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!
Tuesday, October 28, 2008
Sunday, October 26, 2008
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.
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.
Tuesday, October 14, 2008
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.
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.
Saturday, October 11, 2008
Saturday, October 11, 2008 -Msasani .... arusha trip...
Back at home from a three day trip to Arusha visiting Issack and Grace. Thankfully Issack had just come off a safari and still had a land cruiser at his disposal so I got around Arusha in style. The traffic in Arusha is getting steadily worse, with its growing population and decaying roads. I flinched quite a bit the first day but quickly got used to it. One of the many things that I used to be used to.
I had also forgotten about the power outages apparently. Just as we sat down to dinner last night the lights went out and I heard (and joined in) the familiar sigh of disapproval. I asked Issack: "Is the power always going out like this?" (My English is becoming less and less understandable to my own kind - I got a few sentences in with Issack's friend Lohi the other day who speaks fluent Canadian... I marveled at his frequent uses of words like "wicked" and "dude" and threw in a few "sweet"s and "Idunnoman"s of my own) Issack, being consciously difficult asked me if the power has been going out in Moshi and I answered, for some reason defensively, "Ya. Every day for at least four hours." Issack helpfully retorted with his famous "So?" (Thank you, Teacher Issack for encouraging me to problem solve and come to my own conclusions but I was pretty much just looking for a good old "yes" or "no") Communication is far from clear here at the best of times and so far my strategies for obtaining information from Tanzanians are as follows:
#1 Start asking a day or two before your information and reask your question in a number of different ways, in English and Swahili if possible and asking through a number of different parties. Text Messaging someone with a straight yes or no question will usually do the trick in a pinch, but it seems to annoy people! It is also a bit odd if you happen to be sitting next to them while you are trying to communicate through your cell phones.
2# Pretend you already know the information you needed and steal bits of intel from other conversations. Lie to yourself so that you actually believe that you never had any questions in the first place while keeping a sharp eye out for changes.
3# Sucumm to the cultural value of not needing to know and enjoy the journey of finding out, trying your best to shrug away annoying little suprises like an extra fee on a hotel room because you are white or whole day of taking care of someone's sick kids because you happen to be the only woman around.
Between the first year I came to TZ and now I have definately noticed differences in communication, though. These days, although the person you meet in a shop has no idea how to work the thing they are selling you, you are far more likely to find some kind of brochure or website telling you the exact details you need. Coming accross such an oasis of information gets me in quite a tizzy. Today I found the EXACT rates for TZ's largest competing mobile phone companies on the internet. I read it all, read it again and then saved it to my computer for future reference. So exciting!!! That is not to say however that the general
Tanzanian public is ready to accept such information in unchanging print. Information on signs, brochures and menus are certainly not the finaly word on the matter. Just try arguing with an immagration official - quoting the official Government of Tanzania Website's info on residency visas and you will see how much far it gets you... but if someone scribbles down half a sentence on a piece of paper for you and signs it - or god forbid STAMPS it - that word is law. Its incredible how long people hang on the their receipts here! Well past the time when the item they bought was broken and fixed so many times it was no longer recognizable and thrown away. I have been on a bus that checked my ticket over 5 times (I lost count). Each time, I was embarrased to be the only naughty passenger who had hid that precious slip of paper deep inside my purse and rummaged for what seemed like hours while the whole bus watched. Ummmm... ya.... I'm the only white person that's been on this bus for a week and you made a huge fuss over how much luggage I'm carrying and we fought over whether I should have to pay you more. Are you sure you don't remember selling me this ticket a few hours ago?
Those that know me well may think its a miracle I can survive in such conditions what with my keen ability to loose things in interesting places and my lack of inspiration in finding them.
Tanzania is a perfect example of development without infrastructure. Its like watching a fat kid trying to fit into clothes that are four sizes too small while gorging himself on ice cream. I supposed the information technology and the transportation and the education will eventually catch up with itself - those changes that are are useful will stay and those that are unsustainable will dry up. For now I can say this much: It will be an interesting journey.
