17.09.2011 Chega Village, Mt. Meru

 17.09.2011 Chega Village, Mt. Meru

            Since I visited Kelvin’s father’s village, his mama asked me if I would like to go meet her mother and father, who are from the Chega tribe.  I, of course, jumped at the opportunity.  Dana and Hannah joined me. The Chega people live on the side of Mt. Meru, a tropical paradise.  As we drove up the mountain, Kelvin’s mom was waving and greeting the people she grew up with.  On both sides of the narrow road were banana trees, cassava, and flowering greenery. We arrived to a cozy brick house, and Kelvin’s grandparents came out to greet us.  They speak no English, but it was understood that they were very happy to have us.  Mama took us on the tour of the land.  We went through the house, where the bedrooms and living room were.  The kitchen was in a room disconnected from the house, and had pots on a fireplace on the ground.  It was very simple.  Next was the barn for the cows, and a chicken coop, both set apart from the house.  The bathroom was an outhouse.  Behind the house was a small dirt trail, winding through acres of banana trees, cassava, carrots, and other vegetable and fruit plants.  The dirt was thick with moisture.  As we walked to the trial, we met women carrying wood for fire and food on their heads.  We reached a small creek, trickling and bubbling as it cut through and gave life to the surrounding vegetation.  Everything about this village was opposite of the Maasai village.

            We headed back to the house, where a Chega meal had been prepared for us. We were fed all sorts of freshly picked vegetables and fruits, beef-banana porridge, beef-banana soup (which was, in fact, different from the beef-banana porridge), beans, deliciously spiced rice, and well cooked chicken.  They insisted we eat seconds, which I was happy to do, because the food was delicious.  Kelvin kept saying, “Eat as you can!  The food is there, special for you!”  We must have eaten three or four servings because the food kept being piled onto our plates.  I was so uncomfortably full by the end.  Finally, I told Kelvin that if he didn’t stop pressuring me to eat and piling food on my plate, I’d puke on him to make more room. He laughed, but stopped asking me to eat more.  After dinner, we visited for a bit longer and then left.  I slept the entire way home.

14.09.2011 Third Maasai Burn

14.09.2011 Third Maasai Burn

            Ashlee and I are either crazy or really bad ass.  I think we are crazy.  We both decided to get a third Maasai burn, on our neck, directly behind our ears. We drank Vladamir first to dull the pain, the local cheap and disgusting tasting vodka.  I think the vodka was more painful than the burn.  Sashays of all the horrible, cheap alcohol would make great gag gifts for Christmas. I’ll keep that in mind for December. 

            As far as burns go, this one looks great!  It’s a perfect white circle, and about the size of my thumb nail. Of course it’ll scab a look a bit gruesome as it heals, but nothing can look as bad as the two Maasai burns on Ashlee’s foot. 

10.09.2011 Maasai Wedding

10.09.2011 Maasai Wedding

            Kelvin invited Ashlee and I to accompany him to another Maasai wedding.  This one, unlike the other wedding we attended in Mwanza, was traditional.  Kelvin was asked to slaughter the cow for the wedding feast.  I was very excited about it.  He told me Ashlee and I would have to wear the Maasai clothing and jewelry, which made me even more excited.  Unfortunately, Kelvin wasn’t feeling well this morning and we arrived to his village after the wedding was already over with.  We made quite the spectacle.  I don’t think Kelvin told anybody that he would have two mzungus accompanying him.  We were introduced to his aunt, a short woman with a seemingly everlasting smile.  She gave us buckets to sit on, and we sat in a semi-circle as we attempted to converse, behind a mud hut to block the sun out.  I caught myself looking around at my surrounding at one point, amazed at how I got from little Crete, Illinois to here, a tiny Maasai village surrounded by desert and dust.  I didn’t even know the Maasai culture existed until I arrived to Tanzania, and even then, I never thought I would start dating one.  I’m so grateful for what my volunteer experience here in Tanzania has turned into.  It has been such an eye-opening, culture-filled experience.

            Kelvin’s aunt fed us a Maasai meal of goat, beef, rice, and looshoro, which is a maize and milk porridge mixture.  And a coke.  As I was eating it, I kept thinking about my doctor and all the warnings he gave me.  “Don’t drink milk there, don’t eat meat unless you know it’s been cooked properly, don’t drink the water, don’t eat anything that’s unfamiliar to you.”  Well doctor, at least I didn’t drink their water.  I had a coke instead.  Luckily, I didn’t get ill, and neither did Ashlee.   And, the food was quite delicious.

            After eating, Kelvin asked if I wanted to see the hut where he grew up in.  I jumped at the opportunity.  I had already seen Zachi’s village but this was where Kelvin was raised for a large part of his childhood.  This is where he had his pre-adolescent circumcision, where he learned the Maasai language, where he learned about his father’s traditions, and where his family still lived.  On the way there, we drove past fifteen foot deep crevices, young boys grazing skinny cattle on the sparse amount of green weeds turned red from the caked-on dust, and deserted corn fields.  The car tires picked up the dust and sprayed it on our windows.  It slid down and swirled like micro-drops of red water caught by a strong wind.  We would stop and wait for the dust to settle, and then continue on.

