rose-coloured

I must admit my bias:

I am unashamedly idealistic, and annoyingly optimistic. Sometimes I feel bad about that. To clarify: I feel that my light-hearted descriptions of life in Mwanza are not...right. There are so many socially-embedded problems here, and a state of medical emergency that I cannot begin to fathom. But the people of Mwanza do not bow to the poverty and disparate conditions in which many of them live. They are a proud culture and they are extremely hard-working, kind and vivacious. For that reason, don't feel that I am disrespecting them to write accounts of daily life. I am writing as a young, Canadian woman who has no previous experience in a situation like this. I am simply conveying what I see and how I feel. I want to share this with you all, and provide a window into life as I experience im Tanzania.

The last few days have been packed with activity. When I last wrote, I was just about to talk about my Saturday afternoon experience when the internet rudely cut out. Samahani (pardon me). To escape the cabin fever I was battling, I went for a long walk. Don't worry everyone, it was bright out and safe. I walked up Bugando hill towards the large hospital. When I reached the top I came to a gap in teh houses and buildings. I'm sure people have left this space clear out of generosity, as the view was breathtaking. Lake Victoria sprawled out below me, with rocky peaks protuding from the water, vanishing into the distance like early morning dreams. The sky was full of birds (mostly brown ones with yellow beaks, grammie and grandpa) and bougainvillea curved around the barbed wire fences atop the hill. I stopped for a while, wished I could shared the view with someone, then kept walking.

Before long I came to a dirt path, which snaked through many villages. All of a sudden I heard a sound so ethereal that it made me stop in my tracks. A bunch of kids saw me staring and asked if I wanted to come and have a look at where the sound was coming from. They led me to a church and an elderly couple ushered me right in. Before I knew it I was sitting in the middle of an Africa choir. A book of hand-written songs was thrust at me, and I was encouraged to jump right in. So I was thinking, "Oh 11 years of music lessons, don't fail me now!" Luckily it was pretty easy to follow the melody. The words, however, were in kiswahili, naturally. So I followed a long as best I could. The whole time I kept thinking of the mr. Bean Sketch where he goes to church and tries to sing along.

(side note: I literally have ants in my pants right now, so give me a minute to solve that problem)

Anyways, after about half and hour I left the choir practice quietly, only to be followed by the director and brought back inside. "Please come back, child. You are most welcome!" When I reentered the room, everyone stood to greet me. "We could like you to join our singing group," he said, smiling broadly.

I blushed so much and introduced myself in broken kiswahili. I don't know what I said wrong but I had them all laughing hysterically. Joke was on me. SO I agreed to join, and that is where I will be at 4pm on Saturday from now on. Again, the kindness is unbelievable here.

Other than that I've been getting to know the Kivulini staff and learning about ther mandates, working closely with the mamas to make quality yogurt and working VERY hard to learn Kiswahili. I signed up for lessons this week.

For fun I have been continuing my aerobics classes at the New Mwanza Hotel. I really love these classes, as only about 5 of us go, and the instructor (the kickboxing champ of Tanzania, a man whose name translates to "funeral" and says "reft" instead of left) is awesome. The gym smells horrible, but the 30 minute remix of "who let the dogs out" can distract from any smell.

We've made some very nice friends from the medical research centre who are from the UK: Jenny, Ian and Louise. Also, Vicky from Kenya has been a gracious host. Last weekend she and I conversed in Italian for a good while. It was a nice break from a language I'm currently terrible at. Last night we all got together for some delicious homecooked food and African red wine.

I feel like all of the love I carry with me from home is here, and present in every second of the day. It's like my love for home and my growing affection for Tanzania are swirling together into an inspiring wind. I couldn't be here without all the support from home. Thank you.

Today was a long and fascinating one. I'll describe in greater detail tomorrow but for now: Some pics:

Busy sidewalks in town. This is on my walk from home to downtown. There are lots of beggars and street kids on this strip. Pretty tough.


Mabatini, the neighbourhood where our yogurt mamas live.


Mama Joyce (in plaid) and some of her family. She is a great woman and has been really kind to me.


One of the women we interviewed today. I'll explain soon.


A beautiful mother and baby.

And...
On a purely personal note, (but I can't help it) you want to know one of the most challenging parts about being here? Being oh so far from the guy I am crazy about.

Go here to check out what he's been up to :)

Til tomorrow...

my summer home

This is Mlango moja, the used clothing market across from my apartment building. This is also the view from my front balcony.


I thought this was rather romantic. (also the view from my balcony)


Bugando hill (viewed from my rooftop)


This proves that mosquito netting is not only funcitional, but can also be aesthetically pleasing.