I had also forgotten about the power outages apparently. Just as we sat down to dinner last night the lights went out and I heard (and joined in) the familiar sigh of disapproval. I asked Issack: "Is the power always going out like this?" (My English is becoming less and less understandable to my own kind - I got a few sentences in with Issack's friend Lohi the other day who speaks fluent Canadian... I marveled at his frequent uses of words like "wicked" and "dude" and threw in a few "sweet"s and "Idunnoman"s of my own) Issack, being consciously difficult asked me if the power has been going out in Moshi and I answered, for some reason defensively, "Ya. Every day for at least four hours." Issack helpfully retorted with his famous "So?" (Thank you, Teacher Issack for encouraging me to problem solve and come to my own conclusions but I was pretty much just looking for a good old "yes" or "no") Communication is far from clear here at the best of times and so far my strategies for obtaining information from Tanzanians are as follows:
#1 Start asking a day or two before your information and reask your question in a number of different ways, in English and Swahili if possible and asking through a number of different parties. Text Messaging someone with a straight yes or no question will usually do the trick in a pinch, but it seems to annoy people! It is also a bit odd if you happen to be sitting next to them while you are trying to communicate through your cell phones.
2# Pretend you already know the information you needed and steal bits of intel from other conversations. Lie to yourself so that you actually believe that you never had any questions in the first place while keeping a sharp eye out for changes.
3# Sucumm to the cultural value of not needing to know and enjoy the journey of finding out, trying your best to shrug away annoying little suprises like an extra fee on a hotel room because you are white or whole day of taking care of someone's sick kids because you happen to be the only woman around.
Between the first year I came to TZ and now I have definately noticed differences in communication, though. These days, although the person you meet in a shop has no idea how to work the thing they are selling you, you are far more likely to find some kind of brochure or website telling you the exact details you need. Coming accross such an oasis of information gets me in quite a tizzy. Today I found the EXACT rates for TZ's largest competing mobile phone companies on the internet. I read it all, read it again and then saved it to my computer for future reference. So exciting!!! That is not to say however that the general
Tanzanian public is ready to accept such information in unchanging print. Information on signs, brochures and menus are certainly not the finaly word on the matter. Just try arguing with an immagration official - quoting the official Government of Tanzania Website's info on residency visas and you will see how much far it gets you... but if someone scribbles down half a sentence on a piece of paper for you and signs it - or god forbid STAMPS it - that word is law. Its incredible how long people hang on the their receipts here! Well past the time when the item they bought was broken and fixed so many times it was no longer recognizable and thrown away. I have been on a bus that checked my ticket over 5 times (I lost count). Each time, I was embarrased to be the only naughty passenger who had hid that precious slip of paper deep inside my purse and rummaged for what seemed like hours while the whole bus watched. Ummmm... ya.... I'm the only white person that's been on this bus for a week and you made a huge fuss over how much luggage I'm carrying and we fought over whether I should have to pay you more. Are you sure you don't remember selling me this ticket a few hours ago?
Those that know me well may think its a miracle I can survive in such conditions what with my keen ability to loose things in interesting places and my lack of inspiration in finding them.
Tanzania is a perfect example of development without infrastructure. Its like watching a fat kid trying to fit into clothes that are four sizes too small while gorging himself on ice cream. I supposed the information technology and the transportation and the education will eventually catch up with itself - those changes that are are useful will stay and those that are unsustainable will dry up. For now I can say this much: It will be an interesting journey.
Monday, October 6, 2008 - Maili Sita... family drama....
