Sunday, October 31, 2010

October 22

Day #40 in Tanzania! It's Friday and our last day in Maweni, last day of villages for me here....but the first for many things. The adage of Murphy's Law 'Anything that can go wrong will go wrong', has probably been proven to me all this week, but not more than today's events. It began this morning when I awoke at about 5:20 am (40 minutes unnecessarily early than I'd had to) because my tent mates have been privy to waking and putting on a proper outfit and brushing their hair before chicken vaccinations. Its 6am in a Tanzanian village, you can kind of vaccinate in the same clothes as yesterday which can be the same clothes you slept in (albeit, this may be the genesis of my fungal woes right now). Anway, we loaded in the car to Usitu Ambogo for an early vaccination. Today we were followed by a young boy playing with the lid of a 20 liter plastic bucket and a bended wire hanger. He was playing with the lid along its side and keeping it upright--turning it and walking with it. After several houses I had to give it a shot, and it made him laugh so much as this mzungu is trying to play a really simple game and I couldn't get it right. It was good to have the little guy around, he caught very many chickens that'd escaped. This village is set up more like a 'village' we'd call in a suburb in America. There are main roads, a space delegated like a front lawn of a property and the houses are more neatly arranged as if a planner had come in and organized where the people, cars and houses would go. However, it doesnt seem it's at all conducive to farming. There isn't much space for large farms, most people have only a few dozen square feet near their homes for planting vegetables. Many of the villagers had chickens in those 20 liter plastic buckets, some in their homes, or in poorly made chicken coops. I photographed one great chicken coop on the property of a beautiful little cottage. The house had a wrap around veranda with hanging flower pots, a guava tree in the front yard from which we picked fruits. Afterwards, the community made us chapati and chai and we sat in someone's home. It was difficult the last few times, being lactose intolerant and having to swallow chai with goats milk or fatty cows milk, but this time a counterpart graciously asked for chai without milk for me! I was able to enjoy without embarrassing consequences! It was amazing to experience this kind of hospitality coming to these villages, how thankful they were that we came to vaccinate chickens! Its this kind of experience you'd never get in America, at least not in New York.

That afternoon we concluded training with a lecture on natural pesticide solutions (that always lights up everyones eyes--fermenting weeds in water and spraying it on your vegetables! Its like magic!) The local CCM (the dominant political party) leader came out to give the certificates, and gave a really nice speech about Sustainable Agriculture (CCM fronts a campaign called 'Kilimo Kwanzaa' or Agriculture First, you get the alliteration in Swahili). We gave out refreshments, took some group photos, said goodbyes and headed back to camp to settle ourselves in our homes in Arusha. I've put aside my New Yorkers creature comforts this entire month, but could not wait to have a hot shower at Mama Elly's house! That was all about to be thrown down the choo.

When I got back to the GSC office, I unloaded my duffel out of the Land Cruiser and graciously said my kwa heris (adios!) to the counterparts. Just as I was headed out, I got news that our In Country Coordinator needed to see me. She was the one who dealt with incoming mail, so I clicked my heels thankful my mom's package finally came (sent about a month ago). I walked into her office and asked where my package was. There was no package, instead I got hit with some bad news. The words made my knees weak. 'Mama Elly is moving to Dar es Salaam. She was waiting for you to come back from camp so that you can move out. We found you a new host family, and you will go over to their house today.' NOOOOOOOOOOOO. The questions poured out of my mouth- 'Who decides to move overnight like that? What about my stuff? Where will I go? Is it close? Why is she moving? How come she didn't tell me? What about my shower?!!!'

There were so many red flags, I hadn't seen Mama Elly in about 3 weeks. She'd been away on business in Dar, she runs several jewelry shops and craft markets here in town.As a rule, GSC mandates that at least one person in the host family has to speak English. Mama Elly was the only person in my house who spoke English, and eager to learn Swahili I registered my fancy digs and Swahili housemates as a boot camp for the language. I never complained. And now I wish I had. Apparently, she had been getting some things out of customs and realized the market in Dar was better for her business and she was relocating everything all of a sudden. C'mon lady, I'm here for two more weeks, it couldn't wait!!!

I sat around the office, hoping this was some sick prank because I have wacky sense of humor. But no, soon another Mama showed up to the office with a teenage girl and they announced they were my new host family. She was Mama Mary, a woman about the same age as Mama Elly, but she seemed so sweet and had a really big laugh, the girls name was Irene and she was 18. I greeted them and introduced myself, but still felt a tinge of anger that this was now pressed upon me. They told me they lived in Sakina, about 40 minutes in the opposite direction of where I used to live! It usually only took me about 15 minutes walking to get to HQ from Mama Elly's house, and now I have to take 2 dala dalas for about 30 minutes!! Most awkward, I now had to go to Mama Elly's house and pack my things, with my new mama waiting outside and then go to their house. We took a taxi there, and I almost cried when we drove up Sekei to where Mama Elly lived. I must have looked like a fool, but my anxieties about coming here from a month ago were coming back and I'd now been so comfortable! As we sat in the taxi, Mama Mary and Irene were super impressed with my Swahili and they seemed like such nice people. At Mama Elly's house, everything seemed normal from the outside. The housegirl Marchelline answered the gate and said 'Habari' just the same way, except inside the house was totally bare, like they'd been robbed. The only sign of life was the dining room table which looked like they were about to have dinner. Only Mama Elly wasn't around. Her daughter, who I'd never met said 'hello' but not much more, and her sister who'd lived in the house with me asked me why I was leaving. It was like I came back from camp into the twilight zone!!'. I was so confused, and I even felt unwelcome. I packed my luggage quickly, and now we had to wait for Mama Elly to come back so I could say goodbye. We waited for about half an hour! I apologized to Mama Mary and Irene for the wait, and honestly I wasn't sure if her tardiness was because of Africa-time or because she was putting me off as a sort of delay to her move. Finally, she came and her first words weren't even sorry! I quickly told her I understood, but then realized....What about gifts, usually volunteers leave a gift or money as a thanks for hospitality. I think today's events would left a bad taste in my mouth, and decided I would make this go as quickly as possible. I bid goodbye, she said goodluck in Cambodia and I was off to Mama Mary's.

As we drove away I realized, I never took photos of the house, Mama Elly, my room, anything. Maybe this move is for the better I thought, maybe there will be better internet, better food, less awkward Swahili/English conversations where I'm not holding my phrasebook and dictionary when I talk to people in my house. I tried to be optimistic as we were driving, but till I realized we were still driving!! This was super far! We finally turned off Nairobi-Moshi Road, the main road into dark alleyways and drove for a while until we stopped in front of a house. I couldn't make much of where exactly I was, nor what the outside of the house looked like. Nonetheless, everyone greeted me nicely and helped me carry my luggage to my new bedroom. It's a really nice space, its a king sized bed!!! I've never had one before! I now have two closets (without cockroaches and beetles like the last house, I hope). Soon after I got settled in, they called me for dinner. It was the nicest spread I'd ever had here for dinner I thought I'd cry. Rice, beans with so much seasoning I could see the spices floating in the top of the bowl, and stewed beef with vegetables and SODA! I told them I was so thankful for this meal, and it was a sign of good things. They were very nice to me, and really interested in where I'd come from, what my family is like, etc. I soon realized, these were things that my first house never asked me about, which was a nice feeling.

In the house is Mama Mary, Irene is the oldest daughter, Rachel is 15, Dorcas is 11, they have one son who I haven't met yet, and Baba, the dad is a Pentecostal preacher. It was so cool to hear about them, too. They're MAASAI!! They don't speak it, nor practice any of Maasai traditions but it was really funny when they heard me greet them 'Sobhai'. I think I'll be really comfortable here, and tomorrow I'll set out to explore where exactly I am. In a way, its great to examine the differences between this part of town and Sekei where Mama Elly lived. Plus, Mama Mary's household is pro-Chadema! Mama Elly's house everyone was CCM. Speaking of which, elections are next weekend! The buses and vans playing Chadema and CCM songs are more frequent, I've noticed the political advertisements here are nothing like back home.

