Add Music Teacher to the Resume

Like I said in the last post, I have joined the singing/dancing church choir, and so far it has been great. But now, at the request of Fr. Method, we are singing Handel’s Halleluja Chorus in Kiswahili for Easter!  As I also said in the last post, we don’t use notes or music– we only have the words and learn by ear.  But, when you have a milllion “Aleluyas” you tend to forget what each Aleluya sounds like.  So Cara and I took the music and were able to copy down our parts and write in the notes to help us remember.  Well the sisters thought that was pretty neat and we were hired as teachers.  So now I am teaching intervals and counting, which is something new for these African Sisters.  Most of their songs sound rather similar to each other and nothing is particularly difficult about them exept saying about five kiswahili words in 2 beats of music.  So I am the section leader for Voice 1.

Now if you know me or remember, I have very poor rhythm in music and never really learned to read music well– so you can just imagine my struggle teaching counting!  But I have the most experience of any of them, so I guess well get it eventually.  God help us.  Because they now think we are both music teachers (Cara is!) they all have wanted the notes to, so I’ve made copies and written the part for Voice 4.  I don’t know if it is really helping, but again, we’re trying here.  Another reason we are going to need prayers is that the Sisters have no vocal technique.  Most Africans are blessed with pretty good voices, but when you are trying to hit a high A, you need a little technique to make it sound less deafening.  If and when we ever learn the music well enough, I think I might try to give a brief lesson on using your voice correctly to get those notes!

So, next to librarian, peanut butter maker, wine maker, expert paper shuffler, barber, weed picker, just add music teacher.  Anyone know a job that requires these amazing talents?  I’m looking!

The African Choir Experience

Yes, I have done it, I have finally joined the dancing/singing Imiliwaha church choir. Thank goodness it’s Lent now and there is no dancing!! Of course I was welcomed with open arms and lots of Congratulations! We sing all in Kiswahili, with no notes or printed books. Practices consist of singing and writing the words down as fast as you can. The nuns, especially voice Number 1, where I am, are like a bunch of middle school girls, laughing, talking in class and even passing notes (which I think are just about the songs, but it is STILL passing notes). We practice every Monday, Wednesday, Friday and Sunday—which is necessary since there are no notes and we must memorize the melody and write down the words. And, this being Africa with no sense of time, practice usually begins a half hour late every time, so I make sure to bring a reading book while I wait. You’ll be happy to find out I have not adjusted to the African time schedule, I’m still on time to everything.
I have sung 2 masses now and will be singing this Sunday. I’m dreading when the Easter season comes and we add dancing to the singing—I can sing just fine, but my body rhythm is crap. Oh, well, it is an experience and it’s another thing to keep me busy from morning until night.

10 Wazungu Women, Leonnart and a Monk

This blog could be called multiple things:

