A little pep talk...

Living over here so far away from family and friends has forced me to rely on myself a lot more than I thought I’d be capable of. Now, I’m fine with that change and for the opportunity to grow. But. When I get to a handwritten letter or am able to chat with a family member or friend for even just a few minutes on facebook or G-chat, I realize how much I really do need their active support and encouragement. It’s not that I need a cheering section complete with uniforms and pom-poms; I simply crave the old and familiar connections of home. That’s what gives me refuge in my hardest times here, that’s what gives me comfort when I’m sick. I realize I also need to remember why I came over here…

I’ll be honest . . . lately, times have been a bit tough. It may be the scary and ever so dreaded one-year mark us PCVs hear about, or it could be a lack of work in my village. It seems no matter how much work I put into a project or thought; something happens that prevents it from coming to completion. For example, my World AIDS Day event (a village wide testing day) has been postponed, maybe canceled due to a shortage of tests at the District level. How are we supposed to support the testing for HIV when we can’t even get tests? Another example, the one project I’ve been excited for at my Health Dispensary may not happen either. They desperately need a new and safer delivery bed, but the people who need to be involved and invested may not make the time or effort; therefore it can and should not happen. I cannot write a grant myself. I cannot ‘give’ them what they want, for it will ultimately be unsustainable. And this is what they will expect from all ‘wazungu’. I cannot push and push them to do the work either, for that is not going to make them want to help any more than if I were to care less about the project. However, there are a few accomplishments and successes that have been tangible here and those are the ones I need to dwell on. Those are the ones I need to contract my encouragement from.

So, when I feel utterly useless here, I realize I need to remember why I’ve thought about Peace Corps since I was a freshman in college. Since stepping off the plane from Ghana.  Why I wanted to come live here for so many years. I’m afraid the cliché answer is also my answer. I wanted to make a difference. I wanted to get a life experience only a handful of people would understand. I wanted to challenge myself in ways I never thought possible. I wanted to walk down a path in my village no one else will walk down. I wanted difficulty. So, that’s what I got. This is the challenging part; this is when I need to re-read my aspiration statement. To remember why I decided leaving my life in America to learn a new culture, language, and way of life in Tanzania would be a good idea.

It’s a good idea, because I’m learning more about myself than most people will probably ever know about themselves. I know that I can do this. Now, while that knowledge may get clouded and misplaced sometimes, it’s always there. And, that while life may not always be easy, I know I can ultimately persevere and succeed. 

Thank you.

I am enormously appreciative of people’s kindness and generosity back at home. Care packages and letters really do make it easier to live here. It’s like love in a box. I don’t know what I’d do without my mom constantly accepting my list of things I need/want (licorice!) and diligently getting those things together for me. I think it helps that she likes to shop J Thanks Mom!

To all of my siblings, whom have the busiest lives I know, and still managed to send me packages; thanks Jonathan/Mary, Erica/Zach, and Laura (with the help of Joe!).

To my Aunt Dorothy and her friend Darlene who contributed in helping to send me a Christmas package. Thank you Dorothy and Darlene! Please keep reading my blog!

And to all my friends back at home, from childhood, and college; I appreciate all the time and money it takes to put a package together and send it to Africa J Thank you Rebecca, Tera, Liz, Becky, Shannon, Adam, and Karolyn!

It’s remarkable the impact you have on someone that makes them want to help and send a package. Thank you: Joan, my NY mentor; Jaci and Neil, by far the best couple I’ve worked for (how’s the paint job holding up?); and Shannon Fredrick, my forever YMCA friend. I appreciate your thoughtfulness!

Thank you to everyone who has taken the time to put together a package, or write a letter. Those are priceless. Your kindness and thoughtfulness has not gone undetected.

And I promise that if any of you find yourselves in Africa or another obscure place, you can definitely expect some love in a box J

I hope everyone is doing well! Hug America for me! And please someone eat a sandwich for me!!!!

WORK?! I'm a PCV, what's that? Jk, we really do work here.

So how about I fill you all in on what I’ve actually been WORKING on here in Tanzania for the last 9 months…

I helped start a Community Based Savings Group in my village. The organization Aga Khan, employs Field Officers who come right to my village; I just had to get the right people in touch with the right people. The purpose of this group is for all 25 members to each put in a fixed amount of money each week to the community pot. They can also put in an amount of their choosing to the loan pot. Then, they are able to take out loans for whatever they may need it for, business investments, hut repair, school fees, etc. They have 3 months to repay their loan, with the additional money from the small interest rate. This will enable the villagers to save their money in a safe place for emergencies. It is actually a great concept here in the village, and Aga Khan is a very respectable organization with diligent employees who thrive on timeliness and professionalism.

Each month, I help out with the baby weighing clinics at the Health Dispensary in my village. Sometimes I help the mamas put the cloth on the babies so they can put them on the scale hook, and sometimes I help fill out the cards measuring the progress of the baby and their weight. To my surprise, only a handful of babies were severely underweight or had lost weight as they’ve grown. I thought the number would be much higher. However, just because a majority of the babies are at a healthy weight doesn’t mean they’re healthy. Nutrition is a huge difficulty here. Even for me! Especially when their diets consist mostly of starches and sugar. In general, good nutrition is nonexistent.

One evening in June, Population Services International (PSI) came to my village. They are a mobile movie unit that come from Mtwara and travels to different villages to show educational films. They drive through the village inviting everyone to come to the FREE movies to be shown at the market area; then they take out their generator and set up a projector and screen. My sitemate’s village (who is gone now :/) and my village were combined because we live so close, so there were about 400 villagers there total. They showed one movie about protecting adolescents from early pregnancy, and one about the importance of being faithful. The villagers loved the movies! However, this is probably because only about a fourth of the people in my village have ever left my village, so the rest have never seen a movie on a big projector. And, also, it’s not everyday that a car arrives with a movie screen and generator for a night of education and entertainment.

