31.07.2011 The Nile’s Fury

31.07.2011 The Nile’s Fury

                      Never have I ever been afraid of drowning—until today.

Oh...Hello wave

            Today Emilie, Kaylee, and I woke at about 0700 to catch the bus to our launch area for the white water rafting.  I felt great and energized; excited for the rapids.  I walked to buy a breakfast chapatti and then hopped on the bus.  Actually, it was more like a small version of a semi flat with metal benches and a wood fence to keep us all in.  The rapids start area was about an hour’s drive away.  During the ride there, I felt nothing but excitement.  The day before a teenage boy had broke his arm at a rapid called, The Bad Place.  Although I’m not the strongest of swimmers, and I was completely inexperienced at white water rafting, I was feeling confident that I had enough common sense that I could prevent anything like that from happening to me.

That's my red head, bottom right.

            When we got to the launch site, we were told to hop into a raft with a guide named Alex and four other people who were from Spain.  Alex was a local with a very sarcastic personality and diabolical laugh.  To be honest, when he first started talking about how he was going to let us all die and flip the boat on purpose, I was thinking, “Shit, what did I get myself into?” 

            We started off in a calm part of the river.  Alex taught us how to row correctly.  You row together, as one unit, and deep.  He also told us that we should expect to be torn off the raft or thrown off the raft as it flips.  If the current grabs us, “Be calm,” he said.  “You may die but what’s the use of worrying?”  Then he flipped the boat.  He told us that unless otherwise instructed, we were to keep hold of the raft if we were thrown or if it tipped. We were also responsible for keeping hold of our ores (oops…I lost mine about a half a dozen times).  As he flipped the boat, I held on tight.  To be honest, it was nice to get a dip in the Nile.  I was getting hot from the sun.  We swam a bit before he flipped the raft right side up.  As he did this, we had to submerge ourselves and push over to the other side, while still holding onto the raft and the ore.  It was simple in calm waters.  I was nervous to try it in the rapids.  “Hopefully,” I told myself, “We just won’t flip.”  Ha.

            The first rapid was a grade 3.  Good, medium start. We flipped.  I swear Alex did it on purpose.  We were the ONLY raft that flipped.  When I felt myself falling into the water, survival mode kicked in.  I stayed calm, and felt the adrenaline pumping through my veins.  No current grabbed me.  I just got submerged by a couple waves.  No biggie.  I was back in the boat within a couple minutes.  As soon as I was back safe, I was excited that we had flipped.  That was fun!  Not dangerous…yet.

            We went through a few more grade 3 and grade 4 rapids, all separated by each other by pools of calm water.  The boat didn’t flip again at any of these, and we celebrated these small victories against the Nile.  We followed Alex’s instructions. “GET DOWN!” “GET UP MOTHER******S!”  “PADDLE.  PADDLE HARD!  FASTER!”  At each calm pool, he’d make fun of us.  “I watch your eyes change….I watch your face change.  You all were scared.”  [Insert diabolical laugh here.]  Finally, I pushed him off the boat.  He landed in the water, and when he went to pull himself back into the boat, Kaylee pushed him in again.  Then he pulled us in, got himself back into the raft, and refused to help us!  We didn’t have enough upper arm strength.  He said he was going to leave us for the crocs and black mambas to get.

I never did grab onto that paddle. Clearly, I tried though!

            The next rapid was the first grade 5.  It’s called The Bad Place, and for good reason.  We were the last raft to go, and all the other rafts had flipped.  There were people floating down stream and people kicking and attempting to swim to safety in the rapids.  “Don’t kick, don’t swim.  When the raft flips, tuck your arms and legs in.  Let yourself float to the surface, and take a breath, because you’re going back under.  Do NOT attempt to hold onto the raft.”  What Alex failed to tell me was that the current was going to make me feel as if I was being ripped apart, and it was going to hold onto me for what feels like forever.  I let go of my ore, and just let the current drag me.  I didn’t fight it.  I just told myself, “Hakuna shida.  I’ll be back up soon.”  Amazingly, I was more worried about losing my ring than I was about not resurfacing quickly enough.  I wear a ring on my thumb that says, “Be the change you wish to see in the world.”  It’s a Gandhi quote, and a reminder to myself about who I want to be.  I never take it off, and forgot to before going on the rapids. I didn’t realize until I felt it slipping over my knuckle.  I made a fist and prayed I wouldn’t lose it.  About fifteen seconds under, I resurfaced.  I saw a kayaker coming towards me, but was grabbed under by the current.  This one didn’t have hold of me for as long, and I resurfaced within ten seconds.  I grabbed tightly onto the kayak and he took me back to my raft.  I was never so happy to be in calm waters, or on a raft.  To celebrate, we ate pineapple and glucose crackers. 

