I became hooked on long-term travel after backpacking in Europe and studying in London while at Syracuse University. After that experience, it was easy to decide to delay a career after graduation and go backpacking again. My partner in crime was Holly, whom I met the very first day at Syracuse. She had studied in Australia one summer during high school and mentioned that she wanted to revisit after graduation. Still high on my experiences in London, I quickly jumped on board to go.

We got jobs for a few months in our various fields to make some money and gain professional experience, but we weren’t as crazed about finding them as our fellow classmates were. Our eye was on six-months of backpacking in Australia, New Zealand and Fiji. So in a way, this was our gap year post college.

When we finally set off on our journey it was 1995. And at that point I decided I would return again to Sydney in 2000 for the Olympics. But this time I wanted to add on Vietnam & Cambodia, two countries that I had a great fascination with. That trip was to be alone, but once Holly got wind of it, she decided she would come along as well. It’s hard to find a good travel partner, but in Holly I had a fantastic travel partner, so I couldn’t say no!

The one caveat was that she needed more time to save money and she wanted to trek in Nepal. It was worth forgoing the Olympics in order to have Holly as a companion, so the date was set for Fall 2001.

During this time in my career, I had an ideal job for myself with the Starlight Children’s Foundation in New York City. I had always been involved with philanthropies from a very young age, and being a survivor of childhood cancer, I felt strongly in Starlight’s mission of helping seriously ill children, their families, and the hospitals that treat them. I was given a great deal of responsibilities, including managing the volunteer & intern programs, overseeing three major special events (two galas and a sports auction), as well as all marketing materials and newsletters. I was able to combine my loves of design, event planning, and volunteering all into one.

As the end of 2000 was approaching, I began plotting my travels. By the time I was to leave, I would have been with Starlight for 5-1/2 years. I was already getting antsy with my role and since it was such a small organization, I knew if I wanted to move up, I would need to move on. Then in December of 2000 a new opportunity presented itself.

As part of my job, I worked closely with the in-house video production facility of our corporate sponsor producing our yearly fundraising video. Well, I suppose I worked more closely with them than was required because I fell in love with production. Before I knew it I was creating outlines, scripts, & storyboards, as well as conducting interviews and overseeing shoots & edits. It was a different industry for me yet I was able to use my skills in new ways, while learning so much.

At that time, the editor I worked with took over managing the facility. He approached me and asked if I’d be interested in working for him. Since we already had a great working relationship, I saw this as an excellent opportunity for me to break into the production world. But what about my planned career break?

I decided that my planned travels were still important to me, and was able to negotiate that time off before I had even started. A few things I had going for me was an already established working relationship, and one where my skills and work ethics were respected. And I was technically being hired as a consultant, so despite not receiving benefits, the biggest benefit I cherished was the opportunity to have the flexibility to travel.

So my career break in fact turned into a sabbatical!

This experience taught me that it’s important to keep your eye on your dreams, and for me that involved travel. And even when life throws you a curve ball (and it will), don’t look at it as moving you off course. Look at it as a different path to lead you to your goals.

So what happened on my sabbatical? That will have to wait for another post – but here’s a preview of our trek on the Annapurna Circuit!

Molly Thomas with Abacus

While  more than enough good ideas for your upcoming sabbatical may exist, finding the “best” experience is critical. Given career ambitions, should you consider a global leadership experience or is this the time for personal rejuvenation?  Is including family a good idea? Or this time, perhaps not?

Part of finding “your best” sabbatical can be  to take an idea and stretch it by asking:

Can I add an element that’s a little over-the-top?

What if I were to go out of my  comfort zone?

Not only might this new idea have more potential to achieve your goals, it also may  make your heart race a little faster – either from pure excitement or fear. Great, you might be on to something.

Molly Thomas’ upcoming first  sabbatical – “a trip of a lifetime” – came from the “stretch” process.  As part of the  Client Services Team at Abacus Planning Group, she’s eligible for a 4-week paid sabbatical. Abacus Planning Group, a fee-only investment counsel and  financial planning firm located in Columbia, South Carolina, offers employees a 4-week paid sabbatical after 5 years.   (To find other companies that provide sabbatical programs, check  ”workplaces for sabbaticals.”)

What started out as a stay-cation (she’d get some things done around the house and throw in a jaunt to San Francisco) is now a full-tilt-across-the-Pond-I-can’t-wait-for-April career break.

