I have received many emails from people wanting to know what to put in a package and send to me- so thanks. And anything would be appreciated- but thought I would compile a list of things I could use. Please don't forget to mail it to the Njombe Address posted in my blog and write Peace Corps Volunteer on it- because then I pay less in customs.
Wish List:
-Antibacterial Gel/Hand Wipes
-American Magazines
-Just add water foods
-Any foods (One of the best things I have gotten so far- my mom sent Wheat Thins and Dried Fruit- which lasted me many meals.)
-Pictures (printed!) I am decorating a wall with pictures I get sent- you want to be on it, right?
-Any house decor- my sister sent incense- which was great.
-Spices
-Any beauty products, washes, masks, etc.- My skin is horrible here, so if you have something you think would help, send away!
- If you do not want to send a package, please send yourself here. I really want visitors. Or I am always accepting donations to get my wonderful boyfriend of four years (Reed) here for the month of December.
For Tanzanians:
- School supplies (Cool pencils/pens, crayons, markers, stickers, etc.) The primary kids here have plain pencils and notebook paper stapled together- I think they could do better.
-Any books- easy to read (Very easy) in English with pictures. Primary school age- keep in mind they don't really speak English- so any good learning books.
-For me to help Tanzanian children: I suddenly cannot remember many American songs/ games/ learning tools for kids. If anyone sees a book with activities like this or has any personal ideas. I would love to have it to start getting in with the kids.
Along those Lines: MC Staff- Any project ideas? I am brand new at site, so I haven't fully investigated what the villagers want/need, but you are all very imaginative, experienced people. Help!?! I am thinking about a smaller version of Sports for Peace and Life- obviously without the help of Nike. But I am a Health/Life Skills Volunteer- which is pretty open ended and they also are including permaculture in that- so basically anything that fits under PEPFAR could be used.
Saturday, September 20, 2008
Misc. Thoughts Mostly About Chickens...
Some Tanzanians believe that you can tell time by what the chickens are doing at any point during the day. I know, however, that this is not the case- mostly because I own a watch. I have been told that the roosters crow every 15 minutes and hit the hour on the hour, in fact, they do not. The roosters got confused the other night, because the moon was very bright and they crowed from the 12 o'clock hour on until 2- before starting up again at 4 until 7. And I thought "Really? How could I possibly know what time it is based on this?" I also wonder how you know what time it is when the chickens are just pecking around? Or how about when what we have termed "Rooster Rape" is occurring, which happens to some poor hen throughout the day, what time is it then? I should say there are chickens everywhere, I mean everywhere, here. They are always scattering out of the road, in people's living rooms, or just pecking around somewhere and I wonder how do you know which chickens are your chickens? They do whatever they please, giving "Free Range" an entirely new meaning. Some of you (Reed), will be happy to now that I have started eating eggs since I have been here. However, I still don't really like them. But the chickens seem happy enough, and hopefully it will help me stay healthy. Some of the teachers asked me the other day if we have chickens in America (they ask about if we have this or this in America often- and don't seem to understand that we can get anything in America if we are willing to pay enough). I told then yes- that my parents have 10 hens. But no rooster, they were worried. They told me- " Sorry, your parents will need to buy a watch." I said, "Yeah". And then laughed to myself picturing my parents running their lives off how the chickens are behaving...
So my village thinks I am allergic to all types of meat, which I have found to be very convenient, as they bring me vegetables and fruits and eggs as gifts because they are so sorry I cannot eat meat. The orphan that lives with Juster, her name is Amelda (Spelling?), has sort of become my caretaker as well. She does all of the work at Juster's home in exchange for room and food. She is 12 years old but cooks beans better than any I have ever had. So I have taken up eating meals there- but she was very disappointed when my first meal there she had butchered a chicken which I took no part in. Once I explained to her that I would get sick- she now cooks beans for me and is very relieved that I did not eat the chicken. Overall, being vegetarian is very easy here. Amelda, now comes sometimes to clean my house, get me water, or run other miscellaneous errands. Juster will not let me pay her- but she is a sweet girl, who always bows to me and greets me with respect. (All the kids here bow or curtsy when they greet me- how will I ever go home with respect like that? Some people even kiss my hand and I feel like I have fallen into some medieval European lifestyle- except it is Africa.) Anyways, I am going to gift Amelda greatly for all the work she does for me.
Along those lines, I now own a cow. I am not sure how this came about. I woke up one morning and found it tied to my gate eating out of my compost pile. I know nothing about cows or even really how to milk one. I asked Juster what I should do with it. She told me, "Brie, Don't cut it." Apparently, momentarily forgetting the fact that I am a vegetarian and would never butcher a cow. Anyways, she is for milk, but I don't want a cow. So now she is owned by all the teachers to share and Simon's wife is looking after her care.
I went for a 10k walk the other day to visit another PCV. I walked that far through fields and farmlands, but once I got to the main road I did not want to walk the next 10 K. So I did something I would never dream of doing in the states. I hitched a ride for the first time ever. I should say that there are very few cars in this part of Tanzania and hitching a ride is the way to get anywhere here. Tanzanians hitch rides on everything: bikes, motorcycles, tea trucks, you name it there are multiple people on it. Transport is scary here- there are no seat belts, or if there are, there are too many people packed in to use them. Luckily, the roads are bad enough, you can't go very fast. Anyways, I say a nice land rover type car about to pass and gave them the "TZ hitch a ride sign" and they stopped. I thought briefly of my parents and how they would kill me for doing this- but TZ calls for different rules. Four big men in suits got out of the car- and I thought, "What am I doing? This is so stupid. I am going to get robbed and murdered... " but then I thought, "That is your stupid Oregonian way of thinking- this is Tanzania." So they took my bag and I got in. Turns out they were Pastors travelling to preach the word of God and all through the car were stickers reminding me that the blood of Jesus would wash away my sins. The only English they knew was proselytizing jargon. (And I will probably offend someone reading this- but I think it is common knowledge that I don't believe in organized religion. ) Anyways, they wanted to know if I had accepted Jesus Christ in to my heart as my savior, etc. etc. on and on. I said , "yeah, sure. Jesus seems like a good guy." And they told me it was the will of God that we had met there that day and told me how much God and Jesus loved me. Which I have no doubt at all about because it was a safe, quick ride, they were very nice, went out of their way to get me there and I did not pay a cent for it. In my book the love of God definitely caused that turn of events.
So my village thinks I am allergic to all types of meat, which I have found to be very convenient, as they bring me vegetables and fruits and eggs as gifts because they are so sorry I cannot eat meat. The orphan that lives with Juster, her name is Amelda (Spelling?), has sort of become my caretaker as well. She does all of the work at Juster's home in exchange for room and food. She is 12 years old but cooks beans better than any I have ever had. So I have taken up eating meals there- but she was very disappointed when my first meal there she had butchered a chicken which I took no part in. Once I explained to her that I would get sick- she now cooks beans for me and is very relieved that I did not eat the chicken. Overall, being vegetarian is very easy here. Amelda, now comes sometimes to clean my house, get me water, or run other miscellaneous errands. Juster will not let me pay her- but she is a sweet girl, who always bows to me and greets me with respect. (All the kids here bow or curtsy when they greet me- how will I ever go home with respect like that? Some people even kiss my hand and I feel like I have fallen into some medieval European lifestyle- except it is Africa.) Anyways, I am going to gift Amelda greatly for all the work she does for me.
Along those lines, I now own a cow. I am not sure how this came about. I woke up one morning and found it tied to my gate eating out of my compost pile. I know nothing about cows or even really how to milk one. I asked Juster what I should do with it. She told me, "Brie, Don't cut it." Apparently, momentarily forgetting the fact that I am a vegetarian and would never butcher a cow. Anyways, she is for milk, but I don't want a cow. So now she is owned by all the teachers to share and Simon's wife is looking after her care.
I went for a 10k walk the other day to visit another PCV. I walked that far through fields and farmlands, but once I got to the main road I did not want to walk the next 10 K. So I did something I would never dream of doing in the states. I hitched a ride for the first time ever. I should say that there are very few cars in this part of Tanzania and hitching a ride is the way to get anywhere here. Tanzanians hitch rides on everything: bikes, motorcycles, tea trucks, you name it there are multiple people on it. Transport is scary here- there are no seat belts, or if there are, there are too many people packed in to use them. Luckily, the roads are bad enough, you can't go very fast. Anyways, I say a nice land rover type car about to pass and gave them the "TZ hitch a ride sign" and they stopped. I thought briefly of my parents and how they would kill me for doing this- but TZ calls for different rules. Four big men in suits got out of the car- and I thought, "What am I doing? This is so stupid. I am going to get robbed and murdered... " but then I thought, "That is your stupid Oregonian way of thinking- this is Tanzania." So they took my bag and I got in. Turns out they were Pastors travelling to preach the word of God and all through the car were stickers reminding me that the blood of Jesus would wash away my sins. The only English they knew was proselytizing jargon. (And I will probably offend someone reading this- but I think it is common knowledge that I don't believe in organized religion. ) Anyways, they wanted to know if I had accepted Jesus Christ in to my heart as my savior, etc. etc. on and on. I said , "yeah, sure. Jesus seems like a good guy." And they told me it was the will of God that we had met there that day and told me how much God and Jesus loved me. Which I have no doubt at all about because it was a safe, quick ride, they were very nice, went out of their way to get me there and I did not pay a cent for it. In my book the love of God definitely caused that turn of events.
Njombe
September 14, 2008
So, I love Njombe- which is a strong statement for what it is. Njombe is my banking town, which basically just means that it has a bank, which of course my village does not. Njombe is known for being the coldest town in Tanzania and for its sweeping views of hills and hills into the far distance. Mostly, I love Njombe because it is bigger than village- but is still really only one main street where you run into people you know. Njombe is one of the regions that the PC has been in the longest, so Njombe citizens are used to us and there is not the danger of harassment, theft, etc. that there is in other banking towns. Njombe also has a cheese shop/factory, one of the biggest markets I have seen in Tz (where you can get giant avocados for the equivalent of thirty cents), some of the fastest Internet in the country, and the Millimani Hotel, which is the home away from home for PCVs. Basically, no one should really love Njombe, because there is not much here, but I do because it is a chance for a hot shower and to stay up late and speak English with my friends.
