Writing is not something I'm doing a lot of right now. I'm just experiencing. But I'll let you know a bit of what I've been up to...
This last "weekend" was a four-day weekend for us volunteers. The schools are closed for the summer, so we're not missing many scheduled teaching days, and being in Africa so far away from home, SIC gives us opportunities to travel a bit. So this weekend most of us went on a 21-hr bus ride through Kenya to Uganda to raft the Nile River from its source (Lake Victoria)! It was a crazy weekend, starting with the bus ride itself (we hit a suicidal giraffe) and on through bungee jumping over the Nile and dipping into it and rafting its whitewater rapids for the next two days. In a text message I sent to my mom: "Uganda is beautiful the Nile is amazing the rapids are outrageous." The company was great and despite the class-five rapids rating, we felt quite safe. (Helmets, life vests and rescue kayakers, we're good to go!)
We're back in Arusha now and heading back into our villages in about an hour. Tonight we have scheduled a kakas teaching (literally, "brothers") with my homestay kaka and his friends. They should be around the age 20, which is a primary target audience for our education-prevention effort, in my opinion.
Last week we taught a group of around 48 village leaders, both male and female, and we had a scheduled subvillage teaching where we taught 51 mamas and 53 babas! It was likely the most successful community teaching I've been a part of, in either of my villages. My whole group is excited.
Speaking of my group... I love my teaching group. I love this village,and I love my homestay situation. It's really turned my experience around from my first village. We have a lot of fun together and still get effective work done. I guess this is what happens when you set intentions for such things... hehe.
We're going into our third week of our five-week awareness campaign and brainstorming ideas to make our work sustainable for after we leave. So far we've got a soccer teach started up that might be turned into an awareness-team, if possible... But this is all still in the works, as well as our actual on-the-ground work.
World AIDS Day is this Saturday, December 1st!!
And, that's all for now...
Peace.
Tuesday, November 27, 2007
Saturday, November 17, 2007
Majimoto!
It's been a while since I posted last. Again, there's so much to talk about... and I won't cover it all. I'm trying to journal to keep up a bit and hopefully write about it later.
I moved into my new village this week on Monday. We're now in another ward called Nduruma. I'm in the farthest-out village from Arusha city, and it's called Majimoto, which literally translates to "hot water," and it's very different from Maroroni! I'm also in a new teaching group. There are four American volunteers--Ashley, Bonnie, Joey and me--and two Tanzanian teaching partners--Jacob and Dhulfa.
I'm living in a homestay with Mama Juliana (also known as Mama Noah, as Noah is her oldest son) and some kids. She's a widow and she's awesome. She has three kids, ages 20, 17 and 13, the middle child being her only daughter. They live together with Mama's little grand nephew in the room across from my and my roommate's room (I'm living with one of my former sorority sisters, Ashley), the only other bedroom in the house. The littl'n is called Junior, and he's a year and ten months old and very cute. He's a chubby little snotty-nosed toddler, and he gets cuter as he becomes less and less terrified of us wazungu. He can now be near us or even simply look at us without crying. haha!
Our home is a small, three-room house with two bedrooms and two doors, total, one of which is to kmy room. Mama sleeps iln the room accross the way with her daughter and Junior, and they don't have a door to their room--just a purple cloth hanging in the threshold. We have rough dirt floors that I don't need to worry about keeping clean or spilling hot chai on. Ashley and I each have our own bed over which we hung our mosquito nets from an electrical wire tied across the room. Now worries, there is absolutely no electricity in this village. [I asked some men fixing the chicken coop door if there were any cold sodas in Majimoto, and they said no. I also asked where I could charge my phone, and they sort of laughed and suggested that I get a bike.] Ashley and I appear to have the only lock in the house, and it was brand new when it was given to us. There's no ceiling but a tin roof, and the two windows on either side of our room let in a very nice breeze when opened. [Mind, by 'windows' I mean framed holes in the walls with shudders. No glass, of course.]
Our choo--though not quite as nice as my last homestay's--is nice, well cemented and has thus far, to my knowledge, very little wildlife. I've actually seen a few more cockroaches on our bedroom walls than I have in the choo. I, once again, live at the homestay with the enviable choo, according to my other teaching group members. They come to my house to go.
There are two water spicketts in our yard: one behind the house next to the small banana tree forest and one in what feels like a slight extension of our front yard. On move-in day they were both very colorful and busy with many mamas and colorful plastic buckets. We had our first idea of where we could teach.
The village is much much greener than Maroroni was and much closer together, too. I feel like I actually live in an African neighborhood, and all of us volunteers live very close to each other, with my house being the central point. Although it's much greener, it is also much dustier... or at least it was until it started raining at night and drizzling during the day. Thank you! It's nice to cool off sometimes.
It's also much different in the sense that it is much less conservative than Maroroni. For one, people are drunk all over the place. Fortunately, in my village, I don't feel threatened by the people that have been drinking, though I still won't walk anywhere at night, and they're just very friendly... and ironically inviting to their Catholic church. People actually smoke here, too, and when we went to the duka to buy a soda (not cold: "shady"), we saw a box of condoms in clear view for sale, kicking us off for our duka condom survey of the village. Maroroni didn't sell alcohol or cigarrettes and would not sell condoms, for religious reasons. Also, people seemed to know right away why we were there, moving into the village. Several people asked me on the first day when we would be testing (woot!) and over the course of the week, people have been very receptive to us and our 'mission' here as well as probing us to tell them when we would be teaching ("Lini utafundisha semina?").
Interesting... so on our first night I woke up because I heard something that sounded like a radio with voices. I woke up a little more and decided it was something that I had heard of before in other villages but hadn't experienced in Maroroni: a town crier. It was a man on a truck driving around with a megaphone, yelling to all the people... something in Swahili... I asked around the next day and found out that it was, indeed, a town crier, and that it came by our house at 4AM and that it was announcing that all the men needed to go to build trenches the next day to bring more water to ours. I found this out because the former Mwenye kiti of the village came by my house one day and talked to me in our yard for quite a while. He has very good English and loved to speak it--about anything. I took the opportunity to ask him what that was all about, so he was the one who explained it to me. He also explained that the work was mandatory for anyone who was not old or a student, and that they would fine you if you didn't go like you were supposed to. Every night this week around 5PM we've seen the men coming home on their bikes or by foot, in groups, with their shovels, picks and other such digging instruments. We also saw a roudy group of them walking behind a man who was leading a calf by a rope around its neck... apparently being reposessed from someone who did not show up for the work! Fined. I expect that we'll be able to use the "mandatory attendance" system already in place in the village to teach the most people as possible. The Mwenye kiti is schedulling subvillage teachings for us that will be mandatory for the villagers. Woot!
On Tuesday I went to kindergarden. It was incredibly cute. Just behind my house and across the road is the village office next to t he kindergarden. Bonnie, Dhulfa and Ashley were already there, squatting in rows in the dirt with the rest of the class, when I arrived. Dhulfa caught me up on what to do: write my name and my father's name in the dirt in front of me. My personal blackboard. The teacher came by and checked our work, and then had us read our names at the same time, which we did standing, straddling the word on the ground, doubled over, pointint a finger from the end of our swinging arm, roughly underscoring the word over and over again, saying it out loud over and over again. We continued with our father's names, followed by the writing of "mama" (me-ah-me-ah, mama!) The mwalimu (teacher) would ocme around and put a check mark next to it in the dirt if you had done it right, and enthusiastically slapped us wazungu on the back, laughing histerically at our success. There was a boy in a yellow, non-uniform shirt who wrote and spelled everything perfectly, except for the fact that it was completely backwards. The students around him helped him, including us, hoping to be encouraging to him. We also wrote "baba", "dada", "bibi" and "mtoto", which are father, sister, grandmother, child, respectively. We've since not joined kindergarden again, but we've been waiting for a meeting with the mwenye kiti at the same time the kindergarden is happening outside, so we've gotten to watch a few times. Unfortunately, the teacher carries a stick that she doesn't only use for making checkmarks in the dirt for corrections. I don't like seeing four, five and six year-olds being whipped for now knowing how to write, sometimes out of fear of their teacher.
Photos: I can't take as many as I would really like to be taking, for a number of reasons, including but not limited to... if I take out a camera, people will ask me for the camera, incessantly ask me to take their picture, ask me for another gift, ask me for money, freak out at the possibility of me taking their picture without permission, ask me to marry them, ask me to fly them to America, ask me to fly my parent's car to them... Oh, wait... that happens anyway. But really. I won't be taking my camera out until the last week. It's better that people don't know that I have it, as much as I would like to visually document my experience.
I moved into my new village this week on Monday. We're now in another ward called Nduruma. I'm in the farthest-out village from Arusha city, and it's called Majimoto, which literally translates to "hot water," and it's very different from Maroroni! I'm also in a new teaching group. There are four American volunteers--Ashley, Bonnie, Joey and me--and two Tanzanian teaching partners--Jacob and Dhulfa.
I'm living in a homestay with Mama Juliana (also known as Mama Noah, as Noah is her oldest son) and some kids. She's a widow and she's awesome. She has three kids, ages 20, 17 and 13, the middle child being her only daughter. They live together with Mama's little grand nephew in the room across from my and my roommate's room (I'm living with one of my former sorority sisters, Ashley), the only other bedroom in the house. The littl'n is called Junior, and he's a year and ten months old and very cute. He's a chubby little snotty-nosed toddler, and he gets cuter as he becomes less and less terrified of us wazungu. He can now be near us or even simply look at us without crying. haha!
Our home is a small, three-room house with two bedrooms and two doors, total, one of which is to kmy room. Mama sleeps iln the room accross the way with her daughter and Junior, and they don't have a door to their room--just a purple cloth hanging in the threshold. We have rough dirt floors that I don't need to worry about keeping clean or spilling hot chai on. Ashley and I each have our own bed over which we hung our mosquito nets from an electrical wire tied across the room. Now worries, there is absolutely no electricity in this village. [I asked some men fixing the chicken coop door if there were any cold sodas in Majimoto, and they said no. I also asked where I could charge my phone, and they sort of laughed and suggested that I get a bike.] Ashley and I appear to have the only lock in the house, and it was brand new when it was given to us. There's no ceiling but a tin roof, and the two windows on either side of our room let in a very nice breeze when opened. [Mind, by 'windows' I mean framed holes in the walls with shudders. No glass, of course.]
Our choo--though not quite as nice as my last homestay's--is nice, well cemented and has thus far, to my knowledge, very little wildlife. I've actually seen a few more cockroaches on our bedroom walls than I have in the choo. I, once again, live at the homestay with the enviable choo, according to my other teaching group members. They come to my house to go.
There are two water spicketts in our yard: one behind the house next to the small banana tree forest and one in what feels like a slight extension of our front yard. On move-in day they were both very colorful and busy with many mamas and colorful plastic buckets. We had our first idea of where we could teach.
The village is much much greener than Maroroni was and much closer together, too. I feel like I actually live in an African neighborhood, and all of us volunteers live very close to each other, with my house being the central point. Although it's much greener, it is also much dustier... or at least it was until it started raining at night and drizzling during the day. Thank you! It's nice to cool off sometimes.
It's also much different in the sense that it is much less conservative than Maroroni. For one, people are drunk all over the place. Fortunately, in my village, I don't feel threatened by the people that have been drinking, though I still won't walk anywhere at night, and they're just very friendly... and ironically inviting to their Catholic church. People actually smoke here, too, and when we went to the duka to buy a soda (not cold: "shady"), we saw a box of condoms in clear view for sale, kicking us off for our duka condom survey of the village. Maroroni didn't sell alcohol or cigarrettes and would not sell condoms, for religious reasons. Also, people seemed to know right away why we were there, moving into the village. Several people asked me on the first day when we would be testing (woot!) and over the course of the week, people have been very receptive to us and our 'mission' here as well as probing us to tell them when we would be teaching ("Lini utafundisha semina?").
Interesting... so on our first night I woke up because I heard something that sounded like a radio with voices. I woke up a little more and decided it was something that I had heard of before in other villages but hadn't experienced in Maroroni: a town crier. It was a man on a truck driving around with a megaphone, yelling to all the people... something in Swahili... I asked around the next day and found out that it was, indeed, a town crier, and that it came by our house at 4AM and that it was announcing that all the men needed to go to build trenches the next day to bring more water to ours. I found this out because the former Mwenye kiti of the village came by my house one day and talked to me in our yard for quite a while. He has very good English and loved to speak it--about anything. I took the opportunity to ask him what that was all about, so he was the one who explained it to me. He also explained that the work was mandatory for anyone who was not old or a student, and that they would fine you if you didn't go like you were supposed to. Every night this week around 5PM we've seen the men coming home on their bikes or by foot, in groups, with their shovels, picks and other such digging instruments. We also saw a roudy group of them walking behind a man who was leading a calf by a rope around its neck... apparently being reposessed from someone who did not show up for the work! Fined. I expect that we'll be able to use the "mandatory attendance" system already in place in the village to teach the most people as possible. The Mwenye kiti is schedulling subvillage teachings for us that will be mandatory for the villagers. Woot!
On Tuesday I went to kindergarden. It was incredibly cute. Just behind my house and across the road is the village office next to t he kindergarden. Bonnie, Dhulfa and Ashley were already there, squatting in rows in the dirt with the rest of the class, when I arrived. Dhulfa caught me up on what to do: write my name and my father's name in the dirt in front of me. My personal blackboard. The teacher came by and checked our work, and then had us read our names at the same time, which we did standing, straddling the word on the ground, doubled over, pointint a finger from the end of our swinging arm, roughly underscoring the word over and over again, saying it out loud over and over again. We continued with our father's names, followed by the writing of "mama" (me-ah-me-ah, mama!) The mwalimu (teacher) would ocme around and put a check mark next to it in the dirt if you had done it right, and enthusiastically slapped us wazungu on the back, laughing histerically at our success. There was a boy in a yellow, non-uniform shirt who wrote and spelled everything perfectly, except for the fact that it was completely backwards. The students around him helped him, including us, hoping to be encouraging to him. We also wrote "baba", "dada", "bibi" and "mtoto", which are father, sister, grandmother, child, respectively. We've since not joined kindergarden again, but we've been waiting for a meeting with the mwenye kiti at the same time the kindergarden is happening outside, so we've gotten to watch a few times. Unfortunately, the teacher carries a stick that she doesn't only use for making checkmarks in the dirt for corrections. I don't like seeing four, five and six year-olds being whipped for now knowing how to write, sometimes out of fear of their teacher.
Photos: I can't take as many as I would really like to be taking, for a number of reasons, including but not limited to... if I take out a camera, people will ask me for the camera, incessantly ask me to take their picture, ask me for another gift, ask me for money, freak out at the possibility of me taking their picture without permission, ask me to marry them, ask me to fly them to America, ask me to fly my parent's car to them... Oh, wait... that happens anyway. But really. I won't be taking my camera out until the last week. It's better that people don't know that I have it, as much as I would like to visually document my experience.
Saturday, October 27, 2007
Ni Bure. Ni Haraka. Ni Siri.
This is what we advertised on our posters for our village HIV testing day held on Thursday. We tested 92 people! (96, including the four of us wazungu volunteers.) It was an exciting day for me, and most of the people we tested were secondary school students, which meant a lot to me, as it showed that they had taken our teaching to heart and acted on what they'd learned. As they've heard us say so many times... "The only way to know your status is to get tested!"
* * *
I have a lot to write about right now, but I don't want to be on the computer. So here's a bit of what I've had mostly pre-prepared.
* * *
Now that I know them better, I will describe my family in more detail. Mama is a big woman and a devout Christian. She goes to the Pentecostal church in the village, and she prays before meals. She sings songs in Swahili about Jesus as she works during the day. In our livingroom there is a painting of the Virgin Mary hanging from the end of the window covering rod. She calls me Dada Carrie and always asks me what my schedule is ("Nafundisha wapi leo?". She rarely eats with us, but wants to prepare what we like and wants us to eat more. She owns a duka (shop) in the village and gives me free sodas and invites me in to sit for a while.
