Whew, Another Week.

I was so worried I'd made it a full week without at least one incredulous story. Not so. This morning, as I saw the bus clang-clang-toot-tootin toward me, I realized ahh, they have no intention of stopping! They knew very well, I'm a white girl with a big backpack and from time-to-time, I need a little coddling. Clearly, I'm no longer a novelty. They made me run and jump on the bus as if we were actually in a hurry for something. The definition of hurry doesn't quite exist in Tanzania. Rather, we saunter, meander, putter even. What was this nonsense? I tried to close my eyes and pretend like I was gaily hopping onto a trolley car in San Francisco. I bumped my head immediately, and opened my eyes. The rest of the ride was uneventful. I had a boobie resting on the side of my arm as a baby was trying nurse, but I'd say that's fairly commonplace these days.

As for the rest of the week, things were same old same old. Took some walks, hung out with people, was a spectacle. The usual. Anyway, I'll write more tomorrow, but we're headed off to grab some rice and beans.

xoxo, til tomorrow

PS-These are pictures of my house! When I moved in it was completely empty. You can see the lovely summer blue paint showcased against the finely varnished couch and chairs. Mwaha. It's all a bit helter skelter, but it's really starting to grow on me! And yes, that is my toilet. Face the wall to pee, the door to poo. Easy as 1-2-3.

Kesho! (Tomorrow)

You're Not Going to Believe this Week...

This has been quite the week of drama: illness, curses, stampedes, riots, and even ANTS IN MY PANTS. And something happened that surely I never expected possible. Something so terrible, so unexpected...I don't think I can ever eat torilla chips again. AHHHH

Let's start at the beginning. It was Monday, which means House-Girl-Day, which also means I Don't-Have-To-Use-Cold-Water-To-Make-Oatmeal-Day. Around 12:30 PM I start the arduous yet rewarding process of making chips and guac from scratch. Chips were about my only option as the only raw ingredient in my house besides pasta is flour. So proud of my accomplishment and completely engrossed in a National Geographic expose' on food crisis, I gobbled teh entire batch. BAD IDEA. I promised myself, woman, no more food until the sun goes down.

Naturally, 1 hour later I'm bored and realize I have (most) of the ingredients to make fudge. My jiko also had a few hot coals in it. I reasoned I'd share the treat and save the rest for later. Let's just say my green thumb for cooking all things chocolate and sugary ends after brownies. Maybe the chocolately porridge would harden inside, I wondered. Or maybe in my lap, or maybe, in my mouth? I never said I could actually execute self-control. Before things escalated out of control, I poured the cavity-a-bite mixture into the grass outside.

At this point, I was just moderately uncomfortable and took a walk to a friends house. Within the hour, however, my entire body was aching. Even my hair was tired. I went home to sit and attempt work. Eventually my best friend, the teacher and wife of the primary school principal came over. Upon learning I felt a lil ill, she insisted I go to her house and be watched. Tanzanians love to look at you when you're sick. It's ettiquette to sit and watch the sick person and help them in any way to recover. Anyway, I agreed like it was ever actually a choice in the first place. I couldn't touch dinner and by 9pm I'm dunzo.

I get back to my house and root around for a thermometer. For some really good reason (?) I was certain it was on the floor inside of my frisbee, next to the nails, matches, and nailpolish. I shine my flashlight and notice a few big ants. What could they have gotten into, I wondered? Upon further inspection, to my total horror, I saw hundreds of ants on my walls, floor, in all of my clothes, and invading my bed. And that's when I felt a stinging pain on my leg. Pulling up my pants I noticed one of the Siafu (the name for biting safari ants). The bastard bit me hard and wouldn't let go. I had a huge welt for a day. With that bit of adrenaline and an abundance of self-pity, I dragged myself back to the teacher's house and spent a sleepless night of moaning and groaning. Next to the rat in my bed, I concede that night as one of my darkest hours.

The next day, Tuesday, I went back to my house around 11am, still feeling horrible. We did a survey of the damage and found the Siafu had moved on leaving MANY dead in their wake. My friend sweeps them up and I go back to bed at her house til evening. I was so ready for my own bed and as I was about to hop in I realized, we hadn't checked out the bed that morning. A colony of Siafu had died in various layers of my blankets, pillow,and sheets. Back to the neighbors.

