I'm currently in Kigoma, Tanzania. I huffed, I puffed, and I climbed up the most beautiful mountains in search of chimpanzees. In short, we found man's closest relative, and damn, were they cute! This trip, far off the beaten path, into a Tanzania I have not yet explored, has exceeded every expectation. Kigoma is so remote that our plans were not solidified until the day before take off. In a series of fortunate coincidences I am about to board a WWI ferry and head south for 2 days to the last port in TZ.
I've been keeping notes and a full report is on its way. This trip, long awaited and well deserved, is just what the doctor ordered. I'm eager to get home, check on my chickens, rile up the batik group, and play some netball with my 7th graders.
I've neglected my blog and apologize. In the blur of the new year I simply have found my life unremarkable. Day in and day out are very much the same. Stay in touch and I promise a new and fabulous entry in the next 2 weeks.
xoxo
Friday, March 12, 2010
Friday, January 29, 2010
Underwhelmed
This morning on the village bus, squashed between a woman with a chicken in her purse and a 20-something man wearing a black jean jacket with gold-lamee tassles cascading in all directions, I realized something...I do NOT fit in here. This epiphany can only mean 1 of 2 things. First, my skin is now so thick I don't register lingering stares or the piercing sobs of children literally terrified I will chop their heads off. Or second, I'm an idiot and it's taken me 20 months to realize that I'm a white girl living in a village. Feel free to place your bets, but I'm siding with Option 1 for ego's sake.
Since getting back to the village after 3.5 glorious weeks in America (and a less glorious 9lb weight gain), I have felt, well, under stimulated. Village life is boring! A full day consists of making coffee, playing with children, buying tomatoes, cooking a meal, reading, and maybe a walk if it's not torrentially raining. My projects are all in an in-between phase now so beyond a quick phone call or 20 minute meeting, I've got absolutely nothing to do. I can't decide whether this pace is ideal and I'm too high strung to appreciate it, or if this pace is a type of torture designed to make me go insane day-by-day.
On a positive note, the chickens have started laying eggs! Only about 4 are laying each day but this number will continue to increase over the next few weeks. Thursday I held a meeting with the teachers to discuss the details of the money and how to make the project transparent (AKA-the principal will not be getting his sticky fingers anywhere near the loot). The toilets, while completed last year, finally had doors installed last week. As for batik, I was able to sell 15 batiks in America! Thanks to everyone who supported the awesome women in my Mama's group. We will begin making village oriented fabric next week.
It's safe to say, I'm in the home stretch. I have 6 full months of service left until I can finally pat myself on the back. I will not be continuing my Peace Corps service. I can only take so many surprises-the latest, bed bugs. UGH. I'm beginning to consider my options for work in Tanzania. I simply refuse to return to America and waitress indefinitely when I could be getting great experience in the development field here. For the sake of my mom's well-being, however, if anyone hears of jobs stateside, let me know! :) My only requirement is living in a city that has at least part-time electricity.
Nothing else to report for now. Love to everyone.
PS-Leave a comment! I change the settings so anyone can. Trust me, you will make my day. xo
Since getting back to the village after 3.5 glorious weeks in America (and a less glorious 9lb weight gain), I have felt, well, under stimulated. Village life is boring! A full day consists of making coffee, playing with children, buying tomatoes, cooking a meal, reading, and maybe a walk if it's not torrentially raining. My projects are all in an in-between phase now so beyond a quick phone call or 20 minute meeting, I've got absolutely nothing to do. I can't decide whether this pace is ideal and I'm too high strung to appreciate it, or if this pace is a type of torture designed to make me go insane day-by-day.
On a positive note, the chickens have started laying eggs! Only about 4 are laying each day but this number will continue to increase over the next few weeks. Thursday I held a meeting with the teachers to discuss the details of the money and how to make the project transparent (AKA-the principal will not be getting his sticky fingers anywhere near the loot). The toilets, while completed last year, finally had doors installed last week. As for batik, I was able to sell 15 batiks in America! Thanks to everyone who supported the awesome women in my Mama's group. We will begin making village oriented fabric next week.
