Thursday! The week is almost over and I thank the Lord in high heaven for giving me strength. Today I will be visiting the orphanage I've pined to work with. Wat Opot is an orphanage, but I don't want to use that word in this case--Children's Community for kids who've lost parents or are losing parents to the HIV/AIDS virus. Some are also infected, and have been abandoned by their parents because they want nothing to do with a child that has the virus, so they are living together in this community run by an American ex-pat who has made a great place for them about an hour south out of Phnom Penh in Takeo province. It's called Wat Opot because the wat (meaning temple) next door donated the land to this cause.
We got there early this morning, and it was refreshing to meet some other people who seemed normal. The director of Wat Opot is an incredibly nice guy. I met him and many of the children who had seemed to be randomly running around. Everyone in Tanzania joked that when my time ran out to do physical work in Sustainable Agriculture, I just played with babies and now that will be the subject of my work in Cambodia! As we toured the grounds, and I heard each child's story I was so moved. I would be working with kids who are under 10 years old and have been through such feats. Wat Opot has a hospice and crematorium on site. Some of the children didn't arrive here orphaned--one or both parents may have been sick with the virus and stayed under hospice care for days until they died, sometimes with the children as young as 2 or 3 years old refusing to leave their side. Wat Opot does the work of removing the body and sometimes the child will help in lighting the flame in the crematorium. The thought of a small child being able to grasp the reality of losing a parent to AIDS, they themselves being positive, watching that parent suffer and then taking part in cremating them shocking but inspiring. I was in love with their kindness after only being here a few hours, and respected each of them for their personal stories. It would be such a privilege to work with these children, hear from them what it is like to live with HIV and be able to give them the care that they couldn't have before.
Wat Opot is a really special place, I was beginning to see. There are a lot of Christian as well as Buddhist teachings taught to the kids and meditation is a part of regular activities. So much funding and support has been given to the site, and there are a lot of options for the kids to learn, play and grow together. There is an art room, which blew me away with the work the older kids were working on. One boy is having an exhibition in Germany this winter, while others are getting a lot of attention for their work. A woman from New Zealand donated a whole room full of beading and craft supplies (which as a beader myself made me jealous) in which the kids make jewelry and crafts and sell them to visitors and volunteers. I'm expected to be here for the weekdays helping out in teaching English and other subjects, and giving a hand around. I'm really excited about being at Wat Opot, I hope to learn a lot about these kids and what their lives are like.
Thursday, November 18, 2010
November 10
Orientation day 3. Today it was to wake again to a Khmer lesson and then a tuk tuk out to the Cheung-Euk killing fields. I remember telling people over the summer about my plans to go abroad to Cambodia and was asked several times if I'd planned on going to the Killing Fields. I'd said no a few times, since I didn't think I could stomach that kind of thing. It wasn't my decision--so off to Cheung Euk it was. It's located about an hour outside of Phnom Penh and you can hire a tuk tuk for the time you're there for a pretty low price. When we got there I was already pissed at the other people that had shown up to see this site, where tens of thousands of women, especially children had died such horrific deaths. A bus full of old people came in, some wearing short shorts and tanks, talking loudly and laughing out loud behind us. Its as if they didn't know what happened here?
We hired a tour guide who took us around the property. What was most sickening to me was the size of the Killing Fields. We hear about it in school and read it in books about this place the Khmer Rouge executed thousands, but it's not a big place. It's smaller than the podium back at campus. And tens of thousands of bodies were kept here? The whole tour was incredibly bizarre. The tour guide, a survivor of the Khmer Rouge genocide himself, introduced us to the many graves around Cheung-Euk and in his broken English just kept shaking his head and saying 'Pol Pot, crazy man.....he kill so many people......bad man.....crazy man...why he do these things?' Someone thought this was funny, but I did not. This man has to work on the grounds where his parents were killed, and is still troubled by what he's seen. It was sickening. At the epicenter of Cheung-Euk is the tower of bones which was built in the early 1980's. The tower holds about 8,000 skulls which have been found and identified into age groups of male and female and laid out on shelves upon a huge glass tower, decorated with traditional Khmer/Buddhist architecture. It was pretty unusual to see Khmer people buying flowers to give as gifts to loved ones, while foreigners were standing at the gate of the tower taking photos of the skulls and bones from close. Walking around the property was making me nauseous, there were still bone fragments poking out from the ground. Every step I took I was increasingly disturbed and irritated something like this happened, and for so long. It's weird something like this affects only some people, there were other tourists who were walking all over the grounds laughing and smiling and photographing things. I had to photograph the trees which to me looked beautiful on the grounds of Cheung-Euk. However, we learned that many of those trees served as posts for execution of women, children, soldiers, respectively. Our guide told us that until several years ago, the stains from the blood and remains of the victims could still be seen on the bark. I might have fainted if I'd seen that. Our guide was great, he was very aware of what happened during this time, and is the first person I've met here in Cambodia that can give a first hand account of what life was like during the Khmer Rouge. But to visitors of Cheung-Euk, I will say its not for those with a light stomach.
Afterwards, it was scheduled to go to the National Museum back in Phnom Penh. Its located not too far from the riverfront and right across the street from the Royal Palace (yes, I didn't know either, Cambodia has a monarchy). It was a decent museum, mostly Angkorian and Buddhist artwork. They had a temporary exhibit about the Royal Ballet which looked amazing and I hoped I could be able to check out a show while I'm in Phnom Penh. That evening we were invited to teach an English class for the how-long-can-he-stand stand in in-country coordinator. He is Khmer and teaches an evening English as a Foreign Language course at two universities. It was great, the first class was excited to have some extra help on their pronunciations, but I felt their English was great and most were making a serious effort. However, for the American ethno-centric, hard of hearing types they are incomprehensible. So, 't-shirt' can't be understood when someone says it 't-shut' (because in Khmer they don't really use their 'r's), so if you'd like to be difficult and spend 45 minutes on how to say 't-shirt' then it was a productive lesson.
That night we ate dinner at a Khmer restaurant which was very nice, except for the cockroach walking along the table as I ate my noodles. But, I realized after flicking it off that my standards have surely dropped. The girl who has the Health Department Inspections App on her Blackberry home page has finally loosened up! But how much more of this other nonsense can I take?
We hired a tour guide who took us around the property. What was most sickening to me was the size of the Killing Fields. We hear about it in school and read it in books about this place the Khmer Rouge executed thousands, but it's not a big place. It's smaller than the podium back at campus. And tens of thousands of bodies were kept here? The whole tour was incredibly bizarre. The tour guide, a survivor of the Khmer Rouge genocide himself, introduced us to the many graves around Cheung-Euk and in his broken English just kept shaking his head and saying 'Pol Pot, crazy man.....he kill so many people......bad man.....crazy man...why he do these things?' Someone thought this was funny, but I did not. This man has to work on the grounds where his parents were killed, and is still troubled by what he's seen. It was sickening. At the epicenter of Cheung-Euk is the tower of bones which was built in the early 1980's. The tower holds about 8,000 skulls which have been found and identified into age groups of male and female and laid out on shelves upon a huge glass tower, decorated with traditional Khmer/Buddhist architecture. It was pretty unusual to see Khmer people buying flowers to give as gifts to loved ones, while foreigners were standing at the gate of the tower taking photos of the skulls and bones from close. Walking around the property was making me nauseous, there were still bone fragments poking out from the ground. Every step I took I was increasingly disturbed and irritated something like this happened, and for so long. It's weird something like this affects only some people, there were other tourists who were walking all over the grounds laughing and smiling and photographing things. I had to photograph the trees which to me looked beautiful on the grounds of Cheung-Euk. However, we learned that many of those trees served as posts for execution of women, children, soldiers, respectively. Our guide told us that until several years ago, the stains from the blood and remains of the victims could still be seen on the bark. I might have fainted if I'd seen that. Our guide was great, he was very aware of what happened during this time, and is the first person I've met here in Cambodia that can give a first hand account of what life was like during the Khmer Rouge. But to visitors of Cheung-Euk, I will say its not for those with a light stomach.
Afterwards, it was scheduled to go to the National Museum back in Phnom Penh. Its located not too far from the riverfront and right across the street from the Royal Palace (yes, I didn't know either, Cambodia has a monarchy). It was a decent museum, mostly Angkorian and Buddhist artwork. They had a temporary exhibit about the Royal Ballet which looked amazing and I hoped I could be able to check out a show while I'm in Phnom Penh. That evening we were invited to teach an English class for the how-long-can-he-stand stand in in-country coordinator. He is Khmer and teaches an evening English as a Foreign Language course at two universities. It was great, the first class was excited to have some extra help on their pronunciations, but I felt their English was great and most were making a serious effort. However, for the American ethno-centric, hard of hearing types they are incomprehensible. So, 't-shirt' can't be understood when someone says it 't-shut' (because in Khmer they don't really use their 'r's), so if you'd like to be difficult and spend 45 minutes on how to say 't-shirt' then it was a productive lesson.
That night we ate dinner at a Khmer restaurant which was very nice, except for the cockroach walking along the table as I ate my noodles. But, I realized after flicking it off that my standards have surely dropped. The girl who has the Health Department Inspections App on her Blackberry home page has finally loosened up! But how much more of this other nonsense can I take?
November 9th
Tuesday morning ridiculousness ensued. I woke at 8 to a Khmer lesson, which went great. I can now say Hello, How are you?, Do you like?, and I am hungry. Its not going to be as easy for me as Swahili, which is phonetic--Khmer is tonal and even when the teacher would tell me how to pronounce things and I'd write them down phonetically, I'd still screw up the pronunciation.
Then it was off to Wat Phnom, the fabled first site of Phnom Penh. Its a huge tourist site set atop the only hill in town (Phnom Penh is said in the guidebooks to be about 6 feet above sea level....I knew there was something different about the air here than Arusha!). The temple is huge, and in it are about a million statues of buddha along with flower arrangements, gifts and money all throughout the shrine. Foreigners pay $1 and Khmer pay nothing. I wonder how that works out, what if you're a dark Chinese person? Tibetan? Nepali? Thai? They just pick you out as you're going up the stairs'---Westerners, pay $1! Its worth it, the site is kept in extremely good condition. When you enter, you take off your shoes (something I've got to get used to now) and leave them in a bin. You head in and its courteous to walk with your right hand side towards the shrine at all times. Most Khmer or Buddhists sit down on their sides for a moment to acknowledge the buddha and then get back up. Photography was not allowed inside of the temple, but of course, you know Americans. The temple also sort of served as museum; some of the relics from ages ago is kept in a glass case in the back where visitors can take a look. As we stepped out back to take our tuk tuk to another pointless meeting, I heard rustling in the trees overhead and remembered that familiar sound from Tanzania. Monkeys!! There were about 3 playing in the trees, and some came down to chase after the others. I thought for a moment that they were natural to the park around Wat Phnom but should have known better since the park is in the middle of town in a huge roundabout. They must be part of the attraction to locals, as I saw one woman feeding a monkey on the ground a mango, offering a banana and other fruits. Since I haven't been vaccinated with a rabies shot, I knew better and kept walking away.
We rushed again on to the Central Market in town. I've been excited to go see an Asian market since I knew I'd be in Cambodia. It really is unlike any market you'd see on television! The Cambodian government has built a huge yellow complex, decked out with electricity, running water, restrooms, and booths in which vendors sell everything from scarves, souveniers, jewelry, art, clothes, wigs, food, even cockroaches! The market is arranged into sections in which vendors sell similar things all near each other, which to a foreigner means one thing--cheap prices! The woman with the cockroaches was all alone, and each large cockroach was 5,000 riel-- a little more than a dollar. I promised myself I wouldn't leave Cambodia till I came back to even try a cricket.
After the market, it was time for yet another ridiculous meeting and testing my tolerance for stupidity, until finally it was time for bed. Tomorrow, orientation will continue with more sightseeing around Phnom Penh and figuring out what I will be doing here!
