Sitting here in the Schiphol Airport in Amsterdam, what now feels like a massive space ship after a year in a small East African town, I feel more like a foreigner than I’ve ever felt before. It’s strange to have more than twelve hours pass and not feel the earth beneath my feet. This land of constant electricity and six-dollar cups of tea and crisp new stacks of books and newspapers amid an airport with a casino and a museum featuring the works of Rembrandt feels like it has nothing to do with me. I expected to miss the Amani kids; to miss my friends, but I didn’t think about missing Tanzania. After you’ve experienced eight-hour plus bus rides in Africa with dust and sweat and two adults sharing one seat with a child on your lap who may or may not choose to pee on you (it’s happened twice!), air travel just isn’t as exciting. A cold soda never tasted so good. I’m hoping this means my fear of commercial planes (I like the little ones), is past.
I think my favorite thing about East Africa is the way people greet you and take you in despite the differences. Yes, there are the people who ask you for ridiculous things or feed you harassment identifying your differences, but there is a different way of facing the new and the foreign. It is direct and honest and optimistic. Sometimes you’ll want to scream walking down the street and hope to have no one notice you, desperate for anonymity like a peaceful release, but in the end, the humanity of daily interactions will win your heart. To suddenly be thrown into a world where I’m no longer the minority after a year of the opposite is a strange experience to say the least. I keep wondering where all the black people are and reminding myself not to say “asante” instead of “thank you.” Why are there no chickens on public transportation?
Particularly upon arrival in Nairobi, my mouth hangs open, distended for minutes. Kenya is facing severe drought, on-going political problems and a dangerous shortage of water, yet the Nairobi airport is flooded with so much wealth in every corner it is hard to believe it is still Kenya. Only weeks before I saw pictures of children bathing in brown water, most certainly filled with schisto, and read about squatters in the village Mau searching desperately for water. I have heard so much about Kibera, the largest slum in Nairobi and East Africa, which I hope to see someday, that it is all the more shocking to walk into an airport that resembles a palace, where calls to Tanzania are two dollars per minute. It is frightening to think what two dollars can do for people with in Mau. Looking out the airplane window at night, the electricity is overwhelming as the cars quickly pass with an aerial uniformity reminding me of robots. I find myself wondering where all these food products come from in the store windows; flour for shiny pastries and tropical fruit in a place so cold. Where are all the beautiful African mamas selling tomatoes on the road? Their vibrant reds and sunshine yellows guarding them from the mid-day sun. December is the season for mangoes and pineapples. It’s literally the sweetest time of the year.
Then there is the unbelieveable. Chocolates from Belgium, giant bags of m&ms and cigarettes, pink plastic dollhouses and, the most thought-provoking of all, shops filled with diamonds.
My heart will forever be tied to my Africa- the world I experienced and the friends who turned into family along the way; a beautiful surprise and an immeasurable gift. Even my taxi driver, Nondo, became one of my most trusted friends, introducing me to his family and his home. The day before I left our beautiful country house in Moshi, our three-legged dog Shy who we were all convinced would die in July after being maimed by a panga (machete), gave birth to four healthy little puppies. After visiting the seamstress, Mama Esther, next door, I came home to find Shy waiting at the gate for me. As I followed her, she lead me straight to the chicken house where she had made a small den to give birth and protect her babies. She happily wagged her tail and showed me her four beautiful blessings. All so tiny they hadn’t yet opened their eyes. One, fittingly, was all white with black eyes. After a year of being called “mzungu” for the foreign color of my skin, we finally had a little mzungu of our own. Gone was the frustration and impatience, and all I felt was the warmth within my heart.
Friday, December 4, 2009
Sunday, November 29, 2009
Blog Update: Mombasa Peke Yangu and Being like a Baobab Tree
The thing I hate about blogs is that it’s all so very self-centered. Who really gives a crap what I had for dinner on Monday or who I saw on Tuesday? And this Twitter thing really frightens me. Still, there’s something wonderful about being able to share an experience from around the world. The rains have been so heavy the past few weeks. I have a picture of our yard, flooded, ironically where we dry clothes. This and so many other things are really so African it’s wonderful and worth sharing.
This week I’ve mostly been trying to organize and pack up a year of my life. (Someone is herding goats up our road again. Where they’re going, nobody knows. It’s funny because there’s not much grass here and it’s all residential). The fun part has been stopping into Amani and helping Anna to organize gift boxes for all the kids. This coming Saturday each kid will get a decorated shoebox with gifts inside. It’s a huge job and Anna is the only volunteer working on the project so I decided to come in and help her. We always feel like we’re gonna pass out after a few years being locked up in a incredibly disorganized claustrophobic storage room with not much air supply. The kids have been really cute peeking in the windows. The boxes are fun to tailor to each kid though. The younger boys all get tiny toy cars, stuffed animals and tennis balls, and everyone gets paper, stickers and markers or colored pencils. The older boys get baseball caps, toiletries and stationery sets for school. I think the boxes for the four girls are the best though. They get bracelets, dolls, a girly shirt, fancy soap and drawing materials. Just imagine having ninety brothers and not being able to celebrate you’re a girl, however sexist people might think those gifts are. Believe me, if you lived with all those smelly boys, you’d want some pink in your life.
***************************
Last week I went to Mombasa, Kenya and learned a new phrase in Swahili: “peke yangu” or “by myself.” There’s also “peke yako,” by yourself, which was thrown quite popularly in my direction. I think it was a bit weird for people to see a woman traveling on her own, especially a white one. “You are not meeting anyone here miss? Can I take you to the club?” Needless to say, by the second day I made up a boyfriend. “Girl where is your boyfriend?” “Oh he’s sleeping, he doesn’t feel good.” “Girl why is he sleeping so much?” “Uh…blaheasjkdsk see you later.” The bus ride was ok- extremely hot, dusty and sweaty. It only took one hour to get to the border, where I had to stop and buy a Kenyan visa for twenty bucks. The Kenya officials were nice enough. I thought it was really funny that they had posters about sexual harassment in the workplace, since I can’t think of too many places here where it doesn’t exist. It’s just part of life.
Mombasa city was fine. The city itself is a small island, although it’s the most congested island I’ve ever been too (not counting Manhattan). There are so many cars and petrol stations. Kenya is definitely more expensive than Tanzania, which was somewhat unfortunate. I stayed in an Indian-run hotel with air conditioning (wtf?) and a television and I actually ordered food up to my room. Anyways, I kept getting lost walking around and since Mombasa is seventy-five percent Muslim, I sort of stuck out just a bit. Since the tourist areas are all on the beach, I was really the only foreigner around. A disturbing part of the city was all the warning signs about child trafficking and sexual exploitation. Apparently just north of Mombasa there is a growing problem of child sex workers. I don’t think anything in the world is more heartbreaking or tragic. It was definitely a view into the reality of Mombasa, realizing the frequency in which trafficking takes place. I did end up going to the market to buy spices and Kenyan coffee beans. I visited Fort Jesus (an old fort the Portugese built where slaves used to stay), and walked through old town Mombasa, which is sort of like Zanzibar except it feels a bit more gritty and a bit more real.