            We arrived to Kelvin’s father’s hut.  It was a large hut, surrounded by four or five slightly smaller huts.  We were welcomed inside and offered chai tea.  The hut was separated into two areas.  The area immediate to the opening was for the animals that gave milk.  Three posts were buried in the dirt ground that made the family’s floor, and the animals were tied here at night.  Separated by a half wall was the male’s sleeping area, where Kelvin slept as a boy.  The mattress was cows hide pulled tight, tied to a wooden bed-frame. The women would sleep on the floor.

            While being shown around, we were being followed by a dozen Maasai children, all colored grey by dust.  They reminded me of the commercials we all see play on the television at home.  The commercials that can make one feel so guilty for being born privileged that you change the channel and stuff the knowledge of suffering children into a back corner of your mind. These children, although filthy, were happy.  They were far happier than a lot people in the States, who have all their basic needs plus more met.  They would tell secrets about us, laugh, and run when we chased them.  They bent their knees in respect as they said “shikamo” to us and giggled after the formalities were over.  The young girls were in charge of caring for the even younger babies (and the only children which were clean), and they may have had more of a motherly instinct than I.  The metal roof showed light through the rust-made holes, but nobody neither noticed nor cared.  I know that these children are still lacking other things that we may consider essential, such as an education, but they learn how to care for their baby family members, cook, gather water, and care for their livestock.  These are the skills they need to live.  If somebody wishes to leave the village, and get an education, such as what Kelvin is doing, they are supported.  I wish I had more time to actually live in the village, and gain a more substantial perspective on living simply. 

            After visiting the home, we were taken to walk outside and look at the crops and trees.  Kelvin and his mother paid to plant dozens of shade trees on the property.  The crop that was planted was corn, and had already been harvested.  Looking around, the land was a beautiful skeleton made of hills, crevices, and dust.  Growing corn seemed to me to be impossible.  Growing any plant seemed to me to be impossible. Finding the means to live on this land seemed to me impossible, but these people mastered it decades ago. 

            

05.09.2011 The Germans are Here!

05.09.2011 The Germans are Here!

The hospital we volunteer at is sponsored by a hospital based out of Germany.  Once or twice a year, a team of doctors, surgeons, and nurses come to Arusha to perform surgeries, which will start tomorrow.  This trip, they have arrived to perform pediatric orthopedic surgeries.  They introduced themselves in church today, and I am very excited about their arrival.  What they are doing is absolutely amazing.  The hospital grounds were swimming with local families and children who desperately need medical help.  Some had orthopedic deformities that prohibit them from walking, so they have been crawling on their hands all their lives.  Screenings were done last Saturday to determine who would get help and who wouldn’t.  That is a job I would not want.  To have so many families coming to you in need and desperation, and having to turn so many of them away would be extremely hard for me.   

Tanya, the nurse from Belgium who essentially took us under her wing, also opened her pediatric ward today.  A hospital from Belgium hired her to come to Arusha, manage the construction of a pediatric ward, hire nurses specifically for the peds ward, and to run it.  She was both extremely nervous and excited about welcoming her first patients today.  All of the orthopedic pediatric patients will come to her ward post surgery.  Ashlee, Tanya, the four newly hired nurses, and I will be caring for them.  I am glad that Ashlee and I came during the opening.  This way, we have a foot in.  None of the local nurses have had a chance to become comfortable and set in their positions, so we will be able to teach them easier.  Instead of thinking, “What is this mzungu doing?  I’ve been doing wound changes this way in this hospital for years.  She’s been here a week. I’m not listening to her,” hopefully they will be open to new techniques.  I’m praying. 

With all of the Germans, and five other volunteers who will be here for a week, and with the surgeries not being performed until tomorrow, there wasn’t much for Ashlee and me to do.  Instead of taking up space in the wards, we went to the hospital orphanage to help the mamas feed, clean, and watch the babies.  When we walked in the room where the fifteen or so babies and toddlers were, there were no mamas in the room and the toddlers were on a counter top.  The mamas set them there to feed them, but I’m talking nine month olds to two year olds. On a counter top.  With no supervision.  Two were running the length of the counter back and forth.  Ashlee and I starting setting them down on the floor, but then we realized they were probably up there for a reason, so we stood there and made sure they didn’t fall.  That started to backfire when several of them ran up to my chest, wanting to be held.  I thought they were going to push each other off onto the ground.  Luckily, the mama came in with their food just then.  We fed all the children (babies included) rice and beans.  We each had a bowl, and a communal spoon.  Two of my kids started hitting each other.  I would say, “wewe, acha!” but they didn’t listen.  I  set the bowl down to pick up a child to move them away from the kid they were hitting, and then another child would grab the bowl and spoon and make a mess.  I can’t think of a better way for the mamas at the orphanage to feed the babies and toddlers, but I sure was wishing for some high chairs.  The mama came out with smashed avocado next.  The watoto hated it!  As I was holding one, the mama put a spoon full in her mouth.  She tasted it for a second, and then started gagging, spitting it out, and rubbing it off her tongue with her fingers.  I had never seen a baby gag because of taste before!  I started laughing, and then cleaned her up.  A few minutes later, the mama came back with another spoonful of avocado.  The baby shut her mouth tight, threw her hands over her mouth, and started vigorously shaking her head no.  It was so funny to see!  My white lab coat got full of beans, rice, and avocado!