Monday, October 6, 2008 - Mili Sita
I slept over at babu rasta's place here in six mile last night. Kefa and I first went to town and bought a ridiculous amount of flowers, real and plastic to place at his mother's grave which I was going to visit for the first time. Sophia's mother welcomed me with open arms and we ate and visited with the family at her house for a couple of hours then all walked in procession with the flowers to Sophia's grave. I didn't cry as much as I expected but enough to bring Bibi to tears which made me feel a bit guilty for opening up still healing wounds. I left Bibi's sooner than Kefa wanted because I was anxious to sit with Auntie Ruki and Babu Rasta. I was imagining an evening of drinking, smoking and chewing mirau, telling each other stories and laughing together. It took me until just before I fell asleep to remember that it is not wise to try and plan such events here in Tanzania because you will surely be dissapointed. You just have to wait for those times to come and be happy when they do. That great evening happened last night for sure, only it was back at my house, at Msasani and not here (even though everyone was expecting me here).
Babu Rasta finally arrived at his house after I had gone to sleep, yelling and swearing outside for all to hear for a good ten minutes before coming inside and invading my room for the first time. He was drunk and high and full of emotion, but that isnt really anything new. The rest of the evening was filled with him fighting with his wife who was chastising him for inviting me over and not hosting me properly, him invading my room (I lost count at six times) to come and tell me how welcome I am in his home, to tell me what a bitch his wife is and once to tell me what a superstar Bryan Adams is (Everything I Do I Do it for You was playing on the radio). Babu wasn't impressed when I told him that I didnt particularily care for his music.
Today I am scheduled to meet with Uncle Booney, Kefa's legal guardian and speak with him about sending Kefa to boarding school. I am nervous and have no idea what to expect. Middle aged Tanzanian men can be so pompous and proud, I sometimes get frustrated early and don't represent myself well. Something I need to work on I suppose as this is not only a Tanzanian trait.
As per usual I found great value unexpectedly last night. I was bored and sitting on Auntie Ruki's front step waiting for someone to show up when Violet came home from work. I have met her a few times before but don't know her very well. We talked for almost two hours and had a very rewarding conversation starting with the details of Sophia's death then branching out to everything in life in general including Kefa's future, Violet's past (she has lost four parent figures just like Kefa.), Working nine to five, and her idea for starting a consultant firm. She is an incredible intellegent woman and has impecible English and it was a challeng for me to keep up with her after dumbing down my language these last few days to communicate with those around me.
Menengitis. It turns out thats what took my friend Sophia. It makes sense, I was confused when I heard of her death because even though she was slowly dieing of AIDS, since Jerry died she was very careful with her health.
Things are never as they seem. In so many things I do I am constantly smacked down by the realization that I don't know what I thought I did, I climb seemingly large hills only to see mountains in the horizon. Recently it has been in learning swahili, incorporating myself into this family and tanzanian culture and understanding myself in this life. Its is very tiring sometimes. I start and quit many things and it seems to be the more challenging and less tangible that I stick with. I hate feeling that I understand something and then finding that I only understand what I have seen and now that I understand that, I can see so much more that I don't understand. I suppose its important to be ok with that feeling and be true to the meaning of my first tatoo that is there to remind me that I will never know everything, I must stay humble to keep learning and that anyone who calls himself a master is not one.
I slept over at babu rasta's place here in six mile last night. Kefa and I first went to town and bought a ridiculous amount of flowers, real and plastic to place at his mother's grave which I was going to visit for the first time. Sophia's mother welcomed me with open arms and we ate and visited with the family at her house for a couple of hours then all walked in procession with the flowers to Sophia's grave. I didn't cry as much as I expected but enough to bring Bibi to tears which made me feel a bit guilty for opening up still healing wounds. I left Bibi's sooner than Kefa wanted because I was anxious to sit with Auntie Ruki and Babu Rasta. I was imagining an evening of drinking, smoking and chewing mirau, telling each other stories and laughing together. It took me until just before I fell asleep to remember that it is not wise to try and plan such events here in Tanzania because you will surely be dissapointed. You just have to wait for those times to come and be happy when they do. That great evening happened last night for sure, only it was back at my house, at Msasani and not here (even though everyone was expecting me here).