I made new friends this weekend in Njombe- I should say there is very little Wazungu (foreigners) in Njombe- pretty much just us. But I was introduced to some through my friend, Josh. Zummi and Adina have been friends of PCVs for over a decade. They are both in their early 30s and have a two year old son. Zummi was born in Tanzania and Kiswahili is his first language, however, he is Austrian and has that citizenship. Adina is Dutch and has lived in Tanzania for 20 years. They both speak multiple languages, and live on a flower farm outside of Njombe. The farm sells roses to European markets. (I am actually going out there tomorrow- so more of an update on that later). It is supposed to be amazingly beautiful and PCVs are always welcome to stay there. Anyways, Adina picked me up from the Milimani in her truck and I had never met her but I figured white woman, must be her. And she took me to the Kibena Club, which is sort of a run down, but fun athletic club/ hangout with a pool, bar, tennis courts, etc. We met Zummi there and they attempted to teach me how to play Squash (I am horrible- but they assure me I will be better in no time.) Then other young European expats started to show up for a bbq. There was probably only about 20 of us total- but some Italians, a couple from Holland, some Germans, etc. And I caught a glimpse of what it might be like to be in the field with money- as they have cars, running water, etc. It was interesting to spend time with Europeans in Africa. They all spoke English for my benefit, as I felt very under qualified in the language category, but I had a great time making new friends
The hard part of Njombe is transport to and from site. Mine sucks. The car leaves at 4.45 AM- it is just pick up truck, that luckily I get the front of. The roads are horrible and the last two times I have been riding in the truck it has broken down. Our driver, Stanley, I have decided, is an amazing mechanic. He hops out into the dark with one tool and some electrical tape and has the car running again- until 15 minutes later when he has to repeat whatever process he goes through. Here, I should say a bit about Tanzanian men. Before I came here many Americans were worried for me- these were Americans who have never been to Africa. Tanzanian men are not like men of Central America or even Europeans. There is no cat calling, there is some respect for white women, and Tanzanians in general are very passive people and rarely say what they mean. That being said, Tanzanian men always propose. Petti, my language teacher in Kilosa, told us to be prepared for this. That they figure they might as well try, and are not hurt or forceful when rejected. After you reject them, they go on to talk with you more about something totally unrelated. Anyways, Tanzanians have a great sense of humor. So when Stanley proposed, I told him that Baba Marekani was planning on being a rich man from my bride price and would retire from farming from this money. (My villagers all think my dad is a farmer, which I haven't bothered to correct, as being an attorney is too difficult to explain.) Because I am very beautiful so of course I would be very expensive. I also reminded him that American women are unable to cook Ugali and men in America cook, clean and watch kids. I had him cracking up and that was that. Anyways, on this particular trip we were running late, as nothing here runs on time, and breaking down along the way. By 9 PM we were almost back to my village when the car broke down to an unfixable state. I ended up having to walk 6K home in the dark with 4 Tanzanian men that I didn't know. They carried my stuff and were very chivalrous, but I didn't get home until after 11 PM. We had left Njombe at 1 PM- so it took over 10 hours to go 60K. And that is why it is difficult to be an impatient American in Tanzania.
So, I love Njombe- which is a strong statement for what it is. Njombe is my banking town, which basically just means that it has a bank, which of course my village does not. Njombe is known for being the coldest town in Tanzania and for its sweeping views of hills and hills into the far distance. Mostly, I love Njombe because it is bigger than village- but is still really only one main street where you run into people you know. Njombe is one of the regions that the PC has been in the longest, so Njombe citizens are used to us and there is not the danger of harassment, theft, etc. that there is in other banking towns. Njombe also has a cheese shop/factory, one of the biggest markets I have seen in Tz (where you can get giant avocados for the equivalent of thirty cents), some of the fastest Internet in the country, and the Millimani Hotel, which is the home away from home for PCVs. Basically, no one should really love Njombe, because there is not much here, but I do because it is a chance for a hot shower and to stay up late and speak English with my friends.
I made new friends this weekend in Njombe- I should say there is very little Wazungu (foreigners) in Njombe- pretty much just us. But I was introduced to some through my friend, Josh. Zummi and Adina have been friends of PCVs for over a decade. They are both in their early 30s and have a two year old son. Zummi was born in Tanzania and Kiswahili is his first language, however, he is Austrian and has that citizenship. Adina is Dutch and has lived in Tanzania for 20 years. They both speak multiple languages, and live on a flower farm outside of Njombe. The farm sells roses to European markets. (I am actually going out there tomorrow- so more of an update on that later). It is supposed to be amazingly beautiful and PCVs are always welcome to stay there. Anyways, Adina picked me up from the Milimani in her truck and I had never met her but I figured white woman, must be her. And she took me to the Kibena Club, which is sort of a run down, but fun athletic club/ hangout with a pool, bar, tennis courts, etc. We met Zummi there and they attempted to teach me how to play Squash (I am horrible- but they assure me I will be better in no time.) Then other young European expats started to show up for a bbq. There was probably only about 20 of us total- but some Italians, a couple from Holland, some Germans, etc. And I caught a glimpse of what it might be like to be in the field with money- as they have cars, running water, etc. It was interesting to spend time with Europeans in Africa. They all spoke English for my benefit, as I felt very under qualified in the language category, but I had a great time making new friends
The hard part of Njombe is transport to and from site. Mine sucks. The car leaves at 4.45 AM- it is just pick up truck, that luckily I get the front of. The roads are horrible and the last two times I have been riding in the truck it has broken down. Our driver, Stanley, I have decided, is an amazing mechanic. He hops out into the dark with one tool and some electrical tape and has the car running again- until 15 minutes later when he has to repeat whatever process he goes through. Here, I should say a bit about Tanzanian men. Before I came here many Americans were worried for me- these were Americans who have never been to Africa. Tanzanian men are not like men of Central America or even Europeans. There is no cat calling, there is some respect for white women, and Tanzanians in general are very passive people and rarely say what they mean. That being said, Tanzanian men always propose. Petti, my language teacher in Kilosa, told us to be prepared for this. That they figure they might as well try, and are not hurt or forceful when rejected. After you reject them, they go on to talk with you more about something totally unrelated. Anyways, Tanzanians have a great sense of humor. So when Stanley proposed, I told him that Baba Marekani was planning on being a rich man from my bride price and would retire from farming from this money. (My villagers all think my dad is a farmer, which I haven't bothered to correct, as being an attorney is too difficult to explain.) Because I am very beautiful so of course I would be very expensive. I also reminded him that American women are unable to cook Ugali and men in America cook, clean and watch kids. I had him cracking up and that was that. Anyways, on this particular trip we were running late, as nothing here runs on time, and breaking down along the way. By 9 PM we were almost back to my village when the car broke down to an unfixable state. I ended up having to walk 6K home in the dark with 4 Tanzanian men that I didn't know. They carried my stuff and were very chivalrous, but I didn't get home until after 11 PM. We had left Njombe at 1 PM- so it took over 10 hours to go 60K. And that is why it is difficult to be an impatient American in Tanzania.
Monday, September 15, 2008
September 11, 2008
Every September 11th I reflect back. Not really for the day and what happened, but more because it was a time in history that I can remember exactly where I was. I was 17, I was in love (only to have my heart broken shortly after) , I was unsure of where to go for college or what I wanted to do, I had just gotten two new siblings. My 17th year was the hardest year of my life. Until this year.
It is amazing to me that was seven years ago. That was the year I grew up. I will never forget going to bed that night, America on edge, for the first time realizing that the world was dangerous no matter where you are. I felt scared, I felt like a child. I felt happy that I lived at home with my family, in suburban Oregon, I wanted to feel sheltered again (I think a rare feeling for a 17 year old). I am not sure that I ever have felt sheltered since then.
I think I will always look back on these last few months, as a time that was similar to when I was seventeen. A time when I felt my life was in transition, a time when I felt unsure, scared and insecure. A time for great change and growth.
It is amazing to me that was seven years ago. That was the year I grew up. I will never forget going to bed that night, America on edge, for the first time realizing that the world was dangerous no matter where you are. I felt scared, I felt like a child. I felt happy that I lived at home with my family, in suburban Oregon, I wanted to feel sheltered again (I think a rare feeling for a 17 year old). I am not sure that I ever have felt sheltered since then.
I think I will always look back on these last few months, as a time that was similar to when I was seventeen. A time when I felt my life was in transition, a time when I felt unsure, scared and insecure. A time for great change and growth.
My Future Witch Cat
So, finally got some pictures posted--- Scroll back through the achieve to see pictures from the beginning...
September 10, 2008
This week was an interesting one. Standard 7, the last year of primary school were taking their exams to see if they could move on to secondary school. Five male testers came to our village to administer the government tests. During this time all of the teachers at my school were hanging out at the Mwalimu Mkuu's (Head Teacher) home. We were there all day cooking for when the testers came for meals and it was sort of a break time for the teachers.
First of all I want to say a bit about some of the teachers I have gotten to know. Of course there is Juster and Simon, both who I mentioned in my last entry. The Mwalimu Mkuu is brand new to the village and actually arrived after I did. He is a jolly type of man who is very patient and accepting. This week he really included me as part of his teachers, even though I have yet to teach anything. There are a number of teachers whom I know, but do not remember their names- so I will also have to update this list again at a later time. One teacher, that I have started to know well, is named Jen. She is Juster's best friend. Jen is 23 and incredibly beautiful, she has a heart shaped face and dresses like I did when I was six- wearing all shades of pink, red and purple together, giving her the appearance of a flower. She speaks English alright. But is very sweet and has an innocent yet intelligent demeanor.
