Joburg Fa Shoburg

One of the things that got me most excited about going to Johannesburg was that I was going to try Couchsurfing for the first time!  If any of you aren’t yet familiar with Couchsurfing.org, I can’t encourage you more strongly to check out the site and get involved in any way you feel comfortable.  It’s a global non-profit organization that functions through this free website by connecting people all around the world who have a bed or couch available to travelers who are seeking a free place to stay with local folks.  It’s brilliant!  I know it may seem strange at first, or maybe even scary, but I will still encourage you to read up about the project.  The website is actually pretty effectively self-regulating to ensure that people have safe, positive experiences.  As a traveler, there is no better way to get to know a new place, and no better way to gain insight to someone’s culture than by staying with them in their home.  You get instant friends and connections to hang out with and give you tips on places to go and things to do, totally free.  Even if you aren’t traveling, I highly recommend you give Couchsurfing a shot by hosting a traveler.  It really is incredible to be a part of this global community, learn about others’ cultures, and make awesome friends all around the world. 

I had gotten in touch with Izaan, a woman living in a suburb outside of Johannesburg, maybe a month before I arrived in South Africa.  Since I had never couchsurfed before, I wanted to choose my host very carefully, especially tricky because I was hoping to couchsurf through Christmas.  Enter: Superwoman.  Izaan was a single mom with no plans because her kids were going to be at their grandparents’ place for Christmas for the first time.  She was happy to have someone to spend Christmas with, and so was I!  All the feedback others had left on her profile page commented on how much fun she is, and what a great time you’ll have if you stay with her!  Obviously a great match.  :)

When I landed at the airport and got through customs in Joburg it was around 8pm, and I met Izaan and a friend of hers at one of the airport restaurants.  She met me with a very warm smile, but I soon learned that she had come down with an awful tummy bug and had been terribly sick the last couple days.  She felt so bad about not being able to host me that she had her friend drive her out to the airport to meet me, then drove me to her other friend’s house where she arranged for me to stay until she felt better.  What a lady!  I enjoyed chatting with Izaan in the car on the way to the house.  It felt so comfortable and natural, I kept forgetting that I didn’t know her before that moment.  She said I was going to stay at her friend Hanneke’s place, who originally introduced Izaan to Couchsurfing some time ago.  I fell in love with Hanneke’s house the moment we arrived, it was unreal!  Her two pet wolves met us at the gate, Jorna and Koda, and the beautiful gardens and pond led us to her home, every surface covered with earthy, funky pottery and sculptures, lit by colorful, eclectic hanging lamps.  Hanneke greeted us wearing a rainbow tie-dyed t-shirt and offered us all a glass of wine.  Izaan and her friend left pretty quickly so she could rest, and Hanneke and I stayed up until the morning hours chatting about mutual environmental concerns.  I know they say opposites attract, but in my experience so far it sure seems that like attracts like with a truly incredible affinity.

It was quiet when I woke up the next morning, so I relaxed and made myself coffee.  There was an electric kettle with little jars of tea bags, instant coffee, and sugar in the guest room where I stayed.  I came to learn that Hanneke was a veteran Couchsurfing host, so much so that it almost seemed the house was designed for her periodic short term guests to be more comfortable.  I took my coffee to the back garden and soon met Netanya, a girl living in a granny-flat style portion of the house that had been sectioned off, just next to my room.  She is an incredible artist, and we got to know each other a bit while she prepared a canvas for her next painting.  I spent most of the rest of the day running errands with Hanneke while I got better acquainted to the suburbs around Randburg—veggie markets, a small Chinese market for tofu, and an outdoor scrap yard that reminded me of Urban Ore in Berkeley, CA.  That night we had dinner with one of Hanneke’s local Couchsurfing friends, Doron.  I don’t have much of a concept of the Couchsurfing community in California, but I was really impressed with what was happening in the Joburg area.  It seemed like it was becoming relatively popular, and they even had regular events (that people actually go to!) to connect with other folks who host/surf/participate in the site in some way.  It was really interesting getting to know Doron a bit, as he was preparing for one hell of an adventure!  He has officially embarked on a hitch-hiking trek from South Africa to Morocco, completely solo.  Check out his blog, it’s significantly more interesting than mine:

http://thumbing-my-way.blogspot.com.au/

The next day I hung out with Netanya at her shop at a nearby mall, where she sold a bunch of her paintings and little craftie things.  It was an awesome sunny day, and we just hung out in the shop chatting while she painted and people cruised by to check out her work.  One of the best parts was that the vendor at the stall next to hers just so happened to be a Kamba from Kenya.  He was surprised enough to hear this random American girl speaking Swahili, but you should have seen his face when I started speaking Kikamba!  He kept raving to people, “This girl is speaking my mother tongue!  She knows my mother tongue!!”  I even sang a song for him in Kikamba that the girls at the orphanage had taught me, and he nearly pissed himself laughing. 