11 Wazungu and a Monk on Safari
10 Wazungu Women, Leonnart and a Monk on Safari
OR
Wild Animals and Whip Lash

These briefly describe my first and probably last safari on this experience. I don’t think Africa would be complete without a safari, so when we heard that the Hanga folk, Ana and Leonnart, had organized a car and monk, we asked if we could come along. Being on Safari meant being a real tourist, so I broke out the pants (I’ve been wearing skirts just about everyday at the convent to “fit it”—don’t know if it works or not, but oh well) and even the sunglasses that I don’t dare wear anywhere else because then I really look like a tourist and a whimp.
Our National Park of choice and convenience was Ruaha National Park near Iringa, Tanzania. Well, as the title say we went with more than just Ana and Leonnart. In one Land Cruiser we had 2 Austrians, 2 Germans, 5 Italians, 2 Americans and 1 African, which equaled 6 native German speakers, 3 native Italian speakers, 2 English speakers and 1 Kiswahili speaker—only in Africa would you find such a conglomeration!!
We headed off on Friday, February 13th after waiting an hour and 15 minutes for a meal of potatoes and eggs, affectionately known as Chips Myai at a hotel. We then piled in—Francesa, Petritia and Maria from Italy and veterinarians at Hanga, Ana and Leonnart, Cara and I and Doris and Julia, from Italy at Imiliwaha in the back and then Eva and Wilma and Br. Justin in the front, along with backpacks for everyone and provisions—it was quite a bus especially when you try to get comfortable for a three hour car ride to Iringa. People had legs up, hands hanging out the windows and shoulders for pillows. Now, the title is Wild Animals and Whip Lash because Br. Justin loved the two most important things in a Tanzanian vehicle, the brakes and the car horn. Between speed bumps, stray goats and cows and just passing other cars, I got thrown forward more often in those three hours than I have in my entire life. But I don’t think I can complain too much—it was a party!!
Iringa is a beautiful city, situated on top of a mountain overlooking other hills and an expanse of fields, wet lands and Serengeti trees. We caught a glimpse at sun down and it looked like we had driven onto the set of the Lion King. We stayed at the Executive Lodge in Iringa’s University. Cara and I took a single room together to save money, so we had Cara on the floor—she said she didn’t mind. We even had a TV and I wanted to find the BBC and catch up on the world, but all I found was some bad music videos and horrible soap operas.
At 6 AM the next morning, Valentines Day, we were piled again into our Land Cruiser with our food and our cameras. We had another 2 ½ hour drive to the park on a mostly gravel road. The day was perfect—sunny with only a few whispy clouds in the sky, perfect for safari. I could continue to describe the park and the animals, but that would be almost fruitless because the pictures we have are each worth about 1 million words. Another reason that we suffered from whiplash was because we saw animals and had to yell Stop! at Br. Justin, who, loving his brakes, sent us flying. We say wonderful amounts of giraffes, elephants, gazelles, impalas and zebras. Lots of animals crossed the road right in front of us and we almost had an elephant look as if he wanted to chase us down the street. One thing I didn’t realize about Ruaha is that it’s almost a self contained place, complete with mini airfield for the wealthy people who just can’t endure the public transportation, and houses and schools for the guides and their families!
We spent about 4 hours in the park and probably saw more animals than our poor friend Eliza saw in 2 days.
That night a bunch of us sat in the Lodge bar and just chatted and it reminded me of Ireland. We then headed back the next day, probably the shortest safari in history, but we came, we saw and we left. Can’t wait to show you all the pictures!!

Karanga, Karanga, Karanga

Many of the children at the orphange have a lack of protein, so an inexpensive way to fatten them up is peanuts. Peanuts grow in Tanzania like weeds do in Minnesota lawns.  So, every morning the children get peanuts.  The larger children have no problem eatting a handful of karanga, but the toddlers cannot eat them safely, so they need peanut butter.   And guess who makes it– me!!  Another job to keep me busy. 

Now, there are no machines to make peanut butter, so it is all by hand.  We buy the peanuts shelled, but raw and unclean.  I first have to clean the peanuts with some water, get the dirt off.  Then they have to be roasted in the wood burning stove.  I’m not too good at this, so usually Sr. Stella Maris or the workers do it for me.  After roasting I have to get the skin off the peanuts because the skin prevents the peanuts from sticking together in the butter.  To do this I put the peanuts in a wide basket and rub the peanuts against the bottom.  Depending on how many I have, this can take between 20 and 40 minutes to skin the peanuts. 

Then I have to put the peanuts in a large mortar and pestal and kutwanga, or pound until I have a paste.  This step in the process can take between 30 and 40 minutes.  Many times I have the older children help me out.  It’s so cold and the clothes these kids have are so poor that they are shivering and the pounding warms them up a bit.  And, because they help, they get an extra handful of peanuts.

Because the mortar and pestal still leaves some big chunks, I have to take the paste out and use a wooden board and a glass bottle to make it really smooth.  And then you have peanut butter, which the kids love!!  I can make about 1 cup of peanut butter in 2 1/2 hours– this will be good for about 2 days with 20 little ones to feed. 