            We had a couple more small, grade 3 and 4 rapids.  It was rather uneventful. The last rapid, however, was another grade 5.  When Alex told us that, I felt my chest get tight and my stomach turn.  For a split second, I thought of going into the safety boat for the last rapid.  Safe or dangerous and fun?  I chose dangerous and fun.  We were sucked into the rapid, and paddled fast and strong.  Alex yelled, “DOWN.”  I hopped down into the center of the raft, and then saw the big wave coming towards us.  It picked up the front of the boat and flipped it straight over on top of us.  People were spilling over the sides.  I held fast onto the raft until I remembered we weren’t supposed to because the pressure could break your arm. I let go. The current grabbed me, but I resurfaced quickly.  I saw a kayaker and started swimming to him.  I grabbed onto the front of the kayak, and he told me to grab onto the back.  The false sense of security the kayaker gave me and the rush from the rapids made me laugh.  I let go of the front of the kayak to grab onto the back and a large wave came behind me and swooped me under, mid laugh.  I had no warning and no time to take a breath.  I was under.  While my body was spinning in the current, I started to panic.  I had no air and had to breathe.  I found myself trying to inhale while under water.  I stopped myself from inhaling more and closed my eyes tight.  “Just a few more seconds…just a few more seconds,” I told myself. I put my arms above my head, hoping the kayaker would see me.  Nope, they were under water too.  I didn’t even know if my head was facing up or down.  Finally, after what seemed like forever, I resurfaced.  I took a deep breath, and coughed. And coughed a lot more.  The kayaker was there waiting for me.  “Sorry,” he said.  I grabbed onto the front and just coughed.  He took me to a raft, and I got pulled in by the guide.  He was laughing, probably at the terror on my face.  Finally, I started laughing too.  That was the last rapid, and I survived.  As I write this, I feel like I’m being melodramatic.  But as I was stuck in a current, I felt as if I was being stupid for taking such a reckless risk with my life. In the end, I had an amazing time and wouldn’t change my experience a bit.

Still holding on, bottom right corner.

30.07.2011 Day Two of the Bus Ride

30.07.2011 Day Two of the Bus Ride

            Nairobi was such a busy city! We arrived sometime after midnight.  There were signs lit up by lights, casinos, and clubs.  After getting used to the lack of lights and advertisements in Arusha, it was weird seeing so many tall building and bright lights.  We stopped here for about 30 minutes to drop people off and pick other people up.  I got off the bus to find a bathroom.  I had no idea where it was, and didn’t want to stray too far from the bus.  A man saw that we were confused, so he got our attention and started to lead us and a couple other people into a back alley, where he said the bathrooms were.  I hesitated to go, until I realized so many other people were coming as well.  We went through the alley, which was lined with large boxes and sacks of corn and rice.  We had to side step in because all the stuff narrowed the walkway so much.  We found ourselves in a factory of some kind.  The man pointed to some steps across the factory, and then turned around and left. The workers stopped their work to look at us as we went through the factory and up the rusty metal, shaky steps.  The squatters were up there.  I waited for everyone to finish so we could walk back down in a group.  There was a large bucket of water and a cup, for washing hands, but I think my hands would be filthier if I had used it.  Two things to always carry with you in Africa: toilet paper and hand sanitizer. 