When we got back to the house at the end of the day, Hanneke was organizing a group of women and their daughters who had just arrived for a tie-dye fiesta!  Hanneke’s friend, Melanie Brummer, is a tie-dying expert (she’s authored an awesome instruction book on tie-dying techniques called Contemporary Dyecraft), and Hanneke is a big time tie-dyer herself, among many other crafts.  Melanie had initiated a project to donate 10,000 tie-dyed shirts to orphans/children in need in South Africa, handmade with love, in contrast to the normal and often drab second-hand clothing donations they receive.  To achieve her goal, she had been hosting tie-dye workshops and parties where the participants dye two shirts each: one to keep, and one to donate.  We began the party by introducing ourselves, and before my turn was through, one woman called out, “OH, you’re Hanneke’s couchsurfer!!”  Most of the guests had an eyebrow raised, scanning the faces of other guests for a clue.  The woman then explained what Couchsurfing was, and said that she had recently hosted her first traveler, a young man from Brazil, and had an absolutely fabulous experience.  The women were intrigued and asked me so many questions, both about Couchsurfing, as well as my travels. 

My 15 minutes of fame were extended further after the tie-dying when the younger girls hit me with all kinds of questions about California and Orange County, and whether or not it really was like the TV series.  We shared laughs over popular misconceptions we hear about our homeplaces; they had often heard people assume that they live in the bush, in danger of lion attacks, just because they live in Africa.  (Which was interesting to hear, because I hadn’t really seen any indigenous Africans at that point and nearly forgot I was still in Africa at all)  Toward the end of the night I got to hear stories from some of the girls’ moms who saw the end of the Apartheid regime and what life was like while it was still in power.  I was shocked to learn how recently Apartheid ended, as well as how little I had learned about it in school in the US.  Granted, the American civil rights movement wasn’t very long ago in the scope of history, but I was pretty horrified to realize that conspicuous, institutionalized racism of that degree was still a reality up until the mid 90s there in South Africa.

After all the guests left, Hanneke instructed me to pop by next door where loud music had been raging all evening, and invite our neighbor Nina over for drinks.  Nina followed behind me back to the house, ipod and speakers in hand, and the three of us girls spent the night drinking bottles of port, and singing at the top of our lungs to everything from Alanis Morrisette to Miriam Makeba.  Hanneke even let a few of her exotic birds come out and party with us as we sang.  Nina kept remarking, “Such a pretty chicken!” as she gazed sweetly at the white cockatoo.

The next morning Tom and Maddie arrived, two new Couchsurfers from Melbourne, and I couldn’t help but revel in the cosmic affirmation of my choice to go to Australia being the right path for me.  Their arrival did remind me though, that I needed to get my Australian visa approved before arriving there, and I was down to only a couple days, with Christmas holidays cutting the number of business days ahead of me in half!  I spent hours on the computer that day sorting out my visa application and digging up all the details they required.  I was informed that in order to complete my application, I would need to get a chest x-ray at a designated medical clinic.  I started to worry.  I really didn’t have time to wait for test results, paper work, or any other bureaucratic nonsense!  I made an appointment for the next day and crossed my fingers, although I knew something had to work out.  After all… the cosmos were behind me!

Hanneke gave me a lift to the clinic the next day, and Tom and Maddie came along to explore the hood while I did the damn thang.  After a lengthy chat with the constantly distracted receptionist, who just couldn’t understand why I came from California to get a chest x-ray in Johannesburg if I’m going to Australia, I finally saw a doctor and got the x-ray.  She told me that they do everything online these days, so the Australian Immigration guys should get my information within minutes, and I need not to worry!  I was so thrilled that I skipped right on out of that hospital and realized later that afternoon that I never paid them a single cent.  Sorry, Dr. L Sulman and Partners.