There’s this girl in my village that is HIV+. Now, the stigmas that are attached to HIV/AIDS don’t allow many people to talk about such a topic openly. I was put in touch with her through an RPCV who she had once worked with. I agreed to meet with her and help in any way possible. She came over and we sat on my front porch talking. She was super shy at first so I was doing a lot of the talking. Eventually, I sorted out that she lives with her grandma who is also HIV+, her aunt, and her aunt’s daughter. I finally understood what she expected from me when she, in a vastly roundabout way, asked me for bus fare. Money. ALWAYS money. I felt awful, but I kept telling her that I literally can’t give her money; I don’t have a salary and, thus, can’t give her money. Besides, me giving her money wouldn’t do either of us any good. She’d still need money the next time she had to travel anywhere, and everyone in the village would be knocking on my door expecting me to give them money. I told her I’m here to be her friend, talk with her, and/or teach her health education. It took her a while to get up and go back home, empty-handed. And, it also took her a good 3 weeks before she decided that I wasn’t such a bad person, and it was worth it to allow me to teach her. So, we’ve had two sessions (puberty and menstruation), and she’s agreed to come every Monday evening. I’ll eventually teach a few sessions about HIV/AIDS, nutrition, and the importance of taking her medications, along with other health sessions. But, for now, I’m going to ease her into some basic health and hygiene information to try to keep her as healthy as possible. If all I do is teach this one girl about being healthy for the entire 2 years I’m here, I can give myself a pat on the back; because I will have helped educate one HIV+ young girl.

I helped to re-start a chicken group. The volunteer before me started it, but it fell apart when she left (which isn’t abnormal). So, I had a meeting with a few core members of the group and they decided to restart the meetings and move forward. To the best of my understanding (I’m still learning, I’m not an environment volunteer after all), the ultimate purpose of this chicken group is income generation. They will eventually be able to breed enough chickens, which they will be able to sell along with their eggs for profit. Right now, they are in the process of finishing the construction of the chicken coop. Each member puts in a certain amount of money each week to buy the materials to make cement and then they each take turns building a portion of the coop. Once they have a safe and secure place to house the chickens, each member contributes one healthy chicken, it is then my job to go to town with the mission of buying two high-quality roosters. Yes, I will be that annoying person with a few live roosters on the bus. Once they officially figure out a schedule of feeding them, taking care of them, and looking out for any difficulties; they will be able to sell the eggs. A schedule for the overall management of the chicken group and the chickens is necessary. Without this management the whole project could either fall apart or just one person may be stuck with all the work of caring for the chickens. Then, in the future, they will be able to sell the chickens, thus fulfilling the income-generating scheme.

I am also working on two different types of grants. The first is to organize a World AIDS Day village-wide testing day. World AIDS Day is on Dec. 1^st, and I’d like two HIV testers and one counselor to come from the hospital in town and perform confidential HIV testing to whoever will attend from my village. I’ve met and talked with the District AIDS Coordinator in town and am currently working on the budget. Now, I’m going to try to make it a semi-fun day, and hopefully they will be able to overlook the stigmas and enjoy themselves while becoming educated on one of the most important topics concerning health in Africa. I’m planning on having music and speakers to draw attention and invite people to the event. The testers will begin confidential testing in two separate classrooms whenever people start to arrive. I will pan on providing chai and lunch for the testers, driver, counterparts, and cooks (students will hopefully volunteer to cook). I will have a lot of educational opportunities available: condom demonstrations, nutrition, how to support PLWHA, stigma, the importance of testing, etc. I will have a Healthcare Professional teach a session on HIV/AIDS, and a PLWHA guest speaker. Hopefully everything will go according to plan, although, I’m expecting countless problems just because the life of a PCV pulling off a project without difficulty is unheard of.

The second grant I’m working on is a Maternal and Child Health grant. The Health Dispensary Committee in my village has expressed their desire for a new delivery bed, stethoscopes, blood pressure cuffs, and scales for babies and adults. Now, since this is pretty much just us writing the grant and them receiving medical equipment, I have decided to ensure I work in some promising teaching opportunities for myself as a measure of sustainability, monitoring, and evaluation. I’ve met with the District Medical Officer in town and went over costs for the equipment, and the fact that they will need to contribute 25% of the total cost of the grant. This is how we ensure the community has an interest in the grant and encourages community participation. It teaches them the importance of “owning” the project and assisting in any work that needs to be done throughout the project. I’m not expecting this particular grant to be finished and finalized until next year sometime; that’s how long one project here in Tanzania takes…

Anyway, there are other little things that I’m doing here, but these are the biggest projects that take up my time. I’m excited about everything I’m involved in, and am crossing my fingers the grants work out!

One-liners, purely for your enjoyment

More often than not, when you feel that crawling sensation on your skin, there’s something on you. Nothing’s more peaceful than writing letters by candlelight. 

When bored, staring at a wall really can give you something to do. 

Doing laundry gives me an excuse to clean under my fingernails. 

Kiswahili is becoming second nature. Finally. 

I don’t remember what a hot shower feels like, or a cold one; our cleanliness depends entirely on how initially clean the bucket is (for we take bucket baths). 

I sometimes warm myself next to a burning pile of garbage. 

I sweep dirt. 

My workdays are 24 hours long, yes even when I’m sleeping. 

I think I have more hand sanitizer than I’ll need if I were to stay here for 4 years (thank you, care packages). 

Sometimes, if I don’t leave my house and no one stops by, I can go hours without speaking a single word. 

I’m proud of how fast I can make it to the choo (bathroom) when I feel something explosive coming on.

I will never take a decent road bike and a paved road for granted ever again. 

My iPod is my lifesaver. 

Sometimes I belt out songs as if no one can hear me through my screen windows. 

I will never get used to being stared at 24/7, 365. 