After feeding, we sat on the ground and played with the children.  Mostly, we held them and tickled them.  The laughter of the children here seems to be more musical and enchanted than it is back at home.  Maybe it’s because I hear it less. Maybe it’s because I don’t know where these children will be in ten or twenty years, but at least I know I made them laugh today.  

04.09.2011 Back to Arusha National Park? I Think Not.

04.09.2011 Back to Arusha National Park?  I Think Not. 

Soooo, we had plans to go back to Arusha National Park today (because it would be free), but the boys (and Ash) slept in.  Reggae night usually leads to that.  Ah well, we had a good day anyways.  We met Joe at Maasai Market, and then had a few Cokes over conversation.  Joe and Kelvin left to return to Moshi.  Joe is moving to Dar this week, so Ashlee and I will visit him before and after our trip to Zanzibar. Kelvin will be back to Arusha on Friday!  Yay!  I can’t believe I’m leaving in less than three weeks.  I also can’t believe that I had to travel half way across the world to find a guy as amazing as Kelvin. 

03.09.2011 Arusha National Park Safari.

03.09.2011 Arusha National Park Safari.

When I went to spend a weekend with Kelvin in Moshi, I met a guy from England in one of the bars.  His name is Joe and he is here for a year long internship, working for a coffee business.  I invited him to come to Arusha for a weekend, and he took me up on my offer today.  Kelvin and I decided last night that we would take him to Arusha National Park for a day long safari.  There are no lions or wildebeest there, but Kelvin said that there is an abundance of giraffe, elephants, and flamingo, and an assortment of other animals. I invited Ashlee to join us as well.  The four of us had lunch, and then left for the park.  We paid 35 USD each (with the exception of Kelvin, who gets into all national parks free of charge).  Our car battery died while we were paying for our entrance.  We got a jump.  His jumper cables are just that: cables with frayed ends.  No pincher clips.  After that, we entered the park, worried that the car would die again, but willing to take the chance.  As soon as we entered, we saw two giraffes laying on the ground next to each other.  Even though I saw giraffes in Ngorogoro, Lake Manyara, and the Serengeti, I was just as excited to see these ones.  We drove a little farther, and saw about twenty giraffes, and a few zebra.  They were so close and so many!  Without there being lions in Arusha National Park, the giraffes just feed, lie around, and multiply.  They were beautiful.  They were crossing the road right in front of us, and grazing on the bushes and trees right by us.  

We left the giraffes to go to the salt water lakes.  On our way, Kelvin asked me if I wanted to drive.  He has been trying to convince me to drive in Arusha town since we met.  I always say no, because they drive on the left side of the road and even though there are only supposed to be two lanes, it sometimes turns into four or five lanes.  Also, with the bota botas and dalas, I would end up killing somebody (and then by gang justice would I die too.)  I told him I would drive in his Maasai village (because the most I’d hit there would be cattle), but Arusha National Park seemed like a slightly more dangerous, but satisfying second.  I hopped into the driver’s seat, and started driving.  It was strange.  I kept veering to the left. The roads were narrow and unpaved, and there were a lot of hills and curves.  While I was driving, I met a car coming in the opposite direction.  He stopped to let me pass, but it didn’t look like there was enough room.  Kelvin said there was, so I started slowly creeping up, steering as far to the left as I could.  Kelvin grabbed the wheel and started turning it to the right.  I yelled to him that he was getting to close to the car.  We were like two inches from the car, but Kelvin knew that.  I need like a foot to know that I’m not going to hit something.  It’s not just Kelvin either, it’s everybody here.   They all drive at fast speeds, within inches of each other (yet another reason I couldn’t drive in Arusha town).  We got past the car, and I kept driving slowly.  The radio was on, and at this moment, the DJ played a police siren noise.  I found myself pulling over and looking in my mirrors for the police car.  Ashlee was like, “What are you doing?” Then she realized what I was doing, laughed at me, and said, “Those are on the radio!”  I started laughing at myself, but that’s when I decided I should not be the one driving.  I was too nervous!  I switched seats with Kelvin, and he continued driving like a madman.  

We made it to the salt lakes, and saw the flamingos.  The sight was absolutely breathtaking. There were thousands eating, flying, and swimming.  Their long legs were a bright pink, their bodies a pinkish off-white, and the underside of their wings were black.  When they put their heads under water to feed, their legs would dangle in the air.  It was cute.  I wish I was able to get better photos of them!  

We drove on to see more.  Unfortunately, we did not see any elephants.  We did see defesa water bucks, red duckers, buffalo, baboons, blue monkeys, sequir, and makowa ducks.  We also had the opportunity to go on a walking safari to a waterfall. We decided against it because it cost an extra 20 USD and Ashlee’s foot was infected and in pain (she got Maasai burns on her foot).  The day, however, was a complete success!  I had a lot of fun, and so did everyone else.  It was nice to be on this safari as Kelvin’s date rather than me being his customer.  

After the safari, we went home to quickly shower and change, and then went to Empire for Reggae Night.  Reggae Night is my favorite night out!  A local band sings a variety of reggae songs, and everyone jams out.  I thought that you couldn’t not dance well to reggae, but Joe proved me wrong.  He danced like a robot.  He kept his feet together and just moved his butt and arms.  At least he realized he was a bad dancer and was a good sport about it.  All the women form the volunteer house were swooning after him anyways.  I joked that it was a good thing he had at least one flaw, otherwise the women would kill each other in desperation for his attention.  

