I have to say, after spending nearly three solid months with a choo, I was getting used to the idea of suspending myself freely above a hole to do my business. But after two nights and two appointments at a western toilet, I have decided that the choo just isn't right. The western toilet is simply how the bathroom is supposed to be. And it isn't any kind of bitterness from my circumstances and my condition at the moment speaking on my behalf, I think it's just the culture that I've grown up in. It's what I call home. The western toilet is like home to me. It won't make the trips to the choo any harder, but I don't think I'll change my mind after this visit to Dar.
I hope all of you in America know you have the greatest bathrooms in the world.
December 23, 2009
on "holiday" in dar: part 3
Normally when you get picked up, the car arrives in front of you and you jump in the front seat. The driver assigned to pick me up had already arrived however, parked, and went looking for me within the hotel. An odd thing to happen, considering I was early getting ready and Tanzanians are notorious for running late to everything. My escort came out of the hallway from behind me and called my name. We greeted each other and then piled into the vehicle.
The security checks at the Peace Corps Office never fail to amaze me; it doesn't matter what vehicle enters the front gate, you put it in park and shut off the engine. Then you wait while they inspect the engine, check the underside with a mirror, and search the trunk. This is a Peace Corps vehicle, mind you. They don't take any chances, that's for sure. I showed the security guard my Peace Corps ID and she lifted the gate so we could enter the compound.
I had a short appointment with the PCMO, in which she confirmed her hunch that I had something called Foot Drop. It's basically what it sounds like; your foot droops when you lift it off the ground, and walking with it produces slapping sounds as it limply hits the floor. At this point, it is unknown what exactly has caused the condition, though based on the events that transpired very close to realization of the injury, an educated guess is probably a good prediction of what the test results will reveal. The PCMO thinks the pernoneal nerve is the root cause, as do I. The peroneal nerve is a long nerve that runs down the leg below the knee, and at the moment that part of my leg is quite numb.
Following the appointment we discussed what the future is likely to hold, the basic gist being a medevac to be treated somewhere else. An MRI could be done at the office, but that isn't the kind of test that will help determine the cause of the condition; a nerve conduction study needs to be done, and that is a test that cannot be performed in-country. Normally, the medevac would come right after diagnosis of the condition and determination of inadequate medical care in-country, but in this case, the evac will probably be postponed for a week. For one, Foot Drop is not a critical medical condition. Second, it's close to the holidays, and all the doctors in South Africa are on leave. Third, Washington DC is in the midst of a winter storm, making travel into the US a bit cumbersome. The Peace Corps HQ in Washington DC has the final say however, and it is their decision that the PCMO is waiting for.
In the meantime, I spent some quality time on the Internet in the PCV lounge near the office, catching up on College Football, marvelling at Maryland's 2-10 performance this season, among other things. I then returned to my room at the YMCA on my own accord on a daladala. I didn't realize that beyond the ride to the office, I was essentially on my own in Dar es Salaam. Back in the room, now somehow at 425 degrees fahrenheit, I cranked the fan up to 5 just for kicks. As I suspected, it was louder than ever. I still maintain that the car alarms that went off throughout the evening in the parking lot were caused by its arhythmic fits of plastic grinding against plastic. The second night, I attempted to sleep without the fan on, more for the sake of the poor inhabitants around me. After 20 minutes, I could feel the sweat dripping off the hairs of my legs. "Maybe I'll consider changing rooms tomorrow," I contemplated quietly as I drifted to sleep.
The security checks at the Peace Corps Office never fail to amaze me; it doesn't matter what vehicle enters the front gate, you put it in park and shut off the engine. Then you wait while they inspect the engine, check the underside with a mirror, and search the trunk. This is a Peace Corps vehicle, mind you. They don't take any chances, that's for sure. I showed the security guard my Peace Corps ID and she lifted the gate so we could enter the compound.
I had a short appointment with the PCMO, in which she confirmed her hunch that I had something called Foot Drop. It's basically what it sounds like; your foot droops when you lift it off the ground, and walking with it produces slapping sounds as it limply hits the floor. At this point, it is unknown what exactly has caused the condition, though based on the events that transpired very close to realization of the injury, an educated guess is probably a good prediction of what the test results will reveal. The PCMO thinks the pernoneal nerve is the root cause, as do I. The peroneal nerve is a long nerve that runs down the leg below the knee, and at the moment that part of my leg is quite numb.
Following the appointment we discussed what the future is likely to hold, the basic gist being a medevac to be treated somewhere else. An MRI could be done at the office, but that isn't the kind of test that will help determine the cause of the condition; a nerve conduction study needs to be done, and that is a test that cannot be performed in-country. Normally, the medevac would come right after diagnosis of the condition and determination of inadequate medical care in-country, but in this case, the evac will probably be postponed for a week. For one, Foot Drop is not a critical medical condition. Second, it's close to the holidays, and all the doctors in South Africa are on leave. Third, Washington DC is in the midst of a winter storm, making travel into the US a bit cumbersome. The Peace Corps HQ in Washington DC has the final say however, and it is their decision that the PCMO is waiting for.
In the meantime, I spent some quality time on the Internet in the PCV lounge near the office, catching up on College Football, marvelling at Maryland's 2-10 performance this season, among other things. I then returned to my room at the YMCA on my own accord on a daladala. I didn't realize that beyond the ride to the office, I was essentially on my own in Dar es Salaam. Back in the room, now somehow at 425 degrees fahrenheit, I cranked the fan up to 5 just for kicks. As I suspected, it was louder than ever. I still maintain that the car alarms that went off throughout the evening in the parking lot were caused by its arhythmic fits of plastic grinding against plastic. The second night, I attempted to sleep without the fan on, more for the sake of the poor inhabitants around me. After 20 minutes, I could feel the sweat dripping off the hairs of my legs. "Maybe I'll consider changing rooms tomorrow," I contemplated quietly as I drifted to sleep.
on "holiday" in dar: part 2
Getting the door to my room unlocked was no easy task. These skeleton key locks have gigantic openings for teeny keys, and once you've inserted the key into the black abyss that is the keyhole, there's no telling where the other side of the lock is located. After fiddling with the door for approximately ten minutes trying to get it open, I was surprised to find a fairly spacious accomodation. There were two desks that appeared to be drilled into the walls in both back corners of the room, indicating that at one point, this was enough space for two people. Also hinting at this was a dangling piece of string hanging from the ceiling behind the closet in the front of the room, undoubtedly the remains of an old mosquito net that would've hung over the second bed. After tossing my things indiscriminately on the concrete floor, I hunted the switch for the ceiling fan, given the room was hovering at about 375 degrees fahrenheit. Here I found the pinnacle of disappointment.
The fan squeaked obnoxiously and loudly to life, making noises similar to wet sneakers on a buffed and waxed floor, only much more amplified. "Surely this will stop once the fan reaches its final speed," I thought optimistically. It did not, unfortunately, but in fact got louder as it increased speed. It was only set to 3, and I dreaded what it would sound like at the maximum setting 5.
I slept intermittently that first night, amidst the horrible screeching of the fan and the mosquito net, which was obviously too small for the bed selected for it, pulled so taut my head pushed it upward. There was no headroom or footroom within the bounds of the net, but if I chose to sit in the middle of the bed, I could do that quite comfortably without it touching me at all. After attempting to sleep for about 6 hours, I decided to get up and turn off the fan, of which I had decided its annoyance outweighed its actual function to circulate air. I laid back in bed thinking I might sleep a bit more, but ended up locked in a staring contest with the ceiling, waiting for the alarm to go off. I arose to start my day.
My first challenge was to obtain a towel and soap, which is normally provided in the room (at least, that's how it's been at all the hostels I've stayed at in Tanzania so far) but was mysteriously lacking on this occasion. Upon arriving downstairs, I decided to go ahead and take my breakfast first. Once I was filled up on two eggs, some white bread and chai, I headed back to the reception to ask for the bathing items. "Njoo," the housekeeper beckoned me to follow her through a maze of concrete to the laundry area. She handed me a shaggy green towel and told me the soap was at the reception desk.
I felt infinitely better after a shave and a shower. After going without bathing for a few days, riding in an oven for 8 hours to Dar, and sleeping in one under a squawking turbine blade, washing off the stink of moments past was a wonderful feeling. Especially considering I had been without running water for almost a month, having a shower that actually functioned was nearly miraculous. I put on some (mostly) fresh clothes, tottered downstairs, dropped some laundry off at the reception, and I was ready for my appointment.
The fan squeaked obnoxiously and loudly to life, making noises similar to wet sneakers on a buffed and waxed floor, only much more amplified. "Surely this will stop once the fan reaches its final speed," I thought optimistically. It did not, unfortunately, but in fact got louder as it increased speed. It was only set to 3, and I dreaded what it would sound like at the maximum setting 5.
I slept intermittently that first night, amidst the horrible screeching of the fan and the mosquito net, which was obviously too small for the bed selected for it, pulled so taut my head pushed it upward. There was no headroom or footroom within the bounds of the net, but if I chose to sit in the middle of the bed, I could do that quite comfortably without it touching me at all. After attempting to sleep for about 6 hours, I decided to get up and turn off the fan, of which I had decided its annoyance outweighed its actual function to circulate air. I laid back in bed thinking I might sleep a bit more, but ended up locked in a staring contest with the ceiling, waiting for the alarm to go off. I arose to start my day.
My first challenge was to obtain a towel and soap, which is normally provided in the room (at least, that's how it's been at all the hostels I've stayed at in Tanzania so far) but was mysteriously lacking on this occasion. Upon arriving downstairs, I decided to go ahead and take my breakfast first. Once I was filled up on two eggs, some white bread and chai, I headed back to the reception to ask for the bathing items. "Njoo," the housekeeper beckoned me to follow her through a maze of concrete to the laundry area. She handed me a shaggy green towel and told me the soap was at the reception desk.
I felt infinitely better after a shave and a shower. After going without bathing for a few days, riding in an oven for 8 hours to Dar, and sleeping in one under a squawking turbine blade, washing off the stink of moments past was a wonderful feeling. Especially considering I had been without running water for almost a month, having a shower that actually functioned was nearly miraculous. I put on some (mostly) fresh clothes, tottered downstairs, dropped some laundry off at the reception, and I was ready for my appointment.
on "holiday" in dar: part 1
The trip to Dar was uneventful on Mohammed transport, though it was long. You never think bus rides will feel as long as they do until the trip is over. Then, when your brain has been sufficiently fogged by hours stretched to their limit, the unexplicable heat coming from beneath your seat, the perpetual lines of traffic stuck behind cars hesitant to drive over 40 km/hr, and the hunger for a decent meal, you realize 8 hours really feels like 8 hours. Or maybe even more if your travel is less than comfortable.
As I was nearing the city, I was praying silently for a taxi driver to lead me off the bus and sweep me away to my glorious accomodations without any hassle. I was willing to pay just about anything for a safe ride to the hotel, given that dusk was well on its way and safety certainly couldn't be guaranteed beyond then. Luckily for me, this wasn't too far from what actually happened. One solitary driver was standing at the door to the bus, seemingly awaiting my arrival, missing just the sign with my name on it. He escorted me to his taxi, which was marked appropriately and officially to my relief. The fare was 20,000/=, which sounded kind of steep to me, but worth it if it meant I'd make it to the YMCA intact and with all my luggage. His name was Joseph, and he earned his 20,000/= by expertly negotiating the roaring Dar traffic, scooting his way through shortcuts and weaving through narrow backroads lined with vendors and illuminated flourescent tubes.
When we were arriving at our destination, I mistook the Holiday Inn on my left for the YMCA on my right. As if the Peace Corps would really pay to put me up in a hotel like the Holiday Inn, with its spotless white plush couches and automatic sliding glass doors. This is the Peace Corps! My hotel was next to this architectural gem, a drearily-lit hostel with ceramic tile floors and concrete walls, iron bars littered throughout protecting it from the harsh environment around it. After stumbling through the entrance, I followed a sign for the "reception" into a courtyard area, which I mistook as the other side of the hotel. "I've already passed through the entire hotel?" I thought to myself. Then I looked to my right, and found a concrete wall with a window embedded in it. Above it was the word "RECEPTION" painted in giant capital letters.
After filling out a card with my information I received my room key, room 28. "Second floor," I thought, not bad considering the reason for my visit. It turns out the rooms are numbered sequentially, regardless of the floor they're on. So while 28 logically sounds like a room on the second floor, it is actually not so. I climbed the stairs endlessly, thinking "the next floor must have my room." I finally reached the point where I could no longer climb stairs, not because I was too tired, but because there were no stairs left to climb. On this floor I found my room. Certainly not the best start to my stay in Dar.
As I was nearing the city, I was praying silently for a taxi driver to lead me off the bus and sweep me away to my glorious accomodations without any hassle. I was willing to pay just about anything for a safe ride to the hotel, given that dusk was well on its way and safety certainly couldn't be guaranteed beyond then. Luckily for me, this wasn't too far from what actually happened. One solitary driver was standing at the door to the bus, seemingly awaiting my arrival, missing just the sign with my name on it. He escorted me to his taxi, which was marked appropriately and officially to my relief. The fare was 20,000/=, which sounded kind of steep to me, but worth it if it meant I'd make it to the YMCA intact and with all my luggage. His name was Joseph, and he earned his 20,000/= by expertly negotiating the roaring Dar traffic, scooting his way through shortcuts and weaving through narrow backroads lined with vendors and illuminated flourescent tubes.
When we were arriving at our destination, I mistook the Holiday Inn on my left for the YMCA on my right. As if the Peace Corps would really pay to put me up in a hotel like the Holiday Inn, with its spotless white plush couches and automatic sliding glass doors. This is the Peace Corps! My hotel was next to this architectural gem, a drearily-lit hostel with ceramic tile floors and concrete walls, iron bars littered throughout protecting it from the harsh environment around it. After stumbling through the entrance, I followed a sign for the "reception" into a courtyard area, which I mistook as the other side of the hotel. "I've already passed through the entire hotel?" I thought to myself. Then I looked to my right, and found a concrete wall with a window embedded in it. Above it was the word "RECEPTION" painted in giant capital letters.
After filling out a card with my information I received my room key, room 28. "Second floor," I thought, not bad considering the reason for my visit. It turns out the rooms are numbered sequentially, regardless of the floor they're on. So while 28 logically sounds like a room on the second floor, it is actually not so. I climbed the stairs endlessly, thinking "the next floor must have my room." I finally reached the point where I could no longer climb stairs, not because I was too tired, but because there were no stairs left to climb. On this floor I found my room. Certainly not the best start to my stay in Dar.
on "holiday" in dar
This series of blog entries chronicles my time in Dar es Salaam amidst a medical issue I had two weeks into my service. The following events occurred just a few short days before Christmas 2009.
