music and more

I didn't mention it before, because I wasn't sure if it would work out...but it's finished and quite awesome!

Today I went to the makeshift studio of a friend, Martin, to pick up my first Tanzanian recording. As in I recorded a Tanzanian dance song. Oh man, it is just hilarious, you have to hear it. It's called "Hili Penzi" this love (no relation to the Maroon 5 track) and it's a dancehall rap song. I sing the melody and am joined by two Tanzanian rappers. We recorded it in two afternoons and I had a blast doing so. It's completely in Swahili, so I really have no clue what I'm singing about. I had to learn it really fast as the producer wanted to have the first bit recorded in only an hour. So, upon my return I will have some kind of CD release party. Music, African food and drink should make for an interesting night. Come one, come all.


Community kitchen for the yogurt project. It's been halfway finished for months.

Other than that I have been working hard to pull together loose threads of a program that is not working at the moment. Most of our contacts back home are M.I.A., leaving me extremely frustrated. We are doing as much as we can on our end of things, but are receiving very little assistance from home. Nevertheless, We'll continue to accomplish whatever we can here.



This morning I went to visit my friend Pendo at her home. She is 37 and has 9 kids but she is so friendly and funny that I don't notice the demographic differences between us. We were treated to some vitumbua (fried donut-ish snacks, see above) a huge pineapple, mango and hot tea. We sat around the coals as her mom and sister prepared everything for us. Her mom alternated between sorting rice and dancing, while her sister brought out some family photos.


pendo's mom and the rice

All around me the crowd of neighbourhood chilren was growing by the second. It's big news when mzungus come into a quiet suburb. Inside the house, her husband lay passed out on a reed mat, sick with malaria. I felt really awkward being there but Pendo urged me to sit down and relax. Oh, he'll be fine, she insisted. Her daughters brought in fresh water to wash my hands and begged me to take a million pictures of them. It was a really nice Sunday morning.


boy outside Pendo's house

Earlier this morning, my cell phone rang around 5:30 am, waking me out of a deep sleep. A strange voice was on the other end and--in my sleepiness--I had no clue who this confused man was. After several minutes I realized it was Brian, out on the town in London. Apparently he and some of my other friends were right in the middle of "Guys gone wild II" and had decided to call me. After brief words with Bacon and Pranay (Bacon asked if I could bring him home a machete, and yes, they are sold on the side of the road here) while Pranay told me I sounded dead. It was very funny and so nice to hear some familiar voices. I love technology this summer. Thanks guys.

The rest of the weekend was spent at various restaurants. Post-sickness, I also made a return to that stunning beachfront restaurant, Tunza. The sky was incredible






Ian befriending a baby lizard

On the weekday evenings, I sit outside on my balcony and watch the sun go down. It's lonely, yes, but lovely.



For transportation I mostly walk, but when I need a cheap ride in a hurry, I hop on a dalladalla and cram in with at least 12 other people. The smell leaves something to be desired...




the road ahead

I am almost halfway finished this internship. Next week I will talk more about that but for now...best regards.

I hope you're all doing okay in the crazy heatwave I've been hearing about!

recovery?

It finally happened.

For over a month I had been in the best of health of my life. I'd been faithfully going to the gym, laying off the drinks, triple-washing every food item, boiling and filtering water, taking all my meds etc...and STILL the bugs managed to get me!

I don't know what caused it, but lets just say two nights ago you would have found me half passed out on my kitchen floor, surrounded by plastic bags, alone in the darkness at 2 am. I was so sick. As I clung to the floor in between bouts of nausea, I opened one eye and came face to face with a cockroach. I blinked, looked around and realized there were actually quite a few of them peering at me from dark corners. At that time I welcomed their presence, while simulatneously realizing this was one of my lower moments. Jon came in and gave me a malaria test, which involves pricking your finger for blood. Apparently that was too much for me and before my skin was punctured, I fainted. Ah yes it was lovely. No malaria though, so that's good.

