Thursday, December 7, 2017

CARE Southcoast Campaign

I designed a t-shirt to benefit CARE Southcoast, a 100% volunteer run animal rescue shelter in Massachusetts where I adopted my awesome cat Colby a couple years ago. $10 from each sale will go straight to CARE!

https://www.bonfire.com/care-1/


Friday, November 9, 2012

Amanda & Simbo

Since I don't have anything too exciting going on now that I'm back in the U.S., I've decided to write  about people I met while in Africa who I found particularly interesting and inspiring. So I'll start with a couple who played a pretty big role in my life in Tanzania, the owners of the hostel where I lived for six months!


Amanda is from Australia, she first came to Tanzania in 2007 volunteering through a large international volunteer agency, which cost her around $2000 USD, for just three weeks! While in TZ she met Sarah, another volunteer who was just starting to set up Hostel Hoff. The goal was to provide volunteers with a cheaper alternative and enable volunteers to put money directly into projects rather than a large profit making agency. Amanda did go back to Australia, but she returned to TZ one year later to act as manager for Hostel Hoff, which was a live-in position where she helped all of the new volunteers.

While managing and living at Hostel Hoff, Amanda met Simbo. Through a recommendation from a friend Hostel Hoff had hired Simbo as a guide to take volunteers on safari. Over the next year their close friendship blossomed, they married in 2009 and have two absolutely gorgeous little boys!



They started with one safari vehicle, and now they are a registered safari company. They work mostly on referrals and recommendations (I went on safari with them, even if you're not staying at the hostel I HIGHLY recommend it!) and do a range of safaris from budget camping to upmarket lodge safaris.



It was always the plan that when Sarah was ready to leave Tanzania, Simbo and Amanda would take over Hostel Hoff, which they did at the end of 2010. So let me explain a bit more about the Hostel. Like I said earlier, the whole point is to make volunteering affordable. Many organizations make you pay in order to volunteer, at the Hoff all you have to pay for is your accommodation. And you also get breakfast, dinner, and laundry! Hostel Hoff has a working relationship with trustworthy non-profit organizations in Moshi. Upon arrival, all hoffers are given a great (and lengthy) tour of Moshi Town with the wonderful Mary, who is Tanzanian and inevitably becomes the best friend of everyone she meets. Then the volunteer can discuss the different volunteer projects with Amanda and/or the current manager. Usually they try to spread the volunteers evenly around the different projects, and new hoffers can accompany the older ones to get an idea of the project before they commit to a choice. Not everyone at the Hoff has to do these projects, people volunteering and staying for long periods of time of course get preference, but if there are a couple of beds open there's always space for people who are just on vacation. Or for people like myself who are at volunteer projects like Amani that aren't affiliated with Hostel Hoff. For me, the hoff was truly home. After being in a world of Swahili all day, and bonding with children and learning what shocking and disturbing experiences they'd been through, the hoff was a place to vent and to talk to people who were going through the exact same hardships. In that situation, people become family very quickly. The hoffers take many day and weekend trips together, go on safari or other extended trips, and hit the town together every weekend. And any time you need advice about teaching or working with the kids, there is always someone who can advise you. I personally met many unbelievably intelligent people during my time there. We would all eat dinner together outside every single night (sometimes by candlelight due to power cuts) and talk about our day. Sharing our challenges, the adorable things the kids had done, and often the wacky and ridiculous things we saw throughout the day (cow in a pick-up truck, pig on a motorcycle, wheel barrow full of half dead chickens etc.) Amanda's favorite part about the hostel is watching the real impact that the volunteers have and the difference that they can make.

"Many people go home with a very strong connection to Tanzania and we see many of our past volunteers return for a 2nd, 3rd, or 4th time."

(I agree with her there, I will be back!)



When Amanda & Simbo took ownership of Hostel Hoff in late 2010, they also took over the charity Path to Africa (which Sarah had started in 2008). Many hoffers would bring fundraised money and were looking for good projects to donate to. Originally PtA supported an orphanage in a village near Moshi. Now they are constructing their own children's center (which is still under construction), and supporting Hope Orphanage, another small orphanage in Moshi.

When traveling to Tanzania, there are SO many different organizations to volunteer with. And especially when making a donation, it can be really difficult to make sure you are donating to a worthy cause that will use your money in the best way possible. One important question I asked Amanda was how she chose these specific projects:

"Through the experience of living in Tanzania, we choose projects to support that we believe are really doing the right thing and providing as much assistance to the local community as possible.  Although some of these projects are small (Hope Orphanage only has 5 children) the support we are giving them will change the lives of these children. They will attend English medium primary schools next year which is a high level school and this never would have been possible without the support from Path To Africa donors."

For more information on Path To Africa or to make a donation, visit www.pathtoafrica.org

Friday, September 28, 2012

Video

I put a little video together with clips from my time at Amani, enjoy!




Sunday, August 12, 2012

The Life and Death of a Street Boy in East Africa

This is an excerpt from an essay by Chris Lockhart of Utah State University, it is something the people at Amani Children's Home had me read when I started volunteering, it helps to understand just what kind of background the kids are coming from. It is a real eye-opener and I think it needs to be shared.



