At 6:00 a.m., I woke up to the sounds of pigs being slaughtered. Welcome to Farmer's Day in Moshi. Celebrating farmers. Killing goats and pigs for nom-noms. I saw a man walking down the road in front of CCS Karanga, dragging a sheep behind him on a rope tether. Where they were heading, I have only a vague idea, but that sheep did NOT want to go.
Sad. And a little gross.
12:15 p.m.
Went to CCS driver and rafiki (friend) Dani's church this morning, with Mama Joan, Katie and Melanie. After several years of avoiding them, the first time I set foot inside a church is in Karanga, Tanzania. Go figure.
I don't completely know where I stand on the existence or nonexistance of a God, and I may not believe in organized religion--but after this morning, I know I believe in music, and in people.
10:45 p.m.
Also, met the new volunteers today. A mother-daughter duo from Scotland, a girl from Kentucky, and a woman from New Hampshire. They are nice, but I am still heartbroken over the loss of my friends from Calgary, Staten Island, and Washington state.
Drove with Joan to the airport tonight. It really is the beginning of the end. I have 6 more days in Tanzania. That is it, and that is all.
I'm dreading Saturday. I'm dreading that this week is going to be one long, steady goodbye.
Wednesday, August 11, 2010
Saturday, August 7.
10:00 a.m.
Woke up with the spins this morning. Thanks to three Tusker beers and a shot of Tanzanian "tequila" (I have no idea if it was actually tequila or some strange Tanzanian version of tequila--either way, it burned), and I am moving a little slowly.
Last night was a blast! We wanted to go out as a big group, as a sort of last hurrah for Julia and Rosaria, and ended up at Glacier--an outdoor bar and restaurant in Shantytown (which, despite the name, is actually the wealthy neighborhood in Moshi Town). A lot of mzungus frequent Glacier. We enjoyed our adult beverages while listening to a slightly out-of-tune band playing cover songs (Bob Marley, Lil John and the Eastside Boyz, Cher, and Michael Bolton, e.g.). We danced with local boys, some of them turning out to be major creepers. One of them shook my hand and did the finger-scratch-in-the-palm signal (the Tanzanian proposition for sex)... needless to say, dude got a big "ATCHA!" (stop it!) and a cold shoulder. Ick. I'd known him for all of 60 seconds.
Woke up with the spins this morning. Thanks to three Tusker beers and a shot of Tanzanian "tequila" (I have no idea if it was actually tequila or some strange Tanzanian version of tequila--either way, it burned), and I am moving a little slowly.
Last night was a blast! We wanted to go out as a big group, as a sort of last hurrah for Julia and Rosaria, and ended up at Glacier--an outdoor bar and restaurant in Shantytown (which, despite the name, is actually the wealthy neighborhood in Moshi Town). A lot of mzungus frequent Glacier. We enjoyed our adult beverages while listening to a slightly out-of-tune band playing cover songs (Bob Marley, Lil John and the Eastside Boyz, Cher, and Michael Bolton, e.g.). We danced with local boys, some of them turning out to be major creepers. One of them shook my hand and did the finger-scratch-in-the-palm signal (the Tanzanian proposition for sex)... needless to say, dude got a big "ATCHA!" (stop it!) and a cold shoulder. Ick. I'd known him for all of 60 seconds.
12:30 p.m.
Just came from outside the gate. The kids were in chaos over a hot air balloon. None of them had ever seen one--they were scared that they were about to be bombed. That confuses me a little bit, since Tanzania has never been bombed to my knowledge, but... panic, nonetheless. The littlest kids were in tears, and poor Beep Beep was terrified. He suction-cupped himself into my arms and cried and cried. What pissed me off was that the adults who were present thought it was funny. Little kids in a panic over a strange thing in the sky--really, all you're gonna do is point and laugh? You could at least explain it to them. Yeesh.
6:30 p.m.
Just got back from bringing Julia and Rosaria to the airport. We were all in tears for most of the trip. We are permanently linked together by this experience, but that didn't make the drive any easier. We have to repeat the process with Mama Joan, tomorrow evening.
Goodbyes are impossible.
I don't know how I'm going to be able to do this next week, when it's my turn.
Just came from outside the gate. The kids were in chaos over a hot air balloon. None of them had ever seen one--they were scared that they were about to be bombed. That confuses me a little bit, since Tanzania has never been bombed to my knowledge, but... panic, nonetheless. The littlest kids were in tears, and poor Beep Beep was terrified. He suction-cupped himself into my arms and cried and cried. What pissed me off was that the adults who were present thought it was funny. Little kids in a panic over a strange thing in the sky--really, all you're gonna do is point and laugh? You could at least explain it to them. Yeesh.
6:30 p.m.
Just got back from bringing Julia and Rosaria to the airport. We were all in tears for most of the trip. We are permanently linked together by this experience, but that didn't make the drive any easier. We have to repeat the process with Mama Joan, tomorrow evening.
Goodbyes are impossible.
I don't know how I'm going to be able to do this next week, when it's my turn.
Wednesday, August 4. Arusha.
Today our group got back to the homebase early, and took a van to Arusha, Tanzania's third-largest city, about an hour away from Moshi. I was excited to see the hustle and bustle of a large African city, but it turns out we didn't see a whole lot of hustle, or bustle. Or much of the city. What was originally planned as a day trip ended up being crammed into two-and-a-half hours. Enough time for a trip to Shop-Rite (the grocery store where all the mzungus in northern Tanzania shop) and the Maasai Market.
Which is an entirely different planet. Endless alleyways that aren't even wide enough for two people to pass through shoulder-to-shoulder. Entering (more like getting sucked in by your wallet) one such alleyway, you are bombarded instantaneously by the glorious-yet-terrifying sights and sounds of local commerce: vendors flashing colorful shiny things in your face, vendors yelling "Karibu! Karibu! Come in, sister! Looking is for free!" They know you have money to burn, and they are ready to overcharge you if they can get away with it. And they do, often.
Thus, we enter into the intricate, complicated song-and-dance called bartering for a better deal. First rule of thumb: avoid making comments about how beautiful the object in question is, at least right off. I made this mistake because my parents taught me to be polite and offer compliments when I mean them. Do it, and the price will automatically increase by 10,000 shillings.
Second rule of thumb: have in mind the maximum price you're willing to pay for an object before asking, "How much?" In fact, if at all possible, avoid that question. Instead, try: "I'll give you... (insert a price LOWER than your price limit here)." The surest way to ensure the price you want is to simply walk out of the stall.
Okay, it really is understandable that they ask for a lot from mzungus--we DO have the means to pay whatever price they ask, in the context of Tanzania's economy and value of its currency. I get that. But I'm a little tired of having "Mzungu" branded on my forehead, even though my skin is white. I'm a volunteer, and back at home I'm a graduate student without a job who can barely afford to buy groceries, and I'm NOT going to buy the contents of your entire stall. Sorry. I just can't do it.
