There's a song that is currently popular in Tanzania . .. with a chorus line that sings "rudi nyumbani," which means "come home." The song was stuck in my head for those two weeks that I was stuck in Dar es Salaam, staying at the YMCA, awaiting several meetings with Peace Corps staff about the situation with my site placement. Unfortunately, all my options dried up. I was the sole person out of our group of 49 volunteers to be asked to leave with "interrupted service," which is basically leaving country for reasons beyond my control. I didn't want to arrive to that decision, but as Mick Jagger so eloquently puts it, "you can't always get what you wa-ant."
Everything was just getting peachy for me in the village. I had gotten in comfortably with teaching at the primary school, my Swahili was improving considerably, I got a puppy. I was just getting comfortable with the fact that I could stay in this spot for another year. And then it happened. One too many thefts . .. the last one being an attempted break-in while I was home, at 2am. This became a security issue. Peace Corps staff says, "evacuate." I have to write a series of security reports for Tanzanian staff as well as headquarters in Washington. Everything was a whirlwind of "what just happened? . .. how the heck could this happen?" . .. the village was finally accepting me as one of their own, right? So one person had to go and ruin it for everyone . .. including myself. "Bahati mbaya," I suppose. Bad luck.
After an emotional return to the village to pack up my things, I returned to Dar es Salaam for one last meeting with the PC staff. I wanted to stay, but to switch to another village or to work in conjunction with an NGO (non-government organization). Alas, there was nothing currently available for a Health Education volunteer. I felt complete support from the PC Tanzania staff on how to safely leave my current village .. . but not nearly enough on how to stay in country, or transfer to another, and I got caught up in a changing administrative staff. Short staffed and overburdened as they were, I felt as if they had to let me go due to lack of time to commit to researching another available site or country transfer. Thus, my return plane ticket was handed to me rather quickly.
With Interrupted Service, I am eligible to re-enroll in Peace Corps . .. but there are stipulations. It's not guaranteed I could return to Tanzania, or even another East African country . . . and it's much like starting all over again. Instead of re-enrollment, I'm looking into other options so that I can return to TZ in the near future. Work with non-profits, NGOs, orphanages, even missions. I just want to return to say my proper goodbyes, help out with a few more projects, take that orphan girls group to climb the Marangu route that's reserved for us on Mt. Kilimanjaro. Take my puppy home. I miss her so much, my Luna.
Coming home has been bittersweet. I met a number of wonderful people passing through the YMCA in my last days in Tanzania. Many of them passing through, volunteering, experiencing new food, language, culture. I befriended other Americans, Brits, Norwegians, Koreans, Australians, Indians, and other Tanzanians. It was a cultural hodge-podge of people all with the same goal in mind . .. where to find the cheapest, most delicious food and the coldest beer.
My plane ride home was silent, lonely. I always thought that I'd be ecstatic to be on that plane ride . .. instead i felt very numb, very confused. To be coming home in such different circumstances, so early. I felt literally, interrupted. I took the window seat on my second flight and watched the landscape go from endless sea, to patches of green with snaking rivers, to patchwork quilts of farmland, to the rigid organized grid of Chicago cityscape. I was entering back into modern "civilization," and it had not welcomed me back with ease. It said, "you're home now, and you gotta catch up." But it didn't feel like home, it just felt, strange. More strange than when I landed in the heat of Dar es Salaam on my arrival.
But there was my sister, waiting in the airport, in front of a large group of people at the gate. I spotted her through the glass door and started waving uncontrollably, with a little yelp and the beginnings of misty-eyed sobs. But our smiles and hugs took over, smiling Indian women nodded approvingly at our long-awaited embrace . .. as if to say, "oh, we know what that's like." They probably have sisters who live across the globe, maybe they were waiting for them to return as well.
Seeing my friends and family again was wonderful but difficult in a way. It made me realize how much I missed them, and how hard it will be to leave them again if I decide to return abroad. They all bombard you with questions and comments at first, but then the news comes up, or the latest on YouTube, and you can't help but be swept back into those things along with them. And after a few days, things just fall right back into place as they had before you left. you realize that you were gone, and maybe you changed a bit, but life still went on. Babies were born, people got engaged, married, separated, divorced, laid-off. You forget that you were gone almost an entire year, and you literally come home around the same time you left, feeling like you're simply picking up where you left off. The same issues apply now that you thought you wouldn't have to worry about for another year . .. where will I get a job? How will I pay my bills? Do these jeans make me look fat? But then, some little memory will creep back up and beckon you back to your "other" life, your peace corps life, like a glass of icewater or a warm shower that reminds you of how long it had been without one, and how you can never take that for granted. You become a little more conscious of each thing you throw away, and to not buy those things you don't necessarily need. Maybe not spend so much time with a drink in your hand. But regardless, to thoroughly enjoy and appreciate life and all it has to offer you, and to teach you.