The Life and Death of a Street Boy in East Africa
Chris Lockhart

Juma spent the first six years of his life on his family's rural shamba -or farm- in Shinyanga District, one of two administrative districts that make up Sukumland. In 1996 (when Juma was four), the shamba included approximately two hectares of land that Juma's father inherited from his father in accordance with the customary patrilineal land-tenure practices of the Sukuma. Like most smallholder farmers in the region, Juma's father cultivated cotton and devoted a smaller patch of land to subsistence foods, including maize and sweet potatoes. At this point in time, there was not enough money or land to keep livestock. Household members included Juma's parents, grandparents, and two younger sisters. Juma also had two older brothers, both of whom worked for a large diamond mine in a neighboring district. They had not returned home for almost two years.

With only two hectares of land and no livestock, Juma's household was part of the lower income bracket. Moreover, there were strong indications that the shamba was coming under increasing stress. The cotton harvest had yielded steadily decreasing returns over the previous five years, a situation that locals attributed to deteriorating soil quality and the inability of farmers -including Jumas'father- to pay for fertilizer or keep portions of land fallow to recover from constant use. In fact, Juma's father had sold three hectares of his land in 1993 to make ends meet and to pay off the balance of a loan he owed to a private cotton trader. The trader charged a very high interest rate on the loan, which he provided under the condition that Juma's father sell his crop to him at a substantially lower price than market value. According to neighbors, this transaction with the trader -who by all accounts had a somewhat shady and manipulative reputation- had left Juma's father in greater debt than before.

In September 1996, Juma's uncle, aunt, and their three young children came to live with them, which caused an already vulnerable household to come under even greater stress. The circumstances surrounding their move -the Bulyanhulu Gold Mine incident- are noteworthy for the particularly egregious nature of what occurred there in the name of powerful corporate and state-sponsored interests. While the Bulyanhulu Gold Mine has a controversial and complex history, it is worth providing a brief summary of these events.

In 1994, and in large part because of SAP-induced changes to Tanzania's mining policy, a Canadian gold corporation purchased the Bulyanhulu Gold Mine in the Bulyanhulu area of Shinyanga District. Almost immediately, the corporation began legal proceedings to evict the residents who lived and worked in the area. Despite a ruling by the High Court of Tanzania against the Canadian company, the government of Tanzania, under intense international pressure, ordered paramilitary security forces to move agains the communities and commence the evictions in August 1996. According to some estimates, upward of 200,000 people were forcibly removed from their homes and communities (lawyers Environmental Action Teal [LEAT] 2003). The incident has since drawn international attention from dozens of legal, environmental, human rights, and social justice groups throughout the world who have highlighted a long list of legal violations and human rights abuses, including the murder of more than 50 individuals. Today, the mine has become one of the world's largest, richest, and most modern gold mines, in part because of financing provided by a consortium of commercial banks from around the world and insurance guarantees totaling over $345 million from the World Bank and the Canadian government (LEAT 2003).

Juma's uncle lived in one of eight Bulyanhulu communities that were razed to the ground as part of the forced removals. Having no where else to go, he turned to Juma's father, who was obligated to help his only brother and his family. As a result, household membership almost doubled in size, increasing from seven members to 12. It was obvious that the shamba could not support this increase, and in December 1996 Juma's father and uncle were forced to leave the shamba to seek off-farm employment. Both men found work in the same diamond mine as Juma's two older brothers.

Over the next year, Juma's father returned home once to help with the harvest. While it was apparent that he was physically very ill during this visit, he returned to the diamond mine to resume work after only two weeks. In Febrary 1998, Juma's uncle returned from the diamond mine with the news that his father had passed away.

Juma's mother believed that she should inherit the family shamba, but his uncle contested her claim, which led to a significant rift in the household. His uncle's argument proved to be the stronger one, however, because it was reinforced by the traditional patrilineal inheritance practices of the Sukuma. Juma's grandparents also pressured his mother to follow the traditional custom of widow inheritance and marry his uncle. She flatly refused to do this, and the rift within the household grew significantly. In the midst of their dispute, Juma's uncle made it known that his brother had died of AIDS and accused Juma's mother of infecting him with the virus. According to Juma's mother, there were also accusations of witchcraft against her within the community:
"People are just foolish and believe what they want to believe. They were talking behind my back, accusing me of being a witch, pointing at me, and spreading all kinds of gossip. But all of this was just a plan by my brother-in-law and his wife to kick me off the shamba because they knew there was not enough land to support all of us. Even if I agreed to marry my brother-in-law he would not have taken me as his second wife because it was not possible to support us, and his first wife would not have allowed it anyway. It was good for him to say I was a witch and that I gave my husband AIDS. I lost everything in this way...the shamba just rotted away beneath my feet." [Juma's mother, November 1998]

After two weeks of accusations, arguments, and increasingly violent altercations, Juma's mother began to seriously fear for her safety. During the first week of March 1998, she woke Juma and his two sisters late one night, and together they fled the shamba. She had made the decision that they were going to begin a new life in Mwanza.

