I am awakened at 4:30 am by the call to prayer from a nearby mosque, followed by rooster crowing from the chicken farm next to the hotel. The Lutherans fire up their tribute to the divine at 9 am in some of the loudest and most enthusiastic church singing I have ever heard. Breakfast consists of dense, chocolate-brown Tanzanian coffee and eggs that taste like, well, chicken. Nothing like a week of eating organic!

Moshi is a working city lined with street-side fruit and clothing vendors. The men wear collared shirts and pants even in this heat and women wear brightly colored dresses, carrying children in slings and huge baskets of fruit and other items on their heads. There are no starving children in the streets and everyone seems to be chatting or texting on cell phones. Advertisements for Tanzania’s four cell phone companies and Coca Cola dominate the downtown area. Dusty 20 year old VW minibuses packed to the rafters chug down rutted streets. Our $60/night hotel is an oasis of tropical greenery with open air public areas and uniformed staff. I look through the gate of the hotel and am shocked to see a man with shriveled legs propel himself down the street using his arms while seated on a wooden dolly.