Trees. The moniker was provided by early French trappers who gave it the name which essentially means “wooded”. Given the city’s location in the northwest corner of the state’s massive desert area, this may seem odd. There are many cities in the US that possess far more trees. In fact it was more the contrast to its surrounding environment that made the wooded Boise River valley so impressive. As irrigation has enabled an enormous expansion of the city’s footprint, there are far more trees now than there was when the early settlers arrived. Thus it’s still growing into its nickname.

* * *

Within less than 24 hours of landing in the country, I was whisked off to a football game at the stadium of my alma mater. I was quite excited, actually, given that it’s been so long. It’s become a massive business as compared to when I was a student back in the late 1980s. The stadium is much larger and the team is far more competitive. In spite of the thrill of being back to a game for the first time in many years, there was the concern about attending a massive super-spreader event in the middle of a pandemic, particularly in a state that has a large percentage of the population who are fans of football more than public health. From the time we arrived I sensed that it was going to be tough to avoid the germs of my orange-clad fellow spectators. As if to anticipate a pandemic, however, my sister and brother-in-law’s season tickets were at the top row, with no one cheering/breathing in our direction. The good news is that I never contracted Covid. The bad news is that our team struggled to find the end zone.

Freak Alley

On day two I did a nice bike ride with my sister around the city. We’re pretty tight so it was fun just to hang out. The city’s changed SO much, in many ways for the better. Seeing it on a warm, colorful autumn day probably added to the beauty.

* * *

southern Idaho fall colors

Soon I was headed south to see my parents. I always enjoy the pilgrimage to the area where I was born. As I mentioned in a previous blog entry, it’s not the most fascinating place in the world but for me it’s just a really nice place to chill. I wouldn’t be there long, however, so I would do a bit less relaxing than I normally would. One thing that we did was take a wonderful drive to what we used to call the “South Hills”. In fact the area is really a part of the Sawtooth National Forest. I spent a lot of time there when I was young given how accessible it was. I think the ski area was about 25 minutes from my parents’ house.

moose sighting

This drive took us more less straight south into the hills which are located just north of the Nevada border. We then took a road angling west, up and over a pass and back down into the valley. I’d been on most of it before but not for many years. The colors were stunning. Not long after we passed the ski area, we happened upon a moose. I’ve seen moose in Idaho but never in this area. It was kind of a thrill, to be honest. Soon after we saw several deer – less of a thrill but still cool.

I did a few chores and hung out with my parents, including catching a couple of football games on TV – reminiscent of what we used to do back in the day. Otherwise, there wasn’t a lot of time for much else.

* * *

lonely, unfinished house

After my two days was up, I then headed north to McCall. Except for road construction, it was a beautiful four-hour drive. Plan A was to check out our unfinished house and meet with at least one contractor. Plan B was to hang out with family. Mission accomplished on both fronts, though the former doesn’t seem to be bearing much fruit yet.

One evening was particularly special where three of my siblings and I all had dinner together with no one else. Sadly, my oldest sister was unable to be there but having the four of us was a very rare treat. It was such a nice evening and we realize that not all families are as tight as we are. Never want to take that for granted.

That weekend we had more family come up to join us. It was a packed house and a lot of fun. One thing that I hadn’t realized is how much Halloween has become such a big event. My sister had loads of decorations, gift bags, steaks on the grill, etc. Rare that I can be a part of it but glad I was.

One other surprisingly enjoyable activity was hitting the local watering holes with my brother. I’m not much of a drinker but I enjoy getting to know the locals and hearing their stories. I suppose I was surprised how interested they were about what I do and where I live.

* * *

The final leg brought me back to Boise where I would hang out with my family there, including my sis who missed the sibling dinner in McCall. I would do my last-minute shopping, pack and bid my farewells. It was a really great trip but I was getting anxious to see my wife and daughters. Thankfully the trip went smoothly and after about 30 hours, I reached our door – and the very sweet welcome signs.