My memories of Kijabe are trecking up and down those Kijabe hills, through bamboo forests and tall trees and climbing over massive rocks. Sleeping on a rocky ground on a cold night; eating partially cooked cabbages, potatoes, rice and baked beans; trying to hold mandazis with frozen fingers; physical training drills at 4am doing squats, duck walks and press-ups on murram roads; carrying a stone in my rucksack for kilometers on end. From that July, I have never been to Kijabe again.
Set out to correct the world's wrongs and you will most certainly wind up adding to them.