Sometimes, just for fun, when it rains, I make a game out of plugging up my doors, windows and getting that basin under the leaks in my roof by timing myself. 

Traveling in Tanzania will never be easy, enjoyable, or tolerable.

My feet are always dirty. 

There are no words for the feeling of safety I get when I know my mama in the village is looking out for me.

The friendships we make here are necessary and lifelong. 

My back yearns for a mattress with springs, not a useless foam pad with a crater in the shape of my butt.

I miss my family.

I miss going to the gym. 

I miss driving.

The stars, sunrises, and sunsets are utterly breathtaking. 

The African night noises are sometimes disturbing; with a tin roof, everything is intensified and scarier.

If something falls off my walls, it takes me more than a week to put it back up. 

I will never get used to the layer of dust that covers everything. 

Never again will I feel bad about stepping on an ant on the sidewalk; the ants here are ruthless and move in unimaginable swarms.

The wind is strong, the sun is fierce, and the rain is relentless; there is nothing half-ass about the weather here.

I’d be lost without my little French press.

Cooking for one has always been difficult, but now I don’t have a fridge in which to put leftovers. 

And finally, I have never learned as much about myself – what I’m capable of, what I’m not capable of, and what I admit I need help with - than I have in these past ten months.

Completely un-work related ramblings…

For the sake of self-preservation, when I allow myself to use my computer battery at site, I’ve decided to only watch Grey’s Anatomy. There are mostly two reasons for this. 1) They hardly eat or drink, so I don’t have to stare longingly at burgers, pizza, or martinis. 2) They wear scrubs EVERY episode, so I don’t have to want their cute and fashionable clothes. My life consists mainly of fried breads, rice and beans, and the occasional French fries with an egg mixed in. Oh, and I have about 5 different shirts to choose from; talk about an extensive wardrobe! Thus, Grey’s Anatomy is my choice of entertainment…until I’ve re-watched all the seasons.

As far as cooking goes, I’ve officially mastered my best chicken chili ever. The whole process takes about 4 hours:

First is the tedious process of sorting the beans. This depends on the initial state of the beans; mostly, how many beans have had bugs burrow inside, and how many are salvageable. This takes as much time as you want to give it. However, if you’re hasty, it’s a little unnerving when you see bugs (dead of course) floating in your boiling bean water. I’m not even sure how much extra protein I’ve gotten because of this oversight…

Then comes the chore of lighting the charcoal. Sometimes it takes 5 minutes, sometimes longer. One specific time, I spent 50 minutes lighting and fanning, lighting and fanning; until I eventually just gave up and made pasta on my kerosene stove.

Next is the actual cooking of the beans. It’s not difficult, just tedious. You simply need to make sure there’s enough charcoal on the stove so it stays lit, and enough water so the beans don’t burn. Believe me, I’ve burned my fair share of beans, and it royally sucks. It’s like starting over from square one.

Once the beans are near finished, I start chopping and dicing. If I’m lucky and have just gotten back from town, I’ll have garlic, onions, tomatoes, and potatoes. Then, thanks to my Mom (shout out!) I’m able to add a packet of chicken! Of course it’s not chili without the chili powder, salt and pepper to taste. But, the key ingredient I’ve recently figured out, is tomato paste. Voila, chicken chili!

But, I’ve gotta say…there’s something peaceful and simple about putting on a pot of beans and reading a book while they cook.

I recently found another family I thoroughly enjoy spending time with. These seem like little feats, but when you live in a new village alone, you don’t get to hang out with a family everyday. Finding someone to sit and talk with means everything here. It’s a mama and her two children. The boy is one year old, and the girl is three years old. She came by my house one evening to say hi. People do this every now and again, but most of the time it doesn’t turn into anything. The initial trait that pulled me toward her was that she actually conversed with me. Some of the time when you’re sitting with a Tanzanian, you just sit. No talking, just sitting. There’s only so much small talk you can manage to conjure up, and there’s only so much you can communicate in a different language you’re not fluent in yet. This mama actually has things to talk about. And it’s not asking me about America, or what kinds of Tanzanian foods I can cook here. We talked for a good 3 hours about everything and anything. I learned a lot about her and her kids, and the hardships she has of living here. The cement of the holding tank next to her house where we catch rainwater has torn open, so there’s no water in it. The cement layer must have been ill-equipped so as a result, she’s left without water during the dry season (7 months). I asked where she gets water from, and she says she has to ask neighbors to spare water when they can. The Health Dispensary has a holding tank; apparently the doctor won’t give her water, but the nurse will. Yet, despite these hardships, her and her kids are still so happy. I watched as she gave her son a bath, and he was screaming and putting up quite a fuss. I mentioned that he clearly doesn’t like baths, and she just said he’s unfamiliar with them because he gets so few. After he a good layer of dirt came off him (only to be put back on in less than 30 minutes), they rejoined her daughter and I in the yard. All it took was one look from the girl, a smile and a laugh, and the boy was smiling and laughing right along with her. Such cute smiles. It was heartwarming. I’ve made it a point to go over there whenever I need some smiles and laughs to brighten my day J

Mama wa Tanzania

I’m blessed enough to have two loving mothers. One is in America (love you mom!), and one is my neighbor in Tanzania. Mama Kumbemba is one amazing woman. She is the Head Teacher at the Primary School, a mother of three, a leader figure in the village, and an incredible helping hand to me. She immediately made sure I was ok. The day I arrived in my village, she stood out to me. She made sure there was a sheet strung up on my bedroom window, made sure I had at least one bucket of water, and came over at night to see if I could feed myself. As far as the latter goes, my site mate biked over in the dark to give me some lovely chicken alfredo he had cooked. My first night I ate some pretty amazing food and talked to my sister, Laura J

My mama is strong-willed, determined, a hard worker and a kind soul. She never ceases to amaze me at how busy she is. She handles it well. And yet, she always has time for me. She takes the time to speak slowly, help me with words I don’t know and think through ideas with me. She even found time in her busy schedule to come with me to Morogoro as my Counterpart for a week-long training session.