Sex, Survival, and the Process of Becoming a "Nyenga Dog"
Juma's mother had only one contact in Mwanza: a male cousin with whom she had a relatively close relationship. While he was making preparations to move to Dar es Salaam when Juma, his mother, and his two sisters arrived in town, the cousin managed to secure a small room for them to rent in a neighborhood about one mile from Mwanza's downtown center. He also paid their rent for the first two months, which gave Juma's mother some time to find work and settle in. The only work she could find, however, was as a street vendor selling fish in the downtown center. The work demanded most of her time and required that she be gone from early morning until late evening each day. Unfortunately, she did not make enough money to meet the daily costs of living, including rent (which was almost doubled by the landlord after the initial two months), food, and school fees for Juma (his two sisters never attended school after the move to Mwanza). As a result, she pulled Juma out of primary school for half of each week to help his sisters with domestic work and household chores, while she engaged in part-time sex work to generate extra income:
"I accepted the offers of several men- but I kept it at a business level and made sure it was a fair exchange. I kept several boyfriends who gave me almost as much money as I made with my small business. But most were like all men and not reliable. Sometimes they were nice to me and sometimes they beat me and gave me nothing. I tried to find three stable boyfriends, but this was not easy because most men are not reliable." [Juma's mother, November 1998]

As apparent in the above quote, Juma's mother attempted to maintain a stable exchange-based relationship with a minimum number of "boyfriends," a practice she continually defined in terms of a core set of pragmatic, businesslike ideals. In fact, she often contrasted these relationships with those of "professional prostitutes," a distinction that was common among many widows on Bugando Hill.

In June 1998, Juma's mosther moved the household to Bugando Hill to be closer to Mwanza's downtown center and eliminate travel costs. She had befriended a Sukuma woman from Shinyanga District who was also a widow and willing to share the rent on her two-room mud hut where she currently lived with her two children. The move precipitated Juma's complete withdrawal from primary school, and he began to spend his days running errands for his mother and helping with household chores. Over the next several years, he became familiar with Mwanza's downtown center and befriended several street boys of his age:
"They [two street boys] were the only boys I knew who were my age. I didn't know other children because I didn't go to school and I was always working. But I would be [downtown] and see other boys, and we would go swimming or play soccer. Mama didn't like them and told me to stay away from them, but I didn't always do this because they were my only friends and they were fun to be with." [Juma, June 2006]

Juma's relationships with street boys during this time were relatively ephermeral and based in large part on entertainment and recreation.

By the end of 2002, the health of Juma's mother began to deteriorate noticeably, and she could no longer leave home or work. One of Juma's sisters had died of malaria the year before, and he was forced to seek work while his remaining sister took care of their mother. Juma turned to his street boy friends to earn money:
Mama was very sick and suffering greatly. She told me that I must find work and try to earn money for us. I began to wash cars with my friends because I knew they earned money in this way. I did other little jobs too. There was nothing else for me to do because there is no work in Mwanza. I also santed to be with my friends because things were hard at home and [my mother's housemate] only wanted my money for rent and chased me off if I had nothing." [Juma, June 2003]

Over the next year, Juma spent all of his days and roughly half of his nights living and working on the streets of Mwanza.

As a part-time street boy whose survival was now dependent on living and working on the streets, Juma quickly discovered that his relationships with other street boys were of a much different character than before:
"Many boys in my age group washed cars during the day. Older boys didn't do that. But they [older boys] took our money. If we didn't give them our money they would beat us. Sometimes other boys would try to steal our business...then we would get the older boys to teach them a lesson, or we would gang up on them. Only some of us were able to wash cars [in that area]. We didn't give or business away to just anybody who came along. [Juma, June 2006]

As Juma grew increasingly dependent on the streets for his survival, he was simultaneously initiated into the world of Mwanza's street boys, which was based on a hierarchical and well-disciplined network of power relations. Power and access to scarce resources were distributed among the street boys in terms of several key factors, including age, territory, time on the streets, and toughness.

In most cases, boys who were recent and untested arrivals to Mwanza's streets were easily noticed by other street boys, often within a matter of days. In Juma's case, however, his preexisting friendships with several street boys facilitated his entry onto the streets and, together with his part-time status, made him less conspicuous. Subsequently, he managed to delay for almost three weeks the more violent ways in which status and power were displayed and maintained among street boys. Once he began spending his nights on the streets, however, he was quickly noticed by a wider segment of Mwanza's street boy population and, like all newcomers, was "initiated" into street life through a sexual practice involving anal penetration known in colloquial terms as "kunyenga":
"A group of five or six older boys told me they wanted to show me a secret place among the rocks above town...I didn't want to go because I was scared. But I had no choice because I knew they would beat me if I didn't go. When we got there, they raped [in Swahili "nyengaed"] me. It hurt badly and I was bleeding everywhere. They told me to stop crying and be tough because I was going to have to act like a man if I wanted to be a "nyenga dog." They said, "We are by ourselves" [in Swahili "Sisi kwa sis"]. Then they started barking and acting crazy and throwing rocks at me and told me to run [to my friends]. I was really scared...I thought that maybe that was it for me and that I would die right there. [Juma, June 2006]

As traumatic as this event was for Juma, he often spoke of it in terms of how naive to the reality of street life he believed himself to be at this time, and as a means of contrasting how "weak" and "soft" he was to his eventual status as "one of the tougher guys on the street." In fact, kunyenga became a routinized part of his life on the streets, as it was for all street boys, because it was the most overt and widespread means of displaying and maintaining the power of hierarchy that defined their social networks.

