Kilimanjaro

I will start by saying... We made it! Since this is so long after the fact here is a recap of my journal entries with visual reference. Please excuse the inconsistent tenses given the delay.

Day 1: Not off to a great start. The cook was late so we got started very late. We arrived at the mountain and it was raining. Then we sat in the cold rain for 2 1/2 more hours before even starting. ugh. Tanzanian Flexible Time gets us again! Beginning the climb was anti-climatic as we were so anxious to get started. The hike felt long but mostly because of the rain and humidity in the thick rainforest. After about 5 hours we arrived at the first camp just as the sun was setting which was difficult. Unfortunately it was dark, cold and rainy as we tried to change clothes and settle into our tent for the evening. We were soaking wet with sweat and shivering. It was hard to shake off the rain literally and figuratively. I feared that my clothes that would never dry, including my hair! My teeth chattered through our candle-light dinner. The soup, pasta and veggie curry was better than I anticipated though. I'm already freezing and fearful of what lies ahead. No idea how I'll sleep when it is 40 degrees colder days from now. My biggest fears are 1) altitude 2) the cold 3) slipping. I'm really hoping I'm not in over my head.

Musa, our guide who kept me smiling the entire way.

Day 2: Today was great. I didn't sleep too badly and awoke around 5AM. While it rained hard last night we were thankfully dry in our tent. Breakfast of eggs hot dogs and mangoes was quite good. The hot dogs here are real beef or pork with none of that processed crap. I'm not as sore as I feared but unfortunately it starts raining right as we begin. It's slippery, muddy, narrow, very steep and difficult. After an hour we begin shedding our layers and get into a groove. I'm drinking a ton of water and it was much more enjoyable once we got above the fog layer. Finally the sun comes out! It's amazing what the warm sun does for the soul. It's gorgeous here. While the trek is steep and I'm fearful of clumsily stumbling, I'm enjoying every minute of it. Musa, our guide, is patient and kind. We arrive at Shira for lunch at 1:30 with grilled cheese, guacamole, soup and muffins. It begins to get very cold as the wind rips through. We take a brief nap and then climb up to Shira hut to acclimate. The view of the mountain is spectacular. There's not a cloud in the sky. We climb only another 100 meters but then descend to stick with our strategy of climbing high and sleeping low. We are now at around 10,000 ft. Crazy. As I look at the mountain peak though I still cannot comprehend how we will actually make it up there...


Day 3: We awake to sunshine and no wind and don't leave until 9:15. Elena and I now appear to be on Tanzanian time consistently running a few minutes late. We warm up quickly and have a steady pace as we ascend from the Moorland to the Arctic desert. Seeing the change in the climate zones is incredible. We break for lunch at 1:30 at Lava Tower, around 4600 meters. We then hike back down to Barranco camp. I begin to develop a brutal headache which is worrisome. The fear of altitude sickness and the severity of it is hanging over my head. I pound another couple liters of water along with tea and soup. Every night at dinner I pester Musa for details on the day to come. Our daily briefing is exciting to me as it allows me to plan ahead and set my expectations. Interestingly enough he will never answer any questions beyond what will occur in the next 24 hours. It's a solid strategy to just focus on conquering what's right in front of you and not getting distracted by what lies farther ahead. I go to sleep very early with nervousness about climbing the Barranco Wall tomorrow.

Kissing the rock while holding on with a death grip.

Day 4: I am incredibly grateful I awake with no headache as it's a big day ahead. Today we will conquer the Barranco Wall. I admit I was pretty scared although Elena appears fearless. At least 3 times I thought I was going to fall. There is an incredibly steep incline that involves a lot of time on hands and knees with our heavy packs. My center of gravity and balance is completely thrown off and the wind does not help. I laugh as I think how helpful a helmet or ropes would be but then remember I am in Africa! The first big rock to conquer definitely rattled my nerves. My poles got stuck on the ledge and I could feel my pack swinging in the wind. My hands were trembling and I said a few Hail Marys thinking this could be it. The comedy of it all is that while I'm trembling the porters carrying well over 40lbs each marching upright over the rocks with balance and ease that rivals circus acrobats. 


I conquer the first big rock climb and then pause to "kiss the rock" as pictured here. I exhale as I assume the toughest part was over. Today was gorgeous and I thank god for great weather. I could not imagine conquering the wall in the rain. Given the high altitude I am also panting heavily which doesn't help so I want to stop frequently which hurts my pride. I mostly suck it up and keep going My legs are a bit sore and I start to feel the effects of the altitude on my stomach. I only hope I don't get neasues which is the second sign of severe altitude sickness. 


Day 5: Today should be a short and easy day. 'Pole pole' as we are reminded over and over - take it very, very slow. The views are spectacular and I try and take it all in and not be distracted by how cold I often am. We hit some steep spots where I attempt to not to look down. After lunch we take a brief nap and I am thankful again at how much I am enjoying the experience and not in too much pain. Tomorrow we begin to climb to the summit. I am nervous and hope to not be one of those people puking on the side of the mountain. I say some prayers for no slipping and not freezing. I try and doze off with my warm water bottles in my sleeping bag knowing I will woken up in just about 3 hours.


Day 6 12AM Summit Day: We are bundled up in layers and using our hand and foot warmers. It's an incredible sight to see all of the headlamps trekking up the mountain like little ants marching with tiny glow sticks. My nose runs constantly and my face is already chapped. I reminded myself that if this is the biggest challenge I am very, very lucky. It gets increasingly hard to breathe as there is only 50% the amount of oxygen as at sea level. Around 3AM the bitter cold becomes almost unbearable and I am so tired all I wanted to do is curl up and sleep. Time stands still. I take a Gu as we pass a number of people getting sick and unable to continue. I slip a few times on the large slate rocks that reminds me we are essentially scaling an extinct volcano.  Jafari, our assitant guide nicely grabs my hand to ease my nerves and help balance me where he can sense my trepidation. It is scary doing this in the dark and I try not to look down. I think multiple times that I must be insane for doing this. It is a surreal experience that is hard to put into words. The gravel, slate and vertical climbs are much harder then I expected. Being that I'm climbing the tallest mountain in Africa though, I laugh at the fact that I expected anything different. I chuckle at times and think I must be an idiot. I just keep waiting for the sun. Musa says in about an hour and a half it will start to rise. That seems an eternity away.

Frozen solid. I'm actually wondering how you know if you have frostbite.

We finally see a few rays of light poking up.  This means 1) we must be close to Stella Point 2) it is almost 6AM. Only 2 more hours up and then 7 down...Watching the sun peak over the glaciers is absolutely incredible. We have some tea Musa has carryied for us, and we shiver as we attempt to stand still for a few minutes. Only 45 more minutes to reach Uhuru. The sun being out does wonders for our mood and energy as we trek up the slippery ice to the very top. I can't believe neither of us has had any altitude problems, just a lot of frozen snot, exhaustion and huffing and puffing. We arrive at Uhuru peak breathless and snap a few photos. It is so cold we don't plan to stay much longer than a few minutes. It's hard to take the achievement in knowing we still have a long way to go in order to get down safely.