All in all, a bit anticlimactic. I think, as is the case with anywhere you travel, that in order to tap into the pulse of a place you need to be really in it for awhile. At least, longer than two-and-a-half hours.
Which is an entirely different planet. Endless alleyways that aren't even wide enough for two people to pass through shoulder-to-shoulder. Entering (more like getting sucked in by your wallet) one such alleyway, you are bombarded instantaneously by the glorious-yet-terrifying sights and sounds of local commerce: vendors flashing colorful shiny things in your face, vendors yelling "Karibu! Karibu! Come in, sister! Looking is for free!" They know you have money to burn, and they are ready to overcharge you if they can get away with it. And they do, often.
Thus, we enter into the intricate, complicated song-and-dance called bartering for a better deal. First rule of thumb: avoid making comments about how beautiful the object in question is, at least right off. I made this mistake because my parents taught me to be polite and offer compliments when I mean them. Do it, and the price will automatically increase by 10,000 shillings.
Second rule of thumb: have in mind the maximum price you're willing to pay for an object before asking, "How much?" In fact, if at all possible, avoid that question. Instead, try: "I'll give you... (insert a price LOWER than your price limit here)." The surest way to ensure the price you want is to simply walk out of the stall.
Okay, it really is understandable that they ask for a lot from mzungus--we DO have the means to pay whatever price they ask, in the context of Tanzania's economy and value of its currency. I get that. But I'm a little tired of having "Mzungu" branded on my forehead, even though my skin is white. I'm a volunteer, and back at home I'm a graduate student without a job who can barely afford to buy groceries, and I'm NOT going to buy the contents of your entire stall. Sorry. I just can't do it.
All in all, a bit anticlimactic. I think, as is the case with anywhere you travel, that in order to tap into the pulse of a place you need to be really in it for awhile. At least, longer than two-and-a-half hours.
Tuesday, August 10, 2010
Tuesday, August 3.
12:30 p.m.
Some good things about today:
1. One of the troublemaker kids at Kiwodea actually listened to me. Kiddo got a big ol' High Five and a "Nzuri sana!"
2. Rusty (the seamstress at Kiwodea) is almost done with Dress #1--just some sizing adjustments. And she's already half done with Dress #2. Hooray for pretty clothes and sustainable economic enterprises!
3. Found jalepeno-flavored Pringles at the Highway Supermarket. Yes!!!
4. On the way home, I met a Tanzanian man whose normal voice sounds exactly like if Louis Armstrong spoke Swahili. "What a wonderful world, asante sana bwana."
5. I just took a hot shower. It was my first hot shower in 6 days.
6. Tonight we eat, drink, dance and celebrate!
Some not-so-good things about today:
1. Teacher Joyce still loves to use her cane. Sometimes I think she's being mean to the kids just because she can.
2. First Africa-related injury this afternoon. On the walk home, I stepped on a twig. Two seconds later, something stabbed me in the foot. Turns out it was a big thorn. Through the sole of my shoe. Into my foot.
3. No matter how much or how hard I scrub them, my feet seem to have a permanent coat of dirt on them. It looks like I have weird tan lines, but it's not tan. It's dirt. And it won't come off.
4. Some new, good friends are leaving on Saturday.
Some good things about today:
1. One of the troublemaker kids at Kiwodea actually listened to me. Kiddo got a big ol' High Five and a "Nzuri sana!"
2. Rusty (the seamstress at Kiwodea) is almost done with Dress #1--just some sizing adjustments. And she's already half done with Dress #2. Hooray for pretty clothes and sustainable economic enterprises!
3. Found jalepeno-flavored Pringles at the Highway Supermarket. Yes!!!
4. On the way home, I met a Tanzanian man whose normal voice sounds exactly like if Louis Armstrong spoke Swahili. "What a wonderful world, asante sana bwana."
5. I just took a hot shower. It was my first hot shower in 6 days.
6. Tonight we eat, drink, dance and celebrate!
Some not-so-good things about today:
1. Teacher Joyce still loves to use her cane. Sometimes I think she's being mean to the kids just because she can.
2. First Africa-related injury this afternoon. On the walk home, I stepped on a twig. Two seconds later, something stabbed me in the foot. Turns out it was a big thorn. Through the sole of my shoe. Into my foot.
3. No matter how much or how hard I scrub them, my feet seem to have a permanent coat of dirt on them. It looks like I have weird tan lines, but it's not tan. It's dirt. And it won't come off.
4. Some new, good friends are leaving on Saturday.
INTERMISSION
Some Favorite Things about Tanzania (and Moshi, and Karanga):
-The friendliness. When people greet you, for the most part the smiles are genuine, and when they welcome you into their home/shop/workplace, they mean it.
-The clarity, hugeness and brightness of the night sky.
-The neighborhood kids in Karanga, who wait at the end of the road every day at noon, when we return from our placements.
-The fact that you can stand in the middle of anywhere, turn around 360 degrees, and be blown away by the view in any direction.
-The people I've met here. The CCS Mamas (Lillian and Fatuma), the CCS Babas (Fulgence and John), Dani the driver, Rosie and Mary the housekeepers, fellow volunteers-turned-friends (Julia, Rosaria, Joan, Melanie, Katie, Spencer, Regina)... it's like my Tanzanian family. Mama Nancy and Sophia at Kiwodea. Hussein and Edward and the Pristine Safari peeps. Mama Valeria at WEECE.
Some Less-Than-Favorite Things about Tanzania/Moshi/Karanga:
-Squat pots (although my aim is getting pretty good).
-Sometimes the stares and cries of "Mzungu!" make me uncomfortable. Especially when groups of men do it.
-Corporal punishment in almost every school I've come across.
-Showers that feel like the water is pumped directly from the glaciers on Kilimanjaro.
-Pushy vendors on the street who follow you for blocks, trying to guilt you into spending your vast hoards of Mzungu Moolah on their crafty crafts, because you=$$$ in their eyes.
-The neighbor's goat and the pukey noises he makes, usually right around lunchtime.
-The friendliness. When people greet you, for the most part the smiles are genuine, and when they welcome you into their home/shop/workplace, they mean it.
-The clarity, hugeness and brightness of the night sky.
-The neighborhood kids in Karanga, who wait at the end of the road every day at noon, when we return from our placements.
-The fact that you can stand in the middle of anywhere, turn around 360 degrees, and be blown away by the view in any direction.
-The people I've met here. The CCS Mamas (Lillian and Fatuma), the CCS Babas (Fulgence and John), Dani the driver, Rosie and Mary the housekeepers, fellow volunteers-turned-friends (Julia, Rosaria, Joan, Melanie, Katie, Spencer, Regina)... it's like my Tanzanian family. Mama Nancy and Sophia at Kiwodea. Hussein and Edward and the Pristine Safari peeps. Mama Valeria at WEECE.