I would love to do this process at home, but peanuts are not as cheap and I don’t know how I would get a mortar and pestal home on the plane– but I’ll have to see.  I can tell you though that homemade peanut butter with no salt or oil is the best peanut butter you will ever have!!

25 Things

This was a facebook message things, but I thought I would post it here too because these are just some random experiences/tidbits from my Africa experience that are amusing.

1) In Imiliwaha, my home in Africa, I sleep with 4 heavy blankets. We’re one of the highest villages in Tanzania and it’s the rainy season = damp cold = 4 blankets. Who ever said Africa was hot?

2) I eat completely organically, except for a few condiments, but even the cooking oil is produced from sunflowers here at Imiliwaha. Everything is raised/made on location.

3) I made peanut butter by hand for the orphanage. It takes about 1 hour and a half to get about 1/2 cup of peanut butter and go from dirty peanut to smooth butter. I’ve also made coffee from scratch– shelling the beans, roasting and pounding. Nothing smells better

4) There are about 3 children from the orphanage I would love to take home: Tuma, Casian and Marta– they are all around 2 years old, so I think I’d go crazy if I did take them home.

5) I probably have around 5 choices for an African husband, there are about 5 teachers/printing press boys that would say yes in a moment. None of them though would work out.

6) I’ve helped expand a river by hand before the rainy season

7) I’ve been on the worst roads in the world here, but I’m going to miss them

I’ve developed an irrational fear of dying in a freak vehicle accident and tipping over into a ditch in a bus due to too many people

9) I’ve been on a bus with about 40 people in it when it was only made for 20

10) 1st question I’m usually asked is “Where are you from?” I say “America”. The next word out of their mouth is “Obama!”

11) The cure for any ailment, from headache to flu to nausea is “Eat More!”

12) I’m the official killer– bugs, large spiders and lizards so far

13) This is a complete patriarchal society especially in the religious perspective. Priests are placed on pedestals and the sisters are expeted to be servents. Imiliwaha is prime example number 1. Even Cara and I sometimes get put into the “sisters” category. And there are times when we want to smash a plate over the chaplain’s head

14) I’ve learned to appreciate cold beverages. Most of the time we get warm sodas and warm beers, which just don’t taste right

15) TV is an interesting aspect of Tanzania. We have it on every night at dinner and it is usually turned to the news or this comedy program that features many transvestite actors. We haven’t really figured this one out

16) I’m addicted to chipate, a tortilla type of thing. At breakfast they are dry and for lunch and dinner they are squishy like a pancake. I could eat them everyday

17) I’ve seen the following animals while here– all of them wild: giraffes, elephants, warthogs, babboons, a type of gazelle, what we thought was a green mambo snake, an owl, a giant snail, a large bull frog, siafu (biting ants), huge moths about 4 inches across, lizards, and too many other bugs to count

18) I’ve listened to more hip hop and rap then ever before in my life, because we have the radio on everyday at the printing press– and I still don’t like it

19) Cara and I can now cut hair. I’ve given Cara one major hair cut and I’ve gotten two from her. Add that to the resume: teacher, librarian, adventurer, and hairdresser. We’re going to get jobs instantly!

20) We’ve learned that if you do not pray before meals we’re going to die like animals, according to S. Valeria.

21) We’ve got a total of 5 movies on Cara’s computer. We should have kept a running tally of how many times we have watched Pride and Prejudice and Love Actually. Regardless, we’re going to have both movies perfectly memorized by the time we get back

22) The average length of a Tanzanian sermon is about 30 minutes. And if that wasn’t enough we are sometimes given further enlightenment before the concluding prayer with another one. To date, the longest combined sermon is 51 minutes, but we still have Easter and we’re going for 60 minutes.

23) Yes, I’ve got horrible skin problems and everytime the sisters ask if it is all mosquito bites.

24) You can entertain a group of children for hours with your digital camera

25) During the dry months, especially in November, I had to take a candle-light bucket bath, which was very romantic, and Cara and I became toilet flushing experts with a bucket of water.

