Ninaumwa, Nina Matatizo ......

Wow if I was charging money for counseling services here I would be making a killing. Its interesting to see how my new found meditation and centering skills can be used here. The problem is that when someone is sick or hurting emotionally (which is just about everyone I know here at the moment) I sit with them and help them to carry the burden. fine. awesome actually. That's what I came here to do. but without the community at my meditation centre or the privacy of my shrine room, my cbt and meditation exercises must come in spurts (like on the back of a dirt bike deep in the village or while I am washing up). I am in Mwanza now, supporting my friends (Canadian, Australian and Tanzanian) while they run many different projects and I bounce between them daily. This might be my first trip where I have done so much "intangible" work but feel like I am accomplishing a lot. I miss my friends. I miss Jerry and Sophia. I miss the kids. Robbie, Baila, Ema, Fortunatus, Paulo, Augustina, Marwa... it is devastating watching them slip through my fingers and knowing there is nothing I can do about it. Every minute I get closer to understanding what it is like to be Tanzanian and every minute I loose my ability to express it to people of my own culture.

Back Again - 2010

11:28 pm lying in bed refusing to fall asleep. Can't stop surfing the interweb for various TZ related tidbits and happened upon my old blog! What do you know? I'm not in TZ now, nor was I planning on going anytime soon when I woke up this morning but.... well.... my old buddy called me from Australia and yada yada yada, I leave for TZ in four days. I can't freaking wait. SO much to do. Cramming 3 months of planning into 4 days and leaving my new home (been living here for 3 weeks now) for a month should make things interesting this week.

Nov. 6.....GOBAMA Fever.......Moshi

I woke up yesterday and hooked straight into the internet to find out the results of the election. Nobody really believed me when I explained why I had yelled a big Canadian "WooHoo!" from my bedroom - I don't know how to say the words "won the election" in Swahili so I settled for "Obama is president", but I got the replies "Insha Allah" - God willing - it took some time for me to convince them that it had already happened. By afternoon word had spread throughout the town and everybody had Obama on their lips and hope in their heart. Because Tanzania is so close with Kenya they are proud to have a nearly fellow countryman in office and I think all of the African community is united in hope that their lives will somehow get better because a black man is in power. It will be disappointing for many when they find that no more help is coming from America just because the mother of the new American president made a kid with a Kenyan man. Still I think the power of the hope that has been inspired is as important as any change he will make in office. Personally I am a non political person, but had goose bumps for a total of about four hours yesterday. Hearing the news put a smile on my face all day which is difficult to do these days... I’m suffering from the blues. I know logically that not as much will change as we would hope for but to know that there is still something to believe in is a great medicine. It almost fights my decision to never bring children into this suffering, senseless dying world. Whoops! got a bit depressing there but that’s life.

People are sending and forwarding text messages to each other and to me congratulating each other on the African American in office. Some examples:
"
____@
__/ ["]\____
{_(@)______(@)\

Peep..peep.. Am coming 2 pick you 2 celebrate 4 the winning of OUR fellow black American Barak Obama"

"

"I trusted you but you have a mouth that never closes. Why did you tell everyone my secret that Barak Obama is my Uncle?"

"I received a message from America today that said Barak Obama chose me to come and visit him in the new Black House. He said I could invite one friend and I choose you."

*messages are partially edited for Canadian English speakers



Today has been declared a national holiday in Kenya in celebration of the election of Barak Obama and "They have slaughtered many cows" - good news from the streets of Moshi.

Nov 3...A Halloween Party of One......Moshi

Determination. My mother taught me an important lesson when I was in my late teens and she was in her early twenties (well, early fifties, but she had just started dating again so we had some things in common). When I was feeling low because I couldn't rally troops to join me in some social event I would often mope around the house all weekend, complaining to my mother while sitting on the bathroom counter while she so bravely prepared herself for the weekly single's dance. She would get tired of my whining and very blatantly tell me that if I wanted to have fun I had to make it myself.

