Anaitwa Heddi!

It’s hard to believe that after what feels like a blink of an eye, my time here at Suvia is coming to an end.  I think after spending 6 months in Tanzania I’ve become spoiled… 2 months in a new place now feels like no time at all.  It’s no wonder I don’t want to leave Kenya yet!

When I first arrived here at Suvia, I met another volunteer who had come from Canada to work at the orphanage for a couple months.  Jo, aka Margaret, was my age with a similar sense of humor and I was so happy to see how easily we bonded.  Surely the two of us being so outside of our element helped us to relate, and she was really sweet about going out of her way to help me become acclimated to my new homestay.  My first full day there in the village was a Sunday, and she and I went with Reverend Kisua to his church for service.  Jo told me she usually went to church with the Suvia girls at a church closer to the home, so it was new for her, too… and we were both a little overwhelmed by the experience.  One female preacher enthusiastically greeted us with HUGE hugs, sat us down inside and asked a series of point-blank questions, rapid fire!  “What denomination of Christianity are you?  Are you saved?  What is the name of your church back home?”  Oh what’s a Jewish girl to do… Jo later told me that she is not religious at all, so we had a chance to lament over the uncomfortably alienating experience together later.  In truth, I do believe in a higher power, but coming from a place where there is such a high sensitivity for politically correctedness and tolerance for diversity (not to mention my own personal belief that religion/spirituality is an intimately personal affair), this type of questioning felt like an interrogation and it took a while for me to get used to praying as a group several times a day. 

Although it’s uncomfortable at times, it’s a huge part of this culture which is what I wanted to experience, so I have done my best to be open to participating in these moments and even leading prayers when asked.  The service was long—upwards of 4 hours—and entirely in Kikamba so I sometimes struggled to keep my eyes open, there in my chair perched in front of the whole congregation where they seated Jo and me.  One thing I like about services here though, is the way they accept offerings.  I actually have no idea where money given for offerings goes, but the way they accommodate people in this village setting is neat:  If you have no money to give for the offering, you may bring in something else worth selling.  I’ve seen people bring in a sack of eggs, a papaya, a bunch of collard greens, or even a chicken.  After the offerings are collected, they basically hold a mini auction there in the church, and the item is sold to the highest bidder.  Once they win the item, person then gives that money as the offering, and then chooses someone else there in the church to give the item to as a gift!  Our preacher lady friend bought a papaya which she then gave to “wageni wetu” (our visitors), Jo and me.  It was quite sweet.

About a week into my time at Suvia I had planned out the gardens, and Joshua came out from Nairobi to help me buy the gardening materials I’d need.  We spent the day in the nearest town, Machakos, gathering shovels, hoes, watering cans, seeds—the works.  Joshua was a huge help in showing me where to go, not to mention charming the often female cashiers into giving us a discount!  We had gone into town with the reverend in his car, so we dropped the materials with him and stopped by Joshua’s parents’ home to get his motorcycle before zipping back to the village.  Bouncing along those rocky dirt roads all the way back to the village on the back of the bike was too much fun, and I found that Joshua’s threats to teach me how to ride made me way more eager than I had expected to be.  After showing me around the surrounding villages a bit that afternoon, I had my first motorcycle lesson just before dusk.  I was pretty nervous to be sitting in the front of the bike, and the way all the people on the road stop to stare/laugh/point at/try to distract the mzungu girl on the motorcycle didn’t exactly help (You don’t often see females riding motorcycles around here in the first place).  It was a good first lesson though!  The couple times I got going and heard Joshua say “Hey, I’ve let go—you’re on your own!” gave me such a rush I had to try not to scream!  As anxious as I was to feel like I could kill myself or others at any given moment... riding was a thrill I couldn’t give up.  The seed was sown.  I was determined to master that bike!  Over time my nerves subsided and I gained confidence on the motorcycle.  It’s particularly neat that my classroom has been the gnarled, sometimes overly dusty, sometimes overly muddy roads of rural Kenya—I feel like if I can master this, riding on asphalt will be a piece of cake.  Although I wouldn’t say yet that I’ve mastered the motorcycle, after two months of semi-weekly lessons I’ve got a pretty decent handle on the thing, and I love riding it through the village when Joshua comes around. 

After days of working in the garden Jo and I (and Joshua if he’s around) would spend evenings hanging out at home.  Mexican telenovelas dubbed over in painfully goofy English are super popular here, and Jo introduced me to her guilty pleasure: Triunfo de Amor (Triumph of Love)!  I have received confirmation from my homeboy Pedro back home that it is in fact on air in Southern California, so I now feel even more connected to a global community.  Haha!  I also love the way that if I meet another female my age around here or Nairobi, I can almost certainly bond with her over the latest drama happening on the show.  Outside of television dramas, we’d spend our time playing cards, laying on top of the huge water tank in the back to watch the stars, naming any of the otherwise unnamed animals around the house, or getting ourselves into any number of silly antics. 

Unfortunately, Jo was only around for a couple weeks after I got here, so it was sad to see her leave so soon.  Jo helped the matrons fry up a bucket of chapati (delicious fried flat bread) for most of her last day, and we spent the evening singing and dancing with the girls, and of course feasting.  Africans are big on giving speeches, especially in lieu of a farewell, so we got to hear from lots of folks around the home giving her their well wishes—including me of course!  The next day she was off to Nairobi, where her boyfriend from Canada was flying in to meet her for some sight-seeing before leaving the country.  I tagged along for the journey by matatu, (Kenya’s version of Tanzanian dala dalas, the public transport) which consists of about an hour and a half from the homestay to Machakos, then another matatu ride of about 2+ hours from there to Nairobi.  We met up with Joshua and he and I left Jo to get “reacquainted” with her man at their hotel, while Joshua set me up with his sister to stay for the weekend.  We had an awesome weekend visiting museums, an elephant orphanage, and a famous restaurant in Nairobi called Carnivore, where I happily ordered vegetarian.  

After Jo and her guy took off, Joshua and I returned to Machakos and spent the remainder of the weekend playing pool, cards, or motorcycles.  I went to church with the girls that Sunday—a rather exhausting experience, because the services there are also long, and also in Kikamba.  Although the girls can doze off in each other’s laps throughout the service, there are always several sets of giggling eyes on me at all times, so I have to be sure I’m following along and my eyes are OPEN.  Usually there is at least one girl playing with my bracelets, my hair, or playing with my hand in her lap to help keep me awake and tuned in.  After the service that Sunday some girls came back to the house to help grind maize to make flour for ugali.  I saw them crunching on some white starchy looking vegetable, and they told me it was raw cassava.  Pastor Kisua mentioned that I shouldn’t have any, because I have a weak mzungu tummy.  Of course, nothing could have made me want to try it more!  It was rather tasteless with an interestingly crunchy-chewy consistency, and I’m pleased to say that it had no adverse effects on my stomach.  I learned later however, that if you eat any of the skin or the pith you can get very sick, as they contain trace amounts of cyanide!

After a productive week in the gardens at Suvia, spent gathering the poisonous milk from euphorbia plants to make a natural pest spray, and constructing a fence around my nursery to keep the chickens out, I returned to Machakos to meet Joshua’s family.  His mama had just graduated with a Bachelors of Divinity and they had a big party to celebrate—it was so sweet of them to invite me.  Joshua was coming in from Nairobi and I got to the party before him.  The program began with prayers, speeches, and some preaching before Joshua arrived and quietly sat down next to me.  As the speaker continued in front, Joshua whispered in my ear, “Hello… is it me you’re looking for?”  (Cheesy 1980s rock ballad lyrics)  I almost exploded with laughter and fought hard to choke it back!  I have the coolest friends... 

I got to meet the rest of Joshua’s sisters that I hadn’t met before, and they were all just as fun and friendly as he is, all insisting that I come to their homes and visit for chai or for a meal sometime. 

We had a fun night visiting with cousins and other relatives, and the next morning set off for Nairobi.  It was Joshua’s birthday weekend, so we had an agenda!  Shortly after arriving in town we grabbed food and drinks before heading to Nairobi’s Safari Walk (where Joshua worked his charm to convince the girl working the ticket counter to give me the resident rate without ID).  Joshua and I were joined by his cousin John and homeboy Nilton, and the boys had a great time harassing those poor animals… not to mention the poor couples out for a romantic stroll through the park.  The male lion in particular seemed to get overly aggravated with the guys’ taunting at the glass window, and at one point charged the window with an unnervingly deep, window-rattling ROAR.  Everyone jolted back from the window, it was terrifying!  To this day I am surprised no one got eaten before we left the park.

From there we took a matatu into town and met up with some friends at a bar.  We spent the rest of the night hopping between bars and clubs, drinking, dancing, and celebrating Joshua’s birthday proper.  We were lucky enough to have a hero of a designated driver who at one point found himself chauffeuring at least 10 of us in his 5-seater car.  As we approached the club we were headed to, a cop flagged us down to pull over and scolded us for having so many people in the car.  As expected, he demanded a bribe to let us go, but homeboy in the driver’s seat remained cool and calm, and talked our way out of it.  It wasn’t long before we were on our way again—hallelujah!  Truly lucky.  There’s no such thing as “last call” here, so as different friends came and went all night, the party didn’t stop until well past 5am, when the remaining group of us crashed on the floor in a friend’s tiny apartment.  After a nap of about an hour or two, Joshua shook me awake and we trekked back to his place, still in a daze, where we each showered and then slept until 1pm.  Now that’s a good birthday.