Baba reminds me very much of many American men-of-households. He's very proud but is not as warm, friendly or welcoming as so many of the men I meet in the village. Kweli (it's true), as Erica and Romy told me before moving in, he really likes to speak English--or rather, practice what he knows. His English is possibly better than my Swahili, and he doesn't seem to have the patience for my practicing. He tries to teach me a phrase in Kimeru every now and then, but more often just stares at me and repeats himself, slowly, expecting me to suddenly understand what he says in Kiswahili, never reverting to sign language or simpler sentences. He has a belly and a slight swagger to his gait, and he teases the cat as he slouches in his couchlike seat at dinner. He also once showed up near the village center on a motorcycle that he noisily sped away on, after stopping to say hi. It wasn't his motorcycle, but he seemed to feel important riding it.
Stella is the only child I know is from both Baba and Mama. She's around 10 years old and in our Maroroni Primary school's standard 6 class. She smiles a lot at me and says, "Mambo Dada Carrie!" at every opportunity she gets. She's my best, most patient and energetic Kiswahili teacher. She'll also sing and dance songs she's learned in school for me, never embarrassed. She tries to teach them to me, too. I'm currently learning Tanzania's main national song ("Tanzania, Tanzania! Nakupenda kwa moyo wote... Nchi yangu Tanzania... ?"/"TZ, TZ! I love you from the bottom of my heart... country of mine, Tanzania...?") along with a greetings song I started learning in my UCLA basic Swahili course ("Jambo, Jambo Bwana! Habari gani? Nzuri sana! Wageni, mnakari biahwa, Tanzania yetu, Hakuna Matata!"). Stella listens to the radio a lot--which is always static with some discernable tune or voice--and will sit it down and dance for me. She likes to high-five, pound fists and play with my hair (which is very different from hers, of course, especially since she has hardly any), and she likes to ask me to do they prayer when we eat together. I love having her around as my Dada.
There are other members of the family, too, that live, work and hang out in and around the house. Furaha is always there. She's about 21 years old and is not clearly related to the family, though seems to be treated as a member of the family with simply more responsibilities. She does most of the work around the house from mopping the floors almost daily to cooking, setting out the food, washing clothes, sweeping the dirt outside, and fetching and/or heating water for me and Fatuma to wash with. She's somewhat stylish, smiles a lot, and has beautiful eyes. I haven't had much of a conversation with her, but I do end up thanking her a lot.
There's also Baba's sister, Mami. She is unmarried and has no children and has been cooking a lot for us. I like her. She's very warm towards me and exhibits a lot of patience for my Swahili. She takes good care of me, making sure I ate more than once per meal and that I ate everything that was served.
There's also Alex (pronounced "Alexi"), who's a 17-year-old Form-2 students at our secondary school. I think he's a cousin to the family. He's very pretty with a very dark, wide face and very pright eyes. He studies almost every school night in the living room and asks me, "Carrie, what's the definition of '[insert technical word here, as in "transportation, family, trade...]'" and always reads the textbook definition he has in his notes to me when I've failed to come up with the same exact wording. Why does he do that? People don't think in English in textbook language like he learns in school...
Finally, there's Maneno (Roberti) and Frank (Franki), who I think are done with school and work all day, driving the donkeys here or there and doing I'm-not-sure-what-else, but they keep busy.
* * *
Sunday night, upon return to the village, Stella had somehow produced a jump rope. She coaxed me out to play, too. There was a mat lain out on the dirt outside, on which we played in the dark, jump-roping with Furaha and even Mami (who I think is in her late 40s)! After jumping for a while, we sat on the mat and looked up at the moon. It was so bright that it made shadows on the ground. Stella started playing with my hair, again, and as I had intended to get my hair braided this week, I asked her if she and Furaha knew how to braid ("Unaweza kusuka?"). Sh must have thought I meant right now because she called Furaha over from preparing dinner, and they each started braiding different sections of my hair with no apparent plan. Mami, came over, too, sat on her knees and took up another part of my head, doing her own thing, but all saying, "Nyuele vizuri!" (very nice hair!). At one point they called Frank over, too, and I had eight hands in my hair! Needless to say, the endproduct was a typical endproduct of nonproductive hair-play.
* * *
We had a big week in the village and we're on our way to finishing the Awareness Campaign strong. We have one more full week in the village to teach, etc. and then a short week that will include our Community Day on the day before we move out. We'll then move into our second village to launch an awareness campaign there, too, fresh. Again, for five weeks.
Thank you all for your love and support. It means a lot. More than I can say right now. Love.
* * *
I have a lot to write about right now, but I don't want to be on the computer. So here's a bit of what I've had mostly pre-prepared.
* * *
Now that I know them better, I will describe my family in more detail. Mama is a big woman and a devout Christian. She goes to the Pentecostal church in the village, and she prays before meals. She sings songs in Swahili about Jesus as she works during the day. In our livingroom there is a painting of the Virgin Mary hanging from the end of the window covering rod. She calls me Dada Carrie and always asks me what my schedule is ("Nafundisha wapi leo?". She rarely eats with us, but wants to prepare what we like and wants us to eat more. She owns a duka (shop) in the village and gives me free sodas and invites me in to sit for a while.
Baba reminds me very much of many American men-of-households. He's very proud but is not as warm, friendly or welcoming as so many of the men I meet in the village. Kweli (it's true), as Erica and Romy told me before moving in, he really likes to speak English--or rather, practice what he knows. His English is possibly better than my Swahili, and he doesn't seem to have the patience for my practicing. He tries to teach me a phrase in Kimeru every now and then, but more often just stares at me and repeats himself, slowly, expecting me to suddenly understand what he says in Kiswahili, never reverting to sign language or simpler sentences. He has a belly and a slight swagger to his gait, and he teases the cat as he slouches in his couchlike seat at dinner. He also once showed up near the village center on a motorcycle that he noisily sped away on, after stopping to say hi. It wasn't his motorcycle, but he seemed to feel important riding it.
Stella is the only child I know is from both Baba and Mama. She's around 10 years old and in our Maroroni Primary school's standard 6 class. She smiles a lot at me and says, "Mambo Dada Carrie!" at every opportunity she gets. She's my best, most patient and energetic Kiswahili teacher. She'll also sing and dance songs she's learned in school for me, never embarrassed. She tries to teach them to me, too. I'm currently learning Tanzania's main national song ("Tanzania, Tanzania! Nakupenda kwa moyo wote... Nchi yangu Tanzania... ?"/"TZ, TZ! I love you from the bottom of my heart... country of mine, Tanzania...?") along with a greetings song I started learning in my UCLA basic Swahili course ("Jambo, Jambo Bwana! Habari gani? Nzuri sana! Wageni, mnakari biahwa, Tanzania yetu, Hakuna Matata!"). Stella listens to the radio a lot--which is always static with some discernable tune or voice--and will sit it down and dance for me. She likes to high-five, pound fists and play with my hair (which is very different from hers, of course, especially since she has hardly any), and she likes to ask me to do they prayer when we eat together. I love having her around as my Dada.
There are other members of the family, too, that live, work and hang out in and around the house. Furaha is always there. She's about 21 years old and is not clearly related to the family, though seems to be treated as a member of the family with simply more responsibilities. She does most of the work around the house from mopping the floors almost daily to cooking, setting out the food, washing clothes, sweeping the dirt outside, and fetching and/or heating water for me and Fatuma to wash with. She's somewhat stylish, smiles a lot, and has beautiful eyes. I haven't had much of a conversation with her, but I do end up thanking her a lot.
There's also Baba's sister, Mami. She is unmarried and has no children and has been cooking a lot for us. I like her. She's very warm towards me and exhibits a lot of patience for my Swahili. She takes good care of me, making sure I ate more than once per meal and that I ate everything that was served.
There's also Alex (pronounced "Alexi"), who's a 17-year-old Form-2 students at our secondary school. I think he's a cousin to the family. He's very pretty with a very dark, wide face and very pright eyes. He studies almost every school night in the living room and asks me, "Carrie, what's the definition of '[insert technical word here, as in "transportation, family, trade...]'" and always reads the textbook definition he has in his notes to me when I've failed to come up with the same exact wording. Why does he do that? People don't think in English in textbook language like he learns in school...
Finally, there's Maneno (Roberti) and Frank (Franki), who I think are done with school and work all day, driving the donkeys here or there and doing I'm-not-sure-what-else, but they keep busy.
* * *
Sunday night, upon return to the village, Stella had somehow produced a jump rope. She coaxed me out to play, too. There was a mat lain out on the dirt outside, on which we played in the dark, jump-roping with Furaha and even Mami (who I think is in her late 40s)! After jumping for a while, we sat on the mat and looked up at the moon. It was so bright that it made shadows on the ground. Stella started playing with my hair, again, and as I had intended to get my hair braided this week, I asked her if she and Furaha knew how to braid ("Unaweza kusuka?"). Sh must have thought I meant right now because she called Furaha over from preparing dinner, and they each started braiding different sections of my hair with no apparent plan. Mami, came over, too, sat on her knees and took up another part of my head, doing her own thing, but all saying, "Nyuele vizuri!" (very nice hair!). At one point they called Frank over, too, and I had eight hands in my hair! Needless to say, the endproduct was a typical endproduct of nonproductive hair-play.
* * *
We had a big week in the village and we're on our way to finishing the Awareness Campaign strong. We have one more full week in the village to teach, etc. and then a short week that will include our Community Day on the day before we move out. We'll then move into our second village to launch an awareness campaign there, too, fresh. Again, for five weeks.
Thank you all for your love and support. It means a lot. More than I can say right now. Love.
Sunday, October 21, 2007
Most Recent Post!
We’ve had a very productive week in the village. Along with our regular school teachings, we had four community teachings, reaching about 200 people. The first community teaching was scheduled for Monday out near the Nazareti Primary School, one of the schools we teach at twice a week, about an hour’s walk away from the center of town. Gaby and Stefanie expected no one to show up. They weren’t sure the sub-village leader would have gotten the message out to the people and that they would actually come. I just expected to do an effective teaching with no expectation of how large the crowd would be.
We arrived 5 minutes before 11 and saw some men hanging around a duka close to the school, seemingly waiting for something. They turned out to be waiting for us—waiting for the teaching. I think the village leader told them 10AM so that they would show up in a somewhat timely manner for starting. As it turned out, there was a funeral at the same time, so not as many people showed up as would have otherwise, but I was happy with the turnout. We had a crowd of 21 very attentive men, which was good because we didn’t have to split the genders and teaching group for the gender-sensitive topics. We each were prepared to teach individual sections of the curriculum. I taught the sections on sexual transmission of HIV and prevention of sexual transmission as well as the “taking action” section at the end. The SIC curriculum incorporates the ABC’s (Abstinence, Be Faithful and Condom Use—the ABK’s in Swahili), which offer choices, and are both proven to be effective in reducing the impact of HIV as well as supported by the Tanzanian government, which helps our case in the event that an individual comes up against what we’re teaching. The citizens are very proud Tanzanians and love their government, so many will support what their government supports, which is a progressive approach to the AIDS issue.
We taught for almost three hours as the men sat, scowling in concentration, listening carefully to what we had to say. Because it was a group of Babas only (no women), it might have been wise of us to have switched it up and had Jonas or Joey teach the sexual transmission section, because even the grown men had a hard time staying completely serious. I have so far been very serious and professional in my teachings (maybe there’s some room for humor in the future), but the fact is that I’m still a woman talking about sex. Good thing we didn’t have me or any of the other female teachers do the condom demonstration... with our huge, black, rubber, anatomically accurate prop. They would have been in fits. So Jonas took care of teaching that for us.
In my sexual transmission section, I talked not only about the ABKs, but also about the importance of good communication and trust between sexual partners. Finally, I added something I really believe: The way I see it, personally, is that one of the most loving things you can do is protect yourself and your partner from HIV transmission. A whopping 80% of HIV transmissions in Tanzania occur through sex—typically an act of intimacy and love. So the most loving thing you can do is communicate with your partener about how to stay healthy. Our village appears to be very family-oriented, and I felt like the message was well-received. When I sat down for the next person to teach his section, I asked Gaby if she thought it was preachy. I didn’t think it was, but I was more reassured when she said she didn’t think it was, either. Although I feel very strongly about the kinds of attitudes people should have around HIV and their lives and community, I am careful to be respectful of them as people at choice and of another culture.
In my personal conclusion at the end of the teaching, I also added that now that they know a lot, they have a kind of responsibility to change their behavior a little. I explained that I don’t want to change their culture, but there are some behaviors that must be changed to keep the community and themselves safe—namely, sexual and child-bearing behaviors. I also was inspired to thank them personally for coming to be taught, as it gave me a lot of energy to keep teaching in their community. I’ve come a long way and am living in a very different environment, and it is very fulfilling to be able to do this.
The men were deeply grateful for our coming and teaching to them. They asked good, thoughtful questions throughout the session and listened well the whole time. At the end of the teaching, the sub-village leader who organized the teaching and brought people to it, assigned on of the men—which happened to be one of the most attentive ones and the one asking the most questions—to lead the group in a tradition they have for thanking people they respect and to which they’re very grateful. The assigned man had everyone stand, and exlained to us that they would repeat three things three times, starting with “pasha” (rubbing their palms together to heat them up). When the man said, “Choma!”, the men clapped three times towards us, stomped three times, and snapped their fingers three times at us, all together. It was so cool to have them honor us so, “according to their culture.”
* * *
Africa is beautiful. If there’s one t hing I’ve learned since being here, it’s that the skies are ALWAYS incredible. For example, on my safari in the Serengeti, I quickly realized that the image of the rays of sun shinging down throught the clouds to spectacularly light the land- and sky-scape was by no means something Disney made up for The Lion King. It’s as much a reality here as night being dark. Why is it so beautiful? The skies are SO vast. I grew up in a valley, so I always had hills surrounding me. But here, my horizon is flatter, farther away, and with one mountain—or two on a clear day—characterizing the skyline. I can see clearly where the sun comes up and where it goes down. And speaking of mountains, I saw Kilimanjaro on Tuesday in the evening for the second time—the first time since our introduction to the village. It looks smaller than I think it should and certainly much smaller than Mt. Meru. But I like it. It’s beautiful, and it’s different from Mt. Meru in that it doesn’t just look like a jagged rock... it has snow!
Also, at night, because there are no city or ambient lights, the universe above is free to take its turn show its own spectacle of light. I see more stars here than I can ever recall seeing at once, even out at the Colorado River in the desert. Maybe I just need to get out more. But since coming here five weeks ago, there’s been only one night that I’ve not seen the Milky Way. And after that one night it rained. Often (maybe as a result of drinking chai before going to bed, hmm...), I am forced awake in the middle of the night by an insane urge to go to the bathroom. I have to leave the house to walk to the choo, and on the way back stop in my tracks to look up at the stars. I’m grateful for these emergency choo-visits in the night because they give me the opportunity to see the stars, when the stars alone would not have gotten me out of bed. I think I’ll keep drinking chai before bed.
I absolutely love my morning wand evening walks, too, especially if I take them alone. We teach every morning at 8AM, so I walk every morning from my house to school at around 7:30AM... rested, fed (with chai na maziwa na sukari! / chai with milk and sugar!) and looking out at the beautifully lit landscape from horizon to horizon. I walk back in the evenings from the Mwenye Kiti’s house, usually from planning lessons, often just before sundown. With the sun on the other side of my village world and with it so low in the sky, the trees are perfectly silhouetted against it and the fire-like clouds. There’s no need for underexposure photography here. But even with the sky so vast, there never exists a feeling of emptiness. At these times, it is easy and most natural to feel connected to the universe.
* * *
Despite appreciating the beauty of the scenery, I became very conscious during the week of the fact that I didn’t have my rock with me. I’ve been dealing with such a multitude of deep frustrations that I’ve been operating from a place of not understanding what I was going through or even knowing what to treat for. On the day that it hit me this week, Gaby said a few things very well. She said that although she doesn’t understand my beliefs or philosophy, she does see that I’m far from them. She also said that at the end when we go back home, people will ask us how it was... We’ll say that some of it was actually quite hard. But what people might not understand is that “some of it being very hard” can translate into days of living that very real experience, but that yes, we did get some good photos. Somehow both the things she said were very helpful and supportive. I knew they meant something. But I didn’t value the latter as much as I do now until she told a group of us on a crowded bus ride about a time she became so altitude-sick while climing the highest mountain in South America that she was actually very scared. Unstoppable nose-bleeding and vomiting during a night when she had to wait at that altitude until dawn... I realized why I sensed before that she knew what she was talking about.