Now for a drum roll please. Going to Europe is a first-time experience for Molly.  (wooowheee!)

What caused Molly to re-think her original idea? “My daughters inspired me,” said Molly. Two of her daughters have traveled in Europe – more than once.  While I was speaking with Molly, one of those daughters, a sophomore in college, was tweeting her way across Spain to Barcelona.

Hearing her daughters’ experiences must have inspired Molly to ponder:  I’ve never done that. Could I do that?

Fantastic thought for stretching an idea  when looking for your best sabbatical.

Molly’s  sabbatical is a “hybrid” sabbatical – using time to be involved in several different experiences.  First, she’ll spend some Spring Break time with one of her daughters; then depart with her husband for the across-the-pond experience.  Using the last few days of her sabbatical alone at a beach house, she’ll take time for herself to reflect on her experience before returning to work.

I pointedly ask Molly if she truly felt at this stage of her life and career, this was her “best” sabbatical plan.  After a thoughtful pause, she replied, “Yes.  This is the best for now.  But next time I’m going for an entirely different experience.”

What might that mean?!! In five years, Molly will have an empty nest and that’s the time she’ll seek an experience “to take me way out of my comfort zone.” No cushy hotel rooms next time.  Instead, Ms. Thomas wants to wear only blue jeans, plop herself down in  a rustic environment and get  involved in perhaps mission work or some opportunity to give back to others.

Since Molly has already stretched one sabbatical idea, will she do the same for her second? (I keep thinking the answer might be “of course, she will.”) What do you think?

So, if you have a good idea for your sabbatical, take the time to s-t-r-e-t-c-h  it. Molly ended up with a sabbatical fodder file on her desktop titled,   ”Across the Pond” and unwavering confidence in her choice for what to do on her career break.

What might show up on your sabbatical folder file?

I turned around.  Tribe was standing in the doorway to the classroom we’d just left where we taught the students about the power of differentiation when launching social ventures.  During class Tribe only spoke when he was called upon and even then he was barely audible.  Now he was the one addressing the mzungu (Swahili word for “white person) by himself.  His classmates had already gone to supper.

I was stunned. Not only at who was asking the question, but also at the gravitas of it.

“What do you mean my vision?”  I stammered.

Tribe stared at me deeply.  “What is your vision for me?”

I had only been in Africa for a few days.  Tribe’s school, Gayaza Cambridge, in the rural outskirts of Kampala, was one of the first schools I visited.  To get there was an experience in itself.  On the first leg of my trip I took a matatu (large van that follows specific routes through the countryside) from my compound in Buziga to Old Taxi Park (which was the epicenter of the riots that rocked Kampala 4 days earlier).  From Old Taxi Park I hitched another matatu to Gayaza which was an hour and a half (mostly over bumpy dirt roads) away from Kampala.  We fit over 20 people in a 14-person van.  I sat next to a woman that brought a bag of hay which she laid across my lap the entire ride.  It seems like anything goes in these matatus – they have given me a newfound sense of patience and humor.

As we snaked through various provinces and neighborhoods in the matatu I was in culture shock.  We drove through places that were destitute.  There were children begging on the side of the matatu.  There were donkeys, cows, longhorn cattle, goats, monkeys and chickens walking in the street next to cars and matatus and people.  When villagers saw me in the matatu they shouted mzungu!  Children stared wide-eyed and open-mouthed at the odd white person.  Everywhere I went it was a spectacle.  I felt like I was dreaming.  It was surreal.

When we got off at the Gayaza stop we were greeted by 20 boda boda drivers (motorcycle drivers that take you anywhere matatus cannot) yelling “mzungu! mzungu!” and tapping their respective seats.

Amy, the program director, asked one of them if they knew where Gayaza Cambridge was.  The man sheepishly nodded and quoted us a price of 500 shillings (25 cents).  She asked him again – louder.

“DO YOU KNOW WHERE GAYAZA CAMBRIDGE IS?”

He nodded again and patted the seat for us to get on it.  She shook her head and walked to the next boda driver in the throng.  This boda boda driver was adamant that he knew where Gayaza Cambridge was and quoted us 1,500 shillings (75 cents).  We got on and within 30 seconds we were flying through the Ugandan countryside – weaving around animals and potholes and branches lying in the street.  I had never been on a motorcycle before and now I was sitting behind Amy, whipping around on the back of boda boda and entrusting my life to a man I’d never even spoken with.