Some Less-Than-Favorite Things about Tanzania/Moshi/Karanga:
-Squat pots (although my aim is getting pretty good).
-Sometimes the stares and cries of "Mzungu!" make me uncomfortable. Especially when groups of men do it.
-Corporal punishment in almost every school I've come across.
-Showers that feel like the water is pumped directly from the glaciers on Kilimanjaro.
-Pushy vendors on the street who follow you for blocks, trying to guilt you into spending your vast hoards of Mzungu Moolah on their crafty crafts, because you=$$$ in their eyes.
-The neighbor's goat and the pukey noises he makes, usually right around lunchtime.
Monday, August 2.
I've been thinking a lot about malaria lately.
When I went to the travel clinic before coming here, my drill sergeant of a nurse related to me the horror stories of malaria and the utter diligence I, as a vulnerable traveler, must employ to defend myself from the malaria-riddled bloodthirsty African mosquito. I was terrified of being bitten. I've been taking my Doxycyclene religiously after every breakfast, and applying my 30 percent DEET every evening. My mosquito net is my safe house, protecting me from the vicious hordes of six-legged bloodsuckers as I sleep.
I haven't seen more than ten mosquitoes since I've been here. I think half of those skeeters have dined on my blood, because I've acquired a whopping total of five mosquito bites (each that itched like hell for half an hour and then disappeared). Two weeks in, I realize my chances of coming down with aches and a fever are slim to none. I also realize that I'm not the only overseas volunteer with malaria paranoia. The CCS volunteers have a running joke:
"I have a headache." "That's probably malaria."
"I'm cold." "Ooh, that can be a symptom of malaria."
"My ankles are swollen." "Whoa, that's gotta be malaria." "But I hiked Kilimanjaro today." "Yeah, but you have aches in your legs, too."
"I stubbed my toe." "TOTALLY malaria. You're done."
In other words, if you take precautions, you will more than likely be just fine. But the sliver of doubt is still there. Partly because every local you meet has either had malaria, or knows someone who's had it. It is here, prevalent like the common cold, just not always overtly obvious. Not everyone has a mosquito net--some volunteers handed them out to the neighborhood kids a few days ago. A lot of people don't have access to medications that treat it, let alone the means to prevent it.
So I don't know what to think about that. Except that every person should have a net, for free. What's crazy is that I think a certain former U.S. president from Texas made an initiative out of that one at some point. Hrmm...
P.S. From the waist down, it's all one solid ache. I'm walking like a sailor with scurvy. Mt. Kilimanjaro: 1, Out-of-Shape Wannabe Mountain Climber: 0.
But, it's probably malaria, in any case.
When I went to the travel clinic before coming here, my drill sergeant of a nurse related to me the horror stories of malaria and the utter diligence I, as a vulnerable traveler, must employ to defend myself from the malaria-riddled bloodthirsty African mosquito. I was terrified of being bitten. I've been taking my Doxycyclene religiously after every breakfast, and applying my 30 percent DEET every evening. My mosquito net is my safe house, protecting me from the vicious hordes of six-legged bloodsuckers as I sleep.
I haven't seen more than ten mosquitoes since I've been here. I think half of those skeeters have dined on my blood, because I've acquired a whopping total of five mosquito bites (each that itched like hell for half an hour and then disappeared). Two weeks in, I realize my chances of coming down with aches and a fever are slim to none. I also realize that I'm not the only overseas volunteer with malaria paranoia. The CCS volunteers have a running joke:
"I have a headache." "That's probably malaria."
"I'm cold." "Ooh, that can be a symptom of malaria."
"My ankles are swollen." "Whoa, that's gotta be malaria." "But I hiked Kilimanjaro today." "Yeah, but you have aches in your legs, too."
"I stubbed my toe." "TOTALLY malaria. You're done."
In other words, if you take precautions, you will more than likely be just fine. But the sliver of doubt is still there. Partly because every local you meet has either had malaria, or knows someone who's had it. It is here, prevalent like the common cold, just not always overtly obvious. Not everyone has a mosquito net--some volunteers handed them out to the neighborhood kids a few days ago. A lot of people don't have access to medications that treat it, let alone the means to prevent it.
So I don't know what to think about that. Except that every person should have a net, for free. What's crazy is that I think a certain former U.S. president from Texas made an initiative out of that one at some point. Hrmm...
P.S. From the waist down, it's all one solid ache. I'm walking like a sailor with scurvy. Mt. Kilimanjaro: 1, Out-of-Shape Wannabe Mountain Climber: 0.
But, it's probably malaria, in any case.
Sunday, August 1. Kilimanjaro-Ho!!!
Today I hiked the Roof of Africa. Or--at least to the top of the stairs at the second story of Africa.
Honestly, it was probably one of the most difficult and demanding things I've ever done in my life. 3-1/2 hours up the mountain, from the Kilimanjaro National Park gates, following the Marangu Route to Mandara (the first of 3 base camps for climbers attempting to summit). Mandara sits at 2720 meters above sea level, or about 8,000 feet. While the altitude change is only about 1 kilometer, the Marangu Route is approximately 9 kilometers to Mandara. I walked approximately 9 kilometers up Mt. Kilimanjaro. Cool. :-)
They tell you to pack several items for very good reasons (I'm glad I listened):
1. Rain gear. (It rained. The whole way.)
2. An extra T-shirt. (By the time we got to Mandara, I felt like I'd taken a shower in the one I was wearing--I'd sweated completely through it.)
3. An extra sweatshirt. (2720 meters above sea level is COLD. My lips were blue. You need to get as warm and dry as you can, with no heat or fire.)
4. Salty snacks and extra water. (For those of you who don't know what an electrolyte is, you'll still know when you lose a lot of them. It sucks.)
After lunch, it was about a 2-1/2 hour hike back down. Slightly easier than up. Through cold mountain moorland near Mandara, back into mountain rainforest as we descended. I felt like I was in a scene straight out of Avatar (and yes, I did just use a James Cameron reference in my blog. That one's for you, Alex Maki!), trekking through the Pandoran jungle. Instead of 10-foot-tall blue cat-people, we saw colobus monkeys and porters with huge sacks on their heads, full of lazy hikers' shit (juuuuust kidding, those belong to the people who summit... they are the anti-lazy people). The porters were passing us on the trail in either direction. Carrying 50 to 100 pounds on your head, walking up the equivalent of about 19,000 stairs, earns you hardcore status, in my opinion.
It's pretty rad to be able to say I climbed to the almost-halfway point on Kilimanjaro. Someday, after months (years?!) of training and preparation, maybe I'll be back to attempt the summit. But right now, I'm just fine with what I did do. It was hard and painful, and my legs did not thank me a few days later, but not unbearable. Especially since Gorgeous Adam was there.*
*Sidenote about Gorgeous Adam. We did the hike with the same company who took us on safari. In fact, one of the guys who came with us was Hussein, our safari guide... who is quickly becoming a good friend of mine. The other mountain guide was Adam. And he is gorgeous. Perfectly gorgeous. And as nice as he is pretty. Insta-Crush material.