Summer home. Not a whitewashed house on Long Island, not a timeshare in the West Indies or even a Floridian retirement complex. Nope, I am currently residing in the heart of the developing world and doing my best to get a feel for life here. Is that possible (or will it be) in the course of 2 more months? I want to fit in to this town but at times it seems impossible. At other times I have been incredibly welcomed. Let me explain...

First off, the Mzungu stuff:
I've gotten used to the yells and the unabashed stares, but seriously, why must people yell the swahili equivalent of "white person!!!" wherever I go? I know as well as they do that I'm white, and an obvious minority. But can you imagine being in Canada and yelling "Asian!", "Brazilian!" or even "Possibly Filipino or maybe Thai, I'm not sure!!!" out loud and pointing at someone and then laughing at that person? Seriously! Most people are just curious and are being friendly, but at least once a day I hear "Hey Mzungu, give me my money!" At least I've come to expect it now.

Yesterday while I was out walking and a hippie-esque guy started asking me questions:
him "So why are you here in Tanzania?"
me "I'm working with a women's rights org and-"
him "Do you really think you can bring ideas like that to Africa? Do you think it will work?"

Me: "Well it's actually an African organization run by women and men working towards-"

him: "Is it worth the time though. Is it even worth you coming here?"

me: "Well I'd say it's something to work towards. Wouldn't you?"

him: "You have to understand the beliefs here. In the Islamic faith it says that if a man fights his wife, if he hits her like a boxer fights, then she will love him more, and-"

me: "See you later!"

Things like this I find very upsetting.

On the other hand, I continued on my walk for a long time

hmmmm

I can't eat the eyeballs...I just can't do it.

Tilapia is a delicious fish that is very plentiful in Lake Victoria. You can order it at almost any restaurant and it comes baked in a tomato and herb sauce. It arrives at your table in its full form with a facial expression that seems to be frozen in a "what the...?" expression. The eyes are orange and people here love to eat them (they also eat the brain but I won't even start on that). I have to turn away while my companions lick their lips and devour the gooey retinas...

Sorry for that but I still find it really gross. Today I saw five chickens bound together by the feet. They couldn't go anywhere though, since they were all facing different directions. Then I accidentally walked by a "bathing place" and turned away hurriedly when I realized it was full of nude people looking back at me angrily. Ah, the risks of exploration.

I also went to a cool market, one with lots of twists and turns. Pretty much all of the merchandise is used: clothing, furniture and shoes. But everything is brought back to life by the skilled hands of the merchants. In the morning if you walk by, there will be a pile of dirty, ragged and scuffed shoes that have walked their last mile. By afternoon they have been buffed and polished and look brand new. It's quite amazing how much more use people make of things when they don't have much to work with.

I guess that goes for eating every last bite of the fish too. hmm

pics

So finally, I have put a few pics up. They are from the very beginning of the trip though. Soon I will post ones of my summer home.

The Irish sea


Rural Amsterdam


Ain't no red light district here


A tribute


My first African animal (it's a baby!)


Sidenote
Today's good things about Mwanza: baby bananas, roasted corn, sunsets, nice restaurant staff, hilarious aerobics classes.

Todays not so good things: Terrible bathrooms, deodorant doesn't seem to be used, staring, when fridges break.

Til the next time :)

incommunicato

I may have spelled that wrong the English way, but in Italian it mean the same thing: out of touch, lacking in what was once the ability to communicate.

It's not by choice, I can assure you. For I have lots of stories and if I had it my way I would be running to tell them whenever a spare moment arose. No, it's not a question of laziness or irresponsible reporting. I am, however, residing in the 4th poorest country in the world and to be hooked up at all is pretty remarkable. But when it comes to reliability, quite frankly technology here sucks!

Brian and Cynthia, the first interns on this project prepared what they called an "Intern Survival Manual." Under the "Lessons Learned" subtitle they included the phrase:

"Your paitience will be tested daily."

Well isn't that the case? Life just moves so slowly here that you have to adapt. One of our yogurt fridge plugs/adapters blew up today (thank you power surge) among other things. So no food for us in our fridge, just yogurt. Jars and jars of yogurt.
I like the pace though, other than the inconvenience of having to wait for everything and anything. And Africa, Tanzania at least does provoke you to find out more about it. Maybe it's the labyrinth-esque infrastructure of the city or the shy smiles of the watoto (children). This country has a unique way of drawing you in. In a more optimistic moment a few days ago I wrote:

"I can understand how Brian and Cynthia were able to accomplish so much here. Africa lends you its time, its slow rhythm and its dramatic pauses for contemplation, soul-searching, planning, discovery and faith. It lets you inhale its essence in slow, deep breaths and beckons for you to look inside. Africa becomes a part of you and in turn (since it is so interstitially with you) drives you and guides you to caress it and to help heal it."