Anyways, more about other teachers later, but I really like all of them. So, I should say that it is weird to be a white woman in Tanzania for many reasons, but mostly because their is a sort of hierarchy. White men are at the top followed by black men, white women, than black women. To be in between the two groups I spend most of my time with is tricky, because depending on the situation I am included in a different group. At all of these meals at the Mwalimu Mkuu's home- I was seated inside at the table with all of the male teachers and testers. So it was me and about 12 men. The female teachers and wives, ate separately outside and served us. It was weird to have Juster and Jen washing my hands, serving me food, etc. and I felt sort of Scarlett O'Hara about it (In a bad way). To have these men's colleagues serving them and then not taking part in the meal was slightly uncomfortable. Also, if we were going to be separated, I felt like I should be sitting outside too, and I would have rathered because the women are far more interesting and speak better English. So I spent 3 days in a row like this-trying to pay attention to a fast moving Kiswahili conversation among men. Each night at the end of dinner drinks were passed around. The first night, Mjema (One of the male teachers) offered me a beer and I was about to accept thinking maybe my Kiswahili would flow a little smoother, but then they all laughed and I remembered that only prostitutes drink beer in the presence of men in TZ. So I had a soda, while they all had beer, feeling like a child at the adults table. Almost a man, but not quite. (By the way, there are multiple ways to show you are a prostitute here. I have taken advantage of taking up most of them. Some of the ways are- having a tattoo, wearing pants, smoking, drinking, having a toe ring, or letting a man who is not related to you stay at your home. Apparently, they understand that white women are a little weird about this stuff- so I am hopeful that I won't get propositioned as a prostitute. )
Anyways, all in all good fun with the teachers and nice to be included in a group. One thing that got e through these dinner parties was the MM's cat had had kittens. There was a black one and an orange one. Tanzanians do not like cats. They keep them around to kill the rats, but they do not feed them. They also think it is weird when I talk to or touch a cat. So naturally, I sat at the table casually dropping rice on the floor for the hungry kittens to eat up. I am hoping the MM will give me both of them in a few weeks. I just wanted the black one, but I would feel horrible leaving the orange one. I think I could handle two. The cats here are different, they are scrappy little fighters. Anyways, I want both of them. I told Juster that I wanted them, and she said, "Oh no, not the black one, he has a bad color." It struck me as pretty funny that my black African friend was being racist toward a cat who can't help his color. She told me that he is a thief cat because he steals people food and doesn't kill the rats- keep in mine that this cat is starving and about the size of a rat, so I couldn't really blame him. I am choosing to see him as resourceful and opportunistic which are good qualities for anything to have that is living in Africa. Keep in mind that Juster categorizes herself as Roman Catholic, because she also told me that this little black cat has a witch's spirit inside it and it will bring me bad luck. Obviously, she doesn't know me very well because if anything that made the cat more desirable to me. A witch is embodying him... awesome. He will be named Pepo- which is Kiswahili for "spirits" or "winds". The orange cat I have yet to name.
September 10, 2008
This week was an interesting one. Standard 7, the last year of primary school were taking their exams to see if they could move on to secondary school. Five male testers came to our village to administer the government tests. During this time all of the teachers at my school were hanging out at the Mwalimu Mkuu's (Head Teacher) home. We were there all day cooking for when the testers came for meals and it was sort of a break time for the teachers.
First of all I want to say a bit about some of the teachers I have gotten to know. Of course there is Juster and Simon, both who I mentioned in my last entry. The Mwalimu Mkuu is brand new to the village and actually arrived after I did. He is a jolly type of man who is very patient and accepting. This week he really included me as part of his teachers, even though I have yet to teach anything. There are a number of teachers whom I know, but do not remember their names- so I will also have to update this list again at a later time. One teacher, that I have started to know well, is named Jen. She is Juster's best friend. Jen is 23 and incredibly beautiful, she has a heart shaped face and dresses like I did when I was six- wearing all shades of pink, red and purple together, giving her the appearance of a flower. She speaks English alright. But is very sweet and has an innocent yet intelligent demeanor.
Anyways, more about other teachers later, but I really like all of them. So, I should say that it is weird to be a white woman in Tanzania for many reasons, but mostly because their is a sort of hierarchy. White men are at the top followed by black men, white women, than black women. To be in between the two groups I spend most of my time with is tricky, because depending on the situation I am included in a different group. At all of these meals at the Mwalimu Mkuu's home- I was seated inside at the table with all of the male teachers and testers. So it was me and about 12 men. The female teachers and wives, ate separately outside and served us. It was weird to have Juster and Jen washing my hands, serving me food, etc. and I felt sort of Scarlett O'Hara about it (In a bad way). To have these men's colleagues serving them and then not taking part in the meal was slightly uncomfortable. Also, if we were going to be separated, I felt like I should be sitting outside too, and I would have rathered because the women are far more interesting and speak better English. So I spent 3 days in a row like this-trying to pay attention to a fast moving Kiswahili conversation among men. Each night at the end of dinner drinks were passed around. The first night, Mjema (One of the male teachers) offered me a beer and I was about to accept thinking maybe my Kiswahili would flow a little smoother, but then they all laughed and I remembered that only prostitutes drink beer in the presence of men in TZ. So I had a soda, while they all had beer, feeling like a child at the adults table. Almost a man, but not quite. (By the way, there are multiple ways to show you are a prostitute here. I have taken advantage of taking up most of them. Some of the ways are- having a tattoo, wearing pants, smoking, drinking, having a toe ring, or letting a man who is not related to you stay at your home. Apparently, they understand that white women are a little weird about this stuff- so I am hopeful that I won't get propositioned as a prostitute. )
Anyways, all in all good fun with the teachers and nice to be included in a group. One thing that got e through these dinner parties was the MM's cat had had kittens. There was a black one and an orange one. Tanzanians do not like cats. They keep them around to kill the rats, but they do not feed them. They also think it is weird when I talk to or touch a cat. So naturally, I sat at the table casually dropping rice on the floor for the hungry kittens to eat up. I am hoping the MM will give me both of them in a few weeks. I just wanted the black one, but I would feel horrible leaving the orange one. I think I could handle two. The cats here are different, they are scrappy little fighters. Anyways, I want both of them. I told Juster that I wanted them, and she said, "Oh no, not the black one, he has a bad color." It struck me as pretty funny that my black African friend was being racist toward a cat who can't help his color. She told me that he is a thief cat because he steals people food and doesn't kill the rats- keep in mine that this cat is starving and about the size of a rat, so I couldn't really blame him. I am choosing to see him as resourceful and opportunistic which are good qualities for anything to have that is living in Africa. Keep in mind that Juster categorizes herself as Roman Catholic, because she also told me that this little black cat has a witch's spirit inside it and it will bring me bad luck. Obviously, she doesn't know me very well because if anything that made the cat more desirable to me. A witch is embodying him... awesome. He will be named Pepo- which is Kiswahili for "spirits" or "winds". The orange cat I have yet to name.
Friday, September 12, 2008
What One Does as a PCV
September 8, 2008
There are lots of things that you would never do in America in front of people or at least not admit to anyone that you begin to do in Peace Corps. In honor of this I have decided to list some of them and then post it online...
1) Every night I eat dinner directly from the pot I cooked it in. This is out of laziness of not wanting to wash another dish. Usually, I am very hungry as I ration myself to one meal a day.
2) You begin to wear clothes you wouldn't be caught dead in at home. Also, you have a nightly uniform- mine includes chaco sandals with wool socks, a long skirt (must be culturally sensitive), the same fleece jacket, stringy dirty hair, and my headlamp.
3) Everything gets the sniff test- clothes, your body, food, etc.
4) A friend of mine is a big advocate of the re-wearing of undergarments inside out, there are others who just go without altogether.
5) You stop bathing. I have gone over a week. It is a pain. First you have to haul the water from some distant place, light the stove, heat the water, take off your clothes, dump the bucket on yourself and then try to get warm/dry. Overall, way too much work.
6) Africans don't believe in a use for toilet paper- some PCVs don't either.
7) You begin to eat food that you should never eat- I mean sitting unrefrigerated for days with mild rat protection. One of the most common things that new PCVs first get sick from is food poisoning that they give to themselves. To eat anything: first, smell it, then boil for 10 minutes to kill anything living. Along the same lines, your stomach starts to make noises that you didn't know it could make. It sounds like something is dying in there. (And I am a vegetarian!)
There are lots of things that you would never do in America in front of people or at least not admit to anyone that you begin to do in Peace Corps. In honor of this I have decided to list some of them and then post it online...
1) Every night I eat dinner directly from the pot I cooked it in. This is out of laziness of not wanting to wash another dish. Usually, I am very hungry as I ration myself to one meal a day.
2) You begin to wear clothes you wouldn't be caught dead in at home. Also, you have a nightly uniform- mine includes chaco sandals with wool socks, a long skirt (must be culturally sensitive), the same fleece jacket, stringy dirty hair, and my headlamp.
3) Everything gets the sniff test- clothes, your body, food, etc.
4) A friend of mine is a big advocate of the re-wearing of undergarments inside out, there are others who just go without altogether.
5) You stop bathing. I have gone over a week. It is a pain. First you have to haul the water from some distant place, light the stove, heat the water, take off your clothes, dump the bucket on yourself and then try to get warm/dry. Overall, way too much work.
6) Africans don't believe in a use for toilet paper- some PCVs don't either.
7) You begin to eat food that you should never eat- I mean sitting unrefrigerated for days with mild rat protection. One of the most common things that new PCVs first get sick from is food poisoning that they give to themselves. To eat anything: first, smell it, then boil for 10 minutes to kill anything living. Along the same lines, your stomach starts to make noises that you didn't know it could make. It sounds like something is dying in there. (And I am a vegetarian!)
8) You begin to discuss health issues with everyone- particularly bowel movements- everyone has something different going on. It is not uncommon to have a PCV come up to you and say, "What do you think this is?" while uncovering some sort of abnormality. The correct response is, "Ewww, I don't know."