            We finally arrived in Jinga at around 0800.  We called a tax, which took us to Backpacker’s Hotel.  This hotel was right on the Nile River.  There was a nice bar and restaurant, a series of dorm buildings, tents with beds, and outdoor showers which were open so you could look at the Nile rapids and kayakers as you showered.  We started the morning with a beer, the Nile Special.  I can honestly say this is the best beer I have ever tasted, and brewed on the Nile.  We saw Matt and Nick, two people from the volunteer house who had left for Uganda a couple days before us.  I had thought they would be in Kampala by then, so I was very excited and happy to see them.  We ate breakfast together, and they introduced us to Peter and Spence, two fellow travelers they had met a couple days ago.  Peter and I hit it off, and then I found out he is from the north side!  We have plans to get together when we’re both back in the States.

            The rest of the day we spent at the campsite, talking to the locals and tourists.  We met another man, Brian, who was here from Hawaii.  He had spent the last three months in Uganda doing volunteer recreational work.  He taught boys and girls how to play soccer.  He also created a job for himself, which will allow him to come back to Uganda in a few months and live here permanently.  I love when I meet people like this.  People who have dreams, work hard for them, and realize them against all odds and expectations inspire me to work harder at my dreams and desires.

            The group of us: Kaylee, Emilie, Matt, Nick, Peter, Spence, Brian, and I decided to sign up for the sunset booze cruise on the Nile.  Unlimited booze, great food, even better company, and a beautiful sunset over the Nile set us up for a perfect evening.  We danced, drank, ate, and talked, and then carried Nick home. I allowed Nick and Matt to have my camera, which led to a series of hilarious, unforgettable photos.  I didn’t want to drink too much because we had to wake up early the next morning for rafting in the white water rapids.  This was the reason I came to Uganda and I wasn’t going to miss out because of a hang over!

29.07.2011 Emmy’s Last Day and Our Leave for Uganda.

29.07.2011 Emmy’s Last Day and Our Leave for Uganda.

            Today was Emmy’s last day at placement.  She leaves tomorrow to climb Mt. Kilimanjaro and then she’ll be going on a week long safari.  I miss you already Emmy!! Instead of having class today, we had a party for Em.  I brought bubbles, which the kids went crazy for.  We didn’t let them blow them, because they would have killed each other fighting over them.  They really enjoyed jumping up and trying to pop them.  Em also brought them peanut butter and jelly sandwiches, which was a vast improvement over porridge.  Instead of eating them as a sandwich, they took the two pieces of bread apart and licked the jelly and peanut butter off, and then ate the plain bread.  It was a mess! 

            I had to say goodbye to Em early because I left for Uganda today at 1430.  Emilie, Kaylee, and I all packed a book bag worth of clothes.  Kaylee even found a store that sold American candy like Reese’s and Twix.  She spent 33,000tsh on candy for herself!  The bus ticket cost 60,000tsh, so I couldn’t believe she spent so much on candy!  I spent 500tsh on a package of hard biscuits.  Not as satisfying on the palate, but does the job well.

            The bus was running on African time, and didn’t arrive until about 1600.  That’s okay though, because Kelvin met us there to keep me company.  There was a restaurant right by the station, so we enjoyed a couple Kilimanjaro beers. An older man who was retired from the tourism business joined us, and started talking to me about the Changing Sands of Ngorogoro.  He was quite a rambler, so I’m not sure if I ever got the point of what he was trying to tell me, but it was fun talking to him.  These sands, he said, create very large, wall-like mounds, and then change to flat lands in a matter of hours.  It is due to the wind.  The Masai discovered this many years ago, and told the Tanzanian government, who didn’t believe them.  They sent people to see for themselves, and discovered it was true.  They have been researching and studying it since then.  Kelvin showed me pictures of him at the Changing Sands when he went there for a class in university.  I’d like to go for myself because it’s only in Ngorogoro, which isn’t far form here.  He said he would take me one weekend.

            When the bus finally arrived, we quickly went to the bathroom (from my experience with the bus ride from Dar, you use the bathroom when there’s a toilet, even if you don’t have to go) and then piled on.  The seats were surprisingly comfortable, and the backs leaned back.  We reached the border of Kenya within three hours.  There was a nice, older man there who helped us quickly fill out the necessary papers.  By quickly, I meant we were there for 45 minutes waiting for our visas.  Everyone else on the bus was from somewhere in East Africa, and got through within minutes.  Although we are residents of Tanzania, we are still citizens of America (or Canada in Emilie’s case), and so our paper work and the entire process of getting a transit visa was more complicated.  We also had to pay 20USD.  The visa was finally completed, and so we passed the border to find a bathroom.  We paid 200tsh to use a hole in the ground with makeshift walls for privacy, and then got back on the bus.  Next stop would be Nairobi, about five hours away.  Attempting to sleep was on my agenda.  