In January 2004, Juma's mother was admitted to the AIDS ward of Bugando Hospital where, according to hospital records, she died of the disease three weeks later. Juma immediately tried to locate his sister and bring her to a local street children's shelter, but he learned from his mother's housemate that a male friend had taken her to Dodoma (in central Tanzania) to employ her as his domestic servant.

The death of Juma's mother precipitated his status as a full-time street boy and, at the age of 12, he became entirely dependent on the streets for his survival. His only option was to turn to Mwanza's network of street boys for support and acceptance and, in so doing, to embrace fully the mores and behaviors of life on the street.

As a central component of that life, kunyenga became a regular practice for Juma, and he participated in kunyenga activities with other street boys approximately two to three times each week. As was the case with most street boys, Juma rarely spoke of kunyenga as a sexual practice. Instead, he defined it in terms of toughness and as a display of power and authority over other street boys. In fact, kunyenga was inseparable from the need to develop and contantly maintain an image as a tough kid, which was an essential means of acquiring respect among the other boys. Juma continually referenced this relationship among kunyenga, respect, and identity when discussing his memberhip in a local gand, who referred to themselves as the 'Nyenga Dogs":
"I do everything with those guys [Juma's gang consisted of 15-20 other boys] because if I didn't I would be alone out here and easier prey for other guys, especially the older ones. I don't think I'd survive for very long. But we are the "Nyenga Dogs," you know? That's what we're called because everybody knows us as a group of guys who don't take shit from anybody. For me, the problems always come about when I'm caught out on my own, or if a group of older, stronger boys make a point to teach us a lesson for one reason or another. Then we're all fucked." [Juma, May 2006]

As a member of the Nyenga Dogs, Juma found a way to survive on the streets of Mwanza over the next several years while gradually gaining respect among street boys as a tough kid.

The Spatial Grounding of Life on the Streets
Space was an important structuring feature of Juma's survival on the streets as a Nyenga Dog. His gang was strongly identified with several blocks adjacent to the downtown center (which was itself a neutral territory where all street boys roamed). As Juma discussed on numerous occasions, his personal vulnerability increased dramatically whenever he ventured from the specific territory associated with the Nyenga Dogs:
"If I go to [another neighborhood] where I'm not known, whoever owns that place will want to hurt me. They don't know me and and maybe they don''t know I'm a Nyenga Dog. They only see me as a piece of shit who's all alone. It doesn't have to be other [street boys] either- people who live there, guards, police whoever...I'm just a piece of shit to them. But here it's different. [Juma, May 2006]

Throughout Mwanza, certain groups or gangs of street boys were associated with specific neighborhoods. Association with a specific territory was critical for survival, as it afforded individual boys like Juma a much higher degree of physical and emotional protection. It also strengthened their social networks, which were themselves important pathways for the flow of material goods and information critical for day-to-day survival. As gangs defined and policed thier territory, much of the violence experienced by Juma and other street boys- including kunyenga activities- was tied to the control of that space. Subsequently, the nexus defined by kunyenga, survival, and the search for respect was grounded in the politics of space and the struggle over specific territories between different gangs of street boys.

The spatial grounding of Juma's life as a Nyenga Dog was reinforced further by certain external factors. Specifically, as a result of ongoing retrenchments and extensive cutbacks in government services, Mwanza's social services adopted a somewhat unofficial policy of containing the city's street boys to the downtown center and surrounding neighborhoods. Boys who were caught outside of these areas were subject to arrest or fell victim to one of the city's infamous "roundups." A containment approach to the "street boy problem" was also practiced by armed groups of private militia composed of local citizens who patrolled Mwanza's streets at night. These groups, known as sungu sungu, arose in the early 1980s in response to an increase in crime across the country coupled with a growing disillusionment with the police force. These factors, coupled with the fact that the survival strategies of street boys depended on being in close proximity to Mwanza's downtown center, made it difficult for individual street boys like Juma to break free from the social behaviors and street culture that garnered respect and ensured survival. For Juma, as with most street boys, life on the streets was both spatially circumscribed and socially all-encompassing.

The Death of Another Street Boy
Late on night in August 2006, Juma was caught sleeping on the rooftop of a downtown shop by a group of sungu sungu. He had many prior encounters with the sungu sungu, most of which resulted in violent beatings and possibly several days in jail. This time proved to be no different: the particular group of individuals who caught Juma were notorious for their harsh treatment of Mwanza's street boys. They beat Juma severely, dumped him upside down in the open sewers that line the city's streets, stole what few possessions he had, and turned him over to the local police. The latter, who did not have  the time, staff, or facilities to deal with street boys, immediately sent Juma to Butimba Prison on the outskirts of the city. Street boys were often sent to this facility, which in Tanzania's second-largest prison, where they shared cells with violent adult offenders for days at a time before being released back onto the streets. Accounts of physical and sexual abuse being inflicted on the boys by adult prisoners were commonplace. In this instance, Juma was placed in a cell with two men who beat and raped him repeatedly over a period of three days before he was released.