Anyway, at one point, Adam took my hand to help me up a steep couple of meters, and didn't let go for a little while. I know it's totally 5th grade, but it almost didn't matter that all my hair was pulled under a sweaty bandana or that my face was beet red or that I was covered in mud and probably smelled. I hiked Kili with a dreamboat guide and some quickly-getting-to-be-good friends. Self confidence is up 100 points today.
"I hiked Mt. Kilimanjaro."
Absolutely fun to say. :-)
Honestly, it was probably one of the most difficult and demanding things I've ever done in my life. 3-1/2 hours up the mountain, from the Kilimanjaro National Park gates, following the Marangu Route to Mandara (the first of 3 base camps for climbers attempting to summit). Mandara sits at 2720 meters above sea level, or about 8,000 feet. While the altitude change is only about 1 kilometer, the Marangu Route is approximately 9 kilometers to Mandara. I walked approximately 9 kilometers up Mt. Kilimanjaro. Cool. :-)
They tell you to pack several items for very good reasons (I'm glad I listened):
1. Rain gear. (It rained. The whole way.)
2. An extra T-shirt. (By the time we got to Mandara, I felt like I'd taken a shower in the one I was wearing--I'd sweated completely through it.)
3. An extra sweatshirt. (2720 meters above sea level is COLD. My lips were blue. You need to get as warm and dry as you can, with no heat or fire.)
4. Salty snacks and extra water. (For those of you who don't know what an electrolyte is, you'll still know when you lose a lot of them. It sucks.)
After lunch, it was about a 2-1/2 hour hike back down. Slightly easier than up. Through cold mountain moorland near Mandara, back into mountain rainforest as we descended. I felt like I was in a scene straight out of Avatar (and yes, I did just use a James Cameron reference in my blog. That one's for you, Alex Maki!), trekking through the Pandoran jungle. Instead of 10-foot-tall blue cat-people, we saw colobus monkeys and porters with huge sacks on their heads, full of lazy hikers' shit (juuuuust kidding, those belong to the people who summit... they are the anti-lazy people). The porters were passing us on the trail in either direction. Carrying 50 to 100 pounds on your head, walking up the equivalent of about 19,000 stairs, earns you hardcore status, in my opinion.
It's pretty rad to be able to say I climbed to the almost-halfway point on Kilimanjaro. Someday, after months (years?!) of training and preparation, maybe I'll be back to attempt the summit. But right now, I'm just fine with what I did do. It was hard and painful, and my legs did not thank me a few days later, but not unbearable. Especially since Gorgeous Adam was there.*
*Sidenote about Gorgeous Adam. We did the hike with the same company who took us on safari. In fact, one of the guys who came with us was Hussein, our safari guide... who is quickly becoming a good friend of mine. The other mountain guide was Adam. And he is gorgeous. Perfectly gorgeous. And as nice as he is pretty. Insta-Crush material.
Anyway, at one point, Adam took my hand to help me up a steep couple of meters, and didn't let go for a little while. I know it's totally 5th grade, but it almost didn't matter that all my hair was pulled under a sweaty bandana or that my face was beet red or that I was covered in mud and probably smelled. I hiked Kili with a dreamboat guide and some quickly-getting-to-be-good friends. Self confidence is up 100 points today.
"I hiked Mt. Kilimanjaro."
Absolutely fun to say. :-)
Monday, August 9, 2010
Friday, July 30.
5:00 p.m.
We are painting at Kiwodea.
The rooms used to be dark and bare, with dirty beige walls and cobwebs everywhere. Now, they are cheerful yellow and baby blue, with two new chalkboards (thanks to Regina's successful reconnaissance for chalkboard paint!). Also, Mama Nancy is letting me loose on one of the walls, to paint a mural. Whooooeeeee... I am covered in paint today, but the wall halfway displays a Tanzanian safari sunset. Yes!
Yesterday was Regina's last day in the program. We spent the morning painting and revisiting the 90's on her iPod. Britney Spears and the Spice Girls REALLY do help you paint faster! Katie also found some Cokes, taro chips, and peanut M&Ms at the nearby supermarket--I didn't realize how much I miss caffeine and chocolate and salt. Coke! Potato chips! M&Ms! Simple things.
After work, Mama Nancy invited us to her home for lunch--her famous mushroom pilau (rice and veggies) made from mushrooms she grows in her yard. DELICIOUS! Mama also surprised us with a cake she baked--with all of our names in pink icing, surrounded by an icing heart: "This is my heart, and all of you are in it." No joke. These are the kinds of things Mama says all the time, but she is absolutely genuine about it. It isn't cheesy... it is true. We all got a little teary at that. Mama gave each of us a blessing (in Swahili), and we ate until we were stuffed (pilau, baked pumpkin, wilted greens, avocado salad) and drank her fabulous tea (black chai with LOTS of lemon). Mama is a truly special person. I'm not sure I've met anyone else with as much selflessness and love for fellow human beings, not as much as this woman has. And that statement is absolutely genuine.
11:15 p.m.
We are painting at Kiwodea.
The rooms used to be dark and bare, with dirty beige walls and cobwebs everywhere. Now, they are cheerful yellow and baby blue, with two new chalkboards (thanks to Regina's successful reconnaissance for chalkboard paint!). Also, Mama Nancy is letting me loose on one of the walls, to paint a mural. Whooooeeeee... I am covered in paint today, but the wall halfway displays a Tanzanian safari sunset. Yes!
Yesterday was Regina's last day in the program. We spent the morning painting and revisiting the 90's on her iPod. Britney Spears and the Spice Girls REALLY do help you paint faster! Katie also found some Cokes, taro chips, and peanut M&Ms at the nearby supermarket--I didn't realize how much I miss caffeine and chocolate and salt. Coke! Potato chips! M&Ms! Simple things.
After work, Mama Nancy invited us to her home for lunch--her famous mushroom pilau (rice and veggies) made from mushrooms she grows in her yard. DELICIOUS! Mama also surprised us with a cake she baked--with all of our names in pink icing, surrounded by an icing heart: "This is my heart, and all of you are in it." No joke. These are the kinds of things Mama says all the time, but she is absolutely genuine about it. It isn't cheesy... it is true. We all got a little teary at that. Mama gave each of us a blessing (in Swahili), and we ate until we were stuffed (pilau, baked pumpkin, wilted greens, avocado salad) and drank her fabulous tea (black chai with LOTS of lemon). Mama is a truly special person. I'm not sure I've met anyone else with as much selflessness and love for fellow human beings, not as much as this woman has. And that statement is absolutely genuine.
11:15 p.m.
Just caught a ride back from town with Drunken Cab Driver from Hell. That was possibly the sketchiest cab ride I've ever experienced, anywhere.
