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.
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