"Don't ask someone if they want to go to the movies. Tell them that you are going and let them know that they are welcome to join you. And if no one joins you, go anyway. If you go out by yourself, you only have to be brave for ten minutes. By the time you get where you are going you will start to enjoy yourself and don't have to be brave anymore."

I know she was convincing herself as well as me as I would often find her pacing in her room on a Friday night, wearing pantyhose and a bra, trying to muster up the courage to face the world as a single, fun loving, middle aged woman. One night she even had me copy my Chinese Tattoo on her shoulder with a permanent black marker to bring out the rebel inside.

So it was in this spirit that I decided that I would celebrate Halloween in Moshi. I spent the entire day making myself a costume and was met by many a confused face when I explained to onlookers that I wanted to dress myself as a lion. With half of my costume finished, I went to the store to get some candy to distribute and the shopkeeper, who I speak to on a daily basis, announced "Happy Birthday!" and gave me extra candy as this could be the only explanation for such odd behavior. My English speaking friends got the gist of the holiday with much explanation, but with my limited Swahili I think most of the others came away with that October 31st every Canadian paints their face like a cat and eats candy.

I tried to find people to go to the bar with me, not even mentioning that I would look a bit freakish. I ended up calling Bob, my old standby because he has an underlying belief that I will one day marry him and make his failing business a success. He also has a car. And a girlfriend. And a newborn son. So he came by to pick me up, with his girlfriend and two month old baby, Bob Junior coming along. (Yes the baby came along to the bar and no that’s not an odd thing here.) I carried Bob Junior to the bar where I met my old friend, Abbas, who I hadn't seen in at least a year. Ditching the whole Bob clan, I had a great night with Abbas, some of his Canadian safari clients and two of Jerry's brothers who showed up later. Maybe great night is an over statement. It was nice. With the right crew it could have been a rager but I have learned that great nights out can't be planned in TZ. They just happen and hopefully you are in the right mood and have enough money in your pocket to follow along.

I was one of about 20 white people at the bar and was dressed like a lion. I stood out a bit but kept forgetting I was wearing a costume. I gave out candy to anyone that said trick or treat but other than that it was just catching up and sharing stories with new and old friends all night.

WARNING: dont read this is you hate hearing about other people's dreams!

Tuesday, Oct 28th ****Arusha uncle mikes house

No power, no water, no people. at least I've got my laptop battery charged. I was just having a four hour midday "I have nothing to do and there's no food so I may as well just sleep the day away" nap. I kept waking up every half hour or so, but finding that my situation hadn't changed, gave into the bliss of unconsciousness. I usually prefer it to consciousness anyway.

Whoops!! A flurry of activity! The house girl, Dada Rose just burst in my room speaking very excitedly and after slowing her down I figured out that she was telling me that it was raining, fairly heavily, on my freshly washed clothes from which my hands are still complaining. All the clothes are strewn around the dining room now, drying inside. Yup, pretty exciting.

So back to talking about my nap, rather my dreams which were the point of the story, I dreamt I had met my mother at a ferry terminal (which happens often as we live on an island) where she whisked me away to her best friend Debbie's tropical bungalow on a secluded island at a private resort. (Huh?) I was in my swimsuit, baking hot, trying to put away my things quickly so I could hit the beautiful, refreshing ocean when a waitress came in to take our lunch order. I really, I mean really wanted a margarita. In fact the thought of drinking an icy blended margarita has haunted me since I set foot in TZ. I couldn't afford one, though, and Debbie ordered sandwiches for lunch which meant going to the beach had to wait. I woke up then and noticed that reality hadn't actually changed. I looked around the room and found out I was hot because the power was cut and the fan went off . (Daily power outages here are usually preplanned by the "powers" that be rather than a mistake or act of God like at home.) I then considered the dirty walls, the barred windows, the smell of burning garbage and my general cabin fever and decided that sandwiches and the beach were a much better alternative so I went back to sleep. I remember talking to a lesbian who was also staying with us in our bungalow and her young daughter who were asking me about my time in Africa. I got really confused because I wasn't sure that I had left Africa. I had seen my mother though, which meant I had probably come home, and was upset to think that I had been yanked back before I had done everything I was supposed to do here, let alone have the heartfelt goodbyes. I decided to go for a walk and, helping Debbie with the house keeping, I took with me 6 or 7 flats of eggs, carrying them in a box on my head toward the main road. (Don’t ask- its a dream, remember?) I was also carrying an empty bottle of water which I kept trying to drink from but was constantly disappointed. At some point a small black boy came up to me and took my useless water bottle, said thanks and walked the other way. I tried to stop him, as I was sure there was still something in there that I could drink and in my chase, dropped the eggs. It was all downhill from there. Half the eggs were broken and I was trying to save the precious yolks in paper bags and broken shells while finding my way back to Debbie's place. I was sure I could fix things, if I could only get somewhere in time where I could cook the broken eggs and come up with a good story. Something about a car accident maybe. Every step seemed to bring more disaster, more broken eggs and less sense of direction. In my dream I was totally lost, surrounded by mess and guilt, with people trying to help me but not knowing how. I woke up drenched in sweat and felt like my head weighed about fifty pounds. Somehow I had wrapped myself up in Issack's heavy camping blanket and was woozy from dehydration. I got up, found some drinking water and realized that this reality was now better than my dream world. Funny that.