So, even though I already have an amazing mom in the U.S., I’m grateful for my live-in mama for 2 years. She takes care of me. I don’t know where I’d be without her…

Make a decision!

You have about 5 seconds from the time you walk/push your way onto a dala (mini-bus) to pick the best possible seat. You have a few decisions to make. And fast. First of all, are there ANY seats available? Second of all, are there any openings near the front of the bus? Thirdly, is there a window seat? And lastly, if you have to sit in an aisle, which seat will you get the least butts, armpits, or arm flab in your face? The answers to these questions WILL determine the enjoyment of your entire ride. And, if you end up making a poor choice, it will possibly haunt you for a few days afterward; and, as they say to everything of varying degrees, pole (sorry)!

Money, money, money

The other day I walked back from town. I’ve gotten sick of waiting for the lorrie (open-topped truck) to be an hour late and packed to capacity, so I was looking forward to the hour and a half walk. Sure, I’d have to greet people along the way, but at least I had a destination and could keep walking. About 20 minutes into the walk, a guy already walking in the same direction asked me where I was going. I said the name of my village and he somehow decided he’d like to walk with me. Now, I wasn’t really in the mood to make Kiswahili small talk, and made it a point to slow down or speed up to try to lose him. If I stopped to pretend to rifle through my backpack, he’d shuffle along, clearly waiting for me; if I tried to pass him, he’d walk at a very un-Tanzanian fast pace to try to keep up with me. Needless to say, it was very frustrating. So, I’m about to turn down the path to my house and I say, “have a nice day” to be polite. He looks at me and says, “Where’s my money? I walked you here, and I’m tired.” I was stunned. I spent over an hour trying my hardest to lost this guy in transit, and he wants money?! I looked at him, and repeated three times each with more surprise and disgust, “You want money? You want money?! You want MONEY?!” I laughed, said a very sarcastic (which is lost on all Tanzanians), “Sorry mister,” and walked away.

The very next day, I went to the little market in my village. I was so excited to see bananas! I had just bought a few, and I hadnt even left the table and a guy comes up to me and asks me if he can have a banana. I thought, how rude. So, I, probably still annoyed from the day before, told him very politely that we were still at the table, so he could buy his own.

Also in the same day, I heard the name of the previous volunteer being shouted at me multiple times in a row. I stopped, turned around, and saw a mama coming toward me. I immediately recognized her as the mama that has, more often than not, usually been drinking. She didn’t even greet me and immediately patted her stomach and asked me for money for chai. This was the third time in two days that I’ve been tracked down and asked for money in my village. This, more likely than not, only happens in town. Now, first of all, I’ve told this mama my name at least five times, and she can’t even try to remember. Second of all, don’t scream my name across the whole village. And lastly, I don’t get a salary, you can’t have my bananas, and I can walk by myself!!!!!

Kama kawaida

For the past week, I’ve been helping my mama and her family husk the corn they’ve harvested. Since the rainy season is basically over, it’s time to start the harvesting process. The villagers mostly farm corn, and I’ll explain why. So, what they do is harvest the corn, and then get all the kernels off the husk one by one. Next they lay them out in the sun to dry. After this, they take them to a mill to get ground up into flour. The end product is thus, corn flour. This is the staple of their diet. Corn flour is what they mix water with to make ugali, a semi-hard blob they serve with either beans or cassava leaves. You should really google ugali, it’s good stuff (not). But, I’ve grown accustomed to eating ugali, because, that’s their diet. It’s really a pure process, the villages grow (or so is the plan depending on the rains during rainy season) all the food they need to sustain them throughout the dry season. Most if not all of the Tanzanians in my entire region have not and will never experience the chaos of what is a grocery store. It’s simple really, they have figured out how to grow exactly what they need to survive.

Apparently the next fruit in season is oranges. I have yet to see a plethora of oranges, but I’m hopeful. So, the major fruits of the seasons are: mango (Dec-Jan), orange (April-May), pineapple (July-August), then mango again. Bananas, and papayas are kind of always off and on throughout the year. I think it’ll be really cool when I experience mango season again, because that’ll mean I’ve been here for a year J

Hold your applause please, but I’ve been rat-free for 3 months! Knock on wood for me will ya?

Although the dry season doesn’t have much to offer, one blessing I can think of is that the sun is more reliable. Using my solar charger (thanks Jonathan!), the sun has now consistently charged my phone, iPod, and kindle. Thanks sun!

Things are steady but slow here in the village. I can see that getting things started will take some extra effort and persistence on my part. Yesterday, however, while I was doing my walk around the village to see if anything was happening, I stumbled upon a meeting. This meeting was being conducted by a Health Institute based in Mtwara. They are part of a group called “Mtunze mtoto mchanga” (caring for newborns). I was thrilled! This group of about 7 women and 4 men are all volunteers who were getting more training on going to house to house to assess the progress of newborns. The trainers got my contact information and I’m hoping to become more involved with their organization. Apparently they’re coming back in June and I’m definitely going.

Seat belts? Are we in 'Merica?

I appreciated the pushy young Tanzanian woman next to me on the bus telling me to put my seatbelt on every time I sat back down in my seat. First of all, I was baffled at the fact that there were seat belts on any bus, let alone this particular one. At this moment in time, I was so thankful for that strap across my lap, and the mama that kept making sure I put it on, because we were winding through the mountains as if the speedometer wasn’t working (which, it very well may not have). Mostly, speedometers are of no importance here in Tanzania. Although, it is somewhat of a non-issue, because most of the roads are too crappy to speed down anyway.