Wednesday: I was feeling much better. As I was outside cooking, I heard a loud crash. My only vanity allowed in Africa, a full length mirror, had crashed off the wall in a million tiny fragments. OY. I'll deal with that later, I decided. After cooking the beans, I sat in my chair and upon my 1st bite the entire steaming bowl poured in my lap. It soaked through all of my clthes and the cushion. It also drenched sauce all over my new book!
1st thought: Bugs are going to get into my book at night.
2nd thought: Shit, 7 years of bad luck-it's not a joke.
3rd thought: If I start eating the beans on my clothes and chair, there will be less clean up.

Thursday: I hadn't gotten out much this week so I took a walk to buy some eggs. On the way a bull escaped from his pack and started galloping toward me. Ahhh! crisis averted. A few minutes later a woman welcomed me into her fertizlier/alternation shop (I know, I know) and offered me an egg that was sitting on a shelf. The day concluded with no further incidents.

Friday 5:15am: I heard drums pounding wildly and someone shouting into a megaphone. What is going on? The siren on the megaphone started blaring and I'm suddenly wondering whether a riot has hit Mhaji. My 5:15am logic told me to put a bra on in case I was going to be dragged out of my house. I know, 5:15am Katie has a bit of a theatrical streak. I even went so far as to send a text to a neighbor in Kiswahili asking: Shouting-problem or not? Finally I made out some of the shouting and realizing they were annoucning a death/funeral. Once I heard the word for church, my anxiety subsided. This practice of drumming and shouting was also common in my other village but occurred at night instead. Now I know.

And now here I sit, mostly laughing at the series of unfortunate events. Dare I say, it can't get any worse? Nope, I won't say it. In a place as full of spontanaity and well, wildlife as Africa, tomorrow can bring almost anything. And while I can certainly do without ants in my pants, it all makes for a pretty memorable chapter in this strange, strange adventure.

Love to everyone. Tomorrow I'll will post a few picture of my house!

Katie

Pictures!

Hi! I'm in town for just the day so I must be short and sweet. This week was good...VERY busy. I'm learning more Kiswahili everyday and by tonight just MIGHT have all of my furniture!

Instead of writing much, I'll explain the pictures!

1. The PCVs in my village and our families on swear in day in Kilosa.

2. My very own house, which I had almost finished painting in the picture.

3. My devil rent-a-cat. She was taken away and I'll get a kitten anyday now.

4. About half-way through training we planned a toga party!

5. Ashleigh and I modeling the shirts we made!

6. Dada Catherine and me being flashy.

7. Dressing like the Muslim women in TZ.

8. My adorable neighbor Hepe from training.

9. My village group on swear in day.

10. My homestay Mama, Mama Sumary. MISS HER!

11. Some cute kids in my training village.

I don't have many pictures of my new village as I don't want to take out my camera for awhile. It's not that I'm worried about theft, but kids are obsessed with cameras and I'd rather not deal with that yet.

Everything has been pretty good. Lots of meetings and random places to go. My eating habits are quickly deteriorating as I can't or am to lazy to light my jiko (stove). On the days my house girl comes and lights it for me, I make a lot of food and sorta hibernate on it. A new phase has been to cook a lot of pasta and eat the cold leftovers with sugar for breakfast the following morning. Another classy meal is instant oatmeal and COLD water. Finally, and yes, only a fat kid could dream this up: I occasssiionnnallly mix peanut butter, oats, sugar, cocoa powder, and water. Stir it and eat/drink. Oy vey, right?

Alright, gotta get outta here but want to say a million billion thank yous to everyone reading this and supporting me. It is the craziest feeling reading comments, getting phone calls, texts, and letters. It keeps me sane! Thank you thank you thank you.

Lots of love!

Oops...extended stay in town

Yesterday was classic Tanzania. I sauntered around town (one big street with a few side streets) bargaining for vegetables (3 avocados for 30 cents!) and buying enough snickers bars to keep me mentally stable for the next week. I get to my bus about 1 hr early to buy a ticket and secure a good seat.

