Many of you probably remember this story—I've told it a million times. I haven't shared Tanzania stories often, in recent years.
When I think of my Tanzania years, it often feels like I’m looking in the rearview mirror, stuck in the past when I really want to be living in the now. But sometimes, re-telling those stories brings me back into the spiritual space I inhabited from 2010 to 2018. And maybe being reminded of some of these stories is valuable to the 2025 Deb and maybe even to some of you.
Honestly, I still find this story remarkable. Why? Because I’m really just an introverted (mostly), fairly boring homebody who doesn’t seek adventure, doesn’t seek activity, stays in her comfortable lane. I like to read a lot and reflect introspectively. I don’t consider myself courageous or brave. But I do recognize the courage and adventure in myself that was apparent in this story. And all of my Tanzania stories for that matter.
To this day, I find myself in some sense of awe and amazement that I actually stepped easily and willingly into a very unorthodox and uncomfortable lane. Without all of the normal over-thinking and rationalization, along with making a decision and taking action that made most everyone around me assuming that I was some sort of crazy. Here’s how it happened…..
50 year old Deb was working in economic development in Broken Arrow during the fall of 2010. I started feeling an ache in my chest I couldn’t ignore. Looking back, maybe it was peri-menopause—or maybe it was my soul trying to get my attention. I found myself weeping in the car on the way home from work and often felt that I was in a fog. I remember thinking that although I had a good job and I was good at it, my soul was not being served. There was something that whispered, there’s more.
I initially assumed that I needed to find another job (which would most likely be just another safe but empty role). So I quietly put out feelers about potential opportunities. Doors that never opened, not even a crack. I remember thinking to myself - I guess I need to open my own damn doors. And just like that, I had a shift in thinking that maybe it was NOT another job that I or my soul needed.
During that time frame, I was admiring my son’s experiences during his 11-month mission trip around the world, thinking that maybe I too could do something like that. Although I felt that I was too ‘old’ for such adventures abroad, it opened my thought process to something I had never considered before: volunteer vacations. You know—just a few weeks, do some good, check that box, come back changed. But, deep down in my gut, I knew that wouldn’t be enough.
Then I saw the movie Eat Pray Love. Like many many women, I deeply resonated with that movie. I remember walking out of the theatre thinking hmmmm - I could NEVER travel for a WHOLE YEAR like Elizabeth Gilbert did, but what if I went for some other period of time. What if I went for a three months? What if I stopped playing small and actually let my life stretch?
Shifting to “what-if” thinking was the game changer. It pulled me out of my usual mode—practical, detail-oriented, prone to overthinking—and into a more expansive state of mind.
One night shortly thereafter, I meditated on a Rumi quote “In the silence between your heartbeat bides a summons. Do you hear it? Name it if you must, or leave it forever nameless, but why pretend it is not there.” I asked my higher self - okay, what if? What if I were to go somewhere for three months, where would I go?
And seriously—literally—I heard: AFRICA. (Boom.) AFRICA. (Boom.) AFRICA. I remember being surprised by that, but in retrospect, I don’t know why I didn’t see that coming (if you know me, you know that animal print such as zebra, leopard and cheetah have long been a staple in my wardrobe AND my house).
The very next day, a magazine randomly arrived at my apartment—inside was a story about a woman who left corporate life to start a nonprofit in Africa. I recognized it with the acknowledgement that it was indeed an interesting validation.
A few weeks later, during an online search, I stumbled across a volunteer program in Moshi, Tanzania. I had no idea where Moshi even was. Or Tanzania, for that matter. But something in my chest pinged. Loud and clear. I remember mentioning to a co-worker that I felt that I would be going to Moshi Tanzania in 2011. She laughed (as did many others) because the idea of this blingy, stiletto-wearing, fashion-loving smart girl traveling solo to Africa didn’t quite compute.
Within a week of discovering the volunteer program in Moshi, the Sunday Tulsa World featured The Baby Blues comic strip that included the little girl (named Zoe) asking her mom if Dar Es Salaam is the capital of Tanzania. If you are familiar with this comic strip, you know that it’s about the McPherson family with three children, Zoe, Hammie and Wren. They never mention cities in that comic. They barely talk about anything outside of school lunches, challenges of family life, kid shenanigans and diaper blowouts. But that day—Tanzania.
It was in that moment that I knew. I absolutely knew. It was the universe dropping a microphone in my lap. It was God speaking to me in a comic strip. And I love that God has a sense of humor. It definitely was a big and loud ping.
By March 2011, I had quit my job, sold most of my stuff, given up my apartment, and flew to Tanzania, landing in Arusha, Tanzania, by myself, on March 17, 2011. What was initially planned to be a 3-month volunteer oriented trip ultimately turned into 7.5 years as the doors (and my heart) continued to open leading me to new opportunities to learn and make a difference there. Until the moment that I knew, just like that, that it was time to return to the US in the fall of 2018.
So today, in June of 2025, I’ve been back in the US for ALMOST as long as I lived in Tanzania. Life has been very sedate, normal, convenient, easy. As soothing as that is, I often think back to the unsuspecting Deb of 2010 who did not ever EVER see Africa coming around her corner. As 66 year old Deb, I may not be chasing a passport stamp, but I still believe in the ping. I still believe Spirit has surprises—and that sometimes, they still show up disguised as cartoons or Facebook posts. And while I haven’t been pinged in a long time now, I like to believe that there WILL be another ping coming my way.
Ever had a moment like that? A ridiculous, random sign that shook something loose in you? I believe Spirit speaks to each of us in our own language—sometimes through dreams, sometimes strangers, sometimes cartoons. The magic isn’t just in hearing the ping. It’s in having the courage to trust it.
Wow! I love this so much
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