Joey also said something very well that day. He said that this is what culture shock really is: not having your rock. I wasn’t sure I agreed at first, as I could see myself traveling with a friend and never losing my rock. But that’s not the same category. Traveling with a rock, you can still assimilate into and experience a culture without losing your foothold. I guess I’ve got some culture shock starting to heal.
Stef also said something well. She didn’t say anything but just hugged me. I really needed that. My teaching group is definitely growing on me.
In the meantime, I’m finding rocks all over. I’m re-centering and being clear on who I am and why I’m here. It’s a process, so I don’t plan on finishing that this week, but I’m starting in a big way. I think it’s safe to say that the next time you see me, I’ll be changed into a more revealed me.
* * *
Our second community teaching happened at the village office for two sub-vilages. It was scheduled for 12 noon but didn’t start till 2PM because of another NGO in the village, Catholic Relief Services. Somehow they got our audience first.
This teaching reached about 75 village members, both babas and mamas. Fortunately/unfortunately we were teaching a group of mamas at the dispensary simultaneously, so our teaching group was already split and we couldn’t divide the men and women and teach them separately. We ideally try to do this for community groups because the women will tend not to ask questions on important topics like sexual transmission if the men are present. Also... they just about die of embarassment when we talk about condoms, and many end up crying during the condom demonstration. I think it’s a combination of laughter and embarrassment, but they turn their faces away or cover them with their kanghas, head scarves or hands, and when they reappear, they’re wiping their eyes and show no sign of being publicly amused.
* * *
So, I’ve been here for a little over a month and living in the village for over two weeks. I’m getting used to some things... I never used to drink tea, but I now drink about four cups a day. With milk. And sugar. It’s like hot liquid candy. I’m getting used to shaking everyone’s hand, and I’m getting used to being quite dirty. Even on the weekends when I have the opportunity to take a hot, running-water shower, I only take one. At home I was used to being dirty from working with the horses, but I could always just clean up. But here, even when you’re inside, it’s still not quite clean. So you just start getting dirty again. I’ve only taken three bucket showers here (but I don’t smell, I swear), I don’t wash my feet every night like I probably should, and I figure that having clean hands means no more than using hand sanitizer, whether or not it gets the dirt off. It’s rare to see my fingernails clean. But I do brush my teeth (not always floss... because of the “not clean” hands situation) and “wash” my face with pre-moistened towelettes every day and night. I’m also getting used to using very little toilet paper, and I don’t mind the food.
It’s a good thing I like to eat rice, beans and cabbage, because I eat a lot of it. And fresh fruit, which no one should mind. We also often eat makande (a corn and beans chunky moosh dish), and we always eat with one utensil: a spoon. Last week we were served tikitikimaji (watermelon) twice a day with sliced bananas. I don’t think I will ever get tired of tikitikimaji! And it’s also a good thing I like ndizi because we basically have some sort of banana or plantain product at every meal. The foods are not cooked with any spices, so it’s also a good thing thaty I have a history of liking bland foods. But this might also explain why on the weekends I want curry!!
* * *
That’s all for now. I have a more detailed description of my family, classrooms and our work in the works. Again, you can let me know what you would like to hear about, as this is just becoming my way of life and it sometimes easy to skip over things I deem basic.
Also, please note that the SIC P.O. Box (so, my mailing address) has changed to 16390.
Finally, you’re welcome to email me personally. I love comments on the blog, but be aware that they give me no way of replying to you personally. My email address is carrie.c.weaver@gmail.com, and just because I’m far away “doing good” doesn’t mean your life is not important to me! :P
I love you all. Thanks for reading! :)
Peace.
We arrived 5 minutes before 11 and saw some men hanging around a duka close to the school, seemingly waiting for something. They turned out to be waiting for us—waiting for the teaching. I think the village leader told them 10AM so that they would show up in a somewhat timely manner for starting. As it turned out, there was a funeral at the same time, so not as many people showed up as would have otherwise, but I was happy with the turnout. We had a crowd of 21 very attentive men, which was good because we didn’t have to split the genders and teaching group for the gender-sensitive topics. We each were prepared to teach individual sections of the curriculum. I taught the sections on sexual transmission of HIV and prevention of sexual transmission as well as the “taking action” section at the end. The SIC curriculum incorporates the ABC’s (Abstinence, Be Faithful and Condom Use—the ABK’s in Swahili), which offer choices, and are both proven to be effective in reducing the impact of HIV as well as supported by the Tanzanian government, which helps our case in the event that an individual comes up against what we’re teaching. The citizens are very proud Tanzanians and love their government, so many will support what their government supports, which is a progressive approach to the AIDS issue.
We taught for almost three hours as the men sat, scowling in concentration, listening carefully to what we had to say. Because it was a group of Babas only (no women), it might have been wise of us to have switched it up and had Jonas or Joey teach the sexual transmission section, because even the grown men had a hard time staying completely serious. I have so far been very serious and professional in my teachings (maybe there’s some room for humor in the future), but the fact is that I’m still a woman talking about sex. Good thing we didn’t have me or any of the other female teachers do the condom demonstration... with our huge, black, rubber, anatomically accurate prop. They would have been in fits. So Jonas took care of teaching that for us.
In my sexual transmission section, I talked not only about the ABKs, but also about the importance of good communication and trust between sexual partners. Finally, I added something I really believe: The way I see it, personally, is that one of the most loving things you can do is protect yourself and your partner from HIV transmission. A whopping 80% of HIV transmissions in Tanzania occur through sex—typically an act of intimacy and love. So the most loving thing you can do is communicate with your partener about how to stay healthy. Our village appears to be very family-oriented, and I felt like the message was well-received. When I sat down for the next person to teach his section, I asked Gaby if she thought it was preachy. I didn’t think it was, but I was more reassured when she said she didn’t think it was, either. Although I feel very strongly about the kinds of attitudes people should have around HIV and their lives and community, I am careful to be respectful of them as people at choice and of another culture.
In my personal conclusion at the end of the teaching, I also added that now that they know a lot, they have a kind of responsibility to change their behavior a little. I explained that I don’t want to change their culture, but there are some behaviors that must be changed to keep the community and themselves safe—namely, sexual and child-bearing behaviors. I also was inspired to thank them personally for coming to be taught, as it gave me a lot of energy to keep teaching in their community. I’ve come a long way and am living in a very different environment, and it is very fulfilling to be able to do this.
The men were deeply grateful for our coming and teaching to them. They asked good, thoughtful questions throughout the session and listened well the whole time. At the end of the teaching, the sub-village leader who organized the teaching and brought people to it, assigned on of the men—which happened to be one of the most attentive ones and the one asking the most questions—to lead the group in a tradition they have for thanking people they respect and to which they’re very grateful. The assigned man had everyone stand, and exlained to us that they would repeat three things three times, starting with “pasha” (rubbing their palms together to heat them up). When the man said, “Choma!”, the men clapped three times towards us, stomped three times, and snapped their fingers three times at us, all together. It was so cool to have them honor us so, “according to their culture.”
* * *
Africa is beautiful. If there’s one t hing I’ve learned since being here, it’s that the skies are ALWAYS incredible. For example, on my safari in the Serengeti, I quickly realized that the image of the rays of sun shinging down throught the clouds to spectacularly light the land- and sky-scape was by no means something Disney made up for The Lion King. It’s as much a reality here as night being dark. Why is it so beautiful? The skies are SO vast. I grew up in a valley, so I always had hills surrounding me. But here, my horizon is flatter, farther away, and with one mountain—or two on a clear day—characterizing the skyline. I can see clearly where the sun comes up and where it goes down. And speaking of mountains, I saw Kilimanjaro on Tuesday in the evening for the second time—the first time since our introduction to the village. It looks smaller than I think it should and certainly much smaller than Mt. Meru. But I like it. It’s beautiful, and it’s different from Mt. Meru in that it doesn’t just look like a jagged rock... it has snow!
Also, at night, because there are no city or ambient lights, the universe above is free to take its turn show its own spectacle of light. I see more stars here than I can ever recall seeing at once, even out at the Colorado River in the desert. Maybe I just need to get out more. But since coming here five weeks ago, there’s been only one night that I’ve not seen the Milky Way. And after that one night it rained. Often (maybe as a result of drinking chai before going to bed, hmm...), I am forced awake in the middle of the night by an insane urge to go to the bathroom. I have to leave the house to walk to the choo, and on the way back stop in my tracks to look up at the stars. I’m grateful for these emergency choo-visits in the night because they give me the opportunity to see the stars, when the stars alone would not have gotten me out of bed. I think I’ll keep drinking chai before bed.
I absolutely love my morning wand evening walks, too, especially if I take them alone. We teach every morning at 8AM, so I walk every morning from my house to school at around 7:30AM... rested, fed (with chai na maziwa na sukari! / chai with milk and sugar!) and looking out at the beautifully lit landscape from horizon to horizon. I walk back in the evenings from the Mwenye Kiti’s house, usually from planning lessons, often just before sundown. With the sun on the other side of my village world and with it so low in the sky, the trees are perfectly silhouetted against it and the fire-like clouds. There’s no need for underexposure photography here. But even with the sky so vast, there never exists a feeling of emptiness. At these times, it is easy and most natural to feel connected to the universe.
* * *
Despite appreciating the beauty of the scenery, I became very conscious during the week of the fact that I didn’t have my rock with me. I’ve been dealing with such a multitude of deep frustrations that I’ve been operating from a place of not understanding what I was going through or even knowing what to treat for. On the day that it hit me this week, Gaby said a few things very well. She said that although she doesn’t understand my beliefs or philosophy, she does see that I’m far from them. She also said that at the end when we go back home, people will ask us how it was... We’ll say that some of it was actually quite hard. But what people might not understand is that “some of it being very hard” can translate into days of living that very real experience, but that yes, we did get some good photos. Somehow both the things she said were very helpful and supportive. I knew they meant something. But I didn’t value the latter as much as I do now until she told a group of us on a crowded bus ride about a time she became so altitude-sick while climing the highest mountain in South America that she was actually very scared. Unstoppable nose-bleeding and vomiting during a night when she had to wait at that altitude until dawn... I realized why I sensed before that she knew what she was talking about.
Joey also said something very well that day. He said that this is what culture shock really is: not having your rock. I wasn’t sure I agreed at first, as I could see myself traveling with a friend and never losing my rock. But that’s not the same category. Traveling with a rock, you can still assimilate into and experience a culture without losing your foothold. I guess I’ve got some culture shock starting to heal.
Stef also said something well. She didn’t say anything but just hugged me. I really needed that. My teaching group is definitely growing on me.
In the meantime, I’m finding rocks all over. I’m re-centering and being clear on who I am and why I’m here. It’s a process, so I don’t plan on finishing that this week, but I’m starting in a big way. I think it’s safe to say that the next time you see me, I’ll be changed into a more revealed me.
* * *
Our second community teaching happened at the village office for two sub-vilages. It was scheduled for 12 noon but didn’t start till 2PM because of another NGO in the village, Catholic Relief Services. Somehow they got our audience first.
This teaching reached about 75 village members, both babas and mamas. Fortunately/unfortunately we were teaching a group of mamas at the dispensary simultaneously, so our teaching group was already split and we couldn’t divide the men and women and teach them separately. We ideally try to do this for community groups because the women will tend not to ask questions on important topics like sexual transmission if the men are present. Also... they just about die of embarassment when we talk about condoms, and many end up crying during the condom demonstration. I think it’s a combination of laughter and embarrassment, but they turn their faces away or cover them with their kanghas, head scarves or hands, and when they reappear, they’re wiping their eyes and show no sign of being publicly amused.
* * *
So, I’ve been here for a little over a month and living in the village for over two weeks. I’m getting used to some things... I never used to drink tea, but I now drink about four cups a day. With milk. And sugar. It’s like hot liquid candy. I’m getting used to shaking everyone’s hand, and I’m getting used to being quite dirty. Even on the weekends when I have the opportunity to take a hot, running-water shower, I only take one. At home I was used to being dirty from working with the horses, but I could always just clean up. But here, even when you’re inside, it’s still not quite clean. So you just start getting dirty again. I’ve only taken three bucket showers here (but I don’t smell, I swear), I don’t wash my feet every night like I probably should, and I figure that having clean hands means no more than using hand sanitizer, whether or not it gets the dirt off. It’s rare to see my fingernails clean. But I do brush my teeth (not always floss... because of the “not clean” hands situation) and “wash” my face with pre-moistened towelettes every day and night. I’m also getting used to using very little toilet paper, and I don’t mind the food.
It’s a good thing I like to eat rice, beans and cabbage, because I eat a lot of it. And fresh fruit, which no one should mind. We also often eat makande (a corn and beans chunky moosh dish), and we always eat with one utensil: a spoon. Last week we were served tikitikimaji (watermelon) twice a day with sliced bananas. I don’t think I will ever get tired of tikitikimaji! And it’s also a good thing I like ndizi because we basically have some sort of banana or plantain product at every meal. The foods are not cooked with any spices, so it’s also a good thing thaty I have a history of liking bland foods. But this might also explain why on the weekends I want curry!!
* * *
That’s all for now. I have a more detailed description of my family, classrooms and our work in the works. Again, you can let me know what you would like to hear about, as this is just becoming my way of life and it sometimes easy to skip over things I deem basic.
Also, please note that the SIC P.O. Box (so, my mailing address) has changed to 16390.
Finally, you’re welcome to email me personally. I love comments on the blog, but be aware that they give me no way of replying to you personally. My email address is carrie.c.weaver@gmail.com, and just because I’m far away “doing good” doesn’t mean your life is not important to me! :P
I love you all. Thanks for reading! :)
Peace.
Sunday, October 14, 2007
It's Kiswahili to me!
One night, I tried—with my limited Swahili—to explain to my Baba one of the differences between America and Tanzania, as he’d asked me what’s different. The thing that came to mind was greetings—or lack thereof in many parts of the U.S. In the village culture of Tanzania, greetings are of utmost importance. When you pass someone—especially if they’re alone and you’re alone—you stop, greet, shake hands, and often hold that position holding hands for the duration of the conversation.
It starts something like this:
Shikamoo! (greeting to an older person than you)
Marahaba! (greeting to a younger person than you, or response to ‘Shikamoo’)
Habari zenu? (‘What’s your news?”)
Nzuri / Salama / Safi (each to any degree, as in “sana,” much, or “kabisa,” totally)
If it’s in the morning, you will ask or will be asked how you woke up (“Umeamkaje?”) or how you slept (“Umelalaje?”), which elicits an answer, “Salama,” which means ‘peacefully, safe, or in good health.’
What I find most interesting about social greetings is two things. The first is that the greeting “Shikamoo” (a greeting to an older person, pronounced ‘sheek-a-MOW’) is used even by some youngsters who appear around my age. I think I just think I look younger than I actually do to them, but also, I’ve come to the conclusion that sometimes they say it because I’m white, they know I’m here as a teacher, or because I’m in a collared shirt (for teaching). It just occurred to me that it could also be the uncertainty of how to tell the age of a white person or the shyness of not knowing what to say, in some cases. Sometimes one of us volunteers will “shikamoo” someone out of respect who, as they neared us, turned out to be closer to our age or even younger. It’s not always easy to tell until they open their mouths (judging age by their teath). The watoto (kids) will look up at us with wide eyes and expressions of wonder on their faces as they say “shikao,” removing many of the consonants in a colloquial manner.
The second thing that I find very interesting that I think you will, too, is the use of the word “pole” (pronounced “poll-ay”). It generally means, “I’m sorry for your troubles.” At first exposure to it, it seemed like an apology to me, which made me hesitant to use it, because I didn’t feel I had anything to be sorry for. I can empathize but not take credit for something I didn’t cause. After a while, I’ve become more accustomed to its use. It’s actually a sympathetic expression of compassion, which is nice. For example, if a woman is carrying a large load on her head, you can say “Pole, Mama.” Also, if someone trips, you can say “pole.” Apparently, its completely acceptable for my Baba, Mama, aunt, dada… or anyone… to assume that whatever activity I’ve come from has been taxing for me, and upon my return home, greet me with “Pole!” At first, I looked at them with puzzlement, but now I just say, “Asante,” thank you. Sometimes I feel I merit sympathy for my work (long hours, long walks or heat), in which case I hope I’m expressing as much gratitude for their sympathy as I feel.