27.07.2011 Snake Park

27.07.2011 Snake Park

           

Kelvin took me and his cousin Mark to Snake Park today.  I visited a Masai museum, which was nothing after being to a real village with Zacki.  We also had a guide who taught us about the different types of snakes, their venom, and what each snake bite would do to your body as the venom made its way through your veins.  We were also able to hold some of the snakes, crocs, and turtles.  This was how I found out Kelvin is TERRIFIED of snakes.  He started screaming like a girl when I told him it was his turn to hold the snake (a sand snake, mind you…comparable to our garden snake).  Here was this big, strong Masai who can kill a lion with nothing more than a spear, but he is terrified of snakes.  To humor me, he allowed the guide to put the snake on his shoulders for a picture.  As soon as the picture was taken, Kelvin starts running.  The guide had to run after him and grab the snake off his shoulders.  I was laughing so hard my sides were starting to hurt.  

            After the tour, Kelvin took me to go camel riding.  Ever since seeing The Mummy movies, I have wanted to know what it is like to ride a camel.  It is scary! You don’t realize how truly massive they are until you’re right there.  They also seem clumsy, although I know they aren’t.  To lift themselves up, they straighten both hind feet first so you are facing the ground, bracing your weight on your arms to prevent falling off this massive animal.  The ride itself isn’t nearly as smooth as riding a horse, and at the end, when you’re ready to get off, they bend their front legs both first.  Again, you feel like you’re going to fall off, onto their head.  It was a cool experience, but I’m not sure if it was an enjoyable one.  Maybe I’d go again if the camel ran with me on top…

            After Snake Park, Kelvin wanted to take me to the Masai village where his family originates from, and his uncles, some cousins, and grandparents still live.  All of his family was gone at market place, but I did meet some of the other villagers.  It was weird to hear the Masai language coming out of Kelvin’s mouth. People have started to tease me, calling me the white Masai, like the book/movie.  I’ve never even read it or seen it!  There is a copy lying around the house somewhere. I’m going to have to get my hands on it. 

26.07.2011 Volunteers Attacked

26.07.2011

            Today the dala dalas were back out driving…for a matter of two or so hours.  It was just long enough for most people to get to placement and be stranded with no way back.  I woke up late and by the time I was ready to leave, I got wind that the dalas were back on strike.  Still, I was going to have Michael take me. As he was driving me through town we saw men dressed in green standing in the back of government police trucks.  They were holding large guns.  I initially just typed AK47s but I’m not sure what they were, besides big.  There were large groups of men gathered on the side of the streets, huddled and talking.  I recognized a few of them as dala dala drivers and conductors.  As we were stopped at a light, I looked around me and started noticing things I never had noticed before because when I’m in the dala dalas, it’s too crowded to see out the windows.   There were boys with rotten teeth in the streets between lanes sniffing glue and waiting for cars to stop at the light so they’d have windshields to wash.  One ran up to Michael’s window and started washing it with dirty, brown water.  Michael was yelling at him from the window to stop and turned on his windshield wipers to stop him.  He kept going, so Michael gave him a 100TSH coin.   And we drove away, he had to turn on his wipers again to clear away the streaks left by the dirty water. 

            Michael took me back home rather than to placement because of all the people in the streets.  Really, I would have only been at my placement for a matter of an hour anyways, and then I would have had to of walked a couple hours or take a botabota (small motor bike with crazy drivers who never stay on the road) back home.  On the way back, we saw a dala dala driver who was operating.  Other drivers ran in front of him to make him stop, and started beating him and the conductor. Some drivers were trying to operate, because it is their only source of income, and others were making them pay.  A woman was in the back, and she jumped out and ran, without turning around. There were also reports of tear gas and small riots.  Our director suggested us to all stay inside.