“Why didn’t we get on the first one?”  I shouted to her through the wind.

“His price was too low.”  She replied.  “If they don’t know where they’re going they’ll quote you something cheap.  Once you get on the bike they drive away and ask you where to go. If you don’t know they charge you extra for getting lost and drive you back to the boda boda station.”

The boda boda dropped us off 5 minutes away from Gayaza Cambridge.  After giving him 1,500 shillings we gave him another 1,000 shillings so that he’d come back and pick us up after our session.  It was already dusk and we were worried there would be no boda boda’s waiting for us when we were done.

“Here is 1,000.  Will you come back for us?”

He shook his head vehemently.

“6:20 sebbo (sir).”  Amy said, looking him in the eyes.  “We need you to come back.  We have no way to to get back to Gayaza.  Will you come back?”

He nodded and rode off.  (He never came back).

After Tribe asked me the question he hung his head to the side and limply looked at the ground.  I looked at him a little longer, trying to figure out what my response would be.  Finally I said the first thing that popped into my head.

“Well – what do you want to be?”

Of all the difficult parts of moving from Manhattan to Uganda – what I struggled with most was effectively communicating with students in the Educate! program.  I didn’t know how to speak with someone 10 years younger, from a completely different socio-economic circle and altogether different set of circumstances than myself.  It was hard.  I struggled, and I still struggle with it.

And while that was hardest part of my transition, the move to Uganda was much harder than I’d anticipated.  I’ve always been a go-with-the-flow type of person.  I usually don’t have a problem adapting to any situation. But this was different.

For me it seemed like everything was more difficult. I don’t mean to over-generalize or suggest this is the condition in all of Uganda – but they are the circumstances specific to my lodging and environment.  Most of the items are petty, but it’s the small things in life that make one comfortable.  Suddenly I felt I had no comforts, neither big nor small.  Nothing seemed simple anymore – when I brush my teeth I can’t run my toothbrush under the faucet.  I can’t drink tap water.  Clothes have to be washed by hand.  There is no coffee machine.  To get hot water you need to flip a switch 15 minutes before you shower.  There is no light in the bathroom (I was told I need to “aim straight”).  There is a “pet mouse” named Juliet that occasionally keeps us up at night as she sifts through items left out, pads through the room at night and crawls around in the walls till the early hours of the morning.  Going to the grocery store requires a backpack and 2 boda boda’s.  When I was in Hoima I scratched my arm getting out of a matatu.  The scratch was small – but because of the hygiene difficulties (2 out of the 3 days I was in the hotel I didn’t have water) and a lack of basic medical necessities (there was no hydrogen peroxide or disinfecting ointments in the entire town of Hoima) my arm has gotten infected.

And while these inconveniences make my life difficult – my work has been fulfilling beyond my wildest expectations.  Looking at a young adults trying to start a business and knowing that my skill set will help them do that more successfully is exhilarating.

Tribe looked at the ground and shifted his weight back and forth on his two legs.  He looked at the ground and then back at me again.

“I want to be an entrepreneur and an economist.”  He said softly.

“I can help you achieve both of those goals.”  I said.  “I’ve studied both fields.”

“Can you teach me?”

I nodded.

I am in Kampala to help the Educate! students launch their social enterprises.  Specifically I have to help them figure out: how to get start up capital; how to get ongoing cash to sustain their business and how their business can address a social problem.

While there are many business principles and concepts that transcend all geographic and cultural boundaries – the more I learned about the students business plans the more I realized I had a long way to go in terms of understanding how businesses operated in Uganda.  Uganda is primarily an agricultural-based economy and many of the student’s ventures revolve around farming and livestock.  Already I’d visited tomato, cabbage, cucumber,  eggplant, chicken farms and goat rearing projects funded through the students, grown on school grounds and sold to students and community members.   The earnings were reinvested into the student groups to help defray the cost of school fees and even pay 100% of certain students schools fees.  I met one group, COBURWAS (which is made of orphan refugees from Congo, Sudan Uganda, Burundi, Kenya and Tanzania) that created simple businesses so they could afford to send themselves to secondary school.

Besides understanding the way businesses operate in Uganda I also need to understand the societal problems that afflict Uganda as a whole and thus compel students to start social enterprises to address them.  The problems in Uganda are far different than the ones in America – child sacrifice, school burning, terrorism, AIDS, children soldiers, government corruption, malaria, prostitution.