One of my fellow wazungu (white people) commented that maybe because the culture/language doesn’t permit for people to respond to “Habari” (effectively, “What’s your news?”) with anything less favorable than “Nzuri tu” (“Just good.”), they use the expression “pole” to express sympathy for the unsaid hardships people supposedly have. So, because they can’t verbally express them, the other person will acknowledge them anyway.
On top of those two things is also the translation of the more automatically accepted greetings I use. “Habari” is used like “How are you,” but actually means “news.” And you tell them the quality of your news (remember, not anything worse than “nzuri tu”) or the quality of the news they ask after. For example, “Habari asubuhi/mchana/jioni?” is “what’s your news of the morning/afternoon/evening?” This can continue for ages, asking about anything under the sun.
Also, you may have heard the greeting “Jambo!” before. Don’t say that in Swahililand. You’ll be tagged as a tourist right away. You should conjugate it and say “Hujambo” for you, singular, or “Hamjambo” for you, plural. These phrases are actually conjugated with negation and to my understanding end up translated as something like, “Don’t you have any problems?” If someone greeted you this way—or rather, asked you this question—you would answer “Sijambo,” as in, “No, I don’t have any problems.” It’s also very normal, even in casual greetings with people you’ve never met before, to ask, “Mama/Baba/Familia yako hajambo?” (about their mother/father/family).
Finally, often times I will come home in the afternoon or evening and have a full exchange with, say, the aunt, during which all I ever say is “Asante/ Asante sana,” because that is the response that what she says elicits. Over and over again. To the point where I feel like I’m just moving my mouth and vocal chords without feeling… or the feeling that I’m becoming dumb. Okay, not exactly. But I’m not kidding about only saying “Asante”:
“Karibu nyumbani!... Asante… Karibu tena!... Asante… Pole, Dada… Asante… Karibu sana!... Asante sana!”
I feel like I’m forgetting something.
OH! And they ALWAYS ask if I’m tired. Umechoka? Again, at first I was taken aback, like… no, actually I’m not. Should I be? I’m learning to take that in stride and not say, “Hapana” (no) and just give in and say “Kidogo” (a little bit), unless I’m actually tired, in which case I say so, to which they say—you guessed it—pole.
It starts something like this:
Shikamoo! (greeting to an older person than you)
Marahaba! (greeting to a younger person than you, or response to ‘Shikamoo’)
Habari zenu? (‘What’s your news?”)
Nzuri / Salama / Safi (each to any degree, as in “sana,” much, or “kabisa,” totally)
If it’s in the morning, you will ask or will be asked how you woke up (“Umeamkaje?”) or how you slept (“Umelalaje?”), which elicits an answer, “Salama,” which means ‘peacefully, safe, or in good health.’
What I find most interesting about social greetings is two things. The first is that the greeting “Shikamoo” (a greeting to an older person, pronounced ‘sheek-a-MOW’) is used even by some youngsters who appear around my age. I think I just think I look younger than I actually do to them, but also, I’ve come to the conclusion that sometimes they say it because I’m white, they know I’m here as a teacher, or because I’m in a collared shirt (for teaching). It just occurred to me that it could also be the uncertainty of how to tell the age of a white person or the shyness of not knowing what to say, in some cases. Sometimes one of us volunteers will “shikamoo” someone out of respect who, as they neared us, turned out to be closer to our age or even younger. It’s not always easy to tell until they open their mouths (judging age by their teath). The watoto (kids) will look up at us with wide eyes and expressions of wonder on their faces as they say “shikao,” removing many of the consonants in a colloquial manner.
The second thing that I find very interesting that I think you will, too, is the use of the word “pole” (pronounced “poll-ay”). It generally means, “I’m sorry for your troubles.” At first exposure to it, it seemed like an apology to me, which made me hesitant to use it, because I didn’t feel I had anything to be sorry for. I can empathize but not take credit for something I didn’t cause. After a while, I’ve become more accustomed to its use. It’s actually a sympathetic expression of compassion, which is nice. For example, if a woman is carrying a large load on her head, you can say “Pole, Mama.” Also, if someone trips, you can say “pole.” Apparently, its completely acceptable for my Baba, Mama, aunt, dada… or anyone… to assume that whatever activity I’ve come from has been taxing for me, and upon my return home, greet me with “Pole!” At first, I looked at them with puzzlement, but now I just say, “Asante,” thank you. Sometimes I feel I merit sympathy for my work (long hours, long walks or heat), in which case I hope I’m expressing as much gratitude for their sympathy as I feel.
One of my fellow wazungu (white people) commented that maybe because the culture/language doesn’t permit for people to respond to “Habari” (effectively, “What’s your news?”) with anything less favorable than “Nzuri tu” (“Just good.”), they use the expression “pole” to express sympathy for the unsaid hardships people supposedly have. So, because they can’t verbally express them, the other person will acknowledge them anyway.
On top of those two things is also the translation of the more automatically accepted greetings I use. “Habari” is used like “How are you,” but actually means “news.” And you tell them the quality of your news (remember, not anything worse than “nzuri tu”) or the quality of the news they ask after. For example, “Habari asubuhi/mchana/jioni?” is “what’s your news of the morning/afternoon/evening?” This can continue for ages, asking about anything under the sun.
Also, you may have heard the greeting “Jambo!” before. Don’t say that in Swahililand. You’ll be tagged as a tourist right away. You should conjugate it and say “Hujambo” for you, singular, or “Hamjambo” for you, plural. These phrases are actually conjugated with negation and to my understanding end up translated as something like, “Don’t you have any problems?” If someone greeted you this way—or rather, asked you this question—you would answer “Sijambo,” as in, “No, I don’t have any problems.” It’s also very normal, even in casual greetings with people you’ve never met before, to ask, “Mama/Baba/Familia yako hajambo?” (about their mother/father/family).
Finally, often times I will come home in the afternoon or evening and have a full exchange with, say, the aunt, during which all I ever say is “Asante/ Asante sana,” because that is the response that what she says elicits. Over and over again. To the point where I feel like I’m just moving my mouth and vocal chords without feeling… or the feeling that I’m becoming dumb. Okay, not exactly. But I’m not kidding about only saying “Asante”:
“Karibu nyumbani!... Asante… Karibu tena!... Asante… Pole, Dada… Asante… Karibu sana!... Asante sana!”
I feel like I’m forgetting something.
OH! And they ALWAYS ask if I’m tired. Umechoka? Again, at first I was taken aback, like… no, actually I’m not. Should I be? I’m learning to take that in stride and not say, “Hapana” (no) and just give in and say “Kidogo” (a little bit), unless I’m actually tired, in which case I say so, to which they say—you guessed it—pole.
When in Africa...
Some of us volunteers have talked about the interesting racial dynamic here, from being a part of a vast minority, to being called out to or referred to as “mzungu” (white person), to calling our experiences “African” versus “Tanzanian.” During that conversation we came to the conclusion that the people here do identify as African almost as much as they do Tanzanian, even though the continent is huge and encompasses many different cultures and even colors.
But when in Tanzania, do as the Tanzanians do.
So we don’t have running water or electricity in the village. So that means no toilets. But rural doesn’t mean uncivilized. They have their own kind of facility, called a “choo” (rhymes with “snow”). What it is, is basically a hole in the ground (quite deep… I don’t imagine they’ll have to dig a new one for many many years to come) surrounded by some sort of barrier that includes a latching door that latches from both the inside and the outside. (I’ve heard stories from my coordinator of volunteers being locked into the choo from the outside by accident.) Mine looks like a shack on a concrete slab. When you walk in, there is a nice concrete floor with one large block-like foot stand on either side of the hole to—you guessed it—put your feet on. The hole itself is rectangular, allowing a forward-backward margin for error. When compared to the choo stories my fellow teaching team members have, I’m a natural at using it. And apparently, my homestay has the best choo of all three host homestays in my village. I think mine is the only homestay whose choo is not cockroach-infested, especially at night. I’ve been shocked that it’s not, according to all the stories I’ve heard. But I don’t know why the buggers don’t like our choo. Is it not smelly enough? Hard to imagine…
Now… I have provided myself with my own toilet paper. But we haven’t figured out what the locals do. Someone told me that the left hand is… the “dirty hand,” but I don’t know if I actually believe they use it to wipe themselves or if that’s volunteer rumor. I’ll let you know if I find out for sure. We have a somewhat evidence-based theory that they use water from a bottle to wash themselves afterwards, but that doesn’t make sense to me. They’re pretty clean, non-stinky people. In fact, I’m under the impression they wash here more often than I do.
Speaking of washing, bucket showers are actually quite nice! They boil some water and add that to another bucket of water to make a very nice temperature bath. You take the bucket into the wash room (the next door over from the choo, on the same concrete slab). Instead of a towel, I’ve brought with me a small-towel-sized shammy for showering, etc. Good choice, I must say. I used the shammy to soak up water and wring it out over my shoulders, creating a very nice shower effect! I won’t lie… bathing this way has been LUXURIOUS compared with the bathing we did in standing showers at some of the places we’ve stayed. Often times the water won’t be running at all or, when you’re lucky and it is, it’s cold!
Off the hygiene topic, time is kept quite differently here. There’s “English time,” “Swahili time,” and “Tanzanian time,” each of which are different from the others. For the sake of explaining this, I’ll call English time normal time. Because that’s what it is. To me. And you. You’ll see how.
Swahili time is how you say the hour when speaking Swahili. I can’t account for Kimeru or other local languages, but it’s this way for Swahili. In this time frame, 7AM is the first hour of the day (“Saa moja”). So 8AM is referred to as “Saa mbili” (hour two). Likewise, 7PM is the first hour of the night (“Saa moja”). So likewise, 8PM is “Saa mbili”. Now you can see the confusion this would cause in many ways. One of those is cleared up by referencing the time of day you’re referring to, such as “Saa mbili asubuhi (morning)” versus “Saa mbili jioni (evening).”
The peculiar thing is that the clocks here look the same as the clocks at home and in western society. They also have the same numbers, with 12 at the top and 6 at the bottom. 10:00AM on the clock looks exactly like you’d want it to, although you’d read it in Swahili as, “Saa nne,” meaning “Hour four.”
Tanzanian time is something else. If you’d ever heard the phrase “No hurry in Africa,” it wasn’t a westerner who’d said it. It is not uncommon for people to show up hours late for a meeting or appointment. I don’t know how they function this way. But I guess it’s because they don’t try to do so many things in the day as we do. I don’t know what else to say about this except that it’s been a source of frustration for we wazungu, and that although the Tanzanians make a habit of being hours late, we need to be on time everywhere, even if that means on time to wait patiently for their presence. And we can’t allow their tardiness to make us late for our later engagements (i.e. scheduled teachings in schools).
My theory is that they don’t have enough clocks—or enough people don’t have them—to keep a consistent sense of time, even once they put the watch on. I’ve joked that my gift to Tanzania would be a large clock. But that, of course, was coming from a place of impatience.
But when in Tanzania, do as the Tanzanians do.
So we don’t have running water or electricity in the village. So that means no toilets. But rural doesn’t mean uncivilized. They have their own kind of facility, called a “choo” (rhymes with “snow”). What it is, is basically a hole in the ground (quite deep… I don’t imagine they’ll have to dig a new one for many many years to come) surrounded by some sort of barrier that includes a latching door that latches from both the inside and the outside. (I’ve heard stories from my coordinator of volunteers being locked into the choo from the outside by accident.) Mine looks like a shack on a concrete slab. When you walk in, there is a nice concrete floor with one large block-like foot stand on either side of the hole to—you guessed it—put your feet on. The hole itself is rectangular, allowing a forward-backward margin for error. When compared to the choo stories my fellow teaching team members have, I’m a natural at using it. And apparently, my homestay has the best choo of all three host homestays in my village. I think mine is the only homestay whose choo is not cockroach-infested, especially at night. I’ve been shocked that it’s not, according to all the stories I’ve heard. But I don’t know why the buggers don’t like our choo. Is it not smelly enough? Hard to imagine…
Now… I have provided myself with my own toilet paper. But we haven’t figured out what the locals do. Someone told me that the left hand is… the “dirty hand,” but I don’t know if I actually believe they use it to wipe themselves or if that’s volunteer rumor. I’ll let you know if I find out for sure. We have a somewhat evidence-based theory that they use water from a bottle to wash themselves afterwards, but that doesn’t make sense to me. They’re pretty clean, non-stinky people. In fact, I’m under the impression they wash here more often than I do.
Speaking of washing, bucket showers are actually quite nice! They boil some water and add that to another bucket of water to make a very nice temperature bath. You take the bucket into the wash room (the next door over from the choo, on the same concrete slab). Instead of a towel, I’ve brought with me a small-towel-sized shammy for showering, etc. Good choice, I must say. I used the shammy to soak up water and wring it out over my shoulders, creating a very nice shower effect! I won’t lie… bathing this way has been LUXURIOUS compared with the bathing we did in standing showers at some of the places we’ve stayed. Often times the water won’t be running at all or, when you’re lucky and it is, it’s cold!
Off the hygiene topic, time is kept quite differently here. There’s “English time,” “Swahili time,” and “Tanzanian time,” each of which are different from the others. For the sake of explaining this, I’ll call English time normal time. Because that’s what it is. To me. And you. You’ll see how.
Swahili time is how you say the hour when speaking Swahili. I can’t account for Kimeru or other local languages, but it’s this way for Swahili. In this time frame, 7AM is the first hour of the day (“Saa moja”). So 8AM is referred to as “Saa mbili” (hour two). Likewise, 7PM is the first hour of the night (“Saa moja”). So likewise, 8PM is “Saa mbili”. Now you can see the confusion this would cause in many ways. One of those is cleared up by referencing the time of day you’re referring to, such as “Saa mbili asubuhi (morning)” versus “Saa mbili jioni (evening).”
The peculiar thing is that the clocks here look the same as the clocks at home and in western society. They also have the same numbers, with 12 at the top and 6 at the bottom. 10:00AM on the clock looks exactly like you’d want it to, although you’d read it in Swahili as, “Saa nne,” meaning “Hour four.”
Tanzanian time is something else. If you’d ever heard the phrase “No hurry in Africa,” it wasn’t a westerner who’d said it. It is not uncommon for people to show up hours late for a meeting or appointment. I don’t know how they function this way. But I guess it’s because they don’t try to do so many things in the day as we do. I don’t know what else to say about this except that it’s been a source of frustration for we wazungu, and that although the Tanzanians make a habit of being hours late, we need to be on time everywhere, even if that means on time to wait patiently for their presence. And we can’t allow their tardiness to make us late for our later engagements (i.e. scheduled teachings in schools).
My theory is that they don’t have enough clocks—or enough people don’t have them—to keep a consistent sense of time, even once they put the watch on. I’ve joked that my gift to Tanzania would be a large clock. But that, of course, was coming from a place of impatience.
Tuko Pamoja Kuushinda UKIMWI!
Upon arriving in the village, we each spent the day with our respective families. Some toured the village a little with them, some were introduced to other members of the village. I discovered that the animals here are not used to being affectionate or treated nicely. In other words, they’re not really my friends.
The next day we all met as a teaching group to tour the schools we would be teaching in. Our village teaching group has three schools: two primary and one secondary. We’re excited to have a secondary school, because not all the teaching groups do.
Maroroni Primary lies near the center of town, about twenty minutes walking from my homestay, not too far from Maroroni Secondary. We also teach at a school we call Nazareti Primary (I think that’s actually its name) that is about an hour’s walk from the village center.
Friday (Ijumaa), our second day in the village, we walked to each school, met with the headmasters and teachers, introduced ourselves, and confirmed our teaching schedules with them.
On Saturday (Jumamosi), we had our scheduled meeting with the village leaders. About twelve people showed up… about an hour and a half late. The meeting went very well, actually. I expected it to, but it was really cool to experience it.
The meeting was held in a semi-enclosed area that was a cross between a patio porch (all cement) and a rectangular room. The window openings were arch-like holes in the walls and were never meant to hold glass. The village leaders (former members of the village council, respected elders in the community, general members of the council and an SIC-trained Community Health Worker that was wearing an SIC shirt) all sat on a long bench facing the vice-mwenye kiti, standing in for the mwenye kiti, and meeting leader. One of the women on the council prayed us into the meeting, and we were asked to begin with our plans. Jonas, one of our teaching partners, did most of the translating and back-translating for us throughout.