The Mtwara crew (me, plus three others in my class) traveled to Iringa after our IST. Iringa was nothing really too special, except that it was surrounded by mountains. There was the normal safi (good) food there, pizza, ice cream, burgers, etc. At sunset, a few of us went on a hike up “Pride Rock” in the rain to an outlook that overlooked the entire city. One highlight: on the ride to and from Dar-Iringa, the bus goes right through Mikumi National Park. I saw giraffes, elephants, antelope, water buffalo, and baboons!! It was awesome! We were going way too fast to see anything up close, but it was still cool. The elephants were my favorite, standing in a group of five, swinging their trunks to-and-fro. The giraffes were super close to the road and eating the leaves from the highest branches of a tree. Their height was immense! Even though I’ve seen me some African animals, I’m still hungry for more. I do need to go on some sort of safari... Takers anyone?

Today, we just got a room at our normal guesti after enduring the bumpy bus ride from Dar to Masasi in the dirty south. Today wasn’t actually too bad. First of all, the fact that we got to book our own seats made a world of difference. We sat near the front, had a bit more shoulder room, and didn’t get nearly as much air on the big bumps as before. Also, we didn’t get stuck in the mud or a flat tire. We arrived for our five minute break at the “lunch” spot (a few stands of fried food and bananas), a good three hours earlier than on our first trip. Today our ride only took nine hours as opposed to the 15 our first time. No complaints here!

At training one of the older volunteers, Lisa, mentioned with a smirk that Peace Corps is like camping. Every day, all day. She’s exactly right. Good thing I love camping! I, daily, need to: use some sort of pit latrine, bring soap and toilet paper to the bathrooms, wear sandals in the shower, pretend that it hasn’t been five days since I’ve last showered, and sleep on a semi-uncomfortable surface.

At the lesser expensive, not-so-creepy guesti we stay at in Dar (the YMCA), it’s always a gamble as to whether or not the water is working. Normally, being dirty for one more day/night isn’t a big deal, but when you’ve been on a bus all day long, you kind of want to rinse off the grime. However, it’s not so bad once you train your mind not to care so much and to go with the flow. So much of living here is being flexible, which I’m learning, slowly but surely.

In-Service Training (IST)

We just finished our IST. This is a two-week training Peace Corps gives us after the first three months at our respective sites. So, we haven’t seen anyone else in our class since we left for site. It was great to be reunited with everyone once again. It got a bit overwhelming at times. When I’m used to being alone in my village with Tanzanians, it’s a bit different when you put 41 Americans in one place for two full weeks. There were places we could get “real” food at too. I’ve had a couple “beef burgers with cheese”, some pizza, and some mac n cheese!  It was great to eat something other than rice and beans. But that can get expensive. Good thing I’m great at being thrifty.

The training was more worth it than not. Hah. The information was helpful and we got a lot of great resources, but there was one thing I would definitely change. No one was held accountable for coming to classes. Sometimes only half our class would be at sessions. It’s just disrespectful and irresponsible. And I would have liked to sleep in more too, but I got out of bed. But, at least I went to classes and paid attention; all I can be accountable for is myself. We got a crap ton of books and manuals to schlep back to our sites too. I, however, had heard we accumulate a bunch of things, so I packed light in the first place.

It’s been difficult to say goodbye to people again. It doesn’t help that all the people I’m close to are in the furthest regions. We just never know when we’ll see our close friends again. But, the Mtwara crew (me and three others) took some vacation days to travel around in Iringa a bit before going back down to Mtwara. We figured we’d get the most out of our journey to the Dar area before going back down for who knows how long.

After talking with my fellow PCVs, I’ve learned that each and every site is completely different. I found out that Mtwara (my region) has the highest food prices. Even the tomatoes are more expensive down here. Also, the availability of food in Mtwara proves difficult. Other regions are rich in avocadoes, and certain other fruits and vegetables that are either absent or really expensive in Mtwara. It made me a little discouraged, but that just means I have to be that much more conscious of what I spend my money on and which food I buy.

I was talking with a guy Andrew in my class, and after we got done comparing our sites he said he thinks Peace Corps puts the strongest volunteers in Mtwara. It was a little pick-me-up moment. I’m not sure why they pick people to go to certain regions, but a lot of things about Mtwara seem a bit more difficult than other regions. Don’t get me wrong, all the roads in Tanzania need work, and food is a problem for everyone here in one way or another. We’re all managing with what we’ve got, which is all we can do.

ANTS attack!

ANTS attack!

If there were one creature capable of taking over the world, it’d be, hands down, ants. There are some crazy ants here in Tanzania. Thankfully I haven’t experienced this firsthand, but a fellow PCV told me a specific kind of ant has eaten their way inside her house through the cement. They literally chewed through cement. That’s some extraterrestrial kind of ant right there. There are huge ants that bite, medium ants that bite, and small ants that bite. Pretty much they all suck. Normally, if an ant dies, the others cannibalize that ant. Literally, within 5 minutes there is a swarm of ants consuming their fallen comrade. And then they attack you. They’re never satisfied I tell ya.

I went over to my neighbor’s house (the one I call my Tanzanian Mama), and naturally she made me sit down to eat lunch. I hung out for a bit chatting and solidifying her journey to Morogoro as my Counterpart, and her kids busted out the charcoal stove. We roasted corn over charcoal and it made me miss home. One of the things I appreciate about Tanzanians is that they are always so curious. If I were a Tanzanian and I had an American girl living in my village I’d ask her a billion questions too. I had a fun time explaining that in the U.S., we too use charcoal to roast (grill) corn. I explained that our charcoal stoves are higher off the ground and we are able to stand as we cook. This brought about a few gasps. The idea of cooking standing up was a bit difficult to understand. I also told them that we boil the corn before we roast it on the charcoal, and that we put butter and salt on it after it’s finished. They simply place it on a grate over the charcoal and once it’s cooked, they eat it. It’s surprisingly tasty.

Is rainy season over yet?