PART I
PART II
PART III
PART I
The trip to Dar was uneventful on Mohamed transport, though it was long. You never think bus rides will feel as long as they do until the trip is over. Then, when your brain has been sufficiently fogged by hours stretched to their limit, the unexplicable heat coming from beneath your seat, the perpetual lines of traffic stuck behind cars hesitant to drive over 40 km/hr, and the hunger for a decent meal, you realize 8 hours really feels like 8 hours. Or maybe even more if your travel is less than comfortable.
As I was nearing the city, I was praying silently for a taxi driver to lead me off the bus and sweep me away to my glorious accomodations without any hassle. I was willing to pay just about anything for a safe ride to the hotel, given that dusk was well on its way and safety certainly couldn't be guaranteed beyond then. Luckily for me, this wasn't too far from what actually happened. One solitary driver was standing at the door to the bus, seemingly awaiting my arrival, missing just the sign with my name on it. He escorted me to his taxi, which was marked appropriately and officially to my relief. The fare was 20,000/=, which sounded kind of steep to me, but worth it if it meant I'd make it to the YMCA intact and with all my luggage. His name was Joseph, and he earned his 20,000/= by expertly negotiating the roaring Dar traffic, scooting his way through shortcuts and weaving through narrow backroads lined with vendors and illuminated flourescent tubes.
When we were arriving at our destination, I mistook the Holiday Inn on my left for the YMCA on my right. As if the Peace Corps would really pay to put me up in a hotel like the Holiday Inn, with its spotless white plush couches and automatic sliding glass doors. This is the Peace Corps! My hotel was next to this architectural gem, a drearily-lit hostel with ceramic tile floors and concrete walls, iron bars littered throughout protecting it from the harsh environment around it. After stumbling through the entrance, I followed a sign for the "reception" into a courtyard area, which I mistook as the other side of the hotel. "I've already passed through the entire hotel?" I thought to myself. Then I looked to my right, and found a concrete wall with a window embedded in it. Above it was the word "RECEPTION" painted in giant capital letters.
After filling out a card with my information I received my room key, room 28. "Second floor," I thought, not bad considering the reason for my visit. It turns out the rooms are numbered sequentially, regardless of the floor they're on. So while 28 logically sounds like a room on the second floor, it is actually not so. I climbed the stairs endlessly, thinking "the next floor must have my room." I finally reached the point where I could no longer climb stairs, not because I was too tired, but because there were no stairs left to climb. On this floor I found my room. Certainly not the best start to my stay in Dar.
PART II
Getting the door to my room unlocked was no easy task. These skeleton key locks have gigantic openings for teeny keys, and once you've inserted the key into the black abyss that is the keyhole, there's no telling where the other side of the lock is located. After fiddling with the door for approximately ten minutes trying to get it open, I was surprised to find a fairly spacious accomodation. There were two desks that appeared to be drilled into the walls in both back corners of the room, indicating that at one point, this was enough space for two people. Also hinting at this was a dangling piece of string hanging from the ceiling behind the closet in the front of the room, undoubtedly the remains of an old mosquito net that would've hung over the second bed. After tossing my things indiscriminately on the concrete floor, I hunted the switch for the ceiling fan, given the room was hovering at about 375 degrees fahrenheit. Here I found the pinnacle of disappointment.
The fan squeaked obnoxiously and loudly to life, making noises similar to wet sneakers on a buffed and waxed floor, only much more amplified. "Surely this will stop once the fan reaches its final speed," I thought optimistically. It did not, unfortunately, but in fact got louder as it increased speed. It was only set to 3, and I dreaded what it would sound like at the maximum setting 5.
I slept intermittently that first night, amidst the horrible screeching of the fan and the mosquito net, which was obviously too small for the bed selected for it, pulled so taut my head pushed it upward. There was no headroom or footroom within the bounds of the net, but if I chose to sit in the middle of the bed, I could do that quite comfortably without it touching me at all. After attempting to sleep for about 6 hours, I decided to get up and turn off the fan, of which I had decided its annoyance outweighed its actual function to circulate air. I laid back in bed thinking I might sleep a bit more, but ended up locked in a staring contest with the ceiling, waiting for the alarm to go off. I arose to start my day.
My first challenge was to obtain a towel and soap, which is normally provided in the room (at least, that's how it's been at all the hostels I've stayed at in Tanzania so far) but was mysteriously lacking on this occasion. Upon arriving downstairs, I decided to go ahead and take my breakfast first. Once I was filled up on two eggs, some white bread and chai, I headed back to the reception to ask for the bathing items. "Njoo," the housekeeper beckoned me to follow her through a maze of concrete to the laundry area. She handed me a shaggy green towel and told me the soap was at the reception desk.
I felt infinitely better after a shave and a shower. After going without bathing for a few days, riding in an oven for 8 hours to Dar, and sleeping in one under a squawking turbine blade, washing off the stink of moments past was a wonderful feeling. Especially considering I had been without running water for almost a month, having a shower that actually functioned was nearly miraculous. I put on some (mostly) fresh clothes, tottered downstairs, dropped some laundry off at the reception, and I was ready for my appointment.
PART III
Normally when you get picked up, the car arrives in front of you and you jump in the front seat. The driver assigned to pick me up had already arrived however, parked, and went looking for me within the hotel. An odd thing to happen, considering I was early getting ready and Tanzanians are notorious for running late to everything. My escort came out of the hallway from behind me and called my name. We greeted each other and then piled into the vehicle.
The security checks at the Peace Corps Office never fail to amaze me; it doesn't matter what vehicle enters the front gate, you put it in park and shut off the engine. Then you wait while they inspect the engine, check the underside with a mirror, and search the trunk. This is a Peace Corps vehicle, mind you. They don't take any chances, that's for sure. I showed the security guard my Peace Corps ID and she lifted the gate so we could enter the compound.
I had a short appointment with the PCMO, in which she confirmed her hunch that I had something called Foot Drop. It's basically what it sounds like; your foot droops when you lift it off the ground, and walking with it produces slapping sounds as it limply hits the floor. At this point, it is unknown what exactly has caused the condition, though based on the events that transpired very close to realization of the injury, an educated guess is probably a good prediction of what the test results will reveal. The PCMO thinks the peroneal nerve is the root cause, as do I. The peroneal nerve is a long nerve that runs down the leg below the knee, and at the moment that part of my leg is quite numb.
Following the appointment we discussed what the future is likely to hold, the basic gist being a medevac to be treated somewhere else. An MRI could be done at the office, but that isn't the kind of test that will help determine the cause of the condition; a nerve conduction study needs to be done, and that is a test that cannot be performed in-country. Normally, the medevac would come right after diagnosis of the condition and determination of inadequate medical care in-country, but in this case, the evac will probably be postponed for a week. For one, Foot Drop is not a critical medical condition. Second, it's close to the holidays, and all the doctors in South Africa are on leave. Third, Washington DC is in the midst of a winter storm, making travel into the US a bit cumbersome. The Peace Corps HQ in Washington DC has the final say however, and it is their decision that the PCMO is waiting for.
In the meantime, I spent some quality time on the Internet in the PCV lounge near the office, catching up on College Football, marvelling at Maryland's 2-10 performance this season, among other things. I then returned to my room at the YMCA on my own accord on a daladala. I didn't realize that beyond the ride to the office, I was essentially on my own in Dar es Salaam. Back in the room, now somehow at 425 degrees fahrenheit, I cranked the fan up to 5 just for kicks. As I suspected, it was louder than ever. I still maintain that the car alarms that went off throughout the evening in the parking lot were caused by its arhythmic fits of plastic grinding against plastic. The second night, I attempted to sleep without the fan on, more for the sake of the poor inhabitants around me. After 20 minutes, I could feel the sweat dripping off the hairs of my legs. "Maybe I'll consider changing rooms tomorrow," I contemplated quietly as I drifted to sleep.
on "holiday" in dar: a new series
I've taken to writing a narrative of my stay here in Dar, much like the large piece on shadow that I wrote. I won't bog you down with more words here, I'll just let the next series of posts tell the story.
December 22, 2009
merry christmas: a new gait
I suppose now would be a good time for an update on my status.
Last week, I was sick again, this time with a bacterial infection. Needless to say, it wasn't a fun three days. The bout began on Monday evening, when I was walking home from town and felt quite warm. I was coming down with a fever and feeling very weak, to the point where I nearly collapsed when I got to my door. After sleeping for a few hours on the couch in my living room, I had my first spell of diarrhea, an omen of the days to come. The issues continued throughout the night, to the point where I was squatting for longer than I should have.
I'm still not positive if it was the squatting that did it, or the awkward sleeping position I was in for long periods of time, but I managed to create problems for the peroneal nerve in my left leg. I noticed this the next morning when I was walking kind of funny, much like my stroke-addled uncle. I couldn't flex my left foot upward, causing my toe to drag across the floor unless I lifted at the knee enough to clear the foot off the ground.
Once I overcame the sickness (not until a stool sample was delivered and antibiotics were administered two days later), I talked to the PCMO about my foot and its condition. She told me to monitor it for the next few days, and if it didn't improve it would require a trip into Dar for evaluation.
Sure enough, the foot didn't improve, and here I am in Dar at the Peace Corps Office typing out this blog entry. I just had the evaluation this morning, quite short as I expected. I've been diagnosed with something cutely named "foot drop," which is a nickname for paralysis of the peroneal nerve in the leg. Parts of my foot and leg are numb because of it. A report has been sent to the DC hq, and they will make the decision on what the next course of action is. Medevac is looking very likely. I can either be sent to the US or South Africa for treatment. Unfortunately, DC is in the midst of a snowstorm, and all of the doctors in SA are gone for holiday, so the medevac may not occur for a week or two. In all likelyhood, I'll be flown to SA in early January to begin treatment/therapy.
The PCMO told me a volunteer in Western Africa had a very similar issue, and was medically separated because he went over the allotted 45 days for treatment and recovery. He appealed and was reinstated, however, so even if med sep occurs, it isn't the end of the road. I've been informed that the staff here at PC/Tanzania would have no problem welcoming me back if I do get med sep'd because of this, which is comforting to know.
I know this is probably crazy for you guys to hear, but it's the reality I'm facing at the moment. I had no idea this foot numbness was going to be such a huge issue. But to be perfectly honest, if there's anything that's going to get me medevac'd to SA, this is a pretty sweet deal. I'm not experiencing any kind of pain at all. It's the opposite of pain, in fact, it's numbness! It isn't the most ideal way to travel, but I am excited by the thought of getting to see a little bit of South Africa, and getting to fly again!
Okay, now back to the somber thoughts...
Last week, I was sick again, this time with a bacterial infection. Needless to say, it wasn't a fun three days. The bout began on Monday evening, when I was walking home from town and felt quite warm. I was coming down with a fever and feeling very weak, to the point where I nearly collapsed when I got to my door. After sleeping for a few hours on the couch in my living room, I had my first spell of diarrhea, an omen of the days to come. The issues continued throughout the night, to the point where I was squatting for longer than I should have.
I'm still not positive if it was the squatting that did it, or the awkward sleeping position I was in for long periods of time, but I managed to create problems for the peroneal nerve in my left leg. I noticed this the next morning when I was walking kind of funny, much like my stroke-addled uncle. I couldn't flex my left foot upward, causing my toe to drag across the floor unless I lifted at the knee enough to clear the foot off the ground.
Once I overcame the sickness (not until a stool sample was delivered and antibiotics were administered two days later), I talked to the PCMO about my foot and its condition. She told me to monitor it for the next few days, and if it didn't improve it would require a trip into Dar for evaluation.
Sure enough, the foot didn't improve, and here I am in Dar at the Peace Corps Office typing out this blog entry. I just had the evaluation this morning, quite short as I expected. I've been diagnosed with something cutely named "foot drop," which is a nickname for paralysis of the peroneal nerve in the leg. Parts of my foot and leg are numb because of it. A report has been sent to the DC hq, and they will make the decision on what the next course of action is. Medevac is looking very likely. I can either be sent to the US or South Africa for treatment. Unfortunately, DC is in the midst of a snowstorm, and all of the doctors in SA are gone for holiday, so the medevac may not occur for a week or two. In all likelyhood, I'll be flown to SA in early January to begin treatment/therapy.
The PCMO told me a volunteer in Western Africa had a very similar issue, and was medically separated because he went over the allotted 45 days for treatment and recovery. He appealed and was reinstated, however, so even if med sep occurs, it isn't the end of the road. I've been informed that the staff here at PC/Tanzania would have no problem welcoming me back if I do get med sep'd because of this, which is comforting to know.
I know this is probably crazy for you guys to hear, but it's the reality I'm facing at the moment. I had no idea this foot numbness was going to be such a huge issue. But to be perfectly honest, if there's anything that's going to get me medevac'd to SA, this is a pretty sweet deal. I'm not experiencing any kind of pain at all. It's the opposite of pain, in fact, it's numbness! It isn't the most ideal way to travel, but I am excited by the thought of getting to see a little bit of South Africa, and getting to fly again!
Okay, now back to the somber thoughts...
December 6, 2009
large update
The moment you've all been waiting for has finally arrived, and I've uploaded a slew of backlogged blog posts! I recommend you start here and go forward from there, unless you like to read backwards chronologically. I managed to get another video uploaded, which is a montage of my time during shadow! There's also quite a few new pictures up, from swear-in and some panoramas of my site.
I'm trying to share as much as I can with you without compromising discreetness, something necessary for my own safety. This is why I'm no longer using the name of the town I'm posted in, and I took down the post which announced it (if you didn't notice). Maybe for ease of typing, I will, from here on out, refer to my post as "Springfield," the most generic city name I can think of.
And Mom and Dad, please note that the post immediately preceding this one was written almost 4 days ago. Emotions have been blowing with the Springfield winds the past 2 weeks, so don't be alarmed.
I'm trying to share as much as I can with you without compromising discreetness, something necessary for my own safety. This is why I'm no longer using the name of the town I'm posted in, and I took down the post which announced it (if you didn't notice). Maybe for ease of typing, I will, from here on out, refer to my post as "Springfield," the most generic city name I can think of.
And Mom and Dad, please note that the post immediately preceding this one was written almost 4 days ago. Emotions have been blowing with the Springfield winds the past 2 weeks, so don't be alarmed.
obligitory homesickness
If there's one thing I've learned over the past week, it's that Peace Corps knows best.