9) There is a spectrum people live on. On one end is "This is perfectly safe" on the other end is "This is definitely going to kill me." Americans tend to stay on the first end, while PCVs drift nearer to the other.
10) It is acceptable to stuff your face with any food item that is from the states.
11) When you wake up in the night because of weird noises, you actually breath a sigh of relief and say, "Whew, just rats."
12) You speak English to yourself- just to make sure you still know how to speak it.
13) A real kicking night is staying up past 8 pm and dancing by yourself to your ipod. (It is hard to stay up because of the lack of friends, electricity, tv, etc.)
14) Finally, sometimes you just stare off into space for a while- just because you can. I mean this is a job, but let's face it, what else are you going to do? Bathe?
Sunday, September 7, 2008
Back To Site
This is my brand new bed, which I had built by hand for me and cost me less than $50- maybe the best part of the house...
Look at the hand carving!
One of the most beautiful parts of the house is this bush, but coincidently, the way I believe the rats are getting into the ceiling- ahh, well, with good comes great evil.
Beautiful- these flowers are about as big as my head.
My dirty dirty feet in my favorite African sandals which I practically sleep in.
Me at home, looking hideous, I can't believe I am posting this picture online...
My village view:
The most beautiful view in the world. Which happens to be what I see from my bedroom window as the sun rises:
Beans- it is what's for dinner- every night...
View through my "kitchen":
Where my garden will eventually be:
My Yard:
My gross gross western toilet (no running water sort of puts a damper on things) and bathing area:
The Choo-- The other option:
Me in Village:
Looking out my bedroom:
View out my house:
The main living room: (Hopefully, going to be a "Before" picture)
My living room and fireplace:
Look at the hand carving!
One of the most beautiful parts of the house is this bush, but coincidently, the way I believe the rats are getting into the ceiling- ahh, well, with good comes great evil.
Beautiful- these flowers are about as big as my head.
My dirty dirty feet in my favorite African sandals which I practically sleep in.
Me at home, looking hideous, I can't believe I am posting this picture online...
My village view:
The most beautiful view in the world. Which happens to be what I see from my bedroom window as the sun rises:
Beans- it is what's for dinner- every night...
View through my "kitchen":
Where my garden will eventually be:
My Yard:
My gross gross western toilet (no running water sort of puts a damper on things) and bathing area:
The Choo-- The other option:
Me in Village:
Looking out my bedroom:
View out my house:
The main living room: (Hopefully, going to be a "Before" picture)
My living room and fireplace:
September 1, 2008
I was a bit nervous to go back to site. What would it be like to really be there? Josh and I walked most of the way from his site to mine, so we got there after dark. We built a fire in my fireplace and talked about what could be done with the house. It was helpful to have someone else excited about the options there. We talked about what would grow in the garden, how to build bookshelves, a color scheme for how I would paint the walls. . . Soon it was seeming a lot more home-y, even though, I only own what fit into my two suitcases. It was nice to have someone speak the language, we talked to many people, ordered a bed to be built for me, and found out where local items can be bought. It was nice to have someone there to remind me that every noise my house makes wasn't something to be terrified of. And was probably just rats, who, at the least, will just keep you up running around the ceiling boards and at worst will eat you out of house and home and poop everywhere (this is presuming they are not still spreading the Plague.) Anyways, he stayed for two days to get me settled and then took off. It was weird to be alone again and I have to admit that I spent a lot of time last week just walking aimlessly from room to room at my house unsure of what to work on.
But a great thing happened. I made a friend. Her name is Juster (pronounced more like Justa). She is 27 and a teacher at the primary school. She lives on the other side of the school grounds from me in a thatched roof house. She lives with an orphaned student, she said because she is so lonely and needs help around the house. The great thing about Juster is she speaks English. She studied in Uganda and speaks both English and Kiswahili faster than I do. Now I think it is time to go into a list of reasons why I love Juster, there are many...
1) Every time I see her, which is multiple times a day, she says, "I am so satisfied to be in your company, we will learn so much from each other. I am very interested." Which is very reassuring.
2) Every thing she says she says first in Kiswahili at a regular pace, than in English, then she goes through and shows me which words stood for which things.
3) She feeds me (a lot). Josh reminded me that the way to get into a Tanzanian's heart is to eat everything they give you. He told me to do something that would be unfathomable in America. You go to a Tanzanians house, uninvited at mealtime, and eat. It took a lot of guts to do this the first time to her. I know she doesn't have money and it feels so weird to just go to someone's house expecting to eat. But now she says we should take all of our meals together, we don't, because I hate Ugali, but she doesn't know this, because I eat it.
4) Okay, the water is really far away from my house. It is about a 15 minute walk unencumbered by water, so longer with it. It is down in a ravine. Josh and I found it and carried some- it was horrible. I hate carrying water. My neck hurt horribly the next day, as I am not a Tanzanian woman used to carrying things on my head. I told Juster I wanted to hire someone to carry water for me, as I am a wimp. She said, "I think this water hole is disturbing to you" (Her words but not an exaggeration, it is "disturbing"). So now she sends primary school students over to carry for me daily.
5) Along the same lines: My house is a mess. Dirty, dirty, everything here is covered in dust and spiderwebs. I asked her to borrow a broom. Instead, she sent 15 primary school girls to my home with brooms and buckets of water. They proceeding to clean for over an hour. Now I have always wanted my own little fleet of slaves, but I do have to say that I was embarrassed about having over a dozen seven year old Cinderellas. (Kids here are just different- I will get to this later.)
6) Everyday she tells me that I am very pretty, but much too skinny. Why am I so skinny? Am I poor in America? (Being thin is a sign of poverty or sickness here. But little does she know the whole thing is a compliment to me.)
7) She is talkative and fun, generous and helpful. She has a cute smile and a tick or something with blinking her eyes which makes her so much more endearing.
Anyways, Juster has decided that she is my sister and little does she know I have also picked her as my PC counterpart in village. (Meaning she will help me implement my projects with the primary students.) I went to school with her and met the rest of the teachers, they all speak a bit of English, but much less than her. Anyways, the Mwalimu Mkuu (Head Teacher) wants me to start teaching health, Kiswahili (I thought he was joking), and English by the end of September. Crazy! I wouldn't mind except they teach in Kiswahili, so it is going to be really hard.
Another thing is primary school here is run like college in America, minus the academics, and add being allowed to beat the students in submission. They have about 80 kids to one class because they are under-staffed (15 teachers to 990 primary students- my village isn't huge but primary students probably make up about half the population.) So the kids just sit in the classrooms and the teachers move around teaching their subjects. Most of the time there is not a teacher around, education in the country has many problems. Kids skip class. And they are required to do this work study type of thing, (which is really more like slave labor) which includes fetching all of the teachers water, cooking, working on the farm and cleaning my house...
So last week one day Juster told me that we were going to the farm the next morning. I woke up and put on my farm working clothes all ready to get out there and dig. We walked to the farm and there was already about 200 primary students there hoeing. If you have never seen this many 7-10 year olds lined up, barefoot, hoeing in a field it is a sight. A weird one at that. I picked up a hoe and prepared to line up with them. Juster started laughing and told me "Brie, the teachers don't hoe." That is when I realized they were all drinking chai in the shade. Okay... So I sat down and watched kids hoe for 3.5 hours straight. One of my favorite teachers, Simon, (a man who is very tall and thin, with missing back molars, but a scholarly demeanour, ) was holding a giant stick and walking behind the kids. I thought "Oh, great. This is going to be my first introduction to corporal punishment. " I was really not looking forward to watching this teacher beat a child when it stopped working. I tried to make excuses for Simon in my head, this is a different culture, this is what he knows, I should still like and respect him. I try to come at things here like an anthropologist, and refrain from my American judgements. But I was still nervous. Finally a kid starts screaming, "Nyoka! Nyoka!" (Which I already knew meant snake.) All the kids around this one freeze. All I could think is why are they all barefoot? Simon runs over and beats it to death with a stick, picks it up and flings it into the woods. I am not sure if I mentioned this, but there is nothing a Tanzanian fears more than a snake. I saw 4 snakes get beaten to death in a little over three hours, but luckily the stick touched no child. I was only able to ID one of them: a green mamba; a deadly snake... great...
Now it is time to talk about primary school kids. They are weird, and I mean that in the nicest most non-judgemental sense. Primary school is required in Tanzania. The students are 7-14 years old. In the last year they take a test and if they do well enough they go on to O level secondary school, which they also have to be able to afford. Primary School is taught in Kiswahili, secondary school is taught in English, as you can imagine this makes for a difficult transition for kids. Now for why they are weird: they do whatever anyone makes them do. A kid belongs to everyone in Tanzania. You Can "Njo" (you say it and do the TZ "Come Here" hand signal) any kid to do whatever you want. Run get you a soda, get some water, walk you somewhere, dig in your garden, whatever. They never, and I mean none of them, cry, stomp their feet, roll their eyes, even sigh. It is so weird. I used to watch Bahati, my 8 year old sister get bossed around at homestay, she was always cleaning, helping with the babies, running errands, etc. I waited for her melt down. I am still waiting. Now I can't decide what is better, because I like that American children have a mind of their own, we nurture their individualism and openness to express their feelings. However, that being said there is something really nice about no whining or tantrums. I haven't seen a kid older than 4 cry here. Anyways, the primary kids live to be teacher/parent slaves. I feel guilt at how little they play. When you ask them what they like to do they say, "Ninapenda kupika..." (Trans. "I like to cook?" really? and then after chores they run out of things they like to do.) I bet any American kid could spout off a dozen things they like to do, not of which are chores. (I like to play video games, dolls, ride my bike, etc.)