Two weeks left in Tanzania! I don't ever want to leave!

Thursday, October 28, 2010

October 21

Last night I dreamt I woke up, in this very tent covered in black scabs. Each, I could tell was where bugs had bitten my skin and deposited baby larvae in my pores. I woke up sweaty, and kind of thankful that wasn't the case. It's been four days without cold, clean water, a hot bath and just about everything that I eat in this camp has been warring inside of me. Most of the counterparts are eating Magnesium and some kind of bismuth to sustain themselves till Friday. The ringworm was now spread all over the back of my neck, some of my scalp and some of my back. It is incredibly painful, and I'm beginning to now be more thankful I was able to have to means to get it corrected. I was told that instead of vaccinating, I would wait for the Landcruiser to make its way back to camp and I would head to Arusha. They were going to town because GSC was holding an HIV/AIDS testing clinic here in Maweni as well as Usitu Ambogo this afternoon with results tomorrow, and we were going to get the nurses as well as the supplies. It was great to be able to drive so early in the morning through the villages. There are no dalas here, everyone walks or takes bicycle on the main road. As we bumped on the dusty, bumpy barabara (road) there were hoards of schoolchildren along the way. Transportation for schoolchildren is only available for the most elite schools in Arusha like Braeburn or St. Judes so most kids walk, some I've heard for about 2 hours to get to their English Medium schools (kind of like a private school). Since it was just me and two GSC counterparts, we picked up some of the kids and dropped them off at the school along the way. Some businessmen also headed to Arusha were picked up and we took them into town along the way. Arusha really is a big city, bigger than I'd thought. We drove through some areas I'd never even heard of. Some of the nicest parts of town, Njiro, I could tell from the Beverly Hills style mansions, monogrammed gates and Mercedes jeeps in the driveways were not owned by Africans. Wahindi (Hindis) are what the counterparts told me--they own everything. Didn't learn that in any African Studies courses. I'd never seen this part of Arusha, I hate to say it was kind of a nice sight and made me dream I lived in that part of town. After the sights, I went to a pharmacy, and got my meds which thankfully cost only $1US.We picked up the testers at the clinic, and the head nurse there who'd done training in England was talking to me about the types of Americans that come to Tanzania. If you can't tell from reading my blog, I think some of the touristy types that've come here to Arusha are pretty ridiculous. She said from working with Americans, they eat almost any of the food they find in dukas, shops and then come to her clinic with raging diarrhea and blame Tanzanian cuisine. I gave my two cents on the crap I'd heard in the cafes in Arusha, Americans sitting around bragging about the work they've done in Uganda and Kenya and stuff and how they love Africa and blah blah, but they're sitting there on their Macbooks wearing super inappropriate short shorts and only chatting with Brits. It was actually a pretty funny conversation that had everyone laughing on the way to Maweni.

When we arrived back in Maweni, we separated once more into our respective villages. We had a double dig bed demonstration here in Maweni, and I was prepped for an afternoon of getting soil in my shoes! I love working with this group, so unlike last week's work with our community group here they are very welcoming and are impressed with my improvement in Swahili. One bibi even asked why do I teach in English when I understand and speak Swahili. I understood her every word!! I responded in Swahili 'Kwa sababoo nasema Kiswahili kidogo kidogo" (Because I only speak a little Swahili). I think it's the best experience since I've been here trying to learn and understand Swahili. I've realized even during lessons when I incorporate several words in Swahili the groups tend to have a little more respect for me. It was great to have these women being respectful and friendly, because I'd tried to learn their language (Well, Meru is their mother tongue...but ya know). I guess not very many wazungu try to learn Swahili, or it takes them more time. I'm also quite boastful about having been here less than two months and being able to understand most things and speak in full sentences. Such a change from last week, the villagers were calling me mbongo! (Slang for Tanzanian) and were so thankful for the lesson and us being with them in Maweni. I felt a huge relief.

Tomorrow is the last day of camping, and the last day away in the villages for me in Tanzania! I'll be so sad, I can't believe I have only two weeks left!! It'll be really nice to say I experienced things like this, especially since tomorrow morning is my last chicken vaccination EVER!! It's going to be epic.

Sunday, October 24, 2010

October 20

Day 3 of camping! And I'm precipitously losing my mind. Sleeping in a tent, not eating good food, the water has run out and this morning I discovered this rash on my back is spreading like wildfire. Putting that aside, I wrapped myself in a pashmina and tried to look smart so as to deter any possible attention to it. After yesterday's hideous procession of chicken vaccinating, I asked to be moved to the neighboring village to 'check out the landscape' and 'try something new', when I was actually begging to be removed from the leadership of one of the trainers who ridiculously thought it was okay to extend the vaccinating time. In a way, I wish I hadn't. I was comfortable with a more sensible leader in Usitu Ambogo, however this group isn't too familiar with my bird phobia. I've been doing chicken vaccinating in villages for about a month here in Tanzania now (wow it's really been more than a month already??) and I'm usually in charge of such clerical duties as counting how many chickens get vaccinations, how many we find dead, how many the families have eaten, etc. However, this time these people thought I would actually wrangle chickens. I surprised them. The ubiquitous response when I inform people of my disdain for chickens, and birds in general is 'But you eat chicken, dont you?'.
'Well, ' I always say, 'thats cause they're dead'. And then I begin an entire conversation about how just because I eat chicken doesn't mean that I have to see a chicken, which most Tanzanians don't understand and then I have to explain how the food system is set up in America. And how I am from New York City, and unless I really wanted to, I would never have to see a cow or a chicken or a goat or any other farm animal unless I'd like to see it slaughtered or some product of it, which I can obtain at a grocery store. Its a useless conversation really, I just end up looking like a prude because I never see the food I eat, something only the rich here can really say. So one of the counterparts I was working with decided to play pranks on me. I try to make myself of use, without touching chickens and make the eyedrop vaccinations. After making one of the eyedrops on an adolescent chicken, our counterpart decided to throw the bird at me (its really not the first time this has happened) and it walked over my foot. As I screamed (like a maniac of course) the mama who's chickens we were vaccinating shouted 'Yesu Mungu' (Jesus Christ) and said something in Swahili as if to say 'How is this crazy mzungu afraid of chickens?' Again, a pointless conversation. I've tried, I've really tried. As we proceeded, I ran into a group of children in one of the homesteads we were vaccinating chickens and was entertaining them. One of our counterparts, Upendo as I call her 'dada' or sister tied a sweater to my back jokingly saying that because I was wearing trousers (ahem, another one of my saggy ass harem pants) I looked like I had too much of a 'big booty' (a word on trousers vs. skirts in Tanzania--how is a skin tight skirt on a voluptuous woman less sexy than my saggy black slacks with the crotch stiched near the knees???). Anywho, as I paraded around with a terry sweater around my waist, I hadn't realized I was the victim of an unGodly prank. Our same clown-terpart who'd embarrassed me earlier had now grabbed a hen and put it on my back as if I were a mama carrying a baby in my kanga. I swear till now I hadn't realized it was even there, and I thank God I didn't feel its feathers because I would have very well just been sick in front of all of those children. Containing my anger (its very impolite to raise your voice here), I pretended to strangle him and then was formally upset in the car. I have to continually remind myself of the cultural differences here, and how it's pretty difficult for someone to understand how a phobia such as this can take place if they dont know anything about how life is like in New York. I guess thats the type of culture shock, I signed up for and I have to deal with it gradually--because as it seems it's going to be a while for me to get over any kind of avian phobia I have.