This is how I want to come to feel. I'm working towards it.

Last night we got meat from the butcher aka a small shack onthe side of the road with large meat slabs hanging from it. We ordered a half kilo of I don't even know what and the "butcher", using a tree stump as a block, hacked off a piece with a small axe. I'm so meant to be a vegetarian.

Pictures soon. As soon as the internet behaves itself!
Sorry about the scattered nature of this post. More asap
love and miss you all :)

all around

Ahhhh...
beginning to settle in.

In the 1970s book "Advice for Overseas Travellers," (that I picked up during my annual trip to a fishing shack book sale) was intented for Americans planning international travel. The first traveller was a pre-departure orientation of sorts, guiding Americans through the delicate process of shedding their unique cultural baggage and becoming "culture sensitive". Anyways, I skipped through that as i was certain I wouldn't be making any of the ignorant comments the book warned against.

Chapter 8 was all about the different stages and effects of culture shock. Some of the main symptoms were:

1. Idealizing the homeland.
2. Obsessive counting and cleanliness.
3. Staying indoors and avoiding contact with new people.

1. Alright so I am guilty of the first one I'll admit. At times I have longed for English, for anonymity and for quiet, safe nights. However I have come to love the sense of community, the fact that I know who will be sitting where on each porch as I walk down the street, and I love the cold showers.

2. It started out that way. I labelled each day of my malaria pills and sorted them into labelled ziploc bags by week. Now I am sliding into my more "relaxed" habits.

3. It's tempting to hide away and avoid the reality that most of the time you have no clue what people are doing...but Africa will charm you if you let it. I decided the best way to adapt is to fight the symptoms. So I took my watercolours outside, sat on the steps and began to paint my neighbourhood. that didn't last long cause within minutes, quite a few kids started gathering around to see what the mzungu was doing. I invited them to sit with me and painted pictures for them on their hands. I also painted them into my city scene, which was fun. They stayed with me for about an hour and helped me learn the kiswahili words for all that I saw. Star= "nyoto".
Later on, Pendo (our cleaning lady who I thought was my age but is actually 37) went for a tour of the city. We walked for hours as she told me all about the city. I only caught about 1/20 of what she was saying, but I appreciated the effort. We took a shortcut through the Maasai jewelery market...I love the maasai. Some sketchy old man came up and told Pendo I needed a husband. She showed him my pseudo-engagement ring and told him I was already engaged. (thank God I planned ahead for such an encounter). Everyone here knows about my "mchumba" (fiancee) which is pretty fun. The walk did my heart good, as walking always does. I am doing my best to embrace this town and adjust to living just south of the equator where the sun sets at seven all year long.

Hope all is well across the ocean.

jumamosi

That is kiswahili for Saturday, "day one" (also a good song by Sarah Slean) and it is on this first Saturday in Mwanza that I write my second installment.

After being picked up by the employees of Kivulini (the Women's rights or with whom we are working) we endured a very bumpy ride into the city centre of Mwanza. My neighbourhood is called "Mlango Moja" (one door) named for the pub turned used clothing market that only has one way in and out. I live in the third floor of a very nice office building across from the market. That apartment has two bedrooms, a spacious living/dining area, fully equipped kitchen, one bathroom and one "choo" and of course, a yogurt making room. Let me assure you that I am incredibly lucky to be living in such a place. An apartment of this type is absolute luxury for Mwanza. I will post pictures very soon to give a visual.

My neighbourhood is incredibly noisy, night and day. There are people bargaining at the market, boys on bikes selling milk, women yelling at their husbands and kids, cars honking and screeching...the loudest sound of all would be the cars that drive by with speakers in the back making political announcements or advertising a new soft drink. In the distance I can always here the ever present strains of traditional African music. i still can't figure out where it's coming from but I swear I'm not imagining it.