For the rest of the time, I decided to stay in a nice hotel outside of Mombasa on the beach since the city was too intense on my own. I was one of the only guests who spoke Swahili so it was fun to talk with the staff and it felt really comfortable being on my own. There were ups and downs though. Ups being swimming in the beautiful ocean, which was so warm it was almost hot, and the camels dotting the beach beside the wood carvers and women selling silks and khangas. The downs being the beach boys looking to be my holiday prostitute, and the ancient blubbery white men mostly from England accompanied by high-class call girls. This was strange considering how freaking obvious it was these perv-balls were paying these women to be with them. The hotel was really beautiful though and relaxing. In general, Kenya feels like a different world. There is still the poverty of Tanzania, but it is accompanied by disturbing political arrest. The week I was there, the new Constitution had just been drafted, though I doubt problems are over. From what I saw, it seems notably separated by tribes. Whenever I brought up the president, Kibaki, the first thing anyone said about him was that he’s Kikuyu (“Out of Africa” anyone?). The weird part about all of this is that there’s a much larger wealthy class and a bigger divide between the two. This made me think about Tanzania and fear that the wealthy class will grow and just create more problems.
Anyhow, I was happy to come back to Tanz. A strange man with a mustache from Arusha sat next to me on the way back and told me how he was coming to Moshi to drink milk from a camel’s “teet” for a week because it’s very good for “you know, the constipation.” It was like sitting next to Borat, and I thoroughly enjoyed it, although no, sir, I do now want to visit the camels with you.
***************************
My stomach is starting to flip and my pupils are getting all wiggly and bowled over with thoughts and questions and uncertainties. This always seems to happen whenever I have to pack up a life I’ve made for myself and leave. I suppose that’s what your twenties are for. I’ve felt a little crazy this week saying goodbye to such amazing people. I keep having to remind myself why I’m leaving and that I have no money to stay and that even if I had taken the job I applied for in Arusha, I would have to say no to grad school in the fall since the organization will only take someone for a year. Still, I’m slowly starting to feel like I’m always leaving. There’s been California, Ohio, London, New York and Tanzania. If you count three-month stays then there’s been Wyoming, Mexico and Washington as well. Most of the time when I think about this I feel confident and thankful. I’ve been fortunate enough to live in several places and lead different lives. But maybe underneath it all I’m running from something I can’t define. Oh! That’s an Ani DiFranco song. Haha. I think the line is “living for something I can’t even define.” I don’t feel exactly like that, but sometimes I wish I could be happy staying in one place for longer than a few years. It would definitely be easier. Of course easy is not equal to happy.
Then again, maybe restlessness is underrated. The freedom of leaving your created comfort zone for something different is quite a beautiful circumstance. I do feel sort of strange about going back to California, where particularly compared to here, there is really no collective community welcoming a stranger back. I will be happy to see people, but I know my thoughts will constantly come back to here in a way they never have before. I was in Kenya for four days and I missed Tanzania. The longest I’ve ever been away from the kids is two weeks.
There’s a wonderful story about the Baobab tree, which is now my favorite tree on earth besides those drippy upside down trees across the south. I want to get married under a giant tree adorned in candle lit lanterns. As for the Baobab, it’s somewhat fierce and uninviting although it manages, somehow, to survive in very arid places, standing alone in its own strong yet delicate silhouette. In the story that was told to me while I was here, the Baobab is constantly trying to find the perfect soil to dig its roots into to call home. It wanders aimlessly always looking for the optimal home, until at last the wind blows it over so that its roots point towards the sky and it becomes stuck in that position. So in some ways, the damn tree was so picky and indecisive, it didn’t get to choose the perfect home. But at the same time, the tree never gave up searching for a beautiful home and eventually surrendered its roots to the sky. I guess in many ways, without sounding completely out there, that’s how I feel. My roots are always on the move; afraid to get too comfortable or to feel too stuck. Maybe I like to wander, but in the end, without sounding too cheesy, the same sky is always above me to make me feel at home.
This week I’ve mostly been trying to organize and pack up a year of my life. (Someone is herding goats up our road again. Where they’re going, nobody knows. It’s funny because there’s not much grass here and it’s all residential). The fun part has been stopping into Amani and helping Anna to organize gift boxes for all the kids. This coming Saturday each kid will get a decorated shoebox with gifts inside. It’s a huge job and Anna is the only volunteer working on the project so I decided to come in and help her. We always feel like we’re gonna pass out after a few years being locked up in a incredibly disorganized claustrophobic storage room with not much air supply. The kids have been really cute peeking in the windows. The boxes are fun to tailor to each kid though. The younger boys all get tiny toy cars, stuffed animals and tennis balls, and everyone gets paper, stickers and markers or colored pencils. The older boys get baseball caps, toiletries and stationery sets for school. I think the boxes for the four girls are the best though. They get bracelets, dolls, a girly shirt, fancy soap and drawing materials. Just imagine having ninety brothers and not being able to celebrate you’re a girl, however sexist people might think those gifts are. Believe me, if you lived with all those smelly boys, you’d want some pink in your life.
***************************
Last week I went to Mombasa, Kenya and learned a new phrase in Swahili: “peke yangu” or “by myself.” There’s also “peke yako,” by yourself, which was thrown quite popularly in my direction. I think it was a bit weird for people to see a woman traveling on her own, especially a white one. “You are not meeting anyone here miss? Can I take you to the club?” Needless to say, by the second day I made up a boyfriend. “Girl where is your boyfriend?” “Oh he’s sleeping, he doesn’t feel good.” “Girl why is he sleeping so much?” “Uh…blaheasjkdsk see you later.” The bus ride was ok- extremely hot, dusty and sweaty. It only took one hour to get to the border, where I had to stop and buy a Kenyan visa for twenty bucks. The Kenya officials were nice enough. I thought it was really funny that they had posters about sexual harassment in the workplace, since I can’t think of too many places here where it doesn’t exist. It’s just part of life.
Mombasa city was fine. The city itself is a small island, although it’s the most congested island I’ve ever been too (not counting Manhattan). There are so many cars and petrol stations. Kenya is definitely more expensive than Tanzania, which was somewhat unfortunate. I stayed in an Indian-run hotel with air conditioning (wtf?) and a television and I actually ordered food up to my room. Anyways, I kept getting lost walking around and since Mombasa is seventy-five percent Muslim, I sort of stuck out just a bit. Since the tourist areas are all on the beach, I was really the only foreigner around. A disturbing part of the city was all the warning signs about child trafficking and sexual exploitation. Apparently just north of Mombasa there is a growing problem of child sex workers. I don’t think anything in the world is more heartbreaking or tragic. It was definitely a view into the reality of Mombasa, realizing the frequency in which trafficking takes place. I did end up going to the market to buy spices and Kenyan coffee beans. I visited Fort Jesus (an old fort the Portugese built where slaves used to stay), and walked through old town Mombasa, which is sort of like Zanzibar except it feels a bit more gritty and a bit more real.