We came back to camp for chai, a rest and then some lunch. As we sat down waiting for lunch, the other volunteers speaking about themselves and other mzungu topics, I'd heard a rustle in the trees and in the corner of my eye had seen a couple of mangoes fall in the distance. Trying to get back into the conversation, I heard the rustle again and when I looked up, I saw about 5 little monkeys playing and climbing from branch to branch atop the mango trees. I stood and shouted 'Oh my God, there's monkeys in the trees'. Like an imbecile I ran, the other volunteers behind me towards the trees and we all looked up into the lush mango, guava and other fruit trees near the camp to where the monkeys, now so many of them were gathering swinging and playing. It was unlike anything we'd ever seen. We stayed, watching them until we could no longer see. No one brought a camera, and I regret it it might have been possible to snap a few good ones from how close we were.

That afternoon, we began our practical lessons for this training group. We arrived to find that no one had set up any kind of materials (sticks, dried leaves, green leaves, wood ash, manure, top soil, etc.) and had just waited for us to point out where these materials could be found. I know they were old, but they were kind of just waiting for us to come cut down some leaves. It was frustrating, but not the first time it'd happened. I was particularly pissy about it because I'd hoped to leave this scarf on since my rash was getting pretty nasty and I was hoping to go into town and get some professional advice on it, or ya know just sleep and take a bath properly. After wrestling with the rake and collecting dried leaves I'd let it go and just taken off the scarf. My other volunteer took a good look at it, and pointed out that it looked like a fungus. I'd kind of hoped it was the endless, never go away, story of my life problem with eczema that'd flared up perhaps with my sudden lack of hygiene. But when she said the word, it clicked. 'It looks like ringworm.' Dammit. I remember having ringworm on my face when I was a kid, it was awful. But this was so painful, and it felt like sunburn. I wondered what I could possibly do, there was such limited resources to practice good hygiene when one has something contagious and there's absolutely no dukas for pharmaceuticals. What do people do when they have something this simple, or God forbid something worse? The rest of the lesson I was really paranoid. I didn't want any villagers to stand near me, I didn't want to be responsible for passing anything along.

That night, I tried desperately to discreetly ask if anyone had anything anti-fungal or could loan me some anti bacterial. No one had any idea, and it was difficult to ask without looking like a germ factory. Finally, while perusing through the group first aid kit, our driver told me he'd be heading back to Arusha to pick up our HIV testing crew from their clinic and asked me if I would like to come along to get some medicine from a good pharmacy. I was glad I'd be able to fix this somehow, and agreed to come along. That night as I tried to shower, my hot water wasn't hot enough (I had to kill the bacteria and soak my now germ-y clothes!) and my cold water had a tadpole in it, surely taken from the local stream (that explains a lot). Appropriately, as I was taking my buckets into the small dark stall to bathe, a huge bullfrog croaked and hopped right in front of the wooden door. Something holy must have come over me so I wouldn't scream, because I quietly bit my tongue and held my breath and it just hopped away.

After my shower, I was so annoyed. My rash was stinging from scrubbing it with hot water, a clear sign it was dirty, and now everyone was calling me to dinner while I needed to hang my now scalding clothes on the line. My fellow volunteer (who's prognosis is now becoming clearer) came out and sensing my anguish, asks me what's wrong. After venting how annoyed I am, she says sincerely 'Hey, at least there's pasta'. She was right, at least there was pasta, and I got a good laugh. I hoped tomorrow being in town at least for a few hours would make me feel a little better, and I prayed that whatever I could get to make this go away wouldn't be expensive.

October 18-19

Camping. Yes I'm in a tent. Coming to Tanzania would have a lot of firsts for me, but I'm sure I was not yet ready to sleep outside. We are back in Maweni, this time the group is split up in two villages. I am working with one more volunteer in Maweni while the other three are in neighboring Usitu Ambogo. I was not excited about camping, I never thought sleeping outside would be fun, nonetheless in an environment where I have no idea what wild animals roam. There was no guest house option, but as the tent was set up I was sort of excited to share the space with the new female volunteers. We weren't on a real campground, Maweni had little to offer. This Mama's house was very humble--two outdoor toilets, no running water, and all the cooking was done outdoors.

After arrived and settling in, we headed to our respective villages to begin training. Like a real mbongo (slang term for Tanzanian) I got to ride standing up in the back of a pickup truck all the way there (sorry Mom, I was careful!) Our group was significantly older than those I'd been accustomed to working with-some bibis and babus (grandmas and grandpas). They too were farmers, but I'm not sure to what capacity as the last group was. We were training in a CCM office in the district, much more spacious than last week's digs. Except for the occasional wasp, which I noticed hovered around a hive right over the chalkboard.We began introductions and talked about compost, and the benefits of Biointensive Agriculture, etc. One of the mama's in the group made a very interesting point; she was thanking us at the conclusion of the lesson and remarked that these things seemed like common sense to her, that why weren't these farmers given this education about the science of farming when they were younger. That called for a round of applause from the room, and a conversation about the education system here in Tanzania.

I woke Tuesday morning feeling a little uncomfortable. Last night in the tent I couldn't bear the heat and this morning at around 4 the mama let the chickens out and I swear I heard a cockadoodledoo right outside of where I was sleeping. When I sat up at about 5:20 (my tentmates are super excited about this, and get up more than half an hour before we have to leave....sigh) and stretched I felt the rash on my neck ache and it stung to turn my head, not a good sign. Nonetheless, I got dressed and headed out to the Landcruiser to take me to my misery for the next couple of hours. Apparently, no one told me that I would be vaccinating for a ridiculous amount of time today. And I dont know if the others are impressed with my clear and easy assimilation into Tanzanian culture and language that they suddenly think I'm mbongo but we were out in the bush for 4 hours vaccinating, without any warning and without any breaks for water. When I would ask how much longer we would be vaccinating, I didn't get any clear answers. I really drew the line when we walked straight up through bush, jumped over a river to get to someone's shamba and I had dozens of thorns in my skirt, shoes, hair and in my socks. I retreated to the car, feeling almost as sick as I had last week in Maweni, and the week before when I'd collapsed in my room. Unlike the other mzungu who come to Tanzania, I don't regularly walk around with a huge water bottle, but perhaps I should start. And maybe bring along some biscuits. I realized this village had WAY more chickens than the last three. Each house was in the 50's and 60's. When we were done, our group had vaccinated about 300, and that evening we'd found out there were 500 vaccinations in total! Tuesday afternoon, we returned to the site for our lesson and we informed that a funeral was taking place between the two villages and the attendance may be low for our trainings. We ended up cutting short our lesson on composting and quickly began a talk on double dug beds, companion planting and crop rotation. Again, this group asked a lot of questions about what types of flowers and herbs to plant to deter pests. There wasn't much else to do that afternoon since everything was cancelled for the funeral. It was interesting to see how connected to community was for a death.

Those nights we had gone out to the dukas and bars to 'take newspaper', the metaphor here for taking beers. It was great to see how small villages are at night, until you realize everything really is how you'd expect. There are no lights, not even kerosene lanterns and the entire main road is only lit by moonlight. There were dozens of people out, not only men in the bars and some had already read too much newspaper. We were careful when we walked down the road, as many of the villagers already knew we were wageni (the Swahili word for strangers, and conveniently also 'guests') and me being mzungu, were sucessptible to drunken swings or altercations. Monday night we were sitting talking about our day when we suddenly heard a woman scream, some slaps, and several doors slam from a house across the road. Everyone was quiet after that, and it kind of put a damper on the jovial mood of the evening, until someone said to cut the silence 'Maybe she was just running from her brother'. Another volunteer chimed in 'Maybe she was running from the dog'. 'Or a spider' someone else had said. 'Maybe it was the tv' and then finally we were back to laughing. I guess drinking in town is not like drinking in the villages. It was pretty sickening to hear that.