I'm still not really sure what's wrong but I've been drinking copious amounts of juice, tea and water with rehydration salts (pray you never have to drink this). The problem is, it could be anything. I am feeling much better though.

As you can guess, it's been a relatively slow week here. I'm reading a book about a dragon, which takes my mind off to yet another faraway place. I read Life of Pi but didn't enjoy it. Has anyone else read it/liked it?

At language school we had a cultural lesson about "going to the market". What began as a lecture about seasonal produce prices quickly turned into a rant session. As Dr. Salala told us the correct prices for vegetables and fruits, our class became really frustrated. We all insisted that we are charged much more than the prices she was listing. We realize that Tanzanians think all wazungus are rich, but it is simply not the case, as most of us have come to Mwanza as volunteers.

Somehow, this inspired Salala to seque into a lecture on socialism and how it is a superior and very healthy economic system and way of life. Funny, because Tanzania is not even a socialist country anymore. Hmmmm. One of her main points was that here money is viewed as a "flexible commodity, like any other market item." She said that in Tanzania you are expected to give according to how much you have. To be frugal or to save your money when you could be sharing it is the worst of offenses here. In theory, even though I am not making a summer income, I should be paying 5 times the price a Tanzanian would pay. It's certainly different than Canadian, capitalist philosophy. There are many good aspects of this system of ujumaa (of one), but it can be difficult to wrap one's head around at times.

Tomorrow I am going swimming. I cannot wait to jump in that pool and swim the first lap. Then back and forth until I just relax in my element. Simple pleasures, folks.

Alright, so more pictures on the way. Keep safe and treasure that Canadian tap water. I'm pining for it now.

time to play a little catch up

Ahhhhh, the internet is finally back up here at Kivulini. Now I have the luxury of sitting in my own building and typing without watching the internet cafe clock count down at a rapid pace.

So, where can I start?

FridayWe did a lot of work today, most of it involved trying to get in touch with the Western Heads East people back home. We haven't really heard from anyone (except my supervisor, Sandy) which is, frankly, cause for concern considering they've sent me to freaking Tanzania. After sending a rather angry email to a certain housing exec who hadn't answered any of our emails or called, we found out that he'd gone in for "emergency sugery," which I found out today was for appendicitis. Oooops. But still, we need help over here and it's not coming through at present time.

To take my mind off the project, I went out for Indian food at the New Mwanza hotel. Between 5 of us, we ordered 7 dishes. They arrived at the table in silver pots with little candles warming them. I ate a lot. An "expensive" meal here is only $10 Canadian, so it's pretty sweet.

Saturday
I had been invited by Kivulini to an event, but I didn't really know what the nature of it was. All I knew was that pendo told me I should wash my feet for it. (SIDE NOTE: It's not really my fault they're dirty; I wash them like twice a day but there is mud and dust everywhere here and it sneaks into my shoes). As about 15 of us piled into the Kivulini van, we turned to Markus (a large, jolly yet opinionated man from Switzerland with a shaved head) and his wife yohanda and asked,

"So, Markus, is this a wedding or something? Where are we going?"

He replied (in an Arnold Schwarzenagger-esqe accent):
"I don't know. I have no clue what's going on or where we're going."

And yet he was there, dressed up. And so was I. This kind of thing happens a lot when you don't speak the language.

It turned out to be a Tanzanian wedding for the Kivulini Secretary. It was very interesting and beautiful. the odd thing was that neither the bride nor groom smiled at all the whole time. I asked about this, but apparently it's a tradtion of sorts. Dinner was heaping platters of rices and salad, which you pile on a plate and then eat with your (right) hand. I spilled everywhere. Within 5 min my tacky, 1930s VV shirt (see below) was covered.


The wedding party.


Low-tech security protecting the church.


me, Pendo and Teddy outside the wedding.

The wedding ran long, so I missed my aeorbics instructor's kickboxing competition. Today he told me that he won though, so that's good.