We went there to introduce ourselves, SIC and our goals and services to the leaders, asking for their support in our efforts to launch a sustainable awareness campaign in their community. They’ve heard much of what we wanted to tell them, but they wanted to hear it from us, too. (We’ve been told that even homestay families and teachers will ask us why we’re here, even if they’ve already been prepped by SIC staff, so they can hear it from us personally.) We also wanted to schedule community teaching days for the sub-villages and a village testing day for the whole village with the advice of the leaders, who know their communities best. Finally, we wanted to share some of our curriculum with them so they would know what topics we’d be teaching in the schools and communities, and make sure that they’re all approved by the leaders.
The response we got from them was overwhelmingly positive. They welcomed us very sincerely to the village, saying it was an honor to have us here helping their community. They said they would do anything at all that we asked of them to help us in our campaign. They made themselves available for us to use and talk to whenever we would need them. They said they wanted us to teach the whole curriculum—not leaving anything out, including condom use and demonstrations—because they want “the truth.” They said their people want and need to know everything we have to teach to them. Finally, they said they wanted to be taught the information themselves so that they could vouch for our legitimacy and round up community members for community teachings, which really need to be advertised by the sub-village leaders themselves in order to be successful. We really are…
TUKO PAMOJA KUUSHINDA UKIMWI!
So we scheduled a time (for that Wednesday) to have a teaching for the sub-village leaders and the mwenye kiti, after which we would schedule the community teaching times and dates.
Sunday (Jumapili), most of us were planning on going to church with our families, myself included. But this didn’t happen for me. In the morning I got a text message from Joey, who lives with the mwenye kiti, saying that the village leaders teaching got moved up to that Monday. We had to plan for it as well as plan for our first day of teaching in the schools, which we hadn’t done much yet. So I didn’t go to church (which takes about half the day). Long story short, we also didn’t plan until after my Mama had returned from church because of a misfire in communication. Stefanie and Gaby went to church without getting our text message on time. So we planned over the phone a bit and decided who would teach what in the leaders teaching as well as in the classes at schools.
Monday (Jumatatu) was a big day for us. It was raining in when I woke up and drizzled a little on the way to school. We were going to be teaching in the Secondary school first (Forms 3, 2, then 1) and then moving over to the village office to wait for the leaders to trickle in. We started an hour and a half later, when enough people were there to begin. I’m going to go over this briefly because there’s more to write about beyond the village leaders meeting. But we taught them the topics they wanted us to teach them, and finished by planning the dates and times for our community teachings. So this upcoming week we’re teaching three community teachings in the sub-villages!
When we were finished (quite late, too, which was a source of very much frustration for the group at the beginning of the week), we rushed over to the primary school to do our scheduled lesson there and finish our day.
The week continued in a pattern of planning in the afternoons, teaching in the mornings and at midday, and planning again for the next day.
The experience of the first week was… well, a first week in many ways. And a very dynamic first week, at that. For the first few days we were putting in way too many hours working for healthy living and not communicating well enough to be efficient. There was an abundance of frustrations and stressors on many levels, from not wanting to inadvertently be rude to my family for any reason, to not feeling like I could do what I’m best at (one-on-one interaction with people) because of a language barrier, to being disappointed with the quality of interaction in our group, to not being able to fulfill the one need I felt I had, which was to talk these things out with a like-minded friend or family member from home to see them in a new way… Needless to say, these things built up quickly and came out in a big way early in the first workweek. I can’t say what exactly turned it all around, but I’m grateful for Daniel Nahmod’s music, having Joey in my group who’s proven to be a good listener and supporter, having Jonas in my group to also serve as a support and someone who’s done this before, and knowing that there are plenty of people at home who love me, support me and believe in my ability to do this regardless of any limitations I may perceive. Somehow, things in me changed around, our group is working better, we’ve started having fun and laughing, we’re more efficient with our time, we’re communicating better, and understanding each other’s needs and personalities in a more harmonious way. For that I’m grateful, and I can see this working again. Once again… Tuko pamoja kuushinda UKIMWI!
The next day we all met as a teaching group to tour the schools we would be teaching in. Our village teaching group has three schools: two primary and one secondary. We’re excited to have a secondary school, because not all the teaching groups do.
Maroroni Primary lies near the center of town, about twenty minutes walking from my homestay, not too far from Maroroni Secondary. We also teach at a school we call Nazareti Primary (I think that’s actually its name) that is about an hour’s walk from the village center.
Friday (Ijumaa), our second day in the village, we walked to each school, met with the headmasters and teachers, introduced ourselves, and confirmed our teaching schedules with them.
On Saturday (Jumamosi), we had our scheduled meeting with the village leaders. About twelve people showed up… about an hour and a half late. The meeting went very well, actually. I expected it to, but it was really cool to experience it.
The meeting was held in a semi-enclosed area that was a cross between a patio porch (all cement) and a rectangular room. The window openings were arch-like holes in the walls and were never meant to hold glass. The village leaders (former members of the village council, respected elders in the community, general members of the council and an SIC-trained Community Health Worker that was wearing an SIC shirt) all sat on a long bench facing the vice-mwenye kiti, standing in for the mwenye kiti, and meeting leader. One of the women on the council prayed us into the meeting, and we were asked to begin with our plans. Jonas, one of our teaching partners, did most of the translating and back-translating for us throughout.
We went there to introduce ourselves, SIC and our goals and services to the leaders, asking for their support in our efforts to launch a sustainable awareness campaign in their community. They’ve heard much of what we wanted to tell them, but they wanted to hear it from us, too. (We’ve been told that even homestay families and teachers will ask us why we’re here, even if they’ve already been prepped by SIC staff, so they can hear it from us personally.) We also wanted to schedule community teaching days for the sub-villages and a village testing day for the whole village with the advice of the leaders, who know their communities best. Finally, we wanted to share some of our curriculum with them so they would know what topics we’d be teaching in the schools and communities, and make sure that they’re all approved by the leaders.
The response we got from them was overwhelmingly positive. They welcomed us very sincerely to the village, saying it was an honor to have us here helping their community. They said they would do anything at all that we asked of them to help us in our campaign. They made themselves available for us to use and talk to whenever we would need them. They said they wanted us to teach the whole curriculum—not leaving anything out, including condom use and demonstrations—because they want “the truth.” They said their people want and need to know everything we have to teach to them. Finally, they said they wanted to be taught the information themselves so that they could vouch for our legitimacy and round up community members for community teachings, which really need to be advertised by the sub-village leaders themselves in order to be successful. We really are…
TUKO PAMOJA KUUSHINDA UKIMWI!
So we scheduled a time (for that Wednesday) to have a teaching for the sub-village leaders and the mwenye kiti, after which we would schedule the community teaching times and dates.
Sunday (Jumapili), most of us were planning on going to church with our families, myself included. But this didn’t happen for me. In the morning I got a text message from Joey, who lives with the mwenye kiti, saying that the village leaders teaching got moved up to that Monday. We had to plan for it as well as plan for our first day of teaching in the schools, which we hadn’t done much yet. So I didn’t go to church (which takes about half the day). Long story short, we also didn’t plan until after my Mama had returned from church because of a misfire in communication. Stefanie and Gaby went to church without getting our text message on time. So we planned over the phone a bit and decided who would teach what in the leaders teaching as well as in the classes at schools.
Monday (Jumatatu) was a big day for us. It was raining in when I woke up and drizzled a little on the way to school. We were going to be teaching in the Secondary school first (Forms 3, 2, then 1) and then moving over to the village office to wait for the leaders to trickle in. We started an hour and a half later, when enough people were there to begin. I’m going to go over this briefly because there’s more to write about beyond the village leaders meeting. But we taught them the topics they wanted us to teach them, and finished by planning the dates and times for our community teachings. So this upcoming week we’re teaching three community teachings in the sub-villages!
When we were finished (quite late, too, which was a source of very much frustration for the group at the beginning of the week), we rushed over to the primary school to do our scheduled lesson there and finish our day.
The week continued in a pattern of planning in the afternoons, teaching in the mornings and at midday, and planning again for the next day.
The experience of the first week was… well, a first week in many ways. And a very dynamic first week, at that. For the first few days we were putting in way too many hours working for healthy living and not communicating well enough to be efficient. There was an abundance of frustrations and stressors on many levels, from not wanting to inadvertently be rude to my family for any reason, to not feeling like I could do what I’m best at (one-on-one interaction with people) because of a language barrier, to being disappointed with the quality of interaction in our group, to not being able to fulfill the one need I felt I had, which was to talk these things out with a like-minded friend or family member from home to see them in a new way… Needless to say, these things built up quickly and came out in a big way early in the first workweek. I can’t say what exactly turned it all around, but I’m grateful for Daniel Nahmod’s music, having Joey in my group who’s proven to be a good listener and supporter, having Jonas in my group to also serve as a support and someone who’s done this before, and knowing that there are plenty of people at home who love me, support me and believe in my ability to do this regardless of any limitations I may perceive. Somehow, things in me changed around, our group is working better, we’ve started having fun and laughing, we’re more efficient with our time, we’re communicating better, and understanding each other’s needs and personalities in a more harmonious way. For that I’m grateful, and I can see this working again. Once again… Tuko pamoja kuushinda UKIMWI!
Saturday, October 13, 2007
Karibu, Jisikia Nyumbani!
“Kwite kukechenn” (Kimeru)
“Mi casa es su casa” (Kihispania)
All the volunteers and teaching partners moved into their homestays on Thursday, October 4th.
We were placed into teaching groups according to our work and homestay preference sheets as well as the strengths of in individuals as teachers. I’m in a group with Gaby, a girl from England, Stefanie, a fellow Bruin, Joey, a volunteer from Claremont, and two teaching partners, Jonas and Fatuma, both native Tanzanians.
We were placed in the village Maroroni, the centrally-located village of the Maroroni Ward. Jonas and Joey would be living with the Mwenye Kiti (the village chairman) and his family near the ‘center’ of the village, while Fatuma and I would be living together with a family not too far away, and Gaby and Stefanie would be living with a family an hour’s walk from either of us.
The drive out to our village was bumpy, dusty and rough, as usual. When we’d been driving for a while, Steve—the Volunteer Programs Manager in training and our driver for the trip—pointed out Mount Kilimanjaro. I wouldn’t have seen it if he hadn’t pointed it out for us. We could barely see the snowy peak above the clouds—pretty high up there—and when we re-oriented ourselves along the road in relation to the mountain, we could only see the base of the mountain. It must have been a clear day, because I haven’t seen it since.
I was told that the village would be very dusty. So my expectation/mental image was a barren landscape characterized primarily by volatile dirt. Driving in, I saw more trees (small trees) than I had envisioned. The landscape became more populated—mostly by plants—the closer we got to the village.
I started loving the village when we first entered it. The only way I knew we had entered it was because Steve had said so. There are no clear boundaries between villages—that I know of—except the train tracks on one side. I wondered when we crossed them if any trains actually used the tracks
The first thing we did was drop me and Fatuma off at our homestay. Our homestay is beautiful. The front yard of the house is enclosed by plants taller than I am and characterized by bougainvillea planted here and there and growing over a small shade made of sticks, creating a colorful garden of red, purple and pink flowers for the chickens and chicks to peck in.
When we pulled in, the Mama and Baba came out to greet us—the Mama from the house and the Baba from the back. I met each one and was showed into the house. The baba introduced himself as Baba Stella (a Swahili tradition—referring to someone as the father or mother of their oldest child) and the Mama as Mama Marth (not in keeping with the tradition? I’m not sure…). The village knows my baba as Ruben, or Baba Ruben, and apparently he’s quite wealthy. When we pulled up, there were three trucks in the back yard. I later found out that two are his, and I’m still not sure that either of them work. I see him and other men spend hours every day working on the trucks. Besides trucks, the family has a wealth of animals (cows, goats, some sort of fowl, chickens, a few dogs I don’t trust much, ducks and two donkeys). I live on a small animal farm.
The front of the house has a small, quaint porch—a great place for reading—beyond which is the front door. I was expecting packed-dirt floors, but to my surprise, my homestay house has more comforts than that. The front door leads into the living space of the house with many colorful and welcoming green, yellow, red and blue velvet fabric cushioned chairs surrounding a coffee table, which would become our dining table for every meal.
Now, my village has actually been visited by SIC before, three years ago. My family has also hosted SIC volunteers before, one of which I know by acquaintance at UCLA. It’s interesting that she was one of the most inspiring past volunteers who spoke at info sessions and pre-field training, and now I’m living with her old homestay family. The Mama talks about her and the other volunteer that stayed with her, calling them Dada Natalie (sister Natalie) and Dada Nicole, but is very welcoming and says, now we have Dada Carrie, which she has called me since.
Baba Ruben carried my luggage from the truck onto the porch, and Fatuma helped me carry it into the house and my room. Fatuma and I have the luxury of having separate rooms in the house—which has turned out to be good for us. My room is about a 12’x12’ (not sure of the dimensions) square, cement room with one window (no glass) covered by a sheer veil and a knotted curtain and no furniture but a full-sized wooden bed with a foam mattress. The window looks out to the back yard, directly at where they cook every day. Through it I hear chickens clucking, roosters crowing and ducks hissing (not sure what noise that is) at all hours of the day and night, as well as the occasional dog bark or bleat of an escaped goat. The walls in my room were painted white-ish a while ago, and are smudged with dirt at all hights and some elementary-looking writing in red pen here and there. By the door it says “Jesu” (Jesus).
Mama invited me and Fatuma in to the living area for food. “Karibu chai,” she said, welcoming us to tea and food. Apparently they had expected us in the morning and had prepared breakfast foods for us, but we didn’t arrive until the afternoon, so we had both breakfast food and a lunch meal prepared for us. A young woman a little older than I am came in and poured warm water for us to wash our hands with, and the Mama came in and prayed before leaving, and we ate. We ate some sort of fried banana that lost its natural sweet taste in the cooking process, fried potatoes (called “chipsi” here) and a sort of fried dough, the name of which I can’t remember right now. The lunch food that followed was rice, boiled beans, and a cooked cabbage dish that somewhat resembles cooked cole slaw.
An interesting part of many of the volunteers’ experiences in the homestays so far has been the uncertainty about who is a part of the family and who isn’t. I knew right away that Mama Marth and Baba Ruben were married and had a daughter (about 10 years old) named Stella. Other than that, I am still placing everyone else I see on a regular basis. It doesn’t seem to actually matter who they are in relation to the family, but curiosity strikes. There’s a young man (17 years old) in Form 2 at the secondary school who studies in the living room almost every night, especially on weeknights. I think he’s a nephew of Baba’s. There are some other young men—21 years, give or take, and 11 years—that are consistently around but don’t actually sleep in the house at night. I think they live in a building very close by. In the back of the house is an area that resembles a wing of a building that I think Baba’s sister (unmarried, no kids) and very old mother live in. The mother is very hard for me to understand, and I don’t know that she understands that I don’t understand. Further, I think I hear her walking around in the back yard and talking loudly to herself at wee hours of the night.
For now, I’ll leave describing the family in order to describe the schools and teaching a bit. But before I do, I’ll explain the title of this post. “Karibu, jisikia nyumbani” is Kiswahili for “Welcome, feel at home.” Of course, I heard that many times in the beginning and still hear it from time to time. Somehow Fatuma told the Baba over dinner one night the meaning of “Mi casa es su casa,” which you’ll recognize as Spanish for “My home is your home.” The Baba—and now the daughter, Stella—say it at least once a day to me. Often several times in one sitting, to the point of being comical from my standpoint. The Baba then was excited and taught me “Kwite kukechenn,” which is Kimeru (a local language that many people in the village speak) for… something. I don’t have a direct translation yet, but I assume it means something parallel to “Karibu, jisikia nyumbani” and “Mi casa es su casa.”
“Mi casa es su casa” (Kihispania)
All the volunteers and teaching partners moved into their homestays on Thursday, October 4th.
We were placed into teaching groups according to our work and homestay preference sheets as well as the strengths of in individuals as teachers. I’m in a group with Gaby, a girl from England, Stefanie, a fellow Bruin, Joey, a volunteer from Claremont, and two teaching partners, Jonas and Fatuma, both native Tanzanians.
We were placed in the village Maroroni, the centrally-located village of the Maroroni Ward. Jonas and Joey would be living with the Mwenye Kiti (the village chairman) and his family near the ‘center’ of the village, while Fatuma and I would be living together with a family not too far away, and Gaby and Stefanie would be living with a family an hour’s walk from either of us.