From there, Tom, Maddie and I took the public transportation, called “black taxis,” into Johannesburg.  (I remember being assured that it’s not a racist term, but I still don’t know why they’re called that?  Can any South Africans reading this explain?)  There are a set of different hand signals local folks use to indicate to the drivers of oncoming taxis where they are going, so the drivers know whether to stop for them or not.  We rather pathetically just stuck our arms out and asked the drivers if they could take us where we were going, which worked out just as well.  The older, more ghetto black taxis were akin to the nicest of dala dalas or matatus I had ever seen in East Africa, while the newer ones were pimped out!  I remember taking one with sparkling new cherry red paint on the outside.   Going into the city center was interesting, and nothing like I expected it would be.  I must admit I didn’t do much exploring and I surely only saw a fraction of the city, but what I saw reminded me of images of really poor, run down, and inadequately managed areas of inner city New York or Chicago.  The buildings were tall, the streets were dirty, and I was once again surrounded by people with brown skin.  I had expected to be able to compare it to Nairobi, representing a broad range of levels of affluence, but still bustling with students, business people, and tourists.  What I saw was nothing like that.  I will say again that I did not see the whole of Joburg so my perspective is limited, but the economic divide between the classes seemed to pit most of the city in a generally impoverished state, while the wealthy lived in gated homes and communities in the surrounding suburbs, well outside of the city center.  I know the placement of people had a lot to do with designated townships under Apartheid, but I have yet to learn much about that and its relationship with the distribution of people today.

The three of us spent that afternoon at the Apartheid Museum, and I was really taken by Nelson Mandela’s story.  Of course there were many people involved with the fight to end Apartheid, and frankly it was a struggle to take it all in.  It reminded me a bit of the Holocaust museum in Washington DC.  I felt so disappointed that so little of what I saw was taught in the schools I went to, and I wondered if it’s the same in all American schools.  Tom and Maddie seemed to feel the same way.  The American civil rights movement is taught in history classes, but I think it’s rare that students are really shown the big picture.  The fight for social justice is not strictly a matter of history, but rather it rages on the whole world over (including the US of course), and I think a lack of discussion earlier in life creates apathetic adults, and political borders help to divide us by making us feel like it’s not relevant to us when people of other countries face oppression.  This reminds me of a fabulous quote by author Tom Hodgkinson.  “Education is like pruning: it wrecks the natural growth of the tree in favour of a form that is useful to commercial society.”  I guess if we learn to be apathetic, we’re less likely to stir up trouble.  While we’re at it, let’s hear from the legendary reggae artist Peter Tosh: “Everyone is cryin’ out for peace, no one’s cryin’ out for justice.  But there will be no peace, until man gets equal rights and justice.”  Amen!  Quotes are fun.

The following day my Australian posse and I did a bicycle tour of Soweto, one of the oldest townships in the Joburg area.  Although the suburbs around where I was staying looked as though it could have been transplanted from any American suburb, being in Soweto reminded me that I was still in Africa.  Navigating our bicycles around potholes in dirt roads with folks chatting in tribal languages all around us, I was once again the out-of-place white girl… with a whole mob of out-of-place white folks, on bicycles no less!  We could have charged for the entertainment that provided people on the street.  It was fun giving little kids high-fives as we rode past, and we got to stop and try some local food and home brewed beer.  The part of the tour that resonated with me most was when we were shown a memorial for the Soweto Uprising.  In the 1970s, the government had decided that all schools in the area would be taught entirely in Afrikaans, which would obviously disadvantage students as it isn’t spoken anywhere else in the world… not to mention the fact that it was the language of the oppressor.  Thousands of high-school aged students protested in the streets peacefully, until police made the shocking decision to open fire (based on claims that some kids began throwing stones).  Over one hundred kids were shot and killed.  The images were horrific.

