"Hello Darkness, my old friend, I've come to talk with you again because a vision softly creeping left it's seeds while I was sleeping and the vision that was planted in my brain still remains, within the sound of silence." -Simon and Garfunkel
November 20, 2009
A cow watched me pee today- it's head stuck through my outhouse window. I only felt slightly violated, it is "My Cow" after all.
One of God's worst creations is enjoying entering my house these days- no it is not the siyafu, those were a bad idea too. It is like a cochroach, but smaller and lighter colored and great! (sarcasm here) it can fly! Now all it need to do is transmit AIDS and it becomes my worst nightmare. They make a horrible clicking/buzzing sound when they fly, not like a bee, like something gross. For someone who is outdoorsy, lives in Africa and likes animals- I still hate bugs. Luckily, my cats have decided that this bugs extinction is up to them. They make flying leaps into the air knocking them stunned to the ground and then crunch, crunch crunch... gone. Yuck.
Is your life pathetic if you dream about food every night? What is you dream about silly foods? Last night it was Toby's Tofu Pate. I could see the container, I opened it, salivated and then woke up. I could almost taste it. Lately, every morning the second before I am completely conscious, I think I am in America. This is weird because I have slept in this room for over a year. The worst was the morning that I thought I could hear my Dad making breakfast and I jumped up to go eat with him, before realizing where I was.
I can barely move today. Yesterday I dug with a hoe for five straight hours. I told Mama Max that i would help her on the farm, but when my alarm went off at 5.30 am and I awoke to drizzle and gray skies, all I wanted to do was crawl back into bed. But can Mama Max do that? Can any Tanzanian woman just sleep in? No, this is about what we are going to eat. With that I got up and braved the elements and physical labor. I actually enjoyed being on the farm. What a great female bonding experience. Every women slightly related to Mama Max was there with their hoe. We lined up shoulder to sholder like a small female army and truged forward, turning the soil. My hands were bleeding almost immediately but I forced them on, even thought the women tried to make me stop. However, since I am Image's full idea of what an American is, I force myself often through painful or uncomfortable situations just to prove what Americans are made of. I might be a woman who is used to a dishwasher, washing machine, shower and sitting at a desk in front of a computer, but i refuse to let them believe that I am weak or can't. Sometimes i wonder what would happen if I always lived like this- with a "can-do" attitude- "I can do it," "I am not afraid," "I am not hurt," "I can eat it," " I can wear it," "I can sit in the dirt," "I can... I can... I can..." What could I possibly accomplished that I previously thought I couldn't? What if we all lived like this? What if we all always tried our hardest and didn't complain because we were representing an entire country and culture? What would the world be like?
Anyways, it pours rain off and on but I laugh with the women as the rain runs down our faces and makes my hair stick out at every angle possible. I pretend I am going to take a hot shower when this is all over. My favorite part is being with the little girls- they are care-free and lugh, but are hard workers, they will have to work like this for the rest of their lives. Maxillia, Mama Max's second child who is 11 years old, tells me story after story. Grace, a five year old distant cousin, hoes and hoes, until I am pretty sure that she is stronger than I am. My whole body hurts and my hands are raw, but there is some satisfaction there, sometimes it feels good to serve others and be part of something.
Sunday, December 20, 2009
Sunday, December 13, 2009
Riding in Cars With Boys
"If these are life's lessons she'll take this test. She needs wide open spaces, room to make a big mistake, she needs new faces, she knows the high stakes, she knows the high stakes..." - Dixie Chicks
Novemeber 18, 2009
Now that Image is used to me, my appearence at village things hardly surprises them. So I do things to "up my profile"- this is my chance to be famous after all, for once in my life no one looks like me. I do things that people will least expect. For example: I learned how to cook pombe (home brewed alcohol that looks and tastes like vomit) with a bunch of bibis (grandmothers). I learned how to play some game that all the babus (grandfathers) play that makes no sense and people told me that only old people can play it... well, Brie now can too. I kiss little dirty village kids, hold their hands and tell them that I love them. At the meeting with all the vijana (young men) about how they are supposed to stay away from my house, I tell them that if any of them come through my window again, I will go "Lorena Bobitt" on them. They laugh but they believe me. It was a good threat. I find jobs at two mgahawas (cafes/beer shacks) and one duka (shop) where i surprise people by working when I feel like it (I work for free after all!) I take the guys to visit my owl and crack up when they are terrified. The fuuny thing is these stories follow me around, I even get to hear the third or fourth hand. "I heard you threw 200 condoms ar the guys in the bar today and then walked out." Yep- true story.