For the rest of the time, I decided to stay in a nice hotel outside of Mombasa on the beach since the city was too intense on my own. I was one of the only guests who spoke Swahili so it was fun to talk with the staff and it felt really comfortable being on my own. There were ups and downs though. Ups being swimming in the beautiful ocean, which was so warm it was almost hot, and the camels dotting the beach beside the wood carvers and women selling silks and khangas. The downs being the beach boys looking to be my holiday prostitute, and the ancient blubbery white men mostly from England accompanied by high-class call girls. This was strange considering how freaking obvious it was these perv-balls were paying these women to be with them. The hotel was really beautiful though and relaxing. In general, Kenya feels like a different world. There is still the poverty of Tanzania, but it is accompanied by disturbing political arrest. The week I was there, the new Constitution had just been drafted, though I doubt problems are over. From what I saw, it seems notably separated by tribes. Whenever I brought up the president, Kibaki, the first thing anyone said about him was that he’s Kikuyu (“Out of Africa” anyone?). The weird part about all of this is that there’s a much larger wealthy class and a bigger divide between the two. This made me think about Tanzania and fear that the wealthy class will grow and just create more problems.
Anyhow, I was happy to come back to Tanz. A strange man with a mustache from Arusha sat next to me on the way back and told me how he was coming to Moshi to drink milk from a camel’s “teet” for a week because it’s very good for “you know, the constipation.” It was like sitting next to Borat, and I thoroughly enjoyed it, although no, sir, I do now want to visit the camels with you.
***************************
My stomach is starting to flip and my pupils are getting all wiggly and bowled over with thoughts and questions and uncertainties. This always seems to happen whenever I have to pack up a life I’ve made for myself and leave. I suppose that’s what your twenties are for. I’ve felt a little crazy this week saying goodbye to such amazing people. I keep having to remind myself why I’m leaving and that I have no money to stay and that even if I had taken the job I applied for in Arusha, I would have to say no to grad school in the fall since the organization will only take someone for a year. Still, I’m slowly starting to feel like I’m always leaving. There’s been California, Ohio, London, New York and Tanzania. If you count three-month stays then there’s been Wyoming, Mexico and Washington as well. Most of the time when I think about this I feel confident and thankful. I’ve been fortunate enough to live in several places and lead different lives. But maybe underneath it all I’m running from something I can’t define. Oh! That’s an Ani DiFranco song. Haha. I think the line is “living for something I can’t even define.” I don’t feel exactly like that, but sometimes I wish I could be happy staying in one place for longer than a few years. It would definitely be easier. Of course easy is not equal to happy.
Then again, maybe restlessness is underrated. The freedom of leaving your created comfort zone for something different is quite a beautiful circumstance. I do feel sort of strange about going back to California, where particularly compared to here, there is really no collective community welcoming a stranger back. I will be happy to see people, but I know my thoughts will constantly come back to here in a way they never have before. I was in Kenya for four days and I missed Tanzania. The longest I’ve ever been away from the kids is two weeks.
There’s a wonderful story about the Baobab tree, which is now my favorite tree on earth besides those drippy upside down trees across the south. I want to get married under a giant tree adorned in candle lit lanterns. As for the Baobab, it’s somewhat fierce and uninviting although it manages, somehow, to survive in very arid places, standing alone in its own strong yet delicate silhouette. In the story that was told to me while I was here, the Baobab is constantly trying to find the perfect soil to dig its roots into to call home. It wanders aimlessly always looking for the optimal home, until at last the wind blows it over so that its roots point towards the sky and it becomes stuck in that position. So in some ways, the damn tree was so picky and indecisive, it didn’t get to choose the perfect home. But at the same time, the tree never gave up searching for a beautiful home and eventually surrendered its roots to the sky. I guess in many ways, without sounding completely out there, that’s how I feel. My roots are always on the move; afraid to get too comfortable or to feel too stuck. Maybe I like to wander, but in the end, without sounding too cheesy, the same sky is always above me to make me feel at home.
Thursday, November 26, 2009
In the news
Hi everyone.
Since I don't ever really get a chance to search the internet, I just came across an article on street life for children in Kenya. Kenya has a huge problem with homelessness, poverty and trafficking in the face of ongoing political unrest. While my experience has been limited to meeting kids on the streets of Arusha and Moshi, I am not as familiar with conditions in Kenya. However, this article is a very honest account, although short. But I was still happy to come across it and thankful (Happy Thanksgiving) that these issues are appearing more in the news. I can only hope that childrens' rights and exploitation will be given more attention with time. Here's a link to the article:
http://news.bbc.co.uk/2/hi/africa/8376714.stm
In other news the rains have come back in full force and our front yard is now a lake. I've heard rumors of desert land in the west and the south flooding and there have sadly been a few deaths. Pretty crazy to say the least.
All the best...
Since I don't ever really get a chance to search the internet, I just came across an article on street life for children in Kenya. Kenya has a huge problem with homelessness, poverty and trafficking in the face of ongoing political unrest. While my experience has been limited to meeting kids on the streets of Arusha and Moshi, I am not as familiar with conditions in Kenya. However, this article is a very honest account, although short. But I was still happy to come across it and thankful (Happy Thanksgiving) that these issues are appearing more in the news. I can only hope that childrens' rights and exploitation will be given more attention with time. Here's a link to the article:
http://news.bbc.co.uk/2/hi/africa/8376714.stm
In other news the rains have come back in full force and our front yard is now a lake. I've heard rumors of desert land in the west and the south flooding and there have sadly been a few deaths. Pretty crazy to say the least.
All the best...
Monday, November 23, 2009
Blog Update: Goodbye Par-tay
So my goodbye shindig went well. I was completely dreading the whole thing but it worked out fine. I wanted to sneak out but realized that was impossible. I really don’t like the attention or saying goodbye to people- I much prefer avoidance. But I think it was a good thing- it sort of made everything more real. Everything happened after lunch. The head teacher thanked me for everything as well as Rovina the nurse and a reluctant social worker. The kids put on a gymnastics show for me (“Whitney today we do show for you”) and I passed out lollipops. The education department gave me this dark brown outfit that’s basically Capri pants and a shirt with little white zebras. It’s REALLY Tanzanian and I thought it was really sweet. I was given an Amani shirt as well. I expected to be really depressed and thought the whole thing would be awful, but I was actually just really touched from all the love from the kids. It made me feel much better about the whole thing. Anyways, I started crying, which was so awkward and embarrassing, but I felt really touched standing in front of all the kids. I told them I’d miss them all and I’m so very grateful for their friendship. The best gift of all was a huge stack of cards that Anna came in to make with the kids last weekend. I’m hoping to make a book for myself out of drawings and thank you letters. It’ll be a really great booster to look at when I’m feeling crappy about life. I feel like a little part of me is missing knowing that I’m leaving the kids behind. They’re my family. I’m not afraid of change as much as I’m afraid of feeling incomplete.