I went out to eat with Katie from Kiwodea and Beth, another CCS-Karanga volunteer. We ate at a mzungu restaurant in Moshi called Indoitaliano (all one word), which serves, oddly enough, Indian and/or Italian food, sometimes together. In the middle of East Africa, that seems interestingly weird (colonialism x Eastern influence?). I ate an entire 12-inch pizza (with mozzarella cheese and everything!) and a Coke in an old glass bottle that they undoubtedly refill after each customer use. Pizza and Coke! I think I'm starting to crave food that I've been eating all my life. When I get back stateside, the first thing I want to eat is my mom's homemade enchiladas (take note, Mom. Hehe.).
But I digress. After dropping Katie off at a hotel in town, where she'll stay until she leaves for safari tomorrow, Beth and I began the Tanzanian version of Russian Roulette, otherwise known as finding a cab.
Let's pause for a moment to talk about public transportation here. During the day in Moshi, the streets are full of taxis, busses, and smaller dala-dalas (public vans that usually are crammed full of people--I've seen them careening down the highway with two or three people hanging out the doors, with decal images of either God, Jesus or Barack Obama gracing their rear windows). The sidewalks, curbs and streets are also packed with people on foot. At night, however, Moshi is a different city. The streets are nearly deserted at sundown, and cabs are elusive.
I'm not sure about other parts of the country, but in Moshi and other parts of the Kilimanjaro region, licensed cab drivers operate white sedans with a blue stripe painted on the exterior and a "taxi" sign on top. We were first approached by a guy who spoke no English but gestured to a white sedan with a conspicuously absent blue stripe. Trying to charge us 14,000 shillings for a 5,000-shilling cab ride was clearly not his first mistake. His car was the only one on the block for a solid five minutes, so imagine our relief when a blue-stripe pulled up behind him.
Big oops. Here's some advice.
First, when choosing a cab in Tanzania, refrain from those with gasoline or alcohol-scented interiors. Second, speak up when your driver decides to pull into a gas station mid-trip and disappears for 10 minutes without telling you what's going on. Also speak up when he wobbles all over the road, cuts off other cars, and decides to pass cars in the immediate path of oncoming traffic. Finally, when at the destination, he tries to renegotiate the rate you mutually agreed on prior to leaving FOR A LARGER FEE, politely but firmly decline. And whatever you do, kindly remove your white-knuckled strangle grip from the headrest in front of you so you can exit your Death Cab as soon as possible.
Wednesday, July 28
Marangu Region.
This morning, those of us in the new group didn't go to our placements. Instead, Baba John (one of the CCS drivers) took us on a cultural exploration of Marangu, home to a large population of the Chagga people, the tribe that predominantly inhabits the Kilimanjaro region. They are also the tribe to which Baba John belongs. You could see it in his face: pride, that he was going to get to share aspects of his culture with us, for the entire day.
We stopped at a blacksmith and tinsmith cooperative in Marangu, which was interesting because the men use techniques that are considered archaic by Western standards. However, I have trouble imagining that the works of art produced by these "archaic" practices could ever be reproduced by a machine. Hand bellows to heat the metal, hammer and chisel to shape it. Result? Chagga warrior spear, knife, hammer head, cowbell, noisemaker for dances, etc. They also shape wood in the same careful, artistic way they shape metal. Avocado, ebony, and rosewood trees reshaped into bowls, spoons, masks, candleholders, sculptures. The smiths graciously allowed this mzungu to try her hand at the bellows. Apparently I did all right, because they went right on with their work as I sat in the dirt and soot next to them, pumping air into the fire by hand.
We also visited the Marangu Chagga market, where everyone who was selling something greeted us with "Karibu! Karibu sana!" (Welcome! You're very welcome!) in a frenzied attempt to lure us into their stalls. The kanga lady--with a little hut filled floor to ceiling with eye-popping fabric--was hilarious. When I bought 3 kangas from her, her response was somewhat bizarre--she dropped her chin and gently head-butted my chest. Just a split second, but so odd! Not sure if it's a Chagga thing or what, but I think I'll ask Baba John about it.
Next stop was to a replica Chagga fortified hut, a complex of underground caves and tunnels so tight you had to crawl on your hands and knees, or "squat-walk" (squalk?) from room to room.
The event of the day, by far, was the hike down to Kilasiya Falls. To get to the falls, we had to hike into this valley with crazy steep walls. Stretches of it felt like rock climbing (or rather, crumbly muddy hillside climbing), but we were able to hike right up to the base of the falls. Our guide, August, saw my hiking boots and gave me his flip flops instead, as we had to wade through the river at one point. I'm not sure if it was a good idea to wade, and the warning from my travel clinic nurse telling me to avoid fresh water at all costs still lingers in the back of my mind, but the view was awesome. Probably worth the schistosomiasis or tapeworm or some other nasty bug I'll undoubtedly acquire from the lovely scenery.
Beautiful and fun experiences trump parasites. That's my motto for the rest of my stay in Tanzania.
This morning, those of us in the new group didn't go to our placements. Instead, Baba John (one of the CCS drivers) took us on a cultural exploration of Marangu, home to a large population of the Chagga people, the tribe that predominantly inhabits the Kilimanjaro region. They are also the tribe to which Baba John belongs. You could see it in his face: pride, that he was going to get to share aspects of his culture with us, for the entire day.
We stopped at a blacksmith and tinsmith cooperative in Marangu, which was interesting because the men use techniques that are considered archaic by Western standards. However, I have trouble imagining that the works of art produced by these "archaic" practices could ever be reproduced by a machine. Hand bellows to heat the metal, hammer and chisel to shape it. Result? Chagga warrior spear, knife, hammer head, cowbell, noisemaker for dances, etc. They also shape wood in the same careful, artistic way they shape metal. Avocado, ebony, and rosewood trees reshaped into bowls, spoons, masks, candleholders, sculptures. The smiths graciously allowed this mzungu to try her hand at the bellows. Apparently I did all right, because they went right on with their work as I sat in the dirt and soot next to them, pumping air into the fire by hand.
We also visited the Marangu Chagga market, where everyone who was selling something greeted us with "Karibu! Karibu sana!" (Welcome! You're very welcome!) in a frenzied attempt to lure us into their stalls. The kanga lady--with a little hut filled floor to ceiling with eye-popping fabric--was hilarious. When I bought 3 kangas from her, her response was somewhat bizarre--she dropped her chin and gently head-butted my chest. Just a split second, but so odd! Not sure if it's a Chagga thing or what, but I think I'll ask Baba John about it.
Next stop was to a replica Chagga fortified hut, a complex of underground caves and tunnels so tight you had to crawl on your hands and knees, or "squat-walk" (squalk?) from room to room.