According to other street boys, Juma was in severe pain and attempted to get admitted to Mwanza's Bugando Hospital but was unable to do so because he could not pay the (equivalent of US $5.00) admittance fee. He also feared being arrested and beaten by the hospital's security guards, which had happened to him on at least two other occasions. On his last night alive (two days following his release from Butimba Prison), several of Juma's friends brought him once again to the gates of Bugando Hospital. However, they were chased off by a group of sangu sangu and forced to abandon him because he was in too much pain to move.

According to officials, Juma's body was found the following day on the banks of the Mirongo River about a quarter-mile from where he was last seen by his friends. No attempt has been made to piece together what happened on that night and, as has been the case with the deaths of many street boys, the official response to Juma's death was a mixture of ignorance, indifference, and expression of futility. When questioned, one member of the sungu sungu who was reportedly present that night shrugged and said, "He was found on the Mirongo River, right? Well, they don't call it a river of shit for nothing." While it was confirmed that Juma died of severe hemorrhaging, the exact details surrounding the final hours of his life remain a mystery.

Friday, July 27, 2012

Narudi

Wednesday marks one month back in the U.S., it kind of feels like I never left. This past week I've been teaching English at Olin College, but it's just for one week. So I'm still looking for a job. I do have an interview at the end of August that I'm pretty excited about. I'm also looking for a car since my sister got in an accident while I was away and my car was totaled. So, the usual, just trying to make some money.

I don't miss the cockroaches, nairobi flies, and giant poisonous centipedes, but I do miss the lizards running around on the walls, and the hedgehogs scuttling through the grass. I actually do miss walking everywhere, but I don't miss tripping everywhere I go on rocks and "sidewalks." Of course I miss the kids, but I most definitely do not miss their misbehaving and not listening! I miss the fact that in Tanzania you say hi to every single person you see, even just walking down the street. I do not miss the ridiculous amount of greetings there are in Swahili and how impossible it is to ever learn all of them! I do really miss speaking Swahili, but I don't miss not being able to understand everything that's going on. I miss random kids saying hi and holding my hand and giving me hugs, but I don't miss babies crying at the sight of me because they've never seen white skin before. I miss makande (local bean and maize dish), mandazi (kind of like a doughnut), chapati, and rice and beans, but I don't miss ugali, pilau, or eating rice every.single.day. The cheap prices were great, but probably my least favorite thing about Tanzania is having to haggle down the price of everything because everyone charges mzungu (white person) price. I miss that I spent almost all of my time outside, but I don't miss the ensuing bug bites (which have left scars of my legs). I don't miss being stared at absolutely everywhere I go, but I do miss having random people start up conversations with me. I miss the tropical plants and animals and the fresh fruit.
I miss Moshi town, swimming at Lake Chala, and the hot springs. I miss the people at the hostel, my local friends, my coworkers, and of course, the kids! All things considered, I'm doing pretty well, it's not as hard as I thought it would be. Maybe because I've been through it before after living in London for nine months. I think really though, that I know no matter what happens I'll be happy. Right now I'm just keeping it simple, enjoying the small moments and trying to find a job and just save up for the next adventure. I do want to go back to Tanzania and am hoping to be back there in January, but I also know that there are so many other things I want to do with my life that no matter where I end up, I'll continue to challenge myself and to enjoy every experience.

I have been keeping busy since I came back...
Playing fetch with my cousin's dog on Cape Cod.

Lady bug on Queen Anne's Lace; while walking in a nearby state park.

Hiking Mt. Greylock and camping in western Mass with my mum!

Tuesday, June 26, 2012

Zambia

I went down to Victoria Falls in southern Zambia. The trip took 11 days, but only 3.5 of those were spent in Livingstone. The commute was a bit insane. Despite the insanity it was an absolutely amazing trip. Usually when I travel I think I'll never return to that place, there are so many other places to go and things to see. But Livingstone was different, I know I'm going back there someday.

Jumatatu
Monday started at 7:30 with an 8 hour bus ride from Moshi to Dar es Salaam. I was pretty daunted with the length of the ride, little did I know what would occur later on in the trip. There was one stop the whole way, and my chair seat wasn't actually attached to the bus. The music videos ranged from Michael Jackson to MC Hammer, Sly and the Family Stone, and to 90s boy bands. I arrived in Dar and was proposed to the second I got off the bus, by a guy from Uganda (the first of many, pretty much every 10ft). Then was met by a friend (I've heard pretty bad things about Dar so it was nice to feel safe) who escorted me to my hotel, he left and I wandered across the road to have dinner and ended up chatting over dinner with a nice guy from Nairobi. It was amazing to have salad that included lettuce (most "salad" is just cut up vegetables) and to have real cheese. I watched a bit of football (soccer) and had an otherwise uneventful night.

Jumanne
The "first class lounge."
I checked out of the hotel around 10am on Tuesday and spent most of the day just sitting waiting for some friends. I didn't really have time to wander around and don't know the city at all. I did see a blind man walking down the road and that was absolutely amazing and a bit horrifying. It's hard enough walking there when you can see. The "road" was dirt and may have been wide enough at one point for two lanes of traffic, but with cars parked on either side it was just wide enough for one, so both directions had to kind of play chicken with each other. The man did walk into a parked car at one point, but was otherwise unscathed. I met up with some friends who I live with in Moshi, but were coming from Zanzibar at the time. We had lunch and got onto the TAZARA train, an overnight train where we had our own cabin with beds and a table. And of course the Harry Potter references began almost immediately. We fell asleep before figuring out how to close then window and the night was absolutely freezing. In the morning you could see your breath. I haven't been that cold in half a year.