Then it was off to Wat Phnom, the fabled first site of Phnom Penh. Its a huge tourist site set atop the only hill in town (Phnom Penh is said in the guidebooks to be about 6 feet above sea level....I knew there was something different about the air here than Arusha!). The temple is huge, and in it are about a million statues of buddha along with flower arrangements, gifts and money all throughout the shrine. Foreigners pay $1 and Khmer pay nothing. I wonder how that works out, what if you're a dark Chinese person? Tibetan? Nepali? Thai? They just pick you out as you're going up the stairs'---Westerners, pay $1! Its worth it, the site is kept in extremely good condition. When you enter, you take off your shoes (something I've got to get used to now) and leave them in a bin. You head in and its courteous to walk with your right hand side towards the shrine at all times. Most Khmer or Buddhists sit down on their sides for a moment to acknowledge the buddha and then get back up. Photography was not allowed inside of the temple, but of course, you know Americans. The temple also sort of served as museum; some of the relics from ages ago is kept in a glass case in the back where visitors can take a look. As we stepped out back to take our tuk tuk to another pointless meeting, I heard rustling in the trees overhead and remembered that familiar sound from Tanzania. Monkeys!! There were about 3 playing in the trees, and some came down to chase after the others. I thought for a moment that they were natural to the park around Wat Phnom but should have known better since the park is in the middle of town in a huge roundabout. They must be part of the attraction to locals, as I saw one woman feeding a monkey on the ground a mango, offering a banana and other fruits. Since I haven't been vaccinated with a rabies shot, I knew better and kept walking away.
We rushed again on to the Central Market in town. I've been excited to go see an Asian market since I knew I'd be in Cambodia. It really is unlike any market you'd see on television! The Cambodian government has built a huge yellow complex, decked out with electricity, running water, restrooms, and booths in which vendors sell everything from scarves, souveniers, jewelry, art, clothes, wigs, food, even cockroaches! The market is arranged into sections in which vendors sell similar things all near each other, which to a foreigner means one thing--cheap prices! The woman with the cockroaches was all alone, and each large cockroach was 5,000 riel-- a little more than a dollar. I promised myself I wouldn't leave Cambodia till I came back to even try a cricket.
After the market, it was time for yet another ridiculous meeting and testing my tolerance for stupidity, until finally it was time for bed. Tomorrow, orientation will continue with more sightseeing around Phnom Penh and figuring out what I will be doing here!
November 7th & 8th
Sou s'day Phnom Penh! I arrived in Phnom Penh last night to a whirlwind of sights, smells and surprisingly, sounds. Phnom Penh really is a wondrous city and envelops all as it plays with all of the senses--words really can't describe how fascinated I am with this city already! After I got my luggage and passed customs, I walked out of the airport literally peeling off the layers, it was so humid! The rainy season should be ending, but I guess not quite!
They say your first time in Asia is unlike any other cultural experience, and they are right. I got out of the airport to the apartment in tuk tuk, a motorcycle with a cab attached to the back. I've heard them being used in Guatemala with the same name, so its pretty neat this is the same way of getting around in Cambodia, too. As we drove I was easily enamored with this city--Arusha does not compare. Phnom Penh has tall skyscraper condominiums and hotels, large 5 lane avenues with stoplights on every corner. Most astoundingly, were the number of motorcycles all over the roads. It was evening, around 9 pm, and women were dressed to the nines in high heels and evening gowns riding side saddle with three other people on the back of a moto. It was late, but I noticed there were absolutely no pedestrians on the streets, all the sidewalks were covered in motos! I had no shame in showing my excitement for an actual department store! A Kentucky Fried Chicken! And good Lord, a Dairy Queen! (I'd spent about 200 baht or around $6 in the Bangkok airport buying a chili cheese dog and a blizzard, to treat myself for being fast food deprived. It's a new low for me, but I can now engorge myself in imitation cheese product and frozen oreo cookie shakes to my heart's content!) It was almost bittersweet, too. I remember feeling like I'd cheated since I was doing so well without my Blackberry, wireless internet, hot showers, and other shameful amenities that Americans are used to, when I was in Tanzania. And here we arrived at the apartment, located across the street from the mayor's mansion to a palace of a place. There was bright, functioning electricity, no geckos or cockroaches roaming about, hot showers, an actual stove and a beautiful balcony. But, it was proof that Cambodia would be a whole lot different than Tanzania and I was excited.
I'd come to find the Cambodia I'd thought of when I was in Tanzania was not what I'd expected, but thanks Forest, life really is like a box of chocolates. Monday was pretty much a sign of misfortunes to come later this week, and I'm not excited. I was beginning to ask myself, why am I here?
They say your first time in Asia is unlike any other cultural experience, and they are right. I got out of the airport to the apartment in tuk tuk, a motorcycle with a cab attached to the back. I've heard them being used in Guatemala with the same name, so its pretty neat this is the same way of getting around in Cambodia, too. As we drove I was easily enamored with this city--Arusha does not compare. Phnom Penh has tall skyscraper condominiums and hotels, large 5 lane avenues with stoplights on every corner. Most astoundingly, were the number of motorcycles all over the roads. It was evening, around 9 pm, and women were dressed to the nines in high heels and evening gowns riding side saddle with three other people on the back of a moto. It was late, but I noticed there were absolutely no pedestrians on the streets, all the sidewalks were covered in motos! I had no shame in showing my excitement for an actual department store! A Kentucky Fried Chicken! And good Lord, a Dairy Queen! (I'd spent about 200 baht or around $6 in the Bangkok airport buying a chili cheese dog and a blizzard, to treat myself for being fast food deprived. It's a new low for me, but I can now engorge myself in imitation cheese product and frozen oreo cookie shakes to my heart's content!) It was almost bittersweet, too. I remember feeling like I'd cheated since I was doing so well without my Blackberry, wireless internet, hot showers, and other shameful amenities that Americans are used to, when I was in Tanzania. And here we arrived at the apartment, located across the street from the mayor's mansion to a palace of a place. There was bright, functioning electricity, no geckos or cockroaches roaming about, hot showers, an actual stove and a beautiful balcony. But, it was proof that Cambodia would be a whole lot different than Tanzania and I was excited.
I'd come to find the Cambodia I'd thought of when I was in Tanzania was not what I'd expected, but thanks Forest, life really is like a box of chocolates. Monday was pretty much a sign of misfortunes to come later this week, and I'm not excited. I was beginning to ask myself, why am I here?
Tuesday, November 16, 2010
November 5
Tear. Last day in Tanzania. I cannot believe it has come already. This morning I woke up, realizing I still had some things to rearrange in order to fully declare myself packed and ready to start my second half of the semester in Phnom Penh. It was also unusual for me to say goodbye to this host family, whom I've befriended over these two weeks. I don't have any idea how I should have prepared for Cambodia, except maybe I should have learned some Khmer in my free time. My excuse is that it's a tonal language so I can't really learn from a book. I'm comfortable being lost--its Asia and I have no idea what to expect.
This morning I woke and got ready to meet everyone at the office. We were supposed to be working on digging a hafir in the GSC demo plot. Again, after breaking a forkhoe and a machete, we took a break and went off to lunch. We were supposed to go to Tengeru to the larger demo plot to assist in one training at 3 but I wanted to play hooky and see if I could do some last minute souvenir shopping. It was a pretty light day, and some faces were missing from the office, so I was pretty disappointed I couldn't say a proper goodbye after being there so long.
After giving my evaluation, I left the office to have one more walk through town. I've really come to be a master of navigating through Arusha. Granted it such a small city, and the downtown area can be thoroughly visited in one day, but Arusha has it's charms and many things I'm going to miss. My first day walking to the GSC office, I was surprised at how persistent the artwork dealers are, the men who tell you they have a craft and souvenir shop they want you to go to and the men who sell you Swahili dictionaries on the street. I never knew how to avoid them, yet here I was telling them I wasn't interested, in Swahili.
I know I'd come back to Tanzania, but not as a tourist. This is my first time away traveling alone, and I've learned to really appreciate a place and live like the locals do. If I come back, I'd like to be able to afford a trip to Zanzibar, and spend a little more time in Moshi. It would be great to come back in 10 years to a slightly more developed Arusha. The roads are single lane and poorly constructed, there isn't any public space for people to come together and sit, and all of the good places to go in town; nice restaurants, mini golf, gyms, cinemas are all tourist dominated. Places change over time, and hopefully with this past election, Arusha can be a place which locals and foreigners equally enjoy.
Tomorrow is my flight to Cambodia, and while sad to leave Tanzania there are some things I definitely won't miss! I've made a neat little list to give me closure:
This morning I woke and got ready to meet everyone at the office. We were supposed to be working on digging a hafir in the GSC demo plot. Again, after breaking a forkhoe and a machete, we took a break and went off to lunch. We were supposed to go to Tengeru to the larger demo plot to assist in one training at 3 but I wanted to play hooky and see if I could do some last minute souvenir shopping. It was a pretty light day, and some faces were missing from the office, so I was pretty disappointed I couldn't say a proper goodbye after being there so long.
After giving my evaluation, I left the office to have one more walk through town. I've really come to be a master of navigating through Arusha. Granted it such a small city, and the downtown area can be thoroughly visited in one day, but Arusha has it's charms and many things I'm going to miss. My first day walking to the GSC office, I was surprised at how persistent the artwork dealers are, the men who tell you they have a craft and souvenir shop they want you to go to and the men who sell you Swahili dictionaries on the street. I never knew how to avoid them, yet here I was telling them I wasn't interested, in Swahili.
I know I'd come back to Tanzania, but not as a tourist. This is my first time away traveling alone, and I've learned to really appreciate a place and live like the locals do. If I come back, I'd like to be able to afford a trip to Zanzibar, and spend a little more time in Moshi. It would be great to come back in 10 years to a slightly more developed Arusha. The roads are single lane and poorly constructed, there isn't any public space for people to come together and sit, and all of the good places to go in town; nice restaurants, mini golf, gyms, cinemas are all tourist dominated. Places change over time, and hopefully with this past election, Arusha can be a place which locals and foreigners equally enjoy.
Tomorrow is my flight to Cambodia, and while sad to leave Tanzania there are some things I definitely won't miss! I've made a neat little list to give me closure:
- Squatter toilets -- The ubiquitous response when asked the worst part of your experience among long term volunteers. Sometimes you get the nice porcelain ones that flush and never smell bad. Sometimes you get the one in between and seldom ever flushes--but sometimes in the villages you get the one thats made of concrete, with cement steps for standing and is just a whole in the ground. Bonus rule for tourists, BYOTP!! Toilet paper is relatively expensive and in some Tanzanian households there never is any. Theres always a bucket of water that should do the job. Sometimes you hold it, but when the urge is unbearable you must remember the old addage: ''When in Rome.......''
- Wazungu price -- as a not white person, in America, anyway I found it extremely difficult to bite my tongue when people assumed I was white and wealthy. As I've mentioned before in my disdain for many western (sorry, but especially American) tourists, I don't blame Tanzanians for making this assumption. However, its discouraging to those who simply want to bring a souvenir for their loved ones and are expected to pay triple the mbongo (slang for Tanzanian) price. Thus, it was essential to learn 'Market Swahili'. Even cookies in the duka, which I know cost 500 shillings would be totaled 1500 shillings. If you don't have a sharp tongue, you don't get a good price.
- The no camera rule -- I've mentally captured amazing memories.....in my head. Its an engrained rule in Arusha that you must not take photographs in town as there are so many pickpockets and snatchers around. I've seen some fools doing it, but everyone stares and its usually not a good situation. However, Mount Meru in Arusha at dusk is an amazing sight that I wish I could keep on my wall forever.
- Constant marriage proposals -- 'Mzungu I love you', 'Do you have husband, my son is 25 and needs a wife', 'Mzungu, I am looking for wife and I always wanted to go to America', etc. Although incredibly entertaining for everyone in the beginning, in town its a bit much. On the bus to Moshi a man joking with our male volunteer pointed to me and shouted 'I'm going to marry her!' It became such a joke that at times we'd have to pretend we were married to spare me the embarrassment. If they'd printed t-shirts that said 'I've been offered a cow and sheep by a Maasai boy in exchange for a hand in marriage' I'd surely qualify to have bought one.
There really are small things I'm anxious to see again--skyscrapers, a city lit at night, something priced with a dollar sign, hell....even a McDonalds would be cause to stop and stare for a few minutes. I've been hungry for that moment when I get off the plane and see Phnom Penh for the first time, and even thinking about what will surprise me when I get home to New York! I'm glad I'll be able to have seen both landscapes one after the other, and will be able to have seen life in both places right before I go home to the biggest consumer holiday in the country--Christmas!
