This trip was winding to a close, but before I left, Moshi and took a final motorcycle ride on the bumpy roads thirty minutes outside of Kondoa to the tiny body of water called Lake Munguri. 

We’d heard that the fishermen typically had boats out on the tiny lake, and hoped to take a picture or two, but they were nowhere to be found. Instead, we stood and listened to the quiet of the morning. 

As we drove back to Kondoa town over the bumpy roads I could feel the warm wind on my face, and I kept thinking that this was life, raw and unfiltered. I wanted to circle the town one last time to etch the scenes of everyday life into my head. I put my camera down and we just rode, past the cooking stoves that filled the air with fragrant smoke, past the women carrying water on their heads, past the men and woman leaning against the side of the small brick houses, past the crowds of women and children waiting to fill their buckets with water, past the children with their homemade toys, past the girls braiding each other’s hair. 

And I left with the daunting task of trying to find a way to bring water to Iyoli. With the experience we gained during the Cheku Water Project, I figured it wouldn’t be all too challenging to take responsibility for Iyoli’s water situation, too, and it would give me a sense of accomplishment after the tour safari project fell through. I guess I had forgotten about the vow never to do another project like this again.