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...
Thursday, August 25, 2011
Saturday, August 6, 2011
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
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
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)