Christie and I sit on a bunch at the standi and start chatting about this and that when I see my bus rolling down the street. Yes, actually rolling. There were three men running and pushing down the main road. Okay, weird. I wasn't worried it was leaving without me as I'm certain there are laws of physics dictating no African bus can ever leave on time. About 30 minutes later it was being rolled back into the lot. I boarded at 1, with a hopeful 1:15 departure. What I saw was ominous at best. The entire bottom of the front of the bus was missing and men were all over head to toe filthy using makeshift tools. No big deal, I'll sit next to the old, blind man and read my book. 2pm passes, 2:30, 3. No closer to take off. At this point, I'm hungry. Howveer, it's a rule that whatever you eat you must share on a bus. I barely trust where my own hands have been let alone those of my fellow bus patrons. I keep reading and trying not to be a type-A mzungu by keeping the distressed sighs to a minimum.

I finally get off the bus at 3:30 pm and say I'll come back tomorrow. There was something about riding in a bus that took 3 + hours to fix by untrained "mechanics" that reminded me an awful lot of a test-dummy car crash commercial. Christie's bus simply never appeared so we trekked back to the hotel for night two. The two of us, Brie, and our new PC friend Lou, had dinner and watched Lars and the Real Girl. Weird movie.

So here I am, it's 11:11am (make a wish) and I'm about to have second chai and meander to the bus standi. I am REALLY ready to get back to the vil and even feel guilty at having been gone 2 days. I missed a pretty important meeting of the PLWHA group (People Living with HIV/AIDS) yesterday and was supposed to go to the secondary school in the village over this morning to introduce myself. It's okay though because things like this happen all the time. Transportation mishaps are a daily, hourly part of life.

On a final note, I finished painting my living room! I may even get my couch today?!

Be back next Saturday.

XOXO

K

Consumerism, White Slavery, and Paper Machee for Dinner

Hi everyone! I'm in absolutely great spirits. It's 11am, and I've already had breakfast (cold spaghetti sprinkled with sugar...yep, I'm getting creative), taken a bus to town, stood in line for 1.5 hrs at the bank, and now sit happily in the tiki themed internet cafe in Njombe. Life is fab and I'm about to tell you why. But first, let's talk about that time I was almost sold into white slavery.

I hop-actually crawl, kick, and paw my way-onto our 30 seater van/bus which arrived...eventually in Mhaji. There were about 50 people already on board not to mention about 2 tons of maize, potatos, and various other staple perishables looming in my way. I climbed over four burlap sacks of food, 3 chickens, 2 nursing mothers, and a...partridge in a pear tree...okay, no pear tree, but you get the point. It was clearly standing room only at this point so I wedged myself diagonally between a little girl and a woman and held on tightly to the bars above. It's not like I could have really fallen if I tried, but the only place for my hands to go seemed to be up. As we putted down the dirt road I tried not to remember that if I looked down, I could actually see the road through the bus. OY.

About one hour into our ride, I actually get a phone call. (Thanks Alex and Roxanna!! Sorry I lost service.) Imagine this tall (compared to Tanzanians) white girl in a puffly blue North Face Jacket and backpack standing/surfing in the middle of the bus and talking loudly in English. I was a one-woman circus.

Anyway, when we were about 20 minutes from Njombe our bus pulls over to the side of the rode and the Conda (Conductor) started shouting at me, Njoo Dada, Njoo! (Come sister, come). Of course I obeyed. He shuffled me into a nearby car with four people already in the back seat and gave the driver some money. WHAT?! This is it, I have no money left on my phone, I willingly got into a strangers car, it's over. I'm going to be mopping the decks on a pirate ship somewhere for eternity. Ok-I didn't really think that, and truthfully was thrilled to zip into town in a car, but wouldn't it have been funny if I really did become a pirate wrench or something? Those would have been some truly golden blog entries! :)

As we drive into town I see a gaggle of Wazungu (white people). Of course I know them-we are few and far between. I hopped out chased them like a wild woman for about 6 blocks and then commenced together to the bank. After a substantial wait and mannnnny line cutters (I don't think there is a word in Swahili for LINE!) I made it got my much needed moola.

All of that in just one day, and I haven't even had chai yet. Now, let's recap.

This week was busy, busy. Monday and Tuesday I sat in on about 5 grades at the primary school. I observed Kiswahili lessons, math, science, and gardening. I also saw what happens when students are naughty. They get BEAT. Horrible to watch, but I couldn't seem to take my eyes away. The bad kids all line up and take turns getting beat once with a stick on their arm or leg. Then they run to class. Ahh, yuck.

