Blog Update: Life as of Late

After experiencing a sufficient amount of rage resulting from the daily bullshit that goes on at times while living here, my friend Sarah and I checked into a nice hotel in Arusha a few weekends ago where I was actually able to take a bubble bath. A freaking bubble bath. I forgot those existed. I had a different kind of culture shock at this really nice hotel; watching tv, having so many lights in one room, showering in a sterile enclosed area, etc etc. We also saw “Slumdog Millionaire” at the one movie theater in Arusha but it irritated me somewhat. Not that it wasn’t a good movie and a nice story, but I also work with former street kids and know current street kids and kept picturing all these Hollywood bastards in their designer dresses feeling happy after seeing this movie. In reality a majority of kids don’t get rescued, and those who do get help aren’t living fairytales and are navigating their lives alone. They are abandoned by relatives at bus stations or beaten by the police and fairytales are not in the cards for them. Although another volunteer and I did find it pretty hilarious that one of the twelve year old kids left over winter break to be a pool hustler and was able to make a pretty penny/shilling.

One thing that is kind of strange is I spend all day with neglected kids and then come home to a bunch of neglected dogs. Our useless “guard dog” Luna is becoming fatter and lazier each day. She used to be really “street” and skinky and desperate and stand offish. Now she is a fat snob. Her three friends hang out here, and all smell pretty funky except for one we call Shy Girl who got her leg chopped with a panga/machete. We had to get Shy’s leg amputated and the idiot vet didn’t give her any antibiotics or pain killers. I forget if I’ve written about this already. Coming home to all these unclaimed dogs after being at Amani all day is a little exasperating at times.

Anyways; on to something positive. A few weeks ago Sarah and I also went flying in a four-seater plane to West Kilimanjaro which was so amazing! Flying over Moshi was so surreal, especially seeing the big market (Mbuyuni) which looks a bit refugee like from above. Once the plane landed we were out in the middle of open land and could see Kenya in the distance beyond the grass where the farmland met red earth. It’s hard to put into words but I felt really blessed to be hanging around in such a beautiful untouched part of Africa, while the pilot was sipping his whiskey (yes, a little disconcerting).

We had a field trip at Amani a few weeks ago and went to a place called Mweka, which is a wildlife college. I thought my immune system would be better by now but I seem to be picking up most viruses the kids have maybe because they are always trying to braid or pull out pieces of my hair like little monkeys or trying to sit on top of me. Lately they’ve been asking if they can give me hair cuts or shave my head. I say no. The kids were mostly excited about seeing elephant bones and beastly heads. Their vacation has officially started for the next month, which means I get most of the kids during the day and they all demand to watch Power Rangers or vampire movies. Joy. My dad sent me some more animal coloring books for the kids, which they love, and they are basically like currency along with the dancing monkey pens he donated.

Some of the kids were circumsized last week (about 15), which I really don’t feel like going into for my own personal psyche. It’s a process most East African kids go through at a later age, and most of the kids have been recovering together in one of the classrooms. In other news, a few of the kids are playing in the East African soccer youth cup this week and I’m excited to see them play.

Really I’ve just been working and busy preparing for my parents to come. I truly cannot eat any more rice that has a slight taste of intestine to it or other lovely Tanzanian delicacies. My stomach is just refusing to do it anymore. It has officially rejected the funk at the six-month mark.

Today I looked at the “Daily Nation” headlines at the local grocery store. The “Daily Nation” is a Kenyan newspaper in English (significantly more Kenyans speak English than Tanzanians) and it tends to be much better written than any of the Tanzanian gems. Thank heavens I do not live in Kenyan, although at some point I’d like to go to Nairobi to see this elephant/giraffe orphanage and eat Thai food (Nairobi is six hours away). Nairobi also has the largest slum in East Africa, which I wish I could visit with the company of an African of course but that probably won’t be happening.Anyways the main headline was about the gun trade in Kenya and how it costs 3,000 Kenyan shillings per hour to rent a pistol and 15,000 k shillings per hour to rent an AK-47. Granted, Kenyan shillings are worth more than TZ shillings, but still. I’m sure the police and the government help this to happen. No wonder organized crime squirms like a snake through Nairobi’s crowded streets.

I feel pretty cut off from the world here, but I have to say sometimes it’s a relief. Sarah lent me a Time magazine yesterday and reading the news can be such a downer.

On Sunday mornings I’m usually rudely awakened by the fire and brimstone preacher who lives next door. Today, it turns out, some idiot gave that fool a microphone and I don’t think Jesus would mind if a big rocket fell out of the sky and smushed him. Speaking of Jesus some obnoxious missionaries (high school girls and their teachers) came to Amani on Friday and were preaching to the kids about accepting Jesus into their lives under the guise of Bible themed coloring books and Dora the Explorer frisbees. Did I mention some of the kids are Muslim? At the end of the day I tried to tell some of the kids it’s okay to believe in Jesus or to believe in Mohammed; you don’t have to be Christian to be a good person. I’m not Christian but I believe in God, and I don’t think Jesus has any beef with me volunteering in Africa. I did not approve of the high school girl’s pro-life sticker-ed guitar case either, or the bracelets given to the kids with the different color beads on them. Black represented sin and white represented purity. Give. Me. A. Break. These kids know that the group talking to them have white skin, how is a kid supposed to interpret that? Not too mention the talk about sin and guilt. If one of those missionaries even slightly influenced the kids to believe that their misfortune is their fault, I would not hesitate in directing my rage towards their insolence. Really, they don’t know the kids or how these kids have suffered, and instead of using the one day they have at Amani to tell the kids how to live their lives, maybe they should take the time to find out what their lives are like. That’s probably what infuriates me the most about missionary work. It really makes me wonder about the foreigners here.Anyways, my parents are coming tonight, so we’ll be taking two weeks together to see the Serengeti and Zanzibar (the island Aladdin and Alia Babba’s stories were set in). I’m excited to see some lions, and cheetahs and hippos (oh my!).