Here is another excerpt from my journal:

I'm on the upswing, moodwise. It may be because I painted my house with a cheery aqua and white theme, emblazoned with white flowers. I'm trying to make it as cute as possible . .. or as less like a garage-looking thing as possible. I've had more furniture made by the local fundi. yeah, custom furniture, in Africa . .. though it didn't really come out the way I drew it, it is still pretty safi. I've been riding my bike. I cooked my first meal all by myself on a charcoal stove- noodles with cashew sauce, and it turned out edible. I've reserved to reading in bed every night, and listening to a song or two on the ipod. I talk to my neighbors- they are all wonderful. I wash my clothes and dishes by hand. I've taken to drying eucalyuptus in my house to make it smell more pleasant and look more invviting. I've gathered a bouquet of eucalyptues, pine, wheat clippings, and pink blosssoms. I save my orange peels in a jam jar to make potporri. no kidding. I'm a regular volunteer Martha Stewart here . .. saving burnt matches, bottle caps, beer labels, sticks and banana leaves, matchboxes . . all in the name of recycled crafts. Mostly because, I don't know what to do with all my trash. I dont' want to burn it all, or just throw it in a pit as most peple do here. There is no trash pick-up or waste management in most of Tanzania . .. so you are forced to be resourceful . .. or creative.

The kids just ransacked me. They came over asking for drinking water . . . why, I don't know. I asked if they don't know how to boil water? Because that's what I do. And seriiously, kids here do everything. By the age of four, they can practically boil water, by the age of six, practically cook yourown meals, and by the age of 12, run your own chai and maandazi service.
They asked for pipi (candy), they always do. The previous PCV apologized in advance for this, as she gave them candy once, and they knocked on her door (an now my door) ever since. I dont' have any candy, so therfore, I haven't had to lie about not having any. I'm a terrible liar- even kids can pick up the truth, I'm that bad. They aked if I had markers. I did, however have crayons and an extra notebook. Thoutht it might be cute to decorate my desolate house with some child-like portraits and landscapes. They crowded around one piece of paper- all six of them, and happily drew flowers and squiggles all over the page.
Then, one by one, they said they would return later, taking off with a crayon and blank sheet each. They duped me.
Though, a few kids came back, returning the crayons. . . and a few drawings, but some are still hoarding the treasures. I can't really be mad at them, though, if they have one crayon each, as they don't have them at home. I brought the crayons for them, anyways.
The kids here are a breed apart. They have a manual labor hour at the primary school when kids crochet pencil cases, cart buckets of water on their heads for the chool, the teachers, and me. They cut down large branches of pine an sell them to builders to help pay for the fees of their national exams.
They helped me carry my luggage when I first arrived and helped me carry a bed and 4 chairs the other day from the local caprenter. If I were in the states, kids would be saying"who does
this lady think she is . . . waltzing into our town with her teva sandals and headlamp, expecting us to cart her sh*t around . .." but these kids didn't complain. In fact, they seemed happy to help. and of course, for nothing in return. This is village life. They play with used bicycle tires and sticks. I saw a scooter the other day made entirely out of wood . .. even the wheels. A dump truck made of wood and an od plastic jug.
The kids are amazing. the kids are sometimes like indentured servants. especially those whose parents died young (most likely of HIV-AIDS) and were orphaned early- taken in by aunts or uncles who treat them sometimes as their own, but usually like a servant. Many people here have asked me if I will employ a "housegirl" to help with cooking, washing, etc. They can't understand how I can possibly do this work myself because they have heard that in America, there are machines that do it for you . .. true, but still, they are amazed that I am not completely incompetent.
They are surprised when they see me riding my bike around "for exercise" . .. they sometimes laugh at this concept, or are very impressed. People here don't use their bicycles so much for exercise, but as a mode of transportation. sometimes biking the 20k up treacherous hill into town, coming back with huge loads tied to the back.

But, the kids again. The sit in the dark, cooking rooms, outside the courtyard, around wood-burning or charcoal-burning fires. cooking ugali or rice- never afraid of the heat like I am. The women here pick up pots off the flaming coals without oven mits, towels, potholders, but sometimes with newspaper, or usually, with their bare hands. I can't fathom how they do it.
But then again . .. I can't imagine a lot of the work they do here.