Back at Suvia, the gardens were coming along nicely.  Around that time I had finished my first double-dug bed, but had hurt my back badly trying to finish it in a hurry.  We were still waiting on the rains, so the soil was extremely hard and dry, and I over exerted my back trying to till quickly.  I laughed when I re-read in my last blog entry about the “minor back injury” that I was dealing with… that “minor” back injury ended up giving me trouble for the entire remainder of my time at Suvia.  In fact, I am now writing on my last day at Suvia and it was only yesterday that I was able to do some semi-strenuous work in the gardens with minimal back pain for the first time since I hurt myself.  Still, I managed to continue to make progress as I worked at the home, although not without a lot of help from others and certainly not at the pace at which I had hoped to maintain.  A group of engineers from the government’s Ministry of Water and Irrigation had been drilling for water at Suvia for several weeks and finally finished around that time, so with the flash of a girly mzungu smile, I found myself with a group of men helping me dig for almost an entire day!  Joshua was also a digging champion, and through all this help I was able to complete a total of 3 garden beds.  Considering the injury, it’s not bad compared to my original goal of 4!  I’m so grateful for the help I received.  I had so many extra seedlings, too, so I have been really pleased to see Peninah, one of the matrons, roll up her sleeves and take to the gardens with fervor!  She paid no mind to my efforts of keeping the gardens organic, which is a bit of a drag, but I am at least glad that the seedlings are being planted all over the compound and the girls will enjoy a much wider range of veggies in no time.

One afternoon after I was finishing up one of the garden beds, Joshua arrived on the bike and told me class was in session!  We took off on the motorcycle, me in front with my teacher in the back, and explored areas of the surrounding villages that even Joshua had never been to.  Although it was a sunny day, the rainy season had already come, so the hills of Ukambani were greener than I had seen them before.  The bright red soil contrasted against the rows of green crops on the benches of the terraced hills was breathtaking as we zipped in and out of the peaks and valleys.  The sun was shining, the birds were singing, the air was sweet with the scent of moist soil, and the hills looked so fertile and green.  I’ll never forget how beautiful that day was!  It wasn’t long though, before we noticed some dark clouds approaching… and we weren’t exactly close to home.  We continued on warily with little other option, and watched some massive rain clouds creep nearer and nearer.  When we felt the first sprinkle of raindrops we seemed to be in the middle of nowhere, and Joshua poignantly sighed with a, “Shit…”  He shifted to the front of the bike and I held on tight behind him as we buckled down for a hasty search for shelter while the raindrops got heavier.  We found a tiny local bar and quickly parked the bike under a tree and ducked inside just as the really heavy rain let loose.  Joshua removed the inner lining of his jacket and gave me the outer shell to wear as the chill set in, and we watched the rain pounding outside as we waited for it to let up. 

We soon got moving again, only we continued with Joshua in the front as the roads were a muddy mess after the downpour.  It only took him a couple minutes to use the surrounding hills to reorient himself and figure out how to get to the main road.  We, somehow, decided to visit Kikima—a nearby village I had been to once before—and took the paved main road to a muddy turn-off where we ran into a crowd of people watching as a couple big matatus were badly stuck in the mud.  We passed them and saw that the road to Kikima was in really bad shape… terribly muddy, and the few cars and motorcycles we could see emerging from it were slipping and sliding all over the place.  We pulled over to watch for a moment, and it was hard not to laugh!  The road was so slick and everyone attempting to use it was covered in mud, it was pure comedy!  I turned to Joshua, expecting him to say, “Well, we’ll try to go to Kikima another day.”  Instead, I heard, “You ready?!” 

I couldn’t believe that Joshua wanted to attempt that road in the condition it was in… but if he was game, I was in!  It felt like we were trying to ride on a road of gooshy, melted butter right off the bat.  The bike paid little attention to where Joshua wanted it to go, and the rounded shape of the road quickly pushed us out to the side, up against the terraced bench of the adjacent shambas.  Although there weren’t many other vehicles on the road, the few that we encountered were skating all over the place as badly as we were, and we’d periodically catch up with young men, barefoot in the mud, running up and down the roads cheerfully helping any vehicles as they continually got stuck.  Truly, it was hilarious to see everyone sliding so wildly and the best part was that everyone had such a great sense of humor about it.  Everyone we encountered along that damn road was laughing as hard as we were as they tried to gain control of either their vehicle or their own feet!  I remember seeing one impressive man maneuver his motorcycle slowly down the middle of the road, oh so carefully as to not let it dip on to either side where it would quickly slide down to the trap of the ditches on the sides of the road—his legs flailing on either side of his bike as he struggled desperately to maintain balance.  We wrestled with the bike and slid all over that road for the whole of the afternoon, having to get off and push several times, becoming comically covered in mud throughout.  Reaching Kikima quickly fell out of sight… our only goal became to get back onto a solid road and try to get home before dark!  After hours of exhausting laughter and countless wipe-outs, we finally made it to some decent roads by dusk, and arrived back at Suvia shortly after sun-down.  We had a hell of a time explaining where we had been and why we were so muddy!  Fortunately Reverend Kisua just laughed at our story and just said, “That is youth!!”

After more time spent doing light work in the gardens during my back injury, punctuated by an altogether too-short visit with my friends and family in Arusha, as well as other Nairobi adventures including an international rugby tournament with friends, more club hopping, and shopping with Joshua’s sister who expertly maneuvers the array of second-hand clothing markets, my time volunteering at Suvia is now coming to a close.  I’m happy to say that I feel like I’ve made the best of the situation in the gardens given my unexpected need to care for my back, and am pleased that we accomplished as much as we did in spite of that.  We already have enjoyed eating some of the nightshade, and the tomato plants are covered in blossoms.  Yesterday I counted about 10 cucumbers, some of which are already getting huge, and I saw 2 baby watermelons on the vine.  The collards and cabbages are getting bigger and looking healthy, as are the onions, and the eggplants are still small but looking healthy as well.  I’m so excited that we’ve been able to accomplish this much during my stay here.

Tomorrow I will move out of my homestay here in the village and into a new homestay in Machakos.  Through a meeting that Joshua had arranged for me, I had met with the District Environmental Officer at the National Environmental Management Authority of Kenya (NEMA), and they offered me an internship at the district offices there in Machakos.  Although it is unpaid work, it seems to be exactly what I am interested in gaining experience in, so I’ve been really excited about the opportunity!  Joshua’s parents have been so kind as to offer to host me while I work there, so I am currently working on obtaining my work permit to begin as soon as possible!  It’s hard for me to tell how long the work permit will take to process, so I’m keeping my fingers crossed that it goes through quickly.

Before I close I want to mention that many people from home have approached me through Facebook or email, interested in travelling abroad or getting involved with volunteer projects similar to what I’ve done.  I just want to say that if you are interested in doing something like what I am doing, I would be the first person to encourage you to do it—and to tell you that YES you CAN do it.  Please feel free to contact me if you’d like any kind of advice or insight as to going about it, I’d be happy to help however I can.

With lots of love, I will write again in a few weeks to get you back up to date on my adventures.  Peace and love to all my homies. 

"On to the Next One!"

Greetings from Kenya!  I feel like I am finally doing some justice to my blog title, T.I.A. (“This is Africa”), by bringing news from a country other than Tanzania!  As much as I miss my friends and family in Arusha, it feels so good to have moved on to the next leg of my journey.  It was nice to become familiar enough with an area for it to feel like my home, but at the same time, having become settled in Arusha made me forget the thrill of becoming acquainted with a new place. 

As I wrote in my previous blog entry, I moved in with some friends after finishing my program with GSC.  My homestay family made it very clear that I was welcome to stay as long as I wanted, even after my program had finished, but I was reluctant to continue feeding off of their generosity.  They truly treated me like a member of the family—more and more so over time—and I found that their kindness made me feel doubly guilty at the thought of staying passed my program end date (meaning, after they would stop receiving payment for my living expenses… knowing full well that they would not accept any money I’d try to give them).  In researching where I might go to stay in Arusha before moving on to Kenya, I found a couple female ex-pats in town through couchsurfing.org (a great website for any traveler on a budget!), who welcomed me to stay at their houses for free.  But, I was happy to have been welcomed to stay with my friends at Africelt, so I took the opportunity and offered my help with whatever I could after moving in. 