We then start the brutal descent. In a strange way I've almost been dreading this more than anything. 3 1/2 hours down, lunch, a quick nap, then another 4 hours down on virtually zero sleep. Our bodies are so exhausted I slip and slide all over the place praying to not injure myself. Every step is painful for my knees. It took an eternity before we reached camp. I swear this was one of the longest days of my life. I remind myself to be thankful I am not puking, pooping and hallucinating like the horror stories I've heard of this day. It starts to drizzle and I almost start to cry realizing how much more is ahead of us. We finally arrive down to the night's camp and are so exhausted we crash for a delirious 9 hour deep sleep. 

Day 7: We awake happily well-rested knowing that a shower and big meal is finally in sight. Our hard-working porters sing to us gleefully. The trek down was muddy but overall not too bad. I'm just glad I can walk given how badly my knees throbbed just a few hours before. We arrive at the bottom of the mountain at 11:45. I can't believe we made it! Once back at the hotel I enjoyed a cold beer and egg fried rice. Yum. My sore body passed out.

This massive physical and mental challenge reminded me of lessons that I should apply to my daily life:

• Life is a journey, not a destination.
• Take things slow, "pole pole." Life is not a race, and I should take things at my own pace to achieve great things. 
• Pray. Pray in thanks for health, pray in need for safety and survival.
• Some things in life are harder than expected, and some easier. 
• If I put my mind to something I can achieve it. 
• Focus on the immediate future and what lies directly ahead. Don't let the fear of the unknown distract from what is right there. The present is wasted if I only am thinking about the future. 
• Sunshine and the outdoors does wonders for the soul. So does a little solitude with nature. 
• It takes a village (seriously, could not have made it without the incredible team with us).
• Eat well, hydrate, sleep, breathe deeply, and lay off the booze!

School's out for Summer

I’m quite behind on blog posts so am catching up now with the help of a chicken-scratch journal I tried to keep up with.  I’ll try and write this retrospectively if that is possible...

It’s crazy to think it’s time to leave CCS. The time went by way too fast, yet I also feel like a lifetime has gone by with all of that I’ve learned. This special place has forever changed me. I am so grateful for the experience, all that I have, and now appreciate the simpler things in life.

Being with these children has been so rewarding, but also challenging in ways I never thought possible. It’s hard to grasp the fact that I’ll likely never see these children again given the impact they’ve had on my life. It’s also very hard to admit to myself that I can only do so much here in Tanzania. So many people ask for our help, and I want to help every single one of them, but it’s just not possible. They see me, my face, my clean clothes, and hear my voice speaking English and instantly know I have a better life, access to a world they’ll never know, and hope that I can just do one small thing for each of them - provide a few schillings, help in some way (any way), provide guidance, education, clothes, food, the list goes on and on. That has been one of the hardest parts of being here is the desire to help everyone, and realize the need is never-ending.

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My last day of class was amazing. We made lion masks which was a big hit. After asking me a dozen times to stay longer, Father John blessed the rosaries I bought for my family, and Sister said to me, “I will pray for you for life. You will always be in my heart.”

The kids had a little ceremony where they presented me with a giraffe skirt while singing the song of Kilimanjaro. They repeated over and over, “Thank you Teacher” in their precious accent which made me well up with tears. I nearly lost it but didn’t want to sob in front of all the children. They also gave me a bracelet saying “Asante” which means Thank You in Swahilli. I’ve never felt appreciated like this in any job before! While I wish I could stay here for much, much longer, I’m comforted by the fact that I was able to overlap with the next volunteer Julie who will finish up the last 2 weeks of the school year. I was able to brief her on the abilities of each child and share the goals I developed for the class. Measurements of success aren’t utilized here and Sister was thrilled when I outlined goals for the various age groups in class (which um, I hope are appropriate since I have basically made this up as I go along).

I hope I made a bit of a difference, even if just a small one. It’s very hard to admit that the odds of most of these children finishing primary school are fairly low. I just can’t help but wonder where Devota or Lameke will be in 10 years, and how I wish I could get updates. The people that run the program remind us that it is the culmination of all of our efforts that create an impact in the schools and the community. It’s the institutional knowledge we gain, share and build upon to strengthen what each volunteer can do. While it’s hard to remember the bigger picture, I remind myself that I am one small piece to the building blocks of success. Each kid hugs me as they exit the classroom and I leave teary through the cornfield one last time.

I’m thrilled my good friend Elena is here so I have another leg of the journey ahead of me with some time to reflect before heading back home. Being able to share even a small piece of my experience with her is incredibly special. This wonderful place and this experience has forever changed me. I consciously now need to remind myself to never, ever forget the perspective I’ve gained.

Elizabeth

A couple of weekends ago Elizabeth, who started the Eleroy nursery school, invited Kaleigh and I over for dinner on Saturday night. Kaleigh has been volunteering at Eleroy for a month now. Elizabeth and her husband are quite well-off by Tanzanian standards. Their house is structurally sound and there are a couple of bedrooms for her three children and new granddaughter. They have a tv, computer and functioning kitchen. By our standards the inside is decorated like a home from the 1970s a grandmother lives in that hasn't changed a bit. Nothing is really on the walls except one small batik that was a gift from a volunteer, and a small picture of the Last Supper hanging above the crucifix.

Elizabeth greets us warmly as one of her daughters is outside frying the bread for dinner. We each choose a soda and chuckle at the Celine Dion playing the background. They LOVE Celine here. There was a lot of other early nineties soft rock in there as well. I haven't heart Micheal Bolton in a long time. One of the first questions off the bat is, "Jeska, are you married?" I explain that I am not, and she continues to ask "Why? When?" etc. etc. The best part of the conversation is when she offers to throw me fundraiser. I think the intent of this fundraiser is to find me a husband. Maybe a match-making party of sorts to get donations for a wedding? Maybe a way to find a man with the most cows? A future husband must give cows to the brides father. The more the better. We don't get into the specifics but it is probably the most memorable offer I've ever had from a stranger.

We sit down to eat and Kaleigh and I explain we already had dinner (there was a bit of confusion over the invite, confusion and lack of specifics is standard here). Elizabeth asks intently what I do for a living. I usually gloss over this topic because it doesn't translate well, and it's refreshing to not talk about my profession, which is all NYers talk about. I try my best to explain starting with the words Advertising, Marketing, Media, Communications, all to be met with blank stares. The word commerce resonates with her and somehow I think we netted out with her understanding I make commercials for Coke (she was drinking one at the time and it was the only brand she knows), or take photos of football (soccer) players. She asks if I work a lot, still fascinated by my corporate job and the fact that I am single. And a woman. I explain that it is a lot of hours and keeps me busy and often involves travel. She asks if it is hard work. I think closely about this question and explain that it is a different type of hard work - not like making dried fruit by hand like she does, or running a school, or selling corn to make a profit.