It's safe to say, I'm in the home stretch. I have 6 full months of service left until I can finally pat myself on the back. I will not be continuing my Peace Corps service. I can only take so many surprises-the latest, bed bugs. UGH. I'm beginning to consider my options for work in Tanzania. I simply refuse to return to America and waitress indefinitely when I could be getting great experience in the development field here. For the sake of my mom's well-being, however, if anyone hears of jobs stateside, let me know! :) My only requirement is living in a city that has at least part-time electricity.
Nothing else to report for now. Love to everyone.
PS-Leave a comment! I change the settings so anyone can. Trust me, you will make my day. xo
Sunday, December 20, 2009
Pictures!
Picture 1-This is Ajuaye my good friend and 'maid'. She gave birth to Zena Elizabeth in November. She gave me a huge honor by giving Zena my middle name!
2-This is an annual church celebration for one of my mama's who is the leader of the Catholic church.
3-My friend Peter and I sharing a goat leg on Thanksgiving day!
4-My little buddy Adela's 9th birthday.
5-It's customary to feed each other cake on special occasions. This idea was stolen from American weddings and has spiraled into every event!
6-The boys slaughtered a goat (and later a duck) for Thanksgiving. YUMM
Oh say can you see...
I'm in America. AMERICA! It's even shinier than I remembered! The roads are smooth, the food, abundant, and finally I'm just another anonymous American going through the motions. My motions, however, are fulfilled blissfully. Send me to the grocery store for a loaf of bread and I'll return 2 hours later. After all, it's my patriotic duty to pirouette down each aisle admiring, touching, and giggling at the veritable cornucopia of choice. Mundane tasks like filling the gas tank are opportunities to soak in the beauty of a functioning society. In Tanzania we travel with liters of gas in milk cartons to top up after we've come to a halt in the middle of nowhere.
These rose, white, and blue colored glasses are temporary. I can't forever be impressed by the 225 types of crackers for sale. I'm realizing America equates consumerism. I forgot how inundated we are by advertisements. We are all material whores. Look around you. How many things at your desk are critical to your survival? How many things in a two-foot radius do you actually use? I'm not pointing fingers, because this is our culture. We proved we can survive, now we're all gluttons. More, bigger, leather interior, 500 gazillion gigabytes, sleek, sexy, status. Who are we? We cloak ourselves in gadgets and gizmos, MAC makeup and mini dresses. In America we live so easily through alter egos. But strip it all away, all the clothes and cars, the feng shui apartment, the fake tits, the Ray Bans, the convertible. Are we even likable? Do we have heart? Are we interesting?
I'm not advocating a mass material bonfire. People work hard to buy their happiness. I'm also not saying manual farm labor is a more fulfilling existence. I'm only sharing with you my quest to find a middle ground. In my strange and cluttered mind (think Japanese anime meets Chelsea Handler meets a chubby 14 year old boy), the place I can relax most, is where I'm ankle deep in chicken shit tending to my animals. For a girl once barely capable of remembering to fill the dog's bowl, I am now a chicken farmer. Why do I do it? And more importantly, why do I enjoy it? There is immeasurable satisfaction that comes with taking control of one's surroundings and learning to use nature to survive. Strip away the grocery store, GPS, google, and who would last five minutes? The pleasure of eating tomatoes that you nurtured from seedlings or scrambling eggs from your own backyard...come on, that's living! I don't want to be a farmer. Come August 2010 the closest I want to be to a farm is a Farmer's Market. I also don't want to disguise myself with the smoke and mirror bullshit materialism that supposedly defines our success and happiness.
For now, I'm reveling in the novelty of America. When I go to the bars in Scottsdale I fit in. Well, at least until I open my mouth. To shun consumerism, our American culture, is overwhelming and frankly, senseless. I would be an outsider. For 1.5 years I've been an outsider in terms of race, religion, culture, and education. While standing on the edge of it all has its perks on perspective, let's be honest...I enjoy a nice meal, a spiky pair of stilettos, and the easy existence of friends, family, and an Ipod Touch.