Babu Rasta finally arrived at his house after I had gone to sleep, yelling and swearing outside for all to hear for a good ten minutes before coming inside and invading my room for the first time. He was drunk and high and full of emotion, but that isnt really anything new. The rest of the evening was filled with him fighting with his wife who was chastising him for inviting me over and not hosting me properly, him invading my room (I lost count at six times) to come and tell me how welcome I am in his home, to tell me what a bitch his wife is and once to tell me what a superstar Bryan Adams is (Everything I Do I Do it for You was playing on the radio). Babu wasn't impressed when I told him that I didnt particularily care for his music.
Today I am scheduled to meet with Uncle Booney, Kefa's legal guardian and speak with him about sending Kefa to boarding school. I am nervous and have no idea what to expect. Middle aged Tanzanian men can be so pompous and proud, I sometimes get frustrated early and don't represent myself well. Something I need to work on I suppose as this is not only a Tanzanian trait.
As per usual I found great value unexpectedly last night. I was bored and sitting on Auntie Ruki's front step waiting for someone to show up when Violet came home from work. I have met her a few times before but don't know her very well. We talked for almost two hours and had a very rewarding conversation starting with the details of Sophia's death then branching out to everything in life in general including Kefa's future, Violet's past (she has lost four parent figures just like Kefa.), Working nine to five, and her idea for starting a consultant firm. She is an incredible intellegent woman and has impecible English and it was a challeng for me to keep up with her after dumbing down my language these last few days to communicate with those around me.
Menengitis. It turns out thats what took my friend Sophia. It makes sense, I was confused when I heard of her death because even though she was slowly dieing of AIDS, since Jerry died she was very careful with her health.
Things are never as they seem. In so many things I do I am constantly smacked down by the realization that I don't know what I thought I did, I climb seemingly large hills only to see mountains in the horizon. Recently it has been in learning swahili, incorporating myself into this family and tanzanian culture and understanding myself in this life. Its is very tiring sometimes. I start and quit many things and it seems to be the more challenging and less tangible that I stick with. I hate feeling that I understand something and then finding that I only understand what I have seen and now that I understand that, I can see so much more that I don't understand. I suppose its important to be ok with that feeling and be true to the meaning of my first tatoo that is there to remind me that I will never know everything, I must stay humble to keep learning and that anyone who calls himself a master is not one.
Oct. 4th - Msasani ....back home again......
Msasani - Saturday, Oct 4
I think I figured out the reason I stopped writing a travel journal last year. I don't write a journal at home. Life just doesn't seem interesting enough day to day. Eventually everything here became day to day and I stopped noticing the differences between my Canadian and Tanzanian lives. They have melted together now very effectively. So much so that I never got that familiar feeling of excitement when i landed in Nairobi. I didn't cry while the bus passed through dirt cities and markets, in fact I slept most of the way.
At first everything was like I was watching it on television and I found myself very suprised that I was actually still the same person. Somehow I suppose i was expecting some miraculous transformation into my Swahili self and never imagined that I had brought myself home to Canada and it is now an active part of me.
Moshi is as if I never left, only I have changed. I don't really remember who I was exactly when I left- how i felt about people constantly staring at me (is that why I stopped going in to town?) and was I giving money to the lepers on the street? (i cant imagine why I would ever decide not to but im not sure I did by the time i left).
There are more children in my house than usual - a great gift for me - they look up to me like I used to look up to my uncle Lou - the cool young uncle who brought me interesting toys and spoke to me like I was an adult. I am reaping the benifits of their unconditional love.
Only one person has died since I left, I feared many more and am incredibly grateful. The family has welcomed me back into their arms and I think I'm doing a pretty good job avoiding headlocks of family politics and drama which runs rampant at my house. People in town are recognizing me and calling out my Swahili name on the street, giving me the old celebrity feeling and making up for the endless stares that make me feel that I do not belong.
This early in my visit the possiblities are endless I've been sitting at the bar drinking soup with Issack for breakfast fantasisng about going to safari guide school, travelling to rwanda, joining him on a one month research safari all around tanzania, visiting the jane goodall institute, becoming fluent in swahili, loosing weight and getting in shape, learning to cook the 5 hour meals that are prepared outside my bedroom door all day every day, taking over for Grace who ran the Hisani orphanage in Mwanza but has now elected to go to university.... endless. More likely though, I'll just hang around and do whatever I want whenever I want and soak into myself as much as possible until its time to go home.