She shakes her head when she grasps that work is a large part of my life and asks the scary question, "What do you work for?"

She wasn't asking what type of paycheck, but the look on her face said it all. Meaning, what does all this work gain me in life? It is as if this woman climbed inside my brain and poked around at my inner most thoughts.

And the conversation just kept going. She then asked "What if you die and have no son or daughter?" Oy vey! Apparently Elizabeth is really worried about me at the old age of 32. I explain "Um, there is still time, and I have a very full life with friends and family." Kaleigh and I explain that back home, if you move away from your family, friends can also be like family. Elizabeth is fascinated by this and it puts the 20 questions at bay at least for the moment. She explains that here in Tanzania women marry young and have babies and people like us from the US and Canada, work and travel and see the world.

The food then arrives on the table and she exclaims, "I made you a hen from the yard!." Oh boy. The pot looked a bit mysterious. Looking on the bright-side I tried to tell myself we were lucky it wasn't a goat, or something else. A hen I can deal with. Kaleigh and I dish a few spoonfuls and stare. I come to terms with the fact that I may be in the bathroom for the next week but that is better than being rude. We picked at the food, took a handful of hearty bites and said it was delicious. I finally braved the hen for us both, thinking it really couldn't be that bad. And it wasn't. Although it was kind of like eating rubber-cement on a bone. More gummy than meaty but  my strong stomach survived all the food just fine!

Elizabeth is truly an amazing woman. She opened her school in a teeny-tiny room that back home would function as a shed for a lawn-mower. She adores the children and does so much. Most schools only serve porridge and she often provides beans and rice. We discover later that a year's tuition is under $35.  Unfortunately, many of the students can't afford this, but she does not turn them away. Kaleigh also determined that a large majority of the children haven't paid in almost a year, but Elizabeth continues to welcome all the children into her home.

Then there is Luca, the teacher of the school (who I get the hunch she wanted to set me up with). Unfortunately when the children don't pay, Luca doesn't get paid. But he still shows up every day with a huge grin on his face. His paycheck (when it rarely happens) is around $65 a month. He rents a room close to us. Luca has a few other part-time gigs. He apparently is also a barber, and makes ice-cream (freezy-pop like things). Good for him for being resourceful to find other ways to make an income with all the children he knows!

Elizabeth asks us about our family's and backgrounds throughout the rest of dinner. She tells us many times how lucky we are that English is our native language. She speaks fairly well but it is a challenge to converse in depth so her daughter translates. Speaking fluent English already puts us leaps and bounds above a large part of the world. She is fascinated by how our school system works in the United States and Canada and can't fathom a free public school system that the government pays for. She then asks, "Can you tell us how to get our children smart like you?" We talk a lot about reading, practicing, studying, but also having fun and teaching children to use their imagination and be creative. Unfortunately sometimes education feels one extreme or the other here - no real structure to teaching and all chaos and play, or rigorous repetition of just writing numbers and letters with no context, comprehension, or creativity to make learning fun.

Kaleigh has been such a blessing to this school. She currently teaches in Canada and is one of the most kind, sweet, loving people I've ever met. She has a huge heart and the children adore her. She has taught me so much and helped with my zillions of questions about how to attempt to teach successfully. I respect and admire the path she took from modeling, to working in fashion and PR. She has traveled to Morocco several times with CCS and is a true inspiration. When her corporate job wouldn't allow her even 2 weeks to go volunteer and visit a child in an orphanage she was extremely attached to, she quit. Now a few years later she just started teaching. It's been wonderful to hear how an experience such as this changed her life.

I leave dinner deep in thought with the questions Elizabeth posed going over and over in my head, "What do you work for?" It is such a profound question. People here mostly work until there is enough food on the table. Being here has reminded me how lucky I am for the education I've received and the access I have to such opportunities. While I may complain about the challenges in determining the next step, I realize how fortunate I am for the access I have and what is really available to me. The opportunities are endless relative to what I've seen here.

The kiddies

I have already learned more from the children in my school than I could ever  teach. To say the experience is rewarding would be a drastic understatement. It is certainly challenging at times, and I am often speechless at how out of balance and unfair our world is, but the children are so incredibly loving my days are full of hugs and endless appreciation for simply being present.

Amani and Sister Casmiri. 

35 children are in my class, and I think I've finally identified the age range from 2 to 6. Many of them don't actually know their accurate age. There is Amani, just over 2 years old who can say the entire alphabet, and is a myna-bird and repeats whatever I say in English including, "Amani, how are you today?". Then there are children like Lameck or Bertimo, who are about 6 and can't get past the letter 'E' in the alphabet. The pack of girls make me melt - Devota the flirt, Violet the sweetheart, Angel, Innocence, Caren and Glory, and then the boys including Bruno who shows up everyday in a pink sweatshirt with a castle on it knowing nothing of the gender stereotypes that would have him teased back home. He's simply happy for something warm (albeit muddy) to wear on a chilly morning. There is cunning Nickson, who I discovered a few weeks ago is on the cusp of reading. I'm glad someone absorbed the African countries Sister kept making me shout and repeat! Now I know he can sound out Mozambique. The names of some of the kids crack me up. My fellow volunteers had even more interesting ones. There is Gift, Funny, God Bless, and Lightness. To make matters even more complicated they often spell their names various ways. Another hurdle in my determined attempt to get them  all to (somewhat) master writing their names. Innocencia and I have worked on no less than a dozen spellings of her name. I have to laugh. 

Nickson, my not so secret favorite.

It took so long to assess the massive range of capabilities in the classroom. I'm thrilled another volunteer has joined me who can eventually pick-up where I leave-off versus starting from scratch. We now can split the class in half which is a luxury to be able to spend quality time with just 15 or so students and tailor a lesson. There are a handful of very troubled children who act out, and a few with ADD and one I think is autistic. Something I didn't think much about before coming here was how learning disabilities and other problems have no real way of being diagnosed, much less treated. For all I know some of the children who don't participate may have hearing or sight problems.

Lameck

Lameck for example bounces off the wall like no child I've ever seen. He actually swings from the window shutters. Apparently the last volunteer was reduced to tears often by his extreme behavior. I now recognize he has a lot of problems, focus and hyperactivity being the least of them. After many challenging days, even weeks, he now holds a special place in my heart. He needs so much love and individual attention I fear he will never catch-up or be on par with students his age. We recently made progress on writing his name which is a huge step in the right direction. When I asked about his home life my fears were confirmed when Sister explained that his father does hit him. I'm trying to figure out what, if anything I can do, or we can do for this kid, but it is so challenging here, and there are so many others like him, it's hard to know where to begin in this system, or lack there-of. But I'm continuing to ask questions...