A Little Weeding

Throughout the past 2 months I’ve acquired another little job.  Sr. Jane helps support the convent by selling trees, so she has this rather large tree farm that needs constant care, so she asked me one day if I wanted to help her “pull grass”, or weed her trees.  I said “of course” because this would be an opportunity to get my hands in some more dirt. So, when it’s not raining I run into the garden for a few hours and weed these tiny, tiny trees.  Most people, Cara included, think I’m crazy to enjoy being hunched over a ton a trees picking weeds for 2 hours, but it’s peaceful and the sisters and the local workers love seeing me in the garden helping.  But the work is not always peaceful; I always have company of some sort.  First, there is the first plot of trees: each plot has a walk way between them and this particular one is free on one side, but on the other is a bush of prickly branches.  So, doing that side of the plot is torture and there is no way around it.  I also have the pleasure of numerous biting ant colonies that love to get into my small shoes. I’m tempted to buy the galoshes that everyone wears, but then I’d really look like an African and I would get funny looks for about a month, which is beside the point, but the biggest problem is finding a pair my size, which is only possible in Njombe.  There are also lots of big spiders running around and another wonderful bush on one end of the third plot that has thorns larger than a rose bush.  This one is also unavoidable if you want to get at all the trees.

             It is not the most exciting job in the world, but when I’m out there in my apron (yes, I have an apron that is floor length and goes all around my legs) I really feel like an African and there is nothing I like more than blending into a culture, even though the white skin is a dead give away.

African Christmas and Birthday… and this time it was mine!

Christmas here in Africa is very different than in America- there is no pre-holiday preparation except some extra prayers at the end of Mass and an undecorated tree on the altar for Advent.  This also means there is no holiday stress about getting gifts for everyone, or spending money on gifts just because “that’s what you’re supposed to do.”  You celebrate the real reason for Christmas.  We started our celebration with a 4 hour service on Christmas Eve- first we had a Nativity play, with a real goat!, an hour prayer service and then a 2 hour Mass that lasted until midnight.  The church was beautiful with 5 large Christmas trees decorated and lighted with a small altar dedicated to the child Jesus, an actual baby doll that is presented to the priest after the Nativity play and placed in the crib.  This baby is then incensed throughout the Mass.  Twice during the Mass we ran around giving hugs and hand-shakes to everyone and wishing a “Heri za Noeli” or “Heri za Kristmasi”—it is a most joyful chaos and whirlwind. Then after Mass, at midnight and beyond, we celebrated with soda, beer, wine, and cookies.  Cara’s mother sent her some Pop Rocks and we showed the sisters how to eat them with a drink of soda, which makes them foam in your mouth and Sr. Jane and Sr. Valeria got a huge kick out of them (Sr. Jane wanted a whole bag!)  We also had a small Christmas tree that was lighted and decorated and it sang! 

            During the month of December we had a volunteer nurse from Italy in the local dispensary named Guiseppi.  He was really a character and got involved in the church choir and spoke a combination of Italian, English and Kiswahili.  Well, he was given an African outfit as a Christmas and farewell gift- a tunic with an antelope on it and matching pajama looking pants.  Any other person would not wear these things together, but we found Guiseppi in the choir the next morning for Christmas Day Mass wearing the whole get-up and Cara and I had to stifle laughter all through the 2 ½  hour service.  So, in the span of 15 hours we have the following Mass stats: 6 ½ hours of service, the baby Jesus was incensed a total of 5 times, Father Method spoke a total of 109 minutes outside the order of the Mass ( which out of the total 390 minutes of service is 28% of the time!) and we had a grand total of 20 altar servers.

             Christmas Day is just like a Sunday, a day of rest, except we got extra big meals and soda at all of them.  Tanzania also celebrates Boxing Day, which is a British holiday after Christmas, and basically another day of rest from the festivities.  Cara and I decided to sleep in, which means waking up without an alarm, for the first time here in Africa.  So, we missed breakfast and so had cookies in bed and later went for peppermint hot chocolate (thanks Momma, it was such a treat!!!)