America and I have a complicated but empathetic relationship. We may not be life partners, but we're in an open relationship that is finally based on trust, understanding, and patience. I love America. Despite her questionable priorities, vanity, and total disregard for the preservation of resources, I can see her inner strength and perseverance.
Take a look around you today. Examine all of the clutter in your life. Don't throw it away, don't feel guilty. Just be aware. But excuse me, it's time for my 2pm kitchen raid.
Patriotically yours,
Kate
These rose, white, and blue colored glasses are temporary. I can't forever be impressed by the 225 types of crackers for sale. I'm realizing America equates consumerism. I forgot how inundated we are by advertisements. We are all material whores. Look around you. How many things at your desk are critical to your survival? How many things in a two-foot radius do you actually use? I'm not pointing fingers, because this is our culture. We proved we can survive, now we're all gluttons. More, bigger, leather interior, 500 gazillion gigabytes, sleek, sexy, status. Who are we? We cloak ourselves in gadgets and gizmos, MAC makeup and mini dresses. In America we live so easily through alter egos. But strip it all away, all the clothes and cars, the feng shui apartment, the fake tits, the Ray Bans, the convertible. Are we even likable? Do we have heart? Are we interesting?
I'm not advocating a mass material bonfire. People work hard to buy their happiness. I'm also not saying manual farm labor is a more fulfilling existence. I'm only sharing with you my quest to find a middle ground. In my strange and cluttered mind (think Japanese anime meets Chelsea Handler meets a chubby 14 year old boy), the place I can relax most, is where I'm ankle deep in chicken shit tending to my animals. For a girl once barely capable of remembering to fill the dog's bowl, I am now a chicken farmer. Why do I do it? And more importantly, why do I enjoy it? There is immeasurable satisfaction that comes with taking control of one's surroundings and learning to use nature to survive. Strip away the grocery store, GPS, google, and who would last five minutes? The pleasure of eating tomatoes that you nurtured from seedlings or scrambling eggs from your own backyard...come on, that's living! I don't want to be a farmer. Come August 2010 the closest I want to be to a farm is a Farmer's Market. I also don't want to disguise myself with the smoke and mirror bullshit materialism that supposedly defines our success and happiness.
For now, I'm reveling in the novelty of America. When I go to the bars in Scottsdale I fit in. Well, at least until I open my mouth. To shun consumerism, our American culture, is overwhelming and frankly, senseless. I would be an outsider. For 1.5 years I've been an outsider in terms of race, religion, culture, and education. While standing on the edge of it all has its perks on perspective, let's be honest...I enjoy a nice meal, a spiky pair of stilettos, and the easy existence of friends, family, and an Ipod Touch.
America and I have a complicated but empathetic relationship. We may not be life partners, but we're in an open relationship that is finally based on trust, understanding, and patience. I love America. Despite her questionable priorities, vanity, and total disregard for the preservation of resources, I can see her inner strength and perseverance.
Take a look around you today. Examine all of the clutter in your life. Don't throw it away, don't feel guilty. Just be aware. But excuse me, it's time for my 2pm kitchen raid.
Patriotically yours,
Kate
Thursday, November 19, 2009
Almost Home
19 days until I board a plane to the Promised Land. In my book, that’s 19 days too long. To put it lyrically, village life is killing me softly. I’ve been primarily running between 3 construction sites, raising chickens practically single-handedly (sustainability???), and teaching batik making to a women’s group in a sub-village about an hour away on foot. A few weeks ago while contracting transportation prices for bricks, I came across a cold, ugly truth. The principal and carpenter had been stealing hundreds of dollars from the school toilets. I’ve been told repeatedly not to trust anyone, and for the most part, I don’t. What happened is they negotiated the ‘good’ price with a driver and gave me the cost. If a white person negotiates a price in Tanzania it will generally be about twice of what a Tanzanian is quoted. I entrusted this duty into the hands of our principal, someone who is also part of my village family. Not only did he give me the wrong price, but he and the carpenter invented extra trips that never really happened. Why did they do this? The list is never-ending. First, I’m white. Naturally they’re entitled to my money as there is always plenty more where it came from. Second, in most ways, I’ll always be a guest. I’m not Tanzanian. I’m also an unlikely source of education and respect in the village. I guarantee I’m the only 23 year old that hears ‘Shikamoo’ (Swahili greeting for I respect you) from people twice my age. Anyway, these cocky men assumed I didn’t have the capacity or intelligence to sort out their dirty schemes.