Our tiny village is full of more children than I've ever seen in my life (although I recognize I live in Manhattan where everyone is permanently in their 20s or 30s and children are a rare breed). On just our street in Karanga there are practically a dozen schools. A dozen! I still can't figure out where in the cornfield all these children come running from. In addition to the schools there are more orphanages than I naively knew existed. There are so many unwanted children it breaks my heart. I think of how many people I know desperately wanting children and I get angry at the politics and infrastructure that make adoption from a country like Tanzania very, very hard. Birth control here is often not available, or practiced. All of the many, many factors has the average number of children in each household hovering somewhere around 7 or 8. Today in the US this number is below 2 I believe. In a lot of cases pregnancy is also used as a method for men to maintain power over the women. I've often heard the phrase "Tie her down with a baby." The men are often found out at bars (or with other women) while their wives are at home with the children and tending to the banana trees. And no, that is not a euphemism.

My girls Angel, Devota, and Innocencia. 

I've made some progress teaching once I grappled with the chaos, barriers and range of children's abilities. So many of them simply memorize it is a tough habit to break in terms of not only learning, but how the teacher is teaching. I know this is a challenge with kids of this age anywhere in the world, but with limited resources and a big class it's even harder. A large part of where we have success is teaching the teachers. Individual attention is not something that was practiced when I arrived. It couldn't be with 35 students to one teacher. And many schools it is over 50 students to 1 teacher. I now try and bring handouts, worksheets or even a craft to get them to focus for a bit so I can spend time with those who need it most.

While I never feel qualified for the advice I give, I'm reminded that my access to an education in the United States makes me more than qualified. People here cannot believe that a free public education is available where I come from. They can't comprehend the government pays for this. And to think I received a private school education! All of the teachers here proudly say that attendance is up when a volunteer is present in the classroom. That alone makes me feel good. Unfortunately attendance is low though if it rains. If I had to hike it through a cornfield  in a downpour I'd probably stay home too. You'll see most have uniforms, but from what I can tell each child has only one, and wears the same one everyday. It's probably easier than dealing with very limited clothing choices, but they never are washed, sewn or cleaned at all.

Materials are scare but donations from all of you has helped so much. When I first passed out crayons they didn't know what to do with them. I had to walk around and show them how to color. Can you imagine? It was crazy. As we bounced around ideas back at the home base for arts and crafts we thought of making play-dough or clay from scratch, but nixed the idea because we heard the kids might try and eat it. As we briefly talked about macaroni necklaces my assumption was correct that it is not appropriate to waste food for play, and the kids will likely try and eat it it raw. At least the 30 toilet paper rolls I've been saving all month will finally come in handy this week for an art project. Thank you fellow CCS volunteers for helping horde.

Caren and Glory, 2 more of my favorites. Maybe they are all my favorites.

One of the toughest things to get used to here is the practice of corporal punishment that still exists, and is often culturally accepted. I was startled when I realized this. Tanzania is over a generation behind us in many ways, this being one of them. I hope just as my generation has evolved from my parents', the same will eventually happen here. I am fortunate that Sister does not believe in, or practice it (much). She uses the stick we use as a pointer for a quick snap on the hand occasionally. I rationalize this as being similar to the rumors I heard of decades ago in the States when a nun would apparently hit a kid with a ruler. The trouble is, as we all know, it is a slippery slope. What is once a quick snap on the hand can quickly turn into a much more dangerous beating, which does occur in many schools. The other obvious issue is the children then only respond to the threat of the stick, or the hand, not my raised voice. This is even more of a problem if they are often being hit at home.

We had a new TA arrive a few weeks ago whose tactics are not to my liking. My heart breaks into a thousand little pieces when I see little Lameck flinch when the stick is raised. I have to restrain myself from not swooping him up and carrying him out of the classroom and running to the airport to save this kid. I'm a few steps away from pulling an Angelina Jolie and bringing him back to the States with me. For now I'm trying to work with them on other forms of disciplines like time outs, etc. It's now no surprise that when chaos breaks out in the classroom they all start hitting each other. They've learned it's acceptable. Sigh.

There are ups and downs, and so many children I wish I could help in so many ways. It is hard to feel like whatever I am doing, it is not enough. I remind myself I am but a piece to a bigger organization with a broader goal. My fellow volunteers can build from the knowledge I've gained and shared about each child's needs. There really is no better feeling than a dozen children running out of the dirt paths and cornfield to race to school with me each day. It's a funny sight to watch them bouncing off into the postcard picture scurrying home. So different from our systematic public school bus or carpool system.  I still can't figure out how they find their homes later, it is one big maize maze to me. Ha! Ok, that's my cue to get some sleep. And the fact that the power has gone out twice while writing this.

Emmanuel, my neighbor. We sing songs on the walk to  minimize the language gap.

Faith

Tanzania is 50% Christian and 50% Muslim. In the Kilimanjaro/Moshi area where I am, it is predominantly Christian. I don't think I've ever felt such a strong presence not only of religion, but of faith, not even in my hometown of Baltimore where I attended Catholic school up to age 18. I've said more prayers, attended more masses, and met more walking Saints then probably ever before.

I think it has something to do with the fact that most of the people I see here don't have much, but are the happiest, most thankful people I've ever come into contact with. This past Sunday I had the pleasure of attending mass at "The Orphanage" I've written about - Kwasadala, the home of 35 children from the street that Paulina and Rosmin have brought into their family.

Kaleigh and I show up on Tanzania Flexible Time (a few minutes late). In our defense we got lost in the corn field. Really. Elizabeth joins us, she opened the school Kaleigh volunteers at in the yard of her home. We brought her to chat with Rosmin as we think each can help the other. It is 10AM and this is Elizabeth's second mass of the day. More on Elizabeth later, she is fascinating and made us a hen the night before for dinner!

Ok, back to Sunday....The kids quickly take us back to the "church" which is the log-cabin like shack that doubles as a schoolhouse. Before we even enter we can hear the songs thundering through the thatched roof. The  entire family, plus a few neighbors and the priest are in attendance. Over 40 people crammed into a very teeny, very hot room. It also can get quite stinky in there.

The family church and schoolhouse. Notice the cross on top right.

Within minutes upon entering Kaleigh and I are in tears. Although we can't understand a word of the songs, there is something about watching these children dance and sing in praise with energy like I've never seen before. Perhaps it's because I know their biological parents abandoned them on the streets with no plans for food or shelter, or the fact that 4 of them share a single-bed sleeping head to toe, or that they have no power, no electricity, and really not much else other then a roof over their head. Yet I've never met happier people in my life.



Rosmin calls all the different choirs to the front to sing various songs. I chuckle at the fact that there is a children's choir, a Massai choir, a girl's choir, etc, but they all live under the same roof. Each song has a unique dance and follows the beat of one cowhide covered drum, and occasionally some clapping. This is much more entertaining then the stodgy church I went to growing up with a bunch of tone-deaf old white people barely humming hymns!