Anyways, my antics keep me interesting and while I am interesting, people want my ideas, adivce and company. Today I decide I am going to paint the checker board at Mama Max's Mgahawa, because the red squares are entirely impossible to see from too much use. I take my red acrylic paint and go to work. Then I write around the edge "Use Condoms" in swahili, surrounded my hearts. This makes all the guys laugh. Osmond shows up and I ask him what he is going to do today. "We are going to work." "Work?" I say, like I have never heard the word, which from village men, I pretty much never do. He has just bought the worst Land Rover in human history. It is a Flintstone car, you can see the ground as you go because there is no floor. None of the doors fully close and only the windsheild still has gas. You have to push it to get it to start. So when he invites me to come along, the prospect of riding in it is fully awesome! "Great!'" I respond. The guys are out of money for beer, so we need to cut some trees. This is not really like deforestation- timber is our main livlihood, so we are constantly replanting pines.
Unfortunately for this little outting, I am Tanzanian woman dressed, complete with a long tight skirt and heels. I get into the front seat (if you can call it that) and hold my feet up so they don't drag. Puce, Joeseph and Stanly all effortlessly sit on nothing or stand on the back bumper. Nicky rides on the roof. We go complete bush four-bying over old cornfeilds, between banana trees and into the forest. What cracks me up about the whole event is how suddenly my rough, rural TZ guys are all super concerned about me. Osmond asks me, "Are you scared? You can get out if you want," as we plow over a ridge. "No", I reply, smiling. I am not sure how to translate, "Hell no! This is my African Indiana Jones adventure!" (He wouldn't get the reference anyways.) I ditch the heels when we park, so everyone offers to carry me, I refuse that, so then everyone's shoes are offered, which I also refuse, preferring like always to go barefoot. Tanzanians and their hospitality though, geez. I lay on my back in the grass surrounded by wildflowers. Puce comes over with the equivillant of "bush grapes" and another "fruit" I have never seen before. I'll question Tanzanians about a lot of things but what is safe to eat in the bush is not one of them. After an hour, they declare that is enough. We load back into (or out of) the "car" but all the guys have to jump in when it is actually moving, because first they have to push us out of the ravine.
Back in the village, my bush story arrives before I do- was I afraid? How did Osmond drive? Why would I go into the woods ? The guys brag- she even went barefoot, she wasn't scared at all. My villagers look surprised, Americans sure are weird people.
Novemeber 18, 2009
Now that Image is used to me, my appearence at village things hardly surprises them. So I do things to "up my profile"- this is my chance to be famous after all, for once in my life no one looks like me. I do things that people will least expect. For example: I learned how to cook pombe (home brewed alcohol that looks and tastes like vomit) with a bunch of bibis (grandmothers). I learned how to play some game that all the babus (grandfathers) play that makes no sense and people told me that only old people can play it... well, Brie now can too. I kiss little dirty village kids, hold their hands and tell them that I love them. At the meeting with all the vijana (young men) about how they are supposed to stay away from my house, I tell them that if any of them come through my window again, I will go "Lorena Bobitt" on them. They laugh but they believe me. It was a good threat. I find jobs at two mgahawas (cafes/beer shacks) and one duka (shop) where i surprise people by working when I feel like it (I work for free after all!) I take the guys to visit my owl and crack up when they are terrified. The fuuny thing is these stories follow me around, I even get to hear the third or fourth hand. "I heard you threw 200 condoms ar the guys in the bar today and then walked out." Yep- true story.