And my team and I can’t afford to make many mistakes.  95% of our students cannot afford to go to a university after secondary school.  If we are not able to help them start a social venture they will enter the work force likes the rest of the Ugandans.

Tribe looked at the ground and looked up at me again.  “Do you promise you’ll come back?”

I nodded again.

“When?”

“In a week or two.”  I said.

He smiled and walked away.

yS: Why did you choose to do a volunteer sabbatical?

Joe: I had always dreamed of volunteering in the developing world.  Working in corporate America for five years was rewarding and challenging, but I wanted to use my skill set in a more altruistic manner while I had the means to do so.

My decision to volunteer wasn’t completely selfless though – I knew that by volunteering in Uganda I’d be exposed to an extremely resilient, talented and diverse cross-section of people.  I wanted to engulf myself in a categorically different culture, because as Andre Gide said, “One does not discover new lands without consenting to lose sight of the shore for a very long time.”

yS: How has your sabbatical impacted you so far?

Joe: When I told people I was volunteering in Africa for 6 months a common response was, “You won’t be the same person when you come back.”

I was fine with that.  I am continually looking to evolve and grow as a person.

Little did I know how much of an impact my sabbatical would have on me – it’s more than I could have ever asked for: increased confidence, renewed mental calm and clarity, a greater understanding of life, a more global understanding of the world and a vast satisfaction knowing my work is helping people.

Joseph Quaderer, a director at Morgan Stanley, is on a 6-month sabbatical teaching Ugandan high school students the necessary skills to start and scale social enterprises – financially sustainable organizations that also address important social problems.

yS: How has your sabbatical impacted your career?

Joe: Furthering your career and volunteering abroad are no longer mutually exclusive concepts.  Having a stint as a volunteer on your resume at once differentiates you and also conveys to your potential employer that you are more than an empty suit.

I am using the skills I garnered in corporate America to teach Ugandan high school students how to start and scale socially responsible businesses. I have met other people using their professional competencies while volunteering – someone using his dancing background to spread AIDS awareness among the youth of Africa, someone else using her ceramics background to teach people vocational skills.  Volunteering allows people to strengthen their skills and to apply them in unorthodox scenarios that encourage creative thinking and problem solving.

Inspiration – Thank you Jesus for all that you have blessed us with!

Have a Happy Thanksgiving!

The Journey Begins…

We landed in Rome and quickly found the train route that would take us to the port city of Civitavecchia.  From there, we boarded the ship for a 12 relaxing days around the Mediterranean Sea.  The days were filled with taking advantage of learning new languages (I think Spanish is easier than French), eating, relaxing in the hot tub, meeting our fellow cruisers, listening to great jazz music, and dressing up for exquisite dinners.

Oh, I must mention, aside from the exotic ports of call, one of the most exciting part of the cruise was the broadway style show after dinner. In Cirque style, there were aerial performers (which I LOVE) and other dancers in flamboyant costumes.  This show was world-class!  Our voyage was definitely off to a great start.

First Stop – Athens

The weather was slated to be clear and hot for our  first stop - Athens, Greece.  Boy, was the weatherman ever wrong!! On our way to the Acropolis, it started to drizzle.  But that didn’t stop our adventure.  The taxi dropped us off and we were headed up the steep pathway to see this ancient wonder of the world. Finally making it to the top, we were also treated to a spectacular overview of Athens and the Parthenon. At this point, it started to POUR!!!  There was no place to take cover.  Luckily, we saw friends with umbrellas who gladly escorted us down the hill.  From there, we got a taxi and went back to the ship…So much for a day in Athens.

Onward we go to Ancient Empires

Words cannot express the awe I felt traveling through the Holy Land and following in the footsteps of St. Paul in Ephesus, Turkey.  Imagine my excitement seeing the magnificent Pyramids of Giza and standing right next to the Sphinx!  On the Nile River, I actually envisioned the baby Moses sailing down the river in his basket.  This was definitely an impressive journey.

Here is a challenge…Can you name the site/location of each photo?

New Friends

Allow me to introduce some new friends. The scene – downtown Cabo. The place – Starbucks (go figure). While shopping around, I happened to meet a very motivated and handsome young man, Modu. This highly educated, finely sculpted and interesting man recently took a step of faith and moved to Cabo to pursue his dream of fitness training, modeling, and launching a clothing line. He does it all! Check out his site and see for yourself http://www.moduvatedtobefit.com/. In his own words, he gave me some great advice for this season of my life “Never look back. Do what you love because we only live once. It will pay off soon or later.” Modu is indeed very wise.