            It was a very good thing that Michael suggested staying home.  As soon as we got back, we got a call that some of the volunteers had been attacked by locals.  Steph, Jo, and Becky had asked me earlier in the day if I wanted to walk to town with them.  I had said no because I had decided to go to placement.  These were the three girls who got attacked.  Three men came running up to them, and shoved Jo to the ground in the middle of the street.  One climbed on top of her and tried to steal her fanny pack off her waist.  She was the only one of the three who was seriously hurt. The other two were hit and shoved, and their bag straps were ripped, so they were jostled, but otherwise fine.  One even planted a punch on one of the burglars. They called Michael, who immediately went to pick them up.  When Jo got back to the house, I dressed her wounds.  Her back was seriously hurting her but she didn’t want to go to the hospital, and it didn’t seem like she needed to, so I have her pain meds and told her to lie in her bed with a small pillow in the small of her back or on her side with pillows between her legs. 

            As I was helping Jo, she was crying and saying she didn’t want to be here anymore and she’s never been a victim before.  She doesn’t want to go to placement again, and was talking about changing her flight to leave as soon as possible. She is supposed to have a month left here.  I wonder what she will decide to do.  It is sad that she paid thousands of dollars to be her to help the very community which harmed her.  It is stories like these that make tourists not want to visit, and tourists are such a large source of income.  Perhaps that is why the other local men who were near and saw the mugging came and dragged the muggers off the girls.  They started beating them and kicking them.  I wonder if they are okay.  I hope they are, especially after I heard about another volunteer, Chloe, whose purse was almost stolen.    

            Chloe was walking home and had a bag around her shoulder.  It didn’t have anything of real value in it, just water and paper and school supplies.  A man came up from behind her and tried to steal it.  She screamed, and in response men from the community came running to help her.  They beat the man, relentlessly kicking him in his abdomen and face.  She saw what was happening and tried to stop them from killing this man who tried to steal the purse.  They shoved her off, and told her that this was how they deal with problems.  I think this happened to her a few months ago.

            The dala dalas are on strike for three reasons.  They want designated stops, want a log book, and demand that the corrupt police stop stealing from them.  Every day, the dala drivers and conductors must pay the police up to a third of their income.  If they refuse, they are arrested.  There are at least 50 drivers currently in jail because they refused to pay (according to a news article I read today).  I support their fight for fairness, but hope things are back to normal soon.

            

25.07.2011 Dala Dalas on Strike.

25.07.2011

            I couldn’t make it to my placement today because the dala dalas are on strike.  By the time we found out, it was too late to walk because it would take 2 hours at least to reach placement, and by that time the children would have already returned home.  We had no number to call because Mama Anna’s phone was stolen so I hope she understands why we didn’t make it.  I don’t know how long this strike is going to last so I have to try to find alternative transportation that is inexpensive.  It was amazing seeing hundreds of people walking on the streets, most of them being children in school uniforms.   Normal pedestrians were stuffing students in their cars, sometimes as many as 10 or 12.  Kelvin told me he drove a few students also.  I hope the dala dalas resume driving again very soon, because the people are suffering from it.

            Since I couldn’t go to my placement, I decided to go with Ashlee to hers.  She works at a special needs school.  The children there have amazing souls!  I just wanted to gather them all in my arms and hug them tight.  They were very dirty, and some very much abused, but their faces were plastered with smiles.  I fell in love especially with one 19 year old boy, Samweli.  He has dwarfism and looks like an old man.  He also has brain damage.  He would sit in a chair next to me and put his arm on my shoulder and massage me.  Then, while we were singing, he slowly, in a sloth-like manner, crawled into my lap to sit down.  He was just smiling and smiling.   He kept asking, “How are you?  How are you?  How are you?”  I’ve decided that I am most certainly going to make a trip or two back to that school.  The woman who runs it, Mama Mary, is one of only two people in Tanzania who are educated and specialize in special needs children.  She found that her passion was for autistic children, and decided to build this school, even though all odds were against her.  They now have over 40 children who attend to learn the basic skills they will require on a day to day basis. 