Im beginning to dread sleeping in the tent, when evening comes I'm already bracing myself for the sea of flying bats that dip in between people when they're talking at dusk and the hiss of the bats on the tree right over our tent. I hate using flashlights just to get my water out of my backpack. The food here also isn't helping, the joke is that everyone's chewing magnesium to get rid of the gas. Also, I've been developing a pretty uncomfortable rash on my back, I think the sleeping back I've been issued is a petri dish of bacteria. I'm anxious to get back to my homestay and take a proper bath....

Tomorrow we will continue our training with some demonstrations on composting and the following day we will practice a double dig bed. Ugh, two more days until I have my creature comforts back.

October 15

TGIF! Last day in Maweni, and the end of my so called holiday. This morning I finished working on flip charts in the office, and at about noon again we headed out to the village to close the week of training. The last day of training, when we're usually away in the villages are concluding what we'd taught and answering any questions, taking some photos and having the villagers sing songs to us. Today since we are commuting, we could fit more lessons into the afternoon and I was expected to teach more material. We had been teaching in an unfinished 'office building'-- an edifice made of cinderblocks and a tin roof which housed several bird nests and the unfinished rooms in the building were home to dozens of lizards (those who know me well, can say I was not excited about these digs). When we arrived, a good number of villagers had already been there and I was ready to put the past two day's frustrations behind me and get on with the lesson.

I talked about companion planting and the importance of crop rotation, and they were pretty keen on companion planting. As farmers, I'm sure they understood the benefits of crop rotation. What was interesting was our lesson on natural pest control methods. We discussed ways to fence your crops, and our SA Trainer introduced some herbs that GSC teaches villagers to mix in a bucket with water and ferment. This solution gets sprayed onto the crops and the smells and chemicals from marigold, lemongrass, rosemary, neem and other things naturally deters bad pests. Many of the villagers had never seen lemongrass or rosemary in particular which I thought was very interesting--those two things are commonly used in teas. I was grateful there were no giggles as I was speaking today, and no one laughed at my broken Swahili as I spoke. Overall the lesson went well and when we did our small graduation ceremony and handed out certificates, the women were gracious and the men weren't being gross. They sang a lot of songs for each person as they recieved their certificates. After refreshments again, we all took photos of the group in front of the 'office'. I had to laugh when the man who'd stubbornly insisted I was English persisted that I must share a copy of the photo with the group. With my camera, I had to explain it was not a polaroid and in the middle of the bush was virtually impossible to make duplicates. He asked in Swahili to another counterpart, and post face palm I just had to accept he's just a stubborn man.

This group was great, they were one of the first I'd worked with that were excited about BIA and were familiar with the material. But it wasn't easy training them! For those mwanawake (ladies) who will teach community groups in the future, wear pants! And don't get sick!

October 14

Happy Nyerere Day! Allegedly a major public holiday commemorating the beloved president, there was supposed to be no activity today--banks and major stores would be closed, no school and people would use this day to relax. You know, like most holidays in America. But nope, this is a developing country and stuff needs to get done! Business as usual on the streets of Arusha, same ratio of dalas per passing car and just about every duka and peddler was out doing their usual thing. I even saw some kids in uniform going to school. Did they not get the memo? But, business as usual means I still have to get out there and train. Dressed in my finest saggy ass harem pants and collared shirt, I was ready for whatever jabs the villagers had for me today. Again, no lunch because all of the other counterparts apparently dont have functioning metabolisms. I dont know if it's an appropriate call on the general culture, but these Tanzanians don't eat much. They were fine buying two bananas and calling that lunch. Nuh-uh. I'm a no good westerner.  I need at least something warm. I braced myself today by buying two packs of cookies and some muffins. Again down the bumpy road to Maweni and made our way to the shamba to demonstrate the double dug bed. When I arrived, some of the dirty men from yesterday were staring and again called me mzungu! Our SA trainer had to intervene and say its inapporpriate at this point to continue to not call me by my name or even 'mwalimu' (teacher), and tried to explain that I'm not even white. I understood the conversation in Swahili in which our trainer explained that just because I live in America I'm not white. He argued that when I introduced myself I said I was from New York (funny thing he remembered that, cause he didn't know my name). Our trainer explained that I am clearly not white, I have messy hair and my people are dark skinned and also light skinned so it depends on the person. The man argued back that if I'm not African he can call me mzungu and there was nothing wrong with that. Ugh. Idiot. It was useless, so we just let it go. He was pretty pissed we tried to set him straight, I know the word isnt a racist or derogatory word, but I'm teaching! Its really rude.

The digging began and removing the topsoil was fairly easy since the soil was so loose to begin with. Everything was going well, what got ugly was the subsoil. We hit a huge layer of rock, that I swear was like shist. It was impossible to break, so much that we bended the rules with how deep the bed is supposed to be. What annoyed me during this charade was the immediate submission of the women to the men, when the digging got a little tough. In the Meru culture, the women do most of the farming, but I think in the presence of the men, it was a sign that the men were stronger if they allowed them to do the tilling. It wasn't incredibly difficult when we reached about half a foot into the subsoil, our other SA trainer who is a woman was able to do a  lot of the tilling. On top of this, the women villagers were now sitting in the shade snickering and looking at me, and I could hear the occasional word 'mzungu'. Ugh, didn't we just go over this. I heard the word viatu (shoes) and looked down at my canvas sneakers I'd bought at Kmart right before I came here ($4) which last week had gotten caught on an acacia thorn and ripped a little in the front. Are these women laughing at my shoes??! I'm not rich, nor am I here to pretend I am but the audacity of being condescending to me was more than I could take. I again walked over to the car as the lesson was ending. As I passed another crowd of women, I could hear more snickering as I carried my water and applied some chapstick. I gave some leverage and assumed they were fascinated by my lip balm so I tried to say it was 'dawa' (medicine) for my lips. Why even bother, I thought as they kept laughing as if I'd said the most ridiculous thing. The other counterparts weren't even translating what was going on anymore, it wasn't worth it and what was being said wasn't probably nice.

I couldn't believe these people were being rude, usually Tanzanians are so welcoming! Our driver later assured me its annoying but not uncommon that women occasionally sit and gossip when idle. There's even a Swahili proverb that says if you're idle you'll sit around and gossip about passersby. It wasn't really comforting, I'd never been bullied in school either my whole life! I know volunteering could be frustrating, but I'd never expected to feel so hopeless and embarrassed to be somewhere while I was working. I didn't think I looked that ridiculous. Relieved to get out of there, we served the refreshments and parted with the villagers back to Arusha.

I was so glad to be back home, where people know my name! I told my host family about the experience today, and despite the harmless meaning of the word 'mzungu', they agreed it was rude to call me that when they could have said 'mwalimu' or my name. I feel uneasy about returning tomorrow, but I hope that while the graduation ceremony commences, they'll gain some respect for the program and for myself.

Saturday, October 23, 2010

October 13

Mambo! Today I think I've felt the most homesick about America than I ever have. I've been craving waking up in the morning with the endless opportunities knowing I can eat anything my heart desired for breakfast, I can take a hot shower as long as I like, going outside and not getting mud in my flip flops. I guess I could do those things if I lived in a different part of town. The most depressing are the creature comforts of internet and media at hand. Those things are available here, but at a ridiculous cost that I as a student abroad cannot afford. This morning I finally got the gossip magazine websites working on this computer--Lindsay Lohan went back to jail? The Arquettes are divorcing? The Miners are coming out? All whilst I was saving the world and shoveling dirt with the Maasai.