I haven't known what time it is since I arrived and had a 10 minute argument with Issack today about what day it is. Ahhhh... Tanzania.
I've already got a to do list a mile long but somehow totally unconcerned about it. I'm still so happy to be here.
Let me step outside of the situation for a moment and explain my surroundings. At the moment I am lying on my bed (a foamie on the floor) with Kefa, Angel and Ivan. They are the children of the women I call my sisters and have adopted me as their auntie. We are watching one of the Harry Potter DVDs I brought and they are a bit worried about the dementors. Except Kefa. He is not scared of anything. He is also reading every word I write so I have to be careful what I say!
Its kind of funny, looking outside in I notice that my room is full of laptop computers, new and used, a fridge and a fan, but the floor is made of cement, the electricty is ify at best and the other women are preparing lunch outside over fires.
I'm going to have to force some details out of myself somehow so let me interview myself a bit:
How do you spend your days?
Yesterday I woke up, went to the pub for mtori (a breakfast soup made of cow and green bananas), went to the bank to get some cash (a forty five minute ordeal as the first two did not want to give me money), came home and slept throught the hottest part of the day (most of the day!), woke up, ate some ugali mchicha (corn mush served with spinach cooked with coconut), unpacked and started to set up my room, went back to sleep, woke up and went for mchemsha (a bowl of consume and a tray of stewed chicken and veggies and green banana) , watched Issack play four games of pool, bought an avacado and came home to bed. Oh, and watched 1.5 Harry Potter movies. Yup, life here is tough for me.
Today Kefa has come over and we will spend a few hours working on laptops.
I think I figured out the reason I stopped writing a travel journal last year. I don't write a journal at home. Life just doesn't seem interesting enough day to day. Eventually everything here became day to day and I stopped noticing the differences between my Canadian and Tanzanian lives. They have melted together now very effectively. So much so that I never got that familiar feeling of excitement when i landed in Nairobi. I didn't cry while the bus passed through dirt cities and markets, in fact I slept most of the way.
At first everything was like I was watching it on television and I found myself very suprised that I was actually still the same person. Somehow I suppose i was expecting some miraculous transformation into my Swahili self and never imagined that I had brought myself home to Canada and it is now an active part of me.
Moshi is as if I never left, only I have changed. I don't really remember who I was exactly when I left- how i felt about people constantly staring at me (is that why I stopped going in to town?) and was I giving money to the lepers on the street? (i cant imagine why I would ever decide not to but im not sure I did by the time i left).
There are more children in my house than usual - a great gift for me - they look up to me like I used to look up to my uncle Lou - the cool young uncle who brought me interesting toys and spoke to me like I was an adult. I am reaping the benifits of their unconditional love.
Only one person has died since I left, I feared many more and am incredibly grateful. The family has welcomed me back into their arms and I think I'm doing a pretty good job avoiding headlocks of family politics and drama which runs rampant at my house. People in town are recognizing me and calling out my Swahili name on the street, giving me the old celebrity feeling and making up for the endless stares that make me feel that I do not belong.
This early in my visit the possiblities are endless I've been sitting at the bar drinking soup with Issack for breakfast fantasisng about going to safari guide school, travelling to rwanda, joining him on a one month research safari all around tanzania, visiting the jane goodall institute, becoming fluent in swahili, loosing weight and getting in shape, learning to cook the 5 hour meals that are prepared outside my bedroom door all day every day, taking over for Grace who ran the Hisani orphanage in Mwanza but has now elected to go to university.... endless. More likely though, I'll just hang around and do whatever I want whenever I want and soak into myself as much as possible until its time to go home.
I haven't known what time it is since I arrived and had a 10 minute argument with Issack today about what day it is. Ahhhh... Tanzania.
