Amanda's Adventures in Africa!

I've tried to find the key to fifty million fables; they call me the seeker... I've been searching low and high

2009-06-16T01:53:00.004+03:00

Jeez. Where to begin again? The world just flipped me upside down (again) and shook me til all my fifty cent Tanzania shillings came tumbling out of my ears. It didn’t hit me until today that this is how things are now. Not necessarily different, not fantastic, not miserable- just… static. Well, static isn’t the best word because I haven’t been still since I landed.

My last two days were semi-relaxed in the sense that I didn't really have to rush around doing things like the week before. Received lots of fun things from our tailor, said bye with the greatest Swahili teacher, road my last daladala, hung with my Mwenge boys. My very last night, I swung by the class because they told me they had something for me- an official looking pink emblemed teacher's certificate and a few gifts which made me tear up just as the entire group of new Princeton program folk entered class to take over my babies. Oh I miss my Mwenge boys!! Hurried home to find a mini-party, complete with cake and presents. Tried not to become too frantic and of course, as per usual, I was running late. Oh I miss my fam and roomie!

I was the last person to check in for my flight after procrastinating with goodbyes in Dar. The staff weren’t so happy to see me since they had to cut the systems back on so I could check in and such. One of my bags was insanely overweight even though I had checked them before leaving and had checked what I thought was the appropriate weight limit online. Couldn’t negotiate with boss man because he was already upset with me. Lame. So while he was busy charging my card, I stuffed my extra bag into the already overweight bag while only one staffer was watching and simply laughed, shrugged his shoulders, and lumped me with all those other crazy white folk. The flight wasn’t crowded and I had a whole row to spread out. I pressed my greasy face against the window for the first half hour or so while we were still above Tanzania, even though it was pitch black.

Arrived in Amsterdam in the morning, waltzed through security, met up with Margaret, a childhood family friend. Chatted about all sorts of things, experiences, memories, stories, and family updates over a punch-in-the-face strong cup of coffee. She was on her way to Berlin that morning so we didn’t have time to venture into the actual city of Amsterdam, but that was a twist of fate to keep me in the close vicinity of the airport because I could very easily see how I would be wandering around the city, miss my flight, and have to call my parents to bail me out. Plus, my boarding time was bumped up, so waiting around wasn’t too bad. I found a little café to seek refuge and after a few minutes (or maybe hours), the Croatian football (ehem, soccer) team bombarded my quiet space and sat all around me. Two French girls asked me to take their picture with them, then they left, then the Croatian folk inhaled food, then they left too.

Crammed flight for the next leg. Sat next to a pleasant Italian woman who insisted on me consuming gin and tonics with her. I mean, she really had to twist my arm, but it made the eight and a half hours go easier and I wasn’t such an emotional wreck.

Customs is CRAZY now. I had seen a five minute review on the BBC a month or so ago how they would be taking finger prints and retinal scans of all non-US citizens entering the US, but it didn’t quite click that I’d see those. It seemed too futuristic-movie-dystopia-novel to be real. The guy checking my passport was extraordinarily concerned with the spices I claimed so he gave me a big highlighted A on my customs slip and informed me to collect my bags and head to extra security or whatever. ::sigh:: Come on man, it’s just cinnamon bark and curry! Went to luggage claim, grabbed one huge bag and while I was waiting for the overweight one to arrive, a fat little dog came over with a fat little lady in matching uniforms. I didn’t think much of it and was starting to get anxious about my other bag not arriving. Suddenly the little thing sits by my bag and produces two barks unusual for his size. Yeah, yeah, I know I’m bringing in coriander, tea masala, and coffee, too, but really? This drug dog can’t look for anything else? The little lady informs me very officially I must immediately report to have my bag searched, which wasn’t a big deal because by that time, all bags had been unloaded and my overweight one was indeed not there. ::sigh:: I report immediately to the extra security place, wait in a line listening to Spanish and Arabic and trying to remember if I can still think in Swahili. When it comes to my turn, the guy flips through my passport and we make small talk about me having four unexpected months to backapck while my bag goes through the X-ray machine thing, then he loads my bag onto one of those carts and sends me on my way with a smile and wave! Whew, glad he didn’t find my organic loofah with funny seeds inside or dirty rocks and shells with scary, foreign, contaminated African dirt in its crevices. Kinda funny, the folks that needn’t take their job so seriously do, and those folks that probably should take their job more seriously don’t.

Dad was eagerly waiting. Few tears before rushing to KLM to report my missing bag then jumping in the convertible to try our best to circumnavigate gridlock traffic. First impressions were somewhat of a blur, but it seemed like last week I had stumbled out of those doors to be greeted with muggy DC summer weather after returning from Malawi. On the wrong side of the road, on the wrong side of the car, on way too smooth of roads. Funny how fast time flies. Caught up with Dad and tried to take in as much as I could. Didn’t seem that weird to be back. Home was mostly the same but with an addition to the family- Pipsqueak the new kitty. Throw bags down and went to Joe’s Inn for a humongous plate of spaghetti. Hit the spot. Unpacked in a disorderly fashion, tried to convince myself I was being productive, but mostly, I was just making a mess. Bagel with cream cheese for breakfast, followed by a trip to DMV with Dad to get a new license (I lost it way back at that music festival in October). New change- you can’t smile and you have to wait seven days for them to ship it to you! What’s all this stuff?! Not to mention, it was absolutely freezing inside. My body has not adapted back to AC, which I’m looking forward to saving money on utilities this summer! Quick tangent on that: I’m staying with my mom on the coast of South Carolina where it’s 90+ degrees Farenheit outside and everyone else sits comfortably in a chilled air conditioned room in shorts and t-shirts while I’m bundled in long pants, a sweater, and occasionally socks. Yeah, I’ve always been cold blooded, but never this extreme!! OK, back to Richmond: we went to go get a cup of chai from the neighborhood coffee shop where I ran into an ex-boyfriend’s ex-roommate which was my first conversation with a friend to superficially sum of Tanzania as “awesome.” It wasn’t as excruciatingly painful as my imagination had cooked up, but it still made my heart hurt a little bit. It’s not the fact that I wouldn’t love to go into details, but in those less than five minute conversations, neither one of us will dive into deep details of what’s really been going on. That’s just how it is and the sooner I get over that, my nerves should calm down a bit.

Packed a quick bag with gifts and wedding attire to be picked up by Hugh to start our journey to sunny South Carolina. Had a lot to chat about and it was another good seven or so hours to soak in all that is the United States… or I-95. My oldest cousin on my mom’s side was getting married this weekend- the primary reason for me coming back. I was about to say, coming back before summer, but really- coming back before fall semester, which could have easily become coming back after another year. So, so, so wonderful to be thrown into wedding activities because it meant they weren’t throwing themselves at me. Stories are coming out little by little, but I’m glad all of this is out of everyone’s system. I had such a fantastic time at all of the events and hadn’t gotten hit by jet lag until today, where it hit me hard. I’m surrounded by the comfort of Fripp, but it’s not Tanzania and the differences are starting to become more vivid. Of course I didn’t expect them to be the same, but I suppose I mean the differences of two life routines I have developed are more apparent. Now it’s time to pick a new city to develop a new life routine so I can stop comparing. (Un)Fortunately, I’ll be back to Columbia, but I’m looking forward to a start-over of sorts there.

Like I said, the wedding was a blast. All the cousins are “old” enough now to be on the same level again as far as socializing goes, which makes family events so much more fun. This week, some folks are sticking around to unwind after all the craziness of the weekend. Cooking and eating lots of good food which makes me miss Haika’s kitchen, but I’ve been requested to make chapati one morning and chipsi-mayai another day. Somehow it won’t taste the same, but I’ll try it all the same.

The bride was beautiful and I finally met the groom! He will fit perfectly with our family and I’m looking forward to getting to know him in a less hectic environment. The second oldest female cousin has just gotten engaged so we have another wedding around the corner! The rest of the cousins are taking bets on whose next on the chopping board… I mean, wedding alter. Not it!

The new replacement has arrived and I think the family has openly accepted her, too. Funny how now to go back to Dar, I’d be the outsider again. What a strange concept this time thing is and growing up is.

Running around lots in the next couple months, can’t wait to visit with everyone. I’m expecting the tears and smiles to continue and I just request that if I’m different from what you remembered, remember that you’re different from what I remember too. Different isn’t bad, it is what it is, and let’s keep rolling with it. Remind me of that, too, because I have a feeling I’ll sink into some slumps and will have to be nudged to get over my-selfish-self.

Today was my first hard day, but mostly I think the cause is pure exhaustion. Glad to be by the sea… one of my favorite quotes:

"The cure for everything is saltwater- sweat, tears, or the sea." -Isak Dinesen

I stole it from Ms. Sarah Baber a few years ago and how true. This week I’ll have sweat, tears, and the sea. Perfect recovery to turn a new page.

So, for now, I’m signing off. Thanks for your emails, your thoughts, your prayers, your comments, questions, concerns, and words of encouragement (to me, and my worried parents). As independent and self-reliant I would like to portray myself, my strength comes from all y’all (yes, that’s right, all you all) on the home front. I could go on for a few more pages specifically of special individuals, but I’ll save my award-winning speech for a later date.

Look forward to Amanda’s Adventures in Asia to Australia... and All in between. Coming soon to blogspot near you!

Feet in the sand with a cold beer in hand

2009-06-08T13:46:00.000+03:00

7 June

Yet another trip to Zanzibar. Absolutely cannot get enough of the place and almost feel silly for not transferring to the university in Stone Town when the strike happened last semester. Such is life and everything like those things happen for some sort of reason.

Yet another amazing time. Made it up to the north for the infamous full moon party of Kendwa Rocks. It was definitely rocking but not as focused on the coolness of being under the full moon like the throw down in the east. Regardless, celebrating with your feet in the sand and a cold beer in hand… it doesn’t get much better than that! Then add in loads of backpackers, great music, and acrobats playing with fire and all sorts- you’ve got a party that was bumping until 5am.

Despite popular opinion, we did do other things other than party, such as a great spice tour and more shopping in Stone Town. This was my second spice tour, but it was much better. Fewer people and we went to a different plantation. Overall, a better vibe. Also, slightly overcast and not so blazing hot. Still sweat due to the intense humidity; and well, Hallie and I basically carried around all of our stuff everywhere this weekend. Worked out well because we were ready to go and on the go at all times! For the short trip that it was, we achieved a lot. The only downer of the trip was that our scheduled beach day was booted due to rain clouds. That means I’m coming home with all sorts of funny t-shirt lines! (… and loads of yummy spices)

Starting to have my “lasts” of everything. Last time in Zanzibar. Took my last bajaji ride. Last trip to the tailor. Last class in Mwenge. Last meals. Last laundry washing. Last bucket bath. Crazy!!

Hallie has been patient with me being schizophrenic on leaving- excited one minute, a depressed negative Nancy the next, to be followed five minutes later chatting happily about summer plans, trailed by near tears. I’ve been saying bye to all the other foreign students for so long and thinking to myself how much it stinks for them because they have to go home, but now it’s finally my turn. I remember flipping through my calendar at the beginning of the year and being certain that my return date was never going to arrive. ::sigh:: Maisha inavutia. (life is interesting- literally translates as ‘life is pulling’)

To add to the roller coaster emotions, I’ve been averaging three hours of sleep for the past two weeks now. Alright, not so abnormal for my lifestyle in the States, but it’s certainly been a long time since I’ve had one of these mini-marathons. All in all, I’m still functioning normally and it’s resulted in unexpected productivity such as packing just about everything without a temper tantrum. I exploded all over the room which quarantined Hallie to her bed, but the entirety of organizing and stuffing was not as bad as anticipated. Nice feeling to have that off my chest and I think I’m doing alright on space and weight. How that works, I’ll never know. Also, how I didn’t resort to my preferred methods of day-of packing, I’m not sure.

As far as writing a final blog in a vain attempt to summarize and conclude my trip, I don’t think it will happen so soon. Mostly because I could go on for pages and hours which come on, in all seriousness, even my most dedicated stalkers wouldn’t be able to read word for word. The stories will come out in time and just to preemptively tackle your first question of “how was Africa?” … I’ll just go ahead and say it’s been awesome.

The to do list is dwindling and my last two days won’t be spent rushing around which will be a pleasant way to say kwa heri (good bye) to Dar. Visiting folks Monday and Tuesday. Board the plane at night, stretch my legs the next day in Amsterdam with one of my childhood friends who has been living in the Netherlands for the past semester, land in the States in late afternoon. Wild to believe! And I’ll leave you with that. Too many things racing through my head to actually write something semi-profound to try to bring nine months to a close.

Lots of love from sticky hot Dar es Salaam, Amanda

When I show you I just don't care...

2009-06-04T18:08:00.002+03:00

When I'm throwing punches in the air
When I'm broken down and I can't stand
Would you be man enough to be my man?
(yeah, lame, it's Sheryl Crow I know, but this song applies too well on too many occasions here and has too many jokes with Heather that it's perfect for this story...)

Obviously something happened to me that needs documentation just one day after I posted my rumored last blog. Well, a lot has happened because I’m cramming absolutely everything in. Leave the house in the wee hours of the morning and return home in the darker hours of the evening. I definitely prefer bouncing around Dar than wasting hours wandering around campus trying to find classes and professors, but man- how different my schedule is these past few months! Without further ado… just another story to add to my interactions with people:

After my Swahili class, I stopped by a market specifically to load up on some more fabric for gifts. No problem, found lots of pretty kangas and even got them for an even lower price than normal because it was the end of the day! What a deal. Getting from the large market to Ubungo (one of the bus terminals close to campus) was quite the challenge. After waiting for about 30 minutes with no daladalas going to Ubungo, a huge bus rolls up with the conductor dangling out the door, screaming “Ubungo, Ubungo, Ubungo.” That was my queue to push and shove my way on to this huge commercial bus that has been converted into a daladala. I’m crammed onto a ledge by the windshield with an Indian woman telling me how to position my feet and strategically smush myself against the glass. Great, not only am I getting stares for being white and on public transport but I’m front and center for all to see. Super. Great view of Dar and gridlock traffic, but I was mostly hoping the windshield wasn’t going to pop off since there was air coming in mysteriously from the side or top. Who knows. Luckily that didn’t happen. Somehow while we were in gridlock traffic, the huge bus runs out of gas. Typical. Luckily, it wasn’t so far from Ubungo and I secretly adore walking in the craziness of Dar streets. I start my walk with people staring and shouting “mzungu!” like they’ve never seen one before. Also typical. Out of nowhere, a drunk man approaches me, crosses my path from (my) right to left, and reaches for a quick aggressive feel. Unfortunate for him, he caught my right fist in his face and then he proceeds to stumble over my left leg that was outstretched from walking. The poor drunk b@#$%^& toppled to the ground, I quickly hopped over his legs as a chorus of “OHHs” started and made a speedy exit by crossing the street in the same gridlock traffic that probably saw me smushed against the glass before too much more attention was brought to me. The adrenaline didn’t sink in until I had a frenzied walk home to then drop my stuff and rush to Mwenge with my goodbye gift of collected school supplies. That’s the first time in my life I’ve truly swung a fist at someone with the intention of inflicting pain. Who would’ve thought one of the more peaceful countries would turn me into a meat-eating-resorting-to-violence-to-solve-problems person. Don’t mess with this mzungu. Sooo yeah, that was my early evening story for the day.

Otherwise, running around checking things off my “to do before peacing” list! I won’t promise last entries until I’m in the US, how about that?

I’m living in a foreign country but I’m bound to cross the line

2009-06-01T17:06:00.002+03:00

29 May

I’m not sure how many times in this blog that I’ve said this… well, actually typed it, but I must say it a million times: I have no idea where to begin, which is always silly because then I proceed to start from the beginning, or the closest event to the beginning. I last left with complaining about being a white girl in Tanzania… and then complaining about traveling with large groups of azungu in dust bowl Dodoma. I promise this entry is more upbeat!!

Crazy week of running around and only one funny story to report before I dive into explaining my last minute decision to loop through middle of nowhere Tanzania. I think it’s safe to say I spend a large majority of my time in, around, or passing through Mwenge. One day, I stopped for a particularly long amount of time to greet some folks when a van of old, fat Middle Eastern dudes roll out. I didn’t bother paying much attention to them, it’s quite often that big groups in big vans are dumped on the sidewalk of Mwenge and then ushered back into the big van after they buy their souvenirs. These guys were certainly no different except three of them had the brilliant idea of sauntering over to me, interrupting my conversation with my Mwenge boys, to ask if they could take a picture with me. I looked at my friends, they looked at me, we looked at them, they looked at us, I looked back at them, before then staring them down to inquire why exactly they’d want to take my picture. The dialogue went a little something like this:
“Hello, can we take your picture?”
“Do what?”
“Take picture, you know…” (then holds up the camera as if I didn’t understand)
“Uh, yeah, I get it. Why?”
“Because!” (put in your head the best three year old baby talk with Middle Eastern older deep man voice accent)
“Really? Because why?”
“Because we’re nice people.”
“No, you’re chauvinist pigs that think I’m an object you can possess.” ::awkward silence perhaps due to language barrier to translate “chauvinist” and “pig” or shock that I said no:: “The answer is no.”
One of them started to protest but luckily one of his buddies thought better than probing at me any longer and guided the three away. My Mwenge boys shook their heads and laughed. No need for them to ask what “chauvinist” means; that was already an English lesson.

Moving on…

Iriniga!!! Just about my favorite place in Tanzania. The only thing that is lacking is the beach. The mountains, comfortable weather, and lack of hassling make up for it though. The main highlights:
-Hole in the wall restaurant/guest house that has an “Alice in Wonderland” themed garden. Alright, so it wasn’t straight out mad hatters, rabbits, and Cheshire cats BUT it was a crazy garden with loads of colorful flowers and verandahs covered in vines that happened to be deep behind a block of buildings. Nothing spectacular about the food or service, but a pleasant evening under vines with Safari Lagers.

-Neema Craft Workshop, along with other fantastic markets ideal for shopping. The Neema Craft Workshop is the brain child of an organization dedicated to helping disabled children and adults living in Iringa. All of the products sold in the shop are hand crafted by those with disabilities. The profit of goods goes back to the organization to purchase supplies for crafts as well as improving the quality of life for their workers, i.e. hand steered bicycles, medicines, doctor visits, etc. We went crazy in there and then continued our shopping spree into the local market to find spices, baskets, loofahs, wooden spoons, jewelry, bags, etc. Cheaper prices than Dar and less hectic. Fun day, for sure.

-Riding 20km to Isimila to find Stone Age tools and canyon towers that have withstood erosion for something like 6,000 years. The ride there was slightly scarier than the one in Mbeya because we were on the main road with large vehicles zipping past us (6 female azungu). Nonetheless, we arrived to be greeted by loads of children ready to walk our bikes the last kilometer down to the site. Smart little buggers, of course a tip was in order for their services. The tools were incredible. Really puts human existence on a crazy scale. After playing with the rocks, we went on a quick walk through the canyon which was similarly spectacular. Lisa and I accidentally chose an alternative path to get back to the main center which lead to a dead end of canyon towers and no group. No worries, let me pull out my handy dandy mobile phone. Surprise- no service. We laugh it off a bit then back track to find the right path where we shortly found Emmanuel, our guide, and the rest of the group. He then proceeded to tell us they lost a German grandma for about four hours one time. At least we were only gone for maybe ten minutes. Realizing the sun was on its decline and we were still twenty kilometers from Iringa, I volunteered to wave down a truck so we could hitch a ride back. Group was a bit hesitant at first, then a few cars went past, and then we full heartedly decided that it’d be better to catch a ride than try to bike it (not to mention the last two kilometers to Iringa is up a mountain). I hailed down a truck carrying sand and they died laughing when I began negotiating a ride back to Iringa. They loaded our bikes up and the six of us arranged ourselves in the back. I’m sure we gave everyone a huge laugh- in the early afternoon, six azungu girls ride by on bikes laughing, chatting, and taking pictures… then in the later afternoon, six azungu girls zoom past in the back of a truck, laughing, chatting, and taking pictures.

All in all, Iringa was a success of traveling in a large group. On Sunday, we took off on buses. Due to my previous three attempts to see African rock paintings, I was bound and determined to do it by myself. It was quite the adventure of jumping buses, dirty hostels, motorcycle rides, and some of the worst roads ever. The rest of the girls went all the way back to Dar while I jumped off at Morogoro, which has now ranked as my least favorite place in Tanzania. I feel like such a brat saying that I don’t like places here, but some towns here- man. I arrived in Morogoro to hop on a bus to get to Dodoma. I had twenty minutes before the next few buses heading to Dodoma would be passing through. Great. Now it was time to find a legit bus with someone who wasn’t trying to rip me off. That took about thirty minutes, meaning I had one last chance to hop on the very last bus that would be going to Dodoma that day. I had to pay the equivalent of $5 to stand on a crammed bus, complete with chickens, goats, and crying babies. Only had to stand for two or so hours before someone was dropped off and I could slip into their window seat. Arrived in Dodoma around 9pm to take a cab to the guest house we stayed in the weekend before to find it totally booked. The reception man assured me it was fine to walk with all my belongings through the streets of Dodoma to the next guest house, which happened to be that Lutheran church one that says “BROTHEL SEXUAL INTERCOURSE NOT APPLY.” Dirt cheap for a dirty hostel. Skipped out of Dodoma around 5:30am, northbound for Kondoa. Dusty rough road for three hours to arrive in Kondoa, a quaint little town in the absolute middle of nowhere. The next bus to Kolo (village closest to rock paintings) didn’t leave until noon, so I found a cleaner bathroom than my previous hostel to wash up in and then made some friends at the bus stand, which came in handy later the next day- I’ll get to that in a minute.

I sat next to a cute old man on the way to Kolo. He happened to live in Kolo and ended up offering his daughter-in-law’s house for me to stay in. His son was off in Dodoma doing some business and he assured me that it would be more than fine for him to dump me without notice onto Mama Allee. Indeed, it was no problem and Mama Allee warmly welcomed me into her home. She then took me to the Antiquities Department to find me a guide and a ride to the rock paintings, which was a treat because she definitely hooked me up with the non-tourist price. Maulid was my guide and a few hours before sunset, we took off on a motorcycle on my first frightening ride up rocky, dusty roads (if you can even call them roads). Got to a point where the motorcycle could go no further, so we trekked a little bit more up the mountain, and all of a sudden, he pointed to a large rock face of a cave, and BAM- there were the 6,000+ year old rock paintings. SO COOL!! He took me to three different sites and each represented different ceremonial grounds. One was simply a cave where they decided to record everyday life, such as hunting, evolving from wearing bark to animal fur, developing traps, etc. Another cave was dedicated to ceremonies revolving around successful hunts. The other cave was specifically used for rain prayers. Well, this is all what different experts in anthropology, archaeology, etc have said, in particular Mary Leaky, who Maulid had the honor of working with on two occasions. How crazy is that?! The pictures do some justice, but you’ll have to check them out for yourselves to really see the details. It’s incredible to think how long the paint has endured- animal fat, tree sap, and ochre. And the rock faces are in the sun all day long. It’s wild. It was perfect to be the only one out there AND a great opportunity for me to put to use Swahili vocabulary words that I never really thought I’d ever use (such as ceremony, sacrifice, stretcher- just to name a few). Oh, that was the other fun fact, Maulid was under the impression that his English was worse than my Swahili so he insisted on a Swahili tour. Whew. Think I got it all which was a nice personal boost.

Had dinner in Mama Allee’s small shop where I saw the cute old man again, whose name I never did get. What a woman. Sadly no photos because she’s against it. Pole (sorry). Her children were put to bed, she insisted on me bathing, and then we discussed how I’d be leaving Kolo the next morning. She assured me that there was a bus that would leave at 4am and it’d be no problem to catch. I get to bed early knowing I’d be waking in a few hours. Around 3:50, I’m about to slip out the door when Mama Allee pops her head out to inform me that the bus came through at 3am that morning. Uhh ok? What to do now? She hops to action by calling her “uncle,” who I’m not sure if it’s a cousin, brother, or actual uncle, to come with his motorcycle to rush me the 20 kilometers on a short cut into Kondoa so I can catch the morning bus. I’m doing my best to reject the offer, but no way Jose. Mama Allee wasn’t having any of it. So ‘Peta’ the ‘uncle’ arrives in the next few minutes and off we go (‘Peta’ is the name he told me because his Swahili name is near impossible to pronounce but it was funny because he pronounced Peter Swahili style and then spelled it out for me- “Pee-tah: P-E-T-A”). I thought the ride up the mountain the day before was terrifying, but I had no idea what was coming that morning. He assured me that there were no more lions around the village, but they’ve been having problems of late with hyenas. Oh great, here’s when little white girl and Peta disappear in middle of nowhere before sunrise because hyenas pounce on us. Someone was looking out for us and we made it to Kondoa without any problems. Gave Peta a few shillings for gas and then started to figure out how to get from Kondoa back to Dodoma. Turns out there was never a morning bus that day, so I’m not sure what Mama Allee heard, but that meant I had to wait around until 11 or so before the next bus would take off for Dodoma. Great, it was 6:30. How to kill hours in a town that’s no bigger than 2 kilometers? Find the few friends I had made the day before, drank some chai, and had more first full blown in detail political conversation in Kiswahili! That was a big step.

Miserable bus ride back to Dodoma with crying babies, squawking chickens, and no leg room. Arrive in Dodoma to find that there is a bus heading to Igunga (where I’d be doing field work with TEACH before going back to Dar). Awesome! Don’t have to spend any more time in Dodoma. I had about forty minutes, so I ran around to grab some infamous Dodoma wine and grab some money from an ATM (which will be my last withdrawal while I’m here- crazy!). Rush back to the bus stand to then wait for two and a half hours. In the meantime, I made more friends in the bus stand and instead of having a political discussion, we talked about culture and relationships. We covered a lot of ground, but here’s my favorite little racy excerpt. One of the guys was under the impression that in order for your wife to have a boy, you would have to go fast and hard, but if you wanted a girl, you needed to be slow and gentle. Ahem. I laughed in his face, but it was almost a little insensitive because he was sincere so I back tracked a bit, but still, good laugh for all. Also, I learned how to play checkers Tanzanian style, which I didn’t even know was different. They definitely redeemed my opinion of Dodoma and hooked me up with chapati and juice when I rolled through on my way back from Igunga to Dar.

Journey to Igunga. Soo after waiting for this bus for two and half hours, it arrives and is packed. I slip into an aisle seat second row to the back. They crammed so many extra seats in that there was literally negative leg room. I tried focusing on how stunning the Dodoma sunset was over hundreds of rock kopjes, but it wasn’t distracting enough. After thirty minutes, the man I was sitting next to got off and no one wanted sit next to me, so I had some more room to spread out. About thirty minutes after that, the road went from mediocre to terrible. Plenty of times I caught air from being bounced around in the back. The window behind me kept slipping open, making the ride freezing and even more bewildering. I just kept telling myself only four hours to get to Igunga, don’t worry, almost done, you’ve been through worse. The pep talks only went so far, especially once the bus stopped at 12am on the side of the road because it’s illegal to drive buses from 12am-3am in Tanzania. Obviously those are the more dangerous hours- not 11:30, not 3:30. Whatever. We hadn’t arrived in Igunga yet, so I had to try to catch some shut eye on this miserable bus. We get moving again around 3am so after a groggy three hours of almost sleeping, we proceed to get bounced around some more. I get dropped off in Igunga, a small town in the middle of nowhere, at 5:30am. What am I going to do at 5:30am? Have no idea what hotel they booked for me and I wasn’t about to call up the coordinator that early to come save me. I stumble into the nearest guest house to see if I can grab a room for only a few hours. They said they were all booked, but the Maasai guardsman overheard our conversation and offered his room since he wouldn’t be using it until after 9am. So I crashed in Michael the Maasai’s room until about 7:30am when I decided it’d be an alright hour to contact the district coordinator. Room smelled like spices and I found a large knife under the mattress. Put my kanga over his sheets and pillow because who knows what’s been living in his rastas. Slept for a few hours and then found a place to drink about five cups of black tea to stimulate my brain. Full two days in the field of interviews and photo taking. The hotel was nicer than the guest house and the staff was too funny. Not many white folk roll through Igunga so the girls working at the restaurant were all about playing with my hair, looking at my bracelets, practicing my Swahili. Good trip to the field and Igunga is definitely the success story of TEACH. In process of writing up a report and website touches are coming to a close soon! Exciting stuff.

Boarded my last long bus ride early Friday morning. It was a much nicer bus which made the dreadful hours to Dodoma more manageable. Saw my buddies at the bus stand in Dodoma for a brief minute and then proceeded to Dar. All day bus ride, but last one while I’m here! I don’t have to go back to the Ubungo bus terminal ever again… which is a big relief because that place is insane and always puts me in a bad mood.

1 June (WHAAT?! When did that happen??)
Saturday morning I hit the ground running! Did my last load of laundry (I think), found the internet, met some friends to go to Kariakoo to do some fabric shopping, headed back to the house for a quick bit and to pack up before heading to Kigamboni (the beach) to celebrate Bronwen’s last weekend in Tanzania. The trip to Kigamboni is usually not so pleasant and takes forever, but we lucked out with hardly any traffic and because we took off running for two or three blocks, we made it on a ferry that was leaving immediately. Funny site to see four white girls hauling it through downtown Dar, but it was well worth the sprint.

Returned earlier than expected on Sunday because the weather decided to be cloudy on the beach, but glaring sun in downtown city center. Who would’ve thought. It allowed us to get some small things done and then go out for some live music and dancing that night! On a Sunday night! Definitely a blast and the last time I’d see one of my friends until who knows when. Fun night but causing for a long Monday…

All in all, everything is going well. Loads to do in a little bit of time. Running for now and can expect to hit the ground running upon return. Not sure if this is my last entry before returning to the States… and not sure if I want to admit it. My flight is June 9. This day has been so far away for so long, I almost thought it was a joke. Not funny anymore! Enjoy the pictures that will be up soon. Most of them are Hallie's due to my camera problems. Boo hiss on technology all around.

Dodoma and daladalas

2009-05-19T09:38:00.001+03:00

17 May

Dodoma adventure. Mm. Well. Not quite what was expected and pretty much a waste of a weekend, but not a real waste because there was some quality time spent with some great people, but the main reason to go to Dodoma was the find rock paintings… and we didn’t find them. Which must be some sort of sign because I’ve been trying to see rock paintings for the solid past four months or so… Namibia, Botswana, and now Tanzania. Certainly not meant to be, but I’m thinking I’m going to give it one more attempt next week sometime. I’ll get to that in a minute.

Traveled with four other international students to meet up with another one of our friends’ from campus who is doing research with a friend of hers from her home university. So… in short- a total of eight azungu in the capital city of Tanzania. It’s not my favorite thing to do in the world… as in, travel in large groups, mostly because it means a lot of talking, planning, slow action, hard logistics of keeping everyone happy, etc. This is also the source of not making it to the rock paintings because after a few hours of trying to figure out transport to middle of nowhere, the group decided we should skip the rock paintings and see what Dodoma has to offer. Nothing. It’s a dust bowl run down city in the dead center of Tanzania that’s a physical reminder that Nyerere’s socialist policies are scrapping by miserably with the same political party’s ‘ideology’ that’s now turned a new page to corruption. There’s a large church looking structure that’s actually a mosque… and right across the street, there’s a mosque looking building that’s a church. Whaat? Everything just about closes after 7pm. Few cars, but loads of bicycles. There were a handful of close calls to getting run over. Dodoma is home of the Gogo tribe, who are a notoriously musical tribe and invented the infamously Tanzanian ‘marimba ya mkono’ (hand instrument), but didn’t see any live music either.

However, we did visit University of Dodoma to see some mutual friends, climb an anti-climatic boulder to see Dodoma’s dust bowl, and make it out to the only club in town though on Saturday night after sampling a few of the local wines. Typical Tanzania club, loads of Bongo Flava music, awkward couples, and a handful of rocking dancers. The wine part of the evening was more interesting. Since we couldn’t find the vineyards to do a proper tasting, we decided to do it ourselves. One of the girls crafted classy wine glasses from cutting empty water bottles in half and we supplemented our taste buds with an assortment of chili chips, bagia (fried dough of sorts), and an overly ripe avocado. My previous experiences with Tanzanian wine have been short of disaster, but we were all pleasantly surprised that TZ is capable of producing yummy vino. This is apparently a recent phenomenon, because the guide book says, and I quote, “At the posher places, do sample the region’s wine, an ‘art’ first introduced by Italian missionaries a century ago. Something must have been lost in translation, as the output from Dodoma-based Tanganika Vineyards is so bad that it’s probably best left for those with a solid sense of humor (and stomach).” Yeah. We found a newer company and they must have figured out the proper translation.

Other fun facts about Dodoma- Nyerere declared it the capital because he wanted the capital to be in the center of the country, to go along with his socialist ujumaa agricultural farming policies. There are a few buildings, but no important government actions take place there. Also, most of the hostels and guest houses openly advertise that they do not accept “short” stays, insinuating prostitution. Didn’t see any flagrant prostitution, but mildly (sadistically) comical that it’s advertised in the capital city, where government officials occasionally do have to visit. They have a huge water disparity, even though it’s a city, and it’s a continuous problem year after year.

Not a bad bus ride and nothing spectacularly good or bad particularly happened. I suppose I spent most of Saturday and the bus ride home silently sulking about missing the rock paintings, but even if I hadn’t been in a sullen mood, Dodoma still isn’t a very happening place. Solution for an attitude adjustment- heading to Iringa this weekend which is described as a happening city, make my way back to Dodoma to keep heading north to find rock paintings, then continue north to meet Hallie in Arusha the next weekend. It’s a straight shot from Iringa to Arusha so why come back to Dar for three days between trips? That will leave a final week of class and a grand finale weekend in Zanzibar. No more weekends in Dar which I’m feeling a bit sad about, but I think it’s mostly a general feeling of leaving-sadness, and it also means I’ve only spent two weekends in Dar since coming back in April. Man. Time flies.

Finished The Nine which keeps me teetering on the idea of law school, but solidifies my mind to know I would never, ever want to be a judge. On to my last book which is another Vonnegut- Canary in a Cat House. Oh, my Swahili teacher also lent me a children’s book of short stories that I cracked on the bus and a little girl read over my shoulder for the majority of the ride. This week is my goal to complete a Swahili newspaper.

So that’s that. Dodoma was a letdown, but inspiration for something else. Another busy week around the city!

18 May
Two things.

One, just need to take a minute to say how impressed I am about some of the discussions that pass through Mwenge. Tonight’s lesson started with how they would like to see Tanzanian taxpayer ‘shillings’ spent on governmental incentives. Alright, wood carvers! Bring it on. The conversation quickly put up the questioning elections, which then prompted- would Tanzanians rather have a corrupt government and peaceful nation OR a violent nation revolting against the corrupt government with violence to satisfy justice? Typical Tanzania- they said they’d rather have a corrupt government and peaceful nation complaining about the corruption. Go figure.

Two, daladala drama today. I hopped on before the dala reached the final “terminal” and paid that conductor my 250 shillings (25 cents). He took this as my payment to go to the terminal, which was less than a quarter of a mile, and expected me to pay another 250 shillings to go back for a full 500 shillings (50 cents). No way Jose! Here comes my first public argument in Swahili! Worked out in my favor and I didn’t have to pay, since an elder joined my cause and finally one of the other Tanzanian females who jumped on where I did spoke up to say she only paid 250 shillings total (typical Tanzania- avoid confrontation and don’t involve yourself). At that point, it wasn’t a matter of whether I was capable of coughing up another quarter, it was more the fact that I was the token white girl on the bus and the conductor was going to try to rip me off. The entire daladala was rolling and I’m going to check the correctness of my Swahili with my professor today soo we’ll see if they were laughing because I was grammatically incorrect or if it was simply a blonde white girl and a Tanzanian conductor rambling in Swahili. Probably a combination.

Ah, everyday interactions in Dar es Salaam. Gotta love it, otherwise, I’d spend my entire time here crying or fuming.

Slum towns and giraffe kisses

2009-05-12T16:50:00.001+03:00

10 May

Surprise! Took off for Nairobi on an extremely short notice… as in decided around 4:30pm on Wednesday and left at 5:30am on Thursday. Well, I was supposed to leave at 6am, which turned into 8:30am and a very irritated mzungu (white person) incident with the guy who sold me a wrong ticket. Let’s just say I can now be loudly upset in comprehensibly Swahili. Doubt that’s what my scholarship had in mind either, but that’s where I am! Reporting back to my Swahili professor resulted in a dropped jaw and laughing smile. Regardless, yelling didn’t make me feel better, it didn’t change my ticket, but the conductors of the other bus didn’t bother me and made sure I was alright for the rest of the time. Sat next to a cool Ugandan guy who I thought was going to be miserable, but turned out to be awesome. Always a nice surprise, especially from an African male circa my age. Plus, he got ripped off too, and he doesn’t know much Swahili. Swahili has become the “poor” language of Uganda… or only used in the military. Two statuses that are not highly desired in society. Also, he’s one of the first few Africans that I’ve encountered that will talk openly about controversy as it is. We talked about everything- national policies, sex, marital rape- and well, rape in general, HIV/AIDS, domestic violence, child soldiers, neo-colonialism, switching of languages, etc. Definitely made the crammed crap bus a much more pleasant experience.

17 hours later, we arrived in Nairobi! Also known as Nairobbery. No robberies or rapes or scary moments in the least. Absolutely loved the city actually. It was an African city, run by Kenyans, and everyone was moving and grooving. No time to greet each other and things seem to run more like a Western city. The minibuses have limits on the amount of people that can board and people pay attention to stop lights. There are loads of delicious coffee shops and get this- you can get it in to-go cups! Haven’t seen that in ages. There are loads of parks, too. Mostly, I wound up walking around the city which was great.

Ventured to Kibera, the largest slum in East Africa- second largest in all of Africa to Soweto in South Africa… but after visiting the two, Kibera is definitely in worst conditions, in a smaller area, and growing rapidly. Something like 1.2 million people are squeezed into a dip of a valley that was originally a forest a few decades ago. The colonists shoved the leftover army there until they could figure out what to do with them, but instead of relocating them, the “leftovers,” if you will, set up shop there and it’s now its own metropolitan. Didn’t seem right to photo document my walk, but it was intense. Mud huts, tin roofs, piles of trash tall as two story buildings, children painfully excreting liquid within feet of the “illegal” water source, drunks passed out drooling in ditches outside stores, pirated CDs and DVDs, fish drying with thousands of flies swarming, makeshift farms, “keep peace” and “wanted peace alive” painted on sides of buildings, flashy shirt logos like “Chicks Rule” and “I’m a keeper” strolled by. Oh yeah, remember all that mayhem January last year with the elections? Kibera was the host of the rioting for their “justice.” It included them tearing up the railway which was disposed on the side and is now also decaying like most everything else in the slum. Talked to some local Kenyans about their feelings towards Kibera and they think it’s a disgrace to Nairobi. They think people in the bush have figured out subsistence more than the generations thriving in Kibera. One woman in particular thought international aid was just adding to the sustainability of the area, rather than focusing on re-locating the people in properly developed parts of the city. She was also quite vocal about her confusion of why Ugandans and Tanzanians loathe Kenya. She’s under the impression that it’s because Kenya actually does work on a semi-fast schedule and there’s more accountability. However, if you ask any Kibera resident what they thought of it- they’d have quite the opposite opinion. One of the guys that walked with me told me that sure, he didn’t think it was the prettiest place to live, but that it’s “the beating heart of Nairobi.”

Giraffes! Alright, so extremely touristy, but let’s not try to kid, yes, I am a tourist. Went to the giraffe center where you can feed, try to grab a feel, and steal kisses these giraffes. Didn’t capture my first giraffe kiss on film, but I’ve got a feeling it’s not worth publishing. Probably not the prettiest moment, but a funny experience all the same. Amazing creatures. Thought of Hugh the whole time!

Stayed in a great backpacker’s fairly close to city center. Met some more excellent people from all over the place, that have been all over the place, and that are going all over the place. Had a blast with them and it was cool to have someone that knew the downtown scene to kinda show us where to go. Not sure of names of places, but the night life wasn’t as intimidating as I had imagined or been frightened into imagining. Infinitely jealous of some of their stories and wishing I could keep floating. One guy had started on a six month trek from Cairo to Cape Town… now, five years later, he is flying home for a two week visit before moving back to Uganda for a job. One girl just spent two months in India and now is here to meet a child she’s been sponsoring for the past five years or something. Two Spanish women have been hopping hostel to hostel offering to re-paint for basically free if they can stay and eat for free. Ah, if only…

The whole point of my trip was to return Outback Orange, the infamous tent, to its rightful owner, Joe… who was living in Dar es Salaam last semester, left Bronwen and me early to move to Zanzibar, but is now doing research in Nairobi. The one week he’s out of town is the one weekend my classes are canceled and I have beaucoups of time to travel. Of course. Glad I went anyway, but I’m sure it would’ve been cooler to chill with him. Plus, we just have tons of general catching up to do. Another time I suppose! I can definitely understand why he chose to move there instead of sticking around Dar, though.

Interesting note on Kenya Swahili… it’s basically a different language. Not to mention, the new up and coming language called “Shang” is more widely used among my “peer” group, which is a combination of traditional Bantu languages, Swahili, English, and who knows what. Wild. But, to get around Nairobi, you don’t need Swahili. Everyone speaks English… and when they say that, they actually mean it.

Nice to be home and Hallie had a rocking weekend holding down the fort here, too. Yeah, it was a bummer to not be in Zanzi, but soon enough! Hallie’s legal papers didn’t make it through in time soo we’ll head my last weekend in Tanzania to dance around bonfires and howl at the moon. This weekend we’re for sure heading to Dodoma. Don’t worry, there will be adventures in between and I’ll keep you posted. This week will be full of Swahili and orchestrating another trip to the field with TEACH.