Asante mungu kwa safari! (Thank God for this trip) I will miss Tanzania and its great people!
Friday, November 12, 2010
November 3 & 4
Wednesday it was back to Moshono. Today was the day I'd been waiting for, the students would be getting their booklets about BIA today and be able to ask any final questions about any of the material they've learned so far. I know it sounds awful to say, but I'm glad we're done training this group--working with this crowd has pretty much killed my volunteer spirit. After being in the classroom and realizing our answers weren't going to be of any use, we decided to take a walk and see what exactly was in Moshono. There is a set of old railroad tracks that runs right behind the school and we decided to take a walk and follow it for a bit. The area around this railroad track looked very rural and undeveloped, however as we walked there is an enormous flower farm here in Moshono as well as a huge lodge hidden in the hills, where we asked one boy pushing a wheelbarrow what the deal was with that, and he told us its a fancy lodge and spa where wazungu stay. There is also mining for minerals done in the area--we aren't far from where Tanzanite is commonly mined.
The walk down the railroad pretty much ended when we realized the tracks crossed a bridge that was almost too unsafe for our passing. So we crossed a small wooden bridge that led down to a river. There were some mamas washing laundry and bathing children. As we sat, we noticed there was a well organized concrete irrigation system that was in place to prevent the water from eroding the soil supporting the bridge. I even got a great video of a mama crossing the river with a bunch of plantains on her head. It was a great sight, and a real last minute treat to a real Tanzanian village right before I left. The day was fairly unproductive after that, we made it back to town and had lunch. I was pretty sure it was my last day at Montessori Infinity since tomorrow I'd planned on going to safari. It was a good feeling.
When we got back to the office, we planned on going to a hearing for the UN Tribunal for Rwanda. We had to arrive an hour before the hearing began and bring our passports for identification. Apparently, the guards must have thought we were employees or something, since he did not tell us where exactly to go and we wandered around the atrium of the building looking for signage which told us where the courtroom was. We had to go back to ask for instructions, but by then the security guard had become so consumed with French tourists explaining to them what the passport was for, that time flew and we were fed up and off to get drinks at the Maasai Cafe once more. It was nice to finally go inside of the Tribunal--to see so many kinds of professionals, well dressed and serving important jobs. We'd heard most are lawyers, other reporters, and a good number are translators! I wished aloud to be able to work here; I love Arusha, I love Tanzania and a job working for the United Nations must be pretty sweet. The others disagreed, they could use a job in a more developed region of the world, but the visit alone was like career day back in elementary school.
Thursday I got up at about 5, was on the dala at 6 a.m. (and it was packed, I've never been up that early in town) to be at HQ at 7 a.m. where we were to meet our safari driver. It was an awesome 3 hour drive to Lake Manyara national park--but it was worth it. One more look at the dry savannah, home to the Maasai bomas and occasional passing herds of 50 cows and sheep. I really will miss this scenery, I could never get tired of looking at this landscape. I was able to see elephants, hippos, lots of giraffes and some monkeys. I got some great shots, and just fell in love with the elephants--there was a group only several feet of the car and one even walked right in front of the jeep!
After the safari I met a friend at her hotel for drinks and nachos (why didn't I come here for food before, really nachos? That were actually delicious?). It was getting dark and I had to take a taxi home, and I was fairly proud of myself for getting a good price and giving the directions in Swahili. It made me a bit sad, too because I've felt like I've learned so much from being here. I almost wished I was staying the one extra month.
Tomorrow is my last day in Tanzania! And there may be waterworks! I haven't even thought of how I am going to say goodbye to Mama Mary and the girls (its only been two weeks with them, but still!), how I will say goodbye to everyone at HQ. I haven't even really begun to think about Cambodia, but I am sure I'll be terrified tomorrow.
The walk down the railroad pretty much ended when we realized the tracks crossed a bridge that was almost too unsafe for our passing. So we crossed a small wooden bridge that led down to a river. There were some mamas washing laundry and bathing children. As we sat, we noticed there was a well organized concrete irrigation system that was in place to prevent the water from eroding the soil supporting the bridge. I even got a great video of a mama crossing the river with a bunch of plantains on her head. It was a great sight, and a real last minute treat to a real Tanzanian village right before I left. The day was fairly unproductive after that, we made it back to town and had lunch. I was pretty sure it was my last day at Montessori Infinity since tomorrow I'd planned on going to safari. It was a good feeling.
When we got back to the office, we planned on going to a hearing for the UN Tribunal for Rwanda. We had to arrive an hour before the hearing began and bring our passports for identification. Apparently, the guards must have thought we were employees or something, since he did not tell us where exactly to go and we wandered around the atrium of the building looking for signage which told us where the courtroom was. We had to go back to ask for instructions, but by then the security guard had become so consumed with French tourists explaining to them what the passport was for, that time flew and we were fed up and off to get drinks at the Maasai Cafe once more. It was nice to finally go inside of the Tribunal--to see so many kinds of professionals, well dressed and serving important jobs. We'd heard most are lawyers, other reporters, and a good number are translators! I wished aloud to be able to work here; I love Arusha, I love Tanzania and a job working for the United Nations must be pretty sweet. The others disagreed, they could use a job in a more developed region of the world, but the visit alone was like career day back in elementary school.
Thursday I got up at about 5, was on the dala at 6 a.m. (and it was packed, I've never been up that early in town) to be at HQ at 7 a.m. where we were to meet our safari driver. It was an awesome 3 hour drive to Lake Manyara national park--but it was worth it. One more look at the dry savannah, home to the Maasai bomas and occasional passing herds of 50 cows and sheep. I really will miss this scenery, I could never get tired of looking at this landscape. I was able to see elephants, hippos, lots of giraffes and some monkeys. I got some great shots, and just fell in love with the elephants--there was a group only several feet of the car and one even walked right in front of the jeep!
After the safari I met a friend at her hotel for drinks and nachos (why didn't I come here for food before, really nachos? That were actually delicious?). It was getting dark and I had to take a taxi home, and I was fairly proud of myself for getting a good price and giving the directions in Swahili. It made me a bit sad, too because I've felt like I've learned so much from being here. I almost wished I was staying the one extra month.
Tomorrow is my last day in Tanzania! And there may be waterworks! I haven't even thought of how I am going to say goodbye to Mama Mary and the girls (its only been two weeks with them, but still!), how I will say goodbye to everyone at HQ. I haven't even really begun to think about Cambodia, but I am sure I'll be terrified tomorrow.
November 2
Election Day! Well, in America anyway. While everyone prepares to vote for Senate and whatnot, (I've tried to follow, but seriously the Republicans are back--who's Christine O'Donnell? And the lady who made Ebay is running for something, really?) today Tanzanians are awaiting what is pretty much the inevitable news of the presidential election--and that it's Kikwete's. After yesterday's showdown on the main road, I'm sure everyone maxed out their celebrations because it could possibly be the only victory for Chadema. In Mama Mary's house, everyone is just betting on what time the announcement will come in.
Nonetheless, today we were back in Moshono teaching at Montessori Infinity for another round of Agriculture brat boot camp. We're slated to talk about crop rotation and how to plant seedlings in a nursery garden. After I gave my blah blah, as they say here, the students sat deadpan, with no questions at all about why these vegetables are rafiki and adui (friends and enemies), one asked aloud in Swahili 'When is chai?' The others laughed and the counterpart motioned it was time for them to take chai. Even though I don't care for their attitude, I couldn't blame them. It was 9 a.m. and we were talking their ears off about how potatoes and tomatoes aren't friends when they haven't even taken breakfast. Besides, we needed a break too.
After chai, they returned for us to give more increasingly pointless lectures and then we went to their garden to demonstrate how to plant seeds in a nursery garden. The Bio Intensive way of making a nursery bed, is sort of similar to a raised bed--but you dont have to double dig, instead just till a foot deep and raise and loosen the soil with a forkhoe, spray some woodash and sand, mix and then even out the inside of the mound. It was fairly simple and it seemed they were following as I taught. Just in case, to engage them I motioned how to make the indentations for which to plant the seeds. Conveniently, it was a peace sign--also the Chadema sign. They all laughed at I was able to make them help out making indentations in the nursery bed so we can plant the seeds.
Our female volunteer made some observations about the behavior of some of our counterparts towards us, as women and as Americans. She feels that they have been treating us differently, perhaps because of our gender. I'm not surprised--it's a part of the culture that when a man says something--it has more bearing than when a woman speaks. I've had my share of frustrations in getting my ideas across with some counterparts, but I assumed it was my almost invisible influence, as a volunteer and not staff. As she's been showing me examples of her hypothesis, I've also come to realize that this may be exactly what caused most of my frustrations at the start of my program. I often felt like the counterparts favored the other two male volunteers at the start, one my age and another 70 year old man. It was awkward in the beginning to not have any of the counterparts talking to me, but now I realize why. I should have noticed this earlier, especially in the habits surrounding when its time to eat. Today at lunch, I was waiting to wash my hands in the restaurant. Typical in most restaurants and even in households, there is a handwashing station made from a 20 liter plastic bucket on a stand, fashioned with a spigot cemented on the bottom and a bar of soap on the side. I know Tanzanians dont like to wait in line, but all three of our counterparts skipped me in line to wash their hands. I am notorious for having a big mouth and being cheeky, but I told them I was waiting. They very casually said that men wash their hands before women, especially when the food is already at the table. Since I made a comment, they let me go ahead. At the table, our other female volunteer was in the restroom when orders were taken. When she arrived back, the food was on the table and everyone was eating. Our counterparts, all male and the only Swahili speakers, didn't even respond when we motioned the waitress over to take her order. It was as if all was well because they were eating!
Eventually that afternoon, we found out Kikwete had won re-election and pretty much nothing unusual or of a celebratory nature was going on in the streets. However, that night as I was watching television with my host family I parted to get ready to shower and prepare for bed. As I got up, there was knocking at the gate and everyone stood up to answer the gate. When I got out of the shower and bid usiku mwema (good night), Irene told me that a friend of Rachel, who is 15, came knocking at the gate to seek refuge because she had been beaten. Apparently, this friend is commonly in the streets with men and casually sleeps with men in the neighborhood. She was in a situation where she was beaten, and Mama Mary's husband being a pastor she came to their home to stay the night. Mama Mary and the daughters took her in and put her in a spare room in the side of the house, but I never got to see the girl. However, Rachel tells me this girl is also afraid she may have contracted HIV from one of her partners and is afraid to get tested, which the family is trying to urge her to do. I wished I was able to see her, but as the family was very concerned with her well being I didn't want to impose. You always hear of these stories in case studies, magazines and literature about HIV/AIDS and sexual activity in Africa, but its shocking to hear it could come close to home for even good kids like these girls. But it was promising to know that they didn't stigmatize her and made her feel welcome, and also knew better than to follow this kind of behavior.
Tomorrow we'll be back in Moshono, again. This should be one of the last trainings and we will finish by Thursday. However, I'm planning a safari that day! I hope to continue learning about Tanzania, its people and learn even more Swahili all this last week. I really dont want to leave!
Nonetheless, today we were back in Moshono teaching at Montessori Infinity for another round of Agriculture brat boot camp. We're slated to talk about crop rotation and how to plant seedlings in a nursery garden. After I gave my blah blah, as they say here, the students sat deadpan, with no questions at all about why these vegetables are rafiki and adui (friends and enemies), one asked aloud in Swahili 'When is chai?' The others laughed and the counterpart motioned it was time for them to take chai. Even though I don't care for their attitude, I couldn't blame them. It was 9 a.m. and we were talking their ears off about how potatoes and tomatoes aren't friends when they haven't even taken breakfast. Besides, we needed a break too.
After chai, they returned for us to give more increasingly pointless lectures and then we went to their garden to demonstrate how to plant seeds in a nursery garden. The Bio Intensive way of making a nursery bed, is sort of similar to a raised bed--but you dont have to double dig, instead just till a foot deep and raise and loosen the soil with a forkhoe, spray some woodash and sand, mix and then even out the inside of the mound. It was fairly simple and it seemed they were following as I taught. Just in case, to engage them I motioned how to make the indentations for which to plant the seeds. Conveniently, it was a peace sign--also the Chadema sign. They all laughed at I was able to make them help out making indentations in the nursery bed so we can plant the seeds.