I've already got a to do list a mile long but somehow totally unconcerned about it. I'm still so happy to be here.
Let me step outside of the situation for a moment and explain my surroundings. At the moment I am lying on my bed (a foamie on the floor) with Kefa, Angel and Ivan. They are the children of the women I call my sisters and have adopted me as their auntie. We are watching one of the Harry Potter DVDs I brought and they are a bit worried about the dementors. Except Kefa. He is not scared of anything. He is also reading every word I write so I have to be careful what I say!
Its kind of funny, looking outside in I notice that my room is full of laptop computers, new and used, a fridge and a fan, but the floor is made of cement, the electricty is ify at best and the other women are preparing lunch outside over fires.
I'm going to have to force some details out of myself somehow so let me interview myself a bit:
How do you spend your days?
Yesterday I woke up, went to the pub for mtori (a breakfast soup made of cow and green bananas), went to the bank to get some cash (a forty five minute ordeal as the first two did not want to give me money), came home and slept throught the hottest part of the day (most of the day!), woke up, ate some ugali mchicha (corn mush served with spinach cooked with coconut), unpacked and started to set up my room, went back to sleep, woke up and went for mchemsha (a bowl of consume and a tray of stewed chicken and veggies and green banana) , watched Issack play four games of pool, bought an avacado and came home to bed. Oh, and watched 1.5 Harry Potter movies. Yup, life here is tough for me.
Today Kefa has come over and we will spend a few hours working on laptops.
SeaTac Airport - Sept 30th....it starts.....
I am determined to write. My last few trips have so many lost memories, it feels like a waste of money. (Things you need to know about randal #1 - Frugality is my favourite addiction). I started yesterday.....
5:00 am wake up, throw up, wash up, clean up, pack up.
8:30 am meet Lynn in Sidney, transfer luggage, drive back to Victoria, Board Ferries
*This was the first time I had taken the COHO ferry. I love leaving by boat from Victoria's Inner Harbour. The city has a totally different personality from that perspective and I realize how lucky I am to live there.
*Entering the Coho line up was a bit nerve racking. There were customs officials and police everywhere, and vicious sounding police dogs complaining loudly from the backs of big police trucks. I was immediately aware of being on US ground (we had in fact passed through immagration already and were technically now in the us and were not allowed to leave the compound). Everybody was a bit gruffer and scarier than I am used to and it seemed that the Americans were all hard of hearing as they were talking much louder than necessary.
**********probably unnecessary disclaimer #1 - I love Americans. Its just the slight culture contrast between Canadians and Americans that jolts me into a scared and defensive mode until I get used to noone apologizing to me when I brush up against them (which is what would usually happen in Canada).***************
With only a half hour of sleep under my belt and feeling the side effects of taking my meds a day late I thouroughly enjoyed the ferry ride. My hilarious jokes (like calling a small clearcut mountain near hurricane ridge a light breeze ridge or calling the bbq pork bun I stepped on before eating a pushed pork sandwich) seemed to go over Lynn's head.
My poor navigation skills ended us first in a small town named Port Gamble which is basically a museum/strip mall where the fire hall is a clothing store and the population seemed to be about 80% Carnie (Carny? - is there a proper spelling for that word?).
Miles later we checked in to a Holiday Inn Express in SeaTac (Thats actually the name of the city that surrounds the SeaTac airport). El Charro was our choice for dinner - the closest authentic mexican restaurant we could find. It got two thumbs up - one from my dad because they had both tamales and flan and one from me because the mole was interesting and the tv wasnt too loud. Lynn says he's going again for lunch and dinner today.
The trip to SeaTac wasn't really necessary, I usually fly from Vancouver but I found a super cheap flight ($1160 inclusive) from Seattle this time so I decided to add a day and a half to my already long travel time.
This morning I repacked my bags to incorporate some clothes because my first pack didn't include any. I repacked at the airport (as usual) to make my bags the right weight and said goodbyes to Lynn. My purse broke while I was trying to adjust the many things hanging around my neck. This type of thing is a very normal occurance for me and in answer to Lynn's look of dismay I came up with a new rule: "If your bags break on a trip its good luck."