Let's raise our glasses, of wine or tea or icewater, and toast to lessons learned and experiences had, and wish for the best outcome . .. and more to come.
thank you to all of you who read this, and supported me along this journey.
much love,
cristina
p.s. stay tuned for more pictures and a return blog . .. cristina in ethiopia? cristina in chicago? cristina in cleveland? cristina back to tanzania? "tutaonana baadaye" . .. we'll see later. ;)
Wednesday, June 3, 2009
Wednesday, May 6, 2009
Blue Eggs n' Ham
A village Easter. It wasnt' like usual. No hiding eggs or babies in bonnetts. However, there were girls in brightly colored dresses and mothers in bold prints, from headwrap to toe.
I walked for an hour and a half, struggling to keep up with the mamas who were leading me to the closest Catholic parish. We have a small catholic church in the village, but no priests or nuns reside there. Hence, our trip out east. It was early in the morning, we left about 7 am. Bleary-eyed, I put on my brightest Kitenge cloth skirt and matching wrap I had sewn by a village seamstress. It's black with bold, bright pink concentric circles. Not normally something I would wear at home, but my loveliest piece of clothing in the village.
I wore my Teva sandals, as I knew we would be walking quite a distance, and I wanted my feet to be comfy. This walk, however, did not deter the village mamas to wear their best and shiniest plastic sandals or heels, or thin cloth slipper-like shoes. I don't know how their feet didn't end up blistered and sore . .. but then again, I wonder why only my hands blister after using a garden hoe for more than one hour. It's a difference in tolerance. Mine is not so built-up. My skin is sensitive, and theirs, resiliant.
The walk took us out past the eastern border of our village, on a path that I had yet to discover. We walked out through amazing views of the out-croppings of our rocky hillsides bordering the dusty center of Itimbo. The hillsides were green, and the sky, grey and cloudy with bits of sunshine peering through, from the nearing end of the rainy season, and I felt as if I wasn't in Africa at all . . . but on the coast of the Irish sea.
A parade of girls in their Easter clothes crested one of the hillsides, and they looked like a line of brightly-colored easter eggs.
The mass itself reminded me much of mass back home . .. only the hymns were embellished with african drums, claps and rhythms. The choir from my village, brought instruments made of old soda bottlecaps and wire, shaking to the rhythm.
After the long walk home, I purchased some eggs from a local shopowner and found the blue food dye I had purchased a week earlier in town. I had promised the neighbor kids that we would "color eggs" like kids do in America. they had never heard of such a thing . .. but were exciting to see what it would be like.
We dyed the eggs blue. A crowd of women and children, hovering around me, wondering what this blue stuff would do to the eggs. I explained they wouldn't taste any different, nor would it hurt to eat them. After the eggs took to the color, we soon ate them. Afterall, the exciting part to the children, was not to see the eggs in a different color, but the opportunity to actually eat them. It's not very often a child gets to eat an entire egg. It put a few things into perspective for me. Even I, myself, had forgotten how delicious and simple boiled egg can be.
That evening, I had dinner with my neighbors. We had pork on our plates, as it was a holiday, and cause for meat! therefore, my day was filled with blue eggs and ham ;)
The next day, we celebrate "Easter Monday" at the village Catholic church. I dont' believe any of the other denominations of Christianity in my village celebrated, but within our church, it was a big day. I had regretted getting up and going to church a second day in a row .. . until I saw the large gathering of people. Many children and older wazee who were unable to make the trek to the parish the day before. My favorite bibi, or old woman, being the one who always wears giant pink shaded sunglasses to church. It's a rarity to see anyone in the village with glasses or sunglasses . .. especially an old woman with such style ;) Two priests and three nuns from Iringa came to give and attend the service. After the service, we were invited to a communal gathering where I was served three bowls of rice and beans, tea, soda, and two cups of Ulanzi, or bamboo wine. The ulanzi tasted more sweet than strong, but it's effects were soon felt . .. and I had a great time drinking with the old ladies inside a dark but comforting hut/house of women. They loved to celebrate . .. and sang and danced until the priests and nuns had to board their landcruiser and head back . .. and they sang them songs of thanks until they could no longer see the car in the distance.