While mustering up enough courage to zipline for the first time, I also met a very inspirational family from Arizona. Rebecca, Jeff, Gabby and JJ. Especially brave JJ! He was such a trooper as we climbed high in the canyons of Cabo. Check out the pictures from our adventure. Although it was fun, Lord knows I probably won’t be doing any more ziplining again!!

Ziplining Friends

More Cabo Photos

Inspiration – A journey is best measured in friends, rather than miles. – Tim Cahill

I was at JFK and a young, sharply dressed KLM representative was chirping into the microphone.  I was with the rest of the passengers on flight KL642, standing in front of the boarding gate, boorishly waiting until my row was called.

I looked at my airline ticket.  Row 31.  Seat A.  It would be my seat on the first leg of my journey to Uganda.  First an 8 hour flight to Amsterdam, then a 4 hour lay over and then a 9 hour flight to Entebbe, Uganda’s main airport.

As I stood there, I reflected on what a whirlwind the last two weeks had been.  I walked away from a stable job on Wall Street to volunteer in Africa. I always wondered what it would be like to leave corporate America, to physically walk outside the building on my last day.  How would I act?  Would I laugh?  Would I cry?  Would I emit a Howard Dean’ish “byah!” that would terrify anyone within a three-mile radius?  On August 28^th, exactly five years and two months after joining Morgan Stanley, I found out.

Truth be told my departure wasn’t that spectacular – more of a fizzle than a fireball.  While I was excited to embark on my new adventure in the nonprofit world, Morgan Stanley was the only place I’d ever worked.  The experiences I’d had, opportunities I’d been afforded and, most importantly, the friends I’d made during my time at Morgan left me feeling nostalgic and sentimental.  More than being terrified of not having a check for the next 6-12 months, I was scared to leave the only world I’d known since undergraduate school.  Within three weeks I was going from one of the most venerated financial institutions on Wall Street to a nonprofit start-up in Uganda.

“All passengers between rows 25 and 45 can now board the aircraft.”

I looked at my ticket – it was my time to get on the plane, but I wasn’t ready.  I stepped outside the line I’d been standing in for 20 minutes and walked over to the large bay windows overlooking the tarmac.  JFK was hectic as usual, with planes hustling in and out of the nooks and crannies of the airport like giant worker bees.  I looked at my plane – a big, sky blue KLM Boeing 777 Dreamliner parked right outside the window.

My sister called.

“Did you have any luck calling the US Embassy?”  She asked.

“Nope – it kept telling me the number I dialed isn’t valid.”

“I see.”

I could hear the worry and frustration in her voice.  My family, concerned with the prospect of me being in Africa without any method of communication chipped in and surprised me with a global satellite phone the day before my departure.  It is quite an intimidating piece of equipment (think of the phone Leonardo DiCaprio used in Blood Diamond).  It’s the size of a brick and the antenna alone, which flips up in either direction at 45 degree angles (so its pointing towards the sky depending on which side of your face you hold the phone) is an inch thick and extends out 12 inches.  However, despite the technology and the impressive-looking phone, for some reason during my test calls it wouldn’t allow me to call anyone in Uganda.  I’d tried both the Educate! office and the US Embassy – neither worked.

“Okay, well I just spoke with the guy at the phone company.”  She continued.  “He said that if you’re trying to dial a number outside the US you need to dial 00 first.”

That little tidbit of information was not included with the instruction manual.

“Got it.”

“Try dialing the US Embassy in Kampala now to make sure it works.”

“I cant.”

“Why not?”

“The satellite phone needs to be outside for it to work.  When you’re inside the reception to the satellite’s orbiting the earth is too weak.”  I could sense tension building up on the other side of the phone.  “But its okay.  I’m sure there will be payphones in Entebbe airport if the satellite phone doesn’t work.”

“Right.”  She said, “But that’s why we bought you this phone.  So you wouldn’t have to worry about finding a payphone in the airport.”

“I know.”  I admitted.  “I’m sure it’ll work just fine.”

“I hope so.”

“Me too.”

We said goodbye for the millionth time and I turned off my cell phone to save the battery life.