When this all came to light I took it to a ward government official and he immediately crusaded into the principal’s office guns blazing. After an hour of denials and plans for a meeting the following day, I stormed to my house, slammed a few doors, and if those walls could talk, oh my…Anyway, that night the principal and carpenter, tails between their legs, returned most of the money to the government. They also presented a receipt with bogus claims of how the rest of the money was used. I was even more furious that they admitted to stealing but were still trying to get away with it! I refused to forgive them. This is a respect-based culture and I used a few choice words to make it clear their sins were not yet absolved. 3 days later, all the money was back.
It was a devastating incident. I’ve been robbed constantly since arriving in Tanzania. Weeks ago it was my ipod in an Njombe hotel where Peace Corps has had a relationship for 20 years. I’ve been robbed of clothes, money, medicine, a bike, dignity (after 3 TZ beers, that may be my own fault!). Needless to say, I am jaded. I can’t trust anyone, especially people’s intentions. How can someone laugh with me, sit in my home, work by my side and then rob me blind? I know, I know, it happens every day. I just wanted to believe people were good. Ha. After a year and a half in Peace Corps, what do I think? People suck. Do I regret coming here? Never. Am I doing sustainable work? Highly doubtful. Will some people in the village be better off because I knew them? Actually, I think yes. There’s an up-and-coming generation in Mhaji who can blow kisses, give bear hugs, use crayons, and who will never be afraid of white people. If all I did was nurture some dirty village children, I’m content to say-mission accomplished.
My main focus until December is batik. I’ll be bringing home some beautiful cloths to sell next month. The money will buy more supplies and give the women a little money to buy soap, oil, and other essentials. Some of my best moments this month have been sitting in our batik ‘office’ telling stories with the women about America and desperately trying to decipher what the hell they’re saying in the tribal language. Most people in the village prefer KiBena over KiSwahili to my dismay. We’ve shared some real belly laughs. Yesterday I was telling them about life in America and how if you don’t have money you’ll live on the street. One of the women asked if she’d be killed if she slept on the road. I said it was possible and throughout the entire 7 hours of batik yesterday she went against the grain saying she had no desire to go to America and have her head cut off. Maybe you had to be there. The rest of the women, however, are ready and willing to leave their husbands and children to drive a car and stop farming. I wish there was some way to show them America but realistically the closest they’ll get are my words and pictures. I can’t wait to shock and awe them with pictures of the freeway, grocery store, and mall. I’ve told them we have 300 brands of cookies and they think I’m nuts.
Quick project update: Chickens are 3 months and HUGE! They’ll start laying eggs in January. School toilets will be completed next week (fingers crossed). Church toilets were finished yesterday. Community toilets will be finished in 2 weeks. Final HIV village testing day is on Tuesday. I have two more walls to paint of the birthing room. Life skills is on hold until I get back in January. Orphan projects are on-going and unfortunately I have to postpone our trip to town until January. Most of the kids have never left the village so I’m planning a day trip to Njombe and a tour of the bank, market, and post office.
Happy early Thanksgiving!
Next time I write, it will be from America. Although I have a sick fear of flying, I’m actually looking forward to being on a form of transportation in which I get an entire seat to myself, my own selection of entertainment, and don’t have to close my eyes and hold my breath at every turn. I may even skip the Xanex just to catch up on the year and half of movies I’ve missed!
