At 4:00AM a man with a wooden club raps on the door. This is our wake-up call. Makes sense since there are no phones here.

Two men, one with a rifle, meet us in the lobby to drive us far away into the darkness on a bumpy track. The only thing we see is what's illuminated by the headlights. Beyond that it's pitch black. 90 minutes into the journey the radio crackles to life with Swahili. Our Rifleman answers. There's a reply.

"What did they say?" I ask above the roar of the engine.

The Rifleman turns around, "They asked us where we are." He immediately turns back to stare through the windshield.

"What did you tell them?"

He smiles without looking back, "I said we are on our way."

To me, this whole 'we-get-there-when-we get-there' mentality takes a little getting used to. In the United States, we live by the clock. Time is money. In Los Angeles, for example, when I'm asked how far it is from the airport to my house, I answer 'about 45 minutes', a 'time' answer, not a 'distance' one. Here, time is time. Money is money. We know the balloon will not leave without us. We relax and enjoy the ride. Hakuna Matata.