My first week at site has been full of struggle and frustration. Which seems ironic, looking back at site announcements. I remember when I received my placement, I felt like I had drawn a lucky straw. Something I was actually praying against. But I learned that my site had electricity 24/7, the school was fairly recently established and growing, with a computer lab and a comprehensive science laboratory. It seemed like a sweet deal to me. But my perspective has shifted massively in the past week. There really is no lucky straw. Every site has its challenges, and I've confronted many already. Herein lies the truth of why Peace Corps knows best.
After being sick just the second day since arriving, I was harbouring resentment, towards what in particular I wasn't sure. At first I assumed it was the wildlife dwelling in my roof, but then I thought it might extend towards this town I'm in. Upon thinking more about it, I discovered it was simply towards the way I had to live my life here. It hit me when I was washing some of my clothes in a bucket on my back stoop, and organically a thought came out of me: "In America I could just throw these in a washing machine and be done with it..."
Naturally, I was worried by this, since I'm going to be living this way for the next two years. It's one thing to be frustrated by something, completely another to be utterly bitter. I immediately sought a book I had received during training, one we all had deemed was a waste of paper, Culture Matters. My CBT had done a skit about the process of adjusting to a new culture, so I looked for the section we had read over just a few weeks before. Lo and behold, many of the feelings I had over the past few days were scribed in the book, either as a guide of "how you might feel during your service," or as quotes from actual volunteers that resonated deeply with how I felt. So yes, if you're feeling something during the course of your service, chances are that not only does the Peace Corps already know about it, but they've written extensively on it and given the literature to you during training, while you tossed it aside and thought blissfully to yourself about how awesome and fantastical the next two years of your life were going to play out.
It doesn't matter if the difference is large, like living without a water tap, or seemingly trivial, like washing clothes in a bucket, it is different from what you are accustomed and there are consequences. Just from these last 7 days, I think the more trivial differences have done more damage to my mental health than the nontrivial, mostly because I am expecting an adjustment to being without a tap, whereas hand-washing clothes seems easy enough.
How ironic is it that, after travelling thousands of miles to be here for two years, it's the little things (familiar even), washing clothes, eating meals, living alone, that create in me a longing to go home...
My first week at site has been full of struggle and frustration. Which seems ironic, looking back at site announcements. I remember when I received my placement, I felt like I had drawn a lucky straw. Something I was actually praying against. But I learned that my site had electricity 24/7, the school was fairly recently established and growing, with a computer lab and a comprehensive science laboratory. It seemed like a sweet deal to me. But my perspective has shifted massively in the past week. There really is no lucky straw. Every site has its challenges, and I've confronted many already. Herein lies the truth of why Peace Corps knows best.
After being sick just the second day since arriving, I was harbouring resentment, towards what in particular I wasn't sure. At first I assumed it was the wildlife dwelling in my roof, but then I thought it might extend towards this town I'm in. Upon thinking more about it, I discovered it was simply towards the way I had to live my life here. It hit me when I was washing some of my clothes in a bucket on my back stoop, and organically a thought came out of me: "In America I could just throw these in a washing machine and be done with it..."
Naturally, I was worried by this, since I'm going to be living this way for the next two years. It's one thing to be frustrated by something, completely another to be utterly bitter. I immediately sought a book I had received during training, one we all had deemed was a waste of paper, Culture Matters. My CBT had done a skit about the process of adjusting to a new culture, so I looked for the section we had read over just a few weeks before. Lo and behold, many of the feelings I had over the past few days were scribed in the book, either as a guide of "how you might feel during your service," or as quotes from actual volunteers that resonated deeply with how I felt. So yes, if you're feeling something during the course of your service, chances are that not only does the Peace Corps already know about it, but they've written extensively on it and given the literature to you during training, while you tossed it aside and thought blissfully to yourself about how awesome and fantastical the next two years of your life were going to play out.
It doesn't matter if the difference is large, like living without a water tap, or seemingly trivial, like washing clothes in a bucket, it is different from what you are accustomed and there are consequences. Just from these last 7 days, I think the more trivial differences have done more damage to my mental health than the nontrivial, mostly because I am expecting an adjustment to being without a tap, whereas hand-washing clothes seems easy enough.
How ironic is it that, after travelling thousands of miles to be here for two years, it's the little things (familiar even), washing clothes, eating meals, living alone, that create in me a longing to go home...
at the ambassador's house
I can scratch two things off my bucket list now:
Our swear-in ceremony took place the day before Thanksgiving at the U.S. Ambassabor's house in Tanzania. We had the privilege of performing a skit to mark the occasion, which was a short 10-minute musical dreamed up by two of our brilliant trainees, who developed a script for the "coming-of-age" play about a volunteer reflecting on how her service in the Peace Corps changed her world. They also rewrote lyrics to The Boxer by Simon and Garfunkel and With A Little Help From My Friends by The Beatles to fit the musical, and I learned the chords to play them live.
I also had the honor of giving the "comments" for our training class in Kiswahili. I actually enjoyed the moment, speaking some words I didn't even know the meaning of. It was a very unique and exciting experience. After speeches by some of the guests and by the U.S. Ambassador, we took the oath on national television to swear-in officially as Peace Corps Volunteers. Cake and refreshments followed shortly thereafter.
That night, we got to attend a dinner at our Country Director's house. Given that we would be travelling on buses all day the next day, Thanksgiving, she wanted to give us a proper meal before we headed out on our journeys. We got to meet her husband and her children, all absolutely delightful people, and all well spoken and educated. It turned out to be more than a dinner in the end, when the Michael Jackson started cranking in the living room. There, in a modest space normally suited to hosts and guests chatting and drinking hot teas and coffee, a handful of newly sworn-in Volunteers, the Country Director, and some of her children held a veritable dance party to the 70's mega-hit Thriller.
I guess that should go on the list too, shouldn't it?
- Give a speech in a foreign language
- Play guitar at a U.S. Ambassabor's house
shadow: part 6
You'd think with 14 of us, we might hitch a ride with a bus up to Lushoto. But being the resourceful, rugged American Peace Corps Volunteers and Trainees that we are, we opted for the cheaper option, a daladala. Cheaper certainly at a price.
It would've actually been quite comfortable if it was just the 14 of us in the rickety van that was probably older than me, but the conductor, like all the others, had no sense of balance between maximizing the occupancy of the vehicle and maintaining its structural integrity. He simply tried to cram as many people in as possible, instructing the passengers in ways to fill the entire volume of the cabin, floor to ceiling. I had the privilege of sitting in the back with 5 people in a row built for 4, with one leg firmly jammed into the back of the seat ahead of me because of the gigantic semi-sized tire underneath my feet. As if that wasn't enough, we had bags upon bags of rice and flour piled on top of one another in the 3 inches of space between us and the back hatch, pushing us unwillingly into the fetal position.
Loaded with about 46 people at my own exaggerated estimate, we endured the 30 minute ride to town, which surely you can imagine seemed like being stuck in purgatory. Our plan, after deboarding and regaining sense of our limbs, was to stay in a hotel in town that night before us trainees made the trip back to Dar. We tried the "safi" (directly translated as "clean," but meaning "nice") hotels first, but both were booked completely with tourists on safaris, there to hike the mountains or passing through on their way undoubtedly to Kili or the Serengeti. We managed to book rooms at a hotel actually closer to the town proper than the other two, as luck would have it.
Many of us were still exhausted from the night before, but another opportunity for adventure beckoned us. Just a short hour and a half hike from where we were, there was a lookout point that gave a spectacular view of the plains of Tanzania in the area, and one of our hosts was willing to guide us there if we were up for the walk. Most of the group rejected the idea outright, while some were hesitant. Even after the 20k+ of hiking I did the day before, not to mention the mountainous descent I had done that morning for the second time, I was undeterred by another journey. It's been a long time since I've hiked anywhere, so I figured I'd take any chance I could get while I'm here.
Armed with rain jackets because of the looming cloud cover moving in, three of us set off for the viewpoint. The scenery on our walk was nothing short of what I expected from any area of Lushoto; graceful, gorgeous, and green. Our path winded around a mountain, much like many of the roads I travelled by bus the past 4 days. We greeted travellers as we walked, everyone impressed by our knowledge of the Kiswahili language and culturally appropriate greetings. It was evident that we were nearing our destination when the sky in front of us started getting bigger, finally reaching that point where the fixed horizon lowers and lowers as you close in on it. As we ascended the man-laid steps of stone up to the lookout point, a boy not older than 18 followed us up the hill, talking to us in English about his friend's taxi that could take us wherever we wanted. Even after declining 5 or 6 times, he "escorted" us to the lookout area to narrate the things we would see. We figured he would be looking for payment for his "services" once we began our return trip, so we decided to plan our descent accordingly.
There's not much I can tell you about what I saw, but I've uploaded a panormaic view taken at the lookout. Had there not been a large trash pile burning just below us, the view may have been a bit clearer. It was still spectacular to see though. It's hard to grasp the reality of the distance you can see, thinking "those mountains out there would be a 3 hour bus ride from where I stand." But ironically, it makes me want to find a higher viewpoint. "If I can go a little higher, maybe I could see Kili from here..." I suppose that's the part of me talking that wants to be an astronaut, the man that has the ultimate view of the Earth as he circles it endlessly.
By the time we arrived back at the hotel, we were sweaty, exhausted, with blisters on our feet, but filled with the spirit of nature. As a celebration of our completion of shadow, we went out that night to eat dinner on the streets in town. Accurately dubbed "street food," you sit on wobbly benches and eat native Tanzanian cuisine freshly prepared outside on the street. Some of us opted for the staples of rice and beans, while others risked sickness by eating chipsi mayai (french fries and eggs) and nyama choma (essentially a meat kabob). We finished our celebration at the local grocery, fraternizing over beers and sodas about our recent shared experiences and the ones yet to come.
Overall, shadow was very much like a vacation. After training hard for almost 8 weeks, we spent 5 days travelling on buses, hiking through mountains, and speaking mostly English. Probably not the best way to prepare for the Oral Proficience Interview that was 5 days away. But it was a welcome break from the everyday struggle to communicate, the lesson plans, and the arduous language training. We were nearing the light at the end of the tunnel, and we were happy.
It would've actually been quite comfortable if it was just the 14 of us in the rickety van that was probably older than me, but the conductor, like all the others, had no sense of balance between maximizing the occupancy of the vehicle and maintaining its structural integrity. He simply tried to cram as many people in as possible, instructing the passengers in ways to fill the entire volume of the cabin, floor to ceiling. I had the privilege of sitting in the back with 5 people in a row built for 4, with one leg firmly jammed into the back of the seat ahead of me because of the gigantic semi-sized tire underneath my feet. As if that wasn't enough, we had bags upon bags of rice and flour piled on top of one another in the 3 inches of space between us and the back hatch, pushing us unwillingly into the fetal position.
Loaded with about 46 people at my own exaggerated estimate, we endured the 30 minute ride to town, which surely you can imagine seemed like being stuck in purgatory. Our plan, after deboarding and regaining sense of our limbs, was to stay in a hotel in town that night before us trainees made the trip back to Dar. We tried the "safi" (directly translated as "clean," but meaning "nice") hotels first, but both were booked completely with tourists on safaris, there to hike the mountains or passing through on their way undoubtedly to Kili or the Serengeti. We managed to book rooms at a hotel actually closer to the town proper than the other two, as luck would have it.
Many of us were still exhausted from the night before, but another opportunity for adventure beckoned us. Just a short hour and a half hike from where we were, there was a lookout point that gave a spectacular view of the plains of Tanzania in the area, and one of our hosts was willing to guide us there if we were up for the walk. Most of the group rejected the idea outright, while some were hesitant. Even after the 20k+ of hiking I did the day before, not to mention the mountainous descent I had done that morning for the second time, I was undeterred by another journey. It's been a long time since I've hiked anywhere, so I figured I'd take any chance I could get while I'm here.
Armed with rain jackets because of the looming cloud cover moving in, three of us set off for the viewpoint. The scenery on our walk was nothing short of what I expected from any area of Lushoto; graceful, gorgeous, and green. Our path winded around a mountain, much like many of the roads I travelled by bus the past 4 days. We greeted travellers as we walked, everyone impressed by our knowledge of the Kiswahili language and culturally appropriate greetings. It was evident that we were nearing our destination when the sky in front of us started getting bigger, finally reaching that point where the fixed horizon lowers and lowers as you close in on it. As we ascended the man-laid steps of stone up to the lookout point, a boy not older than 18 followed us up the hill, talking to us in English about his friend's taxi that could take us wherever we wanted. Even after declining 5 or 6 times, he "escorted" us to the lookout area to narrate the things we would see. We figured he would be looking for payment for his "services" once we began our return trip, so we decided to plan our descent accordingly.
There's not much I can tell you about what I saw, but I've uploaded a panormaic view taken at the lookout. Had there not been a large trash pile burning just below us, the view may have been a bit clearer. It was still spectacular to see though. It's hard to grasp the reality of the distance you can see, thinking "those mountains out there would be a 3 hour bus ride from where I stand." But ironically, it makes me want to find a higher viewpoint. "If I can go a little higher, maybe I could see Kili from here..." I suppose that's the part of me talking that wants to be an astronaut, the man that has the ultimate view of the Earth as he circles it endlessly.
By the time we arrived back at the hotel, we were sweaty, exhausted, with blisters on our feet, but filled with the spirit of nature. As a celebration of our completion of shadow, we went out that night to eat dinner on the streets in town. Accurately dubbed "street food," you sit on wobbly benches and eat native Tanzanian cuisine freshly prepared outside on the street. Some of us opted for the staples of rice and beans, while others risked sickness by eating chipsi mayai (french fries and eggs) and nyama choma (essentially a meat kabob). We finished our celebration at the local grocery, fraternizing over beers and sodas about our recent shared experiences and the ones yet to come.
Overall, shadow was very much like a vacation. After training hard for almost 8 weeks, we spent 5 days travelling on buses, hiking through mountains, and speaking mostly English. Probably not the best way to prepare for the Oral Proficience Interview that was 5 days away. But it was a welcome break from the everyday struggle to communicate, the lesson plans, and the arduous language training. We were nearing the light at the end of the tunnel, and we were happy.
shadow: part 5
You would think I would be tired at 4 in the morning, but I went to bed at about 8:30, so I felt fresh and energized, ready for the day. This turned out to be a good thing because we had some hiking planned for Saturday, how much hiking exactly, Charlotte and I did not fully understand.
Our first charge was to survive the bus ride back through the mountains. While the first bus ride for me was a pleasant experience, the return trip was a slightly different story. It's hard to be blissfully ignorant of the people around you when an old lady sitting in the row in front of you is making loud moaning noises, hanging her head outside the window like a seasick sailor. This was about 20 minutes into our 3 hour trip, so I wasn't holding out much hope for my own stomach's well-being. But then a stroke of luck! She got off the bus after her little episode. Of course, that just leaves an open seat for the bus's next victim, at least so I thought. But in reality it wasn't the seat in front of me that would host the next bag-holder. It was the seat immediately to my left.