            After Boxing Day is my birthday and I was able to get into the kitchen to put together an Angel Food Cake mix that Mom sent for my birthday.  Mama Angelina, the main cook, couldn’t believe you just add water.  I explained that my mother had “put together all the dry ingredients” and sent it to me.  But even if I just needed to add water the whole process was still a guessing game because they don’t possess measuring cups and I had an electric stove with no temperature gage and just a knob that went 1-10.  Needless to say it was the most dilapidated Angel Food cake you ever wanted to see, but it tasted fine.  I spiced it up a little with powdered sugar frosting and crumbled Oreos (also from Mom).  I was able to make a large cake and another small one because I was worried the batter would overflow.  I gave the smaller one to the printing press because I had promised Sr. Karina a gift from America.  She really enjoyed it!  The rest of the day was normal until dinner, when we again got soda and there were a few extra sisters to help me celebrate: Sr. Gertrude, Sr. Petronila, Sr. Jane and Sr. Valeria.  After dinner, with soda, a special seat was prepared and of course dancing commenced with the cutting of the cake and the bearing of gifts—I was so surprised because I was not expecting anything.  I received a new kanga, which was wrapped around me, a beautiful African basket, which was placed on my head, and an ebony carved elephant.  In addition to these, I received the traditional garland around my neck, which was more Christmas tree decoration than necklace.  So we sang, ate cake, did cheers and I looked ridiculous.

            It was three days of simple joy with no one stressed or broke, feelings we should actually have during this beautiful season and something America should learn.

Half Way Observations

  Well, it is nearing the four month mark, which means that half of this adventure is already over!  I will admit that at times the clock seemed to stand still, but when I think about it time has really has flown!  Since it is the half way mark I think it is a good time to give you some random observations about Tanzania and its people.

   The one thing that Cara an I are constantly amazed at is the African endurance.  This is their strength and also their downfall.  Strength, because you need endurance to survive in this country of poverty.  And since you are all in it together you share your burdens, you share your space and you share your stuff, making all Africans brothers and sisters, grandfathers and grandmothers.  It gives these people an incredible sense of community that is very enduring.  But, next to the lack of money, this sense of endurance, we think, keeps Africa as it is– in its poor state.  If there is something broken, they just work without it.  If something is uncomfortable they just put up with it– unlike other countries and continents where if people see something that needs fixing or something could be made better they attempt to do that.  Other people are always striving for something better, something to make a profit, or something to make something look nicer.

   Second, Tanzanians have a fondness for noise.  They don’t even have to pay attention to the noise, but they love it as a background.  They love loud music, their cell phone rings are put to the highest volume and when they watch TV it sounds like you’re supposed to be in a movie theater with surround sound– yet they don’t even watch it.  Talking about TV leads to observation number three:  their idea of entertainment is really weird.  Father and the Sisters rent movies from somewhere in Njombe and they are slap stick comedies with no noticable plot or some aweful romance with everything a regular romance has in it– I usually close my eyes for them.  The TV shows that they watch are full of cross-dressing men, and Father and the sisters laugh like crazy!  We tried showing them some good movies, like Ice Age, but they were not interested whatsoever.

   Africans also have no blood– they wear more clothes than you can fathom and they still look as cool as a cucumber.  The usual dress for a woman, especially when traveling, consists of a shirt, a skirt, a sweater, a kanga around the skirt– sometimes 2 and sometimes a another kanga around the shoulders and a headwrap.  And they are usually carrying a baby or a chicken.