So now that I'm fully awake and alive and back in Africa I guess I'll go back to studying Swahili until the family comes back from town. I might go home to Moshi tonight - I want to be careful not to wear out my welcome here and I think I've sucked this place dry of entertainment. The thought of going back to Msasani doesn't excite me, though. In fact it’s rather dreary. I guess I'm in a slump. Sargeant's curve strikes again. Not much to complain about though, other than everything.

Oh! I almost forgot a very important ray of sunshine I got two days ago. I was playing house, taking care of Issack's son for a couple of days and got a chance to cook a meal by myself. It felt so good! I've been dying to cook for a couple of weeks now, but as I don't have a kitchen, it’s kind of difficult. Of course I could ask Dada Asia to use her kitchen but I don't want to offend her by cooking my own food because she feeds me every day. So this kitchen has..... wait for it.... a fridge! A gas range!! An electric oven!!!! holy crap, my mind was spinning. Unfortunately there was no food. Well, no food visible to the untrained eye, that is. An old boyfriend of mine said that I could make a hearty meal out of mustard and pickles when I put my mind to it and I pride myself as being the "something from nothing cook" amongst my friends. Ok... so there certainly was food but its not like I could say "I want to cook spaghetti bolognese" (which is what I actually was hoping to make) and go for it. The closest supermarket is 5km away and relying on the local stands for any one particular ingredient is setting yourself up for disappointment. Long story short I shat out a (what I considered) wicked meal of Spanish rice, eland meatballs, and roasted potatoes with peanut curry sauce. Issack's son Kelven didn’t think much of it, but the rest of us wolfed it down. Yay!

Sunday Oct 26 - Arusha - Swahili Families and Born Again Christians

Sunday, October 26th, 2008 ******Arusha, uncle mike's place****

Its often confusing for me when my friends introduce me to their families. If I was to interpret the information I receive regarding family relations literally (which is usually my tendency), I would conclude that most of my friends and acquaintances have at least 2 mothers, two fathers and a ridiculous amount of siblings. It comes down to this: you refer to everybody in your related family as per their generation, rather than their relation to you. For instance, the same day I met Issack last August he introduced me to his Dad and Mom, two sisters and one brother. Later I found out that the Dad was in fact his uncle, and one of the sisters was actually his cousin. Because I am continually trying to distinguish actual relations when I meet his family, Issack now often stops himself and thinks before introduces me to someone. He will now introduce each of his scores of male cousins as his "cousin brother" - still needing to include the word brother as a symbol of their close relationship. Friends are also often referred to as sisters and brothers, rarely just “rafiki" which could be anybody in the street. Basically you have:

your rafiki - literally means friend, used as soon as you set eyes on someone.

your besti - your best friend(s), not related but have a lot in common and can talk with each other for hours

your shemeji - your brother or sister in law - this can refer to anyone who is the boyfriend, girlfriend, wife or husband of someone you call your sister or brother - OR - anybody that your boyfriend, girlfriend, wife or husband calls his/her sister or brother

your dada or kaka - sister or brother oh my god, anybody can be called that.