Here’s a list of my future plans:
-Apply to grad school
-Plant a vegetable garden
-Go kayaking regularly
-Listen to new music
-See my dear friend Ang when she comes to visit CA from NYC
-Sell African fabrics at the Ojai Farmers’ Market
-Get a job (boo)
-Take a dance class or some kind of fitness thing
-Be an amazing pen pal to the kiddos
-Find some inner peace daily
-Eat a lot of tacos
-Bake a pie
-Make a sandwich
-Send my dear friend Anna some care packages
What I’ll miss about my life in Africa:
-Waking up on the weekends reading and drinking tea in our little country house and doing my laundry by hand & letting it sun dry (surprisingly)
-Speaking Swahili
-The kids (of course)
-Cheap travel
-Phones that don’t have voice mail (it’s a beautiful thing)
-The calls to the mosque that go off five times a day
-Our three-legged wonder dog
-Milk tea
-Mangoes
-African beaches and long weekends spent exploring
-All the beautiful walks to hidden waterfalls in the villages
-Not having shitty/depressing news pressed upon me in my apt/house or on the street
-Barbeque for less than $2
-Being able to buy an EMS fleece-lined jacket for $2.40
-African fabrics and the beautiful women that wear them
-People who say hello and are friendly and dress colorfully
-Greeting every elderly person I see to show respect
-Little TZ kids in the boonies who randomly give me high fives and scream in my presence (like I’m Elvis)
-Vegetables and fruit sold everywhere
It’s coming down close to my departure date, December 3rd, and while I do feel like a dark cloud might soon be following me, right now, I feel at peace. I don’t know if I’ve ever felt at peace in my whole life, so this is definitely a new beginning after twenty-four years. I am worried about my transition back- all the luxuries and somewhat feeling detached from the land (i.e. buying food without having any idea of where it’s coming from and even washing my clothes in a machine will seem so separated). One of my favorite things about living here is feeling connected to things. I have clothes I own that I physically labor over to be kept clean. I buy fruit and vegetables from the people that grow them, or at least know the farmer in some way. When it doesn’t rain, there isn’t much produce for anyone to eat. I really think the world would be in such a better state if we were all more connected to our lives and the land we live on. Maybe it sounds trite, but I think everyone would just be happier. There would be an unwavering sense of balance. I can’t tell you how many times I’ve wanted to buy some fruit in New York, but because it came on a plane, I couldn’t afford it. This is clearly something people can avoid going to farmers’ markets, but it still doesn’t seem the same as having almost all your food products come from the country you live in. You want to eat a chicken- you need to know someone who has some chickens to sell and kill that day. It’s so strange that the most self-sufficient countries are the ones that struggle so much. I hate how eating in the U.S. is so solitary and so taken for granted and so unappreciated. No wonder it leaves you feeling a little more lost.
I’m so grateful for this year, partly because I feel so much more comfortable in my own skin. So many people have this image of Africa as a place filled with AIDS and misery and hunger. Not that those things don’t exist, but they are definitely not defining. People are so proud of where they come from, so unshakingly optimistic, so honest in their welcoming. It’s hard to say that about many other places, particularly ones with money. Even in the face of all the difficulties, most of the men and women and children I know are so thankful that they are survivors. Death is so much more common here, but in my opinion, so is life. People celebrate their life as a gift so much more than I’ve seen in richer countries, and there’s something incredibly genuine and embracing about that.
I will definitely miss going into the villages and walking through the jungle and finding a beautiful waterfall somewhere and going swimming with friends. I think I’ll miss those moments that feel so pure. Purity is a rare thing in this world. It’s definitely worth celebrating. In the end though, I feel like it’s okay that I’m moving on. I will always feel connected to life here. This place will always feel like home; more so than any other place I’ve lived. But I feel okay saying goodbye to a place that’s given me so much and made me realize what’s important and what is worth hanging onto.
Here’s a list of my future plans:
-Apply to grad school
-Plant a vegetable garden
-Go kayaking regularly
-Listen to new music
-See my dear friend Ang when she comes to visit CA from NYC
-Sell African fabrics at the Ojai Farmers’ Market
-Get a job (boo)
-Take a dance class or some kind of fitness thing
-Be an amazing pen pal to the kiddos
-Find some inner peace daily
-Eat a lot of tacos
-Bake a pie
-Make a sandwich
-Send my dear friend Anna some care packages
What I’ll miss about my life in Africa:
-Waking up on the weekends reading and drinking tea in our little country house and doing my laundry by hand & letting it sun dry (surprisingly)
-Speaking Swahili
-The kids (of course)
-Cheap travel
-Phones that don’t have voice mail (it’s a beautiful thing)
-The calls to the mosque that go off five times a day
-Our three-legged wonder dog
-Milk tea
-Mangoes
-African beaches and long weekends spent exploring
-All the beautiful walks to hidden waterfalls in the villages
-Not having shitty/depressing news pressed upon me in my apt/house or on the street
-Barbeque for less than $2
-Being able to buy an EMS fleece-lined jacket for $2.40
-African fabrics and the beautiful women that wear them
-People who say hello and are friendly and dress colorfully
-Greeting every elderly person I see to show respect
-Little TZ kids in the boonies who randomly give me high fives and scream in my presence (like I’m Elvis)
-Vegetables and fruit sold everywhere
It’s coming down close to my departure date, December 3rd, and while I do feel like a dark cloud might soon be following me, right now, I feel at peace. I don’t know if I’ve ever felt at peace in my whole life, so this is definitely a new beginning after twenty-four years. I am worried about my transition back- all the luxuries and somewhat feeling detached from the land (i.e. buying food without having any idea of where it’s coming from and even washing my clothes in a machine will seem so separated). One of my favorite things about living here is feeling connected to things. I have clothes I own that I physically labor over to be kept clean. I buy fruit and vegetables from the people that grow them, or at least know the farmer in some way. When it doesn’t rain, there isn’t much produce for anyone to eat. I really think the world would be in such a better state if we were all more connected to our lives and the land we live on. Maybe it sounds trite, but I think everyone would just be happier. There would be an unwavering sense of balance. I can’t tell you how many times I’ve wanted to buy some fruit in New York, but because it came on a plane, I couldn’t afford it. This is clearly something people can avoid going to farmers’ markets, but it still doesn’t seem the same as having almost all your food products come from the country you live in. You want to eat a chicken- you need to know someone who has some chickens to sell and kill that day. It’s so strange that the most self-sufficient countries are the ones that struggle so much. I hate how eating in the U.S. is so solitary and so taken for granted and so unappreciated. No wonder it leaves you feeling a little more lost.
I’m so grateful for this year, partly because I feel so much more comfortable in my own skin. So many people have this image of Africa as a place filled with AIDS and misery and hunger. Not that those things don’t exist, but they are definitely not defining. People are so proud of where they come from, so unshakingly optimistic, so honest in their welcoming. It’s hard to say that about many other places, particularly ones with money. Even in the face of all the difficulties, most of the men and women and children I know are so thankful that they are survivors. Death is so much more common here, but in my opinion, so is life. People celebrate their life as a gift so much more than I’ve seen in richer countries, and there’s something incredibly genuine and embracing about that.
I will definitely miss going into the villages and walking through the jungle and finding a beautiful waterfall somewhere and going swimming with friends. I think I’ll miss those moments that feel so pure. Purity is a rare thing in this world. It’s definitely worth celebrating. In the end though, I feel like it’s okay that I’m moving on. I will always feel connected to life here. This place will always feel like home; more so than any other place I’ve lived. But I feel okay saying goodbye to a place that’s given me so much and made me realize what’s important and what is worth hanging onto.
Wednesday, November 11, 2009
Blog Update: The End of a Beginning
I’m freaking out. I’m freaking out because this is my last week at Amani and I can’t believe how fast time has gone. This past month hasn’t been easy. I think I’ve been suppressing my feelings about leaving just a bit and the kids have been expressing their feelings with ferocity. Fierce anger or fierce love; hate notes and love notes. Either way I’ve been getting a lot of mail.
For Halloween I dressed up like a Masai woman. I was a little worried about being culturally inappropriate but then someone came to the ex-pat bar (The Watering Hole) as a Mormon man selling bibles.