Grace, Lucy and their sisters singing in the girl's choir.

After more than 45 minutes of continuous singing they begin the "testimonials." This is a wonderful part of the mass where anyone is welcome to stand up and speak about what they are thankful for, or how they've seen God in their life. Paulina, the loving mother of this wonderful family that has the best laugh I've ever heard, tells a story close to her and ends by saying, "You will never be the same as when you came." These words hit right home.

After the testimonials Rosmin then gets the family rowdy by shouting (he likes to do this), "This is the day the lord as made! Let us give thanks and be glad!"

He then shouts to the room, "Are you happy?" There is a resounding response of, "Yes, I am happy!" He shouts back, "Be happy for the day God has made." This is repeated over and over.

This exchange sits with me for a while and I think through it while the scripture is read in Swahili (later to be translated in English by one of the boys). In America,  people often ask, "Are you happy?" It is discussed as if happiness is a destination, or an achievement to be accomplished. A mountain to climb, a marathon to be finished. The perfect job to be found, the perfect husband to meet, the perfect house to buy. This is part of the problem with our culture. We behave as if happiness is the summation of all these things we need in order to achieve it. It's part of the reason we have such a hard time living in the present. There are books written about how to be happy, seminars about it, and lord knows Oprah never stops talking about it. No wonder no one ever thinks they are truly happy. It's a to-do list that feels impossible to complete. I myself am guilty of this.

I realize that this wonderful family is choosing to be happy. It is a conscious decision. An attitude. A perspective on life. They wake up every day, pray in thanks for what they have, and are happy, that the Lord has brought us this day. Period.

Philosophically this is what faith is all about. At least for me. And anyone who doesn't  believe in anything, or maybe lacks faith in their life, should spend a day with people like this. How can you not believe there is something grander looking out for this family? I no longer feel incredibly sorry for them (ok, maybe a little), but realize they have the riches of a strong faith and positive attitude on life which gets them out of bed everyday and helps find ways to put food on the table. Being simply thankful for the day we have is a pretty good place to start.

My dad gave this to me many years ago and I pull it out whenever I'm feeling woe is me.

Ok, I promise not every post will be this preachy. More on dinners of neighborhood hens and updates on my kiddies my soon. 

The Simple Life: Working to live

Life here is pretty amazing and I'm reminded that a simple life is a good thing. Less is more. Things are much less stressful that way.

Being here is kind of like a combination of summer camp/group therapy/rehab/seminary/detox/school. The only thing missing is a sunrise yoga class, and maybe a spa.

My home-base is comfortable, and quiet, with only the sounds of the neighbor's cows and roosters. The permanent honking of cabs and drilling that I'm used to feels a million miles away.

Our home, pictured here, is like a modest hostel by US standards, but lavish in this community. It is incredibly clean and I've gotten used to our friends the lizards and very large, strange insects I've never seen before. It's  spacious right now with only a handful of us here, but I'm bracing myself for when 30+ people join us in the 8 bedrooms on Saturday. Yikes.

We hand-wash our laundry and line-dry it outside. If it's a large load Rose helps us for a few shillings. While I feel bad asking for her help since she is due to have a baby any minute, she is thrilled for the extra money for her family. It's interesting to try and "enjoy" the slow time to do chores. Hand-washing is quite tedious, and every article of clothing must be ironed to prevent mango flies from laying eggs in the clothes. Don't ask.

Most nights I am so physically tired from the day I am asleep by 10, and up by 6am. It's nice to not lie awake at night with work anxiety and to simply pass out while reading a good book. The roosters then wake me after the best sleep I've had in years.

It's also refreshing to have scheduled meals at 630am, 1pm, and 630pm. This definitely beats running to Jazzy's for a salad only to be grazed on behind a computer close to 3 pm. I'd  almost forgotten what it's like to have regularly home-cooked meals with friends and family. While my diet of wine and cheese has a certain appeal in NY, it also can be exhausting at times to always be out. It has been so nice to sit around the dinner table and chat about our days with my new friends. This is better than the alternative of coming home from work and ordering take-out while zoning out to the tv alone. We often reconvene after dinner over some hot-chocolate or tea to discuss lesson plans for the next day. This sometimes involves writing 30 copies of a handout if we haven't been able to get to a photocopier. I don't mind the task and certainly prefer it to answering late-night emails.

Michele and I helping "make" ugali at the orphanage.

The food is surprisingly quite good (for the most part). Freshly squeezed mango and avocado juice from our yard, and eggs from the chickens next door is as "farm to table" as you get. We have these maize pancake-like things that I love, probably soaked in butter. Lunch is the biggest meal of the day. Dinner usually consists of some sort of meat, potato and veggie. I think only a few times have I had mystery meat which I'm pretty sure was goat. Hm. With the large amount of carb consumption I've gotten over the thought of dropping a few lbs here.

This large pot will feed  the family of 40. Harder to stir than lifting weights.

Almost every home here is individually sustainable. If there is a natural disaster everyone in Africa will be fine with their cows and corn while all of us in America will be fighting over the only canned food we can get our hands on. 80 percent of the population here are peasant farmers by occupation.


I don't actually miss technology all that much, except when the power goes out which seems to be almost every other day (we do have a small back-up generator). I definitely don't miss my phone with the never-ending stream of texts and emails to respond to. I don't even really miss wine (that much). What's happened to me?




I've been able to squeeze in a couple of runs which is also an entirely new world. My parents were worried for my safety but I think the worst that can happen is I trip over a chicken. It would be so like me for this to actually happen. But it wouldn't be the same without one of you there to witness this.

I know a lot of the neighbors by now and the kids can't really comprehend why I would run continuously so they shout "Mzungu! Mzungu!| (white person) and chase after me. Last week they surrounded me in a pack of 6 and ran for at least a mile laughing the entire time. I felt like a celebrity. I always thought those pictures of people like Katie Homes in Africa with dozens of kids touching her face was because she was famous; I now realize it's because they are just fascinated by her skin and they are enamored by the fact that we are foreigners.

It is so incredibly beautiful here I'm trying to take in nature at its best and the different surroundings. I jog past women carrying 30 lbs of bananas on their heads, young girls braiding each other's hair, the guy working in the one room 'shop' that sells sugar, eggs and flour, and pass by acres and acres and acres of corn fields. I jog over a stream and take a moment to take in Mt. Kilimanjaro., "the roof of Africa" and it takes my breath away.

As I head back without my fan club surrounding me this time, I watch the families prepare for dinner and start to head inside. They will all likely be asleep just after the sun sets since many do no have electricity. What I'm always struck by is how incredibly happy everyone seems. Yes, there are problems, and everyone has their woes, but it's certainly not like seeing dozens of stressed-out people in suits getting stressed out by their blackberries while they get stressed-out by the over-caffeinated Starbucks employee that behaves like a robotic Walt Disney character. They tend to their maize, barter for milk, and work physically hard to put food on the table for their families.