My creature comforts aside, we went back to Maweni today to continue our week of training. Before departure I was working at HQ designing some posters and literature for the HIV/AIDS Prevention leg of the program, without hot breakfast designing posters of penises and vaginas. I argued I was too immature and malnourished for the task, nonetheless found myself drawing for two hours. Making sex ed charts in colorful letters in a language I dont understand, my Mom would be so proud. At about noon we loaded up in the truck and headed out, sans lunch. Big mistake and I shouldve spoken up. When we got there I had already felt sick As we walked to the farmer's shamba (farm) I felt my chest feel heavy and my head hurt. I was supposed to eat something hot before we left, and I was angry I hadn't spoken up at my homestay (seriously just one slice of untoasted bread and margarine, um no). Moreover, I was getting annoyed as we waited for the villagers to gather the materials for the compost pile (week after week, no one every has the materials ready!!!) And the men who were just watching the women gather the sticks and dried leaves and greens, etc. were just sitting and staring at me. I told our counterparts I could not give the lesson since I thought I was going to be sick. Worse, they kept calling me mzungu. I know that here, its not a bad word its just a word like an observation. Like mzungu...hey you're white. And that's it. However, I'm their teacher and if the students had been calling me Stephanie all week why now suddenly am I mzungu. It was such a creepy look, like these men were leering at me, and after that episode this weekend I wanted to get the hell out of there.

When the lesson began, one of the counterparts gave the lesson for me and did an excellent job. The women were great at helping out, and were really proud of the compost pile. The soil from this area was already dark and humus-y, definitely because of the nutrients around Meru. Definitely a far cry from the red quartz filled sand, we worked with in Kimokouwa and Namanga. There were still some irrigation issues here so the soil was kind of cakey and there were some dirt clods. There werent many farm animals here, it seems its not so common.

It was easy to see how work gets divided here, as the women in the group showed up in t shirts and kangas ready to work. Men showed up to the lesson carrying chairs and wearing collared shirts, slacks and good shoes. Plus, when I stood up (clearly sick as I made an announcement at the start of class) they took my chair and didn't offer it back to me!! I almost felt sorry for these women until I realized that as they were working, they were making fun of me. I guess it doesnt matter how many times you say 'Mimi ni mgongwa na tumbo' (Im sick, I have a stomachache) these people thought that if I wasn't giving birth or physically handicapped I should've been in there because I'm a woman. Given my maledictions of dehydration and starvation, it was much easier for my to get annoyed at this. I tried to take photos of the compost pile, only to have the men try to tell me how to take the photos. Oh, I didn't know you knew how to operate an SLR? Dejected, I just put the camera in my backpack and sat in the Landcruiser until it was time for refreshments. When it was all done, there was the usual commencement of thank yous, prayer circles, and goodbyes. My stomach managed to hold up on the bumpy ride back to Arusha. Except I wasn't let off that easy--getting out of the car I was hassled by a taxi driver who tried to 'help' me get out of the Landcruiser. Despite shouting 'Toka!' (Piss off, its really rude, its what Tanzanians say to dogs! And they hate being referred to the same way you would an animal or inanimate object) I cursed and yelled until he moved from the side of the car and allowed me to pass. He wouldn't give up, I couldn't believe it. As I crossed the road, he persisted. 'My name is Elias, what is your name'. Perhaps starvation, perhaps annoyance, perhaps I really needed to get across the road to use the internet, I just retorted "Yea, thanks a lot Elias, go jump off a bridge."
Not my proudest day as volunteer or student or ambassador here in Tanzania, but to avoid this I'm wearing pants tomorrow and securing some chapati in the morning. Either that, or someone's going to get really really hurt.

October 11-12

This week should be like holiday to me. Im spending the week training in Maweni, a village just outside of Arusha and just commuting about 20 minutes to train my SA group. Its a terribly bumpy ride out to Maweni, and since the other volunteer is on a real holiday, it'll just be me training. Solo. It's a first, but I'm sure I'll be fine.

I headed down to HQ at about 9am to help out with our bustani and then we trekked out to Maweni. When we arrived, I noticed it's on the other side of Meru and a lot more tropical than the other villages we'd trained in. I was excited to know this group was made of a lot of farmers so it'd be easy to persuade them about the benefits of organic farming, and unlike other villages, persuading them to actually farm. The negative was that there were no kinds of business or industry here in Maweni. There were no restaurants, only dukas and like all villages it seems, tons of bars. We signed our name in the village guestbook, which I've noticed every village does here. Its always one of my favorite parts of arriving since the other stupid Americans who come here are so cocky they sign their names like 'Dr. John Smith II' or 'David Burns IV, ESQ', and other titles that those from Maweni just dont seem to care. Me and the other volunteer make sort of a joke out of it and variate what we write under the column 'Tribe', which we notice others leave blank we write 'American' or 'Brooklynite' and once I even wrote 'Dominican' until I realized someone may interpret that as a Catholic order and think I was being sacrilegious.

Anywho, when we met our group there were a good number, about 30 ready to hear from us. I gave a good introduction about Global Service Corps what we do and what Biointensive Agriculture (BIA) is, why its beneficial, and introduced why and how we should compost. They seemed really grateful for us being there and giving this lesson, and even said a group prayer for us at the end of the lesson. Monday afternoon, I got dropped off right at my road and as I headed to the internet cafe got a scare as I walked by a duka that makes bites (fried cassava, chapatis and other street food) had a grease fire and the man who was cooking picked up the iron wok which was now completely on fire and threw it up in the air screaming Maji, Maji!!! or water, water. Someone didn't get a good lesson in fire safety because as I walked, I felt the flames tickle my arms. It seems when he threw the wok the grease fire exploded and the flames just missed me. I said a prayer as I walked to internet and made sure to stay the hell away from outdoor cooking.

Tuesday we returned to Maweni and gave the second day of our lectures. I introduced double dig beds and nurseries. I talked for about 2 1/2 hours. Imagine that. We got a lot of great questions about maintaining a BIA garden and some suggestions to train villagers on how to harvest seeds naturally and sell them to the community, similar to the way we train chicken vaccinators. I thanked them and really think it'd be a great way for a food security and nutrition NGO to help entrepreneurship. I noshed on an amazing cheeseburger from town for lunch, which cost me 4,000 shillings ($2.60 US). It was actually really similar to the Dominican cheeseburger, a chimichurri. I needed energy if tomorrow we will be raking manure and dirt to make a compost pile. Yay!

October 10

Sunday- Jumapili. I decided to continue being a good Catholic and go to church. I heard it was a considerable distance from my homestay, and mass started at 9:30 am. I wasn't sure if it's as conservative as  I remember it was in Santo Domingo when I went with my grandma so I fashioned myself with a blouse, shoes and a knee length pencil skirt and packed enough water for the walk. It wasn't an awful distance, but walking through town that early in the morning on a weekend was pretty nice. There wasn't as much commotion with taxis hustling and dala dalas honking and men riding centimeters from my face on their bicycles. I wondered if it had something to do with reverence because it was a Sunday morning. There were hoards of families--women in their traditional dresses and hats, men in suits, and children in their cleanest dresses and slacks and pants. I was glad I wore a skirt, its bad enough I'm an mzungu walking around on a Sunday morning, and in pants I would have been a freakshow.