Anyways, my antics keep me interesting and while I am interesting, people want my ideas, adivce and company. Today I decide I am going to paint the checker board at Mama Max's Mgahawa, because the red squares are entirely impossible to see from too much use. I take my red acrylic paint and go to work. Then I write around the edge "Use Condoms" in swahili, surrounded my hearts. This makes all the guys laugh. Osmond shows up and I ask him what he is going to do today. "We are going to work." "Work?" I say, like I have never heard the word, which from village men, I pretty much never do. He has just bought the worst Land Rover in human history. It is a Flintstone car, you can see the ground as you go because there is no floor. None of the doors fully close and only the windsheild still has gas. You have to push it to get it to start. So when he invites me to come along, the prospect of riding in it is fully awesome! "Great!'" I respond. The guys are out of money for beer, so we need to cut some trees. This is not really like deforestation- timber is our main livlihood, so we are constantly replanting pines.
Unfortunately for this little outting, I am Tanzanian woman dressed, complete with a long tight skirt and heels. I get into the front seat (if you can call it that) and hold my feet up so they don't drag. Puce, Joeseph and Stanly all effortlessly sit on nothing or stand on the back bumper. Nicky rides on the roof. We go complete bush four-bying over old cornfeilds, between banana trees and into the forest. What cracks me up about the whole event is how suddenly my rough, rural TZ guys are all super concerned about me. Osmond asks me, "Are you scared? You can get out if you want," as we plow over a ridge. "No", I reply, smiling. I am not sure how to translate, "Hell no! This is my African Indiana Jones adventure!" (He wouldn't get the reference anyways.) I ditch the heels when we park, so everyone offers to carry me, I refuse that, so then everyone's shoes are offered, which I also refuse, preferring like always to go barefoot. Tanzanians and their hospitality though, geez. I lay on my back in the grass surrounded by wildflowers. Puce comes over with the equivillant of "bush grapes" and another "fruit" I have never seen before. I'll question Tanzanians about a lot of things but what is safe to eat in the bush is not one of them. After an hour, they declare that is enough. We load back into (or out of) the "car" but all the guys have to jump in when it is actually moving, because first they have to push us out of the ravine.
Back in the village, my bush story arrives before I do- was I afraid? How did Osmond drive? Why would I go into the woods ? The guys brag- she even went barefoot, she wasn't scared at all. My villagers look surprised, Americans sure are weird people.
Jen's Village
* So I am about a month behind in blog entries. Don't freak out they are all hand written, but it is going to take me a while to catch this thing up. And since I am a person who likes to tell stories from the beginning, I will not jump ahead, so bear with me.
"...The Eskimos had fifty-two names for snow because it was important to them; there ought to be as many for love." - Margaret Atwood
11/13- 11/15
I have a weird affliction. Everyone in my group of PCVs are sick of their villages, they are tired of being here, and feeling like they cannot make enough changes. My affliction is- I am not. Sure I get frustrated a few moments, but my villagers? They could not be any better. Next to the state of Oregon, this is my favorite place in the world. This small area in Africa houses people I love immensely, beauty I have found no where else. If anything, Image Village has only assisted in my romance with Africa- which is interesting because my love of this country has been tested and tried but somehow remains. I hate leaving Image, even for the day. I have this anxious feeling- what is happening there? I wonder if he is sick? If she is better? What did Mama Max cook? Did Felix open his shop on time? Did puce get in another (!) motorcycle accident? Who is holding Anna? Did Mama Suze have her baby yet? Are Giza and Kimulimuli still being fed? Did anyone remember to bathe Lau? You get the idea- as minor as these things may seem they now make up my life and not knowing the answers is weird.
I love Jen though. She calls me daily- lonely and missing Image (I understand) she begs me to visit the village she has been relocated to, so I finally agree to step out of Image. I am actually nervous about spending so much time non-stop with a Tanzanian, even one who is my best friend. I have always been allowed private space from them, a door to close. Jen meets me in Njombe- she is thrilled. Her village is near Makambako, a town north of Njombe.