More pictures soon enough… and yeah, the ones from my southern loop, too. It’s coming…

Also, it’s official. 30 days. This time next month, I will have two feet in the United States. I’m trying my best not to count because it makes me sad, but every time I see the date (which mind you, isn’t that often), my head automatically reels to calculate the days.

Oh yeah, two more books to add to the finished list: Shadow of the Silk Road by Colin Thubron (fantastic, but overloaded with big words) and God Bless You, Mr. Rosewater by Kurt Vonnegut (absolutely loved). Moved on to The Nine- Inside the Secret World of the Supreme Court by Jeffery Toobin (which yeah, sounds like a bore but is fairly fascinating). The one on the Silk Road just makes me want to take off to Asia and Vonnegut is always a comically cynical perspective of what I’ll come back to in the US. Crazy contrast from daydreaming out the bus window while zooming around Tanzania countryside to being buried in a book transporting me somewhere completely different, then glancing up to be completely entranced by Tanzania again. I’ve done that stretch something like four times at this point, but it hasn’t gotten old yet. Sitting for 12+ hours, yes, very old. I think I’m ready to forfeit my days of day-long bus rides for a bit. Tanzania though? Nope, not old yet.

Meteorites and bicycles

2009-05-04T14:54:00.000+03:00

3 May

Whaat? May already? Of course Tanzania, being the socialist nation it is, celebrated May Day as a national holiday. Woohoo! Which translates to us (Hallie and me) having an extra day to go gallivanting around the countryside of Tanzania. As previously mentioned, we took off for the far away town of Mbeya, a long hop, skip, jump, and twelve hour bus ride away that is. Just when I thought I had retired the all day travel days, here comes another two. Not so bad, but it is a long way for just a weekend. Very much worth it though!!

Before that, I’ll have to mention some updates in Dar. We had a shocking BOOM just south of the Dar es Salaam city centre last week due to a mishap of ammunition storage. The result was six dead and approximately five hundred wounded. Not really sure still of what exactly happened, but it did, and no- it wasn’t a terrorist attack or the first time in Tanzania that they opened fire upon one another. I happened to be walking out of Swahili class in downtown as the sound commenced, which sounded very similar to a building imploding but had the added mini-earthquake effect, which initially made me think daladalas collided nearby me or something of the sort. Regardless, everyone paused for a brief moment to look around, shrug their shoulders, and then keep bustling along. A couple hours later, I received a text from a fellow foreign student from Japan (because that makes sense) that the US Department sent out some warning about clearing downtown and steering clear until further notice. About an hour later, I received another phone call from the old man making sure I had heard about all the happenings and was indeed far away from downtown. Even though that was a pretty big current event, everyday life kept rocking and rolling… and I still haven’t gotten a complete story mostly because Hallie and I took off at 5:30am the next day. I’ll keep you posted on things around here… but the BBC and CNN probably have me beat on information regarding the exact events. The death counts have probably increased from last time I heard and I’m sure international aid will start trying to pour in. Email me if you are interested about local organizations distributing aid (amanda.j.tatum@gmail.com). I’ll post more as I know more!

Pre-birthday celebration at Addis in Dar, an upscale Ethiopian restaurant, for Hallie’s 21st siku ya uzaliwa (birthday)! Which is obviously only a big milestone for Americans, but everyone else was down for chowing down on Ethiopian food! Tried to make the celebrations continue for the following day, but failed considering twelve hours on a bus followed by a sketchy hostel complete with dirty sheets and no running water and a crappy head cold on my end… put a damper on the actual day celebration, but the spirit was there for most of the weekend. A more fruitful and “appropriate” twenty first birthday celebration is to come, I’m sure.

Mbeya. Quiet, cute town that has yet to jump on the bandwagon of tourism, which is nice in some instances, but difficult in others since Hallie and I were up for doing things on our own, the absolute cheapest way possible. Which yes, we successfully did, but maybe not the most effective way since there were no signs, tourist boards, or other azungu to follow.

Our first adventure was to Karongwe Falls. After reading about it briefly in the trusty Rough Guide to Tanzania, we were off just the two of us. Spent the better part of the morning waiting for the daladala to fill up before we landed in a small village, where we had to hop in a taxi to the next small village, where we wandered around for a minute before dipping into a store stock full of ripped movies to ask how we should rent bicycles to get to the falls. The guy laughs at us for wanting to rent bicycles, but calls over to his buddy with a motorbike and tells him to take us. We negotiate a price of 10,000 Tanzanian shillings (little under $10) for him to take the two of us there, wait, and come back. Forty five minutes later on a muddy bumpy back road, we hop off the motorbike and our dude man takes us for about fifteen minutes on a smaller dirt mud path through people’s farms, across a log that acts as a bridge, down a slippery path until viola! There was the waterfall. Impressive, gorgeous, worth the slow and sure trip out there. We had a following of kids for most of the way, but the teenaged ones left after they figured out we weren’t so fun to play with. No money, no gifts, no pictures. Go to school instead of begging from the two white tourists that show up every blue moon!

Note to anyone potentially visiting a developing country: please, please, please, PLEASE think about the long term effects your generosity of belongings has on the development of societies. Yes, it is important to help, but not in means of creating a begging culture (that is already running wild) or reasons for children to resort to the streets for income that continues after you leave. This is only supported by repeated incidents, so even if you just do it once one day, they will come back day after day hoping to have another one lucky day instead of staying in school, completing their education, and moving on to bigger, more sustainable futures. There’s a long rant behind this quick soapbox paragraph, but to keep it short- don’t take extra gifts to villages to throw at kids as you roll by in your big 4WD.

Anyway, it was a successful day trekking off the beaten path and was absolutely gorgeous. Yes, of course we took loads of photos, but the best ones were unfortunately situated at inappropriate times to whip out our cameras. I think our pictures will cover some of the justice, but it was astounding.

Arrived back to our first terrible hostel in time to grab our bags and peace out to the next. It was a full step up and had much better vibes. Wish we had started there but now we know! Better night complete with Stella and our own skinny balcony over the deserted Mbeya streets.

Day two was just as great for exploring off the beaten track. We made our way to another small village in the middle of nowhere on a packed daladala that filled much quicker. We hopped off where the Rough Guide told us to, wandered into a convenient store of sorts to ask an African mama how we go about renting two bicycles. She calls two youth from the village and poof! Suddenly two bikes appear. They tried us for 10,000 Tanzanian shillings each, but we got them for 3,000 shillings each. Less than three dollars to let these two white girls take bikes in a village and disappear for an infinite amount of time. Really? Yeah, really. Asked them the general direction of Mbozi meteorite, which was the goal of the day, and headed off. Luckily, there were loads of villagers more than happy to point us in each ambiguous direction necessary to get there. 13 kilometers of mud huts, banana trees and fields of sunflowers later, we found ourselves at the meteorite… accompanied by a high school group of what seemed like hundreds of kids. Bummer. We sulked in the shade until they all left (not before some of the older boys ventured over for requests of photos and hands in marriage) so we could have that meteorite to ourselves. It is the eighth largest in the world and technically has a “medium octahedrite nickel iron” composition. Awesome afternoon of biking through one of Tanzania’s still kept secrets.

Biked all the way back to return the bikes, hopped on a returning dala and return in time for a beer before venturing to a nearby hole in the wall restaurant and ordering just about everything on the menu. We were living the life in our new hostel. For less than ten dollars total, we received our own balcony, satellite TV, clean sheets, mosquito net, locking wardrobe, desk and chair, and locking doors. And the toilet flushed! Alright, so there was no toilet seat, and toilet paper didn’t show up until the day before we left… and the showers didn’t work… but it was a winner for us. So yes, that being said, we didn’t shower the whole weekend… meaning we both pretty much hadn’t bathed since our return of the previous weekend. Dirty kids we are!

Miserable bus ride back. I think I would rank it as my third worse bus ride ever… coming before last weekend’s where I puked multiple times. Well. Maybe those two are tied for third place. No room at all, bouncy, loud, people and things constantly bumping you. Can’t get comfortable. Luckily, no screaming babies and no livestock. Things can always be worse and it’s mind blowing to think hundreds of people travel like that (if not in worse conditions) everyday. I guess that’s the high maintenance American in me, but I’ve done a fair share of local transport and I think most locals would agree that that bus was not up to par. The plus of the bus ride is the road cuts through a national park, meaning we saw elephants, giraffes, buffaloes, baboons, and monkeys. What a strange combination of stereotype versions Africa- ghetto Western bus crammed to the brim with people and God-knows-what… while blazing a dirt road populated with elephants and giraffes.

All in all, great weekend of adventuring. It was definitely cool knowing we were mildly trail blazing… I mean, yeah, it spells it out how to do it in the guide book, but how many people would be comfortable enough to take two bikes off two local kids and go out in the direction of someone’s pointed hand through people’s property with no hired local guide? The Kiswahili definitely played a huge role in all this adventuring and we’d still probably be in the bush if we were only relying on English, but hey- random talent number 31: be fluent enough in an African language to make it 13k on local transport. Haha not sure if that’s quite what my scholarship had in mind for fluency…

After another long scrub in the tub, I’m feeling ready to take on another busy week! Swahili, Swahili, Swahili, errands, errands, errands. If Hallie’s resident’s permit magically appears this week, we’ll be heading to Zanzibar this weekend for the full moon party!! …and a farewell for a while on my part. Pat Hallie on the back- she won’t be missing any classes this week due to my bad influence! If the permit doesn’t come through, we’ll still probably head off for a weekend adventure to Dodoma to track down some rock paintings.

Oh yeah- happy 8 month anniversary to Tanzania and me!! It’s amazing to think where I was this time last year. It was this time last year did I finally receive word that I’d be out here… that I was stressing out about finals… moving out of my apartment… securing summer job… etc, etc. I was a mess this time last year and now I couldn’t be farther away. Haha, some could argue I’m still a mess, but on a slightly different level. One year before that, I was moving out of my dorm room and packing up for Colombia. The year before that, I was cramming for AP tests, trying on prom dresses, and hadn’t graduated high school yet. Whew. Wonder what next year has in store…

Rain, rain, go away

2009-04-28T09:38:00.000+03:00

Come again another day… like after I leave. Welcome to rainy season of East Africa, I suppose.

26 April
Hallie and I drifted up to the Usambara Mountains on Thursday morning. It was a typical bus ride- mildly scary as huge buses round mountain side narrow roads at high speeds. We arrived into Lusotho early afternoon which allowed us to secure our itinerary for the weekend. Walked the entire town in about an hour, picked through the market, early dinner and early to bed for an early start in the morning! Amani (which is Swahili for peace) was our guide. He took us through Kwimbago Village, up through the Magamba Rainforest to the top of Magamba Peak. We slipped and slid back down through the muddy rainforest to continue on to Irente Village, Viewpoint, and farm where we spent the night. The Irente Viewpoint was incredible. The sky cleared a bit for us to give us an unbelievable panoramic. On particularly clear days, apparently you can see the peaks of Kilimanjaro and Meru, but due to masika (rainy season), we were only able to breathe in the closer few hundred kilometers of beauty. Spent the rest of the afternoon and night at the Irente Farm, a cute place owned by a European couple that produces their own fruit preserves, coffee, tea, cheese, and bread. After five or so hours of hiking, we sat down to stuff our faces with “Western” food and met another American student studying abroad in Arusha with SIT (for those who know that program). Always a fun conversation of comparing travels, sicknesses, food mishaps, and experiences all over. She is doing research on eco-tourism for her SIT program so she was interviewing the European couple. Otherwise, it was just Hallie and me staying. Quiet afternoon, quiet evening which happened to result in receiving our personal fire from one of the groundskeepers, and a wet chilly night. Luckily we had our good friends Konyagi, Tusker, and Safari Lager to keep us company. The stars even peaked out for a few minutes. Another delicious breakfast with the best coffee I’ve had since I’ve been here (second best to Colombian coffee) before Amani came to fetch us for round two. It was a shorter day as we trudged back to Lusotho. We passed through Yoghoi Village, Magozoni, Village, and the Yega Stalo Forest which is a government owned pine plantation. Yoghoi Village is one of the few sights in Tanzania that hosts a blind school and orphanage. They also have a school for disabled and autistic children, which apparently is one of many in Tanzania (job opportunity, Lacey?). And for Magozoni… well, it’s known to be a village full of drunkards and the pine plantation smelled so nice.

Historically speaking, the original tribe that lived in this area was only Sambaa, but with exploration and technology, there are now three other tribes that inhabit the area- Pare (from the neighboring Pare Mountains), Mbugu (alcoholics from Somalia), and Chaga (the business entrepreneurs of Tanzania that live on the slopes of Kilimanjaro and Meru alongside the Maasai). Everyone lives peacefully, as a typical Tanzanian characteristic. Amani was telling us that the albino massacres had been happening in their area as well, but not as bad as in Mwanza and throughout the southwest of the country. Quick breakdown on albino massacres: for the past few decades, there has been an increase in murder cases of albinos. Reasoning behind this is the fact that witchdoctors have been telling local villagers living in the most desperate means of poverty that if they bring them a piece of an albino person, they can make them a certain type of potion to make them rich. Basically, witchdoctors equated being white to being rich, meaning they need a body part or blood to make the potion “work.” This is the first incidence in Tanzania that has been violence Tanzanian to Tanzanian. The government and albino activist groups are doing their best to educate the masses that it’s a bunch of mumble jumble, but the murders are still occurring.

But returning to our weekend of backpacking… it was amazing. Absolutely beautiful. The on and off mist and rain put a damper on being able to see animals, but it created a mystical intensity to our hike. Another level of intensity was the fact that we were carrying all of our supplies on our back- tent, raingear, food, clothes, etc. True backpacking, I suppose. A bit of a step up from my two month trek on public transport... or even the pampered trek up Kili. Anyway, nice little taste to want to do some more longer term sort of hiking in the future. AT, anyone?

Rather than sitting around in a hostel room for an afternoon and night, we made the executive decision to skip out of our sketch hostel and begin a jumbled journey to Dar. Had to find a daladala going to Mombo Village, where we were to hail down a larger bus heading to Dar to pick us up. Sat in the dala for a bit, waiting for it to fill up, which it never really did, but we picked more up along the way. Somehow, the combination of breathing in exhaust, swerving roads, and some funky chemical combination happening in my stomach resulted in me projectile vomiting as soon as I clambered off the daladala in Mombo Village in front of basically the entire village. Saturday is generally the universal market day in Tanzania so everyone and his/her mother were out. Lucky me. Not really sure at all how that came about since I had felt fine the rest of the day, but as soon as we started our bumpy and curvy expedition to Dar, I felt terribly lousy. After a chorus of ooohhhs and aahhhhs from the villagers, an African mama came to my rescue with a small bowl of water for me to rinse my hands, face, and feet off, but after two days in mud, there was no way I was getting clean. Gave a half hearted smile and asante sana (thank you very much) then jumped onto the big bus where everyone gave me “pole” (sympathetic sorry) looks as Hallie and I tried to find window seats. The conductor gave me several plastic bags just in case and soon we were on our way for five and half hours back to Dar. Definitely one of the more miserable bus rides I’ve been on, but I’m just glad it was a short stretch. Mama Dorica and Debby picked us up and of course wanted to know all about it, but we were exhausted and not much in the mood of conversing. Crawled into bed immediately, muddy feet and all. Tried some tomato soup but mostly just laid with my eyes closed. This morning things seem to have cleared up and I’m thinking the source of lousiness was the cheese made by Irente Farm. A little too funky and foreign for my system to handle after seven or so months with hardly any dairy. Feeling much better this morning, but wondering what my remaining 40 or so more days will throw at me. Worms, food poisoning, what next? Between Hallie and I, we’re a kinda rough crowd. Hopefully our luck will change and there will be nothing but blue skies (literally) to come.

On a rainy day, what more appropriate thing to do than venture by ourselves to one of the more hectic markets in Dar? Since neither of us had showered since our two day mud hike, we figured another afternoon of sloshing through the puddles couldn’t hurt. If anything, the puddles probably helped clean of the God-knows-what that was clinging onto our feet. We’re probably not the best pair for sanitation purposes, but pretty soon I’ll be back in a world of cleanliness where my dirty kid habits won’t fly sooo more reason to live it up now! We found ourselves some cheap kangas and kitenges to make all sorts of fun goodies. I can’t believe it- I feel like I’ve just been looking only (because looking is for free- if you didn’t know that, you can ask any of the vendors. “Sista, sista, looking is fo’ free!” Yeah, thanks bru), but it’s getting that time where I’m starting to buy. What is this nonsense?! I’m pretty stoked to make some new clothes and leave these grungy ones behind, but I’m pretty not stoked to start making decisions on which fabrics, which souvenirs, where to haggle, etc. Figured I’d start a bit early so I don’t have a nervous breakdown two weeks before I leave and get on the plane without anything. Well, the nervous breakdown might happen regardless of what keepsakes make it into my bags. Anyway, interesting afternoon of finding the market with a lost bahjaje driver and a crammed daladala ride home. Happy with the purchases and can now say I’m happily squeaky clean after a long rub-a-dub-dub in the tub!

This is the chilliest Dar has been since I’ve been here. No need for a fan in the room today and I slept with my fleece sleep sack AND KLM blanket AND sheet last night. What is going on? Before you know it, it’ll be sweater weather. That’ll be the day.

Week will be full of Swahili and Winrock work. Picking up some stuff from the tailor tomorrow and turning in some more fabric! The family is doing well. Baba is in Namibia, Dorica is back to boarding school, Debby is being Debby, Mama Dorica is working around the clock, and Hallie and I are hanging with Haika. Hallie’s big 21st birthday is on Thursday! So we’ll be celebrating by taking off to Mbeya to see a meteorite and Ngozi Crater Lake. Luckily May 1st is a celebrated holiday here so I’m not being such a bad influence on Hallie to skip school. I figure there’s just sort of an unspoken understanding between universities and students that when you study abroad for your undergrad, you don’t really study in the Western traditional sense (unless you immerse yourself in another Western culture which is silly if you ask me). You study maps and travel guides, learn a new way to walk the walk and talk the talk, become fluent in bartering and cultures, and dissolve any artificial safety borders your stifling societal environment created for you. Well, that’s the goal at least. Haha, well, maybe my wistful goal for bubble living citizens.

28 April
I’m de-wormed! Finally! Finished the medication and there are no more markings on my feet, just some brutal blisters from slipping around in worn flip flops. Food poisoning has passed and now my throat is beginning to itch a bit. Come on body! Pull it together. Made it this far this long. I’ll blame the weather changes.

Such boundless pleasure, we've no time for later

2009-04-21T11:02:00.000+03:00

18 April

Bookworm the Foot Worm has returned. Yeah, that’s right. The flesh eating bugger is not dead, but now we’re in Tanzania where it takes days to get simple things done. I went to the clinic on campus to stand in a “line” for an office that was going to close in an hour. After waiting about twenty minutes and realizing that the “line” consisted of people crowding the door and then pushing and shoving to be next when the door creaked… I decided to forfeit and come back early the next morning. I asked the receptionist when it would open the next day and she said promptly at 8am. So I posted up at the clinic at 7:30 or so (mostly just because I was already up) and an hour later (promptly at 8:34), the clinic opened. I was the first one in his office and he hadn’t seen worms like mine in a while. Seems to be a reoccurring theme. He wrote me a prescription for a cream (because Tanzania doesn’t have the oral medication supposedly), which I then tried to fill at the pharmacy on campus. Surprise! They don’t have it. Go back to the doctor to have him write a different prescription with some special stamp on it so I can go to off campus pharmacies. Head to the next closest pharmacy, wait for 15 minutes for them to dig around their store. Surprise! They don’t have it. They call to their branch in another section of town where they search for 15 minutes. Surprise! They don’t have it either. It was getting late in the morning and I had other things on my list, so Bookworm had another day to feast. Fun fact- the reason it itches is not the worm crawling around or munching, but rather its’ feces that cause irritation. Gross. The doctor had mentioned an alternative way of getting rid of Bookworm by putting Vaseline on the area then putting a plastic bag over my foot before bed to suffocate the sucker. I suppose that’ll be my method until I can find a pharmacy that actually has this stuff. What a hassle. Just another day in Tanzania! Anyway, I’d rather be dealing with worms than malaria or yellow fever or spider bites or snake bites or broken bones from getting hit by a daladala or any of the other “dangers” that thrive in this place.

Listening to three guys hack at a poor tree outside my window. Not sure why the family is having it cut down, but these guys are going at it. Hack, hack, hack, hack. No chain saw. This is also the tree that monkeys use to jump up on the roof and play the drums at 5am… and the tree that the most annoying crow serenades us at 7am. But the tree is so beautiful… not to mention screens my window, but mostly I’m sad because it’s nice to look at.

Back to a semi-normal routine around Dar. Non-profit work in the morning, Swahili class in the afternoon, teaching at Mwenge. Feels good to be mildly productive. And to get back in the swing of Swahili. Jeez, took me long enough. My Swahili classes are downtown which is a mild trek, but I’m adjusting and learning the tricks. The worst part is getting out of the city at rush hour on slam packed daladalas. I’m thankful for my tetanus shot because the other day my right leg was sliced up a little bit from being squeezed against some not so smooth metal. Boo hiss. That’s also the day I literally ran with a group of other Tanzanians to follow one of the buses heading towards my section of town. Pretty competitive business. The trick is to walk to the stop one or two before the middle of downtown. Sure, it’s a bit of a walk, but worth it to grab a seat for an hour of sweaty, loud traffic.
It was a friend’s birthday so a group of us headed to a local beach for a night. Absolutely beautiful. I’ll surely miss all this blue water. Ah not thinking about leaving. Back to the beach- crazy process to get there. Thirty or forty minute daladala ride, followed by a ten minute walk, followed by ten minutes in a waiting area, followed by thirty minutes of being crammed like cattle waiting to push and shove our way on to a ferry. I don’t think I’ve ever sweat so much… and I sweat a lot. Find a spot on the ferry, which is a total of maybe five minutes to get to the other side, where there is more pushing and shoving to get off. For having “no hurry in Africa,” people certainly push and shove a whole lot. Our first stop was to find some water, then indulged in a taxi since we didn’t quite know where we were going. Fifteen minutes later we arrived at Sunrise Beach. Our friend has a gum infection which has resulted in a total sickness so she was feeling down for most of the time, but the rest of us carried on! It’s hard to beat partying with your feet in the sand and listening to the Indian Ocean. Caught some rays without getting too terribly burned. Little toasted and Hallie is a shade of tomato red, but she’ll be dark tomorrow. Infinitely jealous of some people’s pigments sometimes. Oh! Almost forgot. Outback Orange reappeared for another reunion! Bronwen and I both admitted to having some mild withdrawals from not sleeping in Outback, but it was nice to snuggle up in orange again. And yes, three girls yet again in one tent.

Random add in: the weather is mostly pleasant now in Dar. Well, sure, it’s rainy season so there are looming clouds everyday, but it is not as unbearably hot as December and January were. It’s nowhere close to sweater weather and I still manage to drip sweat, but it’s no longer excruciating. AND exciting news about rainy season is that now when it rains, it does actually cool off (where before, it would rain then get hotter. Where else does that happen?). AND I can sleep under sheets and usually use my “borrowed” airplane blanket. It’s been a while since that’s happened.

Lots on the “to do” list this week, too. I really do love this place. Even with the stares, the cat calls, the heat, the noise, the dirt. It’s been home and I function here.

20 April (Happy Holidays)
Productive Sunday. Successful bargaining day at Mwenge and saw some of our students. Always results in funny encounters. Got stuck in Mlimani (local shopping mall) when a death cloud of rain dropped an entire ocean on the city of Dar. Hallie and I started a bit before it had completely stopped because we were tired of waiting. Shoes off, trudging through mud, silly grins the whole way. Not going to lie, mud felt good between the toes and I mean, I’ve already got worms, so what worse could actually happen?

Speaking of Bookworm, looks like this will be a bigger deal than the doctor said it was in South Africa. After my saga with running pharmacy to pharmacy, I was explaining my day to Mama Dorica, upon which she simply says, “Oh, you should give me the slip and I’ll get you the prescription for free from my office dispensary.” Duh. I obviously should’ve just run to Mama when I realized Bookworm was back. Little bit later, no word from Mama Dorica on the prescription so I’m thinking they don’t have it. Meanwhile, Bronwen goes to another doctor to find out that the first doctor should have given us a week prescription of the medicine rather than one day dosage. So this sucker is probably running wild all over our insides. Mm mm mm! Eggs, urine, feces floating under my skin. Yeah, it’s on my top priority to do list to get done but jeez. Things relating to medicine are much tougher here. Hallie has her own story about finding stomach help this past week. All is well, or on its way, but as typical Tanzania- pole pole (slowly, slowly). I have another prescription to try to track down so it’s just another round of racing pharmacy to pharmacy. Ahh Tanzania.

Also, it’s official. To catch a daladala in rush hour downtown Posta, you must run through traffic. Today, I got a high five from the conductor and a bus full of giggles when I took a smooth hop, skip, and jump onto the moving daladala. Alright, I flatter myself when I say “moving,” but it was in first gear and inching along with the traffic light that just changed! I’m not trying to do that too often, but it felt like quite the accomplishment.

Another thing about Tanzania. It’s flattering to be called fat. That would never, could never, probably will never fly in the States. Everyone I’ve run into after two months has been saying to me, “Oh my! Look how fat you are now!” with huge grins on their faces, patting their (or sometimes my) belly. At least now I don’t drop my jaw in utter disgust and offense on the outside, but on the inside I’m thinking, ‘ah jeez, if anything, I think I actually lost some of this poundage from being deprived of the food Haika and Mama Dorica provide for the past two months.’ Apparently not according to the mass populous that keeps singing praises of my chub. Like everything, roll with the punches, laugh it off, and agree, yeah now that I left a country with an obesity problem to come to a continent with hunger as a common atrocity, I gain weight. Mostly I just want to retort back, “well Tanzania, if little kids and guys cutting the grass with machetes didn’t trail me yelling ‘mzungu, mzungu, how are you sista sista I love you’ I’d go for a run every now and again.” I guess this is just one of those few times that I wish I could be a white boy instead of white girl in a developing country.

Finally heading to the Usambara Mountains this weekend!! Hiking through mountains and rainforests. Pretty exciting. The next couple weekends will be stock full of adventures- Mbeya to see a meteorite, Dodoma to check out some rock paintings, Zanzibar to celebrate the full moon (as it should be celebrated), Mombasa to get full use out of my Kenyan visa. Also some more markets to explore! Ahh I can’t believe I’ve been procrastinating on all of these things. Or it just took me this long to get comfortable enough with Swahili to be able to gallivant around. Either way, the clock is ticking and I’m stuffing it all in!

Life is short but sweet for certain

2009-04-14T09:59:00.003+03:00

Wow. What happened?

That’s sort of the summary of my entire two month venture through southern Africa. Not in the crazy party sense of we were just stupid twenty-something-year-old backpackers being stupid twenty-something-year-old backpackers, but some of the situations we found ourselves in and the opportunities that fate set out for us to trip over were incredible. Incredible. Absolutely one hundred twenty percent i n c r e d i b l e.

First off, I can’t believe it’s April. Yesterday seemed like January. That crazy time, keeps flying away.

Second off, camping is the best way to backpack through Africa and I’ll even venture to say the world. Basically, I’m looking forward to sleeping on the ground of every next country I visit... at least until this passport expires. Not to mention, Joe’s tent is bright orange and it’s actually classified as a one man tent which we made to be a three (wo)man tent. Kinda cozy and we got some looks, but mostly it was a great conversation setter. Three girls popping up a tent and folks walk by and say, “Wait, you all THREE fit in that thing?!” Flash a little smile- yeah, no big deal man. It’s how we roll. We dubbed the tent’s name as “Outback Orange” after the company that gave us our adrenaline fix in Namibia. I’ll get to that shortly.

Met all sorts of folks. Each and every single one of them is inspiring. Sounds cheesy, but in all honesty- I feel that’s the only way to sum them up in a simple sentence. Even if I didn’t particularly jive with everyone I met, I learned something about them, myself, or both.

All the countries have stories that need hand motions and voice intonations, but I’ll do my best to drop a few in some sort of chronological order. In short, we started with the idea of trekking through Malawi first and ending up in Zambia by April. No set plans, no strict schedule. Just when the breeze blew, we knew it was time to move along.

Spent hours and hours in transit. Smelly crammed minibuses, big smelly crammed big buses, non-crowded sanitary smelling double decker buses, cars, and trains. No camels, elephants, or zebras unfortunately.

First stop was Malawi. Blew through it pretty quickly, but had a nice few relaxing days by the lake after having quite the adventure of sleeping in a sketchy border town and fighting with customs to let us through without our vaccine cards and only $16 between the three of us until we found a working ATM. Oh did I mention the minibus cost $8 person meaning we were two dollars short? When the conductor figured that out, the driver swerved severely over to the side of the road and we get into this huge production of whether or not they’re about to drop three white kids off in the middle of nowhere Malawi. I’m talking no huts, no shanty towns, no shops, no markets, nothing. Our hearts were beating a bit, but meh- they decided to take pity on us after a mama shouted at the guy for a solid three minutes and we continued on. Gotta love a powerful African elderly woman. Lake is still gorgeous- beautiful, refreshing water and plenty of rocks to scramble up and jump off. We shimmied our way to Blantyre a few days later to maneuver our way to Mozambique. I was a bit sad to not stop in Lilongwe, but there wouldn’t have been enough time to pop in, say hi, visit places, etc, and then peace out without being rude or rushed. Next time…

Mozambique. We averaged ourselves staying a max of five days. We were there for two weeks. I am in absolute head over heels for Mozambique. Spent the majority of our time in Tofo (pronounced Tofu) and had some transit “issues”… but we got there and it’s paradise. Probably the smallest town I’ve been in (comparable to Hartford, Tennessee if you subtract the raft guide population) and smack dab on the beach. World famous for manta rays, whale sharks, and surfing. Plus, Portuguese is close enough to Spanish that I could understand the locals and they could understand me. Mozambique is probably the last place on earth I thought Spanish Immersion would have ever helped me out, but hey, you take what you can get. The only negative things about Tofo were contracting a flesh eating worm in my left foot and losing my dollar flip flops twice. Oh, and missing the bus we were supposed to catch at 4am, but it didn’t turn out so bad in the end. Everything happens for a reason, right?

Swaziland. Welcome to Westernization. Free condoms at the border (rightfully so because they’re in the top three of countries that are being devastated by HIV/AIDS in Africa- mostly I found it fascinating that an African nation actually faced up to the fact that humans are in fact sexual beings and abstinence education is not enough), paved six lane highways, tolls, fast food, and no one yelling HEY WHITE PERSON in their respective language. Wild change of pace and very much a culture shock. We then discovered that Mozambique metical is just as useful as Monopoly money. All the guides and signs say not to change money with hawkers at the border, but if you know the rate and barter with them- you might as well get everything you have outta your pocket before you get a stamp. Welcome to developing nations, I suppose?

Picked up the Baz Bus from Swaziland to make our lives so easy. This bus picks you up from your hostel and drops you at the next hostel. How great is that?! No maps, no bartering, no taxis, no hassle! Great change of pace. We were definitely spoiled. South Africa was wonderful and terrible all at once. I wish it stood up more as a leading African country because things are rolling there. Wistful thinking. No robberies, hold ups, or rapes in Johannesburg, and we made friends in Chinatown and with foreign exchange students studying at University of Cape Town. Needless to say, they were kinda jealous of the Tanzanian government shutting down UDSM.

Here’s how South Africa went: Jo-burg to Coffee Bay. Coffee Bay to Cinsta. Cinsta to Port Elizabeth. Port Elizabeth to Jeffery’s Bay. Jeffery’s Bay straight to Cape Town. Cape Town to Windhoek, Namibia.

Coffee Bay- my second favorite place on the trip. Dirt cheap surf lessons with the most beautiful and enthusiastic instructor (who obviously already has a super model girlfriend who’s in law school- no, really, not kidding- true story). Super hikes- my favorite was to Hole in the Wall, which you should Google Image search. Coffee Bay was the meeting point of who would soon become the third musketeer through the rest of Bronwen and my adventure. Her name is Sarah. She’s Canadian, a tree planters (aka lumber jack), and has been traveling for the past seven and half months with an around the world ticket. Amazing, in short.

Pause- I’m just going to say that summing this up is SO difficult. There’s nothing I can say here or any picture that I could take that could sum things up. You just have to come to Africa and do it yourself. It’s worth every penny and every shot. I pinky promise, hope to die, stick a needle in my eye.

Cinsta. Cool backpackers, but that’s where my camera got stolen and they’re still holding it hostage so I’ve got a bit of angst towards it. Amazing food and it was our first time to snuggle with Sarah in Outback Orange (the tent)! As well, I met a guy who grew up in Richmond… and we lived on the same street, went to the same elementary and middle school, and knew “of” my boyfriend in high school. Small world, huh? Also, made a link between one American student studying abroad in South Africa somewhere who knows a guy studying in Tanzania that I know… and that guy and I happen to have one mutual friend in the States. Crazy how linked we all are.

Port Elizabeth. Really cute town that we had to stop in because the Baz Bus has a mandatory stop there. I almost wish we had spent two nights there instead of spending an extra one in Cinsta, but such is life.

Jeffery’s Bay. Kinda a letdown mostly because the weather was not surfing weather and surfing was EXPENSIVE. The weather didn’t break for us at all when we were there, so we just hung around. Outlet stores all over the place so I went Western shopping for the first time since uhhh August? Weird, but found some good deals. Met Claire and she changed my life… and also diagnosed my flesh eating worm. J-bay was also wonderful because one of the staff took pity on us sleeping in a tent with crap weather and let us crash in extra staff housing. AND, another small world connection. Met a girl that goes to NYU who knows one of my friends from high school (more specifically, Spanish Immersion and jeez- there were only like 18 of us) because they’re sorority sisters.

Forced to skip the Garden Coast and head straight to Cape Town. Truly, you could spend four months just in South Africa and still be pressed for time. Crazy.

Cape Town. Stunning. Sandwiched between the ocean and a mountain. Not just any mountain, a mountain that looks like a table and has a crazy cloud that glides over it every evening, which gives it an effect of a table cloth. Activities of Cape Town: meeting up with the foreign exchange students we met in Jo-burg; Robben Island (location of old prison where Nelson Mandela was held for 8 years as well as many other ACM political activists); Long Street (full of funky shops and restaurants); wine tour through Stellenbosch; Cape Point (southern most tip of the world), Table Mountain. Each of those days has easily twenty stories, so just corner me when I get back to the States and I’ll ramble about Cape Town for a bit.

Namibia. Sarah continued with us! She was supposed to fly back to Jo-burg to go visit her cousin in the UK for about two weeks before she went back to Canada… but she stayed in Africa just a little longer which was so great. I’m telling you- this continent. Once the dirt gets under your fingernails the first time, you’re in for a lifetime commitment.

Carrying on, Windhoek (pronounced Ven-hook) and Swakopmund (pronounced Swah-cop-moo-nd) were our two destinations, which was a shame because Namibia is another place I would have loved to gotten stuck. Swakopmund was another adrenaline location. Sand boarding, quad biking, and sky diving. Yeah, I jumped out of a plane. And it was amazing. Can’t compare it to bungee jumping or doing a gorge swing (I’ll explain when I get to Zambia). Totally different rush. Sky diving… you don’t have to do anything but enjoy the view. Which was absolutely absurd- the Atlantic Ocean and 60 kilometers of sand dunes. Oh yeah, I touched the Atlantic Ocean for the first time in 2009!! It’s the closest I’ve been to the States since I hopped on that plane in September. Windhoek was a cool place. The cleanest capital in all of Africa and that it was.

Zambia. Another adrenaline junkie destination. Touched Zimbabwe without paying a visa, so take the Mr. Mugabe. Back to “real” Africa, whatever that actually means. I’ve interpreted it to mean developing countries (and let’s not be politically correct for a minute- it means dirt poor, colonized, sliced and diced, corrupt, terrible infrastructure, wealth disparity gapped countries), but the longer people keep classifying that as “real” Africa, that will be the only Africa that ever is. Which should not be an option. I’ll save that rant for later, too.

Zambia for real. Livingstone was fantastic. Had an entire day of abseiling, zip lining, and gorge swinging over the Zambezi. Fantastic. Abseiling is like repelling down a rock face. Zip lining was well, not an actual zip line. They call is a flying fox, which was a line over the gorge, you harness yourself in, then take a little running jump and you go gliding over the gorge superman style. Pretty wicked. The best was the gorge swing. Did it four times and whoa. 56 meters of free fall. Multiply that by four and you just about get the height of the actual Victoria Falls. Insane. Once again, you harness in, step off a ledge and just fall. Then gravity and the ropes hit in and then you swing back and forth between this huge canyon.

Spent a day canoeing on the upper Zambezi because of course, the one time I make it to Vic Falls, there’s too much water to go rafting and they temporarily shut all of that down. Just another reason to come back! I’ve already promised myself- the next time I’m back… Mugabe will have to be out because apparently the view of the falls are so much better from the Zim side and there’s no way I’m putting money in his pocket with visa money. Also, I’d like to trek through Botswana and who knows, maybe the Congo will even be safe to venture through by then. I met two Americans living and working in the Congo and wow. That’s a whole two page explanation of their story. I’d just like to take that opportunity to say for the record that comparably, I’m not that mental.

Back to Zam- Went to the Falls for a day and was absolutely drenched. The water is pumping right now. The locals call is Mosi-o-tunya which translates as “mist that thunders,” and that it does. You can hardly see the falls because your eyes are being bombarded with pellets of water falling from the sky. Could see two rainbows and we missed the full moon by three days. Vic Falls is one of the only places in the world where you can see a rainbow at night. I was really, really, REALLY tempted to stay, but responsibility in Tanzania was calling a little too loudly. Two interesting, but separate, experiences in Zambia were a booze cruise and a visit to a local orphanage… but those two experiences will also have to wait for a later date.

70 hours on a train and it was actually a wonderful way to round up the trip. Almost missed the train, but luckily a taxi driver and his buddy were willing enough to speed for 170 kilometers to get us to the next station. What did it cost us? $35 and a quarter of a liter of apple juice. I love Africa sometimes. Hopped on the train and we had a cabin all to ourselves. Beautiful landscape and well needed digestion time of how far we had gone in the last two months. I also had some quality time to devour some more books. I’ll list my book and music selection in a minute.

Home, sweet home Dar es Salaam. Feels so wonderful to be back! Gridlock traffic, noise, pollution, constant honking, calls to prayer, potholes and speed bumps, crammed minibuses. I’m back to sleeping in a real bed and eating food other than pasta and PB&Js. Luckily this weekend is a holiday so I didn’t have to jump right back into “work.” OH, aaaannnndddd my new roommate showed up! Two peas in a pod so far and you can bet your bottom dollar there will be some adventuresome stories to come (parents- worry not). Swahili is a bit rusty, but it’s coming back pole, pole (slowly, slowly). It’s no longer mango or pineapple season, but avocados, apples, pears, and oranges are full swing. New additions in the house and some potholes on my neighborhood street were filled in!! Changes happening everywhere…

Snippets that stuck to my memory like glue:
--Wild flower of sorts… except it reminds me more of wheat… expect for the fact that it is one of the most remarkable contrasts of lime green and electric purple. Lime green stalk with a top hat of bright purple swaying and dancing with the wind.
--Leaving South Africa and entering Namibia, I saw a rainbow, but not just the reflection of precipitation kind. Red orange burnt boulders, golden yellow sun rays, tall green grass and tops of trees, thousand shades of sky blue sky, and deep purple wildflowers.
--Spin three hundred and sixty degrees to be surrounded by nothing but the bluest sky, marshmallow clouds, and the wildest shade culmination of red, orange, and yellow sand dunes that shift with every gust of wind. Slowly trek up on of the dunes, slipping and sliding and sweating and scrambling on all fours until whew! To the top of the dune and be challenged with a salty burst of Atlantic Ocean breeze combined with an endless view of the ocean.
--African mountains throw me for a loop. It’s as if Mother Earth decided to lie on her belly with a bucket of bubbles and went to town. The ones that popped right off stand alone. The one that drifted a bit before bursting left a more continuous range. Not to mention, some of the jagged rock faces look like they spontaneously combusted at one moment in the world’s history or other.
--On the top of Table Mountain, it was difficult to determine where the ocean started and the sky ended… or where to sky started and the ocean ended. You could see the spherical curve of the earth and it was… for lack of better words, magical.
--My experiences with skyscrapers: industrial and natural. Industrial was downtown Cape Town. I couldn’t help but to be looking constantly up like I had never seen buildings so high before. Natural was countryside of Tanzania. The tallest sunflowers I’ve ever seen. Have I ever mentioned how sunflowers are my favorite flowers? Oh, well, they are. I prefer those types of skyscrapers, too.

Book list:
--Galapagos Kurt Vonnegut
--The Shackled Continent Robert Guest
--The Book Thief (forgot the author’s name)
--The Power of Now Eckhart Tolle
--The Secret Life of Bees Sue Monk Kidd
--Paradise Abdulrazak Gurnah
And half way through The Shock Doctrine by Naomi Klein when I forgot it at a hostel… and just started Shadow of the Silk Road by Colin Thubron.

Top 5 music list of Sarah’s “back up” iPod… but in no actual sequential rating order:
--Neil Young’s Live at Massey Hall 1975
--Radiohead- OK Computer
--Bob Dylan Freewheelin’ album
--Eddie Vedder- Into the Wild soundtrack
--Dispatch- Gut the Van

The more time I spend with a backpack, the less I want to put it down. The best part is… there’s a whole big wide wonderful world out there. Doing my best to soak in every last drop of these last two months. I miss you all dearly, but the wheels are already turning for the next trip.