            While on my short tour of the school, Mama Mary told me that many children who are born with obvious mental or physical disabilities are killed as infants or are not cared for and then die from lack of proper care.  They are sometimes locked in huts all day, or left to wander while the parents and older siblings are trying to make money.  This facility allows these families to go on with their day to day activities, like selling veggies on the street, while the children are being cared for at school.  If I were forced into a situation in which I had to choose between caring for my extremely-high need daughter or son and going without an income, or leaving my child at home to make an income which would allow me to feed said child, other family members, and myself, what would I do?  I keep thinking of all the special needs children in Tanzania who are not able to go to a school like this. 

            One child, Joely, hadn’t been to school in two weeks.  We walked to his mudhut to see if he was ill.  When we arrived, we found two children, one barely older than a year old, and the other maybe two and a half years old.  They were sitting outside the hut, by themselves.  Nobody else was around. We called for somebody, and eventually a woman came running over from the other side of the street.  She didn’t say anything, just ran in the mudhut and came back out with Joely.  Then we left with Joely to return to the school, and she seemed to be staying near the hut and the children.  I am so tired of seeing children of such a young age left without supervision.  Not ten feet from where they were sitting was an eight foot drop to collect water in the rainy season.  What can I do?  This type of parental care has been weaved into their culture.  It’s apart of their daily lives.  It is normal.  And there sure as hell aren’t any statistics measuring the amount of children and infants hurt or accidentally killed due to being left unattended for hours on end.

            The ride home was interesting.  Three people sat in front, seven in the middle, and an unknown amount in the back.  Children were sitting on adults, who were sitting on other adults.  Also, Joely was sent to walk home as, I was told, is done every day.  To insure he makes it home, the driver follows behind him in the packed jeep.  Joely ran down the street, and if he slowed to a walk, the driver honked and Joely would begin running again.  Sometimes Joely ran to the side of the street behind a tree and stood perfectly still, probably hoping the jeep would continue to keep driving.  He got honked at, and restarted running again.  Almost every day, during this, Ashlee says the younger kids from primary and secondary schools throw sticks and rocks at him.  These children are just the same as the ones in my orphanage and the ones I say hi to and goof off with in the streets!  On this particular day, there were no sticks or rocks thrown to Joely.  What would I have done if there were?  Gotten out of the car maybe?  Yelled out the window? Nothing? Would I have done nothing?  

24.07.2011 This Handy Woman Here Turned a Log Into A Drum!

24.07.2011 This Handy Woman Here Turned a Log Into A Drum!

            I have spent the last three days in the back of Via Via with Freddie, Eddie, and Musa turning a log into a traditional African drum.  I bruised the right side of my left hand by hitting it with a hammer, I have metal splinters in my palms, and several blisters and cuts, but wouldn’t change it for the world.  I made a drum!  Freddie has been making drums since 1992, and Eddie and Musa are his hired help.  They were wonderful at sowing me the proper techniques, but allowed me to do the work myself.  They were encouraging and it was only by their company and plenty of Kilimanjaro and Safari beers that I kept going. 

Step 1-  Select a log that is just the right size.  Not too big, because I have to mail it home, but not too small because I want people to notice it and say, “Hey, nice drum,” So I can say, “Hey, thanks.  I made it.”

Eddie showing me how it's done.

Step 2- Size the circumference of the inner circle.  Again, not too big because it’s going to be a bitch to hollow out, but large enough to make a good noise.  Hammer a nail in the center of the log and use a rope and pencil as a compass to outline said circle.

Step 3- Use a large chisel and hammer to slowly hollow out the center of the log. It took a while for me to get the hang of the proper angles to get the biggest chunk out, without getting the chisel stuck.  Musa and Eddie must have un-stuck my chisel for me seven or eight times.  . For best results, avoid missing connecting between the hammer and chisel, which unsurprisingly and un-enjoyably results in a painful connection between hammer and hand.  After you get about half way through the log, you feel accomplished.  Until Step 4.

This took hours. And hours. 

Step 4-  Turn log over and do step three again.  Try to not groan loudly when log is turned over.  Musa and Freddie will laugh at you, silly mzungu. Poking the chisel through to the other side, however, leads to an explosion of excitement. 

Step 5- Chisel bark off the outside of the log.