The drive out to our village was bumpy, dusty and rough, as usual. When we’d been driving for a while, Steve—the Volunteer Programs Manager in training and our driver for the trip—pointed out Mount Kilimanjaro. I wouldn’t have seen it if he hadn’t pointed it out for us. We could barely see the snowy peak above the clouds—pretty high up there—and when we re-oriented ourselves along the road in relation to the mountain, we could only see the base of the mountain. It must have been a clear day, because I haven’t seen it since.
I was told that the village would be very dusty. So my expectation/mental image was a barren landscape characterized primarily by volatile dirt. Driving in, I saw more trees (small trees) than I had envisioned. The landscape became more populated—mostly by plants—the closer we got to the village.
I started loving the village when we first entered it. The only way I knew we had entered it was because Steve had said so. There are no clear boundaries between villages—that I know of—except the train tracks on one side. I wondered when we crossed them if any trains actually used the tracks
The first thing we did was drop me and Fatuma off at our homestay. Our homestay is beautiful. The front yard of the house is enclosed by plants taller than I am and characterized by bougainvillea planted here and there and growing over a small shade made of sticks, creating a colorful garden of red, purple and pink flowers for the chickens and chicks to peck in.
When we pulled in, the Mama and Baba came out to greet us—the Mama from the house and the Baba from the back. I met each one and was showed into the house. The baba introduced himself as Baba Stella (a Swahili tradition—referring to someone as the father or mother of their oldest child) and the Mama as Mama Marth (not in keeping with the tradition? I’m not sure…). The village knows my baba as Ruben, or Baba Ruben, and apparently he’s quite wealthy. When we pulled up, there were three trucks in the back yard. I later found out that two are his, and I’m still not sure that either of them work. I see him and other men spend hours every day working on the trucks. Besides trucks, the family has a wealth of animals (cows, goats, some sort of fowl, chickens, a few dogs I don’t trust much, ducks and two donkeys). I live on a small animal farm.
The front of the house has a small, quaint porch—a great place for reading—beyond which is the front door. I was expecting packed-dirt floors, but to my surprise, my homestay house has more comforts than that. The front door leads into the living space of the house with many colorful and welcoming green, yellow, red and blue velvet fabric cushioned chairs surrounding a coffee table, which would become our dining table for every meal.
Now, my village has actually been visited by SIC before, three years ago. My family has also hosted SIC volunteers before, one of which I know by acquaintance at UCLA. It’s interesting that she was one of the most inspiring past volunteers who spoke at info sessions and pre-field training, and now I’m living with her old homestay family. The Mama talks about her and the other volunteer that stayed with her, calling them Dada Natalie (sister Natalie) and Dada Nicole, but is very welcoming and says, now we have Dada Carrie, which she has called me since.
Baba Ruben carried my luggage from the truck onto the porch, and Fatuma helped me carry it into the house and my room. Fatuma and I have the luxury of having separate rooms in the house—which has turned out to be good for us. My room is about a 12’x12’ (not sure of the dimensions) square, cement room with one window (no glass) covered by a sheer veil and a knotted curtain and no furniture but a full-sized wooden bed with a foam mattress. The window looks out to the back yard, directly at where they cook every day. Through it I hear chickens clucking, roosters crowing and ducks hissing (not sure what noise that is) at all hours of the day and night, as well as the occasional dog bark or bleat of an escaped goat. The walls in my room were painted white-ish a while ago, and are smudged with dirt at all hights and some elementary-looking writing in red pen here and there. By the door it says “Jesu” (Jesus).
Mama invited me and Fatuma in to the living area for food. “Karibu chai,” she said, welcoming us to tea and food. Apparently they had expected us in the morning and had prepared breakfast foods for us, but we didn’t arrive until the afternoon, so we had both breakfast food and a lunch meal prepared for us. A young woman a little older than I am came in and poured warm water for us to wash our hands with, and the Mama came in and prayed before leaving, and we ate. We ate some sort of fried banana that lost its natural sweet taste in the cooking process, fried potatoes (called “chipsi” here) and a sort of fried dough, the name of which I can’t remember right now. The lunch food that followed was rice, boiled beans, and a cooked cabbage dish that somewhat resembles cooked cole slaw.
An interesting part of many of the volunteers’ experiences in the homestays so far has been the uncertainty about who is a part of the family and who isn’t. I knew right away that Mama Marth and Baba Ruben were married and had a daughter (about 10 years old) named Stella. Other than that, I am still placing everyone else I see on a regular basis. It doesn’t seem to actually matter who they are in relation to the family, but curiosity strikes. There’s a young man (17 years old) in Form 2 at the secondary school who studies in the living room almost every night, especially on weeknights. I think he’s a nephew of Baba’s. There are some other young men—21 years, give or take, and 11 years—that are consistently around but don’t actually sleep in the house at night. I think they live in a building very close by. In the back of the house is an area that resembles a wing of a building that I think Baba’s sister (unmarried, no kids) and very old mother live in. The mother is very hard for me to understand, and I don’t know that she understands that I don’t understand. Further, I think I hear her walking around in the back yard and talking loudly to herself at wee hours of the night.
For now, I’ll leave describing the family in order to describe the schools and teaching a bit. But before I do, I’ll explain the title of this post. “Karibu, jisikia nyumbani” is Kiswahili for “Welcome, feel at home.” Of course, I heard that many times in the beginning and still hear it from time to time. Somehow Fatuma told the Baba over dinner one night the meaning of “Mi casa es su casa,” which you’ll recognize as Spanish for “My home is your home.” The Baba—and now the daughter, Stella—say it at least once a day to me. Often several times in one sitting, to the point of being comical from my standpoint. The Baba then was excited and taught me “Kwite kukechenn,” which is Kimeru (a local language that many people in the village speak) for… something. I don’t have a direct translation yet, but I assume it means something parallel to “Karibu, jisikia nyumbani” and “Mi casa es su casa.”
Long Time no Update!
Hi Friends and Family,
As you know, this is the first weekend I’ve had internet access for two weeks. So I’ll be making several posts as what I want to tell you all divides itself up into headings. Since my last post, I’ve been placed in a teaching group, finished orientation, moved into my village and homestay, had meetings and teachings with the village leaders, and started teaching in the schools. On top of that—because of my commitment to giving you as much of this experience as possible—there are several things my mind and experience have wandered around that I would like to write about here. While starting writing all this, I am knowing that everything I need to say and everything you need to read about is expressed exactly as it needs to be.
Also, please note that I updated my cell phone number: 011-255-786-065-693. (I took out the unnecessary 0 in front of the seven). Again, text messages are great! :)
Finally, thank all of you for your emails, blog comments and facebook posts, and any other way you show your love and support for me. I appreciate it all. Feel free to email me, too, if you'd like to send a personal email. That way I can respond personally to you.
Enjoy the new posts! :)
Love and Light,
Carrie
As you know, this is the first weekend I’ve had internet access for two weeks. So I’ll be making several posts as what I want to tell you all divides itself up into headings. Since my last post, I’ve been placed in a teaching group, finished orientation, moved into my village and homestay, had meetings and teachings with the village leaders, and started teaching in the schools. On top of that—because of my commitment to giving you as much of this experience as possible—there are several things my mind and experience have wandered around that I would like to write about here. While starting writing all this, I am knowing that everything I need to say and everything you need to read about is expressed exactly as it needs to be.
Also, please note that I updated my cell phone number: 011-255-786-065-693. (I took out the unnecessary 0 in front of the seven). Again, text messages are great! :)
Finally, thank all of you for your emails, blog comments and facebook posts, and any other way you show your love and support for me. I appreciate it all. Feel free to email me, too, if you'd like to send a personal email. That way I can respond personally to you.
Enjoy the new posts! :)
Love and Light,
Carrie
Saturday, September 29, 2007
Orientation
Hi All--
I won't be taking much time for this post. We have one day in town (today) before going back to orientation at an internet-less location. I'm feeling really frustrated that I can't relay everything that's going on to you all. I feel like I need hours on the computer to do so. There's always so much to write. So on this post I'll keep it brief (in the interest of time) and shoot for writing out more before my next internet visit (which won't be for two weeks).
On Thursday I'll be moving into my first village! In the meantime... orientation is happening. Our schedule is roughly 8AM to 5PM classroom time including lectures and discussions ranging from biology to Swahili to gender issues in country and in the world, to rural village living. It's great to have the Tanzanian teaching partners here with us, too. They share very much insight into the situation in TZ. There are twelve of them (I believe), and many have graduated from university and have done the SIC awareness campaigns before. They're great resources and very fun to be with. I see them as very progressive, vocal TZ citizens.
It's interesting that in the town of Arusha, I actually feel more safe than in many places at home. I've thought about this, and realized that it's because although crime here is targetted at foreigners (and we mzungu (white people) stick out like sore thumbs), it is typically petty theft, and there are very solid ways of protecting yourself. Whereas in the States, the type of crime that we fear is violent. Again, the people here don't want to hurt you: they just want your stuff.
I don't like to leave on that note, but know that this is not a huge part of my experience. I need to go catch a truck back to our site.
I love you all and appreciate your support. I'll post again in two weeks.
Peace,
Carrie :)
I won't be taking much time for this post. We have one day in town (today) before going back to orientation at an internet-less location. I'm feeling really frustrated that I can't relay everything that's going on to you all. I feel like I need hours on the computer to do so. There's always so much to write. So on this post I'll keep it brief (in the interest of time) and shoot for writing out more before my next internet visit (which won't be for two weeks).
On Thursday I'll be moving into my first village! In the meantime... orientation is happening. Our schedule is roughly 8AM to 5PM classroom time including lectures and discussions ranging from biology to Swahili to gender issues in country and in the world, to rural village living. It's great to have the Tanzanian teaching partners here with us, too. They share very much insight into the situation in TZ. There are twelve of them (I believe), and many have graduated from university and have done the SIC awareness campaigns before. They're great resources and very fun to be with. I see them as very progressive, vocal TZ citizens.
It's interesting that in the town of Arusha, I actually feel more safe than in many places at home. I've thought about this, and realized that it's because although crime here is targetted at foreigners (and we mzungu (white people) stick out like sore thumbs), it is typically petty theft, and there are very solid ways of protecting yourself. Whereas in the States, the type of crime that we fear is violent. Again, the people here don't want to hurt you: they just want your stuff.
I don't like to leave on that note, but know that this is not a huge part of my experience. I need to go catch a truck back to our site.
I love you all and appreciate your support. I'll post again in two weeks.
Peace,
Carrie :)
Saturday, September 22, 2007
Rwanda Tribunals and First Teaching Opportunity
I might jump around a bit in the time-scale, but I wanted to fill you in on a couple of other things I've been experiencing here.
The International Criminal Tribunal for Rwanda is taking place in Arusha right now. It doesn't cost anything to go watch, and it's walking distance from our hostel (Arusha isn't a very big city). Several of us went the day after we got back from the Safari. I don't actually know a lot about the Genocide, but it sounds to me like the tribunals will be going on for hundreds of years due to the sheer number of accuseds. We turned in our IDs, signed in on a very unprofessional-looking paper notebook with ruler-drawn columns, gave any cameras or recording devices we were carrying, and went through the security check. Once we got to the sitting room we would be watching from, we signed in again, received a headset set to English translation, and sat behind windows showing the room that was supposed to be the courtroom. I expected it to look more like a courtroom I see in the US than it did. Their break ended about fifteen minutes past the time it should have (Tanzania time), and we all rose and were seated to start anew.
Although we were witnessing the testimony of one of the accuseds, I wish I could say that it was very interesting... The general feel I got from that particular trial was that many of the officials were bored, and the procession was very slow. Possibly because they were picking at events that had happened fourteen years ago. At one point we all had some comic relief when the translator used the word "excommunicated" instead of "expelled" (referring to an officer's relation with his former affiliation), and the man on trial made a joke that he was sure that only the Catholic Church was capable of excommunicating its members.
In all, I am glad that I went, and am interested in learning more about the Genocide, as this was not much of an educational opportunity (due to the minuteness of the disputed facts in the larger scheme of the historical event).
On another note, all of the volunteers have now arrived. We start our official SIC program this morning at 11. We all now have our cell phones, too. My number (calling from the US) is: 011-255-786-065-693. It is free for me to receive text messages, so they are very welcome! (It's not free for you, though.)
[I can also receive phone calls for free, but when I'm in the villages I won't be able to charge the battery.]
Swithching gears again, I mentioned before that on the Safari I had--and took--my first teaching opportunity. Marielle was talking to some of the cooks from vaious safari companies stationed at our campsite during lunch on the first day when they asked her to teach them how to use a condom. She came over to the rest of us, resting and reading or writing after lunch, and asked if we had a condom with us. None of us did (the cooks asked why we called ourselves teachers and didn't carry our teaching materials with us), so I suggested we ask the European couple sitting at a table nearby. Fortunately, the were 1. Dutch, and 2. on their honeymoon. In keeping with the stereotype, they joked that they had plenty and gladly gave us one. So it started with Marielle, myself and later with Sarah M, giving a condom demonstration (using the available props: an "ndizi" or banana). From there the three men started asking a plethora of questions. I was very proud to be able to answer all of them. Many of the questions were what our prefield coordinator, Dana, had prepared us for, many of them were somewhat new. But there were many.
The time was approaching that we would be heading back out on a Game Drive, so one of the men (the one with the most questions, the most limited English and the one that seemed to me was the most emotionally disturbed by the AIDS situation in Africa at large) said he would build a campfire that night and wanted us to sit with him and talk more about it.
So that's what happened. Long after dinner and his campfire was made, he came and fetched us from our group bonding session. He and two or sometimes three other men sat around the fire for between two and three hours, late into the night, answering every question they asked us... and covering nearly the entirety of our SIC HIV/AIDS education curriculum (with the exception of mother-to-child transmission through breastfeeding and other STIs), ending with one of the men asking for personal advice about his situation. WOW. I am nineteen years old, this man was twenty five (he seemed much older), and he had respect enough for us (myself and Devon, who were the last to go to bed) to ask us for personal advice. From a completely different culture.
The night was incredibly rewarding, and I would love to go into more detail, but I won't now. I must get off the computer and experience this wonderful place!
I think starting today I will have significantly less internet access, so I wanted to give you all as much information and description as possible before getting down and dirty.
"The service you do for others is the rent you pay for the time you spend on Earth." -Muhammad Ali
And it begins... Please continue to know with me health and peace.
Love,
Carrie
The International Criminal Tribunal for Rwanda is taking place in Arusha right now. It doesn't cost anything to go watch, and it's walking distance from our hostel (Arusha isn't a very big city). Several of us went the day after we got back from the Safari. I don't actually know a lot about the Genocide, but it sounds to me like the tribunals will be going on for hundreds of years due to the sheer number of accuseds. We turned in our IDs, signed in on a very unprofessional-looking paper notebook with ruler-drawn columns, gave any cameras or recording devices we were carrying, and went through the security check. Once we got to the sitting room we would be watching from, we signed in again, received a headset set to English translation, and sat behind windows showing the room that was supposed to be the courtroom. I expected it to look more like a courtroom I see in the US than it did. Their break ended about fifteen minutes past the time it should have (Tanzania time), and we all rose and were seated to start anew.
Although we were witnessing the testimony of one of the accuseds, I wish I could say that it was very interesting... The general feel I got from that particular trial was that many of the officials were bored, and the procession was very slow. Possibly because they were picking at events that had happened fourteen years ago. At one point we all had some comic relief when the translator used the word "excommunicated" instead of "expelled" (referring to an officer's relation with his former affiliation), and the man on trial made a joke that he was sure that only the Catholic Church was capable of excommunicating its members.
In all, I am glad that I went, and am interested in learning more about the Genocide, as this was not much of an educational opportunity (due to the minuteness of the disputed facts in the larger scheme of the historical event).
On another note, all of the volunteers have now arrived. We start our official SIC program this morning at 11. We all now have our cell phones, too. My number (calling from the US) is: 011-255-786-065-693. It is free for me to receive text messages, so they are very welcome! (It's not free for you, though.)
[I can also receive phone calls for free, but when I'm in the villages I won't be able to charge the battery.]