Our female volunteer made some observations about the behavior of some of our counterparts towards us, as women and as Americans. She feels that they have been treating us differently, perhaps because of our gender. I'm not surprised--it's a part of the culture that when a man says something--it has more bearing than when a woman speaks. I've had my share of frustrations in getting my ideas across with some counterparts, but I assumed it was my almost invisible influence, as a volunteer and not staff. As she's been showing me examples of her hypothesis, I've also come to realize that this may be exactly what caused most of my frustrations at the start of my program. I often felt like the counterparts favored the other two male volunteers at the start, one my age and another 70 year old man. It was awkward in the beginning to not have any of the counterparts talking to me, but now I realize why. I should have noticed this earlier, especially in the habits surrounding when its time to eat. Today at lunch, I was waiting to wash my hands in the restaurant. Typical in most restaurants and even in households, there is a handwashing station made from a 20 liter plastic bucket on a stand, fashioned with a spigot cemented on the bottom and a bar of soap on the side. I know Tanzanians dont like to wait in line, but all three of our counterparts skipped me in line to wash their hands. I am notorious for having a big mouth and being cheeky, but I told them I was waiting. They very casually said that men wash their hands before women, especially when the food is already at the table. Since I made a comment, they let me go ahead. At the table, our other female volunteer was in the restroom when orders were taken. When she arrived back, the food was on the table and everyone was eating. Our counterparts, all male and the only Swahili speakers, didn't even respond when we motioned the waitress over to take her order. It was as if all was well because they were eating!
Eventually that afternoon, we found out Kikwete had won re-election and pretty much nothing unusual or of a celebratory nature was going on in the streets. However, that night as I was watching television with my host family I parted to get ready to shower and prepare for bed. As I got up, there was knocking at the gate and everyone stood up to answer the gate. When I got out of the shower and bid usiku mwema (good night), Irene told me that a friend of Rachel, who is 15, came knocking at the gate to seek refuge because she had been beaten. Apparently, this friend is commonly in the streets with men and casually sleeps with men in the neighborhood. She was in a situation where she was beaten, and Mama Mary's husband being a pastor she came to their home to stay the night. Mama Mary and the daughters took her in and put her in a spare room in the side of the house, but I never got to see the girl. However, Rachel tells me this girl is also afraid she may have contracted HIV from one of her partners and is afraid to get tested, which the family is trying to urge her to do. I wished I was able to see her, but as the family was very concerned with her well being I didn't want to impose. You always hear of these stories in case studies, magazines and literature about HIV/AIDS and sexual activity in Africa, but its shocking to hear it could come close to home for even good kids like these girls. But it was promising to know that they didn't stigmatize her and made her feel welcome, and also knew better than to follow this kind of behavior.
Tomorrow we'll be back in Moshono, again. This should be one of the last trainings and we will finish by Thursday. However, I'm planning a safari that day! I hope to continue learning about Tanzania, its people and learn even more Swahili all this last week. I really dont want to leave!
November 1
Last Monday morning in Tanzania! Monday mornings are nothing like those in New York, but this morning was particularly different. There weren't as many people in the streets--I'd heard many Tanzanians typically have a lax week after elections (which I hope explains our lack of structured trainings this week). Besides that, my morning was pretty regular. On the commute, my dala dala was playing Backstreet Boys 'That Way" and the conductor was singing along. It was entertaining to watch him standing with his head out of the window, and bills of shillings in his hands, then climbing back inside the van shaking a handful of coins at us to pay our fare as he sang ''I never wanna hear you say, I want it that way."
At the GSC office, we loaded up the trucks with the materials we needed for today's training. However, when we arrived the students were not ready to be lectured just yet--they were taking chai. We waited for an incredibly long time outside of the classroom, until finally the class was filled with students. We only had time for me to teach how to make a nursery bed and I showed them some examples of weeds and flowers that can be grinded to make a natural pesticide solution to spray on crops. Apparently, the word for thorn apple (a thorny stem with big leaves that sprouts small apple like fruits; inedible but deters pests) is mbangi bangi which alone, bangi means marijuana. Our very mature students began laughing, making jokes and enjoying the fact that something that sounded like marijuana was good for your vegetable garden. As our counterpart spoke to them in Swahili, he took over the lesson to take any questions about bio-intensive agriculture that may have arisen over the weekend. None. It was also becoming a slight issue the past couple of days how our other female volunteer was feeling uncomfortable since she could tell that the students were making fun of her and looking at her while she was sitting waiting for her lecture to begin. It was true, I could hear them snickering and laughing occasionally when we were in class together. It has begun to make her more frustrated with this teaching situation, and this is also her last week. I tried to explain about my problem a couple of weeks ago working with the group of villagers in Maweni, which proved more difficult because I was alone. However, it kills the volunteer spirit when you feel virtually useless and you know you are not being of much service.
I wasn't feeling as bad, and haven't really been bothered as much by this group's training as much as the other two volunteers. Until when I was teaching I mentioned that some of the information about pesticide control and the plants which can be used for pest solution can be found in their booklet--a small stapled booklet GSC prepares and distributes at the start of every training. These booklets are sort of controversial within GSC especially the groups we've worked with in the past--the books are in Swahili and some Maasai don't speak Swahili, and also some groups that do speak Swahili aren't literate. Anyway, our counterpart informed me that I shouldn't have said that because this group did not receive any kind of booklet. Well. That certainly explains a lot. When I asked why, as this was standard for every training group, he said it was because they felt from the first day that the group would not be attentive. As one of the teachers of this group, I would have loved to be a part of that conversation. It would have made an enormous difference in the style and efficacy of our lessons if they'd have some material to look over to follow along. This was really what drew the line for me, and killed any motivation I had to continue teaching with as much dedication as I've always had.
That afternoon, as everyone gathered to collect materials for tomorrow's lesson, us three volunteers sat under a tree to talk about non-BIA related topics, vent our frustrations with teaching these brats, and decide which watering hole we would gather after we get back to the office.
It was decided we'd get to the Maasai Cafe, one of my favorite places in Arusha. Originally owned by an Italian woman who married a Maasai and opened a fancy Italian restaurant in Arusha. Well, fancy by comparison--its not much more than a modest bistro would be in New York. It's hidden down a small road from the UN International Tribunal for crimes against humanity in Rwanda, and its known for having many foreign diplomat types dine there. We enjoyed some beers and drinks and laughed at each other for a bit to put a nice end to the day. We were about to pay the bill when we heard a thunderous noise and shouting in the streets. Afraid, slightly saucy, and not knowing what was going on, we asked our waiter what the commotion was. He told us that Chadema had won majority of the parliament seats for Arusha and people are very happy. We shrugged it off, and decided it would be ok to go home since we knew it was just revelers. As we went out, mobs of people were in the street shouting and holding Chadema flags, cars were honking and people holding small children in the air á la Lion King--it was an amazing sight. Until I realized I live 40 minutes away, I'm kind of inebriated and I have to take two dala dalas. I think I read something about this kind of irresponsibility in my study abroad materials--but African intuition prevailed--decided against everyone's suggestions that I should take a taxi and moved on to the dala dala stand.
On the main road, there were hundreds of people standing and waving flags as cars passed, honking. People were walking up to me and putting up Chadema signs as I walked by, and I made the signs back. After several minutes of jam-packed dalas making their way past me without even stopping, I knew it was going to be a tough commute. Finally I got on one dala, standing with my backside out the door, fearing I wouldn't fall out. Sorry mom, I had to get home somehow. I overheard some of the passengers of the dala arguing numbers in Swahili. One man, obviously taking the side of CCM was arguing something about the count while everyone else in the van argued back shouting other numbers. If this was a statistical representation of the ratio of Chadema voters to CCM voters, I assumed Chadema took a landslide victory in Arusha. I could also make out one young man arguing in favor of Chadema say something about Kikwete, and slightly standing up and pointing to the CCM guy, trying to make his point. I could hear him arguing in Swahili and saying bara bara (road) and Serengeti, perhaps arguing about Kikwete's proposed plan to build a highway through the Serengeti. Its been an international controversy especially this week, since a re-election (which is probably going to happen) could mean he may go through with the construction. The United Nations is supposed to make an announcement about that, since a highway will cut the ecosystem in half. But, some CCM supporters argue it is beneficial to transportation and development to western Tanzania, or the Maasailand.
The debate continued as I got off at Mianzini to take my second dala. I crossed the road (pretty easy when its just people on the road). Again, I realized it was going to be very difficult to take a dala dala since almost no cars were running, and it was getting dark. I wasn't sure if I would make it home before dark and I was becoming increasingly worried. A man in a suit on a piki piki (motorcycle) rode past me, and asked me what I was doing waiting at that stand. I usually don't talk to men in Tanzania, its known for a fact that they only speak to wazungu women because most Tanzanians think everyone with white skin is filthy rich. I tried to ignore him, until he told me he was a security guard (sometimes people hire them instead of the police......because it's Tanzania and police = vigilante). He asked me why, as an American was I standing here because I was in a dangerous situation. He pointed out to the crowd of people still passing in the road, and he had a point. Now people were running down the street instead of the normal procession when I was closer in town. One man had just finished a small bottle of Konyagi (some local alcohol thats even served in a plastic pouch you can buy for about $.30US) and smashed it on the ground. The suited security man offered to wait with me until a dala arrived, or a lift on the back of his motorbike. Although still too inebriated to make a wise decision, I thankfully stayed and waited for a dala. My prayers were answered when one finally arrived, still almost no room for me to get inside but I managed to squeeze in. There were still hoards of people running in the street, and I even saw some soldiers with rifles standing in the middle of it in case there were riots or something (which thankfully, didn't look like there would be soon). At Mazeewa, my stop, I got out to yet another enormous crowd of celebrants on the main road. What was surprising, was the almost equal number of Tanzanians and wazungu that were standing and waving flags at cars--this street really is full of foreigners and now I actually got to see that. After a couple of minutes, it was already completely sundown and I felt stupid for making the decision to come home this late, however I think everyone was in too good of a mood to harass an mzungu and I was home safely. My homestay mama was cooking a huge meal of stewed beef and vegetables, rice and beans and chapatis for everyone. Everyone in the house was in a good mood and all were watching the television on updates on parliamentary wins around Tanzania. It was just as everyone had predicted--CCM took a lot of votes in the rural areas and the south, while Chadema won most of the north. Surprisingly, I thought Dar es Salaam as a large city would be fairly liberal; however because of its strong Muslim population in favor of Kikwete (who is Muslim, and actually has around 5 wives) is rather conservative and predominately CCM.
There were reports that somewhere in the country two people were killed for celebrating CCM wins either in Moshi or here in Arusha--and I hoped it wasn't Arusha, because if so I most likely just passed the scene of the crime. I was grateful to have experienced this kind of thing, and despite my irresponsibility and defying the State Department's warning, I was glad I was able to experience a true, successful, democratic election in Africa. Successful, that is, until we find out in the following weeks that inevitably, CCM has stolen votes, money, etc. But tonight's dinner was amazing, and the people are happy, and isn't that what America is after?
At the GSC office, we loaded up the trucks with the materials we needed for today's training. However, when we arrived the students were not ready to be lectured just yet--they were taking chai. We waited for an incredibly long time outside of the classroom, until finally the class was filled with students. We only had time for me to teach how to make a nursery bed and I showed them some examples of weeds and flowers that can be grinded to make a natural pesticide solution to spray on crops. Apparently, the word for thorn apple (a thorny stem with big leaves that sprouts small apple like fruits; inedible but deters pests) is mbangi bangi which alone, bangi means marijuana. Our very mature students began laughing, making jokes and enjoying the fact that something that sounded like marijuana was good for your vegetable garden. As our counterpart spoke to them in Swahili, he took over the lesson to take any questions about bio-intensive agriculture that may have arisen over the weekend. None. It was also becoming a slight issue the past couple of days how our other female volunteer was feeling uncomfortable since she could tell that the students were making fun of her and looking at her while she was sitting waiting for her lecture to begin. It was true, I could hear them snickering and laughing occasionally when we were in class together. It has begun to make her more frustrated with this teaching situation, and this is also her last week. I tried to explain about my problem a couple of weeks ago working with the group of villagers in Maweni, which proved more difficult because I was alone. However, it kills the volunteer spirit when you feel virtually useless and you know you are not being of much service.
