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.

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.

Thursday, August 5.

Coming soon.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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. :-)