I tried to pitch in by washing dishes, buying almost all the groceries and various household needs, and even helping with some of their more personal expenses out of appreciation for their hospitality.  So, I was surprised when I was washing dishes one morning and one of the guys approached me to ask for a contribution to the rent.  Although at first I was a little irked, I eventually reasoned that if they were short the money, I could understand asking me to contribute, since I had been staying there after all.  So, I offered what I could—almost 25% of the rent, and said that I hoped it would help before returning to the dishes.  I was shocked to then find myself immediately followed into the kitchen and chewed out rather aggressively for my lacking contribution.  After my one week at the house, they wanted me to pay HALF of the rent (although I was told I was welcome to stay there at no cost), and my refusal to give them more than what I already contributed (on top of all my other contributions) was not appreciated.  I was horrified to feel so disrespected and taken for granted.  It was a pretty nasty interaction that led me to pack my bags immediately.  At that point, I felt like paying money to stay in a hostel would be better than hanging around a place where I could be treated with such disregard.  I couldn’t help but wonder if their feelings toward me had changed after a handful of conversations that revealed some of my radically different religious, social and political beliefs… I also think it’s hard for some people here to understand that just because I’m white doesn’t mean I’m rich, and it truly is a shame that even people I thought were good friends couldn’t seem to see past that.  I was so sorry to see some really neat friendships turn sour.

It was the middle of the week when I moved out, so most of my GSC friends were away in the village and I was feeling very alone.  That first morning I woke up in the hostel I received a text message from Odek saying that I should exclude him from all future plans.  It was a rough day, to say the least, and I felt like such a fool for not having moved on to Kenya already.  I met Ezekiel at his normal taxi stand that morning where we sat in his car and he offered me words of kindness and support.  “You need to be careful who you trust,” he told me, “and you really shouldn’t let yourself rely so much on other people like that, especially here.  Forget those guys, Andi.  You don’t need them!”  It felt good to hear words of encouragement from a friend, but I was still pretty distraught.  I had planned to meet Karyn at the old homestay for a visit that afternoon, so I met her there and caught up with everyone at home.  It was comforting to be back there, and I could only be honest as my family asked about how things were going where I was staying.  Mama Chaulla was livid to hear how those guys had treated me, and especially upset to learn that I was then sleeping in a hostel.  After consoling me, she scolded me for not having come back home and insisted that I move back in the next day (as Karyn silently jumped up and down behind Mama’s back, miming enthusiastic cheer and applause at the suggestion of my coming back).  It was enormously uplifting to go from feeling alienated and abused that morning to feeling welcomed, cared for, and loved that that evening back home.  I immediately felt stronger and my anxiety melted away, as Mama cooked me a hot meal and I ate for the first time that day. 

I returned with my bags the next morning, where I met Baba Karyn who apologized for what happened, followed by, “Anyway… Good!  I like to see your face every day!”  I found out that they were getting a new GSC volunteer that day who would take my old room, so I was going to share a bed with Karyn.  Mama Chaulla kept telling me, “You know this volunteer will be different from you.  This new person is staying as a volunteer, but YOU are family.”  It was fun spending the next few days with my family as well as the new volunteer, helping him become oriented to his new home, and enjoying the company of people I love before leaving for Kenya.  I even caught up with my uncle, Rick (the founder of GSC), as he flew in to do a site visit and check in on some newly launched programs!

I got on a bus in the early morning of September 10th after saying goodbye to my family and being treated to a farewell tune from Jeff, the new volunteer, with his ukulele.  (Or as Mama Chaulla would call it, that tiny guitar)  I considered the bus driver’s playing Bob Marley tunes the whole way to the Kenyan border to be a good omen, and I connected with Joshua and Pastor Kisua with no problems.  I’ve been blessed to be lucky enough to have been introduced to Suvia Children’s Home, a girls’ orphanage near Machakos run by Pastor Kisua, through my cousins Joshua and Melinda.  Confusingly, Joshua’s best friend here in Kenya is also named Joshua, whom he met through volunteering at the orphanage.  Joshua and Melinda return to Kenya frequently to check in on the girls and embark on various other projects to help the community in the area.  People frequently greet me with joyful hugs when they learn that Joshua and Melinda are my cousins!  It’s of no surprise the local tribe, Kamba, has given Joshua the Kikamba name Mwendwa, meaning the Loved One!  After a short time I was given my own Kikamba name: Mutanu, which means, a person who is always happy.  And happy I have been!  My cousin’s friend Joshua lives and works in Nairobi, but selflessly returns to the village every week to help me with my projects, make sure I’m doing well, and/or bring me back to Nairobi for a few days to escape the village for a taste of the city life!  Luckily, Joshua and I became great friends with ease, and I’m so grateful to have a friend in him while staying here.  His family has opened their doors to me in perfect African hospitality on several occasions already, whether it’s his sisters offering me a place to stay in Nairobi or his mama and father, a prominent bishop in the area, welcoming me to stay in their home in Machakos. 

For the duration of my time volunteering here at Suvia (which means “take care” in Kikamba), I am staying with Pastor Kisua and his wife Rhoda at their home.  It’s nice being in another homestay, especially here in the village.  Although I stayed and worked in small villages around Arusha while in Tanzania, it’s nice to have an opportunity to experience rural life at this level here at the pastor’s home.  The 26 girls at the orphanage, ranging from ages 6 through 14, have welcomed me with open arms and I very quickly fell in love with them!  Their mother tongue is their tribal language, Kikamba, but they also know Kiswahili and the older girls speak a very respectable amount of English as well.  It’s impressive to consider how many languages these girls master by such a young age!  They love to sing and dance, and like all young girls, love to goof around.  They return from school for lunch around 12:45pm each day, after which the older girls return to school until about 6pm!  The young ones remain at the home for the afternoon, so I spend a lot of time with them during the day.  I’ve enjoyed learning how easy it is to bond with even the youngest of them, given how great the language barrier can be.  My Swahili is often my only saving grace in communicating with them, but the youngest of them still rely mostly on Kikamba, so we find other ways to play and connect.  One of the youngest girls, Esther, always greets me enthusiastically by calling out “ANDI!!” (followed by the most adorable giggle you’ve ever heard), and otherwise communicates with the English words she knows: This!, Come!, and See!  But what I’ve learned already is that you don’t need words to communicate love!  Uh-oh, I feel an Extreme rock ballad coming on…..  

My work around the orphanage has been to establish a garden so that the girls can enjoy a wider range of veggies in their daily diet, using the training and experience I gained in Tanzania through GSC.  They have plenty of land there at the home, but this area, Ukambani, is famous for being extremely dry, making my work a bit of a challenge.  (Bring it on!!)  I began by setting up a nursery so that the seedlings would be ready by the time the rains came.  We now have beautiful baby collards, eggplant, nightshade, cabbage, tomatoes, cucumber, pumpkin, watermelon, and onions, all started from seed!  I set up a system to collect greywater from kitchen use, which although totally disgusting, has been a huge help with the nursery during times when water reserves run particularly low.  I made a compost heap which won’t be fully decomposed for another few weeks, and also dug the first of a series of double-dug garden beds, where I will transplant the veggies from the nursery.  Double digging is a lot of work on its own, so the super hard, dry soil here doesn’t make it any easier… especially since I’m doing it mostly by myself!  My goal is to dig a total of four 6m x 1.5m beds, which will truly be a huge accomplishment if I’m able to reach it.  Unfortunately, my progress has slowed a bit as I am currently recovering from a minor back injury while rushing to finish tilling the 3^rd foot of my first bed earlier this week.  I can’t wait to be fully back on my feet!  I’m also pleased to be regularly covering my hands with blisters each week, as the lack of calluses on my hands was a big obstruction to my credibility when I told Tanzanians that I work in agriculture.  It was hard enough for them to believe that a mzungu knows how to farm (let alone do hard work in the first place), so I was frequently met with laughter when folks would check my hands for evidence.   I am so proud of my new calluses!

Aside from work, I’ve had a fun time socializing with folks around home.  I always appreciate when community members or teachers from the neighboring school stop by my gardens to ask questions or compliment me on the work I’ve done.  I have so much fun showing local farmers around my gardens and asking for advice on different crops or swapping ideas.  There are two matrons at Suvia, Marion and Peninah, both such warm and kind women who have been very supportive of my work.  Between cooking and caring for the girls, they don’t have much time to get involved in the gardens, but they enjoy asking questions and learning what they can when they find a chance.  There is also Musyoki, a neighbor who takes care of the family’s farms and livestock, who periodically checks in when he can to offer really valuable advice.  He frequently encourages me by saying, “If we are going to do hard work, we must make sure we do it well!  You must do your work thoroughly so you can be proud to show others when you are finished.”  One time he saw me digging out a foot path around the nursery in preparation for a fence I was going to build, and I got a kick when he said, “Andi, I am confused.  We have had many American volunteers, and they do not like to work hard!  How are you doing this work?  I support you!” There is also the househelp here at the pastor’s home, Bete, who does most of the cooking and cleaning.  She is one of my favorite friends here!  A mama with a bubbly personality and a touch of sass, Bete is always singing or dancing while she works, and I love chatting with her in Swahili.  …I also love eating the food she cooks!!    

I will update y’all again on my adventures in a few weeks.  Thanks for your patience with my slow blogging, and thanks for your interest and support!  Sending my love.