30.08.2011 Bus Ride Home

30.08.2011 Bus Ride Home

Since the surprise trip through the Serengeti ended up being a huge failure, we decided it would be better to grab a normal bus home.  We woke at 0400 again, and hopped on the bus.  The ride was uneventful.  I tried to sleep most of the way, while Kelvin read the paper and told me about New York being shut down due to the extreme weather dangers.  The only slightly eventful thing that happened occurred at a bus stop.  At every bus stop, men and women run up to the bus windows to sell food, snacks, drinks, baskets, and other miscellaneous items.  A group of young men saw me at the window, and ran up.  I only wanted peanuts, so I bought some, but then all of them stayed my window, trying to convince me to buy their items as well.  Kelvin was looking at them also, over my shoulders.   I grabbed his hand, and started holding it.  One of the guys noticed, and started pointing to Kelvin, smiling and yelling,  “Wewe! Ohhhhh, Wewe!”  It’s like he was congratulating Kelvin for holding the hand of a mzungu.  I thought it was funny at the time, but then I started worrying that it was a perk of dating me, and I didn’t want Kelvin to even think of my skin tone.  Then I started thinking about Kelvin, his personality, and how well he has treated me since we met.  He may be attracted to my pale skin, but it isn’t what is holding us together. 

29.08.2011 Stuck in the Serengeti

29.08.2011 Stuck in the Serengeti

Kelvin wanted to surprise me by hiring a jeep to drive us through the Serengeti to get back to Arusha, rather than taking a bus around it.  I was excited!  No, we wouldn’t stop to see the animals closely, but we would still see them.  It was a free safari!  We were supposed to meet the second driver, the one that was taking us to Arusha, at 6 am, but we were two hours late, because our first driver was late.  Kelvin was allowed through the gate for free because he works for the national parks, and I was allowed in for free because I was with him.  We were dropped off at a camp site by the first driver, to meet the second driver who would take us the rest of the way.  Little did we know, he left without us.  We were stranded in the Serengeti, with no ride to Arusha, and no ride back to Mwanza.  We hung out at the camp sight for a few hours, talking and hoping somebody would come that we could bum a ride from.  Hours later, we decided to walk to the gate, and find the main road back to the bus station, and hitch a ride from there.  Walking back in the Serengeti made me a little nervous, but I felt safer being with Kelvin.  At the gate, we quickly found a man who offered us a ride back to the bus station.  It was getting late, so we took a bus back to Mwanza to spend the night at Kelvin’s aunt’s house.

28.08.2011 African Funeral

28.08.2011 African Funeral

Even though Kelvin and I went to bed so late, we were still up and readyt o go by 0800.  I didn’t have much time in Mwanza, and wanted to see as much of it as possible.  We had breakfast (mandozi) at the hotel, and then left to walk around a bit.  I really wanted to see the fish market, so we walked there first.  There were two fish markets.  The first one was more of a whole-sale type.  The fresh fish had not arrived yet, but they had old fish that hadn’t sold fresh the day before were being chopped up.  They were salted first to preserve them, and then chopped.  Every bit was used: the heads, eyes, bones, everything.  I asked the man what happened to the dried fish next.  He said that they send it to the Congo, and it’s sold at a rather expensive price.  People make fish soup from it. 

Kelvin told me that they catch fish that are bigger than him from the lake.  I didn’t believe him, so he asked one of the men at the fish market if they could show me the biggest fish they had.  He took me down a few aisles of stinky, dried fish, and then pointed to a piece of dirty tarp on the ground.  Kelvin listed the tarp, and lying there was a fish that must have measured at least three feet wide and six feet tall.  It was dried with salt, and had flies and beetles crawling all over it.  I asked if people ate it, and he looked at me like it was a silly question to ask. “Of course.  We chop this up and send it to be sold in the Congo as well.” I can do goat blood, but I could barely bare the thought of eating that dried, beetle infested fish meat.    

We left to visit the second fish market.   This one had a huge assortment of fresh fish.  It was so stinky, but everything looked so delicious!  There were fish of all different sizes and colors.  Attached to the fish market there was the other types of food.  There were all types of fruits, vegetables, seeds, grains, and live chickens.  I bought passion fruit, boabo seeds, banana honey, and a few other types of foods I had never seen nor tasted before.  Everything was delicious.  I wish I could bring it home so everyone could have a taste of Africa. 

After the market, we had catfish for lunch. We had plans to meet up with Kelvin’s aunt and uncle after lunch.  They are rather well off.  Years ago, when they moved to Mwanza, they opened their own business selling clothes.  They travel to China two to three times a year to buy their products.  Eventually, the started buying furniture from China as well and opened a furniture store.  They expanded to Dar and Arusha, and now make a very comfortable living.  Of course, they still run out of running water and electricity (as everyone else in Tanzania does), but their home and stores are all very nice, and they have savings to fall back onto if necessary.  