The event of the day, by far, was the hike down to Kilasiya Falls. To get to the falls, we had to hike into this valley with crazy steep walls. Stretches of it felt like rock climbing (or rather, crumbly muddy hillside climbing), but we were able to hike right up to the base of the falls. Our guide, August, saw my hiking boots and gave me his flip flops instead, as we had to wade through the river at one point. I'm not sure if it was a good idea to wade, and the warning from my travel clinic nurse telling me to avoid fresh water at all costs still lingers in the back of my mind, but the view was awesome. Probably worth the schistosomiasis or tapeworm or some other nasty bug I'll undoubtedly acquire from the lovely scenery.
Beautiful and fun experiences trump parasites. That's my motto for the rest of my stay in Tanzania.
Tuesday, July 27
The butterflies are out today.
It's a little after noon and they are soaking up the sunshine, I think. I am, too. They are the small butter-yellow variety that seems to be everywhere here; one is resting on my toe as I write this. I have seen dozens of fantastically colorful butterflies here! Blue and iridescent, brown and white polka-dots, fragile black and red. Little vivid spots of color by the dusty road.
I am feeling more and more comfortable in front of the class at Kiwodea. Today we learned some English clothing words, reviewed body parts and colors in English, and read some stories. The kids are so sweet--at least, to the new mzungu teacher... not so much to each other, really. And they seem enthusiastic about what we're doing there. I guess it's not too difficult to impress a three-year-old. Their enthusiasm, plus the hugely helpful presence of my placement veteran volunteer partners, have made this week a little easier than last week. I think I was still adjusting to the differences and just the reality that I was going to be living in Africa for four weeks.
We are going to be doing some maintenance projects for Mama Nancy, using the money earned from the Dessert Night fundraiser. The plan is to hire an electrician to fix the lighting, TV and internet, and paint two classrooms--the leftover funds are going into an account for future microloan distribution! The classrooms will be used as a kind of special education "suite": one room for lessons, and another room for physical therapy for kids with disabilities. All part of Mama Nancy's bigger plan.
Many children here, if they have a physical or mental disability, tend to be ostracized. Or at least, set by the wayside. Many never go to school, and their parents hide them from the rest of society. Many are abandoned or dropped off at orphanages, like Mary at Neema. Mama Nancy wants to give these children a safe place to interact with other children, learn socialization skills and participate in other academic and extracurricular activities.
Mama also wants us to go with her when she interviews women who are applying for the loan money. The fact that she wants us to be that involved with the distribution processes of Kiwodea says a lot about Mama Nancy's trust in her volunteers.
I think Kiwodea was the perfect placement for me.
It's a little after noon and they are soaking up the sunshine, I think. I am, too. They are the small butter-yellow variety that seems to be everywhere here; one is resting on my toe as I write this. I have seen dozens of fantastically colorful butterflies here! Blue and iridescent, brown and white polka-dots, fragile black and red. Little vivid spots of color by the dusty road.
I am feeling more and more comfortable in front of the class at Kiwodea. Today we learned some English clothing words, reviewed body parts and colors in English, and read some stories. The kids are so sweet--at least, to the new mzungu teacher... not so much to each other, really. And they seem enthusiastic about what we're doing there. I guess it's not too difficult to impress a three-year-old. Their enthusiasm, plus the hugely helpful presence of my placement veteran volunteer partners, have made this week a little easier than last week. I think I was still adjusting to the differences and just the reality that I was going to be living in Africa for four weeks.
We are going to be doing some maintenance projects for Mama Nancy, using the money earned from the Dessert Night fundraiser. The plan is to hire an electrician to fix the lighting, TV and internet, and paint two classrooms--the leftover funds are going into an account for future microloan distribution! The classrooms will be used as a kind of special education "suite": one room for lessons, and another room for physical therapy for kids with disabilities. All part of Mama Nancy's bigger plan.
Many children here, if they have a physical or mental disability, tend to be ostracized. Or at least, set by the wayside. Many never go to school, and their parents hide them from the rest of society. Many are abandoned or dropped off at orphanages, like Mary at Neema. Mama Nancy wants to give these children a safe place to interact with other children, learn socialization skills and participate in other academic and extracurricular activities.
Mama also wants us to go with her when she interviews women who are applying for the loan money. The fact that she wants us to be that involved with the distribution processes of Kiwodea says a lot about Mama Nancy's trust in her volunteers.
I think Kiwodea was the perfect placement for me.
Saturday, August 7, 2010
Monday, July 26.
11:30 a.m.
I am learning their names. And personalities.
Annette. "Big sister" to the littlest kids, to the point of bossy.
Gilbert. Limit-pusher but is SO pleased when you praise him for following directions. A little overwhelmed by this whole school thing.
Goodluck. 1 1/2-year old rabble rouser. SOOOOO cute.
Sislane. Clingy and easily jealous, but sweet.
Tony. Instigator. Tries to be so tough but still sucks his thumb.
Grace. Wide eyes, seems to be in perpetual wonder at the world around her. Forgets my name a lot, so calls me 'Mzungu.'
Jesska. Placid, easy going, and tolerant of the boys when they pick on her.
Jenifa. A tiny peanut of a thing, but such a little tornado!
Debora. Jenifa' sidekick, very giggly and likes to copy Teacher.
Andrew. The new kid. Quiet and observant. For now.
Ana. Absorbs lessons like a sponge... you can't teach her fast enough.
Only a handful. We have close to 30 kids in the class. I will get to know them, too.
I led a few lessons today--it was just Spencer and me, as Katie is in Zanzibar and Regina is still on safari in the Serengeti. We covered numbers, animals, body parts, and colors today. Not bad. Considering the teachers changed the schedule around on us this morning, moving English class up an hour to 9:00 and putting us completely on the spot. I saw no sign of the cane today until the very end, when we were leaving. I really hate it. I wonder if that was the reason for the schedule change. I very much hope not.
4:30 p.m.
I hate, hate, HATE my malaria pills. Took mine an hour before lunch today, ate lunch, and was revisited by lunch about 20 minutes later. I woke up about 15 minutes ago, after a delirious 3-hour nap, having missed Swahili lessons and a group trip into town. Shit.
Someone somewhere is drumming. At first I thought it was the radio from one of the kitchen staff, but the rhythmic beats are coming from over the banana trees across the street. Every once in awhile, the beat changes, or stops as if someone made a mistake. The house is quiet except for in the kitchen, where I hear the cooks chatting and pots clanging--dinner that more than likely I'll have to avoid, which makes me sad. I hope it's not chapati. I will be depressed if it is.
I think I'm also starting to feel the first bout of homesickness. When you're sick, you want to be surrounded by familiarity. Mama Lillian, Mama Fatuma and Baba Fulgence have done their best to make this "home" too, but laying here it's hard to forget the fact that I am 8,000 miles away from familiarity.
7:00 p.m.
Still feeling weird and bummed that I missed the afternoon's activities. The days are so full that missing a few hours feels like missing a few days. I'm not prepared to trade exploring Tanzania for a less-than-stellar get-to-know-you session with the innerworkings of my digestive tract. Blecch.