More visitors, and the end of GSC

After our second week in Engikaret, I spent the weekend with Kelsey treading all over town by day and hustlin' the night life after dark.  One of our weekend tasks was to replace my camera, which had gotten stolen a couple weeks prior after I left it in my bag at a hostel over night.  Most hostels ask you to leave your room key at reception while you're out, so while I was out at a club one night someone snuck into the room and took my camera and some money.  As I'm writing this, I'm realizing how much of a non-issue it was, as I didn't even think to write about the theft in the previous blogs.  You have to half expect occasional losses and learn how to roll with it around here... so I'm pleased to say that even though it was a drag to lose the camera, it wasn't a big deal as I am still safe and sound!  Well, it wasn't a big deal to me anyway.  Some friends of mine were livid to hear what happened and wouldn't stand to let the guy get away so easy.  It's quite common for people to take matters like theft into their own hands, as the police are notoriously corrupt and cannot be relied upon.  I heard news one afternoon that some of my friends took the kid who had been working the reception desk that night and gave him a very firm "talking to"... that is, the kind of talking you do with your fists... for hours.  It was hard to hear the story of what happened as I never intended for the kid to be punished so brutally, but the reality is that this is how the people handle matters here!  Something I'm afraid I will never get used to.  So, after stalling for a couple weeks, I finally bought a new camera at Arusha's downsized version of something like Best Buy, called Benson's, which worked out beautifully.  I've since heard that the kid never returned to work at the hostel.

The week of July 18th I was scheduled to remain in town with another volunteer and a local intern to help with maintenance of our demo plot in Tengeru, and to help make preparations for an upcoming festival called Nane Nane.  Nane Nane means Eight Eight, because it takes place on Aug. 8 every year, celebrating agriculture workers by showcasing new and innovative ag styles at a big outdoor fairgrounds.  (They have a similar holiday called Saba Saba, meaning Seven Seven, on July 7 to celebrate business industry)  GSC had an area at Nane Nane to demonstrate double-dug beds, sack gardens, water trenches called hafirs, and other related technologies we employ in our trainings.  My good friend Dan from San Francisco was scheduled to fly in on Wednesday that week for a visit/holiday, so I was glad to be in town and be able to meet with him right away!  He had a fun time helping us weed, water, and make compost tea during the week before his friend Jess arrived on Saturday to join us.

On Sunday, Dan, Jess, and I took off for a three-day safari to Tarangire, followed by the Ngorongoro Crater.  We had an incredible time, enjoyed perfect weather, and saw more animals I ever imagined we'd see with the help of our eagle-eyed driver Sifuni.  The highlight of the safari took place one afternoon just before lunch, we were near a pond in Ngorongoro watching a lion creep down low in some tall grasses.  The lion, meanwhile, was watching a herd of zebra grazing and drinking water from the pond.  Before long, BOOM-- the lion bolted out from her hiding place and struck one of the zebras!  A huge cloud of dust arose and the zebra quickly scattered.  When the dust settled, we found the lion walking slowly away from the scene, empty handed and seemingly slightly embarrassed by the debacle.  All of our hearts were racing to witness such drama, and yet it was just another day in the crater for those guys.

The next few days I spent playing tour guide in Arusha with Jess and Dan.  We spent lots of nice time with my family, shopped for souvenirs at the markets, took a nice walk around Lake Duluti with my friend Okul before checking out his family's coffee shamba, hiked Mt. Meru with Rogers, and had plenty of nights dancing up a storm-- both in the clubs, and at home!  Karen had a field day with all the wazungu around and loved cranking up the sound system when she found us all at the house to instigate an impromptu dance party.  Everyone loves to shake it!  Mama, baba, cousins, and even grandma got in on the action, it was a hell of a time.  Baba Karen is big on nick names when it comes to wazungu, which are usually just comparisons to celebrities, and after Dan and Jess left my family continued to talk about how much they miss Michael Owen and Lady Gaga... not to mention Princess Diana (Kelsey) who also left that week!

After taking the week off I had heard that the GSC crew had a town week that following Monday, which meant we would still work in a village but return to town each afternoon.  Well, being out of the loop bit me in the ass when I arrived in Monduli town with some fellow crewmembers only to hear, "We better find our accommodations before we meet the participants."  I glanced down at my tiny day-bag and realized we had a problem!  Being unprepared for a week away, I took a daladala all the way back to Arusha at the end of the day and ended up staying in town for the week to help maintain the gardens around the GSC office.  It was great being in town because I was finally able to catch up with some friends I had previously only seen on the weekends at Empire.  The Warriors from the East play music there every Saturday, and I eventually learned that they also run a community center for local  youth during the week, not far from my homestay, called Africelt.  I was so impressed when I finally came by to check it out.  They have a large compound with classrooms-- both indoor and outdoor-- where they teach students English, computer skills, gardening, and music, as well as a small football pitch where they have sports in the afternoons.  What a great day-job!  I fell in love with everyone there and ended up spending most of my afternoons that week playing football with the kids.  Have a look at their website if you're interested to check out the great work they're doing over at Africelt, they even take volunteers!  http://africelt.org/

The GSC volunteer numbers began to dwindle as folks started going home, and I was glad to have my homies over at Africelt to hang out with so close to home.  Magere is the band leader of the Warriors, as well as the director of Africelt, and welcomed me so warmly.  He lives there on the compound with Lucy, fellow band-mate/cousin Odek, and Maasai warrior/compound guard Saitoti who also sings with the band.  Odek and Magere are Luo tribe from the shores of Lake Victoria in Kenya, and I have been doing my best to learn the art of cooking omena in the evenings-- small fried fish, called dagaa in Tanzania, eaten whole with ugali-- their staple!  In fact, the guys there are big on the importance of good nutrition and health, and view food as medicine by eating strictly ital/vegan food (with the exception of omena of course).  They are actually quite forward thinking when you consider how uncommon it is to find a raw salads anywhere in Tanzania, and yet if you come by the compound during lunch time on any day, you will be met with a heaping plate of greens, carrots, beets, onions, peppers, avocado, tomatoes, etc.  It's a thing of beauty!  I told the guys about salad bars in the US like Souplantation or Fresh Choice, and they were about floored by the idea.  Y'all don't know how good you have it!

After a fun weekend hanging out with my family, helping Karyn set up her very own email address, and a really nice house party with friends, we were off to Karangai on August 9th for a week of building grain storage tanks.  I had an excellent week with volunteers Candace and Nora who always keep me laughing when we're scheduled to work together.  The three of us created a week of such exciting events as a watermelon seed spitting contest, jump roping using vines with local kids, and late night group search parties for safe places to pee so as to avoid the roach infested loo, which becomes a closet-o-horror after dark when the insects come out to socialize.  That Saturday I spent most of  the day with Karyn, goofing around the neighborhood and practicing our lyrical flow to whatever songs are currently popular.  Right now she's particularly into "Man Down" by Rihanna and "Letting Go" by Sean Kingston.  She loves to blast the songs on our rather sophisticated stereo system at the house (over and over and over), practically screaming to the tune of the song but improvising her own lyrics-- or just messing them up outright.  Finally I said, "Karyn, if you always scream so loud over the song, you'll never learn the words,  because you can't  hear them..."  She responded, "I know!!" and continued singing.  It didn't even occur to me that she couldn't care less.  I love that.

Around that weekend I started going to Empire on  my own Saturday nights.  I finally realized that it didn't matter if I showed up with friends or not-- I had been going there for so long at that point that I'm guaranteed to find friends there who are happy to have me  join their groups.  It's a really nice feeling, a la Cheers, to have a place to go... where everybody knows your  name!  (Haha, I had to do it)  I have a great time chatting with folks from around town, and whatever fellow mzungu sisters I find there are always down to chat or cheer me on if I play pool.  At first the only apparent drawback was the onslaught of male creepers delighted to find a mzungu girl gettin' down without a partner on the dance floor.  So at first, I forced myself to avoid dancing in order to save myself some hassle and unwanted attention.  After some time though, I realized I was so NOT alone!  Whether it's our Maasai brother Saitoti, homies from the Warriors community center, or other friends, there's always someone around to call me onto the dance floor and take care of me if any random dudes try to step in.  As Odek said one night as he and Saitoti walked me home,  "Between a Maasai warrior and a Rasta, my dear, no one is going to mess with you!"

The following week was spent doing BIA follow-ups in Mzimuni, as well as more building grain storage tanks.  It was another town week and pretty low-key, so I enjoyed spending my afternoons either playing football with the kids at the center or playing pool with homies.  The next week, however, was painful.  The week of August 22nd was supposed to be my very last week working in the village with GSC, but the fates had something else in  store for me.  I woke up in the wee hours of Sunday night and felt a strange and sudden need to bolt out of bed to vomit.  I got up and ran out of my bedroom-- and that's about where my memory fades.  I passed out in the hallway, and the sound of me crashing to the ground apparently woke everyone up.  I vaguely remember Baba Karen trying to wake me up, and wondering why I was on the floor.  I slipped back unconscious, and woke up again a minute later to find myself puking all over the place.  Scary!  I later heard I drove Mama Karen's blood pressure through the roof, I scared everyone so bad.  I spent the rest of the night, as well as the next morning, throwing up.  I call that 24-hour period "Tanzania Tummy Bug, Strike II."  Fortunately though, the all-too expensive medical clinic I went to meant a short wait and medicine fast-- at the expense of a super creepy lab technician  hitting on me far too aggressively in my already nauseated state.  I'm glad to say that while the rest of the week was less-than comfortable, I began to feel better once I got medicine, shukuru mungu (thank god!).  It was sad to miss my last week of volunteering, but it's nice that I'm still around Arusha for the time being, so no teary-eyed goodbyes were necessary.