When you walk into a Tanzanian classroom, the kids all stand up and say in unison "Good Morning, Teacher." And then they stand until you tell them to sit. (Josh has his classes saying "What's up, Doctor?" because most of us find this sort of forced collectivism awkward.) I picture my sister at home teaching primary school to 30 American students and how scary that will be for her. But I am more terrified for myself with 80 sets of brown Tanzanian eyes staring me down saying good morning, teacher and then expecting me to teach in a language I don't really speak. They are so eager, so patient, I am so afraid.
A PCV gave me some good advice saying that the hardest thing to do at site everyday is to leave your house. But it is so important that you walk out into the village everyday and give them a chance to become accustomed to you. It is true, leaving in the morning is scary, but hopefully after some time they will get used to the awkward white woman. In the meantime, I get to practice being a celebrity...
I was a bit nervous to go back to site. What would it be like to really be there? Josh and I walked most of the way from his site to mine, so we got there after dark. We built a fire in my fireplace and talked about what could be done with the house. It was helpful to have someone else excited about the options there. We talked about what would grow in the garden, how to build bookshelves, a color scheme for how I would paint the walls. . . Soon it was seeming a lot more home-y, even though, I only own what fit into my two suitcases. It was nice to have someone speak the language, we talked to many people, ordered a bed to be built for me, and found out where local items can be bought. It was nice to have someone there to remind me that every noise my house makes wasn't something to be terrified of. And was probably just rats, who, at the least, will just keep you up running around the ceiling boards and at worst will eat you out of house and home and poop everywhere (this is presuming they are not still spreading the Plague.) Anyways, he stayed for two days to get me settled and then took off. It was weird to be alone again and I have to admit that I spent a lot of time last week just walking aimlessly from room to room at my house unsure of what to work on.
But a great thing happened. I made a friend. Her name is Juster (pronounced more like Justa). She is 27 and a teacher at the primary school. She lives on the other side of the school grounds from me in a thatched roof house. She lives with an orphaned student, she said because she is so lonely and needs help around the house. The great thing about Juster is she speaks English. She studied in Uganda and speaks both English and Kiswahili faster than I do. Now I think it is time to go into a list of reasons why I love Juster, there are many...
1) Every time I see her, which is multiple times a day, she says, "I am so satisfied to be in your company, we will learn so much from each other. I am very interested." Which is very reassuring.
2) Every thing she says she says first in Kiswahili at a regular pace, than in English, then she goes through and shows me which words stood for which things.
3) She feeds me (a lot). Josh reminded me that the way to get into a Tanzanian's heart is to eat everything they give you. He told me to do something that would be unfathomable in America. You go to a Tanzanians house, uninvited at mealtime, and eat. It took a lot of guts to do this the first time to her. I know she doesn't have money and it feels so weird to just go to someone's house expecting to eat. But now she says we should take all of our meals together, we don't, because I hate Ugali, but she doesn't know this, because I eat it.
4) Okay, the water is really far away from my house. It is about a 15 minute walk unencumbered by water, so longer with it. It is down in a ravine. Josh and I found it and carried some- it was horrible. I hate carrying water. My neck hurt horribly the next day, as I am not a Tanzanian woman used to carrying things on my head. I told Juster I wanted to hire someone to carry water for me, as I am a wimp. She said, "I think this water hole is disturbing to you" (Her words but not an exaggeration, it is "disturbing"). So now she sends primary school students over to carry for me daily.
5) Along the same lines: My house is a mess. Dirty, dirty, everything here is covered in dust and spiderwebs. I asked her to borrow a broom. Instead, she sent 15 primary school girls to my home with brooms and buckets of water. They proceeding to clean for over an hour. Now I have always wanted my own little fleet of slaves, but I do have to say that I was embarrassed about having over a dozen seven year old Cinderellas. (Kids here are just different- I will get to this later.)
6) Everyday she tells me that I am very pretty, but much too skinny. Why am I so skinny? Am I poor in America? (Being thin is a sign of poverty or sickness here. But little does she know the whole thing is a compliment to me.)
7) She is talkative and fun, generous and helpful. She has a cute smile and a tick or something with blinking her eyes which makes her so much more endearing.
Anyways, Juster has decided that she is my sister and little does she know I have also picked her as my PC counterpart in village. (Meaning she will help me implement my projects with the primary students.) I went to school with her and met the rest of the teachers, they all speak a bit of English, but much less than her. Anyways, the Mwalimu Mkuu (Head Teacher) wants me to start teaching health, Kiswahili (I thought he was joking), and English by the end of September. Crazy! I wouldn't mind except they teach in Kiswahili, so it is going to be really hard.
Another thing is primary school here is run like college in America, minus the academics, and add being allowed to beat the students in submission. They have about 80 kids to one class because they are under-staffed (15 teachers to 990 primary students- my village isn't huge but primary students probably make up about half the population.) So the kids just sit in the classrooms and the teachers move around teaching their subjects. Most of the time there is not a teacher around, education in the country has many problems. Kids skip class. And they are required to do this work study type of thing, (which is really more like slave labor) which includes fetching all of the teachers water, cooking, working on the farm and cleaning my house...
So last week one day Juster told me that we were going to the farm the next morning. I woke up and put on my farm working clothes all ready to get out there and dig. We walked to the farm and there was already about 200 primary students there hoeing. If you have never seen this many 7-10 year olds lined up, barefoot, hoeing in a field it is a sight. A weird one at that. I picked up a hoe and prepared to line up with them. Juster started laughing and told me "Brie, the teachers don't hoe." That is when I realized they were all drinking chai in the shade. Okay... So I sat down and watched kids hoe for 3.5 hours straight. One of my favorite teachers, Simon, (a man who is very tall and thin, with missing back molars, but a scholarly demeanour, ) was holding a giant stick and walking behind the kids. I thought "Oh, great. This is going to be my first introduction to corporal punishment. " I was really not looking forward to watching this teacher beat a child when it stopped working. I tried to make excuses for Simon in my head, this is a different culture, this is what he knows, I should still like and respect him. I try to come at things here like an anthropologist, and refrain from my American judgements. But I was still nervous. Finally a kid starts screaming, "Nyoka! Nyoka!" (Which I already knew meant snake.) All the kids around this one freeze. All I could think is why are they all barefoot? Simon runs over and beats it to death with a stick, picks it up and flings it into the woods. I am not sure if I mentioned this, but there is nothing a Tanzanian fears more than a snake. I saw 4 snakes get beaten to death in a little over three hours, but luckily the stick touched no child. I was only able to ID one of them: a green mamba; a deadly snake... great...
Now it is time to talk about primary school kids. They are weird, and I mean that in the nicest most non-judgemental sense. Primary school is required in Tanzania. The students are 7-14 years old. In the last year they take a test and if they do well enough they go on to O level secondary school, which they also have to be able to afford. Primary School is taught in Kiswahili, secondary school is taught in English, as you can imagine this makes for a difficult transition for kids. Now for why they are weird: they do whatever anyone makes them do. A kid belongs to everyone in Tanzania. You Can "Njo" (you say it and do the TZ "Come Here" hand signal) any kid to do whatever you want. Run get you a soda, get some water, walk you somewhere, dig in your garden, whatever. They never, and I mean none of them, cry, stomp their feet, roll their eyes, even sigh. It is so weird. I used to watch Bahati, my 8 year old sister get bossed around at homestay, she was always cleaning, helping with the babies, running errands, etc. I waited for her melt down. I am still waiting. Now I can't decide what is better, because I like that American children have a mind of their own, we nurture their individualism and openness to express their feelings. However, that being said there is something really nice about no whining or tantrums. I haven't seen a kid older than 4 cry here. Anyways, the primary kids live to be teacher/parent slaves. I feel guilt at how little they play. When you ask them what they like to do they say, "Ninapenda kupika..." (Trans. "I like to cook?" really? and then after chores they run out of things they like to do.) I bet any American kid could spout off a dozen things they like to do, not of which are chores. (I like to play video games, dolls, ride my bike, etc.)
When you walk into a Tanzanian classroom, the kids all stand up and say in unison "Good Morning, Teacher." And then they stand until you tell them to sit. (Josh has his classes saying "What's up, Doctor?" because most of us find this sort of forced collectivism awkward.) I picture my sister at home teaching primary school to 30 American students and how scary that will be for her. But I am more terrified for myself with 80 sets of brown Tanzanian eyes staring me down saying good morning, teacher and then expecting me to teach in a language I don't really speak. They are so eager, so patient, I am so afraid.
A PCV gave me some good advice saying that the hardest thing to do at site everyday is to leave your house. But it is so important that you walk out into the village everyday and give them a chance to become accustomed to you. It is true, leaving in the morning is scary, but hopefully after some time they will get used to the awkward white woman. In the meantime, I get to practice being a celebrity...
Josh's Village
August 24- 29, 2008
Josh is an Ed volunteer who teaches biology at a secondary school about 40K from me. His close of service (COS) date is in about 2 months. He is 33 and engaged to an RPCV. She also had a hard transition when she first got to site, so it is comforting to hear some stories. Seeing his village life was very helpful- it is nice to see a house set up and a volunteer with somewhat of a routine. It was also nice to be with someone who speaks great Kiswahili and some Kibena.
Living in his village gave me some time to rejuvenate. I slept amazingly- despite his ongoing rat wars. I slept in. He has built a hot water bucket shower. We gardened and did yoga. We made S'mores, popcorn, hot chocolate and bagels. (Bagels over a charcoal stove are a crazy process and take a real art to create. ) We ate salad and played cribbage and slowly I started to feel more like myself. More okay with going back to my site. It was nice to talk someones ear off with concerns, complaints and doubts- I went to his classes and became re-inspired, watching children's faces light up with the joy of learning something new, with inspiration, with admiration. I was reminded of my love for Africa and the Tanzanian people.
Josh is an Ed volunteer who teaches biology at a secondary school about 40K from me. His close of service (COS) date is in about 2 months. He is 33 and engaged to an RPCV. She also had a hard transition when she first got to site, so it is comforting to hear some stories. Seeing his village life was very helpful- it is nice to see a house set up and a volunteer with somewhat of a routine. It was also nice to be with someone who speaks great Kiswahili and some Kibena.