While walking away from a stable job and a comfortable life in Manhattan was difficult – the most difficult thing about travelling to Uganda was leaving behind my friends and family.  I have been blessed with an abundance of fantastic friends and a wonderful family, including a beautiful sixteen-month-old nephew and another nephew (I’m going to be his godfather!) on the way.  I hadn’t even left JFK yet, but already I missed everyone.  It seemed like I’d been surrounded by friends, family and coworkers every waking moment for the last two weeks – whether it was getting dinner and drinks with friends or playing with my nephew – my last two weeks in the US were wonderful, and they made it even harder to leave everyone for 6 months.

“All passengers between rows 10 and 45 can now board the aircraft.”

I wasn’t ready to board yet.  There was till time to soak in the hustle and bustle of JFK airport, the wonderful Brooklyn accents, the food that didn’t look particularly appetizing, but at least it was comfortable.

There was a newsstand bordering my gate.  I walked in and flipped through the New York Times.  It brought me back to the shocking headline I’d read a few days prior, “Unrest in Uganda’s Capital, Kampala ,Centers on Local King.” A headline like this isn’t a big deal normally; it seems like a story one might come across after fingering through any media publication for five seconds.  The type of story you don’t even give a second thought.  The over-proliferation of the media has made us numb to headlines like that.  But, when one is travelling to the said destination, these fleeting headlines and interesting stories take on a whole different gravitas.

I actually hadn’t come across the story myself.  I was on my way to Roosevelt Field Mall when, suddenly, my cell phone started ringing like crazy.  My mother (eager to spend every last second with me) was in the car.  I asked her to grab my cell phone.  The texts, from multiple people, sickened both of us: “Did you hear about the riots in Kampala?” ; “Dude, you still going to Kampala?” ; “Yo – check out NYT article on Uganda.”

As soon as we got to the mall I checked out a couple of news sources and was alarmed by what I read:  “Bands of young men burned tires, looted shops and battled with the police, and by sundown armored military trucks were rumbling through the litter-strewn streets of Kampala” ; “20 people expected dead in violent street riots.” The pictures were equally disturbing – burned out buses and cars, burning tires, people running around with machine guns.  They are images that have been burned into our collective psyche throughout the years.

When I got home from the mall I went to the State Department’s website to get an official prognostication on the events.  They didn’t make me feel any better.  After years of stability, and three days before I was supposed to fly into Kampala the State Department issued a “Travel Warning:”

“The Department of State alerts U.S. citizens to the violent demonstrations stemming from political friction between the central government and the authorities of Buganda, which is a vestige of a pre-modern kingdom located in central Uganda, inclusive of Kampala.

“As a result of these demonstrations, travel within the downtown central business district of Kampala and surrounding areas is severely restricted, and U.S. citizens should be aware that spontaneous demonstrations can occur without notice.  This potential for violent demonstrations will remain throughout the weekend of September 12-13, and may extend into the following week.

“The Kampala-Entebbe road that connects the Entebbe International Airport and Kampala was closed several times on September 10, and some roads leading north from Kampala were sporadically closed.  These sporadic closures are expected to continue to occur through the weekend, and perhaps beyond.  This means travel to and from the airport may be severely restricted and may cause lengthy delays.  U.S. citizens planning to travel out of Entebbe International Airport should be sure to give themselves at least four (4) hours to get to the airport from Kampala.

“U.S. citizens should be aware that even peaceful gatherings and demonstrations can turn unexpectedly violent.  U.S. citizens in Uganda should remain aware of their surroundings, monitor and assess their own security situations at all times, and avoid large public gatherings, protests, and demonstrations.  U.S. citizens are encouraged to report unusual events or activities to the U.S. Embassy.

I would be landing in Uganda, at night, without a reliable means of communication and the only road between Entebbe Airport and downtown Kampala (where my compound is located) was sporadically being shut down.  Things were shaping up quite nicely for my excursion.

“All passengers on KLM flight 642 are welcome to board the aircraft.”  The voice chirped again.

