From Zanzibar we head north through the Maasai steppe, a large plain leading to Mt. Kilimanjaro, following the Indian Ocean. We make camp at a local farm notable only for its warm packet brownies, equally warm Kili beers and a night cold enough that one of the windows on the truck shutters. The next day we travel with a makeshift window of mattresses and broomsticks and camp in the Usambara Mountains. The mountains are home to forest villages, ours called Lushoto. Our local guide Steve walks us through his village pointing out the sugar cane brewery (closed on the Sunday we are there) and community projects including the school/orphanage for blind children. Fiona our energetic BRIT having been distracted by singing 'Jumbo-Wanna' waves very energetically at a group of school children, until one of us can stop ourselves laughing long enough to repeat Steve's explanation. We return to camp in the early afternoon for a few re-hydrating scotches, vodkas and conyagi's. This inevitably leads to a mid-afternoon game of 'I've never' and an even later game of 'Limbo-Limbo James' a game using the sober and sick James as a limbo stick, made even more entertaining with a family from Sydney joining in the festivities.

The next day we 'enjoy' a 12km walk through the village ending at Irente view point over the Maasai steppe. Having been on the road for a few weeks and developed somewhat of a mullet I later decide to join our group leader Moses for a haircut. Moses is a Kenyan and had a haircut no less than two weeks ago however his hair is so course it needs to be kept at a number 1 - 2 length. Steve suggests a barber just out of town who has a good reputation for sterilising his utensils; better yet Steve gives us a ride there on the back of his 150cc trail bike. Like most of the 20-something year old males in this part of the world, Steve negotiates potholes the size of a small ponds and overtakes buses on the shoulder of the road. The ride reminds me of summers with my cousins in country Victoria where seemingly dangerous tasks are mainstays of everyday living. I tell myself to relax and I lessen my thighs grip around Steve's hips but not before ensuring my hands have a firm hold of the rear grab rail or before Steve has slowed down.

The 'Timberland Hair Salon' was as you'd expected from a rural East African village barber. Two guys worked inside a roadside strip of service shops with one window looking out to road and the timber mill opposite. I take up a seat next to Moses and some locals waiting for a trim on a bench out front. A grubby looking long-red-haired white bloke who doesn't speak Swahili only raises a few eyebrows but many more smiles, greeting head nods and hellos. Like all good barber shops the world over this one too acts as an advantage point for people watching. My course haired companions and I sat overlooking the intersection in front of a timber mill that seemed to act as an unofficial drop off pick up point for locals hitching a ride. My favourite spot was a rotund man in a three piece short sleave, black-with-white-strips, business suit who hitched a ride in a flatbed truck. The barber shop itself was the size of a bathroom back home. The walls were plastered with African posters of various versions of the short-back and sides with a few celebrities such as Will Smith, Denzel Washington and Justin Timberlake. Moses dismisses my suggestion to have a flame shaved into sides of his hair and instead has his regular which surprisingly takes about fifteen minutes due to the barbers' scrutiny. Mind you the barber was regularly stopping to sell Zane or Vodacom phone credit to passing customers as well as offering a phone power charging service to supplement the barbering income. My request for a Greece football players 'longer on top with gel' seemed to be lost in Swahili translation or that the barber only used electric clippers. The clippers were thoroughly oiled and wiped with a blue liquid which I assumed was the sterilising that had won our custom. Fifteen minutes later I leave happily enough with what best can be described as a number four all over. Moses negotiates in Swahili for a price of 5000 Tanzanian Shillings (about AU$4) and we return to camp on the back of Steve's motorbike with a little less hair waving in the wind.

We visit an independently funded street children's halfway home. The kids age about 6 - 14 and are orphaned largely by their parents AIDs related deaths. Unfortunately the home had only three girls out of about 100 kids when we visited as they turn to prostitution. The home is staffed by a combination of social workers, teachers, chefs, cleaners and foreign volunteers teaching English. We have a customary tour of the facilities, sleeping quarters, visitors registry and donation box before making our way to the football field. The ground took pride of place in the compound and was ¾ full size, sandy from a lack of water and the goal square worn from daily games. Moses had been talking up a regular football game between the boys and overland trucks which drop in every few weeks (some headed north - the others south). I had been looking forward to it and that morning as I rode up front with Lelei the tours driver/mechanic he warned that the boys were very good and very few times did the overland team walk away victorious. A few kids were throwing a flat yellow Sherrin around rugby style but soon sorted out enough barefooted kids to represent Tanzania to match our hiking-shoed eight man alliance of the Commonwealth (plus a few of the younger kids and a goalkeeper who wanted to be on our side). It was a sunny afternoon and we were all sweaty and surprised when the Commonwealth went two goals up. Paul our diversional therapist/part time spear fisherman and I get drafted to the Tanzania side for the second half and combine with a beautiful cross and header effort before both of us are mobbed by kids, the oldest and largest of which takes to jumping on top of me as I complete a few aeroplane celebrations back to the centre. A later assist resulting in a goal from a little fellow in a stained and thin yellow t-shirt earns me the privilege of this big kid jumping on me again, much to the delight of the overland girls watching from the shade on the sideline.

From Luskato we climb the slopes of Kilimanjaro to Moshi. Kilimanjaro is Africans highest mountain previously concurred by Simon and Fiona of our group. Simon had become very ill on the climb but we decided that Fiona, the most talkative person I have ever met, didn't suffer from attitude sickness as her body was accustomed to oxygen starvation from her not taking a breath. We leave all too quickly and the next day head to Karatu, our based for the highlight of the tour: our Serengeti Safari.