Security was a breeze. I am totally used to showing my entire contents of my luggage to a multitude of people; often because I am carrying unusual items like walkie talkies with me. This time, no liquids in plastic bags, no swabbing my laptop, no "please step aside for further security clearance".... and this is the states! Awesome. Although I don't feel very special.
I now sit in a place foreign to me - a restaurant in the airport - eating a cheeseburger and having a couple of glasses of stella. I guess I've relaxed my frugality a bit as last year spending money at an airport was unheard of. (Especially when I've got a purse full of beef jerky at my disposal.)
Hey! I just turned around to see where my gate was because I board in half an hour and it turns out its right behind the restaurant I'm eating in. Good Luck! There. I proved it.
5:00 am wake up, throw up, wash up, clean up, pack up.
8:30 am meet Lynn in Sidney, transfer luggage, drive back to Victoria, Board Ferries
*This was the first time I had taken the COHO ferry. I love leaving by boat from Victoria's Inner Harbour. The city has a totally different personality from that perspective and I realize how lucky I am to live there.
*Entering the Coho line up was a bit nerve racking. There were customs officials and police everywhere, and vicious sounding police dogs complaining loudly from the backs of big police trucks. I was immediately aware of being on US ground (we had in fact passed through immagration already and were technically now in the us and were not allowed to leave the compound). Everybody was a bit gruffer and scarier than I am used to and it seemed that the Americans were all hard of hearing as they were talking much louder than necessary.
**********probably unnecessary disclaimer #1 - I love Americans. Its just the slight culture contrast between Canadians and Americans that jolts me into a scared and defensive mode until I get used to noone apologizing to me when I brush up against them (which is what would usually happen in Canada).***************
With only a half hour of sleep under my belt and feeling the side effects of taking my meds a day late I thouroughly enjoyed the ferry ride. My hilarious jokes (like calling a small clearcut mountain near hurricane ridge a light breeze ridge or calling the bbq pork bun I stepped on before eating a pushed pork sandwich) seemed to go over Lynn's head.
My poor navigation skills ended us first in a small town named Port Gamble which is basically a museum/strip mall where the fire hall is a clothing store and the population seemed to be about 80% Carnie (Carny? - is there a proper spelling for that word?).
Miles later we checked in to a Holiday Inn Express in SeaTac (Thats actually the name of the city that surrounds the SeaTac airport). El Charro was our choice for dinner - the closest authentic mexican restaurant we could find. It got two thumbs up - one from my dad because they had both tamales and flan and one from me because the mole was interesting and the tv wasnt too loud. Lynn says he's going again for lunch and dinner today.
The trip to SeaTac wasn't really necessary, I usually fly from Vancouver but I found a super cheap flight ($1160 inclusive) from Seattle this time so I decided to add a day and a half to my already long travel time.
This morning I repacked my bags to incorporate some clothes because my first pack didn't include any. I repacked at the airport (as usual) to make my bags the right weight and said goodbyes to Lynn. My purse broke while I was trying to adjust the many things hanging around my neck. This type of thing is a very normal occurance for me and in answer to Lynn's look of dismay I came up with a new rule: "If your bags break on a trip its good luck."
Security was a breeze. I am totally used to showing my entire contents of my luggage to a multitude of people; often because I am carrying unusual items like walkie talkies with me. This time, no liquids in plastic bags, no swabbing my laptop, no "please step aside for further security clearance".... and this is the states! Awesome. Although I don't feel very special.
I now sit in a place foreign to me - a restaurant in the airport - eating a cheeseburger and having a couple of glasses of stella. I guess I've relaxed my frugality a bit as last year spending money at an airport was unheard of. (Especially when I've got a purse full of beef jerky at my disposal.)
Hey! I just turned around to see where my gate was because I board in half an hour and it turns out its right behind the restaurant I'm eating in. Good Luck! There. I proved it.
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