One of the many things I'm reminded of here is that more of anything doesn't = better, or happier. And it really is the little things that can make your day. People here work to live, not the other way around. And, being on "TFT" (Tanzanian Flexible Time) is good for the soul to occasionally stop and enjoy what is right in front of you, and not rush off to what's next.

I think we have a lot to learn from this country, not the the other way around.

Weekends: Safaris + Pics

Our weekends here have been just as busy and enjoyable as the weekdays. And I'm still passed out by 10pm and up with the roosters. Who am I and what happened to Jessica??

Last weekend we headed out on a safari (the word safari actually just means trip). We first stopped and met the Maasai tribe. Meeting them felt like I was inside a National Geographic report. Maasai society is strongly patriarchal in nature. They practice polygomy so each "village" often has one husband, 6 wives, and all the children. I can't fathom the dynamics and jealousy. They are nomadic in nature and build huts made of cow dung and sticks to live in.

We were fascinated learning about how boys become men. When they are 13 or so boys are sent (literally) into the 'bush' for circumcision without an anesthetic. The ritual is performed by the elders in the tribe with a machete. The boy is not allowed to cry or he is not considered a man. Until the healing is complete (a 3-4 month period) they wear black and stay in the bush (wild) to show they are warriors that are coming of age. We saw many of these boys alongside the road with their faces painted showing that they are participating in this rite. Young women also undergo genital mutilation as a rite of passage. Makes our years in puberty seem   pretty harmless.

Maasai

The meeting of the tribe was incredibly interesting. We tried not to stare at the elongated earlobes with earrings you've probably seen in pictures, or the flies that land on their face that just sit there because they don't bother them. I was amazed they never swat those annoying flies off! They are so used to it they don't even feel them anymore. For about the 10,000th time that week I felt like the paranoid American. Nothing seems to bother people in Tanzania. Nothing at all, they are always happy. We can learn a lot from this attitude on life.

The Massai women each welcomed us and we sang and danced which is tradition. This involved a lot of jumping. Apparently I am an excellent jumper and they were thrilled with the air that I could get. See below for reference.

The next two days were spent with our amazing guides from Pristine Trails Epi and Luis. We headed to Ngorongoro Crater and Lake Manyara where we pretty much saw everything you could have imagined. 4 of the big 5 were spotted before lunch!

A teenage lion according to Declan and Mac based on the length of his mane

The zebras are stunning in person

Kaylee, Michelle and I. You will see this outfit in all 700 photos I've taken.

Me, driving the safari car (dream!) pointing out the giraffe.

Epi and Musa, our guides from Pristine Trails let me drive the Safari car in Arusha National Park yesterday. I haven't driven a stick shift in more than 10 years but it was quite a thrill to be driving the land-rover. I only stalled a few times, (when I of course couldn't move the car for one trying to get by) so we had a quick Chinese fire-drill to get off the path. 

The biggest thrill was when we were coming over the hill and right in front of us were a handful of giraffes crossing the road. Bananas! I was nervous for a minute I would hit them but all was fine. Don't worry mom, this is all completely safe :) I haven't seen a stoplight in this country yet and figure my odds are more likely to be hit by a cab in NY while crossing the street then hitting a giraffe with a car. For the walking portion of the day we had a bad-ass (female!) Ranger with us that had a gun. Just wait for more pics. It is just like Jurassic Park, except this is a much safer version of that story and no one dies. 

On Saturday we  took a day hike up Kilimanjaro, also known as "Her Majesty"  or "The Roof of Africa." We did 9 miles and it poured rain the entire time. The jungle is beautiful though and the monkeys were swinging right over our heads. It was amazing to see and feel the climate change just from those few miles, the vegetation already began to adjust to the higher altitude and coolness. I CANNOT believe I have signed up for 6 days of this! With no shower! Good thing I packed approximately 1,436 wipes. I'm saving all of my daily Swahili prayers for safety and success on this adventure. I'm already telling myself it's the journey not the destination. Musa assures me that I'll make it to the summit as long as I take it "polepole", which means "very slowly." Everyone says it takes mental determination and he promises he will take care of me and get me down the mountain if I get altitude sickness. I made him repeat the warning signs so Elena, we are all set.

I'm in a groove at school and will send updates on the kiddies later this week. Emmanuel and I now "carpool" for our muddy walk home. We each talk to each other in a totally different language but so far, it's the best part of my day. 

100 Days in Rwanda

Yesterday we took a field trip to Arusha to see the International Criminal Tribunal for Rwanda (ICTR www.unictr.org). Here, in court, the United Nations is (still!) persecuting those that lead the 1994 genocide of almost 1 million people in 100 days in Rwanda. The purpose of this tribunal is to contribute to national reconciliation in Rwanda and to maintain peace in the region. It was fascinating, horrifying, and completely eye-opening to witness this large piece of history I did not know nearly enough about. I am renting the movie Hotel Rwanda right when I get back.

There are many things that are horrifying about the intended extinction that resulted in 20% of Rwanda's population being mass murdered. The genocide was initiated by those in the Hutu militia against those in the Tutsi tribe (minority party). Many of the members of the Hutu power group held leadership positions in the national government. Not only was it supported by the government, but the mass murders were orchestrated by  the Prime Minister (now sentenced to life in prison), the military, clergy, and the mass media. Mind-blowing.

This tribunal shows that it is possible to bring justice for these types of crimes. 80 trials are complete thus far. 10 have been acquitted and there are still 9 fugitives. The last fugitive was found in Texas if you can believe it.

We received a tour of ICTR and learned the details of this major moment in history with the reconciliation happening right in front of us. I enjoyed nerding out in the library and asking zillions of questions.We even got a glimpse at the appeal of Gaspard Kanyarukiga. He was sentenced to 30 years in prison in 2010 for masterminding the genocide. Court is open to the public.

So, as we head into this next election season and I complain about how screwed up things are in our country, I will remind myself what corrupt politics really looks like.

Is there a janitor in the house?

I'm beginning to get into the swing of teaching, or at least trying to. Friday though, was a rough day. Before we even started morning prayer one of the kids went to the bathroom on himself, and all over the floor, Number 2 unfortunately, not Number 1. Since it's not like there is janitor I can simply call, or a bottle of bleach to grab, I myself am practically pooping my pants (looking back I'm trying to find the humor in this situation).

Sister handled the situation - grabbing the child, a bucket and gloves to clean up the mess. Unfortunately though, this started the day with complete mayhem. The little boy and the floor had to be cleaned up. We found an extra T-shirt to tie around his waist while his shorts dried. For me, the two worst things were 1) what I'll simply refer to as "the fly situation" (I'll leave it at that); and 2) the fact that I was left alone with the kids for what felt like an eternity.