I wasn't feeling as bad, and haven't really been bothered as much by this group's training as much as the other two volunteers. Until when I was teaching I mentioned that some of the information about pesticide control and the plants which can be used for pest solution can be found in their booklet--a small stapled booklet GSC prepares and distributes at the start of every training. These booklets are sort of controversial within GSC especially the groups we've worked with in the past--the books are in Swahili and some Maasai don't speak Swahili, and also some groups that do speak Swahili aren't literate. Anyway, our counterpart informed me that I shouldn't have said that because this group did not receive any kind of booklet. Well. That certainly explains a lot. When I asked why, as this was standard for every training group, he said it was because they felt from the first day that the group would not be attentive. As one of the teachers of this group, I would have loved to be a part of that conversation. It would have made an enormous difference in the style and efficacy of our lessons if they'd have some material to look over to follow along. This was really what drew the line for me, and killed any motivation I had to continue teaching with as much dedication as I've always had.
That afternoon, as everyone gathered to collect materials for tomorrow's lesson, us three volunteers sat under a tree to talk about non-BIA related topics, vent our frustrations with teaching these brats, and decide which watering hole we would gather after we get back to the office.
It was decided we'd get to the Maasai Cafe, one of my favorite places in Arusha. Originally owned by an Italian woman who married a Maasai and opened a fancy Italian restaurant in Arusha. Well, fancy by comparison--its not much more than a modest bistro would be in New York. It's hidden down a small road from the UN International Tribunal for crimes against humanity in Rwanda, and its known for having many foreign diplomat types dine there. We enjoyed some beers and drinks and laughed at each other for a bit to put a nice end to the day. We were about to pay the bill when we heard a thunderous noise and shouting in the streets. Afraid, slightly saucy, and not knowing what was going on, we asked our waiter what the commotion was. He told us that Chadema had won majority of the parliament seats for Arusha and people are very happy. We shrugged it off, and decided it would be ok to go home since we knew it was just revelers. As we went out, mobs of people were in the street shouting and holding Chadema flags, cars were honking and people holding small children in the air á la Lion King--it was an amazing sight. Until I realized I live 40 minutes away, I'm kind of inebriated and I have to take two dala dalas. I think I read something about this kind of irresponsibility in my study abroad materials--but African intuition prevailed--decided against everyone's suggestions that I should take a taxi and moved on to the dala dala stand.
On the main road, there were hundreds of people standing and waving flags as cars passed, honking. People were walking up to me and putting up Chadema signs as I walked by, and I made the signs back. After several minutes of jam-packed dalas making their way past me without even stopping, I knew it was going to be a tough commute. Finally I got on one dala, standing with my backside out the door, fearing I wouldn't fall out. Sorry mom, I had to get home somehow. I overheard some of the passengers of the dala arguing numbers in Swahili. One man, obviously taking the side of CCM was arguing something about the count while everyone else in the van argued back shouting other numbers. If this was a statistical representation of the ratio of Chadema voters to CCM voters, I assumed Chadema took a landslide victory in Arusha. I could also make out one young man arguing in favor of Chadema say something about Kikwete, and slightly standing up and pointing to the CCM guy, trying to make his point. I could hear him arguing in Swahili and saying bara bara (road) and Serengeti, perhaps arguing about Kikwete's proposed plan to build a highway through the Serengeti. Its been an international controversy especially this week, since a re-election (which is probably going to happen) could mean he may go through with the construction. The United Nations is supposed to make an announcement about that, since a highway will cut the ecosystem in half. But, some CCM supporters argue it is beneficial to transportation and development to western Tanzania, or the Maasailand.
The debate continued as I got off at Mianzini to take my second dala. I crossed the road (pretty easy when its just people on the road). Again, I realized it was going to be very difficult to take a dala dala since almost no cars were running, and it was getting dark. I wasn't sure if I would make it home before dark and I was becoming increasingly worried. A man in a suit on a piki piki (motorcycle) rode past me, and asked me what I was doing waiting at that stand. I usually don't talk to men in Tanzania, its known for a fact that they only speak to wazungu women because most Tanzanians think everyone with white skin is filthy rich. I tried to ignore him, until he told me he was a security guard (sometimes people hire them instead of the police......because it's Tanzania and police = vigilante). He asked me why, as an American was I standing here because I was in a dangerous situation. He pointed out to the crowd of people still passing in the road, and he had a point. Now people were running down the street instead of the normal procession when I was closer in town. One man had just finished a small bottle of Konyagi (some local alcohol thats even served in a plastic pouch you can buy for about $.30US) and smashed it on the ground. The suited security man offered to wait with me until a dala arrived, or a lift on the back of his motorbike. Although still too inebriated to make a wise decision, I thankfully stayed and waited for a dala. My prayers were answered when one finally arrived, still almost no room for me to get inside but I managed to squeeze in. There were still hoards of people running in the street, and I even saw some soldiers with rifles standing in the middle of it in case there were riots or something (which thankfully, didn't look like there would be soon). At Mazeewa, my stop, I got out to yet another enormous crowd of celebrants on the main road. What was surprising, was the almost equal number of Tanzanians and wazungu that were standing and waving flags at cars--this street really is full of foreigners and now I actually got to see that. After a couple of minutes, it was already completely sundown and I felt stupid for making the decision to come home this late, however I think everyone was in too good of a mood to harass an mzungu and I was home safely. My homestay mama was cooking a huge meal of stewed beef and vegetables, rice and beans and chapatis for everyone. Everyone in the house was in a good mood and all were watching the television on updates on parliamentary wins around Tanzania. It was just as everyone had predicted--CCM took a lot of votes in the rural areas and the south, while Chadema won most of the north. Surprisingly, I thought Dar es Salaam as a large city would be fairly liberal; however because of its strong Muslim population in favor of Kikwete (who is Muslim, and actually has around 5 wives) is rather conservative and predominately CCM.
There were reports that somewhere in the country two people were killed for celebrating CCM wins either in Moshi or here in Arusha--and I hoped it wasn't Arusha, because if so I most likely just passed the scene of the crime. I was grateful to have experienced this kind of thing, and despite my irresponsibility and defying the State Department's warning, I was glad I was able to experience a true, successful, democratic election in Africa. Successful, that is, until we find out in the following weeks that inevitably, CCM has stolen votes, money, etc. But tonight's dinner was amazing, and the people are happy, and isn't that what America is after?
Thursday, November 11, 2010
October 31
Happy Halloween-or evil Free Mason day as my homestay family described it when I told them about this American tradition. Besides all the candy I'm missing out today back at home, today is Tanzanian election day! After yesterday's parade of Chadema voters, I think everyone in Arusha is amped for change! My concerns about there being chaos in the streets shouldn't be an issue--one rule that will be enforced today is that after all voting everyone must return immediately to their homes. I noticed yesterday that many shops had signs reading that today they would be closed or only open in the afternoon after voting takes place.
This morning I again woke to loud Kikwete choir singing--seriously never in America would you hear a choir singing a song about Obama. I got ready for mass and decided I'd take a dala this week instead of attempting to navigate that shortcut Irene showed me last week. There were a significant number of people missing from mass today. I know that in Tanzania, one registers in the district in which they were born. So if you live in Arusha but you were born in Dodoma--you have to go to Dodoma to vote. So, perhaps some people were away in villages, etc. At the close of the mass, the priest made an announcement for everyone if they have not done so, to go vote. Then he said something I don't think a priest in America would ever say--'The country is corrupt, if you want to change it, now is the time." And with that, the church sang the Tanzanian national anthem. It was one of the most beautiful sounds I've heard here so far, and very moving.
That afternoon, I went right back home to Mama Mary's house, in fear of what the State Department warned--and partly because there was absolutely nothing to do in town. It was awful, 4 hours and I was so bored. Mama Mary was working at the polls since 6 a.m. and there was no lunch in the house. This was really nothing like election day in America. That night, we were eating at the dinner table when Mama Mary returned and announced that Chadema had won most of the votes in this part of Arusha. The girls were jumping on chairs and tables dancing and shouting. Everyone was hugging each other as I sat, still eating confused and not knowing what this even meant--I'm not a pessimist, but Chadema could technically still lose the other, bigger parts of town. Little Dorcas, who is 12 made flags at school for each CCM and Chadema announced that the Chadema flag would hang outside of the house, while she'd flush the CCM one down the choo (toilet). That night, everyone gathered around the television to hear reports of any incidents surrounding the elections, and the whole was in a really jovial mood. I played cards with the girls and taught them how to play go fish.
Tomorrow we'd await the results of the election and by at least Wednesday we'd hear the inevitable news that is that Kikwete is elected for yet another term. This is my last week in Tanzania!! I can't believe its come by so quickly. And besides souvenier shopping there is a lot of photograpy (and safari!!) I've yet to do. If only my days weren't going to be used by going back to Montessori.
This morning I again woke to loud Kikwete choir singing--seriously never in America would you hear a choir singing a song about Obama. I got ready for mass and decided I'd take a dala this week instead of attempting to navigate that shortcut Irene showed me last week. There were a significant number of people missing from mass today. I know that in Tanzania, one registers in the district in which they were born. So if you live in Arusha but you were born in Dodoma--you have to go to Dodoma to vote. So, perhaps some people were away in villages, etc. At the close of the mass, the priest made an announcement for everyone if they have not done so, to go vote. Then he said something I don't think a priest in America would ever say--'The country is corrupt, if you want to change it, now is the time." And with that, the church sang the Tanzanian national anthem. It was one of the most beautiful sounds I've heard here so far, and very moving.
That afternoon, I went right back home to Mama Mary's house, in fear of what the State Department warned--and partly because there was absolutely nothing to do in town. It was awful, 4 hours and I was so bored. Mama Mary was working at the polls since 6 a.m. and there was no lunch in the house. This was really nothing like election day in America. That night, we were eating at the dinner table when Mama Mary returned and announced that Chadema had won most of the votes in this part of Arusha. The girls were jumping on chairs and tables dancing and shouting. Everyone was hugging each other as I sat, still eating confused and not knowing what this even meant--I'm not a pessimist, but Chadema could technically still lose the other, bigger parts of town. Little Dorcas, who is 12 made flags at school for each CCM and Chadema announced that the Chadema flag would hang outside of the house, while she'd flush the CCM one down the choo (toilet). That night, everyone gathered around the television to hear reports of any incidents surrounding the elections, and the whole was in a really jovial mood. I played cards with the girls and taught them how to play go fish.
Tomorrow we'd await the results of the election and by at least Wednesday we'd hear the inevitable news that is that Kikwete is elected for yet another term. This is my last week in Tanzania!! I can't believe its come by so quickly. And besides souvenier shopping there is a lot of photograpy (and safari!!) I've yet to do. If only my days weren't going to be used by going back to Montessori.
October 30
Chagua CCM, chagua CCM! I could hear it in my sleep--and it woke me at around 6 a.m. Tomorrow is election day and the Pentecostal church near my house decided that today they would sing Kikwete songs (they have those, ya know) loudly in a praise-chorus style. As I woke, I got ready to head out to town to use the internet, shop for souvenirs on my last weekend in Tanzania, go to the cafe, and do other mzungu things (as I described it to my host family). On this morning's dala dala drive to town I noticed all of the CCM and Chadema vans and trucks were in full swing, and people were decked out in full CCM merchandise. CCM has been heavily criticized for giving out free merchandise like hats, t-shirts, especially kangas (traditional cloth women use as skirts) and shukas (the fabric Maasai use as clothing). The latter two, are worn often by the poorer people in the villages like the Meru, the Maasai and other tribes where Swahili isn't the most spoken language and literacy is very low. Some criticize that this is an effort by CCM to secure votes with bribes to people who will not care as much about issues as they will having clothes on their backs. Also, in many tribal societies these are taken as gifts which are considered courteous that if accepted should be returned--as in a vote. Also, the CCM party constantly reminds rural villages about their involvement in making water wells in very dry areas which has been a legacy of the party--however Chadema advocates having more sustainable irrigation and smart development. In fact, in the villages I was confused about the election for so long because all I saw in Longido, Eurondeke, and Namanga were CCM flags and Kikwete's face on every woman's shuka. It was clear that the rural areas would have most CCM votes.