I had hoped that when I left the village, I would feel that same sense of gratitude. Unfortunately, I have been required to leave my village by authorization of Peace Corps, and also, from my own agreement. I didn't want to leave, but had no choice due to a series of thefts from my home and an attempted break-in. We agreed that the incedents will prevent any volunteers from replacing my position . .. and as much as I feel it is necessary . .. it still breaks my heart to think of my favorite bibis and babus . .. my orphan girls, my village friends, who may have been sad to see me go, but I didn't even have a chance to say a proper goodbye.
As of now, Peace Corps is trying to find a new site where I can be placed, one without any incedence of crime, and one which is in need of a health education volunteer. Unfortunately, it's not been an easy process. I'm floating in the ether, waiting around in sweltering Dar es Salaam, for an opportunity to arise. In the mean time, I'm staying at a ymca, and meeting people from across the globe in various states of travel and volunteerism. It's been a great way to find out how many young people love to travel and seek the excitement one can only receive by learning about new cultures. It's not without stress, disappointment, bureaucracy, and . .. monetary problems . .. but all in all, it is worth the experience, no matter what.
Please keep your fingers crossed for me, I hope to continue my service, or some type of service here in Tanzania. . .. besides . .. I need to get my puppy back and safely home!
Wish for Bahati Njema, or good luck.
love,
cristina
I walked for an hour and a half, struggling to keep up with the mamas who were leading me to the closest Catholic parish. We have a small catholic church in the village, but no priests or nuns reside there. Hence, our trip out east. It was early in the morning, we left about 7 am. Bleary-eyed, I put on my brightest Kitenge cloth skirt and matching wrap I had sewn by a village seamstress. It's black with bold, bright pink concentric circles. Not normally something I would wear at home, but my loveliest piece of clothing in the village.
I wore my Teva sandals, as I knew we would be walking quite a distance, and I wanted my feet to be comfy. This walk, however, did not deter the village mamas to wear their best and shiniest plastic sandals or heels, or thin cloth slipper-like shoes. I don't know how their feet didn't end up blistered and sore . .. but then again, I wonder why only my hands blister after using a garden hoe for more than one hour. It's a difference in tolerance. Mine is not so built-up. My skin is sensitive, and theirs, resiliant.
The walk took us out past the eastern border of our village, on a path that I had yet to discover. We walked out through amazing views of the out-croppings of our rocky hillsides bordering the dusty center of Itimbo. The hillsides were green, and the sky, grey and cloudy with bits of sunshine peering through, from the nearing end of the rainy season, and I felt as if I wasn't in Africa at all . . . but on the coast of the Irish sea.
A parade of girls in their Easter clothes crested one of the hillsides, and they looked like a line of brightly-colored easter eggs.
The mass itself reminded me much of mass back home . .. only the hymns were embellished with african drums, claps and rhythms. The choir from my village, brought instruments made of old soda bottlecaps and wire, shaking to the rhythm.
After the long walk home, I purchased some eggs from a local shopowner and found the blue food dye I had purchased a week earlier in town. I had promised the neighbor kids that we would "color eggs" like kids do in America. they had never heard of such a thing . .. but were exciting to see what it would be like.
We dyed the eggs blue. A crowd of women and children, hovering around me, wondering what this blue stuff would do to the eggs. I explained they wouldn't taste any different, nor would it hurt to eat them. After the eggs took to the color, we soon ate them. Afterall, the exciting part to the children, was not to see the eggs in a different color, but the opportunity to actually eat them. It's not very often a child gets to eat an entire egg. It put a few things into perspective for me. Even I, myself, had forgotten how delicious and simple boiled egg can be.