Lots of love to everyone.
Kate
When this all came to light I took it to a ward government official and he immediately crusaded into the principal’s office guns blazing. After an hour of denials and plans for a meeting the following day, I stormed to my house, slammed a few doors, and if those walls could talk, oh my…Anyway, that night the principal and carpenter, tails between their legs, returned most of the money to the government. They also presented a receipt with bogus claims of how the rest of the money was used. I was even more furious that they admitted to stealing but were still trying to get away with it! I refused to forgive them. This is a respect-based culture and I used a few choice words to make it clear their sins were not yet absolved. 3 days later, all the money was back.
It was a devastating incident. I’ve been robbed constantly since arriving in Tanzania. Weeks ago it was my ipod in an Njombe hotel where Peace Corps has had a relationship for 20 years. I’ve been robbed of clothes, money, medicine, a bike, dignity (after 3 TZ beers, that may be my own fault!). Needless to say, I am jaded. I can’t trust anyone, especially people’s intentions. How can someone laugh with me, sit in my home, work by my side and then rob me blind? I know, I know, it happens every day. I just wanted to believe people were good. Ha. After a year and a half in Peace Corps, what do I think? People suck. Do I regret coming here? Never. Am I doing sustainable work? Highly doubtful. Will some people in the village be better off because I knew them? Actually, I think yes. There’s an up-and-coming generation in Mhaji who can blow kisses, give bear hugs, use crayons, and who will never be afraid of white people. If all I did was nurture some dirty village children, I’m content to say-mission accomplished.
My main focus until December is batik. I’ll be bringing home some beautiful cloths to sell next month. The money will buy more supplies and give the women a little money to buy soap, oil, and other essentials. Some of my best moments this month have been sitting in our batik ‘office’ telling stories with the women about America and desperately trying to decipher what the hell they’re saying in the tribal language. Most people in the village prefer KiBena over KiSwahili to my dismay. We’ve shared some real belly laughs. Yesterday I was telling them about life in America and how if you don’t have money you’ll live on the street. One of the women asked if she’d be killed if she slept on the road. I said it was possible and throughout the entire 7 hours of batik yesterday she went against the grain saying she had no desire to go to America and have her head cut off. Maybe you had to be there. The rest of the women, however, are ready and willing to leave their husbands and children to drive a car and stop farming. I wish there was some way to show them America but realistically the closest they’ll get are my words and pictures. I can’t wait to shock and awe them with pictures of the freeway, grocery store, and mall. I’ve told them we have 300 brands of cookies and they think I’m nuts.
Quick project update: Chickens are 3 months and HUGE! They’ll start laying eggs in January. School toilets will be completed next week (fingers crossed). Church toilets were finished yesterday. Community toilets will be finished in 2 weeks. Final HIV village testing day is on Tuesday. I have two more walls to paint of the birthing room. Life skills is on hold until I get back in January. Orphan projects are on-going and unfortunately I have to postpone our trip to town until January. Most of the kids have never left the village so I’m planning a day trip to Njombe and a tour of the bank, market, and post office.
Happy early Thanksgiving!
Next time I write, it will be from America. Although I have a sick fear of flying, I’m actually looking forward to being on a form of transportation in which I get an entire seat to myself, my own selection of entertainment, and don’t have to close my eyes and hold my breath at every turn. I may even skip the Xanex just to catch up on the year and half of movies I’ve missed!
Lots of love to everyone.
Kate
Wednesday, October 7, 2009
Malaria Day 4
So I have malaria. It's just not as exotic as you would think. And for anyone not totally up to speed on their African diseases, malaria is what happens when an infected mosquito bites you. If you're a healthy person, the symptoms are generally like a bad flu. I'm taking medicine and just pretty weak from not eating in a few days. I'm on the upswing and hope to head home to the village tomorrow.
No other news.
Happy Birthday Marcy on Friday!