An older man in some kind of track jacket was sitting with his head between his legs. The other half of the time he spent leaning, pushing all of his body weight into my left shoulder, squishing me into my shadow friend on my right. Thankfully, he never actually vomited, but he threatened to on a number of occasions.
After 3 hours graciously passed, we deboarded a few miles north of Lushoto so that we could walk to the house of a volunteer couple living in the area. The plan was to hike from their house all the way to the volunteer we spent the night with on Wednesday. The walk to the couple was about 5k, a very scenic 5k. But the hike to the other site near Lushoto was about 14 or 15k. Not exactly your average stroll through the mountains. When we arrived in town, we picked up some ingredients for our main course that night; pizza! Our volunteer friend that was playing host had a brick oven, so we were going to attempt homemade brick oven pizzas. After buying the veggies and crust ingredients, we split up into two groups. One group took a taxi up the mountain to save their legs, and to carry all the luggage. The rest of us (only three of us including me), made the trek up the mountain by foot. Yes, after hiking 19k in the morning, I decided to repeat the mountain climb I did just a few days before. This time, I scaled it in about half the time, bouncing up the steepest parts with relative ease.
And as luck would have it, we arrived just as the rest of the group arrived with their escort. We unpacked and got started right away on the pizzas, since it was the evening by this point. There were about 14 of us altogether, including 6 trainees. Multiply by cooking time for pizzas, and it was readily obvious it might be a while before some people got to eat. Everyone did eventually get a pizza, though most of them turned out doughy. The oven just wasn't hot enough. The bread we baked after the pizzas did very well however, and we ate that for breakfast the next morning.
It was a great party overall, given all the different levels of experiences represented in the people there. Some were on their way out, others in their second year of service, and the 6 of us staring down the assignments we would be taking up in the coming weeks.
That night, 14 of us slept cramped in a house built for no more than 4, splayed out on the concrete floor in the living room. It looked like a jigsaw puzzle the way everyone's legs tangled together, but we all fit...barely. We awoke the next day stiff and sleep deprived, at least those of us who haven't trained ourselves in the art of claustrophobic communal resting on concrete floors. A few, not including me, announced to the rest of us how well they slept.
In the last installment of "shadow" are details of our pilgramage to Lushoto town proper and the last day of our shadowing experience.
Our first charge was to survive the bus ride back through the mountains. While the first bus ride for me was a pleasant experience, the return trip was a slightly different story. It's hard to be blissfully ignorant of the people around you when an old lady sitting in the row in front of you is making loud moaning noises, hanging her head outside the window like a seasick sailor. This was about 20 minutes into our 3 hour trip, so I wasn't holding out much hope for my own stomach's well-being. But then a stroke of luck! She got off the bus after her little episode. Of course, that just leaves an open seat for the bus's next victim, at least so I thought. But in reality it wasn't the seat in front of me that would host the next bag-holder. It was the seat immediately to my left.
An older man in some kind of track jacket was sitting with his head between his legs. The other half of the time he spent leaning, pushing all of his body weight into my left shoulder, squishing me into my shadow friend on my right. Thankfully, he never actually vomited, but he threatened to on a number of occasions.
After 3 hours graciously passed, we deboarded a few miles north of Lushoto so that we could walk to the house of a volunteer couple living in the area. The plan was to hike from their house all the way to the volunteer we spent the night with on Wednesday. The walk to the couple was about 5k, a very scenic 5k. But the hike to the other site near Lushoto was about 14 or 15k. Not exactly your average stroll through the mountains. When we arrived in town, we picked up some ingredients for our main course that night; pizza! Our volunteer friend that was playing host had a brick oven, so we were going to attempt homemade brick oven pizzas. After buying the veggies and crust ingredients, we split up into two groups. One group took a taxi up the mountain to save their legs, and to carry all the luggage. The rest of us (only three of us including me), made the trek up the mountain by foot. Yes, after hiking 19k in the morning, I decided to repeat the mountain climb I did just a few days before. This time, I scaled it in about half the time, bouncing up the steepest parts with relative ease.
And as luck would have it, we arrived just as the rest of the group arrived with their escort. We unpacked and got started right away on the pizzas, since it was the evening by this point. There were about 14 of us altogether, including 6 trainees. Multiply by cooking time for pizzas, and it was readily obvious it might be a while before some people got to eat. Everyone did eventually get a pizza, though most of them turned out doughy. The oven just wasn't hot enough. The bread we baked after the pizzas did very well however, and we ate that for breakfast the next morning.
It was a great party overall, given all the different levels of experiences represented in the people there. Some were on their way out, others in their second year of service, and the 6 of us staring down the assignments we would be taking up in the coming weeks.
That night, 14 of us slept cramped in a house built for no more than 4, splayed out on the concrete floor in the living room. It looked like a jigsaw puzzle the way everyone's legs tangled together, but we all fit...barely. We awoke the next day stiff and sleep deprived, at least those of us who haven't trained ourselves in the art of claustrophobic communal resting on concrete floors. A few, not including me, announced to the rest of us how well they slept.
In the last installment of "shadow" are details of our pilgramage to Lushoto town proper and the last day of our shadowing experience.
shadow: part 3
It is now Thursday morning, and Charlotte and I have a bus to catch down the mountain. Naturally, we decided to return the way we came, which, as I had predicted for myself, was worse than the trip up. By the time we got to the road, our legs were shaking nervously at every step, and we simply hoped they would function long enough to get us back to the bus stop. Now allow me to return to our pineapple.
Our poor pineapple had to survive a trip up the mountain in our first hostess' bag and a trip down in our hands, which it did graciously enough. After descending, Charlotte and I got the idea to make pineapple upside-down cake for our hostess. We weren't sure if she had some of the ingredients, so after calling our friend Owen for the list, we made our way through the soko (market) searching for the essentials. While most people can speak Kiswahili in Tanzania, locals sometimes prefer to use the native tribal language. This is the case where we were, which created yet another language barrier. Luckily, Kiswahili is the fallback language for most, and some even knew a little English.
After picking up some cake ingredients, we headed to the bus stop to wait for our ride. As we waited, we spoke some Kiswahili to some locals waiting with us, and one of them bought us bananas! Certainly a welcome treat during our wait. Finally our bus arrived, with "Picnic Class" painted across the front. Not sure what that means. It was about a 45 minute drive into Lushoto, which was fairly uneventful. The next 3 hours, however, could be described in a number of different ways. After Lushoto, the road we rode upon was no longer paved, and it winded around the Usambara mountains, occasionally dipping into the valley to pass through small towns. Needless to say, it wasn't the most comfortable 3 hours I've spent on a bus, especially considering the complimentary vomit bags that are supplied to passengers. Luckily for me, I was so transfixed on the vistas outside my window, I didn't notice all the people throwing up around me.
We arrived safely at our destination in the evening, stomachs intact for the most part, and met our hostess right off the bus. After a quick tour of the school and the surrounding area, we cooked dinner and the most delicious cake I've ever taken part in making, which brings be back to the pineapple.
Our pineapple, which survived the grueling 3 hour trip out to our shadow site, was made into one of the greatest cakes I've ever eaten. We only needed a few slices for our upside-down cake, and the rest went into a bowl that was snacked upon for the next two days. Not only was it our dessert, but it was also a bedtime treat and breakfast the next morning! I know it's silly that I'm talking about this pineapple so much, but it was really that good.
In part 4 of "shadow," I will describe our Friday morning question session with our hostess' students and our afternoon hike to one of the most beautiful places I've seen in my life.
Our poor pineapple had to survive a trip up the mountain in our first hostess' bag and a trip down in our hands, which it did graciously enough. After descending, Charlotte and I got the idea to make pineapple upside-down cake for our hostess. We weren't sure if she had some of the ingredients, so after calling our friend Owen for the list, we made our way through the soko (market) searching for the essentials. While most people can speak Kiswahili in Tanzania, locals sometimes prefer to use the native tribal language. This is the case where we were, which created yet another language barrier. Luckily, Kiswahili is the fallback language for most, and some even knew a little English.
After picking up some cake ingredients, we headed to the bus stop to wait for our ride. As we waited, we spoke some Kiswahili to some locals waiting with us, and one of them bought us bananas! Certainly a welcome treat during our wait. Finally our bus arrived, with "Picnic Class" painted across the front. Not sure what that means. It was about a 45 minute drive into Lushoto, which was fairly uneventful. The next 3 hours, however, could be described in a number of different ways. After Lushoto, the road we rode upon was no longer paved, and it winded around the Usambara mountains, occasionally dipping into the valley to pass through small towns. Needless to say, it wasn't the most comfortable 3 hours I've spent on a bus, especially considering the complimentary vomit bags that are supplied to passengers. Luckily for me, I was so transfixed on the vistas outside my window, I didn't notice all the people throwing up around me.
We arrived safely at our destination in the evening, stomachs intact for the most part, and met our hostess right off the bus. After a quick tour of the school and the surrounding area, we cooked dinner and the most delicious cake I've ever taken part in making, which brings be back to the pineapple.
Our pineapple, which survived the grueling 3 hour trip out to our shadow site, was made into one of the greatest cakes I've ever eaten. We only needed a few slices for our upside-down cake, and the rest went into a bowl that was snacked upon for the next two days. Not only was it our dessert, but it was also a bedtime treat and breakfast the next morning! I know it's silly that I'm talking about this pineapple so much, but it was really that good.
In part 4 of "shadow," I will describe our Friday morning question session with our hostess' students and our afternoon hike to one of the most beautiful places I've seen in my life.
shadow: part 4
We awoke quickly Friday morning to accompany our hostess to her school where, because it was getting close to exams, she didn't teach formal classes, but let the students ask questions about the material. Since we were there, it quickly turned into a question session about America. In the 4 classes we visited, we were asked about Michael Jackson twice, to which I was happy to quickly reply "Michael Jackson is dead."
Later in the afternoon, we decided to take a hike out to a town near our shadow site, which is essentially a town up on top of a cliff. The walk took about an hour, and much like the scenery everywhere in Lushoto, it was BEAUTIFUL! The pictures hardly do it justice. We ate lunch in town, bought some groceries for our dinner that night, then headed back.
Our evening was fairly quiet, consisting of reading and listening to the radio. A heavy rainstorm rolled in about the time we started cooking our dinner and we saw a full-arch rainbow over the mountains! Our dinner that night was sloppy joes with homemade rolls and chocolate bundt cake. A satisfying ending to a delightful day. Almost immediately after finishing our food, we had to hit the hay because the next day had an early wake-up call; 4:15am. The reason being the bus we were going to catch back into Lushoto passed by our neck of the woods at about 5:00am. A shame, considering that's one of the latest buses you can board to go back south. I suppose there's a price to the landscape.
Nearing the end of our story, in the next installment of "shadow," we meet up with some other volunteers for a party.
Later in the afternoon, we decided to take a hike out to a town near our shadow site, which is essentially a town up on top of a cliff. The walk took about an hour, and much like the scenery everywhere in Lushoto, it was BEAUTIFUL! The pictures hardly do it justice. We ate lunch in town, bought some groceries for our dinner that night, then headed back.
Our evening was fairly quiet, consisting of reading and listening to the radio. A heavy rainstorm rolled in about the time we started cooking our dinner and we saw a full-arch rainbow over the mountains! Our dinner that night was sloppy joes with homemade rolls and chocolate bundt cake. A satisfying ending to a delightful day. Almost immediately after finishing our food, we had to hit the hay because the next day had an early wake-up call; 4:15am. The reason being the bus we were going to catch back into Lushoto passed by our neck of the woods at about 5:00am. A shame, considering that's one of the latest buses you can board to go back south. I suppose there's a price to the landscape.
Nearing the end of our story, in the next installment of "shadow," we meet up with some other volunteers for a party.
shadow: part 2
I pick up where I left off in Mombo, Tanga, where we have just been price-gouged by an Indian restaurant owner who promised us good prices on good food. Another PCV, John, met us as we deboarded the bus, and he escorted all 6 of us trainees to our respective areas. Since Charlotte and I had no way of getting to our site by the end of the day, we decided to stay with the PCV our other shadow friends were staying with, making 4 of us travelling up to her site. After a 40 minute daladala ride through unbelieveably beautiful mountains, we arrived at the market near her site.
She met us at the bus stop and informed us there were two possible routes up to her house; a daladala ride around the mountain in front of us, or a hike straight through it. Being the adventurous type, we all chose the hike. She warned us that it was steep, but we were excited to get some much needed exercise. Oh, how blissfully ignorant we were. She wasn't exaggerating when she said it was steep. Actually, she could've done a much better job at conveying the steepness of the ascent. Climb is actually a better word to use, because I felt the need to have three points of contact at certain times. There's no way around saying it; her school and her house are literally on top of a mountain. A mountain with narrow, steep, treacherous paths that we walked upon for over an hour and a half. But my God was it beautiful! The views on the hike are unreal! Even more so once you reach the summit. Her site brings new meaning to the phrase "city on a hill." This whole region does, as we would soon find out. These towns aren't just on the hill, they go all the way down. I don't know how these houses don't just slide until they crash into the valley below, but they are incredible, unlike anything I've ever seen.
And so we spent that night recovering from the hike, cooking rice with peanut sauce, making brownies, and sharing all of the weirdest things about ourselves (some of us having more to share than others). I also got to share the video I took of our journey up to her house with everyone, of which some is in a video montage I'm currently uploading. Hopefully it finishes so you can get a taste of what I got to experience. In part 3 of "shadow," I will share the details of the ride to our hostess' site outside of Lushoto and our first night there.
She met us at the bus stop and informed us there were two possible routes up to her house; a daladala ride around the mountain in front of us, or a hike straight through it. Being the adventurous type, we all chose the hike. She warned us that it was steep, but we were excited to get some much needed exercise. Oh, how blissfully ignorant we were. She wasn't exaggerating when she said it was steep. Actually, she could've done a much better job at conveying the steepness of the ascent. Climb is actually a better word to use, because I felt the need to have three points of contact at certain times. There's no way around saying it; her school and her house are literally on top of a mountain. A mountain with narrow, steep, treacherous paths that we walked upon for over an hour and a half. But my God was it beautiful! The views on the hike are unreal! Even more so once you reach the summit. Her site brings new meaning to the phrase "city on a hill." This whole region does, as we would soon find out. These towns aren't just on the hill, they go all the way down. I don't know how these houses don't just slide until they crash into the valley below, but they are incredible, unlike anything I've ever seen.