That evening, I had dinner with my neighbors. We had pork on our plates, as it was a holiday, and cause for meat! therefore, my day was filled with blue eggs and ham ;)
The next day, we celebrate "Easter Monday" at the village Catholic church. I dont' believe any of the other denominations of Christianity in my village celebrated, but within our church, it was a big day. I had regretted getting up and going to church a second day in a row .. . until I saw the large gathering of people. Many children and older wazee who were unable to make the trek to the parish the day before. My favorite bibi, or old woman, being the one who always wears giant pink shaded sunglasses to church. It's a rarity to see anyone in the village with glasses or sunglasses . .. especially an old woman with such style ;) Two priests and three nuns from Iringa came to give and attend the service. After the service, we were invited to a communal gathering where I was served three bowls of rice and beans, tea, soda, and two cups of Ulanzi, or bamboo wine. The ulanzi tasted more sweet than strong, but it's effects were soon felt . .. and I had a great time drinking with the old ladies inside a dark but comforting hut/house of women. They loved to celebrate . .. and sang and danced until the priests and nuns had to board their landcruiser and head back . .. and they sang them songs of thanks until they could no longer see the car in the distance.
I had hoped that when I left the village, I would feel that same sense of gratitude. Unfortunately, I have been required to leave my village by authorization of Peace Corps, and also, from my own agreement. I didn't want to leave, but had no choice due to a series of thefts from my home and an attempted break-in. We agreed that the incedents will prevent any volunteers from replacing my position . .. and as much as I feel it is necessary . .. it still breaks my heart to think of my favorite bibis and babus . .. my orphan girls, my village friends, who may have been sad to see me go, but I didn't even have a chance to say a proper goodbye.
As of now, Peace Corps is trying to find a new site where I can be placed, one without any incedence of crime, and one which is in need of a health education volunteer. Unfortunately, it's not been an easy process. I'm floating in the ether, waiting around in sweltering Dar es Salaam, for an opportunity to arise. In the mean time, I'm staying at a ymca, and meeting people from across the globe in various states of travel and volunteerism. It's been a great way to find out how many young people love to travel and seek the excitement one can only receive by learning about new cultures. It's not without stress, disappointment, bureaucracy, and . .. monetary problems . .. but all in all, it is worth the experience, no matter what.
Please keep your fingers crossed for me, I hope to continue my service, or some type of service here in Tanzania. . .. besides . .. I need to get my puppy back and safely home!
Wish for Bahati Njema, or good luck.
love,
cristina
Saturday, March 14, 2009
The Snows of Kilimanjaro
They have been written about by everyone from Ernest Hemingway to the lyrics of Toto's Africa. Some people say that by 2025, the snows at the summit may be all but gone . .. the snow seems already considerably less than it shows in the pictures of my guidebooks . .. but maybe it's just the time of year. No doubt, pollution, population, and climate change will have their effects on the most beautiful places on our Dunia, or earth, but we'll have to do what we can to lessen those effects. The problem is, that the developing world only wants what we have- light, electricity, television, computers . . . and we want what we already have and still wish to conserve our planet.
So, the question is, do we all have to regress and live as the "third world" does in order to save our planet, or do we eventually all move to Scandinavian countries and subsist on bio-manufactured foods . .. hmmm. All I know is, right now, i hear all about the "climate crisis" on the BBC or VOA stations of my shortwave radio. I feel kind of like an outsider looking in . .. living without electricity or running water on a daily basis (but obviously, i still have access a few hours away or i wouldn't be writing this now) and without choice, having to walk, bike, or take public transport. My carbon footprint is considerably less since last year . .. umm, except for those three plane rides it took to get here.
Either way, I still pine for the creature comforts of home- movies, ipods, computers, driving with the windows down on a four lane highway . .. those things, once instilled, are hard to shake. But, at the same time, i'm happy to say I have seen the snows on the peak of Kilimanjaro, and hope to climb it in november . . . but i dont' know if my kids or grandkids will be able to see them . . . except for in some old, fuzzy photographs . . .
I was in Moshi, a town which sits at the foot of Mt. Kili, to run my first half-marathon. It was not without difficulty . .. and i will say that I completed it, but emphasis on completed. i ran most of it, but walked a little on the rough parts or when the downhill half gave me killer shin-splints. I wasn't able to move for a few hours afterwards . . . but i'm happy to say i've done it. Maybe next year, with some more training, i can run the entire thing. and still be able to walk afterwards ;)
Upon return to my village, i hit another rough patch since my last kitten "pili-pili" or pepper, was missing, and hasn't turned up since. i miss the crap out of that cat . .. and to think i used to consider myself "not a cat person" before i came to this country. And then, i became not only that woman who talks about her cats constantly . .. but also takes hundreds of pictures of them.