Everything went fairly well, walking to Father Babu church. Until I reached the aptly named Father Babu road where there is everything from bars to stationary shops to an AIDS clinic and one of Arusha's biggest dala dala stands. As I walked on the side of the road, trying to remember the directions I'd remembered and find the church, a dala driver tried to hustle me into his van. As this is fairly common, I didn't make eye contact and just walked past saying 'hapana' (no). Well, either this man was a non-beleiver or just didn't hear me, decided to grab my arm and prod me into the car. Scared, I tried to wriggle myself from his hold but couldn't and in about two seconds my reflexes reacted and with my right arm I punched him in his collarbone and cursed. I wasn't sure what he wanted, it was a crowded stand and if he tried anything he would have been attacked by the mob. I think he just wanted to scare me or was horsing around, after the punch he jokingly put his hands in the air in surrender and moved past allowing me to continue walking. Still shaken, I managed to make it to the church a couple of minutes later. Note to self, take a taxi next time.

The mass in Swahili was still going on, and a mass of students in their uniforms and some other professional types were still waiting for the English mass. As  they cleared the church (albeit more than 30 minutes past the hour--Africa time, ya know), I walked into the decagon shaped building and took a seat on one of the pews towards the front. The trouble with going to a new mass is always not knowing what the customs are. The seats were mightily uncomfortable so it took some time to adjust myself and not allow my knees to show with this skirt, which now I wish I hadn't worn since there were women in jeans and expats in some pretty grungy outfits. Just like America, I thought. The mass began rather promptly after that, and the service was very similar to those I'd attended in America, except with a lot more singing. I'd remembered having African priests in our parish at home and the changes they'd always make to the mass including more singing of the prayers so it wasn't a terribly distant idea. The church offerings part was the most interesting. Instead of having a discreet basket go around pew after pew, you have to stand up and drop your contribution into a basket in the front of the church. Yikes. I was kind of confused and since the people around me didn't get up and I was in the middle of the pew I kept kneeling praying and waited for the second collection. During the blessing of the Bread and Wine, a boy sitting in front of me continued to stare and stare while I was praying. Stare bears, as we lovingly call them at GSC--children who stare at mzungu and are so mesmerized they dont even blink. While meditating, the boy touched my skin on my arms as if to see what light skin felt like. I was warned this would happen, just not in church. He did it about two times more and once trying to rub my skin as if my lighter complection was some kind of costume paint.
After mass, I walked back down the road where I was hassled by the dala driver to get back to town to find myself in another sticky situation. Sigh, only wazungu does this misfortune seem to happen to. There is a bus station down Father Babu road which I heard takes nightwatchmen to and from Arusha, Nairobi, Kampala, etc. Nightwatchmen , I remember reading just sit around and drink and buy sexual favors and usually spread STIs, STDs and are just gangsters.One of those coach buses was coming out of the depot and, of course, loaded with men. The driver and some of the men were leering and shouting mzungu at me, saying Hello and just being gross. I could feel my face getting hot and angry. I was so frustrated I would have to deal with this again, worse now the driver of the bus had turned and blocked the entire road. The driver and some of the people inside the bus were now waving and leaning out of the window. I wanted to cry. Annoyed I couldn't pass, I leapt over the side of the road and into a large v shaped gutter, walking down it for several feet. When I could reach the road again, I got out of the gutter and as I walked down the road away from harassment I heard a scratching noise and gasps from ahead of me. I turned around and saw the front wheels of the coach bus in the gutter, the back wheels puffing gray smoke, going in reverse trying to get out of the ditch. I wasn't even angry, just excited to finally get out of that road and get back to normalcy if such a thing in Arusha.

I proceeded along and entered the big supermarket in town, Shop Rite and bought some hair gel which was greatly needed and a pineapple for my host family to have with dinner. My nerves were calmed when I treated myself at a cafe to a bacon cheeseburger, fries and a cold beer. At dinner, the pineapple was still unripe and I was pretty embarassed that I let the housegirl cut the nenasi and now everyone was eating bitter pineapple. Like the fruit, I hoped things would get better within the next week.

Saturday, October 16, 2010

October 9

Sante Mungu its the weekendi! This morning we are slated to visit an AIDS patient working with a counterpart with GSC, Dr. Mollel. He is a visiting care practitioner that works with many HIV/AIDS patients in Arusha and we were invited to come along for about an hour to visit a woman living HIV positive and ask her any questions about her condition. It's been on the table for a long time, since we've been here actually and I'm really excited about it.

However, I woke up extreeeemely scared since I'd been sick with pretty bad dehydration and ended up fainting for a good hour and waking pretty much dissuaded from leaving my house. At around 1 p.m. I changed my mind and was feeling a lot better, so with Glucose cookies (that's actually a brand here) and a liter and half of maji baridi (cold water) I walked over to the GSC office. We took a taxi with some gifts (standard kitched items) and made our way to the woman's home. She lived right along the main road here in Arusha but in a compund of small mud houses behind some dukas (shops) that a passersby would never see. She looked about to be in her late 30's or so living by herself in this one room shack. We asked her some questions about how long she'd known her HIV status, how did she find out and what her life has been like since. Her story was incredibly moving--my ailments this morning are no issue compared to what this woman has been through. She had known of her HIV status since 2000 through regular testing in the community. She had a feeling there was something wrong through a series of miscarriages and infant mortalities, and had contracted the illness through her husband. And while she knew of her HIV status she was not taking any immunotherapy or IVs and had complications like shingles and other rashes. Perhaps very interesting about her efforts to combat the illness was the fact that the government pays for most of her treatment. She takes several pills a day, and refills at a local duka or dispensary at a hospital and it is paid for at government expenses. As an American, to see how this woman lives and is able to pay for this treatment I have to admire healthcare even in Tanzania! Its amazing that she is able to put food on her table, and it gives her so much optimism that she can continue living despite her disease.
She also had some questions for us. She was curious if there were many HIV patients in the US and we told her there were many, common when people have unprotected sex but its more of a worry in the world of intravenous drugs. I could tell from her face she looked a bit surprised, perhaps she thought HIV AIDS is a issue only in the developing world, something I've been told has been asked in our HIV AIDS prevention program in communities.

She told us her husband died in 2004 from complications from HIV, he was not taking any medication. It surprised us listening to her speak, when she said she wasn't stigmatized in her community for her HIV status. In fact, she says its common to know of someone's status because it's better to know in case of possible transmission when someone bleeds from an injury etc. She is a member of a community group of women that share their experiences and spend time together. This collective, in her neighborhood is made up of about 90 women! She says many of her close friends are also HIV positive, and its not unusual. What I got from this whole visit that was very difficult to accept, was the common practice of men spreading this disease unknowingly to their wives. It puts a greater emphasis on testing teens and young people, which is what is so great about educating students in primary school about sex education and HIV/AIDs prevention education. The age of marriage in Tanzania is rising, but in rural communities like places we've worked with Maasai girls are married as young as 16 and 17. Maybe younger in really remote places in the south. I was so affected by this visit, I can't imagine having someone you love and trust make your life so difficult in this way. I think I would be so angry and depressed if I had been transmitted this disease by a husband, to the extent I'd be infertile. Her optimism really inspired me, and what she does to share her experience is really amazing. Before we left, we asked if she got lonely being in that shack alone and she said no, that she has many visitors and friends. She said that God is her best friend, that was very inspiring. I think that Faith has to be one of the reasons why she is so strong. I was too shy to take a photo with her, I felt we'd imposed enough. But I have a much clearer erspective on what living with this disease is like, its not miserable and it's not the end of the world. This had to be one of the best aspects of coming to Tanzania doing work like this, you really get a look at what living here is like, from all aspects.

Tomorrow I will be making a visit to the Catholic church, if I can find it! And do some errands. This week we will be in Arusha, so I don't have to do much basking in creature comforts of American food but I think I want a burger!