your baba or mama - mother or father can be anyone from the generation above your own, or someone of your own age group that you feel the need to show respect to.

your bibi or babu - grandmother or grandfather, anyone from the two generations above you or someone you wish to show respect to

There are names for uncles and aunties in Swahili that are often used for strangers and people use the English forms as well. It’s confusing to me though because when people speak literally about their relations an uncle that is older than my father is called my "big father" and an uncle that is younger than my father is called my "small father". Whereas is someone calls a person "big mother" is probably means she's just fat.

In my own adopted family (they adopted me here, not the other way around) I have two sisters, two aunties, one uncle and one grandfather, all of which are siblings or half siblings. No, its not incest, its just how our relationships developed. Some of the children of this generation call me sister, some call me auntie, some call me simply Mwamba (my Swahili name) and one calls me Mommy. Its a great feeling being included in the family in this way, confusing as it may be, I have become totally used to it and as I become closer to some, their names change from cousin to brother, from sister to "my child", from "auntie" to "my auntie"... etc.

There is another factor in the family confusion which is the fact that Tanzanian men can legally maintain marriages with 4 women. Step children, half-siblings and even nieces, nephews and grandchildren can grow up in one house, smudging the family lines but ultimately creating a rock hard family unit. Back in Canada I would never think to show up at an aunt or uncle's house expecting room and board (although I'm sure I could) because my parents and I are quarrelling or because my dad's new wife wants a new start. Here in Tanzania and in other African countries I have visited finding a family that is raising only children of the parents that live in the house is very rare. People have children here and pass them around like a fruit tray. Mind you, everything is shared among family here and sending a child to another family member to raise is usually in the child's best interest.

At the moment I am super pleased to be staying in Issack's uncle's place for a few days. Life in Moshi has become hectic and this house is a quiet haven where the only thing that disturbs me is the evangelical radio that blasts in the kitchen half the day. I should clarify, if the reader would kindly and patiently follow along, that I am not staying where Uncle Mike lives, but at the home of his first wife where currently there are only three people technically living - Issack, his aunt and a house girl who is actually a house woman as she is 38 years old with 3 kids. Last night Issack and I brought Issack's son, Kelven, who currently lives with Issack's sister, Nancy to Uncle Mike's son's (also named Mike) 9th birthday party at Uncle Mike's second wife's house. Mike Junior is turned nine yesterday, catching up with his nephew Kelven, who will be 10 in December. Mike Junior was very upset when he found out that he was not allowed to have a sleep over with his nephew and best friend Kelven at hosted by Issack and I at Uncle Mike's first wife's house as his mother doesn't want her child exposed to her predecessor's "born again Christian" lifestyle.

Born Again Christians are the closest I have seen to a cult since I arrived in TZ. They are Evangelical in nature and overzealous in action. Once you join their church, they hold a ceremony where you burn all of your worldly goods to start a fresh new life. Oh ya, that’s healthy and constructive. Of course I must add my usual disclaimer and say that every Born Again Christian I have met in TZ has been good as gold, though overbearing.

October 14th ....msasani... night out with cousins and my old job

Crashed my second Tanzanian wedding on Sunday, apparently I had met the groom but I have apparently met hundreds of people in this town. I was dragged along by Abdul, Keyfa's charming cousin at 9pm when I was about ready for bed and had to beg for time to change my clothes. I always have an interesting time out with the cousins. There is a generation within my adopted family that almost meets my qualifications for a peer group except that they are all a bit younger than me and therefore have much more stamina when we go out together. (Unfortunately they are also usually my ride home.) Dada Asia, who is at least ten years my senior, also came and was my waiting partner when we had had enough of drinking and dancing and watching married couples quarrel.