Things looked up as I began my compost lessons and bustani kwa maisha bora, or garden for a better life demo gardens. I have posted one picture on this blog of some of my fellow PLWHA group members and orphan girls' group members in -action. The compost and garden took a total of four days to complete, but it was well worth it to see my villagers involved in something that will benefit them not only nutritionally, but also, to change their beliefs in thinking that crops can only grow better with expensive, chemical fertilizers. Let's keep our fingers crossed that the rains keep up and let our vegetables grow!
I have also resumed teaching English at the primary school and will begin health and life skills lessons this monday. These lessons are not without difficulty (upon the students' shyness and inability to ask questions when they don't understand, and the teachers' apathetic approach to their incomprehension. I will try my best, but all in all, it's worth it just to get more involved in my village and to gain the trust of the children and village leaders.
On a side note, i'm happy to announce that i'm the proud mama of a new mbwa (or dog). I'm in complete puppy love! She is adorable! I've named her Luna Nyota Lalli. Luna- Italian for moon, and Nyota- Swahili for star. You could say it's a bit of a "hippie" name . .. but hey, i'm in the Peace Corps afterall ;) I think she's going to bring me a lot of joy and relieve a little loneliness in the village.
So, the question is, do we all have to regress and live as the "third world" does in order to save our planet, or do we eventually all move to Scandinavian countries and subsist on bio-manufactured foods . .. hmmm. All I know is, right now, i hear all about the "climate crisis" on the BBC or VOA stations of my shortwave radio. I feel kind of like an outsider looking in . .. living without electricity or running water on a daily basis (but obviously, i still have access a few hours away or i wouldn't be writing this now) and without choice, having to walk, bike, or take public transport. My carbon footprint is considerably less since last year . .. umm, except for those three plane rides it took to get here.
Either way, I still pine for the creature comforts of home- movies, ipods, computers, driving with the windows down on a four lane highway . .. those things, once instilled, are hard to shake. But, at the same time, i'm happy to say I have seen the snows on the peak of Kilimanjaro, and hope to climb it in november . . . but i dont' know if my kids or grandkids will be able to see them . . . except for in some old, fuzzy photographs . . .
I was in Moshi, a town which sits at the foot of Mt. Kili, to run my first half-marathon. It was not without difficulty . .. and i will say that I completed it, but emphasis on completed. i ran most of it, but walked a little on the rough parts or when the downhill half gave me killer shin-splints. I wasn't able to move for a few hours afterwards . . . but i'm happy to say i've done it. Maybe next year, with some more training, i can run the entire thing. and still be able to walk afterwards ;)
Upon return to my village, i hit another rough patch since my last kitten "pili-pili" or pepper, was missing, and hasn't turned up since. i miss the crap out of that cat . .. and to think i used to consider myself "not a cat person" before i came to this country. And then, i became not only that woman who talks about her cats constantly . .. but also takes hundreds of pictures of them.
Things looked up as I began my compost lessons and bustani kwa maisha bora, or garden for a better life demo gardens. I have posted one picture on this blog of some of my fellow PLWHA group members and orphan girls' group members in -action. The compost and garden took a total of four days to complete, but it was well worth it to see my villagers involved in something that will benefit them not only nutritionally, but also, to change their beliefs in thinking that crops can only grow better with expensive, chemical fertilizers. Let's keep our fingers crossed that the rains keep up and let our vegetables grow!
I have also resumed teaching English at the primary school and will begin health and life skills lessons this monday. These lessons are not without difficulty (upon the students' shyness and inability to ask questions when they don't understand, and the teachers' apathetic approach to their incomprehension. I will try my best, but all in all, it's worth it just to get more involved in my village and to gain the trust of the children and village leaders.
On a side note, i'm happy to announce that i'm the proud mama of a new mbwa (or dog). I'm in complete puppy love! She is adorable! I've named her Luna Nyota Lalli. Luna- Italian for moon, and Nyota- Swahili for star. You could say it's a bit of a "hippie" name . .. but hey, i'm in the Peace Corps afterall ;) I think she's going to bring me a lot of joy and relieve a little loneliness in the village.