We made the long trek back home on public transportation, where I found some good news in my email inbox.  My Australian visa had been granted!  Hallelujah.  Izaan was well again, so I packed up my stuff and moved over to her place that evening.  We went out for pizza with Tom and Maddie to a shop that wasn’t licensed for alcohol, so when we asked for beers, they “found” some and gave them to us.  Apparently you can’t sell alcohol if you’re not licensed to, but it’s perfectly fine to give it away as a gift!  The extra bit on our bill was just, eh, gratuity.  We then met up with Pascal, one of the girls I met at Hanneke’s tie-dye party, at a club nearby where she introduced me to some friends and we girlishly bonded over stories of dreadful ex-boyfriends.  The club was cool but very loud and my friends wanted to move on, so we soon found ourselves at Corner House, a notoriously dodgy yet delightfully unpretentious pub with live rock music.  I sat down with Izaan, she ordered us some drinks, and before the essential “cheers,” she looked at me with a devilish grin and said, “Tonight, you and me… let’s get pissed!”  Clink went the glasses.  She introduced me to caramel vodka that night, before which I had never had a shot of liquor so tasty that I actually preferred to sip it.  Izaan said, “If you see any guy you think is cute, just tell me!”  Before I knew it she was up on the dance floor, whirling around from guy to guy before she came back with a couple appropriately good looking Afrikaans guys, pointing to me saying, “She’s from California!!”  I was laughing my ass off, and wondering why Izaan couldn’t be my big sister forever.  It was a gloriously crazy night of drinking and dancing, after which we stumbled into each other with smeared make up and bed head in the living room well after noon the next day.  All we could do was laugh.

We spent the next few days hangin’ out at the house, chatting, watching movies, visiting with friends, and cooking together.  I was thrilled to be able to cook for myself for the first time in ages, and Izaan seemed to enjoy learning a bit about cooking vegetarian.  Being back in a more Western environment where vegetarian options were at my finger tips, I was happy to go back to the way I ate in the US.  On Christmas day we were invited back to Hanneke’s place for a braai (a South African barbecue), where we had Mongolian barbecue with friends and some of Hanneke’s family.  The best part was getting to see my family for the first time since I had left home on Skype!  Everyone was together for Christmas, so I had a crowd of people huddled around the laptop to say hello to me!  After Christmas I went with Izaan to pick up her kids, where her son Corban greeted me with a Christmas gift of a lovely hand painted candle.  We spent some time with family that day before I reached a computer and realized that my plans for Australia had become a bit uncertain. 

While in Kenya, I had organized to meet up with a family living in the Perth area that was looking for a live-in au pair.  I liked the idea of being in another homestay-like scenario, and was happy to help cook, clean, and look after the kids with a place to stay free of rent.  It sounded like a nice situation, until Tom and Maddie asked how much the family offered to pay me.  Granted, I had the perk of free rent and food, but Tom told me he made more in one shift at restaurant that I would make in a whole week.  I did a bit of research at that point and realized the rate of pay really was unfair, so I contacted the family and explained as amicably as possible that I hadn’t understood what a reasonable rate of pay was for that job, and wondered if they could pay me a bit more.  We had already coordinated for me to land in Perth and meet up with them, but the response I received (the day before I was to arrive!) said it would be impossible to pay me more, and best of luck to me.  I hadn’t intended to indicate that I wasn’t interested in working for them if they couldn’t pay me more, but at that point I didn’t have time to send another email explaining and wait for another response.  I didn’t get more internet time until the next day, only hours before my flight, where I sent some very last minute Couchsurf requests in Perth, explaining that my accommodations had fallen through last minute.  I noticed a new option where you could select to make your couch request and open request, so others in the area could offer you a place even if you didn’t ask them directly.  I sent my requests, crossed my fingers once again, and said my goodbyes before heading back to the airport.

I bought a Lonely Planet Australia guide book in one of the airport shops, and got on my plane.  I felt surprisingly calm for a girl who was about to land in a new country by herself with no idea where to go.  I had some ideas of backpacker hostels from my guide book in case I needed to resort to paying for a place to sleep… what a concept!  But I was in good spirits, feeling adventurous, and thinking that the miscommunication with the family I originally planned to work for might have been a blessing in disguise.

With just days before the new year, I landed in Perth, Western Australia.

East Africa, Farewell

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Hello world!  I guess you guys are used to my poor blogging habits by now, so I’ll skip the apology paragraph this time.  Although admittedly, I recently reached my one-year anniversary of being on the road, and it hit me how little I’ve been in touch with too many of you.  It dawned on me how quickly the time flies, and how long I might possibly be gone.  My friends and family back home have given me so much love and support, (“back home” in this case definitely extends farther than the US) and I would never want to give any of you the impression that I’ve stopped thinking about you, stopped caring about you, or stopped wanting to know how you’re doing.  Having said that, feast your eyes on what I’ve been up to since my last blog entry, and when you have a chance, please return the favor.  I wish I could get in touch with more of you individually, but since I still don’t have a computer my opportunities to get online are limited.  You can send me an email, or even send me some of the good old-fashioned paper kind.  Get in touch for my current address.