I spent the weekend packing up my things in preparation to move out of my homestay.  Another process made easier by the fact that I'm not yet leaving the area!  Karyn very sweetly gave me a very special gift.  She told me that, as I will be her sister forever, she wanted me to have the kanga that was given to her on her first communion-- the very same one that was given to her mama on her first communion.  A beautiful fabric with pink and red roses on it with such sentimental value, I was touched to say the least.  That Sunday I moved out of my homestay and into the complex over at Africelt.  I feel so blessed to have great friends over there that are happy to host me!  Better yet, it's only a few minutes walk to my old homestay so I can stop by to  greet Mama and the family just about every day.  Karyn even came by the center to play soccer and decided she wants to  volunteer there!  I'm so proud of her.

Now my friends, we have finally reached present day.  I am still staying at de rasta complex and spending my days making preparations for my next moves to Kenya.  In a little over a week, I plan to head to Nairobi and spend some time checking out Kenya before settling in Machakos for 2 months to teach BIA at an orphanage.  Keep an eye out for more posts soon.  Lots of love!

Mom and Dad do Africa / The Funza Strikes Back

As I was saying...

Mama Andi and Baba Andi arrived in Tanzania late Sunday night, June 19.  I had expected to head to the village as always on Monday morning, so I left them an envelope full of goodies at their hotel reception desk, including a Swahili phrase book, a local cell phone, a map of Arusha, and some snacks for their late night arrival.  As it happened, Monday morning I woke up feeling quite ill, and my churning tummy told me to stay home.  Lucky Mom and Dad!  By the early afternoon I was able to muster up the strength to stop by their hotel to catch up a bit and take them to lunch.  I took them to my favorite restaurant Mapinduzi, where I absent-mindedly ordered 3 plates of food (forgetting the state of my stomach).  One of the reasons I love that restaurant is not only because the goat is delightful, but they really take care of you by bringing plate after plate of delicious food, even if you didn't order it.  I surely shamed my family by leaving an absurd amount of food on my plate that afternoon, but at least I took care of the avocado juice no problem!  Mmm...

Tuesday Mom and Dad took off for their safari, and I spent the rest of the week resting up.  By Thursday I was feeling about up to par, and when Baba Karen saw me hanging out in the sitting room that afternoon he said, "You seem bored!  I'm going to the fundi, want to go for a walk with me?"  (A fundi can be any craftsman, like a blacksmith or a carpenter.  In this case, he was going to a tailor.)  After leaving the house, we hadn't walked very far along the main road when he told me to hang a left along a small footpath between some houses.  Turn after turn, he lead me through an incredibly convoluted path, cutting through shambas (farms), back roads, mud houses and local bars.  "It took me 5 times before I could remember this way!" he told me.  I was thinking only 5 times was damn impressive!  We arrived at the fundi and Baba got his pants hemmed while we waited, cracking jokes about his own short legs all the while.  On the way back, he took me to a cool local spot that had an L-shaped pool table!  He is a great pool player himself and loves helping me improve my game, so we hung out for quite some time while he bought me sodas and games of pool.  I'm telling you... when you've got family like that, recovery from illness is a breeze.

Mom and Dad returned from safari on Friday with incredible stories of all the animals they had seen.  We spent Saturday running errands, buying beautiful Tanzanian fabric (called kangas or kitenges), and took a walk through the always chaotic central market.  We had dinner that night at Khan's, an auto repair shop by day and incredible barbecue joint by night, for some really tasty chicken and chips, followed by a trip to my favorite bar Empire.  Mom and Dad were warmly welcomed by my friends there, surely not just because they bought us all a round of Konyagi!  We had a great time chatting and hanging out with the live reggae playing in the background.  Sunday we spent the day at my homestay, where Mama Chaulla and Baba Karen gave Mom and Dad a tour of the garden and banana shamba, followed by chai and a nice home-cooked lunch.  We got to talking politics and Baba Karen showed us a home video he had of a big demonstration that took place in Arusha only last January.  There had been some trouble after the notoriously corrupt CCM party manipulated a voting event to skew the results, and the people responded by taking to the streets!  He showed us incredible footage of police brutality and acts of incredible bravery as more and more Chadema supporters (the opposition party) marched together in unity, narrated by Baba's first-hand account of what happened that day.  I have the coolest family!  That night our neighbor, Mama Felista, cooked us a delicious dinner in honor of my parents' coming in perfect Tanzanian hospitality.

We spent the next week in Zanzibar for a really relaxing holiday.  I was reminded of how overwhelming it felt to arrive in Arusha for the first time when we first got to Stonetown.  A mess of hustle and bustle, narrow, winding streets, and a whole new culture as Zanzibar is predominantly Muslim.  We spent our first night at a very modest hostel in Stonetown where we got to roam the street at night and found a great restaurant with local food, where I finally introduced Mom and Dad to the magic that is the chapati!  We spent the rest of our time at a rather posh but absolutely gorgeous hotel with its own private beach, not far from Stonetown but far enough to have some peace from the chaos.  We did some of the token tourist activities like visit a spice farm for a tour-- Zanzibar is famous for all the spices they are able to grow, although not one is native to the island.  We also got to kayak through mangroves, tour an old slave market (quite upsetting, yet an important piece of history to witness), visit a gorgeous and brightly colored traditional Hindu temple, and the central market.  I made a friend at the market that day who suggested we come that night to the Old Fort for grilled street food.  We arrived at around 8pm and found an entire block of tables with grills hissing away, full of chicken, beef, lobster, crab, and about a million types of fresh fish... not to mention naan, cassava, sweet potatoes, and the infamous Zanzibar pizza.  We cruised the rows of lantern-lit grills and within minutes, our friend from earlier that day ran up to us, "I have been looking for you all night!  Come, come, I will show you my table!  I know the price that man was going to give you, trust me, mine is better."  (And truly, it was)  I like to blame it being Dad's birthday for the way we feasted that night, but let's be real... the food was incredible and we are not the type of family to be shy about food.  Our buddy found us a nice table and we had a really great night sampling as much freshly grilled food as our tummies could hold.  Happy birthday Dad!

As we prepared to leave our hotel Friday morning, we were surprised to see so many staff members with gravely upset faces as we loaded our luggage into the hotel shuttle.  When Dad asked our driver, "They seem to have gotten some bad news?"  He replied, "Yes, the other shuttle driver Pieus was killed this morning here at the hotel by thieves."  He turned to me, knowing that I understood some Swahili and asked, "You know 'panga?'"  (Panga means machete!!)  Apparently the poor man was around during the early hours of the morning and was killed by some men attempting to steal the hotel's computers.  Tragic, to say the least.  The entire ride to the airport, our shuttle driver would pass people he knew on the road and call out "Oyo, umesikia?!  Pieus amekufa!"  (Hey, did you hear?  Pieus died!)  And then immediately continue driving off.  What a way to hear the news... I checked some shocked faces in the rear-view mirror as we drove away. Ouch.

My homeboy and taxi driver extraordinaire, Ezekiel, picked us up from the airport once we arrived again in Arusha, and we made our way to Mom and Dad's hotel.  We had a great weekend checking out Snake Park (a kind of zoo where they have a collection of Tanzanian snakes, and also administer anti-venom if you happen to get bit out in the bush), the Maasai craft market, a great hike on Mt. Meru with our buddy Rogers, and of course a few more evenings at Empire Sports Bar where I played my father at pool for the first time!  Considering he was a bit rusty and I am still a bit new, we weren't all that impressive to watch... but not bad considering, and we had a blast all the while.

Mom and Dad left Tanzania that Monday, and it was back to work for me.  We were assigned to work at Engikaret village, where we were surprised to find a group of wazungu when we arrived!  For the first time in my experience, we weren't the only white folks doing NGO work in one village.  Interesting!  We met a fun group of international volunteers working on water projects in the very water-deprived area.  Because of the water scarcity, our agriculture group focused on teaching sack gardens, instead of double-dug garden beds, because they conserve so much water while providing such a high yield in a small space.  During one of the trainings that week I was holding a Maasai baby when I felt a sudden warmth in my lap.  Oh no... "Anakojoa!"  Someone take this baby!  I was later told that being peed on by a baby means I will soon become pregnant.  Excellent...

I spent the following weekend catching up with friends and a huge amount of laundry, since I had been so busy playing host with  my folks the week prior. I know I've said this before, but there is something deeply satisfying about washing clothes by hand, and the moment I filled all of our clothes lines entirely with my clothes was a proud moment indeed!  (A sweaty one, too)  I got mad props from my family, who likes to cheer me on as I am apparently the first volunteer they've ever had who insisted on doing their own laundry without help.  I hustled the pool tables hard that weekend, followed by a marriage proposal of course, and had lots of good times with friends.  My fellow volunteer (and Saturday night partner in crime) Kelsey and I had gotten into the habit of spending Sunday mornings at Africafe eating more food you ever thought a couple of girls like us could put away.  The waiters got to know us, and began smirking in anticipation as they got out their pad to write down our orders.