And so we spent that night recovering from the hike, cooking rice with peanut sauce, making brownies, and sharing all of the weirdest things about ourselves (some of us having more to share than others). I also got to share the video I took of our journey up to her house with everyone, of which some is in a video montage I'm currently uploading. Hopefully it finishes so you can get a taste of what I got to experience. In part 3 of "shadow," I will share the details of the ride to our hostess' site outside of Lushoto and our first night there.
shadow: intro and part 1
As part of our training in the Peace Corps, we take 5 days to see what life as a volunteer is really like by travelling to a current PCV's site and following them around all day ("shadowing" them). Many of us went up north to shadow, but a few went to Iringa and Mbeya in the south, and a few to the Dodoma region west of Morogoro. On Wednesday Novemeber 11th, I travelled north to Lushoto in the Tanga region. However, I didn't arrive at my shadowing site until Thursday. This is where the story begins.
At our last CCT day of October, the LCFs announced our shadow sites and our fellow shadower(s), as well as some pointers on how to travel to our sites. We had to make arrangements on our own (all part of the shadow experience). I got paired up with my friend from the infamous "wtf moment," Charlotte, and we were headed near Lushoto in the Tanga region. As trainees going north into Tanga and Kilimanjaro, we were instructed to take the Hood bus out of Morogoro and up to Mombo, which is about an hour and a half from Lushoto by daladala/bus. But when we contacted our PCV, she instructed us to take a different route, which required a bus change in Chalinze, about an hour east of Morogoro. This is because there is only one bus that runs up to her town from Dar, meaning you have one shot every day at getting up there. Taking the bus into Mombo meant an overnight stay somewhere else. Charlotte and I decided to give our PCV's advice a shot, so we planned accordingly. It required getting up at 5 in the morning on Wednesday to catch the Abood bus going to Dar at 6am, of which we were reluctant but willing to abide.
Approximately 15 minutes into our Abood journey, Charlotte fell asleep. Not a problem, since I felt confident in my ability to stay awake. Unfortunately, the conductor on the bus did not announce the stops we were making, so we missed our stop in Chalinze. We missed it by quite a bit actually. Since the conductor wasn't announcing stops, nor were the stops marked with a name in any way, we ended up going past Chalinze by about 60km. When we finally got off the bus (we got dropped off literally on the side of the road), we had to take a daladala ride back into Chalinze (approximately 45 minutes) so that we could catch the Hood bus we would've taken in the first place (it left at 9am). A small kink in the plans, which meant we wouldn't get to our site until the next day, but it turned out for the best. After we got to Chalinze, Charlotte and I ate an entire pinapple together for breakfast. Best breakfast ever! We also bought one for our hostess, which miraculously survived the bus trips to follow (the bus trips and what we did with the pineapple will come in another part).
So, by 1:30pm on Wednesday, we made it to Mombo in the Tanga region! Thus concludes part 1 of the story of "shadow." In part 2, I will recall the tale of the trip up to a town near Lushoto, where we spent the night with another PCV and her shadowers.
At our last CCT day of October, the LCFs announced our shadow sites and our fellow shadower(s), as well as some pointers on how to travel to our sites. We had to make arrangements on our own (all part of the shadow experience). I got paired up with my friend from the infamous "wtf moment," Charlotte, and we were headed near Lushoto in the Tanga region. As trainees going north into Tanga and Kilimanjaro, we were instructed to take the Hood bus out of Morogoro and up to Mombo, which is about an hour and a half from Lushoto by daladala/bus. But when we contacted our PCV, she instructed us to take a different route, which required a bus change in Chalinze, about an hour east of Morogoro. This is because there is only one bus that runs up to her town from Dar, meaning you have one shot every day at getting up there. Taking the bus into Mombo meant an overnight stay somewhere else. Charlotte and I decided to give our PCV's advice a shot, so we planned accordingly. It required getting up at 5 in the morning on Wednesday to catch the Abood bus going to Dar at 6am, of which we were reluctant but willing to abide.
Approximately 15 minutes into our Abood journey, Charlotte fell asleep. Not a problem, since I felt confident in my ability to stay awake. Unfortunately, the conductor on the bus did not announce the stops we were making, so we missed our stop in Chalinze. We missed it by quite a bit actually. Since the conductor wasn't announcing stops, nor were the stops marked with a name in any way, we ended up going past Chalinze by about 60km. When we finally got off the bus (we got dropped off literally on the side of the road), we had to take a daladala ride back into Chalinze (approximately 45 minutes) so that we could catch the Hood bus we would've taken in the first place (it left at 9am). A small kink in the plans, which meant we wouldn't get to our site until the next day, but it turned out for the best. After we got to Chalinze, Charlotte and I ate an entire pinapple together for breakfast. Best breakfast ever! We also bought one for our hostess, which miraculously survived the bus trips to follow (the bus trips and what we did with the pineapple will come in another part).
So, by 1:30pm on Wednesday, we made it to Mombo in the Tanga region! Thus concludes part 1 of the story of "shadow." In part 2, I will recall the tale of the trip up to a town near Lushoto, where we spent the night with another PCV and her shadowers.
shadow
PART I
PART II
PART III
PART IV
PART V
PART VI
As part of our training in the Peace Corps, we take 5 days to see what life as a volunteer is really like by travelling to a current PCV's site and following them around all day ("shadowing" them). Many of us went up north to shadow, but a few went to Iringa and Mbeya in the south, and a few to the Dodoma region west of Morogoro. On Wednesday Novemeber 11th, I travelled north to Lushoto in the Tanga region. However, I didn't arrive at my shadowing site until Thursday. This is where the story begins.
At our last CCT day of October, the LCFs announced our shadow sites and our fellow shadower(s), as well as some pointers on how to travel to our sites. We had to make arrangements on our own (all part of the shadow experience). I got paired up with my friend from the infamous wtf moment, Charlotte, and we were headed near Lushoto in the Tanga region. As trainees going north into Tanga and Kilimanjaro, we were instructed to take the Hood bus out of Morogoro and up to Mombo, which is about an hour and a half from Lushoto by daladala/bus. But when we contacted our PCV, she instructed us to take a different route, which required a bus change in Chalinze, about an hour east of Morogoro. This is because there is only one bus that runs up to her town from Dar, meaning you have one shot every day at getting up there. Taking the bus into Mombo meant an overnight stay somewhere else. Charlotte and I decided to give our PCV's advice a shot, so we planned accordingly. It required getting up at 5 in the morning on Wednesday to catch the Abood bus going to Dar at 6am, of which we were reluctant but willing to abide.
Approximately 15 minutes into our Abood journey, Charlotte fell asleep. Not a problem, since I felt confident in my ability to stay awake. Unfortunately, the conductor on the bus did not announce the stops we were making, so we missed our stop in Chalinze. We missed it by quite a bit actually. Since the conductor wasn't announcing stops, nor were the stops marked with a name in any way, we ended up going past Chalinze by about 60km. When we finally got off the bus (we got dropped off literally on the side of the road), we had to take a daladala ride back into Chalinze (approximately 45 minutes) so that we could catch the Hood bus we would've taken in the first place (it left at 9am). A small kink in the plans, which meant we wouldn't get to our site until the next day, but it turned out for the best. After we got to Chalinze, Charlotte and I ate an entire pineapple together for breakfast. Best breakfast ever! We also bought one for our hostess, which miraculously survived the bus trips to follow (the bus trips and what we did with the pineapple will come in another part).
We waited another hour or so until our friends arrived on the Hood bus, after which we were all headed north. And so, by 1:30pm on Wednesday, we made it to Mombo in the Tanga region!
PART II
I pick up where I left off in Mombo, Tanga, where we have just been price-gouged by an Indian restaurant owner who promised us good prices on good food. Another PCV, John, met us as we deboarded the bus, and he escorted all 6 of us trainees to our respective areas. Since Charlotte and I had no way of getting to our site by the end of the day, we decided to stay with the PCV our other shadow friends were staying with, making 4 of us travelling up to her site. After a 40 minute daladala ride through unbelieveably beautiful mountains, we arrived at the market near her site.
She met us at the bus stop and informed us there were two possible routes up to her house; a daladala ride around the mountain in front of us, or a hike straight through it. Being the adventurous type, we all chose the hike. She warned us that it was steep, but we were excited to get some much needed exercise. Oh, how blissfully ignorant we were. She wasn't exaggerating when she said it was steep. Actually, she could've done a much better job at conveying the steepness of the ascent. Climb is actually a better word to use, because I felt the need to have three points of contact at certain times. There's no way around saying it; her school and her house are literally on top of a mountain. A mountain with narrow, steep, treacherous paths that we walked upon for over an hour and a half. But my God was it beautiful! The views on the hike are unreal! Even more so once you reach the summit. Her site brings new meaning to the phrase "city on a hill." This whole region does, as we would soon find out. These towns aren't just on the hill, they go all the way down. I don't know how these houses don't just slide until they crash into the valley below, but they are incredible, unlike anything I've ever seen.
And so we spent that night recovering from the hike, cooking rice with peanut sauce, making brownies, and sharing all of the weirdest things about ourselves (some of us having more to share than others). Tomorrow, my shadow friend and I would be on our way north.
PART III
It is now Thursday morning, and Charlotte and I have a bus to catch down the mountain. Naturally, we decided to return the way we came, which, as I had predicted for myself, was worse than the trip up. By the time we got to the road, our legs were shaking nervously at every step, and we simply hoped they would function long enough to get us back to the bus stop. Now allow me to return to our pineapple.
Our poor pineapple had to survive a trip up the mountain in our first hostess' bag and a trip down in our hands, which it did graciously enough. After descending, Charlotte and I got the idea to make pineapple upside-down cake for our hostess. We weren't sure if she had some of the ingredients, so after calling our friend Owen for the list, we made our way through the soko (market) searching for the essentials. While most people can speak Kiswahili in Tanzania, locals sometimes prefer to use the native tribal language. This is the case where we were, which created yet another language barrier. Luckily, Kiswahili is the fallback language for most, and some even knew a little English.
After picking up some cake ingredients, we headed to the bus stop to wait for our ride. As we waited, we spoke some Kiswahili to some locals waiting with us, and one of them bought us bananas! Certainly a welcome treat during our wait. Finally our bus arrived, with "Picnic Class" painted across the front. Not sure what that means. It was about a 45 minute drive into Lushoto, which was fairly uneventful. The next 3 hours, however, could be described in a number of different ways. After Lushoto, the road we rode upon was no longer paved, and it winded around the Usambara mountains, occasionally dipping into the valley to pass through small towns. Needless to say, it wasn't the most comfortable 3 hours I've spent on a bus, especially considering the complimentary vomit bags that are supplied to passengers. Luckily for me, I was so transfixed on the vistas outside my window, I didn't notice all the people throwing up around me.
We arrived safely at our destination in the evening, stomachs intact for the most part, and met our hostess right off the bus. After a quick tour of the school and the surrounding area, we cooked dinner and the most delicious cake I've ever taken part in making, which brings be back to the pineapple.
Our pineapple, which survived the grueling 3 hour trip out to our shadow site, was made into one of the greatest cakes I've ever eaten. We only needed a few slices for our upside-down cake, and the rest went into a bowl that was snacked upon for the next two days. Not only was it our dessert, but it was also a bedtime treat and breakfast the next morning! I know it's silly that I'm talking about this pineapple so much, but it was really that good.
The next day would bring many blessings, including a hike to one of the most beautiful places I've seen in my life.
PART IV
We awoke quickly Friday morning to accompany our hostess to her school where, because it was getting close to exams, she didn't teach formal classes, but let the students ask questions about the material. Since we were there, it quickly turned into a question session about America. In the 4 classes we visited, we were asked about Michael Jackson twice, to which I was happy to quickly reply "Michael Jackson is dead."
Later in the afternoon, we decided to take a hike out to a town near our shadow site, which is essentially a town up on top of a cliff. The walk took about an hour, and much like the scenery everywhere in Lushoto, it was BEAUTIFUL! The pictures hardly do it justice. We ate lunch in town, bought some groceries for our dinner that night, then headed back.
Our evening was fairly quiet, consisting of reading and listening to the radio. A heavy rainstorm rolled in about the time we started cooking our dinner and we saw a full-arch rainbow over the mountains! Our dinner that night was sloppy joes with homemade rolls and chocolate bundt cake. A satisfying ending to a delightful day. Almost immediately after finishing our food, we had to hit the hay because the next day had an early wake-up call; 4:15am. The reason being the bus we were going to catch back into Lushoto passed by our neck of the woods at about 5:00am. A shame, considering that's one of the latest buses you can board to go back south. I suppose there's a price to the landscape.
Our plan the next day was for another hike, though much longer than the walk we had just completed. The volunteers had planned a get-together for all of us, and ironically it was in a very familiar place.
PART V
You would think I would be tired at 4 in the morning, but I went to bed at about 8:30, so I felt fresh and energized, ready for the day. This turned out to be a good thing because we had some hiking planned for Saturday, how much hiking exactly, Charlotte and I did not fully understand.
Our first charge was to survive the bus ride back through the mountains. While the first bus ride for me was a pleasant experience, the return trip was a slightly different story. It's hard to be blissfully ignorant of the people around you when an old lady sitting in the row in front of you is making loud moaning noises, hanging her head outside the window like a seasick sailor. This was about 20 minutes into our 3 hour trip, so I wasn't holding out much hope for my own stomach's well-being. But then a stroke of luck! She got off the bus after her little episode. Of course, that just leaves an open seat for the bus's next victim, at least so I thought. But in reality it wasn't the seat in front of me that would host the next bag-holder. It was the seat immediately to my left.
An older man in some kind of track jacket was sitting with his head between his legs. The other half of the time he spent leaning, pushing all of his body weight into my left shoulder, squishing me into my shadow friend on my right. Thankfully, he never actually vomited, but he threatened to on a number of occasions.
After 3 hours graciously passed, we deboarded a few miles north of Lushoto so that we could walk to the house of a volunteer couple living in the area. The plan was to hike from their house all the way to the volunteer we spent the night with on Wednesday. The walk to the couple was about 5k, a very scenic 5k. But the hike to the other site near Lushoto was about 14 or 15k. Not exactly your average stroll through the mountains. When we arrived in town, we picked up some ingredients for our main course that night; pizza! Our volunteer friend that was playing host had a brick oven, so we were going to attempt homemade brick oven pizzas. After buying the veggies and crust ingredients, we split up into two groups. One group took a taxi up the mountain to save their legs, and to carry all the luggage. The rest of us (only three of us including me), made the trek up the mountain by foot. Yes, after hiking 19k in the morning, I decided to repeat the mountain climb I did just a few days before. This time, I scaled it in about half the time, bouncing up the steepest parts with relative ease.