My story left off when I was wrapping up my volunteer project at the girls’ orphanage in Kenya.  That really was a beautiful experience, bursting with emotion.  I loved getting to spend that time with girls, but I wished I could have done more, or perhaps could have done things differently.  Regardless, I’m so grateful to have stayed there with them, and to have had such a heartfelt learning experience.  When I finished my project, I moved to the nearest town, Machakos, and got in touch with the local branch of the National Environment Management Authority (NEMA).  They were happy to take me on as an intern, but they couldn’t pay me because they were already seriously underfunded.  Nevertheless, I was elated to take on the job!  I had always wanted to get involved with conducting environmental impact assessments, and there were definitely plenty of them to be done.  The branch manager pointed to walls of shelves overflowing with binders, and the stacks of binders on the floor in front of the shelves, explaining that there was a 6-month queue for approval of these assessments for various development projects.  He said they were legally obligated to complete them within 3 months time, but their short staffed operation made it impossible.  He was, however, delighted to tell me that they had just sued the National Forest Service (who was hosting the NEMA offices on their headquarters property free of charge), for allowing clear-cutting in a national park without conducting an environmental impact assessment.  He seemed tickled by the scenario as he looked around the office they had given him with a big grin, threw up his arms and said, “Well, they broke the law!”  After seeing so much “you scratch my back, I’ll scratch yours” type of work ethic, especially within government, I found his attitude toward the whole thing particularly badass. 

Quite sadly, I couldn’t take on that internship in the end.  After several dealings with the immigration offices in Nairobi, I was told I would need a work permit that would cost roughly $1,100 USD.  It was really hard to know whether or not I was getting the right information, but after about a week I started to run out of patience, as well as faith that we’d figure out an alternative.  I certainly couldn’t afford to pay over a thousand bucks to do unpaid work, and I began to wonder what the hell I would do if I stuck around and couldn’t work.  Although Joshua assured me there was plenty I could help out with, as he’s involved with several projects from missionary volunteer work to entrepreneurial ventures, I began to feel more and more that it was just time to move on.  My Canadian friend Jo who I met at the orphanage had just moved to Perth in Western Australia and raved about how great the city was.  I quickly learned that Australia offers travelers of a certain age a Work Holiday Visa that allows you to work as you travel for up to a year, and Perth kept sounding better and better.  It was only a couple weeks after I left the orphanage that I bought my next plane tickets: Nairobi to Johannesburg for 10 days (why not?), then Perth.

For the month I lived in Machakos, I stayed with Joshua’s parents.  Being in town offered me a bit more freedom to come and go, although I spent so many of my weekdays there on the computer looking for work in Perth, sending out resumes, as well as sorting out travel plans for Joburg.  My rather mundane daily schedule of rotating among the handful of cyber cafes in Machakos was punctuated by really fun weekends either in town or in Nairobi with Joshua and his crew or his sisters.  One afternoon Julia took me on a tour of Nairobi’s second hand markets, where she got fierce with the vendors and scored us some awesome deals.  I was surprised to find that the second hand clothes in Nairobi were about the same prices as second hand clothes in the US—often times even more pricey, even though around Arusha the prices would be pennies in USD.  I guess it’s an example of the way that Tanzania and Kenya are geographically close, but economically in very different places.  I hung out with all of Joshua’s sisters another afternoon in Nairobi at Joan’s place for Jennifer’s baby shower.  I got there early with Jacinta, and we helped prepare the food: buttery, fried beef sandwiches, maandazi (like donuts), fried chicken, sausages, fried beef liver, cookies, popcorn, chips, and soda.  You know, ‘cause every growing baby needs a good healthy spike in cholesterol for strength to aide in the journey ahead.  ;)  It was such a riot once the guests arrived.  The apartment was crammed with women, many of whom have known each other since childhood, screaming and laughing, telling jokes, and dancing.  Traditional Kamba dancing involves bending your knees and moving them in and out by bringing them together, swinging them out, then back together over and over to the beat of the music while swinging your arms.  Tooooo fun…