Sunday, February 8, 2009
Mwaka Mpya
The title means, "the new year." I have abandoned this blog for a little while, mostly due to the holidays and a two-week long In-Service training. I've had some ups and downs since then . .. planning projects and grants, celebrating the new year on a beautiful beach off the coast of Dar-es-Salaam, further training in HIV/AIDS care and awareness as well as sustainable gardening techniques. I came home from the two week training to find a few things had been stolen through a window of my house and my mother cat and three of her kittens had all died. The last one had died two days after I returned, the result I believe, of intestinal worms. I hit a low point then, thinking that I could have saved them had I only gotten them to fully eat their anti-worm pills. But one kitten still remains . . . and i can't decide on what to name her. Something cute, like "pili-pili" which means pepper . .. or "chupi" . .. which is just a plain ole' cute word . .. but it means underwear ;)
Things are going along as usual but for the most part, it has been uneventful . .. or maybe I'm just becoming increasingly familiar with the lifestyle here. It has in a way, lost it's newness . .. but then there are times where i catch myself and say, "oh, right, I'm in Africa . .. "
One such instance happened the other day as I was walking back from the main road to my village. I had missed the one bus back from town, so I had to hike the 8k by foot . .. which does't sound like much, but with a backpack full of groceries, up and down unforgiving hills, it can take it's toll. It had taken me over two hours to hike back, and I was almost to my village, perspiring profusely and muttering to myself about how much i wish I could have a motorcycle or a landrover like so many other NGO workers and the like, I looked up to see two children turning around and smiling at me. They greeted me while running along to keep up with who i assumed to be their father walking his bicycle up a hill, full of supplies from town. He then smiled and greeted me as well, saying "Unajitaidi sana! sana!" He was telling me that i try very, very hard. But when i looked down, they had no shoes on their feet . . .
My villagers have told me on several occasions how impressed they are that I can walk long distances . .. they thought white people could only drive cars or ride bicycles. I say that we have legs, too . .. and they just laugh.
Two days ago, I decided to visit a friend in a nearby village before heading into town together to stock up on supplies and get our bi-monthly stipend. I was literally down to my last 3,000 shillings or so .. . about $3.oo. It took me 2,500 tsh to take a small bus to the stop off the main road where she lived. Unfortunately, the bus driver did not stop where I had asked and so i therefore had to get off the bus and hop back on another coaster in the opposite direction . .. and pay another 500 shillings . . . my last 5oo. Needless to say, I was irrate. People looked at me as I huffed and rolled my eyes about their missing my stop, I mean, I didn't know where the heck I was going, they were supposed to know. I gave them the name, they were supposed to stop. A woman turned and smiled and laughed at my troubles . .. as they always do here, which only unnerved me even more. When they stopped I sarcastically yelled in the bus driver's face, (Nashukuru Sana!) "Thank you so very much . . ." and threw my bags off the bus onto the side of the road . .. reeling in my head that if i were in America, I would cry justice and my full ticket would be reimbursed and they would have to personally drive me back to my said destination . .. but this is Africa. Things don't work that way here . .. there are no return policies, no customer service . .. just mild frustrations and a "tough luck" attitude . ..
A man came running up to me, picking up my bags and asking where are you going? what happened? blah, blah, blah . .. and i just looked at him angrily and in English asked him, "Why do you need to know?!" He just looked at me like i was crazy . .. he then flagged down another bus for me and made sure they got me to the stop i was supposed to . ..
I then felt rotten . .. he was just trying to help me out, and i had reacted harshly, wanting to scream at him to just leave me alone, i'm an american woman and i can take care of myself! But I am not used to this sort of help and hospitalitly . .. I take it as insult, as if I can't handle my own. I think that the only reason a man would run up to me to pick up my bags would be to steal them or harrass me . .. but the thing i have to remember here is that there are not only annoying and untrusting people all over, but there are also good, well-doing people all over. I just have to keep my temper under control and have the ability to know the difference between the two.
So, I paid the driver my last 500 shillings, got off at the right stop, and began my 8 kilometer hike . .. just as it was starting to rain. To my luck, the rain never continued more than a light sprinkle for the whole three hours or so it took me to hike to her village. Along the way, i ran into two other volunteers in a nearby village and sat to drink some water and catch up with them. The hike was tiring, perspiring, and seemingly endless . .. but beautiful. I was a bit jealous to see the rolling green hills and surroundings of their villages, they seem almost more "peace corps" than my own village, but then again, maybe it's just the sight of something new. I ran into the other volunteer who was coming to visit as well, and hiked the last leg of the trip with her. We attended a party for the teachers at our friend's primary school and ate rice and roasted meat and warm sodas and beer . .. being pulled up every once in a while to dance with the women. They were so grateful to have visitors and asked repeatedly when we will visit again. Though we came bearing nothing, they fed us well and treated us with great hospitality . .. which is another aspect of Tanzanian culture that i have to remember never to overlook.