When we arrived to their store, I was asked if I brought my kanga.  I had, and so I put it on when they asked.  A friend of theirs was traveling through the Serengeti with four other people, on their way to Arusha.  The person driving her was drunk.  They were traveling at night, and somebody was coming from the opposite direction.  The dust was so high and there was so much that the drivers didn’t see each other, and they had a head on collision.  The driver of the other car did, as well as the friend of Kelvin’s aunt and her driver.  I was to accompany Kelvin and his family to this woman’s funeral, but it was culturally unacceptable to go to a funeral without a kanga. I wrapped it around my waist, and then linked arms with Kelvin’s aunt and walked with her to the funeral.  It was an outdoor function.  We stood on the curb of the street, which was closed for the funeral.  Hundreds of people were there.  I didn’t understand what the people on the loud speaker were saying, but women and men would start wailing in unison.  Some women would throw themselves on the ground, crying.  After the speeches, it was time to view the body.  The women were to go first.  I wasn’t sure if I wanted to go, because I thought the body might look very bad.  Kelvin’s aunt wanted company though, so I went with her.  Everyone gets into a line, and walks a circle around the open casket.  There was no time to talk to her, say good bye, or cry over her body, as there is at funerals in America.  You just walked past.  I noticed most of the women didn’t even look at the body.  I quickly glanced.  The woman’s face was bruised, puffy, and discolored.  There was an open gash on her forehead and her left cheek. She was dressed in an all white dress.  I could tell that she was a rather young, and very beautiful woman.  After the female viewing, it was the men’s turn.  

We left after Kelvin and his uncle viewed the body.  The close friends and family were going to eat and then start the drive back to Arusha, where she was going to be buried. The funeral was very sad, and I felt out of place for most of it.  I didn’t know this woman, and felt like everybody knew that.  I felt like I didn’t belong.  When I saw everyone else crying, I found myself starting to cry as well. I stopped myself though, because I felt like I didn’t have the right to cry.  I was there to give support to Kelvin’s aunt.  I was mourning the death of this young mother, but I was happy when we left the funeral as well. 

27.08.2011 African Wedding

27.08.2011 African Wedding

Kelvin and I went on a short tour around Mwanza today.  This town is beautiful!  We woke up early to take a ferry to a close island.  We didn’t know our way around, so Kelvin asked a random guy on the street.  Instead of giving us directions, he took us.  That is one of the biggest and most splendid differences between here and home.  People go out of their way to help you, and it’s normal.  He was great for conversation, and so pleasant.  His name was Ollie.

I was the only mzungu that I saw this morning, and all the mbongos made sure to let me know that it wasn’t a common occurrence to see mzungus in Mwanza .  Not many mzungus come to mwanza, and they all told me that.  I wonder if it bothers Kelvin when people catcall me just because I have white skin.  It bothers me.  I wish I could change the color of my skin so I could blend in.  If I’m going to be noticed, I want it to be for something that I do, not because I have blond hair and pale skin.  

The ferry ride was nice.  Mwanza’s nickname is Rock City, and for good reason.  The rock formations are absolutely beautiful.  They look impossible, like gravity should cause them to fall apart.  Along the coast line, there were also homes and churches built into the rock walls. I was standing at the rail, and Kelvin’s arms were around me.  It was nice.  Ollie had decided to join us for the ferry ride.   We arrived to the island, let the cars drive off, and then left the ferry to explore a bit.  There were flowering trees and bushes everywhere, of all different colors.  Lizards were running around the rocks and sun bathing.  It was relaxing.  We grabbed lunch and caught a ferry back, and then went back to the hotel to prepare for the wedding.  Ollie walked with us most of the way, and then we said our good byes.  He is an amazing guy!  Less than a block from our hotel was a large compost pile full of rotten food.  I hadn’t noticed it this morning or last night, but walking back I couldn’t help but notice it because there were cows, dogs, children, and large storks feeding on the rotten fruit.  I bought chips for the kids, and had a hotel boy run it down there to them while I started to get ready for the wedding.  

Kaylee had given me a dress before she left for home.  Good thing, because it was the only appropriate thing I had to wear.  It was long, to my ankles, and black, pink, and tan.  I had no shoes to match, so I just wore my white sandals.  When I arrived to the wedding  , I was warmly welcomed by all.  In fact, I was ushered to the front (although I much rather would have hid in the back), and Kelvin and I were given seats next to the bride’s parents.  A woman came and asked what I would like to drink, and I ordered a Kilimanjaro.  She brought me five, all warm.  I don’t know why mbongos like warm beer.  It’s always asked, “Moto or baridi?”  Maybe most of them have gotten used to drinking it warm because of the lack of power and refrigeration, and so it is now their preference. I guess I’m getting used to it, but it still disappoints me every time.  

The wedding started with the bride and groom dancing down the aisle with the rest of the wedding party.  When they reached the front, they cut a ribbon to signify entry to their new life, a new beginning with each other.  There were no vows spoken.  Instead, a woman with a microphone did a lot of very loud talking and wild dancing.  I asked Kelvin who she was, and he said she was the MC of the wedding.  Basically, she is supposed to keep the party going and keep the wedding on track.  The bride and groom seemed to be part of the background compared to her.  I wish I understood everything that she was saying.  

The wedding cake was small.  Actually, there were three wedding cakes, all matching.  The first one was taken by the maid of honor.  She cut three small pieces off.  The first piece, the bride put halfway into her mouth.  The groom joined mouths with her and bit off the other half.  The second was taken by the groom, and fed to his best man.  The same was done with the third piece between the bride and her maid of honor.  Then, the groom and best man linked arms, and danced the second cake to the bride’s parents.  The bride and maid of honor danced the third cake to the groom’s parents.  Everywhere anyone went, they danced.  Mbongos sure can dance well too. 