At night we headed over to Tunza Lodge in response to my friend Ian's text "Fancy a sundowner and some lovely food?" Lovely it was. I sipped Amarula (you can get it in Canada but it's really cheap here) and had the most amazing food I've had since Brian and I had boconcini pizza in Little Italy in May. Real butter. Wow it was great.


sunset at Tunza.


red hibiscus

Sunday
Got up bright and early to catch the ferry to Ukerewe island. Described in The Rough Guide to Tanzania as "One of the doziest places around," it was just that. Nansio, the main town was pretty tiny. We were the only wazungus there, and received many open stares. To entertain ourselves, we rented bikes to tour the island. After riding about 50m I realized my bike was incredibly busted and should never be ridden by a female. I wanted to see the island so I kept riding, but received many injuries.


billboard.


brand power.

At night I watched the mist rise on Lake Vitoria as locals did their washing and bathing along the shore. Afterwards we returned to the hotel bar where I had a few Amarulas and then settled in for an evening of televangelism on the hotel t.v.'s only channel.


A misty night on Gallu beach, Ukerewe.

MondayWhile eating breakfast, I became quite concerned to see the ferry leaving the docks 3 hours early, considering it was the only way to get back to Mwanza. I kind of panicked, thinking I would be stuck on the island wdithout enough money for another night at the hotel. After drilling the hotel staff, we found out that a smaller boat would be arriving in a few hours to take us back "home" to Mwanza. While we waited for the ferry, I was speaking with a tiny old lady who had helped us get tickets and find the proper boat. She was very kind to me and and when I handed her a small amount of money as a thank you, her face beamed with gratitude. She said, "Chakula na chai kwa leo!" (this is food and tea for today!).



In a bit of a creepier moment, when we were sitting on the curb waiting, a stumbling drunk man wandered up holding a half-full beer bottle. He yelled at us to give him money and got right in our faces. I avoided eye contact and continued writing in my book until he ripped the pen out of my hand. Jon took it back from him and the man started yelling. He was really making a scene and people were starting to gather, but we didn't want any trouble so we tried to ignore him. Suddenly, he reached down and grabbed my face and one of my braids. I was stunned, but he backed of when Jon stood up to defend me. He shook his bottle at us, made a kissing noise at me and stumbled away. Not a good way to end a nice trip. Fortunately, the ride home was uneventful. I listened to The Dears on my discman and daydreamed for 3 hours.

It was surprisingly comforting to step back onto Mwanza soil and walk the familiar streets home to the apartment on Uhuru st.


Bismark Rock, Mwanza port.

This week I have a lot of work ahead of me in order to make sure this project stays sustainable. I also have my first test at Swahili lessons! Tomorrow afternoon, Pendo and I are going to the Maasai market to order some custom-made bracelets. I'm also buying some fabric here to have clothes made. I only brought grubby stuff thinking I would blend in, but people put a lot of care into appearances here, so I look pretty scruffy in my oversized linen pants. It's a gradual adjustment, living in Tanzania as a Canadian...from the inside out!

I've been here just over a month now. The time is flying but I miss home more than ever. It's certainly a challenge to be in love and be an ocean apart.

I also miss cartoons and hot chocolate and riding functional bikes.

Happy Birthday Mom! I love you!

short and sweet

Our internet is STILL down, so I my postings will have to suck for a bit while I hurriedly type and post in this cramped internet cafe. I promise to send interesting stuff very soon.
some pics:
Here is my first Khanga


This proverb translates to "I am satisfied"


Traditional African meal of spincah, ugali and meat with sauce


And this was living in my room!


Soon I will give ya'll some more!

Market day

Ok deep breath. I can handle this. I'm going in!

It's Sunday, the day we do our food shopping and I'm just stepping into the crowded market. All around me people are sitting cross-legged on tarps or bulap sacs with their produce spread out in front of them. People are also weaving through the narrow paths between all the produce. They are also approaching me...okay they are pretty much swarming me.

Madam! Rafiki! Sister! My friendy! Miss! Hey! Give me money! Buy this apple!