12 April – Easter Sunday
I think I finally have my life in Dar back together. Hurray! The calendar is loosely set for the next 56 or so more days. Today is my 222nd day on the African continent. I’m sure the plan will do a back flip or two by Tuesday, but it’s nice to have some bearing again. Couple more weekend trips to squeeze in and lots of Swahili to stuff in my brain. Maybe I could even swing another trip with TEACH. We’ll see. It’s all happening!

Spent Saturday by the beach and pool… which resulted in my blonde hair turning a shade of green, but meh. It’ll wash out, I hope. Wandered around downtown Posta on Friday after failing to get internet on Friday. Probably something to do with Good Friday…

14 April (HAPPY 19th BIRTHDAY LITTLE BRO!!!!)
Found internet on campus that is actually loading things kinda quickly! Amazing!!

Busy bee days of sorting things out... which certainly are nothing like busy bee days in the US, but it still produces a nice feeling of accomplishment!! Hallie and I explored a new part of Dar the other day, my Swahili classes are coming together, travel plans are solidifying (aka constantly changing), perfecting Haika's recipes for African cooking, signing up for classes back at USC, securing a place to live in the summer, etc etc. Another new phone, another new phone number, and now it's updated on Skype so feel free to call forward away!

Will try to get some photos from my friends' camera soon to upload. Still lots of drama with the Cinsta South African police on getting my camera back. All in good time I suppose.

Host family is good, new roomie is great and has a blog, too soo check that out (www.hallietober.blogspot.com)... and basically I'm in love with life.

Friday the 13th, the Ides of March, and a whole day for Saint Patrick...

2009-03-17T15:04:00.002+03:00

Friday the 13th-
Location: beach of Chintsa
Belongings: book, camera, bandana, journal, towel.
Belongings of two other girls: iPods and one wallet
Attire: bikini

Finished the last page of one of the better books I've read since I've been here (The Shackeled Continent by Robert Guest) when this punk of a little kid approached us with a machete and demanded my bag. I hand it over in utter disbelief (ugh, what a pain to be robbed in a two piece) and the kid takes off in his red plaid shirt (without holes or dirt), dark trousers (without holes or dirt), and sneakers (without holes or dirt... maybe a little sand). Bummer of a day... until the police showed up 15 minutes later with a dog to track my bag. So... got the back and everything back but my camera! Good news... but taking it with a grain of salt. Leave all my information with the hostel and police in case anything comes up.

Ides of March... well, nothing too terribly eventful but my Shakespeare geekness had to shine.

Saint Patrick's Day-
Location: Jeffery's Bay, surfing capital of the world
Time: too early in the morning
Attire: same as night before
The manager of the hostel approaches me and asks my name. There are multiple things racing through my mind of why this manager may want to talk to me, but it was for the best thing!! The manager of the other hostel tracked down my camera!!! How crazy is that?! Apparently all the pictures are deleted... and it's a little beat up (but I think that was from me beating it up from traveling), but it's alive! And on it's way to meet me! Hurray!!! I'll start to redocument the rest of my trip :)

Celebrations are looking a little less than what the US does... but I'm sure there will be mayhem to be found.

Loving South Africa, but it definitely does not feel like the "real" Africa. Real roads, electricity, internet, running water, not so much begging, no constant haggling, stop lights, crossroads, outlet stores, the works. Kinda ridiculous and sending my head spinning.

Lovely little tid bit of information: I noticed this itchy spot on my foot when we left Tofo, Mozambique, but didn't think much of it except an itchy spot. Put some cream on it and kept going. It kept getting bigger and I kept putting the itchy medicine stuff on it to calm it down. Today, I was talking to this hippie lady that was talking to me about crystal healing and such when she looked at my foot and told me I had worms growing in my feet. Whaat?! So I go to this local clinic, where to doctor exclaims that she hasn't seen worms like these in 20 years... when she was working in northern Mozambique. Thanks, Tofo. I got some medicine and the things should be out of my system in no time. Haha, welcome to Africa?

Heading to ride ostriches tomorrow! Then making our way to Cape Town. Traveling with two Canadians and we've been quite cozy in Joe's tent.

Feeling a slight nostalgia for Tanzania, but I'll be back soon enough! And creepy to think about... this time in three months, I'll be back in the States! Wild how time flies, huh?

Paradise has an expiration date...

2009-03-06T00:33:00.002+03:00

Really quick hello from Jo-burg, South Africa! The first time I've touched the internet since well... I left waaayyy back in February!

Funny stories of funky bus rides, hassles at border towns, phones that don't work then mysteriously disappear, and well, all sorts of crazy stories from hanging out by Lake Malawi and on the shores of the Indian Ocean on the coast of Mozambique!! Got stuck in Tofo a little bit longer than expected... but with beautiful scuba instructors and a little bit of yummy Tipo Tinto, how could you not want to play in the sun just one day longer? Oh yeah, on that note, I now have my Open Water Scuba Certification and am totally hooked on another water sport. Getting this surfing thing down, too and looking forward to some more practice through the coast of South Africa!!! I am now only capable of operating in English. Swahili and minimal Chichewa in Malawi and then Spanish did some justice in Mozambique! But now.. mm. We shall see! Camping has been interesting and the three of us have been quite cozy. Joe leaves us tomorrow :( and Bronwen and I will continue on our route!! Country list completed so far: Malawi, Mozambique, Swaziland, South Africa. To complete: the rest of South Africa, Namibia, Botswana, Zambia... then home, sweet home Tanzania!!

Will keep y'all posted as able!! Will try to find a working number for Skype call forwarding asap.

Much love!!!!!!!

Count the headlights on the highway

2009-02-13T13:45:00.000+03:00

9 Feb

Today was my first day in the field. In the beginning, there was a fair amount of hurry up and wait. Typical, no big deal. Met lots of people, went lots of places, conducted lots of interviews. The only point where I slightly put my foot in my mouth was on my last interview session. I was sitting with three guys, just about my age, but looked maybe ten to fifteen years older.

I’m getting ahead of myself. The story won’t make sense unless you know a few details about what it is exactly the TEACH project strives to do. The program, Tanzania Education Alternatives for Children (TEACH) began in 2007 and works with three different nonprofit organizations, two Tanzanian and one American. The goal is to reduce child labor in agricultural sectors by encouraging education. The target audience for the aid is pre-primary and primary school (itty bitty children to 18). The programs hold special classes for these students that have never attended any sort of formal education before to try to catch them up to speed so they can assimilate into the governmental schools with other children their age. Most of the older children don’t mainstream themselves into the regular school, mostly because they’re too old. There are a select few who test, pass the examination, and receive a scholarship to continue to secondary school, which is expensive whereas primary school is “free.” “Free” primary education is another soapbox for me to rant about, so I’ll continue with the other option the older children who do not sit for final examination. Instead, they enroll with one of the vocational programs that TEACH also provides. This is a supplementary six month “course,” if you will, that teaches these students essential things about farming, livestock, and individual business. Great idea, but the project is still working out the kinks and learning how to stand up by itself. One obvious problem (as usual) is lack of funding. These sorts of programs, particularly dealing with livestock, take more money than what was (perhaps) incorrectly budgeted. The pens are too small, they’re out of food for the animals (because whoever was in charge of distributing the food the students had grown equally to assure the animals would have their own food, too, somehow didn’t distribute it accordingly), and they never had money to buy proper medicine to keep the livestock healthy.

I was mildly blind how much faith these students put in me the second I stepped out of the car, but apparently since I’m this white kid in the middle of Africa that can say a couple things in their language, I can fix things with a snap of my fingers. I quickly lost that faith from them when I opened my mouth after a great and friendly interview with these three guys. Once I had all the positive and inspiring facts that I wanted, I asked them if they had any questions for me. That’s when problem after problem spilled out, which is a good thing- these are the sorts of things I need to report back. The bad thing is I’m not an actual employee of TEACH or monetary donor or really anybody but a perhaps overzealous glass is half full kind of gal. Meaning I couldn’t produce the promises they wanted me to spit out or to sprinkle fairy dust from my pocket to create a magic money tree for them. After having a go around in which I was trying to diplomatically defend myself, that TEACH was doing the best they could with the tight funds they’re working with, and that there is a certain amount of independent ingenuity required from the students to make projects like this soar, our conversation ended with everyone feeling disheartened. If I had done this project a few months ago, I probably would have burst into frustrated tears when at the end of our session. One of the guys said to me, “Naelewa dada lakini kweli, sielewi. Huwezi kusaidia sisi.” Translation: “I understand, sister, but really I don’t. You can’t help us.” I didn’t cry because living in Dar has taught me to suck it up, but I had to gasp for a fresh breath of air and my heart broke a little more.

Well, how’s that for the first day on the job? Just a little more fuel to the fire, but it was definitely a punch in the stomach. I don’t think anyone has called me out so straight forwardly and it was a blow to the ego, I suppose. Well, maybe not the ego, but a certainly needed reality check. What is it exactly I’m supposed to do on this continent again? Why is it in my head I should keep crawling back for more humanitarian heart break? Sadistically addicted to the vicious cycle. Quick fix: throw myself into writing a killer, tear jerking, action inspiring report of today’s work, eat French fries for dinner, and watch bad cable TV in my hotel room until I fall asleep.

Oh, another bonus for my day- the place where we had lunch. The options were limited, as usual. No vegetables or beans left. The choices were chicken gizzard and grilled fish, accompanied by rice or ugali (corn starch thick porridge sort of deal- the most popular dish here). I picked the grilled fish, of course, knowing what I’m getting myself into- staring contest and one handedly picking through bones and skin and any leftover organs that weren’t thoroughly gutted out of the sucker. Definitely not the comfort food I wanted after being told to my face I wasn’t doing anything.

Rough day, but I’m ready for round two tomorrow.

10 Feb
There’s a mosque right smack dab next to the hotel I’m staying in. By now, I typically sleep through the 5am call to prayer. It’s just habit. However, this morning, I was woken by the dude on the megaphone telling all the Muslims to get outta bed and get themselves to prayer. Why? Because it sounded like he was calling my name, but in the call to prayer musical voice. Ahhh-mmaaa-haaa-ennn-daaaahhhhh. I’m not sure how else to really explain it, but it got my butt out of bed. I didn’t head to Morning Prayer but settled for a shower and chai instead. Productive day and feeling more positive that I am capable of writing a convincing enough report to extend the project.

Lunch was exciting again today. Huge shared plate of ugali and grilled goat. No staring contests, but I did pluck off some stray hairs that were scorched to the skin.

12 Feb
I love call forwarding from Skype!!!! It brightens my day completely. If you haven’t tried it, give it a shot! Step one: sign on Skype. Step two: double click my name. Step three: wait for me to answer from my mobile! I’d love you hear your voice.

Also, I love meeting fellow travelers.
“So, how’d you find yourself here?”
“Uh. Mm. Well, you see, what happened was… I met the chief director of this nonprofit on my way to Amsterdam and she gave me her contact information, then the government shut down the university I was attending, so I had a lot of extra time on my hands. Now I’m here, reporting back that the project is not sustainable enough to support itself.”

Also, the staff of the hotel were totally rocking. I befriended one of the waiters early on and he definitely hooked me up with the best stuff on the menu. I would sit down, he’d ask me what I wanted to sip on, and then I’d let him pick what I wanted for dinner. Good choices and my last night, he got the kitchen to make me grilled cheese! How exciting is that?! How did he know I was craving azungu food?! Plus, the receptionists told me I should blow off my flight so I could go out with them this weekend. It took me half a minute to rationalize I couldn’t pull it off and sadly had to decline. So, we exchanged numbers and they told me next time I’m out here, I should stay with them and they’ll teach me how to do henna and take me dancing. It might just be incentive enough to come back out here again before June!

Completed my field work yesterday and still working on the final report. Basically, the project isn’t ready to stand on its own feet. Bummer, but expected. Hopefully the report will be compelling enough to not remove funding!

My plane ride home gave a nice view of Mount Kilimanjaro. It made me grin ear to ear and I felt my adrenaline gland give my body a bit of a boost. Hit the ground running. Busy couple days in Dar before starting a southern loop of southern Africa. It’s really happening and I couldn’t be more excited!! Malawi to Mozambique to Swaziland to South Africa (maybe with a day trip to Lesotho) to Namibia to Botswana to Zambia to home, sweet home Dar-es-Salaam. Steering clear of Zimbabwe, minus a few days by Victoria Falls (on the Zambia side). Looking forward to long bus rides, camping, and bumping into fellow travelers. Internet will be dodgy and my mobile number will change as I jump place to place, but I’ll do my best to keep you posted. The goal is to be back in Dar by the beginning of April when classes start and KEI ships me a new roommate!

Cold feet

2009-02-04T17:51:00.000+03:00

WE DID IT! WE DID IT! WE DID IT!!!!!!

We climbed all the way to the top of that mountain. Yeah, that’s right- Mount Kilimanjaro. The roof of Africa. The highest point on the continent. One of the largest volcanoes of the world. 19,344 feet. 5,895 meters. Yes- higher than clouds and birds. My madre and I put one boot in front of the other for seven days on the longest route to the top (approximately 43 miles and acclimatizing more 13,000 ft). There was some form of precipitation eight out of nine days of our trek. The only sunny day was our ninth and final day as we waltzed out of the national park gates. Rain, sleet, hail, snow. It was awesome.

Alright, so it wasn’t so fun to be muddy and wet in freezing temperatures, but the rest of it was fantastic. Definitely the most hardcore hiking and camping I’ve “done.” I put the “done” in those quotation things because even during our trek, we didn’t have to do much. The combination of our head guide (Bernard), two assistant guides (Loshi and Edward), the most amazing team of wagumu (38 guys), camera dude, and assistant camera dude was the winning solution to our group’s success.

Nothing slipped by Bernard. He knew where we were, what we were eating, how much we slept, and how we were feeling at all times. He runs a tight ship. Definitely boss man, but in the most diplomatic and seemingly fair way. You could tell he was looking out for all parties involved. Loshi and Edward were modern Maasai. Both had jokes and couldn’t estimate time at all. Every destination was just an hour and a half away. Three hours later, we’d stumble into camp. All three of them assured us they were real Maasai warriors, but when they were talking to each other, Edward and Loshi were knighted as this word that translates as young Maasai, which has something to do with their warrior-hood and all that jazz. With the encouragement of Bernard telling us they could jump because they’re Maasai, we made them promise to jump for us at the very end. Neither could jump. It was funny because we called them out in front of all their friends, but it was a good laugh all around.

Camera dude and assistant camera dude. We never caught their names but they followed us around, getting a diverse array of footage- everything from boot shots walking on different paths and what we were eating at night. Camera dude ambushed Mom and I one morning in our tent. Knocked on our tent after we had received our coffee and tea, so the obvious thought would be the next knock would be the hot water bucket we were pampered with. Instead of hot water, it was a hot shot of Mom and me, frazzled in freezing weather first thing in the morning. Thanks, camera dude. There’s a DVD that will supposedly make an appearance a few weeks from now. We’ll see about that.

Wagumu is the Swahili word they use on the mountain to describe what Americans would call porters. Wagumu is definitely a cooler and more accurate job description, though. “Wa-” is the plural form of a prefix that refers to people and “-gumu” is an adjective that describes difficulty or toughness, thus “wagumu” means tough dudes. We did see one Tanzanian female mgumu (singular form of wagumu) and one Tanzanian female head guide. I tried digging deeper on how those ladies got to where they were or how they were treated and accepted, etc but our wagumu didn’t want to fill me in all the way on the subject.

In that breath, I had some great Swahili practice. Some of the practice came at more inconvenient times than others (i.e. steep inclines at higher elevations which equates to huffing and puffing and forming Swahili sentences and trying not to look like an idiot), but it was a really cool dynamic to our group. The other azungu (white people) made a great effort to learn some Swahili words each day and by the end of the trip, some were making sentences! Everyone got a big kick out of it and it gave a more relaxed feel to our entire trip.

Back up for a minute. The trekking group Mom found is called Thomson Safaris. They apparently have a pretty good rep around Kili. For the hike, we were broken into two groups- simba and tembo. Simba, meaning lion, was the group Mom and I were placed in. Tembo, meaning elephant, was the other. Although we were all through Thomson Safaris, our two groups were fairly exclusive. There was definitely a more intimate tightness between our simba hiking group and the staff than the other tembo hiking group. Our simba group consisted of two Canadians, four other Americans, Mom, and myself. Donna and Warren were the two Canadians and known by the wagumu and “bibi” (grandmother) and babu (grandfather). Donna and Mom classified themselves as the “two old broads” who did an excellent job conquering the mountain. *** Michael was our Eagle Scout gadget man from New York. Keith from Kentucky was our superhuman life enthusiast. Chris and Gina were a cute lawyer couple from Maryland. Gina wanted to go the Australia, Chris wanted to climb Kilimanjaro, and Gina didn’t let Chris forget. Real troopers and the closest people to my age. All of them are fascinating people with mind blowing stories and great enthusiasm, though. That was a big factor in how our entire team made it to Uhuru Peak. Tembo was the other hiking group that was done by the same company at the same time. I’m glad I was in simba. We certainly could not have done it without the tremendous help of the hired team. They would speed past us during the day, set up camp prior to our arrival, cook delicious and huge meals, and give us wake up calls (complete with coffee or tea and a bucket of hot water to wash). Great stories, interesting guys, and incarnate examples of the amazing strength human bodies are capable of.

The hike was amazing. All sorts of terrain at all sorts of temperatures. Stumbled through muddy rainforests of rocks and roots. Jumped over streams and ducked under branches. Scaled an 800 ft vertical rock wall with a 20 pound backpack and no ropes or spikes. Ascended ancient ridge lines that are the only remains of crater rims that make the Ngorongoro crater (2.6 million years old) look young. Scrambled through dusty volcanic ash and eroded sedimentary rocks. Slipped and slid down an icy cliff at sunrise. Crunched through snow covered paths. Became champions of layering and stripping clothing according to the erratic mountain weather, consuming a minimum of 3 liters per day of maji (water), and gracefully checking out monkeys (code for popping a squat).

The summit day was quite the adventure. Most trek groups wake up in the middle of the night to summit at sunrise, but we got up a bit before sunrise to start our long trek. The people I had talked previously had said the only way they would’ve done the first part of that day was if it was in the dark because it’s pretty much straight up. Oh well. We saw it and conquered it as the sun was piercing through the layers of clouds. About five hours later, we paused for a picnic lunch a few hundred feet from Stella Point. Clambered up to Stella Point where we spotted from afar the sign and Uhuru Peak. Little less than two hours there in which I stayed with Mom, Donna, and Warren to summit. Mom and I walked side by side to that wonderful sign. It was incredible and totally surreal. I can still hardly believe we did it and we’re done with it. Seems like yesterday I was gazing at the mountain from a flight from Addis-Abba to Lilongwe when the pilot announced that we were flying over the peak. Now I’m back in Zanzibar, recounting that time I climbed that mountain. Wild.

Mom (jokingly) informed me that she would gladly finance for her future granddaughter and me to climb the mountain when I’m fifty something. We’ll see about that one. For right now, that pressing motivation to get me up that mountain again just isn’t here. Yes, definitely the hardest thing I’ve done- physically and mentally. Everything was dandy until we spent a night at Crater Camp, after summiting that day. Crater Camp was one of the more beautiful campsites, but it was also situated at 18,500 ft. Humans aren’t meant to sleep that high. It was terrible and wonderful at the same time. The adrenaline was pumping from summiting and our tents were situated beside a huge glacier and cushioned with soft volcanic sand. However, the pounding headaches, lack of appetite, runny nose, chest congestion, and constant nausea… in addition to freezing temperatures and lack of oxygen… was not the winning combination for a victory celebration for climbing the tallest mountain in Africa. I couldn’t have been more excited for the 4:30am wake up call to get out of there. My body was screaming for air. That was the hard part. Woke up to complete darkness, icicles inside the tent, and feeling unbearably lousy. I can count the number of times I have truly wished I was back in the comfortable safety bubble of the US and that morning was one of them. Luckily, all those symptoms disappeared at 13,000 ft and the only thing remaining was sore muscles.

There are plenty of day to day stories to share, but I’ll save those for another day. This was certainly a memorable nine days. I’m really proud of my mama for not only stepping out of her comfort zone to visit me in Tanzania, but also go the extra 43 or so miles to hike, camp, and rough it for nine days to climb one of the tallest mountains in the world. Definitely not something that lady would normally conjure to do herself. I’m certainly glad she did, though.

We re-entered the Africa I’m familiar with on Sunday, February 1. Had trouble with our flight, but meh- out of our control so hakuna matata. Arrived in Dar about three hours later than expected. Baba picked us up, we started home, and experienced my (and Mom’s) first Dar-es-Salaam car accident!!! Alright, I probably shouldn’t have that much enthusiasm about the event considering it wasn’t such great news. A drunk dude rear-ended Baba’s SUV and knocked his bumper pretty much off. The other guy’s car, which wasn’t really his car, was in much worse shape. The dude was pleading with Baba to not call the cops to report the accident because he was drunk. Whaat?! Not like the police force of Dar could do a whole lot anyway, but Baba resolved to visit the dude the next day at his work and to try to repair his bumper the best he could. It wasn’t looking so bad when Mom and I left to catch a Zanzibar ferry the next morning, so it’ll be interesting to get the update when I get home.

That was another exciting thing! Mom slept in the extra bed in my room and got a full taste of what it’s like to live with my family! She’ll stay there another two nights when we return and I think that’ll be a better experience than getting in late, absolutely exhausted, and then blowing out of there after Mama Dorica was already at work, Debby was still in bed, and Baba was stressed about the car situation.

Zanzibar has been its usual treat and escape from reality while bordering utmost poverty. The Forodani Market disappeared from its normal alley way so Mom and I found ourselves at a delicious Indian roof top restaurant. The funny thing about it was that Mom had sworn off Indian curry while she was pregnant with me because it made her sick. It seemed only fitting that I renew her taste buds. Full day in the northern part of the island- leisurely day slam packed with lounging, reading, napping, swimming, seafood eating, beverage drinking, and pampering. Nothing like a girl’s day with Mom to shake off any ice that might have tried to linger from Kilimanjaro.

Back in Dar today (Wednesday) to hang with the family and begin the speedy tour of Dar. We arrived early from the Zanzibar ferry, so we’re sharing an excellent bottle of red wine while using the speedy fast internet before heading back to my host family. Mom will be making a guest appearance to the blog to give a parental twist and outside American point of view. Her flight leaves Thursday evening and I’m off for some field work with Winrock the following day! Website is under construction and content is being approved by superiors. Exciting things ahead for reducing child labor in agricultural sectors! I’ll keep you posted as usual, dear reader.

Input from Dad

2009-01-20T15:30:00.003+03:00

January 19, 2009
Richmond, Virginia

Amanda,

So many folks have asked, “How was your trip to Tanzania?” and I believe most of them are expecting a “Great! Did a safari, met the host family, went to Zanzibar, snorkeled, toured and beached.” And maybe that’s really how I should answer; most folks probably don’t really care much beyond that.

But it really was much more. And after being home a week, I am still trying to process precisely how I feel about it.

I reread my journal last night before bed (I have been un-characteristically exhausted since getting back; Saturday I slept 12 hours!). We did so much in the 14 some odd days on the ground there! But we also had some nice “down” time as well.

The safari was great. We were blessed with an excellent guide and saw all the animals we needed to see. I agree with your assessment of the rapid desensitization of seeing yet another uncountable herd of zebra and wildebeests. But it was great seeing all of that and, in my opinion, three days of bone jarring, dust raising, kidney busting dirt road travel was the right amount of time. We saw and experienced awesome things.

Meeting your host family was my highlight from Dar. It is amazingly helpful to my peace of mind to see firsthand how much Ben and Pamela care for you and watch over you. It was so apparent as we spent that evening with them and then as they came to collect you at the airport when we departed. Not to mention the “keep in touch” text messages along the way. They are fantastic people.

And I don’t think for one minute I am being overly concerned or overly protective of you in this regard. If anything, my experience in your neck of the world affirms for me the significant cultural differences, as well as potential risks, you face each day. Petty thievery seems to be the norm (don’t stick your hand out the window; laptop at risk on a crowded dala dala) and recourse and refuge in the authorities non-existent (the African way). Nonetheless, during our visit you certainly demonstrated to me that you are up to the task of successfully dealing with such an environment (better than I: I still would have at least liked to show my Zanzibarian bumpy “friend” the mace before I soaked him down. However, your advice that one doesn’t mace someone on the basis of a conversation was sagacious even if less than satisfying). And the fact that Baba and Mama have got your back is comforting as well.

I also got a big kick out of meeting some of your English students at the woodcarver’s market and watching you interact with them as well as the other vendors. You are clearly making a difference to these people and it was gratifying to see their response.

Zanzibar was exotic and different. We had great experiences on tour (multiple Mercury trips, Jozani Forest, Chumbe Island, Kendwa) and some less than positive experiences with over-zealous “helpful” locals. And it still boggles my mind how poor and incompetent the service was at Kunduchi. And the fact they really didn’t care. Oh well.

As a result of this trip, I believe I have further whetted my appetite for the discussion as to what does Africa need. And except for the big fat “I don’t know” at the end of the conversation, I do feel the answer is somehow tied to infrastructure and education in close harmony with non-western cultural norms. Whatever happens here will have a much higher probability of success if it is aligned and/or compliments the sociological basis of community and family.

So, absent the underlying concern for your personal safety, the trip was indeed great! And as I said above, I trust in your ability to discern sketchy situations and make good choices so that you will do fine. As a Daddy, however, I believe I am obligated to not like it one bit. That being said, I could not be more proud of you and stand ready to support you and your decisions (well-reasoned and thoroughly vetted) as you go on about finishing college and getting ready for “the real world”.

You are a piece of work Amanda Jean. But you are well-prepared. And you are having experiences both in Dar and throughout the region whose memories will shape your attitude and perspective and truly last your lifetime. Continue to be smart, get you rmom off Kilimanjaro in one piece, travel safely through the South and get back here (USA) in June!

I love you.

Dad

Wish you were here

2009-01-16T17:20:00.000+03:00

11 Jan- Parental update

They have survived two full weeks in Tanzania. I’m very proud of them. There’s entirely too much to report day by day what has happened, but I’ve given them some homework and they will be composing their own blog that will be appearing in the very near future. It’ll probably be the very next blog!

Our safari was starkly different from my first (side note: I’d just like to say I feel extraordinarily fortunate to have to chance to go on safari not just once, but twice and that my parents have chosen to play an active and supportive role of my interests by coming all the way here). Although Lacey and I shared a cozy, romantic triangle tent with musty sleeping bags… I’ll have to say being able to spread out in a soft, comfortable humongous bed all to myself with four pillows and a fluffy comforter was fantastic. Lots of great meals and a fantastic guide and tour. Besides all the cool animals (like zebras, wildebeests, and various types of antelopes) that you somehow find yourself de-sensitized to (I’ll elaborate in a minute with a little * thing to try to make this paragraph as sensible as possible), Johnson (our guide) was the trail blazer in finding lots of lions- male lions, female lions, a lion pride, two females lions and five cubs feasting on a decapitated zebra.

**De-sensitization of amazing wildlife: how spoiled are safari goers to shrug off spotting hundreds of thousands of these animals? Typical human eagerness, I suppose, but give me a minute to try to justify my spoiled brat statement. These suckers are everywhere! And after the trillionth photo you’ve snapped of a zebra with the same care-free expression that is silently telling you to get your stupid khaki button up shirt with matching zipper short/pant set and goofy looking hat, complete with a 35mm camera and a super duper zoom out of his face so he can continue grazing on the greener grass… you get the same impression of him and silently think to him, “Go get killed by a lion or something! Leap over a river and get snatched by a croc! Give me some blood! The big 5! I need sensation! I need action! If it bleeds, it leads! With all your black and white cleverness, you’ve never heard of Rupert Murdoch? Come on, zebra, get with the 21st century already!” It’s a pathetic justification, dear reader, I know and I apologize. I try to remember this as much as possible while I step back from my camera and check out the other safari vans, glance at my parents, giggle to myself fitting in with the azungu role too well, and try to soak up each of those trillion pictures and every second spent observing these incredible creatures. **

Back to the slaughter of the bleeding and gruesome things found on safari…. Johnson also found us a mama and baby chui (leopards- pronounced by locals lee-oh-pah-arr-duh, which was something Dad found largely humorous and chui was one of his only Swahili words that stuck in his memory). The leopards had a zebra up in a tree, so it was a little bit weird to be looking at this tree, trying to find leopard spots, and then first spot zebra markings. Is this something Darwin left out about leopards? You are what you eat? What? Which Biology book edition did I miss out on? But nope- it was simply that the mama leopard pulled the whole darn thing up in a tree, threw the front legs over one side of a branch, and placed the two hind legs on the other side of the branch to prepare a feast for her little one. The little one was a bit on the clumsy side and knocked the baby zebra out of the tree. Who knows how, but we watched sadistically as the zebra tumbled to the ground, hitting a lower branch on the way down. It made a distinct THUMP noise as it tumbled from one branch, to another, and finally to the ground. It made a close 360 degree turn and yes, I secretly wish I had captured it on my camera but there was something mind blowing about watching with my naked eyes without trying to click-click-click to get everything. Gravity. What a phenomenon. The mama leopard swiftly made it down the tree with lightning speed to protect the feast from any other animals that may want to nibble. The baby leopard struggled a bit in his confidence to get down the tree. He (or well, she) backed down out of the tree very slowly. They finished their meal on the ground. I was really hoping to watch the mama leopard pull the zebra carcass back up, but I suppose she was teaching a lesson to her little one- if you want a comfortable place to dine, you must not savagely pig out and knock the feast off the table. Manageable bites and don’t talk with food in your mouth, perhaps? The five second rule definitely applies and who knows if it were only for this occasion, but the rule was extended indefinitely. I suppose the general rule is it doesn’t matter whether it’s in a tree or on the ground…. just as long as you finish your plate before dessert. It’s these important lessons in life.

Amazing to be back in the endless plains. Everything had a greener shade to it after the short rainy season. Baobab trees had leafy tops which made them even more (if that’s possible) beautiful. Our guide was great and Dad grew very fond of him. Even mentioned several times through the remainder of their trip that he missed Johnson… whereupon Kathy and I would look at him and give him the same “doh” and puppy eye face that we gave Max (our spoiled rotten, wild child, precious golden retriever, by the way) when he does something like topple down the last few stairs because he gets too excited about things. I know you know how you talk to your pets. It was a similar reaction to when we lost Johnson. We all had “doh” faces on.

Quite tangent while on the topic of Max… since he and the two kitty cats obviously came up several times each day… you know how parents with toddlers use a certain language? Well, Dad and Kathy are like that. “Excuse me, I’m going to go to the potty,” in reference to telling Max to “Go potty!” Or, “We’re going on a w-a-l-k on the beach,” and goodness knows you can’t say the “w” word in front of Max without the chain reaction of a hyper active golden. And they both say “kitty cat” and “bunny rabbit” with a certain tone which inevitably perks Max’s ears up. We laughed a good deal about it, but I had to swallow some of my teasing when they told me it wouldn’t be too long before I’d be doing the same thing with my own pets… or ::gasp:: children. Agh, what a thought.

The days in Dar were good. Hardly felt like I was in Dar since we stayed in this fancy smancy resort outside of town that was smack dab on the beach. I think my subconscious kicked in at some point to convince me that I was indeed not in Tan-zan-freakin’-ia anymore. I had clicked my ruby shoed heels so many times that I didn’t find myself home, but in Oz. It was absolutely gorgeous. Complete bubble world from Dar-es-Salaam. Terrible service (and no, the parentals weren’t being irrationally fussy- 45 minute delivery for drinks and the ratio of staff to azungu consumers was approximately 5:1), but nice accommodations and great food. The parentals were appreciative of a place outside the hustle bustle and “hassle” of the city- a safe haven to come back to at the end of the end of the day, get a drink, lean back, and go, “What was all that?!” They were both real troopers and I’m very proud of them for coming, surviving, and even having a decent time! No big confrontations, no police calls, no mace, and only a handful of moments when I had to glare at Dad to say “stop being American!” There were some short fused moments, for sure, but with some practiced patience I’ve been building up and their research from reading all sorts of cultural awareness things- everything was hakuna matata.

The parents did a wonderful job bargaining in Mwenge (and just about every other vendor shop, too). It was nice to be back in a finally familiar area after spinning slightly aimlessly for the past month. Saw a bunch of the “students” and it was a great feeling to be warmly accepted. Gave my parents a kick, too, I think. Also, had a blazing hot tour of campus, which still resembles a ghost town. It is almost even more depressing because at least before finals, there were still azungu students loitering campus. Now… it’s just some sporadic supposed graduate students. Wandered around just about everywhere (for those readers familiar with campus- fine arts building to theater classrooms to hall 3). Sweat a good deal and then put them on a daladala to Mlimani! It wasn’t crowded in the least, but I think they got the general idea. Lunch at Mlimani then a very short bahjeejee ride to Mwenge so they could get their bargaining fill. As far as transport around the city, I think they have a fair understanding of how utterly insane it is. While we were in Arusha in the beginning of our trip, Dad made some comment about how it must not be THAT hard to drive in this country. His opinion changed upon arrival in Dar and has inspired several comical ideas for a potential entertainment game of some sort. It gave us some good laughs, for sure. If I’ve never mentioned it before, walking outside your doorstep in Dar is stepping into a frantic frenzy of a whirlwind, complete with various modes of transport- big buses, small buses, vans, pick up trucks, 18 wheelers, SUVs, compact cars, taxis, bajeejees, bikes, motorbikes, carts, and hundreds of thousands of humans intertwining themselves between kilos of steel and rubber. Every now and again you have to look out for the senseless farm animal- cow, chicken, goat, etc.

I would say getting out of the city is better, but the typical “culture shock” observations aren’t “shocking” anymore- mud huts with thatched roofs, knee-knocker children herding twenty or more goats, beautifully clothed Muslim women balancing with ease five plus liter buckets full of water back to their home just chatting up a storm, while dogging the speeding cars and gliding over the rocky edge of the black road and burnt terrain.

OK, so I’m describing every other infomercial you’ve probably ever seen regarding Africa. That’s what you expect- it’s what you try to mentally prepare yourself for. It’s one thing to sink a little bit further into a couch 6,000 miles away and flick the channel, and another to speed past it in a Land Cruiser, and another to walk beside them, and another to actually do it. I’m afraid there’s always a certain azungu (foreigner) wall that will never been completely dissolved. I’m sad for that because I think in the next few decades, these “shocks” will dissolve and the world will only know the stories that perhaps will be passed down generation to generation like our great grandparents did to us- you can’t tell me you never got the “when I was your age, we walked barefoot in the snow to school, uphill both ways.” Can’t you hear it? These great grandmothers fussing at their heathen offspring for showing their hair and ankles (perhaps, even as scandalous as showing knees and shoulders) to any ol’ person, while the grandchild is filling a water pitcher from a tap in an air conditioned house, rolling her eyes and thinking, “oh no, here grandma goes again with the, ‘when I was your age, we had respect for our religion and sacredness of our bodies while we carried out daily chores like walking 10 kilometers to a clean water source and transported it home on our heads without complaints’?” No? Can’t hear that voice yet? Why would someone object to AC and clean running water, perhaps even bad TV blaring in the background to snuff any meaningful conversation? Watching some of the responsibilities these people carry out on a day-to-day, and most of them hardly blink an eye to think any differently, makes me believe that tall tale of great grandparents a little more. I was grateful for the refresher from my parents. Every now and again, Dad would lean over, point, and ask, “People LIVE there?” Yes, they do. Are they happy? What is happy? Who determined happy in their culture? Do they dream of “better” things? Who lets us know which is better? All of these questions have flooded my brain to remember why it was this continent keeps drawing me back. Curiosity kills the cat, but satisfaction brings her back. These were the questions that brought me here… and here I am four months in, soaking it in blindly, accepting it as a day-to-day, because it’s simply what I observe daily and have surrendered rather silently to be overwhelmed by the poverty and corruption balanced so delicately next to natural beauty and pleasure of leisure time that has been provided for me. How to take an appropriate role has been something I have had some great difficulty fathoming. These overwhelming vicious cycles of thoughts and scenarios were shared, discussed, and pondered upon with many other students studying abroad here… and it was a much visited topic while traveling with the Florida kids. No solid conclusions, just a continuous vertigo of “finding purpose” as we so called idealists so often try to do. Five more months and perhaps then I can give the world a conclusion.

Wow. That was some tangent, huh? I’m all over the place again. Moving on… meeting the host parents!

It was pretty similar to what I had rolling in my imagination. Pamela was running around making sure everything was great and whispering me in the kitchen to tell my parents to “just be free.” Baba was his ever gracious self and entertained all of my parents’ talking subjects which I think they had kinda rehearsed as well. It was cute; I think both set had some apprehensions about meeting each other. The sisters were in and out. It was one of the neighbor girl’s birthday so that’s where Dorica was most of it. She sauntered in a few times and watched TV while Debby played a computer game… and while the rest of us sat down for dinner. Pretty normal day-to-day, so I was glad they got to see that as well. My host parents also went the extra mile (or marathon) to get a bottle of wine. This was the first (and probably only) time I’ve ever seen Baba have an alcoholic drink. Mama Dorica was really cute with an awkward presentation whereupon Dad and I stepped in. Some sweet-ish French red wine and there were some jokes around the table me being such a drinker and blah, blah, blah. Apple, apple tree, right? Thanks, parents. Dinner featured some favorites and what we typically eat- beans, rice, chapati, one of the beef dishes Lacey could manage down, steamed beans, carrots, and green peppers. Tons of food and delicious as usual. It was excellent to finally have a home cooked meal! Presented gifts after dinner and they were a big hit all around. Bravo, parents and thanks to Jim for helping us all out with ideas!!

Headed to Zanzibar for trip number three for me. Another success. Crazy hustling to do anything around that island- getting through the gates, bargaining for tickets, throwing elbows to fend off the flymen, boarding the boat, getting off the boat, through more gates, walking through twisty streets all personal defenses up. Against what, you may ask? Wave after wave of friendly and mildly harmless junkies just trying to help out… or the poor guys that somehow got suckered into trying to sell these CDs, so they run around town singing the mind numbing “jambo, jambo bwana, habari gain, nzuri sana” song while doing a two step jig that you’re not quite certain or not whether is an inebriated sway… in which case, your mind fears for a split second that any moment, the dude will lean too far one time and topple over, as if someone had slightly touched his shoulder with a pinky finger or mother nature gave a gentle exhale of a breath to cause a breeze to send him over the edge. Regardless, it’s a thick bark to maintain and it was a definite test to interact with these guys with two wazee azungu (old white people- no offense parentals). They leave students alone after a while… once they figure out that yes indeed, we are students, and no, we won’t be spending indulgently. With old white folks, you’ve got nothing except cultural manners, smiles, and a little bit of enthusiastic Swahili. We had an overactive Johnson, ironically enough, who was convinced he could service us in some way. When we thought of a chore, of course he was no where to be found. The “chore” is an awful way of me dehumanizing one of these poor suckers who had to sell those God awful Jambo, jambo bwana CDs. This guy was relentless and was all over the place. The last time we saw him was in the Central Market when another vendor had to backhand the poor disillusioned fellow in the head to get him to back off.

Few days of more great food, drink, and good time. Skipped out on a spice tour to opt out on ventures to Jozani Forest, Chumbe Island, and Kendwa (on the northern tip and the origin of the infamous full moon parties). Jozani Forest- our guide was far superior this time. If you ever find yourself in the Jozani Forest of Zanzibar, ask for Mwana. She’ll hook ya up. Spotted some more red Colobus monkeys and the grey ones, too... but this time, it was like someone slipped something to these dudes because they were all over the place! Excellent time. Took a stroll through the mangrove forest and went off the path to test how sturdy in fact these mangroves are. Swung from a branch and then moved onto the freshwater forest, that was planted by colonizers and is now a protected forest- the only one on Zanzibar. Maybe I missed that the first time around, but that was a fun little trivia note to put away in my brain. Mwana showed us how to get fishing line from palm oil leaves. Imagine that. Visited sea turtles and the dude taking care of them picked one out of the water for Kathy and me to hold for a quick tourist-cruel-to-innocent-animal photo. They seemed more lively, too. Who knows- maybe they are used to azungu drills by now. To and from Jozani, we passed the countless polisi stops but this time, the police actually came to request their bribes. It was surreal. We got off a few of them by me saying “shikamoo” and then through others by sporting smiles and thumbs up while saying, “OBAMA!!” One guy, without a uniform, but armed with a pad of paper and a pen snagged some shillings off our driver. Ugh.

Chumbe Island. Lucky break. Only four passes admitted per day. A lady named Prisca hooked us up with a last minute cancellation and off we went on a 45 minute ferry ride with a 15 horse powered engine and Marilynn and Charlie. What a hoot these two were. Late 60s, early 70s. Marilynn’s fourth time to Africa and what a talker. I know they’ve been all over and I’m sure they have all of these fabulous stories. It’s the presentation that may have needed a bit of tweaking for my taste, but what a hoot. I want to be snorkeling when I’m 70 something! And if I make it that far, I’m sure I’ll be that crazy lady ranting to anyone that is stuck listening to me, too (oh, help me). They were on their 20th wedding anniversary. Funny, I’m on my 20th existence anniversary! It slipped out of my mouth before I had properly thought of the implications of sounding like a brat, so I sincerely hope it didn’t come off as smart assed, but isn’t time a funny thing?

The snorkeling was phenomenal. By far the best I’ve ever had the opportunity to see. This was the first conservation the government set up and has been preserved for about 80 years. Over 200 species of coral, 400 marine life species, and one of the few remaining coral rag forests. The entire island is centered around eco-tourism, so the one lodge on the island is made of natural materials- no industrialized supplies. It was incredible. Marilynn and Charlie were gracious enough to let us tour their bungalow and it was amazing. Tree house like. Beautiful island in the middle of the Indian Ocean. I could see how owning your own island in the middle of an ocean could have its appeal after spending a day on this one.