Things are going along as usual but for the most part, it has been uneventful . .. or maybe I'm just becoming increasingly familiar with the lifestyle here. It has in a way, lost it's newness . .. but then there are times where i catch myself and say, "oh, right, I'm in Africa . .. "
One such instance happened the other day as I was walking back from the main road to my village. I had missed the one bus back from town, so I had to hike the 8k by foot . .. which does't sound like much, but with a backpack full of groceries, up and down unforgiving hills, it can take it's toll. It had taken me over two hours to hike back, and I was almost to my village, perspiring profusely and muttering to myself about how much i wish I could have a motorcycle or a landrover like so many other NGO workers and the like, I looked up to see two children turning around and smiling at me. They greeted me while running along to keep up with who i assumed to be their father walking his bicycle up a hill, full of supplies from town. He then smiled and greeted me as well, saying "Unajitaidi sana! sana!" He was telling me that i try very, very hard. But when i looked down, they had no shoes on their feet . . .
My villagers have told me on several occasions how impressed they are that I can walk long distances . .. they thought white people could only drive cars or ride bicycles. I say that we have legs, too . .. and they just laugh.
Two days ago, I decided to visit a friend in a nearby village before heading into town together to stock up on supplies and get our bi-monthly stipend. I was literally down to my last 3,000 shillings or so .. . about $3.oo. It took me 2,500 tsh to take a small bus to the stop off the main road where she lived. Unfortunately, the bus driver did not stop where I had asked and so i therefore had to get off the bus and hop back on another coaster in the opposite direction . .. and pay another 500 shillings . . . my last 5oo. Needless to say, I was irrate. People looked at me as I huffed and rolled my eyes about their missing my stop, I mean, I didn't know where the heck I was going, they were supposed to know. I gave them the name, they were supposed to stop. A woman turned and smiled and laughed at my troubles . .. as they always do here, which only unnerved me even more. When they stopped I sarcastically yelled in the bus driver's face, (Nashukuru Sana!) "Thank you so very much . . ." and threw my bags off the bus onto the side of the road . .. reeling in my head that if i were in America, I would cry justice and my full ticket would be reimbursed and they would have to personally drive me back to my said destination . .. but this is Africa. Things don't work that way here . .. there are no return policies, no customer service . .. just mild frustrations and a "tough luck" attitude . ..
A man came running up to me, picking up my bags and asking where are you going? what happened? blah, blah, blah . .. and i just looked at him angrily and in English asked him, "Why do you need to know?!" He just looked at me like i was crazy . .. he then flagged down another bus for me and made sure they got me to the stop i was supposed to . ..
I then felt rotten . .. he was just trying to help me out, and i had reacted harshly, wanting to scream at him to just leave me alone, i'm an american woman and i can take care of myself! But I am not used to this sort of help and hospitalitly . .. I take it as insult, as if I can't handle my own. I think that the only reason a man would run up to me to pick up my bags would be to steal them or harrass me . .. but the thing i have to remember here is that there are not only annoying and untrusting people all over, but there are also good, well-doing people all over. I just have to keep my temper under control and have the ability to know the difference between the two.
So, I paid the driver my last 500 shillings, got off at the right stop, and began my 8 kilometer hike . .. just as it was starting to rain. To my luck, the rain never continued more than a light sprinkle for the whole three hours or so it took me to hike to her village. Along the way, i ran into two other volunteers in a nearby village and sat to drink some water and catch up with them. The hike was tiring, perspiring, and seemingly endless . .. but beautiful. I was a bit jealous to see the rolling green hills and surroundings of their villages, they seem almost more "peace corps" than my own village, but then again, maybe it's just the sight of something new. I ran into the other volunteer who was coming to visit as well, and hiked the last leg of the trip with her. We attended a party for the teachers at our friend's primary school and ate rice and roasted meat and warm sodas and beer . .. being pulled up every once in a while to dance with the women. They were so grateful to have visitors and asked repeatedly when we will visit again. Though we came bearing nothing, they fed us well and treated us with great hospitality . .. which is another aspect of Tanzanian culture that i have to remember never to overlook.
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