And as luck would have it, we arrived just as the rest of the group arrived with their escort. We unpacked and got started right away on the pizzas, since it was the evening by this point. There were about 14 of us altogether, including 6 trainees. Multiply by cooking time for pizzas, and it was readily obvious it might be a while before some people got to eat. Everyone did eventually get a pizza, though most of them turned out doughy. The oven just wasn't hot enough. The bread we baked after the pizzas did very well however, and we ate that for breakfast the next morning.
It was a great party overall, given all the different levels of experiences represented in the people there. Some were on their way out, others in their second year of service, and the 6 of us staring down the assignments we would be taking up in the coming weeks.
That night, 14 of us slept cramped in a house built for no more than 4, splayed out on the concrete floor in the living room. It looked like a jigsaw puzzle the way everyone's legs tangled together, but we all fit...barely. We awoke the next day stiff and sleep deprived, at least those of us who haven't trained ourselves in the art of claustrophobic communal resting on concrete floors. A few, not including me, announced to the rest of us how well they slept.
Our last day was here, and another adventure awaited.
PART VI
You'd think with 14 of us, we might hitch a ride with a bus up to Lushoto. But being the resourceful, rugged American Peace Corps Volunteers and Trainees that we are, we opted for the cheaper option, a daladala. Cheaper certainly at a price.
It would've actually been quite comfortable if it was just the 14 of us in the rickety van that was probably older than me, but the conductor, like all the others, had no sense of balance between maximizing the occupancy of the vehicle and maintaining its structural integrity. He simply tried to cram as many people in as possible, instructing the passengers in ways to fill the entire volume of the cabin, floor to ceiling. I had the privilege of sitting in the back with 5 people in a row built for 4, with one leg firmly jammed into the back of the seat ahead of me because of the gigantic semi-sized tire underneath my feet. As if that wasn't enough, we had bags upon bags of rice and flour piled on top of one another in the 3 inches of space between us and the back hatch, pushing us unwillingly into the fetal position.
Loaded with about 46 people at my own exaggerated estimate, we endured the 30 minute ride to town, which surely you can imagine seemed like being stuck in purgatory. Our plan, after deboarding and regaining sense of our limbs, was to stay in a hotel in town that night before us trainees made the trip back to Dar. We tried the "safi" (directly translated as "clean," but meaning "nice") hotels first, but both were booked completely with tourists on safaris, there to hike the mountains or passing through on their way undoubtedly to Kili or the Serengeti. We managed to book rooms at a hotel actually closer to the town proper than the other two, as luck would have it.
Many of us were still exhausted from the night before, but another opportunity for adventure beckoned us. Just a short hour and a half hike from where we were, there was a lookout point that gave a spectacular view of the plains of Tanzania in the area, and one of our hosts was willing to guide us there if we were up for the walk. Most of the group rejected the idea outright, while some were hesitant. Even after the 20k+ of hiking I did the day before, not to mention the mountainous descent I had done that morning for the second time, I was undeterred by another journey. It's been a long time since I've hiked anywhere, so I figured I'd take any chance I could get while I'm here.
Armed with rain jackets because of the looming cloud cover moving in, three of us set off for the viewpoint. The scenery on our walk was nothing short of what I expected from any area of Lushoto; graceful, gorgeous, and green. Our path winded around a mountain, much like many of the roads I travelled by bus the past 4 days. We greeted travellers as we walked, everyone impressed by our knowledge of the Kiswahili language and culturally appropriate greetings. It was evident that we were nearing our destination when the sky in front of us started getting bigger, finally reaching that point where the fixed horizon lowers and lowers as you close in on it. As we ascended the man-laid steps of stone up to the lookout point, a boy not older than 18 followed us up the hill, talking to us in English about his friend's taxi that could take us wherever we wanted. Even after declining 5 or 6 times, he "escorted" us to the lookout area to narrate the things we would see. We figured he would be looking for payment for his "services" once we began our return trip, so we decided to plan our descent accordingly.
There's not much I can tell you about what I saw, but I've uploaded a panormaic view taken at the lookout. Had there not been a large trash pile burning just below us, the view may have been a bit clearer. It was still spectacular to see though. It's hard to grasp the reality of the distance you can see, thinking "those mountains out there would be a 3 hour bus ride from where I stand." But ironically, it makes me want to find a higher viewpoint. "If I can go a little higher, maybe I could see Kili from here..." I suppose that's the part of me talking that wants to be an astronaut, the man that has the ultimate view of the Earth as he circles it endlessly.
By the time we arrived back at the hotel, we were sweaty, exhausted, with blisters on our feet, but filled with the spirit of nature. As a celebration of our completion of shadow, we went out that night to eat dinner on the streets in town. Accurately dubbed "street food," you sit on wobbly benches and eat native Tanzanian cuisine freshly prepared outside on the street. Some of us opted for the staples of rice and beans, while others risked sickness by eating chipsi mayai (french fries and eggs) and nyama choma (essentially a meat kabob). We finished our celebration at the local grocery, fraternizing over beers and sodas about our recent shared experiences and the ones yet to come.
Overall, shadow was very much like a vacation. After training hard for almost 8 weeks, we spent 5 days travelling on buses, hiking through mountains, and speaking mostly English. Probably not the best way to prepare for the Oral Proficience Interview that was 5 days away. But it was a welcome break from the everyday struggle to communicate, the lesson plans, and the arduous language training. We were nearing the light at the end of the tunnel, and we were happy.
November 30, 2009
delayed...
Sorry for the lack of action in the past few weeks, but it's been quite hectic since shadow, what with all the travelling and getting ready for the swear-in ceremony last Wednesday. I am now at site, so things are beginning to settle down. The three days I've spent here at site have been rough. It's like adjusting to life in a new place all over again, except you don't have a family waiting on you hand and foot. Luckily, some of the teachers/administration at the school have taken me under their wing as I learn how to live by myself in rural Tanzania, which is certainly not the easiest of tasks. Getting violently sick from food poisoning on the second day didn't help at all either, but I've recovered after 48 hours with the help and care of my fellow walimu (teachers). I'll be sure to post again soon, that's all for now!
November 21, 2009
shadow: the trailer
Last week, from Wednesday to Sunday, I shadowed a current volunteer in Tanzania to see what life as an actual PCV is like. I have been writing up the story of shadow for a few days now, and I'm fairly close to finishing it (it's a 6-part series, or thereabouts). But because I took lots of video last week, I want to wait to post the story until I can cut together some clips of the journey. Unfortunately, I'm running low on disk space on my netbook, and the hard drive my parents sent me hasn't arrived yet. So, it might be a little while until the story shows up on the blog. But rest assured, I will work feverishly in the first few weeks at site after swear-in to get it all done, considering I won't have anything better to do (at least that's what I hear about the first weeks at site).
In the meantime, I have uploaded pictures from shadow on Flickr. They probably tell the story better than I can describe it with words.
Sidenote: Swear-in is just 4 short days away! We head back to Dar on Tuesday, and swear-in is on Wednesday the 25th. I'm almost an official PCV!!
In the meantime, I have uploaded pictures from shadow on Flickr. They probably tell the story better than I can describe it with words.
Sidenote: Swear-in is just 4 short days away! We head back to Dar on Tuesday, and swear-in is on Wednesday the 25th. I'm almost an official PCV!!
November 7, 2009
a little tusker loosens the tongue...
I went to a bar north of Kihonda after our CCT day today. I was hoping for a meal, since there was talk the previous day of going to the "American" style bar near the center after our activities. However, since we decided not to go there, we ended up somewhere new (to some of us), but with good friends nonetheless. I was in good spirits, having just received my second care package with plenty of goodies, and gone through a CCT day that included a session on how to maintain a computer lab. Nerd alert!
Since I had just consumed a soda at CCT before we left, I decided to order a Tusker to balance out the sweetness. I don't know if I drank it too fast or what, but that one Tusker made me a little loopier than normal. Loopy enough that I felt the need to consume a bag or two of Goldfish from my handy care package. Thankfully I stabilized before we caught the daladala back to our village.
Still feeling the effects of the alcohol consumed 30 minutes prior, I walked into my house and greeted my mama in fluent Kiswahili. I then proceeded to use sentence structures I had only practiced in class quite flippantly in conversation. An interesting discovery. Tusker makes me better at Kiswahili. No wonder statistics show that PCVs say they drink more than before by COS. That's their secret to better language!
In no way do I really believe this, but I certainly do think the Tusker loosened the nervous grip of my own perfectionism. Just enough for me to let loose a few quick sentences that impressed even myself after they came out. And for the record, I just got through telling my wazazi (parents) about tomorrow's activities, only to find that the Tusker's magical abilities had worn off. I was back to my old crappy speech. Maybe one beer a day isn't such a bad idea, at least for the first few months while I continue to learn the language...
Since I had just consumed a soda at CCT before we left, I decided to order a Tusker to balance out the sweetness. I don't know if I drank it too fast or what, but that one Tusker made me a little loopier than normal. Loopy enough that I felt the need to consume a bag or two of Goldfish from my handy care package. Thankfully I stabilized before we caught the daladala back to our village.
Still feeling the effects of the alcohol consumed 30 minutes prior, I walked into my house and greeted my mama in fluent Kiswahili. I then proceeded to use sentence structures I had only practiced in class quite flippantly in conversation. An interesting discovery. Tusker makes me better at Kiswahili. No wonder statistics show that PCVs say they drink more than before by COS. That's their secret to better language!
In no way do I really believe this, but I certainly do think the Tusker loosened the nervous grip of my own perfectionism. Just enough for me to let loose a few quick sentences that impressed even myself after they came out. And for the record, I just got through telling my wazazi (parents) about tomorrow's activities, only to find that the Tusker's magical abilities had worn off. I was back to my old crappy speech. Maybe one beer a day isn't such a bad idea, at least for the first few months while I continue to learn the language...
November 2, 2009
mikumi
This weekend, we celebrated our one month anniversary, and the end of the first half of our training, by going on a safari! We didn't go to the Serengeti, since that's a few days travel from here, but to Mikumi National Park, which was about 2 hours on a daladala from CCT. We left the CCT on Saturday morning at about 9, arriving in Mikumi around 11:30, where we checked into our hotel (The Genesis), the most "luxurious" hotel in the area at a rate of $25 per night ($30 if you want your own room). After checking in, we all went out in search of food. A few of us stopped at a roadside eatery that featured true Tanzanian cuisine, a.k.a. rice, beans, and mchicha (Tanzanian boiled greens). While everyone else went to the Green Park restaurant, where prices soared to 6,000=/ per plate (approx. 6 USD), we spent only 2,000=/ for our authentic lunch (soda included).
We returned to the hotel to rest for a few hours before we hit the park for the first time. Some of us napped, some of us hung out on our little patios, and others got a drink at the in-hotel bar. At 2:45pm, we geared up for our first trip into Mikumi. We went in twice because we had 24 hour passes, which we could use twice...once in the evening on Saturday, and again in the morning on Sunday. This maximized the time we would get to see animals doing their thing, since they usually are not active during the hottest part of the day. We started our Saturday safari with a lion spotting, which we heard were quite rare at Mikumi. It was a male and a female napping in the shade under a tree. About 3 minutes into our rendezvous with the lions, we witnessed an even rarer occurrence, as they began to have sex! Check the pictures, pretty incredible.
Saturday evening was beautiful, featuring blue sky and lots of cumulus clouds, and an illuminated golden landscape. The trees in Mikumi are very sparse, which makes it look very "Africanesque." It's hard to describe the feeling it evokes, but it made me want to live in the wilderness. That's probably the best way to bring it to light. The park was covered in the fingerprints of God's Hands; animals in their natural setting, huge baobab trees twisting into the sky, and sun-drenched mountains in the background with the shadows of clouds crawling over them. Among the animals we saw both days:
We returned to the hotel to rest for a few hours before we hit the park for the first time. Some of us napped, some of us hung out on our little patios, and others got a drink at the in-hotel bar. At 2:45pm, we geared up for our first trip into Mikumi. We went in twice because we had 24 hour passes, which we could use twice...once in the evening on Saturday, and again in the morning on Sunday. This maximized the time we would get to see animals doing their thing, since they usually are not active during the hottest part of the day. We started our Saturday safari with a lion spotting, which we heard were quite rare at Mikumi. It was a male and a female napping in the shade under a tree. About 3 minutes into our rendezvous with the lions, we witnessed an even rarer occurrence, as they began to have sex! Check the pictures, pretty incredible.
Saturday evening was beautiful, featuring blue sky and lots of cumulus clouds, and an illuminated golden landscape. The trees in Mikumi are very sparse, which makes it look very "Africanesque." It's hard to describe the feeling it evokes, but it made me want to live in the wilderness. That's probably the best way to bring it to light. The park was covered in the fingerprints of God's Hands; animals in their natural setting, huge baobab trees twisting into the sky, and sun-drenched mountains in the background with the shadows of clouds crawling over them. Among the animals we saw both days:
- giraffes
- wildebeests
- warthogs
- zebras
- hippos
- crocodiles
- monkeys (baboons)
- impala
- elephants
- rhinos
October 28, 2009
things i'm glad i brought
I'm starting another short-post series, much like "small thoughts" and "wtf moments," where I dedicate a blog post to something that has been crucial to my comfort and success in my service, with the idea that it will help invitees and future trainees pack for their trip. In this post, I have two items I'd like to identify. First:
My Headlamp
This thing has seen some serious use in the past few weeks. I would be quite lost without it. Well, not necessarily, but it has contributed leaps and bounds to not only my own personal comfort, but also to my host family. Even in a homestay that has electricity like mine, a headlamp can be used every day. I use it at night when I turn out the lights in my room so I can properly tuck my mosquito net under my bed. When the electricity goes out in the evening (which is usually 2 or 3 times a week), it's usefulness quadruples. It's hands-free, so it's easy to use while cooking food, carrying things, washing pots, or just general business at night (choo visits). The other item I'd like to mention:
Baby Wipes
Tanzanians don't use toilet paper like Americans do (they use water and their left hand), although it is sold in many dukas (shops) in my area. Unfortunately, it's not the Charmin Ultra quintuple-ply super soft paper that my bottom is used to, so this can cause problems. Luckily, my parents thought to have me pack some baby wipes, and boy am I happy I did. I'm actually so happy I did, I'm having my parents send me more.