Living in his village gave me some time to rejuvenate. I slept amazingly- despite his ongoing rat wars. I slept in. He has built a hot water bucket shower. We gardened and did yoga. We made S'mores, popcorn, hot chocolate and bagels. (Bagels over a charcoal stove are a crazy process and take a real art to create. ) We ate salad and played cribbage and slowly I started to feel more like myself. More okay with going back to my site. It was nice to talk someones ear off with concerns, complaints and doubts- I went to his classes and became re-inspired, watching children's faces light up with the joy of learning something new, with inspiration, with admiration. I was reminded of my love for Africa and the Tanzanian people.
Saturday, September 6, 2008
The Real Low Point
August 24, 2008
This entry I almost thought about not sharing because it is embarrassing and makes me disappointed in myself. But I am also writing for people to know what life is really like for me here- what I feel- so I decided to be honest. A friend of mine, who is an RPCV told me in an email that being in the Peace Corps is like a roller coaster ride of ups and downs and I couldn't agree more. I have received texts from many of the people in my group saying they feel bipolar, or like they are going crazy... we all do. It is almost impossible to grasp the stress placed on one all at once when they join the Peace Corps. Mental Stress- with the language and cultural learning. Physical Stress- carrying water, putting possibly contaminated/different food into your body, malaria meds, lack of sleep, etc. and Emotional Stress- Being away from home, friends and family. I know many RPCVs and there is something very unique or special about them and I think one of the things that is different is their ability to deal with this compound stress and be successful.
Another point I should make before going on is that I am on some pretty heavy meds for malaria, that include some pretty crazy side effects. I would like to blame this whole entry on them, but I probably shouldn't, although I have undoubtedly experienced some of them- dizziness, insomnia, loss of appetite, hair loss, bruising, nightmares, paranoia and the works. But I hear getting malaria is worse so I am diligently taking them despite that my region has basically no mosquitoes... oh well. Another thing that makes me sound stupid during this time is I hadn't eaten or drank anything for two days- I was feeling very hopeless and not taking care of myself during this time. My cell phone was also dead, but Jess had told me to make it to the main road to meet Josh so I could get some help. I felt like it was urgent to get out.
Anyone who really knows me knows that I am directionally challenged to say the least. My sister, Shannon, was always the navigator when I was driving, she somehow got the "direction gene". And I hadn't paid much attention on the way to my village, so I had no idea how far the main road was. But I started walking anyhow, in my Africa sandals, backpack on- one foot in front of the other. I asked people as I was passing if I was going in the right direction and I got a variety of answers. But mostly they asked me why I was walking. I had no water and no idea how far the main road was. After a while there were no more houses, no more farms, and I realized it was just me on the road walking. It was about after the first hour of walking that I started to get real with myself. I should say that I am in the Southern Highlands, high elevation, and you can't walk more than a few feet without going up or down some major incline. There is no flat- and in the middle of the day with no water this was a workout. Alone- I started thinking- what was I doing? What am I trying to prove? Most Americans rarely travel out of the U.S. and Europe, much less live in another country, why am I putting myself through this? These were the justifications I was trying to make.
I thought for a bit about the girl with the blond curls and the blue beads who like to play dress up and wondered for a minute how her life led to this desolate road on the African continent. The sweat began to gather behind my backpack as my long skirt waved in the wind. The skirt was my mom's from the 70s- it had probably seen happier days then- maybe been worn at an outdoor concert with my dad. I thought of an outdoor concert I went to when I was young with my family. It was at the Portland Zoo, it was either Arlo or Woodie Gutherie- the son- I can never remember which one is the son. Anyways, I pouted and threw a fit at the concert and I thought about how that was unfortunate. And that it is unfortunate that I have thrown fits most of my life and decided that when I get home maybe I won't throw fits so much. Maybe things won't seem like such a big deal. Maybe I will get used to not getting my way.
After a while, the blisters had grown. There were eight in all- one even on the bottom of my foot- damn the African sandals. I put on wool socks and despite the heat kept trudging on in the dust. Then I thought of lions. I thought of how it was always a big joke with my PC group of how desperate I was to see a lion and scanned the grasses on every bus ride, looking for the pride I knew must be just blending in. I thought of if I lion came right now it might eat me and I was not sure I would put up much of a fight. Why fight? It would have been a good story, anyhow. Then I thought, "You are crazy- lions don't live in the Southern Highlands." And then I became fearful that I was losing my mind. I have yet to see a lion in Tanzania, much less a man- (or woman) hungry one. Soon out of nowhere a boy appeared behind me- probably no older than 5 or 6- I greeted him in Kiswahili and then in Kibena- he said nothing but just kept pace behind me. At this point I started crying, silent tears streaming out of my eyes. I could feel my big toe nail breaking off and swimming around in my shoe. When I would stop, the boy would too- but never coming close or speaking. Just following. I thought of all the people at home who I love- I thought of my brothers sound asleep in bed at home while I was walking. I thought of turning around as it was almost four and Josh's car was supposed to get to the junction at 3.30, but nothing in Tanzania runs on time and I had already walked so far... I was very very thirsty. This moment was one of the lowest that I have ever felt in my life- defeat so encompassing. When suddenly- there was the road. I sat next to it and tried to imagine asking an African to sleep in their home if I was unable to meet Josh. I pictured curling up and sleeping on the side of the road. I wondered what night there would look like. Fortunately, the dala had been late and I was able to hop on. But this inner fear nagged on- I am just an average girl, still trying to find my place in the world.
This entry I almost thought about not sharing because it is embarrassing and makes me disappointed in myself. But I am also writing for people to know what life is really like for me here- what I feel- so I decided to be honest. A friend of mine, who is an RPCV told me in an email that being in the Peace Corps is like a roller coaster ride of ups and downs and I couldn't agree more. I have received texts from many of the people in my group saying they feel bipolar, or like they are going crazy... we all do. It is almost impossible to grasp the stress placed on one all at once when they join the Peace Corps. Mental Stress- with the language and cultural learning. Physical Stress- carrying water, putting possibly contaminated/different food into your body, malaria meds, lack of sleep, etc. and Emotional Stress- Being away from home, friends and family. I know many RPCVs and there is something very unique or special about them and I think one of the things that is different is their ability to deal with this compound stress and be successful.
Another point I should make before going on is that I am on some pretty heavy meds for malaria, that include some pretty crazy side effects. I would like to blame this whole entry on them, but I probably shouldn't, although I have undoubtedly experienced some of them- dizziness, insomnia, loss of appetite, hair loss, bruising, nightmares, paranoia and the works. But I hear getting malaria is worse so I am diligently taking them despite that my region has basically no mosquitoes... oh well. Another thing that makes me sound stupid during this time is I hadn't eaten or drank anything for two days- I was feeling very hopeless and not taking care of myself during this time. My cell phone was also dead, but Jess had told me to make it to the main road to meet Josh so I could get some help. I felt like it was urgent to get out.
Anyone who really knows me knows that I am directionally challenged to say the least. My sister, Shannon, was always the navigator when I was driving, she somehow got the "direction gene". And I hadn't paid much attention on the way to my village, so I had no idea how far the main road was. But I started walking anyhow, in my Africa sandals, backpack on- one foot in front of the other. I asked people as I was passing if I was going in the right direction and I got a variety of answers. But mostly they asked me why I was walking. I had no water and no idea how far the main road was. After a while there were no more houses, no more farms, and I realized it was just me on the road walking. It was about after the first hour of walking that I started to get real with myself. I should say that I am in the Southern Highlands, high elevation, and you can't walk more than a few feet without going up or down some major incline. There is no flat- and in the middle of the day with no water this was a workout. Alone- I started thinking- what was I doing? What am I trying to prove? Most Americans rarely travel out of the U.S. and Europe, much less live in another country, why am I putting myself through this? These were the justifications I was trying to make.
I thought for a bit about the girl with the blond curls and the blue beads who like to play dress up and wondered for a minute how her life led to this desolate road on the African continent. The sweat began to gather behind my backpack as my long skirt waved in the wind. The skirt was my mom's from the 70s- it had probably seen happier days then- maybe been worn at an outdoor concert with my dad. I thought of an outdoor concert I went to when I was young with my family. It was at the Portland Zoo, it was either Arlo or Woodie Gutherie- the son- I can never remember which one is the son. Anyways, I pouted and threw a fit at the concert and I thought about how that was unfortunate. And that it is unfortunate that I have thrown fits most of my life and decided that when I get home maybe I won't throw fits so much. Maybe things won't seem like such a big deal. Maybe I will get used to not getting my way.
After a while, the blisters had grown. There were eight in all- one even on the bottom of my foot- damn the African sandals. I put on wool socks and despite the heat kept trudging on in the dust. Then I thought of lions. I thought of how it was always a big joke with my PC group of how desperate I was to see a lion and scanned the grasses on every bus ride, looking for the pride I knew must be just blending in. I thought of if I lion came right now it might eat me and I was not sure I would put up much of a fight. Why fight? It would have been a good story, anyhow. Then I thought, "You are crazy- lions don't live in the Southern Highlands." And then I became fearful that I was losing my mind. I have yet to see a lion in Tanzania, much less a man- (or woman) hungry one. Soon out of nowhere a boy appeared behind me- probably no older than 5 or 6- I greeted him in Kiswahili and then in Kibena- he said nothing but just kept pace behind me. At this point I started crying, silent tears streaming out of my eyes. I could feel my big toe nail breaking off and swimming around in my shoe. When I would stop, the boy would too- but never coming close or speaking. Just following. I thought of all the people at home who I love- I thought of my brothers sound asleep in bed at home while I was walking. I thought of turning around as it was almost four and Josh's car was supposed to get to the junction at 3.30, but nothing in Tanzania runs on time and I had already walked so far... I was very very thirsty. This moment was one of the lowest that I have ever felt in my life- defeat so encompassing. When suddenly- there was the road. I sat next to it and tried to imagine asking an African to sleep in their home if I was unable to meet Josh. I pictured curling up and sleeping on the side of the road. I wondered what night there would look like. Fortunately, the dala had been late and I was able to hop on. But this inner fear nagged on- I am just an average girl, still trying to find my place in the world.