At about twelve oclock Asia came over to sit with me. Half and hour later I noticed that all of the cousins were sitting around us. Nobody - except two young teenage girls who rarely get the occasion to go "disco dancing" and were dressed to the nines - was dancing, drinking or even talking much. It was as if we were waiting for something, but I couldn't figure out what. I know better than to ask, so, assuming Asia wanted to wait for them to leave because she didnt want to pay for a taxi, I offered to pay(we were the only two going in our direction anyway). She agreed, asked if I was in a hurry to go and when I told her I didnt mind waiting a little she was happy.

At one thirty we were in the exact situation when the band played their last song and bade us farewell. Abdul asked Asia and I, the matriarchs of the group if we were ready to go and we jumped at the ready. We got to the family vehicle which is kind of a more efficient version of a family van, with the middle seats ripped out you can fit a lot more people. As soon as we all arrived at the vehicle Abdul disappeared back to the bar as he didn't have his keys. When he returned about ten minutes later, all of the men disappeared to help with what turned out to be a truck stuck in the ditch across the street. There were about 40 other people "helping" as well. Half an hour later, truck still in ditch, the men returned and Abdul disappeared again to find his phone. The van finally slowly crept out of the parking lot, picking up more family members, friends and neighbours on the way. Also balloons. As more people filed in the air filled with the noises of popping balloons and voices calling out names like attendance at school as there was at this point no way to know who was inside and who may have been left behind. The van stopped twice on the way for people to reshuffle, once Abdul was stuck on the outside, holding the sliding door as close to closed as it would go. We ended up getting dropped at a gas station at about 2:30 where we continued home in a cab. Abdul and his friend tried their best to convince Asia and I to escort them to Moshi's hot new club but we were both over done. A long end to what could have been a lovely evening.

***********************************

Two nights ago a good friend of mine, Otto, stopped by my place. He had heard I was in town and surprised me with a visit. Even more sup rising was the woman - his girlfriend - he brought with him. One of the only Canadians that I got along with when I was working on the medical caravan on Kili last year. Another surprise was when she invited me to join the caravan now in progress. Guess I did a better job than I thought. So yesterday I put in a full day at triage in the village of Kirua, about 2000m up Kili and had a fantastic time. I triaged about 150 patients and got some great Swahili practise in. I was amazed at how great I felt last night and this morning, after putting in a day's work. The whole "life has a purpose" feeling is pretty cool. Even though I don't put in a lot of value in the type of help that is being distributed through these caravans (the expenditure to return ratio is pretty weak) it sure beats hanging around the bar all day, waiting for the heat of the day to die down so I can go into town and get like one thing done.

So I think tomorrow I'll go again. Why notty notty? It would be nice to have an answer to question "what are you doing here in Tanzania?". I would like to spend less time at home anyway as I've been quarrelling with Babu Rasta who, after I refused to lend him a new laptop to watch a movie last night (he doesn't even know how to turn one on) told everyone at the bar that I was from Babylon which is fairly high up on the Tanzanian insult scale.

Today I woke up at 6 hoping to find a way up the mountain to join the caravan but noone had gone to fetch the water, my cell phone charger has disappeared, and I didnt have a contact number for the caravan crew - all together compiling into enough of an excuse to go back to bed. I was pretty proud of myself, though when I went through the long process of getting ahold of them and actually calling them to say I wouldn't be showing up. A great leap forward in my being brave enough to let someone down and own up to it. Its not like they were counting on me to come, I had just told them that I would let them know if I was coming but the point is that I actually did let them know and thats huge for me.

Highlights of the day included

*Sitting out in the dusty street this morning studying my correspondence course and loosing myself in a textbook, (Really? Ya!)

*Taking Karim to the pharmacy and paying a ridiculous amount of money for a ridiculous amount of drugs (two types of antibiotics and two tubes of antifungal cream) to fix the long term rash on his head. It was cool because Asia, Karim's mother, who cooks for me everyday, cleans my room when I go out of town and takes care of me in general asked me if I knew what medicine she should use to help him and I got to feel like I was paying her back in a small way.

*Sitting in my room eating chipsi mayai with Kefa, answering his adolescent questions about what dreams are and if they come true.

Looking back it has been an awesome day. Except of course for the constant diarrhea.