This past weekend was interesting to say the least. I woke up at 6:30 on Saturday morning to a little voice saying “Whitty! Whitty!” I’m the only one in the house who can see the gate from my bedroom window, and looked outside to see three little boys waiting outside the gate. Since I know a significant amount of kids now living on the street my head was spinning in circles thinking of who could be outside my gate. As I opened all three of our locks to go outside the kids started to get skiddish and walk away. It turned out there was only one kid I know, Zawadi (14), with two of his friends. One of the kids (Rama) looked around 8 or 9, and the other (Amani) closer to 12 or 13. I was shocked and sort of heartbroken to see Zawadi since I had yelled at him the day before for not listening to me and repeatedly entering the playroom. It’s hard to admit, but I think I’m so scared of imaginely the next chapter of my life without these kids that I’ve been really irritable. It’s always easier to leave a place if you’re pissed off- I guess it makes it easier to start over. At the end of the day I have to remind myself that I’m working with kids who’ve been through incredibly difficult circumstances and that when they act out, it’s not personal. Zawadi refused to talk to me at first, so he told Anna (my best friend here and co-worker) that he was scared of being punished at Amani for his behavior. (I’m terrified to leave Anna as well- she protects my heart here and I truly love her friendship). The two other kids were covered in petrol and it was very obvious they live and sleep outside in parking lots and markets. The littlest one had a water bottle full of petrol that he told us he uses to keep the mosquitoes away, but I still wonder if he inhales it since it’s a popular drug abused by kids here living on the streets. We live within walking distance of the YMCA, where we took the kids to get early morning Chai, mandazi (donuts) and hard-boiled eggs. I’m sure that if the staff knew we took the kids there we would probably get in trouble but I don’t regret it. We have some kids books in our house which we brought with us and the littlest kid Rama kept staring at me in a way that said “Should I trust this person?” The YMCA isn’t the nicest place in Moshi but it was clear that it was one of the nicest places all three kids had ever been to- they sort of just stared around in wonder. Zawadi kept washing is hands at the sink and reading the paper like an old man with his tea. When I asked him if he wanted more mandazi he said “More everything!” I love Zawadi and I apologized to him for yelling at him on Friday and explained to him that it’s frustrating for me when kids refuse to listen. It’s not that I approve of Zawadi running away, but I think it must be nice for the kids to just get the hell out of Amani sometimes. It’s a good place for them but I’m sure it feels constricting compared to the freedoms they’ve had. Once the kids told Anna and I they wanted to go to Amani we took a taxi at eight in the morning to Magereza. The kids were more than surprised to see us on a Saturday morning and all very happy to see Zawadi was back. Anna and I stuck around until lunch playing games and organizing art for the kids (Anna opened the health room for the sick kiddos). One of the new kids we brought with us had such filthy shorts infested with bugs that they had to be burned.
I think it’s important that I’m leaving Amani and Tanzania although it’s been difficult to come to terms with and not feel completely depressed to be leaving kids that feel like my extended family, some of whom are my best friends and others, my heart. Another volunteer put in well that I can’t give anymore of myself to the kids until I have the chance to reenergize again and invest sometime in taking care of me. I guess to some people that might sound selfish, but I know in my heart that it’s true. I’m hoping to call Amani every few weeks and talk to the kids and write letters when I can. I don’t want to consider this goodbye.
Friday is my last official day at Amani, although I plan to come in on the weekend and relax with the kids. I officially leave the country December 3rd and plan to travel to Mombasa and Pangani and come back for both Thanksgiving and Amani Christmas weekend (the last weekend of November). It’s been difficult to get notes from the kids that say “Don’t go,” or “Please stay a little longer.” Sometimes all I feel like doing is crying, but somehow I just can’t make that happen. I’m sure that I should have kept my boundaries a bit better with the kids- not coming in on the weekends as much and getting as close, but I can’t say I regret that either. So I guess, no regrets. I’m sticking to my choices and standing up for my actions and I’m not going to give myself a guilt trip about leaving. That would be the wrong feeling to come away with, and really, I can only feel thankful to the kids for allowing me to be a part of their lives. That is not an easy decision after the kind of trauma and betrayal they have experienced, and I will be forever grateful for their openness. I hope they all know that they have changed my life for the better and helped me realize who I want to be and what is truly important. I don’t expect the future to be perfect but I do know that I am a better person from my experience here. As for the kids, I can only hope for their safety and good health, and if there is any justice in this world, I hope for them to be able to dream and feel comfortable in their own freedom to imagine a better life, a holistic and tangible happiness that every child deserves.
For Halloween I dressed up like a Masai woman. I was a little worried about being culturally inappropriate but then someone came to the ex-pat bar (The Watering Hole) as a Mormon man selling bibles.
This past weekend was interesting to say the least. I woke up at 6:30 on Saturday morning to a little voice saying “Whitty! Whitty!” I’m the only one in the house who can see the gate from my bedroom window, and looked outside to see three little boys waiting outside the gate. Since I know a significant amount of kids now living on the street my head was spinning in circles thinking of who could be outside my gate. As I opened all three of our locks to go outside the kids started to get skiddish and walk away. It turned out there was only one kid I know, Zawadi (14), with two of his friends. One of the kids (Rama) looked around 8 or 9, and the other (Amani) closer to 12 or 13. I was shocked and sort of heartbroken to see Zawadi since I had yelled at him the day before for not listening to me and repeatedly entering the playroom. It’s hard to admit, but I think I’m so scared of imaginely the next chapter of my life without these kids that I’ve been really irritable. It’s always easier to leave a place if you’re pissed off- I guess it makes it easier to start over. At the end of the day I have to remind myself that I’m working with kids who’ve been through incredibly difficult circumstances and that when they act out, it’s not personal. Zawadi refused to talk to me at first, so he told Anna (my best friend here and co-worker) that he was scared of being punished at Amani for his behavior. (I’m terrified to leave Anna as well- she protects my heart here and I truly love her friendship). The two other kids were covered in petrol and it was very obvious they live and sleep outside in parking lots and markets. The littlest one had a water bottle full of petrol that he told us he uses to keep the mosquitoes away, but I still wonder if he inhales it since it’s a popular drug abused by kids here living on the streets. We live within walking distance of the YMCA, where we took the kids to get early morning Chai, mandazi (donuts) and hard-boiled eggs. I’m sure that if the staff knew we took the kids there we would probably get in trouble but I don’t regret it. We have some kids books in our house which we brought with us and the littlest kid Rama kept staring at me in a way that said “Should I trust this person?” The YMCA isn’t the nicest place in Moshi but it was clear that it was one of the nicest places all three kids had ever been to- they sort of just stared around in wonder. Zawadi kept washing is hands at the sink and reading the paper like an old man with his tea. When I asked him if he wanted more mandazi he said “More everything!” I love Zawadi and I apologized to him for yelling at him on Friday and explained to him that it’s frustrating for me when kids refuse to listen. It’s not that I approve of Zawadi running away, but I think it must be nice for the kids to just get the hell out of Amani sometimes. It’s a good place for them but I’m sure it feels constricting compared to the freedoms they’ve had. Once the kids told Anna and I they wanted to go to Amani we took a taxi at eight in the morning to Magereza. The kids were more than surprised to see us on a Saturday morning and all very happy to see Zawadi was back. Anna and I stuck around until lunch playing games and organizing art for the kids (Anna opened the health room for the sick kiddos). One of the new kids we brought with us had such filthy shorts infested with bugs that they had to be burned.