After the cakes, the father of the groom and the father of the bride both spoke.  Then it was time for each tribe to be recognized.  There were several tribes represented at the wedding, and each was called up to do a dance.  Three tribes danced, and then it was the Maasai tribe’s turn.  Since Kelvin is Maasai, he went to dance, but asked me to accompany him.  I said no several times, and so he gave up and went to dance on his own.  Victor, who calls me his shimegi, grabbed my hands and so we went.  Victor is Kelvin’s cousin, and took me under his wing and guidance as soon as we met.  Shimegi translates to mean, “my brother’s wife/partner/girlfriend/etc.”  He says that as his shimegi, it is his responsibility to make sure I am always well and if I ever get into any type of trouble, he will be by my side to protect me.  He had been so kind to me, I would have felt rude to not accept his hand when he offered it to dance.  I linked hands with the rest of the dancers and danced with them.  It was fun, although I didn’t know what I was doing and it looked so.  

At this point, I really had to use the washroom.  So badly that it was making me grumpy.  I leaned over and asked Kelvin if there were bathrooms.  He said yes, and then asked a woman sitting near us to accompany me.  She grabbed my hand, and led me to a row of cars.  She pointed to the ground, and then stood next to me and crossed her arms.  Shit, is she going to stand there and watch me? Well, this is Africa… I pulled up my dress and squatted. She is watching! I’m sure this is normal for her, but come on!  I’m a mzungu, turn away. I tried to urinate, I really did.  But I couldn’t!  Not with her watching. She finally turned her head to talk to somebody, but then I felt like she could hear me.  I pretended like I finished my business, and then pulled down my dress and returned back to the wedding with her. I sat back down, more grumpy than before because I still had to pee, and now I felt like I needed at least 30 minutes in between now and when it would be acceptable for me to go again.  I was the only mzungu, and everyone was watching me.  I couldn’t walk anywhere without everyone’s eyes following me.  

Next was gift giving.  People were called to the front by the MC in groups.  The first group consisted of teachers, because the bride was a teacher. They gathered into a group at the end of the aisle, and then danced to the front carrying a toaster oven over their heads.  The same was done for several other groups, all with different gifts.  Eventually, the “brothers” of the bride were called up.  Included in this group was Kelvin.  Again, he asked me to accompany him but I said, “No way!  I’m not a brother and none of the other men have their girlfriends accompanying them!”  All the other brothers went, and gave money, one at a time, to the MC.  If they tried to give less than 50,000tsh, the MC would yell at them and demand more money.  They all gave in, and seemed like they expected it.  Last was Kelvin.  When he stepped up I heard the MC say, “blah blah blah blah…mzungu…blah blah blah…mzungu!”  I buried my face in my hands.  Now I really didn’t want to go up there.  Kelvin came, grabbed my hand, and dragged me up there.  I saw the bride laughing, and I had forgotten to dance.  Kelvin reminded me, so I started dancing.  Then the bride REALLY started laughing at me.  The MC said, “blah blah blah…mzungu…blah….MZUNGU blah…” and then everyone started laughing.  I know they had to be laughing at me making a fool of myself with my horrible dancing.  In my defense, the music playing wasn’t even good!  And I was put on the spot. The music stopped, and the MC held out her hand.  Kelvin gave 20,000tsh and I gave 20,000tsh.  Then she demanded 10,000tsh more.  Kelvin gave it, and then I returned to the safety of my seat.   

At this point, I was exhausted.  There was still a lot more gift giving, dancing, and kanga swapping left to go.  The father of the bride fell asleep, and I found myself drifting as well.  I don’t know how, because the music and MC were so loud.  Also, the power had gone out, so they were using a very bright outdoor light.  Whenever they faced it in my direction, the light would blind me.  I don’t know how the wedding party got used to it being on them all night.  Finally, it was time for food.  I got into line with Kelvin, but then had to use the washroom. Badly.  It hurt. I had to go.  I asked Kelvin to get me a plate, and then I left for the front where the woman had guided me before.  As I walked up, I saw a woman squatting.  She stopped, midstream, and scooted over.  “Apa.”  At this point, I didn’t care. I had to go, audience or not.  I squatted and peed right there.  I had no toilet paper so I did a shimmy and drip.  When I was finished, I turned around and saw a young boy standing by the wall.  He was looking at me.  I guess I should have been mad, but I was only wondering if my squatting techniques differed from the pros.  I said, “What, never seen a mzungu pee?” and then I walked away.  Who knows if he even understood me. 

I went back inside so join Kelvin for dinner.  Luckily, I had my hand sanitizer.  We had kuku, chips, wali, chipati, and salad.  All of us ate it with our hands.  I hurried and ate mine, because I knew we could leave as soon as we were done.  It tasted good, and I was starving (it was about 0300 by this point and I hadn’t eaten since lunch), so it didn’t take much effort to eat it quickly.  Afterwards, we said thank you and goodbye to everyone.  Kelvin and I piled into his aunt and uncle’s car, and I fell asleep during the car ride back to our hotel, my head on Kelvin’s lap. 

I’m really happy that I got the opportunity to see and be a part of this wedding.  I’m especially happy that I brought my camera, because it was only one of two cameras that were there, and the other one didn’t take that great of quality photos.  The bride was very grateful to see and receive the pictures Kelvin and I took. I’m especially grateful for meeting Kelvin, because my African experience would have been entirely different without him. 