Kendwa. Spent two days and one night, but you wouldn’t have had to twist my arm to convince me to stay longer. Gorgeous beach with sparkling blue water… the letdowns were the high populations of hostels, hotels, and over the top nauseating resorts. The parents will probably add something about the large population of Rastafarians, but meh, whatever. Hakuna matata, man. A few quick funny slight tangent stories about the Rastafarians:

(1) We were lounging by the sand volleyball court when a pick up game of a fair medley between locals and azungus began. This one older Rastafarian with dreads to his knees came up after a bit to observe. He’s standing to himself, smiling, swaying with the wind, nodding every once and a while. The ball lands on the line and one of the players calls, “It’s on the line- it’s good!” Thereupon, the older Rastafarian smiles wider, holds up his two hands about shoulder height and says in accordance, “It is all good, man.”

(2) The same older Rastafarian and a Jamaican were talking about how Nigerians and Jamaicans can wander anywhere and find people to blend with. I found this comical and considered eavesdropping farther, but I opted for taking another sip of my beverage and diving back into my book with the sound of waves lapping the shore instead of Rasta gossip.

(3) The Maasais have made it to northern Zanzibar and adopted the Rastafarian lifestyle… while maintaining their traditional garb- two bright checkered table clothes, lots of jewelry, big holes in their ears, tire shoes… integrated with long rastas and a few pieces of jewelry with Jamaican colors. Nothing “wrong” with that, but funny to see these guys strolling in the plain and then wandering around the beach after finding so many things out about their culture from staying in a quasi-Maasai village. I will still maintain the opinion that the Maasai that are still hanging in the northwestern region, not doing the Christianity or Muslim thing, and keeping their traditions are still the Hells Angels of Africa. These dudes that somehow found themselves in Zanzibar- nah. Still cool, but not as “cool”.

Alrighty, off my tangent, trying to get to a point… Kendwa was another bubble. Someone could have come up to me and welcomed me to the Caribbean (or the moon), and I would’ve had to have thought for at least a minute before questioning the validity of my welcome. Great two days. Downside was getting the most sunburned I have this entire trip. Way to go, Amanda. Best responsible behavior for the parents. Oh, I guess I haven’t mentioned yet that I (in all practicality) caught the plague for about 48 hours while they were here, too? That was great. Hey parents, welcome to Africa, I love it here, I’m doing fine, here’s a cool safari, and BAM. I was out like a light with fever, headache, runny nose, sore throat, tumultuous stomach. Luckily, it passed and after a quick blood test in Dar to show no parasites or malaria, I was back to normal to continue the Tour de Tanzania avec les parentals.

Made it back to Dar with relatively no problems. Checked out of our hotel and went to Mercury’s for our last cocktails on Zanzibar. Well, I say cocktails… but I mean, Dad had a Tusker, Kathy had water, I had a cup of coffee, and we met four 30-something dudes from California who had just climbed Kili and spent a few days in Zanzibar to relax. They were headed back to the States today (the 11th), too. One guy was really encouraging for climbing, one guy not so much, another one had done it twice and told me it’d be fine, and the other guy was kinda quiet but in accordance with a little bit of everything all his other buddies had said. It was interesting.

Other interesting events en route to Dar… I had to stamp my feet in the ticket office when the guy tried to rip me off after a previously agreed upon, quoted, and receipted price. It was unlucky for him that it was so early that I hadn’t had a cup of coffee yet. After a ferry ride of Rocky reruns (which made me think about senior year with Jason, Joe, and Miles quietly singing Eye of the Tiger every time Hirko would walk into AP Bio; and also of afternoons spent with Heather vegging out, watching reruns, laughing about the only way we’d ever get married was if we found future husbands that were a combination of Rocky and some other fictional character), I struck an actual fair price for a taxi from the Dar port to university for 10,000 TzS ($10). Alright, so it wasn’t the cleanest deal I’ve ever made, but I’m not losing sleep over it (yet). A guy approached us off the boat and I told him flat out I wanted to go to the university for 12,000 ($12), he wanted 15,000 ($15) and I demanded 12,000 ($12). He nodded his head and soon enough we exited the gates with an overwhelming amount of taxi drivers ready to pounce on a deal. A guy asks me where I want to go, I tell him I want to go to the university and I’ll go with him if we go for 10,000 ($10). He says karibu (welcome) and then the trouble started a bit with my first dude. We go back and forth with it as he’s telling me I’m dishonest and I’m telling him to take us for 10,000 ($10) which he refuses by dishonoring me in my business transaction… then he curses me and storms off to find other azungu. No, that’s not a story I’m particularly proud of, but hey- I live here, I feel confident in knowing the fair prices, and want it how it is, thank you very much- yes, even if it is less than a 5,000 ($5) difference in price. Watch out Dar, no more walkovers from this chick. Mama and Baba Dorica were shocked and gave me praises for getting the actual price. Mama Dorica said something along the lines of, “Ahh now she knows herself how it works!” She then followed the statement with a Mama Dorica laugh and a big grin.

That was a nice booster after seeing the parentals off at the airport. Talk about role reversal. This time I was waiting for them to snake through the security line. I wasn’t boasting loudly to anyone, as Dad kindly pointed out, but I did have a few tears. Mama Dorica was intuitive and preemptively grabbed us some water to help me swallow the lump that was itching its way up my throat. Good thing. I didn’t feel like having another cry session in a public place of Dar (did I ever fess up to my mini-breakdown of a few hot, streaming tears and yelling rant in the Mwenge woodcarvers market when everything in my egocentric world here was going wrong? Mm. Well, it’s a story I’d be happy to elaborate later about). They waved when they got through the security and Baba suggested we waited until they were completely out of sight before going. That we did. Piled into the car, exchanged news, and ahhh. A big sigh of relief to finally arrive to nyumbani (home). I haven’t been here to stay since 5 December 2008. New changes to the house- shelves and a new living room table. Room to myself and ahh my slightly squeaky twin bed that has been my safe haven here. Good to be back. Lots to get in order in the next few days before Kilimanjaro and round two of a parental unit in Tanzania! Time to put my life back in order… starting tomorrow. Stayed up with the girls watching Mission Impossible. The movie ended a little bit after midnight and as I was pouring myself a glass of water before heading upstairs to the cocoon of my room… I heard a plane zooming overhead. Kwa herini wazazi! (Good bye parents!) Back to just Tanzania and me. The overall short conclusion of the parental visit was that everyone was glad the trip worked out for them to come and check out Tanzania, but chances are… they probably won’t be itching to come back. It’s a lot to soak in so perhaps their minds will change when getting back to the States, but only time can tell.

Hope you’ve enjoyed the photos!! I know it’s an information overload, but I hope I’ve aided in some quality procrastination time. Things to look forward to reading about- climbing Kilimanjaro, Mom and Tanzania, and hopefully another travel loop of southern Africa before Swahili lessons start in mid-March. Dear reader, wish you were here.

15 Jan

New travels plans are in the making and details are panning out! Ahh, can’t wait to pack my bags again!

Received a 5am text and then afternoon call on the 12th from Dad to say they made it back to the States safely. Whew! Mom will be here on the 22nd. Crazy!

Updates in Dar: new “toys” around the house- a new subscription of satellite something or rather so now we have MTV and MTV II. The girls have been filling me in on all the latest media whatever stuff. Also… new shelves in living room and kitchen, microwave, bread maker, rice cooker, paper towel dispenser AND paper towels (what a wasteful habit Westerners have imposed), and some new mugs and plates. Crazy! I have the room to myself and it creeped me out a bit my first night that I had to check in my closet and underneath both beds to make sure nothing creepy crawly was making itself at home. I know that sounds childish, but I didn’t feel that silly while I was inspecting or out of the realm of possibilities a critter had moved in while I was out. My Obama kanga is up on the wall! I was given a Nyerere (first [socialist] president after independence) one… so I suppose it’d only be appropriate to hang that one up, too. Mm. We’ll see about that.

My sun burn is healing. It looked like a little bit of sun poisoning on my tummy... more white dots. Mm. Or perhaps it was just some foreign rash of a mysterious African bacterium that has penetrated beneath my epidermis and is now dominating my organs. No biggie. It’ll probably start the icky peeling process soon.

There are new kids on campus… meaning the old ones are gone. ::sigh:: But they seem like alright “replacements.”

It’s hot as ever here. Electricity has cut off four times that I’m aware of (this means no comfortable fan, making it hotter).

Breaking in the new hiking boots… which means I look like I fool walking around Dar in the midday heat with those big ol’ honkers and wool socks. Whatever. Just another weird mzungu in Dar.

Running errands around Dar and ahhh, feels nice to be back. Met up with Julie and we had a mini-Christmas with all the zawadi (gifts) that the other former foreigners left. Between my parents and the other azungu, I am stocked for life on things I hardly even use here but keep around just for good (if not superstitious) measures. Finishing up East of Eden and on to the next pile of books which has been added to by parentals and old azungu students!

I’m back to bothering Haikia around the house and putting my life back in order before turning it upside down again. Kilimanjaro and southern Africa… here I come!

Krismas njema na heri ya mwaka mpya!!

2009-01-04T22:52:00.002+03:00

Swahili for Merry Christmas and Happy New Year! Alright, so I'm a little late, but come on, am I really on time for anything? Today, I am on time for Tanzania and my 4 month anniversary! Woohoo!

Most recent update: Dad and Kathy arrived safely to Arusha, Tanzania on 29 December 2008 circa 10:30pm. Great to see them and had a FANTASTIC safari which I'll elaborate with photos later (quick animal highlights- male lions, leopards with dead zebra in a tree then fell to the ground after hitting a tree limb, female lions and cubs with dead zebra- unlucky day for zebras). Currently hanging out at a luxury beach resort, seeing the other side of Dar and Tanzania. Showed parents campus and Mwenge market where we spent the entire afternoon shopping and bargaining. Sam would have died maybe five times over. The American parentals will meet the African parentals kesho (tomorrow). Off to Zanzibar 6 Janurary 2009!!!

More details to come, but for now... here's your long and detailed update of my past month of adventuring through Eastern Africa. Pictures will come, I promise. And as a preface, sorry for your eyeballs. If you want the quick update = backpacking through Eastern Africa with five friends was FANTASTIC!

Dec 24

‘Twas the night before Christmas…
(So it’s the night before Christmas… scratch that, it’s a half hour before midnight Tanzania time- practically Christmas… I suppose that is still technically evening considering it’s 3:30pm EST.)
And all through the house,
(The house I’m in is more of a cottage with no fireplace for Santa to squeeze down. It belongs to Bibi (Mama Dorica’s mother) in Moshi, Tanzania which is at the foot of Mount Kilimanjaro. In the early morning and evening, Uhuru Peak is visible and it’s mind blowing to think Mom and I will be trekking up towards the top in less than a month!!)
Not a creature was stirring,
(I have several large bugs bunking up with me that enjoy very much the amount of light my laptop screen is producing. Lacey would cry.)
Not even a mouse!
(I have seen two of those little critters in the yard since I arrived so I’m sure they’re up and about.)

This is unlike any Christmas I’ve ever had. It is my first Christmas without my direct family… not only celebrating it with a different family, but in a different country with a different culture. No Christmas Eve feast, no real Christmas tree, no nonstop Christmas carols, no need for sweaters and scarves, no fake candles in the windows, no midnight church service, no eggnog (/ednog), no stockings, no Charlie Brown movie to sum up Christmas spirit. Instead… rice with vegetables and meat for dinner followed by mangoes, artificial little tree, one CD of carols which started off with Blue Christmas (of course), it is record breaking hot in Moshi right now, electricity is spotty, it’s not safe to be out after dark, my family doesn’t drink, Santa can’t come down any chimney and who needs big socks in Africa?, and the poor Peanut Gang hasn’t made a debut in Tanzania yet. Christianity did enough here to remove traditional rituals and Westernization helped to encourage consumerism and fake trees, but Christmas spirit is one thing I did not pack and am completely lacking this year. If you had asked me earlier this week, I probably would have told you I’m not really missing Christmas this year. Now that it’s the Eve and nothing really spectacularly different or the same is happening, I am missing home, in a different way than I have before. My homesickness has been fairly minimal and the times I find myself wanting to be home for a quick minute are for superficial reasons- steamy hot shower with steady and strong water pressure, certain parties/social events, fast internet, cheap real coffee, soy milk, go for a run at dusk, etc. This homesickness is the real sort of I want to be home- rushing around, bouncing house to house, trying to corner Sam into shopping, gingerbread house making at Tucker’s and catching up with my high school gang, decorating a real tree with the tacky ornaments Sam and I made throughout the years, etc. I almost mildly miss cramming double shifts at Copper Grill/PF Changs. The feelings aren’t overwhelming and I’m by no means upset, but the distance between here and there… simply feels very real tonight.

Dec 25 Christmas Day
Krismas njema! Swahili for Merry Christmas!
Low key day unlike any other Christmas celebration I’ve ever had. No rushing around, no direct family, no mashed potatoes (or as Sam would say… well, when he was a little kid at least- smashed potatoes), no fire in the fireplace, no sitting on the top of the stairs to rush down to tear apart wrapping paper. Instead… helped Mama Dorica master pancakes for breakfast. No syrup- minor detail that I can see being easily forgotten for non-native-pancake-consumers. Delicious, nonetheless. Cleaned up, started cooking a “traditional” African feast. To much of my disappointment, we did not slaughter a goat. I was secretly really looking forward to it, which seems ironic in any which way you look at it. Vegetarian pacifist desperately wanting to slit the throat and pour the blood of a helpless, innocent, poor, little animal? The reasoning was because not enough of the family was able to make it out for the holiday. Unemployment is a large problem in Tanzania, but nonetheless, staff is really tight right now and it’s difficult for people to ask for holiday. The reason they were so late arriving (original plan was for them to be in Moshi by the 18 and they arrived on the 23) was because first Mama Dorica couldn’t get off and then Baba had a last minute obligatory meeting to attend the 23 so they had to leave even later! Two of her brothers were denied their holiday and one of her sisters had already made plans to visit her husband’s family. So… no goat slaughtering. Maybe Easter? Christmas feast was pilau (spiced rice with meat and potatoes), carrots and snap peas, salad, and cooked ndizi (bananas). I’ve never seen so much pilau in my life. The way it goes is if you’re a fairly well off and popular family, you’ve got to cook a lot because many guests are expected to arrive unannounced. That they did! There’s still about a pot full left of the stuff, but whew! It was a busy day of different people passing in and out. There was also a huge cake shaped and decorated as a Christmas tree. The size was a close competition to the artificial tree!! These folks don’t take having plenty of food lightly by any means.

Afternoon of card games and various company with the same CD of Christmas carols. Had some quality Swahili practice which is great for me and an endless source of entertainment for the house girls here. After a while, the crowds died down and then a few of the family members took their turn visiting other “popular” families to feast with them. I hung at home with Baba and some of the house girls. Watched AlJazeera and Christmas with the Kranks, which was all too appropriate.

Between my experiences staying a night in a “Maasai” village, hiking through a waarusha village, and spending Christmas in Moshi, I have a difficult time seeing the Christian spirit of the people here. Well, actually, not only Christian spirit, but a spiritual identity overall. They lack their indigenous identity, but never really took on the colonized religion either. Just a few generations of people who know of several belief systems and don’t particularly identify with any of them. Maybe if I had skipped out on cooking and attended a church service this morning I would have felt there were more heart felt Christians in the area, but mostly… it’s just not here. There’s some quote that I feel like was at the beginning of some political science book I read that said, “There is no God in Africa.” … but if that’s the case, I can’t imagine why God would choose to stick around America either. No, it’s not that… it’s something else. The spiritual sense of Christmas was certainly lacking in me this year… or in general, my spiritual identity has slipped to a back burner and has been quiet lately. Perhaps it’s because I’m on uneven ground- far away from home… Dar and the States. I absolutely love drifting and wandering in and out of comfort zones, but there’s an inner part of me (which is probably larger than I’d like to admit) that’s a big homebody who would love to crawl into my comfortable hermit shell and shut the entire world out for a few days. But, I left that shell is in storage with the rest of anything I own… and I’m doing alright. More than alright- perfectly fine. I’ll find solace in my shell sometime in June. Missed home a lot today, but I’ve made it through and am looking forward for tomorrow!

27 Dec
Salama kabisa. Everything’s calm. The most exciting things that have happened have been collecting mangoes, power outages, and a day trip to Arusha today. Very quiet indeed (minus a few sister spats- man, I’ve never been so grateful to a) be the first born and b) have a baby brother). It’s been excellent and given lots of time for card playing, reading, mango eating, Swahili slaughtering, sleeping, and just… relaxing. Definitely the most chill holiday I think I’ve had.

Went to Arusha today to visit Mama Dorica’s uncle. Cute old couple in a beautiful house up a bumpy road. Great company and excellent food. The uncle was a big hunter, so we ate Grant gazelle meat that he had most recently shot on his last hunting safari. I can’t believe I’m saying this, but it was delicious. No goat slaughtering, but freshly murdered gazelle meat I guess is a close second, right? Torrential downpour while driving back to Moshi which stopped as we continued east, but gave us a wonderfully long rainbow with a backdrop of Mount Kilimanjaro. Uhuru Peak (top of Mount Kilimanjaro) was totally visible this afternoon on our way back. Less than a month Mom and I will be climbing!!

On a quick side note, I’d just like to say that technology is an amazing thing. I’ve been able to talk to Dad, Kathy, Mom, Sam, Meredith, and Heather in the past few days. Emails and letters are great ways of keeping up with people (and most welcome!!), but hearing someone’s voice is certainly heart warming. Definitely brightened my mood and made my homesickness evaporate.

28 Dec
2:30am. Insomnia strikes after being silent for so many months! The host family returns to Dar later this morning. I’ll hang out here for another day and make my way back to Arusha on the 29. It is officially 6:30pm EST in the States, meaning exactly 24 four hours before Dad and Kathy’s plane is to take off from Dulles. Crazy! Parents, meet Tanzania. Tanzania, meet parents. I tried my best to prepare my parents for Tanzania, but I have no idea where to even begin advising Tanzania for my parents. I suppose it’s about time they met though, I mean, our relationship is getting kind of serious. Back to the continent for the fourth time, and well, Tanzania and me- we’ve been steady for almost four months in this absurd love hate relationship.

29 Dec
Twiddling my fingers in the hotel room, waiting for Dad and Kathy to arrive. Hot, real shower and after much scrubbing, I feel completely clean. It was disgusting to see the brown soapy water swirling down the drain, but hey, I haven’t had a “real” shower since Zanzibar. Give a girl a break. I felt it was slightly appropriate to try to be presentable for the parents. They should be here soon! Actually, the plane should have just touched down (it’s 8:30pm as I’m writing this). I really can’t believe it. Parentals in Africa? I’m so glad they want to come and see this part of my life since I feel like it plays such a vital role in my day to day. I think it’ll give some insight into why exactly I keep coming back… well, I hope so!

I fiddled around on the internet earlier today but for some strange reason, Blogger didn’t want to accept my update, so I’m not exactly sure when the next post will be. Sorry for your eyeballs. They may begin to water and bleed from staring at a screen for too long.

My last night in Moshi was great. Had a really quiet day after the host family left and that evening, went out with Dennis, Pendelo, and Mary. Pendelo is another one of Mama Dorica’s brothers and Mary is his wife. Great company and cool restaurant. Open space, live reggae, kuku choma na chipsi (barbeque chicken and fries) for dinner, and drinks all around (which resulted in my third hangover since being here). Packed up, had a cup of chai, and said kwa herini (good bye to all) to Mama Dorica’s family! Another crammed daladala ride, quiet day in Arusha with the oh, so ever welcomed love pursuits, few errands, now… like I said before- just twiddling my fingers! No good news channel comes in through the TV and my only other choice is a quality Tanzanian soap opera. Mm. I think it was my AP Gov teacher senior year that told us we would spend the next ten years of our life wishing that time would fast forward… and then the rest of it wishing time would slow down. The moment is all well and good, and I love just about each and every moment, but what about the next?!

In other news since Christmas has not sucked up all of my time here… I feel like the best way to sum up my travels in the past few weeks is to break it up by region/activity. I’ll start from the beginning because it’s slightly confusing… even for me to try to recount!

MWANZA, TZ:
17 hours on a bus that left at 6am on December 6. Awesome hostel and cute town. Spent a day by Lake Victoria and climbed some rocks mildly illegally. A guard in full uniform came to tell us to get off, but he was smoking a joint and then cracked a smile at us so he went on his way and we stayed on the rocks. Began our journey to Rwanda on December 8. Cleared a duka of their chapati, hopped on an unexpected ferry ride, a bus to a border town, a taxi to the border, received passport stamps, and we walked across the border- hamna shida (no problems)!

KIGALI, RW:
Spent several hours on a rather uncomfortable daladala to arrive in Kigali around 8pm. Tired, hungry, unshowered, but in good spirits once we got food! Rwanda is the “country of a thousand hills” and they aren’t joking. Absolutely gorgeous. The infrastructure is spectacular given the tragedies of the early 1990s. It was intense to realize and swallow that just about everyone you encountered had been personally affected by the genocide. Went to the Kigali Memorial Center which was really well put together. Took a long time walking through it… and my nerd self took notes on some fairly atrocious facts. I’ll compile those with some other “fun” facts and write a doozie of a rant the next time I feel overwhelmed by mankind. I’ll leave you with this nibble of food for thought- how likely is it that genocides will replace wars?

Stayed in the Dream Inn Motel which was a little on the pricey side for us, but all the dirt cheap places were full of Congolese refugees. It was a decent place and we only had one major run in with an eye rolling, deep sighing, bad attitude receptionist.

One major plus of visiting a francophone country- CHEAP CHEESE!!! It is a rarity in Dar and when it is found, it’s expensive! Sooo, we definitely took advantage of the situation. Well, I suppose this is a good time to mention that our entire group was really good about always having munchies- peanut butter, infamous digestive cookies (which must be healthy because they have whole wheat in them), cucumbers, bananas, hard boiled eggs, apples, mangoes, peanuts, granola, bread, and cheap cheese. It was excellent.

Lindsey became an “mzee” (elder) on our trip for her 22nd birthday. It resulted in an interesting celebratory evening of eight azungu (two of our friends from Dar came to join us for a bit!) and bodabodas (motorcycle drivers) trying to find an Indian restaurant that they (the boda drivers) assured us they knew. Wongo (Liars). It resulted into a run around and night tour of Kigali. With a pleasant buzz, zooming through the streets, wind rushing past you, laughing and practicing Swahili with the drivers… it may have been stressful, but our (well at least mine and a few others) attitudes were too carefree to mind the unintentional expedition to find not an Indian restaurant, but another one called Papyrus. Good atmosphere, great company.

VOLCANOES NATIONAL PARK, RW:
Last minute, spontaneous opportunity- gorilla trekking. Our impression was that you need to book weeks and months in advanced so we decided to skip it and try to organize a hike. While Mallory and I were getting bus tickets to Kampala, Kiera, Joe and Max orchestrated the originally planned hike then discovered there were spare permits to go gorilla trekking!! Minus Mal Pal, we all decided to go broke to make our way to the Volcanoes National Park. Rocky road in which we passed Mallory exploring the nearby village with a trail of kids clinging to her. Steep climb through a bamboo forest and deep mud. We were practically vertical, not even touching the ground- simply suspended by feet of dense vegetation beneath our feet, by the time our guide pointed and the gorillas were visible. If we had gone all the way over the volcano, we would have been in the Congo. No worries, didn’t go that far and didn’t see any hints of violence in the least. There was a case of violence a few years ago that affected the gorillas that was connected to the ethnic violence in DRC- the manager of the National Park on the side of the Congo had approximately sixteen gorillas shot to scare off azungu tourists from coming to the park. Tragic because the gorillas have had a difficult time as it is to repopulate and the human in charge of preserving them was the culprit that murdered them.

We tracked a family called Amaheru, meaning peace in Kirwandan. The deal is you hike until you find them, then you have an hour with them to not impose too much tourism/human interaction onto them and preserve their habitat. It was incredible. We were right beside them! At times, I could have extended my arm and given them a high five. They could have stepped on my toes when they scurried past us! We had loads of guards around us that kept us safe and such, but it was amazing to see these creatures so close. The silverback was humongous. He was the lead male and a total pimp. The leading silverback is the only gorilla that is allowed to sleep with all the lady gorillas. If any lady gorillas sleep with another male gorilla who isn’t the leading silverback, it’s considered cheating and the lady has to follow her side lover to form a new family. Remind you of any other creature’s habits? Their hands and feet were so humanlike! Or rather… our hands and feet are so gorilla-like! The babies were adorable and yes, I have loads of photos. They’ll be up next time I spend an extended amount of time in a hotel with reliable wireless.

Probably the coolest thing I’ve ever done.

MURAMBI, RW:
Probably the most bone chilling, dehumanizing thing I’ve ever experienced. Murambi was the site of a massacre where thousands of Hutus were beaten almost to death, thrown into shallow mass graves, then lime was thrown upon them to preserve their decimated bodies and dying souls. The bodies were displayed in twenty four classrooms that had been intended to teach the population vocational skills. The school was never utilized and is now only to teach others of the atrocities humans have displaced unto other fellow humans. It is situated on top of a hill that provides a panoramic view of stunning countryside. The entire experience was breath taking- beauty and annihilation. I numbly took pictures to try to capture the moment and the emotions, but it was in vain to remind myself what people are truly capable of. I’ll refrain from posting those, but if you’re curious or sadistic, I’ll share them with you when I get home. The entire afternoon was difficult- our complicated journey there and then wandering room to room, being hit wave by wave of emotions. Nauseating, frustrating, frightening, infuriating. Long quiet ride back to Kigali to swallow the lumps in my throat, tame my blood from boiling, and trick my mind to rationalize the afternoon. The rationalization wasn’t much of a success, but I can say I have since that afternoon slipped back to moods of carefree happiness. What else is there to do? If an mzungu screams in the middle of Africa, does anyone hear that one scream over his/her internal shrieks? I wonder how some people sleep at night.

KAMPALA, UG:
Another long bus ride to arrive just before dinner. Had our last dinner as six travelers at this amazing Indian restaurant. If you ever find yourself in Kampala, you must go to the Masala Chaat House. Well, in general, the food in Kampala was excellent. Our food experiences in Rwanda and Uganda really reflect poorly on Tanzania’s variety of cuisine. That might not be a fair statement since I haven’t really tried to expand my list of restaurants here (Meredith- I need you here so we can have date nights to new places to get to know the city!!), but we really had some excellent meals while we were venturing.

One night at Backpackers where everyone seemed to be slightly annoyed, so after our night in Jinja, we switched to the Red Chili’s Hideaway. Better vibes and met some cool folks. Explored en miguu (by foot) Kampala and I think it’s safe to say we know the place pretty well. Lots of loops. Walked through the major city market which was hustling and bustling… and fairly intense, dodging mud puddles and swarms of people and vehicles of any sort- daladalas, cars, motorbikes, carts, bikes, you name it- well, minus elephants and camels. Managed to finally find the National Mosque that was started by Idi Amin and finished by uhh some other wealthy dude that I know is probably important to Ugandan history, but my memory is lacking. Apologies. We thought we were only going to be able to take pictures awkwardly from the gate, but when we reached the gates, the guards welcomed us openly, gave us kitenge (cloth) to cover ourselves in (Joe included) so we could go on a tour. They tried to rip us off by charging 10,000 UgSh each, but we bargained the initially “nonnegotiable” price to 10,000 UgSh for all of us. Still a mild rip and kinda sacrilegious since well, non-Muslims aren’t supposed to enter mosques and then nonetheless charge people for a “tour.” Anyway, we were able to poke around the mosque and get some great pictures of the building itself and of Kampala.

JINJA, UG:
Rafting. AMAZING. Juma was our guide. 110% liar, but the guy had jokes. Typical raft guide, I suppose? The floor and “ejection seats” deflated several times and the paddles were wood- sticks, if you will. Wild. Juma flipped us on the first and last rapid. One of the girls let out that I had guided this past summer so Juma picked on me and had me guide through a class 3 (called 50/50), class 4 (Bungamare Falls), and class 5 (called Silverback). We didn’t flip while I was “in charge” and it was great to be on the water again. Got off the water with a great adrenaline rush and slight sunburn. Gulped down some food and a beer before catching a ride to bungee-ing!
Bungee jumping. AMAZING. The sun had set by the time Max and I were up to jump so pictures of us actually jumping didn’t come up, but it was incredible. Had my ankles tied together, I took two hops to the edge, gripped my toes over the edge, stretched my arms overhead to grasp the bar for balance, they called “3…2…1… bungee!” and I off I went, swan diving/plummeting towards the Nile. I expected to scream and close my eyes, but it was just the opposite. I couldn’t have shut my eyelids if I had wanted to. The panorama was too astonishing and as far as screaming goes, there was a certain amount of peace I felt as I bounced. When the two guys let me down into a raft was when I started making noise. Needless to say, I certainly had my adrenaline fix for the day.
Made friends with two of the safety kayakers and they invited us to go kayaking with them the next day. This was probably one of my fondest memories of the trip because it’s the first time I’ve made friends with locals here where I truly feel like it was a mutual friendship and they wanted nothing from us. There have been countless let downs of befriending someone your own age only to find he/she want something from you- funding for school, marriage, help for their family, your phone when you leave, your earrings or shirt, etc. It’s really discouraging to keep trying to make friends here, but they restored the hope of finding true friends here.

NAIROBI, KY:
Only stayed about an hour and a half in the actual city after a really bumpy red eye bus from Kampala. Would try to get a little bit of sleep to only be bounced into the air from the bus speeding through who knows what- speed bumps, potholes, road kill. Finally made it Nairobi to a crowded bus station and split a voucher breakfast.

This is where my pekee yangu (alone) trip began. Mallory, Kiera, and Joe hopped on the bus to Dar and I continued on a bus to Arusha. Met this Swedish guy, another save-the-worlder, who was also heading to Arusha. Roads in Kenya weren’t so great, but made it to Tanzania hakuna noma (with no problems).

ARUSHA, TZ:
Checked into Backpacker’s after this mlevi (drunkard) and his brother gave us a free lift to a hotel that he wanted us to stay in, but it was conveniently right across from the hostel I had planned on staying in. No worries, the sober brother was driving. It’s my least favorite thing about Arusha- being constantly confronted and hassled to go on a safari for the best deal or the greatest hike for the rafiki (friend) price. Second would be when I would be exploring the city me, myself, and I and some guy would come up and start the typical rico-suave-macho-alpha-male pursue of an mzungu female. Good practice for Swahili but mildly annoying. One guy complimented my ability to cross the street like a local (translation- Frogger incarnate with lots of traffic in which you just dive into- no hesitating allowed) when it was mostly just my failed attempt to lose the dude or get him hit by a car or something. Take a hint! Also, I wonder if every mzungu female turns these guys down, why haven’t they picked up a new technique? There has to be some clever fellows out there have put the puzzle pieces together- mzungu female + cat calling and obnoxious hunt = failure. That secret surely couldn’t be held exclusively for this long. Or, there has to be some cunning mzungu males who have befriended sly local males and they exchanged notes. And you’d think that one of them would tip the locals off that they have to read the female they’re hunting, if you will. If an mzungu female is walking by herself and doesn’t look helpless, then chances are she isn’t helpless and is on another playing field. Time to step up the game. Not to toot my own horn or anything in that sense, but come on- I haven’t met any females traveling alone here that are on the look out for a local love affair (and yes, I have met females traveling alone here). Most of them have condemned men and have thrown themselves to the inescapable jaws of social work (no, I haven’t condemned men… yet). Met some really great people, though, which is always great.

Went on a hike to Songota Falls which is near the foot of Mount Mero. My guides name was Harry and he had an awkward giggle. Nice day, gorgeous views, and interesting conversations with Harry.

Next day, I spent a night in an almost Maasai village. The tribe was technically considered “waarusha.” Their ancestors were Maasai, but colonization and Christianity forced them to abandon most of their indigenous rituals. Thomas was the organization’s coordinator and Glory was my guide. Thomas prided himself as a Maasai, but was dressed in Western attire and declared himself a Christian… so I’m a little weary on trusting him as a true Maasai. He met me at Backpackers then we took two daladalas to reach Oldonyo village, about an hour and half away. The first was fine, but the second was quite the experience. We crammed five adults into the back row. I felt the seat giving a little bit, but there’s not a whole lot I could do and figured, meh, hakuna matata. I shouldn’t have been in a normal hakuna matata mindset because as we sped down the road, the seat kept creaking. We hit a speed bump at max speed and the whole darn row collapsed! This resulted in stopping the daladala, everyone getting out, the driver and the conda looking at the seat, then everyone cramming back into to daladala and we continued our journey… standing. Hilarious.

Arrived in Oldonyo, just in time for some tea. Talked to Thomas about different traditions and rituals… which I have an inkling that he never really participated in. Simply heard the story. After chai and while waiting for Glory to arrive, he walked me over to watering hole for the livestock. First big turn off- after I greeted the elder relatives with a shikamoo, one of them did not say marahaba, rather demanded in Kiswahili that I give him 2,000 Tanzania shillings. I let out an unintentionally disrespectful laugh in his face and ask kwa nini, bwana? (why, man?) He replies he needs to buy a soda… which costs 500 shillings. I tell him no, I don’t have shillings on me- which was the truth because I was about to go for a hike, I wasn’t really carrying a ton of cash on my person. He replies, okay, fine, just 1,000. At this, I let him see my jaw drop and any other facial expression that may have happened in my utter disbelief of disrespect- for himself and to me. I cracked a sarcastic smile, began to say pole, but stopped myself because I wasn’t sorry or sympathetic. I walked away.

Glory was a sweetheart, but new to the tourism business. Kinda turned me off from the experience, actually. After I snapped a few photos, she asked to see my camera and we sat in a shady spot and went through my four hundred pictures of Rwanda and Uganda. Then she kept holding my camera throughout the rest of the hike. Nice in the sense she snapped some photos of me, but awkward in the sense that she wasn’t so great at taking photos and it was gorgeous. It was kinda funny to watch her snap photos though because she would act like it was recording as she moved the camera around to soak in an entire panorama, and then when she got to where she wanted the edge of the photo to be, she would press down on the button, which would send the camera sideways, and catch just a bit of the entire view she was trying to capture. She had no problems handing my camera back to me, but it was still just kinda… awkward. After our hike and while we were waiting for afternoon chai, she asked for my number so we could continue our friendship… she discovered I had Vodacom, which was her provider as well, so she asked me for some credit. Yeah, alright, no problem… I had loaded up before I left and figured I could calculate it into her tip. The next day after visiting the medicine healer, she showed me off to her friends which I’m also mildly resentful of because it wasn’t a mutual experience. It was them demanding things from me as soon as we arrived- candy, money, my bracelets. Then… when Glory started to try to take pictures of them, they asked for money compensation for the photos. Whaat? Seriously? On top of that, Glory wanted to show them my piece of crap Motorola phone that was made circa 2003. I handed it over and she fiddled on it for a bit with them watching and handed it back to me. I checked my text messages and lo and behold- she had transferred more voucher credit to her phone. Really?? It’s one thing to ask and receive, but it’s another to take without asking. As we were walking back to the boma I spent the night in, I confronted her about it and she denied it, played dumb, and said she didn’t even have her phone on her so we couldn’t check. Typical Africa response, so I pursued it further because I was a bit on the upset side, showed her the message, told it her it was fine for her to ask and that I didn’t really mind, but it’s also okay for me to refuse things. It’s not okay to take things. Hey, they have a name for that actually, it’s called stealing!! I didn’t go that far, but my blood was boiling a bit from being a mzungu play thing. Skipped out on lunch and she walked me to the bus stand in which she then asked for her tip. Faux pas number 2. I handed over a tip and then proceeded to tell her it was considered rude in azungu culture to ask for a tip. She was embarrassed about that, too, and tried to justify herself again. Put a really large damper on the memory of my trip… but here are the cool things that I experienced:

Spent the night in an almost traditional boma. It had been Westernized a bit to suite the wants of azungu, which I was a little let down about, but still, spent the night with a family who live there on a daily basis and they warmly welcomed me into their home. Helped Mama Foibe in the kitchen and had some really great Swahili practice time. She didn’t speak any English and I feel like if I had stayed there for about two weeks, I’d have the language down pat. The husband wasn’t around because it was his week with another wife. And that’s all that was said about that. I was dying to pry but no where in my Swahili vocabulary bank do I have stored words to describe feelings of competing for a husband’s attention, time, or monetary assistance. She had three adorable daughters and an itty bitty baby. Visited the sokoni (market) which was quiet since it was Sunday, the spiritual fig tree, spring, cave, boulder, and medicine healer. The fig tree is the spot of animal sacrifices to their gods and where boys are circumcised at age 18. Yeah, age 18 or older. They perform the ceremony every seven years to instill a hierarchy of respect between boys, men, warriors, and elders. In order to reach warrior status, they cannot flinch at all during the process or else they are outcast from society. Apparently Thomas went through this as well, but doesn’t make much sense either because he was sent to boarding school at age 14. Whatever. In traditional Maasai rituals, once the boy is circumcised, he must not flinch and then prove his manhood by killing a lion. Needless to say, the Maasai are kinda the bad asses of Africa. Drink cow’s blood, only sleep three hours a night, don’t eat when they are on a hunt which usually lasts 3-5 days, can jump extraordinarily high, and lions fear them. Continuing on with my hike… saw the spring which is where the village gets their water which comes from Mount Meru. The cave is where male elders come to cook and eat their goat meat and talk about issues. The rock is where the female elders go to talk about issues and take a break from cooking. Went to visit the medicine healer who was a smiley old man with a smiley old wife in a precious cow dung and mud boma. He talked very slowly to me in Swahili and used lots of hand motions to let me know what was going on. He was utterly distressed that I was twenty, unmarried and childless. He gave me a love potion to remedy my tragedy. I’m to put it in my face lotion and apply it daily until I find the love of my life. It’s still in the little plastic baggy. Laughed quite a bit and maybe when I’m forty-something and desperate, I’ll pull it out for a bit of a try. A local boy named Juma came to Foibe’s boma to prepare a goat leg for dinner. Only men are permitted to cook meat, but they let me sit in the kitchen boma while he cooked it. He told me he was 21 after I told him I was 20, but he didn’t look over 15. Had goat meat for the first time and it was pretty good. Walked to my boma shortly after dinner under the most amazing sky I have ever seen. In less than 200 meters, I saw three shooting stars. Mind you, I wasn’t walking fast by any means, but there were more stars than there was darkness. The little girls at my side kept pulling me to show me to my room, but I could’ve stayed there for decades. I bundled up and crawled into bed. Laid down and then heard a rustle of feathers. Curiosity got the best of me and I peered over the edge of by bed. I was rooming with a mother hen and six eggs.

My little adventure in Arusha was my first few days since arriving in September to have some full pekee yangu (alone) Amanda time. It was fantastic, but I was really glad to reunite with my host family.

MOSHI, TZ:
Smushed into a daladala to get to Moshi. We were stopped by the police at one of the security checks because the conda (conductor) crammed too many people in. He made about eight people get off! In the middle of nowhere! Mental note- always sit in the back. It’s always amazing how people standing up hand things to people sitting down. Cakes, bags, boxes, chickens, children. It is completely normal, and I believe- expected, for the women to swoop up the standing children into their laps.

Dennis, Mama Dorica’s youngest brother, met me at the bus station because my host family hadn’t arrived yet. Dennis is twenty year old attending a computer technical school, waiting to get accepted to a university. Lives at home with Bibi and craves American culture... or maybe just people his age. Regardless, we had a good conversation in Kiswahili about the differences and similarities of our lives and a character to hang around. I think he is still under the impression that there are no problems in America and everything is “easy as pie.” He’s technically an uncle to Debby and Dorica, but more like a cousin. Host family arrived around dinner time and I was so glad to see them!! Mama Dorica started fussing over whether or not I was alright, safe, stuffed to the brim with food, and was telling me how relieved she was when I sent her a text saying I had made it safely across the Tanzanian border. What a mother. She then proceeded to put more food on my plate, encouraging me to eat. Ah, her plan to make me plump. Her justification- my mother won’t let me stay here if she sees me and I’ve lost weight. Baba sat me down and wanted to hear all about everything and we had a good chat. If it wasn’t official before, I think he thinks I’m insane, but I really enjoy our chats. Girls wanted to see pictures and it was a great night of being together.

Quiet days and beautiful setting. Big farm. Lots of cows and chickens and fields of maharage (beans). Soon it’ll be time for mahindi (corn). Like I mentioned before, there are lots of little critters running around. No screens on the windows so they come and go as they please. Haven’t had too many run ins, but there have been several moments when I jump and they jump, then we keep to ourselves.

Endless mangoes. Walk outside, wander underneath the few mango trees on her farm, and viola! Infinite amounts of mangoes. Sit under a tree, munching on a mango, reading a book, chickens clucking under your chair every now and again. Nice change of pace, for sure.

Back to TZ...

2008-12-18T15:34:00.002+03:00

Mambo! Just a quick hello to say I made it safely through Rwanda, Uganda, and Kenya! The entire trip was absolutely amazing- gorilla trekking, city exploring, motorcycle riding, birthday celebrations, long and bumpy bus rides, language switching (Swahili, English, French, a combination of all three plus Kirwanda and Luganda!), genocide memorial visiting, Nile river rafting/guiding (woohoo! through a class 3, 4, and 5!), bungee jumping, kayak 101 roll lesson, full moon, walking across borders, meeting new folks, and making lots of memories. I'm reporting from Arusha where I'll be hanging out until my host family gets to Moshi on the 22 of December. I'll work on a more detailed blog update then. Dad and step mom arrive on December 29! I think I'll be squeezing another country in between when they leave and when Mom arrives on January 21. I'll keep you posted, for sure.