I know rain is imperative for life, but I need a little sunshine! The rainy season is from November until April/May. In my region during this time it rains EVERY day. Since I have a tin roof, it sounds like a stampede of wildebeests above me. I have a routine for when it rains. First I make sure I tuck the sheet acting as a curtain in my bedroom into the bars so it doesn’t rain all over my bed. Next I make sure there’s a basin next to my couch because my roof leaks from only this one spot. Then I plug up my back door because if it rains hard enough, there will be a mini river in my kitchen. Let me clarify a few things, I don’t hate the rain, it’s just annoying sometimes. Like when it’s pouring and I want to wash my dishes because it’s getting dark and I don’t want to give the rats more of a reason to enter my home. Or when I’m trying to read some resources from Peace Corps and it’s so loud I can’t hear myself think. However, I do appreciate the fact that at night when it rains, I can’t hear any of the creatures outside or inside my house. Just the rain.

Sista, Sista, Sista

Have you ever gotten tapped repeatedly on the forehead until you acknowledged the fact that they wanted to get your attention? Me either, but! One of my travel buddies, Steph, has. We were standing on a packed bus, and, naturally, there’s nowhere to go. A very rude (which isn’t typical) Tanzanian, started tapping Steph’s forehead as if it was the most normal occurrence in the world. The look on her face said it all. I gently put my arm around her and boxed the Tanzanian out of our lives. Tapping someone’s forehead repeatedly saying “sista, sista, sista” is really very unacceptable. Haha.

So when I go into town to get food or travel, I get on the one and only dala (minibus) that comes through my village at anywhere between 6:30am and 8am. I like and dislike this. I dislike this because there is only one dala and it’s usually standing-in-the-doorway-room only. However, I like the fact that the driver and kondas (helpers) all know me and help me out. Right away we exchange the usual greetings and then they take my backpack (if it’s packed full) and put it in the front seat so I can squeeze myself into the doorway. They take care of me. They make sure I’m in the right place, and if I’m traveling further, they make sure I get on the right bus. In general, Tanzanian’s are extremely helpful. They will drop everything just to walk you to the correct spot for the bus, an unfamiliar guesti, or the shop that sells garlic.

Also, I find it baffling that no matter if you have a seat, are standing, holding a child on your lap, or have an armpit in your face; the price for the bus ticket is the same for everyone. Hmm.

One simple request.

Dear daladala drivers,

Please turn down the Tanzanian radio station. It’s already hard enough to hear my own thoughts over the rattling of the windows that may or may not break at any point in time.

Sincerely,

Mzungu

I love the palm tree outside my window

I appreciate the way the children interact with one another here. They take care of each other. Every time I look around I see an older child holding a younger child, comforting them. It’s refreshing to know that children can be so attentive when they themselves aren’t quite old enough to care for themselves completely.

Every day I’ll hear this slow scraping of a living creature moving on my roof. It’ll traverse the length of my roof up near the peak where there’s a tiny opening. I’ve seen it poke it’s little head in, but I’ve never quite been able to make out what it was. I decided one day to throw a marker at it and figure it out once and for all. In my head I was saying, “please be a lizard, please be a lizard”, afraid that a rat would free fall from my roof. Fortunately, it was a huge-ass lizard.  I mean this guy was big. I’d make all that noise if I were his size too. So, now I know whenever I hear him it’s a lizard, not a rat.

I’ve actually had a rat-free streak for the last couple weeks. Or at least none that I know of. I’ve been better at plugging up the cracks of my doors at night, as to deter them from entering. The malaria pills have been giving me insomnia lately, and I think sometimes makes me hear things at night, so I’ve been paranoid. But to no avail when I get up in the morning, take a look around, and only see lizard poop.

The other morning I helped weigh babies at the Zahanati (Health Dispensary). It was amazing. They always cry when they’re put up on the hook and their mama lets go. I’d cry too if I was just hanging there, all eyes on me. To my astonishment, most of the babies/children were in the green zone. There were maybe 10 of the 45 total that had either lost weight, or had never made it up to the green zone. These are the mamas I’d like to work with.

Speaking of work, I’ve been making progress on the Village Situational Analysis (VSA). It’s a comprehensive assessment we have to complete within the first three months of being at site (so, by Mid-March). We’ve had to set up village meetings, village leaders meetings, family interviews, school interviews, health dispensary interviews, and interviews with the youth. I’ve got a few more interviews to do, and then I’ve just got to type it up. Which is easier said than done with no electricity. Looks like I’m back to middle school when we’d have to hand write everything before we got our allotted computer time.

Ok, I think this guesti might kick us out soon. When’s the latest you can stay before they expect you to pay for another night? I think 1pm might be pushing it…

Rambling ramble

My apologies for the length of time that has passed since I’ve last written. However, expect this to be the norm. Internet opportunities and chances for electricity are, sadly, few and far between.

First of all, I’m grateful for being relatively close to two other current PCV’s. My closest “site mate” (which means closest volunteer in the nearest village” is a 20 minute walk from my house. The other close volunteer is another hour walk. It’s just nice to know if I need anything or if something goes wrong (knock on wood), they’re close enough to me to come over and help. However, I’m trying not to think about the future; for they are finished here in Tanzania in July, and the next round of newbies (I won’t be a newbie anymore!) won’t arrive until probably December. By then, though, I will hopefully be all settled in and will have projects underway. Maybe I’ll try to plan some traveling trips during those lonely 5 months.

I’m not sure if I’ve written about this, but the Primary School has been in session for about a month now. Since I live so close to the school, it never fails that I routinely get woken up at 6:30am every morning to the sound of their muffled conversations as they sweep dirt. Sweeping dirt should be a whole separate blog post, haha. It’s difficult to sleep much past then anyway, life in Africa starts even before the sun rises.