What I wouldn't do for a bottle of bleach, some baby wipes, and a Disney DVD to pop in right now. Instead, I tried every song I remotely know; luckily the kids have no idea if I mess up, which reminds me I need to do some googling later. Singing usually gets them to stop.They were swinging from the window shades so at times it was pitch black, then they'd yell (in Swahili) that they had to go to the bathroom. They'd dart outside to the separate building with the bathroom and disappearing from my eyesight. I should note here that the bathroom is not a "Mzungu toilet" (white person toilet) but a hole in the ground.

No matter what I do I cannot control the chaos. There is no order, no structure to the day, and Sister is MIA. I think I blocked out the rest of the details. They all tattle on who misbehaved and Sister makes the bad ones go stand at the front of the room. She then makes them each slide on their knees over to me (as if in prayer) to beg my forgiveness in Swahili.

New meaning is given to the phrase "Bad day at work." At least when my clients are giving me a hard time there isn't poop involved. 

I survived the day and the pianist from the church nicely walked me home. We had a lovely chat. After chatting about America and family he asked (just as Sister did, and many do) if I'm married and how many children I have. I tell him I am not married, and don't have children, but explain I have nephews and a goddaughter I love very much. He is shocked that I am not married and cannot understand. We actually stop walking so he can grill me.

Many people here marry by 19. We have a bit of a language breakdown and he asks "When do you want to get married?", but I thought he was asking "How long do you want to be married for?" I reply "Married forever" which he comprehends as "I don't want to  marry ever." He starts laughing hysterically and says "I so happy to meet American girl. So different."

Ai yi yi. I cannot seem to get a break to today! And I've pretty much had some version of this exact conversation with the dozens of people in the village, orphanage, etc.

My walk back from school today

The scenic short-cut. Just a tad different then my daily coffee stop on Varick St. 

I arrive back at the home base, take a quick shower to wash the day away, and quickly pack and eat for weekend safari. The word safari simply just means "trip."  More on that and fun cultural things later. 

Miss you all. Thanks for reading.

Orphanage - Kwasadala

The word orphanage implies that the children hope to eventually be adopted. Or, it conjures up images of the musical "Annie" - that there are things like electricity and a bed for each child.

The place I visited Thursday will forever be imprinted in my mind. It is called Kwasadala and is a family's home. Rosmin and his wife have taken in 35 children from the street ages 3-18. Yes, 35. The first child was brought home 9 years ago when  Rosmin found him with pneumonia. His wife Paulina said after taking him to the hospital the child was no better off then where he started if returned to the streets. He continued to find children that need a home and word spread about their generosity.

Upon arriving at Kwasadala the 5 of us enter the small wooden room and are greeted by the warmest gospel song I've ever heard. What moves us the most is the contagious happiness of the entire family stepping, clapping and singing to the beat. They each introduce themselves. We dry our eyes and respond with each of our names. Rosmin laughs when Michele introduces herself and he says, "like Obama's wife!" We bring rice, sugar, soap, some clothes and a soccer ball they are all eyeing giddily.

Rosmin gives us a tour of their home. Heartbreaking doesn't even begin to describe it. The girls and boys sleep 3 to each bed - 6 children in one bunk bed. Their grandmother also sleeps in bed with the girls.The bedrooms are very tiny and some of the mattresses are unfortunately soiled from the children having wet the beds during nightmares. The 'kitchen' consists of one very large bag of maize surrounded by flies and one large mixing bowl. No sink, no stove. Items are cooked over a fire outside. Thankfully the older boys are building some sort of a new kitchen room out back. They are making each brick and building it one at a time. They are able to do this from donations from those who have visited their home.

We join the children outside to help pick grass for the cows. We all laugh as they ask "Do you grow maize or have a cow at home?" They also find it funny that as I pick the grass I am very careful to not pick the actual crops. To my city-eye they all look similar.

After we feed the cows  Rosmin shows us the seperate "building" that functions as a schoolroom/church. It slightly resembles a worn down log cabin with open entrance. The children are home-schooled until they are on par with children their age and then entered into school locally. They have excellent English and I'm impressed with their knowledge of America and the questions they ask me.

Family mass is held twice a day in this teeny, tiny room. A chalkboard on one side, a table that functions as an alter on the other.  Rosmin invited us to come on Sunday and I think we'll have to take up him on the offer. I look over and notice the kids playing with a grouping of plastic bags loosely taped in the shape of the ball. When we bring the new bight blue soccer ball it is like Christmas morning for all 35 of them. I think of all the toys collecting dust in most family's houses. One ball will bring this entire family some fun for weeks to come.

We continue to all hold back tears as we see a form of happiness we could never imagine. Two of the children are the parent's biological children but they quickly shake their heads and explain they are all their children. Each and every one of them is so happy to simply have a bed to share, a roof over their head, parent's to love and care for them, and really not much else. They know that if they were still on the streets, they likely wouldn't be alive.

I tell  Rosmin the children are blessed to have them in their lives, and he responds saying he only is doing what he can. The kindness, love and generosity is overwhelming I can barely keep from crying. I'm also struck by the strong faith that gets this family through. What I've seen defines, "God will provide" in a way I've never seen before.

It makes me so sad that this wonderful home is so far from getting much support from a country as wealthy as ours. $10 would probably help this entire family eat for a week. I think of the lattes and expensive glasses of wine I carelessly chug regularly.

Seeing a place like this with little infrastructure to support it makes me so thankful I am here. Unfortunately, being here in person is the only way to make a difference in these people's lives. At least for right now. We pledge to come back at least a few more times and bring whatever food we can, clothes we are tired of, and joy to share. I'm determined to make those Target t-shirts I brought down here end up doing some good.

To complete the wonderful day we received the following note from Rosmin in thanks:

OH My God thank you so much for your coming to our home. I enjoyed a lot for your Coming. how lovely that you humble your self and come to see us. who are we that you spent your time to come to visit us. we appreciated  a lot and we put you in our lives as one of our family. Thank you so much for the lovely Photo which is surrounded by the Love you brought.     You are most welcome again and again.

Mwalimu

This week I'm attempting to get into the swing of teaching. I will start by saying I already have even more respect for all the teachers out there. I thought advertising was hard work. For the first couple of days they drop us each off at our placements so we don't get lost walking the dirt roads (and let's be honest, I'd totally get lost, and probably still will). We first drop Andrea and Michele off at the school at the state penitentiary for the staff's children. We enter through guarded gates and see the prisoners in their orange jumpsuits working with the crops just 10 feet away. It is like a scene out of a movie. The kids run out to wave frantically as we approach. There are over 50 kids in each of their classes ranging in age and capability.

I next arrive at Karanga Catholic Nursery School where I am warmly welcomed by Sister Casmiri. We met the previous day and she calls me 'twin' since we are both 32. But she is about 4'11 and with her dark skin and habit we couldn't be more opposite.