Once I had my travel arrangements sorted, I wanted to go back and visit everyone in Tanzania one more time before leaving East Africa.  Since I had to first travel to Nairobi from Machakos to get a bus to Arusha, I broke up the journey by staying the night in Nairobi with Julia and Eunice.  As soon as my bus got into Nairobi a massive thunder storm broke out and the streets were ambushed by a terribly heavy downpour.  A crowd huddled with me underneath the roof of a service station while the rain dumped hard onto the stragglers darting to shelter outside.  Several minutes passed before the first brief let-up, so I took my chances and decided to brave the still-sprinkling rain to get to a nearby restaurant where I could wait for my friends more comfortably.  Besides, let’s be real… if there’s chips masala at the finish line, there’s little I won’t be willing to put up with to get there.  As soon as I ducked into the rain and joined the masses speed-walking to their destinations, the strap to my right flip-flop sprang loose.  People were moving so fast it looked like one of those moving sidewalks at the airport, and there I was in the middle of it, clogging things up while struggling to get my flip-flop to cooperate.  Meanwhile, the rain had rested long enough and was beginning to pick up its pace again, so I gave up the shoe struggle and hobbled on through puddles, ungracefully flailing my body across rushing gutters, until at last I made it to Rovers.  Shelter, and chips masala at last!  What a treat. 

Eventually Eunice and Julia met me there, new sandals in hand, where we discussed the undeniable promise for a fantastic girls’ night out.  Our first order of business was finding a place to stay the night.  Eunice lives on her university campus and the gates close pretty early at night, and the same went for Julia’s housing complex.  All of us were too proud to call anyone (read: Joshua) and ask where we should get a room.  We independent women were perfectly capable of handling it ourselves, thankyouverymuch!  Well, it was a Friday night, and by the time we got around to some hostels they were nearly all booked.  We enquired at heaps of hotels until we ended up at a terribly cheap, terribly grimy little hotel where none of us felt that sleeping under the sheets or using the towels would be a good idea.  I changed my clothes, dropped some stuff, and the night began.  The girls were shocked to learn of the kind of beer I’d been drinking in the company of Joshua and his boys, which was usually Guinness.  “Brown beers” were not exactly lady like, so they introduced me to Smirnoff Ice and a popular strawberry flavored wine cooler.  I can’t deny that those things tasted exactly how I like my alcohol to taste: sweet, fruity, and not alcoholic.  In total I think we danced at 5 or 6 different clubs that night, encountered plenty of boys, and even some women!, who couldn’t resist the charm of our killer threesome.  We had a great time using some of our sweet new moves that we had learned while shakin’ it to Joan’s zumba DVD the morning after Jennifer’s baby shower.  The party didn’t stop until clubs stopped letting us in, which meant it was after 5am, and we made our way back to our accommodations for a nap.  My bus to Arusha left at 8am, so after a couple hours, I jostled the girls, and we stumbled together through the streets we had danced through just hours before, only this time buzzing with people getting to work… far too noisily might I add.  Julia soldiered in front carrying my backpack until we reached the bus stand, where I climbed in and slept all the way until the Tanzanian border.  When Joshua found out that I drank Smirnoff Ice, he threatened to disown me as his friend.

When I got into Arusha, I met up with Musa almost immediately.  He had his own place at the time, so I planned to crash with him during the weekend, then head over to my family’s place to stay for the remaining few days.  It felt like it had been ages since I saw him!  It felt so good to catch up over chips mayai and a ginger beer. (After the night before, anything alcoholic was pretty much out of the question)  He was with his good friend Hussein, so we all hung out while Hussein good-naturedly teased us about how obviously we are meant to be together.  Tanzanians often don’t understand the difference between love and infatuation in the sense that a Westerner would understand it.  Musa and I developed a really awesome closeness over the time I was there, but he understands Western culture a bit better than others might.  Sure, he’s looked me in the eyes before and told me that he’d marry me… to which I sincerely reply, “No way, asshole,” followed by roaring laughter all around.  We had a fun weekend relaxing, chatting, playing pool, drinking beer, and catching up on all the work-related gossip.  Sunday morning I went to Musa’s parents’ house where I met his son for the very first time.  Neither of us could believe we had been friends for almost 9 months at that point, and I had never met his son!  I have never met such a gentlemanly 3-year-old.  After so many late night heart-to-hearts with my friend over his boy and concerns over his upbringing, it was so sweet to see them together for the first time and see how much they love each other.  We had chai and played with little Jay all morning, until I left for my family’s place later that day. 

