Kamwene!

Kamwene is the greeting in Kihehe (local tribal language of my village.)

I am now in iringa town, the closest big city to my village.

If you send me any new mail, please send it to this address:


my new address is:
p.o. box 1505
Iringa, Tanzania
East Africa

Do not send anything else to the p.o. box in Dar es Salaam!

Here is an excerpt from my journal:

. . . sitting outside in the almost-dark, dusk. defeated. I can't light a damn charcoal fire for the life of me. my new paka, or cat, Nyakipambo, whom i've inherited, is mocking me and my lack of success.
I went to church today. kanisa roman katoliki. it was cloudy, cold, and windy. My village is in witnter now, and the nights and mornings are freezing cold without heat or a winter jacket. my house is . .. modest. cement floors, tin roof . . . you can say there is"exposed brick" but not in the trendy, loft-style apartment kind of way. more like an unfinished garage. i need to paint it .. . badly.
i have no electricity or running water .. . but i'm rapidly adjusting to living in the "dark ages." i kind of like the lantern light and candlelight . . .
church was modest, to say the least. a mud-brick structure with wooden, worn shutters and a single raised cross marking it symbollically.
inside, just as simple. rickety, wooden benches and crumbling walls. an alter made up of a woodern table and chair, a podium, a tablecloth, and a single roughly-hewn wooden cross with an oddly disproportionate jesus . . . .
There were no missalettes, no holy water, no priest or alter boys or girls in flowy, embroidered robes, no communion. The mass, otherwise, was just like any other Catholic mass. stand up. sid town. kneel . . . on the floor, however, no padded kneelers. first reading, second reading, gospel, homily (which I couldn't follow in Kiswahili, but again, not much different otherwise in English.) The priest wore a plaid shirt, brown pants, and tennis shoes. He was missing his two front teeth . He had trouble during the readings, stumbling, perhaps because he was barely literate, or could not see well . .. or a combination of both.
The children were quiet, but squirmy. Some snacked on treats like kids at home, though not cheerios or fruit snacks . . but small, strange fruit that smelled like honey, or small ears of maize-like corn. They made me stand up and introduce myself to the entire congregation in swahili and an intro in Kihehe- the local tribal language. The children sang in the choir, and beat on drums and used those gourd-like shaky instruments to keep rhythm.

I witnessed a body, covered, on a stetcher being wheeled out of the local dispensary, with a trail of wailing women. An old woman got sick and died . .. in a matter of three days. they say she was ninety. A baby girl was born today. I went to visit, and they asked me to suggest a name, but I didnt' know what to say.
they all say I know Kiswahili and speak very well . . . but I feel like I don't know what's going on half the time . . . nitajaribu. i will try. nitajifunza. i will learn.

. .. .

daladalas. these are the prime mode of transportation in Tanzania. They are small, crowded, rickety, and uncomfortable little buses. They are usually emblazoned with pictures of Bob Marley or Jesus. There is usually a strange, poorly- written message in English on the rear window. My favorite is the " Jesus Power." However, I was too late to catch it, and had to settle for the "Saharazon."
I once got stuck on a daladala for about an hour and a half . . . in the humid heat of Dar es Salaam . . . packed to full capacity . . . each seat filled, plus babies on laps, and people crowded, standing in the aisles. I was one of those people. We were on our way to a movie theater. At my stature of 5', i'm unfortunately at arm-pit level to most everyone else. as you can imagine, this was not a pleasant ride. a fellow volunteer had problems with claustrophobia, and we had to practice breathing in and out deeply to make sure she wouldn't hyperventilate . .. yeah, this is all funny in hindsight . .. at the time, we laughed as well, because that's all you can do in that type of situation. daladalas- if you can ever avoid riding in one, please do. but if you want to come visit me in Tanzania, just be prepared . ;)

all is well here in Iringa . .. I will be taking a bus back to my village soon . .. and luckily, not a daladala :)

love you all,
cris