No new azungu are coming spring semester because UDSM said so. It's going to be a lonely semester for sure and a scramble for the rest of us staying for a year! Wild times.

Living the life and currently loving it :)

Merry Christmas!!!

Explanation of sorts of non-sensical rant

2008-12-06T01:48:00.000+03:00

Lots of things happened last week. Most of them were not good by any stretch of the imagination. However, it is really important to remember that things always could have been worse. The culmination of everything negative that happened finally broke my skin. From time to time, I get this wild idea that things don't get under my skin, but my bark isn't that thick. I am putting those events behind me, but they are all still in my memory to be a constant reminder of where I am. Everything from stolen iPods on runs, to verbal sexual harassment, to a case of rape, to break ins in the dorms, to wallets being stolen, to phones being snatched from hands, to macing people, to hold ups with machetes, to attacks in the dorms, to constant objectification, to... to who knows what else. Everything conceptualized in my head this past week and now it's the next stage... how to deal with it and not stay angry or anxious all the time.

Said kwa heri to Lacey and about to say kwa heri to Dar for a bit. Currently trying to stay up as late as possible with everyone because we have twenty hours on a bus which will leave at 6am, meaning we leave campus by 5:30am. Woohoo. Another sunrise to see!!

Everything is falling into place, as it should and always eventually does. Exams are done. I'm packed and with wonderful company. I wouldn't want to be anywhere else.

Thinking of family and friends as we are in the lull between holidays. Looking forward to the days ahead. I'll report back when I arrive home (Dar) safely.

Signing off with lots of love allllll the way from Africa, Amanda

Add on...

2008-12-03T19:51:00.003+03:00

I cannot believe the DISRESPECT of females that exists here. It makes me feel physically nauseous.

Also, I saw a monkey carrying a dead monkey and a little part of me died/made me feel sick.

And I'm out after dark to study for an exam because that's what students do! Study at night! And that's inhibited here! I hate the lack of freedom I have here. Reader, don't worry, I'll be taking public transport all the way home. But DAMN. How much longer is going to go on? I was discussing it with some of the kids here and it's obvious that all the shit is hitting the fan like... now. Really? Right now? What more shit could hit the fan?

I want to be able to scream and I want someone to react and actually CHANGE something. It was fantastic to scream and get results with the mugging incident, but right now, I want to change it for my damn self because it's obvious that NO ONE else is going to do it. I want to turn this culture upside down, shake all the bad guys out, and then put it up right again. Just like a snow globe. I'm in no position now or ever to do that to any culture but JEEZ. Is this really how people treat people?!? Still?! And this will continue for centuries to come?! How !@$%ing discouraging.

Dear (Tanzanian) men, LOOK AT MY FACE AND LISTEN TO MY VOICE. NOW.

"Don't think twice, it's alright" .... and I MACED two SOBS!

2008-12-03T11:43:00.003+03:00

29 Nov
One more post before traveling. Exactly one month until Dad and Kathy arrive. Mind blowing. I’m really excited for all of them to see what I’ve been up to. I think everything will make so much more sense when they see things. Also, any stories or things I mention later on will make so much more sense in context. And who knows, maybe they’ll be able to retell things in a more insightful or relatable manner. We shall see!

I believe rainy season is upon us. I suppose this means more power outages for long periods of time. Also, I’ve been getting cold lately. I mean, it’s still outrageously hot, but in the evenings, I’ve been cold. Who knows what compelled me to decide to walk instead of catch a daladala when it was drizzling, but even walking mid-afternoon, I was comfortable with my rain jacket and a scarf.

Took two nice walks from the Michocheni area, where TEACH is located. I think it’s finally settling in that this is home. I think I’m sensitized to all those things all those packets “warn” azungu about Africa. Plastic bag roofs, constant honks, how to exhale deeply when a big van or truck passes, how to downcast my eyes to elders and hide my knees and thighs. How my initial reaction to seeing flies swarm the fish that is being sold on the side of the street that is being slowly cooked in the heat is not disgust, but “hey, that actually doesn’t look like too bad of a fish; wonder how Haika would cook it.” Kweli (really)?

30 Nov
Last day of November!

Weekend full of shopping. Exhausting! I feel like I’ve frequented Mwenge a couple few many times just to “angalia tu” (only look). Too indecisive! So much, so much time. Plus it’s grueling to have to continuously be hassled and greet different vendors. Karibu, rafiki, asanta, mambo, safi mambo, poa, habari, nzuri- za leo? nzuri my friend I give you good price, not the azungu price, what you looking for you, nothing in particular, just looking, oh yes yes yes! Looking is for free, no charge to look, sista, this is very nice, I give you a good price. Ah jeez. Too much.

Also, I feel like it’s a little bit strange to buy Tanzanians the things that are made in the markets targeted for azungu. Yes, kanga and kitenge are certainly acceptable for women, but am I really supposed to buy Baba some sort of carving or t-shirt that says JAMBO AFRICA! ? Yeah right. Plus, Debby and Dorica want nothing to do with typical Africa things. I think I’ve figured it out after a long day of wandering Saturday and then a fairly intense trip today with Mama in Ilala and Slipway. Found a secondhand internal frame backpack!! Sure, it’s not exactly what I would want if I could be picky and pay tons of money in the States, but it’s perfect for right now! Lacey even bought a larger backpack of sorts. I think she has officially caught the traveling bug… hurray! Another one is converted!

Dorica is home. Went to go pick her up Saturday morning in another torrential downpour. Really nice school in the middle of nowhere. Nice to have her back. It’s funny how Debby’s behaviors have changed ever so slightly since Dorica has been back- we found her reading, she doesn’t seem to whine as much, and she follows Dorica around now instead of Lacey or me. We’ll see how long this keeps up and if maybe she’ll even increase her studying hours! Apparently she’s in trouble with Mama and Baba because of grades and because she didn’t tell her mom that her final examination results were in. Haha, guess some things are universal… try to hide the bad things from your parents and then it just comes around to bite you in the butt. Except Debby doesn’t really ever get in trouble which is slightly infuriating because some of the things she gets away with would never, ever fly at home. I think Lacey and I have been an interesting influence though because we tease her mercilessly when she does things that Lacey and I would’ve probably gotten in trouble for when we were kids or when she whines about stupid things. I’m not sure if this really gets to her though or if she just receives it as attention and keeps doing it so we pay attention to her. Who knows. I’m not an expert at 11 year old girls.

Baba is still in Mwanza taking care of his dad. Mama Dorica has been holding down the fort and has been telling Lacey and me all sorts of stories. Got the long story of how she and Baba came about marrying each other and a few other personal stories from herself, family, and her close friends. Domestic violence, spousal betrayal, family deaths, following African traditions, the works. I guess we’re entering into the close circle of African women gossip! My next goal is to be able to follow it in Kiswahili. We’ll see if that ever happens.

Had another mini sikuku kwa Haika. She expressed interest in going to a movie soo we took her to a movie at Mlimani City. Bought sodas and candy from Shoprite, stuffed them in my bag, and vegged out. She fell asleep during the movie but I think overall she enjoyed the outing. We saw Body of Lies which was pretty good but borderline absolutely terrifying. Don’t want to get into that controversial discussion, so I’ll just leave it at that.

Lacey taught Haika how to make French toast, without me ::pout face:: but I’m looking at it like I have six more months to intrude her kitchen.

Talked to pretty much everyone on my mom’s side of the family Saturday. It was hot potato with the phone. So glad to hear everyone’s voice!!! Thanks for thinking of me and I hope y’all had a blast that night at Amy’s debutant ball!! So sad I missed it, but I’m looking forward to seeing pictures!! How did all the football games turn out? Do I even want to know?

Dec 1 …barely
It’s the middle of the night so technically the first day of December. What is that superstition you’re supposed to say for good luck? Rabbit, rabbit? Does it count if I type it? I’ll whisper it just to be on the safe side…

First personal safety bubble popping and stab at my invincibility ego. I’ll preface all of this by saying things could have played out much, much worse. Without further ado…

Hiked to campus to spend a few hours on campus working on a Swahili presentation and then visit for a bit with friends to solidify the plans for our trip. Sun started setting, I finished up a few last emails, begin my hike home. Darkness sets in very quickly here… almost like a flip of a switch but an afterglow sticks around for about thirty minutes (6pm is sunset, it’s dark by 7pm). The general rule I’ve been going by has been when I make it into my neighborhood, I’m pretty much home safe. That’s because there are tons of houses and generally lots of people around because they live there. I don’t know them personally, but am able to recognize a few because well, we live in the same vicinity, we’re always out and about, and I try my best to greet everyone I run into. Needless to say, it’s evident to just about everyone in the neighborhood that are some azungu living in their neighborhood. There’s one little stretch of about 100 meters that’s always slightly intimidating because there are some scary looking trees that cast all sorts of shadows and some deteriorating concrete structures accompanied by a constant chorus of chubi (frogs). I was about 50 meters through the intimidating stretch with the trusty mace in hand when I passed two guys about my age walking the opposite direction as me. They slowed down when they saw me, which isn’t too terribly unusually because lots of people stop to either stare at or greet azungu. It’s more on the suspicious side since it’s dark and they said “habari” instead of “mambo” to me, even though we’re definitely peers that would use the slang greeting (apparently this is a characteristic of people from Kenya to say “habari” instead of “mambo”? Who knows). I replied in Swahili and asked them how it was going with them since they had already started to approach me and began walking alongside me, both on my left side. One kept coming closer, closer, then a sudden jerk of what seemed to be an unconfident tug to remove my backpack. Unsuccessfully in confiscating my bag and I gave a healthy dose of mace to him and then his buddy while projecting an earth shattering scream. There was an awkward pause, lasting less than a second or two, of them muttering “oh shits” to themselves and wiping their faces and me backing away, stunned that I just lashed back, and then I yelled WIZI (‘thieves’ and a fairly dishonorable term) and they began to take off. They took a short pause by the scary trees and then they completely disappeared into the darkness when six male neighbors came running. Two of them had machete looking things. The reaction time was extremely quick. The whole thing started and ended within three minutes. Esu and Naruso escorted me home. In the duration of my walk, of course Dad called so I ased him to give me a few minutes to get home and wash my face and such. Perfect timing.

Ironic because as I was walking home this evening I was trying to size up how mace would compete with a machete. I’d lose, for sure. I suppose someone’s looking out for me in the sense I think I had two fairly novice wizi. I don’t feel like I’m in a position to report all the bad shit that’s gone down here in the past three months, but it’s all real. Big, bad scary world and I can’t help the overwhelmingly pessimistic feelings of powerlessness that the entire world is (insert four letter word here)-ed. But… the world keeps revolving. Turn after turn, vicious cycle after cycle, constantly tangled up in multiple catch 22s of trying to do the right thing but causing more wrong things.

Don’t think it’s hit me really… but I’m trying to think of when everything will ever hit me. Will all of this ever materialize fully in my head? Or will my nine months in Tanzania be a fog of hakuna matatas, occasional confrontations, and a few privileged adventures mixed with a university system that doesn’t work, spider web network of daladalas, and a loving host family?

Don’t mean to scare or worry you, reader. This is just life here... and plenty of other places. I won’t shrug this incident off as nothing and no, it hasn’t added to me thinking I’m invincible. However, I would like to say I’m not feeling overly anxious and I do feel still feel safe. I have not felt compelled to book the next flight out of Dar. I’ll continue my life because that’s what needs to happen. Just because my egocentric world stopped for about five minutes doesn’t mean the rest of the world did. I’ll stay cautious and aware.

2 Dec
Mom’s birthday!! 30, right? Hope the attic is sparkling clean and everything is organized. Can you believe in two months you’ll have climbed Mount Kilimanjaro and be walking around my new city?

Monday was productive and full of recounts of the mace story. I think it sank in after having to repeatedly say aloud, “I maced two guys.” I MACED two guys! I don’t know where my capacity came from to harm another human being, but I’m guessing it’s the almost three months of pinned up frustration about the state of society here… well, everywhere. The combination of this and a little provoked incident in Zanzibar, I have to wonder exactly where all my anger is stemming. I haven’t decided if my reaction comforts or intimidates me. Plus, how do I balance my mind internalizing the event and subconsciously blacking out pieces my mind decided to not want to remember so as to not interfere with my façade of insuperable safety? (No, I don’t want try to get in touch with a shrink). As well, I can’t help but to wonder how this affects the wizi wapili (two thieves). Will they try stealing again? What will they do differently? Will they preventively have weapons of their own? Will they take their chances in the same neighborhood? Or on azungu wearing backpacks? Are their eyes still hurting?

On another note of the same sort of subject, there was another dorm robbery! Once again, could’ve been much worse, but aahhh where are we?! It’s like the twilight zone of stealing.

Now to brighter subjects….
Looking forward to having some tailored clothes to venture around in! Two pairs of pants, one A-line skirt, and one dress. I also have some plans to make a replacement wallet out of some of my scraps. All exciting stuff.

Last African Women Writer’s formal lecture today… and it lasted three hours. Kweli (really)? We almost had another hour of discussion to differentiate between heterosexuals, homosexuals, bisexuals, and transgender… but luckily that one was left at face value to be individually interpreted.

Language institutes are looking more and more promising…

Oh, December by Collective Soul just started playing on iTunes. How appropriate. Don’t scream about, don’t think aloud, turn your head, now baby just spit me out. Don’t worry about, don’t speak it now, turn your head, now baby just spit me out.

I have three fairly impressive blisters and the one on the back of my left heel is borderline brutal. Difficult to keep a band-aid on it and it continues to break open every time I take a step. Youch! It’s gotta disappear soon. No option.

3 Dec
Happy 3 month anniversary to Tanzania and me! Only six months before my flight home and that makes me sad already.

Rainy season is definitely here. It was sunny when I left my house and now it’s pouring. Glad I brought my jacket!! I think that and my camera have proved to be the best investments (thanks, Dad).

Another bullshit thing about the justice system here: they tried to arrest one of the American girl’s boyfriend for the robbery in the dorms two days ago because he’s black. What the hell?

SO EXCITED FOR TRAVELING!!! …and getting out of Dar for a bit. I love the city, but too much unrest and stress lately. What happened to all the hakuna matatas and there’s no rush in Africa stuff?? So ready to get all the school stuff out of the way. Multitasking here is so much harder in the States… not to mention, being out of practice hasn’t helped much either.

Hope these stressful few weeks between Thanksgiving and Christmas don’t burn people out too terribly much. Also… if you want postcards for Uganda, Rwanda, and Tanzania, send me your address!!!

For peace, with love, in solidarity

You're calling my name but you gotta make clear, I can't say, baby, where I'll be in a year

2008-11-28T15:02:00.003+03:00

22 Nov
Went shopping in Kariakoo. Not specifically for a husband this time, but of course, without fail, the trip did involve a proposal. Mama Dorica finally explained to me why it’s only me that receives marriage proposals- I speak Swahili like I know what I’m saying so they figure they can at least communicate with me on some sort of level, while with Lacey, they’ve got no starting point. Super. Try to learn a language and all it gets me is a thousand and one marriage proposals. I don’t think I’ve ever been so objectified so consistently in the entire twenty years of my existence.

Bought a mumu, way too big, bur I’m in love with the design. I’d like to say that between Lacey, Debby, myself, and my Hawaiian lay, we came up with “Jesus on acid” and/or “psychedelic angel.” Not sure what sort of picture that paints for y’all, but it’s pretty wild, for sure. It won’t stay a mumu for long- it will become an A-line skirt and dress. I’m excited! Also found a kanga with Obama’s face on it!!! There were also some internal framed backpacks that didn’t look too sketchy so I may be tempted to go buy one of those, particularly for the upcoming trips!! The one that caught my eye is bright red. Another problem: the guy who saw me eying it came over to me and started the whole I-want-to-worship-you-for-the-rest-of-my-life-aka-treat-you-like-a-dog routine. Ugh.

Speaking of husbands and Kariakoo, my tutor’s “friend” dumped me while I was in Zanzibar… I think I forgot to mention that. It was an emotional call in the middle of the night that was cut off approximately three times because HELLOOOO I’m in the middle of the Indian Ocean… you really think cell service is going to be crystal clear? And speaking slang Swahili fast over the phone when I can’t see your mouth move and when you’re mumbling into the receiver doesn’t really help. The devastation of getting dumped by someone I never dated passed fairly quickly (wait a minute, hey Kat- do you remember that ever happening before? Ha ha ha). Still haven’t confessed to Enea, but I’m sure he’s figured it out.

Funny story about Roquia and Mama Dorica. Roquia is the crazy friend and Mama Dorica is the reserved friend. They’re driving home one day, go through a green light, get pulled over by a “police man” on the side of the road, he hops in the car to tell them they ran a red light. They argue with him but he insists they go to the police station, conveniently less than 400 meters to the stop light for them to pay a fine. They pull in, the guy jumps out, goes inside to get the forms. Roquia tells Mama Dorica to throw the car in reverse, so Mama Dorica peels outta there and they bypass the potential ticket. What? Mama Dorica? My stomach ached from laughing so hard, imagining Roquia screaming at Mama Dorica from the passenger seat- reverse, reverse, reverse! Go, go, go! And Mama Dorica just taking her friend’s advice at face value without considering the potential consequences. What a pair.

23 Nov
Day at Kilimanjaro Hotel. 3 cups of the best coffee and ridiculous amounts of food. Productive for uploading photos and that was about it. INSANE TAXI DRIVER HOME- quotes of the evening as we hurdled through downtown Posta at approximately 100km/hr- “I’m a bad father. I’m a Muslim so it’s okay for me to have four wives, but I never married the mothers of two of the children I have. I have six children- one is in Kampala, one is in Nairobi. I keep asking my wife for forgiveness.” This guy is setting up franchises in all east African countries! He told me to save his numbers (yes, plural because he has three phones) as “Profit.” No way.

24 Nov
Lacey’s 22nd birthday!! Tried to “surprise” her as much as resources would handle. Debby, being the 11 year old busybody she is can’t keep anything quiet, but she didn’t do too horribly. Few friends, dinner, cake, presents, you know… real damper on things is the fact that everyone and their mother has malaria. The two that were in the hospital are doing much, much better, but everyone is still recovering.

25 Nov
Why Sam should come to Tanzania for spring break: there will be no other time in your college career to boast that instead of going to Panama City for a drunk fest or just going home, you went to Dar-es-Salaam, Tan-zan-freakin-ia to spend time with your (favorite) sister who you haven’t seen since August when she so kindly ran you places and helped you move into your dorm room even though she would have rather had been at the river, in Columbia, or on her way back to Richmond. Not to mention you didn’t call her back before she left the country.

26 Nov
The end of the semester is nearing. Anyone else find it comical that I started after everyone in the States and I’m finishing before? I bet the dean of my department would find it hilarious and give me a big fat incomplete on my transcript.

I’ve been running around like a mchizi kama ndizi (direct translation: crazy person like a banana) to get everything done by December 5. Adventure starts December 6!!!!

Baba is still in Mwanza with his dad. Dorica will be coming home from boarding school on Saturday.

Latest Mwenge English discussion: I’ll set the scene- myself and eight or nine Tanzanian wood carvers that ranged in age from twenty something to forty something. We had been talking about education and whether or not the government should be responsible for costs so on and so forth. The conversation drifts all over the place so we finally end up on equality in education. I ask,
“Is it okay for your wife to have a higher degree of education than you?”
Collective, “HELL NO.”
“Whaaat??”
My boys burst into laugher, followed by mumbles among themselves and lots of “Teacha, teacha, let me explain…”
“So you boys are telling me it’s okay for you to have a higher degree of education than your wife?”
“Of course!”
“Oooohhhh wait a minute…”
More laughter. Next class will be a lesson on gender discrimination…

27 Nov
Happy Thanksgiving!!! No specific plans yet… not cooking for the family tonight. Perhaps this weekend when everyone is home? I can’t believe it’s the end of November!!! Where did the time go??

Not sure if my phone is working again for international text messages, but to my parentals- my card arrived today!! I haven’t tried to activate it yet, but I’ll buy some more shillings for my phone and give Wachovia a ring-a-ling-ling to make sure everything’s straight. Thanks for helping/worrying!

My study abroad adviser, scholar adviser, and program provider have all been in contact just in time for the holiday weekend to start figuring things out for next semester. Turns out there is a language institute in Zanzibar… but classes are also supposed to start up. Although a semester in Zanzibar would be divine, I would probably go broke and get absolutely nothing done, except lounging on beaches, scuba diving, and wind surfing. My number one choice would be to stay put in Dar with my family, enroll in a Swahili language institute and say kwa heri (good bye) to UDSM for a while. I mean, obviously mooch off the internet and meet people my age, but otherwise… I’m okay with not having to run to Timbuktu and back to figure out classes next semester only for the university to shut down again. Both of the other scholars are looking into finding host families. I’m really hoping Joe or Julie moves into the house right next to mine. I’d be content living with Joe but somehow I don’t think sharing a room with a male would fly on too many cultural levels, even though it’d be 110% mutual because well, he has a girlfriend and is 110% not my type. Julie’s Swahili level is much higher than mine so it’d inhibit me from learning more because inevitably, I’d start mooching off her to take care of things. Also, she wants a family of her own. Joe and I are just about on the same level of speaking abilities and although I hate, hate, HATE admitting this, I would feel safer walking home in the evening if we could tag team. Meh, who knows. There’s still plenty of time to figure things out but it’d be excellent to not have to take anything but Swahili next semester. It’d also make going home to a “real” university twenty times harder than it already will be. At this rate, I don’t think I’ll ever want to go back to a real school. Mm, scratch that, I’m sure I’ll get stir crazy at some point because it’s human/my nature.

I’m supposed to be conducting a presentation to Winrock, its two sister organizations, and the MINISTER OF LABOR OF TANZANIA tomorrow and have I made the presentation yet? Nope! When the director of this organization asked me to do it I let out a small giggle before I realized he was serious. I’ll keep you posted on how it goes.

Since Lacey and I both have things to procrastinate for, our conversations switched to girl talk about past wapenzi ( Swahili word for someone who is more than a rafiki- friend but not a mume-husband). Now I can’t focus in the least because I’m wondering what different people are doing, where they might be for Thanksgiving, how so-and-so’s mom doing, does his grandfather still remember me as Samantha, did I ever give back that book, etc. It’s not making me homesick or sad; quite contrarily, it put me in a good mood. Haha, maybe distance does make the heart fonder. Psh, doubt it, but it’s been nice to reminiscence and laugh at some ridiculous stories.

I made a calendar of sorts for Haika today to let her know when I’d be around and such. Here’s what we’ve got:

Mwezi wa kumi na mbili (December)-
5th: finish with finals, pack my bag!
6th: leave at 5:30 AM. Ugh. Arrive 20 hours later in Mwanza.
Travel through Rwanda and somehow by the 12th: arrive in Kampala.
13th: RAFT THE NILE!
14th: hang around Kampala
17th/18th: arrive in Moshi.
18th-28th: hang in Moshi
29th: meet Dad and Kathy in Arusha
Mwezi wa mosi (January):
3rd: arrive in Dar with Dad and Kathy… also my four month anniversary with Tanzania (we’re getting pretty serious).
Full tour of Dar and visit Zanzibar sometime before 11th when they head back.
Backpack with the Germans in Zambia… or the Canadians in the Pare and Usambara Mountains between the 11th and 21st... or visiting TEACH programs in the northwestern region… or who knows. Something cool!!
22nd: Mom arrives in Arusha!
24th: start Mt Kili trek!!
Mwezi wa pili (February)
1st: back to Dar
5th: Mom goes back to the States
12th-17th: Zanzibar music festival!
… go back to school at some point in time in some location in Eastern Africa.

I’ll try to keep this as updated as possible. Check back the first week of January and the first week of February. You can also look forward to reading guest blog entries from the parentals. Otherwise, just livin’ the life and getting a few stamps in my passport. I’m feeling (in the grand scheme of things) happily relaxed, although the next week will be a hell week. And yes, of course, I will continue to be cautious through my travels.

IT’S ALL HAPPENING. I know I’ve said that at least twice before but I can’t help myself and I get chill bumps every time I stop to think about it. I’m in Tan-zan-freakin’-ia and overall, I LOVE it.

Nov 28
Sooo the Minister of Labor himself couldn’t show up. Big surprise, right? But, without him, everyone else liked my ideas! Woohoo, glad I can do something mildly productive while I’m here. Who would’ve thought brochures, monthly community suggestions, and a website would be considered “innovative.” Looks like I’ve got some projects laid out for me! That being said, anyone who has any remote experience making websites… or knows someone (who maybe knows someone else), please let me know!! I will need all the help I can get. Thanks!!

It has poured down rain since I’ve been sitting here. Found a great connection using TEACH’s office line sooo I’ll have to come back with my headphones and webcam thing to give Skype another try with a reliable connection. It’s so fast!! I was talking with the director and he was like, “well, I mean, it’s the local DSL connection so it’s not THAT bad.” And by not that bad, he meant the second best connection I’ve had since I’ve been here!! First being at the Kili Hotel and now this one! Sweet!! And they have some hardcore air conditioning that I almost want to cut off because it’s too cold and making my throat hurt. Some people complain how they miss it, but I don’t know… it’s not a hot ticket item that I’m really missing. Meh, to each her own, I suppose!

School is rockin’ and rollin’!!! I’ll be done this time next week!! A little part of me wants to burst out in “School’s Out for Summer” but didn’t I just finish summer? Right? Something like that?

Hope everyone had a wonderful Thanksgiving, is enjoying a day of relaxation/ridiculous consumerism on “Black Friday,” and getting pumped about a full day of football!! I’m still rooting for my gamecocks from alllll the way out here.

Summary of ... Africa!

2008-11-23T18:10:00.001+03:00

Zanzibar!!!

2008-11-23T14:36:00.000+03:00

Thoreau insight

2008-11-21T11:44:00.001+03:00

I’m sitting by the Administration building with a cup of chai, wondering what compelled me to buy something hot to sip on since it feels particularly hot today. You can always tell when it’s particularly hot because it’s when the locals are dripping in sweat as well and carrying their sweat cloth in their hand instead of in their bags. The internet is working, well kinda. More than it has in the past week.

There are three men hacking away at a dead tree. The tree was as tall as a three story building and I could probably wrap my arms around it and my middle fingers may barely touch. Would you like to know what they are hacking with? One ax. They alternate after a few minutes of slashing. I’m watching this whole ordeal while manipulating the internet under an umbrella, unsure of whether to wish for a breeze or not. A breeze can mean one of two things- a fresh breath of air or a lost internet connection. Really? That’s what I’m contemplating as I watch these three guys slice and dice a tree? My second thought is how Thoreau or Emerson or somebody could probably concoct some fantastic natural metaphor to relate this whole ordeal, but despite Mrs. Wright’s attempts to get us to “go deep,” the heat is suffocating my brain cells. I will not try to find a connection between a dead tree and a lousy government/apathetic administration; I won’t try to link the similarities of three men using “primitive” technology to some sort of trinity or class structure; I’m just going to sit here and take it at full face value- these poor guys are slaving away, in the heat of the day, with an ax that is dulling quickly… and I’m sipping on chai to catch a caffeine buzz while hoping to send a few emails.

Two friends have caught a pretty severe case of malaria… spent two nights in the school’s dispensary. Annndddd there have been four or five other people that have contracted some not so bad strands. Hurray for rainy season!!

Feeling better than yesterday about things in general. Would still like an undisturbed run. Perhaps this afternoon before the sun goes down. It’s been particularly cool despite the massive heat rays the city receives during the day.

Carved a pumpkin yesterday!!! Untimely, but that’s ok. Got the fix.

Crazy amounts of school work and productivity to be had!!! Hurray for real school work in the end of November?

"The trip started off okay..."

2008-11-19T16:41:00.002+03:00

Students held a strike against the government… so the government shut down the university. What a surprise. Not really sure if it’ll open next semester or what to really expect, but I guess that’ll be this week’s adventure! In the event that UDSM is closed next semester as well, I decided after this weekend that I would transfer to a university in Zanzibar. That being said, our escapade to Zanzibar was phenomenal. I’m in love with the island and slightly seriously considering moving there someday. Maybe to “settle down” for retirement or something. Meh, that’s a long ways off. That being said… I could type for hours about every little thing we did, but I’ll spare your eyeballs and my sleep time with a little overview. If it sounds bizarre and you think you misunderstand it because it seems so far out… think again- it was wild.

Took forever to catch daladalas, blonde Erik had his phone stolen, negotiate ferry tickets, lunch at Mercury’s, a junkie led us to a fantastically cheap and new hostel in central Stone Town (Zenji Hostel with REAL ESPRESSO COFFEE and the best shower I’ve had since I’ve been here), wandered around aimlessly for a few hours after checking into the “Treasure Chamber” and “Room of Wonders.” Blonde Erik and I were sent on a booze run as shops were closing so we find another helpful junkie that runs us ALL around the city and we finally find Konyagi at this dive of a place in a sketchy neighborhood that our “guide” told us to not visit without him (no problem!). We had run into him earlier during our wanderings through the narrow streets of Stone Town and he had assured us “Ahhh no, no, Zanzibar is safe! Yes! It’s true. After all, you’re not in Nairobi.” That being said, Ndege Erik (ndege is banana beer) responded by saying, “Oh… we’re not in Nairobi?” That phrase stuck for the rest of the trip… as well as some quotes from our German friend and some British comedy series the boys were in love with. Some memorable ones: the trip started off okay, I don’t know, here they are, meh, pff, that’s some Biblical shit (in reference to the 60 some odd day rain streak in Ireland), I have a question. Certainly not funny when typed or probably to you, dear reader; however, it had us rolling.

Happy hour on rooftop of hostel, dinner at Forodhani Garden fish market. Diverse array of skewers of seafood- lobster, king fish, octopus, barracuda, white snapper, tilapia, prawns, and a few others which names I’m lacking, on wooden tables down an alley. Coconut bread, yams, chapati, chips, fruit, and vegetables were also crowded on the table. Junkie central of jambos and hakuna matatas, sista! Paper plate full of fresh seafood and a mug of juisi ya muma (sugar cane juice- YUM), sitting by the large pillars of the Palace Museum under the stars. Then moseyed over to Livingstone Restaurant- feet in the sand, cold beer, candles, full moon, waves lapping the shore. Met Svend and Adam, our future traveling buddies from Denmark, who had been traveling all over for the past six months or so- Adam spent three months in Australia, met up with Svend to spend three months between Vietnam, Cambodia, Thailand, and Laos, now they had a month or so in Tanzania. Laos will be my next plane ticket. Card games on rooftop, swapping traveling stories, making the ever loose future plans to bump into each other in another part of the world.

Early morning to spice tour (plantation tour, traditional Zanzibarian lunch, slave cave, Persian baths, Mwanguapi beach). Didn’t go with the tour that one of the junkies we had “befriended” the night before which turned out to be interesting later the evening where he got in my face in the streets and where the rest of the junkies stepped in to make peace. Oops. Monsoon Restaurant for dinner with four more Swedish (friends from Dar) and a young Irish couple we met on the spice tour. The Irish were amazing and made me miss the Irish kids from the river so much!! We had a blast. I think it’s safe to say a good time is always in the near future with Irish folk. Another drink at Livingstone to solidify traveling plans with the Danes. Back to hostel to introduce the Irish and Danish to Konyagi… then two other local bars with Irish and blonde Erik. One was on a rooftop… but had an empty swimming pool and they were playing awful music, the next was prostitute central so we didn’t stay too terribly long. I was approached by one of the girls in the bathroom to inquire about which shade of lipstick she should use. Ah, universal girl talks in restrooms. Regardless, still a blast getting to know Kate and Killian (yeah, how cute is that?).

Another early morning to head south to find Colobus monkeys, feed sea turtles, and wander through mangrove trees while learning a simple basket weaving technique of a special type of leaves. Daladalas in Zanzibar… mm. Not even sure how to articulate- like the bed of a large truck… with benches against the walls of the bed and a covering overhead that is really short. The best part is it’s covered in basically wrapping paper with a trippy Arabic design. You sit on other people basically. Interesting and we had a fabulously comical run in with a legit lunatic at one of the daladala stops. Let’s just leave it at this… he introduced himself as Sheraton, then Paris, was eating a raw potato that was all over his face, he started doing some HIII-YAHS! and karate moves, then almost got in a fight with a local Zanzibarian after he told him to back off in Swahili, then ran around in circles around the dala… then did his karate some more… before slamming his potato on the ground, chasing it, then pounding on the damn thing and then chasing it where it flew off to after he hit it with his fist. If that’s not an anti-drug commercial, I’m not sure what is.

Jozani Forest was beautiful. Met up with our Lithuanian friends from Dar at this ritzy hotel for live taraab music. Dinner at a rooftop place. Back to Livingstone which was a blast… including holding an eight month old baby monkey named Cobra that this guy was carrying around in his shirt, Erik and I met up with the Danish kids after they got off work at Livingstone to go to two other bars. Watched the sunrise after the ever so brilliant geographer Erik didn’t listen to me when I insisted on how to get back to our hostel (yeah, I was right and he was wrong). Found a few hours of sleep before boarding another daladala to go to the East part of the island where we had heard from the Danes of a “moon festival” going on. A couple hours later and some direction mishaps, we arrived at a Danish hostel that was totally amazing and cheap as well. Wonderful swim and walk on the beach. Mango, chapati, and Zanzabari chai for dinner.

Taught the Danish and Swedes how to play Kings. Moon festival consisted of live music under the stars in a big opening… not a bad scene- the Lithuanian girl and I were pulled into a conga line with some locals. Spent most of the time at Jambo Bar and hanging out on the beach. Lacey got these thorn things in her foot after finding, then losing a starfish. Quiet town, walked around barefoot, met lots of cool people. Everyone assumed Lacey and I were Scandinavians, too. Not so much. Played ngoma (drum) by a bonfire with some Danes and Zanzabarians, including Abdul- toothless old man with dreads and a loooong beard, almost started another fight with another Zanzabarian (lost my patience with another freaking marriage proposal- resulting in Erik getting a death threat and he gave me his ankle bracelet- what? Yeah…), made it back to our sauna of a room in the wee hours of the morning to catch a few hours of sleep. The fans weren’t working which was the only downside of the place.

Walked to the daladala stop, had to run back because Lacey didn’t put my camera back in my bag after trying to find a starfish again (ugh), ran back, caught the exact same daladala that had dropped us off the day before. So hot, which made for a tense group of hungry travelers from a marathon weekend of partying and packing touristy things in. Slept on the ride back, found tickets back on an afternoon ferry in (which we paid the azungu price for… equivalent of maybe $8 extra dollars because the reserved seats for residents had already been booked; resulting in, “well, I hope y’all puke on the ride back.” Whew, never been so grateful for two months of training to be passively reserved), another meal at Mercury’s. Smooth sailing for the ride home in which we slept some more and then grabbed a taxi home. Ndege Erik and I made the deal that I would negotiate the taxi and he’d cover the costs. Hamna shida (no problem)! I was not looking forward to cramming on another dala after sweating for twelve hours straight, sleep deprived and hungover. My body was certainly not used to the marathon weekend of partying without sleeping. You would’ve thought Tennessee taught me better. I probably caught the most sleep when we were en route to another place which I equate to cat naps during safety talks on the ride up to the put-in; however, replace every raft guide and redneck with five Zanzibarians and take away the comfortable seats.

Back to nyumbani where we had some time just with Haika before the rest of the family came home. Unpacked, showered, ate, caught up with the family. Classes are maybe happening Monday. Hopefully it won’t be too hard to skip out next week to head to Uganda and Rwanda!!! Best case scenario- they give us independent exam projects or papers instead of lectures to turn in before December, giving plenty of travel time! It’s going to be impossible to go back to South Carolina…

17 Nov
The deal with the strike… some classes are happening, some classes are not. Haven’t been able to track down the drumming professor or Race, Class, and Ethnicity. Swahili will continue because it’s all azungu anyway. Population, Environment, and Development will happen every Monday for two hours. We have one paper and one test. The Women Writers class will meet tomorrow as usual to determine what to do next. Fairly painless because lots of people had already run around to find answers. Classes will now be done in the first week of December. That means Uganda and Rwanda will happen at the end of that first week. Sweet! Then Moshi with the host family… northwestern region and back to Zanzibar with Dad and Kathy, head to Mwanza and Lake Victoria (perhaps Nairobi? Or maybe skip that region and go trekking through the Usumburu Mountains- ah! Decisions!!) for a week before Mom gets here, CLIMB MOUNT KILIMANJARO!!!!, back to Dar, and then possibly start next semester. The other students that are staying for a year have been discussing the possibilities of going other places next semester. It’s a little tricky with Boren because we have eighty million hoops to jump through, but I guess that’s also something to work out this week. It seems slightly overwhelming just because there are so many external factors that go into it. Hakuna matata- this is all part of it! And it’ll all work out.

Oh yeah, I don’t think I mentioned something mysteriously happened to my phone in which I can no longer see the screen. It fell out of my pocket onto the ground and when I picked it back up… it came back purple with an orange circle in the middle. What? It’s possible the leg of someone’s chair landed on it, but then it would make sense if the entire screen cracked. There’s hardly any scratch to suggest that much weight was put on it. Who knows. It still rings, so feel free to call, but uhhh there’s no chance in me seeing texts! Because of all the drama going on with classes and safety and such, some kids are leaving early and turns out I’ll be able to inherit one of their phones tomorrow. My number will remain the same, though. Really sad to see them go since the girl whose phone I’m inheriting was one of the ones who was supposed to stay for a year… and she was really cool… and we had plans to go to South Africa… but her program is making her return so there’s not a lot to be done unfortunately.

I doubt Boren will make us go home just because there are tons of kids living and studying in much “worse” conditions (ie Iran, DRC, etc) which I’m glad about because despite the stories, things are quite safe. Yes, even with the protest; yes, even with the petty robberies; yes, even with the rumored attack; yes, even in a developing country. Sure, things can go bad fast, but they haven’t and things can go bad fast anywhere. Yeah, even in the States. I can assure you I am being careful, yeah, even careful on using “normal” standards. The strike was extraordinarily peaceful, even when the government showed up. No, I wasn’t on campus when they showed up officially, but plenty of other kids were and yes, I am slightly sad I missed that. No one died, no one was tear-gassed, no one was trampled. A strike will probably happen again and they will probably shut down school again. As time goes on, things will escalate which will unfortunately lead to violence but it’s a ways off. As of now, there is more a split amongst the students because half want to finally graduate and the other half want to money that was promised to them so they can graduate. The solidarity is lacking; therefore, the ones who have been “orchestrating” the strike will be forced to sign an agreement saying they won’t strike and if they do, then they will be kicked out of the university.

Strikes in years past have been something the government could have fixed easily without disrupting the private funds of wealthy bureaucrats, for example- last year, the entire campus was without electricity and running water for something like two weeks. Government failed to react so the students (and teachers) caused a ruckus to get something done. This time, it’s too tricky with too many loopholes of politics that a bunch of students skipping class and chanting are not going to make an impact. Very unfortunate and depressing, but such is the way of the world. There was talk of a petition, but what better tool for the government use to exclude the “rowdy” students than to have their first and last name as well as signature? Situation is sticky… but if it’s any assurance, I’m safe, happy, and will be sticking the year out by maintaining my ever constant invincibility complex while being culturally and physically aware that I’m indeed an American female in a developing nation. Does that work for my worried readers? ; ) Hope so.

With Thanksgiving just around the corner, my American taste buds have been kicking in to crave stuffing, sweet potato casserole, and cranberries. Have I mentioned I haven’t had any berries since I’ve been over here? Anyway, eat an extra portion for me! I’m not sure how orchestrating a “traditional” meal will go, but that’s okay. It shouldn’t really ever be about the food anyway… I’ll be missing family but being here is the ever friendly reminder to be grateful.

The host family is doing well. Baba is traveling to see his father in Mwanza this week. Apparently he is not doing well, needs a surgery, but is being a stubborn old man about it. We’ll see how the trip goes. Mama Dorica has been bustling around- unfortunately had to travel to Bagamoyo for a friend’s mother’s funeral, but is back in Dar and still smiling. Debby is Debby. School will be coming to a close at the end of November so she’s counting down the days and that also means that Dorica will be home soon. Haika scrubbed our entire room so it smelled so great when we got home last night… until Debby came in from running around and stunk it up. Oh well, it was better than it had been for sure! I won’t have a class until late tomorrow so hopefully she hasn’t started doing laundry yet. The blister I got from washing my own sheets is almost healed and it’d be cool to help her do our huuuuuge pile tomorrow. Oh yeah, did I mention I washed my own sheets? Well, I washed my own sheets and scrubbed so hard that I wore a blister on my right forefinger. And I guess now I’ll have fewer evening classes so maybe the cooking lessons will increase! I hope so. Also hope to make visiting the orphanage in Mwenge a more regular thing as well. Definitely a crazy place to practice Swahili! More description on that one later, I promise.

It keeps getting hotter and it’s generally a good idea to carry a rain jacket or umbrella with you everywhere you go. Will be visiting Winrock this week to chat about potentially crafting a website for them? We’ll see! Other than that, I think that’s all I have to report from this side of the world!!

Check Lacey’s blog in the next few days or so for the fairly full cut ‘n’ dry update on our Zanzabari adventure... minus the midnight excursions she dipped out on to fulfill her sleep quota. ‘Bout time she contributed to story telling! For reference- her “dally” is my “dala” or “daladala” and her “chipote” is my “chapati.”