Saturday, October 9, 2010

October 8

Today we return from Namanga! Good riddance! It was such a sketchy place. Nonetheless, I felt really comfortable teaching this week, even if didn't have such a captive audience. It happens. This morning, we were not vaccinating (sleeping in!!), but we arrived at the site for our last lecture in Namanga at around 9 a.m. There were only 2 women there, and we had to wait about an hour for someone else to unlock the office door. The lesson went fairly well, besides getting lost in translation quite a bit with the intern who was translating. I learned that if I smile enough and use my hands enough to make motions they pay much more attention. As time progressed, in line with Africa time more women showed up and took their places in the classroom. As I finished my share of the lesson and took a walk outside, I noticed some Maasai women taking shade right outside of the classroom under a Neem tree just looking inside the office. I asked one of our Maasai speakers with GSC why these women were just lounging in this office in the middle of nowhere. So she approached them and asked why they were sitting there, they told her they were just taking shade. BS. They were waiting for chai and mondazi. She scolded the women and said in Maasai 'You left your house, left your babies, are not going to do any errands or chores, to walk all the way over here to take shade under this specific tree. Plus, you are not getting a free education steps away from this building. Come inside and at least take a proper seat." I thought this was hilarious, because sure enough as we hauled the basin with chai and pots of mondazi from out of the Land Cruiser about 12 women came running from out of nowhere to take a seat inside of the small office where others had been sitting and diligently taking notes for the past two hours. I'd really love to meet these NGO's who give out money, do they really think they're making a difference? What sense of accomplishment do these people feel when they go back home to Europe, America or wherever else they're from?

The ride back went so smoothly that I even fell asleep. Which if you'd see the paper thin slab of pavement they call a road here, you'd think I was sedated. At GSC HQ we found out we can go tomorrow to see an HIV patient in her home and ask her some questions about her condition and stuff like that. I've been looking forward to this for a while, so I'm excited to finally experience this!

Next week we'll be in town, and I'll be doing some BIA stuff alone since one of our volunteers has reached the end of his stay here and they're going on holiday. Good stuff. And I'll have my creature comforts of electricity and my queen sized bed back again! Sante Mungu for hot showers!

October 5- 7th

Day 3 in Namanga We're so much closer to the border than I'd really thought-its literally right across the road from our hoteli. I joked that I should photograph myself sticking my hand through the gate to say I'd visited Kenya! We're working in the subvillages of Namanga, specifically a little place called Eurondeke, a little more urbane than last week's stint in Kimokouwa. Namanga is really a strange place, it's gotta be the weirdest squatter town I'd ever heard of. The customs gate is heralded by dozens of 18 wheeler trucks just waiting for clearance coming in and out of Tanzania, and even more sketchy truck drivers and all sorts of creepiness they bring. There's a lot of petty business going on, men and women pushing shoes, shirts belts, wallets even children's toys throughout the streets and hustling passersby. There's a huge market all around similar to the one we'd seen in Moshi selling everything from fresh vegetables to bootleg videos from China and even housewares. Nonetheless, it's not much me as an mzungu would fancy, so I'd better stay in the guest house.
There really is so much going on here, but we were warned its actually more dangerous for us Americans or basically non-Africans. Customs agents target us, and since I left my passport in my homestay, they might ask me for my visa. If I dont have it, there's a chance (depending on what kinds of jerks they are) that I could be detained or pay a hefty fine. Again, I'd rather stay inside anyway. Our hoteli is an outdoor garden with about 20 rooms on the perimeter, each person has their own space. It's bright yellow and blue and I remember joking that it's 'like prison but more colorful!!' The toilet is not only a squatter (which I have somehow conditioned myself to expect) but its just about the grossest squatter in East Africa. It has no flush and it's swarming with flies and cockroaches. There's also a lovely outdoor urinal which some of the unashamed have taken privy to. Creature comforts, how I miss thee.

Monday afternoon when we arrived we were slated to begin an intro to our training group, about 40something Maasai women were waiting for us since 8 a.m. Ya know, minor misunderstandings in language mix with some misunderstanding about Swahili time (what trouble that brings in this country to us wageni!) and we ended up apologizing profusely about our tardiness. We promised the lesson would begin the next morning at 9 a.m. (12 hour time) sharp.

Tuesday morning we started to vaccinate chickens, and visited one sole boma so far in the middle of nowhere near the border there wasn't even any signage. We got 5 chickens and took so long to come back to civilization that it was time for breakfast. That afternoon we retreated to the office to a little less than the number of women we'd had yesterday. As we were teaching about the elements of bio-intensive agriculture, its benefits and some steps on how to compost, we handed out the literature, I was a little disappointed this week's group looked a little disinterested. One woman even fell asleep! Our translator had to call to her to wake her up. I was confused, why come to this if you seem to have no interest in agriculture? I got my answer at the end of the lesson, when one of the mamas approached our HIV AIDS prevention program coordinators and commented how GSC comes into communities and teaches mamas about agriculture and HIV AIDS related information, while not compensating monetarily--as some NGO's do. I have heard that one of the biggest challenges Global Service Corps has in many communities is that some people expect compensation for being educated on these topics. And while GSC plays fair, there are several crooked NGOs that pay large amounts of money to families just for sitting in a classroom for a few hours. Of course, we give them chai and mondazi (doughnuts made with spice) while they break but these lessons are far better than any information an NGO can come and give them in a pamphlet. I was so discouraged from working with this group, as I could already see their true intentions for having us in their community. I still believe in what BIA can do for food security and healthy families, but its more reassuring when they themselves want to change.
I felt a little better that afternoon when we visited the last training groups' gardens. It was clear these people really did understand the information we'd given them, however decided not to plant any crops until the rain season, which should start next month. One man had even begun planting some seedlings in his beds (he build a really solid hafir which still had rainwater from the last rainseason) however, the wild antelope ate his carrots!! Hopefully, they act on this and begin working on planting and building hafirs.

Wednesday morning chicken vaccinations set a world record!! We got 238 chickens from about 11 households! And some were kept in pretty ok conditions.One of the things GSC is hoping to implement in the BIA program is building on chicken bandas, to prevent disease from chickens. That afternoon we lectured on double dug beds, and afterword held a practicum on composting. Less than half of the women who'd attended Tuesday came back after that spectacle about compensation. At the lesson, only a few women were willing to help out with the pile, with one women who'd previously attended the last session a few months back and had a hell of a garden was showing the others in Maasai how to build the pile.

Today we were up again as usual with the chickens, this time about 60something. We are training new community vaccinators all week so we aren't doing much of the chicken wrangling and teaching that to the new guys. While waiting for the new vaccinator to try his hand at the eye drops, we noticed one man had about 10 camels in his shamba!! Camels! I photographed a few and the interns asked him what he does with the camels, since no one really needs a camel to get around. He said he uses them for milk and sometimes for meat. Weirdo. It was pretty cool to see how they court each other. They taste each other's urine to see if it's potent enough for mating! Gross!! At about 10 am I was working out on a hafir here in Eurondeke, hacking away at the hard, red clay soil with a machete while the mama who's property this was on happened to disappear and not want to work at all. To her credit, she dug most of the hafir and we were widening and making it deeper. But her absence got under my skin, and the culture of having NGO's come to these villages and give handouts.

On the bright side, one of the women who's gardens we visited yesterday, Nema was working on making a community garden at the Eurondeke Catholic Church and Seminary and she asked me what religion I was. When I said 'Mimi ni Mkatoliki' she hugged me so tight and promised me she'd make me a rosary. I kind of forgot about that, but today I saw her and she put the rosary over my head. It's got to be one of the nicest things anyone's ever given me. I told her I'd pray for her with it, and I left feeling so relieved. She was thanking all of us for teaching her about agriculture and she was so thankful for the work GSC does. It was finally the feeling of relief that I'd been longing as a volunteer.