Having quite a few visitors for the holidays you realize that there is something about this continent that forms community, relationships, and trust in an instant.  A recent example is Dino.  Now Dino is a man who is about 60 years old and speaks only Italian, yet he has a wife who is Tanzanian.  Apparently no Kiswahili has rubbed off.  Well, Dino is sort of stuck here until a certain village is ready for his services, so he has been volunteering at the Printing Press with me.  So in the Printing Press we have Dino who doesn’t speak Kiswahili or English, me who can’t speak Italian or very good Kiswahili and the workers and the nuns who can’t speak any Italian or very good English– we are quite a working group!  But it makes you realize how much you can communicate without words.  And only in Africa would you have such a combination of culture and language!  I think the most we have ever had in one room is 4 languages: Kiswahili, English, Italian and German– yet Africa combines us together.  You see the bond on the buses, in town, everywhere here in Imiliwaha and in Lugrawa.  You see something special everyday, witness a strange kind of love that is unfathomable in America.

Now here are some other random observations about Africa that I’ve collected along the way:

·         The most important implement on a vehicle besides the brakes is the car horn, which warns that you are coming behind and want to pass or to say hello or to get out of the way.  With the lack of road rules the brakes and the horn are all your really need

 

·         Africans don’t know the word “no”.  You cannot say you don’t want more food, there is always more room on the buses for people or luggage, sellers understand “no” as “I will follow you until you leave the area or you buy what I’m selling (especially in Dar), if a service is offered it is rude to say “no” and even if you say it they will commence with the service anyway (usually carrying your luggage, which has sometimes only consisted of a small shoulder bag)

 

 

·         Africans, I think, love climbing over each other, buses or dalas are the best example.  People will get off, but the line of people still standing does not shift to spread out throughout the entire bus, but will stay clumped together uncomfortably

 

·         Africans love to chew things.  I’ve seen a secondary student take a snack on the corner of a book, toothpicks are present at every table and I’ve seen a grown woman chew a piece of plastic off  her water bottle.

 

 

·         Africans love to be in possession of keys and they horde them. Best examples are Sr. Immakulata, the internet nun, and Mr. Mng’ong’o, who is the keeper of my library key.  Sometimes I think he likes to sleep with it under his pillow because it is always at his house.

 

·         All Africans can dance and have wonderful rhythm, which I am very jealous of.  There was a group of children dancing in Lugarawa with the beat of a stick and an old drum; they had us mesmerized for a half an hour.  And all the sisters can move like you wouldn’t believe.

 

 

·         The main cure for any ailment is to eat more and if you skip one meal you are going to die or come pretty close.  Even if you have a stomach ache, the cure is to eat as much as possible “for energy” and also drink lots of chai or tea.

 

·         Yes, Africans believe white people are loaded with money and that it grows on trees back home.  Even some the sisters and the priest here think we have a lot of money, the educated even have this stereotype of white people in their heads

 

·         You do not talk about the toilet or any other “potty talk”, this includes asking for toilet paper at the store by its English name because asking for it in Kiswahili is not proper.   You also do say you have to go to the bathroom, but rather say the equivalent of “I have to go do my natural duty” (at least according to Sr. Karina).

 

Now, these are just observations and I hope you take most of them with a grain of salt.  As stated above, Africa is abundant in the most important things: simple joys, friendship, community and faith, and that is why I am falling in love with this continent and when I leave it will whisper my name to return again in the future.

Dar es Salaam Part II

Our last full day in Dar es Salaam was spent arranging a meeting place with a former student of mine, Erica.  Since she had graduated from St. Gertrude’s Secondary School she was insistent that we come and visit her family in Dar es Salaam.  She became more insistent when her father died suddenly of complications with diabetes.  Although never at a loss for friends, Erica seemed to draw her best emotional support from Cara and I.  So, we decided to use all our effort to meet her somewhere within the huge expanse of Dar es Salaam.