26.08.2011 Another Bus Ride

26.08.2011 Another Bus Ride. 

Kelvin and I left for Mwanza on the 26^th at 0530.  His cousin was getting married, and asked me to accompany him.  He called a tax driver to pick me up, and the tax driver was drunk.  It was terrifying.  He was yelling in my face, and hiccupping. Kelvin didn’t live that far away, but I just wanted to get out of the car.  I thought that might be even more dangerous, so I yelled, “Pole, pole!” to him several times (slowly, slowly).  He drove slowly, but was still swerving quite a bit.  After we got to Kelvin’s place, I made him call a new tax, and refused to get back into that one.  It almost made us late for the bus, but at least we weren’t dead. The bus ride was quite uneventful.  I slept with my head on his shoulder for the first few hours, but then we reached a point of which the roads were no longer paved and very bumpy.  We talked the rest of the way.  Kelvin speaks English very well, but sometimes I think his understanding is less.  Actually, I think he’s a man and doesn’t listen well all the time, only it’s more noticeable because English isn’t his first language.  I will ask him a question, and his answer will have to do with the topic, but not be the answer.  I think he hears four or five main words, and fills in the blanks on his own.  I have to stop him, tell him he isn’t listening to me, and then rephrase or restate the question.  On the other hand, he always makes sure I am comfortable and happy.  He puts so much effort into my well-being.  Usually, I don’t let people do that, but with him, it feels comfortable.  He also has the courage to be himself and be free.  That is something I’ve always admired in people.   Besides the lack of listening (or understanding), he is 95% perfect. 

We ate lunch on the bus.  We had sambosas, boiled eggs, mandozi, and peanuts. We still had six hours to go, and I wished we would have been able to get out and stretch for a bit.  Ah well.  We arrived in Mwanza at about 1900, and his aunt and uncle welcomed us warmly.  Too warmly.  His aunt told me our kids would be adorable.  They took us to our hotel to drop off our stuff, and then out to eat.  I had barbecued catfish.  It was so delicious! Mwanza is right on Lake Victoria, so fish is a staple in their community.  After eating little more than coocoo (chicken), chips (fries), potatoes, rice, beans, and chapati, fish tasted so good.  They served the whole fish, head, bones, and all.  I had to ask Kelvin how to eat it.  You just pick the fish meat off the bones with your hands.  I now completely understand why people choke on fish bones.  They are small and sharp!  

After dinner, we returned to the hotel and went to sleep.  The wedding was the next day, and I was exhausted from the travels.  Not only was the room only 15,000tsh, the bed was super comfortable and I got a hot shower!  I’m living the life here in Mwanza!

23.08.2011 Tumor

 23.08.2011 Tumor

I was helping a local nurse today with wound care and dressing changes.  Wounds here are much more extreme than the wounds I have seen at home.  They are taken care of improperly because of lack of money, education, and resources.  When infections occur (which they do, regularly), they are not checked for MRSA or cultured.  Rather, they are all treated the same.  One woman in particular had a tumor growth on her face.  It looked like the underside of a mushroom, but as large as a baseball, and made her unable to talk, chew, or swallow properly.  She keeps her face covered with a scarf and Kanga and only takes it off for dressing changes.  Since it is an open wound, we crushed Flagyl and sprinkled it on the growth.  She was offered a transfer, but refused.  There is no more we can do at our hospital, unfortunately, so she lays in the bed, with her family near her.  She hardly talks to anyone when I see her.  Sometimes, I get the impression that she is just waiting to die.

I am going to be spending a few more days assessing the hospital and trying to figure out how I can use my education and time to the best effect.  I want to leave something with the hospital that will continue on long after I am gone: education.  As long as I can make them realize the importance of proper technique, hopefully they will continue to do it.  There are no enforced regulations to keep them up to par, and that scares me.  Meds do not have to be given on time (or locked up), pain is not assessed, and patients are not regularly cared for.  It’s why healthcare here is as awful as it is.  I talked to Dr. Julius and he is very open to me hosting educational classes for the staff members.  Hopefully he will also enforce what is taught. 

22.08.2011 Hospital

22.08.2011 Hospital

Today I did rounds again with the doctors and local nurses.  I miss the amenities at the hospitals at home.  I miss the care patients receive at home.  I miss being able to talk with my patients.  At home, we take vitals every four hours.  Here, heart rate and blood pressure are taken once in the morning.  Respirations are not counted, auscultation is not routinely done (and I doubt the ability for a lot of the medical professionals here to recognize the different sounds and what causes them), and the patients are not routinely bathed, walked, turned, or given ROM exercises.  Their families are responsible for feeding them, washing them, and assessing their well being.  The food they eat is brought from home.  If there is no family, the patients are not washed.  There was one Maasai man in particular who was in the hospital for a broken hip.  He was not in a cast, but just resting on his side.  We went in to change sheets and the local nurse wanted to skip his bed, because it was going to be difficult to move him.  I saw him and couldn’t leave him.  His sheets were covered in dirt, dust, and urine.  I pulled is blankets off of him and assessed his hip to determine the best way to move him.  I rolled him, and changed his sheets myself.  It was hard to do it alone because I didn’t want to hurt him or cause his hip more damage, but the man was so grateful after I had finished. Being here makes me truly realize how very important basic nursing care is.  It’s the foundation of every patient’s health and well being.   