Countdown to America: 64 days!
xox
PS-Have a new side project idea. I've been having great discussions with villagers about development and potential of Tanzania and how HIV is going to impact the future. In my region of TZ, Iringa, the HIV rate is 21% compared to a national 5.5%. The responses I get in how the discrepancy came to be are fascinating. Idea: Get the ideas from all types of village characters from teachers, politicians, cooks, housegirls, farmers, etc. I've so far talked to the primary school principal and my house girl and the responses are just polar opposite. So interesting! Keep you posted..
PSS-There is a new blog post below as well.
No other news.
Happy Birthday Marcy on Friday!
Countdown to America: 64 days!
xox
PS-Have a new side project idea. I've been having great discussions with villagers about development and potential of Tanzania and how HIV is going to impact the future. In my region of TZ, Iringa, the HIV rate is 21% compared to a national 5.5%. The responses I get in how the discrepancy came to be are fascinating. Idea: Get the ideas from all types of village characters from teachers, politicians, cooks, housegirls, farmers, etc. I've so far talked to the primary school principal and my house girl and the responses are just polar opposite. So interesting! Keep you posted..
PSS-There is a new blog post below as well.
Sunday, September 27, 2009
Blah!
This blog was written on September 25.
Blah as opposed to blah, blah, blah, sums up my current demeanor. Enthusiasm-blah. Contentedness-blah. Progress-blahhhhhhh. For the first time ever I have wistfully looked into the distance picturing what would happen if I gave everything up and ran back to America. Obviously that's not an option as I am tied up in grants, promises, and pride. I'm at the 15-month mark, and fighting hard not to be jaded. Idealism has long been chucked out the window but I'm not yet a cynic. It's probably going to get better and with America and France to look forward to in just 74 days (not that I'm counting), I know I can make it. I have every intention of coming back reenergized and motivated to close out my service with a smile.
After I leave the internet cafe I'm off to a 40 cent lunch of rice, beans, and extremely greasy greens. Then the routine. Buy a package of pasta, enough candles to last the week and a handful of tomatos, onions, peppers, and garlic. Squeeze myself and belongings in between a village of people to secure my 2inch 'seat' on the bus. Fight with the conductor over the real price and 'mzungu' (white) price and find my happy place. Thankfully the ride is only about 20 minutes, up to 40 depending on the amount of police stops and drunk people. Then I sit on a bicycle for an additional 30, return home and carefully inspect for any sign of rats/army ants/cockroaches/cat poop/or bees nests.
Today I have a meeting with the mama's batik group. We are discussing batik patterns which we will then hire a village artist to draw. I am really dragging my feet in the mud with this project as I have major reservations. I'm unsure of the professional, artistic, and business capabilities of the women. One thing that reassures me, however, is their enthusiasm. Perhaps it's unfair to say I'm worried about their potential shortcomings. Truthfully I’m more concerned that I'm not able to lead a fledgling business.
For a quick update: The toilets are near completed although I have just been asked for an additional $500. While the Tanzanians working on this project are absolutely not stealing, they are tapping me to the last penny. They assume that I am an endless source of money and patience. Mid-way through the project they decided to change some of the building plans without consulting me on the cost. I am completely against a wall here and have no choice but to comply. Thankfully, I have received private donations for the toilets that supplement new costs.
The chickens are plumping up daily and have received their vaccinations and TLC like clock work. Unfortunately this clock work is largely dependent on myself and counterpart being present. Not a day goes by that I visit the chicken coup, wading around barefoot in chicken shit, and realizing the students and teachers have overlooked the completely dry water dish or food trough. Oops. I started passive-aggressively telling some people if the 'volunteers' don't start taking their job more seriously, come laying time, I'll be reaping 100 eggs a day for myself.
The orphan garden is on hold until just before the rains. Our village, like all other villages, is having a major water crisis. Crisis being-there is no water. With hardly enough to bathe, wash dishes, cook, and boil drinking water, I am in no position to start a sprawling vegetable garden. This project must wait until early November. I do plan on FINALLY making a house-to-house orphan quality of life assessment this month. The next step is also to identify children living with 1 parent but in unsuitable conditions.