After multiple calls and instances of phone-tag we decided to meet at a place called Best Bite, a fast food restaurant with amazing, but pricey milk shakes– just what we needed in Dar es Salaam where you cannot be outside for a second without sweat dripping down your face.  We thought, we’ll meet Erica here, have lunch together, talk and then part ways.  Erica had other plans.  We had lunch and ice cream, but then she said that her brother was waiting with a car to drive us to her home and meet her family!  Having nothing else to do that day and being invited to an African home was pretty exciting and it was Erica, we took three daladalas (Tanzanian buses) to get to her residential district and then about a 15 minute ride through a maze of roads to get to her house.  Along the way many of the residence were amazed to see white people in their district– I don’t think it is a very common thing to have white people near their homes.  They usually see us near the beach or in some glamorous hotel– not us!

Erica’s house was clean and modest.  The African definition of clean and modest is completely different from American standards.  They would consider my house (the cute little cracker-jack box house) a palace!  One of Erica’s brothers had friends from school hanging around, so the house was busy with people– but during a time of mourning, Tanzanians enjoy having a busy house.  Before entering a house, it is custom to remove your shoes.  We were ushered into the living area.  The main room was empty except for a grass mat, a TV and a cabinet with small treasures inside.  Off to the left in a little corner was a refridgerator and four cushioned chairs.  All the women of the house were laying on the grass mat, either sleeping or taking care of the children.  There was a small fan mounted on the ceiling to circulate the air.

It is customary, during a time of mourning– which lasts from 30-40 days, depending on the tribe– that the furniture be moved out of the main room and that the women sit on a grass mate and not leave the house or yard for the alloted period of time.  We were served water and soda and Erica chatted away.  We met her mother, her aunts, and her brothers.  We were also showen many pictures of her father.  None of her aunts or her mother spoke any English, so we could greet her, give our apologese, but that was it.  Erica was proud to have us as visitors and they had to bring out an outdated videocamera and videotape us sitting with the family.  It was quite an experience.

We didn’t stay long because it was getting dark and we still had three daladalas to take before we were back in familiar territory.  Frankie, Erica’s brother drove us to the bus stop and Erica accompanied us the whole way back to our guest house.  A couple times we had to literally push with all our strength to get off and on the dalas, people are so intent on getting where they need to be– but it’s just another African memory.

Dar es Salaam Part I

As you might remember, Cara and I landed in Dar es Salaam when we first arrived in Africa. We were exhausted, homesick, and not exactly sure where we were going—basically we were scared out of our wits. We spent only two days in Dar and most of the time was spent in our Guest House, so we decided to give the big city another try (we also conveniently timed it when Ben and Charlie were also there—they are pros in maneuvering around the place!) We set out on our little holiday on November 26^th and had to spend the night in Njombe in order to catch the 5:30AM bus heading to Dar. We stayed at a hotel recommended by some of the Peace Corps people we have met. They said it was cheap and had warm water. Well, they were right about the price, but there was definitely no warm water, and the shower didn’t drain and the toilet didn’t work—oh well, we were only going to be there for about 8 hours. The hotel also has a small restaurant, so we decided to treat ourselves and check it out. We were the only customers and small Tanzanian restaurants don’t give menus, it is just assumed that you want some traditional food. So, with no one else’s plate to look at and no menu, we both went with Chips Myai, potato wedges fried with eggs—one of our favorite meals here in Africa. So, we expected to get potatoes and eggs, what we got was a masterpiece! The potatoes and the eggs were there, but they were topped with a small portion of beans, a small portion of spinach and another of tomatoes. The color was just beautiful and these additions made the chips myai that much more amazing! This completely made up for the toilet and the shower problems!

There is not much to tell about the bus ride except that it was long, a grand total of 11 hours with one break only long enough to stretch your legs and another to go to the bathroom and get lunch. But we did discover that Africans really have no blood, as we got closer to Dar it progressively got hotter and more humid, but most of the windows remained closed on the bus. All the passengers were sitting cool as cucumbers while you have two white people looking disgusting and miserable. But, this was just prepping us for the entire holiday where sweat would be our constant companion.