19 Nov
Internet is not working so much… really frustrating. I actually wish I could scream for a solid few minutes. Or go for a run where no one would trail me. Or walk around and not receive marriage proposals from strangers who don't know my name. Or wear my favorite jean miniskirt. Or cook a completely vegetarian meal that doesn't involve four liters of oil. I would say that today would be one of those days that I want to go home... but I don't want to go back to the States. I just want things to freakin' WORK. Basically, all five of my classes that haven't been doing shit for the past three months are being condensed into two weeks where we will be expected to perform at an "azungu" quality level which is ridiculous considering the bar is only being set at that level because the government kicked everyone else out of school. I don't mind having hard classes but I think it's mildly absurd to fit five months of supposed classes into two weeks and then have a final exam. Really? Whatever. Plus my African Women Writer's class has turned sour, meaning it's about six hours of lecture a week which means she rants at us of the pitfalls of the Western world. WE KNOW, LADY! We agree with you! Get over it! Let's talk about the book! And how it applies to AFRICA.

This whole thing is not a big deal in the grand scheme of life, which I know, and I'm trying really, really, REALLY hard to keep in mind but right now I'm tired and hot and fed up with putting an exorbitant amount of effort into very small things.

Hopefully this will post and hopefully I’ll get in touch. Phone should be working by now and Lacey beat me to posting a blog. Check it out.

All the way from Africa, an aggravated and almost apathetic Amanda

Husband shopping, garlic mashed potatoes, and STRIKE!

2008-11-10T08:45:00.003+03:00

8 Nov –

Let me start off by saying I bumped into a professor from LSU on Wednesday in the Links Office. We started chatting and of course landed on the subject of football, because Lord knows, any SEC school probably shouldn’t bother chatting about academics. He mentioned to me how LSU creamed USC a couple weeks ago. Anyway, it was great to meet this 110% southern African American man in Dar and listen to his Louisiana accent. I hadn’t realized how much I’ve missed that good ol’ Southern twang. What was even better was to have him as the guest lecture to my Race, Class, and Ethnicity class. The lecture was interesting and American-centric, of course, but it was all about Obama and relating race, class, and ethnicity (obviously) differences and similarities to humanity in the world, as well as questioning why Tanzanians wanted Obama just as much as some Americans or why they were more excited about Obama than any other old white guy running for office in the States.

His main point was that “class mobility” is more attainable now than it ever has been, so what are you going to do with it? How will you use the opportunities presented to you? How will you change your community? What will you do? You know, getting some emotion stirred up. Just as he was finishing his final words, there was a loud gathering outside. At first it just sounded like the class next door let out early, but nope! It was the student strike coming to break up our class! They were chanting a song that translates something along the lines of, “If Nyerere was still alive, this injustice would not be happening. If Nyerere was still alive, there would be justice for all” over and over again. The next one was, “solidarity is freedom; solidarity is freedom; solidarity is freedom!” Hundreds of students. It was wild! They pushed us out of class and another mzungu and I paired up to walk along a couple outliers that were part of the strike but not chanting to inquire exactly what was happening and such. The summary is the government said college education would be paid by the government in 2004; they changed it to a financial aid system in 2007, but the distribution of financial aid doesn’t work so hot because in order to receive the aid, you must present both of your parent’s birth certificates. Paper work in Africa of that sort is extremely rare. This sort of system would fool proof quarantine higher education to the elite economic class, eliminating orphans, children raised by a single parent, or simply children from the middle of nowhere Africa that were delivered at home with no sort of ability to document the birth legally.

On top of that, the amount of aid that is distributed is based on your registration number (meaning “totally random”), instead of being based on income. This is supposed to prevent people from lying about their actual income, but in reality it just gives the government the opportunity to pay back favors to the parents of kids who helped them in some way or another. Not to mention, the aid distribution was extremely late this year, which was one of the reasons classes did not commence on the originally stated times (please note, times, not one time- meaning it was scheduled and rescheduled multiple times). Apparently Thursday’s strike wasn’t legalized by student government, but then after seeing the success of the un-legalized strike Thursday, student government decided to pass it… so apparently it’s happening again on Monday. We will see!

Speaking of government and such, this past week has been a nonstop political discussion with everyone I seem to meet. Some are no sweat, pretty easy questions and answers. Most of them though have turned into these long complex explanations of the history of our government, the trends of politics, the craziness of the Hill, the effects on international relations, the apathetic Americans, the complexity and blame of consumerism and its effect on the economy and sucking up resources from poor countries, etc.

For example, last night, we all went out to dinner at Cine Club, which is a restaurant and ritzy sort of open aired bar with amazing barbeque and right next to the beach. Wonderful setting with good music. Apparently there are bands that play every now and again and I think it’d be cool to go back. Anyway, it started off just the five of us (Baba, Mama Dorica, Debby, Lacey, and me), and by the end of the night, we had four other people- Roquia (Mama Dorica’s best friend, who is so wonderful), Shukara (Baba’s cousin), Aisha (Shukara’s fiancée), and Timshika (family friend who sat next to us at Eliza’s wedding and works for a nonprofit dedicated to alleviating hardships for HIV/AIDS orphans). So, that was our group. Guys on one end, closer to the end I was on, the girls on the other. The political discussion started fairly normally, but man! My voice is slightly hoarse today from ranting for so long to answer all of Shukara’s questions. Not to mention, he is still a fan of Bush. What? Alright. So that was another doozie, but it was good because then I’ve started to pick up enough Tanzanian politics to turn the tables around and ask him questions. It was a wonderful evening, but it blew my mind he was a supporter of Bush and was doubtful of Obama’s capabilities of President. How odd is it to find an African who has never been to the States affiliating with the American Republican Party? And he’s young, too!! I’m still waiting for when Lacey gets the questions and I can sit back and listen. And yes, I’ll try my hardest to just sit and listen.

Also, Baba and I have gotten into a habit of discussing politics over chai in the morning, as I watch the clock tick, knowing that I’m late for class but if I stick it out, I’ll get a ride to campus rather than sprinting to make it kind of on time. Baba’s a pretty cool guy.

Friday was a full day! Literature class at 8am, in which the last ten minutes was this guy telling our huge class that the book we read was not reflective of Islamic religion. The book is Woman at Point Zero which was written by Nawal El Saadawi, a kick ass feminist from Egypt. Do a little Wikipedia search on her- well worth the time. For the purpose of explaining this though, this kid tried to explain how Nawal was wrong in her thinking that Islamic religion had inadvertently oppressed women for centuries. Ugh. I got up and left once his rant started intruding on the next lecture’s time. Yes, very American move, but what the hell, man? You really think defending your religion and trashing a woman is going to prove your point that your religion is fair, just, and peaceful? And that ten minutes in a lecture will change everyone’s opinion? Give me a break.

After that, meet up with my Swahili tutor to go on an outing to the largest market in Dar-es-Salaam, Kariakoo. Let me tell you about Enea Emmaneul for just a minute. It’s this charismatic older man who actually reminds me a lot of Hugh. Friendly to everyone and therefore, knows everyone. Whenever we’re walking together, it takes forever to get anywhere because every four steps, we bump into one of his very good friends. The only difference is I've never heard Enea mention giraffes in any context. He’s from Nigeria, loves to cook, wants to finish his PhD in linguistics, his wife is working on her masters while teaching at Stanford for the next year or so. Anyway, we were going to practice vocabulary and meet some more of his very good friends. I had this suspicious feeling that we were really going husband shopping, but I hadn’t been to Kariakoo and it was a good opportunity to go with someone who knew the area. Jump on a few daladalas and make it there. Right before we reached the main hub, a mwezi (thief) attacked an elderly lady sitting by a window closer to the front of the daladala! The mwezi snatched her gold necklace from her neck and took off. Disappeared in the crowd before anyone realized what had happened. Poor lady.

Get off and go find his friends. It was one in particular he was determined to match us up. Poor guy hardly said a word while we were there to me, but has been texting nonstop! Apparently this is how Tanzanians do it. No face to face communication, just enough to forwardly ask for your number, say nothing more in your presence, then text constantly. He doesn’t speak too much English and I don’t speak too much Swahili, so this could be good practice. The boundary of kama rafiki tu (friends only) is up, so I suppose now I’ve got a connection in Kariakoo?

Over lunch, I fussed at Enea for trying to set me up and he smiled innocently and said he was doing no such thing. Riiight. He had some more appointments in that area of town so I ventured back to my familiar side of Dar to meet up with two friends to go to Mwenge to practice some Kiswahili!! It was a blast!! We hung out with the carvers, who are amazing artists. The one who speaks English the best was the one answering our questions as he was crafting a sculpture of a Masai man from ebony. His name is a little tricky- Lajabu. We hung around for almost two hours and learned some “broken” Swahili… not so much slang, but their equivalent of contractions and shortened words (English example- “gonna go” instead of “going to go”). Definitely helpful and excited to go back!

After the lesson, the three of us did a little shopping since I still needed to find Baba a birthday present. In the process, we ran into some more of our students and I bought a new bag since the one I love so dearly is falling to pieces. I refuse to give it up though because it was a birthday present from my host mom in Guatemala, mind you, for my 13^th birthday, so this thing is old and has gone through a lot. I found one that will substitute, although the sentimental value is not as high. Shortly thereafter, I found myself a little over ankle deep in mud in the middle of Mwenge. Daladalas were speeding passed, condas were hooting and hollering as I was trying not to completely bust my butt, and I’m sure everyone within eye sight was cracking up. I make it to a mildly non-muddy place where this guy rescues me with a bucket of water. Helps me wash my feet and shoes while laughing at me and saying “pole sana.” After we finish I thank him in Kiswahili and we do the traditional handshake… and then he demands money. Hey buddy, I didn’t ask for your help and decided to deny the demand. It helped when another local who watched the whole thing shook his head, which I took as a signal that it wasn’t obligatory to pay this guy. So… I didn’t. The guy who washed my feet said “sawa” (OK), gave a smile, then disappeared. Okay, so yes, that was cheap of me… but my conscious still can’t really make up its mind about what the right thing to do. If you saw someone drop a pile of books and you went to help them pick them up, would you expect a monetary reward? I know I can’t rationalize this because it’s an all-azungu-have-beaucoups-of-money thing. ::sigh::

Next goal- find Baba a present! What to buy an older Tanzanian zoology/oceanography professor. We found him an “Armani” collared short sleeved shirt (which is all he wears) for 14,000 TzS ($14), bargained down from 25,000 TzS. Oh yeah. Looked at some different kangas (material). Found some different ideas for some future buys to make some dresses and skirts and such. I’m pretty excited.

10 Nov

Sunday was decreed by Lacey and me to be “sikuku kwa Haika” (Haika’s holiday). It was one of her days off after 2pm. Lacey plucked her eyebrows (back up- Lacey was plucking hers one day when Haika burst into our room to feed us again and she was in awe- why would someone purposely pull hair out of one’s face?) and then we dressed her up in one of Lacey’s dresses and a pair of my leggings. We left Debby pouting in the house because we wanted it to just be Haika’s day. Lacey “confronted” Mama Dorica about having Debby stay home and she was more than happy to oblige. I saw “confronted” because it was just a simple question… and it was Lacey’s turn because I “confronted” about the living situation for next semester- I’ll finish that story later. Anyway, Haika put on one pair of my shoes that sort of fit… and turned into about 400 meters away from the house, we had to play musical chairs with our shoes. Lacey switched with Haika to put on my pair that she was wearing. A couple minutes later, it was round two of shoe switching. I ended up in my pair that Haika started wearing, Lacey had on my Chacos (after being slightly successful in adjusting them since I’ve worn them in pretty well by now), and Haika had Lacey’s flip flops. Snapped a couple pictures of Haika all dollied up, almost like taking a child with a new dress to church on Easter Sunday.

We walked to Mlimani City to splurge on ice cream and buy groceries so Lacey and I could cook chakula cha Marekani (American food). Thin spicy chicken strips, stir-fry (!!!!!), and garlic mashed potatoes. I was most excited about the stir-fry- broccoli was a real treat!!! Can you imagine? Broccoli being special? Haha, yeah, well, it was perfect. Almost a near disaster since our cooking utensils weren’t quite what we were used to… made me miss my wok a lot. Gosh, why didn’t I think to pack that in my bag? Burnt a fair portion of the broccoli which basically brought me to tears since I was coincidentally chopping onions. Pan was too hot after being on the burner, seriously- less than a minute. Sorted the mabaya (bad) pieces out, shook it off, and it turned out DELICIOUS. The garlic mashed potatoes were… very garlic-y… which Lacey and I were all about but uhh everyone else- well, Mama Dorica said she liked them… but we didn’t see her eat her plate. She was outside with one of her friends so I have this funny feeling the monkeys were fed our garlic mashed potatoes. Debby was a brat and had rice and maharage (beans- which she made Haika heat up for her) with a few chicken strips. Haika liked everything, but the potatoes took a good amount of time to force down. They were really strong… well, the entire meal was fairly powerful in flavor. Not typical Tanzanian. But ohhhh, the stir-fry! Definitely satisfied my inner vegetarian.

Garlic mashed potatoes were a big deal, too. Peeling garlic is no easy task. Not to mention I will probably reek of garlic for the next three weeks. I think Dad would’ve been proud how the chicken turned out- not overly spiced or cooked… and for anyone who has attended a cookout or even “family dinner” when Dad’s been grilling- you know how he likes to make sure all those things are just right and we’ll have at least two conversations about how the meat turned out during the course of the meal just to make sure things are just right.

Baba is traveling this week so he missed out on the food so that means we’ll have to cook again!! We’re thinking about making egg salad. Mama Dorica bought us mayonnaise, knowing that it’s American-esque… but neither Lacey nor I are too fond of it, so we figure egg salad would be a good way to use it. Mom- can you have Hugh email me his recipe, please and thank you? Also, a Mexican night would be really simple. Bean and cheese burritos and/or quesadillas with lettuce, tomatoes, and onions? Yum! As well, Mama Dorica has been talking about how she wants to use her bonus to buy a new oven. Ah! Think of the possibilities with an oven! Alright, this talking about food is tricking my tummy into thinking it’s not totally stuffed…

Received a phone call and several messages from this future husband my tutor is encouraging. The language barrier gap is slightly too large. Oh darn. Not to mention, the text messages come not only in “broken” Swahili, but shortened broken Swahili. Whaat?! I have to say it aloud slowly about three or four times before I think I can figure out the words, then I have to look up at least one or two of them before I can process, apply cultural standard, then think of a response and type it letter by letter on my mentally disabled mobile. Meantime, I receive another message from dude-man begging to know why I’m not responding, is it because I’m angry at him? Really, man? No. I can’t get angry because I don’t know what you’re saying! I’m looking forward to chatting with Enea during my next lesson.

Living situation. “Full” fledged explanation: I have stir-crazy moments living here because it’s so easy. Don’t have to actually do anything. Haika lets us help because it’s probably cute/hilarious to watch the Americans try to cook, clean, and do little chores. Don’t have to go to the market for food, don’t have to lock the door at night, don’t have to make sure all the light switches are off before going to bed, don’t have to do dishes, etc. Sounds nice, right? WRONG. It’s driving me crazy!! A large part of me would like to live on my own- yes, even in Tanzania, even though I absolutely love my family. Initial rationale- they could host two other students next semester and get more money than they would from me. There’s more drama on the payment sort of deal, but that’s a whole other venting session about my program provider that I don’t want to get worked up about (again). Long story short- talked to Mama Dorica and she said they wanted me to stay. They are already so sad to see Lacey going, can’t wait for me to spend Christmas with them, and don’t want June to come, etc. So, that’s that. I’m here! I think I’ll settle for being more persistent to follow Haika around more- even outside the house. Taking out trash, bargaining for fruits and vegetables, you know, the everyday stuff. Who would’ve thought I would be homesick to clean?

Lacey mentioned how it’ll be nice to have my own room next semester, but I mostly just think it’ll be lonely. She won’t be here for me to barge in during her morning, afternoon, or evening nap! As well, we’ve developed a habit of wasting time playing Text Twist on her laptop while munching on the goodies her sister sent. And I think we’re used to each other now. Not to mention, it’s comforting to having some American debriefing time at the end of the day because after all, “red, white, and blue runs through my veins,” ultimately meaning I need to be comfortable. I think I’m comfortable though. I feel comfortable. I’m happy. I’m excited for days ahead. Whenever I have the feeling I’d rather be in the States, I back my mind up for a minute, rethink it in a way as if I was in Columbia at that precise moment, I would probably be stressed out, overscheduled, gloomy from the cold, and wishing I was here. Here I am, here I’ll be. Soon to be in Zanzibar for round two… then Uganda and Rwanda (yes, should be safe despite everything going on in the DRC)… then Lacey departs … then exams… then Moshi… then parentals arrive… climb Mount Kilimanjaro… music festival in Zanzibar… spontaneous trip of sorts with no definite destination currently… spring semester… South Africa trip… crossing my fingers for Kat to make it out here before I pack up my bags and head back to my native nyumbani (home)!

OH YEAH!!!! Lacey and I bought a pumpkin!!!!!! We are waiting to carve it because we need either a) buy a big knife or b) buy a knife sharpener so we don’t absolutely ruin Haika’s only three or four good knives with our silly pumpkin project. I am so stoked to carve this thing! Then roast the seeds!! It’ll be a late Halloween and early Thanksgiving celebration.

Strike is supposedly starting as I type this last little bit. Had a 7am seminar and there are all sorts of posters all over school. Rumor has it that they’ve started a march and are headed this way. Guess this means no class!

And Erik is saying to end this as …………………………………..

The strike is here!!

OBAMA ALISHINDA!!!!!

2008-11-05T13:39:00.002+03:00

OBAMA WON!!!! Which I know is old news to you readers, but I've been up since the crack of dawn to figure out how yesterday turned out.

So yesterday, everyone was all about saying "Obama atashinda!" (Obama will win!) to all azungu and now today it's "OBAMA ALISHINDA!" (OBAMA WON!)

Woke up to a DOWNPOUR. No running water in our sink so I couldn't wash my face... but I could've have showered outside probably more effectively than I have since I've been here.

Found out from Lacey's Blackberry that Obama had it in the bag before we even reached to Embassy. Something like 7:15am, meaning 11:15pm for east coast. Mama Dorica gave us a ride which was a godsend because catching a daladala in the pouring down rain at 6:30am was just not something I was up for this morning.

Watched the results of a few of the last states trickle in while we, along with many other American azungu that have been deprived of live US CNN, watched McCain and Obama's speeches as well as everyone who's anyone's opinions on the matter. Can't believe California banned gay marriage and so excited that Virginia went BLUE!

Bought a Tanzanian newspaper in Swahili to commemorate the day. Can I just say they spelled McCain -- MacCain? Yeah, karibu Africa (welcome to Africa). Looking forward to collecting some more papers either in the afternoon or tomorrow. Save articles for me in the States!

The other Boren Scholars and I have been joking that we'll be sure to complete our service requirement under his administration :) How exciting! I get to work for Obama!!

Celebrations are happening this evening but may be subdued due to the rain... fortunately or unfortunately? I'm

Keeping getting chills when I think about it- Obama is president, Obama is president, Obama is president and can hardly help myself to let out a little celebratory scream and "Amanda shake." Exciting things to come although the future is still very scary for the States.

Happy birthday to my host baba!! He kept teasing me last night that we would be celebrating his birthday and the win of McCain. I teased back that if McCain were to win, I would officially be moving in with him until his administration was over. He kept laughing, but I was only half joking. Luckily, that won't happen!

In other news, decided to dip out and take my exams early with the rest of the other foreign kids. Why not have three months off? Several alternative living arrangements have started to be talked about as well so I'm taking a look into those... we shall see!! Depends on my program provider but I've also been thinking about sending them an email because things just haven't been lining up like planned... which yes, is typical Africa, but not typical American. Fishy business, for sure.

Anyway, I can only think of one appropriate way to end this blog... Almost Famous and Meredith Winter -- IT'S ALL HAPPENING!!!!!!!!!!!

HAPPY ELECTION DAY!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

2008-11-04T15:18:00.000+03:00

2 Nov

November already?! I can hardly believe it. Today is Day Lights Saving time in the US which seems like such a practical joke now. This also means Tanzanian time is a full eight hours ahead of US Eastern time. Tomorrow (3 Nov) marks my two month anniversary and the day after that (4 Nov) is ELECTION DAY!!!! And Jessica Lee’s 21^st… and the day before Baba’s birthday/when all the American azungu will wake up at sunrise to rush to the Embassy to watch as the votes are collected (5 Nov). Made the executive decision to skip my morning classes on Wednesday. I’m not too terribly concerned with falling that far behind, plus, how lame will it be to look back at this election and tell people, “Yeah, I missed the election because I went to a few lectures instead?” LAME. I’m sure everyone at home is awaiting Tuesday just as much as everyone here is. Finally, the billions of dollars poured into advertisements and campaigning can halt! Someone asked me the other day what I thought of campaign spending and whether or not I felt it was contradictory for the US to be causing such a global economic crisis. That was a doozie to answer. Anyway… it’s exciting that it’s November and I think my body is fully confused that it has been in summer temperatures since April. Baba keeps saying rainy season is just around the corner! We ain’t seen nothin’ yet!

Halloween started off slightly awful, but by the evening, it was totally rocking. The evening celebrations consisted of another dorm roof party where a few of us tried to throw together a costume of sorts, but mostly it was just an excuse for everyone to get together and splurge by munching on candy. There were a few pirates, a handful of “gypsies” (but let’s not kid ourselves- most of us dress like hippies/gypsies anyways…), the three Florida girls all dressed like each other (which turned out to be fairly comical since they all pretty much stayed in character all night), and then me- Tanzanian football player. I say “football,” I mean soccer. The idea was for Lacey to be one, too, but she went out on her very own to this get together at this pastor’s house and ended up meeting up with us toward the end of the night. Just in time for her to finish off the Konyagi with some positive peer pressure and for us to make our way back to nyumbani (home).

Halloween day- 8am class which no, is not as bad as a 7am, but it’s still not a bundle of joy. Bad morning vibes when I woke up which always throws me for a loop. Hike to campus, sweat during lecture in quite possible the hottest classroom (you know it’s hot when all the students are using their notebooks as fans), try to go to the Links office, but the administration building is totally occupied by this huge group of students, raising cane. I mentioned the student strike in an earlier entry because it was scheduled to happen October 27. Typical African style, the strike didn’t happen that day. This past week was supposed to be the student’s pre-emptive strike week, to “passively” address the administration before they have a full out strike. That’s all well and good, and I agree with why they’re striking… but I just want to check my mail that happens to be located in the administration building! It has nothing to do with conspiring with the administration! I decided to sit with the Swedes and Tony to wait for it to subside a bit before trying to enter the building. The boys said they’d happily serve as my knights in shining armor if anything were to happen, as they urged me to just shove my way through. Come on, how great would that be, watch (from afar) this American blonde say “excuse me, pardon me, pole, excuse me, pardon, oh, sorry, excuse me,” as I push through the rowdy crowd? They left eventually and that’s when I made my move, much to the disappointment of the boys. Further disappointment because there was no one in the office. Go figure 9:30 on a weekday and no one in their office when their work day supposedly begins at 7:30 or 8.

Head back home for some chai and then an unexpected nap. Adventure to Posta began after groggily waking up and remembering what the plan to do was. Lacey had a package waiting in Posta. Problems: her name was not on the box, we didn’t have a note from Mabel Kaaya giving us permission to pick up the box in her name, and she didn’t have her passport… which wouldn’t have done her any good anyway because her name appeared no where on the box. Apparently this was a mishap of the post office in the US for only putting Mabel Kaaya, but who knows. Her sister’s box was so close but so far.

How the day unveiled: Hop on a dala to Mwenge, find a relatively empty one to Posta. Arrive in Posta 45 minutes later to have a run around to just about every department in the post office before being told to return later because the people we needed were out for lunch. It was 1pm. They told us to return at 3pm. Are you serious? Alright. So what to do in downtown Dar for an awkward 2 hours? Found our way to Subway for Lacey to grab a mystery looking meat sandwich and we hung out in the air conditioning. The place smelled just like a subway back in the States. I skipped out because I had been feeling groggy and nauseous for most of the day. I think it was mostly dehydration and weird sleep cycle. OH! Forgot to mention on our way out of the post office, Lacey’s backpack was slashed. It was one of those Nike pull backpack bags… I’m doing a poor job of describing it… but you know, the ones that are like drawstrings with the straps? The ones those travel books advise you not to travel with in large metropolitan areas, just like any backpack? Luckily whoever slashed it was unsuccessful in slicing all the way through in one strike, because there was about an inch or so of fabric that connected the bag. Nothing fell out and everything she had in there was able to fit in my bag.

With another hour or so to kill, we ventured to Moevenpick Resort Hotel to check it out. Overpriced luxurious Western bubble of a resort. The cheapest room is $360 a night. We strolled in sweaty and dirty. Well, Lacey had on her Jew clothes and had probably showered at least once that day, but I was un-showered and sporting jeans and a not so clean Carolina shirt. Oh well, we had no problem entering or exploring most of the ground level since we’re white. The doormen were wearing these tailored made African suits of sorts and was probably the only “African” thing in the whole resort. They seemed extremely out of place. Our first stop was the bathroom to find Western toilets, hot water, soap dispensers with soap, toilet paper, huge mirrors, the works! Ridiculously nice set up and full of azungu. Friday night is barbeque night so we saw them setting up this bamboo haven of tiki torches and tables. Welcome to Africa?

Headed back to the post office a little on the earlier side, and they were back! Since Lacey didn’t have her passport, it took a little longer for another lady to have to come help her. Bull shit. At this point, I sat down to play tetris on my phone while I let Lacey fight that battle. There was a whole drama of not being able to get the package because Lacey’s name didn’t show up anywhere on the package even though the surnames of her sister and Lacey match. I can sympathize with them, but come on- please don’t hold this power struggle. Told us to come back later and we had to resign to coming back later. Talked to Mabel and she told me I had a package slip!! Hurray!! It was too late in the afternoon to make the effort to get to campus to grab the slip, so I’ll wait until Monday. Not too sure if I have enough time to make it to Posta on Monday between classes, but I’m going to try! The only foreseeable problem is that it’d be during lunch time again. Not sure if Lacey will venture on her own or try to coincide with my rushed trip out. Otherwise, my morning is totally free Tuesday so that might be my better option. We shall see! I mean, I’ve been waiting on this box for about a month or so anyway, so what’s another two days?

Stopped at Mlimani City after bumping into Mabel in Mwenge. We happened to land in the same daladala! She said she’d write us a note and that we could pick it up on Monday. Ah jeez, so many bureaucratic hoops to jump through! It’ll be interesting for sure to see how Customs reacts to a box full of gum and pepper spray. Maybe I’ll try to tell them the pepper spray is to ward off the mosquitoes? Perhaps that’ll work? We’ll see, but I’m sure it’ll take some sort of explanation.

Speaking of the little buggers, they have declared a world war three on Lacey. Two or three of them managed to sneak their way into her net, which she’s started sleeping with again, in addition to dousing herself in bug spray. They still managed to eat her alive.

Classes are moving and grooving. Was supposed to have my first seminar presentation at 7am on Thursday but our professor never showed up. And it was only Megan and me, anyway. It would’ve been tolerable to have her not show up to any other seminar time except 7am. 2pm in the afternoon? No sweat. But 7am when I could’ve slept an extra two hours? Oh well. At least the paper’s done, right?

Read another book and we’re expected to do a book review of it. Finished both accounts and I’m really hoping our professor is not a fan of the book because I trashed it in the review. Quite possibly the most incorrectly crafted, egotistical piece of repetitive bullshit I’ve ever read. Capitalist Nigger by Chika Onyeani. If you want something to make you scream, read this. For the same class, we were supposed to have a five paged paper on “documenting differences” due on November 1, which was yesterday, a Saturday, nonetheless. The only mention this paper had was on the first day of class while we were reviewing the syllabus. Her mention was that it must be a personal narrative and at least five pages. Rumor has it that it’s due on Monday. Super. I’m telling you, there is some sort of secret communication that all the native students know about that all the azungu are completely missing. Guess that’s motivation to buddy up with the locals, huh?

Extraordinarily quiet weekend. Nice to be able to get work done… some for school, some for Winrock, some for me, but there are some instances when I think about it and I feel like I should be exploring Dar some more. Ah, maybe next time. Haha, or maybe I’m just fully submersing into African culture in putting things off until “tomorrow.” Baba is responsible for six or seven student’s senior thesis papers and he was confessing to me one night while we were doing homework that he had been procrastinating, hard core. How insanely nerve racking would you be if your advisor for your senior thesis kept saying, “Tomorrow, tomorrow, tomorrow?” I’d be losing my mind.

The cooking lessons continue! Saturday was a lesson in making “pilau,” (traditional dish of spiced rice with meat), “saladi” (take a wild guess- thinly sliced tomatoes, onions, carrots, and green peppers with freshly squeezed lime juice and just a pinch of salt), and “marachichi” (cooked greens with onions and garlic) . Yesterday was my day to watch and apparently next week, it’s go time for me to make it! Under the supervision of Haika, of course. Today, Haika supervised me making chips-mayai. Everything was fine until it came to flip it over the second time around. It split in half before I could manage to get the whole thing over so that caused all sorts of giggles between her and me. She tried to tell me it was bad luck, but certainly not- it’s just a clumsy cook! She also finds amusement in me peeling potatoes. Apparently I’m getting better because she mentioned something about me being faster than last time. Another improvement was the ability to peel a mango in just one long strand! She was very impressed with her novice student and didn’t even stand over my shoulder when I washed the dishes today. Woohoo! There’s something very comforting being able to hang out in the kitchen without feeling intrusive. The kitchen is always where I would gossip with Mom after school… or where Meredith and I would pretend to be domestic… or where I would sit at a table and gush my stress stories to Heather while she made us pancakes at any hour of the day… or it seems to simply be where everyone tends to end up. Sure, this kitchen is different because it’s slightly excluded from the rest of the house, but it’s nice. Big window, a fair amount of counter space, an odd collection of pots, pans, and recycled plastic containers. It’s home-y. Tonight’s lesson will be maharge and perfecting chapati.

Talk about a hell of a life. Haika is not nineteen, but rather eighteen. Debby mixed her numbers up when she was telling me earlier. She has a younger sister and an older brother. Her brother is twenty and her little sister is fifteen. Her brother passed the tests to continue to secondary school, while either she didn’t pass the test or her family couldn’t afford to send her and her brother to secondary school. Her little sister is still in primary school and I’m not sure if she’ll either pass the test or be able to continue to secondary school. Two days off a month. Days start before sunrise and end after everyone goes to bed. She is Sam’s age and there’s something in the back of mind reminding me that her birthday is in April, too. Creepy close to home comparison and rationale. I’m glad she’s letting us help her wash clothes, clean dishes, and cook. I’d like to think it helps…

Superficial note: Rumors are complete for plans to Uganda! It’ll be a little over a week and traveling with the Florida kids. November 21-30. Talk about the coolest Thanksgiving ever! Bus to Kampala, purchase transit visa, spend a night in the city. Head to raft for a full day, crash there for a night, head to Rwanda to spot some chimpanzees, head back to Dar! Sad news is I’m missing Lacey’s actual birthday but that’s only more reason to celebrate twice! Once in Zanzibar for the entire weekend before, and upon returning to Dar. The Swedes are accompanying us to Zanzibar for trial two. I’m looking forward to it and will be sure to prepare myself to not puke on the way home. I’m not quite sure how to explain to the host family that I’m skipping a week of school to take off, but I suppose it’ll fall under that classification they have for me as being a troublemaker. As well, there is some talk between the two other Boren scholars and me to travel before next semester starts since it’s anticipated to take just as long as this semester took to start. That should be interesting- stick around to meet some of the new foreigners, only to say “see ya” while we peace out for two weeks while they squirm here wondering why things don’t work how they’re “supposed” to. It wouldn’t be the experience if someone prepped you, so they’ll have to come into “hakuna matata” just as we have.

It is a strange feeling that most of our friends here will be leaving shortly and we’ll have to do the same getting to know each other things over again. Not to mention, the group of foreigners coming is rumored to be much smaller. Oh well, hakuna matata! We’re here for the long haul. Lacey is in week 7 (and some odd days) of her stay and only has 6 weeks left. She’s over the halfway mark, and I haven’t even made it to my quarter mark. Wild, huh? It’s going to be mighty lonely when she leaves and I’m getting the impression that our host family won’t be picking up another foreigner for spring semester. Time is beginning to fly and I can already feel my mind wanting to put on the brakes. The American cravings are disappearing. Once the mental comparison making me homesick is gone, everything here is perfect. I’m busy and content and yes, missing my family and friends, but learning to expand my circle just a little wider to include Tanzania.

3 Nov

Happy 2 month anniversary to Tanzania and me!

Exciting things that happened today:
Actually woke up before my alarm went off at 6:15am.
Loaded the normal Facebook page! (it’s the little joys in life)
Received an adorable snail mail letter and a PACKAGE!!!!!!!!!
There is no running water in the entire city of Dar-es-Salaam.
We lost electricity twice today.
Was stumped at Mwenge for the meaning of an English word.

Package ordeal:

After running around to classes and being as productive as one can be in this city, I make it nyumbani (home) to drop my stuff and grab Lacey. Adventure number two to Posta. Get a bahjeejee since it’d take less time and it’s definitely less hassle/exhausting than daladalas. Yeah, more money, but I suppose as azungu we can afford to splurge every now and again. It’s my anniversary, so why not?! Find Chex, our bahjeejee driver for the afternoon. Great Swahili practice and I negotiated the price from 14,000 to 12,000 which is still a rip, but better than what the normal starting price for two azungu would be (probably 17-20,000). I practice my Swahili, he makes fun of Lacey not knowing Swahili (mildly), he practices his English, and we make small talk both ways since it’s quite the hike. Chex is from Tanga, Tanzania. Has been driving a bahjeejee for the past two years and beforehand, he was a farmer and farmed maboga mingine (many vegetables- was as specific as I could get him). Both are good work but he likes this job more. He is married and has four children. The first is named Lightness and is 12. The others were 9, 6, and 3. I think it was two boys, two girls. Chia, Joseph, and the last name slips my mind, but he repeated his firstborn’s name a few times. Typical Tanzania, there’s a lot of responsibility to succeed as a firstborn. They’re all in school and love to study. His wife is a primary school teacher. He told us he is 25 years old, but that doesn’t make much mathematical sense unless his wife is slightly older than him and started popping them out at age 14 or 15. That would normally be an appalling age to be popping out children, but welcome to the lives of a developing country. He is puzzled why I don’t want to find a husband while I’m here or immediately when I return. He then tells me this is because I must have a husband already waiting for me at home. I assure him nope, that’s not how we work, and I opened a can of worms for him to suggest how I could find a Tanzanian boyfriend to marry and have many children with. I’m twenty and not getting younger. Ah jeez. What is it with bahjeejee drivers and marriage?

Alright, so back to package- have a run around between a couple different departments and in the end, it all worked out. They handed over Lacey’s package after determining Abel S. Kaaya and Mabel S. Kaaya must be the same people and since she had her identification and signature that we might be slightly legit. Turns out Lacey’s name was never anywhere on any of the documents for the package, but hey, good experience and a hell of a mildly frustrating story about experiencing Customs. The lady that helped me looked extraordinarily intimidating when I walked up to her but after a little Swahili magic, she smiled and all the scariness dissolved. Good thing, too, because she made the Customs check go very quickly. The Customs ladies seemed to be in a much better mood today though than Friday, so that was a plus, for sure. There was a minor inquisition on the eight or nine pepper spray mace containers… it went a little something like:

“Hapa ni nini? What’s here?” Customs lady
“Ehhh… they’re uhh, for, you know, in case you are attacked, a defense, yeah?” Amanda
The lady laughs.
“Ahh, baba yangu…Marekani, ujue?” Amanda (Ah, my dad... American... you know?)
“Ndiyo, ndiyo, sawa. Nimeelewa sana.” Customs lady (yes, yes, alright, I understand well)
Stamps the paper and that was that! Paid 5,000 TzS which was much less than I was expecting, thankfully. Heard a few horror stories of people paying like 5,000 TzS for each item in the box and Lacey paid an arm and a leg for her first package, too. Definitely depends on the day and how few people you piss off behind the counter. 110% subjective.

$5 and one goose chase later, Chex, Lacey, and I are on the way back to Dar. Had to restrain Lacey from pulling out her new goodies while in the bahjeejee because I suppose her memory was a little bit rusty from our last trip to Posta when her bag was slashed… and then had to have to an awkward conversation of why I wasn’t going to pay Chex an additional waiting charge since he had already ripped us off and when I first negotiated our price to 12,000 TzS he agreed to kwenda Posta (go to Posta), subili hako (wait there), kurudi hapa (return here). He was determined to get 15,000 and it ended in 13,000. He would have been a prime candidate for another future ride somewhere or in one of those “oh shit” moments in Dar, but after the hassling, totally turned off. He made more money off of us in that hour and half or two hours than he would have waiting for other people to come for rides around the Mwenge area. Come on, man, we sorta know how it works around here, not to mention we know each other’s basic history!

Open our boxes on the porch with Haika. Lacey was expecting another roach to pop out but only “a ton” of ants which equated to maybe five or six little guys trying to get a piece of the eight million pounds of sugar her sister sent. Thank God for junk food! Glad it’s not mine because I would probably practice absolutely no self control and then feel sick for days to come.

Gum, pepper spray, sunglasses, mirrors, photo album, two cards, and PICTURES! Easily a hundred. Thanks parents for rummaging through Facebook fairly thoroughly. Made me feel mildly uneasy and I’m looking forward to hearing about how you two enjoyed spending hours stalking, but damage is done and I’m halfway across the world now! The uneasy feeling passed quickly as all the memories from the pictures rushed my mind. I added a few to my wall and will get around to scrapbooking the rest eventually. Asante sana!!!!! The ones you guys picked of Sam and me are hilarious. Love them!!

Water situation: a fairly important pipe burst somewhere 60 miles outside Dar and sooo we’re waterless until someone who knows what went wrong can find someone who knows how to fix it. Hopefully that process will not be African style. There was a water shortage city wide for a week last year. Cut off Sunday late afternoon-ish. Conveniently after Haika and I dirtied most of the dishes in the kitchen and were about to wash them. Cooking session on Sunday was great again. I like it a lot more when it’s just Haika and me. Chapati (pancakes of sorts), maharage (black beans with onions, garlic, and coconut), juisi- chungwa na nanasi (orange and pineapple juice), maboga- caroti, cabagi, pilipilihoho, kitungu, maharage kubwa (vegetables- carrots, cabbage, green pepper, onion, “big” beans aka green beans). Peeling oranges was ugumu sana (very difficult), but it’ll only get better with practice! Otherwise, chapati turned out good and I tried teaching Debby my “secret” to making the “Mickey Mouse” chapati. She’ll get it eventually, perhaps. It’s still a big hit and reminds me of the cookie cutter pancakes Mom would make Sam and me when we were in the Westham house. Anyway, Haikia assures me I’ll be able to cook like her after seven months of practicing. I hope to be half as good as she is by the time I leave, but we shall see. The washing of the dishes was probably not done in the most sanitary manner but we were water efficient!

Electricity:

First time was right after unpacking our boxed goodies. Sipping on hot chocolate (what a treat!) and flipping through pictures. The fan stopped. Always the doomed sign. Attempt to tape up photos even though the sun was setting. Headed to Mwenge and when I returned, there was electricity! Finished dinner, sipping on some maziwa tamu (sweet milk), and whosh! Out again. Kept thinking to myself, “Wonder what happens when the electricity AND the water stay off for days?” Luckily the electricity cut back on and I’m keeping my fingers crossed for the water! My body is craving a shower!

While the power was out, Lacey and I hung around downstairs with Debby and Haika. Resulted trying to learn a hand game little Tanzanian girls play and trying to teach Debby and Haika slide, an American hand game. Resulted in switching games- drawing simple objects with closed eyes and then comparing. Not very structured, but comical way to pass the time. Lacey beats up on Debby and mildly on Haika, but I’m a little partial to the bullying of Debby. She’s definitely the baby of the family and with Dorica at boarding school, she’s missing out on the quality older-sibling-trashing-younger-sibling bonding time.

Funny happenings at Mwenge:

Mwenge is a part of town that is a daladala hub and a huge market- local and artisan. A few handfuls of the artisans host independent English lessons every week night from 7-8pm. Self-sustaining and the students are fairly hardcore dedicated. I’ve been teaching the intermediate level class, which tends to be mostly in English with a few explanations in Kiswahili. The class is pretty small and “my” students are too funny.

-Marijuana: In American English, you pronounce the “j” as it is said in Spanish. In Tanzanian English, you pronounce every letter as it is. Ma-ree-jah-wah-na. We were talking about good and bad influences of urban environments… which was how the topic came up. I gave a controversial example using “pot” which I then had to explain was slang for marijuana. They were confused even though I knew they knew what I was talking about. It was just that little gap of pronunciation that was keeping us from being on the same page. The consensus of our discussion was “ma-ree-jah-wa-na, nah, POT is no good for small kids in a, what you say, urban, uhh… community but when you, you, you know, get older, eh, ma-ree-jah-wa-na, it ain’t so bad.” “‘Ain’t’? Where did you learn ‘ain’t’?” “50 Cent!”

-Coffers: my stab at teaching a combination of intermediate and advanced since there were only two of us to “teach” one night. I had never heard the word in any context in my life and no one could give me a sentence to provide some context. Most of the advanced kids read English newspapers and then come to class with the words they don’t know. After looking it up, I now know a “coffer” is a treasury, chest, safe box, or the like.

-Explanations of slang words that come to mind: straight tripping, popping, shady, sketchy, lame, stoked, pissed, no doubt, pimp.

A couple of us are trying to figure out some consistent time to head down to hang with them during the day so we can practice our Swahili and learn street Swahili. So far I’ve got “shuwali (good), mushuka (cool), safi/poa/freshi/mushuka/shuwali cabiza (totally good/cool/fresh/new/etc), ganja (pot). I can only imagine the wholehearted lessons to come.