Jumatano
The train was great while it lasted, the scenery was gorgeous, we stopped in villages and could buy fruit out the windows from the locals, and all of the children ran after the train waving. We even arrived in Mbeya almost on time which is great for Tanzanian standards. And then it began. We sat for awhile and eventually got to wondering what was going on. First they said there was an accident in front of us and we'd have to wait there a couple hours. As it turned out a train had derailed (I think it was the same train as ours but the opposite direction) and it would take two days to clear up. So we decided we'd spend the night in the parked train and start off by bus the next day. At first there were rumors of the train company supplying the bus, then rumors of us getting a bit of money back but being on our own. We met a street kid who was selling food in the station, and I'd heard there was good kitimoto (pork) in Mbeya so I asked him where we could find some. He ended up becoming "Commander Victor" and leading us to the middle of freakin nowhere to this little cement room with a dirt floor where some guys were cooking some of the best kitimoto I've ever had. It was a bit sketchy, and a group of white people being led around by a little street kid attracts a bit of attention. There were some guys in the room as well that were clearly talking about us, so to make it less creepy I decided to go over and talk to them. There were a bit shy but really nice (they spoke about as much English as I do Swahili). One of them was in school but had been a street kid. The other was wearing an amazing Christmas sweater (which of course I complimented). Back at the station, there was another train stranded there, their engine had to go assist after the accident. So the people were pretty angry and there was a heck of a lot of yelling. So our conductor went around making sure all of the windows and doors were locked and we fell asleep to the sound of riots.

Alhamisi
By this point we'd realized that pretty much our entire car was headed to Livingstone, so we ended up being quite a large travel group. Two guys were actually going to the same exact hostel that we were. In the morning we (eventually) got a bit of a refund, then we took a short daladala (minibus) ride to the bus stand, where we got on a bus that would take about two hours to get to the border of Tanzania and Zambia. The bus conductor was a nut job and tried to charge us for our luggage (only tried to charge the white people, as usual) and then wanted to sit five people in four seats, which he did manage to do, and then when we were stopped for a police check he got fined for it. He still insisted on us paying for luggage but we intercepted someone else's fare and a couple of us didn't pay, so in the end the group of us only lost about 1500Tsh (about one dollar). So we got to the border, got through the craziness of immigration then you just walk in right down the middle of the road, trying not to get hit by a car. We stopped for some food and got on a bus to Lusaka, which would be overnight, about 17 hours.

Ijumaa
The bus was by far the worst I've ever been on. There were little metal things sticking into your leg, I was sat on about half the seat and every time someone walked down the aisle (which was about every 5 seconds) I got hit in the head. It was completely overpacked, people had brought the most ridiculous items with them. A bundle of bicycle tires, loads of string, two boxes of juice, a box of aloe vera, a bucket containing god knows what (I swear I heard it move). It was strewn all about the aisles, and in a lumped in a huge pile in the back. Every time we got to a weigh station nearly the entire bus had to get off, the bus got through, and then went back to get the people. It has nothing to do with safely, it's all about the money. But we got to Lusaka, and immediately got a bus to Livingstone, which I think was about 7hrs. The backpackers was within walking distance and we finally made it sometime in the afternoon on Friday. We all needed showers desperately and called it an early night.

Jumamosi
Saturday started with white water rafting on the Zambezi River! I'd never done it before and these went up to class 5 rapids. I fell out on the first one. I was the last one to be pulled into the boat and at one point the water sucked me under the boat, I managed to hold on but everything except my arm from the elbow up was submerged. I was just being dragged alongside the boat like a toy, wondering to myself when it would end. It felt like ages but I'm sure it was only seconds. Out boat capsized at least twice and I fell out maybe five times. At one point the guide said "We can go this way where there's a 99% chance we'll capsize, or we can go the safe way." By this time I was sick of being in the water and wanted to go the safe way, but of course the boys chose the other and I had no say in the matter. We accidently hit the wave backwards and went over like a piece of toast butter side down. I was underneath the raft and heard our guide laughing maniacally, apparently he was having a great time! It was terrifying, and awesome! We then went up out of the gorge in a cable car and went back to have lunch. After that we got on a sunset cruise on the upper river, with unlimited drinks. We stayed at a great backpackers and a bunch of people went out that night, but I was just too exhausted.