When we arrived we were again completely unaware as to where to go, so we had Ben and Charlie meet us at the bus station. With our big backpacks we didn’t want to try the city buses, so we went taxi searching. Finding a taxi is not the problem, but finding the best price is the trick. To not go into too much detail, you talk to one taxi driver, but in the hearing distance of at least two more and you name your price and wait for someone to match it. We took the taxi not directly to our hostel, but to the movie theater, one of two in the entire country of Tanzania, to take in the new James Bond movie. Not only was great to see a new movie aside from our small collection in Imiliwaha (and an action movie to boot!), but the theater was air conditioned! After the movie we went out for Thanksgiving Dinner, since it was November 27^th, at the local equivalent of Burger King or McDonalds and had a burger and fries for Thanksgiving. We then were dropped off at our hostel, the YMCA, another Peace Corps favorite. The place was clean and decent, but receptionist was a woman who was not really pleased with life and made sure all her patrons knew it. We tried to be friendly, but the only time we saw her smile was when she was allowed to share in some of the beers from a wedding that took place during the course of our stay.

I’m not going to go day by day, but just mention the parts of the city we saw. But first, transportation—without our big backpacks, we didn’t need the luxury or the expense of a taxi, so we took the city buses, or the daladalas. Dalas range in size anywhere from something just slightly smaller than a Metro Transit bus to an oversized van. And like all Tanzanian transportation that I have ever mentioned, the conductors really don’t know the concept of “there is no more room for another person.” So, to add to the general heat of the day, we had the pleasure of stuffing ourselves into the dalas several times a day, though sometimes we were lucky and got a seat.

We went twice to Mwenge, Dar es Salaam’s large market. The first time we just about ran though to see what all was there (Kangas, a traditional piece of fabric that is usually worn by women as a skirt, with a picture of Barak Obama front and center were the hot item). We found one typical tourist shop complete with Msai , who helped put your purchases in the bag. I could have bought out the entire store of one particular artist, but I had to restrain myself to one piece. The second time we went to Mwenge, we went into the tourist part where there are hundreds of little shops selling traditional artwork. Once a white person enters this part of the market, you are not left in peace until you have exited. The vendors just swarm you with their wares. If you don’t want something, don’t even think of looking at it, don’t even think about touching, mentioning or commenting about it, because they will then try to persuade you to buy it or show you a different design or size.

We also checked out Masaki, the more wealthy part of the city because we were in complete white tourist territory. There was something like a white person oasis amongst typical middle class apartments. The entrance to this oasis was guarded by security men and there was a fountain as you enter with a Perkins like restaurant to your right and a small version of Byerlys on your left and other restaurants and shops in front of you. It was sort of disgusting to see so many white people clustered and sheltered in such a way, they weren’t really in Africa. There were even families there with young children! Who in their right mind decides to take a family vacation to Tanzania! It was beyond me. We ate at the Perkins restaurant, looked around the book shop and the grocery store (where a chocolate bar from Belgium was 9,000 shillings, or 7 dollars!) There was nothing much else to see so we took our leave, they can have their little oasis.

The reason Charlie and Ben were in Dar in the first place was that Charlie’s Dad and Uncle were coming to visit him, so one day we went with all of them to the beaches of the Indian Ocean. The beach area is along a peninsula and we took a ferry to cross the small gap. Although we were again in tourist country, it is the off season, so not many white people were around. There are many beach resorts along this little strip and we chose one to stop and eat at. We were led onto the beach and under a grass roof tent. The sand was that perfect, soft white sand that sticks to your feet and makes them look beautiful, so all the time we were eating my feet were in their glory. The day was perfect, a little sun and a nice breeze off the ocean. We had a marvelous lunch of Indian food and cold beer and soda. We even took a dip in the Indian Ocean to cool off. On our way back into the city we saw a young man climbing coconut tree to collect the fruit (I don’t know what else to call it) but he did it in his bare feet and was up this huge tree in about a minute. It was amazing to watch.

This is all the interesting parts of the trip, until you get to Part II. We took in another movie and ate some more good food, but after five days I was ready to return to the cooler temperatures of Imiliwaha.