We returned to Engikaret the next week where we did early morning chicken vaccinations in addition to our normal trainings.  It was the Monday that we arrived when I entered into a serious discussion with fellow volunteers Candace and Nora about footwear that I noticed an interesting white spot on the bottom of my left foot.  "WHAT is that...!" I exclaimed, fearing the worst.  "It's just a blister," Candace assured me.   I wasn't convinced.  Once we got situated in our guesthouse I asked Musa to take a look at my foot.  He gave it a glance and said, "Ah that's not a funza.  ...  ... Hm.  Let me look at it in the light."  My impromptu surgeon then requested tools of a pin and a tweezer; it was time to operate.  He dug and he dug, and before long the spot in question broke and tiny eggs spilled out.  "I killed it!" Musa yelled.  "I thought you said it's not a funza!" I yelled in response.  The rest of the project was a clean-up and removal operation, and poor Musa's disgusted face didn't find much sympathy in my continuous laughter.  How on earth a mzungu managed to get two funzas (let alone one!) in the course of a couple months, I haven't a clue, but the shock was over-- all I could do was laugh!

Although very dry and dusty, Engikaret is a gorgeous village surrounded by such picturesque desert.  I enjoyed spending my afternoons kicking the football around with other volunteers or kids in the village, followed by evening walks through the desert on my own.  Our guesthouse was right next to a very tall cell phone tower, which proved to be a huge help as I could wander the desert and not worry about getting lost.  Once I became far enough from the village to escape the noises of children playing and fundis working, I would find a place to stand still in silence.  Once you are still in a place like the desert, you have a chance to observe all the life that scurries away from trampling feet and loud voices.  I watched the rabbits, the birds, the lizards, and all the interesting desert plant life. I had such nice, meditative moments being able to witness such a beautiful ecosystem at work and appreciate everything around me.

And with that my friends, I will quit for now.  I promise another blog entry soon to bring you fully up to date!  Sending best wishes.  Until next time...

Elerai, Nduruma, Olmolog and beyond...

My apologies once again for my neglectful blogging habits, I know many of you worry about me so rest assured I have not been eaten by lions or leopards... although I did have a few chunks of my toe taken from me by some rascal burrowing fly larvae.  (Have you ever heard of a jigger?  My American friends from the South say chigger.  In Swahili we say funza... and if you're a mzungu, you say funza and roaring laughter is sure to follow)  More on that later!  On with the blog.

I spent the last week of May in Elerai as the solo volunteer, where not even my girl Edita- a local intern who works with us occasionally- was there to keep me company.  I was a little unsure about how the week would play out, since we often have a ton of down-time during the afternoons and many GSC staff members like to use that time to hide away in their tents for naptime, or disappear to god knows where.  (Can you blame 'em?)  However I'm really pleased to say that I had a fantastic week bonding with the crew.  We camped in a nearby village, Olmolog, because they were a little more equipped to accommodate us although most of us did camp in tents.  There were beautiful views of Mt. Kilimanjaro and the sky at night there was absolutely incredible-- I hadn't had many opportunities in my life to see the night sky in such detail before: shooting stars, the milky way, satellites, the works.  In fact I couldn't shut up about the Milky Way... I kept trying to explain what it was to my Tanzanian friends but that required a whole set of vocabulary that none of us really had in the others' language.    

My fellow sustainable ag trainer, Ediltruda, was in between hair styles that week so I treated her to an Andi Bruce original style, free of charge.  (Special rafiki price!  Did you guys know rafiki means friend?)  I'm a little ashamed to say I had no idea how hard it was to braid African hair, and my efforts to give her a new style really were... original... but Ediltruda was such a good sport!  I told her I was only slightly offended when she put a wrap around her head before we went to eat dinner.

Our driver and my homeboy Musa was also an amazing buddy that week.  He could tell when I was getting antsy and would offer to show me some cool. mini-hikes around our camp.  He used to be a nature guide of some kind so he's great at identifying plants and animals.  One afternoon we went for a walk shortly after some rains and the mud was absurdly sticky... I was wearing flip-flops, and after every few steps my flip-flops became wobbly, gnarled 5-inch platform stilts.  No matter how often I scraped the mud off the bottoms, it would accumulate again within a few steps and threatened to suck the sandals right off my feet it was so sticky!  I could hardly keep it together, I was a laughing, fumbling mess and I think Musa quickly regretted bringing me along.   

That week I wasn't feeling the greatest so I didn't help too much in our double-digging practical.  I got lots of "pole sana"s from our participants (an expression of sympathy) and a few women took the opportunity to skip out on some digging by keeping me company, which I selfishly loved.  I quickly had a whole new set of Maasai girlfriends asking me all kinds of questions about my family and where I'm from.  Their patience with my crappy Swahili was really sweet and one girl in particular was best at understanding what I was trying to say, which was particularly great because Swahili isn't their first language either.  One of my favorite questions was, "Why did you leave your Mama in America??"  I know, shame on me!!

When I got back from the village on Friday I met a big batch of new volunteers who had been in orientation in Arusha all week.  Some were doing short-term projects and have left already, but it's really nice having new friends around the office and in the villages with us.  Saturday we did the famous hike on Mt. Meru with our favorite guide Rogers, stopping as always in his mama's boma on our way down the mountantain for a home-cooked lunch straight off the shamba.  Rogers is also great at teaching me more Swahili, as well as Maasai, so I had a blast chattin' it up all day long with as little English as possible.  I like to tell people I am half Maasai and half Chaga (my homestay family's tribe, originating from Mt. Kili) but definitely not a mzungu...

I spent that weekend hanging out with some of the new volunteers and bonding over games of pool, football on tv, Konyagi, and nyama choma of course.  Saturday night there was a huge game on-- Barcelona vs. Man United-- and we watched the game with friends at a giant outdoor bar that was packed beyond capacity.  As you could imagine the crowd was rowdy as all hell, and each play was met by animated theatrics from fans on both sides.  Every time Barcelona scored a goal, Saning'o stood up and pointed to the opposing fans sitting next to us, obnoxiously chanting "Pole, pole pole pole!" to the tune of the Mexican futbol chant, "Ole, ole ole ole!"  I also spent a bunch of time with my family that weekend, where I fell in love with my homestay dada (sister)'s hilarious impressions and surprisingly funny slapstick humor.  No doubt that girl could make it big as a stand up comedian. 

After a rather uneventful week in Nduruma where I worked with the HA group teaching food drying, I returned to Elerai where we continued our work with the rest of our regular trainings as well as kuku vaccinating.  This time though, we had a handfull of the new volunteers with us, and it was fun showing them around.  We arrived on Monday June 6, but didn't start work right away.  There was a major water shortage after some elephants had apparently trampled the village's water piping.  That meant that women in particular had to spend the majority of their day searching for and fetching water for the family to use at home, carrying it miles and miles by foot.  Understandably, we didn't have many participants that week.  We trained our groups on how to make sack gardens, as opposed to double dug beds, because while both are styles of conservation agriculture, the sack gardens really consume much less water because of their small size.  In the afternoons after trainings I often went on beautiful long walks with the other volunteers, or spent my time chatting with the village kids, swapping games and stories.  A few in particular were such charmers, I really miss those faces!  One in particular I first met on market day.  He was probably around 10 years old, riding a bicycle, his face completely covered in white flour-- which he refused to wipe off, of course, and batted and swatted at my attempts to dust his face.  He told me his name was Mkapa, which at first our intern Emmanuel told me means "retarded person."  I later learned that I just misheard him, and Mkapa is the name of a retired president.  Oh, thank god.

After a night out that Saturday with the crew, I spent Sunday with my dada Karen.  We needed a ball pump for the football we had bought some time ago, and decided we should also get our toe nails painted.  Throughout Arusha you can pay for a traveling manicure/pedicure, from guys who just walk around town carrying a basket of nail polish and manicure tools.  When we sat down, Karen insisted that I go first, and we chose to get matching bright pink polish.  The man picked up a squirt bottle of soapy water and began by scrubbing and cleaning my toes (a normal first step if you've never had a pedicure before)... but I couldn't help notice his glances up from my feet at either me or my dada.  I'm not talking about the types of glances a traveling pedicure man might normally give a young girl getting her nails painted.  I'm talking about the type of glances you give a stranger when you suddenly become aware that they have some grave misfortune upon them.. I was getting nervous.  When he finally said something to Karen she didn't seem to respond, and continued watching in silence.  "What did he say??"  I asked.  "Nothing..!" she said.  Next thing I know, our guy gets up and runs off to bring out the BIG tools.  I had no idea what was going on.  I knew something was really wrong when he stopped paying attention to my nails and began digging into my right big toe.  I kept hearing the word funza, and asked repeatedly, "WHAT is a funza?!" but Karen didn't know the word in English... which in hindsight was probably a really good thing, as I was only slightly aware of what was going on.  Eventually the woman next to me says, "Mdudu!" which means BUG!, and I felt my face go pale.  Our friend's digging into my toe revealed a larvae about the size of my pinky nail, tucked away cozy and warm in the corner of my big toe.  He handed me the damn thing on the end of his metal digging device... I was horrified!  Karen and I spent the next hour or so in silence, punctuated by the occasional, "Stop thinking about it!!  Try to stop thinking about it!"  Haha... I'm pleased to say though, that the event didn't stop me from schooling Nuru, Mama Karen's brother my age, in soccer that evening at home.