Feeling great about being here! Keep the email updates coming! I love reading them and I apologize on the delay in responding. Hope your eyes aren’t watering too terribly bad and HAPPY ELECTION DAY!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

Can someone steal an extra “I voted today” sticker for me, please? I know that’s a fairly childish request, but the Embassy and the person who sent a ballot to me didn’t include one. Talk about laaaaame.

Hole-y mosquito nets, leaking sink pipes, mud pedicures, and feminist rant

2008-10-28T16:07:00.000+03:00

25 Oct

Zanzibar. Home of Freddie Mercury from Queen, go figure. No one on my trip had ever heard of him. Granted the audience was three Tanzanians and Lacey, but oh well. Made me think of Sam and his recent obsession with Queen, nonetheless. Short and mildly sweet trip… very much looking forward to going back with Lacey for her birthday on our own and with some kids our age. That being said…

We embarked for Zanzibar with Daniel, Mabel’s Kaaya’s husband who I’m not quite so fond of. Pleasant guy but borderline extremely annoying when it comes to re-telling the same stories, first in Swahili, then in English, then again in Swahili, then again in English, and by the time he starts to say it again in Swahili, I lose my cool and say NIMEFAHAMU! (I understand!)… but I don’t yell, I smile sweetly and try my best to look still as interested as I was the first time he told it. Not to mention, he tends to wander off at critical moments to find who knows what. Just a peculiar old man that doesn’t like air conditioning and loves to point out “traditional African” food wherever we are. The plan was for Mama Kaaya to meet us that evening because there’s been a whole lot of drama happening in the dormitories on campus and she had meetings back to back all day with several program directors from the US and Sweden. Crazy. I’ll elaborate after the adventure in Zanzibar.

Despite the horror stories we had heard about the ferry ride, it was pretty painless. Great view, plenty of leg room, air conditioning, they gave us some water. Hana shida! (No problem!) Took a nice little nap after waking up for my 8am lecture and arrived in Zanzibar a little less than two hours later. Got off the ferry, went through customs, again with no problems because we’re residents (!!!!), then was attacked by taxi drivers. I’m glad I can tell them to back off in Swahili now. It’s an ego boost for sure. Mr. Unga is there to meet us. Some 30-something Tanzanian guy who was our “tour guide.” He spoke very little English and I think he’s new in the tourism industry. Nonetheless, a nice guy.

First stop to our hosteli (hostel). No electricity and this lady tried to charge us the azungu price? Went something like this:

“The electricity is off now but it’ll be on later. My name is Lucy. The rooms are 15,000 TzS each.” (Lucy)

“Oh, great, do you think it’ll be cut on by tonight or no idea? And he just told us it’d be 10,000 TzS a night.” (Amanda)

“Well, it’s 15,000 TzS per night.” (Lucy)

“Huh, so… where did he get the idea of 10,000 TzS?” (Amanda)

“That’s the resident’s price.” (Lucy)

“Oh, great! We’re residents of Dar.” (Amanda)

Mumbles in Swahili then clearly, “Well, that’s typically the African price but…” (Lucy)

I smile and say something along the lines that’d it’d be great. Come on lady, the room is worth 10,000 TzS for both of us to stay in here. No hot water which isn’t a big deal until it became no running water and a sink that leaks. Not to mention, it was the most mosquitoes I’ve seen since I’ve been here… yeah, that includes when we were in the middle of nowhere African bush. Not so comfortable beds… holes in the mosquito nets… view of a red storage bin… nowhere close to the beach or any restaurants or bars. Really, lady? I guess we ended up paying the residents price but Mama Kaaya took care of all that.

After dropping our bags, we headed to one of the former slave market places. It’s now a guesthouse and behind it is a church that was built either by Livingstone or Livingstone visited it at some point in his life. Mr. Unga couldn’t help me get that one straight between my Swahili and his English. Oh well, huge stone church that reminded me of Europe… African style. Saw the slave quarters and that was intense. They’d fit twenty some people in this tiny cube of a concrete room for a couple days. The toilet “facilities” consisted of a trench in the middle of the room that led into the hallway. It was cleared when the tide would rise and come through two of the tiny cut outs on the wall, the wannabe windows. Colonialism at its finest. First by the Arabs, then by the Europeans, then Christians built a church over it all.

Late lunch at the guest house. Lacey had a face off with her prawns and I devoured my kabiwa kwa nazi, coconut shrimp with a variety of spices, apparently “traditional Zanzibar,” according to the kaka (brother/the word the use for servers/leftover from Nyerere’s socialist reign) not Daniel. Walked through central Stone Town. Very reminiscent of Spain. Narrow cobblestone streets, shaky wooden balconies, mopeds speeding by- threatening to amputate one of your arms or legs, and huge, ornate wooden doors. Walked through a market and happened upon a good sized papa (shark) being sliced and diced. Totally wild and might’ve been the coolest thing we saw that day. Flies all over the place, one guy auctioning off different chunks, and two guys alternating with a large, rusty knife and a wooden club of sorts, hacking the fish apart. Two sting rays were hanging out next to the shark carcass. Guess they were next on the chopping board.

After climbing the largest stairs I’ve since I’ve been here, we arrived on the third floor of a music school. Beautiful balcony view of the bay, accompanied by a fairly consistent ocean breeze and a variety of music practices going on- drums, guitar, piano. Watched the sunset while waiting for Mama Kaaya to arrive.

Found Mabel, went back to the hosteli, and we were in for the night. How anticlimactic after reading and hearing all these great things about Zanzibar’s banging night life? Thrilling night of munching on mandizi (delicious triangles of dough), Gin Rummy, blaring music from Lacey’s iPod, and watching Lacey pick out her mabutu (braids). I should probably mention we fumigated the room with a mysterious bug spray that was written in Arabic and had a few friendly English phrases on the bottle. Oh, and that we hung out on my bed, under the mosquito net, and still managed to kill the little kamikaze buggers that made it through our defense net full of holes. Mental note: always carry a sewing kit in case your mosquito net needs surgery. God forbid a button pop off your pants from eating too much rice, but just in case of the dyer emergency of hole-y mosquito nets. I’m slightly paranoid about getting malaria, despite the fact I take the anti-malarial pills everyday, sleep with my net (even though it’d be so much cooler without it), there are fairly intense screens on the outside of our windows, and our host family sprayed their house a couple weeks ago. I’ve heard of five or six of the foreigners catching it (two who didn’t take any precautions and the rest who took all of them) and as far as the Tanzanians go, it’s pretty much the equivalent of a common cold… not really trying to catch that. I’ve developed this mysterious collection of red bumps, just on my forearms. If I hadn’t brought cards to Zanzibar, I probably would’ve played connect-the-dots. Strange because they don’t itch and sometimes they’re more visible than other times. Heat rash, perhaps? I’m working on it, but if it’s still here in two weeks or so, I suppose I’ll venture to the health center on campus. THAT should be an adventure. I talked to a German girl the other day about her visit to the health center. She had to go have an insect, commonly found in sand, and its babies dug out of her foot. She showed me the crater on the bottom of her foot. Pretty impressive. What I found more impressive was she speaks Dutch (in addition to German, English, and a bit of Spanish, and is now learning Swahili) and the nurse who was digging the critters from her foot also spoke Dutch. Imagine that!

Needless to say, it was quiet night that included figuring out how to finagle something out with two of the already full buckets of water, our leaking sink, and the mosquito manifestation that occupied the back part of the toilet.

Woke up to sunshine with a lovely reminiscent dream that consisted of tailgating, carrying two large red pillows while bundled up in winter clothes, and walking to my old apartment complex in place of my neighborhood here with a stranger. Bizarre, huh? Yeah, they keep getting stranger and stranger. Lacey and I have developed a morning ritual of swapping our wacky dreams. It’s been quite the exchange. More entertaining than Larim, that’s for sure!!

Hung around the hostel some more, waiting for Mabel, then Daniel, then Mr. Unga, then Daniel again, then Mabel, then Lucy to write a receipt, then Daniel again, then on deciding where to go first, etc. Big ordeal to do anything here. Breakfast consisted of chai, chapati, and boiled eggs. Lacey handled the eggs, I took the rest. I successfully ordered her a Coke though and Lucy brought her another boiled egg. She seemed to warm up to us after I tried my Swahili on her, not to mention we didn’t pull the typical azungu card and complain about the sub-par living conditions considering the price.

The original plan was for us to hang with Mabel and Daniel one night and then venture on our own for Saturday and Sunday. Read all about all the cool things to do! Spice tour, snorkeling, wind surfing, live Taarab music, etc. The plan changed when we found out they were going to hang around with us until Sunday. The concern about being a good director/host is much appreciated but it sucks to travel with them and we don’t have much say in where we’re staying or what we’re doing… which would be fine if I was eleven, but this darn independent streak keeps creeping in on me! We decided it’d be better to just suck it up, stick with them, come back on our own time for a long weekend. Lacey’s birthday is in about a month, so what better excuse to go to Zanzibar with some other kids and really find out what that island’s about? I’m stoked for that.

The last thing I ate before boarding the ferry was a poor choice. We ate at Mercury’s, this restaurant dedicated to Freddie that’s right by the port. Since it was a little early, the only thing we could order was pizza. Rich cheese pizza with pineapple combined with an intense amount of rocking can only end tragically. Recipe for trying my hardest to keep that pizza down: eyes closed, legs folded underneath me, inhaling going up the crest of the wave, exhaling as we plummeted down, and repeating. Held out for a good hour or so. They gave out these cute little plastic black bags. After that, it was too tempting to fiddle with that while trying to imagine I was just on a roller coaster that would be over in thirty seconds. Regurgitated that whole damn pizza for what seemed like an eternity. Felt much better after but the next tough decision was to take a sip of water or just keep swallowing saliva and try to keep anything out of my stomach. Sip of water and a piece of gum won. Finally made it to the port of Dar! I was almost too late to react for Lacey’s second puking session. Standing up once the boat stopped was a bit too much for her insides. Our conversational exchange went a little something like, “Amanda, is there a bag there?” “What?” “GIVE ME THAT BAG!” I have an extra one of the bags, sans puke, to remember the pleasant ride by. Nauseous feeling stuck around for the whole car ride home and was only cured by a lukewarm shower. The rest of the family was visiting Dorica at her boarding school so it was nice to have some quiet recovery time.

Tony’s birthday celebration was Saturday night!! It consisted of pre-gaming with Power Hour in a dorm room, piling into Tony’s daladala (he’s this big, tall, mildly awkward redhead that occasionally works as a conda on the daladalas so he got a pretty awesome hook up of having an azungu daladala to make sure we didn’t die), and having a Dane Cooke “I just wanna dance” night at Club Maisha (which translates as Club Life). It did not feel like we were in Africa. Total blast, made it home safely and not reeking of cigarette smoke, called Haika to let us in, made a midnight munchie. Two bottles of water and multivitamin combined with a couple hours of sleep is my body’s favorite way of bypassing a hangover.

Woke up to no electricity and deciding when was the best time to go downstairs. It seemed like there are lots of people in the house, but not quite sure why. Can’t wait to hear Baba say something along the lines of me keeping Lacey out late partying or something. Super.

Story about drama in the dormitories:

The machete incident happened at the beginning of September and resulted in one of the Swedish girls going home which she was advised to do by her program provider due to lack of security. The latest scare was a girl was attacked on the seventh floor of the dorm by a guy who came at her with a razor blade. He didn’t steal anything; although he could have grabbed anything in her room since everything was pretty wide open (laptop on the desk, purse on the floor by her bed, etc). That being said, the motivation seems to be he was there for her. She says she wasn’t raped, she fought back which resulted in several cuts, but the exiting part of how it ended seems a little incomplete. Nonetheless, filed a police report, talked to all the wardens who had been there in the time span of the attack, none of whom remember a guy entering the dorm. The wardens are also known to take bribes from students to change dorm rooms, so that part seems a little fishy, too. There are speculations that she did it to herself, but the whole ordeal has resulted in her program directors flying out here in addition to the Swedish program directors to talk to Mabel and the Links Office, campus security, and the Vice Chancellor of UDSM. Big mess. It’s a scary situation and everyone, including the Tanzanians, are uncomfortable in the dorms. That’s when you know the situation is bad, when the locals are uneasy. There was a two paged article written by an anonymous Tanzanian group reporting all of the mishaps that had happened to the azungu since they’ve been here and saying how it was a disgrace on Tanzanian’s name and reputation for being a peaceful country. Since this, there has been another rumored attack in another one of the dorms to a Tanzanian but I haven’t heard many details on that. The girl who was attacked has been mandated by her program provider to go home. Sooo that’s that.

Other updates in Dar:

Apparently copyright laws aren’t enforced here. It is widely common and encouraged to borrow a copy of a book to have it photocopied. Finding books has been interesting enough. Interesting meaning it’s a wild goose chase to find a copy of the ones you need.

Halloween is this coming weekend. Looks like the foreign kids will be celebrating but nope, it’s not a tradition around here. While on the topic of sikuku (holidays), as far as Thanksgiving goes, they don’t officially practice it either but I think our host family remembers it from Canada (of all places) and has heard enough rumors that there have been some things said about doing an impromptu Thanksgiving. Christmas should be great. Going to Moshi to celebrate with Mama Dorica’s family. Apparently they slaughter a goat? Then eat it? Can’t say I’ve ever eaten goat, but hakuna matata! Guess I’ll eat it now. I would assume they do something for Easter as well, but haven’t heard about that. Maybe they sacrifice a rabbit? That being said, I don’t even know if they have rabbits over here. No Easter Bunny visits for me. No St Patrick’s Day or Valentine’s Day (oh shucks, must go to that music festival instead). But they do celebrate May Day! Which every other country except the US seems to recognize.

Starting to get on a routine schedule!! Five classes that happen regularly, teaching English in Mwenge, checking in with Winrock every other Friday, practicing Swahili twice a week for two hours. Love the feeling of having things to do! Reading books, studying for tests, writing papers, the works!

Encountered some shocking instances of discrimination Wednesday and Thursday of last week. Of all places, the first was in my Race, Class, and Ethnicity class from a guest lecturer from the UK working on her PhD, and the other was from the professor of my Women’s Writers of Tanzania class. Really, though? Both were pretty surprising. The first was fairly childish, considering her original question to the class was to think about different ways racism had applied to them. In this setting, I would assume she had meant how institutionalized forms of racism had socialized different cultures in different ways. No Tanzanians piped up, so she started rambling off some examples of black versus white in current social situations. Not how slavery had socialized African countries to be subservient to the former colonial powers, but how she was standing in line the other day and the store keeper skipped over her to ask the white person behind her what that person needed before she did. First off, that’s an individual case of discrimination that yes, has a root of racism, but seems trivial in the sense of trying to figure out why that store keeper picked the white person over the black person. Regardless, since that’s where she set the bar, that’s where all of the examples started to come from. During a pause, I couldn’t help myself by interjecting something about how the tables can turn just as easily in such said social situation; that for example, if a white person tries to buy a mango in the marketplace, the seller will set the price extraordinarily high on the basis of physical attributes. She said she disagreed that was a case of racism and asked the class what they thought. Other azungu shot their hands up, thank God, because I was trying to figure out how to politely process that information. This lady has a master’s degree from the London School of Economics in social psychology, concentrating on the effects of socialized racism and she didn’t think that was an instance of racism but her instance in being skipped was a form? Oh right, because racism only exists from white to black. ::sigh::

The second was in the seminar section of the literature class. Seminars are like TA sessions, smaller groups to elaborate in more depth certain aspects of the class. It is mostly student run, meaning two people present their assigned topics to the class. The topics were: (1) What is feminism? And (2) Why is it important for African feminist writers to have an African bias and maintain African values and traditions? I could rant about how both of the presenters basically fell flat on their faces, but I’ll spare that for another time.

After an excruciating hour of listening to these two guys slaughter feminism, the professor finally gets up and addresses Megan and myself, the only white kids in the class. She proceeds to tell us that we have to understand where they are coming from, that African values and traditions are delicate and long standing, and colonialism screwed all of that up for them. Tells us that they do not talk about sex like Americans do. That they do not think homosexuality is okay like Americans do. That women are not able to live independently in Africa like Americans do. Asked us how we would feel if a group of African women came over to the United States are started mandating female circumcision, which Westerners call female genital mutilation, but what certain African cultures call “coming to age.” I’m thinking, well, at least they’d have the freedom of speech to scream their rationality behind it. And hey, wait just a minute, mwalimu (teacher)… who told you I thought Africa should think all of these things are okay because a small portion of the American population thinks that way? Isn’t that why different movements of feminism exist? Isn’t that why social movements are called “movements”? Because it identifies the switch of how one society mandates one set of socialized norms to another set? So that’s why it’s important for Africa to identify its own movement of feminism to apply to them? Why any other form of feminism derived from any other society would fail in Africa? Did that little bird who told you I was automatically American from my skin color also tell you that I thought neo-colonialism through culture was an unfortunate phenomenon of urbanization? The way she addressed us was as if we were the incarnate of the US government and every colonial power that had ever invaded Africa to undermine everything the continent has ever embodied. I find it particularly ironic that they expect us all to be the evil capitalists and sex hungry drug addicted spoiled consumerists that our home countries are portrayed by the media as although it seems to be quite the opposite. If I really thought western civilization was the way to go, why would I have left my safe haven of baby killers and angry feminazis? Why would I be conforming to your culture? Wearing skirts to cover my knees, learning your language, and keeping my mouth shut when an elder male says something I disagree with?

When someone asked Gandhi about what he thought of Western civilization, do you know what he said? He said he thought it was a good idea. I would be willing to agree partially with the reasoning there are so many “radical” ideas that take form in the US is due to the lack of a long history of traditions and values, but damn lady! You of all people in this classroom should recognize that us being in your country makes us different from the American public, with different opinions and ideas. I could never in all of eternity represent the beliefs of the 300 million people living in the States just as this one class could not come up with a strict definition of what feminism could or should imply for the continent of Africa. I’m not sure if it was patience or passivity or utter disbelief that kept my tongue from flying, but I’m thinking my final grade in this class will probably benefit from politely smiling, saying something along the lines of understanding cultural differences, and collecting my books to go home. Should be an interesting semester. Wonder how she’ll read my papers? Other than that, discrimination is seen in the market and every now and again with different students, but it’s not a blaring confrontation. It’s more the implication that if you’re white, you have money. Did you know that there are growing instances of murders of African albinos by African blacks in order to extract different organs and transplant them in their bodies? The taboo belief is that it will make them rich. Where do you draw the line between lack of education and culture?

On the brighter side of things, my two month anniversary is coming up. Saturday was a good realization. The entire ferry ride back to Dar, all I could think about was making it back home, to my bed of clean sheets (since Haika always washes them when we go away for a weekend). Nyumbani, nyumbani, nyumbani. Home, home, home. Not Virginia, not South Carolina. Darajani No. 12, UDSM, Dar-es-Salaam, TZ.

27 Oct

It rained all day today. All day. Big, fat raindrops. I was actually cold! When does that ever happen here? It was wild, for sure. They don’t have an idiom for raining cats and dogs, but if I had to apply the raindrops to animals, it was raining hippos, for sure. Caught a ride to campus this morning with Baba. Lacey skipped her one class today to sleep all day and so I think our impression on the family is as follows: Amanda is the party animal who will eats whatever is put in front of her and Lacey is the academic delinquent who sleeps all the time. Something to that effect, at least. Despite the rain, it was a wonderfully productive day. It was awesome being drenched in rain rather than sweat. Glorious change of pace and I’m getting full use out my rain jacket (thanks, Dad).

Attempted to teach at Mwenge tonight. Woofed down some chakula za jioni (dinner of the evening aka dinner) after running around all day long and took off in a daladala. Arrived to the block and it was pitch black. No electricity means no class. Lacey and I had to cross the street regardless to catch a daladala back home. We made it across the first stretch of the road, paused in the median before attempting to make it safely across the next two or three lanes of traffic. The whole median part was the problematic and comical piece. I leaped into a puddle of mud, maintained some miraculously awkward stance of balance which involved my left hand shooting behind me just in time for Lacey to latch on before she face planted in the mud. Here we are, two azungu in the middle of a busy road, ankle deep in mud, making a quite the ruckus, and laughing our heads off. We finally reached the other side where there were plenty of locals to greet us saying “pole sana” (very sorry). A couple of our students recognized us and the coolest part was two of them remembered my name!! How cool is that?! Becoming friends with native artisans in the non-threatening/stalker way? Anyway, we made small talk with them as they laughed at us for trumping through the matope (mud). They found us the right daladala to take us home. We attempted to wash our dirty feet in some of the puddles along the way, but to not much avail. Rinsed off outside before entering to face Baba, Mama Dorica, Mama Dorica’s mama, Debby, and Haika to say hamjambo (rough translation: hey y’all). They had a good laugh at us, too.

Finished another book- Parched Earth: A Love Story by African feminist Elieshi Lema. Beautifully written and crafted to recognize the long term social defects patriarchy has implemented on African society. Check it out if you have the chance. I’ll bring home my photocopy that is missing pages 206 and 207 for anyone who is interested, but if you’re itching for some African feminist insight between now and seven months, I suggest it. Not to mention, it’d be nice to chat with an American about it who isn’t submersed in Africa. Next school assignments are Capitalist Nigger and Woman At Point Zero. Hurray homework!!! I’ve had three papers and my first presentation is Thursday. Woot woot, actually doing something!

Ate my first embe dogo (small mango). Sweeter than a normal mango and absolutely delicious!! Eating it is a little tricky, but it’s worth every drop of juice that dribbles down your chin! Parachichi (avocado) season is basically done which makes me sad, but mapapayai and maembe (papayas and mangoes) are in full swing!! I can foresee myself going through a culture shock from lack of tasty, cheap, fresh fruit.

There are rumors of heading to Uganda for a long weekend sometime in the next two weeks or so. That translates as hanging out in Kampala for a night or so and then rafting the Nile!!!

Haraka haraka haina baraka, kwa hivyo polepole ndiyo mwendo

2008-10-20T14:38:00.000+03:00

Swahili proverb of sorts which translates as: Hurrying does not bring blessing, slow and steady wins the race. Figure that might be a little insight into the reality of the laid back culture. There’s a proverb about it! There’s this clever little saying on vehicle’s registration sticker, too that states: “To be late in this world is better than being early in the next.” I think the implication was for people to slow down and not use the third lane for passing, but only use it during the peak of rush hour, meaning in the morning, the extra lane goes toward downtown and in the evening, it goes the opposite way. System doesn’t work and isn’t enforced so it’s this extra lane that traffic goes head to head in to pass other cars. Ahh karibua Tanzania (welcome to Tanzania).

After a long daladala ride, we landed in the quiet town of Bagamoyo on Friday afternoon. It’s quite the historic town, seeing as it was a slave port for the Germans back in the day. There are some museums and important landmarks, but we spent our time on the beach. It was nice to get out of the city. Everyone was twenty times more friendly, which I wasn’t sure was possible, but they’re a different kind of friendly. The only way I can think to articulate it is they aren’t friendly to the point of intimidation. Some of the performances were meh, alright… but most of the acts were AMAZING. Acrobats, drumming, traditional dances, chants, Kiswahili songs, more of those crazy women doing the undulating tongue sounds. All for 2,000 TzS aka $2 for about 8 hours of entertainment. The festivities continued with dancing around a bonfire to the sound of drums, singing, and the occasional wave crashing along the shore. Somewhere along the way I was careless and lost my wallet/it was taken from my open purse. Big oops. It happened the best way possible though- no machete hold up, no important documents were in there, and no more than the equivalent of $20 or so in cash. The “tragic” loses were my debit card, student ID, and driver’s license. No one charges anything over here so the only way they could use my debit card would be to know my pin number; it’s not like I’ll need my driver’s license anytime soon; my student ID can be replaced for about $5 and the only thing it gets me on campus is into the library (which has a disorganized version of the dewy decimal system which hell, I haven’t used since elementary school- not to mention it’s a 50/50 shot if you find the book you’re looking for under the correct call number- go figure) if the guard decides to check cards on that particular day.

Otherwise, our night ended sleeping under the stars at a hostel camp sight. Although we were only there for about three hours, the stingy boss that saw us in the morning made us pay 2,500 TzS each for sleeping outside a tent. Talking about economic discrimination- bunch of white kids covered in sand with a medley of kangas (traditional African cloth used to make clothing/tablecloths/pillow covers/etc, American translation- sarongs). Yeah, we obviously have lots of money. Can’t even afford to bring sleeping bags with us camp. Apparently the cost accounted for the nonexistent security (since the six of us pranced through the gates after dark) and the five star toilet (one ceramic hole in the ground designated for males only that smelled like a fabulous combination of rotten eggs and piss). We talked her down from 4,000 TzS but jeez. We were so close to sneaking out of there, too. Oh well, I suppose it’s “boosting” the economy. It would’ve been just as well if we had stayed on the beach. Lazy morning of nursing hangovers on the beach after a chapati and chai ya maziwa (tea with milk). Talked to some people about asking around for my wallet. The way it works around here is you talk to a few locals that seem to know what goes on, give them your contact, let them know the couple things you want from the wallet, and then in a couple days, hopefully you get a call from them. We’ll see; I’m a little doubtful, but hakuna matata (no worries).

Returned to Dar, slightly sunburned and completely burnt out. I was determined to not doze off on the daladala ride back home but I was out like a light in the first five minutes of palm trees and potholes. Woke up what seemed like one minute later to the honking and clanging of hundreds of daladalas in Mwenge. Managed to drowsily sleep walk to another daladala to arrive home. By the time I arrived at the house I was ready for a bath and a nap. The bath happened, but no nap. I decided if I fell asleep again and if I had to wake up before sunrise the next day, I would be an irritably grump. Not good company to go to a wedding. Yes! Another wedding to attend! It was the wedding of Mama Dorica’s younger brother. Music was too loud, annoying camera guy with that bright light, corny MC, lots of conga lines. Made small talk with two more of Mama Dorica’s brothers, which normally would probably have been pleasant but I was on a slightly sharp edge of three hours of sleep and sunburn. Kept trying to tell myself it would be events like these that I was going to look back on and remember, so I should suck it up and smile. Guess my body is just a little rusty on remembering marathon weekends of things to do and see. Best part of the evening was chatting with folks tailgating for the UVA game!!! Totally made my day and made the night manageable.

Did I mention the power cut off twice, delaying the ceremony for a whole hour and a half? Yeah, that was icing on the cake. Not to mention I almost ate some more of some mystery meat intestines in this funky, overly oily soup. Took a picture of it just as Baba was walking up, which he had a nice chuckle over. I’m definitely the “wild” child which might have been an awkward situation if I weren’t so anxious about learning Swahili. Lacey didn’t stay the night in Bagamoyo, so the report they received was “Amanda won’t be coming home tonight, she’s sleeping on the beach with friends after the festival.” “Oh, she is staying to party, yes?” Uhh yeah, super. This is their first time hosting foreigners- two Americans that are fairly opposite. I think we’re fairing alright. I hope they’ll be open to do it again and we don’t ruin it for them.

Don’t think I’ve mentioned the proposals yet. I’ll share my two favorites. The first was on a ride back from one of the European films. Debby came along to one which she probably shouldn’t have seen, meaning in some parts, I even cringed. I think it mostly flew over her head, but probably the first time she had been exposed to ideas like illegal immigration, sex trafficking, black market, etc. Welcome to the life of a privileged upper middle class daughter. This was her third bahjeejee ride, too. Anyway, we hop on and I’m practicing my Swahili with the driver and after I run out of my token phrases in Swahili, we switch to his English phrases which included, “I want to learn English and go to America. I need a wife. You should be my wife.” I chuckle and say something like you don’t want me as your wife. He replies, “What? You hard to live with?”

The second was on my way home from class the other day. I passed two of the guys that cut the grass with these huge scary machetes. It straddles the line between comical and frightening in their appearance- youngish guys, dressed all in dark green, almost knee high rubber green boots topped with a green baseball cap, carrying this machete that could easily slaughter something. They lash over and over at the ground, looking up occasionally to cat call the azungu that walk by. It was my lucky day. “Hello, sista! Be my wife!” Followed by me cracking a smile and saying “Hapana, asante sana.” “Oh, you want to be independent, yeah? I will wait for you, my love! How long will you independent take?” “Too long.” “No, sista, I love you! I wait!” “I will call you then, eh?” “OK, sista!”

Some other classic quotes of the past few days:

“You mean to tell me you’re the only American of all these azungu?”

“He couldn’t come because he contracted malaria and some sort of parasitic virus.”

“Should we just wait for him to come out of his shell?” Background- Lacey thought sand crabs live in shells as a place to sleep/hide and that they come out periodically… not knowing hermit crabs and sand crabs were two different species. Poor thing, even lives in Florida.

Speaking of the roommate, Lacey spent five hours having two Maasai men braid her hair in hundreds of tiny mabutu (braids). She’s now half blonde, half dark red head, and a wannabe African. Definitely easier to manage and I would potential maybe be tempted except I don’t want to spend five hours sitting in one place, a different hair color, or cut my hair which they would do since they thought Lacey’s was too long. It’ll be funny to see Tanzanians’ impressions.

Haika taught me how to make chips na yai and I taught her how to throw a salad together. Tonight (Sunday), I learned how to make viazi vitamu (sweet potatoes) and chapati (thicker than crepes, not as skinnier than pancakes). Too many cooks in the kitchen, though. The idea was for it to just be Haika and me because we had talked about it previously. Mama Dorica was in and out of the kitchen because she was home since it’s Sunday. It’s her house, her kitchen, her domain, even though Haika does the majority of preparation, cooking, cleaning, etc. Oh well, Tanzanian culture. Fun experience, regardless. It’s good bonding time with Haika though, on some sort of common ground, because otherwise it’s can be frustrating trying to express your reasoning without knowing how to relay it in Kiswahili. She can butcher English, I can butcher Swahili and then we get to eat! What a deal. The recipes have been simple, not to mention totally delicious. No cookbooks, just guess-timations (which I love but what drives Merdith up the wall when I cook). Haika said she’ll teach me how to cook maharage (black beans) tomorrow! It’ll probably take some time to learn ndizi, but I’ve got eight or so more months.

Student protest on October 27 against the administration. Apparently all foreign kids are to stay away from campus, but I’m feeling a curious bug crawling beneath my skin. Supposedly it’s about developing a more sound system of financial aid accountability. Couldn’t be bigger than the national protest in Bogota, right? We’ll see how it goes!

Speaking of strikes, the secondary school teachers of various schools in rural areas are protesting the fact they haven’t received a salary in four or five months. Government is under some financial stress from the fraudulent scandals with the previous prime minister, striking teachers, late school bills, crashing economy, etc.

Saw Colin Powell endorse Obama tonight!!!! Probably old news for you in America but big news here!!

Borrowed two books from Natalia- get this, Lord of the Rings and The Gulag Archipelago. I read The Hobbit years ago and gave my brother grief about obsessing over the trilogy, but here I am about to dive head first into the thousand some odd pages of Tolkien, followed by another couple hundred of Solzhenitsyn. Funny how I’m finally checking off the list of classics while abroad, huh? As well, I attended an African Women Writers class that I think I’m going to take instead of that philosophy class that I had yet to attend a lecture and the history class since it’ll be offered next semester, too.

If residency cards arrive, then looks like we’re heading to Zanzibar this weekend! Speaking of Zanzibar, there’s a pan-African music festival February 12-17 in Stone Town, so if anyone feels like getting shots, booking a 14 hour on flight, and spending a few days jamming to music on a beach in the middle of the Indian Ocean for a few days, I’m your girl. I’d even splurge to get a taxi to the airport so your luggage wouldn’t get stolen on a daladala! Met a really cool girl from the UK in Bagamoyo who will be one of the MCs for the event. Exchanged numbers to hang with her whenever she ventures to the mainland of Tanzania or when we make it to Zanzibar.

Beginning to plan some more “serious” sorts of trips. According to Baba, the start of spring semester takes just as long as this one has, which means there’s an extra three weeks in addition to winter break to travel. Crack into some saved money and hit the road! That far off dream trip to go visit the Irish kids from the river might be possible after all. What more perfect way to cool off from the African summer than hang out in Ireland for a week to finally get my promised surf lessons (in wet suits, of course)? As well, totally found a traveling buddy, who is also conveniently named Amanda (but goes by Mandi), who wants to go shark diving in South Africa! Perfect hop, skip, and jump away via bus or plane. Not sure which would be cheaper because we would need multiple transit visas for the hundred something hour bus ride.

So much to do and SO MUCH TIME! List keeps growing so I might just have to extend my stay. Suggestions of must-dos are more than welcome. I promised Mom and her side of the family I wouldn’t miss this year’s fourth of July at Fripp (friendly reminder- also conveniently my 21^st birthday), but that leaves all of June to play! And would leave a good month and a half to head back to Tennessee to pick up a little bit of money guiding before heading back to school. I couldn’t think of a better place to transition from a third world country to the United States except the middle of nowhere. I mean, it all seems practical enough, right? Spend two semesters learning Swahili and various liberal art classes that will be periodically interrupted with short adventures then return in time for Independence Day with the family and raft before being expected to be present in the “real world” for my last year of undergrad?

sunshine of your love --cream

2008-10-14T11:22:00.002+03:00

Spark Notes version:

Classes are basically in full swing. Still having trouble with the Kiswahili Department. There’s an awesome European film festival going on this month, for FREE! Have had some interesting adventures and encounters, but still all smiles. Looking forward to classes picking up and more definite projects with Winrock. Sam called from Richmond!! Heading on an adventure to a new part of Dar tomorrow and going to Bagamoyo for an art/music festival this weekend.

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All the dirty details, since after all, I am the “dirty” roommate because I don’t shower twice a day. Stay posted on Lacey’s blog, apparently my super-active subconscious activity will make a debut in the next few posts. Anyways… as usual, I’m at a lost of where to begin…

Adventure on random daladala to Kunduchi? Receiving a love note of odd sorts from a Tanzanian girl? Tasting some might fine Tanzanian Konyagi? Going to a wet ‘n’ wild water park with Debbie and Haika? Partying on dormitory roof tops? Making another USC connection? Going to European films? Talking to my baby brother on the phone finally?! Trying to figure out Swahili placement test scores and instead getting yelled at by the head of the Kiswahili Department? Experiments at the dinner table?

It’s been an exciting couple of days, that’s for sure. I’ll start with the negative and end with the positive…

Swahili placement test scores have yet to be posted, meaning no one knows which class to attend, except the eight people who know they’re in advanced because they’re, well, advanced. The rest of us (about 30 or so) are wondering whether we placed into the only intermediate course or if we’re out of luck in trying to take an official class at the university that would transfer back as university credit. They held a lecture today at 1pm in which they had previously informed us that we would receive our test results. Mind you, these are the same folks that set four different dates for the original placement test… the same folks affiliated with the same university that postponed classes for, in all practicality, an entire month. Despite those facts, there was a lecture! No test results, but news that the test results would be posted at 4pm that day somewhere in the Kiswahili building. I don’t have any other classes to attend that day but it’s too far to walk all the way back home and then hike back up to campus just to see the test scores so I figure, why not just hang around, get some house keeping things done (try to find one of my professors and un-register for a class), and socialize. Didn’t find the professor but left a note, successfully dropped a class (amazing how much easier dropping a class was compared to how difficult adding classes has seemed to be), and hung out with some other azungus.

Around 4pm-ish, I head over to the Swahili department to find no postings… anywhere. I search all over the darn building and finally someone asks me (in Swahili, mind you- good start… and I’m not being sarcastic) if they can help me and I respond (in Swahili, even better that they understand me) about where I could find the test results, he told me he didn’t know but that he saw some other azungus go into this office, showed me the office, and so I said asante sana (thanks much) and slipped in the office to find myself in the middle of a heated argument that was being conducted in a fairly diplomatic manner… mostly between one girl, Kris- Rotary Scholar from North Dakota studying at the University of Minnesota, and the head of department, someone who was supposed to be responsible for all the mumble jumble going on with Swahili results. The other two foreigners remained fairly quiet, interposing a few things ever now and again. I was extremely quiet and held my tongue (hard to believe, I know).

Somehow our group was escorted by the head to another person in the department (which seems silly, considering he’s the head, he shouldn’t have to refer us to anyone), and then that guy wasn’t in his office (go figure- late in the afternoon the day before a national holiday- yeah, another one- guess what?! No classes tomorrow for Nyerere Day). Kris goes to ask another simple question and that was the last straw in the head of the department’s POV. He went off- in the middle of the hallway!!! Major scene. It was outrageous. Could hardly believe something so trivial actually occurred in an academic building, even in Tanzania. That much angry emotion is fairly rare here, as it is in most “academic” or higher level “socioeconomic standards”… oh, you know, for “civilized” folks to get all in a tizzy about things. The only other times I’ve heard spats of anger have been really short, absolved almost as quickly as they arose. This one was a full out chastisement to the one girl trying to find an alternative Swahili class.

I’ll back up my bias by saying I understand the position the Kiswahili Department is taking and that yes, they are short staffed due to lack of proper government funding for teacher salaries in a timely manner and everything else that goes along with being short staffed, but hey, what about the graduate students that need independent work hours in Kiswahili to finish their masters? How about them? Would one of them be able to put up with azungus twice a week and grading some probably atrocious papers? I mean, that may be a total US thing of abusing the graduate students in doing professors work, but seeing as I have two “professors” that are working on their masters right now (so it’s obviously practiced here, too)… and if it gets the job done and gets more students a higher level of education, doesn’t that improve the country as a whole? Or isn’t that the idea of everyone going to college? Something like that? Or hey, Mr. Swahili Department Head, you mentioned something about hiring a private tutor, can we get more information about them since some of the azungus already coughed up a couple hundred bucks for a summer class to guarantee them a spot in a fall course?

It’s a sticky situation overall with lots of gaps and no one is necessarily to blame, but in the same instance, no one is taking responsibility either. Talk about frustrating. Now, by the time we organize another class (if/when this one that is supposedly going to happen for some selected few), there will only be five or six weeks before exams for the foreign kids because most of them have flights to catch. Crazy. So poor Kris got the front end of being yelled at because she was the most vocal. I couldn’t have kept such a calm façade… peak of emotions, end of the day, hot as hell, trying to do something right after hitting wall after wall, but she did it and proceeded to finish her day fairly well, I suppose. Ran into her later at the European film festival, then shared a bahjeejee home, and whew. Mad props to her. End of story- no final word on test results and no idea what the heck is going on with the intermediate class. I’m just going to keep showing up for the lectures that are supposed to keep happening until someone forces me to do otherwise. What a trip.

That’s that. Bad news over. On to good news!

Classes are going well. It’s still a bit difficult to understand some professors sometimes, and oh! Get this- class changing is a wild time. If you’re in a large lecture hall, as soon as the professor shuts his/her book, you better be ready to dart out of the classroom. Literally, as the professor is fiddling with his/her book or notes, finishing up the last couple thoughts… people start pouring in. Literally, there are students gushing through the doors. Mind you, there are probably a couple different doors to go through, but only one opens making it more stressful for people switching classes than it really needs to be. Not to mention, if you’re in a classroom like… ah jeez, I’m not sure how to describe it any other way than to refer to USC- like Gambrell 250, long tables, individual chairs but only two ways to enter/exit per row. I know this is fairly similar for many large lecture classes other places so I know you readers have some sort of clue what I’m referring to. The set up is in a very skinny stadium style so if you’re not up and moving toward one of the exits on the rows, you might as well jump over the table because people are pushing and shoving to get into the seat you may or may not still be sitting in. It’s rather intimidating, not going to lie.

While on the topic of classes, Lacey even finally found a lecture to go to! Hurray!! It’s been a humor point with our family because I’ve had plenty of lectures and spend a lot more time on campus (not because I really do anything very productive… because there’s nothing too productive to be done yet, but I just enjoy posting up somewhere and seeing who shows up) than Lacey and so Baba always asks Lacey first how school was because it’s usually a short answer- 1) Didn’t go, or 2) Tried and didn’t happen. Pole sana until now! Now, she’s becoming victim to questions in Swahili from Baba and being expected to answer them. The English sessions between Lacey and Haika have been continuing to some extent which is cool because eventually it’ll get to a point where the two of them quit using me as an inadequate translator. It’s a good way to practice Swahili, I suppose but they’ve gotta figure out a language of their own soon. Not to mention if we were to drop Lacey off in the middle of somewhere in Dar, it’d probably take her a hundred US dollars and four hours to get home. That’s an exaggeration, but not too tall of a tale. Maybe less money but fairly accurate amount of time. Hakuna matata.

Adventure to Kunduchi: been saying it for some time, but now it’ll be a weekly ritual- hop on a daladala to Mwinge, a daladala hub, then find a daladala we’ve never been on before. Ride it out and see where we land! Carry our phones and enough money to get back to nyumbani and that’s it! Kunduchi ended up being a touristy azungu destination of a water park and over the top nice resort with an amazing beach view. Nice little walk on the beach. Fairly tempted to shout to some locals that were on this tree trunk of a canoe with no paddles, but large thin sticks that they used to pull and push their boat. They made it look easy but you know that’s gotta be some work. I resisted, knowing the only real “water” oriented verb I know is “kuvua” which translates as either “to fish” or “to undress.” Somehow I don’t think I wanted to fish or for them (or me) to take of clothes. Perhaps I’ll practice some sea faring terms so next time I can ask for a ride.