I think it’s important that I’m leaving Amani and Tanzania although it’s been difficult to come to terms with and not feel completely depressed to be leaving kids that feel like my extended family, some of whom are my best friends and others, my heart. Another volunteer put in well that I can’t give anymore of myself to the kids until I have the chance to reenergize again and invest sometime in taking care of me. I guess to some people that might sound selfish, but I know in my heart that it’s true. I’m hoping to call Amani every few weeks and talk to the kids and write letters when I can. I don’t want to consider this goodbye.
Friday is my last official day at Amani, although I plan to come in on the weekend and relax with the kids. I officially leave the country December 3rd and plan to travel to Mombasa and Pangani and come back for both Thanksgiving and Amani Christmas weekend (the last weekend of November). It’s been difficult to get notes from the kids that say “Don’t go,” or “Please stay a little longer.” Sometimes all I feel like doing is crying, but somehow I just can’t make that happen. I’m sure that I should have kept my boundaries a bit better with the kids- not coming in on the weekends as much and getting as close, but I can’t say I regret that either. So I guess, no regrets. I’m sticking to my choices and standing up for my actions and I’m not going to give myself a guilt trip about leaving. That would be the wrong feeling to come away with, and really, I can only feel thankful to the kids for allowing me to be a part of their lives. That is not an easy decision after the kind of trauma and betrayal they have experienced, and I will be forever grateful for their openness. I hope they all know that they have changed my life for the better and helped me realize who I want to be and what is truly important. I don’t expect the future to be perfect but I do know that I am a better person from my experience here. As for the kids, I can only hope for their safety and good health, and if there is any justice in this world, I hope for them to be able to dream and feel comfortable in their own freedom to imagine a better life, a holistic and tangible happiness that every child deserves.
Friday, November 6, 2009
Blog Update: Villages, Gunshots and a weekend with Masai
It’s been a hell of a month.
A few weeks ago I went to Arusha for the weekend to see friends and get out of Moshi and while two of us were eating dinner one night two gunshots went off. The first about 75 feet away; the second closer to 20. All the other tourists around us just carried on la-dee-dah like nothing was wrong. I especially liked how a worker at the restaurant just said “oh it’s just the neighbor making sure everyone knows he has a gun.” Sure. To make a long story short, we got home fine but lied down in the back seat to be sure. The cab driver, like most Tanzanians, just kept telling us “no worries,” and my favorite “everyone has a gun in Arusha, it’s so easy!”
*Amani Update*
I also got the chance a little while back to go on a home visit with a social worker and a fourteen-year-old boy at Amani I’m very close with. His family lives two villages or so down the road from Amani, near Bonite, the Coca-Cola bottling plantation. I love seeing the Coca-Cola staff buses along the roads in Moshi since the bus is so ancient it’s a miracle it’s not falling apart, trailing in pieces. I have to say though Coca-Cola really is ingenius. When small shacks/shops decide to sell their products they give them printed signs of the shop’s name in exchange. Plus the transportation among other things. They really have it down. Anyways, it seemed like this village was really built around this bottling plant, which is pretty much out in the sticks. The area is pretty poor- mostly mud huts- and from what I’ve heard there’s a good amount of street kids and alcoholism. When we went to see the boy’s house (mud hut), his parents were absent since his father was at work and his mom was at a funeral (very typical here). We did see instead the mother of a child out on the street who I know who used to be at Amani about four months ago. It was pretty heart breaking since she was clearly drunk so early in the morning and hadn’t seen her son in so long. Her son is a great little artist and addicted to drugs. Since the parents weren’t there we went to visit the little brother at primary school. Because we were in the bush, at one point I looked behind me at the school and literally saw one hundred kids behind me chanting “Mzungu! Mzungu!” which means foreigner or white person. It’s probably the closest I’ll ever come to feeling like a Rolling Stone, and I’m pretty okay with that.
On the walk back the little brother kept saying “tunaenda wote?” or “are we all going back?” It was clear he’d really missed his older brother and wanted to come visit him which isn’t really done. Although of course the following weekend he showed up at Amani to play with bicycles and the next day his father angrily took him back. Unfortunately, I’m sure he was beaten since that’s what’s done here. This entire country is silently crying out for anything resembling a movement against domestic violence. There really is nothing and nowhere anyone can go when they are abused. The police are pretty worthless other than anything outside of bribes, which isn’t fair to say, but it’s mostly true.
By the time we got back the mother had returned (by the way the whole walk back the social worker was trying to get me to agree to marry him- not fun). The mother is blind from years of cooking over smoky fires and from what I can tell can only see shades of light and shapes. She was angry we had brought her son back since before he left he was going down to the river to help fisherman clean fish to sell to make some money for himself and his younger brother since the father was using his money on pombe (beer). This of course brought the boy to tears. The father came home around lunch and in typical Tanzanian fashion the two told the social worker that there are no problems at home. Ten minutes later they were yelling at each other so I took the kids to get a soda. In retaliation the mother stopped cooking for the husband, who refused to give her money to support herself for her disobedience. There were really hard any possessions in the house other some buckets and coals for a fire so I’m really hoping my little friend isn’t being reunified anytime soon without financial assistance and some much needed family counseling. The whole process was really interesting since really, this is what I want to learn about and eventually do.
A lot of the kids behavior has been really erratic lately. They love me one hour, they hate me the next. Many are pissed that I’m leaving them and I don’t blame them. They’re entitled. It must be confusing since I’ve been here close to a year.
There are a few new children this week, although one I’m pretty sure will leave soon. He’s got that look in his eye and it’s easy to see. The littlest one is pretty adorable and in love with the tiny keyboard we received as a donation recently. Personally, I want to chuck that thing out the window. It’s got prerecorded songs like “Jingle Bells” and….oh, wait, one other (!) and the kids love to listen to it on repeat and pretend they’re playing the songs. It was pretty heartbreaking today since I was standing over him and noticed a scar on his arm beneath his t-shirt line. As I pulled up the t-shirt sleeve I saw a cigarette burn (on a child less than ten years old), and four letters including K and L written out on his arm. The terrible part about it was the letters were scars from burns, and he tried to convince me he did it to himself when he can’t write. Whoever this child’s father was essentially branded him as a form of punishment. I’m continually shocked and disgusted on new levels of what humans can do to humans; what adults can do to children.
One of the best parts of my week are Thursday mornings when I go pick up two wonderful kids called Kalisti and Zainabu at a special needs school the next village over. I think they really love that they get to show off their school and have someone come pick them up since people don’t really do that here with kids. Even preschool kids make the long walk alone. Zain has pretty intense ADD sometimes, and let me tell you, they don’t sell daily drugs for that here. She is one slap happy child truly living on her own planet. I call it “The Zai Show” or “The Hurricane.” Anyways, I really love them and walking down the village road alongside the banana trees and the skinny stream and the wandering chickens to go get them is always so fun.
*Lake Natron*
After hearing of Amani’s death last week, I really needed to get away for the weekend and be distracted. Of course, I have still been thinking about him every day and really feel like it wasn’t properly explained to the kids. It’s difficult since they truly are so much more used to death here. It is much much more commonplace. His picture was taken off the website and it’s sort of just not being talked about.