19.08.2011 Sick Still, but Feeling Better

19.08.2011 Sick Still, but Feeling Better

Michael came and gently woke me up this morning to ask if I wanted to go to the hospital.  I wanted to get tested for malaria, but didn’t want to get out of bed quite yet.  I told him to go run his errands, and come back for me in a couple hours.  I don’t have malaria, it’s just the flu.  It’s evening now, and I feel much better, although the smell of food makes me nauseous.  Hopefully by tomorrow I’m 100%. 

18.08.2011 Nobody Can Take the Place of Your Mama

18.08.2011 Nobody Can Take the Place of Your Mama.

Last night was awful.  I was feeling ill, and so I went to bed early.  I woke up projectiling vomit onto myself.  It was in my hair, on my bed, woven into the fibers of my mosquito net.  My stomach was forcing its contents out so forcefully that I was gasping for air, and coming up short.  Trying to make it to a garbage or the toilet at this point was useless, so I waited until I thought I was done, and slowly pealed my blankets off of me, to avoid getting vomit anywhere else. I carried my sheets outside, and then came back to my room.  I don’t know about you, but when I get sick, all I want to do is sit in a bath tub with hot water running over my head and back.  Here, I’d have to settle for cold water, to at least wash the smell and chunks away.  Or so I thought.  I turned the faucet, and started crying. My tears were the only water falling.  The tank was dry.  As if I wasn’t disgusting enough, with my own emesis sprayed over my body, the realization that we had no water made my stomach churn again, and so I ran to the toilet.  I stuck my head over it, and immediately smelled the powerful odor of human waste.  No water means no flushing.  I grabbed for the garbage can, and puked again.  

I sleep in a dorm-style room with five other women, and the walls and door of the bathroom are paper thin.  I know they could hear me puking (dying) in the bathroom, and I couldn’t very well crawl back into the bed I had just soaked with my stomach’s contents, so I went into the living room and laid on the love seat, trying to get comfortable.  I started crying again, quietly.  I wanted my mom to cook me soup, and I wanted my mom to give me 7-Up, and I wanted her to clean my sheets so I could have a bed to crawl into.  I just wanted my mom.  I texted her, and asked her to call me.  It was about 0200 here, but mid-day there.  Five minutes later, dad called me.  I answered crying.  Stupid me, of course they knew it was the middle of the night here.  They were worried something serious had happened, and me answering the phone crying didn’t calm my dad’s nerves.  I quickly told him that everything was fine, I was just ill and home sick.  I told him what happened, and he said, “Oh no, Da.  I’m sorry.  Can Ashlee or somebody take the dolly dolly to get water tomorrow?”  This made me imagine Dolly Parton on a dala dala, and that made me start laughing out loud.  

My parents each comfort me in a different way, and depending on the situation, I usually prefer one over the other.  My dad, for example, is the person I went to when Mike died back in high school, and the first person I wanted to talk to when Jacob and I broke up.  He doesn’t usually know what to say, but he oozes comfort from his pores.  Usually when he does say something in the attempt to make you feel better, the awkwardness of his words makes you laugh (dolly dolly).  My mom, on the other hand, comforts with actions.  When I’m sick, my mom knows exactly what to do.  When I arrive home after a while away, she goes out of her way to make me happy to be home (even though the entire time I am home, she jokes that she can’t wait until I leave again). 

My mom had been at Kohls, shopping with the girls.  She came home while I was still talking to my dad, and got on the phone too.  I was so happy to talk to her, but it made me even more home sick.  This was the first time I had felt home sick since arriving, but I wanted nothing more than to crawl into my bed with my blankets tucked around me, with my annoying cat drooling while lying on top of me.  After we got off the phone, I rolled over on the love seat and started to drift off.  Less than an hour later, I began vomiting again.  Kaka and Zachi, the security guards, heard me and came inside.  They comforted me, found me another blanket and a more comfortable pillow, and made me honey tea.  Kaka sat with me until I fell asleep again.  Not my mama, but he did well. 

17.08.2011 Angela's Going Away Party

17.08.2011 Angela’s Going Away Party at Kitulizo

Today was Angela’s official last day at Kitulizo.  First Em left, and now she is too.  We have no new volunteers, and I’m at the hospital three day a week, so they have no teacher.  Mama Anna said she would step in until we got somebody new.  I hope there is somebody from the next orientation, because these kids rely on it.  

For the party, we brought speakers and music.  The kids LOVED it!  They were dancing like little rock stars.  Venence belongs in Via Via as a member of one of the break dance groups.  He was like a twenty year old professional stuck in a short six year old’s body.  I was dancing with all of them, but dancing with Dora was my favorite.  She usually sleeps all the time, because she gets such awful sleep at home.  Her bed is the gravel ground, and she shares it with her family.  When the music came on though, her eyes lit up and she jumped on the top of the desk, grabbed my hands, and started shaking it.  Finding enjoyment in the tiniest moments seems like a defense mechanism for coping with all the things that lack in one’s life.  For those who have everything and want more, well…I’m not sure if they experience the same level of enjoyment as those who have so little.  Can you go your entire life without feeling true enjoyment?  Can you go so long without feeling it that you eventually forget the spark it causes in your soul?