Make it back on a daladala and are befriended by a Malawian! He actually ended up kinda getting on my nerves, but nice guy initially. I think it was because he tried to give us advice that duhhh we already know. Don’t give anyone else your passport, don’t carry all your possessions around with you, don’t do this, don’t do that, blah blah blah. Sweet and sincere advice, but this was after we had chatted about how we had been in country for about a month or so, and oh- yup, I’ve traveled a little bit in developing countries before, yeah, including Malawi! Advice is always good, but it’s different when it’s repetitive of what seems to be fairly universal practices, such as looking both ways before crossing a street. Anyhow, he’s working on his masters in business administration. I presume he comes from a fairly wealthy background because he studied in Malawi, Zimbabwe, and is now in Dar… not to mention his English was phenomenal. He wanted to chat to us about movies, but neither one of us are good about US media so that was a dead end topic. We avoided getting on another daladala with him heading back to the university campus just so the awkward exchange of numbers or trying to meet up at a later date didn’t have to ensure.

That being said, giving out numbers or asking for numbers is widely practiced. As Gin and Kat so wonderfully love to tease me, I have been known to give out my number “like candy” to strangers. If the strangers are smart, they know not to take candy from other strangers, but alas, that never works in my favor. So I have this large array of unknowns in my US phone book that have clever nicknames to remind me not to answer. I’d like to take this moment to say I have not, repeat, not “folded like a napkin” (thank you very much) in giving my number out here. The requests are plenty, but it’s fairly universal for Tanzanians of any sex to ask for numbers of azungus of any sex. No one is really quite sure why the cultural implication is except people just want to practice their English or find a husband/wife. There have been some quite comical exchanges due to language and cultural barriers, but here’s my little experience…

Sitting under the big tree on campus, trying to study some Kiswahili so I don’t feel like such an idiot all the time. This girl who is chatting on her phone in Swahili passes my concrete table and says “mambo,” which is the rough translation of “what’s up?” I reply “safi,” which literally means “clean” but translates as “nothing.” And I don’t think much of it since I’m doing my thing and she’s talking on her phone. She sits at the next table and makes a couple calls. She glances at me and smiles some, and I don’t think much of that either, so I smile back because that’s really the only thing I can come up to do for the countless number of folks that stare at you all the time. I feel like I might be developing a self conscious complex on constantly thinking I have something on my face or an enormous rip in my skirt or something. Nope, none of that, I’m just a blonde. Super. Anyway, these three Tanzanian guys plop down at my table to practice some of their English. They were completely harmless and practiced some Swahili with me, too. No number asking and I had the perfect exit of having to go to class. I get up and leave them at the table and start meandering to wherever my class is supposed to be held. I get about half way there and the same girl passes me, slips me a note, and keeps walking. I was in the middle of sending a text, so I’m thinking, “what the…?” while my brain is trying to configure a text in Swahili and walk. It was just an overload moment. She stops ahead of me, turns, still on her phone, and I’m still texting and hadn’t read the note yet. I pass her, send the text, get to my class, and read the note. It reads:

Mambo! My name is Veronica. I real like you, your so charming, but I’m afraid to face you. If you like my no. is (a whole bunch of numbers). Ciao!!!! Do you know your cute!!!

Uh… seriously? Of course this is the only class where I’m the only mzungu, which is cool, but I was dying to share this note with someone!! Talk about awkward. The only chance I could maybe spot this girl on campus again is if she were wearing the exact same thing and now I’m not even sure if I’d recognize her. What does one say to that? I’m thinking it’s just an attempt to make a friend to practice some English, which is totally cool, but it’d be less weird if she hadn’t told me I was charming or cute. And let me tell you, 3 or 4 in the afternoon here? Me? Charming and cute? No way, jose. Unshowered and sufficiently sweaty. Oh well, whatever works, right?

Konyagi costs 3,500 TzS, which equates to $3.50. “Originated in Tanzania and produced from the purest cane spirit, Konyagi embodies the care-free, fun loving nature of all Tanzanians. Konyagi is truly the spirit of the nation. It is a unique spirit. Crystal clear alcohol with a citrus and spice nose, the flavour is distinctly Konyagi and compliments a range of mixers. Konyagi is exceptionally smooth.” Wonder who wrote that. The flames on the bottle seem to depict it slightly more accurately- it’ll burn ya. Combined with fresh juice and Sprite, Gin Rummy, and decent music (aka no country), Lacey and I entertained ourselves Friday night. Good trial run for future reference, for sure.

Woke up a little bit late on Saturday to be informed Baba will drop Debbie, Haika, Lacey, and me off at the “beach.” Where else do we end up other than Kunduchi, at that water park Lacey and I ran into on our adventure that we hadn’t mentioned to Baba until we started recognizing the route. He got a big kick out of the fact we just hopped on a daladala to see where it went but liked the idea of it. Debbie is still in shock that we ride daladalas so often, since she finally had her first ride about a month ago. Crazy being from the upper middle class, huh? Anyway, spent a couple hours running around the water park. I seemed to find myself being chastised by the staff for skipping stairs and then bouncing one of the inflatable tubes like a basketball. Come on, man, how about you yell at the seven year old running on slick ground, eh? What happens when he busts his butt and you’re busy watching the azungus so you can catch them goofing off? Anyway, we spent the afternoon pressuring Debbie to stop being such a chicken and go down all the slides. She did so, but screamed the whole way down. I guess that’s one trait 11 year olds have internationally. I couldn’t remember the last time I had been in a water park. The closest thing I could think of was Dollywood this past summer with a bunch of river folk who have the maturity level of an 11 year old. The best run happened to be the clumsiest run. Debbie missed out- it was just Lacey and me. Our concoction of me on my belly and her on her back doesn’t work so hot because we started going before we had the chance to really grasp each others legs. We make the first couple sharp turns, no problems. All of a sudden we take one turn perhaps a little too fast, my tube flips, and I’m out of the tube, going bare skinned on my belly. Lacey’s still holding onto my legs and grabbed the tube that flew up after it dumped me out. Just about dying laughing at this point, take another turn and here are two kids that are stuck in the middle of the darn slide. I crash head first into these suckers because there’s absolutely nothing else to do. As we collide with them, two other kids behind us catch up with us. It was the cluster of the century and absolutely too funny. We land in the big pool at the bottom and no one was there to yell at us for not waiting longer between going. Go figure. There was this dance competition of sorts which attracted all the teeny bopper girls to dance on this stage like they were groupies for a rap group. Westernization at its finest.

I ventured to the European film festival with some other foreign kids. Mama Dorica and her friend Roquia dropped me off to meet up with the other azungus. It was a French film about Edith Piaf. Great film but tragic story. There’s a theater that’s hosting all these different European films all month long, for FREE. Went to another one tonight (Monday) which was Italian which made me crave some of Kat’s homemade pasta and sauce, and miss eavesdropping on her conversations with Richie. ::sigh:: Maybe I should’ve gone to Italy for the year instead. Nope! Here I am, watching a gorgeous Italian play piano. Come on, who doesn’t love tall, dark, and handsome that happens to be a phenomenal musician who grew up in Africa AND speaks the most romantic language ever? Yeah, alright, he slightly mentally deranged, but besides that, pick me! Fall in love with me! No such luck. Another tragic tale but the film was well done. All about famous jazz musician Luca Flores. Anyway, there are a bunch more that are on my list to see!! Way exciting and extremely popular. You’ve gotta be really assertive to get a ticket, not to mention, arrive about 45 minutes to an hour before the show starts to make sure you squeeze in. Wild.

The rest of the weekend was pretty good. After the movie, I went back to the house to drag Lacey out to this roof top party I had heard about earlier. Baba agreed to drop us off and Debbie tagged along. Baba still insists on being extremely protective when “delivering” us to a destination that we could’ve gotten to with a bahjeejee or daladala, but we’re compromising slowly now to an extent. My independence bubble is being intruded a little bit and I’m holding my tongue. Learning this virtue of patience, I suppose. Anyway, Baba walked us to the dorm and I halfway thought he was going to walk us all the way up to the roof, but he didn’t. After five flights of spiral staircases, we end up on the roof with all sorts of people from all over the place. Gives you a nice perspective of how large the world really is. Found another mutual friend from USC which makes me laugh, but it’s also interesting that even though the world is so large, there are still so many small scale connections. What a world it is.

Highlight of the day before the atrocious Swahili department saga: spoke to Sam!! For the first time since I dropped him off at school since he was lame and forgot his cell phone in a friend’s car the day I was leaving the country. Anyhow, he’s in Richmond for fall break. How crazy is that? He just finished midterms of his first semester at college (while I just started class). What?! Apparently he’s gotten some grief from his buddies for going to South Carolina for a “higher education” and his response to them, you may ask? “Well, my sister went to a third world country to try to get an education so obviously our standards couldn’t be that high.” Great, thanks. Sounds like he’s doing well, so that’s good. Depressing report about how empty our house is now, but we all knew that was coming. I’m selfishly hoping it doesn’t sell until after I get back so I can walk through it one last time, but I know that might make Madre hit rock bottom, so I hope even despite the economy basically crashing that the house sells soon.

Oh, clarification for “experiments at the dinner table.” Lacey and I have decided to start incorporating tap water into our diet. I mean, as if eating meat wasn’t enough protein, how about adding some lovely non-visible parasites? Sounds delicious to me. Haika uses tap water in the juice we’ve been drinking and I use it to brush my teeth. No crazy reactions to it. Lacey and I talked about it a few times and so tonight at dinner we had a little conversation that went something like, “Hey Amanda, want to try an experiment?” And I’m thinking great, what am I supposed to a) ask Haikia about in Swahili to conduct an experiment with, or b) try first? I look at her with some curiosity of what her possible request might be and her giggles start. She grabs the water pitcher and pours a little bit in our glasses. She took the first sip which left me agape because we obviously needed a toast (thought I had reviewed this with her on Friday night but she didn’t make the connection. I didn’t think toasting was so peculiar but apparently it is, anyway…). I make her toast to something clever about us losing weight due to TD or something oh so classy like that, and then bottoms up! So far, so good.

Tomorrow is a national public holiday dedicated to the anniversary of President Nyerere’s death day. Think we’re going to head out on another daladala ride to find the beach to stay all day, sans little host sister. For the rest of the week, I should stay busy between classes and Winrock things to read through. We’re going to head to Bagamoyo for this art/music festival this weekend which should be a big ol’ party. Super stoked!!

Skype!

2008-10-09T13:02:00.003+03:00

I think I figured out a way to work Skype... I think. Perhaps. Skype to Skype connections are difficult to maintain (and coordinate a time because I'm never sure for sure if wireless will be up on a certain day at a certain time), but there have been some successes of USA computer Skype calls to my Tanzanian mobile. Little delayed sometimes, but fairly reliable connection. If you dial it directly, it charges 2 cents a minute... but I think I just figured out how to surprise that charge. Try dialing my Skype to connect to my computer even if I'm not online and the call will be forwarded to my mobile. I think that still qualifies as a Skype to Skype call which means it's frreeee! Does someone know anything else about this? Aka Leslie? I sent you an email about this, too but my email account seems to not wanting to send emails today... so apologies if you get that email 20 million times.

Classes have continued to be a success! The Swahili placement test was ugumu sana (very difficult). I feel stupid even trying to say "very difficult" in Kiswahili because it was that hard. I mean, I've done my far share of bs-ing exams and papers (such the life of a liberal arts major and journalism minor), but WOW. I'm not sure where to start on what I pulled out for this thing. My mind freaked out and wanted to write everything in Spanish but I got it together and answered all of the questions. Not sure if I answered them correctly or in the right format by any means, but maybe, just MAYBE, I'll get an A for effort here. I mean, if they delay classes because the moon showed up to end Ramadan, can't they let a mzungu in the intermediate Swahili class with all the other azungus that thought the test was super hard? Please? We'll find out our scores supposedly sometime at some place on Monday. Super.

I made it all the way out to my interview without getting lost!! Two daladala rides to Mikochini and a nice little walk to a supermarketi to meet one of the drivers for the nonprofit to take me to the exact location of the organization. Hurray, I did it!! And despite my failure of Swahili knowledge in the morning, I seemed to fair alright chatting with the driver. He was probably just being nice but we conversed the whole car ride (a total of maybe 4 minutes) in Swahili! That's gotta count for something, right? His name is Aduba (which is totally cool to say) and he's from the south western region of Tanzania, really close to Lake Nyasa (aka Lake Malawi!!) so that was a good chatting point. Has two kids, one boy age 10 and one girl age 5. They're in school and he pushes them to study hard to earn scholarships. He's been living in Dar for the past twenty years. Really nice guy and not to mention a good contact in case I should ever have an oh **** moment in the Mikochini.

Interview went well and I have a follow up on Friday. Winrock is an American sister organization to two Tanzanian NGOs and I'm hoping to find some sort of void to fill with one of the local nonprofits- Tanzanian Women Leaders in Agriculture and Environment. Very briefly, the three organizations are collaborating to reduce child labor, particularly in agriculture, on a four year program called TEACH, Tanzanian Education Alternatives for Children. Their field work is in the northwestern part of the country but it sounds like there's still plenty to do in Dar! If classes are delayed next semester like they have been this semester, who knows, but maybe I'll even try to land a job in the field for a month or so. We shall see!! Exciting stuff, though!!

Miss Lacey had quite the day yesterday so check out her site in the next few days for a full update on her adventures to finding her package and an enormous stowaway cockroach. THANK YOU, THANK YOU, THANK YOU TO TRACEY FOR SENDING COFFEE!!!!!!!!!!!!!! It's amazing and made my day. For anyone who finds themselves unable to brew real coffee and doesn't want to stoop to instant coffee, you should try to find these coffee tea bags because it seems like these are the next best thing. Haha, I can't help but to love the great timing too... as soon as I forfeit to devoting myself to loving tea. No worries, I'll love them both equally. Plus, I'll be rationing these suckers out for a while so I can't turn my back on chai now.

I'm vainly trying (for the third time) to upload photos to Facebook. Three times has to be the charm, right??

WRONG. Just came up "Upload Failed. Try again." No, thanks. That's all for internet connections today, folks. Here comes the hot hike home to be the bully I am and peer pressure Lacey out of chumbani (our room) and into something hopefully exciting!

How to prepare a delicious cup of chai....

2008-10-07T13:29:00.003+03:00

...Black tea with a generous scoop of evaporated milk and a pinch of sugar. No, it’s not the Starbucks watery version of chai (thank goodness). No, that’s not the authentic African version either, but it’s the Amanda version and it’s curving my coffee addiction. Sipping on a little slice of heaven while finding some inspiration to write this blog.

I’m not sure what to say first because there are two very exciting things to talk about- classes started and I sent my absentee ballot in!!! I’ll start with classes… there’s more to talk about.

Classes officially started!!! Here’s the line up: Peace, Conflict, and Development Building; Population, Environment, and Energy; Race, Class, Ethnicity; Human Rights; African Drumming; Health, Disease, and Healing in 19^th & 20^th Century Africa; Neo-colonialism and Revolutionary Movements; Introduction to Microeconomics; Philosophy of Religion; Intermediate Swahili.

I need to drop four… at least. I think it’s going to be Peace, Conflict, and Development Building, Neo-colonialism and Revolutionary Movements, Human Rights, and one more. It’s painful to choose! I don’t really want to drop the Human Rights class, but it’s huge, with awful acoustics (not to be a snob, but listening to a lecture lead by a professor with a thick Tanzanian accent through the screeches of desks and the sound system is not so enjoyable), and one of the lectures is at 7am. I mean, I thought 8am classes were brutal enough, but man! That means I have to leave the house by 6:30am. Whew. Don’t really sleep late anyway and it’s nice to get the day started early, but it’s difficult for the wheels in my brain to start moving on an “intellectual” level before 8am or wake up early enough for time for a run before class. We’ll see what USC has to say about the courses… they have the final say. Need a history, philosophy, and fine arts… and who knows what else. I spent all day on campus which was so wonderful! There’s a little piece of me that misses leaving my apartment in Columbia relatively early in the morning with about twenty bags (and with a cup of brewed coffee that was made with love!) and not returning until dark. I’ll settle for leaving at sunrise with tea and returning before sunset here.

Regardless of those details, I’m a little short of ecstatic that classes started. A set schedule is in the future!! Not this week because lectures are the only thing going on, but in the next two weeks, I will have a definite schedule after not having any solid structure for the past oh, five months or so. As well, resident cards should arrive this week. It’s official! I’m a student at the University of Dar-es-Salaam and I have temporary approved residency!

The whole ordeal of classes has been interesting. Let’s just replay the past month. Originally, classes were to start the second week of September. Delayed twice due to lack of government funding for approximately 75% of the students (so what’s the point of starting class if all the university kids aren’t here?), then postponed due to the end of Ramadan. Now the first week is another shopping period of sorts… to attend lectures, officially register with the class or not, and then the next week, seminars (which are equivalent to TA courses in the States) begin. The classrooms are open so birds are welcome to lectures as well. Or I should probably say, we are welcome to conduct class in their homes. I’m just waiting for the doomed day when I get pooped on.

Finding classrooms is great, too. None of us foreign kids have any real clue where we’re going and the Links office provided some lucky few with a map that doesn’t really help either. We tend to travel in packs and other students look at you funny if you’re an mzungu and you’re walking by yourself.

First day, I attended four classes and three had professors. That’s a fairly good success rate, all things considered. The Race, Class, and Ethnicity professor is great. Feisty feminist female that encourages discussion. It’s a little awkward because most of her questions are directed to native Tanzanians who didn’t speak. Hopefully that’ll change. As well, she is the only one that had printed syllabi and assigned homework. The other two, Human Rights and Peace, Conflict, and Development Building were good, but the professors are a bit hard to understand. I feel bad for the other foreign students whose primary language isn’t English. In some instances, English is their third or fourth language. Can you imagine? Let’s think about how your average American would handle that. Learn English and Spanish while in primary school. Add French and/or German (substitute for English) in secondary school, and then travel to a country where the two main languages are French/German and Swahili. What? I don’t know how these kids do it. Wish I could.

Made it to campus in record time this morning, I think. Little under 20 minutes. Landed in my lecture just in time (as usual) drenched. You’d think it wouldn’t be too hot at 7am, but wrong! As soon as the sun peaks over the horizon, that’s it. The oven is on for the rest of the day. It’s only going to get hotter in the next months! Luckily, it’ll be rainy season to cool things off during the hottest months. I can’t believe I’m saying “luckily.” Sticky humid air mixed with torrential down pours is not a good combination for curls. Pants will disappear, for sure. Really glad I packed five or six sweaters. That was super thinking.

Other classes to check out today are: Swahili for Foreigners (oh yeah, story about the placement test will follow), African Drumming, Microeconomics, and Population, Environment, and Energy.

Placement testing for Swahili. Originally scheduled for sometime last week. At the end of last week with no word of Swahili testing from the department or rumors about when it maybe might take place, I text Mama Kaaya to ask if she had heard anything. She advises me to arrive at the Kiswahili Department at 7:30am to check. I arrive at 7:20am and begin walking around the dark department. I finally find two gentlemen to initiate a conversation in Swahili and I begin to ask if they have heard anything about the placement exam for azungus or if they could point me in the direction of the Department Head’s office. They talk to each other for a minute in fast Swahili, ask me a follow up question which I replied accurately back in Swahili and then one of the guys finally replies to me in English, “how about we say it in English since it is business?” Which is code for, “shut up and go home azungu. Better luck next time.” Not really, but that’s what my intuition was saying. They give me a name, so I start trying to find that guy. Don’t find him, but find a secretary who was extremely busy for just arriving in her office and couldn’t care less about sending me to someone else’s office, but she did send me to find someone else who wasn’t in their office. So I forfeit, discouraged that the first day of class is going to continue in this manner, and head to the Links Office to maybe find some sort of something. They tell me to come back at 10. Seriously? Oh well. Find more azungus to pass the time and by the afternoon, someone else had figured out that the placement test is indeed not on Monday, but will be held Thursday at 11am in Seminar Room 16. You bet your bottom dollar I’m going to be there!!! And I’m hardcore cramming for the remainder of the week so I can go back to the Swahili Department by the end of the month and be able to conduct “business” in Kiswahili. Ah, nothing like an incentive to achieve something, eh?

Voting. I requested a ballot from Virginia a while ago but it hasn’t showed up yet. Since today is the deadline for voting overseas (but not really because there are eighty million loopholes), I ventured to the American Embassy after my 7am lecture class that I seriously contemplated skipping since USC will probably tell me to drop it… but alas, my inner dork told me to get my lazy butt out of bed and go to class. Even caught a shower before I left the house! Imagine that! Which in retrospect was silly since I knew I’d be sprinting to campus, but it had been a while and I knew cleanliness would be the extra push for me to be productive today. Lecture, then the adventure began. Caught a daladala to Mwinge where I smushed myself in. Mwinge is a daladala hub/market. Caught another daladala to Kukoo (I don’t think I have that right but on the bus, it says “K/KOO which just makes me think of kuku birds, but whatever). Made sure to grab one where I could find a seat, relatively, because it’s kinda a long ride. Landed the last seat in the middle of an aisle with no back so it was a good core workout to prevent myself from falling in the guy’s lap behind me. It was a tight ride and I called susha (stop) at the right time, hurray!

I suppose now is good as any to mention walking etiquette. I haven’t quite nailed it. Just when I think I know which side to walk on and not be “weird,” I run into some exception to their etiquette. Simple rule- always walk on the left side of whatever venue you’re walking on. Seems to work most of the time, but then some people don’t follow that so I wonder if that’s a loophole and they’re in the right of way or what’s going on. Some people expect you to move to the left side and will not budge until you dodge to the left. It’s an intimidating, interpersonal version of chicken. Then you have to add in all these bicycles swerving around you, and what if you want to pass someone? Or someone wants to pass you? Do you drift to the right side? How does that work? Do you just slow down or speed up to their pace? That seems ridiculous. Ahh, I’ll keep you posted on what I figure out in my diligent anthropological study of walking habits.

Right, so, voting. Fairly anti-climatic which was a let down. No elderly ladies decked out in red, white, and blue to direct you, no ballot box, no punching machine, no stickers to give me positive reinforcement for “contributing” to my country. Just a bunch of azungus in an air conditioned room, filling out a form where you had to write the candidates name and all of your personal information, along with deeds to your first born child. Then I left. Didn’t bother to check the library because that’s an ordeal and it costs money to get a card (psh, LAME). Go through another entrance, through another security gate, to find another security gate, and then have to ask an intimidating looking marine behind thick glass for an escort to hold your hand and take you up to the room. No thanks.

On the topic of libraries, I’ve finished all of the books I brought. Eat, Pray, Love; Player Piano; Animal Farm; Fear and Loathing in Las Vegas. Thoroughly enjoyed all of them. Suggestions of books are most welcome as well as care packages with books in them! I’m not quite sure what the library on campus has to offer. I’ll check on that today, I guess! There are other libraries scattered across the city… it’s just going about finding them. As well, I was told there’s a cool used book store close to the house. I’ll try to venture there perhaps this weekend.

UPDATE from arriving on campus:

Um, the Swahili placement test is indeed not Thursday, but Wednesday. Super.

A dark cloud appeared above me, out of nowhere, as I found myself about halfway through my hike. Needless to say, I picked up the pace. The downpour began as I made it to central campus where there are enough trees and overhangs that I didn’t get completely drenched.

Seriously?

2008-10-04T12:04:00.001+03:00

1 Oct

Oh. My. Goodness. Let me just revert to middle school to gossip about this evening. Entirely too hilarious to not try to report right away either. We’re back relatively early (compared to American standards… well maybe not even American standards, but American college standards… aka a party school’s standards). ANYWAYS, Lacey and I ventured out (yet again). It’s a Muslim holiday which they call Eid and so, uhh, I’m politically incorrect and actually have no idea what it is in English- it’s to celebrate finishing a month of fasting… so it’s that holiday with a capital R. Ramadan? Yeah, that’s the one.

I’ll rewind for the whole day just for kicks- Lacey and I independently hiked to campus (oh yeah, since I’ve never mentioned it before, hiking to campus is literally a hike- it takes about 20 minutes if you’re really booking it, 50 if you’re going Tanzanian pace, and probably about 35 if you’re going a moderate pace) to try to manipulate the wireless. It was moving fairly slow today and I had absolutely no luck in pulling up the time table site to see what time the two courses I registered for are. I’m “officially” signed up for Peace and Conflict Resolutions and Population, Environment, and Energy. Woohoo! Hope they don’t conflict. We’ll see.

Apparently I missed all the “good” action on campus early. Lacey got the good end though- she already reported in her blog the hilarious commentary another foreigner had to offer… went a little something like this: “So today’s a holiday, because the moon showed up… that’s a good one.” It’s literally what happened. Our little sister Debbie was begging the moon at dinner last night to show up so she wouldn’t have school for the next two days. Turns out the moon showed up. So classes won’t start until next week. At this rate, something else earth altering will happen to delay course commencement just a little more. With any luck, I could just not attend anything this semester. I’d definitely go crazy.

Straying from the point AGAIN… Lacey also caught two more cute foreigners who had been without power for the last couple days. Of course Lacey failed to mention that they were attractive until we conveniently bumped into them later on that evening with the group of friends I invited to meet Lacey and I, since she was asked on a date of some weird sorts with Emmanuel, one of the guys who works in the Links Office (aka the office that puts up with us foreigners). I’ll elaborate a bit more on this date. Emmanuel told us about this “celebration” going on at this club by the beach… conveniently the same venue where Eliza had her send off party, but on the other side. We weren’t really sure about it but we said we’d try to make it out after we went to this party deal that Auntie Kabila was holding.

Auntie Kabila is one of Mama Dorica’s friends from her work and she’s totally awesome. Single Muslim female, rocking the business world and lives by herself in this cute apartment- no house maid, no pets… just her. She invited us over for the siku-ku (holiday) for this enormous feast. The food was totally banging.

Went for a walk on the beach!!!! Finally touched the Indian Ocean. And stirred up some trouble with the local beach boys. We had finished playing in the water and were heading back and we passed this group of teeny bopper boys and one of them was like “YEAH, YEAH, YEAH!! Wassup??” and did a little hand motion, so I couldn’t help myself to go “YEAH, YEAH, YEAH!!” back with the same motion. Mild oops. They trailed us a little bit asking where we were from, if we were from California, where we were going, etc, etc. I couldn’t help myself but to just chuckle and say I didn’t know where I was going and yeah, sure, I’m from California. I mean, I have blonde hair and blue eyes so why wouldn’t I be from Cali, right? They fell behind eventually but it was too comical to pass up. Mambo vipi kaka. Debbie was scared I think because she latched onto my arm but no worries.

Make it back to Auntie Kabila’s apartment and then we make moves to Masasani Beach Club. We make it there and it’s PACKED… of Tanzanians. I mean, we get enough stares for being azungus but to show up to this local venue after sunset… we definitely got some looks. Lacey calls Emmanuel and have to wait for him to come meet us with our host dad (I haven’t been dropped off like this since perhaps middle school at the movies). Greatly appreciated that Baba was concerned of whom exactly we were meeting up with and such but just different than anything I’ve encountered in quite a few years. I guess it’s that ever so small independent streak that runs through me? Baba approves and we head in with Emmanuel. He showed up by himself which totally means he just wanted to have some quality time with Miss Lacey so I found myself playing third wheel… again. You’d think half way across the world I might not have to pull these sorts of stunts, but certainly not. Still third wheel. Haha, I dig it.

Emmanuel buys the first round … meaning just for him and me, because little miss saint turned down even soda or water. Emmanuel over steps a bit culturally and grabs Lacey’s hand as we shimmy our way through the huge crowd that was there for this concert of an amalgamation of reggae and conga. Here’s the cultural decoder: fine for boys and boys or girls and girls to hold hands but no okay for boys and girls to hold hands unless they are an “item.” Huh, good to know after the initial fact, especially since I assured Lacey that she was still on safe ground… I thought. Oops. Anyways, the other foreigners finally show up!! Super! Start collecting chairs and a table while sipping on yummy Tusker, listening to some awesome live music while getting to know some mighty fine interesting foreigners with an ocean breeze and beach front view. Can you ask for much more? Well, I could ask for one request- no more headache or stuffy nose that conveniently appeared sometime in the middle of the night last night. Boo hiss. Hopefully it’ll pass quickly. I’m blaming it on eating meat because I haven’t really gotten sick in the last four or so years.

So, I’ve probably got snot running down my face and Lacey has pots and pans banging in her head. Super duo, totally ready to be ever so gracefully socially active. Beautiful night anyway and great time. Did I mention there were four or five power outages throughout the night? (the down low for that is apparently one of the three Tanzanian power plants is down this week so all the districts have been disproportionately placed on the other two and it’s slightly overloaded- imagine that) The night slowly comes to an end as our group decides to make moves. How to get home? Bahjeejees is how you phonetically say it and I have no idea how to spell it in Kiswahili but apparently it’s not a Swahili word… it’s some phenomenon that came out of India. These bahjeejees are in essence tricycle mopeds that fit approximately 3-4 people… so we fit 5 plus the driver. It was certainly an adventure. Lacey and Emmanuel had shotgun with the driver in between them and at one point, the driver expressed concern that he believed Lacey would topple out if she didn’t hang on. Luckily, that didn’t happen. I was thinking through the landmine of speed bumps and potholes, “ah jeez, how do I explain that one to Baba- yeah you see what happened was… Lacey bounced out of the bahjeejee and a loose fierce dog snatched her” and then have to explain it to her worried sick American friends. Ay yah yah, this girl’s some responsibility to not ruin!

Made it safely home with Baba up, awaiting our return. I was in the back with one of the Swedish Eric’s (yeah, get this- there are two Swedish guys that are both named Eric and they live together, how great is that?) and one of the other Boren Scholars, Julie. Found two out of the three! One is Joe and the other is Julie… so we’ll definitely be here for the nine months. Along with Mandi, Natalia, then two Rotary Scholars, and the other mystery Boren Scholar. Rock on.

2 Oct

It’s Thursday night and we’re in Africa. As if our adventure last night wasn’t enough to tide over our appetite for “wildness,” get what we found ourselves in today.

Woke up with a lovely stuffy head and nose. That’s gotta stop. Lacey actually woke up first and so I began to untangle myself from mosquito net (OH- get this, I am startled awake in the middle of the night to find my right arm caught in the net due to one of bracelets… Lacey is convinced I was about to throw some elbows to whomever I was debating in my ridiculous sleep talking rants). Lacey also beats me to campus… little miss productive go getter over here… while I lie in bed for a bit longer wishing I could breath. After finishing up an updated resume to send to a Winrock contact (from that lady I met on the plane), I decide to check up on Lacey to see how the internet is going… apparently it’s going fabulously because of terrific company that she’s had the pleasure of running into multiple times… so I motivate myself enough to hike to campus ever so slowly in the middle of the day in the freakin’ Africa heat. Arrive dripping in sweat to find the ever so adorable couple trading music. La ti da, send some emails, and lo and behold, the time tables are indeed not up, so we swing by Daruso before heading back to nyumbani in the same lovely African heat.

What to do for the rest of the day in the blazing heat? Well, why not go to the beach? Or study Swahili for this pre-test that’s coming up? Or go to the market? Or ride a daladala or our new found favorite bahjeejees? Or read on the porch? Nope. Lacey loses her cool (literally) and decides I should cut her hair with her dull pair of red scissors. She convinces me that the scissors, despite their outward appearance (since I would’ve probably left an eight year old alone with these things), are actually quite sharp- never fear. We use our one lonely chair in our room where they keep “the Americans” and where they typically find us when they’re ready to “feed the Americans” twenty million times a day. I’m having mad flashbacks from freshman year at USC when I walked in from class and Heather had already started to cut her own hair, had me finish it, and then she cut mine. Whaaat?? Difference here, I’m keeping mine.

Off hers comes! Blonde locks fall every so not gracefully into our turquoise trashcan while we can hardly keep from giggling. My hands are shaking because haha, well, who’s hands wouldn’t be shaking? I mean, I’ve done it before I suppose (aka cut my bangs off in the first grade during nap time and when Heather made me and I suppose a few other times to fix bangs or whatever)… so that makes me qualified? Yeah right. Not to mention I’m usually to spastic to be considered “steady” anyways. Glad Lacey has this amazing amount of trust in my decision making. Let’s review the record for a minute: Hey, let’s go exploring by ourselves in Arusha; hey, let’s go on a camping safari; hey, let’s take the long way back from Mlimani City; hey, just eat some of this mysterious looking cow meat that turns out to be chicken gizzard; hey, let’s meet up with Emmanuel and let him hold your hand; hey, you want to cut you hair? Okay, then do it! Hakuna matata. All is not lost… didn’t actually cut off that much. Maybe an inch, max. Nothing drastic and Lacey even suggested that perhaps she would like more cut off in the next few weeks. Maybe a little off each month? Meaning we’ll probably be cutting off the same inch over and over, but hey, that’s okay with me! Knowing how things go in my life, it’ll happen sometime one of these months that she’ll say something ridiculous and I’ll be laughing to hard, slip with the scissors, and that, ladies and gentlemen, will be how Lacey goes from long, luxurious locks to a stumpy, short shag.

We’ll see how it is in the morning and this newly found, crazy care-free lady has even expressed a desire to venture to Shoprite to find hair dye. That’s for sure one thing I haven’t done ever before. I remember watching Heather dye hers in the Wade hall bathroom that one time, but uhh other than that, your guess is as good as mine… if not better! Directions come on the box, though, right? I mean, how hard could it be? Certainly not rock science. Worst case scenario- her hair comes out neon green and then begins disintegrating. Glad I have been introduced as a catalyst for things she might’ve only talked or thought about doing previously.

3 OCTOBER = SARAH KATHERINE BABER’S 21^st BIRTHDAY!!!!!!! Hope you had a fabulous day and celebration, lady!!! Miss you!!!

4 Oct

“Four legs good, two legs bad” or “four legs good, two legs better?”

A quote from George Orwell’s Animal Farm that sticks in my head when I think about the recent presidential debates because it’s all too scarily similar. Indeed, it’s all politics but what does that really mean? “All politics.” Is that the rationale we settle for to describe the petty battles between our future leaders? Unfortunately I missed the televised presidential debate and have only read the script, which is particularly comical to sit down to read because it seems to parallel a middle school cat fight of “that’s not true, I didn’t say that, you’re wrong, he’s been my friend longer than your friend, I have a bracelet, I have a bracelet, too!!” in 40 pages. Doesn’t supply much confidence. The only other reports I’ve received from the debate is that McCain couldn’t keep eye contact and Obama was doing his charismatic spiels about Main Street.

Fortunately, I did not miss the vice presidential debates. Lacey and I joined up with a few other azungus from the Brown program to head to the American Embassy to watch a replay of the live debate. The Embassy is huuugggeee. And extremely nice with a rocking cafeteria, despite what everyone who works there says. Just goes to show, the majority of them who live and work here might as well commute from the US everyday because they don’t actually embrace Tanzania. They drive their Mercedes Benz, have air conditioned homes with digital televisions and personal internet connection, and the only exposure they may or may not have to Dar is their comfortable ride from their home to their office, which they probably even have a personal driver. Get that. We college students are oh-ing and ah-ing over the cafeteria food- French fries (not chips- which is the word they use for fried potatoes), cheeseburgers, clubs, chicken pitas, the menu said they had veggie burgers but alas, they were out. That almost broke my heart until I saw… REAL COFFEE!! Real live brewed hot coffee… for 500 TzS (50 cents)!! The caffeine buzz put me in an exceptionally wonderful mood for the rest of the afternoon.

Alright, so back to the “live” VP debate- on a superficial level, Biden has the most fantastic, flashy smile and Palin needs to lay off the botox and quit batting her eyes. The blinking thing was extraordinarily distracting but I was quite surprised she didn’t have a breakdown in the middle of the debate, which many had predicted. Was that a media tactic? Give her a lot of buzz that she’ll do really poorly so if she does well, it’ll come off that she did even better? As well, did anyone else think she was slouching a teensy bit? Wasn’t she in beauty pageants? Democrats were on the defense again from the name calling Republicans. I felt Biden did a fair job of not coming off as a male chauvinist and his speaking topics were more diverse in content than Palin’s constant reminder of energy policy and how she’s so great at energy, energy, energy. And does she want a cookie for saying Ahmadinejad correctly so many times when the topic had to turn from energy to international affairs? There is a guilty piece of me that feels bad for honing in on her physical attributes rather than attacking her words, but things like that have been known to sway the American public. Was it Nixon that turned up the heat during one of the debates so his opponent came off as sweaty? Or was that Kennedy? Regardless, majority of Americans depend on appearance.

Overall, slightly let down over the debates. No clear depiction of what either party would really do after being called out by the other side. I suppose that’s really what debates like these are about anyways. Not reaching conclusions but arguing until the mediator says “OK kids, that’s enough.” Guess now is the time to dig a little deeper and read up on who said what when and which plans are whose. Scary times ahead. Absentee ballots are due next week!

Other news: the family will be celebrating Debby’s birthday today. Her real birthday was in the beginning of September but it was by-passed due to Eliza’s wedding so now that that’s all done, she’s having her “real” birthday party. There’s a cake and everything awaiting downstairs and her friends from school will arrive here around 3pm. Lacey and I ever so cleverly went about making her a card- I photo-shopped a picture of Debby and Lacey so originally came up with the inside of the card. It reads, “Happy Birthday, Debby!!!” Woo hoo. Go creative genes, go. Her participation came in when it came to sending the paper in the right way for the printer. I don’t do things like that. Other than that, we purchased a brownie for Debby and I’m in the process of coloring her name in some psychedelic formation.

Swahili placement test is sometime on Monday. Classes are supposed to start sometime on Monday. Resident cards are supposed to show up sometime this week. I’m supposed to have an interview with a representative of Winrock’s Tanzanian projects sometime this week. Exciting things!!!

As well, I don't think I've ever been so ready for school to start. 5 months of summer... seriously?

"Amanda- you are advised...

2008-09-30T11:30:00.002+03:00

...to take a cab to bring you home because there are some loose fierce dogs along the way. Benno”

Asante sana, Baba. Received this text from my host dad on African time, of course, but hakuna matata. Loose fierce dogs, really? Not pick-pocketers, rapists, murderers? None of those? Just rabid beasts that could shred us to pieces? Terrific. Welcome back to the city, I suppose.

29 Sept

So… classes didn’t actually start today. Surprise! They don’t actually “start” until next week. This week is the shopping period of classes. Translation: you figure out which classes are being offered on this online spreadsheet from the 1980s then you show up to them to test them out before you sign up to make sure you really want to take it. Not a bad idea. I’m kinda excited but it’ll be interesting to see if that’s really how it works or if I’ll ever start class. As well, Swahili testing dates will be posted somewhere outside the Kiswahili building sometime this week. That was the most detail I could scrounge for. Good enough for me. Hakuna matata. Otherwise, I’ll be checking out the following to see what I’d like to take this year…. looking at Propaganda and Persuasion, African Drumming, Human Rights, Family and Gender Relations in Socio-historical Perspective (I didn’t even know socio-historical was a word), Trade Unionism, Contemporary Study of Social Change and Culture, Microeconomics, Population, Environment and Energy, and some sort of history- thinking War and Warfare, Neocolonialism and Revolutionary Movements, or Health, Disease, and Healing of Africa in the 19^th and 20^th century. Not really quite sure how the time tables work but I’m definitely trying to work my classes into being Tuesday, Wednesday, and Thursday. Lectures are only 55 minutes a piece. As well, I haven’t the slightest clue what any of the abbreviations of the classrooms mean to clue me into the location. And unlike USC, I don’t have a clever little interactive online map for me to type in a destination and then have Cocky point it out to me. Tomorrow should be good.

Started Animal Farm today by Orwell. Half way through already. My strand of being a book worm has been shining through lately. Finished Eat, Pray, Love and Player Piano already. Debbie keeps asking me about the books I’m reading and I’m trying to figure out the easiest way to explain to her a) dystopia novels full of managers and engineers and pigs, and b) why I enjoy reading them for pleasure. Any suggestions are greatly welcome.

Three power shortages today- one in the morning (conveniently right before I wanted to shower. No electricity = no hot water), one in the afternoon (which was great to not have to have the TV on), one in the evening (which turned into Lacey and me giggling at this comedian she’s got on her laptop while munching on dark chocolate and red or green skittles and learning new card tricks).

New project which is basically Lacey’s deal: teaching Haika English. My role comes in when they dead end and I have to interpose my little Swahili. We successfully explained the difference between an egg, a fried egg, and an omelet which in Kiswahili, all equate to “yai.” As well, we explained how we will drink store bought juice, but we really like freshly squeezed juice. Explaining that one was intricate. She didn’t get my word for fresh or not concentrate or new or not store bought or my poor hand motions of juicing various fruits. “Kamua” was the winner. Squeeze. Who would’ve thought. The rest is all Lacey repeating different vocabulary words. Today, they did body parts. She definitely has the drive and Lacey definitely has the experience. Little ol’ selfish me just prances around interested only in the Swahili aspect.

30 Sept

Uploading photos takes entirely too long on this blog... at least today. Maybe it'll be different tomorrow? Otherwise... they're on Facebook, too!! If you are of the "older" generation and don't "do" Facebook... email my parents to get them to send you the files... and if they can't figure out how to do that... ask your son, daughter, or neighbor of the "younger" generation to do it for you. Haha samahani (sorry). As well, wireless seems to be working more reliably... well, what I can tell from yesterday and today. I should be around until later this afternoon which means morning for you so see if you can catch me on AIM or Skype!! It's amazing how wireless connection brings all the foreign kids out. Can I just say I'm sharing a beat up concrete table under the big tree on campus (which is actually not a baobab tree after all because it has leaves right now) with a cute foreign guy? Oh yeah. I think he's trying to be productive and figure out classes and well... here I am uploading photos and gossiping on my blog. Super. Glad my priorities are right.

Tomorrow is my one month anniversary!!! There is some sort of celebration that must be had. Maybe splurging on a real cup of coffee? Woohoo parrrttyyy!! Haha, it's the little things that count. Alrighty, I'm off to see if I can find this Human Rights class. Apparently some kids have tried going to some of the lectures to find empty classrooms. Haha this is going to be great!!

Much love to all!!!!!