My wonderful friend Anna’s mom and brother (plus girlfriend) are visiting her this week so I decided to go with them this past weekend to Lake Natron. If you’ve seen “Out of Africa,” Lake Natron is mentioned when Meryl Streep’s character ventures with her own safari party to go meet her husband, although it never actually shows the lake. Anna’s boyfriend (Josh) is Tanzania and was able to rent a large SUV for the six of us to drive out there. Of course when we got the car, it turned out the back seat was missing so yours truly sat in the trunk for six hours. It actually wasn’t too bad and I felt like I was in the womb being rocked to sleep on the backcountry road haha…yes, I know that sounds weird. On the way out there the car kept stopping and Josh would have to start it again, and the car was tilting a lot since the road was so crappy, which made Anna’s family less than pleased. Maybe it’s because I’m so used to terrible buses in this country or because I was clueless spacing out in the back, but it seemed like a pretty decent ride. Along the way Masai (kids mostly) kept appearing from across the desert asking us for water, which we had since we brought a few boxes of our own.
The drought that’s going on in this part of the world right now is incredible. I can’t tell you how desperate people were for water and I have never seen so many dying cows in my life. Masai depend on cows for their life and it is said that Masai believe all the cows in the world are their own. It was grim to see half decayed carcasses and cows that weren’t getting up to go to the bathroom, who according to Masai we met, would die the same day or the next. I don’t know how people are living out there, but it’s incredible.
The camp we stayed at was an oasis in the desert with trees and grass, right near an active volcano. We each stayed in a stand up tent with beds inside and lantern light. It was beautiful to wake up in the morning and see goats and sheeps and donkeys grazing on the camp grounds. The bathrooms reminded me of the Flintstones since the sinks were made of rock and the showers were rock covered by Masai blankets. There was a small sort of restaurant open to the elements, all run by Masai.
We took a short walking safari (only a few hours) from the camp ground through dried lava ash, across a river through the Masai bomas (villages) and finally to the lake. It felt so special to be able to walk in Masai country and see things like the bush they use (or the branches) to brush their teeth. The lake was beautiful and filled with pink flamingoes who shy fairly easily away from people. Because of the drought, the lake is much smaller than normal and the salt in the water was drying out the mud. At some point I felt like I was walking across a brownie, sort of crispy on the top and fudgy inside.
That same day we hiked up a canyon through a river to a waterfall. On the way back baboons were crawling up the hills like something out of “The Wizard of Oz” and there was a massive dust storm that at first made us think the volcano might be erupting and then just made me feel like I was traveling in north Africa. The waterfall was very picturesque and reminded me of “Swiss Family Robinson” since you had to lift yourself into one waterfall and then you could walk back to others hidden from plain view. At the end we were able to slide down a rock (a mini water slide) which was more than beautiful.
This all sounds fine and lovely until you hear about what a pain in the keister it was to come home. On the way to the campsite (the first day) we were running on empty for forty minutes or so and just made it in before night fall. Because we were out in no man’s land we had to buy gas through a deal with villagers and I’m pretty sure something was fishy with those forty-five liters of petrol….possibly diluted or dirty. Needless to say, the car broke down two hours outside of Lake Natron on the return trip, in the middle of endless desert. Josh tried fixing the car but I could tell nothing was gonna help this lemon. Luckily since there is only one road to Natron some safari cars passed us and tried to help. Of course, they all had clients and couldn’t really help us for long, and instead told us they’d radio for help. Stupidly not one safari car had a SAT phone which I sort of thought was necessary for trips like those. Eventually an ancient safari car from the 50s or 60s was driving our way and agreed to tow us…..10 kilometers in about an hour…to the next village. By the time we got there I really had to pee and this Masai chick flipped out at me and wanted to charge me a ridiculous amount for using the building that said “toilet.” We then had to pay since the rental car we were ditching was next to her house and she was talking about destroying it in retaliation. Honestly. I also forgot to mention that when we were stranded in the desert for hours Masai came out of nowhere (who did NOT speak Swahili) and were pinching our skin and looking at us like we were total aliens. Eventually I shut my door since I felt like I was on display at the zoo and the started drawing pictures in the dirt on our car. Back in the village, I convinced Josh we ditch this piece of crap rental car and pay these two Tanz dudes to take us to Mtu Mbu- Mosquito River- a village 2 to 3 hours away where there is cell-phone service and paved roads. We all climbed in the trunk of the hollowed out ancient safari car and made the slow crawl back to Mtu Mbu, were we had to get yet another lift to Arusha, at which point it started pouring out of nowhere. The good news is were alive and back in Moshi and we’ve survived.
A few weeks ago I went to Arusha for the weekend to see friends and get out of Moshi and while two of us were eating dinner one night two gunshots went off. The first about 75 feet away; the second closer to 20. All the other tourists around us just carried on la-dee-dah like nothing was wrong. I especially liked how a worker at the restaurant just said “oh it’s just the neighbor making sure everyone knows he has a gun.” Sure. To make a long story short, we got home fine but lied down in the back seat to be sure. The cab driver, like most Tanzanians, just kept telling us “no worries,” and my favorite “everyone has a gun in Arusha, it’s so easy!”
*Amani Update*
I also got the chance a little while back to go on a home visit with a social worker and a fourteen-year-old boy at Amani I’m very close with. His family lives two villages or so down the road from Amani, near Bonite, the Coca-Cola bottling plantation. I love seeing the Coca-Cola staff buses along the roads in Moshi since the bus is so ancient it’s a miracle it’s not falling apart, trailing in pieces. I have to say though Coca-Cola really is ingenius. When small shacks/shops decide to sell their products they give them printed signs of the shop’s name in exchange. Plus the transportation among other things. They really have it down. Anyways, it seemed like this village was really built around this bottling plant, which is pretty much out in the sticks. The area is pretty poor- mostly mud huts- and from what I’ve heard there’s a good amount of street kids and alcoholism. When we went to see the boy’s house (mud hut), his parents were absent since his father was at work and his mom was at a funeral (very typical here). We did see instead the mother of a child out on the street who I know who used to be at Amani about four months ago. It was pretty heart breaking since she was clearly drunk so early in the morning and hadn’t seen her son in so long. Her son is a great little artist and addicted to drugs. Since the parents weren’t there we went to visit the little brother at primary school. Because we were in the bush, at one point I looked behind me at the school and literally saw one hundred kids behind me chanting “Mzungu! Mzungu!” which means foreigner or white person. It’s probably the closest I’ll ever come to feeling like a Rolling Stone, and I’m pretty okay with that.
On the walk back the little brother kept saying “tunaenda wote?” or “are we all going back?” It was clear he’d really missed his older brother and wanted to come visit him which isn’t really done. Although of course the following weekend he showed up at Amani to play with bicycles and the next day his father angrily took him back. Unfortunately, I’m sure he was beaten since that’s what’s done here. This entire country is silently crying out for anything resembling a movement against domestic violence. There really is nothing and nowhere anyone can go when they are abused. The police are pretty worthless other than anything outside of bribes, which isn’t fair to say, but it’s mostly true.