Our first week was a lot like Orientation week at Western: lots of running around and little time to sit and reflect. Brian and Cynthia were amazing tour guides/mentors as they showed us all the best places to eat and how to navigate around the city. It was kind of strange to see them scrambling to pack up, buy gifts and say their goodbyes when we were just saying hello. I think it made me a little homesick, as have a few other factors. I don't think that there's anyway a Canadian could not be culture-shocked when first arriving here. Everything is upside down compared to life at home...including the big dipper! So the night sky is different here but, as An American Tale's theme song put it best:

"And even though I know how very far apart we are
It helps to think we might be wishing on the same bright star
And when the night wind starts to sing a lonesome lullaby
It helps to think we're sleeping underneath the same big sky"

so that's pretty much the cheesiest thing I have or ever will include on this blog...but I had to get that out. Anyways,

Throughout the week the "yogurt mamas" come in every morning to make their batch of yogurt and distribute the already made yogurt into containers for the 12 families involved in our program. None of the women speak more than a few words of english, yet they are very helpful and patient while trying to teach me kiswahili. We checked out our partner medical research institute, NIMR and met the microbiologist there. The rest of the days were filled with errands, but at night we would go out for delicious food and ask Cynthia and Brian a million questions.

One morning Brian took us on a hunt for Chipati (sweet breakfast tortillas). In order to find some we asked around (well, he did; I had no clue what was going on)and wove through alleyways until we found an old woman sitting over a campfire preparing them. We said "shikamoo, mama," which is a sign of respect and she answered with "marahaba." Everyone assures me that I am "karibu sana" (very welcome)here in Mwanza.

So after many fun but overwhelming nights and days, Brian and cynthia have headed back to Canada. Today was the first day of true independence. Last night we went out to a lakeside bar called the Yacht club with the Kivulini staff and I tried my best to converse in kiswahili. Man, this is challenging.

The weirdest part, or I should say, the part that may take the most getting used to is being an absolute visible minority. As a "mzungu" I stand out unbelievably. This is not my Western ego speaking, it's purely factual! Whenever I walk anywhere people literally stop and stare. If they are feeling up to it they will yell "Hey, Mzungu!". It's rather strange "being a local celebrity" as my prof/supervisor Sandy (who lived here for 6 months when she was a student) said to me last night.

I got my first phone call today: Brian called and I sat on the roof of the building while huge brown and yellow birds flew overhead. How lovely!

While B&C were still here, we went to visit their artist friend, Jonathan. He lives in a tiny house made of cement and tin on the side of one of the rocky hills that surround Mwanza. On the steep trek up the cliffside, we passed many barefoot children in tattered fancy dresses or dress shirts. Brian warned us to avoid the moist trails flowing down the hill saying "just because it's wet doesn't mean it's water." Jonathan used to be a street kid, but has made a modest living for himself and his brother by selling his beautiful paintings of African landscape and animals. I will bring some home for sure.

The Maasai people here are really fascinating. They have a market in the centre of town where they sell their famous bead ware. A nomadic tribe, they walk around town with their red blanket/capes and walking sticks, stretched out earlobes and layes of necklaces. They always greet me with a wide smile and a friendly greeting.

So many people here I have wanted to sit down and talk with, to ask questions and share stories. At this point I am trapped by a language barrier, and by my physical appearance, as I am clearly an outsider. I wonder how this may change over the next 12 weeks? There is one thing that absolutely transcends language, and that is simple kindness. The most dominant of the yogurt mamas, Mama Joyce has been very kind and helpful to us. Not only is she teaching me her language, she taught me how to make ugali (the awesome african dough-ish stuff) and brought us some carrots from the market as a welcoming gift.

Now it is Saturday, as I mentioned and the weeks ahead stretch out before me like the serengeti plain (bad, I know). Today has been a lot of idle time and I don't work well without direction. Hopefully things will get going over here starting Monday. It's hard to make plans cause everything is so lax in Africa. The next step for our project is getting the mamas trained in care and shelter of livestock. One the training is complete, an organization called "heifer international" will be donating a goat to every family so that we no longer have to purchase milk. We're looking to make this as sustainable as possible for the community. You may wonder what a media student is doing as a yogurt production supervisor...

The truth is, I'm not entirely sure yet either. We'll find out. I miss you all very very much.

oh, the things I have seen.

so, Africa is a little bit different than suburban Canada.
This is my first installment, which makes sense as it's the first time I've had more than a few minutes to sit down and type. I've been writing faithfully in a journal each night, but typing is so much nicer, and reminds me of the conveniences of home.

I guess I'll back up a little. Today is June 17, it is 8:17pm here in mwanza, and 1:17pm there for you all in Canada. I have been here for a week now.