Oh my god, I'm completely surrounded. I shake my head and politely decline in Kiswahili. It's not working. I look them in the eyes and say no. Still, the merchants (mostly teenage boys) persist. Finally I just shove them out of my way, only to be trailed by at least half a dozen people. I've lost Jon. He's up in the distance bartering for sweet potatoes. Mamas beckon for me to buy their avocados and grapes. I decide only to buy from the vendors who are minding their own buisness. The prices are reasonable, very cheap by Canadian standards and I am hungry. I fill two plastic bags with tomatoes, baby bananas, passion fruit, potatoes, coconut, mango and beans. I am very hungry and very irritable.

Still the relentless vendors yell out to us and shove vegetables at me, trying to put them in my bag without me noticing. Ahhhhhh!

"Mzungu, give me money!"

That's it! I am out of here! I don't care if I didn't get the damn avocado; I am feeling clautrophobic and at the end of my patience. We escape the market and make it home. I'm exhausted. I fry up some eggs and fresh bread and fall onto the couch. Ah, solitude.

Not so fast. Eva, (Mama Joyces daughter who was supposed to take us to church this morning but never showed) appears at our door and wants me to paint her nails and then make ugali. I explain that we waited for her for 2 hours this morning and now we have to go out. She looks at me. My kiswahili sucks. I paint her nails anyway.

There is not much personal space here.

Yesterday I went for my beloved Saturday afternoon walk and returned to the church of last week's choir. This week there was a graduation ceremony of some sort going on and I went to turn away. Before I took two steps I was pulled inside by a wee man named Ben who wants to be a doctor in Canada and a group of about 10 kids. They sat me down on a bench and sat all around me and even on me. I had 3 little girls trying to sit on my lap. It was very cute. The choir sang and danced in their handmade khaki uniforms. I was offered a large meal but politely declined. Ben insisted and said, "Our culture is very different than yours. You don't have to be a member here to eat with us today. If you are here, you are welcome." It was very nice but I was feeling a little out of place.

On the way back I ran into the mom and baby from last week's pics. I sat with them and gave them my water. I really prefer these quiet moments of simple connection to the insanity and mayhem of the city. Yesterday the two biggest Soccer teams in the country played eachother and the streets were full of celebrating fans. The team called Simba (Lion) was the victor

Here are some pics from my walk yesterday:


wall repair


school yard


aquaduct


construction


mysterious island


steep path to the lake


stairs


I like this gate


bugando hill road


three watoto


in my swahili lessons


Street party to celebrate Simba's victory.

Til the next time :)

the homeland

I was going to post a pic of something cherry red and patriotic, but I only brought pastels and whites for their light-reflecting properties and have no bright colours!

Happy Canada Day to everyone back home!

What I miss about Canadian summer today: Tomatoes, twirling sparklers, lemonade, swimming in the great lakes, summer concerts

Whenever people yell Mzungu and I reply,
"Si mzungu, ninatokea Canada!" (I'm not European, I'm Canadian)they become very excited and interested to learn about our country. Now I've trained all the meat sellers beside my house and even some women who I buy oranges from to yell

"Hey, Mcanada! What's up?"
It puts a smile on my face.

I've started taking Swahili lessons from a lady named Dr Salala who is german, wears mumus and scratches incessantly. She's a great teacher though.

Check out CNN on Saturday (although I have no idea what time, sorry). The women's org I am working with hosted Oxfam Canada (as well as Jim from The Barenaked Ladies and his manager, Pierre) on Wednesday. We introduced them to our project and all of Kivulini's work, took them to the regional hospital, some small clinics and family homes. They were here to gather information and see with their own eyes how Tanzania is faring. They were also making a video to help bring back audio-video evidence that Canadian aid and debt-relief is helping Tanzania. They also wanted to show how Tanzania is still in need of our government's continued support. They captured footage here to bring back and distribute to media outlets, as well as clips to play during the Canadian Live8 concert tomorrow. Check it out if you can, as it's definitely worth a watch.

Okay, I'm off for now before the internet crashes. Enjoy the bbqs and fireworks!

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?