To my dismay, mango season is now over. As depressing as this is, I have orange season to look forward to in July and August. Apparently bananas and pineapples are always in season, however, it is a chore to track them down. On a lighter note, I found a cucumber in the market last weekend! Score! The PC Medical Officers would scold me, because I didn’t peel and boil the bacteria (and taste) off of it before consuming. I’m sorry doc, that’ll ruin the cucumber; I’ll take my chances with diarrhea, thank you.

Since lizards like to live in my house and climb my walls, they also like to poop on my floors too. Now, I don’t mind the lizards, they probably eat bugs and spiders that I don’t have to kill myself. It’s deciphering between the lizard poop and rat poop that has proven difficult. However, I figured it out (please don’t ask me how). In case you’d like to know, lizard poop has a white tip at the end of it. Rat poop doesn’t. This comforts me when all I see in the morning is white-tipped poop, this means the rats have stayed away yet one more night.

The rat killing stories I’m hearing from my site mate are horrifying and I hope to never have to use a hockey slap shot move to kill a rat, although I’m sure it’s only a matter of time. His tips will be useful though, to this I have no doubt. Don’t worry, you can look forward to a very disgusting and descriptive post at that time.

I’m traveling to Mtwara on the coast this weekend. Despite what you may think, this is not considered a “city”. From what I hear it’s more like a glorified town. However, there will be internet access there, so you can expect another post about how awesome the Indian Ocean is in the next few days.

Hope everyone’s doing well! Keep in touch. Cheers!

The Woes of Transportation

I realize I never explained why traveling and transportation is incredibly cumbersome. Let me begin by explaining the bus ride from Dar es Salaam to Masasi on the coast in the South. In the dry season, it’s supposed to take 9 hours. In the rainy season, expect it to take as long as 12 hours. Since it’s rainy season from Dec. – March, it took us 15 hours, give or take a flat tire. Peace Corps took the liberty of booking us the entire back row of the bus. I don’t care if you’re on the newly paved roads of America, everyone knows the back row is ALWAYS the bumpiest. This bus was special. The 6 seats were separated into two groups of three by a huge crack that was somewhat uneven. My seat was really half a seat, and my fellow PCV’s seat wasn’t actually a seat at all. Every bump we’d go over her seat would detach from the seatback, she’d have to stand up and push it back on. The normal 9 hour ride is on half paved, half unpaved roads. I think we were somewhere in the middle of the unpaved road and our bus got stuck in the mud. People were made to exit the bus into about a half calf-full of mud. I chose to take the window route and jumped onto the grassy bank nearby. It only took an hour and a half to get the bus moving again. I pitied the men who had to literally dig the bus out of the mud. That did NOT look fun. We then had a flat tire, which was only a half hour wait, quite fast I might add.

Then came the weigh station. Mind you, there were four of us with luggage which consisted of everything we brought for our entire 2 years here. Along with the sacks of who knows what was packed onto the bus, we were extremely overweight. I happened to glance down and saw them unloading some of our luggage. They put a few pieces back in through the windows in the middle of the bus, I suppose to balance the weight. I noticed one of my pieces and a fellow PCV’s bag didn’t get put back on the bus, and we drove away to get weighed again. We passed that time, and then turned the opposite way of where we’d left our bags. Now, getting mad or freaking out doesn’t get you anywhere here. We stopped at a nearby gas station to pick up some of the people we dropped off before the weigh station, and waited there for a time. Luckily I glanced out the window and saw them loading our luggage back onto the bus. Sneaky.

After the weigh station, we had a little over two and a half hours to go. It was dark, and there were half-in-the-bag PCV’s waiting to greet us upon our arrival. We just wanted to get off that dang bus.

I’m not complaining, because it really was sort of funny how long it took us to travel to our sites as compared to other PCV’s in our class. And, it wasn’t all madness and frustrations; we eventually made the bus ride into a sort of twisted roller coaster ride. Anything to get a little laugh out of the situation. Since we’d get air on most the big bumps, we’d raise our hands up and pretend we were riding Raging Bull or good ole’ rickety Viper.

Daladala rides are a whole different kind of fun. The saying really is true that the bus (or in this case, glorified minibus) really doesn’t leave until it’s full. In which case it then travels 50 feet and picks up another 17 people which could have made the dala full in the first place if they’d gone the extra mile to walk to the standi. Let’s see, I’ve been here a little over three months now, and I don’t think I’ve had so many butts, boobs, armpits, faces, or chickens in my face as I have in my entire life. Personal space is lost on Tanzanians. Again, getting frustrated will get you nowhere. Looking out the window (if you’re lucky to get a seat, not to mention a window seat) has proven the best thing to do in these situations.

I’m sure I will become somewhat used to dalas and bus rides, it’s only a matter of time.

Nonetheless, if I have a choice (which is rare), I’m very careful about my seat selection.

Greetings, A Visit to the Zahanati, African Randomness

Here in Tanzania, greetings are essential. There are on average about 20 different ways to say “hey, how are you?” in Kiswahili; you never know which one they’re gonna throw at you next. Now, in America you’re allowed to let the person (depending on how well you know them, or care to tell them) know if you’ve had the shittiest day of your life. Here, all of the possible answers are a variation of “I’m good.” There’s even a “I’m peaceful” answer. Apparently in Tanzania, you’re not allowed to experience a semi-bad day. Which is a blessing and a curse. The other day I biked to and from town. Now mind you it’s the rainy season and none of the roads in my Region are paved, so as I was going up those hills and getting greeted left and right, my answer was always “I’m good!” Which, after a while, I had to laugh to myself because I actually thought about what I was saying, and as much as I didn’t feel good, I started to make myself believe that I was, in fact, “good”. So much of the time I feel like I’m giving a robotic answer, but I actually had to stop and think about what I was saying and it made me laugh, which in turn made the hills seem somehow less steep and less muddy J

Also, here in Tanzania, giving respect to your elders is a must. There’s a word, “Shikamoo”, response “Marahaba.” I say it to anyone I think who looks older than me, and children say it to me. Sometimes it’s hard to tell, but when you’ve got a baby strapped to your back and one on your hip, I don’t care if you’re 16, I’m going to Shikamoo you. They laugh if I’m wrong. Anyway, it’s an amazing feeling when you’re walking by an elder and you Shikamoo them. Maybe they’re not expecting you to know Kiswahili; they’re especially not expecting you to know the need to Shikamoo. I love it when their eyes light up, they smile with a grin full of teeth (sometimes not, ha), and give a polite “Marahaba.”