The good thing about the whole visit is it reminds me of how far I have come in Image. Her village has never had a volunteer. Everyone yells, "mzungu", no one would day call me that today in Image. People talk about me in front of me like I am not there and do not understand. everyone stares non-stop, today in Image, I have to do crazy things to get people to even look twice at me. I get pestered with questions about Americans that people in my own village have known the answer to for over a year. Her teachers try to tell me, "Wouldn't you rather live here? We have regular bus service, water pumps and cell service. We are 'developed'." I think to myself- sure that would be easier. Then I look around at the lack of my people, my friends, the Image villagers who have given me everything especially their hearts. I look around at the lack of tall pine trees, deep ravines and pristine Image air. The missing rustic, rural, Tanzanian, bush- no roads, no other villages, nothing for as far as the eye can see. This is not Image. "Nope", I respond confidently. Easier is not necessarily better. In fact, one could argue that it is worse, it is certainly less exciting. So just like my heart resides on five acres outside of Oregon City, it also stay bush-bound, which to me means Image.
My days with Jen are unfortunately non-stop eating, the primary way of showing love to a guest is to cook good food, and Jen knows all the food I like. So I eat my body weight in food everyday. It is like home stay and once again I become some one's Barbie. She braids my hair, tells me what to wear, sprays me with perfume, tells me when it is time to bathe, and tucks me in at night.
However, I like it. I think there is such a thing as being on your own so long, looking out for yourself so much that it is nice to have someone care for you. Nice to have someone hold your hand and love you, nice to feel dependant. Jen cries when I leave, but secretly Image calls- I have to go home.
"...The Eskimos had fifty-two names for snow because it was important to them; there ought to be as many for love." - Margaret Atwood
11/13- 11/15
I have a weird affliction. Everyone in my group of PCVs are sick of their villages, they are tired of being here, and feeling like they cannot make enough changes. My affliction is- I am not. Sure I get frustrated a few moments, but my villagers? They could not be any better. Next to the state of Oregon, this is my favorite place in the world. This small area in Africa houses people I love immensely, beauty I have found no where else. If anything, Image Village has only assisted in my romance with Africa- which is interesting because my love of this country has been tested and tried but somehow remains. I hate leaving Image, even for the day. I have this anxious feeling- what is happening there? I wonder if he is sick? If she is better? What did Mama Max cook? Did Felix open his shop on time? Did puce get in another (!) motorcycle accident? Who is holding Anna? Did Mama Suze have her baby yet? Are Giza and Kimulimuli still being fed? Did anyone remember to bathe Lau? You get the idea- as minor as these things may seem they now make up my life and not knowing the answers is weird.
I love Jen though. She calls me daily- lonely and missing Image (I understand) she begs me to visit the village she has been relocated to, so I finally agree to step out of Image. I am actually nervous about spending so much time non-stop with a Tanzanian, even one who is my best friend. I have always been allowed private space from them, a door to close. Jen meets me in Njombe- she is thrilled. Her village is near Makambako, a town north of Njombe.
The good thing about the whole visit is it reminds me of how far I have come in Image. Her village has never had a volunteer. Everyone yells, "mzungu", no one would day call me that today in Image. People talk about me in front of me like I am not there and do not understand. everyone stares non-stop, today in Image, I have to do crazy things to get people to even look twice at me. I get pestered with questions about Americans that people in my own village have known the answer to for over a year. Her teachers try to tell me, "Wouldn't you rather live here? We have regular bus service, water pumps and cell service. We are 'developed'." I think to myself- sure that would be easier. Then I look around at the lack of my people, my friends, the Image villagers who have given me everything especially their hearts. I look around at the lack of tall pine trees, deep ravines and pristine Image air. The missing rustic, rural, Tanzanian, bush- no roads, no other villages, nothing for as far as the eye can see. This is not Image. "Nope", I respond confidently. Easier is not necessarily better. In fact, one could argue that it is worse, it is certainly less exciting. So just like my heart resides on five acres outside of Oregon City, it also stay bush-bound, which to me means Image.
My days with Jen are unfortunately non-stop eating, the primary way of showing love to a guest is to cook good food, and Jen knows all the food I like. So I eat my body weight in food everyday. It is like home stay and once again I become some one's Barbie. She braids my hair, tells me what to wear, sprays me with perfume, tells me when it is time to bathe, and tucks me in at night.
However, I like it. I think there is such a thing as being on your own so long, looking out for yourself so much that it is nice to have someone care for you. Nice to have someone hold your hand and love you, nice to feel dependant. Jen cries when I leave, but secretly Image calls- I have to go home.
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