Ate some ugali for dinner and it's staying put. Thank goodness for bland maize flour paste.
Usiku mwema.
I am learning their names. And personalities.
Annette. "Big sister" to the littlest kids, to the point of bossy.
Gilbert. Limit-pusher but is SO pleased when you praise him for following directions. A little overwhelmed by this whole school thing.
Goodluck. 1 1/2-year old rabble rouser. SOOOOO cute.
Sislane. Clingy and easily jealous, but sweet.
Tony. Instigator. Tries to be so tough but still sucks his thumb.
Grace. Wide eyes, seems to be in perpetual wonder at the world around her. Forgets my name a lot, so calls me 'Mzungu.'
Jesska. Placid, easy going, and tolerant of the boys when they pick on her.
Jenifa. A tiny peanut of a thing, but such a little tornado!
Debora. Jenifa' sidekick, very giggly and likes to copy Teacher.
Andrew. The new kid. Quiet and observant. For now.
Ana. Absorbs lessons like a sponge... you can't teach her fast enough.
Only a handful. We have close to 30 kids in the class. I will get to know them, too.
I led a few lessons today--it was just Spencer and me, as Katie is in Zanzibar and Regina is still on safari in the Serengeti. We covered numbers, animals, body parts, and colors today. Not bad. Considering the teachers changed the schedule around on us this morning, moving English class up an hour to 9:00 and putting us completely on the spot. I saw no sign of the cane today until the very end, when we were leaving. I really hate it. I wonder if that was the reason for the schedule change. I very much hope not.
4:30 p.m.
I hate, hate, HATE my malaria pills. Took mine an hour before lunch today, ate lunch, and was revisited by lunch about 20 minutes later. I woke up about 15 minutes ago, after a delirious 3-hour nap, having missed Swahili lessons and a group trip into town. Shit.
Someone somewhere is drumming. At first I thought it was the radio from one of the kitchen staff, but the rhythmic beats are coming from over the banana trees across the street. Every once in awhile, the beat changes, or stops as if someone made a mistake. The house is quiet except for in the kitchen, where I hear the cooks chatting and pots clanging--dinner that more than likely I'll have to avoid, which makes me sad. I hope it's not chapati. I will be depressed if it is.
I think I'm also starting to feel the first bout of homesickness. When you're sick, you want to be surrounded by familiarity. Mama Lillian, Mama Fatuma and Baba Fulgence have done their best to make this "home" too, but laying here it's hard to forget the fact that I am 8,000 miles away from familiarity.
7:00 p.m.
Still feeling weird and bummed that I missed the afternoon's activities. The days are so full that missing a few hours feels like missing a few days. I'm not prepared to trade exploring Tanzania for a less-than-stellar get-to-know-you session with the innerworkings of my digestive tract. Blecch.
Ate some ugali for dinner and it's staying put. Thank goodness for bland maize flour paste.
Usiku mwema.
Sunday, July 25.
Tarangire National Park.
Elephant capital of the world.
I am obsessed with elephants. Their status as my favorite animal has now been cemented. Elephants are my favorite. Period. Fact.
There were SO MANY. We hadn't driven more than a few kilometers into the park when we were surrounded. Mothers and young, even some babies, and one huge bull who was--as Hussein put it--"looking for a ready and willing female." The ladies weren't having it. No elephant sex today.
They were incredibly tolerant of our presence, considering how close we were (and the fact that they had us surrounded). And they are so intelligent... they make eye contact with you and it really feels like they are watching you back. They know you are there, and are gauging your every move. They make decisions, and have an intricate system of communication with each other. I was awed by them.
Other animals we saw at Tarangire:
-Impalas (lots of 'em)
-Lions
-Zebras (lots of 'em)
-Giraffes (Maasai giraffes, to be specific)
-Dik-diks (fun to say, and now a running joke)
-Waterbucks
-Maribou storks
-Vultures
-Warthogs
-Baboons
-Mongooses (mongeese?)
-Wildebeest
-Cape buffalo (lots of angry ones)
-Vervet monkeys (the blue-balled ones)
-Jackals
This has truly been an eye-opening experience. Our group bonded this weekend, and we saw some amazing things that few people we know have ever seen. Wait for the pictures!
Elephant capital of the world.
I am obsessed with elephants. Their status as my favorite animal has now been cemented. Elephants are my favorite. Period. Fact.
There were SO MANY. We hadn't driven more than a few kilometers into the park when we were surrounded. Mothers and young, even some babies, and one huge bull who was--as Hussein put it--"looking for a ready and willing female." The ladies weren't having it. No elephant sex today.
They were incredibly tolerant of our presence, considering how close we were (and the fact that they had us surrounded). And they are so intelligent... they make eye contact with you and it really feels like they are watching you back. They know you are there, and are gauging your every move. They make decisions, and have an intricate system of communication with each other. I was awed by them.
Other animals we saw at Tarangire:
-Impalas (lots of 'em)
-Lions
-Zebras (lots of 'em)
-Giraffes (Maasai giraffes, to be specific)
-Dik-diks (fun to say, and now a running joke)
-Waterbucks
-Maribou storks
-Vultures
-Warthogs
-Baboons
-Mongooses (mongeese?)
-Wildebeest
-Cape buffalo (lots of angry ones)
-Vervet monkeys (the blue-balled ones)
-Jackals
This has truly been an eye-opening experience. Our group bonded this weekend, and we saw some amazing things that few people we know have ever seen. Wait for the pictures!
Saturday, July 24.
Ngorongoro Crater.
There are hardly words. "Surreal" is one I've used a lot today. "Awesome" is another.
List of animals I've never seen in the wild until today:
-Baboons
-Zebras
-Wildebeest
-Lions (a group of young males, and a pride with cubs!)
-Bull elephants
-Gray crown cranes
-Yellow-billed storks
-A lone cheetah (from a distance)
-Hippos
-African buffalo
-Jackals
-Hyenas
-Thompson's gazelle
-Grant's gazelle
-Kori bustard birds (the guides' accents had us thinking they were called "bastards," not bustards. Oops.)
-Warthogs
-Ostriches (male and female)
-Flamingos
-Vultures
-Monkeys (with bright blue testicles)
I really can't do any of it justice here. Except to say that our driver, Godfrey, isn't a maniac like I thought--but is, in fact, awesome. We'd see an animal from afar, and screech, "Lion!" or "Hippo!" (or sometimes just "Ooooh!") and he'd somehow magically get us 30 feet from the thing.
Our guides know their shit. I suppose this was probably their 7,514th visit to Ngorongoro, so they would. It's pretty amazing that this ecologically concentrated and diverse slice of African savanna exists at the bottom of a crater that's 22 kilometers across, and boasts a thick and luscious mountain rainforest on the outer slopes. On our way out of the crater, I noticed the road we were driving on was bordered by about 3 meters of land on either side that dropped away sharply: Ngorongoro on the left, and rainforest valley on the right... both THOUSANDS of feet down. That's when I realized we were driving on the crater's rim--and it was a handful of meters across.