Friday, September 5, 2008
Site.
August 23, 2008
After the 13 hour bus ride those of us in the Njombe region are finally here. We spent a pleasant evening at the Chani Hotel- even eating a grilled cheese! The next morning it was off to meet our VEOs (Village Executive Officer). Mine is a little man named Mario who smiles a lot but speaks no English. After having chai with them- my first adventure entirely alone began.
A driver pulled up in a truck and we piled my items into the back, then we proceeded to pick up more people and pile them and everything they owned on top of my stuff- I pretty much figured everything I owned would be broken upon arrival. The roads were so bad from Njombe to village that the 60k ride took over 2.5 hours and I am told that during the rainy season usually takes 6. I started to enjoy myself when the driver pulled over and bought some sugar cane that we munched on as we drove through the countryside. I started to feel like a real Tanzanian.
My village is beautiful- rolling hills with pine trees (Crazy, I know!). The people are Bena and guess what? They speak Kibena, which is really great since I learned Kiswahili (Sarcasm- something that is lost on Tanzanians) Kiswahili which I studied diligently for months. Also, I am told that Kibena is more of a spoken language, and there won't be a book to teach me how to speak it. (Awesome...) More on this later, but luckily most people in my village also speak Kiswahili (Unfortunately, I don't as well as I would like...) They are primarily farmers and are far enough removed off the beaten track that they are just in shock when they see me. Emotions ranging from complete shyness- I mean adults, hiding. Some of them cry or laugh, etc. But always staring. (I sometimes wonder if this is how Britney Spears must feel- I think they would be taking pictures, if they only had cameras...) My house is on the primary school grounds- but removed from all the rest of the teachers houses. It is one of the only houses in the village with a tin instead of thatched roof. The house is huge- the view is beautiful. I have never been so lonely in my life. After being surrounded with a 14 person host family, 50 Americans, and about 25 PCTZ staff members, this was a real shock. I thought I spoke the language, I thought I could cook over the fire, I thought I could make friends, make a difference, I thought- I thought-
I got to my house after dark- I met no one. After the VEO left I realized that the bedroom window was broken- I called my PC program director- the network cut out and lost the call. The house is filthy. I moved my bed into the living room and called my mom and Reed for a good cry (With many many dropped calls). Then there was a knock at the door- a young woman who said in English- "I am a teacher at the primary school. I think you are disturbed (Her words, but true) a window is broken so you are sleeping in the sitting room, but tomorrow you will sleep in the bedroom, because the window will be fixed." True to her word a man came the next day and fixed the window. I should mention that a broken window was not so much a safety risk as that it is freezing here. Imagine a house built of tin and cement, no insolation. I sometimes pretend that I am living in Europe over the middle ages in a dark cold castle. This is also my excuse for skipping baths. I can see through my door, so when the temperature drops below 50F, it is cold.
I slept horrendously, listening to every noise. The next day I forced myself out of the house- I had no water and idea where to get it. The VEOs were supposed to show us around, but mine was MIA. Unless you are an RPCV, (which, surprisingly, I think there are a lot of you reading this, so you can laugh to yourself about this point in the experience. I hope I am able to laugh about this soon...) you have no idea what this is like even from reading this. No other experience is anywhere similar to this or will prepare you for it. You are dropped somewhere alone, you barely speak, much less understand, you are the only person who looks like you for miles around so there is no hiding- (My closest PC neighbor is 20K away.) Walking out of the house and attempting to fit in was the scariest moment of my life. When I got home to a big lonely house, I felt overwhelmed. I thought "why did I come here?" I cannot accomplish anything- I don't want to do this anymore, it is just too hard, -the doubts began to march in. When I canvassed for Mercy Corps we used to talk about having "The Fear" this was basically the fear of putting yourself out there, being on the line for what you believed in, fear of being ignored or laughed at. We were always trying to fight the fear. This is a similar feeling. (Although it was easier on the streets of Portland, where I had Mariel smiling at me from across the street.) I let the fear overcome me in Tanzania. The disappointment in myself was overwhelming. My whole life I have thought of joining the Peace Corps. After college I worked hard to find work with an international aid organization, I quit my job at Mercy Corps to experience "the Field". I left my boyfriend, my friends, my family... Now I felt stupid, I felt lost, I felt depressed. And so so uninspired, more so than ever, I felt dead. I was coming to the realization that I don't know anything about Tanzania, aid work, or how to live in Africa. I was an young American, who likes to drink coffee and have food made for me at nice restaurants, read People Magazine and watch Oprah, and attend sorority parties, who was I kidding? Maybe I should just volunteer a few hours for the Obama Campaign and have that be my good deed. I could come home, after all it would be so much easier... or would it? I have always dreamed of Africa, and here I am staring it in the face, but could I take it?
I sent out two texts that night. One to my PCV besti, Kate, from my training class, luckily in my region. Also a sorority girl having a tough time with the rats... I let her know that I was sorry, but I thought I was going home. The other was to my friend, Jessica, a PCV who has been here for a year serving with her husband. Hers was basically begging for help and letting her know I was hating life... the usual complaints. The next morning when I woke up I got a text back from Jess telling me there was a PCV in my region who had been here for almost two years and he offered to let me stay with him for a week and then he would take me back to my site and help me get set up, what did I think? I pictured arriving back in the Portland airport- defeated but home. It sounded so nice. But of course, I texted back, "Yes, thank you!". If I have learned anything in Tanzania it is: resilience.
After the 13 hour bus ride those of us in the Njombe region are finally here. We spent a pleasant evening at the Chani Hotel- even eating a grilled cheese! The next morning it was off to meet our VEOs (Village Executive Officer). Mine is a little man named Mario who smiles a lot but speaks no English. After having chai with them- my first adventure entirely alone began.
A driver pulled up in a truck and we piled my items into the back, then we proceeded to pick up more people and pile them and everything they owned on top of my stuff- I pretty much figured everything I owned would be broken upon arrival. The roads were so bad from Njombe to village that the 60k ride took over 2.5 hours and I am told that during the rainy season usually takes 6. I started to enjoy myself when the driver pulled over and bought some sugar cane that we munched on as we drove through the countryside. I started to feel like a real Tanzanian.
My village is beautiful- rolling hills with pine trees (Crazy, I know!). The people are Bena and guess what? They speak Kibena, which is really great since I learned Kiswahili (Sarcasm- something that is lost on Tanzanians) Kiswahili which I studied diligently for months. Also, I am told that Kibena is more of a spoken language, and there won't be a book to teach me how to speak it. (Awesome...) More on this later, but luckily most people in my village also speak Kiswahili (Unfortunately, I don't as well as I would like...) They are primarily farmers and are far enough removed off the beaten track that they are just in shock when they see me. Emotions ranging from complete shyness- I mean adults, hiding. Some of them cry or laugh, etc. But always staring. (I sometimes wonder if this is how Britney Spears must feel- I think they would be taking pictures, if they only had cameras...) My house is on the primary school grounds- but removed from all the rest of the teachers houses. It is one of the only houses in the village with a tin instead of thatched roof. The house is huge- the view is beautiful. I have never been so lonely in my life. After being surrounded with a 14 person host family, 50 Americans, and about 25 PCTZ staff members, this was a real shock. I thought I spoke the language, I thought I could cook over the fire, I thought I could make friends, make a difference, I thought- I thought-
I got to my house after dark- I met no one. After the VEO left I realized that the bedroom window was broken- I called my PC program director- the network cut out and lost the call. The house is filthy. I moved my bed into the living room and called my mom and Reed for a good cry (With many many dropped calls). Then there was a knock at the door- a young woman who said in English- "I am a teacher at the primary school. I think you are disturbed (Her words, but true) a window is broken so you are sleeping in the sitting room, but tomorrow you will sleep in the bedroom, because the window will be fixed." True to her word a man came the next day and fixed the window. I should mention that a broken window was not so much a safety risk as that it is freezing here. Imagine a house built of tin and cement, no insolation. I sometimes pretend that I am living in Europe over the middle ages in a dark cold castle. This is also my excuse for skipping baths. I can see through my door, so when the temperature drops below 50F, it is cold.
I slept horrendously, listening to every noise. The next day I forced myself out of the house- I had no water and idea where to get it. The VEOs were supposed to show us around, but mine was MIA. Unless you are an RPCV, (which, surprisingly, I think there are a lot of you reading this, so you can laugh to yourself about this point in the experience. I hope I am able to laugh about this soon...) you have no idea what this is like even from reading this. No other experience is anywhere similar to this or will prepare you for it. You are dropped somewhere alone, you barely speak, much less understand, you are the only person who looks like you for miles around so there is no hiding- (My closest PC neighbor is 20K away.) Walking out of the house and attempting to fit in was the scariest moment of my life. When I got home to a big lonely house, I felt overwhelmed. I thought "why did I come here?" I cannot accomplish anything- I don't want to do this anymore, it is just too hard, -the doubts began to march in. When I canvassed for Mercy Corps we used to talk about having "The Fear" this was basically the fear of putting yourself out there, being on the line for what you believed in, fear of being ignored or laughed at. We were always trying to fight the fear. This is a similar feeling. (Although it was easier on the streets of Portland, where I had Mariel smiling at me from across the street.) I let the fear overcome me in Tanzania. The disappointment in myself was overwhelming. My whole life I have thought of joining the Peace Corps. After college I worked hard to find work with an international aid organization, I quit my job at Mercy Corps to experience "the Field". I left my boyfriend, my friends, my family... Now I felt stupid, I felt lost, I felt depressed. And so so uninspired, more so than ever, I felt dead. I was coming to the realization that I don't know anything about Tanzania, aid work, or how to live in Africa. I was an young American, who likes to drink coffee and have food made for me at nice restaurants, read People Magazine and watch Oprah, and attend sorority parties, who was I kidding? Maybe I should just volunteer a few hours for the Obama Campaign and have that be my good deed. I could come home, after all it would be so much easier... or would it? I have always dreamed of Africa, and here I am staring it in the face, but could I take it?