This week I will be painting our labor-room a breezy summer blue. The room is dismal and makes giving birth look like a punishable offense. The women are currently delivering (sans ANY medicine) on a wooden, rickety bed because the government issued hospital bed is broken. At least when I get through with the room, hopefully adding silk flowers and pretty curtains, the room will feel less, well, abysmal. Did I mention that 1 day after popping out a baby au natural, you walk home, child strapped to your back, personal belongings in hand? No. Thank. You.
All else is fiiine. Will try to stay in better touch.
xoxo,
Kate
Blah as opposed to blah, blah, blah, sums up my current demeanor. Enthusiasm-blah. Contentedness-blah. Progress-blahhhhhhh. For the first time ever I have wistfully looked into the distance picturing what would happen if I gave everything up and ran back to America. Obviously that's not an option as I am tied up in grants, promises, and pride. I'm at the 15-month mark, and fighting hard not to be jaded. Idealism has long been chucked out the window but I'm not yet a cynic. It's probably going to get better and with America and France to look forward to in just 74 days (not that I'm counting), I know I can make it. I have every intention of coming back reenergized and motivated to close out my service with a smile.
After I leave the internet cafe I'm off to a 40 cent lunch of rice, beans, and extremely greasy greens. Then the routine. Buy a package of pasta, enough candles to last the week and a handful of tomatos, onions, peppers, and garlic. Squeeze myself and belongings in between a village of people to secure my 2inch 'seat' on the bus. Fight with the conductor over the real price and 'mzungu' (white) price and find my happy place. Thankfully the ride is only about 20 minutes, up to 40 depending on the amount of police stops and drunk people. Then I sit on a bicycle for an additional 30, return home and carefully inspect for any sign of rats/army ants/cockroaches/cat poop/or bees nests.
Today I have a meeting with the mama's batik group. We are discussing batik patterns which we will then hire a village artist to draw. I am really dragging my feet in the mud with this project as I have major reservations. I'm unsure of the professional, artistic, and business capabilities of the women. One thing that reassures me, however, is their enthusiasm. Perhaps it's unfair to say I'm worried about their potential shortcomings. Truthfully I’m more concerned that I'm not able to lead a fledgling business.
For a quick update: The toilets are near completed although I have just been asked for an additional $500. While the Tanzanians working on this project are absolutely not stealing, they are tapping me to the last penny. They assume that I am an endless source of money and patience. Mid-way through the project they decided to change some of the building plans without consulting me on the cost. I am completely against a wall here and have no choice but to comply. Thankfully, I have received private donations for the toilets that supplement new costs.
The chickens are plumping up daily and have received their vaccinations and TLC like clock work. Unfortunately this clock work is largely dependent on myself and counterpart being present. Not a day goes by that I visit the chicken coup, wading around barefoot in chicken shit, and realizing the students and teachers have overlooked the completely dry water dish or food trough. Oops. I started passive-aggressively telling some people if the 'volunteers' don't start taking their job more seriously, come laying time, I'll be reaping 100 eggs a day for myself.
The orphan garden is on hold until just before the rains. Our village, like all other villages, is having a major water crisis. Crisis being-there is no water. With hardly enough to bathe, wash dishes, cook, and boil drinking water, I am in no position to start a sprawling vegetable garden. This project must wait until early November. I do plan on FINALLY making a house-to-house orphan quality of life assessment this month. The next step is also to identify children living with 1 parent but in unsuitable conditions.
This week I will be painting our labor-room a breezy summer blue. The room is dismal and makes giving birth look like a punishable offense. The women are currently delivering (sans ANY medicine) on a wooden, rickety bed because the government issued hospital bed is broken. At least when I get through with the room, hopefully adding silk flowers and pretty curtains, the room will feel less, well, abysmal. Did I mention that 1 day after popping out a baby au natural, you walk home, child strapped to your back, personal belongings in hand? No. Thank. You.
All else is fiiine. Will try to stay in better touch.
xoxo,
Kate
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