Well we are on our way to the dark continent. We said goodbye to the children at the orphanage in Sri Lanka, not before they begged us to sing our National Anthems one last time.

 

Our trip to Sri Lanka was very eventful, what with me on my back for four days with an acute eye infection and all. Actually, I was not happy that for the amount of pain and anguish I endured, that the name of the disease is known as pink eye, and mostly affects cows. Thankfully my team refrained from to much teasing and opportunistic photo taking of a Hellen Kelleresque leader, and I have achieved a full recovery.

 

Because of our leaving Sri Lanka I thought I would count down my ten craziest moments of this trip:

 

On our first layover in New York City, Andy and Jenny head to downtown Manhattan to BH Photography to grab some last minute items. They get stuck in traffic both ways, have their form of payment denied multiple times, fight Christmas rush crowds (from the Bronx no less), and have trouble flagging down a cab as shifts were ending. They got to the airport with minutes to spare, starting a trend of adrenaline-fueled-sprint to the gate layovers for the rest of the day.

 

Our second night in India I again carefully plugged in our assortment of batteries to be recharged for another day of filming. Because of the location of our sleeping quarters to the power source, I place the batteries at the foot of our bed. In the morning, I was shocked to find the batteries half-charged, unplugged, and sitting neatly on the floor. Grumbling to myself, I plugged them back in wondering who the moron was that decided to sabotage our efforts to film compelling missions work. About an hour later, my darling Shanna mentioned to me about her crazy. Malaria-pill-enduced dream. (Editors note: Malaria Pills have the unnerving warning printed on the bottle that their major side effect is "disturbing or frightening dreams") She told me that during the night she dreamt that a bomb with flashing red and green lights was sitting at the edge of the bed. Me: "What did you do about it?" Shanna: Oh, I diffused it." Case Closed. Batteries moved to another room.

 

Ben did not have his bags delivered when we landed in Bombay, and was told by the representative of the airlines that "it will be no problem, you will have them in two days. After multiple visits to the airport to pick up the bags, phone calls to the airlines, and visits to baggage offices, we are on our way to Africa with the knowledge that his bags were picked up last week in Bombay by someone named "Sherman". He is currently wearing clothes purchased on our journey or bummed off of gullible team leaders.

 

What is it with women and snakes in gardens? Shanna and Rachel came this close (the width of the period at the end of this sentence) of stepping on one of Sri Lanka's uber-poisonous vipers while walking in a garden by the place we were staying. To their credit, they had the presence of mind to slowly back away while pulling out their weapon of choice . . . a 7.2 megapixel digital camera with a scope.

 

While walking through the streets of Kakinada with Pastor Mekala and the team, I turned my head to scan the street for any signs of the elusive internet cafe. Before I knew it I had been struck in the left leg by a car. A parked car. A parked car that I had run into at a fairly brisk pace. With people in it. Scared people. I would like to thank the team for their compassion . . . most of them were in tears after the incident. I am trying to remember what kind of tears they were . . .

 

During a friendly game of cricket with children 1/4th my size, I energetically pursued a ball hit into the air only to run headlong into a palm tree. I received a nice scar over my eye, the admiration of other win-or-die people, and endured a five minute delay-of-game until the sweet Sri Lankan children stopped laughing enough to stand straight.

 

Our visit to India would not be complete without some of our team members being served Goat Testicles for lunch. Naturally we declined . . . after all it is a missions trip not Fear Factor.

 

While body surfing the Indian Ocean in Hikkaduwa, Sri Lanka, I spotted a rather large turtle swimming a few feet from where Andy stood. These harmless giants of the sea nest on the beach, eat Ocean plants, and resemble their distant cousins the snapping turtle enough to keep two big strong American guys from getting any closer.

 

The morning of December 25th we were awakened at 0:Dark A.M. by easily excitable orphan children who have not yet reached the age where sleep is something that you treasure. They were chanting "Merry Merry Christmas! Happy Happy Christmas!" at the top of their lungs and cheering as each one of us stumbled through our doors with the foggy stupor of someone who has just been awakened by 160 chanting children. The best look belonged to Rachel who did not jump around right away as Shanna did, or high five the kids as Andy did, or snap pictures as Ben and Jenny did, but emerged looking as though she had just finished delivering a 20 hour lecture at Atheists Anonymous. With Rachel, every side of the bed is wrong.

 

The Christmas celebration at the Two Worlds children's home combined amazing elements: special dances, festive songs, a Nativity message, and a crazed Santa Claus cavorting to a techno version of Jingle Bells. That was me. Yeah, I was tapped by Sudheer as this year's Jolly Elf, carrying on the mantle once worn by my big brother David who fills out the part more um generously, and according to orphanage officials set a high standard in festive dancing.

 

With this challenge set before me, and the identity of Santa Claus cloaked in the kind of secrecy usually reserved for how to assemble a child's bike, I waited in the wings until the program was drawing to a close.

 

Then, with even my team wondering what was going on, I burst onto the stage in front of over 500 people and began to gyrate mirthfully. The orphans went crazy, the villagers clapped, Shanna recoiled in horror. Sudheer had told me to "dance wildly through the song twice" and with those precise instructions, I began working my moves systematically through the evolution of world dance.

 

Before the amazed/alarmed eyes of these once innocent onlookers I attempted celtic, hip hop, macarena, tango, salsa, foxtrot, and other dances that were later described alternately as "a stoned and drowning moth" and "what were you trying to do?" Ben Nissley did tell me I "tore it up" but I think he was referring to when I tripped over one of the steps at the front of the stage and fell down ripping a strategic hole in my costume.

 

I must say that the hardest part of the evening was not trying to keep up the zany enthusiasm through FOUR repeats of the song (Thanks sound-guy), or trying to maintain my groove after being joined by over 80 children, or even breathing through a beard that was being sucked into my lungs every time I inhaled . . . the hardest part was trying to dance and bless the Hindu villagers who Sudheer said thought that I was "some kind of God" . . . I guess having actual rhythm is not a pre-requisite to being "Lord of the Dance."