Before I know it dozens of children race to the van and begin hugging me before I even get out. They shout "Mzungu"- meaning white person, over and over. They are desperate for hugs and attention and are fascinated by every inch of me - my freckles, pale skin,  and frizzy hair. Some are in uniforms, others are not. Some wear Winnie-the-Pooh sweatshirts with no understanding of who Winnie-the-Pooh is, as they have been donated. Some wear cleats because those are the only shoes they have, also a donation.

The school is a bit heartbreaking at first sight but I soon recognize they have basic necessities; that phrase has already started to mean something quite different than it did just a week ago. There is a chalkboard, a few pieces of chalk, a handful of books, and one wall-hanging with the ABCs. As we enter the classroom it is complete chaos. Total chaos. 30 kids, ages 2 through 5, plus the extreme language barrier. Sister runs a tight ship but I definitely panic whenever she leaves. They see me as the fun white person who brings crafts, activities and songs therefor they act out like I'm the babysitter. We say prayers (in Swahili), and run through the alphabet. Sister hands out cups filled with bottle-caps and I can't figure out what they could be for. Then we practice counting the old rusty soda and beer bottle-caps to learn the numbers.

Outside during recess I try and play with 30 kids all demanding attention with just a few balls, one long rope, and rocks and pieces of wood the kids make a (scary!) seesaw out of. Regardless, they have a blast running around in the dirt and it is once again it is sheer chaos. We head inside since it's now time for porridge. Each cup is filled from a big bucket and passed out to the children. They are as excited as my nephew Mac gets when he gets a chocolate donut. Once they finish drinking the porridge they line up outside to wash their hands in a bucket.

While it's hard to communicate with them, language with children luckily doesn't require as many words. And they are instantly already so loving and trusting they really just want to stand there and hug you, and climb on you. I'm learning enough words to shout things like "sit down" and "quiet." It goes against my nature to raise my voice so this is quite a test to try and control the chaos. We had success today though singing the ABCs. We must have sang it over 100 times but it seemed to help with the alphabet and they enjoyed it. When they want my attention they yell either "Teacher! Mwalimu! or Bibi!" Bibi means grandmother. The last volunteer was in her 70s so that's what they call her and it seems to be easier than JessKa which we are still working on.

After class I met Father and saw the priests house. We chatted about the children, life in "the very big city" of NY, and of course, he asked how Obama was doing. He said, "Many people use to like him. Not so many as now, right? New election?" He asked who was running against him and I explained likely Romney which he replied, "Mick? Romney?"

I'm always astounded how in other countries people follow our politics so closely because they look up to us and I barely know what form of government Tanzania has. Father acknowledged broadly the challenges Obama has faced, and I attempted to simply explain the clash with Congress although I don't think he and Sister grasped the concept of the checks and balance system.

It is so nice to feel truly needed on an entirely new level. Their are so many children in just this neighborhood  there is very little individual attention and the schools grow faster than they can keep up. We also have the ability to help with learning English. Sister and I are attempting to teach other a handful of words to each other a day.

We are heading to the orphanage later and will bring clothes, sugar and rice. It's sure to be another eye opening experience.

Settling-in

Here! And attempting to use this blog correctly which as most of you know, is a big step. The power just went out from the rain, but it was autosaved so that is a step in the right direction.

I arrived Saturday in AMS a bit bleary-eyed but gladly met two of the girls in my group while boarding our next flight. It was nice to have some company while going through customs and getting our CTA stamps once we arrived in Tanzania. Plus, it was helpful to have people to distract me from the ugly large bugs I was already seeing in the airport. Elch. Michelle and Kaylee are very friendly, it feels like summer camp as we board our van.

It is darkness like I've never seen before on our bumpy, humid ride to the Home Base. "Bubba" - meaning Dad in Swahili, greeted us with hugs and a warm welcome when we arrived at our Home Base. Mary, one of 2 cooks (both named Mary), brought us a delicious glass of avocado and guava juice made from the fruit in our very background. This was wonderful after 2 long days of traveling.

I met my roomie Andrea who arrived a few hours before from Morocco. For the last 3 months she has done all CCS programs in Africa. Interestingly enough she is from Hungry, but has been living in NYC for the last 15 years. She was a fashion designer at Calvin Klein and was burned out and quit her job. We'll have lots to chat about.

After a restful night's sleep I awoke before the sun with the roosters. Literally, the roosters. And the cows, and dogs, and a handful of other animals. Quite different from the ever-present honking of cars and drilling outside my studio apartment. I unpacked, settled in, and arrived at breakfast at 630. Our quarters are very clean and the staff is so friendly it instantly feels like family. Banana and avocado trees surround us and we are blessed by a beautiful garden out front.

We took a quick tour of town to find the pharmacy and other necessary locations, and a coffee shop which was heaven.While sipping my iced frappe I looked over and hand to laugh as I saw a chicken, and a family of chicks actually crossing the road. I'm struck my how much slower life seems here already.

Bubba is such a resource already and today we had the joy of meeting Mamma, our House Mother. I want to hug her instantly. Bubba sounds a bit like Mufasa (from the Lion King) when he talks which is quite soothing. When he can't understand what you are saying he says "Yes, Please?" which makes me laugh everytime.They've taught us the difference between TFT (Tanzanian Flexible Time) and Mzungu (white person) time. TFT means that punctuality doesn't exist and people come as they may, sometimes 2 hours late. Mzungu time means Time = Money, so be punctual.

We met some of the neighbors today which was eye-opening. My friends - the cows and goats are a few steps away next door as part of a small home for 6. This home is not a house as the walls are not complete and it's made mostly of mud. I was instantly struck by the disparity between our house, and the poverty of these people. It feels so wrong. We received a warm welcome though and it was explained that they actually feel privileged to live next to our Home Base. They see the benefit of our work in the neighborhood and the children become very fond of the volunteers. Neighbors here are considered like family, because you can't choose them. So here, you treat any neighbor just as family.

They eat the corn they grow, eggs from the chickens, and sometimes get fresh water from neighbors. Occasionally they will ask for sugar to sweeten just the children's food. When we left they asked us if we had any sugar, so later we picked up a small bag for them. I think for a moment of my gluttonous lifestyle in NY when I realize they live off less than 1 US dollar per day.

Family here is very close. Aunts are actally also called 'moms', and nieces and nephews are children of any of the siblings.  Last names are given by the Mother, First name is a Christian name, and a middle name is from the Father's tribe. Moses PolePole, our program director was given his last name PolePole, which means very slow, by his mother who had an incredbly long labor when he was born. I think after that long of a childbirth every mother has the right to chose their children's last name.

Tomorrow is a Holiday (Labor Day) so our work doesn't start quite yet. We are taking a hike to the waterfalls and Wednesday our placements officially begin. I will head to Karanga Catholic nursery school which is a 15 minute walk up the dirt road. I met one of the nuns today and am invited to daily mass at 6 or 7am before school begins. Or, once I get to know the children they apparently will wait for me outside so we can walk together.

I couldn't think of a better start to the morning.