I don't get dizzy from heights often, but... yeesh.
A spectacular day.
There are hardly words. "Surreal" is one I've used a lot today. "Awesome" is another.
List of animals I've never seen in the wild until today:
-Baboons
-Zebras
-Wildebeest
-Lions (a group of young males, and a pride with cubs!)
-Bull elephants
-Gray crown cranes
-Yellow-billed storks
-A lone cheetah (from a distance)
-Hippos
-African buffalo
-Jackals
-Hyenas
-Thompson's gazelle
-Grant's gazelle
-Kori bustard birds (the guides' accents had us thinking they were called "bastards," not bustards. Oops.)
-Warthogs
-Ostriches (male and female)
-Flamingos
-Vultures
-Monkeys (with bright blue testicles)
I really can't do any of it justice here. Except to say that our driver, Godfrey, isn't a maniac like I thought--but is, in fact, awesome. We'd see an animal from afar, and screech, "Lion!" or "Hippo!" (or sometimes just "Ooooh!") and he'd somehow magically get us 30 feet from the thing.
Our guides know their shit. I suppose this was probably their 7,514th visit to Ngorongoro, so they would. It's pretty amazing that this ecologically concentrated and diverse slice of African savanna exists at the bottom of a crater that's 22 kilometers across, and boasts a thick and luscious mountain rainforest on the outer slopes. On our way out of the crater, I noticed the road we were driving on was bordered by about 3 meters of land on either side that dropped away sharply: Ngorongoro on the left, and rainforest valley on the right... both THOUSANDS of feet down. That's when I realized we were driving on the crater's rim--and it was a handful of meters across.
I don't get dizzy from heights often, but... yeesh.
A spectacular day.
Friday, July 23.
11:00 p.m.
I write this from a tent in the highlands of the Rift Valley. Something howls mournfully in the night. I am on safari.
Okay, so the tents have mattresses in them. And we have hot showers and actual toilets (not just holes in the ground... I've run into a few squat pots already, and they take some getting used to). But tomorrow I will wake up, unzip my door flap and step into savanna as far as the eye can see. It's very, very cool.
Our driver, Godfrey, and our guide, Hussein, took us to a Maasai village west of Arusha. Side note: Godfrey drives like a maniac. Careening in and out of traffic-jam situations in the people- and- dust-clogged arteries of Arusha, I swear someone was going to meet his or her brutal end at the front bumper of our Range Rover. When traffic opened up, it was 120 kilometers per hour, dodging dala-dalas and herds of cattle. I will never drive a car on Tanzanian roads, especially knowing Godfrey is out there too.
Back to the village. We were greeted with a dance of thanks and welcoming. The women pulled us into their circle, and I learned a few Maasai song lyrics. They put the traditional broad, beaded Maasai necklace bands around our necks... I learned later that they are worn by women who have been circumcised (eeeeesh...). But in the moment, I was holding hands and singing with people who have lived in the same place, in the same way, since nearly the dawn of humanity. The children ran over to shake hands, very serious during the gesture, but then the cameras came out and they were instantly silly, like all kids are in front of cameras.
Maasai women are competitive, shrewd saleswomen. And aggressive. They could take on any stockbroker in the U.S. when it comes to closing the deal. I now wear a necklace and a bracelet made from a Maasai woman's hands. I owed her for teaching me how to sing and dance Maasai-style--her gestures and smiles made that very obvious. Walking past tables and tables full of beaded jewelry, you'd suddenly find your arms grasped and bracelets slipped on, or arms firmly attaching a cow-bone necklace around your neck. I now know exactly what might be going through the mind of a deer standing in the path of a pair of blinding headlights. None of the Maasai women speak English or Kiswahili, and so it was stressful having to rely on the men to translate. I was a little disappointed that this set the tone for the end of our otherwise incredible visit.
When we managed to extricate ourselves from their selling war, the sun was setting. In the middle of absolutely nowhere, the stars are close enough to touch. The kids, covered in dust from head to toe, looked like ghosts in the light of the camera flash. A flock of birds took off overhead, disturbed by something lurking in the growing darkness.
Tonight, I realized how much Africa has already slipped under my skin.
It is late, and tomorrow we go to the Ngorongoro Crater. Lions and rhinos and elephants, oh my!
I write this from a tent in the highlands of the Rift Valley. Something howls mournfully in the night. I am on safari.
Okay, so the tents have mattresses in them. And we have hot showers and actual toilets (not just holes in the ground... I've run into a few squat pots already, and they take some getting used to). But tomorrow I will wake up, unzip my door flap and step into savanna as far as the eye can see. It's very, very cool.
Our driver, Godfrey, and our guide, Hussein, took us to a Maasai village west of Arusha. Side note: Godfrey drives like a maniac. Careening in and out of traffic-jam situations in the people- and- dust-clogged arteries of Arusha, I swear someone was going to meet his or her brutal end at the front bumper of our Range Rover. When traffic opened up, it was 120 kilometers per hour, dodging dala-dalas and herds of cattle. I will never drive a car on Tanzanian roads, especially knowing Godfrey is out there too.
Back to the village. We were greeted with a dance of thanks and welcoming. The women pulled us into their circle, and I learned a few Maasai song lyrics. They put the traditional broad, beaded Maasai necklace bands around our necks... I learned later that they are worn by women who have been circumcised (eeeeesh...). But in the moment, I was holding hands and singing with people who have lived in the same place, in the same way, since nearly the dawn of humanity. The children ran over to shake hands, very serious during the gesture, but then the cameras came out and they were instantly silly, like all kids are in front of cameras.
Maasai women are competitive, shrewd saleswomen. And aggressive. They could take on any stockbroker in the U.S. when it comes to closing the deal. I now wear a necklace and a bracelet made from a Maasai woman's hands. I owed her for teaching me how to sing and dance Maasai-style--her gestures and smiles made that very obvious. Walking past tables and tables full of beaded jewelry, you'd suddenly find your arms grasped and bracelets slipped on, or arms firmly attaching a cow-bone necklace around your neck. I now know exactly what might be going through the mind of a deer standing in the path of a pair of blinding headlights. None of the Maasai women speak English or Kiswahili, and so it was stressful having to rely on the men to translate. I was a little disappointed that this set the tone for the end of our otherwise incredible visit.
When we managed to extricate ourselves from their selling war, the sun was setting. In the middle of absolutely nowhere, the stars are close enough to touch. The kids, covered in dust from head to toe, looked like ghosts in the light of the camera flash. A flock of birds took off overhead, disturbed by something lurking in the growing darkness.
Tonight, I realized how much Africa has already slipped under my skin.
It is late, and tomorrow we go to the Ngorongoro Crater. Lions and rhinos and elephants, oh my!
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