For the next week or so I had a blast telling people the news of my funza.  From co-workers to villagers participating in our trainings, people find it HILLARIOUS that a mzungu had gotten a funza.  Especially those who know I like to call myself Maasai would tell me, "Now you are a real Maasai!"  I felt like I had been through initiation.  That next week returned to Olmolog where I had a ton of fun playing soccer with my little buddies in the village (using a small ball made out of bundled up plastic bags).  There was even a lunar eclipse that week, which was incredible to see.

After an appropriately rowdy weekend with my friends and a nice dinner at my buddy's house Sunday night, I started to feel sick Monday morning.  Actually, I was amazed that it took me so long to get sick, part of me thought I might make it through the whole 6 months unscathed by travelers' tummy bugs.  But then again, my experience surely would have been incomplete without it.  I spent Monday through Wednesday in bed eating very very little, and was blessed with the ability to sleep through most of it.  One day when my stomach was at it's worst, Mama came into my room with a tray of a creamy white porridge.  She mixed in some milk, lime, and sugar, and told me to eat up.  I thanked her profusely but insisted that my stomach was in no condition to withstand food.  She considered what I said and suggested, "Well, if you throw up, you can't throw it all up, so eat!  It's only porridge, it can't harm you."  She turned in the doorway on her way out with a very motherly, "Force yourself!"  I nearly cried I was so troubled by the situation.  I knew Mama wasn't about to let me skip the porridge, but steaming white goo was the last thing I wanted to put in my mouth.  After a few more "Force yourself!!" reminders, I eventually bit the bullet and had at the porridge one bite at a time.  Very slowly I worked my way down about an inch in the giant bowl, and to my surprise, my stomach felt more and more at peace.  What is it they say, Mama knows best?  Believe it or not folks, it's true.  Mama's magic porridge saved me and my recovery began at that moment.

That week my US Mom and Dad arrived in Tanzania to visit!  They spent their first week on safari while I was home in bed, and I will pick up here with my next blog entry.  Thanks everybody for your patience!  Another post soon, I promise.  xoxoxo

 

Lengijave, Easter, and Enguiki

Hi all, big time apologies for having lagged so much on the blog!  I am continuing to have a fabulous time here in Tanzania and I suppose I owe you guys a story or two.  It's been way too long, so I'll get right to it...

After Tingatinga, we did our first week in Lengijave, a largely Maasai village not far from Arusha.  They told me Lengijave means "Cold Place" in Maasai, but I wasn't sure how cold I could actually expect it to be, considering these were Tanzanians after all.  Surprise, surprise!  Overcast, windy, and rainy, Lengijave certainly lived up to it's name.  One day Molly, a volunteer from Boston, asked me, "Is this what it's like in San Francisco?"  Haha... I responded, "Absolutely!"  The nice part of being close to Arusha was that we got to have another town week, and as much fun as camping can be, my back appreciates sleeping in a bed now and then.  That meant I got to do fun errands with Molly and Leah in the afternoons.  It was Molly's last week, so we did some souvenir shopping at the central market, which included a purchase of 20 bags of chai masala to take home as gifts. I also found a cool little sewing shop called Mr. Button where a really nice woman helped me put together my own sewing kit: black thread, white thread, two needles, and a half meter of scrap fabric for patching/reinforcing, all for 800 shillings (about 50 cents).

Because that Sunday was Easter, we had a short week, and only worked in Lengijave until Thursday.  We were well-received and the folks seemed to appreciate the trainings we did, although we didn't do the double-digging practical due to rain (DARN...).  One man in particular had a lot of really great questions.  During the classroom session on chemical fertilizers versus compost, he raised his hand and asked, "If we know how toxic these chemicals are, why does our government let us use them?"  I wanted to shout, "I know, right?!"  He was visibly bothered and it was rewarding to see the lightbulb turn on above someone's head.

After training and handing out certificates on Thursday, the girls and I met some friends at Arusha City Park (an outdoor bar, not a park) for kuku choma and Konyagi mixed with tonic and Red Bull.  There's a whole process along with drinking a bottle of Konyagi.  If you want to have a drink at a bar, you order the liquor as well as the mixers you want, all in their own bottles, and you mix it yourself.  When you order Konyagi, it is laid down flat on the table, and when the bottle's not in use it stays that way... people will apparently think you are a drunkard if you leave it upright.  To open it, you first remove the plastic around the cap, then bang on the bottom of the bottle with the palm of your hand several times, and finally push in on the top of the cap as hard as you can with your thumbs.  Then, you may open it with ease.  Can you open it without all of these charades?  I think so, but I've never tried without the waitress laughing and insisting to do it for me.

Since we had Friday off, we spent lots of time relaxing and socializing.  Most of our friends who go to University in Moshi had returned, but not all... even though the semester had started a couple weeks ago at this point.  I learned that first-year students are the only ones who show up to school on the first day at Tanzanian universities.  This relationship with time and appointments is so African.  Saning'o met up with us Friday night and he hadn't even registered for classes yet.  No big deal.  When it comes down to it, the universities really need the money, so they continue to take people no matter how late they are (although the late comers are in frequent contact with folks in the classes so they know what tests to prepare for when they do actually show up).

That night we started at Babylon, where Saning'o had been waiting for us long enough to accrue some drunk-guy friends who hung around us the entire time we were there.  Tanzanian men have a delightfully affectionate way of interacting with each other (especially after a few drinks), which is even more ironic when you consider how horribly homophobic they all are.  They hold hands, they put their arms around each other, dance together, rest their hands on the other's leg, etc.  My friend Adam calls this "tender touches."  From Babylon we went to Empire for pool and reggae music.  We went in a friends' car, and when we arrived the guard at the gate wouldn't let us in.  I didn't understand what was said in Swahili, but I assumed the complex was closed for some reason.  That is until our driver, Josh, busted out of the car, shoved the guard aside, flung open the gate, and drove right on through!  Apparently, the guard at the gate was demanding a bribe, and Josh didn't appreciate that!  After Empire we stopped for some midnight chipsi mayai on the street (Tanzanian fast food-- fried eggs with french fries mixed in), and made our way to another club for more dancing.

Saturday Leah and I met Molly's mom at one of our favorite lunch spots, affectionately refered to as Space Cadet around the GSC office due to a frequently absent minded waitress there.  Her mom had met her in TZ so that they could travel a bit together before returning to the States.  It was fun to see one of our American mamas in our bustling African town, and made me so eager to show my own folks around when they come in June.  That afternoon Leah and I took Karen swimming at the Impala hotel, which was totally adorable.  Karen is so cute and sweet.  She needed an innertube (most Tanzanians can't swim) but had a ball splashing around.

Sunday was Easter, and I went to church with Mama Chaulla in the morning.  Karen had gone to an earlier children's service, and the rest of the family, I later realized, stayed home all day cooking up a storm!  The service lasted about 3 hours-- long, but painless.  When we returned, all the mamas were at Mama Franco's house next door, and there were about a half a dozen giant pots strewn all over the yard balancing on top of a variety of kerosene and charcoal stoves.  I helped with whatever they'd let me (usually just peeling vegetables), and watched as more and more friends and family arrived.  The feast was incredible... rainbow rice (thanks to food coloring), pilau (rice with spices and meat chunks in it), two types of chicken with amazing sauces of spices I often associate with Indian food, fried potatoes, avocado, banana, oranges, pili pili, and a plate of heavily salted cucumbers, tomatoes, and carrots.  Mama Franco also made passion-avocado-ginger juice which really grew on me!  I sat mostly in silence as the family spoke Swahili to each other, and after some time I said my thank yous and goodbyes and met Adam and Saning'o for a few games of pool.  I think this is where my pool playing obsession began.  I love it!!  The more times I play and the more friends that offer me strategies/advice, the more sucked in I become.  At one point that night I made 5 balls in a row and won the game out of nowhere.  A hustler in the making, y'all.

Monday Leah and I spent the day exploring, because we had the day off for Easter-- and the next day off for Union Day!  (The day Zanzibar united with Tanzania)  We visited the very touristy Maasai market, had lunch at Green Hut where I was surprised to find a fried egg on the burger I ordered, and ended at a pool hall called Sundip (pronounced Sun Deep) with Saning'o.  To my surprise, the crowd of entirely African men eventually transitioned to entirely Indian men as the evening turned to night.  I still haven't quite figured that out.  It was a really fun group, and Saning'o thanked me for making him some new friends... they all got a kick out of helping to give me advice, when apparently they never used to greet him in the past.  Tuesday we had lunch at a magical restaurant called Mapinduzi (which means Revolution!) that serves up some incredible mbuzi (thats goat) and the most delicious frosty avocado juice, and if you're still hungry when you're done, they refill your plate. 