Jumapili
Sunday we went to see Victoria Falls from the bridge, myself, the two people I started out with who I live with in Moshi, and two guys we met on the train. All three boys did the zipline, bungee jump, and gorge swing. I only did the zipline, the rest looked absolutely terrifying! I had seriously debated doing it before, but once I saw it there was no freakin way. So most of Sunday was spent sitting around waiting for them to finish. Later we went into town to some curio shops. There was this rasta guy called Boyd selling drums and I asked if he could teach me something, but he said he charges 20,000 Kwache (about $4). So we talked a bit and I told him I'm also a music teacher, but I teach for free! I said this as I walked away and while I was in the next shop he started playing his djembe. So of course I listened, walked back over, sat down with another drum and played it back to him. As Boyd was talking to a friend of mine I started playing, and of course we ended up playing together for a bit, gathered a bit of an audience, and had people dancing down the sidewalk. And he showed me a new kind of stroke I'd never seen. I really wanted to go back and play with him and maybe buy a drum (he makes them himself) but I never had time. Then we went out to dinner with a bunch of people from the backpackers. For my main I had bream, a fish from the Zambezi (yes, complete with eyes, spikes and teeth on the plate). And for starters we shared caterpillars and crocodile. The caterpillar wasn't great, but the crocodile was amazing! It was kind of a mix of pork and fish, great with some chili sauce.

Jumatatu
Joost, who we met on the train, myself, Patrick, and Jessica (who I live with in Moshi).
Monday morning we went to see the falls close up. It was just gorgeous, and we got completely soaked, it's like it's raining all the time, and there are constant rainbows everywhere. It's an experience that's hard to describe, but I recommend it to everyone. We walked around the falls for three or four hours. Afterwards myself and one of the guys from the train went to a lion walk. We literally got to interact with lions and take them for a walk. It was a bit daunting at first, there were many rules. Only approach them from the back. If they're laying you crouch, if they stand you stand. Only touch their back and upper leg. Don't touch their paws, head, or ears. Touch them firmly, if you touch too soft you'll just tickle them. If they turn around to see who it is behind them use this stick to distract them (as he shows us a stick that has clearly been chewed upon time and time again). I was the first one to go touch them, it was of course a bit scary but really cool to get up so close with such a powerful animal. We all went for a walk as if in their pride. After the lions we went into a pen to see the African linx, which is much smaller. One of them was quite friendly and rubbed up against my legs just like a house cat. Then we took three cheetahs for a walk. The cheetahs were much more personable (if that makes any sense), you could get right up close to them and give them a hug. They even purr just like house cats (of course much louder than house cats, so at first you think it's a growl). They were on leashes because they are such skittish animals and could run off at any moment, from the slightest noise. I felt more of a connection with the cheetahs, they actually returned the affection, the lions were pretty much indifferent to our presence.



Jumanne
Tuesday it was back on the road. We caught an 8:45 bus from Livingstone to Lusaka. We accidently got the business class bus, so it was a fairly comfortable seven hours. Then we got on another bus around 4pm that would go overnight to the border of Zambia and Tanzania. We started out with 5 adults, 1 baby and 2 children in the back row of the bus, but one person was able to move so we ended up with 4 adults and 2 kids. Of course then later another person came to our row. So, I ended up with a kid on my lap, which of course I was really happy about! His name was Kenan and he's 3 years old. His brother is Kevin and is 4, I had him asleep on my lap for awhile as well. But Kenan spent the entire night on my lap, I was very surprised I didn't get peed on! It was the two boys and their mother, and they were traveling from Johannesburg, South Africa to Uganda, where they had some land and were hoping to farm. Their bag with the boys papers had been stolen and the three of them had been held in prison for two weeks. Of course there's no one to help get papers, so they had to make their way up to Uganda bribing the police the whole way. At one check they paid 200,000 Kwache (about $40), and then had nothing left. The boys were really excited at the biscuits we gave them, and practically inhaled  some bananas. Their mother took my email so hopefully I hear from her someday that they arrived safe.

Jumatano
We arrived in Nakonde (the Zambian side) around 8:15am. Recovered for a bit, changed, brushed our teeth etc. then went through immigration to Tunduma (the Tanzanian side). We then got on a small bus that was only supposed to be two hours but turned into at least 2, then arrived back at Mbeya. There were no buses available to Dar or Moshi that night so we ended up staying at a hotel.

Alhamisi
We got the next bus at 6am Thursday morning. We took it from Mbeya to Chalinze, ten hours. We were told that the conductor had arranged a bus to Moshi for us from there, but in reality we were just dropped on the sidewalk and left to our own devices. We eventually sorted out a bus to Moshi, and probably paid a little too much, but at this point we all just wanted to be home. The bus came, and was full. So, we sat and waited for the next, which would probably be full too, but we didn't really have any other options. It wasn't even a bus stand, just a stop. Eventually these guys who worked for the bus company found a random guy who happened to be driving to Moshi, so the three of us piled into the back of his minivan around 6pm. At one point we stopped for a stretch (and smoke on their part) and I dropped my iPod. iPod number three lost in Tanzania. I knew exactly where and we went all the way back but it was already gone.

We finally got home around 1am Friday morning, after three days of buses.

Sunday, June 10, 2012

Harusi


One of my local friends came and visited Amani this week, it was pretty cute seeing him playing with all the kids. He played football with them for at least an hour, and only stopped because the office was going to close and he wanted to find out about being a monthly sponsor. It’s nice to get more locals involved, and for him to be able to come play with them and be a role model for them. He came back again the next day, I wasn’t even there, he just wanted to play football with them again.