Swithching gears again, I mentioned before that on the Safari I had--and took--my first teaching opportunity. Marielle was talking to some of the cooks from vaious safari companies stationed at our campsite during lunch on the first day when they asked her to teach them how to use a condom. She came over to the rest of us, resting and reading or writing after lunch, and asked if we had a condom with us. None of us did (the cooks asked why we called ourselves teachers and didn't carry our teaching materials with us), so I suggested we ask the European couple sitting at a table nearby. Fortunately, the were 1. Dutch, and 2. on their honeymoon. In keeping with the stereotype, they joked that they had plenty and gladly gave us one. So it started with Marielle, myself and later with Sarah M, giving a condom demonstration (using the available props: an "ndizi" or banana). From there the three men started asking a plethora of questions. I was very proud to be able to answer all of them. Many of the questions were what our prefield coordinator, Dana, had prepared us for, many of them were somewhat new. But there were many.
The time was approaching that we would be heading back out on a Game Drive, so one of the men (the one with the most questions, the most limited English and the one that seemed to me was the most emotionally disturbed by the AIDS situation in Africa at large) said he would build a campfire that night and wanted us to sit with him and talk more about it.
So that's what happened. Long after dinner and his campfire was made, he came and fetched us from our group bonding session. He and two or sometimes three other men sat around the fire for between two and three hours, late into the night, answering every question they asked us... and covering nearly the entirety of our SIC HIV/AIDS education curriculum (with the exception of mother-to-child transmission through breastfeeding and other STIs), ending with one of the men asking for personal advice about his situation. WOW. I am nineteen years old, this man was twenty five (he seemed much older), and he had respect enough for us (myself and Devon, who were the last to go to bed) to ask us for personal advice. From a completely different culture.
The night was incredibly rewarding, and I would love to go into more detail, but I won't now. I must get off the computer and experience this wonderful place!
I think starting today I will have significantly less internet access, so I wanted to give you all as much information and description as possible before getting down and dirty.
"The service you do for others is the rent you pay for the time you spend on Earth." -Muhammad Ali
And it begins... Please continue to know with me health and peace.
Love,
Carrie
Friday, September 21, 2007
Just a Quick Update
Mambo Vipi!
I won't give a play-by-play of the Safari like I had originally intended to do... I'll just write a little while I still have the luxury of internet access before the program starts.
So, here's the big picture of my trip at this point, for those of you who don't know: Tomorrow (Saturday) my program starts officially. We'll be having our opening dinner together with all the volunteers (the 4 stragglers will be arriving tonight), staff and teaching partners (the Tanzanians who are our age, college educated or in the process of being educated, who will be teaching alongside us in the villages). From then on our two-week orientation will begin. We'll be staying at a nearby Agricultural College while having a Swahili intensive course and intense teaching and HIV/AIDS courses. The idea is that they teach us a LOT so we can teach a little (but still be able to answer the tricky questions or provide more information to those who can digest it). After that, we'll each be moving in with our teaching partners to our first village for five weeks, doing our magic, and moving on to another village for five weeks--doing the same thing--before the program end.
I've been told that the villages are in Maasailand and that some of them will be Maasai villages. I'm not sure how that works, but information gets to us a little late and sometimes broken around here. Maybe if I end up in a Maasai village I can take photos of them without having to pay... >_> :P
As for lifestyle, I'm still under the impression that most of us volunteers won't have running water or electricity, but we do have weekends off to come into Arusha, visit hospitals and patients with AIDS, or visit orphanages (which comes HIGHLY recommended by a friend of mine who just returned from TZ). On those weekends I may have the oporunity to use the internet, depending on 'the plans'.
In town, people (especially the 'flycatchers') know us as American volunteers and constantly see us as a selling opportunity. I've decided that saying "hapana, asante" (no thank you) does not serve me as well as just making eye contact and waving my hand, 'no', because I have to say it so much... and it has started becoming an unconscious mantra, even when I'm fishing for something to say in Swahili to a friend or friendly person.
Many of us girls picked up the skirts we'll be teaching in today from the tailor's. I feel more belonging in the town wearing one of them, plus it's not so hot as wearing pants (it's beginning springtime here).
Finally, I want to thank everybody who just joined the blog-readership and for each and every one of you who is thinking of, and treating and praying for and with me. I value your support.
Baadae,
Carrie
I won't give a play-by-play of the Safari like I had originally intended to do... I'll just write a little while I still have the luxury of internet access before the program starts.
So, here's the big picture of my trip at this point, for those of you who don't know: Tomorrow (Saturday) my program starts officially. We'll be having our opening dinner together with all the volunteers (the 4 stragglers will be arriving tonight), staff and teaching partners (the Tanzanians who are our age, college educated or in the process of being educated, who will be teaching alongside us in the villages). From then on our two-week orientation will begin. We'll be staying at a nearby Agricultural College while having a Swahili intensive course and intense teaching and HIV/AIDS courses. The idea is that they teach us a LOT so we can teach a little (but still be able to answer the tricky questions or provide more information to those who can digest it). After that, we'll each be moving in with our teaching partners to our first village for five weeks, doing our magic, and moving on to another village for five weeks--doing the same thing--before the program end.
I've been told that the villages are in Maasailand and that some of them will be Maasai villages. I'm not sure how that works, but information gets to us a little late and sometimes broken around here. Maybe if I end up in a Maasai village I can take photos of them without having to pay... >_> :P
As for lifestyle, I'm still under the impression that most of us volunteers won't have running water or electricity, but we do have weekends off to come into Arusha, visit hospitals and patients with AIDS, or visit orphanages (which comes HIGHLY recommended by a friend of mine who just returned from TZ). On those weekends I may have the oporunity to use the internet, depending on 'the plans'.
In town, people (especially the 'flycatchers') know us as American volunteers and constantly see us as a selling opportunity. I've decided that saying "hapana, asante" (no thank you) does not serve me as well as just making eye contact and waving my hand, 'no', because I have to say it so much... and it has started becoming an unconscious mantra, even when I'm fishing for something to say in Swahili to a friend or friendly person.
Many of us girls picked up the skirts we'll be teaching in today from the tailor's. I feel more belonging in the town wearing one of them, plus it's not so hot as wearing pants (it's beginning springtime here).
Finally, I want to thank everybody who just joined the blog-readership and for each and every one of you who is thinking of, and treating and praying for and with me. I value your support.
Baadae,
Carrie
Thursday, September 20, 2007
Day 3: Safari
My third day in Tanzania, my first day on Safari. For months before arriving in TZ, many of us on my flight over have been talking about what to do in the week and a half we had in country before program start. So on September 15th, six of us decided to go on a four-day/three-night safari to both the Serengeti and the Ngorongoro Crater within Tanzania. There is so much I want to tell you about it, but I will save it for my next post(s). It was incredible for the scenery, the wildlife, the camping, and our first teaching opportunity with some of the safari guides and cooks, which was incredibly rewarding and very moving. I am so ready to accept this role as an HIV educator, as I did some time ago.
[Note: To be clear, donation money is not going for my personal travel.]
Until next post.
Love and Light,
Carrie :)
Healthy, centered and excited.
[Note: To be clear, donation money is not going for my personal travel.]
Until next post.
Love and Light,
Carrie :)
Healthy, centered and excited.
September 15th, Day 2 in Arusha
I woke up in the night several times (which is not uncommon for me, even at home), but was quite awake at midnight. I managed to go back to sleep until around five AM and was wide awake at 5:40. Pretty good for my first morning in the 11-hour time difference! I got up, took a cold shower and we all headed over to the main building at Center House to eat the price-included breakfast. We entered the eating room with places set, sat down, and a very sweet woman brought out a plate of bread for each of us, followed later by a plate of eggs and a basket of bananas.
We later met the coordinators (Dana and Romy) and Sarah (a volunteer) who took us to the market (I don't remember the name of it, but I'll be returning to it often) where we split up in buddies to peruse and to pick fabrics (the girls) for the skirts we would be having made for our volunteering and living in the more-traditional-than-Arusha villages. Stefanie (a UCLA volunteer) was my buddy, and we looked at about 70 different fabrics at different shops for our skirts. You'll see photos of them later. The highlight of the market trip was when we played with some kids. At first, they're paralized by their curiosity and shyness, even if we say "Jambo" or "Mambo" (the more casual version, to which you respond, "Poa", or cool.) With an young man's help, we got the kid to open up a little, while a group of about six little kids around the age of 5 came up around us and grabbed our hands. They started pulling us in all directions, jumping up and down, shouting, "Mzungu, mzungu, mzungu!" (Swahili for 'white person'). One was curous about the sunglasses on my head, so I let him take them and put them on (Aviators, no other) before the other kids grabbed them and each put them on and pozed while Stefanie and I complimented, "Poa!" [One of the kids looked like he had an eye infection, though, and I'm being conscious of taking good care of my body and healthy while here, so I've since disinfected them but still not worn them. I have other sunglasses for the meantime.]
All the volunteers met up again at a store called Shop Rite (like a Wal-Mart) to eat lunch at a restaurant called Milk and Honey, a place with pretty good prices (you can eat for under 4,000/=, or less than four dollars) and more authentic food. I had a chicken curry dish, as well as my first opportunity to use a ground-level choo (toilet)!
After lunch, we went to Naaz, the tailor's to get measured for skirts, handing over our fabrics and describing what we wanted and proceeded to go our separate ways. When I stopped with some other volunteers in McMoody's we met more summer program volunteers, a few of which are undertaking a HUGE sideproject of establishing an orphanage!
While at McMoody's, we heard a brass band playing in the street, coming our way. The coordinators who were there said it was a wedding (which happen on the weekends). But when I stood out on the stoop of the store and watched it all go by, I discovered that it was not a wedding at all: it was, sure, and band marching, students of many ages marching in their uniforms, and a procession of cars (about 20-30) that bore signs saying, "Modern Driving School". Only in Tanzania would the driving school take over the entire road, parading to promote safety on the roads.....!
After hitting up the ATM again and taking a cab back to the hostel (a good idea instead of walking), we all got ready for the cab that was supposed to pick us up at 6PM to take us to Meru House, where we would be eating dinner. [Meru is the name of the Mountain next to Arusha.] The cab didn't come for a loong time, so we walked in a group out to the corner to catch our own. Turns out, the cab that Dana called to have pick us up showed up an hour late, by which time we had already arrived at the restaurant by other cabs. This was our first experience of Tanzanian time. I am still building at apetite for the food (which isn't bad), so I only had some garlic Naan and some of other people's dishes.
That night, we were planning on going to the fourth annual "Earth Dance" to Give Peace a Dance, but I didn't because at that point my body shut down. It was definitely time to sleep.
We later met the coordinators (Dana and Romy) and Sarah (a volunteer) who took us to the market (I don't remember the name of it, but I'll be returning to it often) where we split up in buddies to peruse and to pick fabrics (the girls) for the skirts we would be having made for our volunteering and living in the more-traditional-than-Arusha villages. Stefanie (a UCLA volunteer) was my buddy, and we looked at about 70 different fabrics at different shops for our skirts. You'll see photos of them later. The highlight of the market trip was when we played with some kids. At first, they're paralized by their curiosity and shyness, even if we say "Jambo" or "Mambo" (the more casual version, to which you respond, "Poa", or cool.) With an young man's help, we got the kid to open up a little, while a group of about six little kids around the age of 5 came up around us and grabbed our hands. They started pulling us in all directions, jumping up and down, shouting, "Mzungu, mzungu, mzungu!" (Swahili for 'white person'). One was curous about the sunglasses on my head, so I let him take them and put them on (Aviators, no other) before the other kids grabbed them and each put them on and pozed while Stefanie and I complimented, "Poa!" [One of the kids looked like he had an eye infection, though, and I'm being conscious of taking good care of my body and healthy while here, so I've since disinfected them but still not worn them. I have other sunglasses for the meantime.]
All the volunteers met up again at a store called Shop Rite (like a Wal-Mart) to eat lunch at a restaurant called Milk and Honey, a place with pretty good prices (you can eat for under 4,000/=, or less than four dollars) and more authentic food. I had a chicken curry dish, as well as my first opportunity to use a ground-level choo (toilet)!
After lunch, we went to Naaz, the tailor's to get measured for skirts, handing over our fabrics and describing what we wanted and proceeded to go our separate ways. When I stopped with some other volunteers in McMoody's we met more summer program volunteers, a few of which are undertaking a HUGE sideproject of establishing an orphanage!
While at McMoody's, we heard a brass band playing in the street, coming our way. The coordinators who were there said it was a wedding (which happen on the weekends). But when I stood out on the stoop of the store and watched it all go by, I discovered that it was not a wedding at all: it was, sure, and band marching, students of many ages marching in their uniforms, and a procession of cars (about 20-30) that bore signs saying, "Modern Driving School". Only in Tanzania would the driving school take over the entire road, parading to promote safety on the roads.....!
After hitting up the ATM again and taking a cab back to the hostel (a good idea instead of walking), we all got ready for the cab that was supposed to pick us up at 6PM to take us to Meru House, where we would be eating dinner. [Meru is the name of the Mountain next to Arusha.] The cab didn't come for a loong time, so we walked in a group out to the corner to catch our own. Turns out, the cab that Dana called to have pick us up showed up an hour late, by which time we had already arrived at the restaurant by other cabs. This was our first experience of Tanzanian time. I am still building at apetite for the food (which isn't bad), so I only had some garlic Naan and some of other people's dishes.
That night, we were planning on going to the fourth annual "Earth Dance" to Give Peace a Dance, but I didn't because at that point my body shut down. It was definitely time to sleep.
Karibuni! (Welcome, you plural)
Welcome, all, to Arusha!
When we arrived in Arusha in the early afternoon and met Ericka Mackey, the volunteer program coordinator in country. I was very surprised at how young she was! We loaded ourselved and our luggage into the SIC truck (with absolutely no room to spare--a trend that would continue throughout my experience, I see so far), and the carted us to Center House, a very peaceful Catholic Secondary School--with nuns that supposedly serve beer--that would be our hostel for the beginning of our trip. We put our stuff down in the rooms of five and got ready to head out for dinner.
I will describe Arusha: It is very much a poor, third-world city. It's very dirty and not well maintained, and the air smells like burning trash and car emissions. (The smog that comes out of the back of the cars is literally a black cloud. Wow.) Women dress mostly in skirts or traditional dresses, while the men done a largely Western wardrobe in slacks and a collared shirt. The people are very nice, yet it is labeled as dangerous here, not becuase they want to hurt you--because they don't--but because they want your stuff. So I'm learning to carry very few things and no valuables with me, becuase if someone wants my stuff, I've learned through another volunteer to give everything up. So better to not have much at all, and not carry much of a bag so as not to attract attention. For this reason, I have not yet taken any pictures of Arusha. I may take some from the inside of a cab later, but not yet. On the flip side, the people are friendly and acknowledge each other. I have been waved to more here so far than I have in the last three years of my life, and I don't feel like it's because I'm white. Now, we do also have the "flycatchers" that, because I'm white, will constantly try to sell me something. Bartering skills are valuable. And you get used to saying, "Hapana, Asante" and not feeling rude or guilty. But the most dangerous thing the city--to me--is the cars. Pedestrians have NO rights! There are no crosswalks, not always a sidewalk, and no one stops or slows down for you. Especially if you're white or not saavy.
[Becuase of a recent incident, we are not allowed by SIC to walk around alone, and not allowed walking in any size of group at night. Fortunately, the cabs are about 2,000/= per ride (less than two dollars) which we split amongst us.]
First thing, we went to an ATM to take out TZ shillingi. I was not expecting to encounter any problems, after our UCLA coordinator, Dana, told us every day that we needed an ATM card WITH A VISA LOGO, and I planned accordingly. But the first tree or four times I tried, it declined my request. Frustrated, I walked out and met with them and gave Romy (the other Stanford coordinator) the "bad" news. Long story short... went back later that hour with Dana and realized that I was asking for the rough equivalent of $1 from the ATM, not having counted the zeros on the screen right! Naturally, it wouldn't give me that little, and in fact, my bank has a minimum withdrawal for me of $100 anyway. Hakuna Matata! (There's no problem!)
We all ate at a restaurant called McMoody's, which, we were told, would be a kind of central location in Arusha for the SIC volunteers. It was. We ran into some of the summer program volunteers as they came in on a usual stop. During the course of dinner, we all became very tired, due to jet lag, of course. Many of us ordered a good pizza, and I got used to having to constantly buy bottled water for the time before our program starts, as well as check the contents of my food for any iffy ingredients (i.e. fresh tomatoes w/ skin). Finally, as we were crashing on the table, we took a cab back to Center House and all fell asleep around 7PM.
