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.
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