Anyway, Wednesday I went to the village clinic for baby-weighing Wednesday. There were at least 100 kids there and I was told that it was a poor turn-out. It will be a really amazing venue to teach once I have a better grasp on the language and actually know what to teach about.

Thursday my AMAZING house girl started. She really whipped the place into shape. I taught her how to make hot cocoa and we had a lovely little pumzika (rest) together at chai time. Thursday afternoon, fresh off the domestic glow of a clean house, I decided to roll up my sleeves and bake...on a charcoal stove. Without a single unit of measure, not all of the ingredients, and an oven assembled from pots, rocks, and super hot coals, I must say that I made the most DELICIOUS, moist, finger-licking good brownies. They were a hit and everyone was so amazed I could actually do something for myself! I think eventually I'll have a cooking club where we can make fun food together. Home-Ec Africa style.

Every evening this week I went to my Mwalimu Mkuu's (Principal) house. His wife is also a teacher at the school and she seems to find everything I do or say hilarious. Fine by me. They have 3 kids that I'm obsessed with AND a generator to watch TV on at night. I think it may be the only TV in the entire village. Anyway, I bring over crayons and the kids play and I help cook dinner. I even cut up a chicken this week. I'm talking dismembered in its entirety. Aweeesome except for the fact my hands smelled for 2 days. They eat dinner around 9:30 and always force feed me at least a little, which brings me to paper machee food.

Have you ever made paper machee? It's quite easy...flour and water. Have you ever eaten it? No, of course not. Well would it surprise anyone at this point to know that the staple food of Tanzania and many African countries is Ugali. Guess what it's made of? Flour and water. I dare you to try it...I guarantee you won't mess up even if you think it tastes completely and horribly wrong. Bring water to a boil and slowly add in flour. Stir until it's a huge ball of paste/dough. Eat. Then hate yourself. It's actually not that bad. When you dip it with veggies you can barely taste the nontaste of it!

And on my final note...let's talk a little bit about the economy. It sucks, right? Things are pretty tough in TZ too, but on a totally different level. I'm a little embarrassed to have this discussion about finances but I think it will really help put some perspective to the different uses and needs of money here and at home.

Here's the embarrassing part...I'm wearing a pair of $200 jeans. I could justify by saying they were a birthday present, and that they actually were 40% less because I worked at the store they came from. But that's all irrelevant. The jeans barely fitting around my fat, ugali eating ass right now cost 200 big American dollars.

Now let's do a break down on some of my Tanzanian purchases.
A bed, mattress, couch, 2 big chairs, cushions for them all, a wardrobe, and book shelf: Just about 300,000 shillingi or $300. Hmm...

Now let's talk about labor. I pay my fabulous, very hard-working house girl 10,000 shilling/month for coming 3 times/wk. Over two years, that's $240.

Before anyone gets too nervous that I've started batting for the other team (that is the exploitive, wealthy, sweatshop investing club), I have to say, that it's all fair. Ajuaye (my housegirl) is thrilled at the pay and to be quite honest, I was cheated on a lot of the furniture because I'm white. Villagers here are farmers and they eat what they grow. It is completely possible to live in my village for under $20 a month. Excluding any cellphone use, trips to town, or luxuries beyond food or oil.

It has made me start thinking more about the $1/day poverty standard. Don't get me wrong, people here are living in poverty. It's just different when I am living in it with them. The kids wear rags. What were once adorable Pokemon sweatshirts or University of This or That jerseys, are now essentially scraps you'd use to clean your house with. But it's actually not a big deal! You would never hear of a child wanting a Hannah Montana shirt or Nike Ipod shoes. It's not even part of their thought process. You're not naked-good enough. I don't know if I'm being completely insensitive and this is coming out all wrong. It very well may be. I guess I'm trying to communicate that money has a different value here. As does time. Playing in the dirt/grass/cornfield is fun and active and free. 5 kids running around with sticks is every bit as glorifying to them as American kids playing with lightsabers. And guess what, sticks don't need batteries. If they break, you can just bend down and get another one.

Once I develop these thoughts with a little more clarity I'll come back to it. For my remaining 15 minutes of internet, I'm going to play on facebook!

Love everyone and hope you're all happy and healthy!

Katie