Besides the noise pollution in the streets today, it was a usual quiet Saturday afternoon and an excellent day for bartering! Many wazungu must be afraid since the US government sent out an email to travelers that for the election, Americans should stay indoors or find refuge at the US Embassy in Tanzania.......in Dar. So, I was staying in Arusha for good. I think given the impossibility of escaping should something go wrong, we were all praying for a peaceful election weekend. The petty pushers and street vendors were desperate for sales today, so we opportunized the absence of our fellow wazungu to get some good deals. As a prude New Yorker, I actually hate haggling. I think it's disrespectful to someone's business (and occasionally my pride) to bargain for a lower price. However, in Tanzania its so easy and almost expected! Bargaining in Swahili usually helps my credibility and allows me to grab a lower price than most wazungu. However, today one guy made it pretty hard for me. I saw a sun hat for my grandpa, and after showing interest the street vendor told me it was 25,000tsh, roughly $16! I couldnt even haggle with that, and the vendor didnt even want to go for 10,000tsh so we walked away. After several minutes, he followed me down the street ''dada, dada'', and offered to give me the hat for 7,000tsh. It was like he had amnesia! I said, ok and bought the hat for 7,000tsh. Either I was right about desperation about a slow selling day, or this guy assumed I was a local and wasn't buying anything at that price. My grampa is going to be so happy!
I ended my souvenier shopping day calling a taxi home just at sundown. As we drove down the main road there was tons of rallying and people dancing in the streets hoping for a successful election in favor of Chadema. The taxi could barely move! There were hundreds of people in the middle of the road, banging on all of the cars---even ours with a Chadema flag on the antenna. This excitement was really unlike anything I'd ever seen in America. I'm beginning to reconsider my plans for tomorrow while elections are ongoing....
Besides the noise pollution in the streets today, it was a usual quiet Saturday afternoon and an excellent day for bartering! Many wazungu must be afraid since the US government sent out an email to travelers that for the election, Americans should stay indoors or find refuge at the US Embassy in Tanzania.......in Dar. So, I was staying in Arusha for good. I think given the impossibility of escaping should something go wrong, we were all praying for a peaceful election weekend. The petty pushers and street vendors were desperate for sales today, so we opportunized the absence of our fellow wazungu to get some good deals. As a prude New Yorker, I actually hate haggling. I think it's disrespectful to someone's business (and occasionally my pride) to bargain for a lower price. However, in Tanzania its so easy and almost expected! Bargaining in Swahili usually helps my credibility and allows me to grab a lower price than most wazungu. However, today one guy made it pretty hard for me. I saw a sun hat for my grandpa, and after showing interest the street vendor told me it was 25,000tsh, roughly $16! I couldnt even haggle with that, and the vendor didnt even want to go for 10,000tsh so we walked away. After several minutes, he followed me down the street ''dada, dada'', and offered to give me the hat for 7,000tsh. It was like he had amnesia! I said, ok and bought the hat for 7,000tsh. Either I was right about desperation about a slow selling day, or this guy assumed I was a local and wasn't buying anything at that price. My grampa is going to be so happy!
I ended my souvenier shopping day calling a taxi home just at sundown. As we drove down the main road there was tons of rallying and people dancing in the streets hoping for a successful election in favor of Chadema. The taxi could barely move! There were hundreds of people in the middle of the road, banging on all of the cars---even ours with a Chadema flag on the antenna. This excitement was really unlike anything I'd ever seen in America. I'm beginning to reconsider my plans for tomorrow while elections are ongoing....
October 28 & 29
I thought I'd never get bored in Tanzania, or working in this program. But it's slowly happening. I arrived at GSC HQ this morning dreading another day in Montessori Infinity. The other volunteers are also becoming discouraged with this setup, we just look forward to where we'll gather for drinks after we get back to town. However, I have decided to concentrate my attention to gathering as many observations about Arusha and take advantage of being in town so much.
For starters, this morning on the dala dala I got a glimpse of what could potentially be a statement about the election this weekend. Everyone always says Tanzania is a peaceful democracy-absolutely true relative to Kenya up north. Every election that's happened since Tanzania's independence has always gone peacefully. However, I think in town more people are itching for a serious change, and there is so much discussion for changing the political party in power since independence, CCM. In town, more people have been waving Chadema flags on their cars (especially dala dala) and businesses, however CCM is the clear favorite, I've noticed when we've been out in the villages with the Maasai and the Meru. This morning at the Mianzini stop where the dala conductors always hustle to fill the vans, a man wearing a CCM hat tried to get near my dala and announce something to the passengers inside. No one was interested in listening, and shooed hum away shouting 'Toka!'-swahili for piss off, what Swahili speakers usually say to dogs and people they want to go away. The dala driver even stepped on the gas a little to move up (not only for the CCM guy, sometimes they make room on the stand for other dalas to pull up). After this, he came back to the entrance of the dala and pointed at me 'mzungu', and said something I didn't understand in Swahili, and the dala driver said something back in Swahili and asked me a question. I had no idea what was going on, but just put a thumbs up and said Chadema. Everyone in the dala laughed, and the CCM guy, defeated, walked away. I did wonder what would have happened if I put up the thumbs up for CCM, there would have been consequences I'm sure my travel health insurance wouldn't cover.
As soon as I got to the office, we headed off to the school where today we were slated to demonstrate how to dig a double dug bed. Long story short, and as expected the girls refused to grab a shovel or forkhoe, fetch manure, touch dirt, or pretty much anything of a laborious nature. So us GSC volunteers and counterparts did a lot of the digging. As we prepared to leave, our counterpart who had been working with ys on translations commented that this was the future of Tanzania. He called these women the 'dot com' generation. I debated that this wasn't even the right name; as an American, as a New Yorker I've never farmed and I would certainly farm or have a garden. I think these women are just lazy, and don't care about learning anymore because they think they are preparing for a life of always teaching. It's also a huge contradiction to one of Kikwete's initiatives in Tanzania- Kilimo Kwanzaa (agriculture first, you get the alliteration in Swahili). It's the government's action to continue agricultural programs and pass on agricultural practice to the younger, 'dot com generation'. I wonder if the bulk of that work is being done in southern Tanzania which is far less developed, and where a lot of produce is grown.
I joked that us as a whole in the SA group are having a fairly productive week, but the HIV/AIDS prevention group has had an interesting couple of days. I've known that despite what most people think about Africans and HIV/AIDS, and that many times cultures rule out ever speaking about the disease because of stigma--is untrue. Many people in the villages we've worked with have asked very open questions about sexuality, disease and protection. Today, one of the HA volunteers was telling me of her experience working in a community group outside of town. One villager asked her if it was ok for a woman to sexually please another woman. She responded through translation that it was okay, depending on your comfort and sexual preference, you still have to protect yourself, but it is possible. Afterwords, she was told by a counterpart that he disproved of that question, and said these "bad" questions are caused by globalization--blaming it on sources like televisions, movies, the internet that has caused questions about homosexuality in their trainings. The volunteer debated with him that it's often perceived in America that homosexuality can be innate, not influenced by media, culture or even westernization. I don't blame her for refuting his response, but Tanzania is fairly un-friendly to homosexuals and is very conservative. It was difficult for him to hear her side, and he pretty much did not want to accept that having homosexuals in the country would happen regardless of western influence in movies or television, and he's a college student! I'm now very curious to look at the perception of homosexuality in Cambodia, and if it's stemmed from religion like it is here.
When we arrived at the GSC offices that afternoon, we saw in our demo garden were the speakers for Gardening Gods Way, kneeling and holding hands with some of our trainers, praying before the soil. Everyone in the LandCruiser laughed out loud. As a practicing Catholic, even I thought it was unusual. I've been teaching agriculture the past 7 weeks, and have seen so many people's farms and gardens. I have never even thought of praying before the soil asking God to give high yields. It was such an abstract action, and slightly bizarre.
The elections are drawing nearer, and the trucks that go by blaring the CCM and Chadema party jingles are passing more frequently. This really is proving to be unlike any election in my lifetime in America, and I'm actually waiting to see what happens this weekend!
For starters, this morning on the dala dala I got a glimpse of what could potentially be a statement about the election this weekend. Everyone always says Tanzania is a peaceful democracy-absolutely true relative to Kenya up north. Every election that's happened since Tanzania's independence has always gone peacefully. However, I think in town more people are itching for a serious change, and there is so much discussion for changing the political party in power since independence, CCM. In town, more people have been waving Chadema flags on their cars (especially dala dala) and businesses, however CCM is the clear favorite, I've noticed when we've been out in the villages with the Maasai and the Meru. This morning at the Mianzini stop where the dala conductors always hustle to fill the vans, a man wearing a CCM hat tried to get near my dala and announce something to the passengers inside. No one was interested in listening, and shooed hum away shouting 'Toka!'-swahili for piss off, what Swahili speakers usually say to dogs and people they want to go away. The dala driver even stepped on the gas a little to move up (not only for the CCM guy, sometimes they make room on the stand for other dalas to pull up). After this, he came back to the entrance of the dala and pointed at me 'mzungu', and said something I didn't understand in Swahili, and the dala driver said something back in Swahili and asked me a question. I had no idea what was going on, but just put a thumbs up and said Chadema. Everyone in the dala laughed, and the CCM guy, defeated, walked away. I did wonder what would have happened if I put up the thumbs up for CCM, there would have been consequences I'm sure my travel health insurance wouldn't cover.
As soon as I got to the office, we headed off to the school where today we were slated to demonstrate how to dig a double dug bed. Long story short, and as expected the girls refused to grab a shovel or forkhoe, fetch manure, touch dirt, or pretty much anything of a laborious nature. So us GSC volunteers and counterparts did a lot of the digging. As we prepared to leave, our counterpart who had been working with ys on translations commented that this was the future of Tanzania. He called these women the 'dot com' generation. I debated that this wasn't even the right name; as an American, as a New Yorker I've never farmed and I would certainly farm or have a garden. I think these women are just lazy, and don't care about learning anymore because they think they are preparing for a life of always teaching. It's also a huge contradiction to one of Kikwete's initiatives in Tanzania- Kilimo Kwanzaa (agriculture first, you get the alliteration in Swahili). It's the government's action to continue agricultural programs and pass on agricultural practice to the younger, 'dot com generation'. I wonder if the bulk of that work is being done in southern Tanzania which is far less developed, and where a lot of produce is grown.
I joked that us as a whole in the SA group are having a fairly productive week, but the HIV/AIDS prevention group has had an interesting couple of days. I've known that despite what most people think about Africans and HIV/AIDS, and that many times cultures rule out ever speaking about the disease because of stigma--is untrue. Many people in the villages we've worked with have asked very open questions about sexuality, disease and protection. Today, one of the HA volunteers was telling me of her experience working in a community group outside of town. One villager asked her if it was ok for a woman to sexually please another woman. She responded through translation that it was okay, depending on your comfort and sexual preference, you still have to protect yourself, but it is possible. Afterwords, she was told by a counterpart that he disproved of that question, and said these "bad" questions are caused by globalization--blaming it on sources like televisions, movies, the internet that has caused questions about homosexuality in their trainings. The volunteer debated with him that it's often perceived in America that homosexuality can be innate, not influenced by media, culture or even westernization. I don't blame her for refuting his response, but Tanzania is fairly un-friendly to homosexuals and is very conservative. It was difficult for him to hear her side, and he pretty much did not want to accept that having homosexuals in the country would happen regardless of western influence in movies or television, and he's a college student! I'm now very curious to look at the perception of homosexuality in Cambodia, and if it's stemmed from religion like it is here.
When we arrived at the GSC offices that afternoon, we saw in our demo garden were the speakers for Gardening Gods Way, kneeling and holding hands with some of our trainers, praying before the soil. Everyone in the LandCruiser laughed out loud. As a practicing Catholic, even I thought it was unusual. I've been teaching agriculture the past 7 weeks, and have seen so many people's farms and gardens. I have never even thought of praying before the soil asking God to give high yields. It was such an abstract action, and slightly bizarre.