I sent out two texts that night. One to my PCV besti, Kate, from my training class, luckily in my region. Also a sorority girl having a tough time with the rats... I let her know that I was sorry, but I thought I was going home. The other was to my friend, Jessica, a PCV who has been here for a year serving with her husband. Hers was basically begging for help and letting her know I was hating life... the usual complaints. The next morning when I woke up I got a text back from Jess telling me there was a PCV in my region who had been here for almost two years and he offered to let me stay with him for a week and then he would take me back to my site and help me get set up, what did I think? I pictured arriving back in the Portland airport- defeated but home. It sounded so nice. But of course, I texted back, "Yes, thank you!". If I have learned anything in Tanzania it is: resilience.
Swearing In
Swearing-In
Catherine and I about to swear-in
ba, Me, and Mwanne
Katie and Catherine in their powersuits, looking fabulous, I might add!
My CBT (Community Based Training) Girls: Cristina, Me, Lindsey, and Krissy.
My CBT:Cristina, Me, Dave, Petti (My Teacher) Lindsey, Wendy and Krissy.
Another CBT: Ashleigh, Kate, Tristen, Mirinda and Linnea
Me and Ash
Brianna and Edna (Her brand new puppy!)
Kim, Me and Kate
Jess and I
Kate, Ashleigh and I
Catherine and I, doing senior buddy pictures
Catherine and I about to swear-in
ba, Me, and Mwanne
Katie and Catherine in their powersuits, looking fabulous, I might add!
My CBT (Community Based Training) Girls: Cristina, Me, Lindsey, and Krissy.
My CBT:Cristina, Me, Dave, Petti (My Teacher) Lindsey, Wendy and Krissy.
Another CBT: Ashleigh, Kate, Tristen, Mirinda and Linnea
Me and Ash
Brianna and Edna (Her brand new puppy!)
Kim, Me and Kate
Jess and I
Kate, Ashleigh and I
Catherine and I, doing senior buddy pictures
August 20, 2008
Well, it's official. I am no longer a PC trainee, but a PCV. We moved into the dorms at MATI (where swearing in would occur.) And there I spent that last few days possible soaking up Amercian time! My PC group is full of such amazing, talented people, I really love each of them so so much. When you are thrown together with strangers in the most stressful situations you really grow together and get to know each other quickly. Some of the people here will undoubtably be some of my closest friends for the rest of my life.
Our host families made us matching African outfits for the ceremony which look beautiful on the African women- but somewhat heinous on the rest of us!!! We were only allowed to have two family members attend- so my Baba and Mama were going to come. But when I got to the hall, my baba and Mwanne were there instead. My Baba told me that both Bahati and Iddy were sick and so my Mama had to stay home. I tried not to cry over not being able to say good bye to my mama and tell her what she has meant to me. She is that Tanzanian who has been most influential on my life so far and I will never forgot her love and kindness. I was also so fearful for my two favorite TZ children.
The rest of the ceremony was fun- it was attended by all sorts of U.S. Embassy, Tanzanian Government and Peace Corps people. We also performed an interpretive dance and song to "My Heart will Go On." Which my friend, Meesh, changed the words to Kiswahili thanking our host families. Basically if you are not listening to traditional music or bongo flavor than you are probably listening to Celine Dion, the Tanzanians love her. Then we took the PC oath, which of course consisted ofa bunch of beauocracy- protecting the interests of the U.S. Gov, under god, blah blah- but then also talked of helping the Tanzanian people, which was the part I was interested in. After we had a big picnic of TZ food and then said good bye to our host families and the real party began.
This is where I should say something about the PC TZ staff- they are some funny, fun, charming people. They are some sort of hybrid Tanzanian, so you can discuss any cultural issue with them from punishment in schools to how Ugali is not good food (you should never tell a Tanzanian this!) They are not easy to offend and can understand an American perspective even if they don't agree with it. They are always offering support. They found us a DJ and had beer delievered and we had a great dance party.
Well, it's official. I am no longer a PC trainee, but a PCV. We moved into the dorms at MATI (where swearing in would occur.) And there I spent that last few days possible soaking up Amercian time! My PC group is full of such amazing, talented people, I really love each of them so so much. When you are thrown together with strangers in the most stressful situations you really grow together and get to know each other quickly. Some of the people here will undoubtably be some of my closest friends for the rest of my life.
Our host families made us matching African outfits for the ceremony which look beautiful on the African women- but somewhat heinous on the rest of us!!! We were only allowed to have two family members attend- so my Baba and Mama were going to come. But when I got to the hall, my baba and Mwanne were there instead. My Baba told me that both Bahati and Iddy were sick and so my Mama had to stay home. I tried not to cry over not being able to say good bye to my mama and tell her what she has meant to me. She is that Tanzanian who has been most influential on my life so far and I will never forgot her love and kindness. I was also so fearful for my two favorite TZ children.
The rest of the ceremony was fun- it was attended by all sorts of U.S. Embassy, Tanzanian Government and Peace Corps people. We also performed an interpretive dance and song to "My Heart will Go On." Which my friend, Meesh, changed the words to Kiswahili thanking our host families. Basically if you are not listening to traditional music or bongo flavor than you are probably listening to Celine Dion, the Tanzanians love her. Then we took the PC oath, which of course consisted ofa bunch of beauocracy- protecting the interests of the U.S. Gov, under god, blah blah- but then also talked of helping the Tanzanian people, which was the part I was interested in. After we had a big picnic of TZ food and then said good bye to our host families and the real party began.
This is where I should say something about the PC TZ staff- they are some funny, fun, charming people. They are some sort of hybrid Tanzanian, so you can discuss any cultural issue with them from punishment in schools to how Ugali is not good food (you should never tell a Tanzanian this!) They are not easy to offend and can understand an American perspective even if they don't agree with it. They are always offering support. They found us a DJ and had beer delievered and we had a great dance party.
Hmmm...
Me, Lindsey and Krissy at our family's going away party for us.
Me, Mwanne and Anna
My host family's living room:
Simba, enjoying his new car
Iddy and Michael, showing off their new toys
Mama, me and Mwanne
My Mama, Anna, and I
Mama
Anna, My 20 year old neighbor and possibly one of the most beautiful women I have ever seen.
My Mama, Anna, and Mwanne
Me, Mwanne and Anna
My host family's living room:
Simba, enjoying his new car
Iddy and Michael, showing off their new toys
Mama, me and Mwanne
My Mama, Anna, and I
Mama
Anna, My 20 year old neighbor and possibly one of the most beautiful women I have ever seen.
My Mama, Anna, and Mwanne
Thanks for all the email, guys. I got many "Are you still alive emails!?!" I think even though I am very behind in blogging I will start from the beginning again. It has been a ride...
August 19, 2008
My last week with my host family- I fully threw myself even more into Tanzanian life than ever before. I even started getting up at 4.30 in the morning to mop the floors with my dadas and then do the 5 am Muslim prayer. I will never forget the fear I felt when I first saw the red house at the end of the dirt lane- now when I come home to that house, it really feels like coming home. After I returned from being away at shadow for a week and a half- my siblings ran out into the yard and I was embraced with hugs like I had been gone for years. I pictured for a moment coming up the Mossy Brae hill to another very familiar red house- the one I grew up in, and having my American siblings greet me in the yard. That will be a happy day.
My last day with the family I gave them the gifts that my mom had sent from America. Bahati and Mwanne loved the nail polish and I have never seen a smile as big as Rasheedy's when he got a "real" soccer ball. Iddy, Simba and Michael drove their little cars and motorcycles around all day and Iddy even fell asleep with it in his hand.
We went visiting all of the neighbors that I had come to know and I felt very confident chatting with bibis (Grandmothers- although they are really only about as old as my mom, but look three times her age- bibis have a very unique persona that I should probably dedicate an entire blog entry to...) I was even given a baby that was a few hours old to hold. Her name is Simaya, her mother is 15. I felt so happy and lucky to be holding this newborn child. Walking home that evening in the dark with my mama and sisters holding my hands and laughing, I wished my mother and sisters from America were with us as well- I feel so grateful to be on the other side of the world and still have strong, beautiful women holding my hands- being here is not so very different at times.
August 19, 2008
My last week with my host family- I fully threw myself even more into Tanzanian life than ever before. I even started getting up at 4.30 in the morning to mop the floors with my dadas and then do the 5 am Muslim prayer. I will never forget the fear I felt when I first saw the red house at the end of the dirt lane- now when I come home to that house, it really feels like coming home. After I returned from being away at shadow for a week and a half- my siblings ran out into the yard and I was embraced with hugs like I had been gone for years. I pictured for a moment coming up the Mossy Brae hill to another very familiar red house- the one I grew up in, and having my American siblings greet me in the yard. That will be a happy day.
My last day with the family I gave them the gifts that my mom had sent from America. Bahati and Mwanne loved the nail polish and I have never seen a smile as big as Rasheedy's when he got a "real" soccer ball. Iddy, Simba and Michael drove their little cars and motorcycles around all day and Iddy even fell asleep with it in his hand.
We went visiting all of the neighbors that I had come to know and I felt very confident chatting with bibis (Grandmothers- although they are really only about as old as my mom, but look three times her age- bibis have a very unique persona that I should probably dedicate an entire blog entry to...) I was even given a baby that was a few hours old to hold. Her name is Simaya, her mother is 15. I felt so happy and lucky to be holding this newborn child. Walking home that evening in the dark with my mama and sisters holding my hands and laughing, I wished my mother and sisters from America were with us as well- I feel so grateful to be on the other side of the world and still have strong, beautiful women holding my hands- being here is not so very different at times.
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