Today I went to the Zahanati (Health Dispensary). A Clinical Officer works there, equivalent to our RN’s in the states. She gave me a tour, which consists of a waiting room, an examination room, a delivery table (!), a recovery bed, and a fridge running on solar power which holds vaccines of all sorts. I also found out the villagers are able to get tested for HIV, which is valuable knowledge for my future work. My level of excitement sky-rocketed when I saw that rustic, semi-stained delivery table. I thought back to my time in NY, when I was shadowing a CNM and had the pleasure of assisting with a delivery. I believe this is the exact right place for me to make a difference. Thing is, everything here takes time. Patience really is a virtue.

Let me tell you, cooking in Africa is no small feat. First of all, it’s a gamble as to what’s available in the village. It’s another gamble as to what’s available if you make the trek into town. Luckily it’s mango season, so those are plentiful. However, it turns out if you don’t own a farm and harvest all the food you eat, finding nutritious food is difficult! I’m afraid I’m in the wrong profession. Nonetheless, once you do find food to cook, preparation and cooking takes about on average 2-3 hours depending on how intricate you desire to be. You know the saying (now forgive me if this is somewhat off, because every time I think of it in my head it doesn’t sound quite right), but… “A watched teapot never boils”, well, take it from me, it might take 40 minutes, but it WILL boil damn it!

And anther thing, I will never again complain about turning the knob on an electric stove, or washing each dirty dish separately in a sink under running water ever again. And you can quote me on that.

Random tid-bit from today. Snakes are nothing to be shrugged off. I got water for the first time from my well today (one reason to welcome the rainy season), and saw a snake swimming around. Call me naïve, bit I really didn’t think anything of it at the time, just made sure it didn’t swim into my bucket without my knowing. One of the teachers happened to be walking by and I mentioned it to him. About 20 minutes later he, an army of teachers, and what seemed like half the villagers came by to fish the snake out of my well. I’d come by for the show too, wouldn’t you? Don’t ask me how, but they managed to get it into the bucket with nothing more than a flashlight and long stick. Once inside, everyone stepped back save the guinea pig who got the lucky job of taking the bucket into the road, tipping it over and killing it. I repeat, Snakes are (I guess) nothing to be shrugged off. And here I was just going to watch him swim around for a while.

Ok, I’m patiently waiting under my mosquito net for the sound of the pitter-patter of rats in my house. Maybe they won’t show up tonight. Wishful thinking, I’m sure. Oh the joys of living in Africa J

Just about a month at site.

You may all have been wondering where I’ve been for the past month. I literally got dropped off at the front door to my new house and was told to figure out how to live here. I laugh because the first time in my life I live alone is in a village in rural Tanzania. Go big or go home, I always say.

I love my house and village. I live near the Primary School and a majority of my neighbors are teachers. I’ve grown fond of one family in particular. The mama is the Head Teacher and she checks in on me every now and again to make sure I’m eating and taking care of myself. I think I will choose her as my Counterpart. A counterpart is someone in the village I can identify as someone who will eventually help me with my work here over the course of two years.

There is a soccer field attached to the Primary School yard. It’s incredibly fun playing with little African children. I can check that off my bucket list too! It’s like this site was made for me :)

My house has a big living room with three windows (windows are like gold here when you’re living without electricity). I have another room I’m not entirely sure what to do with, my bedroom, and a room I’ll make my kitchen. I have a cement courtyard, a choo (pit latrine), shower room (no more showering in my choo at homestay!), storage room, and a little room I use my charcoal jiko (kind of like a camping stove) in.

I’ve seen my fair share of rats as well. I was awakened at 1:30am one night to the sound of rustling. I’m proud of myself for getting out of bed and dealing with the situation. Now, lizards love my house, and as I figured out where the noise was coming from I thought to myself “maybe it’s a lizard, hopefully it’s a lizard.” No such luck. My flashlight eventually shone on the rats’ beady little eyes and nose. Ugh. I rigged up a cover and carried him and the bucket outside. I tipped the bucket over and whacked the bottom until he flew out and ran away. As I was going back inside I thought I heard something else, but let denial kick in and went back to bed.

Cooking is proving difficult. It’s hard to get fruit and vegetables when you don’t own a farm here. Going to town is sort of a chore, but the current PCV’s here all tell me it’ll become second nature and you eventually become numb to the experience. More stories on traveling and transportation to come.

But, I will never complain about cooking on an electric or gas stove OR washing another dish by hand in the sink EVER again!

Now here in Tanzania, greetings are an important part of life. Even if you’ve walked by their house 4 times that day, each time you go through a few of the many possible greetings. I went for a run the other week and when I exercise I tend to want to be alone. I stumbled upon this road. Now, when you live without running water, electricity, or another English speaking human being close by, it’s the little things in life that you appreciate. This road is quite desolate save for a few houses in the beginning and end. I think I will wear this road out by the end of my service here!

I continue to study and learn Kiswahili daily. Some days are better than others. It’s difficult not to learn something new when you are forced to speak Kiswahili every second of every day as soon as you leave your house. It’s proving quite helpful in learning the language though!

I will hopefully be able to update this more often, for those of you who actually read this. I’m sorry it’s been so long!

You all take care and give the U.S. a hug and kiss for me. Chao from Tanzania!