My Headlamp
This thing has seen some serious use in the past few weeks. I would be quite lost without it. Well, not necessarily, but it has contributed leaps and bounds to not only my own personal comfort, but also to my host family. Even in a homestay that has electricity like mine, a headlamp can be used every day. I use it at night when I turn out the lights in my room so I can properly tuck my mosquito net under my bed. When the electricity goes out in the evening (which is usually 2 or 3 times a week), it's usefulness quadruples. It's hands-free, so it's easy to use while cooking food, carrying things, washing pots, or just general business at night (choo visits). The other item I'd like to mention:
Baby Wipes
Tanzanians don't use toilet paper like Americans do (they use water and their left hand), although it is sold in many dukas (shops) in my area. Unfortunately, it's not the Charmin Ultra quintuple-ply super soft paper that my bottom is used to, so this can cause problems. Luckily, my parents thought to have me pack some baby wipes, and boy am I happy I did. I'm actually so happy I did, I'm having my parents send me more.
birthday
So I feel a little bad about this post, because my birthday yesterday wasn't really a big deal. My mama didn't find out until last night apparently, even though I figured if I told one of my brothers in the morning, the information would disseminate through the family (we've been told on multiple occasions this happens frequently with Volunteers simply because of their status). Well, it didn't this time, and my mama was a little upset that we didn't do anything special. Which isn't entirely true. I actually went to a bar in the afternoon and met a big chunk of my training class for cupcakes and drinks. It wasn't crazy as some might expect, but awesome nonetheless. In fact, a fellow trainee in my CBT was more visibly excited for my birthday than I was. We've slowly learned over the past few days that this is the kind of person she normally is, and that she's been hiding it from us until now. I'm glad my birthday could bring her out of her shell.
I also got to try the "pombe" here, which is the word for the local brew. It's actually not all that local, but it's banana beer, which is very different from normal beers. For one thing, it made my lips numb. Generally not a good sign when sipping alcohol. Maybe the fact it was 10% alcohol had something to do with that? And of course for this reason, I could not finish it. Not that I didn't enjoy it at all, it actually didn't taste too bad, but we have been warned to steer clear of the "pombe." They aren't always brewed in conditions we would consider sanitary...
So overall, yesterday was a great day. To end the day, I cooked and talked with my mama, which made me feel really good. My Kiswahili was very good last night for some reason. Probably a God thing.
Photo update: The internet cafe where I've been uploading pictures has decided to block flickr.com, and thus far I haven't been able to circumvent it. I'm still working on this issue, but if I can't find a solution soon, I may upload some photos to Facebook. I'll keep you all posted, because I have been taking tons of pictures! So many that my hard drive is just about full now, which is another problem itself.
I also got to try the "pombe" here, which is the word for the local brew. It's actually not all that local, but it's banana beer, which is very different from normal beers. For one thing, it made my lips numb. Generally not a good sign when sipping alcohol. Maybe the fact it was 10% alcohol had something to do with that? And of course for this reason, I could not finish it. Not that I didn't enjoy it at all, it actually didn't taste too bad, but we have been warned to steer clear of the "pombe." They aren't always brewed in conditions we would consider sanitary...
So overall, yesterday was a great day. To end the day, I cooked and talked with my mama, which made me feel really good. My Kiswahili was very good last night for some reason. Probably a God thing.
Photo update: The internet cafe where I've been uploading pictures has decided to block flickr.com, and thus far I haven't been able to circumvent it. I'm still working on this issue, but if I can't find a solution soon, I may upload some photos to Facebook. I'll keep you all posted, because I have been taking tons of pictures! So many that my hard drive is just about full now, which is another problem itself.
October 18, 2009
wtf moments
We've all had those twilight zone moments in our lives, where you think "what in the world is going on???" My night last night was like this.
Yesterday, I cooked with my CBT in the morning before we took a trip to a school near CCT to play some sports. When I told my mama about the sports day we were having, she informed me that my brother was going to a celebration after dark, and that I would be joining him. So she inquired what time I would be home, and I informed her it wouldn't be later than 6 (the "celebration" started at 7).
After the sports day, I came home and greeted my baba, and then I asked him about the party I was supposed to go to. He told me it was a wedding ceremony, and my mind started to wander. There's already been a few stories about weddings floating around our training class, all of them generally not good. But I was ready to try something new, and I thought it would be fun to see another part of the culture. Given the title of this post, you can see where this is going.
One thing I wasn't expecting...it got cold. And I had a long sleeve dress shirt on. The reception was outdoors, and the night winds were whipping. It even threatened to rain a few times, which would have been quite awful had the sky opened up. Of course, that isn't the wtf moment. First, we need to bring some alcohol into the mix. So when we entered the reception, we receieved two "coupons" for drinks, which my kaka exchanged for two Castle beers for me. For all of you that are unaware, Tanzanian beers are almost twice as big as American beers and contain higher concentrations of alcohol. The Castle beers we had at the wedding were 12 proof. It wasn't long before I realized I was in trouble. I'm well aware of my lightweight status when it comes to consuming alcohol, so I was fairly sure my second beer wasn't even going to be opened. After finishing half of my first beer, I felt light-headed and quite sleepy (remember sports day earlier today?).
Then the hunger set in. My CBT ate our brunch at 12 noon, but it was brunch. We ate fruit, eggs, and bread. Not exactly enough to sustain me for the next 10 hours. But it had to, because we didn't get food at this wedding until 10pm. And here's the wtf moment. Standing in line for food, I noticed the girl at the end of the serving line looked awfully familiar. I thought, "what??? That doesn't make any sense, why would she be here for one, and why in the world would she be serving food???" I was convinced it was someone else, and left it to my imagination that she was in my training class. But sure enough, when I got to the end of the line...
"Hey Dave."
"What are you doing here???"
"Serving you food, what does it look like?"
"What in the world is going on...there's a story here, isn't there..."
"Oh, there is..."
To reiterate, wtf?
What's funny is this would've made the perfect mefloquin-induced vivid dream (mefloquin is my anti-malarial drug). Why on earth it actually happened, I haven't the slightest, but I will definitely get the story from my friend about serving food at the wedding and share it. My mind has been buzzing all night with ideas about what the Peace Corps really does behind the scenes. I was telling my kaka on the walk home that it felt like the Peace Corps was orchestrating these weird situations on purpose to see how we react. Almost like a big brother reality show. But of course, delirium and exhaustion can make you think and say crazy things.
I still can't get over that "wtf???" feeling, though...
Yesterday, I cooked with my CBT in the morning before we took a trip to a school near CCT to play some sports. When I told my mama about the sports day we were having, she informed me that my brother was going to a celebration after dark, and that I would be joining him. So she inquired what time I would be home, and I informed her it wouldn't be later than 6 (the "celebration" started at 7).
After the sports day, I came home and greeted my baba, and then I asked him about the party I was supposed to go to. He told me it was a wedding ceremony, and my mind started to wander. There's already been a few stories about weddings floating around our training class, all of them generally not good. But I was ready to try something new, and I thought it would be fun to see another part of the culture. Given the title of this post, you can see where this is going.
One thing I wasn't expecting...it got cold. And I had a long sleeve dress shirt on. The reception was outdoors, and the night winds were whipping. It even threatened to rain a few times, which would have been quite awful had the sky opened up. Of course, that isn't the wtf moment. First, we need to bring some alcohol into the mix. So when we entered the reception, we receieved two "coupons" for drinks, which my kaka exchanged for two Castle beers for me. For all of you that are unaware, Tanzanian beers are almost twice as big as American beers and contain higher concentrations of alcohol. The Castle beers we had at the wedding were 12 proof. It wasn't long before I realized I was in trouble. I'm well aware of my lightweight status when it comes to consuming alcohol, so I was fairly sure my second beer wasn't even going to be opened. After finishing half of my first beer, I felt light-headed and quite sleepy (remember sports day earlier today?).
Then the hunger set in. My CBT ate our brunch at 12 noon, but it was brunch. We ate fruit, eggs, and bread. Not exactly enough to sustain me for the next 10 hours. But it had to, because we didn't get food at this wedding until 10pm. And here's the wtf moment. Standing in line for food, I noticed the girl at the end of the serving line looked awfully familiar. I thought, "what??? That doesn't make any sense, why would she be here for one, and why in the world would she be serving food???" I was convinced it was someone else, and left it to my imagination that she was in my training class. But sure enough, when I got to the end of the line...
"Hey Dave."
"What are you doing here???"
"Serving you food, what does it look like?"
"What in the world is going on...there's a story here, isn't there..."
"Oh, there is..."
To reiterate, wtf?
What's funny is this would've made the perfect mefloquin-induced vivid dream (mefloquin is my anti-malarial drug). Why on earth it actually happened, I haven't the slightest, but I will definitely get the story from my friend about serving food at the wedding and share it. My mind has been buzzing all night with ideas about what the Peace Corps really does behind the scenes. I was telling my kaka on the walk home that it felt like the Peace Corps was orchestrating these weird situations on purpose to see how we react. Almost like a big brother reality show. But of course, delirium and exhaustion can make you think and say crazy things.
I still can't get over that "wtf???" feeling, though...
EDIT: I know this is long overdue, but I don't want to leave future readers hanging. The resolution of this story is that my friend, Charlotte, was living with one of the families involved in the wedding. As a "family member," she had to serve food at the reception. Certainly not the kind of experience you would expect to have during your Pre-Service Training in the Peace Corps.
masterpiece
Deep down, I think we all have the desire to create a masterpiece.
Of course, not all of us are painters like Picasso was, but I'm not talking in the artistic sense. There is a more general definition of "masterpiece" that I learned in my winter session art history class, way back in that time when I was in college. The general definition of a masterpiece is a revelation or a theory that articulates or reveals something about the human condition or consciousness that was previously unknown (this is my own paraphrase, so please correct me if you have a more accurate definition). Essentially, you do something new, something that hasn't been done before. And it's good.
We usually talk about "masterpieces" in terms of art, but it can be applied to other things as well. Albert Einstein's Theory of General Relativity is a pretty good example. It articulated something that was previously unknown, the properties of mass and space. It blew minds. It still blows minds today. And I think everyone longs to contribute something like this to our human culture. I know I do. How many people can say they've figured something out that no one else has?
I think this is what I'm finding a bit daunting about teaching at the moment. Essentially, my charge as a teacher is to create a masterpiece every day. To clarify or bring to light something that, to the audience, was previously unclarified or, in many cases, completely unknown. Now throw a language barrier into the mix. As if teaching wasn't already challenging enough!
Yes, of course teaching is hard. You're attempting to open up worlds to young minds. And I'm convinced this is why there's such polarization when it comes to teachers. There are many teachers that love their jobs, because they see their students discover the unknown every day. And then there's teachers that...well, they're awful to say the least. These teachers not only miss opportunities to make an impact, but they can even hamper the chances of future success. While I'm fairly confident in my ability not to become one of these bitter teachers that poison their students, I'm a bit scared of being average. Average in many cases is worse than being good or bad. It's even biblical (see Revelation 3:15-16).
So amidst the flurry of prayers that casually flow through my mind each day, I lift up my hope to create a masterpiece every day for those students that will be in my class come January, whatever it is I happen to be teaching.
Of course, not all of us are painters like Picasso was, but I'm not talking in the artistic sense. There is a more general definition of "masterpiece" that I learned in my winter session art history class, way back in that time when I was in college. The general definition of a masterpiece is a revelation or a theory that articulates or reveals something about the human condition or consciousness that was previously unknown (this is my own paraphrase, so please correct me if you have a more accurate definition). Essentially, you do something new, something that hasn't been done before. And it's good.
We usually talk about "masterpieces" in terms of art, but it can be applied to other things as well. Albert Einstein's Theory of General Relativity is a pretty good example. It articulated something that was previously unknown, the properties of mass and space. It blew minds. It still blows minds today. And I think everyone longs to contribute something like this to our human culture. I know I do. How many people can say they've figured something out that no one else has?
I think this is what I'm finding a bit daunting about teaching at the moment. Essentially, my charge as a teacher is to create a masterpiece every day. To clarify or bring to light something that, to the audience, was previously unclarified or, in many cases, completely unknown. Now throw a language barrier into the mix. As if teaching wasn't already challenging enough!
Yes, of course teaching is hard. You're attempting to open up worlds to young minds. And I'm convinced this is why there's such polarization when it comes to teachers. There are many teachers that love their jobs, because they see their students discover the unknown every day. And then there's teachers that...well, they're awful to say the least. These teachers not only miss opportunities to make an impact, but they can even hamper the chances of future success. While I'm fairly confident in my ability not to become one of these bitter teachers that poison their students, I'm a bit scared of being average. Average in many cases is worse than being good or bad. It's even biblical (see Revelation 3:15-16).
So amidst the flurry of prayers that casually flow through my mind each day, I lift up my hope to create a masterpiece every day for those students that will be in my class come January, whatever it is I happen to be teaching.
magic couches
The couches in my host family's living room have a magical power. It almost never fails. Within about 10 minutes of sitting on these couches, I start to lose consciousness. It doesn't matter if it's nighttime, in the morning 20 minutes after I wake up, or in the afternoon while we watch poorly acted kung fu movies. I don't know what it is, maybe it's the posture they force me into because of how firm the cushions are. And seriously, these couches have some firm cushions. But it's quite strange that I can fall asleep on them considering how uncomfortably I have to sit on them. I suppose I still haven't adjusted to life here in Africa and my body's natural response to this is to shut down. Hopefully I'll start adjusting soon, because I'd really like to listen to the Kiswahili Bible readings we have every night in our living room sometime.
October 15, 2009
small thoughts
There are birds nesting up in the roof of our CBT classroom, and within the past two or three days, we've seen two dead baby birds on the floor. Today, one of them fell on one of my fellow trainees before it hit the ground. A bit traumatizing, really. But my question is, what's the deal with the parents of these baby birds?? Either you need to find a better place to nest, or keep your babies in check. We would prefer not to clean up your dead babies anymore.
nyerere day
October 14th is the day that Tanzania's first president, Julius Nyerere, died back in 1999. It is now a national holiday, and people observe it by staying home from school, attending festivals of sorts, and having parades. I only did one of those, the first namely, although I watched what looked like some sort of festival or parade on TV. I've also been watching Nyerere's speeches all day today, and apparently he's hilarious. I don't understand a lot of the things he says unfortunately (except when he starts speaking English), but I look forward to the day when I can finally understand Kiswahili enough to be able to go back and hear all of his jokes.
This year happens to be the 10th year anniversary of his death, as you could've guessed given the year I gave in the previous paragraph. Since this is the only Nyerere day I've experienced, I don't know if this one has been particularly special, but I do know he is held in very high esteem here in Tanzania. While my family didn't really do anything out of the ordinary today, they all have a healthy respect for Nyerere and the things he's done for the country. I can certainly understand why, considering his legacy is still fairly modern. And a president that makes you laugh every time he gives a speech is a winner in my book.