By the time we got back the mother had returned (by the way the whole walk back the social worker was trying to get me to agree to marry him- not fun). The mother is blind from years of cooking over smoky fires and from what I can tell can only see shades of light and shapes. She was angry we had brought her son back since before he left he was going down to the river to help fisherman clean fish to sell to make some money for himself and his younger brother since the father was using his money on pombe (beer). This of course brought the boy to tears. The father came home around lunch and in typical Tanzanian fashion the two told the social worker that there are no problems at home. Ten minutes later they were yelling at each other so I took the kids to get a soda. In retaliation the mother stopped cooking for the husband, who refused to give her money to support herself for her disobedience. There were really hard any possessions in the house other some buckets and coals for a fire so I’m really hoping my little friend isn’t being reunified anytime soon without financial assistance and some much needed family counseling. The whole process was really interesting since really, this is what I want to learn about and eventually do.
A lot of the kids behavior has been really erratic lately. They love me one hour, they hate me the next. Many are pissed that I’m leaving them and I don’t blame them. They’re entitled. It must be confusing since I’ve been here close to a year.
There are a few new children this week, although one I’m pretty sure will leave soon. He’s got that look in his eye and it’s easy to see. The littlest one is pretty adorable and in love with the tiny keyboard we received as a donation recently. Personally, I want to chuck that thing out the window. It’s got prerecorded songs like “Jingle Bells” and….oh, wait, one other (!) and the kids love to listen to it on repeat and pretend they’re playing the songs. It was pretty heartbreaking today since I was standing over him and noticed a scar on his arm beneath his t-shirt line. As I pulled up the t-shirt sleeve I saw a cigarette burn (on a child less than ten years old), and four letters including K and L written out on his arm. The terrible part about it was the letters were scars from burns, and he tried to convince me he did it to himself when he can’t write. Whoever this child’s father was essentially branded him as a form of punishment. I’m continually shocked and disgusted on new levels of what humans can do to humans; what adults can do to children.
One of the best parts of my week are Thursday mornings when I go pick up two wonderful kids called Kalisti and Zainabu at a special needs school the next village over. I think they really love that they get to show off their school and have someone come pick them up since people don’t really do that here with kids. Even preschool kids make the long walk alone. Zain has pretty intense ADD sometimes, and let me tell you, they don’t sell daily drugs for that here. She is one slap happy child truly living on her own planet. I call it “The Zai Show” or “The Hurricane.” Anyways, I really love them and walking down the village road alongside the banana trees and the skinny stream and the wandering chickens to go get them is always so fun.
*Lake Natron*
After hearing of Amani’s death last week, I really needed to get away for the weekend and be distracted. Of course, I have still been thinking about him every day and really feel like it wasn’t properly explained to the kids. It’s difficult since they truly are so much more used to death here. It is much much more commonplace. His picture was taken off the website and it’s sort of just not being talked about.
My wonderful friend Anna’s mom and brother (plus girlfriend) are visiting her this week so I decided to go with them this past weekend to Lake Natron. If you’ve seen “Out of Africa,” Lake Natron is mentioned when Meryl Streep’s character ventures with her own safari party to go meet her husband, although it never actually shows the lake. Anna’s boyfriend (Josh) is Tanzania and was able to rent a large SUV for the six of us to drive out there. Of course when we got the car, it turned out the back seat was missing so yours truly sat in the trunk for six hours. It actually wasn’t too bad and I felt like I was in the womb being rocked to sleep on the backcountry road haha…yes, I know that sounds weird. On the way out there the car kept stopping and Josh would have to start it again, and the car was tilting a lot since the road was so crappy, which made Anna’s family less than pleased. Maybe it’s because I’m so used to terrible buses in this country or because I was clueless spacing out in the back, but it seemed like a pretty decent ride. Along the way Masai (kids mostly) kept appearing from across the desert asking us for water, which we had since we brought a few boxes of our own.
The drought that’s going on in this part of the world right now is incredible. I can’t tell you how desperate people were for water and I have never seen so many dying cows in my life. Masai depend on cows for their life and it is said that Masai believe all the cows in the world are their own. It was grim to see half decayed carcasses and cows that weren’t getting up to go to the bathroom, who according to Masai we met, would die the same day or the next. I don’t know how people are living out there, but it’s incredible.
The camp we stayed at was an oasis in the desert with trees and grass, right near an active volcano. We each stayed in a stand up tent with beds inside and lantern light. It was beautiful to wake up in the morning and see goats and sheeps and donkeys grazing on the camp grounds. The bathrooms reminded me of the Flintstones since the sinks were made of rock and the showers were rock covered by Masai blankets. There was a small sort of restaurant open to the elements, all run by Masai.
We took a short walking safari (only a few hours) from the camp ground through dried lava ash, across a river through the Masai bomas (villages) and finally to the lake. It felt so special to be able to walk in Masai country and see things like the bush they use (or the branches) to brush their teeth. The lake was beautiful and filled with pink flamingoes who shy fairly easily away from people. Because of the drought, the lake is much smaller than normal and the salt in the water was drying out the mud. At some point I felt like I was walking across a brownie, sort of crispy on the top and fudgy inside.
That same day we hiked up a canyon through a river to a waterfall. On the way back baboons were crawling up the hills like something out of “The Wizard of Oz” and there was a massive dust storm that at first made us think the volcano might be erupting and then just made me feel like I was traveling in north Africa. The waterfall was very picturesque and reminded me of “Swiss Family Robinson” since you had to lift yourself into one waterfall and then you could walk back to others hidden from plain view. At the end we were able to slide down a rock (a mini water slide) which was more than beautiful.
This all sounds fine and lovely until you hear about what a pain in the keister it was to come home. On the way to the campsite (the first day) we were running on empty for forty minutes or so and just made it in before night fall. Because we were out in no man’s land we had to buy gas through a deal with villagers and I’m pretty sure something was fishy with those forty-five liters of petrol….possibly diluted or dirty. Needless to say, the car broke down two hours outside of Lake Natron on the return trip, in the middle of endless desert. Josh tried fixing the car but I could tell nothing was gonna help this lemon. Luckily since there is only one road to Natron some safari cars passed us and tried to help. Of course, they all had clients and couldn’t really help us for long, and instead told us they’d radio for help. Stupidly not one safari car had a SAT phone which I sort of thought was necessary for trips like those. Eventually an ancient safari car from the 50s or 60s was driving our way and agreed to tow us…..10 kilometers in about an hour…to the next village. By the time we got there I really had to pee and this Masai chick flipped out at me and wanted to charge me a ridiculous amount for using the building that said “toilet.” We then had to pay since the rental car we were ditching was next to her house and she was talking about destroying it in retaliation. Honestly. I also forgot to mention that when we were stranded in the desert for hours Masai came out of nowhere (who did NOT speak Swahili) and were pinching our skin and looking at us like we were total aliens. Eventually I shut my door since I felt like I was on display at the zoo and the started drawing pictures in the dirt on our car. Back in the village, I convinced Josh we ditch this piece of crap rental car and pay these two Tanz dudes to take us to Mtu Mbu- Mosquito River- a village 2 to 3 hours away where there is cell-phone service and paved roads. We all climbed in the trunk of the hollowed out ancient safari car and made the slow crawl back to Mtu Mbu, were we had to get yet another lift to Arusha, at which point it started pouring out of nowhere. The good news is were alive and back in Moshi and we’ve survived.
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