Wednesday through Friday we did not go to a village, but participated in a workshop at the GSC office with a food and nutrition expert named Anne Perera who works with an organization called SIDO.  My favorite of all the things we learned that week was how to cook and eat green banana peels, banana blossom, and even banana pith- the inner core of banana tree trunks.  To my surprise, it was really tasty, and seems like a great opportunity for increased food security in some of the villages we work with.  We also learned how to make candied citrus peels and how to make and jar jam and chutney.  Safi sana.
The next week we returned to Lengijave.  We typically go to a village two weeks in a row to train different sub-village groups, and also to train community kuku vaccinators the first week and actually do the vaccinating the second.  Even though Lengijave was close, this meant we had to camp, because it's not practical to meet up, drive, and arrive at a village by 6am every morning.  We stayed in a guesthouse ("gesti") in a nearby town called Mgaramtoni, which was about a 20 minute drive away, and the home of one of our favorite signs in front of a church: "Evangelistic Ass of God."  Unfortunately the rest of the town wasn't quite as fun as that sign... the people weren't quite as friendly to visitors as one might hope, and as wazungu Leah and I were harrassed a bit more than usual.  It was a really crowded town, for some reason chock full of pikipikis (motorcycle taxis) that couldn't care less if there were people in their path.  No wonder on Friday as we were about to leave, one of our staffmembers, Happy, was hit by one on the street!  I didn't see it happen, but the poor girl walked away limping, holding her arm, clothes all torn up.  It was quite scary actually.  We took her straight to the hospital in Arusha.  Apparently she was just fine though-- I didn't see her again until Monday, where she joined us for our next training as if nothing had happened... wearing high heels no less.

Although Mgaramtoni was rough, training in Lengijave was great.  The people there were really fun and very welcoming, and the village itself was gorgeous.  Full of hills and valleys, vaccinating kukus in the morning meant trekking up and down hills to the different bomas in very chilly wind and fog-- but I couldn't complain for a second, it was so gorgeous.  I spent the following weekend hanging out with friends, and playing more pool of course.  One night we were at Empire again and the power kept going out for several minutes at a time.  Within seconds, everyone would pull out their cell phones and shine the lights onto the pool table so the game could continue!  The live reggae band would take the opportunity to take a break and mingle with the crowd.  That weekend there was a football match between Manchester United and Chelsea-- two of Arusha's favorite teams-- and I'm pretty the entire country was tuned into that game.  I knew what time it was supposed to start, but Baba wasn't home at the time, so I thought I'd ask Mama Karen if we could turn it on.  Just before I said anything, she looked at the clock and ran over to turn on the TV!  It was only Mama Chaulla, Mama Karen, Karen and I home at the time, and we ladies got our football on.  My family is so cool.  Mama Karen was in the kitchen preparing dinner, but everytime I made a sound she'd rush into the living room to check the replay and cheer if she liked what she saw!

The next Monday we began training in Enguiki village, near the town of Monduli.  Enguiki is surrounded by really awesome jungley rainforest, which was my first time seeing that kind of ecosystem in Africa.  I didn't get to explore it much, but we kept hearing stories from villagers of encounters with elephants in the early morning.  The participants, again, were mostly Maasai, but this group was particularly big on singing and dancing!  Totally sweet!  The women would start up during down time and it was sometimes hard to get them to stop!  Those mamas were very hardworking and really appreciated the practicals, which was nice.  They also really liked interacting with me, which is also appreciated!  Villagers seem to either really enjoy attempting to communicate with me, or really prefer not to.  These mamas even got a kick out of just knowing my name, and when we returned the next week I was greeted with a crowd of women shouting, "Aandi!  Andi!!"  When we finished our training with certificates on Friday, one of them removed a brightly colored beaded necklace from her neck and placed it over my head.  Very sweet.

Camping in Enguiki was a little rough, though.  We camped in tents at someone's house since there wasn't a gesti big enough for all of us, but there was no level ground for us to pitch our tents on.  We ended up sleeping on very sloped, very rocky ground, which was a bit of a nightmare-- made worse by very heavy wind and rain at night.  Fortunately, Leah's and my tent held up just fine, but others woke up a bit soggy in the mornings.  Considering it was pretty cold for Leah and I, you can guess how badly the Tanzanian crew froze that week.  In fact, during one of our nightly meetings one person brought up the way that we are "risking our lives" camping out there, and suggested that we change accomodations for the next week when we'd return to vaccinate kukus.  So, Thursday afternoon after our trainings I went with some of the GSC crew into Monduli to prepare food and lodging for the following week.  While walking through town, I spotted a t-shirt that said "usinizingue..." and asked Musa what it meant.  After several attempts, he finally found it's English equivalent-- Don't mess with me!  This has become one of my favorite phrases, and something of an inside joke with the CFGB crew, always said accompanied by our very best "stink face."

Sadly, that was Leah's last week with GSC, and we spent that weekend running errands for her and making last minute purchases before heading home.  We did stop at a book store where I finally bought a decent Swahili-English dictionary, as well as a big world map to assist me in my world-traveling day dreams!  I can't stop staring at it.  :)  We also bought Leah some kangas and kitenges, as well as pretty beaded sandals they sell on the street, which made for a long day of haggling for prices.  Having secured some decent Swahili under my belt really helps us get a decent price, although it takes time and is really pretty exhausting.  That night I met up with friends for a few games of pool at a small neighborhood bar, where one of the GSC interns Edita met up with us, which was so much fun!  This girl is a blast.  She and I are really quite different... she's much more "girly" as they say, and a total Tanzanian babe with her rather full figure, but equally sassy in the way we tease and play, so we have such a fun time together.

After lots and lots of laundry on Sunday, I went to Leah's homestay to hang out with her family on her last day.  She has a lot of siblings, which is so much fun-- including a completely crazy, entirely un-disciplined 4 year old named Jackie, which ensures a lively good time.  Her mama cooked us lunch (ugali for strength for the journey home!) and we ate cake afterward, a gift Leah got for the family at a local pastry shop.  All afternoon Jackie would cheerfully call out, "Bye, Leah!" (if she wasn't yelling for cake, that is).  Our favorite taxi driver picked us up to take Leah to the airport shuttle, where I said goodbye before dropping at my house.  Before I left he confirmed with me, "So, we are still together right?  And you are the one with the Swahili?"  Haha.  And with that, Leah was on her way back to New Jersey, where she hangs out with the Cake Boss and the crew of Jersey Shore every day.

I spent that afternoon at Mama Franco's house, hanging out and getting acquainted with each other's Facebook pages (who knew they had internet?!).  She got a kick out of seeing photos of my family back home, and Steve, she thinks you are a total cutie.  Before I left she asked me if I drink alcohol... when I said yes, she let out a huge laugh and gave me a big high five.  Makes me wonder if there'll be good times to come with Mama Franco...

This last week was our final week in Enguiki, me as the lonely single volunteer for the week.  Actually, I wasn't lonely at all, because Edita was with us and she and I had a ton of fun getting to know each other a bit better.  It was fun seeing the women from the week prior around the village, who loved to greet me by name and shake my hand.  One day I was walking to the choo (toilet) and as I passed by the church, I saw two of our former participants hanging out on the opposite side of the building.  At first, I happily started waving, and then I noticed that one of them was peeing in a half-bent, standing position, smiling right back at me with her skirt hiked up so as not to get pee on it.  She didn't seem to mind one bit that I, or anyone else for that matter, could see her.  On my way back from the choo, she waved again and I called to her, "Ninataka kukojua kama wewe!  Siwezi!!"  (I want to pee like you!  I can't!)  We laughed together as I continued on.

It was a fun week, and without other volunteers around I got to spend more time with the GSC crew and the participants.  One of our participants spent a lot of time teaching me Kimaasai, the Maasai language, which was a lot of fun.  A common question-- both in Swahili and Maasai-- was one of the first I learned: "What is your father's name?"  (Irayae Ereng'ay?)  The language is really neat.  Some of our crew also speaks Maasai, so I was able to practice outside of trainings.  I was talking with Joyce one night about the new volunteers who are showing up on Monday, I hear we're getting 7!  I'm really eager to hang out with some new people, but not very excited to be part of a group of 8 wazungu walking through town.  I'm totally happy to play tourguide, but big groups of wazungu really looks silly and begs for harassment in town.  When I told Joyce how I felt about being in a group like that around town, her response was perfect: "Yeah... that's not very impressive..."

Today is Saturday and I had a really nice day, begining with another private Swhaili lesson with Godson.  When I first saw him, he said, "I cannot teach you verb tenses today-- I know from your texts you have been studying!!"  And truthfully, even I am kind of impressed by how effective learning a language by submission has been... I never would have thought I could pick something up so quickly.  We had a nice lesson, and when I went for lunch I met a Japanese univeristy student who was traveling on his own, and had just arrived in Arusha the night before.  So, I spent the day taking Kazu through town and gave him a tour of the central market, where I bought him some passion fruit before taking him on the daladala.  Anyone can see the tourist sites, but it's hard to brave something as overwhelming as the central market by yourself for the first time, so I was glad he got to have that experience.

Unfortunately though I think I'm coming down with something.  Nothing major, I hope, since I've been taking my malaria meds... I think I was just coughed on one too many times by nasty, phlegmy, snot faced children in the village this week.  Hoping it passes by Monday before we head out to the next village!