Tomorrow we leave Namanga, after one quick lesson tomorrow morning. I'm so excited to get back to Arusha, I miss my homestay's nice porcelain, non smelly squatter and my own big room with no weird, pee with the door open truckers!

Sunday, October 3, 2010

September 28- October 2

Week 2 of BIA program! We arrived ready in Longido yesterday to work in Kimokouwa, which I don't really know much about except its in the freakin middle of nowhere. And I don't get very many answers when I ask questions about whats going on. So as we zipped about 80 kilometers an hour down a road into empty savannah, I kind of just kept my mouth closed and went with the flow. We were told we'd give a basic training to a new group, women in a group of bomas in Kimokouwa. However, today we learned these women had already been visited and had received basic training in BIA and we were now going to simply follow up with them on the progress they'd made.

This village is terribly drier than Longido, where we were last week. The again overwhelming complaint with the women was the lack of available water. Of course, only women because they bear the burden of family packmule. It is about a mile walk to the fresh water pond from where the boma is and not all of the women have donkeys. As we sat in the lecture, held outside of the steps of the dominant political party's district office, for about 15 Maasai women we were amazed at how eager and interested they were in agriculture and in improving their health. They quickly even chose a group representative with whom we will be in correspondence about organizing future lessons in the area.

The following day, we were to reteach a lesson on composting, Again, most of the women showed and even brought along their children. Perhaps the most visceral of my experiences in what its like to live here have always included children. These Maasai children were very dirty, dusty and almost none were wearing shoes. Sadly, as they came closer their faces were covering in flies, worse than I'd ever even seen on any Feed the Children commercial. I noticed the flies flocked to the childrens' eyes, noses which were covered in snot, and their mouths. I've fallen in love with every child I've encountered so far in TZ, they're so welcoming and kind. These children were no different. However, I felt awful for neglecting their attempts to hold my hand or have me carry them. It was difficult to accept them when their clothes were covered in mud, and there were dozens of flies on their faces and hair. I was so ashamed that I could not give them any attention.

During the lesson I was disappointed that while I was giving instructions in English to be translated, the lesson was taken over by the Maasai translator, not affiliated with GSC. I was confused as to why this man was now giving the lecture, and I did not know where he was in the lesson. As I expressed this later on, I learned he was trained in agriculture and was able to properly give the lesson himself. I was upset that no one had relayed this to me, and I had a mild freak out moment that these women had not effectively learned anything about the steps in composting. Later Tuesday, we visited the local water source and took some photos of how the Maasai women carry water jugs (on a sling wrapped around their head!!!) and then saw a sample garden of a local Maasai MAN who actually grows some vegetables!! (to sell....sigh) It was too good to be true, this guy did not eat vegetables.

While we waited, one of the Massai women whom we'd sort of befriended the past two days (she is stunning, if she were in America or Europe she'd really be a model) brought out her children (but she herself cannot be older than me!!), one girl about 3 and a newborn boy about 2 months. The little girl as I had seen before, seemed to suffer from some kind of mental retardation and above all of the children in the boma had the most flies on her face. She was the saddest case I'd seen, since the day before during the lesson she had fallen and slipped in the sand and was crying. It took a lot to hold back my tears from seeing her crying and no one had come to help her. The newborn was also covered in flies, and was always hanging from the mother's side on a sling as she would occasionally nurse him while talking to everyone. As I sat waiting for the women to arrive, she thrust onto me the newborn baby, who was drooling and covered in flies. I remember feeling that it was not that I found him disgusting, it was that I was so upset this child had been living in this condition. I tried to hold him close, but his romper was dirty with soil and crusty with something. He smelled like cow manure, as a lot of things do in the boma. I asked a project coordinator and fellow with GSC why the baby had such a runny nose, and she answered that he had malaria, common for small children in that environment. I did not want to continue carrying him, and offered the mother to take him back. She smiled, said something in Maasai and walked away to the other women. Great. I'm stuck holding this kid. As I cradled him and rocked him back and forth in my arms, keeping him away from my blouse, his mother returned and graciously offered me to visit her home. Crazy intuitive senses...GO! And without thinking I said 'sure'. What the hell am I thinking here? As we walked into the boma, I was still holding the baby who now did not want to let go of me and was nuzzling my neck covered in drool. With so much trepidation, I ducked my head entering the mud house covered in a  straw grass roof and entered into complete darkness. How do these people live? The woman lit a small kerosene lamp and offered me to sit down on the bed, designated by a large mud wall and a wooden table covered in cotton fabric. How do you sleep here? There was a tiny hole in the exterior mud wall with a small piece of glass for viewing. How neat, a window. Upendo, a GSC employee fluent in Maasai had followed behind me. She spoke with the woman who was seated at a small table in the corner of the small house. As I sat on the bed with the child, he fussed and I was relieved that Upendo told me to lay him flat on the bed. At least the flies were gone.

I took a good look around the small dark quarters. They must keep chickens inside of the house too, as there were feathers and chicken droppings all over the floor. A pot of white porridge was in the middle of the floor with the embers of the last fire still glowing. The baby fussed one more time, and some inkling of a maternal instinct inside of me made me pick him up. The flies must have gone somewhere else while we were inside, so I held him a little closer. Five minutes later after hearing some more Maasai talk between Upendo and the woman, I felt something wrong with my skirt. Uh oh. The baby peed on me. ALL OVER ME. The woman stood up and apologized in Maasai, but I could not get angry. I'm sure it happened to her all the time as it does with any mother. I was more curious about how this child was going to be cleaned. He wasn't. That afternoon I learned that same baby had pooped on another volunteer coordinator's skirt and then peed on her that afternoon right after me. Note to self, NEVER carry babies that don't wear diapers in this country. I just wanted to get the hell out of there after that whole ordeal.

Friday, I was blessed  that my group didnt have to wake up at 5 to vaccinate chickens because the remaining area to cover was in the other group's turf. YES! Easier imagined than what actually happened, that goats and cows near the guesthouse in Longido are extremely loud and I woke up at 630 not being able to go back to sleep. After breakfast, we were instructed there may possibly be a final gathering of the women in Kimokouwa at the boma to be instructed on companion planting and crop rotation. And we would also be following up on the compost pile that may or may not be completed. When we arrived, we were amazed the compost pile had actually been completed, minus the mulching over top. And all the women were gathered ready to hear our presentation. I ended up giving the bulk of the information which was a lot of fun for me. I answered a lot of the womens' questions and they were so appreciative at the end. One of the elder women (bibi or grandmother) stood up and thanked all of us 'wageni' or visitors for spending all this money on gas and lodging to come teach these 'lowly women' about something that could change their lives for the better. I asked to translate to her that they are suffering and that we want to help them learn about sustainable agriculture to save them money and make their families healthy. We were able to work out that next week we would try to come back to work with them to check on their compost pile and answer any additional questions. Upendo, who is quickly becoming my best friend here in Tanzania is a Maasai and started singing a song in Maasai which the women began changing along to. It was beautiful, only something many of us have seen on television. Their voices in unison were one of the most amazing sounds I've ever heard live! They began jumping up and down, traditional way of Maasai dance and they all clapped while we walked away. I have at times felt useless as a volunteer talking about agriculture, something I have absolutely no idea anything about. However, this has to be the most satisfying moment I've had here. That afternoon, we headed back to Arusha with all of our things in tow. Next week we will be in Namanga, a town right on the Kenyan/Tanzanian line.

The volunteers in the other group saw antelope, wild giraffes and dik dik while out early morning chicken vaccinating. If Kimokouwa was that wild, I can't wait to see Namanga! Tomorrow (Saturday) some other volunteers and myself will make a trek out to Moshi to see Kili and do some craft market shopping and get some good eats till its ugali and beans again!!