So I left on June 10th and tried my hardest not to cry at the airport. I put on a tough face and walked through customs. The flight was very luxurious and the food was amazing. I treasured it as my last taste of the western world. I slept for a bit and woke up to the sun rising over ireland. Luckily the clouds covered the land though, as I want to see Ireland for the first time when Brian and I go in the next year or so (fingers crossed). we had a 3 hour stopover in amsterdam. In order to fight the jetlag, we opted not to sleep and instead to take a train downtown and walk around. Amsterdam at 8am was pretty much the exact opposite of what you would expect. no flashing red light district to seduce or drug dealers on the corners. in fact, there was barely a person in sight! The city smelled like it had been out drinking the night before, due to --i'm sure--many peoples' nighttime partying on the streets. All around me street cleaners drove around like huffing, moustached rhinos and polished the cobblestone streets to a sheen. Canals weave through the city and are lined with bikes and flower-covered houseboats. I didn't see any wooden shoes, but I did spot a distant windmill or two.
After that we boarded the plane again and I kissed the developed world goodbye.

The old interns, Brian and Cynthia surprised us by meeting us at the airport in Nairobi, Kenya. I was amazed by their command of Swahili, after being here for only 5 months. They were also incredibly savvy and knowledgeable. Nairobi was very busy and dynamic, but also rather dangerous and polluted. I didn't get to see much of it, so I can't make a fair judgement really. I did, however, get to go to a giraffe sanctuary where we all pet and fed Giraffes. Nzuri sana (very nice).

B&C taught us how to eat traditional african food, with your right hand. it was a very fun and tasty experience. Although, being a quasi-veggie, it was weird to have the waiter bring a sheep's leg to the table and to hear the bone crunch as he cut through it with a machete...yuck.

We left Nairobi after 2 days and arrived in beautiful Mwanza, Tanzania. One week has passed and so much has happened. I am feeling happy but terribly homesick and lovesick.
I'll post asap and tell you all about my first week in Mwanza.

baadaye (later)

dallas

microcosm

my widening blogosphere is beginning to make me humble.

God, there is so much to see. I want to read everything, talk to everyone and learn about their live. It's seductive, isn't it? If you have a traveller's heart, all of a sudden you are within reach of worlds upon worlds that have lived parallel to you and yet you never knew of them. But still, you can't reach out and touch them...at least not yet.

At the same time its nice to get closer and closer with your inner circles.

Oh good god I am going to Africa tomorrow. Can you believe it, because I still can't.



Things I will absolutely miss about Ontario:- f2f contact with the people I love, and even the ones I just like. I have a feeling that on lonely nights, sketchy characters that may have irritated me will be remembered as vivacious conversationalists.
-cool evenings. Nothing better than sliding into sheets and blankets to escape the coller breezes.
- Chocolate. I'm not sure what the situation is with sweet stuff over there, but it's can't beat baker's dark chocolate squares. Mangoes it is! (note: try sliced mango on a grilled chicken sandwich. I had it on a "mulan" sandwich in Montreal and I almost died from joy. Brian had the "che guevara"))
- boneless, skinless chicken breasts instead of picking out live ones with feathers...and yes, large talons.
-English as the first language. Man, I've been trying to learn but it's hard to from a book alone.
-Limewire
-non-malaria carrying mosquitos
-driving

I'll end it there for now or I'll get all choked up. The next time I write it will be from an archaic dial-up connection in the blistering heat I presume.

My flight Pattern = Toronto>Amsterdam>Nairobi,Kenya>Mwanza,Tanzania

Til then :)
Dallas

monday

How can you know what to pack when you don't even know what your life will be like in another country? Let alone a country with completely different A)climate B) culture C)dress code and D)lifestyle?

So far, here's what I've got:

Clothing: very conservative and lightweight, cotton or dryfit everything. Khakis and capris, no short sleeves or tank tops, no short skirts or shorts. Long socks to keep the mosquitos off my legs. A few ugly, long skirts I picked up from VV for meetings with Kivulini Women's org and going out for dinner. Lightweight cotton or silk stuff to wear to bed.

Toiletries: The basics, but all my North American favourites, as apparently it's more difficult to find "mzungu" (white person) products in Mwanza. Baby powder to keep my skin dry, lots of moisturiser, deodorant, mild soap and maybe even a razor. I haven't decided if I'm taking any makeup yet, but I definitely won't need a blowdrier.

Meds: Lots of strange innoculations in my bloodstream, 3 months worth of malaria pills, anti-biotics, polysporin, calamine lotion, afterbite, deet,digestive aids, oregano oil, glutamine, garlic tablets (the last 3 were reccommended by my health-conscious brother and a guy with a ponytail at the health food store).

Entertainment: Pictures of family, loved one and friends, journal, sketchbook, CDs, DVDs, art supplies, notes and cards and gifts from home, camera, a million rolls of film, tin whistle, books, magazines, discman.

Other: Canadian pins, flags etc to give as gifts, water filter and purification system, gifts for various people there, materials for the Buswelu school children, computer, mosquito netting.

Ok I'll stop here...too much to think about. Where to even start?