The elections are drawing nearer, and the trucks that go by blaring the CCM and Chadema party jingles are passing more frequently. This really is proving to be unlike any election in my lifetime in America, and I'm actually waiting to see what happens this weekend!
October 27
Back to school! The first time we can say that here in the Sustainable Agriculture program. This morning I arrived early at HQ on dala once again. I really am becoming so confident in taking the dala dala, people dont even stare and say 'mzungu' anymore! In fact, yesterday, two women looked back at me and one said mzungu and the other said mwafrika, as if they were debating my background! I smiled and let them think it over, although Im sure everyone knew the one who said mzungu was probably right. Maybe even one of my biggest regrets of being here is not taking dala more often. I've had some great experiences (and good Lord, lots of exercise) walking around town, but I think taking a dala dala would have been a nicer experience if I'd been on it more often while living in Mama Elly's house. Its like a surprise everyday, this morning I was on a van with about 5 Maasai men with sticks and the whole nine! Plus, its really neat when I'm able to speak Swahili to the conductor to have him let me off, ask for my change, ask him where we are, etc. People usually laugh, and even some that speak English ask me where I learned to say these things in Swahili, what I'm doing in Tanzania. Often, if they're creepy I lie and say I'm from Maputo in Mozambique, and that I speak Portuguese, so I get respect for being sort of African and also accounts for my ability to speak a little Swahili. It's a good alibi, really.
At Montessori Infinity School, we were set to make a compost pile today with the students. They were told to gather the materials yesterday, and if you follow my blog regularly, you'll know that no one ever listens when we ask them to gather the materials beforehand for the compost pile. In addition, because there were so many of them we could have been able to make two mega compost piles if they'd gathered the proper materials but time got the best of them and there were only enough materials for one pile. An integral part of the compost pile is of course, manure. Very many of the girls refused to get the buckets of manure for the pile, nor pick it up when we were building the pile. It was clear, they had pretty much no experience in agriculture. As our counterparts urged everyone to participate, (I mean making compost is actually kind of fun, when I do demo's I always compare it to making a cake) some of the girls simply refused to help, just putting their hands behind their backs and shaking their heads no. Others just sat under the tree taking shade, watching. Pfft, and I always seem to be made fun of when I work in front of villagers.
As we were working it was also clear some of the males' interests in the project, the same boy who asked our counterpart that inappropriate question about gender came up to me as I was speaking and asked me if I was married, because he was interested. Everyone, again, laughed and ignored the lesson and frustrated our volunteers.
While the others were gathering for chai in our break, I went to a classroom of the younger preschool students with a counterpart. These kids we've seen all week and are always excited to see foreigners. There was no teacher present in the room, and all the students were jumping around the classroom with the door closed and some were pushing and fighting each other. Some were standing on top of tables, and then there were a few that were seated quietly at their chairs in the midst of all the noise. Our counterpart was able to quiet down the children (after about 15 minutes) and got them in their seats. He started teaching them a song in English which got them all excited. Everyone was engaged and singing and dancing, and I was so impressed at the change of environment in such a short amount of time. I didn't understand where this teacher was, and why she left a room full of nursery school students unsupervised. If we hadn't come in, they'd pretty much be at each other's throats. Soon, one of the kids was dancing too close to another and a fight broke out. Our counterpart walked over and untangled the children from each other, pulling one upside down by his leg which lightened the air and made everyone laugh. We proceeded to sing one more song, and then left the classroom with the kids following us out. I had to ask, why were these kids left alone? Apparently, even though this is a private school and the best option for parents around here, the quality of teachers is very poor. And then I was reminded that our students are studying to become teachers. That explained a lot.
After the lesson, we again went back to the office to continue our food drying training. We cut up some tomatoes and carrots, and worked with similar experiments as yesterday; dry drying, wet drying and salt brine drying and laid the vegetables out to dry in the garden. Today, GSC was hosting a group of speakers from South Africa in their head office here, doing a series of lectures called "Gardening God's Way", and we were all curious about what was being discussed there. One of our trainers came up and already told us his thoughts on the lecture--they were lecturing on not tilling or digging too much to tarnish God's great Earth. We laughed--having worked in Namanga where the soil is so red, cakey and dry you have to dig and till about 3 meters for anything to live--that his man was lecturing Tanzanians about not tilling their soil. They are going to be here all week, and I would love to hear more about what else they will discuss.
At Montessori Infinity School, we were set to make a compost pile today with the students. They were told to gather the materials yesterday, and if you follow my blog regularly, you'll know that no one ever listens when we ask them to gather the materials beforehand for the compost pile. In addition, because there were so many of them we could have been able to make two mega compost piles if they'd gathered the proper materials but time got the best of them and there were only enough materials for one pile. An integral part of the compost pile is of course, manure. Very many of the girls refused to get the buckets of manure for the pile, nor pick it up when we were building the pile. It was clear, they had pretty much no experience in agriculture. As our counterparts urged everyone to participate, (I mean making compost is actually kind of fun, when I do demo's I always compare it to making a cake) some of the girls simply refused to help, just putting their hands behind their backs and shaking their heads no. Others just sat under the tree taking shade, watching. Pfft, and I always seem to be made fun of when I work in front of villagers.
As we were working it was also clear some of the males' interests in the project, the same boy who asked our counterpart that inappropriate question about gender came up to me as I was speaking and asked me if I was married, because he was interested. Everyone, again, laughed and ignored the lesson and frustrated our volunteers.
While the others were gathering for chai in our break, I went to a classroom of the younger preschool students with a counterpart. These kids we've seen all week and are always excited to see foreigners. There was no teacher present in the room, and all the students were jumping around the classroom with the door closed and some were pushing and fighting each other. Some were standing on top of tables, and then there were a few that were seated quietly at their chairs in the midst of all the noise. Our counterpart was able to quiet down the children (after about 15 minutes) and got them in their seats. He started teaching them a song in English which got them all excited. Everyone was engaged and singing and dancing, and I was so impressed at the change of environment in such a short amount of time. I didn't understand where this teacher was, and why she left a room full of nursery school students unsupervised. If we hadn't come in, they'd pretty much be at each other's throats. Soon, one of the kids was dancing too close to another and a fight broke out. Our counterpart walked over and untangled the children from each other, pulling one upside down by his leg which lightened the air and made everyone laugh. We proceeded to sing one more song, and then left the classroom with the kids following us out. I had to ask, why were these kids left alone? Apparently, even though this is a private school and the best option for parents around here, the quality of teachers is very poor. And then I was reminded that our students are studying to become teachers. That explained a lot.
After the lesson, we again went back to the office to continue our food drying training. We cut up some tomatoes and carrots, and worked with similar experiments as yesterday; dry drying, wet drying and salt brine drying and laid the vegetables out to dry in the garden. Today, GSC was hosting a group of speakers from South Africa in their head office here, doing a series of lectures called "Gardening God's Way", and we were all curious about what was being discussed there. One of our trainers came up and already told us his thoughts on the lecture--they were lecturing on not tilling or digging too much to tarnish God's great Earth. We laughed--having worked in Namanga where the soil is so red, cakey and dry you have to dig and till about 3 meters for anything to live--that his man was lecturing Tanzanians about not tilling their soil. They are going to be here all week, and I would love to hear more about what else they will discuss.
Wednesday, November 10, 2010
October 26
Tuesday morning we arrived at HQ to get ready to arrive at a school to teach students about agriculture. We have never taught a school, per se, and I was a little anxious to see what we could get done in a school besides a community group of farmers. We arrived at the Montessori Infinity Vocational School, about 20 minutes outside of Arusha. It was a small campus and it kind of reminded me of one of the residence quads at UAlbany, with green grass in the middle and classrooms on the perimeter. We weren't told who exactly we were teaching, but when we arrived and saw about three classrooms of pre-schoolers a few of us were confused. Without any information to us volunteers and the two counterparts were ushered into the principal's office for chai and bread. After we begrudgingly swallowed crusty bread and tangawizi (ginger), we entered a classroom of mostly women about 20 or older in uniform squeezed behind desks which looked like they belonged to junior high school students. The sign above the doorway signaled 'SPEAK ENGLISH ONLY'. Fair enough for me, but I greeted and introduced myself in Swahili to a room full of deadpan faces. Some students looked fairly Americanized, one volunteer commented one girl looked exactly like a character from 'Don't be a Menace'. Sadly, I agreed--she really did! Many of the girls already looked bored, some were popping their gum, doodling and passing notes. After the principal came in and told them to get in order, they stood and greeted us. Most said 'Shikamoo', the word to greet elders---much older elders. I am 20, another volunteer is 20, and the third is a very young looking 28. I already knew this was going to be a bad group.
On top of which, we were not shown this set of flip charts nor told what we would be teaching. I have no idea these students' backgrounds. No idea how to engage them, what to ask, etc. I was pretty upset our counterpart decided to tell us what we were doing, right there, in front of the students, who if that sign was correct, speak English. Nonetheless, I tried to do my part and taught the lesson the same as I would a group that I was sure was interested. Besides, it seemed no one even really spoke English that well. Many of the students just waited for the Swahili translation to understand, so they didnt even care to improve their English, as was one of their intended goals for this session. Later we learned that these students have a garden behind the school, which they use to grow vegetables for food at the school. Ironically, these students were studying to become teachers!! And they are expected to teach agriculture to others as a part of their studies.
At the end of the lesson, we were all pretty anxious to leave. As we took questions, one boy was daring enough to ask something (in Swahili) to which the entire room erupted in laughter. Our counterparts all looked shocked, and one just had his mouth hanging open. I asked what was going on, and our counterpart whispered to me, that he'd just asked if one of our female counterparts, a Tanzanian- was a male or female. She has short hair, not at all unusual for Tanzanian women, but has a beautiful face! I remember when I met her, remarking to someone how strikingly beautiful she is. She said something back in Swahili, to which some girls applauded and gave thumbs up but others just kept laughing. Later I'd heard she clarified and introduced herself and said that she knows she looks like a woman, to which I was proud of her but was so disappointed in the whole thing.
That afternoon we returned to the GSC office to continue food drying training, and cut up some bananas and tomatoes. There are three different techniques we were coming up with- dry drying (cut up and dry the food), wet drying (cut and put in water and then dry), and lemon brine drying (cut and place in a lemon water solution and then dry) to see which method is best for each fruit or vegetable. I'm allergic to mold, and somehow thought it was a good idea to test last season's dried cassava (I love cassava!), which turned out must have been moldy when I felt my throat get dry and I began wheezing. After that fit, which lasted a couple of moments I was glad I didn't need to go to the hospital and made sure to just prepare the dried food but not eat it.
We were told that we'd do training at Montessori all this week and half of next week, since we could not confirm any trainings because of the election. Are these students really the best we can get, where is everyone going for election? I have two more weeks here! Hopefully this training doesn't make me want to rush my time here......
On top of which, we were not shown this set of flip charts nor told what we would be teaching. I have no idea these students' backgrounds. No idea how to engage them, what to ask, etc. I was pretty upset our counterpart decided to tell us what we were doing, right there, in front of the students, who if that sign was correct, speak English. Nonetheless, I tried to do my part and taught the lesson the same as I would a group that I was sure was interested. Besides, it seemed no one even really spoke English that well. Many of the students just waited for the Swahili translation to understand, so they didnt even care to improve their English, as was one of their intended goals for this session. Later we learned that these students have a garden behind the school, which they use to grow vegetables for food at the school. Ironically, these students were studying to become teachers!! And they are expected to teach agriculture to others as a part of their studies.
At the end of the lesson, we were all pretty anxious to leave. As we took questions, one boy was daring enough to ask something (in Swahili) to which the entire room erupted in laughter. Our counterparts all looked shocked, and one just had his mouth hanging open. I asked what was going on, and our counterpart whispered to me, that he'd just asked if one of our female counterparts, a Tanzanian- was a male or female. She has short hair, not at all unusual for Tanzanian women, but has a beautiful face! I remember when I met her, remarking to someone how strikingly beautiful she is. She said something back in Swahili, to which some girls applauded and gave thumbs up but others just kept laughing. Later I'd heard she clarified and introduced herself and said that she knows she looks like a woman, to which I was proud of her but was so disappointed in the whole thing.