On Thursday the kids and I listened to music on my iPod and Daudi (the special needs boy) and his teacher came over, they’d been gone all day. Daudi sat next to me and put out his hand, and we sat there with him holding on to my arm with both hands, so adorable! If someone came over and wanted a high five he’d use his elbow, he wouldn’t let go. That is until one of the kids volunteered to write on his hand anyway. He has a new teacher so I don’t really get to spend time with him anymore, it’s good to know he still loves me! I really like his new teacher though, Daudi is already really close with him, and he has high expectations of Daudi and is really engaging him.

I wanted to make sure the kids knew I’d be gone for a couple weeks, just so it’s not a surprise. Well, I told Alex and begged me not to go and cried on my lap for a half an hour. I cannot handle making kids cry, saying goodbye for good is going to be absolutely awful. I’d like to visit in January, but that all depends on getting the money, and getting time off (of a job I don’t even have yet), so I can’t promise them anything. Even if I knew I was coming back for a visit, so many get reunified or run away it won’t be the same group of kids if I came back.

On Friday I brought some candy in for the kids, there’s only 25 of them (compared to the usual 90) so I can get some for everyone. I handed it out and caused mayhem, and they were all looking pathetic and saying they didn’t get any and surrounding me. They’re pretty good liars, enough to make you really question it, but I knew they all got it and didn’t give in. Then with an angry mob surrounding me I said “Now should we listen to some music?” and they all screamed and started cheering.


I went to a Tanzanian wedding yesterday! My friend’s brother was getting married. It was really interesting, completely 100% different than anything in America. The church service was pretty confusing for me. My friend didn’t realize that it’s completely different and I would have no idea what to do and was up taking pictures. It’s a lot more participatory than American weddings. At one point everyone got up and was walking to the front but I couldn’t tell what they were doing. I got up and followed looking unbelievably confused. Turns out you gift money to the couple…yea, I didn’t have anything with me. So that was super embarrassing. Then later everyone gets up and shakes hands with everyone else in the church, then get in a line and shake hands with the wedding party. There is only one bridesmaid and one best man. The whole ceremony was interspersed with loud music from a big sound system, yea the wedding had a DJ. Towards the end they signed the wedding certificate and everyone posed for pictures with it. First the priest, then the groom, then the bride. There was loud music as the couple walked out of the church, and everyone followed them out dancing. Once outside the live band kicked in, three trumpets, two trombones, a bass drum and a snare drum. Then everyone just stood there and danced for quite awhile, as the line of cars prepared. The couple got into the front car that was decorated with ribbons, and the band got in the next car, and played from the back of the pick-up truck. Everyone else loaded into their own cars or rented daladalas (mini buses). Then the whole procession went to another place, just like a little bar with a field, to do the photoshoot (which took ages, and it was raining). There is a picture of the whole party so I’m in their wedding photos! The group that attended the wedding was pretty small, just people who were invited by the family. After that the whole procession again went through town to the reception venue. This is when everyone comes, a couple hundred people. Once everyone was in and seated the bride and groom made their entrance, to bongo fleva (Tanzanian hip hop music). There were a lot of speeches, I’m not actually sure what was going on but the DJ was talking for ages and the poor bride had to stand for over an hour (the groom could handle it he was in the army). Then the special guests were introduced, and apparently I was one of them. I had to stand up in the spotlight and wave to everyone, I wasn’t’ really paying attention to how they introduced me but I did hear something about speaking English. After that was the buffet, which took ages for everyone to go up and get food. Luckily I was first, by the time I finished people still hadn’t even started. Then it was time for presents. Groups of people go out to the dance floor and dance around with their gifts while everyone else watches. I brought a set of hand carved candlestick holders. Other gifts were a piece of fabric, a Maasai blanket, a stove, a blender, a pot, etc. So everyone danced around holding their presents up, this took over an hour at the very least. By the time that was finished it was midnight. I’m pretty sure the celebration continued, and I really wanted to go dance but was just too tired. I’d gone out the night before then got up to catch a bus to Arusha at 8am, then another bus to a little town called Monduli, I think about 50km outside of Arusha.
The next day on the way home there were a lot of Maasai on the daladala. There was a young couple that looked like they’d just been married. They were covered in white beads, it was really strange seeing them on a daladala. I also saw some boys who had just had the circumcision ceremony, the wear black robes with white face paint for about a week after the ceremony. Then later on the ride they put an entire bed in the back of the daladala. I mean the sideboards, headboard, footboard, and two planks. The space between the back seat and the door is about a foot, not even. The two long ones were laid on the floor under our feet and the rest were somehow shoved in the back with the door tied shut with a bit of string (once we got to Arusha they kept falling out. They put an entire bed, and a goat, back there.

It was a good weekend, tomorrow morning I’m headed to Dar es Salaam, an 8-10 hour bus ride. I’ll spend the night there then catch the TAZARA train (Tanzania Zambia Railway), which takes two days and goes all the way through Tanzania and Zambia. After that I catch a two hour bus to Lusaka then a six hour bus to Livingstone, and will spend four days at Victoria Falls! I’m going with three friends, we’ve booked first class on the train so we get our own room with four beds and a table. I’d planned to do this all alone so I’m really glad they’ve decided to join. Will definitely blog about it when I get back. I’ll be gone two weeks, then one more week in Moshi town, and back to America!