This year happens to be the 10th year anniversary of his death, as you could've guessed given the year I gave in the previous paragraph. Since this is the only Nyerere day I've experienced, I don't know if this one has been particularly special, but I do know he is held in very high esteem here in Tanzania. While my family didn't really do anything out of the ordinary today, they all have a healthy respect for Nyerere and the things he's done for the country. I can certainly understand why, considering his legacy is still fairly modern. And a president that makes you laugh every time he gives a speech is a winner in my book.
October 13, 2009
small thoughts
What is up with these cockroaches getting all up in my toothbrush?? I've found one hiding inside my toothbrush cover twice now, and this one was decidely bigger than the first. It wouldn't bother me so much if they were hanging out in the cover when my toothbrush wasn't in it. I suppose it's time to take some more proactive preventative measures to make sure this doesn't happen again. But seriously, why do roaches love my toothbrush...
church in africa
It's different. I'll just go ahead and put it out there. That's the gist of it.
The service length, as you might suspect, is a bit longer than the short-and-sweet, just-under-an-hour American variety. I don't object to this personally, but I'm not going to lie and tell you I haven't looked at my watch. I doubt that many people would want to spend 2+ hours listening to a sermon they can't understand, and then stand awkwardly with the congregation and observe while everyone else sings songs. That's pretty much what church has been like for me since being here. I try my best to listen for words I know, and then when I get tired of doing that, I have my devotional book and Bible with me so I can at least stay focused on God.
I do get excited when I understand little phrases, though. During one song, I caught part of a verse that says "...na Wewe, Bwana" ("...with You, God"). It was stuck in my head the rest of the day. And during a sermon, I heard the pastor referring to "Yoshua."
Small sidenote::
::End of sidenote
I am currently reading the book of Joshua, for a few reasons. Reason 1, God showed me Joshua 21:45 the second day of my homestay, which I texted to my dad. A couple days later, my dad informed me that pastor Mike at PC3 had mentioned Joshua's crossing the Jordan in his sermon (reason 2). Then I found out the Levites were in Joshua, of which I remember a friend telling me about and comparing me to before I left (reason 3). On Sunday and Monday night, "Yoshua" was the scripture of our family devotional (reason 4). I have deduced that this is God's voice calling me to check into Joshua.
Ex Officio Update: I promised some of you back home to keep you informed of my underwear situation, which you are interested in because I wrote about it in one of the first posts on this blog. If you need a refresher, all you need to know is I only brought 3 pairs of underwear with me for two years. Ex Officio status is good! No problems whatsoever with any pairs so far, they have all washed clean and dried quickly just as advertised. Generally speaking, I've been washing underwear every week, so I 'll wear two pairs for about 6 days and then switch to the third on Sunday, freeing the other two to be washed. I actually think I could've gotten away with two pairs at this point, although I've only been here long enough for two or three wash cycles. In case you're wondering, my 2 undershirts are also doing well, although the collars have changed colors a bit, from white to slightly brownish. It doesn't really matter, since you aren't supposed to see the undershirt, just the effects of it.
The next update should include something about Nyerere Day, which is on October 14th (tomorrow at the time of this writing). Hope you all are enjoying the fall back in the US, because I'm definitely jonesing for it over here in the heat...while drinking my hot chai...
The service length, as you might suspect, is a bit longer than the short-and-sweet, just-under-an-hour American variety. I don't object to this personally, but I'm not going to lie and tell you I haven't looked at my watch. I doubt that many people would want to spend 2+ hours listening to a sermon they can't understand, and then stand awkwardly with the congregation and observe while everyone else sings songs. That's pretty much what church has been like for me since being here. I try my best to listen for words I know, and then when I get tired of doing that, I have my devotional book and Bible with me so I can at least stay focused on God.
I do get excited when I understand little phrases, though. During one song, I caught part of a verse that says "...na Wewe, Bwana" ("...with You, God"). It was stuck in my head the rest of the day. And during a sermon, I heard the pastor referring to "Yoshua."
Small sidenote::
When Tanzanians pronounce the "J" sound, it sounds like a "Y" to us, even though we've been told over and over by our LCFs that it's a hard "J" after we've pronounced it as a soft "J." I have resolved to simply hammer every "J" in my Kiswahili, even though it sounds like I'm butchering the language. I've been told by my LCF many times that I sound like a native speaker, which I think is why Tanzanians love to talk so fast to me. They think I know a lot more of the language than I actually do, so I have to tell them to "sema polepole, tafadhali!" ("speak slowly, please!")
::End of sidenote
I am currently reading the book of Joshua, for a few reasons. Reason 1, God showed me Joshua 21:45 the second day of my homestay, which I texted to my dad. A couple days later, my dad informed me that pastor Mike at PC3 had mentioned Joshua's crossing the Jordan in his sermon (reason 2). Then I found out the Levites were in Joshua, of which I remember a friend telling me about and comparing me to before I left (reason 3). On Sunday and Monday night, "Yoshua" was the scripture of our family devotional (reason 4). I have deduced that this is God's voice calling me to check into Joshua.
Ex Officio Update: I promised some of you back home to keep you informed of my underwear situation, which you are interested in because I wrote about it in one of the first posts on this blog. If you need a refresher, all you need to know is I only brought 3 pairs of underwear with me for two years. Ex Officio status is good! No problems whatsoever with any pairs so far, they have all washed clean and dried quickly just as advertised. Generally speaking, I've been washing underwear every week, so I 'll wear two pairs for about 6 days and then switch to the third on Sunday, freeing the other two to be washed. I actually think I could've gotten away with two pairs at this point, although I've only been here long enough for two or three wash cycles. In case you're wondering, my 2 undershirts are also doing well, although the collars have changed colors a bit, from white to slightly brownish. It doesn't really matter, since you aren't supposed to see the undershirt, just the effects of it.
The next update should include something about Nyerere Day, which is on October 14th (tomorrow at the time of this writing). Hope you all are enjoying the fall back in the US, because I'm definitely jonesing for it over here in the heat...while drinking my hot chai...
October 10, 2009
processing homestay experience
This is what is on the schedule every morning we have sessions with our CBT, and I found it quite funny the first time I saw it last week. Not that it was actually funny, but because I knew it would be very necessary and that there would be stories.
I've been in the homestay for about 2 weeks, and it's been quite the experience. What's weird is that I had this dual-sided attitude going into it, thinking "I need to stay humble and be prepared for challenges," but really in the back of my mind thinking "this isn't really much of an adjustment, it's not a big deal." I've found out after only 2 weeks that even the small adjustments have the capacity to wear you down over time. Things like bedtimes, eating times, and even chai breaks have had their effect.
Chai is something that was very foreign to us at the beginning of our training. It isn't breakfast, because that was 2 hours ago, and it isn't quite lunch, because that isn't for another 2 hours. It's 10 in the morning and there's practically another meal occurring. Many of us did not eat at chai during the first few days. After a week, however, we have come to love chai very much. To the point that we miss it when there is no chai. Which brings me to another point.
Hot beverages. I don't know why people drink nothing but hot beverages here, but they do. It seems counter-intuitive given the climate; hot and hotter. The only drinks you can get cold here are soda and, on occasion, water (as far as I know). But it's another adjustment many of us have eased into over the past few weeks. While I drank no hot beverages almost at all in America, I have at least two every day now. When we missed chai last Saturday at our school because it was the weekend, we really missed chai. We actually paid for it today because we wanted it so badly. I'm fairly certain this is something many of us will be bringing back to the United States. It may even get us fired at our new government jobs when we get back because of our refusal to work at 10am.
I've been in the homestay for about 2 weeks, and it's been quite the experience. What's weird is that I had this dual-sided attitude going into it, thinking "I need to stay humble and be prepared for challenges," but really in the back of my mind thinking "this isn't really much of an adjustment, it's not a big deal." I've found out after only 2 weeks that even the small adjustments have the capacity to wear you down over time. Things like bedtimes, eating times, and even chai breaks have had their effect.
Chai is something that was very foreign to us at the beginning of our training. It isn't breakfast, because that was 2 hours ago, and it isn't quite lunch, because that isn't for another 2 hours. It's 10 in the morning and there's practically another meal occurring. Many of us did not eat at chai during the first few days. After a week, however, we have come to love chai very much. To the point that we miss it when there is no chai. Which brings me to another point.
Hot beverages. I don't know why people drink nothing but hot beverages here, but they do. It seems counter-intuitive given the climate; hot and hotter. The only drinks you can get cold here are soda and, on occasion, water (as far as I know). But it's another adjustment many of us have eased into over the past few weeks. While I drank no hot beverages almost at all in America, I have at least two every day now. When we missed chai last Saturday at our school because it was the weekend, we really missed chai. We actually paid for it today because we wanted it so badly. I'm fairly certain this is something many of us will be bringing back to the United States. It may even get us fired at our new government jobs when we get back because of our refusal to work at 10am.
October 3, 2009
title post
Like many music albums have a title track, or a song for which an album is named, I am dubbing this entry the "title post," as the freshness has now started.
The first week in Tanzania has been full of blessings and challenges. Maybe overflowing is a better word. Some of the challenges:
Some of the blessings:
Both lists could certainly go on. Spirits have generally been good, although everyone has had their ordeal with something. For many it was having trouble sleeping. For me, it was the malaria self-test.
On Friday, we had our session "All About Malaria." Our PCMO (Peace Corps Medical Officer) gave a lecture on what it is, why we should take it seriously, and how to prevent getting infected. In the case that we do actually contract malaria, we need to be able to confirm this with a malaria self-test. It looks very much like a pregnancy test, in that it will show you one or two lines depending on whether the test is positive or negative. To take the test, a drop of blood is required, which is where this story begins. At the end of the lecture, we were given the self-test "kit" to try it out. Along with the testing stick, there is a pin, with which you prick your own finger. Many of us, including me, did not know the proper procedure for extracting a drop of blood from a finger, which resulted in a few bloody messes and some failed malaria tests. I'm not sure if it was the jet lag, the change in diet causing an empty stomach, the medication, or maybe the 3 vaccinations I had gotten eariler that morning, but my self-test in particular did not go very well. My first attempt at pricking only produced enough blood to fill the small crevases in my finger. At this point, I should've realized that my blood was looking a bit thin, but since everyone else was having trouble, I thought I'd give it another go. Upon pricking a second time in the same finger, going a bit deeper this time, I produced quite a bit more. My strategy of squeezing the finger and trying to let gravity create a drop proved a grave mistake, as the blood simply stuck to my finger via friction (van der Waal's forces maybe?). Trying to smear it into the little hole the blood is supposed to go into didn't work, and by this time I noticed my hands shaking a bit. Before I knew it, I was getting tunnel vision and I started to lose my hearing. I'm not sure how much time passed before the PCMO walked by to check on me, but when my head came out from between my legs, she let me know that I should contact the local office to get the test done by someone else in the future. Quite embarrassing really, but the cold sweat from nearly blacking out actually did a wonderful job of keeping me cool for the next few hours.
Currently, I just got back from a tour at the Peace Corps Office in Dar es Salaam, which is quite nice. We had a few learning sessions there, and were treated to fresh veggies at lunch, something that's missing in the diet at the hostel we're currently staying in. Our first week is almost over, and from what I hear from the staff and trainers, the first week is a little bit like la-la land (which is funny, because "lala" in Kiswahili means "sleep"). PST really begins with the homestay, which will be the first major challenge we all face. There's one more day to prepare us before we leave the city and meet our host families. Everybody is buzzing with excitement, and all of us are eager to begin our service in what we've heard is the gem of the Peace Corps!
The first week in Tanzania has been full of blessings and challenges. Maybe overflowing is a better word. Some of the challenges:
- passport troubles at the airport
- learning to sleep under a net
- figuring out how to properly set up said net
- dealing with jet lag and malaria drug side-effects
- adjusting to a very starchy diet
- the malaria self-test (story to follow)
- staying properly hydrated
- trusting the Steripen
- greeting strangers in Kiswahili
- understanding Kiswahili being spoken to me
Some of the blessings:
- everyone made it to Tanzania!
- no major health problems for anyone yet
- the desire to learn Kiswahili (many of us are picking up the language very quickly!)
- the overall friendliness of Tanzanians
- abundant friendships
- having two current TZ PCVs help us with questions
- the entire PST staff
Both lists could certainly go on. Spirits have generally been good, although everyone has had their ordeal with something. For many it was having trouble sleeping. For me, it was the malaria self-test.
On Friday, we had our session "All About Malaria." Our PCMO (Peace Corps Medical Officer) gave a lecture on what it is, why we should take it seriously, and how to prevent getting infected. In the case that we do actually contract malaria, we need to be able to confirm this with a malaria self-test. It looks very much like a pregnancy test, in that it will show you one or two lines depending on whether the test is positive or negative. To take the test, a drop of blood is required, which is where this story begins. At the end of the lecture, we were given the self-test "kit" to try it out. Along with the testing stick, there is a pin, with which you prick your own finger. Many of us, including me, did not know the proper procedure for extracting a drop of blood from a finger, which resulted in a few bloody messes and some failed malaria tests. I'm not sure if it was the jet lag, the change in diet causing an empty stomach, the medication, or maybe the 3 vaccinations I had gotten eariler that morning, but my self-test in particular did not go very well. My first attempt at pricking only produced enough blood to fill the small crevases in my finger. At this point, I should've realized that my blood was looking a bit thin, but since everyone else was having trouble, I thought I'd give it another go. Upon pricking a second time in the same finger, going a bit deeper this time, I produced quite a bit more. My strategy of squeezing the finger and trying to let gravity create a drop proved a grave mistake, as the blood simply stuck to my finger via friction (van der Waal's forces maybe?). Trying to smear it into the little hole the blood is supposed to go into didn't work, and by this time I noticed my hands shaking a bit. Before I knew it, I was getting tunnel vision and I started to lose my hearing. I'm not sure how much time passed before the PCMO walked by to check on me, but when my head came out from between my legs, she let me know that I should contact the local office to get the test done by someone else in the future. Quite embarrassing really, but the cold sweat from nearly blacking out actually did a wonderful job of keeping me cool for the next few hours.
Currently, I just got back from a tour at the Peace Corps Office in Dar es Salaam, which is quite nice. We had a few learning sessions there, and were treated to fresh veggies at lunch, something that's missing in the diet at the hostel we're currently staying in. Our first week is almost over, and from what I hear from the staff and trainers, the first week is a little bit like la-la land (which is funny, because "lala" in Kiswahili means "sleep"). PST really begins with the homestay, which will be the first major challenge we all face. There's one more day to prepare us before we leave the city and meet our host families. Everybody is buzzing with excitement, and all of us are eager to begin our service in what we've heard is the gem of the Peace Corps!
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