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.