Step 6- Use large machete to remove the rest of the outside wood and also to carve the desired shape of the drum.  Use machete very carefully.  If it can do this to wood, what could it do to my arm?  This step took me a very long time, and even made me long for my hammer and chisel.  In the end, I let Musa help me shape the drum.  The blisters on my hands were aching and I was connecting the machete to the wood in such an angle that it was causing a dinging sound and rough vibration more so than it was cutting wood. 

Step 7- Sand with metal file.  This step takes a long time, but it’s monotonous, relaxing work.

Step 8- Sand with sand paper. 

Step 9- Sand with finer sand paper.

Step 10- One more level of sand papering.

Step 11- Seek approval from Freddie.  Time to stain!  I used two coats, and apply with a brush.  This gives it a worn, weathered look.  I like it.

Step 12- Remove cow hide from 5-gallon jug.  It’s kept wet to prevent it from shriveling and cracking.  It smells like a dirty, wet dog and the fur of the cow comes off in my fingers. Size to be a diameter of about 6 inches larger that the diameter of the drum.  Cow hide is surprisingly easy to cut, yet hard to tear.  

I have drum lessons soon!

Freddie, my baller drum, and Musa

21.07.2011 Grass is an Extravagance.

21.07.2011 Grass is an Extravagance.

            Today a large group of us volunteers went to TGT to eat dinner and enjoy a few drinks.  We fit eight people into the tax, two in front and five in back. Driving without a seat belt, at past-capacity doesn’t seem as dangerous here, even though the roads aren’t paved and the driver’s are crazy.  Instead of feeling dangerous, it just feels normal.  There are no seat belts, even if I wanted to wear one. 

            TGT is a very high-security, mzungu hotel and restaurant.  There was a rugby field with grass.  This was the first time I had seen grass since arriving.  The grass made me feel selfish.  I was thinking, “I shouldn’t be here when my kids at school are probably trying to fall asleep right now, some on nothing more than a concrete or dirt and rock floor.”  Why should I enjoy such a luxury when nobody else can?  I found myself judging the tourists even harder than I was judging myself.  They are here, with three gates and dozens of security guards protecting them from Arusha’s dangers and shadows.  They have a surplus of clean (not to mention warm if so desired) water and running electricity.  They are here for safaris or to climb Mount Kilimanjaro.  They are not going to experience the true culture of Tanzania.  They are not going to hold the children or exchange broken Swahili words with the men and women.  They may see the poverty as they are driven through town, but they will protect themselves from the overcoming feeling of sadness and inability to make a difference by separating themselves from the environment and people within.  Why feel remorse for these people when you won’t take the initiative to help them?  That would lead to guilt.  At this point I realized how much of an ass I sounded like to myself.  Who am I to judge these people!?  I vacation!  I came here to TGT, even though it is a bit expensive, to enjoy a luxurious pizza. I work hard for my money, and so do these people who are here to vacation.  The currency they spend in Tanzania helps to keep this economy going and puts food on so many Tanzanian tables.  Where is the line of balance in which I can feel comfortable?  How much do I keep for myself and how much do I give away?  This line is different for everyone, but I think it is equally difficult to find for each person.  It reminds me of how I feel when I am in Kmart and the cashier asks me for a dollar for one cause of another.  What’s a dollar to me compared to what it will do for this particular cause of the month?  Here, 10,000 shillings is a really delicious, mouthwatering pizza in the enjoyable company of others, or porridge for my kids for two weeks.  Should I judge myself for choosing the pizza?  Yes, my children have porridge now but what if they don’t after I leave?  Going home is going to be hard.  I have a feeling I’m going to be comparing what I have to what the people here do quite a lot.  

16.07.2011 The Drinking of the Goat Blood!

16.07.2011

            I went to the Masai village of our security guard, Zachi.  It was so amazing to see how he lives and to experience his culture.  He lives in Arusha, but visits home about once a month.   We were welcomed with a song chant and dance.  The women grabbed my hands and I joined them in the dancing.  I had no idea what I was doing, but it was fun.