That afternoon we returned to the GSC office to continue food drying training, and cut up some bananas and tomatoes. There are three different techniques we were coming up with- dry drying (cut up and dry the food), wet drying (cut and put in water and then dry), and lemon brine drying (cut and place in a lemon water solution and then dry) to see which method is best for each fruit or vegetable. I'm allergic to mold, and somehow thought it was a good idea to test last season's dried cassava (I love cassava!), which turned out must have been moldy when I felt my throat get dry and I began wheezing. After that fit, which lasted a couple of moments I was glad I didn't need to go to the hospital and made sure to just prepare the dried food but not eat it.
We were told that we'd do training at Montessori all this week and half of next week, since we could not confirm any trainings because of the election. Are these students really the best we can get, where is everyone going for election? I have two more weeks here! Hopefully this training doesn't make me want to rush my time here......
October 23-25
Today is the first weekend with my new host family, on this part of town and I'm already noticing so many differences. For starters, this morning I was able to eat a hot breakfast!! At Mama Elly's house, the housegirl never made chapati and my breakfasts usually consisted of a couple of slices of SupaLoaf (a really huge loaf of bread, pretty ubiquitous on every Tanzanian table) and some BlueBand (again a staple in any Tanzanian household, and I've heard in East Africa.) which is kind of like margarine. Sometimes I would get boiled ndizi or plantain and coffee--which is not really breakfast food. This morning I ate two piping hot chapatis and scrambled eggs with tomato and coffee. I thought I would cry.
There's a lot of things I've been able to notice as commonalities in Tanzanian households. Everyone has just about the same home furnishings, something I should have figured from the furniture stores I've noticed in Arusha. Couch cushions can be sewn right on the street in the Central Market from about 5 popular designs and Mama Mary's house has one thats recognizeable but a little different from Mama Elly's house. They also have these little crocheted doilies that sit along the top of the couch and on the armrests. Every other day when laundry is done, they change the doilies, which are in no way matched to the couch cushions but are still delicately laid out on the back of the couches. It's like a surprise every morning! I pretty much knew what to expect at the house, you remove you shoes at the door and you wipe your feet with the wet towel on the floor. And Mama Mary's family is really impressed at my attempts at speaking Swahili! I know I'll really like it here.
After breakfast I ventured out into this side of town, and found a nice supermarket (like a real supermarket in America!!) that stocked everything from Bertolli olive oil and pasta products and imported wines and cheeses, it was kind of like the twilight zone! It was also quite a shock to read the price stickers, most items were well over the regular price in town and some items--more than in America! A gallon of olive oil goes for 75,000tsh about $50!! A sign that things are really upscale this part of town. I did also notice more wazungu living around here, some work in NGOs and our Danish neighbors actually run a school nearby. The internet is also way more expensive, I used to pay 1,000tsh and now its 1,600tsh an hour, a little more than a dollar now. And the obvious downside, is that I have to take 2 dala dalas, which comes up to about 800 shillings a day, less than a dollar. Boohoo.
Sunday I ventured out to church, this time I learned I'd have to do less walking! Since I'm about half an hour away, I could take a shortcut or take the dala dala. My family here, who is Pentecostal was impressed I was actually religious, but nonetheless were asking me why I'm not Pentecostal. I wasn't offended, its a big deal in the developing world and the Catholics are losing a bunch to them, its alright. Irene, who was going to church later offered to walk me through the shortcut to the church. I kind of wished I'd taken the dala; despite our neighborhood being really affluent, there were so many squatter houses all behind the bigger homes in Sakina further from the main road. We walked through a real slum, and although I was walking with Irene, I felt really uncomfortable as the only westerner walking through there. In comparison to the other part of town, which is more urban the culture of Sunday mornings is still the same here. Even if this part of town has more visibly poorer people, mamas still wear fancy dresses and shoes on their way to church, and everyone is well dressed. It was nice, and I even crossed a wooden plank bridge over a small stream with mamas in heels on piki piki (motorcycle) en route to church. A joke among westerners is also that Tanzanians seem to never get dirty. Even in town in Arusha, its gets very dusty and when I arrived to mass my sandals were caked with mud and dirt but everyone, even Irene around me was still clean and ready for Sunday. After mass, I somehow decided it would be a good idea to take the same route back to Mama Mary's house. Although I'm very good with directions (I am a geography major), the back streets of Arusha which are unnamed just confound me. I got lost. Not that I didn't have any idea where I was, but I didnt know what road to take next. It was scary how quickly bad men prey on women who seem lost or confused, soon men in bars were standing offering to take me on piki piki or taxi to where I lived. For a moment, I understood why very many volunteers don't come to these parts of town. But I knew better, and found a road that look sort of familiar and took it all the way to the main road and made it home. I would hate to call Mama Mary after two days of being in her home, to say I was lost.
Monday morning, I arrived at the GSC office at 9 and after careful instructions from Irene I made it to Sanawari with no problem! As a New York City commuter, I was sure I would get used to the commute quickly. This morning, we drove all the way to Sanawari on the second dala with Bob Marley blaring in the front seat and the conductor singing at the top of his lungs in poor English. Sitting there, it was pretty amazing to study how they do their business. Its interesting with 30 people in a van with a capacity of about 10, the conductors always seem to remember who paid, who didnt and where everyone said they were going. Of course, I'd probably never get away with not paying--Americans don't take dala, ever.
This week, we were told that we'd be working in a village not too far from Arusha, however that community decided to call and cancel their trainings. Due to this weekends elections it would be difficult to find an alternate site for training, so we were just winging it for this week. When we arrived at GSC, we were told we'd be working on a double dug bed here in the demo garden and prepping it for planing. After breaking a forkhoe, it was lunchtime and the other volunteers and I met at Maasai Cafe for some beers and pizza. The most disheartening thing I can see often in town, is when beggars ask for food tableside at some of the wazungu favorites in town. As we sat in the outdoor garden and drank our cider and beer, a mama came over and asked for food or spare change--which makes you feel terrible when you have a plate of food in front of you!! The host at the restaurant had to escort them out, but that dampened our mood. I felt bad not giving food, but had to swallow that I am here to help change agricultural practices. And, as one volunteer put it, "we cant give her pizza its not nutritious, and beer would foster a bad habit.'" Its not exactly the most respectable way to put it, but often as volunteers thats the attitude one needs to take.
That afternoon, we returned to the office to begin training for food drying, one of GSC's new pilot programs with Sustainable Agriculture. We were learning how to make a food dryer out of wood and wire mesh. It was a pretty simple construction that they plan on taking out to remote villages, so that they can preserve vegetables and fruits which they cannot sell or will spoil before consumption. I wish I could be here when we teach it, it sounds like a very good idea. Tomorrow, we are supposed to begin training students at a school nearby, but that is still tentative because of the upcoming election. Which makes me wonder, if this is how people go into hiding a week before election, whats going to happen this weekend?
There's a lot of things I've been able to notice as commonalities in Tanzanian households. Everyone has just about the same home furnishings, something I should have figured from the furniture stores I've noticed in Arusha. Couch cushions can be sewn right on the street in the Central Market from about 5 popular designs and Mama Mary's house has one thats recognizeable but a little different from Mama Elly's house. They also have these little crocheted doilies that sit along the top of the couch and on the armrests. Every other day when laundry is done, they change the doilies, which are in no way matched to the couch cushions but are still delicately laid out on the back of the couches. It's like a surprise every morning! I pretty much knew what to expect at the house, you remove you shoes at the door and you wipe your feet with the wet towel on the floor. And Mama Mary's family is really impressed at my attempts at speaking Swahili! I know I'll really like it here.
After breakfast I ventured out into this side of town, and found a nice supermarket (like a real supermarket in America!!) that stocked everything from Bertolli olive oil and pasta products and imported wines and cheeses, it was kind of like the twilight zone! It was also quite a shock to read the price stickers, most items were well over the regular price in town and some items--more than in America! A gallon of olive oil goes for 75,000tsh about $50!! A sign that things are really upscale this part of town. I did also notice more wazungu living around here, some work in NGOs and our Danish neighbors actually run a school nearby. The internet is also way more expensive, I used to pay 1,000tsh and now its 1,600tsh an hour, a little more than a dollar now. And the obvious downside, is that I have to take 2 dala dalas, which comes up to about 800 shillings a day, less than a dollar. Boohoo.
Sunday I ventured out to church, this time I learned I'd have to do less walking! Since I'm about half an hour away, I could take a shortcut or take the dala dala. My family here, who is Pentecostal was impressed I was actually religious, but nonetheless were asking me why I'm not Pentecostal. I wasn't offended, its a big deal in the developing world and the Catholics are losing a bunch to them, its alright. Irene, who was going to church later offered to walk me through the shortcut to the church. I kind of wished I'd taken the dala; despite our neighborhood being really affluent, there were so many squatter houses all behind the bigger homes in Sakina further from the main road. We walked through a real slum, and although I was walking with Irene, I felt really uncomfortable as the only westerner walking through there. In comparison to the other part of town, which is more urban the culture of Sunday mornings is still the same here. Even if this part of town has more visibly poorer people, mamas still wear fancy dresses and shoes on their way to church, and everyone is well dressed. It was nice, and I even crossed a wooden plank bridge over a small stream with mamas in heels on piki piki (motorcycle) en route to church. A joke among westerners is also that Tanzanians seem to never get dirty. Even in town in Arusha, its gets very dusty and when I arrived to mass my sandals were caked with mud and dirt but everyone, even Irene around me was still clean and ready for Sunday. After mass, I somehow decided it would be a good idea to take the same route back to Mama Mary's house. Although I'm very good with directions (I am a geography major), the back streets of Arusha which are unnamed just confound me. I got lost. Not that I didn't have any idea where I was, but I didnt know what road to take next. It was scary how quickly bad men prey on women who seem lost or confused, soon men in bars were standing offering to take me on piki piki or taxi to where I lived. For a moment, I understood why very many volunteers don't come to these parts of town. But I knew better, and found a road that look sort of familiar and took it all the way to the main road and made it home. I would hate to call Mama Mary after two days of being in her home, to say I was lost.
Monday morning, I arrived at the GSC office at 9 and after careful instructions from Irene I made it to Sanawari with no problem! As a New York City commuter, I was sure I would get used to the commute quickly. This morning, we drove all the way to Sanawari on the second dala with Bob Marley blaring in the front seat and the conductor singing at the top of his lungs in poor English. Sitting there, it was pretty amazing to study how they do their business. Its interesting with 30 people in a van with a capacity of about 10, the conductors always seem to remember who paid, who didnt and where everyone said they were going. Of course, I'd probably never get away with not paying--Americans don't take dala, ever.
This week, we were told that we'd be working in a village not too far from Arusha, however that community decided to call and cancel their trainings. Due to this weekends elections it would be difficult to find an alternate site for training, so we were just winging it for this week. When we arrived at GSC, we were told we'd be working on a double dug bed here in the demo garden and prepping it for planing. After breaking a forkhoe, it was lunchtime and the other volunteers and I met at Maasai Cafe for some beers and pizza. The most disheartening thing I can see often in town, is when beggars ask for food tableside at some of the wazungu favorites in town. As we sat in the outdoor garden and drank our cider and beer, a mama came over and asked for food or spare change--which makes you feel terrible when you have a plate of food in front of you!! The host at the restaurant had to escort them out, but that dampened our mood. I felt bad not giving food, but had to swallow that I am here to help change agricultural practices. And, as one volunteer put it, "we cant give her pizza its not nutritious, and beer would foster a bad habit.'" Its not exactly the most respectable way to put it, but often as volunteers thats the attitude one needs to take.
That afternoon, we returned to the office to begin training for food drying, one of GSC's new pilot programs with Sustainable Agriculture. We were learning how to make a food dryer out of wood and wire mesh. It was a pretty simple construction that they plan on taking out to remote villages, so that they can preserve vegetables and fruits which they cannot sell or will spoil before consumption. I wish I could be here when we teach it, it sounds like a very good idea. Tomorrow, we are supposed to begin training students at a school nearby, but that is still tentative because of the upcoming election. Which makes me wonder, if this is how people go into hiding a week before election, whats going to happen this weekend?
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)