Everyone bustled to the KLM representative scanning tickets, but I still wasn’t ready. Although I was eager to experience a new culture and way of life, I still wanted to savor each and every moment I had in the US.  The night before, after everyone in my family had left my “bon voyage” party, I walked around Floral Park, the town I was born and raised.  It was late at night on a Sunday and most people in the town were in bed.  The town was sleepy and hazy and quiet.  I walked down Bellmore Street and looked at Our Lady of Victory School and I remembered being a student there from Kindergarten to the 8^th grade.  I walked past the schoolyard and looked at the wall where I’d practiced throwing lacrosse balls and tennis balls and playing handball and with my friends.  I walked down Tulip Avenue and looked at, Jamison’s, my favorite Irish bar that was within stumbling distance of my house.  I looked at the Tulip Bake Shop that made the best jelly donuts in the world.  I looked at the train station, busy as usual, with trains hustling in and out of Manhattan.  I looked at my barbershop where I’d gotten countless haircuts through the years.  I knew I’d have none of these comforts, even though they are petty and small, in Uganda.  I knew it would be hard to leave these small sources of happiness for a few months, but I also knew I’d appreciate them infinitely more upon my return to the US.

“Last call.  All passengers on KLM flight 642 with non-stop service to Amsterdam please board the aircraft.”

The cheerful woman looked at me.  “What took you so long hun?”

I smiled, handed her my ticket and walked onto the plane.

On the lengthy sabbaticals Sonny Rollins has taken from playing, he devoted himself to solitary practice, studied Zen meditation in Japan, and even withdrew to a monastery in India. From 1959 to 1961, he withdrew from playing live and spent 16 hours a day practicing by himself, outdoors, on Manhattan’s Williamsburg bridge.

If you think this example has little relation to those of us working in the “real world” of seemingly uncreative businesses, consider what parts of your job might benefit from new thinking, problem solving, product and service innovations, and discovery of better ways of leading, selling, and communicating.

My friends and I were out at our summerhouse – a time-share in the East Hamptons that we’ve shared for the last three years.  Everyone was playing beer pong, or listening to music or watching the Yankees game when the mysterious man appeared outside.  He stood against the long vertical window on the side of the door peering into the house.  He didn’t knock.  He didn’t ring the bell.  Nobody knew how long he had been standing there.

My friend Andy walked to the door. The man stepped back onto the porch.  He was wearing a short, rounded hat and a thick cotton robe that stretched to his knees.

“Can I help you?”  Andy asked the man.

“You called a cab?”

“We called Rafiqe.”

Rafiqe was the cab driver we’d befriended during our first summer in the Hamptons.  He had the cheapest rates in the Hamptons – but he was also a kind man that knew each of us by name and would pick us up whenever we needed it.

“Rafiqe sent me today.  His van is too big to make this trip.”  He peered into the house.  “He said you only have nine people.”

“Yeah.”  Andy said.  “Slow weekend.”

The man nodded.

Andy looked at his watch.  “Its only 10:50. I told Rafiqe 11:30.”

“That’s fine.” the man smiled warmly.  “I have no problem waiting – I just wanted you to know I’m here.”

Andy thanked the man and shut the door.  “Cab is here people!”  He yelled.  Everyone began slugging down the remainder of his or her drink.  The club was a half hour away and the drink prices were through the roof.  As one of my friends says, “you don’t want to be feeling any pain when you get into the cab.”

We were going to a club named Dune.  It was founded by Noah Tepperburg, the owner of some of the biggest night spots in the world – Marque, Avenue, Avo..etcetera.  At any given time at Dune you could run into any number of celebrities from Lindsay Lohan to Fabulous to Scary Spice.   Depending on your viewpoint Dune was one of the coolest places on earth or one of the lamest and most pretentious.  I’ll leave that discernment to you.

After everyone had walked out of the house Andy asked me to shut off all the lights.  My reward for this feat was sitting “shot gun” in the van – which meant I had to lodge between the driver’s seat and the passenger seat (which was occupied by a 6’4’’ 240 pound man).  The van was so overloaded that the muffler scraped the driveway as we backed away from the house.

I looked at the driver.  “Is it okay if the muffler is dragging?”

“Its fine.  It happens occasionally.”

We drove down Montauk Highway, made a left on Old Riverhead Road and finally onto the Sunrise Parkway headed east.  By that time the sound of the muffler grating against the pavement had been erased by the chatter of everyone in the van, the Lady Gaga blasting from the stereo and the ocean breeze blowing through the open windows.

Being as I was basically sitting on the cab drivers lap I decided to make small talk.

“Hows business been?”

“Very slow this summer.  Very slow.”  He admitted.  “Last year at this time every single house was full of people looking to go to the bars.  This year every other house is empty.”

I shook my head.

“This is my first trip today!”  He exclaimed.  “What a long day.  I fasted all day and now I’ll work all night.”

I looked at him puzzled.

“Ramadan.”  He said.  “Do you know what that is?”