When I got to the house, Karyn met me at the door with a little screech and a big hug.  She told me they were expecting another volunteer, so I would be staying with her in her room.  We spent the evening catching up, although I crashed pretty early that night.  The next morning I went over to Tom’s place for chai, where he cooked me fried eggs with banana.  You guys, if you like eggs, and you like bananas, you’ve got to try this.  I know it sounds weird, but if you just mash up some ripe bananas into a bowl with your raw scrambled eggs and fry the whole thing up, the result is heaven.  He said normally he puts honey on it (he might have meant syrup?) but it was great without.  If you try this tell me if you loved it as much as I did!!  After Tom blew my mind, I spent the day in town with Karyn.  We spent a lot of time shopping, she helped me find some new sandals and we had lunch together before going to visit a friend of hers.  Turned out, Karyn had a boyfriend and wanted me to take her to visit him!  Ahh, to be 13 again!  As we walked up to the kid’s house, I asked, “Has he kissed you yet?”  She quickly responded, “NO!!”  So I asked, “If he did, would you kiss him back?”  To which she answered, “I would PUNCH him!”  That’s my girl!  We hung out at this kid’s house for a couple hours, watching Michael Jackson music videos while I made occasional efforts to facilitate small talk between the otherwise silent love birds.  They were painfully adorable, and got all giggly and chatty as he walked us to the main road when we left (them walking several paces behind me of course).  Shortly after we got home there was a knock at the door.  Mama Chaula was in the back garden, so I answered it.  To my surprise, my very first Swahili teacher who had taught me the basics back when I first arrived stood there, accompanied by a tall, young white guy.  We were both so surprised to see each other that we each kind of gasped before sharing a big hug.  My Swahili was probably at its peak at that point, so it was really fun to show off to my original teacher and give him all the credit.  It turned out that he had begun his own sort of cultural program for students abroad to come to Tanzania, stay in a homestay, and take Swahili courses from him while learning about the culture.  Our new housemate’s name was Cameron, although most people’s Swahili accent made it sound more like “Cameruni.”  Cameron and I got to know each other a bit that night over dinner.  It was fun because Cameron had already studied Swahili at his university for a couple years in the States, and although his vocabulary was a bit better than mine, our conversational level was pretty compatible after my 9 months of immersion.  It continues to amaze me how much of a difference it makes to learn a language that way.

Cameron and I hung out a bit over the next couple days.  He came to the bar to meet Musa and Tom for one last drink before they had to head back to the village with GSC.  It was really hard to say goodbye to those guys, not knowing when I’d get to see them again, so I was glad Cameron was there to hang out with me after they left.  We met up with my friend Saning’o that night who I hadn’t seen in months.  We had a few drinks, ate nyama choma (grilled meat), and played some pool.  It was fun getting to know Cameron while catching up with Saning’o.  Cameron and I turned out to have a lot in common, and Saning’o is always fun and can be rather theatrical, especially when there’s any opportunity to get competitive like a game of pool!  The next day I introduced Cameron to my boy Ezekiel, and the three of us had lunch together before we hurried home to gather my things and just barely make it to the bus stand to catch my bus back to Nairobi.  I really regretted not giving myself more time to spend in Arusha, but felt so lucky that I had a chance to spend time with nearly all of the people that I really wanted to for a proper goodbye.  Only Mama Chaula and Karyn were home when I had to leave for the bus.  I had about 5 minutes to gather my things and get back into Ezekiel’s car, when Mama tells me, “I cooked you lunch!”  Crap.  Not only did I not have time to eat, but I was stuffed from the lunch I just ate.  As soon as I removed the cover from the dish on the table, I saw the most colorful dish of a big variety of cooked veggies, and nothing but veggies.  That in itself nearly made me cry… she was showing off how well she knew me.  I had no choice but to scarf them down, I just wished I could have spent more time with Mama Chaula in that moment.  Karyn gave me a gift from the family of a beautiful black and yellow kanga (fabric) she said she had picked out for me, because she knows how to pick the good ones that I like.  They walked me to the car and we shared big hugs before I took off with Ezekiel.  The drive to the bus stand was short, but it felt like it happened in slow motion as I struggled hard to keep the tears back.  After a couple of audible sniffs, Ezekiel looked over and said, “Oh, don’t do that, bwana…” (Bwana = miss)  He dropped me off, I loaded the bus, and he made sure I had a seat before we hugged and assured each other it wasn’t goodbye forever.  Once the bus started moving and we drove through the countryside I had driven through so many times to work in the villages surrounding Arusha, I just let the tears flow.  My mind was replaying so many incredible memories from my time there and it was hard to believe I was actually leaving.  I kept thinking, it was probably a good thing I had my plane tickets before coming back to visit Tanzania.  I may not have bought them if I had come back first!