The hallway entrance 

            These are pictures of the village and the inside of the hut.  They look small from the outside, but are even smaller when you walk in them.  The ceilings are very short so you must be hunched over at all times.  The walls are also very thick.  Zachi’s hut was divided into three sections.  There was a 2 foot by 5 foot entrance.  When you turned to the right, it was his bedroom.  Here there was a fireplace, cups, and a crude bed made of wood.  When I sat on it, I thought it was a wooden bench.  It takes a hardy person to sleep soundly on that bed. If you turn to the left from the hall way, you’d find yourself in Zachi’s wife’s room.  It was about the size of the linen closet in my house, maybe 4’x3’.  Here his wife and three children slept on the dirt ground.  Even though Zachi is never home, they are not allowed to sleep in his bed at any time.  The only time the woman is allowed in the bed is when she is summoned by the man for sex.  After they finish, she returns to her room. 

            After the tour of the Masai hut, we were given tea.  This tea, people, was the BEST tasting thing I have had since arriving.  I swear, Starbucks stole their recipe for Chi Tea from the Masai people. I had a fly in mine, but decided I’ve probably already swallowed worse by now so I picked it out and finished the drink. 

          
  A goat was selected for the slaughtering ceremony.  We had a choice: Slit the neck or suffocate it.  We thought slitting the neck would be less painful for the animal, so we chose this one.  Zachi asked me to do the slitting but I couldn’t.  I was scared I would do it too lightly and cause the goat more pain.  Watching them do it, I was very happy I declined.  A gurgling sound arose from the goat as the knife punctured the esophagus and he was kicking and jerking during and well after the actual slitting of the throat.  The squirting blood was collected in a basin, and offered to us.  EM AND I DRANK IT!  It tasted salty, like very warm sweat.  It was a very bright red, almost pink.  Everyone else (the sane people) declined.  I honestly don’t know why I accepted.  I am glad I did though.  I can say I participated in a Masai slaughtering ceremony and drank freaking blood!

Not as tasty as the tea... 

            While we waited for the meat to cook, Michael (our driver) told us that the Masai wanted to sit us down for drinks again.  We all got a bit worried, thinking, “Oh boy, what will we be served next?”  We all had a nice large chuckle when they brought out a crate of Sprite, Coke, and Orange Fanta.  It is funny how the Masai are settled in their cultural ways so thoroughly but are also shaped somewhat by the modern western society. 

            This was the freshest meat I had ever eaten.  It was also the chewiest and at times most fatty meat I have ever had.  I must say though, the liver we were fed was the best tasting liver I have ever tried.  As I was trying to chew through and will myself to swallow a half inch layer of fat, I turned around to find the elder male was kneeled over the carcass of the goat, eating a selection of the raw, bloody innards. I can do blood but I could NOT watch him as he ate this insides of the freshly killed goat.  After he finished his meal, he chopped off the goat head to make tomorrow’s soup dinner.

            After lunch we gave the village food stuff as a thank you gift.  We brought maize flour, sugar, rice, water, and candies for the children.  They did another dance and the men jumped for us.  Zachi pulled me into the celebration and I jumped with the men.  Everyone laughed at my pathetic jump.  On its own, it’s a sad jump.  Comparatively, it is laughable.  I had a lot of fun though.  I told them I’d practice.

Zachi killed a lion at age 28.  With a spear.  What a bad ass!  I feel safe sleeping at night knowing my security guard killed a lion by himself. 

The women in this particular village are still circumcised.  Zachi was very comfortable talking about it but I wish there wasn’t such a language barrier so I could get insight from the women themselves. 

     As we were leaving, I was taking pictures of the children.  Three of them came up to me and I showed them the pictures.  They fell on the ground laughing!  They would get back up, I’d take another picture, and they would chatter and giggle hysterically while looking at it.  What would be better than a picture?  A VIDEO!  I took a video of them laughing at the picture that I took of them, and showed them that.  Their eyes got very wide, they went very quiet, and then they started screaming, yelling, laughing, and pointing.  It was the cutest thing.  

45 minutes later...this goat was in my belly!

This is their one medicine, used for every illness.  It is ground root that is mixed with tea. 

My silly western clothes.

Village elder showing us how to kill a lion.

Zachi's wife.  He only has one.