“I know it’s the Islamic month of fasting.”  I said.  “That’s about it.”

“Ahh.”  He replied.  “At least you know that.”

I nodded.

He continued, “It’s the ninth month of the Islamic calendar – a month of fasting and refraining from eating, drinking, smoking and anything else that’s ill-natured.  It’s supposed to teach the Muslim’s patience, modesty and spirituality.”

I nodded again.

“A time to repent of sins.”  He said, looking at me (and away from the road) for all too long.

I sat in silence, reflecting on what the man said and listening to the sounds of the people in the back of the cab.

“What do you think of the Islamic Religion?”

I was taken aback.  It was an uncomfortably direct query.  Most people don’t speak like that. They beat around the bush and ask tangential things.  There was no mincing of words here.  It was offsetting, yet refreshing.

“I think it’s beautiful.”  I said.  “I think all religions are beautiful – Judaism, Catholicism, Hinduism, Islam and so on – it turns ugly only when people use religion as a tool to carry out other agendas.”  I thought some more.  “Religion, in my opinion, is mans interpretation of divine law.  There is no ‘right’ or ‘wrong’ religion – they’re just different mediums humans use to achieve the penultimate goal – unity with God.”

Perhaps I wasn’t quite as eloquent in the cab, nonetheless my point got across.

“My name is Dawud.”  The cab driver stuck his hand out.  “What is your name?”

I shook his hand.  “I’m Joe.”

Dawud and I spent the next twenty minutes discussing everything from the differences between Islam, Judaism and Christianity to his time as a Golden Gloves boxer in the seventies to the wisdom that comes with age to him almost dying after being struck by a hit-and-run driver to his newborn child to my trip to Africa in four weeks.

“You know,” Dawud, said, “There are problems between the Muslims and the Christians in Africa.”

“Not in all parts.”  I responded.  “Uganda has a peaceful interaction amongst Christians, Muslims and other religions.”

While I’m no expert on this topic, I do know that although many parts of Africa have peaceful coexistence between Religions there are also many parts where differing religions have fueled animosity.  There are tensions between some of the Northern Islamic countries and the sub-Saharan Christian countries.  This disparity between the north and the south is perhaps nowhere more evident than Sudan.  Sudan, which borders Uganda to the south, was formerly a British colony.  When the British vacated the country they left a power vacuum with two VERY different religions, people, natural resources and ways of life.  These differences, among other things, have fueled the crisis in that region for decades and resulted in the loss of countless lives.

Religious confrontation is of course not specific to Africa; indeed there are MANY places in the world where religious confrontations have been more pronounced, prolonged and devastating.  I only highlight the conflicts in Africa because that is where I’m travelling.  My pleasant conversation with Dawud, and reading about the peaceful coexistence of religions in and around Uganda reminds me of what is possible not only in other parts of Africa, but the world as a whole.  I’ve been told that the denizens of Uganda are some of the friendliest, most genuine people on the face of this earth.  I hope to learn a lot from their beautiful culture and people.

Dawud dropped us off outside Dune.  He walked around the front of his car and we shook hands and hugged – it was an odd occasion for such a deep talk and the development of such an appreciation for each other.  He gave me his card and told me to call him whenever we had fewer than ten people and Rafiqe wasn’t available.

After Dawud got into his car he rolled down the window, “Be careful and have fun Joseph!”

I gave him the thumbs up.

Having such an intense conversation on the way to Dune put me into a different mindset – I found myself more detached and reticent than usual.  Just speaking with Dawud, who’s background was vastly different than mine, opened my eyes to the fact that I was about to learn so much about a different culture AND so much about myself.

Inside the club – at the table next to ours, one of the girls gave the waitresses an earful because she brought a bottle of Absolut vodka instead of the requested Grey Goose.  And it made me think about what was important in life and just how far-removed my life was from real, palpable life and death decisions.  I looked around the rest of the club – filled with girls in backless dresses and guys dancing on the couches and bottles with sparklers attached to them so that everyone in the club knew who was dropping the big bucks.  I couldn’t help compare this sight to the pictures I’ve seen of Kyangwali refugee camp in Northern Uganda and think of how fortunate I was.  I also couldn’t help but wonder what my perspective would be like upon my return.  Would I appreciate places like Dune more or would they seem profligate?

But those experiences were still a month away and the night was young.  I grabbed a drink, walked out onto the dance floor and soaked everything in.