I got back into Nairobi after dark and Joshua picked me up at the bus stand.  We went out with friends to Uptown Thursday, where nightclubs in Nairobi feature reggae music.  It was a good opportunity to have fun and shake off some of the heavy emotions I was dwelling on after leaving Tanzania.  The next day was really relaxed.  Joshua and I hadn’t really had a week apart since the day we met, so we caught up over some kuku choma, and in the afternoon made our way to the matatu stand.  Joshua had suggested we go to Nakuru together over the weekend as something of a mini-holiday for my birthday!  It was fun taking off with no plans for the weekend, only a destination.  The matatu ride took a few hours, and it was dark by the time we arrived.  We checked out a few hotels with the help of a local taxi driver, and eventually settled on one that offered us an awesome deal for a suite with a kitchenette, lounge room, and balcony.  As soon as the door shut behind us we cracked open a bottle of brandy to celebrate!  The weekend in Nakuru was spent relaxing on the balcony, hanging out by the pool, going for walks through the town, and of course drinking and playing pool at the local clubs.  I couldn’t have thought of a better way to spend my birthday.

By the time we got back to Machakos, I had about a week left, which was even more fun because Eunice had begun her break from school so she was around way more often.  She gave me a really sweet birthday card the day we got back from Nakuru, and we had fun cooking dinner together.  One night Joshua’s parents were out of town, so I cooked us kids my very best introduction to Mexican food:  Tortillas (lightly fried chapatti), rice, shredded cabbage, fajita veggies, guacamole, pico de gallo (kachumbari), carne asada, and of course hot sauce (pili pili).  I’ve never really cooked meat, so that part was a bit of an experiment, but the rest of it was great.  I loved how so many of the dishes were really similar to what they already eat because the most common ingredients seem to be about the same between the two regions.  Everyone loved it.  My last full day in Kenya was spent at a couple of weddings in Machakos.  It was fun getting all dressed up and having a bunch of nice photos taken of me with my Kenyan family before leaving.  That night we went to one of the wedding’s “after party,” which was a very quiet buffet dinner when we arrived.  I introduced myself to the bride, and immediately after shaking my hand she ordered the photographer to snap a half a dozen photos of us together.  When everyone had finished their meal, a friend of the groom’s stood up, reorganized the tables, and declared himself MC for the rest of the night.  He seemingly effortlessly and spontaneously thought up and organized a series of games that got the whole room involved and splitting with laughter.  We were bouncing around the room, in and out of our chairs, singing and dancing all over the place!  It was an excellent last night.

My flight the next day was in the afternoon, so I had the day to slowly pack my things.  I was pretty sad to be leaving, and super uncomfortable knowing I was about to have to say goodbye to one of my best friends.   Joshua felt the same way, but don’t tell him I said that.  He hung out with me while I packed my stuff, helping me here and there, although he said he hated seeing me pack.  We each gave each other a small gift before heading to the airport on a matatu, where we said goodbye with a big hug.  It’s weird, somehow I expected for more to happen.  I had built up so much anxiety toward saying goodbye to a friend I felt so close to, and yet in the end it happened the way all goodbyes do.  With a hug and well wishes.  What more can there be?  I think I was relieved at its simplicity. 

I cried as my plane took off, just as I cried when my bus left Arusha.  I watched as we flew over green rolling hills with cattle sprinkled on top before ascending through a layer of clouds.  I took pictures of the top of Mt. Kilimanjaro above the cloud layer as we flew by it, and that made me cry harder.  Such a familiar backdrop, fading away into the distance.  I then realized what I now consider to be the hardest part about traveling.  More difficult than home-sickness, culture-shock, or even the horrors of traveler’s tummy bugs:  Saying goodbye… especially when you don’t know when you will be able to say hello again.

After a few short hours on the plane, I landed in Johannesburg, Gauteng, South Africa.

Look  out for another update soon (for real soon, I promise) with more. 

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.