When we arrived in Arusha in the early afternoon and met Ericka Mackey, the volunteer program coordinator in country. I was very surprised at how young she was! We loaded ourselved and our luggage into the SIC truck (with absolutely no room to spare--a trend that would continue throughout my experience, I see so far), and the carted us to Center House, a very peaceful Catholic Secondary School--with nuns that supposedly serve beer--that would be our hostel for the beginning of our trip. We put our stuff down in the rooms of five and got ready to head out for dinner.
I will describe Arusha: It is very much a poor, third-world city. It's very dirty and not well maintained, and the air smells like burning trash and car emissions. (The smog that comes out of the back of the cars is literally a black cloud. Wow.) Women dress mostly in skirts or traditional dresses, while the men done a largely Western wardrobe in slacks and a collared shirt. The people are very nice, yet it is labeled as dangerous here, not becuase they want to hurt you--because they don't--but because they want your stuff. So I'm learning to carry very few things and no valuables with me, becuase if someone wants my stuff, I've learned through another volunteer to give everything up. So better to not have much at all, and not carry much of a bag so as not to attract attention. For this reason, I have not yet taken any pictures of Arusha. I may take some from the inside of a cab later, but not yet. On the flip side, the people are friendly and acknowledge each other. I have been waved to more here so far than I have in the last three years of my life, and I don't feel like it's because I'm white. Now, we do also have the "flycatchers" that, because I'm white, will constantly try to sell me something. Bartering skills are valuable. And you get used to saying, "Hapana, Asante" and not feeling rude or guilty. But the most dangerous thing the city--to me--is the cars. Pedestrians have NO rights! There are no crosswalks, not always a sidewalk, and no one stops or slows down for you. Especially if you're white or not saavy.
[Becuase of a recent incident, we are not allowed by SIC to walk around alone, and not allowed walking in any size of group at night. Fortunately, the cabs are about 2,000/= per ride (less than two dollars) which we split amongst us.]
First thing, we went to an ATM to take out TZ shillingi. I was not expecting to encounter any problems, after our UCLA coordinator, Dana, told us every day that we needed an ATM card WITH A VISA LOGO, and I planned accordingly. But the first tree or four times I tried, it declined my request. Frustrated, I walked out and met with them and gave Romy (the other Stanford coordinator) the "bad" news. Long story short... went back later that hour with Dana and realized that I was asking for the rough equivalent of $1 from the ATM, not having counted the zeros on the screen right! Naturally, it wouldn't give me that little, and in fact, my bank has a minimum withdrawal for me of $100 anyway. Hakuna Matata! (There's no problem!)
We all ate at a restaurant called McMoody's, which, we were told, would be a kind of central location in Arusha for the SIC volunteers. It was. We ran into some of the summer program volunteers as they came in on a usual stop. During the course of dinner, we all became very tired, due to jet lag, of course. Many of us ordered a good pizza, and I got used to having to constantly buy bottled water for the time before our program starts, as well as check the contents of my food for any iffy ingredients (i.e. fresh tomatoes w/ skin). Finally, as we were crashing on the table, we took a cab back to Center House and all fell asleep around 7PM.
The first of many posts today: Road to Arusha
Hello All--
I have not posted for a few days because I have not been in town. I'll get to why in this post. For now, I will be spending a lot of time on the net so I can better give you a picture of what it's been like. So I may revisit some things I started describin g in my last post.
Where to start??
I'll start with the road from Nairobi to Arusha, again. So we took off on this road to see our first sights of Africa (from the ground, and in daylight). The road is paved, but has a plethora of potholes, no traffic lanes or painted lines (it's basically a two-way road, one lane for each direction), on which the car you're in should be on the left side of the road. I've found that the cars in Tanzania only abide by that as a suggestion, with much of the time spent passing other cars and coming VERY close to the oncoming traffic! If necessary, people will drive off the side of the road a bit to allow room. I have seen no crashes so far. So you LA drivers: be thankful your fellow drivers are sweet.
We stopped at the border on the Kenya side and then over on the Tanzania side to show our residence permits, passports and be shuffled back only the bus.
Along the road (on both sides of the border) we passed through many vilages with brightly colored buildings, clothing worn by the people, bananas (all green) sold on the side of the road, other fruit, crafts (many of which were tourist-oriented paintings and jewelry). Also along the side of the road we saw many Maasai people. If you don't know, these are the people belonging to the tribe (Maasai, what else) that has actively resisted modernization or change of culture. And yet they have a reputation of charging you to take photos of them (which is true). They are the people you've seen photos of wearing brightly colored fabrics draped like robes (in red, purple or the occasional blue pattern), an abundance of beaded jewelry, many varied and stretched piercings and typicaly carry spears. They live around their cattle, which they highly value. On the side of the road we would see mostly men or a range of children from very small to adolescence with a herd of cattle, sheep, goats or cross-backed donkeys, sometimes accompanied by a dog. They would watch us as we drove by, watching them, too.
What boggled my mind was that we would often see one person in what you and I would call the "middle of nowhere", walking, alone, and not see anything for miles before or miles after. Where are they walking to? Where do they LIVE? Or they would be sitting on the side of the road in the same manner. Just sitting. Not looking unhealthy or devastatingly poor... just like this was normal. Sometimes the children would put their hands out as we passed by, apparently asking for a gift or money. Only once on the whole road did the driver stop and give two kids each a bottle of water, to which they smiled graciously and waved jubilantly.
As for the scenery, it was mostly open, savannah-like terrain. To be expected.
I have not posted for a few days because I have not been in town. I'll get to why in this post. For now, I will be spending a lot of time on the net so I can better give you a picture of what it's been like. So I may revisit some things I started describin g in my last post.
Where to start??
I'll start with the road from Nairobi to Arusha, again. So we took off on this road to see our first sights of Africa (from the ground, and in daylight). The road is paved, but has a plethora of potholes, no traffic lanes or painted lines (it's basically a two-way road, one lane for each direction), on which the car you're in should be on the left side of the road. I've found that the cars in Tanzania only abide by that as a suggestion, with much of the time spent passing other cars and coming VERY close to the oncoming traffic! If necessary, people will drive off the side of the road a bit to allow room. I have seen no crashes so far. So you LA drivers: be thankful your fellow drivers are sweet.
We stopped at the border on the Kenya side and then over on the Tanzania side to show our residence permits, passports and be shuffled back only the bus.
Along the road (on both sides of the border) we passed through many vilages with brightly colored buildings, clothing worn by the people, bananas (all green) sold on the side of the road, other fruit, crafts (many of which were tourist-oriented paintings and jewelry). Also along the side of the road we saw many Maasai people. If you don't know, these are the people belonging to the tribe (Maasai, what else) that has actively resisted modernization or change of culture. And yet they have a reputation of charging you to take photos of them (which is true). They are the people you've seen photos of wearing brightly colored fabrics draped like robes (in red, purple or the occasional blue pattern), an abundance of beaded jewelry, many varied and stretched piercings and typicaly carry spears. They live around their cattle, which they highly value. On the side of the road we would see mostly men or a range of children from very small to adolescence with a herd of cattle, sheep, goats or cross-backed donkeys, sometimes accompanied by a dog. They would watch us as we drove by, watching them, too.
What boggled my mind was that we would often see one person in what you and I would call the "middle of nowhere", walking, alone, and not see anything for miles before or miles after. Where are they walking to? Where do they LIVE? Or they would be sitting on the side of the road in the same manner. Just sitting. Not looking unhealthy or devastatingly poor... just like this was normal. Sometimes the children would put their hands out as we passed by, apparently asking for a gift or money. Only once on the whole road did the driver stop and give two kids each a bottle of water, to which they smiled graciously and waved jubilantly.
As for the scenery, it was mostly open, savannah-like terrain. To be expected.
Saturday, September 15, 2007
First Post!
Hi All-- Here goes for my first post from Africa.
First of all, all is well. Also, the internet is quite slow and somewhat costly, but just about everything else here (Arusha) is not either of those things. The trip so far has been... wonderful, joyful, miraculous and chaotic! The first flight to London I was on with Devon, Ashley, Sarah and Nathan (four fellow UCLA volunteers), and we had an emergency stop in Denver to fix a small electrical fire with one of the personal tv sets. Firemen in spacesuits came onboard to check it out, and this added a good two hours to that flight (we were not able to get off the plane).
London Heathrow went well, as did the flight from there to Nairobi with the four other volunteers who joined us.
In the Nairobi airport I met three Swedes! Who knew? A sign to me that it's home and we're all connected. One was a young woman f\visiting her sister who lives here, and the other was an older man and his wife who live in TZ six months out of the year. I talked to him about Sweden, what we're doing here, he gave me a heads up about some things as well as the nature of Arusha, Building with Books and such. He was on our shuttle from the airport to the place where we changed buses for the long ride to Tanzania, too. When we split up I gave him my blog address and web site of BWB because of his interest in building schools in TZ.
The several-hour ride down the Nairobi-Arusha road was also chaotic. The bus was very small for how many people were on it, and the road had an abundance of potholes, which we avoided by crossing over to the wrong (right) side of the road, dodging oncoming traffic or running other cars off the road (only once or so... it was fine). Along the road we saw many Maasai people in their mostly purple and red robes, sticks, cattle, goats and sheep.
I must cut out now. Time is running out.
More Later! I love you all.
Love. Carrie
First of all, all is well. Also, the internet is quite slow and somewhat costly, but just about everything else here (Arusha) is not either of those things. The trip so far has been... wonderful, joyful, miraculous and chaotic! The first flight to London I was on with Devon, Ashley, Sarah and Nathan (four fellow UCLA volunteers), and we had an emergency stop in Denver to fix a small electrical fire with one of the personal tv sets. Firemen in spacesuits came onboard to check it out, and this added a good two hours to that flight (we were not able to get off the plane).
London Heathrow went well, as did the flight from there to Nairobi with the four other volunteers who joined us.
In the Nairobi airport I met three Swedes! Who knew? A sign to me that it's home and we're all connected. One was a young woman f\visiting her sister who lives here, and the other was an older man and his wife who live in TZ six months out of the year. I talked to him about Sweden, what we're doing here, he gave me a heads up about some things as well as the nature of Arusha, Building with Books and such. He was on our shuttle from the airport to the place where we changed buses for the long ride to Tanzania, too. When we split up I gave him my blog address and web site of BWB because of his interest in building schools in TZ.
The several-hour ride down the Nairobi-Arusha road was also chaotic. The bus was very small for how many people were on it, and the road had an abundance of potholes, which we avoided by crossing over to the wrong (right) side of the road, dodging oncoming traffic or running other cars off the road (only once or so... it was fine). Along the road we saw many Maasai people in their mostly purple and red robes, sticks, cattle, goats and sheep.
I must cut out now. Time is running out.
More Later! I love you all.
Love. Carrie
Tuesday, September 11, 2007
Mailing Address
Many people have been asking about a mailing address while I'm in country. While I will likely be out in the bush, things can be sent to:
P.O. Box 15024
Arusha, TZ
Getting ready, ready ready!~
Carrie
P.O. Box 15024
Arusha, TZ
Getting ready, ready ready!~
Carrie
Friday, August 31, 2007
A Few Things
Thank you to Brian and Grandpa Roy who have both commented so far. I know there's not a lot to comment about yet, but, this site being my mini awareness campaign, I would like it to be interactive. One theme of the trip is Awareness (as power), and I know that your and everyone's awareness even of my personal trip gives the effort much more power.
Also, I am still accepting donations. Thank you to all who have so far donated. I have raised enough to almost cover my program fees, travel insurance and medical expenses (malaria medication, immunizations, anti-traveler's diarrhea medication... :\). WOW! The only thing that's left is my flight!
A note on SIC: SIC no longer stands for "Students for International Change." It is now called "Support for International Change" to better reflect the whole scope of the organization. The logo has also changed, but the web url (www.sichange.org) will stay the same. Also, check out the site: SIC just turned 5 years old, and you can find a letter from one of the Program Directors on some of its achievements and future plans. --> http://www.sichange.org/home/index.php?option=com_content&task=view&id=105&Itemid=27
Thank you for reading and sharing! :)
Love and Peace,
Carrie :)
Also, I am still accepting donations. Thank you to all who have so far donated. I have raised enough to almost cover my program fees, travel insurance and medical expenses (malaria medication, immunizations, anti-traveler's diarrhea medication... :\). WOW! The only thing that's left is my flight!
A note on SIC: SIC no longer stands for "Students for International Change." It is now called "Support for International Change" to better reflect the whole scope of the organization. The logo has also changed, but the web url (www.sichange.org) will stay the same. Also, check out the site: SIC just turned 5 years old, and you can find a letter from one of the Program Directors on some of its achievements and future plans. --> http://www.sichange.org/home/index.php?option=com_content&task=view&id=105&Itemid=27
Thank you for reading and sharing! :)
Love and Peace,
Carrie :)
Friday, August 24, 2007
Comment
I invite you to comment! :) Please comment on my page to let me know that you're reading it. Otherwise I feel like I'm writing to myself (which I can do privately, in a journal). So show and share the love! Thanks!
Saturday, August 18, 2007
Just write. And Update About Donations!
Not knowing what to write, I'm just going to write a little of what's on my mind... It's a little over three weeks until I leave. There's a lot I feel I need to get done before going, including but not limited to, cleaning (out) my room, lining up classes that i may be interested in taking at UCLA winter quarter, formally and individually thanking each of my donors, maybe getting a rabies vaccine, raising the rest of the money to cover flight and medical, selling or leasing out my horse, picking a place to live during winter quarter, and OH! packing! I just found the SIC folder I have with all of my prefield papers and notes that I made from others' recommendations, so I feel that I now have the freedom to actually concentrate on preparing THINGS. But I feel acutely stressed about many of the aforementioned "to dos"... so I am now chosing (and asking for your support in chosing) to know that divine unfoldment is under way and that everything happens in order. WOW! That feels so much better.
As for all of you-- just an update on the funds front: I have, as of today, collected $2706 in donations!! THANK YOU so much for the support you give me! This is a little over the cost of my program fees ($2650). Also, TAX DEDUCTIBLE donations have at this point been covered completely. So if you wish to make a donation to my specific trip, it cannot be deducted on your taxes. The opportunity always exists, however, to donate to SIC at large at www.sichange.org and deduct that way. The organization is a non-profit, non-religious, financialy transparent NGO that relies on volunteer program fees and donations. Thank you. I am still accepting donations, which will be covering the necessary flight, transit visa, immunizations, malaria medication and travel insurance.
Thank you for the many ways you show your love.
Peace.
As for all of you-- just an update on the funds front: I have, as of today, collected $2706 in donations!! THANK YOU so much for the support you give me! This is a little over the cost of my program fees ($2650). Also, TAX DEDUCTIBLE donations have at this point been covered completely. So if you wish to make a donation to my specific trip, it cannot be deducted on your taxes. The opportunity always exists, however, to donate to SIC at large at www.sichange.org and deduct that way. The organization is a non-profit, non-religious, financialy transparent NGO that relies on volunteer program fees and donations. Thank you. I am still accepting donations, which will be covering the necessary flight, transit visa, immunizations, malaria medication and travel insurance.
Thank you for the many ways you show your love.
Peace.
Thursday, August 9, 2007
Thank You.
I want to make this space to lovingly thank everyone who has donated and is holding me in their hearts and prayers. Your written support is also very welcome on this blog (treatments welcome! :) I am knowing the perfect unfoldment of the trip right now as I feel the love and support surrounding me by all of you who are aware of, educated on and learning about SIC's mission and my personal intention. I invite each and every one of you to contact me directly by email or by phone, too. Thank you already. Love.
Sunday, July 29, 2007
Latest SIC Newsletter!
Check out the latest SIC Newsletter for June, 2007. Here you can see what the organization has been up to most recently. Copy and paste this address:
http://www.sichange.org/home/index.php?option=com_content&task=view&id=102&Itemid=112.
http://www.sichange.org/home/index.php?option=com_content&task=view&id=102&Itemid=112.
Saturday, July 28, 2007
Welcome!
Welcome to my weblog! I will be updating y'all before leaving in my preparation for Tanzania. I expect to be able to update my blog every two weeks or so while I'm there. Be patient and enjoy!
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