This guy's look pretty much captures how I'm feeling right now....watching the hours creep past, wishing I was somewhere else. It's been a very stressful tour for numerous reasons and I'm ready to head back to Canada. The base personnel and management have changed significantly, due to the obscene pace of turnover here, and so has the mood. Base rules have been changed, driving oneself is now discouraged, and being here is not really fun anymore. The sewage is backed up at the hangar, and the converted sea-can offices are mold infested and unfit, so there's nowhere to go to escape the olfactory assault. Back at our sparse accommodations, on the Southern Tanzanian border so very far removed from the lush resorts of Mombasa, the sewage tank is dug up as well, so there is no escaping the stench of shit, nor is there any escaping the mud and sand and humidity, no escaping the din of incessant rap music over speakers clipping with excessive volume, no escaping the sullen stares, and the locals stare so unabashed, so brazenly. Respite can be found heading to the beach and floating serenely in the warm waters of the Indian Ocean, washing off the mud and sweat, drawing out the heat and humidity, as the waves lap the rocks rhythmically, smiling fisherman paddling past in carved out logs, living as man has lived for eons. Then it's back to our stinky hotel and there's no running water, so you eat supper and crawl into bed, your skin rough with salt. I am ready to go home.
My good buddy Gonzalo and I still hike to the beach for a swim daily, and there's always the flying. You can count on flying to change one's mood. I have a bunch of training scheduled for tomorrow, with another TRE. We will have fun. Then it's packing and begin the long journey home. Maybe just a hard reset of six weeks in Canada will cure the melancholy. Some tours fly by, some not so much. C'est la vie....
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